Several months ago I was diagnosed with a thyroid condition, and in the grand tradition of obese folks every where I bounced around doing the “I knew it!” dance.  In fact, according to the Dr., my numbers three years ago are considered treatable by today’s standards.

So – a pill or two later, and an adjustment last week to a strong dose, and I’m still hovering at the same weight I’ve been at for much of the last few years.  I work out several times a week (have a Bodybug to prove it!) and eat reasonably well.  Still… nada.

I’m not frustrated though.  Part of it is knowing that I must be doing something because I’m up to 25 laps in the pool and 30 min on the exercise bike.  Sometimes on the same day!  I’m just wondering what is it that is limiting me so.  Is it attitude?  Is it fear?  If the physical is in check – then perhaps I need to look more deeply at the emotional.  Or the spiritual.

I will confess to some frustration when it comes to the workings of my body.  I did some damage to my knee several weeks ago while in Minneapolis, and it still isn’t right.  Heck, sometimes it HURTS.  The Doc pronounced it a sprain – but if it continues any longer, I many go back and suggest he try again.

The thing is, I know I hurt it while walking – and I pushed myself HARD.  I broke through some of my preconceived limits (and apparently, I broke *me*).

The lesson I learn from this is that I need to stretch my limits before breaking them.  And that goes for the emotional and spiritual as well.  This is no walk to Damascus – with larger-than-life consequences.  This is taking everything, EVERYTHING, one step at a time.  And this blog?  It’s how I plan on mapping out the territory.

…you think to yourself, “I should really start another blog” and then you think “I don’t think I’ve tried WordPress” and then you find out that you already have an existing blog on said site.

My bad.

I’m not sure what drives an individual to publicly blog – although I think my impetus is generally related to my need to sort something out.  Writing as therapy, as you will.

So today’s impetus?

Haiti.  Pat Robertson’s comments.  Roselle schools (the High School = epic fail).  The Presbytery’s new Interim Executive.  My own ennui.

And the desire to wrap the world in yarn and protect it and keep it warm.

**

This Sunday’s lectionary reading is the Wedding at Cana.  There’s Jesus, and Mom, and an apparent lack of wine.  A request, and a wave of the wand, and the wedding party can now party like it’s 1999.

And this is the Jesus I want this minute.  The spandex-clad superhero who can make the earth stop shaking and the idiots stop talking and make everything better so I can sleep at night.

THIS is my own private magic-using Man who can right the wrong in the world so I don’t have to.

Then I read the passage again.

First of all – there’s little spandex, and no leaping over buildings.  Instead there’s the mother telling the servants to do what He tells them to do.

Rats.  Superman’s mother never says anything like this.

Come to think of it, none of the Superfriends seem to need the help of mere mortals.

Then we (of course it is “we”… who did you THINK the servants were?) are told to fill these empty water jars with water.  Of course, they’re not any sort of jars.  They are specifically used for one purpose.

The Women’s Association isn’t going to like this.

Only after they are filled with water – filled to overflowing – and offered to the steward does it become apparent that something has changed.  Pots set aside for one specific ritual purpose are now used for a Par-tay.

And we helped.  Heck, we did the grunt work.

And that remains our call.  To be the hands that lift the stone, and shut the mouth of Robertson and his ilk… to fix the schools and to motivate the church and…

There’s no magic.

There’s us… following the One who directs us in how to go about making change and encouraging us to move forward.

There’s no magic Man.

But there is Jesus…. and a grand party when the work is done.  It’s enough.

Minding the Gap

On the train home from the city (THE city, mind you) yesterday, we rode on one of the new double-decker trains.  I sat comfortably behind a giggling girlchild and her best-friend-of-the-moment.  My role was utilitarian.  I was the financier and the chauffer for this grand birthday event. 

 

We had lunch at the Hard Rock Cafe, and then the two girls saw ‘Spring Awakening’ while I found a bench nearby where I could sit and knit.  The girlchild and her best-friend-of-the-moment (you know, they need to develop a phrase as catchy as BFF!  BFoTM! doesn’t work nearly as well.) ignored me completely the entire day, unless money was needed.

 

Sitting behind them, watching the world flow by, I was caught by the rhythm of the train and the sounds that accompanied it.  At every stop this wonderfully sonorous, somewhat mechanical female voice would announce the station, followed by ‘watch the gap’. 

 

In England it is ‘mind the gap’, and personally that works better for me.  To ‘mind’ something isn’t to simply to see it, but to obey it in the same way that you ‘mind your manners’.  It is introspection of a sort, which brings about a change in behavior.

 

When I’m told to ‘mind my manners’, I’m being told to see what I am doing and to reflect on the appropriateness of my actions and to change them if necessary.  When I’m told to ‘mind the gap’ it is to do the same.  To see, reflect, and adapt.

 

On the train home from the city (THE city, mind you) yesterday, I found myself minding another gap.  This gap isn’t painted with yellow paint cautioning me to be careful in my steps, nor am I reminded of its existence by an ever-patient announcer.  No, it’s the gap that exists between my daughter and I, a gap brought about by raging hormones and differing priorities.  And I do mind it.  I ‘mind the gap’ by being aware of it, and reflecting on it, and changing my own responses based on what I see.

 

The fact is that the gap is increasing, making it easier to see (if not easier to mind). I find myself watching her – waiting for those rare moments when I see the baby and child she once was.  There are flickering moments when she is what she once was, and other moments that suggest the wonderful woman she is becoming.  Most of the time, however, the gap is gaping and ever-present.  There are times when I reflect that there isn’t a bridge in the world (even if I could suspend my disbelief) that would allow me to cross.

 

And that is as it should be.

 

We’ve raised her to be a fiercely independent young woman in a diverse community.  She’s at the point in her life when she needs to wander a bit from what is her established home.  She is in a place where peer relationships, even those best-friends-of-the-moment, are critical.  I know this.

 

I also mind this.

 

For although we’ve been working towards the moment when she is capable of living on her own, we have been soley focusing on her.  This gap is created by her moving away – first emotionally, then physically – and our remaining here.  I need to focus a bit more inwardly – to ‘mind the gap’ more intentionally – and to trust that the foundation we’ve laid these many years will be enough.

The train pulls up to our station and my daughter reacts to my tapping her on the shoulder with scorn.  “I know, Mom” she states with her patented eye-roll.  They get off the train behind me, taking their time as we walk towards the car.  Someday soon she’ll be walking to her own car, and I won’t be in the story at all.

 

Somehow I’ll find a way not to mind it.

I’ve got a Victorian sofa in my backyard, covered with a blue tarp.

It’s in the backyard, because it is no longer on the front porch – and it is no longer on the front porch because there are contractors buzzing around my house sanding away all the old paint on this old house.

I picked up the couch via Freecycle a year or so ago, hoping that I could restore it.  If not, there was little loss.  The couch was free and I have most of the fabric and such available.  The cost would be minimal – new stuffing.  It’s been sitting there waiting for me to find the time to do it, as well as the inclination.

I’ve done some re-upholstering before.  It’s facinating and frustrating all at the same time.  Generally with the older pieces there are layers upon layers of patch jobs done by amateurs such as myself.  In one piece (the chair in my living room) I knew that my grandmother had put in one layer, and because I knew the story of this chair, I imagined that it was her neighbor who had the layer before that.  It’s archaeology meets forensics meets Joann Fabrics!

This couch is beyond simple repair and patching, and will require me to remove the works.  I’ll use some of the old material that is still useable (the springs and the frame) but the rest will require something new.  I will do all this work, not certain I will like the final outcome, but knowing that I cannot leave it as it is.

Meanwhile, the sanders work on the house and I wonder if they aren’t a part of a similar experiment.  They’ve removed some of the wood that is hopeless, and have sanded and resanded the wood that can be saved.  If you look closely at the edges where the sanders can fully reach, you can see the layers of paint upon the wood – a colorful visual history of what once was.

We’re in a Recession, the money is extremely tight, and we’re painting the Manse.  I realize that we need to address the problem before it becomes worse (and ends up costing us even more) but I’m still not sure we’ve got our priorities right.  If we attacked the other less visible issues (the non-building issues) in our church (and our denomination!) with the same vigor, I might feel less ambiguous.  It’s as if we are as a church (locally and denominationally) rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic.  Scratch that.  We’re reupholstering and repainting and THEN rearranging the chairs on the Titanic

I think it IS time to reupholster and sand and scrape and begin with that framework and structure that is sound – but not on the physical church.  I think we’re at the point where we (again, locally and globally) need to really dig at and tear apart what we have and to begin anew.  Unlike my Freecycle couch, however, there is much at stake.  It is not just the work of our ancestors that may need to be ripped out or re-fitted but it’s some of the more recent work that has been done which our own hands have worked on and touched.  The investment in the Church is far more than the investment in my couch.

Which is why it really shouldn’t sit out there under a tarp for much longer waiting for us to have the time or the initiative.

What would I keep?  What would I rip away? 

What would YOU keep?  What would YOU rip away?