This morning, as I was drinking coffee and getting "up and around," doing my usual blogsurfing, I got intrigued about this post on Elizabeth Kaeton's blog. Partially because I like collard greens, but it turned out to be about "collared" not "collard." That was okay too. I started realizing another of those similarities between physicians and clergy. Both go through rigorous, but somewhat "rigamarole-ish" processes to get to where you want to go, and there are always all-knowing assholes in the way, who seem to know better than you do what you deserve. Don't get me wrong; constructive things sometimes happen in these processes that are for the better. But there are always some individuals in power who tend to inflate their importance in the process.
I see this on the admissions committee for the osteopathic medical school here. I listen to some committee members brag on their "pet formulas", "stock questions," etc. They are frequently the kind of people I describe as "always wrong; never in doubt." Sure, we all are supremely confident about some things now and then. But these particular kind of individuals make a habit of it.
I take a different approach. I figure they are "pre-screened" to a degree by their GPA/MCAT score/the fact they "wanted" to apply. Honestly, on paper, a lot of these all look alike. The letters of recommendation are bland, standard, usually without any real insight and always glowing. "One of the best I have ever seen..." types of letters. It's like Lake Woebegon; all the children are above average.
I try to ask open ended questions that bring out "who" they are...things like "When you sit around and fantasize about being a doctor, tell me who you see." "Tell me the incident in your life where you felt you were as close to feeling what it feels like to be a doctor." Stuff like that. I address their "yellow/red flags in an open-ended fashion also." "Tell me about this semester where you got 3 "C's". This semester does not look like the others, to me."
I watch for what I call "the sparkle." There is a moment, in an interview with a good candidate, that their face brightens, their eyes light up, and they become alive. I remember this incredibly shy fellow, big tall skinny guy. We were having a rough interview b/c he was so darn nervous. I accidentally noticed volunteer work with a local elementary school in their reading program. I just asked, "Hey, tell me a little about this program here that you did some volunteer work." It was like a light switch turned on. He lit up, started talking about the little kids, the tiny chairs in which he didn't fit, the short sinks and toilets in the john, and how the kids clung on his pant leg wanting him to hear them read. I finally could imagine this guy being any kind of doctor at all. This vision of pediatrician popped in my head. Before, there was just a blank spot in my mind.
I became a lot calmer as a med school interviewer when I stopped listening to the know-it-alls on the committee and decided that this is a matter of my awareness that I am just a vehicle for the natural forces of grace and discernment to happen. I decided that those who are supposed to get in, will get in eventually, maybe not with me, maybe partially because of me, but most of it was in the hands of things out of my control.
Whether we are talking about medicine or priesthood, I think the "calling" will take care of itself. I'm just sorry that difficult people have to get in the way of both now and then.
You can see even more of these on the Church Sign Generator website. You can make your own, but they have quite an impressive collection of real church signs, too! (I do have to wonder what "undies Sunday" is, though)...
Time for a little humor to break up the seriousness. One of my friends sent me the "purity test"...
You Are 54% Pure |
 You're not so innocent... in fact, you're quite unpure. You have seen and experienced a lot. And you're no worse for the wear! |
Yeah, yeah, so I'm not so pure--only 54% pure, in fact. Actually, I thought I ended up better than I thought I would turn out. I knew I was in trouble when I realized I had checked ALL the boxes related to cursing. (Yes, I have taught a small child how to curse.) That's why I need to write a spiritual blog--so I can overcome part of my past, present, and future, ok????
I just discovered this week that my wireless internet router reaches out in the yard a little way from the house, so now I can combine two of my favorite activities...goofing around on the internet, and sitting in "my sacred circle" in the yard.
I discovered "my sacred circle" about 2 years ago, even though I have lived at this house for eight years. It started when a bunch of people at Trinity got into contemplative prayer. I did not join the "centering prayer group" for one simple reason. I border on ADHD. I don't think I'd actually qualify for the diagnosis of attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, but I know I'm darn close. I have never been able to sit still. Monastic forms of prayer, work as prayer, is closer to my style when praying "out of the box" in some form other than spoken prayers or silent thought prayers.
I knew all I would do for a centering prayer group was serve as the "what not to do" model. But what I decided to do was find a "sacred space" at home and just be in it and see what shakes out of it. That space is in the southwest corner of my yard.
Let me tell you a little bit about my yard. I live waaaaaay out in the country, about 6 miles from Kirksville, in "the flatlands". You have to understand a little about the geography of Missouri. Highway 63 literally rides atop "the grand divide" of the state. Everything west of highway 63 drains to the Missouri river; everything east of it drains to the Mississippi river. West of 63 are woods and rolling hills covered with trees. East of 63 are flats, gentle hills, and pasture. I am a flatlander from childhood. The wide open green pastures are "my ocean", rolling waves of green. I enjoy the woods, but I love the flatlands best because of the expanse and openness. It is why traveling to the ocean fascinates me. To me, the ocean is "blue flatlands."
In the southwest corner of my yard, I have a rough ring of trees and bushes bordering the house and the corner of my pasture. If I sit in a reclining lawn chair in the northeast end of this circle, I can look up into the sky as if from a cylinder. The circle of trees does not obscure the pastures if I want to stand and look across. The house shields me from the dusk to dawn light in the driveway. I can see "my ocean" by day and this cylinder of stars in the sky by night. I found if I just sit in this place, in my reclining lawn chair, I can just "be" and I feel God sitting next to me.
I have never shown anyone my sacred circle. I have one person whom I've promised to show that circle, but we have both insisted we both have to be in the right mood to appreciate it; as yet the moment of sharing it has not happened. I am reticent to show off this circle because it is really quite ordinary, in a "touristy" sort of way, but to me it is sacred. It is the one spot that I can sit still and wait on God to show up. I have no clue why this is the case.
I have simply never been one to sit still. My whole life has been "I can't wait." I could never stand waiting for Christmas to open presents. I could never stand waiting for the big game when I played sports in high school. Waiting has always made me edgy, jumpy, grouchy, and curt, even if I was waiting for something good.
But in my sacred circle, I can ignore the phone, the world, the noise, and the clutter in my life. I can stare up at the night sky and marvel at the stars. I can melt into the night sky. By day, I can become entranced by the intricacies of the behavior of the birds in the trees, or look out acrosse the pasture, my ocean with real waves as the hay grows taller. I can lean back in my reclining lawn chair and feel the presence of God sitting on my chest. When I look at my watch, I am often amazed that a half hour or hour has gone by and it feels like a minute.
In my feeble worldy mind, this is how I envision the temporal nature of heaven. I cannot usually wrap my mind around "forever." But I can sit in this spot and get a tiny glimpse of it, because time moves in a fashion different than the laws of nature...at least in my own mind. Sure, real time passes...but "my time" becomes without boundaries.
To steal from "Field of Dreams"..."Is this heaven? No, it's northeast Missouri."
Sigh.
This one has me stumped.
I have been dealing with the effects of the people from a church that my mom's friend attends. These folks are some brand of "Full Gospel" Christianity, very much into "healing and miracles".
They have somehow convinced my mom that "if enough people pray for her," and "if she prays enough", she will be healed of her emphysema, her depression, and her diabetes. This belief has affected her ability to make good medical choices regarding her chronic illnesses. At this point, I don't believe she has been foolish enough to stop taking her meds, but I wonder how much longer before that becomes part of her thought processes.
Meanwhile, she continues to deteriorate and her depression is taking on aspects that are worrisome in terms of whether or not she is taking her meds or eating properly, having social interaction, etc. She lives 40 miles away and has no intention of moving up here.
She's not that old. She's only 70. But a half century of two packs of cigarettes a day took her to a place where simply to live, she is on 4 liters of oxygen 24/7/365. She has lived through two less than stellar marriages; one to a philanderer, and one to an abuser turned philanderer. She wanted to live the life of June Cleaver, but when you marry James Dean (twice) it's not likely to happen. She lived within eyeshot of her mother for less than a decade of her life, and, quite frankly, my late grandmother dominated her. At this stage of her life, she is incredibly angry that I am not living across the road from her and taking care of her "the way I'm supposed to be doing." Her immediate family is down to two people...her and me. So in some ways, I can see where the promise of "instant healing" is attractive for her.
It's difficult. It's not that I don't believe in miracles. It's not that I don't believe in healing. I just don't believe in "God the celestial Coke Machine" where the prayer quarters go in, and the can of Coke comes out. There is plenty of healing for her to be had, but it is not likely to be the reversal of her emphysema or the disappearance of her diabetes. She insists her belief "makes her feel better" but what I am seeing speaks to the contrary. She withdraws further and further, and waits and waits for God to do what she expects from him, just as she waited for her abusive husband to see the light and stop beating her, or her domineering mother to stop her demands. I am sad that her version of God has become just another cruel abusive figure in her life, and I am angry at her friend for feeding her this stuff.
I pray for her to experience "healing"--it's just not for the exact form of healing that she expects.
Today, when I was out on my evening "walk around Thousand Hills Lake", I was trying to recall one of my favorite lines in Psalm 27. This is the psalm that most people know as "The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?" one.
But that is not the line that sticks with me when I think of that psalm. It's a more obscure verse, verse 13 that rings true in my mind: "I believe that I shall see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living."
One of the hardest things for me is the concept of "discernment", because discernment takes three things: 1) Being receptive to the things God presses upon my heart; 2) A willingness to act upon those things; and 3) The ability to stand still long enough for God's will to completely unfold. I am fairly ok with #1, a little edgy about #2, and way too "antsy" for #3.
Without a doubt, standing still is my downfall. I can't even stand still to fish if the fish are not biting. If I don't get even a nibble in 20 minutes or so, I move to another spot.
I have had two separate experiences this year that were spiritually profound, but in both instances I felt a little like I was the "bus driver for someone else's moment of destiny." Don't get me wrong, I was okay with it both times--in fact, I have a great deal of gratitude for being allowed so intimately into "someone else's journey." But it leaves a nagging question: "Why am I in on this trip? What am I supposed to be taking home as a souvenir?"
I was thinking about that at the end of my walk, standing there cooling off. One of my favorite forms of "self-entertainment" is looking up at clouds and imagining images in them. Today, when I started to look at the few little wispy clouds that were out, my first thought was, "Oh, hell, I don't see a thing." But as I stood there, and the wind kind of shuffled them around, things took shape. I could see a horse head, an outline of Newfoundland, and a bearded man with his mouth hanging open in astonishment.
Suddenly, something clicked in my head and I realized that what first started out as "nothing" becamed shaped by the wind into things I recognize. I had to stand still long enough for that to happen, I had to be persistent that I'd eventually "see something" and be willing to keep looking, and I had to trust the wind to do the shaping. Well, gee whiz, that's discernment! It made me realize that these two experiences are not discernible yet b/c I have not allowed the wind to have its way with them.
That, I believe, is where Ruach (the "divine wind" that is reminiscent of the Holy Spirit) comes into play. It's a situation where perhaps the wind just hasn't shaped these experiences yet, and my job at this point is simply to be aware and keep looking, trusting that they will be shaped into something more easily recognizable. I need to keep reminding myself that these things appear in God's time frame, not the time frame of my preference.
I still have no clue what these experiences mean; but in the meantime I will just "keep lookin'."
Ok, I admit, there are times that the lolcats are a little too cheesy and cutesy for me, but I do get the occasional big laugh from that site and its dog counterpart. So I decided to try my hand at using Mr. Boomer and Little Eddie as loldog fodder. Just remember, I can't be spiritually profound all the time!
