It is 2 AM, and I am awake.
I could have said the same at 1 AM.
If my computer had not decided to be the central element in a Mr. Science project, I would be sitting at it. Drafting this post. Or talking to the type of close friends on the West Coast that would not mind having Martha Mitchell as a friend.
But the computer is toast. I will be stuck at internet cafes until I get back to Oregon for Christmas. At least, I now what my gift to myself is going to be this year.
I know why I cannot sleep tonight. I am in a place of junctions.
I received a letter from a long-time friend today informing me that he was making a major life change. It was almost as if the Pope had called to tell me that transubstantiation did not make sense to him, and he had decided to be a Quaker. My friend´s choice is his to make. It simply caught me off guard.
Another friend sent me an email that his well-planned life seems to be unraveling bit by bit. Work. Relationships. Nothing seems to be going as he thought it would at this stage of his life.
And Wednesday night was the last night of my Bible study on prayer. I enjoyed presenting the series, but there is something bittersweet when it is all over.
I suspect that a lot of this musing has its root with the loss of computer access. It provided me with immediate communication with friends, acquaintances, and total strangers. Using the internet cafe is a bit like relying on a third-rate Methadone program.
For the past eight months, I have been struggling to get through Anne Lamott´s Grace (Eventually): Thoughts on Faith. I picked it up again on Tuesday after I moved into the new place, and started from the beginning -- where every good story should start. And I finished it off on Thursday morning.
Anne can be a challenging read. She is neurotic. A bit depressing at times. Even mean. But she is authentic. Even when I disagree with her, I always learn something new.
When she is on point, her essays cut right to the heart -- of the matter, and yours.
I ran across one of those passages in the last essay of this collection.
Simple. But, from my experience, true.
So, I am going back to bed. To find that ¨pitiful thing¨ that will give me some space for rest.
Whatever is unsettling me will also find its place of rest.
Of that, I have faith -- and, I hope, the grace to accept it.
I could have said the same at 1 AM.
If my computer had not decided to be the central element in a Mr. Science project, I would be sitting at it. Drafting this post. Or talking to the type of close friends on the West Coast that would not mind having Martha Mitchell as a friend.
But the computer is toast. I will be stuck at internet cafes until I get back to Oregon for Christmas. At least, I now what my gift to myself is going to be this year.
I know why I cannot sleep tonight. I am in a place of junctions.
I received a letter from a long-time friend today informing me that he was making a major life change. It was almost as if the Pope had called to tell me that transubstantiation did not make sense to him, and he had decided to be a Quaker. My friend´s choice is his to make. It simply caught me off guard.
Another friend sent me an email that his well-planned life seems to be unraveling bit by bit. Work. Relationships. Nothing seems to be going as he thought it would at this stage of his life.
And Wednesday night was the last night of my Bible study on prayer. I enjoyed presenting the series, but there is something bittersweet when it is all over.
I suspect that a lot of this musing has its root with the loss of computer access. It provided me with immediate communication with friends, acquaintances, and total strangers. Using the internet cafe is a bit like relying on a third-rate Methadone program.
For the past eight months, I have been struggling to get through Anne Lamott´s Grace (Eventually): Thoughts on Faith. I picked it up again on Tuesday after I moved into the new place, and started from the beginning -- where every good story should start. And I finished it off on Thursday morning.
Anne can be a challenging read. She is neurotic. A bit depressing at times. Even mean. But she is authentic. Even when I disagree with her, I always learn something new.
When she is on point, her essays cut right to the heart -- of the matter, and yours.
I ran across one of those passages in the last essay of this collection.
The gist of the story is that faith and grace will not look as they do in Bible stories, will not involve angels, flames, or harps. Some pitiful thing appears or occurs, entirely inadequate to help shift this grim situation, and it can´t possibly be enough, but then it is.
Simple. But, from my experience, true.
So, I am going back to bed. To find that ¨pitiful thing¨ that will give me some space for rest.
Whatever is unsettling me will also find its place of rest.
Of that, I have faith -- and, I hope, the grace to accept it.
