grace

Someone
I’d trust
with my life
told me about
a time he’d been
unexpectedly
granted
grace

Years later,
his memory of that
grace-granting
inspires him
to show
grace
often

After we talked,
I thought hard about
what he’d said

Until then,
somewhere far
deeper than words,
I’d thought about grace
in terms of deserving:
“Has she earned this grace?”
Or,
“Is he worthy?”

Thanks to my friend,
I saw I’d been asking
the wrong questions

Who the hell
am I
to decide
whether anyone
(self included)
deserves
grace?

Maybe
what makes
it “grace”
is that
it’s not
too concerned
with what is
or is not
deserved

Categories: Friends, Reflections Tags:

For [our kids]

In his latest post, my husband wrote that I’m worried about the world we’ll leave behind for our children.

It was a side point, and his post wasn’t about politics, but it’s been on my mind since I read it.

I am worried, and it’s a hopeful thing.

I always thought politics was this weird and terrible dark art only a few could practice.

There was the real world, and then there was politics. Politicians politicked while the rest of us lived.

That changed a few months ago. After my siblings introduced me to Bernie Sanders (as more than an impractical joke), I saw that politics and real life could and should converge–that they could converge to start improving right now the world we adults leave to our children.

Before, I didn’t really feel there was cause to hope. Doom and gloom would prevail no matter what I did.

It’s different today when I worry out loud. These political musings aren’t meant to be grim or despairing, though they may sound it.

If there were no cause for hope and catastrophe were truly a foregone conclusion, there would be little point worrying. Doom would be settled and sealed.

But it’s not settled. There is cause for hope.

Hope and worry are woven together for me.

I worry because I still have hope. I choose to use that worry to propel me to work for shaping a better world. To find the steps that will make that possible.

I know only that the first step is finding my voice by engaging in discourse.

The rest will follow.

So for my kids and yours, I’ll seek.

This 9/14/16 post transferred from L2SP 6/21/17

so lucky

my mom did
a helluva lot
with virtually nothing

i used to love
to shout it here,
but recently? i have
seen she was more
(and did more) than
i could ever
express,
and i have chosen
to hold her close
(and not exploit
her memory)

but now,
now i am reading
our children:
the american dream
in crisis
and seeing that
what she gave me
(and my younger
siblings)
was upper class
aspirations, and reach,
from
a lower class life,
and i am floored
all over again,
weeping,
that i should
have been
so lucky
to have
the mom
i did

forever grateful to this in-and-out beautiful woman

my playlist

I’ve been building and rebuilding a playlist in my mind the last couple of weeks. I’ll write about it someday, I’m sure, I thought. When I’ve finally gotten it right-enough.

Without pressure or hurry, it could have been months before I solidified the playlist. But then I read a post that got me fired up, and I found my playlist.

The post bemoaned how everything is a competition now: singing, playing instruments, sports, politics. Everyone’s in it to win it. Period. Read more…

wild and magnificent

June 15, 2017 Comments off

My sister Rache prefers [flowers] wild
and I couldn’t
agree
more

Categories: Family Tags: , ,

perspectiving

Earlier today, I glanced down and saw an awful, judgment-filled word scrawled in my older son’s handwriting.

Hold on now, I thought. When would he have even heard that word, and how would I have missed it in two years of having this same piece of paper behind my desk?!

Having written so recently about perspective(s), I smiled when I uncovered the rest of the paper to find the answer a split-second later. 

I’d seen the marks as they were, sure, but … I’d interpreted them upside-down, leading (briefly) to a very different, very wrong reading.

What a difference perspective–and context!–can make.

life-full

I went to brunch on Sunday. I always enjoy brunch, and appreciate–so much–that I have people to brunch with.

There was something special about this brunch: talking with Bill Friday. Specifically, we talked about happiness.

Anthony’s always asking if I’m happy!” I said. “And I’m like, no! And who cares? What if happiness isn’t a useful measure for my life? What if there’s something more and deeper that’s lost by looking so hard at happiness?!”

(This was not a gripe about my husband, by the way; it was about the limitations of language and cultural perceptions!)

Today I talked to my sister Rache. As we spoke, I saw she would have so enjoyed chatting with Bill and me:

Though the histories we discussed were grim and heartbreaking, our conversation was so damn hopeful. “Happiness,” we agreed, was not the yardstick by which we want to measure our lives. We want comprehension, connection, fullness, and fulfillment, not entertainment (alone).

Rache will be visiting soon enough. Maybe we’ll get a chance to sit and talk (things more important-to-us than) happiness with Bill.

But if not? I will hold the joy of those separate, related conversations within me,

for, unlike happiness,

joy is the complex totality that recognizes how all the feelings of life are part of a full one.

Photo courtesy Ra

%d bloggers like this: