I seem to be hanging onto moments lately. Moments, in the forms of tidbits or substantial servings, are lingering a while as I go back to them for multiple helpings. Some are sweet, delighting my senses. Some are bitter, where I am intrigued to remember why. Others are savory, warming my heart and soul.
I looked into the eyes of my mother this weekend and walked step-in-step with her for three days, both showing her and exploring this crazy city I live in together. It made me remember the joys of childhood—like the red basket she would put me in with a bag of popcorn as we traversed Target in running our errands. I remember the treats we shared as we stopped for “just a little snack.” But, this weekend, I also saw more. I saw a woman who loves well and has continued to grow throughout her lifetime, while still never compromising who she is, even the little quirks that she possesses. My husband commented that she is the same wherever she goes, and I thought that to be a grand observation. Clad in her shorts on the subway, she laughs and jokes with the person next to her, not thinking anything otherwise. She turned up the air conditioner so she could hunker down under the quilt and sleep all cold and snuggly, complete with her bean bag booklight at her side as she read into the night. These are glimpses of my mother, and moments pinned into my mind, as if they were snapshots of love hung on the walls of a family home.
Last night I looked at a picture of two incredibly dear friends together, one of the first of its kind, as they begin their relationship. It is just a moment in time captured in an instant, yet it encompasses so much. This picture is evidence of a real manifestation in their lives—not just something I have seen, hoped and prayed for some time for. In looking at their faces, they look the same and entirely different at the same time—these two I have known for over six years—because it’s as if a few years of lessons and refining have come to a new plateau as they now begin something together. This picture is just a moment, but it also contains several years, lifetimes that came before it, and it possesses the beautiful hope that comes with something new. And this mentioned picture seems to set off a slideshow reel of moments in my mind…moments with each of them individually over the years. These moments are all memories in themselves, but for some reason they are colliding and merging with one another at a rapid pace, yet still maintaining their integrity as a moment in time. Then is now mixed with now, and now is mixed with then.
What day do I live in? What moment am I embracing at the present? Is it the present, or is it the past or future? Does it have to be the present in order for it to be a wise stewardship of it? Or, can it be a montage of many moments together as I embark into the future?
Last night, I spoke with a new dear friend here about her foot and ongoing therapy. I recalled the moment when I was 17 years old in which I ran harder than ever that day and something in my foot snapped. Physically, that moment changed everything for over a year, and that moment brought effects that changed the course of my life. It set the course in which I would surrender athletics and its pursuit, allowing God to open my eyes to new things and new people. I shared this with my friend, and found out that she too, had a very similar injury in a very similar place when she was at the same age. We looked at each other in a sense of curiosity and delight for the similarities we yet again find between the two of us. These moments, if not revisited, would not help in the weaving of a new fabric of common strands of experiences that we can both relate in and share. It was a moment in which the past and present collided with one another.
But, I too, hang onto the moments of friendships and times past…remembering who and what they were in my life, and honestly grieving a bit at times for the loss of it. It’s still hard to accept that some friendships have been lost, some seasons have passed, and unless God wills to raise them up again, they are laid to rest. Sometimes I feel as if I walk through the graveyard a bit too long, reflecting on the epitaphs and the dates of birth and death. Sometimes I kneel in reflection. And sometimes I have to strongly fight the urge to start digging and try to resurrect something or someone meant to be laid at rest in my life. But also, sometimes this reflecting drives me in my present and in my future—remembering ways I failed or things that could’ve been done better, and learning from its death in how to preserve life in these new things.
Yet—past, present, and future moments—I am not their keeper.
“For God has made everything appropriate in its time. He has also set eternity in our hearts, yet so that man will not find out the work which God has done from the beginning even to the end.
I know that there is nothing better for them than to rejoice and to do good in one's lifetime; moreover, that every man who eats and drinks sees good in all his labor--it is the gift of God.
And, I know that everything God does will remain forever; there is nothing I can add to it and there is nothing I can take from it, for God has so worked it that men should fear Him. That which is has been already and that which will be has already been, for God seeks what has passed by.”
Ecclesiastes 3:11-15
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Sunday, October 16, 2011
To See, To Live
I feel as if I’m always striving to some degree. That, while I do find myself often content, I hardly ever find myself satisfied. I see how much more things can be. I desire how much more some things should be. More justice. More mercy. More love. More learning. More growing. Sometimes I feel that the degree of difference between here and there is closer, but most of the time, I feel it’s very far away. We dream and we talk and we profess to know, and we try to go about our day-to-day business and responsibilities as best as we can. In those days, there are moments where we feel as if we are thriving and fully living. Others, we’re just happy to be surviving. Sometimes we care so much about caring, and other times we just don’t want to care.
This city presses on these extremes I listed and feel. Most of the time, I see and desire how much more things should be, and those other times, I’m overwhelmed and default to the not wanting to care and simply just survive a day. I’ve told John numerous times that “I feel like I’m settling in here more.” Each time I say it, it is more true; yet, it does still have a ways to go. Actually, I wonder if I will ever arrive at feeling fully settled in here. That is a significant thought to ponder.
Can I ever be used to seeing those in want, those in need, to make them “part” of my normal day and reality of this city, content to pass them by without thinking or feeling anything of their situation? Will the colors of skin, the languages displayed, the ethnicities and incredibly varied lives and lifestyles embedded within each ever really blend into something “normal?” Can I ever get to the point where I can embrace God’s provision of enough for John and me financially, without wondering why there is such an obvious disparity of the rich and poor here?
With these thoughts, I don’t think I will ever feel completely “settled in” here…at least, not settled in the ways that cause the eyes and heart to grow cataracts of self-comfort, unable to see the true realities that so glaringly present themselves to those with willing and able vision. To see, to truly see, is to truly live, and that means moments of joy and pain, moments of frustration and relief, moments of peace and of anguish. To live, to truly live, is to truly see, and that means to look beyond oneself and understand the humanity and inhumanity we are surrounded by and are a part of, for better or worse. To breathe, to be alive, means to not have a calloused heart or eyes and be willing to engage in God’s restoration of these things and people, though it is albeit difficult.
But that’s where I want more. More justice. More mercy. More love. More learning. More growing. Sometimes I feel that the degree of difference between where I am now and where I want to be is closer, but most of the time, I feel it’s very far away. I dream and I talk and I profess to know, and I try to go about my day-to-day business and responsibilities as best as I can. In those days, there are moments where I feel as if I am thriving and fully living. Others, I’m just happy to be surviving. Sometimes I care so much about caring, and other times I just don’t want to care.
All these things though, I must remember—and with thanks I do—these things I seek and desire are beyond myself but within the limits of a gracious and all-powerful God. He reminds me of this in the times where I need it most. Friday I was mourning over the lack of actions following up what I desire to see manifested in bestowing God’s grace upon those who need it most. I asked him why I and others know and desire these things but seem to see so little fruit. I didn’t realize it in that moment, but it comes out of a dependence upon His Holy Spirit’s leading and our willingness to respond.
Like every normal day at 5 p.m., I took the subway home. I was engrossed in my own activities of card writing and then a game of solitaire on my phone. Once the subway crossed over into Brooklyn, a young black man entered my car through another’s doors, rather than the outside platforms. He was talking out loud and swirling about from pole to pole—not your typical acceptable “normal” behavior. I put my phone away because I felt something was up. I made eye contact with him, and then it all began.
“Hi. I’m Seanepaul.”
“Hi. I’m Elise. How are you doing?”
A handshake followed, and we made our way through the first moments of conversation by asking normal questions as to where we are headed, where did we come from and what were we doing that day. And in those first moments of conversation, we silently assessed the other. I was assessing if he was a threat or not. He was probably assessing if I was actually going to be a person that wouldn’t blow him off like so many others do. We made it to the stop before the last one, and I invited him to move across the car to a emptier bench where we could both sit down. We talked for a couple more minutes before he interrupted me and said:
“You know, you know, I have been through every car on this train, trying, trying, trying to find someone who would listen. I make people nervous because I can’t control my mouth and they think I’m crazy. But you, you, but you…you not only looked at me, but you are listening to me, and you sat me down.”
His head fell into his hands at that moment and lingered there. His heart seemed to be bursting of gratitude where mine was bursting of being humbled. He was not the person I first suspected, and he needed something so simple that I am perfectly capable of giving.
The problem so often comes down to, am I willing?
Am I willing to let my preconceptions be challenged? Am I willing to trust the Spirit’s leading and ignore the flesh’s callings of fleeing from all possible discomfort? Am I willing to let it play out, with discernment, and see what God can do in it?
We arrived at the last stop, both of our stops, where we got off, and were about to part ways. A few minutes before, I asked God quietly in our conversation that this wouldn’t be the last of it. I desire for friendship to be built here, even with the most unsuspecting people. So of course, he asked for my email address, and asked if my husband would be okay with him emailing me. I replied he would be just fine, and perhaps you could meet him sometime. We talked a bit longer, but he didn’t want the time to end. So, he walked with me on my walk home, and we continued to talk.
As he put on his doo rag, I found he’s a writer of poetry, attending community college. He lives with his mother, father, and brother, and he has grown up and lived here his 31 years of life.
In his free time, he plays XBOX live with his friends (like my brother), and his favorite show is Law and Order (like my father).
We rounded the corner into my neighborhood, immediately coming into the paths of many of our local Jews. He stopped me upon first sight of them, and said “I believe, I believe that we have Jesus in our heart.” I replied gently, “I believe that too.” He asked if I went to church, and I told him about our church and invited him to join us sometime. He doesn’t attend a church often here.
A couple of more blocks passed before I arrived at my building, and it was finally time to part ways.
“It was nice to meet you, Seanepaul, and we will have to email each other and keep in touch.”
“Yes, yes. And thank you. Thank you.” Said his words with eyes full of gratitude as if he had been seen and noticed for the first time in a long while.
He crossed the corner and I walked into my building realizing that he thought he had been given grace, but I felt more a recipient of grace than he. God’s grace in helping me see that sometimes this city feels so very big. But sometimes it is much smaller than I allow it to be. Our differences aren’t as obvious as we sometimes make them out to be. In Seanepaul, I found him a person like a medley of so many that I know and love, yet he was also this brand new person and personality to engage with and come to understand. God was so gracious in bringing him on my path that day to remind me that this desire, this longing I have for more justice, more mercy, more love, more learning, more growing, is of Him. I can try to make the answer for giving and administering these things more complex than it needs to be, but it’s rather simple:
Am I willing to respond to what is put before me, and trust God to do what He will with it? Am I willing to see, to truly see, to live, to truly live?
This city, this I know, though at times albeit difficult, forces me to look beyond myself, to see with an uncalloused heart or eyes. There is so much need and opportunity to be a part of God’s restoration of these things and people.
And this, this means to breathe, to be fully alive.
This city presses on these extremes I listed and feel. Most of the time, I see and desire how much more things should be, and those other times, I’m overwhelmed and default to the not wanting to care and simply just survive a day. I’ve told John numerous times that “I feel like I’m settling in here more.” Each time I say it, it is more true; yet, it does still have a ways to go. Actually, I wonder if I will ever arrive at feeling fully settled in here. That is a significant thought to ponder.
Can I ever be used to seeing those in want, those in need, to make them “part” of my normal day and reality of this city, content to pass them by without thinking or feeling anything of their situation? Will the colors of skin, the languages displayed, the ethnicities and incredibly varied lives and lifestyles embedded within each ever really blend into something “normal?” Can I ever get to the point where I can embrace God’s provision of enough for John and me financially, without wondering why there is such an obvious disparity of the rich and poor here?
With these thoughts, I don’t think I will ever feel completely “settled in” here…at least, not settled in the ways that cause the eyes and heart to grow cataracts of self-comfort, unable to see the true realities that so glaringly present themselves to those with willing and able vision. To see, to truly see, is to truly live, and that means moments of joy and pain, moments of frustration and relief, moments of peace and of anguish. To live, to truly live, is to truly see, and that means to look beyond oneself and understand the humanity and inhumanity we are surrounded by and are a part of, for better or worse. To breathe, to be alive, means to not have a calloused heart or eyes and be willing to engage in God’s restoration of these things and people, though it is albeit difficult.
But that’s where I want more. More justice. More mercy. More love. More learning. More growing. Sometimes I feel that the degree of difference between where I am now and where I want to be is closer, but most of the time, I feel it’s very far away. I dream and I talk and I profess to know, and I try to go about my day-to-day business and responsibilities as best as I can. In those days, there are moments where I feel as if I am thriving and fully living. Others, I’m just happy to be surviving. Sometimes I care so much about caring, and other times I just don’t want to care.
All these things though, I must remember—and with thanks I do—these things I seek and desire are beyond myself but within the limits of a gracious and all-powerful God. He reminds me of this in the times where I need it most. Friday I was mourning over the lack of actions following up what I desire to see manifested in bestowing God’s grace upon those who need it most. I asked him why I and others know and desire these things but seem to see so little fruit. I didn’t realize it in that moment, but it comes out of a dependence upon His Holy Spirit’s leading and our willingness to respond.
Like every normal day at 5 p.m., I took the subway home. I was engrossed in my own activities of card writing and then a game of solitaire on my phone. Once the subway crossed over into Brooklyn, a young black man entered my car through another’s doors, rather than the outside platforms. He was talking out loud and swirling about from pole to pole—not your typical acceptable “normal” behavior. I put my phone away because I felt something was up. I made eye contact with him, and then it all began.
“Hi. I’m Seanepaul.”
“Hi. I’m Elise. How are you doing?”
A handshake followed, and we made our way through the first moments of conversation by asking normal questions as to where we are headed, where did we come from and what were we doing that day. And in those first moments of conversation, we silently assessed the other. I was assessing if he was a threat or not. He was probably assessing if I was actually going to be a person that wouldn’t blow him off like so many others do. We made it to the stop before the last one, and I invited him to move across the car to a emptier bench where we could both sit down. We talked for a couple more minutes before he interrupted me and said:
“You know, you know, I have been through every car on this train, trying, trying, trying to find someone who would listen. I make people nervous because I can’t control my mouth and they think I’m crazy. But you, you, but you…you not only looked at me, but you are listening to me, and you sat me down.”
His head fell into his hands at that moment and lingered there. His heart seemed to be bursting of gratitude where mine was bursting of being humbled. He was not the person I first suspected, and he needed something so simple that I am perfectly capable of giving.
The problem so often comes down to, am I willing?
Am I willing to let my preconceptions be challenged? Am I willing to trust the Spirit’s leading and ignore the flesh’s callings of fleeing from all possible discomfort? Am I willing to let it play out, with discernment, and see what God can do in it?
We arrived at the last stop, both of our stops, where we got off, and were about to part ways. A few minutes before, I asked God quietly in our conversation that this wouldn’t be the last of it. I desire for friendship to be built here, even with the most unsuspecting people. So of course, he asked for my email address, and asked if my husband would be okay with him emailing me. I replied he would be just fine, and perhaps you could meet him sometime. We talked a bit longer, but he didn’t want the time to end. So, he walked with me on my walk home, and we continued to talk.
As he put on his doo rag, I found he’s a writer of poetry, attending community college. He lives with his mother, father, and brother, and he has grown up and lived here his 31 years of life.
In his free time, he plays XBOX live with his friends (like my brother), and his favorite show is Law and Order (like my father).
We rounded the corner into my neighborhood, immediately coming into the paths of many of our local Jews. He stopped me upon first sight of them, and said “I believe, I believe that we have Jesus in our heart.” I replied gently, “I believe that too.” He asked if I went to church, and I told him about our church and invited him to join us sometime. He doesn’t attend a church often here.
A couple of more blocks passed before I arrived at my building, and it was finally time to part ways.
“It was nice to meet you, Seanepaul, and we will have to email each other and keep in touch.”
“Yes, yes. And thank you. Thank you.” Said his words with eyes full of gratitude as if he had been seen and noticed for the first time in a long while.
He crossed the corner and I walked into my building realizing that he thought he had been given grace, but I felt more a recipient of grace than he. God’s grace in helping me see that sometimes this city feels so very big. But sometimes it is much smaller than I allow it to be. Our differences aren’t as obvious as we sometimes make them out to be. In Seanepaul, I found him a person like a medley of so many that I know and love, yet he was also this brand new person and personality to engage with and come to understand. God was so gracious in bringing him on my path that day to remind me that this desire, this longing I have for more justice, more mercy, more love, more learning, more growing, is of Him. I can try to make the answer for giving and administering these things more complex than it needs to be, but it’s rather simple:
Am I willing to respond to what is put before me, and trust God to do what He will with it? Am I willing to see, to truly see, to live, to truly live?
This city, this I know, though at times albeit difficult, forces me to look beyond myself, to see with an uncalloused heart or eyes. There is so much need and opportunity to be a part of God’s restoration of these things and people.
And this, this means to breathe, to be fully alive.
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