Category Archives: God Stuff

Being Strategic About Lent

Convergence of the universe, February 10, 2013 example:

We’re heading into a week with Mardi Gras and Lent, and then Valentine’s Day, which will feature a visit to my campus from the UW Colleges Chancellor and Provost.

Really feels like the universe got its dates mixed up. Shouldn’t it be Mardi Gras, Valentine’s, and THEN Lent? I would say, in general, prolonged contact with administrators makes me feel Lenten. (I mean that in the sweetest possible way, of course.)

So take that week of big dates and mash it up with a book I’m reading, The Generals, by Thomas Ricks (“One of Ricks’s strengths is that his judgments are nuanced” says one reviewer. I’ll say. I bought two copies of the book as a “family book club” selection–my parents and my husband and I are making our way through it.)

So then take that book and those dates and layer them on top of my recent attempts to make good use of Things and a Sunday meeting, and here’s what we get:

I’m feeling the need to be my own General Patton, my own Ike, my own General George C. Marshall, and be strategic about how I’m spending my time, supremely allying my short-term goals with my long-term goals and the available hours.

Here are the quotes I’m finding stunning this morning:

According to Ricks, “Marshall understood that Eisenhower had a talent for implementing strategy. And that job, Marshall believed, was more difficult than designing it. ‘There’s nothing so profound in the logic of the thing….But the execution of it, that’s another matter.'”

Interestingly, until I typed it, I was misreading this as “nothing so profound AS the logic of the thing,” which is telling, since I LOVE, love, love designing plans, so of course I’d be biased in their favor.

When Marshall met with Eisenhower right after Pearl Harbor , he gave him a test, saying, “Look, there are two things we have got to do. We have to to do our best in the Pacific and we’ve got to win this whole war. Now, how are we going to do it? Now, that is going to be your problem.” Ricks presents the next part in an understated way that emphasizes the drama:

“‘Give me a few hours,’ Eisenhower requested.”

Can you imagine? Mind-blowing.

Ricks quotes Eisenhower repeatedly from Ike’s memoirs (which I now very much want to read), here matching a quote from Ike to the incredible test above, “I loved to do that kind of work” Ike wrote. “Practical problems have always been my equivalent of crossword puzzles.”

According to Ricks, the thing Ike was amazingly good at was prioritizing.

Which is something I’m amazingly bad at sometimes. So I want to learn from this:

“Prioritizing tends to be a forgotten aspect of strategy. The art of strategy is foremost not about how to do something but about what to do. In other words, the first problem is to determine what the real problem is. There are many aspects to any given problem, the strategist must sort through them and determine its essence, for there lies the key to its solution. Eisenhower clearly understood the need to separate the essential from the merely important.”

Wowie, zowie. That’s my task: separating the essential from the merely important. To some extent, this echoes other works I’ve read, such as Steven Covey’s Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, which I read as a birthday present TO my father one year. I was broke since his birthday is in September (and academics don’t get their first paycheck until October–it took me a lot of years to figure out how NOT to be broke in September), so I pledged to read books he’d been recommending.  I was pleasantly surprised by Covey’s book.

But somehow reading about these things in the context of WWII seems really compelling to me right now, and wow–I had no idea how HUGE George Marshall was in effecting our success.

I enjoyed the chapter on Patton, about whom Ricks says, “The blustery Patton behaved in ways that would have gotten other officers relieved, but he was kept on because he was seen, accurately, as a man of unusual flaws and exceptional strengths.”  And I’m now on the chapter about Mark Clark, who, according to Ricks, “was perhaps, never quite bad enough to relieve but not quite good enough to admire.” That’s damning.

So I’m summoning my inner General Marshall to appoint my inner Ike to implement my plan and keep my inner Patton under control.

General Patton, from Flickr Creative Commons, attr. to clif1066

General Patton, from Flickr Creative Commons, attr. to clif1066

Forward, march!

Party on Mardi Gras.  Express love on Valentine’s Day. Give nothing up for Lent; instead add IN supreme focus on prioritizing.

Left-right-left-right-left-right (doo wah diddy diddy dum diddy doo).

What to Sing When You Wash Your Hands (Day 2 of Bradley Cooper)

After YET AGAIN having a horrible cold at the end of last semester (this has happened four or five semesters running), and taking most of the semester break to recover, and now, 4 weeks in, getting my first cold of 2013, I am determined to get healthier and stay healthier.

I’ve been seriously focused on washing my hands the way everyone says you should, even more than usual, the last three weeks (so this latest cold can’t be blamed on that at least). To make sure I was washing long enough, I was, indeed, singing “Happy Birthday” to myself.

But here’s the thing–do I really want to sing “Happy Birthday” to myself? Twice? Multiple times a day? I’m o.k. being 47, and trust me, when it gets closer to my birthday this summer, I’ll be jabbering about it.

But it’s not my birthday every day. Even Walt Whitman wouldn’t want to celebrate himself, to sing himself, THAT way, every day.

What would it mean to have that in your head so much?

Why not quote some Walt Whitman? Or “The Charge of the Light Brigade?” Or some Dickinson? Or “Come live with me and be my love?” Or this, which would break my heart open every time–“tell me a story of deep delight.”

What I’ve been doing is making up my own lyrics to the Doxology to fit my Zen Baptist theology a little better (Wisdom shows up–amazing how a girl picks that dolorous tune right up.)

I’ve also been singing a song I learned a very, very long time ago at a Good News Circle School for Evangelism week at the Baptist Resort (seems like a contradiction in terms, I know) at Green Lake, Wisconsin. It’s just a little ditty that puts these verses to a tune–makes them easier to memorize:

Galatians 5:22-23 “But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, faithfulness, self-control–against such things there is no law.”

That’s a better way to move through the day, right?

But I’ve also been listening to the soundtrack from Silver Linings Playbook (the movie that inspired 21 Days of Bradley Cooper). What about singing this while you’re washing your hands:

“My cherie amour, lovely as a summer day
My cherie amour, distant as the milky way
My cherie amour, pretty little one that I adore
You’re the only girl my heart beats for
How I wish that you were mine”

Way sweeter than “Happy Birthday.”

As a special treat for Day 2 of 21 Days with Bradley Cooper, here’s an interview with Bradley Cooper where Peter Travers gets him to speak in French and then sing from “My Cherie Amour.”

And if you’re still wed to singing “Happy Birthday,” here’s a clip from the Palm Springs Film Festival where Mr. Cooper accepts an award on his birthday and then gets serenaded with “Happy Birthday.” It’s kind of sweet if you can block out Mary Hart’s high-octane schmooze mode.

Let me leave you with this thought: what do you think Pilate was singing in his head when he washed his hands of Jesus? (I’m thinking something by the Clash.)

Looking for Wow

First Baptist Church in Madison, Wisconsin (where I no longer officially belong but will always, in some way, BELONG) once hired a youth minister who had a nose ring, so, I liked her immediately. Then also she has a son the same age as mine. And then she quoted Anne Lamott in a sermon and called her the writer of the fifth gospel. BOOM! That’s one of the ways I know I’m in the same tribe as someone—massive respect and affection for Anne Lamott.

I read her latest, Help, Thanks, Wow, on the iPad, with the Kindle app, and I liked the book a lot. (Also liked reading digitally–If my son hadn’t essentially taken over the iPad, I might be reading more books that way. )

I like her definition of prayer:
“It is communication from the heart to that which surpasses understanding.”

I am charmed that this might annoy, unnerve, or offend any number of people I care about, who see prayer differently than I see it–all across the spectrum from pretty conservative-evangelical-fundamentalist Christians who’d be bothered not to see God in a definition of prayer (if they haven’t hidden me entirely on our social-media-in-common sites) to my atheist friends, who politely avert their eyes when I get going on the Jesus talk.

I particularly like this paragraph:
“Prayer can be motion and stillness and energy—all at the same time. It begins with stopping in our tracks, or with our backs against the wall, or when we are going under the waves, or when we are just so sick and tired of being psychically sick and tired that we surrender, or at least we finally stop running away and at long last walk or lurch or crawl toward something. Or maybe miraculously, we just release our grip slightly.”

Oh, does that resonate with me–both the need to release my grip AND the way that prayer helps me do that.

Her categories of prayer are helpful, though of course she’s not the first to come up with these. There’s “help,” for which we have the formal name of “intercessory prayer.” And then “thanks,” which some would call “prayers of thanksgiving,” and then “wow,” which I would probably call praise, but seems to be the official category of “adoration.”

Or is it?

This article, “Prayer and Subjective Well-Being: An Examination of Six Different Types of Prayer” lists these: “adoration, confession, thanksgiving, supplication, reception, and obligatory.”

Here’s how Whittington and Scher define prayers of adoration: “prayers focused on the worship of God, without any reference to circumstances, needs, or desires.” This is partly what Lamott means by “wow,” and it also coordinates with my new favorite song “Bring Your Praise,” by Trin-i-tee 5:7 (and if the fact that I love this song isn’t proof the Lord works in mysterious ways, well then….)

“If you want to see amazing, all you got to do is praise Him,” they sing. And also, “he can do anything, but he wants you to praise him.” (Which makes God sound a little needy and high-maintenance, frankly, which makes the Gnostic idea that Christianity’s creator-God has some issues. I always figure he was a second son, based on his dismissiveness about primogeniture in Genesis….)

Here’s the definition Whittington and Scher use for a prayer of “reception.” They quote another researcher, who says reception is “characterized by a contemplative attitude of openness, receptivity, and surrender, resulting in experiences ranging from peaceful/quiet to rapture/ecstasy.”

Sounds more like WOW, doesn’t it?

So I’ve been singing that song, “if you wanna see amazin’, all you gotta do is praise him” and essentially looking for wow.

I wrote one “help” prayer and posted it recently: “Prayer for a New Semester.” And of course there have already been school shootings, so immediately there’s the issue of “when God says no” and the question of whether my lack of faith is why my requests don’t get granted 100% of the time. (I found this sermon very comforting–I’ve long made the connection of “if faith is a gift, it’s not my fault I don’t have it.”)

I followed that up with a “thanks” prayer, “Grateful for my Crazy Life.”

Here are a couple of stabs at wow:

Stopping in Lone Rock

If I lived in L.A. traffic would drive me nuts,
And I don’t like Chicago’s bus-to-bus-to-el routes,
But yesterday’s commute sucked big-time, massive
Sucking—whereas usually my rural drive
Is lovely—how many eagles this week? A pileated?—
Yesterday it was snow-slick on the way in
And on the way home I nearly went snow-blind.
Today I worked from home, fever-breathing with a cold.

At one point I thought, “So this is zen driving” because
Really, I was guessing where the road was.
In the distance, there simply was no road in sight.
Up close, you could hazard a hypothesis.
I had to stop in Lone Rock to buy sunglasses—
My eyes were exhausted from staring at white on white on white.
____

All right, so it’s also a prayer of complaint (not a problem–there are whole Psalms that do that, right?), but the last six lines I was trying to convey the wow I felt, even though it wasn’t a very blissy wow.

I’m not such a fan of winter.

But I do use these cold days and nights (it’s supposed to get down to -11 tonight) to practice wow. One of the ways I do it is looking at frost on windows and seeing how many images are there that start with the letter “f.” Feather, flame, fire, fractal….By the time spring gets here, the list is usually pretty long. It’s not gratitude. Gratitude, from me, about winter–almost never going to happen. (MINUS ELEVEN.) But I can, occasionally, get to wow about it.

Frost in my bedroom window

Frost in my bedroom window

Grateful for my Crazy Life

Just this once, right now, and I wouldn’t say
It will happen again, I’m glad I have too much to do.
My crazy job is almost never boring.
I have the kind of brain that makes big plans
Involving levels and layers and long-term fun
With multiple players and organizations, and—well,
I tell you what—it makes me feel alive.
And tending to the people that I love
Takes time, but look at who I love—a full
Roster of family and friends and coworkers, a whole town
Of creative, funny people. And I LOVE Things,
More than a To Do list, more than software.
My house is messy, yes, because we choose
To read and play instead of clean. What a way
To be allowed to live. I’m grateful. At least today.

Prayer for a New Semester

No massacres, no guns at all, no death,
No sharp-turn, black-ice, driving-to-work car wrecks,
No suicides, no overdose, no heart attacks,
No valiant battle with cancer lost, no death.

And also just this one semester,
could everybody get to class on time?
Including me? And then, once we’re all there,
could we try to stretch each other’s minds?

This is a prayer for brilliant course design,
for follow-through, for good assignments meant
to let my students show me all they’ve learned,
not sort them into piles of can and can’t.

May we focus most on what matters most,
and may deep learning grab us in our hearts.

Where All the Slackers Did Go

I was thinking when the Boomers all retired,
Gen X would make the world more fun. Oh well.
My timeline, my assumptions–shot to hell.
I wish I’d known all this when I was hired.

There’s just so much I am so wrong about.

But I’m sure of this: however much the Gnostics
redeem the fall of Eve (and bless them for it),
the curséd part of work will not wash out.

Thorn and thistle, labor, sweaty brow–
an ever-expanding to do list (not quite cancer)–
let’s do our very best, let’s make it count–

I’m remembering how lazy I was when I was a child….

Work might be how I pay my fucking bills.
Work isn’t why I’m on the fucking planet.

Keep the Protest in Protestant and/or Get Over It

Peace on Earth

Peace on Earth

First, a re-run: I published an op-ed called “Keep the Protest in Protestant” four years ago in Madison’s Capital Times. You can’t find it in madison.com’s online archive–apparently the Cap Times pieces don’t stick around that long. (Weirdly, an even older 2007 op-ed of mine from the Wisconsin State Journal is still available, in which I talk about merit pay, dilatory legislators, and skid-loaders, which, at the time, my son called “baby scoops.”)

Fortunately (I think), “Keep the Protest in Protestant” is still available online, but at a tea party-ish site that apparently keeps tabs on the Cap Times. You could Google it, but if you did, you’d see the comments, and I don’t want to link it here, because I don’t want to connect to them even by pinging. The comments were pretty tame, though, all in all. At the time I was attending Plymouth Congregational Church in Dodgeville & I did, and still do, appreciate the United Church of Christ as a denomination. Whatever it was I said, there were enough markers for several in the comment thread to assume I was going to hell and to hold me responsible for abortion.

Here are my favorite moments in the piece:

I’ve no doubt there is passion and sincerity on the part of some of those who choose, for example, to shop at a store where the decorations say “Merry Christmas” and not “Happy Holidays.” I’m related to some of these people…..

Never mind that “holiday” traces its roots to “holy,” whereas we all know that Christmas is a pagan cake with Jesus icing on top. If you’re hunting for your Lord’s birthday, hunt for the date astronomers estimate there was a great star in the sky or when the census would have been taken or when the shepherds would have been out tending their flocks by night. You can run the numbers six ways from the Sabbath (Saturday or Sunday) and you won’t hit Dec. 25. The Puritans knew this. They didn’t like the maypole in spring, and they didn’t like the pine pole in winter. (But they did like beer. Go figure.)

Four years ago, I wasn’t seeing other people make this argument. Someone’s made it way better, now: “The Puritan War on Christmas” was just published in the New York Times. Lots of people have picked up the “Keep the _____ in ______” idea. My favorite on Facebook is “Keep the Han in Hanukkah,” with a young Harrison Ford brandishing a menorah.

And lots of people are, of late, pointing out that the X in Xmas stands for Christ–even this fellow, R.C. Sproul, in a post from a couple weeks ago, says “There’s a long and sacred history of the use of X to symbolize the name of Christ, and from its origin, it has meant no disrespect.” That’s R.C. Sproul, a CALVINIST, (whose name I recognized from my evangelical roots) who publishes with Tyndale (a noted Christian publishing house, well respected in the land of evangelicals, even THOUGH, we talked a lot in my church, in the 70s, about how that the guy who did The Living Bible, which Tyndale published, was struck silent for seven years because the Living Bible was a PARAPHRASE, not a translation.)

So some people are offended by being wished Happy Holidays. I’m offended by their taking offense.

And, if they knew, they’d likely be offended by my being offended at their having taken offense.

Round and round and round, like a train under a Christmas tree.

Would it help if I were Labiche, and blew up the tracks?

Of course not. This isn’t a real war. It’s a peaceful protest against the warriors who see themselves as defending Christmas.

I wish I thought none of this mattered. But when someone blames Jon Stewart for a massacre, it begins to matter, right?

My favorite response to the crazy talk that began almost immediately after the shootings in Newtown is by Rachel Held Evans, ANOTHER EVANGELICAL, called “God can’t be kept out.”

I know I was remembering Rachel’s words as I was snuggling with my son this morning, looking at our Christmas tree, telling him how happy I was he knew the Christmas story, how in a very dark time, God decided to make herself known on earth, starting out as a baby.

She gave Jesus to poor parents, and made him a Jew, which was a very scary thing to be in the Roman Empire. “The Romans were just jerks,” I told him.

And when we’re feeling at our lowest, at our most vulnerable, when things seem the darkest, we can remember that’s what Christmas is about–that God is with us.

However important I think it is for people to be historically accurate in what they complain about, however much I wish we all cared more about substance than surface, however big a gap there is between the right-wing and left-wing members of my family on this and other matters, I do know what’s more important.

So I’m trying, at least trying, to save my biggest protest-mojo for what really matters.

We are in a world of hurt. Whatever love we have access to, we need to share it. Now.

Merry Xmas.

(Sorry. Couldn’t resist.)

Sustainable Chaos (Two Week Sonnet, Day 14)

Riding the line between abundance and chaos,
My stupid focus is on lack, lack, lack.
I try gratitude, but follow the switchback
Back toward loud whiny-assedness–
Too much. Too much! There really ought to be less
Except of course when there needs to be much more.

A good friend named my mountain bike “Pathfinder”–
However much I blazed my way off trail,
I only once rode my bike off the dock into the lake,
and only once or twice required stitches,
Got poison ivy only in the tiniest patches–
I somehow always got somewhere close to on track.

Somehow always somewhere close, like now.
My amen’s so hard, so real, it feels profound.

_____

Sunday, 12/16/12
Ah, the best-laid schemes o’ mice an ‘Marnie gang aft agley (and definitely bleak December’s winds ensuin).

Wednesday the 13th should have been Day/Line 12, and then one post a day with today as the last. The week before finals proved ungainly, however, and I found myself–as we all did–profoundly disturbed and dislocated by the shooting on Friday–so far beyond my normal distraction….

In turn, I will try to process and then write about the heartbreak, the grief, the fury, the impotent rage, the pragmatic actions that this particular shooting moves me to. Today, as a finish to this poem particularly, I can only attest that at the moment my focus in not at all on what I lack.

Two Week Sonnet, Day 7

Riding the line between abundance and chaos,
My stupid focus is on lack, lack, lack.
I try gratitude, but follow the switchback
Back toward loud whiny-assedness:
Too much. Too much! There really ought to be less
Except of course when there needs to be much more.
A good friend named my mountain bike “Pathfinder”

_____
12/9/12
Well, that’s it. It was a sestet after all. Moving on! With the same basic back and forth theme. I’m piggy-backing “less” on the ABBA rhyme scheme from the first quatrain. So, once again, I’m in the land of nonce sonnets (a sonnet that meets the basic rules of the form but doesn’t follow a famous/established pattern). I’ve always been pretty noncey. It’s the “ballpark” notion of prosody–my first prosody teacher would say fairly often, “Well, let’s call that a ballpark sonnet,” as in, it’s in the same ballpark. I try to be a little more precise than that, but for me, a poem has to follow some sort of rules, even if the rules are brand new. There has to be some kind of surface tension holding things together. I wonder if it’s surface tension I mean?

In any case, once I said “switchback” in line three, I was back in Missoula, so the mountain bike was bound to show up.

Terrific picture NOT taken by me--go to this website: http://www.mesenko.com/Landscapes/Missoula/14933008_mVjHV3/1904593193_MZGcfRk

Terrific picture NOT taken by me–go to this website: http://www.mesenko.com/Landscapes/Missoula/14933008_mVjHV3/1904593193_MZGcfRk

Two books I’m reading, well, three, are in my mind in terms of content or theme here (beyond the basic back-and-forth theme, which is more of a structural principle): Anne Lamott’s Help Thanks Wow, Brené Brown’s I Thought It Was Just Me and Thich Nhat Hanh’s Living Buddha, Living Christ. Instead of being all monkey-minded, whiplash-mooded, and spiritually spastic, I’m aiming for some measure of mindful equilibrium. “And how’s that working for you?” I say to myself…. I’m tentatively calling this poem “Sustainable Chaos,” even though I already wrote one other poem called that. Listen. If George Foreman can name every child “George,” I can use the same title more than once. But “Sustainable Chaos” appeals to me in terms of how I want my life to feel and be.
_____
12/8/12
Decisions, decisions. Today we reach the end of a sestet–a little six-line cluster. If we’re going traditional Petrarchan, we’ll push on for a couple more lines to complete the octave (8 lines, if you didn’t know) and THEN shift gears. The rhymes seem to indicate I’m in an octave, not a sestet. I was kind of mis-remembering, forgetting I’d set up “whiny-assedness” to rhyme with “abundance and chaos,” only remembering that “less” rhymed with “ness.” I thought briefly about trying to rhyme with “less” so this could decide to be a sestet.

I’m a little worried that the two less/more lines are too obvious, but I like having them as end words there in the early-middle of the poem.

Well, really, it’s tomorrow’s decision, where to go from here. Just feeling the impendingness of it today.

p.s. I told my husband last night what I was up to with this and he totally got it, how hard it is for me to do this just one line a day, since I often write a sonnet, or most of a sonnet, in the car on the way to work.

Fortunately, this isn’t the only writing I’m doing.
_____
12/7/12
So, no Babe the Blue Ox in the Slough of Despond yet. But there’s time. We’re only five lines in. A whole universe of crap can happen in 9 lines in a sonnet. Right now I’m thinking the next line will begin

Except for when

but I could totally change my mind by tomorrow.
_____
12/6/12
I decided I’d try to write a sonnet over a two-week period (14 days–seemed liked fate), one line a day. Curious if I’ll do it–I’m trying not to anticipate what I might write the next day or later, though it occurred to me this is kind of a version of Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress, which made me think of Paul Bunyan, so they might show up, with Babe in the slough of despond or something. Or not.

Two Week Sonnet, Day 6

Riding the line between abundance and chaos,
My stupid focus is on lack, lack, lack.
I try gratitude, but follow the switchback
Back toward loud whiny-assedness:
Too much. Too much! There really ought to be less
Except of course when there needs to be much more.
_____
12/8/12
Decisions, decisions. Today we reach the end of a sestet–a little six-line cluster. If we’re going traditional Petrarchan, we’ll push on for a couple more lines to complete the octave (8 lines, if you didn’t know) and THEN shift gears. The rhymes seem to indicate I’m in an octave, not a sestet. I was kind of mis-remembering, forgetting I’d set up “whiny-assedness” to rhyme with “abundance and chaos,” only remembering that “less” rhymed with “ness.” I thought briefly about trying to rhyme with “less” so this could decide to be a sestet.

I’m a little worried that the two less/more lines are too obvious, but I like having them as end words there in the early-middle of the poem.

Well, really, it’s tomorrow’s decision, where to go from here. Just feeling the impendingness of it today.

p.s. I told my husband last night what I was up to with this and he totally got it, how hard it is for me to do this just one line a day, since I often write a sonnet, or most of a sonnet, in the car on the way to work.

Fortunately, this isn’t the only writing I’m doing.
_____
12/7/12
So, no Babe the Blue Ox in the Slough of Despond yet. But there’s time. We’re only five lines in. A whole universe of crap can happen in 9 lines in a sonnet. Right now I’m thinking the next line will begin

Except for when

but I could totally change my mind by tomorrow.
_____
12/6/12
I decided I’d try to write a sonnet over a two-week period (14 days–seemed liked fate), one line a day. Curious if I’ll do it–I’m trying not to anticipate what I might write the next day or later, though it occurred to me this is kind of a version of Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress, which made me think of Paul Bunyan, so they might show up, with Babe in the slough of despond or something. Or not.