All Is Always Now

Expectations

2009-09-06T15:59:00.000-07:00

9 a.m. Saturday morning, sleeping

Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.

Giggle. Giggle.

Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.

Giggle.

Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.

Thought: How annoying.

Another thought: Really? Is it annoying? Why am I annoyed? Are there any expectations here?

Searching for answer....

Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. Giggle. Giggle.

Thought: Yes. I expect it to be quiet on Saturday morning.

Another thought: Is this an expectation worth keeping?

Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.

Searching for answer...

Giggle.

Thought: No. That expectation is not needed. Interesting how a squeak is just a sound. It's only noise when interpreted that way.

Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.

Giggle.

Thought: Love that giggle.

Danny: Are you annoyed yet?

Me: Surprisingly, no I'm not.

Danny smiles. I smile.

We peek over the comforter to witness our golden retriever gleefully chomp on his squeaky toy as our 8 year old son lunges toward him. The dog dodges at the last minute; Ethan misses the toy only by centimeters. He giggles. Danny and I giggle, too, and enjoy the moment free of expectations.

The Root of Fear

2009-03-07T16:01:00.000-08:00

Show me a man who is identified with money,
and I will show you a man who is afraid of being poor.
He can be manipulated with offers of financial gain.
He assess all people based on their wealth:
the more wealthy, the more worthy
and yet the more wealthy, the more threatening.
He spends his mental energy on strategies to gain worldly riches.
Those who know him well say he is greedy.
His joy is profit,
but anxiety dwells in his heart
because wealth can fly away.

Show me a woman who is identified with power,
and I will show you a woman who is afraid of weakness.
She can be bought with offers of control.
She assess all people based on their influence:
the more powerful, the more worthy
and yet the more powerful, the more threatening.
She spends her mental energy on strategies to gain
or keep strength.
Those who know her well say she is manipulative.
Her joy is found in the favor of society,
but anxiety dwells in her heart
because influence can be finicky.

Show me a woman who is identified with beauty,
and I will show you a woman who is afraid of being unnoticed,
or worse, fat and homely.
She can be manipulated with flattery.
She assess all people based on their beauty:
the more beautiful, the more worthy
and yet the more beautiful, the more threatening.
She spends her mental energy on strategies to enhance image.
Those who know her well say she is vain.
Her joy is displaying her beauty,
but anxiety dwells in her heart
because external beauty fades.

Show me a man who is identified with ideas,
and I will show you a man who is afraid of being wrong.
He can be manipulated by agreeing with his way of thinking.
He assess all people based on their opinions:
the more ideologically in common, the more worthy
and the more ideologically different, the more threatening.
He spends his mental energy on defending his viewpoint.
Those who know him well say he is arrogant and condescending.
His joy is acknowledgment that his ideas are excellent,
but anxiety dwells in his heart
because knowledge will pass.

Show me a man who is identified with any worldly form
and I will show you a man who is afraid,
who can be manipulated,
who judges,
who cannot stop thinking,
whose joy is fragile.

Show me a man who has died to self,
show me a woman who has no attachment to money, power, beauty, or knowledge;
show me a man who identifies with Christ and Christ alone,
and I will show you a man who lives without fear.
She enjoys, actually tastes, the food she eats
and turns her mind off before bed like she turns off a light
(no staying awake strategizing, panicking, or building arguments).
Those who know him well say he is kind.
This man cannot be manipulated;
he is never threatened because he has no enemies.
She lives in love with no need to judge
and so worldly judgment passes through her
like a breeze through flexible leaves.
He is content with not knowing
and yet his understanding is deep:
his love, indiscriminate
her peace, beyond the mind’s comprehension
his joy, everlasting.

Brothers and Sisters

2009-01-07T00:53:00.000-08:00

They pulled back the living room curtains and pressed their noses against the cool glass. He said, “I think it is going to rain today.” She said, “I don’t. Let’s go outside.”

Shoving on their permanently-tied shoes, they scrambled to the back yard where the sturdy oak tree, black patch of garden, and grapevine laden fence awaited them. She exclaimed, “Let’s play frontier! This is our garden and over here is our house.” She began gathering sticks.

Inspired, he added, “Yeah! And that tree will be our lookout for wild animals. I will protect us.”

As they played, gathering berries, harvesting the crop, making a fire, and fighting off all threats, the summer breeze took on a different quality. The air became cooler as the gentle wind turned gusty.

Then it happened.

A fat plop of cloud juice landed on his hand.

Ending #1
A fat plop of cloud juice landed on his hand.

“Hey, it’s raining!” he said.

“Are you sure?” She turned her face to the sky. Just then a drop made a landing on her forehead.

“Come on,” he said, “Let’s go inside and play pirates.”

“Wait. I like to twirl in the sprinkles.” Both arms extended, she spun and spun, laughing. He did it, too.

A rush of sound and a surge of showers were their cue to clasp hands and dart inside the little blue house.

Ending #2
A fat plop of cloud juice landed on his hand.

“I told you it was going to rain! Ha ha! I was right and you were wrong.”

“So what?”

“So, it proves I am better than you.”

“Does not.”

“Does so!

“Stop being a jerk!”

He skipped toward the door of the little blue house in a sing song, “Haaaa ha ha haaaa haaaa” as a rush of sound and surge of showers bore down on her, concealing her tears.

The moral: Wrong or right, love unites.

Can you believe it?

2008-12-18T09:29:00.000-08:00

If you know me very well at all, you know that something HUGE happened in my life this year. A life that had been plagued with discontent, insecurity, arrogance, and negativity was miraculously transformed into one filled with profound contentedness.

What changed? Well, I used to see life and other people as enemies. I judged most events and people as bad (especially myself). Most input I received to combat this was to "think positive" - to look at each situation and person in the best light possible. Are negative thoughts and positive thoughts truly opposite? Consider with me that looking at life in a positive/negative way is really looking at two sides of the same coin, the coin of judgment.

What changed is that now I don't see life with a sugar-sweet coating nor as a hairy ball of gloom and doom. Most of the time, I don't feel the need to judge people, events, myself or life in general. Who am I to judge my life or another person when we are in the hands of Christ?

Just for clarification, sometimes I do get my feelings hurt or get stressed or feel judgmental. The difference between now and then is that I don't live in the state of judgment. I used to live in the state of judgment with pockets of trust in Christ. Now I live in the state of trust in Christ with pockets of judgment. The result is profound inner peace and joy that does not depend on circumstances.

After being in this new place for a few months, I began to notice something - other people's reaction to it. An aquaintance saw a situation with me that, in the past, would have sent me into a spiral of depression. This woman said, "Oh, did that person just hurt your feelings?" I replied, "As weird as it sounds, no." She said, "Jennifer, you aren't being honest with your feelings."

Friends that have prayed for years for peace for my soul have said things like, "Well, when this newness wears off ..." or "You're just having a mountaintop experience" or "No one really lives with peace.." or "C'mon, tell me how you are REALLY feeling." Perhaps they don't realize that their faith moved a mountain? I don't know.

I have had people actually get irritated with me for not judging. All of this leads me to wonder if most followers of Christ actually believe a person can live with peace and joy. If you had asked this question of me a year ago, I would have said, "Yes, but in the same way as heaven - more of a concept than a reality."

What about you? Do you REALLY believe a person can have inner peace?

I do :)

Explanation

2008-11-02T18:06:00.000-08:00

Was the story about the boy who wanted to be an astronaut a tragic one? Perhaps. Some may think the story is tragic because the boy never lived his dream. Whether the story is tragic or not, to me, depends on how the boy lived. To me, it is tragic if he was waiting for the future to begin life, and so never truly lived.

The purpose of the story was to point out the fallacy that most of us believe: we will begin living when our circumstances change or when our circumstances are right. It took 37 years to realize that life is not in the future (or the past, but that is a previous blog), it can only be now.

Think about it - if you are consumed with thoughts of the future, your life right now is diminished. You are trading real life for a fantasy because, unless God gave you a specific word, you don't know what will happen in the future. Even if God gave you a specific word, you can't live the future in this moment. If you imagine bad things happening in the future, now you are creating anxiety.

"What if my spouse falls for another woman?"

"What if I lose my job?"

"What if I get fat?"

"What if my child is developmentally behind?"

"What if I/my spouse/my child gets really sick?"

"What if ...."

And it is not even real.

The story is not tragic (to me) if the boy truly lived his life, moment by moment. If he understood that life can only be lived in the moment then he would have been full of life no matter the circumstances. If he believed life only happens in the right circumstances, the story would end up tragic even if he died at 100 years of age.

The Boy Who Would Be An Astronaut

2008-10-16T06:43:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time there was a boy. Ever since that day in the library when his 3rd grade teacher suggested a book on outer space, he wanted to be an astronaut. His favorite toys were astronaut action figures and NASA space shuttles, he dressed as Neil Armstrong for Halloween, and if you asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up, he would answer confidently, "I am going to be an astronaut!"

Years passed and the boy went to high school. He knew he would have to work hard to get into a top university, and so he did. He studied, led in student government, and played sports knowing it would make his application stand out. Sure enough, he graduated in the top 5% of his class, was president of the senior class, and went to state in the 1600m relay.

He was accepted into a prestigious university and studied Aeronautical Engineering. He worked diligently for four years, graduating with top honors, with a resume of extracurricular of activities that would surely 'Wow" the people at NASA. It did. They hired him within a year of graduation. He was 23 years old and was finally going to live his dream.

With much anticipation, he drove to his first day of work at NASA. He never arrived because a truck ran a red light and smashed his car, killing him instantly.

The Map Scholar

2008-09-13T15:20:00.000-07:00

Recently, I had to fill out a self-evaluation for my position at work. Although there were some specific questions to help analyze strengths and weaknesses, there were also some deep questions which I could not answer easily. For example, the answer to
"Who are you?" or "Where are you on your spiritual journey?" is hard to encapsulate onto a square inch of paper.

I hope you like stories, because I wrote this one to answer the question, "Who are you?"

Once upon a time, there was a man and a woman who lived in a quiet suburb. They had good life with careers, hobbies, and friends. One day, a friend called and said, “You won’t believe this – I am at a place in South America called the Falls of Iguacu and it is unlike anything I have ever experienced! In this place, you hear the mighty water rushing over the cliff and hitting the rocks far below, you smell the tropical flowers in bloom, and you see the neon butterflies bumbling about the beautiful landscape. You must come!”

The man and the woman wanted to go, so they asked for directions. In response, the friend sent them an enormous, beautiful, intricately detailed map. When the man and woman opened the map, they were delighted by it and showed all of their neighbors and relatives. Some praised the map’s beauty and declared it pure art. Others were fascinated its detail, accuracy and precision and declared it the work of a genius draftsman. The man and woman were so proud of their map that they framed it and hung it on display in their home.

One night, after several years had passed, the man awoke to his wife crying. When he asked why she wept, she said, “While I certainly adore the map, I don’t hear the mighty rushing water, I don’t smell the tropical flowers in bloom, and I don’t see the neon butterflies. Do you?” The man admitted that he did not, and they were sad. The man said, “Perhaps we just don’t know enough about the map. If we studied it more, maybe we could hear the mighty rushing water, smell the tropical flowers in bloom and see the neon butterflies bumbling about the landscape.” The woman thought this was a great idea, so the next day they began their search for a map scholar.

Much to their amazement, there were map scholars of all types. One specialized in the paper on which the map was printed, another specialized in ink types, another in the history of maps, and still another in the various map keys and symbols. Scholar after scholar studied the map and reported to the man and woman all they knew. Still, the man and woman seemed no closer to the Falls of Iguacu.

The last scholar, one specializing in map borders, studied the ornate perimeter of the map and gave a full report to the man and woman regarding the history and origin of the border pattern. They were very interested in what the scholar had to say, but the scholar couldn’t help but notice their faces were downcast. She asked the man and woman, “Why do you look disappointed?”

“We were hoping that your study would allow us to finally hear the mighty rushing water, smell the tropical flowers in bloom, and see the bumbling neon butterflies of the Falls of Iguacu.”

The map scholar chuckled and replied, “Although it brings me great joy to study the maps of the world, I never, ever forget a map’s purpose. My friends, you were so taken by the beauty of the map that you overlooked its purpose. Your map is magnificent, but it could never be as magnificent as the place to which it points, the Falls of Iguacu.”

Who am I? What is my role at CDA? I am the map scholar. I study and greatly admire the map (God’s creation), but I never forget that its purpose is to point man’s heart to God. Knowing that this earth will pass away, I teach students about the physical universe while continually encouraging them to look past it to the Creator himself.

The Sunny Meadow and the Nightmare on Elm Street

2008-08-30T14:52:00.000-07:00

I remember the day
we played
in the meadow.
I remember how free
were we
like the willows.
Springtime
was sublime
inside the fable.
I would go back
to the past
if I were able.

I remember the night
of fright
and degradation.
I remember the profane
with pain
and humiliation.
I spent the years
in fear,
inwardly seething.
I'd not revisit
that prison
for anything.

If you are not here
then where
are you?
Are you mellow
in the meadow?
Are you scared
in the nightmare?
At first
they seem to differ,
but their gains
are the same:
Resentment.
"It should have been different."
"Why can't I return?
(Oh, how I yearn
for the meadow.)"
Memories are shadows.
And here is the salve:
Now is all we have.

Cricket

2008-08-26T11:39:00.000-07:00

There's a cricket outside my window.
It's keeping me awake.
If it were in the house
I'd hunt it down and kill it
so I could get some sleep.
Damn that
cricket outside my window.

********************

Life is busy, as usual.
It's hard to relax with so much on my mind.
I have to remember to remind...
I have to remember to pack....
I have to remember to email....
Speaking of email, that one was unkind.
She is often unkind and what's worse, condescending.
Why do people want to put me down to make themselves look good?
Is this the way life is always going to be?
I'm better than all that.
What's that you say, honey?
Oh yes, now that you mention it,
I hear the cricket outside our window.

*********************

Stillness.
Quiet.
Then a song.
A sound like emeralds in sunlight,
shining, sparkling, breathtaking.
Do you hear it?
There's a cricket outside the window.

A Light Went On

2008-08-25T10:21:00.000-07:00

Not long ago, a light went on.
It is not a night light, a reading lamp, or even a floodlight.
It is radiance itself: beautiful, soft, and joyful.
No, no. The light didn't come on, it was uncovered.
It's on the inside shining out, dancing incandescence, giggling starbeams.

Striving ceased, fulfillment arrived.
Resentment faded, acceptance brought gifts of peace and love.
The new song sung a lullaby to sleepy dissonance.
The chattering hyenas are withering.
All is well with my soul.