Blogging….Health Benefits?

Well, this settles it. Scientific American has declared that blogging is good for you, and me, and people in general. So, I just have to keep at this!

Read this informative article here.

Is UN-QUIT a word?

Long time no blog….

Ok, I admit that I’ve allowed myself to become discouraged with the whole blog thing. Mainly, I am confused by the technology. I want to do things that I don’t understand and don’t want to take the time to figure out, and don’t know how to begin to figure out.  I don’t think I’ve been doing the categories and tags right either.  Secondly, I’ve been asking my self, rather seriously, “just why do I do this anyway?” I didn’t much care for some of the answers I was coming up with. This reflection then led to the question, “just why would anyone anywhere want to read what I write anyway?” I concluded that anyone anywhere probably does not want to read this stuff, for the most part, although I must say “God Bless YOU” to anyone who does. I think the stats tell the story there. So, I quit.

I find that I miss it though…the discipline of writing on a regular basis, the occasional kind comment, the reading of the wise and funny words of some folks I’ve met through this mysterious (to me) electronic medium. So, I un-quit.

May the words begin to flow as the Spirit leads.

Obscure Longing for Something I Can Not Name

“The obscure longing for something I could not name,” spoke the reader of the book, and as I heard those words they immediately took up residence in my mind where I could not escape them. I was listening to a book on CD several days ago as I drove to work when this occurred, and I have played those same words over and over again since.

I have been pondering of late just why it is that I seem to have lost the urge to write. I had concluded that the urge was still there, but that I have actually been avoiding this activity that I love. I had no answer to this paradox. There was truth in all the possible answers I came up with but they all seemed incomplete. When I heard those words, “the obscure longing for something I could not name”, I thought, “Yes, I know that feeling!” Indeed I have known it for as long as I remember and by now have realized that it will never go away. It’s not a bad thing, this obscure, unnamed longing, but it is often uncomfortable. It challenges me to walk the dark corridors of my own interior, to open doors that are shut tight, and to explore the unknown rooms. This obscure longing leads me to ask questions for which there may be no answers, and take the risk to receive answers that I may not like. This obscure longing challenges me to broaden my understanding of the possible and to open myself to God in new ways. It’s like a dull ache, this longing I have. It’s not what could be called a pain but I am aware of it on one level or another almost all the time, and like any dull ache there is the possibility that it will worsen into actual pain at some point. Because I cannot name the ache, it scares me if I think about it too much or too deeply.

Writing, when I do it well, in one way or another connects me with my own obscure longing for something that I can not name. I think perhaps this is why I have avoided it these past months. The avoidance began during the busyness of the Christmas season, intensified during the depression of winter, and became well entrenched during the imposed thoughtfulness of the Lenten season. Now that Easter day has come and gone though, I find that the light and joy of Easter have not yet dawned in my heart, and that there is simply no escaping that obscure longing that I can not name.

If I write, I take a risk. If I do not, a part of me may shrivel up and die. So, I shall write.

Think, Write, Feel…It’s All Connected

I think perhaps the reason that I don’t write sometimes goes far deeper than the fact that I’m busy, even though that may be true. To write I must think deeply, and that takes energy that I may not feel I have at the moment. But beyond that, to write well I must allow myself to feel and experience my own emotions, and that is not always comfortable. So I protect myself, and find things that don’t really matter to fill those moments when I know I’m being tugged at by the Holy Spirit to allow myself to feel things I’d rather ignore. I’m too busy to think. I’m too busy to write. I’m too busy to be me. Yes, I make myself too busy to be me! Like it or not, that mixed bag of emotions, half formed thoughts, fears shoved under the carpet, and hopes I’ve yet to dare to hope are all a part of me. To deny it is to deny myself, yet that is what I choose to do.

Prayer~~~~~ Lord, grant to me grace enough to face myself and all that that means. Help me to love myself enough to take the time to listen to all the parts clammoring for attention. Help me to trust you enough to be….me.    AMEN

I am a Pencil that needs Sharpened

I am a pencil that needs sharpened,

A pen that needs new ink,

Right now I’m having trouble

Deciding what I think.

I am a carpet that needs vacuumed,

I am a floor that needs swept,

My mind is full of lint and crumbs,

I feel quite inept.

Words

Words in mind,

Yet unwritten,

Float to conscienceness

Unbidden.

Shall I write these words?

I think,

I ponder and wonder,

I hold them,

Try them,

Weigh them,

Then

When the time is right,

If

The time is ever right,

I write.

Confusion

I really don’t feel like writing today. Well, maybe it’s that I really don’t feel like thinking deeply, and to think deeply is necessary to write something that is worth writing. I’m making myself do this however, although why is unclear.

I feel like there is a swirling confusion somewhere within me, somewhere beyond my thinking mind; yes, deeper than that. There is much confusion of course in the world, which, since this is where I live, probably affects me even though I may not be aware of the connections. (But I did learn recently that everything is connected…) Take the weather for instance. January in Ohio should be cold and quite possibly snowy. It feels like spring today and I’ve yet to see a snowflake! It’s raining and warm and some of my little bulbs buried in the ground are tired of waiting for the freeze and have started to sprout. The winter birds seem strangely absent lately as well. I don’t know where the cardinals and blue jays could have gone, they usually frequent my yard all year long. This is all weird.

I’ve been doing a bit of research on what to do to improve my general health and immune system. I even had a hair analysis done, which shows specifically what minerals are out of balance in my cells. The lab that does this also then outlines which supplements to take to help with the problems, and makes dietary recommendations. I got the results back today and was feeling rather overwhelmed as I read all this stuff, realizing that I may not even be able to afford to take all the supplements that are suggested. This stuff is all well and good, but even this can’t be the WHOLE solution, as is suggested. More confusion.

Now and then I’ll catch up on the latest in the Episcopal world over at Father Jakes. Talk about confusion! I’m not talking about Fr. Jake’s writing, he’s quite clear. The stuff that’s happening is confusing and I think that some people are getting totally confused about who God is and what Jesus wants his followers to act like. I can’t read too much of this stuff; admittedly, it gets to me.

Well, I could go on about all the confusion in the world at large, but I think I’ll stop here before I become confused about confusion. I remind my self (listen now self!) that whatever it is I read or see or think, it’s only part of the total reality. There are lots of connections that I don’t know about, and I must trust in The Great Connector to hold things together and to work things out.

Words to Burn

I’ve kept journals since I was in high school. I had few friends and confiding in my journals helped keep me sane in those high school years. When I was in my mid 20’s I burned four volumes of my life in the wood stove. I remember it clearly; I felt it was a rite of passage of sorts; I felt an intense need to leave the sadness and confusion of those years behind.

I kept writing. Writing has always served as a method for sorting out my thoughts. I wrote it all; the good, the bad, the terrible. Things I was ashamed to even put on paper. I wrote prayers and joys too, but those good things seemed less than the bad and sad. There came a time in my 30’s that I felt the need to read all those journals. Every page was reviewed and only a few were torn out and kept. This time I built a fire in a fire pit we had in a grove of trees on our land and burned those words I felt I should no longer keep.

I continued to write. Much darkness was expressed on those lined pages. I walked through depression for a number of years. Difficult times with teenage children and a husband who had his own problems. I often felt like the words I wrote were as much me as the skin I wear, and I carried them with me everywhere. Writing was sporadic at times, but remained important even when I didn’t do it. The journals of the last ten or so years remain in a box in my closet, but have become like a rock I wear about my neck. I find myself worrying that some of those words would hurt my husband deeply should he ever look at them. Some of those words would probably cause pain to my children too should they read my life. Not that anyone would, unless I were dead. But I have no control over when my life here will end…..

So now I must decide what to do with these words. What I’ve written is part of who I am, be it good or bad. I’m very, very different in so many ways than I was even two years ago. Yet, my words are my legacy and I find it difficult to part with them. Even the worst parts, the record of my great sin even, are a part of me. But….I love them to much to risk the pain the words may at some point cause. Yes, they have to go. Soon. I’ll have to read through it all and tear out only what is safe.

Words. They can bring life, or they can bring pain and death. Words have such power; we really should be frightened of them. At the same time, as any of us who must write know, we can’t live without them.

Some cool night here soon I’ll be lighting a fire in the fireplace. I have words to burn.

Why Do I Write Here Anyway??

It’s been a week since I’ve posted. The posts have gotten fewer and farther between over the past three weeks, and I suspect that the few who do read this blog on a rather regular basis may be wondering if I’m just another one of those “tried it for a while and now she’s gone” bloggers.

It was easy to write during the summer. Even with the stresses of what happened this past summer, life overall was still less stresssful than it became once school started for the year. I had time to think, read, ponder, and just prayerfully BE in the summertime. Now it’s much more difficult to find time for those precious activities. If I’m not physically too tired to care, I am often mentally tired and don’t want to make the effort. It doesn’t help, of course, that I’ve been fighting some illness for the past three weeks. Laryingitis, bronchitis, and finally sinus infection have attacked this body, and the body and attached mind have had quite enough already! After two courses of different antibiotics, I still do not feel well and am becoming concerned. I should feel great, but I do not.

It seems a good time to take a moment and reflect upon the reasons I write the blog. Why indeed? The more obvious answers that come to mind are that I like to write and that I’ve secretly wanted someone to read what I write. It’s true that writing here has helped me, until recently, to be more disciplined about writing. Much to my amazement a few people have not only read what I’ve written, but have left comments to show their understanding and/or appreciation. So what are the less obvious reasons for writing here? I think one is my intense desire to break out of isolation. I want connections, in whatever form they may take. Reading and commenting on others writing, and writing my own blog, has broadened my horizons. I think often of Rachel, Gail, Aaron, Allan, ‘One Foot’, and others whom I have met via the internet; and when I do I pray that God will bless them and help them in whatever they are facing that day. I will probably never actually meet these precious people, but they have become friends of a sort; a meaningful connection.

Are there more reasons for writing here? I’m drawing a blank. Do I want to keep doing this and will it matter to anyone if I do not? The latter I can’t answer, but I do want to keep at it. I’ve written in journals for most of my life. This writing was ‘for my eyes only’ and mainly served as a way to make sense of my world and experience. In writing here I’ve opened my journal to the eyes of the world. I’m anonymous enough about it not to include my photo or exact location, and for the most part people I know ‘in the flesh’ do not know I do this. Somehow these precautions make me feel less exposed, or something. I feel a need to write that I can’t explain. I feel a need for connection with others. I feel a need to know that it’s at least possible that someone may read what I’ve written. When I read these words it looks like writing this blog is a selfish venture. It is also my hope however, that writing here will also take me out of my self, or beyond myself in some way. I guess I’ll keep writing and see what happens.