Breathing Space

(This is the view from Rich & Bev's bedroom)

At the beginning of August we drove down to spend some time with Matt's aunt and uncle, and the experience was such a gift to us. Richard and Bev have lived at the Vajrapani Buddhist Retreat Center in Boulder Creek (kind of Santa Cruz Mountains, I guess) for a very long time. I think it's been about 30 odd years since they first began living there. In some way the place itself is like their child - they have lived to see it grow from just a vision to a place of community, retreat and teaching. We've never made it down there to visit, which seemed sort of silly since we live only an hour or so away, so we made it a priority to go see them during our vacation.

M and Great Aunt Bev have storytime

Ruby doing what she does best- snuggling

It is really a commitment to live where they do: after driving lots of winding roads you drive on a gravel road for a while. Then once you finally get there, it is a little hike up to their home (hence the amazing view that they wake up to every morning!) I was amazed that they hike up and down to their house every day when they head to work. I am still not quite sure how it happens when it is rainy or dark, but somehow they do it!

Matt and Rich talking

Rich showing M a prayer wheel. Inside are hundreds of prayers, so when you spin it, it is a physical action to represent these prayers being released, much like Tibetan prayer flags represent the prayers printed on the flags blowing in the wind and being sent out into the world.

The land they live on is quite beautiful and peaceful - we went for a couple of long walks to see the property and to enjoy the trees and trails. M loved feeling the moss on the trees, exploring the house that has been built on top of and out of an ancient gypsy bus, and looking out from the showers that are built to overlook the entire forest! Can you imagine taking a shower in a wooden shower with a huge open window (no one can see in at you because you are up high overlooking the scenery) that looks out over thousands of trees? A whole lot more beautiful than our dingy, soap scummy shower stall. Just saying.

It felt so removed from our urban neighborhood, and it was so interesting for us to hear about their experiences living on this land for so many years, as well as to see glimpses into their relationships and routines. Even though we hold some different practices or beliefs, I respect this incredible journey they have been on (and continue to walk.)

In our conversations and time there I was struck at the ways that Rich and Bev's spiritual practices as Tibetan Buddhists inform every aspect of their life: their free time, the location where they live, their vocations, their vacations, the use of their money, even the way they have built and decorated their home. The layout of their small house encourages meditation and study, it seems as if there are spiritual books on almost every surface and the walls are covered with photos and images that allow them to reflect. There is no question as you spend time in their space that their time, energy and lives are directed toward these spiritual practices. They both devote considerable time to retreat or meditation.

M goes for a ride

 Matt and I desire to live in the way of Jesus, and this day spent with his aunt and uncle made me think about our own spiritual practices as well. Are our lives marked by generosity, hospitality, kindness, study of Jesus' life, grace and love? I thought about how we would orient our lives and our home to reflect these practices. I left feeling like their choices are all very intentional, and hoping that there is integrity in my own choices, and an intentionality about how and why I do things.

hope

(image from lifewater, an organization that fights poverty through safe water)

my dear friend kacie posted this quote on her blog this week.

i love it.

such powerful words.

now to live with hope is our challenge!

"Hope has two beautiful daughters.

Their names are anger and courage;

anger at the way things are,

and courage to see that they do not remain the way they are."

St. Augustine

good friday

today marks good friday

and it is dreary outside

cold and gray

which seems fitting for the day

followers of jesus

remember

pause

anticipate

believe

this photograph

has,

to me,

always seemed the most fitting single image of christ on a cross

deity submerged in waste

the beauty and filth of the world intermingled

a glimpse of glory

not yet realized...

a poem for good friday:

Andres Serrano, 1987, by Andrew Hudgins

If we did not know it was cow’s blood and urine,

if we did not know that Serrano had for weeks

hoarded his urine in a plastic vat,

if we did not know the cross was gimcrack plastic,

we would assume it was too beautiful.

We would assume it was the resurrection,

glory, Christ transformed to light by light

because the blood and urine burn like a halo,

and light, as always, light makes it beautiful.

We are born between the urine and the feces,

Augustine says, and so was Christ, if there was a Christ,

skidding into this world as we do

on a tide of blood and urine. Blood, feces, urine—

what the fallen world is made of, and what we make.

He peed, ejaculated, shat, wept, bled—

bled under Pontius Pilate, and I assume

the mutilated god, the criminal,

humiliated god, voided himself

on the cross and the blood and urine smeared his legs

and he ascended bodily unto heaven,

and on the third day he rose into glory, which

is what we see here, the Piss Christ in glowing blood:

the whole irreducible point of the faith,

God thrown in human waste, submerged and shining.

We have grown used to beauty without horror.

We have grown used to useless beauty.

happy sunday!

Do all the good you can,

By all the means you can,

In all the ways you can,

In all the places you can,

At all the times you can,

To all the people you can,

As long as ever you can.

(john wesley)

image via

leaving a trail of fire

"the only chance of renovation

is to open our eyes and see the mess."

samuel beckett

bubbles, in a narcotics anonymous meeting

matt and i just finished watching the hbo series "the wire" this weekend. if you've never seen the wire, it is a gritty drama set in baltimore, essentially about the american city. each season shifts its focus slightly while retaining core characters; the seasons highlight different facets of contemporary urban life - the illegal drug trade, the city's port, city government, education & the school system, and the local newspaper/media. the show is sort of the epitome of good but hard- it is so well written and constructed, but the reality and despair captured in the narrative as it portrays institutions within our cities is overwhelming. i could write an entire series of posts on this show, especially as a resident of oakland (a city that shares a lot in common with baltimore); after all, there are entire university courses devoted to deconstructing and analyzing the wire.

one of my favorite characters throughout the seasons is bubbles, a drug addict/informant for the police/sort of entrepreneur. in many ways, bubbles is scum-he is a liar, a thief, and an addict to the core. despite his flaws, he is a likeable, genuine character, who i found myself rooting for throughout the show. partly, i think we long for redemption in people, even those who seem so far gone that it seems hopeless; we see glimpses of glory in others (and ourselves) and we hope for a new story instead of the same old broken narrative.

i've written before about the current state of my relationship with my dad, which is intentionally estranged at my own request.

here i am, someone who follows in the way of jesus, purposefully drawing boundaries with my own father to have no contact. jesus calls us to forgive those who have wronged us, and to love our enemies. jesus hung out with and shared meals with the most despicable and messed up people in his society. he loved them even though no one else thought they deserved it. i believe in radical forgiveness. i want to love when all seems lost.

but i also think true forgiveness and authentic transformation comes slowly and painfully. it isn't just a switch in which you say the right words and magically everything changes. it's more than going through the motions and pacifying the people whom you've wounded.

throughout the seasons of the wire, bubbles has hit rock bottom multiple times. i keep rooting for him that he wouldn't get killed or die form his own vices.

miraculously, in the final season, and after a very close brush with death, he has been clean for a year and is living in his sister's basement. the door between the basement and her home is locked. she doesn't trust him, and for good reason. their interactions are minimal and cold, yet he tries to prove to her that he has changed, that he is winning his battle with drugs and that he won't steal from her or lie to her. on his year anniversary of being clean, bubbles shares at his narcotics anonymous meeting. he has invited his sister and her son, hoping they'll be able to come and support him. as he shares his story he scans the room and looks at the door for a sign of his family, but they never show up. in that moment, i wanted her to be there at that meeting. i wanted her to extend forgiveness and grace. i wanted them to end the scene with a hug of restoration and hope. but it didn't happen. she doesn't show up. my heart sank. but that accurately represents the slow road to redemption.

bubbles says, My name is . . . my name is . . . Reginald. Round the way, they call me Bubbles. I'm a drug addict. Celebrating my anniversary. My people couldn't make it here tonight. I left a trail of fire behind me. Time going to make it right, I guess.

"i left a trail of fire behind me."

that is what true change entails- openly acknowledging the trail of fire and damage, and then, recognizing how long those wounds take to heal. bubbles gets why his sister isn't there, even though he wishes she was. he knows that he is the one responsible for her mistrust and hesitance.

i watched this drug addict do something i have not experienced in my family's own trail of fire- he didn't justify, or blame shift, or make excuses, or backpedal, or sweeten the story. he owned it all, and more. he didn't just own it once or twice; he owned it daily. he made amends. he took inventory of his entire life. he laid bare every facet of himself to himself and his sponsor, even the most ugly parts. he waited. he lived in the basement with little hope of ever making it back upstairs.

the scene with bubbles and his sister is brief, but its authenticity resonated with me. it is so far from what i have experienced that it served as a reminder of what true repentance is: messy and slow. it is in incremental changes that take a very long time to add up, changes that maybe no one wounded will ever see or give credit for. it is when we look in the mirror and know we aren't hiding a single thing from anyone. it is when the change isn't to make someone else happy, but to make oneself whole. and that is where the healing begins.

(merry)

for my family this christmas, there is a healthy dose of hard mixed in with the good.
a lot has changed in the last year, but we'll be gathering as a family tonight and tomorrow to worship, give, receive, eat, laugh, make new traditions, savor some old ones, talk, snuggle, and celebrate.

last year, i wrote this at christmas, and it rings true today as i prepare to celebrate the birth of a jewish baby in a nondescript village once again:

one of the things that is easy to forget at christmas is that regardless of whether you follow the teachings of jesus or just know the christmas story in a cultural way, that baby jesus' birth is a story of hope and joy. jesus, this scrawny little screaming infant is literally born into crap, as an oppressed people group in an occupied land, with no money and no power, essentially homeless and without a family of much significance. and somehow this little child is good news to weary, forgotten people.

whether your heart is bursting with joy this year, breaking with sadness, distracted with the hustle of holiday activity or just lonely, may the "birthday" of this small baby be good news to you.

i think this all connects. i promise.

two years ago, exactly (as in, we hopped on our extremely crowded and stuffy plane 2 years ago on this very date), matt and i went to italy for a month. you can see snippets here and here. 

i mean, really- a month in italy? how could it not be amazing and fabulous!? i was about 2 months pregnant with little m, so aside from a great deal of 24/7 nausea and abstaining from caffeine and italian wine, it was truly an incredible time to look at art, eat good food, dip our toes in the mediterranean, and explore a foreign country together. 

one of the museums we went to in florence, Museo Nazionale di San Marco, is located in a former convent and church. we were able to go upstairs into the cells, or rooms, in which the monks lived and spent their days praying. fra angelico, an early renaissance painter and monk, lived at san marco; in addition to the large scale paintings and frescoes that he painted in the san marco chapel and other religious sites throughout italy, he painted frescoes depicting the life of christ in each of the monk's small cells. (picture a very small dorm room.) 

the paintings in these small rooms are unlike much of the religious art of the time. even religious art at this point was sponsored by wealthy patrons (in this monastery the medici family), so the works usually had subtle references to how amazing, wealthy, or powerful the sponsoring person was. (think about how in movies, tv shows, sporting events today companies use product placement, sponsorship or product tie-ins to advertise themselves) the frescoes in these private rooms are quite subdued and humble, as their purpose was devotional in nature. 

i was pretty awed when we visited at how beautiful these hidden rooms were. i imagined fra angelico painting these scenes slowly, reverently and methodically, believing he was called by god to be a painter. his job as a monk was to paint. incredible. i thought of how hundreds of years ago, these monks would have memorized every line and mark in these frescoes as they meditated and prayed daily in the same private space. i wondered if at times as the monks grew lonely or discouraged if these frescoes were a reminder of who they had devoted their lives to serving, or a visual reminder that the savior they followed and the saints that had preceded them had endured hardness and the long journey of faith. 

matt is reading a book about saints, prophets and martyrs, and was reading aloud to me an excerpt from the chapter on ignatious loyola. loyola, who started the jesuits, encountered many disappointments in his faith journey, and his concluding prayer in his spiritual exercises spoke to matt in a way that those frescoes spoke to me, and likely to those monks that prayed before them every day. 

those frescoes were a visual reminder that for me personally, as a follower of jesus, that i have a history; there are people of faith who have walked this road of life trying to follow the teachings of christ. they, too, endured crushed dreams and hopes, roadblocks, loneliness, and detours. their lives and their stories, whether visually depicted or written, act as reminders when i am discouraged with the place i find myself. and regardless of your faith, that people live way suckier lives than you or i, but they make it. and we can learn from them.

lately i have been thinking, too, about how i was in such a dark place when we first found out about little m's deafness. then darkness again when we discovered my dad's double life and deception. yet a year has brought healing: goodness and joy and perspective and grace. i feel like in some small way i can be a reminder to someone else, who may be in the thick of grief right now, that there is light coming. it's a long journey, and we keep walking the path someone has worn before us.

when love gets messy and real

(photo not by me but i can't find where i borrowed it from)

i am reading a book for my book club right now, Say You're One of Them by Uwem Akpan, a nigerian writer. it is an emotionally leveling book of short stories which take place in Africa. i highly recommend it, although be prepared for it to move you. i read an interview with the author the other night. i was struck by this comment that uwem akpan made during the interview when the interviewer asks him about his impressions of life in america:

The rhythm of life here is different from that of Nigeria... [for instance, in america] the thing about old people staying in “homes” away from home blew my mind. 

in nigerian culture, the elderly are cared for by family until they pass away. but in our own youth oriented western culture that is not the norm. i don't mean to say it never happens: my own aunt and uncle relocated to another state, separated from their own routine and community, at a personal and financial sacrifice, to care for my grandfather until he died. but it is rare that we bring our old family members into our own homes to care for them, and it is unheard of to bring someone old, frail, and difficult into our home when they aren't even related to us.

the morning after reading this interview, i got an email from meeghan, a friend of mine who, along with her husband darin and young son, adopted an elderly woman named guinn. i hesitate to tell their story, because it in no way can capture the fullness of how they have served and cared day in and day out for an old (often cranky) woman who is no blood relation. but i think it needs telling.

they have known guinn for ten years and she has lived with them for the last 7 years and the majority of their marriage. they adopted her into their family so that her wishes, to not spend the end of her days in a home, would be fulfilled. 

to love someone like this

in your home

every day

it isn't sexy or temporary or easy. 

love like this means feeding, clothing, washing, wiping, changing another adult. it means enduring hard days with lots of doctors appointments, adult day care, bad attitudes, dirty diapers, and so on. it also means living with three generations in one space, and the rich gift it is for your small child to share every day with someone who is at the end of their lifetime. caring for guinn it is like caring for an infant, except without an adoring sweet face that grins back at you and coos or cuddles. the mess and complete dependence is there, but the sweet moments and small joys are scattered in less frequently. 

but my friends follow the teachings of jesus, and so that is exactly what they do: try to follow the example of how jesus lived. they love guinn the way that jesus loved people: at a cost, even if the person they loved were scorned or annoying or ornery or forgotten or worthless to the rest of the world. 

a lot of people talk about loving radically or following the tenets of the faith they embrace, but most of the time it gets kind of watered down or normalized into something that fits into our schedules or lifestyle. meeghan and darin live what they believe, and they model for their son justice what it means to truly love and care for the world around them, starting in their own home. it has not been an easy road.

in the email i got from meeghan, from the other side of the country, i got the news that guinn passed away this tuesday morning. 

meeghan, darin, and justice loved her with dignity and grace, honoring her life even when she was difficult to love or inconvenient to their life's plans. they brought a stranger into their home and loved her like a grandmother, like a daughter. 

i want to love like they do.

the year of living generously

i've mentioned many times how hard this last year has been. in some ways, the grief that we experience with little m not being able to hear has been trumped by the major family changes we are experiencing, and have been rocked by, in the past three months. i don't need to go into details since this is essentially a public forum, and i don't think it's fair for me to talk smack about my dad on here, even if he deserves it. 

i am used to living in earthquake country: the house we live on basically sits on a huge fault-line, and i hardly give it a second thought. of course, even if i am not thinking about it on a conscious level, these faults are still there, lying dormant under my day to day routine. the times these fault-lines have shifted even slightly has, to be honest, freaked me out. i don't like earthquakes. i have been known to jump under a table in a teeny little 4.0 earthquake. (hey, maybe that is just the first one, and another bigger one is to follow...)

most likely there will be a significant earthquake in the bay area in my lifetime - and it will have devastating effects. i kind of feel like my family has been in a massive earthquake. we didn't really realize that there were fault-lines crisscrossing our family, but that didn't change the fact that complete upheaval was brewing right below the surface; it also didn't change how much my siblings, my mom, and countless other friends and family members lives have been inalterably changed by the emotional "earthquake" that hit us a few months ago. (to be honest, it still feels like there are aftershocks on a daily basis.)

you know how every time there is a natural disaster these different people rise to the surface as heroes who save the kid stuck in the house, brave the elements to rescue a stranded family and so on? well, as i think back on the last year, i am humbled by the immense amount of grace, kindness, and generosity i have experienced by the people whose lives intersect my own. it is like you are these unsung rescue workers who have bailed my family and me out of a sinkhole. as i think about these moments of tenderness on your parts, it is impossible to go through each act of generosity and truly recognize it fully. i am pretty overwhelmed by the ways that people in my life have been thoughtful: free houses to stay at to get away from oakland-from sea ranch to tahoe to solvang to cloverdale, anonymous gift cards in the mail to my very favorite stores and coffee shops, meals aplenty after little m was born, thoughtful letters or poems, a brand new washer and dryer (who knew an appliance could bring such joy), hours of free babysitting (and in the beginning months, staying up all night with our newborn when little m would not sleep), gifts for little m left on our doorstep or arriving in the mail, good meals in your homes or in restaurants or bringing by takeout, even better conversations, sharing tears with us as we grieved m's deafness and then as we struggled seeing my extended family so damaged, washing my dishes, the selfless action of giving matt and i the gift of a superfancy foodie meal (hello, chez panisse) instead of a christmas gift to your own spouse, so many text messages, calls, and notes, even when i didn't have the energy to respond. even as i write this i am thinking of other ways that you dear friends have loved on us.

tomorrow is my birthday, and i enter a new year of life without a single doubt in my mind that i am known, loved, and supported. it is pretty humbling, and it encourages me to be generous as well. the fact that your generosity has meant so much to me in a season of pretty much crappiness has shaped who i am entering a new year. i hope i can live a life of generosity, kindness and grace myself. 

thank you.

belated, but true

well, it's a few weeks past christmas, so this post may seem out of place, being that we are whooping it up in the new year and all. today, january 6th, is however the epiphany, a day on the christian calendar which celebrates the revelation of God in human form to our messy, broken world in the form of little baby jesus. the epiphany traditionally commemorates the wise men coming to visit jesus. so, we may have passed january 1st, but according to the church calendar, this is the perfect day to post this entry.

this year i gocco-ed our christmas cards, which was a fun multi-evening event fueled by lots of episodes of arrested development on hulu and hot tea. i picked the word joy for our card, mostly in part because as many of you know, it has been a rough year for our family, and i have hopes for more joy in the coming year. one of the things that is easy to forget at christmas is that regardless of whether you follow the teachings of jesus or just know the christmas story in a cultural way, that baby jesus' birth is a story of hope and joy. jesus, this scrawny little screaming infant is literally born into crap, as an oppressed people group in an occupied land, with no money and no power, essentially homeless and without a family of much significance. and somehow this little child is good news to weary, forgotten people. 

i think we've all experienced the reality that sometimes joy comes in the places you least expect it. the slight change on the calendar that moved us from last year to this has done nothing to alter any of the circumstances in my life. but i don't know how radically the external circumstances of the shepherds or magi changed once they met this little jewish child, and yet they walked away from meeting him as changed people. so my hopes are for more joy this year - joy in my circumstances, relationships, neighborhood, family, artmaking, faith, and maybe even my blog. maybe life won't change that much in 2009, but perhaps my perspective of it can.

the first run of printing just the text.
i ended up doing multiple screens; i think it was 5 different runs of printing the cards total: one for the envelopes, one for the text, two screens for the two images of snowflake and a final one on the back of the card with our christmas greeting.
a bunch of envelopes printed and labeled and drying.
another printing run of snowflakes.
ahhhh- envelopes still drying. i cranked up the heat so they'd dry faster; you can't move on to print the next color until the last one is completely dry.
cards all done and ready to sign and shoot off in the mail!
a bunch of finished cards ready to head out into the world. i accidentally lost half a page of labels somewhere, and i don't know which page it was, so a good 15 or so people did not get their cards this year. oops! if it was you, wishing you joy in the virtual realm. here's our christmas photo below. i set up quite the contraption to take i self-timed picture. my camera was precariously set atop a stick which was arranged very carefully on an overturned flower pot which was sitting (a little wobbly-like) on top of our barbecue out in the backyard.

{wishing you, me and all of us more joy in this new year}