We are the people that help others.
We help you.
We provide you counsel.
We minister to you.
We serve you food when you would otherwise go hungry.
We give you advice.
We are the ones that you come to when you have questions, need guidance, wisdom, or encouragement.
We are strong for you, and even when we don't have all the answers, we always manage to find an answer of some sort.
We speak of having gone through the same afflictions.
We speak of having endured.
And while this is true, the moment we are finished having endured, we are back to being those that fix,
back to being strong for those that need us, that need our wisdom, gleaned from our experience, to lead and encourage them through their struggles.
We are strong, so we tell ourselves.
We are strong for those that need us, we whisper to ourselves.
And yet, we rarely allow someone else to see us in our weaknesses.
We rarely allow someone else to be strong for us.
We are supposed to be the strength and to have all the answers, (so we tell ourselves),
and to encounter our own weakness is crippling, embarrassing, and shameful to us.
For we are the healers, the helpers, the wise.
We are the strong, the encouraging, the counselors.
We are here for you, and deem ourselves selfish for needing another.
Yet, you are the strength, you that have leaned on us. Yes, we have been strong for you and helped you through difficult times, but you are the ones who have been brave enough to invite someone into your struggle. You have been you, transparent and raw, open to being seen, honest about your humanity, and ever so beautiful because of it. You have struggled and wept openly, and not attempted to be greater than you need to be in the moment. You have been humbled and softened, wise to the fact that we all fall and stumble, that we all have needs and weaknesses. You are wise to the fact that we are better in community than on our own, especially when it comes to trials and difficulties.
So thank you, for the strength you demonstrate.
Thank you for being strong for us, in a way that teaches us, and allows our hearts more able to experience community, and intimacy with others.
Thank you for teaching us what it means to be strong, to be humble, and to be human.
Friday, October 14, 2011
Monday, October 3, 2011
The Walk
"Desperate for more of his company," Charles Foster in The Sacred Journey described those who followed Jesus.
Not perfect.
Not seminarians.
Not financial leaders.
But those who couldn't seem to do anything but take a walk with him, see where he went, what he would do, and what he had to say about things.
My family has a dog I would describe the same way, except I might use words like 'clingy' and 'obnoxious.' Optimus, short for Optimus Prime, our two year old personal-space-invading puppy, has an affinity for leaning up against you, in a way that means he simply wants to be in your presence. It makes no difference to him whether you're standing and prepared for it, or walking and therefore inclined to stumble. No matter where you're going, he aims to get right in front of you, be noticed, and feel close to you.
Jesus said "Follow me," and oddly enough, people did. They got up, left their posts, sometimes leaving family, occupations, and other 'societal obligations' behind in order to take a walk.
I live in a sociological context where walking seems rather impractical. Public transportation is sparse, industry is reachable only by vehicle, and exercise is about running. I'm not in college anymore where one can often walk to class, nor do I live in the heart of downtown where everything I need is within a mile radius. Here, it is not often that one simply goes for a walk, and in a society motivated by production and efficiency, to do most anything, the belief is that there need to be a purpose, a goal in mind, and something being achieved. To set out on a walk one might find questions from within demanding to know, 'Where are you headed and why,' 'How can you get there with the most alacrity,' and 'Is there a way to cut the time in half and save twice the amount of energy.' Such is the context in which I find myself these days.
I wonder what it is exactly that we can learn from walking. Why is it important? Why was that the entry point for those who became his disciples: No formal education, no prestigious credentials, but an invitation to walk?
So with these questions in mind the other night, I set out for a walk, with Optimus by my side. Like I said, he is one who is always anxious for company, whether you are walking down the street or simply headed to your car, and reminds me of the way the disciples seem to have been unable to help themselves when they got up and followed Jesus.
Our walk began about a quarter til 9, plenty of time for the sun to have made its descent and the moon to be firmly planted in the corner of the sky. Where we live the stars are visible and often radiant, and down our dirt road the presence of streetlights are sparse, so off we trekked, down my dusty road, headed into familiar but currently indistinguishable territory.
The first thing I always notice when treading in the dark is the extent to which other senses are heightened when your sense of sight is diminished or even inaccessible. I noticed an unfamiliar smell, reminiscent of mint. I was more attuned to the choir of crickets, and rustling in the trees or brush. I could taste the cooler Autumn air, and the added freshness it brings as a foil to the humidity of the retreating Texas summer. I felt the gravel shifting beneath my shoes as I advanced this familiar terrain. An oncoming car approaching from the rear was sensed much sooner than usual, due to the glimmering headlights against the thick, aphotic night.
Riley, one of our other dogs, came with us this night, as she often does. Riley stays right next to me most of the time when we are out walking or running. She and I have spent more time together; for her entire first year she lived in an apartment with me. She is well-trained, docile, and obeys promptly. Therefore, I never put her on a leash. Optimus doesn't opt for the leash either. In fact, I cannot say with any certainty that our family even has a working leash available. So, during a walk, or a run, Riley keeps my pace, while Optimus, on the other hand, refuses to stay close. He'll only approach if he becomes jealous of the attention given to Riley, and even then, he keeps his distance until we return home. At home, he wants to be near, to be touched, to give and receive affection, and to always be connected, but on a walk, he keeps his distance, he loves to wander, and he refuses to get within arms reach for more than a moment, lest we grab him.
Our dusty road has one rather sharp turn, and on that corner live multiple dogs at one residence. They are secured by a wooden fence, but every time I walk past, the residence seems to have acquired a new canine, and every time Optimus joins me for a walk, there is an inevitable barking session. I usually run this route we're on this night, no matter the hour. Optimus and Riley always tag along for my runs, and my faster pace keeps their barking and incessant chatter with other dogs at bay. However, I knew that today, my tempered gait, the chatter between all parties would be augmented, and lengthened.
Despite the ruckus caused by Optimus chattering with the other dogs, I committed to the walk. The point was to learn what it meant to follow Jesus, and what was the importance of walking. But as we ambled past the crowded canine corner, I wondered if there were similarities to the way God walks with us, or the way Jesus and the disciples walked together. Do we often stay close by, the longer we've been walking together, like Riley with me? Do we often get distracted and caught up in things, and fail to heed instructions, as Optimus does? Do we race ahead, ambling about? Do we follow closely at the heels? Do the disciples resemble my beloved canines in behavior, sometimes staying ever so close, and other times straying off directionless, simply making sure they never get too far away from the one with whom they're walking? Optimus does check back in, after all, and he does follow the path I walk, even if he runs far ahead, or falls behind upon finding a distraction or point of interest.
Optimus knows one command, and that's how to sit. But he has to be paying attention to perform, and he only knows what to do if you not only tell him to sit, but accompany it with a snap of the fingers. However, on this night of walking, I realized that if I snapped while we were in motion, that Optimus actually listened, a bit. Upon hearing it, even amidst all the noise, he removed some distance from me, ever so slightly, and even gave a second thought to whether he would run off and stir up trouble with another canine.
It's a start.
Soon we had passed the canine corner, and we were on a new street, one that consists of pavement instead of gravel, adorned with two streetlights instead of the lone one on the previous street. The dark of night remained heavy though, and while the eve is peaceful, the unknown teems with possibility. And as anyone experienced in walking or sauntering could tell you, Adventure, even the smallest kind, is sure to find you on a walk.
I didn't realize what Optimus was doing at first; I simply heard rustling in the brush to the right of the pavement, and snapped my fingers in an attempt to get Optimus back on course. In the dark I saw the medium-build silhouette of my beloved mutt, whipping his face back and forth vigorously. Suddenly, it occurred to me that the rustling in the brush had been much faster tempo than that of Optimus rustling, and I realized this familiar silhouette was attempting to kill another other creature it had found. A smaller, unfamiliar silhouette was in his grips. I kept walking, suddenly aware that the dark isn't as empty and void as I previously thought, and I was uninterested in making any new friends on this night, of any kind. Soon Optimus caught up to Riley and me, and to my surprise, his mouth was empty. He had not taken any prisoners, or trophies. What then, did he find?
There's a flashlight application on my phone, and I had indeed brought it with me. But I did not need it. My olfactories, despite their recent bout with allergies, did not let me down: soon I knew that Optimus' new friend and latest victim (yes, I do feel as though I indeed was privy and audience to a murder this night) was a skunk.
At first, it smelled that distant scent - the most common aroma of skunk I have encountered. It's an echo, if you will, the kind that tells you that a skunk was nearby, or that it has recently sprayed someone, or something. It smells putrid, but it is not fresh, it is not developing in the present moment, and it does not hold the same ability to permeate within the nostrils as the scent that soon came after this incident, when Optimus came near.
This was skunk stench as I had never known it, and it was happening all around me. As if someone had brought rotting onions and allowed them to decompose in my throat, even breathing seemed unnatural as the smell seemed to emanate from within. As my allergies flared up, even sneezing seemed undesirable; that would have required an inhaling in order to release all the pressure and tickling effects.
Not only had I been present for a life vehemently ended, but I was to walk in the olfactory reminder for the remainder of our jaunt. Breathing, a typically involuntary process, suddenly took effort and concentration. Meanwhile, Optimus proceeded to roll around and scrape against the brush and trees as we continued walking, obviously as anxious to retreat from the smell as we were. He continued this attempt at cleansing behavior all the way home, including a dip in the neighbors pond.
And as we made our way home, I thought about how we get into messes.
I thought about how we want to be clean.
I thought about how sometimes it feels like the smell of our regrets, or shame, or inadequacies, or mistakes will never ever leave us.
And I thought about how the walk continues, despite the smell, the blisters, or the mishap.
I returned home to a posture of stillness, for the moment having finished walking, at least literally. To be honest, I'm not exactly sure what Jesus meant by wanting to take a walk, or for us to walk with him.
Although, I do know that by walking, you physically leave something behind.
You head in a new direction.
Maybe sometimes something needs to be left behind.
Or, maybe something needs to be found.
Often, in walking, you discover something new, perhaps literally, as Optimus did. Or perhaps more philosophically, as I always hope to when I take a walk.
I am certain that the road, the journey, the process of walking always has something it can teach us.
And not only that, but by walking you engage in an activity that is so crucial to the human spirit, as noticed and illuminated by voices such as Jesus, Thoreau, G.K. Chesterton, and more. Any pilgrim, tramp, traveler, or vagabond can tell you the beauty and benefit of a good walk.
I do know that by walking with someone, you learn a little bit more about them.
You encounter things along the way, and you learn how they respond.
You see their reactions.
You notice what they make important.
What do they take with them?
What do they leave behind?
Who and what do they notice?
What do they take the time to stop for?
What do they walk past?
How close to the path do they stay?
Do they stray from it, and pave their own way, or do they refuse to explore the uncharted territories?
When they encounter danger, mishap, folly, frustration, or a setback - how do they handle things?
What does it look like when they're tired, and what do they do to recharge?
Do they walk as if they own the place, and it is created to serve them?
Or do they walk in a way that respects the ground they approach and encounter, in a way that treads lightly as a visitor, rather than a sense of entitlement?
Meanwhile, Optimus still has a putrid scent to his coat, and there is one less skunk in the world.
But perhaps by walking, the two of us learned a little bit more about each other, and about ourselves.
Jesus once said that if someone asks you to walk a mile with them, go with him two. I once heard it said that this was because in walking with someone you could learn more about them, what they're about, and perhaps after two miles, a former enemy will have been made a neighbor, or even a friend.
I have no idea what walking will teach you. But I can say it has always taught me something, and for many a great mind, it seems to be some of the greatest advice and one of the best blessings that a person could receive and experience.
Not perfect.
Not seminarians.
Not financial leaders.
But those who couldn't seem to do anything but take a walk with him, see where he went, what he would do, and what he had to say about things.
My family has a dog I would describe the same way, except I might use words like 'clingy' and 'obnoxious.' Optimus, short for Optimus Prime, our two year old personal-space-invading puppy, has an affinity for leaning up against you, in a way that means he simply wants to be in your presence. It makes no difference to him whether you're standing and prepared for it, or walking and therefore inclined to stumble. No matter where you're going, he aims to get right in front of you, be noticed, and feel close to you.
Jesus said "Follow me," and oddly enough, people did. They got up, left their posts, sometimes leaving family, occupations, and other 'societal obligations' behind in order to take a walk.
I live in a sociological context where walking seems rather impractical. Public transportation is sparse, industry is reachable only by vehicle, and exercise is about running. I'm not in college anymore where one can often walk to class, nor do I live in the heart of downtown where everything I need is within a mile radius. Here, it is not often that one simply goes for a walk, and in a society motivated by production and efficiency, to do most anything, the belief is that there need to be a purpose, a goal in mind, and something being achieved. To set out on a walk one might find questions from within demanding to know, 'Where are you headed and why,' 'How can you get there with the most alacrity,' and 'Is there a way to cut the time in half and save twice the amount of energy.' Such is the context in which I find myself these days.
I wonder what it is exactly that we can learn from walking. Why is it important? Why was that the entry point for those who became his disciples: No formal education, no prestigious credentials, but an invitation to walk?
So with these questions in mind the other night, I set out for a walk, with Optimus by my side. Like I said, he is one who is always anxious for company, whether you are walking down the street or simply headed to your car, and reminds me of the way the disciples seem to have been unable to help themselves when they got up and followed Jesus.
Our walk began about a quarter til 9, plenty of time for the sun to have made its descent and the moon to be firmly planted in the corner of the sky. Where we live the stars are visible and often radiant, and down our dirt road the presence of streetlights are sparse, so off we trekked, down my dusty road, headed into familiar but currently indistinguishable territory.
The first thing I always notice when treading in the dark is the extent to which other senses are heightened when your sense of sight is diminished or even inaccessible. I noticed an unfamiliar smell, reminiscent of mint. I was more attuned to the choir of crickets, and rustling in the trees or brush. I could taste the cooler Autumn air, and the added freshness it brings as a foil to the humidity of the retreating Texas summer. I felt the gravel shifting beneath my shoes as I advanced this familiar terrain. An oncoming car approaching from the rear was sensed much sooner than usual, due to the glimmering headlights against the thick, aphotic night.
Riley, one of our other dogs, came with us this night, as she often does. Riley stays right next to me most of the time when we are out walking or running. She and I have spent more time together; for her entire first year she lived in an apartment with me. She is well-trained, docile, and obeys promptly. Therefore, I never put her on a leash. Optimus doesn't opt for the leash either. In fact, I cannot say with any certainty that our family even has a working leash available. So, during a walk, or a run, Riley keeps my pace, while Optimus, on the other hand, refuses to stay close. He'll only approach if he becomes jealous of the attention given to Riley, and even then, he keeps his distance until we return home. At home, he wants to be near, to be touched, to give and receive affection, and to always be connected, but on a walk, he keeps his distance, he loves to wander, and he refuses to get within arms reach for more than a moment, lest we grab him.
Our dusty road has one rather sharp turn, and on that corner live multiple dogs at one residence. They are secured by a wooden fence, but every time I walk past, the residence seems to have acquired a new canine, and every time Optimus joins me for a walk, there is an inevitable barking session. I usually run this route we're on this night, no matter the hour. Optimus and Riley always tag along for my runs, and my faster pace keeps their barking and incessant chatter with other dogs at bay. However, I knew that today, my tempered gait, the chatter between all parties would be augmented, and lengthened.
Despite the ruckus caused by Optimus chattering with the other dogs, I committed to the walk. The point was to learn what it meant to follow Jesus, and what was the importance of walking. But as we ambled past the crowded canine corner, I wondered if there were similarities to the way God walks with us, or the way Jesus and the disciples walked together. Do we often stay close by, the longer we've been walking together, like Riley with me? Do we often get distracted and caught up in things, and fail to heed instructions, as Optimus does? Do we race ahead, ambling about? Do we follow closely at the heels? Do the disciples resemble my beloved canines in behavior, sometimes staying ever so close, and other times straying off directionless, simply making sure they never get too far away from the one with whom they're walking? Optimus does check back in, after all, and he does follow the path I walk, even if he runs far ahead, or falls behind upon finding a distraction or point of interest.
Optimus knows one command, and that's how to sit. But he has to be paying attention to perform, and he only knows what to do if you not only tell him to sit, but accompany it with a snap of the fingers. However, on this night of walking, I realized that if I snapped while we were in motion, that Optimus actually listened, a bit. Upon hearing it, even amidst all the noise, he removed some distance from me, ever so slightly, and even gave a second thought to whether he would run off and stir up trouble with another canine.
It's a start.
Soon we had passed the canine corner, and we were on a new street, one that consists of pavement instead of gravel, adorned with two streetlights instead of the lone one on the previous street. The dark of night remained heavy though, and while the eve is peaceful, the unknown teems with possibility. And as anyone experienced in walking or sauntering could tell you, Adventure, even the smallest kind, is sure to find you on a walk.
I didn't realize what Optimus was doing at first; I simply heard rustling in the brush to the right of the pavement, and snapped my fingers in an attempt to get Optimus back on course. In the dark I saw the medium-build silhouette of my beloved mutt, whipping his face back and forth vigorously. Suddenly, it occurred to me that the rustling in the brush had been much faster tempo than that of Optimus rustling, and I realized this familiar silhouette was attempting to kill another other creature it had found. A smaller, unfamiliar silhouette was in his grips. I kept walking, suddenly aware that the dark isn't as empty and void as I previously thought, and I was uninterested in making any new friends on this night, of any kind. Soon Optimus caught up to Riley and me, and to my surprise, his mouth was empty. He had not taken any prisoners, or trophies. What then, did he find?
There's a flashlight application on my phone, and I had indeed brought it with me. But I did not need it. My olfactories, despite their recent bout with allergies, did not let me down: soon I knew that Optimus' new friend and latest victim (yes, I do feel as though I indeed was privy and audience to a murder this night) was a skunk.
At first, it smelled that distant scent - the most common aroma of skunk I have encountered. It's an echo, if you will, the kind that tells you that a skunk was nearby, or that it has recently sprayed someone, or something. It smells putrid, but it is not fresh, it is not developing in the present moment, and it does not hold the same ability to permeate within the nostrils as the scent that soon came after this incident, when Optimus came near.
This was skunk stench as I had never known it, and it was happening all around me. As if someone had brought rotting onions and allowed them to decompose in my throat, even breathing seemed unnatural as the smell seemed to emanate from within. As my allergies flared up, even sneezing seemed undesirable; that would have required an inhaling in order to release all the pressure and tickling effects.
Not only had I been present for a life vehemently ended, but I was to walk in the olfactory reminder for the remainder of our jaunt. Breathing, a typically involuntary process, suddenly took effort and concentration. Meanwhile, Optimus proceeded to roll around and scrape against the brush and trees as we continued walking, obviously as anxious to retreat from the smell as we were. He continued this attempt at cleansing behavior all the way home, including a dip in the neighbors pond.
And as we made our way home, I thought about how we get into messes.
I thought about how we want to be clean.
I thought about how sometimes it feels like the smell of our regrets, or shame, or inadequacies, or mistakes will never ever leave us.
And I thought about how the walk continues, despite the smell, the blisters, or the mishap.
I returned home to a posture of stillness, for the moment having finished walking, at least literally. To be honest, I'm not exactly sure what Jesus meant by wanting to take a walk, or for us to walk with him.
Although, I do know that by walking, you physically leave something behind.
You head in a new direction.
Maybe sometimes something needs to be left behind.
Or, maybe something needs to be found.
Often, in walking, you discover something new, perhaps literally, as Optimus did. Or perhaps more philosophically, as I always hope to when I take a walk.
I am certain that the road, the journey, the process of walking always has something it can teach us.
And not only that, but by walking you engage in an activity that is so crucial to the human spirit, as noticed and illuminated by voices such as Jesus, Thoreau, G.K. Chesterton, and more. Any pilgrim, tramp, traveler, or vagabond can tell you the beauty and benefit of a good walk.
I do know that by walking with someone, you learn a little bit more about them.
You encounter things along the way, and you learn how they respond.
You see their reactions.
You notice what they make important.
What do they take with them?
What do they leave behind?
Who and what do they notice?
What do they take the time to stop for?
What do they walk past?
How close to the path do they stay?
Do they stray from it, and pave their own way, or do they refuse to explore the uncharted territories?
When they encounter danger, mishap, folly, frustration, or a setback - how do they handle things?
What does it look like when they're tired, and what do they do to recharge?
Do they walk as if they own the place, and it is created to serve them?
Or do they walk in a way that respects the ground they approach and encounter, in a way that treads lightly as a visitor, rather than a sense of entitlement?
Meanwhile, Optimus still has a putrid scent to his coat, and there is one less skunk in the world.
But perhaps by walking, the two of us learned a little bit more about each other, and about ourselves.
Jesus once said that if someone asks you to walk a mile with them, go with him two. I once heard it said that this was because in walking with someone you could learn more about them, what they're about, and perhaps after two miles, a former enemy will have been made a neighbor, or even a friend.
I have no idea what walking will teach you. But I can say it has always taught me something, and for many a great mind, it seems to be some of the greatest advice and one of the best blessings that a person could receive and experience.
"All walking is discovery. On foot we take the times to see things whole." -Hal Borland
“Jesus promised his disciples three things—that they would be completely fearless, absurdly happy, and in constant trouble.”-G.K. Chesterton
"My father considered a walk among the mountains as the equivalent of churchgoing." -Aldous Huxley
"It is solved by walking." -Latin proverb
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