Monthly Archives: September 2012

Greyhounds and Chiggys . . .

By Taylor Arthur | 29 September, 2012 - 8:43 am | , , ,
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Then He who sat on the throne said, “Behold, I make all things new.” And He said to me, “Write, for these words are true and faithful.” Revelation 21:5

So, this week I thought I would change course a bit. We can only get so heavy for so long without needing a break, right? And, why is that? Maybe because we’re human?

The details of the day we buried Caleb are too much for this “lighter” blog today, but the weight of the rituals my husband, my family, and I moved through was only bearable by moments of pure comedy. My brother and I experienced such a moment after the burial as we all piled into the back of my parents’ SUV, much like we used to as like little kids. His freckled face was flushed with the tears he was wiping away. We caught blurry eyes, and I whispered to him, “Now, let’s get wasted.”

His face immediately melted into laughter and we sat in the back seat howling as my dad drove us all out of the cemetery. I guess he didn’t expect that to come out of the mouth of the dead baby’s mama, Religious Studies major and all! But I, after making certain to NOT drink or drug myself for the first 10 days of this terrible new reality, knowing that to do so would only prolong the shock and make it difficult for me to begin a healthy grieving process (thank you, chaplain training!), knew now was the time to lighten the mood. We all desperately needed some levity!

When we arrived back at my parents’ for our family after-party, my father-in-law walked through the door carting the biggest bottle of vodka I had ever seen. It was a greyhound day. That day was truly one of the saddest days of my life, but being surrounded by the people I loved, drinking greyhounds and smoking as many cigarettes as I wanted on the front porch, was certainly one of the most profound. We will never have a baptism party or a birthday party for Caleb, and it seemed that that day, we celebrated a whole life of celebrations for him. We honored his life in tears, and also in toasts.

The sweet memories of Caleb’s day definitely influenced both baptismal celebrations for Caleb’s younger brothers. Our house rocked with loved ones celebrating the healthy births of Abraham, and then Samuel. So many in attendance were there, they said, because they had already been there through the hard times and wanted to celebrate our joy with us. And, celebrate we did! Wine flowed, good food abounded, and we forever will cherish that profound feeling of being surrounded by people who truly cared for us through the best and the worst life can bring.

Sam’s Godfather picked up the keg for his baptismal celebration. When Uncle Mark explained that this keg was, indeed, for a baptism, the bartender replied, “You’re Catholic, aren’t you?” Oh, yes, sir, we are!

I love John’s depiction of Jesus’ first miracle (chapter 2). Jewish weddings, even for peasants, lasted a week. Can you imagine? However, nothing could fizzle a party more than running out of wine. Now, Mary, Jesus’ mother, was the one who was concerned with the wine shortage–not Jesus. She came to Him with her concerns, and trusted Him to provide. Do we do that? Do we come to Jesus for help not only in times of crisis, but also in times of celebration? How often do we come to the Lord and pray, “Lord, please provide joy, moments of comedy, and new wine in my heart, life, and even in this party?

I also think it’s interesting that Jesus turned water–not grape juice, or vinegar,or any other beverage–into wine. The water was intended for the purification rituals for the Jews before they sat down to eat. Water is a symbol for new life, purity, baptism. It is also rain, floods, and tears. That by which we are purified is also that which we may be drowned by.

From this water, Jesus makes “the best wine.” Only those who know Him witness the miracle; the wedding continues, most in attendance oblivious to the spectacular miracle they are drinking. But, isn’t that the way of these kinds of miracles, when He miraculously turns our valley of tears into “the best wine?” We are left marveling at the fruit of our anguish, wondering how it is possible to turn mourning into dancing?

Truly, this is the God we serve! My tendency to be rigidly religious is challenged by this idea that Jesus cares not only for our spirits, but also inspired the creation of wine, and maybe even greyhounds and chiggys.

Joyfully,

Taylor

(1) http://bible.cc/john/2-6.htm

Look for Jesus

By Taylor Arthur | 22 September, 2012 - 2:56 pm | , , ,
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“Now on that same day two of them were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem, and talking with each other about all these things that had happened. While they were talking and discussing, Jesus himself came near and went with them, but their eyes were kept from recognizing him.” Luke 24: 13-16

I wonder all the time about this passage. I think about the roads I have been on, when my entire vision of my future has been buried in the ground. The moments of shock quickly morph into the stark reality of what my life would now be, disastrously altered. For years after our first son, Caleb, died I would be overcome with waves of reality: this really happened. Again, and again, my brain would have to try to incorporate this tragedy into my identity.

This passage from Luke 24, the Road to Emmaus, reminds me of my grief roads. Why were two of Jesus’ disciples leaving Jerusalem? The other disciples were in hiding, believing at any moment they would be dragged away and nailed to a cross. Who wouldn’t believe that if their Lord, Son of God, could be killed, that His followers were next on the hit list? Their entire vision of a future with Christ as Messiah had dissolved as His spirit ascended. The safety, certainty, and hope that inspired them to leave all that they knew and follow Jesus now lay in ruins. What was there to hope in now?

When you have given your all to God, grief comes as not only a shock but also as a torment. Am I crazy? Have I imagined this connection to a God I cannot see, whom I have built my life around, stood up and claimed, been unafraid of being labeled a fool for? Where are you now, God? I imagine these two disciples walking together on their grief-filled, lonely road, quizzing each other . . . do you remember when He did this? Wasn’t that proof? Remember when he turned water to wine, raised Lazarus, caused the blind to see? What did we miss? Are we fools?

I have stood outside on my front porch in the middle of the night, unable to breathe, chain-smoking and praying . . . okay, it was a conversation with the sky. I was demanding answers, begging for a re-do, refusing to believe I had been given anything but a “screw you” from the God I loved. But, I wasn’t looking for Him. My grief clouded my ability to see Him, in all the moments He came to me, drew close and walked beside me.

A year later, when our family was knocked sideways with the tragic and untimely loss of my father in law, I again screamed and shouted over cigarettes with God. We endured months nothing less than confusion, frustration, and anger. We were bowled over by loss, unable to see anything but the blinding hurt we were enduring.

But, God has a way of walking beside us. We can look back on those dark journeys and see how He brought family together, strengthened bonds, created a new and lasting legacy in our families. We see the friendships made and the deep channels of empathy carved in our beings, making us better to love others and serve them in their crisis. We also see the children born since, the life that continues to be resurrected, the hope we live with.

The biblical commentaries suggest that God blinded the disciples from seeing Him as they walked their road. This doesn’t sit right with me. I don’t think He ever blinds us from seeing Him. I think immaturity and lack of faith blind us. I think when bad things happen we forget to look for Jesus. I think we are so overwhelmed with the realities of the funeral plans and what do we do for Christmas this year that we forget every step, every moment is filled and held and carried by Him. At least, that is what I have done. I get so caught up in my human despair that I forget to look for the Christ next to me.

When our third son, Samuel, was diagnosed with a terminal heart condition, we were again overcome with grief. However, I had learned from years of shaking my fists and chain smoking while screaming prayers to heaven, that I couldn’t survive another road to Emmaus without having the God I loved being present and real next to me. In my deepest prayer, in my worst moments, all I could utter to Him was “don’t let me lose you again, help me to hang onto you because without you carrying me, I won’t be able to keep my eyes on You.”

I still couldn’t sleep. I didn’t chain smoke because I was pregnant. But I did pray, and I filled my head with music that called me to continuously look for Him. And guess what? We walked the next 15 weeks, a week in the hospital with high blood pressure and magnesium treatments, his birth, his two and a half weeks in the NICU, and the last thirteen months with a Jesus real and present, making Himself visible over and over again. I have never in my life known more that God was present. And I have never needed Him more to continue to breathe, live, and survive for my family.

My friends, life is hard and we are all so human. Don’t give in to despair. Don’t believe you can hold on by yourselves. Simply pray: hold on to me, Lord, and don’t let me go! Guess what? He will appear. Just keep your eyes open.

Run to Jesus

By Taylor Arthur | 15 September, 2012 - 9:20 am |
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“When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went out to meet him . . .” John 11: 20

John 11 paints a familiar image. Jesus’ friend–Lazarus, whom He loves–becomes ill. His family loves Jesus. Lazarus’ sisters, Mary and Martha, each have personal relationships with Jesus. Martha knows exactly what to do when trouble comes: call Jesus! With confidence she sends out the dispatch. With confidence she soothes her brother and sister: “Jesus is coming, we have nothing to fear.”

But He doesn’t come. Lazarus gets sicker and sicker. Mary and Martha tend to their brother, trying to remain calm . . . Where is Jesus? Why isn’t he coming? They assure their household that Lazarus will be fine. Jesus will come for his friend, won’t he? And then, Lazarus slips away. Where is our Lord? They take his body, wrap him, and perfume him. Lord? They seal him in the tomb. Day 1 passes. Day 2 . . . Day 3? Surely, Jesus will come before this soul departs! Day 4 . . . hope takes flight with Lazarus’ spirit . . . and then, here comes Jesus, so late we wonder why He bothers coming at all.

I wonder what Martha was thinking the moment she heard Jesus had arrived. She was certainly busy: her home overflowing with mourners, her heart bogged down in grief. Still, Martha runs out to meet Him. She knows the one thing she needs: an audience with her Lord. She’s unabashedly honest, “Lord, if you had been here!” If, if, if! (And I wonder if He heard her heart pray, and where have you been? Did you forget about us? ) I can feel her hot tears welling up in my eyes as I picture her collapsing at his feet on the dry, dusty road. How many of us have uttered a prayer similar to Martha’s? How many of us, no matter how deep our faith abides, wonder if there are some moments God just falls asleep?

Jesus knows this. He knows that the present realities of this world can swamp our vision. He knows that it is so very difficult for us to see the plans He has for us as we are drowning in physicalities. And, He knows our need to ask Him a million questions as to how and why He didn’t intervene when we think He should have. He cries with us as we stare at fresh graves and drowned dreams.

But, do we follow Martha’s example and run to Him, after all hope of a miracle is gone? Do we see Jesus not just as Provider and Miracle Worker, but also as friend? Can we set aside our anger at Him for not doing what we think He ought to have done, and allow Him to weep with us? Can we open our hearts to a crucified Lord who knows what it is to cry out to the Father, “Why have you forsaken me?” Matthew 27:46, Mark 15:34.

I have spent my fair share of time angry at God for allowing bad things to happen. I have shaken my fists at the sky, and ached with the desperate void I refused to let my Lord fill. But, I have learned that the best place in the midst of the scariest storms, when I don’t understand Him and my heart is flooding, is in the shadow of His wing. Martha understood the truth of Hosea 6:3:

“Let us acknowledge the Lord;
let us press on to acknowledge him.
As surely as the sun rises,
he will appear;
he will come to us like the winter rains,
like the spring rains that water the earth.”

He may come late, He may not do what we want. But He always come for us. When He does, I’ve learned my best course of action is to run to Jesus.

Gratefully,
Taylor

Saint wannabe

By Taylor Arthur | 7 September, 2012 - 2:39 pm |
11 Comments

“A cup must be empty before it can be filled.
If it is already full, it can’t be filled again
except by emptying it out.
In order to fill anything, there must be
a hollowed-out space.
Otherwise it can’t receive.”
Fr. William Breault SJ, Hearts on Fire

So, I think I got ahead of myself last week. Let me give you a little background:

Since I was a little girl, I aspired to holiness like my brother aspired to be a professional football player. Religion seemed so simple: follow the rules, life goes great, you go to heaven. And, I was great at following the rules! It just came naturally to me, kind of like a talent. But there are by-products to a character fastened to rigidity: a prideful heart filled with more judgement than empathy for others, for starters. At fifteen, however, everything began to shift when I fell in love as a teenager and was plunged into a battle to the death for my chastity. I knew the rules, but had no idea how to keep them. Who tells you how to be young, in love, and chaste? When all I want is to do God’s will, why does it seem so difficult to discern how? Furthermore, who tells you how to survive mental illness, infant loss, and all manner of tragedies that we endure on this earth?

There is something left out in the whole spirituality/religion equation. We are all given the rule book. We are told, “you’ll get through,” “God never gives you more than you can handle,” blah, blah, blah. We play with a rudimentary knowledge of the game, but without any idea of what to do when the third baseman has the ball and we are caught in a rundown between 2nd and 3rd. Do we run back to second, or charge third? How about when your heart is shattered and you have to pick yourself up off the floor and charge back into the world? Know one can really, truly tell you what to do when you’re in a pickle.

I’ve survived enough pickles now to know that the reality of the Christian, human experience supersedes any rule book we may have adopted. I’m not perfect, and I certainly strike out more often than I hit a home run. I’ve been trying for over thirty years now to figure out what “holy” means. People are holy, I’ve noticed, after they die, or from afar. They are hardly ever holy up close, unless holy simply means “full of holes,” allowing Jesus to shine through all the more (my favorite definition). Maybe defining holiness is only possible when we can look at the whole of a person, balance the scales, see the stats of a career and not just a single game?

The problem for all of us living saint wannabe’s is that we’re still in the game, and our game is messy. We drive to church and pray piously in the pew after screaming at our families to get ready. We pray for the children in India and neglect our neighbors. We rush to do the holy things and forget to nurture and care wholly for ourselves. We hold fast to our religious beliefs, then judge and gossip and envy behind the closed doors of our own hearts. We all fail miserably so much of the time and yet can still soar to lofty heights of self-sacrifice, courage, and love.

I struggle to balance my failings with my fervent desire for the right. I struggle to define healthy boundaries within which I can give but not give myself away in the process. I still grapple with the rulebook, to flesh out black and white commandments. I scrutinize myself with my knowledge, and then am frustrated that I don’t know more. This life of constantly being imperfect can drive a perfectionist crazy! But it is in all of my failings, my flaws, my humanity that Jesus abides and fills and pours Himself out of me. I must be emptied, hollowed-out of my perfect to be filled up with Jesus.

I hope this blog can be an honest reflection of my struggles, as one thirty-something Catholic wife, mother of a son in heaven and two on earth, daughter, sister, and friend, trying to live an authentic, Christian whole life . . . not as a saint, but certainly as a saint wannabe.

AMDG,
Taylor