(Non) Accidents of Birth

Most teenagers wonder, at some point, how they ended up born into their families. They feel like a fateful god shrugged its shoulders and made a random selection. Bob Jr. might have inherited a few traits from mom and dad, and he might resemble a sibling, but everything else feels wrong.

I’m a recovering NDE video addict. The predominant message given by Near Death Experience survivors is that God is a being of infinite love and wisdom. The second recurring message is that we choose the broad outlines of our lives before birth. We come into this world with things to do and lessons to learn. We select hard times and tough circumstances. We pick our relatives. Like masochistic tourists, we plan the most challenging routes.

I have one question when I consider the proposition that I volunteered for everything: what the hell was I thinking? Other questions: did folks living in abject poverty, suffering starvation, and ricocheting from one moment of abject terror to another really choose the courses of their lives? What induced them to pick those travel plans? Were all the cabins on the luxury yachts already taken?

I’ve heard that we need hard times and tragedies to appreciate the best things in our lives. Moments of happiness seem sweeter when contrasted to times of grief and pain. I sometimes tell painting students that compositions need to have patches of dull colors to make the shining passages shine a little brighter.

But don’t we all wish that our lives resembled extended beach vacations?

Near the end of earning my master’s degree, an acutely stressful time, an acquaintance commented that I had grown a lot during the preceding two years. She wished me continued growth postgraduation. I groused, “If that’s what it takes to grow, I’d like to spend the next two years quietly rotting.”

But I’ve recently come across some teachings that assert that radical acceptance reduces suffering. Regardless of our situations, the best we can do is to embrace each moment and live it fully. The Roman Stoics had a slogan: amor fati. Love your fate.

We may never fully understand the reasons for tragedies and heart wrenching struggles in our lives. But bitching about them makes everything worse. Yearning for different circumstances or wishing that we could go back and make different choices wastes time and energy. If we turn and face our experience, then we are freed from struggling against things that can’t be changed. And we truly live our allotted time.

If the only sure gift we have is this life, then why not make use of it to the furthest extent? Questions about a life plan’s worth can be saved for the exit interview.

Two Sessions of Therapy

I decided recently to get counseling about the depression I experience from dealing with a family member. A friend recommended a Licensed Clinical Social Worker. After two sessions, I’ve learned that my assessments are correct. I’m not delusional: my reactions are normal and justified. I’ve told a few vivid stories about the past to give my problems context, and L.H. commented, “That’s a lot of traumas.”

Talking about the hard parts is somewhat embarrassing. Messages from my upbringing include the following: men suck it up and silently endure; emotions are a sign of weakness; sharing problems with others is selfish and in poor taste. I keep waiting for L.H. to show restlessness and disgust as I rattle on, but her patience and understanding have been steadfast.

I’ve also learned that talking about all this garbage wears me out. I feel a sense of liberation at first: it’s good to get it out. But the initial rush fades after an hour. Then my neck tightens up. Then I feel like I’m trudging through knee-deep mud. Yesterday, after I got home from a session, I barely made it through supper before taking a two-hour nap.

I asked L.H. about the treatment plan. I told her that I’d read that talking about past events deepens the mental grooves holding trauma. Offering a bad memory attention strengthens its hold. She said that the only way to deal with trauma is to feel the associated emotions. Denying or deemphasizing the importance of harsh events allows their attached feelings to fester and maintain power. She proposes a long walk through some of the worst moments of my life. She warns that, for perhaps a year, misery will follow each session. Relief will come, but not right away. I feel like I’m volunteering for repeated sessions of root canal surgery–mental root canal surgery.

I’ve expressed frustration that it’s taken me this long to figure out what’s bothering me. Why did I wait to seek help? L.H. says that the eventual benefits of therapy will make my remaining years much happier. I saw family members descend into bitterness as they grew old. I’d like to find a better way to go, so, I’m willing to give L.H.’s plan a shot.

Seesaw

My sister invited me to play on a seesaw with her. I was about six. She was about nine. We bobbed up and down happily for a few minutes. The sky was blue with a few puffy clouds. A cool breeze made the warm day enjoyable. Then I saw her expression as she came to a stop while sitting on the bottom end. She smiled at me the way she did right before punching me. She held down the handle as she slid off the seat. She pushed up and down on the handle to jolt me and loosen my grip, and to let me know what was coming. I protested–I was suspended at least six feet off the ground–but she let go anyway. I came down with a thud even though I tried to break my landing with my feet. I lay stunned on my back as Sis made a discrete retreat. She glanced around to see if any adults had seen what she’d done. I got up slowly once my breath returned. I trudged over to Mom and told her what had happened, but my sister only got a mild reprimand. I decided, from that moment on, to never ride on a seesaw with her again.

I’ve followed that rule throughout my life. If a friend tricked or betrayed me more than once, I put distance between myself and him. (I hated the surprise of discovering how little I meant.) Sometimes, if the offenses truly stung, I chose to end relationships without saying a word. I figured that someone who had little concern about my wellbeing deserved no notification. I felt a sense of power in refusing to be anyone’s long term patsy. But major and minor treacheries piled up over the years, and I began to expect bad behavior to eventually enter into most situations.

This became a prison after a while. I couldn’t relax around people while scanning them for bad motives. I couldn’t enjoy praise or recognition while waiting for underlying motives to surface. The uncomplicated, innocent love of my children, of course, gave me periods of happiness and ease. A long-term marriage to a loving wife has been a refuge and deep comfort. But I still feel a sense of enclosure.

I went on a walk a few days ago and decided that I’d be happier if I took things as they come, that watching and worrying was draining life out of me. I decided to accept that things go up and down, that many things are beyond control.

I’ll probably take more unexpected hits, but the benefit of breathing more freely should offset the unpleasantness of nasty surprises. It won’t be easy to redirect a habit of fifty plus years, but I’ve decided to enjoy finding out what happens while I make the effort.

He Is a New Creation

Corinthians 5:17

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation.  The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.

A fellow grad student grew increasingly desperate as we approached the end of our final year.  Patty realized that her community and friends would scatter once she graduated.  She knew that nothing would be the same once her current way of life ground to a halt.  Patty saw the dawning of an uncertain future and shrank back. 

I think that most of us hesitate when confronted by new possibilities, by choices we know will radically change our lives.  Those who jump at fresh opportunities are already hungry (or desperate) for a break with the past.

A surrender to God’s guidance falls into the category of radical change. When the reality of His presence becomes undeniable, nothing can ever remain the same.  The range of choices shift.  Unexpected decisions lead to unexpected paths that yield surprises around every turn.  Coincidences seem more like evidence of hidden connections.  The world becomes a different place.

Sometimes friends and family react badly when a loved one begins to walk with God.  They see the changes as a threat to their understanding of how their own lives work.  They want “Bob” to return to their fold.  They demand that the new Bob revert not realizing that the old form no longer exists.  And they fear that Bob might be contagious, that contact with him might lead to similar transformations in themselves. 

So, consciously choosing to live a new life may lead to rejection.  No wonder we hesitate to take first steps, that we step back from the threshold and try to close the door.  But clinging to old patterns cannot be maintained in the face of God’s persistent influence.  Like newly hatched chicks, we may long for the comfort and protection of the egg.  But open skies await us if we learn how to unfold our wings and fly.

Entrances and Exits

I recently read a book, “Many Lives, Many Masters” by the psychiatrist, Brian Weiss. He described his use of hypnotism to treat a young woman emotionally crippled by fear and anxiety. He guided her back through childhood memories to search for a traumatic event, a root cause for her condition. She surprised him by recounting a memory from a time period before she had been born. Weiss eventually discovered that the woman suffered from scarring events that had occurred during previous lives. As he and she explored her extended past and confronted previously hidden traumas (death by drowning, suffering from leprosy, etc.), the woman’s outlook brightened until she developed a charismatic personality. She radiated hope and happiness.

After finishing this book, I began to watch videos of people recalling their near-death experiences. Most experienced peaceful realms where they encountered guiding spirits. Their guardian angels told them that they would have to go back to this world, that they still had things to learn and do in their current lives, and that they had lived many times before.

Some near-death survivors spoke of karmic debts that had to be repaid, of having obligatory missions to fulfill. Failure to make amends or to successfully complete their duties meant rebirth into conditions making similar demands. One could not progress to a more advanced stage until all requirements had been met. I got the impression from them that life is a serious business.

Others had a lighter point of view. They focused on the blissful state of affairs they encountered on the other side of the divide. They said that the afterlife felt like home, that the Great Beyond seemed more real to them than their previous embodied existences. They tended to see life on earth as an adventure, a trip to a carnival, a thrill ride. The threat of death, disease, suffering and danger somehow made their role-playing more enjoyable, more productive. They spoke like actors relishing juicy parts in dramatic, action-packed plays.

I think that I’ve been going through this material in search of comfort. People have lately been making more exits from my life than entrances. And friends have also suffered a spate of losses in recent months. I’m getting the strong impression that life’s going to get us all killed. And I’m afraid that before it does, my story will resemble the saddest verse in a Hank Williams song.

I’d much rather live with some joy and hope. And if nothing else, I want to believe that there’s some point to being here.

Treasures in Heaven

Matthew 6:20-21 “But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moths and vermin do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

I have never received much comfort from funerals. One of the moments I dread most is the eulogy. I understand the difficulty in choosing appropriate words that both capture the spirit of the deceased and offer comfort. But I often wonder how some ministers get so much wrong or why they choose to add to the suffering of mourners.

My father’s eulogy was an exception. The priest mostly cribbed his remarks from an obituary written by my nephew but delivered his words with genuine warmth and compassion. He opened a peaceful space in my heart, and I am very grateful for that.

The priest himself must have been in his eighties, but his age seemed to have enriched rather than diminished him. He stumbled over a few words and made minor gaffes when his memory temporarily failed him. But he used his mistakes as occasions for humor. He focused on giving comfort and did not become self-conscious about his performance. Years of prayer and practice must have given him depth, understanding, and a healthy sense of priorities.

Some follow a different path as they grow older. They mourn the inevitable losses that come to everyone. They cannot appreciate or take joy in what they still have. They try to desperately preserve set ways of living even when their habits no longer suit present circumstances. They stop trying to experience and learn new things.

I think that Father Pat sees every day as an opportunity to serve. His outlook remains fresh and active because he stays open to the demands of the moment. While he belongs to a timebound tradition, it informs rather than restricts his actions. His spiritual gifts increase even as his vigor diminishes.

His life offers an example of putting the quoted Gospel passage into practice. Storing up treasure in heaven requires giving up a tight grip on our earthly treasures. Objects, abilities, and relationships come and go over the course of a life. Communion with God, the imperishable treasure, grows deeper when we put heartfelt effort into seeking it.

Some begin to die decades before their bodies cease to function. Others approach heaven long before they take their last breaths.

Emotions Have Momentum

Emotions have momentum.  The sweetness of a first kiss lingers.  Grief drops in for unexpected visits long after a loved one has gone.  Feelings can be suppressed but not eradicated.  They hang around until they’ve had their say.

Sometimes the hardest moments come when new events promise better days.  Hope begins to rise while fears, anxiety and mourning still dominate.  When this happens, I often have trouble choosing how to react and make decisions.  I want to open to new positives but have become accustomed to dread.  Protective layers of scar tissue deaden my responses to good things.  The tentative rise of joy and happiness feels strange and even uncomfortable.

I eventually drop suspicions and welcome the return of better times, but the dark days still tinge the dawn like memories of bad dreams.  It’s hard to fully celebrate while bracing for downfall’s return.

I have a lot of sympathy for the disciples following Jesus’ death.  They skeptically received news of his resurrection.  They had just started on the road of grief and acceptance.  Their survival hung in the balance as they faced continued hostility from the authorities. Who would lead them now?  Doubting Thomas, when demanding concrete proof of the miraculous, simply tried to protect himself from the futility of empty hope.

Jesus used patience and persistence to introduce them to a new, unexpected reality.  Adjusting to abundant life takes time.  It’s hard to lay down defensive habits even when facing newfound freedom.  How do you behave when changed rules alter the game beyond recognition?

I expect that emergence from the rough waters of the pandemic will require a period of accommodation.  It may take time to find footing again as social beings.  I hope that we’ll hold onto an appreciation for the small blessings of everyday life even as the range of our activity broadens.  And I hope that we’ll be kind to each other as we relearn how to live as communities once again. 

And I wish joy for everyone whether they’re ready for it or not.

Sliding Doors, Fateful Consequences

Sliding Doors

“Sliding Doors”, a 1990s movie starring Gwyneth Paltrow, proposes that small events can have fateful consequences. Two paths are laid out for a woman. The plots diverge from the point where she rushes to catch a train on the London Underground. In one instance, the doors slide shut and she misses her ride. In another, she catches it. Then she either discovers immediately that her boyfriend has cheated on her, or stays with him in ignorant bliss long enough to become pregnant. Both scenarios play out in the movie. One ends tragically for the young woman, and other carries the hope that she would soon find a true companion. Her character doesn’t determine her outcome. She sincerely does her best in both instances. Only happenstance alters her fate…

My wife and I were talking this morning about an Obama interview in which he recalled a moment on the campaign trail he still wished he could change. He felt that he would have connected better with blue collar workers during his presidency if he hadn’t uttered the phrase, “They cling to their religion and their guns.” He was trying to explain why these workers voted against their interests, but failed to show respect for them. Things might have played out differently for him and his party if he had made a better choice.

Our conversation drifted toward choices we’d made on our own journeys. Education and career decisions could have radically altered our lives if different paths had been taken. Nothing in our personal histories and career trajectories made it likely that we would meet and marry. 36 years of marriage, two children and a grandchild are the result of a nearly random grouping of coincidences.

Edward Gorey believed that “things just happen”. There is no plan. Many of his books show characters drifting from one moment to another without moving a coherent plot forward. He doesn’t show cause and effect. His protagonists display temperament but do not evolve as characters. One act may lead, in a tenuous fashion to another, but endings have nothing to do with beginnings.

Some believe, on the other hand, that God has a predetermined script written for them. Their lives fulfill a quest that remains unknown to them until they die. Their post mortem life reviews become mission debriefings.

I’m not sure whether Gorey or the life-mission folks have it right. I suspect that our lives are more like improvisations. We have certain talents and tendencies but must react to changeable scenarios. We’re like actors in “Whose Line Is It Anyway”. We’re given scenes to perform but not prewritten speeches to recite. We only have minimal stage directions. The other actors block or open routes of exploration in unpredictable ways. All we can do, while we’re playing our parts, is believe in the process while remaining open to new possibilities.

Whose Line Is It Anyway?

The Reset Button

I wish I had a reset button on my computer when all the presented options look confusing or bad.  I have learned that  a “help” message offering to send my PC back to the default factory mode is a veiled threat.  It warns that I’ve already slid too far down a slippery slope.  If only I could go back to the moment right before I tried to download a new program…If only I hadn’t clicked on an icon never seen before…If only I had backed up my files on a memory stick before I clicked on an icon never seen before…

I come from blunt people who sometimes speak their minds before considering consequences.  When I see my wife’s eyes pop in disbelief, I wish that I had kept my mouth shut.  Reset, please.  Sometimes my temper gets the best of me when multiple stressors visit concurrently.  I blurt out my irritation to a bystander.  Forgive me?  Reset.

Sometimes a scripture verse or a portion of a pastor’s sermon helps to reset my attitude when I feel storm clouds gathering.  “Cast not the first stone,” comes to mind when tempted to pronounce judgment on people.  “Fear not,” and the 23^rd Psalm have been making regular appearances lately.  Reading the Sermon on the Mount, Isaiah, and the Psalms offers many chances to slip out of anxiety ruts.  It’s comforting to know that older generations faced similar troubles and found “a balm in Gilead”.

God sometimes hits a reset button to redirect our lives.  A voice whispers to us during moments of contemplation.  It prepares the mental ground to grow more nourishing crops.  A new way of thinking emerges.  We see possibilities that hadn’t been apparent moments before.

Sometimes God sends us someone who sees us in a different light.  Their responses hold up a clearer mirror to our speech and action.  These reflections give us a chance to become new persons making fresh choices.  

Sometimes God abruptly and radically changes the circumstances of our lives.  We are reset.  Familiar strategies no longer work.  We stumble along until we adapt. 

Such is the case right now.  It’s normal to feel anxious and bewildered when facing unforeseen obstacles.  God grant us guidance and understanding as we learn to walk this path.