Ruminating on Ruminating

I learned a new word. 

Perseverate. 
 
To repeat something insistently or redundantly. To get stuck, to ruminate, to loop back over and over. And over.
 
As in, “My 91-year-old mother perseverated.” 
 
My mom passed away a year ago. But I’m still haunted by echoes of her three looping ruminations. And my robotic responses. 
 
“I’m going blind.” 
 
“I’m so sorry you have blurry vision, Mom. But all your eye sub-specialists have told us you have one healthy eye and you’re not going blind. No matter what, we will take care of you.”
 
“I guess I’ll eat that and get fat. I used to watch my weight, but I just don’t care anymore.”
 
“Mom, remember the doctor ordered you to gain weight because you were way too thin and it was bad for your health and brain. You’re still so tiny but I’m glad you’re healthier.”
 
“It is hell getting old. Why doesn’t God just take me now?”
 
“I’m sorry, Mom. I know it’s hard, but we’re glad you’re here with us.”
 
It’s like a broken record in an alternate universe. When you say this, I say this. 
 
Over and over and over again. 

Those perseverations crushed me. There was nothing I could do to help her. 
 
It makes me wonder what I will perseverate about in a few years. 
 
It’s in my DNA. I too deal with doubts, cynicism, negative self-image, and fears for my health, family, and aging. My unfiltered ruminations will be filled with apologies and worries. 
 
“I am so sorry for taking all your time and causing you all this trouble.”
“Are you okay? Have I made you angry?”
“How are my kids? Are they safe?”
 
I had lots of time to observe the different personalities in Mom's retirement village. Everybody has customized ruts. I’m trying to re-groove my brain now so when it inevitably falls into ruts, they will be these: 
 
Gratitude 
To rearrange my DNA of gloom and doom, I keep a daily gratitude journal and snap iPhone photos of small happies. I try to express thanks in concrete ways to people around me. I say “I love you” whenever I can (a tiny bit less enthusiastically than Buddy the Elf). I picture myself in the nursing home with the staff saying, “Watch out, here comes the hugger.”
 
Wonder 
I fear bitterness more than blindness. Even as my eyesight fails, I want to live in wonder. To pay attention, clap at all the small, beautiful details in creation, and embed the truth of God’s steadfast love deep in my soul. as I face the unavoidable suffering, The nursing home staff will roll their eyes and point at me, “There’s that crazy lady clapping at a caterpillar again.” 
 
Compassionate Curiosity
I want to know people’s stories, not to be intrusive, but to understand and connect. I want to keep asking “after them,” and find ways to affirm them. The folks caring for me will be disappointed if I don’t ask, “How can I pray for you?” 
 
JESUS
I want to end up like the joke about the Sunday School answer. It’s always Jesus. I have been around old saints who weep as they whisper the name of Jesus. O Lord, help me to love you more and more. 
 
Ruminating and perseverating about Jesus? That gives me hope as I age. Because each day it means I'm one day closer to home.
 
And I too will be saying, “O Lord, take me now!”
 
Many of you also care for aging parents or perseverating “loopers.” It’s hard. Maybe like me, it surfaces all sorts of fears of what it will be like when you reach that stage. May God be with you. 
 
If it’s inevitable that we will end up in a rut of rumination, what do you want to ruminate on?

Recalibrating Practices: How will you G-R-O-W this year?

Every year I choose a word as a theme to recalibrate around. But, as a woman flooded with words, it’s swollen in the past few years into an acronym : G-R-O-W.

Gratitude. Resilience. Obedience. Wonder.

(In 2021, I’m going to make it G-R-O-W-L because we all need some laughter. Every day.)

These words are part of my current “rule of life,” a spiritual practice which serves as as a way to set a sacred pace for your life. (More on developing a “rule of life” in an upcoming newsletter.)

G-R-O-W jelled when three friends from different seasons of my life who didn’t know each other gathered to help usher in my 60th birthday at the beach. One afternoon, we sat for a few hours with our feet in the sand and spoke about our biggest fears and desires as we stare down the second half (or last quarter in my case).

It was then I realized the things I fear are the flip side of what I most want.  

I fear ending up bitter, cynical, and judgmental. I fear II’ll give up on my dreams, deaden my longings, and become rigid and inflexible in my beliefs and habits. I fear I’ll lose my love for Jesus and rationalize or minimize my sin. I fear I’ll become bored, apathetic, tired, and joyless.

What do I most desire as I stare down my failures, confusion, disappointments? I want to be grateful every day, to keep going and trying new things. (Which means I want to keep failing.) I want to love Jesus more and respond to him out of love not as a means to an end. I want to live a life of wide-eyed joy in the mysteries and beauty of life. And I want to laugh uncontrollably—tears streaming and unable to catch my breath—with those around me.

For the next few posts, I will explore G-R-O-W-L. Starting with:

GRATITUDE 

Henri Nouwen writes, “Gratitude is the awareness that life in all its manifestations is a gift for which we want to give thanks. The closer we come to God in prayer, the more we become aware of the abundance of God’s gifts to us. We may even discover the presence of these gifts in the midst of our pains and sorrows. The mystery of the spiritual life is that many of the events, people, and situations that for a long time seemed to inhibit our way to God become ways of being united more deeply with him. What seemed a hindrance proves to be a gift. Thus, gratitude becomes a quality of our hearts that allows us to live joyfully and peacefully even though our struggles continue.”

There are wonderful podcasts, Ted Talks, and apps which can help retrain your brain to gratitude. I love the Five Minute Journal because I can do it in two minutes a day and add a photo. It’s good to have a place to skim back and remember that life isn’t so bad.

Ron Rolheiser, OMI writes, “Gratitude is the ultimate virtue, undergirding everything else, even love. It is synonymous with holiness. Gratitude not only defines sanctity, it also defines maturity. We are mature to the degree that we are grateful. But what brings us there? What makes for a deeper human maturity?” He then lists 10 ways we need to address to embrace gratitude. I’d love to know which most resonates with you.

He writes, “God is a prodigiously-loving, fully-understanding, completely-empathic parent. We are mature and free of false anxiety to the degree that we grasp that and trust that truth.”

 Start with just soaking in some of h the many Scriptures on thankfulness, like Colossians 3:12-17. Before going to bed, write down 1-3 small or big things you’re grateful for that day. Or take a photo a day of one thing you’re grateful for. Or thank someone (with specific reasons why you’re thankful) once a day (at least!)

Please let me know your gratitude habits.

Next up: Resilience!

How Will We Emerge? My Turn

How will we emerge? That’s the question I’m asking myself and others in this “unprecedented” year. That’s the question I challenge you to ask yourself. There are lots of presumptions in this question:

• An acknowledgement that we’re in epic times that’s going to change our world and us.

• An optimism that there will be a “coming out on the other side” of all these global health, social justice, and political pandemics. An optimism that it will be in 2021.

• The hope that “we” will come out. Not just “me” against “you.”

• The reality that in the midst of what we have no control of, there are a few things we can control. What are the small (or big) ways you personally want to come out of this? What are you learning? What good or hard things have surfaced? How do you want your life / faith / heart / work / relationships to be different? 

If I tune into the daily news or read the statistics, that question ripples through me with uncertainty and fear. If I lay the uncontrollable “we” down, and focus on me, I can answer. I want to emerge with some “more” in a year filled with “less.”

More kind

I entered this quarantine with the mantra “Be kind to yourself.” I’ve needed to hear that on repeat. During these 10 months, I’ve lost the ability to juggle more than a few things a week. And I don’t need my inner critic berating me for that.

These months exposed that I live in a system which benefits me at the expense of others. It’s revealed that I’m all for you doing well as long as it doesn’t affect my bank account or my children’s future.  I pray I emerge more generous and willing to welcome others to share in my privilege.

As conflicts and divisions increased this year, especially in the church and among family and friends, my mantra shortened to “Be kind.” I want to emerge, by the grace of God, without breaking relationships or avoiding people who believe differently than I do. In a world where so many are loudly “right,” how can I quietly love?

More resilient

My physical and mental fall-apart accelerated in lockdown. I damaged my knee, fractured my tooth, had a scary reaction to wasp stings, gained some of the infamous pandemic pounds, and slid into the gray jello of depression. Courage is choosing to keep coming back even if I’m three steps further behind each time, (hobbling, swollen, with a snaggle-tooth smile). This pandemic has made me accept the fact I’m not going to win any races, but I want to keep stumbling forward, even if I could be hired as an extra in a zombie movie.

More grateful

The small-big things this year fill me with thankful wonder: That in this quarantine our kids are neither toddlers nor teens. (My prayers for all the parents and teachers in the thick of it.) That our son spent time with us as he worked remotely. That my 88-year-old mom has been safe. For a camera and how it slows me down to see the beauty around me. For walks with my husband and our dog, both who still like me after lockdown. For a safe neighborhood to walk in and a home to return to—a home with electricity, air conditioning, indoor plumbing, and two-ply toilet paper. For fresh food in the stores and too many good books to read and listen to. For a future with in-person concerts, spontaneous unmasked get-togethers, and worship services where we can sit side by side and “sing loudly (and in my case, poorly) for all to hear” without fear of spreading disease.

Thank you, Jesus, that nothing this year surprises you and good will come from what you’re doing inside of me—inside of all of us—this unprecedented season. More than anything, I want to emerge more deeply in love with you, Jesus. And to relish the reality that you love me right where I am (even if it’s huddled up with Netflix and my stash of dark chocolate peanut butter cups) in these hard and holy moments.