"Dislocation is the perfect context for free-flowing thought that lets us move beyond the restricted confines of a familiar social order.'
I've heard it said by people wiser than I that we see the work of God in our lives retroactively. We can't always discern it when we're in the midst of some tumultuous phase or event, but we can discern it by looking back, peeling away the layers, and learning.
Summer was incredibly disorienting for me. The non-stop schedule pulled from all my intellectual, emotional, and physical resources. A tendency to do everything myself and inability to say no finally bit me in the butt. I wallowed in self-created and self-perpetuated anxiety and misery, and while I could say to anyone who asked, "I'm creating all this anxiety and I know it's all in my head," I couldn't get myself out of it. It was scary. I've never before been in a place where I have so stubbornly ignored the wise council and genuine concern of friends and loved ones.
And there were many more questions and kind comments. All from people who saw and shared what they saw: my life was out of balance, I was irritable, I was sleep-deprived, I was lacking endorphins from exercise I used to enjoy so much, former things that gave me so much joy were zapping the life out of me. I was running on fumes and my hurt was starting to effect others.
I stumbled a lot. Made a lot of mistakes. Hurt friends. Felt entirely ineffective, unproductive, and wasteful. Wasted. Sucked the life out of conversations, out of meetings that should have produced inspiration and ideas.
The "bottom" was a week of difficult and cathartic conversations. It was a week when grace broke in and helped me forgive myself for my failures and missed opportunities, for poor stewardship of friendships, time, and self.
A week when I read Psalm 77:
1I cry aloud to God, aloud to God, that he may hear me.
I had been doing that for a month.
2In the day of my trouble I seek the Lord; in the night my hand is stretched out without wearying; my soul refuses to be comforted.
I laughed aloud because that's exactly what I did. Hindsight is 20/20 and we see the work of God in our lives retroactively. If God is to be found in relationships, and I believe God is, then I had been in conversation with God constantly. I had been sent beautiful moments and beautiful people who shared patience, and peace, and calm. And my soul refused to be comforted. It's pretty stubborn and misery loves company.
3I think of God, and I moan; I meditate, and my spirit faints. Selah
Yep. I tried to meditate, half-assedly, and couldn't remain focused but didn't really try. I tried to renew my "body practice" of exercise, and could not commit myself. I moaned, then fainted. And gave up. Several times.
4You keep my eyelids from closing; I am so troubled that I cannot speak.
Yep, but I wouldn't blame God for keeping my eyelids from closing. I'd blame a lack of self-control and the insidious seduction of social media. I know better and I have more self-control than that. But when you're intent on perpetuating your own melancholy, sleep deprivation is the way to go. I could not speak because I could not think because I would not sleep.
5I consider the days of old, and remember the years of long ago.
Yep, because I was idealizing things that were past and relationships that no longer were, refusing to live fully into the present. This has been a struggle throughout my life - refusing to live in the "eternal now." When I reach these points, I usually reach for my Stephen Mitchell translation of the Tao Te Ching, because even though my understanding of the Tao is rudimentary, a continual returning and remembrance deepens my understanding.
6I commune with my heart in the night; I meditate and search my spirit:
Yep, many were the nights that I could not turn off my brain and cried on my pillow, searching my emotions and my soul to find the root of my melancholy, my "dark night of the soul."
7“Will the Lord spurn forever, and never again be favorable?
Ok, I never really thought this, but reading it this past week made me smile in a knowing way. Knowing that I was just working through a type of spiritually adolescent rage and angst and while emotionally I might be raging against my spiritual Father, I knew intellectually that God was there, meeting me, and I was just stubborn. I described it to a friend as "having my fingers in my ears and yelling, 'la la la la la. I'm not listening!'"
8Has his steadfast love ceased forever? Are his promises at an end for all time?
No. I was just being childish and not listening.
9Has God forgotten to be gracious? Has he in anger shut up his compassion?” Selah
Again, no. I had forgotten to be gracious to myself, compassionate to myself and others. I was angry and wouldn't forgive myself my anger nor allow myself to be lifted from its grasp.
10And I say, “It is my grief that the right hand of the Most High has changed.”
When I finally allowed it to, my grief started to subside. I finally allowed it to transform...
11I will call to mind the deeds of the Lord; I will remember your wonders of old.
Now I would call to mind those golden times when I had my head on straight and begin to live into them again.
12I will meditate on all your work, and muse on your mighty deeds.
Yep - because that's what God was offering - God's work and mighty deeds, all the time and through this whole ordeal.
13Your way, O God, is holy. What god is so great as our God?
Yep, the way is holy and it's present and now. TBTG (Thanks be to God).
I had been living in a place of dislocation and disorientation, but know that this is part of my faith tradition and our religious narrative. From passion and crucifixion come resurrection and new life.
From Exodus comes freedom.
Or maybe, more deeply, in death is life. In Exodus is the Promised Land.
In dislocation is the context for free-flowing thought that allows us to move beyond the confines of the familiar and the painful.
Out of disorientation comes hope. In dislocation is rootedness.
Amen.
- bell hooks, Teaching Community: A Pedagogy of Hope
I've heard it said by people wiser than I that we see the work of God in our lives retroactively. We can't always discern it when we're in the midst of some tumultuous phase or event, but we can discern it by looking back, peeling away the layers, and learning.
Summer was incredibly disorienting for me. The non-stop schedule pulled from all my intellectual, emotional, and physical resources. A tendency to do everything myself and inability to say no finally bit me in the butt. I wallowed in self-created and self-perpetuated anxiety and misery, and while I could say to anyone who asked, "I'm creating all this anxiety and I know it's all in my head," I couldn't get myself out of it. It was scary. I've never before been in a place where I have so stubbornly ignored the wise council and genuine concern of friends and loved ones.
"You have to learn to say no."
"You need to give yourself time to process before you act."
"What's going on with you? You don't seem yourself."
"We love you; we're just worried about you."
"How's your physical health? Are you taking care of yourself?"
"Are you taking time for yourself, away from work and dance?"
And there were many more questions and kind comments. All from people who saw and shared what they saw: my life was out of balance, I was irritable, I was sleep-deprived, I was lacking endorphins from exercise I used to enjoy so much, former things that gave me so much joy were zapping the life out of me. I was running on fumes and my hurt was starting to effect others.
I stumbled a lot. Made a lot of mistakes. Hurt friends. Felt entirely ineffective, unproductive, and wasteful. Wasted. Sucked the life out of conversations, out of meetings that should have produced inspiration and ideas.
The "bottom" was a week of difficult and cathartic conversations. It was a week when grace broke in and helped me forgive myself for my failures and missed opportunities, for poor stewardship of friendships, time, and self.
A week when I read Psalm 77:
1I cry aloud to God, aloud to God, that he may hear me.
I had been doing that for a month.
2In the day of my trouble I seek the Lord; in the night my hand is stretched out without wearying; my soul refuses to be comforted.
I laughed aloud because that's exactly what I did. Hindsight is 20/20 and we see the work of God in our lives retroactively. If God is to be found in relationships, and I believe God is, then I had been in conversation with God constantly. I had been sent beautiful moments and beautiful people who shared patience, and peace, and calm. And my soul refused to be comforted. It's pretty stubborn and misery loves company.
3I think of God, and I moan; I meditate, and my spirit faints. Selah
Yep. I tried to meditate, half-assedly, and couldn't remain focused but didn't really try. I tried to renew my "body practice" of exercise, and could not commit myself. I moaned, then fainted. And gave up. Several times.
4You keep my eyelids from closing; I am so troubled that I cannot speak.
Yep, but I wouldn't blame God for keeping my eyelids from closing. I'd blame a lack of self-control and the insidious seduction of social media. I know better and I have more self-control than that. But when you're intent on perpetuating your own melancholy, sleep deprivation is the way to go. I could not speak because I could not think because I would not sleep.
5I consider the days of old, and remember the years of long ago.
Yep, because I was idealizing things that were past and relationships that no longer were, refusing to live fully into the present. This has been a struggle throughout my life - refusing to live in the "eternal now." When I reach these points, I usually reach for my Stephen Mitchell translation of the Tao Te Ching, because even though my understanding of the Tao is rudimentary, a continual returning and remembrance deepens my understanding.
6I commune with my heart in the night; I meditate and search my spirit:
Yep, many were the nights that I could not turn off my brain and cried on my pillow, searching my emotions and my soul to find the root of my melancholy, my "dark night of the soul."
7“Will the Lord spurn forever, and never again be favorable?
Ok, I never really thought this, but reading it this past week made me smile in a knowing way. Knowing that I was just working through a type of spiritually adolescent rage and angst and while emotionally I might be raging against my spiritual Father, I knew intellectually that God was there, meeting me, and I was just stubborn. I described it to a friend as "having my fingers in my ears and yelling, 'la la la la la. I'm not listening!'"
8Has his steadfast love ceased forever? Are his promises at an end for all time?
No. I was just being childish and not listening.
9Has God forgotten to be gracious? Has he in anger shut up his compassion?” Selah
Again, no. I had forgotten to be gracious to myself, compassionate to myself and others. I was angry and wouldn't forgive myself my anger nor allow myself to be lifted from its grasp.
10And I say, “It is my grief that the right hand of the Most High has changed.”
When I finally allowed it to, my grief started to subside. I finally allowed it to transform...
11I will call to mind the deeds of the Lord; I will remember your wonders of old.
Now I would call to mind those golden times when I had my head on straight and begin to live into them again.
12I will meditate on all your work, and muse on your mighty deeds.
Yep - because that's what God was offering - God's work and mighty deeds, all the time and through this whole ordeal.
13Your way, O God, is holy. What god is so great as our God?
Yep, the way is holy and it's present and now. TBTG (Thanks be to God).
I had been living in a place of dislocation and disorientation, but know that this is part of my faith tradition and our religious narrative. From passion and crucifixion come resurrection and new life.
From Exodus comes freedom.
Or maybe, more deeply, in death is life. In Exodus is the Promised Land.
In dislocation is the context for free-flowing thought that allows us to move beyond the confines of the familiar and the painful.
Out of disorientation comes hope. In dislocation is rootedness.
Amen.
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