Mom and Crazy Time




My mother-in-law is old. Why is it that even as I write the word “old” it has a negative feel to it, it conjures up in me emotions I want to avoid.

Mom Thornburg is old. Her skin is wrinkly, hair grey, body stooped. A few years ago she had some “mini” strokes, which left her extremely weak on the left side of her body. So she lists to the left side and drools out of the left side of her mouth. When she eats, she struggles to keep food in her mouth. It’s not a pretty sight. Mom is pretty much stuck in her wheel chair and only gets to be where other folks put her, which of course includes the toilet…when she can hold things together long enough for them to get her there. Mom is old. Her body is giving out on her.

However, her mind isn’t keeping pace with the decline of her body. It’s remaining in pretty good shape. The other day as we were reminiscing with Dad Thornburg about some old acquaintances, Dad named some folks incorrectly. Mom started mumbling and as we leaned closer to hear, we discovered she was giving a corrective. Mom’s mind is still pretty much hitting on all cylinders.

The other salient characteristic about Mom these days is that she cries a lot. I mean, Mom really cries a lot. It doesn’t take much to make her cry. When we do something kind for her, Mom cries. When we pray together she cries. When we tell her something that the grandkids are doing, she cries. She especially cries if we tell her something exciting or hopeful about the grandkids.

Now I find all this crying interesting. I’m sure there are some folks that would say that’s part of the getting older thing, she can’t control her physical responses to emotional stimuli the way she used to, and I’m sure there’s some truth to this. However, I’m suspicious that there’s more to it. I’m wondering if this old woman, this beautiful, old woman, is growing in her mental and spiritual capacity to recognize beauty when she sees it, and when she sees it, it moves her to tears. I’m wondering if the false blinders between the temporal and eternal is getting thinner and thinner for Mom and her tears are a reaction to the beauty of the eternal she is seeing in the temporal things around her.

It makes me also wonder how frustrating it might be for Mom to see all this incredible beauty around her, beauty that surrounds all of us, but which most of us are so caught up in the mundane that we are blind to it, and yet, her physical body is preventing her from entering into that beauty the way she would love to enter into it.

The other day we had Mom and Dad over for Thanksgiving. Guess what Mom did when we wheeled her into our festive looking dining room. Yep. She cried. She saw the beauty and wept. But how frustrating it must have been for her not to jump up and join in on cooking the turkey, whipping the mashed potatoes, setting out her Belgium china that she had given Miriam and we used that day, and hugging all of her loved ones sitting around the table.

A few days later I was getting my haircut by my female barber and she was moaning about how much she detested Thanksgiving. All it was to her was nine hours of cooking, six hours of putting up with greedy relatives and three hours of cleaning up, so she could finally rest…and then go back to work the next day. If only my barber could see through Mom’s eyes. The glory would drop her like a sack of Thanksgiving potatoes on her posterior.

How frustrating it must be for Mom to see the incredible beauty of God all around her, brought to tears by it, and yet not be able to enter into it physically because that old body is just giving out. That old body that has served her and so many others so well. I could understand why someone would want to get rid an old carcass, like pulling off fishing waders, heavy jeans, a sweatshirt and anything else, in order to jump into a cold swimming hole on a hot summer day.

I guess I’m especially curious about Mom’s crying episodes because in the last few years, I’m finding tears filling my eyes more and more often…sometimes at inconvenient and embarrassing times. Yesterday I was simply telling a friend that I really appreciated the memorial service I attended for his mother, and then next thing I knew I was choking up. Sheeze, he wasn’t even getting emotional. But the service was so beautiful and the life this woman had lived was so rich and blessed.

Us young folks look at Mom and others that are really getting old and feel sorry for them. I mean, look at that body. It’s all wrinkly. It won’t do what you want it to do. It creates chronic pain. And it smells. And we pray for healing.

And yet, I wonder if it’s we who need healing. In my humble estimation, there’s a good chance that Mom is seeing so much more in life than I am. That she is seeing dazzling beauty, even in the midst of her frustrating pain and sorrow. And when I look at this beautiful woman, so often I can’t see the beauty in her any more. Why is it when I look at my six month old granddaughter, I’m filled with awe and joy. Elysia and Mom Thornburg physically have a lot in common, and yet I struggle to see the beauty in Mom, but not Elysia. Who needs to be healed? Most likely me and not Mom. Mom just needs to be freed, freed to run into the fields of flowers and birds and grasses and all the beauty and the arms of Jesus.

Pray for our healing, Mom. Pray that we can see the beauty you see. We love you.

A Dream

I’m on a rafting trip with some friends. It’s dusk and I decide to go for a quick run by myself. As I’m drifting along, I hear some big splashes. The way I would say the sound is “baloosh.” At first I think it’s fish jumping. Then I realize someone has thrown large rocks at me from the bank. I can’t see who it is. This both scares and angers me.

I decide I need to report this. So I start to head to the bank. The river is flowing swift, maybe even rapids, I can’t remember. But I’m having a difficult time landing the raft, so I decide to jump from the raft to the shore. That’s what I do. When I get to the shore, I realize that my raft is still headed down stream, headed for the ocean eventually. This is going from bad to worse.

I hurry to a phone booth, but don’t know who to call. 911 seems a bit extreme, so I try to figure out how to call the local police, but I can’t find the number in the phonebook.

So I go to a local establishment, seems like a restaurant or pub. I have a hard time getting people’s attention and help. I see someone (male) that is in a uniform that has “security” on it. I head down some stairs to a lower level where that person was. I have to wait in some line to get directions to security. The person giving directions points behind her to where I need to go to security. I go to a door and open it and stick my head into a conference room that has a bunch of business people in a meeting. No extra seats and they all look at me like I’m interrupting. Obviously the wrong room. Go back and find out I went passed the right door. When I go to the right door I open it to find three women in a small, narrow room, no windows, and they all look like they’re sowing. They’re “security” and they all get up and come over to me to hear about my problem. I’m surprised that it’s all women, and as I remember, a bit concerned about this. Not a major theme, but I do remember it.

End of dream. I wake up and clearly remember the dream and sense it’s a dream of importance.

Years back I started to pay attention to dreams. I believe many are not significant, but there are those with a lot of energy and easily remembered. To these I pay careful attention.

I do three things with these dreams. Got this from the book Dreams and Spiritual Growth: A Christian Approach to Dreamwork. Also did some reading from Morton Kelsey and some other stuff. Anyway, first I give the dream a title. So this dream I might title “Attacked On The River and Looking for Security.” Then I name the themes. So with this dream some themes are:
• Traveling – rafting trip
• Being attacked – someone throwing rocks
• Loss – the raft
• Problem solving
• Looking for help - security
Finally, I name the emotions I experienced. Fear, anger, frustration, disorientation, surprise, hmmmm…there was also peace and relaxation as I was rafting until someone threw the rocks at me.

That’s as far as I usually go. I have some ideas what’s up with this dream, but I don’t usually write that stuff out. I think that’s because if I do I might stop the dream emerging and doing work in me. I’m might write about it a while later when it’s pretty much played out.

I’m grateful for dreams. I think it’s an amazing way that God speaks to us. And often times it an experience of ‘crazy time.”

Africa…The Coming Crazy Time

We’re, Miriam and I, and maybe our friend, Bruce, are going to Africa this coming December and early January. We’ll hopefully head out right after Christmas. There, I said it. You have to understand something. This scares the begeebees out of me. Actually, being in Africa (Burundi, to be exact) doesn’t bother me that much. I’ve spent several weeks in Paraguay and a couple weeks in Haiti before and really enjoyed, valued those experiences. What scares me is the flying. I deeply dislike flying in airplanes.

But we’re going and I’m really excited. Miriam’s parents were missionaries in Burundi. She hasn’t been there since she was a junior in high school. For years she has had little if any desire to go back, but in the last three or so years, there has been a growing draw back to the places where she grew up. She has some important reconnecting and reunderstanding work to do and I want to journey with her through all that. So why are we going to Africa? To do some humanitarian work for others? Nope. Just to allow Miriam to revisit places important to who she is and most likely to find some healing for her. If the truth be told, we probably should have made this trip years ago. I only hope I’m not the reason we haven’t. For my part, I’ve taken Miriam to all the places that were important to me growing up. Finally, it’s her turn. Of course, we’re going to spend as much money on this one trip to her stomping grounds as we have on all the trips we’ve taken to Colorado, so….

It’s been exciting to see how God has gently, but consistently been moving us to this trip in the last three years. We even tried to use a trip to Hawaii for our 25th wedding anniversary as a substitute. No deal. We’ve made contact with a person that Miriam’s parents knew and who is running an organization in the capital of Burundi for people, especially women and children, who were traumatized by the violence in Burundi during the civil strife. His name is David Niyonzima. Wonderful man. He has visited in our home twice and the timing of his visits in relation to the timing our plans has been spooky…divine, some might say, some like me. Then there has been the encouragement of Bruce and the possibility of him going with us. He and I have tracked together in several important aspects or our lives together and when he showed interest in going, it seemed so natural. Then, for me personally, there has been the reading of a couple important books that have challenged me to stretch…move into crazy time…go for adventures I would be sorry I would have avoided later in life. But most of all, it has been journeying with Miriam, watching the need for her to visit Burundi rise in her heart and mind and knowing there is nowhere else I would rather be than with her as she lives into this challenge and transformation. She is the most incredibly and loving person I know, and to support her in this trip brings me deep joy.

So we’re going to Africa. I’ll be flying in a plane for hours and hours and hours. But hey, I’ll be sitting next to Miriam. That makes it good.

While Nodding Off In Unprogrammed Worship





The other day in unprogrammed worship, a significant thought (word from God) emerged in my mind. As I sat with the thought, actually it was a spiritual analogy; I sensed a prompting and the freedom to share it with the gathered community. What’s funny about it all is that later as Miriam and I were talking about what I had shared, she told she had opened her eyes a few minutes before I shared and had seen my head nodding. I sort of remember nodding off some, but not really. I have often wondered if I’m more open to God speaking to me when I’m half asleep and half awake. Maybe my ego is more relaxed and my defenses are down.

Anyway, I got to reflecting on Wednesday nights when I take my five year old grandson, Abram, to the swimming pool. He loves to go swimming with grandpa. Now this is an interesting experience. Abram has had some pretty negative experiences related to swimming. My guess is that he was forced to do some things before he was ready to do them and it created a lot of fear in him related to swimming. He loves going into the water and in the community pool we go to, in the more shallow section, which is still about three to four feet deep, there is a shelf on one side of the pool. This shelf sits about two to three feet below the surface. Abram can stand on that three foot wide shelf and frolic in the water. He stands on the shelf and I stand in the deeper water and we play all sorts of games together.

From time to time I invite him to hop on my back and we venture out into deeper water, but Abram always is clinging tightly to my neck. In fact, he almost chokes me he hangs on so tightly.

One of the reasons I think Abram likes going with me to the pool so much is because he knows there is one unspoken rule. Abram calls the shots. We do what Abram wants to do. For my part, I am very subtlety and consistently inviting him to work on learning how to swim and encouraging him to try new things, but as soon as he says “No” to something, that’s it. We immediately stop. Abram has the ultimate say-so.

What has been the effect of that? Abram loves going to the pool. He loves the water. He loves playing in the pool with grandpa. And slowly, very slowly, hardly noticeable at all to the casual observer, Abram is making progress. In fact, I would suggest that Abram doesn’t even notice the progress he is making, because that’s not where the focus on our time together is at. The focus is on us being together, enjoying each other and playing in the water. He is learning some things and as I watch him, I see him look out at other boys and girls in the deeper water and I think I see a desire in him to go do things he sees them doing. But we don’t focus on that stuff. The focus is on grandson and grandpa playing together.

So I’m prayerfully reflecting on all of this in unprogrammed worship and I start to think about how God relates to me concerning my fears. I started wondering if that is how God interacts with me, if beyond my wildest understanding, God is letting me call the shots. God is continually inviting me to deeper waters, continually encouraging me to try new things I’ve never done before, to face into difficult issues I’ve long avoided, but as soon as I say “No,” he backs off, says “Fine,” and we keep frolicking through life together. And slowly, very slowly, I’m changing. I’m growing. I’m healing. I’m becoming more Christlike.

What really hit me was this. So often I mentally beat myself up, I mean I really do, because I’m so fearful about certain things, things God has been working on in my life for years. But I’m wondering if it’s that big of a deal to God. Now this is really running against all of the emphasis I’ve taken in and placed on others to lead a radical life for Christ. But I’m starting to wonder if all the guilt, or maybe its shame, I have for not doing things I think God is calling me to do is self imposed.

Here’s why I’m wondering this. I know that for me, it would break my heart if the whole time Abram and I were at the pool together, all Abram would be aware of is that grandpa thinks he’s a slacker. That grandpa is frustrated with him because he’s not out in the pool swimming on his own. That grandpa’s object of focus is on what Abram isn’t doing rather than on who Abram is. It seems to me that what that would essentially do is take all the joy out of our time together.

There is no doubt in my mind that Abram knows I think it would be great if he would work on learning to swim in the deeper water and that I have hopes for him that he’s not ready to explore. But I also believe that Abram thinks that grandpa really likes being with him at the pool and that, in fact, that’s the important thing, we’re together having fun. How sad that would be if Abram’s and my relationship was just all about what he’s not doing, how far short he is falling of grandpa’s hopes and expectations.

So I’m wondering, I’m suspicious, that this might reflect God’s attitude toward me and my fears. “Yeah, Paul, there are some amazing things you could be doing, and you’re even fully capable of doing them. But for whatever reasons (of which God is fully aware, unlike me and Abram), you’re not ready to go there. Don’t beat yourself up over that. I’ll keep gently inviting you to those places, the invitation will never stop coming, and someday your deep, deep longings to go there will finally win out, and then we’ll celebrate together. Until then, let’s keep enjoying being in each other’s presence, frolicking and playing together, and oh by the way, have you noticed that you’ve picked up some new things in the midst of our being together. Did you know you’ve changed. Hmmm…I guess some thing is going on. And hey, did you know I love being with you and love I you deeply.”

And all this surfaced from the depths while I was nodding off in unprogrammed worship. Weird, huh?

Where Gratefulness Might Lead




Richard Rohr has jump started my thinking again. In his book, Job and the Mystery of Suffering, he talks about how good life is, that we’re surrounded with goodness. This is certainly true for me. My life is totally saturated with goodness, when I stop to think about. Yes, I have a nice house. Miriam and I each have a car, so we can travel separate directions when we need to. I love my backyard and the beauty Miriam and I have created there. I have all the food and clothes I could want, an incredible wife and wonderful family, a more than adequate income, meaningful job, good healthy…and then we get down to the details, enjoyment of music, hands and feet that work, eyes sight, being able to feel a spring breeze on my face, smell a plum tree in full bloom, and taste buds that allow me enjoy Mexican food. I could go on and on and on.

My life is full of goodness for which I should be and I am very grateful. However, Rohr suggests that we come to expect goodness so much we are surprised when something bad happens to us. The bad stuff is so unexpected because we are so accustom to goodness and take goodness so much for granted, that when something bad happens it feels like an injustice has happened to us.

So I’m thinking about that and that seems true to me. Think as simple as traffic lights. I think I get to most traffic lights when they’re green and I sail right through them without much of thought. Everything is right in the world. But when I come upon a red light it jars me and I feel like I’ve been wronged in some way and I grumble that the people who installed the traffic lights didn’t come up with a more synchronized system that would allow traffic (translate “me”) to keep flowing along uninterrupted. That’s a simple example. When something even more interruptive enters my life, I can really get bent out of shape.

Where this is leading me is to the realization that I have not just come to expect goodness in my life, but I also protect the goodness that I have received. I want a pain free life and I’m willing to work to keep it that way. What this means is that when Jesus invites me to join him in a situation that has the potential to create pain, suffering and sacrifice of good things, I am resistant. I heard a speaker the other day quote Mother Teresa as saying (doesn’t everyone quote Mother Teresa?) something like, “We’re not called to do good things for other people, we’re called to love well.” Jesus invites me to love others well. My sense is that that involves sacrifice and suffering, but I’m so caught up in enjoying all the goodness I’m so used to experiencing, that I am resistant to entering into loving well. Loving well is crazy time.

Here’s the other thing it got me thinking about. There’s this quote by Fredrick Buechner that lots of people quote about vocation or call. Buechner says vocation is, “The place where your deep gladness meets the world’s deep need.” Whenever I’ve heard this quoted by a speaker it’s like this corporate sigh goes up from those listening as they resonate with the truth of the statement. But there’s something that’s bugging me about this statement. What is my deepest gladness? Do I really know it? And what’s more, do I really want to know it? As I’ve confessed before, I am a fearful person, and could it be that I am actually afraid of my own deepest longings, because if I actually acknowledged them and started to live into them, there’s a good chance I could end up suffering, losing some of the good things I’ve been given. I wonder how often I go around calling more surface longings my deepest longings, when in reality I have hardly begun to explore what would create in me the deepest gladness I could know. Jesus says, “I’ve come that you could have life and that abundantly.” Crazy time.

Then there is the other side of Buechner’s cute formula. What is the world’s deep need? Again, do I really want to know? Except by the grace of God, can I even go there? I think I know what the world’s deepest need is, but I’m beginning to think I am being very persumptous.

Instead of thinking how great this definition of call and vocation is that Buechner offers us, I’m actually confronted with the limenal experience of listening to my deepest gladness or longings and the world’s deepest need. Do I really want to listen to all of that?

Rohr also suggests that there comes a time when joy and suffering merge and a person really doesn’t know one from another. I don’t know that I’m that familiar with that experience. Whenever I am invited into sacrifice, it feels like an invitation only to suffering and loss. Of course, I’ve had those experiences when joy and gladness came. The other day Carleen was having a hard time with my five year old grandson, Abram. They had both had a rough morning and Abram was currently in “time out.” I could tell Carleen was tired and frustrated. I suspected that the time out was as much for her as for Abram. I was headed out to enjoy doing some highly anticipated yard work, which I love, when the invitation came, “Go offer to take Abram outside with you.” Oh great. That means that nearly as much yard work would get done. Long story short, I pulled it together, made the offer and had a wonderful time with a loving and curious grandson in the backyard. That’s a “good” story. I could tell you many times when I said, “No,” and went my merry on my way protecting my good things.

My spiritual director tells me the need is for us to see the good things in our lives as what he calls “transitional objects.” I should be continually grateful for the good things in my life, being mindful of my thankfulness again and again during the day, until I move beyond being thankful for the good things, and thankful and deeper in love with the giver of the good things. Crazy time.

God, have mercy. By your grace, may I grow in thankfulness to the point where I can hold the good gifts loosely, more focused on the giver of good gifts and willing to let go of good gifts you’ve given me in order to follow you into something deeper, more joyful, with greater gladness, suffering or not.

Mom




My mom, actually she’s my step-mom, is in her eighties. She became my step-mom when I was ten, when she married my dad. Both she and my dad lost their spouses by death. Trudi’s (my step-mom) husband died of a heart attach. My dad lost my real mom to liver failure, a.k.a. alcoholism. So Trudi is my mom. Trudi did everything a mom is suppose to do. She loved me like a mother loves her son. My brothers and I always called her Trudi as I was growing up, but during a time of enlightenment in my thirties the reality of all she did in my life finally hit home and I’ve been calling her Mom ever since. She loves it when I call her that.

So like I said, my mom is in her late eighties now. She’s still in Denver, where I grew up and where my two brothers live. A year or two before my dad died, which has been a couple of years ago, we started to notice that Mom was losing her memory. Now four years later her memory is hanging on by a thread. If my one of my brothers takes her out the night before, she can’t remember the next day when I ask how her evening was. If I ask her what she had for breakfast that morning, she is clueless. She has no idea what the weather has been like that day. Last fall my wife, son and daughter-in-law went to visit her. Mom remembered Miriam, but Eric and Carleen were strangers to her. “I’m his grandmother?” she said. I think this hurt Eric quite a bit, even though he understood. He loves Mom deeply and has wonderful memories of all the grandmotherly things she did for him.

So how does this connect to a leminal experience right? Where’s the crazy time.

I call Mom about once a week. Sometimes a week goes by when I don’t get her called. On good weeks I’ll call twice, but that’s pretty rare. On almost a daily basis I think about Mom and tell myself that I need to call her. The only days I don’t think about needing to call her is the first couple days after I’ve called her.

So I called her tonight. The usual call goes something like this. Her caregiver answers the phone and goes to get her. When she hears that it’s me calling, she’s excited. We say hi and I ask her how she’s doing. “How are feeling?” “Good.” “Are you sleeping well at night?” “Oh sure.” “What have you been up to?” “Oh, I don’t know. Not much?” “Have you seen John and Jim recently?” “No.” I know for a fact that she has. And that’s it. She has nothing more to offer. I can’t ask her about anything else, because she can’t remember anything. If I try to prod her, she gets confused and scared and can’t remembers words she wants to use.

So to ease the situation I start to tell her about what’s happening with me and our family. She listens and says stuff like, “Oh, that’s good.” “Oh, that’s bad.” “Oh, that’s good…isn’t it?” “Well, I bet that was exciting.” “That’s nice.” Half the time I’m fairly certain she really doesn’t understand what I’m talking about because I’m telling her stuff about her grandsons or great grandson, or things were doing in Oregon and she really doesn’t know who or what the heck I’m talking about. When I run out of stuff to tell her about, I tell her I love her, she tells me the same, and we say good-bye.

Crazy time. It’s so hard talking to this person that I love so deeply, but know she does not comprehend most of what I’m telling her. It’s painful. I usually go away from our “conversations” feeling like I’ve been a dutiful son, but also feeling very sad.

So for a couple of days I feel good that I’ve recently called Mom, then the guilties start to creep in and before I know it it’s been a week and I really need to call her. Doesn’t sound very loving, does it. Most days I feel torn, I want to call, but I don’t want to call. I feel like all I have to offer her is shallow, meaningless conversation.

I don’t know what my mom’s experience is of our calls, but I clearly feel that they are meaningful to her on some level. One thing she regularly wants to know is when I’m going to come visit her. That’s something that she doesn’t forget, that she wants me to come and visit.

So the fact of the matter is that talking to my mom is crazy time for me. It’s hard. Uncomfortable. Very sad. But I think my mom needs those call and what’s more, I need them. I need to learn to love my mom in a whole new way. I need to trust God to fill those conversations with mysterious grace and show me how to be present to her in those few minutes. I need to go there as often as I can and stay there as long as I can.

Crazy Time In The Ordinary



There are times in my everyday experience that invite me into crazy time. They’re really no big deal, but the invitation is there nonetheless and the choice is there nonetheless. I’m trying to learn to say “yes” whenever the invitation comes, so that maybe there will come a time when I’ll say “yes” to what seems like a very defining moment. Of course, the defining moment is actually all the little moments I say yes to crazy time.

Miriam and I have started to jog on a regular basis. I don’t like jogging, but I need to be in better physical shape. As I jog I remember what Rohr says about limenal experiences. Go there as often as you can and stay there as long as you can. So I go jogging as often as I can, which is almost daily these days. And I stay there as long as I can. We’re slowly jogging further and further, shooting for jogging in fun run that is three miles long. I must admit that the feeling when I’m done jogging is euphoric.

This past week I went with a group of friends to a camp to do volunteer work. We were painting a large building on the campus of the camp. At one point my work crew needed someone to go up about thirty feet to paint under the eaves. Go there as often as you can and stay there as long as you can. So up I went. It’s not that I’m scared of high places. I’m afraid of falling. But after I had been at it for an hour or so, I actually started getting used to it and felt really good about the work I got done.

Two pretty insignificant experiences that were invitations into crazy time. In both situations there was a deep sense of satisfaction in what was accomplished.

The other day in church we were told about a young lady a year or so out of high school who has been spending a year in India working with girls who are in or susceptible to the prostitution industry. She got very sick with malaria and typhoid, so she has come home early. We were asked to pray for her health, her safe return to the States, but also for her to be able to cope with the sadness of leaving India early and the pain of saying good-bye to the girls with whom she has become very close. Before I was really aware of what was going through my mind, I caught myself thinking, “My God, this young lady has lived more in one year than I have lived my entire life. Interesting thought. A life time of avoiding crazy time.

Today, Jesus, help me to recognize and say “yes” to your invitations to crazy time.

Crazy Time and the Army




This coming Thursday, Miriam and I will be traveling to Seattle where I will be teaching a group of army personnel from around the country about contemplative youth ministry. What a deal. The preparation time and doing this is all clearly crazy time for me. I’m a Quaker, good grief. I’ve done youth ministry in a local church for years. I have no idea what it’s like to do youth ministry on an army base. I don’t know what youth who are children of army personnel are like, what their struggles are, etc. Oh sure, I can glibly say that they’re like all other youth, and I’m sure there are similarities, but they’re also facing unique life experiences that I’ve not dealt with much on an intellectual or experiential level.

It’s been interesting imaging what this time is going to be like. There are times when I begin to imagine this experience and fear is there to escort me through the imagining. When I allow the fear to join me, I begin to question what it is about contemplative youth ministry that I really know. I lose sight of much of my knowledge, conviction and passion for this approach to ministry.

On the other hand, when I allow myself to move into a restful and attentive place, thoughts, ideas, feelings of clarity and hope begin to emerge. I begin to be more aware of who I am and who the folks I’ll be sharing with are. I’m reminded that who I am is not some expert on contemplative youth ministry, but I’m the beloved of God. When I become centered on my belovedness, then I begin to experience freedom and in that freedom I find I’m free to also see that the folks I’ll be sharing with are God’s beloved, too. At the same time, some of the really important things that I believe about contemplative youth ministry begin to emerge, and not just because it’s good information that I can share and that it will impress these folks, but because it’s truth and I’ve experienced the truth in my life and that makes me excited to share it with these folks.

I’m also reminded about Parker Palmer’s definition of teaching. “To teach is to create a space in which the community of truth is practiced.” As I share with these folks, truth will be present, pursuing us, and every individual there will have the ability to hear truth. Because of that, I hope I will be able to create a space in which the community can share with each other the truth we will individually and collectively encounter. It’s not all about Paul Bock, but about the community of truth listening to Truth.

So I am climbing out of the boat, and by God’s grace I’ll keep my eyes on Jesus, I will be attentive to that of Christ in these folks, and not get distracted by the waves.

Miriam’s Desires = My Crazy Time



A while back my spiritual director, who is always encouraging me to explore my deepest desires, in fact, to explore and bring into the Light all my desires, told me about how he and his wife share their desires for the day with each other every morning. Then they ask each other, “What can I do to make those happen for you?” When I went back a month later to him, I mentioned how I discovered I was resistant to doing that with Miriam. I realized that if I were to make myself available to Miriam in that way, I would begin to lose control of my day.

Miriam grew up in a missionary family and as a little girl learned to not pay attention to her desires. When we got married I somehow, I want to say unconsciously, figured this out about Miriam and, sad to say, encouraged it. It worked to my benefit to have Miriam be more interested in and attentive to my desires than her own.

It was a humbling moment when my spiritual director asked me how long Miriam and I had been married and responded to my answer by say, “So you’ve had 30 years of training Miriam not to pay attention to her desires?” I think I can honestly say I experienced a wave of grief wash over me.

But now we’re on a different road. My wife, as am I, is filled with desires, many God-given desires. My sense is that as I encourage her to search for those desires and allow them to work their way to the surface of her thinking and feeling, I will begin to discover some amazing things about the person to whom I’m married.

But I’m also realizing that as I open myself to hearing Miriam’s desires and then ask the question, “What can I do today to make those happen for you?” I will be entering crazy time. I will begin to leave life as I know it and enter some painful and changing terrain.

My spiritual director is Catholic and sees his marriage as a sacrament. He believes that whenever people come into contact with him and his wife, they should be coming into contact with divine grace. He also sees his marriage as an indicator of his ability to hear and obey God. To the extent that he can know his wife’s desires and be able to say, “Whatever you want will determine the course of my day,” to that extent he figures he is following Jesus. Too often we can hear God telling us what we want to hear, so he uses the pursuit of fulfilling his wife’s desires as an indicator that he is also open to truly listening to and fulfilling the desires of God in his life.

That the course of my day would be determined by the desires of my wife would be a step for me into crazy time. To listen to the heart of Jesus and allow that to determine the course of my day? Crazy time. God in your grace, have mercy on me.

Tom and Crazy Time




A friend with whom I worked on the YouthQuake Planning Committee, Tom Fox, was found dead a couple of days ago, apparently killed by his kidnappers in Iraq. Tom was willing to enter Crazy Time…and he stayed there as long as he could. While he was working in Iraq, I consistently followed his email updates and prayed for him on a consistent basis. His emails were fascinating and inspiring and filled with courage and love for those who were suffering around him. Just before he was taken captive, I had invited other friends to begin receiving Tom’s updates.

All of this can make me feel real good. Wow, I knew Tom Fox, now a martyr for peace. I interacted with him and encouraged others to listen to his voice for peace. But in actuality, Tom scared me down to the very core of who I am. I was both strongly attracted to him and yet wanted to maintain a safe distance. In some ways, I wonder if my prayers for Tom allowed me to live through him vicariously, feeling like I was involved at the heart of the kingdom’s work for peace and justice, without really being at the heart of it, without being in harms way.

I’m not supposed to be Tom Fox. I’m called to be Paul Bock. I’m called to be faithful to God’s call on my life, and I guess that’s what I’m hoping I’ll do, in the same way Tom was faithful to God’s call on his life. If that’s suppose to mean I do youth ministry in Newberg, Oregon for years to come, I hope I will do that faithfully, but with a willingness to allow crazy time to enter into that space. If it means that God is going to call me out of this place that seems so safe and normal to me right now, then I pray for the grace to be faithful to that.

God, thanks for Tom and his example of willingness to enter into crazy time…no matter what.

Your Crazy Time Unnerves Me



The other day I sat with a friend and listened to him talk about his discontentedness with life and his present work situation. I listened attentively, reflected what I was hearing, shared what I noticed, gave some thoughts on my perception of some of his thinking, told him I would be praying for him, and went merrily on my way. A couple days later he wrote me to say thanks and that some major things were moving and big changes could be in the offing.

It scared me. Geeze, I had encouraged him to think along those lines, to be really open to something new. Now he and his wife and children could be entering crazy time. But it looks like to me that if they don’t, they may die on a few different levels.

But I hear myself through him. Am I dying? Is my life shriveling? What if I stay where I am for years to come, how alive will I be?

I’ve been thinking about the story of Jesus walking on the water out to the disciples who were safe within their boat. The disciples weren’t in crazy time, but when Jesus tells Peter to get out of the boat, now we have crazy time. What strikes me is that what got Peter in trouble was taking his eyes off of Jesus when he was in the midst of crazy time. Fear took Peter’s eyes off Jesus. How do I keep my eyes on Jesus when fear is griping me?

The other day Miriam and I were doing centering prayer together. In some ways I think centering prayer is crazy time. It was in the morning and all through the prayer the tasks of the day kept pulling me out of a place of attentiveness and into the day. All through the time of prayer the waves started to splash around me, creating anxiety, and I would take my eyes off of Jesus.

And when I listen to friends getting out of the boat and trying to keep their eyes on Jesus, I start looking at the waves. Shoot, I’m still in the boat and I’m scared. I hope my friends don’t pick up on my fear.

Angels



I'm moving through the book of Job right now, which is crazy time all in and of itself. I came across a passage that referred to angels being involved in our lives. I quickly discarded the idea. That's fine and normal for biblical stuff, but not my experience. Then I started thinking about the idea of encountering an angel. I don't think God would send an angel my direction, because I would get so caught up in being encountered by an angel that I would lose total focus on God. The means would totally blow away the ends. Whatever the angel was suppose to accomplish would be lost. On the other hand, when I think about times in the Bible people were encountered by angels, the work of the kingdom was what it was all about. Think Joseph or Zechariah. Think of Jesus being attended to by angels after being tempted by Satan or people getting busted out of prison so they could continue their work. They frequently seem to be in the role of messengers helping people do the work of the kingdom.

Anyway, the idea of being encountered by an angel seems ridiculous to me. When I think of angels I think of shallow or fanatical religious experience. I think of figurines or posters I would see in a Christian Supply Bookstore. I think of people saying, “Wow, I almost got hit by that car. I guess I have an angel watching over me,” like all angels do is follow us around keeping bad things from happening to us. Nothing about accomplishing the work of the kingdom. It has a sappy sentimentality about it that makes me want throw up.

All that to say, thinking about angels or being open to actually being encountered by an angel is in and of itself, crazy time to me. Very uncomfortable. I don’t even like going there and making myself stay here thinking about it feels strange. Now that I think about it, I almost equate angels with ghosts and I’m not sure I believe in either one. I guess I believe in angels, but the idea of one actually being involved in my life seems ridiculous.

Why "crazy time."

I'm borrowing this from Richard Rohr's book Everything Belongs. He talks about liminal experiences, experiences that place a person inbeteen what's normal now and wha's coming next. It can also be thought of as a threshold into something new. Rohr calls these limenal experiences crazy time. I don't like these times. However, I'm restless. I'm restless with my comfortableness, with my normalcy. Rohr suggests we get into crazy time as often as possible and stay there as long as possible, even though we don't like it.

What's a person to do?

So this blogging is going to be where I lean into crazy time.

pjulius