God, a Fugue in A Minor

So, I love Him, but it wasn't always that way.  No, I remember the era of slinking through the underbelly of SF counting on a prayer to some conjured "batch of the day" god of my imagination to help me make it through the night.  Each day, it seemed, I'd whip up a new flavor of divine assistance, depending on my mood, to help ease me into those twisted moments of yore that proved to be so nasty.  Some days it was music I venerated, others the Buddha.  And still others, perhaps, a rock.  I realize now that everything I tried to find my solace in was created, whether being, object or sensation and, in and of itself, utterly useless to my wellbeing (can the inanimate give birth to life?).  In short, I hadn't yet reached the end of my rope and so willingly grasped at every harebrained "path" that flew my way instead of the maker Himself.

It wasn't until I sat at a table one day with my last and final meal in hand, ready to oust myself a bite at a time, that I realized I'd truly reached the apex of my misery.  Had a friend not called me, "coincidentally", at exactly the right moment, I would have been lost to all avenues of hope.  Her voice, warm and friendly, parted the rapidly closing curtain around my soul and, for an instant, I saw life.  I must've chosen well, 'cause here I am almost 15 years later praying to a God, this time, who I can't hear, see, smell or touch but that is more alive to me that anything I've ever experienced.

Like the woman at the well who sat with Jesus in the noontime hour and, astonished, ran to tell a whole village of the Man who told her everything she ever did, so am I.  Stunned and humbled by this love, I too, run a race against myself to spread the good news proclaiming Jesus is real, and that He loves and calls us by name.  What else is there?

My life today differs vastly from the disjointed, fragmented ball of wax that was my previous existence.  My moods have improved, mind has cleared and a joy has taken up residence in my spirit.  I've a score of thriving friendships and can count on myself to show up responsibly and thoroughly to every event of my days.  It's been this way for years and just keeps getting better.  My journey with Jesus has kept me grounded, sane and anchored in safety - plus, it's been fun.  And as for the experiences that haven't been peachy, the brutal ones that've knocked me off my feet, that invariably knock on the door no matter who you pray to?  Well, lets just say I now have someone to fall back on...

God is real, He is good and He is love.  As for the fugue?  Here's the last of it.



        

  

         

But Now I See

So my trip to Bethel was awful.  A W F U L  Aside from lengthy travel time (it took 24 hours to make what should have been an 8 hour trip with all the layovers, stops and whatnot), my journey was filled with creepy looking folk, stomach issues, a painfully cramping backside due to the prolonged sitting, fist fights, theft and other pleasantries.  

After I finished with my appointment (which, by the way, was stellar - the only redeeming part of my trip) and took an Uber back to the Greyhound station to catch the bus home, fresh horrors awaited me as I stepped out into the stifling, smokey 105 degree heat.  I had a lag time of 2 1/2 hours to wait for my bus, which I wasn’t feeling at all.  There was no sheltering building with air-conditioning awaiting me or the other passengers, just an open air design with a few benches, so I parked it on a cement seat and began to watch the minutes crawl by, bemoaning my infernal wait. 

As I sat, it suddenly occurred to me that I should reach out to God.  As elemental and basic as the epiphany may sound, I was so knee deep in the uncomfortableness of my trip, that I had neglected to lift my eyes heavenward for any sort of help or guidance.  I guess you could say I’d been white knuckling it up until that point.  But desperate as I was to find a reason for the perpetuated misery I was in, I finally came to my senses and asked Him to give me His eyes to see the situation with, ‘cause I was fadin’ fast.  

No sooner did I pray, that with a jolt (as much as one can be jolted in 105 degrees, that is), I became aware of an elderly lady sitting next to me.  Her wrinkled arms, thin as toothpicks rested on the handlebars of a walker that looked like it carried all that she held dear in the world.  She asked me my name and gave me hers.  I tried to spark a dialogue with her after that, but she looked away so I left her alone.  Just then a security guard passed by asking her how she was doing and I heard her tell him that her toes had just been amputated.  I looked down at her slippers and winced.  She finally got up and shuffled across the way to catch her bus.  I wondered where she was going and what would become of her…

Soon after, a man with two big plastic garbage bags full of clothes came and plunked them down where the lady had been sitting.  He looked clean and honest, if not homeless, but I keep an eye on him anyway - I was more than a little fearful in my unfamiliar surroundings.  The dude didn’t look like he wanted to hack me, however, so I chose not to change seats and continued to bide my time, open to whatever dialogue might come up between us.

He circled the sidewalk for a while, looking like he had much on his mind then stopped and asked me what the good word was.  I responded with a comment about God and he nodded, continuing on with his pensive pacing.  He eventually tried to buy a ticket to Oregon, but his card was declined.  I could see that this was a very big deal for him and watched as shock and disbelief indeed filled his face.  Collecting himself, he made a phone call to someone and explained why he wouldn’t be coming to visit, exhorting whoever it was to hold strong and not give up.  It sounded like a desperate situation.  I couldn’t help but think that here was this down and out guy encouraging someone else when I’m sure he himself could’ve used the cheer…  

Continuing on with my eavesdropping, I found out that he had just gotten out of a shelter and that in lieu of Greyhound, his next step would be to get on local transit and ride around, in the hopes that something would come up.  My heart broke as I watched him heave up his bags and slowly walk towards the bus, I wished I could’ve bought him the ticket.

At this point, I needed to stretch my legs - I’d been sitting for almost 13 hours straight - so I took a slow, cautious (as there were lots of ahem, shady-looking elements in the vicinity) stroll around the station, trying not to pass out from the heat.  I didn’t make it far before I decided to sit down again.  This time, I chose a spot close to a dejected-looking young man with a duffle bag next to his feet who had previously asked me for some bus money.  I’d given it to him though secretly I’d wondered where it was  really gonna end up…  I guess he’d been honest though, because there he sat, waiting for Greyhound.

I lowered myself down with an unceremonious plop and proceeded to study him out of the corner of my eye.  He looked to be about 20 with a mop of brown hair that poked out from underneath a baseball cap and a mustache.  Sitting hunched with his elbows resting on his knees the way he was, it looked like he had lost all his fight.  

At this point, I felt a tug to reach out to him even though I didn’t want to (beat by the heat as I was).  I ended up opening my mouth and asking him if he was thirsty.  He turned to me looking surprised that someone had actually acknowledged him and I could see that he was indeed parched by the saliva that had dried up on the sides of his mouth (is it any wonder?).  And In a voice barely louder than a whisper he said that he was, so off I went to buy him a bottle of water.  Before I left though, I made sure to fish out the remainder of my food and give it to him.  He took it with gratitude and a few moments later when I tapped him on the shoulder with the ice cold liquid, his eyes almost popped out of his head.  Looking like he had just won the lottery, he shyly reached out his hand for the drink.  I had the sense that he had been going at it completely on his own for a chunk, just trying to survive.  

The young man’s surprise at my small act of kindness had caused me to wonder if anybody had reached out to him or any of the others like him I’d met that afternoon.  Probably not was my guess and this, not out of a maliciousness or callousness, but when things happen and we’re in survival mode, it’s our tendency to only look out for our own and not zero in on others people’s plight.  Combine this with the fact that we usually live in our own bubbles anyway, is it any wonder our society is so broken down?     

I’m certainly not trying to elevate myself to Mother Teresa status here, as there have been plenty of times I’ve turned a blind eye (more than plenty in fact) to the needs of my fellow man.  But I’ve always felt that when there is a call it is our obligation, if at all possible, to fill it.  Proverbs 3:24 comes to mind:  “Do not withhold good from those to whom it is due, when it is in your power to act…”  Never before did that passage ring as true as it did on that hellaciously hot August afternoon.   

    

More tales of woe continued to unravel themselves before my eyes as I sat waiting for my ride outta hell, too many to recount.  Maybe it was because the heat had gotten to me, or the fact that I could see that the fires, which had devastated most of the surrounding area, had dipped the morale to a dangerous low but I felt such a resigned desperation as I sat at that station - as if I was literally experiencing it on my own skin, right along with everyone else.  

Musing, I realized that the travail along my trip had served to break down all my defenses, allowing the reality of the moment to seep into my blood in a manner that it wouldn’t have any other way.  The long, angsty hours of my journey, the emotional appointment I’d had at Bethel and my own innate compass for compassion towards the disenfranchised and homeless had all served to magnify the desperation and hopelessness that screamed at me in the station.  

I know my eyes were opened that day for a reason and I feel that reason was for me to get a little taste of the plight of the needy, so I could do just what I’m doing now - highlight their drama.  Later, as I sat in the cool of the bus, I thought about the people I’d met and how I wished I could have helped them, I mean really helped them beyond just feeling bad and buying someone a water...  

There is a crisis.  Many are not doing well in our society and it’s up to those of us who have the power to act (and most of us do) to step up and do something about it.  Otherwise, we’ll have completely missed the point of what we profess to stand for as Christians and as human beings.  Dear God, open our eyes to see and anoint our hands to do your work, amen.  

          

  

     

The Dancer

Can I just toot my horn for a sec?  Frenzied gyration, dizzying twists and mind bending moves, insane synchronicity and complete rhythmic symbiosis - all this and more as I danced my youth away during those wild years of infamy.  My body became an instrument that I used at will for my enjoyment, rapture and thrill as I threw myself into the music whilst clubbing and frankly, whenever else I could get it.  Back in my glory days, when I went where the wind blew and then some, dancing was my religion - the only true pleasure I had as my life unravelled helplessly between my fingers.

I remember the excitement I used to feel as the anticipation of a night spent perusing and partaking of nightclubs coursed through my veins.  I'd prep to step out in my hotel room at the Golden Eagle, that cesspool of humanity, while beats would hit me from the cheap radio that was perennially by my side.  As I sit in my maturity now and peck out these words, I still listen to those beats.  House music, my love my passion, the fuel to my rhythmic fire, alas, is now only a stint between worship tunes and peaceful melodies, but I still get it in there as it continues to and always will be in my bones.

Back in the day, I was the queen, the star of the night as I rocked with my Sicilian stilettos, a madwoman in invisible chains nevertheless for a moment free with the ecstasy of total surrender to motion.  You must understand, however, that everything I experienced was heightened to the umpteenth degree by this little thing called chemistry.  My body failed to produce what my brain needed to be happy, so my mind went a little cuckoo.  This translated to an enhanced dancing experience that frankly, blew people away FYI

So what of it?  As my mentor John Really would say "all that and a nickel buys a 5 cent cigar, if you smoke cigars".  Even though I don't really dance anymore, my life today is immeasurably deeper and more satisfying since I met Christ.  And nothing has the corner market like peace, stability and the maturity I'm grateful to now have - not even dancing.  I am thankful to have grown up, even though it has meant leaving certain pleasures behind but God never takes without replacing and I lack nothing.   Still, deep in the recesses of my soul there lies a bag of glitter and a dance floor, waiting.

Brother

Pockets of grief linger in my heart,

the organ that's been torn all apart.

This country night I've not much to do,
so I sit on the porch feeling like goo.

I'm watching my brother wash off his car, 

and marvel at how thorough his efforts are.

He scrubs and he soaks and wipes patiently,

sweating with work and spent energy.

The strains of the music that fills his ears,

mix with the moment erasing my tears.

It's cloudy and muggy and windy tonight

but somehow watching my brother makes it alright.

I wish we could talk like we used to do

when we were little and all things were new.

But we struggle, we fight and argue so much -

it's really a shame we're so out of touch...

My brother, my comrade, my partner in crime

lets hang out lets talk more, it's certainly time.  

On Smartphones Part 1

It’s a quiet Tuesday afternoon and I sit at my computer thinking of the cell phone that I have purposely left in the kitchen and my internal dialogue goes something like this:  “Was it a good idea to leave it on the table?  Maybe I should go get it, what if I need to look up something?”  Never mind that I’m sitting at a computer where the world practically lives at my fingertips anyway…no, somehow the phone seems important, necessary even.  If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I was having a slight case of separation anxiety.  

The situation sounds absurd, but it is actually not far removed from the reality that millions of folks currently experience; an unnatural connection to their smart phones, those wily, ubiquitous devices that have succeeded in winning us over one text at a time.  You may laugh, but it’s true.  One has only to look around to notice the aforesaid glued in our hands while our heads bend down to take in byte after byte of entertainment or distraction, such as the case may be. 

Take the gym for example.  I remember when people went to work out unhampered by the technology that now eats up all our attention.  They were there, well, to work out.  Nowadays when I scan the horizon, as far as my eye can see, I notice smart phones populating book holders on treadmills, stationary bikes and the like, while their respective owners exercise glued to the screens, taking in content with rapt attention and appearing more interested in virtual reality than in breaking a sweat.  It’s sad to see people pause their routines just to take in something on their phones.  I want to shake them and shout, “You’re here to work out, so work out!”

Or how about Bart (the Bay Area rapid transit system for those of you unfamiliar), that grand repository of the human soup?  Nowhere else can one gauge so accurately the trends and zeitgeist currently inhabiting society than in those telling cars.  In riding, I’ve witnessed the disturbing sight of practically every person poring over their phones in one way or another.  Passengers stand up in the thick of commute time with practically no room to breath looking like so many penitent churchgoers...eerily silent and disturbingly still, their bent heads blankly take in the device in their hands.  In all fairness, tuning out is allowed after a long day at work or life, but we've gotten way too comfortable at downright ignoring the action and potential danger around us in order to check a Facebook status, or scroll through our pictures.

Our phones have become extensions of our identity.  They have transformed our way of thinking and relating to each other and to the world.  Unfortunately, I don't see this as a trend that's going to reverse anytime soon, like melting icecaps, unless we, as individuals, question our habits and lifestyles more than we have.  I can't see the future, God's in charge of that, but I do surmise we need a drastic shift in our rudders, otherwise we're headed for the iceberg, folks, we're headed for the iceberg, and who wants that?

Photo Album

Strolling through the pages, unsuspecting as could be, I visited the glances staring back at me.

They were of a girl so desperate in the hood, that forsook all her beauty to see if becoming a dealer she could.

The little girl she was, pretty as a daisy, with mischief in her dancing eyes later got certified as crazy.  

All throughout the pictures, there was a story I could tell, my eyes held the key to my madness and my hell.

Walking through the years, I kept noticing my smile at first my teeth were showing, then fell out of style.

Hidden behind lips, that were drawn across my face, the saddest of smiles, revealed a harshness that was foreign and out of place.  

At first I was happy baring all my soul; looking at the camera, beautiful and whole.  

Then came the storm that shook me to the core and left me ripped to pieces strewn and on the floor. 

In one shot after the battle ceased, I was heavier, more peaceful yet still fragile as a leaf. 

New Year's

So it's upon us, the New Year.  I wonder what this one will bring.  Last year hosted a flurry of health challenges, medical tests, relationship meltdowns (well, one -- but it was a BIG one) and family worries.  There was a lot of stress and some disappointments.

But there were also some major joys.  I got to move into and decorate the FIRST house/cottage I've ever lived in by myself.  I got a cat, who has become my joy, then I got another cat who I've already fallen in love with.  I'm taking charge of my health by starting to exercise regularly again and feel terrific, I've also discovered for the fist time ever, cooking and I adore it and am pleased to say that many of the things I make turn out delicious to the delight of my friends, who enthusiastically let me know!

I've been able to set my own rhythms and with more clarity have been realizing that I alone am responsible for my own choices, decisions and feelings whereas before, I was lost in a sea of codependency as a roommate, always juxtaposed with other's thoughts, feelings and actions...  This has been the most freeing thing for me, I believe.  I've had room, a lot of room, to grow up.  I care less what people think, and stand up for myself with more decision, and less apology.  There's room for growth, always, but I love what I see in myself and who I'm becoming.







Seeing myself as a whole person has been exciting liberating and challenging all at once.