Perspective: The In-Between Space

    
     This morning I was reading the lectionary texts for the week and wondering which of my brilliant preacher friends would be preaching from the ever familiar text of the 10 lepers who were healed. I have heard that story many times but today, I stumbled upon a blog post that helped me see myself and that text from a different vantage point. In her blog post, Rev. Dr. Janet H. Hunt refers to the importance of the space between Galilee and Samaria and how crucial that piece of (physical and spiritual) geography is to the story.

      She writes, "the land between Samaria and Galilee is neither one or the other." Suddenly, I find myself at peace because I recognize this space. I often refer to myself as a bit of a gypsy because I am never in one place for very long. It seems that I am put in certain places for seasons, but unlike the seasons which are clearly marked on our calendars (and yet, ironically, more like the whimsical display of unseasonal weather patterns we have seen in the northeast), my seasons are never clearly marked. It always hits me like a ton of bricks when the season ends because I tend to fall in love with the place and the people and then, with love, comes the heartbreak of separation at the end of the season. This, I am sure, is a human phenomenon. I have never seen lush fall leaves weep as they make the tree branches bare in time to wear the glossy shimmer of winter's snow and ice.

     Right now, I am in that in-between space. In a world of multi-tasking and technological connectivity, I am in the in-between space where I can not keep up with people because of my particular use of the 24 hours granted to me each day - and my absolute refusal to be "on-line" 24 hours a day. I am in-between communities. I have left the home of the Renaissance (the Harlem Renaissance, that is) and seem to be reluctantly relocating to the City of Brotherly Love (which, ironically, seems to have no love for the brothers or the sisters!) I am in-between paying off student debt and incurring more for the sake of my career. (Dr. Jones, I presume?) I am in-between worship communities. (With the call, comes the realization that "regular" church membership is no longer an option.) I am in-between part-time jobs. (Part time work, full time expectations and an overachieving employee...you see my dilemma?)

     I am in that narrow space of in-between and it is not a comfortable space. Have you ever had to sleep in a bed or on the floor in between two other people? Whether adults or children (but especially if they are children), that space is narrow, fragile and quite uncomfortable. There is no room to stretch out because you might wake or harm the ones occupying space on either side of you. They are not in-between. They are in a space and sometimes that space runs over into your narrow strip of in-between but the reverse is not necessarily true. The in-between space exists specifically to show the no-man's land in-between two other well-occupied and more settled spaces. Once you find yourself in that space, you must learn to navigate it quickly, lest you be perceived as an enemy to one in the clearly defined space. In-between spaces are not always an oasis. Even the oasis has clearly defined borders for the protection of those seeking her shelter. This in-between space is an uncomfortable and often treacherous space. As a traveler, I have come to recognize the space and when I am there, I govern myself accordingly. There is a code of conduct that is necessary for survival, even in the in-between spaces. Much like traveling in the desert, the in-between space will either keep you or kill you. It is not a place for dalliance. It is a place of purpose.


     Rev. Dr. Hunt's reflection on the text has helped me to locate myself this morning. My location is unsettling for others who are in a particular space with clearly defined borders. I am glad for the opportunity to be on the narrow strip of life's journey called the in-between space. This space would have once been a source of heartache for me but now, I can simply relax and just be...in this space. While I am occupying this space, I am praying for others who are in the in-between space.


Those who are in-between paychecks and poverty.
Those who are in-between sickness and health.
Those who are in-between life and death.
Those who are in-between stages of grief.
Those who are in-between having a home and being homelessness.
Those who are in-between relapse and recovery.
Those who are in-between heartbreak and healing.
Those who are in-between God's call and their response!


I'm praying that you will find peace and purpose in your in-between space today.

Shalom!

A Clearing

Like bedbugs
Some things are just too hard
   to get rid of
      effectively
That is to say
They embed themselves
In your spirit
And require a clearing

A clearing of the mind
To rid plaguing thoughts
That invade like guerrilla soldiers
Taking over - destroying,
   making meals and sport of
   the healthy ones
    as they wage war within the host
    who unwittingly invited them in
   
A clearing of the body
To remove residual dross
Left after love's fire
Has burned out
And the coals are white
        with cold


A clearing of the heart
To release the grip
Of memories now tainted
And promises unkept

And so we burn the sage
We call on ancestors
We clear the space
Letting the healing smoke
   carry off the ghosts
   who haunt the night
    and stalk the day
   and breed and bite
   like bedbugs

ReverendSister's Ink (c) 2013

Jaha's (late) birthday poem

I found myself writing a poem for you for your birthday 

But then I ate it and it tasted like candy 

But today is not a rainy day yet I thought of you anyway 

Cotton candy made me think of Nikki Giovanni 

which brought me back to poetry 

which brought me full circle back to you 

Full circle of course made me think 

of the circle of life and 

our circles of friendships that intersected 

and brought us together 

circles also made me think of 

those small things that we swallow 

that make us feel better 

make the warm fuzzies have sharp edges 

and make the clouds dissipate 

And then I thought how much 

I love you 

for your courage 

your bravery 

your honesty 

your love 

all over the page 

all over the canvas

all over my life 

and so I thanked God for you 

as I sang happy birthday to you 

and ate the poem

that I began writing

you know,

 I think it had onions and peppers in it 

but surely that dollop of 

sweet

honey

mustard

was the clue

and I knew

it was for you!

Happy Birthday!

Reverendsister's Ink ©2013

we...(for the silent ones)

We are lost in our self awareness 

We know we're needy and scary

We don't mean to be

As a matter of fact

We don't want to be

And so we search for a love

Who won't make us explain

Again

Why we clean so rigorously

Or why we appear to languish

When what is true is the anguish

But we are not the norm

We are not happy enough

We are too heavy for your lifting

But we don't mean to be

And so we retreat

Into the arms of danger

To find security

If only for a moment

Then shame claims us

Like lost untagged luggage

Dizzy from too much time 

On a carousel to nowhere

No, thank you

I don't need meclizine

Or antivert

I needed to be seen

Protected

Re-membered

Things I Wish People Understood

Things I wish people understood:

1- Teaching is not just recycling last year's lesson for this year's students. Every day, technology puts students in a position to be light years ahead of the Dick and Jane primers that school districts are struggling to afford. Teaching is an Olympic event and requires cutting edge techniques and constant self-assessment and training just to stay one class period ahead of today's students. (Whether they have had breakfast, free lunch, life coaches or private tutors is irrelevant. These jokers are not the ones you studied about in grad school.  They are not Miss Crabtree's students and your one room school house and multiple choice (i.e. easy to grade) tests are not going to suffice.)

2- Teaching includes time for preparation and time for grading...the students' work and your own. I'm not a great teacher because I use great slide presentations. I am a great teacher because I listen to my students and do not assume that I know more about their learning than they do. I prepare like it all depends on me and then pray because it all really depends on God.

3- I am ordained clergy. This means that I will never be afforded the luxury of being a "pew member" of anybody's church. Yes, I graduated from seminary, but no, I do not want to be a pastor. Why? I am not called to be a pastor. We don't just jump up and show God our resume and treat God like a placement agency! God is the Agent who makes "the call" and tells us where we are to go. I am a teacher and a good administrator. Trust me, you don't want me to have the final say on things in a church. You want someone who has a pastor's heart. Would you want a Doctor who was trained in medical school but was better with charting than with diagnosing and caring for you? Right. Me neither. So, don't look at me like I'm crazy when I attempt to explain to you that not all are called to pastor. Some of us are called to other things. This also means that I am held to a higher standard...so my decisions about what church I will "choose" to join is not ever REALLY my decision at all. It is an active choice to hear what God is saying to me about what I am called to do and where I am called to do it. Joining "my mama's church" is not a luxury I have anymore. So, don't push or pull on us when we are trying to hear from God. Just pray with us so that we might....oh,  I don't know...Hear from God!

3a- A call to preach is NOT synonymous with a call to pastor. All pastors preach to their congregations as God gives utterance but all preachers are not called to care for the flock. Some preachers are given a word to plant in due season and the pastor then cultivates the congregation to be good soil and produce good fruit from the preacher who just came by to share a word from The Lord. (I'm not talking about hucksters, I am talking about real preachers. No shade, just a distinction.) Some excellent preachers would make terrible pastors and some pastors are not the best preachers. If you find yourself in a church where they are one and the same...you ought to stop reading this post and whisper a "Thank You, Lord" prayer...RIGHT NOW!!

4- Incarceration in unemployment is not the same as "me time", "time off", "down time", "play time" or any other designation that implies that this is fun and relaxing. I can't share all of the details of money management but I can tell you that there is more behind the scenes than you can imagine. What you spent on lunch last week is what I "earned" on unemployment because of a technicality with my filing. There is no "appeal process" or "person to speak to" and by the time you find it, it's too late. So, cherish your job, no matter how much you dislike it today. This thing right here...is complicated. (To clarify: I am not whining about collecting unemployment, I am merely pointing out that it is complicated and many people forget that I'm not just working from home because I chose this life and I'm secretly independently wealthy and capable of making ends meet. I just don't always share the actual numerical disparity between my ends.) So, when I don't take your hour long call in the middle of the day, don't be offended or think that I should answer because I am sitting home doing nothing. That's insulting. My part time work is still time consuming and my search for a new gig is also time consuming. I probably work just as hard as you most days except that my commute is shorter and my coworkers (the dog and the plants) are more pleasant. 

5- There are things that I can only tell Jesus. There are parts of my life that are open to anyone who inquires. There are other parts that I can only tell Jesus. I often wish I could share these things with someone at the end of the day, just to have a human being share the load. I have my own things in the Jesus Only box and I have other people's hurts, cares, concerns and deep secrets in the Jesus Only box. My heart is full of love and breaks open in prayer every day. These are the things that I can only tell Jesus. What you see is indeed what you get but what you see is not all there is. There are things that I can only tell Jesus. 

These are just some of the things I wish people understood...

I remember...

I remember the moment that I became this woman

I remember what it was like to live carelessly 

       with no regard for the matters of the universe.

I remember thinking that it really would be okay

I remember feeling safe and knowing or thinking that life was going to be like this always

I remember the day that the universe cracked wide open and I dangled helplessly

        in the vortex that whirled around me

                        taking all stability with it

I remember the moment that the vortex spat me back onto the earth 

         which would remain forever shifting under my feet.

I began working on tikkun olam

          but i was mistaken

I was not working to recover the world

I was desperately trying to spackle my own world back together

I was trying to pour concrete into the cracks which threatened to trip me

         and scrape my pretty little knees which had never been knobby

I was trying to stitch together the fabric that had been torn apart

        left irregularly jagged, not as if cut with sharp pinking shears

             but rather torn pulled apart not on the seam                                    

                 but in the places where the fabric had been woven together in the beginning

I wanted to glue the clouds into the sky lest they move and shift again

I wanted to measure the water as it fell from the sky 

      to ensure that the ground would accept her rains without being overwhelmed and flooding out

I wanted to repair my world which had all at once split wide open

      a world flayed like a fish...gutted

        with innards tossed aside as refuse while flesh cooks on a bed of coals

My world had become nothing but a caught fish writhing on a hook

         flopping around trying to avoid the sharp knife

              designed to strip it of its scales

                 leaving it vulnerable and facing certain death

I played God and tried to recover my world 

          but it was too late

                 it had already been torn asunder

And I scrambled to repair it

By capping toothpaste and

Making beds with impeccable hospital corners

Washing dishes and putting them away

Lining up my shoes and alphabetizing my cds

Dewey Decimaling my books

Sizing and colorizing my closet

But to no avail. 

The world is still the same as it was 

    when the vortex spat me out

        onto cracked concrete

That claws at my knees

  When I pray

©Reverendsister's Ink 2013

Sick and Single: Only one is a condition

For No Shame Day I intended to write something far more eloquent. Instead, this is what I came up with. When you pray, remember those who suffer...

Sick and single - only one is a "condition"

"When in the darkness, I would grope, faith always sees a star of hope." Beams of Heaven

No, it does not. In the darkness, in that living, breathing metaphor for the mental illness that plagues me, I do not always see a star of hope. Perhaps my unembodied faith does, but I do not. I see only the thick darkness that is pierced by streetlights and on a good night, the light of the moon when it is properly positioned with respect to the sun. 

Being ill is bad enough and to relieve the world of the burden of caring for us, we take it on boldly. But in so doing, in our attempts to avoid sounding like we are chronic complainers, we often endure it alone. No one wants to be alone when she is sick. Surely, I can manage to pour a glass of water and dump a pill or two into my own hand. There is relief for the physical symptoms that can be found in small pills with numbers or letters etched into them. But the real healing from the pain of mental illness often comes from the gift of presence. A silent, understanding presence. The kind of comfort that we remember from childhood when we could climb into an adult's safe lap and feel loved. That is sufficient. Just to be loved is enough. Just to know that mine are not the only eyes trying to pierce the dark midnight of depression. Just to know that this too shall pass, but until it does, I am not left to bear the burden of it by myself. A hand to hold or a gentle caress of the cheek will keep the darkness at bay if only for a moment. Yet, for the single ones, that small gesture is often more elusive than the cure itself.

When the mind and the body change the rules by which you live, you find yourself trapped in a prison that tortures you and it feels as if you are in fact the guard. The ultimate betrayal is that your body has become your prison and your mind is the warden who forgets to feed you and who by default, assigns you to solitary confinement where you are abandoned by that which has imprisoned you and then the punishment is complete, for you have not even your mind to accompany you in this prison. This is the unimaginable reality for some and the overwhelming truth for others. 

The secret of mental illness - whether depression, schizophrenia, bipolar disorder or another designation - is the reversible cloak of darkness and solitude. We will try to hide and can only hope that someone will seek us...find us...touch us...help to heal us. Some of us are sick and single...only one is recognized by the medical community - as a condition.