Category Archives: Spirituality

Paragraph to Ponder

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From a longer piece titled “Things I Want to Tell My Mom on Mother’s Day” by Jeanette Byrnes.

“When I developed severe OCD in 8th grade, you found me a therapist immediately. You explained to me what was going on in my brain. You explained that my OCD was separate from me, and that having OCD wasn’t my choice. You helped me make sense of a debilitating mental illness at the tender age of 13. As OCD made my world smaller and smaller, you fought it with me, tooth and nail, every day. For a year you took me to therapy, you did my homework with me, you wrote me notes of encouragement, and you sat on the floor with me as I sobbed, tortured by my brain chemistry. These were some of the most painful days of my life, and you were my safety. You made a terrifying experience less terrifying. You gave me the tools I needed to recover. What a gift you gave me.”

Where would she be, I wonder, if her mom hadn’t sat on the floor with her?

Maybe Not So Great An Idea?

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In light of my most recent example of knuckleheadedness, a faithful PressingPauser was moved to write me. “. . . let me discourage you from jumping off a bridge into polluted water.  This is in the category of photoshopping a picture of oneself dressed up like the pope.”

“More a reflection of feeling trapped,” I replied, “than just my baseline stupidity.”

Caring for my ailing wife day in and day out also has me daydreaming about taking some walks. I’ve been spending some of the rare quiet moments researching the Appalachian Trail, the Camino, and the Te Araroa. With a small backpack and no fixed timeline.

Mostly what I long for is what Jeanette wanted Saturday evening after watching Alison’s high maintenance pup for a week while she was in Chicago. No responsibility.

Nobody depending upon me for anything. For a long time. In the hope of healing.

On Hiatus

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Since the beginning of the humble blog, I’ve strived to write authentically. Because of her right to privacy, that’s gotten more and more difficult as my wife suffers from a debilitating illness.

I am trying to care for her and am completely overwhelmed. But I don’t feel I can write about it. Maybe at some point in the future. Probably at some point in the future.

For now, in addition to caring for my wife, I’m planning to teach beginning in September. I don’t think I can do right by my wife, my students, and you.

Thank you for reading me and especially to those who took the time to comment from time to time.

Is this the end? I don’t know, time will tell. I’m trying to not plan the future as much, and instead, to live in the present.

Peace out.

I Feel You Joe

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“Biden plans to resume campaigning,” the lead article on the New York Times website right now reports, “as more Democrats urge him to quit.”

We know how this ends. With him quitting. But man, I for one salute his stubbornness because whenever everyone tells me to do something, like find a therapist, I instinctively don’t want to do it. And the more they push, the more I resist.

Maybe that’s human nature more generally?

There is one notable difference between Joe and me though. My knee-jerk contrariness does not threaten the future of our democracy.

Human Decency Wins Again

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Life downtown means interacting with the Walking Wounded. Regularly.

Two times in as many weeks I’ve happily been ignored while next up in the grocery store check out line.

Both times the cashiers showed exceptional care and kindness to the down-and-out people in front of me. With no concern for the rest of us in line.

The first time the cashier explained that he knew the customer and always took extra time to do right by him and his guide dog. Although he didn’t need to, he also thanked me for my patience. I wish I had the presence of mind to thank him for taking his time to see the troubled person and for honoring his humanity.

A lot of people who are caring and kind normally aren’t especially either one when it comes to the homeless. Which perplexes me. It’s almost as if they’re offended by their poverty, addictions, and mental health issues. How dare they be poor, addicted, schizophrenic.

No one likes encampments in public spaces or personal property crime. But if we have to be angry, maybe we should direct our anger at ourselves for not making any more headway than we have in solving the crisis.

Granted, it’s a vexing, multi-faceted challenge. I suspect progress depends on more of us following the lead of patient, kind-hearted grocery store cashiers.

A Christian Nation?

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From the NYT.

“Now, Supreme Court justices have become caught up in the debate over whether America is a Christian nation. While Justice Alito is hardly openly championing these views, he is embracing language and symbolism that line up with a much broader movement pushing back against the declining power of Christianity as a majority religion in America.

The country has grown more ethnically diverse and the share of American adults who describe themselves as religiously unaffiliated has risen steadily over the past decade. Still, a 2022 report from the Pew Research Center found that more than four in 10 adults believed America should be a ‘Christian nation.'”

Guess that means almost 6 in 10 grasp the profound difference between being a country with many Christians and being a “Christian country”.

And I can’t help but wonder if the “4 in 10” crowd has any real understanding of the persecution experienced by the earliest Christians, let alone believers in places like China and North Korea.

How To Be More Honest?

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Having blogged for a decade plus, I run the risk of repeating myself. But maybe you’ll forgive me if I come clean about it.

In September, 2018, I started a post titled “What We Get Wrong About Honesty” this way:

That it’s mostly telling the truth to others. But being honest with one’s self is a more essential starting point, and because we lack any semblance of objectivity, far more difficult.

None of us are ever completely honest with ourselves.

Especially as a writer, I want to be more honest with myself, and by extension, my readers. I suspect that starts with more honest internal dialogues.

My older sissy said something seemingly innocuous to me awhile back, that I can’t stop replaying in my head. I was telling her I want to really improve my freestyle swimming, but it’s hard given the years of imperfect muscle memory. I explained that I had checked a book out of the library that broke the freestyle stroke down and had watched lots of youtube vids.

I thought I had made a convincing case that I wanted to improve, I for sure had convinced myself, but when I came up for air, she offered this brutally matter-of-fact reply, “No, you don’t.”

Staggered by her honesty, I forget what came after that.

As soon as I regained my footing, I realized she was right. My efforts to improve were superficial at best. I hadn’t worked with a coach. I hadn’t used video. I hadn’t committed to the drills that help improve one’s catch.

Despite saying I want to improve, my elbows still drop, I still slap the water, and I don’t rotate nearly enough. My stroke is a mess, but that’s not the point. The point is, with no coach, with no video, with no commitment to drills and going slower to eventually go faster, I should stop lying to myself about wanting to improve. I should just accept that my stroke will always suck.

Of course, my shite freestyle doesn’t matter, at all, but the all important question raised by my sister’s “No, you don’t” is what else am I lying to myself about? Surely, lots of stuff of far more consequence.

I may never have high elbows, but can I learn to be more honest with myself, and by extension, you? I don’t know. But I think I’ll try. Just don’t tell my sister.

Phenomenon To Ponder

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Karen Kreider Yoder’s story perfectly captures 2024.

“It was a June afternoon in the Rockies just after I retired when we agreed that we must be turning into ghosts.

We had been cycling in the mountains since breaking camp before dawn, and we decided to splurge on a private room in a hostel. We checked in and headed through to the bike-storage area, walking our rig by young hostelers congregated in the common spaces.

We must have been a sight: two bedraggled 60-somethings pushing a tandem bicycle laden like a pack mule.

Except no one seemed to see us.

We crossed the living room, where 20-something hikers with ruddy faces studied their computer screens. No one looked up. We inched through the kitchen, where others were sautéing onions for a group meal. ‘Excuse us. Sorry to interrupt,’ one of us said as we squeezed through. ‘That sure smells good.’

They turned a bit, giving us space. But not a word. Not a ‘How’s it going?’ nor ‘Where’d you come from?’ nor ‘Cool rig.’ Nor eye contact.”