New Year. New Move.

Happy New Year everyone!

With the start of this New Year (the first full year of my life as a mother with all it entails) I have decided to begin a new blog. So, here it is, the new virtual chapter of my life:

http://michellelouise88.blogspot.com

Thank you for reading. God willing, I look forward to continuing this new blogging adventure with you.

The birth of a Savior, the death of a year…

Well, it started off well. Baking, that is. I had planned ahead–checked my cupboards to see what ingredients I had, made a list, sent my husband out to pick up those items during the weekly grocery trip six days before baking.

I cleared my counter (well, sort of), got out everything I needed–flour, sugar, bowls, eggs, red and green M&M’s–in order to avoid unnecessary hunting during my mixing process, and started stirring. I even got out the electric mixer. Snow falling, baby playing calmly on a blanket beneath my feet, I felt in control and ready to whip up 5 dozen cookies for our church cookie sale.

Well, the first batch came out a little burned and thick, and I heard my mom’s voice in my head, criticizing my non-chewy cookies (“they’re too cake like!”), and I resolved to make the next batch better.

“Hmm…what if I add some oil to the mix?” I thought. That will CERTAINLY make ‘em a little chewier. So I sprayed the pan with Pam and went about rolling my next batch. Well, ten minutes later the buzzer went off and I looked inside the oven to find some sizzling cookies encircled with a black ring. Oh.no.

By this time the baby was getting fussy, so I pulled out the tray and muttered some expletives, rocked baby to sleep, added some flour to my mixture, re-rolled dough balls and stuffed them back into the oven. Those ones sizzled and burned too.

I could hear the baby crying again, his nap had only lasted about 15 minutes, so I called my dad, asked him to get me some butter for the additional batches I was going to have to make now that I had ruined my first three dozen. I got the baby, fed him, put him on his blanket again, then commenced baking–following the recipe to the letter. I decided to opt out of the Pam to reduce the sizzle effect, hoping the pan’s non-stick promise would deliver.

Well, I pulled out three more burned batches of cookies.

I went to the church–for all intents and purposes empty-handed–and found another lady from our parish in the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of water.

“Did you bring some cookies?” I asked.

“Nope. The sign up sheet looked pretty full, so I didn’t bother.  Did you bring yours?”

I explained that I HAD my cookies, but in light of baking disaster, probably no one would want to eat them. We spent a few minutes commiserating about our past kitchen failures before I went back to mulling over today’s mishap.

“I don’t know what happened,” I finished, lamenting the whole wasted afternoon.

“You were distracted,” she added matter-of-factly.

Distracted?! Well, of course I was distracted. Isn’t distracted a synonym for motherhood? Doing twenty things at once, trying to wear three hats and make deadlines, trying to get out the door and make it somewhere remembering the baby, all his accessories, AND the trays of codflabbing cookies…yes, my life IS distracted.

The past few weeks I have been trying to pull off a large scale organizing project during the baby’s nap times. My plan was to have drawers, closets, refrigerator, and files cleared so that I can rid of the clutter and begin the new year in a more organized fashion. I have poured over Good Housekeeping magazine and other life simplifying literature at work to  develop the perfect organizational regimen for next year–complete with bins, baskets, file folders, calendars, day planners, and open shelves so I can greet the year with a composed embrace–ready to catch all balls, remember all items and appointments, and keep the clutter at bay.

Ha. Epic fail. I think I have made more clutter in my attempt to de-clutter…and if Saturday’s baking adventure is any indication, no matter how in-control I try to be, forces from without (i.e. my son and husband) will always undermine my efforts.

And anyway, what is the necessity of de-cluttering anyway? Who cares if I have an up-to-date planner and filing cabinet, clear shelves, or a clean house?

I wonder if my desire for order and simplicity comes from a spiritual longing celebrated and remembered in this season of Nativity–which is to push back the clutter and noise to create room in my life for the birth of Christ. The incarnation of Christ means that God took flesh–that is physical form–and so the physical world MATTERS. And so, when people talk about “making room in your heart” for God, I think this is more than just opening an invisible but sentimental door for an image of a manger scene–it is taking some literal steps toward de-cluttering too.

In all things there is a balance. Even the clean-up effort can become a distraction if it is done only in and for itself. But, when I do all things in prayer, for the Glory of God, the incarnation of Christ can become present in my humdrum day-to-day situation.

Granted, there will always be forces beyond my control. And there will always be things that confound my plans, undermine my efforts, and throw me for a loop when I think I have it all figured out. But, there is still something to be said for resolving to make this year a little more orderly and simple  to make space for what is necessary.

In the midst of my baking mess, I listened to Christmas music with my dad, I laughed with the ladies of my parish, I held my son, and I got baking advice from several friends (i.e. move up the rack in my oven and just throw the burned cookies away already!). In the midst of chaos, there is still room for love and friendship…there is still the presence of God when everything seems to fall apart.

So, for 2012, may I (and all of you) strive to live in the balance between maintaining order and surrendering to chaos; to checking off that to-do list and abandoning it for God, for your family and friends; to taking care of yourself and surrendering to others in love.

And may these words that Orthodox Christians sing at Christmas be a blessing to you, “Thy Nativity, O Christ, our God, Has shown to the world the light of wisdom. For by it those who worshipped the stars, Were taught by a star to adore Thee, The Sun of Righteousness; And to know Thee, the Orient from on high. O Lord, glory to Thee.”

Wings

Today in church we sang about the holy martyr Barbara and I read about the sufferings of St. Nicholas posted in the bulletin.

The bulletin depicted tortures St. Barbara underwent for the faith under the reign of Maximian, “They beat Barbara fiercely: they struck her with rawhide, and rubbed her wounds with a hair cloth to increase her pain…Then they subjected her to new, and even more frightful tortures.”

And we sing of her, “Let us honor the holy martyr Barbara, for, as a bird, she escaped the snares of the Enemy, and destroyed them through the help and defense of the Cross!”

And read of St. Nicholas, “Though he was not a martyr, St. Nicholas suffered greatly in his life, and had to stand up to powerful forces that could have undermined the Church.” He too endured prison and tortures from without…and he battled heresies within the Church.

Of him we sing, “In truth you were revealed to your flock as a rule of faith /an image of humility and a teacher of abstinence / your humility exalted you /your poverty enriched you /Hierarch Father Nicholas / entreat Christ our God /that our souls may be saved.”

What beauty.

When I read about these saints, I feel like I am reading about a people made of stardust, burning bright in the darkness of the galaxy, millions of miles away from me, a person made of mud, stuck to the mucky grass and mushrooms in the underbelly of my air conditioner, caught in coolant and drowning in December rain.

The brutal darkness of this season seems almost tangible…some days I struggle to get out of bed and face the day…I am in awe of these saints who face tortures and evils head on.

“Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us…” (Heb. 12:1).

Some days, it is hard for me to even throw off my comforter and sheets, to pull my head off the pillow. In the daily battle with the shadows and bogeymen in my mind, I hope that writing words and praying prayers mean something. That getting out of bed means something.

What a great company of saints, glorious and humbling.

St. Nicholas, pray for us. St. Barbara, pray for us. Lord, have mercy.

“Who will give me wings like a dove? And I will fly away and be at rest…” –Psalm 54:7 (or 55:6)

Run, Forrest! Run!

I recently read the post of a contributing writer, Barbara Shukin, on a writers series of posts on a blog by Melinda Johnson.

Shukin discusses her work as writer, making reference to St. Theophan the Recluse. She writes,

In this book, The Spiritual Life: And How to Be Attuned to It, St. Theophan replies to a young woman’s recent letter.

‘What has happened to you? What kinds of questions are these? “I do not know what to do with my life. Should I be doing something in particular? Should I define some particular purpose for myself?”  I read this and I was dumbfounded; where could such odd thoughts have come from?’ (87)

The chapter continues, and he makes it clear that she is not to waste time on these questions, but to do the work which God has put before her!

She should do the work which was put before her.

So, I spent Thanksgiving Eve watching the movie Forrest Gump. This movie definitely makes my top ten list of favorite movies of all time, and I had the pleasure of watching it with my sister and her boyfriend while my dear son slept.

Anyway, for those unfamiliar with the movie, it depicts Forrest telling his life story to several people as he waits for a bus. Forrest is not the brightest crayon in the box, as many of his life’s encounters with others begin with, “you stupid or something?”

And yet, what he lacks in brains he makes up for in heart and perseverance, going on to achieve great feats such as:

becoming a star football player in college due to his running ability, despite the fact that he begins his life in leg braces.

going on to win a medal of honor in the Vietnam war after pulling a bunch of fallen comrades out of the jungle.

becoming a world-champion ping pong player after learning the game recovering from Vietnam.

making a fortune off of becoming a shrimp boat captain.

becoming a celebrity after making several running circuits across the continental US.

And, on his way he is constantly helping people, making friends, and even inadvertently becoming the impetus for several major events (i.e. the busting of Nixon through Watergate).

At one point, when he is in the military, his commanding officer asks him how he put a gun together so fast. Forrest responds, “I was just doing what you told me to.”

And that’s the thing I loved about this movie. Forrest finds so much success but is always “just doing what he was told”; he was always doing the work put in front of him.

Man, easier said than done. Confession. I spent a decent amount of time chronically planning and worrying. I loathe waste. I do not want to waste any time…and so I obsess over questions of “what is my purpose?” right now. today. tomorrow. in life. on this planet. And I worry whether I am doing the “wrong thing”…as though I have some grandiose calling to miss.

Recently, I was put in my place by a friend who said, “What do you want? Do you want us to call another All American Council so that a bunch of enlightened spiritual elders can vote on your calling? Then will you be satisfied?”

Touche.

Sometimes I get caught up in an inflated sense of self-importance and feel like the fate of the free world depends on me fulfilling some critical mission in life. And yet, I’m starting to believe that success pursued is always eluded, and I could find so much more joy in being Forrest-like…in doing what is set before me TODAY at this moment…not asking myself philosophical questions about WHY but just DOING IT.

Recently, I asked my dad whether or not he thought I should be making time to write. He said, “Well, if you have time to write, then do it. If you don’t, then don’t.” Simple as that.

Forrest undertook his major running effort because he just woke up one day and “felt like running.” No other major motivation…and as he says, when he got tired, he stopped. I think St. Theophan would like Forrest. Maybe the spiritual life is more complicated than a movie, but sometimes I think I make it more complicated than it is.

Flannery O’ Connor was once asked why she wrote. “Well, because I’m good at it,” she replied. That’s it. No highfalutin philosophy, just a gift and a drive.

So for today, may my spiritual philosophy be less convoluted and more like Forrest, more like Nike. Just do it. Do the work put before me. Maybe that way I’ll get more done.

Photos from Google images.

When “fast” doesn’t mean speed…

If my torpor is left unchecked, I lose the ability to savor not only reading, but life itself. I develop a loathing for fresh food, letting salad greens and strawberries languish in the refrigerator while I fill up on popcorn.

–Kathleen Norris, Acedia and Me, p.16

Well, today I stood at the open refrigerator door, bathed in smelliness and gazing upon a mess of odds and ends food stuffs. I wanted to make something for lunch…something quick and easy so I could get on to the next activity lickety-split. All I found was a bunch of stuff I’d have to cook…aww, bah humbug, I thought, opening the freezer for something I could pop in the oven and be done with it.

And yet, as I put my hands on a frozen pizza, a little voice screamed, “RESIST, RESIST!”

I hearkened back to Norris’s book and thought about all the stuff I could put together if I really tried. Those carrots, that romaine, yesterday’s corn and canned tomatoes, that slightly souring onion…that black bean soup sitting in the cupboard. I really COULD put something together, but did I want to? Did I have the energy?

I finally decided yes, yes I DID have the energy…so one thing led to another and by the time I had to go to work I had whipped up a simple soup, salad, and some spaghetti sauce with my disparate ingredients. Yes, the Kitchen Cavewoman who can barely get a Hot Pocket out of the package made sauce out of kitchen parts. I can hardly believe it myself.

The season of Nativity is upon us, and for Orthodox Christians, this means Nativity Fast. I’ve been pondering and learning about the fast this year…and one thing I’ve discovered is that the fast should not be an act of pride, much to the chagrin of my Newly-Orthodox Self several years back, who jumped into such things with overzealous gusto by refusing to eat much of anything save a lima bean or two coated with ketchup. Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but, my point is, I was diving into things waaay too deep. (Spiritual couch potatoes like me should not try to run marathons…)

Anyway, I believe the spirit of the fast (in my experience, at least) is not to chastise myself for eating a piece of meat or to neurotically monitor the amount of calories eaten (or not eaten), but to cut down on the eating so I can SAVOR what I do eat… and the God who gives me those things to eat. I empty myself of the bad, the superfluous, in order to fill myself with the good…with prayer, with God…and as a mind-body-spirit being, what I put into my physical body has a direct connection to this.

Like Norris says, even if certain foods (like popcorn) are “fast friendly”, not all of them necessarily stir up an appetite for what is good…I can keep the letter of the fast and still let my veggies go to waste.

For me, part of keeping the fast means skipping out on the Chipotle bean burrito when I can be content with what’s in my fridge…it means opting for fresh over frozen so the good foods don’t languish away.

I can’t single-handedly combat world hunger, rampant consumerism, or tackle all the vices in my heart this season, but I can make a small effort to rise above my tendencies toward laziness, wastefulness, and mindlessness one pot of homemade sauce at a time. And, the creative thought this requires is a nice perk.

Gratitude in the Land of Misfit Toys

About 4 am on Thanksgiving Eve, I sent a text message to my husband at work that said, “I changed my mind…I think we should drag our butts out of bed and go give thanks as a family…”

Well, if that statement is any sort of transparent, it was a long haul to get to Thanksgiving. The long and short of it is that my ungrateful spirit was a manifestation of failed expectations yet again. If I had it my way, my husband would work days, my son would sleep nights; I would have a master’s degree and a best-selling novel; I would be Jane Fonda in the gym and Martha Stewart in the kitchen. I would have the perfect body and my biggest struggles would be bad hair days and morning breath.

I just heard a radio broadcast lamenting holiday commercialization and the fact that Thanksgiving has become more about gluttony and football than actually giving thanks. Well, to be perfectly honest, I can see why…giving thanks, being grateful is HARD. When my perfect life vision streams through my head like a shiny Black Friday commercial, looking around at my actual life can sometimes feel like the Land of Misfit toys…

My husband is tired, my son is fussy, my kitchen smells like rotten eggs, my house and my yard look like ground zero, and despite the hundreds of dollars of I dumped into fixing it, something is still wrong with my car. And, around me, strained relationships abound, the government is feuding, the economy crashing.

Why should I give thanks again?

Why can’t life be like internet shopping where I can just return everything I didn’t order? Then I would be happy; then I could be grateful.

And yet, when I think about the iconic first Thanksgiving (however fictionalized my mental portrait may be), it was probably no rosy-eyed picnic of shiny belt-buckle hats and fluffy feathers, either. Those attending were probably either freezing their British buns off or sweating from syphilis, trying to ignore who was having affairs with whom and trying to cut tension tougher than the turkey. And yet, as the story goes, they gave thanks anyway.

The lesson? If I’m waiting for life to be perfect to be grateful, I’ll never be grateful a day in my life.

I recently listened to a podcast by Fr. Thomas Hopko where he quoted the late Fr. Alexander Schmemann,

Everyone capable of gratitude is capable of salvation and everlasting  joy.

Fr. Hopko went on to say,

Hell is the absence of gratitude. Heaven is nothing but gratitude.

Fr. Hopko described gratitude as the mark of the Christian life. We need to be grateful for EVERYTHING…not only what we perceive as good, but even those things which do not seem overtly good…because God makes ALL things in this wacky world work for the good…even though I don’t—or can’t— understand how He does it.

So, on Thanksgiving Day, my husband and I rolled out of bed after very little sleep and packed our son into the car to go to my mother-and-law’s to give thanks for everything from our sleepy spouses right down to the burnt roast beast in our smelly kitchen.

I recently read a quote by St. Teresa of Avila,

Thank God for the things I do not own.

The truth of the matter is, despite my American sense of entitlement, I do not own ANYTHING. All is a gift, a grace, and therefore, all should be counted in gratitude.

So, as many times as I can pull my head out of my butt, I will be thankful for the daily muck and “imperfections” of life that give me a reason to strive, to carry on, to live. I will be thankful for the Land of Misfit Toys that makes me hungry for heaven…instead of attaining a Black Friday Fantasy Land that would bind me to this weary world.

I will be thankful for the difficulty of gratitude…because it makes me appreciate the compassionate God who mercifully judges thankless wretches like me.

Nourishment: Tastes like Laundry

In her book Quotidian Mysteries, Kathleen Norris writes,

As my sister has matured, accepting and growing into her responsibilities as a single mother, she has grown adept at recognizing and savoring the holy in the mundane circumstances of daily life. Finding spiritual refreshment in unlikely places, she can offer nourishment to her children.

Norris’s Quotidian Mysteries is subtitled: Laundry, Liturgy, and “Women’s Work.” What does God have to do with laundry, dishes, chores, and cooking?

Well, a lot, according to Norris. Norris offers beautiful reflections on the spiritual significance of such menial tasks, delving into dirt to dig up liturgical value.

As I went about my daily tasks this week, I had Norris on the brain as I pondered how I can find spiritual nourishment in the never ending pile of laundry, dishes, etc.

For one, I am nourished by the structure offered by these tasks. Dirty clothes thrown into the washer embody a week’s worth of grime and thought to be shaken down, spun, and hung out to dry. The quiet hum of washer and dryer wrenches newfound motherhood’s weekly chaos into an organized cycle; Wash.rinse.repeat. sustains me in its own precious way.

Routines and cycles of the daily grind harness the chaos from within and without…providing security and strength to help neurotics like me to go on.

Then, there is mindfulness. When I am mindful of a task, repetition forces my disjointed thoughts into focus, pulling my attention into the moment the way repetition in good poetry draws readers into an image. When I am aware of the warm spin of sponge in a bath of dish water, I can forget about tomorrow’s anxieties as I am consumed by today’s task that is not too big for me.

Finally, there is the holy grail of silence.

My friend Jennifer eloquently wrote in her blog,

The house was silent, save for a simmering pot of chipotle pinto beans. Silence and nourishment and prayer all wrapped up in one steaming kettle of legumes.

For me, the measure of my thought is chopped up, pressed down, and simmered away with the preparation of dinner. As Orthodox Christians sing in Liturgy, prayer arises like incense in cooking pot steam; I offer to God my amalgam of daily labor and thought, trusting Him to finish the work in the silence of simmer.

As I read this, I can’t help but laugh a little. This ain’t the monastery…Often my structure, mindfulness, and silence is ravished by the cries, giggles, and needs of my four-month-old…and the demands of my part-time job.

But…I believe the baby busyness just makes quiet moments all the more golden…even if they only come in fifteen minute increments…

Laundry and laughter, dishes and diapers, cooking and crying, shrieks and silence…this back and forth, this struggle for balance…this is life. And the cycle of it all, this sustains, this nourishes me.

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[1] p.59

Wisdom: You gotta know when to hold ‘em

In its own way, I believe the song “The Gambler” by Kenny Rogers says a lot about wisdom: “You gotta know when to hold ‘em / know when to fold ‘em”.

At this point in my life, as a new mother, I feel desperate for wisdom. With the flying leap I’ve made into adulthood in the past year, I feel inundated with voices and choices…and often at a loss as to how to respond. Lest, I pray for wisdom to know where to go when I am struggling in this sink-or-swim situation of marriage and motherhood.

In a recent post on his blog Glory to God for all Things, Father Stephen Freeman discusses “Reading Rightly.” Essentially, what he says is that when we read, it would benefit us to be discerning, not allowing ourselves to read just anything, but only those things profitable for our salvation.

He writes,

It’s not that Scripture or Canons or books of doctrine are to be avoided or forbidden to those beneath a certain age, but rather that we should learn to read with wisdom in an effort to grow spiritually and not in an effort simply to gain knowledge of a questionable sort.

I remember being in middle school the first time I encountered a series of books that are basically a fictional account of the apocalypse. For me, the series ultimately proved to be an amalgam of semi-interesting writing and bad theology, but permanently influenced my worldview into to the Chicken Little “The Sky is Falling!” narrative it is now, where I am always looking out for a crisis, for the end of the world.

True confession. I am an anxiety sufferer and chronic worrier. I also have this naive tendency to take anything in print, on TV, or on the internet as unadulterated gospel truth. There is just a certain finality and certitude about words in print or spoken by a newscaster that makes me believe that they tell no lies. Consequently, Fr. Stephen’s advice rings true with me.

Instead of being a naive and open vat for the “truths” put forth by every and any source, I have found I do better when I am selective about what I read and listen to, and how I hear. Like a spouse who faithfully avoids pornographic images for the sake of the beloved, so do I do well to avoid images, words, and reports that purposely invoke fear and worry over things that I can do ABSOLUTELY NOTHING about.

There is a popular prayer (particularly among 12-step circles) that says:

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

The wisdom to know the difference.

For me, this part of the prayer is the hardest. As I attempt to swim through this uncharted territory of adulthood, the sea of voices, opinions, and sensationalist reporting often threatens to drown me, as they beg me to look, to care about so many things. And yet, the only voice that really matters is the voice of God.

In the book of Kings, Elijah hears the voice of God not in the earthquake, fire, or wind, but in the “still small voice” after them. Well, if God’s habitation in my heart is a still, small voice, then my passions of vain ambition, pride, worry, anger (and all those other fun things) are its loud, obnoxious roommates, always striving to drown out its gentle leading.

So, as I learn how to be wise about what voices to listen to, my husband recently encouraged me to follow this advice of Elder Paisios:

“I know from experience that in this life people are divided in two categories.  A third category does not exist; people either belong to one of the other.  The first one resembles the fly.  The main characteristic of the fly is that it is attracted by dirt.  For example, when a fly is found in a garden full of flowers with beautiful fragrances, it will ignore them and will go sit on top of some dirt found on the ground.  It will start messing around with it and feel comfortable with the bad smell.  If the fly could talk, and you asked it to show you a rose in the garden, it would answer: “I don’t even know what a rose looks like.  I only know where to find garbage, toilets, and dirt.”  There are some people who resemble the fly.  People belonging to this category have learned to think negatively, and always look for the bad things in life, ignoring and refusing the presence of good.

“The other category is like the bee whose main characteristic is to always look for something sweet and nice to sit on.  When a bee is found in a room full of dirt and there is a small piece of sweet in a corner, it will ignore the dirt and will go to sit on top of the sweet.  Now, if we ask the bee to show us where the garbage is, it will answer: “I don’t know.  I can only tell you where to find flowers, sweets, honey and sugar; it only knows the good things in life and is ignorant of all evil.”  This is the second category of people who have a positive way of thinking, and see only the good side of things.  They always try to cover up the evil in order to protect their fellow men; on the contrary, people in the first category try to expose the evil and bring it to the surface.

“When someone comes to me and starts accusing other people, and puts me in a difficult situation, I tell him the above example.  Then, I ask him to decide to which category he wishes to belong, so he may find people of the same kind to socialize with.”

Sometimes the thoughts in my head can feel like a chaotic swarm of flies and bees. Some thoughts like flies invite me to see dirt, death, destruction, the end of the world around every turn. Others are bees, inviting me to see beauty, goodness, truth…to connect, to cultivate the Kingdom here on earth.

I believe the still, small voice of God often comes to me through the voices of others. While this opens the door for meaningful connections, it also pushes me to be discerning, to listen to some voices while ignoring others. I believe the voice of the Elder may be helpful counsel in how to train my ears. Those discouraging voices that tell me to follow the flies: to gossip, to worry, to fret, to stockpile cans for the coming apocalypse, to pursue vain ambitions…these are the voices I should ignore.

On the other hand, the voices of those that encourage me to listen to the song of the bees–to be content, to see the good, to find beauty, to soak up every drop of honey that the Kingdom of God leaves here on earth are worth heeding.

Maybe growing wisdom is a combination of Elder Paisios and Kenny Rogers. We have to learn the flies from the bees; we have to learn when to hold ‘em and when to fold ‘em, when to listen and when to ignore, to let GO.

So, for today, may we ignore the flies and ride away on the bees. May we hear the still small voice of wisdom telling us where to go. Lord have mercy.

For Sarah (wherever I may find her…)

This entry is dedicated to my dear editing partner Sarah. Long live Style and Usage!

For this week’s “The Way I See It” theme of Simplicity, I want to share a “This I Believe” essay I wrote for one of my writing classes in college. _________________________________________________________________

I believe in being present.

Sometimes I feel as though I am being assaulted by what Charles Hummel calls The Tyranny of the Urgent. A quick trip to the grocery store turns into a lengthy deliberation over mint varieties in toothpastes and fruit combinations in juices. The stinging urgency of an incoming text message demands my attention, interrupting a dinner conversation with a friend. A blank computer document fills with my need to check e-mails, Facebook messages, blog posts. I cut people off in conversation with my racing thoughts, I cut people off in traffic with my racing car. Trivialities and distractions flash in front of me like flickering fireflies and my attention floats off with them. I believe in shooing away the fireflies; I believe in being present in each moment.

Sometimes life can seem like a shopping mall where every moment is on a two-for-one clearance special. Two activities can be done simultaneously, bought for the price of one moment. Yet, for all the productivity gained by multi-tasking, I believe there is still a cost: the discounting of life. The words of friends, the rustling of leaves, the blank page inviting the telling of story: these details constantly whisper to me, encouraging me to embrace life, to seize the moment. Yet, I often miss these opportunities as I furrow a frustrated brow, weighing the health benefits of buying pomegranate cranberry juice over apple juice; as I answer text messages and check e-mails; as I am so eager to share my own thoughts in conversation that I am unable to actually listen to the other person.

Trivialities and distractions break into the moments of life, stealing the richness of each one. I do not want the sum of my life to be a beggar’s standard of living; I do not want to be buried in an empty tomb haunted by flickering flies carrying off stolen moments on their wings. No, I want my life’s worth to be a treasure trove of relationships and experiences embraced in each moment.  I believe in turning off the cell phone, shutting down the computer, shooing away the fireflies; I believe in being present to the task at hand, embracing who or what stands before me in the moment.

H/T Close to Home

The Tyranny of the Urgent

On Sunday, I picked up “Tyranny of the Urgent,” a booklet by Charles E. Hummel that basically discusses time management in light of the life of Christ. The spirit of the book seems to be summed up in this statement,

An experienced factory manager once said to me, ‘You’re letting the urgent crowd out the important’.

He describes how many people in our world today seem to wish for longer days, wanting more time to meet all of life’s many and busying demands. Yet, he goes on to say that more time likely would not solve our problems.

When we stop long enough to think about it, we realize that our dilemma goes deeper than a shortage of time; it is basically a problem of priorities…

He continues,

We live in constant tension between the urgent and the important. The problem is that many important tasks need not be done today, or even this week. Extra hours of prayer and Bible study, a visit to an elderly friend, reading an important book: these activities can usually wait a while longer. But often the urgent, though less important, tasks call for an immediate response—endless demands pressure every waking hour.

In college, I learned this lesson the hard way. I remember at the very beginning of freshman year, I was interviewing our campus minister for the school paper. I don’t remember what question I asked him, but I remember his response that haunted me throughout the rest of my time there.

You have to guard yourself against the temptation to become ‘sinfully busy’.

Sinfully busy. What does that mean?

Well, he went on to say that it meant having so many things to do that you can’t concentrate on what you are doing currently. You’re so busy that you’re always looking ahead, mentally engaged in the next task before actually finishing the one you’re on. This is making a grocery list at work, doing homework for one class in another, thinking about what to make for dinner while you’re talking to a friend. It’s losing that sense of presence to whatever is right in front of you.

For me, not only was I probably over-engaged in too many classes, activities, etc., but I didn’t know how to prioritize. Each day’s to-do list got so long, with demands stretching so far out in front of me that I had to be “on” every hour, hurrying and scurrying to try to get it all done. I did not yet understand the blessed art of prioritizing that could keep me afloat on the sea of constant demands that threatened to overtake me each day. To know what is most important…this is one of the most surefire ways to simplify life.

One of my friends told me in college that a counselor explained to her the cause of her anxiety, “Your problem is that you see all your daily demands on a horizontal plane, with each being equal in weight and priority. What you need to do is start seeing demands vertically, with the most important being at the top and the rest falling underneath.”

To escape the tyranny of the urgent, Hummel writes,

The answer lies in the life of the Lord…What was the secret of Jesus’ ministry? We discover a clue in Mark’s report of what happened after the very busy day of teaching and healing which we first noted, ‘Very early in the morning, while it was still dark, Jesus got up, left the house and went off to a solitary place, where he prayed’ (Mk. 1:35). He prayerfully waited for his Father’s instructions.

A college roommate of mine always kept this quote on her desk, “You may not have time for all the things YOU want to do today, but you do have time for all the things GOD wants you to do.”

I think that quote stuck with me because it describes Hummel’s answer to the Tyranny of the Urgent, which is to pray and follow God’s instructions.

With an infant in my life, it is hard to predict my days. How much time will I have to dedicate to his care, to chores, to writing, to whatever else crops up on my to-do list. And yet, I have found that when I make prayer a habit of prayer at the beginning of my day…even if it is short, holding my son in one arm with a bottle in the other…the tasks of my day are better prioritized according to God’s measure. Not that I do this perfectly…my bad habits and other problems often cause me to succumb to the Tyranny of the Urgent instead of following the Divine to-do list. But…with patience and effort, I believe I will get better at listening and prioritizing.

When I converted to Eastern Orthodox Christianity, I learned this morning prayer by Met. Philaret of Moscow, which I (and many others, I think) really like:

O Lord, grant me to greet the coming day in peace. Help me in all things to rely upon Your holy will. In every hour of the day reveal Your will to me. Bless my dealings with all who surround me. Teach me to treat all that comes to me with peace of soul and with firm conviction that Your will governs all. In all my words and deeds, guide my thoughts and feelings.  In unforeseen events, let me not forget that all are sent by You. Teach me to act lovingly, firmly, and wisely, without embittering or embarrassing others. Grant me strength to bear the fatigue of the coming day with all that it shall bring. Direct my will. Teach me to pray. Pray You Yourself in me. Amen.

Amen.