2019: Nowing

I think I have it, my word for 2019. (Special thanks to Alexander Shaia.*) 

Here's the word: Nowing (say "now-ing")

Staying in the present, living in the present, enjoying the now. 

It's a big year, 2019.

At the end of 2018 I begin and then in 2019 continue to live out my 50th year on the planet. At the end of the year I officially reach that half-century mark, that milestone. (Can I mention how, for several years, I've looked forward to being in my fifties?! 😊) 

And it is a year of transition. I've moved from one side of the planet to the other. I have ended one career, one 'life' (it feels like) and will be transitioning to the next. One year from now, where I'll be living or what I'll be doing--I have no idea! Between now and then, I plan to have a fair bit of both looking back and looking forward. Looking back to process my life--to learn, to grow, to discern. Looking forward--to explore, to plan, to choose. 

It seems it might be helpful, in the midst of all the introspection about the past and possible wondering or anxiety about the future, to somehow find a way to stay grounded in the present. I'll "now," and keep returning to "nowing."

I'm not sure how I'll do it, but this resonates as a good word and idea, a worthwhile pursuit, for me this year.

*Alexander Shaia on “The Robcast” Episode 222: Alexander Shaia on Darkness and Hope. 

Gone

It's a weird feeling, losing (almost) all of your digital data. It's as special as the physical. So many thoughts, so much of my life--there, and now...gone!

Today I was talking with a friend--we've journeyed together for 6 years, and usually, in our weekly chats, I take notes. But...they are gone.

Yesterday I realized--those documents--where I had started to jot down ideas for "the book" I may someday write ... gone!

Of course I already know about the huge chunks--all the photos (no, I still have some), documents, work items, personal...

But I wonder how many small specific things will come to mind, where I'll feel that/those moments of pain, loss, because it's... gone.

-------

Should I stop with acknowledging the above? It's real.

And yet I also acknowledge the journey of finding freedom from the stuff that binds. I've had too much clutter--physical AND digital. The task of sorting through and organizing, has been an always-there burden. And now that too, is gone.

I can start anew, clutter-free, and realize how much I really don't/didn't need.

So many things, I may not have the records, but that doesn't mean it didn't happen. memories, are enough.

(written Nov. 11, 2018, published Aug. 2019)

Discovering what is Me

Discovering what is me

In my things

My things are not me

And yet...they are

Some of them are

They represent parts of me

Sometimes they've been too tied to me

Or me to them

Hence the clutter

Too much stuff!

Decluttering

And preparing to move

Forces me to discover

What is me

What is not me

Some things

Are precious

Symbols of my journey

Others

Well, they are part of my journey too

But I can let go

My identity is not in the things I have done

Not in the hard work

(Written Sept. 14, 2018, published Aug. 2019)

Wait and See

It's what I tell myself

Again and again

These days

It's what I need to tell myself

Wait

And ponder, yes

Think about 

   What is next

   What are my choices

   What is wise

But don't be anxious

Don't push for quick solutions

Or resolution

And See

Bit by bit

Clarity comes

A piece at a time

One idea

One question

One suggestion

One conversation

Life lived slow

Is what it is these days

I don't have energy for much else

But this is good

Very good

I'm learning

Insights come

In time

Soon enough

Going to miss this language

I'm going to miss

Chinese...this language.

How many times lately have I thought of something, and it's easier to think of the Chinese, easier to see how the meaning comes through more fully, in Chinese. Ah, what a privilege to have learned some (because there is always so much more) of this language, to have been immersed in people's lives with this language, to have had such a great teacher--who loves words, and values accurate communication, as I do. 

I find myself regretting, repenting of 😊, all the times I've complained (externally or internally) about how hard it is/was--to learn, to remember the characters, that I've been satisfied with what I have now, not rigorously studying more. Now...I see only beauty, wish I had learned more, wish I had learned to love reading...wish I had delved into those books that might have helped--ones that wrestle with societal issues, ideas...

I've long known, this language, this culture--a lifetime, or a thousand lifetimes--could be spent in fascinated learning. And soon, the opportunity for learning will be passed. I'm so thankful for what I did learn. I did work hard to learn, engage and use this language, to communicate using it.

What a treasure!

(written Sept. 9, 2018, edited and published Aug. 2019)

I have touched the face...

I have touched the face

of a young boy

(10-13 years old?)

whose face had been so badly burned...

just one nostril hole

and one small (1 cm...or less) hole

for a mouth

We fed him the rice soup

through a straw

His face--it felt hard

like one solid piece

Touch the right cheek

and all moved

"He can't talk," they said

But, even with my poor language skills 

I discovered he could

After gently wiping his face

putting on some antibiotic cream

He said (muffled), "duzi tong."

"What?" "Your stomach hurts?"

(Is that when we sent someone for the rice soup?)

After eating

that pain seemed to ease

Later..."shou tong"

And I looked at his hand...

The burns or scars

had curled it

We rinsed off the dirt and soot

in the warm water

Were those bones I saw--sticking out through the skin?

We gave him some pain killer...

(nurse-friend and teacher-friend came well prepared!)

popped 1 or 2 through that small mouth opening

followed by liquid...

I got angry at the crowd standing around

(Not 'ranting angry' or 'yelling angry' but...)

They slowly gathered

a quiet semicircle--10, 20??

I asked if they wanted to help?

No response

And I think I eventually invited them to leave

suggested they should

if all they were doing was standing around to watch.

And I remember trying to point out

"No, he can talk..."

I wished they could see him as a person, 

worthy of compassion.

I didn't live in that city

Just got to be a part of a few hours

in the ongoing story.

I couldn't not get involved.

Just a short time before, in my town, I had held back

not gotten very involved

and a different homeless man had died.

Earlier 

others had tried to help this homeless boy

find him a place to live

But he didn't want to stay there

Then they heard about the fire and the burns

It was cold, it was winter

It seems he had been pushed into the fire

that several had made to keep themselves warm

Later

They continued to try to help

Kept taking him food

Tried to get him to a hospital,

but the hospital wouldn't take him in, 

without family to sign for him

One day, some official department

came for him in a truck

He was loaded into the back

(and I can't write how it was described...tears come)

My friends tried to follow up

were generally brushed aside

Until, one day

they heard a "fantastic" story....

He had been sent on a train to where his family was

Everything was great

The boy had told them so many things

The story...so 'fantastic'

we suspect

the opposite had happened

Why do I tell this story? Why today? (It is a story from the fall of 1996.) I don't know. Maybe just because I remembered, and I'm processing. And maybe because...he deserves to be remembered, his life is worth remembering. I wonder who else remembers him. I wonder about his family. I wonder...

There is so much sadness to this story. And yet there is beauty too--several people stepping in, doing what they could, seeing a person, looking into his eyes, speaking, offering compassion and dignity. It didn't seem to end the way we had hoped. But we were, and we are formed and blessed in the process. 

I had the privilege of touching his face that day, of looking into his eyes, of talking with him, of trying, along with others involved, to love him as best we could. The incredible privilege of that day...

What will I do...

"Tell me, what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life?"

--Mary Oliver

Here I am, moving more fully into a huge life transition.

Tired.
In some ways I'm so tired.

Tired of life here, of what I've been doing.

It really IS time for a change.

So then... it has surprised me, what with being so tired and all. 

To find passion rising up inside this heart of mine.
Time and again, in various situations.
(Okay, mostly via books I'm reading or listening to.)

I realize...I still want to do a lot of stuff.

I still want to 'change the world'!

I turn 50 next year.
In my 50th year I'll move to the other side of this transition.
(What a great way to celebrate half a century!)

And yet I feel like I did ... in high school, in university.

So many choices, so many options, so many hopes and dreams.

Wondering what will happen, what I should choose
Hoping...I can somehow make a difference with my life.

Also moments of feeling--so inadequate, so not skilled for some of the areas in which I'd love to participate in working for change.  

I will continue to wait and ponder as I go through this season.

I want to land doing something that relieves pain, brings healing, reduces injustice, brings blessing.

And I'd preferably like to do something that comes out of some of my particular gifts and abilities.

Ah, I'm still yearning for the things I yearned for when I was 15. 

That's okay I guess. 

It shows I'm not dead yet. 

And...that's a bit of a relief.

I first discovered this quote in the book Essentialism: The Disciplined Pursuit of Less,  by Greg McKeowen

Blessing For the Place Between

When you come
to the place between.

When you have left
what you held
most dear.

When you are traveling
toward the life
you know not.

When you arrive
at the hardest ground.

May it become
for you
a place to rest.

May it become
for you
a place to dream.

May the pain
that has pressed itself
into you
give way
to vision,
to knowing.

May the morning
make of it
an altar,
a path,
a place to begin
again.

by Jan Richardson
from The Cure for Sorrow: A Book of Blessings for Times of Grief

A Deeper Remembering

I'm so glad to have seen you today

I was walking out by the river

There for quiet

Alone

And pondering

But sometimes

Quiet and pondering can welcome interruption

Especially when it's an old friend

That I don't get to see too often anymore.

I hear my name being called

Look back to see you running toward me

Panting

Telling me how long 

You've been trying to catch up

Not quite sure if it was me

"You're thinner than before"

(Why she wasn't sure if it was me or not.

Thank you for noticing

Still far to go)

"Is it because it's hot?

Don't want to eat?

Can't get the food down?"

I laugh

(Is that really a thing for some people? 

Not for me)

No. Intentional. 

We chatted

I had thought to find a time to tell her

The decision

"Can I ask you to keep a secret?"

(It's not 'out' yet)

But yes, I can

She's come to me with secret things too.

I told her of my decision

And the recent journey

Asked about her

Her husband--ptl, they're not finding any more cancer

Her daughter--uni. entrance exams in two days, stress

And she--has had something like anxiety attacks ever since last fall

After her husband's diagnosis...treatments.

Later, she went to use the public toilet, while I waited outside

looking in through the entrance, 

I suddenly see her with a questioning look,

Looking up at the sign

Had walked into the men's room...

I wanted to take a picture of her face, her posture

(I'm laughing now)

And suddenly I remembered

Another bathroom picture

Many years ago

I reminded her when she came out

"Do you remember?"

She had dropped something in the squat pot at my house

And somehow I thought it was funny

To take her picture

Playing in the toilet

There she was, telling me not to take it

That I was a brat

But I did

(I think she's shaking her finger at me, and laughing, in the picture)

"What did I drop in there, my phone?"

"What?" I said, "Don't you know, we're old

That was when we were young.

Cell phones didn't exist yet then!"

I don't know what she dropped in there.

I wonder if I still have that photo somewhere

Not too long ago she sent me a different photo

The time I gave her a haircut

Can't believe she let me

I wonder if she liked it!

(chuckling)

We parted ways

I got on my bike

She walked back home

And suddenly the memories started

And I wanted to cry

This one is definitely different

All the memories, through the years

with one person

She was a friend from the beginning

Helped me clean the first house

Spent hours there those first days

Helped me find newspaper to line the cupboards

Find shops

Shop

We stood on my desk, moving it around the living room

Stencilling my walls

How many times did she invite me to share a meal with her family

Especially during traditional family holiday times

It was on that first trip to a countryside school

That we discovered a similar sense of humour

We've been kidding with each other ever since

When her daughter was young

And she saw evidence of "crazy"

She had 'proof' her daughter caught it from me

Isn't there a picture of her laying on my bed.

(Chuckling again)

"Don't think so much"

"It sounds like you're wanting to do something bad

you're so nervous about talking to the principal,

but this is good"

I think she helped me design what became my beginning-of-term speech

Trying to figure out how to maintain control 

In a class that was more active than they were used to

I attended her wedding

A bridesmaid, actually

I tried to encourage the revellers 

To leave their apartment

On their wedding night

No luck, they were there all night

She told me the next day

"Can you pray for me she said"

There in the hospital

Green paste of some sort smeared around her nipples

Concerned for the milk that wasn't coming

The times she want secrets kept

The privilege of being one of the few

Who could share the journey.

Hep C that wasn't responding to medication

But couldn't tell anyone

Worried about the political uproar it might cause

Would folks be worried that she, too, 

Would try to get money from the hospital

(the blood buying scandal that made international news)

The incident in the school leadership

She could have been vice-principal

But the false accusations that came

How devastated she felt

And her husband's cancer

Carrying the load of

Travelling to be with him in another province

Then back to teach

And be with her daughter

(last year of high school)

Not telling her daughter what it was about

Not telling his mother

A load to bear

A journey to walk

Alone

She's strong

She's tough

And yet she's soft, gentle, caring, and fun!

She sees a need and helps

I remembered the time she popped over, saw I was sick asked what she could do

I asked for bananas

She brought them quickly

Was it that time, or another

She brought her mom's chicken soup

("And if you have a chesty cough, 

you prepare it by steaming 'the blue part' of the chicken.")

She first introduced me to ginger tea

And she cares about her students

Cares about thinking

Cares to be a teacher that thinks and grows

And yet gets so tired, so bogged down

In a system where most don't. 

We started teaching in this school the same year

I left the school six years later

She went on

Became a grade leader--over 100 teachers

Respected

Yet had the courage to refuse that

Drop that position

When she could see it costing her mental health

In later years

We don't see each other often

But always, at least on Christmas

Christmas Eve, or before, or later

I'll get a call

She'll pop in

Bringing a Christmas and birthday

Gift and card

And I'll have a Christmas gift and card for her

And maybe her family

I suddenly realized today

Usually I can know I'll see her now and again

And then there is the fullness of the relationship

And all the memories

But 

Soon I won't see her

What will it be like to 

Leave the person

And all the memories behind

(Tears falling, again, rolling down my cheeks, over my lips)

I'm not even sure why it's hitting me so hard

Maybe with a combination of other things

Ah, but I'm thankful 

An early friend

Who did so much

To welcome me

Explain culture

Introduce me to 

Ideas, foods, people

Share life

Share her heart

Years ago, about 20, I was asked

Maybe it was that she asked me

"How long are you going to stay in Pt?"

Not sure why I gave the answer I did

Who could have known

"I'm going to stay here until your grandchild is taking me for walks by the river,

calling me 'Grandma'"

I've thought of that often

She wasn't even dating then

But she did

Then got married

Had a child

The child has grown...

But not yet...it would be at least another 10+ years

Before there is a grandchild to walk by the river

I guess I won't see that day after all

But we came pretty close.

Interesting

Both of these 'rememberings' (today's, and the "I remember" post) happened on and after a walk on that nice path by the river

The earlier one was many short vignettes, people, students usually, 

Known for a shorter time, and a few significant moments coming to mind.

Today's--one person, and our long history. with many, many memories

Twenty-four years since I first met her

I wonder how many different 'flavours' of remembering and grieving I'll taste in weeks and months to come.

I wonder if that river path will become a very special place

Much like the front end of my journey here--how I used to walk back and forth across the 'man xian' bridge.

I Remember...

I Remember

The day she told me how her dad 

had tried to sell her

How tiny was his house, 

and how sad the story of his mom being tricked away

The day I found out 

he was suicidal, 

and homicidal

His story--the teacher beating him on the head in grade 4

Telling him off for his dad's odd and irritating behaviour

I Remember

The walk to that village

So many times

Each time not quite sure of the way

But sniffing it out

More than the walk

The people in that home

A rare place that treated me as 'normal'

Let me sit up there in the loft above the pigs

Chopping the feed

While we chatted

The walk away from the village

With another woman

Her analogy 

Rain "like diarrhea" that day :o) 

Making vegetable tofu

EATING that tofu

(Even if I stayed, 

those memories are long in the past, 

an era gone by)

I Remember

A me that was young and idealistic

Brimming with enthusiasm

And energy

I Remember

The man left by the river

I had to try to help 

Because earlier

Someone else

I hadn't

And he died

I Remember

Jack's older brother

How wrong it was

That he died that day

On the bus, halfway home

Hearing there had been an explosion

And some of my students lost their fathers

I Remember 

Things shared in grief groups

The stories of pain

The times it was the first time

They had had a chance to grieve

The day I was concerned about all the pain

But then asked

And remembered

No, this is good

Very good

I Remember

This thought trail will continue

And I will keep remembering

Until I remember no more. 

I wonder what new memories 

will be created 

in decades to come

The grieving begins...

And so... the grieving begins

What will it be like
To not walk these streets anymore
To not see the simple shops
To not be able to get to a grocery store
Or buy medication
Or fruit and flour
Within a 5 minute walk

What will it be like
To not always be noticed
Get the double-takes
Hear people talk about me as I walk by
To not have 3 different people greet me
On a 15-20 minute walk to work

Small town living has it's advantages
And disadvantages.

I'm going to miss
That Ratan chair and table set
My balcony garden
All those peace lilies
My innovative planters
My bright, open and full-of-plants office
My kitchen
My living room sofas
The bookshelves
All the little efforts made to make a home
And now I will leave the home

Maybe I should focus on the parts I DON'T like
Then it will be easier....
Yeah, I'm not going to miss the water stains that never got fixed
The electricity that seems to be faulty
I'm especially not going to miss the noise--in the house and out
And such a hard time to find quiet and beautiful places to walk

This is all about surroundings, things.
What is bigger, is the people.

What I love
The crazy openness of relationship
That is what it is with my colleagues
M.A. says I create community
and invite vulnerable relationship
Wherever I go
I don't need to worry about not finding it in the future
I know I already have it with some friends
Suddenly I catch a vision of creating it
in new places, once again.

But people
Their stories
Their homes
These are also the 'reels' that play in my head
The individual vignettes
So many
What a privilege
To have been allowed into their lives
To be trusted
To have shared the journey
At some pivotal and painful times

These encounters
Have marked me
Etched something on my soul

Traveller Still...

It's interesting
How the metaphors that come

Or the words spoken

That resonate

Become something that carries

Way further than we could have ever imagined

How did I come upon the ideas of 

Traveller and 

Sojourner

for me, for my journey

Oh yeah, sure

"Life is a journey"

"We're all on a pilgrimage"

And my life

Living half-way around the world

From where I was born

Where my roots first took hold

Perhaps led me to identify even more

But that's just the physical

Today I'm realizing again

I'm still on such a journey

The land is still so new

I thought I'd started out
   to new places
   before

I thought I'd 'landed'

But then came the need

To start out again

I've almost found a place to rest,

   I think

Though I'm not quite sure...

I know where it is
   that is 'most' comfortable now

Compared to all the other places
   that are definitely not

And yet I know

It may not be the place I stay

There is more to explore

And so

Today

Once again

I remember

I embrace again

My identity

As Traveller, Sojourner

I'm thankful that I'm "enjoying" it again.

I'm thankful that it actually feels pleasant

(Sometimes the journey has been just hard

sometimes terrifying!
Sometimes I've doubted
if there was a journey,
a road,
or if I was just mired in muck.) 

I am a traveller, a sojourner,

All my life I will be

And on this journey

Again and still

I am so thankful
for journey companions

Others exploring similar terrain

Others not content to stay where they are

When they discover 

the land where they have been 

has become 

   hostile

   a place of slavery

   and injustice

And this defines the kind of traveller I am

And the kind of travellers 

   that become my journey companions

We're not constantly moving, constantly leaving

Just out of wanderlust

Or a simply frivolous and 

   never-ending need 

   to see new places

(Though seeing new places is good

Maybe that's a part of discovering 

   the problems 

   with the place you are)

No, more we are compelled by 

   an awakening

   a discontent

   realizing where we have been

   is wrong

We cannot stay

A traveller, a learner

May I always be

And always "at home"
   with those who also seek

Noble Dreams

Sometimes I have noble dreams

Dreams of …

Being a part of bringing peace.

The fight on the street

The screams in the night…

What are the words said....?

Or the presence that would enter

That would bring calm

Invite change

While at the same time

Flooding each one with hope

Not shame

What do I do even now?

Up in my 4^th floor apartment,

Hearing the yelling below

I’ve done it before

Run out into the night,

To follow a situation

To try to help

I’ve also not done anything at times

That girl being pushed into that black car…at 4 a.m.

What was that?

I try, I turn…

To tune into You

What might You say?

I want, I need

Your guidance

Each moment

Each time

In each of these situations

Whether to run out

Or stay

Tonight,

Not feeling the urgency/need

To run out there

There seem to be people involved

And yet I pray

Peace Lord,

Please bring your peace

….

Sometimes I have noble dreams

And yet these seem easier to pull off

With strangers

With those closer, today

Not sure I brought much peace...

I lost patience with the children

Some of the rambunctious boys

Several times :o(

Do I bring peace to the others?

It takes me so long to gain clarity about where I stand

The agitation inside, doesn’t lead to peace outside

How I need

To know You again

How I long

To live in Your presence again

To once again sense

Being led

How I need Your wisdom

How I long for Your guidance

How I need the clarity

That energizes

Lead me Lord.

A Celtic Blessing

May the Christ who walks on wounded feet
Walk with you on the road.

May the Christ who serves you with wounded hands
Stretch out your hands to serve.

May the Christ who loves with a wounded heart
Open your hearts to love.

May you see the love of Christ
In everyone you meet.
And may everyone you meet
See the face of Christ in you.


(Discovered this in my notes--while going through clutter-busting. I'll save it here. Don't need to keep the paper now.)