Telling the Truth

connecting the dots of my life

Category: Spiritual Formation

May 15, 2017

Slippery words

Slippery words fly through hot air
Smiles and flourishes promise happy days ahead –
But at what cost and for whom?

Another committee ‘collaborates’ behind closed doors –
Working toward freedom and justice for all?
Or for the chosen few. . . .

What would it take to halt double-speak
about things that touch all our lives?
Are we willing to pay that price?

Imagine our nation shaped by listening
rather than speaking loudest or longest –
Do we have the guts to go there?

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 15 May 2017
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Collaboration

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May 13, 2017

endless beauty

Final —
A heavy word
for dreamers of today

Shuffling through
the watercolor exhibition
my eyes fall on a small tangle
of blue-greens and light pinks
composed and serene
within a gothic arched mat

Exquisite detail sharply defined
invites my eyes to linger
on each small leaf,
each tiny stem and blossom
flourishing at ground level
within trailing vines of small ivy

The work of yesterday’s dreamer
who found endless beauty
lying at his feet

Yesterday D and I were at the Philadelphia Art Museum to see a special exhibition of watercolors from the 1800s and early 1900s. I was captivated by this artist’s vision and clear determination to paint the small things. In part because the possibilities were endless, no matter where he looked.

I couldn’t help thinking about my writing–especially now, as my world seems to be shrinking. I found this artist’s vision challenging and encouraging. He gave up trying to paint the big things. Partly because so many were already doing that. More than that, he was captured by his love for painting ‘into’ the small things.

There’s nothing final about vision, is there? Seeing into the smallest details of life gives me joy and a sense of purpose. A way of connecting with others as I’m connecting more deeply with myself and my spiritual development.

Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 13 May 2017
Photo credit: DAFraser, May 2017
Ivy-covered wall inside the Conservatory at Longwood Gardens
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Final

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May 1, 2017

I don’t know where to begin…

So I’m just going to blunder along for a bit. Which is, I’m told, the best way to begin. I think Eeyore would agree with me.

I’m a total novice when it comes to Chronic Kidney Disease (CKD). It wasn’t on my horizon and it isn’t in my family of origin.

But that doesn’t matter now. I have it. Stage 3A. In fact, I probably passed ‘Go’ well over a year ago without even knowing it.

So here I am. Floundering around, lurching through each day with emotional highs and lows, energy highs and lows, eating highs and lows, and little sense of overall wellbeing.

High means I’m upbeat, alert, happy to be alive, and at peace with my body. Giving happy hugs to D.

Low means I’m virtually asleep, can’t move a muscle including my brain, and don’t want to look at another healthy smoothie or make another easy-to-chew soup or stew. Weeping silently or openly. Collecting hugs from D as needed.

Do I feel sorry for myself? No, I don’t. Nor do I ask God, “Why me?” There are millions of us out there with this disease. What I regret is the relative invisibility of the disease—often until it’s too late.

Which raises the question of my status. You might think Stage 3A out of 5 stages is fairly decent. Answer: It is and it isn’t. It’s better than Stage 3B. That’s when you start talking about what’s coming in Stage 4 (preparation for the end game). Followed quickly by Stage 5 (dialysis, kidney transplant and, sooner or later, death).

At Stage 3A I have the possibility of leading a different yet fairly ‘normal’ life. That means constant attention to self-care, lab tests, and endless appointments with various doctors. Some people are able to reverse the progress of CKD, but it’s rare at Stage 3. Difficult but possible at Stage 2; often possible at Stage 1.

So what’s the solution? For me, I’m in a crash course I didn’t want. That means reading books, finding online resources, talking with family members, facing the reality that this is a terminal illness for which there is no magic pill. And of course, writing about it, especially about how I’m feeling.

It also means reordering each day as it progresses. Do I need to take a little nap? Meditate? Write my heart out? Do nothing but sit on the porch listening to the birds? Listen to music? Take a little walk? Have a good cry? A good rant?

This is an invisible disease. If you could see me, you probably wouldn’t know anything’s amiss. Most people without CKD haven’t heard much about it, think they won’t get it, or don’t know how to determine whether they’re at risk. Yet millions of us have it. Go figure.

I’ll post more from time to time. Not necessarily because you need to know, but because I want you to know and it helps immensely to write it out and make it public.

Thanks for visiting and reading!
Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 1 May 2017
Image found at pinterest.com
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Apprentice

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April 30, 2017

Fear has no wings

I was born into a Christian sub-culture driven by fear. Fear of the world, and fear of God whose all-seeing eye follows us day and night.

This was both comforting and terrifying. The world ‘out there’ was harsh and unforgiving. A dangerous place for little girls and big girls. I needed a Guardian.

Yet God’s all-seeing eye was taking notes. Was I being naughty or nice? Was I pleasing God or making God sad, angry or disgusted?

It was super-important to be productive as well as untouched and untainted by ‘the world.’ Evil lurked around every corner. Fear was the best preventive medicine I could take.

Fear helped me keep rules. Fear helped me develop keen eyes for what would please people in authority over me. Fear surreptitiously kept my hand to the grindstone. I wanted to be ready for the day when God would judge me for what I had done and not done.

I grew up without wings. Instead, I developed a remarkable talent for trying harder and jumping higher. Failure or even the whiff of failure was devastating.

Now, many failures later, I’ve begun developing tiny wings. Baby wings. The kind I trimmed back most of my life, trying to stay in the nest and out of trouble.

Being born plopped me into an aching world fraught with pain and anguish, troubles upon troubles. It’s impossible to stay out of trouble if I’m alive and breathing. Whether it’s my fault or not isn’t the issue.

Today I accept trouble in my life. Not because it’s good, but because it helps me develop baby wings. It helps me look up and around, gaining a glimpse of where I might fly next. I don’t want to waste more time trying to jump higher.

Here’s a favorite quote from Simone Weil’s Waiting for God. The highlighting is mine.

There are those people who try to elevate their souls
like someone who continually jumps from a standing position
in the hope that forcing oneself to jump all day—and higher every day—
they would no longer fall back down, but rise to heaven.
Thus occupied, they no longer look to heaven.

We cannot even take one step toward heaven.
The vertical direction is forbidden to us.
But if we look to heaven long-term,
God descends and lifts us up.
God lifts us up easily.

As Aeschylus says,
‘That which is divine is without effort.’
There is an ease in salvation more difficult for us than all efforts.

In one of Grimm’s accounts, there is a competition of strength
between a giant and a little tailor.
The giant throws a stone so high that it takes a very long time
before falling back down.
The little tailor throws a bird that never comes back down.
That which does not have wings always comes back down in the end.


© Elouise Renich Fraser, 29 April 2017
Photo of baby golden-eye ducks found at urbanpeek.com

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April 26, 2017

thick roots revisited

P1040831

thick roots tangled knots
barely hanging onto bank
drink deep waters

This haiku was my third post to this blog, published on 3 January 2014. It still haunts me, though not in the same way.

I first saw these roots when D and I were walking with our daughter and her husband through Hoyt Arboretum in Portland, Oregon. I couldn’t tear my eyes away. The tangled roots were beautiful and foreboding.

A bit like blogging, which I’ve experienced as a formidable venture into unknown territory. Like being born and surviving. Sometimes against all odds.

Writing lets my exposed roots show, often whether I realize they’re showing or not. Writing also stakes my claim to a tiny, precarious plot of land that sits open, vulnerable and visible to passersby.

I’ve traveled a long way since my early posts, yet my roots are still my roots. Bare, and barely hanging onto precious ground that’s stronger, deeper, and more nourishing than I could have imagined.

Deep waters aren’t visible, and they don’t untangle all the knots in my life. Sometimes I wonder whether they’re drying up.

Yet even in dire circumstances, I discover more than enough to get me through each day. Sometimes with tears of sorrow and disbelief. More often with joy and sheer gratitude for the privilege of being human. Able to thrive in the forest next to redwood giants, with miniscule ferns growing around and from my feet.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 26 April 2017
Photo credit: DAFraser, October 2012, Hoyt Arboretum, Portland, Oregon
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Roots

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April 25, 2017

The long way home

My feet take the long way home through damp woods
Trees dripping with moss reach down, brush my cheek
Crystal flowing streams keep me company
Swarming insects dance in patches of light
Songbirds announce territorial bounds
Skittering squirrels rustle through fallen leaves
Iridescent beetles crisscross my path
Cicada song rises and falls in concert
Hungry gnats dive-bomb my face and nostrils
Far ahead I hear familiar voices

***

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 24 April 2017
Photo found at newfloridians.com

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April 23, 2017

Sabbath for My Body


Dear Friends,

It’s been a while since I wrote about Sabbath Rest. I’m learning the hard way that this isn’t just one day a week. It all began a year ago, in April 2016, and now includes a new health challenge I found out about this month.

On April 6, 2016, I received my spectacular pacemaker, Lucy. She’s now one year old, and has demonstrably changed my life for the better. Lucy is my upbeat (!) silent, invisible champion. She’s on call 24/7, making sure my heart rate doesn’t wander below 60 beats a minute. No more fainting spells.

Then, on April 21, 2016, my first day out alone with Lucy, I tripped on uneven pavement and fractured my jaw. Full stop.

Things will never be the same in my mouth. Wired jaws, lessons in how to use my Vitamix, pain and agony, sheer exhaustion as night became day and day became night. No description can capture it. I thought it would never end.

It’s still difficult to form some words. Still, most of the pain is gone and I’ve regained significant lateral movement in my lower jaw, though my bite will never be the same.

My broken jaw pushed me over the cliff into adrenal fatigue. Thanks to my integrative doctor, I now have a regular pattern each day and night. That means I have energy most mornings, and am ready to sleep most nights. No more erratic nighttime insomnia, or falling asleep in the middle of eating during the day.

Regular rest stops are my new normal. This means putting my feet up, taking short naps, and meditating as needed during each day. I want to stay grounded in what really matters.

Then about 2 weeks ago my doctor confirmed a new challenge: Chronic Kidney Disease, Stage 3a of 5 stages. This came with little warning; my emotions have been all over the map. I’ve had several tests this past week to measure the extent of the damage.

Just for today I want you to know what’s happening. I’ve talked about end of life matters several times this year. The Shape of Forgiveness series was one such issue. So is this.

Are end of life issues my present calling in life? I don’t know. I do know that today, tomorrow and thereafter every part of me is invited into Sabbath Rest. Even though it may not always feel restful or inviting.

Praying you’ll find rest for yourselves each day of this coming week, beginning now. Blessings of inner peace in these troubled times.
Elouise ♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 22 April 2017
Photo found at kellyjohnsongracenotes.com

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April 21, 2017

Memories fade

Memories fade
stored in leaky shed
pierced with rusting spikes

***

How many have already died away,
leaving the most resilient and powerful behind?
Who am I without my memories?
And will my fading body be their demise as well?

*

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 21 April 2017
Photo taken in Charlotte, Texas; found at wickimedia.org
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Spike

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April 18, 2017

weathered fence

weathered fence and drifting clouds obscure lush landscape

***

my eyes strain to clarify
what stands before me
and what lies ahead

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 18 April 2017
Photo found at pixabay.com
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Opaque

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April 17, 2017

Monday Morning Jolt

Fair warning, my friends. I’m writing this primarily for myself. I woke up this morning feeling gray, drippy and overcast. Just like the weather. Miserable.

Were there reasons? There always are, aren’t there? Still, if I don’t put one foot in front of the other, this day will take longer to traverse than it otherwise would.

On my way down to make my morning smoothie, I picked up a small book I read when I was in graduate school. Less than 100 pages. Written in honor of one of the most beloved preachers of the Nazi era, Christoph Blumhardt. Speaking on behalf of those begging for a cup of cold water, he wrote the following:

We must not be silent. The social struggle of millions in our time is not a coincidence….The ferment in the nations, the agitation of the poor, the crying out for the right to live—a crying, given into the mouths of even the most miserable of [us], which can no longer be silenced—these are signs of our Lord Jesus Christ…They do not know that it is Jesus who wants it.” (Action in Waiting, p. 8)

Yet Blumhardt didn’t pour his entire life’s energy into political life. He saw that neither political nor church movements for social justice could deliver a final solution to the world’s agony. Instead, we long for human fellowship that both waits for and experiences the fulfilment of that for which we are created. Not simply in our places of worship, but in everyday life.

Was Blumhardt a dreamer? I don’t think so. I believe he saw within the misery of his world the seeds of something greater. Yet not so overwhelming that we can ignore right now the work to which we’re called daily. Especially in the midst of political, national, social, religious and economic warfare in which some are winners at great cost to everyone else.

Even so, he argued we’re not called simply to work for social justice. We’re called to delight in the beauty of each day:

The earth is so beautiful, the earth is so lovely and full of joy, every little midge rejoices, every tree rejoices; all things are arranged delightfully and beautifully by God so that we too can live and move among them in joy and graciousness…. (Action in Waiting, p. 25)

Finally, just as all nature is ordered toward its Creator, so too are we:

God has already put into us what God is and what God wanted to put into us so that we should become God’s image. (Action in Waiting, p. 27)

I’m not an outlier, and neither are you. We’re already in the vision held close in our Creator’s great heart. My work is to move in the right direction, do what I’m called to do, trust, fear not, and keep my eyes on the goal.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 17 April 2017
Photo found at pixabay.com, Golden Regulus
All quotes from Karl Barth, Action in Waiting, Plough Publishing House, 1969
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Jolt

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