Heavenly Hopes

I think Heaven must be, in part, a place of absence. Absence of evil, hatred and contempt, of course. But also absence of criticism and judgement of one another. No one ridiculing your ideas, opinions, shape, clothes, size, work, color, religion or creativity. Absence of egotism and self-centeredness.

Instead of being "all about me," it will be only about us. Talk about feeling like part of a team or community! We'll be part of a genuine, living breathing "oneness." Imagine everyone cheering your every effort. We will only be our collective best when we're working together, being our best individual selves--only we'll lose sight of being individuals because we're so completely filled with joy when the other guy is in his zone. No more being self-conscious. No more worrying about being the first or the best. No presidents. No CEOs. No Board of Directors. Just one King--with no replacements or wanna-bes. No one will ever feel like they are alone or that no one loves them. No one will ever feel like they are a loser or a "square peg," because they don't fit into society's round rules of engagement. We won't have to wonder. We won't have to ask. We'll just feel ... integral. All the time.

Instead of that thing we did when we were kids ..."Daddy, watch me. Daddy, watch me NOW! Daddy, watch me when I do THIS. Daddy, watch me when I add a twist and do THIS!" ... We'll just see Him smile and say, "I will never take my eyes off of you." And so we'll feel completely and utterly loved. Eternally.

Greed

Caution: I’m on negativity overload. This has been building for months, even years. But now my mind is like a ready-to-overflow septic tank. I don’t think I can spend one more minute listening to someone complain, criticize, judge.

I used to be so good at finding the hope … pointing out the silver lining in most any situation. But I’ve lost that ability to be positive lately. I’m trying to find some silver. Heck, I’d settle for a glimpse of tinfoil at this point. I try T’s “superhero” illustration of visualizing myself “waxing up” so that all the crap just rolls off. I even try putting on Sooz’s tried-and-true imaginary Wonder Woman cuffs to deflect the bullets of evil flying at me. But it’s not working. A few have even pierced the skin in my right shoulder, which aches a lot lately. I haven’t even been blogging lately—because I hate to give negative a voice.

Sunday. We’re working on the kitchen cupboards. I discover a set of pretty, hand painted dishes I bought over the years, piece by piece, cherishing each one. I never used them. Time to let them go—it’s the Feng Shui principle of clearing old clutter to make room for what the universe has to offer you next. I put an ad for the set (priced ridiculously cheap), as well as a bolt of fabric, on Craig’s List. I go to a flea market with Sooz. I offer the dishes to her—since they are handmade, because they fit her criteria for her shop. She likes the idea.

By the time I get home and check my email there are two emails from the same woman, clearly panicked to own the dishes immediately. No salutations or small talk. She states simply, “I want these—assuming they aren’t all chipped and broken. I’m coming to get them. Where are you?” Then another, “You haven’t responded yet. Tell me where you live and I’ll come pick these up today.” I email back, thanking her for her interest and telling her I’ve given the dishes to my sister—mentioning the shop. She emails again, clearly indignant, asking if the price would be the same. I tell her honestly, I don’t’ know-- it’s up to Sooz since they are hers now.

Tuesday. I wake up thinking that the summer is passing by. August is at the front door. K is going back to school. We never made it to the pool this summer. I’m on top of my projects at work, but I just can’t sit at a computer for 8.5 hours today. I decide (since I have vacation time) to take a personal day. I need to mine a little happiness. I quickly check email. The dish lady has sent me a scathing email, accusing me and my family of deceit. She tells me the world is fortunate that I don’t sell on eBay because they wouldn’t tolerate people like me. I’m seeing red.

I spend the next hour trying to resist the overwhelming urge to email her and say, “Careful. Your greed is showing.” But I’ve given her Sooz’s shop name and location. Clearly this evil woman is on a mission. Giving her a piece of my mind could come back on Sooz—badly. I’m protective of my little sister. My shoulder is aching. My septic tank lid is floating. My eyes are burning. Satan is standing there looking me in the eye. Smirking. Only he’s a she, and because she’s smooth—I’ll call her Satin. I’m losing it. Her dark cloud follows me throughout my personal day. I keep taking deep breaths, feeling like I’m drowning in the cesspool of evil and negativity. I repeat my mantra…”Jesus, I trust in you” a thousand times in my head. But Satin is stealing the last of my hope in human kind. I mention the situation to a few people. “You can’t let people like that get to you,” they say. In my more lucid state, I know this, of course. But I passed lucid weeks ago. They don’t know the months of crud in the septic tank. The wax isn’t working. Neither are the cuffs. My neck aches.

I can’t drum up any morsel of compassion for Satin. So, I try to take the high road and wash my hands of her. I forward the emails to Sooz so she’s aware she needs to beware.

Wednesday morning. Back at work. Checking email. Sooz has forwarded an email chain between her and Satin. Guess who’s coming to get the dishes at Sooz’s shop? A storm is brewing. My stomach hurts. I delete the emails, trying to detach. I lunch with a friend/work colleague—learning about a past, deep pain I never knew about him. All based on a lack of forgiveness. What have we become? My heart breaks a little more for this gentle soul and parent. My heart breaks for all of us who can’t move past this. Satan is dancing.

Wednesday 7 p.m. I’m driving to volunteer at bingo. Sooz leaves me a voicemail. Big scene with Satin. She came and bought the dishes, bullied the salesgirl for more, then told her version of our family’s “lies and cheating-nature.” Sooz tells me that she sent Satin an email (copying me), “giving her a piece of both of our minds.” My shoulder hurts. I think about how much I loved those dishes as I purchased them one at a time, years ago. I envision smashing them all now. One by one. Satan and Satin will waltz tonight as they place the dishes on eBay.

Wednesday 10 p.m. I’m driving home, crying, after three hours of serving surly bingo players who are so blinded by winning more money with their welfare-check investments that they can’t even muster so much as smile or a “thank you” when I serve them. I played a mental game all night—one that I play when things get rough for me. I walked every inch of that bingo hall for three hours looking for the sign of the cross. I do this a lot lately. It reminds me that, no matter how dark it is, He’s there. He’s everywhere. I just have to remember to look for Him. You’d be absolutely amazed at how many places He shows up.

I almost gave Satin and her dark boss my day. I almost gave them the baby fawn I saw in a green field by himself, this evening. I almost gave them the joy that I’m getting from the book I’m reading …”Three Cups of Tea” (about how one man with no money truly made a difference to so many people). I almost gave them the joy I experienced when I chatted with my friend “Okay” at work or with sister Megs today. But I didn’t. On my drive home tonight, I listened to my new favorite song—What Kind of a World Do You Want? I opened the windows, turned up the stereo and remembered that it’s only through suffering that I can really get closer to Him. And I’m grateful for that.

“What kind of world do you want?
Think anything.
Let’s start at the start,
Build a masterpiece
Be careful what you wish for,
History starts now.”

Weight of the World

For years, I had this Farside cartoon hanging above my desk at work. I think its hysterical and poignant at the same time for several reasons: (1) I believe that we’re all equally “gifted”—just in different ways (and this poor guy, saddled with that big “gifted” label, was even being sent to a special school. (2) Sometimes, I think we’re so focused on getting everything perfect that we miss the big picture.

I was reminded of this cartoon on Saturday. I went to visit an elderly lady from our church at her home. As I chatted with her and her daughter, I learned about their big family and how proud and blessed they feel. Outside the wind was whipping up an approaching storm. Inside, her farmhouse was warm and cozy. Beautiful flowers and plants decorated her dining room table, along with her birthday cards. A happy 1940s era table cloth covered the old dinette set at which we were seated. A cat rubbed against my feet gently. Soft music played from the other room. It was during a quiet lull in the conversation that I found the peace I’d been desperately trying to find lately ... right there in that modest, simple farmhouse. I stood to leave and they both gave me hugs, saying “God bless you.”

Looking out the window I spotted this angel statue (right)—and almost started laughing. I asked if I could snap a picture of him. “He once held up a bird bath,” they said. I smiled. I would’ve guessed he’d once tried to hold up the world. I felt an instant connection with the little guy. Here he was, in the midst of this strong prairie wind, little face scrunched up in effort, arms muscling towards the sky—trying to handle it all. Only there was nothing there to handle. God has it under control.