Having trouble with that diet? Missing your weight goal lately? Looking for a meditation motivation? Thinking about that "groaning board" you're setting out tomorrow and putting your gym shoes by the front door?
How's this: "I wonder what God thought it was O.K. to eat." I bet I'd do well paring down my own consumables to match THAT menu more closely,... if only I knew what God Incarnate would have eaten.
Now, when I say "God Incarnate," I'm willing to skip the naughty baby-munching deities of the Greek Pantheon. Just to clarify, I'm thinking in terms of the Judeo-Messianic tradition with which I am more familiar. And even at that, I still must reach out to Nemo Bloggers and ask, "Say, What Would Jesus Eat?" (W.W.J.E.) So, as we wait in joyful hope for the next 4 weeks, here's a health-nutrition challenge to "bite" into: W.W.J.E.?
I have a lot of notions zipping around in my head. You too? I can actually hear you saying in chorus, "Kosher foods." Yes, but what was AVAILABLE in 1st Century Israel? What was typical and staple?
Now, for all the gatherings and dinners and wanderings near fields of grain, and even a wedding and a Passover we've heard about, I only recall one time Jesus actually ate something, and it was grilled fish he cooked for himself. So, for starts, let's say, "I'm inspired to eat more grilled fish during the next 4 weeks." See how this works? If you're a veggan, not so much, but you get the idea.
Now, can you come up with any "sides," other proteins, beverages, and so forth, to round out this concept, W.W.J.E? I hope so! What fun!
Happy Thanksgiving, (now that I've ruined it)!
v
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Glory!
What a strange word: "glory." Have you ever thought about it? If any of you have ever contemplated "glory," please come to my assistance, make haste to help me understand what YOU understand.
What if you free-associated-- "glory," "glorify," "glorious"?
Have there been times you've heard it used or used it yourself?
What's it like for you to think about "glory"?
"Why bring up this word ?" you're likely thinking, and "How is this Nemo-esque?" Well, it all has to do with the Appreciative Inquiry idea of "reversing the focus." Reversing the focus is a big help to forward motion over the long haul.
What if, say, you are in training for something like, oh for instance, the January Marathon Weekend at Disney? And what if this training has been lengthy, and up-and-down, and is presently fraught with pre-holiday negativity? What if your self-talk right now leans toward the critical and the limiting? What if you need to hear your story differently in order to power-up during these last weeks?
Now I'm not actually talking about the "glory of the finish line," although that is WONDERFUL to imagine. I'm talking about a more puzzling notion that glory isn't only to be found at the finish line, but is also all around us all the time. One thing Nematodes have figured out long since: the journey IS the destination. Perhaps glory is like that, too.
One morning earlier this month, I accidentally overheard my own self-talk. It was disquieting in its gloomy tone. Not so good to hear. So I lifted my ears to the heavens, and what should come down to me but the word "Glory." And that's the back story for all my questions today. I don't understand it, but I can tell you that when I think of "glory," I can't keep thinking despairing thoughts. It's impossible to still have increases in negative self-talk and at the same time be curious about the meaning of...the existence of...glory.
Here's a poem I associate with an aspect of glory:
Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844–89). Poems. 1918.
7. God’s Grandeur
THE WORLD is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
And here's another one about a glorious creature who takes my breath away:
William Blake. 1757–1827
489. The Tiger
TIGER, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
5
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
10
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
15
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?
20
Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
What if you free-associated-- "glory," "glorify," "glorious"?
Have there been times you've heard it used or used it yourself?
What's it like for you to think about "glory"?
"Why bring up this word ?" you're likely thinking, and "How is this Nemo-esque?" Well, it all has to do with the Appreciative Inquiry idea of "reversing the focus." Reversing the focus is a big help to forward motion over the long haul.
What if, say, you are in training for something like, oh for instance, the January Marathon Weekend at Disney? And what if this training has been lengthy, and up-and-down, and is presently fraught with pre-holiday negativity? What if your self-talk right now leans toward the critical and the limiting? What if you need to hear your story differently in order to power-up during these last weeks?
Now I'm not actually talking about the "glory of the finish line," although that is WONDERFUL to imagine. I'm talking about a more puzzling notion that glory isn't only to be found at the finish line, but is also all around us all the time. One thing Nematodes have figured out long since: the journey IS the destination. Perhaps glory is like that, too.
One morning earlier this month, I accidentally overheard my own self-talk. It was disquieting in its gloomy tone. Not so good to hear. So I lifted my ears to the heavens, and what should come down to me but the word "Glory." And that's the back story for all my questions today. I don't understand it, but I can tell you that when I think of "glory," I can't keep thinking despairing thoughts. It's impossible to still have increases in negative self-talk and at the same time be curious about the meaning of...the existence of...glory.
Here's a poem I associate with an aspect of glory:
Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844–89). Poems. 1918.
7. God’s Grandeur
THE WORLD is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
5
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.
And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
10
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs—
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
5
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.
And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
10
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs—
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.
And here's another one about a glorious creature who takes my breath away:
William Blake. 1757–1827
489. The Tiger
TIGER, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
5
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
10
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
15
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?
20
Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
So, what are your thoughts on "glory"?
regards,
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
85% Santo Domingo Dark
I prefer dark chocolate. Perhaps it is an acquired taste, but I came to savor it, the darker the better, quite willingly. When the wonderful sweetness I still appreciate moves to the background, dark chocolate, the darker the better, whispers. Complexity of berries and spice resonnate on the taste buds. Soon, one learns to hold it on the tongue longer and longer, to ponder, to learn and meditate on Santo Domingo. I understand dark chocolate is good for the heart.
Perhaps if life were wrapped like a Hershey's Milk and a Godiva 85% Santo Domingo Dark, I wonder, would I choose wisely?
Perhaps if life were wrapped like a Hershey's Milk and a Godiva 85% Santo Domingo Dark, I wonder, would I choose wisely?
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
A Moment of Greatness Story
I was thinking about "moments of greatness" stories that sometimes build up positive attitudes that build up positive real life. You know, the opposite of nightmare stories. So, with that in mind, I noticed a really great thing this week. I'll tell you the story.
A tall, very dark priest from Nigeria processed off the altar, preceded by a small, very pale man of Italian descent. The contrast of the two was so striking. The little man was only chest high to the priest. There were perhaps 3-, perhaps 4-, decades difference in their ages. They had led most their lives on different continents. So what great story, I wondered, led both of them to be in an unknown urban church on an ordinary day in the summer of the second millennium?
One might wonder: Why was the African man wearing ancient-style Hebrew garments Why was he offering sacrifice like Melchisedech, priest of Abraham of Ur of the Chaldees? And why was the African man presiding over rites so like a synagogue service? And why was the little Italian man helping him? And why was there a life-sized representation of capital punishment? Yes, there was a near naked criminal, a slender man portrayed in execution, nailed still to his cross? What great story could anyone make of this?
From Africa, Southern Europe, Northern Europe, Asia, the Pacific Islands, North America, South America, Central America, the Caribbean Islands, a handful of people in attendance that morning. Can you imagine? Just a handful, but from nearly every corner of the planet! Yes there they were, standing, sitting, kneeling together in the urban church that summer day of the second millennium.
The greatness of this story is the greatness of the story that drew them all together. And the greatness of the story I told you today is also in the great question that remains: who called them?
My guess is, "Blessed are you, Simon Bar-Jonah, for flesh and blood has not revealed this to you...."
You have a story, too?
Luv,
vm
A tall, very dark priest from Nigeria processed off the altar, preceded by a small, very pale man of Italian descent. The contrast of the two was so striking. The little man was only chest high to the priest. There were perhaps 3-, perhaps 4-, decades difference in their ages. They had led most their lives on different continents. So what great story, I wondered, led both of them to be in an unknown urban church on an ordinary day in the summer of the second millennium?
One might wonder: Why was the African man wearing ancient-style Hebrew garments Why was he offering sacrifice like Melchisedech, priest of Abraham of Ur of the Chaldees? And why was the African man presiding over rites so like a synagogue service? And why was the little Italian man helping him? And why was there a life-sized representation of capital punishment? Yes, there was a near naked criminal, a slender man portrayed in execution, nailed still to his cross? What great story could anyone make of this?
From Africa, Southern Europe, Northern Europe, Asia, the Pacific Islands, North America, South America, Central America, the Caribbean Islands, a handful of people in attendance that morning. Can you imagine? Just a handful, but from nearly every corner of the planet! Yes there they were, standing, sitting, kneeling together in the urban church that summer day of the second millennium.
The greatness of this story is the greatness of the story that drew them all together. And the greatness of the story I told you today is also in the great question that remains: who called them?
My guess is, "Blessed are you, Simon Bar-Jonah, for flesh and blood has not revealed this to you...."
You have a story, too?
Luv,
vm
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Tell Me A Story....
So I had a nightmare. I was awake the whole time, you know. I was just telling myself the story of what my preferred future might look like, when a terrible alternate story took over. The Nightmare Bard attempted to narrate my least preferred future. It was a future filled with negatives notions, clammy fears, and bitter irony. Optimism and hope were the first casualties. What a brazen daylight sortee! What a wicked stab at commandeering my very own internal monologue!
But maybe you could help, here. What do you folks do about night terrors, (even those like mine that happen in broad daylight)? What remedies were tried on you? When the little ones in your loving care cry out in the night, how do you help? I thought about this. How about sitting close and telling a story, until the tight feeling goes away, and the damp brow dries?
For example, once, Janet was afraid to go to sleep at Grandma's house. Grandma engaged the help of then student psychologist-in-residence, Uncle Marty. He thought a gentle story was the perfect medicine. So, Uncle Marty told little Janet the story of Don Bosco. According to this particular narration, Don Bosco's appeal to little ones was his amazing ability to turn white milk into chocolate milk! Can you imagine such greatness? And Janet's response to this effort at soothing? "Nothing helps, Grandma."
You know what would chase the Nightmare Bard away for me? Would you tell me a Don Bosco-type story? What I mean is, please tell me a story about a time when you experienced a moment of greatness. What was it that made it a moment of greatness? (And thanks for turning on the light in the hall.)
Love you, dear Nematodes,
V
But maybe you could help, here. What do you folks do about night terrors, (even those like mine that happen in broad daylight)? What remedies were tried on you? When the little ones in your loving care cry out in the night, how do you help? I thought about this. How about sitting close and telling a story, until the tight feeling goes away, and the damp brow dries?
For example, once, Janet was afraid to go to sleep at Grandma's house. Grandma engaged the help of then student psychologist-in-residence, Uncle Marty. He thought a gentle story was the perfect medicine. So, Uncle Marty told little Janet the story of Don Bosco. According to this particular narration, Don Bosco's appeal to little ones was his amazing ability to turn white milk into chocolate milk! Can you imagine such greatness? And Janet's response to this effort at soothing? "Nothing helps, Grandma."
You know what would chase the Nightmare Bard away for me? Would you tell me a Don Bosco-type story? What I mean is, please tell me a story about a time when you experienced a moment of greatness. What was it that made it a moment of greatness? (And thanks for turning on the light in the hall.)
Love you, dear Nematodes,
V
Monday, September 8, 2008
Progress
Dear Folks: Things are looking up. Here's a word of encouragement. Just returned from a fast weekend trip to Orlando. What's changed? Seems the JetBlue seats have gotten bigger and the seat belts are more generous. Oh wait: am I smaller around?
Well, last time visiting FL, in late April, I was using a little electric scooter chair to get around because I couldn't walk very well. I also needed a cane. Pain management was hit and miss, and I was eating "lefty." Every struggle issue of April past has improved. Rejoice, folks! Rejoice for us all! With your help, I'm walkin' around like a trooper. The secret? Same as yours: just keep swimming. Say, don't tire of your good work. Steady trembling knees. Strengthen weary hands.
How are you folks doing? Are you giving Team Nemo a try still? Send us all an encouraging word. The new school year has started. Lots of schedules have changed. But do let's try to make that goal and join each other in January. That will be a victory worth a medal, whether or not we cross anyone else's finish line.
Speaking of which, this weekend three of us reached an intermediate goal of significance to us: we are now light enough to ride a Segway! We had a short trial run. FUN!! It was a prize! Losing those particular "Segway pounds" meant so much. High 5s to the three riders in the wind!
Tell us, have you reached any special goals on your way to January's 5K? We could all use a good narrative from you.
With love and blessings,
Avec amour et joie,
V
Well, last time visiting FL, in late April, I was using a little electric scooter chair to get around because I couldn't walk very well. I also needed a cane. Pain management was hit and miss, and I was eating "lefty." Every struggle issue of April past has improved. Rejoice, folks! Rejoice for us all! With your help, I'm walkin' around like a trooper. The secret? Same as yours: just keep swimming. Say, don't tire of your good work. Steady trembling knees. Strengthen weary hands.
How are you folks doing? Are you giving Team Nemo a try still? Send us all an encouraging word. The new school year has started. Lots of schedules have changed. But do let's try to make that goal and join each other in January. That will be a victory worth a medal, whether or not we cross anyone else's finish line.
Speaking of which, this weekend three of us reached an intermediate goal of significance to us: we are now light enough to ride a Segway! We had a short trial run. FUN!! It was a prize! Losing those particular "Segway pounds" meant so much. High 5s to the three riders in the wind!
Tell us, have you reached any special goals on your way to January's 5K? We could all use a good narrative from you.
With love and blessings,
Avec amour et joie,
V
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
"...greater than Whom there is no other."
So, Team Nemo, I've been thinking about you. What happens to your thoughts when you're training away, doing something repetitive, like walking on a treadmill? Do you get into a kind of meditative zone? Do you start thinking about the Big Questions? If not, do you remember a time when you DID think about the big questions? Let us know how it works for you these days.
Today, for example, I was rhythmically treading away when my mind took me to the ocean shore. Do you folks ever remember walking along the water line, the place where the sand is dark and wet, cool and warm, at the same time? Many of you remember, don't you, what it was like to have your feet sink just a bit, leaving a perfect replica in that sand, perfect toes to heel, as you kept cadence with the waves and gulls. Hey! I can see you nodding your heads "yes"! And did you ever watch your feet, step after step, as you walked along the shore toward The Jetty? Where did your daydreams take you then, as you left your young footprints along the waters edge?
If you think back, perhaps to when you were a high school senior or there abouts, and were taking one of these quiet walks, did you think about whether or not there was Anyone out the who cared what you did with your life? Did you think about vocation, about self-donation, about purposeful and meaningful lives? And did you lift up your heart, elevated as it was by the sea and sky, gulls and pipers, shells and all manner of living things along the shore? Did you lift up your heart?
I've lived so long among those of us who avoid saying "God," I feel a bit sheepish dropping the name with you folks today. I've used "The Universe," and replaced "prayer" with "good thoughts" and "positive energy." An "intention" is still an "intention," though. So, I came as close as can be, just about the length and width of a young girl's final breath, to choosing secular humanism as a better fit for me. Just that close, though, and no closer. I know you understand.
And so, today, as I was rhythmically treading away, my mind kept taking me to the same short distance along the shore. I was in a memory loop: Same sand, same shells, same sea weed, same sea glass, same caw of gulls, same yowls of kids, same umbrellas, same muscle men, same bathing beauties, again, and again, and again. I thought to myself, maybe I should stop right here, imaginatively, and look out to the water. I stopped, turned, and you wouldn't believe what I beheld! I can hardly describe it. There, in the surf, were all the people who had ever held me up in the water. They were all there, in their own time, with the various stages of me in their arms. Yes, believe it! Let me tell you:
There was a young Aunt Stasia, glasses and hearing aid off, bathing cap on, holding a toddler me in her arms, jumping the waves! Yes, my sister Mickey had me, as did her husband Jerry, holding the hands of a curly-haired me, jumping the trickles of white foam at the shore-side of each broken wave: "One-two-three Up-see daisy!!" There was Daddy Bill, and Uncle Marty, ...even Uncle Bill. There was Joe-Joe and Bobby. Once, even, my mother was there...so beautiful, so put together. But I had her hand, rather than she, mine.
And who was there especially? Aunt Pat. She taught me the Great Paradox: When a wave is Very Big, don't run away toward shore, run toward the wave. Then, hold your breath and go under before it breaks. Do you believe that??? My first experience, other than potty training, of counter-intuitive behavior. And that's where I learned the Mystery of Faith, that very day.
Today, for example, I was rhythmically treading away when my mind took me to the ocean shore. Do you folks ever remember walking along the water line, the place where the sand is dark and wet, cool and warm, at the same time? Many of you remember, don't you, what it was like to have your feet sink just a bit, leaving a perfect replica in that sand, perfect toes to heel, as you kept cadence with the waves and gulls. Hey! I can see you nodding your heads "yes"! And did you ever watch your feet, step after step, as you walked along the shore toward The Jetty? Where did your daydreams take you then, as you left your young footprints along the waters edge?
If you think back, perhaps to when you were a high school senior or there abouts, and were taking one of these quiet walks, did you think about whether or not there was Anyone out the who cared what you did with your life? Did you think about vocation, about self-donation, about purposeful and meaningful lives? And did you lift up your heart, elevated as it was by the sea and sky, gulls and pipers, shells and all manner of living things along the shore? Did you lift up your heart?
I've lived so long among those of us who avoid saying "God," I feel a bit sheepish dropping the name with you folks today. I've used "The Universe," and replaced "prayer" with "good thoughts" and "positive energy." An "intention" is still an "intention," though. So, I came as close as can be, just about the length and width of a young girl's final breath, to choosing secular humanism as a better fit for me. Just that close, though, and no closer. I know you understand.
And so, today, as I was rhythmically treading away, my mind kept taking me to the same short distance along the shore. I was in a memory loop: Same sand, same shells, same sea weed, same sea glass, same caw of gulls, same yowls of kids, same umbrellas, same muscle men, same bathing beauties, again, and again, and again. I thought to myself, maybe I should stop right here, imaginatively, and look out to the water. I stopped, turned, and you wouldn't believe what I beheld! I can hardly describe it. There, in the surf, were all the people who had ever held me up in the water. They were all there, in their own time, with the various stages of me in their arms. Yes, believe it! Let me tell you:
There was a young Aunt Stasia, glasses and hearing aid off, bathing cap on, holding a toddler me in her arms, jumping the waves! Yes, my sister Mickey had me, as did her husband Jerry, holding the hands of a curly-haired me, jumping the trickles of white foam at the shore-side of each broken wave: "One-two-three Up-see daisy!!" There was Daddy Bill, and Uncle Marty, ...even Uncle Bill. There was Joe-Joe and Bobby. Once, even, my mother was there...so beautiful, so put together. But I had her hand, rather than she, mine.
And who was there especially? Aunt Pat. She taught me the Great Paradox: When a wave is Very Big, don't run away toward shore, run toward the wave. Then, hold your breath and go under before it breaks. Do you believe that??? My first experience, other than potty training, of counter-intuitive behavior. And that's where I learned the Mystery of Faith, that very day.
Today, as I was rhythmically treading away, and I was transported, buoyant, into the arms of the people I loved most and miss so much. I remembered a time in the waves and sand when I felt so surely that I could lift up my heart to the One, greater than whom there is no other. I could bob in the midst of the ocean back then in the arms of the saints of my life, and believe. I could say then, "Here I am, Lord. I come to do your will." I could say, "Fiat voluntas tuas." It was safe, once upon a time, with Ocean as witness, in the presence of gulls and sky, sun, muscles, beauties, to say then,"Here I am. To say now? "Here I am." What's you're story?
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