Life with Jocelyn

Jocelyn Larsen

2017 book reviews, part II

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ART // JOURNALS // FICTION // OTHER

V. On Art and being an Artist

The War of Art, Steven Pressfield, 2002, 165 pages ***

 

Beate Not the Poore Desk, Walter Wangerin, Jr. 2016, 141 pages ***

 

The Artist’s Way, Julia Cameron. 1992, 217 pages *****

Julia invites one into the community of artists with arms open wide. She offers belonging and belief to anyone doubting, smoldering, or paralyzed about being an artist. The best thing Julia offers me weekly (I bought her whole trilogy compilation and am currently working through the second book) is that she seems, eerily to know a whole lot of what I’m thinking and she steadily encourages, draws out, and challenges me as an artist. The Artist’s Way is essential reading for anyone who has a sense that any sort of creative work might be their calling, but that that creative work is utterly outrageous, irresponsible, or impossible for them to do.

 

Bird by Bird, Anne Lamott. 1994, 237 pages ****

 

VI. Non-fiction journals of writers I love

The Summer of the Great-Grandmother, Madeleine L’Engle. 1974, 245 pages ****

 

A Grief Observed, C. S. Lewis. 1961, 151 pages ****

Dark, brooding, and fantastically honest, I absolutely loved this little scrap of Lewis’ journal following the death of his not-long wife, Joy.

 

VII. Fiction

The Human Factor, Graham Greene. 1978, 302 pages ****

 

The End of the Affair, Graham Greene. 1951, 238 pages ****

 

The Accidental Tourist, Ann Tyler. 2002, 352 pages ****

A brilliant caricature of what it must be like to live inside the brain of an Enneagram 5? (I can only guess! But it made me appreciate and have more grace toward e5, either way. Would any of my Enneagram 5 friends/readers want to read this book and let me know if it resonates with them?? You can write your response in binary to me, if needed. 😉 )

 

Hannah Coulter, Wendell Berry. 2004, 190 pages ****

This was the first Wendell Berry book I ever read. It is written in first person through the eyes of Hannah Coulter, telling her story of life and family, of farm and place. Her story was imperfect and beautiful and redemptive. My overall feeling from this book was that of being sublimely grounded. It was my first Wendell Berry but it will not be my last.

 

Till We Have Faces, C. S. Lewis. 1956, 313 pages ****

 

The Poisonwood Bible, Barbara Kingsolver. 1998, 544 pages ****

I think 68% of Americans must have read this book much nearer to the time of its publication. I was in the other 32%. (I prefer to make a book prove its validity by sticking around for several decades — at least.) Anyway, I read this with a group of friends. Kingsolver’s character development, telling her story from five different first-person perspectives, was stunningly well-done. She championed women in a special way, she painted a fascinating picture of humanity and their diverse transformation potentials, and she shut my mouth and made me grateful for the life of comfort I lead every single day. She also made me think a lot about parenting… about childhood being something white people made up and tacked onto the first part of life.

 

Ishmael, Daniel Quinn. 1992, 263 pages *****

This book was explicably a passing along of a philosophy of origins and culture, sociology and anthropology. (It has no plot to speak of, and was not written to be impressive literature or beautiful art. It is comprised primarily of a back and forth dialogue between a teacher and a student.) But I love having my brain blown up every now and then, listening to how others think and see the world, and for that: Daniel Quinn’s Ishmael does not disappoint. Quinn examines the mythology of western culture (“What mythology?” doubts the student.)– the stories we tell ourselves and our children about how the world began and why everything is as it is. He explores many varying themes, but weaves them all together in what I thought was a very cohesive and relatively easy to understand web. Fascinating, brain-expanding, thought-provoking.

 

Gilead, Marilynne Robinson. 2004, 282 pages *

 

The Queue, Basma Abdel Aziz. 2016, 224 pages *

 

VIII. Other

The Gospel According to Mark, James R. Edwards. 2002, 508 pages ***

Mark for Everyone, N. T. Wright. 2001, 226 pages ***

The Rule of St. Benedict, St. Benedict. circa 540, 96 pages **

What is the Bible? Rob Bell. 2017, 336 pages ***

The Courage to Teach, Parker Palmer. 1998, 183 pages ***

Tattoos on the Heart, Gregory Boyle. 2011, 212 pages *

 

 

2017 book reviews, part I

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SPIRITUAL FORMATION // NEW AUTHOR // EUGENE // ENNEAGRAM

 

Happy year’s end! It is time for my annual book reviews posts.

This year I read a lot, at least for my still-have-young-kids-who-interrupt-me-practically-every-forty-seven-seconds self. So, I’ll give you my full list and give each a 0-5* rating, but I’m only going to comment on the top 17 of 2017.

Also, I sort of read in categories this year – sometimes on accident, sometimes on purpose. So I’ll be awarding 1ish winner per category and I’ll organize the books by category and so that you can more easily peruse the kind of books you might actually want to read.

All in all, the list will come to you somewhat evenly in three posts. On the final post, I’ll let you know my “I insist!” Book List recommendation, the book(s) I read in 2017 that I think everyone ought to read. (If there is one.)

Also, I’d always love to hear what you’re reading and how it’s changing you. So please comment below or subscribers email me back and let me know the best books you read this year. I’m always adding books to my to-read list, and, honestly I’d just mostly love to connect with you.

For reference, here’s my 5* scale:

* Meh

** Fine

*** Good

**** Great

***** Fantastic! and/or Brilliant.

Top 17 of 2017

 

I. Spiritual Formation

The Mountain of Silence by Kyriacos C. Markides. 2001, 243 pages *****

So much expansion happened in my mind and heart as I read this book and ruminated on it in the months thereafter. This was essentially the book Father Maximos (a Greek orthodox monk) never wrote. The author thoroughly explored orthodox (specifically Anthonite) traditions through stories and teachings. It was fascinating and overall very affirming to see and experience the Way of Jesus through an older, more traditional culture and religion than my own. I found that we all had much more in common than not. The writing was a bit clunky in places, having been translated from Greek, but the content was mind-blowing.

 

Prayer and the Common Life, Georgia Harkness. 1948, 217 pages ***

 

A Shepherd Looks at Psalm 23, Philip Keller. 1970, 142 pages ***

 

Liturgy of the Ordinary, Tish Warren Harrison. 2016, 153 pages ****

 

Concerning the Inner Life, Evelyn Underhill. 1926, 63 pages *****

Just read it. And then read it again every year for the rest of your life. It’s short and it will solve all your problems. A written-down lecture to pastors and priests in her day (1940s Britain), Concerning the Inner Life is a simple but brilliant instruction on the importance of developing one’s interior life rather than only externals. I am a writer and so I feel like I should write so much more about it. But that would ruin it. So: Just read it.

 

II. New spiritual formation author: Maria Boulding

Every year I try to introduce myself to one new writer to see if they might be a good mentor for the years to come. This year there was a clear winner: Sister Maria Boulding. Per the recommendation of my most reliable book-recommending friend, early this year I ordered three of Sister Boulding’s books and then proceeded to read them, insatiably, back-to-back-to-back. I fully intend to do so many more times in future years.

Maria Boulding writes insightfully and humbly about the spiritual growth and journey of a person’s soul. She gives one the impression of having gone before and, yes, the path of Jesus is a dark and painful journey, but it is Peace and Life and Hope. She gave me many new and brilliant images of Jesus the Human.

The three Boulding books I read were:

Gateway to Hope, Maria Boulding. 1985, 150 pages *****

Prayer: Our Journey Home, Maria Boulding. 1979, 98 pages *****

The Coming of God, Maria Boulding. 1982, 186 pages *****

 

III. Eugene Peterson

The Pastor, Eugene Peterson. 2011, 317 pages ****

The Pastor is Eugene’s memoir of his vocational formation. It is comprised of mostly story, tying together to themes and an eventual whole – pretty nearly exactly the manner in which we all find our vocations, I suppose.

 

Traveling Light, Eugene Peterson. 1982, 196 pages ****

 

IV. On the Enneagram

Enneagram Companions by Suzanne Zuercher. 1993, 179 pages ****

Enneagram Companions is an excellent resource for any person who is confident of their type and has any job in the field of direct-ministering-to-others (spiritual direction, mental health counseling, missionary, parent, etc.). Zuercher explores how each triad receives and gives in a spiritual director-directee relationship. Her lucid and brilliant observations can be well applied to any of the beforementioned relationships.

 

The Enneagram: A Journey of Self Discovery, Beesing, Nogosek, and O’Leary. 1984, 221 pages ***

 

Using the Enneagram in Prayer, Suzanne Zuercher. 2008, 101 pages ****

a certain lodgepole pine

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I love beautiful things. I mean, don’t we all?

Christmastime seems to me to be a time especially for beautiful things, and so I love Christmastime. When outdoors everything is just a bit deader, a bit darker, a bit less warm (at least in my hemisphere), we do our best to make up for it on the inside! We light more candles, put lights on everything, build bigger fires, buy grander gifts, and eat and drink with a little more festivity.

It reminds me of life, of living. My world, the world, our world is sad and broken and hate-filled. When I have my moments of lucidity and honesty, I can admit that I, too, am sad and broken and hate-filled. My relationships are tinged with sadness and brokenness and hate. I don’t know about you, but it seems that I am always somewhat in the process of mourning and attempting to make right all of that.

And then I turn to beautiful things to remind me that God has not washed his hands of this world, of me, or of my relationships. I turn to stare at the startling ocean of Grace that suffuses every piece of the world with love and good and beauty. Not one thing remains untouched, even when I cannot begin to see it, though I strain my eyes. I turn back again to the Good work which God has given me to do: creating, suffusing, and sharing Love and Beauty wherever I go, as best I can, for the sake of all of us.

*          *          *          *          *          *

For our last two Christmastimes, my little family has cut down our own little Christmas tree. On the weekend after Thanksgiving, we drive up into the mountains and embark on a search. (We try to drive until we find snow for the kids to sled and pelt me with snowballs; we are not always successful; I am not always disappointed. 😉 )

When you go to the Wild to cut down your own tree, you can be fairly certain of one thing: your tree will be quirky, relatively sparse, and whimsically asymmetrical. It will not be perfectly, impeccably beautiful. And I love it. Because today the imperfection of our tree is reminding me of the sad, broken hate that I must mourn and wrestle every day. And today its red-and-green Beauty, decorated half-heartedly with love by my boys, is reminding me that God and Grace and Love have won, are winning, and will win.

So this season, whenever I’m feeling sucked into the vortex of sadness, brokenness, or hate, I’m going to stare just for a moment into the quirky red-and-green of a certain lodgepole pine in my living room. May the mini green and red lights blind me with beauty, like the very Love of God.

Two courses in the river of Love. Spiritual formation series, part 10

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Most of us can agree that God is Love, that the Way of Jesus in this world is Love, and that God wants nothing more for each of us than to become a more loving human being.

I think a lot about Love.

The Love of God is so vast and comprehensive, I find that my small brain is helped so much when it finds small ways to talk about such big things. I don’t mean trite or reductionistic or cliché ways to think and talk about big things. I mean simple, short, but picturesque ways to think and talk about big things.

Here’s one way to think and talk about Love that’s been on my mind lately:

The river of God’s Love in my life seems to have two main purposes, or directions, or courses if you will.

One river course carves out actual love for my enemies in my heart.

The other river course carves out space in which I actually live like I love my intimates.

After all, those are pretty much the two main kinds of relationships with which I need the most help in Love: enemies and intimates. We all have people in our lives who we don’t like, people who annoy us, people who we judge to be hypocrites, people whose dysfunction keeps us from having an honest and deep relationship with them – you know – the modern day version of what Jesus called “enemies.” And we all have people in our lives who we like, who we love quickly and easily, people with whom we feel most “at home” – you know – the people we consider to be our intimates.

Unfortunately, I’m not really very good at loving either of these kinds of people.

Obviously I’m bad at loving my enemies – they are by definition difficult to love (in the privacy of my heart). I usually pretend pretty well that I love them. I mean, it’s not like I ever tell them what I really think about them or allow them to be the recipients of all of the hell they bring into my psyche. But then I often trick myself into thinking that that is Love – absorbing all of the hardship they give me like the saint that I am – while I go on hating them in my heart. I don’t actually hope Good for them. Or pray for flourishing for them. Or ask God for beautiful transformation for them. I’m kind of glad they suck; after all, it makes me look better and I get to bitch about them behind their backs. So, as you can see, I need God to help me actually love them in my heart.

And then there are my intimates. I have no trouble saying I love them. I have no trouble feeling like I love them. But I have lots of trouble consistently living like I love them. I mean, I have to live with them. Living with anyone is hard. Getting into deep relationships with anyone has its difficult seasons. My intimates are the ones who I struggle most to show Love, that is, consistent, non-conditional warmth and self-sacrificing relationship, among other things. I often use harsh words with them, or just the cold shoulder. I’m much more quickly angry with them, or I hardly ever really think about them. In fact, in an ironic twist, of all the humans in the world, my intimates are the ones who often get the worst of me because most of the repressed anger, irritation, or anxiety that comes to me via my enemies gets taken out on them. Plus, I’m always with them so I forget about them. They become like furniture in my life. So, as you can see, I need God to help me actually practice loving my intimates in word and deed.

Jesus, God has a lot of work to do. Amen and amen.

 

 

 

 

 

how my thinking changed about devout orthodoxy when I watched a documentary on Hasidic Judaism

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I just watched a documentary that follows a few young Hasidic Jews as they struggle to leave their religious community and make a life on the outside. (All week long I’ve been imagining them as Hasidic-exodizers, leaving their Hasidic religious community for a different way of life. The irony is splendid – is it not? – since Abraham is such an important figure (the man whose life was defined by his stepping out of what everyone normally did in those days and into something new – a new way of living) and the Moses-led Exodus of the Hebrew people out of Egypt is such an important event in Jewish history and life.)

Anyway, I noticed two things that surprised me and got me thinking.

First, most of the individuals in the documentary wanted to remain connected in some way to their spiritual heritage. I would have expected them to want nothing to do with any of it any more. A lot of them had experienced incredible hurt and abuse at the hands of their religious community. A lot of them still had vast amounts of anger and anxiety about their journey out of the community. But the men often still wore yarmulkes, several actively and joyfully participated in Sabbath meals complete with traditional food and singing, and all longed for continued relationship with their families.

Second, I noticed that the want-to-be-ex-Hasidic Jews often referred to the members of their religious community as “devout” and “orthodox” (naturally, so), categorically excluding themselves from those labels.

It got me thinking: What do those words “devout” and “orthodox” even mean? What makes a person “devout” or “non-devout?” What makes a person “orthodox” or “unorthodox?” And who gets to make the call on which are the devout people and which are the rapscallions?

Both “devout” and “orthodox” are words that need objects. You must be devout about something, orthodox about something. Who gets to decide which somethings are more important than other somethings? Also, if we’re being honest, isn’t everyone non-devout and unorthodox about something? Even the guys with the long sidelocks and the perfectly cylindrical fur hats and long black robes? (They didn’t seem to me to be too orthodox about Humility or too devout about Others-Centered Love of spouse, neighbor, outsider. Thankfully, I’m not their Judge.)

Contrarily, I saw in the exodizers a great devoutness. Not a devoutness about sidelocks and dress and repressive laws forbidding many “secular” things – (many of the externals!), but a devoutness about finding and making congruence between one’s inner and outer lives. They were devout about their vocation – the work they felt gifted and called to do and their determination to do that work even when its nature or their gender fell outside of the Hasidic religious structure.

I saw in the exodizers a beautiful orthodoxy. They were orthodox about practicing the Love and Grace of God: a woman caught in a 12-year cycle of domestic abuse found the freedom to no longer let herself be treated that way. They were orthodox about Community; all of them were forced to find and make new relationships unlike any of the ones they’d had in the “religious community” — relationships with honesty and truth, inter-dependence and shared intimacy at their core.

I kept wanting to encourage the escapees:

“You’re devout! You’re orthodox! You’re just devoutly orthodox about different things than the devoutly orthodox people in the religious community you’re leaving. And so you simply must leave because everyone simply must be a part of a community that can celebrate, reinforce, and uphold at least some of the same devoutly orthodox things you find in your heart.”

“That’s just part of what it means to be human. And I sincerely hope you make it.”

*    *    *    *

All of this reminded me so much of the Great church Exodus currently underway in the western world. Many of my friends, acquaintances, and so many unnamed others want “out.” If pressed, many of them would call themselves very spiritual and devout – and they are. I know them. There’s just one thing they’re not so orthodox or devout about – showing up to a Sunday morning worship service (what most people mean when they say “church”).

But none of the people I know want to throw it all out. They still love and honor and want to participate in their spiritual heritage. They are still very devout and sincere – in fact it’s exactly their devoutness and sincerity that have pushed them away. It’s precisely that they care so much about Church and the Way of Jesus that Sunday morning church had gotten to the point where it was an expression of too many things that seemed to be the exact opposite of the values of that spiritual heritage.

It’s not that they’re picking and choosing what they want on a great spiritual smorgasbord, as they’re often accused. (I mean, if we’re being completely honest – aren’t we all doing that in some form? See my recent post on a redefinition of heresy.) It’s not that they’re being especially consumeristic, as they are also often accused. It is that they are devoutly orthodox about a few things that Sunday morning worship services tend to neglect entirely.

In fact, the Sunday-morning-worship-service-exodizers (I cannot call them Church-exodizers, so many of them love “church,” wish they could “go to church,” and long to be a part of Church) actually have a lot in common with the Hasidic-exodizers, especially when it comes to the things about which they are devoutly orthodox. Things like congruence and vocation, journey and ordinariness, honest communication and intimate community, suffering and self-sacrificing Love and simple spiritual practice… I hope they make it.

God works with whatever he’s got. Spiritual formation series, part 9.

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I used to think that God does whatever he wants. I’d read about something “God did” in the Bible or signs of “God’s work” in the current news media and, put together with “God is all-powerful,” I’d deduce that whatever happened must have been 10,000% exactly what God wanted.

Now, I think that God just works with whatever he’s got. It forces him to be creative. It forces him to be discerning and wise and patient. He sees the historical, cultural, intellectual limitations at play in humanity and he does the best good [albeit imperfect] thing that he can do with humanity at this moment in time. He sees the personal, familial, formative limitations at play in my life and he does the best good [albeit imperfect] thing that he can do with me at this moment in time. It’s not what he would consider to be optimal, but he is humble and loving enough to do some good rather than to do nothing at all.

I see examples of it in my own life:

I work with whatever I’ve got with my kids. One of my kids says, emphatically and with tears, that he doesn’t want to go to school. I am faced with nothing short of one million options of how to respond, based on who my child is and who I am and what it best for both of us. I could beat him and tell him to knock it off, shut up, and just go to school. I could give in and let him stay home and play Just Dance all day. I could bribe him. I could scold him. Today, I told him he had to go but that we’d discuss it this weekend with just him and me and his dad when we had more time and were in a less agitated state. Then, I asked everyone in our family to raise their hands if they ever have had to do something they don’t like to do. (Everyone raised their hands.) We each shared what it is that we have to do that we don’t like to do and gave him lots of empathy that life is hard. Then, I told him that I’d reward him at the end of the school day if he did what was hard and used his inner strength to get through it. So, a little bribing. Well, actually, maybe not bribing – just a little mechanism for helping him cope. (After all, I still reward myself for doing hard things I don’t want to do.) Ideally, I want him to love school every day and skip off to class with the joy of learning in his heart. But. It’s what I’ve got and I’m choosing to work with it rather than resenting that it’s not perfect.

I work with whatever I’ve got in my friendships. One of my dearest dear friends simply does not like to talk on the phone. So: I’ve given up the dream of staying in touch with her on a day-to-day basis and I relish in the several times per year when we get together and stay up way too late catching up. Ideally, I want her to move into my basement (or I’d settle for my neighborhood) and never leave. But. It’s what I’ve got and I’m choosing to work with it rather than letting our relationship go or resent that it’s not perfect.

God works with whatever he’s got in me. How he longs to uproot some dire disease in my soul – greed, pride, jealousy, anger, etc. – but he can see that I’m just not ready for it. In fact, he tried to go to work on it a bit and I wouldn’t listen. I pushed the thoughts away. Or, perhaps worse, I went numb. I avoided him; I stopped listening altogether. There was just too much at stake for my current “quality” of life and I couldn’t risk such a drastic change. So he decides – for now – it’s just not worth it. He’ll just have to let that one go for now and go to work on something else, praying and hoping to get to that really dastardly stuff some other day. Oh how he wishes he could just tear it all out of me once and for all! But. It’s what I’ve got and he’s choosing to work with it rather than letting our relationship go or resenting me for not being perfect.

God has always been working with what he’s got. In human history. In you.

It’s not perfect, but it’s all he’s got.

One of my spiritual mentors says, “Live as you can, not as you can’t. Pray as you can, not as you can’t.” The idealist in me wants to resist this truth, but the realist in me has come to welcome this statement. Today, I’m just letting God work with whatever I’ve got. I’m giving him whatever I have, praying that I’ll keep handing over to him whatever I find in the future.

If God works with whatever he’s got, then maybe the whole goal of spiritual formation is to keep giving God more and more to work with. To keep opening myself up more and more to Light and Truth and Love. To put on the altar more of my heart, more of my mind, more of my life, more of my willingness, more of my weaknesses…

heresy, redefined. (something to mull over.)

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{First, a quick side note. This week is a big week for me. It is Final Edit Week. I’m submitting Passions Trilogy to the printer this Friday: Friday the 13th. Hm. And yikes! (I think the Yikes! is more about the final-final-must-be-perfect edits than the superstition of the day. Also, incidentally, why is it that self-imposed deadlines feel so much more complicated(?) or imposing(?) – or something? – than deadlines handed down to you by someone else? Maybe it’s just me. Anyway, a deadline is a deadline and I’m going to make it, people. Here goes nothing.)}

So, just to stay in touch with you this week, here is a little thought, a little note, a little commentary on something I read a few months ago that I’ve been mulling over ever since. Maybe you’d like to mull, too. 🙂

It was from an old, not very well known book by Eugene Peterson, Traveling Light: Reflections on the Free Life. It was, for me, a redefinition of heresy. Eugene said:

The word heresy comes from the Greek word meaning “choose.” The heretic is a person who chooses a single item out of the entire body of truth and, ignoring or denying the rest of it, makes that privately preferred and chosen truth the only truth, and teaches others to do the same. Heresy is the choice of a fraction instead of the integer. Insofar as the heretic gets others to see only that fragment and ignore the rest, he blocks access to the organic fullness of all reality, of God. There is simplification in that choice (that is the attraction), but there is also immense impoverishment. The heretic solves our problems by reducing our lives.

Here’s what I’ve been mulling over, my restatement of what Eugene said. Not that he needs my help.

Heresy is not so much exactly wrong belief, like I always thought it was. Heresy is wrongful emphasis or prioritization of belief. It is taking one belief (right or wrong) and isolating it from its proper landscape of all Belief, all Truth. It is deciding arbitrarily that one belief (right or wrong) is more important than all other beliefs. I say ‘arbitrarily’ because if any human (no matter what their spiritual or ecclesiastical or organizational credentials) is doing the deciding, it must be arbitrary! – because no human is God, the Judge and Truth-maker. All of us do this every time we take one Bible verse or one particular phrase and give it supreme reign, worshipping the belief itself and our conviction that we’ve got it right instead of allowing the belief and our convictions about it to live within their proper place alongside all other verses and phrases under God, who we worship.

I’ve also been mulling over these self-reflective questions, looking for heresy in my life, finding it everywhere: What beliefs/practices are most important to me? Why? What if those beliefs/practices, while not unimportant, are not actually the most important beliefs/practices to God? Do I have the kind of willing heart that will let God level out my beliefs/practices, matching them with his own? What fractions am I choosing over the integer? What gorgeous integers am I missing out on? How am I being a heretic by oversimplifying the beautiful, messy, mysterious, complex life that is the Way, Truth, and Life of Jesus?

Happy mulling. (What a great word for this autumnal time of year, right? Mulled cider. Mulled wine. And what a great word for what God’s work often looks like in us — or at least in me. It takes me awhile to see and to understand and to change. I usually need time to mull.)

A letter from Jen. Re: Judgment.

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Last week I got a splendid email from my friend Jen about — you guessed it: Judgment. She shared so transparently, wrote with such penetrating introspection, and gave such a brilliant example of an everyday struggle that I felt I had to share it with you all. Jen graciously gave me her permission to publish her letter (thank you muchly, Jen!) and so here it is:

I wanted to tell you that your last two posts have resonated so deeply with me because I have been acutely and painfully aware of my struggle with being judgmental for quite a long time now. I actually think there may have been a time when I was a young child that I was quite grace-filled and loving, but she’s been gone for a long time now, and I miss her! Being raised a Conservative Baptist, now in recovery, judgment of others has been engrained into my thoughts and responses virtually since I was in the womb. It has also been something I have tried to work on and change for many years, and while I have made a little progress, I still get very discouraged by my automatic condescending holier-than-thou responses to others.

I have a great example of that from just yesterday. I was sitting in front of the window at my favorite coffee shop downtown. Parking is always at a premium there, and there is a space right in front that should be a spot but is not. I am always tempted to pull into it (it just SITS there, empty, beckoning me!), thinking “I’m only going to be here a couple minutes while I run in for my coffee, it won’t be a big deal if I park here.” But my law-abiding conscience talks me out of it, and with some resentment I expand my search looking for a legal spot. God forbid that I have to walk a couple blocks for my coffee! So today as I was sitting at the window with that spot right in front of me, I saw two different people park there, and my immediate thought was “I can’t beLIEVE they are going to park there!! What kind of person ignores the obvious fact that there is no marked space there. InconCEIVable (in my best Princess Bride impression), and so rude! I hope they can see my disapproving look behind the reflections on the window.” And then I almost immediately got a little queasy in my stomach as I was forced to sit in the company of my own indignant, self-righteous, unpleasant self. I felt even worse when I saw that the first person was there for about 30 seconds while he dropped off a stack of free newspapers, and the second one was there about the same amount of time to drop someone off. Neither one was actually parking there. I shook my head in discouragement that my efforts at pursuing more grace, less judgment have been so ineffectual, especially because I didn’t do it just once, but TWICE within about 15 minutes of each other for the Exact. Same. Thing. Deep sigh…

I contemplated my rotten response for awhile with an appropriate dose of guilt and some not so appropriate shame. But as I pondered it with some resignation, I had a thought that gave me a little glimmer of hope, a sense that perhaps I haven’t completely failed. I realized that, while I still want to have a more grace-filled and compassionate automatic response to my fellow travelers, I’m not where I used to be. It occurred to me that perhaps the baby steps toward developing a more graceful response start with changing my response to my response. The first thoughts come pretty quickly, almost instantaneously. Stopping them has proved nearly impossible. But if I can see them for what they are, quickly, and then choose to react to that response differently before I inflict pain and shame, then maybe I’ve come a little closer to that distant goal of Christ-likeness. I can name the reaction as the judgment that it is, and then I can intentionally choose compassion. With that in mind, it occurred to me that my follow-up reaction to my immediate reaction has become much kinder and gentler a little more often, and that the transition between the two happens much faster. And I am quicker to apologize for the biting remarks that slip through before I get my filter turned on. Though my first reaction is all too often still one of harsh judgment, I transition more easily into a softer loving stance of acceptance. I retreat more hastily from the higher ground to which I have wrongly ascended, to take a position of humility and awareness of my own plank in my eye. I have not yet figured out how to stop the initial mental response of judgment, but I have gotten much quicker to initiate a second response that says “You’re doing it again, Jen. How about if you just worry about being kind and loving, and let the meter readers worry about who is parking illegally?” That second response has actually softened how I behave toward others, and while I would like the initial response to be better, I think I’m moving in the right direction.

Just some thoughts on an issue that is very challenging for me. Thank you for walking this journey openly, vulnerably, and authentically. Though I know I don’t travel it alone, it helps to be reminded that there are loving companions within reach. I appreciate your willingness to bypass easy platitudes in order to get to the really difficult and awkward stuff. Grace finds it roots and thrives there.

Love, Jen