New Vistas

In my last post, I was about to go to a couple of interviews for practicum placements, and I said that I might have an offer on the table by the end of that interview day.

I did. And I accepted without hesitation!

My university, once I had informed them of the details, was very quick to accept my practicum proposal (12 minutes, no kidding!) and now I am looking at being an intern starting in September 2018. For real. Me.

There is still a lot of work to do before I can get to the first day of my internship, and it will take a lot of hard slogging in between, but in this moment, as I have crested the hill I have been climbing so arduously the last few months, I can see a new landscape opening up to me. I see some of the road ahead. I can almost see what some of the journey will look like. 

Photo "Double Rainbow" courtesy of evgeni deniv at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

One friend mentioned to me, when I was chatting with him the other day,  that after one man climbed Mount Everest for the first time and stood on the summit, he realized that at some point he would have to climb back down again. And that is part of what I'm experiencing as well ... but I also know that I will have help. 

I won't have to go it alone. I will have the assistance of a great practicum supervisor, my professor and practicum advisor, my classmates, my employer, and my family and friends.  Even though I will be living alone for the first time in my life, doing things I have never done before, I will have a support network that I know will come alongside / beneath me and help me to adjust. I'm not worried in the least. 

Funny isn't it.

Next week I will be attending a workshop on the kind of work that I will be doing as a practicum student and the clientele with which I will be working. And then, in the weeks that follow, I will be working with my practicum supervisor to formulate my learning plan so that I can submit it to the university in early June.  After that, I will be taking care of some details that have more to do with accommodations, work arrangements, and transportation, so that I am settled in my "new place" before I show up to my first day at the practicum site. But all that will unfold as it needs to. There is the overwhelming sense that I am doing what I was meant to do - and that events will play out the way they are meant to play out. 

For the moment, I am enjoying the view. And the view, if I may say so, is spectacular...  

Honour and Fame

This week, the music world and millions of fans were dismayed (myself among them) at the untimely death of the Queen of Pop, Whitney Houston.  I've always loved her voice - one of my favorite singers of all time - and her death hit me hard. For a few days running I watched a show I usually detest (E-Talk) to hear news of how and why it happened.  

In one interview with David Foster, he revealed that there wasn't a moment that went by when someone, somewhere didn't want something from Ms. Houston. Fame had placed a burden on her that no human was meant to carry, and she apparently tried to escape from it in drugs ... most recently prescription drugs.  

I blame our society's tendency to put people up on pedestals and let individuals within that society want to own a little piece of someone famous.  We do it with celebrities of all stripes - from sports heroes to singers to the royal family.  We forget that they are real people.  Real people whose noses run sometimes, who sometimes aren't at their best, who occasionally do stupid things, and who deserve to have a little privacy.  (By the way, the fact that Ms. Houston's family has requested a private ceremony by invitation only is a testament to that need - that incredible need for dignity, for respect, for decency, and [for once in her public life] privacy.  I applaud them for it.)  

Source:
www.ctv.ca/

Fans worldwide are grieving.  

But after all, Whitney Houston was someone's daughter, someone's sister, someone's niece, someone's mother, someone's wife ... and more, so much more than her fans can comprehend.  May she rest in peace.  May her family find solace. 

But her death - at the young age of 48 - has sparked some comments on the incongruity of the death of a celebrity versus the sacrifice of someone who (aside from family and friends) is virtually unknown, but who has perhaps given his or her life to save another's.  Or like the guy who goes to a job he hates every day, and in so doing dies just a little more every moment of every day ... just to put food on the table for his family.  Or people like our service men and women who brave untold dangers and see unthinkable sights in the line of military duty in foreign lands.  

Whose life has more merit?  Whose death is more tragic? whose sacrifice is greater? that which relinquishes privacy and possibly health for a life of fame ... or that which gives up family and home for the grueling and dangerous task of protecting people who may not want to be protected? or that which sacrifices stardust-filled dreams to meet the needs of those he or she loves?  these are questions that cannot be answered ... but they make us think.  

Perhaps those self-sacrificing heroes are all the more honourable because they are unsung.  Perhaps if their accomplishments were to be noised abroad, they might forget their unique calling and fall into the Venus Flytrap of fame. We need them to keep on with their mission.  That guy's kids still need their dad to keep them from going hungry.  And they are no less heroes ... than the person whose face (and life in every possible unflattering detail) is plastered across every newspaper in the country - or the world.

Wit's End

It's something experienced by a lot of people.  Usually people in helping professions (doctors, nurses, psychologists, social workers, even those who carry caseloads of disability claims - like those at Workers Compensation or other similar organizations) suffer from it the most.

Psychologists call it 'compassion fatigue' or 'secondary post traumatic stress syndrome.' Oversimplified, it's 'caring too much.'  But realistically, it's impossible to be a caring and loving human being and to NOT be affected with the suffering of other human beings when faced with it on a regular basis.  

So people deal with it in several ways.  One way is to cut off the emotion and relegate that to the back burner, or underground.  This may result in physical illnesses such as ulcers, stomach problems, hypertension. Or clinical depression arising from the feeling that they have done all they can, and it's not enough.

Another way is to wrestle with it.  Anger and frustration ensue - and a whole host of other types of physical problems result: stress-related problems such as diverticulitis, irritable bowel syndrome, back pain, heart trouble, headaches, and even (some believe) fibromyalgia and other chronic pain syndromes.

Still others - fewer and farther between - are honest about the nature of the trauma to which they are exposed. These people acknowledge that there is a toll to be paid when others suffer, and they look for ways to be built up, cared for internally, so that they can have something to give those who are in desperate need of help.

It's not wrong to care.  It's not wrong to be angry about suffering.  But it's also not wrong to know when it's time to step back and gain some perspective.

In the course of my job, for example, I read about a lot of traumatic events, in the words of the individual who has experienced them.  Sometimes, the images those words evoke make it necessary for me to stop once in a while and process things.  And I need to remind myself that unless I am okay with me, I can't be there for those who are looking for my help because I will have nothing left of myself to give.  I must remember to give out of a full spirit and not an empty one.

That's why my rejuvenation times are so important to me.  I have learned that if I don't look after myself and take care of my spirit, I will experience compassion fatigue and be of no use to myself, my husband and family, or my employer.  Maintaining a conscious contact with God, through various means as they present themselves, allows me to keep within my own skin and not try to live anyone else's life for him or her.  It doesn't make me less compassionate; it makes me more capable of empathy when that is warranted.  

It sounds hokey but getting adequate sleep, a balanced diet, and time to call my own really does help keep me from my wit's end. 

Christmas Spirit

Well, it finally happened.

I've been waiting for it to happen all season and even yesterday I looked inside myself ... and aside from a few emotional moments during the candlelight service - Christmas was a flop. Quite disappointing in fact.  

Nobody felt like singing after the service as we went out to see the lights.  In fact, people had toned down their displays to cope with this financial / economic crisis.  I felt cheated.  Disappointed.  Gypped.  There was definitely something missing.  My daughter tried to tell me it was because there was no snow.  She loves snow at Christmas and it's been a thorn in her side that there has not been any snow this season. 

But snow has never been all that important to me, less and less as I get older.  No, this was something different.  The spark hadn't come yet.  It usually arrives for me long before the Day hits.  

This year .... nope.  Nothing stood out.  And I couldn't drum up any enthusiasm whatsoever.

But when I got up this morning and went to the living room, the youngest and her boyfriend were up.  They'd been up all night.  And something was different in the room.  There was another present there, a huge heavy box wrapped in gold paper with a gigantic red bow on top (see the photo - it's on the left!)  I looked at my daughter.  "Is that what I think it is?"  She beamed.  "You found it?  How did you get it home without him knowing?"  


She nodded.  "Taxi."  And she grinned again.

You see, she had told me what she was going to get her dad for Christmas with her own chore money: a certain particular type of circular saw... but the store was all out of that type.  She told me her dilemma and I said to keep calling them until they had more.

As I stared at the shiny yellow box and realized all she had done to make her dad's day, that's when it happened. I caught myself grinning as I imagined her and her boyfriend  manhandling it upstairs after we went to bed last night.

And that's when it hit me.  There - that feeling of bubbly excitement, that anticipation, that special warm feeling known as the Christmas Spirit.  It's the spirit of giving, the one that takes joy in another's happiness.

Once that started, everything started to snowball.  (Pardon the winter pun.)

The Christmas carols were more special around the tree.  And best of all, it was a treat to hear my hubby reading the Christmas story from Luke 2.  Just two Christmases ago, the pain of his addiction and the uncertainty of what would happen next outweighed the pleasure of the presents and the carols.  As I listened to him read, it was so special... the feeling intensified.


We all opened gifts - one by one so that the giver could see the look on the recipient's face when he/she opened a present.  And then all the gifts were opened except one - the big gold box in the corner.  

Someone dragged and pushed the box over to my hubby; he couldn't quite believe that it was for him.  Disbelief changed to wonder as he tore off the wrapping and revealed the prize underneath, worth two months of savings by his little girl.  

I told him that it was all her idea, her money, and she even arranged for transport when he was away on errands. 

He was blown away.  It was by far the best present of the morning... the highlight of the gift-opening portion of the day.  For everyone.  And in less than an hour, he had the box open and put the saw up on his lap.  The best photo of the day!


Shortly after that ... (bonus!!)    ...  it started to snow....

What's in it for me?

Every once in a while, a pastor or minister will preach a sermon on something that believers "ought" to be doing. Praying, reading the Bible, tithing, and so forth.

Let's use tithing - a largely misunderstood concept - for the sake of argument. It's commanded in Malachi 3:10 - give a tenth of the income to God, right off the top. After exposing their heart attitudes of "giving God the leftovers", God actually dares the people to test the principle of "tithing off the top of the pile" and see for themselves the blessing He will pour into their lives because they put Him first.

Face value is face value; the principle of tithing does work. But fear value is fear value too. Jesus is about the heart. He is about generosity out of a sense of gratitude, not out of a sense of obligation or of fear of what will happen if we don't "toe the line."

I believe in tithing; I tithe because He gave everything for me, and to remind myself that He gets first place, my best, not leftovers. Time after time God has provided for me as I have given Him not only my money but also every area of my life. I'm not disputing that tithing "works"; I have experienced it in my life. But to hear some of these preachers talk, you'd think that God is into retribution if you don't tithe, that the church isn't in revival because not everyone in the whole church tithes, that the reason why the Lord's return isn't happening is because somehow we are preventing it by not doing what we are supposed to do. The rules and regulations start coming out of the woodwork, and always and ever, the "promise" of blessing (or the withholding of it) is held out like a club over your head.

That wasn't God's intent. He wanted people to give their money, not because He needs it (because He doesn't!!) but as a symbol, a reminder that He made the first move by making it possible for us to even approach Him in the first place. We give out of gratitude for what He has given, not out of a desire to get more (even if we DO intend to bless others with it!) Focusing on the blessing in store - is bribing (see the drawing above) and it misses the whole point. It puts the focus on our performance, not on Him. The whole idea of 'blessing' (and the crafty ones say it's not just financial blessing but miracles, revival, etc.) in return for tithing, just panders to the idea that we can help God do His work, that we can hinder His plan by not doing what we are "supposed" to do, that we can make His kingdom appear on earth just because we open our pocketbooks or our wallets. Another term for all that is "the pride of life." The "reward" aspect of it appeals to the lust of the eyes (it looks/sounds good, appeals to our sense of equity) and the lust of the flesh (we can get more stuff if we give more). The enemy perpetrates this kind of "gimme" heresy by mixing it with the truth that putting God first in everything is its own reward.

The missing ingredient (as with all religion-based heresy) is the heart-attitude. It's out of a profound sense of thankfulness that we give... not to get a blessing.

Jesus started a kingdom of the heart without money. Not without personal cost to Him - but without money. He Himself said that His kingdom is not of this world because if it were, His servants would fight. He was the One who took the initiative. Humans had nothing to do with this. Humans didn't choose the time of His coming; God did. Humans didn't even believe He was who He said He was. He came anyway. Even if NOBODY ever accepted His free gift, He STILL would have gone to the cross. That's love. That's heart. That's giving.

That's the point.

Remember Me

Someone recently commented that it was patently unsatisfying to reduce the Lord's supper to a little wafer and a half-swallow of juice - that we were meant to celebrate Him and that it should be so much more than that. It should be a feast.

I must admit that I never saw it along those lines before, because it was the symbolism that always got me, not the amount or tastelessness of the bread. (Okay, those wafers really taste awful.)

But my friend had a point. Sometimes we do things a certain way just because it's always been done that way. There isn't any good reason for it. When Jesus first instituted the Lord's supper, as we call it, He didn't give them a little bite. He told twelve men to share the "loaf" among themselves - yes, Judas hadn't left yet. I put "loaf" in quotation marks because of course this was the Passover and all that was available was unleavened bread...matzoh.

I personally believe the "loaf" He used was the middle one - the one the Jewish people saved aside during the Passover meal and put between two layers of cloth (unknowingly symbolizing the second person of the Trinity going into the ground). It was kept sacrosanct, uneaten - nobody knew its purpose. And He married another Jewish ceremony into the mix to highlight the reason why He would soon die for them : a betrothal ceremony - see my post "It's Just like Jesus" (click here for the link).

What He wanted when He instituted communion was one thing only: "Remember Me." In other words, always be grateful: never forget what I'm about to do for each of you, the price I'm going to pay for you, the lengths to which I will go in order to have an intimate, personal relationship with you. Remember that - often. Remember Me - together. Don't let your remembering turn into a dead ritual. Keep it alive. Don't "observe communion." Behold the Lamb of God.

In His Hands

Today we had a baby dedication in our church. The church has been having a "baby boom" of sorts; this was the 3rd or 4th in the last few weeks.

We've been using the story of Samuel being brought back to the Temple by his mom Hannah, who prayed for a son and promised God that if He gave her a son, she would give the child back to Him. God did - and she kept her word.

We also refer to the presenting of Jesus at the temple in Jerusalem. The Briss- or circumcision - was a time to name the child and to dedicate him to the Lord.

But did you know that there was a special ceremony for the first-born male child? The first-born child, if it was a son, was considered "holy unto the Lord" and by rights should have been sacrificed to God. But God made provision in the Law for such a child to be redeemed: rescued from death. His parents made a sacrifice to God in his place. If the parents were poor, they sacrificed two turtledoves, so that the child could live. Yes, Jesus had to be redeemed...so that He could redeem us. How's that for humility after knowing ultimate glory and majesty??

Few things in life are more vulnerable and totally dependent than a baby is. Yet Jesus - the Creator of the universe - not only became a human, He arrived as a squalling, wriggling bundle of need.

Just one more proof of the lengths to which God was willing to go, so that we could know Him - and allow Him to permeate our hearts with His love and make them clean.

But that's not all. In coming to us like that, He gave us the perfect picture of how to come to Him.

Naked. Needy. Helpless. Vulnerable.

He wraps His arms around that kind of honesty. And then He reaches for His pen - the one that writes in the indelible ink of His blood - and writes our names one by one in the Lamb's Book of Life.

We can rest assured - in His hands.