No words

It's the end of the academic year for me.  I am 3/4 done with my seminary career--what a blessing that is.  While some of the nuts and bolts have yet to be fixed firmly in their place, it is with mostly confidence that I say I will graduate next year.  Hallelujah amen!

I haven't written in this blog for awhile not just because I've been busily writing other things that have pesky little deadlines attached, but also because there's been a lot going on outside of school.  It's one of those situations of abandonment, loss, and grief that leaves you with everything to say and nothing to say all at once.

And as those sorts of situations are inclined to be, it's coupled with amazing reminders that I live surrounded by the reality of divine love and radical hope.  I see God in my incredible family, my friends who are stepping up for me despite the myriad of commitments and responsibilities they already carry on their shoulders, and the communities of accountability that challenge me while helping to hold me together.  I am seeing God everywhere these days.

But I don't know what to say to Him.  And that's why I haven't written in awhile.  I feel with keen awareness that God is here, that He is around me, that He loves me, and that he is not letting me go.  But I don't know how to talk to God when I am speechless.  I feel like I'll have a lot to say when the words come back.  

Stay tuned.

Catastrophe

Those of you who know me well know that I am what I call a catastrophic thinker.  Some may call this an understatement, and rather categorize me as an apocalyptic thinker :-)  Either way, this refers to my tendency of conflating situations in my life, for which I can find no immediate solutions, into something irreconcilably dire--as if when I can't think up my own logical solutions, the only options left remaining are life-derailing (or threatening).  Hence, I think catastrophically.

This is not something I like about myself.  While sometimes thinking catastrophically has proved mildly helpful (when smaller "catastrophes" are derailed, for example, because of my hyper-vigilance), in general it is not a good way to live.  It's stressful and time consuming.  And, I don't think catastrophic thinking makes me a good steward of my mind, my passions, or my emotional energy.

I don't know why I sometimes think this way.  Of course, a few professionals have posited their own hypotheses.  Many a well-meaning psychologist has leaned back in their chair, hands clasped over their crossed legs and a self-satisfied grin starting to form on their face, and said, "Well, haven't had you had something catastrophic happen to you?  Like being diagnosed with epilepsy overnight?  Wouldn't that make anyone fear impending disaster?"

Ah, yes--the epilepsy card.  While it is true that being diagnosed with epilepsy at 16, and having that be the first real trauma that interrupted the otherwise idyllic landscape of my childhood, has not helped my catastrophic thinking, per se, it certainly did not cause it.  Any member of my family can tell you that.  I think my catastrophically-wired brain was well at work by the time I was 6, and diagnosed myself with a chronic case of appendicitis.  Or when I saw some lights flashing outside of my window when I was 7, and logically assumed that I would be abducted by aliens sometime that year.  Or when I was 11, and thoroughly convinced myself after going to Scotland that I had been exposed to (and acquired) the bubonic plague.

So I hate to break it to you, my psycho-analytically inclined friends--but I think I was just born this way.  It doesn't mean that I'm not trying to change it--I've gotten much better at checking myself and this pattern of thought these last years especially.  I think it will be essential for me to unlearn this way of thought in order to do the ministry I want to do.

However, I'm not writing this to explain my psyche to you all (far too daunting a task for anyone to take on, frankly :-) ).  I'm writing this to explain that I've seen God, even in my catastrophic thinking.  Call it shameless optimism if you must, but there is a silver lining to the way my brain has been hard-wired.  Because when I think catastrophically, it is one of the few times that I actually reach out for help.  And there are few things more holy, to me, than the experience of being vulnerable before and caught by a community of people who live in love.

You see, there always comes a point where I realize that the resources of my own little brain are simply not enough.  So rather than think myself in circles, there always comes a point where I am able to talk, to reach out, and to pray with those around me.  And God is faithful--there are always people, family, friends, who gently listen to my weary musings and remind me, with grace and assurance, of the breadth of God's imagination.  

This is why the Triune God resonates so deeply with me--the idea that God in Godself exists in community.  And if that so, than I think it necessarily follows that our communities of care and accountability are, truly, holy ground.  They are where we are cared for and caught, and where we also do the work of carrying and sustaining.  Sometimes, I'm grateful for my own level of exasperation with myself and how I think--because it reminds me that I cannot exist on my own.

So I am a catastrophic thinker.  I hope I won't be this way forever.  But I am grateful to be reminded that God calls me not to lean solely on myself, but on the trusted friends and family who exist with me in community.  After all, God does not just live in me--He lives all around me, too.