Imagine

 When I began writing this post, the Google image I imagined for it was this: a Christmas morning aftershot of a tree with all the havoc of wrapping paper and the mish-mash of presents that need to be put in order by someone kindly. I’m not saying that our tree is still up and lording over Christmas chaos; I’m just saying that’s how I feel. 

The weather has been particularly cold here; we had snow followed by a wintery mix, which froze over. Because I’ve been inside so long, I’m starting to notice things I don’t usually pay attention to. I can see plainly that my closets and drawers are spilling over with a multitude of sins that need to be trashed, so I’ve been down on myself.

A part of me is a taskmaster who won’t be happy until I’ve scoured through every square inch of chaos. Yet, it’s not the messes that are the problem. Once the ice melts and I get outdoors for fresh air, I’ll be fine; I have a high tolerance for messes. The real issue at hand here is me battling with my inner faultfinder, and, at this moment, that pesky part of me is threatening to ruin my day.  

At times, Chairman Joe conjures a nun with a funny name that begins with an E. I don’t want to place blame, but when I think about my inner critic, the image of a scolding nun looms. She’s pointing her finger and stands formidably in her strange black and white habit, swinging her gigantic beads. Everyone loves a scary story, and Sister was no fool. One way she managed that classroom was to hold us captive with fiery images that accompanied her vivid tales of hell and damnation. We kids got the message that we were doomed. And, since cleanliness is next to Godliness. Yikes, no wonder I heap hot coals upon myself over messy drawers. Don’t they constitute black marks on my permanent record? On some level, I can chuckle over these fear-based approaches to keeping kids in line. Many of the nuns who taught me were lovely and well-meaning; at best, I believe these sisters wanted the best for us and to keep us safe. 

On mornings like today, though, those old demons are alive and well. I’m glad I have this post to write; the trick for me, when I wake up discouraged to the point of attacking myself, is to create some space. I’m getting better at becoming suspicious about how I punish, sabotage, and minimize my intrinsic value. When I sink to that level, the poet Rumi reminds me that life “is not a caravan of despair,” and yet I know that no matter how good life seems, the ups and downs of life are constant. My default setting is to get frustrated, at times, with anyone around me and, like today, at myself. Negativity twisted together with frustration is a tough cord to unravel, and a way that helps me is to imagine the deep-down source. So, as I write this, I’m picturing a little girl sitting in that first-grade classroom, punctured by the notion of God as a scary, condemning fellow. Although the seven-year-old me didn’t have words or a voice to say it if she could, she would have raised her hand and called out loudly, “But Sister, my mother told me that God loves me no matter what!” When I feel messy and out of order, I have little holes draining my enthusiasm and open-heartedness for life. 

Early experiences certainly shape and form us (and I’m especially relieved that expressions of faith continue to evolve and tend to be less condemning). On days like this, I try to find ways to turn with gentleness to the still, small voice of my inner guidance. After all is done, it helps to consider where certain voices come from. I can acknowledge the heft of their messages and invite them and myself into a bigger, wiser picture.

Somewhere around the beginning of this year, I stumbled upon this quote from Henri J.M. Nouwen:

 “Imagine that we could walk through [life] always listening to a voice saying to us: “I have a gift for you and can’t wait for you to see it! Imagine!” 

How would life have been different if Sister had told us something like that?

At this point in writing my post, the sun is hanging in a clear blue sky. We got a dusting of snow last night, and my neighbor across the street is outside shoveling my backdoor walk. It’s time for lunch, and as I peek out the window, I see that the ice on the street has melted, so I can safely venture out for a walk. Writing today has done me good. It looks like I need a different picture from Google Images to capture the spirit of my post. And maybe tomorrow, I’ll end up cleaning some closets and drawers!

Imagine