5shinystones-blog

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Note to My Pastor

Dear Father,

I am a member of your parish and volunteer teacher of evening classes in catechism to 6 year-old parishioners. 

I attended the Saturday 5 PM mass you officiated, and was moved by your homily covering scripture reading on Abraham about to sacrifice his son Isaac.  You had asked us to imagine ourselves in the scene.  After mass, your suggestion prompted me to engage in the reading, asking myself a few questions:

·       What does it say to me?

·       What do I want to say to God about the text?

·       What difference will this text make in my life?

So what DOES it say to me?  As a single parent, Abraham's heartbreaking sacrifice resonates with me.  No one wants to lose a child.  I feel my heart ache each time I take my 11 year-old to school, and I wonder if her school will be the next mass shooter's target.  God does not ask of us to sacrifice our children, so he turned that order to himself by sacrificing his own son for our salvation.  

What I want to say to God about the text is this: Lord, you have given me the gift of a wonderful, beautiful, loving child.  You must want me to help her unfurl the talents you've endowed her with and fulfill the mission you've set for her life.  Through the material gifts you've so generously provided me, you must also want me to protect her from harm. And as a catechism teacher, you must also want me to protect my six year-old students from spiritual and physical harm.

I now read this text with new eyes given the mass shooting in Florida and all other mass shootings over the last two decades.  I believe we, as Christians, must channel our energies and intentions to ensure that these shootings do not happen again.  The USCCB continues to urge a total ban on assault weapons, which they supported when the ban passed in 1994 and when Congress failed to renew it in 2004. 

If we can march against abortion, we, as a parish, should align with the USCCB and mobilize ourselves for gun control.  Or, at least, start the discussions to supplement our prayers.

After all, isn't gun control a pro-life issue?

All the best father--

[5shinystones-blog]

Finding God in My Grief

"It is during our darkest moments that we must focus to see the light."

―Aristotle

“Thou hast made us for thyself, and our heart is restless until it finds its rest in thee.” ―Augustine, Confessions

"Your calling my name is my reply. Your longing for me is my message to you. All your attempts to reach me are in reality my attempts to reach you." ―Rumi

Two weeks ago, I received the dreaded phonecall in the middle of the night.  My nephew, himself palpably shaken, broke the news that my big brother, whom I called Kuya[i], had unexpectedly suffered cardiac arrest and passed.  The notion that I would never ever again see Kuya or seek his advice or hear his funny stories was unbearable.  I heard myself let out a wail in a voice I had never heard before.  I thought that if I screamed to the heavens the nightmare would shatter to pieces: No, this can't be!  Why him?!

Kuya was nine years my senior.  As such, he embodied the values my parents instilled in us: the primacy of faith, of family ties, of demonstrating love and affection, of hard work, of caring for--and sharing one's blessings with--those who are in need, of remaining steadfast in the face of challenges and adversity, of accepting those challenges, and of solving problems using God-given talents and, when the situation called for it, with a bit of humor.  

In many ways, Kuya was my third parent--sometimes my sternest. He tried to lay down exacting rules for me and Ate[ii] about dating and boyfriends.  However, before too long he realized such rules weren't stopping us from having boyfriends before age 25.  So he switched tactics: he coopted the boyfriends. With Ate's boyfriend, he souped up cars, including our dad's, to our dad's consternation.

Kuya to me (while Dad was away on a business trip): "Hey, let's update dad's car." Dad to me (about a week later, on our way to church): "What happened to my steering wheel--it's smaller?  And did you notice my tires are scraping against the wheel well?  They're too fat!"  

He turned my high school boyfriend into a case study on the virtues of powerlifting.  One afternoon, my boyfriend and I had agreed to meet up at my parents before heading to the club.  Around the appointed time, I had just gotten out of the shower when I heard him revving his motorcycle as he approached our house.   As soon as I was dressed, I ran down the stairs to meet him, only to find he wasn't there.  

Me to the housekeeper: "Where's so-and-so?" Housekeeper: "I think he went to the gym with your brother."

So I jumped on my scooter and headed to the gym to find out what was going on.  True enough, there was my brother demonstrating to my boyfriend how to do squats with proper form.  Problem solving in action, though only later would I appreciate the incident's inherent humor.

I will remember Kuya not only as a dispenser and enforcer of rules or a problem solver but also as a consummate storyteller.  At family gatherings, his droll remarks, rib-tickling tales of our family's travel adventures, escapades with our cousins, and amusing mishaps with security guards often made him the center of gravity. He even made serious incidents laughable.  After he married Carol and they had the two boys, his trove of amusing tales quickly grew. Today, more than ever, we as a family draw on those memories for solace, as well as the strength to face our unanticipated loss of a beloved, strong, brilliant brother at this juncture in our lives.  We had always assumed that we would spend our later years living near each other.

Over the past 20 or more years, though Kuya and I lived in different countries, we remained close. When I needed an alternative, rational point of view on a personal or professional matter, he was only a phone call, an instant message, or a video call away. He was always there for me.  In the last 10 years, I noted a marked shift in his outlook on life--from one that privileged building up a sterling resume (the honor rolls and dean's lists, the sports medals, the high-octane executive jobs) to one that focused on serving others.  Happiness to him was no longer about thrilling rides on expensive motorcycles or having a seat at the table in blue chip companies.  His newfound happiness was rooted in transcendence.  Forming a stronger connection with his audience of one--his maker.

As he journeyed through this major life change and I went through my own, our conversations and exchanges assumed more spiritual undertones―whether we talked about work or love or politics.  A few days ago, I came across an email he had sent me four years ago, at a time when I was going through some life transitions and was drawn to the Book of Job. He said that he too had begged the question "Why me?" while going through some of his life's most painful moments.  He wrote that in time he found that "the question already has an answer, an answer that I must say took time to grow inside of me...But once it grew, it became very hard to lose inner peace." He asked me to flip the pages of the bible from Job to Romans 8:28 where "one can find much reassurance...'everything is good for those who love God.'  EVERYTHING...."  

I found comfort in those words back then.  Perhaps in time they'll assuage my anguished cry for an answer to "Why him?" Perhaps as my family and I come to grips with losing Kuya, those holy words will fall into our broken hearts and help us find our way back to happiness.

Music: Do Not Be Afraid by Philip Stopford 

 [i] Eldest brother

[ii] Eldest sister

[5shinystones-blog]

David and Goliath

Only when we're brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the power of our light.--Brene Brown

You don't have to be a Christian or a Jew to know the story of David and Goliath. If you're either, however, it's one of the first stories we learn and quickly commit to memory. Its simple story line about a ruddy young man who stands up for himself and for his community against an opponent twice his size easily resonates. We've all been there before: toe to toe against someone hell bent on physically impairing us, destroying our reputation, or undermining our self-worth.

But while we've all probably overcome many of these bullies--someone in school, someone at work, someone in the family, or someone no longer in the family--the messages their actions have wrought on our psyches somehow continue to linger and make their way into our interactions with other people. They color how we view our place in the world and what we do to keep ourselves safe. Though the physical wounds have healed these messages continue to haunt us from within.

These are our Goliaths. They loom large and when left unattended, can hold us prisoners of our fears and feelings of unworthiness. These Goliaths are more insidious than the biblical giant David faced because they lie dormant inside us, waiting to be awakened by familiar threats that we believe will result in our shame. They put our self-worth on the line with every challenge.

One Goliath tells me, "You better do well on this upcoming interview; imagine the shame if you didn't get this job." For the past few days, this job interview Goliath ("Jig" for short) has robbed me of energy and hard-won optimism. "That panel interview will be disastrous, you watch, " he said at one time. "Wow, an assessment tool to determine whether you'll fit in? Good luck with that!" he said with a wry Dick Cheney smile. In fact, Jig looks a lot like Cheney, or my ex.

This morning I awoke and told myself I'd had enough of Jig. That's why I'm writing about him. One of the ways we can Goliath-proof ourselves is by sharing our Goliath story. That story has several parts:

What woke him up (or triggered it)

The sense of isolation it creates

Its shaming message

By sharing this story, I'm taking myself out of a self-imposed isolation because storytelling connects people to each other. In fact, a study using neuroimaging technology has shown that a storyteller's brain activity can couple with those of his or her listeners. When researchers scanned the brain activity of the storyteller and of the listeners, the brain activities mirrored each other almost simultaneously. So when we engage each other with stories that resonate or are meaningful, our brains somehow connect. 

Second, as I write or talk about this, I'm able to find Jig's trigger. In this case, my anxiety about the interview and misgivings about the assessment are the  root cause of Jig's awakening. Jig in turn has compounded the anxiety and misgivings by adding fuel to their fires. As soon as I grasp the cause and effect process and I know I'm in a void of my own creation, I can focus on determining the message's validity.

Finally, I slice and dice the message with questions. What's the likelihood that I will never ever get another job between now and death? And if I don't get this particular job, what immediate impact will it make on my finances? I then look at alternatives: what if my interview panel ends up loving me? I made it this far--they must have seen at least a few things they truly liked and needed. 

These three elements of the Goliath story are also its Achilles heel. Once I take a close look at them, their solidity evaporates. As Macolm Gladwell puts it, "Giants are not what we think they are. The same qualities that appear to give them strength are often the sources of great weakness." Gladwell points out that Goliath's size, his need for an attendant to take him to the fighting scene, his view that David had two staffs rather than just one, were likely symptoms of Acromegaly, a disease caused by the excessive production of growth hormones. The resulting tumor often disrupts the function of the optic nerve. In short, Goliath was no invincible giant. He was sick.

And what's the likelihood that he truly wanted to fight? Did he have a choice? We can think of our Goliaths as internal messages we must slay, or we can simply reframe them. Going back to the interview, what's the worst that can happen? Job interviews are very rarely throwbacks to the Spanish Inquisition. I will not be pilloried, my weaknesses paraded before the panel. Nor will I be lashed to the breaking wheel. The worst thing that can happen is that I misunderstand a question or fail to answer it. But I can remedy that by asking clarifying questions.  Job interviews can be opportunities to connect with people through authentic storytelling. I like telling interviewers my story because I know that somehow, my story contains parts of my audience's stories too. If I think of job interviews as opportunities to connect rather than doing time in the lion's den or a walk to the gallows, surely the experience will not only be different but will change me for the better. My past experience has taught me that even when I didn't get jobs, people who interviewed and liked me but gave the job to someone else eventually opened up opportunities for me later on. 

Reframing Jig this way unlocks the gates to a greater sense of peace, optimism and self-worth than I started with before Jig awoke. Each time Jig wakes up, I'll think about a gate being unlocked. In doing so, I'm coupling a negative story with a positive one, with an eye to tamping down the former story and throwing the latter into greater relief. 

While we've internalized and reconstituted our Goliaths, we can also awaken our inner Davids through persistent mental work and faith that ultimately this is what God or the Universe wants to happen.

This new blog is about exploring our Goliaths and laying them to rest while arousing our Davids.

Music: Night Fight, Jan Renecik (From Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon)