Chasing the wind

Last night I made a comment on Facebook.  I’ve been better about these type of comments, learning to think before I type.  During Lent, I disciplined myself to say only positive and thankful things on Facebook.  But I slipped last night.  Maybe it was a good thing.  Comments reminded me that my status updates are read and understood as well as misunderstood.  I realized the power and the foolishness of my words.  I also began to realize the root of the comment.

No one likes to realize that they are sinning.  Nevertheless, we all do it, don’t we?  As I pondered my comment, I realized that I had broken the 10^th Commandment – sounds really serious, doesn’t it?  Perhaps I should get some sackcloth and ashes.  This blog is my virtual sackcloth.

The 10^th Commandment is that one about coveting.  I looked up the word covet and its meaning isn’t all negative.  Covet means both to wish longingly for something.  It can also mean envy.  My comment on Facebook last night was all about coveting.  It came from the frustration of my heart.  It came from the frustration of unfulfilled dreams.  It came from a sense of being rejected.  It came from a sense of hopelessness.  It came from asking the destructive question, why not me? 

I am frustrated.  I am wondering why not me.  I am feeling a bit hopeless.  My husband hears it the most.  His reply is always – it’s all God.  That’s too simple an answer for me.  That brings up all the endless questions of “theodicy.”  Since Job, we have pondered why?  My husband’s answer makes me ask if God is mean.  It makes me ask if God just doesn’t like me.  Am I some rejected step-child rather than His beloved child? 

As I pondered my sin this morning, I asked why this is sin?  I don’t know.  The older I get, the more I realize I don’t know is the best answer.  Nevertheless, my thoughts went to the issue of forgiveness.  So often, and rightly so, we are reminded that forgiveness is not about the other person.  It is about us.  

Unforgiveness eats away at the soul of the person harboring those feelings against another.  It shortens your life by stripping your joy.  Revenge is its food but never truly nourishes the soul.  It is likewise with coveting.  It hurts me.  Those I covet go on their merry way with their life, while I sit destroyed, further being robbed of hope and joy.

This morning I read the book of Ecclesiastes.  You should too.  It won’t take you long.  It puts life in perspective.  As I read its overall depressing themes, my heart begged for hope and resolution.  Everything is meaningless writes Qoheleth.  Everything is a chasing of the wind.  Fearing God and enjoying life seems to be the prescription to avoid chasing the wind.  It sort of reminds me of the serenity prayer – accepting the things I cannot change, changing what I can, and wisdom to know the difference.

There is no room for coveting if one wants to enjoy life.  My days are getting shorter.  I have less years ahead of me than of those behind me.  I cannot change how God blesses others.  I can only receive and enjoy what blessings God choses to give to me.  I’ve prepared the best I know how to answer His call and purposes – if He chooses to not allow me to serve Him with my gifts, there is nothing I can do about it.  That brings tears to my eyes.  But it changes nothing.  To try to change it is chasing after the wind.

As I pondered Qoheleth, I came across this quote:

As I sit here reading yet another book, desperately continuing to search You out God, I read about the many who are “famous” in their service of You.  While I attempt to live a life pleasing and worthy of You, I have a twinge of jealousy in my heart because I too want to be that kind of faithful servant – famously faithful.  I also fear that fame, that it is an in itself, a desire leading to destruction.  But, my yearn to do Your will is consuming so, somehow I must no care if anyone but You know that I serve You well.  All I can do is pray that I have the faith to endeavor to serve well, to pray that I am serving well, and hope that I may be anonymously famous, even to myself. (Anonymously Famous, http://qoheleth.com/Random.aspx)

Ecclesiastes 9:11 I have seen something else under the sun:  The race is not to the swift or the battle to the strong, nor does food come to the wise or wealth to the brilliant or favor to the learned; but time and chance happen to them all.

Homesick

I wrote the other day about Edna.  I met another Edna type person today at a Panera's in Hoboken.  Hoboken reminds me of Brooklyn.  I guess any place with sidewalks and stores reminds me of my home.  I love being able to walk places and see people.  Like Brooklyn, Hoboken is becoming one of the best places to live in the area.


As we ordered at Panera's, this older woman was walking alongside of a stroller.  I thought she was with the people.  She grabbed my coat briefly to steady herself.  I smiled.  We picked our seats and soon we found that this delightful woman had sat beside us. She welcomed me to come and sit with my family... How nice of her!

It didn't take long to realize she had dementia.  She told us her mother had worked at Panera's and that her mother died a few years ago at age 27. I asked if she had children.  She told us that she did but wasn't too clear about the details.

She finally decided to order. The young man at the counter reminded her that she had already had coffee and should have saved her cup for refills.  He smiled and gave her another one.  She paid for her soup and bread.  He filled her coffee again.  He was so gentle with her.  Even though they were busy, everyone treated her well and with respect.  All this, in the Northeast!  Hmmmm -

That was the vibe I experienced the whole time I've been in the NY/NJ.  People aren't smiling and making big fuss over us in that southern polite friendliness but a genuine friendliness.  I don't know how to describe it but I've had more friendly conversation with people I don't know since I've been here than I ever do in Nashville.

Okay, I know.  You're going to say: isn't this woman ever happy?  She moaned and groaned for Nashville when she lived in South Dakota - now she's complaining about Nashville.  I guess it seems like that.  But it's not that... I like Nashville overall and am thrilled that I live there and not in South Dakota.

It's just that every time I come home, I feel better.  I enjoy random conversations with guys who sell me hot dogs in Manhattan, and the Edna's.  Sometimes I wonder, what if?  What if we never moved away from Brooklyn?  I've lived long enough now to know that what seems like a crisis when you are a teenager is just a short passing bubble - it will burst and live will sort itself out.  Almost everyone grows up and figures life out.

But we did move and leave Brooklyn.  I guess you can never really go home, but I sure wish I could - I wish I could call the Northeast home again.

Edna

Yesterday we did the mini-Brooklyn nostalgia tour.  I so love returning home.  I think anyone who is disconnected from their roots and home can understand the feeling one has when you return "home."  I suppose it is also understandable that those with me don't feel the same warmth and exhilaration when they see the streets, shops, trees, churches, and diverse people of Brooklyn.

As we toured, I told my 17 year old granddaughter that she had visited Puerto Rico, China, Israel, and the Arab Middle East in that afternoon alone.  There was a quick trip into a Norwegian shop a remnant of a large Norwegian community that was replaced by the Chinese.  As we left, we munched on Kransekake and Krumkake.  YUM.  In my hand was a block of precious gold - Nøkkelost cheese.  I will savor every bite of it later.  Those with me could never appreciate its flavor or delight in its taste as I will.

The last stop was Hinsch's. I don't recall when was the last time I was there.  It was likely around the time I was sitting in Mrs. Cedar's class in the fourth grade at PS94.  A frequent ritual was to accompany my bff Barbara and her grandmother Rose to this delightful old-fashioned soda fountain/ice cream parlor.

The 33 block walk each way was hard on the little legs. The walk was worth the feast of a hamburger and crinkle cut fries.  Barbara and I would share the fries.  She liked ketchup; I didn't.  My pleas to put the ketchup on the side were unheeded.  I would hunt for fries not smothered in ketchup.  I'd give anything to share fries with Barbara and her grandmother again.

My family has a difficult time appreciating my walks down memory lane.  It's not their memory.  I ordered egg creams for them.  I savored two sips of a vanilla egg cream as my lactose intolerance prohibited more.  I twirled a little on the stool at the counter.  I looked longingly at the booths and pictured a little girl with her bff and Rose - Rose always wore a hat.  I could see her.

The server became an instant friend of my granddaughter Maria.  Here is their picture:

As we lingered a bit longer, Edna came in.  Edna was greeted by Lisa, the server.  Edna ordered some vanilla ice cream to take home.  Edna got a big hug from Maria.  It was like an instant family!  Once a Brooklynite, always a Brooklynite.  Edna, probably in her 70's, had lived in Brooklyn all her life.  She told me that she had loved once but the day before her wedding to her love, he died.  He died in a scaffolding accident.  Their apartment lovingly furnished for a life together was never lived in - she gave their furniture away to the Salvation Army.  She told me she'd never found love again.

It was like I knew her all my life.  It's like that with people from Brooklyn.  As she left, she said, "I'll see you tomorrow."  I said, "no" with a frown.  I wish I could see Edna today.  She told me I was good looking - then she exclaimed:  "But you work here."  I said, "no, I'm just visiting - I don't live in Brooklyn anymore."  She told me to talk to the boss, a typical Brooklyn guy sitting reading the newspaper on the first stool.  She was sure he'd give me a job.

Sometimes I fantasize about moving back to Brooklyn.  Yesterday, I knew I could.  I knew I could find Edna's and Lisa's and even the guy on the stool who'd welcome me back to my home.  I'm homesick.