Shades of Gray

I wonder why it is that the older I get, the more moderate I become. I used to be so dogmatically sure about so many things and everything was so black and white. Maybe it’s my failing eyesight that paints things in shades of gray.

I will never doubt Jesus, or what He has done in my life, but I am pretty sure that He also gets sick of the Church playing politics, and of human beings acting in a selfish manner.

I often wonder if God is surprised to learn that someone has chosen His stance on political issues for Him, and if that frustrates Him, or just makes Him laugh.

I wonder if He is also mystified by the ingrown body of Christ that is so busy being “Right” (and I do mean “Right” not correct) that they don’t even know that people around them, even in their own congregation, are wondering if they can afford to pay the rent or feed their kids this month.

A church body so busy planning dinners, bigger buildings and catchy sermons that they can’t see the broken people around them. So self righteous that they can’t walk buy the homeless without displaying their disdain or thinking “those that don’t work will not eat”.

I wonder how many of these “perfect people” understand surviving divorce, drug addicted children, untimely death, or loved ones with mental illness. I wonder if they will ever understand or show compassion without judgment until they must experience these things themselves.

I wonder how many still think that the justice system is just and that prejudice is a myth and that life is fair.

I don’t know much these days. I just wonder…

I hope that I continue to mellow.  I hope I am learning to see life through the eyes of people who have walked different paths than I have. I hope I can leave judgmental attitudes behind. I hope that one day I can learn to be truly compassionate. I hope that I can do all that without losing sight of the Main thing.

Wild Movie Musings

11/2/2009

We have just returned from watching a film that I anxiously anticipated seeing.   Where the Wild Things Are was not the film I expected, maybe not even the film I wanted to see.  But it was truly amazing, profound and an unforgettable experience.

I have heard some disparage this film  as not being a kid’s film, and reviewers who could not see beyond the behavior of Max the ‘Wild Thing” or the failures of his family.   This criticism is partly valid .  It is not a kid’s film, but it is a film for children and adults who have faced painful realities of life and entered the place Where the Wild Things Are. This film does not tug, but literally tears at the heart strings.  It speaks to that part of us, that has lost our childhood innocence, as well as that part of us that will always be a child, striving to understand the why of pain.

If you have lived a perfect life without loss of control or the agony of disillusionment, this film is not  for you, but if you have ever been Max, you will “get “ this film and hold it to your heart.

It speaks to those of us who have tried to fix the unfixable, explain the unexplainable and understand that which can never truly be understood.  In the end we are all simply a child who wants to be noticed, to be heard, to be loved unconditionally, to see promises kept forever, never feel rejection and to never ever be alone; in essence to matter.

It is an amazing film and should be required watching for every child and every adult who feels the weight of somehow thinking that we can control our world, can manipulate life to be what we want, fill every empty place, or who impossibly expect ourselves to repair every broken thing that matters and make life perfect. No one can. 

But for most of us, somewhere in the world there is someone, however imperfect, who will love us unconditionally and will keep our warm dinner waiting for us. And that is a truly wonderful thing.

Poetry Day

And so my mind turns again to poetry, a passion, which I periodically manage to quash, since no one reads it anymore. But yesterday, I spent some time reading a high school lit book, and fed my soul on Dickinson, Tennyson, and other beloved authors. I think the world would be a different place, if people were so articulate still. Or passed the time thinking rather than absorbing digital images. Of course that “people” includes me, since I manage to waste enough time that way myself.
But don’t you think our psyches would be healthier for steeping ourselves in a bit of poetry now and then. I’d almost forgotten how much I love it, until by chance I visited that enchanted place yesterday.
Today, I found myself thinking higher thoughts and words assembling themselves in crowded rhyme in my cluttered head. And I wrote two poems today, the first in a very long time. I think I will put them on here too, just for fun.
The first is a reflection of conversations with military families.
The second, a rude awakening late in life to the fact that poverty, prejudice and injustice do too often walk had in hand.

The Warrior Wife’s Lament

He’s home,
But he’s not really here.
He loves,
But can no longer trust.
His pain will still be living on
when all the weapons turn to rust.

I’m here,
But he can’t let me close.
I look, but I will never see
The visons that now haunt his mind.
and build thick walls ‘tween him and me.

We’re here,
But will our love survive
the loss of innocence to death?
Or is the war so great a cost
that it will steal our love’s last breath.
D. Zahn 1/27/11

Justice?
In my white world world, where justice reigned supreme
I swallowed lies and savored them for truth.
And never knew of my mistake,
Until injustice buried youth.

For justice now has its own price,
The poor can never hope to pay.
And truth, is so bound up with lies
That wisdom cannot find its way.

God grant your color many be light,
Your smile sweet, your mind unfettered still.
Or what awaits, you cannot fight
And take your chance for good or ill.

dzahn 1/27/11

Farewell to Some Old Friends

Farewell to Some Old Friends

This one is for us ladies, no guy I know would “get it”. Today I am saying good bye to some old friends. It all started with my cancer diagnosis and the need to lose weight for my surgery. One bi-lateral mastectomy and 40 pounds later, I am not the same person. Now this has its up side. After all, I can’t regret that the cancer was found so early, or my radical choice to try and eliminate any chance of cancer recurrence, and of course, I have spent most of my adult life wishing I was thinner or trying to get that way.
But in my former life I picked up some very good friends … in the way of clothes that I will never wear again. I have spent most of my dieting life yo-yoing up and down, so I rarely got rid of the clothes that were truly my favorites, because down the line I (and they) knew I’d be back. We had a very comfortable relationship, and they were always there for me. Ready to try and hide that last 5 or 10 …or 20 pounds that had crept up once again. Accepting me no matter where I was at and working to make me look good and professional in spite of myself.
Now all that is over, Because of my surgery, I will never fit in those clothes again, even if I should gain weight. We are about to say goodbye forever, and as I strip my closet, I feel sad, so help me!
This is the dress I wore when my son got married, this is the one I wore to my ordination, this one travelled well, for grad school trips to Georgia, Tennessee, California, and Washington DC and Hawaii. My husband always liked that blue dress on me, I’m sure that black outfit made me look ten pounds thinner and this suit or jacket made me feel confident and competent whenever I wore it, not matter what the occasion.
All this null and void now, I prepare to say goodbye. Some outfits will go to good friends by special request but most will go to consignment shops, because I will have to come up with some money somehow to replace these old friends with new ones. The kicker is, I don’t like shopping anymore. I don’t want to go look for replacements, because I know before I start that I will not find these old friends in a newer, smaller size.
Why is it that we get so attached to our clothes? Perhaps it is because what we choose is an extension of our personality. And now, life has changed, and I am not the same. For better or for worse, me and my old friends must move on. Together we step into a misty unknown future. Forgive me if I shed a tear or two.

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