“Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” Hebrews 11:1
Belief and faith are words that tend to be used interchangeably in many religious circles, but I think of them differently. Belief is the holding of a mental proposition to be true. Faith is trusting in something or someone even without proof.
For me, belief comes from the head. Faith comes from the heart.
I made an interesting observation today about expectations.
I was part of a conversation this afternoon with one of the seminarians where I work. He’s in the process of doing his “student pastoring” at a church outside of town, and he was reporting that it had been a rather intense few weeks. Someone had recently outed him (as gay) at the church, and there was a lot of uncertainty about how people would react to knowing this about him at that particular church. It turns out things have (so far anyway) gone very well, and he even took his boyfriend with him to a church function last weekend.
While I was very encouraged to hear his story, the thing that surprised me is that I did not in any way let on to him that I am also gay. I stayed quite firmly in the closet throughout the conversation despite the fact that he was openly out of his as he shared his story.
“Too much reading is just frustrated writing.” ~Samantha Bennett
The quote above arrived in an email this morning. It was an ironic quote to read on a day that I dedicated to reading. I read two (borrowed) books in their entirety, finished off the last third or so of another book, and am working on a fourth book. All in all, a very delightful way to spend the day!
While I have experienced times when my reading is “frustrated writing,” today’s reading was different. Sometimes reading becomes fuel for my writing. (It’s no coincidence that I sometimes refer to “devouring” books. It’s much like food for the mind!)
I know from life coaching just how powerful questions can be. The right question from a coach is often key to a client discovering their own answer to a situation by creating the space for the client to see the situation from a different angle in some way. When I went through my coaching training, we studied the art of powerful questions and practiced them on each other in coaching practicums. The idea of how important questions can be is not new news to me.
And yet, someone asked me a question last week—simply out of curiosity, without any aims at changing my life in any way—and I’ve been floored by the fact that I cannot get this question and the implications of my answer out of my mind.
I’ve always been fascinated by the stories friends tell of the odd food cravings they got while pregnant. These cravings may be for things that they normally don’t enjoy or for unusual food pairings (like pickles and ice cream) or even for things that they would not normally considering eating (like the story I heard of someone craving dirt while pregnant).
I am fascinated by the stories partly because I have never been pregnant, so I have never experienced such cravings. But I am also fascinated by the specificity of the cravings these friends report. I am well familiar with that sharp edge of craving, but my cravings are too amorphous to identify and name. I hear these stories of specific craving with a bit of envy, wondering what it would be like to know with such certainty what it was that I desired.
“Genius develops in quiet places, character out in the full current of human life.” ~Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
I work best in quiet places, particularly if I am writing or doing creative work. People, noise, social media, and often even music are distractions that keep me from focusing the way I need to in order to dig deep enough to find what I am trying to say or to create. So while I have long recognized the value of relationships and human contact for emotional health, I have focused on increasing the degree of solitude when it comes to my creative life.
Building in more opportunities for solitude has indeed helped, and it gives me the space and energy I need in order to increase my creative work. I’ve seen positive results from this approach over the last few months, but I’m also realizing the picture is incomplete.
“Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: “What! You too? I thought I was the only one.” ~C.S. Lewis
I spent some time with a newer friend today and had the pleasure of discovering several things that we share in common, from interests, to authors we enjoy, to patterns of reacting, to writing styles. It reminded me of just how powerful it is to discover a point of commonality with another person, a discovery that becomes more powerful the more rare the point of commonality is.
These moments of connection remind us that we are not alone. They bring reassurance that all of our quirks fall within the natural variety that makes up the human race, and that we are not broken or defective for being as we are. They bring the pleasure of finding someone to share our interests, hobbies, and activities with who will value them as we do. These moments whisper the reassurance that we belong to those corners of our souls that fear that we are forever on the outside.
I caught myself thinking this the other day. I recognize it as a standard bit of my usual self-talk, but I really heard it for the first time recently. Where on earth did a thought like this come from in the first place? How did the goodness of life become a source of discomfort for me?
It’s book review time again! Tonight I want to write about Jill Bolte Taylor’s book My Stroke of Insight: A Brain Scientist’s Personal Journey. This book has been on my “to be read” list for several years now, but I just got around to reading it a few weeks ago. It’s one of those books that I borrowed from the library but liked it so much that I turned around and bought a copy of my own.
This book is the story of a neuroanatomy researcher who has a stroke at the age of 37. It describes her experience as she was having the stroke, the story of her recovery and the challenges that entailed, and how her life is different now because of all that she learned during this process. I learned so much on so many levels during the reading of this book.
“There comes a point in life when you get tired of feeling, doing and looking bad. Take responsibility for what ails you. Find out what you are doing that is not good for you and stop.” ~Iyanla Vanzant
I’ve worked hard the past few years in learning to be a better observer of myself and my patterns. I’ve gradually learned to increase my ability to watch myself through detached and curious eyes even as I go about my daily life. I’m learning to recognize my patterns not just after they have run their course but sometimes now even in the midst of them.
Some of the easier ones I’ve already managed to shift enough to create healthier patterns in place of the ones that were no longer serving me. Others, however, are more deeply ingrained and often feel like deep holes in the road that I fall into time and time again without ever seeming to learn my lesson.