Category: Hope

New Year Reflections

Posted in Friendship, HopeLeave a comment

Starting a new year brings me such excitement and exhilaration. So often people get caught up in the rush of starting over, but I’m far more intrigued by the notion of a refresh. It feels gentler, somehow, less rushed and more intentional. I rarely like the idea of starting over. Notions of being ‘born again’ come to mind with this phrase and that really makes me shudder. Starting over seems to imply that you’re neglecting all the previous years of mistakes and mishaps just so you can feel like you have a clean slate. I hate to break it to you, but none of us have a clean slate. We’ve all got baggage we’re carrying with us into the new year, whether we want to admit it or not. We’ve all got a past that creeps up and haunts us from time to time. We can’t run from our problems, as much as most of us would love that.

The important thing, though, is how I’m responding to that baggage. Am I gentling going to set it down, pick out the bits and bobs and try to start saying good-bye to them? Or am I going to toss it down, run to my flight and fly off into the new year only to find that my baggage somehow ended up in the same destination I did? It’s rare that you can just forget your baggage and move on. Usually, it needs some attention. It needs some tender loving and care. It needs to be told that it’s not forgotten, but that it’s time to not be dragging around so much stuff. It needs a gentle reminder that more baggage will come along the journey and you simply don’t have room for it anymore.

That’s what I’m attempting to do this year. A couple events happened at the beginning of the year already that have triggered quite a bit of self-reflection. I have come to find that I’m not nearly the same person I was in college. So much of college was wrapped in my insecurities and the desire for everyone to know me and like me (which has not totally gone away). I thought I had friends galore. What I’m coming to find about myself now is that I don’t make loads of friends everywhere I go like I used to. I hold people at an arm’s length, and I do this for a number of reasons. I already have friends who are my life-long friends. Why do I need more?! As a gay man, it’s not easy for me to trust people. Not just a gay man, but a gay Christian man, I find the scope of people who will understand me narrows considerably. And call it cowardice or prudence, or both, but I am less willing to put myself out there than when I was a teen and in my early twenties and trust that people will respond with kindness and reciprocity.

We’re starting to read Daring Greatly by Brene Brown in our church Life Group, and I can already tell I’m going to hate it, but it might be good for me. We talked vulnerability to death in college and I’m interested to revisit vulnerability in lieu of my latest self-reflections. I’m scared that it might mean some difficult work on my part. And I’m tempted to say, “No thanks,” and move on. But usually good writing and discussion with close friends works magic on me, so we’ll see.

With all that said, I’m just trying to put one foot in front of the other this year. I’m not trying anything new or trendy. I’m trying to do my old stuff, but with a little more attention and intention. If I can pay attention to people and to myself, I can hopefully be more intentional with both my words and actions. And that can make all the difference. Here’s to a new year and the same old me just trying to make myself and the world better with thoughtfulness and introspection.

Diabetes, Motherhood, and a New Decade

Posted in Beauty, Faith, Hope3 Comments

Written by Amelia Buschena

So first I need to say, I don’t usually put my writing out there for the world to see. Aside from the people who read my newsletter article at the church I serve, writing is a personal thing. I do this for a few reasons. It’s vulnerable to share your experiences and opinions. It’s risky to put something out into the world that can be misunderstood and not discussed as well in person. And frankly, there are a lot of times I see people engage in written dialogue with comments and thoughts that aren’t very kind or life-giving. What we say matters. How we say it matters, too. I’m comfortable with verbally expressing myself in a compassionate and thoughtful way, but I leave writing to others. I thought I’d give it a try, though. I’m trying to do 30 new things before I turn 30 this year and I’ve never written a blog post. This piece is my 30th thing on my list. Thanks Tim for helping me achieve my goals! These are just some musings, mostly for myself, but something I thought I should share for once. So here we go…
Body and spirituality are so complex. How do you love your body when you have a chronic or temporary illness making you feel as though your body is broken or against you? I’ve been asking that for four years now.
Or, what do you do if you look in the mirror and cannot look at yourself with love and compassion, only judgment and dislike? What if you’ve lived in a body that doesn’t feel like it belongs to you the way it’s put together and you know you’re meant to be someone else?
Body and spirituality are so complex. Complex because they are connected, not separate.
How do we love our bodies? Why should we? What does that have to do with our spiritual health and our holistic health? I think everything!

Which is both frustrating and beautiful; like most of life a yes/and, a dualistic reality of pain and joy woven intricately together deeply touching our cores.
It can be easy for me to reflect on the past four years since my diagnosis as a type 1 diabetic (the end to my 20’s) and think of how my body has carried me in spite of and along with my diabetes through new career starts, moves, continued growth and living, and oh yeah, the big one, bringing life into the world. I mean MY BODY made, grew, and delivered a human into this crazy and beautiful world. A thrilling and risky adventure not to be taken lightly. It should (bleh, who likes the word should?!) be easy to see how my body is still strong, capable, and alive. But the truth is, it’s often easier to think of how it doesn’t work. How in the past four years I’ve said no to some opportunities for the good of my health, or how I often wake up countless times each night to make sure my blood sugar isn’t dangerously high or low. It’s how for four years now every time I go to sleep at night I think for a moment about how I might not wake up tomorrow if my blood sugar drops too low and I don’t realize it. How I can’t leave the house without a bag of medical equipment and back-up plans and electronic devices attached to my body that keep me alive. Or how I had to let my newborn cry for a few extra minutes at times when I was home alone with her because to pick her up during a low blood sugar would have been putting her in danger. I could keep going with this list, but I don’t like to dwell on it.
The reality is that it’s easy for me to sit and think of the ways it feels like my own body no longer likes me or works with me each and every day. It’s easy to sit and worry about what could happen if my disease ever really gets out of control, or how exhausting it is to constantly need to have control over it every second of every day. To say I feel betrayed by myself is an understatement. And I’m lucky, I haven’t lived with this since I was 2, 3, or 14. I have an incredible support system and doctors that I can access and afford. I’m grateful for those scar-inducing medical devices placed all over my body, ticking and continuously pumping insulin into my body. But even still, some days it feels like I’m losing to my own body, like we’re at odds rather than partners in crime through this adventure called life.
And here is where my spirituality begins to be affected. Because I am, like you reading this, a whole person created by God, not only body, not only spirit, not only mind, but all. When one part of a machine isn’t working it slowly starts to consume the function of the others. So how do I reclaim a partnership with my body? One that is real, connected and deeply rooted to the way my body is now, and how my mind and spirituality have changed because of it. Also one that seeks to grow and change and be restored in unexpected ways. These questions make me feel emotional, they make me want to cry and yell all at the same time, because I know I need to ask them, but the work is painful. I was reading some works by Julian of Norwich and reflections on her works from a prayer book I have. They’re the kind of words that when I read them hit me like a knife to the chest, both profoundly maddening and intensely healing. The kind of words I instantly knew I needed to hear but sort of didn’t want to. You know the kind, right?
First, here’s what mystic Julian said, “And when our soul is breathed into our body, at which time we are made sensual, at once mercy and grace begin to work, having care of us and protecting us with pity and love, in which operation the Holy Spirit forms in our faith the hope that we shall return up above to our substance, into the power of Christ, increased and fulfilled through the Holy Spirit. So I understood that our sensuality is founded in nature, in mercy and in grace, and this foundation enables us to receive gifts which lead us to endless life. For I saw very surely that our substance is in God, and I also saw that God is in our sensuality, for in the same instant and place in which our soul is made sensual, in that same instant and place exists the city of God, ordained for him from without beginning. He comes into this city and will never depart form it, for God is never out of the soul, in which he will dwell blessedly without end.” (Showings, pp.286-287)

Maybe go ahead and read that again before you keep reading any of my words, and feel free to change Julian’s language for God to She or They if you prefer. Ok, did you do it? Great! Now, there is so much there but what I love most is her use of the word “sensual,” that our bodies being enabled and life-breathed with senses, sight, touch, taste, sound, smell are intertwined with our breathed-spirits in a way that brings us life here and now as well as in what is to come. To Julian our bodies are not just something that is in the way of our spirit, not something broken or needing to be done away with, they are imperative to our whole selves as a created and loved being. It is through our body and our “sensuality” that we experience, become gifted, and grow in our Christ-likeness. Pow! Did you feel that punch to the gut? I did because I LOVE this, but my reality is still that my body doesn’t always feel like it fits into this beautiful description. And I’m sure many of you agree with me on that. None the less, it is a powerful and poetic reminder of the truth of our complexly connected body and spirit; I’m going to throw mind in there again, too.

Alright, we’re getting somewhere, but stick with me through one more reading. A section of the reflection in the prayer book then reads like this following Julian’s words:
“Spirituality requires that we care for our body as well as our spirit. What does that imply? At least that we do nothing that is obviously harmful to our body and that we do all we can to cherish this temple of the Holy Spirit. Adequate rest, a nourishing diet, a routine exercise, and management of stress are essential to a healthy body and spirit.
Much medieval evidence shows a link between health of body and that of spirit. Many great Mystics in the Christian tradition as well as in Eastern religions have recognized the link between body and spirit. Fasting, yoga, dance, gesturing, and prayer postures reflect the deep weavings of body and spirit in our journey toward the Center whom we call God.

The object of caring for our body and our spirit is to become strengthened, energized, and empowered to care for others – our neighbors here and throughout the world. But loving the body and sound of other people means that we first love our own body and soul. We are a work of God’s art. Indeed, we are created in God’s own image (Genesis 1:26)”

This reading gives warmth and light to my heart but also leads me to feeling intensely challenged and asking, “Is this for me? Even me and my broken body?” But I’m also feeling encouraged and enlivened and I love how this acknowledges those of other religions and our shared drive to unite our bodies and our spirits while finding God. This reminds me to love myself as I am, not if and when I’m healed, a very unlikely proposition. It reminds me to take something I’ve been separating, all while hoping the machine would just keep barley plugging along, and reunite so as to whole.
In about a month I’m turning 30. In my 30 years on this earth I have had amazing experiences, deep and bright friendships, lots of years studying things I’m passionate about, 5.5 years of marriage, 1.6 years of being a mother, 2.5 years as a pastor to a phenomenal congregation, and 4 years as a Type 1 diabetic (yes, happy birthday to me when I was diagnosed 4 years ago just weeks after my birthday). And I’m proud of my body for all of the things it’s done before and after T1D. I didn’t expect to reflect so deeply on what it means to be turning 30 and entering a new decade, or that I would need to reclaim my love and confidence in my body as I entered this new era. Or that in order to reclaim my spirituality I would need to start with my body. But here I am; desperately hoping, tirelessly working, and deeply certain I need my 30s to be about loving and living in my body not despite of my T1D but with it. I will reclaim my spirituality and mind by reclaiming my relationship with my body because life is too short and important to waste my 30s being angry at my body, being sorrowful over its circumstances; although I’m sure that will still happen from time to time. And when that’s where you are with your body for whatever reason, we can totally throw a little pity party over a cup of tea before we get up off the ground and begin again.

So here are some things I’m hoping to do:

  • Spend some time connecting with my body by being fully aware of my senses. Whether through meditation or simply pausing to notice things during the day, I want to cultivate awareness of my senses and how amazing my body truly is.
  • Begin affirming my body and self – in front of a mirror! For example, I have medical scars and stretch marks from childbearing but they are beautiful and strong. I am loveable and I can love others (I stole those last words from the same prayer book and love them!). Or, I have beautiful eyes that see the world around me. I am loveable and I can love others. You get the idea.
  • Eat, move, live, laugh, and love like my body and spirit are involved in every second of everything. This is kind of broad and can look like a lot of things, but I’m hoping it leads me to a more holistic approach to self-care not just focused disease-control.
  • Let other people’s words and acts of love and affirmation in and use them as fuel for my whole being.
  • Let myself have a moment or a day when I need it to feel my feelings about my body and then love on it anyways, and keep living in it.

If I can begin living into these in my upcoming decade I think it’s going to be a pretty good one. I know I’ve rambled and I’ve only touched on the surface of this topic, limiting it often to my story and experience, but there is so much at stake about seeing our bodies and spirits as one and loving them both. So I just want to say if you’re struggling with your body image, an illness, an injury, feeling trapped in a body you don’t feel expresses who you are, or anything else I’ve left out, if these things are affecting your whole self, your mind and spirit too, know this: You are loved exactly as you are, and you are not alone. Also know that there are places we can reach out to for help. Call a trusted pastor or friend, and if they alone don’t have the tools needed to walk with you reach out to a professional counselor. Pastors and friends are great but there are psychologists, personal trainers, yoga instructors, health coaches and more out there who are trained to help us live our best lives; mind, body, and spirit.

Remind me to reach out when I need it, too. So from this almost 30-year-old to all of you, may our bodies, minds, and spirits be blessed, may they be entwined together, may the joy and sorrow be like a beautiful melody. As for me and my new decade all I can say, courtesy of Doctor Who and meaning French for ‘let’s go’, is…Allons-y!!

Death on a Friday

Posted in Faith, Grace, Grief, Hope, LoveLeave a comment

Today is known by most Christians as Good Friday. I’m still not sure what’s so good about it. We commemorate Jesus’ death on this day. At this point, we’ve spent the last forty days journeying to the cross. This is the moment towards which we’ve been walking. All this talk about suffering and pain and death leads to this one moment: the death of our God. It seems like the culmination of the last forty days ends in this. It ends with the death of all the Good things we thought were going to come our way. It ends with the death of the One who can bring all Good things into existence, breathe them in our direction, grow new things in the universe. God dying is the most infinite form of death I can imagine. And the most terrifying.

I have put my trust into a God that can be killed by human hands. This God can be tortured and humiliated by people just like me. The love and persistence of a God who bears the symbol of a political death is the God I have chosen to follow. This can seem like a mistake at times, like I have made a mistake by following One so foolish. And yet it will seem foolish in two more days when we celebrate a God who rises from the dead. And we celebrate this on April Fool’s this year. I can think of no better way than to experience my faith. Lead me into the time of Lent with Valentine’s day. How romantic. How dreadfully poetic. And then lead me out of Lent and death with a fool’s day. This might be the best church calendar year ever.

Since today is Good Friday (or rather Bad Friday or Sad Friday), I’ve been thinking about death this week. It’s been particularly easy with all the rain and cloudy days we’ve been having. Go figure that the sun is out today. The weather is not making it easy to participate in the somber nature of today. I’m holding death and life in tension today, trying to make sense of both of them, how they fit together, side by side. But I’m also thinking specifically of death. I’m thinking about Trayvon Martin today. I’m thinking about Sandra Bland. I’m thinking about the seven transgender people killed this year already, about Syrian orphans being denied refugee status, about the death and injustice in the world. And this is where God stands next to us shouting “How long? How long will injustice prevail? How long before we stop killing black and brown bodies? How long will queer people still be rejected and trampled upon? When will refugees be welcomed with open arms? When will the violence and hatred end? When will we see the humanity in each and every individual?”

Today is the day that God says, “Me too.”

And that is something in which I can rest.

This is something I can trust.

This is a God I can follow.

A God who says, “Me too” is a God worth my time, worth my effort, worth my attention. This God is One whom I can wrestle with, stand side by side with, and raise my fist against injustice with.

And for this reason, I will mourn God’s death today. I will mourn it tomorrow. And I will sit in the death and sorrow of these two days, waiting for Easter to come. I will wait for God to wake from the grave and say, “Me too, honey. Me too.” And I will be relieved.

In Favor of Hope

Posted in Faith, HopeLeave a comment

More than ever, 2017 is turning into the year we need hope, a deep, soul-quenching, spacious hope. We, my fellow U.S. Americans, need a hope that can craft us into a new people. We need a hope that is bigger than us, that encompasses all of us and makes us see each other anew. So often, we divide people and issues into two different categories. We like our dichotomies: republican or democrat, conservative or liberal, good or bad. I understand it is easier for our brain if we make categories, if we strip people down into their different boxes. Evolutionarily, it makes sense for us to categorize things in our minds. It is what has helped humanity to survive. But not all categories are helpful. Some divide us, break us apart, and incite hatred and violence. They are not conducive to the flourishing into which God has invited us. In order to flourish, we must find a hope that helps us believe that people are more than their categories, more than the boxes our brains put them in to make sense of the world. We need to learn to see the world in a new way, learn to talk about the world in a new way. This way is a less divided way, a less us/them way, a less antagonistic way of interacting with the world.

Learning how to talk in a new way is hard. We learn from a young age to talk about liberals in a tone of disdain or to talk condescendingly about conservatives. Or we grow to do this, distancing ourselves from our childhood. Instead of condescension and disdain, we need curiosity. We need to hear each other out with curiosity in our questions, an openness to what the other person has to say. We all have so many pre-formed opinions and we’re just jumping at the bit to share them, of which I am definitely guilty. If we could all clear our minds when listening to another human and respond with words of “I hear you” and “I’m trying to understand what you’re saying” instead of “but” and “you’re crazy!” Sometimes changing our words and our posture towards people starts with inner work. It begins with changing our mindsets and our attitudes towards people before we engage with them. And other times it means we change our actions and words and hope that our beliefs and opinions follow suit.

We need a hope that brings conversation to hard issues on which we cannot seem to find common ground. We need a hope that allows us to see the common humanity we all share. Even moreso, we need a hope that allows us to celebrate our differences, not negate them or try to hide them. Hope is a deep belief and posture towards the world that says, “We can make things better, if only we can tell the truth first.” Telling the truth involves not just admitting our differences, but the truth in how we have played a part in the oppression of our fellow people. It means that as a white, cis, male, I have to admit that I stand in a place of privilege above people of color, trans people, and women. It means that if I’m not navigating the difficult waters of my own privilege, of when it’s okay for me to offer my two cents (which I’m continually realizing is less and less), I’m not being honest. If I’m not attempting to admit that privilege has a part in my success and in my attitude toward life, I’m not being honest. And if I can’t be honest, I cannot grow in hope. I cannot hope for better if I do not first recognize the ways in which the world (me included) isn’t the way it should be. It means that I see black people being incarcerated at a far higher rate than white people, and I also see that black people are not more violent than white people.  It means that I see queer people being bullied or legally denied the same rights straight people have. I see the laws of our nation favoring white people, favoring straight people, favoring men, favoring wealthy people. In this honesty, I find that I am dissatisfied with the way things are. This inspires hope inside me. I see things that are not as they should be, and hope grows.

And when our hope grows, we learn that we need to celebrate our differences. We cannot be “colorblind” anymore because we have seen that the world is not colorblind. How do we combat an issue? Certainly not by refusing to see it anymore. We confront it head on, admit the difference in skin color, admit the difference in culture, admit the difference in sexual orientation, admit the difference in gender, and then we throw the biggest party of our life! We celebrate our different ways of seeing the world, of interacting with each other, of participating in joy and sorrow and beauty. We work towards laws that benefit and lift up those who are oppressed so that we may all benefit. We do the hard work that hope entails. Hope is not a head-in-the-clouds positivity. Rather, it is a deep abiding sense that our world ought to be better and we believe the best in the world and we work, work, work to bring our hope into reality. We enlist help from others or rather, maybe more importantly, we join others who are already doing this hard work. We find people and organizations that are working to celebrate differences and bring people together. We participate in the realization of hope.

What do you hope for this year? How are you planning to participate in the bringing about of your hope? I’d love to hear from you about your hopes and dreams for yourself, for our country, for our world. The more imagining and dreaming we do together, the more we’re motivated and inspired to do the hard work of bringing our hope to life.