Thursday, January 25, 2018

The Januaries: Ordinary Time



I've had a case of The Januaries since I came back from DC.  This shouldn't surprise me.  I think it happens every year.  The adjustment between coasts, semesters, vacation and routine, plus all the New Year messaging to *make everything new* -- which can be both energizing and discontenting. 

The other day while I was driving, I flipped on "Pray as you Go" -- an app with a daily prayer I sometimes listen to.  The prayers always start the same way: "Today is (whatever date) in the (whatever week of the liturgical calendar)..."  Most days I'm hit simply by the date being spoken.  It's grounding, a calm voice naming the day of the week and date aloud.  Half of the time I don't actually know what day it is.  I even found myself staring to write 2009 on a check last week...

Clearly I need the ritual of saying the day and date aloud every morning, like Kindergartners across the nation.

So the other day I started it up: "Today is Monday, January 22nd, in the third week of Ordinary Time." 

"Ordinary Time."  I don't know a lot about the liturgical calendar, but I know this "time" comes after the holidays.  Ordinary Time.  Yes.  Since I've been back from DC Christmas, the days have oozed by, felt long, hazy, and, yes, ordinary.  I've felt ordinary.  Routine's felt ordinary.  Even the blahness has felt ordinary and isolating <>

But there, in the midst of my friction, a calm certain voice claimed "ordinary time," as if it were worth remarking upon.

This has started me thinking about the Ordinary, about who I am in the Ordinary, and what life means when it's Ordinary.  Because I don't always love "ordinary time." 

The fact is, though, that most of our hours are stitched into ordinary.  Tish Harrison Warren in Liturgy of the Ordinary says it pretty well:

So much of life, unavoidably, is just maintenance.  Things need upkeep or they fall apart.  We spend most of our days and much of our energy simply staving off inevitable entropy and decay.  This is especially true of our bodies... we have to clean them. feed them, deal with their wastes, exercise them and give them rest again and again, every day. And that's when we are well and things are running smoothly. 

How true.  Add a kid to the mix, or a dog, or anyone else we're helping care for, and all the dentist/ haircut/doctor/food shopping/lunch making/feeding/scheduling/reading to/walking etc.  -- and it's a wonder we get anything else done. 

But such is life.  It's a beautiful and messy reality that our daily work restarts every day.

I've landed on no tidy insight that's calmed my January angst.  I'm still wrestling from moment to moment.  But sort of in the same way the voice on the app locates me in Monday January 22nd, the third week of Ordinary Time, so that for a second I feel firmer ground and see myself within a framework, I've been trying to locate myself physically, too, in this ordinary time. 

When my mind starts its January spinning (which is constantly), I'm sucking in the air in front of me (it's taking at least four deep breaths to reach my diaphragm).  I'm making myself notice and name right now: Thursday, January 25, in the 3rd week of ordinary time, sitting on my couch, the girls' voices at the end of the hall, Silas chuckling at Garfield in his room, my feet cold, lips chapped, the sound of cars passing the house behind me, wind chimes clanging -- and stop there. 

This is in no way a habit yet, just an effort.  But it's my work of the Januaries, to climb into the moment and inhabit it, breathe there, and let the rest go (even if it's just for that second).

Monday, January 08, 2018

We Need Words in 2018



Thursday I am going to a metal stamping workshop to make a key chain with my "word of the year" on it.  So, I've been thinking about a word for 2018.  As my friends and I've brainstormed, we've made lots of jokes about how the f-word wouldn't be appropriate (or would it?).  Finally, I've landed on "Word."

Words are power.  They've always been, and in this climate I'm reminded more than ever of the weight they carry.  Words of the American president are arguably some of the most noted and weighty words in the world, and for the first time in my life, they've been wildly reckless and unexamined.  They continue to taunt nuclear powers, to refuse to condemn white supremacy, and to to blur together people of whole nations and religions.

Our words matter.

I've been dazzled by the women's voices rising one after another, speaking into long-held silence.  It's terrifying to tell vulnerable stories, laced with shame, to crowds who may or may not want to hear them.  It takes guts to break silence and to demand justice.  It takes guts to demand change

Our words matter.

This last year, our collective words have been loose and reckless.  We've flooded ourselves with fake news and others' opinions.  We've thrown words at other nations and erased words that marked protection, equality, freedom.  We've spoken instead of listened.

This last year, our collective words have been united and strong.  We've questioned unspoken beliefs and national identity.  We've apologized and fought for protection, equality, freedom.  We've listened and taken time to think.

Our words matter.

Maya Angelou talked about words as physical objects; the words we speak, or read, or hear, actually fill the spaces around us: they obstruct or construct; they pollute or clarify.

Our words within and without us matter.

May this be a year of true words: may we be brave enough to think beyond labels.  May we be brave enough to speak our own stories.  May we be brave enough to keep asking and listening to others' stories.  May we construct fortresses of good words -- mortar to door frame -- and bring others in.  May we keep speaking.