Hello from the Beetle,
I am waiting to meet someone, preparing to share breakfast and listen to their stories about being in a new place for their summer. Four amazing young people have traveled from Quito and Cuenca in Ecuador to spend a summer learning new skills in the restaurant, and in some ways they are like new exchange students to me, but college age rather than high school. Much more like what Ana was when she was here from Russia. All four have strong English skills, having obtained an International English Language Certificate. I am always amazed and blessed to meet individuals from another country, another culture. I learn so much about our world, but, as importantly, maybe even more so, I learn about myself. And in the coming week, I will fly to Europe, specifically back to Denmark and then to Poland, visiting Anton and his family as well as dear people I met during my journeys to Kraków. Each of them have blessed my life, teaching me so much about things I would have never imagined.
During the last few weeks, much of my time has been spent reconsidering what I do, where and how to do it, and facing again the consequences of being an incredibly premature birth in the 1950s. It would be easy to lament the health struggles (many of them precursors to what exploded in my 20s and have been a constant companion since) that I have experienced beginning from preschool). Back then, no one expected what were seeming nuisances were tell-tale signs of my eventual Crohn’s Disease and since that initial struggle in early 1984 now much more. Lamentation has its place, but when pondering my own circumstances, I seldom find it helpful. I remember studying Psalms in seminary and spending particular time on the Psalms of Lament. In the midst of the struggle there is always a time to give thanks for the love of God. I am feeling that at this point very poignantly. As many know I have battled a variety of health issues since I graduated from Dana, and there have been some dark moments, but in truth Psalmic fashion, there has always been a light in the midst of that darkness. Between amazing doctors, Gastroenterologists, Oncologists, Homeopaths, RNs, Enterostomal Therapists, family, and friends, I have never been alone. There is always a freedom in the midst of the chaos that illness can create. There is always the right of the person to respond in a manner they find most helpful. From the very first time I learned that I had an inflammatory bowel disease until now, I have refused to let it control my life. Certainly there were times it controlled more than I wished, but I still had agency. The exigence of any situation is there if we decide to use it, to understand it, to manage it. We can listen as well as we hear, if we allow. Certainly there are times we will disagree with the path someone chooses, there are things we might do differently, but how one decides to battle is their own to make, a path on which to proceed. What we can do is assist in prayer, in care, and through little acts of kindness.
I remember when I was a parish pastor this was one of the most difficult times for families. To allow a lucid person to make their own health decision is both appropriate and charitable, but, often, it is not an easy thing to do. It is much like what happens when someone is at the end of their life. Too many times we are not ready to let them go, but that is through our own needs or unfinished business. More simply, and most definitely more difficult to hear, it is our own selfishness. We still have things we need to do because of that person. One of the more selfless things we can do is offer permission to leave this life. I am a firm believer there is a quality to life, and when life goes below that threshold, and that place is as unique as we are as individuals, death can become compassionate. Even in the last 24 hours, I had a chat with someone about how God fits into all of what we do. As noted recently, my own faith process has been anything but what I expected. I find myself regularly questioning the hows and whys, wondering what power or possibilities I have in the midst of daily existence. Often we are controlled by external factors, and that is always the case to some extent, but to what degree do we have agency? Who decides the exigence we have in any given circumstance? Is it really there? Does it ebb and flow like the tide I imagined when I was standing on the shore of the strait between Denmark and Sweden over the weekend? Perhaps that is where my title for this post is most apparent . . . are most things left to chance or is the agency we have come mostly through avoidance, ignoring the things we wish not to deal with or manage? Perhaps we have been conditioned to avoid that which is unpleasant, much like a terrible tasting medicine that chokes us with its terrible taste. And yet, there is the possibility of gaining strength when we walk through those things that we would much rather keep at arms length, circumvent. As I ponder things I wonder if I am being selfish, wishing to carry out the plans I have. As I imagine the reality of a body that has fought so many battles, many before I even knew what was happening, I am not sure if all of it has made me stronger or merely tired me out. Perhaps there is some of both.
As I work toward returning to building the bus on a full-time basis again soon (after more of a hiatus than planned), and in many ways there was nothing more I could do as the doors are being completed, I still wish I could simply have it all done. There is a lot to manage yet, and with some of my new realities, I am feeling a bit overwhelmed. I am not sure the best way forward. Just wanting to do what was originally planned is certainly the easiest way. And listening to the professionals, it seems there is a good plan forward that will allow most of that. It is always amazing, regardless how much one plans for contingencies, there are always unexpected (or maybe the less than totally expected) possibilities that can stump us. This gets me back to when it is truly unexpected or simply avoided . . . wished away if you will. While speaking with Anton’s father this past week (I have been pondering this blog for a while, so I am now in Denmark, with trips to Poland and Spain still to come.), he offered a wise response in our conversation using the prepositions of “from” or “with.” It was an incredible insight I had not expected.
The last few days have been a bit of a world wind as I am working to manage a multitude of issues on both sides of the pond. I do think I am on top of things for the most part. Some serious organization of both personal and business issues as well as some immediate and long term planning. What I have learned about myself is I seem to be Dickens’s Tale of Two Cities at times. The oxymoronic ability to be both on top of things and seemingly clueless is the proverbial blessing and curse. I remember being told of a particular diagnosis of this had me quite angry at one point, and perhaps more frightened and embarrassed. Even though the psychologist assured me that I was very capable. My response at that time was to tell her to f-off. Now 20 years later, I might finally be willing to believe it is possible. Some of it comes out as OCD, which I believe I can handle most of the time. Some of it comes out as feeling inadequate and under-performing, not living up to my standards (and they are probably self-imposed). I wonder if being retired will change those expectations? I am really not sure. So much to imagine and ponder; so much to realize and reflect upon. Life has never been boring, that is for sure. One of my favorite movies is Last of the Mohicans. This version of the theme is haunting, but life is quite honestly that.
Thanks to those who have reached out and as always thanks for reading.
Michael
thewritingprofessor55 