“Post Secret” God

Posted on November 19, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

Remember those “Post Secret” books? You’d read them, and feel like you weren’t alone. That somebody else was having that very same experience as you.

I remember feeling very alone as an adolescent. I remember hearing lyrics in songs by the Police and Styx that gave me hope that perhaps I wasn’t as far out there as I felt. Perhaps there were other people who had an “other” sense of knowing, who were “weird” but in a good way. When I moved to Virginia for a summer, I lived with a lady who also had that sense, and she talked to me about it. It was refreshing to hear that this sense wasn’t odd or weird, but shared.

It is like having an extra sense of color – say it is color that is somewhere between pink and orange. There is a stone called “padparashca” that names that color. But say you haven’t heard of that stone. You can see and identify that color, but nobody else sees it as different. They call it pink, or salmon, or orange, but you know it is not any of those, but it is more than those.

I have that with God. I’ve always known of God. I’ve always felt God. And I’ve heard from God since I was 12.

The problem is that in our society, we don’t talk about God like this. Lilly Tomlin said “If you are talking to God, you are praying. If God is talking to you, you are crazy.” This may not be the exact quote, but you get the idea. Is God the elephant in the room?

However, we are told in our religious institutions to pray to God. We read about people who talked directly with God. Yet if we say we hear from God today, we are shunned and silenced. Perhaps this isn’t the way in all denominations, but it sure was in mine.

Hearing from God is a normal part, is a desired part, of being a human. It is our birthright. Sadly, we’ve forgotten how to make this connection.

I’ve always felt different. I keep having these experiences. I’ve already begun writing them down and sharing them here. I first started writing this post a year ago. I was trying to warm up to the idea of sharing what I now have in my “Strange but true” section.

My embarrassment might be your awakening. And that is fine with me. I don’t share what I share to build myself up. I share it because it may help others who feel like I do. I share it because I know there are other people who hear from God but have been silenced or intimidated.

I prayed at Cursillo to not cry at the final event. I had been crying happy, overwhelmed tears a lot that weekend. I didn’t want to embarrass myself or my group in the final event. But then part of praying is that you have to be willing to accept God’s answer. I said if I can’t stop crying, let it be that my tears help others. Sometimes folks need to see someone else cry to let them know it is ok to cry. They want to – but it is socially unacceptable. You cry – and it is a release for them. It as if it gives them permission to cry, to let it out. That is healing.

So I’m giving you permission to speak your truth. I’m letting myself be open so that you can be open. Let us strengthen each other with our stories, in the same way we help each other with our tears.

Life before death

Posted on November 19, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

I’ve had a lot of people say to me that if they get a bad diagnosis or their quality of life declines, they are OK with the idea of killing themselves. Conditions are discussed like ALS, or becoming so disabled that they are unable to move without assistance.

I think it is important to have some control over your life. That if life isn’t life – if it is just being alive but not living, then it is important to do something about it.

But then I got to thinking. What about all the folks who aren’t really alive now? We are often zombie-like. We wake up. We go to work. We come home. We eat. We go to sleep. Repeat. There isn’t much life there.

What if you don’t have a terminal or debilitating illness, but you just aren’t living? To be fair – we all have terminal illnesses. We are all dying. Our fear of death means we have ignored it, glossed over it, sanitized it. This is a grave mistake. Death gives life meaning. Because it will end, we need to make it count.

What about making life count now while we can?

Instead of debating about life after death, why not focus our energy on living life now? Now is what we have. Now is what we are dealing with. Life after death is an unknown. What if there is life after death and we waste it too with mindless television and bickering?

Kindergarten 11-13-13. Baby steps and baby birds.

Posted on November 18, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

I’m behind on my tutoring stories. Turns out if I don’t write about it that day, I don’t really make time to write about it because there are other things going on.

Last week I had the same three children. I took them in a different order than on the list and I need to remember to not do that again. I need to take V first and J last. If J had his way he’d monopolize my time and I wouldn’t get to the other two.

I’m only there for an hour. It is all the time I’m allowed. There is a great cut off at the end of my time. They all line up for recess. This is useful because it isn’t as if I’m just leaving, or cutting them off. They are going outside and that is important to them.

It makes me think that we adults need to have recess scheduled into our workdays.

J still uses the alphabet list as a crutch. It is like he uses it as a cheat sheet. If the alphabet is in front of him and I ask him where the N is for example, he starts at the beginning and goes all the way through to the end, missing the requested letter every time. This time he was at least aware that he missed it. This is becoming very frustrating for me. There is no way he can get any further if he does not learn his letters soon. Having to start at the beginning every time is going to take forever. I wouldn’t mind it so much if it worked, but it doesn’t.

I decided to try something different. I have letter flash cards to use, and randomly pulled out a card. I asked him to name a letter. He nailed it. I tried another one. Again, success. So in the context of all the letters in order, he is lost. Perhaps it is overwhelming. Perhaps it is too much choice.

It is kind of like teaching colors to a child who is colorblind but doesn’t know it. He can’t tell me what is wrong because he doesn’t have a sense of what is right.

We played the Dora alphabet game and he also could find the letters when they were randomly in the box, but could not tell me what letter he had landed on the board. It was a little tricky to even get him to play the game because he decided it is girl’s game. It may be, but it is a great game to teach the alphabet, colors, numbers, and how to play a game, and these are all things he needs desperately.

At some point he mentioned that he had a bath last night but not today. Five year olds are masters of random statements. I thought about it. His hair is always a little wild. I thought it was just his style, but then realized that five year olds don’t have style. Things are done to them and for them, and I’m getting the impression that he’s not getting enough care at home, like he is an afterthought.

I worked with S and he was a delight at usual. He is very easy going and is doing well on his letters. I don’t think he needs my help, but the teacher keeps putting him on my list. She seems to have really concentrated my job this year. In the past I would work with a random assortment of up to eight different kids. This year I’m getting the same three.

Then I worked with V. Life is hard for her at home. We didn’t work on much for school. What I worked on was building up her spirit. She is so sad and reserved these days. Her work, which was already behind the average, has gotten worse. So I played the Dora game with her and exclaimed about how much I look forward to playing this game with her, and that I really appreciate that she plays it with me. I mean every bit of it. I am desperate for her to stay in school, because school is the only way out of a terrible home life.

Being able to read makes the difference between depression and delight. It makes the difference between poverty and prosperity. It turns ignorance into intelligence.

Reading is the way out.

If I can encourage her to stay in school and learn how to read, she has a chance. But she has to do the work. That’s always the way. I remember my reaction with my first group of students from three years ago. One just was having the hardest time with everything, and he just didn’t seem to care. A blasé kindergartner isn’t the greatest. It is pretty sad, even. But it wasn’t up to me. I brought my energy and my enthusiasm and my skills, and he had to do the rest. If he wanted to just drift through, barely making it, that was his choice.

It is like they are all baby birds. I want them all to fly high, but there will always be some that never have the confidence or strength to leave the nest on their own.

Saying Birkat Hagomel in the middle of the night.

Posted on November 18, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

Last night was a little weird. I “heard” the words “Birkat Hagomel” repeatedly. I’ve been studying Jewish blessings and prayers, and I didn’t remember if that was the name of a prayer or some of the words in it. I wasn’t sure why those words were coming to me in the middle of the night. The words kept coming, and I got the impression that I needed to get up and say whatever prayer is associated with them. But the “voice” sounded different from what I’m used to, so I ignored it for a while. It has been a while since God has woken me up in the middle of the night. I’m out of practice.

It is really important for me to not be crazy with God. I’m bipolar. And I hear from God. Yup. I’ve tried to suppress this for a long time, but it isn’t going away. I’ve tested what I’ve “heard” and found that it always is true, so that is a good sign that what I’m hearing from is from God and not the voice of craziness. But it still scares me every time, because I know what going over the edge feels like.

It isn’t really a voice – I don’t hear words. It is as if they come into my head. So that is why I put parenthesis around “hear” and “voice” sometimes.

Last night I ignored the “voice”, thinking I’ll look up those words in the morning. I sat up for a bit, thinking about what I should do, and couldn’t find any paper in the dark to write down the words. I decided if it was important enough I’d remember it in the morning. I don’t want to get OCD about God. It is weird enough hearing from God in the middle of the night. It is weird enough hearing from God and having a mental health diagnosis. It has taken me years to reconcile those two truths.

I lay down, and it only got worse. I felt physically very bad. I had a sense of gloom. There was an ominous nature to it. I felt overwhelmed, trapped even. Was I having a heart attack? What is going on? I prayed some more. I decided to get up and figure things out. Sometimes my best clue as to what to do is whatever I feel compelled to do. It may sound strange, but I’ll pray and God will set my feet on the right path. I just have to wait until it is time.

I got up and went into my craft room. I got down my candle and lit it. I put down a pillow so I could kneel. I had the book I’ve been using to learn about Orthodox Judaism with me. It is “How to Run a Traditional Jewish Household” by Blu Greenberg. It has the prayers in Hebrew, then transliterated into the letters in English so I can sound it out, and then the translation in English. This is one more step than the siddur (prayerbook) that I have. It assumes I can sound out the Hebrew letters. I’m not there yet.

One reason I finally got up was that in the middle of all this I remembered that the “Birkat Hagomel” is a pretty serious prayer. It isn’t the words in a prayer, it is the name of a prayer. In the words of Blu Greenberg, it “is recited after having narrowly escaped danger, recovering from serious illness, or coming through safely after a long trip.” Remembering what prayer it was increased my feeling that I needed to get up and say it.

I didn’t know what I was being thankful for. I still don’t, really. But I knew I had to get up and say this prayer.

I had a feeling that I could just flip to it in the book and I’d find it. I thought that would be “testing” God, so I decided to look it up in the index. You know – if it really is a call from God, I’ll find it straight off. When I found what page it was on, I turned to it and smiled. I have two bookmarks in this book. One is where I’m reading. One just happens to be on the page for this prayer. God is always in charge.

The translation of the prayer is “Blessed are You, Lord our God, Ruler of the universe, Who grants favors to the undeserving, Who has granted me all kindness.” I’ve also seen it translated as “Blessed are You, Lord our God, Ruler of the universe, Who metes out goodness to the undeserving and Who has dealt kindly with me.”

Before it on the page is the Shehecheyanu, which is “Blessed are You, Lord our God, Ruler of the Universe, Who has granted us life and sustained us and brought us to this moment.” That seemed useful too, so I said it first.

I said the Birkat Hagomel three times, slowly, sounding out the transliteration. On the third time I tried to remember the transliteration while looking at the Hebrew letters. Also on the third time, my husband got up. I’m very self conscious about praying like this in front of anybody. It looks a little intense. It is a little intense. I don’t want to worry him. He came in just as I was finishing up and asked if everything was OK. I said it was, because I felt better. I no longer felt the crushing sense of dread that I felt before I decided to get up.

We went back into our bedroom and I thought about it for a little bit. I decided to tell him what was going on. We talked about it for a little, and I decided/felt that I needed to get up and go into the living room to sleep/pray. I’ve done this before. It isn’t that comfortable to sleep in the living room, so I can lie down and pray for a long time. Then when I’m done with praying, I’ll go to sleep.

My husband mentioned that he had been having a dream a little earlier that he felt he couldn’t wake from. He was trying to move or make noise to wake me up so that I could wake him up. This is what he does if he is having a nightmare. The interesting part is that he wasn’t having a nightmare. He just knew that he had to wake me up. This gives me the feeling that it was really important for me to get up.

I went to the living room and lay down on the futon to pray and then sleep. I didn’t know what I was going to pray about, but I just prayed. I felt the same way I feel when there is a big dangerous storm coming, and it is important to pray really hard. I don’t know what the storm is – all I knew is that I had that same feeling. Sometimes the “wind” that I hear isn’t the wind, but the winds of the Spirit.

I was reminded of the expectant feeling that the Israelites had when they were in Egypt, about to be delivered from slavery. They celebrated the first Passover in readiness, prepared to get up and run at a moment’s notice. Their preparations made it so that the Angel of Death passed over them and spared their first born. How many of us are willing to do something as crazy sounding as what they did? Paint a cross of blood over the door? Eat your meal while holding a weapon? That sounds kind of wild. But that is what God calls us to sometimes.

I felt that there is a big change happening. I felt that it was important to pray through it, like how a midwife helps a mother give birth by being there and supporting her. I’m not making the change happen. I’m watching it. I’m supporting it. I’m being conscious through it. I don’t know what the result is, but I know it is important.

It turns out that the Birkat Hagomel is also the prayer recited in the synagogue by the husband after his wife has successfully delivered a child.

I remembered a story of how a guy was compelled to get up and drive over to a friend’s house in the middle of the night. He felt he had to sit in his car and pray for his friend, but not go knock on the door. He kept thinking how odd this was, but he did it anyway. He drove home after his prayer was over. The next day he found out from his friend that he had had a terrible night and felt that he was like Jacob, wrestling with the Angel. In the middle of that time of trial, he started to feel better and stronger, and was able to finally go back to sleep. That was during the time that his friend, unbeknownst to him, was outside in his driveway praying for him.

It is this kind of story that encourages me to keep following this feeling. And it is the reason I’m sharing my story with you. I don’t know the resolution to this story yet. I don’t know if I ever will. I don’t know what God needed me to pray for. But I know that it is important to heed that call.

May you be blessed through this time of change, and may you be found awake, with your lamps ready. (Matthew 25:1-13)

Chattanooga, February 2013

Posted on November 17, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

My husband and I went to Chattanooga (my hometown) to celebrate his birthday this year.

A view from the Art District, downtown Chattanooga.

A glorious sunset. Near the Hunter Art Gallery.

The glass bridge.

The horse made of driftwood.

Now on Missionary Ridge, crossing the South Crest bridge. This was part of my regular walking path when I lived here.

Seen on the way. They were digging up the sidewalk and putting in underground pipe.

A manhole on the way.

Steps.

A survey marker.

The steps to a Civil War memorial park.

While there.

I’m a little freaked out by the apparent young age of the soldier.

A neat marker.

The neighbors of the park have a deck that is cantilevered.

And they have built a playhouse for their child. I’m a little envious of it.

A view from the park a little further on. There was a house here, and it started to slide down the side of the ridge. The city took down the house and put in a little park instead. It was my destination point, and a nice place to rest. I wanted to show it to my husband.

More moss!

Back at Bragg’s Reservation. I played here a lot as a child. I’m not happy about this new building.

There was a school here. It became a museum, and then it was abandoned. The building burned down one day. They removed all the debris over time. I played here – around and over all of this, in all the incarnations, for much of my life. This was essentially my back yard. I had heard that there was a clause in the deed to the land that said the land could only be used for educational purposes, so to see housing here is disturbing. At least the building is in keeping with the aesthetic of the place.

You really can’t ever go home again. It just isn’t the same.

Retreat photos (September 2013)

Posted on November 17, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

These were taken at the retreat I went to in September at the Sisters of Mercy convent in Nashville.

Here is the Sisters of Mercy cross that is the first thing you see when you go into your room.

Getting further into the room, there are large closets and a chest of drawers.

Panning further left

My room has my bear sitting on my bed. His name is Arthur. I think life is better with a bear.

Going all the way into the room, looking back towards the door.

Panning right. There is a nice little writing desk by the bed. Say Hello to Arthur!

A sweet picture of Mary and Jesus is over the writing desk.

The bathroom is near the door. It is just big enough.

Then, a few pictures from in the center itself.
The main chapel.

In the small chapel – our theme for the retreat. “Boat Time with Jesus” (See Luke 8:22-25)

I love how the Sisters who live there treat the small chapel as if it is their home. (It is, actually.) Here are two sets of rosaries they have left behind after their prayers.

Midway through the retreat they added a new candle. A candle is lit when there is blessed sacrament on the altar. The candle lasts about a week. It burns continuously.

On a hanging in one of the hallways. A good reminder. The quote is from Mother McAuley, the founder of the order.

The glory of fall.

Posted on November 17, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

Some beauty for you. How amazing is it that trees are at their most beautiful right before they lose their leaves?

All but the last two were taken in the park by my job, on my lunchtime walk.

These were taken last week.

Maple.

Unknown. This was more beautiful from far away.

From last year. A redbud. They have beautiful bones.

Bradford pear.

American sycamore.

Dramatic lighting.

These are at a nearby hospital where I go for a doctor’s appointment. The “shadows” of the leaves in the fall on sidewalks is always beautiful to me.

Here are a few more.

Beauty in brokenness

Posted on November 17, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

There is beauty in brokenness, in damage, in destruction.
There is something to be said for taking a second look at the discarded, the ignored, the overlooked.

These first pictures are of a single trash bin that is behind an Indian buffet in downtown Nashville. There was apparently a fire in it at one time and the paint bubbled up and then everything rusted. I love the textures and the colors that have resulted.

I encourage you to take a second look at everything, and see beauty where it is least expected.

Here is a picture of the bin from further away.

And then closer up.

One of my favorites.

This was a sign at an old abandoned water plant in my neighborhood. The structure has been torn down and a park put here instead. I love how the sign looks like a painting of the sky, yet says “NO”

Steps in Boone, NC, near a bead store and a pottery store. An art book I was reading suggested taking pictures of cracks and then drawing random figures from them.

A rusty recycle bin near my home. This is where I take my recycling.

Grandfather Mountain – the beauty of the near and the far away

Posted on November 17, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

I don’t take normal pictures when I travel. I don’t take pictures of tourist spots or of myself or relatives standing in front of those tourist spots. I take pictures of things that are really tiny and hard to see unless you get right up on them, or of things that are really far away.

These first few pictures are taken on Grandfather Mountain, NC, near where we stay. I love the idea of finding beauty just outside your door.

OK. So I like lichen and moss. I like to think of it as a beautiful tiny world unto itself.

Slightly less close up, and with bluets.

A burl on a tree. It is an infection that causes unusual growth. Some woodcarvers create bowls out of burls. In this way, the tree does most of the work.

A rock that I like, even though it doesn’t have a lot of moss or lichens on it.

Then we went up to the top of the mountain. There are some wonderful far away views of the rippling waves of mountains.

Turning left.

Further left.

Dubose

Posted on November 17, 2013 by betsybeadhead | 1 Comment

There is a conference center on Monteagle Mountain, in Tennessee. I am familiar with it because of the Episcopal church. I have been there numerous times over my life for retreats when I was in college and later as an adult. I love the Spanish-style courtyard. I remembered how much I loved it when I returned to it in November of 2012 for Cursillo. I regret that I didn’t take pictures then, because when I returned in April for a different retreat they had dug up my favorite tree in the center of the courtyard and also hacked away at two others. It was rather sad looking. The only advantage was that it made it easier to see the beautiful buildings.

I know that the conference center is open to groups other than those affiliated with the Episcopal church. This gives me hope, because I would like to go there again. The rooms aren’t great, but the ambiance is pretty amazing. The food is very comforting and filling, with a very kind and pleasant kitchen staff.

This is the first view I normally have of the courtyard. This is just off the foyer from the main entrance.

Panning right.

A little further right.

A view of the same area at a different time of day, standing out and further to the right.

Turning from that area to the left.

This is taken a little further to the side and back, and shows the corner that I was standing in to take the first pictures. I love this view, and saw it every morning on the way to breakfast, as the meal hall is in the building to the far left.

Now I’m standing where the arches are, so I’m at the end of the walkway away from the entrance to the courtyard. The dining hall is straight ahead. At the far left is the area I was standing to take the last picture.

Panning right.

Turning around, looking at the arches.

Turning further right. I love these angles.

Stepping back, and looking further right.

Now, let’s step into the arches, and turn with our left shoulder facing the entrance to the courtyard. In the fall, the maple tree at the end of this area is glorious.

Then, turning around, the entrance to the main chapel and a classroom that is above it, called “The Upper Room”.

There are a lot of little foyers on the way to the classroom and the chapel, and outside, to the left of one is this interesting sculpture. Sadly, I’ve forgotten who he is. I don’t think he is Dubose.