Poem – middle

Posted on September 1, 2014 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

I hate the middle bits
the in-between
the waiting.

I like starting school
and graduation
but not all the days
of work
in between.

I like getting a tattoo
and having one
but not the middle bit,
the healing time.

I hate this waiting
for her to die
from her cancer.
Each phone call, each text
could be the one
to say
she’s passed.

Life on pause,
in the middle,
isn’t a life
at all.

But it is the middle that
gets to the end.

It is the middle that is
the reason
for the beginning.

It is the waiting that
seasons the sauce.

Babies take
nine months,
not just for them
but also for us
to get ready
in body, mind, and soul.
If nothing else to make a room
ready.

We need these transitions,
these spaces between,
these middle bits.

They aren’t in the way.

They are the way.

Waiting in the middle

Posted on August 23, 2014 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

I’m back in the waiting room at the VW dealership. I’m waiting until they get the time to work on the car. I wonder why I even make appointments, because they always seem to be delayed. Back again for a valve. Last week it was gaskets. A month ago it was the battery. The car is old, after all.

I’m reminded of the Jewish prayer for use in the bathroom, about openings and cavities, that if just one of them ruptured or were blocked, we’d die.

I’m grateful it isn’t one of my openings or cavities that is ruptured of blocked. That would require a trip to the hospital, and surgery, and a long recovery period.

I’m grateful that the dealership is just 20 minutes away and not an hour, like the lady next to me.

I think there is something about being grateful that is good, but also something about acknowledging the pain and loss. This is my day off. This is really early in the morning. I don’t quite want to spend the money on this. We’ve spent too much money recently on this car.

So maybe the answer is somewhere in the middle. Not happy, not sad. It just is the way it is. Not forcing myself to be happy and grateful, not getting stuck in sadness and loss. It is, and being happy or upset won’t make it change or go faster or cost less.

Maybe this is what Buddha meant about non attachment.

Not wasting energy on transforming the situation into something it isn’t. Accept it for what it is, and understanding that what I know is limited. The middle way, of no extremes.

Mary holding Jesus.

Posted on September 15, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

We often see Mary holding Jesus. She is either holding him as an infant or holding him as he came off the cross.

It had to be hard to be Mary.

I cannot imagine her anguish holding Jesus after his crucifixion. So much injustice. So unfair. His life did not warrant death. In the image of the Pieta, all looks lost. His ministry seems over. All that work, all those followers, and now nothing. Jesus is dead, his disciples have scattered. Nobody wants to be associated with him because that would mean death for them too.

This is us. This is us, in the middle of the story, in the middle of the night. This is us, not knowing what is going to happen next. When all looks lost, when everything is dark, when nothing makes sense, we aren’t alone.

We know the end of that story. Jesus rise from the dead. Jesus rose and continues to live. He lives on, alive, continuing to heal and teach, through us, his Body, his Church. And because he rose, we know that he will work through this story too.

When we can’t see what is next, call on Jesus. When we don’t know where to go, call on Jesus. When we don’t know what to do, call on Jesus.

Perhaps that time when all seems lost is a time to wait. There were three days in the tomb. There were forty days in the desert. It can’t all be go go go.

Waiting can be holy time.

There is a lot of time between seed and flower. There is a lot of time between grape and wine. Jesus is there in those times too.

(Written 9-14-13, 11:45 a.m, about 16 hours into a 26 hour silent retreat. I’d wandered around before bed the night before and sat for a while before a statue of the Pieta.)