dual personalities

Category: Quotes

No ironic laughter

by chuckofish

“Have no anxiety about anything,” Paul writes to the Philippians. In one sense it is like telling a woman with a bad head cold not to sniffle and sneeze so much or a lame man to stop dragging his feet. Or maybe it is more like telling a wino to lay off the booze or a compulsive gambler to stay away from the track.

Is anxiety a disease or an addiction? Perhaps it is something of both. Partly, perhaps, because you can’t help it, and partly because for some dark reason you choose not to help it, you torment yourself with detailed visions of the worst that can possibly happen. The nagging headache turns out to be a malignant brain tumor. When your teenage son fails to get off the plane you’ve gone to meet, you see his picture being tacked up in the post office among the missing and his disappearance never accounted for. As the latest mid-East crisis boils, you wait for the TV game show to be interrupted by a special bulletin to the effect that major cities all over the country are being evacuated in anticipation of nuclear attack. If Woody Allen were to play your part on the screen, you would roll in the aisles with the rest of them, but you’re not so much as cracking a smile at the screen inside your own head.

Does the terrible fear of disaster conceal an even more terrible hankering for it? Do the accelerated pulse and the knot in the stomach mean that, beneath whatever their immediate cause, you are acting out some ancient and unresolved drama of childhood? Since the worst things that happen are apt to be the things you don’t see coming, do you think there is a kind of magic whereby, if you only can see them coming, you will be able somehow to prevent them from happening? Who knows the answer? In addition to Novocain and indoor plumbing, one of the few advantages of living in the twentieth century is the existence of psychotherapists, and if you can locate a good one, maybe one day you will manage to dig up an answer that helps.

But answer or no answer, the worst things will happen at last even so. “All life is suffering” says the first and truest of the Buddha’s Four Noble Truths, by which he means that sorrow, loss, death await us all and everybody we love. Yet “the Lord is at hand. Have no anxiety about anything,” Paul writes, who was evidently in prison at the time and with good reason to be anxious about everything, “but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God.”

He does not deny that the worst things will happen finally to all of us, as indeed he must have had a strong suspicion they were soon to happen to him. He does not try to minimize them. He does not try to explain them away as God’s will or God’s judgment or God’s method of testing our spiritual fiber. He simply tells the Philippians that in spite of them-even in the thick of them-they are to keep in constant touch with the One who unimaginably transcends the worst things as he also unimaginably transcends the best.

“In everything,” Paul says, they are to keep on praying. Come Hell or high water, they are to keep on asking, keep on thanking, above all keep on making themselves known. He does not promise them that as a result they will be delivered from the worst things any more than Jesus himself was delivered from them. What he promises them instead is that “the peace of God, which passes all understanding, will keep your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”

The worst things will surely happen no matter what-that is to be understood-but beyond all our power to understand, he writes, we will have peace both in heart and in mind. We are as sure to be in trouble as the sparks fly upward, but we will also be “in Christ,” as he puts it. Ultimately not even sorrow, loss, death can get at us there.

That is the sense in which he dares say without risk of occasioning ironic laughter, “Have no anxiety about anything.” Or, as he puts it a few lines earlier, “Rejoice in the Lord always. Again I will say, Rejoice!”

(Philippians: 4:4-7)

–Frederick Buechner, Whistling in the Dark

I had another post ready to go last night, but I decided, after thinking about it, that it wasn’t ready to go quite yet. So Fred Buechner to the rescue. He’s just the best.

Have a good Wednesday and have no anxiety about anything.

A prayer for today

by chuckofish

O God:

Give me strength to live another day;
Let me not turn coward before its difficulties
or prove recreant to its duties;

Let me not lose faith in other people;
Keep me sweet and sound of heart, in spite of
ingratitude, treachery, or meanness;
Preserve me from minding little stings or
giving them;

Help me to keep my heart clean, and to live so
honestly and fearlessly that no outward failure
can dishearten me or take away the joy of
conscious integrity;

Open wide the eyes of my soul that I may see
good in all things;

Grant me this day some new vision of thy truth;
Inspire me with the spirit of joy and gladness;

And make me the cup of strength to suffering
souls; in the name of the strong Deliverer,
our only Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

–Phillips Brooks

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The Episcopal Church remembers Phillips Brooks, priest and bishop, annually on January 23, the anniversary of his death. He is buried in Mount Auburn Cemetery–the first “garden cemetery” in America–in Cambridge, Massachusetts.

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Edwin Booth is buried there too, as is Louis Agassiz, geologist, zoologist; Mary Baker Eddy, “discoverer of the principles of Christian Science”; Fannie Farmer, who wrote the cook­book; Isabella Stewart Gardner, whose home is a museum now; Oliver Wendell Holmes, essayist; Winslow Homer, painter, Julia Ward Howe, who wrote the words to “The Battle Hymn of the Republic”; Henry Wadsworth Longfellow…and many more.

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Boston is not high on my places to visit, but who knows? I would like to take a look at this cemetery.

Birthday girls

by chuckofish

Today is our mother’s birthday. She would have been 92! It seems impossible that she has been gone thirty years. Well, gone, but certainly not forgotten.

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“There is so little to remember of anyone – an anecdote, a conversation at a table. But every memory is turned over and over again, every word, however chance, written in the heart in the hope that memory will fulfill itself, and become flesh, and that the wanderers will find a way home, and the perished, whose lack we always feel, will step through the door finally and stroke our hair with dreaming habitual fondness not having meant to keep us waiting long.”

–Marilynne Robinson, Housekeeping

This year I will turn the age our mother was when she died. It is a strange feeling.

I believe in life, which one day each of us shall lose. When we are young we think we won’t, that we are different. As a child I thought that I would never grow up, that I could will it so. And then I realized, quite recently, that I had crossed some line, unconsciously cloaked in the truth of my chronology. How did we get so damn old?

–Patti Smith, M Train 

Yes, indeed, how did we get so damn old?

I leaned forward with my elbows on my knees and her book in my hands. Like a lot of things in my life, I’d just about worn it out, but it was worn out with love, and that’s the best kind of worn-out there is. Maybe we’re like all those used cars, broken hand tools, articles of old clothing, scratched record albums, and dog-eared books. Maybe there really isn’t any such thing as mortality; that life simply wears us out with love.

–Craig Johnson, Kindness Goes Unpunished

Well, I didn’t mean to get all serious, but, you know, sometimes we do.

P.S.  Big congratulations to our other birthday girl Dolly Parton,
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who was recognized in the Guinness World Records 2018 edition for earning the records for most decades with a Top 20 hit on the US Country Songs chart as well as most hits on the U.S. Hot Country Songs chart by a female artist. You go, girl!

Hey, it’s Friday! Have a good weekend!

Back to the salt mine musings

by chuckofish

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There was a lot of coming and going during this long weekend, and sometimes this old lady could barely keep track of who was here and who wasn’t.

C’est la vie and I am not complaining. I am rejoicing.

It even snowed a little, just a dusting, but enough so we could see red fox tracks zipping through our yard.

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Life is full of wonder.

Although it was only four o’clock, the winter day was fading. The road led southwest, toward the streak of pale, watery light that glimmered in the leaden sky. The light fell upon the two sad young faces that were turned mutely toward it: upon the eyes of the girl, who seemed to be looking with such anguished perplexity into the future; upon the somber eyes of the boy, who seemed already to be looking into the past. The little town behind them had vanished as if it had never been, had fallen behind the swell of the prairie, and the stern frozen country received them into its bosom. The homesteads were few and far apart; here and there a windmill gaunt against the sky, a sod house crouching in a hollow. But the great fact was the land itself, which seemed to overwhelm the little beginnings of human society that struggled in its somber wastes.

–Willa Cather, O Pioneers!

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“Clouds Coming Over the Plains” by Albert Bierstadt

Thou wouldst have us learn this day

by chuckofish

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They say we are in for some wintery weather this weekend.

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Well, it’s winter. The chill is on, as the meteorologists are fond of saying.

It has been a hard week and I am ready for some down time. And some baby time.

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Have a good weekend.

“The real things haven’t changed. It is still best to be honest and truthful; to make the most of what we have; to be happy with simple pleasures; and have courage when things go wrong.”

–Laura Ingalls Wilder

A few postcards from Christmas

by chuckofish

All the feels…

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And, remarkably, no one got sick!

The diet starts next week.

“Out of all the things you could not have there were some that you could have and one of those was to know when you were happy and to enjoy all of it while it was there and it was good.”

–Ernest Hemingway, Islands in the Stream

“All kinds of weather we stick together, the same in the rain or sun”*

by chuckofish

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Today is my dear dual personality’s birthday! I will think of her often, as I do every day, and miss her.

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I hope that all the men in her life (one husband and three sons) take care to lavish her with the love and attention she deserves.

Anyway, I am glad to hear that her grades are in and that she is officially on sabbatical! Huzzah!

Although she is nowhere near her 71st birthday, I still like this poem by Walt Whitman, My 71st Year:

After surmounting threescore and ten,
With all their chances, changes, losses, sorrows,
My parents’ deaths, the vagaries of my life, the many tearing passions of me, the war of ‘63 and ‘4,
As some old broken soldier, after a long, hot, wearying march, or as haply after battle,
At twilight, hobbling, answering yet to company roll-call, Here, with vital voice,
Reporting yet, saluting yet the Officer over all.

Happy Day! It’s a week ’til Christmas!

*Irving Berlin

 

Just a reminder

by chuckofish

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Christmas is coming, the geese are getting fat.
But how about the children, have you taken thought of that?
What about the little boy that lives down the lane,
Ragged in the snowstorm, whistling in the rain?
What about the little girl the other side of town?
There’s no one she can run to, and her world is falling down.
Dead father, drunken father, father gone away,
Sick mother, no mother, think of them today.
These are the lost ones, little ones alone.
These too are Maryland, these are our own.
Christmas is coming, and shall they be dismayed?
Send a Merry Christmas check to the Children’s Aid.

–Ogden Nash, a former president and longtime board member of the Children’s Aid Society of Maryland, wrote this poem in 1942.

Well, this is just a humble reminder that we should all think of others at this time of year and not just ourselves and our own loved ones. It is easy to get carried away with all the hoopla, isn’t it?

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One of the charities I support is the Episcopal City Mission, which was started back in 1894 when Charles Holmes, a lay person at Christ Church Cathedral here in my flyover town, organized volunteers from the cathedral to minister at City Hospital, the City Jail, the City Workhouse, and the Asylum. Thus was born the House Missions, which was known under various names until it became Episcopal City Mission in the 1950’s. With the establishment of juvenile facilities in the city, the ministry grew to include pastoral care for children.

Eventually, other Protestant denominations joined in this important ministry to those confined in the public institutions of St. Louis.  In 1953 the decision was made to divide the ministry to these institutions among various denominations. The Episcopal Diocese chose to work with troubled youth and asked to continue the ministry to children in detention under the name of Episcopal City Mission (ECM). Its ministry to youth was firmly established in the Juvenile Detention Centers and recognized by the Family Court System. ECM became the agency authorized by the Court System to provide for the ongoing spiritual needs of detained children in St. Louis City and County.

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Current chaplains at ECM

Small world department: The chaplain on the right was a youth leader when the boy was active in K-Life back in middle school. He has definitely stepped up. Good to see him still walking the walk.

Almighty and most merciful God, we remember before you all poor and neglected persons whom it would be easy for us to forget: the homeless and the destitute, the old and the sick, and all who have none to care for them. Help us to heal those who are broken in body or spirit, and to turn their sorrow into joy. Grant this, Father, for the love of your Son, who for our sake became poor, Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

–BCP, Prayers and Thanksgivings

“Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.”*

by chuckofish

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“Alexandra drew her shawl closer about her and stood leaning against the frame of the mill, looking at the stars which glittered so keenly through the frosty autumn air. She always loved to watch them, to think of their vastness and distance, and of their ordered march. It fortified her to reflect upon the great operations of nature, and when she thought of the law that lay behind them, she felt a sense of personal security. That night she had a new consciousness of the country, felt almost a new relation to it. Even her talk with the boys had not taken away the feeling that had overwhelmed her when she drove back to the Divide that afternoon. She had never known before how much the country meant to her. The chirping of the insects down in the long grass had been like the sweetest music. She had felt as if her heart were hiding down there, somewhere, with the quail and the plover and all the little wild things that crooned or buzzed in the sun. Under the long shaggy ridges, she felt the future stirring.”

–Willa Cather, O Pioneers!

Today we toast Willa Cather (1873-1947), whom we love, on her birthday.

The painting is “High Plains — Range Land,” an oil on linen painting by Raymond J. Eastwood.

*William Wordsworth

What are you reading?

by chuckofish

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I am reading a bunch of different things.

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You will recall that My Friend Flicka, written by Wyomingite Mary O’Hara, was mentioned a couple of times in a Longmire mystery…so I felt I should read it since I never have. Written in 1941, it tells the story of Ken McLaughlin, the son of a a Wyoming rancher, and his horse Flicka. It was the first in a trilogy, followed by Thunderhead (1943) and Green Grass of Wyoming (1946). The popular 1943 film version featured young Roddy McDowell.

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They re-made Flicka in 2006 with a girl protagonist (of course) and Tim McGraw as the father. Oy.

Anyway, the book is very well-written and quite sophisticated for a young adult novel of that era–there is a graphic scene of yearlings being gelded which I could have lived without.  Furthermore, Ken’s mother is a Bryn Mawr graduate and they are Episcopalians! But I’m just not that interested in horses, I guess, because I’m not sure I will trudge on to the end.

I am also re-reading Mere Christianity, which–no surprise–is really good!

“I am trying here to prevent anyone saying the really foolish thing that people often say about Him: I’m ready to accept Jesus as a great moral teacher, but I don’t accept his claim to be God. That is the one thing we must not say. A man who was merely a man and said the sort of things Jesus said would not be a great moral teacher. He would either be a lunatic — on the level with the man who says he is a poached egg — or else he would be the Devil of Hell. You must make your choice. Either this man was, and is, the Son of God, or else a madman or something worse. You can shut him up for a fool, you can spit at him and kill him as a demon or you can fall at his feet and call him Lord and God, but let us not come with any patronizing nonsense about his being a great human teacher. He has not left that open to us. He did not intend to.”

When I wake up in the middle of the night and can’t get back to sleep, I read Jan Karon. So now I am reading These High, Green Hills.

Lunch at the Grill, thought Father Tim, was what kept life real. He had to confess, however, that he could hardly wait to get back to the office and finish the C.S. Lewis essay entitled “Thought, Imagination, Language.”

I also recently re-read The Free Man by Conrad Richter. It tells the story of Henry Free, a hard-working Palatine German who comes to farm in Pennsylvania but is tricked, along with many of his countrymen, by the British, and is sold as an indentured servant when he arrives in America.  He escapes and thrives and eventually fights for liberty on the battlefields of the Revolution. The book did not receive good reviews when it was published in 1943 during the height of WWII. I am not surprised, since the British–our allies!–are the bad guys. It must have been shocking and somewhat distasteful at the time. The lesson here is an important one though–the British are not always the good guys and the Germans not always the villains.

I admire Richter and his spare, but beautiful writing a lot. He is an all-but-forgotten writer these days, but I read that they are re-making the Awakening Land trilogy for television. Frances McDormand is going to play Sayward Luckett, the main character, which could be good or bad. Perhaps it will encourage someone to go back and read the books.

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What are you reading?

The painting at the top is “Evening at Home” by Edward John Poynter (1836-1919)