Giving through my daily death

In case you think I'm complaining about my woes, or absolutely need them fixed, I offer a perspective that I cherish. What I am doing is crying out my needs amidst my poverty, and amidst my thankfulness, willing to die, beckoning Him.

"The deaths of those whom we love and who love us open up the possibility of a new, more radical communion, a new intimacy, a new belonging to each other. If love is, indeed, stronger than death, then death has the potential to deepen and strengthen the bonds of love. It was only after Jesus had suffered and left his disciples that they were able to more fully grasp who he really was and what he was really saying and what he truly meant to them. But isn't that true for all who die in love? It is only when we have died (including to our drama-based selves in life) that our spirits can completely reveal themselves to each other."

-- Henri Nouwen, in Life of the Beloved

I so see and love you, Dad, and I see and love you, Jesus, and now I offer myself up to my community to be seen.


Our Poverty, God's Dwelling Place (Henri Nouwen Society - August 18th)

How can we embrace poverty as a way to God when everyone around us wants to become rich? Poverty has many forms. We have to ask ourselves: "What is my poverty?" Is it lack of money, lack of emotional stability, lack of a loving partner, lack of security, lack of safety, lack of self-confidence? Each human being has a place or several places of poverty. That's the place where God wants to dwell! "How blessed are the poor," Jesus says (Matthew 5:3). This means that our blessing is hidden in our poverty. We are so inclined to cover up our poverty and ignore it that we often miss the opportunity to discover God, who dwells in it. Let's dare to see our poverty as the land where our treasure is hidden.


Meeting God in the Poor (Henri Nouwen Society - August 19th)

When we are not afraid to confess our own pain and poverty, we will be able to be with other people in theirs. The Christ who lives in our own poverty recognizes the Christ who lives in other people's. Just as we are inclined to ignore or try to fix our own poverty and suffering, we are inclined to ignore or try to fix others'. We prefer not to really see people who are destitute, we do not like to look at or be with people who are deformed or disabled, we avoid talking about people's worst pains and sorrows, we stay away from others' brokenness, helplessness, and neediness, because it really terrifies us. But by this avoidance we might actually lose touch with the people through whom God is manifested to us. But when we have discovered God right in the midst of our own poverty (and don't give ourselves away trying to fix it), we will lose our fear of the poor and hurting and go to them to meet God, welcoming Him in for the benefit of both.


By the way, I once had a woman at a geneology desk in Harrods London tell me that the "Spivey" name, in Scottish, means "crippled and deformed man." Hmmm...

In my unsatisfied longing and unmet needs is where my greatest treasure lies hidden (that being Him), and this is usually the place I least want to go in my fear- and scarcity-based head. But when I die to myself in loving another beyond my perceived capacity, sharing myself beyond what is reasonable or can possibly look good, connecting in anguish with another's soul, and then letting go of any ability or need to save them or be saved, there He is, waiting for us.

Hmmm... "I see, God," because this is where "I see God."



Off for my morning communion, seeing Him in everything,
from bogs to frogs, balloons to raccoons, bars to cars to
stars, bats and birds swooping to my dog pooping ...



God, my day yesterday was such an extraordinary gift, and I was in it fully and completely, fully present to You and to others, and I feel so alive, like never before, and it came through my willingness to enter myself and travel through my own dank, dark, and dusty depths. Thank You for taking me by the hand and walking me there, even when I was kicking and screaming. Thank You for showing me You at the very ends and in the deepest innards of me. Thank You for patiently teaching me how to visit You there often and on my own, with less prompting every day. Thank You for the amazingly beautiful people who populate this incredible life. They are so captivatingly beautiful I just sit here and cry with joy.