Blog - October 3, 2016 on coachpickett.org
Sunday Musings – October 2, 2016
I have long appreciated the opportunity to reflect on the past week. Often when I have been extremely busy, it feels as if I may have left myself somewhere as various tasks carried me forward from one day to the next. Although I am blessed to do a lot of writing each day which requires me to confirm whether or not I need to go searching for myself much as I might search for my ring of keys, I still find I need more than a day to determine whether the quilt my life is weaving has a pattern which is pleasing. Just now I was tempted to say “pleasing to the soul” by which I would have meant approaching an intersection of core values and events. In times past, Sunday was often a time to don sackcloth and ashes as I in my Southern Baptist arrogance assumed that my list of sins was not only unique but longer than that of any one else. It certainly was not a time to celebrate just getting through the week and those times when I did stop to practice patience, a
random act of kindness, doing the daily chores or remembering to say thank you, please, you are welcome or to genuinely ask “How are you?”.
As I think about those lessons about how to behave in public taught by my mother I am grateful. There is no need to attempt to discount the importance of these lessons because the motive in teaching them seemed to be based on the fear that others might think badly of her. These simple acts of what I choose to call civility have often served me and those with whom I come into contact. Although some might suggest that the words are worthless unless lovingly, humbly and gratefully channeled through the heart, my experience is that I appreciate them even if tinged with a bit of sarcasm. In my mind those words said with a bit of sarcasm took some effort – perhaps more than when not filtered through other strong emotions.Today, I am hopefully, less arrogant and know that even though I will benefit from noticing and, when possible, making amends for those times I discounted what I choose to call my sacredness, I do have to judge myself as less deserving than others.
I have recently moved back to Wheeling, West Virginia and one of the many gifts of being back is the attitude of those at the gym where I daily work out. Unlike other gyms which I have gratefully used, the men and women at this gym applaud one for just shoing up. some day some of us do a very thorough and well balanced workout. Other days we go through some basic motions and still other we may only make it to the whirlpool, steam room and shower. No matter. We made it and if we keep showing up the chances are we will get some exercise and leave feeling that we were enough and what we did today was enough. Ironically, being enough for today may allow one to do more tomorrow. Being enough does not imply that one has reached the pinnacle of one one’s ability or goals, but does acknowledge that the belief not being enough weighs us down and leads to a strong desire to avoid this time of reflection and quiet time – to lovingly challenge ourselves to strive to be our best.
When I recently listened to Ruby Sales talking to Krista Tippett I was reminded by her of one of the gifts of the African American church tradition of celebrating the fact that “We are all God’s children” – a simple truth that as Ms. Sales points out even a seven-year-old can grasp. Seldom in the Presbyterian Church (at least the white Presbyterian Church which ordained me and whose downtown church hosted a pastor who was known for being able to “strut sitting down”) did I feel the sense of celebration and permission to praise, cry and shout “Help me Jesus” which is always present in the African American churches I have been privileged to attend.
So, on this Sunday morning I will celebrate the fact that I have survived another week and may even have done much more in some moments. I have not, perhaps, been my best. I have not even given much thoughts on some days of being my best. I have often lost or mislaid myself and before I get on with the day of reflection might have to use that magical, internal tracking system to find myself and, like the father of the prodigal son, welcomes myself home. Only then can I be open up to the possibility of being my best self.Whether I am listening to the sounds of the haunting voice of Odetta as she sings, “Sometimes I feel like a motherless child” or the richness of the blues as my friend Barbara Paul Armbrecht brings up the entrails of one’s soul as she sings “Laughing just to keep from crying”, I am invited this Sunday morning to a new level of honestly and, thus, freedom to be.
Written October 2, 2016
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