the gift of therapy - yalom (2001)

lend me that nice book of patients' narratives that you have, i tell my friend, and he lends me his favorite psychotherapist's book instead. this is how a life-long neo-colonialist, stiff upper lip an' all, ends up exploring that most quintessentially american tradition, therapy.

he turns out to be human humane compassionate and most embarrassingly honest. this is an american book, after all. he reads easily and shares generously and i almost get inspired to want to be able to do it myself. 

look out of the patients' window, he says. let the patient matter to you. wise words, these, and not at all the therapist's purview. 

not in the class of bonhoeffer, but a jolly humbling book from a lifetime of deep experience. i am richer for reading it.

change of life

HOM and i talk quite a bit about the next phase of our lives these days. we want to retire, but not from fruitful engagement. we want to rest, but not really. we would start anew somewhere, but we know not where. 

i know only that the watershed years approach when things begin to change. i want the changes to be gentle and exciting and tolerable and saltatory and unfrightening and magnificent. i claim isaiah 43:1 with hopeful trepidation - fear not, for i have redeemed you; i have called you by name; you are mine, and i read a few verses down and feel a delicious jolt of anticipation - do not remember the former things... behold, i will do a new thing.

lead us to the path you mark out for us. 

first rant in a bit

what is it with church services these days? 

the songs are jolly-ho experiential upbeat-y relentlessly energetic choruses. or not. sometimes they are endless repetitions of a few key phrases. sermons have little discernible connection to the scripture passage. and the preacher keeps telling me to turn to my neighbor to tell him all sorts of things. God is good, i am supposed to say. He answers prayer. i am happy to see you today.

the song of the prison cell plumbs the depths of pain as well as joy. i would learn to sing it in church. the world's  message is straightforward cheerful and positive. i would learn to grapple with unavoidable issues in church. and don't get me wrong. fellowship makes the heart glad and strengthens the spirit. but surely there is a time for quiet reverence and broken reflection. in church.

it's enough to make a case for high church. or perhaps i am being hormonal.

yearnings

it's been a time. the words have dried up. my song is silent. is this what full time employment does to you? does it drain you of all vigor so that only a shell remains? 

and yet i am immensely, immeasurably grateful for my full time employment. i have work which engages me and allows me to engage and which keeps me nicely out of mischief and pays the bills to boot.

there is an elusive balance between work and home and ministry and laughter and sweat and tears. i would that i could balance it with writing too.

to everything there is a season, the preacher says. i would have more seasons together, Lord!