This essay in Maureen Dowd’s column ran in the New York Times on Christmas Day. Here’s the link:

http://www.nytimes.com/2012/12/26/opinion/dowd-why-god.html?src=me&ref=general

Kevin O’Neill wrote the bulk of the column – a meditation. He’s a priest but more importantly, he’s a human being called upon to help others in a way that’s very difficult for most of us. That is, comforting the dying or those affected by the dying. (Oh the pressure to alleviate suffering!) I especially love the insights –the frank admission of  ”I don’t know” and the gentle notion of “being present” for others.

In a world where so many families and loved ones live far away from each other, “presence” must be accomplished in innovative ways. I’m so happy I don’t have to rely on the Pony Express to share news with someone. The phone, email and social media make “presence” so much easier yet I often yearn for the physical closeness of my mother, brothers, sisters, daughters and far-flung friends, even friends down the road who I don’t get to see as often as I would like! There is nothing to take the place of bear hugs; shared silence while walking together in the woods, at the lake; laughing so hard together at something that your shared perspective just incites more laughter and the sure danger of peeing your pants. There’s just no substitute.

I cannot always be there WITH someone – physically – as they endure hard times but I can be with them in spirit and with love no matter the cause of pain, suffering, disappointment, etc.

Can the presence of love pull you through whatever it is you are going through? Is there a multiplying effect when the heavens are stormed on behalf of a loved one? I believe prayer lifts both the prayer and the one prayer is intended for but I have no proof of this beyond my belief, strong as it may feel in any given moment and fragile in another. I do not claim to be a spiritual warrior; I have to lift up a prayer quickly and in the moment so as not to forget the specifics or fall asleep or send it on to the spiritual equivalent of cyberspace lost mail. My prayers may be short but uttered with faith, love and intention. Don’t scoff.

As the New Year dawns, I understand pain, suffering, depression, despair and disappointment is as much a part of life as joy, hope, and love – I do not live in Fantasyland.

I believe we make it through whatever shows up in our days with the love of others – whether by our side or through the invisible but very real spiritual byways, highways, flyways. I know that even as I pretend to be handling things just fine on my own that I am not – that I am carried with love, in love, by love even on my best days.

This is how God so often shows up. This is living grace.

Best wishes for 2013 and for confidence in the astounding power of love. May we truly know it each and every day.

Here’s the column: (Bold text added by me)

Why, God?

By MAUREEN DOWD

Published: December 25, 2012

WASHINGTON

When my friend Robin was dying, she asked me if I knew a priest she could talk to who would not be, as she put it, “too judgmental.” I knew the perfect man, a friend of our family, a priest conjured up out of an old black-and-white movie, the type who seemed not to exist anymore in a Catholic Church roiled by scandal. Like Father Chuck O’Malley, the New York inner-city priest played by Bing Crosby, Father Kevin O’Neil sings like an angel and plays the piano; he’s handsome, kind and funny. Most important, he has a gift. He can lighten the darkness around the dying and those close to them. When he held my unconscious brother’s hand in the hospital, the doctors were amazed that Michael’s blood pressure would noticeably drop. The only problem was Father Kevin’s reluctance to minister to the dying. It tears at him too much. He did it, though, and he and Robin became quite close. Years later, he still keeps a picture of her in his office. As we’ve seen during this tear-soaked Christmas, death takes no holiday. I asked Father Kevin, who feels the subject so deeply, if he could offer a meditation. This is what he wrote:

How does one celebrate Christmas with the fresh memory of 20 children and 7 adults ruthlessly murdered in Newtown; with the searing image from Webster of firemen rushing to save lives ensnared in a burning house by a maniac who wrote that his favorite activity was “killing people”? How can we celebrate the love of a God become flesh when God doesn’t seem to do the loving thing? If we believe, as we do, that God is all-powerful and all-knowing, why doesn’t He use this knowledge and power for good in the face of the evils that touch our lives?

The killings on the cusp of Christmas in quiet, little East Coast towns stirred a 30-year-old memory from my first months as a priest in parish ministry in Boston. I was awakened during the night and called to Brigham and Women’s Hospital because a girl of 3 had died. The family was from Peru. My Spanish was passable at best. When I arrived, the little girl’s mother was holding her lifeless body and family members encircled her.

They looked to me as I entered. Truth be told, it was the last place I wanted to be. To parents who had just lost their child, I didn’t have any words, in English or Spanish, that wouldn’t seem cheap, empty. But I stayed. I prayed. I sat with them until after sunrise, sometimes in silence, sometimes speaking, to let them know that they were not alone in their suffering and grief. The question in their hearts then, as it is in so many hearts these days, is “Why?”

The truest answer is: I don’t know. I have theological training to help me to offer some way to account for the unexplainable. But the questions linger. I remember visiting a dear friend hours before her death and reminding her that death is not the end, that we believe in the Resurrection. I asked her, “Are you there yet?” She replied, “I go back and forth.” There was nothing I wanted more than to bring out a bag of proof and say, “See? You can be absolutely confident now.” But there is no absolute bag of proof. I just stayed with her. A life of faith is often lived “back and forth” by believers and those who minister to them.

Implicit here is the question of how we look to God to act and to enter our lives. For whatever reason, certainly foreign to most of us, God has chosen to enter the world today through others, through us. We have stories of miraculous interventions, lightning-bolt moments, but far more often the God of unconditional love comes to us in human form, just as God did over 2,000 years ago.

I believe differently now than 30 years ago. First, I do not expect to have all the answers, nor do I believe that people are really looking for them. Second, I don’t look for the hand of God to stop evil. I don’t expect comfort to come from afar. I really do believe that God enters the world through us. And even though I still have the “Why?” questions, they are not so much “Why, God?” questions. We are human and mortal. We will suffer and die. But how we are with one another in that suffering and dying makes all the difference as to whether God’s presence is felt or not and whether we are comforted or not.

One true thing is this: Faith is lived in family and community, and God is experienced in family and community. We need one another to be God’s presence. When my younger brother, Brian, died suddenly at 44 years old, I was asking “Why?” and I experienced family and friends as unconditional love in the flesh. They couldn’t explain why he died. Even if they could, it wouldn’t have brought him back. Yet the many ways that people reached out to me let me know that I was not alone. They really were the presence of God to me. They held me up to preach at Brian’s funeral. They consoled me as I tried to comfort others. Suffering isolates us. Loving presence brings us back, makes us belong.

A contemporary theologian has described mercy as “entering into the chaos of another.” Christmas is really a celebration of the mercy of God who entered the chaos of our world in the person of Jesus, mercy incarnate. I have never found it easy to be with people who suffer, to enter into the chaos of others. Yet, every time I have done so, it has been a gift to me, better than the wrapped and ribboned packages. I am pulled out of myself to be love’s presence to someone else, even as they are love’s presence to me.

I will never satisfactorily answer the question “Why?” because no matter what response I give, it will always fall short. What I do know is that an unconditionally loving presence soothes broken hearts, binds up wounds, and renews us in life. This is a gift that we can all give, particularly to the suffering. When this gift is given, God’s love is present and Christmas happens daily.

OK…be right back.

Comin’ ? I say to the dogs. They stare at me blankly – don’t you know it’s a monsoon out there? Umm… no thanks. We’ll wait here. Feel free to bring treats on your way back.

Harumph. Then again…there’s a benefit of no wet dog smell. Yes.

I return with coffee and the NYT.

Hop gingerly over Maggie. Push visiting Daisy out of my warm spot in the bed. Mojo snores on the floor. Opens an eye. Considers for a moment…then jumps up to claim a more comfortable spot with Daisy on the bed.

Silence. Gentle snoring. One dog jumps down, slurps noisily at the water bowl. Maggie finds a ratty tennis ball. Taunts Daisy. Minor mayhem. Half-hearted efforts. Maggie shares.   Mojo sleeps. The others reconsider play. Decide to join Mojo. Zzzzz.

Dogs…so in the moment. Me too.

I’ve been thinking about a few additional things I am thankful for apart from family, friends, love, faith, health, clean water, edible food and all the usual best-things-in-the-world that I do NOT take for granted.

I am also thankful for:

1. Lungs – being able to breathe easily is a good thing. I hesitate to say I ran the Run to Feed the Hungry Thanksgiving Day in Sacramento but I did try while stopping every 15 minutes or so to see if it’s possible to cough up a lung. My lungs continue to occupy their chest cavity space admirably despite my best efforts to expel them. Which leads me to
2. Antibiotics – what can I say? Awesome.
3. Music for every mood and every life season
4. Sunshine – everything is better with sunshine and sunshine is even better after rain
5. Dogs – best endless, silly, free entertainment ever! I just watch Maggie eat celery, oranges, banana bits and have to laugh
6. Funny videos on YouTube or BuzzFeed or one of a thousand sites- it is good to laugh so hard you either pee your pants or cough up a lung
7. Fire pits with star light and moon shine – little bit of heaven on earth
8. Tivo/DVR – yes, it’s putting a significant dent in cherished reading time but can I just say that Homeland is an incredible television show?
9. Sleeping! And when very active people tell me “I can sleep when I’m dead” I reassure them it’s possible to really enjoy sleep when you are alive, too. I look around me and insomnia is everywhere; I must sleep while I can. Zzzz
10. Smartphones – camera, email, music, Words With Friends, an e-reader, a million apps – if you want – at your fingertips. Pretty amazing.

Another post on gratitude at Giving Thanks 

I know, I know. I can just watch the 24-hour news cycle and dismantle the sturdy emotional wall protecting me from feeling the ravages of war, terrorist activities killing innocent people, children dying from malaria/thirst/starvation (insert-tragic-reason-here), animal extinctions, rainforest decimation, natural and unnatural disasters, etc but I don’t dismantle that wall easily. Once it goes, I’ll be lucky to get out of bed in the morning. The world can look pretty dismal.

However, I will knock that wall down for a book or potentially, a movie, even if non-fiction, even if memoir. And so it was this weekend. The book was The Fault In Our Stars by John Green and the movie was The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chboksy.  Both about teens, both about life not going the way you’d expect. (No spoiler alerts needed.)

The Fault In Our Stars is about several teens who have cancer who can’t help but be honest with one another, thus the reader: yes, it’s heartbreaking but you spend more time thinking about who these kids are rather than what they are fighting. No matter which cancer they are fighting, it’s a given that cancer sucks, especially in a young person. However, Green gives us raw honesty and brutal humor along with familiar teen traits of narcissism, idealism, and philosophy tempered not by long life experience but by cancer experience. Teenagers – with and without cancer – experience the splintering want of independence from parents but it’s more complicated with illness. I love Hazel, Augustus and Isaac. There is no choice but to love them and that is why my heart hurts.

I wish I had read the novel The Perks of Being a Wallflower before seeing the movie even though the writer directed the movie, too.  I loved that high school seniors Patrick (Ezra Miller) and Sam (Emma Watson, escaping her Hermione-Harry Potter role) welcomed freshman Charlie into their “misfit” group but it was a hard reality for me to accept seeing how most seniors treat freshmen in high school. For so many kids, high school is awful: the desire for belonging, for honest relationship when the search for self is ongoing and elusive, and the quest to balance the tension of conformity vs individual distinction outside the usual teen arenas. My heart continues to hurt for sensitive, wounded, sweet, naïve, vulnerable, , awkward Charlie, played brilliantly by Logan Lerman.

People sometimes ask why I read books or watch movies that make me feel so deeply my heart hurts. In truth, I don’t know why. I just know that life can be really hard and sometimes, it’s just delightful to have others be honest about the suffering of the human journey in such a way that acknowledges pain but doesn’t make me want to slit my wrists at the end of the story. In both of these stories, I want to applaud the characters not as Inspiring People but as normal people dealing the best they can with hard situations in life. I’d be happy to call them my friends and I like that in a book or a movie.

Bold and funny, Renee sashays onto the stage wearing a boa scarf made of many colorful bras. An hour later, I walk out  - smiling –  into the cool night air. I hold Renee’s pearls of wisdom, not particularly profound, but reminding me to live life fully but not too seriously. This echoes my late father’s advice.  Highlights from Renee’s talk:

• Be PASSIONATE about your life. If you are going to get in to something, get ALL IN – no toe in the water; no feeble, half-arsed attempts with the exits already mapped; get ALL IN. If you fail you will fail gloriously and if you succeed, your life will be immensely better for your plunge of faith.

• Observe GRACE. Some moments you can’t foresee and may hold blessings to be cherished forever. Renee shared an intimate story of bathing her fragile, ailing mom. Her mother had multiple myeloma – a devastating blood cancer where bones can be broken simply by sitting or adjusting one’s posture. By getting ALL IN as she wades through an awkward situation, Renee is rewarded with a mom moment to last her lifetime

• Be PRESENT. Don’t miss the blessings of what’s right in front of you by lingering in the past or worrying about the future.

• Be OUTRAGEOUS. This is hard for many of us who are not of the flash mob ilk. However, memorable moments await if we can just lighten up. These moments may involve Spanx, fake hair, cheap jewelry, thongs, Rolex watches and more.

• LEGACY as is what do we hope to leave behind when we die? Let’s not dig too deep here with the whole saint vs. sinner legacy-as-obituary-or-eulogy scenario and instead go right to the “What’s in it for me?” legacy camp. Renee shares a story about a bequest from her practical Norwegian in-laws involving hope of wealth, a new Toyota and a piece of land; a piece of land as in a burial plot, complete with partially inscribed gravestones. “Don’t ever say I never gave you anything.” This light-hearted story is delivered along with the steely question, “What will your legacy be?” I cannot answer this question because I am cultivating the “being present” lesson discussed above.

• Be AUTHENTIC. Embrace who you are even if you are from Minnesota. Minnesotans are quirky. I already knew this from Prairie Home Companion and Lake Woebegone. And if you are from Fertile, down the road from Climax, there may be even more fodder for the funny.

• HUMOR – Don’t leave home without it. Celebrate the funny in life. Be generous with your smiles – you never know who you might lift up and how you may be lifted up, too.

I head off to sleep fueling an outrageous passion to find the funny – and grace – in life’s many moments while being present, authentic and unconcerned about legacy. It’s been a good night.

A friend recommended  this book. It won the Booker Prize, the annual prize for contemporary fiction to writers from UK.

Spoiler Alert: STOP HERE IF YOU HAVEN”T READ THE BOOK  Come back later to see if you felt the same way about  it.

The succinct review: Beautifully written but I found it depressing.

It’s not unusual or particularly profound to have regrets about how one has lived his or her life but if there there is no willingness or impetus to change what has led to these regrets, well…what’s the point?  I am not going to talk about plot  details – if you are interested, read it!

The Sense of an Ending is beautifully written but I desperately wanted the main character, Tony, to change. To choose to live a different way. To embrace possibilities and a different ending to his life rather than continue to walk the same path. But maybe that’s the point: we live our lives, our fundamental characters and temperaments ossify, then we die, that’s it. Solomon’s top layer: life’s meaningless, a mere breath, vapor.

I see Tony  as struggling with remorse – not only about Adrian and Veronica – but in coming to terms with an average life. He wants to be forgiven, even when he can’t forgive himself. Keeps looking for the “out” to explain tragedy and the paths of life. He keeps stepping into chasms of assumptions simply because of who he is. Narcissistic, self-indulgent, maybe touched by a bit of melancholy and reflective as he looks back on his life. And of course, pride rears its head again and again. There is no making this situation “right” with Adrian, Veronica, Margaret, and Susie. There is no changing history or controlling how others perceive his actions, now or then.

I like ex-wife Margaret ‘s fond compassion for Tony and her clarity about their relationship and ending a conversation thread that clearly won’t end as Tony might wish: you’re on your own. Tony needs to forgive himself and accept remorse for what is his responsibility – apologizing without the agenda that somehow exonerates his actions as a young man. The depressing thing about all this for me is that Tony’s life of “quiet desperation” seems likely to continue. Joy seems an elusive destination for him.

Tony’s getting older and spending a lot of time in life review. If I am on my deathbed, fine! Perhaps, I will end the review there. If I am lucky enough to be cognizant, I hope not to end that review in a state of blame, denial, regret and bitterness. If I cannot embrace the possibility of change at my ending, I hope to embrace forgiveness for myself and others. To make amends if possible.

It’s one of the wonderful things about getting older. To know yourself (better) and to seek change, forgiveness, acceptance and hope with sheer abandon. Why wait? 

*I posted similar comments on AndrewBlackman’s blog: a writer’s life at andrewblackman.net . I enjoy his blog – check it out! For aspiring writers or those who simply like to read about the writing process or book reviews.

**The movie Another Earth finds another way to end a journey that begins with a youthful mistake causing tragic consequences. Great movie. Sad but hopeful.

Forty minutes later I am in awe. Frances Ashcroft, the author of “The Spark of Life” is a scientist who discovered a gene that was responsible for opening and closing of tiny pores in membranes that surround every single human cell and regulate how insulin gets in those cells. I don’t understand diabetes. I don’t understand how sugar and insulin and diabetes and obesity all work together. I don’t understand how Ashcroft’s interest in electricity and her work as a physicist led to a great discovery for a very rare neonatal disease that has made life better for the children born with this condition. But all in all, very cool, don’t you think?

And though I don’t understand all those things I just mentioned, I do understand the power of a story. I do understand how someone can take something undecipherable to a non-scientific mind and make it fascinating. There is a quote during the podcast and I’m not sure if it came from Ashcroft or someone else but she was viewing science as a form of storytelling and remarked that in science, “Imagination is science in a straightjacket” because it must be precise, follow certain methods, be able to be replicated and so on. Doesn’t sound very appetizing but still… it is a story.

It is a story of an idea (a theory) and imagining the ways that you may or may not figure out if the idea is true and whether it may lead to something bigger and better. Maybe something totally unrelated to the idea that started you on the path. Maybe not.  Time will tell.

Frances describes her discovery as occurring while she was alone, in the lab, at night; the Eureka moment, the “Can this be true?” moment. She recognizes it and is “over the moon.” But…she knows tomorrow she will recheck her work, have her colleagues look at her results, start the steps to verify what she believes is a wonderful and unexpected discovery. It was indeed true. Inspiring.

Here’s the link:

We don’t always know where the paths lead…but sometimes, to great discoveries.

Frances Ashcroft – The Spark of Life (Fresh Air/NPR/Sept 27, 2012)

http://www.npr.org/2012/09/27/161888074/british-scientist-driven-to-find-spark-of-life

http://onthewillows.com/2012/09/17/leukemia-tsunami-breath-grace-and-healing/

While you are there at On The Willows, check out other great posts about this topic from Lindsay, Amy, Vesi and more.

I hope none of you ever has to deal with blood cancer in your lives but if you do, know there are brilliant people working on better treatments and cures, there are others willing to inspire, encourage and give hope through the journey. I never – ever – want to experience cancer again but I also will not relinquish the too-many-to-count blessings and moments of grace encountered along the way.

I have tried to ignore the school buses in the neighborhood for the last few weeks and the traffic jams at 7:00 a.m. on roads deserted just a month ago. Soon I will rise in the dark and return home in the dark. Summer is leaving – marching out at the fifth inning – giving off the air of someone who doesn’t believe in the bottom on the ninth comebacks. I know better. I won’t let her go yet though a sliver of melancholy hovers at my edges.

There’s so much more to experience of summer in my mind even as the shift occurs. Nature’s light is changing, now sunflower golden rather than lemon yellow. The sun haunts the horizon, blinding me as I turn onto the court in an early departure from work.   The arc of the sun changes the sturdy familiar shapes I encounter during my summer outdoor routines. The trees, the lake, the trail, yes, even the river, grow shadowy, less rigorously defined as fall prepares to take the stage.

Daytime temperatures still reach 90 degrees and evening light flickers past seven.  Outdoor evening adventures beckon seductively, if only I can adjust when I leave work to…Bike. Kayak. Run. Hike.  Walk the dogs without flashlights and reflective clothing. I beg myself to accept the invitation to partake in delightful labors of love this September despite the date on the calendar, despite the shortening days.

Perhaps nature herself holds onto this interlude; a shorter season without a name, a delightful slice of heaven during days with summer tuck-ins amid fall flirtations: cooler mornings and evenings, the decreasing light.

I hold onto this season – a summer child no matter my age – as heat rises off the asphalt, the blue moon rises over the lake on an 80-degree evening, no sweatshirt required. Bliss.

Do you have a favorite season and why?