The Grace of Change

The Pace of Grace

"No, we can do it ourselves. Why would we need a guide? Let's just hike in and get to the beach."

So I said to The Wonderful Husband and Equally Wonderful Daughter in Costa Rica, the night before our jungle hike through Manuel Antonio National Park to a deserted beach. 

Fortunately for me - and them - I got overruled.

The next morning Miguel, our guide, led us through the jungle. It certainly helped my overruled self that he was so cute. When I whispered this to Elise, I got an exasperated hissed "MOM!" and an eyeroll ... ICK: how can mothers even THINK about cute guys?

We Are the Ones We've Been Waiting For

I sat there, all googly-eyed ecstatic on my friend Carla's couch, watching Obama give his acceptance speech. I liked to’ve died and gone to heaven. (note to y’all who who were grieving the loss of McCain: stick with my story! It isn’t about the guys.)

Obama actually won my heart back in February, when he told us, “We are the ones we’ve been waiting for. We are the change that we seek.”

I’ve been truckin’ on those words since February, particularly for us women over 45.

You see, sisters, I believe with every sinew of this sagging body that we are the ones we’ve been waiting for, too.

Defeated by Constantly Greater Beings

I read this to my Bastyr University students about midway through the Life Transitions and Initiations class. Many look at me like I'm crazy after I read it - they just don't get it.

I think that's what I like about the poem - I just don't get it, too. At least the "small me" doesn't. I like to think of triumphing over things. This poem turns that on its small obstinate short-sighted head. Maybe being broken open by big life transitions has a much larger context?

When we win it's with small things,
and the triumph itself makes us small.

What is extraordinary and eternal
does not want to be bent by us.

I mean the Angel who appeared
to the wrestlers of the Old Testament:

when the wrestler's sinews
grew long like metal strings,

he felt them under his fingers
like chords of deep music.

Whoever was beaten by this Angel
(who often simply declined the fight)

went away proud and strengthened
and great from that harsh hand,
that kneaded him as if to change his shape.

Winning does not tempt that man.

This is how he grows: by being defeated, decisively,
by constantly greater beings.

~Rainier Maria Rilke

Thanksgiving Grinch and Big Love

I was feeling pretty grinchy about Thanksgiving this year. (Is there a Thanksgiving Grinch?)

I kvetched to David (The Wonderful Husband) about having to make dinner for other people, again. I complained to him about having to clean the house, again. I whined about having to eat gloppy food (my least favorite food group), again.

I missed my mom, dead two years. A lot. I missed my daughter Elise in Nicaragua. I missed the rest of my family in Montgomery, where we gathered every year when my mom was alive: sisters, brother, their kids, the clan. 

Sisters, my silk panties were in a seriously grinchy twist.