Gritting my teeth: and a prayer:

Frustration, upon frustration, upon frustration: and it is here that prayers taking your mind off these frustrations and directing it towards Christ start to mean something.


"The Lorica/St. Patrick's Breastplate Prayer"

    I bind unto myself today                                    (dog just threw up - this ain't no escapist prayer)
    the strong Name of the Trinity,
    by invocation of the same,
    the Three in One, and One in Three.

    I bind this day to me forever,
    by power of faith, Christ's Incarnation;
    his baptism in the Jordan river;
    his death on cross for my salvation;
    his bursting from the spiced tomb;
    his riding up the heavenly way;
    his coming at the day of doom:
    I bind unto myself today.

    I bind unto myself the power
    of the great love of cherubim;
    the sweet "Well done" in judgement hour;
    the service of the seraphim;
    confessors' faith, apostles' word,
    the patriarchs' prayers, the prophets' scrolls;
    all good deeds done unto the Lord,
    and purity of virgin souls.

    I bind unto myself today
    the virtues of the starlit heaven,
    the glorious sun's life-giving ray,
    the whiteness of the moon at even,
    the flashing of the lightning free,
    the whirling wind's tempestuous shocks,
    the stable earth, the deep salt sea,
    around the old eternal rocks.

    I bind unto myself today
    the power of God to hold and lead,
    his eye to watch, his might to stay,
    his ear to hearken to my need;
    the wisdom of my God to teach,
    his hand to guide, his shield to ward;
    the word of God to give me speech,
    his heavenly host to be my guard.

    Against the demon snares of sin,
    the vice that gives temptation force,
    the natural lusts that war within,
    the hostile men that mar my course;
    of few or many, far or nigh,
    in every place, and in all hours
    against their fierce hostility,
    I bind to me these holy powers.

    Against all Satan's spells and wiles,
    against false words of heresy,
    against the knowledge that defiles
    against the heart's idolatry,
    against the wizard's evil craft,
    against the death-wound and the burning
    the choking wave and poisoned shaft,
    protect me, Christ, till thy returning.

    Christ be with me, Christ within me,
    Christ behind me, Christ before me,
    Christ beside me, Christ to win me,
    Christ to comfort and restore me,
    Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
    Christ in quiet, Christ in danger,
    Christ in hearts of all that love me,
    Christ in mouth of friend and stranger.

    I bind unto myself the Name,
    the strong Name of the Trinity,
    by invocation of the same,
    the Three in One, and One in Three.
    Of whom all nature hath creation,
    eternal Father, Spirit, Word:
    praise to the Lord of my salvation,
    salvation is of Christ the Lord.


This is an ancient prayer, but I took it off the site here (I copied the old translation, which the site says is by Cecil Frances Alexander):
http://anglicanprayer.wordpress.com/2009/03/17/st-patricks-breastplate-prayer-aka-the-lorica/


I feel deeply, but lately I have not felt much of God. So I have to remind myself of this prayer, and be bound to all these things.

My Cluttered Self

More clutter musings. In a word, since Christmas break I have torn up many pieces of paper to be disposed of, and I have deleted multiple emails, and I have dreamed of all these great recipes I want to try that can use up the random leftovers in the kitchen pantry...but dang, is it ever hard to keep up now that vacation is over and I'm back at work. My Cluttered Self would note that this begs the question: Why invest so much time in picking through old things and organizing them all into "perfect" little categories that in actuality can never be perfect, instead of just living the life by which you accumulated them?

Because I Need. More. SPACE. Yes, I'm the stereotypical spread-out-American type who needs a little room to breathe. And with so many "I will get back to this sometime"'s that build up and become sources of guilt-ridden failure, I am held back from daring to move towards new adventures.

Adventures, e.g.: Actually being able to use my bedroom to make art in without having to create new piles in order to create space. What a concept!

A more detailed example: I am currently cleaning out my iTunes library so I have fewer songs that are perpetually on "skip" status. Being inclined towards the eclectic and the slightly eccentric, naturally I want to have all those cool random songs that no one has ever heard of. (Hipster?) But so many of the freebies that you download from Amazon or iTunes are absolutely terrible (or as one friend would say, "Crappity-crap-crap-crap".) There are gems amidst the rubbish, but not as many as I would hope.

My Cluttered Self would be afraid to delete a mediocre song because it could be that eccentric song that will perfectly fit round out my playlist and fit my mood that one random time when I feel like jamming to that sweet, sweet melody. But my new Anti-Clutter-Self is realizing how that actually prohibits me from listening to a lot of my music that maybe doesn't quite make my fave list, but is still music of value that I want to keep. See, when I'm faced with an overwhelming library of music, much of which I still haven't listened to yet (because they could end up being the crappy freebies instead of the good ones), I tend to overplay the safe songs that I know I like - and they become annoying through constant over-listening. If more of my music is stuff I know that I (even moderately) like, I can relax and let myself listen to a broader selection of the music I already have.

Yes, I know I overthink everything. Such is the burden of being an imperfect perfectionist.

Fuster-Clutter

I read this article about de-cluttering last week. Wouldn't you know it, I now can't find it, but it stuck with me  because it referenced a professional organizer who approaches her business as a form of therapy for people who can't get past all the stuff crammed into any crevice in their lives. Since a kid, I've always struggled with clutter because I either have artistic plans for something (I'm into recycled mixed-media art even though I often don't get around to actually making it), can't figure out how to perfectly organize it (semi-paralyzing perfectionism), or feel bound to keep it (but she gave it to me as a present!)

The past few years, an ongoing battle has raged in my house to rid myself of the excess, and now I'm at the point where I want to get more aggressive because I actually have a direction for what I want to do with the space. I've been bitten with the knitting bug REALLY hard and need more room for yarnstuffs. If I want to get an Etsy store going, I need room to keep the supplies and the finished goods, as well as to store other artsy things I'm working on (as knitting is only one facet of my obsession with all things colorful and full of string).

I also want to be able to breath peacefully in my bedroom and do some hardcore reading every now and again. For some reason, I find it difficult to read in other rooms in my house (probably because of the TVs/laptops/computers/refrigerators lurking around every corner with lotsa distracting fun), and except during those brief clutter lulls in my bedroom things get a little claustrophobic. This is one reason why I love to escape to coffee shops, but if I want to significantly increase the amount of time spent reading I will need to sometimes "make my own coffee shop," because $9 spent daily on a fancy drink and deliciously fatty pastries cannot be an everyday thing. (Okay, reminder to self: make some coffee shop playlists to really set the mood. One for that jazzy-Frasier-Starbucks feeling, and the other for that indie-guitar-soloist-hipster vibe. And if I want to get really crazy, one with World/bluegrass music for that NPR groove, like at the fantabulous St. Elmo's Coffee Pub that one time.)

So, back to cleaning. It is 12:40am on New Year's Eve Eve, and I am armed with hot chocolate (with a couple of chocolate orange slices thrown in), a song in my heart and a sparkle in my eye. Okay, minus the song. I'm in more of a Bob's Burgers mood right now.

Messy...justice?

According to Kirk Johnson's December 19, 2012, article in the New York Times, the US Army will be putting Sergeant Robert Bales (the soldier charged with murdering 16 Afghan people, a number of them children and all civilians) on trial, and it will be pursuing the death penalty. The trial isn't shaping up to focus on whether or not Bales committed this horrific act, but rather on the degree to which he was mentally cognizant of what he was allegedly doing at the time. Though emerging medical and social knowledge about mental health may increase the chances that he won't be executed if found guilty, I still have a feeling that he will be convicted and sentenced to death (which may or may not be carried out, and wouldn't be carried out if recent US military trends were any indication).

I oppose the death penalty, but my first reaction upon reading this news is "He deserves to die."

If he is guilty, he murdered 16 people. Including children. This is wrong, period.

If he is guilty, he not only damaged the already bruised credibility of the United States, but also endangered fellow soldiers as well as any contractors or international aid workers associated with the US or other countries involved in the war.

All the angst about the wars of the 2000s has influenced this non-pacifist to become much more leery of war, and I cringe to think of how cases like this further erode respect for the United States. Considering that I think the death penalty is wrong, I can't help but think that making an example of him could send the message that the lives of the Afghan victims are worth just as much as those of Americans.

But then...we'd be killing him, and shouldn't the same reasons for not executing a convicted civilian murderer apply to him, too? And when you consider that this happened during the sergeant's fourth Deployment - FOURTH - well, we have to consider the psychological effects of the situation in which he was placed.

Primal urges for revenge, for retaliation, to make a person hurt for what s/he did...some would call these a God-given sense of justice enraged by sin, others would call the sinful hatred that violates God-given mercy and compassion. I have to conclude that even if Robert Bales is truly guilty with full moral culpability, I personally do not THINK he should be given the death penalty - but I still FEEL horror, and anger/disgust. These mixed feelings prohibit me from trusting my personal conclusion on this one.

Wasting the Waiting Season

This low-church/evangelically-raised girl still doesn't fully get this whole Advent season. Since much of what I hear from folks who do celebrate Advent is focused on how people should be observing Advent (but aren't), I guess I need to make the effort to dig a little deeper to really learn what the deal is. But I know that one major keyword is "waiting". A darkened world, drowning in sin, oppression, and despair, is waiting for the Light of the World - the Word of God - to become Emmanuel (God with us); and we mortal people need to actively wait and pray for the Messiah to come and bring some desperately-needed illumination to creation.

Emphasis on the "active" part of actively waiting. It's a season of preparation and longing for something that is missing. It's not enough to sit on your @ss rear end and passively wait for something to respond to. The Magi*** spent many months, even years, looking for whatever that frightening, distant star in the ancient sky had to tell them. And traveling back in the day was slightly more wearying than it is today (post-9/11 security precautions notwithstanding), what with the whole smelly camels, no-showers thing and lack of conveniently located Auntie Anne's kiosks or delicious Naked Juice to buy.

The point is that when you desire something, you need to go after it. And too often, I've allowed terror at thoughts of screwing up, being embarrassed for putting myself out there, or encountering uncomfortable situations to shackle me to my chair in a state of paralysis. How do I know which is the "right" path to take? Of all my interests, which one is THE one that is my life's calling? Are my interests and pursuits frivolous? What does the world need of me? What does God want of me? What do I desire for myself?

Instead of using my fear as motivation to search for the answers, I've allowed it to paralyze me; and it's a waste of the waiting season when you are not preparing for something else to come.

Enough, enough. No more waiting without a purpose. NO MORE! That's my Advent epiphany. (Lower-case epiphany, please note. No disrespect meant.)


***Yes, I'm mixing my church-year references by referencing the Magi on an Advent post (rather than on a Christmas/Epiphany post). Don't judge me!

Turkey THIS.

With some alterations...

BOOM.

(Alterations to this: http://allrecipes.com/recipe/southwestern-turkey-soup/detail.aspx)


Thanksgiving leftovers, be gone! Though technically, we do have some slim pickin's left. Into the freezer for future soup stock...

Birds

Stepped out of the door to lock my building for work, with the usual mixture of relief that the holiday has arrived, and anxious dread that of all the things I didn't manage to get done before I left, one-of-them-will-end-up-being-crucially-important-and-will-signal-the-coming-of-a-plague-upon-our-land,-probably-locusts-or-a-swarm-of-killer-wasps,-and-I-will-be-totally-fired. Upon stepping outside, I was greeted by a cacophony of chattering birds in a tree next to the building. And I was taken aback.

These birds weren't singing. They were talking, in a great council, like how I imagine the words of Orual falling together and blending with the judgments of the gods as she makes her case before them. The noise wasn't exactly soothing, but it was - vital. Vibrant. Alive. And it reminded me  - that I'm alive. And all the other worries pale in comparison with the gift of life.