“Writing Blogs” Is Not The Same Thing As “Writing A Blog”

I expect that you are thinking that it has been uncharacteristically quiet in TerriLand recently. It is rare for me to go so long without new content. Truth be told, I am not sure that this really counts as “new content” either. It is more of a letter of apology or excuse… depending on how charitable you feel.

I try to make my blog posts relatable and genuinely honest. My goal is that the posts authentically demonstrate my real self and my thought processes. I believe my blog posts do reflect the state of my brain, which could be a very scary thought. Most of the time, the effort I put into examining what is on my mind and writing about it tends to resolve the general disorder and messiness of my interior world. Without this process, it would be much scarier to live inside my own head than it already is. By the time you read the blog post, I have pulled out that awful junk drawer inside my brain, carefully examined its contents, decided what to keep and what to throw away, and organized the remaining items. In my blog posts, I am able to show you the newly neat results of this effort to tidy my mind. Of course, just like with a junk drawer, my mind does not stay tidy for long, but my blog posts often reflect that one brief, shining moment in time when my brain does not look like the den of some demented squirrel.

Recently, though, I have not been able to declutter and organize my brain. There are so many ideas and analyses running amok in my gray matter and none of them will sit still long enough for examination. It is not writer’s block. I have no less than 5 blog posts in various stages of development. Problematically, “various stages” include “embryonic,” “infantile,” and “prepubescent.” None of these potential blog pieces are anywhere close to “adult.” It turns out that teasing around many blog posts doesn’t necessarily result in completing one publishable piece for the entertainment and edification of my readers- all three of them. Rather, the confusion in my brain that writing usually helps to order and inform is simply more cluttered with these bits and pieces of drivel. These wannabe blog posts are just more brain junk that needs to be moved out of the way when I am searching for something in there.

So while today’s post may not rise to the level of “content” and is certainly not my best work, there is an honesty about it. Today’s blog does authentically demonstrate my real self and my thought processes. It is just that recent life has fed my real life and thought processes lollipops for breakfast and then scrambled the whole mess up in a blender on “pulverize.”

Send help. Pray for me.

Have a clear-minded day!

Terri/Dorry 🙂

What do you do when you know you need to slow dawn and calm down in order to gain perspective? Please share your ideas by leaving comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

Psychedelic Prayer

I’ve noticed something odd recently.  Since my mother has settled into the nursing facility and she has begun exploring the shadow world inside her head that I cannot quite fathom, I feel different.  I’m not sure what words to use to describe the difference.  The feeling isn’t happier or more positive or more resigned exactly.  Maybe the better description would be a feeling of “surrender” or “being reconciled” or “contented.”  Whatever it is, it sure beats the constant agitation and relentless heartbreak that have accompanied me since my mom’s stroke.

Maybe the change is just because I find myself smack in the middle of the worst possible outcome that I dreaded for months and the result is not as bad as I feared. The world continues to revolve around the sun and my mom actually seems pretty cheerful.

Maybe it is prayer.

I attended a workshop on prayer the other day.  The leader asked us what factors we thought led to the most effective prayer.  I thought for a nanosecond and realized that the memorable common factor in all my most fervent prayer is confusion.  It seems that I pray most effectively when I come to prayer in a state of disorientation and dismay.  I’m not sure why that is.  Maybe it is because I am most genuine in my discombobulation.

Too often, I think I come to prayer with a solid, well-defined vision of the desired outcome for which I am praying.  I say I am praying to find God’s will and to have the strength to accept His plan.  I think my head even tries to believe that.  Still, in my heart of hearts, I think I am usually praying for things to turn out the way I want them.  It isn’t necessarily that I am being demanding or selfish.  It isn’t even that I am praying for an outcome that is easy or pain-free. I’m just scared.  I’m scared of what God’s unknown is for me. I’m scared that I don’t have the necessary faith and virtue to travel His path rather than the path I can envision for myself.

hroughout my mother’s illness, I have wrestled with confusion, grief, and fear almost all the time.  Originally, I had the sense that God was exposing me to these emotions to give me some small idea of the journey my mother has been navigating in order that I might be more empathetic.  Now, on a deeper level, I also have the idea that He is trying to train me, as I’ve walked this path with my mother.  He may be trying to teach me to truly understand that all that control and organization and planning that I so love is not where my strength lies.  In fact, I believe He is showing me that there is actually grace in letting go of it.

They do say that whatever doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.  The thing is- I never wanted to be so freakin’ strong.  Apparently, God does and He is using my mother’s illness to build that strength.  I am afraid I cannot say that I am wholeheartedly grateful.  However, I know that God has unfailing patience with me.  Maybe I’ll get to that gratitude place someday.  In the meantime, I think my confusion-born prayer is at least helping me find a little more confidence that I’ll be able to manage God’s unknown for me, with His help.

As I thought through my ideas on confusion-based prayer, other people in the class were talking about what helps them pray. Most of the other students seemed to concentrate their responses on strategies or “tethers” to help them focus and shut out distractions in order to pray most effectively.  All the discussion about focus made me wonder about my experience of finding confusion to be the sweetest starting point for prayer.  Maybe we do need to be “tethered” to pray most effectively.  Maybe, though, it is sometimes best to allow God to do the tethering rather than me hitching myself to a rather wobbly post.  Maybe, sometimes, the confusion is actually God’s call and the distractions are the ingredients for prayer.

A number of students also mentioned external items that help them connect to God and His majesty.  Some people mentioned rosary beads, icons, stained glass, statues, etc.  I understand that perspective and even share it.  After all, I come from a Roman Catholic tradition.  I own and use a rosary.  Liturgical prayer sings to my soul.  I have worshiped in the ancient churches in Europe, marveling at the prayerfulness of artistic renderings.  When I loosened my grip on Roman Catholicism, I turned towards the Episcopal Church.  I’ve learned that Episcopalians express their unity as a denomination in their unity of worship.  After all, we base our worship on the Book of Common Prayer.  There is little that is more focused, orderly, and tethering than praying in a common, liturgical way. I rejoice in that unity.

Still, there is room and, perhaps, necessity in Christian life for a more individual kind of prayer. That is the kind of prayer that I find often comes from my confusion. It is a psychedelic kind of prayer.   It is colorful, explosive, and implosive.  It is often disorganized and chaotic.  It moves and pulses and morphs.  It can start out as one thing but end up as something completely different.  It is uncontrollable- breaking free of the form I gave it and rearranging itself into what it needs to be. It can be so odd and so weird and so disorderly that it makes no sense.  At least, it makes no sense to anyone but God.  And maybe, with the grace that comes from letting go, the psychedelic prayer will one day make sense to me.

What do you think?  Does prayer ever seem to be born of confusion for you?  Please share your perspective by leaving a comment.  In the alternative, you can send me an email at terriretirement@gmail.com.

Have a blessed day!

Terri 🙂