Holy Monday--Staying Through Suffering

My son said to me yesterday: "I guess living in an historical moment isn't all it is cracked up to be." Truth.

I was loading groceries in my car yesterday when a family got out of their truck, clothed in masks and gloves and started making their way toward the store. They had forgotten something and the man returned to the truck to get it and discovered his keys were locked in there. He came undone. He berated himself telling his wife that this was the fourth time he had done this in a month and asking over and over "What is wrong with me? I am so stupid." At one point, he grabbed a tool from the back of his truck and headed for the window while his wife held him back saying, "No, no, it will cost more to fix that than to call the locksmith." He lamented, nearly collapsing at times and moaning about the $180 he had already spent to get into his truck. I tried to console him, telling him it was a trying time and he needed not to be so hard himself. I tried to give him some cash, but he wouldn't take it, insisting that this was entirely his problem. I finally left, breathing a prayer for this poor man, his wife, his son, obviously in a difficult place.

This Lent has been so very real as I have watched up close and from a far the various sufferings of people around me. A few, far away, have actually had the virus, and we have prayed for healing. But nearly everyone has the Fear, the questions of when it will end, what they will lose, what life will look like when it is over? Will it be over? I've felt that suffering in my anxiety-prone body, which serves as my early warning system that not all is well with my soul.

I've learned to fast from media, which feeds the fear and frenzy. I'm usually stalwart in the morning but by evening I need to keep away from information and statistics and numbers of deaths. I've embraced my lack of omniscience and control, and chosen to focus on stories of hope and help.

My family gathers to pray every morning and I continue throughout the day, remembering friends and family on the front lines of combat serving in hospitals, working in mental health, and the clergy, that are working more hours while I work less.

Yesterday we did not wave our palms; we fashioned them into crosses immediately. We could feel the long journey to the Cross coming quickly.

Monday of Holy Week has always felt like a long pause to me. The triumphal entry is over and the Cross looms, but for a little while, there is just routine and quiet. What did He do on Monday? What do I do on Monday? Work, pray, love the people around me, and prepare.

On Reading and Books in 2018

2018 was the year I set out to read one fiction book and one non-fiction book a month. I realize that doesn't sound like much. But it didn't include the hour (plus) a day that I read aloud to my children and my penchant for reading The Atlantic and Christianity Today through from cover-to-cover. Reading is restful and rejuvenating for me personally, and in recent years I've focused SO much on what I read to my children, I forgot that I have better perspective when I'm also reading for myself.

Having said that, the most memorable reading experience of the year was reading Tolkien's The Hobbit, Fellowship of the Ring, Two Towers, and Return of the King aloud to the kids. We followed each book by watching the related Peter Jackson movie. It was my third time through the series, and my second time watching the movies. The sequential reading/viewing made it far more obvious to me where Jackson takes liberties, adding or subtracting content. While Jackson did a great job of casting, it is always Tolkien that is the master. The stories are so timeless and in taking us to another world, he shines a bright light on our own. Fellowshop of the Ring is the best Jackson adaptation, The Hobbit series, the worst. (And truly terrible in my mind, perhaps because he tried to make three movies of it.)

I read books I don't list but I highlight my top 10 (plus a bonus), five fiction, five non-fiction and one that is both.

My 2018 best of fiction:

Death Comes for the Archbishop by Willa Cather
Just like My Antonia, when I finished the book, I had a little moment of "What was that about again?" not so much because of a lack of clarity, but because Cather's brilliance at creating a visual feeling, of desolation, of beauty, can overwhelm the plot. You can see the landscape, feel the wide open so clearly that it is easy (for me at least) to miss the details and get caught up in the desert plateaus and rolling hills.  Having said that, this was a refreshing read about a missionary priest coming to spread the gospel in the American Southwest, and all the difficulties and human issues with which he contends.

News of the World by Paulette Jiles
I was fascinated by the synopsis of this story, having recently read of one of my ancestors who was captured and raised by Native Americans. The story of an old Civil War veteran, far from home, earning a living by reading the news who comes across a young girl that needs to be returned to her relatives. She has been raised by the natives who killed her family and the story weaves through their journey back to her home country as they both learn about love and trust. This was a beautiful story, beautifully written.

Virgil Wander by Leif Enger
I was thrilled when I read that Enger had a new novel out after ten years. (His third--read them all.) It lived up to my expectations. Virgil Wander is a middle-aged man who has recently survived a near-death experience. The story weaves through the the characters around him, as he recovers and finds renewal, even as he comes to terms with loss and welcomes a stranger. Set on the shores of Lake Superior, the northern town comes to life, and will live forever in my mind.

The Day the Angels Fell by Shawn Smucker
By far the strangest work of fiction in this list, the story is an old man reflecting on the boyhood loss of his mother and the strange world he encountered as a result. At times I hated it, but I couldn't put it down. Reaching into another world and weaving in biblical themes of real good and real evil, this is a book that will leave you thinking for a long time.

The Kalahari Typing School for Men by Alexander McCall Smith
Reading a novel whose central character is a black Botswanian woman written by a white British male is an interesting read. I loved the dialogue best of all, though the inner workings of a woman who has made it as a detective and entrepreneur in her town was also a treat.


Fiction/Non-Fiction

Beneath a Scarlet Sky by Mark T. Sullivan
You will find this book categorized under fiction because of the author's inability(?) to get all the details verified by external sources. However, this is almost solidly in the non-fiction camp as the riveting (and yes, nearly unbelievable) story of Pino Lella, a teenager in World War II Milan who while helping Jews escape over the Alps, also finds himself as the driver for a high-level Nazi. A story of courage amidst great drama, I had a few sleepless nights getting through this one.

Non-Fiction

The Oregon Trail: A New American Journey by Rinker Buck
I'm writing this book list this year because I saw this book on someone else's (Brianna More) list this year. While it is true that most of my books came off of someone's year-end list, this is one I never would have discovered or read had I not seen it there. I was fascinated to read a story about the Oregon Trail (again, my ancestors blazed this trail). I did not expect to get the masterful story of two very different brothers setting off in 21st century America to rediscover the past. Part history, part travelogue and a lot of psychological memoir, this is an excellent read.

Rethinking School: How to Take Charge of Your Child's Education by Susan Wise Bauer
I wrote a book review and the author tweeted it. You should read it.

Leisure: The Basis of Culture by Josef Pieper
I read this book too fast and immediately put it in the category of must-read again, preferably every other year. Small, but deep and meaningful, Pieper points that civilizations have advanced when leisure is treated as necessary work. Leisure is not lazy. Time for contemplation and a cease from labor are absolutely necessary to growth, as a person and as a culture. 

The Tech-Wise Family: Everyday Steps for Putting Technology in Its Proper Place by Andy Crouch
I plan to write a real review of this short, data-heavy, simple but so very important little book. Crouch has done us a favor by putting together realistic and insightful steps to being wise in a technology-driven world. I instantly implemented one step and it has contributed to more peace and reflection. Simple discussions with our kids have revealed a lot and encouraged us to keep moving to implement more and more changes. 

The Soul of America: The Battle for our Better Angels by Jon Meacham
Meacham is a great writer and this synopsis is a reminder of how the battle between good and evil (though he doesn't put it in those terms) has been ongoing in 200 years of US history. The title of this book is so good, I was a little disappointed in the content. But the book does deliver as he focuses on the battle and the triumph of the better angels; he leaves us asking if the better angels will win the current battle? A necessary and good reminder at this juncture. He is best when he is telling a story and I hope to read his biography of George HW Bush. The snippets I have read suggest that by knowing the man, his work is even better.

All You Taught Me

Michigan, Sept 2016

A couple of years ago I went to visit my grandma. We had so many good conversations in her little room at my aunt and uncle's house in Walla Walla. In this one, she told me, "One day my heart is going to give out and I'll be gone just like that. And you will be fine."  And while at other times she was more anxious and afraid she would have a long painful death, this ended up being prophetic. And I keep reminding myself that all is well with my soul. I am fine. But I will miss her so.

My Grandma Bigger was not a playing grandma. My cousins and I can't remember her playing a game, and certainly not dolls. She had apparently been quite the athlete in her youth, playing basketball among other things, but by the time we came on the scene, she preferred reading, crocheting, embroidery, and watching television. She loved the quiet. She was an avid sports fan, climbing the stands to watch the Seahawks in her 90s, following the Seattle Mariners.

Mackinac Island Ferry, Sept 2016

She didn't force anything on anyone. So you had to ask her questions about her life, you had to ask her what she thought. And oh, then the gems that she produced.

When I called to her just a month ago, she thanked me so much for calling. I told her it always made me feel better to talk with her, that she helped me with life. She sounded like she had a catch in her throat. "It DOES?" She was incredulous. And it did. Every time. She gave me courage and perspective.

When I was feeling overwhelmed by potty-training my child, I shared that it was not going well. She encouraged me by saying she wished she hadn't been so hard on one of her children. Oh, she had so many regrets about how she had pushed him. "But I had to break the ice in the creek to wash his diapers," she added. Wow! That changed my perspective ENTIRELY. I also haven't complained about laundry ever since.

Mackinac Island with my dad, Sept 2016

She took the time to counsel me to "punish" less, telling me she wished she hadn't been so hard on her kids. She saw in me the need to have "control" and told me when she looked back, she didn't think she would have done any harm if she had punished less, and just loved them. (She wasn't at all opposed to discipline in the right frame of mind and for the right reasons.)

Once when I was hating my life in a gray, rainy, depressing climate and complained about it, she told me she had lived there too. And hated it just as much. It was there the Red Cross came to her door and told her they thought my grandpa was dying. She was a young mother and he was on a military base, in training to go fight World War II and had contracted pneumonia. She remembered they told her to find a neighbor to watch her child so she could go say "good-bye." My grandpa pulled through. I decided that my life was really NOT that bad. It was just weather.

I asked her about what it was like to live through the Depression and she told me how her family spent one winter of the Depression living in a tent in the snow in Yakima, Washington. She only remembered eating the wild plums that grew at the edge of the field and said she didn't like plums to that day. That story helped me appreciate what I have never had to do without.

Once when I was preparing for a trip to Los Cabos, Mexico, I called her and asked her if she had been there. I knew she had been to Mexico, having seen pictures of boating trips off Mazatlan. She chuckled when I asked. "Oh yes, I was there twice." And then, what she would say to me often, "I really have had such an amazing life." And she did. And so do I. Getting to see the world, and even better, seeing it with someone you love, is amazing.

Cruising through the Panama Canal

As she grew older, I became more and more aware of her anxious nature and the courage it took for her to do many things. Every trip she took over the last ten years, she wasn't sure she could go on.  She was worried about so many things and yet, she bravely got on planes to Washington D.C., to Michigan, to Ireland. Over and over, she kept going. Even at the end, she got in the car and left "safe" to see something new. As my battles with anxiety escalated over the last few years, I have claimed her spirit time and time again. I have set foot on the plane, stood in the line, and boarded the train. When my nerves kick in, I have often had to remind myself, "If your 90-something grandmother can do this, you certainly can."

But the most important thing Grandma taught me was LOVE. When you married into the Bigger family, you became a Bigger. In-laws weren't outsiders; they were loved and cherished as beloved children, and grandchildren. All of their in-laws called them "Mom" and "Dad" and it wasn't forced. They were loved. 

She was a strong wife to my grandfather. She gave him structure and strength; he made her life fun and adventurous. She loved rules; he loved to bend those rules. But they loved and respected each other and created a legacy together. They modeled and promoted what they believed it. So no, they didn't push me on the swings or go down the slide. But I will never forget the time they took me to ice cream after observing me do something unselfish for others. I won't forget that they came to my baptism, my graduations, and applauded my hard work. I treasure a letter my grandmother penned to me on September 11, as soon as she learned I was far from my Virginia home and safe. And just a few weeks ago, she dialed my number to say thank you for her birthday flowers. It was our last call. She was grateful then. I will be grateful forever.

Garnet Clarice McCoy Bigger, March 4, 1921-March 22, 2017

Stepping Out

I love New Year's resolutions. Or at least, I use to. At some point, I hit that realization that I made the same resolutions every single year and I was still carrying extra weight, still impatient, and still couldn't seem to focus in prayer.

When I was younger I used to think that midlife crises were the result of people realizing they weren't "young" anymore, and despairing at extra weight, the loss of hair, or some physical attribute that reminded them that their bodies were in decline heading toward that surety-death.

And while my aching back and neck, and my declining eyesight certainly are not things I'm celebrating, I'm realizing that midlife despair is more about realizing that all the things we were going to change about ourselves, those pesky bad habits, our "sins of personality" are still with us. This process of sanctification is slow going; is it even happening at all?

Even worse, some of the things that were more contained when younger, are not so easily contained. Anxiety, for instance, that I've struggled with since I was a child, has only become more evident to the outside world as I have aged and witnessed more of life to be anxious about.

So I started the year of our Lord 2017 with a kind of discouragement that I was still short-tempered and impatient, and I was still prone to second helpings and a secret stash of chocolate and thus carrying extra pounds, and that I still can't seem to focus well when I need to pray.

Only self-defeat is not really helpful. I'm always ruminating on life, always have an internal conversation happening about my short-comings and the lamentable situation of the entire fallen world and what would make a difference if it changed. Oh, and my husband and my dearest friends know these musings often go external when given a chance. (Sorry!)

Now we are into February and I have realized a couple of happy things. One is that while I've always approached exercise as this thing I should do to be thin (and it has NEVER made me thin, even when I was disciplined), I recently realized (because I'm getting old) that the goal of exercise is to help me be strong, and to keep the instrument I live in, running. Sadly, it also makes me really sore now, and I wish I had realized this when I was younger when it didn't hurt so much, but it is something. So in the last year I have finally made regular exercise, part of my life.

But more importantly, I tackled a psychological hurdle I have faced for 20 years. I started walking, alone, in my neighborhood, again. Something so simple has given me joy and a breathing space, and the capacity to pray in a new way.

Twenty years ago I was living in a part of Portland with a sketchy reputation. My cousin had just been murdered and I was dealing with all kinds of grief and anxiety there. I have always loved walking and exploring and that hadn't changed. But one day I went for a walk in my neighborhood just as the police swooped in on a drug-ring in a nearby apartment complex. It was somehow too much for me, and as much as I tried walking over the next 20 years, I always imagined predators behind the curtains of houses and couldn't do it without a racing heart and a quickened pace. Eventually I quit trying to take walks.

Two summers ago, I borrowed my mom's bike a few times and went riding in my neighborhood. It was something. I also went out walking on summer evenings with Mike.

Consciously, I wasn't really thinking about this thing I didn't do, and the reasons for it. But it started coming back to me, that I had once loved to take a walk, and that it was healing balm for me in the stress of a normal day.

This last August, I set out one morning. I took a short walk on a route I had been taking with Mike in the evening. And I just kept going. Nearly every day, except when I tried to go out one morning when it was 28 degrees and decided to set a personal limit of 32 degrees as my threshold.

I have found walking helps me with my anxiety-prone thoughts. It helps me with prayer. It helps me physically, mentally, spiritually to face life with joy and confidence.

And finally, it is something I didn't let beat me down. I tackled my fear, and won.

...to be continued...

Goodbye 2016

On board the USS Midway

The perfection of Jesus’s divinity was expressed in the perfection of his humanity, and vice versa. He was God because he was so sublimely a man, and Man because, in all his sayings and doings, in the grace of his person and words, in the love and compassion that shone out of him, he walked so closely with God. As Man alone, Jesus could not have saved us; as God alone, he would not; Incarnate, he could and did. ~Malcolm Muggeridge 

Our Christmas cards went out in the mail already, but the year wouldn’t be complete without a letter. The week after Christmas is the perfect time to complete it. Or, rather, procrastinators feel compelled by the new year to act.

We mark our years by the places we visit and the people we see; 2016 was no different.

 

Mike’s year started off at the U.S. Supreme Court in Washington, D.C., to watch the arguments in a First Amendment case called Friedrichs v. California Teachers Association. The organization he works for, the Mackinac Center, had performed a supporting role in the litigation. The Supreme Court only holds about 150 people at a time; even lawyers admitted to the court must queue up at 5 a.m. to be guaranteed a seat. Tip: when standing in line for four hours in January, bring comfortable shoes, handwarmers, energy bars and a newspaper to read.

Then we were all off to sunny southern California for a mid-winter vacation. We saw the USS Midway in San Diego, Lego Land, SeaWorld, Disney Land and the Reagan Library. More importantly, we played at the beach in January. Rachelle’s parents joined us and we visited Rachelle’s brother Mark in Bakersfield (our first time visiting him since he moved to California 10 years ago). A brutal (by local standards) snow storm of ½ inch nearly kept us from getting to the airport for our departure.

In March, we trekked to Walla Walla, Washington, for Grandma Bigger’s 95^th birthday and saw many aunts, uncles and cousins.

In May, we drove to Boston for two days of sightseeing and then over to New Hampshire for what was, perhaps, The Happiest Wedding Ever, featuring Rachelle’s last roommate Lindsay Jones and Ben Hansen. At the end of the month Mike and Rachelle’s dad, Rick, met Mark in Indianapolis for the bucket-list experience of attending the Indy 500. Later in June Lindsay’s parents Phil and Bev Jones stopped by during a post-wedding road trip. We were still exulting on the Happiest Wedding Ever.

Amy, Janet, Rachelle in Connemara

July found Rachelle joining soul friends Amy and Janet for a seven-day visit to Ireland. Amy lives in Olympia, WA, and Janet lives in Melbourne, Australia. So, Rachelle had the easiest trip, and still managed to get a travel virus and spend three days feeling miserable. She perked up in the invigorating sea air on a ferry ride to Inis Oirr, an island off the Galway Coast. It was cold, rainy, and gusty with some big waves. Her Viking stomach returned as she watched her fellow passengers not feeling quite as well. Despite a chilly, rainy, summer in Ireland and not feeling great, it was a great trip with good friends. Highlights: Slieve League in Donegal Co., Marble Arch Caves (in N. Ireland immediately after Brexit—interesting stuff!), the Guinness Factory Tour, music and Irish dancing in Galway, and the Cliffs of Moher—breathtaking!

Cesky Krumlov

Then in August Mike took a work/study trip to the Czech Republic, spending most of a week in Prague. The people there are courageous, having thrown off Nazi and Communist occupations in the space of forty years.

Grandma Bigger & Dad Bigger on Mackinac Isl.

In September Rachelle’s Uncle Darold and Aunt Barbara traveled with Grandma Bigger to see our adopted home of Michigan. We rented a house up north, hiked, ate, golfed and rode around Mackinac Island. (Some of us on bikes, others on motorized wheelchairs.) 

Aunt Barbara, Grandma, Uncle Darold

Parents sometimes need time away from kids, which is what we did with Mike’s brother Matt and his wife Vanessa in October for a weekend trip to New York City – our first time there together in more than 10 years. We walked (a lot), visited museums (MoMA and the Guggenheim), watched a play (Something Rotten) and took in the 9/11 Memorial & Museum.

This holiday season we were able to spend time with both sides of our immediate families, with a Reitz gathering in West Virginia and a Bigger gathering back in Michigan.

Ben (12) has taken up fencing. He continues to write adventure stories and has acquired a respectable Nerf arsenal. Kyrie (10) is our Irish dancer and Party Planner-in-Chief. Evie (7) is our gymnast and humorist.

Looking back over the year, we are deeply grateful for the gifts of friendship and prayer. Merry Christmas and a blessed new year!

Mike, Rachelle, Ben, Kyrie and Evie