Introvert Sabbath

http://benjaminwblog.com/2014/07/introvert-sabbath/

Life has a way of sneaking up on you. You can either be a predator, or the prey, and you are not locked into the food chain of being. I think I’m woolgathering much, of late. I feel as though I’m one of those tribesmen mentioned in the Golden Compass who drill holes in the roofs of their skulls to collect dust. The magic-manna is falling from the heavens, and I’m gathering it where I must. It’s all very surreal, where I am. The skies are so elegant blueblueblue, and as I drove up Rex Hill, I marveled at the magnificent range of greens supplied by all the different trees. The darker pines and firs, the spring-bright verdancy of the maples and poplars, the darker edge of the oaks, the almost yellow hint on the aspens, the silver underbellies or the leaves on the bushes at the base of the mighty trees – greens arrayed all before me, side-by-side all reaching for the sky-lights.

But I’m woolgathering, as the world is beautiful and bright, and I’m spinning in circles as life shark-swims around me, preparing its strike, though I believe that I am the predator here. And in this time of new relationship, house, people, places, busyness, summer, Oregon, sunshine, earth, friends, books, thoughts, I’m discovering so many difficult and beautiful things.

I’m learning that relationships have a seemingly selfish component. That is, that relationship means I have to share my feelings, opinions, and desires, instead of merely seeking to fulfill the wishes of those I love. Not that that is a lousy tendency, and it is one that relationships in general tend to enjoy, but that a healthy relationship requires a certain reciprocity of giving and reception. You cannot simply give, but must receive and share also.

Because of this, I’m learning what it means to explain, carry, and examine feelings. I’m such an individualistic person that I’m quite capable of hiding these things so deeply inside of me that I only ever bless others, and never expect anything in return. I grew up lying so that I didn’t have to share these feelings, and though I stopped doing so in college, understanding that lies are not a firm foundation for honest friendships, I’m still playing my cards so close to my chest that it’s difficult to remember what showing them is like.

I’ve learned, again, how little things can be important, and even if I don’t value them, others might. Isn’t that the nature of reality? One man’s trash is another’s treasure?

Life is sneaking up on me, but I think I see it coming. It’s none so stealthy as it believes, and it never leaves, truly, only schemes another angle of assault. And I’m learning, living, loving, and laughing through life, and every day the Spirit intercedes for me in my weakness (with groanings too deep to utter).

But that’s enough babbling for one evening. I’m exhausted, but pleased. Sabbath Sunday: success. Even if much of it was cleaning, it was still sufficiently introverted in all the necessary ways.

Betwixt the Paths

I used to be tragically shy, the kind of child hiding behind his mother's legs, whimpering and crying to go home. During these times, I harbored within all my thoughts. When asked about my day, I explained, perfunctorily, each of the necessary events without associated thoughts. In high school, the limited pool of students in the preppy school meant that I was swiftly relegated into the unpopular sphere of social strata. I did not climb clear of that then, for my relationships in-school were kept at careful distance. I said enough to prevent my abuse, for bullies found my small size easy pickings. Sometimes I succeeded, sometimes I did not.

But as I changed the rules; the game changed me. In college, I eventually learned (through persistent roommates and friends) to shed my skin, entire. I rarely did, but occasionally, when it suited me, I unloaded my heart unto those willing listeners, asking for assistance and guidance. I valued their opinions in lieu of my own. I'd not yet understood the golden means, the Aristotelian balance of valuing my own experience in measure with that of others.

Then, the most recent game, the game that stretched my everything, the trial of tears, triumph, and terror. With every day, the game's parameters changed, the strategy and purposes changed, all in dicey whimsy. Everything was in a flux, and I rolled through my experience in a regressive fashion: telling no one anything, telling everyone everything and following their rules, trying a balance, and cycling around again and again. I listened to advice even though it was my game, and as I changed, bent, broke, remade, burned through rules and transformed the game in a chaotic evolution, I realized I was defeating myself. It was my game, and the only true opponent I faced was myself. I've long assumed the belief that the only person I struggle to beat, given enough persistence and motivation, is myself. No matter how advanced my strategy, I always find ways to foil my own stratagem. 

I've re-learned much in this game. I've learned and relearned these things all my life, and I suspect I will never stop learning them.  I've learned to listen and to sequester my feelings in their appropriate times and places. I've learned to fail, and stand back up. I've learned to hope and believe when in a dark valley. I've learned to pray for others when I'm suffering. I've learned to love others all the more, knowing that we are all humans here. I've learned how necessary praise is in the brightest of places and in the darkest. I've learned thankfulness and kindness. I've relearned all these things and more, betwixt the paths.

This actually is not where I was originally going.... pending...

My Hope is in the Lord

Zephaniah 3:17 The LORD your God is in your midst, a mighty one who will save; he will rejoice over you with gladness; he will quiet you by his love; he will exult over you with loud singing.

Shabbat Shalom, everyone. I admit that, sometimes, the busyness of life prevents me from taking needed Sabbath breaks. "The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath." I used to believe this meant that as long as we *could* keep going, Sabbath wasn't requisite. This is true, in some sense. But if you ask any authentic Jewish man what the most sacred of holidays is, he won't answer Pesach (Passover) or Yom Kippur (the day of Atonement), or Rosh Hashanah (feast of trumpets), but the Sabbath.  It was the first holy day, set apart from the dawn of creation.

Another interesting point is that "holy day" and the word for "festivals" in the Bible can be translated appointment. I was reading an interesting book on Messianics (Jewish Christians), and it mentioned how the festivals and holy days were greater than simply vacations from work, they were, and are for many Jews still, appointments with God. And the Sabbath is the greatest of these. I wouldn't miss a dentist appointment, or a doctor's appointment, or even an appointment for a phone call, but, many weeks, I so blithely ignore an appointment with God? I go to Church, I read my Bible, I philosophize about theoretical Christianity, and, when possible, I try to share my beliefs, but there is something intrinsically fantastic about an appointment with God.

I'll explain it this way. I'm something of an introvert.  5 years ago, when taking the Meyer Briggs test, I scored over 90% in all my categories, one of which was introversion. Years later, my score has dropped more towards the median point, a bit, but suffice it to say that shyness understates my original introversion. I was downright petrified of group situations. So in Church, the times I most feared were greeting times. A whole bunch of smiling faces mingling and sharing tiny tidbits of their lives - not my favored activity. It was almost a nightmare. (this has all changed to some degree) Once I started talking to any individual, I immediately felt more comfortable, as if I'd entered into a zone of communication, and fenced off outside elements. So yes, stamp me an introvert and ship me into a corner with a book. 

In the same way, giant group Bible studies and open-speaking scenarios frighten me. I'd rather talk to individuals, small groups (small = 2-3). I'd rather interact with people on a personal level, so why not God? I like the idea of Sabbath because I can choose a personal appointment with God, I can meet with God with friends, I can rest in a meditative contemplation of a divine who has tucked me under his wings, congratulating me for a week well done.

There aren't many weeks where I'm destroyed by the end. My job is gentle, and I've time in my life on the side for writing, reading, playing in the great outdoors, friends, and so on. But I still desire a specific time where I can rest, Sabbath, in the Lord. I can appoint a time where it's Yeshua and I. And when the week is tough, and there appears to be no path of escape, no solution for problems, no winning an intractable situation, God speaks those words from Zephaniah into my ear. And then I always hear my favorite verse: "Let your gentle spirit be known to all men. The Lord is near." (NASB)

Let your hope rest on the Lord, He is near. Shabbat Shalom.

Day #3: Cache of a Lonely Dragon

For the road often wanders
as feet are want to do
while valuable thoughts it squanders
what 'long the road we knew


I've long grappled with my introversion and its debilitating charm that strangles me, comforts me, tethers and kindles my anger aflame.  It asphyxiates and cossets in equal portions, a mercurial dichotomy that oft leaves me incensed or blessedly at ease.  Is it only or is it lonely? Not lonely, I suspect, for my companions are many. No, it is more diabolical, an infernal poison seeping into my joints with a casual familiarity and a caustic finale.
Loneliness? No. I am a dragon, sitting atop a hoarded mountain of gold, capable of shifting into human form. Entering town, I stare agog at the destitution, the starvation and beggary. I ponderously place a half-penny into a mendicant's empty cup, trundling along the city square.  I speak with them, dine with them, and subsequently align with their thoughts, falling desperately in love with them. Yet I cannot share what I hoard alone.