Zapping a Spiritual Slump

This isn't the first time I've experienced a spiritual slump, but it might be the only time I've given it free rein for several months. Usually, neglecting my spirituality becomes so uncomfortable that I'm driven to my knees and the whole thing takes care of itself. This go-round, though, I seem to have stuck my lukewarm spiritual pot on the back burner and let it simmer a while. Not good!

Perhaps the daily drama of presidential politics contributed to my lack of spiritual upkeep this year, or maybe the distraction of a newly-retired husband obscured that niggling feeling of drifting too far from the active pursuit of faith that lifts and anchors me. Even my writing––most often used with the divine in mind and completely dependent upon spiritual gifts––appears to have taken an illogical front seat to daily, meaningful connection with the Lord. Let's face it. My muse has been more secular than sacred in recent months, which is probably more consequence than coincidence. Not that there is anything wrong with secular themes (they interest me!) but that the imbalance undoubtedly reflects where my treasure lies lately.

One would think, with my everyday life as a bishop's wife being awash in the trappings of gospel living, that I would somehow absorb what I need by osmosis, but life has proven to me again and again that this is not the case. The Spirit is truly a gift, and if you don't use (and/or consciously pursue) it, you lose it. At least, I do. And hanging out in its general vicinity doesn't quite do the trick, either. In fact, getting ready to celebrate Christ's birth in December and focusing on Thanksgiving this month has made me realize I've been doing little more than going through the motions of late...and sometimes, not even that. Just last week I made a couple of decisions that were more worldly than wise, and I'm still feeling the repercussions of those uninspired choices. The little things really are the big things at times, and sacrifice and service do bring more lasting joy than selfish pursuits. Of this, I am certain.

I hope you'll forgive my thinking out loud about matters so personal, but introspection by way of blogging (BWOB, ha) does me a world of good...and I suspect others might relate to a few of these thoughts as well. Sooner or later, we all get "caught up in the thick of thin things." But thin things never satisfy for long, which is why I always wonder––once I look up from each recurring episode of busy-ness and self-involvement––how I could ever have become complacent about something so crucial to my happiness as the discipline of setting aside ample time every day for thoughtful prayer, purposeful scripture study, and the stillness required for more than superficial communion with God. How easy it is to look past the Source of all things that really matter and rely upon a few things that really don't matter at all, losing sight of the best parts of myself in the process.

Of course, it's entirely up to me to reclaim those best parts, and the Lord (thankfully) humbles His children with enough regularity to make that attractive, even necessary. After all, who likes being miserable? Not I. Gratitude is a good beginning, one that goes hand-in-hand with a desire to serve, which is where I will focus my attention in the coming weeks. Being grinchy and grateful at the same time is impossible, so I intend to get my grateful on, get my stillness on, and enjoy the holidays in the spirit they deserve!

And that's a wrap. :::::ZAP!:::::

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=)

Thanksgiving Divorce

A man in Phoenix calls his son in New York the day before Thanksgiving and says, "I hate to ruin your day, but I have to tell you that your mother and I are divorcing; forty-five years of misery is enough."

"Pop, what are you talking about?" the son exclaims.

"We can't stand the sight of each other any longer," the father says. "We're sick of each other, and I'm sick of talking about this, so you call your sister in Chicago and tell her."

Frantic, the son calls his sister, who explodes on the phone. "Like heck they're getting divorced!" she shouts. "I'll take care of this." 

She calls Phoenix immediately and screams at her father, "You are NOT getting divorced. Don't do a single thing until I get there. I'm calling my brother back, and we'll both be there tomorrow. Until then, don't do a thing, DO YOU HEAR ME?!" and hangs up. 

The old man hangs up the phone and turns to his wife. "Okay," he says. "They're coming for Thanksgiving and paying their own way." 

∞§∞

 Sounds like a happy ending to me.

;) 

taking up arms

Verdun, 1917 by Felix Vallotton

taking up arms

©2012 susan noyes anderson

then and now, war is the same

guts and glory, brawn and blame

rage, remorse, and alibis

searing truth and crushing lies

faithless enemies and friends

vengeance tempered by amends

justice dealt in bloody blows

raining down on faceless foes

imperfection marks us all

some will rise and some will fall

man will heed the battle call

man will heed the battle call

My poem, inspired by Vallotton's representation of WWI's battle at Verdun, is intended to portray the intrinsic horrors and impieties of war. It does not, however, represent a flat anti-war statement on my part. Like any mother, I am deeply disturbed by the violence that characterizes our world, and I would like to see more peaceful solutions to international problems. Having said that, I cannot deny that war is sometimes necessary, as it was in WWII. Sadly, identifying that necessity (or lack thereof) is a lot easier to do after the fact, and we have fought some wars that could and should have been avoided. I hope we will never let that reality diminish our gratitude for the brave men and women who have risen up in good faith to defend our country through the years. The debt that we owe them for their selfless service can never be repaid. Thanks to them, when evil does rear its ugly head against our nation, there will always be an answer. 

My prayer is that our leaders might be inspired with the wisdom to know when we must take action and when we must not––that the blood of our courageous troops need never be spilled in a cause that is undeserving of their devotion to duty and country.

Happy Veteran's Day!

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Y Can't We Just Get Along?

From what I've heard, read and experienced, this election brought some disturbance in the force for many people in our country––creating large and small tremors among blog pals, other friends, and even family members. This poem, which is not really directed at any one person, is meant to be sort of a universal outcry. Still, I will say that it was written from my paradigm and did spring from a couple of interactions that troubled me.

Y Can't We Just Get Along?

(written for Alphabe-Thursday, the letter Y)

©2012 Susan Noyes Anderson

Why can't we just get along?

Can't our friendship still be strong

even when we disagree?

Why ya gotta wail on me?

Couldn't we just let things ride,

honor one another's side,

respect the liberty to choose

and tolerate each other's views?

Am I so wrong; are you so right?

Is every question black and white?

The "facts" aren't always what they seem;

most truth lies somewhere in between.

So here's a thought: Let's both stand tall

for our convictions, one and all.

To our own selves, let us be true.

(Romney, me; Obama, you.)

The die is cast; the deed is done.
You're super glad Obama won.

I'm super sad that Romney lost.
Must good relations be the cost?

Can't you lean left...Can't I lean right
without a friendship-ending fight?
The truth is, only time will tell
if our votes served this country well.

Both of us guessed the best we could.
Both of us thought our guess was good.
Now let's employ some common sense,
and let go of our arrogance.

The one thing sure to doom us all
is this: the mind too closed and small
to listen, learn, or compromise...
to see through someone else's eyes.

So let's be friends, friend. You and me.
It starts with us, and maybe we
can be the start of something grand
across our now-divided land.

We're still Americans. Speak up,
discussion fills our nation's cup.
But don't forget humility.
The future is no one's to see.

We all just guess the best we can.
There is no magic answer man.

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Vote Hopes

My hope for today is that every vote counted (for either candidate) will be an honest one, cast by a registered, living-and-breathing citizen exercising his or her freedom to voice political opinions in the way that matters most.

May the victor find the wisdom and guidance to do what is right for our country in these difficult times.

A June Wedding

I'm attending a baptism in less than an hour, so I've gotta get this Saturday Centus done in a hurry! Thankfully, Jenny has eased my way with a phrase that got my creative juices flowing pretty well this morning. She has given us 100 words plus the prompt (in italics, below) to get the job done.

 June Wedding

 ©2012 Susan Noyes Anderson

"Thirty days hath September,

April, June, and November."

This I muttered to myself,

pulling pamphlets off the shelf.

My eyes teared up at thoughts of June

(my daughter's name) and all too soon

her wedding date. It can't be true.

Just yesterday, the kid was two!

I'd saved brochures and books galore

but now I yearn to bar the door

and keep her under lock and key

(or send her to a nunnery).

How did the years fly by so fast?

I thought this day would be a blast,

but it's a bust. My heart may burst!

That's why I choose June 31st.

=)

PS. I should clarify that this is not autobiographical. My daughter married at the age of 30, so we had lots of time with her. When the day came to choose her wedding date, I was nothing but delighted.

X-tra Scary Halloween: A Ghostly Tale

©2012 Susan Noyes Anderson

One All Hallow's Eve, we got dressed up like ghosts

and went down to the graveyard at night.

Two of my buddies and I were excited

to give our kid brothers a fright.

Our town's cemetery was right on the way

to the homes that gave out the best treats.

We remembered how scary those shadowed tombs seemed,
so we lay in wait, cloaked in white sheets.

With the sun sinking down and the moon rising high and

no brothers as yet, we got bored.

My friend, Jack, let loose on two girls with a moan,

but his efforts to scare were ignored.

As more kids went by, we helped Jack out a bit

with a chorus of howls, wails, and shrieks.

We laughed when a glance at our ghastly attire

stole the color right out of their cheeks.

Still no brothers in view, but we had lots to do.

We were scaring those punks off their feet!

At times, we stayed hidden and screeched like the dead.

Other times, we chased them down the street.

This was Halloween fun to the max. Tricks, not treats.

We could terrorize toddlers forever.

Some ran for their lives; a few fell down and cried.

It was SICK. Our best Halloween ever!!

We were kings of the graveyard––the ghosts with the mostest.

Dude, we had fake haunting perfected.

Our screams were so chilling, our sighs so unearthly

not one of our victims suspected.

The night was our stage. Maybe we could do better...
make even the older kids squeal!

A new sound erupted from Jack, and I grinned.

Super spooky! This guy was for real.

Jack's groan was so gruesome, in fact, that it made 

every hair on my head stand up straight.

I looked his direction to flash the thumbs-up,

but I froze when my gaze caught the gate.

The creepy old gate to the crypts glowed blood red,

gargoyles beckoning, urging me near.

The temperature dropped and grew cold as dry ice,

while green mist floated in, thick as fear.

I tried to resist, but that putrid green mist

entered me with its mind-numbing chill.

It crept up my back, and it lodged in my brain

till it robbed me of freedom and will.

I made myself focus both eyes on the gate.
Big mistake. What I saw made me moan.

It was Jack. He was hanging there, feet off the ground,

with his flesh eaten down to the bone.

His form was more skeleton now and less ghost.

Pitch-black eyes had rolled back in his head.

And the creature beside him was every bad nightmare

that ever filled children with dread.

In horror, I clutched at our other friend’s hand,

but Dan pushed me away and cried, “JAAAACK!”

Dan started towards him, but when the ground opened,

Dan took off and never looked back.

I would have run, too, but my legs wouldn’t work.

I was paralyzed, frozen by fear.

The graves were releasing their dead, and the sound

of their keening was awful to hear.

Zombies and wraiths slipped around me and through me.

Worms passed in and out of my skin.

My soul turned to ice, and my heart beat in rhythms

of terror, as evil crept in.

I was lost, and I knew it. Was this how Jack felt

when they took him and made him their own?

Would the fiends claim my body forever? I could not

withstand them much longer alone.

And then came The Voice. Distant, yet so familiar

it entered my spirit like gold.

 “Hey guys, whatcha doin’? Are you in the graveyard??

We heard what you did, and WE TOLD!

“You’re really in trouble, especially Jack.

All our friends said that he was so mean.

"You’re gonna be grounded. You shoulda known better

than scaring us on Halloween.”

It was my little brother! The punk sounded good,

like the trill of a silvery flute.

His whining and tattling almost seemed welcome,

compared to the grave’s grim salute.

Salvation was ours in an instant. There’s nothing

so fearful as women prepared

to teach their kids lessons that they need to know.

Watch out, phantoms! NO ONE would be spared.

The underworld quaked as my mother’s "mad" voice

mowed down demons and devils and ghouls.

“You get out here this instant! All three of you. NOW.

Did you think that your mothers were fools?”

Jack slid off the gate, re-embodied himself,

and walked over to me with a smile.

The undead had fled to their graves, quite undone, so

we hugged and high-fived for a while.

Nearby a bush rustled, and out of the dark

came the third of our three musketeers.

“I couldn’t just leave, so I came back and hid,”

Dan said softly. We met him with cheers!

“All for one, one for all,” were the words that we said,

and we meant them, in good times or bad.

We spent the next 14 days stuck in the house.

And you know what? We felt mostly glad. 

 No more ghostly graveyards or hauntings for us,

just a tip from my terrorized crew...
(Heed it well, or this day you will rue.)

NEXT TIME, THEY COULD BE COMING FOR YOU!

Don't pass by a graveyard until the sun shines.
Take warning from s-h-i-v-e-r-y chills up your spines.
Be kind to small children, whatever you do, and
BEWARE what you wear. Sometimes, costumes come true!

With lots of love and plenty of scary good wishes
to our awesomely gruesome grandchildren
from
Ghostma and Ghoulpa Anderson

=)

If you like this one, check out the ones from past years:

2009
2010
2011

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