08 April 2012 @ 09:44 pm
How I Flunked Lent but Turns Out Jesus Had My Back the Whole Time  


I was so going to nail Lent this year! Came up with a great scheme to avoid tired, cliche observances-- no fasting from sugar, caffeine, gossip or coveting my neighbor's anything for me this year. I was going to put my faith on a steroid regime and refrain from asking any Big Questions for forty days. This is nearly Mary Hershey torture. I am obsessed with the Big Q's. I see my life as a three million piece jigsaw puzzle, and I am o  a quest to find every single freakin' border piece. The middle be damned. Please just let me get the border. After five decades, I am loathe to confess, I am still short two corner pieces as well.  I would ransom my retirement fund and a couple of molar for the top right corner.

I could only imagine the tiny six-pack abs my soul would grow if I simply stopped questioning, wondering, agonizing-- and instead just sat in faith. Sat and breathed through my celestial gills. Trusted that as crazy as things seemed, it would all work out. There wasn't anything that I needed to know for sure until Easter, was there? EVEN if it felt like I really should get on the ball and start making some big decisions about my life. 

I struggled through my Morning Pages every day because normally, there is nary a declarative sentence to be found. Every time a question popped out, I turned it on its little arse and tried to find some gratitude for not having to know that answer or that outcome. At least until Easter. Then look out! I was going to get my semi-automatic Question Bazooka gun back out. 

This past Holy Week, there have been a number of great articles on faith and resurrection surfacing in the world, and I was particularly taken by a sermon by Reverend Anne Howard of The Beatitudes Society and also Diana Butler Bass, whose former weekly Sunday column was a major fave of mine.

The thing is, I have a very bad time with Holy Week. I hate thinking about what Jesus endured. How can a mere mortal be asked to comtemplate the torture of another human being? I have a very vivid imagination and a Black Belt in empathy, which came in my DNA package, no credit due me.  I have struggled with this since grade school, when I first saw a live Passion Play. Suddenly, I got it. The giant crucifix I had stared at each Sunday at Mass came to life for me. I was absolutely horrified! The Stations of the Cross were a walking daytime nightmare for me. I didn't have any idea how I could possibly formulate an adequate apology or thank you big enough to cover the sacrifice Jesus made. I still can't and still don't. It is larger than I will ever be. It's the Milky Way vs. my little fingernail. I like to think I would take a bullet for Jesus any day of the week,  and yet I can't do anything to mitigate his humiliating treatment death. There is no greeting card, perfect penance, act of sacrifice. I got nothin.'

One of the sermons that really moved me spoke of the shift that can be made by replacing the preposition :for: with the preposition :with: in considering Holy Week, Instead of the usual meditating on Jesus dying for us, suffering for our redemption, etc., consider Jesus joining us-- as in Jesus dying with us, Jesus suffering with us. In some way that I can't yet fully articulate, this shift moves me closer in. I don't feel I am merely standing under the cross wringing my hands wishing there was something I could do. Instead, I feel this sense of AWE and gratitude that Jesus put his money where his mouth was. Because we are such recalcitrant sheep, not only did he tell us everything we need to know to get through our voyage, but he showed us, in completely excruciating fashion, the Way. He showed us just how enormous God is, and he showed us the true face of love and forgiveness. He wants to be with us each in our suffering, in the way that I want to be with others that are suffering. In my completely small and shallow way, that is. And I want to be with him through this powerful reenactment. It is not my job to try to stop the Passion, or apologize for it, but to be brave enough to look Love right in its exquisitely wrenching, beautiful face. 

Which is just about the time when I realized how completely laughable my Lenten observance was. Because it was all about M-E. Me, who is not suffering from anything but middle-aged self-absorption. Dear Lord.  How did I join with anyone in their suffering, in their loneliness, in their fear? Sure, I sent out my small rectangles of paper to my church, and they do a bang-up job attending to the needs of the community with our tithes. But seriously, Mary? You sent paper rectangles out to the hungry, cold, alienated during Lent? Geez, knock yourself out. 

The thing about Jesus that I have learned is that even when you totally flunk your spiritual curriculum, he will pull you into Him and kiss you on the head. Seriously. Of THAT I am sure. No question. 

Anyone else out there flunk Lent? Come on by and I'll kiss you on the head, too.

Love and grace,
Mary 


 
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16 March 2012 @ 07:11 pm
Be Still  
  

"These are the transitional times when I am not what I was nor am yet what I am becoming. In limbo times, I must live with alert attention to my feelings of vulnerability. I must guard against hasty choices and rushed decisions. In limbo times, I must learn to simply be. Soon enough, life will move me onward. Today I practice the action of loving non-action. I allow my life to alter organically and without unnatural haste. I trust the tempo of my unfolding."

                                                                                                                                                -- Julia Cameron


For Lent this year, I decided to give up asking the Big Questions. One would think this would be pretty manageable for forty days, and it might possibly silence the infernal buzz of the jackhammer in my head. Things have quieted down, but "easy"? Not on your life. This is a practice more well suited to a spiritual ninja, than a big Irish weenie like myself. Not asking the Big Questions at this very odd juncture in my life is worse than watching the Starbuck's lady put whole milk in my soy latte and discovering that I'm temporarily mute and can't make her stop. It's worse than finding out that Rachel Maddow has inexplicably fallen for Mitt Romney and they've run off together. It's even worse than finding out dark chocolate whoppers cause varicose veins and a tendency to drool.

Next year, I'm giving up Adam Sandler movies for Lent. And decaf and sardines.

Mary

Pssst! WriterJenn-- Anne Lamott's new book is all yours! :- ) Congrats. Will you email me your mailing address via my website?


 
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09 March 2012 @ 05:30 pm
Harder than it Sounds  


Photo by Jim Schreckengest

While I am waiting very patiently to have a lunch date with Anne Lamott, it is so exciting to have had her recently burst into Twitterville, where she is sucker punching me in the soul with her 140-character neurotic blurts, irreverent prayers, laments, and deeply witty life observations. She is also on Facebook now, too. She notes that her publisher told her that if she didn't get on FB, he would hurt her dogs. God, the woman slays me!

She recently quoted poet/philosopher William Blake who says, paraphrased-- We are here to learn how to endure the beams of love. This one is now deeply embedded in my craw. We are here to learn to endure the beams of LOVE? Come again? Aren't we here to learn to suffer with grace, and love those that want to spittle upon us? I've spent the past decades learning to endure and withstand the beams of hate, intolerance, rejection, misunderstanding-- in my very own small, overprivileged white girl way. 

BEAMS of love, beams of Love, what am I missing? What kind of divine lesson is that? Seriously, how hard could that be? Move to the light. Stand still. Face up. Revel. Rotate for even cooking. I am certain I could even do this in my sleep.

Unless Blake considered Love in a much greater context, concept and complexity than I am considering. My idea of a good loving up by someone is when they ignore my flaws (or don't see them or find them charming,) insist upon me having my way, make me feel gorgeous, and listen till their ears spurt blood about something I want to talk about. And it wouldn't hurt if some warmed Brown Betty with caramel sauce is involved in this equation. Beam on me baby, beam on me.

But if you're talking about the kind of Love where someone always wants you to grow into the best version of you, pokes you gently when you dawdle, and waits patiently when you give the Universe the bird and hop on the trolley to Easy Street-- that might take some learning to endure. Can I endure a constant witness to my life? Can I withstand the knowledge that Love has seen all my failings, all my lies, my facades, my darkness, my utter selfishness, my vanity, and still Love wants to be next to me every moment? Can I survive the shame of that? Will I allow my pitiful, mortal, nekked self to be fully consumed by Love's light?

This could take a lifetime. Uh, maybe more than one.

May the Beam be with you--
Mary

P.S. Since Anne was so generous to come onto FB and Twitter and she does have a new book coming out in just days, I'd love to send you a copy of Some Assembly Required: A Journal of My Son's First Son. Just tell me in 140 characters or less why you'd like to read it. You can leave a comment here, send me a message on FB, Twitter, or email me privately at maryhershey.


 
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06 February 2012 @ 10:16 pm
Getting to the Really Sweet Stuff  




There are very few things that I find more worthy of celebration than love and candy-- and having them both celebrated on the same day is an intoxicating combo. That Valentines Day is not yet a national holiday with mandated closures for businesses causes me great distress, particularly in light of inferior holidays that we fuss over. We clearly under-celebrate Valentines Day, and put such infernal limits on it with the emphasis on romantic love, particularly of the hetero variety.  Couples love is all fine and well, but it is just a tiny sliver in an enormous pie! People, people. Love will not be contained or constrained!

We need a BIG Willy Wonka kind of parade with floats made entirely from candy and sugar, with no one minding if you run alongside attached by your chompers. At the end of the parade might be a gargantuan chocolate fountain with marshmallows the size of soccer balls for dipping and rolling.  "Sugar, Sugar" by the Archies must be the theme song of the parade. Not only is it so completely apropro, but it's the best song ever made according to my inner 12 year old. 

I would trade in Fourth of July, Labor Day, Columbus Day and New Year's Day for one really luscious and resplendant Valentines Day bash every year. Are you in with me?

For V-Day 2012, I am going to follow the wonderful example of Patience Salgado, aka Kindness Girl *(a favorite blogger of mine), who is encouraging people this month to love up their garbage collectors. She has gotten about a 1000 people so far to do this. There are some great photos of this on her blog already. She is challenging us to find out our collector's names, and leave them handmade Valentines, Starbuck's cards, baked goods, whatever moves you.

I have always had a soft spot for my collectors, and her charge has led me to imagine what life would be like without them. For one, I'd have to go to the landfill a lot, because I don't want my trash piling up outside my door. I don't even like it in my enclosed trash can behind the special cabinet I had built for it in my kitchen. I put my banana peels and strawberry stems in Ziploc bags becausse I don't think trash in your house should be allowed to stink. After 20 years of co-habitation, I still have not gotten Jill on board with this. I will not give up! I also would like her to open her tuna cans outside by the dumpster but that's a no-go from her camp so far. 

Anyway, without our collectors, I would be spending all my time driving trash around in my car which would take time away from doing the things I really should be doing like working on my novel, exercising, and cleaning window sill tracks with a toothbrush.  And I really wouldn't like garbage piling up outside my neighbor's door, particularly if they weren't inclined to dispose of it as often as I thought they should. I might even fall victim to Trash Rage, and end up in the slammer for trying to afixiate my neighbors with industrial strength Febreeze.

I can only imagine the irritation I would feel if I felt Jill wasn't doing her fair share of trips to the dump. Clearly, I would have to tie the bags to the back of her bike and convince her there was an awesome climb on the way to the landfill that wasn't to be missed.

Trash collectors are saving my psychological bacon! They are total superheroes. They need to have their own cartoons, comic books and Halloween costumes. Geez, maybe we should trade in Valentine's Day for Trash Collector's Day.

But there's have to be a serious candy tie-in, or I'm not voting for it.  

"All the beautiful sentiments in the world weigh less than a single lovely action." James Russell Lowell.

Now you go get started--

With you in love,
Mary Hershey

*Yes, I know, I am breaking my ban on hyperlinks so you can check her out because she is really a charming soul. 

 
 
Current Mood: gratefulgrateful
 
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21 January 2012 @ 12:44 pm
In Contentment  



I have been drooling over this photograph for some time now, just sitting with it and IN it, and feeling like quite the aesthete. Until I realized why I was having such a visceral response to it. For god's sake, its the colors of a favorite snack of mine. Geez. Anyone recognize it? I'd love to send you one in the mail to share, but it would be a real ugly mess by the time it got to you. 

It reminds me of my experience after Jill and I had the interior of our house painted. We (okay me) labored over the colors for weeks, painted all sorts of swatches on the walls, spent hours nose down in design magazines, and consulted a very talented friend of mine who had her own personal painting color wheel.  When the job was all done, we were both really thrilled with it. And still are! Except about a month after we finished, I went to have lunch out at a fast food joint that I was frequenting entirely too often. I walked in-- stopped in my tracks-- and laughed until I nearly cried. I'd duplicated all the interior colors of Taco Bell. 

I think the moral of this whole story is that you are what you eat. So eat well, eat outside your comfort zone on occasion, and eat to feed your body, mind and soul!

I received this below in an email this morning as one of those messages you are supposed to forward, but I don't ever feel comfortable doing that to my friends. But, I think this one is most lovely and wanted to share it all the same. If you are alone to do so, read it aloud. Its got some juice. You'll feel it.  

"Today may there be peace within. May you trust that you are exactly where you are meant to be. May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith in yourself and others. May you use the gifts that you have received, and pass on the love that has been given to you. May you be content with yourself just the way you are. Let this knowledge settle into your bones, and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise and love. It is there for each and every one of us..."

Off to buy the ingredients for a Cherry Vanilla Smoothie (Greenie). Supposed to be a total party in your mouth. I will report back, promise. 

Peace, 
Mary 




 
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13 January 2012 @ 05:10 pm
At Last!  


My blog account seemed to be stuck in some stuperous holiday hangover and I couldn't get it to upload a single, solitary pixel. Geez!  I'm feeling very triumphant about my success today. Please accept my belated wishes for an extremely sumptuous New Year. 

Mine has been-- uh, interesting so far! I will be back soon to tell you more, and to warn you about asking God to show off in your life. Carolyn Myss, my spiritual dominatrix, warned me about that prayer. I considered her cautioning for about eight seconds before I let 'er rip. The prayer went nuclear.

God save me. Seriously.
From the rubble,
Mary
 
 
Current Mood: indescribableindescribable
 
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25 December 2011 @ 09:37 pm
The Birthday Boy at Last!  



This is one of my favorite Baby Jesus images. So many of the others that portray Him have him looking like he is three years old, decidedly un-infant-ish. People, he was brand spanking new! He wasn't capable of holding his head up, or holding his arms outstretched for hours at a time. And he certainly wasn't holding court with charm and  graciousness. He was probably screaming bloody murder! Most of us can't endure a whole night without our pillow-top mattresses. Imagine sleeping on hay in a wood trough with day-old skin. He was likely cold, sticky and mad, wishing he had a one-way ticket back to the Celestial City. And dear God, poor Mary. Imagine, her predicament... the indignity, the utter lack of privacy, absence of healthcare, and having to endure this all in front of her long-suffering fiance, Joseph. 

After the late-night service with the Episcopalians last night, I headed over the the Mission where they have a life-size Nativity scene with real animals. It was close to midnight and Baby J had just arrived. Nearly everyone was already inside for Mass so I nearly had the whole place to myself. There's a fence around it so the animals don't wander off, but it is all I can ever do not to climb right in. You know what I mean? Don't you just want to get IN there? No? Okay, well fine-- me, I can barely restrain myself. 

There was a lovely old sheep that endured me petting her/him for the longest time, and had the most expressive pair of ears. I feel certain he/she wanted me to stay for a sleepover. I was ready to vault over the fence. I could have so happily curled up in the hay with him and his bunkmates. (Note to self to add to Bucket List: Sleeping in a Nativity Scene)  

A lovely, wise woman was talking to me this week about the gifts I was preparing for Baby Jesus. Feeling at a great loss for anything valuable I could come up with right now, she suggested I take Him all the messy things that were kicking me in the solar plexus. These would make the WORST ever presents. But I trust her guidance a lot, so after I loved up all the animals, Baby Jesus and I talked. I assured Him next Christmas I was certain to bring some really cool stuff, but for this year I was bringing him an giant existential hairball, a case of hives that won't quit, and a very bad attitude about something. I didn't get hit by lightning or stoned by the Shepherds, so I left it all there, came home and slept like a dead girl. God, I love that Baby.

I hope you all have had an absolutely gorgeous day doing just what you wanted to do with those you most wanted to do it with.

In peace, with love,
Mary Hershey


 
 
Current Mood: hopefulhopeful
 
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20 December 2011 @ 10:34 pm
Hanukkah Begins  
Hanukkah Day VI by EgretStudios

A candle is a small thing.
But one candle can light another.
And see how its own light increases,
as a candle gives its flame to the other.
You are such a light.
Moshe Davis and Victor Ratner



To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,
Every cubic inch of space is a miracle.
~Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass
Hanukkah Day VI, a photo by EgretStudios on Flickr.

 
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09 December 2011 @ 08:35 am
Live from Texas  
Merry Christmas Texas by some.dude
Merry Christmas Texas, a photo by some.dude on Flickr.

I am reveling in an extension to my stay in Texas—I love being here this time of year. Small town Texans know how to do the holidays up right! I was here just  in time for the Festival of Lights parade, my annual Frito Pie capitulation, AND best news of all, for the birth of Madeline Kate, our first niece. She is about the tiniest thing I’ve ever seen with perfect sets of miniature EVERYthing. I find that so remarkable! Miss Dottie and I have been very busy trying to lend a hand where we can. She sent me off to Bill’s Meat Market yesterday to buy a pot roast so we could prepare dinner for the new parents. I read all the labels on the big red chunks of meat that looked roast-ish. There were rumps and shoulders and some meat called Chuck, but no roast named Pot. Finally, a man in a bloody white lab coat with a cleaver the size of a banjo —seriously—came out to help He explained that a pot roast was any meat that you put in a pot. Okay, fine. How is one to know that?

Texas never fails to lay a hold upon me. I feel certain that my respiration cycle slows while I am here. Every part of me quiets, loosens, thaws. I usually always tap into something that is unfolding within me. Is it Texas or is it simply that fact that I am away from home, away from the cyclotrack of my life? I really need to figure out how to import this. Or, maybe not. Maybe I just need to come back here more often. I think there are places that we each find that embrace us and this town, this space is one of mine. Leaving is always a little loss for me.

Being here always allows me the luxury of reading books cover to cover. Ann Patchett’s latest novel, State of Wonder, is a tremendous work. It is a timely read for me as my life is about to morph into something very different, as does her main character’s. And in both instances, there is a bit of kicking and screaming along the way. It is likely that I won’t encounter any cannibals or anaconda’s as she did, but it is always good to be prepared, for god’s sake. I also liked Sarah's Key, a powerful Holocaust story. And I'm just diving into Sue Monk Kidd's memoir that she wrote with her daughter, Traveling with Pomegranates. Her use of language and metaphor is exquisite. And her articulation of a woman moving into her fifth decade should be a mandatory primer for all of us in that camp. One of the things that she says in bold is that "Something is over." That is so startlingly true, and unfortunately, where so many of us can get stuck. What is not to be missed is that something is beginning. I feel that as urgently and deeply as a riptide right now.

As I’ve alluded to, big change for me is afoot! After nineteen years with the VA, at the end of January, I will be moving on. I am not sure yet what I will do next except finish the novel I am working on, and continue to follow this spiritual path that seems to be unfurling at my feet. It feels more like a suspension bridge at times and I can’t see what is holding it up. Therein, the sweaty palms.

I just keep saying YES. That’s all I’ve got. And I know it’s the rightest thing I’ve ever said. 

Love and blessings to you each-- 
Mary

P.S. Leave a comment today about your favorite geographical space on earth and I will either send you the ingredients to make your own Frito Pie, or a copy of one of these wonderful books. :- ) 

 
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27 November 2011 @ 07:45 pm
Notes from a Food Coma  
35 days of gratitude #3 by InsideMyShell
35 days of gratitude #3, a photo by InsideMyShell on Flickr.

I feel quite certain that I will not need to eat for the entire duration of November and most of December. I ate my body weight in mashed potatoes and coconut cream pie on Thursday, and make no apologies. Except perhaps to my favorite corduroy pants that bear the brunt of it all. I'm going to recommend to the US Thanksgiving Committee that perhaps we gorge during odd years and fast during even years. We could all send our grocery (and Black Friday funds) to a place of need during the even years. Let me know if you think we could make a go of this. I could get a petition going.

For my Thanksgiving holiday, I reveled in three days sitting on the lovely blue hem of the Pacific, breathing in her girth, gust, and greatness. And held softly each moment of my mother's company in an open palm. And I thought about Great Big Things-- the word's hunger, and a nation in crisis, and Little Inconsequential Things-- my day job, my grey roots, my petty fixations.  And felt, as I often do, the uneven yoke of all that. 

Moving into a place of gratefulness can create balance. It's where the Great Big Things and Little Inconsequential Things can meet and begin to move together in a more harmonious place. It's where gratitude-- a nearly cliched word that clangs in my ear like grab, gab-- is transformed to it's most holy essence, nearly unspeakable, like a flutter of a tiny wing, an intimate gasp of delight between you and the Divine. 

I am profoundly grateful for so many things-- my inspiring partner, my comedic critters, my Irish clan, my gorgeous and soulful girlfriends, my much loved Fairy Goddaughter, my robust health, all that is to come post-VA, and and miracle of childhood fantasies becoming real in a writing career.  And for all that is headed toward me on my path-- some welcome and some probably not so much. I'm grateful that I have access to the grace I will need when I need it (she says with mustered confidence). 

I'm SO grateful for the written word-- for all the authors that have served as parents, mentors, friends, divine inspiration. 
I'm grateful for the healing and hope that I have found in books. I am deeply grateful to be a one miniscule voice in the great cosmic soup, and for the children that write to tell me that my books mattered to them. It makes everything else all so worth the while.

I'm grateful for those of you that come to this place to connect. And to show you just how much I appreciate you, I am offering you (or your favorite library or child) an opportunity to win a copy of Calli Be Gold by new Wendy Lamb author, Michele Weber Hurwitz. All you have do do is answer the following questions.

1. True/False:  The picture above is Mary Hershey standing on those books.
2. If you answered "false", why couldn't that possibly be Mary Hershey standing on those books?



Good luck!
Love and light,
Mary Hershey

 
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