Ghosting

I was sitting in the waiting room when a young friend came out from seeing the doctor and took a chair next to me so we could catch up a bit before my name was called. Her presence was a welcomed relief and a good deterrent for one waiting to see a physician. In the course of the conversation, I asked about her sister and her love interest. “He’s ghosted her,” was my friend’s casual response. 

Ghosted. It’s one of those relatively new colloquial terms that refers to being abruptly cut off from someone without having been given any warning. Even when the one ghosted tries to reach out to re-initiate or just try to gain some closure, silence is all one gets. (There is also a “soft ghosting” which is where one person gradually reduces his or her level of communication where there is only minimal contact left.) 

Delving into the word a bit further, I learned that being ghosted “can have a profound impact on a person’s mental health, leading to feelings of depression, anxiety and deflated self-esteem.” Well, of course, it can! Who likes to feel rejected or betrayed? Ghosting actually lights up the same brain pain receptors that cause physical pain. And whether the one being ghosted knows why he or she is being ghosted, the pain is still the same. 

And yet the statement was so nonchalant and rolled off the tongue so easily: “He’s ghosted her.” But it wasn’t the first time I had head the word; and I’m sure it won’t be the last. (Believe it or not, there’s a word that’s supposedly even more painful than ghosting. It’s called “quiet dumping.”)

But words just keep coming. “Breadcrumbing” is the new ghosting and a bit sneakier. It’s what one does to keep the other hanging on by a thread. Lord, help us. 

And there’s not enough time or space here to talk about “gaslighting,” another more recent term on the dating market which is nothing short of psychological manipulation. Or witchcraft, if we really want to call it what it is.

Of course, none of these are limited to the dating scene which does tout a 67% ghosting rate. CNBC reports that in 2023 about 78% of job seekers said they’d ghosted a prospective employer. Really? These are grown ups, for crying out loud. Not children in a school yard.

What it is with these new words on the market that are being thrown around as if it’s now the norm? Have the actions always been evident and we’re just now labeling them? Ghosting. Gas lighting. Breadcrumbing. Some seem to think that these things are more prevalent due to the stress of the culture in which we now live … are we ever going to stop blaming things on the pandemic … and that give us an “easy out” from difficult circumstances and relationships. A “get out of jail free” card, if you will, with no scrapes, bruises or burns. 

But seriously, has kindness been replaced with rudeness? Courtesy with cruelty and thoughtlessness? Respect with dishonor and indifference? Have we lost what it means to look into the eyes of another and see the image of God? To know beyond a shadow of a doubt that person is deeply loved by the Father?

What IS the answer to all this Ghosting and Gaslighting and Breadcrumbing … and whatever the next new word will be? I don’t know. But I have a gut feeling it just might begin with my surrendering my own ego to Perfect Love.

He has told you, O man, what is good:

    And what does the LORD require of you

But to do justice, and to love kindness,

    And to walk humbly with your God.

                                                Micah 6:8 (ESV)

O Lord, let it be.

Just an ordinary moment…

The Place of Tension

He was between songs when I approached his tent Saturday morning at the local farmer’s market. “Good morning,” I said. “Good morning, Nancy. Happy Easter!” Because I knew he is a retired pastor, I responded, “I try to refrain from ‘Happy Easter’ on this Holy Saturday.” He looked at me quizzically. I went on, “It’s important to me that I don’t rush through these days prior to the resurrection. Especially today.” As a way of physical expression, I raised my upturned palms and moved them back and forth a bit as if balancing something heavy or weighty. “It’s important I hold the tension between Good Friday and Easter Sunday.” He nodded slowly as if an understanding was breaking in. “Tension,” he said. “I like that. What did you call it again?” “Holy Saturday,” I said. 

Tension. It’s something we all live with, not just on Holy Saturday, which, by the way, is a day the church through the ages really hasn’t known what to do with. (Sadly I recently read where it was actually called Easter Buy Day.)

Let me give you a few examples of tension with which we are all familiar.

Spring’s attempt to pry winter’s bony fingers from its clutch. The weather has been beautifully warm these last days. But a violent storm moves through, bringing with it destruction and a return to cooler air. Buds are blown and lay scattered on the ground; yet the soil holds the warmth of the last few days. Can you sense the tension of one season trying to gain hold on another? Back and forth it goes until one wins.

Each morning the light slowly breaks upon the dark; and in the evening, the reverse occurs. Steady moments of mysteriously veiled tension. Sooner or later, one always gives. 

One of my more favorite moments of tension is that juncture when the tide changes. When for just a nanosecond, it stands still in order to make its reversal. I am curious as to what happens at that moment of change. How does that moment happen? Oh, the mind of God. Who can know it? 

In music, a suspended chord that does not resolve allowing tension to hang in the air. It goes unnoticed by no one; not even the most musically illiterate. What does one do with that except to sit with it … and hold the tension.

And the Scriptures themselves bear witness to tension. 

A God who becomes a man.

A King who rides a donkey.

When I am weak, I am strong.

In losing my life, I find it.

And on an even more intense level: what about the cross of Christ itself? Two poles cut from living trees. One vertical and the other laying horizontally on top held by a dynamic display of … tension. A literal example of the true force being played out upon it. A Savior being executed.

And we have come full circle. To Holy Saturday. A day of just sitting with something we don’t know what to do with. The day between the death of Christ and His glorious resurrection. The constant push and pull between great sorrow and exuberant joy. But is this not our constant reality in most any given day or week? We hold joy and grief in the same moment. We love and yet hate. We forgive while still feeling the pain of betrayal. We live in the light and the dark. We experience faith and the lack of. All at the same time. And if we have ever sat at the death bed of a loved one, we know that sacred tension of the here and the there. Of the staying and the going. The push and pull and push again that is common to all mankind.

So what do we do with these things? For sure we can’t deny they don’t exist. To do so would deny our very own existence. What is the answer? May I suggest we learn to live with the tension; to hold those opposing forces and allow them to become creative, life-giving, liberating factors for us. After all, the two opposing forces are not really mutually antagonistic. It’s just the opposite. In fact, from a pianist’s point of view, it’s the tension of the strings that makes the music. My job is to keep them tuned to the proper Pitch.

What sacred tension might you be holding? Are your strings tuned in such a way that they sing?

Morning Ritual 3: Lighting My Lamps

After opening the blinds, blessing the day and singing of the goodness of God, I make my way on around the Duncan Phyfe dining table left to me by my great aunt Mea when she passed away in 1984. I enter the foyer, careful not to stumble on the rockers of a chair that belonged to my great grandmother and which made it from Sand Mountain, AL on the back of a covered wagon. Next to the wooden rocker a lamp rests on a small side table made by daddy a number of years ago. A picture of him as a curly head boy sits next to it. Things that make a house a home.

We should not nor cannot romanticize the prayers of the Celts. They were prayed by people who lived in very harsh circumstances. In Celtic culture, it was the woman’s responsibility to get up each morning and kindle the home fires in a dark that would have been darker and a cold that would have been colder than most of us have experienced. She would have awakened before dawn in a house without electricity or heat. This was a necessary duty in order to provide food and comfort for her family. Her routine was her prayer. And she gave it words.

I light my first lamp of the morning and announce with her:

I kindle my fire this morning

In the presence of the Holy Trinity,

In the presence of the holy angels, and

In the presence of the holy saints,

Without malice, without jealously, without envy,

Without fear, without terror of any living thing under the sun,

but the Holy Son of God to shield me.

I find comfort in acknowledging not only the presence of God in my life but also of His holy angels and that great cloud of witnesses written about in Hebrews. It’s easy to forget how thin the veil is. Here I am reminded.

I also will be the first to admit that I am not one without malice, jealously, or envy. In fact, these all are constant struggles within me on a daily basis. Speaking these words with these women of old reminds me that I truly need God in very specific places in my life. It also lets me know my struggle was their struggle and they, too, needed this prayer toward holiness.

I move to the other side of the foyer where a hummingbird sips nectar from my mother’s small fluted lamp and the kindling turns to prayer.

O God, kindle Thou within my heart

A flame of love to my neighbor,

To my foe, to my friend, to my kindred all,

To the brave, to the knave, to the thrall.

O Son of the loveliest Mary,

From the lowliest thing that liveth,

To the Name that is highest of all,

Kindle Thou within my heart a flame of love.

Is this not the Great Commandment … to love the Lord with all our heart, soul, mind and strength, and our neighbor as ourselves? This calls to mind my dearest loves as well as those with whom I might be in conflict. It is not a sentimental or emotional love but one that expresses Christ’ love not only for those who walk in valor and truth, but also the unprincipled and untrustworthy. A love for those who are enslaved or in bondage, whether it be mentally, physically or emotionally. Again, I am reminded I don’t get to pick and choose who or how I love. I ask for a kindling.

Whoever thought turning on a morning lamp could so sacred?

Just an ordinary moment.

Morning Ritual 2: Opening the Blinds

Lord God, Almighty and Everlasting Father,

You have brought us in safety to this new day.

Preserve us by Thy mighty power

That we may not fall into sin or be overcome by adversity.

And in all we do, lead us to the fulfilling of Your purpose.

Through Jesus Christ our Lord,

Amen.

For a decade or more, I have been daily praying this Divine Office prayer as I move the magnet on the large wall calendar that hangs next to the sink in my vanity. A picture of my immediate family is attached and I pray it for us: my husband, my children, my grandchild, for me. I pray it from memory; I pray it habitually, but certainly not without thought. Each word is guarded and meant. 

I move from the bedroom to the kitchen where I stand at the coffee maker and wait for the first cup to brew before I enter the dining room to open the blinds.

So many years ago, at the suggestion of Graham Cooke, I asked the Lord, “How do You want me to know You?” After some time, I sensed He was saying, “As good.” I picked up Bill Johnson’s book, “God is Good” and actually read and studied it with a group of women. It was also during this time that a song formed in my heart. I began using it as a welcome to the day as I opened that first blind of the morning.

I say to this day, “You are blessed.”

And I declare I serve a mighty God,

Who today will do exceedingly abundantly more than I can ask or think.

I say You are a good, good God,

And I eagerly anticipate Your goodness today.

Sometimes it is still very dark outside and at other times I can see the beginning of light coming from the Eastern sky. Whichever, it is necessary and right to start the day with God’s goodness in mind.

I really can’t remember when I began singing this, but I do recall the November morning in 2017 when I sang it to my 9th grade nephew Levi on the way to school. He was not impressed, and told his mother later that day that not only had I sung to him … but it didn’t even rhyme. Oh, how I love that boy and treasure those times of taking him to school. He didn’t let me get away with anything. He always had an answer. And it was most often very thought provoking and startling.

It was only a few weeks later that I sat at the end of my brother’s bed holding his right foot just an hour or so before those feet would walk him into his eternal home. It was then that I sang that song to Levi again and to all who had gathered, declaring that we serve a good God who does so much more than we can ask or think. Even in the hard, questionable places. 

I have had a lot of loss in my life since that day of singing to Levi in the car and at my brother’s feet. So much heartbreak. Even now life is not always easy. But this morning, as most every morning, I opened that blind … and sang.

Just an ordinary moment.

Morning Ritual 1: Washing my Face

I have entire shelves allotted to books on prayer. Some are on how to pray, others are on prayer itself, and still others are filled with actual prayers that can be prayed just by reading them. Anything from prayers of the saints to prayers for my children. From the Daily Office prayers to prayers prayed through the centuries by those who prayed. From how to pray using color to using my body as a prayer language. Of course, none of these make me a pray-er. They just make me someone who has shelves lined with books on prayer; because when it comes to praying, I’m just as inept, and maybe even more so, than the next guy or gal. In fact, if silence is prayer, which some say it is, I’m doing a pretty good job. 

However, a number of years ago, my bookshelf began filling up with yet another genre of prayer books that has become home to me. I began reading authors such as J. Philip Newell, Esther de Waal, John O’Donohue and Mary C. Earle, among others. I even did an entire year’s devotional with Kenneth McIntosh. All authors of Celtic spirituality. Up until that point, like most good Bible believing Christians, I thought Celtic spirituality was something to be avoided at all costs. After all, what comes to mind when you hear the word Celtic? Druids. Paganism. Nature worship. But what I discovered is that these Celtic people had a strong leading and yearning for the Creator of nature. And that was totally different and certainly nothing to be afraid of. 

What I also learned is that these people brought prayer into every single aspect of their daily lives. From kindling their home fires in the morning to milking the cows to a baby’s first breath. Nothing was untouched by or out of scope for prayer or their need for God in the mundane activities of life.

It didn’t take long for desire for this type of praying to rise in me and so I began with a very simple morning ritual … that of washing my face, one of the very first things I do upon rising. I filled my palms with water and three times “splashed” my face, with a declaration with each touch: 

“Glory be to the Father of Life;

To the Son of Love;

To the Spirit of Peace.”

Then raise my head to the cadence of 

“The Triune of Grace.”

I have been doing this for so long now that whether I mouth the words or not, I feel a depth of holiness upon rinsing my face. Who would have ever thought that such a mundane act could be so sacred? The Celts did. 

Yes, prayer is many things and there are many ways to accomplish and participate in it.  But to pray as the Celts brings it home to me, quite literally. It has truly become a way for me to live my ordinary moments in divine communion. And that works for me.

Just an ordinary moment.