reflections and regrets

Earth Day 2012 has been a rough one for me. I totally wish I could have a "do-over." Ugh...

Our next door neighbors, who we like very much, informed my husband this past Thursday that they are having the very lovely, very tall, very healthy tree removed from our shared courtyard because "it serves no purpose." Apparently, in their opinion, it is too tall to be seen out their window, and it is shedding unwanted leaves on their roof. If the tree were six inches more in the direction of our house, we would share it and get to decide jointly in its fate. But it is not. The decision is entirely their own. And I don't know what to do.

All this weekend, I have been mourning about the imminent death of this majestic tree I have watched grow for the past eight years. This is most likely what led to my outburst at a dear friend after Sunday School today. We were all gathered under the breezeway for coffee, getting shelter from the rain, when a large beetle crawled right up to my foot. I bent down to greet the huge bug and to step sideways, to allow it access past my foot into the grass. Our friend quickly swooped in, pushed me aside and in one motion proudly crushed the bug then proceeded to drag its remains in a long and bloody streak across the pavement. I screamed out and violently slugged him very hard in the shoulder yelling something to the effect of, "It's Earth Day, you jerk!" He is an extremely sweet, gentle and thoughtful person who truly thought he was honestly saving me some great trauma with his action of heroism. He is one of our closest and dearest friends. My extreme reaction caught him utterly and completely by surprise.

I then walked into the sanctuary moments later, still shaking, but hoping for some sort of mention of Earth Day during the sermon. I knew just up the road at the Episcopal Church where the outdoor labyrinth is located, they were having a special Earth Stewardship message and a gathering afterwards of my Green Spirits friends to share in the fellowship of the day with a nature walk at the Japanese gardens. I really had wanted to join them for both, but felt like I needed to show up at our home church instead.

But there was no reference to anything environmentally focused at the Presbyterian church where we are officially members. The sermon was, instead, all about a call to missions. It was a powerful message about finding out what you are passionate about and then making that your mission in your community. The idea started brewing in me that maybe our new church IS my environmental mission field of calling. Perhaps God is calling me to prayerful work inside our own church congregation rather than outside its walls. Aside from one yellow recycling bin at the copy machine in the upstairs office, there appears to be no hint of conservation practices anywhere on campus that I have noticed in the past three years. Why this is, I cannot say. I love my new church family. I just don't always understand them. I suspect they feel the same way about me.

I returned from church utterly confused. I ranted in my journal for a while, then proceeded to try to nap away my feelings. I walked Lily in the neighborhood and then came home to photograph the courtyard tree and cry a bit more. I should have gone to the beach as I had planned to pick up trash, but I was just a mess of emotions and totally ineffective to manage to do anything but to stare at the evening clouds and sunset. In short, I succeeded in completely ruining the very day I had set out to honor and to celebrate.

And for what reason? Did anyone benefit from my emotional blow-up? No. Certainly not me. Certainly not my family or my friends. And, most certainly, not the earth or the beautiful tree that is just an arm's reach away from me as I type these words.

Clenched fists hurt others. Clenched fists are unable to pray. I am incapable of hearing God's quiet whispers when all I am doing is shouting. Missions - particularly my missions - are not meant to be militant.

I had really wanted to tell you about my beach walk earlier this week. I wanted to share with you the beauty and the joy of that special morning when God gave me roses from the ocean and poetry started bubbling up again in my heart and washing out onto the page. That was what I had really longed to tell you about tonight.

Maybe tomorrow...

my early Earth Day haiku

in Heaven

beach before breakfast

spooned through sand – sweet crème brûlée

on Earth, as it is.

By, Robin Bradley Hansel

a little devotion

Thanks so much to First Presbyterian Church in North Palm Beach for including two of my writings in their Lenten Devotional for 2012. 

My contributions were a little bit unconventional this year (i.e. one regarding Facebook and the other about Turkey Buzzards), so I especially appreciate the loving kindness (and good-hearted humor) of my treasured friend, Sara M., for including them.

Here they are: 

(photo above courtesy of Wikipedia Commons)

Saturday, March 17, 2012

“You must first understand this, my beloved: let everyone be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger; for your anger does not produce God’s righteousness.” – James 1: 19-20 (NRSV)

            Facebook – do you love it or hate it? Maybe, like me, you simultaneously feel both emotions about the popular social media outlet. At times, my visit to the site uplifts me. I delight to read an inspirational article or quote shared by a friend. Other times, I am plunged into utter despair when I read hateful and judgmental statements which - more often than not - are sadly made by fellow Christians.

            I was in just such a frustrated state the other morning when an online friend complimented me about my good listening skills. Suddenly, I was rendered speechless. I realized with utter clarity that I had completely lost my spiritual gift for Sacred Listening when it came to Facebook. I was guilty of an intense, ego-driven need to constantly share my own thoughts, interests, and opinions. I began to consider that if everyone else was as consumed as I was with what they were personally saying, then could anyone really be listening to anyone else? And if no one was actually listening, then why in the world did we all continue to keep talking, talking, and TALKING?

            Five minutes later I posted a statement declaring my profile page a “Sacred Listening Space.” For the past week, I have (mostly) only permitted myself to listen intently to the conversations of my friends. I comment just when I have something positive to say. In fairness, I also force myself to read the postings of viewpoints with which I do not personally agree. I then try to use the period after my Facebook time for prayer and reflection rather than give into the sinful emotions of anger like I used to do.

            The wisdom I am learning through this ongoing exercise of discipline continues to bless me daily. With Christ’s help, I am learning ways to better love the people I dare to call my “Friends.”

“Holy Father, please zip my lips whenever I am tempted to speak on my own accord. Keep me silent until you directly place into my throat the words you wish me to share aloud. Grant me the courage to then speak those words with Love in Christ’s holy name - Amen.”

Robin Bradley Hansel

(photo above courtesy of Dr. Ron Hilliard) 

Tuesday, March 20, 2012

“For he will deliver you from the snare of the fowler and from the deadly pestilence; he will cover you with his pinions, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness is a shield and buckler.” – Psalm 91: 3-4 (NRSV)

The Turkey Buzzards are back. They are staring straight at me from atop my neighbor’s roof. In the past, I’ve counted up to ten of their dark, shadowy figures. Today, there are only three.

For me, the vultures’ presence used to elicit an ominous feeling of trouble on the horizon. This morning, I observe them with a peaceful soul for I know they merely symbolize the shedding of an old, decayed sin from my heart. Today, I am a witness to the beauty and grace of each awkward bird. They stretch their giant wings and shine brilliantly in the late morning light.

Interestingly, I’d found a Turkey Buzzard feather earlier in the week while walking our dog. Not realizing its origin at the time, I lovingly placed it on my writing desk dreaming of great majestic cranes, eagles, hawks and osprey. During dinner, I brought it proudly to the table to show my family. They burst into laughter recognizing immediately what it was. I angrily rushed to grab my laptop to properly identify it but found, unfortunately, that they were absolutely correct. I promptly threw the feather in the garbage and set about disinfecting my hands and every household surface that it had touched.

But today, on this quiet morning of reflection, I can laugh aloud for it suddenly makes perfect sense. First, I believe I needed to really take a long, hard look at my own brokenness. It was important for me to pick it up, hold it in my hand and turn it over for awhile. Eventually, I had to stop trying to justify the ugly significance of my sin and see it as death and destruction. I had to ask God to help me cast it out of my life. Only then would the Holy Spirit arrive with winged wisdom and reveal to me that through Christ’s love and sacrifice I was already washed clean.

“Loving Father, thank you for all the quiet ways you speak to me through your Creation.  – Amen”

Robin Bradley Hansel


P.S. Thanks, God, for this inspiration: http://greenletterbible.com/index.php