Calculation of an Ankle...Solving for X...

     Algebra was never my forte.  Yet, now I understand applied algebra, or I think I do.  Applied algebra, or is it Christian algebra.  You tell me.
     Walking from the bus to church--or at least to an intersection at which someone from church welcomes me into their car--is a very prayerful time.  Today came "the Calculation of an Ankle and a Hip--my Ankle, and My Hip."
     My memory has faded.  I do believe that algebra is adding several factors to solve for X.  The young Patty did not understand.  Humor this nearly 52-year-old woman, as she solves for X.
     Factors.
     Oxford Dictionaries defines factors as "expression by which another is exactly divisible."
     Variables.
     Oxford Dictionaries defines variable as "a quantity that during calculation is assumed to vary or be capable of varying."  I am not satisfied with any definition that uses another form of itself to define itself.  Vary is a verb, whereas variable is a noun.  Therefore, let us define the verb.  Vary is defined as, "differ in size, amount, degree, or nature from something else of the same general class."
     My eyes are starting to glaze over now.  Let me offer just one more definition to solve for X.
     Constants.  Oxford defines constants as, "noun.  a situation or state of affairs that does not change."  The example offered is ironic--truly ironic.  "the condition of struggle remained a constant."
     Definitions are established.  Let us proceed.
     A multitude of factors makes solving for X complex.  However, it is essential.
     X=Living inspired by, and insightful from, the lessons my ankle--my osteoarthritis--my cerebral palsy, and my epilepsy have taught, and continue to teach me.
    X=Sharing the inspirations, the insights my disabilities--my life conditions have given me; advocating for the full living of each of our individual life conditions.
     Constants.
     Brain damage.  Cerebral palsy.  Osteoarthritis.  Intentional tremors.  Epilepsy.      
     Factors.
     Inner calm.  Humor.  Optimism.  Keen listening.
     Variables.
     Humidity.  Distance traveled on my ankle.  Weight borne on my left hip, and my right ankle.  Do I listen to my body--to her instructions regarding my pace, and my activity?
     This morning I witnessed the baptisms of three babies.  The priest affirmed truth.  The babies are entering a world far more difficult than those of us, who are older.
   "There are no easy answers."
     The priest asked the community, whether we were willing to offer support to the parents in raising their newly baptized children.  His request was not hollow.  Clear was how much we are called to share the joys and the sorrows with other people we meet--other people with whom we are in communion.  I try not to feel discouragement.  Yet, our unwillingness to share both our joys and our sorrows, and our strengths, and our vulnerabilities is a sad commentary on our commitment to our lives.
     Why is it so hard to solve for X?  What are our joys?  What are our sorrows?   Are we inspired in our lives?  By what?  By whom?  Are we mindful of any insights in our day?  What are they?  Do we share them?
     Why is self-disclosure so difficult?  What is our purpose, if we are not to disclose our selves?
     Why is it so difficult to solve for  X?

PeaceNext...Intimate...Self-Disclosure...

     During the 1960s, long before the advent of the World Wide Web, and social media, my parents involved our family in a foreign exchange program of social workers--the Twin Cities International Program--TCIP.  Mom and Dad served as a host family to Knut from Denmark, Ilsa from Austria, Jun Bok from South Korea, and a man, whose name I believe was Daniel.  These three  men and one woman stayed with us during four years before I was ten.  Knut seemed old to me, although he was probably 50:) Mature may be a more apt description than old.  He was tall with balding light brown hair.   I remember he gave me a book of Hans Christian Anderson's fairy tales.  I think Mom and Dad still have the book.  It has been many years since I have read the book.  It is fairly small book with an ivory cover, and a picture on the front cover.  Then there was Ilsa.  Her father carved wood.  Mom and Dad still have a shallow wooden plate with the names of my parents, my brother, sister, and me, carved around the edge.  My parents have it mounted on the wall at the top of the bookshelves in their library.  I can think of no more treasured symbol of our family.  I do not remember much about Daniel, other than that he was from Italy.  Jun Bok.  Ah yes, Jun Bok.  He was a borderline operator--definitely a character.  He gave my parents at least one bottle of tabasco sauce.  More memorable was his observation of my dad trying to assemble a new Weber grill.  Dad  was having the difficulty inherent to any item with the instructions, "Some assembly required."  After watching Dad struggle for quite some time, Jun Bok said, "American technology.  Nothing works."  Jun Bok returned to South Korea many years ago.  I do not know what has happened to him.  Yet his words live on in my memory.
     Each of the individuals we hosted, in addition to individuals from all around the world--not just Europe and Asia--who visited our home and attended a number of pool parties my parents hosted broadened my childhood horizons.  Although I have not kept up with any of the individuals--a sad reality of life--I do bring from that experience openness to, and individuals from other countries.
    I treasure the perspectives I have been given when I have spent time with individuals from other countries while at home, or when I have visited other countries.  I will always remember with great fondness the conversations I had with a number of individuals from Norway while I spent nine days as a graduate school course.  The  Norwegians I met apologized to me  for their poor English speaking skills.  Such was not the case.  My understanding of Norwegian was rudimentary at best.  Yet, my love of the country--the fjords, the brisk air--is difficult to describe.
    Now I find my connections to individuals in other countries through the World Wide Web--through e-mail, and social media.  A skeptical eye is given to  social media.  I would warn against brandishing all social media outlets on the basis of how some individuals on some sites choose to use the sites.
    PeaceNext.  I am an incorrigible pacifist.  Some say pacifist is synonymous with weakness, in a pejorative sense.  I beg to differ.  My interest in ecumenism led me to the PeaceNext website.  The subtitle following the "PeaceNext" website title says, "Council for a Parliament of World Religions."
    How, as someone raised to believe that there is good to be found in all world religions, could I pass up the opportunity to explore a network committed to integrity in nurturing constructive dialogue.  Slowly I find myself open to friendship from around the world.
    Some hesitate to engage in online networks of any form due to concerns for security, or personal disclosure.  Others hesitate to engage in discussions of religion--it is too personal.  Well....On one level--on an intellectual level--I understand.  I respect the right of other individuals to not so engage.
   Yet....yet....I cannot follow suit.  It was not until this moment that I understood why.  I am not a Bible-thumping woman on the street corner trying to force beliefs down people's throats.  I try to be more subtle than that.
    Long before I understood the intellectual nuances--the spiritual dimension--of engaging in social communities rooted in integrity, such as PeaceNext, I was confronted with the reality of bodily engagement.  Not physical combat.  No.  Misunderstanding of my bent right arm, and my limping right leg led my peers to tease me.  Kids mimicking my bent right wrist of my face was, "Palsy Patty."  I was called to make myself understood--to make myself palatable in the eyes of people who met me.
    No one may endanger me.  My exterior is deceiving.  As my sister says of me, "I don't worry about Patty out on the streets, I worry about the people who encounter her."
     My life calls me to unequivocal self-disclosure.  If I do not share of myself--if I do not reach out to other people-what am I living to do?  I am called to find opportunities, such as PeaceNext, and other in-person, and online forums for the sharing of diverse perspectives dedicated to deeper understanding, and transformation.

The Breaking of the Bread

     Just now, I rediscovered a reflection written last winter, after Mass one Sunday.  It is easy for me to make my pronouncements. They--my pronouncements do not represent achievements being lived.  They are realizations that I hope I can achieve at some time.  
    I have been relinquished of the daily pressures and deadlines that are integral to everyday life for most everyone.  That is not lost on me.  I am eternally grateful for the relief I have been given, so that I may navigate my journey.

     Leo fell several times and severely injured his leg.  He had a metal rod implanted in his leg.  Since his surgery in mid-March, he has used one crutch to walk.   I feel closer to Leo than I did before his fall, and surgery.

     On Sunday, someone behind me commented that he was still walking gingerly.  He meant no malice. I said nothing.

     Yet, I at a very deep level, I hoped that he could have been awakened…jolted…into the vital reality so clearly before him.

     We are called to bring our imperfections into our walk….our journey….toward perfection….a perfection that is far from our own making, however repulsive that seems to our mental faculties--our reasoning self.

     Do we?

     Hardly.

     I am as guilty as the next person at wanting to put forth my best exterior inside the door of the church, and to my “reserved” seat.  It makes me feel good.  Likely, I will continue to do so.

     We are not called to exhibit deliberate foibles to the public square.  We are not called to project with a megaphone for all to hear our foibles, so that we may be credited for being “imperfect.”

     We are called to listen.  We are called to bring a keen ear to our lives--to our foibles.  We need to resist nothing other than to give alms, to do acts of penance to avoid facing…re-forming our imperfections.

     As it is, we try to time human healing, when whatever life force imperfects us.  We try to run toward the safety of convenience--a convenient life lived on our human deadlines--at our human pace.

     On Sunday, I felt betrayed by my brace that I could not walk perfectly at my own pace.  I thought I saw tears in Leo’s eyes as he broke the bread.  Whether he did have tears in his eyes is unlikely--almost irrelevant.  The sense of betrayal at that moment brought me to tears.  

     Quick. Find a tissue. 

     God forbid someone see me vulnerable at the moment of a revered offering.  Yet, it was the breaking of the Bread, after all.