jeswidrick@gmail.com

jeswidrick@gmail.com
jeswidrick@gmail.com

14 March 2024

the little things

Recently I watched an Instagram reel by a guy who was researching near-death experiences.  He talked about people who had the chance to see an overview of their lives.  He said in those instances, they weren't shown the big moments in their lives.  Instead, they were shown all the little things they had done, and the ripple effect of those small acts of kindness.

I was talking to a friend the other day about feeling like I really don't "DO" anything good or useful in the world, how I feel like sometimes I just waste space.  She told me I don't have to do anything big, but it's just the small ways I impact people that count.

Another friend surprised me flowers and a teddy bear last week.  She said I should never minimize the positive effect I have on others.

I feel like maybe I'm being sent a message that I should pay attention to here.

I think a lot of us are looking for that big impact.  We want to KNOW without a doubt that we matter, and we think we need to aim for high value targets to make sure.  How will we really know unless it's something that makes people sit up and take notice?

I think I'm pretty average.  I have a nice singing voice, I'm functional with the guitar.  I like to play around with doodling and other art.  I enjoy cooking.  I like to be available for people when they need someone.  But I don't think I stand out at anything - I know someone better at every single thing I do.  I'm realizing that because of that, I've been devaluing myself.  I don't make the big splash, therefore I don't matter that much.  

What a sad way to live.  Our value doesn't depend on what we do or don't do.  Each of us has value because we're alive, created by God.  It's not about doing some big, noticeable thing; that doesn't make us worth more.

Remember the ripples.

04 March 2024

taste and see

 This past summer, as a result of a major depressive episode, I spent some time on a locked floor of a psychiatric hospital.  I've had these episodes before, but this one crept up on me and I suddenly found myself unable to cope with the idea of living.  Thankfully, I realized I was in an unhealthy place and was able to make the decision to be safe before I harmed myself.

In the hospital, they changed my meds and I slowly got a little better.  I spent days just laying in my bed there, emerging only for meals.  After about a week, I went home, still nervous about whether I'd be safe by myself, but unwilling to stay in a hospital that was a good distance from home and costing a chunk of money.  

It's been a long road back from that dark place - more med and dosage changes, lots of down time, an alternative treatment with a promising success rate.  I've made changes to my diet, pushed through the body pain and ennui to exercise more.  I've emptied my schedule of activities and limited my commitments.  I feel the stigma of doing less in a "do more" culture, but I have to choose my mental health over what society says.

Today I went for a walk outside - my first in awhile due to the weather.  I left my earbuds at home and entered in to this feast for my senses.

I felt the warm sun on my skin. The gentle breeze caressed my face.  

I heard the chick-a-dee-dee and other bird song (and earlier in the morning, from my deck, the call of Canada geese, coming home).

And the "Good morning!" of other walkers and runners.

And the "On your left!" of bikers passing me on the trail.

I smelled the slightly pungent scent of new growth, pushing up through the carpet of rotting leaves, and the waft of freshly laundered clothing as people passed by.

I saw kelly green growth of new moss, bushes budding, bugs sunning themselves on a concrete wall, tiny purple flowers raising their faces to the sun.  I saw a dad with two wee daughters, lovers holding hands, friends chatting, a boy on a tricycle with his mama following closely as his brother ran ahead.

I tasted the cool water from my rubber-encased, glass bottle, and the refreshing bite of an iced coffee from the cafe at the end of my walk.

There's a verse in the Bible that says, "Taste and see that the Lord is good."  In the dark place, that goodness can be hard to believe in.  I did find it.  I tasted it in the friends who checked in with me, in my husband's gentle care.  I saw it in the beauty of snow and the cozy comfort of a warm fire.  

Today, though, I feel a bit like I'm coming back to life.  Goodness, indeed.



27 June 2022

roe v wade debate

 Last week, the US Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade.

My heart has been increasingly heavy as I've watched social media and the news since the decision.  The stark division in this country feels appalling and devastating to me.  Inflammatory misinformation is running rampant worldwide, and people everywhere are up in arms against each other.

I have friends and acquaintances across the globe.  Some are from the LGBTQ+ community, some are straight.  Some are pro-choice, others are pro-life. They are conservative and liberal, rich and poor, fat & thin, tall & short, male, female, and other.  Some have special needs.  Some are professionals.  Some are entrepreneurs. I've done life with single parents and people who have no children.  I know homeschoolers, private schoolers, and public schoolers.  My friends span cultures, skin tones, and belief systems.

This week, I am grieving as I watch people all around me eviscerate each other because they disagree.  How can we allow such discord?  Why are we so unable to live in harmony? Are we really so threatened by anyone who disagrees with us?  We lump anyone and everyone who holds different beliefs into this huge pot of "WRONG" and just stir it up without a second of thought.  We take up flimsy excuses for our hate and blanket our opponents and congratulate ourselves for sounding so right and righteous.

Look, I know that this decision feels crucial.  I understand that people are worried about the court overturning other laws that they cherish.  What I don't understand is why we can't be civil and respectful.  Why can't we have compassion and hold space for one another?  

Pro-choice supporter:  you've felt the elation of a ruling in your favour. 

Pro-lifer:  you know what it's like to grieve and and grapple with fear over governmental decisions.

Do to others as you would have done to you.  Walk a mile in the other person's shoes. Think of others before yourself. Please...seek peace in this broken world.

11 June 2020

truth

I've been thinking about the word "truth" lately.

Truth is a controversial word.  It seems simple:  the quality or state of being true; in accordance with fact or reality (from Oxford Languages).

The problem is, truth can be relative.  Don't get me wrong, I do believe in absolute truth. I mean, the truth is, there is no such thing as a square circle.  The truth is, if you drop something within gravity's pull, it will fall.  I also happen to believe that absolute truth exists within the spiritual realm: there is a God.  I am not him.

The way I'm thinking of relative truth is in the way of the old story of the blind men and the elephant.  Each of the ten men spoke the truth about what they saw through their fingertips.  But the absolute truth of what an elephant looks like was found in the combination of their ten relative truths.

A lot of people talk about "my truth."  People want to speak and believe their own truths about things.  I used to have a problem with that, because I didn't understand how truth could be different for different people.  But everyone has a side.  Everyone has an opinion.  Everyone has a unique experience.

I've seen relative truth divide people, and it makes me sad. I wish we could all listen to each other's truth with open ears and hands.  I wish we could validate each other.  The phrase, "I see you" is being thrown around a lot these days, but I wish it was more heartfelt, not just the latest buzz phrase.

The absolute truth is, if two or more people have a common experience, there will be two or more truths.  It's for us to be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry. It's for us to hear each other - for me to hear you without rising to my own defense, and you to hear me without rising to your own defense.  It's for us to realize and acknowledge that we do not have the corner on the market for truth, that our personal version of the truth is not necessarily THE truth. It's for us to be humble, conciliatory, willing to own our part in the other person's truth, willing to be kind and gentle in our presentation and in our hearing.  It's for us to present our own truth in a way that doesn't aim to maim another person. It's for us to be honest with ourselves as we tell our truth to each other, admit our desire to lash out, to make others embrace our truth, to deny the truth of others, and to resist that desire.

Maybe if we combine our relative truths to see the whole, we can tend to each others' wounds, offer each other grace, and continue in gentle relationship with one another.  Maybe we can clean up the mess of this world.

08 May 2020

#irunwithmaud


Today, Ahmaud Arbery should be celebrating his 26th birthday with his family in friends.  It's not Covid-19 that is keeping them apart, but the fact that he was gunned down while out for a run on February 23rd in a Georgia neighbourhood. The perpetrators, with close ties to the law enforcement community, went free until yesterday, over two months later.



This morning, I ran. The dreary, drizzling weather seemed appropriate, nature weeping for lost souls.

I thought about this young man's family, and prayed for them in their grief.

I thought about the state of this country's justice system, that it would allow such a heinous cover-up, exposed only because of public outcry on social media.

I thought about the fact that as a woman, I often run, not necessarily afraid, but nervous.

I thought about God, the Creator of Ahmaud Arbery, nature, and us all.



Genesis 1:26a Then God said, "Let us make man in our image, according to our likeness." 27 God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them.  28a God blessed them.

Here are some things God didn't mention when he created us:
~ race
~ religion
~ gender identity
~ superiority

We are ALL image bearers, all of us together! We can't be image bearers alone, without every nation, every tribe, every language, every colour.  When God created, there was no such thing as religion, race, gender identity, or any of the other things that separate us.  There was only God, man, woman, LOVE.


Be love, friends.
Be image bearers.
Be love.




14 April 2020

grief day

Yesterday was a sort of "grief day".

I ventured out to pick up a few things from the store: milk, veggies, jam for the local food bank, dog bones, and the ever-present wish-list item, toilet paper. At the store, I donned my mask and walked to the entrance. There was an employee guarding the door to make sure people lined up and waited, at the appropriate 6-foot intervals, because they were limiting the number of shoppers. I wasn't allowed to bring in my reusable bags. As I entered, I was instructed to exit by the entrance at the opposite end of the store. 

While in the store, signs directed me, one way down each aisle and reminders abounded to observe social distance. The paper goods aisle was bare, but for a few lonely packages of paper towel - no toilet paper for me, again. Other items were also beginning to be in short supply, with employees spreading the stock out on shelves to make it look less alarming.

Another employee was directing people at the checkout, mask firmly in place. When I finished with my self-checkout, someone else came behind me, armed with a spray bottle and paper towel, to give the station a thorough wipe down before the next customer could enter. And as I left the store, a man on spoke into a two-way radio, relaying the exit of one person to the entrance guard.

As an introvert with grown children, I love staying home. My husband has a stable income. As someone who has had the privilege of travel, I've visited and lived in third world countries, where every grocery list is a wish list, and a grocery store is a tiny storefront with a narrow aisle in, and a narrow aisle out. I've cooked from scratch and used a community spigot for water. I don't have the shell shock that many families and individuals find themselves experiencing right now.

So many westerners have never been touched by want, or the kind of uncertainty and lack of perceived control of these past few weeks. Suddenly they can't have what they want in the store. They can't come and go as they please. They can't go out and have their food cooked, plated, served, and cleaned up. They can't go to the gym or the salon. So many parents are scrambling as they try to work from home and occupy or school their children for the first time. Families who were dependent on two incomes are down to one, or none, without notice. 

My sadness is for them. But it is also for the others, because I hear them. I hear the other side, scoffing and sarcastic: 

"Oh no, they'll have to actually cook and clean!"

"They can't just have what they want? Poor, privileged people!"

"They aren't homeschooling! They have no idea what it's like to do all the work like homeschooling parents do!"

"Oh, so they have to entertain their own children. What a trial!"

"Huh. They can't just do what they want.... Pity!"

Yes. I understand. Many in the western world are privileged. They've not had to struggle or go without. Sometimes it can feel like just desserts to see the wealthy experiencing what the rest of the world deals with on a daily basis. But I feel compassion just the same. To be thrust into the bewildering panic of the unknown, the confusion of performing activities rarely or never done, the overwhelm of suddenly not being able to provide wants and needs for self and family -- these are difficult and scary things.

My prayer: May we all develop deeper character. May we be more kind. May we think of others more often. May we grow more generous. May we offer help more readily. May we hold our wants more lightly, passing them over in favour of others' needs. May we be more grateful. May we give thanks for the many things we take for granted. May we be less critical and more supportive of each other. May we all see with clearer eyes what we have to offer and what we have to learn, and may we engage in both the offering and the learning with whole hearts. May we seek more to bless than to receive.

Amen.

10 April 2020

covid-19 easter

Because it's Easter weekend and most of us will be celebrating differently than we are used to in light of Covid-19, I'd like to share what it means to me to be a follower of Jesus.

For most of my life, being a Christian meant observing the rules.  I didn't feel quite good enough, but surely if I could just do the right things, and do them properly enough, I'd be acceptable.  But about twelve years ago, that began to change.  It's been, and continues to be, a very long process with lots of hiccups along the way, but I'm coming to understand that following Christ is not about rules.  

God created me. He loves me. Before I ever decided to "be a Christian", God wanted to be in my life.

Having Jesus doesn't mean life is easy. He doesn't promise that with him, all will be well.  I experience grief, pain, loss, and hurt. I deal with the reality of disappointments, not getting what I want, and worry about the safety of my family.  

The difference that Jesus makes for me is that I'm not alone.  When I receive bad news, when I'm angry or afraid, when something bad happens, when I can't be with people I love, I'm not alone. I'm not guaranteed protection in this world.  But I am guaranteed that in all things, I have the presence of Jesus.  

I've been in screaming emotional pain, so bad that I don't know how to take the next breath, so bad that I can't speak.  In those moments, when I just want to die, I experience his presence.  There's no way to explain it, except that somehow, the next breath comes, and then the next, each a little easier than the last.  The pain remains, but I'm able to stand up under it for the next moment. 

I've felt completely isolated, cut off from all who love me, misunderstood and judged, like I'll never be able to approach community again.  In that moment of absolute aloneness, I've felt him drawing near, assuring me that I'm not a plague, that I am indeed, loved.

I've felt the despair and utter hopelessness of depression so deep that I can't think of one good reason to live; I can't bring myself to worry about the person who might find me, I can't see my way through the fog to the idea that anyone might miss me.  I can't care that I might be selfish or self-absorbed.  And somehow in the middle of that pit, God's presence has come and lain beside me.

Relationship with Jesus means there is one person in my life who understands me completely.  I am wholly known, and wholly loved.  Jesus knows the ugliest parts of my heart and soul and accepts me.  He doesn't love me because... or if... or when.... He loves me. Period.