Category: perspective (Page 6 of 10)

What I loved about Inside Out

July 7, 2015 / Michele Minehart

Rainy days are meant for this: popcorn & Pixar. With the rave reviews and promises of tears, we loaded up the van for Inside Out. I did not leave disappointed. Here’s what I loved:

1. Joy works hard. That scene where she’s stuck in forgotten memories? Oh, goodness. She’s a scrappy gal and simply won’t give up. She’s got too much love for her girl. I want that kind of Joy in my life, the unrelenting, won’t-let-go, get-it-done kind of Joy. Joy that digs deep, flies high and thinks creatively.

2. Sadness is needed. Sorry for the spoiler, but it turns out that with change, sometimes sadness is what keeps the memories alive. And when sadness begins to touch everything? Those are the parts where the blood still runs warm and the feelings are felt. Don’t fear sadness; fear numbness.

3. Anger is a tool. Hands down, the kids’ favorite part involved Anger burning a hole in the glass. Obviously Anger couldn’t get done what Joy could, but sometimes Anger lets in the other feelings. Perhaps not the best driver, but necessary companion.

4. The train of thought derails. Genius! Oh, you writers: you need to win all of the awards! Especially when those feelings of anger, fear and disgust take control, the Train of Thought stops functioning. What an incredible lesson for me as a parent, when often both myself and my kids begin acting in ways that simply don’t make sense. These emotions can’t handle the Train of Thought.

5. The real life implications. No one told me, when they mentioned how great the movie was or how I would cry, that it would be a direct parallel to my current life situation. The inciting incident of the plotline? The family moves. Seriously, friends. A warning would’ve been nice. Although my much-younger children aren’t likely to encounter the exact changes of Riley, emotions get shaken up. I walked away reminding myself to check in, to let sadness sometimes be the connection to Family Island, but most of all, never assume that a smile means Joy knows what she’s doing.

Thank you, Pixar, for yet another fabulous hour and a half of my life.

Bigger fish to fry

March 8, 2015 / Michele Minehart

Of the many worthwhile and meaningful contributions of the Catholic church to the world, my selfish favorite is the tradition of the fish fry. Thanks to a college friend who grew up with such a fantastic history, we were introduced to the all-you-can-eat, beer-filled sacrament. We don’t hit them quite often enough and I’m tempted next year to give the full Catholic Lenten tradition a go so that I can participate in the ritual weekly.

Last Friday, I made curtains for our eldest child so I didn’t feel the need to make dinner, too. With no plans, we decided upon a nearby fish fry. It started at 6 and, with tired kids, we decided to arrive promptly. We actually paid for our tickets 10 minutes before serving time.

Now previous fish fry experiences involved long lines and impatient bellies. This church, however, has endured years – if not centuries – of hungry parishioners and had come up with a system. After paying for our meals we were handed a card with the letter “G” stenciled onto it. We sat down and waited for our group to be called.

We finally stood to enjoy our meal around 6:30 or 6:45 and gave it two thumbs up for tastiness. The folks were friendly. We ate a meal while supporting some teenagers going on a mission trip. It was a winning evening.

Later I reflected on the process. The room wasn’t filled to brimming when we arrived and I assumed most of the others waiting had the foresight to reserve their tickets and save $6. However, as the clock ticked slowly forward I it was clear the letter card system was much more involved than simply those who knew to email ahead of time.

I’m still completely clueless to the system. If not reservations and first arrivals, on what basis does it work? Could they smell our Protestant blood as we approached? Did we not genuflect enough? We had 4 small children – I thought we fit in. Whatever drove the process, we were unaware and it wasn’t even until later that we became aware of our unawareness.

The letter system was created by a group of people who wanted to make something better. They didn’t have anything against me and my family. It wasn’t intentional, but we were excluded from the privilege of first fish not because of who we are but because we came from outside the system. This system works for the people who created it. Those faithful fish diners enjoy early and cheap fish because they made the rules and follow the rules. The rules work. For them.

And let me reiterate: it wasn’t personal or even intentional. The system-runners don’t specifically believe that they’re better than me or more intrinsically worthy. They simply come from a different place, one with access to the knowledge of how the system works. They know how to get the A and B fish, and so they do. It’s not that hard, they think, to order on Wednesday and arrive at 5:45.

My friends, the call to justice isn’t just giving outsiders your place in line (though certainly it may call for that at times). The responsibility of those who wish to see equality and fairness rule means asking about the knowledge and skill we have access to, that others don’t even realize exists. It means not taking lightly the fact you have something quicker and cheaper simply because you follow the rules. Realize, please, that the rules may not be known by everyone. Perhaps it’s even extremely difficult to follow the rules because the rules weren’t written with a different way of life in mind.

It’s possible that “it’s been this way forever” but that still doesn’t make it a good system to all people. It simply makes it a good system to the people who make the rules.

**Please forgive my middle-class, educated, white woman writing on privilege about a fish fry. I’m totally aware. But I’m guessing that readers who are at all like me can’t really grasp the feeling of true inequality and this is my onramp to understanding.

Where the joy hides

March 2, 2015 / Michele Minehart

When graduating from college, at a major crossroads in my life, I remarked to a friend that I was sure God was teaching me patience. I wish he would just let me catch all red lights and let it be a lesson, I said, as opposed to using my actual life to grow the quality.

Since then, when someone says “I need more patience” I see it as an invitation for God to come in and make things messy. There’s no such thing as a patience delivery system, unless you include children. Want more patience? Have another baby, that’s what I say. Not because it’s some beautiful sudden blossoming of patience. It’s more like each child grabs a limb and starts pulling in a different direction, ripping and tearing until a single drop of patience dribbles out. And, much like most forms of body hair removal, such processes are both painful and repetitive.

I should not have been surprised, then, when at the end of a recent yoga practice God called me out for the day’s intention to “find joy.” He said it was back assword, or some holy way of putting it.

The notion of finding joy, much like needing patience, starts with the wrong premise. Now on this side, just hearing “finding joy” conjures images of me sitting at a table of white linens, waiting to be served, as if seeking out the world’s best Pad Sea Ew. Such endeavors include elements of comparison (which we all know now as the “thief of joy”), analyzation and competition. I see Brene Brown’s scarcity mentality all over that one, as if there’s only one “real” version and the rest are only best attempts.

Yet this is the language given to us, yes? We must “find joy in the small things.” You know where that puts joy? In things. In people, namely others. It makes joy the object to crave and hunt. And when you don’t find it? It’s either so elusive you can’t see it or you’re left feeling as if perhaps you’re unworthy of such gifts.

Armed with my perspective of patience (and similar theories on love, peace, kindness and the like), my moment with God on the yoga mat revealed that I’m looking in the wrong places for joy, which is why I don’t find it. Much like Dorothy and her shoes, I’ve been wearing it all along. Joy, a fruit of the Spirit, is something that is grown in us. It’s the evidence of God’s presence in our life and it appears, as Eugene Peterson says, “as fruit in the orchard.” It grows. It’s planted within.

My teacher likes to use the word “cultivate”. The farmer’s daughter in me likes that idea. I imagine pulling a plow (amish-style, not these fancy ones farmers have nowadays that drive themselves), planting seeds and a nurturing the environment of sunshine and water. It’s something that grows, but requires my part to make the conditions right for it to live and bloom.

If I’m not “feeling joy” it’s not because my children or my husband or my job or my life aren’t worthy joy-bearers. It’s because I’m too busy producing a life of Effectiveness and Efficiency and Excellence. (Obviously, the problem is my propensity with big words that start with the letter E and my love for alliteration.) Not that these traits aren’t noble or helpful or admirable. There’s a place for them. The Big Words are evidence that I am striving for something great, but not evidence that God is working in my life.

Saturday morning on the mat, I had a day ahead of not much planned. I thought it would be the perfect occasion to practice looking for the simple joys rather than enduring the regular frustrations. And while a noble idea, it started in the wrong place, with joy hiding from me and I, on a quest to find it “out there.”

No, if the joy was hiding, it was under the unnecessary gunk in my soul. The competition, the comparison, the condemnation for not doing it right/well/enough. (Alliteration, I said sit down!) Joy is in me – because God put it there, because God lives there – but I’m not always living from that place of joyfulness. I’m often leading with the wrong foot – with the self rather than the Spirit.

So here we go. Joy not “in the small things” but perhaps lived out in the small ways, in this little vehicle named Michele.

Category: perspective (Page 6 of 10)

What I loved about Inside Out

Bigger fish to fry

Where the joy hides

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