Travel Log of an Advent Pilgrim

It was as if I bought a ticket and packed my bag for a cozy winter trip to Alaska, only to find myself disembarking in Hawaii - winter coat and all!

I prepared for Advent with the type of advanced preparation any General would use before going into battle.  All contingencies were accounted for - I was ready to engage the season with military precision.  It would be a holy Advent.  I would make sure that this season was observed with the utmost of intention.  In fact, I was so focused on observing the season that I didn't even notice the change in destination - I checked to make sure I was in the right place at the right time and getting on the right plane, but all the cues present in the departure lounge that would have cued any sentient person that the destination was not Alaska slipped past my notice.  Even I should have noticed I was the only person boarding the plane in a parka!

I didn't hear the tropical music, notice the other passengers wearing those signature Hawaiian shirts, and  even missed the tell tale sign that my Alaska Air flight has just become Aloha Airlines.  I boarded my fight, agenda in hand, ready for four weeks of curling up near the fire to stay warm, walking through the falling snow, and watching the amazing winter night sky all while considering what it means to birth God's presence into the world.

Then I got off the plane and was welcomed to Hawaii with a warm greeting and colorful lei draped over my head.  I wore it over my winter coat, as I pondered what type of greeting this might be...

Faced with the overwhelming evidence that I was in Hawaii and not my intended destination of Alaska, I did what any resourceful, creative person (who was schooled in the art of denial) might do in such a situation:  I pretended Hawaii was actually Alaska.  For the first few days I was able to keep the delusion in place, as I continued to wear my winter coat and tried to turn my accommodation into that cozy winter cabin of waiting and longing.  Of stillness and peace.  A place to quietly, intentionally open myself to God's emerging presence.  But after a few days, the dissonance of where my mind thought I should be and where I actually was finally overwhelmed my defenses.  I was well and truly in Hawaii.

It was time to ditch the winter coat, and figure out how I got here.  Did I get on the wrong plane?  (No).  Did I fail to plan appropriately?  (Oh heavens, no.  That is never the problem).  Then how did I get here - in the wrong place at the wrong time, with the absolutely wrong set of circumstances, that were directly challenging all my woulds, coulds, and shoulds?  This is not where I am supposed to be during Advent (which might have been my first clue that it was exactly the right place for me to be during Advent - but I'm often slow to notice the obvious).  

And so Advent proceeded in this odd and mysterious way as I started to slowly connect with being in Hawaii while my brain kept trying to pull me into the warm and cozy fires of Alaska.  This left me with an odd sort of "delayed-reaction syndrome" as I kept moving between two realities.  By the time Advent drew to a close, I found myself having an almost a 24 hr lag time between processing data and making connections.

Consequently, when we were visited by the Spirit of Christmas during the first Christmas Eve worship service, I didn't even notice God's presence...until much later...and as that realization settled in, I felt an overwhelming sense of -

Failure!  Frustration!  Shame!  Discouragement!  Woulds, coulds and shoulds flooded over me like a tsunami, and I wondered if I would EVER get IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!  All that preparation and planning, and I had failed to even welcome the Christ Child! Had I missed Christmas???????

And just when I thought I would sink once again into the emotional mud and mess that is the hallmark of the shameful and lonely Land of the Shoulds, I instead noticed that my location had changed to someplace else...

...someplace gentler, and warmer, with more solid ground under my feet and loving arms holding me close.  There was quiet laughter in the air, and a faint small of hay.  I was not alone.  And I heard a loving, gentle voice praising me for doing such good work - I had made connections within 24 hours instead of 24 year!  I noticed I was in Hawaii and gave up trying to be in Alaska!  How wonderful!  And look, I had noticed that the woulds, coulds and shoulds were not consistent with my core values.  Of course I felt terrible - that was evidence that I was moving away from my true self, and moving towards choices and options that did not come from my heart - what a blessing to notice this!  I heard words of praise and acceptance...and I smiled, and laughed and cried, and held this most beautiful infant in my arms and heart, while the lambs crowded close to see this new life, and the Mother of God smiled.

I spent Christmas in Bethlehem - even though the ticket I bought was for Alaska, and the plane landed in Hawaii.  But here is the most amazing part of the story - in the midst of these travels I learned the true location of Bethlehem.  It is in my heart.

And it is home.

Merry Christmas, dear friends.
With love and great joy,
Kim

Traveling Companions and Powerful Water

My car was very crowded when I departed for the Monastery on Monday morning.  Not only did I have a small suitcase and a cooler filled with food for my two day sojourn, but I had also managed to pack at least half a dozen unresolved issues, a handful of serious worries, and a baker's dozen of seemingly important but actually irrelevant problems - all stuffed into the back seat, and clamoring for attention.  David Crosby and Graham Nash squeezed into the front seat and kept me company until Cambridge.  Once the snow flurries started, they got out and JT road with me through the flurries until I stopped just outside of Riggins for some huckleberries.  He liked the look of the pie, and stayed on in Riggins, leaving space for Stephen Iverson to keep me company the rest of the way.  We stopped at the Skookumchuck lay by and had some lunch, and the view so impressed the unresolved issues, serious worries and irrelevant problems that they got out to take a boat trip on the Salmon.  Stephen and I waved goodbye and headed over White Bird Pass towards Cottonwood.

There is a place between Grangeville and Cottonwood where the Monastery Chapel towers come into view - each trip I find myself looking for them before I even realize what I am looking for.  And then I see them, and take the deepest of breaths.  I'm almost home.

I am often asked why I drive 4 1/2 hours to have time on retreat.  After all, I can pray to God anywhere (true).  And I can keep silent anywhere and listen for our still speaking God (also true).  And I can have time for reading and contemplation anywhere (also very true).  All God's creation is sacred space, so the square miles around the monastery aren't any more sacred than, say, Eagle Island State Park, or my own backyard.  So why make the drive?

I park my car and come into the Spirit Center, see my room assignment, and take my things down to my room.  Then I pull the rocking chair in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, pull the blinds up and out of the way, and sit down and gaze out on the Monastery property, the Camas Prairie, and the Bitterroot Mountains.  As I sit and gaze, I notice that slowly, over time, I completely slow down until I am moving at the speed of the Universe, and my heart starts to beat in sync with a heartbeat so much greater than my own.  Then I am home.

This morning each scripture passage read during Morning Prayer came directly from the heart of God to me - it could not have been more of a gift if the passages had been wrapped in pretty foils and topped with bows - they took my breath away.  My time with my Spiritual Director was life-giving.  Meaningful books are being read.  But mostly I sit and gaze out the window, and allow God to restore and strengthen my soul in ways words cannot describe - while the lone icicle melts from the railing of the foot bridge, and the morning star gets enveloped by light at sunrise, and the snow begins to melt into the parched prairie landscape, giving the earth a big long drink.  I gaze, commune, and experience a refreshment similar to the parched ground.

And I give thanks for the opportunity to be loved unconditionally and accepted and cherished for who I am - and relish the moments to gaze into God's loving eyes, present to me through the love of the community, and in the mother-of-pearl/peach/steel blue colors of the sunrise.

This is why I go on retreat - I go to experience God's love and refreshment, and to deepen my experience with God.  Upon return to Boise, I can share that love with others.  The saying seems trite but is so true - you can't give what you ain't got.

When I drive back tomorrow morning I will not stop at the Skookumchuck lay by to pick up my original passengers.  They can find their own way back to Boise.  God always keeps my company on the drive back - and God is a fascinating traveling companion.

Drinking deeply,
Kim

by candlelight...

It is a profoundly simple ritual:  Once a year (around All Saints or All Souls Day) we bring the purpose-made tray out of the basement and place it on the communion table in the sanctuary, fill the tray with sand, set out about 500 small white candles in baskets, and begin worship.  After I talk with the children about "lifetimes" (death), the congregation is invited to come forward and light candles for loved ones who have died (and companion animals, and dreams - because they can die, too).  In an instant this diverse congregation (diverse in age, gender identity, political views, theology, sexual orientation, and a zillion other identifiers) all stand on common ground:

We are people who love, risk, experience loss, and heal through love.  Seeing others suffer as they touch that place of pain and loss causes compassion to arise within us.  Compassion brings down walls, and helps us to heal (individually and as a group).

I began this ritual sixteen years ago as I way to teach a deeply troubled church that what they share is greater than what divides them.  It took some time (and a few additional rituals), but they gained a deep appreciation of this truth - and gave up war.  There is such healing power in shared rituals...

...create sacred space, enter it together, be vulnerable and open, and watch Spirit work.  I am awed each and every time it happens.

Last week I completely completed year one of my DASD/DMin.  All my paperwork is in (the Presbys have a gift for creating paperwork - positively amazing), and the books for year 2 are looking at me  (some excellent and very challenging topics, to be sure - I'll try to remember to put the reading list in the blog). People have been asking me what I will be writing about in my big project at the end of my DMin.  The answer has been surprisingly quick in coming.  In 2013 I will celebrate 30 years in ministry (20 of them in ordained ministry), and almost all of them working with highly conflicted churches.  Both my physical and spiritual heart have suggested that, perhaps, my days riding in that particular rodeo are over.  As a way of drawing that phase of my ministry to a close, I want to further research and describe what I've learned about liturgy and healing - about the amazing ways congregations can heal and grow when they enter that sacred space together, risk being vulnerable and open, and allow Spirit to work.

Many a wounded congregations found the way to healing and wholeness by candlelight...

Resting in the Mystery,
Kim

Bank Balance

Act 1

I got a call from a friend I met in Durham in August, who asked me if I've read Barbara Brown Taylor's book Leaving Church.  "You have to read it - I just know you have to read it," she said, with so much conviction in her voice that I knew I would find a copy of the book.

Finding a copy wasn't hard, because our Monday group at church had read it during the past year, and copies were in the library.  I resisted reading it back when our church group was discussing it, because I was "neck deep in alligators" (as they say), and didn't want to read "swamp draining instructions." But now the time felt right, and so I began reading this most unsettling book.

Act 2

I haven't been up to the Monastery for a long, long time (almost a year).  Health concerns kept me in Boise during the winter and spring - thank goodness I could talk with my Spiritual Director via telephone!  But I missed the deep peace - the extended time for prayer - how God would speak through the liturgy and in nature in ways so powerful that it would take my breath away - the way conversations with the Sisters would clarify vocational issues that seemed unsolvable this side of the Camas Prairie, but would come into clear focus as I descended White Bird Hill into Grangeville.  Many a church drama was resolved through the wisdom of listening to a perspective steeped in prayerful reflection.  Benedictine women have done some remarkable work with leadership paradigms, and at almost ever visit I borrow a copy of a book (not available in print anymore) that addresses issues of women in leadership of communities.  This book acts like a prism that brings into focus different aspects of leadership - always keeping me on the edge of a new revelation.  I made arrangements to go up to the Monastery for retreat as I normally do in October, shaking my head as I looked at my calendar and wondered how in the world everything would fit into this finite space of my work life!  I wondered if perhaps I needed to give up the "luxury" of time in contemplative silence...

Act 3

"My quest to serve God in the church had exhausted my spiritual savings.  My dedication to being good had cost me a fortune in being whole.  My desire to do all things well had kept me from doing the one thing within my power to do, which was to discover what it meant to be fully human."  Barbara Brown Taylor, in Leaving Church (p127)

Ouch!

A quick check of my spiritual bank account showed a fairly serious level of red ink.  Knowing that I cannot give what I do not have, I will retreat to the Monastery to pray - and remember why I do what I do, and who does it with me.  It will be a quick trip (up Tuesday and back on Thursday), but it will be more than enough.

It is always enough.

Not willing to stay overdrawn,
Kim

Four Simple Game-Changers...

Why is it so easy to complicate things (concepts, relationships, plans, opportunities) and so difficult to keep things simple?

While in Durham one of the doctors recommended reading The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz, and so I picked up a copy of the little book expecting it to be "insight lite."

I was wrong.  The four key concepts are indeed simple, like the beauty of a rose is simple:

* Be impeccable with your word.
* Don't take anything personally
* Don't make assumptions
* Always do your best.

"Ho hum," I thought, as I read these four "agreements" on the inside front cover of the book.  "There isn't much depth to this at all."  And then I started trying to live them - one at a time - and discovered how profoundly difficult they could be!  Difficult - because these simple ideas challenge so many of the patterns of behavior that are part of modern life.  We make assumptions all the time, take a great deal personally, live with the concept of "truth that is fluid," and often do no more than what is expected or required.  What happens when we try to live by this guidance?

What happens when we accept that we have made agreements with ourselves, others and God that may not reflect the values modeled by Jesus of Nazareth...agreements that are rooted in fear, not freedom.  Instead of these four core agreements, we have many, many more beliefs that lead us in a very different direction - fear.  Facing fear and moving towards love isn't easy (and sometimes isn't pretty), but it is movement in the right direction.

I am in the process of confronting and moving through a fear that has imprisoned me for most of my life.  The fear is based in the life experience of a child who had every reason to be afraid.  But the fear - and the agreements that secure it - are not helpful to me as an adult.  I don't need to be afraid in order to be safe.  There are other ways...ways that lead to freedom.

I smiled as I noticed that the small publishing house for this book is in San Rafael, the town next to San Anselmo (where I go each January to work on my DMin).  Perhaps this January when I make my trek west I will meet some new kindred souls who are trying to release unhealthy and unhelpful beliefs in order to create room for these four transformative agreements.

Taking them one at a time,
Kim

Surrender

"We must let go of the life we have planned, so as to accept the one that is waiting for us."
                                                               - Joseph Campbell

It has been a very quiet, healing, week - my last week of study leave for this year.  I am pleased to share that nothing much happened.  I spent the week finishing remaining paperwork for the first year of my DMin, started next year's reading list, rested, and did a bit of pre-winter "nesting".  It feels like autumn - my favorite time of the year.

I always liked autumn, but didn't love it until I spent those seven years in Scotland learning to accept the descent of the long nights.  Learning to embrace the darkness made it possible to love this time of year - while looking forward to the the shift in December when the light triumphs over the darkness.

I cannot celebrate the return of the light until I embrace and celebrate the coming of the darkness.

And look - here it comes - a bit closer every night - with a chill in the air and its good friend Jack Frost decorating all creation before the sun rises.  The nights lengthen...fighting this is futile...this is the season of surrender...

...and I light the fire in my soul, and bundle up before the fire to stare up into infinity while I dance with the stars.

I love this time of year!

Rejoicing,
Kim

...and not only in South Dakota...

Hope breaks through when you least expect it.  A conversation with a dear friend taught me about the South Dakota Conference UCC taking the bold stand to address a great injustice by releasing its claim to the land of the American Indian churches in the Conference.   They are giving the land back to the congregations - a legal nightmare, but a moral victory.  Great things are happening in South Dakota (of all places)!  It almost makes me want to take a road trip for my study leave week...

It pays to be patient.  To give things time.  To resist the temptation to believe that when things are difficult and bleak that they will always be that way.  To trust that God's grace is still operating and vibrant even when invisible.

Even in South Dakota.  Have you been to South Dakota?  I always thought of South Dakota as the back of beyond plus 500 miles, but amazing things are happening there - it is the cusp of transformative opportunities.  And if it is happening in South Dakota, it can happen anywhere.

Like here.  A woman attended church today who was raised on a Reservation in (wait for it ... )  South Dakota.  It is American Indian Ministry Sunday, and my sermon celebrated this wonderful news from South Dakota, and included acknowledging the cruel injustice perpetrated on the Native Peoples by the American government and the churches.  Today was the day she came to visit, and to hear words she had never heard before -  a white church acknowledged the depth of its sin against the Native Peoples, and celebrated new stirrings of justice.  She had a powerful healing experience today, and we had the opportunity to participate in a moment of grace that is beyond my comprehension.  Not only is God busy in South Dakota, but grace is breaking through right here -

- even here in Boise.  Even during "buy a truck, get a gun" month.  God's grace just keeps breaking through!

What is God doing in your world?

With deep gratitude,
Kim

Re-entry Blackout

I have vivid memories of watching the Apollo space flights.  Take-off was great, but all the excitement and high drama involved re-entry and the splashdown.  Do you remember the communication blackout during re-entry - that time when the capsule was hurtling back to earth and communication was impossible?  We would sit and watch and wait, listening to the commentators talking about the intense heat that was being deflected by the heat shield...how tragedy could strike at any moment...how all we could do was hope and pray until we either saw the streak of light in the sky and parachutes deploy to help gentle the capsule into the ocean, or hear the confirmation of splashdown.  We would wait until the astronauts were helped from the capsule into the awaiting "whatever" that would bring them home. And all would rejoice!

The last twenty-eight days have been my own experience of re-entry black out.  Being back has not been an easy adjustment.  What was so simple and intuitive to do when I was back in Durham working the program has been extremely difficult and challenging back here in Boise.  Finding a new rhythm and balance that takes into account all the new lessons and the reality of my working life is not a seamless fit.  But the stakes are too high to get this wrong.

Big questions have emerged in the midst of re-entry - questions involving the heart and soul of my vocation.  This once again is proof that vocational questions provoke wresting matches "from the forceps to the stone", as Joni Mitchell would say.  I find myself to be strangely unsettled - a sure sign that God is at work in an unexpected way.

I keep coming back again and again to the issue of balance - of how to create space for all the healthy parts of my life to emerge and grow, while providing helpful containment for the less healthy parts.  Structure - plan - objectives and goals - in some ways I have become my own project!  

I sense my role shifting and changing, but am not sure what that means.  In the meantime, I work my program - one day at a time - and try to get that right.  

Today I offer thanks for kind words spoken to me by members of the youth group, for a hug from a little girl who has seen too much misery for her young age,  and for the joy of watching people growing into their vocation,   I saw some blue sky today (thank you, brief rain shower).  And the winter gathering of Quail has begun in our backyard - over 25 and counting!  Seven quail hopped up onto the porch swing - they balanced on the back and arms with a few on the seat, and their movement got their new perch to start swinging.  What a sight!

Balance and momentum - hmmmmm....

How blessed I am to witness such magic.  The rest will sort itself out - in time - one day at a time.

Working life's program,

Kim

After the mud - wings!

I am into my third week of the program, and will either complete twenty one days on Wednesday, or beg indulgence from the church and stay for the full twenty eight day program (returning a week later than planned).  I know that many have been wondering how I'm feeling - very well, thank you.  The medical care has been stellar; the stress management component has stretched me (positively) in very unexpected ways.  The first two weeks were a bit like "boot camp" and now I'm in the consolidation/integration phase - putting into practice what I've learned.  I keep a simple but full schedule involving medical care, physical therapy, classes, and walks in the woods.  Without a doubt, the woods provide the best medicine.  I have learned to live without added sodium, and am surprised to discover how well I feel without it.  I am also now off all my medications, and feel like myself again.  That awful sensation of "walking through waist-deep mud" is gone - I feel alive and fresh, and with enough energy to get through the day (instead of having more day than energy).

To say I am thankful is an understatement of the highest order.  I feel enormous gratitude for all who are participating in my healing - from the doctors who used great skill to help me find my feet, to the staff who prepare and serve food that tastes wonderful even though it is missing most of the ingredients that make it fun!  I am grateful for each class, each walk in the woods, each time the physical therapist frees up some scar tissue in my knee (to improve mobility) and responds to my tears with a soothing touch and kleenex.  I am thankful for the support of fellow students in this program - many of whom are facing life-threatening illness - and yet take the time to offer a word of encouragement when someone is one bowl of oat bran away from going over the wall.  Bill patiently spent the first two weeks driving me to and from appointments (a full time job), and David arrives tomorrow for two days of "supporting Mom." Wonderful, amazing, graceful support - I am so blessed.

And then there was the baby dragonfly.  I have always had an affinity for dragonflies - at times I have longed to climb out of the mud and fly about on graceful, delicate wings.  I finished a long walk in the woods the other morning, and came back to the car tired but energized.  As I reached the car, the most delicate and beautiful baby dragonfly landed on the roof of the car.  We each held our ground - inches away from each other - and eye to eye.  What a beautiful creature!  I was mesmerized by its electric blue color, huge eyes, and delicate wings.  As we communed together, I realized that I had indeed crawled out of the mud, and was testing my wings.  I have emerged - and I can fly.  What a gift!

My gratitude knows no bounds.

Much love,
Kim

The Zen of Tree Roots, or, Peace Medicine

Walking isn't easy for me.  My knees complain every time they have to participate in any sort of movement.  They are happiest when walking in deep, warm water, and I accommodate their preference six days a week.  However, they are part of team body, so they also have to adjust to walking on land, like it or not.

There are many difference places to walk here in Durham.   I thought I would prefer walking in a highly air conditioned environment (the heat and humidity is exactly what you'd expect in August in North Carolina).  I considered walking in the mall, but my brain refused to accompany my body there, and since I'm learning mindful living strategies, leaving my brain home seemed like the ultimate bad idea.  There is a walking track at the fitness facility I use for swimming - a nice indoor air conditioned oval walking track that is perfectly lovely, cool, and - well - boring.  My doctor instead suggested walking outdoors on one of the trails in the local state park.  He thought it would be good medicine for both body and soul.   And he was so right...but for reasons I did not anticipate!

I assumed the park would help my soul because of my love of nature, and the peace I feel when deep in the woods.  But that isn't what spoke to my soul.

Perhaps it would be the silence and solitude that one finds early in the morning on a trail in the woods.  Lovely as those things are, it wasn't what touched my heart.

Maybe my psyche would be soothed by the creatures I would encounter on the way - all manner of bird and small beasts who would watch as I made my way along the path (not to mention the two large coyote-like creatures who shadowed me one day - I'm sure they thought Thanksgiving dinner arrived early this year, and came with two walking/rotisserie sticks)!  But alas, not even the yotes were the medicine I sought.

Instead, the medicine came in the form of tree roots - thousands of them- sticking up on the trail.  I cannot safely walk the trail unless I proceed slowly, and carefully place each foot where it needs to go.  If I want to look around and monitor the four legged hunting party watching my every step, I have to stop and look - not look and walk (a behavior that surely disappoints the yotes, as it decreases the likelihood that they will snatch an easy meal).  Each foot is carefully placed on a carpet of soft Carolina pine needles that fall among the hard tree roots.  Leaves are beginning to find their way to the floor of the forest, adding color underfoot.  And here is the amazing thing - my mind cannot spin off in a zillion different directions when I am concentrating on not breaking my ankle or hip.  I am fully in the moment - fully mindful.

And I am at peace.

I have tried walking meditation many times, and always found my mind would spin off in one of a hundred different directions.  In the forest, it is still - focused - at peace.

Peace is great medicine .  It is a precious gift, for which I am deeply grateful.

May you find your peace medicine as you follow your heart, and listen deeply...

Walking and living mindfully,
Kim

Chrysalis Time

It is not a year's experience; it is not a degree once gotten and then ignored.  This is not a spiritual quick fix.  It is a way of life and it takes a lifetime to absorb.  Nothing important, nothing life altering, nothing that demands total commitment can be tried on lightly and easily discarded.  It is the work of a lifetime that takes a lifetime to leaven us until, imperceptibly, we find ourselves changed into what we sought."  Joan Chittister, The Rule of Benedict:  A Spirituality for the 21st Century

All is well.  I am safe, getting stellar medical care, challenged, encouraged, and learning to heal my heart and life.  This is serious chrysalis time, as I work to change into what I seek - my true self, healthy, whole and well.

May you be happy, may you be peaceful, may you be free from suffering, may you be healed, may you be filled with love.  And may I be the same...

Kim

Dangerous Wonderful Journey

Normally I write on Sunday night, but I spent the evening watching a dust storm move through our area.  At first I thought it was smoke from one of the neighboring wildfires.  But then it reminded me of the dust storms I experienced briefly while living in Arizona, and the internet confirmed that we were indeed being showered with dust.  An odd metaphor...

The first thing I do in the morning is look out of an east-facing window toward the Boise Foothills - Psalm 121 is part of my hard wiring.  The view from our little patch of earth in Meridian is obstructed by houses etc, but if I look at just the right angle, I can see them - usually.  Today, they are a memory, and the air hangs heavy with particulates.  It is an odd, unpleasant sight.  Visible/not visible - a bit like my current reality.

I'm about to embark on a healing journey that feels part vision quest, without the comfort of the physical wilderness (although the American South in August may feel more like wilderness than I've bargained for).  I will spend three weeks addressing "heart" issues on multiple levels, working with cardiologists, dietitians, exercise pt people and stress management coaches in order to heal my heart.  Last week as I reflected on this journey I found myself wondering which I feared more - that I will have to embrace lasting change as a result of this journey, or that, despite this journey, nothing changes.  It is the latter I fear most - it is time for change.

I've been reading a very challenging book on women and intuition called "Women's Intuition:  Unlocking the Wisdom of the Body,  by Paula M. Reeves.  I came upon an interesting quote last evening in her chapter entitled "Trusting Intuition to Lead Us"-

Once we begin to clear away much of what has stood in the way of conscious embodiment, we begin to feel, see, and hear the murmurs of our intuition more clearly.  We must pay heed to these whisperings or else they will again disappear.  These faint signals come from the essential Self, urging us to be true to ourselves and the changes authenticity brings.  But we face many challenges as we learn to listen in - for example, what if what we hear is disruptive to our lives?  How do we differentiate between "true" signals and those that should be ignored?  These are crucial issues, particularly for women because our desire to please is so strong.  

Our strength not to succumb to the fear of rejection, alienation, or abandonment by those who want us to stay the same will be tested.  This can be very difficult, for the urge to change may bring us into conflict with the others who share our lives...because of this, it is inevitable that we will feel a conflict between what our intuition is telling us we want at the deepest level and our wish to avoid a disruption in the expectations that we have been carrying for those we love (those with whom we live, and work and share our lives).  Listening to our bodies, we may even realize that we have agreed to things not because we truly felt them, but to guarantee that we will not be abandoned or rejected.  Revisiting the many barters made under the guise of only wanting to avoid conflict or not make waves in order to belong, to be acceptable, to be thin enough, or bright enough, or to avoid gossip, we may discover we really don't give a damn about an antiseptically clean kitchen floor, parenting, marriage, work or the latest fashion (p 166, with editing).

Sigh.  Strong words...

I will not only be looking at the electrical wiring of my heart, but also all those barters I've made along the way that help keep me in this state of chronic stress, so that I heal on all levels - body, mind and soul - and come away from this "vision quest" whole, and more able to hear my inner voice.

Change is coming - change is here.  I may not write on this blog during my time away (not sure yet - will play it by ear). This quest has been decades in the making - and now it is time.  I tremble with a fearful joy as I prepare to step into this unknown.

See you on the other side -
Kim

Game on!

It has been a long, hard day.  The reasons why are not nearly as important as the lessons those reasons have reinforced:

Each of us is responsible for our own health and happiness - our own well-being.  We are responsible for our life.  We need to fight for our dreams with the same tenacity as those Olympic athletes who lay it all on the line and leave it all on the field, or on the court, or in the pool, or wherever they compete.

I need to fight for my dreams, my health, happiness and well-being.  Period.

One of my favorite little devotional books is "When I Loved Myself Enough" by Kim McMillen.  I haven't read it in years, but I took it out last night and opened to page one, which only contained this one sentence:  "When I loved myself enough, I quit settling for too little."

Game on!

Back on my feet,
Kim

That, not What

I spent part of Friday under a loom tying up treadles, and part of Saturday denting a reed with 1400 fussy soft cotton threads.  This may not sound like news, but for me it was a breakthrough.  I've had this loom since 2007, and this is the first time I've prepared it for weaving.

Each of my looms has a personality.  The Glimakra 50 shaft drawloom is huge, but airy and light, with soft pine beams and miles of texsolv string.  I love to weave fine linen on this loom, but it has been 2007 since it has been dressed for weaving.  It waits for for a warp and some company.  My Leclerc counterbalance is my production workhorse, and is dressed with lovely wool for Scottish Wedding Blankets.  October was the last time a shuttle passed through the warp, and it waits patiently for me to spend some hours bringing it back to life.  Its action is light and swift - weaving with it is like dancing.
Its cousin is my Leclerc Gobelin Tapestry loom, dressed and ready for an Advent Tapestry celebrating the transformation found in embracing the darkness.  But I can't settle on the image of the embrace, so it, too, waits patiently for me to work through my artistic block and bring the many colored wools to the loom. Weaving on the Gobelin is like painting - it is a very different feel from the other looms.

But on Friday and Saturday I chose the Macomber, which has been waiting for me to finally bring it to life.  I first saw a Macomber Loom in the 90's, at the studio of the weaver under whom I apprenticed.  I fell in love with its strength instantly - heavy woods and wrought iron made it a battleship of looms - whereas the other looms were lighter, the Macomber was the fixture around which you settled whatever room it was in.  My first loom was a Macomber, bought second hand from a weaver in Connecticut who had upgraded to an even bigger Macomber (once a Macomber owner, always a Macomber owner).  The looms are hand made in a small shop in Maine - made to order for the weaver.  You can wait a very long time for your Macomber loom.  I left my first loom in Scotland - seeing that an up and coming weaver had the tool she needed to continue her craft.  When I returned to the States in '07, I took delivery of a new Macomber - falling in love with its strength and beauty.

And there it sat, first in WNY, and then in Boise.  But Friday I crawled under it, and began the process of tying it up for its first warp - cutting my fingers and bruising my hands in the process (a Macomber is not a dainty loom).  I had forgotten how much strength it took to depress s treadle that was tied up with 8 heavy metal shafts - the quad machines at the gym have nothing on a Macomber.  By Saturday afternoon the warp was tied up as were the treadles, and the first shuttle was being thrown in the shed.  And I was weaving.  On my strong, rugged and beautiful loom with all its iron, steel and maple I was creating light and airy cloth.  And growing stronger with each pick.

Why did I start weaving on Friday?  Friday my heart was in a knot.  It had been another week of chaos at church (thank you, mice and bats), and my mind was distracted with the millions of unfinished details of parish life plus emails and phone calls...I stayed home, but my mind and heart were at work.  Then there was the mass shooting in Aurora - the place where I had done my chaplaincy many years ago.  A large part of my heart is still back there, and yet another tragedy (involving gun violence) sickened me to the core.  My mind tries, in vain, to understand how rational people can justify the need for legal access to assault rifles - I wish the damn things were banned and consider it obscene that this sick human being was able to legally obtain these weapons.  My heart and head were racing a million miles a second...

...so I went to my heavy and strong loom, and prepared it for weaving.  The tools felt like extensions of my hands, and my legs were able to depress the treadles.  Throwing the shuttle through the shed was second nature to me - my rhythm was slow, but deliberate.  My breathing slowed down, as did my racing mind.  And I did what I do best at the loom - I prayed.  Sometime during my time with Macomber, I re-membered a very important lesson:  It doesn't matter what I weave, but that I weave.  Weaving connects me with the great Tejedor, and I slip into that nonordinary realtiy of grace.

The strength and rugged beauty of the Macomber strengthens me, the scratches on my hands signs of my struggle to stay focused while engaging in my craft.  That I pray best when dancing at the loom is a a great mystery to me - it would be more convenient if I most easily entered grace at my work desk instead of at the loom.  Can I allow myself more time weaving with the Tejedor?  Will I let myself settle into the loom music and dance this blessed dance of grace?

Where do you go and what do you do to quiet your mind, open your heart, and settle into God's presence?  What proportion of your time is spend steeping in grace?

Looking forward to my next dance at the loom -
Kim

Rope Swings, Jeeps, and Loving the Journey

In my mind it is the early '90s and I'm the new associate minister in climate that reminds me of Boise.  I'm 32, and according to one of my youth groups, I am very cool.  My entire job is education and youth ministry and I am loving it.  Three youth groups, a big Sunday School, adult ed, and free-lancing on Sunday night running a combined group for two churches of another denomination.  We go camping - have lock ins - we plan mission trips.  We go on retreat up into the Sierras at a non-denominational camp that has breathtaking vistas and a rope swing that would never ever pass today's risk assessment exercise.  Actually, I'm not sure the winter camping trip would have passed the risk assessment exercise.  But we didn't do those things back then...at least not to the degree we do now.  Although I wasn't supposed to have favorite groups, I loved the young adult group.  This group had a rocky relationship with the church, and so they decided to call themselves "Friends United" - because the acronym said it all.  I loved them like they were my own - and they knew it.

The torch passes, and today I got to watch a 32 year old representative of late Gen X or early Millennial generation show us what ministry can look like under their direction, and it is a nice mix of wise and cool.  Very cool.  It is a blessing to see that the church is in good hands.  The next gen, be it X or Y,  has us covered.

I have a colleague who re-invents himself every 10 years, a process that usually involves that "little box of hair color" and a new form of transportation.  The motorcycle with the leathers was received fairly well by his congregation.  The later Mohawk with just a shade of tinting - not so well (some say it was bright pink, but I thought it was more of a subtle cotton candy color...).  It brought out the blue in his eyes, but didn't work so well at the graveside funeral services.  People misunderstood his intentions and felt he was being disrespectful.  He was genuinely surprised by this - "I just want to stay relevant" was his answer.  But then he said what was really on his heart:  "I don't want to be left behind."

It is tempting to fear being left behind as the world around us shifts and changes at breakneck pace.  Aging requires flexibility in order to stay relevant - which, at its root, means continuing to be appropriate for our purpose.  And what is our purpose?

To love.  And to grow into a greater awareness of our union with God.  Which causes us to love.

Each day, the challenge and opportunity is to find new and creative ways to love based on who we are and what we can bring to the experience.   The differences in how we love is part of what makes the tapestry so rich...and beautiful...and strong - the many different threads of love woven together by the master Tejedor who values each unique thread.

So...today I was reminded that I am not 32 anymore.  Instead, I am a very happy 53, who is not in danger of running into that "little box of hair color" nor of buying a motorcycle.  But a two door soft top Jeep Wrangler...well...that may be another story.  If Fr. Richard Rohr is right about the second half of life (as described in his wise book "Falling Upward") then my journey into the greater reality will not require a new ride...but the adventure may be enhanced with the top down!

Loving the journey,
Kim

Fresh x2

Back in the '70s and '80s the Episcopal Ad Project helped pave the way for churches to advertise using clever eye-catching copy (mostly posters).  Some messages clearly "preached to the choir," while others were meant to attract the unchurched.  The first poster I saw spoke volumes to clergy:  "Jesus told us to feed the sheep, not count them."  I have always remembered the message, especially during the summer months, when worship attendance is down.

Today I was reminded that it is not the quantity of people in the sanctuary that matters but the quality of their interactions.  When all was said and done I was able to step back and watch as people ministered to each other in a compassionate, sensitive way.  Instead of finishing the morning tense and drained of energy, I felt refreshed and centered.  Nice - very nice.

Even on a hot day in July, community felt fresh and alive - what a wonderful feeling!

This evening I'm sitting with a new book recommended by a new friend - Robert Alter's The Book of Psalms.  Alter's translation of the Psalms startles me with its beauty and freshness - the Psalms are old, familiar friends, yet I feel like I am encountering them anew.  Like very fine chocolate, this new rendering of the Psalms is meant to be savored, one delicious bite at a time.

The old becomes new again - fresh again - surprisingly vital again.  The familiar Sunday morning experience and words I've read a thousand times - known and yet now new.  

Isn't grace an amazing gift....

Savoring the moment,

Kim

The Problem with the Serenity Prayer...

Stanley, Part 2

Writing about Veriditas and life emerging from devastation is a joyful activity.  Describing the beauty of the greater Stanley area is easy.  But the trip last weekend had another aspect to it which is more difficult to address.  

I didn't cope with the altitude - not at all.  I couldn't breathe, and my heart issue was aggravated in a way that made it unsafe for me to stay in Stanley any longer than was necessary to fulfill my obligations.  It didn't take me long to realize what was happening, and the awareness that I could not be at altitude not only aggravated my heart, but it also broke it.  The mountains are my home, and I can't be there right now.  Not in my second favorite place in the world, and most certainly not in my most favorite and sacred place in the world.  I cannot go "home" - not like this.

This realization unsettled me to the core.  In times of great joy and tragedy I have returned to the mountains for strength and solace.  I have found courage there, and inspiration, and hope.  And love - I have been enveloped by love and acceptance in the mountains in a way that defies explanation.  There are places that know me by name, and welcome me home.

But not now - not as things are.  And I feel strangely orphaned.  Adrift.  Isolated.  Alone.  

I close my eyes and step out of my car in the car park of the East Inlet Trail and start walking up to the trailhead.  Soon I am deep in the forest where once I almost collided with a Moose that had little interest in sharing the trail with me.  I begin the gentle climb up to "steps" that lead past the turn off to Adams Falls.  I few more steep steps and there is a small clearing where I can watch the rapids from a rock where I rest in front of a small pine that, for the past twenty-four years, has enjoyed a drink from my water bottle.  We chat about the previous winter, and I head along the narrow trail until descending into the first meadow, and my thoughtful spot.  There I sit on my favorite rock and gaze at old Baldy.  God has touched me in that meadow - it is the very definition of liminal space.  I sit there and watch the sun come up - in my mind - and rest until it is time to climb back down again.  It is a joyous walk - even with two bad knees.  But I can only walk it in my memory.  

And I cry - and wonder - is this one of those times in life where I fight to regain what has been lost, or do I accept and adapt?   I don't mind the desert, and am fond of the ocean - perhaps this is one of those times of letting go.  Or maybe it is a time to fight.  Maybe both.  Maybe neither.  

The trouble with the Serenity Prayer is that the events of life do not come clearly labelled:   this one is something I can change, but this one over here is something I cannot change.  And the wisdom that is called for is also not always obvious...

... unless wisdom is that space of not knowing ... where you wait instead of react and allow time to unfold the story more fully... so that memory, mind and heart can discern what requires acceptance, and what calls forth the warrior's response.

I cannot go home to the mountains - not now.    May God help me to listen as I rest in this waiting space ... my heart broken wide open ...

Blessings,

Kim

After the fire... Veriditas!

The American West is on fire, and the images are heartbreaking.  Every region of America has some weather/climate/natural feature that provokes fear, and here in Idaho it isn't hurricanes or earthquakes (unless you live in Challis, and then earthquakes are not off the radar).  Here it is fire.

This weekend I was up in Stanley preaching at the Sawtooth Meditation Chapel - a once a year gig that I thoroughly love.  Truth be told, I could stand up there and read the phone book for the sermon, because immediately behind me is a wall of windows that looks out at a breathtaking vista of the Sawtooths.  God has already done all the heavy lifting for Sunday worship - I just give a nudge or two and then try to get out of the way.

Stanley is my second favorite place in all of creation, and I savor every opportunity to head to the hills.  As much as I love all places of natural beauty, I love the mountains most of all.  It is there that God's voice is clearest and brightest - and easiest for me to hear.  I am a mountain lass, through and through.

The drive up Highway 55 to The Banks Lowman Highway to ID 21 to Stanley is beautiful beyond words (except in bad weather, when it can be a wee bit dicey).  But we had bright sunshine both going and coming back, and I was the passenger not the driver, so I could drink in the beauty.  There are spots along the drive that are marred by fire - whole hillsides burned through, with the charred remains of dead trees a painful reminder of what once was.  In the past I've felt great sorrow when looking at those silent witnesses to tragedy - I've felt my heart sink and saw the scene as anything but beautiful.  But today I noticed something different...

...I saw all the green that surrounded those dead trees.  Bright, life-infused growth flourished all along those hillsides.  New young pines, lots of ground cover - a transformation of what was once a scene of utter devastation into a vista of new life.

Hildegard of Bingen spoke of a similar spiritual phenomenon which she called - Veriditas - the greening power of God.  After the fire, there is new life.  This reality does not take away the tragedy faced by all whose dreams are charred by the fires, but it does provide hope that new life can emerge from even the deepest, darkest pile of ashes and soot.

Such a beautiful lesson in hope, taught today by the wisdom of God's creation.

May we remember all those who stand in the ashes of their dreams, and face the devastation of the fires of life.  May we cradle them in our hearts, and help them to survive the fires.  May we remember those brave souls who give their time, energy and risk their lives to fight the fires of life - running towards the pain and danger in the hope of bringing aid and assistance.  They are the angels who help Veriditas to emerge.

Come, Veriditas, Come!
Kim  

Too Small or Just Right...

By far one of the best newsletters I receive is the Canticle of St. Gertrude: A Journal of Our Life (published by the Monastery of St Gertrude up in Cottonwood, Idaho).  I am always inspired by something I read within its pages, and this month the Prioress introduced me to the poetry of David Whyte by sharing the following lines from his poem "Sweet Darkness":

When your vision has gone

No part of the world can find you...

...Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet

confinement of your aloneness

to learn

anything or anyone

that does not bring you alive

is too small for you."

These words have been rumbling around in my soul for the past several days, as I have reflected on what brings me alive...and what doesn't...and what is too small for me - and how to make peace with the judgment that statement implies...

What brings you alive?  Are there things in your life that are too small for you?

Pondering,

Kim

Brick Wall Olympics and Left Turns

Wisdom came to visit me today, aware that, perhaps, I had exhausted myself enough that I could now listen to her voice.  She wanted to talk about the brick wall that had become the focus of most of my energy.

The wall arrived in December, and has been the dominant feature on my landscape since its arrival - mostly because of my conviction that the road for my journey continued on the other side of the wall - heading due north.  In a manner consistent with my training and personality, I've approached the wall like an obstacle to my progress - a challenge to overcome.  And for these many months I have resourcefully and tenaciously sought to defeat the wall so I could continue with my journey.

I tried to go around the wall (too wide), made many attempts to climb over the wall (few hand holds and very slippery), and resourcefully tried to tunnel under the wall - but the wall continued underground.  I beat on the wall, screamed at the wall, hated the wall for being an obstacle in my progress, and finally resorted to the only recourse I knew - I repeatedly ran head first into the wall, hoping that, over time, I would crack the wall and break through - and free.

But the wall just absorbed the blows, leaving me more tired than when I started.

It is so easy to continue with futile action, and so hard to stop and regroup...

Wisdom waited quietly and patiently (and with no small amount of heartbreak) until I had exhausted myself by running into the wall.  And when all my striving was expended and I sat quietly in the pain, Wisdom finally had the space in which to speak:

Perhaps the wall isn't an obstacle keeping you from continuing due north on your journey.  Perhaps the wall is the very hand of God, telling you that your journey doesn't take you due north.  Look in the other directions and see what is there...


So instead keeping my tunnel vision I looked to the left, and to the right, and saw vistas of possibilities in either direction!  And I laughed - one of those deep soul laughs - as I realized that I was missing the very guidance I had asked for because instead of turning my head, I insisted on ramming it into yon brick wall.

The path heading west looks very interesting, so I think I'll head that way for awhile.  Before I set off I went up to touch the wall one last time - to touch the hand of God and say thank you for the boundary.

It will take a little time to heal - even my hard head is sore from my latest contact sport.  And travelling this unknown road will take a bit of adjustment...and flexibility...and some time for it to feel familiar.  But even though it is unfamiliar, it looks very inviting.  I confess to being a bit excited to see what awaits me, as I journey in a new way.

Brick walls can be the Hand of God - my, my, my... and Wisdom can help us discern when the obstacle needs to be overcome, and when it is a source of redirection.

With gratitude to Wisdom, and a tired by joyful heart,
Kim

Flap Less - Soar More!

Each day, if I'm lucky, I get to watch a young hawk practice flying and soaring.  I'll see him or her perched in the very top of a big tree in the farm field visible from our back yard.  Hawkie will sit and sway in the breeze (or gale) until ready to leap in the air.  What follows could be made into a Looney Tunes cartoon (the old kind - not the new versions), or a Sesame Street skit for the letter "U".  Yon Hawklet flaps frantically while flying straight up to the right...then catches the updraft and starts to soar for a second...and then frantically flaps while flying back down and then starts back up again and catches that updraft...then panics and frantically starts flapping and heads straight down until catching the updraft...

...and Hawkie will do this over and over again, tracing the letter "U" in the sky.  Eventually my winged tutor starts flapping a bit less and soaring a little bit more...until it is time to rest on the top limb of the tree and squawk for mom or dad...and then off to practice once again!

I resonate with the "frantic flapping" part of this learning curve...it takes much practice, time and trust to learn how to relax into the air currents and soar.  Hawkie is teaching me self patience, for I often fault myself for not being "there" yet, and feel frustration at the time required to master a new skill.

But I've seen the parents of Hawkie, and their flight is a sight to behold.  Hawkie will get there...as will I.

What causes you to frantically struggle - what are you striving to achieve?  Do you grant yourself grace and time?  Do you reflect patience and acceptance towards yourself as you face your learning curve?

Flap less - soar more!
Kim

Open-hands-holding

Storage units are an invention that can help us to hold on to the past.  When I moved to Scotland there was so much I just couldn't let go of, so my son stored it for me.  I have a very kind and understanding son!  Now it is time for him to move and pare things down a bit, so he asked me if I wanted some of the things in the storage unit...or if I was ready to let go...

...and I found that I could indeed let go, simplifying both of our lives!  I probably could not have let go five years ago, and know I could not let go thirteen years ago.  Wise voices from many places and traditions tell us that letting go and simplifying our lives is the next step in our journey, but they forget to tell us that letting go takes time!

Having access to the things we hold on to is not required for holding on - I have watched people lose precious things and relationships, and yet they hold on to them as if the lost object or person was still there.  I have listened to people explain disappointments to me as if they happened earlier in the day, only to learn that the event happened decades ago!

Letting go can take time...sometimes lots of time.  But when the time is right, letting go can feel very good - liberating.  It can bring a greater sense of freedom, and freedom is one of the "tells" that I look for to know that God is at work in my life.  Greater freedom usually means a greater attunement to the Divine.

Thoreau wrote:  "Simplicity is one of the most valuable lessons we can learn from nature.  We experience a certain freedom traveling lightly on the path, unencumbered by unnecessary food, clothing, or gadgets.  We need to adopt an inner simplicity by also leaving behind confused thoughts and agendas.  Each day we carry an enormous load of emotional and material baggage.  The weight prevents us from straightening up to see and experience the beauty of each moment.  Worries and anxieties give us spiritual cataracts.  Simplify, simplify, simplify."  (as quoted in Susanne Vanzant Hassell's Pilgrim Walk in the Woods.


What baggage did you carry today?  Do you need it?  If you do need it, you can choose to keep carrying it.  Perhaps if it is heavy, you can set it down for awhile and rest.  You can pick it up again if you must, or, maybe...

...you can let it go.  Or hold it with open hands until you are ready...

Blessings,
Kim

Whale time

I love summer worship.  There is nothing to coordinate - it is simple.  I'm blessed to work with an amazing, intuitive, brilliant musician, so together we weave a tapestry that unfolds in real time - very freeing!  Although what we do in worship during the program year is wonderful, there is something about summer... I look forward to the experience every year!

Sadly, I will miss most of August this year.  I will take my remaining vacation and one of my two weeks of study leave and do some serious medical interventions.  I'm barely keeping up right now; I will be under water before September even gets here unless I'm feeling better.

Under water...walking through water...treading water...head under water (thank you Sara Bareilles, and you were right - the breathing does get harder).  It is an odd time right now, when the air feels thick like water and every effort brings physical resistance.  I'm tired.

But I'm also fully here - present - feeling the resistance.  Feeling the frustration of having to schedule myself oh so carefully so I get everything done...feeling the relief when things get done, and nothing major falls through the cracks (major means anything larger than a grand piano).

Feeling the delight in listening to the children explain to me (in an impromptu conversation) what is cool in their world - and they became what was cool in my world today.  Feeling the sacredness of the moment as I sat in that liminal space with someone who is dying, and experienced the depth of the emotion of the person's loved ones as they embraced love, and loss, and longing, and relief, and fear and love and loss...

Feeling the weight of the bird seed container as I go out to feed my beloved red-winged flying pigs, who hit the bird feeders like little vacuum cleaners.  Feeling the warmth of the sun on my face - feeling fully alive.

Knowing that in the moment, when I can change very little of what is happening, one thing I can do is be present and feel it - every bit of it.  Good and bad, even the fatigue, which, as I think about it, is less like water and more like trying to move in glue that is almost set.

What will this experience reveal?  As I can't make it go away right now, what can it teach me?  Am I able to stop resenting it enough to listen?

What teachers are in your life right now (translation:  what circumstances are present that cannot be altered, push your buttons or invite you to struggle, but remain despite your best attempt to change them)?

I picture Jonah beating against the inside of the whale until he was exhausted...and then sitting down, taking a deep breath, and accepting that the ride was under way, and he was not traveling in First Class - he was cargo.

I guess if I'm going to be under water for a period of time, the belly of a whale isn't the worst option...

Fully present in whale time,
Kim

Beholding

I love being surprised by a new idea, or an old idea formulated in a new way so that it shakes me out of my complacency and causes me to encounter a familiar word anew.  Mark Epstein did that for me in the closing chapters of Open to Desire.  His passing comments on the familiar word beholding captured my attention and provided a launching point for some creative thinking:

In an apocryphal statement attributed to James Joyce, he once described the attention that is necessary to look at a work of art as "beholding,"  If the viewer gets too close to an artwork it becomes pornography or if he gets too distant it becomes criticism.  Beholding art means giving it enough space to let it speak to us, to let us find it, even if we do not completely understand what we are looking at.  (p182).

I dare say that this description of beholding applies to more than art appreciation; it certainly applies to the relationships with one another and with God.

What would it be like to behold God - to give God enough space to let God speak to us, to let us find God, even if we do not completely understand what we are looking at?  Epstein continues:

When we discover that the object is beyond our control, unpossessable and receding from our grasp, we have the opportunity to enter the space that Joyce was referring to...we learn to give the object its freedom.

We are familiar with the ways we try to control, possess and grasp hold of one another.  Are we aware of the ways we try to do these things in our relationship with God?

I love this concept of "beholding" - both with one another, and with God.  Just the right space allows for the grace of perspective - to be able to truly see and appreciate the other.

May you find that space - and grace.

With love,

Kim

Job One

This is Take 2 for my post tonight.   I just deleted the first draft, which was (in my opinion) clever, fairly well written, just insightful enough that I was impressing myself with it...

...and total self-serving crap.

Now I'll try again to say that the human soul has amazing tensile and compressive strength yet can be as fragile as a snowflake.  Today I moved among souls facing pain and loss so intense that it could suck all the oxygen out of the room (and off the face of the planet).  I marvel and weep over what the human heart can withstand, and what, over time, can be transformed.  I am simply in awe of God's ability to be in the midst of even the most convulsive, raw pain, and stay in that space until life emerges once again.  God never walks away or gives up.  Resurrection is all around us - we are steeped in it, and often do not even know it.

I live as a witness to resurrection who, when asked, can testify that there is reason to hope.  Anything else I do pales in comparison to this one calling.

Hopeful,

Kim

Serenity Prayer Reprise

Welcome back, dear reader.  I hope that during the past two weeks you have been invited into a deeper awareness of the ever-present loving God who exhales the breath of life into us each time we inhale.

My time away was mixed.  Traveling east to watch my son receive his Ph.D. was simply indescribable - I can remember so clearly when he was first learning to read, and now he helps students learn to think critically about our American experience, both within a religious context and without.  I felt every cell in my body release one deep collective sigh as he was handed his diploma, while simultaneously wanting to jump for joy at his accomplishment.  Meeting his partner's family was also a precious gift as I watched our families grow closer together.  Nectar for the soul...

Within the joy, I had to also face some painful realities about aspects of my health and subsequent limitations, make careful adjustments/accommodations, and quickly reach a level of acceptance about current limitations that, well, runs counter to my emotional wiring - seriously counter to my emotional wiring.  My mother use to have a saying she would tell me when I was a child (that ended up being the subject of many a psychotherapy sessions later in my life):  When you meet an obstacle, climb over it, or race around it, or tunnel under it - and if none of those things work, plant dynamite under it and blow the damn thing up.  She did not like the Serenity Prayer.

Acceptance is easy when the topic of acceptance is joyful; more of a challenge when it is something you do not want.

And so I have been thinking about the lesson of acceptance in light of the Serenity Prayer and its most recent personal applications.  The distinction between what can and cannot be changed - not always a clear black and white distinction.  When do we push, fight, rail against the gates of hell and turn the world upside down in order to bring about the desired change, and when to we accept and settle into the changes that this acceptance brings?

When indeed...

The second topic that has been on my mind (as I write my last paper for this year's DMin requirements) is desire - specifically, desire as a guide to deepening our spiritual journey.  Many teachers have been prodding my thinking, and right now I'm finishing some time with Mark Epstein and his book "Open to Desire."  Very interesting stuff - to be explored in another post.

I hope this has been a blessed time for you.  For the next several weeks I plan to write this blog on Sundays, Tuesdays and Thursdays - my own adjustment to being on a summer time schedule.  This will free up a bit more time for reading and creative endeavors - which I hope will benefit us all.

May you find your path as you discern what requires acceptance, and what invites change.

With love and prayers,
Kim

Kindly blessings...

Tomorrow I begin a journey that will take me back in time some thirty years while also pointing me toward the future - and all while being acutely in the present.  Some parts of the journey will be very difficult, while others will bring great joy.  And rest - there will be a time for some deep rest.

All journeys bring a little trepidation (at least the ones I undertake).  As I settle into the unsettledness, I find myself becoming calmer (much nicer than when I try to escape the feelings).

I am sure that I will write again on Sunday, June 3rd, but between now and then my writing may be sporadic.  I will also be taking some rest from the keyboard, and technology.

I go with God - as do you.

In the words of a dear Scottish Prayer - May the Lord bless you, and bless you kindly.  Amen.

With love and blessings,
Kim

Undercurrent of Rest...

When you watch this river flow, you cannot see its undercurrent moving deep below, often in a direction different than water on the surface.  Yet, that strong, steady flow moves the river toward its destination.  In a similar way, God's deep, abiding love moves and carries you.  It gives you an invisible source of rest beneath the work.  People may notice your activity, but the undercurrent of rest gives your work power and vitality.  Rest provides freedom from care and worry and sin, a security that is rare in our culture.
- Susanne Vanzant Hassell - Pilgrim Walk in the Woods


...to experience that deep, undercurrent of rest...

...to be aware of that deep, undercurrent of rest that is present in each of us...

...to lean into that deep, undercurrent of rest that is present in each of us...

...to rest, and to be refreshed...this is my prayer for us all...

Blessings,
Kim

"Oned"

Just as expected, today was a new day, full of new opportunities and challenges.  In the midst of the parade of said Os & Ps, there was time to begin a fascinating book (Listening for the Soul by Jean Stairs), opportunity to keep up with my other reading, and time to write.

My reading today also reacquainted me with a word I hadn't seen in some time - "oned"

We were all created at the same time:  and in our creation we were knit and oned to God.  By this we are kept as luminous and noble as when we were created.  By the force of this precious oneing we love, seek, praise, thank and endlessly enjoy our Creator.  Julian of Norwich, Showings

I invite you to allow this image of being oned to God to settle in your soul, so you are free to express your luminous and noble identity.  Glow, dear friend - glow!

Blessings,
Kim

Acceptance, Part 2

Even difficult days come to an end, as this day will soon do.  I will sleep, and will awaken to a new day...to new challenges...to new opportunities.

A certain kind of wisdom does seem to come with the passing of years.  I remember a time when a difficult day felt as though it would last forever - like it was the end of the world.  Now they come and they go, with the next day (or hour or moment) bringing a different experience.  The key seems to be not clinging to whatever comes, be it joy or sorrow, but to hold it in open hands, and let it move through my heart in its own way, in its own time.

I remember as a child trying to hold water in my hands, and being disappointed that it always managed to slip away.  Little did I realize that holding with hands open was a model for how to face life and all its complexity.

So through open hands the joy and pain of today moves through my heart.  I will sleep, and awaken to a new day, with new challenges and opportunities.

And so will you...

Blessings,
Kim

Acceptance

I never cease to be amazed at how God speaks through any and all circumstances of life, and in unique ways that each individual can perceive.  One cannot begin to catalogue the vast range of God's creativity, and flexibility - there is no end to the ways in which God can communicate.

I experienced this personally today, as I found God - very clearly - reminding me that my job description, rooted in Benedictine Spirituality, does not include fixing, rescuing, and maintaining or creating structures for the sake of trying to advance an agenda (no matter how good or true or noble the agenda may be).  Instead, it involves meeting people where they are and ministering with them - not trying to drag them where I want them to be.   As counterintuitive as it sounds, acceptance is a necessary component in the process of transformation.

One of my favorite authors in the field of spiritual leadership, Joan Chittister, reminds me that spiritual leadership is a leavening process that encourages spiritual and psychological growth of the individual and community.  The leader believes in the best and gives people the opportunities to make the mistakes that lead to growth...allows the practices of worship and service and prayer to work their way until the piercing good of God rises in the individuals and community like yeast in bread...and leads individuals to spiritual adulthood where the individuals can make the kind of choices that give life depth and quality (Joan Chittister, The Rule of Benedict:  A Spirituality for the 21st Century).  



I end my work week humbled, and inspired, and most grateful for God's ever-present reminder of what really matters.

I will write again Sunday evening.  Until then,

Blessings,
Kim

Hamster Wheel Theology

I have often used the stationary hamster wheel as a metaphor for the pace and quality of modern life, with the knowledge that many of us are running as fast as we can in our little wheels.

As entertaining as it may be for those observing the hamster (and possibly for the hamster - who really knows what the hamster thinks), copying hamster behavior doesn't get us very far.  It can expend vast amounts of energy and resources, but in the end, it accomplishes very little, and we remain exactly where we started - running in our wheels...

...unless we choose to get out.

"But I can't stop running," we often say, "because of X or Y or Z."  There are always excellent reasons (read: excuses) for not getting out of the wheel.  But if we stop, and listen deeply, we will find that there are even better reasons for ending our participation in the hamster wheel marathon - even if leaving the wheel means doing things differently (read:  change).

Henri Nouwen liked to use the image of a wheel in describing the spiritual life, but the hamster wheel was not what he imagined:

   I think of life as a big wagon wheel with many spokes.  In the middle is the hub.  Often...it looks like
   we are running around the rim trying to reach everybody.  But God says, "Start in the hub; live in
   the hub.  Then you will be connected with all the spokes, and you won't have to run so fast."
       Henri Nouwen, as quoted in Pilgrim Walk in the Woods, by Susanne Vanzant Hassell

Begin and live in the center - the core - and move outward through there - remaining connected with the center of our being (which is God).  This creates a mode of being that is efficient, effective, and energizing - and unlike racing in yon hamster wheel, the scenery changes.  And things happen.

I think the wagon wheel provides far more potential for the spiritual life than the stationary hamster wheel, and I'm happy to trade my custom designed fully equipped and well used HW in for something more useful.

What about you?  Are you ready to stop running in place, and step out into a new reality?

Blessings,
Kim

Enoughness

Today began with a moment of unexpected grace, followed by another...and then another...and then an experience requiring deep breathing, flexibility and yet another adjustment...followed by thankfulness for the early morning experience of grace.  It was just enough - just enough to help see me through the bumps and bruises of the day.

It was all I needed today.

I am mystified by how the equation stays balanced - just enough, no more, no less.  More would be brilliant, and at times in life there is an overflowing abundance of grace that sweeps all the negativity out of the way like the Boise River during spring run off.  At other times it reminds me of the Kern River during a California drought.  I can remember being in Bakersfield during the early '90s, and being driven around by a member of the search committee.  We came up on the bridge passing over the Kern River with signs posted about drowning hazards etc - and their wasn't a drop of water in the river.  It was bone dry.  My young son leaned over to me and said "drowning hazard - what do people do here ...throw themselves into the dust and suffocate themselves?"  Sometimes it doesn't feel like there is enough grace to meet the challenge; like we are face down in the dry riverbed.

Then there are the days when it is just enough, and no more.  I rest in that enoughness tonight like I do at the end of a workout in the rehab pool.  My last exercise involves balancing in the water with little movement - just allowing the water to hold me up - just enough to keep my head above water, and no more.  Completely still - being held by the water...like being held by grace.

Just enough.

What was your experience of grace today - was it a swiftly flowing river, a bone dry riverbed, or just enough?

Resting with my head above the water - just,
Kim

Learning a new skill...

In his latest book entitled Breathing Under Water, Richard Rohr quotes the poem that inspired the title and theme of his book.  I find that both the book, and the poem, have much wisdom to share:

"Breathing Under Water" by Carol Bieleck, R.S.C.J.

I built my house by the sea.
Not on the sands, mind you;
not on the shifting sand.
And I built it of rock.
A strong house 
by a strong sea.
And we got well acquainted, the sea and I.
Good neighbors.
Not that we spoke much.
We met in silences.
Respectful, keeping our distance,
but looking our thoughts across the fence of sand.
Always, the fence of sand our barrier,
always, the sand between.


And then one day,
- and I still don't know how it happened -
the sea came.
Without warning.


Without welcome, even
Not sudden and swift, but a shifting across the sand
   like wine,
less like the flow of water than the flow of blood.
Slow, but coming.
Slow, but flowing like an open wound.
And I thought of flight and I thought of drowning
   and I thought of death.
And while I thought the sea crept higher, till it
   reached my door.
And I knew then, there was neither flight, nor death,
   nor drowning.
That when the sea comes calling you stop being
   neighbors
Well acquainted, friendly-at-a-distance, neighbors
And you give your house for a coral castle,
And you learn to breathe underwater.


Taking under water breathing lessons,
Kim

Soul Food

I am on a quest to identify those qualities/experiences that consistently nourish my soul, and build them into my daily life.

Thus far, I have been extraordinarily unsuccessful in my quest.  Fortunately, I do not give up easily.

But the even better news is that God does not give up - period.  So this morning, instead of being awakened by the sound of the alarm clock (which I hate, and therefore awaken minutes before it sounds so I can turn it off), I was greeted instead by the sound of an owl.  I almost fell out of bed trying to get to the window to see if I could see if - no sighting.  Just the call - the haunting call.  I haven't heard an owl since the winter of 2006 in Chapel of Garioch.  Owl medicine is very powerful in my life, and to hear that call absolutely made my day.  It took me back to many native myths, and to the beautiful story of Gwinna, which has been a personal metaphor throughout these last ten years.  Oh, to find my wings and fly...

Of all the places I've lived that left me feeling divorced from the natural world, this is the second hardest place (NYC being the first).  Living in a suburban subdivision has been my working definition of hell for most of my adult life.  Too much light clutter to see the stars; too much traffic noise to hear only bird song.  Even my resident red winged jazz band has to ramp it up to be heard over the cars.  But at 5 am, the owl had no competition - even in Meridian.

As experiences in nature are a main source of my soul food, I headed out tonight to spend some time with the moon.  I usually take these trips solo, but even Bill was intrigued by what he might find.  We drove east to the Stagecoach exit off I 84, and there was the moon climbing slowly above the horizon.  Bill played with the camera, and I just sat and drank it in.  Not quite the same as when I saw it rise over the great plains - as it inched up the horizon it was a size and color that took my breath away.  Tonight brought beauty on a smaller scale - but still lovely.  Beginning and ending my day in nature was a good step in my quest for healthy soul food.

I cannot live at the monastery, nor can I live in the first meadow of the East Inlet trail in the Kawuneeche Valley of Rocky Mountain National Park.  I cannot live up in Stanley gazing at the Sawtooths and I cannot live in silence and solitude in a cabin in the woods.  I have yet to figure out how to schedule my day so I can keep the Daily Office of prayer and reading (unless I'm on vacation or up at the Monastery).  I haven't woven since November.  My soul hungers for the experiences that sustain it, and not the over-processed and over-refined fast food that makes up most of its diet.

I am on a quest to see that my daily life contains those soul-feeding experiences that will bring much needed balance and health into my life.  And I am most grateful that in this kind of quest, past failure is not a predictor of future outcome.

What sustains you in a healthy and life-giving way?  Is your soul regularly nourished by such things, or is your soul diet deficient in some areas?

Blessings,
Kim

Recalculating...

I've been wanting to re-arrange the books in my office for months.  When I arrived in Boise, the goal was to get the books out of the boxes and on to the shelves.  Now it is time to place them more intentionally - so that they are easier to use.

I cleared off several shelves and piled the books on my desk, taking a moment to become re-acquainted with these old friends.  Many played key roles in helping to open my thinking and provide me with tools for my craft.  A few can now go to a library where others can read them.  One came home with me -  a book I remember reading as I teen, that I read again during my training years, and that now calls to me again.  I haven't read Fromm for decades, but To Have Or To Be beckons me again.

Perhaps the attraction is my growing awareness of the need to just be myself, after many decades of focusing on meeting the expectations of others.  Accepting that it is more than ok to be "me" is not an easy transition for a person with a hyperactive caretaking gene.  Nor does it help to have been professionally trained by my family of origin in meeting the needs and expectations of others.  Marry all of this to a religions vocation and the possibility exists to completely lose oneself in meeting the needs and expectations of others.  The combination allowed me to be very "successful" as a pastor to highly conflicted churches.  But at a cost...

This is not what Jesus was talking about when teaching that you find yourself in losing yourself.  Nor is this the Buddhist teaching of no self.  But it is what untold number of people (often women) have been  taught to believe is honorable.  But it is a lie.

It is in truly knowing ourselves - through living from our core - that we can live and love and serve in an authentic and integrated way.  If you find these words resonating within your heart, I will not cheapen this awareness by saying that the journey is easy or without cost.  It is a very difficult and often costly journey.  But it is worth any sacrifice, because in the end, it brings wholeness.

We put off so much in life - visiting relatives, writing letters, going back to school, finding a new job.  But one thing stays with us always, present whether pursued or not, and that is the call to the center of ourselves where the God we are seeking is seeking us.  Benedict says, Listen today.  Start now.  Begin immediately to direct your life to that small, clear voice within. - Joan Chittister, The Rule of Benedict: A Spirituality for the 21st Century


Here is the most amazing thing - it is through going to the center of ourselves and meeting God there that we can truly see ourselves for who we are.  We don't find our truth, or our answers, or ourselves, or God out there - instead, we find it all within.

If you've been looking for yourself or your truth or your answers or God out there, it's time for your GPS to recalculate and send you in the right direction - within.  And once you have made the journey to the center of your soul, then you will find the strength, courage and clarity for true service.

I will write again Sunday evening.  Until then -

Traveling mercies,
Kim

Strawberry Deficiency

It's an old parable, but Pema tells it well:

A woman is running from tigers.  She runs and she runs, and the tigers are getting closer and closer.  She comes to the edge of a cliff.  She sees a vine there, so she climbs down and holds on to it.  Then she looks down and sees that there are tigers below her as well.  At the same time, she notices a little mouse gnawing away at the vine to which she is clinging.  She also sees a beautiful little bunch of strawberries emerging from a nearby clump of grass.  She looks up, she looks down, and she looks at the  mouse.  Then she picks a strawberry, pops it in her mouth, and enjoys it thoroughly.


This might be the only moment of our life, this might be the only strawberry we'll ever eat.  We could feel depressed about this or we could finally appreciate it.  We could delight in the preciousness of every single moment.
     - Pema Chodron, Comfortable With Uncertainty


It was a tigers and mice day, without a doubt.  I am very, very tired - that soul kind of tired that goes beyond exhaustion and points to the quality of the day, not necessarily the quantity of hours work (although in this case, quantity definitely exceeded manufacturer's specs for body and soul).  But my state of being tonight is not a direct result of the tigers and mice, but is due instead to a strawberry deficiency.
I never stopped to be refilled and nourished - I just kept running to and hanging over the cliff, as a way to survive the tigers.

Silly me - these days always end the same way, unless we stop to savor the strawberries.

Did you get your strawberry today?

With love,
Kim

Happy Birthday Mrs. C.

Happy birthday, Mrs Cooper.  Today has always been our day.  When I was about eight years old, I was invited to be part of the "Pal" program at the church of my childhood.  Women of the church were paired up with young girls to be their "pals" (today we'd say mentors).  Mrs.  C. never had children (due to her own health issues), and I became her adopted daughter.  My family life was extremely chaotic, and so I was blessed to have her as my spiritual mother.

I loved to walk the five blocks to her home, where we'd sit at her kitchen table looking out at the garden and talking about everything!  We'd sip tea and eat cookies, sometimes we'd read the Bible together, and she would help me take my questions about life and look for God's presence in them.

She had the patience of a saint, for I was not an easy child.  Life had already taught me some bitter lessons, and I wasn't afraid to ask some hard questions.  She never flinched (like my Pastor did), nor did she feel the need to defend God.  She had enough respect for God to let God fend for Godself while she held open a safe space for me to just be me.  In many ways, she saved my life.  And she certainly played a key role in nurturing my vocation (which put her out on a very high limb as the ordination of women was anathema in this congregation).

Both of our birthdays are in May, so she introduced me to Lily of the Valleys and called them "our flowers."  She always had a healthy patch growing in her wondrous garden, and it was such a treat to find a small bouquet of them waiting for me on my birthday.

I have planted our flowers everyplace I have lived, including Boise.  Today I went out and picked a pip and just allowed myself to inhale its sweet fragrance, and wished Mrs. C a happy birthday.

Never underestimate your ability to positively influence the life of another.  All it takes is a willingness to open yourself to love - and to be present with the other person.  I am here today because Mrs. C. was willing to do that for me.

Are you willing to do that for someone?  Are you willing to perhaps help to save a life - just by being you?

Happy Birthday, Mrs. C.  And thank you - just for being you.
Much love,
Kim







Who's life have you touched recently?

When?

And now a word from the balance specialists:

Benedictine spirituality is about caring for the people you live with and loving the people you don't and loving God more than yourself.  Benedictine spirituality depends on listening for the voice of God everywhere in life, especially in one another and here.  An ancient tale from another tradition tells that a disciple asked the Holy One,

"Where shall I look for Enlightenment?"

"Here," the Holy One said.

"When will it happen?"

"It is happening right now," the Holy One said.

"Then why don't I experience it?"

"Because you do not look," the Holy One said.

"What should I look for?"

"Nothing," the Holy One said.  "Just look."

"At what?"

"Anything your eyes alight upon," the Holy One said.

"Must I look in a special kind of way?"

"No," the Holy One said.  "The ordinary way will do."

"But don't I always look the ordinary way?"

"No," the Holy One said.  "You don't."

"Why ever not?" the disciple demanded.

"Because to look you must be here," the Holy One said.  "You're mostly somewhere else."

...We must learn to listen to what God is saying in our simple, sometimes insane, and always uncertain lives.   

    - Joan Chittister, The Rule of Benedict:  A Spirituality for the 21st Century

We look for complicated pathways to God and complex equations to provide answers to life's basic questions.  In the end, it all comes down to the incredibly difficult task of listening and being present.  

Listening and being present open us to the only place where we can possibly experience God - now.

Now.

Accept the invitation.  Listen, and be present - Now.

With love,

Kim

Stroll...

So many experiences caught my attention today - freezing me fully in the moment and allowing me to savor the experience.  They included:

- the first observed hot air balloon lifting up near the foothills as I drove to work early this morning
- candid and heartfelt sharing during first worship
- the "buzz" during worship at 10 am - it was magical!
- watching members of Cantate enraptured by the Tintinnabulators (visiting children's vocal choir and home adult bell choir)
- and a congregation enraptured by the sound of Cantate (previously mentioned children's vocal choir)
- Cantate members deeply touched by the experience of worship - by a different kind of worship
- the sound of silence (sweet!)
- finding out that members of the youth group listen to my sermons
- an incredible time with the youth group, and a reminder of an aspect of ministry that I deeply miss
(coordinating the educational ministry of a church)
- listening to the youth share, dream, enquire about my well-being, problem solve - all reminders that
we are in good hands with the future leaders of this world
- the fragrance of Lily of the Valley from the garden - heaven!

There were rough spots today as well as blessings - some very hard moments.  In fact, there are two choices that will not go down as victories, but fall under the heading of "begin again."  But by the end of the day they seemed to balance out, so I'm ready to call it good.  I probably would have reached the same decision had things not balanced out - I seem to be a "cup half full" kind of person.

Balance - how do we find the balance between celebrating the blessings yet acknowledging the difficulties...the pain?  And when our choices are not consistent with our intentions and values, how do we forgive ourselves and begin again?  How do we allow mercy and grace to replace judgment in a healthy and holy way?

One moment of grace and self-compassion at a time...

Slowly walking the talk,
Kim