Those of you who know me well will not be surprised to find me writing about Five Gold Rings. I love Christmastide, and do my best to celebrate each joyous day of the Twelve Days of Christmas. But it isn't easy - I confess that I am a bit of a hybrid; although I am thoroughly hard-wired for the Advent/Christmas/Epiphany cycle and do my best to follow that rhythm, I am also completely acculturated to American holiday practices, which involve cranking up Christmas mid-November and pulling the plug on it December 26th. I hold off on the Christmas decs until after Thanksgiving, but there is no way I can wait to decorate the tree until Christmas Eve! And as for carols - my poor long-suffering congregations have been introduced to all manner of Advent hymns (with mixed reviews), but I soften the line by the Third Sunday of Advent and allow the beloved Christmas carols to sneak into worship (one at a time) until Christmas Eve - when the palate is refreshed and ready for a steady diet of carols. All of this means that by the time I am well into the Twelve Days of Christmas, Christmas already feels a bit "over." Done. Next please. Already my mind is racing off to Epiphany as I look for the star...
...but then I remember that the only place we encounter God is in the present. Not by time-traveling to the past or future, but now. That means now - in Christmastide - this mysterious season of joy.
Joy is an interesting experience, as it is a pure gift of Spirit. Unlike happiness, we cannot manufacture or create joy - it comes as gift. It helps to be open to it, or looking towards it, but ultimately it comes from God, and all we can do is embrace it, tear off the wrapping paper and prepare to be amazed by it. Or, if our mood is less exuberant, allow it to be the ocean that surrounds us and buoys our spirits until we find ourselves completely enveloped in love. Glory be - what a gift!
It would be wonderful if Advent/Christmas/Epiphany also came with a cessation of some of the more difficult experiences of life - like pain, mistreatment/injustice, and suffering (PMS). Sadly, those experiences do not agree to take a holiday from late November through February, and in fact can become intensified during the "festive seasons." How can we feel joy if we are facing PMS?
Even in the midst of suffering, we can hold on to Five Gold Rings to help us move through/get through/survive PMS - valuable, precious and wise realities that can emerge as guides during even the most difficult of experiences:
Gold Ring One: Pain, mistreatment/injustice and suffering can quickly focus our attention on what really matters, as it helps us to clarify our values, priorities, and choices. It can cut through our mental and spiritual fog like a lighthouse.
Gold Ring Two: Unexpected or long-term difficulties provide a proving ground for new behaviors and responses, which are particularly helpful when feeling stuck, and can lead to liberation from the PMS. If we want a different outcome, it often involves a different response. These responses and behaviors, when new, require practice - sometimes lots of practice. Sigh - life seems to provide ample opportunities to practice new behaviors.
Gold Ring Three: PMS can jolt us out of complacency and the status quo, thus allowing us to see new possibilities and opportunities. We resist change; PMS can push us into change that is good for us, but would have been resisted if not necessary.
Gold Ring Four: Pain, mistreatment/injustice and suffering can turn us towards God, as we try to understand what is happening, and look for ways to survive/move through the difficulties. Our prayers may start out sounding like this: "Are you kidding me? What are you thinking? This can't possibly be happening - not now. How in the world am I every going to get through this? Are you out of your mind? Stop this! Do something! Help me! Make this go away, or fix it!" The more honest we are with God, the more able we will be to see how God is at work in our life, even in the midst of horrible circumstances. Over time, we begin to see the unique signature of God's presence and movement. As we discern God's working within our life, we can begin to collaborate/cooperate with God - a powerful step. And a step that opens us to transformation and joy.
Gold Ring Five: PMS, when faced with an open heart, can deepen our ability to feel compassion for others, suspend our judgmental attitudes, and empower us to work for health, justice and dignity for all. We take the pain, injustice and suffering we feel and allow it to soften our heart and mind - we allow God to spin gold from straw. This movement from compassion to action is the movement of social transformation, and another pathway to true joy.
Gold rings - precious metal in the shape of a circle, which is a symbol for the feminine and feminine wisdom. It is also a symbol of commitment. What a perfect image to honor God's promise to never abandon us or leave us alone, but to journey with us in a loving, guiding way - especially in the presence of PMS - and lead us to the joy of being God's companion and co-creator! Through our transformation, the world is transformed by love. What joy!
Happy Fifth Day of Christmas,
Kim
Sunday, December 29, 2013
Friday, December 20, 2013
Holy Darkness, Variable Speed, and Bayberry Candles!
I am a huge fan of hoarfrost. I first fell in love with it back in Scotland, where it would turn the countryside into an enchanted frosted fairyland. When you could see it, that is. Hoarfrost often came with freezing fog, which was an experience unto itself. Visibility was reduced to zero, and the cold and damp would seep into your bones so much so that you kept moving for fear that if you stopped, you would freeze in place like an ice sculpture!
We started this week in the Treasure Valley with both fog and hoarfrost - the whole, foggy countryside was encased in a magical coating of shimmering white frosting! The trees were the stars of the show - enchantingly beautiful. I found myself gazing at the trees and shrubs as though I had never seen them before. Truth be told, I had never seen them looking so beautiful and "other-worldly." High marks for Jack Frost - clearly some of his best work.
The fog, however, was less welcome. At first it was ok - quaint - mysterious - almost magical. Like a big gray comforter draped over the valley. By day three, is was less of all of the above, and more like a heavy wet blanket keeping all the inverted air pollution right down at respiratory tract level. And although I am not prone to claustrophobia, I found myself very sympathetic towards those who are. Everything felt very, very "close," and gray. Very gray.
It was on the last day of this fog that I drove the fifty miles on the interstate to Mountain Home. I gave myself extra time because visibility was poor, and it occurred to me that if I couldn't see where I was going, perhaps it was best not to get ahead of myself. About half way to my destination, I realized that this was not half bad advice for living as well as driving. More than once I have found myself in circumstances that were very fog-like, with my perceptual visibility reduced to almost zero, and no clear view of the course ahead. In those circumstances, my first impulse was not to slow down and match speed with visibility, but to barrel along as fast as I could, to clear the fog patch as quickly as possible.
I confess that the outcome of this strategy has included plowing head-long into any number of obstacles that, with reduced speed, could have been avoided. And avoiding life's "crash and burn" opportunities, whenever possible, is very good thing. As is not racing along and ending up in "X" because you couldn't see the signs for "Y" - time is not saved when you end up miles away from your intended destination. Speeding ahead when you can't see where you are going also doesn't save anything when you have to factor in the time (and money) it takes to be pulled out of the ditch. And damn, there are always ditches where you least expect them!
Tonight it is going to snow, and according to the local weather guesstimators, we will get between a dusting to four inches of the stuff. Like a child waiting for a snow day, I keep glancing out the window to see if it has started yet! I love snow, though I confess that with each passing year, I prefer to view it from the warmth and convenience of the in-side of the window. As dusk settles, I will find myself slowing down, centering, and will light a bayberry candle honoring the eve of the winter solstice, letting the candle burn down into the socket - an old (and somewhat superstitious) custom that my great-grandmother learned from her mother, and was passed down until my mother taught it to me. I have few non-neurotic traditions gifted to me from my family, and so I treat this one as the pearl of great price. Accordingly, I don't burn those awful bayberryesque-artificially perfumed-paraffin-stearin-mineral oil-polymer-2% beeswax candles that used to smell like bad perfume mixed with jet fuel (sorry Mom). Never! Instead, I found pure bayberry candles made in Ohio's Amish country, and get three pairs to burn during the holidays. Mom always burned them on Christmas Eve and Christmas night, offering a few highly superstitious reasons for doing this (that had no connection whatsoever with Bethlehem, angels, shepherds, and a baby lying in a manger). It was Mom's best attempt at bringing religion into her favorite secular holiday. Grandma lit bayberry candles on New Year's Eve and New Year's night, and would say the little ditty: "Bayberry candles burned to the socket bring health to the home and wealth to the pocket." It was Grandma's version of buying a lottery ticket.
So I honor and re-interpret Mom's and Grandma's traditions, but could never understand why they missed lighting these beautiful candles for the Solstice! After all, if anything is to be marked and celebrated with candle light, it is the passing of the longest nights, and the slow return of the light.
The snow has started to fall! Light your candle - count your blessings - honor or start (or re-work) a family tradition - feel the darkness around you like that warm, down comforter, and know that tonight and tomorrow may bring the longest nights, but then the tide turns, and the light begins to return. Again.
May you know the blessings of Holy Darkness, and the joy of the return of the Light,
Kim
We started this week in the Treasure Valley with both fog and hoarfrost - the whole, foggy countryside was encased in a magical coating of shimmering white frosting! The trees were the stars of the show - enchantingly beautiful. I found myself gazing at the trees and shrubs as though I had never seen them before. Truth be told, I had never seen them looking so beautiful and "other-worldly." High marks for Jack Frost - clearly some of his best work.
The fog, however, was less welcome. At first it was ok - quaint - mysterious - almost magical. Like a big gray comforter draped over the valley. By day three, is was less of all of the above, and more like a heavy wet blanket keeping all the inverted air pollution right down at respiratory tract level. And although I am not prone to claustrophobia, I found myself very sympathetic towards those who are. Everything felt very, very "close," and gray. Very gray.
It was on the last day of this fog that I drove the fifty miles on the interstate to Mountain Home. I gave myself extra time because visibility was poor, and it occurred to me that if I couldn't see where I was going, perhaps it was best not to get ahead of myself. About half way to my destination, I realized that this was not half bad advice for living as well as driving. More than once I have found myself in circumstances that were very fog-like, with my perceptual visibility reduced to almost zero, and no clear view of the course ahead. In those circumstances, my first impulse was not to slow down and match speed with visibility, but to barrel along as fast as I could, to clear the fog patch as quickly as possible.
I confess that the outcome of this strategy has included plowing head-long into any number of obstacles that, with reduced speed, could have been avoided. And avoiding life's "crash and burn" opportunities, whenever possible, is very good thing. As is not racing along and ending up in "X" because you couldn't see the signs for "Y" - time is not saved when you end up miles away from your intended destination. Speeding ahead when you can't see where you are going also doesn't save anything when you have to factor in the time (and money) it takes to be pulled out of the ditch. And damn, there are always ditches where you least expect them!
Tonight it is going to snow, and according to the local weather guesstimators, we will get between a dusting to four inches of the stuff. Like a child waiting for a snow day, I keep glancing out the window to see if it has started yet! I love snow, though I confess that with each passing year, I prefer to view it from the warmth and convenience of the in-side of the window. As dusk settles, I will find myself slowing down, centering, and will light a bayberry candle honoring the eve of the winter solstice, letting the candle burn down into the socket - an old (and somewhat superstitious) custom that my great-grandmother learned from her mother, and was passed down until my mother taught it to me. I have few non-neurotic traditions gifted to me from my family, and so I treat this one as the pearl of great price. Accordingly, I don't burn those awful bayberryesque-artificially perfumed-paraffin-stearin-mineral oil-polymer-2% beeswax candles that used to smell like bad perfume mixed with jet fuel (sorry Mom). Never! Instead, I found pure bayberry candles made in Ohio's Amish country, and get three pairs to burn during the holidays. Mom always burned them on Christmas Eve and Christmas night, offering a few highly superstitious reasons for doing this (that had no connection whatsoever with Bethlehem, angels, shepherds, and a baby lying in a manger). It was Mom's best attempt at bringing religion into her favorite secular holiday. Grandma lit bayberry candles on New Year's Eve and New Year's night, and would say the little ditty: "Bayberry candles burned to the socket bring health to the home and wealth to the pocket." It was Grandma's version of buying a lottery ticket.
So I honor and re-interpret Mom's and Grandma's traditions, but could never understand why they missed lighting these beautiful candles for the Solstice! After all, if anything is to be marked and celebrated with candle light, it is the passing of the longest nights, and the slow return of the light.
The snow has started to fall! Light your candle - count your blessings - honor or start (or re-work) a family tradition - feel the darkness around you like that warm, down comforter, and know that tonight and tomorrow may bring the longest nights, but then the tide turns, and the light begins to return. Again.
May you know the blessings of Holy Darkness, and the joy of the return of the Light,
Kim
Saturday, December 7, 2013
4-legged Advent Angels of Mercy
I am a lousy patient. The "virus du jour" morphed into bronchitis, and I found myself faced with an invitation to do some work on one of my growing edges - self care. This involved making a commitment to getting some rest.
I do not rest well. I work well, but rest - not something I've focused on. The medication helps me to think about resting because I feel terrible when taking it. Last night the terrible feeling spilled out of the physical symptoms into my emotions - the world felt very small. And dark.
Structure - it helps to have a little bit of structure when trying not to slip head-first down the water slide of despair. I approached today with just that little bit of structure - prayer time, time to read and rest, time to do a few light things then rest - a gentle day. Structure involves making sure I do things that give me joy - even (or especially) little things. Open the blinds to watch the snow fall; put on soothing music. Read something enjoyable. Stay warm. Sip tea. Keep it simple and positive.
And it felt like "enough" that I was able to do those things. With each sip of tea and turn of the page, I felt the darkness of last night recede, and felt comforted that there would be no slipping down into despair. This was unpleasant, but it would pass. The gift of perspective felt just like what it was - a gift.
I leaned back into my pillows and started to close my eyes for a nap, which out of the corner of my eyes I saw - puppies! I have never before claimed excitement over living on a cul-de-sac in a suburban subdivision, but today, right outside my bedroom window, I saw two labrador puppy reasons for liking my neighborhood. The new family two doors down came outside to play in the snow, and lo and behold, they came out with puppies. And (if that wasn't enough AHHHHHH for one day) they also have a toddler! Forget the nap - it was puppies and young child time. It was delightful to watch the puppies discover the snow as they pranced and raced and played with each other and their family. The child discovered snow angels while the puppies stalked snow shovels and chased snow balls. There was laughter and fun - snow flying everywhere! And the little one helped Mom to build a snow pyramid (I think it was meant to be a snowman, but with western powder, a pyramid is what they got). And I had the best seat in the house to watch it all - overflowing with gratitude for the simple joy I felt watching the unexpected events outside my window.
I would have rather been out playing with my new neighbors, or busy with other activities - or just feeling better! But those were not options for today. Instead, just outside my window, I was invited into an Advent gift of joy - totally unexpected.
The best gifts often are...
What unexpected gifts have come into your life recently?
With love,
Kim
I do not rest well. I work well, but rest - not something I've focused on. The medication helps me to think about resting because I feel terrible when taking it. Last night the terrible feeling spilled out of the physical symptoms into my emotions - the world felt very small. And dark.
Structure - it helps to have a little bit of structure when trying not to slip head-first down the water slide of despair. I approached today with just that little bit of structure - prayer time, time to read and rest, time to do a few light things then rest - a gentle day. Structure involves making sure I do things that give me joy - even (or especially) little things. Open the blinds to watch the snow fall; put on soothing music. Read something enjoyable. Stay warm. Sip tea. Keep it simple and positive.
And it felt like "enough" that I was able to do those things. With each sip of tea and turn of the page, I felt the darkness of last night recede, and felt comforted that there would be no slipping down into despair. This was unpleasant, but it would pass. The gift of perspective felt just like what it was - a gift.
I leaned back into my pillows and started to close my eyes for a nap, which out of the corner of my eyes I saw - puppies! I have never before claimed excitement over living on a cul-de-sac in a suburban subdivision, but today, right outside my bedroom window, I saw two labrador puppy reasons for liking my neighborhood. The new family two doors down came outside to play in the snow, and lo and behold, they came out with puppies. And (if that wasn't enough AHHHHHH for one day) they also have a toddler! Forget the nap - it was puppies and young child time. It was delightful to watch the puppies discover the snow as they pranced and raced and played with each other and their family. The child discovered snow angels while the puppies stalked snow shovels and chased snow balls. There was laughter and fun - snow flying everywhere! And the little one helped Mom to build a snow pyramid (I think it was meant to be a snowman, but with western powder, a pyramid is what they got). And I had the best seat in the house to watch it all - overflowing with gratitude for the simple joy I felt watching the unexpected events outside my window.
I would have rather been out playing with my new neighbors, or busy with other activities - or just feeling better! But those were not options for today. Instead, just outside my window, I was invited into an Advent gift of joy - totally unexpected.
The best gifts often are...
What unexpected gifts have come into your life recently?
With love,
Kim
Saturday, November 30, 2013
Grounded in "Yes!"
I started preparing on Friday (Thursday felt too early). I gave my prayer space a gentle clean, and put away the signs of previous seasons. I took out my Advent devotionals and wreath, placing four fresh candles in this simple circle of metal. Each year I look at more elaborate Advent wreaths and think about "upgrading" (my original Advent wreath fell to bits about a decade ago). But in the end, simplicity wins out. I also take out important visuals for the season - icons of St. Nicholas, Our Lady of the Sign, and John the Baptism, and a beloved print by Victoria Shuck entitled "Yes!"
"Yes!" I look at this print depicting Mary saying yes to God's invitation - one that brought a mixed bag of possibilities from beginning to end. Along with the unspeakable joy of new life and union with God came social judgment and isolation, fear, displacement - but to all of this and more she said "Yes!" And God walked with her through the darkness into the light.
Tonight I waited until it was dark, and went up into my prayer space to light the first candle of Advent, letting the light slowly fill the darkened room. I lit my first Advent candle when I was fifteen - my family thought I was crazy going into my room to light the candles and say my prayers. I have maintained this ritual for almost forty years - no matter where lived, no matter what my circumstances, in good times and bad I have lit the Advent candles, sang the first verse of "O Come, O Come Emmanuel," and prayed for the strength to say "Yes!"
I love this ritual - it grounds me and centers me, and immediately takes me back to what is most important. I think we humans are hardwired for ritual, and completely dispense with it at our peril. It can provide a powerful way for our soul to speak - to say "Yes!"
What rituals will you observe during this Season of Advent that will help to ground you in the Real, and keep you from being swept up in the "silly season?"
May you have a blessed beginning to your Advent Journey -
Kim
"Yes!" I look at this print depicting Mary saying yes to God's invitation - one that brought a mixed bag of possibilities from beginning to end. Along with the unspeakable joy of new life and union with God came social judgment and isolation, fear, displacement - but to all of this and more she said "Yes!" And God walked with her through the darkness into the light.
Tonight I waited until it was dark, and went up into my prayer space to light the first candle of Advent, letting the light slowly fill the darkened room. I lit my first Advent candle when I was fifteen - my family thought I was crazy going into my room to light the candles and say my prayers. I have maintained this ritual for almost forty years - no matter where lived, no matter what my circumstances, in good times and bad I have lit the Advent candles, sang the first verse of "O Come, O Come Emmanuel," and prayed for the strength to say "Yes!"
I love this ritual - it grounds me and centers me, and immediately takes me back to what is most important. I think we humans are hardwired for ritual, and completely dispense with it at our peril. It can provide a powerful way for our soul to speak - to say "Yes!"
What rituals will you observe during this Season of Advent that will help to ground you in the Real, and keep you from being swept up in the "silly season?"
May you have a blessed beginning to your Advent Journey -
Kim
Saturday, November 23, 2013
Reading the Signs - or - the Advent Hawk
The hawk is back. As I write this, she is perched on my neighbor's fence surveying the glorious land of bird feeders. I think this is the same hawk I watched practicing take-offs and landings two summers ago; the same hawk that came to visit me last Christmas. As winters approaches, she now returns to the hawk equivalent of Eagle Road with all its fast-food restaurants - there are easily 8 bird feeders within her sight.
Over the past several weeks the bird seed consumption dropped off precipitously - a sign that she had returned to her winter hunting ground. But I don't need to read the signs to know that she is here, for there she perches, in all her power and glory. To love her and to love the little spurdies who are even now pressed deep within the blue spruce tree as they hold their collective breaths until she flies away - well, holding both in my heart feels strange. But both belong, and both are beloved.
I can see her (gazing out the window) instead of being busy with tasks (what I usually do) because I've come down with what must be the "virus de jour" - reducing the size of my world to this table, window, chair, tablet, and the necessary "virus de jour" paraphernalia (water, tissue, more tissue, cough drops, inhalers, and fever reducers). And a hawk. Oh my - she is so beautiful...
About a week ago I noticed that I was feeling more tired than usual - heading to "bed and book" earlier (not necessarily a bad thing, as I have piles of books waiting for my attention). As I look back at my daily journal entries, I see the first reference to physically sliding downhill on Tuesday - I knew something wasn't right. Wednesday's journal entry is one sentence - now I knew what wasn't right. But the telling entry was made on the following day: "I am feeling sick today - it is an invitation to take very good care of myself."
If the entry wasn't in my own handwriting, I'd be looking to find the person who wrote that in my journal! This is a complete departure from how I normally approach the annual virus experience - first I deny that it is happening (I am NOT getting sick). Then, I continue my schedule without any modifications (to prove that I am not getting sick). When that is unsuccessful, I use medication as I way to mask symptoms so I can keep going (I will act well and therefore I am not sick). Finally, the virus overwhelms all my coping strategies, and when I am finally so sick that I cannot get out of bed, I accept that I am sick and stop.
Well-practiced (and somewhat silly) pattern! And familiar patterns are hard to break -
- but not impossible. The hard work of learning new ways to "be" has clearly helped me to gain ground in the new pattern department, because as soon as I was aware that I was getting sick, I stopped, and started taking care of myself.
Old dogs - new tricks - thank goodness!
But I confess (with some embarrassment) that today I discovered some magical thinking associated with my self-care strategy - if I take care of myself at the beginning of the virus, it will not progress and I will get better quicker and with fewer complications. I uncovered this little bit of magical thinking when I found myself frustrated that the added rest, healthy food (even a honeydew melon and cucumber smoothie) and judicious use of medication hadn't stopped this in its tracks and kept it from progressing. Clearly (cough cough), the virus marches on. So with the ulterior motive noticed, I am left with the question: "Can I see this as an invitation to take very good care of myself - even if this self-care does not give me the result I want? Can I nurture myself simply because it is a loving thing to do and reflective of God's love?
Yes, I can.
More signs to read - indicators that the work I am doing to learn sustainable self-care skills is taking root. These signs show me that a shift is taking place - I am caring for myself not simply because of what I can get out of it, but because I love myself and want to nurture myself. I bet God is grinning from ear to ear!
Reading the signs is a theme for this time of the year, as the Christian church prepares for the Season of Advent. In Advent we are called to watch and wait and look - to prepare a place in our hearts for Christ's love to be born anew. How I love this time of the year - how I love reading the signs!
Animal Medicine teaches that the hawk is a messenger who reminds us to heighten our awareness and read the signs around us. Of course she has returned - just in time.
Happy reading,
Kim
Over the past several weeks the bird seed consumption dropped off precipitously - a sign that she had returned to her winter hunting ground. But I don't need to read the signs to know that she is here, for there she perches, in all her power and glory. To love her and to love the little spurdies who are even now pressed deep within the blue spruce tree as they hold their collective breaths until she flies away - well, holding both in my heart feels strange. But both belong, and both are beloved.
I can see her (gazing out the window) instead of being busy with tasks (what I usually do) because I've come down with what must be the "virus de jour" - reducing the size of my world to this table, window, chair, tablet, and the necessary "virus de jour" paraphernalia (water, tissue, more tissue, cough drops, inhalers, and fever reducers). And a hawk. Oh my - she is so beautiful...
About a week ago I noticed that I was feeling more tired than usual - heading to "bed and book" earlier (not necessarily a bad thing, as I have piles of books waiting for my attention). As I look back at my daily journal entries, I see the first reference to physically sliding downhill on Tuesday - I knew something wasn't right. Wednesday's journal entry is one sentence - now I knew what wasn't right. But the telling entry was made on the following day: "I am feeling sick today - it is an invitation to take very good care of myself."
If the entry wasn't in my own handwriting, I'd be looking to find the person who wrote that in my journal! This is a complete departure from how I normally approach the annual virus experience - first I deny that it is happening (I am NOT getting sick). Then, I continue my schedule without any modifications (to prove that I am not getting sick). When that is unsuccessful, I use medication as I way to mask symptoms so I can keep going (I will act well and therefore I am not sick). Finally, the virus overwhelms all my coping strategies, and when I am finally so sick that I cannot get out of bed, I accept that I am sick and stop.
Well-practiced (and somewhat silly) pattern! And familiar patterns are hard to break -
- but not impossible. The hard work of learning new ways to "be" has clearly helped me to gain ground in the new pattern department, because as soon as I was aware that I was getting sick, I stopped, and started taking care of myself.
Old dogs - new tricks - thank goodness!
But I confess (with some embarrassment) that today I discovered some magical thinking associated with my self-care strategy - if I take care of myself at the beginning of the virus, it will not progress and I will get better quicker and with fewer complications. I uncovered this little bit of magical thinking when I found myself frustrated that the added rest, healthy food (even a honeydew melon and cucumber smoothie) and judicious use of medication hadn't stopped this in its tracks and kept it from progressing. Clearly (cough cough), the virus marches on. So with the ulterior motive noticed, I am left with the question: "Can I see this as an invitation to take very good care of myself - even if this self-care does not give me the result I want? Can I nurture myself simply because it is a loving thing to do and reflective of God's love?
Yes, I can.
More signs to read - indicators that the work I am doing to learn sustainable self-care skills is taking root. These signs show me that a shift is taking place - I am caring for myself not simply because of what I can get out of it, but because I love myself and want to nurture myself. I bet God is grinning from ear to ear!
Reading the signs is a theme for this time of the year, as the Christian church prepares for the Season of Advent. In Advent we are called to watch and wait and look - to prepare a place in our hearts for Christ's love to be born anew. How I love this time of the year - how I love reading the signs!
Animal Medicine teaches that the hawk is a messenger who reminds us to heighten our awareness and read the signs around us. Of course she has returned - just in time.
Happy reading,
Kim
Saturday, November 16, 2013
Liquid Time
Right now there is a break in today's storms. As I look out at the Boise Foothills, they appear to be frosted with a bright coating of snow. Rain, sleet and hail have been the options playing outside my window today. Each brings a different percussive presence to my window - the varying rhythms have been most entertaining (easy to say from the warmth of inside the house). It is cold enough to be unpleasant (nothing is worse than cold rain/sleet to chill the body to the bone), but not cold enough down here for snow. That may change by tomorrow morning, just in time for the drive to church. I would say that the state of precipitation is fluid, but perhaps that pun is best left alone...
Time also feels quite fluid/liquid today. Over ten years ago to the month I saw (in my heart) a design for a tapestry. It was as clear as day, but each time I tried to sketch it, the image would evaporate! Over the years I have tried (in vain) to sketch it again, and each time I do, the image (which evolves with each passing year), evaporates. I even went so far as to warp the big tapestry loom for this project (the dimensions stay stable over time even when the image changes), but each attempt to weave the tapestry was met with - a wall. Every attempt to push through this block was met with failure.
Finally I had to accept that it was not the time to weave the tapestry.
Several weeks ago part of the image for the tapestry evolved yet again - but this time, I had a strong sense that THIS was the image for the tapestry. Next came the colors...finally, the design - which shares some similarities with the original design, but has evolved in some interesting ways.
Now it is time to weave the tapestry.
In the past, when I could not even begin the design, I felt feelings of failure and inadequacy. Now I see that it was simply not time to begin. There were experiences I needed to have - questions I needed to ask - joys/sorrows that needed to be experienced before I could begin. And now, out of the depths of my experience, the image emerges...
...in its own time. When the time is right. In the fullness of time. Not necessarily when I want/need it to happen - but in its own time.
In some ways, the evolving image has been a mirror for work taking place in my soul. It has also been a powerful guide/teacher, leading me ever deeper into awareness of God's presence in my life...
...just in time. In time. Time -
Can I allow myself to accept that things emerge/resolve in their time (exit failure and inadequacy) and sing the song of Ecclesiastes?
Singing (tentatively),
Kim
Time also feels quite fluid/liquid today. Over ten years ago to the month I saw (in my heart) a design for a tapestry. It was as clear as day, but each time I tried to sketch it, the image would evaporate! Over the years I have tried (in vain) to sketch it again, and each time I do, the image (which evolves with each passing year), evaporates. I even went so far as to warp the big tapestry loom for this project (the dimensions stay stable over time even when the image changes), but each attempt to weave the tapestry was met with - a wall. Every attempt to push through this block was met with failure.
Finally I had to accept that it was not the time to weave the tapestry.
Several weeks ago part of the image for the tapestry evolved yet again - but this time, I had a strong sense that THIS was the image for the tapestry. Next came the colors...finally, the design - which shares some similarities with the original design, but has evolved in some interesting ways.
Now it is time to weave the tapestry.
In the past, when I could not even begin the design, I felt feelings of failure and inadequacy. Now I see that it was simply not time to begin. There were experiences I needed to have - questions I needed to ask - joys/sorrows that needed to be experienced before I could begin. And now, out of the depths of my experience, the image emerges...
...in its own time. When the time is right. In the fullness of time. Not necessarily when I want/need it to happen - but in its own time.
In some ways, the evolving image has been a mirror for work taking place in my soul. It has also been a powerful guide/teacher, leading me ever deeper into awareness of God's presence in my life...
...just in time. In time. Time -
Can I allow myself to accept that things emerge/resolve in their time (exit failure and inadequacy) and sing the song of Ecclesiastes?
Singing (tentatively),
Kim
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
Stuck Lid Syndrome and the Power of Release
You know that "stuck" feeling you get when you try to tighten a nut onto a screw when it isn't threaded onto the screw properly...ditto for a jar lid...STUCK!
Why is our initial reaction to try to tighten it more, instead of stopping and releasing the pressure?
Force is a crude intervention. Flow is better.
My post-migraine brain thinks that this might apply to more things than just the batten on my loom beater, or a jar of peanut butter. It certainly applies to relationships: You will love me! I must forgive them! She needs to address this now or else! Stuck Lid Syndrome - force it, and the stuckness increases.
It most certainly applies to personal growth and healing: OK - I am done feeling broken and want to be healed and whole now. I will take all the steps/do all the things/read all the books/practice all the exercises so I can heal and be whole NOW. Am I not making myself clear - do I have to try harder? MAYBE INCREASE MY EFFORT? INTENSITY? (clearly that doesn't work).
It absolutely applies to churches: Force a church to change - really? Even if it is desired change - doesn't matter. Change isn't necessarily what churches resist - it is the torque applied to achieve that change that (I think) fuels resistance. And torque can take many forms - including the most wonderful plans - even plans with buy-in.
Part of my problem is the dynamic of intermittent reinforcement. If I try something ten times and coincidence results in a success in one instance when I am applying force, then some corner of my primitive brain makes an unhelpful connection and encourages me to use this approach in any/all situations. I will absolutely force myself to eat three servings of fruit and four serving of veggies every day. I will do my pt exercises three times a day without fail. I WILL STOP WORRYING! (uh huh - try again).
What if force is indeed a crude intervention that works occasionally, probably by coincidence, but usually results in greater stuckness - no matter what the arena? Is flow - going with God's Spirit and finding that amazing resonance and release - really the answer?
My Protestant-work-ethic-ACOA-hyper-responsible-maternal-messiah-brain finds the concepts of release, surrender and abandonment to be...well...wrong! DANGEROUS! IRRESPONSIBLE. After all, I am supposed to do something! NOW!
What a lie! All my experience (data) demonstrates again and again that it is through relaxing into God's Spirit that positive things happen - good stuff gets done. Force achieves the opposite result.
So today I relax into the flow of God's Spirit, even with a chorus of angry P-W-E-ACOA-H-R-M-M-B voices telling me I should bla bla bla. The word "should" is their tell - it always gives them away. Let them shout - they will tire themselves out (or the healthy voices in the chorus will make judicious use of duct tape, and a different dynamic requiring intervention will emerge), and all will be well. I cannot make them stop shouting (force), but I can choose whether or not I am going to listen.
They have nothing new to say, and what they say doesn't work. Time to listen to the music of the Spirit.
Releasing,
Kim
Why is our initial reaction to try to tighten it more, instead of stopping and releasing the pressure?
Force is a crude intervention. Flow is better.
My post-migraine brain thinks that this might apply to more things than just the batten on my loom beater, or a jar of peanut butter. It certainly applies to relationships: You will love me! I must forgive them! She needs to address this now or else! Stuck Lid Syndrome - force it, and the stuckness increases.
It most certainly applies to personal growth and healing: OK - I am done feeling broken and want to be healed and whole now. I will take all the steps/do all the things/read all the books/practice all the exercises so I can heal and be whole NOW. Am I not making myself clear - do I have to try harder? MAYBE INCREASE MY EFFORT? INTENSITY? (clearly that doesn't work).
It absolutely applies to churches: Force a church to change - really? Even if it is desired change - doesn't matter. Change isn't necessarily what churches resist - it is the torque applied to achieve that change that (I think) fuels resistance. And torque can take many forms - including the most wonderful plans - even plans with buy-in.
Part of my problem is the dynamic of intermittent reinforcement. If I try something ten times and coincidence results in a success in one instance when I am applying force, then some corner of my primitive brain makes an unhelpful connection and encourages me to use this approach in any/all situations. I will absolutely force myself to eat three servings of fruit and four serving of veggies every day. I will do my pt exercises three times a day without fail. I WILL STOP WORRYING! (uh huh - try again).
What if force is indeed a crude intervention that works occasionally, probably by coincidence, but usually results in greater stuckness - no matter what the arena? Is flow - going with God's Spirit and finding that amazing resonance and release - really the answer?
My Protestant-work-ethic-ACOA-hyper-responsible-maternal-messiah-brain finds the concepts of release, surrender and abandonment to be...well...wrong! DANGEROUS! IRRESPONSIBLE. After all, I am supposed to do something! NOW!
What a lie! All my experience (data) demonstrates again and again that it is through relaxing into God's Spirit that positive things happen - good stuff gets done. Force achieves the opposite result.
So today I relax into the flow of God's Spirit, even with a chorus of angry P-W-E-ACOA-H-R-M-M-B voices telling me I should bla bla bla. The word "should" is their tell - it always gives them away. Let them shout - they will tire themselves out (or the healthy voices in the chorus will make judicious use of duct tape, and a different dynamic requiring intervention will emerge), and all will be well. I cannot make them stop shouting (force), but I can choose whether or not I am going to listen.
They have nothing new to say, and what they say doesn't work. Time to listen to the music of the Spirit.
Releasing,
Kim
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
Hope after the Redline Samba
Migraines clear a calendar like heavy rains clear the air after fire season. No matter how much I want to resist it/fight it/deny it/refuse to give in to it, eventually it overwhelms me and wins, and sends me (literally) to a place of darkness, quiet, and calm. Figuratively, too - it packs a lot of value into one nasty headache.
Surrender. I came back from the epiphany of retreat and, without missing a beat, immediately picked up the frying pan/fire two-step as though the music had never stopped. God bless my body - it will only tolerate this redline samba for so long before the inflammation sets even the vessels in my brain on fire and I am forced to STOP. Dark glasses. Nausea and pain meds washed down with a caffeinated beverage, followed by a dark, quiet room and SILENCE. Breathing. Stillness. Peace.
Surrender. And then perspective. I went there again - (damn! why didn't I catch this sooner - see where I was headed, stop this before...) - I went there again - (it's ok - patterns formed over a lifetime do not shift in a day - or month - or year - or decade? - rest - breathe deeply - you are fine - you are getting it - you are learning to be you. Not the you you are supposed to be, but the real you - the soul you. It's ok - it is a spiral dance - and as you go around the spiral, passing again through the "stuff" you keep going, and...) - I went there again - to that experience of God's renewing presence. And I am refreshed.
Eventually a dim light is turned on (both literally and figuratively), and I reach for my glasses and a book - Anne Lamott's "Stitches: A Handbook on Meaning, Hope and Repair." I smile, and I cry. And cry some more. And gasp with recognition - like when you unexpectedly see your reflection and get SURPRISED by yourself - and smile - the deep kind of smile that starts in the place fitness geeks call the "core" and radiates out as far as the ends of my hair. From now on I think I'll call that a body smile - no crunches required. With refreshed soul, I find myself propped up in bed, and writing for the first time in almost a month. That is a very hopeful sign.
It is good to feel hope, for there is so much, even in the most trying of circumstances, that is worthy of hope. And joy. And gratitude. Thank you, migraine.
Now if only I can remember these new dance steps...
Body smiling,
Kim
Surrender. I came back from the epiphany of retreat and, without missing a beat, immediately picked up the frying pan/fire two-step as though the music had never stopped. God bless my body - it will only tolerate this redline samba for so long before the inflammation sets even the vessels in my brain on fire and I am forced to STOP. Dark glasses. Nausea and pain meds washed down with a caffeinated beverage, followed by a dark, quiet room and SILENCE. Breathing. Stillness. Peace.
Surrender. And then perspective. I went there again - (damn! why didn't I catch this sooner - see where I was headed, stop this before...) - I went there again - (it's ok - patterns formed over a lifetime do not shift in a day - or month - or year - or decade? - rest - breathe deeply - you are fine - you are getting it - you are learning to be you. Not the you you are supposed to be, but the real you - the soul you. It's ok - it is a spiral dance - and as you go around the spiral, passing again through the "stuff" you keep going, and...) - I went there again - to that experience of God's renewing presence. And I am refreshed.
Eventually a dim light is turned on (both literally and figuratively), and I reach for my glasses and a book - Anne Lamott's "Stitches: A Handbook on Meaning, Hope and Repair." I smile, and I cry. And cry some more. And gasp with recognition - like when you unexpectedly see your reflection and get SURPRISED by yourself - and smile - the deep kind of smile that starts in the place fitness geeks call the "core" and radiates out as far as the ends of my hair. From now on I think I'll call that a body smile - no crunches required. With refreshed soul, I find myself propped up in bed, and writing for the first time in almost a month. That is a very hopeful sign.
It is good to feel hope, for there is so much, even in the most trying of circumstances, that is worthy of hope. And joy. And gratitude. Thank you, migraine.
Now if only I can remember these new dance steps...
Body smiling,
Kim
Thursday, October 3, 2013
Home
All is dark and quiet here on the Camas Prairie. The retreatants have left to return home to Boise, Mountain Home and Idaho Falls, and I have one last night to collect my thoughts before heading back to the other aspects of my ministry.
The past few days have been full - overflowing - abundant - amazing. What a joy to be in the company of seven courageous women who don't flinch when looking at the hard questions of life:
How do I experience God's love?
What is healthy for me (physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, relationally)?
How much is enough?
How do I rest?
How do I embody God's love and share it?
(and a question added by one in the group) - Who am I, and what am I doing that makes me that?
They willingly joined me in trying new spiritual disciplines, bravely engaged the questions on their heart, and created a safe and loving community for one another - what a privilege to facilitate such an experience!
It has been a very long time since I've led this kind of retreat (as opposed to visioning, conflict resolution, diversity training, leadership development, and ministry discernment and development). Sigh - sometimes you don't see how skewed the picture has become until you get enough distance and perspective to view it clearly. My ministry has been way out of balance - I have been dancing to tunes played by others, instead of dancing to God's music in my soul.
As I listened to these amazing women do their spiritual work, I realized that I was getting a precious gift from journeying with them:
I was getting my life and my ministry back.
All it takes is for me to be myself - not who others want, need, demand, or expect me to be, but who God created me to be - me! No more apologies and contorting my soul to meet all these other expectations. Not only is it ok for me to be myself - it is exactly how it is meant to be!
And throughout the cosmos there was a great sigh of relief and shout for joy, for she who had been lost finally found her way home.
Celebrating God's grace,
Kim
The past few days have been full - overflowing - abundant - amazing. What a joy to be in the company of seven courageous women who don't flinch when looking at the hard questions of life:
How do I experience God's love?
What is healthy for me (physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, relationally)?
How much is enough?
How do I rest?
How do I embody God's love and share it?
(and a question added by one in the group) - Who am I, and what am I doing that makes me that?
They willingly joined me in trying new spiritual disciplines, bravely engaged the questions on their heart, and created a safe and loving community for one another - what a privilege to facilitate such an experience!
It has been a very long time since I've led this kind of retreat (as opposed to visioning, conflict resolution, diversity training, leadership development, and ministry discernment and development). Sigh - sometimes you don't see how skewed the picture has become until you get enough distance and perspective to view it clearly. My ministry has been way out of balance - I have been dancing to tunes played by others, instead of dancing to God's music in my soul.
As I listened to these amazing women do their spiritual work, I realized that I was getting a precious gift from journeying with them:
I was getting my life and my ministry back.
All it takes is for me to be myself - not who others want, need, demand, or expect me to be, but who God created me to be - me! No more apologies and contorting my soul to meet all these other expectations. Not only is it ok for me to be myself - it is exactly how it is meant to be!
And throughout the cosmos there was a great sigh of relief and shout for joy, for she who had been lost finally found her way home.
Celebrating God's grace,
Kim
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
Turkeygram, or Dances with Dragonflies
My world is both contracted and expanded today - contracted due to pain, and expanded due to God's ability to widen even the view from my window.
I missed chapel this morning due to pain that made the prospect of the short walk to the chapel seem eight miles long. Instead, I fully opened the window blinds and curled up in the glider for morning prayers. As I finished my prayers, I was startled by movement outside my window, and looked up to see four magnificent wild turkeys right outside my window. They were amazing! They hopped up onto the railing at the footbridge, and spend several minutes preening and stretching in the sunshine. Then they hopped down and headed across the field.
In native and popular folk medicine, turkeys are seen as messengers who bring four truths into awareness:
- The importance of the sacrifice of self for a higher purpose/greater good
- Understanding of the gift of giveaway
- Invitation to honor the Earth Mother
- Messenger of harvest bounties
Which message if for me? In time, I will know.
Dragonflies have kept me company all afternoon as I prepare for the arrival of the retreatants. This is the first spiritual retreat I have led since coming to Idaho (it has been a long time...). I opened it to our UCC Conference and Association, but only two churches expressed interest (and one is the church I serve). But I feel hopeful, as together we will take come time to deepen our awareness of God's love.
I love leading retreats - I do the prep work and facilitate the sessions, but then I step back and let the real Director of the Retreat engage in transforming work with each retreatant. God never disappoints....
Dancing with the dragonflies,
Kim
I missed chapel this morning due to pain that made the prospect of the short walk to the chapel seem eight miles long. Instead, I fully opened the window blinds and curled up in the glider for morning prayers. As I finished my prayers, I was startled by movement outside my window, and looked up to see four magnificent wild turkeys right outside my window. They were amazing! They hopped up onto the railing at the footbridge, and spend several minutes preening and stretching in the sunshine. Then they hopped down and headed across the field.
In native and popular folk medicine, turkeys are seen as messengers who bring four truths into awareness:
- The importance of the sacrifice of self for a higher purpose/greater good
- Understanding of the gift of giveaway
- Invitation to honor the Earth Mother
- Messenger of harvest bounties
Which message if for me? In time, I will know.
Dragonflies have kept me company all afternoon as I prepare for the arrival of the retreatants. This is the first spiritual retreat I have led since coming to Idaho (it has been a long time...). I opened it to our UCC Conference and Association, but only two churches expressed interest (and one is the church I serve). But I feel hopeful, as together we will take come time to deepen our awareness of God's love.
I love leading retreats - I do the prep work and facilitate the sessions, but then I step back and let the real Director of the Retreat engage in transforming work with each retreatant. God never disappoints....
Dancing with the dragonflies,
Kim
Monday, September 30, 2013
Heartbeats in Sync - Waiting and Showing Up
One look at the night sky, and I know why I'm not meant to live in a city - it holds great healing power for me. Gazing deeply into the night reminds me of how it feels to gaze upon someone who is beloved. And perhaps that is what I am doing - gazing into the face of God.
I arrived at the Monastery after a beautiful drive into autumn (thank you, weather forecast, for being wrong). Just a little hint of red and yellow along the roadside...and a velvet covering of sage/gray surrounding White Bird Hill. Each mile brought a deepening of my breath, and freedom to my shoulders (my habitual storage site for tension). Once settled in my room, I began a familiar routine, including sitting at the window and watching the night sky emerge.
Only tonight instead of stars, the sky filled with clouds.
Don't get me wrong, I love a good cloudscape (and the recent weather has meant no disappointment in the cloudscape department). But I wasn't looking for clouds tonight, and started to get up to close the blinds when that inner voice said "wait."
So I waited. Slowly, the clouds disappeared, and a vibrant night sky emerged. What a sight! I watched for the longest time, when I decided more would be better (time to go outside). This was when I realized that I may have remembered to bring half my library with me, but I definitely forgot my jacket. No matter; I bundled up in layers, and headed out through the lounge door to - glory! The leaves are still on the trees (shielding the lights from the Inn), and so from my dark little patch of mud (rain earlier today), I had a brilliant view of the Milky Way. I watched this glorious sight until my joints were frozen and the back of my head felt permanently stuck to my shoulders. I quietly chanted one of my favorite prayer chants: "All my fears fall to you, O Kind One who hears, and knows only love." Then - silence.
Was Joseph Campbell right - is our greatest goal to be able to have our heart beat in sync with the heartbeat of the universe? For a second tonight...perhaps...maybe...
...yes.
Sometimes waiting makes all the difference...as does showing up.
Breathing deeply,
Kim
I arrived at the Monastery after a beautiful drive into autumn (thank you, weather forecast, for being wrong). Just a little hint of red and yellow along the roadside...and a velvet covering of sage/gray surrounding White Bird Hill. Each mile brought a deepening of my breath, and freedom to my shoulders (my habitual storage site for tension). Once settled in my room, I began a familiar routine, including sitting at the window and watching the night sky emerge.
Only tonight instead of stars, the sky filled with clouds.
Don't get me wrong, I love a good cloudscape (and the recent weather has meant no disappointment in the cloudscape department). But I wasn't looking for clouds tonight, and started to get up to close the blinds when that inner voice said "wait."
So I waited. Slowly, the clouds disappeared, and a vibrant night sky emerged. What a sight! I watched for the longest time, when I decided more would be better (time to go outside). This was when I realized that I may have remembered to bring half my library with me, but I definitely forgot my jacket. No matter; I bundled up in layers, and headed out through the lounge door to - glory! The leaves are still on the trees (shielding the lights from the Inn), and so from my dark little patch of mud (rain earlier today), I had a brilliant view of the Milky Way. I watched this glorious sight until my joints were frozen and the back of my head felt permanently stuck to my shoulders. I quietly chanted one of my favorite prayer chants: "All my fears fall to you, O Kind One who hears, and knows only love." Then - silence.
Was Joseph Campbell right - is our greatest goal to be able to have our heart beat in sync with the heartbeat of the universe? For a second tonight...perhaps...maybe...
...yes.
Sometimes waiting makes all the difference...as does showing up.
Breathing deeply,
Kim
Monday, September 9, 2013
The Rain, a Lake, and 4 Drunk Bikers
Teachers come in many forms. Yesterday I sat and watched a grasshopper eat a blade of grass - I had to slow down and focus in order to appreciate this remarkable teacher. Today my first teacher was the rain.
I woke up today before dawn, hoping to walk on East Inlet. But the sky said rain, and I didn't want to risk walking on wet rocks. I felt a twinge of disappointment, since the trail is where I have powerful encounters with Spirit. As I thought about this I began to laugh - as if God's presence and interaction with me is determined by my location! I instead went down and sat on my very favorite bench on the dock of the lake, and opened my heart to, well, whatever might happen.
At first the lake was extremely still - mirror like - reflecting the mountains that surround her on two sides. The detail of the reflection was incredible! I thought about the lake - it is very deep and still (at that moment). Yesterday it had whitecaps, but in this moment it was still. I felt drawn to that image - the stillness - and allowed myself to settle into a deep place of quiet.
A few minutes later the surface of the lake began to show interesting patterns - delightful designs. Soon the designs changed and looked almost electric - alive - energetic (it reminded me of that scene from the movie "Close Encounters" when the alien ship and humans began communicating with flashing lights and musical tones). The patterns danced and played on the surface of the water - deep and still yet alive and energetic! I was mesmerized by what I was seeing! And then, out towards the center of the lake, an area the size of a small car began to light up and shimmer like fireworks - diamonds - an incredible display! I closed my eyes and then looked one more time - it was still there! Slowly it settled down, and the patterns resumed. I offered thanks for the possibility of deep stillness with energetic beauty - a display to rival any fireworks show! Can I find that kind of balance in my life?
In the late afternoon (rain) I drove the Kawuneeche Valley one more time, drinking in the beauty of the Never Summer Mountains (my favorites next to Baldy), all the young trees that did well this summer, and the amazing beauty of the headwaters of the Colorado River. As the rain increased, I headed back to the cabin to read, rest, and prepare to leave tomorrow.
And there I met my new teachers - four drunk bikers staying in the cabin next to mine. They have been hard at drinking and smoking since early afternoon (impressive display of empty bottles lining the railing) and are doing this on the deck, so I cannot sit out there, and cannot leave my windows or door open for the smoke. Even with the cabin buttoned up, I can hear them clearly. I come here for peace - they come here to party. And they are my teachers tonight because I do not want to hold onto the feelings I have toward them. Yes, I feel justified, but what good does it do me to fill my heart and mind with anger, frustration, entitlement and righteous indignation? It has no impact on them (they seem quite happy - and loud). I am the one sitting in here contemplating their demise, and stuffing my heart with anger.
I am also in the process of reading David R. Hawkins book "Letting Go - The Pathway of Surrender." It is one of the best (and most challenging) books I have read this year - even though I do not agree with all his observations. Learning to acknowledge emotions without feeding them is not easy; choosing to instead strengthen positive emotions is harder still. It seems tonight I will have ample opportunity to practice these lessons. Frankly, I would rather not practice this at all - which means I have found another growing edge.
"May they be happy, may they be peaceful, may they be free from suffering. May they be happy, may they be peaceful, may they be filled with love." And may they be quiet! (It is a process...)
Sigh -
Kim
I woke up today before dawn, hoping to walk on East Inlet. But the sky said rain, and I didn't want to risk walking on wet rocks. I felt a twinge of disappointment, since the trail is where I have powerful encounters with Spirit. As I thought about this I began to laugh - as if God's presence and interaction with me is determined by my location! I instead went down and sat on my very favorite bench on the dock of the lake, and opened my heart to, well, whatever might happen.
At first the lake was extremely still - mirror like - reflecting the mountains that surround her on two sides. The detail of the reflection was incredible! I thought about the lake - it is very deep and still (at that moment). Yesterday it had whitecaps, but in this moment it was still. I felt drawn to that image - the stillness - and allowed myself to settle into a deep place of quiet.
A few minutes later the surface of the lake began to show interesting patterns - delightful designs. Soon the designs changed and looked almost electric - alive - energetic (it reminded me of that scene from the movie "Close Encounters" when the alien ship and humans began communicating with flashing lights and musical tones). The patterns danced and played on the surface of the water - deep and still yet alive and energetic! I was mesmerized by what I was seeing! And then, out towards the center of the lake, an area the size of a small car began to light up and shimmer like fireworks - diamonds - an incredible display! I closed my eyes and then looked one more time - it was still there! Slowly it settled down, and the patterns resumed. I offered thanks for the possibility of deep stillness with energetic beauty - a display to rival any fireworks show! Can I find that kind of balance in my life?
In the late afternoon (rain) I drove the Kawuneeche Valley one more time, drinking in the beauty of the Never Summer Mountains (my favorites next to Baldy), all the young trees that did well this summer, and the amazing beauty of the headwaters of the Colorado River. As the rain increased, I headed back to the cabin to read, rest, and prepare to leave tomorrow.
And there I met my new teachers - four drunk bikers staying in the cabin next to mine. They have been hard at drinking and smoking since early afternoon (impressive display of empty bottles lining the railing) and are doing this on the deck, so I cannot sit out there, and cannot leave my windows or door open for the smoke. Even with the cabin buttoned up, I can hear them clearly. I come here for peace - they come here to party. And they are my teachers tonight because I do not want to hold onto the feelings I have toward them. Yes, I feel justified, but what good does it do me to fill my heart and mind with anger, frustration, entitlement and righteous indignation? It has no impact on them (they seem quite happy - and loud). I am the one sitting in here contemplating their demise, and stuffing my heart with anger.
I am also in the process of reading David R. Hawkins book "Letting Go - The Pathway of Surrender." It is one of the best (and most challenging) books I have read this year - even though I do not agree with all his observations. Learning to acknowledge emotions without feeding them is not easy; choosing to instead strengthen positive emotions is harder still. It seems tonight I will have ample opportunity to practice these lessons. Frankly, I would rather not practice this at all - which means I have found another growing edge.
"May they be happy, may they be peaceful, may they be free from suffering. May they be happy, may they be peaceful, may they be filled with love." And may they be quiet! (It is a process...)
Sigh -
Kim
Sunday, September 8, 2013
God's Name Is Lucas (and he wears a Batman tee shirt)
Although all creation is sacred (God's body, so says Sallie McFague), the East Inlet Trail in the Kawuneeche Valley of Rocky Mountain National Park is especially sacred to me. I have hiked this trail since 1988, and no matter how far I get on it, I always have a powerful experience of the Sacred - of God. Always - without exception. And without exception, the experience is different/unexpected every time.
Once while praying in the First Meadow a huge bull moose appeared - he was too big to be real! I was speechless (and camera-less), and stood in reverence of Grandfather Moose. Years later his grandson taught me that I was capable of a pre-dawn vertical rock scramble in order to avoid being gored by angry teenage moose! Wildflowers and chipmunks have ministered to me, as has Old Baldy, my favorite mountain. And on my 50th birthday whilst resting on the rock shelf (offering thanks for my life and wondering how I was going to hike out with a blown knee), a hummingbird appeared and hovered in front of me - close enough to touch! As I hiked out that day, the hummingbird reappeared each time I felt I could not go on - God with wings!
My sacred experiences on this trail motivate me to hike just before dawn (before the crowds descend on the trail). Although families hiking in Rocky bring me hope, they do not necessarily add to my experience of silence, solitude and the Sacred. I would have been on the trail today pre-dawn, had it not been for a tough negotiation session with my knees. In light of my recent fall (and their memory of the 50th birthday hike), they came to the table with a list of demands: Mindful walking (slow and steady), no pain meds pre-hike (so I can't do too much), no set destination (turn back when needed), and leave after sunrise (to avoid a vertical rock scramble, or slipping in the dark). Since their demands were fair, I accepted their terms, and they agreed to the hike.
The hike was glorious! I may have set a record for the slowest trek to the First Meadow, but each careful step reassured my knees and allowed me to see more than I usually see. I sat in my thoughtful spot and offered thanks for Chapel of Garioch and her anniversary, and Boise First and kick-off Sunday. I prayed my list of intercessions, and gazed at the beauty of the meadow. Then it was time to leave - mostly downhill (my knee's version of hell). Along the way a doe and her fawn gave me encouragement. But as I reached the turnoff to Adams Falls, I had to sit down.
It was then that I heard a young child peppering his dad with questions. Soon I was face-to-face with a very precocious five-year-old dressed in a Batman tee shirt. He: "Hi lady. What are you doing?"
Me: "Resting." He: "I'm tired, too, so I'll rest with you."
He sat down next to me, shook my hand and told me his name was Lucas, that he was five-years-old and that he and his dad had just come from Adams Falls. They were waiting for his mom and auntie, who he hoped had not been eaten by mountain lions or gotten lost on the trail. I was able to reassure him on both counts, and said I'd keep an eye out for them as I hiked out. He asked me where I had been, and so I told him stories of the First Meadow. He insisted his dad take him to the lady's meadow (sorry dad), and with another handshake, we parted company. As I started the steep descent, I noticed that despite the pain, I was smiling. Lucas had touched my heart.
The end of the trail was near when I sat down one last time to comfort my knees. As I rested I heard a familiar voice shouting, "Dad, look - we found the lady!" Before I knew it, Lucas was sitting next to me on the rock, telling me about his trip to the meadow while snuggling just a bit. I felt wrapped in love and compassion! After awhile his dad smiled, and told Lucas it was time to leave. "No," he said, "I want to stay with the lady, and we can all go out together." I thanked Lucas for the offer, and told him it was ok to go - I walk very slowly, and didn't want to hold them up. He offered to walk slowly with me! Soon mom and auntie appeared (looking exhausted) and wondering if I was the lady who told Lucas about the meadow - sorry mom. Finally Lucas hugged me and said goodbye - saying he hoped to see me again, maybe in the meadow. He promised to look for me every time he came here for a walk. I wished him a happy and blessed life, thanked him, and told him I would look for him, too. As he walked away with his dad, he turned around and waved, then took his dad's hand as they disappeared from sight. I sat there still enveloped in love, and smiling at the sight of God as a five-year-old wearing a Batman tee shirt.
Once while praying in the First Meadow a huge bull moose appeared - he was too big to be real! I was speechless (and camera-less), and stood in reverence of Grandfather Moose. Years later his grandson taught me that I was capable of a pre-dawn vertical rock scramble in order to avoid being gored by angry teenage moose! Wildflowers and chipmunks have ministered to me, as has Old Baldy, my favorite mountain. And on my 50th birthday whilst resting on the rock shelf (offering thanks for my life and wondering how I was going to hike out with a blown knee), a hummingbird appeared and hovered in front of me - close enough to touch! As I hiked out that day, the hummingbird reappeared each time I felt I could not go on - God with wings!
My sacred experiences on this trail motivate me to hike just before dawn (before the crowds descend on the trail). Although families hiking in Rocky bring me hope, they do not necessarily add to my experience of silence, solitude and the Sacred. I would have been on the trail today pre-dawn, had it not been for a tough negotiation session with my knees. In light of my recent fall (and their memory of the 50th birthday hike), they came to the table with a list of demands: Mindful walking (slow and steady), no pain meds pre-hike (so I can't do too much), no set destination (turn back when needed), and leave after sunrise (to avoid a vertical rock scramble, or slipping in the dark). Since their demands were fair, I accepted their terms, and they agreed to the hike.
The hike was glorious! I may have set a record for the slowest trek to the First Meadow, but each careful step reassured my knees and allowed me to see more than I usually see. I sat in my thoughtful spot and offered thanks for Chapel of Garioch and her anniversary, and Boise First and kick-off Sunday. I prayed my list of intercessions, and gazed at the beauty of the meadow. Then it was time to leave - mostly downhill (my knee's version of hell). Along the way a doe and her fawn gave me encouragement. But as I reached the turnoff to Adams Falls, I had to sit down.
It was then that I heard a young child peppering his dad with questions. Soon I was face-to-face with a very precocious five-year-old dressed in a Batman tee shirt. He: "Hi lady. What are you doing?"
Me: "Resting." He: "I'm tired, too, so I'll rest with you."
He sat down next to me, shook my hand and told me his name was Lucas, that he was five-years-old and that he and his dad had just come from Adams Falls. They were waiting for his mom and auntie, who he hoped had not been eaten by mountain lions or gotten lost on the trail. I was able to reassure him on both counts, and said I'd keep an eye out for them as I hiked out. He asked me where I had been, and so I told him stories of the First Meadow. He insisted his dad take him to the lady's meadow (sorry dad), and with another handshake, we parted company. As I started the steep descent, I noticed that despite the pain, I was smiling. Lucas had touched my heart.
The end of the trail was near when I sat down one last time to comfort my knees. As I rested I heard a familiar voice shouting, "Dad, look - we found the lady!" Before I knew it, Lucas was sitting next to me on the rock, telling me about his trip to the meadow while snuggling just a bit. I felt wrapped in love and compassion! After awhile his dad smiled, and told Lucas it was time to leave. "No," he said, "I want to stay with the lady, and we can all go out together." I thanked Lucas for the offer, and told him it was ok to go - I walk very slowly, and didn't want to hold them up. He offered to walk slowly with me! Soon mom and auntie appeared (looking exhausted) and wondering if I was the lady who told Lucas about the meadow - sorry mom. Finally Lucas hugged me and said goodbye - saying he hoped to see me again, maybe in the meadow. He promised to look for me every time he came here for a walk. I wished him a happy and blessed life, thanked him, and told him I would look for him, too. As he walked away with his dad, he turned around and waved, then took his dad's hand as they disappeared from sight. I sat there still enveloped in love, and smiling at the sight of God as a five-year-old wearing a Batman tee shirt.
Saturday, September 7, 2013
Flow like water...
It is time to say goodbye to Clear Creek and Golden. I took my walk early today, as it is Farmer's Market day, which makes the path very busy. Dragonflies met me as I left the hotel, and beckoned me on my journey.
I didn't come here specifically looking for lessons, but I'm learning that an open heart notices and welcomes lessons whenever they come. The past has been on my mind (since I am visiting a place that is historically important to me). As I sat at the first bench watching the water flow over the rocks, I though about how fluid time is - the past with its regrets and nostalgia (which is a powerful drug), and the future with its fears and opportunities. It is so easy to focus attention on both ends of the time spectrum, missing the only time that actually exists - now. Reflecting on the past is good when it allows insights to surface that bring healing and wiser living - as long as the reflection doesn't become an exercise in self abuse. These few days have involved no small amount of reflecting on past choices and their consequences. Understanding those choices and compassionately forgiving myself has been a very healing step.
I watched the water flow over the rocks. It comes over the first set of rocks with great force and purpose, and most of the water continues straight downstream. But not all of the water makes it free the first few times, as the position of other rocks causes some of the water to circle back to re-enter the momentum of the forward movement again...and again...and again...and again...
...I smiled as I watched this cycle repeat itself countless times. I guess I'm not the only part of creation that needs some practice before catching the momentum to make it downstream! Smiles and laughter, and compassion, replaced the negative self-talk that runs on a feedback loop in my head. Flow like water - you will get there in time. If you circle back, another opportunity will be there to move forward. Flow like water...
I remembered my quarter so I could feed my chicken friends one last time and wish them a happy chicken day. I gazed up at the "M" on Lookout Mountain and decided that this time "M" stood for magnificent - which life truly is. I looked over at the front range, back at the mesas and Castle Rock, and headed back to the hotel for one last breakfast on the terrace overlooking the creek. Flow like water...
The strength and stability of the mountains...the fluidity of the water...the dance of the dragonflies. How blest I am to be in school with such good teachers.
Time to head up to the high country, and perhaps more lessons in life in the Spirit.
With love and joy,
Kim
I didn't come here specifically looking for lessons, but I'm learning that an open heart notices and welcomes lessons whenever they come. The past has been on my mind (since I am visiting a place that is historically important to me). As I sat at the first bench watching the water flow over the rocks, I though about how fluid time is - the past with its regrets and nostalgia (which is a powerful drug), and the future with its fears and opportunities. It is so easy to focus attention on both ends of the time spectrum, missing the only time that actually exists - now. Reflecting on the past is good when it allows insights to surface that bring healing and wiser living - as long as the reflection doesn't become an exercise in self abuse. These few days have involved no small amount of reflecting on past choices and their consequences. Understanding those choices and compassionately forgiving myself has been a very healing step.
I watched the water flow over the rocks. It comes over the first set of rocks with great force and purpose, and most of the water continues straight downstream. But not all of the water makes it free the first few times, as the position of other rocks causes some of the water to circle back to re-enter the momentum of the forward movement again...and again...and again...and again...
...I smiled as I watched this cycle repeat itself countless times. I guess I'm not the only part of creation that needs some practice before catching the momentum to make it downstream! Smiles and laughter, and compassion, replaced the negative self-talk that runs on a feedback loop in my head. Flow like water - you will get there in time. If you circle back, another opportunity will be there to move forward. Flow like water...
I remembered my quarter so I could feed my chicken friends one last time and wish them a happy chicken day. I gazed up at the "M" on Lookout Mountain and decided that this time "M" stood for magnificent - which life truly is. I looked over at the front range, back at the mesas and Castle Rock, and headed back to the hotel for one last breakfast on the terrace overlooking the creek. Flow like water...
The strength and stability of the mountains...the fluidity of the water...the dance of the dragonflies. How blest I am to be in school with such good teachers.
Time to head up to the high country, and perhaps more lessons in life in the Spirit.
With love and joy,
Kim
Thursday, September 5, 2013
Meeting God on the Path
Twenty-five cents buys a handful of chicken feed and minutes of joy for the feathered residents of the Clear Creek History Park. Each chicken looks unique, and I enjoy resting my bones while watching them live in their historically accurate chicken enclosure. I'm fascinated by how different each chicken is - especially the ones that look like they are either wearing fancy feathered hats (or sat under the blow dryer too long). None of them look particularly robust - perhaps that adds to the historical accuracy.
The chickens are one of the last stops on my morning walk along Clear Creek - a walk that has varied little over the decades. After breakfast I leave the hotel, walking down Washington Avenue until I cross Clear Creek. I then slowly walked down the path, being greeted by dog walkers, power walkers, Moms jogging while pushing strollers, college students walking to class, and bicyclists on their way to the bike trails. People almost always make eye contact, smile and speak (unlike where I was for study leave - Pittsburgh - where everyone looks the other way). There are just enough benches strategically placed along Clear Creek to make my morning walk pleasurable. I have favorite places to pause and elevate my knee, whilst gazing at the water and mountains. Each bench allows for a slightly different view - sometimes it is water plus Lookout Mountain, other times it is water plus North or South Table Mesa. Occasionally I get Castle Rock in the view (I avoid looking at the Coors plant). Always I see trees and water. And leaves - cottonwood leaves - littering the ground like a golden carpet. Autumn is here.
I love these benches - they give me a place to rest and reflect before starting on the next push to the next bench. When I get up to Rocky on Saturday and head out on my very favorite trail, there will be no benches waiting for me on that journey. Instead, there are rocks and logs in all the right places, which should provide enough rest to get me all the way to the First Meadow on the East Inlet Trail, and right to my precious "thoughtful spot" - my most sacred prayer space.
I also pray whilst resting on the benches along Clear Creek - I breathe with the water, mountains and falling leaves. And I'm not alone in praying along this Creek, as each morning I see an (easily) 90+ year old physically frail saint who slowly shuffles along the path - looking like she or he lives in that liminal space between this world and the next. Slowly she or he walks, rosary in hand, soaking in every moment - pausing to watch the golden squirrel, or a leaf falling from a tree - or the smile on a child's face. This person takes it all in - every second - and offers back prayer and appreciation. God walking along Clear Creek, savoring creation.
I almost didn't come away for vacation - I was scheduled to go home to Scotland during this time, but circumstances made that trip all but impossible. In the end, I decided to come to this home for a little while, and rest and re-set. Today while walking along Clear Creek, I realized that vacations are a bit like the benches along this path - they provide a place to rest and recollect, so that you can push on through the next hard stretch of the journey.
I make the most of those rest breaks along Clear Creek - soaking in the beauty, resting the knee, appreciating God's presence. May I do the same with this vacation time.
Letting Creation nourish me,
Kim
The chickens are one of the last stops on my morning walk along Clear Creek - a walk that has varied little over the decades. After breakfast I leave the hotel, walking down Washington Avenue until I cross Clear Creek. I then slowly walked down the path, being greeted by dog walkers, power walkers, Moms jogging while pushing strollers, college students walking to class, and bicyclists on their way to the bike trails. People almost always make eye contact, smile and speak (unlike where I was for study leave - Pittsburgh - where everyone looks the other way). There are just enough benches strategically placed along Clear Creek to make my morning walk pleasurable. I have favorite places to pause and elevate my knee, whilst gazing at the water and mountains. Each bench allows for a slightly different view - sometimes it is water plus Lookout Mountain, other times it is water plus North or South Table Mesa. Occasionally I get Castle Rock in the view (I avoid looking at the Coors plant). Always I see trees and water. And leaves - cottonwood leaves - littering the ground like a golden carpet. Autumn is here.
I love these benches - they give me a place to rest and reflect before starting on the next push to the next bench. When I get up to Rocky on Saturday and head out on my very favorite trail, there will be no benches waiting for me on that journey. Instead, there are rocks and logs in all the right places, which should provide enough rest to get me all the way to the First Meadow on the East Inlet Trail, and right to my precious "thoughtful spot" - my most sacred prayer space.
I also pray whilst resting on the benches along Clear Creek - I breathe with the water, mountains and falling leaves. And I'm not alone in praying along this Creek, as each morning I see an (easily) 90+ year old physically frail saint who slowly shuffles along the path - looking like she or he lives in that liminal space between this world and the next. Slowly she or he walks, rosary in hand, soaking in every moment - pausing to watch the golden squirrel, or a leaf falling from a tree - or the smile on a child's face. This person takes it all in - every second - and offers back prayer and appreciation. God walking along Clear Creek, savoring creation.
I almost didn't come away for vacation - I was scheduled to go home to Scotland during this time, but circumstances made that trip all but impossible. In the end, I decided to come to this home for a little while, and rest and re-set. Today while walking along Clear Creek, I realized that vacations are a bit like the benches along this path - they provide a place to rest and recollect, so that you can push on through the next hard stretch of the journey.
I make the most of those rest breaks along Clear Creek - soaking in the beauty, resting the knee, appreciating God's presence. May I do the same with this vacation time.
Letting Creation nourish me,
Kim
Monday, August 26, 2013
Baked, Parched and Cracked Open - With Feathers and Cross in Hand
Wandering in the desert, spiritual or otherwise, is an experience different from life on the mountain - and I am definitely a mountain person. Gone are the lush forests, creeks and wildflowers that are present below the treeline. I have a favorite mountain trail that I have hiked so many times that I can retrace almost every step in my mind - virtual hiking provides the occasional distraction from the desert landscape.
Stark - barren - inhospitable - dry - this spiritual desert was not my first choice. But here I am, and here is the desert, so this past month we've been getting acquainted. I now spend less time fighting it and trying to turn it into the mountains, and more time accepting that it is desert time - so be it! Less struggle, greater appreciation for the subtle beauty even in this terrain - and a willingness to accept it as gift.
I am learning to read the signs of God's presence in the desert - learning to recognize God's fingerprints in this previously alien landscape. I am not one to ask God for signs, having remembered the story of Gideon and the fleece from Sunday School, and my teacher's admonition that Gideon was weak for asking for a sign. She said that we must show God what strong little Christians we are by not asking for proofs of God presence and guidance (a note to all Sunday School teachers - not the best use of the Gideon story). But signs can be incredibly encouraging, especially when one is feeling baked, parched, and cracked open.
How many feathers crossed my path before I noticed that first one? I'm not sure. The first one I noticed was on the ground outside of the house front door - right where I was going to put my foot. I stopped, noticed the beauty of the feather, and went on my way. Later that day there was a feather waiting outside the church door - again, beautiful. The next day I sat outside in the sun in order to make some vitamin D, closing my eyes for a few minutes of rest. When I opened them, there was a baby quail feather resting between my feet. The gifting of feathers continued every day for two weeks - and with each feather, my awareness of God's loving presence was renewed. Such a small sign became such a large source of comfort and sense of hope!
And then Saturday God hit it out of the park! Back in '90s I affiliated with a Benedictine community in NY - the Community of the Holy Cross. I had gone there for retreats since seminary, but waited until then to feel comfortable enough to let the Rule of St. Benedict guide my life. I made a commitment to be an Associate of this Order at one of their daily worship services - it was beautiful! And as a symbol of my commitment to live as a Benedictine, the community gave me a simple ebony cross that was placed around my neck - a cross I cherished, because it was a symbol of my connection to God, the community and all Benedictines.
In 2007 while doing a blessing of the ground (prior to a home being built on it), the cross went missing. I know I was wearing it for the blessing, and vaguely remembered taking it off in my car (which I still drive today). But when I picked my things up to take them out of the car, there was no cross. I tore my car apart looking for that cross, even going back to the place where the blessing took place in the hope of finding the cross lying on the ground. But I had no luck - it was well and truly gone...
...until Saturday (almost 6 years later). It was in my car all along - all but hidden from sight. Seeing it again brought back a flood of memories and a great sense of joy and connection. Although I now live on the other side of the country, I felt an immediate and prayerful connection to that community - and all communities that have been part of my life - and proudly wore that cross for worship this Sunday past. I had a profound sense of these communities all being one - no separation - all the Body of Christ.
And so with feathers and a simple cross and all that it stands for, I continue my journey through the desert. I thank God for these reminders that I do not journey alone, but that God and faithful communities, past and present, journey with me. May my "forty days" bring me to a place of greater wholeness, strength and vision.
Walking on,
Kim
Stark - barren - inhospitable - dry - this spiritual desert was not my first choice. But here I am, and here is the desert, so this past month we've been getting acquainted. I now spend less time fighting it and trying to turn it into the mountains, and more time accepting that it is desert time - so be it! Less struggle, greater appreciation for the subtle beauty even in this terrain - and a willingness to accept it as gift.
I am learning to read the signs of God's presence in the desert - learning to recognize God's fingerprints in this previously alien landscape. I am not one to ask God for signs, having remembered the story of Gideon and the fleece from Sunday School, and my teacher's admonition that Gideon was weak for asking for a sign. She said that we must show God what strong little Christians we are by not asking for proofs of God presence and guidance (a note to all Sunday School teachers - not the best use of the Gideon story). But signs can be incredibly encouraging, especially when one is feeling baked, parched, and cracked open.
How many feathers crossed my path before I noticed that first one? I'm not sure. The first one I noticed was on the ground outside of the house front door - right where I was going to put my foot. I stopped, noticed the beauty of the feather, and went on my way. Later that day there was a feather waiting outside the church door - again, beautiful. The next day I sat outside in the sun in order to make some vitamin D, closing my eyes for a few minutes of rest. When I opened them, there was a baby quail feather resting between my feet. The gifting of feathers continued every day for two weeks - and with each feather, my awareness of God's loving presence was renewed. Such a small sign became such a large source of comfort and sense of hope!
And then Saturday God hit it out of the park! Back in '90s I affiliated with a Benedictine community in NY - the Community of the Holy Cross. I had gone there for retreats since seminary, but waited until then to feel comfortable enough to let the Rule of St. Benedict guide my life. I made a commitment to be an Associate of this Order at one of their daily worship services - it was beautiful! And as a symbol of my commitment to live as a Benedictine, the community gave me a simple ebony cross that was placed around my neck - a cross I cherished, because it was a symbol of my connection to God, the community and all Benedictines.
In 2007 while doing a blessing of the ground (prior to a home being built on it), the cross went missing. I know I was wearing it for the blessing, and vaguely remembered taking it off in my car (which I still drive today). But when I picked my things up to take them out of the car, there was no cross. I tore my car apart looking for that cross, even going back to the place where the blessing took place in the hope of finding the cross lying on the ground. But I had no luck - it was well and truly gone...
...until Saturday (almost 6 years later). It was in my car all along - all but hidden from sight. Seeing it again brought back a flood of memories and a great sense of joy and connection. Although I now live on the other side of the country, I felt an immediate and prayerful connection to that community - and all communities that have been part of my life - and proudly wore that cross for worship this Sunday past. I had a profound sense of these communities all being one - no separation - all the Body of Christ.
And so with feathers and a simple cross and all that it stands for, I continue my journey through the desert. I thank God for these reminders that I do not journey alone, but that God and faithful communities, past and present, journey with me. May my "forty days" bring me to a place of greater wholeness, strength and vision.
Walking on,
Kim
Saturday, July 27, 2013
Relief or Cure?
I have found it important to have structure during this time of being a "caterfly" - this time of being and becoming. I'm weaving more (very good medicine). I'm trying to coax my body into becoming stronger (not a great lover of exercise, but am learning to tolerate it). And I'm keeping a set time for prayer every morning and evening (this I love). In the evening I read a devotional/scripture, and sit with God - often saying nothing. Then I close with intercessions, and expressions of gratitude. In the morning I read a devotional/scripture, and sit with God - often saying nothing. I also set my intentions for the day (forcing myself to write them out so I can reflect on them in a deliberate way), offer thanks and intercessions, and offer the day to God.
Some days pass without any great or small "aha" moments. But they are rare. Usually, something attracts my attention. Sometimes it comes from the devotional; sometimes from scripture. Sometimes while sitting in silence a thought or memory will present itself in that "pay attention!" way that inspirited things often do. I have come to discover that the very act of sitting each day, no matter what, morning and night, is the most important part of this process of discipline and prayer.
Some "aha" moments pass quickly. Others stay, put down roots, and generate a whole new chapter of this transformative journey. July 24th brought one of those put down roots moments, as I read the following from my favorite devotional and felt my heart and mind click into sync:
The ancients tell the story of the distressed person who came to the Holy One for help. "Do you really want a cure?" the Holy One asked. "If I did not, would I bother to come to you?" the disciple answered. "Oh yes," the master said. "Most people do." And the disciple said, incredulously, "But what for then?" And the Holy One answered, "Well, not for a cure. That's painful. They come for relief." (Joan Chittister, The Rule of Benedict: A Spirituality for the 21st Century, p 203).
Relief or cure? Which do I seek?
Which do you seek?
Kim
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
Spiral Staircases and Elevators
I am a thinker. I like to ponder ideas, issues and events, weigh options, and formulate responses. It is my nature to enter into an idea or issue and take its spiral staircase deeper (and deeper) into fresh or refreshed understandings and relationships. I think this is why I am drawn to the sayings of Jesus, because they invite me to go ever deeper in my awareness and understanding, and into relationship with the Rabbi.
Tibetan Buddhists know the power of short sayings to focus and train the mind, and deepen understanding. In fact, they have devoted an entire practice to this approach, called Lojong. A reasonably ancient practice, it involves systematic meditation on 59 slogans (sayings), with the goal being a greater understanding of one's perspective (thoughts, attitudes and motivations), which then can lead to freedom from the thought patterns that lead to suffering (and I'm all for freedom from suffering)!
At first glance, some of the slogans appear very basic and self explanatory - Slogan 13, for example, is "Be grateful to everyone." Nice. But I notice that when I try to put it into practice, the slogans have the same "bite" as the sayings of Jesus (everyone - really?). Slogan 21 is problematic - "Always maintain only a joyful mind" (always - only?). Slogan 34 is definitely one to live by - "Don't transfer the ox's load to the cow - Take responsibility for yourself" (I am responsible for my life and my choices, which means no blame game - especially when it feels justified). Slogan 42 is a challenge - "Whichever of the two occurs, be patient" (hmmm...I will sit with that one for some time, because I'm not entirely sure what it means). And one of my least favorites is Slogan 49 - "Always meditate on whatever provokes resentment." Ouch.
Thinking is good, and I celebrate this gift of reason and reflection! But one trap for thinkers like me is that we tend to stay in this cognitive mode and spend lots of time running up and down the spiral staircase, and thereby ignore other forms of knowing that come not from mental aerobics, but from the intuitive heart space - a very powerful kind of knowing. This knowing can feel more like an elevator than a seventy story spiral staircase descent/ascent. Both are needed (both/and, not either/or), but when one is better practiced (thinking, in my case), it tends to become the default response in the system.
Yesterday a dear colleague presented me with a slogan that helped break through the spiral madness of analysis that traps my brain in a perpetual feedback loop, and immediately vented a great deal of personal suffering - elevating both my mood and perspective. The saying she offered me contained only three words, but it simultaneously caused me to laugh, cry, and breathe deeply. Thank you, dear colleague, for what is now my Slogan 60:
"Can't logic crazy."
Indeed!
Smiling,
Kim
Tibetan Buddhists know the power of short sayings to focus and train the mind, and deepen understanding. In fact, they have devoted an entire practice to this approach, called Lojong. A reasonably ancient practice, it involves systematic meditation on 59 slogans (sayings), with the goal being a greater understanding of one's perspective (thoughts, attitudes and motivations), which then can lead to freedom from the thought patterns that lead to suffering (and I'm all for freedom from suffering)!
At first glance, some of the slogans appear very basic and self explanatory - Slogan 13, for example, is "Be grateful to everyone." Nice. But I notice that when I try to put it into practice, the slogans have the same "bite" as the sayings of Jesus (everyone - really?). Slogan 21 is problematic - "Always maintain only a joyful mind" (always - only?). Slogan 34 is definitely one to live by - "Don't transfer the ox's load to the cow - Take responsibility for yourself" (I am responsible for my life and my choices, which means no blame game - especially when it feels justified). Slogan 42 is a challenge - "Whichever of the two occurs, be patient" (hmmm...I will sit with that one for some time, because I'm not entirely sure what it means). And one of my least favorites is Slogan 49 - "Always meditate on whatever provokes resentment." Ouch.
Thinking is good, and I celebrate this gift of reason and reflection! But one trap for thinkers like me is that we tend to stay in this cognitive mode and spend lots of time running up and down the spiral staircase, and thereby ignore other forms of knowing that come not from mental aerobics, but from the intuitive heart space - a very powerful kind of knowing. This knowing can feel more like an elevator than a seventy story spiral staircase descent/ascent. Both are needed (both/and, not either/or), but when one is better practiced (thinking, in my case), it tends to become the default response in the system.
Yesterday a dear colleague presented me with a slogan that helped break through the spiral madness of analysis that traps my brain in a perpetual feedback loop, and immediately vented a great deal of personal suffering - elevating both my mood and perspective. The saying she offered me contained only three words, but it simultaneously caused me to laugh, cry, and breathe deeply. Thank you, dear colleague, for what is now my Slogan 60:
"Can't logic crazy."
Indeed!
Smiling,
Kim
Thursday, June 27, 2013
A Long Car Trip - or Life as a Caterfly
How often God hears my plaintive cry of "are we there yet? What a long trip this is!" The challenge of being a caterfly is that all the familiar comforts of caterpillarhood no longer satisfy, but the butterfly wings are not yet ready for flight. What was is gone, and what is becoming isn't here yet.
All there is is now - the caterfly's reality. There is nothing for this morphing creature to do but settle into the liquidity of change and notice what works - what helps - what brings life - and embrace it. What causes the beauty to emerge - the wings to grow and strengthen - what brings lightness of soul?
Memories of life as a caterpillar are strong - sometimes overwhelming. And although I have a growing longing for the flowers and flight, the familiarity of leaf-munching and terra firma is etched deep in my soul. Although I don't yet understand why, I know that I need the experience of the leaves and the earth in order to fly. I need my caterpillarness in order to realize my butterfly self. Both/and - not either/or. I can't be one without the other. And so in the meantime, it is life as a caterfly.
Change - even good change - is hard. I offer thanks for the wisdom that has been shared with me in a hundred different ways, all telling me to notice what brings life and let those experiences nourish me -
- and learn to love being a caterfly.
Transformation happens in its own time. Right now, I want to learn to enjoy the ride.
With wonder,
Kim
All there is is now - the caterfly's reality. There is nothing for this morphing creature to do but settle into the liquidity of change and notice what works - what helps - what brings life - and embrace it. What causes the beauty to emerge - the wings to grow and strengthen - what brings lightness of soul?
Memories of life as a caterpillar are strong - sometimes overwhelming. And although I have a growing longing for the flowers and flight, the familiarity of leaf-munching and terra firma is etched deep in my soul. Although I don't yet understand why, I know that I need the experience of the leaves and the earth in order to fly. I need my caterpillarness in order to realize my butterfly self. Both/and - not either/or. I can't be one without the other. And so in the meantime, it is life as a caterfly.
Change - even good change - is hard. I offer thanks for the wisdom that has been shared with me in a hundred different ways, all telling me to notice what brings life and let those experiences nourish me -
- and learn to love being a caterfly.
Transformation happens in its own time. Right now, I want to learn to enjoy the ride.
With wonder,
Kim
Friday, June 14, 2013
View from the dancefloor
For twenty years I have prayed the Prayer of Abandon, written by Charles de Foucauld - given to me by a dear colleague and friend during a very trying time in life. I have loved/hated this prayer, often modifying it with a host of qualifiers that took the edge off the concept of abandoning myself into God's hands...
...after all, wasn't I responsible for making the changes, doing the heavy lifting, being in charge of my growth, development and life? Isn't handing over the power to God irresponsible and lazy - taking the easy way out?
I have struggled mightily with where my responsibility ends, and God's begins. If we are dance partners, who leads? Of course I say "God leads," while I immediately try to direct the dance. The tension generated by this prayer drives me crazy!
And yet I pray it morning and evening.
Lately the prayer has been prayed without qualifiers. It is a time of change and transformation in my heart and life, and I have been most frustrated by my inability to shift a few patterns that, while they served a purpose forty or fifty years ago, no longer serve me well. Wise guides encourage me to be gentle with myself and accept that the changes will come with time. I, in the meantime, alternate between trying to bench press the changes into reality and throwing my arms up in despair because they are not happening quickly enough! Why won't things shift NOW?!
Wise guides encourage me to gently immerse myself in that which leads to life, light, and healing - that which is the basis of the changes I seek to make, and trust God in the process. I listen to their wisdom, and then again resume alternating between leaning into this with gentleness and patience, and trying to figure out how to make it happen NOW! But try as I might (and do I ever try), I cannot make change happen. I cannot manage to embody that which I seek.
And then, when least expected - there it is. The shift. The insight. The breakthrough - given as gift, not as prize won or dividend earned. I am stunned - amazed - surprised - grateful - and tears express the "thank you" said by my heart.
Another both/and moment. Each choice to open myself to what leads to life, light and healing helped to prepare my heart for God's freely given gift. But the gift came from God - in God's time, and in God's way. And we dance...together...and the question of who leads is irrelevant!
I am humbled, awed, and deeply grateful for the nurturing love and wisdom of our Mother/Father/Creator.
Dancing with abandon,
Kim
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Safe in the Hands of Fourth Graders
I have been blessed with an abundance of "God moments" while on this retreat, and many involve the natural world. It isn't easy for me to hike (or shuffle, as the case may be) up the hill to the grotto, but I got up there yesterday just in time for the rain to start coming down in buckets! I sat nursing my sore knee and soaking in the beauty of the surroundings, when I suddenly heard a buzzing sound off to my right, and turned to see a lone hummingbird hovering in the grotto for shelter. It rested briefly on a rock, and then headed back out into the rain. I was reminded of a similar visitation on my 50th birthday, when David and I hiked up the East Inlet trail (my favorite trail) in Rocky Mt. National Park (my favorite park) and went as far as the rock shelf (the stopping point when David was a child). After awhile, I sent David back down the trail so I could have a moment to pray and savor the setting (and contemplate how to tell him that my knee was shot and I didn't have a clue how I was going to hike out of there) when all of a sudden a hummingbird came up over the rock shelf and hovered in front of me - close enough to touch. It was such a kairotic moment - I was transfixed, and felt God's ever-present grace enfolding me. Unfortunately transfixed doesn't mean transported, and I still had to hike back to the car (who snuck in and lengthened the trail while we rested on the rock shelf?)! It took twice as long to hike out as it did to hike in, and the pain, at times, was excruciating. But several times along the trail, the hummingbird re-appeared, giving me encouragement and hope - a lesson that God may not fix the situation, but provides ample hummingbird power to see it through.
Today I didn't risk limping back to the grotto, but shuffled instead down to the area known as the park, where I've been told there is a lovely swing in a grove of trees. I found the swing (very lovely) in the grove of trees (peaceful), but after sitting awhile, I felt like exploring a bit further. Encouraged by the birds who were squawking me out of their territory, I headed back towards the road and saw a charming old bench. Actually, my knee saw the bench, and encouraged my body to try it out. It was very old - the kind of bench that has planters built into the side of the bench. And when I looked to the
planter on the right, I was surprised to see a lily of the valley plant (my favorite flower) in full bloom. The fragrance was - well - no word captures it for me. I smile deeply just thinking about the beauty and fragrance of these wee flowers.
Each day since I've been here I've sat in the glider in front of the window and savored a beautiful rainbow. Today's full arch appeared in pieces over time, but when the last bit of the arch appeared the entire rainbow intensified like someone had plugged it in - pow! It startled me by its brightness, and left me uttering the words of the psalmist: Glory. A powerful reminder that such beauty only happens in the midst of showers.
But all of these God moments pale in comparison to today's hope-filled encounter. A fourth grade class was visiting the monastery, and the students and teachers attended midday Mass. For the most part, this is not a chronologically young community (although intellectually and spiritually the community is flexible and fit). Having a class of fourth graders introduced into this mix completely changed the atmosphere. The retired priest was very welcoming to them, and tried his best to include them, but they looked so out of place...and were trying to be ever so still and quiet...and kept looking toward their teachers for direction and guidance...
...until in the middle of Mass, one of the elderly Sisters, who is in a wheelchair, decided she needed to leave. In turning her wheel chair around she knocked over her water bottle. One of the other Sisters picked it up, and helped the Sister back to the infirmary. But as she was wheeled away (all while the priest was continuing with Mass), two of the fourth grade girls noticed that water had spilled onto the floor, and they grabbed the tissue box off the counter and raced over to the spill, kneeling down and trying to clean up the mess with tissues. None of the adults had noticed the water, or if they had, they decided not to interrupt Mass to clean it up. How easy it would have been for one of the Sisters to slip in the water when they went up for Communion! But have no fear - the fourth graders visitors immediately responded with grace and efficiency. Even though they were in a strange place - even though no one gave them permission to get involved and clean up the mess - even though it wasn't their mess to clean up - even in the presence of plenty of grown ups who could have dealt with it, they noticed and acted. As I watched them, I found that I, too, needed tissue. But this water spill was coming from my eyes and heart.
Kudos to the priest for stopping the liturgy to acknowledge the compassion and quick thinking of these young guests! Jesus said child-like faith would bring us into God's presence - and so it did.
The world is in safe hands, so long as God has fourth graders who are willing to show up, pay attention, and be our teachers.
Celebrating hope and grace every place I find it,
Kim
Today I didn't risk limping back to the grotto, but shuffled instead down to the area known as the park, where I've been told there is a lovely swing in a grove of trees. I found the swing (very lovely) in the grove of trees (peaceful), but after sitting awhile, I felt like exploring a bit further. Encouraged by the birds who were squawking me out of their territory, I headed back towards the road and saw a charming old bench. Actually, my knee saw the bench, and encouraged my body to try it out. It was very old - the kind of bench that has planters built into the side of the bench. And when I looked to the
planter on the right, I was surprised to see a lily of the valley plant (my favorite flower) in full bloom. The fragrance was - well - no word captures it for me. I smile deeply just thinking about the beauty and fragrance of these wee flowers.
Each day since I've been here I've sat in the glider in front of the window and savored a beautiful rainbow. Today's full arch appeared in pieces over time, but when the last bit of the arch appeared the entire rainbow intensified like someone had plugged it in - pow! It startled me by its brightness, and left me uttering the words of the psalmist: Glory. A powerful reminder that such beauty only happens in the midst of showers.
But all of these God moments pale in comparison to today's hope-filled encounter. A fourth grade class was visiting the monastery, and the students and teachers attended midday Mass. For the most part, this is not a chronologically young community (although intellectually and spiritually the community is flexible and fit). Having a class of fourth graders introduced into this mix completely changed the atmosphere. The retired priest was very welcoming to them, and tried his best to include them, but they looked so out of place...and were trying to be ever so still and quiet...and kept looking toward their teachers for direction and guidance...
...until in the middle of Mass, one of the elderly Sisters, who is in a wheelchair, decided she needed to leave. In turning her wheel chair around she knocked over her water bottle. One of the other Sisters picked it up, and helped the Sister back to the infirmary. But as she was wheeled away (all while the priest was continuing with Mass), two of the fourth grade girls noticed that water had spilled onto the floor, and they grabbed the tissue box off the counter and raced over to the spill, kneeling down and trying to clean up the mess with tissues. None of the adults had noticed the water, or if they had, they decided not to interrupt Mass to clean it up. How easy it would have been for one of the Sisters to slip in the water when they went up for Communion! But have no fear - the fourth graders visitors immediately responded with grace and efficiency. Even though they were in a strange place - even though no one gave them permission to get involved and clean up the mess - even though it wasn't their mess to clean up - even in the presence of plenty of grown ups who could have dealt with it, they noticed and acted. As I watched them, I found that I, too, needed tissue. But this water spill was coming from my eyes and heart.
Kudos to the priest for stopping the liturgy to acknowledge the compassion and quick thinking of these young guests! Jesus said child-like faith would bring us into God's presence - and so it did.
The world is in safe hands, so long as God has fourth graders who are willing to show up, pay attention, and be our teachers.
Celebrating hope and grace every place I find it,
Kim
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Flap Less - Glide More
A month has passed, and I'm back at the Monastery for a few days. The drive up was wet, but thank goodness it is raining (the hills look so brown for May)! David Crosby kept me company for the drive (the post-jail, clean and sober Crosby - I celebrate all people who are able to turn their life around and continue being creative)! I'm staying in a room I've never been in before, which gives me a slightly different view of the Camas Prairie. I brought a stack of books with me, plan to keep the daily yoga going as well as (knees permitting) a daily walk to the grotto. Plus chapel 3x/day. And a nap. And good visits with the Sisters. It is good to be here.
I'm now almost a month into what I half-jokingly call the Romans 5: 1-5 Program. Although I am no where near the hope part (yet), I get the occasional whiff of its signature fragrance, which causes me to breathe deeply, and center. And endure. And heal. It is a slow process. But it is proceeding, and that is a blessing. God is good...
...and so are swifts (not the weaving kind - which are also good - but the flying kind - which are amazing). From my window here at the Spirit Center I watch a variety of different birds as they flap and flutter. Today my favorite is the swifts - they may flap, but they also have the whole "glide thing" figured out. I have spent this afternoon and evening delighted by their aerial gliding choreography - such grace, beauty and whimsy.
Clearly we are meant to flap less, and glide more.
Working the program,
Kim
I'm now almost a month into what I half-jokingly call the Romans 5: 1-5 Program. Although I am no where near the hope part (yet), I get the occasional whiff of its signature fragrance, which causes me to breathe deeply, and center. And endure. And heal. It is a slow process. But it is proceeding, and that is a blessing. God is good...
...and so are swifts (not the weaving kind - which are also good - but the flying kind - which are amazing). From my window here at the Spirit Center I watch a variety of different birds as they flap and flutter. Today my favorite is the swifts - they may flap, but they also have the whole "glide thing" figured out. I have spent this afternoon and evening delighted by their aerial gliding choreography - such grace, beauty and whimsy.
Clearly we are meant to flap less, and glide more.
Working the program,
Kim
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Sweet Trail of "Snails"
It is April 30th and snowing in Cottonwood, Idaho. I came up to the Monastery last Saturday, and in the words of James Taylor, I "looked like ashes and smelled like smoke." A Sister was waiting for me, and got me settled into a room for some rest. Rest is so healing, as are the "God with skin on" Sisters who live and minister here. Whether it is triage, listening, or hugs, they are more than up to the task.
I was give a "Silent Retreatant" badge to wear so I didn't have to interact with all the other retreatants here (it is a busy time in the guest house), and have been going into the little chapel alone during prayer times instead of going over to the main church. I take my meals in the little kitchen here - silence and solitude. Time to think. Time to pray. Time to heal. Time to grieve. Time to let go. Time to be open to my next steps.
I brought an odd assortment of things with me for this journey (a little light on clothes, but very heavy on reading materials). I brought books of course, both fiction and nonfiction. I brought my journals from the last eight years, and read through each and every page. Reading them made it clear that the current circumstances should come as no surprise. But what did surprise me - and delighted me - was the clear trail marking God's presence throughout this span of time. There was a trail of people, places, events that were resonant with God's signature. Despite the pain, I could see that God as been present and with me all along! What a hopeful discovery!
Trails figure prominently in the book I am reading (again), Sue Monk Kidd's The Secret Life of Bees. I read it once ages ago, could not remember the plot very clearly, but knew grief figured prominently in the plot, and so it came with me. And yes, there is an element of grieving and letting go in the book. But the story line from the book that got my attention today involves graham crackers and marshmallows...
There is a character in the story who cannot stand to see anything suffer - or be killed - so when she would find a roach in the kitchen, she would make a trail of pieces of graham crackers and marshmallows that led to the door and outside - luring them out to safety before someone crushed them. This odd trail to freedom becomes an important secondary theme throughout the book, and always made me smile.
Today I walked up to the Grotto in the Woods - an outdoor chapel on the Monastery grounds that is a special place I retreat to for prayer. Dedicated to Mary, it has that creation/feminine energy that is so empowering - and healing. I sat there pouring out my soul, and pondering my next steps. After a time of silence and writing, I headed down the hill, and right into a snowstorm. But it wasn't ordinary snowflakes, nor ordinary hail stones, but these solid-but-puffy snow/hail pellets (dare I call them snails?) that looked for all the world like small marshmallows. I started laughing as this trail of marshmallow-like pellets rained down from heaven.
There will be a path - a trail. And I will see it. And it won't always be bitter - it may even be sweet.
Change is hard. Hearts break. Hearts heal. God is faithful. God is good.
Truth - time - and grace.
Healing,
Kim
I was give a "Silent Retreatant" badge to wear so I didn't have to interact with all the other retreatants here (it is a busy time in the guest house), and have been going into the little chapel alone during prayer times instead of going over to the main church. I take my meals in the little kitchen here - silence and solitude. Time to think. Time to pray. Time to heal. Time to grieve. Time to let go. Time to be open to my next steps.
I brought an odd assortment of things with me for this journey (a little light on clothes, but very heavy on reading materials). I brought books of course, both fiction and nonfiction. I brought my journals from the last eight years, and read through each and every page. Reading them made it clear that the current circumstances should come as no surprise. But what did surprise me - and delighted me - was the clear trail marking God's presence throughout this span of time. There was a trail of people, places, events that were resonant with God's signature. Despite the pain, I could see that God as been present and with me all along! What a hopeful discovery!
Trails figure prominently in the book I am reading (again), Sue Monk Kidd's The Secret Life of Bees. I read it once ages ago, could not remember the plot very clearly, but knew grief figured prominently in the plot, and so it came with me. And yes, there is an element of grieving and letting go in the book. But the story line from the book that got my attention today involves graham crackers and marshmallows...
There is a character in the story who cannot stand to see anything suffer - or be killed - so when she would find a roach in the kitchen, she would make a trail of pieces of graham crackers and marshmallows that led to the door and outside - luring them out to safety before someone crushed them. This odd trail to freedom becomes an important secondary theme throughout the book, and always made me smile.
Today I walked up to the Grotto in the Woods - an outdoor chapel on the Monastery grounds that is a special place I retreat to for prayer. Dedicated to Mary, it has that creation/feminine energy that is so empowering - and healing. I sat there pouring out my soul, and pondering my next steps. After a time of silence and writing, I headed down the hill, and right into a snowstorm. But it wasn't ordinary snowflakes, nor ordinary hail stones, but these solid-but-puffy snow/hail pellets (dare I call them snails?) that looked for all the world like small marshmallows. I started laughing as this trail of marshmallow-like pellets rained down from heaven.
There will be a path - a trail. And I will see it. And it won't always be bitter - it may even be sweet.
Change is hard. Hearts break. Hearts heal. God is faithful. God is good.
Truth - time - and grace.
Healing,
Kim
Friday, April 26, 2013
Crack!
Despite the pain, I can so easily see God's gentle presence in every step this week - through the readings in the devotional that guides me through "pecking season," through the unexpected kindness of strangers and friends, through the actions and choices of others that serve as inspiration and encouragement, and through that abiding presence that can be felt and heard even through the roar of the waterfall.
The words in the devotional for today: "An old Jewish proverb teaches, 'When you have no choice, don't be afraid.' A modern saying argues, 'There's no way out but through.' The straight and simple truth is that there are some things in life that must be done, even when we don't want to do them, even when we believe we can't do them." (Joan Chittister).
Wise guidance from counselors and friends and strangers and devotional books and hours of prayer and reflections and a waterfall of tears all became peck peck peck peck peck peck peck peck peck (until)
Crack!
And light comes in. And air comes in. And I rest in God's arms. (to resume pecking after some rest)
I hear Leonard Cohen's voice singing - "There is a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in." Light is good.
And it is dawn, Easter morning.
Life is hard. Life is good. God is good. Amen.
The words in the devotional for today: "An old Jewish proverb teaches, 'When you have no choice, don't be afraid.' A modern saying argues, 'There's no way out but through.' The straight and simple truth is that there are some things in life that must be done, even when we don't want to do them, even when we believe we can't do them." (Joan Chittister).
Wise guidance from counselors and friends and strangers and devotional books and hours of prayer and reflections and a waterfall of tears all became peck peck peck peck peck peck peck peck peck (until)
Crack!
And light comes in. And air comes in. And I rest in God's arms. (to resume pecking after some rest)
I hear Leonard Cohen's voice singing - "There is a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in." Light is good.
And it is dawn, Easter morning.
Life is hard. Life is good. God is good. Amen.
Thursday, April 25, 2013
Pecking Season
I like to mark the changing seasons with meaningful symbols. Some symbols have obvious religious connotations, like the wreath and candles that come out in time for that First Sunday of Advent. Some connect more with nature's rhythms, like my beloved cloth stuffed pumpkins that I place on my Grandmother's buffet in autumn. For Easter I bring out five beautiful hand painted wooden eggs that are a joy to behold. I place them in a nest of Easter grass in the center of my prayer table, and smile every time I see their beauty.
Eggs are an enduring symbol of Easter - new life - new possibilities. But this morning I realized that, for me, the intact egg is a symbol only of possibility - it doesn't become a symbol of new life or emergent life until the chick pecks its way out of the egg.
I remember being told long ago that if you try to free the chick from the egg, you can do more harm than good (so said a grade school teacher). It is the act of fighting to be free from the confines of the egg that gives the chick the strength for life. It must peck and push free of the egg to be free indeed. Ditto for butterflies, that other abiding symbol of Easter. When the time is right, the egg or chrysalis that isn't broken open from within soon becomes an unopened tomb.
Sometimes, when stuck, God answers the prayer "help!" by removing the obstacle. Other times, we need to peck, push, and fight our way free, with God answering our prayer through unexpected grace and strength to aid us as we break the shell from the inside out.
I awoke before dawn feeling the shell pressing against me, and an unexpected flush of grace and strength.
Let the pecking begin!
Moving into Easter,
Kim
Eggs are an enduring symbol of Easter - new life - new possibilities. But this morning I realized that, for me, the intact egg is a symbol only of possibility - it doesn't become a symbol of new life or emergent life until the chick pecks its way out of the egg.
I remember being told long ago that if you try to free the chick from the egg, you can do more harm than good (so said a grade school teacher). It is the act of fighting to be free from the confines of the egg that gives the chick the strength for life. It must peck and push free of the egg to be free indeed. Ditto for butterflies, that other abiding symbol of Easter. When the time is right, the egg or chrysalis that isn't broken open from within soon becomes an unopened tomb.
Sometimes, when stuck, God answers the prayer "help!" by removing the obstacle. Other times, we need to peck, push, and fight our way free, with God answering our prayer through unexpected grace and strength to aid us as we break the shell from the inside out.
I awoke before dawn feeling the shell pressing against me, and an unexpected flush of grace and strength.
Let the pecking begin!
Moving into Easter,
Kim
Monday, April 15, 2013
Walking on...
Last night I settled down in the wasteland just as I have done for too many nights to count. Once I found a comfortable spot, I looked up at the sky, and savored the few stars I could see through the hazy night sky. Each one brought me comfort - how I love the night sky! I could even imagine the vast display of stars that were there hidden from my view.
Before night settled in I looked over at the pile of stuff I've recently accumulated. Since I was no longer traveling out of the wasteland, I didn't have to limit my possessions to what I could carry. In fact, there was almost enough stuff that I could build myself a shelter here - a home.
I gazed long and hard in all directions - I have been here long enough that the scenery is familiar, and oddly comforting. All that time and effort - all those years wandering through the wasteland heading for that promised land seemed now to be a fool's errand. Perhaps it would have been better just to accept this as home and not try to find my way through.
Content enough with life as it is, I settled down to sleep. But my sleep was fitful and dream-filled, and I awoke with a soreness in my hip and lower back that felt like I'd been sleeping on a rock. I reached down to rub my hip and felt something deep in my pocket - it was my compass! I thought I had lost it a while ago, which made leaving the wasteland seem impossible! But there is was, and in perfect working order.
I sat there for a long time...looking at the compass...drinking in the vastness of the wasteland...studying my pile of stuff accumulated during this stop on the journey...wondering what kind of fool would leave the safety of the familiar to head into the unknown toward a destination that she has never seen with her own eyes and can only accept by faith...
...what kind of fool?
This kind of fool!
With effort I got to my feet, used the compass to point them in the right direction, and started walking again. The stuff? It would only weigh me down. It is time to travel light.
Walking on,
Kim
Before night settled in I looked over at the pile of stuff I've recently accumulated. Since I was no longer traveling out of the wasteland, I didn't have to limit my possessions to what I could carry. In fact, there was almost enough stuff that I could build myself a shelter here - a home.
I gazed long and hard in all directions - I have been here long enough that the scenery is familiar, and oddly comforting. All that time and effort - all those years wandering through the wasteland heading for that promised land seemed now to be a fool's errand. Perhaps it would have been better just to accept this as home and not try to find my way through.
Content enough with life as it is, I settled down to sleep. But my sleep was fitful and dream-filled, and I awoke with a soreness in my hip and lower back that felt like I'd been sleeping on a rock. I reached down to rub my hip and felt something deep in my pocket - it was my compass! I thought I had lost it a while ago, which made leaving the wasteland seem impossible! But there is was, and in perfect working order.
I sat there for a long time...looking at the compass...drinking in the vastness of the wasteland...studying my pile of stuff accumulated during this stop on the journey...wondering what kind of fool would leave the safety of the familiar to head into the unknown toward a destination that she has never seen with her own eyes and can only accept by faith...
...what kind of fool?
This kind of fool!
With effort I got to my feet, used the compass to point them in the right direction, and started walking again. The stuff? It would only weigh me down. It is time to travel light.
Walking on,
Kim
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Tufts of Grass
A wise person recently reminded me that most of Biblical Palestine was desert. Not vast expanses of verdant pastures bordering deep still waters, but arid wastelands. Sheep and goats would find tufts of grass to nibble, and then be led by shepherds through vast expanses of nothingness in order to find a few more tufts of grass. His message was clear - notice and value the tufts of grass when they appear, and nourish yourself when you can. It may be a bit of a walk until the next meal.
I prefer my more romantic rendering of the land of Psalm 23, but confess that this part of my journey more accurately reflects the less welcome wasteland image. Perhaps making a mental shift will take some of the sting out of the journey (it is a wasteland with occasional tufts of grass vs. why can't I find the miles of promised green pastures). Acceptance by any other name?
No! I want more than acceptance. I want to learn to love the wasteland and savor its vistas. I want to celebrate the dryness and delight in the presence of that unexpected splotch of grass in the middle of nowhere. Can I let go of the cinematic picture that plays in my brain causing me to long for something that does not exist, and instead call this sojourn into my Mojave home?
I don't know if I can, but of this much I am sure: when you find that tuft of grass, its sweetness far surpasses any illusion that the Department of Would, Could and Should might provide. It is even better than anything propaganda flick offered by the Office of What If.
Thank you, Confirmands, for soul sustenance. The retreat was an oasis. Completely unexpected. Totally delightful. Bread of heaven - with fizz.
Deep gratitude,
Kim
I prefer my more romantic rendering of the land of Psalm 23, but confess that this part of my journey more accurately reflects the less welcome wasteland image. Perhaps making a mental shift will take some of the sting out of the journey (it is a wasteland with occasional tufts of grass vs. why can't I find the miles of promised green pastures). Acceptance by any other name?
No! I want more than acceptance. I want to learn to love the wasteland and savor its vistas. I want to celebrate the dryness and delight in the presence of that unexpected splotch of grass in the middle of nowhere. Can I let go of the cinematic picture that plays in my brain causing me to long for something that does not exist, and instead call this sojourn into my Mojave home?
I don't know if I can, but of this much I am sure: when you find that tuft of grass, its sweetness far surpasses any illusion that the Department of Would, Could and Should might provide. It is even better than anything propaganda flick offered by the Office of What If.
Thank you, Confirmands, for soul sustenance. The retreat was an oasis. Completely unexpected. Totally delightful. Bread of heaven - with fizz.
Deep gratitude,
Kim
Saturday, April 6, 2013
The Lessons of a Mobius Blanket
Easter Sunday came and went with its signature beauty, wonder, and exhaustion. My grandmother used to make sure that there was a nice Easter dinner prepared for the family, and this is a custom that, every year, I tell myself I'm going to observe. I also tell my son this every year (he is 31), and he reminds me that in his lifetime we have never had Easter dinner, and that I will not make it again this year. His prediction, based on his lifetime of watching his minister mom, was as follows: I will come home from church mid afternoon on Easter Sunday, get into the recliner, and slip into a Holy Week/Easter worship-induced coma. In this altered state of consciousness I will dream in large psychedelic Easter symbols and keep waking up thinking that I have to go and lead a service someplace. I will mumble incoherently about flowering crosses, babies and bunnies and may even say something both odd and memorable (due to its oddness). I will have no interest in Easter dinner. By Monday, most of the stress hormones will have burned off and I'll be feeling more "normal." On Tuesday I'll be ready to cook Easter dinner, but won't cook it because it is Tuesday, not Easter.
He was mostly right. The part that neither he nor I expected is that Easter came and went, but my heart stayed in Lent.
Sometimes the heart doesn't read the calendar.
Lent brought with it some unexpected personal grief work and an equally unexpected personal reality check that was neither welcome nor pleasant. Enlightening? Absolutely! Growth-promoting? Without a doubt! Welcome? Hardly.
I talk often (some might say ad nauseum) about the importance of growing edges, but here is their problem: They hurt. Pain-free growth is a myth. The liberation that comes from awareness has a cost, and even when we are willing to ante up, we often forget that sometimes the cost is dear.
For a brief second I almost lost patience with my heart for putting temporary roots down in Lent when the rest of me wanted to drag it kicking and screaming into the joy of Easter (you will be joyful)! But instead, I opted to show the same compassion to my heart that it would show to any grieving person I know. I gave it love and warmth and space - and some structure (routine is good). And I took it back to the most healing place I know - a loom.
I have a really cool project on my large Macomber - a double-sided blanket woven in the style of the old Grandholm Mills of Aberdeen Scotland. My mother-in-law gave us two of these blankets when we were married, and I always marveled at the differing color patterns on either side - one blanket where each side looks completely different, yet is the same blanket. It has become my "both/and" blanket (for banishing either/or weaving)! It took a bit of time to figure out how to weave it, but I was pleased to see that I can still find my way around a loom!
The weaving goes very slowly because it involves three shuttles, and I can only see the color combinations of the side facing me (consequently mistakes on the back side are not seen until it is too late to correct them). Much of this blanket is woven by faith and trust. Every once in a while I pass a mirror under the cloth to make sure something ghastly isn't happening on the side that I cannot see. So far, so good.
The experience of weaving this both/and blanket is a bit like moving through this time of grief and loss - letting go, acceptance, faith, trust, and learning to see and appreciate the beauty that unfolds at its own pace, in its own way.
It is a gift to allow life to unfold this way, growing edges and all. No judgment. Heaps of compassion. And a favorite loom holding a mobius blanket.
Leaning into Easter while standing solidly in Lent,
Kim
He was mostly right. The part that neither he nor I expected is that Easter came and went, but my heart stayed in Lent.
Sometimes the heart doesn't read the calendar.
Lent brought with it some unexpected personal grief work and an equally unexpected personal reality check that was neither welcome nor pleasant. Enlightening? Absolutely! Growth-promoting? Without a doubt! Welcome? Hardly.
I talk often (some might say ad nauseum) about the importance of growing edges, but here is their problem: They hurt. Pain-free growth is a myth. The liberation that comes from awareness has a cost, and even when we are willing to ante up, we often forget that sometimes the cost is dear.
For a brief second I almost lost patience with my heart for putting temporary roots down in Lent when the rest of me wanted to drag it kicking and screaming into the joy of Easter (you will be joyful)! But instead, I opted to show the same compassion to my heart that it would show to any grieving person I know. I gave it love and warmth and space - and some structure (routine is good). And I took it back to the most healing place I know - a loom.
I have a really cool project on my large Macomber - a double-sided blanket woven in the style of the old Grandholm Mills of Aberdeen Scotland. My mother-in-law gave us two of these blankets when we were married, and I always marveled at the differing color patterns on either side - one blanket where each side looks completely different, yet is the same blanket. It has become my "both/and" blanket (for banishing either/or weaving)! It took a bit of time to figure out how to weave it, but I was pleased to see that I can still find my way around a loom!
The weaving goes very slowly because it involves three shuttles, and I can only see the color combinations of the side facing me (consequently mistakes on the back side are not seen until it is too late to correct them). Much of this blanket is woven by faith and trust. Every once in a while I pass a mirror under the cloth to make sure something ghastly isn't happening on the side that I cannot see. So far, so good.
The experience of weaving this both/and blanket is a bit like moving through this time of grief and loss - letting go, acceptance, faith, trust, and learning to see and appreciate the beauty that unfolds at its own pace, in its own way.
It is a gift to allow life to unfold this way, growing edges and all. No judgment. Heaps of compassion. And a favorite loom holding a mobius blanket.
Leaning into Easter while standing solidly in Lent,
Kim
Saturday, March 30, 2013
But wait - wasn't it chocolate cake?
I have always loved Holy Saturday. Whereas Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter (The Great Vigil of Easter through the Sunrise Service to the Festival Celebration of the Resurrection) are stuffed full of liturgical possibilities, Holy Saturday is -
Empty. Vacant. Still. How does one sacralize thin space - liminal space? Chrysalis time. Womb time - where everything is happening behind the scenes that makes the impending celebration possible. Sabbath rest time. Richard Rohr calls it "the crucial in-between time - when everything actually happens and yet nothing appears to be happening. It is the waiting period when the cake bakes, the movement is made, the transformation takes place" (Wondrous Encounters: Scripture for Lent, p 141). Perhaps it is because there are no set expectations of how this time is meant to be observed that allows for the presence of that intoxicating scent of freedom and possibility.
I pruned rose bushes for Holy Saturday. I simply could not stay indoors on such a glorious day. In the backyard I was serenaded by the birds, and joined God in creating the space for beauty in the near future. Every once in a while the traffic noise from Meridian Road was still, and I could hear the chickens from the farm across the road. Our development doesn't allow chickens, but they encourage spraying the lawns with chemicals to kill the bugs that chickens would naturally eat. Silly rules.
I made a pot of spring vegetable soup. I listened to the birds. I put aloe on the cuts from the thorns. I felt the warmth of the sun seeping deeper into my body, until my joints all seemed to take a deep breath and relax. Nice.
In many ways all of Lent has been thin space for me, so much so that words were not possible. But I notice that the words are back again, so perhaps the cake is almost done. I confess that what is emerging in my soul is unexpected (I thought for sure I put a chocolate cake in the oven, but that's not what I smell)...
...but the fragrance is delightful - mysterious - welcome. I celebrate this unexpected emerging gift.
What new life/new possibilities/new beginning is emerging for you at the end of this sacred journey?
Easter blessings,
Kim
Empty. Vacant. Still. How does one sacralize thin space - liminal space? Chrysalis time. Womb time - where everything is happening behind the scenes that makes the impending celebration possible. Sabbath rest time. Richard Rohr calls it "the crucial in-between time - when everything actually happens and yet nothing appears to be happening. It is the waiting period when the cake bakes, the movement is made, the transformation takes place" (Wondrous Encounters: Scripture for Lent, p 141). Perhaps it is because there are no set expectations of how this time is meant to be observed that allows for the presence of that intoxicating scent of freedom and possibility.
I pruned rose bushes for Holy Saturday. I simply could not stay indoors on such a glorious day. In the backyard I was serenaded by the birds, and joined God in creating the space for beauty in the near future. Every once in a while the traffic noise from Meridian Road was still, and I could hear the chickens from the farm across the road. Our development doesn't allow chickens, but they encourage spraying the lawns with chemicals to kill the bugs that chickens would naturally eat. Silly rules.
I made a pot of spring vegetable soup. I listened to the birds. I put aloe on the cuts from the thorns. I felt the warmth of the sun seeping deeper into my body, until my joints all seemed to take a deep breath and relax. Nice.
In many ways all of Lent has been thin space for me, so much so that words were not possible. But I notice that the words are back again, so perhaps the cake is almost done. I confess that what is emerging in my soul is unexpected (I thought for sure I put a chocolate cake in the oven, but that's not what I smell)...
...but the fragrance is delightful - mysterious - welcome. I celebrate this unexpected emerging gift.
What new life/new possibilities/new beginning is emerging for you at the end of this sacred journey?
Easter blessings,
Kim
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
Bread of Heaven
Yesterday was bread baking day at the Monastery, which means that every inch of the building - chapel included - was filled with the fragrance of freshly baked bread. Since bread is one of my favorite foods (ever), I find the aroma to be almost intoxicating. Sadly, it is not something I can enjoy right now, so the longing went unfulfilled. Freshly baked bread is not something I can eat; it no longer sustains me. But I still love it, and miss it! Rice bread, or sprouted organic "who knows what" bread just doesn't taste the same as a lovely loaf of oatmeal bread.
When David was growing up I made oatmeal bread with some regularity. One day (when we lived in Taborton), I took two loaves out of the oven and put them on the counter to cool - a stick of margarine next to them that had been used to "butter" the tops of the hot loaves. I went into the other room to read, and a little while later had a sense that I needed to go back into the kitchen. When I turned the corner I found our labrador puppy Cali sitting on the counter starting on her second loaf of bread - her face and paws smeared with what was left of the margarine. I fully understood where she was coming from!
With this longing unfulfilled, I was tempted to go down the "woe is me" path (or "woe unto me" if I wanted to be Biblical), but my better angels encouraged me to instead think about what does and can sustain me.
What is bread for me now - today - at this place in my life? What sustains me, nourishes me, and helps me to be healthy and well? What gives me life? Quickly these questions took me from the realm of whole wheat or rye to the very core of what keeps my soul alive.
I return to Boise tomorrow having spent valuable time here being challenged and nourished - sitting with questions that brought forth important answers. I was embraced by the love and respect of this special community, and go back to my daily life with their prayers and blessings. My experience here is bread for me now; the challenge is to find an equally nourishing source of bread back in Boise.
What is bread for you? Where do you find your sustenance? What gives you life?
Bread for the journey,
Kim
When David was growing up I made oatmeal bread with some regularity. One day (when we lived in Taborton), I took two loaves out of the oven and put them on the counter to cool - a stick of margarine next to them that had been used to "butter" the tops of the hot loaves. I went into the other room to read, and a little while later had a sense that I needed to go back into the kitchen. When I turned the corner I found our labrador puppy Cali sitting on the counter starting on her second loaf of bread - her face and paws smeared with what was left of the margarine. I fully understood where she was coming from!
With this longing unfulfilled, I was tempted to go down the "woe is me" path (or "woe unto me" if I wanted to be Biblical), but my better angels encouraged me to instead think about what does and can sustain me.
What is bread for me now - today - at this place in my life? What sustains me, nourishes me, and helps me to be healthy and well? What gives me life? Quickly these questions took me from the realm of whole wheat or rye to the very core of what keeps my soul alive.
I return to Boise tomorrow having spent valuable time here being challenged and nourished - sitting with questions that brought forth important answers. I was embraced by the love and respect of this special community, and go back to my daily life with their prayers and blessings. My experience here is bread for me now; the challenge is to find an equally nourishing source of bread back in Boise.
What is bread for you? Where do you find your sustenance? What gives you life?
Bread for the journey,
Kim
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
Robin repast, and lambs and their choices...
This is the first year I've noticed the flocking habits of robins. They first caught my attention a few weeks ago when the sky darkened outside my office window as no fewer than a hundred robins landed for a feeding frenzy on the crab apple trees adorning the church property (the first time, I might add, that I saw a useful purpose for those @&%! trees)! Although robins have a reputation for being territorial, I watched with utter amazement as they worked together to created Robin Thanksgiving -some bounced on branches and pecked at fruit until it fell onto the ground (which I might add, is the major drawback of these trees) while other birds savored the repast falling from the sky. They stayed about forty-five minutes, flew up into the trees, serenaded us with their lyrical signature tune, and then were gone. It was quite the sight! A smaller group (maybe 25) were feeding outside my window this morning. There was just enough sun hitting the window to keep me obscured from their vision by the glare. They fed within inches of the window, until a cloud passed by and revealed my location - and away they flew! It was nice to share breakfast with them - although I prefer my oat bran to their invertebrate food of choice! A flock of robins pulling spring and new life into the world by their sheer numbers - amazing!
That I noticed the robins this year is a sign that my primary New Year's intention (read: resolution) is continuing to unfold: I set the intention to consciously be more aware - awake - notice - God's presence in the world around me. Since I equate God with that which brings life (and is life), the robins - a traditional harbinger of spring and new life - connect me deeply with God.
It was a quiet day today - ample time for reading and reflection, worship, birdsong, proofing bulletins for worship this Sunday (the wonders of technology) and a long, reflective chat with my spiritual director. It was also the day I asked to borrow "The Book."
"The Book" first caught my attention my first year here at Cottonwood. I had come up for retreat, filled with the usual questions about leadership that pastors like me carry around in their heart, and in the course of a completely unrelated conversation, heard a quote from a book by Ruth Fox, OSB entitled Wisdom Leadership. I was captivated by the quote, and looked for the book in the library (no copy), checked Amazon (never heard of it), did a google search (nada), and finally went to my director and asked if she knew where I could find this book. She loaned me her copy, and I went back to my room and read it in one sitting - thrilled to find a book that talked about leadership in a way that made sense to my heart as well as my head. I knew that this book, and the ideas within it, would guide me into becoming a more effective leader while keeping me true to my values and beliefs. What a gift - and challenge!
Almost every visit back to the Monastery I have asked to borrow "The Book," and dipped into its wisdom on another aspect of leadership (this pastor has no end to her questions about what it means to express healthy leadership in a Christian community). The book always challenges me, and never disappoints me. I once even contacted the author to see if she could locate an extra copy of her book for me - it is the kind of book that belongs on my nightstand! Alas, she knew of no extra copies (it was self-published by the Sacred Heart Monastery in Richardton, North Dakota), and all the copies she had were gone. I accepted that I would only have access to "The Book" while on retreat, and called reading and discussing this book the "leadership seminar" that was part of my retreat time.
As I sat with "The Book" today, I felt compelled to try Amazon one more time - to see if they had a copy. And they did! A library had parted with their copy (fools!) and it was on Amazon for less than lunch at Shangri La. Soon it will be on my nightstand, and can inspire and challenge me daily.
One of today's most precious blessings (even more than Amazon and "The Book") was my time meditating in front of the reredos in the chapel. This amazing reredos is designed to allow the artwork to be changed - I love it when the Hubble/Holy Spirit image is up there - the universality of Spirit is breathtaking. But instead of my favorite image, now there is a painting of Jesus finding and helping a lost lamb. Not my preferred kind of artwork - the standard, barefoot European Jesus romantically helping the lost lamb - ho hum. But today I spent some time with it and noticed...attended...contemplated...and saw that the lamb was scratched and bleeding, and caught in a thorn bush...saw that Jesus was pulling back the branches of thorn bush so the lamb could step back and be free. Will the lamb step out of the thorns into freedom? That, my friends, is the $ 64,000 question posed to all people (and lambs).
The God who pulls back the wounding obstacles and gives us the choice to step away and be free - what a beautiful image of God! How much God must love and respect us to give us that choice - I note with interest that the artist doesn't have Jesus lifting the lamb out of the bush or pulling the lamb into freedom. Instead, Jesus, with bare hands, grasps the thorny branches and holds them back. The rest is up to the lamb. And us.
With love and blessings,
Kim
That I noticed the robins this year is a sign that my primary New Year's intention (read: resolution) is continuing to unfold: I set the intention to consciously be more aware - awake - notice - God's presence in the world around me. Since I equate God with that which brings life (and is life), the robins - a traditional harbinger of spring and new life - connect me deeply with God.
It was a quiet day today - ample time for reading and reflection, worship, birdsong, proofing bulletins for worship this Sunday (the wonders of technology) and a long, reflective chat with my spiritual director. It was also the day I asked to borrow "The Book."
"The Book" first caught my attention my first year here at Cottonwood. I had come up for retreat, filled with the usual questions about leadership that pastors like me carry around in their heart, and in the course of a completely unrelated conversation, heard a quote from a book by Ruth Fox, OSB entitled Wisdom Leadership. I was captivated by the quote, and looked for the book in the library (no copy), checked Amazon (never heard of it), did a google search (nada), and finally went to my director and asked if she knew where I could find this book. She loaned me her copy, and I went back to my room and read it in one sitting - thrilled to find a book that talked about leadership in a way that made sense to my heart as well as my head. I knew that this book, and the ideas within it, would guide me into becoming a more effective leader while keeping me true to my values and beliefs. What a gift - and challenge!
Almost every visit back to the Monastery I have asked to borrow "The Book," and dipped into its wisdom on another aspect of leadership (this pastor has no end to her questions about what it means to express healthy leadership in a Christian community). The book always challenges me, and never disappoints me. I once even contacted the author to see if she could locate an extra copy of her book for me - it is the kind of book that belongs on my nightstand! Alas, she knew of no extra copies (it was self-published by the Sacred Heart Monastery in Richardton, North Dakota), and all the copies she had were gone. I accepted that I would only have access to "The Book" while on retreat, and called reading and discussing this book the "leadership seminar" that was part of my retreat time.
As I sat with "The Book" today, I felt compelled to try Amazon one more time - to see if they had a copy. And they did! A library had parted with their copy (fools!) and it was on Amazon for less than lunch at Shangri La. Soon it will be on my nightstand, and can inspire and challenge me daily.
One of today's most precious blessings (even more than Amazon and "The Book") was my time meditating in front of the reredos in the chapel. This amazing reredos is designed to allow the artwork to be changed - I love it when the Hubble/Holy Spirit image is up there - the universality of Spirit is breathtaking. But instead of my favorite image, now there is a painting of Jesus finding and helping a lost lamb. Not my preferred kind of artwork - the standard, barefoot European Jesus romantically helping the lost lamb - ho hum. But today I spent some time with it and noticed...attended...contemplated...and saw that the lamb was scratched and bleeding, and caught in a thorn bush...saw that Jesus was pulling back the branches of thorn bush so the lamb could step back and be free. Will the lamb step out of the thorns into freedom? That, my friends, is the $ 64,000 question posed to all people (and lambs).
The God who pulls back the wounding obstacles and gives us the choice to step away and be free - what a beautiful image of God! How much God must love and respect us to give us that choice - I note with interest that the artist doesn't have Jesus lifting the lamb out of the bush or pulling the lamb into freedom. Instead, Jesus, with bare hands, grasps the thorny branches and holds them back. The rest is up to the lamb. And us.
With love and blessings,
Kim
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