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
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