Synchrodipity, Part 2

Advent is my favorite spiritual season.  The long nights and short days mean morning and evening prayer is done by candlelight - Advent wreath candlelight.  I began praying before an Advent wreath forty years ago, and look forward to it every year.  I am never disappointed. Each time I light the candle and hear the ancient Celtic words "As I light this flame I lay myself before Thee," I settle into a reality that is beyond time - sacred, mysterious, kairotic time.  A reality that is saturated with grace and takes the experiences of synchronicity and serendipity and weaves them into what I call synchrodipity - the unexplainable, implausible experience of finding exactly what you didn't know you were looking for, when you least expected it.  Like if you suddenly come upon the dazzling and exquisite pearl of great price, when you were actually just looking for a parking space.  Unexpected.  Unexplainable.  Unbelievable, and powerful enough to reorient those who encounter it - and are open to it.  Grace can be like that.

I have been living on grace these past few months, but especially since the middle of November.  God bless the French (and the Eastern Orthodox), who liken the season of Advent to the forty day season of Lent, and thus begin it in mid-November (as opposed to those who worship at the altar of consumerism, and begin observing the Christmas season before Halloween).  I have a devotional written by a French monk that starts the Advent journey on the fifteenth of November.  How pleased I was to start my Advent reading on that day (even though my Advent wreath was not lit until the eve of the First Sunday of Advent - some habits are hard to break).  The discipline of  sitting morning and evening in Advent meditation has sustained me and opened me to grace in ways I never felt possible...

...grace like honey dripping from the honeycomb that satisfies and soothes - grace that gently melts away all the defenses that keep the emerging shoot of truth and reality buried and near dormant.  Grace that heals and gives life.  And that feels good.

And it feels good to feel good.  This has been a hard year - a pain-filled year.  A year of change and loss, trauma and rebirth.  As I move through my congregation, I experience, in a limited way, the pain, change, trauma and loss so many people are experiencing right now.  I see individuals shoulder realities that could crush a person without a second thought.

I watch the evening news and see the wars and rumors of wars throughout the world, not to mention the intense pain and trauma in our own country, as people take to the street and express rage over injustice and call our nation to behave as though "Black lives matter."  The raw pain - this open wound so bound up in the history of our nation - where is the healing balm that can cause this open wound to truly heal?

As I ask these questions, my mind and heart turn back again to grace - that gift that comes from the very heart of God.  That healing balm that has the ability to first abrade the wound so it can heal - cleaning away all the artifice and death and defenses (such as denial, displacement and rationalization) so that the emerging shoot of truth and reality can receive light and air - and live.  And thrive.  It is grace that heals and grace that sustains.  But here is the kicker:  we cannot create grace or merit it - we can only open our hearts to it and channel that gift into our world.

So the question is this:  How can we become more open and receptive to grace, so it can transform us and spill out from us into our world?

Tonight I will sit in the dark and light the first and second Advent candles - "As I light this flame, I lay myself before Thee."  I will do a little reading, and then I will sit.  I will look back over my day, and try to identify moments of grace.  And as I remember one, another will come to mind - until I am amazed by God's generosity.  I will say prayers of intercession. And then, in the stillness of the Holy Darkness, I will open my hands and say "yes" to God and "yes" to grace - and trust Spirit to do the rest. The only things I can control are whether or not I show up, and the intention I bring to the experience.  That is my part of our relatioship - to be present, receptive, and real.  God takes things from there.

I have learned to do this in this way because this is who I am - this is me - and this is me in relationship with God.  It has taken me decades to accept who I am, and to let grace heal me from the need to be who others thought I should be.  What a gift it was to finally know, deep in my soul, that God longed for me to be myself - and accept myself - and say yes to God's gift of grace (and all it  brings).

So that is me - now how about you?  How do you experience grace in your life?  What does being present, receptive and real look like for you as you experience your relationship with God?  And how does this help you to be part of the transformational work of God's realm?

With love and Advent blessings,
Kim

Ending Arboreal Extrications - or - Synchrodipity, Part 1

Late one evening a few weeks ago,  I shifted some books to get to the volume they were hiding - Melody Beattie's "More Language of Letting Go."  This is one of my favorite devotionals, and I like to read the daily entry before I go to sleep.  On this particular night, I read about an experience Melody had when learning to skydive.  The landing area they were using had only one tree, and so given the size of the area, it should be easy to miss the tree.  But Melody noticed during this skydive that as she got closer and closer to the landing area, she could not take her eyes off the tree...until lo it came to pass that she went straight into the tree! A more experienced jumper explained to her that "you'll always go to where you look.  Look at something long enough to be aware of the potential for trouble, but don't fixate on the object.  If you don't want to land on top of something, quit staring at it so hard."

Click.  I could feel the gears of awareness meshing in my soul -  "you'll always go where you look...if you don't want to land on top of something, quit staring at it so hard."

How easy it is to focus on problems and challenges with an intensity that causes us to land on top of them.  Perhaps a better strategy is to look long enough to be aware of the potential trouble, and then to shift focus to where we want to land.  It sure sounds worth a try - I, for one, am tired of the all the cuts and bruises gained by my arboreal extrications.

I felt a deep sense of peace as this new/old teaching seeped into my bones.  Old dog, new tricks...nice.  Then I noticed that one of the books I moved to get to Melody's devotional was Peck's "The Road Less Traveled."  I felt drawn to take it off the book shelf several months ago, (which was odd, given the fact that the last time I read it was back in the '80s).  I now had a sense that it was time to read it again, so over the next week I made it through Part One (it was ok), and Part Two (better, but still a mystery as to why I was reading it now).  I finished Part Three wondering if I had totally misheard the invitation to read this book, but then I got to Part Four, and knew exactly where I was called to fix my gaze...(to be continued...)...

Where is the focus of your attention?  Do you keep hitting the tree (again and again), or are you landing safely in the place you heart is leading you to?  Notice where you fix your gaze - and adjust accordingly.

Practicing safe landings,
Kim

Life-Savers that Kept Me from Drowning

The aftermath of this morning's thunder storm brought sheer bliss to the birds living around Boise First.  With puddles of water pooling near the curbs, Woodlawn Avenue had its own spurdie waterpark!  I sat for many minutes enjoying the scene - birds of all different "denominations" playfully popping in and out of the puddles.  No time to fight for territory when blessed with a late summer shower!  Appreciation for blessings seems to make it easier to get along, whether your two legs come with feathers and wings, or skin, clothes, and walking shoes!

It feels good to be back to work.  I am still in the "easing in" stage - meaning my best intentions still sometimes get short-circuited by energy fade.  The technology I regularly bash enables me to work flexibly, and prayer works wherever I am.  I have enjoyed reconnecting pastorally - that is what drew me into ministry,  and is a significant part of who I am.  Connecting one person - one family at a time...that feels good.

And it is good to feel good.  Pain levels are now discomfort levels, and aside from the cough that will be my companion for awhile longer, life is slowly settling into a new normal that is acceptable (as opposed to terrifying).  Exploring this new normal is a daily event - one step at a time.  It also gives me a safe place from which to reflect on my recent experience...

...and it was a really awful experience.  But that was not the total reality - there were also incredible moments of grace and life - times where I felt God's presence so vividly that I could feel myself being held - being supported - by God.  I have enough distance now that I can start asking some important questions:  What made a difference?  What helped?  In the midst of crisis/trauma, what made the situation bearable, and opened up space for grace, healing and transformation?

Upon reflection, these components made a great difference for me:

1.  My prayer/meditation practice:  Taking time in the morning and evening to sit and meditate/pray - to be still and open to God's presence - has sometimes felt very inconvenient, especially during busy times when I had important things that needed to get done (with no disrespect to God).  But doing this again and again, day after day and year after year, left me familiar with the journey into the heart of God, and sensitive to signs of God's presence.   The middle of a crisis is not the time to try to learn these things - it is better to have them in place before life explodes.  In the midst of this turmoil, I would find myself deep in prayer without consciously choosing to pray.  I would experience myself in that peaceful place that occasionally is found during meditation, having somehow followed the spiritual breadcrumbs that led me there.  And I could quickly see signs of God's movement and presence - all of which gave me great comfort and hope.  The experience was more than and better than just routine and "muscle memory" - it was as if a part of my being, totally untouched by pain, morphine, or fear, just knew where to go, what to do, and how to keep me in the boat.  I would hear my soul silently singing a prayer song from January Intensive at SFTS:  "Peace, be still...peace, be still.  The storm rages - peace, be still."  In those frightful times, hearing that inner song would remind/invite me to go down into the boat and hunker down next to the sleeping Jesus - and rest.

Not only does a prayer/meditation practice deepen one's experience of God on a day to day basis, it is a life saver when the storms come.  I found myself thankful for every previous moment I had sat in prayerful meditation - every second spent watching and noticing God's movement in the world.  It all helped keep my head above water.

Another benefit a meditation/prayer practice provides is it teaches us to sit with uncomfortable emotions without racing off to fix/cover/deny them.  So much pain is created by covering or fleeing from unpleasant emotions!  By learning to sit with them, one discovers that the emotions, in time, will pass, and can offer us the opportunity for insight.  Physical illness brings a host of emotions, and often keeps you from using the strategies that normally manage/cover those emotions (try as you might, you just can't do what you did before).  As feelings would arise, I would treat them like clouds in the sky (or leaves floating on the river), and watch them float by, knowing that they would pass, and listen to see if they invited a new insight (at least I tried to do this some of the time, and when I did, it was very helpful).

2.  "God With Skin On:"  The presence of calm, loving, supportive people also helped to save my life   during the crisis.  People who felt secure enough to just let things be as messy as they were (especially the emotions) without trying to fix, explain or "pretty things up" were truly "God With Skin On (to use Anne Robertson's phrase).   These people also knew when to let the mess be, and when to offer help in bringing order to chaos.  Whether it was simply by gently sitting with me, fixing a meal, taking out the trash, or reassuring me that this may be my experience today, but my experience next week (or month) might be very different - in all these ways and more, God upheld me through the presence of others.

3.  Time:  I thought of using the word "patience," but when I was in the midst of the experience, that word was extremely unattractive to me.  But the word time made sense - healing would take time - feeling "normal" again would take time - having a sense of meaning and purpose again would take time - knowing what was going to happen next would take time.  This notion of time became a reality that was like being in a boat on the river, with  the currents and experience of the river varying with circumstances, and almost completely outside of my control.  This new experience of time meant that I would never look at life and plans and schedules and expectations as I had in the past .  Things were happening "in their own time" - in "God's time - and I would hear the prayer song from chapel:  "Your way, your time, your will,  not mine, Sweet Light, not mine."  I acutely experienced the fluidity of time - and how, for the most part, we really do not manage it - despite what we might tell ourselves.

I am just now going back to my formal prayer/meditation practice.  It required significant modification during my initial recovery (which wasn't a bad thing).  Now I feel ready to resume my intentional participation in this important rhythm of my life - morning and evenings - "bookending" my day.  Time to float in the river - sometimes in the boat, and sometimes (now that I feel stronger) I can let myself out of the boat so I can float in the water.  In my encounters with others, I actively look for the opportunity to bring the kind of presence  that was so helpful to me - opening up space for Spirit to work to help me be "God with skin on." And as for time - well, it flashes past like a shooting star, and slowly rolls along like a river of syrup.  I love its many manifestations, and have lost the urge to tame it.  It takes as long as it takes.

Life - learning - healing - growth - it takes as long as it takes.  Amen.

What songs does your heart sing when you are afraid?  What invitations does it offer?  When you feel lost, where do the bread crumbs lead you?  When life explodes, what is your lifeline?  These are questions best answered on a peaceful, sunny day, when the waters are calm and no storms are on the horizon.  In a crisis, God does most of the heavy lifting.  But when there are small things we can do that help, it is good to do them.  Now.  Before the storm.

Floating along,
Kim

Minding the Gap

It has been forty-one days since my last blog post.   Thirty-nine days since I tore my abdominal wall during a fit of coughing.   Surgery was thirty-six days ago, was complicated, and lasted for over four hours.  I stayed in the hospital for nine days, coming home twenty-eight days ago.  I was so depleted that I could barely remember my name.  I came home to a not unexpected family transition, and ten days later (eighteen days ago) my personal life changed dramatically.  I have large gaps in my memory about many of the events of the past thirty-nine days.  But as my brain processes in narrative, I have been living it through metaphors.

Soon after waking up from surgery, I remember feeling as if I had been in some type of explosion - some kind of concussive shock.  I couldn't move - it hurt to breathe - it hurt to be - it felt surreal - I was sure I could smell the smoke.  I was lying face down and twisted some place just outside the blast zone.  I could not scream for help, and did not know if anyone would come to help me.  I could pray (help!) and use the Buddhist technique of tonglen to send energy to all persons who were living through a literal or figurative bomb blast.  My brain was too scrambled for eloquent verse - help and peace was all that would come to mind.  I would pray, and accept every moment of kindness and compassion that was offered to me.

A few days later I was moving and much more aware of being in my body (thank you, pain). When the morphine would help me to relax and close my eyes, I found myself transported to that valley filled with dry bones that Ezekiel observed.  But this time I was not surveying the scene - I was face down in the valley.  Dry.  Parched.  Dismembered.  Feeling lifeless.  "The hand of The Lord came upon me, and he brought me out by the spirit of the Lord and set me down in the middle of a valley; it was full of bones.  He led me all around them; there were very many lying in the valley; and they were very dry.  He said to me,  'Mortal, can these bones live?'  I answered, 'O Lord God, you know.'"(Ezekiel 37:1-3).  Each time I would close my eyes I would be back in that valley, wondering if these bones could live, and thankful for the ministering angels who would visit and reassure me that there was life on the other side of this experience.  These bones would live, even if they felt lifeless.

By the time I came home I was in that awkward place of not really being well enough to be home, but having stayed in the hospital as long as my insurance would permit.  I felt horribly overwhelmed and inadequate for the tasks at hand, even the simplest of tasks.  I kept reminding myself that in the story of the dry bones it was God who pulled them back together and gave them life, and that my job was to trust and follow my care plan.  But progress was so slow and I wanted things to move more quickly - and there was no way for me to make that happen.

So I left the valley of dry bones and instead found myself in a deep pit with steep walls - arriving there after being dropped from a great height without the benefit of a parachute - or anything else to break my fall.  For awhile I just laid face down in the dirt, but eventually managed to sit up and survey my circumstances.  Steep walls - no ladder - no exit - and when I looked up, I could just see the night sky in the distance with a few shimmering stars.  It felt hopeless, and I again felt helpless.  And I understood that I could give up in this place - it was just too hard to keep going.  I felt there was no hope for climbing out.  In my moment of despair, a friend reminded me that she, too, had been to that pit, and that the way out was not by the sheer force of climbing up the walls - instead, in time, the pit will open and I will be able to walk out.  "God makes the way," she said.  I was skeptical (and kept looking for a ladder).

But in time, the pit opened and I walked out onto level ground.  I was in a valley - not of dry bones, but of green fields and trees.  I still had a long way to go, but I was surrounded by life.  And I was beginning to feel alive again.

It has been four days since the pit opened up and I walked out into the valley.  Life is still difficult, with many challenges to face.  But when I stop and rest, and reflect back on this journey, my heart fills with gratitude for the way in which I was sustained and encouraged - especially in those moments when it felt too difficult to even go on.  When the only prayer I could pray was "help"  and I felt completely helpless and hopeless, an angel in the guise of a friend, colleague, or family member would be there to speak a word of hope and bring a moment of grace - just enough - to get me through that moment.

Just enough.  All along, there has been just enough.  Sufficient for the moment, and for the day.  Not enough for the next week or month, but just what was needed.  Daily bread.  Water from the rock.

Enough.

Months ago I realized that part of this phase of my spiritual journey involved deepening my ability to trust God - to know in my bones that God is trustworthy. The past thirty-nine days have given my first-hand experience to test whether or not God can be trusted.  And what I know to be true in the depths of my soul is what my Sunday School teachers taught me long ago:  God does not spare us from the pain and difficulty of life, but God journeys with us to the very depths of pain and despair and never turns away.  And, when we are ready, God leads us forward into life transformed.

Margaret Silf and her wise book "The Other Side of Chaos:  Breaking Through When Life is Breaking Down" has been a companion on this journey.  In her chapter "Mind the Gap," she invites the reader to ponder a metaphor that was very important to Henri Nouwen:

"Henri Nouwen, inspired by his encounter with the trapeze artists the flying Rodleighs, captures this tension perfectly in the image of the trapeze artist, who has to let go of one bar and risk the flight through the air before coming within reach of the other bar.  But the point of the exercise is really about how the trapezist handles the gap.  What takes the crowd's breath away is the grace and confidence with which he flies through the air and that open question, every time: once he has let go of one bar, will he really reach the second bar safely?  A lesson to be learned from this image, to help us in our life transitions, is this:  the space between the no longer and the not yet is an uncomfortable and risky space.  We might not reach that second bar safely, especially since we feel as though we don't even know where it is and how stable it will prove to be.  But there is no shortcut to the not yet. We can arrive there only via the now.  The 'now' is the flight between the two bars.  The now is where we really are, with all our doubts and fears.  It is the only place in which we can experience and actualize the growth that is inherent in all transition and waiting for us to embrace it.  It is our now that is shaping our future, whether personal or global.  The now is the only place where we are really empowered to choose our path."

So my wilderness journey has taken me from the explosion to the valley of dry bones to the pit to the green valley and now to mid air (as I have let go of one bar and fly towards the next).  I clutched the first bar so tightly that I know I left finger marks on it, and I sure wish I could see the next bar (or the net).  But I know God can be trusted, so I will enjoy the flight - and see what awaits me.  I hope this journey has made me a more compassionate person, and hopefully a wiser pastor.  It has certainly deepened my sense of gratitude, especially for all the ministering angels who helped to sustain me during the darkest moments of the past thirty-nine days.  Thank you.

Minding the gap - and grateful to be emerging from the wilderness (one day shy of forty days)!
Kim

Unfocused Eyes and God's Laughter

For the past three years I have focused intense study on the process of discernment - both for individuals and groups.  How fitting it is that I should find myself neck deep in my own discernment journey!  The books and exercises have been helpful - knowledge and experience is a good teacher.  Each discipline has helped to build a foundation of "listening" - which is the most important discernment faculty.  That and, perhaps, not taking myself or the process too seriously...

...but it is a serious process, worthy of my best effort.  And so I have methodically and prayerfully worked my way through each question.  I have journaled and colored and wandered through many a labyrinth.  I have bench-pressed my weight in discernment exercises.  And here is what I have learned:

Sometimes discernment comes in an instant, like a white-hot flash of insight!  Unexpected, often unbidden, it contains enormous power, and can singe the recipient.

Sometimes discernment burns slowly until the insight is fanned into a red-hot flame by the Spirit.  Burning deep in the soul, it gives light and warmth for the journey.

But sometimes discernment arrives like the earliest of spring days - and you know it is here because as you pass that old tree that looks dead and lifeless, you notice just the faintest hint of an electric green aura emerging from its branches.  Stare at it and you miss it; unfocus your eyes and look just past the branches and the not-yet-leaves of green shimmer with possibilities.  You did nothing to awaken the tree from its winter slumber, and yet new life is emerging right before your eyes.  By the end of the week leaves are visible, and soon you confirm what the birds had been singing since winter - that new life emerges even from places that long seem dead.  Before too long the tree is bedecked in glorious leaves, and life is renewed - and not only for the tree.

All the work - all the exercises - each and every prayer - every positive affirmation - helps prepare the eyes to see the new life, and the heart to embrace it.   But the work of discernment does not cause the movement of Spirit - God is not a puppet to be manipulated, even by the loveliest of discerning strings.

I have seen the shimmer of green in my heart - God has been quietly working all along, bringing the signs of new life just when needed (what impeccable timing God has)!  I note with interest that I could not see the emerging green until I relaxed, unfocused my eyes, and looked past that upon which I was focused.  Sheer effort is not the answer; surrender is.

God laughs - of this I am sure.  I smile - and offer thanks that the unfolding of God's grace and wisdom is not dependent on my actions, or my accomplishments - like unconditional love, it cannot be earned.  It is pure gift - extravagantly given.  Like in the Parable of the Sower, God seems to scatter seeds (transformative possibility) with great abandon.  I offer thanks that, today, I am not food for the birds, nor am I planted in rocky, shallow soil.  I feel my roots deepening and my soul being nourished - and veriditas (thank you, Hildegard), emerging.

The answers will come.  I have only to see them, not create them.  Time to breathe deeply, and follow the love.

Veriditas!
Kim

Presence not Performance - Sabbath Revisited

I am preparing to observe my fourth Sabbath - I have managed to maintain a 24ish hour period of Sabbath for the past four weeks.  It has surprised me in many ways, not the least of which is how hard it can be to shift into a time of deep "be-ing."

The first Sabbath a month ago was aided by a migraine - taking a 24 hr time out with rest, prayer, and gentle reading felt like a gift.  And my head hurt enough that competing possibilities were not attractive.

I upped the challenge with the second Sabbath by unplugging - no computer/emails etc for the 24 hrs.  Much to my surprise, I felt like an addict going through withdrawal.  That experience provided interesting (and unsettling) data.  The truth may set you free, but it isn't always pretty to view.

Sabbath III felt less like detox and more like refreshment.  Prayer and rest felt more natural - and I had proof that the zillion of tasks that I thought required immediate attention would wait for another day.  I felt myself slowing down, and recalibrating - and was less defensive about what I was not doing.  Nice.

I must have been in elementary school when I first heard about the Sabbath (we were required to memorize the Ten Commandments).  "Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy" involved going to Sunday School and Church, while avoiding work, shopping or secular entertainment.  I remember asking about homework - thinking that it surely would fall under the heading of "work." My Sunday School teacher explained that an exception was made for homework and chores (if we had been unable to finish those things on Saturday).  I was not impressed.

Nor did I fully understand what observing the Sabbath meant.  To my young mind, it seemed like yet another list of rules to be followed to please the god of rules and regulations - heaven as a police state that monitored our compliance with the rules.  And of course, no one can keep all the rules - it was a set up for failure that reinforced the notion of our "fallen nature" - yuk.

What if I had instead been introduced to Sabbath as an invitation to play with God - to relax with God - to rest in God's loving presence - to be myself in the presence of a loving God, instead of trying to please a judgmental god through my compliant behavior (or disappoint that judgmental god through my failures).  Perhaps I would have been less scandalized when later in life I encountered the writings of  William McNamara and his invitation to Holy Leisure - to generously "waste" large amounts of time with God - to believe that God delighted in my presence and did not need my compliant performance.  Perhaps I would have spent less time in self judgment and condemnation, and more easily viewed life through a lens of acceptance and grace.

Play - relax - rest - be - Sabbath as something to be anticipated with joy.  And my time for Sabbath is now (literally).

What does Sabbath mean to you?  How do you observe it?

Unplugging - and getting ready to rest and play with God,
Kim

Rip Currents, a Goldfinch, and Body Talk

A goldfinch visited me this afternoon - he perched on a top branch like an angel on a Christmas tree.  I just happened to be looking out the window when he landed; I watched and listened as he sang his heart out - and I allowed my heart to sing with his!  My song started out heavy and confused, but lightened as it joined his song.  What a lovely and unexpected gift!

It has been hard to write, mostly because I find this experience of "groundlessness" to be simultaneously rich and terrifying.  I do like my structure - knowing what is going to happen next - and appreciate the experience of the unknown best in the abstract.  This is not abstract.

I have chosen to stay with the uncertainty and groundlessness of this experience - to not get out of the water even with the shifting sands and their accompanying rip currents.  The key to surviving a rip is to not panic and fight them (so they say) - swim parallel to the shore (relax and go with the flow) until you break free.  I got caught in an emotional/spiritual rip today and found the advice to be helpful.  Not fighting and working with the energy was ultimately better than pushing against it.  I eventually made it back to shore.  Phew!

Along with these emotional/spiritual swimming lessons, a new avenue of discernment has been prominent this past week.  Although I had read that our bodies contain wisdom and speak to us of what is/is not helpful/healing for us, I have never test driven this discernment method.  I brought my awareness to my body and have been paying attention to the truth it is speaking, and have been amazed at the wisdom that is held by the body - incarnational wisdom.  I listen with surprise, and awe, and no small amount of gratitude.  Perhaps in time I can act on what I hear.

Shamans say the presence of a goldfinch indicates the willingness to be open to learning from unlikely and unusual sources.  May my heart remain open to wisdom in all her many forms.

How are you encountering the voice of wisdom in your life?

Singing with the goldfinch,
Kim

Sleepless in Seattle. Here. Now.

Even though I arrived in Seattle about 5 hours ago, my mind is still driving - perhaps a function of the  sheer amount of driving I have done recently.  This road trip is not related to search and call, but brings me instead to officiate at a wedding of two dear people I love, who are unable to marry back in Idaho.  Even though the State of Idaho battles the "intrusions of big government" whenever it can, it feels justified entering the relationships of consenting adults, and creating legislation that restricts marriage to a commitment between one man and one woman.  I'd have more respect for the libertarian spirit so often championed in Idaho if it was applied across the boards, and not just to matters of "the Feds," taxation, and the Second Amendment.  Fortunately, this bigoted constitutional amendment is on its way out, and marriage equality is on the horizon.  In the meantime, I travel to Seattle to officiate at this most happy of occasions.

Seattle wins the "Most Beautiful Entrance to a City (when entering from the East) Award.  Spectacular!  Not all cities offer such a breathtaking entrance (think Buffalo or Newark).   But this was sheer magic - even with rush hour traffic (more time to enjoy the view) and the torrential rain storm that preceded the entrance to the city (my car is now clean).

I feel like I have been through four seasons in one day!  I left Boise on a warm spring day, and travelled across the high desert of eastern Oregon as the heat of the day began to build - that amazing combination of sagebrush desert and desolation that speaks of summer!  By Baker City the snow-capped mountains came into view, reminding me of the beauty of fall leading to winter.  As I crossed the Columbia, the power of water and spring run off was very much on my mind.

The water tower for Prosser caused me to nod in recognition of a town that would have remained pretty much unknown except for two brothers who liked the color blue and were handy with a football.  But blue was not the color for this area - the more traditional color of green made its home here.  This was the beginning of my noticing how many different shades of green are present in the great State of Washington!

Turning on to I 90 W gave me a glimpse of breathtaking scenery like Keechelus Lake, and forested hillsides (glorious)!  It also provided an important reality check, as I watched the many mile traffic jam build for those poor souls on I 90 E.  I guess everyone in Seattle wanted to get an early start on their Memorial Day Weekend plans.

Torrential rain and low cloud on Snoqualmie Pass reminded me of transitional times in the seasons of the year (spring to summer, fall to winter, winter to spring).  And then the rain gave way to the sunshine - and a beautiful city!

It takes me awhile to adjust to the different driving styles in different cities.  Bay Areas drivers are very different from drivers in Seattle.  Here they are surprisingly courteous.  The multitude of pedestrians also seem to be surprisingly pleasant - even the woman I almost ran over was courteous (where did all the pedestrians come from - what a shock)!  I was relieved to arrive at the hotel before accidentally committing vehicular manslaughter, greet the very happy couple (they are positively glowing), and get settled into my room.

The hotel room windows are open because this grand old hotel does not have air conditioning.  The city street sounds remind me of my seminary years spent living in NYC.  During the last sixteen days I have experienced the desolation of the high desert (being the only one on the road for as far as the eye could see), the snow and crisp air of the high country, the beautiful but parched landscape of the Bay Area and its traffic jams where cars were standing still for as far as the eye could see, the lush farmland of Washington State, and the abundance of water around the greater Seattle area.

I have lived in cities, and I have lived in remote settings.  I have been parched in the desert and drenched in humid climates.  I have lived with noise, and I have lived with silence.  And although I have preferences, the truth tonight is that I have experienced the Divine in all places.  Not just the places that line up with my preferences  - but in all places.

In deep snow and scorching sun - in chaotic noise and deep silence - God has been in every and all experiences.  Preferences really have little to do with finding God.  In fact, experiencing God's presence is not achieved by making sure that external circumstances line up with one's preferences; instead, it is about transcending preferences so one can experience God everywhere.  Here.  Now.

Wide awake, I listen to the sirens, and busses, and traffic - and think about all the people inhabiting all those sounds.  They face an endless stream of opportunities and challenges - joys and sorrows.  And God is in the midst of it all.  I will hold that thought for them, just in case they are too busy dodging the odd pedestrian to notice.

It has taken me fifty-five years to lose my attachment to place - what a gift!  God present in the midst of the cross-walk beeping, or in the veriditas of the forest.  The entire earth is holy ground!

Laughter from people down on the street - the sound of the brakes from a passing bus.  A plane making its approach to the airport - and, in the liminal space, I am back in the chapel at SFTS with my fellow students (who graduate tomorrow) singing:  "Surely God is in this place; Holy Ground.  Surely God is in this place; Holy Ground."

It is all Holy Ground - Sallie McFague was right - creation is the Body of God.  We stand on Holy Ground, whether we are sleepless in Seattle, or preparing to graduate in San Anselmo.  Or living in the Sudan.

Such thoughts might radically alter how we respond to creation!  Perhaps even how we respond to one another - and to God!

Happy in my sleeplessness,
Kim

Sabbath Trending High

It is smokin hot today in San Rafael, California.  90 degrees is unseasonably warm - in a place that is bone dry.  From my hotel window I can see the shades of brown overtaking the ever hopeful greens on the hillsides.  The palm trees around the pool look pretty healthy, but the pool isn't seeing much traffic this afternoon.  One old soul sits in the shade reading his paper, but everyone else is out at meetings, or sightseeing at Stinson Beach, or enjoying their room's amenities.

I opted to stay in today so I could hit "send" on my last DASD paper by noon.  I had until the 15th, but truth be told, I should have finished it a month ago.  Interestingly, I found myself resisting the subject matter, and needed the deadline to push me along.  Finishing ahead of deadline almost feels virtuous. Better be careful, or pride will surely follow!

By choosing the DASD/DMin program at SFTS, I consciously chose a program that takes longer to complete, because of the DASD component - a component that must be completed over a three-year cycle  (no shortcuts).  The time is needed for formation - it is not just a matter of learning the material; it is a matter of living the material.  That cannot be rushed.

But with the last paper sent, all my requirements for the DASD are completed - finished - and every  moment of the three years was needed, and was worth it.  I am glad I did not shorten the formation process.  Every moment was used.

I can understand why some folks stop once they compete the DASD - it is certainly the most important part of this journey.  I have 3-two week electives remaining, and my written project.  If the house sells quickly, I may do one of the electives remotely this summer.  Otherwise, forward progress waits for another year.  Although I use my DASD training in every aspect of my ministry,  it feels (profoundly) like the best coursework I have ever undertaken for myself.  The written project at the end of the DMin - that will be my gift to the greater church.

Having sung the praises of the DASD program, it does have one challenging side - it never ends.  I hit "send" with the paper, took a deep breath, did a mental celebratory happy dance, and then started thinking about one of the themes in the paper that required follow-through and implementation:  Keeping Sabbath.

I have never kept Sabbath.  When I have taken my day off, I invariably use it to catch up or get ahead with laundry, housework, and all the zillions of tasks that are part of living in the modern world.  This day in no way resembles a Sabbath - it is definitely a day off.  And between errands and paperwork and all the things I cram into this precious time, there is nothing that resembles rest.  And rarely is there any playtime.  It is just another work day - only the nature of the work changes!

I have made a commitment to begin observing Sabbath - a 24 hr period in which I do not work.  No catching up on the laundry or writing a paper (or blog, for that matter).  No technology - unplugged for 24 hrs.  No TV (most programs give me nightmares).  A time to spend resting, playing, and enjoying God's company.

I suspect that keeping Sabbath is going to be a struggle (work is familiar for me; rest and play are not).  I already know this is going to be one hell of a growing edge.  I suspect that keeping Sabbath will have some positive consequences - increased awareness of God,  greater balance in my life, as well as some stress reduction.  But it is important that I do not keep Sabbath because of the perks - that amounts to using Sabbath for my own ends, which is not all that different from using the day to catch up on laundry.  William McNamara calls the practice of keeping Sabbath time "holy leisure," and claims that we modern church folk are terrible at it.  Which is all the more reason for committing to keeping Sabbath.

When I mentioned my Sabbath commitment to my son, he shared that NPR has been doing segments on Sabbath keeping, and that it is a hot topic right now.  Wow - it is rare that I am ahead of a popular trend.  Who would have thought that Sabbath keeping would become trendy - how God must smile.  It takes us thousands of years to benefit from wisdom freely shared long ago - maybe we will get it this time.

Do you keep Sabbath?

With fear, trepidation and excitement at trying something new,
Kim

Lightening the Heavy Load

Tonight's entry comes from Reno, Nevada - the city that makes pink neon casino fronts and adjacent green backlit buildings "work" (somehow).  The drive today was mostly relaxing, and road construction delays gave me ample opportunity to stop and enjoy the scenery.  There were beautiful blue and yellow wildflowers, and the sand dunes in very windy Nevada looked spectacular.  I used a different word to describe the sand storms generated by the high winds.  The friendly people at Sawtooth Station are doing well - hoping that the winds die down so spraying can be done (crops, I assume).  And the "best sign of the trip thus far" no longer resides with "Chicken Dinner Road," but was won by one of the TA stores on I 80 between Winnemucca and Reno.  The sign was a great reminder that even in Nevada, the devil is in the details.  Either the text needs to be proofread before the big flashing electronic sign is turned on, or there are some bulbs missing in the display.  Either way, when you have the letter "u" in place of the letter "o" in the word slot, your large flashing sign does not read:  Winning Slot Machines!!!!!   One can only hope it was an error.

Although this will be a busy week, it is also a time to unwind and relocate center.  The driving will help, as will my time in California.  My traveling companions this trip are old friends.  I am re-reading Jeff Foster's "The Deepest Acceptance: Radical Awakening in Ordinary Life."  Letting go and acceptance continue to be growing edges for me, and I hope that a second read of this very good book will help me to have a heart-grasp of the ideas.  Walter Brueggemann's new book "Sabbath as Resistance: Saying No to the Culture of Now" has already stopped me in my tracks - in a good way - and given me much to ponder.  I assume Richard Rohr will do the same in his new book "Silent Compassion:  Finding God in Contemplation." Ditto for Henry Cloud, as I find myself, a year later, re-reading one of his best books on leadership:  "Necessary Endings."  Anam Thubten and Pema Chodron also came along for the ride - they remain faithful companions on my journey.

The place that has most of my attention tonight is the last paper for my DASD/DMin work for this year - this is also the last assignment for the DASD, which will be completed with the submission of this paper.  The course is on discernment, and the focus has been our own discernment journey - noticing how we notice God at work in our life.  The assignment was brilliant - during the Fall of 2013, we had to make ten journal entries (approximately one per week) whenever we would notice something in or around us that had a "God resonance" to it.  After completing the entries, reading the texts for the course, and attending Intensive, we were instructed to go back to these ten entries and analyze them as if there were a text, looking for evidence of God's
leading/guidance/presence/challenge/comfort/etc.  Engaging the course readings, lectures, small group experiences and journal entries, we were to observe what had taken shape - what had evolved - how God speaks through all of this.

The unfolding results are profound and elegant in their simplicity.  I am amazed.  And I have to stop saying "I don't know" - because I do know; I do have the answers to some key questions and concerns that have weighed heavily on my heart.  The answers have been there all along, waiting until I was ready to hear them.  And live them.

Sometimes we make things harder than they need to be.  What a blessing when truth mirrors us back simplified (thank you, Joni, for that image - even if slightly reimagined from your "Refuge of the Roads").

May heart and humor and humility also lighten my heavy load - and yours,
Kim

Tomb/Womb Time - or - the Peace that Passes Understanding

I have always loved Holy Saturday.  Richard Rohr calls it "liminal time" - the time after death and before resurrection.  A time to rest and allow things to come together.  Tomb - womb - interesting.

There are many things I do each year during Lent in order to prepare my heart for Easter.  They are rituals and experiences that I love, and I find comfort and strength in moving through these touchstones of the Lenten journey.  In the end, the hope (goal?) is that my heart will be more open to experiencing God's presence in my life - more open to that resurrection energy, that can then empower me for service.  Sadly, I was  unable to do most of the Lenten rituals that are so meaningful to me, and I confess that I was concerned that I would come to Easter without the joy and peace that comes from intentionally taking this journey.

Then on Friday - unexpectedly - an amazing sense of peace overtook me (for no apparent reason - I guess that is why it is called "the peace that passes understanding").  It settled into my heart and opened it like a flower.  I was stunned - awed - and deeply grateful.  Then I remembered again that peace is not something that we can manufacture -  it is a gift, freely given, from our loving God whose hands and feet are pierced.  God knows - yes indeed, God knows...and God understands...and God is with us.

We are not alone as we move through any situation that is like a death - God moves through the situation with us, and promised to bring us from death to life.  We do not have to make it happen - it is the very nature of God to do this.  We can cooperate, but we are not called to do all the heavy lifting.  Jesus did not resurrect himself, roll the stone away, and then relax after all that hard work.  Matthew's Gospel is very clear:  "He has been raised."  God's love in action - for us all.

I allow this love and peace to fill me to overflowing, and look forward to bringing this joy to tomorrow's Celebration of the Resurrection.

Deep peace,
Kim

Just because...

Just because a person took the time to write a book (that I have never read - and probably would not read), and just because another person read that book and found it to be meaningful, and just because that other person (whom I've never met), shared a story from that book with a group of teens during a Bible Study (in a church that I probably would never attend - certainly not for a teen Bible Study), and just because one of the other leaders for this group was touched by the story and remembered it (even though she has never read the book), she was able to share the story with me today.

And the story was exactly what I needed to hear!

I stand humbled and in awe of the creative ways God continues to speak!

Never underestimate the creative ways in which God might speak through you -

Blessings for your Holy Week journey,
Kim

"Enoughness" - and Hitching Posts

I absolutely love this word - enoughness.  It leapt off the page as I read today's meditation in Joan Chittister's daily devotional entitled "The Rule of Benedict:  A Spirituality for the 21st Century."  In the same paragraph she uses a word that I like far less:  dependence.  She manages to put them together in a way that invites further reflection:

"We live in a culture that sees having things as the measure of our success.  We strive for a life that sees eliminating things as the measure of internal wealth.  Enoughness is a value long dead in Western society.  Dependence on God is a value long lost.  Yet, enoughness and dependence on God may be what is lacking in a society where consumerism and accumulation have become the root diseases of a world in which everything is not enough and nothing satisfies."  (p 235).

Ouch.  I feel the pinch of enoughness as I go through the ritual of sorting through "stuff" - what is saved, what is given away, what is sold?  How much is enough?  I usually find downsizing to feel liberating, but for some reason I am not there - yet.  Instead, I am finding memories and their "things" to be a bit sticky, and hard to release.  Yesterday I spent a few hours in the yarn closet, sorting out yarn for the sale I am having next weekend.  I picked up a cone of wool purchased in Orkney in 2000; silk from my studies in Denmark; cotton from my favorite place in Arizona; amazing wool from northern New Mexico - the week I spent learning rug weaving in Los Ojos.  I did not speak Spanish, and the woman on the loom next to mine did not speak English, yet she taught me so much about feeling the weaving - it was an amazing experience.  Wool from Iran that I bought from the teacher in London who spent a week teaching me how to tie knots for Persian rugs - she had learned the art in Iran, and brought back wool, tools, and many memories.  She shared them with me as I made thousands of knots - trying to teach my fingers to weave in a new way.  So many memories - yesterday my fingers ached to hold a shuttle and be part of weaving cloth.  Maybe sometime soon; right now I am busy weaving my life.

I do not know what to do with Joan's call to dependence on God.  I never know where to draw that line, thinking of the Sufi saying:  Praise Allah, and tie your camel to a post.  I pray the Prayer of Abandonment each day, but often end it with "but please know that I am willing to do my part - and will - as soon as I know exactly what that part is."  I do not want to be a lazy disciple (I tell myself).  I am willing to do the work - God does not have to do it for me (I even feel virtuous saying that).

Then I remember that here in the wilderness, it is not my hard work, virtue, or cleverness that is going to move me through this experience.  Instead, it is openness, awareness, and my willingness to respond to God's presence that will make the difference.  Unless I slow down and pay attention, I will miss the water and honey, and subtle directions that lead me home - wherever home is.

What would it mean to integrate enoughness and dependence on God - to make one of two, as the Gospel of Thomas would say.  What might that look like?

Resting for the night - and then walking on,
Kim

Precious - Present - Presence

Endings and transitions heighten my tendency for reflective pondering - for looking at events (recent and historic) in terms of patterns and meanings - seeing the detail and larger story, and wondering how it all fits into bigger pictures.  Into the meta story.

Truth-naming.  Meaning-making.  Story-telling.  Dream-seeing.  Reality-accepting.   Life-living.

Process.

And as the focus of this current ending and transition is vocational - ministry - much reflection right now involves my pastoral identity and experience.  I sit with memories, recent experiences, questions and assumptions, and ponder what it means to be an effective and successful pastor (while simultaneously wondering if words like effective and successful are even rational descriptors for ministry).

In the midst of  all this reflection, two powerful experiences came into focus:  One is a memory, and the other, an unexpected moment of grace.

The memory:  It is my Service of Installation as Pastor, and Teacher here at Boise First.  At one point during the liturgy, I passed into an experience of non-ordinary reality - I was simultaneously standing in the installation service at every church I had served as Pastor.  Decades of time and thousands of miles separated these experiences, and yet there was a unity - a oneness - about the experiences, even though each one was distinct (yet simultaneous).   It was a powerful moment that rendered me speechless, and the resonance of that moment remains to this day.  The memory returned as I sat during morning prayer and reflected on the meaning of ministry.

The moment of grace:  As I savored this precious memory, my thoughts then turned to my ministry as a pastor, and my mind was flooded with all the categories I (and society) use to evaluate ministerial "performance"- all the markers that are so easily used to determine whether or not ministry is successful.  As my mind raced through an evaluative matrix of quantitative and qualitative metrics (it was as awful as it sounds), it was as if my mind accelerated enough to finally slip out of orbit, and I found myself - suddenly and unexpectedly - in a very quiet and peaceful place.

And in my arms was the baby I baptized last Sunday - his parents were beside me.  And I heard the voice of Wisdom say:  If this were your only act of ministry at Boise First, would it be enough?  Without hesitation, I answered "yes."

And then I was in my previous church, looking into eyes of a teen who spend many hours talking to me about painful matters of the heart.  And the voice asked again:  If this had been your only act of ministry in this church, would it be enough?  Of course.

Slowly, I revisited each church I had served, and in each case there was a face - a person - a story of a time I had entered into the reality of life with someone entrusted to my care.  And each time, I could see that this one experience, even if it had been the only experience, was enough.  It was not about how many of them had happened (quantitative) nor was it about the outcome of these encounters (qualitative). The power was the encounter - the presence of God inspiriting our presence with one another.

As these faces and stories filled my heart, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that ministry happens in moments of presence and care, and that the world of quantitative evaluative metrics is rubbish when applied to ministry.  It is like trying to create a subtle water color painting using neon spray paint and sledge hammers.  You can create a painting - but the tools do not allow you to capture the essence and soul of the desired experience.

Ministry is lived and celebrated in the moments - with individuals, families and communities.  God inspirits and abides in these moments.  It is where God's realm opens and where love lives - Holy Ground.

The witness of Rabbi Jesus throughout the gospels is one moment after another of encounters - of a ministry of presence -  meeting people in their present moment and creating space for healing and wholeness - for honesty and transformation.  It was always one moment at a time - with real people and all the messy and complicated stuff of life.  

Ministry is like a beautiful strand of precious beads - cherished one bead/one person/one encounter at a time -  strung together in love and held in a reality encompassing but greater than the present moment - part of something greater than itself - held in very heart of God.  This is my pearl of great price - worthy of the sacrifice.

Thank you, loving God, for the gift of remembrance and refreshment.  Tonight I will rest, and then joyfully continue my trek through the wilderness.

With a song in my heart,
Kim

Water and Honey from the Rock

"The Spiritual Life is a life in which we wait, actively present to the moment, expecting that new things will happen to us, new things that are far beyond our own imagination or prediction.  That, indeed, is a very radical stance in a world preoccupied with control."
                           - Henri Nouwen, "The Path of Waiting"

Today was a day of refreshment, as I stumbled on both water and honey from the rock.  Both were needed, as the previous week's journey had me quite parched.  And hungry.  Sustenance was in short supply last week - a very difficult stretch of wilderness was crossed (slowly) one step at a time.  When the red-wings gathered this morning to sing me awake, they found me very tired from my journey.  But they never waiver - always cheering me on to the next step on the path.  They sang and called while I showered and dressed, and then commented incessantly as I took one last look at the sermon and filed it in my backpack.  They chattered and clamored as I settled into my car, and sang me on my way into the unknown that is Sunday worship.

And there I found unexpected honey and water for my journey.  The water flowed as the congregation stepped in to help a young mother sing a prayer to her precious newly baptized baby boy, and the honey sprang forth from the rock when a young boy proudly declared that he was autistic (and cute, too).  I watched truth, love, and tenderness held by this congregation, and all the while I could see God's arms holding the entire moment in tender embrace.  Holy ground.

Refreshed, I journey on.  It would be dishonest of me not to admit that I would love to have GPS coordinates for my current location in the wilderness, as well as clear google map directions to where this journey ends.   But this journey brings neither.  Instead, it provides sustenance when least expected, and from unlikely sources.

The sun is still up, and it is a beautiful spring day - even here in the wilderness.

Walking on,
Kim

Two Geese, a Roof Ridge, and Settling in for the Long Haul

"I wish there were shortcuts to wisdom and self-knowledge:  cuter abysses or three-day spa wilderness experiences.  Sadly, it doesn't work that way.  I so resent this."  Anne Lamott, "Stitches"

*****

I was once told that it wasn't technically an experience in the wilderness if it looked familiar and came with a roadmap...or a Starbucks drive-thru.  That simply experiencing discomfort, or putting half of a foot outside of the beloved comfort zone doth not a trek into the wilderness make.

Pity.  I could sure use some landmarks right now.  And that was my second clue that I had crossed into a thin space that holds the possibility for transformation.  The first clue was the inner desire to run screaming in the opposite direction toward what is familiar and known.

Definitely thin space.  Liminal space.  Misty.  Foggy.  Steeped in possibility.  All I have to do is breathe deeply and settle in for the journey and stop fighting it - stop focusing on the feeling of panic rising deep in my brain that connects immediately to my gut and pumps up the adrenaline and sends me running toward where I think the exit might be -  but it is misty - foggy - and I can't find the exit, so in a panic I start looking for signs of the familiar...signs to lead me back to what I know...

...and that is not helpful (stop).   I remember this from prior experiences in the wilderness - you can exhaust yourself trying to run back, and waste heaps of time in the process.  And going back is not really your heart's desire.  So you stop looking for signs that take you back, and instead (after a rest), start making peace with the wilderness.  I remember - you do not leave until after you have settled in for a stay.  Sadly, Annie is correct - there are no three-day spa wilderness experiences.

The journey is lonely, so I've asked John the Baptist to keep me company - whether he does so as a saint, story or root metaphor is up to him.  I want an experienced traveling companion as I get acclimated to this wilderness, and he seems to know his way around.  He is not afraid of the real - in real time - and has no need to pretty it up.  He lets it be - and takes it right back to the basics.  Repentance - change of direction - change of heart - metanoia.  He is not so interested in hearing me carry on about why I find this time in the wilderness to be distressing - after all, I signed on for this.  It is the desire of my heart to deepen my relationship with God - to live more fully in Spirit - to reflect more deeply that which is Christ.  That happens here.

I feel the fear - that is real.  And trust me, I hold no judgment against the people of Israel as they looked back over their shoulders and longed for Egypt - I get it.  But as I let those feeling pass - and they do - I start to settle in to the stark beauty of this place of passage.  And I know that all is well.

Time to look and listen from my heart - and to allow this to unfold, in its own time, and in its own way.  (Which means I am not in control - and I truly hate that).  But I do have control over some very important choices:

- I can choose to release the panic and stop racing towards the exit
- I can choose to settle in to this place of transformation, even though it is so - so - wild
- I can choose to put into practice all I have been learning about a balanced, contemplative life, and
     allow these lessons to sustain me on this journey
- I can trust the process, and stop searching for the map leading out of this wilderness - I will
     emerge when it is time
- I can open my heart to the many ways that God lovingly "gentles" me through this time of passage
- I can be.  Now.

The early morning drive to church was beautiful, with an amazing rosy sky before me, and my head full of thoughts.  "Will I know what to do, or where to go?  Will I know which way to go?  Will I see clearly?"  As these thoughts raced on their familiar circuit through my brain, that quiet voice in my heart told me to look to my left.  Off to my left was a hotel - and high on top of the roof ridge stood two Canada Geese, surveying all that was before them.  And the voice said, "when it is time, you will see clearly."  And I laughed -  these two webbed creatures on top of a hotel roof ridge taking it all in - picking the right next spot to land.  The voice said, "you've got this."  I took a deep breath and said, "I've got this."  Then I added, "we've got this" -

- this is not a journey to make alone.

Resting for the night,
Kim

Lenten Road Trip

One of the few characteristics I shared with my father was a love of long distance driving.  My mother hated riding in the car, and made sure that she could survive within a 10 block radius of home.    Dad, on the other hand, loved the open road, and very much wanted to be a long-haul trucker (mom said no).  In later life he settled for short-haul, and a tow truck.  He let me drive the tow truck once - I loved it.  I'm not sure if one can have a genetic predisposition for such things, but this is one of the only characteristics from dad that I can celebrate.

I felt dad keeping me company today on my long drive into the unknown, especially during the unexpected snowstorm ("Sissy, keep going - if you stop you'll just get stuck").  On the one cross-country trip I took with dad, he used the same approach to deal with a flash flood and tornado - he scared me half to death, and dined on that story for decades!  And we didn't get stuck - we just kept going.  Every time I hear the country song with the refrain "When you're going through hell, keep on going" I think of that trip, and dad - who never had the sense to stop (which was his undoing as often as it was his salvation).

Almost any day is a great day to be under the big Western sky.  I love the West!  I may have been born in Buffalo, New York, but my soul belongs to the Rockies.  Recently I have been wound "as tight as a coiled spring," and this drive was just what was needed to start the process of unwinding.  A plane flight doesn't provide the same soul medicine as hours of sagebrush and wide open spaces.  Even hitting that unexpected snowstorm did little to dampen my mood.  Although hours of country music would please dad, I remembered to bring cds and let Joni, Pema and Croz keep me company (Joni has written the soundtrack for most of my life, Pema is an incredible teacher, and Croz gives me hope that one's creativity can improve with age - and in his case, sobriety).  The first half of Pema Chodron's new teaching was wonderful, but I put it on towards the end of the trip, and had to turn it off when I found myself relaxing way too much - back on went the loud country station!  Dad was once again happy, and I became re-acquainted with the seven deadly sins as reinterpreted by Nashville.

A "discernment road trip" is a unique way to begin the Lenten journey, but you play the card's you're dealt (so says a country song).  Just yesterday on Ash Wednesday I meditated on Chaplain Scott Clark's reflection on the following Franciscan blessing:

"The Blessing of Discomfort - May God bless us with discomfort - at easy answers, half-truths, and superficial relationships, so that we may live deeply and from the heart."

I shared his words at our Ash Wednesday gathering, and found that they were still rumbling inside my heart today as I drove those "miles of endless highways."  Although a large part of the vocational discernment process involves sensing whether or not a congregation and I might be a good match,  that sensing is best done by the heart (assisted by the head).  Church profiles, statistical breakdowns, mission and vision statements, only tell part of the story.  The mind is gifted at seeing patterns and trends; the heart is attuned to essence and Spirit.  In past vocational decisions my mind has made the decisions (either/or); this time, mind is in service of heart (both/and - with heart encompassing mind).  Ouch - I feel a pinch even as I write those words - discomfort over departing from the familiar as I enter unknown territory.  Let the "Lenten Discomforting Process" begin!

My Lenten disciplines this year?  There are several that relate to being a good steward, but the most important one involves intentionally living deeply from my heart - listening through my heart - speaking through my heart - trusting my heart - sharing my heart - learning from my heart.  I can think of no better way to follow in the footsteps of Rabbi Jesus, who lived deeply from his heart, and thus was led deeply into the heart of God.

To be - to dwell - to rest - in the heart of God.  Could that be the ultimate destination of our Lenten Road Trip?  Of our human experience?

If you haven't set out on your Lenten journey, don't wait.  Set out now, in your own way, with your own wonderings.  Make use of the many great resources available to us.  Allow God to set the itinerary and to be both your travel companion, and your destination.  Notice those places of discomfort, let them be your teachers, and see how they might lead you through your own heart and into the heart of God.

Blessings for the journey,
Kim

PS - Most "memorable" stretch of paved road:  The right lane from past Burley, Idaho to Snowville, Utah - a marvel of multi-level/multi-texture pavement.  Best avoided in heavy rain.

The World's Quietest Robin Still Sings

The past week has been interesting.  I have watched hail and snow fall like it was a deep winter blizzard, sat outside in short sleeves and soaked up the sun, enjoyed the very early morning sky and its stars, and saw my first robin (Thursday).  I almost missed the robin - as is often the case when it comes to unexpected blessings.  I was walking from the church to my car when I heard the faintest of bird songs - almost too quiet to hear!  I looked up, and there was my first robin of spring, singing in a most tentative way.  Perhaps the earlier flurries made it question the wisdom of a full-throated ode to spring.  Maybe there were no competitors for territory near by.  Maybe the poor thing was too cold to sing!  Or maybe the full song has yet to emerge for this bird.  Maybe it still needs time.

It is said that when a robin comes into your life you can expect new growth to occur in a variety of areas - and it is also said that you have to sing your own song if you want this new growth to occur.  I confess that I, like the robin, am singing my song a bit tentatively right now.  Change, be it in the seasons or in other aspects of life, can leave one feeling quiet and a bit subdued.   I know this is true of humans, but perhaps robins have their own psychic version of adjustment and acceptance.

I have resigned as Senior Pastor at Boise First - a decision that was weighed out with buckets of tears and baskets of hope.  It was not an easy decision to make, yet when time came for a decision, it was the only one that made sense - for everyone.  The church and I are now free to grieve the pain of parting, celebrate the work we have done together, and look forward to what comes next as our ministries part.  The tears continue - I keep tissue in the pocket of my preaching robe, so I am ready for the moment after worship when I join someone in sorrow - leaving people you love (or being left) is painful - it hurts!  Even though I hope this will ultimately be for the best, it still hurts.  And I grieve...

...and I see the robin.  And the buds on the trees.  And the early morning light.  I see the signs of new life opening all around me.  And I hope.

I do not know yet where I will land, nor do I know the journey this church will take during its transition time.  I will stay with them until the end of April;  what happens after that is knowledge God has yet to share!

And that is surprisingly ok.  I note with interest that I am not feeling anxious about the future (although one of the very shrill voices in my head says I should be extremely anxious).  Instead, I feel quite calm about going through the search and call process, and trusting the Spirit to lead me to a church where we will have a good fit, and minister together for many years to come.

I have done several "search and call processes" since I was ordained many years ago, but this one is entirely different.  In the past, I have gone to wherever I sensed the greatest need, and felt a match between the church's need and my training/gifts.  This time, it is a different journey.  I sense that I need to go to a reasonably healthy church, and so instead of going where I sense the greatest need, I am doing the search through my heart, and listening for where my heart tells me to go.  And that brings me back to another quality of  "robin medicine" - robins, with their creativity, energy, and commitment to raising the next generation, are said to live from the heart.

May I learn the lesson of the robin, and allow my heart to lead me to my next home.

Singing my song quietly and tentatively,
Kim

The Mystery of Timing - or - Life's Vocation

As I ponder the salt and light of tomorrow's sermon, I watch the snow/sleet/rain falling outside and realize that if this had been last week's weather, I would never have made it back for Sunday worship.

How much different this week might have been!  Or would it...

But here we are - and I ponder just what it means to bring light and salt into all places of life - even those that feel dark and tasteless.

Light brings clear seeing - helps things to grow - allows us to see color - gives power - can bring healing when focused - and keeps us from tripping and falling in the dark.  Salt can preserve, was used in worship, and can enhance the flavor of food.

To enhance
To see clearly
To help bring forth growth
To see color (diversity)
To be empowered
To bring healing
To guide to safety
To preserve

To work with God to be salt and light in our blessed world - wherever we are - whatever our circumstances...sounds like a life's vocation to me.

Pondering life while listening to Russian Chant and watching the snow fall,
Kim

Winnemucca by Starlight

Tonight brings me to Winnemucca, where I am staying at the "Model T Casino, Hotel and RV - Home of the Fill'er Up Diner" (suffice it to say that when you book this place by phone or online, you book through Quality Inn.  The rest is a surprise upon arrival).

I drove here by starlight, having reached Reno just as dusk settled.  With clear skies and a favorable weather forecast, one last push made good sense - especially with a sky full of stars and one beautiful bright "traveling star" staying in my field of vision through the passenger side window. That being said, I want to give a shout out to the kind truckers who, during the unexpected snowstorm and white outs about 47 miles W of Winnemucca, let me slip my little car into the "rocking chair" until the road conditions improved.  The kindness of strangers is always a sweet gift.

The drive was otherwise uneventful.  I left a little after 1 pm, thanks to a 2nd year classmate who helped me load my car - what a blessing!  Traffic was moderate to Sacramento, and then heavy almost until Auburn.  It snowed over Donner, but nothing was sticking to the road.  The trees looked enchanted - it was beautiful.  And before I knew it, I was driving through Reno.  I think I stopped wiping my eyes around Auburn.  Until then, it was an intermittent flow of tears of joy and sadness.

I have seen some amazing things during this past three weeks - witnessed the movement of the Spirit in ways I never dreamed possible.  There were times when I wanted to remove my shoes, for it felt like I was standing on holy ground.   More often than not, I was indeed standing in a "thin place."

Three years ago, eight of us began this three year Intensive cohort.  By year two, two had resigned, and one had joined us.  We are an amazingly diverse group in every way possible, but through the intensity of the program coupled with our praying together, we formed a bond that is indescribable.  We experienced love in a new way - a powerful way - because this love helped each of us to more fully become our true selves.  We experienced church/community in such a clear and true form - both within our group, and within the larger community that held sacred space for us.  I am amazed and awed by the growth that has happened in all of us.

Saying goodbye was heartbreaking - it was like leaving members of my family.  Four of our group will remain in the Bay Area (for now), and three of us have further travel to get to our other homes and families.  I have no doubt that each of us cherishes what we have experienced and witnessed.

What God has done in our lives through the mystery and miracle of community is incredible!  How God has ministered to each one of us through another takes my breath away.  We were blessed with a Master Teacher and Preacher (and theologian, and Pastor, and Prophet) for our last course, and his words were manna from heaven - and strong medicine.  He embodied a lifetime of faithful witness and service - his level of integrity and credibility was second to none.  I never left a lecture without having heard the words I needed for life - God working through one person to minister to many.  I suspect his words will continue ringing in my heart for a long time to come (both the strong medicine and loving affirmation).

Thursday night at Chapel I met a sister UCC minister and retired professor from Emory; again, she embodied the grace and compassion of a life of loving service.  I will use her profound words on Sunday for the Communion Service that celebrates Black History Month.  I will never forget the depth and tenderness in her eyes.  She walks with a cane, and does so with grace and dignity (without any of the judgment that plagues me).  At one point during the evening, she wrapped her arms around me to give me a hug, and I instantly knew that it was God hugging me through her.  I felt the most amazing peace and loving tenderness envelop me - sacred space -  God working through the life and love of one person to minister to another.  I lost all sense of time - I only knew that I was loved, and that was enough!

Lives changed - hard truths spoken - challenges met - fears faced - love given and received - boxes of tissue emptied - laughter shared (our cohort is know for our quirky sense of humor - we make videos to bring a lighter side to the serious work we do, and these videos have taken on a life of their own)!  All of this within the container - the crucible - the safe space - the gift - of community.

I am transformed because of what I have seen and experienced.  I honor God's gift when I share this experience with others - helping to create community where transformation happens for all who accept its invitation.

Tomorrow, it is back to Boise, and goodbye to the good people of Winnemucca (who are, by far, the friendliest people I have ever met).  This visit's "friendliest minimum wage worker award" goes to the drive-through cashier at the Burger King - if her enthusiasm and kindness could be bottled and shared, the world would be unrecognizable!

And Sunday it is back to my duties at the church.  If I can bring a small part of what I have experienced these three years in Intensive into my ministry at Boise First, I will not only honor the keepers of the sacred space - people who have taught me so much - but I will give my congregation a precious gift.

Oh - what I have witnessed!   What I have seen, and heard - and known to be true!

Awed by God's grace,
Kim

Slow Books

January Intensive is almost over - how did that happen?!?  It seems like it was only yesterday that I was driving into the Bay Area in the dark and at rush hour on a Friday night, feeling the shock of no longer being in the vast unpopulated expanses of Idaho and Nevada.  And then before I could catch my breath, Course 1 of the Intensive was underway, and I was buried alive in books.  The first course was truly quantity over quality - a ridiculous amount of material had to be covered in an extremely short period of time, so we read (and read and read).  What was actually integrated remains to be seen!

I was relieved to see that the books for Course 2 were in paperback and looked much smaller.  And with a master teacher at the helm, the pace (although very intense), felt less manic.  Noticing that we only had two small books assigned for this weekend past, I thought for sure I would find time to go to the coast and enjoy this beautiful sunshine...

...but it was not to be.  And I am not complaining, because one book was written by Howard Thurman, and the other by Abraham Joshua Heschel.  With my plans effectively shelved, I curled up on the sofa and enjoyed a weekend of reading slow books - books that are meant to be savored and read word by word, line by line.  What a treat!

It is hard to believe that I will be leaving here on Friday to make the drive back to Boise.  There is much I will miss, and I already look forward to my first DMin summer course!  But although there is much to miss, there is more that I will carry with me into my life and ministry.  Without a doubt, these three Intensives have been the most valuable experiences since Seminary.  I cherish what they have taught me about ministry, and look forward to honoring this work by faithfully putting it into practice.  Slowly - intentionally - deliberately - tenderly -

- and joyfully!
Kim

Peace, Love & Community - A Healthy Church

Each weekday of Intensive begins and ends with Chapel, and at 5:15 pm Chapel we share in Communion.  Once the words of Institution and prayers are said and the bread broken and wine (juice) poured, we form a circle to receive communion.  After communion is received, we join hands and sing one closing song before greeting each other with the Peace of Christ.  Tonight we sang:  "Let us live in justice, love in mercy, dwell in God with a humble heart."  Each time the humble chorus is repeated, the intensity, power, and volume seems to build until I half expect the chapel roof to split open!  And I always (always) cry - tears of joy, tears for the beauty of community, tears of hope that what we experience here can somehow be nurtured in our parishes - that this incredible power can bring transformation to our world.

The beauty and power of community is unbelievable.  I watch, utterly amazed, at how in this crucible of worship, study and practice we quickly form community.  This community is shaped by a covenant of conduct, shared expectations and commitments - and shared experiences.  We pray and worship together, we share some meals together, we learn, struggle and are stretched (almost to the breaking point) together.  We laugh together (often), and support one another without trying to fix, enable, or manage one another.  Sometimes we disagree (strongly), but use our mutual respect and community covenant to help us express big feelings in a constructive way.  Although we come from extremely diverse backgrounds, cultures and theologies, we find a bond of unity that is strong and life-giving.

We become the Body of Christ.

The power of this experience sometimes takes my breath away.  I am awed by it - and wonder about what will happen as each of us try to bring some of this back to our churches and communities.

What does it take to facilitate the formation of deep community in our local congregations?  What type of crucible helps to form this kind of community within a local church?  I think this is the missing element in so many church experiences today - not a clash over technology in worship vs. no technology in worship, or contemporary vs traditional worship experiences, but a strong experience of community vs. a weak or no experience of community.  And with no sense of community, there is no desire for further involvement or investment.  Church becomes just another organization that does good things, and has pretty meetings on Sunday morning.

We come to Chapel each day during Intensive not only to worship God, but to be there for our sisters and brothers - to be community.  The same is true for shared meals, supporting one another in lecture or small group, or just being the best listener we can be - we bring this for one another, because we are the Body of Christ in this place, and try bring Christ to each other.

What does it take to invite the experience of community that transforms lives and churches?
I expect to ponder that question for the rest of my time here at SFTS.

*****
An quick aside - since moments of humor are absolutely necessary when attending an Intensive and living with big questions -      

Best Business Name in San Anselmo:  Peace, Love & Grilled Cheeses - A Hair Salon
       (gotta love California)!

Pondering all of this - while being held in community, and remembering to laugh,
Kim

Bell Talk - and Church Growth

The bell inviting the faithful to worship was just beginning to sound as I got out of my car.  I wonder how the neighbors of this residential neighborhood respond to the bells from St Nicholas Parish...certainly the one bell calling the faithful would be easy to miss, but when the entire chorus of bells celebrates the beginning of the liturgy - oh my!  The sound is so - incredible - that it resonates through everything (including me).

I quietly slip into the nave - the church is dark, except for a few candles.  The choir is gathering, and last minute preparations are under way.  I sit on a bench against the back wall.  Two people enter who I've seen during my visits here the past two years. They nod in recognition.  An elderly lady sits next to me - we share a smile.  She either doesn't speak English, or doesn't speak English in this setting.  But smiling is a universal language.

And then the bells start to sing - all of them - it is an amazing sound!  I notice my eyes welling up with tears as every cell in my body resonates with the peal of the bells.  And then before the bells finish, the church is full of people - my how this congregation has grown!  Children and elders, teens and thirty-somethings.  Plenty of gray haired saints, and children sleeping in their parent's arms.  It is so full that I cannot even see the iconostasis  from where I am sitting - all I can see are people!  What a blessing for this parish!

But then I look up and see a beautiful icon of Christ the Teacher right at the center of the ceiling - presiding over the experience as if looking down from heaven - I have something to gaze upon after all!  Worship begins.  The choir is glorious - the air thick with a lovely incense - more candles are lit as we move in the liturgy from darkness to light.  I find myself singing some of the chants - amazed that the words and melody stay recorded in my body from year to year...amazed at how my body follows the rhythm of the liturgy as I am swept up in the beauty of the experience.  Glory.

As incredible as the experience is, what I find to be truly amazing is how all these individuals in this growing parish manage to come together to form a cohesive worshipping body, without the assistance of printed bulletins, hymnals, projectors and screens. The church growth gurus would say this is impossible, given what we know about church behaviors that invite growth.

And yet, the sanctuary was full tonight - double the people who were here last year at this time.  No separate program for the children - no printed music or bulletin to follow - everyone united in their desire to create something of beauty and meaning together.

Together.

I observed their creation, and also was blessed to be part of it.  And although, for theological reasons, I am quite happy serving the UCC, I wonder if, perhaps, we might learn a thing or two from our sisters and brothers who approach worship and community in ways different from our own.

Beauty - transcendence - whole body worship practices - intergenerational participation - glory!

I can still hear the bells ringing in my heart, as they call me into joy!

Tomorrow at 6 pm marks the beginning of my last Intensive here at SFTS.  Let the experience begin!

With joy,
Kim

Pop!

There is always a good reason for not coming to do the next course for my DMin.  And the Festive Season and New Year brought reasons in spades.  Earlier this week I sat trying to figure out the logistics of attending this last January Intensive, and the more I tried to reason my way through it, the deeper in "stuck" I got.  Soon I was waist deep in stuck and sinking fast - and almost ready to throw in the towel.  Drastic situations call for drastic measures - so being unable to think my way through how to make this work, I instead stopped thinking about it and just got in my car and drove to California.

Pop!

Given the fact that I've lost my love of winter driving (despite being born and raised in Buffalo, NY), do not drive a snow plow or big truck, and have heard horror stories of the drive from Boise to the Bay Area in the wintertime,  I cannot believe that I did this.  But here I am, in a Travelodge in San Raphael - safe, breathing deeply, and thoroughly unstuck.

The drive was glorious, and exactly the medicine I needed!  I was born to live in the West (sorry, Buffalo).  Give me wide open spaces, sage brush and mountains, and I am a happy camper.  And there were moments when I was the only one on the road (bliss).  Nevada was the best - loved it!  It brought back memories from my teens of when I ditched whichever family members I was with in Vegas and took the rental car and drove towards the mountains!  I couldn't understand why anyone would waste their time in a casino when you had mountains to explore.  In fact, it was as I was crossing from Oregon to Nevada that I heard that signature loud popping sound  (you know the sound...like when you have a jar of jam and cannot open the lid, and you use the sharp end of a bottle opener to lift the edge of the lid until you hear the loud pop indicating that the seal is broken and the lid can be easily unscrewed).  With that "pop" came a deep breath, and the realization that I was no longer stuck!

Best Road Sign:  Chicken Dinner Road (outside of Marsing in Idaho)
Most Ridiculous Speed Limit:  Oregon (Really? 55 mph going through the Jordan Valley?  Why?  Even the livestock laugh at the cars rolling past in slow motion)!
Most Civilized Speed Limit:  Nevada and parts of Idaho (anything less than 75 mph in the middle of nowhere is just plain silly)
Important Lesson Learned:  There is minimal FM radio from Jordan Valley to Winnemucca.  Bring more CDs
Most Outrageous Radio Evangelist:  The guy who tried to explain how Joseph (in the Hebrew Scriptures) is actually a pre-figuring of Jesus, and that Joseph's management of the famine in Egypt (by taking the livestock, land, and enslaving the people) is meant to show how Jesus wants us to hand over all our stuff and our lives to him.  Wait a minute...might this be a next year's stewardship campaign...
Friendliest Person:  Cashier at the Sawtooth Gas Station and Mart just before Winnemucca

This is close to the most impulsive thing I have ever done.  I confess that this sense of unstuckness - this sense of freedom - leaves me almost giddy.  My sore knee keeps me from dancing, but I am happy dancing inside.  I was even happy dancing in the car - there were times when I would get pop radio stations, and so happy dancing got me through all the verses of "American Pie" (twice), the endless fascination one station had with Janet Jackson (Nasty Station), and even found a way to accompany a pop song by Anna Nalick.

Deep breath - big sky - miles of wild - horses, cattle, calves, and goats - stretches of time with no signs of civilization except for the road beneath me.  There were places where there were no power lines or fences - just wide open spaces.  And peace.  Good medicine.  Good prayer time.

Just breathe - thank you, Anna.  But I have to disagree - we can jump the tracks - we are not cars on a cable.

Sometimes, when you can't reason you way through a situation, and what you normally do isn't working, you just have to trust your heart, jump the tracks, and see what happens.

Unstuck is what happened here.

Happy Dancing in San Raphael,
Kim