View from the dancefloor

For twenty years I have prayed the Prayer of Abandon, written by Charles de Foucauld - given to me by a dear colleague and friend during a very trying time in life.  I have loved/hated this prayer, often modifying it with a host of qualifiers that took the edge off the concept of abandoning myself into God's hands...

...after all, wasn't I responsible for making the changes, doing the heavy lifting, being in charge of my growth, development and life?  Isn't handing over the power to God irresponsible and lazy - taking the easy way out?

I have struggled mightily with where my responsibility ends, and God's begins.  If we are dance partners, who leads?  Of course I say "God leads," while I immediately try to direct the dance.  The tension generated by this prayer drives me crazy!

And yet I pray it morning and evening.  

Lately the prayer has been prayed without qualifiers.  It is a time of change and transformation in my heart and life, and I have been  most frustrated by my inability to shift a few patterns that, while they served a purpose forty or fifty years ago, no longer serve me well.  Wise guides encourage me to be gentle with myself and accept that the changes will come with time.  I, in the meantime, alternate between trying to bench press the changes into reality and throwing my arms up in despair because they are not happening quickly enough!  Why won't things shift NOW?!

Wise guides encourage me to gently immerse myself in that which leads to life, light, and healing - that which is the basis of the changes I seek to make, and trust God in the process.  I listen to their wisdom, and then again resume alternating between leaning into this with gentleness and patience, and trying to figure out how to make it happen NOW!  But try as I might (and do I ever try), I cannot make change happen.  I cannot manage to embody that which I seek.  

And then, when least expected - there it is.  The shift.  The insight.  The breakthrough - given as gift, not as prize won or dividend earned.  I am stunned - amazed - surprised - grateful - and tears express the "thank you" said by my heart.

Another both/and moment.  Each choice to open myself to what leads to life, light and healing helped to prepare my heart for God's freely given gift.  But the gift came from God - in God's time, and in God's way.  And we dance...together...and the question of who leads is irrelevant!

I am humbled, awed, and deeply grateful for the nurturing love and wisdom of our Mother/Father/Creator.

Dancing with abandon,

Kim

Safe in the Hands of Fourth Graders

I have been blessed with an abundance of "God moments" while on this retreat, and many involve the natural world.  It isn't easy for me to hike (or shuffle, as the case may be) up the hill to the grotto, but I got up there yesterday just in time for the rain to start coming down in buckets! I sat nursing my sore knee and soaking in the beauty of the surroundings, when I suddenly heard a buzzing sound off to my right, and turned to see a lone hummingbird hovering in the grotto for shelter.  It rested briefly on a rock, and then headed back out into the rain.  I was reminded of a similar visitation on my 50th birthday, when David and I hiked up the East Inlet trail (my favorite trail) in Rocky Mt. National Park (my favorite park) and went as far as the rock shelf (the stopping point when David was a child).  After awhile, I sent David back down the trail so I could have a moment to pray and savor the setting (and contemplate how to tell him that my knee was shot and I didn't have a clue how I was going to hike out of there) when all of a sudden a hummingbird came up over the rock shelf and hovered in front of me - close enough to touch.  It was such a kairotic moment - I was transfixed, and felt God's ever-present grace enfolding me.  Unfortunately transfixed doesn't mean transported, and I still had to hike back to the car (who snuck in and lengthened the trail while we rested on the rock shelf?)!  It took twice as long to hike out as it did to hike in, and the pain, at times, was excruciating.  But several times along the trail, the hummingbird re-appeared, giving me encouragement and hope - a lesson that God may not fix the situation, but provides ample hummingbird power to see it through.

Today I didn't risk limping back to the grotto, but shuffled instead down to the area known as the park, where I've been told there is a lovely swing in a grove of trees.  I found the swing (very lovely) in the grove of trees (peaceful), but after sitting awhile, I felt like exploring a bit further.  Encouraged by the birds who were squawking me out of their territory, I headed back towards the road and saw a charming old bench.  Actually, my knee saw the bench, and encouraged my body to try it out.  It was very old - the kind of bench that has planters built into the side of the bench.  And when I looked to the
planter on the right, I was surprised to see a lily of the valley plant (my favorite flower) in full bloom.  The fragrance was - well - no word captures it for me.  I smile deeply just thinking about the beauty and fragrance of these wee flowers.

Each day since I've been here I've sat in the glider in front of the window and savored a beautiful rainbow.  Today's full arch appeared in pieces over time, but when the last bit of the arch appeared the entire rainbow intensified like someone had plugged it in - pow!  It startled me by its brightness, and left me uttering the words of the psalmist:  Glory.  A powerful reminder that such beauty only happens in the midst of showers.

But all of these God moments pale in comparison to today's hope-filled encounter.  A fourth grade class was visiting the monastery, and the students and teachers attended midday Mass.   For the most part, this is not a chronologically young community (although intellectually and spiritually the community is flexible and fit).  Having a class of fourth graders introduced into this mix completely changed the atmosphere.  The retired priest was very welcoming to them, and tried his best to include them, but they looked so out of place...and were trying to be ever so still and quiet...and kept looking toward their teachers for direction and guidance...

...until in the middle of Mass, one of the elderly Sisters, who is in a wheelchair, decided she needed to leave.  In turning her wheel chair around she knocked over her water bottle.  One of the other Sisters picked it up, and helped the Sister back to the infirmary.  But as she was wheeled away (all while the priest was continuing with Mass), two of the fourth grade girls noticed that water had spilled onto the floor, and they grabbed the tissue box off the counter and raced over to the spill, kneeling down and trying to clean up the mess with tissues.  None of the adults had noticed the water, or if they had, they decided not to interrupt Mass to clean it up.  How easy it would have been for one of the Sisters to slip in the water when they went up for Communion!  But have no fear - the fourth graders visitors immediately responded with grace and efficiency.  Even though they were in a strange place - even though no one gave them permission to get involved and clean up the mess - even though it wasn't their mess to clean up - even in the presence of plenty of grown ups who could have dealt with it, they noticed and acted.  As I watched them, I found that I, too, needed tissue.  But this water spill was coming from my eyes and heart.

Kudos to the priest for stopping the liturgy to acknowledge the compassion and quick thinking of these young guests!  Jesus said child-like faith would bring us into God's presence - and so it did.

The world is in safe hands, so long as God has fourth graders who are willing to show up, pay attention, and be our teachers.

Celebrating hope and grace every place I find it,
Kim

Flap Less - Glide More

A month has passed, and I'm back at the Monastery for a few days.  The drive up was wet, but thank goodness it is raining (the hills look so brown for May)!  David Crosby kept me company for the drive (the post-jail, clean and sober Crosby - I celebrate all people who are able to turn their life around and continue being creative)!  I'm staying in a room I've never been in before, which gives me a slightly different view of the Camas Prairie.  I brought a stack of books with me, plan to keep the daily yoga going as well as (knees permitting) a daily walk to the grotto.  Plus chapel 3x/day.  And a nap.  And good visits with the Sisters.  It is good to be here.

I'm now almost a month into what I half-jokingly call the Romans 5: 1-5 Program.  Although I am no where near the hope part (yet), I get the occasional whiff of its signature fragrance, which causes me to breathe deeply, and center.  And endure.  And heal.  It is a slow process.  But it is proceeding, and that is a blessing.  God is good...

...and so are swifts (not the weaving kind - which are also good - but the flying kind - which are amazing).  From my window here at the Spirit Center I watch a variety of different birds as they flap and flutter.  Today my favorite is the swifts - they may flap, but they also have the whole "glide thing" figured out.  I have spent this afternoon and evening delighted by their aerial gliding choreography - such grace, beauty and whimsy.

Clearly we are meant to flap less, and glide more.

Working the program,
Kim

Sweet Trail of "Snails"

It is April 30th and snowing in Cottonwood, Idaho.  I came up to the Monastery last Saturday, and in the words of James Taylor, I "looked like ashes and smelled like smoke."  A Sister was waiting for me, and got me settled into a room for some rest.  Rest is so healing, as are the "God with skin on" Sisters who live and minister here.  Whether it is triage, listening, or hugs, they are more than up to the task.

I was give a "Silent Retreatant" badge to wear so I didn't have to interact with all the other retreatants here (it is a busy time in the guest house), and have been going into the little chapel alone during prayer times instead of going over to the main church.  I take my meals in the little kitchen here - silence and solitude.  Time to think.  Time to pray.  Time to heal.  Time to grieve.  Time to let go.  Time to be open to my next steps.

I brought an odd assortment of things with me for this journey (a little light on clothes, but very heavy on reading materials).   I brought books of course, both fiction and nonfiction. I brought my journals from the last eight years, and read through each and every page.  Reading them made it clear that the current circumstances should come as no surprise.  But what did surprise me - and delighted me - was the clear trail marking God's presence throughout this span of time.  There was a trail of people, places, events that were resonant with God's signature.  Despite the pain, I could see that God as been present and with me all along!  What a hopeful discovery!

Trails figure prominently in the book I am reading (again), Sue Monk Kidd's The Secret Life of Bees.  I read it once ages ago, could not remember the plot very clearly, but knew grief figured prominently in the plot, and so it came with me.  And yes, there is an element of grieving and letting go in the book.  But the story line from the book that got my attention today involves graham crackers and marshmallows...

There is a character in the story who cannot stand to see anything suffer - or be killed - so when she would find a roach in the kitchen, she would make a trail of pieces of graham crackers and marshmallows that led to the door and outside - luring them out to safety before someone crushed them.    This odd trail to freedom becomes an important secondary theme throughout the book, and always made me smile.

Today I walked up to the Grotto in the Woods - an outdoor chapel on the Monastery grounds that is a special place I retreat to for prayer.  Dedicated to Mary, it has that creation/feminine energy that is so empowering - and healing.  I sat there pouring out my soul, and pondering my next steps.  After a time of silence and writing, I headed down the hill, and right into a snowstorm.  But it wasn't ordinary snowflakes, nor ordinary hail stones, but these solid-but-puffy snow/hail pellets (dare I call them snails?) that looked for all the world like small marshmallows.  I started laughing as this trail of marshmallow-like pellets rained down from heaven.

There will be a path - a trail.  And I will see it.  And it won't always be bitter - it may even be sweet.

Change is hard.  Hearts break.  Hearts heal.  God is faithful.  God is good.
Truth - time - and grace.

Healing,
Kim

Crack!

Despite the pain, I can so easily see God's gentle presence in every step this week - through the readings in the devotional that guides me through "pecking season," through the unexpected kindness of strangers and friends, through the actions and choices of others that serve as inspiration and encouragement, and through that abiding presence that can be felt and heard even through the roar of the waterfall.

The words in the devotional for today:  "An old Jewish proverb teaches, 'When you have no choice, don't be afraid.' A modern saying argues, 'There's no way out but through.' The straight and simple truth is that there are some things in life that must be done, even when we don't want to do them, even when we believe we can't do them."  (Joan Chittister).  

Wise guidance from counselors and friends and strangers and devotional books and hours of prayer and reflections and a waterfall of tears all became peck peck peck peck peck peck peck peck peck (until)

Crack!

And light comes in.  And air comes in.  And I rest in God's arms.  (to resume pecking after some rest)

I hear Leonard Cohen's voice singing - "There is a crack in everything.  That's how the light gets in." Light is good.

And it is dawn, Easter morning.

Life is hard.  Life is good.  God is good.  Amen.

Pecking Season

I like to mark the changing seasons with meaningful symbols.  Some symbols have obvious religious connotations, like the wreath and candles that come out in time for that First Sunday of Advent. Some connect more with nature's rhythms, like my beloved cloth stuffed pumpkins that I place on my Grandmother's buffet in autumn.  For Easter I bring out five beautiful hand painted wooden eggs that are a joy to behold.  I place them in a nest of Easter grass in the center of my prayer table, and smile every time I see their beauty.

Eggs are an enduring symbol of Easter - new life - new possibilities.  But this morning I realized that, for me, the intact egg is a symbol only of possibility - it doesn't become a symbol of new life or emergent life until the chick pecks its way out of the egg.

I remember being told long ago that if you try to free the chick from the egg, you can do more harm than good (so said a grade school teacher).  It is the act of fighting to be free from the confines of the egg that gives the chick the strength for life.  It must peck and push free of the egg to be free indeed.  Ditto for butterflies, that other abiding symbol of Easter.  When the time is right, the egg or chrysalis that isn't broken open from within soon becomes an unopened tomb.

Sometimes, when stuck, God answers the prayer "help!" by removing the obstacle.  Other times, we need to peck, push, and fight our way free, with God answering our prayer through unexpected grace and strength to aid us as we break the shell from the inside out.

I awoke before dawn feeling the shell pressing against me, and an unexpected flush of grace and strength.

Let the pecking begin!

Moving into Easter,
Kim

Walking on...

Last night I settled down in the wasteland just as I have done for too many nights to count.  Once I found a comfortable spot, I looked up at the sky, and savored the few stars I could see through the hazy night sky.  Each one brought me comfort - how I love the night sky!  I could even imagine the vast display of stars that were there hidden from my view.

Before night settled in I looked over at the pile of stuff I've recently accumulated.  Since I was no longer traveling out of the wasteland, I didn't have to limit my possessions to what I could carry.  In fact, there was almost enough stuff that I could build myself a shelter here - a home.

I gazed long and hard in all directions - I have been here long enough that the scenery is familiar, and oddly comforting.  All that time and effort - all those years wandering through the wasteland heading for that promised land seemed now to be a fool's errand.  Perhaps it would have been better just to accept this as home and not try to find my way through.

Content enough with life as it is, I settled down to sleep.  But my sleep was fitful and dream-filled, and I awoke with a soreness in my hip and lower back that felt like I'd been sleeping on a rock.  I reached down to rub my hip and felt something deep in my pocket - it was my compass!  I thought I had lost it a while ago, which made leaving the wasteland seem impossible!  But there is was, and in perfect working order.

I sat there for a long time...looking at the compass...drinking in the vastness of the wasteland...studying my pile of stuff accumulated during this stop on the journey...wondering what kind of fool would leave the safety of the familiar to head into the unknown toward a destination that she has never seen with her own eyes and can only accept by faith...

...what kind of fool?

This kind of fool!

With effort I got to my feet, used the compass to point them in the right direction, and started walking again.  The stuff?  It would only weigh me down. It is time to travel light.

Walking on,
Kim