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

Five Gold Rings of (a different) PMS

Those of you who know me well will not be surprised to find me writing about Five Gold Rings.  I love Christmastide, and do my best to celebrate each joyous day of the Twelve Days of Christmas.  But it isn't easy - I confess that I am a bit of a hybrid; although I am thoroughly hard-wired for the Advent/Christmas/Epiphany cycle and do my best to follow that rhythm, I am also completely acculturated to American holiday practices, which involve cranking up Christmas mid-November and pulling the plug on it December 26th.  I hold off on the Christmas decs until after Thanksgiving, but there is no way I can wait to decorate the tree until Christmas Eve!  And as for carols - my poor long-suffering congregations have been introduced to all manner of Advent hymns (with mixed reviews), but I soften the line by the Third Sunday of Advent and allow the beloved Christmas carols to sneak into worship (one at a time) until Christmas Eve - when the palate is refreshed and ready for a steady diet of carols.  All of this means that by the time I am well into the Twelve Days of Christmas, Christmas already feels a bit "over."  Done.  Next please.  Already my mind is racing off to Epiphany as I look for the star...

...but then I remember that the only place we encounter God is in the present.  Not by time-traveling to the past or future, but now.  That means now - in Christmastide - this mysterious season of joy.

Joy is an interesting experience, as it is a pure gift of Spirit.  Unlike happiness, we cannot manufacture or create joy - it comes as gift.  It helps to be open to it, or looking towards it, but ultimately it comes from God, and all we can do is embrace it, tear off the wrapping paper and prepare to be amazed by it.  Or, if our mood is less exuberant, allow it to be the ocean that surrounds us and buoys our spirits until we find ourselves completely enveloped in love.  Glory be - what a gift!

It would be wonderful if Advent/Christmas/Epiphany also came with a cessation of some of the more difficult experiences of life - like pain, mistreatment/injustice, and suffering (PMS).  Sadly, those experiences do not agree to take a holiday from late November through February, and in fact can become intensified during the "festive seasons."  How can we feel joy if we are facing PMS?

Even in the midst of suffering, we can hold on to Five Gold Rings to help us move through/get through/survive PMS - valuable, precious and wise realities that can emerge as guides during even the most difficult of experiences:

Gold Ring One:  Pain, mistreatment/injustice and suffering can quickly focus our attention on what really matters, as it helps us to clarify our values, priorities, and choices.  It can cut through our mental and spiritual fog like a lighthouse.

Gold Ring Two:  Unexpected or long-term difficulties provide a proving ground for new behaviors and responses, which are particularly helpful when feeling stuck, and can lead to liberation from the PMS.  If we want a different outcome, it often involves a different response.  These responses and behaviors, when new, require practice - sometimes lots of practice.  Sigh -  life seems to provide ample opportunities to practice new behaviors.

Gold Ring Three:  PMS can jolt us out of complacency and the status quo, thus allowing us to see new possibilities and opportunities.  We resist change; PMS can push us into change that is good for us, but would have been resisted if not necessary.

Gold Ring Four:  Pain, mistreatment/injustice and suffering can turn us towards God, as we try to understand what is happening, and look for ways to survive/move through the difficulties.  Our prayers may start out sounding like this:  "Are you kidding me?  What are you thinking?  This can't possibly be happening - not now.  How in the world am I every going to get through this?  Are you out of your mind?  Stop this!  Do something!  Help me!  Make this go away, or fix it!"  The more honest we are with God, the more able we will be to see how God is at work in our life, even in the midst of horrible circumstances.  Over time, we begin to see the unique signature of God's presence and movement.  As we discern God's working within our life, we can begin to collaborate/cooperate with God - a powerful step.  And a step that opens us to transformation and joy.

Gold Ring Five:  PMS, when faced with an open heart, can deepen our ability to feel compassion for others, suspend our judgmental attitudes, and empower us to work for health, justice and dignity for all.  We take the pain, injustice and suffering we feel and allow it to soften our heart and mind - we allow God to spin gold from straw.  This movement from compassion to action is the movement of social transformation, and another pathway to true joy.

Gold rings - precious metal in the shape of a circle, which is a symbol for the feminine and feminine wisdom.  It is also a symbol of commitment.  What a perfect image to honor God's promise to never abandon us or leave us alone, but to journey with us in a loving, guiding way - especially in the presence of PMS - and lead us to the joy of being God's companion and co-creator!  Through our transformation, the world is transformed by love.  What joy!

Happy Fifth Day of Christmas,
Kim

Holy Darkness, Variable Speed, and Bayberry Candles!

I am a huge fan of hoarfrost.  I first fell in love with it back in Scotland, where it would turn the countryside into an enchanted frosted fairyland.  When you could see it, that is.  Hoarfrost often came with freezing fog, which was an experience unto itself.  Visibility was reduced to zero, and the cold and damp would seep into your bones so much so that you kept moving for fear that if you stopped, you would freeze in place like an ice sculpture!

We started this week in the Treasure Valley with both fog and hoarfrost - the whole, foggy countryside was encased in a magical coating of shimmering white frosting!  The trees were the stars of the show - enchantingly beautiful.  I found myself gazing at the trees and shrubs as though I had never seen them before.  Truth be told, I had never seen them looking so beautiful and "other-worldly."  High marks for Jack Frost - clearly some of his best work.

The fog, however, was less welcome.  At first it was ok - quaint - mysterious - almost magical.  Like a big gray comforter draped over the valley.  By day three, is was less of all of the above, and more like a heavy wet blanket keeping all the inverted air pollution right down at respiratory tract level.  And although I am not prone to claustrophobia, I found myself very sympathetic towards those who are.  Everything felt very, very "close," and gray.  Very gray.

It was on the last day of this fog that I drove the fifty miles on the interstate to Mountain Home.   I gave myself extra time because visibility was poor, and it occurred to me that if I couldn't see where I was going, perhaps it was best not to get ahead of myself.  About half way to my destination, I realized that this was not half bad advice for living as well as driving.  More than once I have found myself in circumstances that were very fog-like, with my perceptual visibility reduced to almost zero, and no clear view of the course ahead.  In those circumstances, my first impulse was not to slow down and match speed with visibility, but to barrel along as fast as I could, to clear the fog patch as quickly as possible.

I confess that the outcome of this strategy has included plowing head-long into any number of obstacles that, with reduced speed, could have been avoided.  And avoiding life's "crash and burn" opportunities, whenever possible, is very good thing.  As is not racing along and ending up in "X" because you couldn't see the signs for "Y" - time is not saved when you end up miles away from your intended destination.  Speeding ahead when you can't see where you are going also doesn't save anything when you have to factor in the time (and money) it takes to be pulled out of the ditch.  And damn, there are always ditches where you least expect them!

Tonight it is going to snow, and according to the local weather guesstimators, we will get between a dusting to four inches of the stuff.  Like a child waiting for a snow day, I keep glancing out the window to see if it has started yet!  I love snow, though I confess that with each passing year, I prefer to view it from the warmth and convenience of the in-side of the window.  As dusk settles, I will find myself slowing down, centering, and will light a bayberry candle honoring the eve of the winter solstice, letting the candle burn down into the socket - an old (and somewhat superstitious) custom that my great-grandmother learned from her mother, and was passed down until my mother taught it to me.  I have few non-neurotic traditions gifted to me from my family, and so I treat this one as the pearl of great price.  Accordingly, I don't burn those awful bayberryesque-artificially perfumed-paraffin-stearin-mineral oil-polymer-2% beeswax candles that used to smell like bad perfume mixed with jet fuel (sorry Mom).  Never!  Instead, I found pure bayberry candles made in Ohio's Amish country, and get three pairs to burn during the holidays.  Mom always burned them on Christmas Eve and Christmas night, offering a few highly superstitious reasons for doing this (that had no connection whatsoever with Bethlehem, angels, shepherds, and a baby lying in a manger).  It was Mom's best attempt at bringing religion into her favorite secular holiday.  Grandma lit bayberry candles on New Year's Eve and New Year's night, and would say the little ditty:  "Bayberry candles burned to the socket bring health to the home and wealth to the pocket."  It was Grandma's version of buying a lottery ticket.

So I honor and re-interpret Mom's and Grandma's traditions, but could never understand why they missed lighting these beautiful candles for the Solstice!  After all, if anything is to be marked and celebrated with candle light, it is the passing of the longest nights, and the slow return of the light.

The snow has started to fall!  Light your candle - count your blessings - honor or start (or re-work) a family tradition - feel the darkness around you like that warm, down comforter, and know that tonight and tomorrow may bring the longest nights, but then the tide turns, and the light begins to return.  Again.

May you know the blessings of Holy Darkness, and the joy of the return of the Light,
Kim

4-legged Advent Angels of Mercy

I am a lousy patient.  The "virus du jour" morphed into bronchitis, and I found myself faced with an invitation to do some work on one of my growing edges - self care.  This involved making a commitment to getting some rest.

I do not rest well.  I work well, but rest - not something I've focused on.  The medication helps me to think about resting because I feel terrible when taking it.  Last night the terrible feeling spilled out of the physical symptoms into my emotions - the world felt very small.  And dark.

Structure - it helps to have a little bit of structure when trying not to slip head-first down the water slide of despair.  I approached today with just that little bit of structure - prayer time, time to read and rest, time to do a few light things then rest - a gentle day.  Structure involves making sure I do things that give me joy - even (or especially) little things.  Open the blinds to watch the snow fall; put on soothing music.  Read something enjoyable.  Stay warm.  Sip tea.  Keep it simple and positive.

And it felt like "enough" that I was able to do those things.  With each sip of tea and turn of the page, I felt the darkness of last night recede, and felt comforted that there would be no slipping down into despair.  This was unpleasant, but it would pass.  The gift of perspective felt just like what it was - a gift.

I leaned back into my pillows and started to close my eyes for a nap, which out of the corner of my eyes I saw - puppies!  I have never before claimed excitement over living on a cul-de-sac in a suburban subdivision, but today, right outside my bedroom window, I saw two labrador puppy reasons for liking my neighborhood.  The new family two doors down came outside to play in the snow, and lo and behold, they came out with puppies.  And (if that wasn't enough AHHHHHH for one day) they also have a toddler!  Forget the nap - it was puppies and young child time.  It was delightful to watch the puppies discover the snow as they pranced and raced and played with each other and their family.  The child discovered snow angels while the puppies stalked snow shovels and chased snow balls.  There was laughter and fun - snow flying everywhere!  And the little one helped Mom to build a snow pyramid (I think it was meant to be a snowman, but with western powder, a pyramid is what they got).  And I had the best seat in the house to watch it all - overflowing with gratitude for the simple joy I felt watching the unexpected events outside my window.

I would have rather been out playing with my new neighbors, or busy with other activities - or just feeling better!  But those were not options for today.  Instead, just outside my window, I was invited into an Advent gift of joy - totally unexpected.

The best gifts often are...

What unexpected gifts have come into your life recently?
With love,
Kim

Grounded in "Yes!"

I started preparing on Friday (Thursday felt too early).  I gave my prayer space a gentle clean, and put away the signs of previous seasons.  I took out my Advent devotionals and wreath, placing four fresh candles in this simple circle of metal.  Each year I look at more elaborate Advent wreaths and think about "upgrading" (my original Advent wreath fell to bits about a decade ago).  But in the end, simplicity wins out.  I also take out important visuals for the season - icons of St. Nicholas, Our Lady of the Sign, and John the Baptism, and a beloved print by Victoria Shuck entitled "Yes!"

"Yes!"  I look at this print depicting Mary saying yes to God's invitation - one that brought a mixed bag of possibilities from beginning to end.  Along with the unspeakable joy of new life and union with God came social judgment and isolation, fear, displacement - but to all of this and more she said "Yes!"  And God walked with her through the darkness into the light.

Tonight I waited until it was dark, and went up into my prayer space to light the first candle of Advent, letting the light slowly fill the darkened room.  I lit my first Advent candle when I was fifteen - my family thought I was crazy going into my room to light the candles and say my prayers.  I have maintained this ritual for almost forty years - no matter where lived, no matter what my circumstances, in good times and bad I have lit the Advent candles, sang the first verse of "O Come, O Come Emmanuel," and prayed for the strength to say "Yes!"

I love this ritual - it grounds me and centers me, and immediately takes me back to what is most important.  I think we humans are hardwired for ritual, and completely dispense with it at our peril.  It can provide a powerful way for our soul to speak - to say "Yes!"

What rituals will you observe during this Season of Advent that will help to ground you in the Real, and keep you from being swept up in the "silly season?"

May you have a blessed beginning to your Advent Journey -
Kim

Reading the Signs - or - the Advent Hawk

The hawk is back.  As I write this, she is perched on my neighbor's fence surveying the glorious land of bird feeders.  I think this is the same hawk I watched practicing take-offs and landings two summers ago; the same hawk that came to visit me last Christmas.  As winters approaches, she now returns to the hawk equivalent of Eagle Road with all its fast-food restaurants - there are easily 8 bird feeders within her sight.

Over the past several weeks the bird seed consumption dropped off precipitously - a sign that she had returned to her winter hunting ground.  But I don't need to read the signs to know that she is here, for there she perches, in all her power and glory.  To love her and to love the little spurdies who are even now pressed deep within the blue spruce tree as they hold their collective breaths until she flies away - well, holding both in my heart feels strange.  But both belong, and both are beloved.

I can see her (gazing out the window) instead of being busy with tasks (what I usually do) because I've come down with what must be the "virus de jour" - reducing the size of my world to this table, window, chair, tablet, and the necessary "virus de jour" paraphernalia (water, tissue, more tissue, cough drops, inhalers, and fever reducers).  And a hawk.  Oh my - she is so beautiful...

About a week ago I noticed that I was feeling more tired than usual - heading to "bed and book" earlier (not necessarily a bad thing, as I have piles of books waiting for my attention).  As I look back at my daily journal entries, I see the first reference to physically sliding downhill on Tuesday - I knew something wasn't right.  Wednesday's journal entry is one sentence - now I knew what wasn't right.  But the telling entry was made on the following day:  "I am feeling sick today - it is an invitation to take very good care of myself."

If the entry wasn't in my own handwriting, I'd be looking to find the person who wrote that in my journal!  This is a complete departure from how I normally approach the annual virus experience - first I deny that it is happening (I am NOT getting sick).  Then, I continue my schedule without any modifications (to prove that I am not getting sick).  When that is unsuccessful, I use medication as I way to mask symptoms so I can keep going (I will act well and therefore I am not sick).  Finally, the virus overwhelms all my coping strategies, and when I am finally so sick that I cannot get out of bed, I accept that I am sick and stop.

Well-practiced (and somewhat silly) pattern!  And familiar patterns are hard to break -

- but not impossible.  The hard work of learning new ways to "be" has clearly helped me to gain ground in the new pattern department, because as soon as I was aware that I was getting sick, I stopped, and started taking care of myself.

Old dogs - new tricks - thank goodness!

But I confess (with some embarrassment) that today I discovered some magical thinking associated with my self-care strategy - if I take care of myself at the beginning of the virus, it will not progress and I will get better quicker and with fewer complications.  I uncovered this little bit of magical thinking when I found myself frustrated that the added rest, healthy food (even a honeydew melon and cucumber smoothie) and judicious use of medication hadn't stopped this in its tracks and kept it from progressing.  Clearly (cough cough), the virus marches on.  So with the ulterior motive noticed, I am left with the question:  "Can I see this as an invitation to take very good care of myself - even if this self-care does not give me the result I want?  Can I nurture myself simply because it is a loving thing to do and reflective of God's love?

Yes, I can.

More signs to read - indicators that the work I am doing to learn sustainable self-care skills is taking root.  These signs show me that a shift is taking place - I am caring for myself not simply because of what I can get out of it, but because I love myself and want to nurture myself.  I bet God is grinning from ear to ear!

Reading the signs is a theme for this time of the year, as the Christian church prepares for the Season of Advent.  In Advent we are called to watch and wait and look - to prepare a place in our hearts for Christ's love to be born anew.  How I love this time of the year - how I love reading the signs!

Animal Medicine teaches that the hawk is a messenger who reminds us to heighten our awareness and read the signs around us.  Of course she has returned - just in time.

Happy reading,
Kim

Liquid Time

Right now there is a break in today's storms.  As I look out at the Boise Foothills, they appear to be frosted with a bright coating of snow.  Rain, sleet and hail have been the options playing outside my window today.  Each brings a different percussive presence to my window - the varying rhythms have been most entertaining (easy to say from the warmth of inside the house).  It is cold enough to be unpleasant (nothing is worse than cold rain/sleet to chill the body to the bone), but not cold enough down here for snow.  That may change by tomorrow morning, just in time for the drive to church.  I would say that the state of precipitation is fluid, but perhaps that pun is best left alone...

Time also feels quite fluid/liquid today.  Over ten years ago to the month I saw (in my heart) a design for a tapestry.  It was as clear as day, but each time I tried to sketch it, the image would evaporate! Over the years I have tried (in vain) to sketch it again, and each time I do, the image (which evolves with each passing year), evaporates.  I even went so far as to warp the big tapestry loom for this project (the dimensions stay stable over time even when the image changes),  but each attempt to weave the tapestry was met with - a wall.  Every attempt to push through this block was met with failure.

Finally I had to accept that it was not the time to weave the tapestry.

Several weeks ago part of the image for the tapestry evolved yet again - but this time, I had a strong sense that THIS was the image for the tapestry.  Next came the colors...finally, the design - which shares some similarities with the original design, but has evolved in some interesting ways.

Now it is time to weave the tapestry.

In the past, when I could not even begin the design, I felt feelings of failure and inadequacy.  Now I see that it was simply not time to begin.  There were experiences I needed to have - questions I needed to ask - joys/sorrows that needed to be experienced before I could begin.  And now, out of the depths of my experience, the image emerges...

...in its own time.  When the time is right.  In the fullness of time.  Not necessarily when I want/need it to happen - but in its own time.

In some ways, the evolving image has been a mirror for work taking place in my soul.  It has also been a powerful guide/teacher, leading me ever deeper into awareness of God's presence in my life...

...just in time.  In time.  Time -

Can I allow myself to accept that things emerge/resolve in their time (exit failure and inadequacy) and sing the song of Ecclesiastes?

Singing (tentatively),
Kim