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
Saturday, September 20, 2014
Saturday, August 16, 2014
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
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
Sunday, July 6, 2014
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
...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
Friday, June 13, 2014
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
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
Tuesday, June 10, 2014
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
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
Friday, May 23, 2014
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
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
Tuesday, May 13, 2014
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
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
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