Moving the Needle

I just finished my last doctoral class (not counting the post-class paper).  I usually take one class per year, but this year I felt compelled to finish the coursework in one summer.  Since the seminary was experimenting with 5 day intensive courses, I decided to take two classes and put this part of the DMin behind me.  The first class went very well, and as Multicultural Counseling is a good skill for any pastor to have, I signed up for that second course and started reading the very thick text book.  At the appointed time, I drove south and west, and spent the Fourth of July week in class.

Our class was composed of six students and one professor.  Of the seven of us, all were clergy of various flavors:  two were Roman Catholic Priests, one was a Reconstructionist Rabbi, one was a Mennonite Pastor, one was Presbyterian, and one was Christian Reformed - Korean.  I am UCC.  Among us we had three women and four men, and people from Ghana, Nigeria, Florida, North Carolina, Indiana, Idaho and California.  Of those living in America, three were first generation immigrants (from Argentina, Korea, and England).  Those from Africa were here on student visas.  We were mixed in terms of religions, countries of origin, race, ethnicity, culture, sexual orientation, marital status, economic status, political persuasion, and although everyone but the Rabbi was Christian, it was a highly diverse group of Christians (from far-right evangelical/conservative to far-left progressive).

For five days we sat around the table and talked about very hard topics, practicing active listening, problem-solving, and a variety of different counseling and group process strategies.  It was intense.  And it was not always easy.  Passions would flare, and the group would hold the energy until it could dissipate or redirect.  We stayed around the table while people of color were dying at the hands of the police, and police were dying at the hands of  - what shall we call him? A person of color?  A veteran?  A person with mental health challenges?  Someone in need of help?  We stayed around the table and brought our widely diverse perspectives to questions that seem almost too big to answer, and feelings that were hard to contain.

Seminary is a safe place to be during times of fear and uncertainty.  People spring into action and create spaces to pray, or talk, or grieve, or express anger and fear - loving arms go around the  seminary community so we can step into the larger community and minister to those who are also afraid and angry.  Some went to Oakland.  Some to local vigils.  Many will go to a large gathering in San Francisco tomorrow afternoon.  Seminary, like a local church, becomes the place people are equipped, supported, and "launched" into service.

What do we do in the face of this continuing violence that fractures along racial lines?  What do we do when communities of color are afraid of the police who are called to serve and protect them, and the police are afraid of violence from the communities they are sworn to serve and protect?

We gather.

We gather to comfort and support.  We gather to witness to the need for constructive, transformative conversation followed by action.  We listen and hear one another.  We talk honestly and deeply about the role systemic racism plays in our current reality, taking a long and hard look at how we are complicit (often unwittingly) with a racist system.  We have tough conversations about gun violence in America, and discuss creative and effective ways to curb gun violence.  We look at all aspects of our judicial system, from the police to the prisons and everything in between.  We refuse to engage in the politics of blame and shame that are such a part of this election cycle, and we hold our elected officials responsible for setting a tone of positive, cooperative leadership.

We meet one another, talk honestly and respectfully, solve difficult problems together and implement change.

The most important part of gathering around the table to talk is that the conversation is useless if those gathered around the table are just like "me."  Each of us can have conversations like that sitting in front of a mirror!  Instead, we need to gather and converse with people who are different from us - people who hold positions that are outside of our experience, and possibly hard for us to hear.  We must get out of our bubble of comfort and familiarity and listen. The conversation isn't going to be easy, and sometimes it will not uncomfortable.  But if it is honest, respectful and true, it will move the needle.  And the damn needle needs to move!

During my drive today I stopped in an obscure town in Nevada for gas and a break.  The young woman behind he counter welcomed some conversation.  I asked her about living in a town that, well, was a brief stopping place for people who needed gasoline, a bathroom break, or an impressive assortment of jerky.   She shared, with a big smile on her face, that she loved living in a city  (Winnemucca), but loved living here more.  "There is a creek behind the house, and I can go out back with my gun and shoot as much as I want.  I love being outdoors, and relaxing with my gun."   Well, we had some common ground on the outdoors part, but the gun is another story.  She was listening to a conservative radio talk show, and had a WWJD tattoo - a question that I think we might answer differently.   If we were to generate a quick list of things we have in common, it would be a very short list.  Except for the most important thing - we are both beloved of God, and created in God's very image.  And she is someone I need to get to know - because she sees a completely different world than I do.

I know what the world I see looks like.  I need to see the world through the eyes of those who see a very different world.  And have a very different experience.

This week has been shocking, and shame on any political leader who uses these tragedies to stoke fear and division!  Equally, shame on anyone who enters the situation with a big broom and desire to sweep these even bigger questions under the rug.  If you are white, you benefit directly from systemic racism - end of story.   You have privilege.  It is time to use that privilege in service of justice and transformation.

It's time to gather and have real, life-changing conversations - a process faith communities are uniquely positioned to facilitate. This must happen before this level of violence becomes our new normal, and we habituated to it, or become resigned.  Once resignation, despair or apathy settle in, it is harder to move the needle.  And the damn needle needs to move!

With love and prayers for transformative justice,
Kim

Darkness x (L + T + CD + Zusya) = Hope

It was around the Winter Solstice that I last wrote in this blog.  And now the Summer Solstice has arrived, and I continue to enjoy the light from the longest day.  I am back from my second-to-last DMin Course, with my head so full of information that it will take months to integrate.  The time between the longest night and longest day has been rich and full, but not without challenges.  Some challenges are the normal stuff of life; others packed a punch that was not appreciated.  I guess that, too, is the stuff of life.  

This is not the easy planet.  Or the fair planet.

I came through winter and into spring looking for some personal and vocational guidance.  I found both in Parker J. Palmer's book Let Your Life Speak.  He offers a simple yet brilliant observation:  "Before you tell your life what you intend to do with it, listen for what it intends to do with you.  Before you tell your life what truths and values you have decided to live up to, let your life tell you what truths you embody, what values you represent." As we look deeply into the story of our life and observe these facets of our true self, we can follow them into our present and its open questions - noticing when "way opens" and when "way closes," (to use phrases from the Quaker tradition).  Accepting that we can learn as much (and sometimes more) from "way closing" as from "way opening" brings wisdom.  Quieting down so we can listen to what is deep within us - and letting that guide us - in some ways parallels Maggie Ross's "work of silence" (from a brilliant but incredibly dense text called Silence: A User's Guide that was used in this most recent course).  

And that brings me to the three best words/phrases used last week in class:

Liminality (Maggie Ross): Living in that threshold space that includes attentive receptivity, beholding, paradox, insight, and an openness to the unfolding truth found in the infinite (through whatever name we call the infinite).  Liminal space is creative - and transformative.

Tensegrity (Buckminster Fuller via Mary Hess): An architectural term that is a portmanteau of tension plus integrity, applied also in understanding organizational structure and pastoral ministry (Mary Hess).  In this application, tensegrity refers to opposing forces causing stability through dynamic interaction.  Hmmm...

And my favorite:

Capex Dei - (St. Augustine via Maggie Ross):  The capacity for receiving God - a quality that is well worth increasing/enlarging in individuals and communities.

The news I heard at Seminary regarding mainline Protestant churches (and their seminaries) was not encouraging - it is indeed a time of significant challenge that calls for re-visioning what it means to be the church.  Some say that the church we knew in the 1950's (and today) will all but be extinct within a generation.  Add to that the horrific events in places like Orlando and Fallujah, and the slow-motion train wreck that describes much of what is happening on the political scene, and one wonders where we can look for hope.

That is where, for me, these three words/phrases have their power.  If we intentionally seek out that liminal space and live into the paradoxes, insights and unfolding truth that is found there...and if we lean into that which appears oppositional, and learn from it and embrace the challenges/shadow side that is present in life...and if we intentionally increase our capacity for receiving God (and God's wisdom, compassion, mercy, justice and Love), I believe we will have the hope-filled components to face the current/future challenges, and bring our very best to whatever life offers. Liminality - Tensegrity - Capex Dei.

Kathleen Norris, in her beautiful and challenging book "Cloister Walk," reminds us of the observation made by Gregory of Nyssa long ago:  "Moses entered the darkness, and then saw God in it."  Despite the sunlight of this longest day, there is much darkness in our world.  May we enter into it, looking to see the God who never turns away from the pain and trauma of life.  And may we know that what we bring - our true selves (both shadow and light) - is enough.  No one said this better than Martin Buber, in his story about Rabbi Zusya.  "Shortly before his death, the Rabbi said:  "In the world to come I shall not be asked: "Why were you not Moses?'  I shall be asked:  "Why were you not Zusya?"

Be - Enter - Open - Know - Embrace - Transform - Share - Be!

Solstice blessings,

Kim

Shall We Dance?

This is an amazing night, and I approach it with wonder and awe.  Of course, unlike my ancient ancestors, I know what tomorrow will bring - a fraction of more light than today.  Tonight the darkness reaches its zenith, and prepares to give way to the light - an amazing cosmic dance!

I lit a bayberry candle last night and tonight - a nod to the superstitions of my immediate ancestors.  Although I know it provides no magical protection or power, there is a quality to its light and fragrance that touches something deep within me.  As I strike the match to light the candle, my mother's hand, and her mother's hand - and who knows how many other women from my family - all join me in lighting that candle.

And the light shines in the darkness...

The darkness carries great power.  And at this time of year, it can envelope us like a dense woolen blanket - sometimes almost suffocating us with its heaviness and power - a power that can carry many lessons, and much insight.  But it does not stay forever, and always gives way to the light - and the light's different lessons and insights.

Respect the darkness - learn its many lessons - and wait for the return of the light.  And in the meantime, light your candle, let your light shine, and join in this cosmic dance.   It is amazing how much darkness can be dispelled by one light.  Your light.

Our ancient ancestors waited to see if the light would return again - or if they would be left in perpetual darkness.  They were never disappointed, for the light always returned.  And as it was for them, so it is for us.

...and the darkness did not overcome it.

Shall we dance?

Embracing the darkness, holding the light, and joining in the cosmic dance -
Kim

Sometimes, it works like this: (or is it always...)

I spend a lot of time trying to understand how the universe works.  I guess that makes me a pretty normal human - we have been trying to suss this whole earthly existence out since our first ancestor looked up at the stars and asked "why?  How?"  And we have been asking "why" and "how" questions ever since.  Why do bad things happen to good people?  How do I know if I am following God's leading for my life?  Why is life unfair?  How do I know God is with me?

An ancient explanation for how do I know if I am following God's leading for my life has enjoyed a resurgence in the past decade - repackaged for a new audience, under the heading called "flow."  It suggests that if you are following God's leading for your life, you will find yourself in that zone called "flow" - a place where life is almost effortless, and everything falls into place.  If, instead, you find yourself swimming against the tide, working really hard, and getting beached again and again, that is evidence that you are not in the "flow" - you are working outside the will of God.

It's a seductive explanation, isn't it.  And I have no doubt (because I have experienced this first hand) that there are times in life when it absolutely works like this - you get into a grove, and life feels almost effortless.  But just because it works that way sometimes, it is a mistake to generalize and assume it must always work that way.

Sometimes, the holiest and most transformative work we do is the work that turns us inside-out, upside-down, and leaves us struggling to breathe.  Sometimes, the work Spirit invites us to do is the hardest damn work we have ever done.  It can even feel like a Sisyphean endeavor - we push the rock up the mountain with all our strength, only to have it roll back down to the bottom of the mountain - sometimes running over us in the process!  And all that is left to do is start again.  But - the jaw-dropping part of even the hardest moments in life is that - if we pay attention - we find moments of unexpected grace.  And they are positively amazing.

Today, from noon until 4 pm, I pushed the rock up the hill, had it mow me down, and started pushing it up again.  It was not pretty, and there was no flow, except for tears.  I got home around 4 pm and prepared to sip a grande soy hot chocolate, only to lose my grip on it and have it hit the floor with explosive force.  It was, unfortunately, not half empty - it was a full cup of hot chocolate.  What a mess!  There was sticky hot chocolate everywhere, and I cannot get down on the floor to easily and effectively clean it up.  And - it was 4 pm, and I was due to talk with my spiritual director via telephone.  So I dropped some paper towels on top of the mess, walked around the lake of chocolate, grabbed the phone and sat down on the bench by the window to take some deep breaths and call my soul friend.

I wanted to cry.  I wanted to laugh (it was all so off-the-charts- absurd).  I was tired, and emotionally spent.  And I had a sticky mess to clean up (walls, floor, furniture, carpet - me).  But as I dialed the phone to speak with my soul friend, I remembered something that had happened this morning...

...I remembered sitting by that very window eating breakfast, when - completely unexpectedly - a small, beautiful white feather gently floated past the window, being carried by the wind.  It was fairly still this morning, so the feather floated down ever-so-gently - floating to the right, and then to the left.  I watched it for what seemed like forever - it was very beautiful.  Then I entered into my very hard day, forgetting about the feather.

As I talked with my director about the reality of today, and about how tired I felt because of it, I remembered the feather, and told her about it.  I could tell by the tone and energy in her voice that she had something important to share, and she said "I am a feather on the breath of God."  She paused, and said "That is a quote from Hildegard - you are being held by God - God's very breath. Sustained and upheld by God."  And she silently let me sit with this image, as it seeped all the way to my core.  I can tell when something resonates with  my core because the tears flow.  Hildegard has always been one of my favorite spiritual guides, and yet I had never before heard this quote.  Until today.  Until I needed to hear it, so I could find meaning in the gift of the feather, a gift that was offered to me long before I got mowed down by the rock, or redecorated my entryway with hot chocolate.

Sometimes, it works like this:  Grace and sustenance is present, and generously offered, even before we ask for it.  Even before we need it - before the the rock, aided by gravity, mows us down.  God with us - lovingly, gently, present as we do really hard work.  Surrounding us - upholding us.  And in those moments that feel impossible...

...we can float like a feather on the breath of God.

Perhaps it doesn't just sometimes work like this; maybe it always works like this.  But we are so distracted by our circumstances that we do not notice God's graceful presence, sustaining us.  And so God sends us a feather, and a soul friend, to remind us.

Being upheld,
Kim

Keeping Watch - Making Preparations

I write today from my dining room table, with the most amazing view before me.  This "breakfast nook" area has large windows looking west, south and north.  And due to the wonders of landscaping,  I look out at my backyard and onto a row of trees and shrubs, and then over to bigger trees and BIG sky that surrounds a farmer's field.  My beloved red-tailed hawks nest in one of those big trees.  And even though it is an overcast day (Scotland weather - cold and damp!) the view is glorious.  Geese rest in the field, and although (when seated) I cannot see the field itself, I can watch the skeins of geese landing (what a sight - I love how they curve their wings to drop altitude and prepare for landing - so cool)!

The most unusual part of this view is what I cannot see - between my backyard fence and the farmer's field is Meridian Road - hidden (except for the tallest trucks) by the landscaping.  It is a muckle busy road - but not from this viewpoint.  Trees and shrubbery render it all but invisible.

Some day the farmer's field will go the way of all small farms in Meridian, and be turned into another  bland subdivision.  The geese will have no place to rest, and I will miss the entertainment of seeing a row of them perched on the roof line of my neighbor's house.  And at some point they will probably widen Meridian Road so it can carry more traffic.  But today, the geese, clouds and trees have won the day.  Bliss.

I am on study leave for the next week - a time to catch up with reading, writing, planning, and my dissertation proposal.  And time to prepare for Advent - my favorite season of the church year.  I am an confessed Advent junkie - I find the thought of God's love for humanity being so great that God dons human DNA and experiences everything from hunger to heartbreak to be positively irresistible.  I count down the days until I can light my first Advent Candle (ten as of today - because I light the first candle Saturday evening after dark, which is the day before the First Sunday of Advent).  For candle-lighting, I am on monastery time.  And for Advent devotionals, I am on French time.  The French once held the custom of celebrating Advent for 40 days (like Lent), and I have an Advent devotional written by a French monk that begins on November 15th.  I started reading it last Sunday, which marked 40 days until the Nativity - more bliss.

I enter this study leave heart-broken and weary from the senseless violence and fear erupting in our world - violence that never achieves its stated goals (whether perpetrated by terrorists, or by their victims), and fear that is stoked by leaders who are convinced that, maybe, a violent response will work this time.  I shudder as I listen to our politicians ratcheting up the fear - bigger and better - causing good people to step back from their values and make reactive choices fueled by this fear.  And with fear as its fuel, the cycle of violence becomes self-perpetuating.  History provides us with ample examples of this failed strategy.  But it does give us a feeling of being in control - like we are doing something.  And we human beings, when faced with something that frightens and overwhelms us, look for ways to be in control - even if those ways are destined to fail.  The illusion of control distracts us from the discomfort of our feelings of fear and helplessness, of the reality that the only things we really control are ourselves, and our responses.  We can influence other human beings, but we ultimately cannot control them.  Leo Tolstoy, who is remembered today in the devotional I read, says it so clearly:  "Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself."  And as Eastern and Western Sages have taught us throughout the ages, peace starts with the individual, one person at a time.  It starts with ourselves.

To settle my soul and bring peace into my inner world, I will use this week to fast from the news outlets, and email.  I will read Jean Vanier's book "Finding Peace."  I will keep the daily rhythms of prayer for which I am hard-wired (and which seem so hard for me to keep while I am working), and I will pray for peace, and for our  leaders to have the courage to step away from pushing the fear button, and instead begin conversations about the changes and choices that can lead to lasting, sustainable peace. I will complete my worship planning and dissertation proposal.  I will weave.  I will write.  I will simplify my schedule for Advent, and pare down my responsibilities.  And I will be still - ever so still - as God prepares my heart to be pregnant with the Spirit, so I can birth peace and love into this world.

How will you prepare for Advent?  What will you do to open your heart, mind, and choices to peace, love, and justice?  What will help you to carry and birth the essence of the Christ Child into our world?

It is time to prepare for our Advent journey!

Keeping watch for Advent's beginnings,
Kim

Steeping in Tenderness - Taking my Time

Idaho continues to burn, but there is hope that the rains forecast for tonight will help to break the inversion, wash the air clean and help to dampen the Walker Fire.  The last week brought a succession of red air quality days - with a few dips into the purple - and misery for anyone with sensitive pipes.  Since I own that tee shirt, it has been a long, unpleasant week - that was preceded by eight other challenging weeks.  All was well until August.  Then weeks of smoke and bad air gave way to sage (killer allergen); a common cold stopped by for a visit, and was capped off by this late wildfire and horrible air quality.  By last Saturday, I was cooked.  Done.  Defeated.

And therein lies one of my tripwires - the word defeated.  I automatically frame bronchitis as defeat,  and immediately go on a holy crusade to defeat it!  I have had enough therapy to understand the origins of this behavior, but haven't integrated this insight in a way that changes my behavior (yet) - evidenced by the incredibly silly choices I recently made before reaching the point of acceptance.

Since I am hardwired to never accept defeat, but still need to cope with adverse circumstances (like bronchitis), my first response is to pretend that what is happening is not real.  Even though I cannot stop coughing, feel like hell, and struggle to take a deep breath (and have had bronchitis at least once a year since I was an infant, and thus have ample first hand experience with it), I begin by pretending that it is not bronchitis.  Must just be the smoke.  Or its only the sage.  Just keep going; it will pass - if you pretend it is not real, it isn't there. Ah, the temporary bliss of magical thinking.

But one underrated gift of ageing is that the insane denial tactics of youth don't hold up so well on the other side of 55.  The body tires of the charade more quickly, and brings you to heel with a quick tug on the leash.   Once my body has my attention, then healing is possible - if I can accept what is truly happening, and respond to it with an open heart.

Acceptance remains a great struggle for me.  I have moments when it is as clear as the sun in the sky that irregardless of any circumstances, all is well - I am interwoven into and part of an experience/creation greater than myself, and enveloped in God's love.   Those moments come as flashes of awareness, and I settle into them like I do a warm, cozy blanket on a frosty autumn day.  It is harder for me to see this truth in the midst of difficult and unpleasant things (like bronchitis) - things that invite me to stop, accept, and make different choices (uncomfortable!).  It is hard for me to remember that this truth is real, even when it does not feel real.

When I think of last Sunday, and imagine God in human form, I see God watching my choices with head in hands - knowing that God had to wait until I finally hit the wall before I would stop and see sense.  At 5:30 am Sunday morning, sense was still hours away, and my denial and duty filter was firmly in place.  I pushed myself until mid-afternoon.  Then in the midst of an appointment with a dear soul, I finally hit that wall and my body snapped the leash - and I had no choice but say that I could not continue.  It was time to stop.

And this dear one sitting with me was willing to voice the words of our still-speaking God, and looked at me with deep compassion and said, "of course we can stop - your well-being is important to me - please take care of yourself."  And we stopped.  And I cancelled my remaining appointments. And I went home - feeling defeated.

That night, curled up in the recliner with my hacking cough and unsettled spirit, I felt her words wrap around me like that warm, comforting blanket.  Then I smiled as I experienced awareness - and laughed about my crazy antics throughout the day (I am too embarrassed to recount in print the lengths I went to in order to not be sick on Sunday).  In the midst of this laughter, I noticed something new in my heart:

Tenderness.  Usually there would be voices of judgment accusing me of failing by getting sick, or failing by not fulfilling my duty.  Instead, I felt tenderness towards myself, and a desire to nurture myself back to health.  "Your well-being is important to me," said the visiting angel speaking for God.  And in that moment, I realized that it was important to me, too.  I accepted the bronchitis and embraced it, instead of wasting energy battling it and making it my enemy.  I worked remotely from home for two days.  I made myself a big pot of chicken soup, drank steaming broth and hot teas, and took naps when I was tired.  I even went to the doctor and am taking the medication that I do not like, but always helps me to heal.

This unwanted illness became a window through which I experienced God's tender, nurturing love,  and was able to see that - my goodness! - I am growing in my capacity to follow God's example and love and nurture myself!  This is progress (baby steps) - a gift - a great blessing.  I do not, for a moment, believe I was "stricken" in order to embed this lesson and gain this perspective. But I do believe that our God, the great recycler, wastes nothing; using whatever circumstances come our way to gentle us into a greater expression of our true nature - of love.

As I write this, I am sipping a cup of authentic (not from a box) Yogi Tea.  Back in 1984, while living at Seminary, I came down with my annual bout of bronchitis.  My son's preschool teacher was Sikh (of the Western 3HO variety).  Preet Kaur and I had become friends, and in order to soothe my distress, she brought me a mason jar full of Yogi Tea (made from the recipe developed by their teacher, Yogi Bhajan).  This was around the time the original Yogi Tea company was formed (also a 3HO community), and they initially marketed a loose tea containing all the wonderful ingredients in this healing concoction.  Preet Kaur instructed me to put equal parts of the rose-colored liquid from the mason jar with milk, warm it on the stove, add honey, and sip.  It was ambrosia!  And it felt so healing and soothing - partly because of the love that infused it.  Preet Kaur taught me how to make it from scratch for myself, but if I was too busy, I could always buy the loose tea and boil it on the stove - filling the house with its amazing fragrance!  But alas, the original formula is no longer marketed, and so if I wanted Yogi Tea, I had to get out my old recipe, find all the ingredients, and boil up a pot for myself.  Which I did today, because I wanted some soothing Yogi Tea.

The house smells wonderful, and the tea hit the spot.  The taste is not completely as I remember it (it is hard to duplicate the taste of a memory), but that may also be due to my lack of practice at mixing up this potion.  As I sip it, I feel the healing love from thirty-one years ago (both from Preet Kaur, and from her  religious community - a community that was a walk on the wild side for a first-year seminarian).  Their love transcends all thoughts of linear time.  I feel that love easing the sickness out of both body and soul.  And I smile - and look out at the clouds moving in to bring healing rain to the earth - and feel very grateful.

I share this warm and soothing cup of tea with you today as a testimony to the healing, transforming presence of God - by whatever way or name God is known to you.  When you open your heart to God's presence, God does indeed partner with you in the amazing journey of healing.  The hard part of this truth is that it takes time - and it takes as much time as it takes.  Time appears to not be a relevant or linear concept for God - whereas I am very conscious of time, and want unpleasant, uncomfortable situations to be fixed NOW.  I want transformation YESTERDAY!  And I want to escape the embarrassment of making mistakes TOMORROW - as well as the double embarrassment of repeating them (again and again and again)!  I want to be the cool kid who effortlessly gets it right the first time (not the one who finally gets it right the two thousand and first time)!

Time - tenderness - acceptance - grace - mistakes - pain - laughter - more tenderness and acceptance - more grace - healing - wholeness - and time - and yes, more mistakes and pain, then laughter, and another turn around the spiral.  It is an amazing journey, and worth every second that it takes - for it leads me back to my very essence (where God abides), and heals and transforms me by freeing me to be myself.

The storm clouds are rolling in - the rains will soon be here.  I sip my cup of tea, and smile.

You have your own journey of discovery, healing and transformation to make.  It is worth every second (or decade - or lifetime) it takes, my friend. It will take as long as it takes, and will be filled with all manner of wonderful and hard experiences - and that is perfectly fine.  Happy trails!

Steeping myself in tenderness - taking my time - making another trip around the spiral, ever deeper -
and smiling,

Kim

Defensible Space

Idaho is on fire.  Fire season always comes to the West, and some years are worse than others.  The combination of years of serious drought plus extreme and prolonged heat set the Western States up for an explosive fire season.  NIFC reports over 199 fires are burning, scorching over 2 million acres of creation.  The number is too big to grasp.

One evening last week while I drove south on Meridian Road, I looked to my left and saw white fluffy clouds hovering above the Boise foothills, and I look to my right and saw the smoke moving in from the Soda Fire.  Then lightening started fire after fire, all around the Northwest.  The air smells like a campfire; it permeates everything.  The Soda Fire alone is responsible for 287,000 acres of scorched earth!  The lose of wildlife, livestock and habitat is impossible to comprehend.  At the beginning you could see the fire coming over the Owyhees - fire and smoke.  But you can no longer see the Owyhees, nor can you see the Boise foothills.  All you can see is smoke.

How God's heart must break as creation burns...

But as fire and smoke poured over the Owyhees, a smaller fire started in the Boise foothills.  A stray spark ignited a wildfire that could have quickly resulted in a loss of human life and property - people love to live in the foothills even with the fire danger.  Quick work by fire crews and neighbors was partly credited with keeping the fire from engulfing those homes.  In some cases, the fire came right up to the driveways and stopped.  What was the other reason credited with saving those homes?

Defensible Space.

People who live in areas susceptible to fire know that one of the best ways to survive a wildfire is to remove fuel from around their home.  Conscientious homeowners regularly work at keeping a defensible perimeter around their homes by removing everything that could be fuel for a wildfire, creating fire breaks with stone or concrete, and by planting fire resistant vegetation.  This isn't the kind of work that can be successfully undertaken when the fire is sweeping over the ridge and heading for your house; it must be done long before the fire arrives.  Last week, those defensible perimeters saved many homes in the foothills.  Sadly, there are times when the fire is so intense that no amount of preparation can prevent a burn out.  But sometimes that hard work helps to stop the fire from burning the house to the ground.

I think this strategy of defensible space is one that can be applied to more than saving houses.  All of us, from time to time, experience wildfires in our personal life.  Often they are unexpected and come upon us with no warning.  But sometimes, we see the signs and can tell that we have entered our own fire season - and one stray lightening strike could set our life aflame.  It makes sense to create defensible space in our life so that, when the fire does come, we have removed as much fuel - as much flammable material - as possible, and created those important fire breaks and areas of green, fire resistant vegetation.

For each of us, what constitutes dry brush and accumulated fuel will vary. But if we take the time to step back and walk the perimeter of our life, we can quickly get a sense of where some clean up is needed.  The strategy  of waiting to remove the fuel until we see the fire heading our way does not work.  The hard work of removing the fuel needs to be done regularly, with consistency - and before the fire comes.  And along with removing the fuel, we can surround ourselves with things that are green and fresh that resist burning - things that give and protect life.

The fires come.  I wish they didn't, but they do.   They come to the land, and they come to our lives.  May we learn to tend to our inner habitat before the fires come, and remove all the brush and dry, unnecessary fuel.  May we get our perimeter and inner landscape as green, fresh, and vibrant as possible.  Then when the fires do come, we stand the best chance of withstanding the flames.

As I walk  my inner landscape, I will do my best to pull all that inner cheatgrass.  Maybe I will plant some lilacs, yarrow and columbine, to bring both beauty and fire resistance to my perimeter.  Keeping that inner cheatgrass under control will require consistent and persistent self care; but that appears to be the best way to maintain a defensible perimeter.

Tending my inner landscape,
Kim