Being the Presence: Thursday's Reflection

Soon someone will sit in this chair, and I will sit across from her. 

Soon we will enter into some silence and  the process of knowing one another as companions on our spiritual journey. We will see one another as beloved by God.

Before I meet with one of my spiritual directees, I clear my desk (as much as possible), make sure the Kleenex box is full, and turn off my phone. I also sit in silence for a few minutes, clearing whatever clutters my heart and mind. I ask for guidance:
                  
                 Dear God, often I do not know
                       when to speak
                       how to be silent
                       where to focus
                       what to say.

                  Give me wisdom
                        to listen with a discerning heart,
                        so that I can find
                        a path of healing
                        in a confusion of words.

I attempt to center myself before the doorbell rings:

             Let me be at peace within myself, receptive, open.
             Free me of the internal noise that scatters my attention.
             Open all my senses to hear both words and silence.
             Prepare me to know this person, to enter into her/his
                   experience.
             Make me aware that you are the source of life within us all.
             Fill me with your great compassion toward myself and 
                    all beings.
             Create in me a welcoming love and a discerning wisdom.

It occurs to me that the words I pray and the attention I attempt to bring as a spiritual director to sessions with each of my clients can apply to all of our interactions, each of our relationships.

Are you having lunch with a friend today? Will you and your spouse/partner spend time sharing your day? Will you email or text someone you care about today? Will you attend a meeting and chat with those in attendance? Do you have a presentation to make to a potential business client? 

What about unplanned interactions--at the grocery store or waiting room in your doctor's office or coffee shop? 

Will your divinity be recognized? How will you represent the presence of God as you move through your day?

One of my mantras is "to feel the Presence and be the Presence." That's what I try to do in my privileged work as a spiritual director, but how important it is to carry that hope, that intention with me wherever I go and with all I may meet. 

No small task. 

An Invitation
What is your intention as you meet and greet others along the way? I would love to know. 






  

Fall Choices: Thursday's Reflections

The catalogs are arriving, and the emails are appearing. So many choices and directions. How can I possibly do everything I want to do? 

This happens every fall when I feel that back to school itch. All the school supplies are piled neatly at Target, and it is hard to resist not buying new notebooks and folders, although, trust me, I have my own embarrassingly rich stash. I am not interested in shopping these days and don't find myself tempted by much, except journals and notepads and pens, but I am doing my best, instead, to shop my drawers, full of those supplies.  

This Fall itch, however, is not just about opening up a new notebook. In the fall I seem to take on the behavior of squirrels, gathering winter fuel, making sure I have enough to sustain my needs. In this case, however, it is not physical needs, but instead mental and spiritual needs. In the fall I take on the behavior of the birds, preparing to migrate, but in my case it is migrating into places of learning and stimulation. In the fall I attempt to take on the behavior of the leaves, turning rich colors of red and gold in shades of new knowledge and wider experiences. 

Of course, the problem, the ongoing issue, is deciding which choices to select. I hungrily devour the catalog that comes from The Loft Literary Center, knowing that if I were to take each of the writing classes that appeals to me, I would have no time to write. I pour over the material from Wisdom Ways Center for Spirituality which is where I have in the past attended the Monday evening Hedgerow Initiative, an ongoing conversation about sacred wisdom, divine mysteries, and human questions. An email comes from the Minneapolis Institute of Arts with dates for the year's lecture series, and I would love to attend the lecture on Van Gogh and also, one on photography and Native American identity. 

Plus, living within walking distance of three colleges and universities, I know most days I could take advantage of a lecture or concert or visit to an art gallery. And how about book talks at bookstores and theatre and concert series and even classes through community recreation centers? I haven't even mentioned opportunities to volunteer and serve, and I know I want to manage my time in order to make contributions where I can. 

EEEK!

So much appeals and like the squirrel frenetically hiding nuts in the backyard, I don't want to miss anything. I need to remember my own limits, however, and be aware of when my eyes are bigger than my stomach. Which donut should I choose at the bakery? Which delectable on the menu of a special restaurant? Or which book from my existing towers should I read next? A wealth of temptations. 

Just recently, however, I decided at the last minute to not attend a Saturday morning class at The Loft. The week coming up was full of activities, and the weeks before had been highly scheduled, and I knew I needed space more than I needed the information, however worthy and helpful it was likely to be. I don't regret that decision, for immediately I felt some equilibrium return. 

This summer I have spent a major part of my time working on a book I am writing. I have taken a twelve week online class that has  stretched me, deepened my commitment, and exhausted me. I know I am a better writer because of this class, and I know my book benefits from all the time and effort. I could take the next part in this class, and eventually, I will, but not this fall. 

I made that decision after moving into stillness and becoming a listening presence to myself. I asked myself questions about what will be most life-enhancing in the coming months. In what ways do I hope to live, give, and grow? What are my goals as a writer and as a spiritual director? How do I balance family and friend time with work time? What volunteer opportunities resonate with me and where can I be effective? What about leaving space for spontaneity and for rest, restoration, and recreation? 

In some ways these questions are the same ones, with some modification, I have lived with most of my adult life. You have probably wrestled with them, too. In our earlier years these were practical, get out the calendar and figure it out questions. Negotiate with your partner, your boss, your kids.  Now because I know I have fewer falls ahead of me than the ones I have lived, I view these questions as questions for discernment. At this stage of my life I am more able to push the pause button and sit with these questions, allowing the inner voice of Spirit to start a dialogue with the person who still wants to be productive and to achieve and to accomplish. 

I now have a general plan for the fall, but one that is subject to change and modification and for the ways life just seems to happen. Yes, I will write. I will take a couple short term writing classes. I will volunteer at Peter's school and at church, beginning with the retreat I will help lead the end of September. I will meet with spiritual directees and open to ways I can teach. But I am leaving plenty of space for family time, for friend time, for me time. 

I will pay attention to the squirrels and the birds and the changing colors of the leaves, and I will pause in the midst of potential busyness and ask my inner voice of Spirit what she thinks. 

An Invitation
What questions of discernment are in your life now? I would love to know. 

Resources
The Loft Literary Center https://www.loft.org
Wisdom Ways Center for Spirituality http://www.wisdomwayscenter.org

Want to Talk?: Thursday's Reflection

When was the last time you had a conversation with someone in which you felt heard? Really heard. When was the last time you were willing to share your below the surface self with someone? When was the last time you asked questions in a conversation, instead of just talking about yourself? When was the last time you were asked thoughtful, stimulating questions in a conversation? When was the last time you learned something new, something you didn't know about a friend or acquaintance during a conversation? 

When was the last time you had a real conversation, instead of communicating in a text or an email? 

Our congregation is engaging in a conversation campaign --one on one conversations in which we hope to get to know each other better, beyond the quick Sunday morning "how are you?" We are a community that interacts well in the greater community through social justice initiatives, and we are intentional about being inclusive and welcoming, but how well do we really know each other? If we were willing to speak with one another from our hearts and to share our concerns with one another, how would that change the culture of who we are and how we care for one another? 

A number of us were asked to participate in this experiment and to attend a night of training. How interesting, I thought, that we need to be trained in the art of conversation! Basically, the training was a reminder to be curious and courageous. We were each given the names of five people in the congregation to contact and to invite them for an hour or so of conversation. "I would like to get to know you better." There was no hidden agenda, no connection to the congregation's capital campaign. Just talk. 

We were encouraged to be the listener and questioner 30% of the time and to encourage our partner to talk 70% of the time, but sometimes the conversations I had were more 40-60%, since none of the people I contacted knew me, and I am a new member in the church. They seemed as eager to get to know me as I to know them. We shared the time. And each time was rich.

Each intentional encounter reminded me that wherever two or three are gathered, there God is as well. This was holy time, sacred time. In each case, we discovered something, beyond our church membership, we held in common --a part of our background or a person we each knew or something that mattered to us in a profound way. By listening with the eyes of our hearts, we found connection to each other, but, I think, in some unexpected way, we found greater understanding of ourselves as well. When we listen deeply, listen for what is not being said, as well as what is being shared, we learn about our own vulnerabilities, our own assumptions, and perhaps, the places where we judge or are stuck.

As a spiritual director, I am blessed to participate in deep conversations frequently. I have ongoing opportunities to explore the movement of God in the lives of those who choose to spend time in intimate conversation. Each time I meet with someone who willingly opens her heart, I become more aware of how Spirit is moving in my own life as well. My directees are intentional about enhancing their spiritual lives and their relationship with God, however they define God, the Sacred the Holy, and it is a privilege to share Presence with them. Spiritual direction is a wondrous opportunity and a worthy spiritual practice, but we each have opportunities to be present to each other every day. 

We each have a story. We each are creating and living our story every day of our lives. We each are more than what we appear on the surface. We each have the need to be heard, to be known. We each hunger in our own way for connection, heartfelt connection. And we each have the ability to offer that to others. That can happen if we are willing to stop and take a deep breath, look in someone's eyes and in a quiet, but clear voice, open to being present to another. 

None of us participating in this one on one initiative at our church knows what the results of this practice will be. We hope it will lead to a more caring community, but for now we are simply and without forming a new committee or board or raising money or writing a grant or voting on guidelines, inviting people to engage in conversation. Listen and learn. Ask and receive. 

An Invitation
Where are there opportunities in your life to engage in conversation beyond the basics, the obvious facts? Who in your life is waiting for a chance to share what is in their hearts, even if they aren't fully aware of that need? Are you willing to take a risk with someone you may see everyday, but don't really know? I would love to know what happens when you open your heart in this way? 

Note:
Gloria Dei Lutheran Church, St Paul http://www.gloriadeistpaul.org

If the spiritual direction process interests you, please contact me and I would be happy to explore that possibility with you. 

Thursday's Reflection: Tears Outside the Tomb

When we moved back to St Paul, after 20 years of pilgrimage, although sometimes it felt like an exile, and started attending the church we soon joined, I cried at some point in every service. Often it was during communion, but sometimes it was during a hymn I loved or during the processional, and always during a baptism. 

After awhile I simply decided that was the way it was. I have always been someone who cries easily; one of those people who cries during tender commercials no matter how many times I have seen the young man sneak quietly into the house on Christmas morning to surprise his unsuspecting parents. Perhaps I was now stockpiling my tears for Sunday mornings.

When we left church after a very moving Maundy Thursday service, however, I commented, quite pleased with myself, that I had not cried, and I realized I had not cried during church for a couple months or so. Except during baptisms, of course. Those sweet babies and the poignancy of one of our pastors carrying the baby down the center aisle so everyone can get a good look will always get me. 

Well, so much for that theory. During the Good Friday service tears came after I and the rest of the congregation had come forth to drape red ribbons on the large wooden cross, symbolizing all we needed to lay at the foot of the cross, our regrets, our judgements and hurtful feelings, the harm we had done to ourselves and to others and to the world. I was dry-eyed when I sat down in the pew, but then our senior pastor solemnly bent down and kissed the cross. Tears come now even just remembering the moment. Well, it was Good Friday, a sober day in the season of our faith, so a tear or two should not be a surprise. 

Then it was Easter morning, a day, as one of our pastors said, that is an "explosion of love." This time the tears started as early as the first strains of the traditional, Easter hymn, "Jesus Christ is Risen Today. Alleluia." The brass, the bells and chimes, the flowers on the cross, the long procession. You know how it is when you feel a stinging in your eyes and you know there is no way to prevent tears? And I had forgotten to put a clean handkerchief in my purse. Oh well. Let the tears come.

So what is the meaning of all these tears? 

We had been unchurched or partially churched for a long time in our years since moving away from Minnesota. In Ohio we did our best to find a church home and were in fact members of a Lutheran congregation for awhile and were also regular attendees of two different Episcopal churches as well, but we never really settled in. That was shocking for us in a way, for we had been so involved in our church in Minnesota. We had naturally thought we would quickly find a church in Cleveland, but in spite of trying, we didn't find our pew. There are reasons for that which are too long for this post, but know we did try.  

It was during those years of being partially churched that I trained as a spiritual director and was exposed to a variety of spiritual practices, which continue to undergird my personal faith explorations. This was a time of deep stretching for me.

When we moved to Madison, which is more in the heartland of Lutheranism, our preferred denomination, we assumed once again we would find our place, but that was not to be. To be honest, we didn't try as hard as we did in Cleveland. We had come to enjoy a more unstructured Sunday morning and when we were with family in Minnesota, which was often, we enjoyed going to church with them. Occasionally, I would attend a service here and there, hoping I might recognize a feeling of "This is it," but perhaps I wasn't listening well enough.  I participated in centering prayer groups and met with a spiritual director and continued practicing various spiritual practices on a regular basis, and all that was good. 

Then we moved home. Full circle. And that's when the Sunday morning ritual of tears began. I felt as if the stone had been rolled away from the tomb. I had buried the empty feelings of not being part of an ongoing community. Even though I still struggle with some aspect of the theology presented in our liturgy and even though I shudder at some of what the church has represented and done over the centuries, I have missed not having the place where I can open my heart and address my own questions and wonderings. I have missed hearing my own voice merging with others, as well as sitting in silence with those known and unknown to me.  

My tears were (are) part of coming home, of finding home, of being home. My tears are a visible sign that I have returned, and I have been welcomed. 

Another story--perhaps it is related and perhaps, not, but I want to tell it anyway. Many years ago the Cleveland Museum of Art hosted an exhibit from the Vatican and part of the exhibit was a painting by Caravaggio, The Entombment of Christ, depicting Jesus' dead body being laid to rest in a tomb. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Entombment_of_Christ_(Caravaggio) It is a large painting, and in the museum it was in a room by itself. I toured the exhibit with our son Geof, who at that time was a student at the Milwaukee Institute of Art and Design. I love going to museums with him, for he teaches me how to see, always quietly pointing out something I otherwise would have missed. More than once those near us have sensed a teacher in their midst and have moved in closer to hear what he is saying.

This time Geof suggested I get down on my knees as close to the lower left hand corner of the painting that was allowed. In doing that I had the perspective of receiving the body. My heart reached out, "Here, let me help." I felt myself in the tomb along with Jesus and the others who loved him dearly. Soon others viewing the painting were on their knees as well.  In a way we had formed a spontaneous worshipping community. 

I will never forget that moment. 

I think I have needed to spend time in the tomb. It has not been wasted time or time without spiritual fruits, but now is the time to emerge from the tomb. The stone has been rolled away and I am finding new life, even as I come full circle. 

An Invitation
I realize the Easter story may not be your story, but I know we have each had times in our life of being entombed or times when we have felt hopeless on the other side of the deep dark and have been unable to roll away the stone, our own obstacles to new understandings and to the ability to take the next step. Have there been times when you have been asked to lift your hands and say, "Here, let me help."? What have those times meant for your spiritual growth? Are you in the tomb now? Are you waiting for the stone to be rolled away? Or are you now discovering life outside the entombment of old feelings, old hurts and transgressions? Are there tears? I would love to know. 

Thursday's Reflection: Noticing What's Hidden

What do you think when you see a house that looks like this? I drive or walk by this house almost daily, but today is the first time I noticed it. That is not too surprising since the house itself is almost totally concealed by steroid-sized shrubs. However, as I walked first thing this morning, that house cloaked in deep, thick, almost impenetrable bushes entered my imagination and my heart. 

First, I wondered about the inhabitants of that house. Is this a rental house and a case of an absentee landlord who has ignored the landscaping? Or do recluses live there who have intentionally created a moat of green to keep out any invaders? Do the people who live there only enter the house from the back door and never see how overgrown and oppressive their face to the world has become? Is this a case of old age, lack of money and ability, and a too-large home to manage anymore? What do the neighbors on either side of the house and across the street think? I wonder if this is the house on the block where sidewalks are never shoveled in the winter time. Perhaps no one lives there and the house is empty and lonely. 

This house is not the only one in the neighborhood that could use major loving-care. Every neighborhood has homes that for one reason or another are not well-tended or cared for. In some cases the reason is deliberate--the person simply does not care or have pride in how things look. In other cases what started as neat and orderly with gardens and landscaping pleasing to the eye have gotten out of hand. My husband, the head gardener, often points out perennial gardens that are now overbearing, overblown, and in need of ongoing attention, as every garden does to some degree. Of course, neglect can also be the result of lack of money or physical abilities or a different aesthetic from what seems acceptable to most people. Whatever the reason, there is a story attached to each of these unpruned homes. 

As I continued my walk, I wondered about this situation and what was being protected behind the thick wall of green. Is there a need to hide from the rest of the world? What fears are represented here? How could anyone feel welcomed approaching this fortress and is that an indication of the inhabitant's need to retreat not only from the external world, but also from his or her own self-awareness? What is being defended or concealed here? I don't think about possessions necessarily, but what emotions and vulnerabilities are secreted here? How is self-growth and self-awareness limited in such an environment, for not only is it daunting to enter, but it becomes hard to get out the front door as well. 

Here's the challenge I encountered on this walk, knowing what opportunities for metaphor houses and gardens offer: What have I hidden deep within myself? What am I protecting? What do I prevent from discovering the light? In what ways have I built a fortress, defending myself from unknown invasions? Where do I need to prune and weed and transplant and dig? What deep, well-fortified issues prevent me from being my true self, my whole self? 
In what ways do I need to tend my own home? And if not now, when?

Fortunately, there is lots of help available for clearing the barriers, including meeting with a spiritual director, spending time in contemplation and meditation or developing other spiritual practices that open one to deeper self-awareness. My daily walks often move me to greater clarity, especially when I then take time to sit and breathe and allow what I have seen to become part of my interior landscape.   With a clearer landscape comes an open and more compassionate heart. 

A Gift
Currently, I am reading The Rebirthing of God, Christianity's Struggle for New Beginnings http://heartbeatjourney.org/2014/04/15/the-rebirthing-of-god-2/
by John Philip Newell, whom I heard speak recently at Wisdom Ways, Center for Spirituality. http://wisdomwayscenter.org I offer his words for your reflection.
     
     What does it mean that we are made of God rather than
     simply by God? In part it means that the wisdom of God
     is deep within us, deeper than the ignorance of what we 
     have done. It is to say that the creativity of God is deep
     within us, deeper than any barrenness in our lives or
     relationships, deeper than any endings in our families
     or our world. Within us--as a sheer gift of God--is the
     capacity to bring forth what has never been before,
     including what has never been imagined before. Above
     all else, as Julian of Norwich says, the love-longings
     of God are at the heart of our being. We and all things
     have come forth from the One. Deep within us are holy,
     natural longings for oneness, primal sacred drives for
     union. We may live in tragic exile from these longings,
     or we may have spent a whole lifetime not knowing how
     to truly satisfy them, but they are there at the heart of 
     our being, waiting to be born afresh.  p. x

An Invitation
I invite you to walk outside your house and have a good look. Is there something that has been neglected? Can you see what others see? Is it time to prune and bring more light into your heart? I would love to know.
     

Tuesday's Reflection: Memorial Day

The view from our front stoop

I confess I normally don't think much about the meaning of Memorial Day, except that it signals the start of summer, but this year the Memorial Day weekend was kicked off by a patriotic program presented by the four kindergarten classes at our grandchildren's school. Who could resist that? 

Each class presented one of our national symbols: Mount Rushmore, the American bald eagle, the American flag, and the Statue of Liberty. Several students in each class recited a few lines about their symbol and then passed the microphone on to the next person. Each spoke their memorized lines so clearly and proudly, including our grandson Peter who told us about the Statue of Liberty's torch. I must admit, however, that my favorite fact was about the bald eagle. Did you know it has three eyelids? 

After the recitations, each class, many of the children dressed in red, white, and blue, sang one of our patriotic songs. I so remember  learning these songs in elementary school, but realized how infrequently there is a chance to sing them. Our grandson's class played the first verse of My Country 'Tis of Thee on the kazoo--a unique rendition to say the least- and then sang the second verse. 

At the end of the program all the classes sang It's A Grand Ole Flag. Some words may have been mumbled, and not every one was in the same key, but the enthusiasm of these young citizens, representing diverse backgrounds, races, and ethnicities won't be forgotten. The large loving crowd of parents, grandparents, and siblings cheered, and as we honored our children who expressed pride in our country's freedoms, we seemed to also reinforce our own core belief in liberty and justice for all. It was a good moment. 

And then summer began.   

The Meaning of Memorial Day: Reconciliation
The first Memorial Day was May 30, 1868, when flowers were placed on graves of Union and Confederate soldiers in Arlington Cemetery. Now we think of it as primarily a day of remembrance for all those who have died in service to our country, but I am struck by the original intention, which was reconciliation at the end of the Civil War. 

Simply stated, reconciliation means resuming a relationship, but where there has been hurt or even abuse, where trust has been broken, nothing about reconciliation is simple. In my work as a spiritual director many sessions with directees focus on the pain of broken relationships, including one's relationship with God. 

Forgiveness, it needs to be emphasized, is not the same as reconciliation. We each have the power to forgive, but none of us has the power to force reconciliation on someone who does not want it. Forgiveness may happen in an instant, although forgiveness just as often is an intention and a process. However, reconciliation happens over time as goals are set and trust is rebuilt. 

Reconciliation needs to be an agreed upon goal by both parties, and sometimes, in the case of abuse, reconciliation is not a good idea and may, in fact, be dangerous. 

With Memorial Day leading us into a new season, a season, which often includes a break or change in routines and an openness to adventure and new possibilities, perhaps this is a time to consider relationships where there is hope for reconciliation. If forgiveness has opened space in your heart for a new or renewed relationship, perhaps now is the time for a first step. If so, I commend these words to you by Marcia Ford in her excellent book, The Sacred Art of Forgiveness, Forgiving Ourselves and Others through God's Grace:

        Imagine the relationship you would like to have with
        someone you have forgiven but have yet to be reconciled
        with. Be realistic. Consider what your relationship was 
        before, the nature of the offense, and the level of trust 
        you hope to have in the future. If the offender was once
        your closest friend and confident, you may need to
        ratchet down your expectations considerably, settling
        for an occasional lunch date instead of the daily heart-
        to-heart conversations you had grown accustomed to. If
        the offender was a serious abuser, your best description of
        the relationship you would like to have may very well include
        the word "non-existent." Just be honest with yourself, and
        then you'll have a clear idea of what you need to work toward
        in order to rebuild the relationship. p. 103 

The purpose and hope of the first Memorial Day was a tall order, and some may say total reconciliation in our country has yet to be achieved, but that doesn't mean we as individuals can't work towards reconciliation in our own lives when it is desired and appropriate. 

An Invitation
Are there areas of your life where reconciliation would lead you towards wholeness? Are there people with whom you desire reconciliation and if so, have you done the work of forgiveness? What does reconciliation mean to you? I would love to know.        
           
  

Tuesday's Reflection: Birthday Celebration

Yesterday was my birthday. I am now 66. Being confined with a broken ankle is not exactly how I thought I would celebrate my birthday this year, but as my father is known for saying, "That's the way it is."

I recall many wonderful birthday celebrations in my life: going to see "My Fair Lady" on Broadway for my 13th birthday, celebrating my 40th with dear women friends at a surprise luncheon planned by my husband, doing Tai Chi on the beach in Zanzibar for my 50th. However, I also recall one year in my 30's when we got up in the morning to so much snow that all birthday plans were cancelled. 

Birthdays are not always easy to handle, and I think about a picture of what must have been my 6th birthday. My birthday guests are seated on the steps of our house, and I am turned away from them, sobbing. Was I overwhelmed? Disappointed? Was the reality less than what I had built up in my mind? Who knows, for that was 60 years ago, and I have learned over the decades that some years are just better and easier to celebrate and be celebrated than others. 

The Movement of God
I assume this will be one of those birthdays I will not forget, nor do I want to forget it, for even though I am confined and moving slowly, I recognize there are gifts in this time. The challenge is to recognize and honor them. Joan Chittister in her book The Story of Ruth offers a good starting place for ongoing reflection:

          Change points are those moments in life in which
          we get inside ourselves to find out that we are not,
          at the end, really one person at all. We are many--
          each of them lying in wait to come to life. We are
          each a composite of experiences and abilities, of
          possibilities and hopes, of memories, and wonder,
          of gifts and wishes. Every stage of life calls on a
          different dimension of the self. Every stage of life
          is another grace of being that teaches us something
          new about ourselves, that demands something sterner
          of ourselves, that enables us to learn something deeper
          about our God.
          
One of the questions often asked in spiritual direction is "How is God moving in your life right now?" A good question, and one that even though I am not moving very much right now or perhaps because I am not moving easily or quickly during these recovery weeks, this is the perfect time to reflect on the movement of God in my life right now. If you have been reading this blog, you know how much the theme of moving has figured into my life over the last couple years. Now my challenge is to come to a place of quiet and stillness in which to feel how God is moving in my life, "to learn something deeper about our God."

Questions for Discovery
Who is this Nancy who is not moving? Who is this Nancy whose springtime plans are on hold and whose lists for doing are not being accomplished? Who is this Nancy who loves quiet time for reading and writing and meditating, but when she chooses it? Who is this Nancy who prefers to handle her own needs and now must accept the help of many? What is this time-out preparing this Nancy to do, to be? Who is the Nancy who will come to life because of this time of not moving? 

One thing is clear: God is moving in my life, the life of this Nancy right now, in the form of all those who have offered prayers and well-wishes for my healing and all those, who have helped in so many concrete ways, especially my family. God is in the movement of my husband who has been the perfect combination of taking charge and doing what needs to be done, anticipating my needs, but backing off when that was the right response.  And pushing me when that was exactly what I needed. 

Every Moment of Your Life
In some ways I feel like a young child getting dressed and making my bed "all by myself," but I also feel like the accumulation of all my birthdays, entering years when there is more memory than future. Peter Levitt in his book Fingerpainting on the Moon, Writing and Creativity as a Path to Freedom says, "Step forward and put new ground beneath your feet every moment of your life." Every moment of your life means even those moments when your feet are not moving very steadily. It's in the "every moment" that one is invited to know the movement of God.

I am listening. I am stopping. I am becoming still. I am accepting. I am receiving. I am opening. I am healing. I am sensing the movement of God in my life. 

A Blessing
"May you move through the day with eyes open to the God who shines like the sun within and around you." Jan L. Richardson

An Invitation
How is God moving in your life right now? I would love to know. 

February's Reflection: Heart Time

I heard on the news yesterday that Walter Mondale, who was Vice President under Jimmy Carter, was at the Mayo Clinic where he had just had heart surgery. Of course, he did, I thought, for surely he is heartbroken. His wife Joan had died only days ago. 

We are brokenhearted when there is a profound loss.

We wear our heart on our sleeve when we can't help but show our love.

We take heart. 

We lose our heart.

We offer our heart.

Pure of heart. Aching heart. Soft heart. Valiant heart. Noble heart. Tender heart. Understanding heart. Peaceful heart. Our heart's desire.

I was driving home from seeing my Dad when I heard about Walter Mondale and instinctively I placed my hand on my heart in  a gesture of understanding, connecting, and blessing.  I am aware of how often I rest my hand on my heart when I hear or see something that touches me. That simple motion in which I sense the power of the organ that maintains the flow of blood through my body reminds me to open my heart to not only what I feel, but to the needs and desires of others. I feel a connection when I touch my heart.

Before I meet with a spiritual directee, I pause with my hand on my heart and I whisper to myself, "Listen with the eyes of your heart." When I find myself in the midst of a heartfelt conversation, whether professionally or personally, when someone is pouring out their heart to me or when I sense a heart that is tight and constricted, I prompt myself to be present with a listening heart. 

A Habit of The Heart
Recently, I decided to set the alarm on my phone to ring at 4:00 in the afternoon every day. That is often a low point of the day for me, but now it has become a welcome time of the day, for the alarm signals me to stop and pause. To rest in silence briefly and listen to the beat of my heart. With my hand on my heart I become more aware of where I am and who I am and of the love I have to share. I become more centered in the life I am blessed to have and for at least an instant, I feel bonded to all of God's creation. 

An Invitation
Tomorrow is Valentine's Day, and I wonder what your heart gesture will be. I invite you to listen with your heart, to offer your heart, to open your heart. Who knows where that will lead! 

October's Interview: Cindy Garis and Exploring Variety in Spiritual Practice

On the fourth Thursday of each month I will introduce you to someone whom I look up to as a spiritual friend and teacher. The focus of my questions is on their spiritual practices and what nurtures their deepening spirituality.

This month meet Cindy Garis whom I met when we were beginning our training as spiritual directors through Oasis Ministries for Spiritual Development. Cindy, who is an ordained minister in the United Church of Christ, has been the executive director of Oasis since 2004. She received her M.Div from Lancaster Theological Seminary (Lancaster, PA) and served six years as co-pastor for a congregation in Lebanon, PA, before beginning her ministry with Oasis. Cindy leads prayer retreats for congregations and small groups, including a favorite one with the theme of Wizard of Oz. www.oasismin.org/Oz.html 

Please describe your spiritual practice? What do you identify as your main spiritual practice?

My main spiritual practice right now is mindfulness, but walking, forgiveness, and playing with the dog are part of my spiritual practice as well. 

Every morning and evening I practice the basic mindfulness breath meditation for at least five minutes, but perhaps up to 30 minutes. What that means is that I focus on my breath. I don't breathe differently, but am aware of my breath as it flows in and out and through my body.

How did that become your main practice?

It actually became my primary practice after I was invited to lead a workshop entitled "A Mindful Approach to Stress Reduction." I found it to be so helpful in the way it moved me to be present to what is, right now, not in the future or the past. 

I had a similar experience with meditation when I was asked to substitute for someone who was supposed to teach a class on meditation techniques. By preparing for the class, I converted myself to a practice of meditation. 

When I asked about your main spiritual practice you said mindfulness is the key one "right now." What other spiritual practices have been or are important to you?

Honestly, I find that I need variety in my life, and my spiritual practice is no different. So while mindfulness has become very important in order to keep my life grounded, I would say that many other practices have held the primary role at one time or another.

For example?

I find that walking in nature is very sacred to me. Hiking, walking a labyrinth, even walking the dog is holy time. It often clears my head and becomes prayerful activity...a chance to be reminded of God's creative presence on a grand and large scale, but also on a small scale. 

When I have led retreats, I have invited participants to make a hole on an index card with a paper hole punch and then take that index card outside and look through the hole with an "attentive gaze," focusing on something specific. What happens in that exercise is that we notice the Cosmic Creator in the very small. Perhaps it is a bug or a leaf or bark on a tree. The hole in the card helps us focus our attention. 

Similar attentiveness can be aided by using a flashlight at night to help you focus your gaze. Or if you are walking a labyrinth, wear a veil or head covering, so that all you are able to see is the next step.

I love this idea and can't wait to try it myself. Any other practices you care to mention?

Group spiritual direction or group contemplation. I am amazed at how much I enjoy sitting in silence WITH others. Again, it helps me remain focused and more centered. It also reminds me that being a contemplative in this world might make you a bit counter-cultural, but you do have company.

I remember when I was attending the Spiritual Direction for Spiritual Guides two-year program at Oasis, I could hardly wait for the morning circle time when we would all gather in silence. It was so powerful to sit in silence with others. You mentioned the practice of forgiveness. Say more, please.

Both the practice of forgiveness and the practice of play are important to me on my spiritual journey because they help me not take myself too seriously. They remind me I am not the center of the universe. Love is. They help me celebrate imperfection and connect with all of humanity.

What hints or advice do you have for someone developing a spiritual practice?

Don't give up! Spiritual practice is about "practicing," not "mastering." That's why I like the term "spiritual practice" a bit more than "spiritual discipline." I am not a very disciplined person, but I can practice again and again and again. 

Spiritual practices are about noticing...noticing the sacred in the ordinary. For me, it is recognizing how I notice God or the sacred in the everyday of life. 

 Noticing how we notice. Can you give an example? 

Well, I,  at times play Candy Crush Saga. Yep, an addicting matching game app. Recently, I found myself asking, "Now what does Candy Crush have to teach me about the contemplative life?" What I discovered is that it reminded me to be focused on the invitation, not on the distraction. In Candy Crush, if it asks you to "clear all the jellies," do not get distracted by the blinking candy pieces. In my every day life, I am reminded to focus on what God's invitation is, instead of focusing on other stressors or distractions. 

Any book titles or other resources you care to recommend that would support my readers on their journey?

The Gifts of Imperfection by Brene Brown
Full Catastrophe Living by Jon Kabat-Zinn
Also, visit Ronald Siegel's The Mindfulness Solution website for more information and to listen to various mindful meditations. http://mindfulness-solution.com/

Thank you Cindy for sharing insights into your spiritual practices and extending the invitation to notice what and how we are noticing. Not only are you are a blessing in my life, but so is Oasis Ministries for Spiritual Development. 

Oasis Ministries located in Camp Hill, Pa is an ecumenical Christian ministry that brings together people who long to listen for and encounter the Holy Spirit and invites them to center their everyday lives deep in God. Single-day gatherings, retreats, pilgrimages, short-term and long-term courses form individuals into communities that nurture quiet prayer and open up souls to discover and practice God's presence. Since 1988, they have been teaching people how to companion others on their spiritual journey, listening to people's longing for Divine Love. www.oasismin.org.

An Invitation
What questions do you have for Cindy? What are you noticing as you are noticing your encounters with the Holy in your everyday life? Post your comments and questions. 


 

September's Interview: Marian Methner and Her Messy Spirituality

On the third Thursday of each month I will introduce you to someone whom I look up to as a spiritual friend and teacher. The focus of my questions is on their spiritual practices and what nurtures their deepening spirituality.

This month meet Marian Methner whom I met when we were beginning our training as spiritual directors through Oasis Ministries. Along with meeting Marian here, I hope you will read her blog Moving Out Granni. First, here's what Marian wrote about herself:

I am a 70 year-old woman making my own map through the next stages of life with cardiomyopathy (heart failure). This is not a failure of the heart, but comes from following an irregular dance beat, cutting through jungles, and taking the Big Hook in the Sky when It lures me in.
     
I dreamed once that I was going to a well for water. On the other side of the fence two men stood. They did not see me. I was invisible. I know myself behind the sun and wind-weathered face when I look in the mirror.

I am a grace-filled mother and what we name mother-in-law to people who came into my life through love. I claim the role of grandmother, sister, auntie and friend as well as gardener, artist, writer, and sometimes spiritual director.

You describe your spirituality as "messy." What do you mean by that? 
I am a process person and contrary to our beliefs, process does not flow from a to b. It is messy. Play is messy. Spirituality is messy when it is uninhabited by limits or rules. Here the Mystery truly enters in.

My life is a collection of bits and starts; therefore, my spiritual practices include bits and starts. I don't attend a church. I no longer believe many of the Christian stories that were a part of my young life. I delve into Buddhist and Zen practices and am intrigued by many Jewish teachings. I delve more deeply into women's stories of the Divine--the Mother/Goddess stories. I have been paving/playing/praying my own paths into the Mystery for at least 40 years. 

What do you identify as an ongoing spiritual practice?
Before I sleep and when I wake up, I give thanks.

In the morning I make coffee, and I take a cup to the back deck where I breathe in and out, noticing the apples on their trees or the rose bush that has grown too big to flower. This morning I noticed a newly blooming, very small sunflower and smiled back at her.

That tiny sunflower became my sanctuary for a few holy minutes. While I was busy preparing food and space for an overnight visit from friends, the day became a Sabbath; a slowed down honoring the holiness time. 

Along with moving through your day with awareness of the holy moments, what else contributes to the creation of Sabbath time in your life?
The practice of lectio divina, which is reading scripture and then spending time in prayer and contemplation with that reading. For example, this morning, a Saturday, I read from Soil and Sacrament, A Spiritual Memoir of Food and Faith by Fred Bahnson, and I spent time contemplating the following:
        As we entered the driveway...a sign read: 'It's time to
        slow down.' Judaism is a religion of time aiming at the
        sanctification of time....(it) teaches a person to be 'attached
        to the holiness in time, to be attached to sacred events, to
        learn how to consecrate sanctuaries that emerge from the
        magnificent stream of a year. The Sabbaths are our
        great cathedrals. 

Thus, sunflowers become holy, and cooking for friends days become Sabbaths. What else do you want to say about your spiritual practices?
My practices resemble what Bahnson says about a Jewish community he describes in his book. "We are a nonrabbinic community...When a rabbi is present, people don't step up as much. We're a community about empowerment, whether teaching people to grow their food or say their own blessings."

How do you empower others in their growth as spiritual beings? 
In my blog Moving Out Granni, I try to give voice to where I'm balancing on my growing edge. With my grandchildren, I try to channel my mother's loving self, not her or my own judgmental, cranky, sharp edge. Mother did caution "without a sense of humor we are lost." 

Not only do we need to step up and be vulnerable, we need to lighten up!

Who have been some significant spiritual teachers in your life?
One of my teachers is Matthew Fox. Fox teachers Meister Eckhart's Creation Spirituality whose essence is that God is our Creator, and we are made in This image; therefore, we are all meant to be creators. We each need to step up!

Another teacher is Angeles Arrien. She teaches that we must take off our masks; unzip our armor. 

What's in your current reading pile?
Soil and Sacrament, A Spiritual Memoir of Food and Faith by Fed Bahnson
How the Light Gets In, Writing as Spiritual Practice by Pat Schneider
Wanderlust, A History of Walking by Rebecca Solnit
The Golem and the Jinni, a novel by Helene Wecker

What other reading material do you want to recommend?
Original Blessing by Matthew Fox
Orion Magazine, a bimonthly, advertising-free magazine devoted to creating a stronger bond between people and nature. 

What other words of wisdom do you want to share? 
We are attendants at the wake of the old way, and each of us--through our actions, our thoughts, our work and relationships--is midwifing a new world into existence. This is our destiny, our meaning, our purpose, and when we come to our days with this awareness, when we sense the oak in the acorn of our beings, then we will have the energy to move mountains and shift the tides.
                                             Jan Phillips, No Ordinary Time:
                                             The Rise of Spiritual Intelligence and 
                                             Evolutionary Creativity


Thank you, Marian, so much for sharing a glimpse into your spiritual life; a spirituality that encompasses your entire life. You are a blessing in my life. 

An Invitation
What questions do you have for Marian? What contemplative reading have you been doing and how has it mattered in the way you live your life? 

Tuesday Reflection: The Great Wall of Corn

Recently, my husband and I drove out into the country. The day was warm, and we felt free. We had a destination, but it didn't matter how long it took to get there. Driving in his Mazda Miatta or the "little car," as we fondly call it, we were dwarfed by the cornfields. Great Walls of Corn towered over us. The culmination of summer's growth. Thick and tall. Imposing, impressive, and almost impermeable. Worthy of a travel advisory, "Beware of reduced sight lines at country intersections." 

Occasionally, we caught a quick glimpse of a view beyond the immediate rows of corn, but for the most part we only saw what was right in front of us. We had the Wisconsin platte book with us, guiding us from county road to county road, but rarely was there any other landmark to tell us where we were. We just relaxed into the journey. 

The Need to Relax

I haven't been doing such a good job lately of relaxing into the journey. Oh, there are moments, such as that weekend drive or when I am sitting on the front porch lost in a book, abandoning all sense of time passing, or when I am at my desk writing and studying. Or when I remind myself to close my eyes and meditate for 20 minutes. 

Most of the time, however, I want clarity. 

I want to be able to see what might be coming when I stop at an intersection. I want to know what's beyond the Great Wall of Corn. 

I want my summer to end in that same kind of fruitfulness. 

I want the harvest. 

From Spare to Bare

Cynthia the Stager's instructions were quite clear. Move back the living room chairs closer to the bookshelves. Take out the bookshelf full of cookbooks in the kitchen. A piece of furniture here and another one there. Oh, and repaint the den. Repaint the kitchen. 

I liked her decisiveness. She was nonthreatening and collaborative, but assertive.  I was surprised she didn't make more suggestions and pleased when she announced how staged the house already appears. 

That's all good, but now we are living in what feels to me like a bare house. Not spare--I've gotten used to spare-- but bare. 

I told my husband I didn't know how long I could live like this. (A bit of drama never hurts!)

And then I pulled back. Of course, I can live like this, for as long as it takes. I just don't want to!

What is hard is not that our home no longer feels like our home, it is the suffering I cause myself by holding onto my expectations and my attachments of what is supposed to happen and when it is supposed to happen.

More Lessons to Learn
During this in between time, I've been exploring my ability to wait and be patient and have been trying to grow those qualities within myself. I think I have grown.  

Clearly, however, it is time to get out the heavy machinery and dig deeper. It is time to uncover what else I need to explore. 

Several times these recent days I have sat quietly, reverently and asked Spirit to help me identify what else I am to learn. Unfortunately, when I open my eyes after meditation time, no neon sign floats down from the living room ceiling with the magic word blazing.  

And then.... One morning when I was waiting for a spiritual directee to arrive, I started thinking about how it takes trust to commit to the spiritual direction process. The directee trusts that what is said will be received with an open and wise heart, and the director trusts that what the directee needs will be offered. Both trust that Spirit will be present.  

Opening to Trust
Trust. A magic word. Do I truly trust that eventually we will be able to move forward in our plan? Do I trust that when the time is right the buyers will appear and we will sell our house and then find a new home just right for us? 

What happens if we do all this and we still don't sell the house?

Well, we'll do something else. We'll figure it out. We just need to trust that it will happen. 

My focus on patience and active waiting has been comforting, for it means I can do something. The doing, which includes all the staging efforts and the constant attending to the daily appearance of our house, is limited, however, if underneath I don't deepen my trust that all will be well. I need to broaden my trust to include a quiet awareness that I am not alone and instead, am a being in partnership with something far bigger than myself. 

Trust, it seems to me, is a form of letting go. 

Therefore, when we come to an intersection where the sight lines are limited and where it is difficult to see around and through and over, we do what we can and then we trust and move forward. 

An Invitation
Dear Reader, no doubt you are sick of reading about our house being for sale, but I hope you translate our current challenge to whatever transitions or stalemate is showing up in your life. I hope my ongoing attempt to deepen my spirituality encourages you to examine your own struggles and to harvest trust in your own life. I welcome your comments.     

Tuesday's Reflection: Reclaiming Silence

In recent months I have been in exile. My favorite warm weather location at our home is the front porch.  I read there, write there, nap there, eat there. But these past months sitting on the front porch has not provided the sanctuary and serenity I desire. 

The Absence of Silence
 My neighborhood is a construction zone with several very large homes being built on the ridge across from our home, and quiet has been in short supply. Instead, I feel battered by noise. Lots of noise. LOUD noise. Intermittent, but frequently repeated noise. Sustained noise. Pounding. Booming. Sawing. Think dentist drill at exaggerated decibels. Think oil rig or lumber mill. 

Unfortunately, yesterday I added to the noise level of the neighborhood when our front porch floor was sanded in preparation for repainting.  The sound penetrated the tightly shut windows, and the air conditioning's white noise. 

By the end of a typical day I feel exhausted, as if I were the one pounding, drilling, sawing. 

Desire for Silence
I yearn for silence or at least the kind of quiet when the only sound is bird song or the occasional car going down the street or two people chatting as they stroll past our house while walking their dog. Thomas Merton said, "Living requires silence," and I agree, for it is in silence that I can hear my inner voice. It is in silence I am able to listen to the whispers of Spirit. It is in silence I soothe and sort through the mixed messages vibrating in my mind and heart. 

I am aware, however, that my inability to ignore the outer noise is a signal of even louder inner noise. At those times it is imperative to create my own silence.

The Practice of Silence
 Anne D. LeClaire in her book Listening Below the Noise, A Meditation on the Practice of Silence moves into total silence on the first and third Mondays of every month. No speaking on those days since 1991. That may seem radical and totally impractical, but she shows us that making room for silence in our lives is not impossible. 

Here are some of her suggestions: 
* Turn off the radio in the car. (Hard to do, for those of us who are NPR junkies!)
* Wake an hour early and spend that hour in deliberate stillness or end the day that way.
* Take five minutes and close your eyes wherever you are. 
* Have a meal alone. Without distractions. Without a book or magazine. (Another tough one for me. I never want to lose a chance to read.)
* When you are part of a group, experiment with just listening to the conversation, staying silent yourself. Observe your own inner dialogue. 

Often I begin a spiritual direction session in silence as a way to settle into each other's presence and to erase the noise we carry with us. In silence we allow what needs to be recognized to rise into awareness and in silence we clarify what needs to be known. In silence we remember that we are not alone and that Spirit sits with us.

 Merton encourages us to hear the "sound of life inside your skin," but that can only happen it seems to me if we adopt a practice of being silent. I know I am restored when I empty myself, remove myself from noise. When I choose to sit and meditate. When I turn off the television, the radio, the phone. When I close my eyes and take deep breaths until I turn down the rush and reach a slower, more deliberate rhythm. When silence envelops me and offers me a nurturing hand. 

The "Wet Paint" sign means I can't sit on the porch today, but still, STILL, I can listen below both the outer and the inner noise and practice silence, for as LeClaire says, "The garden of silence is always there for us."  

An Invitation
How comfortable are you with silence? What is your experience of being silent? In what ways do you currently practice silence? What are the possibilities for practicing silence in your life? I welcome your comments.