Discernment Process

I've been contemplating a decision.

I am one of those people who has managed the year plus of hibernation quite well. I have enjoyed the spaciousness -- the lack of so many events on my calendar and the shorter weekly To Do list. For the most part I have used my time well, devoting much of the open time to finish the current version of my spiritual memoir. I have read stacks of books, written many letters, and have expanded my morning meditation time. 

Of course, I have missed being with family and friends and seeing my spiritual direction clients in person, and I relish the return to some entertaining and to replacing ZOOM calls with hugs.

But...

Just how much busyness do I want to allow back into my life?

What does a full life look like for me now?

In recent years I have chaired a committee at church, which has involved organizing, sponsoring, and often leading a variety of events. Doing that has been fulfilling and meaningful to me, and I think to others, but I have been puzzled about returning to that role. For quite awhile it was clearly not the right time and easy not to make a decision. However, now with life opening more to pre-Covid norms, although certainly not entirely, the time for discernment sat on my shoulder and whispered in my ear, "Nancy, what do you want to do? What are you called to do?"

I had no idea, so I did what I usually do when I need to make a decision about a direction and next step in my life. 

I wrote in my journal. Again and again.

I sat quietly, hoping to hear words of wisdom.

I asked the "what would you have me do?" question before going to bed, hoping I would wake up the next morning with an answer. 

I shared my thoughts with family and friends and my spiritual director. 

I reread a book about discernment (Decision Making and Spiritual Discernment, The Sacred Art of Finding Your Way by Nancy L. Bieber), just in case I was missing something.

I walked a labyrinth, and took other contemplative walks. 

I brainstormed and made lists. 

After all that, I still didn't have an answer. What to do, especially since a meeting was scheduled to discuss next steps for my committee and the ways I can be of service. An actual in-person meeting with one of my beloved pastors.

As I drove to church, I truly had no idea what I would say. Then I pulled into the church parking lot, and I knew. There was no neon sign or chorus of angels, but the struggle ended. I entered the building with a plan--a loose one, but one grounded in love for that community. My work there is not done, and I am ready and eager to continue. The pace may be slower. The scope may be somewhat different, but I am ready to move out of the garret and to share my time and energy once again. 

The Japanese have a word for what happened in this discernment process:

                   saku-taku-no-ki

I read about this in Take Joy, A Writer's Guide to Loving the Craft by Jane Yolen. (p. 26)

    Saku--the special sound a mother hen makes tapping on an egg
    with her beak.
    Taku--the sound a chick makes tapping from within.
    No-ki--the moment the tappings come together.
    Saku-taku-no-ki--the instant a chick pecking on the inside and the mother pecking on the outside reach the same spot. The egg cracks open. New life emerges. 

Using the spiritual practices that ground me, I had done the inner work. I had tapped from within. What I needed was the reality, the sacred presence of the outer world to open me to new possibilities. 

And that feels exactly right. 

Stay tuned as I move into the next chapter of living a full life.

An Invitation

How are you doing as quarantine requirements change? I would love to know.  

 

The Waiting Room: Waiting During Advent and a Pandemic

Haven't we waited long enough? 

We know when Advent ends. On Christmas Eve, but what about the pandemic? That's not ending any time soon.

Waiting is not easy, and we are in for a long wait, so get comfortable in the Waiting Room.

Perhaps it may be helpful to remember other times when you have waited:

For a child to be born or adopted. Or to become pregnant.
For test results--medical or academic.
For a house to sell or to get a new job.
For the appearance of the love of your life. 
For vacation. For graduation. For the end of the work week.
For spring to come after a long winter or for the night hours to ease into daylight.
For a hoped for email or check to arrive.
For inspiration.

For justice. For peace.
For change, almost any kind of change.

I invite you to make your own Waiting Room list. 

When I yearned for a time of waiting to end, my father often said, "Your day will come." I was often irritated by that response and thought, "When? How? Why is it taking so long and what will happen in the meantime? Will it come in time? "

What "Your day will come" implies is that my time is not God's time and God's time is not my time, and I might as well learn how to wait. In fact, what if waiting could be a spiritual practice?

Seven Spiritual Gifts of Waiting by Holly Whitcomb urges us to change our perspective from waiting as something to be endured to waiting as a gift. Instead of challenges to be met, Whitcomb offers the following as gifts for our spiritual lives:

                                Patience
                                Loss of Control
                                Living in the Present
                                Compassion
                                Gratitude
                                Humility
                                Trust in God

Such a great list, I think to myself. Yes, I want to be more patient and compassionate. I want to live with gratitude and humility. And I know how much easier and more life-giving it would be, if I could give up control, live more in the present, and yes, trust in God. 

Is that even possible? Of course, for as as the angel said to Mary,

            For nothing will be impossible with God.
                                                  Luke 1: 37

As is so often the case, a change in perspective and habit and in our whole being, begins in the body. Notice where in your body you feel frustration or fear or boredom when you reside in the Waiting Room. Now would be a good time to breathe, the most basic of spiritual practices. 

I invite you to close your eyes, lightly, not tightly, and take a couple deep cleansing breaths and then breathe gently, in and out, finding your own rhythm. Continue until you feel your body relax and your heart and mind open.

This practice will not reduce your time in the Waiting Room, but you will grow and deepen your ability to be more patient, and I have noticed that when I am more patient, I am more able to give up tight control and to be more compassionate. When I breathe fully and wholly, I am more able to be here now and to be aware of all the reasons I have to be grateful. When I approach my waiting times in the spirit of humility, my trust in God grows. 

Isn't it interesting how these spiritual gifts intersect and interact with each other. If I set out to increase my ability to be patient, somehow that acquaints me with the other gifts, too. 

My Waiting Room prayer for you is that this may be a time of rich growth for you; that in your waiting you become even more of the person God created you to be. 

An Invitation
How have you been challenged by one of the spiritual gifts of waiting  and what might you do to integrate that gift into your life? I would love to know. 

 

RBG and Now What?

Stunned. Sad. Scared. 

That's how I felt when I heard the news Friday evening about the death of Ruth Bader Ginsburg. I didn't sleep well that night, waking up frequently feeling a bit unsteady about what the loss of this dignified, but fierce woman will mean for the future of this country. 

Nina Totenberg, the American legal affairs correspondent for National Public Radio, called her "a force to be reckoned with," and oh, how grateful I am we had that force for as long as we did, but what now?

Somehow it didn't feel right to carry on with business as usual Saturday morning, but I know myself well enough to know that what I most need when I experience a flurry of messy feelings is to sit with those feelings. To listen to what those feelings tell me, especially about how to respond.

I started the day as I do most days--with time for devotion, prayer and meditation. I read this in Healing After Loss by Martha Whitmore Hickman. 

               We are not alone in the world. We are bound to 

               the rest of creation as cells in a body are bound 

               together.                                                        

                   And not only bound to the living, but bound to 

              the dead. We feel this to be true as well, though 

              we don't understand how. 

 

I thought about RBG's legacy--not only the way she lived her life and the vast influence she had on the Supreme Court, but the example she set for women and for men, too. That does not disappear because she has died. She is bound to the living forever more.

I know there are difficult days ahead. Shaky at best, and those of us who pray and work for a change in the administration know RBG's death at this time is a blow, but we can each be a "force to be reckoned with," too.

So what did I do with those messy feelings? 

Well, I do what I often do when I need to find energy and clarification for the next steps: I clean. I know that sounds silly, but it usually works for me. There is nothing like cleaning a bathroom or two to get back to basics. Getting down on my hands and knees to scrub floors is not just humbling, it reminds me that the next thing to do is whatever is in front of you. 

Two small things were in front of me: I sat at my lady's writing desk in the living room and I worked on another big stack of postcards reminding people to vote. And then I signed a petition from MoveOn.org about waiting till after the election to confirm a new Supreme Court Justice. Sign here! 

I am still stunned, sad, and even scared, but RBG didn't stop working for justice and equality, and neither should we.

Oh, and one more thing. I know that an antidote to not doing anything is to do something that brings pleasure--something that awakens the soul to beauty and enhances one's ability to live fully. For me on a beautiful fall Saturday that meant driving in the country and looking for pumpkins. 

I slept much better Saturday night. 

An Invitation

What do you do when you feel off balance or overwhelmed by feelings? I would love to know. 

Some Recommendations from the Past Week And a Reminder

*  Today, Tuesday, September 22 is National Voter Registration Day!

*   Meditations in Richard Rohr's Daily Meditations, especially the most recent days.  https://cac.org/category/daily-meditations/2020/09/

*   Videos of spirituality writers on the topic "Faith, Hope, and Love During an Election" on the Writing for Your Life website. https://compassionatechristianity.org/faith-hope-and-love-during-an-election/ I have not listened to all of them yet, but so far especially liked the one by Brian McLaren.

*  My copies of Elizabeth Jarret Andrew's books Writing the Sacred Journey and Living Revision are well-worn. I consult them frequently. Her most recent blog post calls this time in our country is a time of "deep revision." https://mailchi.mp/f8ef357621d8/deep-dive-into-chaos?e=99c2514cbb

 

    

Starting A New Chapter

 

This past week I "finished" a chapter for my spiritual memoir. By finished, I don't mean it is perfect and needs no additional work or revisions. No, instead, it is now simply "at rest," and it is time to move on to the next chapter.

The time between setting a chapter aside and starting a new one is always a shaky time for me. 

First, there is the ritual of reading the completed chapter to my writing group. We four have been together for several years now, meeting a couple times a month. Before the pandemic we usually met in my living room. I provided snacks and beverages, and they provided the wisdom, insights, and support. Now we meet via ZOOM, which obviously is not the same, but the wisdom, insights, and support remain. 

 I listen carefully to their suggestions and responses and make notes on my manuscript. Sometimes I think, "Wow, why didn't I see that before? Of course, I need to expand that thought." Other times I think to myself, "Nope, I am going to leave it just as it is." I am tempted to return to my desk and revise, revise, revise, but instead I place it in the box with other chapters and say to myself, "It is time to move on. I will return to this later."

Then there is the clearing and ordering of the space. Filing and sorting and tossing. The cleaning phase extends beyond the garret into the rest of the house. And in the case of this past week that meant creating a summer into fall look in the house. Not pumpkins, yet, but can they be far behind? 

Hometending is a spiritual practice for me, a way to steady myself, to lighten my load, to invite a new perspective into view, and to re-connect with my life beyond my desk. And so I shop the house and re-arrange and try this and try that and call it play.

Soon, however, it is time to return to the garret and open a new file, "Chapter Five, Part III..." and that's when the doubts return. Why am I doing this in the first place? Why can't I be content to spend my days reading and baking cookies and emailing friends and walking in the neighborhood and watching Netflix? What makes me think I am a writer anyway? 

I go through this litany of doubt each time I approach a new chapter. Every single time. That doubt seems to be getting worse as I get closer to the planned end of the memoir, because once I come to the end of the last chapter and have done an overall revision, then I will need to do something with it--write a book proposal, look for an agent, a publisher, and on and on. 

It's at that point I remind myself about what I am doing, why I am doing this. I write to share how spiritual practices can impact and enhance our lives and deepen our relationship to God. Using stories from my life, I write to help others discover spiritual practices for life's labyrinth. This is my one true thing, and I need to get a grip and begin working on the next chapter. 

And so the process begins. I go through notes I've made for the new topic. I brainstorm ideas and stories. I shop my bookshelves for material to support the topic and to stretch my thinking and approach. I immerse myself in the possibilities and begin to form a plan. 

Eventually, that leads to writing the dreaded first draft--my least favorite part of the process--but that is a whole other topic.

Here's the point. Aren't we always beginning again? Aren't we always in transition? Isn't there always a need to re-ground, to re-commit, to move forward? Don't we always fight our doubts? Aren't we always in process? Ending a chapter? Living in the midst of a chapter? Starting a new one? 

That's the deal, and we need--I need--to pay attention to what strengthens me no matter which chapter I am in at the moment. I need to pay attention to what leads me further away from the person I was created to be and what brings me closer. No small task, but a worthy one. 

Enough. I need to return to the new chapter--whatever it turns out to be.

 Good work is work that develops us as we develop it. To know if the work we are doing is worth it, we need to ask ourselves what it brings out in us: creativity, commitment, artistry, compassion?                                       Joan Chittister 

 

An Invitation: What strengthens you right now? Which chapter are you in the midst of writing? I would love to know. 

Some Reading Recommendations From The Past Week

1.   My Grandmother's Hands, Racialized Trauma and the Pathway to Mending Our Hearts and Bodies by Resmaa Menaken, MSW, LICSW, SEP. I am only a third of the way into this book, but it is a WOW read. This morning I read the chapter called "The False Fragility of the White Body," which includes a list of the ways white Americans use white fragility to avoid facing our own unhealed and historical trauma. Put this on your list--move it to the top of your list. Here's an interview with the author: https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/the-author-speaks/201709/my-grandmother-s-hands

2. A post in Diana Butler Bass's blog, The Cottage about wearing masks--"The Vexing Spirituality of Masks." https://dianabutlerbass.substack.com/p/just-pieces-of-cloth

3. An essay by the author Sing, Unburied, Sing, Jesmyn Ward about the death of her husband and so much more.... https://www.vanityfair.com/culture/2020/08/jesmyn-ward-on-husbands-death-and-grief-during-covid

4.    Of course, I continue to read fiction, too. Recent ones include 

       A Good Neighborhood by Therese Anne Fowler

      The Bookseller, The First Hugo Marston Mystery by Mark Pryor

      The Most Fun We Ever Had by Claire Lombardo 

      Like A Mule Bringing Ice Cream to the Sun by Sarah Ludipo Manyika

       Belong To Me by Marisa de los Santos

Discovering Spiritual Practices in our Day

 

Every morning as I make the bed, I pause at the window that looks out into our backyard. I look to see if it is raining or in the winter if we had any more snow during the night. Is the trio of squirrels we call "the boys" busy with their morning exercise program--scampering across the garage roof? I check the color code in the garden--from the neon zinnias to the richness of red roses or the innocence of the peach and white roses and the variety and diversity of greens. 

I smile in deep gratitude for the beauty I see everyday--no matter the weather, the season, the temperature. I give thanks for my husband the gardener. I give thanks for the precious life we have. 

Later, when I head up the stairs to the garret, I pause once again, this time on the landing, and I enjoy another view of the backyard, but I can also see a corner of our neighbors' backyard. Our new neighbors. 

Sunday morning I saw one of the boys, the 6 year old, I think, watering the flowers. He sort of swooshed the watering can in the direction of the flower bed and then, apparently done, dropped the can on the grass, shrugging his shoulders, as if to say, "Glad that's done." His mother was standing nearby, and I saw her point to the watering can, an unspoken "Put it away, please." He did. 

I smiled and then sent a blessing. "Welcome to the block. May you find contentment and love in your new home. May we be good neighbors for each other."

Morning pauses. My first expressions of spiritual practice in the new day. 

One of my spiritual directees commented recently that her usual spiritual practice of morning meditation time wasn't having the effect it had in the past. Something was missing or wrong or whatever. She was concerned she had lost that spiritual practice.

I asked her to tell me about the rest of her day, and she told me about walking her dog several times a day and how she loved seeing the river and being outside and seeing the changes in nature around her. She told me about the group she has organized to read and discuss a book about racial disparities. 

All I needed to do was smile and say, "Sounds to me like those are spiritual practices."

Just like standing at a window and awakening to what is front of my eyes and sending out blessings, consciously or even consciously are forms of spiritual practice. 

I like what Jane Vennard says in her book, Fully Awake and Truly Alive, Spiritual Practices to Nurture Your Soul, "...spiritual practices are those ways of seeing and being in the world that help us wake up and become fully, truly alive." Some of those practices may be formal or "on cushion" like meditating for 20 minutes every morning or less formal or "off cushion," like chopping vegetables and thanking the farmers for growing the fresh produce we eat or listening, really listening, in the conversation with a friend or acquaintance. 

This is a time in our history that the way we have practiced in the past may not feel life-enhancing or may not seem to be an opening to the movement of God in our lives. Perhaps this is a time in our life when we are having more than normal trouble listening to Spirit's whispers or nudges. 

It may be time to try a different practice or it may be time to broaden your definition of spiritual practice. What in the course of your day is an opportunity to become more aware of God and the person you were created to be? What reminders can you find throughout the day that we are all creations of God, and all are invited to grow and give and be grateful. 

A spiritual practice need not be complicated, but may be simplicity itself.

I leave you today with a simple practice based on an exercise in Jan Richardson's new book, Sparrow, A Book of Life and Death and Life. 

Turn your left hand palm down in the desire to release all God wants you to release.

Turn your right hand palm up as an invitation to receive all God wants you to receive.

Place your left hand, palm down, over your right hand, palm up, and feel the energy and the blessing and the love you hold. 

May you discover the possibilities for spiritual practice, spiritual connection, as you move through the day.

An Invitation                                                                                            Are you aware of the need for a different kind of spiritual practice in your life right now? What are you doing that you realize is actually a spiritual practice? What is life-enriching now? I would love to know.

Lenten Practice Check-in: Thursday's Reflection

Ash Wednesday was February 26. 

In my journal that day I wondered what my Lenten practice might be. I was reading Marcus Borg's book, Convictions, written when he was 70, and he ponders how Ash Wednesday is a reminder that we are all mortal and marked for death. 

I wondered if I could use the 40 days of Lent to prepare for my own death. I asked myself what I would not want to leave undone and what might be helpful for my survivors. I had a number of ideas.

One was to complete, page by page, a workbook called I'm Dead, Now What? Important Information about My Belongings, Business Affairs, and Wishes. Peter Pauper Press

Another was to dedicate myself to working on my memoir. Writing and revising two more chapters seemed like a reasonable goal for that time. 

A third plan was to thin out my bookshelves in the garret; to decrease the numbers of books in my spirituality and theology library. The more I eliminate now the easier it will be for my loved ones later on. We have many Little Free Libraries in our neighborhood where I could donate my books. 

On Ash Wednesday I had no idea how life would change. The week after I received the ashes on my forehead, my father fell a number of times and soon was confined to bed and is now in his end-of-life days. No longer was I thinking about my own death, but the focus became my Dad, as he approaches his death.

And, of course, no one needs to remind us of the changes we are all experiencing because of the Covid-19 crisis, and the fear and paralysis most of us confront. My Lenten practices seem fitting, but my ability to fulfill them was limited, emotionally and practically.

All was not lost, however, and most days I kneeled in front of one of my bookshelves and book by book decided what to keep and what was ready for a new owner. My goal was to eliminate one book every day. 40 books. 

I am happy to report that I went beyond that goal and my bookshelves are now 90 books lighter. My bookshelves are breathing a bit easier. 

On Easter Sunday I opened each book, in order to erase my name from bookplates or a front page, but all of a sudden I started second guessing myself. Maybe I will read this book again. Or to be honest, maybe I will actually read this book for the first time. Or I loved this book I can really give it up? 

And that's when it became a real Lenten practice. It was time to let go, time to surrender, time to focus on what it is I most need to live a life connected to God as I move closer, day by day, to my own death. 

I still want to continue work on my memoir and also on the BIG BLUE BOOK, and I trust that will be possible eventually, but in the meantime each day as I return home from my Dad's apartment I take detours, cruise down neighborhood blocks looking for Little Free Libraries. This week, as I dash from my car to one of those charming boxes with an armload of books, I have felt like the Easter Bunny hiding eggs. I trust my books will land exactly where they need to be. 

And I trust that I am doing what I can do, need to do right now, and doing that is the heart of spiritual practice.  

An Invitation
Did you have a Lenten Practice? How has that fared these last weeks? What are your current spiritual practices? I would love to know. 

Preparing for Ash Wednesday: Thursday's Reflection

Ash Wednesday is in a few days, and oh no! I haven't decided what my spiritual practice will be during Lent. 

My inbox is full of opportunities. Take this online class or this one or that one or here's an email about a new book of devotions suitable for lectio divina during Lent. Or what about all the books with a Lenten focus already on my shelves? Are there podcasts devoted to Lenten practices. Probably. 

Maybe it is time to return to a focused practice of centering prayer--do it faithfully every day, twice a day, as Father Keating suggests.
Maybe I should consider fasting one day a week, preferably Wednesday because I would feel even more self-righteous when I go to the evening service. Last year I hosted labyrinth sessions every Wednesday evening. Should I do that again?

What should I give up? What should I add in? Is this the time to try something new, something outside of my comfort zone or is this the time to return to a practice used in the past, but kept in my back pocket for when it might be needed? Or do I deepen my core practices--writing in my journal and sitting in quiet meditation each morning? 

I feel a bit overwhelmed with ideas and possibilities, and I wonder how my word for the year, "fullness," intersects with Lent. 

Of course, what I most need to do--right now--is move into silence and allow the voice of God to whisper in my heart. Maybe what I need to do is to let a practice choose me, find me for these sacred days. 

Maybe I need to remember that everyday is sacred.

Maybe I need to remember that a Lenten practice, any kind of spiritual practice, regardless of one's tradition, is not about the doing, but about the being with God. 

                                 It could take you days
                                 to wander these rooms.
                                 Forty at least.

                                 And so let this be
                                 a season for wandering,
                                 for trusting the breaking,
                                 for trusting the rupture
                                 that will return to you

                                 to the One who waits,
                                 who watches
                                 who works within
                                 the rending
                                 to make your heart
                                 whole. 
                                              from "Rend Your Heart"
                                              Circle of Grace
                                              Jan Richardson

An Invitation
Do you feel called to a new practice? An old practice? I would love to know. 

My New Spiritual Practice: Tuesday's Reflection

I have a new spiritual practice. New to me, that is.

My new spiritual practice requires only a blank book, a good pen, and a book of sacred words. Oh, and the inclination to hand copy word by word, page by page, the thoughts and insights and gifts of another. 

After my morning walk, I open both the journal and the sacred text to the pages where I left off the day before. I uncap my favorite fountain pen, and I begin to copy, carefully, using my best handwriting. I copy prayers and sections of scripture, and I do so without thinking too much about the words I form on the blank page. Instead, I allow the slow and deliberate movement of hand and eye across the page to join with my heart, to pulse in my mind. 

I am not a writer in these moments, but am, instead, a scribe. 

I think about the monks, the nuns of medieval times whose call in life was to create illuminated manuscripts of sacred texts, and I wonder if this task ever became tedious for them. Would they have preferred serving by gardening or teaching or singing? Did they experience this spiritual practice as prayer? 

I vaguely remember learning first how to print and then form cursive letters, repeating the letters over and over, trying to make my shaky, unpracticed attempts look just like the teacher's examples. As an adult I took a calligraphy class and loved learning different styles of the alphabet, like gothic and New English. I loved the swirls and flourishes and using a variety of pen nibs and inks as I copied favorite poems and sayings. I wasn't very good at it, but as a young mom, I treasured this quiet time. A contemplative time, although I don't think I used that word at the time. 

Now, however, I know this is contemplative time. A time to free my mind of worries and plans. A time to slow down. A time to give myself to something beyond my need to create, to be unique, to take my own experiences and attempt to breathe life into them for you, my readers. It is a time to connect with Spirit as it appears in the words under my fingertips. The paradox is that even as I don't choose the words, the words become mine. I know them, feel them. 

The book I have selected for this new spiritual practice is Celtic Treasure, Daily Scriptures and Prayers by J. Philip Newell. In the first days of this practice, I copied Newell's translation of sections from Genesis 1. "Great sea-monsters" was soon followed by "God saw that it was good," and I wondered how my personal monsters and demons are good. I copied "But in the dark a wind began to stir," again followed by "God saw that it was good," and I felt my inner yearnings. 


Sometimes my mind wanders, as it tends to do while meditating, and when that happens the letters look sloppy, too loose on the page, or I may skip over a word or change a word to what I think it should be. Sometimes I even drift to thoughts about the next book I will copy! When I realize I am no longer present, I lift my pen, take a deep breath, and return to the page, as if for the first time.

I adopted this practice only last week, after one of my spiritual directees mentioned it to me. Clearly, I have not been doing this long enough to consider it one of my practices. However, each morning I am eager to discover the words as they flow across the page. In the quiet I become calm, more centered and more aware of God's presence.  

An Invitation
Have you entered any new spiritual practice recently? I would love to know. 

Creating a Collage: Thursday's Reflection

What doesn't seem to fit? I often ask myself this question when I have completed creating a collage. 

This is my most recent collage, which I put together recently on my 70th birthday, (You can read the post here.) and I am quite pleased with both the individual images selected, as well as the overall tone of the collage. When I look at the collage I see contentment and optimism about this entry into my 70's. 

The wrapped package reminds me of the many gifts of time and friendship and opportunity I have received over the years, but also a symbol of this time of life as a gift. I see open doors--more thresholds to cross and opportunities to experience. I see a pile of books, and you, dear reader, know how important books and reading is in my life, but the books also inspire me to keep working on the book I am writing. It seems significant that the labyrinth, an important spiritual practice in my life and the ongoing metaphor in my memoir, is located at the center of the right page.


I don't ignore the fact that I am entering a new stage of life, a new and older decade, but the woman pictured in my collage looks confident and happy and eager, and I do feel that way. And I love the scattered autumn leaves, gathered into a handful, a basket full of memories, experiences, even wisdom.

All good. I congratulate myself for being so open, so accepting, so satisfied with this time in my life, and then I notice in the top right hand corner a little pot containing a prickly succulent plant. 

"What's that doing here?" I ask myself. "It doesn't seem to fit the mood of the other pictures."

When doing a collage, the main instruction is to select images that appeal or speak to you in some way and to not have a pre-conceived notion about why or how it will fit into the whole picture. Only after completing the collage and allowing its messages to find a resting place within me, did I think about that plant with its sharp, biting leaves.  The picture of that plant is there to remind me that this time more than likely will not be only smooth or comfortable. 

Prickly, painful times may be on the path, too. And I need to prepare.

My path of preparation includes grounding myself in my spiritual practices, continuing to grow in my faith, giving myself in ways that nurture others, and living with an open heart.

That's what I see when I look at my collage.

An Invitation
What are you invited to see in the collage of your life? I would love to know. 

Spiritual Practices in a Time of Turmoil: Thursday's Reflection

How often these days I want to hide out in my garret, specifically, in my comfortable chair tucked in a corner. I want to extend my morning meditation time into mid morning and beyond. Then when I finally take a shower I am reluctant to turn off the water and get dressed. 

Focusing on the writing work I have challenged myself to do has become harder. Like those first weeks after the election and then the inauguration, I am drawn to online news reports and to having the radio on in the background as I try to work at my desk. 

I am outraged and fearful. The white supremacists turn my stomach, but it is the president's behavior that upsets and concerns me even more. How close are we to a national brawl where shouting is the norm? 

What to Do? How to respond?

I can't give you those answers. Each of us has to decide for ourselves what we can do and how to respond, but first, before any action, there needs to be a kind of stillness. I need to remember what grounds me, what clarifies next steps and fortifies me for action.  

For some that may mean walking along the river or reading to a grandchild or cooking a pot of soup or needlepointing or swimming laps or even washing the car. 

For some it may mean walking a labyrinth or reading scripture or writing in a journal. Attending a worship service, praying or sitting motionless on a meditation cushion. 

Each one of these activities can be a spiritual practice, a threshold into deeper relationship with divine presence. Each one of these practices can be a way to center and open to what we are asked to do and how we are asked to respond and be in these troubled times. 

Words to Consider

                You do not need to know precisely what is
                 happening, or exactly where it is all going.
                 What you need is to recognize the possibilities
                 challenges offered by the present moment, and 
                 to embrace them with courage, faith, and hope.
                                                  Thomas Merton

                       Teach me to be love,
                              as You are Love;
                       Lead me through each fear;
                       Hold my hand as I walk through
                             valleys of doubt each day,
                      That I may know your peace.  
                                              adapted from Psalm 27

           The best way to not feel hopeless is to get up and
           do something. Don't wait for good things to happen
           to you. If you go out and make some good things
           happen, you will fill the world with hope, you will
           fill yourself with hope.
                                           Barak Obama


An Invitation
What do you do to come to stillness and awareness of the divine presence? I would love to know. 

Home Again! Tuesday's Reflection

After two weeks of being on the road, visiting our son and daughter-in-love in Cleveland, friends near Boston, and friends in Chestertown, Maryland, the vagabonds unlocked their front door and crossed the threshold back to life at home. 

Earlier on our last day on the road my husband asked me if being away had given me any ideas about changes I might want to make in our home decor. He was asking out of experience, for being away seems to give me space to re-imagine and envision. Plus, when we are on the road I always take a stack of home decor magazines barely browsed, and reading those, while glancing frequently at the passing scenery, encourages possible new arrangements and adaptions. I go through in my mind an inventory of what I have waiting for me in cupboards and bins. 

"Yes," I answer, "I am thinking about removing the cream slipcovers from the living room wingback chairs." Doing that would expose the deliberately faded flower look of the fabric underneath. On vacation I had read a new novel Circling the Sun by Paula McClain about the aviator Beryl Markham who was friends with Karen Blixen and whose lover was Denys Finch Hatton, all of "Out of Africa" fame. That movie influenced my fabric choice when I had the chairs and a couch reupholstered over 20 years ago. It is still in good shape, and I wondered if it might be time for that look again. The rugs and other chairs and lamps would look just as good with the busier floral look, I imagined. 

I had other thoughts--moving the chair in the entry to our bedroom and storing for awhile the one currently in there. A new duvet for the bed, and the lamps in there are really too small. Oh, and I want to go through our pictures from our trip from Paris and have a couple printed in black and white and framed for the first floor bathroom. 

None of this is major and after being in other homes the last two weeks, I felt inspired to look at ours with fresh eyes again. I like that part of traveling. 

But then we walked in the front door, and I was overwhelmed by a sense of not just familiarity, but more than that--a feeling of perfect contentment. I love the look we have created. Calm and yet interesting. A place for books and art. Personal with things we love, but not too fussy. It felt fresh to me and not just because I had cleaned before we left. (I love returning to a clean home--at least cleaning is not on my re-entry list!) How quickly I re-bonded to our home, just the way it is.

As I reflect on this, I realize my contentment is not just because the house is perfect or that I am a rock star decorator (I'm not!), but   instead I have made a shift in how I most want to spend my time. It has taken a long time to get here. First, we waited to sell our home in Madison and then we went through the initial stages of downsizing and redecorating this little house for our taste and making some functional changes here as well, such as new windows and air conditioning. 

I have no intention of ignoring the care and tending of this house, but this seems to be my time to rest with what we have and to focus on other creative and spiritual pursuits, writing, leading retreats, and meeting with others in spiritual direction. How lucky I am to be able to do this in the context of a home that feeds my soul. 

I won't be pulling off the slipcovers, but I probably will look for new bedroom lamps whenever I am in the mood. And I am eager to open the bins of fall decorations--velvet pumpkins for the living room and vintage Halloween candles for the window ledge in the kitchen. After all, I don't intend to live in a Miss Havisham kind of house, preserved for posterity. But this is home--just as it is. 

An Invitation
How have your attitudes about your home changed over the years? What gives you most pleasure in your home? What does your home say about you? When you make a change in your house, what internal reflections does that spark? 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

The Shadow Knows. Shadow and Light, Part 2: Thursday's Reflection

Often as I go up the stairs to my garret or back down to the first floor, I pause on the landing and look out my windows to the back yard. There is always something new to see. The last few days I have noticed the interplay of shadow and light and where the two blend and how one seems to highlight the other.

My last post offered some reflections on the role, the necessary role, of shadow in our life, and wouldn't you know, the next morning during my meditation time I came across a reading about shadow. Here is what David Whyte has to say about shadow in his book, Consolations, The Solace, Nourishment and Underlying Meaning of Everyday Words. http://www.davidwhyte.com

          Shadow is a necessary consequence of being in a 
          sunlit visible world, but it is not a central identity,
          or a power waiting to overwhelm us…To live with
          our shadow is to understand how human beings live
          at a frontier between light and dark; …there is no
          possibility of a lighted perfection in this life; pp 205-206

Whyte says shadow is a "clue to ourselves, and to those we are with, even to the parts of ourselves not yet experienced, yet already perceived by others. Shadow is not good or bad, only inescapable." p. 207

And finally, and this is what most struck me in Whyte's chapter on shadow, "To change the shape of ourselves is to change the shape of the shadow we cast." 

My life at the moment is warmed fully by the sun. Light surrounds my days, and I feel rich and blessed and full of love and appreciation for all the goodness in my life. I have freedom to use my gifts and to share my life with those I love. At the same time I know there is always potential for shadow to make its presence known through complication or unplanned change or loss. Those external events that require the best of ourselves to survive and move forward are moments when our shadow side may cover more space in our inner backyard. 

The shadow may extend into places in our life where we formerly felt transparent and confident. Our pride in our ability to be patient and compassionate or clear and decisive may be muddled by lack of direction or loneliness or fear. All that we think we know about ourselves, especially the side we present to the world, may disintegrate. The good news, the light, is that the shadow is available in moments of disquiet or disturbance to be our teacher. The spaces within ourselves that harbor our shadow responses are rich with opportunity for transformation.

Are you willing to sit with your shadow and ask it what it can reveal about your "go-to" feelings and reactions when you feel threatened or challenged? What would you think about getting to know your shadow now, sooner, rather than later? How about inviting your shadow into a conversation before you feel yourself  drowning in anxiety or sadness? 

For example, I know when I feel overwhelmed with that "too much to do" feeling, I can become paralyzed. I become irritated with anyone who implies "it will all be fine," or worse yet, "What's so important?" I am apt to become snippy with anyone in my path. In other words, my shadow has a field day. I also know that sitting in silence every day, taking time to meditate and to study the wisdom of others, to pray for the wellbeing of the world, my personal world and the created world, is a way to move through the shadow. To perhaps, shrink my shadow. 

As I attempt to become more self-aware, I change how I move in the world. I change the shape of my being and therefore, according to Whyte, the shape of the shadow I cast. 

An Invitation
I invite you to notice the shadow in your inner being. What can it teach you about living more fully in the light? I would love to know.