Is anyone else finding it difficult to manage the new normal?
In my last two posts I wrote about strategies for staying at home and finding nourishment during this time of social distance and confinement, and yet, I, too, find this time challenging. I heard someone on the radio say, "I'm an introvert, but I am learning how much I need and want to be with people."
What are you learning about yourself right now?
What have you discovered to be especially challenging?
I know what I could be doing:
Writing more. What a perfect time to dig into the next chapter of my memoir. Have I don't that? Not yet.
Reading more. I have had several false starts and have a pile of books to return to the library because they were not appealing. I think I have found a "go" finally, but I have not been reading my usual amount.
Walking more. I recently bought a Fitbit, but it is still in the box. Today is the day, I tell myself. The ice and snow are gone and even though it is still cold, I could bundle up and get out there.
Praying and meditating more. I spend more time in my morning devotions, but I feel unfocused there, too.
What am I doing? I am spending far too much time on my phone checking for the latest news about the coronavirus. The closings, the cancellations, the numbers, the pronouncements, the plans. It is time to divorce my phone--at least to set limits on my attachment to it. I am sleeping more than I need to and watching more television than interests me.
It is time to breathe and then breathe some more and relax into a new view of my days and a new gratitude for my own health and privilege to live these complicated days in comfort.
It is also time to accept the priority of this time. And that is my 96 year old father who has fallen several times recently. Fortunately, he has not broken anything, but he has become much weaker and needs more daily care and attention. That supersedes writing and reading time, for sure, but takes a different kind of energy. Lots of energy, actually.
How many times have I said to a spiritual directee or someone in a group I have led or one of my own loved ones, "Be gentle with yourself." Well, I will try to honor my own advice. And I will forgive myself when I don't meet my own expectations--when I don't spend much time writing or when I choose to sit and watch something unmemorable on tv, instead of read. Or when my steps don't come close to 10,000, but how will I know if I don't take the Fitbit out of the box?
Instead, my drive to see my Dad can be a spiritual practice for me. The drive is a lovely one, along a parkway with a creek on one side and charming old homes on the other. I love seeing all the varieties of dogs being walked and the young children in strollers or scampering along the path. I cheer on the runners and walkers (all wearing Fitbits, I presume.) I have seen robins and hawks and turkeys and even an eagle, as I have been driving. Oh, and this large bunny, reminding us to smile.
Each morning--and maybe at other times, too, I will sit in silence and know that is enough. I will know that I am being held and will breathe in and out as an offering to all who are feeling challenged during this time.
An Invitation
What are your challenges right now? I would love to know.
The wild rice and cranberry bread from The Rustic Inn on Lake
Superior's North Shore nourishes me. I brought back home two hunky loaves from my recent writing retreat. The other night we had lentil soup, fresh raspberries, and grilled cheese sandwiches made with that delicious bread. Nourishing!
At a time when there is so much to worry us, so much that depletes us, it is good to think about what nourishes us. Good hearty bread and soup, yes, but what else?
One of the books I am reading right now during morning devotion time is Joan Chittister's The Art of Life. Monastic Wisdom for Everyday. Each of the chapters is devotions for a specific month of the year and the theme for March is nourishment.
The daily schedule nourishes me; the sight of
the familiar nourishes me; the silence nourishes
me. The banter of friends and the rhythm of prayer;
the best of music and the single shaft of promise
every new day brings, provide the kind of balm
no boughten balm can bring. p. 26
What nourishes me? A list --in no specific order.
* Books, of course, and making time to read.
* Sitting at my desk and digging into a current writing project.
* Gathering around the dining room table with our two potluck groups--ah, the below the surface conversations, but the laughter, too.
* Sunday morning services--singing the hymns, sharing the peace (We use sign language now.), receiving communion, praying, listening to the always enriching sermons, greeting new friends, old friends, and those I don't yet know.
* Driving in the country, looking for eagles.
* Morning devotion time, sitting in silence. Breathing slowly and steadily as I hold in my heart all on my ever-growing prayer list.
* Enjoying a water view--big water, like Lake Superior.
* Being with our kids and grandkids, feeling part of this ongoing circle.
* Meeting with my writing groups, sharing our process, our frustrations and our hopes, and offering our insights and questions.
* Hometending (Most of the time!), especially when I shift from one season to another.
* Sitting with my spiritual directees--each of them a gift.
And so much more.
Creating this list nourishes me --open me to deep gratitude.
Never take anything for granted--the people
you associate with, the things you choose to do in
your free time, the television programs you watch.
Everything touches us, shapes us, nourishes the
thoughts we think. All of them are making us more
or less what we are meant to be. p. 29
At first glance, it may seem that nourishing oneself is self-indulgent. I hope we understand by these later years of life that nourishing ourselves not only allows us to nourish others, but the very fact of paying attention to how we are spiritually filled radiates a kind of light in the world. And we all need more light.
I depend on your light, and in turn I hope my light nourishes you.
Spiritual nourishment is anything that fills us with
a sense of the fundamental goodness of life, the
clear and constant gifting of God. p. 30
An Invitation
What nourishes you? I would love to know.
NOTE: You are invited to attend an interfaith book discussion at my congregation, Gloria Dei Lutheran Church St Paul, on Monday, March 23 from 7-9. I will be leading the discussion on a courageous and generous memoir by Jose Antonio Vargas, Dear America: Notes of an Undocumented Citizen. Vargas explores the psychological state of homelessness experienced by undocumented immigrants living in America. All are welcome.
Two other congregations in St Paul have also scheduled discussions of this book.
Unity Church, Unitarian,Wednesday March 18, 5:45 pm dinner and conversation beginning at 7:15 pm.
Mt Zion Temple Sunday, March 22, 1-3 pm.
If these offerings are cancelled, I will announce that.
"Be prepared to stay home for two weeks."
Although the reason for this piece of advice is not pleasant and causes real concern and difficulties for many, as an introvert, I say, "Really, can I just stay home? That's not only ok, but wise?"
As an older person and a privileged one at that, I can choose to stay home, and I realize that is not possible for many. I am healthy and have good healthcare and have a strong support system in place, too.
And shelves of books waiting to be read.
My husband actually said to me, "If we have to confine ourselves to home, maybe you will finish your book." Wishful thinking on his part, I think, for completing my book will take much longer than two weeks, but, as long as I am healthy, I could make writing progress, I am sure.
No doubt you've heard the recommendation to stock up on food and other necessary supplies to last two weeks, and I have just done that, but how else does one prepare for social confinement?
For example, how many years have I had on my "this year" list, to organize all the family photographs. This could be the time.
And what about those junk drawers and overflowing closets? People my age often talk about dealing with all their stuff? Sorting and simplifying. Go to it.
Do you have all the supplies for unfinished craft or sewing or art projects? What about the pile of DVDs you always say you are going to watch again? Like all the seasons of "The West Wing"? Are you someone who used to write letters, but no longer do so? Are there people you would like to stay in touch with beyond the annual Christmas letter? Call, write, email.
If you still set an alarm clock, turn it off.
Plan your garden. Knit a prayer shawl. Color. Do yoga or T'ai Chi. Dance to your favorite music. Sing. Play the piano. Look out the window--wash your windows. Set the table with your best dishes and eat soup or grilled cheese by candlelight.
Go for a walk. No, this doesn't break the rules, if you aren't walking with a big group of companions. You can't pass on the virus or get it by passing someone on the sidewalk. The snow and ice is melting, and walking without fear of falling is much more possible. Notice where daffodils are beginning to pop up and wave to all the children biking and shooting baskets. And while you are out and about, stock a Free Library with books you finish reading.
For of course, you will have spacious time to read. Maybe even War and Peace or other books you've put off reading for lack of time.
Write in your journal. Start a gratitude list. Create an ethical will.
Sit. Think. Pray. Take on the mantel of contemplation. Hold all who suffer in your heart.
And then sit and pray some more. If you fall asleep while meditating, don't worry, you can begin your prayers again when you wake up again.
Be present.
The practice of moment-by-moment presence,
breath-by-breath awareness, emancipates attention
from frivolity, from all that is meaningless, from
all the ways in which we squander this precious
human life. Kathleen Dowling Singh
Use this time as a retreat, a time to deepen your spiritual practice.
This, too, can be a time of awakening, of acceptance.
I certainly hope we won't need to confine ourselves in this way, but if it does become necessary, I intend to be ready.
Let there be
an opening
into the quiet
that lies beneath
the chaos
where you find
the peace
you did not think
possible
and see what shimmers
within the storm.
Jan Richardson
May you be well.
An Invitation
What do you think about being confined to home? I would love to know.
Soon I will pack up my laptop and printer and books and papers and head home after these writing retreat days. Such a productive time this has been. I don't have a completed draft first of the current chapter yet, but I am almost there and have a sense of how to complete it. A good feeling!
However, there is shadow and light in everything.
I look forward to reuniting with my husband, being in our home once again, and enjoying the planned activities of the next few days. We will entertain two small groups, one Thursday afternoon and another Sunday evening. We have tickets to a play Friday, and we will also attend the middle school play at our grandson's school. (He is the sound guy for the play.) I will visit my Dad one afternoon and, of course, there is church on Sunday. And I have a lengthy To Do list awaiting my return.
All good, but what happens to the retreat? Will I be able to carve out any time to write?
The good news is that I return newly inspired and, like Joe Biden, have momentum. I feel refreshed and restored and committed--once again--to this long process of writing a spiritual memoir, but I will no longer be on a retreat.
Life outside of retreat time requires more juggling, more choices, more this and that, more appointments and interactions, more opportunities and possibilities, more requirements and responsibilities. More.
None of that is bad, I hasten to add, but life back home is not a writing retreat. My ongoing dilemma, as part of living a full life, is to set aside time, not just to write, but to return to stillness and listen for the voice of God. That seems easier when I am on a retreat. The challenge is to bring that stillness, that openness, that spaciousness into each day no matter where I am and what I am doing.
My word for the year is "fullness, " as I have noted here. Fullness is not the same as busyness, but how easy it is to fall into that trap and to think that the more I do, the richer my life will be. Instead, I am trying to embrace the "fullness of the partial." (Yearnings, Embracing the Sacred Messiness of Life by Rabbi Irwin Kula, p 255) Fullness does not mean everything. Fullness does not mean always saying "yes," but it also doesn't mean always saying "no." Sometimes fullness means setting aside something, in order to make room for something else or to move in a different direction, at least for a few blocks.
Fullness means being aware of how we live and move in the world and how we are living God's hope for us.
I will have writing time once I am home. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but I will create that time. I will not lose what I have gained these past days, but, instead, these retreat days will continue to live in me in ways I don't yet know.
It matters supremely to God that you
live the fullness of who you are.
At Sea With God
Margaret Silf, p. 37
An Invitation
How are you living the fullness of who you are? I would love to know.
Settling into a new space never takes me long. Granted I have had lots of practice in my life. I like unpacking--much more than packing, and I like creating a feeling of home, even when it is temporary, as in a few days.
Here I am in Two Harbors, Minnesota with a view of Lake Superior. A dear friend who is a poet invited me to spend time with her at her family's time share. My husband and I have been here before with them, but for a few days it is just we two writers.
When she picked me up Sunday morning, I warned her about all I was bringing with me. Not many clothes, but a couple bags of food, including lentil soup I made for us and Honeycrisp apples and a substantial loaf of brioche bread from Golden Fig, a gourmet food shop not far from our house. The owner assured me I would never want to eat another kind of bread--great for French Toast or grilled cheese or just slathered with butter.
I look forward to that, but the main reason for being here, other than time with my friend, is to write. I filled a roller bag suitcase with my writing supplies, as if I were going to be here the rest of the winter. I explained to my husband when he wondered about how heavy my suitcase was that I am beginning the draft for a new chapter in my spiritual memoir. "I am not sure of the focus yet for this chapter, and I don't want to get stuck because I don't have what I might need." Thus, a suitcase of old journals and key books I read during the years that will be the subject of the new chapter. I brought a printer, too, because I like to print out even the roughest of rough drafts. Fortunately, my writing friend understands and didn't make fun of me as we loaded her car.
And now here I am. Ready, set go.
Within minutes of being here I set up my desk area on one end of the dining room table. The printer is behind me on a tv table.
I can see the lake from where I sit. The shore is dotted with old snow, but the water is open with quiet ripples.
Quiet ripples. That's what I feel, too.
Quiet ripples of ideas and thoughts and images to explore. Time and space to explore where those reflections take me and become words on a screen. Calm energy to honor the task I have set before myself. All with the lake in front of me, its depth, its vastness, its beauty, its receptive energy. Home to my soul and my creative spirit.
The last thing my husband said as I opened the car door was "Be productive." As I write this on Sunday evening, I hope that the coming days will, indeed, be productive. How nice it would be to return home with this new chapter's first rough draft, however rough, but whatever the word count, I know I will carry home with me the gentle flow of quiet ripples.
May it be so.
An Invitation
What quiet ripples are you feeling in your life? I would love to know.
NOTE: Last April I went on a writing retreat, also. You can read about that here.
Are you looking for a good mystery series? Are you looking for an author with a nice-sized backlist, someone new to you?
Well, you have come to the right place.
A series set in Toronto about a Muslim detective and his hockey-playing female detective has grabbed my attention. I have read the first two of the series by Ausma Zehanet Khan, and I really like the complex character development in these books. The characters are more important, it seems to me, than the nature of the crime being investigated. The first is The Unquiet Dead and the second is The Language of Secrets. I plan to request the third one from the library soon--I guess I better do that before you do!
The author I have recently discovered is Madeleine St John, and I have read three of her books this month: The Essence of the Thing, which was nominated for a Booker Prize in 1997, A Pure Clear Light, and A Stairway to Paradise. Each of these is short, with snappy, engaging dialogue, and characters who may remind you of people in your lives. St John knows how to capture relationships that are more than what they seem on the surface. Some of the characters are in more than one of the titles, but they can be read in any order.
The following books, however, are my favorites for this month.
1. The Street by Ann Petry. As I read this book, I kept asking myself, "Why haven't I heard of this book before now?" Petry is an African American writer with more than one acclaimed book to her name. She wrote in the 40's and this was the first book by an African American woman to sell over a million copies, so it is not unknown. We read this for our couples' book group, and the woman who recommended it, a retired university English professor, said it ranks as one of the best books she has ever read, and I, just as breathlessly, agree. The street referred to is in Harlem close to the end of WWII and is the story of a woman raising her young son, trying to make it on their own. She believes in the words of Benjamin Franklin that if she works hard and saves wisely, she will be able to become financially independent and move out of the tenement where she is tormented by the "super" who stalks her. The street in Harlem is as much a character in the story as Lutie, her son, or others Lutie encounters in her attempts to lift them into a better life. The story is at times hard to read, and even harder because it feels all too true today. Don't let that stop you.
2. Made for Goodness and Why This Makes All the Difference by Desmond Tutu and Mpho Tutu. When you are too discouraged to get out of bed, ask someone to run to your favorite independent bookstore and get you this book and then prop up your pillows and read. Let Bishop Tutu lift you up, just as he did in The Book of Joy, written with the Dalai Lama. What? You haven't read that yet? What are you waiting for?
Reading Made for Goodness is part of my self-guided Compassion 101 course. As you may have read in an earlier post, my word for the year is "fullness," and Tutu equates that with wholeness. I have underlined so much in this book, and I have no doubt you will find just as much that resonates with you. Here's a sample:
He lists the practices of goodness as "noticing, savoring, thinking, enjoying, being thankful," and the habits that allow wrong as "mindlessness or tuning out, inattentiveness, busyness of doing to distraction, and an ungrateful heart."
"God dwells in each of us. God dwells in each of us
even when we are unaware of it. It is radical not only
in the sense that it is revolutionary. It is radical in that
it is, literally, at the root of everything...The God who
dwells in us is a part of us that cannot be destroyed." p193
I could go on and on. We each need this book.
It is almost March and I wonder what will be my favorites in the coming month. I have a big stack from the library next to my chair in the snug. Stay tuned and happy reading!
An Invitation
What did you read and love this month? I would love to know.
Walking a labyrinth is one of my preferred spiritual practices. Over the years there have been times when walking a labyrinth has led me to clarity about a troubling or perplexing issue. Step by step I have been led into moments of peace, wrapped in a sense of calm.
A labyrinth, regardless of its location, inside the Chartres Cathedral in France or an untended weedy outdoor labyrinth in my own neighborhood, is a gift of sacred space and walking it is a chance to move deeper into contemplation and reflection.
At least that's been my experience, but that is not always the case. Just ask children.
Sunday during our congregation's education hour all ages had a chance to participate in a variety of activities to dream together about a project to renovate our sanctuary space. Walking a labyrinth was one of those activities--a chance to experience and to reflect on sacred space.
That was the intention anyway.
The kids had other ideas as they romped into the room, flung off their shoes and crashed over the labyrinth's threshold.
Instead of walking the labyrinth, why not race the labyrinth! Run the labyrinth! The labyrinth became a playground. A source of exuberant energy.
"I bet I can get to the center before you do."
"I'm going to go backwards."
"Beep, beep, I am passing you."
"Wait a minute, I thought this was a maze, but I didn't get lost."
They zoomed along the circuits. Who knew a white path on the floor could be so much fun, and yet that is exactly what happened, and I loved it. Occasionally a sedate adult walked the labyrinth in the midst of the speed and the noise, but the kids had taken over and contemplation was replaced with clamor.
Fine by me!
The labyrinth is not meant to be mysterious or exclusive or confusing. Instead, this meditation tool with its single path leading into and out of a warm and spacious center is meant to be welcoming, whether one needs solace or a time-out or a reminder that we are not just mind and spirit, but body, too. The kids definitely rejoiced in their bodies on the labyrinth.
This may have been a playful time, but when I have led elementary aged children on more structured labyrinth experiences, I have seen them turn down the volume and the speed. I have seen them relax as they followed the path and then sit quietly in the center. One girl told me she liked walking it because her house was never quiet and she liked being quiet. Wow!
As they get older, thanks to this fun experience with the labyrinth, perhaps they will be drawn to the more contemplative nature of this spiritual practice. Perhaps the labyrinth will become one of their spiritual practices, an accompaniment on their own spiritual journey.
May it be so.
An Invitation
Have you walked a labyrinth? What was your experience? I would love to know?
Is anyone else finding it difficult to manage the new normal?
Instead, my drive to see my Dad can be a spiritual practice for me. The drive is a lovely one, along a parkway with a creek on one side and charming old homes on the other. I love seeing all the varieties of dogs being walked and the young children in strollers or scampering along the path. I cheer on the runners and walkers (all wearing Fitbits, I presume.) I have seen robins and hawks and turkeys and even an eagle, as I have been driving. Oh, and this large bunny, reminding us to smile. 
