From Where I Sat: Thursday's Reflection

I settled in at one of the long tables in the shared workspace where I had gone to write. From where I sat I could look out the windows and see the curved entrance to Union Depot. I opened my laptop and easily moved into the day's project, but after a few minutes, needing a moment to think about the next word or phrase, I glanced out the window. 

I saw a man standing in front of a low wall. On the wall looked to be multiple bags, bundles, and items of clothing. I assumed the man is one of the many homeless people in our community. I watched him as he put on another layer of clothing and then took it off. On and off. 

I returned to my work, but I found myself drawn to him, and I stopped my writing frequently to be his silent and unknown observer. People passed by him without interacting. Perhaps he said something to them, but I don't know.

Later in the day I noticed him on a nearby street corner, still visible from my post. He walked back and forth on the sidewalk. Sometimes he seemed to be dancing. Sometimes his motions were like tae kwon do sparring.

My eyes kept returning to him. What is your story?

Then he was gone. After hours of being in the same location, he was gone. Where did he go? Did he go to the Dorothy Day Center for the early evening meal? Did someone pick him up? Did a police officer tell him to move on? 

Throughout the day I said silent prayers for him. Nothing fancy. Just "May you be well." 

And I remembered a friend was praying for me that day. It is her Lenten practice to lift specific names up in prayer each day during Lent. I think because she was praying for me, she was also praying for this anonymous homeless man. Because we are all one.

The next morning during my meditation time I read these words by Thich Nhat Hanh
                   We can sit for those who can't sit, walk for those 
                   who can't walk, and create stillness and peace
                   within us for people who have no stillness or
                   peace. 

That is my prayer, my hope, my goal. 

An Invitation
For whom do you sit? For whom do you walk? How do you create stillness and peace? I would love to know. 

Writing Retreat: Tuesday's Reflection

Home again. Back in the garret at my desk. Bills, emails, phone
calls, errands, appointments await, as does a refrigerator that needs refilling, and a laundry basket that needs emptying. 

I am home from a writing retreat at The Christine Center in Wisconsin, and I am trying not to let the "return be a collision," in the words of our retreat guide, Karen Hering.

Now first let me say that my husband is fully capable and willing to take care of himself and home tasks and does so both when I am gone and when I am home. And for the most part I am able to ease back into routine and responsibilities. 

Still, I would love to maintain the focus and momentum of the last few days, and someone else fixing delicious meals wouldn't be a bad thing either. (The soups, meat loaf and zucchini pineapple bread were particularly yummy.) What is most important, however, is how do I integrate the gifts of that time?

The first evening of the retreat, Karen asked us to share our hopes for this set aside time. 
                "To write something I am satisfied with."
                "To bring parts of my life together."
                "To start a writing practice."
                "To believe in my own words."
                "To remember more of my childhood."

I said I hoped to come closer to clarifying the heartbeat of my book, but I also said I hoped to begin revising the next chapter in my memoir. How grateful I am that I was able to move forward in those ways. At the same time I deepened my relationship with myself as a writer. 

That was possible because we were each given the spaciousness, the safety, and the support in which to honor our goals and our needs. When was the last time you received that gift? When have you not only opened space in your life, but also inside yourself to honor your yearnings? 

When that happens, clarity comes, along with acceptance, sometimes surrender, and even joy. 

The last day Karen asked us to share the gifts of the retreat. One participant said he "found the icepick" he needed to break through to the next task in his writing. One woman mentioned she discovered new questions to ask herself, and another said she felt herself moving, although slowly, into her new suit of clothes as a writer. Yet another urged us not to ignore the gifts we have received from God.  

These are not just gifts helpful to writers, these are spiritual gifts available to anyone. 

How do I begin to integrate the gifts of those days? Well, early in the retreat Karen said, "Remember to spend time with your loved one." She was referring to our writing selves and to the writing we do or hope to do, but I think her supportive advice was broader. 

Remember to listen to your inner voice, to the Divine within you and around you, to the rest of yourself, to the gentle nudges reminding you to live fully, to stay awake.

We can do that wherever we are, but I am the first to admit a retreat clears the way. 

An Invitation
What kind of space or time do you need to respond to the gentle nudges? I would love to know. 

Themes: Tuesday's Reflection

Perhaps my love of themes dates to my days of being an English teacher. "What is the theme of this story?" 

I love creating a theme. Sometimes it is for a dinner or a party. We had a number of people here for dinner the day after St Patrick's Day and in spite of the fact that we are not Irish, I decided it would be fun to decorate the table with that theme and serve corned beef and cabbage. 

Perhaps it is because I am writing my spiritual memoir and perhaps it is because I will soon be 70, but I have been thinking about the themes of my life. Over the years the subthemes have changed, depending on the stage of life--raising our family, moving, discerning a call to spiritual direction, but what has been the overall theme of my life? 

And what is the theme of these sacred aging years?

Elizabeth Jarret Andrew in her new book, Living Revision, A Writer's Craft as Spiritual Practice uses the word,  "heartbeat." The pivotal unanswered question that drives what you are writing.


                What is this piece really about? What might
                it want to become? What truth is asking to 
                be told? What pumps energy into this creation
                and how can I, its author, amplify that pumping?
                                                       p.92

Andrew suggests placing your hand on your heart and listening to your own literal heartbeat. 

                Attend to the mysterious, unified workings of
                your body. Then imagine placing the essence of
                your book near your heart. Allow your heartbeat
                to infuse the book's essence. The heartbeat of your
                book is born of your heartbeat. 
                                                       p. 115

The heartbeat of your LIFE is born of your heartbeat--the way you live and breathe and move and interact and love and serve and create and grow and change. 

Joan Chittister challenges us to discover the rest of ourselves in these sacred aging years. These are years to become intimate with our own heartbeats. Body, mind, and spirit. 



Before dinner was served the other night we each read Irish blessings I had printed for us.
Here's an example:

                   


                   

                   May the blessing of light be upon you,
                         Light on the outside
                         Light on the inside.
                   With God's sunlight shining on you,
                   May your heart glow with warmth
                         Like a turf fire
                   that welcomes friends and strangers alike.
                   May the light of the Lord shine from your eyes
                          Like a candle in the window
                          Watching the weary traveler.

May your heartbeat be filled with light. 

An Invitation
What makes your heart beat with joy? With meaning? With purpose? 

NOTE: I am going on a writing retreat the rest of this week. My next post will be Tuesday, March 27. 

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. 






  

Lost and Found Time: Tuesday's Reflection

Lost time.

Found time.

With the return to daylight savings time, I have been thinking about my relationship to time. Probably, I am thinking about time also because in a month I turn 70. 

Where has the time gone?

Well, I certainly could list all the many ways the years have been filled. The kids. The jobs. The moves. The grandkids. The volunteer work. The friends. 

The gifts.

The losses.

The challenges.

Day to day life as it exists. 

The years that have passed have not been empty ones. Nor do I expect the coming ones will be empty, either, but they may fill in different ways and for sure, there will not be as many years ahead of me, as I have been privileged to live. 

I have written before in this blog about "found" time, including this post. "Found" time is when something that is planned is cancelled. When all of a sudden there is an opening on the calendar or the schedule. Sometimes I fill that space with the next thing on the list, but sometimes I simply breathe into that time. I may retire into the snug to read, as I did one afternoon this week. My writing group decided not to struggle with the icy roads and bus delays and a cold that wouldn't end, and we cancelled. I could have and maybe should have spent the afternoon writing, but instead I grabbed a book from my pile and read it cover to cover. An afternoon of reading. Hurrah! That is the best kind of "found" time. A luxury of time. 

For me "found" time is an exercise in discernment. Here is unplanned time I didn't expect to have, now how do I want to spend it?  "Found" time is an occasion to exercise one's Sacred Yes and Sacred No. To be aware and awake to the call of an inner voice. 

Now what about "lost" time? That's harder. In a day or two I will have forgotten the hour lost as we moved into daylight savings time, but I know there are ways I have lost time over the years.

I have lost time when I have dwelt on hurts and frustrations, on worries and fears. I have lost time when I have set aside my heart's yearnings. I have lost time when I have wrapped myself in rigidity and inflexibility or when I have tried to control someone or some situation in my life. 

This adds up to a lot of "lost" time. 

So here's what I am thinking. I have no idea how much time I have left in my life, but I intend to live each day as a kind of "found" time. A day to find joy and peace. A day to be grateful and to rejoice in the unbelievable riches in my life. A day to enjoy the simple things, the ordinary days. A day to use my gifts. A day to deepen my relationship to God. To open the door to God. 

An Invitation
What are your thoughts about time? I would love to know. 

A Wrinkle in Time: Thursday's Reflection

Our little girl was sick, and unable to sleep. The only thing that calmed her was my reading to her. The book I chose was Madeleine  L'Engle's A Wrinkle in Time. I had never read it before, nor had Kate, but it was an adventure awaiting us on her bookshelves. 

I sat by her bed all night and read aloud the book cover to cover. A few times during the night I thought she was deep in sleep--finally--and I stopped reading. No such luck, startled Kate opened her eyes and moaned to me to keep on reading. 

Kate remembers none of this, of course, including the details of the book, but the book remains one of my all-time favorites, and I am eager to see the movie, even though it is rare a movie measures up to the imagination inspired by a book.

I was surprised, therefore, when a dear friend, whom I respect and love, expressed strong dislike for this book. He had just read it as a book group selection and saw no merit in it. At all. I was stunned, so decided to reread it. 

Well, I fell in love with it all over again. I love the characters and their struggles. I love how they discover their weaknesses and their strengths. I love the powerful female characters, mother, daughter, and the immortal trinity of women. I love how I, as the reader, am challenged to stretch my imagination. Perhaps what I think is real is not so real and what I assume does not exist, does. I love that LOVE is the answer, but it isn't always so obvious. And I enjoyed the intellectual challenge of finding connections between the story and its characters and the Christian story. 

My friend didn't finish reading the book, but if he had, I wonder if these words would have changed his mind. 

       "We do not know what things look like, as you say,"
       the beast said. "We know what things are like. It must
       be a very limiting thing, this seeing."

       "Good helps us, the stars help us, perhaps what you 
       would call light helps us, love helps us....We look not
       at the things which are what you would call 
       seen. For the things which are seen are temporal. But
       the things which are not seen are eternal."

I love how Mrs Whatsit compares life to a sonnet. "You're given the form, but you have to write the sonnet yourself. What you say is completely up to you."

In the years that followed my introduction to L'Engle, I read many more of her books -- fiction, but also spiritual memoir. I even toured New York City's Episcopal Cathedral of St John the Divine where she had been writer in residence for many years. I remember standing in an aisle of the grand sanctuary and giving thanks for her ongoing expression of good living beyond evil. 

So, dear friend, I am sorry this book is not one that speaks to you. Obviously, not every book is for every person. Choices must be made. So many books, so little time. But I also thank you, for your strong reaction led me to rediscover this book all over again. This time I read it for my own pleasure. 

An Invitation
Is there a book to which you have reacted negatively, but everyone else seems to love? Do you wonder why? I would love to know. 

Trying Something New: Tuesday's Reflection

I wrote today's post from a different location. No, I have not joined Minnesota Snowbirds in Florida. Nor did I walk to a local coffee shop, but I left my beloved garret in order to try something new.

I was at COCO, a shared workspace in downtown St Paul. You probably know about these innovative worksites for individuals or small companies. Instead of leasing expensive office space, often more space than one needs, organizations like COCO provide smaller spaces, private and semi-private in a collaborative environment. https://explorecoco.com/about 

Daughter Kate and family gave me a month's membership as a Christmas present. My first time here I wasn't sure how I would like it, although the loft-like atmosphere in an old downtown St Paul building appeals to my old house nature. I am used to working in quiet, and I wondered how working where music was played and others working nearby talked with each other or on phones. I know younger people seem to have no problem with a more lively and social atmosphere, but I really love my solitude. 

I am pleased to say I adapted quickly and my first day here I was productive with a capital P! I don't anticipate coming here month after month, but there may be a time when I decide leaving the garret is just what I need. In the meantime it felt great to do something new. 

Doing something new or different from one's regular routine and habits is a good thing. And it doesn't need to be anything major or shocking or permanent. Maybe it's
*  Trying a new recipe or buying a product at the grocery store you've never used before. 
*  Going to a different restaurant or at least ordering something other than your "usual" at the restaurant you always go to.
*  Visiting a library not in your neighborhood.
*   Wearing a color you don't normally wear. Something other than black, for a change! 
*  Checking out a new store or one at least new to you.
*  Being a visitor in your own town and going somewhere you have never been to before--a park, a museum, a theatre.
*  Driving a different way to a familiar place. Often when I drive home from visiting my father in a nearby suburb I detour through some unfamiliar blocks of lovely old homes or I drive around one of the Lakes. Just because. 

Or maybe it's trying a new spiritual practice. Like walking a labyrinth or using a string of prayer beads or drawing a mandala. Or maybe it's greeting someone you don't know and entering into conversation. Maybe it's opening your heart where you have felt closed.


I think this is the perfect time of year to try something new. For many people winter drags on far too long and trying something new can be a breath of fresh air, but this is also the perfect season of life to try something new. After all, what do you have to lose?

An Invitation
What newness have you allowed to enter your life? I would love to know. 

Being Invisible: Thursday's Reflection

Gauzy panels of sheer organza hang in the chancel of our church. Veils. 

I gasped when I saw them for the first time, for they are striking in their simplicity. But they are also an invitation during this season of Lent.

According to the written explanation included in our Sunday bulletin the installation "invites us to ask what we see and don't see...What is hidden? What do we need to see or understand in order to deepen our trust in the resurrection and to be more faithful in our response to God's grace?" 

Powerful questions, indeed, and I have been sitting with them during my morning meditation time. In addition, something else has arisen in me: the gifts of invisibility. 

A story: Many years ago when I was in my early 50's I remember being in a Panera waiting to place an order. I was the next person in line. Standing behind me was a young man in his late 20's or early 30's. When the cashier had finished the transaction with the person in front of me, I started to step forward, but the cashier said, "Can I help you, SIR?" Instead of deferring, not wanting to cause a fuss and after all I had time, it was no big deal to wait a bit longer, I politely, but firmly said, "Excuse me, but it is my turn. I am the next person in line."

She said, and this is important, "Oh, I didn't see you." 

Did she not see me because I am a woman? Because I was older and, in fact, an older woman? Or shorter than the young man behind me? Or what?

The fact was I was invisible. I was not seen. I was behind a veil. 

Now almost 70 I am aware of how often older people are invisible. Obviously, for the most part I don't think that is a good thing, but I also think there may be some gifts that come with invisibility, when I see, but am not seen.

Remember the cloak of invisibility in the Harry Potter books? Well often Harry and his buddies called upon the magic of the cloak when they needed protection, but once wrapped in its powers they could continue to see and hear what was going on around them. Without interruption or interference. Without question. Without attempts to change their minds. Without judgement. 

With invisibility comes spaciousness to observe, to listen, to take in the world with all our senses. To be a quiet and loving presence--even if no one realizes it. With invisibility comes humility and tolerance. With invisibility comes the opportunity to go within, to see the rest of myself, the parts I don't see when I am operating in full visibility. 

Now I hasten to add I am not promoting subservience or submissiveness. I advocate using one's voice and being an active presence in the world. However, sometimes being invisible leads to a new way of seeing and of being and of knowing ourselves as God's beloved. 

An Invitation

When have you felt invisible? Beyond the shadow behind that veil, was there any light? I would love to know.