Sidewalk Poetry:Thursday's Reflection

         

                                       

                               I don't know enough

                               about balance to tell you

                               how to do it

                               I think, though

                               it's in the trying

                               and the letting go

                               that the scales measuring

                               right and wrong --quiver

                               and stand still

                                                    Georgia A. Greely

My morning walks nurture me in many ways. I awaken to beauty and take care of my body. I allow ideas and new perspectives to flow through me, and sometimes I even solve a nagging problem. I observe and appreciate the ways people take care of their homes, and when I notice a home that looks neglected, I wonder about the story behind the front door.

And sometimes I read poetry, thanks to the over 1000 poems stamped on St Paul sidewalks. (Sidewalk poetry) Many of which are in our neighborhood. Most recently, I noticed the one pictured above on the sidewalk outside of the dry cleaners at the corner of St Clair and  Cleveland. Had I not spotted this one before? Had I walked right over the words and not received their gift? Probably.

"Perhaps I need these words now," I said to myself, as I paid a bit more attention to the way I was walking, making sure I didn't lose my balance. 

Balance is one of the issues older people hear a lot about. We are encouraged to do certain exercises to maintain our balance and prevent falls. But here is another perspective--the encouragement to let go, or at least try, in order to balance the quivering scales. How hard it is to maintain balance when we hold on to weighty stuff from the past--regrets, sadness and loss, the betrayals, hurts, and disappointments. 

Of course, letting go is not easy, and I think being balanced is an elusive goal, but trying is key to our ongoing growth. 

During my morning meditation right now I am reading Living an Examined Life, Wisdom for the Second Half of the Journey by James Hollis, PhD, and on the same day I encountered the poem about balance I read this:

          Just as we periodically clean the house, go through

          old clothes and fashions and discard the no longer

          germane, so we have to go through our accumulated

          histories, our driving attitudes, reflexes, and responses,

          and discard what is no longer useful, productive, 

          relevant, or serving growth.

When we let go of those burdens, we can stand straighter, taller and be more balanced in body, mind, and spirit. 

An Invitation

How balanced are you?  I would love to know.  

A Gentle Reminder and Open Invitation

On Tuesday, June 5 from 7-9:30 I will participate in a reading, along with other members of Authors' Circle. We will be reading from works in progress, and you are invited. The free event will be held at 2615 Park Avenue South, Minneapolis, MN.  https://www.facebook.com/events/416831295437677/permalink/428351497618990/

                                

Summer Heat: Tuesday's Reflection

I am a summer Scrooge. 

I don't like the heat and humidity and what it does to my thick, curly hair.

I don't like to sweat, and I resent all the additional loads of laundry. 

I don't like mosquitos, even though they clearly love me. How irritating it is to remember to protect myself from their buzzing and biting even before it begins.

I wilt in the heat. 

I am NOT a summer person, I whine, using whatever energy I have left after my early morning walk, for it is already warm and sticky. 

No, I am not a summer person. I am a winter person. I love to hibernate, to enclose myself in a cave where it is dark and snuggly, to wrap myself in sweaters and eat soups and stews. And I am far more productive in the winter. 

It is still May, and yet the temperatures have climbed into the 90's, which is not the norm for spring in Minnesota. (You may recall we had a major snowstorm in the middle of April.) The mid to high 90's, for heaven's sake! I read or heard somewhere that the weather in May is a good predictor for the summer months. Help!

Summer, especially the heat of summer, challenges me, and it appears I need to accept the challenge, even earlier than usual this year. 


So what to do?  A few thoughts:
*     Rejoice in the beauty and give thanks for those who work, even in the heat, to add to the beauty of God's creation. 
*     Open to summer simplicity. Slow down. Do only what is necessary. Can I clean less? Fix easier, lighter meals? How about putting up my feet during the hottest hour of the day to nap or read a book, one that isn't too heavy? Can I let go of expectations about what I think I should be doing or producing. What is worth the sweating? Lighten up!
*      Shift into summer. What can be changed in my routine to enhance these hot days? Instead of going directly to my Girlfriend Chair in the garret for morning meditation and walking later in the day, I now walk first thing in the morning when it is the coolest. I have been getting up earlier than I do in the winter, and that has brought me bonus time and greater flexibility. A good thing. 
*      Respond to summer spontaneity. I am a planner and a list maker. In fact, over the weekend, I gathered into a notebook articles about all the events and activities in our area during the summer months. I included our calendar for June, July, and August, which shows the days we are on summer nanny duty for our grand children and also when we will be out of town or have guests here in The Little House. In other words, I have planned to be spontaneous. I know that sounds like a contradiction, but it isn't really. I think clarifying available time and possibilities during those times opens me to spontaneity. "It is a gorgeous day, let's....."
*     Be present now. Perhaps that is the overall theme.  A summer theme. A theme for all seasons, for each day. When I am present, I notice the blessings, feel the blessings, and create blessings, even in the summer heat.

One more thought: My spiritual director pointed out that summer is only a short time in our part of the country, and soon it will be fall and then winter, and I will once more feel at home. We laughed together about that, even as I agree that Spirit is asking me to stretch into the days of summer heat. 

An Invitation
Does summer challenge your spirituality in any way? I would love to know. 

Signs in the Neighborhood: Thursday's Post

I love my neighborhood, and here are some signs that show why. I spotted all of these signs during my half hour walk yesterday, and I returned home not only feeling physically better, but emotionally and spiritually. 

If I were making a sign, what would I want it to proclaim?

Stretch your mind:

Read a book.

Stretch your body.

Take a walk.

Stretch your spirit.

Greet someone you don't know.

An Invitation

What would your sign say? I would love to know. What an interesting family activity this could be. 

Visio Divina, the Spiritual Practice of Sacred Seeing: Tuesday's Reflection

No doubt you are familiar with lectio divina, the spiritual practice of sacred reading in which you contemplate a piece of scripture or a selection of other holy reading. In lectio divina you may discover something previously unnoticed and understood, even in words you have read multiple times. As you sit with the words, the movement of God in your life may become clearer or may lead you to further examination and reflection. 

The practice of visio divina or sacred seeing can be just as profound and just as much of an intimate encounter with the Divine. Christine Valters Paintner writes in her book The Soul of a Pilgrim, Eight Practices for the Journey Within, that visio divina is a "way of seeing the world with the eyes of the heart, which is the place of openness, rather than with the mind, which is often the place of planning." How good it is to remind myself to set aside my planning, list-making mind. 

Paintner suggests taking a contemplative walk. Notice what you see, what touches your heart, what remains with you. What shimmers, calling for your attention? Savor the image and allow it to stir up memories or feelings or other images. Does the image summon you to a new awareness or a next step or perhaps gratefulness or compassion or openness? 

Taking a picture of what you see (You have your phone with you, right?) means you can slow down your reaction to the image and bring it with you into stillness, discovering more meaning, perhaps deeper meaning. 

I took this picture Sunday afternoon. What do you see?

When I came home from grocery shopping my husband was working in the front yard. We had been to a nursery after Sunday brunch, and I was not surprised to see him adding new plants to the front garden. Gardening is a spiritual practice for him, and he spends much of these gorgeous spring days adding beauty to the world.

Today, however, he was also building a relationship. As I unloaded the grocery bags from the back of the car, I heard Bruce and this preschool boy, one of our neighbors, having quite the conversation. The young boy asked Bruce if he knew the Okie Dokie Brothers. No, Bruce did not. "Who are they?" and the conversation continued. I stood on the sidewalk and just listened. It was clear I was not invited to enter into this new friendship, at least not yet. Maybe if I had a cookie to offer!

I carried my bags into the house and returned to the front stoop to eavesdrop. "Will your sisters and brother be out of school soon?" I didn't catch the response, but clearly, the little boy is an excellent conversationalist. 

The rest of the afternoon I thought about these two, one young and the other many decades older, forming a relationship. I see the older man leaning on his shovel, stopping what he was doing and giving his full attention to the young man, showing him interest and respect. I saw the little boy sitting on his red scooter a few doors down from his house, clearly comfortable in his own world and reaching out to someone new. He shared information about himself, and the older man received it graciously. 

I see curiosity in this photo. I see a willingness to form a connection. I see community. I see how generations can learn from each other. I see safety and warmth and ongoing creation. I am moved by the sight and feel gratitude and hope.  

That's a lot to see in one simple photograph, taken quickly and without regard to composition, but the eyes of the heart are without limitation. 

An Invitation
I invite you to practice visio divina occasionally this summer. What do you see? I would love to know. 




    

Announcements: Bella Grace and Public Reading--Bonus Post

Announcement #1: The dazzling quarterly publication, Bella Grace, Life's A Beautiful Journey, has again published one of my essays. This essay, my third in Bella Grace, is called "The Sounds of Life," and, as always, is illustrated with evocative photographs. 

             








              

              
              I relish silence. I need silence and solitude. But
              I've learned the silence that nurtures me is a 
              back drop for the sounds of life. It is silence in 
              which I can hear my inner voice reminding me to
              love my life, a silence that is more of a preparation
              for the life around me than a retreat from it. It is
              the kind of silence in which I can hear light 
              sprinkles of rain on the skylights in my garret or
              the sound of a breeze urging fall leaves to let go. 
              It is the kind of silence that comes in the night when
              I hear my beloved breathing, sometimes heavily,
              beside me.

              The sounds of life. 

The June/July/August issue will be available soon at bookstores or newsstands or you can subscribe/order here.







Announcement #2: During the previous year I have been in a group called Author's Circle. Organized by Elizabeth Jarret Andrew, the group has met monthly to support each other in the writing life. 

On Tuesday, June 5 from 7-9:30 the writers in this group will be reading from works in progress, and you are invited. The event will be held at 2615 Park Avenue South, Minneapolis, MN.  https://www.facebook.com/events/416831295437677/permalink/428351497618990/

I plan to read from the spiritual memoir I am writing--possibly from the last chapter. Here's a sneak preview:

              "Where is home for you?" the perky warm-hearted
              facilitator of our new member group asks. We are 
              sitting in a circle in the large colonial-styled
              gathering room at church, a dozen of us. This is the 
              last of the new member orientation sessions. Eager to
              actually be a member, I wish I could bypass the "new
              girl" routine I have experienced many times in my 
              life.

              "Where is home for you?"

               I said I had moved a great deal as a child, and I
               complimented my parents on their ability to 
               quickly create home in each new house. I mentioned
               I had moved several times as an adult, too, and 
               ended by saying, "I love the process of creating
               home, of finding home, wherever I am."

               When it was Bruce's turn, he quietly and quickly 
               gestured toward me and said, "Nancy is my home."
               There was quiet in the room, almost a holy hush, 
               and then a collective group sigh. Such an open and
               expressive statement of love from someone of 
               Norwegian descent! Absorbing, treasuring the love
               expressed, I totally missed the responses from the
               rest of the group. 

It would be great to see you at this event. 

Hope you don't mind the extra post this week. I'll be back on Tuesday with something more reflective. 





         

Radical Women: Thursday's Reflection

While browsing in a book store I spotted this quotation. Imagine it on a banner hanging outside your home or above the signature on every email you send or on the cover of your next journal. 

Just when you think you lack purpose or meaning or when you feel invisible or out of date or unknown, Gloria comes to the rescue yet again.

When you are tempted to refer to the "good old days," or to shake your head in dismay about the "kids today," remember these words. When you become frustrated with categories--conservative, liberal, progressive, right, left, Christian Evangelicals--try on RADICAL for size.

I don't know what that term means for you or how it would look on you, but what it says to me is, "Wake up." 

It's not too late to make a difference. To find your voice. To be a voice.

It's not too late to learn something new, to try something new.

It's not too late to change your mind about something you were so sure about when you were younger. 

It's not too late to step up or step out. It's not to late to live with passion and conviction and openness and courage. 

It's not to late to influence others, thanks to the wisdom you've acquired along the way. 

It's not too late to live deeper and wider. 

In fact, NOW is the best time.  

An Invitation
In what ways are you becoming more radical? I would love to know. 

NOTE: Learn more about the book A Glorious Freedom here.

Sympathy Cards and Planning Ahead: Tuesday's Reflection

I buy bunches of sympathy cards, instead of just one as needed, and even so I have to replenish the stack frequently. 

Attending funerals and memorial services more often, along with sending sympathy cards is a reality that comes with age. In fact, my husband and I recently attended two services. We felt privileged to celebrate a dear one's life and to support and be a presence to those most in the midst of loss and sadness. In both cases we connected with friends and family we had not seen for awhile and in that way carried our past forward into our present. 

At the same time attending a funeral or memorial service makes me think about a service that one day will be held for me. 

This past year Bruce and I made arrangements to be cremated after our deaths. We signed the papers and wrote the check, and it feels good to have that plan in place. Have you done that yet?

My wishes for my memorial service are not quite as clear, although our church's traditional celebration of life, including holy communion, provides the framework. I am grateful for that. Recently I labeled a folder "My Memorial Service" and have tossed inside some notes. (FYI: The folder is located in the top right hand drawer in the garret, by the way.)

Here are some requests and ideas:

Two Hymns:  "Beautiful Savior" because it is a favorite family hymn, and I can still hear my father and my paternal grandmother singing it, but also because I have loved hearing it sung by the St Olaf Choir over the years. The other hymn is "Morning Has Broken." I love the melody, but also the images of ongoing creation. 
                   Morning has broken like the first morning
                   Blackbird has spoken like the first bird.
                   Praise for the singing! Praise for the morning!
                   Praise for the springing fresh from the Word.

Time for Silence: I begin each day in silence, hoping to hear a whisper of God's voice within. I lean into solitude and know how sacred silence grounds and strengthens me, but there is also something so profound about sharing silent space with a group of people. 

As a way to enter into silence, I suggest one of my favorite spiritual practices, praying Psalm 46:10. 
                   Be still and know that I am God.
                   Be still and know that I am.
                   Be still and know.
                   Be still.
                   Be.

Words from Isaiah 43:
             I have called you by name, you are mine.
            When you pass through the waters I will be with you;
            and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;
            when you walk through fire you shall not be burned,
            and the flame shall not consume you.

            Because you are precious in my eyes and honored and
            I love you. 

These words have surrounded me when I have felt alone or unloved or unsure about my path, and they remind me that each one of us is precious and honored and loved. 

Oh, one last thing. One of my spiritual practices over the years has been T'ai Chi. Yes, it would be unusual, but I know some of you would be willing to form a circle and do the opening moves before enjoying food and drink after the service or before my ashes are buried. If I could be there, I would teach you!
              Stand with your feet shoulder width apart and 
              your knees slightly bent. 
              Take a deep cleansing breath and lift up your arms to 
              your sides shoulder height.
              Lower your arms in front of your body and gather
              earth energy up from the earth all the way through
              the core of your body, up and out the top of your head,
              releasing to heaven, opening and receiving from
              heaven. 

What a blessing that would be. 

There are more bits and pieces tucked inside my folder, and I suspect I will add more as I go along. I hope these suggestions will help my loved ones in the future, but doing this reminds me to pay attention to what guides me and reinforces me in the ways I want to live my life right now. 

An Invitation
Have you started gathering your thoughts and suggestions for your funeral or memorial service? I would love to know what is in your folder. 

Uninspired:Thursday's Reflection

What shall I write about today?

I have no idea! 

Sigh. 

That happens sometimes, and staring at my laptop doesn't usually solve the problem. I close my eyes, lightly, not tightly, and take a deep breath and hope the muse will start moving my fingers across the keyboard. Nope, that doesn't happen. 

It is not as if I haven't been working. I finished the draft of another chapter for my spiritual memoir, and I have read through all seven chapters for part one of the memoir. Plus, I started gathering materials for the adult forum on summer spirituality I will present on May 20th. 

But the words for a new post just are not flowing. I am as dry as the Christmas wreath I saw when I took a walk the other day. It's May, people, not December or even January or February! Take it down. Throw it away. Plant some pansies! 

Ah, maybe it is planting time. Time when I need to refresh my inner garden.

So that's what I am going to do today. 

I am going to take a walk, even though it looks like rain. I am going to write a letter to a friend, instead of struggling to rewrite a section of my memoir.  I am going to wander through my garret bookshelves and see where my fingers land. I am going to daydream and look out the window. I am going to do whatever pops into my head. 





And I'm going to remember that inspiration and support is everywhere, even on restaurant walls.

 
 An Invitation
 What do you do when you feel dry? I would love to know. 

A Recess at the River: Tuesday's Post

I'm hitting the sidewalks of St Paul again. 

No more ice. No more snow. It is time to walk. 

Last spring and again in the summer and even through the fall I told myself I was going to not just walk to the river and along the river, but I was also going to take a book and claim a bench, read and enjoy the view. Did I do it? Nope. I walked those paths frequently, but didn't linger.

Well, one day last week, I filled a backpack, purchased at Target over a year ago for just this purpose, with book and phone and something to drink, and pen and small notebook, and sunglasses and off I went. You would have thought I was heading out on a major trek! 

What a treat! 

At this stage of spring, you can see through the bare trees down to the river. Soon only glimpses of river motion and light will be easily visible. Now is the perfect time to enjoy the warmth of the sun and the beginning of the green. If you listen carefully, I think you might hear the popping of the buds into bloom. And oh, how fresh and new it smelled. 

Before pulling my book out of my backpack, I took a deep breath and gave thanks for the gifts of the day, this particular time, and the beauties of creation all round me. As people passed on the path behind my bench, walking, biking, rollerblading, I extended silent blessings to them. I thought about the privileged freedom and spaciousness I have in my life, and I wondered why I don't give myself permission more often for these kinds of pleasures. 

What I know in my heart and sometimes in my head is that opening to moments of daily vacation nurtures my ability and desire to use my gifts and time in other ways, as well. My soul soars when I honor myself with a recess.

A good lesson. I learned one other thing from my bench time: bring a cushion for the bench, for I do like my creature comforts! 

An Invitation
Do you need a recess? If so, how will you gift yourself? I would love to know. 

NOTE: I am totally enthralled by the book I took with me: The Resurrection of Joan Ashby, a debut novel by Cherise Wolas.  I got a copy from the library, but I see in the Sunday NYT Book Review that it has just been released in paperback. The bookseller in me will never fade!

Generalizations and the Good Old Days: Thursday's Reflection

Sometimes casual conversations go in surprising directions. Here's an example. 

"Doctors today aren't like they used to be. They don't take the time to care, to listen."

"Marriages today aren't as strong as they used to be."

I know these aren't the exact quotes, but I think I have the gist of what was said during a brief conversation with a woman who had recently experienced a major health crisis. She is well on the way to full 
recovery, and she glowed with gratitude, especially for her husband who had been in constant caring attendance. However, she also offered some rather full-sweeping statements.

I hesitated before I responded. After all, I had only just met her, and she a is a good friend of a good friend of mine, but I took a breath and said something like, "It concerns me when we generalize about something, for, I think, there has always been a range of physicians. Some who take time to listen and really be with their patients, and others who don't. And, I think, there have always been strong marriages as well as marriages that aren't so strong." Believe me, I was not eloquent. I stumbled my way along.

She said, "You are probably right," but I don't think I convinced her and instead, more than likely she thought, "What does she know and who is she to tell me what to think?" 

I felt judgmental, but at the same time I knew in the moment she had given me a gift. More than one, actually.

First, she made me think about the kind of statements we make all the time. The kind that generalizes about a topic or a group of people. What can so easily happen then is that the generalization becomes a stereotype and then becomes a truth, a fact. Making generalizations closes windows and locks us into either/or thinking. Something is this way or its that way with nothing inbetween. We stop seeing the range, the continuum. That is dangerous, it seems to me, and only leads to division, instead of connection.

Second, how easy it is to move into a "good old days" way of thinking as we get older. "In my day.... marriages were better, physicians were more caring, kids were better behaved, life was easier, better." Have you caught yourself saying something similar? I am not saying there isn't some truth to these statements, but they aren't the whole truth. 

Third, for some reason I didn't remain silent, as I sometimes do in a social situation. I may not have expressed myself very smoothly, but I knew I didn't agree with what she said, and it felt important to say that. How often have I let something slide when I should have spoken up? 

Fourth, as I reflect on the brief conversation I think it is possible to hear what she said with a softer heart, a gentle reminder to carry into all interactions. Perhaps she was actually saying, "I am so grateful for my strong marriage, for my loving and caring husband who was there for me in every way." Underneath what felt like a criticism of today's health care professionals, was she also saying, "How grateful I have received good care and I can move forward in my life"? 

The conversation was brief, and I am so delighted for her healing and for the many blessings she experienced on the way. Life is good. Now how's that for a generalization?

An Invitation
What generalizations leap from your lips? I would love to know.