Transitions: Tuesday's Reflection

Recent days have felt more like a transition from August to September than July to August. Something in the air. A tired, worn out green on some of the trees. My pots of basil begging for harvesting. And, of course, school supplies taking over a big section in Target. 

I know the temperatures are climbing back up to high 80's here in St Paul this week, but still, the sand in the summer hourglass is flowing from top to bottom faster than a couple weeks ago. 

We are in the midst of a seasonal transition.

But isn't that always the case? Aren't we always moving closer to the next season? 

And isn't that the case in our lives as well? Aren't we always in some kind of transition? 

We tend to think of the big transitions in our lives. Moving from one house or city or state to another. Saying goodbye to colleagues at one job and getting to know others as you start a new job. Or ending our work lives and thinking about what retirement might offer.

Some transitions are less obvious. Healing physically or emotionally, for example. One day at a time you may notice you have a bit more energy or experience less pain or sense of loss. The change may not be--probably won't be--in even increments and there may be set backs, but something is happening. 

We open and shut doors and cross the threshold from one room to another. We end one activity and start another many times a day. We greet someone and then say goodbye as we make our daily rounds of grocery shopping or exercising or carpooling. We turn the page of a book or newspaper or scroll down through emails or Facebook posts. 

Julia Cameron says in her book Transitions, Prayers and Declarations for a Changing Life 
                
                  All life can be expansive in potential. The
                  choice is ours. As I open my heart to accept
                  change, my heart softens and grows larger.
                  Every experience carries the seed of
                  transformation. Every event can bring blossoming
                  and wealth. My personal will can resist change 
                  or embrace it. The choice is mine and determines
                  the life I will have. p. 3

It is in the in-between time, however brief, however tiny the transition is, that we learn how to be present. We learn how to be in the fullness, the wholeness of our lives. 

An Invitation
In what ways are you in transition now? I would love to know. 

BONUS: Here's an antidote to the article I mentioned in my post on Thursday, July 26th. Signs of hope. Read it here.

Painful Reading: Thursday's Reflection

Instead of reading my words today, I encourage you to read an article from The Washington Post. I read it this past weekend, and I can't get it out of my mind. 

To read it, go here.

I have now read this article four times, and I have become more sick at heart with each reading. 

What do I do with these feelings of despair? I am way beyond disbelief at this stage. 

How do I find common ground with the attitudes about African Americans, immigrants, women, Muslims, and also about our president, as represented in this article? How do I recognize the beliefs and practices I hold as a Christian when others, who also call themselves Christians can say, "Love thy neighbor meant love thy American  neighbor" or welcome the stranger only refers to "the legal immigrant stranger." And what about the belief expressed by Franklin Graham, Billy Graham's son, and by others in the article that God made Trump president, "an immoral person doing moral things." 

I just don't know. 

An Invitation
I welcome your thoughts. 

Summer Book Recommendation #3: Tuesday's Reflection

I happened to mention to our son recently that I was thinking about moving my mixer from the pantry closet to a place on the counter. "It is so heavy," I said, "and I think I will use it more frequently if it is in a more convenient location." I added that I wasn't sure where I would put the green graniteware breadbox currently on the counter. My counter space is limited.

I was thrilled when my son said he would like to have the breadbox that has had a prominent position in every kitchen since he was a little boy. As soon as we returned home from our trip to Cleveland where he and our daughter-in-love live, the breadbox, complete with a loaf of rhubarb bread, was on its way.

With that offer and response, I had taken the advice of The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning, How To Free Yourself and Your Family From a Lifetime of Clutter by Margareta Magnuson. 

            A loved one wishes to inherit nice things from you.
            Not all things from you. 

"Nice," of course, is in the eyes of the beholder.

            Sometimes you must give cherished things away 
            with the wish that they end up with someone who 
            will create new memories of their own.

Magnuson urges us to do this sooner, rather than later, and therefore, to reap the benefits of living smaller.

             Life will become more pleasant and comfortable 
             if we get rid of some of the abundance.

This, of course, is a process, and one my husband and I have been pursuing for quite some time. In large part, the process was precipitated by our move from a large home in Madison, WI, to a smaller home, by choice, in St Paul. Our main joint hobby during our almost 47 years of married life has been antiquing. We have filled each home with gathered collections, and we have no regrets about doing that. Such fun we have had, but now space, energy, and interests have changed. This is a different time, and so the process of sorting and decluttering, and dispersing continues. 

Many books about downsizing have been written, most with helpful hints, but I so enjoyed the style and perspective of this book written by a woman who frames herself as someone "between the age of eighty and one hundred." I am quite sure I would enjoy knowing her, for she not only speaks from experience, but writes with a light and warm touch. I appreciate that she suggests this active process not just because it will eliminate a major burden for your family, but also because living lighter is a gift for yourself at this stage of your life. She asks, "Will anyone I know be happier if I save this?" I add, "Including yourself?"

And so the process continues in our house. This summer I am going through all the drawers in my garret; drawers that substitute for file cabinets. Next will be bins of notebooks and journals now stored in an attic space. One piece of advice I read recently, but not from the Swedish Death Cleaning book, is to leave every space at least 20% free. Fill it no more than 80%. I want you to know that at least five of the 20 drawers in the garret are completely empty. I am quite proud of that, but I also know, the job is ongoing. Witness this cupboard full of green depression glass. Who would know how much I have already sold or given away! 

Swedish death cleaning, by the way, simply means removing things and making your home nice and orderly "when you think the time is closer for you to leave the planet." That time is closer than it was yesterday, so isn't it time to get started? Magnuson is a wonderful companion along the way. 

Oh, and I want you to know that I am using my mixer much more now that I don't have to carry it up the stairs from the pantry to the kitchen. 

An Invitation
Have you started this process? What are you learning about yourself as you undertake this series of tasks? I would love to know. 

Doing What You Can: Thursday's Reflection

Grandson Peter, age 10, and I shared writing time one morning this week. We brought our journals and other writing materials to a bakery/coffee shop and spent a chunk of the morning together. First, he wrote a letter to his sister at camp (my suggestion) and then I offered a writing prompt, "If I owned a bakery...." He filled a page of his notebook with a description of his bakery, "Peter's Fruit Bread Bakery," and with a list of all the baked goods for sale.

I started a long overdue letter to a friend, but, I confess, mainly I sat and watched Peter. We conversed some, too, about the dog who was waiting for his owner to come out of the bakery, but also about some of the activities at the sleep-away camp he is going to next week. He's a bit nervous about going, he says, and I acknowledged that and said I admired him for doing something new.

He's a great companion, and it is always a joy to be with him.

Spending time with Peter and with Maren, age 15, when she is available or at least in need of a ride, is something I can do. I can be a source of love and understanding for them. I can be a safe place for them. 

How easy it is to be overwhelmed by the surging needs and scariness all around us. I vacillate between reading and listening to as much news as possible and then declaring a major time-out. I ask myself and hear others asking, "What can I do? How can I possibly make a difference?" No doubt you've been having this conversation with yourself and with others, too 

Here's what Kwame Anthony Appiah who teaches philosophy at N.Y.U. and responds to ethics questions in a weekly feature in the NYT Sunday Magazine says, "Our obligations to make the world better are limited by a simple principle: What we owe is only our fair share of the burden of securing for others what they are owed."

All week long I have been sitting with my version of those words.

              Bear one's share of the burden.

Here's what I can do, using the gifts and resources I have, along with the time and energy I have.
      * I can spend time with my grandchildren. I can be part of their team, as they grow into a confusing and sometimes scary and unsettling world. 
      *  I can meet with my spiritual directees and listen to their concerns and help them uncover the person God has created them to be.
      *  I can create opportunities in my faith community through retreats and other programs to explore how we can each be a presence in the world.      
      *  I can gather with others to talk about what most matters and to share perspectives and knowledge. 

AND  
      * I can write about what touches my heart. Elizabeth Jarret Andrew says,

            Writers, this is our moment. Artists, truth-tellers,
            beauty-makers, people who make parts into wholes,
            all of us who connect the private, hidden stirrings of
            the heart to our complicated human communities,
            history now calls us. Now is the moment to put 
            everything we've got into creative engagement. Why?
            Creativity is an act of love; it teaches us to believe in
            possibility, it trains us to revise (re-see) the world. It
            demonstrates that 'the interior life is a real life, and
            the intangible dreams of people have a tangible effect
            on the world,' as James Baldwin wrote. We need all 
            this now. 

And, of course, I can and will vote. I can contribute financially to causes I believe in and people I support. I can stay informed, but not addicted.

Oh, and one more thing, and perhaps this is the most important thing, I can breathe blessings into the world. 

All day. 

Every day. 

With my whole heart. 

An Invitation
What can you do? I know you can do something, and I would love to know what it is. 

NOTE #1: To read my post on blessings, go here.

NOTE #2: I recommend 365 Blessings to Heal Myself and the World by Pierre Pradervand and also his website https://gentleartofblessing.org





              

Summer Book Recommendation #2: Tuesday's Reflection

Surprise!

Take a peak in our backyard and you will discover a surprise.
My husband is an avid gardener and our backyard is glorious this time of year, thanks to all his efforts, but in one instance he had some help. 

We have a surprise sunflower. Some bird must have decided we needed this treat and dropped a seed right by the back door to the garage. No, it wasn't part of the master plan, but there it is and it makes us smile.

My 2nd Summer Book Recommendation is a bit of a surprise, too, although, except for the fine writing, it didn't make me smile. The book is An American Marriage by Tayari Jones, and I hope you will read this book so we can talk about it.

Part of the surprise is that I requested it from the library, and I never dreamed it would be my turn to read it so quickly, especially since it has been reviewed so well. 

Here are the basics: Roy and Celestial are an upwardly mobile black couple, and he is accused of rape and sentenced to prison for 12 years. He is released after five years. You might expect the novel to focus on Roy's unjust imprisonment and his years in prison. It is true the context of racial injustice and the reality of being black in this country is key to the story, but the book throbs with two impulses: one towards loyalty and the other towards independence. 

Especially moving are the letters Roy and Celestial write to each other and the change in their relationship and expectations. I found myself understanding each person's perspective. However, I also squinted as I read, saying, "Yes, but...." In other words their relationship, their responses are complex and life is complicated. 

I think this would be an excellent choice for a book group discussion. Why did the author select this title, for example, but more than that, was the ending inevitable? 

Such a good book!

I also recommend a memoir from my projected summer reading list, The Bright Hour, A Memoir of Living and Dying by Nina Riggs. You will cry, but you will also laugh, and you will be amazed by the wisdom and the clarity about what matters most. 
For my summer reading plans go here and here. For my Summer  Book Recommendation #1 go here.

An Invitation
Any summer surprises in your life---reading or otherwise? I would love to know. 

Life as Hopscotch: Thursday's Reflection

 How's your life these days? Do you need any help navigating or making decisions or knowing what steps to take? Have you encountered any surprises or challenges lately? 

Well, maybe all you need is to get out the chalk, find a nice sized easy to toss pebble, put on your walking shoes, take a deep breath, and play hopscotch.





After all, there is always a definite beginning and an ending when you play the game of hopscotch. Sometimes, what happens on the pavement, however, is not a straight line. Not what you expected. 

 Sometimes you find yourself spinning in a cycle where the way out is not clear, and you may feel out of control.

Sometimes balancing all that comes crashing towards you is not easy, and you worry about falling off the narrow path. 

And sometimes you land in HOT YOU KNOW WHAT!!!

Sometimes, however, it is time to take a deep breath, lighten up, and skip through your days. 

After all, you've been around the block before, and you've played this game more than once. You've experienced tough times along the way, but you've lived long enough to know what truly sustains you. You know where to seek support and what gives you joy. In fact, by this time in your life you know so much more about who you are and who you were created to be. 

And isn't that a good thing? 

See you on life's sidewalk. 

An Invitation

Where are you in this game of hopscotch? I would love to know. 

Overheard Conversations: Tuesday's Reflection

"This summer has been awful."

A woman and a man stood on a street corner outside of the small neighborhood grocery store. She was wearing a helmet and holding on to her bike. I couldn't tell her age, but she looked fit. Riding her bike was clearly something she did on a regular basis. He was about my age, I think, and I spotted a name badge on his shirt. Perhaps he worked at the grocery store.

I was taking my morning walk and heading towards home.

"The summer has been awful," the woman said.

He responded, but I only heard part of what he said. "Perhaps it will help take his mind off things."

"Thank you. I will tell him. That will mean a lot," she replied.

I confess I wanted to know who was having a bad summer and why was it awful? And I wondered how the man could help. What was their relationship? I will never know, but I sent a whispered, "May all be well."

Many years ago I sat in a MacDonalds where I overheard part of what seemed like a heavy conversation between a man and a woman. They leaned into each other, but not in a comforting way. I wondered if they had just been to see their marriage counselor or if MacDonald's was a neutral and safe place for them to meet and decide the next steps through their pain. I was reading a book, but I stopped and closed my eyes and whispered,"May all be well." Perhaps not that day, but soon. I have thought about them often over the years. Is it unreasonable to hope that my blessing created a fraction of light for them? 

Recently, I overheard part of a conversation between two people I know and love. I wasn't part of the conversation, and it was not appropriate for me to insert myself in the moment, but I carried my concern home with me. I sat with it during my prayer time and soon decided to reach out, simply offering to be a listening ear if needed or desired. My friend seemed grateful to know I am part of her caring circle. 


Sitting in a small cafe or coffee shop or standing in line at the grocery check out or in a doctor's waiting room, we are apt to hear bits and pieces of conversations, representing small particles of a person's life. The highs and lows or the mundane and the unremarkable. Sometimes there is a chance to interact, but most of the time, not. 

Am I a snoop when I open my ears to conversations floating in the air around me? 

I don't think so. Instead, when I receive even part of someone's story, however unconsciously or incompletely, I have a chance to silently extend a positive thought, a blessing. I have a chance to add a bit of love into the air we share. "May all be well."

An Invitation
What interesting parts of a conversation have you overheard recently? I would love to know. 

Summer Book Recommendation #1: Thursday's Reflection

Oh my goodness, yesterday was the 4th of July, and I have read only one book in my pile of intended reads. That doesn't mean I haven't been reading, however. Silly person, of course, I've been reading! 

The problem is that when books you've requested from the library are available, that's what you read. I'm returning the last of those books to the library today, and then I can return to my awaiting pile. Unless I get distracted by other possibilities!

Here's my First Summer Recommendation: A Place For Us by Fatima Farheen Mirza

I loved this debut novel, which is the story of Rafiq and Layla, originally from India, and their three children who are born in and grow up in the United States. Much of the story focuses on the son, Amar, who eventually estranges himself from his family. We see in heartrending detail Amar's relationship to each of the family members, along with the struggles of each person to "find their place in the world, as well as a path home."

I was especially intrigued by the glimpses of the Muslim faith and practices and each person's response to practicing that faith and being part of that community. It is not an overt part of the story, but still is a presence. The last few pages, told from the perspective of the father, Rafiq, were so moving (Yes, I cried.) for the truths they illustrate about the tests in a father-son relationship.

At one point the father says to his son, "Don't you know--that's the thing--everyone  is not just good. Everyone is trying to be good. And everyone feels this way sometimes, that they are not good, and not good at trying either." 

If I could loan you this book I would, but it is back at the library for the next person who requested it.

What else have I read this summer?
1. Behold the Dreamers by Imbolo Mbue. The story of a family from the Cameroons who immigrate to NYC. The father becomes a chauffeur for a wealthy family. I liked this book, but also felt it included everything but the kitchen sink.
2. Paris by the Book by Liam Callahan. I am a sucker for novels set in Paris and even better when a bookstore is involved. I really enjoyed this one.
3.  The Word Is Murder by Anthony Horowitz. Horowitz is the author of Magpie Murders, which I liked, but didn't love. I liked this one a bit more, but it has not stuck with me. Don't ask me the plot.
4.   Tell Me More. Stories about the 12 Hardest Things I'm Learning to Say by Kelly Corrigan (NF) The style is breezy, but the content is serious and wise. Included in the "hardest things" are "I don't know," "I was wrong," and "no words at all." Well done.
5. The Art of the Wasted Day by Patricia Hampl. (NF) I will read anything by Hampl and a new book from her moved to the top of the pile--no question! It is never a waste of time to read her words. 

              So it's not just about aging. But by the time you've
           worked long enough, hard enough, Real Life (which
           insists on being capitalized as if it were a personage
           with a proper name and a right to barge into this
           rental unit called your life) begins to reveal itself as
           something other than effort, other than accomplishment.
           Real Life wishes to be left to its own purposeless
           devices. (p. 24)

What's Next? Well, here is the problem. I returned recently from Chautauqua where there is a terrific bookstore and my piles of unread books have increased. Excuse me, while I move into the snug and decide which book is next. Happy reading!

An Invitation
What have you been reading this summer? I would love to know. 

NOTE: You can read my summer reading plans here and here.
           

Crossing the Border: Tuesday's Reflection

Thanks to the generosity of a dear friend, I spent a couple days recently in one of my soul places, the Chautauqua Institution in New York. When we lived in Cleveland, I often drove the mere two hours to spend the day there, and some summers I luxuriated in a full week of going to lectures and sitting on the porch outside my tiny room, reading and writing. I walked the quiet streets lined with Victorian homes --each one with a welcoming front porch. I even taught a journal writing class there one summer.

I knew the first time I walked through the gate, I belonged there. I knew I would meet myself there. Yes, there were lots of people like me there--educated, white, privileged, but that's not exactly what I mean. I knew this would be a place where I would get closer to the person I am created to be. In this setting I would ease into uncovering the hidden parts of myself. I would challenge myself. I would ask questions and not take the first response as the only response. I would listen to others, but not more than I listened to my own inner voice. I would imagine my better self and discover steps to own her, be her. 

That's what soul places do. That's what soul places are. 

But, first, you need to cross the threshold, the border. You need to stretch across boundaries, even the ones whose only purpose seems to be to keep you out. 

Crossing the threshold at Chautauqua was easy for me. No one said I couldn't do it. No one told me I wasn't welcome or even illegal. No one separated me from what was most precious to me.

No one told me I was not worthy. 

There have been times when crossing the border wasn't quite as easy. When I was a child and my family moved, I often felt as if I had landed in a foreign country and didn't know the language or the customs or culture, and I wondered if I would ever feel at ease there and if anyone would extend a hand to me. I sometimes felt that way when I moved as an adult, as well. 

Crossing the border is not easy, but sometimes the soul requires it as much as the body and the mind does. 

Perhaps what we each need right now is to remember times in our own lives when we have crossed a border, how that felt, and what it meant to us. 

An Invitation
What kinds of borders have you crossed? What did you learn about yourself? I would love to know.

NOTE: I invite you to read my recent Monk in the World guest post on Christine Valters Paintner's Abbey of the Arts site here.