More and more I realize I need borders in my life.
Last week my husband added some pavers to the edge of the garden in the front yard. Now the mulch won't drift onto the sidewalk, and the garden looks defined, giving the eyes a place to rest.
I often need that kind of border in my life these days.
When I was younger, I could move from one event, one task, to another and another easily and deliberately. I didn't need--or at least I thought that was the case--to pause. That is not true any more.
Now I need space. Now I need to create a border around anything that has taken extra effort or time or energy. No matter how fun or interesting or worthwhile, I need breathing time. Down time. Catch-up time. I need time to focus, to listen for my own inner wisdom. I need time, not just to re-charge and restore, but to remember what is most important in my life right now.
One friend thinks of this as her moat. She pulls up the drawbridge of her life and waits till she is refreshed and once again can cross the moat herself or welcome others into her castle.
I recall a guided meditation I used sometimes when I facilitated spirituality groups for those touched by cancer.
Creating a Container of Sacred Space
Sit in a posture of meditation and close your eyes, lightly,
not tightly. Picture in your mind a square. Choose a corner of that square. Count to four as you slowly inhale, keeping your focus on that corner of the square.
As you exhale, move to the next corner, reaching it on the count of four. Rest in that corner, inhaling to four. Leave the corner on the exhale and move on to the third corner. Inhale. Exhale again as you move to the corner where you started this journey. Inhale once more to complete the square.
You have created a container of sacred space in which you can rest and restore. When you are ready, open your eyes but keep that feeling of sacred space.
At one time in my life, I might have felt constricted doing this exercise. Why would I want to put myself in a box or behind a border? Now, as a woman in her 70's who still has lots of energy and many more interests and ideas than time, I welcome the gift of limits, especially ones that I create for myself. More than likely, in the future, I will experience physical and mental limitations, but for right now I can choose to live within the borders of my stamina, my energy, my abilities and my interests. I nurture those interests and abilities when I rest within this holy space. Then when I feel ready and eager once more, I can stretch beyond the border.
An Invitation
How good are you at knowing your borders? I would love to know.
Our house is dotted with flowers--small arrangements of summer flowers from the garden. As I worked at my desk in the garret I could hear my husband in the kitchen. An occasional clink against the sink. Water running. Scissors snipping. What was he doing?
Soon I heard him coming up the steps, and in his hands he had an offering. A bouquet of summer flowers--a riot of color in a crystal vase. Orange, purple, yellow, fuchsia, and just enough white, making them all sing together.
I was struggling with a paragraph--again--when he delivered this exuberance to me. The bouquet didn't make it easier to find the next words, the right words, but I was grateful to have a place to rest my eyes. A reassuring place of beauty. "Take it easy, Nancy, eventually you will write your own bouquet," I muttered.
Downstairs I discover more offerings.
Daisies in milk glass on the table next to my side of the bed. Milk glass always makes me think about my sister, for she has amassed a big collection of milk glass over the years. She has a summer birthday, and I imagine when she was born someone brought my mother flowers from a garden arranged in a milk glass vase.
White dotted with pink in a dainty vase, also white dotted with pink. I've not seen that vase before, but isn't it sweet! No doubt my husband bought it at a recent garage or estate sale or in one of the bins at Goodwill. He can't resist. Later this summer he will have a garage sale, and among the pieces of furniture he has painted, giving each a new look, a new life, he will scatter vases and pitchers and other pieces of this and that.
On the entry table is a pitcher of sunflowers, which, I confess, are from the grocery store. I had planned to go to the farmer's market where I knew I could buy sunflowers, but it was so hot. Still, it is July and time to get out the sunflower pitcher we bought on a trip to Italy one fall. I remember--or I think I remember--seeing fields of sunflowers as we took the train from Rome to Florence. My husband carefully carried the substantial pitcher home on the plane, never asking me, "Why didn't you choose something smaller, something lighter?"
Each bouquet is a summer prayer. Each bouquet in a specific and just right vase becomes a summer altar.
An Invitation
What invites you to pray in the summer? I would love to know.
A group of us recently attended the Hearts of Our People: Native Women Artists exhibit at the Minneapolis Institute of Arts, and if you are in the area before August 18, I hope you will plan to see this. Check for information here. I hope to visit the exhibit a second time, for there is so much to absorb and appreciate.
I imagine I will write more about this exhibit later, but I am taking a different direction today, based on something one of the artist's said. She said her grandmother is "grumpy" if beading isn't part of her day.
Later, one in our group asked each of us what makes us grumpy if we don't do it each day. What a great question! One woman said not being able to take a walk would make her grumpy and another laughed and said, "eating," as she reached for cheese and crackers on the coffee table. The conversation moved quickly into another topic before everyone had a chance to respond, but my answer was on the tip of my tongue.
READING!
Most days I read during my meditation/devotion hour. I read as I eat lunch. When I am at my desk, I may stop to read something that relates to what I am writing. I move into the snug and read at the end of my work day before fixing dinner. In the evening if we aren't binging on a Netflix series, I return to the snug for more reading, and, of course, I read in bed before turning off the light.
Reading is a spiritual practice, a form of rest and relaxation, and an avenue of learning and growth and pleasure, and an impetus and basis for action. And I would definitely be grumpy if I didn't have some reading time each day.
So here's what I am reading right now.
1. Light the Dark, Writers on Creativity, Inspiration, and the Artistic Process, edited by Joe Fassler. Favorite line so far--said in an essay by Elizabeth Gilbert, "My path as a writer became much more smooth when I learned, when things aren't going well, to regard my struggles as curious, not tragic."
2. The Time is Now, A Call to Uncommon Courage by Joan Chittister. Favorite line so far quotes Dorothy Day, "We can throw our pebble in the pond and be confident that its ever widening circle will reach around the world."
3. Emmett Till, The Murder that Shocked the World and Propelled the Civil Rights Movement by Devery S. Anderson. Not an easy read in terms of content, but well-written and compelling. As when I read Taylor Branch's Parting the Waters, America in the King Years, 1954-1963 before going on a Civil Rights Tour last fall, I am in this for the long haul.
4. More Together Than Alone, Discovering the Power and Spirit of Community in Our Lives and in the World by one of my heroes, Mark Nepo. I am reading this like a daily devotional, only a couple pages at a sitting. I read this line recently about poor tribes in Kenya who declare, "We push our problems into the center of the circle and lift them up together with love."
5. The Spies of Shilling Lane by Jennifer Ryan, who wrote the charming The Chilbury Ladies' Choir. This is my "cleanse the palate" book. I have read several challenging novels this summer, including Washington Black by Esi Edugyan, On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong and Lost Children Archive by Valeria Luiselli, and occasionally, I need to breathe lighter. This book set during WWII in London features the mighty Mrs Braithwaite, a village busybody, who quite surprisingly finds herself in the midst of a spying enterprise. A perfect read for the beach, the hammock, or in my case, my "Paris" garden.
What's next? The Nickel Boys by Colson Whitehead.
I hope you've been thinking about what makes you grumpy if not part of your normal day, but here's a corollary question. What is on your gratitude list most days?
Of course, there are the special pleasures that appear on your gratitude list, like being able to turn off the AC and open the windows after a siege of hot temperatures or receiving a loving email from a friend about one of my blog posts, but right now, think about what keeps appearing on your gratitude list.
Good health
Love of spouse and family and friends
Our pastors and congregation
Space and time in which to do the work that matters
to me
I could go on--for I have a long list. Making this list, however, is not just a way to thank God for my many blessings, but it also a way to keep what is important front and center in my life. These items invite me to live my values, to act on what is important to me.
In a way, awareness of what makes me grumpy pairs perfectly with my gratitude list, for they both help define my priorities, and they both lead to actions. Both questions are part of an ongoing discernment process in my life.
One last note: every Sunday we sing the following words before receiving communion and each Sunday they stir my heart and move me to tears.
In the singing, in the silence,
in the hands expectant, open,
in the blessing, in the breaking,
in your presence at this table,
in the question, in the answer,
in the moment of acceptance
in the heart's cry, in the healing,
in the circle of your people.
Now, silently, I will add,
in your grumpiness
in your gratitude.
Amen.
An Invitation
You knew this was coming. What makes you grumpy, if you don't do it each day? What is on your gratitude list every day? I would love to know.
Like many of you, if not all of you, I have felt sick, sad, outraged, scared in response to our President's message, "Go back to where you came from," and I have felt just as sick, sad, outraged, and scared as members of his administration have attempted to justify that sentiment.
There is no justification. Period.
Yesterday morning during my devotion time, however, I tried to breathe in a different meaning into those words. I asked, "How can I reframe those words in a way that will deepen my relationship with God and change the way I live and move in the world? How can those words awaken me to life and not death?"
As I sat in my comfortable chair, attempting to let go of fear and find a rhythm of love and peace, I thought about the many times I moved, both as a child and as an adult. Being the new kid in school or the new adult on the block or at a job is not easy, and trust me, sometimes I would have welcomed the ability to go back to where I came from. But that was not an option, nor would it have been the best thing to do. At times I wasn't even sure where "home" was. What helped each time was someone with a friendly smile and an open hand; someone who showed me how to navigate my new home; how to settle in.
Obviously, my story bears no resemblance to what refugees and immigrants experience. Instead, I tried to imagine how it would feel if someone had thrust those mean words at me. Once again, I felt sick, sad, outraged, and scared. I wasn't making much progress in my hope of finding new meaning for myself in those words.
Ok, another direction.
How about if I used those words to remind me to go back to my core values, to the beliefs that ground me, to the love that brought me into this world and surrounds me? How about if I return to the basic tenets of this country that all are created equal and have a right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness? How about if I remember that we are all created in the image of God? We are all beloved. How about if I cleared the space to live with integrity and an open heart?
How about if I lived the spiritual practice of hospitality and spiritual friendship?
How about if I went back home to the ways Jesus taught?
You shall love the Lord your God
with all your heart, and with all your soul,
and with all your strength, and with all your mind;
and your neighbor as yourself." (from Luke 10)
That is my hope for myself and for all of us.
One more thought:
In the stillness of the quiet, if we listen,
we can hear the whisper of the heart giving
strength to weakness, courage to fear, hope
to despair. Howard Thurman
An Invitation
I invite you to go back home to your true self. What does that mean to you? I would love to know.
You are all welcome here today:
In all the beauty of languages, cultures, skin tones and
size that come together in your uniqueness,
you are welcome here.
In all the ways you experience and express gender,
you are welcome here.
In the beauty that is who you love and how you love,
you are welcome here.
Muslim, Pagan, Humanist, Jew, Christian, Buddhist...
with all the traditions that inform your spiritual life,
you are welcome here.
No matter how long you've been away,
nor how soon you will return,
you are welcome here.
Whether you come feeling whole, broken, or anywhere
in-between,
you are welcome here.
You are invited to join us with an open mind, a loving
heart and willing hands.
We welcome you today.
A friend who lives in Boulder sent me these opening words from the morning service at her congregation, Boulder Valley Unitarian Universalist Fellowship. Aren't they wonderful? I would feel welcome there, and I hope you would, too.
I invite you to make these words yours.
You are welcome in my heart.
You are welcome in my community.
You are welcome
where I work,
where I play,
where I learn,
where I live,
where I worship.
You are welcome
in our differences,
in the ways we are the same.
You are welcome.
An Invitation
How do you express welcome? I would love to know.
NOTE: I often hear the question, "What can I do?" Here's a suggestion. Check out the website Americans of Conscience to receive a weekly email with clear, no drama scripts that empower you to speak up for:
* Expanding voting access
* Welcoming aspiring Americans
* Achieving equal rights for all Americans
The scene is Birmingham, Alabama, in 1963. Over a period of three days over 3,000 children (ages 8-20) were arrested and jailed for demonstrating and protesting segregation policies. When the jail were too crowded, the arrested children were held in open air livestock pens at the fairgrounds. The conditions were appalling. Not only were the pens extremely crowded, but it had rained and the children were wet. The guards then turned the fans on them, increasing their discomfort. Many of the children were freed two or three at a time in the middle of the night and were left to wander the streets, their parents unaware of their location.
The scene is Clint, Texas, in 2019. Unaccompanied alien children--children who cross the border alone or with relatives who are not their parents are held for days, even weeks, in a facility originally intended to detain adult migrants for only a few hours of processing before being transferred to other locations. These children, as young as three and as many as 700, are held in a facility designed for no more than 100 men. The conditions are appalling.
Outbreaks of scabies, shingles and chicken pox
were spreading among the hundreds of children
who were being held in cramped cells, agents
said. The stench of the children's dirty clothing
was so strong it spread to the agents' own clothing...
The children cried constantly. One girl seemed
likely enough to try to kill herself that the agents
made her sleep on a cot in front of them, so they
could watch her as they were processing new arrivals.
from The New York Times
Sunday, July 7, 2019
See any similarities here?
Overcrowded and unsanitary conditions.
Children separated from parents.
Children at risk, but hoping for a better life.
Are you angry yet?
Many times in recent months I have heard people say, "This is not who we are." Well, apparently we are, for we allowed children to suffer in the past, and we are allowing children to suffer now.
And in the process we perpetuate a legacy of trauma. Shelly Rambo in her book, Spirit and Trauma: A Theology of Remaining, says in the aftermath of trauma, "death haunts life." It seems to me that means not just for the individuals who have suffered a traumatic experience, but for the society that created the trauma. For generations to come. For example, aren't we still suffering from the inhumanity of slavery in our country?
According to The New York Times article, much of the overcrowding at the Clint facility has been relieved and new arrivals at the border have decreased (mainly because many are prevented from even entering), but the trauma remains. The pain and the fear will continue to live --body, mind, and spirit--in those children and the parents who await reunion with them, and what does that mean for the future of our country?
Is this who we want to be?
An Invitation
When you hear or read these news reports about our treatment of migrant children, how do you respond? I would love to know.
Recently, my husband and I were at my sister's home for dinner--something that is always a delight. Along with two of their adult children, she and her husband had invited another couple who are special friends in their lives. We knew about them, but previously had met them only casually. How nice to have a chance to get to know them better.
During the course of the evening, they asked us some "fill in the blank" questions, and we talked about our years of living in Ohio at Sweetwater Farm. People are always interested and actually, quite surprised when we list the number of animals we had: llamas, sheep, pygmy goats, a donkey, peacock, geese, cats, rabbit, dog, chickens, and even a potbellied pig, who was a refuge from Hurricane Katrina.
Once more I shared the story of one of the sheep, Blynken of the trio Wynken, Blynken and Nod, finding her freedom from the barn and my tackling her in the ditch. There is lots more to the story, including Bruce always saying how the story gets better every time I tell it, and that may be true. Blynken, by the way, was safely returned to a pen, and obviously, I lived to tell the tale.
I also usually tell the story about Asa, one of the llamas who was sick with Lyme's Disease and with Bruce out of town, I needed to give him a shot in his shoulder. "Think about it, where is a llamas shoulder?" I ask, demonstrating with my hands, an imaginary llama's neck and its long body. Asa survived and so did I.
These are good stories, ones that are entertaining and funny, but lately I have been wondering why it is these specific stories I choose to tell when I talk about our life at Sweetwater Farm. My feelings about living there are so much more complex than what I share in these amusing stories, for Sweetwater Farm is a sacred place, a sanctuary for many over the years. So much happened during the eleven years we lived there--so much life, but also death. So many changes and challenges and growth.
I ask myself, what is it I want people to know when I tell these stories to new audiences? What image do I want people to have of me? I am not an athletic person. I am more urban than rural and not even an outdoorsy kind of person. I am more inclined to books and reading and writing than tending farm animals, so perhaps I want people to see beyond the obvious. Or perhaps I want just the opposite--to shelter my story in something lighthearted and playful.
If someone were to interview you, and ask you to share three stories about yourself--not just facts, but stories with you in the lead role, what would you share? And why? What do these stories reveal about you?
What stories do you repeat? Why is it important to tell these stories and know they have been heard? What do you learn about yourself in the retelling of a story? It is hard sometimes to hear the same story more than once, but the challenge for the listener is to try to hear something new in the same old story. Not easy to do.
Now go even deeper. What stories in your life don't you share? At least not until someone knows you much, much better. What do those stories reveal about you and what about them requires deeper intimacy? These are the kinds of stories I hear when I meet with someone in spiritual direction or when one is nearing the end of life or when life seems to have fallen apart and we look for answers, for redemption, for resurrection.
Diane Millis in her book, Re-Creating A Life, Learning How to Tell Our Most Life-Giving Story says "Any story can provide a portal," and "Any story can offer more revelation."
We are all being held in a limitless narrative
frame: our stories and Love's action in them
are never complete or finished. The invitation
to re-create our lives through the stories we tell
about them is a life-long quest. May we all be
given the "eyes to see, and ears to hear" our
most life-giving story. p 19.
So back to my stories about tackling the sheep and being a caregiver to a sick llama. The stories, in fact, are life-giving stories. for me. I stretched in ways I could not have imagined myself doing. Life at Sweetwater Farm was life outside the box for me, and these stories are illustrations of that fact. There is so much more than these two stories, but these are a beginning, an opening. And if you know me for any period of time, you will probably hear me tell these stories again. Sorry about that!
An Invitation
What are the stories your family says you repeat? What do you want them to know about you? I would love to know.
Today is the 4th of July, and I wonder what your plans are for this holiday. Fireworks? A picnic? Watching a parade? Listening to patriotic music or speeches? Do you have a flag flying at your house?
Here's an additional thought, thanks to Joan Chittister in her new book, The Time is Now, A Call to Uncommon Courage. She pleads with us to say
No to the abuse of women.
No to the rejection of the stranger.
No to crimes against immigrants.
No to the rape of trees.
No to the pollution of the skies.
No to the poisoning of the oceans.
No to the despicable destruction of humankind for
the sake of more wealth, more power, more control for a
few.
No to death.
But that's not enough, it is time to say
Yes to equal rights for all.
Yes to alleviating suffering.
Yes to embracing the different.
Yes to who God made you.
Yes to life. (pp 15-16)
Saying "yes" and saying "no" is not enough, however. The challenge is how to live these affirmations and declarations. That means more than flying the flag. Even though this sounds contradictory, a first step towards action and commitment is to become still.
Sit in silence. Breathe in and out until you find your own rhythm. Clear some space in your mind. Listen to the movement in your heart. What is weighing on you the most about what is happening in our country right now? When you watch or listen to the news, what tugs most at your heart or sends a shockwave through your body? What can't you bear to know? When do you feel yourself grimacing, groaning, grieving? What are your fears?
I know, I know, who wants to do this on a holiday, when we can instead be paddling a canoe, grilling brats and eating baked beans and potato salad, or playing golf? Who wants to consider all that worries us on a holiday meant to celebrate the ideals of our country? But if not now, then when?
There are all sorts of ways to say "no" and "yes." Lots of people are leading the way with campaigns and demonstrations and ways to become involved on a local or national level. Pick one. Any one, but do something to add meaning to the flag waving outside your house.
One more thing: All the flags displayed in my home are meant to be an antidote to tanks.
An Invitation
How are you going to act? I would love to know.
NOTE: I recommend listening to a conversation between Sister Joan Chittister and Oprah Winfrey on Oprah's Super Soul Conversations podcast, May 27, 2019.
The moment I entered the grounds I felt a shift. A layer of invisible concerns and needs lifted, and I was somehow lighter.
I didn't just feel calmer, more peaceful, although I sensed that, too. But the feeling was more essential. One layer, maybe more, of false expectations and performance left, and I remembered who I am. Not the person I've invented, but closer to the person I was created to be.
This happens every single time I walk though the gates at the Chautauqua Institution. On my first visit there many years ago, I had the feeling I had been there before --in another era, as a different person. Rather than trying to understand or dismiss that woo-woo feeling, I relaxed into it. I recognized Chautauqua as not only a haven, a holy place for me, but somehow I added to its soulfulness, too.
I think that is a definition of a soul place.
I know how lucky I am to have had intimate ongoing relationships with several soul places in my lifetime. Every time I returned to our home in Ohio, Sweetwater Farm--and I mean every single time, whether I had been gone for a few days or only long enough to grocery shop--I felt a connection to something beyond myself. A touch of the Divine. I feel that way about our current home, too, although I confess I didn't feel it the first or even second time I walked through the front door. I decided, however, to open my soul to this specific space, offering it my whole heart, remembering my past encounters with the sacred, the holy, the divine. Now, this is one of my soul places, too. Every single day.
I've lived in other beautiful homes and visited many memorable places, and I don't have an explanation why they don't all deserve a plaque designating them each as an official SOUL PLACE. I don't know why a place feels that way immediately and others seem to gather soulfulness over time, but I know that has been my experience.
With the distinction of being a soul place comes responsibility. One must be a steward of one's soul place. That includes tending it well with ongoing openness and awareness and gratitude. One needs to share it, to grow within it, to expand its boundaries into the world. A soul place is not just a place where one can feel safe and supported, but it is also a place where one reaches into one's depths and draws forth one's gifts and breathes them into the world.
This is no small task.
An Invitation
Do you have a soul place? I would love to know.
More and more I realize I need borders in my life. 
