Discovering Spiritual Practices in our Day

 

Every morning as I make the bed, I pause at the window that looks out into our backyard. I look to see if it is raining or in the winter if we had any more snow during the night. Is the trio of squirrels we call "the boys" busy with their morning exercise program--scampering across the garage roof? I check the color code in the garden--from the neon zinnias to the richness of red roses or the innocence of the peach and white roses and the variety and diversity of greens. 

I smile in deep gratitude for the beauty I see everyday--no matter the weather, the season, the temperature. I give thanks for my husband the gardener. I give thanks for the precious life we have. 

Later, when I head up the stairs to the garret, I pause once again, this time on the landing, and I enjoy another view of the backyard, but I can also see a corner of our neighbors' backyard. Our new neighbors. 

Sunday morning I saw one of the boys, the 6 year old, I think, watering the flowers. He sort of swooshed the watering can in the direction of the flower bed and then, apparently done, dropped the can on the grass, shrugging his shoulders, as if to say, "Glad that's done." His mother was standing nearby, and I saw her point to the watering can, an unspoken "Put it away, please." He did. 

I smiled and then sent a blessing. "Welcome to the block. May you find contentment and love in your new home. May we be good neighbors for each other."

Morning pauses. My first expressions of spiritual practice in the new day. 

One of my spiritual directees commented recently that her usual spiritual practice of morning meditation time wasn't having the effect it had in the past. Something was missing or wrong or whatever. She was concerned she had lost that spiritual practice.

I asked her to tell me about the rest of her day, and she told me about walking her dog several times a day and how she loved seeing the river and being outside and seeing the changes in nature around her. She told me about the group she has organized to read and discuss a book about racial disparities. 

All I needed to do was smile and say, "Sounds to me like those are spiritual practices."

Just like standing at a window and awakening to what is front of my eyes and sending out blessings, consciously or even consciously are forms of spiritual practice. 

I like what Jane Vennard says in her book, Fully Awake and Truly Alive, Spiritual Practices to Nurture Your Soul, "...spiritual practices are those ways of seeing and being in the world that help us wake up and become fully, truly alive." Some of those practices may be formal or "on cushion" like meditating for 20 minutes every morning or less formal or "off cushion," like chopping vegetables and thanking the farmers for growing the fresh produce we eat or listening, really listening, in the conversation with a friend or acquaintance. 

This is a time in our history that the way we have practiced in the past may not feel life-enhancing or may not seem to be an opening to the movement of God in our lives. Perhaps this is a time in our life when we are having more than normal trouble listening to Spirit's whispers or nudges. 

It may be time to try a different practice or it may be time to broaden your definition of spiritual practice. What in the course of your day is an opportunity to become more aware of God and the person you were created to be? What reminders can you find throughout the day that we are all creations of God, and all are invited to grow and give and be grateful. 

A spiritual practice need not be complicated, but may be simplicity itself.

I leave you today with a simple practice based on an exercise in Jan Richardson's new book, Sparrow, A Book of Life and Death and Life. 

Turn your left hand palm down in the desire to release all God wants you to release.

Turn your right hand palm up as an invitation to receive all God wants you to receive.

Place your left hand, palm down, over your right hand, palm up, and feel the energy and the blessing and the love you hold. 

May you discover the possibilities for spiritual practice, spiritual connection, as you move through the day.

An Invitation                                                                                            Are you aware of the need for a different kind of spiritual practice in your life right now? What are you doing that you realize is actually a spiritual practice? What is life-enriching now? I would love to know.

Gratitude for Both the Light and the Dark

 During the day, it is just a pretty blue glass ball, but all day it quietly collects energy and light. 

And then at night, it glows. A soft light, a focused bit of radiance.

                   

Sometimes when I get up in the middle of the night, I look out through the kitchen window to remind myself of light that is always present. And then I return to bed, where I return to sleep in the dark of night.

I am grateful for the darkness that frames the light, focuses the light.

An Invitation

Where do you find light these days? I would love to know.

Mischief in Paris

Look what the squirrels are doing to my table in the garden!!! Sigh! 

                         

Praying at the End of a Day

 

HELP!

THANKS!

WOW!

You may recognize these three words as the title of one of Anne Lamott's books, Help, Thanks, Wow, The Three Essential Prayers. (I added the exclamation point and all-capital letters.) In her usual snarky and pithy style, Lamott reminds us to be honest in our conversations with God, and to stay aware of the life swirling around and within ourselves. ("When you're telling the truth, you're close to God." p.6)

I think of these three expressions--Help! Thanks! Wow!--as a kind of modern day examen, a spiritual practice created by St Ignatius of Loyola in the 16th century. The examen is a form of daily reflective prayer, an invitation to note the movement of God in the people and the events of a day. 

In other words Help! Thanks! and Wow!

St Ignatius suggested a time of preparation before beginning to pray the examen. Light a candle or take a few deep breaths. My preparation is more apt to be washing my face and brushing my teeth. Doing those simple tasks signals the end of the day. "Time to let go of the day," I tell myself as I look at this 72 year old face in the mirror.

The next step, according to the Ignatian custom, is to review the day with gratitude, but here's where I am more of a Lamottan. In order to get to gratitude, I need to sigh, big, fat, and deep sighs. Those sighs are all the ways I need help and all the ways I see and feel the need for God's presence in the world around me. Help the people of Beirut. Help the men incarcerated unfairly. Help those suffering during this time of pandemic. Help our friends who son recently died and our friends who received a devastating diagnosis. 

What brings me to my knees? Where do I feel the hurt of the world and where do I hurt?

And what am I noticing about myself? What are the many ways I could be more compassionate, loving, and courageous and less judgmental and apathetic? This is a tall order, but it seems to me, help is only a couple consonants away from hope.

              Help. Help us walk through this. 

              Help us come through.

              It is the first great prayer.  p. 15

Once I have shouted a bit, at least inside my head and heart, I am able to give thanks. I begin with the obvious things: the good health of myself and my loved ones, our church community, our ability to live in a lovely home and to be financially comfortable, the friendships and love that sustain me ETC. ETC.  And then I think about the specific reasons to be grateful for the day and what has enhanced my life that day. Spending time with my beloved sister on her birthday, receiving an email from one of my father's dear friends, meeting with my writing group and hearing such wise and helpful feedback, attending a small gathering to celebrate a friend and her new book, writing and reading in my Paris garden often accompanied by a scampering chipmunk, and welcoming our grandson who stops by briefly on his way to baseball camp. What a good day! 

Lamott says, "You breathe in gratitude and you breathe it out, too." p. 60.

When I feel my spirit lift, I am in the midst of a WOW! moment. When I experience an intake of breath outside of the normal in and out of steady breathing, I know I am in the midst of a WOW! moment. When I need to stop for just a second or need to reread a line in the novel in my hands or when I close my eyes to savor a good taste in my mouth or to hear more clearly what is being said, that's WOW! Or when a smile seems too big for my face. 

Saturday while cleaning bathrooms, I listened to the first episode of The Michelle Obama Podcast (on Spotify--get the free app.) in which Barak is the guest. Listening to them was like standing in the kitchen with them. I imagined Michelle putting together a salad, and he was opening a bottle of wine or getting beer out of the refrigerator. I had volunteered to set the table and kept opening drawers till I found the flatware and napkins. You know, one of those comfortable, at ease kind of times. We were all just talking about what is important to us and how we got to this point in our lives. And at the end of the podcast she says "Love you," and he says, "Love you, too," and I said, "Wow!"

The last step in the examen is to pray for tomorrow, and I think that is exactly what the wow moment does. If I can feel a wow, then I know I am ready for tomorrow. I know I will enter the next day with an open and uplifted heart--with plenty of room for God. 

Lamott's book was published in 2012, but as I reread it, I thought how not a word needs to be changed for today. We've always needed help, and there are always reasons to give thanks. and oh yes, moments of wonder and amazement and bubbles of joy are never far away. 

Perhaps this is the only spiritual practice we need: Help! Thanks! Wow!

An Invitation: What will you include in your examen today? I would love to know. 

Cloister Time

I cleaned the house Saturday morning, even though the only rooms needing much attention was the kitchen because I cook more now and, of course, the bathroom. Most of the time I enjoy cleaning, using the time to rearrange some tabletop vignettes or to discard no longer wanted items, especially books. 

This time, however, I realized the house feels different. It still feels pleasant and comfortable to me. I am fully at ease here and love what we have created, a welcoming and hospitable home. The problem is that no one has crossed our threshold since the beginning of March. Such a stark contrast that is to the way we have been used to living and to using our home. I miss opening the door and saying, "Come on in. I'm so glad you are here."

                                                                          

True, we have had very small gatherings--one or two people at a time--on our small patio or in the Paris garden, but no long leisurely dinners at the dining room table, and none of my spiritual directees have climbed the stairs to the garret. I miss my twice a month writing group sessions in the living room where we each had our assigned seats, just like pews in church! 

You have probably heard me refer to my love of Cave Time, which I experience in the winter when cold and snow and ice allow me to hunker in and hibernate. That is usually a productive time for me. Cave Time, however, doesn't seem like an accurate term for what I am experiencing now during the pandemic. Instead, thanks to writer Anne Hillman, this time feels more like Cloister Time. Doesn't that sound more spacious?

Cloister implies a solitariness, solitude, but without strict rigidity. Air moves within the cloister, and there is a kind of calm energy. At times there is a knock on the door, and the response is, "Come, meet me in the garden where it is cool and quiet." There is room for others in my cloister, even if it is in the form of an email, letter, phone call, or ZOOM meeting. I am in Cloister Time, but I have the ability to reach out, to connect in other ways. I am not unreachable or unresponsive. I have not disappeared for a season. 

As with both Cave Time and Cloister Time, life goes on, and not always in joyful, fulfilling ways. Dear friends are experiencing deep loss in a variety of ways, and I ache that I can't hug them or say "Come, let me take care of you. Stay as long as you want to." There is room in my heart for their cares, however, and I am present to them in less visible and tangible ways, but no less meaningful. 

Cloister Time is easier for some than for others, but we are all finding our way. We are all finding new ways of being with ourselves and with one another. 

I wish you well.

An Invitation

What are you learning during Cloister Time? Or do you have another name for this time? I would love to know. 

BOOK RECOMMENDATION: Much to my embarrassment, I finally read Just Mercy, A Story of Justice and Redemption by Bryan Stephenson. https://justmercy.eji.org What a book! Masterfully written (There were times I realized I was holding my breath!), it is the author's story, as well as the story of those unjustly caught in what is hard to describe as the criminal "justice" system. So many times I found myself saying "How can this be?" as I read story after story of wrongly condemned individuals. There are heroes in this story--heroes who act with passion and compassion and even forgiveness. If you haven't read this book yet,  do not delay.