I am no longer posting on this host, but you can find me on my new blog Living on Life's Labyrinth, Spirituality in the Wisdom Years, https://livingonlifeslabyrinth.com
Thanks to all of you who have been faithful readers over the years, and I hope you will subscribe to the new blog.
The journey to clarity is always interesting.
I thought my plan for the summer seemed
reasonable and workable. First, I would revise the current version of my memoir and when that was complete, I would buy a new laptop. Mine is ten years old, and I know I am overdue for an upgrade. Finally, once I felt comfortable on the new laptop, I would develop a website and include my blog, along with information about spiritual direction and groups I facilitate.
At the same time I decided to offer two groups at church--a writing group and a T'ai Chi group--along with ongoing participation in two writing groups, and publishing a new post every Tuesday.
So far so good.
But then the site of my blog announced a change--one that required technological skills above my paid grade and one that affects all of you who receive an email notification each time I publish a new post.
The change happens in July. EEEEK!
I asked my daughter, who is much more savvy about these issues, to help me sort through what I needed to do on the blog for my faithful subscribers. We worked our way through the complicated process and then...the next steps were unintelligible to either of us. We were stuck. What to do!
Kate helped me sort through some possibilities, and I came up with a temporary plan, which wasn't ideal, but would allow me to continue revising the memoir--my main goal--at a steady and satisfying pace.
I turned off the laptop for the day, we left the garret, chatting about other topics, and she went home. My practice most days is to read in the snug for a bit before fixing dinner, but after reading only a few pages, I knew what I needed to do.
The words "Summer Sabbatical" couldn't have been clearer than if they had appeared on a dry erase board in front of me.
And just as clearly I knew what that meant: not a sabbatical from my summer plans, but a break from this blog. Was this a Scarlett O'Hara "I'll think about it tomorrow," decision because I don't want to deal with the technical issues? Yes, I suppose, in part.
What the summer sabbatical from my weekly posts is really about is clearing the space. (Remember the name of this blog!) A bit more time for the revision process is welcome, but so is some space for re-imagining next steps and and preparing for those steps.
So here's my new plan: I will resume writing in the blog, but probably not until fall, and it may look different, as well.
In the meantime, feel free to browse posts from years past, and if you haven't requested my "Savoring Summer Spirituality, A Guide to Enhance the Gifts of the Season." now might be a good time. It's free. To request it simply email me, nagneberg48@gmail.com.
The purpose of the guide is to notice the movement and the gifts of God in these days and in our lives, and it seems I experienced the movement of God in these moments of clarity.
Before I Take A Break--Some Book Notes.
1. In the June 22 post I listed my summer reading plans. So far I loved re-reading Prodigal Summer by Barbara Kingsolver and also reading for the first time, but maybe not the last, The Seed Keeper by Diane Wilson. What a book--on many levels. I also read the first two books in The Highland Bookshop Mystery series by Molly Macrae. They were entertaining enough, but I don't think I will read other books in the series.
2. Just because I have a summer reading list, doesn't mean there won't be detours. A few days ago I picked up a couple library holds and will read both of those now: About the Author, a mystery by John Colapinto, and Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood, a re-read for me.
3. During morning meditation time I have been re-reading An Altar in the World by Barbara Brown Taylor and her chapter "The Practice of Saying No" is reinforcing. I also just acquired The Divine Dance, The Trinity and Your Transformation by Richard Rohr with Mike Morrell, and I look forward to starting that.
4. I am browsing and lingering in a new book of poetry, A Family Scrapbook, https://store.bookbaby.com by a dear family friend, Ralph Pitman. Ralph is a retired Episcopalian priest and officiated at our son and daughter-in-love's wedding fifteen years ago. Our sons played high school football together, and this is a poem he wrote when his son graduated from high school.
David
Thanks everyone for reading my posts. I am grateful to each of you. And I will be back. Have a wonderful summer. May it include some sabbath time. Light Blessings, Nancy
One summer when our children were young we were not able to go on a vacation and instead, decided to have a Staycation. Each day had a theme, including the "B Day"--books, bakeries, and Batman. We got treats at more than one bakery and bookstore and in the evening went to the new Batman movie. Another day was "Culture Day." We went on a backstage tour of the Guthrie Theatre and attended a performance of "Harvey" in the evening. We enjoyed an outdoor music festival one day and spent the day at a beach on another day. Each night we returned home happy to sleep in our own beds, but eager for the next day's adventure.
We made the best of what had not been our first choice for a vacation.
That's the way last summer felt to me.
My themes for last summer were "Summer Stillness" and "Summer Simplicity." I stayed home. I rested. I spent more time reading and writing and praying and meditating. I made pesto and walked in the neighborhood. I attended church on YouTube and met with my clients on ZOOM.
As much as I missed family time last summer, I experienced a new kind of contentment--a quiet acceptance and an agreement to be present to what was offered and what was possible.
What about this summer? What are the possible themes?
For many of us this summer is one of celebrations--a specific happy event or the very fact that we can gather. Perhaps this is a summer to stretch after being confined at home for so long or a summer that feels more spacious and spontaneous. Perhaps this summer feels new and fresh, and we are more attuned to summer senses--what we can see, touch, taste, smell, hear--to all the ways summer can dazzle us.
As much as I am grateful for a return to a more open and freer summer, I don't want to lose the gifts of last summer --the ability and willingness to enjoy the stillness and to treasure the simplicity of cutting roses for a bouquet on the dining room table or eating lunch at the bistro table in our "Paris" space. Or roaming country roads, but returning to our own bed at night.
Barbara Mahany in Slowing Time, Seeing the Sacred Outside Your Kitchen Door says it so well:
As June slips into July, I wonder in what ways you encountered God last summer and how do you continue to be aware of the movement of God in your life now, in this summer?
My reading life knows no seasons. Not only do I read voraciously in each of the seasons, but the kind of reading I do does not seem to change with the seasons. My beach reading is simply whatever book I happen to be reading at the moment.
When I think of summer reading, however, I think about the places where I read in the summer. I slip away from my desk in the garret to read in "Paris" when I have lunch or on the patio when the sun isn't too intense. I remember fondly, almost longingly, the afternoons I lingered on our front porch when we lived in Madison or on the porch swing decades ago when our children were small.
During our Sweetwater Farm years I reclined on an Adirondack chair under the crabapple tree where the deer came to snack in the early evening hours. And sometimes we drove to Presque Isle on Lake Erie for a white sandy beach day --a lazy day of looking for sea glass and, of course, reading.
The summers I was fortunate enough to spend a week at Chautauqua, my room on the second floor of an old inn looked out on the lake. I claimed a rocking chair on the balcony as my reading room.
When I was a child we often moved as soon as school was out for the summer. Almost before the moving van door closed, I got my new library card and filled my days with books. What a bonus if I could bike to the library by myself.
Many summers our family spent a week or two in northern Minnesota at a simple family resort in northern Minnesota--the kind that is rare these days. I slept on the screened porch and fell asleep reading, lulled by the rhythm of waves lapping against the dock and the small fishing boats.
One summer, when I was about 12 or so, my mother claimed I wore out the fabric on a chair, reading with my legs slung over one of the arms. That is probably true.
Even though my summer reading is more about place than genre, that doesn't mean I don't have ideas about what I plan to read this summer. Here's my list--subject to change and whim, of course.
1. Prodigal Summer by Barbara Kingsolver. I read this lush book years ago, but found a copy in a Little Free Library and now my intention is to reread each of her titles.
2. A Well-Tempered Heart by Jan-Philipp Sendker. This is a sequel to The Art of Hearing Heartbeats, which I remember enjoying, but may need to reread before reading #2. I think #3 has been published recently as well--for a future list!
3. The Overstory by Richard Powers. This has been on my TBR shelf for a long time, but now may be the time. Like Prodigal Summer this is a book where the life of the natural world is as much a character as the people in the book.
4. The Seed Keeper by Diane Wilson. The blurb on the back says the story "follows a Dahkotah family's struggle to preserve their way of life and one woman's search for belonging and community." This book has received great reviews, and besides, it is a book that just feels good to hold. That always counts with me.
5. Lady Clementine, a historical novel by Marie Benedict. Lady Clementine is, of course, Clementine Churchill, and there is no doubt she has a story that needs to be told. I spotted this book while browsing in a bookstore, and I love it when I make a book discovery on my own. That is true of the next book on the list, too.
6. Scones and Scoundresl, The Highland Bookshop Mystery Series Book 2 by Molly Macrae. The bookstore I was in didn't have Book 1, but it is waiting for me now at the library. I love cozy mysteries, especially if a bookshop figures in the plot. This will be perfect for a rainy day!
7. Owls of the Eastern Ice, A Quest to Find and Save the World's Largest Owl by Jonathan C. Slight. The only nonfiction book on my summer reading list, this book comes highly recommended by our daughter and others normally not attracted to this kind of book. Helen Macdonald who wrote H is for Hawk, which I loved, gave this book a glowing review, and it was long-listed for the National Book Award for Nonfiction, if that is something that you take into account.
I know there will be some detours. I will follow the reading road wherever it leads, including to the stack of books I gave my husband for Father's Day. We have both read the first two mysteries by Mark Pryor--all set in Paris--and I gave him the other seven. With titles like The Paris Librarian and The Book Artist, who can resist?
Now--isn't it time for a reading break? Happy reading!
As noted in my last post, these past days have been important ones in the life of our family. We gathered for important rites of passage in the life of our family: a graveside service to bury my father's ashes and our granddaughter Maren's open house to celebrate her graduation from high school. Surrounding and filling each event and all the in-between times was love, especially the love of reuniting with loved ones whom we had not seen for over a year.
After the brief (It was hot!!!!), but just right service for my Dad, I asked the representative from the cemetery if they had been busy since Covid restrictions had loosened. "Yes," he said and noted that many families whose loved one had been buried during the pandemic were returning for a more formal and planned service. "We need the ritual, the acknowledgement of change in our lives," he said.
How good it is to do that.
After the service for Dad, we met at my sister and brother-in-law's home for food (of course) and to relax into each other's company. I brought all of Dad's diaries and photo albums, which our daughter had organized for him many years ago. Such pleasure those gave him, and we all wondered how often he had leafed through them. The grandchildren and great-grandchildren shared their memories, as they looked at the pictures, but they also asked questions about their Papa.
At Maren's open house friends, young and old, as well as family, enjoyed all the pictures arranged on poster boards telling Maren's story, as well as the board with the map showing where she will be canoeing in Alaska this summer.
I know even if our family did not have such milestone reasons to gather that we would have loved these days, but the events gave us the context, the structure for reconnecting and telling stories, and sharing who we are and how we have weathered the last months, especially the toughest of days. In a way these rites of passage remind us what binds us as family and as friends, and we were extravagant in our love for each other.
Events, such as graduation, confirmation or other religious ceremonies, significant wedding anniversaries or as we age, retirement or a move into different housing, are not just rites of passage for the person in the spotlight. Rather, rites of passage are for the wider circle of family and friends and in some cases, the community. These rites of passage symbolize the past blending into the present, but also leading us into the future.
We have gone through a major chunk of time when we have not been able to celebrate these rites of passage, but it is not too late. If nothing else, celebrate the gift of today, for each day is a rite of passage.
When I feel overwhelmed, whether by tasks, choices, ideas, or even eagerly anticipated events, I often feel paralyzed.
I linger in bed in the morning even though I am awake--and time is a wasting!
I play too many games of Solitaire on my phone or check the library online for titles I want to add to my hold list, which is already long.
I promise myself I will read just one more chapter in the book currently at my side, but --no surprise--one chapter turns into two or three more.
I won't reveal all the ways I procrastinate, but there are many. Too many.
Well, Monday morning I had a bit of an ah-ha.
This week is a busy one. A week of major milestones. A week greatly anticipated. To begin with on Sunday we attended our granddaughter Maren's high school graduation, and it was glorious. She was stunning in her while suit, and how wonderful it was to celebrate her. After a summer adventure of canoeing in Alaska, she will attend Lewis and Clark in Portland, OR.
On Thursday our Cleveland kids, Geof and Cricket arrive and oh how I can't wait to have them here after not being with them for over a year. Hugs!!! They are coming both for Maren's open house, but, also, our whole family is gathering for a graveside service to bury my Dad's ashes. An important and emotional time for all of us.
The list is manageable, but still I felt stuck, not wanting to do the next thing. Or much of anything. That feeling of being paralyzed was all too familiar.
And then the ah-ha! Instead of labeling my inaction as paralysis, why not appreciate it and reframe it as a pause. A pause to breathe. A pause to gather energy. A pause to prepare.
A pause to smell the roses and be present.
A pause to pray.
Why is it we are so hard on ourselves. How often we criticize ourselves for not doing enough or not doing the right thing at the right time or for being lazy or passive? For being paralyzed. Instead, how wise we would be if we paused to listen to ourselves and to the voice of Spirit within.
Pausing is not the same as stopping or ignoring or giving up or disabling or being numb. Or denying. A pause is a recess, a time-out, an interlude. And then we move forward refreshed, more awake, and alert, open, and ready.
NOTE: Next week my "summer spirituality guide" will be available.
I have been reading such a wise book, a challenging book, Forgiveness and Other Acts of Love by Stephanie Dowrick. In her book Dowrick examines the humane virtues: courage, fidelity, restraint, generosity, tolerance, and the oh so big one, forgiveness.
Needless to say, I have underlined a lot in this book, and many times I thought I heard the author saying, "Nancy, this paragraph is for you!" or "Go back and read that sentence again, Nancy. Don't pretend these words don't apply to you."
Don't you hate it when that happens--when someone you don't even know, points out the work you need to do!
Yes, I could use more courage, and yet at the same time Dowrick reminds me that I have survived the daily navigations between known and unknown.
Yes, I could exhibit more fidelity to the person I was created to be, but I have also paused along the way to remember what grounds and supports me.
Yes, I could exhibit more restraint, which Dowrick says is an expression of one's choice to act--or not--but somedays I actually start the day with a full consciousness of attitude.
Yes, I could be more generous with my time and my gifts, but I know I have had times when I have flowed with love.
Yes, I could live and act with more tolerance, but I rejoice when I feel myself open to what I don't know and to what challenges me.
Yes, I could forgive myself and others more graciously and willingly. What freedom, what lightness when forgiveness lives in and moves my heart.
The purpose of this book is not to shame you nor is it a guidebook for becoming more virtuous. No, this is a book to read on the patio in the quiet of the day or place on your bedside table or even on your kitchen cupboard to read as you wait for the rhubarb sauce to boil. Read it in bits and pieces. You'll recognize the relevant parts and feel its companionship, one human, one spirit to another.
In the chapter on forgiveness, Dowrick writes
The new version of myself is not perfect, that's for sure, but I yearn to be a more complete version of myself, and than means a person who lives with courage, fidelity, restraint, generosity, tolerance, and above all, a person who forgives.
Today we remember and we honor George Floyd.
There will be news programs and articles in newspapers and online venues to mark this day. Social media will burst with comments and analysis. Events and demonstrations, including one at my church this afternoon, are planned. This is an important day, not only to remember a man whose life was taken cruelly and unnecessarily, but also a day to measure what we have done to change ourselves and this country.
One of the books I use in my daily devotions is Joyce Rupp's Fragments of Your Ancient Name, 365 Glimpses of the Divine for Daily Meditation. Each meditation explores a name by which God is known around the world and in many spiritual traditions. This is my second time around using the prayers in this book, and more than likely it won't be my last, for they so often are exactly what needs to touch or open or nurture my heart.
This is the prayer for May 21.
Home of Good Choices
Today: I include my Home in decision-making.
This past year has demanded that we make good choices, better choices. And there is always a choice. I believe that when we ground our decision-making in God as "home," it is more possible to make good choices. Our choices determine if this year will be another of violence and trauma, of injustice and racial disparity or if this year will lead us closer to justice and equality, to love and compassion.
The choice is mine. The choice is yours.
My intention was to finish the draft for an essay on aging and reading for BookWomen, but then my husband tempted me with a drive to a charming river town where there is one of his favorite nurseries.
"Great," I said without hesitation and off we went.
I'll write tomorrow I told myself.
And then the next day just as I was ready to head up to the garret for writing time, that husband of mine enticed me with a another drive, this time to one of our favorite small towns in Wisconsin where, of course, there was another nursery. "We can have lunch at the cafe with the good pie."
I was ready in a flash.
Yes, I am easily led astray, and what a lovely day we had. Lake Pepin was sparkling and the pie (blackberry-raspberry was delicious) and I even found a new journal in one of the sweet little shops. Bruce, of course, bought more plants for the garden, but you'll hear no complaining from me.
On our way home we turned onto a country road unfamiliar to us and were rewarded by seeing trillium in the woods and farms with calves and colts, newly discovering their world, and even a llama still with his shaggy winter coat. Almost home we saw young people in caps and gowns walking towards Macalester College for their graduation ceremony. I sent them blessings for a rich and meaningful life.
Once home I considered briefly doing some writing, but instead grabbed the book I am currently reading and my wide-brimmed hat and stretched out on the patio sectional. The day was too glorious and the garden too enchanting to only view from a window.
I'll write tomorrow, I told myself, and I will. It's not that I dislike writing. In fact, I cherish my hours of writing, but some days are not writing days. Some days are play days. No regrets.
How grateful I am to have the luxury of being led astray.
I've been contemplating a decision.
I am one of those people who has managed the year plus of hibernation quite well. I have enjoyed the spaciousness -- the lack of so many events on my calendar and the shorter weekly To Do list. For the most part I have used my time well, devoting much of the open time to finish the current version of my spiritual memoir. I have read stacks of books, written many letters, and have expanded my morning meditation time.
Of course, I have missed being with family and friends and seeing my spiritual direction clients in person, and I relish the return to some entertaining and to replacing ZOOM calls with hugs.
But...
Just how much busyness do I want to allow back into my life?
What does a full life look like for me now?
In recent years I have chaired a committee at church, which has involved organizing, sponsoring, and often leading a variety of events. Doing that has been fulfilling and meaningful to me, and I think to others, but I have been puzzled about returning to that role. For quite awhile it was clearly not the right time and easy not to make a decision. However, now with life opening more to pre-Covid norms, although certainly not entirely, the time for discernment sat on my shoulder and whispered in my ear, "Nancy, what do you want to do? What are you called to do?"
I had no idea, so I did what I usually do when I need to make a decision about a direction and next step in my life.
I wrote in my journal. Again and again.
I sat quietly, hoping to hear words of wisdom.
I asked the "what would you have me do?" question before going to bed, hoping I would wake up the next morning with an answer.
I shared my thoughts with family and friends and my spiritual director.
I reread a book about discernment (Decision Making and Spiritual Discernment, The Sacred Art of Finding Your Way by Nancy L. Bieber), just in case I was missing something.
I walked a labyrinth, and took other contemplative walks.
I brainstormed and made lists.
After all that, I still didn't have an answer. What to do, especially since a meeting was scheduled to discuss next steps for my committee and the ways I can be of service. An actual in-person meeting with one of my beloved pastors.
As I drove to church, I truly had no idea what I would say. Then I pulled into the church parking lot, and I knew. There was no neon sign or chorus of angels, but the struggle ended. I entered the building with a plan--a loose one, but one grounded in love for that community. My work there is not done, and I am ready and eager to continue. The pace may be slower. The scope may be somewhat different, but I am ready to move out of the garret and to share my time and energy once again.
The Japanese have a word for what happened in this discernment process:
saku-taku-no-ki
I read about this in Take Joy, A Writer's Guide to Loving the Craft by Jane Yolen. (p. 26)
This week feels like an open window. Fresh air flows in, along with birdsong, the chimes from the chapel at the University of St Thomas, the lively play of the children on our block, and the congenial conversation of walkers passing by the house.
At the same time I noticed the grime on the sills between the screens and the glass panes. Nothing that can't be easily removed, of course. All that's needed is some soap and water and a little time. How good it is to cleanse, to freshen what has been unseen.
It is May, the first week of May. A time to welcome, to begin, to renew and revive, to notice, to awaken to pleasures and gifts.
May 1: I opened the front door Saturday morning intending to sweep the front steps and what did I see but a May basket! No card was included, but I have an idea who delivered it. What could be sweeter, more uplifting than to be remembered. The flowers are now on the ledge in front of my desk, and a reminder for me to send May blessings to others. Later in the day we had dinner with friends on their patio. We kept saying how good it was--the warmth of the day, the warmth of our friendship.
May 2: Sunday began with worship, which never fails to inspire and lift, ground and touch me. That evening we gathered with a group of friends in our home. Before the pandemic we shared a potluck supper with these loved ones every six weeks or so and oh, how I have missed those times of sharing and laughter and hugs! How good it was to expand and set the table and know we can begin again.
May 3: In April I finished writing the current version of my spiritual memoir. This week I have set aside three days, Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, for an in-house retreat. I settled into my Girlfriend Chair in the garret and feeling both eager and anxious, I began to read aloud what I have written in this long process. My intention for these days is to determine my next steps.
May 4: Along with publishing this new post, I enter Day 2 of my writing retreat.
Looking Ahead: The Rest of the Week.
May 5: Day 3 of my writing retreat, but also the first meeting of a Writers' Circle I have been invited to join. The purpose of this monthly group led by Elizabeth Jarrett Andrew is not to critique each other's writing, but to be contemplative listeners for each other and ourselves in our writing life. The timing feels exactly right.
May 6: Nothing on the calendar. Will I need more time to read the manuscript through? Will this day be one of creating a new plan for the book or will it be a day of re-entry to the other aspects of my life? A home-tending day? A play day? A day to sit on the patio and read? I have no idea.
May 7: A year ago on this day my father died at the age of 96. I have written about him often on this blog, for he was a strong and loving influence in my life. He died peacefully, and unafraid, knowing he was loved. What could be better, but I miss him every day.
I look ahead to the rest of the month, which includes Mother's Day, and appointments with clients (several are now in person, rather than on Zoom), times with my writing group, the birthday of a dear friend, a gathering with some friends from college and who knows what else.
My prayer is that this will be a month of open windows.
I did feel relief, but I wondered if I should feel relief. Why did I feel relief and what exactly did that relief encompass? And what business did I have feeling relief? I am a white, privileged woman in her 70's and what stake did I have in the outcome of the trial?
Besides, this was only one trial, one police officer convicted, and shootings have continued, even as the trial was in process.
I was relieved that riots and violence and property damage were averted.
I was relieved that Minnesota might not be in the news every night.
I was relieved that in at least one case justice was done.
I was relieved for George Floyd's family--that at least their loved one was known as a real person whose life should not have been taken from them.
In Sunday's sermon Pastor Javen Swanson gave a brilliant sermon about the heaviness he was feeling, and reminded us that "justice occurs when hearts are changed."
Justice occurs when hearts are changed.
That's the kind of relief I want--the relief that comes knowing hearts have changed. That has yet to be proven.
I have been reading Diana Butler Bass's new book, Freeing Jesus, Rediscovering Jesus as Friend, Teacher, Savior, Lord, Way and Presence, and she mentions Dorothy Day who "displayed a restless sense of moving deeper into both the world and God." (186)
Read that phrase again: "...a restless sense of moving deeper into both the world and God." That's what happens, I think, when hearts are changed.
Bass continues to describe the two spiritual journeys: "the interior one toward knowing our true self and knowing God, and the one directed outward into the world to enact God's justice and love." (186)
As a spiritual director, I meet with clients who desire to deepen that interior journey, to awaken to the movement of God in their lives. What often happens then is that their growing awareness leads them into the world to BE the movement of God. Or sometimes a client comes to me whose focus and energy is devoted to making a difference in the world, but they feel some emptiness or exhaustion in their spiritual life.
The interior journey and the one directed outward have a dynamic relationship. Both are needed. Sometimes one is--and needs to be--more dominant than the other. For each of us one journey may feel more challenging, and the other may unfold more naturally. My way of pursuing each of the journeys may look, more than likely will look, different from your paths.
Both paths, entangled sometimes, but always stretching out in front of us, change hearts.
This is hard work. Important work. Sacred work. This is the work God has given us to do.
Here are some words that may help.
