Tuesday's Reflection: Healing

I had my last appointment yesterday morning with my orthopedic surgeon, the doc who operated on my broken ankle at the end of March. I must admit I didn't expect this would be my last appointment--not because I have been experiencing increased pain or recurring problems with my ankle, for that has not been the case, but because I had thought my appointment in September would be my last. This time I set aside my expectations, only hoping more healing and improvement would be recognized.

Although some healing still needs to occur, I don't have to return unless problems develop. 

You know the Christmas carol "The Twelve Days of Christmas"? Well, I felt like the Lords A-Leapin'. A sense of euphoria.  I immediately felt lighter and stronger, and even more flexible. I felt as if I had graduated to a new state of ease and surety. Not that I won't continue to be extra careful. I promise you I will, but I don't feel injured any more. I don't even feel quite as old any more. 

Did my bones suddenly knit together completely as I walked from my car into the medical building? Did the remaining occasional swelling melt into the atmosphere as I walked into the x-ray room? Did the slight stiffness dissipate as I took off my sock for the doc to examine my ankle? No, to all those questions, but I physically felt some mending in my mind when I was told I don't need another appointment. 

Suddenly, breaking my ankle felt like an event in the past, rather than part of my current story, and that feels important. Rather than coping with a broken ankle now, I recall breaking my ankle nine months ago and moving through all the stages of healing. 

That was then and this is now.

I feel a bit more whole. True, I still often need to go down steps each foot on each step, and true, I don't yet have the full stamina, the ability to stand or walk for as long as I did before the accident. Some days a limp is detected, and I am always grateful for my husband's arm as we maneuver across an icy parking lot, and I remain puzzled by inquiries about how the accident occurred that seemed to imply I could have prevented it. However, I am now living my life in an easier fashion, and I don't feel as defined by an injury as I felt in the past months. 

So what did I learn? Well, there were many opportunities to learn patience and acceptance, along with lessons about receiving help and kindness of others. I learned how to be clearer in what I needed. I learned how quickly one's situation can change, and I learned to adapt to this particular change, which I hope will benefit me when faced with future changes. 

I slowed my pace and became more aware of where each step took me. The ordinary became more extraordinary. The light and love in my life seemed brighter and more all-encompassing. I was more able to touch all the reasons to be grateful in my life. 

Obviously, I am thrilled to be at this stage of healing, to be this many months away from the event, but it was just one event in my life. One with temporary consequences. Life has continued as I have healed, and while I have not always been able to participate in the life around me as fully as I would have liked, my life has not been on back order.  

I learned to be present to each step. 

May that be so. 

An Invitation

What opportunities have entered your life --unbidden or welcomed--to learn how to be present to each step? Are there past events that need to be in the past? In what ways do you put your life on "back order" and how might you become more present to your whole life? Now. I would love to know. 

Tuesday Reflection: Past, Present, and Future

Dear Friends, Today I offer you the words of a choral piece I heard this past weekend at a performance of the National Lutheran Choir.  I offer this as a source of reflection and meditation as you move through the day--through this month, which always seems to surge towards the holidays and into the beginning of winter. 




The Present Tense
(From Magnificat For A New Millennium)
Fred Kaan

                Thank you, O God, for the time that is now,
                for all the newness your minutes allow;
                keep us alert with your presence of mind
                to fears and longings that move mankind.

                Thank you, O God, for the time that is past,
                for all the values and thoughts that will last.
                May we all stagnant tradition ignore,
                leaving behind things that matter no more.

                Thank you for hopes of the day that will come,
                for all the change that will happen in time;
                God! For the future our spirits prepare,
                hallow our doubts and redeem us from fear.

                Make us afraid of the thoughts that delay,
                faithful in all the affairs of today;
                Keep us, Creator, from playing it safe,
                thank you that now is the time of our life!

Suggestions for Reflection
Read through this poem slowly and note what resonates with you. What words and phrases stand out for you? Reread it and pay attention to where you want to glide over the words and move on to the next thought. Of course, those are the exact words of opening and discovery for you--pinprick words that invite you to pay attention and go a little deeper.

Read this piece aloud. After each stanza pause and let the words roll around you and within you. Stop reading them the way we read the mail or the headlines of the newspaper or the novel on our bedside table and instead, listen to them. Whose voice do you hear? What are the words beneath the words being whispered to you? What is the call within these words just for you? 

Are there lines that bring someone else to mind? If so, those lines can be your prayer for that person, but let those lines be an invitation into your own heart. Where do you need to open? What is the message for you?

An Invitation
In the present where are you not alert?
What parts of the past need to be left behind?
How can you move into the future without fear?
In what ways are you delaying and playing it safe?
I would love to know.

"thank you that now is the time of our life!"

Tuesday's Reflection: I Love My Life!

I wonder how many times the sentence "I love my life," has bounced into my head, flowed through my heart, and sprung from my lips? Many, many times, and with good reason, for I have such a wonderful life, full of love and laughter and life-giving relationships and purpose. 

What interests me is when this sentence, "I love my life," is present. I don't necessarily have to be thinking consciously about all the good things in my life, but may be driving to the grocery store or folding towels or stirring the soup. I may be walking up the stairs to my garret office for an hour or two of writing time or plugging in my iPhone for recharging, and I will have to stop and take a deep breath, for I am so overwhelmed by what I am feeling in that moment. 

Yes, there are times of conscious reflection--when I meditate and then write in my journal or when I pray and address the state of my heart and the needs of those I love, known and unknown, when it doesn't surprise me to have that thought--one of intense gratitude-- but how do I account for all the other times when I am sure I must be glowing? I love my life. This feeling seems to be arising in my life even more frequently these days.

Last week I attended a training session at the Minneapolis Institute of Arts called Art Adventure, in order to volunteer at our grandson's school. I will be a Picture Person and help young people learn to "see" and to discover how art can bring joy and understanding into their lives. As I left the museum, such an amazing place, I could feel that familiar feeling of warmth envelop me. I love my life. The next day driving home from a quick trip to the grocery store I saw three yards completely covered in golden, end of the rainbow, pot of gold, leaves, and I almost had to pull over for the uncontrollable joy I felt.

What is even more amazing to me is that sometimes that sentence rushes over me when I am not as much in love with my life. When I was in the hospital after surgery for my broken ankle last March, I had a lovely young student nurse whose energy and open-heartedness lifted my spirits. I was in good hands and so would be everyone in her care. I may not have loved this new fact in my life, life with a broken ankle, but this new challenge was in the context of a life I love. 

"I love my life" is a form of prayer. A thank you. Sometimes, it is also an expression of hope, a way of opening to support and strength. I recall driving from Ohio to Minnesota early in December many years ago. My mother had been admitted to a hospice recently because she was dying from colon cancer. I had been back and forth many times in the recent months and only months before had had surgery myself for uterine cancer. I spent part of the time in the car composing her eulogy, crying as I did so.  As I approached the Chicago area and the challenge of driving through the city, I told myself to buck up and give my total attention to the road and the cars around me. I couldn't find a public radio station, but all of a sudden I heard Bing Crosby singing "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas," and then, amazingly, every version of White Christmas was played--the Chipmunks, Glen Campbell, the Jackson Five, the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and many others. I smiled and sang and laughed and yes, said to myself, "I love my life." I felt stronger, better able to cope with what was ahead, and more whole, and as if a piece of healing had spread over me. 

What I am beginning to learn is that when I am fully present to my life, fully awake and not in the past or the future, but just the present, my response is one of awe and almost ecstasy. I am in love with my life and am open to receive whatever is in that life. 

An Invitation
Do you love you life? When are you most aware of being in love? What are you doing in your life right now to open to the love in your life? I would love to know. 

           

"Please Leave a Message," A Post by Nancy L. Agneberg

At a recent meeting of my women's spirituality group we were in the middle of our meditation time and our host's phone rang. We heard the invitation on her answering machine, "Please leave a message." And then silence. No message. I thought about how often I am looking for, listening for, pleading for a message, but there is only silence. Perhaps, I am not awake or aware enough to detect the message.
     Sometimes, however, a message is delivered in a bright and shiny God Moment. This past weekend we celebrated our grandson  Peter's 5th birthday (How is that possible?) at a favorite restaurant. Big sister Maren, age 10 (How is that possible?), however, was not happy about being there. The cast party for The Best Christmas Pageant Ever was held in this restaurant after the last performance right before Christmas. She loved being in that show and part of a big loving cast of terrific kids, and now here she was, reminded that it was over. She sat with her mother's arms around her, attempting to control her sobs. And then...Mom Kate spotted someone at another table whom she thought she recognized. The mother of one of the cast members. And yes, the daughter was with her. A happy reunion occurred, and Maren returned to the table content that a connection had been made. What was the message? Well, it is open to interpretation. "I am here." "All is well." In this case, it seems to me, the exact message isn't as important as the fact that a message was delivered and received with an open heart. 
     Sometimes I feel inundated with messages. The number of emails received in a day can be overwhelming. "You've got mail." Many are welcome. Some can be ignored and deleted immediately. Some just rest in my heart. Some are puzzling. Some make me laugh. Some cause me to pause and reflect. Some are avenues for greater learning and understanding. 
     Filtering and sorting and prioritizing is often necessary, but I do wonder sometimes what I have missed. What messages, what God moments, have I discounted or not noticed? 
     I count hawks when I am driving. Driving home from St Paul on Sunday I counted seven.  The hawk, which stands for "messenger" in Native American culture, has been one of my personal totems for many years, and I recall many times when a hawk has appeared when I have felt lost, unclear and uncertain, and vulnerable. A hawk appearance reminds me to be observant, to pay attention, and  to see the bigger picture and "to move through the world we inhabit with strength, certainty, and grace." (Animal-Speak, The Spiritual and Magical Powers of Creatures Great and Small by Ted Andrews). 
     I know the message I most want to hear right now. "There's an offer on your house." That has not happened. Yet. It is disconcerting to come home and find the light on the phone blinking and then to discover no message has been left. Does it mean "you must be present to win?" Yes, in a way, it does. Hawk reminds me to remember that there is always a bigger plan beyond what it is I think I most want right now.  My task is to focus on what truly needs my attention. Be observant. Stay awake and see what is not visible.  Be present. 
     I encourage my inner being to be open to the messages being sent my way every day and to respond to them with an open heart.

What messages are waiting to be received into your open heart? 

Moving On and Standing Still, a post by Nancy L. Agneberg

I read recently that this elder stage in life is about the freedom to choose how I want to get tired. I like that, but this time is also about how I choose to stay awake. How I choose to engage, to stay engaged. 
     Recently, a friend introduced me to the book One Thousand Gifts, by Anne Voskamp, and she challenged me to start my own list of "gifts." An ongoing list in which I record "sanctuaries in moments," (p. 105) and "the cathedral of the moment" (p. 102). Keeping this list encourages me to notice all the gifts that surround me and fill my life. 
# 6    A fresh journal, a good fast-writing pen
# 8    The car seat warmer on an early morning
# 18  Spontaneous lunch with a friend
# 24  Reading on the porch in the late afternoon, wrapped in a shawl
# 36  A good hair day!
# 46  The thud of the newspaper as it is tossed on the front porch
# 58  The reds, the yellows, the oranges. Oh my!
# 68  The smell of zucchini bread baking in the oven
# 83  A picture of my father taken this summer--a martini in his hand
# 86  The smell of Bruce's soap when he emerges from the bathroom in the morning
# 99  Gelato from Target--amaretto cherry!
# 106 A full day with a longtime friend
# 128 Safe arrival of a newborn grandnephew
# 142 Sounds of Bruce and Peter playing "hockey" in the front yard
# 163 Pheasants crossing the road
# 170 Laundry chugging along
# 175 Dressing the bed for fall and winter
# 185 Leftover homemade chili
# 196 The gift of a friend's words--"develop a quiet heart"
# 204 Two new books on my desk
# 217 The early morning sound of sandhill cranes
# 225 A clean bathroom and a clean me by 9:00 am
     I love this spiritual practice, but I am also aware that as we age  these precious present moments are rimmed by so much past, and the temptation might be to let the past swallow us. Instead, I invite the past to be an informant, giving us hints about how to be more in the present. At the same time our present moments at this age are so much closer to the future we all share --our arrival at death's door. "The only place we have to come before we die is the place of seeing God." (p. 108) And that is what the present is all about for me --staying awake in order to see, to know, to experience God in ourselves and in all around us. At a time when the past can dominate, the paradox is to live fully now. At a time when there are daily reminders of our common future as we lose friends and family, the challenge is to live now.
     And that brings me to St Benedict and the tree by our garage. According to Esther de Wall in her book Seeking God, The Way of St Benedict, "St Benedict is the master of paradox, and if he tells us to move on he also tells us to stand still." (p 13) 
     The other day I felt at the center of this paradox. It was time to renew the lease on our apartment in St Paul. 6 months? Month to month? With our house still being on the market we are not able to take the next step and renewing the lease maintains the status quo. Standing still. That same day I packed up more dishes for the day when it will finally be time to move. Moving on. I wonder, Does this give the Universe a mixed message? How is it possible to move on and stand still at the same time? 
     What could be a better illustration of this paradox than the autumn trees? The leaves are falling, but the tree is still standing. The tree is not completely bare yet, but is in transition. Moving on and standing still seems to be happening at the same time.
     I think the paradox of moving on and standing still is all about paying attention. When is it time to move on and what preparation does it take to move on when the time is right? What does moving on mean anyway and what does it require? And move on to what? And when is standing still--persevering, being steadfast and stable--the way to deepen spiritually? What is the difference between standing still and being stuck? 
    As always there are spiritual lessons, and this paradox seems to lead me to reflections on trust and patience, but also openness and awareness. And about maintaining the spiritual practices that keep me grounded and growing at the same time. 
    How is the paradox of moving on and standing still evident in your life right now?
    And if you were to start a one thousand gifts list right now what would be your first item?