Summer Sabbatical

        God is not found in the soul by adding anything 

but by subtracting.   Meister Eckhart 

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

                    You stand among men
                    like a young tree in the forest.
                    Your roots sink deep in the soil
                    of laughter and memory.
                    Your trunk is straight,
                    your bark is clean and even.
                    Your branches reach
                    well beyond the limits
                    of my shaded sight.
                    their tips reach
                    to suns not yet risen.
                    Green life runs through you
                    and pour out into the sky.
                    Some trees are taller,
                    and some are bent and twisted.
                    You will know your own
                    seasons of rain and drought.
                    You may never again stand so straight,
                    but that doesn't matter.
                    You stand today,
                    and our souls ascend
                    on your branches. 

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

An Invitation
What clarifying experiences have you had and how have they illuminated the movement of God in your life? I would love to know. 

Discernment Process

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)

    Saku--the special sound a mother hen makes tapping on an egg
    with her beak.
    Taku--the sound a chick makes tapping from within.
    No-ki--the moment the tappings come together.
    Saku-taku-no-ki--the instant a chick pecking on the inside and the mother pecking on the outside reach the same spot. The egg cracks open. New life emerges. 

Using the spiritual practices that ground me, I had done the inner work. I had tapped from within. What I needed was the reality, the sacred presence of the outer world to open me to new possibilities. 

And that feels exactly right. 

Stay tuned as I move into the next chapter of living a full life.

An Invitation

How are you doing as quarantine requirements change? I would love to know.  

 

Views of the Capitol

Sickened.

That's how I felt on Wednesday. I was working at my desk when a friend alerted me to what was happening at the U.S. Capitol. Frankly, I didn't want to know. Instead, I wanted to continue doing the work I planned for the day, but I took a deep breath and at first watched on my laptop the horrific events. Soon, however, I moved to the lower level of the house where our television is located and told my husband,  "You have to see this." 

He was comfortably reading, and I could see on his face, he really didn't want to know what was happening either. He didn't say it, but I could sense, probably, because I had felt the same way, "Can't we wait till we watch the PBS News Hour at 6:00?"

No, in this case we couldn't. And for the next hours, there we were, watching the destruction, the attacks, the violence, and later, our elected leaders resuming the process of receiving the electoral count declaring our new president and vice-president. 

A Memory from my 2017 Journal
Wednesday afternoon I happened to be re-reading my journals from 2017 in preparation for writing the next chapter in my spiritual memoir. In one entry I wrote about how an airline passenger was dragged off the plane. The flight had been overbooked, and his seat was randomly chosen to be vacated. He refused, and the result was his physical removal from the plane. Other passengers recorded the incident with their phones.

I wrote in my journal my hope that I would have stood up and said, "Enough. Take my seat. This violence is not necessary or right." I hope I would have done that. I hope I could have set aside any entitlement I felt and instead, made a stand for the greater good. 

Of course, we have been waiting for President Trump to set aside his inflated view of himself, his need to always win, his delusions, and instead, to defer to the peaceful transfer of power and to acknowledge that Joe Biden and Kamila Harris are our newly elected leaders. That has never been too much to ask--until now, it seems.

Therefore, we must ask more of ourselves. We each have to discern what that means. First, however, we must be a presence. We must witness, and not wait till it is convenient to see what is happening. 

                 

                     Please reveal to me, Lord, a way to stand in my
                    power, through love instead of fear, and through
                    peace instead of violence. 
                    May I hear not the voice for anger, but only the 
                    voice for love.
                    And teach me, dear Lord, how not to hate those
                    who hate me.
                    Transform all darkness into light, dear God,
                    And use my mind as an instrument of Your 
                    harmlessness... Amen.
                                    from Illuminata, A Return to Prayer
                                    Marianne Williamson

An Invitation

What are your prayers for the coming days? I would love to know.  

NOTE: The new year is still young, and it is not too late to request my guide, "Crossing the Threshold, Honoring the New Year, A Guide to Reflect on the Old and Prepare for the New." It is free and available by emailing me at nagneberg48@gmail.com

 

Sorting: An Act of Discernment

I declined an invitation, a request to lead a book discussion. 

A few months ago I had accepted that same invitation, but then COVID 19 cancellations and lockdowns occurred, and the plan was set aside. Around the same time my family began the vigil with my father, culminating with his death early in May. Since then a good share of my time and energy has been related to "Dad Details." None of them daunting in and of themselves, but requiring time and energy and each wrapped in a delicate awareness of loss.

And part of that awareness is that in our family there is now no one between me and death. My brother announced days after Dad died, "You are the matriarch of the family." I am the oldest in our family now, even a few months older than my husband, and even though death doesn't necessarily follow birth order, I feel the weight of my years even more. I dared to say to myself, "You are the next in line to die."

I learned through reading an excellent book,  The Orphaned Adult, Understanding and Coping with Grief and Change After the Death of Our Parents by Alexander Levy, that my feelings about being "next" is not uncommon. 

What does this have to do with declining the invitation to facilitate a book discussion now that a new date has been set and now that we have all become used to ZOOM meetings? 

I feel an urgent need for discernment. What is it I most need to do right now? How do I live with purpose and authenticity right now? What will I regret not doing when I come to the end of my days? 

At the same time how do I respond to the extraordinary challenges of these times? How can I use my gifts to make a difference in even a small way? 

These questions require a process of sorting: writing in my journal, sitting in the quiet, praying, meditating, and sharing my thoughts and questions with loved ones. 

And, also, literal sorting. Going through the piles on my desk and other surfaces in my office. What can be tossed? What has been hidden that needs to be resurrected? What no longer has relevance or holds interest? What needs to be addressed NOW and what can be set aside? What makes my heart flutter?

I now have lovely boxes, neatly labeled and stacked near my desk, but the sorting process is still a work in progress. What is my inner voice whispering to me? How does what has been shuffled into boxes relate to what feels more like purpose, like call?

These are big questions, but the thing is, I am no longer 30 or 40  or even 60. I am 72, and I feel a need to be even more mindful of how I use my days, how I live my life.

While I will still be open to opportunities, to ways I can serve that are presented to me, and I still intend to honor my ongoing commitments, I need to return to some unfinished work--the memoir that has been in progress for a very long time. Plus, I have a new idea for a book of meditations about vigil times, and it feels important to pursue that. 

My heart is tugging me in those directions. I hear an internal refrain, "write, write, write  

I need to carve out more time to do that, and one practical way is to limit my blog posts. Although I love writing these posts, imagining you reading them and perhaps, thinking about the questions I pose, I have decided from now on I will post every Tuesday, but most weeks not on Thursdays. 

And I will continue to sort.

An Invitation
What is rising to the top of your life pile? I would love to know. 

The Sneaky Presence of Doubt: Thursday's Reflection

Several months ago my sister gave me a bag labelled "Revision Rewards." Read here. The bag was full of wrapped presents, and my instructions were to open one of the presents whenever I needed a boost. She knew I was about to embark on a major revision of the first part of my memoir, and this was her creative and generous way to offer her support. Who doesn't love an unsolicited present and what fun it has been to dip into the bag and unwrap a cube of sticky notes or new file folders.  

Now the time has come to begin a major revision of part two, and I needed a present, some inspiration to return to regular writing. The memoir has fallen by the wayside since the beginning of November when I went on the civil rights tour to Alabama and Mississippi. Then there was Thanksgiving and Christmas and a number of teaching/speaking opportunities along the way. All good, but not words on the page. 

And when there is a major gap in writing time, doubt sneaks into the room. I started thinking, "Why am I spending all this time working on a memoir? The chances of it getting published are next to impossible? Besides this is tooooooooo hard, and I love doing so many other things."

My inner dialogue continued, "Maybe I'll just drift away. Who would know and what difference would it make? Think of all the books I could read and all the miles I could walk. I could become more involved in causes that matter to me."

I don't believe in reading to the last page of a book that is boring or not well-written or just isn't the right book for that moment, so why should I continue working on a project that seems unending and eats up so much of my time and energy and may never have an audience anyway. 

Well, you can tell I was close to convincing myself to delete those computer files and toss all the notebooks and yards of paper full of messy drafts. My word of the year is "spaciousness," and I thought about how much more spacious the garret would be if I didn't have all that writing gear and how much more spacious my time would be if I wasn't constantly figuring out how to squeeze in a bit more writing time. 

And, of course, what I needed to do was to sit in silence. 

In the silence, I remembered how I have been in this same space before, the place of re-entering. This takes time. Perhaps you have had the experience of getting together with a friend after not seeing her for awhile, and you are amazed that you can pick up right where your conversation left off. That's great, but no doubt there are still blank spaces that need to be filled in, new information that needs to be shared.  

"I know you. I remember you, but wow, a lot has happened since we were last together. How much time do you have?"

That's what writing can be like, too. Time is needed to get re-acquainted. 

In the silence I thought about how this writing process is a process of self-discovery; a process of leaning into who I was created to be. Through my writing I make some deeper sense of my life, and I think (I hope) I am learning to be more honest and to claim the wisdom getting to this age has brought me. 

In the silence I sense how my writing continues to change me, to live in the world differently. Yes, I would love to think that if my memoir is published someday that someone reading it might be changed or moved, but for now I think my writing changes me. And as I change and grow and deepen, thanks to this process, perhaps people I meet in spiritual direction sessions, in my teaching venues, or just in casual connections, may be affected by my presence. 

In the silence I re-visited the past year, a rich and full year, including writing. Along with many other opportunities, 2018 was The Year of Part One. So now I can say--drum roll, please--2019 will be

                             The Year of Part Two

I write within the context of the rest of my life, and that is what works for me. That doesn't mean not setting aside time for writing. In fact, I have blocked out two full days a week during the coming weeks that are marked on my calendar as

                                       Writing Days

Today is the third of those writing days. After using two of those days to re-immerse myself in the memoir drafts and notes, today I will begin revising chapter one, part 2. 

I won't be alone in the garret, however. Remember the "revision rewards" bag from my sister. I opened another one of the presents and guess what I found: A Word Bird. 

My word bird has found a place to perch near my desk and is singing songs of inspiration and dedication. Who knows where we will fly together.

An Invitation
When have you needed to re-enter, to re-immerse or re-dedicate yourself to something that had been set aside? How have you responded to doubt or fear? I would love to know. 









                             
                             

Revising My Spiritual Memoir: Thursday's Reflection

In case anyone is wondering where I am, you can find me at my desk in the garret. The majority of my waking hours these days is focused on working on my manuscript, tentatively titled Finding Home: Steps on a Pilgrimage. 

For over two years I have been working on this book, piece by piece, chapter by chapter. Sometimes with enthusiasm. Sometimes driven. Sometimes just because I said I would. Writing is like that.

Finally, I have the draft of a full manuscript, and that means it is time to revise. Revise, revise, revise. Fortunately, I enjoy the process of revision.

Here's the catch. Early in April I will attend a pitch conference. At this conference I will meet with three different agents for  eight minutes each and in that time I will "pitch" my book. I have written my pitch and am practicing and refining it daily. So far so good.

What if one of the agents shows an interest in my book? (Be still my heart!) If that happens, I need to be prepared to send them whatever they request: a chapter or two, a book proposal, the full manuscript. Who knows! 

That's why I am at my desk all day, everyday.

Of course, life continues, no matter how many more chapters I need to revise.

At the beginning of the year I was drawn to these words, "Sacred Yes. Sacred No." Words of discernment. 

When I feel drawn away from my desk, is that distraction or a need for a nurturing break?
How do I balance other demands and interests and connections?
When do I cross the line from commitment to obsession?
When is life in the garret a protection from or excuse for avoiding something I don't want to do?
When is a choice life-enhancing and when is it energy-depleting?

Here's what I am learning. The process of discernment, which is a process of listening to the divine within, doesn't just apply to the big decisions, such as changing jobs or moving to a different location, but we can learn to discern, to listen, whenever a choice, a question, a yearning, big or small, appears in our life. 

Do I have lunch with a friend today? Sacred yes? Sacred no?
Do I leave the garret and move into the snug, put up my feet and read? Sacred yes? Sacred no?
Do I start my day with my normal meditation process? Sacred Yes? Sacred No?
Do I make a phone call to my senators supporting their efforts and registering my concerns? Sacred Yes? Sacred No?

You get the idea. 

               Consider an area of your life needing a decision.
               Ask yourself, "What do I know deep inside me
               that relates to this decision, even if I can't explain
               it? What do I already know about myself and 
               about the situation I am in that I need to pay 
               attention to here?"
                                              Nancy Bieber

An Invitation
What needs discernment in your life? I would love to know. 

My Inner Voice: Tuesday's Reflection

This summer I have added five chapters to all the other chapters 

My Writing Notebooks

 already written for the spiritual memoir I am writing, and I hope to write two or three more this month. I am pleased with the accumulation of words and pages, but I am also aware I have much more to do to meet my goal of finishing the first draft by the end of this year. Periodically, however, I question why I am spending so much time pursuing this goal.

In fact, the other day as I pulled a book off my shelves, looking for a quote I knew would fit the material I was currently writing, I felt the air in my garret change. I stopped and stood very still. I waited, but for what I didn't know. In the quiet I sensed a voice saying, "Nancy, how will you feel if your book is never published?"

The question is not theoretical, for the publishing business in all its mysterious ways is vague at best and seems designed to shake loose all one's self-doubts. Clearly, however, the question coming from my inner voice, my spiritual radar, is not about the publishing process. 

The question is about my call to write. This is not the first time I have been nudged to answer this question, and I recognize I will be asked to answer this question again and again.

"Nancy, is this still what you are suppose to do? How will you feel if your book is not published, if no one ever holds a book with your name on the cover in their hands?"

Ok, voice, I will spend time with you. I put down the book I was holding. I closed my laptop. I set aside pen and paper. I moved into centering prayer, quieting myself, resting in God, allowing paragraphs, sentences, words to float away. I attempted to rest in my own being without expectation of answers. I rested.

Later, when I prepared our evening meal, chopping green beans, washing lettuce, I felt The Voice once again. Yes, not just heard the voice, but felt its presence and this time instead of prodding with questions, I received answers. Affirmations. Direction.
      "Nancy, listen carefully and repeat after me: 
            I write because in the writing I change.
            I write because in the writing I uncover whom I was created to be.
            I write because through the writing I live and move in the world more authentically.
            I write because in the writing I meet God.
            I write because the writing, published or not, read or not, creates change in the world.
             I write because when I write, I respond in a more healing, whole way to all I meet, even those whose eyes I meet for an unrecognizable moment. 
             I write because I have to. 
             
Yes, of course, I hope my book will be published eventually, and I promise to do all I can to make that happen and still be true to what I've written, but no matter what, I will write. 

An Invitation
This is the most important part of this post, for this post is not just about me. In fact, it isn't really about me at all. It is about you. 
What is your inner voice asking you, inviting you to do? What is your inner voice insisting you do? And how are you responding? I would love to know. 
           

A Discernment Story: Thursday's Reflection

The subject of Tuesday's post was discernment for both big and small steps in one's life. Sometimes discernment leads to not taking a step. A story.

When we moved to Madison, WI, after many years of living in Ohio, I discovered I had retired without being aware of it. In Ohio I had a private practice in spiritual direction. I led retreats and facilitated groups and taught classes on topics related to spirituality. None of that seemed possible or clear in our new location. What to do?

One morning I packed my book bag with pen and colored pencils, big sheets of sketching paper, a couple books, and a new journal with these words on the cover, "Then swing your window open, the one with fresh air and good eastern light and watch for wings, edges, new beginnings." I headed to the University of Wisconsin Student Union overlooking Lake Mendota where I could sit anonymously among students and professors and smile at alumni reminiscing about their glorified students days. A place of accompanied solitude.

I began by just sitting. Breathing slowly and deliberately, I allowed myself to enjoy the honey sun and the light breeze creating ripples on the lake, just enough for a sailboat without a plan.

I started writing all the questions and options in my head. Should I attempt to start a spiritual direction practice? If so, how? Should I focus more on writing? And many more. I could not write fast enough. I drew circles around key questions and random reflections, joining them with arrows. I wrote without rereading.

Finally, I lifted my pen and set aside the colored pencils, secretly pleased with myself for all the gushing scribbles on the paper, certain they amounted to a treasure map for my life. "Walk three paces to the large oak tree next to the shed with the green shutters. Look under the north side of the lilac tree and dig down until you find the small box with the gold latch. You will find  IT."

I wished finding my path could be that easy. I hoped I would know exactly what I needed to do. I hoped I could say, "Well, I've figured it out and this is what I am going to do."  

Then I noticed a red and white kite ambling unloosed above the dock. No one appeared to be guiding its direction or controlling it by winding a long length of string. It was happily free. A free spirit.

The treasure was revealed. I realized I didn't need to make a firm decision that day. I, too, could float in the breeze and wait to feel the direction of the wind. I could lighten up, let go of the string, and wait.  A gift of discernment.

An Invitation
What surprising experiences have you had with discernment? I would love to know. 

Daily Discernment: Tuesday's Reflection

Several people I know are facing decisions in their lives about

where to live. Is it time to sell their house and move into a senior living facility of some sort. Is it time to move out of a larger space into a smaller one? Is it at least time to explore options for the future? 

Others I know have been forced into situations not of their own choosing, but thanks to decisions others have made, they are now in the midst of an unclear "now what?" time. Others have chosen an ending, but the next step is hidden in shadow. 

Still others are struggling with what might be considered smaller subjects, such as which health care plan to choose or whether or not to serve in a requested leadership role in the community. Sometimes the choices are confusing and the answer is definitely not clear. 

These are times of discernment. Times when we are asked to stop and listen for and notice the movement of God in our lives. Times when we are asked to stop asking and instead invited to listen. 

What I have come to realize over the years is that the practice of discernment is a daily practice. A practice of noticing what you notice. A practice of slowing down, being present, and visiting your own heart as a voice of authority and wisdom. 

This past week my To Do list was particularly long and the days were full, leading to a week when I will not be home for several days. I felt pressed to keep on doing long after I was tired and not able to give my best. I plodded through several tasks just to say I had done them and I ignored ways to refresh and restore.

What I tend to forget is that sometimes strength and clarity comes in the standing still. Sometimes the answer is revealed in the pause. A question I try to remember to ask when I feel muddled or crushed by "shoulds" is "What is it I most need to do right now?" By "need" I don't mean what is it someone else demands of me or thinks I should do, but what is my True Self calling me to do or who am I asked to be right now? 

One morning last week when I had accomplished only a few items on THE LIST, I stepped back and away from my dictator self and into God Time. I paused and opened my hands, palms lifted to the sky, took a deep breath and closed my eyes, lightly, not tightly. I can't hear when I speak, but sometimes I can see when I close my eyes.   

When I practice clearing the space intentionally and frequently, as part of the way I live daily and routinely, a next step seems apparent, even logical. In this case I returned to my desk and I spent the rest of the morning writing, working on the current chapter for my book. I didn't think I had time to do that, but that was exactly what I needed to do and doing that gave me energy for  everything else I needed to complete. 

               To use the tool that we call discernment, we 
               must come to stillness. In the silence of our 
               hearts, we must wait patiently for the compass
               needle to steady. Then it will point to true north,
               the still center, the fine point of the soul, and we
               will be enabled to move forward again.
                                           Margaret Silf

An Invitation
What role does discernment play in your life? When you are faced with a decision, big or small, what do you do? I would love to know. 

Fall Choices: Thursday's Reflections

The catalogs are arriving, and the emails are appearing. So many choices and directions. How can I possibly do everything I want to do? 

This happens every fall when I feel that back to school itch. All the school supplies are piled neatly at Target, and it is hard to resist not buying new notebooks and folders, although, trust me, I have my own embarrassingly rich stash. I am not interested in shopping these days and don't find myself tempted by much, except journals and notepads and pens, but I am doing my best, instead, to shop my drawers, full of those supplies.  

This Fall itch, however, is not just about opening up a new notebook. In the fall I seem to take on the behavior of squirrels, gathering winter fuel, making sure I have enough to sustain my needs. In this case, however, it is not physical needs, but instead mental and spiritual needs. In the fall I take on the behavior of the birds, preparing to migrate, but in my case it is migrating into places of learning and stimulation. In the fall I attempt to take on the behavior of the leaves, turning rich colors of red and gold in shades of new knowledge and wider experiences. 

Of course, the problem, the ongoing issue, is deciding which choices to select. I hungrily devour the catalog that comes from The Loft Literary Center, knowing that if I were to take each of the writing classes that appeals to me, I would have no time to write. I pour over the material from Wisdom Ways Center for Spirituality which is where I have in the past attended the Monday evening Hedgerow Initiative, an ongoing conversation about sacred wisdom, divine mysteries, and human questions. An email comes from the Minneapolis Institute of Arts with dates for the year's lecture series, and I would love to attend the lecture on Van Gogh and also, one on photography and Native American identity. 

Plus, living within walking distance of three colleges and universities, I know most days I could take advantage of a lecture or concert or visit to an art gallery. And how about book talks at bookstores and theatre and concert series and even classes through community recreation centers? I haven't even mentioned opportunities to volunteer and serve, and I know I want to manage my time in order to make contributions where I can. 

EEEK!

So much appeals and like the squirrel frenetically hiding nuts in the backyard, I don't want to miss anything. I need to remember my own limits, however, and be aware of when my eyes are bigger than my stomach. Which donut should I choose at the bakery? Which delectable on the menu of a special restaurant? Or which book from my existing towers should I read next? A wealth of temptations. 

Just recently, however, I decided at the last minute to not attend a Saturday morning class at The Loft. The week coming up was full of activities, and the weeks before had been highly scheduled, and I knew I needed space more than I needed the information, however worthy and helpful it was likely to be. I don't regret that decision, for immediately I felt some equilibrium return. 

This summer I have spent a major part of my time working on a book I am writing. I have taken a twelve week online class that has  stretched me, deepened my commitment, and exhausted me. I know I am a better writer because of this class, and I know my book benefits from all the time and effort. I could take the next part in this class, and eventually, I will, but not this fall. 

I made that decision after moving into stillness and becoming a listening presence to myself. I asked myself questions about what will be most life-enhancing in the coming months. In what ways do I hope to live, give, and grow? What are my goals as a writer and as a spiritual director? How do I balance family and friend time with work time? What volunteer opportunities resonate with me and where can I be effective? What about leaving space for spontaneity and for rest, restoration, and recreation? 

In some ways these questions are the same ones, with some modification, I have lived with most of my adult life. You have probably wrestled with them, too. In our earlier years these were practical, get out the calendar and figure it out questions. Negotiate with your partner, your boss, your kids.  Now because I know I have fewer falls ahead of me than the ones I have lived, I view these questions as questions for discernment. At this stage of my life I am more able to push the pause button and sit with these questions, allowing the inner voice of Spirit to start a dialogue with the person who still wants to be productive and to achieve and to accomplish. 

I now have a general plan for the fall, but one that is subject to change and modification and for the ways life just seems to happen. Yes, I will write. I will take a couple short term writing classes. I will volunteer at Peter's school and at church, beginning with the retreat I will help lead the end of September. I will meet with spiritual directees and open to ways I can teach. But I am leaving plenty of space for family time, for friend time, for me time. 

I will pay attention to the squirrels and the birds and the changing colors of the leaves, and I will pause in the midst of potential busyness and ask my inner voice of Spirit what she thinks. 

An Invitation
What questions of discernment are in your life now? I would love to know. 

Resources
The Loft Literary Center https://www.loft.org
Wisdom Ways Center for Spirituality http://www.wisdomwayscenter.org