Being Patient With Myself

The day after Thanksgiving I moved smoothly through a hefty To Do list. I woke early and worked for several hours on a class I am teaching in early December. I grocery shopped, did some online Christmas shopping, responded to a number of emails, and prepared for today's writing group meeting by writing feedback to material read at the previous session. 

Instead of my fixing dinner, Bruce suggested we just have popcorn, and I readily agreed and returned to the book I was reading, a novel called Midwinter Break by Bernard MacLaverty. I finished that and then read in its entirety, Natalie Goldberg's memoir, Let the Whole Thundering World Come Home. A delicious evening of words.

Ever since returning from the civil rights tour (See posts November 13, 15, and 20), I had not been able to do more than the most pressing items on each day's list. I felt shaky, foggy, overwhelmed by all I had experienced. I felt messy, like I needed a haircut or like I had a hole in my slippers. 

Friday, however, I felt restored to my usual energy. My productive pace had returned, it seemed, and I was back to a rewarding rhythm. I know I will continue to process the trip's gifts and lessons, and I don't yet know what will grow out of that trip, but in the meantime, I told myself, at least I am able to function again in more normal ways. 

I had given myself permission to pause, to be patient with myself. 

                       Do you have the patience to wait
                       till your mud settles and the water is clear?
                       Can you remain unmoving
                       Till the right action arises by itself?
                                            --Lao-tzu, Tao te Ching   

I am grateful I once again feel more able to move through my days with more energy, but at the same time I recognize I am still in a time of waiting. (How appropriate that the season of Advent, which is a time of waiting, is beginning.) I am waiting to discover the new or renewed ways in which I can be a loving and peaceful, peace-making presence in the world.

I hope I can continue to be patient with myself in this time of waiting. 

An Invitation
What are you waiting for. I would love to know. 





NOTE #1: The photographs were taken in a park next to the parsonage where Martin Luther King, Jr, and his family lived when he was pastor of Dexter Avenue Baptist Church in Montgomery, Alabama. 

NOTE #2: I am teaching a class called "My Soul Waits for Thee: Advent and the Gifts of Waiting" at Gloria Dei Lutheran Church, St Paul, MN on Tuesday, December 4 from 1:30-3:00 OR 7:00-8:30. Open to all. Let me know if you would like to attend. 






               

Tuesday's Reflection: Not a Home Decor Blog

Clearing the Space is not a home decor blog, although I read and enjoy a number of those blogs. I lived vicariously through those blogs when our house was for sale and we were living in an "unreal" stage set and then during the Christmas holidays when we had just started our move into our St Paul home and all our Christmas decorations were tucked in the furthest corners of the rented storage unit. 

No, I don't write a home decor blog, but I have written frequently about living in an unsettled space and time as we inched our way towards our return to St Paul. Recently, I shared pictures of our new home as it was being painted and the idea of being settled felt remote. Well, the painters are gone, and it seems only fair to give you a glimpse of where we have so happily landed. 


We are still in progress. You can see  unanchored chairs in the dining room, awaiting delivery of a table, formerly my Dad's kitchen table, and now painted a crisp white. However , reading chairs are in place, and books fill the bookshelves. We are thrilled with our color choices and how expansive the newly white woodwork makes the first floor feel. The art work by Wisconsin artists we have collected in recent years seems as much at home as we are. 

Not Our Norm
However, this move has been unlike any other we have experienced. Our typical method of operation is to work and work and work until no box is left unpacked and no picture is unhung. Cupboards full. Clothes organized in closets. Create home in record time. For example, I have such fond memories of our daughter Kate on the second day in our Madison home standing on the kitchen counters and arranging the colorful 40's pottery we had collected in Ohio on top of the cupboards. That pottery is still in the storage unit and who knows how long it will be there, for there is no room for it in The Little House. 

There is not room in this house for many of the treasures we have collected over the years, and our challenge is to allow this house to evolve, practicing simplicity as a new form of abundance. How easy it would be for this house to become The Overstuffed House, instead of The Little House. And so little by little we make decisions about what works in this house and what will add to our pleasure in this house. 

An Ongoing Process
Each weekend Bruce will bring a load from the storage unit in Madison, and we will sort and decide what to keep, what to continue storing, what to donate, what to sell. The process sometimes feels like one step forward and two back, but in reality it is another opportunity to practice patience and intention. 

We are attempting to listen to what this space, but also this stage of our lives calls for and offers us. And while the Big Picture has been clear for some time, the particulars, the specifics, of how many bowls I really need and have space for in my small kitchen and which lamps will light our way and which ones will only get in the way is not always so obvious. Instead, of pronouncing the house "done," and announcing we are settled and open for the business of living here, we are living in the evolution, in the ongoing process. 

How fortunate we are! How happy we are! 

An Invitation
What are you in the midst of that feels like a new stage? What is evolving for you? I would love to know. 

Tuesday's Reflection: Waiting for the Paint to Dry

Recently, we had our front porch sanded and freshly painted. One of our favorite places in the house was looking shabby, and our realtor reminded us of the importance when your house is for sale of "first impressions." I had been irritated by that reminder, for I have been devoted to keeping our home "showing ready" for almost a year and a half, never having anything out of place and attempting always to present a "this could be your home" welcome.

 The early summer had been rainy, however, making this project impossible, and I couldn't get painters to return my calls anyway. Finally, when we took the house off the market, the time was right to re-establish the front porch as the welcoming place we have always felt it to be. 

The process took several days, but my husband and I were thrilled with the results. All we could do, however, was admire it from afar while the paint dried completely.  

No Entering, No Leaving

I stood inside the house looking out the front door. I could see the porch and the steps and the sidewalk beyond. I could see the view of woods across the road, but I couldn't go out the door. 

To leave the house I had to go another way. The back door. 

You've heard and probably often yourself the trite, but true statement, "When one door closes, another door opens. It is also true what Nora Gallagher says in her book, Moonlight Sonata at the Mayo Clinic, "But it's hell in the hallway." 

And that's what waiting for the paint to dry felt like. Hell in the hallway. 

The Invitation of Waiting

I know deep in my heart that what happens as we wait for change, for transformation, for a new beginning is often something that can't happen any other way. I thank Nancy Bieber in her book, Decision Making and Spiritual Discernment, The Sacred Art of Finding Your Way for reminding me of that. I know that life continues to happen even while waiting. I know that waiting is its own kind of sacred time. I understand I don't know all that may be happening while I wait. 

I know I need to continue to live fully while waiting, and I even know "If you can't be still and wait, you can't become what God created you to be." Sue Monk Kidd

But I want to go through the door. Now. I want to go down the steps. Now. I see the other side, and I want to be there. Now. I don't want to wait anymore. 

The Activity of Waiting

Waiting for the house to sell has been and continues to be challenging. I don't know what this time of waiting is all about. I pray for patience. I immerse myself with other projects important to me. I re-acquaint myself with trust in the Divine. 

One of my guides during times of waiting has been the book Seven Spiritual Gifts of Waiting by Holly W. Whitcomb. She writes,

      

         When we face an extended period of waiting, we have

       an opportunity to engage in a radical kind of patience that 

       can take us beyond surviving to thriving. We can partner 

       with the waiting rather than treat it as the enemy. We can

       involve ourselves in an active waiting that opens doors, 

       creates opportunities and stretches our minds, bodies, and

       souls. While waiting may necessitate a certain powerless-

       ness, this does not mean giving up intelligence, action and

       hope. Active waiting teaches us to trust that each small
       step is part of a larger process--a process in which we can

       participate with steady determination and lively
       expectation. 

       (p. 24)

Therefore, we are making some suggested changes in the house as a way to make it less personal, less specific and less suggestive of our taste and personality. Over the past year we have edited and edited the house, but now we are stepping aside even more, making room for a new owner. We trust that the paint will dry eventually, and while it does, we know we don't need to remain trapped looking out. We are using the back door. 

We know the waiting will be worth it.

An Invitation

Are you currently in waiting mode? How does waiting challenge you? In what ways is waiting a spiritual practice for you? How has waiting been a gift for you? I welcome your comments.