Meet my father. This picture was taken in his home the day he came home from rehab following back surgery. Looks pretty good for almost 90, doesn't he? His physicians, nurses, physical therapists, and other health care providers were all astounded at his age and said they guessed he was much younger. Of course, he is delighted with those compliments, but still, he knows that living alone in his large home is no longer the best option for him. He has made the decision to move into a new senior living complex in the fall, and while this will be a major change for him, he is expressing eagerness and even excitement about the move. Ever since my mother died 10 years ago he has stated firmly that he wanted to stay in the house, so I wondered if he might have second thoughts the day after making the deposit for his new apartment. He assured me that was not the case and furthermore, he said, "I will not make this hard on you."
Amazing! Believe me, I know how fortunate I am to have an elderly parent who is undemanding and also willing and able to make good decisions for his own health and wellbeing. I know of too many cases where that is clearly not the case. True, there may be days ahead of negotiating, but his outlook is positive, and he is open to this next stage of his life.
The thing is that not only is this the next stage of HIS life; it is also the next stage of MY life, and I need to be at least as open to change as he is. As I think about the last few weeks, I am aware of so many moments of learning and flashes of insight. I will share three:
1. Do the next thing. There were moments when I felt overwhelmed and remembered why I chose teaching as a profession and not nursing, but a friend told me I could do anything. She reminded me I am the woman who wrestled a sheep in the ditch, after all! When we lived at Sweetwater Farm, we had three sheep, Wynken, Blynken, and Nod, and one of them escaped from the barn one morning after Bruce had gone to work. I heard cars honking on the road in front of the house and what option did I have but to go charging after it? Amazingly, I tackled it to the ground and then wondered what to do! A passing motorist took pity on us and helped me restore Blynken to its proper place, and all was well. Blynken was safe, and I had a great story. So yes, I am the woman who wrestled a sheep in the ditch, but I can't do everything. What I realized, however, is that I can do the next thing. These past weeks I did whatever the next thing was and then the next thing and the next. The feeling of being overwhelmed lessened as I reminded myself to focus on the next step.
2. Grow bigger and deeper. I have said for years that as I get older I want to expand my world. I want my world to get bigger, instead of smaller. Even as I have said that, however, I have been aware that in many ways one's world actually gets smaller with age--friends and family die, one's ability to be out in the world or to experience the world lessens due to health or financial issues, and even one's physical space, moving from home to apartment to nursing home, gets smaller and smaller. A friend commented recently that his father in-law's world has gotten smaller and smaller, and I suspect in his observation was a desire not to let that happen to himself and perhaps an unconscious fear that it will. I know people who are squeezing as much travel time into their lives right now, for example, because they know at some point travel will not be as easy a proposition. For many retirement represents a loss of interaction in the world, and there can be a feeling of diminishment and lack of purpose.
Still, I feel a commitment to the idea of an expanding world even into the late years. What I realize is that my definition of "world" is changing. Where I sense the expansion can come is in my inner world, my spiritual world, my knowledge of my essence, my True Self, my acquaintance with the God within and without. There are not limits to that kind of growth.
"A door opens in the center of our being and we seem to fall though it into immense depths, which although they are infinite--are still accessible to us All eternity seems to have become ours in this one placid and breathless contact." Kathleen Dowling Singh in The Grace in Dying, p. 15.
My father is a model for me in his dedication to his spiritual practice of reading scripture and other devotions, including studying a section of Luther's Large Catechism every day. He may not be doing all the things that previously gave him pleasure and stimulated his intellectual growth, but his spirit is getting bigger and bigger.
3. Let go and live. When it was time to say goodbye to Dad before they took him in for surgery, I was aware that this could be the last time I would see my father alive. Given his age and his past history of heart issues, surgery was a risky proposition. I thought about all the other times I have said goodbye to him or other loved ones, in most cases fully expecting that a hello would follow soon. This time the outcome seemed good, but was not a sure thing. I told him I loved him, said goodbye, and let go.
Letting go of hurts, of disappointments, of expectations, of hopes and dreams, of fears, of possibilities, of plans and routines, of viewpoints, of worries, of control is no small task, but it is one we are asked to do every day of our lives in some way. Each time we let go of our grasp on whatever binds us, we practice dying just a bit. We move towards an acceptance of our own physical death. With that understanding comes freedom, I think, to live in a way that can be transformative. A life full of the fruits of the Spirit--"love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, trustfulness, gentleness, and self-control." Galatians 5:22. A life that provides evidence of an ongoing encounter with God.
Everyday it seems I discover opportunities to relearn the lessons that offered themselves so clearly these last weeks with my father. Do the next thing. Grow bigger and deeper. Let go and live. I welcome hearing how these lessons are alive in your own life.
Earlier this week I had second thoughts about going to the Booktalk session I attend, even though we would be discussing one of my all-time favorite books, Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. The morning was gloomy with heavy rains and an unspringlike temperature, and the temptation to stay home and read and write was strong. Attendance is not taken. No one in particular in the large group of 50 or so people would be waiting for me--and there would aways be next week. Wouldn't there?
However, I remembered a conversation I had recently with a good friend. She and her husband had just returned from a month-long winter vacation in warmer weather. They had an opportunity to attend an event they both knew they would enjoy, but it was not in familiar territory and would take an effort to make it happen. They almost didn't go, for as she said, "It's easier not to," but they did go, and they had a great time and loved talking about the experience.
I went to the book discussion and, of course, had a great time, learned a lot and enjoyed the facilitator's insights and what everyone else added to the conversation. I am so glad I went, but "it would have been easier not to go."
I love my solitude and am generally content with the company of my books and my writing projects. I love the quiet of my days, the long stretches for solitary activities. I am rarely bored and in fact, there are not enough hours in the day for all the ways I want to use the time. I know how easy it is for me to just stay put, how often I build a fence around myself, and how much easier it seems to stay inside the fence. At the same time I know how I benefit and grow from being in the flow of the world with its unexpected interactions, the gifts of others' experiences and knowledge and perspectives, the potential heart connections, and the opportunities to stretch and grow.
For some the choices beyond the fence may be the easier choice, and it is much harder to choose quiet, alone time. The struggle is the same, however -- when to push beyond one's comfort zone and when one's first inclination, whatever it may be, is the wiser choice for one's spiritual growth.
It seems to me that the small, daily decisions are just as important as the big ones, for they are ongoing reminders of our values. The decisions we make uncover the contradictions within ourselves and expose how complicated we are and provide opportunities to wrestle with our fears and perceived limitations.
How do you know at any given moment what to choose?
Nancy Bieber in her book Decision Making and Spiritual Discernment, The Sacred Art of Finding Your Way talks about "open listening" and "expectant listening" as ways to listen with the intention of receiving whatever comes. She says, "The Spirit nudges us toward being more authentic, growing more into our true self."
For me, clarity and choosing what is life-giving is more possible (Notice I say "more possible," not "always possible.") when I adhere to a regular practice of meditation. Meditation helps me sort through the conflicting voices and observe when the thoughts are a form of defense and when a thought prevents me from being the person I was created to be. The form of meditation may change--centering prayer or just sitting quietly with my eyes closed and focusing on my breathing. Meditation helps me listen to my authentic voice.
Meditation helps me recognize when I need to move beyond the fence.
Sometimes I shock myself--and not in a good way. I am stunned and embarrassed by how attached I can be to my view of how things should be and how I want them to be. Having our house on the market has certainly revealed that tendency. This past weekend a home just down the block from us came on the market at a price far below the assessed value. I obsessed and fretted about how that will affect the potential sale of our home. I tried to lift compassion towards the owners, knowing there must be a logical and perhaps difficult reason for their decision, but frankly, I was wrapped up in my own plans and hoped for outcomes. As I said, I am embarrassed.
I mentioned the new development to my exercise buddies Monday morning, saying, "It's done," meaning that our chances of selling our house have greatly diminished, but the minute I said that I realized I actually meant something quite different. I should have said, "I'm done. I surrender."
Sara Davidson in Leap! What Will We Do With the Rest of Our Lives? says that giving up is being defeated, but surrender is an "expansive state, something active and pulsing...You open yourself to the unknown." As I said "It's done," I felt a physical response. I could feel myself expanding and opening. I relaxed and released, as Michael Singer encourages over and over in Untethered Soul, The Journey Beyond Yourself.
I have not given up. I will continue to welcome showings whenever they are requested, but I am not waiting for them nor anticipating them. If the house sells this spring, I will be delighted and will take a deep breath and shift gears into packing mode, but I am not counting on it and instead will be surprised and pleased. No, I don't feel defeated, but rather, I surrender, and amazingly, the fruits of surrendering appeared in my life almost immediately.
I am swelling with ideas for the writing projects I have started and increased interest and energy for working on those projects. I have an idea about a group I would like to start and am swirling with thoughts about developing that. I wake up in the middle of the night wondering if it is time to get up so I can return to my desk. I feel like popcorn exploding, and I am exhilarated gathering the ideas as they burst forth. At the same time I am relaxing my tight hold on the house and my vision of a constant "showing ready" state. It is all good.
Of course, surrender is a process, and I realize there will be setbacks. My challenge will be to let go of the thought that these past months have been a waste of time. I don't like wasting time, and it will be hard for me to reframe these months into a time of inner growth and greater insight into my spiritual being. Once again I turn to my well-worn copy of The Little Book of Letting Go by Hugh Prather (What? You don't have this book? Locate it immediately!) and read this statement, one I have read and reflected on many times, "By letting go of our desire to dominate outcomes, we don't sacrifice anything real, but we do open our heart and mind to the experience of wholeness."
We are in the midst of both Passover and Holy Week. Passover is a time to express gratitude for movement towards freedom, and Holy Week leads from Christ on the cross conceding "It is finished," to resurrection and new life. Yes!
What is hovering within you waiting to be surrendered? And what new thoughts and ideas and attitudes are poised to be born through you?
For the last couple months I have not consistently taken time for morning meditation and devotional time, even though I know how life-enhancing that time is. With the new year, however, I re-instated my intention to set-aside time for morning centering prayer, study and journal writing time.
All was well till Friday morning when my normal routine was up for grabs--a first thing in the morning electrician appointment, a date to celebrate a friend's birthday, and the usual list of To Do tasks. About 20 minutes before I knew the doorbell would ring, I was dressed and ready for the day and I wondered what I should do now. Empty the dishwasher? Answer some emails? Pay bills? Fold towels? When several possibilities float effortlessly to my awareness OR when no ideas are present, I know it is time to clear the space. Close my eyes and take a deep breath. Find my rhythm and allow the whisper of my inner voice to be heard. "Sit with your journal and your devotional materials." Of course.
My current study book, a book I am sure will be on my "favorites" list for 2012 is Awakening the Energies of Love, Discovering the Fire for the Second Time by Anne Hillman and what do I read? Referring to legends passed throughout the generations, Hillman says ".... they intended our lives--propelled us and set us on our Way.
Intended! How I love the way language flowered in the minds of my ancestors! How the ancient Latin, tendere--to stretch, to grow, to strive--exploded into bloom! It brought us intent...intention.....and tendency...And although we may discover that 'stretching' and 'growing' is not without intensity or tension--it is also not without tenderness and our yearning to tend--whether a fire or a child to another person." (Note: the italics are the writer's.)
Wow! How's that for synchronicity? The day before I had written my first blog post about "intention" in my new blog and here it shows up in my morning study material --material I almost didn't read in favor of doing other things. I wonder how often I miss these kinds of gifts because I haven't cleared the space.
Intention is a key word for me and Hillman has given me much more to consider. I so often use the word "tend," especially "home tend," and yet had not connected it to "intention" nor had I thought specifically about how intention is related to stretching and growing. I could feel little ah-ha sparks of energy as I read those words. My intention is to stretch, to grow, but I do understand growth and stretching is not without tension and intensity. Shadow and light. Ah, this journey of intentions promises to offer unanticipated adventures and unknown depths. I will need to remember to be tender with myself and those around me as well.
Where are your intentions leading you?
Earlier this week the question of resolutions came up while exercising and one of the women said, "None I care to share." We chuckled in agreement, but later I thought about my lack of resolutions this year. Heaven knows, I could repeat the same resolutions from over the years. "Lose x number of pounds." "Exercise x times a week." The usual suspects.
Instead, the word that comes to mind this year is intention. My intention is to live a more compassionate life. My intention is to be mindful in action and in thought. My intention is to deepen my spirituality and to grow closer to the person I was created to be.
It is with these intentions resting in my heart that I begin this new blog--a continuation really of my earlier blog, The Sacred Sixties. Through writing I clear the space and in that reflective opening, there is room for new insights and understandings.
How easy it would be to revert to the usual pattern of resolutions. "This year I will write in my blog x times a week." Instead, my intention is to develop this blog as a spiritual tool, knowing that it is only through frequent and mindful use that a spiritual practice bears fruit. And with this intention comes an invitation to you. I invite you to clear space for your own spiritual growth and to share your thoughts as we move though this year. Perhaps we will each develop a new spiritual practice. Light blessings to you in this new year.
Meet my father. This picture was taken in his home the day he came home from rehab following back surgery. Looks pretty good for almost 90, doesn't he? His physicians, nurses, physical therapists, and other health care providers were all astounded at his age and said they guessed he was much younger. Of course, he is delighted with those compliments, but still, he knows that living alone in his large home is no longer the best option for him. He has made the decision to move into a new senior living complex in the fall, and while this will be a major change for him, he is expressing eagerness and even excitement about the move. Ever since my mother died 10 years ago he has stated firmly that he wanted to stay in the house, so I wondered if he might have second thoughts the day after making the deposit for his new apartment. He assured me that was not the case and furthermore, he said, "I will not make this hard on you." 
