Transitions: Tuesday's Reflection

Recent days have felt more like a transition from August to September than July to August. Something in the air. A tired, worn out green on some of the trees. My pots of basil begging for harvesting. And, of course, school supplies taking over a big section in Target. 

I know the temperatures are climbing back up to high 80's here in St Paul this week, but still, the sand in the summer hourglass is flowing from top to bottom faster than a couple weeks ago. 

We are in the midst of a seasonal transition.

But isn't that always the case? Aren't we always moving closer to the next season? 

And isn't that the case in our lives as well? Aren't we always in some kind of transition? 

We tend to think of the big transitions in our lives. Moving from one house or city or state to another. Saying goodbye to colleagues at one job and getting to know others as you start a new job. Or ending our work lives and thinking about what retirement might offer.

Some transitions are less obvious. Healing physically or emotionally, for example. One day at a time you may notice you have a bit more energy or experience less pain or sense of loss. The change may not be--probably won't be--in even increments and there may be set backs, but something is happening. 

We open and shut doors and cross the threshold from one room to another. We end one activity and start another many times a day. We greet someone and then say goodbye as we make our daily rounds of grocery shopping or exercising or carpooling. We turn the page of a book or newspaper or scroll down through emails or Facebook posts. 

Julia Cameron says in her book Transitions, Prayers and Declarations for a Changing Life 
                
                  All life can be expansive in potential. The
                  choice is ours. As I open my heart to accept
                  change, my heart softens and grows larger.
                  Every experience carries the seed of
                  transformation. Every event can bring blossoming
                  and wealth. My personal will can resist change 
                  or embrace it. The choice is mine and determines
                  the life I will have. p. 3

It is in the in-between time, however brief, however tiny the transition is, that we learn how to be present. We learn how to be in the fullness, the wholeness of our lives. 

An Invitation
In what ways are you in transition now? I would love to know. 

BONUS: Here's an antidote to the article I mentioned in my post on Thursday, July 26th. Signs of hope. Read it here.

Temporary Re-entry, posted by Nancy L. Agneberg

     Re-entry is something we know how to do well or at least we have a routine that suits us well. In less than an hour after returning from a trip, whether we have been gone two weeks or two days, our suitcases are unpacked and put away, and the washing machine is humming. We have gone through the stack of mail, watered the plants, listened to voice mail messages, and have made ourselves at home once again.  I am aware that all these homecoming tasks are part of making a transition from vacation time or travel time to our every day life. Others may prefer to unpack gradually, leaving the suitcase open and removing items as they need them, but I want to settle back in, re-bond with home base, and pick up where I left off before the time away. 
     Margaret Guenther in her Walking Home, From Eden to Emmaus, which is my Lenten guidebook this season, reminds me, however, that just because fresh laundry is ready to be folded and stacked, I am not really home. 
     "...we are all just travelers plodding toward our own Jerusalem." (p. 108)
      What seems like my home is actually only temporary. An inn. This inn is comfortable and attractive and is equipped with everything I need to feel welcome. In fact, we have ongoing reservations here--a room is always ready and waiting. True, we're the innkeepers for ourselves, and there is only milk in the refrigerator if I have left it waiting for us, and I am the maid who makes sure there are fresh sheets and towels. Some inns are better than others, but this one is clean and hospitable, and in no time we feel at home.
     But it is just an inn, a way station, and eventually, it is time to move on.   
     No, I'm not really home, and my true identity is as a traveler, always moving towards Home, no matter where I am or what I am doing. I may encounter pleasant detours and at times I may choose the wrong route and need to turn around. Flights may be delayed or cancelled, and interruptions and frustrations may confound me. Traveling companions may not always be pleasant, and sometimes I may feel unsure or even frightened, but nonetheless, I am moving towards Jerusalem. Is there something I want to do, feel compelled to do or places I want to experience? Is there work, inner work, I need to do? 
     Well, I better get moving, for the signposts all indicate there aren't as many miles to Jerusalem as there used to be.