Turning Towards Morning: Thursday's Reflection

One evening we were walking in a nearby neighborhood, and I

noticed these words carved on a gate:

          The world is always turning
          towards morning.

Sometimes that thought is not easily apparent or remembered. That's when we need reassurance. 

               Every twenty-four hours 
               includes morning.

               Every night time is followed
               by morning.

Think about a time when you felt clouded with confusion, pierced by pain or submerged in sadness. Now recall when those murky moments lifted, maybe not completely, but remember when you noticed hints of light. I suspect there has been more than one time when you re-discovered morning.

Remembering the light does not mean keeping your eyes closed, hiding under the covers and keeping the blinds pulled until you are sure the morning has come. Nor is it enough to hoard all the light for ourselves. There is more than enough morning light to go around. 

My prayer for our nation is that we can wake up and find ways to understanding, connection and wholeness. My prayer is that we may move from mourning to morning. 

Yes, the world is always turning towards the morning, but each of us can be part of making the morning shine brighter and clearer. 

An Invitation
Another favorite truth is "nothing changes if nothing changes." What are you willing to do to create change, a change that illuminates the darkness? I would love to know. 

A Tough Week: Tuesday's Reflection

Vigil at St Paul Reformation Church

I live in St Paul, and we have had our share of tough news this last week. A friend emailed me, "Even in St Paul." Yes, here, too. We are definitely not immune to racism and its painful results. 

Sunday morning I needed church, and I was grateful to be in a church community where the tough days are addressed and not brushed away with platitudes or easy answers. Our pastors struggle to bring hope without brushing away the realities, and they allow us in the pews to journey with them in their own pain and questions. 

And so we went to church, which seemed a bit more full than a normal summer Sunday in Minnesota. I think we needed to share space with others. We needed to pray together, to sit quietly and listen. We also needed to delight in new life. How perfect it was to celebrate the baptism of three gorgeous babies. We needed those babies yesterday!

In the afternoon we went to church again--this time a vigil service at St Paul Reformation Church, which is located only a block away from the school where Philando Castille worked, but is also close to the Governor's Mansion where there have been and continue to be demonstrations. Presiding Bishop for the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, Elizabeth Eaton spoke, and I appreciated her response to the question, "Is our country breaking apart or waking up?" She pointed out that some parts need to be broken off--the parts that prevent all people from experiencing peace and justice. But she certainly affirmed that this is a time in which we need to wake up, and we need to listen to each other. 

Where do you go when you need to process upsetting, unsettling events? Do you have a community, faith or otherwise, where it is not only safe to grapple with the hard questions, but it is expected and honored? With whom do you dig deep? Where do you find new perspectives and new insights? 

Where do you find peace? Bishop Eaton said there are many kinds of peace and perhaps not all are helpful when we desperately need change. Peace can sometimes mean apathetic status quo in which we allow ourselves to be untouched. Or as my mother often requested, "Let's just have happy talk."

I mean the kind of peace that is based on love and respect and openness and a desire for wholeness. The kind of peace that knows we are all one.  

An Invitation
Where is your community of peace? I hope you have one and if you don't, what are you willing to do to find or create one? I would love to know. 

Resources
Gloria Dei Lutheran Church
St Paul Reformation Church

Kitchen Thoughts: Thursday's Reflection

One morning this week I made a dinner to take to a woman in our church who is having a round of chemotherapy. 

I enjoy cooking, but so often by the time dinner time arrives I am tired from everything else I have done during the day, and my goal is to throw something together that won't take lots of time or effort.  Mornings in the kitchen are different, however. And cooking for someone else adds to the pleasure as well. 

As I chopped and measured and mixed, I realized I was praying and giving thanks and also allowing thoughts and memories to hover above the counter. 

I prayed for healing for the woman who would receive this dinner, but I also prayed for all those who are in need of support during crisis times. I gave thanks for all those who respond to the call to help and for all those who live into new health. I prayed for those who dwell in uncertainty and for those who struggle to accept new realities. 

I remembered when I benefited from the gift of meals. When I recovered from cancer surgery many years ago and more recently when I healed from a broken ankle. I thought about the many angels who have flown into my life bringing love and support--and gifts of food. 

I thought about the kitchens I have known--the big and the small. The views from the windows: our gardens at Sweetwater Farm, the rooftops in Middleton and now our backyard rapidly becoming another garden paradise. I remembered Boe, our lab mix of a loveable dog, who liked positioning himself on the floor between me and the sink. Somehow I adjusted. 

I chuckled to myself realizing how I have adjusted to this small kitchen, even preferring it to the much larger kitchen in our last home. It is large enough to prepare meals for the two of us, but also more than enough when those at the table expand to four or more. I am content, and I gave thanks to be able to say that.

The day outside the kitchen looked full. I would deliver the meal, but also had a number of writing tasks that would take energy and time. Somehow, however, after the morning kitchen reverie, mixing prayer time with food preparation time, I felt more at ease, more open. More grateful. 

An Invitation

When can you add prayer time to your day? I would love to know. 

  

  

July 5th: Tuesday Reflections

Yes, we have flown our flag this past holiday weekend. We have

done so with love and pride, but also with hope for a future in which we continue to open our doors and welcome all those who need shelter and stability. I hope for a future in which we are not consumed by our own wellbeing, but work to maintain the integrity of all people and the beauty of the entire planet. 

Sunday in church we sang a wonderful hymn, "This is My Song," also called "A Hymn of Peace." The uplifting music is by Jean Sibelius, based on his "Finlandia," and the words are by two different writers. Stanzas 1 and 2 are by Lloyd Stone who wrote them during the period between WWI and WWII when he was 22. The other stanzas are by a Methodist theologian, Georgia Harkness. 

Here are stanzas one, two, and four. 

               This is my song, O God of all the nations,
               a song of peace for lands afar and mine;
               this is my home, the country where my heart is;
               here are my hopes, my dreams, my holy shrine:
               but other hearts in other lands are beating
               with hopes and dreams as true and high as mine.

               My country's skies are bluer than the ocean
               and sunlight beams on cloverleaf and pine;
               but other lands have sunlight too, and clover,
               and skies are everywhere as blue as mine:
               O hear my song, thou God of all the nations,
               a song of peace for their land and for mine.

               May truth and freedom come to every nation;
               may peace abound where strife has raged so long;
               that each may seek to love and build together,
               a world united, righting every wrong;
               a world united in its love for freedom,
               proclaiming peace together in one song. 

Consider these words as you listen to or read the news. And as we  approach the presidential conventions.

An Invitation
What words are inspiring you these days? I would love to know. 

Compassion Retreat: Thursday's Reflection

      


      May I abide in lovingkindness. 
      May I be free from suffering.

      May I receive what I need.

      May I be at peace. 


What a gift it was to participate in a retreat led by Joyce Rupp.

Joyce has been one of my spiritual heroes for a long time and if you have been reading this blog for awhile, no doubt you will recall frequent references to her books. Her writings are core references for me.

You know how it is, however, when you meet someone who has influenced you from afar. Will I be disappointed? Will she be different than the person I have gotten to know on the page? 

Well, I experienced NO disappointment. Joyce Rupp is warm and approachable and humble and open. And wise. I am so grateful for the recent days in her presence. 

The topic of the retreat was compassion. Not a simple or easy topic, and I am still processing much of what was offered during those days. Although the content was thought-provoking and dialogue with others stimulating, the best part was the amount of silence for contemplation and reflection structured into each day. We started the day meditating and chanting and ended the day that way as well, but then in the middle of the day we had three hours of silence. 

Three hours of silence. 

I live a fairly quiet life and most days I begin the day in silent meditation leading to a day in which most of what I do is accompanied by silence. I welcome that, treasure that, and know I am nurtured in that silence. Still, to have three hours with no  intention other than to maintain silence was heavenly. 

I truly didn't know how much I needed that time, how much I needed to retreat until I entered the retreat space that first evening and sat in our circle. When I signed up for the retreat this past winter, mainly because I wanted to have a Joyce Rupp experience, I could not know what a powerful experience of Divine Energy it would be. 

What did I bring home with me? I am still feeling my way through that question, but one covenant I made with myself is to start each day using the Lovingkindness Meditation (Metta) we prayed each morning in the circle. Here's the version we used, repeating each line three times. 

                   May I abide in lovingkindness.

                   May I be free from suffering.

                   May I receive what I need.

                   May I be at peace. 

The lines are then directed to someone I hold in my heart.

                   May you abide in lovingkindness.

                   May you be free from suffering.

                   May you receive what you need.

                   May you be at peace.

Finally, I address the world with the same wishes.

                   May all beings abide in lovingkindness.

                   May all beings be free from suffering.

                   May all beings receive what they need.

                   May all beings be at peace. 

My prayer is that I can bring greater compassion into my life and my relationships.

An Invitation
I invite you to use the Lovingkindness Meditation for the next 30 days. I wonder what you will experience. I would love to know. 

Resources
Compassion, Listening to the Cries of the World by Christina Feldman, our main text for the retreat.  
Meditation adapted from Healing into Life and Death by Stephen Levine, pp 23-24 http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/263053.Healing_Into_Life_and_Death

Re-Entry Ritual: Tuesday's Post

Last week I attended a retreat at Wisdom Ways, which is located
within walking distance from our house. Because it is so close I could return home each afternoon, and I wondered how that would be. Instead of one re-entry at the end of the four days, I needed to re-enter each day. That can be challenging after a day focused on reflection and contemplation.

I had asked Bruce if he would be willing to manage the evening meal. He graciously agreed, even though cooking is not his thing. He is great at the cleaning up, but normally

I plan the meals, do the grocery shopping, and cook. How grateful I was to be relieved of kitchen duty each afternoon.

I also realized I needed to maintain the quiet of the day. Before dinner I sat in the front room we call the snuggery and read, but also closed my eyes for a short nap. I allowed the thoughts of the day to find a place within. Then after light catch up conversation as we ate, I moved into the garden where the lavender is in full bloom.  

I recall so many pleasurable mornings during our Sweetwater Farm years walking the rows of lavender. The touch of my ankles lightly released the clean smell, and I pretended I was in Provence living the life of a French herbalist. I remember how soothing and meditative it was to strip the stems of excess leaves and wrap together bunches for drying. I kept some to add to bouquets of daisies and roses, also plentiful at the moment.

I know the best time to harvest lavender is in the early morning, but getting my gathering basket from the garage, I knew this was exactly the right task to carry me from one retreat day to the next. 

Sometimes we have the luxury of planning our transitions and responding to what we most need in the moment. More often than we realize we can stop and pause and feel the movement from one moment to another. 

I invite you to smell the lavender.

An Invitation
What helps you during a time of transition or re-entry? I would love to know. 

On Retreat

I won't be adding any new posts this week because I am attending a retreat led by Joyce Rupp, one of my spiritual heroes. 

I will be back with a new post on Tuesday, June 28.