Gratitude for Both the Light and the Dark

 During the day, it is just a pretty blue glass ball, but all day it quietly collects energy and light. 

And then at night, it glows. A soft light, a focused bit of radiance.

                   

Sometimes when I get up in the middle of the night, I look out through the kitchen window to remind myself of light that is always present. And then I return to bed, where I return to sleep in the dark of night.

I am grateful for the darkness that frames the light, focuses the light.

An Invitation

Where do you find light these days? I would love to know.

Mischief in Paris

Look what the squirrels are doing to my table in the garden!!! Sigh! 

                         

Praying at the End of a Day

 

HELP!

THANKS!

WOW!

You may recognize these three words as the title of one of Anne Lamott's books, Help, Thanks, Wow, The Three Essential Prayers. (I added the exclamation point and all-capital letters.) In her usual snarky and pithy style, Lamott reminds us to be honest in our conversations with God, and to stay aware of the life swirling around and within ourselves. ("When you're telling the truth, you're close to God." p.6)

I think of these three expressions--Help! Thanks! Wow!--as a kind of modern day examen, a spiritual practice created by St Ignatius of Loyola in the 16th century. The examen is a form of daily reflective prayer, an invitation to note the movement of God in the people and the events of a day. 

In other words Help! Thanks! and Wow!

St Ignatius suggested a time of preparation before beginning to pray the examen. Light a candle or take a few deep breaths. My preparation is more apt to be washing my face and brushing my teeth. Doing those simple tasks signals the end of the day. "Time to let go of the day," I tell myself as I look at this 72 year old face in the mirror.

The next step, according to the Ignatian custom, is to review the day with gratitude, but here's where I am more of a Lamottan. In order to get to gratitude, I need to sigh, big, fat, and deep sighs. Those sighs are all the ways I need help and all the ways I see and feel the need for God's presence in the world around me. Help the people of Beirut. Help the men incarcerated unfairly. Help those suffering during this time of pandemic. Help our friends who son recently died and our friends who received a devastating diagnosis. 

What brings me to my knees? Where do I feel the hurt of the world and where do I hurt?

And what am I noticing about myself? What are the many ways I could be more compassionate, loving, and courageous and less judgmental and apathetic? This is a tall order, but it seems to me, help is only a couple consonants away from hope.

              Help. Help us walk through this. 

              Help us come through.

              It is the first great prayer.  p. 15

Once I have shouted a bit, at least inside my head and heart, I am able to give thanks. I begin with the obvious things: the good health of myself and my loved ones, our church community, our ability to live in a lovely home and to be financially comfortable, the friendships and love that sustain me ETC. ETC.  And then I think about the specific reasons to be grateful for the day and what has enhanced my life that day. Spending time with my beloved sister on her birthday, receiving an email from one of my father's dear friends, meeting with my writing group and hearing such wise and helpful feedback, attending a small gathering to celebrate a friend and her new book, writing and reading in my Paris garden often accompanied by a scampering chipmunk, and welcoming our grandson who stops by briefly on his way to baseball camp. What a good day! 

Lamott says, "You breathe in gratitude and you breathe it out, too." p. 60.

When I feel my spirit lift, I am in the midst of a WOW! moment. When I experience an intake of breath outside of the normal in and out of steady breathing, I know I am in the midst of a WOW! moment. When I need to stop for just a second or need to reread a line in the novel in my hands or when I close my eyes to savor a good taste in my mouth or to hear more clearly what is being said, that's WOW! Or when a smile seems too big for my face. 

Saturday while cleaning bathrooms, I listened to the first episode of The Michelle Obama Podcast (on Spotify--get the free app.) in which Barak is the guest. Listening to them was like standing in the kitchen with them. I imagined Michelle putting together a salad, and he was opening a bottle of wine or getting beer out of the refrigerator. I had volunteered to set the table and kept opening drawers till I found the flatware and napkins. You know, one of those comfortable, at ease kind of times. We were all just talking about what is important to us and how we got to this point in our lives. And at the end of the podcast she says "Love you," and he says, "Love you, too," and I said, "Wow!"

The last step in the examen is to pray for tomorrow, and I think that is exactly what the wow moment does. If I can feel a wow, then I know I am ready for tomorrow. I know I will enter the next day with an open and uplifted heart--with plenty of room for God. 

Lamott's book was published in 2012, but as I reread it, I thought how not a word needs to be changed for today. We've always needed help, and there are always reasons to give thanks. and oh yes, moments of wonder and amazement and bubbles of joy are never far away. 

Perhaps this is the only spiritual practice we need: Help! Thanks! Wow!

An Invitation: What will you include in your examen today? I would love to know. 

Cloister Time

I cleaned the house Saturday morning, even though the only rooms needing much attention was the kitchen because I cook more now and, of course, the bathroom. Most of the time I enjoy cleaning, using the time to rearrange some tabletop vignettes or to discard no longer wanted items, especially books. 

This time, however, I realized the house feels different. It still feels pleasant and comfortable to me. I am fully at ease here and love what we have created, a welcoming and hospitable home. The problem is that no one has crossed our threshold since the beginning of March. Such a stark contrast that is to the way we have been used to living and to using our home. I miss opening the door and saying, "Come on in. I'm so glad you are here."

                                                                          

True, we have had very small gatherings--one or two people at a time--on our small patio or in the Paris garden, but no long leisurely dinners at the dining room table, and none of my spiritual directees have climbed the stairs to the garret. I miss my twice a month writing group sessions in the living room where we each had our assigned seats, just like pews in church! 

You have probably heard me refer to my love of Cave Time, which I experience in the winter when cold and snow and ice allow me to hunker in and hibernate. That is usually a productive time for me. Cave Time, however, doesn't seem like an accurate term for what I am experiencing now during the pandemic. Instead, thanks to writer Anne Hillman, this time feels more like Cloister Time. Doesn't that sound more spacious?

Cloister implies a solitariness, solitude, but without strict rigidity. Air moves within the cloister, and there is a kind of calm energy. At times there is a knock on the door, and the response is, "Come, meet me in the garden where it is cool and quiet." There is room for others in my cloister, even if it is in the form of an email, letter, phone call, or ZOOM meeting. I am in Cloister Time, but I have the ability to reach out, to connect in other ways. I am not unreachable or unresponsive. I have not disappeared for a season. 

As with both Cave Time and Cloister Time, life goes on, and not always in joyful, fulfilling ways. Dear friends are experiencing deep loss in a variety of ways, and I ache that I can't hug them or say "Come, let me take care of you. Stay as long as you want to." There is room in my heart for their cares, however, and I am present to them in less visible and tangible ways, but no less meaningful. 

Cloister Time is easier for some than for others, but we are all finding our way. We are all finding new ways of being with ourselves and with one another. 

I wish you well.

An Invitation

What are you learning during Cloister Time? Or do you have another name for this time? I would love to know. 

BOOK RECOMMENDATION: Much to my embarrassment, I finally read Just Mercy, A Story of Justice and Redemption by Bryan Stephenson. https://justmercy.eji.org What a book! Masterfully written (There were times I realized I was holding my breath!), it is the author's story, as well as the story of those unjustly caught in what is hard to describe as the criminal "justice" system. So many times I found myself saying "How can this be?" as I read story after story of wrongly condemned individuals. There are heroes in this story--heroes who act with passion and compassion and even forgiveness. If you haven't read this book yet,  do not delay. 

Being Gentle With Myself

         

I have taken a dip--an emotional dip. 

That was bound to happen, and no doubt it will happen again. Has it happened to you yet? Have your emotions dipped below what you consider an acceptable functioning level?
                                                                                       

For the most part I've coped with this time quite well. Being an introvert helps, for as long as I have books to read, I'm good. I've been content to sit at my desk in the garret and write. 

Most of the time. Most days.

But recently I've felt sadness drift into my body, taking energy and motivation. I don't have to dig deep to understand why lately I feel more sadness than joy. 

How about the day my father's death certificate finally arrived. I was relieved, for there were financial tasks waiting to be checked off the list, but, instead of doing them right away, I set aside the envelope from the medical examiner's office for a couple days. We have not been able to have a memorial service because of the pandemic and who knows when it will be safe for his grandchildren who live out of state to gather for a graveside service. That makes me sad. 

And each time I hear about plans for the coming school year, I feel tears just beneath the surface. I ache for the teachers and staff and for the children whose learning and growing is so seriously impaired. And I fear for everyone's safety. 

Alongside the implications of the pandemic and no less important is how can our country own up to the racism we have allowed to dominate. How can we become the people we were created to be? 

It's no wonder my normal sense of hope has been leaking around the edges. If it weren't so hot, I would curl up under an afghan with a Snickers in one hand and an English mystery in the other and pretend none of it exists. 

Actually, maybe that is exactly what I need to do--or some version of the Afghan-Candybar-Mystery prescription. Just for now.  

Since my Dad died, I have been reading a meditation every day in Healing After Loss, Daily Meditations for Working Through Grief by Martha Whitmore Hickman. Often the daily reading is just what I need and applies to the ambiguous loss many of us are feeling in our lives right now. This is from July 18
             No need to feel guilty about low moods.
             If we can do something to chase them off--fine.
             If not--wait, they will pass.

I continue to function, although sometimes I do sadly things I have normally done happily, but I listen to myself and acknowledge the dips before they turn into debilitating despair. I wonder how often in my work as a spiritual director I have encouraged a client or workshop participant or someone with whom I am having a casual conversation to "be gentle with yourself." I am trying to remember those words for myself, as well.

An Invitation
What have you noticed about your moods? Have you dipped? I would love to know. 

A Book Recommendation: The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas

                                                                    
I can hear your objections now.         

"My book list is too long as it is."
"The stack of books on my nightstand are about to fall over."
"Everyone seems to be recommending books I must read now. Please no more."

Well, too bad, because here is one more book, and before you order it from your local independent bookstore, you might ask your teenage grandchild or neighbor, if they have a copy. That might truly be the case.

The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas https://angiethomas.com/the-hate-u-give is a young adult (YA) title published in 2017, and it won all sorts of awards, including a Coretta Scott King Honor Award and the Honor Book designation from the American Library Association. It has also been made into a movie. 

I had heard about the book, seen it in stores and noticed it on many lists, but I don't read many YA books. When I do, however, I usually enjoy and appreciate them. I found a brand new copy of this book in a Little Free Library when I was on a morning walk and inside the cover the person who donated the book wrote "Black Lives Matter. Please read and pass on." 

I set aside all the other books waiting to be read, including a shelf full of nonfiction books about white privilege and the history of racial relations in this country and all the things we need to do and know now. I will return to that necessary and worthwhile task, as part of re-educating myself. But often a novel touches my heart and frees me to imagine myself into realities I have not experienced. When I read a piece of fiction that is so well-written, as this book is, I become part of the story. I no longer look from the outside in or from the present back to the past.

I am part of the setting and the time period. I am one of the characters--or maybe more than one. I experience the story as it unfolds, and that allows me to learn more on a heart level. 

The story in The Hate U Give is not unfamiliar, unfortunately.  A young black man confronted by police for no real reason and the tragic and far-reaching results of that. This was published in 2017, as I said, but it could have been published today, and you will feel that, too. 

I didn't always understand the language or the cultural references, being a white woman in her 70's, nor can I possibly feel the same anger or fear felt by the characters in the book, but the book illustrates what happens when humans do not treat other humans as human. It also illustrates when humans do treat other humans as humans, and that according to Austin Channing Brown, the author of I'm Still Here: Black Dignity in a World Made for Whiteness, another book on my long list, is the work of anti-racism. 

The main character in the book is the primary witness to the killing of her friend, and her dilemma is how to respond. I am quite sure Angie Thomas, the author of the book, was familiar with the words of Rep John Lewis, "Never ever be afraid to make some noise and get in good trouble, necessary trouble." 

Reading a book relevant to what is happening in our country now--or not happening-may not seem as if it can make a difference, but I think the reading I choose to do opens me to the ways I am racist. I may not do obvious racist things, like yelling "White Power," or beating someone up or tearing up a Black Lives Matter sign, but I have racist thoughts, and it is my job to become clear about what they are.

The theologian Walter Brueggeman asked "How can this time of unease be holy time?" This time becomes holy when we dare to listen to the pain and history and fears and hopes and dreams of others, but also when we dare to listen to the uncomfortable thoughts and beliefs and assumptions we hold within ourselves. 

So I repeat what Austin Channing Brown said in a recent conversation with Brene Brown, (podcast)  "The work of anti-racism is to become a better human in order to treat other humans better."

An Invitation

What inspires you to be a better human? What are you learning about yourself as a racist? 

A final note: What a privilege it was when I was on a civil rights tour in 2018 to walk across the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma where John Lewis and so many other brave souls walked, in order to make us all better humans. 

 

Movies to Restore the Soul

Like crows, we humans are attracted to the shiny, bright, and new. 

I eagerly open the email from Netflix, for example, to see what new series or movie is upcoming, hoping it will be something that can divert me, entertain me, keep me occupied after another day of distressing news. 

I am thrilled when I receive an email from the library telling me books I have placed on hold are ready for curbside pick-up, and I am even more delighted when I see that one of the books is not only new to me, but a newly published book by one of my favorite authors, Old Lovegood Girls by Gail Godwin. 

This desire for something new or different extends to my kitchen, as well. I tire of fixing the same old, same old, and browse through my recipe files and cookbooks and sometimes even online for a tempting dinner recipe. This past week, for example, I fixed a puff pastry vegetable tart, and it was delicious, and I was especially pleased the recipe called for basil, which grows abundantly in our garden. 

When I walk in the neighborhood, varying my path as much as possible, I look for something I've not noticed before--lately, I have noticed treehouses, for example, and am surprised by how many there are in our neighborhood. I've also acquired a taste for walking in the alleys, peeking at backyards. 

Sometimes, however, after listening to news or reading commentaries throughout the day, what I need to keep me balanced, grounded is the familiar. Sometimes I need what I know will enrich me and remind me not all is lost or hopeless. 

Lately, my husband and I have been watching movies from our DVD collection--movies we have seen before, often more than once, like Miss Potter, which is about Beatrix Potter who wrote and illustrated the children's books, Peter Rabbit and so many others. We've been watching movies that have lifted our spirits, like Chocolat in which a person from outside the community is seen as suspicious and even a danger to the community and instead brings the community together. I've needed to immerse myself in stories that highlight beauty, love, and human connection. 

These movies remind me that everything that matters will last. 

An Invitation

What restores your soul? I would love to know. 

Trying to Stay in the Present Moment

How often have I encouraged a directee or a friend OR myself, to be in the present moment? Many times. Many, many times. 

A routine of sitting in silence, praying and meditating helps me focus on the present moment. When I pause to breathe, deeply and intentionally I am able to return to the present moment and listen to what my heart's voice is whispering. That voice often says, "Live now. Be now."

Lately, however, thoughts about the future have invaded my present moments. When I say "the future," I don't mean thoughts or worries about what will happen in the years to come. When will I die? Will I die before my husband does? How will I die? What physical and mental infirmities will overtake me? 

No, I project only into the next few months. 

What if our family can't gather for Thanksgiving or Christmas?

What if this pandemic lasts for another year? 

When will our extended family be able to gather and bury our beloved father/grandfather/great-grandfather's ashes?

When will we be able to return to church?

Those are my top four questions. Questions of a personal focus, for sure, and questions that rip me right out of the present moment. That is a loss, for there is so much in the present moment that brings me joy:

*   The spacious time I have for writing, as I return to work on my memoir. In fact, time itself feels more spacious right now. 

*    The basil "hedge" in our garden and all the pesto I have been making to enjoy now and in future months. 

*    Good conversation on our patio with friends--one friend or a couple at a time.

*    Bruce's garden, lush and abundant.

*    Books, books, and more books. I just finished Virgil Wander by Leif Enger and loved it. 

*    Morning walks. Something always delights me, like a quirky sunflower sculpture. 

*    The day spent in northern Wisconsin with our daughter and granddaughter.

*     Our collection of DVDs--movies waiting to be watched again. This weekend we watched Julie and Julia with Meryl Streep playing to perfection Julia Child. 

*     The holy creativity, relevance, and inspiration of our Sunday morning online worship services.

In each of these joys, there is an element of surprise, a gift that would be missed, if I held my breath, worrying, wondering about and trying to control the future. 

Joyce Rupp says it well in her book Walk in a Relaxed Manner, Life Lessons from the Camino:

            I saw how living in the Now leads me into a

            stronger union with God because it is a way of

            constant openness to divine grace. When I am  

            attentive to the Now, I am able to be more open

            and receptive interiorly. God is with me in the

            present moment. It is here that this goodness

            reaches into my life and beckons to me. The 

            Now provides what I need to respond to God

            and to life wholeheartedly. p. 87

In each moment there is choice--to live and love in the present or not. 

An Invitation

What questions pull you out of the present and into the future. What reminds you that in the present moment are many joys? I would love to know.