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. 

A Civil Rights Hero and Writing a Racial Autobiography

Charles Avery is one of my heroes.

Mr. Avery was one of the foot soldiers during the Civil Rights Movement of the 60's, and he is still a powerful voice for hope. 

When my husband and I were on a Civil Rights tour in the fall of 2018, our leader, Mark Swiggum, arranged for us to meet with Mr Avery and to hear his story. As a young student he organized a march of children to Birmingham from his small town outside the city, and they were arrested and taken to makeshift prison cells at the fairgrounds. He told us how they were packed in a small area, and it was cold and rainy, and utterly miserable, but they kept up their spirits by singing "They Shall Overcome." 

He told us how miraculously the rain stopped and blue skies appeared. This statement, it seems to me, is a glimpse into this man's essence. 

He was also jailed, along with Dick Gregory, whom he resembles, in the Birmingham Jail, where Martin Luther King, Jr. wrote his famous letter. Many years later he received a pardon, which allowed him to get better jobs. 

One night last week we had the privilege of seeing Mr. Avery again, along with his daughter, Dr. Dina Avery, thanks to a Zoom meeting organized by Mark Swiggum, and once again I was moved by his grace, his hope in the future, his openness, his spirit. He used the word "wisdom," frequently, and there is no doubt in my mind that he is a man of wisdom. He not only speaks from direct and painful experience about what it means to be black in this country, but he speaks from his heart, asking each of us to dig deep and listen to and act from our hearts. What an honor it was to be in his presence again. 

A few days before this Zoom meeting a writer friend mentioned the concept of a "racial autobiography." http://whitesforracialequity.org/1-awareness-activity-reflection-questions/ The idea is to explore both your earliest and most recent events and conversations about race, race relations and/or racism that may have impacted your current perspectives and/or experience." 

As I read through the suggested questions, it occurred to me that Charles Avery and all those who were jailed with him would have no trouble remembering their first encounters with racism. From what I have heard in recent weeks and from other reading and listening I have done, most, if not all, African-Americans would have painful and scary memories from early in their lives about how they were mistreated because of the color of their skin.

I have to dig deep to recall how I first learned about racial disparities in this country, and I certainly have no memory of being mistreated because I am white. Quite the opposite. 

These are some of the questions suggested for my racial autobiography as a white person.

        *  When was the first time you realized you were white?

        *  When was the first time you realized you might be treated differently because you have white skin?

        *  When was the first time you realized people of other racial identity groups are treated differently?

        *  What were the messages you heard growing up about white people? African Americans? Latinos? Native Americans? Asian Americans? Pacific Islanders?

        *  Look at your friends, family, colleagues, key professionals or service people (doctor, dentist, lawyer, counselor, handy person, etc.) --what are their racial identities? How and why did you choose to know or work with these people? To which racial groups do the people you socialize with regularly belong? 

As I continue to learn about the history of racism in this country--past and present--I must learn about my own racism--where and how I learned and absorbed what I did. 

My father, who died recently at age 96, put together big notebooks of memories and details about his life, but there is nothing in there about being white, about his awareness of racism in his world. I wonder how many of us who are white and in our 3rd Chapter years thinking about how to share our past, our wisdom, with our children and grandchildren, will address these questions.

Perhaps we should. 

One more Charles Avery story: His father tried to register to vote several times, and would be so discouraged when, in order to register, he was asked questions like "How many jellybeans are in the jar?" 

Don't neglect to vote.

An Invitation

What key stories need to be included in your racial autobiography? I would love to know.  

NOTE: 

You can read more about Charles Avery here. 
Also, I wrote about the Civil Rights Tour in the following posts: November 13, 15, and 20, 2018

Sabbath on the Patio

Welcome to our patio! 

The patio is where we entertain these days. Perhaps I should say the patio is where we gather for a physically-distanced time with one or two people. 

To entertain doesn't have the same meaning as it once did. Since we now only entertain outside, cleaning the house is no longer required. My husband and I are the only people who cross our threshold. I don't set the dining room table or plan and fix a homemade meal, for in these COVID-19 days, friends bring their own beverages and snacks. As someone who considers hometending a spiritual practice, I enjoy the preparations that comprise entertaining, but right now what is most important is being with friends and family and doing that in a safe way. 

So welcome to the patio, and yes, isn't the garden lovely? How fortunate we are to have this space. 

Discussions are lively. 

How are you and how are you managing this time, these challenges? 

Along with guessing about how long this will last and what the repercussions will be, we share what we are learning about ourselves; what has been most surprising or challenging or even easier than anticipated? Has this been a time to unveil new purpose or to let go of old baggage? What has lightened your spirits and what worries you the most?

We all seem to be eager to process and to hear how others are coping, along with thoughts about what is happening in our city, our country. 

What are you doing to understand, to become more aware? What actions are you taking? 

The current norm of shelter-in-place with its limited interactions and activities is replaced for a brief moment with connection, and these small, intimate face-to-face gatherings feel like a new version of Sabbath time. Sabbath is a time-out from what is routine, a time set aside for rest and reflection, and that's what seems to happen on our patio as we share our lives with good friends.

I recently finished reading a book about Sabbath called Soul Tending, A Journey into the Heart of Sabbath by Anita Amstutz, and in it she says Sabbath is "More than a rote ceasing of activity, it is also about being in a receptive mode for an infusion of God." (p. 117) 

That happens on the patio, and I suspect the fruits of patio time, of this kind of Sabbath are more than the pleasure of being with good friends.

My hope is that we integrate these Sabbath moments into a greater understanding of who we were created to be and how to live that in the world today. 

            Thus the first act of service is to bring love and

            healing to ourselves, gently and mercifully

            healing our own suffering and dysfunction. 

            Then we will bring less anger, confusion, and 

            pain into the world. We will have more space 

            inside us to face the others' suffering with 

            understanding, compassion, and mercy. We 

            become peace bearers and peacemakers. 

            Sabbath can offer us this sacred space for 

            our own healing, so we can return to the world 

            ready for our true work of repairing the broken 

            places. We experience and cultivate compassion 

            by spending time in the great and loving heart 

            of God. (p. 118)

Welcome to the sacred Sabbath space on the patio.

An Invitation

What kinds of Sabbath are you discovering and what are the fruits? I would love to know. 

NOTE: On Sunday, June 21, a piece I wrote several months ago was featured in the Monk of the World section of the Abbey of the Arts website. You can read it here.

 

Sorting: An Act of Discernment

I declined an invitation, a request to lead a book discussion. 

A few months ago I had accepted that same invitation, but then COVID 19 cancellations and lockdowns occurred, and the plan was set aside. Around the same time my family began the vigil with my father, culminating with his death early in May. Since then a good share of my time and energy has been related to "Dad Details." None of them daunting in and of themselves, but requiring time and energy and each wrapped in a delicate awareness of loss.

And part of that awareness is that in our family there is now no one between me and death. My brother announced days after Dad died, "You are the matriarch of the family." I am the oldest in our family now, even a few months older than my husband, and even though death doesn't necessarily follow birth order, I feel the weight of my years even more. I dared to say to myself, "You are the next in line to die."

I learned through reading an excellent book,  The Orphaned Adult, Understanding and Coping with Grief and Change After the Death of Our Parents by Alexander Levy, that my feelings about being "next" is not uncommon. 

What does this have to do with declining the invitation to facilitate a book discussion now that a new date has been set and now that we have all become used to ZOOM meetings? 

I feel an urgent need for discernment. What is it I most need to do right now? How do I live with purpose and authenticity right now? What will I regret not doing when I come to the end of my days? 

At the same time how do I respond to the extraordinary challenges of these times? How can I use my gifts to make a difference in even a small way? 

These questions require a process of sorting: writing in my journal, sitting in the quiet, praying, meditating, and sharing my thoughts and questions with loved ones. 

And, also, literal sorting. Going through the piles on my desk and other surfaces in my office. What can be tossed? What has been hidden that needs to be resurrected? What no longer has relevance or holds interest? What needs to be addressed NOW and what can be set aside? What makes my heart flutter?

I now have lovely boxes, neatly labeled and stacked near my desk, but the sorting process is still a work in progress. What is my inner voice whispering to me? How does what has been shuffled into boxes relate to what feels more like purpose, like call?

These are big questions, but the thing is, I am no longer 30 or 40  or even 60. I am 72, and I feel a need to be even more mindful of how I use my days, how I live my life.

While I will still be open to opportunities, to ways I can serve that are presented to me, and I still intend to honor my ongoing commitments, I need to return to some unfinished work--the memoir that has been in progress for a very long time. Plus, I have a new idea for a book of meditations about vigil times, and it feels important to pursue that. 

My heart is tugging me in those directions. I hear an internal refrain, "write, write, write  

I need to carve out more time to do that, and one practical way is to limit my blog posts. Although I love writing these posts, imagining you reading them and perhaps, thinking about the questions I pose, I have decided from now on I will post every Tuesday, but most weeks not on Thursdays. 

And I will continue to sort.

An Invitation
What is rising to the top of your life pile? I would love to know.