Lonely

I was doing very well with my emptied nest this fall, until I broke my arm! The combination of pain and physical limits has overwhelmed my innate hopefulness, and I am just plain sad. On Facebook I wrote today's status in this way... "the empty nest doth sucketh."

So what is to be done with loneliness? Where is the blessing - or at least the lesson - in this heart-sickness which does not go away? For 15 years it has been sneaking around the corners of my heart, and there have been moments, even a few days, of heartache. But those moments did not last long. I was able to chase the lonely back around the corner, out of sight and out of mind. Because I had my children close at hand - I had the joy and the challenge, the focus and the energy of raising, loving, and thoroughly enjoying my kids.

Now, they are off on their own young adult adventures. And it seems the loneliness will no longer be satisfied with the corners of my heart. Try as I might (with shopping or television, with puppy or phone calls, with work or artwork) I cannot seem to push it back around the corner or send it out of sight and out of mind.

Maybe that is the point of these days, the lesson of this particular ache: sometimes I have to just let the pain be present. Perhaps if I can find the courage to simply rest in it, and with it, it will not last forever. Perhaps an exploration of all the pain involves - giving it a voice, honoring its wisdom, accepting its truth - is the only way to let it go...not just back around the corner, but away beyond my heart.

"Tools"

“Tools” have become very important to me recently.  The dictionary defines a “tool” in this way … “a device for doing work; a means to an end; something used for a job…”  All of those definitions have taken on new importance in my life since I fell and broke my arm.

There are thousands of moments each day when I find myself frustrated or at least temporarily inconvenienced because I only have the full use of one arm and hand.  (Thank God it is my dominant hand that lives outside the sling!)  But the gift, in these days of recovery, is the chance to re-discover creative problem-solving.  Even simple tasks like brushing my teeth, washing dishes, walking the dog, typing this article require me to slow down, think a little, and improvise.  Sometimes I find there is a tool that can extend my dexterity or control.  It may be a stepstool placed beneath a cupboard to hold the stereo in place while I detach it and remove the screws (okay, that was probably my most ambitious one-handed project to date).  Sometimes the best “tool” for the job might just be another part of my body (legs are handy tools for holding jars while opening them … and teeth!...it’s amazing what teeth can do!)

Don’t get me wrong.  I would be thrilled to turn back time and recapture the moment just before the dog tripped me and avoid all this experiential learning.  But since that is not the way of this world, I might as well learn a little bit in this moment.  I might as well find the blessing in creativity born out of necessity.

I think the same might be true for most of us in one way or another.   While we may not have been tripped up, we certainly have experienced frustration, or at least inconvenience as the world around us has changed...as economies struggle and communities turn inward, as globalization brings the world closer while fear pushes us further apart.   For some the challenges have felt almost overwhelming, while others have managed to find some new tools to empower dynamic, vital expressions of life.  What is the difference?  Why is it that some individuals and communities flourish while others give in to decline and despair?

I think it goes back to finding the blessing in creativity born out of necessity.  This is a time for every one of us to re-discover creative problem-solving.  It is a time to slow down, to think a little and pray a lot, and to improvise.  That may mean finding new ways or times or places to work.  It may mean finding new means to the end of building real relationships of care for those beyond our closest circle of family or friends.  It may mean developing new structures and empowering new leaders to get the most important jobs accomplished.

And the good news is, we can do this.  The apostle Paul encourages us to risk learning in this very moment, when he writes:  “For this reason, because I have heard of your faith in the Lord Jesus and your love toward all the saints. I do not cease to give thanks for you, remembering you in my prayers, that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, may give you a spirit of wisdom and of revelation in the knowledge of God, having the eyes of your heart enlightened, that you may know what is the hope to which God has called you…”  (Ephesians 1:15-18a)

             
That we may know the HOPE to which God has called us… that may be the best reason yet to learn to use a few new tools!

"Rock, Paper, Scissors"

Just a few days ago I was surprised to find a friend who had never played "Rock, Paper, Scissors". Seriously - she asked to learn something I thought everyone already knew. I thought everyone had played this silly childhood game at some point in their lives. Discovering this "newbie" in our group naturally caused us all to question "Just where did Rock, Paper, Scissors come from?"

So this morning, waiting for inspiration to strike here in the blog-o-sphere, I turned to my old friend Google. There I found this posting from a newspaper column that goes by the name of "The Straight Dope"...

"You might think that "Rock, Paper, Scissors" is just a kid's game, but the fact is that some people take it very seriously. Too seriously, I'm starting to think. As is the case with most games that are primarily played by children, the exact time and place when the game was invented are unknown. There are theories, however. Geez, are there theories.

First, for the three people in the country who may be unfamiliar with the game, a short description:

"Rock, Paper, Scissors," also known as roshambo (I'll get to the reason for this presently), has been around for a long time, and most civilized people have at least a passing knowledge of the game. It is most often used to decide small matters between two people--who'll drive to the burger joint, who has to take out the garbage, etc.--but it can also be played to decide larger matters, as part of a tournament, or simply as a diversion.

The basics of the game consist of each player shaking a fist a number of times ("priming") and then extending the same hand in a fist ("rock"), out flat ("paper"), or with the index and middle fingers extended ("scissors"). Each of these is referred to as a throw, and which one wins is dependent upon the opponent's throw--paper wins against rock ("paper covers rock"), rock wins against scissors ("rock crushes, or dulls, scissors"), and scissors wins against paper ("scissors cut paper"). If each player makes the same throw, the round is a stalemate, and must be replayed.

Back in January of this year, someone in the Edmonton area had the same question as you've posed, Scott. The woman apparently was unfamiliar with our illustrious Unca Cecil, so instead of coming to the Straight Dope, she called local radio station CBC 740 AM, where morning host Ron Wilson runs a segment called "The Good Question" each morning. Mr. Wilson went to the same source that I went to for information, namely the World Rock Paper Scissors Society (hard to believe, ain't it?). The telephone interview that he conducted with a Society member by the name of Doug Walker, which I'll summarize here, can be found in its entirety at edmonton.cbc.ca/radio1/edm-am/goodques.html.

Mr. Walker claims that the earliest known written record of the game is from around 200 BC in Japan, where the game was (and is) referred to as "Jan-Ken." I found the existence of the Japanese version of the game corroborated elsewhere, although I have yet to find any corroboration for the 200 BC claim. Mr. Walker goes on to suggest that the game migrated to Europe in or by the mid-1700s, where it for some reason came to be associated with one Jean Baptiste Donatien de Vimeur, Comte de Rochambeau. If this name brings back unsettling memories of high school history, it is because Jean Baptiste was none other than the French general who was sent to command an army in support of George Washington during the American Revolution. Why this game came to be associated with the "Count of Rochambeau" is a mystery, but it certainly calls into question the means by which Washington secured Cornwallis's surrender in Yorktown. In any case, it does explain the name often used for the game, namely "rochambeau," or, more commonly, "roshambo."

This isn't the only theory about the origins of the game. A guy who goes by the handle "Master Roshambollah" on the bulletin board of the World RPS Society website (www.worldrps.com) lists two common theories about the origins of the game besides "the Asian theory": "the African theory," which relies on the creation of tools by early man in much the same way as the Asian theory, and "the European theory," in which RPS was either an early Scandinavian pastime which spread to Europe, or a traditional Celtic game that spread to Portugal and then to Europe. The European theory is advanced by another poster on the board who calls himself "Joao V de Portugal": "Current research undertaken at the University of Lisbon by Baltasar Rui Delfim, soon to be published in Nature and Time, has shown that the origins of the game of Paper, Scissors and Rock (Pihedra, Papelsh e Tijhera) can be attributed to Celtic settlers in the northern regions of Portugal, near the Portuguese/Spanish border, around the 6th century BC. . . . It is believed that the game spread to the rest of Portugal in the 3rd century BC and to the rest of the Spanish peninsula over the next 50 years. Roman invasion of Hispania in the 1st century AD made the game popular in Gallia and Italia. However, the Romans did not introduce the game to the UK because they believed that the game could make the UK colonies rebel against the Senate and it was not until the Portuguese armada of 350 AD came to England that the game was properly introduced in Britannia."

"What", you may ask, "does this have to do with anything?!" Believe it or not, I do find a connection between this fascinating trivia and the process of Re-birthing. Or at least, there is some wisdom to be gleaned from the trivial pursuit itself! It occurs to me that if there are people who do not know about "Rock, Paper, Scissors" - something I thought everyone had grown up playing - that there may be a whole universe of wisdom I can learn from others. My world view comes from my experience of the world. And that may be vastly different from yours. The only way I will find that out is if I stick around long enough, trust enough, listen enough, and CARE enough to learn. In this way perhaps you can act as a midwife to my birthing, and I can return the favor for you. Thank God for different experiences, different perspectives, and the richness they bring... whether I choose rock, or paper, or scissors!

"Bumps in the Road"

One of the most irritating realities of human life for me is the way in which we are formed - and transformed - by  our wounds.  I can accept the fact that it is the bumps in the road which give the journey its variety, even its beauty.  I can appreciate the growth of spiritual and emotional muscle which occurs as we exercise the spirit.  What I really don't get is why the bumps and bruises persist!  How long, O Lord!  

How long do any of us have to work on healing?  How long - how many times - must the same bump trip me up in my road?  It seems such an inefficient way to grow!  And, such a human experience.  

So here I am, putting down more muscle, building up more strength as I revisit the bumps in my road.  My hope is it will be a brief visit this time around.  And that one day I won't have to trip over this particular bump.  One day, I'd like to just notice it and go on.  I am reminded of a little bit of wisdom I found several years ago:

AUTOBIOGRAPHY IN FIVE SHORT CHAPTERS

by Portia Nelson

I

I walk down the street. 
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk 
I fall in. 
I am lost ... I am helpless. 
It isn't my fault. 
It takes me forever to find a way out.

II

I walk down the same street. 
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. 
I pretend I don't see it. 
I fall in again. 
I can't believe I am in the same place 
but, it isn't my fault. 
It still takes a long time to get out.

III

I walk down the same street. 
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. 
I see it is there. 
I still fall in ... it's a habit. 
my eyes are open 
I know where I am. 
It is my fault. 
I get out immediately.

IV

I walk down the same street. 
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. 
I walk around it.

V

I walk down another street.

"The Wings of Grace"

While on our Hawaiian adventure we decided to go to church the second Sunday.  The service was rather disappointing and the congregation a little depressed.  And yet, as always, there was a kernel of blessing for me.  I found it in one of the (very old) hymns we sang, "Praise to the Lord, the Almighty".

The song felt chosen for me and my daughter, especially when we got to the last verse:

"Praise to the Lord, who doth nourish thy life and restore thee,

fitting thee well for the tasks that are ever before thee.

Then to thy need, God as a mother doth speed,

spreading the wings of grace o'er thee."

What a great image as we begin a significant transition in life - she to college and me to myself.  We both have great lessons to learn.  We both have new environments to inhabit, new teachers to trust, new friends to find.  It is good to be reminded of the life-giving and life-restoring nature of God's love.  And it is great to recognize those "wings of grace" spreading over me.

"Wailea Wonder"

Please bear with me for one more reflection from Maui. This one comes from Wailea Beach (considered by some to be the best beach in the US!). We had gotten there early in the day, had laid down our mats and had even taken the first swim before the beach started to fill. As I let the sun dry the saltwater off my body I began to people-watch in earnest.

Soon my attention was centered on the neighbors to our right, who appeared to be enjoying a family reunion. There were about 6 or 7 adults and an equal number of children between the ages of 5 and 12, all boys. While the adults chatted, sharing morning coffee and family memories, the boys ran into the water. They splashed and wrestled, laughed and swam with abandon. And all the while, they were watched.

One by one the adults in that family took turns providing safety and security for the children. They took about 20 minute shifts, and everyone - aunts, uncles, moms, dads, grandparents even - took their turn. If the wrestling got a little too wild or the teasing too intense, the guardian would shift the play. If someone ventured a little too far from shore or became a little too oblivious to their surroundings, again the guardian would caution and correct.

As I watched I got to thinking: "Every child should be so loved and protected." It is true - every child deserves the kind of safety and security - the kind of love - which those boys undoubtedly took for granted. It was a wonder to watch.

Later that same day the surf grew and the current intensified. The boys were still in the water, and it was time for a guardian shift change, when the youngest child fell off his boogie board and was hit by a wave. First he was smashed into the sand and then the current picked him up and dragged him out to the line of the next cresting wave. You could see the panic in his eyes as he struggled against the surf. I was just about on my feet when another neighbor - a stranger to the family - reached the boy, scooped him up and brought him back to safety on the sand.

Of course everyone was a little shaken, and grateful for the quickness of the neighbor. And I thought to myself: "Maybe it is possible for every child to be loved and protected. It is possible if we remember we all are neigbors." What a wonder that would be - in Wailea, in the whole wide world.

"A Woman of Substance"

Vacation was FABULOUS this year - 10 glorious days on the island of Maui, just me and my youngest daughter. It was not only a great time to rest and relax, but also a time for each of us to prepare for our next steps in re-birthing... she to college for the first time, and me to new freedom with both daughters out in the world and just puppy left at home with me.

Most days were the same for us on Maui - wake up around 6 am, have breakfast on the lanai by 7, then hit the beach by 8:30 or 9:00, to swim in the ocean and bake in the sun until we grew hungry for lunch. After lunch it was either go to a new beach or swim in the condo's pool, maybe do a little light reading or some very light shopping until supper time, after which we would try our best to read, watch tv or a movie... and end up falling asleep by 9:00. It was a great routine!

One day, we drove out to Kaanapali beach, some distance from our Kihei condo, and in a much pricier neighborhood, judging by the Hyatt, the Marriott, the Westin and the like. After a few hours on the beach, we strolled through the resort grounds and even snuck into one of the ritzy pools (don't tell anyone!) On the way back to our much more modest digs my daughter surprised me with this comment: "Mom", she said, "I'm glad we're not rich."

Clearly that is a subjective statement, for "rich" depends upon one's context. I know there are many for whom a trip to Hawaii would seem like the height of wealth, and there are countless for whom my home, my car, my lifestyle, my children's college educations can only be pipe dreams. And yet, walking through the opulent resorts, past the meticulously groomed gardens and the amazing water features, we felt significantly out-classed.

When I asked my daughter what she meant - who wouldn't want to be rich? - she replied, "I'd much rather have a mother who is a woman of substance than a woman of means." She went on to thank me for values imparted which focus on what she identifies as "substance" rather than on money.

I am grateful for that perspective. Grateful, and a little bit humbled by my daughter's wisdom. It is easy to mistake possessions for power, to confuse money for value. And while I rejoice in blessings both personal and material, I hope to live in the perspective that says "substance is more important than means"...at least until the next time I sneak a swim at the Kaanapali Hyatt.

"A Very Happy Un-Birthday"

Well, I missed it. I missed my own "half-birthday", August 6th! I had been thinking it would be good to celebrate in some way the mid-point to this year of Re-Birthing for me. I thought about it in June. It crossed my mind in July. And then I totally spaced it out until today!

This forgetfulness is not a total tragedy. Clearly it is possible to celebrate Re-Birth in every day, and August 9th is as good as the 6th for a Happy Un-Birthday to me! So where have I been, (and more importantly), what have I learned in this six months of Re-Birthing?

1. I have learned that moving on (even a little) in the direction of God's desires for me is like Jesus walking on the water! It is good to recognize progress made and to rejoice in every success we achieve.
2. I have (finally) realized that an "All or Nothing" approach to life is counter-productive. Perfection is highly over-rated and focusing on it robs us of so much of life's wonder.
3. I have come to reject the lock-step, one-size-fits-all approach to transformation. If change is to be lasting it must be personal.
4. I have learned that observation is not the same as judgment, and that nobody can observe themselves objectively. That is why we need community!
5. I have begun to recognize the intertwining threads of my life - especially when it comes to emotions and fears. You cannot pull one without affecting the others.
6. I have seen how limiting my own judgments can become. I can be an artist (or anything else) if I decide to see the beauty of my creativity, and if I believe that anything is possible.
7. I have learned to practice prioritizing. It is a waste of time to major in the minors.
8. I have improved my ability to stay fully present to the presence of God in the present. This requires hanging in with myself and then letting God be God.
9. I have realized the folly of trying to run from change. The best response is to rejoice in the opportunities change presents.
10. I have found that every beginning begins with an ending. Life is all about saying "goodbye" in order to say "hello".
11. I have recognized the crazy-making patterns of thought. No more "what ifs", "if onlys", or "comparisons" for me!
12. I have affirmed the importance of Sabbath and the practice of agility. We all need to take time to remember what time is for.
13. I have discovered that to follow my desire for re-birth is to keep that star in my sight. It requires me to follow to places I cannot even yet imagine.
14. And... I have learned to celebrate every step along the way. Every dream, vision, and goal deserves a life of joy at the moment of its conception and throughout its path to completion.

Not bad for six months! Let me return again to the prayer which sustains me and propels me onward, this prayer for Re-Birth:

You, God, have placed your Truth in my inner being;

Therefore, teach me the wisdom of my heart.

Forgive all that binds me in fear, that I might radiate love.

Cleanse me, that your light might shine in me.

Fill me with gladness; help me to transform weakness into strength.

Look not on my past mistakes, but on the aspirations of my heart. Amen.

(From "Psalms for Praying", by Nan C. Merrill, Psalm 51)

"Never Put Off Until Tomorrow..."

Years ago I received a card from my sister, who was trying her best to help me to lighten up a little. The card showed Lucy from the Peanuts gang, dispensing her famous psychiatric advice, and it offered up this little bit of wisdom: "Never put off until tomorrow what you can put off until the day AFTER tomorrow!"

I kept that card for many years because it made me laugh. But also because there really is some wisdom in Lucy's advice. It is not just about "putting off", or avoiding the unpleasant tasks we face. It is not just about procrastination. It is also about prioritization. How many times have I let the insignificant crowd the really important out of my day? How many times have any of us "majored in the minors"?

In the movie "City Slickers", Jack Parlance plays a crusty old cowboy who lives by his own code of ethics, what might be called "Curly's Law", summed up in this little bit:

Curly: Do you know what the secret of life is?

Curly: This. [holds up one finger]

Mitch: Your finger?

Curly: One thing. Just one thing. You stick to that and the rest don't mean shit.

Mitch: But what is the "one thing?"

Curly: [smiles] That's what you have to find out.

Curly's Law, Do One Thing... It's a variation on Lucy's prescription and my own intuition. In order for me to find out what my "one thing" is, I have to go through a continual process of prioritization. I have to find out what is major and what is minor, each and every day. And then I have to surround myself with people who will support my majoring in the majors and letting go of the minors. Because I don't want to put off until tomorrow what I can easily put off until the day after (or the week after, the month after, the year after, the decade after...) tomorrow.

"Good Grief!"

We seem to be engaged in grieving at my house these days. It is not that anyone has died, nor that anyone is about to kick the bucket as far as we know. But still, grief seems to be hanging thick in the air. And it is about to drive me crazy!

Because this grief is ambiguous. It has not yet revealed itself because that which we grieve has not yet come to pass. We are engaged, you see, in anticipatory grief. For my daughter, it is the grief of moving out into the world (even in a limited and still protected way as she begins her first year of college). For me, it is the grief of watching (and not being able to help) her becoming a young adult.

It has taken a lot of my energy, this anticipatory grieving. It is no wonder I've been tired and cranky on these hot summer nights. It takes a lot of energy - it is almost a full time job - to keep repressing, denying and ignoring my own grieving. Especially since my denial has run smack dab into my daughter's clinginess. It makes for an unflattering and totally tuneless duet.

Good Grief. This weekend we decided to do something about it. We decided to go away together - for just one night - and give in to the grief, to find out what there might be in it that could be construed as "good". So off we went to Bandon, where we were promised a "beachfront" room just steps away from the ocean, where puppy could run to his heart's content as we cried or prayed or watched the waves. After a couple of stops to walk the beach or swim the dog, we finally arrived at the hotel. Only to find that it was (a) NOT on the beach, (b) not even a room with a view of the beach, and (c) not even a very nice room! Don't you just love it, when the universe sends some minor irritation to distract your focus and let you vent! I really did not want to spend the money on that falsely advertised disappointment... so after another run at the ocean, we called it a day and headed for home. And of course, we discovered once again what a really great confessional the car makes when driving through the dark on a lonely road.

Good Grief. We did not need to spend a night in a motel room. We did not need to "go away" together. What we needed, in turns out, was to "stay around" together. To stay with ourselves first of all - in all our ambiguity and crankiness and fear. And then to stay with each other - in our laughter, our tears, our hopes, our dreams, our anxiety - even in our grief. Because it turns out, that is what makes for "Good Grief". It is our ability to recognize it, to accept it, to share it, and to trust that it will not overwhelm us as long as we are able to stay around, together.

Dear Santa... oops ... Jesus!

My oldest daughter is 23 years old, a 2009 summa cum laude graduate of an Ivy League school, running a food bank in Brooklyn, New York, and about to be among the great unemployed. Her position is funded through Americorps, and her year of service will be completed in 4 short weeks. While she knows she can always come home... who wants to do that at age 23?!

While her circumstance is certainly not unique in this economy, what is unique is that this is my daughter. Which of course has occasioned more than a few prayers on my part. Recently, I chose to let my meditations center upon this daughter, and I began my usual laundry list of requests:

1. Please God... help her to find a job
2. A good job
3. A meaningful job
4. A living wage job
5. And, how great, if it could be located on the west (I like to say, the "correct") coast!
6. Oh, and of course... help her to find great co-workers
7. And good friends
8. And a supportive, healthy community
9. And... and... and...

Until, pretty soon, I realized it sounded more like I was sitting on Santa's knee than kneeling in the presence of God! The nature of my meditations - however good hearted and well intentioned they were - were just plain wrong.

It is not that there was anything "wrong" with any of these desires of my heart for my child. What was wrong was found in their limitations. I came to recognize (thanks be to God!) that my laundry list could never be complete. In fact, I do not even know the depth, length, height, breadth, width of my own needs... much less anyone else's! Who am I to say which of these desires is most important, which is critical for health and happiness? Who am I to know for my daughter what I may not even know for myself?

So before the meditation bell sounded, I managed to climb down off Santa's lap. And my laundry list transformed into one simple supplication:

Please God... fill her, form her, and let her light shine in all its fullest glory.

As this became my mantra, my anxiety for my daughter was replaced with a vision of her fulfillment - beyond my wildest dreams. I saw the Spirit's light flowing into and freeing up her own light. I saw her beauty and grace being released into the world without hesitation or fear. I experienced re-birth in that moment of meditation.

Apparently, letting go of my agenda is the first step in this journey of birth... whether I am trying to do it for myself, or longing it to be so for someone else. How simple it is, really - but how hard to remember - to get out of the way and let God be God. "Fill her (fill me); Form her (form me); and let her (my) light shine in all its fullest glory."... So long, Santa. Amen.

"Empty Nest"

I'm having a trial run this week, getting ready for fall's big changes. Both daughters are away, the younger one visiting her sister in the Big Apple. So I find myself thinking about September, when the nest will be emptying for real. And I'm not sure I am going to like it.

For quite some time now folks have been asking me if I was 'ready' for this life change. What I am realizing today is that there is really no way to prepare for it. Certainly I can make some plans (like asking a friend to go with me to move her into the dorm room so that I don't have to make the trek home all alone!). I can imagine what it will be like to walk by an empty bedroom and wait for the school vacations.

But, until that freshman year begins, the empty nest will only be an abstraction, something anticipated with excitement or with dread. Perhaps the thing to do is breathe. Today, in this moment, to focus on what is present, rather than those who are absent. Present with me right now are the options I have for this day. Present with me is the freedom to schedule my time. Present is my health, my strength, my wonder.

And while this nest may feel a little roomier right now, it is not because it is "empty"... because I am still here. I will be here when school starts. I'll be here when it ends. And perhaps it is time (high time) to pay attention to me. If I can manage to do that (even for today), it might not matter what happens in this nest after all.

"Agility, Part 2"

Some months ago I wrote about wanting to start Agility training with my dog. It seemed like a good way to be active, to channel a little of Reggie's natural exuberance in a positive way, and to help us bond.

Well, we started a "fundamentals of Agility" class in June, and of course Reggie does love it. He loves the jumps and the tunnels and the running the course. He loves the attention, and he especially loves the training treats. What he doesn't seem to love is the practice.

It turns out that Agility is like every other skill in life: it takes practice. It takes patience and determination. It takes persistence and attention to detail, going over one jump at a time, learning one command at a time. For Reggie - and I admit, for me - this is the real challenge of Agility. It seems so much more fun when you go and watch a competition. It seems so effortless and is such pure joy to watch dogs and trainers run through a course together as if they are one. Or as if they had not spent hours, days, months (even years) practicing.

Of course there are thousands of pithy little sayings I could post here...

"practice makes perfect"

"nothing that is worth doing is easy"

"an hour of practice is worth five hours of foot dragging"

But my favorite "practical" saying is this one, from Martha Graham - dancer, choreographer, and wise woman:

"Practice means to perform, over and over again, in the face of all obstacles, some act of vision, of faith, of desire. Practice is a means of inviting the perfection desired. We learn by practice. Whether that means we learn to dance by practicing dancing, or we learn to live by practicing living, the principles are the same. One becomes in some arena, an athlete of God."

So the sun is shining, the breeze is gently blowing, and the puppy is whining at my feet. It must be time to practice.

"Fireworks"

Tonight is the 4th of July, and while our neighborhood celebrates, our puppy is hiding between a table and the couch.  I'm sure Reggie is confused by our apathetic attitude while our house is (in Reggie's mind at least) under siege!  Fireworks are not much fun if you are a dog.

Driving home from a friend's barbeque, I got to thinking about the 4th of July, which we in the US celebrate as "Independence Day".  And yet, historically the 4th was not the day that independence was achieved.  Rather, it is simply the day independence was proclaimed.  The signing of the Declaration of Independence (and its adoption by the Continental Congress) was only the beginning - in some ways, that was the easy part.  Still to come were the bloody battles, the social and economic chaos, the disintegration of whole communities.  

Perhaps it would be more realistic, more historically accurate, for us to call this 4th of July our "Revolution Day".  Because when you think about it, that is really what we are choosing to mark and remember.  Revolution Day -- I like the sound of that, especially in this year of Re-Birth.  Because it helps me remember to mark and to celebrate every vision, every dream, every goal I can proclaim.  I do not have to wait until it is all achieved - until every dream is fulfilled, every goal is complete, every vision is fully grown.  Indeed, it just may be the celebrations themselves which help to create the reality.  

Where would this nation have ended up (as colonists, perhaps?) without the Declaration of Independence?  Where would any of us be without our own proclamations of faith, or our own declarations of hope?  They may be only the beginning.  There may be battles yet to fight, tough times to weather, chaos or fear to overcome.  Yet we have begun - independence is possible - when we mark, remember, and celebrate our own "Revolution Days".  So I say, pass the sparklers!  It's a good day for revolution! 

Following a Thread

The loose thread appeared to be something I could easily pull off my jacket.  It seemed to be an isolated flaw, and one which could be removed without disturbing the rest of the garment.  So, I grasped it between two fingers and gave a little tug... and then watched as the hem neatly unravelled in my hands!

Obviously there was nothing "isolated" about that thread.  Like so many of the issues of our lives, that loose thread was entwined around other, more stable threads and caught up in the overall weave of the jacket in ways I could not see at first glance.  Pulling the one thread actually impacted several others in a way that brought about the unravelling I had so wanted to avoid.

For me, it was a good lesson and an excellent metaphor.  There are times when I have felt myself unravelling.  There are times when I am caught in the grip of emotions which are entwined around one another.  And I cannot always recognize those threads - much less follow them - on a conscious level.  Just last night I was frustrated about three months of child support not yet paid, and college tuition due in less than a month.  I was fearful and more than a little angry about emails gone unanswered and promises not kept.  And I found myself unravelling.

This morning light dawned ... and I realized that I had been pulling a thread of grief which was entwined around the threads of anger, fear, and righteous indignation.  I have been a single mother for 15 years.  Those 15 years have lulled me into thinking the wounds of rejection, the pain of loss are healed and gone.  But the truth is that those threads are still a part of the tapestry of my life.  No wonder the level of my unrest kept rising; no wonder my anger rose to rage, when I inadvertently began to pull at the threads of pain.  

I do not like to unravel, even a bit.  And I do not do it very often.  Yet I am learning to welcome the fraying when it comes.  Because it always gives me a chance to follow the threads and to see where they lead.  It gives me an opportunity for healing and a chance for hope.  When a garment - or a life - unravels, you have a chance to re-weave it (maybe even to re-birth it!) into something stronger, more beautiful, and new.  

So I wonder where the next thread will finally lead?

Golf Balls??

I do not believe in coincidences...at least not until they have been thoroughly examined and investigated. I try to live each day fully present to the presence of God in the present moment. Which means, I try to pay attention when I am surprised by anything seemingly coincidental.

Recently, my attention has been drawn to golf balls. I know, it seems odd, but I am trying to figure out what in the world Spirit is trying to tell me through golf balls! About a week ago I was on the beautiful beach at Florence, Oregon, playing with the puppy. While Reggie fixated on chasing the tennis ball (over and over and over), I walked along the water's edge, enjoying the sand and the sun. When I came upon a golf ball gently rolling in the surf, I picked it up so it would not end up in some poor seagull's throat.

After about an hour we left the beach and headed inland to Reggie's first "agility" training class. Before we got to the instructor's home, we stopped for another romp - this time in a middle school's baseball field. Once again Reggie raced around "herding" the ball I threw for him, leaping to catch it in his mouth or pouncing on it in the grass. Once again, I walked the field and was surprised to find (you guessed it) a golf ball lying in the grass. I pocketed it along with the one from the beach, and didn't think anything more about it.

Until the next day when I again took Reggie and the "chuck-it" out to run off some of his innate over-the-top energy. And again, I discovered a golf ball lying smack dab in my path!

So what could this mean? What is the message for me? I think it is probably too late for me to join the pro circuit, even if I had ever mastered the game. My mom might tell me the message is an encouragement to take it up again, maybe even to receive the gift of her old clubs. My friend suggested maybe it was a clue to my next husband (you know, find the golfer, and go after him!) But really...

I think the message is much more subtle than any of these suggestions. When I think about golfing, I think of the frustration I used to feel because I was not able to do it right all the time. Those one or two good shots were hopelessly lost in the multitude of poor ones. I remember the dismay that came with knowing my head should stay down and my swing should be relaxed and my knees should be bent... and the reality that time and again my head would bob up, my swing would be stiff and my knees as straight as sticks.

Going down this memory lane, I'm thinking to take those found golf balls and give them away - quickly. And yet maybe it is possible to play the game (of golf, or even of life) without the frustration. Because maybe I could let go of my expectations that I should "do it right" all the time. Maybe I could learn to pay closer attention to the one or two good shots - the successes I enjoy, no matter how minor - and cease to give the limelight to my mis-steps or mistakes. Maybe I could learn that just "knowing" is not the same as "doing", and I could become more patient with myself in the process of growing into wisdom, head/heart/body/and spirit.

Well, what do you know! Golf balls, it turns out, can be a pretty effective communications tool after all.

"Possibility Painting"

If you have followed this blog for any time at all, you will notice a different look to it today.  It was time for a change - in part, to remind myself that the year of re-birth continues to bring surprises.  And, I found this great background, which reminds me of the colors of creativity and my own artistic endeavors.  In recent years I have come to identify myself in many different ways... certainly I am pleased to be a mother, privileged to be a pastor, honored to be a sister to one of the greatest siblings ever, daughter to an incredibly strong mother, friend to many amazingly wise and wonderful women and men.  Yet one of the identities which pleases (and amazes) me the most is that of the artist.

I remember being 8 or 9 years old when my teacher lifted up a finger painting I had created with extravagant praise.  I remember carefully bringing this treasured masterpiece home.  I remember learning for the first time the truth that "beauty is in the eye of the beholder", and the disappointment of eyes that beheld something different than mine when gazing upon my painting.  That was when I decided the teacher had been mistaken and I moved away from any thoughts of artistic grandeur.

Until about 9 years ago, when I went to a workshop where I was guided in a meditation to discover an image of my own soul.  When the meditation ended, I was given a blank canvas and access to acrylic paints in every imaginable color, with the instruction to paint the image I had seen in that contemplative state.  There were only two rules for the game:  First, I had to paint as closely as possible exactly what I had seen in the meditation; and secondly, I had to honor the painting by taking it home and hanging it in a place of honor.

Now my painting was quite abstract, reflective of my lingering doubts about myself as an artist. Yet it was a fairly decent description of the beauty I had encountered in those moments of meditation.  On the last day of the workshop I dutifully carried my painting into the restaurant where the last luncheon was held, prepared as I was to bring it home and hang it in a place of honor.  The waiter serving my table changed my life and gave me a new identity when he remarked, "Where did you get that beautiful painting?  I'd like to buy one just like it!"

Maybe that second-grade teacher was onto something after all!  Or maybe, beauty is not just in the eye of the beholder.  It is also in the heart of the artist.  I came home with my painting and began to paint some more.  I started with several more abstract, colorful, undisciplined works as I let Spirit lead me into creativity.  Eventually I branched out into landscapes, and still lifes.  But it wasn't until several years later that I finally embraced this new part of my life.

I happened to be at a holiday art show when I chanced upon a booth full of lovely, whimsical acrylic paintings in bright colors and geometric shapes (horses with triangle bodies and circular heads, mountains of pyramids, rectangular buildings and trapezoidal trees).  As I took in the light and the color and the humor, I remarked to myself "I could paint this!"  Whereupon the artist replied, "yes, you could... why don't you?"  In an instant I recognized the only thing stopping me was myself.  

How many times have I decided NOT to be ... an artist ... a poet .... a guru ... or even just a friend?  And how many times has that decision been the only thing that stood in my way?  When I go into my garage to paint this summer, I will try my very best to bring my second grade teacher along in my heart.  And I will try to let my eye behold the beauty she first saw.  That would be a great way to practice re-birth, for sure!

"Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes"

"Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes"...

I cannot believe it has been 6 weeks since my last posting! (How embarassing!) I could claim to have been super busy with my daughter's high school graduation celebrations, with family visits from out of town, with preparations for and participation in the annual conference for United Methodists in Oregon and Idaho. All of this is true. I have been busy. But that still does not explain, nor excuse my long absence from the blog!

Because what is even truer than all this talk of busy-ness and external distractions is the internal work I've been doing when it comes to CHANGES. This year of Re-Birth continues to be exciting, challenging, life-giving, and most of the time, fun for me. As my body has undergone radical changes (I'm now down 70 pounds), my spirit has also been opening up in some new ways. I have begun to let go of the need to plan, predict and protect my future. I have begun to trust a little more in the ongoing work of God's Spirit to be present not only in this moment, but in the next and the next and the one after that. This has brought a lightness to my soul which matches the growing lightness of my body.

And, it is not always easy. I believe one of the ways we know we are in the process of making real change is by the discomfort and the disquiet it brings. Recently my youngest daughter experienced this in a profound way.

We were on our way to a party for friends who are moving from one job into another. Of course we were running late (nothing particularly "changed" about that!), so while I drove I asked my daughter to choose a card for each of our friends, and a hearthstone to go with it. Now "hearthstones" are small, handmade clay hearts imprinted with a word for inspiration or blessing. I had a bag of about 20 stones to sort through to choose just the right gift for each of my friends. One by one the stones were lifted from the bag and their blessings were read, until one of the stones was accidentally dropped onto the floor of the car, landing upside down. Retrieving it, my daughter began to laugh and said, "wouldn't you know it ... it says change!"

You see, this daughter is feeling almost engulfed by change these days. The graduation celebrations are a happy memory and now her days are filled with a summer job, and preparations to move on herself - from the safety and security of home to the uncertainty and wonder of college. And seasons of change always provide a fertile ground for us to delve a little deeper into the wounds, the insecurities, the fears we carry, unnoticed in our ordinary days. So of course, the stone she dropped said change.

Off we went to the party, off we went to offer our love and support, our cards and our gifts. And then it was time to go home. Climbing into the car, my daughter surprised me by saying "Very funny, Mom!", accusing me of planting that problemmatic blessing on her seat. For there it was, in all its ironic glory, that one hearthstone - this time, face up where nobody could miss its message - change.

Perhaps the trick is to stop running from it and just accept it. We all know that change is a part of life, that nothing which is alive is not changing in every moment. So why should we be surprised when it chases after us while we are doing our best ostrich impersonation - you know the one, the head-in-the-sand hoping it will go away pose?! I think that is the blessing of the hearthstone, and of this summer for my daughter's development, and of this year in my life...for change is not only a constant, it is also an opportunity. Which is why I am going to stop running and start rejoicing once again.

Crazy-Making

I met an interesting woman recently, a relatively new neighbor who spent 36 years working as a Clinical Psychologist.  She told me that in all those years of providing therapy to a wide range of clients, and even of training other therapists, she felt like she kept seeing the same things over and over again.  Whether the problem was depression, or anxiety, narcissism or neurosis of one kind or another, she felt like all the suffering could be laid at the feet of three simple thoughts:

(1)  "What if?" ... You know how it goes, that nagging doubt which circles around in your head, taunting you to try and reconstruct the past.  "What if I had taken another job?  What if my husband had not left?  What if I had gone in on that land deal 20 years ago?  What if....?" (you can fill in the blank)

(2)  "If only" ... Another useless obsession, the "if only" refrain goes something like:  "If only I had better hair.  If only I could get a raise.  If only I had more friends.  If only...."

(3)  "Comparison thinking" ... This is the "stinkin' thinkin'" which leads us into measuring ourselves against others, and typically judging ourselves, our possessions, our resources, our value as not measuring up in comparison to family members, friends, even total strangers.  "After all, if she could be a bishop at age 52, what is the matter with me?!"

I think my new friend is right.  While all of us may from time to time slip briefly into one of these patterns of thought, any one of them can become crazy-making if we make ourselves at home in them, allowing these thoughts to become the narration of our days!  So how about trying on some new thought patterns instead?  For instance, instead of "what if" I could say to myself "thank goodness", and thereby find the blessings rather than the regrets of my life. Instead of bemoaning "if only", I could narrate my days with "maybe" and make room for possibilities yet to come.  Instead of the comparison dance of death I could choose to do a little affirmation jig.  

It is a good exercise to engage in.  Because life itself has plenty of ways to drive us crazy, without help from my own stinkin' thinkin!

New Glasses?

It has now been 7 weeks since my gastric bypass surgery, and I'm down 50 pounds and 3 or 4 sizes (depending upon the style and how stretchy the fabric is!).  That is a little less than halfway to my goal and is feeling great.

This weekend I saw a few folks I have not seen since before surgery.  They were all very enthusiastic and supportive of my weight loss, oohing and ahhing over how great I look.  And an interesting thing happened.  All three of these folks were convinced that I was wearing new glasses.  I had to keep assuring them that I have not purchased any new eyewear for well over a year and a half.  Finally, it dawned on me ... what is "new" is not my glasses.  What is "new" is my face!

Looking into the mirror daily I do not necessarily notice the changes taking place.  And it is helpful to connect with folks more objective than myself.  

I realize this is a good metaphor for much of life.  We drift along, consumed by routine and the occasional dramas of the day.  Even when we think we are living "in the moment" all sort of changes slip by unnoticed.  And it is helpful to connect with others who bring an objectivity we ourselves can only rarely muster.

Author Anne Lamott writes about a time when she worried about the safety of her son and his desire to go hang gliding one birthday.  She says that after she stewed and fretted about whether or not to allow this risky endeavor, she consulted a few friends.  In her words, "You can't heal your sick mind with your own sick mind".  It turns out that is what friends - relatives - colleagues - neighbors - even competitors are for!  

So maybe I do have some new "glasses"... if I can occasionally spend a few minutes looking through someone else's eyes.  For that may be the best way to get a good look in these days of re-birth.