Remembering What You Already Know

When was the last time you paused and took the time to be curious and observe children at play? Each person in the world is a teacher and there is something to be learned from everyone no matter what age or stage of life. I believe children are our greatest teachers – especially those around the age of four or five. Robert Fulghum highlighted this notion when he wrote his poem (and subsequent book) about kindergarten.

“Most of what I really need

to know about how to live

and what to do and how to be

I learned in kindergarten.”

Everything you need to know about being a fabulous, perfect YOU is already present in that early stage of life. As a little girl growing up in Oklahoma, I loved to skip around the block, ride the miniature roller coaster at my backyard kindergarten, hang out with puppies and kittens, eat ice cream, take naps, dress in sparkles and have permission to get dirty. I could ride my bike for hours without exhaustion because I loved it so much. Chalk was my favorite writing utensil and Tarzan and The Three Stooges brought me adventure and laughs. Road trips to the California beach and floating for hours on a raft in the middle of a peaceful lake still resonate. In fact, most of these things (or at least their essence) are where I find love and joy today. They are the things I know about living my life and being me—both then and now.

Several decades later, I still know it feels delicious to take a nap on a warm or rainy afternoon and there is sweetness in being gently awakened by someone I love. Sharing is delightful whether with a friend or stranger. Seeing a person’s face brighten is worth offering a lick of my ice cream cone, a seat on the bus, or a kind word. I also know it’s physically impossible to be angry while skipping. Doing something that elevates my heart rate with excitement and a touch of trepidation is worth the risk. Coming out on the other side and saying “I did it!” is one of the best sensations ever. Undertaking something risky each day brings living into life... and you get to decide what “risky” looks like for you.

We innately know what’s best for us (although it’s sometimes forgotten through years of poor habits and trying to follow everyone else’s advice). Our bodies know what is satisfying and nourishing... whether it’s cookies and milk after a lingering nap or gluten-free pizza and fresh garden veggies that comfort the soul.

An adult’s knowledge and a child’s wisdom are the perfect prescription for living life beautifully. Today, imagine what it might be like to nurture and trust the wisdom you instinctively knew as a healthy child. If you’re uncertain as to how or where to begin... Start slowly, be gentle with yourself, and explore...

·      Watch children at play.

·      Notice what you love and who makes you smile. Acknowledge generously.

·      Laugh every day.

·      Skip when angry. (If you find yourself in a situation where skipping isn’t immediately possible, then imagine doing it. The results are nearly as effective!)

·      Eat well. Dine when hungry. Stop when full. Ask what would best nourish you in the moment.

·      Move your body.

·      Claim peaceful moments.

·      Remember what you already know!

Two Seals and a Gift

Bandon, OR Beach

Nature offers an amazing gift of bringing us back to center when life feels out of balance. One of my favorite ways to explore just about anything is through the use of metaphor. How is this like that? While visiting the Oregon coast, my questions emerged something like this: How is the baby seal who strives to climb atop a slippery rock like my current situation? How is the beach covered in fog similar to my brain that refuses to clear? What of the sun that remains concealed from sight? Are my dreams hiding in plain view or are they just over the horizon?

One evening while beach combing, I paused to watch a group of sea lions gathered in the swelling tide. Eyes trained on the youngest pup, I was mesmerized by his struggle to climb atop the slippery embankment where his mother perched precariously. My maternal instincts were tugged by his unfruitful tenacity, and part of me wanted to wade into the icy surf and boost him onto the oblong pillar. Fortunately my sanity prevailed. After all, if he, an able-bodied water creature, couldn’t do it on his own, what benefit would I, a moderate swimmer at best, be to him? Nonetheless, our natural instincts are often to reach toward those we momentarily consider less capable—children, clients, co-workers, strangers—while setting aside our own care and safety in the midst.

Baby Reaches Mama (momentarily)

As I continued to observe the scene before me, I focused on the mother who lay upon the craggy peak—her pose precarious, like a crescent moon tilted on its side and loosely balanced on a rocking pebble. She appeared neither concerned about her shaky state or that of her offspring diligently attempting to reach her. Occasionally, she raised her head to look around, but then lay back to rest. She wisely knew the rhythm of the tide would ultimately ease her off the rock and into the water, reuniting her and her babe.

Recalling this scene later, I asked the questions: How is this like my calling today? Will I clear my head enough to look around and inquire: What do I need? What next? What will bring me life, rest, joy, peace, and love? Even though my initial response was to rescue the striving pup, my deep resonance was not with him... I have done enough striving for a lifetime. Today I choose to wonder how I can rise up like the wizened matriarch, peer around, and allow the flow of life to gently carry me into the sea and off my own precarious perch.

My assessment is not that the mother sea lion is resigned to her existence, but rather she has learned the rhythms of her life and chooses to go with them rather than struggle against the raging tides. Her young pup expends his energy in his own natural (and necessary) process of maturation. Each are appropriate for their time and stage in life.

Curious!

Today I invite you to consider this: Where do you struggle and strain when letting go might serve you better? What energy needs to be expended to bring your life (mind, spirit, body) into balance or maturation? How is this like that? Where might nature guide you today?

On Turning Thirteen...

“Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves.” Rainer Maria Rilke

Inspired by a friend’s request to share my words of wisdom to her soon-to-be 13-year-old daughter, I decided to share a slightly expanded version of my letter here. As I began to write to my young friend, I realized that the message I would have wanted at her age was the same one I need to hear today. Learn to Trust Yourself.

Me @ 13

While I can’t remember exactly what it’s like to stand on the threshold of turning 13, I do recall it as a time of exhilaration and uncertainty with lots of questions. I remember being too afraid to ask the questions for fear of looking dumb. I’d like to say I was filled with curiosity about who I would become in the world and what great things I was capable of doing. I’d also like to tell you that I was brave and didn’t worry about what everybody else was doing... But, in reality, I was more concerned about how my hair looked and whether or not I’d blend in with the rest of the kids my age. [Hmmm... Thirteen or not, how might this still resonate today?]

What do I wish I had known at 13? As I said earlier, it’s the wisdom that grounds and motivates me today: Learning to Trust Myself! I grew up thinking everyone else had the answers to all my questions. But how could they when they were my questions and we each are prone to see things differently? Only I can decide what I like and what feels right for me [and the same goes for you]. It’s kind of like sharing clothes with other people. We come in all shapes, sizes, likes and dislikes, so it’s important to try on different things to see what makes us sparkle. That’s how we learn to trust ourselves. [If you are still learning to do this at your age (I know I am), then read on...]

Ask lots of questions, don’t be afraid to stand out, and explore boatloads of things to see what makes you a trustworthy You. Taste new foods. Listen to different music. Watch movies that none of your friends have seen. Learn a language. Travel to an unexplored destination. Revamp your wardrobe. Throw out what doesn’t fit. Keep what you love. Be curious and don’t be afraid if you don’t know the answers (even if the questions are Who am I or What do I like?) Keep asking and exploring.

My hunch is that you already have a pretty strong sense of who you are and what you like [although it might need a little refreshing], so Trust Yourself and you’ll never go wrong... And if things get confusing or you feel a little lost that’s okay, too. Blend in if you need to. Stand out when that feels good. Ask for help when you don’t know the way. Keep trying things on as you learn to trust and refine your perfect self! And if it helps... you can always pretend you’re standing on the threshold of adolescence.

Ponder this: What words of wisdom would you offer to a 13-year-old?

Pondering... 30 in 30 - Day 27

"Plan to be surprised." Dan in Real Life

Diamonds in the Soul - helping high-functioning, under-living people recover and nourish personal delight & joy in life.

Pondering... 30 in 30 - Day 20

Table of Truth

If I simply told my truth without caring if it's been told before or wondering whether it were special enough or too dark to reveal, I would write it all. The words would flow uncensored as I cherished and exposed the beauty, the broken, and the unseemly. I would offer both heartbreak and joy. I would not hold back nor would I overtly embellish. The prose would be raw, revealing and revelational. My truth would weave this brilliantly unique tapestry that is only me.

I would not compare or judge and wonder if every mother were critical or if other offspring had experienced tragedy. I would reveal my own ugliness without apology and my beauty and pain without permission. I would share the whole journey. I would speak of becoming an enraged woman who screeched into the face of a child. I would become the little child, muted with the crook of a finger and silenced by a commanding nod. I would write of mythical experiences and struggles with spirituality. I would acknowledge my deep faith and abolish the voice of tyranny. All tales would have their place. Each thread of color and strand of reality would be welcomed at the table of my truth.


Diamonds in the Soul - helping high-functioning, under-living people recover and nourish personal delight & joy in life.

Pondering... 30 in 30 - Day 10

What lies below us? And what is above? - Christa G.

When I was a little girl, I envisioned splendid images of God and his kingdom in the sky. I believed that if I squinted through my eyelashes and pretended I wasn’t looking that I could catch a glimpse of him floating by on a cloud, surrounded by white-winged angels. I would lie for hours in the fresh summer grass, staring up into the sky until I could feel the slow turning of the earth beneath me. In my child’s mind, I never quite caught that vivid peek of God, but as an adult I realize those were the moments a Higher Power was most fully present to me. In that dreamlike state where waking and sleep merge, when vision blurs and yet becomes crystal clear. The place of being held by the earth, gazing longingly into the sky and being completely content for timeless hours.

Without nearly as much conviction as believing I could catch God through the window of my eyelashes was the notion that somewhere beneath my feet lay a fiery pit tended by a man with red horns, pitched fork and tail. I also imagined that if I dug a hole through the center of the earth, I would end up in China. Much more time was spent fantasizing about the delight and joy of ending up in a faraway little girl’s backyard than worrying about falling into a fiery pit. How could the same earth, soil and grass that cradled my cloud-watching self, also cover such a nasty place in the midst of the earth? I preferred to think of the magical tunnel that connected me to my foreign soul mate.

As an adult, my heart returns to cloud watching and earth pondering. What does lie below? My heart believes it offers a place to be grounded and held. We can be cradled and nurtured in love or we can be captive to fear with worries about what waits to pull us down. And above? Both adult and child know that is the space filled with infinite possibility. The dreamlike state where waking and sleep merge, when vision blurs and yet becomes crystal clear. The place where the most lovely of all things are made manifest.

photo © h3images

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Pondering... 30 in 30 - Day 6

Cutting the Cord

I don’t understand the chemistry of a labyrinth – if chemistry is even the word. How magic happens by stepping into a circle of stones. This day I was simply there to do the time. I even set the stopwatch on my wrist. Walking slowly, I was drawn to pulling out the haphazard weeds in the path. Themes of ritual and funeral rose in my mind. Letting go. Refining and expanding.

Stepping into the center, I see the altar of remembrances and symbols of others’ letting go. My pockets holding a hotel key and sunglasses, I have nothing to leave. But there on my wrist are the cloth bracelets I have worn for years. They represent another time of life. The raising of my children now turned adult. It’s time to release and let go.

The lavender band was the easier to remove. Elastic, faded purple, worn around the edges, it’s had many uses – holding my hair, snapping my wrist, adding color to my life. It is a reminder of my sweet girl. Today it’s time to let go. The green band comes next – not so easy to maneuver. I’ve worn it for seven years in honor of my dear son. It’s time to let go and as I stand in the center of the labyrinth I know that to be true. Ritual. Funeral. Release.

No scissors. No knife. No stone sharp enough to cut the cord. Only my sheer will to release and let go. It was painful and at times seemed impossible. Pushing. Pulling. Tugging. Centimeter by centimeter I stretched it across my hand. Tiny blood blisters form on my wrist and no doubt bruises will follow. Millimeter by millimeter. I cease to battle, because it is inevitable the bracelet will stay in the center of this New Mexico labyrinth. How do we know when it’s time to let go? We know.

Pausing in the center, tears formed and while there wasn’t a whoosh of relief or release, there was a calm presence that offered, “This is true. Yes.” Squatting by the sweet altar, holding my breath for a moment or two – leaving purple and green tucked and entwined together, a magpie feather guarding their resting place. “You can’t return the way you came.” Words as clear as the church bells in the distance. Another magpie leads my way as I step across the path. A hop here. A pause there. I can’t go back the way I came.


photo with permission © http://www.carryitforward.com/

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Pondering... 30 in 30 - Day 5

Youth's Challenge

Over coffee with my friend of 20 years, we mused about where we have been and how we live now. Wisdom, foolishness, joy and sorrow have carved prophetic lines in our once smooth faces. Still, we shine with beauty and grace. We cry with sorrow as agony forms the deep places of our souls. We have chosen to live and were we to die today, it would be without regret. There are things we cannot change and things we've yet to do. We still ask questions of ourselves and know that no one can answer our questions for us. We must do it on our own.

Earlier this same morning, a fellow ponderer asked me what I think the greatest challenge is that faces young adults today. My quick response? The fact that they are young. They have the world before them and have not yet gathered the experience of longevity. It is both gift and rival. I believe, the greatest challenge (and one not exclusive to youth) is to find authentic voice and pave paths of our own truth. To live unfettered lives that bring freedom versus imprisonment. To unselfishly and unabashedly stand for who we are. Life's challenge is to sort through the history the elders have bequeathed us - emotionally, spiritually, and economically. To find personal choice while sifting through peer pressure and the voice of the inner critic.

The greatest challenge for me comes from within, and I can't imagine it's so very different for others, be they young, old or in-between. The beauty is that this very same challenge is also our greatest gift. For if it comes from within, then we are free to change through choice. What will I choose for me? What will I offer to others? Life. I choose life over mere existence. Perhaps this is the challenge? This intentional pathway doesn't always taste of sweet honey and love songs. Terror and exhilaration swirl in a strange mixture toward conquering fear. Stepping into light means moving through darkness and befriending fear. It means letting go of what does not work and clinging tightly to what does. Choosing life is taking the risk to be immersed in the fragrance - aromatic & otherwise - of authentic being.

Inspired by Laura S's prompt: What is the biggest challenge facing today's young adults?

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Pause before you Punch...

... or How to Deal with Mean People

My friend and colleague, the beautiful and talented, Deb Smouse, recently asked if I had any tips on dealing with mean people. Not knowing exactly what she desired, I decided to do a little journaling around the topic to find out what I know ☺.

Bottom line, no matter how hard we try and hope it isn't so, they do exist and well... Sometimes mean people are just plain mean. They get under your skin and make you feel like you want to lash out and be mean too (or at least I do.) When I feel my blood pressure start to rise and my chest begin to pound, I realize that’s usually the time to take a deep breath and pause for a quick look in the mirror. Stop. Look. Listen. Notice and begin to imagine where their nastiness might be coming from, because most often it doesn’t have anything to do with me. I’ve also learned that without the pause, I’m at risk of feeding their fire (or ire) by turning up the heat with my less desirable Lucy-girl tactics. While momentarily this might feel good, it typically feels downright yucky and both of us walk away feeling singed. If I can avert this quick response and gather my pause, I often discover it’s the perfect time to pull out my super-secret (wish everyone knew about it) diffuser: Compassion. Whether or not the other person is willing to receive it, depends on them. In any case, through compassion I can stay grounded and with much better-feeling results than trying to match their nasty attitude.

(Warning: If you offer compassion and kindness to someone and consistently walk away feeling guilty or at fault for their bad mood, you’re probably dealing with a narcissist. My advice is to steer clear!)

Grumpsters come in all varieties and curmudgeons are my favorites. They’re usually just big old teddy bears who lay on the mild end of the “mean” scale just before hard-to-love, prickly, but ultimately approachable people and far away from sociopaths or narcissists who can rarely be won over and always leave you feeling icky. My approach with curmudgeons (and I realize I’m now giving away trade secrets) is to tame them with kindness. I like to get playful and perhaps a little sassy with these growly bears while feeding them their own direct medicine. I truly love being their pal, and rarely let them off the hook, because curmudgeons typically enjoy a good jest and are usually just trying to stir things up.

In my experience mean people are always asking for something and while it usually looks like they want you to go away, the exact opposite is often true. My kids, for example, have perfected the nasty look or growling get-away-from-me grunt. They can trigger me faster than any living person, so it’s trickier with people you’re close to, because you’re often a lot alike and/or it feels like there’s more at risk than with someone you don’t know. Once I began to understand my own insecurities and hidden motivations for being mean, it became easier to stick it out with others and turn on the loving compassion. It also taught me to slow down and consider how things aren’t always as they seem.

If pausing, looking in the mirror and calling on compassion, doesn’t do the trick for taming a mean person, then my surefire, foolproof approach to not letting this person get to me is to imagine they are about four or five years old. I see them slightly past the terrible two’s (although it can be fun to think of them at this age), but not yet jaded by a world of should’s and should not’s. By seeing an offensive person as a tender child who only wants to be loved, I’m able to drop my own defensiveness and tap into unconditional love and compassion. If four or five years old doesn’t work, I drop the age even younger until I can only see them as needing care. I can’t even begin to imagine retaliating or hurting them. I try to envision what this child might need – a kind word, a grounded presence, a hug or pat on the back. Mentally offering it to them can be equally powerful when it’s inappropriate to do it physically. In some cases they may just need to be left alone. In the case of hard-core offenders (sociopaths/narcissists), sometimes we just need to walk away and take care of our own inner child (i.e. don’t add to the abusiveness by staying in the line of fire!) It’s ok to move away gently and acknowledge for ourselves where and how it hurts. Finally, I allow myself to remember sometimes mean people are just plain mean.

Be sure to pop on over to Debra Smouse’s To Box or Not to Box for another viewpoint on dealing with those mean-spirited people in your life.

You can also visit me at Diamonds in the Soul to learn more about me.

Be Curious

“As I started looking, I found more and more.” -- Valerie Steele

On a breezy evening that threatened rain, but offered amazing cloud formations and lighting, I attended my daughter’s graduation from high school. A monumental event for all, and one that arrived more quickly than a parent could possibly imagine. We braced ourselves for a potentially boring evening as nearly 400 graduates streamed into the stadium, paired off boy-girl boy-girl. The evening, however, flowed seamlessly as the class president opened with a simple statement, “Good job. We did it.” - followed by talented choral groups ranging from high brow classical to street rap.

The most lackluster speech of the evening was the one meant to inspire. The adult speaker literally said, “I’m going to inspire you” and then began to read a list of former graduates (mainly from the ‘50’s and earlier) who had “made it big.” I recognized one name of an actress I adored during the ‘80’s and my husband identified a real estate mogul who he’d had less than pleasant business dealings with. The delivery was dry and as my own eyes glazed over, I couldn’t imagine my daughter or many other students being inspired by this recitation.

Looking out over the stadium, I was struck by the style and creativity of the students on the field. I witnessed mortarboards decorated with glitter and sequins glistening in the evening light. Students with oversized sunglasses; a boy with Mickey Mouse ears cleverly attached to his graduation cap. An array of finery peeking beneath red and black gowns: rubber sandals, glittering high heels, blown out blue jeans and pressed tuxedos. I watched the crowd: proud parents, raucous friends, and people holding elaborate signs, flowers from street vendors, cameras, bull horns and video recorders. In my musing, I became curious about who these people were, where they had been and where the future might carry them.

With curiosity the night came alive. Why did the seagulls soar over the crowd in the intricate patterns of swoop and dive? Who created the formation of night clouds and evening light that added a glow of perfection to the evening? Flashes of history went through my mind (good, bad and indifferent) as names were called to receive diplomas. Children I’d known since they were four years old strolled across the stage as the next generation of leaders. Later, I would pray for their safety and protection as they departed for Senior Spree, private parties and celebrations with family and friends. I wondered where time had gone, opportunities missed and adventures to come.

In my mind, the “inspirational speaker” had missed the mark. While a list of former accomplishments might or might not encourage others to move forward, curiosity could be a lasting companion. Curiosity inspires. It is my friend daily as I wonder about the world and myself. It motivates me to move forward and calls into question (without judgment) why I might stay inert. It encourages me to ask questions and seek new horizons. If I could leave a legacy for the generations to come, it would be this: Be Curious. Be grateful. Be you.

Ponder this: How are you inspired? What would be your legacy for those to follow?

photo by mark karras (used with permission... since he didn't get a model release and janey is featured :)

desert blooms

"escaping into the desert until her time." my morning reading today ended with these words. they feel prophetic. they're written in the book of revelation - the most prophetic chapter of the bible.

"escaping into the desert until her time." when will it be my time? the voice answers loudly, "now. now is your time. it's time to bloom and shine and spread further into the world."

this seems to be a theme carried over from last week as christine and i explored boundaries, edges and frames with our soul care supervision group. i ventured out into the amazing sunshine to see what images wanted to be framed within my camera. my first stop was the playground where i couldn't take my eyes off the joyful grade school students at recess. their energy was captivating. full of brilliant colors and images of movement and exuberance. flying and leaping and raising their arms in the air. the little girl with her face down on the ground. not in defeat, but in a holy movement. the fresh colors drew me throughout my walk and even my own brilliant reflection called out to be photographed.

now is the time to come out of the desert. my roots are planted in the ground. deep and solid. lovable and unshakable. heaven knows i've tried to uproot myself. i've swayed with the winds - bent even - still i continue to flow with the breeze rather than break in the storm. this is beauty. wonderful and beautiful. it's my time to come out of the desert, and it's my time to go into the physical desert and see what needs to be said to me. to lie under a billion stars. wow. i can't believe i'm going. i'm really going. the time to come out of the desert. how do things grow in the desert? those lone blooms - they're there. i've seen them. they will be my beacon. "escaping into the desert until her time."

(btw - there's a pilgrimage to the sinai desert in the fall that has my name on it...)

Even girls in tutus cry…

This morning I had the lovely and rare opportunity of meeting with a dear friend and spending a few hours dreaming together of creative possibilities for our lives. Our time together was made even more extraordinary by the backdrop of Shilshole Bay. The sun was shining, the wind calm and the temperature perfect - especially when wrapped in our warm blankies.

Part of my dreaming included ‘fessing up to some of the things that stop me from moving forward. These mainly consisted of journal whining with words like, “I could never…” or “Everybody else does it better than me…”

The background of this conversation featured children, mainly in the 2-4 year old range, romping up and down the beach – some with shovels in hand, others wearing brightly colored hats, most being trailed by mothers trying to keep up with the toddlers’ mad dashes toward the sea. One little girl in particular caught my eye. She was several yards down the beach, but close enough to see she was wearing a fabulous pink and black tutu – her mop of curly auburn hair flying in the breeze of her own making.

Tutus always catch my fancy. I’m not sure I ever owned one of my own and haven’t quite convinced myself that romping on the beach in a pink tutu would be my best look right now. However… I can easily get caught up in the magic of tulle and as I watched her from a distance, I felt empowered to overcome my journal whining and replace my “I could never” with a most certain, “Of course I can!”

A brief stop in the ladies’ room before heading home, brought us face to face with tutu girl. Her glee had been replaced by bellowing cries and fear at the sound of the hand dryer. The illusion of only perfection in tulle was momentarily shattered. Which was the illusion? What is the reality? Would my resolve waver too? Perhaps it was only the magic of the beach, sunshine and the tutu that made my dreams seem possible.

Nevertheless, I leaned into my resolve and listened to my inner creative spirit as I realized sometimes…

…even girls in tutus cry.

photos taken another day @ Shilshole Bay

Bend or Break?

Warning: Lots of questions. Few answers.

“Why are some of the sweetest and most profound moments created out of agonizing heart break?” This is a question recently posed by an amazingly resilient friend. I wonder at times why she has not broken into a million little pieces.

Our conversation and several other events led me to consider the next question(s): Why do some people rise to the challenge and become stronger, wiser and more deeply committed to life; while others break or sink into despair, pathology and bitterness? Why are some resilient and others brittle? Why can some see beauty and sweetness even in the midst of heartbreak?

This month’s Vanity Fair includes an article on Farrah Fawcett’s last years. It really, however, is an article about her surviving lover, Ryan O’Neal. The depth of pain and bitterness that comes out through O’Neal’s thinly-veiled cynicism is heartbreaking - particularly as he speaks of the addiction that tormented his family. His anger, hatred and hopelessness pointed me toward thoughts of men and women I know who battle similar challenges. The difference in response is astounding as I witness parents who keep holding hope for their children through the direst circumstances while O’Neal jokes about wishing some of his offspring had never been born. (Please do not read this as a judgment of O’Neal. I see a heartbroken man and not someone to be condemned.) It is the contrast of which I speak. Why are some people able to see through the ugliness to the inner core of beauty and others are unaware beauty might even exist?

I think of Biblical examples, like the prodigal son and the shepherd who leaves the 99 sheep to find the lost one. These parents keep coming back with love – again and again. They bend and stretch, and do not snap. Their resilience and flexibility surpass the rigidity that ultimately causes rupture and bitterness. Why do some rubber bands keep stretching and others snap and break?

Is it by Christ’s example of selfless love? By loving God and your neighbor (or child) as yourself? By practicing self-care? All of the above? Or is it just plain luck? Who am I to say? In my experience I have learned one pretty simple thing: if God is eased out of my equation, bitterness quickly seeps in...and the downward spiral plummets. I do not know why some rubber bands break and others stretch, but I do know: If we can’t love ourselves, we can’t love anyone else well.

"golden spiral" - bermuda 7.09

Playful Child

Summer time is the perfect time for daydreaming. Today I would love for us to consider our playful children. Not the ones that might be running around in your house or playing in the neighborhood outside, but the playful child who lives inside you. Yes, you...& me!

What follows is a simple meditation. If you would like to take part (and I sincerely hope you will), I suggest you gather some crayons, colored pencils or markers and a large sheet of plain paper to have by your side. Then consider this:

When you think of being a playful child, what comes to mind? Particular tastes, touch, smell? Popsicles on a hot summer day. The soft furr of a tiny kitten. The scratchy tongue of a puppy on your hand. Maybe it is the smell of popcorn and the anticipation of The Wonderful World of Disney or Howdy Doody or Sesame Street.

Are you inside or outside? Can you feel the grass beneath your feet? The splash of water on your toes? Perhaps you are curled up next to your mom or dad. Can you smell cookies baking in the oven or feel the excitement of your first day of school?

What things do you look forward to? A trip to the beach. A new book. Playing a game with friends. Hopscotch or jacks. Skipping rope or riding your bike and feeling the wind in your hair. Skiing in the fresh snow, building a snowman or the freedom of skimming across new ice on skates.

Where do you feel the most alive and content? Can you see it? Smell it? Touch it? Taste it? What does it sound like? Church bells. Peels of laughter. A gentle voice reading you a story or the magnificent silence as you gaze at the night’s brilliant stars. Can you sense the joy of finding the big dipper or the north star?

Does your playful child like small cozy spaces? Covers thrown over the table to make a tent? Snuggling in bed with a flashlight and a Nancy Drew book? Perhaps you prefer the great outdoors. The expanse of the beach or a mountain trail while sitting atop your daddy’s shoulders. Sharing the great wildness with your heavenly Father. The Grand Canyon. Miles of desert or forest or ocean or running free through endless fields of wheat or corn.

Maybe this is an actual experience or maybe it’s only that special place in your dreams. When you close your eyes and feel the senses of freedom and childhood, what comes to mind? Consider the playful child. What does she/he look like? Does playful have a taste? A smell? Use all your senses. Can you hear it? Do your fingers reach for something to touch and hold? Let your imagination flow. Be in that place where anything is possible. No fear. Only love surrounds you. Taste it. Touch it. Smell it. Feel it. See it. Know it.

And now, holding all that you have just experienced, I encourage you to use your non-dominant hand and DRAW it. Don’t think about it. Tell the inner critique you're not listening today. Just pick up a crayon and draw. What colors are this image? Let them flow onto the paper. Hold that space and be the child who knows only freedom and safety and love. Let that child and her experience flow out onto the paper. After all, she/he deserves a chance to come out and play, don't ya think?

(and then, of course, let me know what you discovered! Happy dreaming!!! ☺)

playful child ksh, age 4
lucy's drawing 8/13/09 (no need to worry about your own results. isn't mine beautiful?!?!?)

It is Good Friday

It is Good Friday. So much to consider. Everything from the cross and all its meaning – old, new & yet discovered – to the students and peers I will say good-bye to next week. Where am I going? Today, I will venture to Tacoma to see my son – for whom I have suffered much and whose suffering brought me to new life. Where on the cross does that fit? I think of papers to grade – a trip to take – my daughter rumbling around in the kitchen – my husband who I enjoyed so much yesterday.

Why? Why all of these things? I feel the pressure to write of Good Friday. (“All the “holy” people are doing it”, says the b.s. in my head. “Move into silence like the other “good” ones.”) Oh my, the inner voices ring loud and I wonder how will I be generous with myself.

How do I get to be me? How do I follow my own voice – be who I am created to be? Who is God? What is God? How can we even define? Yet so many attempt. Attempting truth. Is truth not what we experience? Could truth be being present to our own experiences of each other – of the world – of ourselves?

“Easter and Passover make us experience in ourselves a call out of bondage. So experiencing them doesn’t destroy our religious traditions.” Joseph Campbell

How will I experience Good Friday – like me – like myself? I am aware it is the day of the cross. Do I need to run away from life today – hole up in my sanctuary and pray for hours? Perhaps – if that is what I am called to do from the deep core of my being. I think not. Instead I will go to see my son. How appropriate this mother and son should be together on this day. I will go for a walk with a new friend – breathing fresh air – building new relationship. “We are nailed together by the cross.” – a paraphrase from Jan Richardson’s must read post.

Life afresh and new. Letting the old die. “Whatever comes from a moment’s grace that joins us to our lives and to each other – this is spiritual.” Mark Nepo I would go on to say it is Holy - these things that join us to our lives. The candle that burns on my desk. Music drifting through the room. Clouds that cover the sun. Friends who await my call. God who speaks my name.

It is Good Friday. There is much to be considered.

photo of my son circa 1993

baby whisperer

One of the things I look forward to each month is my visit to see my chiropractor, Dr. Derek. Health benefits aside, I always enjoy meeting with the young doctor for our conversations about the little synchronicities of life. He and his staff have created a welcoming atmosphere in the top floor of an old fire station. There are hardwood floors, natural lighting, and great music.

Last week, I found myself complaining about the change in schedule. Appointment hours were being expanded, but my favorite slot had been eliminated. So, I hemmed and hawed (not so very graciously) and landed on another day and time to try.

This morning when I arrived, I heard a baby crying. I realized it was the doctor’s one year old, Mia, and I overheard him saying they were a little short-handed since his wife was at the dentist and the children were in his care. Shortly, after doing my wobble chair I walked back up to the front and saw little Mia sitting in Grace, the receptionist’s lap. Underneath the desk was Mia’s older brother Ty (3). He and I carried on a wonderful conversation about Thomas the train and friends -- both of us declaring Percy as our favorite.

Soon, Mia was beckoning for my attention. She reached her chubby little arms out, toddled over and let me scoop her up. I thought she might decide quickly that I was someone she did not know and want to go back to the familiar. Nope. We were fast friends. There were three other people ahead of me for adjustments so Mia and I strolled around the space and looked out the window at the mountains and sunshine. I quickly found myself rocking with my “mom sway” that I have not used in many moons! I felt Mia’s weight shift and asked Grace if her little eyes were still open. Nope. Sound asleep. Her body getting heavier with each breath, I sat down and held the slumbering babe.

What a gift! Just a few days ago I wrote about the joy of holding my sleeping children and then today, here I was snuggled up with a little blonde angel. I wondered if somehow the Universe was granting an unknown request submitted by me in my list of 7 favorites. Hmmm…

Too soon, the time came for my own appoint-
ment and I nestled Mia onto a mat on the floor. She, of course, woke up when she was out of my arms, but soon her mother arrived to comfort her. . . The doctor said, “Lucy’s the baby whisperer”. Mom replied with a smile , “Yes, I’ve heard.” It was a wonderful affirmation that my “good mom instincts” are still intact—something that’s easy to question when teenagers are quick to try and convince me otherwise. I like to believe small children are quite perceptive and discerning in who they choose to hang out with. Baby Whisperer…I like it.

So, all of my grousing about changing days and times, turned into this wonderful little glimpse of heaven. I really wonder why I try to control anything at all…it seems like more times than not, changes turn into something more brilliant than I ever could have imagined. Are you a grouser? Or can you let things come as they may? I seem to vacillate between the two…hopefully leaning a little more toward welcoming what comes freely.

photos from paris 3.08

fire of freedom

This theme of fire continues to find and follow me. The candle beckons me first thing in the morning to light its flame. It dances in the peripheral of my vision and reminds me that We are One – dance – flame – God.

A little journaling and then a “random” opening of “Thomas Merton: A Book of Hours” reveals this:

"The fire of love for souls loved by God consumes like the fire of God’s love, and it is the same love. It burns you up with a hunger for the supernatural happiness first of the people that you know, then of people you have barely heard of, and finally of everybody."

It is easy to love the lovable, but what of the not so lovable? My heart is big even though it grew up in a home of judgment and criticism. My mind turns to Linda on the playground. We are seven years old. I feel her hand in mine. It has a slightly different feel - a little drier – a little coarser, but still it is a small hand like mine. Fingers entwined as we skip across the playground, joyously together.

During that moment, I did not know this was considered an outrage to many. It was 1963 in Bethany, Oklahoma. Linda was black and I was white. I did not know that during this same time period, perhaps even the same week, four African American girls just about our age had been killed in a bombing in Alabama while attending church. I did not know it could be considered dangerous to be friends with this girl who was just like me. I did not know that some considered her unlovable.

I have no idea how long we were friends. It might have been only that one day. She disappeared from our school as quietly as she had arrived. Still 35 years later, she lingers in my mind.

Have you ever heard the saying, “You cannot skip and be angry at the same time?” Try it sometime. Two images of freedom come to me most strongly when I think of my childhood. One is skipping by myself on my way to Kindergarten - scuffing my perfect little shoes along the way. The other is skipping hand in hand with Linda on the playground of our elementary school.

So why does this come to my mind now? I believe Linda has reappeared to me today as that symbol of freedom both for myself and for our country, even our world. We are in an historic time right now. Can you feel it? May the fire of freedom burn brightly!!!

Bless you, Linda, wherever you may be.

Consider this: Who are the "Linda's" of your life? What does "fire of freedom" say to you?

freeze frame

A moment in time. Sunday with my son. Beautiful. Slow. Steady. His glorious smile lighting the day. But first, a sharing of his heart. His fears. His struggles. Authentic and true. There is a humility about him. A realness. A maturity.

We talk over eggs and sausage. I smile. He is my son. We are so much alike and we are so different. We spend the day driving together. He, practicing to get his license. Me, learning to let go. He, becoming more relaxed and consequently me too. (I wonder if the relaxation is with the car or with each other? ☺) The day goes on. A stop by Sunset Hill. “Mom, will you take my picture?” We pick up his sister and drop her off at soccer and then IT happens. The icing on the cake of an already perfect day.

He starts to sing along with the stereo. The Beatles. “Let it be.” He sings aloud. Playfully. Not really in tune. We are so much alike ☺. He is performing. No, he is singing to me—to us. I am holding my closed hand as microphone to his mouth. We laugh. I sing a little myself. Time stops. I want to freeze frame this moment. This day. Let it be. It has been a long time coming. It has been well worth the wait if only for this moment.

mama bear

This mom is crabby crabby crabby. A stark contrast to the peaceful stillness of only a few days ago. Surrounded by incompetence and teenage angst…not being able to decide whose is whose. The term “mama bear” keeps roiling around in her brain along with the gesture of throwing her arm across the passenger seat to protect her child in the event of a sudden stop. What is it about mother’s that sends their right arm flying into open position when they think their child is in danger? Do British mum’s fling open their left?


Still she ponders and wonders why the anger has arisen so sharply in the last week. Is it that she is surrounded by grownups battling their own demons and attempting to throw their anger into her lap? At work, they sit and smile, but she feels their seething undercurrent even while they say everything is “o.k.” At school, her youngest battles for autonomy while coming up against the man/boys they call role models. It is enough to make a parent’s blood boil. For sure it makes a mama bear growl!

Still she wonders if she is coddling or letting go too soon. The balance is a tough one. The teen has her own immature hijinx, but here she is called to be the “adult” as she plays the game of high school politics. Yuk! Mama bear wants to step in and give the offenders a big swat of her paw, but settles for a little art making and mental health break instead.

A trip to the masseuse ends with the recommendation of “Take it easy and watch movies all day” ☺. Advice heeded, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly continues the melancholy mood as she finds herself feeling stuck in her own diving bell. Mama bear is ready to hibernate. Like I said, this mom is crabby crabby crabby!

visual journal page by lucy 10.03.08

out of the mouths of babes

This smile was just too good to pass up! found at L Squared:

"mesa is new to the brace-face look...she wasn't too happy when she had to get "grills" last month and is still adjusting. on sunday, after taking communion at church, she leaned over and whispered to me "mom...jesus just got stuck in my braces." try staying reverent at that moment."