Refusal to Journey

“The refusal to begin our journey doesn’t keep us from having one.” Julia Cameron The Sound of Paper

“Where are you at?” is the question posed in today’s reading by Julia Cameron. I am sitting in my bed on a Sunday morning once again contemplating whether or not to go to church. What is church anyway? It feels pretty holy here in my bed surrounded by my books, a candle lit, silence allowing for thoughts and meditation. But I digress. Where am I? I am sitting in the middle of my life. A life that has been full but at times has felt wasted, especially now that I see the potential and am open to the joy and expanse around me. But, you can’t go back and honestly I do not have regrets; for every moment has brought me to be the woman I am today. So, where am I?

The most present thought is that I have a month before me more open and waiting than I have had in a long time. I have finished my work at the graduate school for the year and I do not have a Soltura trip planned until the end of the month. The possibilities are wide open. So what shall I do? My writing instructor has suggested I send a piece to a couple of places for publication. Terrifying! Rejection looms on the horizon. Cameron says, “It is not the start, it is the finish that troubles us.” If I do not move, however, I may miss out not only on rejection, but on the possibility of success. This feels like when I considered returning to school a few of years ago. What if I could not do it? And, yet here I sit a full year after graduation, diploma in hand.

What do I fear? Missing out on something? Being hurt? Rejection? Those old words of ‘not good enough’ rattle around inside me. The conversation is running in my head. If you don’t start, how can you finish? If you don’t try, how will you ever know what you are capable of? If you don’t submit an article, how can it ever be published? Can I practice what I preach? I wrote just yesterday to Antony that “I don't think "calling" is past its time until we are toes up in the tulips.” So, if writing is my calling (at least for today), I guess I better keep at it.

So, one last look at the question “where am I?” I am sitting with the month of May before me. I am excited to have some space and time to reflect, to garden, to hang out with my family and maybe even to write a little and, even riskier, put a few writings out there for consideration. Whew!

After all, the journey will happen whether I think I’ve started down the road or not.

Common Cup

Although I have not been on the bus for a few days, the riders have continued to stay with me. A friend of mine e-mailed and said, “Based on the people you meet, have you considered taking another route?” I think his words were tongue in cheek, however, my immediate response was, “No way! These are my people.”

I find poetry much like the lingering images of my bus rides. I don’t necessarily understand what is being communicated, but the words and thoughts stay with me throughout my thoughts and dreams.

Two writings have been mingling in my mind for the last day or so that I would like to share here. The first are words from Sunrise Sister in response to “Chinese on the Bus.” The next is a poem from Elizabeth Barrett Brownings’, Sonnets from the Portuguese.

“The Chinese man - so willing to really, or even kiddingly, offer you a drink from a "common cup" - I, too, reach for the spiritual presence of God in each meeting. Are we more likely to share the "common cup" with a stranger than a person we "think" we know? Does the other person drink often from a "common cup" - making him eager to share the experience of communion with others?” – Sunrise Sister

“The face of all the world is changed, I think,
Since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul
Move still, oh, still, beside me, as they stole
Betwixt me and the dreadful outer brink
Of obvious death, where I, who thought to sink,
Was caught up into love, and taught the whole
Of life in a new rhythm. The cup of dole
God gave for baptism, I am fain to drink,
And praise its sweetness, Sweet, with thee anear.
The names of country, heaven, are changed away
For where thou art or shalt be, there or here;
And this…this lute and song…loved yesterday,
(The singing angels know) are only dear
Because they name moves right in what they say.”

--Elizabeth Barrett Browning

From what cup shall I choose to drink today? How about you?

Bandito on the Bus

Riding the bus exhibits an infinite clash of cultures and gives the imagination an opportunity to run wild. On this ride I was seated near the back of the bus just behind the rear door. It was slightly later than the normal rush hour ride. At one of the first stops, three young women (teenagers, no doubt) boarded and were all giggles and conversation. They reminded me so much of my daughter and her friends except that their heads were wrapped in colorful scarves, they glittered with lots of silver dangling jewelry and rapidly spoke in a foreign language. I wondered about their nationality and smiled to consider that teenage girls are teenage girls regardless of their birthplace.

Soon, they exited the spot where they had blocked my view of a man I have fondly dubbed the “bandito.” He was straight out of a spaghetti western with his swarthy good looks and clothes of black. Instead of cowboy boots, he wore heavy black shoes that were firmly placed across the empty seat beside him. The seat faced the back door of the bus and put him at a great vantage point for me to observe.

There was nothing particularly remarkable about his behavior until the bus started to fill and he nonchalantly, yet quite defiantly, kept his leg across the seat. Dressed in black jeans and a black coat with a grey hoodie underneath, he sat and cleaned his teeth with the corner of a matchbook. He did not look up and no one seemed to even consider asking him to move his foot. There were no available seats and soon two young men stood in the stairwell by the door. One had a military haircut and a canvas computer bag slung across his body. The other had longish hair and wore the typical accessory of many riders—headphones—on his ears. Both looked like they were heading to work downtown. The bandito lazily pulled tobacco out of his pocket and rolled his own cigarette as others stood around him. He mumbled to himself that the bus driver had called a stop the Garfield Bridge rather than the Garfield “Street” Bridge and it really seemed to annoy him. He appeared very attuned to what was going on around him while at the same time being totally in his own world.

Finally another man came back toward the empty seat. He also had weather worn skin and wore long dreadlocks covered with a navy bandanna. His hands and fingers were covered with tattoos and it was hard to say whether he was going to work or possibly to one of the homeless missions downtown. Interestingly enough, the bandito looked up, nodded toward the empty seat and removed his foot so this man could sit down. They shared a few words (again something about the bus driver’s inability to name stops correctly) and then the dreadlock man exited at which point Bandito firmly planted his foot back across the seat.

It was such a curious interaction to observe. Shortly after his seat partner left, Bandito glanced around (I obviously was not in his direct line of vision) and pulled a very tall can of cheap beer from his pocket, popped the top and began to take covert sips between stops. I found myself wondering who he was, why he would choose to let one person sit by him and not others. Was he really defiant, oblivious or possibly just uncomfortable? I considered whether prejudice might play a role and finally I mused about what would lead him to sneak drinks of beer on a bus at 9:30 in the morning. Who was this mystery man? Was he as surly and self-confident as he appeared? Or was he just one more lonely person trying his best to make it through the day?

Today I will close with this lovely prayer from Christine that speaks well to my bus riding experiences.

"Pray for Peace"

"Then pray to the bus driver who takes you to work.
On the bus, pray for everyone riding that bus,
for everyone riding buses all over the world.
Drop some silver and pray." -- Ellen Bass

Chinese on the Bus

He studied Chinese. I studied the faces around me. I love the bus. It is delightful and scary all at the same time. So much humanity contained in a narrow transporter of people. Where are they going? What do they do? How do they dream?

The other day a young man sat down next to me. He was nice looking in an offbeat sort of way. Like most riders, he didn’t make eye contact and tried to honor the space between us. A tantalizing aroma wafted my direction and I was temporarily overcome by the smell of his fresh latte and heard myself saying, “Wow, your coffee smells really good.” He smiled and pointed toward the stand by the roadside, mentioned they were pretty quick and that we had a red light. Just then the bus started to move. “Not quite quick enough,” I replied. And then he made a very tender gesture that took me by surprise. “Want a sip?” he asked. I chuckled and politely declined, moved by his offer nonetheless. He may have just been teasing, but I had the distinct feeling he would have honored his word had I responded “yes” to his offer.

We rode along and I noticed he had some handwritten vocabulary cards he was flipping through in a study-like fashion. “What language?” I inquired. “Chinese,” he responded. “Going on a trip?” “Nope. Just a hobby.” Our conversation continued for a few more moments. It was brief, but definitely brightened my day.

I always wonder about the people on the bus. They seem so solitary—plugged into their i-pods and hiding behind books, newspapers and blank expressions.

A woman sat across from me on the ride home. She was self-contained and quiet like the rest of the riders, but at one point in the trip someone got on the bus and caught her attention. She must have been fond of the person because her face lit up and transformed into a beautiful smile. It was like magic.

We desire community. Communion means ‘union with.’ Maybe that’s why people ride the bus and don’t even realize it. Maybe it’s not economic or ecological, but rather it is communal. Okay, maybe that’s a stretch to consider, but it’s definitely a world in which I’d like to believe. A place where smiles light up faces and strangers offer to share their coffee. Hmmm. I think I’ll keep riding for now. After all, it’s good for my wallet, the earth benefits in a small way and my soul gets surprised in unimaginable ways. Who knows… maybe I’ll even learn a word or two of Chinese next time?

photo by bill hughlett

100 "Ordinary" Posts

"Good Grief, Charlie Brown! It's a contest to celebrate our 100th post." Many readers and fellow bloggers have commented on my ability to take ordinary yet not so ordinary bits of life and connect them with faith and the presence of God. Others have said much the same about my husband's photography. What I would pose, however, is how can anything in life truly be seen as ordinary or simple, especially when considered within the context of God and creation?

Here I turn to one of my favorite authors, Anne Lamott, who says, "I knew that if you had eyes to see, there was beauty everywhere, even when nature was barren or sloppy, and not just when God had tarted things up for spring."

There truly is beauty everywhere whether it is flying in the sky, sipping a cup of instant decaf, playing with the dolphins, waiting in the darkness or meeting a stranger on the bus. To mark this 100th post, I would love to have you share your favorite "ordinary" things from this site. You can choose either a post, photograph or sidebar. Everyone who participates will be eligible for a small set of notecards from H3 Images (i.e. my favorite photographer).

Entries will be accepted now through April 30 and the winner announced on May 1. So, leave your comment today!

moving toward myself

moving toward myself
embrace the face before me
pink-toned skin of newborn babe
diamond floating in the sky
fearless woman; tender child
eyes that shine with tears and light
lips of ruby red forming
words of new delight
feathered wings steer this flight of
fiercely tender paradox
moving toward myself



I found this tucked away in my list of posts never published. Somehow it feels right for this Sunday morning. (It was written March 20, 2007).

Authenticity

"The most gracious and courageous gift we can offer the world is our authenticity, our uniqueness, the expression of our true selves." Sue Monk Kidd


For some reason the above sentiments have stuck with me for a few days--always together. So...Here's to being our authentic selves...reassuring as that may be.

The Woman on the Bus

Well, much as I would like to say I have another wonderful, peaceful story to share…that would not be the case with this tale—although it does start out that way. Monday afternoon I once again boarded a very full bus for my ride home. It started out delightfully as a man offered me his seat—an action almost never seen in my experience. I said, ‘thanks, I’m okay,’ but he insisted and told me that ‘chivalry was not dead.’ We laughed and conversed with a couple of other passengers until the next stop when he exited the bus. The exchange left me smiling and with a sense of hope.

The ride continued and I found myself between the window and a youngish man wearing large headphones, ensconced in his own world. As the bus came to a stop the woman in front of me needed to exit and her seat partner stood to let her out. The partner was facing me and just as I was about to nod and smile, her face darkened and she spit out, “Quit staring at me because I’m black!!” and then as she plopped into her seat she muttered rather loudly, “Bitch.”

I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. Thoughts raced through my head. Is she talking to me? How could she think that? What did I do? She’s black? Her color had not even registered in my thoughts. I found myself wanting to apologize and say something to her, but realized that would be for my benefit not hers. I then started to wonder about the obvious anger and hurt inside of her. How had she become so guarded? Who had done this to her? Why must people be so unkind and cruel? It felt like she was spitting hatred onto me that had been heaped onto her throughout her twenty-something years of life.

And so, while very different experiences, this one has continued to stay with me as does "The Man on the Bus." These encounters have been added to the fabric of my life. It feels somehow trite to say, but I pray specifically for this man and woman and wonder where their lives will lead them. I have been changed by my experience of them while realizing my existence may not even register for them. We never know in life when or how we touch others.

"In surrendering to the miracle of the everyday, the Warrior of the Light notices he cannot always foresee the consequences of his actions. Sometimes he acts without even knowing that he is doing so, he saves someone without even knowing he is saving them, he suffers without even knowing why he is sad." --Paulo Coelho

May we all choose to surrender to the miracle of the everyday!

photo by bill hughlett

Easter Musings

Why must we be so quick to judge others, particularly those who we believe to be different from us, or who see things in other ways? Why must we be so quick to decide we are right and someone else is wrong? Why is religion used to divide the world rather than unite it in love?

This seems to be Evil's most cunning trick—to take religion, our pathway to God, and use it to create dissonance and war. If the way of love is Jesus’ way and Muhammad’s and Moses’ and Gandhi’s, then evil gets the last laugh because the world has fallen into the trap of using faith, beliefs, Bibles, Qurans and Torahs as bludgeons against one another.

I hesitated going to church yesterday because I did not want to hear the voice of judgment saying, the Resurrection is the ONLY way to believe, thereby making “us” right and the rest of the world wrong. Ironically, the choice to go to church was taken out of my hands. My daughter and I were ready to go meet my husband who was already there. I went to pick up my keys and after a frantic search discovered that my sweet husband had mistakenly taken both sets of keys with him. Aargh!! (As Lucy is prone to say.) So I settled down to have a quiet reading time instead. Shortly, thereafter, a knock came at the door. It was a beautiful “angel” named Sabrina bringing my keys to me. So, once again my daughter and I headed out the door. We got in the car, turned the key, and nothing except a click click…Double AARGH!! Then we looked at each other and burst into laughter. We agreed that maybe we weren’t meant to make it to “church” this Easter.

Back in the house, I listened to my favorite Easter hymn, “Christ the Lord is Risen Today.” For me, it has always defined Easter and I felt no differently yesterday for I love to imagine Christ walking out of the tomb and overcoming death. Next I listened to several versions of “Amazing Grace.” Finally I opened my Bible to look for the Easter story and was stopped by these words:

“By this all men will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another.” John 13:35

There it was “love for one another.” I began to cry as I felt the peace and comfort of God. This for me is the key. Not judgments. Not being right or wrong. Not war and condemnation. But, LOVE. God had spoken to me more loudly and clearly in the silence of my own living room than any sermon from a pulpit on this Easter day.

Amazing Grace.

Good Friday

Can't you almost see the cross on the hill? I have never really understood why the day about Christ's death has been called "good." And, I know that today as I have reflected on my life, I can only call it Good. Beautiful. Abundant.

While it has not been a day of silence, it has been a day I have spent with myself. I spent the morning communing with my home. It was very comforting to spend time cleaning, unpacking, doing laundry and welcoming Spring. It is a glorious day in Seattle. Blue skies, a slight breeze and temperatures in the low 70's. It is a spring delight. As I write, I sit on my back deck with my old yellow dog, Curry, at my feet. I have spoken with a few friends today. They have blessed me and I have blessed them. I have shared e-mails and received amazing words of kindness about my gifts. Buechner's words on vocation come to mind. "The place where God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world's deep hunger meet." I am blessed to have been called to that place of deep gladness.

And what has this to do with Good Friday? For me, it symbolizes life and the intricate role death plays in our living. Abundant Life. Life includes my friends and family as well as the man on the bus and the Native American woman I encountered on my walk today. Her toothless smile brightened my day as we looked each other squarely in the eye and greeted one another. I wept as I read Naomi Shihab Nye's poem at Chrisine's site about the beauty of community and breaking bread. Again, Good Friday points toward life. Welcoming the world, person by person, with simple gestures of love and care; being grateful for old dogs and clean sheets. These make life "good." Thank you, Lord, for today's reminder of life, death and resurrection.

"This can still happen anywhere.

Not everything is lost." --Naomi Shihab Nye

The Man on the Bus

A very memorable experience presented itself yesterday during my bus ride home from downtown. I climbed on the 15 Local (slower than the Express I just missed) and found it to be quite full. There was an empty space toward the front next to a man in a window seat. After sitting down I noticed he did not seem to be aware of his surroundings and was slightly swaying in his seat. It was hard to determine if he was intoxicated or simply exhausted and having an impossible time staying awake.

As we rode along I realized he was tilting more and more in my direction. Normally I am very aware of personal space on the bus (both mine and other’s) but for some reason this did not feel like an intrusion. The weight of his body pressed more deeply against mine until I found myself holding onto the seat handle to keep from being pushed into the aisle. This, too, seemed okay to me. After a bit, his head came to rest on my shoulder. Other riders had started to look in our direction by this time seeming to wonder what was going on. At one point, a woman in the next row pointed out an empty seat for me in the handicap row. I’m not sure why, but it felt like I would be abandoning my seat partner if I got up to move. I was comfortable right where I was, and so we continued along, two strangers, his head gently laying on my shoulder and me feeling somewhat like a guardian angel.

As we rode along I was able to see him a bit more closely. I imagine he was in his late thirties or early forties although he could have been younger. He was well-groomed and cleanly dressed in a baseball jacket with leather sleeves, a button down shirt and nice jeans. In his lap was some type of canvas portfolio. His skin was dark and his features were reminiscent of someone from Ethiopia or possibly Eritrea although I could not know for sure. Again, I wondered about his state of near unconsciousness. He did not reek of alcohol although I thought I could detect a slight hint of something. He appeared totally incapable of keeping his eyes open or his head erect—bobbing as the bus continued its route.

Several times during the 30-minute ride I was given opportunity to move from my seat, but each time I declined. It is very difficult to explain the peace I felt as I sat next to this stranger. It felt as if for a moment in time it was my job to be with this man. I did not trust that anyone else would be kind to him if I left the seat open where I now sat. I kept thinking how he seemed to need a shoulder to lean on. Ironically, there were times in the ride when it would have been hard to tell who was leaning on whom as I pressed in to keep from falling out of my seat.

Fortunately, before we got to my stop he had shifted his weight to lean against the window side of the bus so I did not have to worry that he would fall to the floor when I left. I prayed for him as we rode side by side and wondered about his dreams and aspirations. Where had he been? Where was he going? Why was he so exhausted and/or intoxicated? Stories ran through my mind about the possibilities. While I don’t believe he ever cognitively recognized I was there with him, as I placed his fallen binder on the seat next to him, I hoped that somewhere in his soul he would be able to feel and recognize that someone had been with him as he rode obliviously through the streets of Seattle.

I will certainly remember him. It was a uniquely blessed time for me. I am not sure who ministered to whom in those moments, but I did recognize clearly that sometimes we all need a shoulder to lean on.

photo by bill hughlett

Heartbeat

"Live loud enough in your heart and there is no need to speak." --Mark Nepo



When we listen to our hearts and find God's voice and connection through prayer and stillness, we cannot help but be moved to action.

When we move to action in kindness and with our whole heart, the act becomes a form of holiness and prayer.

It is a beautiful circle of life. Spirit within me through prayer. Taking love into the world where Christ walks beside me and in front of me. Listening to the Father. Seeing the world beating around me and feeling it move within me.

Out (to Lunch?)

I will be away from computer land until April 1. I invite you to take this opportunity and cruise around my blog...maybe check out some of my favorite videos or other blogger links (found in the sidebar)...or read some past posts you might have missed.

Let me know what you think. I love to know that the "gang" is stopping by and maybe missing me a little too :-)

Let it Blossom

“How can you follow the course of your life if you do not let it flow?” Lao-Tzu


Everywhere I look, Spring is bursting forth with life and new birth. Blossoms, babies, puppies and green grass. And, the question, “What is blossoming in me?” keeps showing up. It feels like the rest of my life is waiting to blossom, but the “live in the moment” side of me says, “Wait, don’t get ahead of yourself. What about today?” Nevertheless, I am at a bit of a crossroads. Decisions need to be made surrounding my career path and I desperately want to follow what is my calling. Fortunately, the two are closely interwoven.

How will I step out? How will I bring me, first, to myself, and then, how will I bring myself to the world? For there is only one Me. Lovely, kind, and free. Fiercely tender. Funny. Smart. Quick and contemplative. Bold and shy. A paradoxical being. I am a woman ready to spring forth into blossoms—maybe one at a time or maybe a whole bed of crocus bursting at once.

There is a vitality, a life-force, an energy,
a quickening that is translated
through you into action.

And because there is only one of you
in all of time this expression is unique.
and if you block it, it will never exist through any other
medium and be lost.

The world will not have it.
It is not your business to determine how good it is
nor how it compares with other expressions.

It is your business to
keep it yours clearly and directly,
to keep the channel open;
whether you choose to take an art class,
keep a journal, record your dreams,
dance your story or live each day from
your own creative source.
Above, all else, keep the channel open.

--Martha Graham

Spring Haiku

"Blossom"

tight bud of pink plum
holding firm to branches bare
how will you unfold?




"Spring"

bursting blossoms come
with blankets of lush green lawn
spring ushers in life

What Time of Day am I?

Okay. I really like this "I AM SUNRISE"...as opposed to last week's "what kind of puppy are you?" which defined me as a chihuahua!!! Somehow the image of a chihuahua at sunrise doesn't work for me. What time of day are you?

You Are Sunrise

You enjoy living a slow, fulfilling life. You enjoy living every moment, no matter how ordinary. You are a person of reflection and meditation. You start and end every day by looking inward. Caring and giving, you enjoy making people happy. You're often cooking for friends or buying them gifts. All in all, you know how to love life for what it is - not for how it should be.

What Time Of Day Are You?

Blossoming Compassion

Yesterday morning I wrote of Compassion and ripples and water and cleansing. Then I went to my last session of Awakening the Creative Spirit. There we were posed with the question, "What is blossoming within you?" The first thing I thought was "nothing" and then I remembered the words: 'compassion for myself.' Neither felt like something I wanted to share with this group of blossoming women.

Our task was to select a photo of a blossom from the table in front of us. A very pale Iris petal (neither my favorite flower nor color hue) chose me. These are the words I read from the back.

Spring and all its flowers,
now joyously break their vow of silence.
It is time for celebration, not for lying low;
You too - weed out those roots of sadness
from your heart.

The Sabaa wind arrives;
and in deep resonance, the flower
passionately rips open its garments,
thrusting itself from itself.

The Way of Truth, learn from the clarity of
water,
Learn freedom from the spreading grass.

Pay close attention to the artistry of the
Sabaa wind,
that wafts in pollen from afar,
And ripples the beautiful tresses
of the fields of hyacinth flowers.

--Hafiz

Need I say more?

Compassion

“When the wind stops, the trees still move, the way my heart creaks long after it bends.” --Mark Nepo

Compassion is a word that has been entering my vocabulary and thoughts on multiple levels these days. How do we find it and give it (not just to others, but) to ourselves? Our feelings are like the ripples of the wind. The effect of the emotion lasts long after the event stops whether we realize it or not.

Tess’ “Unguarded Thoughts” highlighted this as she speaks of thoughts that pop out when we don’t even understand from where they may be coming. I wonder if they are the ripple of events gone by. So, again the question: how do we flow with the ripple and find compassion for ourselves?

My dreams lately have been filled with water. Water covering the streets. Water overflowing from the shower. Water surrounding land as if it is an island. The thought I have been pondering is how we quickly want our emotions to be washed away. If we stop to feel them at all, we hurriedly move on to the next thing as we let the emotion slip down the drain. (We don’t take time to be joyous or feel pain deeply.) It is here that I have the image of our emotions running into the sewer and becoming part of the muck and mire—festering and turning into a stinky, rancid mess—waiting to be dredged up. Yuck!

What if rather than pushing the emotions down the drain, we put the stopper in the sink and the covers over the manholes? What if we allowed ourselves to be washed with emotion thus being cleansed at the same time? What if we chose to dance in the rain rather than put up our umbrellas? What if we “experienced” rather than “stuffed?” The water could then take its natural course to the sea rather than man’s forced journey through the darkness of tunnels.

So today I say, let the water flood the streets. Let the shower spray everywhere. There are plenty of towels to soak up the excess. Have compassion for Me. My dreams are telling me to sink into the emotion and feel it, so then it can follow its natural course. I can be washed clean. God of the heavens and earth, the Creator of the trees and the wind, the lover of my heart is with me. Compassion abounds if only I will choose to sprinkle a little on myself.

photo by Mary Jane Hughlett circa 1962

Leap of Faith

The earth is indeed lovely, I realized.

And so I decided to take a leap of faith. Life is, after all, a series of leaps of faith. Falling in love and believing that I will grow old with my husband is a leap. Losing a parent and believing that I will recover is a leap. Giving birth to children and letting go as they grow, hoping they will lead safe, happy lives is a leap. Living in a world of chaos, believing good will prevail over evil, is a leap.

Maybe I could hold God's hand as I leaped. --Priscilla Warner of "The Faith Club"

Remembrance toward Freedom

Why is it such a challenge to be the people we are created to be? It is my belief that we each innately hold the knowledge and truth of who we are deep inside our hearts. It is always there whispering to us what we know to be true. Often, however, the whisper needs prompting to move the truth out of storage and toward remembrance and life.

We are well aware when the truth shows up. It is the moment our heart sings with recognition—a smell, a sight, a voice. You know you are home. You know you are safe. There is intimacy in memory. It sustains us and nurtures us here and now so we can remain rooted in the midst of this crazy life. It is memory of Christ. Memory of home—the truth of our very being. The knowing that we are whole and pure.

We spend so much time wallowing in the mud and muck of life. The truth, however, remains rooted inside us like an everlasting friend whose voice is always a welcome sound. It is a song for your heart beckoning you to remember who you are. To walk daily in freedom, we must remember our past stories of both tragedy and redemption, we must dream of future hopes, and we must choose to love God, our neighbors and ourselves in the present moment.

We are anchored in Christ—through humanity—through the magnificence of the universe. There is a great knowing of something that we can’t quite seem to remember yet know is ancient, everlasting and true. This knowing holds me above the waves of life, buoyant as a bird in flight, cradled in the embrace of a friend.

It is my desire to remember the anchors of my life. The smells, the tastes, the sounds and sights that draw each of us toward becoming the people we are created to be. It is through remembrance that we can walk in freedom.

photo by bill hughlett

Yield to Simplicity

Ponderings of today. Simplicity is the word that is speaking to me during this season of Lent. I believe simplicity draws us closer to God. Simplicity and humility. Not pomp and circumstance. God is not interested in a popularity contest. He does not need everyone to acknowledge Him--to cheer him on. Jesus did things in obscurity and subtlely--often striving to remove himself from the crowds and seeking quiet time with God.

The world seems to think that in order to be successful, everything must be bigger and better. Giant churches. Huge projects. Best-selling books. The list goes on. What is big enough? What would it look like to reach people simply--one by one--heart by heart? Quietly and subtlely coming alongside and joining fellow sojourners as they come to know God and themselves in big, quiet ways.

I think I'll close here with this poem found at Milton's site.

I Feel Sorry for Jesus

People won’t leave him alone.
I know He said, wherever two or more
are gathered in my name . . .
but I’ll bet some days He regrets it.

Cozily they tell you what He wants
and doesn’t want
as if they just got an e-mail.
Remember “Telephone,” that pass-it-on game

where the message changed dramatically
by the time it rounded the circle?
Well.
People blame terrible pieties on Jesus.

They want to be his special pet.
Jesus deserves better.
I think He’s been exhausted
for a very long time.

He went into the desert, friends.
He didn’t go into the pomp.
He didn’t go into
the golden chandeliers

and say, "the truth tastes better here."
See? I’m talking like I know.
It’s dangerous talking for Jesus.
You get carried away almost immediately.

I stood in the spot where He was born.
I closed my eyes where He died and didn’t die.
Every twist of the Via Dolorosa
was written on my skin.

And that makes me feel like being silent
for Him, you know? A secret pouch
of listening. You won’t hear me
mention this again.

-- Naomi Shihab Nye

photo by bill hughlett

God's Ways

Count yourselves blessed every time people put you down or throw you out or speak lies about you to discredit Me. What it means is that the truth is too close for comfort and they are uncomfortable. You can be glad when that happens—give a cheer, even!—for though they don't like it, I do! And all heaven applauds.
Matthew 5:11-12 from "The Message"

I wrote a word of Peace.
The reader said, "Too pat."

I spoke a word of Rest.
The hearer said, "No way."

I read a word of Grace.
My heart said, "I believe."

God's ways are not our ways. They are hard to believe with a "rational" mind. They are impossible to hear with a worldly ear. They are indisputable when received in the heart.

Grief--Emotion or Stalker??

The grief is up already. It is an early riser, waiting with its gummy arms wrapped around my neck, its hot, sour breath in my ear. Now it follows me down the hall to the bathroom, tapping my shoulder the whole way.
Try to pick up your toothbrush, it says.

--Lolly Winston

Presence

Be present to others and yourself.
In that way you honor Me.


photo by bill hughlett

Blessed Comfort

"Blessed are they that mourn for they shall be comforted." Matthew 5:4

Grace. In her book, Gift from the Sea, Anne Morrow Lindbergh speaks of being aware of times in our lives when we seem to be "in grace" and other periods when we feel "out of grace." "In the first condition, one seems to carry all one's tasks before one lightly, as if borne along on a great tide; and in the opposite state one can hardly tie a shoe-string."

Today I tied my shoe-strings a little easier with the help of those who surround me: God, friends and family, both near and far. These words greeted me in my morning reading: "the mourners are called blessed not because mourning is good, but because they shall be comforted." By sharing my grief and sorrow, I have allowed those around me to bring me comfort. It has come in the form of blog messages, phone calls and inspired readings. It has come from me, too, as I have allowed myself to be still and listen to my own rhythm for a few days.

Grace. How often we believe we must give grace to everyone except ourselves. Thank you for the grace and comfort you show me. How will you show yourself grace today...tomorrow?

Finally, I would like to share a poem sent to me by my friend across the ocean, Tess.

Poor human race that must
Feed on pain, or choose another dish
And hunger worse.

There is also a cup of pain, for
You to drink all up, or,
Setting it aside for a sweeter drink,
Thirst evermore.

I am thy friend. I wish
You to sup full of the dish
I give you and the drink,
And so to fatness come more than you think
In health of opened heart, and know peace.

Grief spake these words to me in a dream. I thought
He spoke no more than grace allowed
And no less than truth.

by Stevie Smith

Breathing is Hard Today

Breathing is hard today. For several days I have been plagued with a horrible cold and have not felt my usual self. I wish I could breathe deeply, but I cannot. Longing for breath consumes my days. I went out for air and sunshine and a milkshake yesterday. The milkshake machine was broken. I drove to the beach but could not make myself pull over and park. I stopped for a Diet Coke and bought Cracker Jacks when I really wanted Crunch n Munch. Desires that seem so simple and inconsequential become heaps of angst. “The ground is always littered with our longings.”

I am grieving and I don’t even realize it. My friend Dawn has died. She is younger than I. My son feels abandoned and I cannot rescue him. My health feels crummy. My house needs cleaning. My daughter is 14. My world feels numb and since writing my Lenten prayer, I’m not sure I have given myself fully to anyone. “The ground is always littered with our longings.”

Longing for connection. Longing for wholeness. Searching too hard. Can I just be? Just rest and be me? What am I doing? Searching. Looking. Asking. Seeking. Flat dull spaces block my path. And then I hear my own words, “Let us not move too quickly to the Good News and thus dismiss our pain and sorrow.” Can I sit in the sorrow for a while? Will I allow myself to be present for myself? For my losses?

Death and dying. New birth. New life. Breath seems so important. My mind is muddled. The rhythm of life speaks to me. The pendulum. The ground littered with our longings. The question is how to remain faithful to all the necessary deaths while leaving room for resurrection. The only way to get through grief is to grieve. The only way to take in fresh air is to breathe. Breathing is hard today.

"I write to discover what I know." Flannery O'Connor (& me)

photo by bill hughlett

Lucy--An Other's Perspective

I am feeling a bit playful this morning (even though still in bed with a really crummy cold) and felt like lightening things up a bit as heavier thoughts have been the topic for the last few days. So I have decided to share the insights of other people in my life (still being about me, of course, since this is my blog.) Here are some diamonds from others and a few glimpses of Lucy from another perspective.

This photo was sent to me by my sailing friends of the Georgia J.



I received this poem earlier in the week from my friend, Molly. I am honored and humbled to see myself through this woman's eyes.

Lucy is deep and vast like a river
That flows to the ocean – a blessing, a giver
It takes all her heart, you can see in her eyes
To integrate, not compartmentalize
This woman is brave, she will bare heart and soul
So that we can learn to be healthy and whole
And it’s her struggle too, and we love her so much
She walks beside us, companion, not crutch
In her willing exposure of laughter and pain
We see that this journey will not be in vain
Encouraged by Lucy, we’ll walk near or far
To enjoy the gift of God’s shining star.


And, finally a quiz result about my "intelligence." I found the link at my friend, Antony's blog. You should be able to click on the link below and take your own quiz.

Your Dominant Intelligence is Linguistic Intelligence

You are excellent with words and language. You explain yourself well. An elegant speaker, you can converse well with anyone on the fly. You are also good at remembering information and convincing someone of your point of view. A master of creative phrasing and unique words, you enjoy expanding your vocabulary. You would make a fantastic poet, journalist, writer, teacher, lawyer, politician, or translator.

What Kind of Intelligence Do You Have?

Cheers to you! I'm off to make some Chicken Soup.

Doubt and the Bible

Today while reading Tess' post on scripture, I was reminded of my own struggling with the Bible and how to personally reconcile what I believe to be God-inspired and the inerrent truth and that which is potentially the product of man's interpretation.

It was in graduate school that I was first introduced to the concept of hermeneutics. Much discussion was made of our personal hermeneutic and what we bring to the text as well as historical considerations, context, etc. In my religious upbringing I always considered that others had studied this before me and they, therefore, knew the "right" interpretation of what I was reading. There was little room for doubt or opinions that differed from the "correct" interpretation.

I remember in graduate school, however, becoming more brave and writing a paper on one of the gospel stories while really listening to my heart and bringing my own interpretation to the text. The grader was a bit taken aback with his more traditional view as I had stepped out of the box. He actually commented that I seemed to value my own opinion over that of the Gospel writer. While i certainly did not profess my interpretation to be the "right" one, I do believe it could be considered at least a possibility--particularly for me in that moment. Who's to say that one man (or woman's) interpretation is more correct than another's?

Today after reading Tess' post, I listened to a podcast with historian Jennifer Michael Hecht on her book, "Doubt: A History." She had some great comments on how doubt has actually shaped much of the great religions. I particularly like this quote from social reformer Elizabeth Cady Stanton:

"When I first heard from the lips of Lucretia Mott that I had the same right to think for myself that Luther, Calvin and John Knox had, and the same right to be guided by my own convictions and would no doubt live a higher, happier life than if guided by theirs, I felt at once a newborn sense of dignity and freedom. It was like suddenly coming into the rays of the noonday sun after wandering with a rushlight in the caves of the earth."

This quote gave me hope that it is okay to question the Bible while still holding it at the center and core of my spiritual beliefs. I believe God does want us to live with a sense of "dignity and freedom" rather than oppression and fear. Questions of doubt are often extremely hard to discuss with Christian friends because there seems to be so much fear around questioning and doubting that every bit of the Bible is not "literal." Is it possible that God inspires us (you and me) today just as he inspired the Old Testament prophets and the New Testament writers? What if the Bible is fluid and not stagnant? Can it be the ultimate Truth without being rigid and unforgiving?

It's a bit scary to throw these questions out there, but they seem so important to me right now. Maybe it's the season of Lent and further reflection. Who knows, but I hope you will join me in the conversation.

"Somerset Cross" photo by bill hughlett

For Dawn

“How shall there be redemption and resurrection unless there has been great sorrow? And isn’t struggle and rising the real work of our lives?" --Mary Oliver

Ever since I wrote my Lenten Prayer, I have been acutely aware of the pain and sorrow existing so close to my own heart. Nothing highlights this more than the news I received today that my beautiful friend, Dawn, died this morning at 7:45 a.m.

How do you pay tribute to one who touched so many people so deeply? Less than an hour before she died I prayed a prayer of release for her. Did I play a part in her death as I believe I did in her life? I don’t know, but if somehow I helped ease her pain, then I am grateful. She fought a long hard battle with cancer and she was ready to let go. It is we who are left behind that now have the long road ahead of us.

If you are a praying person, please keep her family in your prayers. While I believe she is whole and pure and complete again, her family (including a loving husband and four amazing teenagers) is now heartbroken. I pray God’s peace and comfort over them in the days, months and years to come. I will miss my friend deeply.

Let us not move too quickly to the Good News and thus dismiss our pain and sorrow.
Let us grieve—holding the sweet moments of memory and raging for a life released that we do not want to concede.

"Faith" photo by bill hughlett

Heart Lament

Sacred One, I cry out to you. How much pain must I bear?
Heart outside my body.
Walking. Tripping. Falling. Weeping.
Will it cease to beat?
Where is resurrection? Resuscitation?

My heart bleeds. Slowing to a stop.
Where, oh where, is life?
Pain and sorrow.
Breaking. Wrenching.
Existing is too hard.

How will joy sustain? Gentle flame flickers in winds of despair.
I ache. I yearn, oh Lord, for your comfort—your gentle breath upon my face.
Breathe life into me, I pray.
My heart is breaking wide and I am falling in.
Take my hand, oh Lord. Keep me from despair.

Shine your light that I may glow—
Ever so gently—ever so dimly—waiting.
Waiting for my heart to calm—the wound to heal—a scar remains.
Wounds of your hands. Wounds of my heart.

Where are you, oh Lord? I need your help this day.
Heart inside my body.
Quiet. Still. Resting. Beating.
I feel your breath upon my face—the sigh of my heart.
Here is resurrection. Resuscitation.

My Lenten Prayer

“People who pray stand with their hands open to the world.” (Henri Nouwen.) Their arms wide open to the world. May my heart break wide open so that the world may fall in. Come all who are weary and burdened. Come. Let me be with you in this. Let me be there for you. (Words I penned yesterday morning as I continued to meditate on what my Lenten practice would be this year.)



I am continually amazed at my need to get out of my own way so I can hear God. While it is only recently that I have become more aware of the practice of Lent, I decided this year I would be prepared and consider well in advance what my Lenten practice would be. I read up on Lent a bit and even ordered a daily meditation book several days before the season was to begin. I considered giving up wine or sugar, exercising more…you get the picture. And then I ran out of time to think about it (hmm) and left for Brazos de Dios on Ash Wednesday.

No phone service. No internet. No i-pod or t.v. No interruptions from the outside world. Only ten people with the sole purpose of re-discovering the truth and beauty that lie deep inside each one of us.

That is my work, my joy, and (finally I realized) my Lenten prayer (my Life prayer)—to be fighting with and on behalf of truth and beauty for myself and others. Seeking the beauty and glory that we may not be able to see in ourselves. Digging through the armor of lies we believe—“I’m not good enough.” “My feelings aren’t important.” “I am nothing.” “I don’t matter” etc., etc. Fighting the battle alongside each other. While I know we must do it for ourselves, we do not have to do it alone. We can travel this path together—learning from one another.

My heart is filled with joy and my cup overflows. This Lenten season I choose to give away Me. Thankfully, gratefully, joyfully. My Lenten practice is not giving up drink or sugar or reading and exercising more, doing more, but rather I choose to be present to the world and to those around me. Living intentionally and bringing myself fully. Fighting side by side the battle that is ours together.

I invite you to join me for I cannot do this alone. Together let us seek the beauty in each other and break through the armor of lies that keep us in bondage. Together, let us move toward Resurrection this Lenten season (and always).

Boys and Bears

"We live our deepest soul's desires not by intending to change who we are but by intending to be who we are." -- from The Dance by Oriah

Angry, scared young men raging at the world.
Pain held deep inside.
Fists of steel swing toward connection.
Seeking emotion long ago hidden.
Rage wrapped tight in silence.

Confusion and fear plague the young faces.
Voices speak, “Get the F away!” and
“Please don’t leave.”
Slowly shifting, hands reach out and hugs hold tight.
Determination reigns.

Child and Man merge into one.
Hand in hand—reaching, fighting, touching, holding—
Fists that push and punch, open to embrace.
Their world softens, gentle as a teddy bear.
Little boy. Brilliant man. Mighty warrior. Heroes All.

On the Road Again

Heading off to Lubbock, Texas early tomorrow morning to do the work I love to do. This week I will be helping facilitate a workshop for young men/teens. Check it out at here.

During the coming days I hope you will:

dance as though no one is watching you.

love as though you have never been hurt before.

sing as though no one can hear you.

live as though heaven is on earth. --Souza

That's what I will be doing!

Art

"What I like about art is the very thing that makes people fear it. It enlarges us. I am a better and more honest woman for having taken to the page today and admitted my locked-away feelings of the years. I am larger and better and softer and kinder and more open than I was resisting knowing what I knew. It is always this way with art. We say the unsayable and in saying it we name not only ourselves but also the human condition. By being willing to characterize our lives in art, we begin to have the character necessary to make living itself an art. We rise to the occasion that life offers us." --Julia Cameron, The Sound of Paper

These words brought tears to my eyes this morning as I felt their trueness. May you find a way to express art in living today.

painting by Claude Monet

Dance or Die

“Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep.” Romans 12:15

And dance like there is no tomorrow.

What are we to make of this life we are offered? Daily we are faced with choice. Get up or stay in bed? Smile at the sunshine or decide it is too bright and close the blinds? Are the birds singing a joyful song or is it noise that hinders my sleep? Each minute is a choice. Will I choose to rejoice with gratitude for all I have or will I weep from pity at what I think I deserve and do not possess?

Choice. It faces us every minute of every day and often we are pushed to our very limits. The point where it feels like we can take no more. The edge of life where a choice must be made. Dance or die.

“Death pushed me to the edge. Nowhere to back off. And to the shame of my fears, I danced with abandon in his face. I never danced as free. And Death backed off, the way dark backs off a sudden burst of flame. Now there’s nothing left, but to keep dancing. It is the way I would have chosen had I been born three times as brave.” --Mark Nepo

There is room in life for both rejoicing and weeping, but not for dancing and death. Today there is a choice to be made. Dance or die. What will it be?

photo by bill hughlett

Hearts Aching with Joy

“We are ignored even though we are well known. We live close to death, but we are still alive. We have been beaten, but we have not been killed. Our hearts ache, but we always have joy. We are poor, but we give spiritual riches to others. We own nothing, and yet we have everything.” II Corinthians 6:9-10.

To breathe in ALL that God offers is to live an embodied life. This morning, I was drawn to the above verses written in my journal at a time that felt more like the whirl of a hurricane than a peaceful spring morning. These days I continue to be drawn to the wonder of the simple things like breath and waiting. I live in awe of this quiet existence. I am doing work I love. People I care about (both far and near) surround me with their love. I feel healthy and strong. My heart is filled with gratitude for this life and at times I wonder if I should feel a little guilty for being so happy.

In God’s graciousness, however, I am reminded of the times (present and past) when my heart has ached and broken. Somehow, there is rest in remembering the suffering. There is release in realizing that through God’s grace and compassion, I can find calm in the midst of the storm and know it is o.k. to have joy.

Lord, today may I breathe in ALL that you offer me, knowing that heartache and joy are both who I am.

“All spiritual warriors have a broken heart—alas, must have a broken heart—because it is only through the break that the wonder and mysteries of life can enter us.” Mark Nepo

award-winning photo by bill hughlett

My Perfect Valentine

It's absolutely wonderful to be married to a man who "gets" me! This is the quote that came on my perfect Valentine card:

Then a great peace came over me...
and I seemed to hear the pines and the wind
and the rocky shores say to me, "You...lover of the wild, are part of us..."
---by Sigurd F. Olson

I love you, Wheatboy!

Dancing in the Water of Life

"January 25, 1964. I am aware of the need for constant self-revision and growth, leaving behind the renunciations of yesterday and yet in continuity with all my yesterdays. For to cling to the past is to lose one’s continuity with the past, since this means clinging to what is no longer there.

My ideas are always changing, always moving around one center, and I am always seeing that center from somewhere else.

Hence, I will always be accused of inconsistency. But I will no longer be there to hear the accusation." ~Thomas Merton, Dancing in the Water of Life, p. 67
--from antony

I love this quote. It reminds me so much of where I live my life both personally and in the therapeutic world of counseling. It is possible and often necessary to take a look at the past to see from where we have come, but I appreciate Merton's words of the futility of "clinging to what is no longer there." To cling is to be stuck with no forward movement. Change is evidence of growth and maturity, and there is also a playfulness and freedom in Merton's words: "But I will no longer be there to hear the accusation." Beautiful.

Inconsistency or change? It is my belief that with each new day and encounter, we are called to change, to grow, to dance in the water of life.

Forever changed.
We are forever changed by each other.
Bumbling, blessing, crying, laughing,
raging, pushing away and holding together.
We mark each other with indelible ink
and move a little closer to glory,
as we taste the Gospel together.

Thank you, friends, for being a part of my dance and my "inconsistency."

photo by bill hughlett

Waiting for Ruwach

I had a lightbulb moment today and found a new connection for the three words (waiting, breath & spirit) from my previous post. It occurred to me that while I have been pondering a new way of breath, God has been waiting for me to make the connection. I wonder how often that happens? I usually think that I am waiting for God, but today it feels a bit more mutual.

Something I had temporarily forgotten is that Breath and Spirit are both translations of the Hebrew word Ruwach (also translated as wind). In my "moment," I had the sense that I am being called to a new way to consider the Holy Spirit. I'm not exactly sure what it means but it feels really good and very freeing. It feels like new breath, a sweet wind blowing and the spirit of my heart lifting high. It feels whole, connected and embodied.

In my Awakening the Creative Spirit class a couple of weeks ago, I kept saying how whole and full I felt and the word "embodied" seemed very important. I did a word search and landed on this definition of embody--to provide a spirit with a physical form. This names the fullness I feel.

My dolphin studies also say when dolphin shows up it is time to breathe some new life into yourself. And, then today I ran across the tradition that the early Christians viewed dolphin as a symbol of salvation. Breath. Spirit. New life. Salvation. Coincidence or new possibilites to consider? How will I choose to view Spirit--inside a box or wide open in the world?

(A little aside here--there was a dolphin prominently featured in the Seattle Times this week AND my friends in Mexico called to tell me some wonderful dolphin stories...so my dolphin totem continues to inspire.)

One final thought (for now) is that almost three years ago, I received what I believe was an amazing prophecy and these words have been stirring within me recently:

Feel the wind. The wind blows hard. The wind is blowing our family in a new direction. Guide the sails through Me.

A new way to breathe-- To experience the wind-- To feel the Spirit?

The Simplicity of Paradox

How do simple words contain such complex meaning? My last two posts (unplanned, by the way) have been entirely about the paradox of simplicity. A twenty-five word post reveals both the simplicity and complexity involved in actually living out the “simple” words. In another post, an “ordinary” day moves into the extraordinary. Simple? Yes. And, there is absolutely nothing simple at all about it. Paradox. Small things becoming larger than life. Ground, cold and barren, suddenly sprouting new life. Sun shining brighter than normal.

This is a simple post about the complexity that is percolating in my mind. Words of waiting, new breath and spirit permeate my waking and sleeping hours. I have thoughts and ideas about what they are telling me and just when I begin to write, another image appears and the idea morphs into a new one. So, for now, I will wait.

Will you consider waiting with me? I’d love to know what images these "simple" words (waiting, breath, spirit) stir in you.

Attitude is Everything

Be kinder than necessary,
for everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle.

Live simply,


Love generously,

Care deeply,

Speak kindly, and

Leave the rest to God.

--author unknown

Simple words are powerful words.

Beauty in the (not so) Small Things

“Beauty is the physical manifestation of the Mystery—God, Spirit, the Divine—that surrounds and beckons to us every day of our lives.” --The Invitation by Oriah

I lead an ordinary, extraordinary life. Yesterday was an amazing reminder to me. The sun seemed to shine a little brighter. The morning found me snuggled in bed—reading, writing, and listening to music. It was heavenly. Then I ventured out to work. The air was crisp and clear, springtime starting to tease. I had the privilege of sharing a young woman’s story and being with her in her struggles. There was something so good about knowing she had not been alone for an hour and neither had I. The Divine was present.

The day led me to a local outdoor mall where I made a return rather than purchasing something new. It felt good! I stood in the sunshine for a little while and pondered the possibilities of the time before my next appointment. Ultimately, I decided on coffee and a bagel at Starbucks. My bagel was fresh, my coffee was hot and the banter of baristas and customers was light. It was heavenly. And, the day got even better. I ran into a friend I had not seen in years. We stood in the fresh air, catching up and sharing stories.

All day long life brought me delight. I laughed out loud when I saw a sign for the “Dolphin Apartments”—a sign I had driven by 100 times but only noticed yesterday. I had tea with a friend and her soulful, rescued dog, Petunia who taught me much about relaxation and enjoying the moment. I saw Mount Rainier rimmed in pink clouds. I heard my daughter laugh. I knew my son was safe. I sparred and joked with my husband. I spoke to counselors and social workers. I corresponded with friends and read provocative blogs. I could go on and on about the “ordinary,” but you see, those things do not feel ordinary to me. They are beautiful and extraordinary--“physical manifestations of the Mystery.”

Blessings to you this day. My prayer is that you (and I) will see and experience the beauty of God in all that comes our way. Peace.

Budding Spring

what is awakening as we move into spring?
there is something about the depths of our souls, the bare bones of our branches, the seed that lies deep within the ground...waiting to sprout.
the beauty emerges with each slight movement...and while, we certainly do not want to rush spring, there is hope in the new buds that wait to blossom.