I knew I should have brought out my camera on Friday, capturing the images of the shining daffodils and the amazing blossoms on a neighbor’s tulip tree.  Everything, including all the people I saw, seemed to follow the sun, soaking up the warmth and energy.  That night after all the kids were in bed, I sat by the outdoor fire that had toasted hot dogs and marshmallows so dutifully, feeling the wind and watching the moon and stars slowly disappear behind the clouds.  The forecast had promised snow the next day.  Could it be?

The next morning, the cinders had been extinguished by the rain that came.  I left for my Quiet Day in the continued drizzle and slightly above freezing temperatures — only 35 degrees below yesterday’s.  On my way home, after spending my day amidst lovely souls and the glowing of Spirit made manifest, the wintry mix began, then the snow.  Big flakes for this our Spring Equinox.

But the warmth of our busy kitchen and fireplace that night prevented any chill.  Homemade manicotti and at least an attempt at a new tiramisu recipe (I called it tirami-soup and wasn’t a fan). Our tummies were full, indeed!  And then we settled in for our snow day and the beginning of the kids’ Spring Break.

This week will be full of its own challenges.  After my already askew morning routine, I get to take the kids grocery shopping.  At least three eating times a day for six that feels like 10.  I’m getting a preview for this summer.  I read something last night that rang in my ears — several something’s in fact.  Excerpts from Cynthia Bourgeault’s The Wisdom Way of Knowing . . .

“We stand midway between the purely material and the purely energetic, with a full range of versatility in both.” (p. 54)

“. . . where we are is exactly where we belong and that our real purpose in the cosmos is fulfilled in the way that we move back and forth between these two planes of existence.” (p.54)

“Working within the raw materials of the physical world, we are to give ‘birthing’ and ‘body’ to the names of God so that the invisible becomes visible. We are midwives of the Spirit.” (p.55)

The book continues on, giving voice to so many of my thoughts and experiences.  Yes!  Someone else gets the same messages as me and has already traced routes through other traditions, found links and lineages.  I read on about surrender, letting go.

I rest assured that I am where I am supposed to be.  Mothers are surely a mirror through which God sees God’s self.  In other aspects, too, I have a responsibility to the energy I project, reflect, and participate in.

The sun is now melting the snow outside, leaving the ground a muddy mess, fertile, and full of possibilities.

“Presence is the straight and narrow gate through which one passes to Wisdom.”

Cynthia Bourgeault, The Wisdom Way of Knowing

When being present is as easy as enjoying a morning cup of coffee while listening to the doves cooing outside or retiring to bed after finishing a good read, life is light.  Sign me up for living life in the present moment!  This is the easy part.

It takes far more effort to be present when the kids plead for us to come play outside with them.  How could any decent parent deny a request for “tickle tag,” especially when the little boy is positively giddy with excitement?  Somehow we compromised and ended up outside in the garden while the kids played.  Promise of a weekend bonfire guaranteed more time together outdoors.

The effort to be present when the kids are screaming and arguing all around, when cleaning up all their garbage from the past weeks in the van (including leftover pancake and peanut butter — how long ago was that?!?), when at the end of the day no one has really done their chores or wants to do anything else, is supremely difficult for me.  I want the moment to be over.  I want to get to the moment that will be more enjoyable.

See.  That’s my laziness.  I don’t mind being present, mindful, what-have-you, so long as it doesn’t take too much energy on my part.  Admitting you have a problem is the first step, right?  But I realize there’s no growth in that.  I have consciously boosted my awareness to include the more difficult moments.

Now, what might seem incredibly difficult for you probably isn’t for me.  I’m a doula; some of my greatest gifts for calm and comfort come in what can be highly stressful situations.  I’m not easily grossed out or afraid of the truly tragic. (Now, if someone beside me smells bad in the checkout line, I will likely make my “stinky face.”)  My most difficult lessons surround an appreciation and respect for myself and for those nearest and dearest to me, namely, my children.

I love being a student, though.  Regarding my children as the best teachers I’ve ever had increases my appreciation and respect for them.  One day they will understand this because I’m quite certain that right now they don’t!

So for now I’ll enjoy the present, realizing that time truly flies.  I led the La Leche League meeting yesterday without any children in tow.  I shared that my three-year-old had stayed the night with a friend, much to some shock, I’m sure.  But a fourth child brings a new level of letting go into the process of parenting.  I’m fully aware, though, that enjoying the present moment also means letting go of attachments.  I don’t have a baby anymore.  My oldest is a pre-teen.  The children are growing and changing every day.  I do myself and them a favor by savoring the time we share, the lessons we learn.

Wisdom is all around us.

I once heard it’s good feng shui to have your fridge full of food.  My grandpa always kept his car full of gas.  My grandma always had a pantry full of canned goods and a freezer so full of food you could barely shut it, let alone fit another bag of frozen anything in there.  My mother-in-law usually has at least two of everything, mainly so she can share with the family — thanks to the good deals she finds.

There’s a good fortune there that can easily be taken for granted.  Their ways of being and doing things rely upon being able to sustain them.  They have the resources to do so.  I didn’t realize how fortunate I was as a kid.  I knew others relied on school lunch programs.  I knew there were homeless kids and adults, that even if they had a make-shift home, it didn’t necessarily mean they had electricity or running water.

I also realize the predicament my parents were in, a stereotypical struggle of middle class America.  Keep up with the Joneses.  Make things look well and good, even if the budget is a train wreck.  Pay the medical and dental bills out of pocket; what other choice do you have?  Buy now, pay later . . . if you can.  Don’t let the kids know how hard it is.

Now my husband and I find ourselves living between these two ways of living, and I can’t help but wonder if this isn’t an opportunity to find a resolve so that our kids won’t have to struggle with the same issues.  I feel like my grandparents, who lived through the depression, wanted to make sure they never ran out, that there’s always plenty.  They also felt very strongly about paying for things with cash; buy only what you can afford.  I feel like my parents, who reached adulthood in the 70s, lived fully in the 80s mentality: get what you need (a.k.a. want), taking time to pay it back.  It provided a kind of feast or famine way of life.

Our opportunity, again, is to find what is best of each generation, and I think that relies on us being able to clearly know what is enough.

I heard that it’s best to use the full tank of gas before filling up again.  I know from experience that I feel like I’m not wasting as much money on gas when the tank if full.  (Doesn’t it seem like the top half of the tank lasts longer?)  I know that food does not last forever, even in a freezer.  It’s best to cycle through and actually use it and replace it regularly.  Some staples do last longer when frozen, so saving room for bulk flour, oats, rice and such is smart.  I appreciate credit, too, but unless it can be managed wisely and paid off quickly, it’s best to pay with cash.  Do not live outside your means.  I’m still learning this simple lesson that can be so hard to live.

I also take the opportunity to tell my kids why we don’t eat out so often, why the fridge might not be full of fresh produce, why I cannot and will not pay full price for new clothes and such (unless absolutely necessary).  I don’t tell them to make them feel guilty or ashamed; I want them to know and understand.  I also try to make sure they share in my gratitude for what is shared with us, what is given to us. As a parent, you have to know how hard this can be.

Slowly, we are learning what is enough.  Though it may feel like we’re cutting it close on having enough food and supplies, we do have enough.  We realize how little we actually need to feel sustained and thriving.  Appreciation goes a long way.  A positive attitude does make a difference.  Our time isn’t spent moping about thinking about what we lack or miss.  We have to set a standard for ourselves.  Society’s expectations and norms have proven skewed and unbeneficial.

We have the opportunity to find where the value lies in our family.  We determine what is enough for us, really and truly.  If we need to buy in bulk out of necessity to save $10 and make sure we don’t run out of toilet paper or peanut butter (you have to have your priorities!), so be it.  I have a feeling other lessons and opportunities will follow regarding learning to live sustainably.  Our awareness continues to broaden.

I am so grateful for our abundance.

“Forty days and forty nights, thou wast fasting in the wild . . .”

This song keeps playing in my head this morning.  (The fact that my kindergartner sings it through the house probably contributes to the fact.)  But a journey through the desert isn’t necessarily without reward.  When the oasis is on the horizon, a renewed sense of hope and goodness floods throughout one’s body.   We take nothing for granted.  Every gift has with it a new appreciation.  Sometimes just a trickle works, too, to sustain us until we reach the oasis, giving us enough — enough of whatever it is we need to make it.

Hopefully you, too, are among the fortunate to have a sense of what your purpose in life is.  We know what our gifts are.  We know how we might help others.  Often before the call is realized, however, circumstances would have it that we have to be patient.  We have to learn more, grow and wait.  We have to live and love through good times and bad, and we have to wait.  When a wisdom beyond ourselves knows that we are ripe for our call, circumstances pave the way for us to do what we are meant to do.  But there is lots of waiting, exercises in patience and persistence.

In the desert this year, I didn’t realize I was seeking clarity of purpose, but while sitting in the quiet, focusing on mental clarity, a clear sense of purpose spoke to me.  While the waiting might be dehydrating, testing one’s endurance, questioning that which is thought to be known, a moment’s clarity is that trickle of water in the desert, enough to sustain us for the rest of the journey.

Parker Palmer speaks of the soul as a wild animal that cannot be coaxed into the open by force.  One has to be still, quiet, and open.  Only in the silence and stillness can the animal feel safe enough to make itself known, seen and heard.  If we are still and present enough, we can catch a glimpse of its beauty, its nature, its needs and desires.  I would like to think that this is what I heard stirring in the stillness.  Rather than my ego speaking, it was my Self declaring that “I am called.”

Knowing this within, I continue on my way, listening to circumstances, watching my path unfold not by force but as it should be. And I know that all is well.  May all be well with you, too.

Letting go of things I’m attached to is becoming a life lesson I’m getting used to, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel something when letting go.  Imagine an invisible umbilical cord to all the things you love and want to hang on to.  Favorite necklaces, earrings, dishes, relatives . . . at any point something can happen to sever an attached relationship.  Snip, and it’s gone.

Snip.  Snip.  Snip.

I suppose I was getting attached to my daughter’s long hair.  My son had long hair, but I wasn’t as attached to it.  I thought I was, but it was easy to let go and cut it when he was ready two weeks ago.  I wasn’t prepared to look around the corner and find my daughter standing amidst her locks, her friend holding the kid-scissors, smilingly proudly.  “Now Autumn has short hair, too!” she exclaimed.

I couldn’t help but laugh.  Indeed she did.  In that moment I could laugh or cry.  I could be angry or deal with it.  I opted for laughter and sent the girls to the bath.  I wasn’t planning on being stylist this night of pizza-making, but it had to be done.  Now Autumn’s hair is short, in a little bit of a choppy style, not incredibly unlike her older sister’s.  I’m not a trained stylist, after all.  While at it, I also trimmed the little friend’s hair.

It’s only hair.  They’re just kids.  It’s only life.  Why not experience every moment and choose life and love?  The practice keeps coming, the lessons growing stronger.

Life is sweet, and little girls with short hair can be so darn cute!

p.s. Uta, Autumn reminds us of Sonja! 

No one promises that letting go is easy.  Everything out there says that simplifying our lives is the thing to do.  Once we hear a call, we have a choice whether or not to follow it.  Following it doesn’t promise to be easy.  In fact, taking the scenic route through a Life well lived will undoubtedly be way more difficult than staying on the Interstate of life.

I had to take a step yesterday that was bittersweet.  I didn’t want to let go of something that I think is so important, of work that I know needs to be done.  However, I promised myself I would bring focus to my journey.  If I’m going to do something, I want to do it well.  We like to say we don’t do anything half-ass around here (“single-cheeked,” if the kids are listening).  If we’re going to talk the talk, we have to walk the walk.  That’s a lesson learned and lived while in the desert, right?  No time like the present.

So, if I’m going to do something, I’m going to do it well.  I wish the same for you.

Among the many choices we have in this life, we get to choose what we eat.  We have options.  I’m sure animals in the wild have options, too.  They show preferences toward certain plants; some edibles are probably tastier than others.  They could eat the poisonous ones, but survival instincts tell them to steer clear.  Undoubtedly the human race would be better off if our survival instincts were so strong that we would opt not to put poison into our bodies.  I digress . . .

Our two older children have decided to become vegetarian, and so has one of their friends.  Lately, out of necessity, most of our meals have been vegetarian anyway, but now it’s becoming part of the meal planning.  Actually, we need to do more meal planning, incorporating intentional vegetarianism into the diet, making sure the nutritional value is there.

Being responsible parents, we did ask for their motives.  It may seem hard to believe, but “going vegetarian” can still be a fad.  We wanted to make sure their intentions were clear, good, and stable.  While we cannot be 100% sure, their dedication in the past week or two has shown stamina and dedication.  We even asked if they would prefer we only purchased local meat, where we could go see how the animals were treated.  The kids have said they’re not opposed to eating occasional fish, but otherwise, no meat.  I’ll have to learn how to cook fish (and stand the smell of it — ugh).  We move forward.

Fortunately, there are many resources to be had, both online and in print.  We also have friends who have wonderful recipes and are willing to share their experiential knowledge.  And my experience shows me that if you raise conscientious, free-thinking children, you have to be willing to work a little harder, go the extra mile, and support them in their endeavors and choices.  Nurture them; that’s another choice we have.

The community creeps out of hibernation, slowly but surely.  The sun’s mighty power pulls us all out of our dwelling places.  The crocuses beckon us to look more closely at the earth.  It’s time.

Cold-weather crops.  Garden planning.  Spring cleaning.  It’s time to open the windows and let the fresh air disrupt the winter residue.  If outside, we have to make sure not to be fooled by warm yet cool temperatures; sunburns happen regardless of temp.  It’s a good time to clear out some clutter.  Yesterday I cashed in $100 worth of things laying around that we had collected (aluminum cans), didn’t need (extra movies and video games), or didn’t use (outgrown jeans) anymore, turning excess into something useful (groceries, gas, soccer kleats).  I also gave back to the community with a donation to Goodwill.  To give and receive should be a daily practice, not just a seasonal thought.

And now I cut this post short because while I do want to get kids’ clothes out of the attic to take to the consignment store, I don’t want to miss this morning’s opportunity to take my youngest out in the bike trailer.  Truly, the blue skies are amazing, and the bike trails await.

This evening concludes with church and the bookstudy I mentioned yesterday.  Oh, what a beautiful day.

S  l  o  w  l  y, I am finishing the books on my list and bringing new ones to center focus — some for leisure, some for study/growth.  In a flash, I finished Michael Scott’s The Magician after my daughter bought it and read it first (this is the book after The Alchemist), and my daughter finished the next in the series, The Sorceress, so I have that lovely-looking purple book to read now, a nice television substitute.  (Of course, we don’t have a t.v., but it’s nice to feel like we don’t need one, which we don’t.)*  I’m still reading The Reluctant Saint (a biography of St. Francis), but I only read a couple of pages at a time.  Eventually I will finish it in one fell swoop.  I don’t want the end of his life, riddled with physical maladies, to linger any longer than necessary, but the stories of his devotion and sincerity are truly inspiring.

But the gem of a book we are reading for our Women’s Spirituality Group is Cynthia Bourgeault’s The Wisdom Way of Knowing: Reclaiming an Ancient Tradition to Awaken the Heart.  I’ve only read through Chapter 2, and already I’ve encountered ideas, terminologies, and topics that resonate deeply with me as True and/or are completely new to me.  Bourgeault readily attributes others in her writing, and if I read a fourth of those she mentions, I have enough reading for the rest of the year.  But it will be enlightening reading.  Sufis, mystics, ancient texts, contemporary Wisdom teachers, poets.

Bourgeault delves into the difference between mysticism and Wisdom, the importance of different religious traditions.  She attributes Lynn Bauman, friend and peer, with popularizing Jesus as “a moshel meshalim, a master of Wisdom, teaching a science of transformation that was both ancient and timeless.”  I guess I hadn’t read enough about Sufism to consider that it may likely be the bridge between Christianity and Islam, but I do know I love Rumi’s poetry.  Apparently, Ibn al-’Arabi is another Sufi poet of acclaim.  Of course there is more in the book, and I look forward to reading it and to exploring it  further in our book study.  After receiving the book in the mail, I was skeptical.  This little book for $17?  Buy it new or used or borrow from a friend or library, if you are so lucky; I recommend it so far.  I look forward to finishing it this month and letting her “show (us) how to use the teachings of Wisdom to transform (our lives).”

I’ll be sure to check back and let you know what I think in the end.  Links to above books are in the sidebar to the left.

* Thanks for tolerating my apparent delight in parenthetical asides these days.  I find it a nice way to speak from a different perspective.  (Though it does kind of feel like a lady gossiping, doesn’t it?)  Maybe I should add a re-read of Anne of Green Gables to my list. 

When I tell my kids we’re going to do something, I might as well be forging it into stone or making a blood bond.  In their opinion, I’ve promised them something will be, and they’re counting on it to be done.  I remember those days in my youth.  I looked forward to something, usually doing something out of the ordinary, and felt the anticipation, excitement, and adrenaline mixing up a cocktail within me.  Heaven forbid plans change at the last minute.  I wouldn’t always (if ever) cry about it, but my children go for an Oscar with their dramatic displays of disappointment.   Inevitably, plans do change, and, I’m sorry, but a “maybe” is not a promise.

But let me not pretend that I don’t get that childhood anticipation cocktail these days, too.  It’s just not as frequent.  Perhaps it’s a defense mechanism as we get older so that our hopes aren’t always let down.  Honestly, though, hope and anticipation are not the same thing.  Can’t you feel the difference?

Our days here have been warmer.  I’ve seen daffodil buds and blossoming crocuses.  I re-potted most my houseplants and have spent two afternoons tidying up the yard, assessing what trimming needs to be done.  The forsythias’ buds are swelling, and I know it won’t be long before they burst into brilliant yellow, sunshine reflected.  Spring has been promised, and I know it will come.  That doesn’t mean there won’t be a few more frosts before then, though.  I may have to weather a few more gray days.

We’re also nearing the end of Lent.  Holy Week is just around the corner.  My practices this Lent have been a little out of the ordinary, and I made promises with myself that I have to keep to help me grow.  I also know the meaning of this time of year in my tradition.  Promises were made and continue to be kept.  Upon those promises, we ground a great faith and hope and Love.  Through these we live our days with a great compassion.

If I trust in the assurances of the greater promises, such as Spring and Rebirth, and enjoy the sprinkle of the “smaller” promises made and kept without great attachment, it would seem that being fully present in the moment would come naturally.  Another promise?  More practice.