Of the four children smacking their cocoa-sweet lips and held captive by The Polar Express, one has a birthday this week, two days before Christmas.  Ten years ago I was 40 weeks pregnant, great with child.  But it wasn’t my first.  I had my support in place.  Preparations had been made.  I knew what to expect, more or less.

In this fourth week of Advent, I love that we light a pink candle to honor Mary.  I love remembering that she surrendered to something greater than herself, that she humbled herself to be a servant.  She didn’t know . . . she couldn’t know what was in store.

Every time I picture Mary or try to work with any kind of visualization or exercise of lectio divina, I have a sense of what Mary might have known.

Surrender.

What was happening was beyond her control.  It wasn’t just about Mary the innocent young woman suddenly expecting child.  As with every mother bearing child, from the moment the baby is conceived and grows, the mother can only do her best to keep healthy.  The formation of the child is left to genetics and the miracle of life.  A mother-to-be can seek the wisdom and comfort of other women to learn all that she can, but when it comes time to birth, there is no bringing forth of life without letting go of one’s identity.  Virgin Mary to Holy Mother of Jesus.  Can you imagine what Mary experienced alone in that stable?  Do you think she found in herself the capacity to pity poor Joseph standing helplessly by?  Could there have been a woman from the Inn who had mercy?  Such details are left unaccounted.

Next thing we know is that there’s a baby in a manger.  Mary has a child, a dependent.  This child’s existence depends upon her care and attention.  She knows this.  With her surrender, though, she knows this child she cares for is not hers alone.  She cares for this precious child not only as her own but as one of God’s . . . as God.  Did she know this?

Could she truly sense this from the beginning?  Could she know the heartache that would come?

From the very beginning, this would be beyond her comprehension.  She might never fully understand.  She could only do her best to do what was required of her in every moment.  She would live fully into each moment, keeping her heart as open as possible to live into the will of God.  This would be the best she could do.  It’s the best any of us can do.

Oh, that I have the humility to live into every moment with awareness and true surrender.  May I raise my children so that they will grow into the beings they are meant to be, not what or how I want them to be.  May I have the strength to be a mother of strength, love, and acceptance.

My children are blessings to me.  I am surrounded by abundance, and I understand this mother role . . . more or less.

We read a poem this weekend that had to be written by a kindred.  Her words spoke in my language, spoke in truth.  I cannot find her complete poem on-line, though there are partial reprints.  Elizabeth Carlson’s “Imperfections” can be found in this book, however.  I dare not repost the perfect little poem in its entirety, what with copyright laws and all.

What I can post is my own writing, though.  After listening to and with Carlson’s poem a bit, we got to go our solitary ways.  I listen well when I am writing, when I am doing nearly anything.  To listen for my own imperfections at a deeper level, I sat.  I wrote.  This is what surfaced.  (I apologize in advance that I cannot get the spacing to change, so pardon the stanza run-on! I tried.)

“imPerfection”

I can sit with the ants in the dappled light

On this, another awe-inspiring autumn morning.

What mysteries might the breeze whisper in my ear?

What chatter does that strange creature

echo from my monkey brain?

Usually I listen for the wisdom I stumble upon,

Doing the tasks that need be done.

For once, at least,

I let myself

discover

my Self.

May the pen be my trowel

And my busy-ness the weeds

I remove from the soil.

The soil is rich and fertile.

Or maybe I fold the distractions

Away

With each shirt, pants, and sock.

Some thoughts need to dry in

Their own time.

No dirty nails this time to

Show for my effort.

Digging deep.

What are the treasures?

I cannot be rid of the roots from the species

Too invasive.

This is hard,

too hard.

But the longer I ignore them, the harder it gets

To let the soil be rich,

To appreciate the beauty

That is there if only

It, too, could obtain the resources

Stolen

by that which needs the

Persistent practice,

The daily tending.

It helps to name the

bermuda grasses of my being.

I cannot ignore the

Reality of money,

The need to connect with my family,

The limits of time.

I have to give up this idea of

Stagnant Perfection.

A garden is not a photograph.

It teems with

Life and Intention,

with Persistent Practice.

Blood and sweat, surely,

From the thorns and twigs of

Truth

Running

Deep.

I didn’t plant the oak tree there

Or the rose there.

Gifts of vulnerable strength and

Fragile beauty.

Timeless, both, and full of

Grace.

The mosquito offers its own poison

As it draws my blood,

Leaving the stinging itch

That will gnaw like the

Censor to challenge any

Gift I may unearth and

Lay claim to.

But it, too, will fade.

And even after my blood

Is dried and gone,

The earth remains to

Receive again

That which it gave.

Live into this cycle,

every moment.

Practice persistence with

Compassion

and

Gratitude,

whether with the harvest of the Earth

or the

Fruits of our wombs.

All is still and alive.

All is well.

This I am told.

I finally put my spiritual autobiography into coherent form and in six pages. To write about that which is intangible, I had to find a metaphor. I could have used a plant, like I’ve spoken of before, but I chose a different one this time. Ironically, it’s one where I might have a role in the creation. It’s a quilt, with a spiral design pieced together on the front. I’ve seen beautiful ones done before and wonder if I could muster up the perseverance to do one myself. I imagine I could . . . after I finish the Dr. Who scarf, that is.

Of course, the spiral is a familiar image in spiritual circles (pardon the pun). At the center is my soul, and radiating from that, in light and dark to create a sense of depth and dimension, is my journey in colors that reflect my perception. To represent the presence of Spirit, I envision using decorative yarn or ribbon weaving throughout, more visible in some times more than others but ever-present, even if only beneath the surface.

This exercise comes at a time when I truly have to assess my values. What do we truly need as a family? What is most important to us? What is the difference between the life we want to live and the life that we are living? I find myself at a familiar crossroad, one that seems to be coming more frequently these days, and these are questions that arise. I am being engaged in this creation here and now. It’s not just a quilt. This is my life, choosing how to participate in God’s will.

I don’t want my spiral to become stuck in one place, disconnected from the core of my being. With our home, our children, our family and friends, with strangers and the unknown, I want to be open. I want other people’s experience to enrich my own and add new colors to my life. I want to keep discovering, keep going beyond where I thought my understanding ended.

My image propels me forward and deeper, closer to what I believe is central to all. It is everything and nothing in particular. It is not easy, but the way is so simple.

What is your image? What best depicts the journey of Spirit in your life? Is it alive and vibrant, flowing? If not, why not? What would your life look like if you allowed unconditional love to move you? If you can, draw or sketch it. Label it. Name it. See how rich your life is and can be. Keep creating.

Peace be with you.

In philosophy classes in college, I remember much discussion about free will.  I remember how difficult it was for me to work with the soft clay of my spirituality/religion/philosophy of the time; at once there was form but no form, convictions but infinite potentiality.  There were times when I wondered why these philosophers made such a big deal about it anyway.  (Obviously philosophy wasn’t my major.)

My faith and beliefs aren’t so much clay anymore but a beautiful tree that grows even from the clay of the earth.  The belief that we have choice and free will is one of those branches.  Having children, especially older ones, and following my life path, I see this in every moment, day in and day out.

My older son chooses what he does in the morning.  He’s the early riser, but often he’s the last to walk out the door.  Our youngest is choosing whether or not to tell the truth these days.  Our oldest is choosing to speak with kind words or anger.  We can watch the wheels moving in the mind of our six-year-old as he chooses to do what he wants to do or what he knows he should do.

While we do make choices in every moment, not all of them seemingly life-altering, there are those times when we deliberate and discern.  We try our best to look down the road to see what future that choice will hold for us.

In a discussion with my husband, I told him I almost felt I didn’t have a choice regarding what may very well be my life’s work.  He helped me much when he said he was sorry that my God didn’t give me a choice.  An awakening in my awareness occurred.  Of course I have a choice.  God has granted us free will.  It’s my choice.  But I can’t think of many times in this life when I have chosen to do anything because it was easier.  This life to me isn’t about just barely getting by.  I have a responsibility to learn and grow and evolve and mature, not only for my own benefit.  I don’t believe one can embody positive change without affecting others, too.  Ultimately, I have made a choice to choose the road that pushes my limits until they break open a new understanding.

I cannot force this perspective on others, let alone my kids.  I may very well have a child or two or four who are content to be here now and enjoy the moment simply for the sake of being blissfully present and unaware of greater suffering.  This is hard for me to imagine, but it’s possible.

As ever, I have a choice whether to be personally entangled in the lives of my children and others, or I can choose to love unconditionally.  To live compassion.  It sounds stronger than “to live compassionately.”  Oh, that we all could and would choose compassion in every moment.

We always have a choice.  The lesson continues.

At once I feel liberated when learning how simple something is.  Oh, you can make laundry detergent by mixing three ingredients?  Make it smell good by putting in some essential oil?  You can make bread with simple ingredients?  You can manifest peace in the world by connecting with one another?

What?

In one of those moments of clarity, it all makes sense.  Our greed, rage, mistrust — ultimately fear — all rest in the fact that we do not recognize each other.  We do not see one another, truly.  We have lost our connection with humanity, our connection as a collective whole.  For some it gets lost immediately; there is no sense of family or home.  For some it exists strongly to include their nation or even their religion but goes no further.

Our readings at church on Sunday included Jesus’ commandment to love one another.  So simple.  Our priest went on to say that this doesn’t mean we have to love-love others like we love our spouse/children/mother/father/friends.  I wish I could find a reference, but I’ll take her at her word when she said that one of the best translations for what Jesus said when he said “love” was “to connect.”  Connect with your self.  Connect with your neighbor.  Connect with the stranger on the street.  Connect with your enemy.  “It’s not all warm and fuzzy,” she said.  We just have to connect with them.

I see this as not only connecting with them as fellow humans, but there is something electric in the connection that ties us to the Divine.  For me to truly connect with you, I have to let that God-spark in me recognize the God-spark in you.  No matter what choices you’ve made in this life, or me, either, I cannot change that we are of the same Holy stuff, and that connection carries us beyond any rational comprehension on my part.

I believe our connections are nurtured by the beauty of nature, by kindness, by good will.  I cannot help but wonder if our connections are dimmed by the magnitude of currents surrounding us these days by technology.  In some ways they tie us together (I’m getting to share with you on my blog), but in so many others, they alienate us from one another (how many hours do you spend alone at the t.v./computer?).

I took a mental health day and went hiking with friends and my youngest on Tuesday.  On the soft, worn path, between a bluff and a boulder, below a spring-green canopy, I was fed, fueled for a moment in what is good and true.  No words were spoken.  Just a connection made.

Contrast that with last night’s Cinco de Mayo night out at a local dive.  So many people coming together to “celebrate” by getting inebriated and singing karaoke.  Were these people connecting?  Or were they moreso trying to fill the void they feel by lack of genuine connection?  Is it easier to commiserate in idle play/nonsense than to face our realities as they are?

Jesus didn’t say we had to approve of each other’s choices.  We just have to connect to one another enough to see each other — all of us — for what we truly are — holy.

So simple.

When a mom leaves her family and home for a weekend, it’s not a light decision.  Plans, preparations, arrangements, etc., are made for both home and destination.  What could be so important as to invoke extra work?

This year was the sixth year for the Time for J.O.Y. retreat at Camp Mitchell, sponsored by the Arkansas Episcopal Church Women.  I think each year has taught me something that enriches my understanding of my spirituality.

Part of the mystery of Grace is revealed through Beauty.

No two retreats will ever be the same.

We make sacrifices to do what we love, but family is always a priority.

Just because you don’t think it’s a good idea doesn’t mean Spirit won’t work through it anyway.

When living into your call, expect to be surprised by the potency of Spirit.

Not everyone needs what I need to experience Spirit deeply, and laughter goes a long way to feed the soul!

Needless to say, the time and energy I put into helping orchestrate these retreats is rewarded by the lessons and insights I gain.  I never regret taking this time apart, even if it does take me a day or two (or three) to recover afterward.

Like one retreatant said this year, society knows the power of a group of women, but we seldom honor our potential.  I encourage you to honor yourself and your peers.  Gather together with common purpose, united for something true and good, and watch what can be revealed to you.

And no matter how much planning we do, the magic happens when we do our best and then let go.  Most of the time it takes less energy than we think.  If you’re like me, you set your expectations so high you almost always set yourself up for failure.  Well, drop it down a notch or few.  I left my husband without a menu for the weekend.  He did the grocery shopping and no one starved.  We have some great friends who helped make sure the house was clean when I returned.  We never know how grace will be revealed in our lives.  But by not planning every detail, we allow room for pleasant surprises . . . or at least worthwhile lessons.  We allow room to let God work in and through our lives.

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.

“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.

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. 

Have I written about faith before? (Sorry, I can’t help the sweet sarcasm!)  I know I have.  I know I’ve mentioned that faith becomes most apparent when we take the leap from security, routine, and stability and plunge into unchartered territory.  Often this happens when we act on our intuition, trying to follow our hearts, trying to live into what we perceive as our “call.”

Well, my friends, we’ve taken that plunge and have been free-flying for a few months now.  There are a few things we have learned thus far.

• If you thought you knew how you would react if you “failed,” prepare to be wrong. I expected to be bitter, angry, resentful if we spent all our savings and extended our credit to its outer limits.  Thankfully, for the sake of the family, I’m not.  Also, perception of failure is a tricky thing.  Our greatest success in this venture is probably our change of perspective, our new understandings.
• Expect most of the growth to be within. As mentioned above, most of the changes we have experience are that of understanding, perspective, appreciation and joy.  Our relationships deepened.  What makes our life most rich has become apparent.
• Attachments are attachments. Mainly I mean attachments to material things.  We get attached to having the biggest and best, fancy this and highest quality that.  We have to let go of some things, deciding what is best for us individually and as a whole — a whole family and a whole world.    We learn what we can live without, and we learn what is truly worth the effort for quality.  Mostly, we want a quality life; this doesn’t always mean we have a top-of-the-line hi-def t.v.  “Live simply that other may simply live” applies to us all.
• You never go back to where you were before. Even if our daily routine looks the same as it was six months ago, it’s not.  Even if my husband goes back to a “desk job” (in quotes because technically he’s been working at a desk in his “time off”), he’s going back with his new understandings, renewed or even new appreciation.  Once we’ve attained a new level of understanding, once we know something as true, we can’t un-know something.  In time, I’m sure this new level will open other doors for growth as we continue to learn more about the life we live.
• Don’t underestimate your time. Be realistic about your needs.  Keep track of the bills.  Know how much debt you’re willing to accumulate, how much money it takes to live.  We’ve not been very good about this, honestly.  The lessons above were learned in enough time that we could have returned to the work status of before, before a financial crisis hit.  Be aware of this.  Give yourself a cushion, and if not, be willing to face the consequences.
• Take responsibility. We choose our way individually.  If we don’t necessarily have control of our environment and what happens, we have the choice on how we respond.  As in my first point, I thought I would choose to be angry if this business venture didn’t succeed at the rate projected.  When it became apparent that deadlines and projections weren’t being met, I had a choice.  For my own benefit and for the benefit of those around me, I choose love.

These are just a few of the lessons we’ve learned as we’ve taken flight.  It’s been an experience, a defining moment in our lives.  I know that in this past year, I have been pulled, if not called, deeper into my true nature.  Part of the magic of the leap may be that we get a clearer glimpse of what the kingdom of heaven is like, through the lens of faith and trust.