“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.

The Haitian earthquake happened January 12th.  I heard about it first in an e-mail from my priest to the congregation.  I finally made the conscious decision to look at photos on-line on Monday, the 18th.  The night before, over an impromptu dinner with friends, one of them told me, “Don’t look.  You’ll be buying a plane ticket or something.  [The pictures] are awful.”  I agreed that I’d probably want to go over there and re-lactate or something so that I could nurse an orphaned baby.

But I looked at the photos, mainly from The Big Picture, whose photo posts are always view-worthy though not always pleasant.  The photos are honest, raw, and exquisite in their clarity.  The Haitian photos are no exception.  Looking at the photographs, how can we not be connected to the devastation?  Smell the dirt, smoke, blood and decay?  Hear the screams of pain and wails of grief?  Taste the dust in our dry mouths.  Feel the tremor of our own body at the fear of the aftershock in the earth and in our own memory.  As hope begins to fade for finding survivors, is hope being kindled quickly enough for a better tomorrow, for rebuilding an even better future?  In a country so populated with poverty, how can I know anything about what that hope might look like?

As the 69-year-old woman who prayed for the week she was trapped, all many of us can do is pray, too.  In a way we are trapped in our sheltered lives.  As richly blessed as we are, we are bound by our attachments, often committed to too much, unable to be moved when it may most be needed.  So we also pray for our own freedom and the gift of understanding that which is beyond our comprehension.

So I send a prayer of peace to the people of Haiti, that amidst this chaos they might find a reservoir of deep peace to carry them through.  To the rescue crews, I pray for strength in body, mind and spirit.  Thank you for doing the work that not all of us can do, and we send you our strength of spirit to back you.  To those in authority of Haiti and those discerning how to allocate funds and goods, may you be pure of heart and keep those in need as your first priority.  For that which I cannot understand, I pray that all will be well.

In my last post, I mentioned mindfulness.  It’s a buzzword these days.  Just be mindful, and all will be well.  That would be like me saying to live every day simply.  In an unapologetically Buddhist way, mindfulness is that easy and that difficult, just as living life simply is.  Read that as you will.

Only you know what is most important in your life.  Only you know what requires your attention and most feeds your soul; they aren’t often the same thing, and we all know it changes on a daily, if not hourly basis.

But if, in a moment, you can be where you are, at once embracing it yet with open arms and feeling everything fully without being overwhelmed, then you can do what needs to be done with clarity.  You can make a conscious choice, knowing what is the best thing to do in that moment.  This is our best work, or our work at its best.  With this clarity and sense of purpose, there is a profound freedom to be experienced.  There is a sense of participating in the flow of life.

I am more than a little amused at all the self-help books out there, the variety of techniques that aim to bring us to a sense of peace.  Each of us could write our own book.  Those of us who write, indeed, write mostly for and to ourselves, for that’s all we truly know.  At the core of it all, though, is the one flow of life, one peace, one good, and that’s what ties us together.  That’s what, when we write, we hope to tap into, sharing a truth that might resonate for others.

Again, only you know what you need.  First you have to be conscious.  You have to be honest.  Then you keep practicing and keep working hard.  We work hard to be, just be, in peace.  This is good work.

(photo from everystockphoto.com)

Since I’ve heard the story of Mary’s anunciation at least three times this month, it rings loudly in my ears.  It could be that last year all my ears could hear was the “holy s**t!” factor Mary must have felt, the “you-want-me-to-do-what?”  This year, however, I was given the opportunity to truly listen to the story, and like doing deep dream work, I was able to close my eyes and enter the story, the scene, the characters, and the energy present on that holy night.

I could feel the dry desert air in Mary’s mouth, in my mouth, the sandy breeze.  I could feel the weight of the day but the relief that comes when all that can be done is done, and it’s time to rest.  There’s stillness and a quiet acceptance of what is.  Then there’s this overwhelming encounter with an angel?  Could that be what that was?  Did anyone else see?  Did anyone else hear?  Could the racing of my heart be betraying me?  Have I not just heard a commission from God through one of His glorious angels?  Didn’t I just accept the call to be a mother to the child of God, me a young innocent?  The curious look from a neighbor makes me question, but my heart assures me it is true.  True, also, was the look of awe, sympathy, and adoration on the face of the angel, in his voice.  Returning to the stillness of the night, it was like a dream, but now my life is changed forever more.  I cannot know the depth of this responsibility, what it might fully entail.  I just know that in the moment, in the presence of what is Holy, I knew I could make no other choice, for “Here am I . . . servant to the Lord.”

Then I realize that the anunciation of Mary is quite similar to our own stories when we are answering a call that aligns with God’s will.  Often it comes to us when we least expect it, when we are still and accepting of the present.  But it could be when things seem most in chaos.  When we hear that tumultuous stirring in our hearts, experience the ecstatic joy of co-creating with God, we know we are where we are meant to be.  What comes down the road, we may not know, but we continue in faith and trust and hope.  Most importantly, we continue in Love.

I don’t know anyone personally who has had the clarity of purpose as Mary, through an angel’s visit.  If you’re like me, you would welcome an angel’s visit telling you what to do, what God wants you to do.  But it seems even as it seems harder to hear God’s voice these days, God’s trust in us is just as present, if not moreso.  God seems to trust each of us that Jesus was enough to teach us how to be in relationship not only with each other but with God as well.  And example after example in the Bible shows us people, servants to the Lord, who are simply present, hear a call and respond, “Here am I.”

May we be that strong, that trusting, that faithful.  May the joy of the season inspire us.

Clarity in this life can be elusive.  That seems only natural when the air around us is filled with unseen signals sending digital and analog information, with noise from earbuds and/or automobiles, with smells of burning oil — to name a few of our distractions.  Sit with this busy, distracted image for a bit.  How do you feel?

Now go to your cabin in the woods.  Smell the mountaintop air.  Hear the wind through the trees.  Sit in the darkness lit only by the crackling fire.  Hold the warm beverage in your hands.  Welcome a friend to sit near you.  Listen to her share her soul.  Let your heart open.  Speak your own truths.  Experience laughter.  Shed tears.  Sit in silence, together.

After the Holy Listening retreat I had the honor to experience this past weekend, of one thing I am quite sure.  As a child of God, one purpose of my life here is that I am here to live in the present moment with an honest, open heart.  Above all things, I am to love.  This seems only natural when sitting by the fire in the quiet of the evening.  I can almost feel that two friends together are not alone.  Even when sitting by myself, I do not feel alone.  The presence of Spirit is strong, almost palpable.

Even returning to the daily round, nothing changes but my own perception.  If I can cut through the chatter of our society, let alone the chatter in my own mind, the stillness, the clarity is ever-present.  My purpose hasn’t changed.  Spirit hasn’t disappeared.

I have a feeling this is something we all have in common.

Many thanks to my German friend for introducing my family to the advent calendar even before we fully embraced the tradition.  This year, however, I came up with something each day for the children to do before they get their daily treat.  Sundays are busy for us, so I decided to make use of the Christmas cookie sheet molds I received as a gift and make tasty sugar cookies as a treat for all.

Advent is a season of waiting, of preparation.  I also think it’s a time of excitement, merriment to be spent with family and friends, not without consideration of those in need.  Of course, I encourage you to make your own list, but to jump-start your brainstorm, here’s our list, some names removed.

May your December start with a heaping of kindness.

1. Do a kindness for a sibling.

2. Donate clothes to shelter.

3. Send a letter to a friend.

1. Make sure the house is especially clean.

2. Be kind to your Dad.

1. Happy St. Nicholas Day!!!

2. Make cards for teachers.

3. Do a chore not on your list.

4. Help Mom prepare Christmas cards.

5. Draw a picture for a grandparent.

6. Spend 5 minutes in prayer before school.

7. Give thanks outdoors! Play outside if you can.

8. Enjoy your cookie!

9. Call Grandma and Uncle.

10. Mark cards for a nursing home.

11. Call Grandma and Uncle.

12. Call Grandpa and Papa.

13. Call Nana&Papa and Cousin.

14. Call Godparents.

15. Enjoy your cookie!

16. Get thank-you notes ready.

17. Spend 30 minutes in prayer.

18. Do something kind for Alexander; it is his birthday.

19. Help Mom in the kitchen.

20. Merry Christmas! Rejoice!

-Mark 13:1-8

This past Sunday evening, I realized I hadn’t fully listened to the Gospel during the morning church service.  My lapse in memory baffled me.  Others were talking about how unpleasant a reading it was, but I had no recollection, no point of reference.  Could it have been that bad?

Ah, end of times talk.  All the buildings will fall.  Earthquakes.  Famines.  My husband saw the title of this post and asked me if it was about aikido.  No, not that.

But what if it’s not mainstream apocalyptic thought.  Jesus mentions that all this earth-shattering, darkness, foundational collapse “is but the beginning of the birthpangs.”  Now birth I can relate to, and I was listening during the service.  What I hadn’t heard was a negative message, one of destruction.  I heard about a fundamental shift, a promise of a new paradigm, a re-birth.  I heard what had to happen for God’s dream to be realized.

As an active participant in the Servant Leadership School, I’m familiar with the talk about how our authority-driven model is not sustainable, is grounded in fear.  To live into God’s will, God’s dream, would be to assume the servant role, to serve one’s self and others with unconditional love, compassion, to participate in communion.  The servant is in the receptive posture, vulnerable yet open to receive divine guidance, to channel God’s love.  It’s one thing to know this and quite another to practice it.

To live one’s life open to the Divine requires a new way of thinking, of being.  Throw down the walls that bind.  There is no ground upon which to stand.  The fruit of your labors might not be in sight and the path narrow and difficult.  The only sustenance you have is your Faith and a Love that surpasses all understanding.  This living is the active birthing.

The child to be born is God’s dream.  The light at the end of the tunnel is no other than the Light that illumines all.  Jesus knew this.  He lived it.  He was It.  And we, in our sheltered, self-centered lives are still rooted in fear and have yet to take the leap of faith into Faith.  If we could but live rooted in Love, we could get a glimpse of our lives as God sees them.  We could tap into the infinite potential written into our souls.

We just have to let all our illusions fall away, surrender to Love, and live what is real, what is here.  Now.  This is our practice.