Day 7: You Get What Ya Give

How often do we hear of someone going through a particularly difficult time, or remember an old friend and think, I should give him a call?

Oftentimes, I allow a blanket of busyness to smother the urge to make real connections. It is convenient to send an email, and surely that is better than nothing at all. But somehow we seem to have lost the art of picking up the telephone or stopping by for a visit to open the two-way dialogue that happens in conversation.

Recently, a friend I have known since we were 12 years old called to wish me a "happy birthday." We spent an hour catching up. When I hung up the phone my sense of belonging seemed more sure. Lisa's thoughtfulness lifted my spirits for days.

A few years ago I had the privilege of briefly knowing Frances Hargraves. Mrs. Hargraves had been living and teaching school in Chapel Hill since the sidewalks were made of dirt. She was an anchor in the classroom during civil rights turmoil and was beloved by students of all colors. So great was her impact on the community that an elementary school and community center were named in her honor.

Weeks before she died, I went to visit her. I wanted to see her one more time and thank her for helping with Project Compassion. Walking into her bedroom with a freshly picked bouquet of black eyed susans, I found Mrs. Hargraves surrounded by young family members anxious to attend her. I thanked her for allowing me, a recent acquaintance, the time to see her when so many wanted to be with her. She smiled and made me feel like I was the most important visitor in weeks.

When one of the young women commented on all the visitors and flowers Mrs. Hargraves had received, I mentioned that I wasn't surprised. Smiling, she sighed deeply, laid her head back on a pile of pillows and said, "Well chil' you get what ya give. Just remember, you're gonna get what ya give."

Each year when the black eyed susans begin to smile their summer greeting, I remember my inspiring friend's advice.

I am aware that one day I too will be only a memory. What kind of memories am I leaving?
Is there someone in your life that you would like to give a call to or stop by and visit right now?

Day 6: Hands Wide Open

In middle school, my girlfriends and I would write our favorite sayings. Silly things like, "love is never having to say you're sorry." Any relationship survive that platitude? I scribbled, "If you love something set it free" on my bright yellow and green "flower power" notebook. At the ripe old age of 13, I understood the meaning of this piece of wisdom because I had just broken up with my boyfriend of 6 whole months.

Some 30 plus years later, I have had the opportunity to set both of my children free to the magical life of college. Two weeks ago Brendan smiled down at me (literally, he is 9 inches taller) and said, "Mom, I think it's time to say 'goodbye.'" And so we did. Wailing and gnashing of teeth, and the comfort stop at a friend's home helped ease the pain. If you are ever dropping a child off at Auburn, I highly recommend Marcia's hard lemonade, provided you have a designated driver.

Yesterday, we schlepped Kiki's life out of the cars and into her dorm room at Birmingham Southern College. (OK-when we pulled up there were so many helpers, I didn't have to touch so much as a flat iron. But doesn't schlepping sound heroic?)

After helping her settle in, we attended the convocation. Parents hovered in stadium seats overlooking empty chairs awaiting the 400 new students. Robed professors proceeded in first and lined the aisle, fortification for the students as they filed past. Or perhaps they served as a protective barrier from the mamas above, only a hair's breath away from leaping below, snatching their babies, saving them from the parties, drinking, and sex which we could smell in the air.

Bowing our heads, we prayed with the chaplain, "God of new beginnings, we rejoice this day as we welcome to our community these new students....We are mindful of those around the world this day who do not have the privilege of higher education: whose lives are subject to violence and poverty, who must work and struggle just to survive. Forgive us for insulating ourselves from the world's realities, and help us to use the education we receive here to improve the world around us."

Fearful thoughts were replaced by a remembering of what we loved about this school: the intimacy, the honoring of the sacred, the commitment to make the world a better place. In only minutes, ritual provided well-needed comfort to unsettled souls.

Perhaps in hopes of framing our personal stories in the context of The Story, President Pollick quoted Ecclesiastes, "For every thing there is a season..."

After the ceremony Kiki walked to the parking lot with us to retrieve a few final items from the car. Echoing her brother's words she said, "Mom, let's say 'goodbye' here." We held each other close and then I opened my hands to set her free. It was her season to move on; mine and Malcolm's to channel parenting energy in other directions.

Kneeling in church this morning, I looked down at my hands. They didn't feel open, but empty. And yet, these same hands which held Brendan and Kiki as babies, which released them to the world, they were open, ready to receive, to raise up and give thanks. Experience tells me, this grieving will take time. That some moments I will feel empty and others quite open. I owe it to Brendan and Kiki to honor them by trying my best to fully embrace the empty and make space for the open. Once again, they can be my teachers.

Is there something in your life that you are holding on to that you are ready to, or is wanting to, be set free? Are you clinging to seasons past? If you were to envision opening your hands receptively, what would that be like? Would creating a ritual of release be helpful? This letting go work can be challenging as well as rewarding. Best wishes on the path and Namaste.

Day 5: Namaste

Traditionally yoga classes conclude with teacher and students bowing to each other, palms pressed together in front the heart, offering the sanskrit greeting, "Namaste."

What is this Namaste? Originating from the Hindu tradition, there are a number of meanings attributed to the term. My favorite is, "The divinity within me honors the divinity within you."

For our practice today, may we offer "Namaste" to those around us, honoring our own divinity...reaching out, touching another's blessedness.

Since we aren't living in a culture where it is common to place our hands in front or our hearts, bow, and say, "Namaste," it might be more comfortable simply to send a silent "Namaste. " The possibilities are plentiful...to the person at the checkout counter... a loved one on the telephone...someone who is being difficult. Or perhaps you would like to spread the word and share the meaning, openly offering it to another.
Namaste

Day 4: Technology Sabbatical

Addiction comes in many forms. A few years ago I realized I was addicted to technology. First thing in the morning, I would check my email. Throughout the day texts would fly between my new love and I. The drone of the fax machine kicking into gear meant someone was sending me something important, and I would rush to respond. Of course, I ended my day checking email.

So, I chose to change that. One Friday, I left my office, shut the door and vowed not to return until Monday morning. What an enlightening experiment! It was hard not to go up and check my computer, fax machine, and business line. As much as I whined and moaned about the demands placed on me, I realized I had begun to define myself by others' needs of me. I was addicted to the rush of being "contacted." I actually had to stop myself from going upstairs at least ten times that first Saturday.

Anne Morrow Lindbergh wrote, "For it is only framed in space that beauty blooms." Inspired by her wisdom, I used my newly recovered time to take walks in the woods, plant flowers, and sleep on the couch pretending to read the book on my lap.

From the space came moments of inspiration--inspiration that felt like a song singing me back to me. From the silence came new ideas that had room to breathe. In the past, they had been choked by faxes, emails and phone calls.

It is hard to believe that only 25 years ago many people did not have a personal computer at their desk; just 15 years ago email began to be widely used; and the Blackberry's popularity is only 5 years old. How did we survive without all of that "help?"

I am not proposing we throw our technology away and go back to the 1950's. I am merely suggesting we block of a period of time...half a day, a day, even a whole entire weekend when we choose not to use some or all of our technological devices. Imagine what might bloom in that fertile ground of unfettered time. Namaste

This post includes excerpts from my spiritual memoir, Dancing Naked Under the Moon Uncovering the Wisdom Within which may be purchased at Amazon. com.

Day 3: Wonder and Awe

Daisy charged ahead on our long, gravel driveway. Realizing we were not stopping at the mailbox, but going for the treasured W-A-L-K, she burst into a head-waggling, booty-shaking circle dance, punctuated by a leap in the air. To withhold a smile witnessing such joy is surely a sin.

This morning the sky offered more questions than answers. To our right, waves of sea-foam clouds floated peacefully. Directly overhead, an ominous sheet of gray. And not far off to the left, the promise of clear, blue bliss.

How do those beauty berries transform overnight from green-leafy bush to pregnant, purple feasts for the eye? I remember the first time I saw a beauty berry...on an escape from the world weekend with my friend, Elinor. Amazing how this plant in the middle-of-nowhere, Alabama is one of my reminders of precious moments with a dear friend far away.

Dark clouds rumbling, Daisy and I took our chances and carried on. I was almost hoping for drops of rain to arouse my skin. Today, like every day, God is creating something new. Will I have the eyes to see it?

While on sabbatical, Sr. Mary McGehee served up a few guidelines for my time off--kind of like a recipe for renewal. One of those bits of wisdom was to, "Take time each day to live in wonder and awe of God's creation." May you find that opportunity today.

Many of us have more concrete than creatures in our midst. If that is the case for you, maybe you can be inspired by my neighbors in Tokyo. In that busy, noisy city were exquisite gardens on minuscule parcels of land. Busy "salary men" on the way to the train station would take a moment or two to stop and notice the blossoming cherry tree. The desire to commune with nature was greater than the obstacles of urban living. Namaste

Day 2: Pour Your Heart Into It

Sitting cross-legged in front of her attentive audience, Maya Tiwari introduced us to Ayurveda, a holistic healing system believed to be over 7,000 years old. Mother Maya, as she is called, has an easy, yet authoritative manner. One moment her arms would be floating as she led us in a transformative chant, the next she would be scolding us about our American consumerism and waste. What struck me was her passion. The sheer force of life she embodied--whether sitting intently listening to a question, or dramatically sharing a story, we were swept up in her momentum.

Fascinated by this system for living, I bought her book, Ayurveda: A Life of Balance and learned about the Ayurvedic belief that the intention (heart) the cook brings to the preparation of the meal impacts the experience for both the cook and those who eat the meal. Although my interest in Ayurveda was short-lived, Mother Maya's teachings have frequently come to mind over the past 15 years.

Soon after hearing Mother Maya, we were living in Tokyo when one of our American neighbors gave birth to her third child. I offered to cook pasta shells for the family on the night that mother and baby returned home. Remembering the Ayurvedic teaching, I poured my whole heart into preparation of the meal. Dipping my spoon into ricotta cheese, I reached deep within to send blessings for the mother as well as the baby, who would be nourished by this meal through his mother's milk. Stirring spinach, mozzarella, and ricotta together I held the older sister and brother in my heart. Hoping they would receive him with joy and remember they too are loved. Finally, spooning pasta sauce over shells, I thought of the father, that he would have the strength to support his family emotionally as well as financially during this major life transition. My movements slowed. Filled with unexpected love for casual acquaintances, I felt so alive. Bending over the oven, placing the glass pan in the oven, an unexpected "Amen" fell from my lips. The mundane had become holy.

Consider something that you will be doing today, maybe something ordinary like cooking, or extraordinary like climbing a mountain, and choose to pour your whole heart into that experience. Perhaps you will approach it with passion like Mother Maya. Or you might choose to take the time to send blessings as you accomplish a routine task. If you like, share your experience with the rest of us. Namaste

Day 1: Nourishing Your Soul

In Care of the Soul, Thomas Merton reminds us, "Getting away from the world has always been a part of the spiritual life....Some concrete, physical expression of retreat could be the beginning of a spiritual life that would nourish the soul. It could take the modest form of a drawer where dreams and thoughts are kept. It could consist of five minutes in the morning dedicated to writing down the night's dream or to reflect on the day ahead. It might be the decision to take a walk through the woods instead of touring the shopping mall....These are modest forms of retreat that serve the spiritual needs of the soul. Spirituality need not be grandiose in its ceremonials. Indeed, the soul might benefit most when its spiritual life is performed in the context it favors--ordinary daily vernacular life. But spirituality does demand attention, mindfulness, regularity, and devotion. It asks for some small measure of withdrawal from a world set up to ignore soul."

When Brendan and Kiki were young I felt like I was losing myself to motherhood. A wise friend counseled me to create a "Feed Your Soul Journal." Each day I would write down what I did to nourish that which was crying out deep within me. The entries were simple-drinking a latte on the bench near the bird feeder, walking Boomer alone, going outside while my husband did the dishes. Some of these activities were new. Many were not. Considering what I wanted and needed, taking the time to notice that I was feeding my soul, helped me find myself again. Silence the fertile ground from which the Sacred sprang.

Today, I invite you to give yourself the gift of a "modest form of retreat," a "small measure of withdrawal." What feeds your soul? Could you block off a period of time--five minutes, half-an-hour, to allow yourself to reconnect with that still, small voice inside? Perhaps the length of time is not as important as the act of carving out this sacred space and noticing the gift. Namaste

40 Days: A Practice Toward Renewal

For quite a while I have been kicking around the idea of creating a daily prayer or presence practice. Each time I came close to making this "thought" a reality, I would stop myself with the realization that there are already many beautiful meditations, daily devotionals, or prayer practices available. Does the world really need another one?

And yet, if there is something inside of us wishing to take form, who are we to hold back the waves of creation? Perhaps sharing our gifts with the world requires riding these innovative waves and playing in the swells of the imagination. How much freer would we be with our gifts if we enjoyed them without concern for the "end product" or the judgment of others?

It is from this place of playfulness and spiritual exploration that I invite you to travel with me on this journey for the next 40 days. I will post a reflection/prayer/spiritual practice each day in hopes that we will learn, grow, and ultimately experience renewal together.

Why forty days? Most Jews and Christians understand the significance of the number 40 in the Bible. The rains fell for 40 days and 40 nights (Noah's ark experience Genesis 7:4)...Israel ate Manna for 4o years (Exodus 16:35)...Moses hung out with God twice for 40 days (Exodus 24:18 and Exodus 34:28) ....Jesus fasted for 40 days and nights (Matthew 4:2), was tempted 40 days (Luke 4:2, Mark 1:13), and remained on earth 40 days after resurrection (Acts 1:3). Each of these examples speaks to a time of testing which led to renewal and the fulfillment of promises.

Those of us who have given birth know that the "normal" length of pregnancy is (as if there really is one!) 40 weeks. Shah Nazar Ali Kianfar, a Sufi master says, "40 days, according to the teachings and practice of the prophets and holy masters, is the mystical number of the course of perfection, a course that leads to an experience of the true essence of one's humanity." Finally, according to some accounts, Buddha sat beneath the bodhi tree for 40 days when he attained enlightenment.

Unfortunately, I cannot promise you enlightenment, deliverance into the promise land, or perfection in these next 40 days. However, I believe by staying committed to this practice, for this period of time, we open ourselves to a greater likelihood of "experiencing the essence of one's humanity;" that the path on this journey will take unimagined twists and turns. I invite you to walk with me and hope you will share your experiences. Namaste.

Monkey Mind

The Buddhists have a great term, "monkey mind" which means, "unsettled, restless, capricious, whimsical, fanciful, inconstant, confused, indecisive, uncontrollable." Wow! how is that for nailing the way our minds can ramble about?

Most mornings I take time to read something inspiring in hopes to set my heart in the direction of the Divine Heart. Afterward, I'll spend about 20 minutes in centering prayer.

Some days this routine is soothing, grounding-yeah, the desired outcome is achieved. Others, "monkey mind" takes over and I feel like I would've been better off reading some trashy magazine and slugging down a double barreled mochachino-latte thingy.

Yet, the great teachers I have heard, Lama Norlha, Rev. Cynthia Bourgeault, and Fr. Keating insist the point isn't the "experience" we have in our meditation time, but that we show up...simply being present day in and day out is the "key." In centering prayer this showing up is one of the ways we tend to our relationship with the Divine. It isn't a matter of noticing when we are thinking and letting that thought "be." It is about creating a sense of "inner openness" when we feel ourselves gripping in our daily lives; a Christ-like kenosis, or self-emptying.

The great masters teach that really there should be no "desired outcome" or qualification of one centering prayer session as more fruitful than another. Imagine that, showing up, not judging, inner opennes...oh what we can aspire toward! Maybe we can even take our experience on the meditation cushion out into our everyday experiences...with ourselves, with others...

Clean is overrated

Like most teenagers, Brendan treasures his sleep. Even though his bedroom has a stunning view of the lake, he has left the blinds closed almost every day for the four years he lived here so that he wouldn't forget to pull them down at night. This and his habit of leaving his bed unmade have never been well received by me, Brendan's mom.

And so, in an effort to find good in the sadness of leaving Brendan out in the big world known as Auburn, I came home and opened all the blinds, swept his room, changed the sheets and made the bed...sharp corners and all.

Gratifying in some ways, the project left me empty. Yes, the comforter that never made it on top of the bed matched the paint color beautifully. And yes, the light streaming through the windows seemed to brighten the whole upstairs. But it didn't feel like Brendan's room. It was way too sterile...lifeless really. Nothing about this newly cleaned space reflected all of the fun times Brendan had in his room with his buddies over; or the late nights studying for a test; or the backrubs he sweetly asked for after a football game. No dirty clothes, no overflowing trash, no X-box controllers strewn about. Clean is overrated.

Last night when Malcolm and I went to bed Kiki said, "I miss Brendan, this is the time when we usually hang out. I'm gonna watch a movie in his room."

After filling the pot with vanilla cream coffee this morning I walked into Brendan's room and noticed the comforter was wrinkled, there was a plate with crumbs on the bed, and a half-full glass of water sitting on the wood floor.

Thank you Kiki for trashing the place.

What is it you want for me to do for you?

Twice Jesus asks, “What is it you want me to do for you?” In the first instance, James and John are vying for privilege and power, wanting a seat at Jesus’ left and right hands. The second incident occurs when Bartimaeus, a blind beggar shouts for mercy.

Setting the Bible on the ottoman, I call to our white lab Daisy so I can ponder this question on a walk in the country. For a little while I move at a brisk pace, hoping to burn calories. Occasionally I remember the question and consider, “What is it I want Jesus to do for me?” Scattered thoughts pop like popcorn, my mind frequently wandering.

Descending from a steep hill, nearing the end of our second mile I wonder, “What if I were walking with Jesus right now and he asked, ‘What is it you want for me to do?’”

Instinctively I slow down and ultimately stop walking altogether. Surrounded by an arch of greenery, I turn to look back at the direction we have just come. Wisps of steam, barely noticeable, dance across the pavement. Turning toward home, I hear the morning-song of crickets. How had I missed their serenade?

Continuing my journey, at a relaxed pace, I imagine Christ at my side, asking, “What is it you want for me to do for you?” The answer spills forth, the question one more drop of rain needed overflowing the crest of a dam.

“Courage, I want the courage to do what I am intended to do; the courage to fully surrender my life to you even when it will be difficult. Clarity, so I will know how to be your presence here on earth; to know which path to take to best serve. And finally, community, I want support and collaborative partners, a place separate of our home for me to do my work.”

And then I sense a gentle reply, or perhaps a conversation from within, “You don’t have to do it all. You cannot have community and support if you block it before it even has time to step in the door. Leave the door open. Welcome what enters. Listen. As I have told you before, your church is ready. Do not be afraid. I will give you all that you need.”

Gratitude washes over me…Daisy and I slowly resume our journey toward home, burning fewer calories and drinking in the soothing scenery. I feel the prayers of all of the family and friends carrying us forward in this time of transition.

The REAL World

Where is the real world? Is it glistening on the water as the sun’s rays dance across the lake? Is it the shrill song of the indigo bunting urging me on a country walk? Perhaps these are all escapes from the real world. You know, the one that calls us to the messiness of ministering to one another. Or sitting in long meetings only to eek out a crumb of progress, but progress none-the-less.

Maybe the real world is the one we are in this moment. Whether we are experiencing a calming, contemplative sense of expansiveness, or the frenetic pace of saving the world, we are in the midst of the real. Our choice is to notice this instance, this experience, the gift of the this NOW and most importantly, realize the Sacred is present in all of this.

The real is always there, our challenge is to recognize it.

Breathing out life force...

Breathing in our exhale.

Breathing out...Breathing in...

Imminent, Abiding, Love.

Boundless Presence...

Undeserved Forgiveness.

How can I possibly understand the Gift?

How do I share what I cannot comprehend?

Perhaps it is time for the mind to rest...

And surrender to the work of the heart.