Playful Child

Summer time is the perfect time for daydreaming. Today I would love for us to consider our playful children. Not the ones that might be running around in your house or playing in the neighborhood outside, but the playful child who lives inside you. Yes, you...& me!

What follows is a simple meditation. If you would like to take part (and I sincerely hope you will), I suggest you gather some crayons, colored pencils or markers and a large sheet of plain paper to have by your side. Then consider this:

When you think of being a playful child, what comes to mind? Particular tastes, touch, smell? Popsicles on a hot summer day. The soft furr of a tiny kitten. The scratchy tongue of a puppy on your hand. Maybe it is the smell of popcorn and the anticipation of The Wonderful World of Disney or Howdy Doody or Sesame Street.

Are you inside or outside? Can you feel the grass beneath your feet? The splash of water on your toes? Perhaps you are curled up next to your mom or dad. Can you smell cookies baking in the oven or feel the excitement of your first day of school?

What things do you look forward to? A trip to the beach. A new book. Playing a game with friends. Hopscotch or jacks. Skipping rope or riding your bike and feeling the wind in your hair. Skiing in the fresh snow, building a snowman or the freedom of skimming across new ice on skates.

Where do you feel the most alive and content? Can you see it? Smell it? Touch it? Taste it? What does it sound like? Church bells. Peels of laughter. A gentle voice reading you a story or the magnificent silence as you gaze at the night’s brilliant stars. Can you sense the joy of finding the big dipper or the north star?

Does your playful child like small cozy spaces? Covers thrown over the table to make a tent? Snuggling in bed with a flashlight and a Nancy Drew book? Perhaps you prefer the great outdoors. The expanse of the beach or a mountain trail while sitting atop your daddy’s shoulders. Sharing the great wildness with your heavenly Father. The Grand Canyon. Miles of desert or forest or ocean or running free through endless fields of wheat or corn.

Maybe this is an actual experience or maybe it’s only that special place in your dreams. When you close your eyes and feel the senses of freedom and childhood, what comes to mind? Consider the playful child. What does she/he look like? Does playful have a taste? A smell? Use all your senses. Can you hear it? Do your fingers reach for something to touch and hold? Let your imagination flow. Be in that place where anything is possible. No fear. Only love surrounds you. Taste it. Touch it. Smell it. Feel it. See it. Know it.

And now, holding all that you have just experienced, I encourage you to use your non-dominant hand and DRAW it. Don’t think about it. Tell the inner critique you're not listening today. Just pick up a crayon and draw. What colors are this image? Let them flow onto the paper. Hold that space and be the child who knows only freedom and safety and love. Let that child and her experience flow out onto the paper. After all, she/he deserves a chance to come out and play, don't ya think?

(and then, of course, let me know what you discovered! Happy dreaming!!! ☺)

playful child ksh, age 4
lucy's drawing 8/13/09 (no need to worry about your own results. isn't mine beautiful?!?!?)

It is Good Friday

It is Good Friday. So much to consider. Everything from the cross and all its meaning – old, new & yet discovered – to the students and peers I will say good-bye to next week. Where am I going? Today, I will venture to Tacoma to see my son – for whom I have suffered much and whose suffering brought me to new life. Where on the cross does that fit? I think of papers to grade – a trip to take – my daughter rumbling around in the kitchen – my husband who I enjoyed so much yesterday.

Why? Why all of these things? I feel the pressure to write of Good Friday. (“All the “holy” people are doing it”, says the b.s. in my head. “Move into silence like the other “good” ones.”) Oh my, the inner voices ring loud and I wonder how will I be generous with myself.

How do I get to be me? How do I follow my own voice – be who I am created to be? Who is God? What is God? How can we even define? Yet so many attempt. Attempting truth. Is truth not what we experience? Could truth be being present to our own experiences of each other – of the world – of ourselves?

“Easter and Passover make us experience in ourselves a call out of bondage. So experiencing them doesn’t destroy our religious traditions.” Joseph Campbell

How will I experience Good Friday – like me – like myself? I am aware it is the day of the cross. Do I need to run away from life today – hole up in my sanctuary and pray for hours? Perhaps – if that is what I am called to do from the deep core of my being. I think not. Instead I will go to see my son. How appropriate this mother and son should be together on this day. I will go for a walk with a new friend – breathing fresh air – building new relationship. “We are nailed together by the cross.” – a paraphrase from Jan Richardson’s must read post.

Life afresh and new. Letting the old die. “Whatever comes from a moment’s grace that joins us to our lives and to each other – this is spiritual.” Mark Nepo I would go on to say it is Holy - these things that join us to our lives. The candle that burns on my desk. Music drifting through the room. Clouds that cover the sun. Friends who await my call. God who speaks my name.

It is Good Friday. There is much to be considered.

photo of my son circa 1993

baby whisperer

One of the things I look forward to each month is my visit to see my chiropractor, Dr. Derek. Health benefits aside, I always enjoy meeting with the young doctor for our conversations about the little synchronicities of life. He and his staff have created a welcoming atmosphere in the top floor of an old fire station. There are hardwood floors, natural lighting, and great music.

Last week, I found myself complaining about the change in schedule. Appointment hours were being expanded, but my favorite slot had been eliminated. So, I hemmed and hawed (not so very graciously) and landed on another day and time to try.

This morning when I arrived, I heard a baby crying. I realized it was the doctor’s one year old, Mia, and I overheard him saying they were a little short-handed since his wife was at the dentist and the children were in his care. Shortly, after doing my wobble chair I walked back up to the front and saw little Mia sitting in Grace, the receptionist’s lap. Underneath the desk was Mia’s older brother Ty (3). He and I carried on a wonderful conversation about Thomas the train and friends -- both of us declaring Percy as our favorite.

Soon, Mia was beckoning for my attention. She reached her chubby little arms out, toddled over and let me scoop her up. I thought she might decide quickly that I was someone she did not know and want to go back to the familiar. Nope. We were fast friends. There were three other people ahead of me for adjustments so Mia and I strolled around the space and looked out the window at the mountains and sunshine. I quickly found myself rocking with my “mom sway” that I have not used in many moons! I felt Mia’s weight shift and asked Grace if her little eyes were still open. Nope. Sound asleep. Her body getting heavier with each breath, I sat down and held the slumbering babe.

What a gift! Just a few days ago I wrote about the joy of holding my sleeping children and then today, here I was snuggled up with a little blonde angel. I wondered if somehow the Universe was granting an unknown request submitted by me in my list of 7 favorites. Hmmm…

Too soon, the time came for my own appoint-
ment and I nestled Mia onto a mat on the floor. She, of course, woke up when she was out of my arms, but soon her mother arrived to comfort her. . . The doctor said, “Lucy’s the baby whisperer”. Mom replied with a smile , “Yes, I’ve heard.” It was a wonderful affirmation that my “good mom instincts” are still intact—something that’s easy to question when teenagers are quick to try and convince me otherwise. I like to believe small children are quite perceptive and discerning in who they choose to hang out with. Baby Whisperer…I like it.

So, all of my grousing about changing days and times, turned into this wonderful little glimpse of heaven. I really wonder why I try to control anything at all…it seems like more times than not, changes turn into something more brilliant than I ever could have imagined. Are you a grouser? Or can you let things come as they may? I seem to vacillate between the two…hopefully leaning a little more toward welcoming what comes freely.

photos from paris 3.08

fire of freedom

This theme of fire continues to find and follow me. The candle beckons me first thing in the morning to light its flame. It dances in the peripheral of my vision and reminds me that We are One – dance – flame – God.

A little journaling and then a “random” opening of “Thomas Merton: A Book of Hours” reveals this:

"The fire of love for souls loved by God consumes like the fire of God’s love, and it is the same love. It burns you up with a hunger for the supernatural happiness first of the people that you know, then of people you have barely heard of, and finally of everybody."

It is easy to love the lovable, but what of the not so lovable? My heart is big even though it grew up in a home of judgment and criticism. My mind turns to Linda on the playground. We are seven years old. I feel her hand in mine. It has a slightly different feel - a little drier – a little coarser, but still it is a small hand like mine. Fingers entwined as we skip across the playground, joyously together.

During that moment, I did not know this was considered an outrage to many. It was 1963 in Bethany, Oklahoma. Linda was black and I was white. I did not know that during this same time period, perhaps even the same week, four African American girls just about our age had been killed in a bombing in Alabama while attending church. I did not know it could be considered dangerous to be friends with this girl who was just like me. I did not know that some considered her unlovable.

I have no idea how long we were friends. It might have been only that one day. She disappeared from our school as quietly as she had arrived. Still 35 years later, she lingers in my mind.

Have you ever heard the saying, “You cannot skip and be angry at the same time?” Try it sometime. Two images of freedom come to me most strongly when I think of my childhood. One is skipping by myself on my way to Kindergarten - scuffing my perfect little shoes along the way. The other is skipping hand in hand with Linda on the playground of our elementary school.

So why does this come to my mind now? I believe Linda has reappeared to me today as that symbol of freedom both for myself and for our country, even our world. We are in an historic time right now. Can you feel it? May the fire of freedom burn brightly!!!

Bless you, Linda, wherever you may be.

Consider this: Who are the "Linda's" of your life? What does "fire of freedom" say to you?

freeze frame

A moment in time. Sunday with my son. Beautiful. Slow. Steady. His glorious smile lighting the day. But first, a sharing of his heart. His fears. His struggles. Authentic and true. There is a humility about him. A realness. A maturity.

We talk over eggs and sausage. I smile. He is my son. We are so much alike and we are so different. We spend the day driving together. He, practicing to get his license. Me, learning to let go. He, becoming more relaxed and consequently me too. (I wonder if the relaxation is with the car or with each other? ☺) The day goes on. A stop by Sunset Hill. “Mom, will you take my picture?” We pick up his sister and drop her off at soccer and then IT happens. The icing on the cake of an already perfect day.

He starts to sing along with the stereo. The Beatles. “Let it be.” He sings aloud. Playfully. Not really in tune. We are so much alike ☺. He is performing. No, he is singing to me—to us. I am holding my closed hand as microphone to his mouth. We laugh. I sing a little myself. Time stops. I want to freeze frame this moment. This day. Let it be. It has been a long time coming. It has been well worth the wait if only for this moment.