Even girls in tutus cry…

This morning I had the lovely and rare opportunity of meeting with a dear friend and spending a few hours dreaming together of creative possibilities for our lives. Our time together was made even more extraordinary by the backdrop of Shilshole Bay. The sun was shining, the wind calm and the temperature perfect - especially when wrapped in our warm blankies.

Part of my dreaming included ‘fessing up to some of the things that stop me from moving forward. These mainly consisted of journal whining with words like, “I could never…” or “Everybody else does it better than me…”

The background of this conversation featured children, mainly in the 2-4 year old range, romping up and down the beach – some with shovels in hand, others wearing brightly colored hats, most being trailed by mothers trying to keep up with the toddlers’ mad dashes toward the sea. One little girl in particular caught my eye. She was several yards down the beach, but close enough to see she was wearing a fabulous pink and black tutu – her mop of curly auburn hair flying in the breeze of her own making.

Tutus always catch my fancy. I’m not sure I ever owned one of my own and haven’t quite convinced myself that romping on the beach in a pink tutu would be my best look right now. However… I can easily get caught up in the magic of tulle and as I watched her from a distance, I felt empowered to overcome my journal whining and replace my “I could never” with a most certain, “Of course I can!”

A brief stop in the ladies’ room before heading home, brought us face to face with tutu girl. Her glee had been replaced by bellowing cries and fear at the sound of the hand dryer. The illusion of only perfection in tulle was momentarily shattered. Which was the illusion? What is the reality? Would my resolve waver too? Perhaps it was only the magic of the beach, sunshine and the tutu that made my dreams seem possible.

Nevertheless, I leaned into my resolve and listened to my inner creative spirit as I realized sometimes…

…even girls in tutus cry.

photos taken another day @ Shilshole Bay

After Easter

Reflecting on my past week and considering what called to be shared this morning, I looked into my past few journal entries and was greeted with a heading “Where do you experience the body of Christ?” Words flowed and I found the answer easily in those places where I feel most myself – welcomed – connected – seen for who I am versus who others think I should be.... but, life isn’t always lived feeling welcome & connected.

“We cannot live without being affected by others, but we are only real when we let truth and love shape us from within.” -- Mark Nepo

This week has been an odd one for me. Easter has come and gone. Life feels much the same as before and it feels different. How do we live after Easter? This week has been a series of ups and downs. I’ve considered where I meet the risen Christ. I’ve struggled with betrayal. I’ve experienced hope. Rejoiced in laughter and silence.

Easter Sunday this year was spent celebrating behind prison walls and in many ways it was a more sincere celebration than ever before without all the pomp and circumstance. Feelings of unconditional love and hope for restoration resounded. Still...

A big question this week has been who are my friends? Who stands up for me and meets me on the road where I am? Who stays present when the going gets rough or uncomfortable? Who is willing to die alongside me – the small and large doses of death each day? How will I meet those who grieve (myself included)? How will you?

This week, I wrote notes of condolence (which I prefer to call notes of solidarity) to two friends – one who lost a child tragically to alcohol poisoning; the other, whose father died naturally of old age. I attended a celebration for people in recovery, honoring their healing and transformation. I walked in a hailstorm and was met by sunshine when I turned a corner. Yes, it has been an odd week and a very normal one.

Reflecting again on “where do I experience the body of Christ?” I realize it is in all these places – behind prison walls & freely walking in my neighborhood – in death, life and resurrection. Struggling with betrayal and rejoicing in blessings. There is no separation. If Christ is risen – if I am risen – we must experience each other where our joy and wounds meet. Feeling the cross and the resurrection. Before. After. Now.

“Origami Emotion”
Elizabeth Barrette

Hope is
Folding paper cranes
even when your hands get cramped
and your eyes tired,
working past blisters and
paper cuts,
simply because something in you
insists on
opening its wings.

The collages shown here were co-created with my friend, MaryEllen, to honor the participants in our recent class,
Deepening Spirituality through SoulCollage.

top to bottom: Jan, Mikey, Jo, Q, Jeana

Not one. But not two.

"Just like the sun and its light, the ocean and the wave, the singer and the song. Not one. But not two." -- Joan Chittister quoting an ancient

Earlier this week Sunrise Sister wrote a lovely post reflecting on traveling and whether or not we have companions alongside us. One of the main questions people asked as I prepared for my trip is "who are you going with?" or "are you traveling alone?" I have had a hard time responding. I mean - do we ever really travel alone? On the flipside, can anyone else truly know where we've been or where we are going? "Not one. But not two." Profound, huh?

Today, I am reunited with one of my favorite blogging sisters, Tess of Anchors & Masts. We met online several years ago and had the delight of meeting in person almost two years ago in Paris. She is taking on the daunting task of keeping me awake throughout the day so I can get myself acclimated to UK time. Additionally, she has offered to meet me at the airport, steer me toward our lodging and carry my bags. Now that's a great traveling companion!

photo from Paris 2008

dedicated to my friends...old, new, always

The glory of friendship is
not the outstretched hand,
nor the kindly smile, nor the
joy of companionship; it is
the spiritual inspiration that
comes to one when (s)he
discovers that someone else
believes in (her) and is
willing to trust (her).

--Ralph Waldo Emerson

photo taken last night at Golden Gardens (with my always friend)

Memory from a Zeta Sister

"I was just talking to a neighbor who is a Zeta at Sam Houston State, and I had a flashback. Remember when we would leave early for class and sit on the wall in front of the Math Bldg just to people watch? I haven't taken the time to do something like that in years." -- KMP

I received this comment on Facebook from a sorority sister I haven’t seen face to face in over 30 years. Sadly my immediate answer is “No, Karen, I don’t remember that at all.” But then I pause, I close my eyes and I see those girls. I see us in our long 70’s hair and bell-bottomed jeans perhaps a peasant blouse or a Zeta Tau Alpha t-shirt. We are casual friends – sisters – pledged into the same class. I haven’t had contact with her in years and yet today she brings me a very real moment in time.

I can only see it in my mind’s eye. My memory feels so foggy from that time of life, but as I stop and pause, I feel the moment in my body. Tears form in my eyes and my stomach tightens just a bit. They are tears & tightening that cover the span of life - joy, sorrow, loss, memory. I know that girl who has become this woman. She was doing things as a college student that she – that I – love to do today. The woman I thought was never there - the one I thought didn’t come out to bloom until only recently - was laying the groundwork for me there on the campus of Oklahoma State University. She was there all along sitting on the wall in front of the Math Building, people watching. I thought that girl never existed. Now I know that she was there all along. I simply let her be surrounded by the fog of life, but today someone who walked beside me way back then helped lift that fog. A friend held the memory for me. Today I remember and I am blessed.

Today, I vow to find a spot along a wall or sidewalk – perhaps with a friend – perhaps on my own. I will take Karen with me if only in my heart and together those girls of the 70’s who have become women of the 21^st century will take the time to sit and watch. Maybe you will join me. Or perhaps you will share a memory with a friend. The best gifts often come in the simplest forms!!

Peace be with you, friend Karen. Thank you for the sweet memory.