A Letter to Mary

Today is not only the beginning of the New Year, a new decade even, but also the feast day of St. Mary, Mother of Jesus. Mary has been with me more than ever through this holiday season and several times I have attempted to write a post in her honor – really in honor of all mothers. So, it only seems fitting that today before I step fully into 2010, announce my word for the year, or recap 2009, Mary deserves her day.

How fitting that a mother would have to share her feast day with one of the most unavoidable holidays of the year. Whether we want to acknowledge it or not, we have entered a new year and it affects us all in one way or another. So by sharing this day, Mary has most often gone unnoticed, as mothers are prone to do.

“But Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart.” Luke 2:19

Mary was a ponderer. (I love that!) She bore the Son. She bore God. She bore MUCH! How much must I as a mother be called to bear? My own mother used to say, “There is nothing that can compare with the love a mother has for her child.” The range of emotions is huge and even if we aren’t mothers, we all had one! And, so I write to this ancient mother for my own peace of mind.

Dear Mary -

What was it like to be the mother of a perfect child? Were you without worry? I think not. Both you and he were human, after all. How did you hold up, Mary? How did you bear all that God gave you? Your “yes” was only the beginning. Your years had to be excruciating. Consider the weirdness following his birth – all those strangers showing up with extravagant gifts while you hung out in a dirty stable. The flight to Egypt as Herod threatened to kill your only son.

And those middle years – what happened then? Was Jesus ever rowdy as a boy? Was he arrogant as a teenager? Your mother’s worry had to be huge. Did you hover and overfeed him? Did you try to encourage him to eat his vegetables and study his Hebrew? Did you tell him to be careful when he went out at night? Even your mother’s love was not enough to save his life. You had to stand by and watch him be crucified to death. How did you handle that? How helpless you must have felt!

Mary, you have been with me this season. I am grateful for your presence. You offer me hope and I will carry you with me into this New Year.

Today’s Advent reading ends with … “this was the Mary whose soul was pierced by a sword.”

No matter who your kid is, being a mother is a really tough job – one that pierces in more ways anyone can imagine. Today I honor Mary and all the mothers of the world – Saints or not ☺. Won't you join me?

For another wonderful view of Mary, pop on over to the Mind Sieve.

photo © lucy - paris, 2008

The Ripple Effect - Part two

There is lots of wrestling going on in my brain and body these days – imagine that?!? Yesterday was a self- proclaimed, self-care day. I visited my chiropractor, my spiritual director and my hairdresser. I snuck in a quick nap with Aslan purring on my chest, then headed to a client meeting and after to the local, highly acclaimed, hard-to-get-into pizza place, Delancey, for dinner with my husband and daughter. When a friend called in the afternoon to ask how I was, I proclaimed, “Today was a good day.”

I struggle with not wanting too quickly to put the cherry on top of this crazy ice cream sundae called life. I have really wanted to be pissed off at God for the last couple of days, but God’s pursuit of me is making it really difficult. My spiritual director and I talked about this quite a bit yesterday. She suggested that perhaps my long-ingrained anthropomorphic view of God is finally starting to disappear. I want to be angry at some controlling guy in the sky who pulls the strings and makes things happen for better or worse. Instead I am being greeted by scripture that sings of the earth holding me and I hear and feel the love of Jesus in the comforting words of supportive bloggers, beautiful voices uplifted in song, a purring cat, the glorious sunshine and “random” other places.

My spiritual companion and I also talked about songs of lament and how the Psalms are filled with them. They have their own rhythm of wailing and crying out to God while ultimately coming to a place of hope or rest. It is a pattern I have experienced myself in writing or verbally processing. By exhausting the dialogue in my head (the rants & raves & miscellaneous thoughts I might not dare to share out loud), I usually find I come to a place of peace – not necessarily resolution. There is a difference!

Most of my last post came through stream of consciousness journaling. Not wanting to rush to a place of calm waters, (because I needed to feel and share the tumultuous rhythm) I drew short of sharing where my lament finally landed. After a couple of days to let it settle, I wanted to share it now:

…and then the ocean returned to its smooth placid existence in the cove along the deserted beach. The gentle ripples returning & spreading out to sea. The same water now touching another on a far away shore. Interconnected.

Who can assess the ripple effect of one tear poured into an ocean? One drip pounding subtlely time and time again until rock has been eroded. Perhaps my love, my tears, are the drip that will erode the heart of stone. My own? Another’s? Who knows?

It’s ok to sit in the mystery. My world has been rocked. I sit in Advent and wait. I know not for what. Redemption? Reconciliaton?

Thank you for waiting alongside me. Your ripples wash over me like fresh rain drops. I am soothed and comforted knowing I am held in this gentle embrace.

What are you waiting for this Advent season? Are you willing to wrestle with the echoes of your own mind? Are you content to rest without knowing what will come next? Are you aware of the gentle ripples touching your days? Advent is a season about being awake. Might you find a new way to open your eyes?

photos ©lucy - glendolough 10.09

Sacred Sunday: Walkin' on Sunshine

I love Sunday mornings. Lingering. Journaling. Taking time and space for me to see what rises up. Images - visual and written stir through my mind. The past week gone. The next not yet here. I sit in the sacred present. Only now.

Candlelight and gentle music. Fan blowing. Family sleeping. Coffee, hot and warm by my side. “Live with Passion.” Yes. Choose life. Choose me. Images call my name. Some already gathered. The girl in the pink sweater. She beckoned to me while I was preparing for my workshop. She was mine. Held in space until just the right time.

“Walkin’ on Sunshine.” My day yesterday. My life now. Inseparable from the universe. One moment folds into the next. Grounded. Whole. Light and airy. Held by the hand of God. The hands of my father. My ancestors.

Walking towards Ireland. Walking toward myself. I hold on and I move forward. With trepidation, not fear. Quivering, undulating movement. The pendulum of my grounded heart swings. The souls (soles) of my feet dance and move and walk on sunshine… with sunshine… through sunshine.

I am sunshine. Lucy of the light. Illuminated and free. My passion glowing and growing for others to see. I am Norah – the one of compassion. And Lil – life’s beauty. They surround me. Bold and emboldened.

The past and present collide and unite with the girl in the pink sweater. Head tossed back and laughing with glee. Trusting. Trusted. Held. Safe in the arms of my father and my mother. Grounded. They offered so much. Did their best. Healed me. Broke me. Made me.

Skipping and dancing, I share my light. My unique image of God. Belly full. Day arising. Lovely. Beautiful. Creating and created.

Bend or Break?

Warning: Lots of questions. Few answers.

“Why are some of the sweetest and most profound moments created out of agonizing heart break?” This is a question recently posed by an amazingly resilient friend. I wonder at times why she has not broken into a million little pieces.

Our conversation and several other events led me to consider the next question(s): Why do some people rise to the challenge and become stronger, wiser and more deeply committed to life; while others break or sink into despair, pathology and bitterness? Why are some resilient and others brittle? Why can some see beauty and sweetness even in the midst of heartbreak?

This month’s Vanity Fair includes an article on Farrah Fawcett’s last years. It really, however, is an article about her surviving lover, Ryan O’Neal. The depth of pain and bitterness that comes out through O’Neal’s thinly-veiled cynicism is heartbreaking - particularly as he speaks of the addiction that tormented his family. His anger, hatred and hopelessness pointed me toward thoughts of men and women I know who battle similar challenges. The difference in response is astounding as I witness parents who keep holding hope for their children through the direst circumstances while O’Neal jokes about wishing some of his offspring had never been born. (Please do not read this as a judgment of O’Neal. I see a heartbroken man and not someone to be condemned.) It is the contrast of which I speak. Why are some people able to see through the ugliness to the inner core of beauty and others are unaware beauty might even exist?

I think of Biblical examples, like the prodigal son and the shepherd who leaves the 99 sheep to find the lost one. These parents keep coming back with love – again and again. They bend and stretch, and do not snap. Their resilience and flexibility surpass the rigidity that ultimately causes rupture and bitterness. Why do some rubber bands keep stretching and others snap and break?

Is it by Christ’s example of selfless love? By loving God and your neighbor (or child) as yourself? By practicing self-care? All of the above? Or is it just plain luck? Who am I to say? In my experience I have learned one pretty simple thing: if God is eased out of my equation, bitterness quickly seeps in...and the downward spiral plummets. I do not know why some rubber bands break and others stretch, but I do know: If we can’t love ourselves, we can’t love anyone else well.

"golden spiral" - bermuda 7.09

Sacred Sunday

Last Sunday I shared a poem about the six senses of God. Here is another one I uncovered in my archives. Wishing you a peace and sensory-filled day!!

More Than Enough

God smells like cinnamon. Baby's breath. Fresh baked bread. Warm cookies. Sewer Swamp. Compost. Earthen Clay.

God tastes like sweet mint. Red wine. Honey on scones. The lips of a lover. The skin of a baby.

God sounds like thunder. Silence. A bird's call. An infant's cry. My heart beating. Laughter & tears.

God feels like safety. Warm arms wrapped around me. Snug. Gentle. Distant. Knowing. Unknown. Filling every sense of my body.

God looks like the wind. The smile of a child. Weather-worn face. Toothless grin. Rock. Sand. Feather. Life. Death. New birth. Bloody war.

My sixth sense says, "Ahhhhh. Awe. Stop asking questions. Just be. Just be, my dear one."

photo by h3images ©