early morning musings

I write to live - anything less is death.

The human heart carries so much pain. It’s capacity for joy is unlimited. We shield ourselves from ourselves. We try to hide from god. Our pain runs deep like hidden riverbeds beneath rock surfaces. We become brittle until we break or explode or implode. Without meter or rhyme, we forge on never knowing if tears or laughter will burst forth. It is tenuous—this life. To embrace the moments. To feel the depth and agony of pain while soaking in a perfumed tub. To experience gales of belly laughs while playing a silly game. To fill my stomach full to bursting with too much wonderful food. To know the ache of my head from stress and a little excess wine.

The capacity of the body is immense. The capacity of the heart – infinite. Just when we think it will break, joy emerges from the ashes. How? Why? I do not know. It is grace. The grace of God. Learned. Given. Received. I do not understand this God. This life. I need to feel it. I need to share it. This depth. This groundedness that I do not understand. The both/and. Not either/or. I am not sad or happy. I am both. I am filled with delight AND terror & grief. Both/and. I don’t understand yet I know it to be true. I have been described as Full. Full of shit—maybe…sometimes. I am also full of Love. Delight. Laughter. And a capacity to not only endure, but also Live a life that others might shrink from or shut down & back away.

My capacity is immense. My pendulum swings far and wide. The depths sink beyond comprehension. The word from the Lord says, “Others would have given up long ago. I chose you for this life. You will dare to stay there. You will dare to risk life. You will give your life to live it.” I would not trade this life for any other. Nope, this one is mine. I might, however, trade a few moments ☺. My tapestry is rich. I do not understand it and I do not have to understand. When I come to this still place—I Know. Pure and simple.

Lead me into Advent, Lord. Let me celebrate the incarnation. It is life. New birth. It leads to death and resurrection. Let me celebrate all of it. It is the gospel. It is the cycle of life. Birth. Death. Resurrection. Over and over and over again. The capacity of the body is immense. The capacity of the heart – infinite.

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a thinning veil

this weekend has been one of both beautiful and still celebration as well as deep sadness and grief. sometimes i wonder how i put one foot in front of the other and other times the joy grips me and i am overcome with delight.

one of this weekend's blessings came in the form of this picture of my mother. it was sent to me by my sister and to my knowledge i had never seen it before. there is something about the photograph and the caption that my sister wrote, "she just wants to be a little girl," that has brought me a sense of peace and connection with my mother that i have not felt for quite some time.

mother died almost 5 years ago and mentally left several before as her mind was taken over by the dreaded alzheimer's. this weekend as i have spent time near my little altar, it has felt like the veil between 'here and there' has indeed been thin. something about this weekend reminded me of these words from richard rohr's daily devotion:

"surrender is something that is done to us.

you can't pick ahead of time which dragon you'll slay. the opportunity always sneaks up on you, and then all you can do is be ready."

am i ready? who knows? i think that is all i can share for now. it may or may not make sense to you readers. i am not totally sure it makes sense to me, but i do know that i wanted and needed to further mark this honoring of ancestors and the beginning of a new year.

there may be more later...or not. wishing you peace.

meeting liberty

It is a picture perfect fall day here in the Pacific Northwest. The sun is shining. The leaves are just starting to turn and the air has that wonderful little nip to it. Over the past several months I have turned into a “destination” walker which means I am usually on my way to an appointment or errand during my morning stroll. This morning it was a visit to the chiropractor. I realized as I walked that I have been avoiding my camera lately—ever since I requested and received Photoshop Elements for my birthday.

This morning, however, I decided to push past my hesitancy and take some photos with the hope of spending time immersed in learning at least how to crop and tune my photos up a bit. Alas, the camera rebelled and the battery died in the midst of the very first photo. So, I was left with only my photographic memory to capture the details of the day.

On my return home, I found myself walking through the park behind an older gentlemen and his golden retriever. I picked up the pace to catch up with them, because I cannot bypass the opportunity to receive a little “golden” love since the death of Curry. My selfish tendencies were in high gear and this was all about me getting what I needed this morning.

I politely asked if I could love on his dog for a minute and then felt like I had come face to face with the reincarnation of my old sweet guy. “He’s thirteen,” the owner announced. A lump in my throat, I confessed that we had just lost our 13-year-old golden. What ensued was a gentle and kind retelling of the last days and moments of Curry’s life. The owner asked me questions like “How did you know when it was time?” “Was it peaceful?” “Did he suffer?” Somewhere in the conversation, I realized that this moment was not just for me. Liberty’s (the dog) owner was entering his own process of letting go and had needed some reassurance that they would get through it. I am so grateful I was there to be that reassurance.

Much of this meeting reminds me of my recent post, “life cycles.” There was something in this encounter that spoke deeply of emptying and filling. I have not decided yet how the process transpired. Who was filled and who was emptied? Does it even matter? What I do know is that I followed my heart seeking what I needed in the moment to help me with my own grieving process and in the midst I met another person who had his own sorrow to share. Oddly, both of us walked away comforted. I will remember Liberty and his owner for quite some time. At first site Liberty appeared to be the ghost of Curry, but now I am pretty sure he was an angel. Dang, I wish I had my camera! ☺

life cycles

I am home and something is stirring in me. I have been emptied this past week. I have poured myself out in an offering to others and I have allowed them to begin to fill me back up. It is a cycle of renewal. It is the beauty of birth-life-death and rebirth.

I never cease to be amazed at the touch of those I have chosen to surround myself with as well as the impact of strangers and others who have entered my life for only brief moments. This morning I read the post of a dear friend as she wove her experiences of grief, loss and life. I am reminded of my own losses. Some as profound as the loss of my beloved father when I was barely nineteen and the fast forward to losing my dear sweet, Curry. Other people and family members stir in my mind, but I am most profoundly struck this morning by the loss of people I knew for only a brief moment in time like the student who battled hard against me and then chose to walk away suddenly and silently. I still think of the man on the bus and another stranger in a small Oklahoma town who I knew for an hour and then we shared a prayer. Each touched me deeply by their presence and I can feel the loss of their absence along with the significant impact they made on my life.

Loss is indeed profound in our lives especially when we allow ourselves to acknowledge it and feel it. Feeling the loss leads to an emptying which then allows us to be filled with joy and other experiences of life. If we refuse to empty ourselves, the old stuff fills us to the brim and we find ourselves like an overstuffed turkey unable to move or a box filled to the brim just waiting to explode.

This past week, I unconsciously and deliberately chose to be emptied. And so I enter this day, this week, waiting to be filled. Not expecting anything. Just as I did not expect the beautiful filling I received when I read Christine’s post. There is something in accepting what we are offered each day. Not expecting grand results, but then looking back and seeing that we have been touched and filled (perhaps only a teaspoon full) simply because we allowed ourselves to really feel the emotion of a moment—perhaps our own or maybe that of another person.

Will you allow yourself to be impacted today? How will you empty yourself? What are the moments when you feel the inpouring of life? Consider grief. Consider joy. They each make room for the other ☺.

hijacked

“It’s as if the whole world hijacked Sammy’s special day. And believe me, as his father? That really pisses me off.” --Peggy Sarjeant

So, here I sit on the eve of 9-11, as it has come to be called, and consider what one does when their birthday has been “hijacked”. What do you do when the date of your birth is associated with pain and mourning for the country…for the whole world even? When celebrating seems like heresy? When people hear your birth date and groan? When they say, “Oh, I could never forget that birthday” and then they do.

My friend & talented writer, Peggy, wrote a very poignant story a few years ago about Sammy—a 7 year old who doesn’t understand why he can’t have cupcakes at school on his birthday of September 11. It is a story to which I can totally relate, because if you haven’t figured it out…my birthday is 9-11 ☺.

I struggle a little with what to write here. The therapist in me has lots of deep analysis of what this all means. The magical thinking of a child and my own personal ego kick into play and say the Twin Towers crashed because of me. Yikes! Do other people’s minds go off in crazy directions like that? Add to this the fact that my father died in a truck accident the day after my 19th birthday and you have a whole lot of crashing going on around my special day. So, it’s no wonder I have some pretty strong feelings surrounding these days! (Fortunately I have amazing support & years of therapy under my belt or I could really be “off to the races” on this one! ☺)

There is so much “stuff” that surrounds our birthdays anyway. People seem to either love birthdays, hate them or pretend that they do neither. If you really think about it, however, doesn’t the kid in each of us really appreciate a little celebration? A little recognition? (And, in case, you are shaking your head and saying, “Nope. Not me.” The therapist in me would challenge you to ask yourself why you feel that way ☺. What kind of “stuff” surrounds your birthday?) So, why do I write this post? It is not for a pity party, because I don’t feel pitiful. Maybe it is just my own way to say, “Happy Birthday” to myself and to even agree with Sammy’s dad that yeah, even though the Twin Towers did not crash to punish me, it “really pisses me off” that they had to crash at all, much less on MY day!

9-11 is a day of notoriety and in my own sweet selfish Lucy way, I want it to be all about me. However, the more compassionate and thoughtful Me commiserates with our country and grieves the tragedy that this day remembers. (The Painted Painted Prayerbook had a thoughtful post earlier this week which you might enjoy.)

I am very blessed to have a wonderful group of supportive friends who have chosen to celebrate 9-11 a couple of ways. They have set the goal of each home and business displaying a flag tomorrow to represent unity. In addition, they have committed to light a birthday candle for yours truly. I hope you will consider doing the same. I plan to ☺.

p.s. I hope you will come back tomorrow and wish me a real "Happy Birthday"!