To Be

My thoughts wonder if it’s vacation? Lent? Something else? But, I have been experiencing a rather odd aversion to communing with my computer. My quiet time seems of utmost importance lately. I just want to be. Slow. Still. Present.

I returned home from vacation with a slight cold and it seems to slow me down even more. I find myself just wanting to close my eyes and be. No input. No output. A recent Lent reading* spoke of Jesus in the desert. I’d love to be in the desert for 40 days to just be, but what in the world does that even mean? Right now it feels like no details – no have to’s – just show up and be present to God. To be one with the world. Sit in the glow of the sun or feel raindrops on my face. Watch water trickle from the edge of the Creator’s fingers while matching the pace of gentle, falling rain. Pondering what it means to be.

"Be still and know I am God."
Be still and know I am.
Be still and know.
Be still.
Be.

*Luke 4:1-13

shilshole gull © lucy 2.20.10

Ash Wednesday

Even now, says the Lord,
return to me with your whole heart,
with fasting, and weeping, and mourning;
Rend your hearts, not your garments,
and return to the Lord, your God.

-Joel 2:12-13

Receiving the ashes from an Episcopal priest in the open-air church on the island of Maui is a far cry from my experience of last year’s Ash Wednesday. I find myself wondering is it time, distance, place, me or all of the above that rings differently? Last year’s celebration was in a more evangelical setting and I found that I was battling my own inner struggles with childhood and early adult notions of fire, brimstone and eternal hell.

This year’s rendering felt more attuned to my heart and state of mind. The here and now was more prescient than an out there view of penitence. My morning focus came from today’s verse (see above) in the Abbey of the Arts Lenten series where I landed on what it means to “rend my heart.”

“Rending” to me focuses on those tiny rips and tears that happen subtlely (and not so subtlely) throughout the day. Do I say a discourteous word to someone or think a prideful thought? While I in no means want to lean toward the do’s and don’ts of a faith by works theology, I am struck by the infinitesimal ways I can offend others and thus my own self (often without a word leaving my mouth or an overt action taking place.)

Today after the morning church service and breakfast, we took a drive to the Iao Valley, which is one of our personal guide’s favorite historical spots on the island. A great battle was fought in this valley and so many died there legend says the river ran red with blood for weeks after the engagement. There is also a lovely park with visual representations of the many immigrant populations of this island. My heart again turned to “rending” and the large tears and carnage that we as human beings inflict upon each other.

It has been another magical day in paradise. My heart has turned toward God again and I ponder what the rest of Lent will hold for me. What will the rending look like? Will there be healing too? Where will blood flow through the rivers of my life? What battles lie ahead?

This morning rending came defined as harsh and harrowing, and while the definition may not have changed, it feels like the turning (& tearing) of my heart continues on the path toward a God who heals and walks alongside through both peaceful times and tumultuous ones. It is a God worth turning toward.

Where is your heart turning this Lenten season? Can you feel the rending? Will you be open to God’s mending? Is paradise yours - here and now?

view inside Holy Innocents Church - Maui © h3images
Iao Valley © h3 images

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

stand firm

My ponderings lately have been many – my writings few. The theme of “stand” arises again and again. Today - “and having done all…stand.” Ephesians 6 :13. Yesterday - “I did not hide my face from insult.” Isaiah 50:6. Approaching the end of Lent, I consider how Jesus stood in the face of assault during his life and particularly at the crucifixion.

We are in the midst of Holy Week and even if you do not believe in the crucifixion and resurrection, it is still a great story. The images and metaphors of dying to self and rising again are powerful. Standing in the face of life’s trials and not backing down. “I did not hide my face from insult.” No matter what happens, stand firm.

Standing firm can take on many forms. It can mean grieving or gritting your teeth and bearing things. I see it as not numbly checking out or fleeing, but staying with some form of presence. I will not leave. “I will never leave you nor forsake you.” God stands firm. The ultimate image of parent. Again, even if you do not believe in the God story – choosing to parent yourself and stand firm in the face of life’s trials. Choosing not to leave yourself.

Feeling our feelings. Being impacted by others. Standing firm. Firm does not mean rigid to me. It is grounded. Perhaps my face in the dirt - head to the ground, humbly weeping. Terra Firma. The ground as holy. My feet planted deeply and entwined with the roots of the world – like an old tree that can be blown about and lose its leaves in a storm or provide shade in the heat of day.

Lord, may I stand firm with strength and tenderness for myself as well as others.

Where do you long to stand firm today? Where are you tempted to flee? How might you consider changing your view of what standing firm looks like? Is it full of strength? Tenderness? Both?

safe landing

Moving toward my morning meditative routine – candle, music, journal…I chose a play list I did not recognize called, Prayer. My husband discovered this music by a Native American artist named Douglas Spotted Eagle. My journalling began with the words transition, transformation and trapezes. Life lately feels like that space just before you really let go and fling yourself into the air. I am reminded of my skydiving adventure just before stepping out of the plane. I clung to the door and bowed my head in frenzied prayer. It is that place just before you let go. You know it’s coming. You know you have to let go or you will forever regret it. I had no choice really, but to release my fingers and fling myself into the unknown. It seems that in order for life to keep moving forward that is exactly what I must do: let go, trust the unknown, and pray for a safe landing.

My writing traveled through many transitions as it so often does until I landed on that old topic of having compassion for myself. I am excellent at having compassion for others (most of the time), but one particular liminal space – the space 'in between' of loving my teenager and really disliking her a lot – keeps getting in my way. My anger and resentment rise. The classic words of a mother ascend in my throat, but not quite out of my mouth: “I’ve done so much for you. How can you not appreciate me?” And then I get mad at myself for even thinking that way and then she acts maddeningly teenager-ish and I get mad at her, but more myself (‘cuz I have compassion for her) and the cycle continues…

So, I kept writing and did a little reading and landed here: “…the quest both to understand oneself and finally accept oneself was a key journey for me…” I felt like God had a bullhorn to my ear. But, I didn’t really want to stay there and listen so I kept moving and opted to look once again at the Merton prayer I passed over last night:

"Be still
Listen to the stones of the wall.
Be silent, they try
To speak Your

Name.
Listen To the living walls.
Who are you?
Who
Are you? Whose
Silence are you?"

And so I chose to be silent and still. The music played softly in the background. The candle quietly burned across the room. I considered compassion for me. My mind drifted. I gently invited it back. I found myself following the rhythm of a drum. The call of the silence. The stones of the earth speaking to me. Somewhere in there, “my name" was spoken. I "understood and accepted." I moved a little closer to myself.

The name of the song I had never before heard? Coming Home.

How might things be different for you if you let go of the trapeze and flung yourself into the unknown? Do you expect a safe landing or do you assume you will crash & burn?

p.s. After writing this post, I wanted to give credit to Douglas Spotted Eagle. Here is one of the links I found. He is a skydiver!!! Coincidence? Synchronicity? God stuff?

p.p.s. Here's another one. Check out enCouragingBliss: Return to your Garden of Eden. It's yet another way of Coming Home.

soul collage by lucy