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

the place in between

During this week leading up to Palm Sunday, I find myself surrounded by “the place in between.” Not dead, but not resurrected. Knowing, but encircled by mystery. Springtime – no longer winter, but the warmth of summer has not arrived. Hints of blossoming yet death still lies in my flowerbeds. Mourning a leaving and excited for new possibilities. Ending time with students – done, but not done. Living with a teenager – no longer a child and the adult has not yet emerged. Mid-life. Need I say more?

“I try to take on one day at a time, but sometimes several days attack me all at once.” Jennifer Unlimited – Hazelden

and my daily dose of Merton:

“O tongue of flame
Under the heart
Speak softly:
For love is black
Says the season.

Midnight!
Kissed with flame!
See! See!
My love is darkness!”

Would love to hear your thoughts on the place in between!

sinking into essential

Last week was an amazingly full week. It was filled with lots of intentional conversation in a variety of venues and kept me away from much writing or blogging. Yesterday was spent resting and snuggled up in my studio most of the day reading and listening to the rain fall. I have been trying to capture the essence of these days without much success. The theme of lent flows in and out of my brain. Words from blogger friends help coalesce a few thoughts. Here is a response I wrote to Christine at Abbey of the Arts:

"I feel like I am in this flow of living into and letting go. Falling in the dirt and letting that be good. Jan Richardson’s words regarding paradox and mystery resonate deeply with me…”The cure for mystery? More mystery. The cure for paradox? More paradox.” Big doses of both are being served up for my Lenten (life) experience. Lent is definitely not for sissies!!! "

And so, I sit at the end of a restful weekend attempting to go with the flow and not get too much dirt in my teeth. I find myself pondering what is essential? The past couple of days, I have captured a few thoughts on paper, listened to the rain of yesterday, walked in the sunshine of today, answered some e-mails, played around on Facebook, shared Sabbath wine with friends, listened to lots of music, napped and done a little organizing on my memoir. I also read some Thomas Merton and here is what he offers tonight:

“God cannot be found by weighing the present against the future or the past, but only by sinking into the heart of the present as it is.”

Ahhh, “sinking into the heart of the present” that seems to identify essential for me. How about you? What was essential in your weekend? What is essential in your now?

enCouragingBliss: When We Were Six

This week’s enCouragingBliss is about when we were six. Blisschick says, “By the time I was six years old, I had already been altered by fear.” Her words make me think of a premise I have been pondering. As I listen to people’s stories both professionally and personally, the most vivid memories often come into play around age five. Personally, I have two stories around that age. One is of amazing and abounding love; the other of fear and isolation. They seem to be two sides of my coin to this very day; like this from the “Chick”, “There were so many clues from the beginning about my bliss” AND “I have spent many years lost, trying to find my way back” (since those early negative messages started to cover it up.) So, the premise is this: Our bliss has been there all along. We were born with it and the rest of life is our journey to re-experience it.

When I was five, my favorite thing in the whole world was going to Kindergarten at Mrs. Peck’s. I loved the independence of walking around the half block to her house that abutted our backyard. I would skip and laugh and observe the wonder of rolly pollies on the sidewalk. I would sing to myself and dream of being a famous princess.

I shared ice cream cones with a puppy. I rode a small roller coaster without fear. I adored carrying the magic wand and gently tapping fellow travelers to help them awaken at the end of naptime.

Mrs. Peck gave the best hugs in the whole world – her ample bosom enwrapping my spunky five-year-old self. I was safe and content.

By the time I was six that safe and content child had begun to drift away. I remember one scene from first grade when I was terrified to raise my hand and ask to go to the bathroom. I stayed glued in my seat with a warm puddle silently spreading around my feet. The shame was paralyzing. By that time, my voice was silenced and I spent many many years believing the label given to me of “shy”. It was a painful place for a carefree spirit to live.

Blisschick asked if that little girl would be happy with my life now? My gut reaction was a resounding “YES!” which speaks so much of the woman I have become. It has not been an easy journey, but slowly and surely I have moved back toward that carefree spirit that loves skipping, laughing and helping others wake up from their long naps.

I believe in the power of story. I believe it helps us know our Bliss which has been there all along! So, tell me what you were like when you were about six.

stock photo