Checking In

Home again and trying to catch up while also spending time with wonderful friends who are visiting for a few days. Add two teenagers to the mix--one starting high school and all the at entails and the other experiencing "re-entry" into the family after living on his own for several months. I long for a little time to reflect and write. Today, however, I am just checking back into the blogosphere and sharing this piece of art that arrived at my house yesterday. I love the blend of painting and poetry.

Blessings today!

"Gooseneck Cottage"
Painting is silent poetry and poetry is painting that speaks. --Simonides

Reminder to Myself--"Live Out Loud"

If no one reads my words, does that mean I am not a writer? If I am not published, is my work not good? If I stop writing will the words continue to come? If I refuse to share my gift with others will it cease to be my gift? If I show one thing to the world, but feel something different which one is real?

When I consider asking these questions of someone else, the answers seem simple and easy. Then why is it so hard to calm the battle that goes on inside of me? The inner critic tells me I am no good. The still small voice says I am beautiful and fabulous. To whom shall I listen?

Over the last several months I have been encouraged to submit my work for publication. Yikes! It was bad enough while in graduate school to turn my writing into a teacher’s assistant and have it graded. Now I am subjecting myself to pure rejection. It really stinks. Hearing words like this “We have read (your submission) with interest. Unfortunately, it does not meet our editorial needs at this time. Blah blah blah” is really no fun at all.

So why do it? I am still pondering that one but somehow it all feels like the process where I need to be. Often when I get discouraged and feel like giving up, I receive a wonderful reminder in the words of another (God, fellow bloggers, friends, a stranger) and my desire to continue to write is renewed.

The words this morning came in the form of this quote: “We are here to live out loud.” --Balzac. And this one: “But imagine if birds only sang when heard. If musicians only played when approved of. If poets only spoke when understood.” --Mark Nepo

And so, for today I will continue to write for I cannot stop. It is like trying to stop the waves from crashing to the beach or the sun from rising in the morning or the birds from singing in the twilight. Because deep in my heart I know that I am created to “Live Out Loud.”

photo by bill

What is Soltura?

Many of you who are regular readers may have noticed that about once a month, I disappear and go incommunicado for a few days. Where do I go, you might ask? Many would recognize that I have gone to Soltura, but not necessarily know what that means. So, today as I prepare to disappear again for a few days, I wanted to share my own little piece of “social action” where I see the world changing one person at a time. It is a challenge to describe, because I have never heard of or experienced anything so unique in my life. Soltura is the place I began to find healing for my soul and it is the place I go to be refreshed and restored as I pour my heart, time and energy into helping provide a space for others to either begin or continue their own personal journey.

So here’s a little bit of my personal history: While at therapeutic boarding school my then 14-year-old son went to his first workshop. My husband and I were subsequently invited to participate in our own workshop. Entering into the experience, I considered myself a pretty high-functioning individual who handled life’s ups and downs with reasonable “success”. I was very unaware, however, of how much I was just getting by and hiding behind defense mechanisms rather than fully participating in life.

Soltura gave me the space, the safety and the exercises to help me find my own best answers to the questions and roadblocks that stood in my way of truly knowing myself and therefore knowing the world around me. I came to know God in ways that I had never dreamed imaginable as I opened the door to new possibility. The tenet that I most admire and hope to live by is “Love God and love your neighbor as yourself.” What I have found is that if I do not know who I truly am I cannot love myself well and thus cannot love anyone else well; for I end up loving them exactly as I love myself which can be pretty crummy some of the time.

If you visit this website because you love Lucy and how she embraces life, you might be intrigued to know that I found Lucy (or she found me) through a Soltura workshop. I cannot imagine my life without her.

I have seen people from all walks of life experience Soltura…from Presidents of international companies to the abused mom who formerly slept in her car. Rich and poor. Ages 14 to 71. Addicts and teetotalers. Bold and timid. Christian and agnostic. Jews and followers of Zen. Businessmen and starving artists. Students and stay-at-home moms. People pushed by loved ones to get there and others seeking help on their own. I believe that Soltura is for everyone who desires to live life fully.

Soltura is where I go to work. It is where I go to play. It is where I go to be with God and be with friends and laugh and dance and be Lucy at her fullest. Soltura is a gift I am compelled to share with the world. I invite you to check out the Soltura website here. (The testimonies are really my favorite ☺.) Other posts are available here and here or check out the Soltura topics in my sidebar.

Anyway…that is where I will be from August 13-19. I’ll “see” you when I get back and pray you will come to find the Soltura of your life.

Adios!

The Word That Is A Prayer

by Ellery Akers

One thing you know when you say it:
all over the earth people are saying it with you;
a child blurting it out as the seizures take her,
a woman reciting it on a cot in a hospital.
What if you take a cab through the Tenderloin:
at a streetlight, a man in a wool cap,
yarn unraveling across his face, knocks at the window;
he says, Please.
By the time you hear what he's saying,
the light changes, the cab pulls away,
and you don't go back, though you know
someone just prayed to you the way you pray.
Please: a word so short
it could get lost in the air
as it floats up to God like the feather it is,
knocking and knocking, and finally
falling back to earth as rain,
as pellets of ice, soaking a black branch,
collecting in drains, leaching into the ground,
and you walk in that weather every day.

photo by bill

Caring...or Not?

Entering the downtown parking garage after an evening with friends, the smell of urine was over-
powering. As I turned to my husband to comment, there was a flurry of movement and from out of nowhere came a man who now stood between the exit and us.

“You guys got any money?” He said in his gravelly voice and before we could even respond he had jerked up his shirt and was showing us his heavily bandaged chest.

“Got blown up in the war. Come on, guys just give me some money.”

It was only earlier that day that I had written about no longer being able to ignore the homeless man in the street. And now, here was this man making certain that we would not ignore him. His movements were erratic and we were alone in an isolated, dark garage—only the streetlights from outside lit where we stood. His eyes were outlined as though someone had drawn around them with a bright red marker. His body was wiry and he was probably not much taller than me and there was something dangerous-feeling about him. It was desperation.

How do you respond to desperation? How do you have a conversation? Suggest a cup of coffee? Hand over $10? For $10 would not ever be enough. Enough for what? A score of crack cocaine. A decent meal. A bus ticket out of town. His lost dignity.

My husband responded, “I’m sorry, but we don’t have any cash.” The interchange—request for money and refusal—was repeated a couple of times at which point the man clenched his fists, made a grunting sound along with a short, quick punching motion, started to leave and then said, “Hey, you guys Christians?”

What could we say? We said nothing and then he was gone.

I say ‘he was gone’ and yet he has not left my mind for more than a few moments in the four days since this happened. I feel strong compassion and care for this man who represents thousands of others on the Seattle streets. I do want to make a difference, and in the moment, I feel as if we did nothing. We were stunned. And scared. We felt trapped and potentially in danger. Trapped.

I cannot begin to imagine what it would be like to feel trapped and desperate every moment of the day. If money is not the solution and conversation/relationship not an option, what else is there? What will I do the next time I am faced with a similar situation? What will I do in the meantime? Can caring be enough, as Brian McLaren says?

“Just caring is a good start. That’s a real start. Who knows where it could lead.”

I look forward to seeing where this caring leads, because not caring is no longer an option.

I’d love to hear thoughts from you and ways you see that are making a difference.

photo from google images