For Dawn

“How shall there be redemption and resurrection unless there has been great sorrow? And isn’t struggle and rising the real work of our lives?" --Mary Oliver

Ever since I wrote my Lenten Prayer, I have been acutely aware of the pain and sorrow existing so close to my own heart. Nothing highlights this more than the news I received today that my beautiful friend, Dawn, died this morning at 7:45 a.m.

How do you pay tribute to one who touched so many people so deeply? Less than an hour before she died I prayed a prayer of release for her. Did I play a part in her death as I believe I did in her life? I don’t know, but if somehow I helped ease her pain, then I am grateful. She fought a long hard battle with cancer and she was ready to let go. It is we who are left behind that now have the long road ahead of us.

If you are a praying person, please keep her family in your prayers. While I believe she is whole and pure and complete again, her family (including a loving husband and four amazing teenagers) is now heartbroken. I pray God’s peace and comfort over them in the days, months and years to come. I will miss my friend deeply.

Let us not move too quickly to the Good News and thus dismiss our pain and sorrow.
Let us grieve—holding the sweet moments of memory and raging for a life released that we do not want to concede.

"Faith" photo by bill hughlett

Heart Lament

Sacred One, I cry out to you. How much pain must I bear?
Heart outside my body.
Walking. Tripping. Falling. Weeping.
Will it cease to beat?
Where is resurrection? Resuscitation?

My heart bleeds. Slowing to a stop.
Where, oh where, is life?
Pain and sorrow.
Breaking. Wrenching.
Existing is too hard.

How will joy sustain? Gentle flame flickers in winds of despair.
I ache. I yearn, oh Lord, for your comfort—your gentle breath upon my face.
Breathe life into me, I pray.
My heart is breaking wide and I am falling in.
Take my hand, oh Lord. Keep me from despair.

Shine your light that I may glow—
Ever so gently—ever so dimly—waiting.
Waiting for my heart to calm—the wound to heal—a scar remains.
Wounds of your hands. Wounds of my heart.

Where are you, oh Lord? I need your help this day.
Heart inside my body.
Quiet. Still. Resting. Beating.
I feel your breath upon my face—the sigh of my heart.
Here is resurrection. Resuscitation.

My Lenten Prayer

“People who pray stand with their hands open to the world.” (Henri Nouwen.) Their arms wide open to the world. May my heart break wide open so that the world may fall in. Come all who are weary and burdened. Come. Let me be with you in this. Let me be there for you. (Words I penned yesterday morning as I continued to meditate on what my Lenten practice would be this year.)

I am continually amazed at my need to get out of my own way so I can hear God. While it is only recently that I have become more aware of the practice of Lent, I decided this year I would be prepared and consider well in advance what my Lenten practice would be. I read up on Lent a bit and even ordered a daily meditation book several days before the season was to begin. I considered giving up wine or sugar, exercising more…you get the picture. And then I ran out of time to think about it (hmm) and left for Brazos de Dios on Ash Wednesday.

No phone service. No internet. No i-pod or t.v. No interruptions from the outside world. Only ten people with the sole purpose of re-discovering the truth and beauty that lie deep inside each one of us.

That is my work, my joy, and (finally I realized) my Lenten prayer (my Life prayer)—to be fighting with and on behalf of truth and beauty for myself and others. Seeking the beauty and glory that we may not be able to see in ourselves. Digging through the armor of lies we believe—“I’m not good enough.” “My feelings aren’t important.” “I am nothing.” “I don’t matter” etc., etc. Fighting the battle alongside each other. While I know we must do it for ourselves, we do not have to do it alone. We can travel this path together—learning from one another.

My heart is filled with joy and my cup overflows. This Lenten season I choose to give away Me. Thankfully, gratefully, joyfully. My Lenten practice is not giving up drink or sugar or reading and exercising more, doing more, but rather I choose to be present to the world and to those around me. Living intentionally and bringing myself fully. Fighting side by side the battle that is ours together.

I invite you to join me for I cannot do this alone. Together let us seek the beauty in each other and break through the armor of lies that keep us in bondage. Together, let us move toward Resurrection this Lenten season (and always).

Boys and Bears

"We live our deepest soul's desires not by intending to change who we are but by intending to be who we are." -- from The Dance by Oriah

Angry, scared young men raging at the world.
Pain held deep inside.
Fists of steel swing toward connection.
Seeking emotion long ago hidden.
Rage wrapped tight in silence.

Confusion and fear plague the young faces.
Voices speak, “Get the F away!” and
“Please don’t leave.”
Slowly shifting, hands reach out and hugs hold tight.
Determination reigns.

Child and Man merge into one.
Hand in hand—reaching, fighting, touching, holding—
Fists that push and punch, open to embrace.
Their world softens, gentle as a teddy bear.
Little boy. Brilliant man. Mighty warrior. Heroes All.

On the Road Again

Heading off to Lubbock, Texas early tomorrow morning to do the work I love to do. This week I will be helping facilitate a workshop for young men/teens. Check it out at here.

During the coming days I hope you will:

dance as though no one is watching you.

love as though you have never been hurt before.

sing as though no one can hear you.

live as though heaven is on earth. --Souza

That's what I will be doing!