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

Grand Theft Auto

Who loves to wake up to the words, "I have some really bad news"? Well, certainly not me, but that is just what happened yesterday in my house. The words came from my husband and while he did not have that someone-died-tone in his voice, I was braced for the worst. In this case, the "really bad news" is that his new car had been vandalized and broken into (bad news) AND my car (a little 2004 Honda Element that I love) had been stolen (really bad news). Yes, stolen. Gone. Zip. Disappeared. "Oh" was about all I could say and "I'm sorry about your new car." I was stunned.

So, we spent the day filling out insurance and police reports and taking his car across town to be fixed. So what now? Fortunately, we hadn't quite sold our 14 year old mini-van and I have a new scooter (which is much more entertaining than a car at the moment) plus I do have my trusty bus pass so transportation is not a huge issue. I do, however, find myself a little numb over the fact that some person actually stole my car out of my driveway. Hmm. I am still pondering how I feel about that. Numb seems more appropriate than angry or sad. It just really feels kind of weird. And, I wonder where we will go from here. How long will they leave a report open before the insurance settles? Is my car crashed by the side of the road? Was it a just a joy ride? (I can't imagine a chop shop would have any interest in my little blue Honda.) Will we replace it if it never is found?

Interestingly enough most of the time I forget that this has happened, but every now and then the thoughts pop into my head. Grand theft auto. Someone committed a crime. Will they be caught? Will they be punished? Do I even care? It's weird and a little annoying for now. Who knows what tomorrow may bring?

The Rabbit Trail of my Mind

Oh, the rabbit trail of my mind ☺. I am on information overload and I don’t even own a television or currently subscribe to the newspaper. It all started today with a little contemplation and solitude. Sounds good, right? But, oh, the doors that open when I sit down with pen in hand and computer nearby. My personal thoughts are enough to make an average monkey mind appear serene. How has this happened? All when I thought I was getting a grip on my mind spinning tendencies and relaxing into quiet time and rest.

For some reason I was prompted to explore Psalm 13 and verse 2 managed to pop out at me. “How long shall I take counsel in my soul, Having sorrow in my heart all the day?” (NAS version). I was concerned that the verse alluded to me listening more to myself than to God, but other translations led me to think that the verse referred to an anxious mind which did not feel relevant to me today. Then “Pow” the next thing I know, my mind is racing with the issues of the world and just like that serenity is gone and sorrow for the world has entered.

So, what do worm castings, global warming, organic gardening, Charlotte’s Web and lighting the Dafur wall have in common? Throw in the homeless person on the corner and a decision whether to purchase a latte at Starbucks or try to find an independent barista who sells fair trade coffee and my morning walk (which was my next step toward trying to regain calm) turned into even more food for fodder. It is all too much! As I said at the beginning, it is information overload and today the topic seems to be our collapsing world.

While I consider myself to be a pretty conscientious person, I have never fully embraced the total “tree hugger” mentality that met me head on 18 years ago when I moved to Seattle from Oklahoma. My conservative roots run pretty deep and while a few years ago I did break down and buy Birkenstocks (floral not basic brown), I still pretty much insist on shaving my legs and armpits (time allowing) and have a hard time considering myself as an angry in-your-face activist such as the cloth diaper pushing moms I met when I was pregnant with my now 18 year old son.

But, just as my theological world view has shifted from one of an evangelical/fundamental outlook to one that is more emergent and postmodern, I am finding that I can no longer ignore the person on the street corner or easily throw plastic into the garbage bin rather than recycle. (And I must admit, even though I was somewhat bullied into it, I am happy to say that I primarily used cloth diapers for my kids.) I have started riding the bus and walking where I can rather than driving and I am feeling pretty guilty about that container of chemical weed killer sitting in my garage.

And, just when I was starting to hyperventilate and think that one person, one family, cannot begin to make a dent in the hurt, the hunger, the global warming, the pain, the….you get the picture, God in the way only God can do showed me these words from Brian McLaren’s a Generous Orthodoxy in his chapter “Why I Am Green.”

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

Okay. Deep sigh. My mind is a little calmer now and sharing even these words feels like a start. So, to return back to worm castings, global warming, etc. I shall share a bit of my brain’s rabbit trail.

Check out Rosa Gallica Lifestyle for gardening tips with worm castings and other environmentally friendly topics.

Krista Tippett has a great interview with author, Barbara Kingsolver on her new book,Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, about eating locally and better.

E.B. White's, Charlotte's Web—the book and movie are fabulous. Julia Roberts (as Charlotte) makes a great case for treating spiders kindly.

And, Tess, brought this project for lighting the Dafur wall to my attention.

In closing, I leave you with the wisdom of Kermit the Frog: It's not easy being green.