About Me

Who am I? I awoke very early this morning pondering that loaded question.

In this crazy world of blogging, what do I want to say “About Me?” To address this seems both humbling and grandiose. It is impossibly difficult and incredibly simple. My first notion is, “I am no one,” quickly followed by the next thought, “I am an amazing, complex woman that words cannot begin to describe.” The truth is: I am both. This is the tension I live with these days. Faith is a huge part of my life and demonstrates this phenomenon well, because my faith is strong and it is weak. “Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief.” It seems that the more I learn about anything, the less I realize I actually know. The closer I come to knowing myself, the more I find there is to discover.

So, what about me? I am a mother, a wife, a sister, an orphan, a friend, a lover of God, a reforming Fundamentalist, a spiritual seeker, a lover of big yellow dogs and all kinds of nature, a fan of cozy beds and warm fires. I am a middle-aged woman with the heart of a child. I am a romantic and I am very practical. I love to cook and I hate to go to the grocery store. I want my house clean, but rarely enjoy the act of cleaning. I am a trained counselor and I regularly seek personal counseling. I want to experience God outside the box and I love old traditions. I grew up in the Bible Belt (Oklahoma) and now live in the "most un-churched city in the country" (Seattle).

I hate that we must suffer so much in the world AND I know that suffering has made me who I am today. I love music of all kinds. I do not have a great singing voice, but I have long dreamed of being a doo-wap girl. I’m not a talented dancer, but I love to move. I am not a natural athlete, but manage to stay in reasonable shape. I love new experiences (like my recent forays into backpacking, graduate school and skydiving). I love books (see sidebar of 2006 reads) and movies ranging from the romantic to the contemplative. I don't have regular/cable television, but am a closet viewer. I watch “Grey’s Anatomy,” “Gilmore Girls” and “24” when they come out on DVD and an occasional “Oprah” when I get the chance.

I am too conservative for the liberals and too liberal for the conservatives. I am passionate and I am shy. I LOVE to laugh until tears stream down my face. Anne Lamott calls laughter “carbonated holiness” and I agree wholeheartedly. I love to play with friends and I adore my quiet time and solitude. I love to write but am not quite comfortable calling myself a writer. I am on a journey. If you look closely throughout this site, you will find glimpses of me, along with my friends, family and places I love. It is a scary venture to share what comes from the heart, nevertheless, I am called to take the leap and share my words. I hope you will join me!

"lovely, kind and FREE!" photo by bill hughlett

The Wall Between Two Gardens

“Sadness is but a wall between two gardens.” Khalil Gibran

It is late Christmas day. It has been a good day, a quiet day, and in the stillness of the afternoon, l have spent much time pondering sadness. While sadness may seem like an unfit topic for this day of celebration, it is, nevertheless, a feeling that abounds during the season. Often juxtaposed against the expected emotions provoked by “Merry Christmas” and “Happy Holidays,” sadness can be buried amidst the stack of holiday cheer.

Today is a day to be celebrated and for which to be thankful. So, what is this “wall between two gardens” of which Gibran speaks? For some reason, I am reminded of another quote (by Mother Teresa, I think) where she speaks of having her heart break wide open so that the whole world may fall in. I sense this breaking of heart in myself while at the same time there is a sense of peace and thankfulness. Must we break wide open to find peace?

How can the two co-exist? Is this the paradox of love? Of God? The garden of heartbreak and the garden of thankfulness. The wall of sadness between humanity and divinity. The human part of me wants to focus on the sadness and where I don’t feel like my desires are being met, but the holy will not let me rest there. The divine requires me to remember that ALL my needs are fulfilled and I am never alone even when I may feel lonely. God is with me and I hear the words, “I will never leave you nor forsake you.”

So why the sadness? Why the wall between the gardens? Images are evoked of the joy of the birth of a new babe and the sadness of his death on a cross—before his resurrection. Ahh—maybe that is the wall of sadness; the sting of death before resurrection.

It seems that this is the place we live today—having not yet experienced our own resurrection to glory, but having tasted it; known the glory in brief moments—the birth of a child, the smile of a stranger, the gift of a song. These reminders start to fracture the wall of sadness and meld the gardens—the garden of birth and the garden of resurrection. This Christmas day, hope is tangible. It is a time to celebrate and experience the glory of God. And, it is a time to sit with the sadness between the two gardens and be thankful. Merry Christmas and Amen.

photo by bill hughlett

Mystery and Mastery

A question is mulling around in my mind. It is a question of movement and waiting—of mystery and mastery. I ponder; can there be movement in waiting? A sigh. A breath. A tear. The rise and fall of the chest. The twinkle in an eye. For I believe waiting does not mean ceasing to live. It is, in my reality, living more deeply and intentionally.

“Wait here,” a mother says to her child. The child can either hold his breath and try to remain perfectly still, living in fear. Or he can begin to examine the world around him--the ant on the ground, a bee tasting sweet nectar or the wind rustling through the trees. In this waiting, this examination of mystery, is he not living more fully and mastering life?

Waiting for the birth of a child, the coming of a Savior, the easing of a pain. Waiting does not mean becoming frozen or comatose. It can be just the opposite. A heightening of awareness. Feeling the very structure of your being—the beams and concrete of your soul; the bare branches of your nakedness; the child inside the mother’s womb.

This living into the mystery is the mastery of life. It is appreciating each moment instead of worrying or analyzing what it will mean later, or like the compliant child, waiting and holding his breath until the very life goes out of him.

So breathe, feel your heart, listen to the rhythm of the earth. The axis has shifted slightly and the light will grow stronger day by day. Remember that without the dark of night, a star cannot shine. So wait. Wait intentionally; not for mastery but for the sake of mystery and all it has to offer.

We cannot see the wind except when it blows through the trees. From where does the rain begin? Was the earth created in seven 24-hour days or billions of years? Mystery. We can move toward mastery, but it is in the movement that life happens. It is the dash on our tombstone—what happens between the day we burst forth from the womb and our final earthly breath. It is movement as subtle as listening to your own heart beat or watching an ant crawl on the ground. And, it is movement as great as facing your deepest fears or having the courage to wait patiently in the darkness.

photo by bill hughlett

Belly of the Whale

Inside the belly of the whale, it is dark. Today is the winter solstice, the shortest day of the year in the Northern Hemisphere. For a season, this season, I am being called to let the tears wash over me, to wail, to cry out and let the pain envelope and comfort me. Happiness will not suffice for now. Joy seems so distant, so far away. Sorrow—its mirror image—hangs closely round my heart and soul.

I must learn a new way to comfort myself, and the way does not involve putting on a smile and taking care of everyone around me. How can I suffer—exist—live in the dark night of the soul when all around me are hollow words of "Merry Christmas" and "Happy Holidays"? “Cheer up,” well-meaning friends say. “Get over it,” I tell myself. Easy to say, but I don’t even know what “it” is. I see fear in the eyes of my loved ones. They worry that I am not happy. “You’re not yourself these days,” they say. “I hope you come back soon.” But, I have not gone anywhere. This is me—all I am able to offer—right here and right now. Maybe it is not all of me for it is more of the sorrowful side—some would say the dark side. And, just as I have been known to burst with joy, for now I am bursting with sorrow. I am learning that both are essential for the fullness I desire.

Give your burdens to the earth—the strength of the mountains—the vastness of the sea—God—only these can carry the weight of my burdens. I am called to lay face down on the ground as the Muslims do, connecting my head with the earth. Feeling the solidity beneath me. It is holy ground.

Belly of the whale. It is dark inside here and even as I release myself to the darkness, I begin to feel lighter. A twinkling light. There must be great darkness for the tiniest light to shine. Wait. Just wait. It is the reminder I have heard throughout this advent season. Wait.

“When you are in the belly of the whale, let go, detach yourself, let the pain carry you where it needs to take you, don’t resist, rather weep, wail, cry and put your mouth to the dust, and wait.” Ron Rolheiser

Grace Abounds

sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; poor, yet making many rich; having nothing and yet possessing everything. II Corinthians 6:10


"life in chains" photo by maryjane hughlett

Born of earth
Seeds lie deep
Root reaching
Pushing through
Life in chains
Straining toward light
Toothless smile of poverty
Extended belly filled with love
Glittering eyes of weathered face
Hope and grace abound

Darkness hides
Darkness shields
Child in womb
Dormant field
Straining toward life
Flower of desert
Cement’s dandelion
Tiny ship in storm
Reaching shore against all odds
Sense made out of senseless
Hope and grace abound

In the darkness
Winter Solstice
Barren earth
Fallow womb
Shifting
Moving
Reaching
Resting
Growing
Soul turning
Hope and grace abound