Thoughts & Prayers

Peace begins with a smile. Mother Theresa

When I first saw the man approaching on his bicycle, I did not give him much thought. My mind was in a million other places that morning, stopped at the light leading onto a typically busy 64 west, on my way to see Rich in the hospital for an emergency admission the day before. He was experiencing some chest pains and shortness of breath, so much so that he abandoned his round of golf after five holes to have checked out. Anyone who knows Rich, knows this is big. A half day later, he was the proud owner of three new stents in his heart arteries. No heart attack, no heart damage, but his body was letting him know that both were on the way.

The morning rush hour traffic was in full swing and I quickly realized I would not be making a right on red and the extra minute or two at the light was not going to delay anything. It was then I focused on the man on the bike. He was not the typical cyclist I see braving the busy highway. He was older, late 60s, clad in what I’ve come to call the “Lands End” look, khaki pants and a hunter green v-neck pullover. He instantly reminded me of my Dad, who sported this look like it was his uniform. He wore a bike helmet and was leisurely peddling a cruiser bike.

As he approached my car, he looked at me, directly at me, our eyes locked, and then he smiled and waved. It was a big, beautiful, light up your face smile. A smile that says, I see you, I connect with you. I waved back and thought, Dad. He looks so much like Dad, a man who smiled frequently, genuinely and joyfully. When Dad smiled, his whole face was involved. His cheeks filled, his eyes twinkled. He didn’t smile at you, he smiled with you or because of you. He had the most beautiful smile.

It took me a moment to process the man and his warm gesture on a morning when I was filled with anxiety about the coming day. The smile, that “Dad smile,” it felt like a much needed hug from a stranger. Or was he a stranger?

As he passed through my view of the oncoming traffic, I did not follow his path, intent on breaking into the road with my first chance. When I realized the traffic was too heavy, I turned so I could watch this friendly person ride away. But he was gone. He was not on the road I would have thought he’d continue. It is long and straight with no obstacles, there is no way I would have not seen him. Did he pass my car and turn right, traveling the road behind? I physically turned around to look for him, on road with no obstructions, he was gone.

That smile. The love I felt when our eyes met, the comfort and assurance I felt in a moment of great fear and anxiety, like a father’s hug, will remain with me forever, stored with all my memories of my father, a kind, gentle, fun-loving person. A person you could always count on when in trouble or upset with his sage advice and “let’s get it done” action plans.

My father visited me that morning. I’ve felt his presence a few times since he died over 22 years ago, but never so viscerally. He knew I was scared and worried. He knew I needed comfort and hope. That smile. That beautiful smile. It gave me that. Thank you, Dad.

This reflection is inspired by “Beautiful Hope – Finding Hope Every Day in a Broken World” a collection of essays by diverse contributors including Pope Francis, a former rock band drummer, a WWII veteran and a great grandmother.

I am a hopeful person. Hopeful, always. Hope is the shawl I wrap tightly around me when the chill of worry and fear creep in. Its fibers of faith and trust are tightly woven, providing warmth, comfort, protection. Faith and trust in a God, who loves in a way I can’t fully comprehend, and who is with me always.

What do I hope for? Peace, mostly. In my life, for my husband and children, my family and friends, in communities and countries. To live a long, healthy life. That my children’s lives are free of problems. For an end to war, violence, poverty, bigotry and for an overall reprogramming of the human condition. But is this hope or desire?

Who wouldn’t want these things for themselves, their families, this world? But the reality is we all face obstacles on our human journey. Suffering, on some level, is part of the price of being a member of this human race. So where, then, is the hope?

Hope is the absolute conviction, that despite knowing I may become ill or a child will face financial problems, God is present. When racisms burns and violence destroys, God is present. Whenever the dark side of human nature, casts shadows, blocking the Light, God is present. The essence of hope is the certainty, the faith, the trust that no matter what, God is present, and in the words of Julian of Norwich, “All shall be well.”

That is my hope. That is my peace.

Wrote this on Mother’s Day, 2022

There is one universal source for comfort. . .Mom. My sweet, 10-year-old dog, Duke hates thunder. He will cower in the innermost corner of the house at the first distant rumble. But this morning, as the sky exploded, he came to me from his dark corner in a rarely used guest bedroom and nestled between the couch, where I sat journaling, and my dangling legs. As he panted heavily, I rubbed behind his ears and the top of his head, while offering little assurances in a soft, gentle voice. Gradually, the panting lessened, and he laid his head at my feet. I covered him with the down feather pillows from my couch, creating a cozy safe shelter. Then a thought hit me like a bolt of lightning penetrated the house. . . I pray I was as a good a mother to my own four children as I am to this dog.

I will always second guess this, even though I have good relationships with them as adults. . .adults who are good, loving, kind people, making their way in this world, with all its bumps, with tremendous courage and grace. Good people, that they are. But I still pray to the Mother of all creation and ask forgiveness for the times my actions were hurtful to these four special beings entrusted to my care. I know I did my best, I just wish I’d done better.

I try to forgive myself for my mothering missteps, as I know my children have long ago. They each love me very much, there is no doubt about that. And none wants me to feel bad about myself for anything related to them. So, I try to make amends by amending how I now mother, creating a shift from “all-knowing parent” to something else. They are adults, they don’t need to be “mothered” anymore. They need love, support, encouragement, compassion, empathy and acceptance. . . a soft, trusted place like the cozy down feather nest, where they can be, or try to figure out how to be, the person they were created to be.

I did not create these four precious wonders, but it was through me they entered this world. They may no longer need to be mothered but like each of us, they need someone to be Mom. I can do that. Happy Mom’s Day.

written January 2021. . .still hoping

I’m still trying to process what happened at our nation’s capitol last week. It is Sunday morning, a cold, crisp, clear winter morning. The new moon, a delicate sliver, lingers in the cloudless, pale blue sky. The world seems so quiet, so peaceful, if only for this moment.
On Wednesday, as I watched the chaos unfold, I was yelling, yelling at the TV, yelling at my husband. Yelling, this is not good, this can not be happening! I was in shock, an angry shock. Our country is not perfect. The freedom and opportunities that we claim as our bedrock are not equally available to all. But we have the opportunity to strive for them, fight for them and so many good people do just that, making this country a place where hope exists. So to see the circus descend on the place often called one, encouraged by the head clown, sucked all the hope out of me.
But I refuse to live without hope.
I hope the foundation that our country was built on is strong enough to see us through this tumultuous time.
I hope the laws that have been created to give everyone a chance at a good life are respected and abided.
I hope that every single American, regardless of political ideology, takes a pause, a collective breath, and simply stops for a minute. . . just stop for one minute.

I’m still trying to process what happened at our nation’s capitol last week. It is Sunday morning, a cold, crisp, clear winter morning. The new moon, a delicate sliver, lingers in the cloudless, pale blue sky. The world seems so quiet, so peaceful, if only for this moment.

On Wednesday, as I watched the chaos unfold, I was yelling, yelling at the TV, yelling at my husband. Yelling, this is not good, this cannot be happening! I was in shock, an angry shock. Our country is not perfect. The freedom and opportunities that we claim as our bedrock are not equally available to all. But we have the opportunity to strive for them, fight for them and so many good people do just that, making this country a place where hope exists. So to see the circus descend on the place often called one, encouraged by the head clown, sucked all the hope out of me.

But I refuse to live without hope.

I hope the foundation that our country was built on is strong enough to see us through this tumultuous time.

I hope the laws that have been created to give everyone a chance at a good life are respected and abided.

I hope that every single American, regardless of political ideology, takes a pause, a collective breath, and simply stops for a minute. . . just stop for one minute.

I hope the collective anger of people who are hurting, for many different reasons is transformed into forgiveness.

I hope we can each find forgiveness in our heart for those who have hurt us, assaulted our rights, affronted our values.

I hope we can forgive, not because the offender deserves it, but because we deserve to live without the anger that eats at us when we don’t forgive.
While we may not forget, and shouldn’t, forgiveness is our only hope for attaining peace in our lives, in our country, in our world.

I hope these words, by people much wiser than me, can inspire forgiveness.

“Weak people revenge, strong people forgive.” Albert Einstein

“Love the sinner, hate the crime.” Augustine of Hippo

“It is for God to punish wicked people. We should learn to forgive.” Emily Bronte

“Father, forgive them, they know not what they do.” Jesus of Nazareth

“Let no man pull you low enough to hate him.” Martin Luther King, Jr.

“While revenge weakens society, forgiveness gives it strength.” 14th Dalai Lama

“Without forgiveness there is no future.” Desmond Tutu

“Forgiveness is the answer.” Maya Angelou

Imagine, just imagine what would happen if every single American, looked deep in their heart, at their hurts, and began the process of forgiveness. Would we not soften, just a little? Would the divisiveness lessen, just a tad? Would healing begin, dreams emerge, peace arise?

I can only hope.

When they saw him they worshipped, but they doubted.

Matthew 28:16

Why did “doubted” jump out at me, even on a second and third reading of the final passage in Matthew, where Jesus’ disciples are commissioned to go out in to the world and spread the Good News? What is God revealing to me? I have a tremendous faith in God, the creator of all, who loves all in a way that I can’t fully comprehend, but certainly trust.

Perhaps, when I worry, become anxious, I am in a way doubting God’s will, God’s control. Perhaps, when I ruminate on situations that are truly out of my control, I am saying, “I got this one God, I doubt you can handle it.” Perhaps this passage teaches that “doubt” in whatever form it takes, worry, fear, anxiety, is part of our human nature. The disciples doubted Jesus, but he still had faith in them to spread his word. And despite our doubts, God is always with us, giving us everything we need.

God can handle our doubts, love us in spite of them, and guide us, ever so gently back to Trust.

Thank you, dear God, for creating me, blessing my life with goodness, filling me with peace and calm when I most need it. You turn my doubt to trust, my fear to faith, my anxiety to peace. I am never alone, you are always with me, for which I am so very grateful. Amen.

By waiting and by calm you shall be saved, in quiet and in trust your strength lies.

Isaiah 30:15

I am doing a book study with my Centering Prayer group, Forty Days to a Closer Walk with God, The Practice of Centering Prayer, by J. David Muyskens. As the title suggests, it includes 40 daily meditations that focus on the vibrancy of Centering Prayer in the author’s daily life each including a scripture passage to be read and reflected on in the manner of lectio divina or divine reading. In this method, you read the passage and allow your attention to be drawn to a specific word or phrase. Then, reflect on the meaning of the word or phrase and discern God’s message to you. The author suggests journaling your reflections for an even deeper understanding.

As someone who journals almost daily, this practice resonates with me and I’ve decided to share my thoughts on each meditation in this blog. The first word to speak to me in this practice is “calm.”

Calm is something I strive for. People often say I am a calm person, but I’m also good at faking it when deep down I may be panicked, upset or unsettled. In that state, it is hard to make decisions, say the right thing. It’s hard to feel the gentle pull or push of the Holy Spirit, to hear the quiet whisper of the God who loves me, wants to help me, direct me, be with me.

When I create calm within, I am peaceful, focused, even in the midst of chaos or confusion. When I center my calm on God, draw my calm from God, I have faith and patience that all will be well. Breathwork, yoga, meditation, walking bring me to a calm state. Centering Prayer brings me to the Calm within, the God within. As I become more authentically calm, deep down, not just at the surface, I am better able to hear with my heart the loving words of God, feel with my heart God’s ever presence, see with my heart what God wants for me, wants from me.

Dear God, you are calm in chaos, peace in disruption, wisdom in confusion. You are within me, waiting, always accessible. Guide me to your peaceful waters within so that I may do your will, know your love, be your peace for those around me. I do not know what lies ahead, so help me to live in the present in grace, love, trust and calm. Amen.

Today is 9/11. A day that will forever conjure images of airplanes crashing into the World Trade Towers, of them crumbling like sand castles hit by a wave. People covered in dust and ash running, scared and confused, vulnerable, under attack.

The day began with such beauty. The sky was a deep blue, the sun shone brightly. It is hard to comprehend the devastating ugliness that wiped out that perfect late summer morning. And yet, there it was. Hate. Which sadly, still exists even on the most beautiful days.

But other things also exist on beautifully ugly days. Compassion, service, loyalty, unselfishness, kindness, faith, hope, love. The best of our human nature, the parts of us that wipe away the ugly tears, restore the beauty of the day.

We each have choices every single day. That is the greatest gift God has given us. Choice. Free will. To be the best version of what we’ve been created for. Or not. And no matter our circumstance, the day we wake up to, sunny or grey, we choose.

Today, I remember the fear and profound sadness, smoldering in the destruction. But I also remember the grace that rose from compassion, unity and endless acts of selfless service to others, strangers. I remember the spontaneous gathering at my church with my children that evening. People of faith drawing together to comfort one another, praying with one another, lighting candles, trusting together that some how, some way God was in the midst of the chaos.

God is always in the midst of chaos, ever present, ever loving, even when Presence seems impossible. God weeps with us, embraces us and never stops loving us, even on our most ugly beautiful days.

Today, I choose resurrection over destruction, faith over fear, compassion over anger. I choose peace for today, hope for tomorrow, love above all. Amen.

In spite of everything I still believe that people are really good at heart. I simply can’t build up my hopes on a foundation consisting of confusion, misery and death. I see the world gradually being turned into a wilderness, I hear the ever approaching thunder, which will destroy us too, I can feel the sufferings of millions, and yet, if I look up into the heavens, I think that it will all come right, that this cruelty too will end, and that peace and tranquility will return again.

Anne Frank

Long, graceful branches sway in the breeze,

Gently twirling in the morning sun.

Moving with the Spirit,

Dancing with the Holy one.

She knows her partner guides her movements,

Perfect timing, measured beat.

Patient, trusting, open, ready,

Joyful in her dance of Peace.

Now that it’s July, I guess it’s time to start on some of those New Year’s resolutions! One of mine (for the past several years) has been to learn how to write poetry, to add another dimension to my writing. On some level, I don’t think you can learn to write a poem, rather, poetry is something within that simply needs to be coaxed out. In that sense, just as we are all storytellers, we are all poets.

That said, the perfectionist in me wants instruction, a how-to, at least to get started. I found that in a online skill share class this week. Five days of self-paced, short videos along with simple writing exercises from a lovely poet named Jacqueline Suskin. It’s been fun and inspiring and I think the shy poet within is garnering the courage to come out and play.

The first lesson was about awe, finding it in the ordinary and writing about it. As an example, the instruction created a poem about her pen, an ordinary tool that allowed her to create magic and mystery. She also pointed out that finding awe in the ordinary is a good practice for every day life. It can make the mundane enchanting, the boring captivating.

From the list of things I created, ordinary objects in my bedroom, I chose the rosary beads on my nightstand. Now, I actually don’t think rosary beads are ordinary, they have special meaning, but sitting there, not used in a very long time, these beads made the list and I’m glad they did. I was pleased at this first attempt at a poem, more pleased on how it guided further reflection. First, the poem. . .

The smooth, round mahogany beads from a mountain town in Spain, travel in my daughter’s pocket, home to Virginia, home to me.

Prayers, many prayers, strung together from bead to bead, prayers of a mother to a mother, the Black Madonna of Montserrat.

Whisper in the ear of your sacred son, Ask as only a mother can, Keep them happy, Keep them healthy, Keep them peaceful, Keep them safe.

The last part of the poem is the prayer I said with my children when they were little and many, many times since. The last line, keep them safe, is the universal prayer of mothers everywhere. Now, more than ever. But “safe” is relative. While I pray a son driving somewhere doesn’t get in a car accident and get hurt or die, another mother is praying her son does not get pulled over by the police and get hurt or die.

That is not a prayer a mother should ever need to say, nor prayers for protection against the many other injustices that is the reality for so many in our country. But mothers do what mothers do, we pray for our children. The prayers of a mother are heard, of that I am certain. It may take time, it may take heartache, sacrifice, patience and trust, but the God who loves us all hears our prayers for our children.

There is so much work to do to fight the racial injustice that permeates our country. Where to begin is overwhelming but listening, learning, understanding is a start . . . and praying, never underestimate the power of a prayerful mother.