Thoughts & Prayers

July 1, 2020. . .goodbye, June. Where did you go? My favorite month of the year sprinted by. I have always loved the month of June, with its many celebrations, graduations, the beginning of summer and birthdays, lots of birthdays! I am one of six children and between June 16 and June 26, four of us celebrate birthdays. Mine is June 20, this year I turned 60. . .60?. . .60? . . . How did this happen? Where did the time go?

I am completely ok with turning 60, though I still feel a little incredulous about it. Not that I didn’t know it was coming, LOL, but I don’t feel like I could have possibly circled the sun that many time. I still don’t know what I want to do with my life. . .I’m still so uncertain about how to handle certain people and problems. . . .I lack the wisdom I’d hope would have come by now. . . I am just beginning to really understand my faith in God and cultivate a meaningful relationship, beyond the catechism of my childhood.

I set an intention at the beginning of June, when the country was reeling with violence, anger, suffering and sorrow. Inspired by voices of hope, I wrote this intention in my journal: I will use my voice. Speak my truth. Stand for my own ideas, my own beliefs, with dignity, integrity and grace.

I reset this intention for July, August, September and beyond. It is not as easy as writing down the pretty words. To use my voice, speak my truth, I need to figure out who I am and what I stand for. Sometimes, I feel as though I have raced through life, without taking the time to absorb and reflect on what is going on around and within. Maybe the 60th birthday gift is time and space and breath, to slow down and take in. To pray and meditate on what’s really important. To break out of my safe little bubble and educate myself on many topics, from race, religion, economics and the environment.

And then I must muster the courage to say what needs to be said, do what needs to be done, regardless of what others might think. All while being true to me, my way. I am inspired by the willow tree in the corner of my yard. It moves gently with the wind. It sways back and forth and back again. Its branches are long, reaching and embracing. It whispers it message. Listen, listen.

All shall be well and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.

Julian of Norwich

I’ve come across this quote several times in the past month, in writings and blogposts, and even as a stand alone “meme” on Facebook and Twitter posts, emerging as the pandemic anthem of sorts, during a time when we all need to hear, “It’s ok, all will be ok, all will be well.”

These words were written by an anchoress nun in the late 1300’s after a near death experience. Lying in what was believed to be her deathbed, Julian encountered the bleeding, crucified Jesus in 16 visions and received insight into his suffering as well as God’s limitless love and compassion. Shortly after recovering, Julian wrote about what was revealed to her and continued to reflect and write about her experience for 20 years creating “Revelations of Divine Love.”

There is not a lot known about this important Christian mystic. Even her real name is unknown. Julian is likely from St. Julian’s Church in Norwich, where she lived in isolation for most of her life, except for when she offered spiritual guidance to townspeople who would visit her cell for counsel. She lived from 1342 – 1416 during the time of the Black plague, amid pain and suffering and loss.

Hearing the words of Julian of Norwich, understanding the historical context, and more importantly, their spiritual context, revealed by Christ, gives me great hope. There has been pain and suffering since the beginning of time. It is part of the human experience. We don’t always understand it. Sometimes, quite simply, it is not for us to understand. But to simply accept, in faith and hope. God is at the center of it all, loving us through it all, since creation, since Julian, since the day of our own birth. God holds us from within, within our hearts and our souls. Mine and yours. And with that, I fully believe, all shall be well.

There is a great need to be mothering the world together right now.

Wild Mercy, Mirabai Starr

While visiting my Kaitlin several years ago, she took me to the Denver Art Museum. This sculpture captured my attention and has stuck with me since. The initial connection is obvious, the large momma encasing her four successive children between her legs in a way both gentle and protective. Each child looks like my own. Kaitlin, the oldest, the leader, one hand on momma, one on her brother. Anthony, smiling, lighter, open armed around his sister. Janine, still a baby, looking for momma, always a mommy’s girl, protectively keeping her brother close. Nicholas the little one, the baby, wide eyed, loved. Of course, they all were loved. All are loved. So very loved.

The greatest gifts in my life are my children. And I would not have them without their father, my husband Rich, who I have been married to for 35 years on Monday. I am so very blessed. And yet, as I write this I know they are not “mine.” They are a part of me, as I am a part of them. But they are not “mine.” They are them. Their own. As it should be.

This is what the artist says about her sculpture: “We are all from this Mother, all from this Earth: made of her and will return to her. The Mother holds the largest child, who’s holding the next child, who’s holding the next and so on. I love the idea that we all come from the Earth, generation after generation; an endless family of life.”

I get a sense of peace in this. We are all a part of an endless family of life. And, as Mirabai Starr suggests, we need to mother one another.

Mother’s Day 2020, in the midst of a pandemic, for me was filled with love and family. A Zoom meeting with my sisters and brothers, facetime with my daughters, a day in the sun on my back deck with my sons and their girlfriends, steaks on the grill, delicious wine that Mary brought back from her trip to New Zealand, thoughtful cards, a delivery from Edible Arrangements, a surprise early morning drop off of Wawa coffee from my sweet neighbors next door and gorgeous flower arrangements. The day looked, smelled and tasted delicious.

Yesterday, I was mothered with kindness and love and laughs and good food. Today I celebrate 35 years married to the same good man. Life goes on in the pandemic and life is still very good.

I began this beautiful Sunday morning sitting in my screened porch listening to the chorus of birds while scribbling in my journal. Random morning thoughts, one leading to the next, an almost daily practice, where I unload, reflect, complain, worry, grieve, muse and count blessings, which almost always leads to some form of prayer. I found myself listing the lessons that this nasty, unwelcomed virus is reminding us to practice. Who would think that the purveyor of profound suffering would also unearth our hidden treasure chest, a bounty of simple truths, not fully lost nor forgotten, just misplaced.

In no particular order. . .Get healthy. Take care of the planet. Go outside. Get to know your neighbors. Help others. Accept help. Live simply, one day at a time. Pray. Trust God. Be grateful. Walk daily. Listen to the birds. Listen to your inner voice. Notice each new bloom. Take only what you need. You don’t need everything. Spend time alone. Spend time with God. Spend time with the people you love, maybe even the people you don’t. Make art. We are all artists. Breath in slowly. Pause. Exhale deeply. Release what’s not working, what hurts, what scares. Keep breathing, keep loving, keep hoping, believing and trusting. . . in yourself and others. We’ve got this.

Adopt the pace of nature. Her secret is patience.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

I took these pictures at Maymont Park this week, a much needed immersion into Nature with a very dear friend. Denise is one of my favorite people to spend time with. We can dive deep into every aspect of our lives, or like on this outing, simply be present to what’s around us. She has a love for nature and an eye for detail, pointing out plants and birds, that I surely would have missed.

These images speak for themselves. I don’t have the words to convey the peace and comfort that I felt as we meandered through the park. No rush, no hurry. From the newly blooming roses to the owl hidden within the tall powerful trees, there was a surprise gift at every turn. Nature is showing off her new Spring outfit, a timeless beauty, made of hope and possibility.

• 

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.

John 1:1-2

This is one of my favorite lines from the Bible. It resonates with me as a writer, someone who has a deep love for words, so potent, filled with meaning and emotion. Like pieces of glass arranged to create a beautiful mosaic, reflecting light and color. Or just as easily words can cut deeply, drawing blood, filled with hurt and anger. To me, John is describing the mysterious, yet ever present nature of God. . . God is with the Word? God is the Word? God is beyond definition. God simply is.

I practice Centering Prayer on a regular basis. It is a method of silent prayer, similar to many meditation practices, to experience God’s presence. At the beginning of this prayer, a sacred word is chosen as a symbol of consent to God’s presence and action within. One of its key guidelines states, “when engaged with your thoughts, return ever so gently to the sacred word.” Return your attention to God.

I have been repeating that line a lot lately, return ever so gently to the sacred word. Covid 19 and social isolation has presented a gift, not asked for in this way, but a gift nonetheless. Time. Lots of extra time to read, write, walk, meditate, pray. . . and think. For me, too much thinking can sometimes be my biggest enemy. It can lead to worry, anger, sadness. Yes, it of course leads to good ideas. . . Give Mom a call and suggest she not go to the Publix everyday (how to say it nicely requires a lot of thinking!) How should I use the extra cream cheese and butter I bought for Easter before it goes bad? Let’s think, a 3-layer cake with the frozen berries and box mix in the pantry. Couldn’t let that go bad! Don’t I have a sewing machine and tons of gently used t-shirts? Let’s think about finding non-profits who need facemasks. Yes, there are lots of creative and lovely thoughts swirling in my brain.

But, I can also find myself going down a path that’s not so rosy. . .in fact, it is thorny, as I replay in my head conversations that I wish went differently, rewriting the script, in a production that I know won’t make it out of the editing room. I have arguments with people over things that haven’t happened. I only imagine they might, and I want to be prepared with the right comebacks. How quickly I can find myself so far from the path I truly want to be on. . . the path that is filled with breath, pause, lined with pebbles of compassion and kindness. When I snap back to awareness, realizing I have gotten lost in senselessness, I am grateful for the roadmap I carry. I whisper to myself, “Return ever so gently to the Sacred Word.” Ever. So. Gently. With kindness and compassion for my own humanity and that of others. To. The. Sacred. Word. And the Word is God.

• 

This being human is a guest house, every morning a new arrival.

Rumi

This is the first line of one of my favorite poems these days, The Guest House. I first read and reflected on it with a group of friends, women who get together each week to practice centering prayer and share faith. It was part of the introduction to a book we were reading as a group, Welcoming Prayer, Consent on the Go. To me, Welcoming Prayer is more than a single prayer, its a way to live prayerfully. Written by Father Thomas Keating, a leader in the Centering Prayer movement, it essentially welcomes all thoughts, feelings, emotions, persons, situations and conditions as agents for healing and growth. We are to welcome these feelings and emotions without judgement nor attachment.

I lean into this on days like today, when I am feeling blah. Tired of staying home, though my first instinct is to chastise myself, how could I possibly complain about the beautiful, comfortable home I live in when so many are homeless. Tired of my same walk through my neighborhood, safe and lovely, beautiful homes meticulously maintained, bursting with Springtime. How can I complain, when I have car I can hop into and drive to any other beautiful park nearby? How can I feel blah when I am safe and healthy, and can say the same for my family and friends. This social isolation is nothing more than an inconvenience, as I still have access to everything I need, most everything I want.

But I don’t feel like staying home, I don’t feel like going anywhere, I don’t feel like calling a friend or a sister, who I know would lead to great conversation and laughter. I don’t feel like anything today. . . Today, I just feel blah. . . And for today, that will have to be okay.

God is in the good, God is in the difficult. Today God is in the boring. Like every visitor, every emotion, this will pass. I will not judge it harshly, I will not judge myself, either. It is what it is. Rumi completes this poem, “Be grateful for whoever comes, because each has been sent as a guide from beyond.” Who would ever think that boredom deserves gratitude. Boredom deserves scolding, shooing and every kind of what the heck is wrong with you. But out of boredom, I wrote this post, I assembled a collection of words that may have some meaning to someone other than me, and if not, that’s okay, too.

If necessity if the mother of invention, perhaps boredom is the sister of creativity. When we look back on this viral experience, with its spectrum of emotion from deep dark suffering to brilliantly bright lights of compassion and kindness, we’ll also see a colorful mix of creative expression, from silly videos to soulful poems. We will be thanking God for many things, maybe even the boredom, that prompted time to explore, play and create. Amen.

Many mornings when I wake up, I have this paraphrased line from Psalm 118, stuck in my head. . . This is the day the Lord has made, I rejoice, I am glad. . .it wasn’t until recently that I added the “I give thanks.” It seems the older I get, the more grateful I have become, and for that I am grateful! Putting a gratitude filter on life makes the tough times less painful and the good times more joyful. Starting the day by acknowledging that it belongs to God, given to me as a gift, anchors me in faith that everything will be ok, reminds me that each day is precious, holy, created by God. Sometimes, I don’t do much with the gift of the day, often wasting it in many different ways. . . angry at someone, or myself. . .worried or fearful about something or someone. But, even when I don’t do much with a day, I remind myself to always be grateful for it.

The dark thought, the shame, malice, meet them at the door laughing and invite them in. Be grateful for whoever comes, because each has been sent as a guide from beyond. Rumi

I am fearful. I am faithful. Two descriptions that seem to contradict one another. If I have faith in a God that I know ABSOLUTELY loves me, than why would I fear? Why would I worry about all the things I worry about, both big and small? Why do I experience anxiety, the physical and emotional stun gun, that stop me in my tracks, takes away my breath, my focus, my energy? Is it sinful, as I have heard others suggest, to worry, to have fear and anxiety? Is that not doubting God? Doubting God’s will for me, for others? When I fret, am I not saying, I don’t trust you, God, this time I might know better than you.

I believe God created all our human qualities and emotions. . . love, compassion, reason, and yes, fear. Fear can be healthy, it can keep us safe, cause us to pause and size up a situation before acting. But like every other human quality, fear can get distorted. Sometimes we “love” too much, to the detriment of ourselves or another. We can “care” too much or overthink things. So it’s in our nature to experience feelings and emotions in a spectrum of ways. That’s just how God made us, dynamic and complex.

Often, I try to run away from my fear and anxiety. I may drink too much wine or eat too much food. I might retreat socially, avoid people who care, who would listen or help. I imagine being chased by my fear and anxiety, a large, dark ghost like being trying to overtake me, consume me, as I try to escape. It is not until I stop, weary and spent, and slowly turn to face the fear, stare it down, name it, and yes, open my arms and allow it to enter, that I can begin to tame it, take away its strength and control. As I spend time with my fear, reflect on what it is really trying to tell me, it weakens even more. And, if I can muster the courage, to accept the fear and anxiety as a sage teacher, I will understand its lesson — stay safe, love wisely, forgive often, be kind, show compassion, don’t judge, others or yourself.

Fear informs my faith, guides my prayers. It tells me what I need from God, how God can help, will help me. Perhaps not in the way I imagine or desire, but in a way that is right for me. It will continue to visit, that I am sure, but I will strive to welcome with courage, grace and faith, knowing God will be with me when I answer its call. And in that, I fearlessly believe.

Breathe in the love of God, breathe out fear and anxiety. Breathe in trust, faith, peace, breathe out doubt, uncertainty, distraction. Focus, right now I am focusing on healthy habits, practices and activities that keep me well. . . journaling, meditation, walking, water. If I am healthy, by default, I create a healthier family, community, and even world. I am half my marriage, one-sixth my immediate family, some smaller percentage of my community, one-seven billionth of the human race. . . a spec, a cell, but still a living, breathing organism of this collective, intricate human body.

I am not worried or fearful about my personal health, though I am not without concerns for the wellbeing of others, both physically and emotionally. There is so much fear and anxiety. I get it, especially for younger adults who have not experienced anything like this, who are in a period of development which is already uncertain, establishing careers or families or a myriad of other rootings or goals. I think many are frightened by the global nature, fueled by the 24/7, minute to minute, in your face updates, thanks to every form of social media. I wonder does social media make it bigger than it is, or simply illustrate its bigness? As important and concerning as this global health issue is, I think it’s still ok to step back, take a break from the constant monitoring and give one’s nervous system a chance to reset from the onslaught of scary news.

This too shall pass, as my Irish grandmother used to say, someone who lived through famine, wars, and the loss of family members to diseases easily cured today. And perhaps, when it does, we will come through a little wiser for it. Perhaps, we learn something, something more than to wash hands more frequently or not to wait until you run out of toilet paper before buying more.

I’d hope the lessons go a little deeper. That the entire human race takes a collective deep breath and releases all our unnecessary habits and distractions. Too much this, too much that. Take a collective pause and reflect on how to take care of our one human body and our shared home, this planet. Examine our collective mind and how we think about our self, our entire human self. We all share a desire to love and be loved. Lastly, nurture our shared human spirit, the spirit that seeks union with a being greater than the whole of our one human race. Our creator, who loves us like a loving parent, who only wants the best for us. Who like a wise parent, will not take away all our flaws, problems and misgivings, but will walk with us as we work through them, seemingly invisible, silent, but when needed the most, powerfully felt.

Dear God, these are scary, uncertain times. Help us, your collective us, not your children, but your one child, who goes by the name Human.