A Fire By Night

Christmas in the Land of Broken

2011-12-23T17:48:00.000-08:00

I am living in the Land of Broken. Today, my office blind won’t release the catch, so it’s going to stay up all night. This morning my computer technician told me my audio port is broken. Yesterday, the vacuum gave off that distinct burnt rubber aroma. Last week our favorite lamp smashed to the floor.

Broken is disappointment. At the least, it’s an interruption in my plans. Plans to close the blinds, finish the audio CD I’m making for a Christmas gift, clean the house for company. At most, it’s the sense I’m not good enough, don’t have enough, and will go broke trying to fix the broken things.

The other day I was listening to that old Cat Stevens song, “Moon Shadow.”

If I ever lose my hands . . . I won’t have to work no more.
If I ever lose my eyes . . . I won’t have to cry no more.
And if I ever lose my legs . . . I won’t have to walk no more.
If I ever lose my mouth . . . I won’t have to talk no more.

There’s something beautiful in letting go of the fear of loss. In knowing, whatever breaks, you’ll have a new and lovely replacement – even if it’s just the freedom not to have to work, strive, walk, talk. There’s a similar letting go by Job, who suffered tremendous loss, in the Biblical account: “The Lord gave, the Lord has taken away, blessed be the name of the Lord.”

For many years, I didn’t accept loss. I denied it, fought it, strove against it. Now I’ve come to see that the only thing we can truly ever lose is our happiness. Meanwhile, all the trappings of our lives trick us into thinking they are what make us happy.

The greatest gift is acknowledging that my happiness comes from a deeper source. It isn’t dependent on circumstances. I know this sounds simple, but it really is something you can practice - it’s changing my outlook. It isn’t conditional upon “getting all my stuff done.” All I need is that Presence, that Moon Shadow, that reminder that Love is here to bring joy amidst all the broken things.

Unruly Faith

2011-10-28T10:57:00.000-07:00

I want to keep letting God out of the box. More and more, I see the need for people of faith to let go of moldy, outmoded ideas and develop a relationship with boundless love. Allowing creativity and the arts to lead the way, rather than being suspicious of our impulses. Trusting in a love that is BOUNDLESS and ENORMOUS, so much bigger than our petty human preferences and arguments.

I'm calling it Unruly Faith. (Follow me on Twitter: @UnrulyFaith). Moving beyond the fussy rules of people, and into the greatest thing: Divine Grace.

What an adventure!

The Why of Bowing

2011-10-24T16:33:00.001-07:00

Breaking the Bow
by Randy MacLean

I have nothing against humility
Accepting the wondrous enormity of God

But for years I had an odd yucky feeling
About bowing one's head in prayer

It was like saying:
I am a permanently horrible miserable being.
Oh Lord have mercy.

Mercy is endless, limitless
When we are open
We are eternally wonderful

Now when I bow my head
It brings me closer
So I can hear You beating in my Heart

Saving the World?

2011-06-22T22:01:00.000-07:00

"I wake up in the morning torn between the desire to save the world and to enjoy the world. This makes it hard to plan the day." --E.B. White

Playing God

2011-05-25T19:02:00.000-07:00

Sure, it's easy to say I know I'm not God - I mean it looks obvious and all, but what about all the times I play out a role of little pretend goddess?

All the Ways I Think I'm God

When I can't resist the urge to give advice, just sure it will change someone's life instantly.
When I think that my worrying and fretting (or pre-worrying, as my sister calls it), will change the outcome of tomorrow, the future, the distant future, and the destiny of everyone and everything.
When I can't accept not knowing.
When changing my mind is out of question.
When I insist on my plans and schemes - without possibility for interruptions and detours.
When I have to be important. When deep down I'm terrified that I'm insignificant, and I try to make up for it.
When I argue my right to be right, and think that rightness earns me bonus points.
When I act as if God can't run the world without me.

God: Next time I insist I'm God, let me remember that I'm probably not, especially at the moment. Let me shut up and let the real God be in charge. Amen.

Going Public: Being Online and Hating It

2011-05-12T11:06:00.000-07:00

I'm Nobody! Who are you?
Are you—Nobody—Too?
Then there's a pair of us!
Don't tell! They'd advertise—you know!

How dreary—to be—Somebody!
How public—like a Frog—
To tell one's name—the livelong June—
To an admiring Bog!
--Emily Dickinson

Sometimes, I hate being online. Trying to be "somebody" seems a poisoned pill, a "necessary evil". Marketers and publicists tell me how important it is for a business owner and writer to network socially, to be visible. But I'm a sensitive person, and this activity makes me feel stretched and thin as I wave tentacles, trying to connect with random invisible readers.

Then I realize, this whole online thing doesn't have to be a great fit for me.

I notice others - saints and poets, past and present - who have chosen to put their energy elsewhere; my true life isn't in what people are noticing or not noticing. My true life is in that secret chamber of the spirit, my connection to something far greater than "famousness."

The trick then, is participating, but not immersing myself in blogging, networking - not letting myself feel worthy or unworthy according to the outcome or readership. Understanding the value is but a temporary thing, a fleeting but usuable tool for my work. It's living in a paradox. Really, I could desert the whole outfit, become a recluse like Emily Dickinson, and be perfectly happy, but what good would that do the universe? Fleeing the other frogs is just as self-centered as getting into croaking competitions with them.

So then. I may be in this bog, but I'm not of it.(Grin.)

Croak on, frogs. I know who I really am.

Thanks for Saying That

2011-03-04T19:50:00.000-08:00

I love it when other people say things so I don't have to. I love it when Christians themselves point out the foibles of the faith, calling us on being judgmental and labeling. I love it when someone else's soapbox is much taller than mine, and they have a good chance of being heard - but they're not shouting, they're beseeching. ("He who has ears to hear, let him hear . . . ")

Let's hear this message of wisdom: that we need to listen to each other, not make snap judgments. Jason Boyett makes the case for it, as follows. Thanks, Jason.Thoughts About Rob Bell, John Piper, and Justin Taylor

Labels and Faith

2011-02-15T11:43:00.001-08:00

A teacher friend of mine wanted to share a spiritual concept with his nonreligious class - but in the middle of speaking, he stopped himself. "I'd better not say it," he said. Lucky (or unlucky) for him, I happened to be in his class, and knowing he was on the brink of opening his heart to everyone, I piped up, "Oh, go ahead!"

So he went ahead and briefly mentioned the belief he identifies with. His spiritual connection. His faith. His religious affiliation. His born again experience. See how each of these phrases carries its own connotation? Every label has its judgment. Which is the right label to use? How ever can we talk about God when we all cringe at various words and warm to others?

And yet people practically drag that info out of you, because they want to know "where you stand." Someone said that to me once, and I almost gagged. Sorry, but you won't know where I stand by the label I use, but by getting to know me and watching my life.

The fact remains: identifiers are easy. Labels are quick.
My teacher friend was correct in knowing that the wrong phrase would make some people prickle. And yet being the wrong color can also make people uncomfortable. Hailing from the wrong country. Wearing the wrong thing on one's head.

And all these differences are seen, noticed, identified in the blink of an eye, the turn of a phrase. ("Oh, she said that. She must be one of those.")

When are we going to learn to simply let the other person be different? Fact is, most of our differences circle around language. When it comes to true experience of our Creator, of Jesus, of the Divine, of love, of transformation, we have so very much in common. But how you reacted to some of the above words shows the orientation you have. "Jesus" may have sounded wrong. Or "transformation" seemed new agey.

The first step to breaking down barriers is to recognize them in your own life! Notice what makes you balk, what ruffles your feathers and gets you all opinionated. There are whole cultures nextdoor to you - different communities, neighborhoods, churches - whose main difference is the words they use, the books they read, the radio and TV they watch.

These divisions don't further the kingdom of God. Only love furthers the kingdom of God. (Again, this phrase may or may not be in your personal faith lexicon. Just go with it for now. Thanks.)

When you see the other as brother, sister, whom you can love and reach out to, learn from, learn with - you are living like a little Christ. Yes, even if you call it something else.

Martin Luther King Day

2011-01-17T12:22:00.000-08:00

Voices much more eloquent than mine speak of truth and justice. All I know is that when I was a little girl, I lived in a multiracial neighborhood, and my first crush was my five-year-old neighbor. It never occurred to me that being different colors meant anything.

Alan lived next door at Lakeside Apartments. His skin was shiny and smooth and beautiful. He had a round smiley head topped with short, black fuzz and when he talked, his head moved in a peaceful way. We were racing matchbox cars in the dirt between the sidewalk and the green wet grass. I wanted to see what his dark, smiley face would kiss like. His cheek was soft and smelled like toothpaste.

You who claim to love your fellow human, understand that if it isn't color blind, it isn't the love of God. Children are lovers. (Be like little children, said Jesus.) They know the truth of this.

Cerebrating or Celebrating?

2011-01-05T15:41:00.001-08:00

I was bewailing a writing contest that I didn't place in. And then I began scrutinizing, overscrutinizing, and judging my writing. Then it came to me: I was cerebrating versus celebrating.

Cerebrating is a symptom of overdoing. I am struggling for power, giving too much credence to the thoughts of my own little brain. But when I replace the growly "r" in cerebrate with the very gentle "l" (even the sound of the letter - "elle" is feminine and yielding), then I am able to celebrate. Letting go of results, and enjoying the moment.

I have so much to celebrate, but I lose sight of this when trying to achieve a certain outcome. Once I stop having to be control, and start celebrating, it's a wonderful thing.

Ordinary People Who Know Things

2011-01-05T15:23:00.001-08:00

"The moments you are fully present are the ones you remember." --Jean, in my centering prayer group

How to Care

2010-11-11T14:08:00.001-08:00

The thought seemed sparkly new, and I scribbled it down. Then I remembered an article I'd published twenty years ago in Moody Magazine, entitled "Back in Action." I'd written about being b-o-o-o-red with church - yawn - and deciding to get more (rather than less) involved. Soon I was caught up in serving and enjoying the people. It was the first time I learned this lesson: when you take care of something, you end up caring more about it.

It happened with the Cat from Hell.

As the last year of her life played out, she lost precious pounds, and also her hearing. I'd grown up in a minimal pet-care home where we rarely took a pet to the vet. Now I knew I had to, and did. And then she lost her vision. She became our Helen Keller cat, who still loved to go outdoors on a sunny day, sitting in her favorite grassy spots. Yet her body couldn't take much anymore. I was offering blankets, opening doors, turning on heaters. When her appetite waned, I began microwaving her food. I fed her minced prime rib. This was me doing this. Not a pet fanatic. With each action, I cared even more. In her last weeks I was bringing the water bowl to her nose. I had smothered the floor with puppy pads. I had taken to speaking comforting words into the fur along her frail spine, believing she could feel the vibrations. Two weeks ago, when she died, I cried for losing a brave, dear friend.

And so I've learned it again: anything you take care of, you love. If you are losing interest in a person, activity, job, relationship, God, a pair of shoes - begin to take care of it. Act as if it means the world to you. Soon it will, soon it will.

Good bye, Molly Cat, Molly Moe, Hellen Keller Cat, Creature, Molly Moses. Ear scratches and hugs...

Take a moment to reflect on someone or something you have learned to care about.

At Checkstand Number One

2010-10-21T14:07:00.000-07:00

So you're minding your own business, trying to ignore the bleak environment of discount shopping, expecting the usual jostling of grocery carts for the shortest line. You dutifully unload your cluster of tomatoes (on the vine, with little green crowns), bulk almonds (raw, unsalted), and Honey Bunches of Oats (for the husband), when you look up into the smiling face of a clerk who greets you warmly, cracks a joke, and engages you in friendly conversation. You relax. You're smiling now. You notice others behind you in line, also smiling. Patient, happy. There's something remarkable about this.

That something remarkable is Chris Pikey, employee of the local WinCo Foods. People have been known to wait half an hour to gain the privilege of being in his line. Chris knows that attitude is more important than prestige, and doing ordinary things with kindness and a sense of humor make a person extraordinary.

(Actually, a sense of humor was on my shopping list.)

I was so impressed with the way Chris changed my day, that first time he checked my groceries. I couldn't wait to drive across town for another trip through his line.

The steady chirp of the scanner pierced the air as Chris bantered. “Looks like you did great,” he told one customer with a burgeoning shopping cart. “Hey, stranger, what’s up?” he teased another joining the line. “Only one cart today?" he asked. "Where’s the rest of it?” And a little later: “So how’s your kid? I haven’t seen him since the birthday.”

I asked him how he stays so friendly and positive with everyone.

“You’ve got to live each day like it’s your last day," he said. "You’ll have no regrets. When I go up and see God, I’m sure he’s not going to tell me, 'You lived in a big house.' He’s going to say, 'I gave you this much time and what did you do with it?' Hopefully, the escalator up will not be broken."

I asked him how he keeps his sense of humor. “It’s the only thing you have," he said.

“How do you handle customers who try your patience?” I went on.

“I’ve been here fifteen years, so I’ve seen it all. People know if you come to this line, I don’t handle grumps. I handle cool people.” He smiled at a mom with toddler in tow. “Except for this one, she’s kind of a troublemaker.” The mom beamed back at him. “If I’m going to be here for 8 hours," says Chris, "I might as well have fun.”

“That’ll be $102.74. Have a good day!" he said, handing a receipt to a finished shopper.

“You too,” came the response.

“Oh, always,” he said.

The Glory of Chores

2010-10-07T13:08:00.001-07:00

Sigh. My life would be so much better without housework or yard maintenance or errands. Yes? No. Washing, straightening, or grocery shopping keeps the rest of life in balance and enables me to live in clean spaces, wear laundered clothes, open the refrigerator and find food. Such work is a fact of life.

I find myself rushing through it, though. There's a sense that I'm wasting my time and should get on to the next thing, or perhaps hire a housecleaner, yard person, someone else to do these tasks because they're unimportant. Which leads me to ask: what is important?

My life is not about accomplishing what I think I need to accomplish. That is merely a path to constant frustration and interruption. True, I have goals and dreams and projects and intentions. But in the big picture, I must remember, my true life is "hidden with God," and it's not about doing. That includes big doings, like working on my book or teaching a class, and small doings, like making my bed. When I look at it this way, I see the importance of a task isn't all that important!

In other words, inhabiting each moment wherever I am, is my true purpose. Whether I'm mowing the lawn* or peeling carrots or giving a poetry reading. Am I walking in love and grace? Now that's important. My life is a being, and I'm trying to remember that while doing chores. Breathing. Thinking good thoughts. Being fully present instead of rushing to get to the "real" purpose of my life.

When I remember to inhabit the moments of trivial tasks, they become wonderful. Magical even. Ordinary things are seeds of blessing.

A couple of writers from Wildfire Writing's Uptown class have created some poems about doing chores. So...

Is there a menial task you can infuse with a sense of purpose, rather than rushing through?

*Last month I mowed the lawn for the first time in my entire life. Golly. I don't know whether to be proud or embarrassed. I was ready to jump in again and do it the next week, but my husband insisted on taking over. When I did get a chance to mow again, I found out the secret reason why he's always done it: it's a pleasure. Scent of green grass. Rumble of motor. The sharp stripe of short grass unrolling at your feet . . .

Sacred Moments

2010-09-05T15:15:00.001-07:00

"The sacred moments, the moments of miracle, are often the everyday moments, the moments which, if we don't look with more than our eyes or listen with more than our ears, reveal only . . . the gardener, the stranger coming down the road behind us, a meal like any other meal. But if we look with our hearts, if we listen with all of our being and our imagination - if we live our lives not from vacation to vacation, from escape to escape, but from the miracle of one instant of our precious lives to the miracle of the next - what we may see is Jesus himself, what we may hear is the first faint sound of a voice somewhere deep within us . . . " --Frederick Buechner, The Magnificent Defeat

Favorite Lines from The Brothers K

2010-08-30T12:43:00.000-07:00

I've sat through many a sermon in my life, but my favorite sermons have always come in the shape of novels. Here are some of the delightfully wise passages in The Brothers K which have made an impact on me.

"Like many a Christian before them, Mama and the Elder justified their machinations with Christ's famous sentence: "I came not to send peace, but a sword." And like many a Christian before them, they completely forgot that the only sword-shaped weapon Jesus actually used was the one He died on."

Simple, perennial, and profound.

"Only the written can truly live a life.
So who I was, what I was, had to be unwritten."

And so many times in my life I've gotten myself all "written" up, scribbled here and there, when I needed to be a blank page, waiting and ready and open.

"She tried the easy route first: scrunching up into an even tighter ball, she whimpered, 'Dear Jesus. Help!" The result was instantaneous.../'Phooey!' Bet said with a sudden strength born, I guess, of exasperation with her fear and helplessness. But...who's to say her prayer hadn't invoked Him so fast that both the exasperation and the phooey came from the Christ in Bet as He moved the frightened child gently aside, in order to help?"

Phooey prayers are just as valid - maybe more so.

More thoughts about the Christ in us, as seen through the eyes of a child.

Stories have always been the best way to learn things. I seem to recall a certain parable-teller who knew this...

Grace

2010-07-01T09:19:00.001-07:00

Streams don't struggle to flow
Fire does not try to be hot
Sometimes we just give

--Larry Logan

Awaken

2010-05-12T13:57:00.001-07:00

We awaken in Christ's body
as Christ awakens our bodies,
and my poor hand is Christ, He enters
my foot, and is infinitely me.

I move my hand, and wonderfully
my hand becomes Christ, becomes all of Him
(for God is indivisibly
whole, seamless in His Godhood).

I move my foot, and at once
He appears like a flash of lightning.
Do my words seem blasphemous?--Then
open your heart to Him

and let yourself receive the one
who is opening to you so deeply.
For if we genuinely love Him,
we wake up inside Christ's body

where all our body, all over,
every most hidden part of it,
is realized in joy as Him,
and He makes us, utterly, real,

and everything that is hurt,
that seemed to us dark, harsh, shameful,
maimed, ugly, irreparably
damaged, is in Him transformed

and recognized as whole, as lovely,
and radiant in His light
we awaken as the Beloved
in every last part of our body.

--Symeon the New Theologian (949-1022)

Quietude, Part 2

2010-04-13T20:33:00.000-07:00

...continued from "Invitation to Enter into Quietude," by Brother Gerald Mathison.

...Although you could no doubt take advantage of this life*time to think out and resolve many matters for yourself, you stand a much better chance of having them resolved in much more meaningful ways, as well as countless other benefits for yourself, if you leave all this work up to God. He won't let you down. He asks that you be quiet and receptive so He might have the opportunity to "get a word in edgewise."

As the days of your life* go by, you may at times feel guilty for your inactivity. This is to be expected. However, please do not let such feelings deter you from relaxing and cooperating with God by trying to remain receptively open to Him. We are not encouraging you to do absolutely nothing during your life, but we are suggesting that it is very important that you greatly reduce your activity so you may enter more fully into the relaxed receptivity and peace that a life of faith offers. Perhaps you will find it helpful now and then to refer to one of the gospels (the New Testament books of Matthew, Mark Luke and John) as a means of support in your availability to God. . . . to assist you in your primary objective of receptive quietude, the passive form, the contemplative form, that will allow God to work in you. Rather than you "plugging in" to God, it is God who will be "plugging in" to you. Your ongoing desire to allow Him to come to you and be operative within you is the basic thrust of a successful life.

In what ways can you reduce your activity, letting God "plug into" you?

*I've substituted "your life", "life of faith" or "life" for the word "retreat."

Quietude

2010-04-12T20:15:00.000-07:00

I am basking in some simple truths about quiet and receptivity, found on a leaflet, received by my friend Clemie and forwarded to me. It is a personal reflection of Brother Gerald Mathison of Trappist Abbey of Our Lady of Guadalupe. As guestmaster, Brother Gerald shares this wisdom with all retreat guests. I am using portions of it, and do so with permission.

Invitation to Enter into Quietude

Living in our modern day society demands a great deal from each of us. The mounting anxiety from these demands seldom permits time for us to "go apart" and be separated in order that we might take stock of our lives. A spiritual life*, however, does allow us the opportunity to "go apart."

...Our society has ingrained in us that we find success only when we put forth effort. A life of faith*, however, is a little different from that. When we "go apart" for a spiritual life, we are seeking to make ourselves available so God can work in us and speak to us. He is not able to do so if we keep ourselves continually occupied and busy with doing things that WE think will make for a successful life. We need to be quiet. We need to convince ourselves that it is perfectly all right to be quiet during our life, that quietude is not a copout but a state of receptivity. If we allow our mind and body to be quiet, they are free to be open to God. If we, however, keep our mind and body occupied with over-activity, they are not nearly as able to quietly open to God who is the actual director of our life.

Through quietude, are you making yourself available to God?

*I have substituted the word "life of faith" or "life" for the word "retreat" all throughout.

A Little Way

2010-03-17T13:51:00.000-07:00

My poet friend David has made it a habit to share poems of truth and healing with co-workers and family members even when they "don't get it." I can't think of any better way of being a good-news-a-gist.*

David says, "I kept sending them poetry because I knew it went in . . . a little way."

*Literal meaning of "evangelist."

All-but-forgotten Hope

2010-03-01T13:23:00.001-08:00

Today's post is from my other blog, but (shhhhh!) really belongs here!

Seems we never hear about hope anymore. What about it? Hope gets short shrift because it doesn't have the flashiness of faith or the fire of passion. It looks rather ordinary, pale and old-fashioned, and is confined to church pews and grandmothers' attics, gathering dust along with other once-admired jewels.

Hope has been shamed for its soft ways and quiet words. It says, "Some day," and "maybe," and "could."

But hope is what keeps people from dying inside. Hope sustains life. Hope endures change. Hope waits, when impatience and selfishness fight for first place in line.
Where faith is too loud or too bright, there is hope. Where faith cannot take root for shallow soil, there is hope.

Even in the rain, hope looks out the window. It hums a tune, counts falling stars. Without hope we would have apathy and despair. We would never try. We would never begin a thing. We would never consider what life could be.

We would leave miracles to giants of faith. We would never think to dream.

There is no such thing as false hope. Indeed, hope gentles the soul through endings just as much as beginnings. Without hope we could not turn off a light, close a door, or bury someone we love.

Hope lies low, stays out of trouble. You have to coax it out of hiding. But once you see it there standing by your side, you realize it has never left you, and never will.

What role has hope played in your life?

Clunk

2010-02-22T21:17:00.000-08:00

Hear that? It's the sound of living. Life is clunky.

And it is all right.

It is a relief to assent to the clunkiness of life on Earth, where even a great and blessed thing isn't always great and blessed, whether it be a spouse, a child, a job, a friend, a house, a stomach to feed. This is an odd kingdom where a lover isn't always loverly, where a happy ending often circles back to a meagre beginning, and where even a dearest companion may let you down.

It rattles and clangs and clunks, this life. But it moves along. Breathe and go with it.

Stress Myth

2010-02-22T20:59:00.000-08:00

Somehow I've gotten it into my head that I'm not being obedient or diligent if I'm not a little stressed out. The American way.

Well, that's just gotta go. When the whole world is in a panic, when society seems to require doing, overdoing, striving, and overstriving, God wants me in a place of peace. Whatever happens: unhurried, unpanicked. Care free.

What's your attitude toward that visitor, Stress? Like me, do you sometimes encourage it just a bit too much?

Broken Things, Part 2

2009-12-05T15:59:00.000-08:00

I held the broken vase in my hands and searched for the seams. Surprisingly, the wings had broken off in pretty whole chunks. The first wing had lost one piece; the second wing had lost two. I started with the first wing, grasped broken wing-tip and reached for the Elmer's.

The directions said, Spread heavily - weight or clamp, wait 35 minutes. I squeezed on the glue, then wedged that piece into its original place.

And then I held it.

And held it.

I felt like Horton the Elephant sitting on his nest, patiently, obediently. There was nothing else remaining. The house was quiet and I was alone with my forlorn, once-beautiful work of art. I sat holding the piece in place, both my hands needed. I sat breathing, humming a little. I held the vase together - for 35 minutes.

I realized it's not the fixing that's difficult. It's the holding. None of us wants to have our hands tied up that long. It feels a bit wasteful and foolish when there are so many other things to be done.

But the piece held. And I went on with the next wing. Twice more I sat for half an hour, breathing, holding, waiting. At some point I realized what I was doing was a kind of prayer.

And that's all I need to do when a thing is broken. Sit. Wait. Hold. Breathe. Believe, if at all possible. Believe.

When a thing is broken, the question to ask is not: "Can it be fixed?" but:

"Who will hold the broken piece?"

Who will realize the value of what was once beautiful? Who will hold this thing lovingly, gently? Who will wait for it?

Who will hold the broken piece?

I found out my hands could do this thing, and I was as delighted with the repair as if I'd been the original artist. For there is a gift in this. A wholeness. A bird waiting to take wing.

Broken Things, Part 1

2009-12-04T16:35:00.000-08:00

My daughter sculpted a tall, ceramic sea-green vase with a hummingbird perched on top. It sat on the kitchen table holding a spray of lilies, and we all admired it. Then one day in the bustle of living it was knocked over, and the hummingbird's graceful, rosy wings were broken.

We kept the vase and broken wings on a shelf. Every time I walked by, I felt a sense of loss. Could it be fixed? Probably not. If the wings were glued back on the bird, the vase would be too heavy and awkward to allow the broken pieces any support while drying.

Then one evening, home alone, I passed by the vase again and just knew I couldn't let it sit broken. I remembered how adults in my family long ago would fix the odd tea saucer or knick knack. They didn't use Superglue, or School Glue, or Glue with Glitter. No Blue Gel or fancy scented goo. What we had was "Elmer's Glue All." I hunted some up.

First Rule of Fixing Broken Things: You don't need a high-falutin' adhesive. You probably already have what it takes. And help is closer than you think.

Stress and Convenience

2009-11-19T17:16:00.001-08:00

In life there are a lot of things we can't control - and so we worry. But what about the things we can control? What about the clutter that is entirely unnecessary? When our minds our full of trivia, doesn't that promote a sense of overwhelmedness?

Three weeks ago, my cell phone contract expired, and I decided to try living without it. What I felt, almost immediately: less stress. No worrying what that missed call was. No groping for the phone while in the check-out line. No wondering whether I'd left my phone on in a class or a meeting. Shopping, errands, car drives, began to feel more calm, focused. There was a new quality wherever I went: the quality of silence.

Many of our conveniences ultimately add to stress rather than take it away. The technology that enables me to always be reached, always be available, can also make me feel vulnerable and prone to interruptions.

The idea of always being available is an illusion anyway. We all have moments when we can't answer the phone, or hold one more thing in our hands, or stop a conversation, or ignore the highway on which we're driving.

And being more "available" can also mean being more exposed. I see this with my Internet connection. I can always be reached by email, but I can't always respond, and checking my mail when I don't have time to reply simply makes me feel bogged down. Through Facebook and my blog - my thoughts are out there, available to everyone. But are my thoughts available to me?

As a sensitive, creative individual (and I do think creatives tend to be more sensitive), I need time outs from such exposure. Confirming this, I've noticed that weekends at our new cabin - without Internet - give me a sense of protection, of breathing room. I don't have to talk to the whole world, and it doesn't have to talk to me.

To be honest, it's hard for me to kick these fun little buzzy little habits of connectivity. I could use the alibi that I need these things. That I or my kids might have emergencies, for one thing. But what I realize is: the most urgent thing is to be calm and present. That is the greatest protection against emergencies. (And I do check phone messages when I'm away from the phone during a school day.)

So now I'm wondering, what are the other stresses in my life disguised as conveniences? What else can I train myself to cut down on?

I'll keep you posted. (Unless I'm offline, that is.)

Follow Me, Me

2009-10-13T13:07:00.001-07:00

For fun, I decided to be my own follower of this blog. (Yep, see, my own little face there under "followers.") When I thought about it, I realized there might be something to that. Do we ever think to follow ourselves? I don't mean, to follow the meagre, selfish ego-selves, the "old selves" we too often present. I'm talking about following the new and true self - that part of us which is "hidden with Christ in God."

It's so hidden, in fact, it's hidden from ourselves. It is hard to believe how beautiful and light-filled we really are, deep within. And the more we struggle and fight and let the selfish, outer self take over, the more that spirit gets denied and ignored.

Those deep stirrings of truth, love, wonder. That's the real you. So hey. Go on and follow you, you.

Do-Be Do

2009-10-12T15:28:00.001-07:00

The other day I reached the end of my doing. I was trying to do many things, and not happy with the results. I was falling behind on work tasks, phone calls, house chores. Library books were overdue; emails were unwritten. I wasn't getting to my writing projects. Then I remembered something ve-ry, ve-ry clear and sweet and simple: my life is for being, not doing.

It is not a profound truth, but one that few of us continually grasp. I have to learn and relearn it over and over. I measure my day and life by how much I accomplish, and when the gears are sticking or stopping I think I've missed my purpose, let God down somehow. This is not my life, nor anything close to it.

My life is for living. Breathing, experiencing. Communing with the Divine and all the underlings of the Divine. (Divinderlings, if you will.) Some days, weeks, months, just don't turn out to be very productive - the way I think they should. But when I relax into being and let my true purpose radiate, something wonderful always shows up. I begin again, getting to be.

Weak + Foolish = Amazing

2009-08-25T09:22:00.001-07:00

I was thinking today about the miracle that is my life.

"But God has chosen the foolish things of the world to shame the wise, and God has chosen the weak things of the world to shame the things which are strong" --that's 1 Corinthians 1:27, NASB.

When I look at where I've come from, and all my flaws, I just know the angels must be watching and shaking their heads. "How did such a weak and foolish one ever find such joy and peace?" It's not my background, credentials or achievements that fill me with this deep sense of rightness and acceptance for my life. It is the unconditional love of the Eternal One. I accept that love and let it move beyond me, to all my fellow weak and foolish ones.

Daily Bread

2009-08-22T08:19:00.001-07:00

...is so much more wonderful when we accept that yesterday's bread is gone, tomorrow's will never get here, and this rich, dense, crackly loaf set before us is all that we need.

Ordinary People Who Know Things

2009-08-11T21:10:00.000-07:00

Clemie and I were sitting together in our prayer group, and I was complaining that I didn't understand why more people don't pray. I guess I was a bit frustrated. Clemie paused, looked off in that casual blue-eyed way she has, and said in a soft voice, "You know, God's had some experience with this..."

Which reminded me that if I'm going to take on all the failings of humankind, I should at least consider God's approach. Infinite patience, everlasting love, and certainty that ultimately, regarding the pray-ers and the doubters and everyone in between, all will be well.

God In The Box

2009-07-24T14:08:00.001-07:00

It's safe for ages 3 and up. Oh, very, very safe! You'll know you have a genuine God-in-the-Box by this: the only time God pops up is when you turn the handle. A jaunty tune plays, always the same, one you have memorized. The face has only one expression: a benign smile.

You're a little possessive of your God-in-the-Box and don't like it when someone suggests another way to play. It makes you nervous when someone suggests that possibly, the One in the box might be other than you've always thought. Maybe that One would prefer being elsewhere.

Your life is as tidy and bright and square as the box you keep God in - and about as useful. Yet you understand that some places are not appropriate for your God-in-the-box, and you oblige by leaving it at home, say, when going out to dinner, or grocery shopping, perhaps, out among needy people.

As soon as the time as right, though, you can always crank the handle of that God-in-the-Box. And--thank God-in-the-box! You can easily press God back down when you're done with him.

Do you have one of these? How's it working for you?

Seek First the Kingdom

2009-07-20T22:23:00.001-07:00

The Echo Within reminded me how God works through our own personalities and gifts, and I thought with a chuckle of a little question/answer game I've been playing for a few years.

I love to ask, "What does the kingdom of God look like - in me?" For when I recognize it, then I know what direction to take. I know what to seek. It's not always first impulse; no, not at all. Sometimes I want to religious-cize things and create some grand scheme that has nothing to do with who I really am, how I'm made.

I might assume:
I should be taking mission trips. That's what committed folks do.
- or -
I should be on a church committee for ________ (fill in the blank).
- or -
I should be attending functions, like all these other nice people.

By contrast, I'm learning to ask:
Where is the place - in me - that God reigns?
What sort of place is it?
What does it:
look like
smell like
sound like
taste like
feel like - ?

For me, that kingdom has to do with teaching others - specifically, teaching creativity, which leads people to a greater trust in the Creator. That kingdom has to do with caring for my family - cooking, listening, taking out garbage, cutting flowers, walking with my husband. And that kingdom has to do with writing stories both real and imagined, creating art with words and other tools.

Making assumptions about what some other God-place looks like, or should look like only gets a person off track.

You're the you God wants to work with, just the way you are. That kingdom of God? It's in you, remember. You won't know what to look for, if you don't make some inquiries and check out the space.

Where Glory Starts

2009-07-04T08:42:00.000-07:00

Sign seen on a Pentecostal church along the highway, somewhere in Washington: "Revival Glory begins in you."

Finding Your True Calling: The Echo Within

2009-06-08T10:25:00.001-07:00

The first thing is to take a look at the beginning of things. The Genesis story of creation, according to Robert Mulholland, according to Robert Benson, presents a picture of God bringing the world into being. But the Hebrew word rendered in English as "creating" is a word that means "speaking." In contrast to the idea of God shaping, sculpting, or manufacturing the world, as we tend to imagine, God spoke it. And not only did God speak the universe alive, but you and me as well.

Benson affirms that each of us has been spoken into being. There was a particular speaking, a particular word that meant Lisa, or Jeff, or Andria. If you want to know who you really are, what you should do in this world: listen for that word. It is still echoing within you.

What I love about Benson's insight is how it runs opposite of popular thought. How, we tend to look for answers about ourselves, outside ourselves. (The line that flashed through my head just now was Supertramp's, "Please tell me who I am.") We want someone to affirm us - a parent, a lover, a therapist even. Failing that, we may seek God, but do so scrunching our eyes at the clouds, looking up, way up, trying to scrutinize the inscrutable. Somewhere out there is some key to my life and everything I'm supposed to do. But really, how can I possibly decipher this distant and untouchable message?

We have removed God so far from our own daily existence, we have no idea how close that echo really is. Within. Benson writes, "It is the voice I depend on to warn me and rebuke me, to cheer me on and to wake me up, to settle me down and to lift me up. I know and trust and count on that voice for many things. I also know that voice sounds a lot like me."

We've become much too afraid to connect to any voice within us. We count any such voice evil, or at least dubious. Learning to listen is our main job, then. But keep in mind: God is mixed up within us.

Yep. I heard a minister say long ago, "God is so involved in our lives, there comes a point we don't know which is God and which is us - and that's a good thing." Intertwined with us. Radiating love and hope and good things. Peaceful, too, is that voice.

Don't worry so much about getting you and God mixed up: just practice listening. Robert Benson says,

"We must learn to listen deeper and deeper, seeking out the true voice within us that echoes the Voice of the One Who made us."

And he presents this gem from Thomas Merton:

"For if I find Him, I will find myself, and if I find myself, I will find Him."

That voice is an echo that never ends, a beginning you'll never get over.

Approaching The Echo Within

2009-06-07T20:29:00.001-07:00

When I was twelve I joined the Missionettes - a girls' club in our church. Encouraged by leaders, I read the Bible from cover to cover, memorized verses, memorized specific sequences of verses (such as "The Romans Road"), and garnered badges and praise for being a fast reader. Through the years, growing up a preacher's kid and performing ministry in a non-denominational church, I continued to read the Bible fast and often.

I've stopped doing that.

These days, when I come upon words I love, poetry that nourishes me, or transformational wisdom - such as the Bible - I read as if to savor. I don't want to get through it quickly. I want to take in every crumb, and let it become a part of me. I read painstakingly, absurdly slow.

In such a way, I'm currently reading The Echo Within, by Robert Benson. It's a book that is beautiful-true. I approach the understandings like new fallen snow - one doesn't want to trample. I survey the scene, and take in the moment. I postpone the time when I'll have to make footprints from front door to driveway.

Ah, but that time has come. Presently (don't you love the word presently?) I'll be sharing the book, and letting others in on the conversation.

Dark Veil

2009-05-23T21:11:00.000-07:00

From a journal entry a couple years back....

Praying just now, I didn't know there was a thin, dark veil shading my mind. Then I saw all my sadness and darkness, and it was nothing but cloth, and behind the cloth shapes were moving, shapes bright and true. What the mind-veil was hiding were the truths of my soul.

Sometimes the truth gets covered. I don't realize it's there. I think the flimsy muslin is deepest darkness and reality. My moods, mistakes, momentary doubts and disappointments are not reality; there is something on the other side.

Look to all things light and bright beyond the veil.

Look for the Hook

2009-05-22T21:04:00.000-07:00

How can I discover God's plan for me?

All I have to do is find the fishhook, those places where I am happily caught. I can ask: Where has God's love hooked me? For it is upon this glorious sharpness that I am suspended, surrendered, lifted by peace. --CJ Krug

Hooked

2009-05-21T20:56:00.001-07:00

"Love is like a fishhook. A fisher cannot catch a fish unless the fish first picks up the hook. If the fish swallows the hook, no matter how it may squirm and turn the fisher is certain of the fish. Love is the same way. Whoever is captured by love takes up this hook in such a fashion that foot and hand, mouth and eyes, heart and all that is in a person must always belong to God. Therefore look only for this fishhook, and you will be happily caught."

--Meister Eckhart, from Meditations from Meister Eckhart

Harmony

2009-05-11T20:35:00.001-07:00

I have a lot to say to God, or to myself about God, in my journal. But when it comes to sharing these insights, understandings and whimsies with others, I clam up. I can't talk about that. I can't blog this. Folks might disagree. Besides, I'll sound dumb.

Too embarrassed to sing along with the music I hear.

I start to wonder, if we are created to work together, to sing together, to create harmony - and I believe we are - then, what happens if some of us refuse to sing, out of shyness, awkwardness and doubt?

It makes for a pretty unbalanced choir when various singers, perhaps the whole alto section, refuse to open their mouths. Meanwhile, those tenors are belting it out, and everyone watching thinks that if you're in this particular choir, you must be a tenor. Yep. They're sure you sing those same exact notes as the other guys. And how will they know different, if you don't add a squeak of your own music?

Harmony isn't about singing the same notes, but striking a chord that blends and beautifies. If I'm silent, or pretending to be a tenor when I'm not, or standing in a corner complaining and critizing, I am not doing my part to contribute to faith on the planet.

In all the ways we can, we need to be singing.

Loving the Cat From Hell

2009-04-23T15:22:00.000-07:00

There's a quirky story entitled "Bananacake" in February's The Sun magazine. The author, Sparrow, recounts the tales of his family pet, a white rabbit named Bananacake. He speaks of a spiritual guru who advised him to provide "service to animals."

The story reminded me how we are interconnected with animals. Our pets impact us - even those which seem to have little value, for we have taken them into our care.

This morning I was petting the cat I hate. See, we all kind of hate Molly. My husband, Paul, calls her the Cat from Hell. She's sixteen, and cranky as the dickens, mewing constantly unless she's held. Sometimes she'll even cry loudly at our bedroom door at 4 in the morning. Half of our family is allergic, and at times our eyes tear and noses run. Her long, luxuriant fur, which we once admired, sticks in the fibers of our clothes, gummies up the washing machine - even clings to the window panes and the microwave door. We didn't always hate Molly, and I started wondering what to do about it.

I thought about finding her a new home. Then I remembered the skinny old cats staring from their cages the last time I visited the animal shelter. What I came to see - and it sounds kind of corny - is that I have a commitment to this kitty for when she's enjoyable and when she's not, when she's young and adaptable, as she once was, or old and demanding. Molly is my tiny object lesson for loving - even if that means ignoring cranky sounds or using the lint brush for the third time in a day. So, this morning, when I took her in my arms, I loved her much more than I hated her. I stroked the sparse white hairs of her chin and spoke kindly. When we love the unloveable - even a cat - we become love in a small way. We are being the love-bringers God created us to be . . and it's so right and happy a feeling. It becomes easier to do, for the joy.

There will be many chances in my life to love the unloveable - and indeed there have been these chances already. I see much room for improvement. I'm reluctant to settle down to loving, knowing I'll get nothing out of the bargain except a linty sweater and a continued earful of meowy complaints. But the love - the love! In whatever direction it runs, to me or through me, it is just as wonderful. For the sake of simply loving, it is worthwhile.

Beyond Belief: David Wilcox

2009-04-17T07:00:00.000-07:00

David Wilcox reminds us there is more to the spiritual life than living in our own "theological gated community." He points out, Jesus would be anywhere but inside those tidy gates.

It bears repeating: "Faith can't be a fortress arrogant with pride/come walk here beside me with the humble ones outside."

David Wilcox is one of wisest songwriters I know, who understands what it means to live a creative spiritual journey.

Are you living inside or outside those gates?

Face Talk

2009-04-16T16:21:00.001-07:00

"Bless, O Christ, my face,
Let my face bless every thing."

An ancient prayer from the Celts, collected by Alexander Carmichael (1832-1912).

Where Have You Seen God?

2009-04-09T21:01:00.001-07:00

Eight or nine years ago, when I worked for First United Methodist Church, Pastor Edsel used to gather the staff round the Conrad Room table every Wednesday noon. He'd start our meeting by asking, "Where have you seen God this week?" One by one, we'd share a conversation, a movie, an event, a story, a joke, a surprise - anything we felt or noticed that reminded us of God's presence. The funny thing was, I began to think about the question earlier and earlier every week. I'd review the days, realizing that so many ho-hum, ordinary things were really those moments of seeing the Creator. If I hadn't been asked the question, I wouldn't have captured, noticed, or shared those encounters.

So I ask you. Where have you seen God this week?

Pain Can Serve

2009-03-29T17:27:00.001-07:00

When our bodies are sick or injured, it's an opportunity to listen to them for a change. We make so many demands of our bodies, and they do what they're told, almost all of the time. I'm amazed when I think how God inhabits my physical self: setting my heart to beating moment by moment, conducting an orchestra of muscle movements for each step I take. This is not something I should be taking for granted.

Which of course I have been taking for granted.

With my recent running injury I see what a miracle it is that I've been walking, hiking, moving unthinkingly throughout my life, straining those feet down there, those slim tendons in my ankles and calves, those finely crafted heels.

A couple years ago I lost my voice, off and on for several weeks. After a number of doctor visits, my wise naturopath asked, "One more thing I need to ask you. What is it you're not saying?" My body knew that I was suppressing my voice - there were statements I wanted to make through my life and writing, but I was pushing them away. Not long after this awareness the laryngitis cleared up.

This isn't woo-woo hocus pocus. Peoples all over the world have listened to illness this way for thousands of years. Once we tapped into some science, though, we westerners became too smart for all that stuff. We shunned our Creator and all the wisdom intricately laid within these amazing earth-ships that carry us through the atmosophere.

Most of us don't cultivate appreciation for our bodies. But we do notice those parts that make noise and start to hurt. A little pain, then, can be a good servant if it leads us to listen to the truth - and to appreciate what we have. Least, I'm making that choice today.

Anybody Everybody

2009-03-19T17:43:00.000-07:00

"If the gospel isn't good news for everybody, then it isn't good news for anybody." --Rob Bell

Programs for Happiness

2009-03-15T13:27:00.000-07:00

I love the wisdom of Father Thomas Keating as he talks about those things we strive to do and have, which we are convinced will make us happy.

I was reviewing my life and the latest of my own programs for happiness. There is The Thin Program. This program is all about calorie counting and careful discipline, and tells me that if I fit into my clothes well, I will be happy.

The Exercise Program is related to the above, but emphasizes how far and fast I can run, how fit I am, how much stamina I have. The program promises that if I am fit, I will be happy.

The Publishing Program. This is part of my Amazing Writer Program. A while after I get something into print, this program gets uneasy and cries, "More! More!" If I am published I will be happy.

The Fashionista Program. I do collect cute clothes. I adore interesting jewelry. I've been known to fuss over my hair. All these are components of the Fashionista Program, complete with the oath: "If I look good all the time, I'll be happy."

The Successful Offspring Program. This program started back when my children were precocious adorable babies, and I got their overflow attention when they did cute things. This program offers: If my kids are superachievers (or at least above average like the children of Lake Woebegone), then I'll be happy.

I've also got the Fulfilling Marriage program, the Impressive Career Program, the Witty and Charming Personality Program and the Beautiful House Program. Here's one beckoning me now: The Insightful and Well-Followed Blogger Program.

Oh! I almost forgot my favorite program of all: The Everything Program! This one says that if I can run every one of these programs, then I will be happy.

I want programs to distract me from the heartache of loss that living has brought. To make me feel good enough to earn God's favor. To distract me from my inadequacies and shortcomings and... my very yearning for God.

Our entire society is fiddling with its programs. But fulfillment comes from being, from living and loving - not from doing, earning and possessing. My happiness springs from the Eternal One, who doesn't require I perform, only that I acknowledge the Holy Presence.

I don't care how the inner programs lie to us, or how the external forces dazzle. Turn off these commercials, whenever you find them, and you will exercise true spiritual awareness.

Here's my prayer...

God you know my programs don't work. I strained something in my ankle while running, so there goes program one and two. My kids need my support and love, not my expectations of achievement. House? Dusty, in program ten while I'm striving over program eight. I'm here. You're here. You accept me just like this, and You are all I need. Thank you.

Scared and Sacred

2009-03-04T15:01:00.001-08:00

I noticed yesterday the word "scared" becomes the word "sacred," by moving the "C" one letter over. Step back from what you see ("C"), don't keep it so close. Take a broader view, and your points of fear can become holy moments. --Christi Krug

There Is No Getting Things Right

2009-03-03T09:29:00.000-08:00

My friend Tamara shares today's thought, which was inspired by a conversation regarding Pema Chodron's book, When Things Fall Apart:

For the spiritual person, there is no getting things right or getting them wrong. Right and Wrong are simply two extremes. Life, with all its subtleties and experiences, doesn't fit into such categories. So don't think you're ever really going to get anything right--the only thing you can do is try your best and keep your heart tender. Hafiz says it well in the poem "Now is the Time:"

Now is the time to know
That all that you do is sacred.

Now, why not consider
A lasting truce with yourself and God.

Now is the time to understand
That all your ideas of right and wrong
Were just a child's training wheels
To be laid aside
When you finally live
With veracity
And love.

Hafiz is a divine envoy
Whom the Beloved
Has written a holy message upon.

My dear, please tell me,
Why do you still
Throw sticks at your heart
And God?

What is it in that sweet voice inside
That incites you to fear?

Now is the time for the world to know
That every thought and action is sacred.

This is the time for you to compute the impossibility
That there is anything
But Grace.

Now is the season to know
That everything you do
Is sacred.

I Learn How

2009-03-02T21:16:00.001-08:00

In your light I learn how to love.
In your beauty, how to make poems.

You dance inside my chest,
where no one sees you,

but sometimes I do,
and that sight becomes this art.
--Rumi

No Starting Over. Again.

2009-03-02T17:51:00.000-08:00

"Tomorrow I will start my diet." This is never true, points out my student Barb, who is writing a brilliant, funny book on weight loss. Same with the statement, "Tomorrow I will start my new book." These are just lies we tell ourselves. We aren't capable of starting over, because we never feel "new and improved."

There is a sense that we must be perfect now, or at least pretend to be perfect. And we think we could be, too. If only.

But it all flows into one. Yesterday is part of today, and yesterday's flaws were integral.

The failings and lessons and slippages of yesterday are beautiful in the light of redemption. To redeem means to recover, to offset. It's not about wiping everything out; what redemption does is transform the way we look at everything. Our lives can be just as they are, the rough spots, the smooth. We see how it's all offset by love.

Today's shortcomings are all right. No need to insist on a brand new tomorrow, a demarcation of day or hour.

We humans, too, can be recovered. Don't throw them out! Nevermind the flaws. They can be salvaged.

Telling God's Truth

2009-03-01T16:02:00.000-08:00

For years I spent a lot of energy trying to perpetuate the lie that I was "perfect." It wasn't something I was conscious of, but I did work very hard at it. I was driven by a need to create this impression for family, church, and even for myself. I drove myself crazy.

I think of Jack in "The Importance Of Being Earnest," a terrific show I saw Friday. Jack's mythical identity gets in the way of his happiness - when those he loves find out he's been lying. He discovers how telling the truth is painful, especially when one has relied on false realities for an artificial sense of well-being.

I love the St. Augustine quote, "Truth belongs to (the) Lord, wherever it is found." When we get involved in the Truth, God gets involved in us. God isn't interested in our pretenses and defenses, no matter how convincing we play them. When we are brave enough to say, "This is how it really is," the curtain closes on our little playact, and life can finally start.

Are You Salvaged?

2009-02-26T09:14:00.000-08:00

It has quite a ring to it, doesn't it?

I think we should replace the question, "Are you saved?" with "Are you salvaged?" That way, askers would think twice. Would I really want to go up to a person and ask if he or she realizes he or she is a broken-down piece of junk? Would I ask, have you been salvaged?

My point is to recognize that we all have flaws and problems that could send us to the scrap heap. I shouldn't fuss over yours. I should be paying attention to whether I've been salvaged.

Thank God for salvagation.

Questions

2009-02-24T08:36:00.000-08:00

Richard Rohr writes that Jesus was asked 183 questions, but he only directly answered three. Evidently his job description wasn't to answer every question.

Be willing to look beyond the questions. What is driving us in our need to ask so many questions?

The questions themselves, we can let go.

Ordinary People Who Know Things

2009-02-23T20:32:00.000-08:00

The other day, I was in a conversation with Susan. I could just picture the trees. She talked about how she loves to go up among the trees at Mt. Tabor, standing, breathing, opening her arms. She might stretch herself tall and imagine herself a tree. Most of all she will just be.

Daily she serves her community, L'arche, in countless acts of beauty, showing God's love. She is known by many as Sister Susan. But Susan knows her life isn't about doing, but being.

Susan said, "I don't have to do anything to be me."

Small Things

2009-02-19T18:02:00.001-08:00

I planned to make it a workday and tackle the house, shopping, cleaning and organizing. In my transformed environment, I'd write a chapter of one of my books, or engage in meaningful reading or prayer. Do something important. It turned out, I spent the day waiting in line and cooking dinner. It felt like such a waste. In the evening I blew a sigh at the kitchen counter, noticing the fortune cookie Lisa had given me a few days earlier. I broke it open to this fortune:

"We can do no great things; only small things with great love." --Mother Theresa

Ordinary People Who Know Things

2009-02-10T10:01:00.000-08:00

"Religion is the Undoing of God." --my friend Carla

There is No Starting Over

2009-02-07T09:26:00.001-08:00

As a kid I hated messing up. Whether I'd neglected my chores or broken a rule, or skipped Bible study, I agonized about getting in trouble in our fundamentalist Christian home. In my mind, I had to start over. I was forever starting over.

My Dad said, "Why do you always think you have to start over?" But I was convinced I needed a new day, a new week, a new arrangement of bedroom furniture, a new outfit. Anything to help me in my new start.

This kind of thinking was perpetuated by church culture, wherein we were taught that being "born again" was all about a new start. Here I was, born again, but it wasn't enough. I needed more new starts. (Nevermind the fact I was only 13, or 16 or 18.) Every altar call, crusade, church camp experience, New Year's service - these were all new starts that I depended upon desperately.

These new starts were always tenuous, temporary and shaky, but I couldn't help trying.

The fixation with starting over is not just in the church, but has saturated our society. I love how it was expressed in the terrific play I saw last night, How To Disappear Completely And Never Be Found, brilliantly performed by Portland Center Stage.

Charlie is an advertising executive with a stressed-out psyche, a maxed-out credit card, and an empty life. He encounters a fraud artist who can help him create a new identity with all the necessary identifiers, licenses, passports. Charlie becomes convinced that leaving Charlie behind - in essence, disappearing - is the answer to everything.

As humans, we're convinced that starting over means changing our identity, and it's the answer to the pain we experience in life. If we can just be somebody else, get a new "us," life will be better.

It's so hard for us to see God in the life we already have - that He meets us right where we are, as who we are, with all the shit we experience. But this is what real life is. Anything else is just trying to disappear.

Today's Tears

2009-01-20T22:50:00.001-08:00

This morning, I was moved to tears by the prayer and benediction at the inauguration of our 44th President. This evening as my husband and I were reading mondegreens, I laughed so hard I couldn't hold still, and the tears were again tickling the corners of my eyes.

Experiencing the spectrum of emotion is a workout for the soul. Every pore opens and breathes. Blood tingles as it makes it course.

I remember a conversation I had with my parents a long time ago in which we talked about emotions. I hadn't had these parents very long (I didn't acquire them until I was eleven), and I'd somehow gotten the idea that it was wrong to be emotional. Even at eleven, I had learned to deny and push down my feelings, and to keep them in hiding. "Being 'emotional' doesn't have to be a bad thing," said my Dad. "It just means you are having feelings, and expressing them."

Much of our church traditions have balked at emotion. Churches have been mystified, bewildered, and afraid of feelings. Somewhere we got the idea that it is wrong to feel things. In certain circles, at certain times, in certain denominations, emotion has been accepted: but if you go outside their parameters, you may be labeled "out of control."

Sometime after that conversation with my new parents, I was given the book I Love the Word Impossible, by Ann Kiemel. She wrote that Jesus laughed with her, cried with her. I was in awe. Would I ever feel that free, to laugh, and cry, and be close to Jesus?

Well, yes.

But it would take some years of practice.

And that's fine. Practicing emotion is not a problem: there are always new chances to feel.

Profound Ordinariness

2009-01-13T18:41:00.001-08:00

I've been waiting for something profound to happen in my spiritual life, so I would have something profound to say here.

News flash. Our spiritual lives are not made up of profound moments, but ordinary ones. This is why I say "ordinary things will save us." I must remember that the Divine Presence is with me when I'm typing an email or pilfering chocolate chips from my baking drawer (meant for cookies!) or washing the water pitcher - that is when I'm closest to God. I must recognize that being human is what I'm here for - and it's temporary, and I might as well enjoy it with my Creator.

I like how this was expressed in the book, After the Ecstasy, the Laundry, by Jack Kornfield. He explains that breakthrough spiritual experiences are wonderful - but they are not what make us strong, spiritual people. Dazzling encounters seem to be the ultimate thing. But inevitably, these experiences are followed by the drudgery of chores, earning a living, paying bills. Kornfield says you can take any reknown spiritual leader and plunk him or her down in the U.S. with a mortgage and a family and then, suddenly he or she wouldn't be so guru-like. This is the greatest challenge: to deal with the pressures of what you and I deal with every day. Living well in the ordinary is what will make or break us.

What's God doing with me today? Loving me just the way I am, and sorting laundry.

Learning to Adjust

2008-12-28T17:31:00.001-08:00

I love the idea William Stafford put into my head with his poem "Learning to Adjust." The idea is this: what comes your way isn't an accident. Even if it doesn't have your name on it. There is a gift for you: something to smile about, something to open.

We spend our lives wishing they were different. We spend our energies wishing we were other than who we are. We neglect what we do have, wishing we had something else. But how marvelous when we can look steadily at what we are given without rejecting it. Sometimes, just being in the moment with ourselves and our circumstances can reveal to us the presence of God - and what can be a greater gift than that?

The Inner Door

2008-12-18T14:34:00.001-08:00

"Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and will dine with him, and he with Me." --Revelation 3:20

I loved this scripture as a child, and loved to gaze at the picture on the classroom wall of my Sunday school.

What I didn't know: where the door was.

I always thought of Jesus floating up, up, in heaven or somewhere in the atmosphere, in another dimension, say, and when he knocked on the doors of people's hearts, he stood outside of them.

I've come to see it differently. Jesus is already inside.

All right, all right. I can hear the clamor of disagreement. But hold on. Think about it. Jesus doesn't enter into your life from the outside in. He comes from the inside out. That door, it's inside you. The place where your wisdom dwells. Your best hunches. Your most loving gestures. That deep knowing that you were born for something holy and beautiful.

We all have this inner chamber. In many people it has been neglected. But for those of us who may have opened the door a crack, we aren't "better" or "more worthy" than someone who hasn't found the door.

Man-made tradition has always removed God and Christ from the everyday hearts and lives of people. All people. Especially those who don't call themselves the right name. Tradition has gotten us in the habit of telling people all about their sin and ugliness, and how far they are from God. God is not far, however.

He is as close as one's own heart.

In fact, you and I both know some amazing people in whom we have seen Jesus - who would never think to call themselves Christians. (And thank goodness for that!)

Jesus comes from the inside out. He's inhabiting heaven already, and that place, the kingdom of heaven, is within you. He waits to be invited out - into your thoughts, into this day, and out into the world. Listen for his laugh, his breath, and his knock.

It's Not What We Tell People

2008-12-15T19:23:00.001-08:00

"We hear a lot about evangelism today and how the church must pay more attention to evangelism. But mostly evangelism is not what we tell people, unless what we tell is totally consistent with who we are. It is who we are that is going to make the difference. It is who we are that is going to show the love that brought us all into being, that cares for us all, now, and forever." --Madeleine L'Engle, Glimpses of Grace.

Our Glory

2008-12-07T09:38:00.000-08:00

"Mild he lays his glory by..."--from the song, Hark the Herald Angels Sing

He had to know his glory in order to lay it by. He had to acknowledge the glory of his being in order to tenderly set it aside. Christ did so, becoming one of us humans, with all our chills and fevers and rages and heartbreaks, our germs and metatarsals and hair follicles and brain ganglia.

I'm thinking how often we reject our glory, refuse it, rather than follow Christ's example to lay it down. Yes, our glory comes from God alone. But there is this beautiful hint at the mystery that surrounds the core of our being. In the words of Wordsworth:

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home

Isn't it marvellous to realize that we are in the image of Christ? This humanity thing is just temporary. Our story follows His story, and we, too, have come from God. Let us not forget. Let us remember that glory, know where it came from and Whose it truly is, and mildly, gently, lay it by.

Never Stop Getting Up

2008-12-03T07:46:00.001-08:00

A monk visited Abba Sisoes and told him he had fallen from grace. “What should I do, Abba?” Sisoes replied, “Get up again.” After a while the monk returned to ask, “What can I do now? For I have fallen again.” “Get up again,” The old man said, “Never stop getting up.”

This is my current favorite story from the desert tradition. I like its sly humor. One can almost see the old monk winking at us as we grasp after any and every form of spiritual perfection. But there is generosity and kindness here, too. Yes, we fall; yet, this is all part of the human condition and it is precisely here, in the midst of our fallings, that there can emerge a profound sense of the abiding presence of God. The desert monks were convinced that temptations and struggles were important not because they needed to be avoided, but because they can teach us so much. They seem to be saying to us that wherever we are God is there also. Wherever we are, in deep sorrow or in an acknowledgement that once again we did not measure up - and usually by ‘not measuring up’ we mean to our own impossible demands. Even in loss, and, of course, in joy, God is already there waiting for us.

Last month, Sr. Laura Swan visited our Contemplative Outreach community. I was especially moved by her insistence that it is in this world where we encounter the sacred. She said, “Modern asceticism is being called to what already is.” This involves the sense that “we have enough, we are enough.” Right here, right now. Perhaps, the last illusion from which we need to be freed is the illusion that who we are is not quite right, and far too imperfect to be a vessel of God’s grace, love and abiding presence in this world. Sometimes we feel as if a miracle is required in order for us to be enough to carry within ourselves the presence of God. But the message of faith is that the miracle has already occurred. Here we are, called into holy being by the simplest gesture of God’s ever creating word.

We do fall, but we can get up again. We can “never stop getting up again.”

Blessings,
Tom

God is Found in the Most Unlikely Places

2008-11-30T15:34:00.001-08:00

...and I have a crazy poem all about it. Which was here for a few days, but must disappear now. So I'll just jot down a few of the places where God has turned up for me...

On a cold December day, when I sat in my car crying, and saw a lone blooming flower.

At my daughter's home birth, when the midwife wasn't reachable, and the baby would arrive in twenty minutes.

In the kind words of a Tri-met bus driver.

At the Goodwill, in a used book, where I discovered a new favorite poet.

When I skinned my knee on the curb, and was terrified, and my aunt assured me, "No, all the blood will not flow out of your body."

What about you? Where are some ordinary or unlikely or amazing places you've found God?

Ways We Did Not Finish A Last Conversation

2008-11-25T15:41:00.000-08:00

Morning Prayer
by Tom Kinzie

This pale light of spring sky,
these hung low heavens,
that child with face pressed against the glass door, his laughter,
the way a crow flies — so comfortable in his clumsy swagger,
those four older folk, husbands, wives, eating donuts,
worried about the world, laughing at the arrogance of power,
the terrible useless bloodshed, the donuts in the warm brown liquid,
so small among huge atrocities and ideas
the ease of friendship, they have heard this before,
morning prayers, old language,
simple grace of silence, Japanese flute on radio,
dog at my feet, quiet in his own expectations,
my longing, my restlessness,
the nagging of something there for days now.
Oh my God, what strange blessings you have given me today!
If only you would open me to everything.
Only you could.
If only you would help me resist nothing.
Only you can.
The loneliness that harasses,
memories still urgent, the
something left undone,
those faces, those voices,
ways we did not finish a last conversation.
What way should I breathe this rest of your day?
I would be your amen.

On A Dappled Monday

2008-11-24T08:06:00.001-08:00

Pied Beauty

by Gerard Manley Hopkins

GLORY be to God for dappled things --

For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;

For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;

Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches' wings;

Landscape plotted and pieced -- fold, fallow, and plough;

And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;

Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)

With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;

He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:

Praise him.

What a wonderful poet was Hopkins, a conflicted, sometimes tortured human being. Sadly, he destroyed many of his own poems. I'm glad some survived. I love the way he loves God.

Observing his life shows what a thief guilt can be. Sad, how so many people are torn up over "sin" when that's exactly the point of Good News. Forget all this preoccupation with sin. Live! We are created, and recreated, to live.

Think I'll go find me some chestnuts.

Something to Say

2008-11-21T15:41:00.000-08:00

It's been taking me a long time. Because...

It's easier to say a thing when you know people want to hear it. Or when you know they'll agree with you. Or when you know you won't be misunderstood. Or, when you have a whole mess 'a people to back you up. Lacking all these assurances, I have been reluctant, for many years, to write about my faith.

Several years ago I was a regular contributor to a number of large religious periodicals. It was nice. But when I moved from the path of faith that I was on, to a bumpier path - same faith, new ideas, ruts, questions - I suddenly became shy. I didn't know what to say to the old crowd. I couldn't agree any longer with that religious culture. Couldn't parrot the ideals of the institutions I'd attended. I didn't like the way things were done, but I didn't want to be a complainer.

Since then I've learned, speaking up for what you believe doesn't make you a complainer.

So I'm creating this space where I can invite a conversation about the spiritual journey - a conversation I can stand behind. I foster a faith that doesn't shut people out, make snap judgements, rely on labels, seek the tired and safe ways of looking at things. Hell, I might even say something worthwhile now and then.

Let's ask ourselves: where have we been "nice" when perhaps we had a message to share, a message the world needed?

Listening

2008-11-17T14:45:00.000-08:00

Today two people of a certain religious persuasion came to my door. I saw in it an opportunity to be converted. Not to be converted to another religion, which is what they had hoped, but to be converted from "being right" and "having my say" to welcoming humanity to my doorstep. Their comments began like this:

"We'd like to tell you..."

"You might be interested in..."

"This article here says that..."

Many years ago, I used to engage folks like this in conversational warfare, pinpointing differences between our faiths and arguing my stance, in order to "save them from the error of their ways." No longer.

Maybe, today, it was the reminder from Laura Swan that helped me to respond the way I did. Laura Swan, prioress of Saint Placid Priory in Lacey, Washington, spoke Saturday at Contemplative Outreach. "You should sometimes read things you don't agree with," she said, "to practice hearing other points of view."

And so I decided to listen to these two women without trying to formulate a single comeback or argument. My thoughts went like this...

Look at the woman. Listen to where she is coming from. This faith means so much to her. Where has she been in her life? Look at her partner. See the tiredness in both of their eyes. See how desperately they want to do what's right.

When they left I said "Thank you," and they said, "Thank you," and I could hear the softness and relief in their voices at this strange thing that had happened, at this peace at how their words were heard, as they smiled and went on their way.

A Gift, an Invitation

2008-05-13T11:53:00.000-07:00

What if every barrier was seen as the beginning of a gift and every fear as an invitation to a deeper love, where would I be then? I can barely imagine, but I do know that a wholeness awaits me which I sometimes see even now through the cracks created by this brokenness that is also a longing.

--Tom Kinzie