getting uncomfortable (chalice lighting)

Last Sunday, I was privileged to serve as worship associate which pulled me out of my comfort zone.  Part of the responsibilities included writing a personal reflection to share as chalice lighting.  This meant sharing a little of who I am with a community I don't know well.  This is a challenge for me, but one I'm happy I accepted.  Here is my reflection...

Paulo Freire, an educator, asserted that children are not empty vessels in which adults can pour in information.  Rather, they hold within them innate knowledge and life experience which helps them understand even the most complex concepts. I learned of his liberation pedagogy as a graduate student.  Little did I know that this single text would become one of the most powerful influences on my role as parent. To let my children discover the world from within themselves, shaping their learning from my own life experience, my own knowledge, and my own questions.

So, too, has been our experience in shaping their spiritual lives - sharing our thoughts, ideas, and beliefs not as fact but as guide.  More importantly, staying open to their questions, their ideas.  Whether it's Jacob's affinity for polytheism and the gods ability to hold force over nature, Ella's assertion that there is one God, neither male nor female, encompassing  both genders as co-creators of this Universe, or Meghan's mastery of the intangible gifts taught in RE - love, forgiveness, friendship.  Ask her sometime to share what these elusive concepts mean.  You'll certainly walk away with more depth in your own understanding.

Their sense of spirituality may sometimes challenge mine.  But they are open, eager, curious, questioning, and can, at the drop of a dime, move their attention and emotional energy clear away from the heaviness of this conversation to something more present.  Something right here, right now.  I think this may be the greatest lesson in spirituality taught to me by my children.  To be very present... with them...with life.  To get myself unstuck from distance brought on by the intensity of thoughts and ideas floating in my head and to...simply ...be.

We light this chalice to honor the child-like questioning and curiosity in each of us, to welcome this enthusiasm and energy into our own spiritual lives, and to acknowledge the innate knowing found in us all.

needle in a cornstack

My mother has no sense of direction. Go ahead!  Ask her which way she thinks you should go.  I promise you'll get lost.  How do I know?  I've tried to follow her directions. Not pretty.

So when we found ourselves alone in a corn maze, I thought "Oh great. This ought to be fun."

We actually entered the corn maze with 4 children who sprinted off in a different direction and my husband who was smart enough to follow the kids.  Meanwhile, my mother and I were still trying to get our bearing.  

There we were, the two of us, still a little surprised at how quickly things did not go as planned.  We headed down a path we thought would eventually meet up with the children only to find rather quickly that it would never lead us back.  Hmph!

She had the map and made an attempt to read it.  Again, my internal thoughts were not optimistic.  We looked together, discovered that the large opening in which we found ourselves looked to be the cow shape opening on the map and decided to find the maze stations that were strategically and educationally placed throughout.  

We checked off the first station and filled in the clue on the crossword puzzle that accompanied the map.  

Then the next.  Each time, she examined the map and offered her analysis of where we were headed.  I led.  She followed.  This was getting exciting.

We continued through each station, gathering clues and my mother gaining confidence in her new found skill. 

Lest you should think she would now be safe to let loose with a car and map, at each station she looked up from the map with a puzzled expression which revealed she had no clue from which direction she had come.  Baby steps, people, baby steps.

Regardless, what she and I discovered in that maze that day - working together makes even the least likely of things doable, supporting one another makes giant leaps possible, and being lost in a corn maze is a great way to spend uninterrupted time together - was a lesson I will not soon forget. 

May you be gifted with new discovery shared with the ones you love!

detour

Life has many detours, doesn't it?  I think there is something beautiful in the detour.  

Maybe it is the fact that the detour makes us pay attention.  It's new and unfamiliar.  Our eyes open and we see new things.

Maybe it is the sense of adventure that detours inspire. A journey into the unknown with the assurance that this new path can lead us back to where we were headed in the first place.

Maybe it's because the detour often causes us to slow down, dig in, breathe, and move - cautiously, carefully.

We recently took a road trip to a familiar place, the route an equally familiar path.  We traveled through Maryland, West Virginia, and Virginia on roads less traveled.  Sometimes these roads spread four lanes across, but other times we simply had one lane each direction.  I am not a fan of road trips, but there is a warmth in my heart for this trip - especially the color of the mountain tops covered in autumnal trees.

You may know a town we come upon on this road: Berkley Springs, West Virginia.  A quaint, artsy little town nestled in the mountains and known for its spa and shops.  And we arrived on Apple Butter Festival weekend which apparently draws a large crowd from all over.  

Guess what!  We arrived at parade time. Road closed. Approximately 1 mile back from the parade route.  Traffic stopped! No cell service. Hmph!

We were faced with a choice - sit and wait or explore the hills and valleys of West Virginia.  I pulled out my phone, searched my maps and found a few squiggly lines I could only presume were roads that might lead us to the other side of the parade route.  I looked at Papa Bear.  He agreed.

An important side note: About one month after we started dating in college, we were invited to an off campus party.  I had a car for a brief stint and so we drove to the party together.  We made it to the party just fine.  On the way home, we second guessed a freeway exit and ended up driving for hours (probably in circles), stopping every 30 minutes to fill the gas tank one dollar at a time.  We were poor college students and definitely not prepared for the detour.  Cell phones or ATMs didn't exist yet.

We talked, and laughed, and silently worried that we wouldn't find our way home.  I suspect we were both a little worried that the night would end as would our time together.  We found a Taco Bell and stopped for a bite.  Eventually we found our way home.

Here we were again about to embark on an adventure.  I followed the squiggles on my phone and instructed him to turn right.  Instinctively, he pronounced the name of the street.  I have no street names on my phone, I said.  We held our breath.  He took the next turn as instructed. And the next. And the next.

Somehow the landscape turned from cloud covered gray with rock on either side of the roadway to an expansive, colorful, bright, and glorious view.  And we paid attention to what we saw.  There were moments filled with angst like when we made our final left turn and found ourselves on a one lane road with oncoming traffic.  

Nope, it wasn't a one way road.  Just a back-mountain spirally, narrow road.

Alas, we made our turn just south of the parade and smiled as we past the north bound traffic stuck just as we had been.  This time we trusted the other to get us back on track.  This time we were prepared for the detour.  This time we weren't sad about the end of the adventure.  For we are now old and seasoned enough to know that there will be more detours in this life of ours.  We know that we will be together to travel them. We know to pay attention along the way. And together we will slow down, dig in, breathe, and move along.

destination: here

It has been a long, unplanned, and unexpected hiatus for me in this online world.  I can't say there has been any good reason for my absence.  

Sure, we are busy.  

But we are always busy.  Until now, I've been able to squeeze in a little writing at least a few times each week.  For some reason, I was allowing other things to distract my energies.

We haven't been on vacation.  

In fact, we still have two full weeks of school left. At least for my littles anyway. My students have been gone for a week now.  If you work in education, you may know that this only means that the frenzied pace has slowed to a steady buzz.  It certainly hasn't been 'vacation.'  The slowing is welcome, though.

Nothing is wrong.  

In fact, quite the contrary.  I have been reflecting on the journey I began more than a year ago.  A journey to understand the growing tension I had with religion which was in sharp contrast with my lifelong commitment to worship.  I wasn't doubting my faith, just the everyday things I was experiencing that seemed counter to the God I had come to know.  I identified as Christian, but everything Christian around me didn't seem at all - well - Christian.

I knew somewhere on this journey, I would discover a little more of me.  And that I have.  When I began the journey, I was certain change was on the horizon.  There have been more than a few blog posts about the imminence and anticipation of change.  What I've discovered is that there is no destination on this journey. No arrival point.  

I've come to love the journey itself.  I love the discovery of new ways of worship.  I love the joy of each moment spent really being with my children. I love what giving more of myself in very purposeful ways has unearthed.  

I love that being critical of others makes me physically uncomfortable.  Early in my writing I talked often about how judgmental I can be.  I still am. And I will always play right into a conversation which allows me to give voice to my thoughts.  I've tried to stifle my words.  That doesn't usually go well.  So, I've stopped trying to contain them.  I have, however, allowed myself to feel anxious as conversations turn belittling and, instead, try to use my words to explore all the possibilities that may be considered. This has been a gift of meditation.  I can't explain this, but I know.

Perhaps I needed some space.

I have to be honest.  When I first realized that this journey was not going to lead to some dramatic life change, no move to the east coast, no new job, no new church, I was a little sad mad.  It didn't make sense to me that I would stay where I am, doing what I'm doing, living here.  I wanted grand - doctoral program, a new job somewhere in Massachusetts (don't ask, I don't know why).  

So when I found fullness despite all the things that make me sad, yet amidst all the things that make me happy, I couldn't write.  I really didn't know what to say or how to say it. Space and time have given clarity and peace to this discovery.  Somehow I've finally come to understand that every situation brings dissonance and resolution - no matter how far I hope to run from the things that aren't perfect.  

 

There is a chord progression that fills my soul so that I feel warmth and light pour from my body.  Oh, how I wish I could let you hear it.  Only recently have I realized that these two notes follow a long phrase filled with musical tension bringing the song to a place of peace.  So too is life -  a series of tensions, of dissonance, wrapped in beauty and love and peace - no matter where I am or what I am doing.

Looking back at these last few paragraphs, I'm thankful for the pause.  I also think I am ready to get back to writing.  I think I will!

Peace...

intentions

Living with intention

I've long admired my students who seem to live their life with much more intention than I did at such a formative age.  I don't recall knowing my life path until long after I graduated from college.  I don't even recall considering that I could/should pave my own path.

I remember my childhood being filled with down time, play, and siblings.  It wasn't until I was in high school that I remember my mother carting us from one activity to the next.  Even still, the hustle and bustle of my youth seems to pale in comparison to the life of a teen today.

Some of life's greatest lessons I've learned from students.  For fifteen years, I've followed their example to search for the right path. The one that would surely lead me to happiness.  The one that would make me successful.  Funny how the one question I've asked of them - what happiness and success are you seeking? - I've failed to ask myself.

A question I've asked myself recently, however.  And I wonder if seeking answers intentionally is really the right path.  I know in my own mind seeking answers - reading, praying, meditating with the idea that I can find them - sends me running in circles and chasing my tail.  The harder I look to find inner peace and happiness, the farther away it seems.  The harder I try to know my spiritual self, the less defined she seems to be.

I've long valued the worship traditions of Holy Week - contemplation, reflection, introspection, turned to hope.  There have been many powerful expressions of these messages in worship.  One year, we hammered a nail into the cross to emphasize our role in Christ's death.  Other years, presiding pastors have washed the feet of the people to show God's love.  This year, the pastor encouraged us to write down a burden on a post-it note stuck to our bulletins with the promise that there would be a point during the service to free ourselves of that burden.  When the cross was brought into the sanctuary, we each brought our note, our burden, and laid it at the feet of the cross.

It seems to me that laying our burdens at the feet of the cross contradicts our human desire to live with intention.  Intention, to me, implies control - control over our own destiny, shaping each endeavor to maximize success and minimize failure.  Laying down our burdens - letting go - frees us to simply live. 

Perhaps this is the lesson for me at this time in my life. To live.  Simply. to. live.

Perhaps it is time to throw away the adverb - to live fully, to live purposefully, to live with intention.

"I meet you in the stillness of your soul."  This phrase found in a daily devotional given to me by a very special woman hones this idea of simply living.  Being still, simply being requires no movement on my part.  It encourages me to stop being intentional, purposeful, to stop seeking and finding myself.  It gives me permission to let the Universe do the work.

My burden, my sin, which I left at the foot of the cross, was this . . .

Being absorbed in my pursuit of self, in my desire to connect myself with my greater purpose. 

I've been fooling myself that being fully present in this pursuit is the same as being present in the moment.  I've failed to see that the present moment is often not about me.  The present moment is where life is - with the people I love, with someone else in control.  Not by my intention.  

The present moment is in living!

seeking a teacher

It's been a while since I've written an update on meditation.  Lest you think I've given that up, I thought it was probably time.

I'm kind of at that point where I need help with my meditation.  I've read books, practiced almost every single day for a year now.  I've tried different positions and spaces.  I've tried focusing on a word, my breathe, forgiving-ly releasing each thought and centering my mind.

Being outdoors heightens the meditative experience, but 30 degree temperatures give me fits when I'm moving around.  Sitting still in the cold may make me explode!  Probably not real effective!  So, for now, I'm stuck indoors.

The yield of this devotion has certainly been increased patience, understanding, and a sense of moving about life more purposefully.  That should be enough, no?

The problem is I can't let go of the expectation that meditation can enrich my spiritual life.  I know, the first problem is that I'm bringing expectation into meditation.  I did, indeed, and still do, expect meditation to eventually tap into some deep rooted connection with God.  I wish for meditative time to bring me to a spiritual space that I have never experienced, an awakening of sorts.  Maybe a spiritual clarity.  A mystical experience.

I often begin meditation with a prayer that God will open my heart and mind and fill me with the Holy Spirit only to feel my body ache in anticipation and hope.  The ache becomes a closing off and as my body grows tight, my mind floats back to the task list of the day.  Frustrating, really...

I'm not giving up, nor am I negating the impact meditation has had.  I am, however, recognizing that I've likely gone as far as I can without guidance.  Where to go from here, I have not a clue.

I welcome your ideas and advice!

dreamy

Okay.  So, I've realized for a while now where I'm frustrated with life, what I don't like about where I live or where I work, or how I do/handle various things.  And I've spent much of the last year (well probably longer than that if I want to be honest) thinking about where things would be better or different or what new job what address the things that seem missing in this one.  All this thought process is sprinkled with self reminders that life is really very good - stable job, beautiful family, yada, yada, yada.

My mantra has been (in attempt to convince myself that change won't fix the rhythm of my thoughts) "the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence."  It's true, no?

I'm a problem-solver, not a dreamer.  So, I think up solution after solution, only to convince myself that there's something imperfect about that solution, too.

I wonder, though, what it might be like to simply dream about what perfect looks like.  Here's my dream...

Monday morning - Wake up, without hurry or angst.  Get the children off to school.  Find my way to campus. (Yes, somehow I know there is a college campus in my 'perfect.').  Take a class.  Teach a class.  Meet with students.  Meet with faculty.   

WALK home, because my perfect involves home and campus being closely connected.  A town small enough that walking everywhere makes sense, but large enough to offer activities and culture, opportunity, whole foods and fresh foods, green space for gardening, biking, walking, and being outdoors.

I'm home to find my children just walking home from school.  We'll take a long walk together. Or go to the park. Or play in our modest yard.

Dad's home soon, too.  

Then dinner - homemade, of course.  Homework (for them and me), bath, and bed.  A peaceful sleep.

Tuesday through Friday - Much the same with activities and events peppered in, all close by and encouraging us to connect with our community.

Saturday is "stay-at-home" day as my children call it, even now.  Grocery shopping, trips into the nearby big city, concerts, culture, visits with extended family and friends.  A leisurely day that doesn't start too early or too quickly and ends even later than planned.

Sunday - I see us sitting in church - a warm, inviting space filled with people of all colors, races, and creeds.  I see the family next to us parented by two women and the pew in front of us filled with a family whose skin is darker than ours.  I see men and women my age, others younger, others older.  I see families - broken and whole.  I see friends, sitting side-by-side.

I feel life in worship, warmth from the sun shining through the stained glass windows.  I feel a love and compassion that is genuine and extended to every person who walks through the door.  I see my children feeling at home in this space, running with their friends, hiding in corners, and wanting to sit out the worship service in exchange for fellowship.

Following worship, I see my family - my parents, my sister, her children - convening at my home for dinner.  I see afternoons filled with laughter and love, food and drink, cousins and grandparents.

I know that dreams don't always come true and that perfect can simply be a state-of-mind.  But, I've enjoyed sitting in this dream and allowing it to be just that.  And, who knows. maybe. just. maybe.

falling short

Today is the celebration of the life of Martin Luther King, Jr.  I'm sure you know that already.

Image borrowed from Google homepage

On my way home from work, I heard a story of a young woman who was a college student so desperate to continue her college studies in the face of extreme financial difficulty that she robbed a bank.  What pierced me, though, was her admission that she could not ask for help - oh whom? where?

My students returned to campus today and my student staff spent the day in training.  The topic - Safe Zone.  We talked about creating safe and inclusive educational environments so that students are free to learn.  We watched a documentary about a gay male student who sued a school district for failing to protect him for harassment and abuse.  It was a powerful film.

My work is certainly not that of Dr. King.  I have not changed the world through a personal fight for justice.  But, I hope, in the work I love, that I've created safe spaces.  I hope I've made students comfortable enough to ask for help.  I hope I've fought a little fight, now and again, to be sure everyone has a voice at the table.  

This is important work.  A responsibility I take seriously.  So much so that I sit here tears streaming down my face in my emotional exhaustion of having immersed myself in it today. THIS is my purpose!

What pains me is the knowledge that I have fallen short.  There are students who will not approach me.  There are students who do not know I'm an ally.  There are students who have not learned from me what I have to teach.  This work will never be done.

So, today, as I reflect on the message of Dr. King, I ask for strength to continue the fight, courage to continue teaching, and patience with myself along the way.  May a student never leave my presence feeling defeated, excluded, patronized, or helpless.

How has Dr. King influenced your life?