It's Music that Keeps Us Alive

I am returning from a long weekend away.  Without knowing, it turned out to be a very long awaited journey that I am calling, "Sailing Home to Self".  On this unexpected trip, many things I acquired in my mind, and especially my ego along the professional pathway of life, were washed clean and carried out with the tide.  As a requirement for this trip, I re-examined the very materials of the boat I will need to travel.  Some of the materials are sound, but some needed replacing.  I realized the need to  "Rebuild a Humble Heart" as the foundation for this expedition.  The chorus of a song I heard this weekend entitled "Low to the Ground" by Libby Roderick, articulates some of the treasures I have reclaimed as I set sail on this astonishing voyage.

It's music that keeps us alive, it's dancing that sets our hearts free

It's children remember the laughter in life, it's animals teach us to see

Stay low to  the ground, live close to the earth, don't stray very far from your soul

It's simple things show us the reason we're here and it's simple things keeping us whole.

I will no doubt continue traveling home to self as I enter more fully into this afternoon of my life.  I am filled with gratitude that I made it to the ship.  In this time of Thanksgiving, I end with a Prayer of Gratitude given to me at the end of my weekend.

We are grateful for eyes that can see and ponder, for taste buds that know the sensuous pleasures of eating and drinking, for hands that hold and touch and feel, for ears that can delight in music and the voice of a friend, for a nose that can smell the aroma of newly mown grass or delicious food, and can also breathe the air that gives us life.

We are grateful for the treasure of loved ones whose hearts of open-ness and acceptance have encouraged us to be who we are.  We are grateful for their faithfulness, for standing by us when our weak-nesses stood out glaringly, for being there when we were most in need and for delighting with us in our good days and our joyful seasons.

We are grateful for the eyes of faith, for believing in the presence of God, giving us hope in our darkest days, encouraging us to listen to our spirit's hunger, and reminding us to trust in the blessings of God's presence in our most empty days.

We are grateful for the ongoing process of becoming who we are, for the seasons within, for the great adventure of life that challenges and comforts us at one and the same time.

We are grateful for the messengers of God - people, events, written or spoken words - that came to us at just the right time and helped us to grow.

We are grateful for God calling us to work with our gifts, grateful that we can be of service and use our talents in a responsible and just way.

We are grateful that we have the basic necessities of life, that we have the means and the ability to hear the cries of the poor and to respond with our abundance.

We are grateful for the miracle of life, for the green of our Earth, for the amazing grace of our history; we are grateful that we still have time to decide the fate of the world by our choices and our actions, grateful that we have [the hope] to bring a divided world to peace.

Building on the Old to Integrate the New

A new sprout formed in my soul this past weekend, and is growing toward the surface.  The roots are taking shape, but are not yet strong enough to withstand too hard of pull.  This new growth will require time and attention, water and nutrients before it can burst forth into something truly amazing.  Starting something new is exciting, but also requires work.  Everything that was familiar, comfortable, and safe shifts in order to make room for the "new".  So what do we do with "the old"?

When I arrived a few days ago at a lake side retreat center that I have come to nearly once a month for the past 6 months, I immediately was aware of something new.  The seasons noticeably changed in that timeframe, but what struck me this time was the fence contrasting against the lake.  Many new fence planks had replaced old rotten ones.  An internal message spoke clearly, "Take out the old rotten planks, bring in new ones, and attach them to the old, solid portions of the fence."  Not everything that "was" must go.  New beginnings must form themselves into the solid foundation already established.

I began an initial "welcome" walk around the grounds before we started our first session, and many more scenes spoke clearly to me.  A mighty old tree had fallen.  Surrounding this giant old tree were younger, vibrant trees.  They gathered around as in mourning, paying tribute to the years this tree had lived.  As the tree returned to the Earth from which it sprung, these young trees would receive nourishment, and grow stronger.  I received news the day before arriving that one of my sister-in-law's friend's had died; a husband and father, leaving many grieving his loss.  The trees stood as witness to this life cycle, as I stood praying for this man and all those who gathered at his bed side.  Death and life; endings and new beginnings.  I looked up at a maturing tree to see a branch twisting and turning in unexpected ways in order to grow toward the light.  Certainly this branch understood my own unexpected growth.

My walk continued down a pathway to the lakefront beach.  A stream trickling down to join the lake, invited me closer.   I was not the only visitor to the stream that day.  My foot prints mixed with other living creatures.  As I stooped down to dip my hand into the crystal water, I noticed the ledge on the other side of the stream.  I had a clear view of all that lies beneath the surface of the lively, green vegetation growing on top of the ledge.  Strong established roots mixed with new seeds beginning to sprout.  All that lies above the surface is what we see and usually tend to; all that lies below holds, strengthens, and nourishes what lies above, but often goes unnoticed or ignored.

New growth builds on what has come before, and grows alongside what is presently there.  What will this new sprout become in me?  Only time and attention will tell.  With care and nourishment, it will integrate and grow in unimaginable ways.

Lessons from the Sidewalk

As I look out the front window, there is nothing but snow as far as the eye can see. Although it is beautiful, a shiver quivers through me just thinking about going outside. I am digging deeply into my memory bank to try to recall a time when it was warm. A beautiful memory flashes before me. One that I had intended to write down months ago, but just never got the time. The air was still, weather unseasonable warm, and my youngest daughter and I had the afternoon in front of us. We both got summer fever in mid-November, and pulled out the sidewalk chalk, an unheard of pleasure at that time of year. We started with simple shapes, expanding one next to the other, coloring in as we went, and starting new sections. We worked silently, with no particular end in sight, and no hurry to get there. Suddenly my daughter cried out, "Look Mommy!". I looked up at her, and saw that radiance not only glowed around her as she stood with her back to the sun, but from within her as well. I stood up to discover the source of her excitement. Our haphazard shapes and colors were magically transforming. "Wow!" I exclaimed. "We are making a mosaic!" She smiled and said, "It's beautiful! Okay, let's get back to work mommy." I hugged her, and said, "Okay sweetie, but let's remember to take a perspective break every once in a while." After explaining a little more what "perspective" meant, we returned to our task, humming a little as we worked side by side. Every once in a while I would hear my daughter cry out, "Perspective break!" We stopped whatever shape we were working on, gathered together at the foot of the driveway and admired the artwork taking shape. Just as suddenly, she would say, "Okay, back to work!" We worked this way for quite some time, when suddenly I noticed a shadow over the mosaic. I looked up to see our neighbor's nanny from Cameroon. I noticed her earlier in the afternoon out walking. Her step and her gaze seemed heavy, even from a distance. Right in front of me though, I saw a joyful face and a glowing smile. Our eyes met, and she excitedly said in a heavy french accent, "This reminds me of my father! I am missing him, and this brings him close." I lifted the chalk pail and invited her to join us. At first she stayed back hesitantly, but then shyly took the chalk, stooped down, and started to draw. My daughter and I continued our work, and the three of us worked silently for a time. Suddenly, our neighbor stood up with a satisfied gesture. She explained her drawing as best she could in broken English. "This is me, and this is my father." She had sketched a girl surrounded by arcs of color. She continued, "Where I come from, there is always color. I am leaving on Sunday to go to a new family. I am sad, but this brings me joy." She thanked us, we said our good byes, and my daughter and I watched her walk by to her house. We both sighed, looked at each other, smiled, and said together, "Back to work!" Neither of us understood the work God had planned for us that day, or the lessons He wanted to teach us in our labor. I often get caught up in the "big picture", focusing too long on how everything is going to fit together. I learned to stay focused on what is in front of me, every once in a while take a perspective break, ponder a bit, and then get back to work. The work may seem small and insignificant, but each piece put together will eventually grow into something beautiful and generate unexpected results if I but work hard, keep faithful to the task, and trust God with the outcomes.

New Beginnings

Winter is a time for pondering. Activity slows slightly following the New Year, and daylight is limited. Snow still brings it magical touch, and makes everything fresh, but the stirrings for something new will begin soon. The squirrel peering out from her home in the tree, surely can sense it. There will be a subtle shift in the wind, a slight alteration in the temperature, and a slow departure of the piles of white, all signaling change. A new beginning awaits us each Spring. The shift is often so slow, that it may appear as though Spring magically arrived one day. In order for Spring to begin, Winter must surrender its hold, and slowly or abruptly, but most surely, come to an end. God offers us much wisdom from which to draw through our natural world.

The wind has started to shift in my own life. There are signals all around, as some aspects end, and there is a hint of something new about to start. I have just ended a four year consulting contract that extended well beyond what I imagined. I have also just begun a new 2-year program to become a spiritual director that suddenly appeared, like Spring, almost without warning. Like the squirrel, I am sniffing the air, watching for further signs that a new beginning is in fact "on the horizon".

Endings and beginnings form the very fabric of our existence, our stories, our lives. The ending, either welcome or uninvited, is generally concrete. Once we have entered into a new beginning, although the end is not yet clear, the starting point has crystalized. The in-between transitions are what leave us looking for clues, reading the signals, and trying to discern what comes next and when. I am certain that something is in the air in my own life and really, in the world around me. I am now paying attention to the internal and external signals, trusting daylight will eventually extend, and will do my best to wait out the winter, as I discern just what that new beginning is.