With that on my lips, I arrived in worship, a bit late, lingering too long to the slower rhythm of the music. Our minister's message was about how things get in our way, crowding out God.
|I grew up with this album, allowing it to transport me somewhere special|
I want my life to be a samba, I heard again, then shared in worship.
I want my life to be a samba. Smooth, rich, full of grace and a deep contentment impervious to the giddiness of individual events and momentary accumulation of stuff.
Let me flow and glide by guidance, I silently asked Spirit.
I had spotted a wonderful young neighbor friend in our midst that morning. Seeing her draped in a colorful pashmina, she looked as if she'd always worshipped with us. "I wanted quiet this morning," she confessed. We retreated to fellowship afterward, sharing coffee, snacks and conversation with a table of women. It was easy and full of grace.
I slid on over for my free Starbucks and a few minutes of reading and initiating a marketing plan for my husband. I didn't have to do it now, but I wanted to. So many wonderful ideas floating around, I risked losing them if not captured in the moment. When they were sufficiently lassoed into the Word file, I unplugged my laptop, noticing it was exactly time to leave for my appointment with my spiritual director.
We hadn't met since June and I had felt the need for balanced advice on discerning my current direction in life. At a crossroads with my non-profit work, the need for helping fund my daughters' college, a second job interview and discovering, then applying for a dream job, I sought guidance. My own faith community is too close and tied to my ministry and the new minister in my life has already said he will do whatever it takes to keep encouraging me in my ministry. "You shine here and it's your passion," he has said.
I needed that affirmation and what he says is true. Yet not ALL parts of the ministry are my passion, particularly right now as the building I inhabit is closer to abandonment and demolition and with that, a gloomy shadow, as well as the arduousness of forming a legal non-profit that overwhelms me to the point I have been dragging me feet for months.
So I e-mailed Mary and she said she could see me Sunday afternoon. Perfect timing.
I arrived on the dot of 2:30 and, while she heated water for tea, fingered the wonderful assortment of books on her shelves. Many I have or would want to have. She arrived with steaming cups, we sat and I spilled my heart. My biggest concern is that I follow what God wants for me. Her response, "Well, then, follow the energy. Pay attention to what gives you energy and what robs you." She recommended the Ignatian Examen, also a traditional Quaker practice of reflecting each evening on where God was visible during the day, where there was grace and where there wasn't.
How could she know I was looking for a tool? I hadn't, even. We spoke more and I blurted out things not yet articulated: fears, joys, concerns, dreams, goals, threats. All of it.
She noted my enthusiasm for a job posting. "But I've just applied and don't even have an interview," I protested. She was noticing the energy around the idea of the job. "Pay attention," she prodded.
In 60 minutes, I had poured everything possible out, been heard, affirmed and given an exercise to help me identify the energy.
"I am so very sorry to have bothered you on a Sunday," I said on the way out her door. "Absolutely now worries," she gently commanded, "Sunday is MY work day."
We agreed to touch base in a month and I was deliciously grateful for the sound advice and the (re) discovery of a tool to help me decipher where the energy is in my life.
I ambled home to a family re-assembling from multiple destinations. I received a glimpse of gratitude, recognizing there won't be too many more re-gathering Sundays as my high schoolers begin to make their own paths and ways in life. Today had been seamless and smooth. All part of the samba.
Sunday is my husband's dinner duty, so I had time to reflect on my spiritual-direction session and begin this blog. After dinner, I sank into a warm couch with my oldest for an episode of Downton Abbey, then tiptoed off to bed and a rare, sound sleep dreaming of the Girl from Ipanema and ...
"When she walks, she's like a samba
That swings so cool and sways so gently"
• When is my life like a samba?
• What makes it so?
• What is my desired rhythm?
• How is it also Spirit's rhythm?
• Where do I see the grace and energy in my life?
giver of music
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