Counting sheep or being led?

Two crap nights in a row and I am beat. One, I laid half awake waiting for the phone since my dad had been hospitalized and sent home. The other, stressing over BIG changes in the non profit I run. Neither worth losing sleep over, except, alone at night, everything seems ominous. I even tried praying the 23rd Psalm and, eventually, my eyes closed.

This cluster of pain-inducing experiences makes me so much more appreciative of the drugs, even with the nasty side effects, that do help me sleep through, deeply resting my muscles. I am a different person after that sort of night.

This morning things don't seem as bleak, yet I am concerned. I had a three-hour conversation with a potential, new board member for Artsy Fartsy Saturdays. He's got the experience, passion and know-how, but boy did he throw me for a loop. I hadn't overly prepared, thinking it was just a conversion to see how we warmed to each other.

Our connection was quite serendipitous. I'd signed up and attended several weeks of ArtsWave training for arts organizations in building boards, then participated in an evening of speed dating with candidates desiring board positions. It was exhilarating and energizing. However, we elicited no candidates. Mostly, ArtsWave believed, because of our location away from the city center. A few weeks later, an e-mail titled "Guess what?" arrived, noting a professional with board experience and similar training was looking for a match with an arts organization. The bonus, he lives in Milford!

We communicated via e-mail and set a meeting date. Yesterday in my cold studio, since one of the boilers blew. Even his last name seem fortuitous: deJesus. I liked him immediately. Though a financial guy, he's also a guitarist and once had a job buying art. He's got three teenaged girls, so we have a lot in common. He wasn't scared away that we don't, exactly, have a board or our official, IRS-decreed, non-profit status yet. He'd recently been a part of a longtime organization that was doomed. I mentioned the irony and he perked up.

He told me that I had been at the top of the stack handed him by Artwave. Wow, I thought for a moment. Well, he confirmed, they were alphabetized. Still, I know ArtsWave was looking out for me.

We quickly cut through the clutter and focused on finances, which, after all, is the main purpose of a board – or so I learned at ArtsWave. After a beamingly successful December event and the usual family December events, I was tired. My Quaker care committee had advised taking some time off, January. So did the local, Milford church that wants to become involved. My potential board member didn't now how that was possible: "this is when you have to plan for the rest of the year."

He's right. He was right on a lot of counts, the counts I don't enjoy or have the time to do properly: a business case, balance sheets, income and expense reports. We repeatedly broached these subjects and he asked more than once whether I could remain under my Quaker Meeting's nonprofit umbrella. I am quite certain that I can not. Hearing this, he wanted to be certain that I understood that adopting non-profit status would put the board in charge. "It's a corporation, just like a business."

Of course, on some level, I understand and accept that. But I think it's also the crux of why I have been dragging my feet. "What about ministry and being Spirit-led?" I wonder. Can that be balanced with the financial aspects by a board overseeing my vision? I know that I am going to have to get over the my part. Won't belong to be anymore or at least, not in the same manner.

This is, however, the path to financial sustainability.

The question I hold is, is this the path toward God and what she wants?

Please hold this in prayer for me as I wrangle my way through, hopefully not losing any more sleep.

• What types of things keep me up at night, worrying?
• Can I turn them over to God?
• How?
• How do I balance everyday reality with a spiritual life?
• What message does the 23rd Psalm have for me?

Psalm 23 English Standard Version (ESV)

The Lord Is My Shepherd

A Psalm of David.

 The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
    He makes me lie down in green pastures.
He leads me beside still waters.^[a]
     He restores my soul.
He leads me in paths of righteousness^[b]
    for his name's sake.

 Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,^[c]
    I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
    your rod and your staff,
    they comfort me.

 You prepare a table before me
    in the presence of my enemies;
you anoint my head with oil;
    my cup overflows.

            Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
                                        all the days of my life,
            and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord
                                      forever.

Living on the edge

[Recording located at end of post]

23^rd Psalm

The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing.

     He makes me lie down in green

pastures,

     he leads me beside quiet waters,

he refreshes my soul.

He guides me along the right paths

     for his name’s sake

 Even though I walk

     through the darkest valley,

I will fear no evil,

     for you are with me;

your rod and your staff,

     they comfort me.

You prepare a table before me

     in the presence of my enemies.

You anoint my head with oil;

     my cup overflows.

Surely your goodness and love will follow

me

     all the days of my life,

and I will dwell in the house of the Lord

     forever.

a youthful Charlie Hicklin

This Scripture is almost rote to me; learned in childhood and uttered frequently over the years. I find it, as many others, calming, though I have never examined why beyond familiarity. It recently re-captured my attention at the memorial for a dear family friend. He was a mentor and teacher though I never thought about his spirituality until the service. The celebrant said Charlie had jotted down "lack of fear is significant" next to the 23rd Psalm in his college Bible.

His note has really stuck with me. Yesterday, I told my shamanic counselor that I, sometimes, feel paralyzed with fear. Not always, but often on days when my sleep has been interrupted or I experience a fibro flare-up.

I am attempting to live Charlie's philosophy, crafted at such an early age. It brought me back to the Bible and this passage. In reading it lectio-divina style, a meditative method, I penned what the passage said to me, stanza by stanza:

Knowing you, God,

     I have all that I need.

You offer me rest and restoration

     among nature's beauty.

You help me still myself

     and know my soul.

You guide me in

     Your work.

Following won't be easy

     or always light filled.

But I will have no fear as I am

    never alone or out of your care.

[Interrupted by thought: Why is Jesus important? In him, God gave us something tangible to trust.]

Your discipline and support

     are my guides.

You invite me into

     seemingly dangerous situations.

Yet you protect me, make me sacred;

     give me abundance

[Interrupted by a phone call; a client saying yes to a a project ... abundance]

If you're with me in darkness and evil,

     then I can trust you to always be there.

You are always

     with me and I, with You.

I find this contemplative Scriptural reading and my interpretation immensely helpful as I discern some next steps about vocation. When discussing following Spirit with my shaman, he said he believed I liked living on the edge. The edge? Spirit's. Gary knew I was concerned for the fate of the old school I occupy, where I have based my current work. He cautioned that following does not mean I won't be homeless.

God's real promise is that She will never leave me. She does not pledge health, wealth, shelter or immortality. Just that we will never be alone in those circumstances.

That is the edge when compared to the cultural myth that materialism equals success and happiness. Life, I am beginning to understand, is about growth with and toward Spirit.

• What does the 23rd Psalm say to me?

• How does fear affect me?

• How do I give that to God?

• What do I believe is God's promise?

• How do I live on the edge?

Listen to this post:

Mentor of the deepest sort

[Recording located at end of post]
I’ve been watching him decline the past several years. He made it look so effortless, so natural and graceful, progressing from cane, to walker, wheelchair and, eventually, bed. I understand there was pain, much effort, resignation, peacemaking, perhaps pleading and storming for those surely would be my reactions to aging and illness. He most certainly was not alone. His wife of 60 years cheerfully did what was necessary to get him to and from dialysis three times a week for years. His son and daughter made frequent long journeys home for extended periods to lovingly assist their parents.

All three tended his bedside the last week, the one in which he chose to forgo dialysis. When I went to visit, it wasn’t somber, but welcoming and an extension of their lifelong gift of hospitality.

I always felt welcomed and special when I visited the Hicklin family. They dropped everything to greet you with a warm hug and kiss and, before you knew it, you’d be whisked off to the kitchen for a goodie or beverage even when it wasn’t a planned party. You just wanted to be with them in their beautifully inviting home.

Funny, one of the last full conversations I engaged in with Charlie was about the kitchen in their Victorian home in a Chicago suburb they left in 1970. “I loved that house you had in Hinsdale,” I remarked. “You even remember it?” Charlie inquired while reclining in bed, body so thin and frail, but bright eyed and clear minded as ever. “Oh, yes, especially the ruffled curtains you used under the sink.” He chuckled. We talked about other odd spaces such as the garage attic. ‘You kids went up there?” “Of course, it was Guy’s hideout. We all went up and hid.” I almost think he winked at me, suggesting we both knew it was the 1960s and chances were our parents were enjoying a cocktail on the patio and not honed into, exactly, where the kids went. It was a different world and there weren’t too many place to go that weren’t safe.

The ALLtime favorite Rose-Hicklin-Slagle* collective memory is of a severely cold New Year’s Eve in Oak Park, another Windy City burb. We always rung in the New Year together. This time in a mission-style home with built-in “naughty” chair and second-floor porch, which was the scene of the crime. We were rough housing as the adults played charades downstairs, got a bit rambunctious and someone locked a few of us out on the porch in sub-zero temps. I believe we were finally rescued, probably within minutes, by an older party-goer. It could easily have been Charlie. After all, he’s the one the adults drafted to quiet another Rose-Hicklin gathering at the farm of Marian’s sister. He did his duty quite admirably though we shortly popped back out of bed, tiptoeing around.

Two years after my family moved to Cincinnati, an initially painful transplant for me and probably everyone else, Charlie took a new job here as well. Amy, their daughter, is three months younger than I and my twin sister. So, essentially, we are family. Guy is just a couple of years older; used to seem like more when we were kids!

Charlie was a gifted artist who could make anything beautiful. Give him a plain cardboard box and he could whip up a giraffe costume or a wonderful accordian screen for the first apartment I shared with my husband, Tad. Charlie hired Tad back then for some freelance art assistance and never ceased to express his appreciation for the help and affirm his talent. Charlie and Marian were always on our guest list when we had major Halloween bashes in those days. Their costumes often outshone the rest and they were always gracious and grateful for the invitation.

We’ve done graduations, weddings, births, retirements, anniversaries together and, now, a passing.

I learned a few things at the memorial for Charlie. Important things. Things I already recognize as profound wisdom for me. Inside a Bible from college, next to the 23^rd Psalm, Charlie had scrawled: “Lack of fear is significant.”

The hair stood up on my neck when the celebrant read that. The last week of Charlie’s life, I was struggling to name my fears and surrender them to God. How did Charlie acquire that wisdom at such a young age? It was like he particularly knew I needed to hear that right now. He’d also written a song 30 years ago about having the perfect life and not knowing why. I wish I had the lyrics; it was about awe and gratitude sparked as a boy, but carried throughout his life. Yes, he wrote, there had been pain and tragedy, but also love, color, beauty, family and friends.

I hadn’t cried for Charlie until yesterday because I realized the true gift he had given me: to ferret out the beauty everywhere; to create beauty from the mundane. To revel in that beauty constantly, up until the very end.

The last thing I said to Charlie slipped thoughtlessly from my lips: “Be where you need to be.” “Be where you need to be,” he repeated. “I like that.” “Me, too,” I said surprised at the words, ”perhaps I need to live that as well.”

Charlie is where he needs to be right now and I am learning what I need to learn right  now; that “lack of fear is significant.”

Thank you, dear friend!

*Rose is my maiden name and the Slagles were other family friends in Chicago. Our dads all went to University of Iowa together and remained close. So did Charlie’s wife, Marian

• Who has taught me about beauty?

• How have I carried out that lesson?

• What makes friends family?

• How often do I recognize that gift?

• And thank God for it?

briefly sad

when I understand

a mentor

of the deepest

sort has

passed out

of my life

and, yet, in

that journey,

he has left

me another gift

the Truth he learned

long ago that I

need

NOW

how truly

blessed I have been

and continue to be

by this beautiful

life

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