Tenders of some sort

We are all tenders of some sort. There are those who tend themselves, and those who tend their possessions and gardeners, teachers, caregivers, ministers, mothers, missionaries and artists who tend the creative fire. Others tend corporations and the economy, government on all levels, public policy, welfare and safety. Some of us feed others literally, spiritually and metaphorically. Laborers work the line, stock the shelves, fix our cars and broken things. Secretaries tend their bosses, administrators  keep their offices and institutions in line. And there is always someone who wants to sell us something.

We all seem to have a purpose.

I keep driving by a neighbor’s house, neat as a pin. She bought it a few years ago, installed new windows, replaced the roof, covered anything else exposed with maintenance-free composite planking, built a flowerbox abundantly planted with lush flowers and keeps a productive garden. Not a weed or mulch particle out of place. Sometimes, I am envious when I think about our poor box gutter languishing  in anticipation of our worth-waiting-for contractor, the mole hills in our lawn that’s less grass and more violets and the long to-do list.

Until I recognize what I tend: relationships, though not always so well.  I have spent much of the summer with my girls traveling and attending weddings, but also preparing one to enter high school and the other to begin college courses and learn to drive. Today, as a matter of fact, I am preparing to tend up to 16 fourth to sixth graders tomorrow. Actually, my oldest is leading the activity, but I have helped her work through it, cut and sewn many of the super-hero capes, sent out post cards with a personal note to each child, called each one’s home with a reminder, arranged transportation and smiled each time I think of these special kids. In some circles they aren’t so special: a rag tag bunch who lives in the city’s only subsidized housing for families, most with a single parent, multiple siblings, little income and not enough to eat. They’re working the welfare system, some people say. “I fought to keep the projects out of the neighborhood,” a departed neighbor used to complain.

I find that the people with the poorest opinions of these families have never had a personal encounter with any of them. If they did, they would see what I and so many others involved with Artsy Fartsy Saturdays see: warm, generous, eager, creative and bright kids attempting to live as normal a life as possible sans many of the amenities the rest of us enjoy. My family, neighbors and faith community help tend these wonderful families in such a variety of ways.

I don’t wish to demean what anyone else is called to tend. Frankly, it’s a blessing we all have different gifts, callings and interests. How else would we function as community?

My wonderful monthly archetypal astrology group helped me see this gift of tending relationships. I wasn’t particularly aware of it and often lamented what I didn’t get to, but now understand.

So my house and yard are less than perfect. My heart is full, spirit blessed and purpose satisfied.

• What do I tend?

• What are my gifts in that direction?

• How do I respect others and their gifts?

• How do I discern my gifts?

• How do I credit Spirit for them or espress my gratitude?

her house is

a knockout,

visually delighting

me every time

I drive by

a thing of beauty

on darker days,

it reminds me

of the untapped

potential in

my property

until I realize

her gifts are

not mine

and I am tending

something just

as beautiful to

my heart

 Listen to this post:

Dance of obedience

Last week, I was privileged to, again, be the focus of a Quaker clearness committee, the small-group process of deep listening to another. Listening, reflecting back what the speaker said, asking questions for clarity and assisting that person in discovering the guidance of their Inner Teacher.

This is the fifth clearness committee I've been the subject of; I've served on several others. Each one has been different. Some, such as those for membership or marriage, are more clear cut with questions outlined. Mine on concerns of ministry generally seek answers to where God is leading me and currently working in my life. Of course, I am constantly discerning that for myself and checking in with others who nurture me, but, sometimes, I suspect, those sources tell me what I want to hear, not necessarily what I ought to hear.

The same person who has convened my last three sessions has scrupulously ensured that each one be as pure as possible. Because of his careful guidance, these sessions have been gifts. A previous committee offered advice that weighed me down. Another was silent and left me wondering and in doubt.

The two questions with which I am working from my most recent session include naming the props I feel Spirit is asking me to surrender and removing my block to aligning my spiritual work with income and career.

Clearly, God told me I did not need props such a a book, a turtlebox or studio. Initially, I thought that meant to surrender those things. Then I surmised it could signify a willingness to surrender them. With patient listening and careful questions, I am understanding what those objects Spirit named represent: worldly recognition, identity and security. My life is about faithfulness in using my gifts as God desires. [Interestingly, I just led a retreat session in naming gifts]. I now see it's about laying down illusion and forming a different dream, one I co-create with Spirit, than the world pushes and let the rest fall into place WITHOUT worry, fear or doubt.

F(ear) = listening to the wrong source

Doodling I did prepping for a retreat on naming gifts

Out of that clearness session also came the suggestion to read a book by Quaker Jan Wood called "Christians at Work." Typically, I veer from anything with the word Christian in the title, assuming there's some sort of judgment. But I know Jan Wood; she's traveled to our meetinghouse to facilitate two retreats and her Good News Associates presented me with a ministry grant last summer. She sees things in fresh ways, inspired by Jesus and scripture.

In fact, years ago, when she was summoned for a retreat on stewardship, she rocked our world, looking directly at us at pointing out that we should and could be funding the ministry of 6 people. She said stewardship, according to Jesus' view, is not about comfort and buildings, but about supporting people and ministry. A few years later, when our meeting so very easily agreed to spend $90,000 on new "green" windows, Jan's words haunted me. I spoke up and said that if we could easily spend money on comfort and energy efficiency, couldn't we also support ministry. The meeting listened and, eventually, set up a ministry fund. That was years ago and I had no idea I would ever apply for or be the recipient of any of that funding, I just knew what Jan Wood had said. God works in wonderful and mysterious ways.

Jan's book has been just the tonic I needed, describing how work, originally as God intended, was a natural, shared adventure, not slaving away at a boring desk job just to pay the bills. She speaks of the world's system and God's:

"When we're knitted back into God's heart through Jesus, we leave the systems of this world based on distrust of God and reliance on human senses and wisdom."

She speaks of obedience as relaxing, a liberating dance and how tasks, turned to service, become profound worship.

This is where I want to live.


• How do I seek my Inner Teacher?
• Where do I seek outside help in that listening and discerning?
• What difference can that deep listening by another make?
• What is or has God asked me to surrender?
• What does obedience look like for me?


I'm not sure I
could have been
on the hotseat,
she remarked

meaning the focus
of a clearness
committee

for me, it
wasn't that,
but the chance
to get out of
my own head

and into my heart
where Jesus,
the Inner Teacher,
dwells

once there,
I'm certain
that I don't
ever want 
to leave

Listen to this post:

Transparency of evil

Evil disguised/pastel on paper

Sandwiched among e-mails for hair and penile implants, get-rich-quick schemes, you-must-have-this-and-that offers and those unveiling conspiracies, I, fortunately, find Truth. I have to wade through a lot of muck to uncover it, but it’s worth it for these snippets feed my soul and affirm that wordly wisdom is rotten to the core.

These beacons help me shake the earthly doubt and understand my sacred place.

The words of Henri Nouwen and Richard Rohr are what I long to hear. Today’s meditations from both reach my heart. Nouwen, though dead since 1996, has left his mark as a priest and prolific writer who spent his last years serving people with disabilities. Rohr is a Franciscan priest, ecumenical teacher, writer and founder of the Center for Action and Contemplation.

Rohr, to whom I was recently introduced, has been writing about the evils in our society, the first of which he calls “the world” of group selfishness and the spiral of violence. The second is “the flesh” as witnessed in murder, stealing, rape, lying, adultery and greed. From those, emerges the third, often construed as fully justified because it manufactures systems: oppressive governments, legal, penal, military, economic behemoths we are taught to worship and not question.

According to Rohr: 

“The devil’s secret is camouflage. The devil’s job is to look very moral! It has to look like we are defending some great purpose or cause, like ‘making the world safe for democracy’ or ‘keeping the bad people off the streets.’ Then you can do many evils without any guilt, without any shame or self-doubt, but actually with a sense of high-minded virtue.” 

A few years into my tenure as a Quaker, I asked our minister for his thoughts on evil. I’d had a frightening experience driving home one night from the Meetinghouse after a particularly mystical evening. Everything red glowed at me in a menacing way from the red traffic light to the glow of tail lights. I’d really never believed in a devil, so I wanted his opinion.

I was a bit stunned. He said he believed in institutional evil that takes on a life of its own. Wow, I thought; he’s right and we don’t even see, let alone, question it. This is the third evil Rohr names.

One of my gifts is seeing systems and seeing into them. I hadn’t known it was a gift until recently. They become these super structures that require energy, high maintenance and complete authority; the antithesis of simplicity and Spirit.

This is why I am struggling with my art-exploration ministry for local, under-served kids. It’s a beautifully simple program until I seek funding. Fortunately most of the grants have not been too complex. But, I am beholden to them. Then, if I want to seek individual donations, I’m advised to get non-profit status (filling out a form for the state and sending a $125 check) and an IRS tax exemption, requiring a 30-page document, legal expertise and thousands of dollars in fees.

That’s if I want to grow the ministry. I’m thinking bigger is not better. I want to serve these kids and their community more deeply, not necessarily serve thousands. I want to help these children and their parents see their value, tap themselves within and express what’s there. It’s not a manufacturing process. Early on in this ministry, someone thought they were being kind in offering that their friend operated something similar that served 10,000 kids. Can you imagine the structure that requires?

In this world, unless you’re building, improving, getting bigger, richer or reaching more people, you’re not a success.

I feel very little in that venue. And insignificant. I’m a middle-aged woman with fibromyalgia called to a ministry of spiritual nurture in writing, groups and with at-risk middle schoolers. I have yet to be paid, though, fortunately, most expenses have been covered. And people in my neighborhood and faith communities have been so generous with time and materials.

On the other hand, this – right now – is where God calls me and my gifts.

Thank heavens, today, I read the Henri Nouwen meditation:

Downward Mobility The society in which we live suggests in countless ways that the way to go is up.  Making it to the top, entering the limelight, breaking the record - that's what draws attention, gets us on the front page of the newspaper, and offers us the rewards of money and fame. The way of Jesus is radically different.  It is the way not of upward mobility but of downward mobility.  It is going to the bottom, staying behind the sets, and choosing the last place!  Why is the way of Jesus worth choosing?  Because it is the way to the Kingdom, the way Jesus took, and the way that brings everlasting life.

I am still reflecting on a recent worship experience in which Spirit told me to lay down and surrender. And, I am trying.

• How do I view evil?

• How does Richard Rohr’s view shape this?

• How do I participate in the systemic evil?

• With awareness, how can I shift away from supporting it?

• How does Spirit direct me to lay down and surrender?

sitting, writing, contemplating,

praying, creating in an air-

conditioned studio

wondering about

my part

in society: the

good and bad

but, more

importantly,

discerning where

God calls me and

if I have been

faithful

Listen to this post:

Flying under the radar

Listen to this post:

Can't seem to get this little guy – I think he once told me Antonio was his name – out of my head. He's an elementary-aged student, probably seven or eight, in a school for autism-spectrum kids that occupies a part of the building where my art studio is located. As I come and go, I encounter him, with his kind and patient aide, at recess.

The first time we met, in the stairwell, he introduced himself with a big grin and asked my name. His outgoingness seems atypical of the other students.

A few weeks ago, in warm early-winter weather, I arrived at the time he was returning from an outdoor visit. The aide was holding the door as Antonio trailed behind, cupping something in his hands: earthworms. He held them up to show me, then nudged them closer in case I wanted to touch them. I politely declined. His aide remarked that the child "likes to take care of all the little creatures." I responded "He has a big heart, doesn't he?" The aide shook his head in agreement and Antonio parted my company repeating: "I have I big heart, I have a big heart ..."

I thought of Antonio yesterday when an ugly, ancient-looking beast of a bug straggled out of somewhere and crawled across my studio carpet. Happily, it's the only bug I've ever encountered there. I trapped him with a paint cup, slid a sheet of clean, white card stock underneath and traveled to another room ... several doorways down the hall ... opened the window and let him go. "Be free, my friend," I said feeling somewhat guilty as I released him into a colder climate than the one he'd been enjoying. Just not guilty enough to let him share my space.

What would Antonio have done? Let him crawl up into his hands? Let him stay inside?

Antonio is a wonderful reminder to pay attention to the small things in life, the little creatures, which are as much a part of Spirit's world as we. The boy reminds me of a little creature flying under the radar of the "normal" world, possibly at its margins in a better place of his own making. One filled with ordinary things many of us miss or merely bypass. How could earthworms, who really just lay there and wriggle around in their stickiness, strike tenderness in anyone's heart? Because they are living beings and part of God's Creation. Antonio seems to intuitively know this.

The concept of living at the margins has spoken to me ever since I first read about it in Henri Nouwen's work. An accomplished theologian, teacher, scholar and writer, that's where he chose to live the last 11 years of  life: among the most needy and castoffs in the Daybreak community for those with mental and physical disabilities near Toronto, where he is buried.

In a 1994 Christianity Today interview, Nouwen said:

"Jesus didn't say, 'Blessed are those who care for the poor.' He said, 'Blessed are we where we are poor, where we are broken.' It is there that God loves us deeply and pulls us into deeper communion with himself. I find it very important to stress that we are wounded healers; we don't have to run away from our vulnerability as if we don't hurt."

Maybe Antonio is confronting his vulnerability in the earthworms. I have grown to appreciate my reminder of vulnerability: each time I hear the whimpers, moans and cries from the school on the other side of my studio wall. At first, I prayed until someone knowledgeable about autism said it's more of a release than communication of pain. And yet is IS a call to vulnerability, to expose our wounds and pain.

Henri Nouwen believed so:

When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives means the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand.

• What or whom has been my reminder of vulnerability?
• How have I expressed or uncovered my wounds?
• How have my wounds become my gifts?
• How am I the wounded healer?
• What stretches my heart?


such a simple
act, one of
childhood

that, as adults,
we overlook

tending to
the little
in life,
the low-to
-the-ground

when a
grounding
is what may
push us

closer
to
Spirit