Life without Spirit IS crazy

For three months I was crazy busy, so I gave up my blog. Temporarily, I told myself. For the following three months I’ve been, well, crazy. Without it and the chance to process life.

Something tells me that exposing my vulnerability has a resonance with others. Plus, six months of looking for exterior validation has just about done me in.

I jumped this ship for a university marketing job The first month was heaven. Then I partnered with a nice, smart guy with little marketing background, but a Ph.d in process. We reported to an IT guy, also congenial, but very busy, hands off and reliant on my partner. So I busied myself writing and not shaping the marketing plan as I had been told. Along the way, I learned that the last three marketing directors had been fired. My perspective changed.

I am proud of the work I did accomplish, especially connecting with students from a high-needs high school. In fact, one of the young men continues to check in with me. He has so much promise and we bonded over the drive home from the end-of-camp celebration. His parents, immigrants from Somalia, were busy working. The fact that I knew his neighborhood, where I used to live, surprised him. He moved here not speaking a word of English. He’s since absorbed so much, blossoming in the STEM (science, technology, engineering and math) curriculum at Hughes High School. He’s a year between my daughters, so I have been coaching him on what to expect senior year. He texted me on Thanksgiving and I wrote back that his friendship had been a gift.

I also drafted content for a special-education website, wrapping it with the personal story of an amazing young woman who lives with autism. I serendipitously ran into her mother at a family function and asked how her children were doing. Julia was at UC on a non-degree track. I knew she must be in one of the program I had been writing about. She agreed to tell me her story, which really personalized the web copy, and touched my heart.

And I made a wonderful new friend, a talented young graphic designer from China. Toward the end of my tenure, instead of working through lunch, we found a shady bank of tables near the library and shared our lives over food; typically a salad for me and some wonderfully spicy Chinese leftovers for her. She has expanded my worldview, for which my life is richer. I am still struck with one conversation about the effect of China’s one-child rule. Fei-Fei says her generation feels abandoned because they had no siblings. She infused her frustration over tedious immigration regulations and snafus with candor, charm and humor. I learned what it’s like to be here as an outsider, grateful for the opportunity and working hard. She has little sympathy for illegal immigrants.

The gig ended with the verbal promise of freelance work. I am still awaiting that call, though I am back to some of the amazing work I was doing at the beginning of the summer as a freelancer.

This fall, applied for a graduate writing fellowship feeling very confident in my proposal only to learn I was the alternate. That was crushing, though the program director has promised to provide feedback and lauded me for my passionate entry.

Just before Thanksgiving, I spotted a marketing job at a growing arts center that sounded perfect. I heard back almost instantly, but the salary had no business being advertised as director-level compensation. I let that one go immediately.

Out of the blue this week, I received word that a devotional entry I had sent a year ago was being published in a global collection. They asked us to promote it like crazy. I complied and trumpeted my success on Facebook. Two days later, another e-mail arrived saying they had made a mistake, I had not been included. I was livid, mostly embarrassed, because I had tooted my own horn. Now, what do I do? I asked.

Irritated, I trotted off to an advent evening of reflection with a spiritual buddy. She kindly let me unload. We do that for each other. We listened to readings of the Christmas story centered on Mary and responded to queries. They helped me see that I took some time away for practical things and I am on the next step of the journey whether or not it’s obvious to me. A few spare lines in an adapted Magnificat, song of Mary, stopped me cold as we recited them together.

You have blessed me lavishly and make me ready to respond. You shatter my little world and let me be poor before you.

You take from me all my plans and give me more than I can hope for or ask. You give me opportunities and the ability to become free and to burst through my boundaries.

How can I serve? I was forced to offer.

I took a long walk home from the gym this morning, reconnecting with Spirit. When I returned, I found a heartening response in my inbox about the devotional. I want to share this exchange:

Hi, Cathy, 
I'm so very sorry for the social media predicament my
mistake has caused you, especially after all your
trouble to help publicize the book. It was a very
human error and mea culpa completely for selecting
the wrong group in our e-newsletter system.
Humbly, 
Dawn

…

I am trying to look at this in a spiritual light – for myself – and the message seems to be to look inward at God and not be so tied to external affirmation. Not an easy lesson, but a necessary one nevertheless. So thank you for helping me see that.

Appreciatively,

-- Cathy

…

Hi, Cathy,

I really appreciate your sharing that with me. Hopefully soon it’ll be something I can write about as a grace-lesson in my own life, but for now eating humble pie is not so savory. Still it’s a good lesson in my frailty and need for grace!

Blessings,

Dawn

Thank you, dear reader, for allowing me this journey. I feel re-centered as a result.

• What happens when I stop a regular spiritual practice?

• How do I let life get in the way of being with God?

• How do I let life dictate who I am?

• How can I return to looking within and letting Spirit tell me?

• How can I model Mary’s quiet servitude?

spinning

spinning

spinning

so busy and out

of control

in life

thinking this

is normal

buying

back in

forgetting

what centers

me, reminds

me

that life without

Spirit

IS crazy

The lesson of balance

It was a journey getting into the studio today, but I am here now. I lingered in bed as the sub-zero temperatures pawed at our old-house windows. Usually, I'd be up at 6 on Tuesday and headed out the door, dropping the kids at the bus and depositing myself at the pool for a mile of laps. Just too damn cold, I told myself. They weren't going to school and I wasn't stepping out, no matter how bundled, at six below.

Seemingly out of nowhere, I snapped at Lily, my 13-year-old, as I was hastily gathering everything I needed to get here. She was trying to control what I was saying to myself as I mumbled the list of everyone else's needs I was tending to before I could get to mine. She was also in the midst of pushing me toward a house full of kids today. I dislike when the anger eeks out. It reminds me that I have unfinished business.

Interestingly, I was going to blog about retreat today; how I typically indulge in one in January and haven't yet this year. I was thinking that maybe I don't have to because I am taking a series of daily retreats, a slower pace this month that has filled my annual need for solitude and reflection.

Early this month, I'd been looking forward to a daylong retreat to let go of last year and look ahead to 2014. Sounded perfect for me and it was literally around the corner, five minutes away. And then a touch of the flu hit and dashed those plans. Generously, the retreat leader met with me last week to give me materials, talk through what transpired and encourage me to do the work on my own. We even set an appointment for a month so I could share this particular journey. Have I even opened the folder to begin? No

Have I regularly been spending time in centering prayer? No, I take three minutes with the reading, then move on because there is so much work awaiting me. Of course the Thomas Keating quotes are deep and worth savoring, I just can't devote the time I'd like.

And, I am certain, swimming would have burned off the emotions I hurled at Lily. I really want to learn what those bubbling emotions signal. They caught me off guard as I'd spent last night with close friends, receiving a massage from one and wonderful dinner from the other. I'd slept great and could relax into the massage this morning instead of pushing myself out of bed at the sound of the alarm. Honestly, though, I was disappointed by how achy I felt. My muscles and connective tissue had been unearthed, stretched, soothed and put to rest. I'd detoxed with herbal tea and lots of water, nixing the tempting red wine my companions were drinking.

I was out of kilter this morning. Kids off school, me off schedule with no exercise and I was racing to get to the studio to blog and spend some time in stillness. Not to mention the Artsy Fartsy postcards I need to send, the workshop news release that needs to get out, the expense report to file, the mission statement to revise, etc. Much as I dislike it, I have a daily regimen I must follow if I want to maintain some normalcy living with fibromyalgia. Sometimes that makes me angry. Why do I have to spend at least an hour or so exercising daily, another 20 minutes taking supplements and doing the Netti pot? Then eat an allergy-free breakfast and pack a similar lunch? And, where do I fit in a spiritual practice? Optimum centering prayer suggests 20 minutes twice a day. Seems like a dream while I have kids at home.

The world's ingrained message tells me to speed up and fit more in. Spirit says to step back, breath deep, recollect and actually be grateful that I know what I must do. That the emotions swirling and leaking out tell me I must retreat, recalibrate and set myself in right order for the coming year. For me, there are no short cuts.

• What happens if I get off rhythm, out of sync or off schedule?
• What role does regimen play in my life?
• What's the balance between physical, mental and spiritual?
• How do I retreat?
• How does that recalibrate me and makes things right with Spirit?


lured by mother
nature's violence

using it as an excuse
against daily discipline,
giving into the mind
at the expense of
body and spirit

when the froth of
anger is lodged
at another, an
innocent

how many times
must I learn the lesson
of balance?

Listen to this post:

Why do I resist?

Centering amidst the torrent, that's my present goal. Present being a key word.

Life right now is a challenge for many of us. Personally, mine is fraught with uncertainty, anxiety and a lack of clarity. I can hardly fathom my own plate, let alone everything else happening in the world.

Yet, somehow we must.

After floating with a spiritual practice, this torrent has pushed me toward daily centering prayer and a contemplative reading. It's so wonderfully opening that I wonder why, before, I felt as if it were a chore. I can carve out 20 minutes a day for this. I need to.

Even so, by mid-afternoon, I can begin to feel unglued and off-course like I did yesterday. So, I posted feeling so on Facebook, asking others how they center and the response was heartfelt and interesting:

• You get a hug from your husband 

• And then play candy crush to induce general lethargy. 

• Sit in stillness.... 

• Not easy but I think our spiritual centers, even though tested, are what gives us the strength to get through the difficult times. 

• I like to sit and think about all my good fortune in life.... health, family, love, job and how I have more on my plate that makes me happy than most people do. A LOT of people have life a lot more difficult than I do. I just try to be more thankful for the goodies that my life has in it. All the hard things seem to melt away. 

• Silent dwelling with God. 

 • Play at being with people that give you energy. Do some things that get you out of your head. I also lay prostrate on the floor and surrender everything to God. 

• It seems to me it is the work of life to create interior space big enough to hold my own struggle and the larger struggles of others, my own joy and the joys of others. Not diminishing other struggles and joys, and also not diminishing my own. So how do I find my center in that place of spaciousness? For me, there is an element of surrender, what I have is enough, even if what I have right now is hard. And that place of surrender comes in fits and starts and all in the truth that the center is God's goodness.

• Listen to whatever music makes you feel good. I recommend Paul McCartney's "Red Rose Speedway."

• Talk to God one-on-one, read His word, ask Him to show me the path He wants me to follow. Wait...and listen...

I have some pretty wise Facebook friends. They seem to focus on love, gratitude, stillness,  playfulness, creativity, prayer and surrender. ALL of those resonate with me.

As a result, before bed, I pulled out my notebook and made two lists. One for all that I was grateful that day and, the other, naming the things I was surrendering to God. And then I 
slept. Well.

This morning, I continued with the centering prayer and felt God's hands on my back, neck, head and shoulders as loving energy filled my body. Then Spirit, without words, nudged me to direct it to my mother at the Cleveland Clinic this morning completing testing before a double-heart-valve replacement later this month.

A trip to yoga and then, today, I am surrendering into the joy of preparing for a daylong 
retreat I lead tomorrow on naming gifts. Lucky, grateful me!


• How do I  keep my spiritual center when things are hard and take their toll?
• What role does trust play?
• What spiritual practices support that trust?
• What about prayer  and how does it change during these times?
• Where do I find God in all of this?


the words today,
as they have been
all week, were
just right

exactly what my
heart and head
needed to hear

something about
uncluttering the
space and coming
to Spirit with no
expectation,

simply being
there, open
and receiving

that's ALL
God ever asks

so, why do
I resist?

Listen to this post:

My heart's calendar

Listen to this post:

The second Thursday, late afternoon, of every month is reserved. Without question. Not even marked on my calendar. That's when I dutifully pull out my log of Artsy Fartsy kids' names and phone numbers and begin the round of reminder calls.

The first time, I was a bit nervous. I hadn't yet met many of these parents. What if they have no idea what I am calling about? What if they hang up on me? Yell at me? Don't answer?

Get a grip, I told myself then. You were, afterall, a reporter and called strangers ALL of the time. Not just strangers, but important, intimidating people and you always more than ambled through those calls. You often had friendly conversations. Remember when your husband overheard once and asked how long you'd known the person on the other end? A half hour, you replied. Instant phone rapport: one of your gifts. Why should this be any different? Because this matters more; this isn't a job, it's a calling. So get CALLING!

That's pretty much how it began. It never hurts that I start in the order in which the kids came to Artsy Fartsy. Always, Layla and Justice, sisters, first. I remember the drive up the hill from my house, into the Oakbrook parking lot. How I pulled out the beautifully printed yard signs announcing this new program and art-filled afternoon of registration. Layla was right there, reading the sign, bobbing up and down with excitement. "When? When? When?" she asked.

She, her dad, and sister, were the FIRST in line (as if there were a line, more of a slow trickle throughout the afternoon), Right on the dot at one o'clock.

So I start with Brandon first. I consistently catch him live on the phone. "Oh, yes, they will be there!" He's one  caring dad, ensuring his girls make the most of their opportunities. He never fails to thank me for the program. Even wished out loud that he could volunteer to drive, but, at the time, his car wasn't running and he couldn't afford to get it fixed.

This week, I didn't catch Marilyn, Emijah's grandmother. We had quite a talk, getting acquainted over two of her granddaughters on that August registration afternoon. She's called me just to chat and I've bumped into her at Kroger's. Or Anjela's mom. A recording said the phone was no longer in use. This has happened before when parents can not afford the minutes. So, I asked another mom to check for me, though I may have to see for myself.

A few hours after I made my calls, this time disappointed to reach mostly voice mail, I answer my vibrating phone, unable to quickly recollect the familiar voice. "Did you call this number? she asks. "Oh, I made a bunch of calls for Artsy Fartsy a few hours ago and I'm sure I called you. "Oh, Miss Cathy, is that you?" "Yes, Nia, just reminding you about Saturday. You know your daughter was sassy this last time. I mean sassy as in fun. She's not so shy anymore." "Yeah, it takes her awhile to open up. And, yes, she knows it's this week."

I understand it's hard for the kids that it's once a month. It can seem like an eternity, even to me. That's one reason, midway through, I write them each a personal postcard. Parents usually mention on the reminder calls that the sons and daughters loved getting the mail. I feel it's a good way of nurturing the child by remarking on the exceptional project they completed last time, the way they helped another child or how much I enjoy their energy. When I have made similar comments to the parents about their child, I see that it buoys them as well.

This chore has really become prayerful and so filling for me. Plus, it builds the anticipation in my heart as I look forward to seeing these amazing creatures in two days. Sometimes I can hardly stand it ... waiting. Fortunately, there are a myriad of tasks to complete before they bounce off the van, up the stairs and into Artsy Fartsy every second Saturday afternoon.

But, always, two days before, the date – Thursday, late afternoon – is permanently etched on my heart's calendar.

• When has an ordinary task taken on a prayerful dimension?
• How have I witnessed that transformation?
• How does that influence other areas of my life?
• How do I own it?
• How does it connect me more deeply to others and also Spirit?


yes, a
to-do list

growing
each time

not even a
direct connection

a device between
me and the other

at times, I
leave a message

but the
absolute best,
is when I reach
a live heart
on the
other end

with something
as simple
as a reminder
call

a mundane
chore

that opens
my heart
as wide
as can
be

and leaves
it
open

Gentler than a ladder

IF THIS WERE A DREAM:
...
I am just shepherding a group of curious kids down from the meeting-house attic. They had begged to see what I had once described as an amazing space. They could not, did not, wait for me and had someone else let them up. I hear their feet overhead and see that it is a concern to others, so I stop what I am doing (one of about three after-worship tasks) and race to the bottom of the pull-down stairs, carefully climb them to see the kids have pulled out a straw hat and cane and are doing a dance routine. Cute, but inappropriate.

I tell them they should have waited for me and that this is a tour, not playtime and convince them to descend. Funny, the frivolity ends at the top of the steep steps and I carefully guide them down. Once down, I am chatting with a number of people crammed into the small space at the bottom of the steps. I – almost unconsciously – begin to fold the ladder back. What happens next doesn't really register: the stairs unfold themselves and head toward me. There's nowhere to move, so I duck. But, darn, they crack me on the head anyway. I am immediately stunned, yet don't fall over or black out. No blood. I stumble out of the small space as tears flood my cheeks. What the heck just happened?

I am carefully tended to; luckily one of the bystanders is a nurse.
...
I MIGHT INTERPRET IT differently than it if were real life as it was.

The kids are up high playing, unwilling to wait for me to escort them. There is audible concerned expressed below and I feel compelled to bring them down to safety and as I do, I get hurt, stopped in my tracks.

Was I interfering? Why did I feel such a burden of care (perhaps because I had told them about the attic)? Why were some adults upset and others willing to facilitate the adventure?

There really seems to be a spiritual element and message here. I mean, after all, we' are talking about the attic of a church/meeting house. They kids ascend and descend. For a time, they are dancing above the adults and afraid to climb back down to what the adults view as safety and the kids see as boring and breaking their adventure.

I also see that the ladder literally exerted too much pressure on me, much like how I have let so many commitments in my life lately dictate its shape with very little room for me. And, recently, almost no room for a regular spiritual practice.

Hum.

A friend at the pool who heard this story asked if I really believed God made that ladder hit me, because I joked that God seems to speak to me through car crashes and accidents. I said no, it's just that I don't seem to listen to the whispers to slow down and things escalate until something almost catastrophic happens to really get my attention. She also said she'd read a good suggestion that instead of writing something like prayer or meditation time into her planner, she writes simply God.

That's much harder to ignore and gentler than a ladder as a reminder.

• To what in my life am I not listening?
• Is there an escalating pattern before I do?
• Do/can I make regular time for prayer/meditation/to be with God/Spirit?
• What happens when I do?
• What happens when I don't?


Cathy,
Can you do this?
And this? What about this?

An automatic
Sure, sure, sure.

How did I get trapped
into this pattern?

For too long
I have staked
my identity on it.

The pleaser,
the one
everyone
counts on.

How is
it serving
my ego?

How is it
detrimental
to the rest of me?

The fault
does not
lie with those
asking


but with me