Rumpled skin of myself

My wolf came out the other day; no, literally she really did. On a 45-miute drive while I was taking a cat nap in the passenger seat – we'd done this same, long stretch three times in the last week-and-a-half – I had a waking dream. The kind that pops up before you know it, signaling that you were on the edge of sleep, but not quite.

Almost before it shifted to another visual, I recognized it as something to note. A yowling wolf, standing straight up, as if half human, emerging from a silken guise that looked like me. I was just shed, split in two and shuffled to the floor like a Disney-princess costume when the bad-guy seems more attractive.

I immediately sensed the wolf represented both power and anger. After journaling, I am aware she also symbolizes not playing by the rules, wildness, a natural state, animalness, beastliness and rawness.

Max and the Wild Things

The power and anger had been suppressed, but now they are out. This coincides with recent night waking as if my body is programmed for fear mode. Fear that I won't get enough done, be a good enough parent, earn enough, basically that there is not enough and I am not enough. On an intellectual and spiritual level, I know this isn't true. But, bodily and deeply imbedded, I don't and I need to learn it in that realm to release it.

A couple of days ago, a Richard Rohr meditation addressed this issue in a manner I had not before articulated:

Moving to the level of "participative knowing: is first of all a cellular experience, a full-body knowing. It is nothing you can prove merely by the mental ego. It is something you know by inner experience – by prayer, by love, and by suffering."

That hits the nail on the head for me.

This week I have been struggling, more like battling, with my almost 13-year-old in organizing her to go back to school. Organization is not in her genes and so her wolf has been calling, growling, to mine. As I explore and begin to address her resistance to organization and preference for chaos, I understand that taps into my current journey. That I have been too conformed to the world's ways that are not in sync with my nature. I have been teaching her some of the structures that constrict me and stuffed this wolf inside. She's challenging that. As a mother, I do need to guide her through the maze of living more easily in the world. Interesting books on fast minds and the hunter gene teach me that my daughter's nature is one of constant scanning and change. That she's not meant to be still and obedient, though she must adapt somewhat to survive this world. That's where I come in.

I can't ignore either of our wolves. Mine is no longer invisible and has shredded the princess facade of niceness. My wolf must channel her anger. Confess, as a wise astrologer suggested six months ago. Not repress or express. She's rebelling against old messages of sucking my stomach in or eating with my mouth closed so I don't appear uncivilized to others.

I ache to embrace this wildness that I see in my child. To own my power and creativity and surrender the old messages, patterns and destructive ways along with the fear and anger. I long to let go of the super structures that are not me. The ones that hold and hem me in. The ones that separate me from Spirit.

I want to flow, dance, be joyful and not restricted. That's all my daughter wants. We're fallible human bodies with big hearts and a spark of Divinity, that of God within. In learning to unstrap my burden of responsibility, perfectionism and attachment and give them to Spirit, perhaps that will guide her as well.

I feel like the opposite of my favorite storybook character, Max, from Maurice Sendak's Where the Wild Things Are. Max dresses up in a wolf suit to become "the king of all the wild things." I've dressed up in a suit that constricts my wildness and closeness to Spirit. Hoping to complete the journey and return while, like Max's homecoming, my dinner is still hot.

• When has my wild thing emerged?
• What triggered it?
• What message did it bring?
• How do I identify with the wildness in others?
• How does that wildness draw me closer to Spirit?


lazily drifting
out of thought
into the warmth
of the sun, the
soft breeze and
gentle hum of
the car

hypnotic

uncontrolled
images carelessly
floating by until
one calls, grabs
my attention

the wolf, my wolf
growls her way
out of my skin

announcing her
visibility and need
to be out

now, what to do
with the rumpled
skin of myself and
the new wildness

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Best-laid plans

I am not in charge.

I am not in charge.

That's my new mantra, the result of Artsy Fartsy's (AF) first field trip. I want to say it was the trip from you-know-where, but will stop short and accept it's imperfections. In my head, as I planned, it was perfect:  an "easy" summer session that wouldn't require me to get the studio in order or supply a lesson, activity and project.

I am not in charge.

I am not in charge.

The girls and I began developing the museum scavenger hunt on the long drive back from our recent East Coast trip. We bounced ideas around as I drove, Autumn facilitated and Lily took notes. We know the museum pretty well, but, just to be sure, we trekked there a week in advance to double-check, make adjustments and record gallery numbers. That was the basis for our hunt, complete with a teacher's guide for leaders and museum maps with divergent paths for each group.

Dozens of empty water bottles from our June open house were the impetus for the trip. Painted and sliced in spirals, they'll make incredible Dale Chihuly-inspired sculptures for our old school building. But I wanted the kids to see a real Chihuly: the stunning, snaky, cobalt one greeting visitors as they enter the Cincinnati Art Museum. Most AF kids had never been and were stoked for the trip. Parents must've been, too, as permission slips came back sans much coaxing.

And drivers were plentiful ... until, for extremely valid reasons, they began to drop like flies. No worries, I chanted, invoking Spirit's help. Thanks to good friends and neighbors, we had our last-minute transport. I had carefully assigned particular kids to each car based on pick-up destinations and separating siblings and those who don't get along. I wanted it to flow smoothly.

I am not in charge.

I am not in charge.

That went out the door at my first stop. Could I wait 20 minutes til he could get back from his grandparents? Unfortunately, no, I responded, I have six others to take and meet the group in 10 minutes. One of the girls had asked if her step mother, an artist, could ride. Sure, I said once I knew there was an extra seat. The girls were lined up and ready at their complex when two of us arrived. Yet the artist was absent, running an errand. With her finally in tow, we met up with the other drivers and their charges at the school.

As we re-made car assignments, one was angry to be moved to accommodate warring siblings. She wasn't in my car, so I didn't understand the depth of her frustration, which she, apparently, articulated the entire ride.

We arrived, neatly, met a Quaker friend on the steps, took a group photo, had the kids read the etiquette and museum tips aloud and split into four small groups. We entered together and all spent time under the Chihuly, then went our separate ways, indicated by the orange highlighter on the museum maps. I was there long enough to experience real awe as one of the most shy and least self-assured girls become entranced with the shimmering sculpture. She saw an entire universe in that piece: animals, the sea and connected family members. I was charmed and grateful she had this opportunity.

I am not in charge.

I am not in charge.

My reverie was cut short when, a museum greeter asked me to fill out a lengthy form for our group, suggesting that I could have called ahead for a docent-led tour. I knew that would have been the death-knell for this group. Also could have received complementary parking. Ouch, I thought. Why hadn't the information-desk attendant mentioned that last week when I said I was bringing a group, I wondered to myself.

Soon, I received a panicked phone call from my night-before volunteer driver and group leader. "We're lost, I don't know the museum well and the girls in my group, well, they're not listening." Okay, so if anyone had to have a difficult group, it should have been me. I flew up the steps, rescued them and we all entered the special exhibit. One with wonderful props that I had hoped would set the stage for these kids. One of the three 6th graders, new to Artsy Fartsy this summer, pulled me over to a particular Potthast painting, noting that the label mentioned the variety of color in the ocean rocks. She was astounded as she began naming them. Another moment of awe for me.

A stop at the digitized sketch books would fascinate the kids, I thought, as they flipped through with a swipe. That's when things fell apart and two of my regulars wouldn't budge. They spewed that this was boring and too much like school and how one had begged her mother to come and now, she said without words, she wished she hadn't.

In my stern mother voice, I remarked that unless she changed her attitude right now, she and I would head downstairs and wait while the others finished. I was angry at how disrespectful she'd been of the teen leader and her mother. I mentioned that she had no idea how much time and how many people it had taken to put this trip together. Her face flushed and she was silent. She wouldn't budge. Sometimes I believe she rules the roost at home because she's the oldest and parenting has been absent. I also now understand that they were so many variables at work; that we weren't in our usual safe space with clear boundaries. I wish I had prayed in that moment.

I am not in charge.

I am not in charge.

I knew I'd have to throw the scavenger hunt idea out for this group. Clearly it wouldn't work. When the unbudger finally relented and focused on an encased toy kitchen, I mentioned that, perhaps, we could find the miniature paintings. That got her attention and off we went, casting caution to the wind and winding through rooms I had not planned on, letting the kids gravitate to what moved them. The tide had turned. We eventually completed about half the stops on the hunt and were warming up as it was time to wind down.

Apparently each of the other groups had been extremely successful, but they were with teens and adults they knew. I had thrust these two with new guides. Now I see the unfairness to both parties.

This is only the second time I've scolded any of my AF kids. I didn't like it, but their behavior made it necessary. Later I took each aside and said I was sorry that it had come to that, that I knew they were good kids and I was grateful we got past that moment. One of them apologized and the other, without words, signaled it was okay.

Again, we struggled to leave the museum collectively as the step mother tagging along was buying something from the gift shop. I had asked the kids not to visit because some had money and some had not. My plan had been to allow each to choose a post card of their favorite museum piece, but my time and energy had been directed elsewhere.

I am not in charge. 

I am not in charge.

Generously, the museum greeter approached me and said how grateful they were for our group and the information I'd provided. She comped our parking. We were off for a successful French picnic in Mt. Adams that went off without a hitch ... until we did some car swapping, two left and we realized we were left with an extra passenger. The second car swiftly returned and we re-situated ... about an hour later than scheduled, but we'd completed our trip.

A successful picnic!

I was worn out and wondering what had just happened. This was a lesson, I heard my Inner Teacher say. The biggest one being that I am not in charge no matter how much I think I may be.

• When have I labored to plan something that completely fell apart?
• What lessons did that experience impart?
• How have the lessons of not being in charge humbled me?
• How can I be present when that happens?
• How can I be prayerful in those moments?

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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

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Naming and claiming gifts

Yesterday, I spent the afternoon facilitating a retreat on naming gifts at Wilmington Yearly Meeting, the umbrella group for my home faith community of Cincinnati Friends. They meet annually for business and a have added a retreat segment. I was honored to have been asked, but more honored to have been a part of such a rich experience.

Days before, I wasn't certain if I could even make it thanks to something I'd eaten. I'd awakened the night before and asked God to get me through and to the retreat. She did, beautifully.

My youngest, Lily, tagged along as my assistant. She's my right hand at Artst Fartsy, so I knew she'd be good company for this session. Besides, I like exposing her to the wider Quaker world. She felt right at home as soon as we walked in the door: the director of the Quaker camp Lily'd spent two weeks at in June and her daughter warmly greeted us.

Choosing materials for "Heart Play"

Lily had helped me pack baskets of stones, gems, driftwood, beads, blocks and buttons into the car, unload them and turn the multi-purpose room into a playful, more inviting space. Creating that kind of environment is one of my gifts, I've recently recognized.

Through no plan of my own, I'd happened to be the subject of a clearness committee at the beginning of the week. Quakers own a wonderful process that allows those struggling or seeking to answer a question with a group-discernment process that helps the focus person tap their inner teacher and truth. Mine began to uncover my blocks to fully following where God calls me, including my fear of being in the limelight and expecting to be paid for use of my gifts outside of the secular realm. We haven't finished and are scheduling a second meeting.

Lily and I had arrived a couple of hours ahead of my part of the retreat and set up rather quickly. It gave me time to get to know a few folks better, including the woman who'd invited me. She's pretty darn wise and when she said she's really learned to live in the present, I asked her how. "I plan like mad, then I relax on the day of the event, so I can be very present." She echoed what I was beginning to learn and practice.

So I was relaxed and even willing to share something very dear to me: a story in the form of a waking dream I received about myself and my work, but also so universal and about God's transforming love. I used it at the beginning of the retreat. About a third of the way through, people asked if I would use a microphone. I've been told I have a good reading voice and I also know I have trouble projecting. I am afraid of totally being out there.

Instead of being fearful of the mic, it actually empowered me. As we were switching to an exercise, one of the beloved women from my meeting (church), gave me a piece of advise she'd received from her father as she began a teaching career. "Speak to the person farthest away and then you'll have no trouble. Otherwise you talk to yourself." Of course, the teacher voice I use for Artsy Fartsy and with my own kids.

As we all began to feel more comfortable with one another and discussed the difficulty in naming and claiming our own gifts, I disclosed my challenge to embrace being in the spotlight. I feel more like a guide than someone barking what should be done.

Interestingly, an older gentleman shared how all it takes is knowing God deeply within to see our gifts. His brazenness scared me, yet he said knowing God in that way leaves no room for doubt and feeling wounded is, well, ridiculous.

Of course he's right, yet I also think he doesn't see that some of us are wired differently. Others responded that fear is an obstacle, that we are varied people with varied gifts and, so very tenderly, in worship, my minister revealed how a member of our faith community who recently took her life could not see her gifts. On some level, we all concluded that it is paramount that we share our gifts in community and encourage each other to name and claim those gifts.

Funny thing, this retreat, in which I was "facilitator" helped me to claim my own. Imagine that.

• What are my gifts?
• How can other help me name and claim them?
• How can I do that for others?
• How do I pray to know my gifts?
• How do I use those gifts in community?


riding in on the
wave of a warm day

into a group
of mostly strangers

the tide swiftly
changes as we
worship our way in

listening, deeply,
for God, within ourselves
and to each other

as always,
Spirit responds
lovingly and
with Truth

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