Present in the midst

FRIDAY
Driving home from Cleveland, I noticed a peaceful patch of woods and longed to be there, out in Nature and away from the artificiality of the hospital. Granted the Cleveland Clinic sways one with its perks – a Starbuck's, Joseph-Beth Bookstore, fitness center, rooftop labyrinth etc. – but it's still  chock full of white coats, needles and sick patients. And those dag-goned florescent lights. For all of the hype about families and healing, why do they still insist on such lousy light. I even read a 2012 study the clinic conducted that touted how much natural light promotes healing. Enough reason to do away with the freaky, green-cast low light. I wasn't sorry to leave it behind.

SATURDAY
I so craved Mother Nature and thanks to the wonderful Artsy Fartsy volunteers who took over for me, I had a free Saturday afternoon to recover from the week. After peaking outside, I knew my recovery meant getting out there. Turns out, I spent the time working myself into a sweat and shedding layers while I methodically raked the front yard. It was so cathartic. I'd considered swimming, but I felt the need to also be productive, not just physical. Raking fit the bill, neatened the yard and burned off the stress.

SUNDAY
I began to feel the fibro effects of the past weeks, so I left for Quaker worship early, early enough to spend an hour-and-a-half in the silence. I sat alone a spell, soaking in the sacredness. I was able to feel God's kingdom here and now. Slowly others trickled in as the regular worship hour drew neat. I heard the musician rustling paper and opening the stand. Others whispered. I grow more centered with my eyes closed. Soon, someone smelling of soap and sausage sat next to me. I was immediately permeated by their energy. The celloist commenced what sounded like a prayer, my prayer. I reluctantly opened my eyes to my friend Patia. "I thought you could use an angel," she said as she kissed my cheek, embraced me and offered her hand. 

MONDAY
Hurriedly walking to yoga, already five minutes late, I happened to glance up and was struck by the crisp, clear and vast sky. Last time I'd noticed was on the rooftop of the Cleveland Clinic. I hadn't given it another thought. Frankly, I haven't given much but my mother another thought in the past two weeks. 

The silken sky reminded me of how much more there is to life than my current obsessions. "Lift me out of my littleness," I murmured as a prayer. It's all too easy to gain that microscopic, myopic view, magnifying our concerns way out of proportion. And forget. Beauty. Nature. Creation. Spirit.

WEDNESDAY
I met my dear friend and first yoga teacher, Renee, to finalize details for a workshop on sacred pain we are planning for March. We agreed to meet somewhere between West Chester and Milford and my Quaker Meetinghouse seemed like the perfect spot. It's affirming and amazing to be on the same page with someone else in the work I am called to. Both of us have struggled for years with chronic pain and both of us desire to help others. She's a yogi and counselor, I'm the artist and minister. We make an awesome duo. I stuck around after Renee left, re-connecting with our minister. I have missed my Meeting, being away for my mother and so involved with my family and studio the past year-and-a-half. Walking joyfully and lightly to the car, I see a voicemail message from my father. He says my mother has been moved out of the ICU. THANK YOU, I sing and dance.

THURSDAY
I sink my teeth back into centering prayer and am struck almost immediately in my brief lectio-divina practice. The Thomas Keating devotional focused on the present moment. I continually try and fail at this discipline. I know it's important, but never discovered why until I savor this reading. The phrase "the end of time" grabs, almost strangles, me. Not end of the world or humanity, as so many interpretations claim, but the end of time. I find it so very freeing. I live so constrained by time. Pushed and rushed. What would it be like to live outside of time? To do and act when Divinely inspired?

The passage speaks of the Second Coming as the end of time and also when we access the eternal within. The Divine, Keating writes, constantly breaks in on linear time and that each moment of chronological time IS a link to the Divine when we are sensitive enough to Spirit. In essence, it said to me, in the present, we can access God. WOW, I think, WOW. That's why there is a practice of the present moment, an opportunity to connect. A place when God reaches us.

Interestingly, in the evening, I attend a Quaker Quest in-reach session at my Meeting. It's been such a long time since I showed up to be with people outside of worship when I'm not facilitating. It proves to be such a joy to sit with people I've just met,  others I've know for years and explore what God, Jesus and Scripture mean to us. No right or wrong answers. This session gets interrupted by a series of texts and voicemails from family members trying to arrange for my mother's return.

FRIDAY
My youngest wakes up sick and I get a little anxious as I am supposed to return to Cleveland with my dad next week to bring mom back to rehab. Yes, I want her home. Now. But not if I give her something. I talk myself into NOT skipping yoga and am rewarded with a giant hug from a longtime Meeting buddy whose work has kept her away a few years. It's a wonderful reunion. I get a good workout, run a few errands, check on my sickie and head to the studio. And the anxiety mounts. I remind myself that I've had a few terrific days in getting back to my work and making spiritual connections. That I have felt God present and that she will figure all of this out. The burden is not mine.

Oh yeah, I remember.

• How do I remain centered when the world is moving ahead?
• When circumstances are tough?
• How does Nature rejuvenate me?
• How does worship nurture me?
• What spiritual practices connect me with Spirit?


A semi week of normalcy
amid the broken
trips to the clinic

my 16-year-old
wants to cuddle
and watch movies

who am I to say no?

my 13-year-old
calls me in dire
pain as I direct
her to an ibuprofen
until I get home

my husband's
out the door
to a convention
tomorrow

and my mother's
still far away
recovering

almost too much

until God
breaks in, which
I am pretty sure she
is doing continually

it's just that I am
being present

Listen to this post:

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:

Listening by heart

I am helping facilitate a retreat soon about spiritual companionship and, particularly, listening. That’s what speaks to me most right now about those rooted alliances.

In “playing” with ideas of how to actually emulate that listening as opposed to just discussing it, I think I may try out some activities this week on the children I regularly teach on Sundays in what we call First Day School.

They are usually game for anything. We even attempted lectio divina – an ancient, sacred reading of Scripture when you pause and deeply ponder the words and what may be between them for newly inspired meaning – that I felt was wildly successful.

I had encountered some doubt when I mentioned trying it with children among practiced adults, but I knew these kids would get it. I chose a passage about Jesus and children, hoping they could relate. At the end of the reading/meditation, I asked them to be still in their chairs and feel Jesus’ touch. They and I were mesmerized as they basked quietly in that embrace before I broke the spell. It’s an image I won’t soon forget.

I really feel like we don’t get enough practice or instruction on deep listening. In the era of soundbites, facebook and IMing, when would we?

I do know listening is one of my gifts and must have known it early on as I became a journalist. Of course, the writing appealed to me, but hearing and sharing others’ stories was the real reward. It was an honor to be the steward of those.

I could listen on multiple levels that pushed real meaning from a story, not just the facts, because that’s what I wanted to hear. One of the best tricks I learned was to faithfully conclude every interview with “is there anything else?” Often, that’s when the real story flowed.

In listening by heart, as I like to call spiritual attentiveness, I have had to retrain myself to NOT jump ahead to the next question or thought and not to question at all. Sometimes it’s only about listening. Obviously, we can’t turn off what the words spark in us, making us connect to them. Nor should we. The goal in this kind of endeavor is not to fix, give advice or relate our experience.

The goal of spiritual listening is to open ourselves to the words and experience of another – something for which we all hunger. This kind of listening we can practice anytime ... not just in a spiritual context. Try it; I think you will be richly rewarded.

[When we know we will also have a chance to share, the listening is easier. When it is all one-sided, it can become a task. It doesn't mean we stop someone midstream or that it is always even, but we should all be given the chance to share.]


• When was the last time I felt really listened to?
• How did that make me feel?
• When was the last time I really listened?
• To another?
• To nature?
• To Spirit/God?



Open my heart

that I may hear

not just the words

but what you,

dear Spirit,

are saying

in and through

this being,

this creation