Embracing the purple space

The concept of struggling has come across my path too many times in the past week to ignore. And, it's not that we are unacquainted, struggle and I.

Sunday, a very wise soul gave the message on conflict resolution, illustrating the difference between sparring, which he defined as separately desiring to knock the other down, and wrestling, when we become engaged with the other and, if they go down, so do we.

The engagement process is the key, he emphasized. My heart knew that to be true. He cited the major Scriptural reference of Jacob wrestling all night with an entity, being asked not so much for his name, but to name the kind of man he was, and then being given a new identity. Transformation in the struggle.

Made me think of two separate circles; one blazing blue and the other, fiery red. When they engage, the space where they meet, mixing the blue and red, becomes purple and a new thing in and of itself – the place transformation can happen.

Perhaps that's why the day before, as I had been patiently waiting for a disabled clerk and an oblivious shopper charged ahead, I said I had been in line first. She did so anyway. I tried to engage with her, saying I didn't understand, when another clerk cut me off, telling me to calm down. She curtailed any engagement. Of course I was hurt, but deep down, I wanted the shopper to see why I had waited. That I was waiting on another that she had missed in her busyness.

Initially, I couldn't understand what clung to me from that incident: embarrassment, guilt, anger, resentment? Those lingered and exited. Yet I'm still stuck with something. An unfinished feeling that is teaching me the difference between boxing with someone and wrestling, coming to some kind of newer resolution in the struggle.

And then a Facebook F/friend bravely posted an admission:
"We put so many gods ahead of God. For me it is fatigue, mild depressions, compulsive eating, that often get put before my faith in God. Knowing how easy it is to make a god out of my own struggles. I need to be frequently reminded to praise my Creator, seek my Guide, thank my heavenly Parent."

Making a god out of my own struggles, now that made me flinch. She had offered me the mirror into myself.

Living with fibromyalgia, it is often fore and center in my life, especially during flare-ups. Over the years, I have found it difficult to plan and commit, uneasy about gauging my energy and pain levels into the future. I always wanted a loophole, an out ... just in case.

The past year has re-shaped that pattern thanks to Spirit. Knowingly and fortunately for me, it's been metered in baby steps. Had I been shown 12 months ago where I would be now, I would have let fear tear me from my path. I would never have believed I'd have had any of the resources required to make this trip. And, yet, I have – miraculously. Not always as gracefully as I would like to admit, but, nonetheless, here I am.

It's been a struggle, but one where I have learned to engage much more fully with God and loosened my grip on trying to control the situation. The transformation, for me, has been to let go of fear and being to trust, really trust.

I'd never have made it here without the struggle.

• When do I box?
• When do I wrestle?
• What difference has there been?
• Where have I witnessed the transformation?
• What other gods do I put before God?


not one to
seek conflict,
yet no avoider

I am beginning
to understand

that for Spirit
to work,
most especially,
in me,

I must embrace
the other

not merely
throw a jab
and walk away

I need to touch
that offender

and, in doing
so, connect
all of us to
God,

where the
real work
happens

Listen to this post:

The hole is a tunnel

I attended a retreat/worship last weekend focused on spiritual practices to which I had not given much thought during the week, except that I was going. And then, the weekend became complicated and I had to choose what to cut. The retreat, of course. That seemed extraneous and was not something someone was asking of me.

So I sat down to plan a first-day session (Sunday school) someone had asked me to teach last minute and I was so angry because I was missing the retreat. This is ridiculous, I told myself. You love those kids and should not feel anything but that when planning for their lesson. It’s usually a joyful, prayerful time.

With 45 minutes until opening worship, a shower, brown-bag lunch and 45-minute drive ahead of me, I decided to go. Late, but present. Along the scenic drive, I contemplated what I would say about my spiritual practice. That I had slacked off, couldn’t find daily time in my erratic life, bounced around because so many possibilities interested me. Yes, maybe this retreat would help me sink back in, making me a better person.

That kind of thinking should have been my clue ... that the day would be anything but.

I discovered everyone else, whom I consider faithful, experienced and practiced Quakers (weighty in the denominational lingo), bearing pretty much the same struggle. What a profound relief. This was not a time for punishment, admonitions and recriminations from myself, others or God. It was affirmation that we are human and many of us with a creative bent live erratically, so why should a spiritual discipline be any different? After all, it’s a vehicle to reach God. The means, not the ends.

And, when I divulged I multi-tasked my swimming as prayer, there was great support, even amazement. I really do think of it as being in the living water. We almost exclusively expressed a sense of our lives as prayer, of letting God in most of the time, not just in worship or a set-aside period. That’s key, I believe.

Interestingly, this week, a fellow lap swimmer mentioned a peer says she gets too bored ticking off the laps. I blurted out that I use the time as prayer. She blushed, then confided she did the same, but didn’t mention it very often. When the bored swimmer spoke to me about it, I said I used it as a moving meditation (somehow I wasn’t sure she’d respond to the word prayer as warmly as the other had).

So, as I have been intentionally thinking about that spiritual-practice time, I also realized I have my own prayer box, one I can physically enter, metaphorically strip down and get, as I like to think, “naked-to-naked*” with God. My body feels no pain [which helps clear my mind] and I sit there warm and energized after the swim and in a receptive mood – all in this 6-by-6 wooden sauna tucked into the corner of the locker room of my gym.

No grandiose chapel. Just a simple wood bench in a warm box, barely out of the public fray. Heaven, I sometimes think.

* When my girls were little and we'd sometimes bathe together or when we were undressing for bed, we’d love to touch our naked bodies; naked-to-naked, we called it. I’m sure it started as they were nursing newborns. There’s really nothing like that feeling of security and love all rolled into one. That’s how I like to approach God: with nothing between us.


• What do I do when a spiritual practice doesn’t suit me?
• Where has that practice taken me?
• Do I get too hung up on the practice itself? Or can I focus on the where it aims to transport me?
• How often do I share those experiences?
• If I am finding time at a premium, how might I incorporate some prayer time in my regular activities?
• Is there a place or space where I can make my life a living prayer?


I was born with
an open aperture
in my heart

but hurt, experience
and life taught me to
begin to close it,
leaving it only
ever so slightly
open

the practice of
regularly being
with you, dear Spirit
began to slowly open
that hole

it just gets wider and wider

... even as I have left
the formality of
prayer behind

I now see the
hole is a tunnel
and, once we both
consciously entered,
nothing is the same