Available nowhere else

This faith business is an act of courage, one I can not do alone. Thankfully, it's a twosome when Spirit is involved; I just have to be reminded. Again and again.

My hopes are high that this Easter season is personally transforming, but in the midst of that transformation, it is hard to see beyond the chaos. And yet Spirit does throw me crumbs.

1. TRUST SPIRIT:  The traveling minister who spoke Sunday at worship was one beacon. Margaret's daughter was murdered four years ago and she prays the murderer be restored to wholeness. That probably was not her initial request, but she did understand that anything short of reconciliation would pull her into the dark hole of no return. "God's justice is greater than my petty imaginings," she told herself. The pain of that loss and the hope of reconciliation led her to confront herself and her ingrained ability "to hold a grudge with the best of them. It was the hardest habit to surrender."

That confession was pivotal for me. Made me look at the Mother of Grudges I have been holding: resentment for living with fibromyalgia. When I had explained to my shaman last week that I was seeing a wonderful Episcopal pastor, now my new spiritual director, and how meaningful Lent had become this season, he asked, "So, what are you giving up?" I had no answer. Sunday, I knew. I have been spending so much time and energy being angry about my circumstance even as I have practiced blessings and gratitude. Lent has dredged up that anger and brought it to the surface. So that I was ready to see it as Margaret spoke. I quietly scribbled in my journal: "Trust Spirit to deal with the injustice of my accident."

2. I AM WORTH IT: I admit that I left worship before it was finished, something I never do. Except this week. I had an engagement with about 40 kids at Washington Park. A newish Quaker from the meeting had e-mailed me a few weeks earlier asking if I'd be interested in assisting. She attached her themes, which touched my heart. After all of the Artsy Fartsy launching, grant writing and continual organizing, assisting seemed just fine. It was a beautiful afternoon. Afterward, Sarah texted me: "... driving home worn out and  happy and covered in glitter, I now understand: you are far more important to me than any materials ..." She was working to fulfill my budget request. I am worth it, she was telling me because that's often not what I tell myself. I AM worth it.

3. MY LIFE IS RICH: I hadn't hosted book club in many months and Monday, it was my turn. Quarter past seven and no one was here, not even my mother. "Are they coming?" my concerned 13-year-old asked. "They will," I responded. Soon, in they streamed, one of the most wonderful groups of women Spirit could assemble (read more about them here http://salonforthesoul.blogspot.com/2013/07/riot-of-rainbow-colors.html ). It was mother's first appearance since her late-October heart surgery, a mighty tough one. And we inquired about Yvonne's dying father. She's traveling this week to visit, probably for the last time. In February, she attended her annual letter-writing retreat on Lake Erie. I asked about that. "You know, it was really different because I wanted to write my father a letter and I had to do that one first." It took her all day and then some. She was eased by the help of companion writers (they have all gathered annually for 7 years), two of whom are Hospice trained. They encouraged her to write about "The Four Things That Matter Most*:"
• "Please forgive me."
• "I forgive you."
• "Thank you."
• "I love you."
They helped her write a letter that brought her dad to tears for days, according to Yvonne's stepmother. Interesting how Spirit works, we all noted, clearing the way for a deep visit this time now that the forgiveness has given way to love and goodbye.

Of course, this discussion turned to Karen's dad
, who had died just three weeks ago. Yvonne took her hand and, holding back tears, said "I understand" and we all knew that she did. I looked at my mother with a prayer of gratitude that she had survived an almost unsurvivable surgery. Wasn't long 'til we were onto the lucky infant Bev and her husband are fostering. Their daughters are all grown and their house was feeling empty. The extreme preemie requires lots of work and periphenalia. Fortunately, many neighbors have responded, including Carol, one of our longtime club members who has changed housing locations, but not her place in our hearts. Carol had picked up dear Margaret en route. She, in her gentleness, feistiness, deep faith and challenging life has been my longtime role model. Seems several of us will be attending the Easter vigil together – how much richer we all will be for coming together in a formally spiritual venue. And, yes, eventually, we did get to discussing the book. But this microcosm of life seared me with the reminder that I am part of something special. Really special, really rich and of Spirit.

4. PAIN IS A GIFT OF TRANSFORMATION: My spiritual friend Char sent one of her peppy, cheerleading e-mails this week. How does she always know when I am struggling? Apparently, we're celebrating our 10th year of friendship and she wanted to let me know how much growth in developing my gifts and clarity about myself and purpose she has witnessed. "And I know that much of this has come though the unwanted 'gift' of pain." I am beginning to understand how very right she is. She attached a New York Times column "What suffering does" by David Brooks. He says suffering is counter to the cultural goal of happiness. He writes that it drags you deeper into yourself, where you must confront your limitations and the fact you can not control the pain or grief. These comments especially speak to me about the transformation of pain:

The right response to this sort of pain is not pleasure. It’s holiness. I don’t even mean that in a purely religious sense. It means seeing life as a moral drama, placing the hard experiences in a moral context and trying to redeem something bad by turning it into something sacred.

5. I AM NOT BROKEN: I hobbled off to the gym somewhat late, but determined to get in my 88 laps. About #82 as I was slowing my pace,  I looked across the pool and thought I spotted Chris, whom I got to know during 5:45 a.m. water aerobics. Her husband died just as we met, then she moved away to build their dream house as planned. One courageous lady. Wasn't entirely sure squinting through scratchy goggles, so I hollered and she joined me in my lane as we tread the deep. We caught up on each other's families and what was going on in  life. I always seems an even exchange, one with a deeply spiritual bent. We haven't talked in a year, but she made sure to ask how my youngest was doing. She always reminds me that God is present and can mend broken lives ... although she never appeared broken to me, even in the wake of her husband's early and unexpected death. Come to think of it, I don't think she considers me broken, either

6. GOD ANSWERS PRAYER: I visited my family physician yesterday, somewhat fearful he'd force me on former meds that increase my pain and give me a lecture for leaving them behind. Instead, he said let's see what the test results bring. Thanks to Jamie, a yoga friend who has lived with fibromyalgia 30 years, I asked about an old, generic drug that really helps her sleep. "That's a good idea," my doc said. "Not only will it help you sleep, but it will relax your muscles." And that's EXACTLY what it did last night. I can hardly believe it. Yesterday, as I entered my studio, tired and in great pain, I asked God for help ... and it came.

Strewn together, those crumbs suggest that, no matter what, Spirit is at work in our lives transforming us with her complete love.

• What does my current dance of faith look like?
• What crumbs has God sent me?
• Where do I see transformation?
• What gift(s) in my life am I not claiming?
• How us Spirit teaching me to trust?


death and pain,
complicated birth
and lengthy surgery

God is present,
teaching us
to believe, that
prayer is answered,
we are wrapped in love,
rooted to one another
and worthy of every
ounce of that pure 
and precious
commodity

available 
nowhere else


*The Four Things That Matter Most: A Book About Living by Ira Byock, M.D.

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When Spirit makes worlds collide

The idea of what lays at the center of the cross, where the beams intersect, has fascinated me since last summer. I have desperately wanted to know what, exactly, happens there, understanding it is a place of transformation, perhaps THE place for transformation.

Somehow, a stranger pressing her finger slightly into my breastbone and insisting the seed of God does, indeed, reside in me opened me to the idea of the cross as personal transformation, not just the remote Easter story of childhood.

I know the mysterious Christ energy that became available to all at Jesus' resurrection. I feel it in me, around me and in others.

Years ago, I was transformed reading Marcus Borg's "Meeting Jesus Again for the First Time" and the delineation of Jesus as historical figure from Jesus as mystic. Before death and after; human, then divine energy. Unconsciously, I got that. 

Last fall, I was assimilating the concept  into my own life:
"What's at the crux? An invitation to go beyond the cross, into it and through it ... away from the symbol and to the idea of bearing a cross to freedom. The cross was man's constraint, meant for death. God uses it as a metaphor for new life."
http://salonforthesoul.blogspot.com/2013/11/beyond-cross.html

Monday, when I went to visit my shaman/pastoral counselor/massage therapist apparently I was ready for the next step. I hadn't seen him for almost 10 weeks, so there was a lot floating through my mind body and spirit. He suggested we begin with breath work and coached me through the dizziness, which always makes me want to stop. But I trust him and blew through. No one likes losing control, but it is the bridge to deeper work. He guided me into the breath of fire, urging me to really move my sternum. The hot breath was diving deep into my heart and beginning to dislodge gunk with guttural sounds. Wildly, Native-American music magically moved my mind elsewhere, out of the way of body and S/spirit. Gary had invited spirits from all directions to attend and I felt their presence: eagle, bear, ancestors and wind, also my own personal guides, Mike and Aunt Anne.

I found myself in child's pose, surrendering.

I pressed the palm of my right hand deep into my sacrum/lower back and said I wanted "it" out. My shaman helped me breath and scream it out, gently massaging the spot as my body and something else took over. I don't have a word now for it, but I believe it was a negative energy, a darkness trapped in my body. Not of me or Spirit. As I sensed release, I automatically flopped over on my stomach, arms dangling at the sides and my chest pressed hard against the massage table. I felt the intersection of the cross searing into my breastbone, my heart and me. Then a wordless glimmer of the mystery of what happens there, the transformation. Nothing I can explain, except I have never felt more loved, so wholly and completely down to every last cell in my being. It was God's way and I broke into tears of joy, knowing this is surrender.

As the session drew to a close, Gary sat for what seemed like eternity with his hand gently on my back as I returned into my body. I broke the silence and Gary asked "Do you know what that was?" "What?" I responded. "It's your process," he said with a twinkle that made me giggle.

I've experienced a rather profound week when I think about it. Later that day, after I spent some time outside re-grounding, I met one of my favorite people, our former Quaker minister. Early in his ministry, he'd make a monthly visit and we'd chat over tea and busy toddlers. He was the first person I could ask about Jesus and evil and he'd honestly tell me he wasn't certain either. On Monday afternoon, he and a small group of Wilmington College Quaker-Leaders met me at my studio for an introduction to labyrinths. They plan to build one as a service project. They walked the Artsy Fartsy Christmas light spiral in the empty classroom across the hall, then we headed to the Milford Spiritual Center for another experience. While the kids hiked the riverbank, Dan and I became reacquainted. Boy, have I missed him. What a gift this afternoon had been. Sliding down the hill almost to water's edge in my five-finger shoes was just the grounding I had needed.

Tuesday, I spent completing the last half of a New Year's retreat I wanted to finish before meeting with the retreat leader Wednesday. It was about being with the word she had given me a few weeks ago: purification. Meditating on it and listening to Spirit's intention for me and the word. Though I had been reluctant to initially embrace it, I have since discovered it is my word. Yet the listening taught me a new meaning: freedom. Purification means freedom from whatever debases, pollutes or contaminates. And, since Monday, I was free of some darkness.

I couldn't wait to greet Mary for our appointment and express my wonder that she knew Gary, my shaman. She's only been here a year-and-a-half and I wondered what an episcopal minister was doing with a shaman. "When I was in Philly, I worked with a shaman, so I asked around when I got here and I met Gary. He's great." My worlds were colliding.

She loved that he had suggested I add more fire to my life, even with the simple act of a daily candle lighting. We discussed how it tied to the idea of purification and burning off. I recounted Monday's experience knowing I was safe here.Then I shared the five-lines (cinquen) summarizing "God's new thing" this year for me:

bold, trusting
energetic, content, balanced
becoming, embracing, loving, freeing
empowered

And Mary gave me scripture from Isaiah 43:

“... Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;

I have summoned you by name; you are mine.

When you pass through the waters,

I will be with you;

and when you pass through the rivers,

 they will not sweep over you.

When you walk through the fire,

you will not be burned;

the flames will not set you ablaze ... "

And then she asked if I'd like her to be my spiritual director. Such blessings this week.

• How has Spirit come alive for me?
• How have I experienced God's love?
• Name a transformational experience.
• How was I changed?
• How do I continue to surrender?

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Contagious zest for life

I had forgotten how magnetic Pat is, how people are drawn to her, how, when she asks, you want to say yes to, well, anything.

We knew her in our early days of marriage, when Tad and I lived in a beautiful, old apartment atop an antique shop, sandwiched between the Loveland City building and The Whistle Stop Cafe, where you could get a draft for under a buck. We chose Loveland because one of us worked in Lebanon and the other, in Montgomery. It was a good halfway point. We'd almost given up looking for something interesting when, as we drove through the sleepy downtown, I was drawn to the top of the antique shop. There was no for-rent sign, but it looked vacant and inviting.

I called and the owners were delighted to rent it with one caution: it hadn't been lived in in 30 years. That translated into lots of scrubbing walls and cabinets, but, in doing so, being rewarded by little discoveries such as original, ruffled shelf paper in mint condition, the large closet with dressing table and mirror, marble bathroom with separate toilet and swinging kitchen door. We made our home here for five years, though we kept our Loveland office longer. That office happened to be two doors down from our bank, where the Chamber of Commerce office was located. Pat was the director, so it was inevitable that we would meet. As a creative agency, we became involved in the Loveland Valentine program and Tad served on the chamber's board of directors. The Christmas parties, under Pat's joyful hand, were some of the best, most intimate corporate events I've ever attended and that includes lots of press parties as a journalist.

Don't miss Pat's leopard shoes and the conga line behind her

So it was no surprise to us that her 80th birthday would be nothing short of fabulous. Just pulling up to the magnificent club house was a treat. Tad dusted off his tux and my girls selected my dress, did my makeup, nails and supplied jewelry. Gussied up, we strode in to glittering women and penguin-attired men. But none shone brighter than the diminutive Pat in her sassy beige jacket and flowing dress. She must have individually greeted every single person, making each feel as if they were the only guest. She has that way.

After rounds of filling appetizers and a few glasses of wine, Pat had us all at the dance floor. First as many wonderful presentations were made, then to dance to the great Dixieland-swing band. No one was left unattended.

It's been over 20 years since we lived in Loveland and, as we have acclimated to Milford, we seemed to have left behind that chapter behind. Those ties, however, were rekindled a year-and-a-half ago when Tad held a photo show in Loveland's Maritain Gallery thanks to our friend Joe. We were honored to live across the street from his father's design studio and gallery in Loveland and connect through graphic-design projects. Pat attended Tad's opening and the years melted. Most recently, Tad designed the logo for 42 Street, a Loveland Stage Company production Pat was directing. I learned at the party that she launched the Loveland Stage Company herself. Upon moving to Loveland, asking about local theater and learning there was none, she famously responded, "There is now."

Our teens still remember Pat's visit in 2002, when she served as the Loveland Valentine Lady, a big honor. She drove over for a Milford visit, which thrilled the girls more than Santa. She went out of her way to do special things like that. Still does, I am certain.

My favorite gazpacho recipe comes from her late husband, Fred. He was a doll and they adored each other. I felt like a voyeur, but in a good way, watching the slides depicting her life at the party, seeing Pat as a girl, then her and Fred as a young couple, through the child-rearing years and more recently. The one that lingers in my mind is Pat poking through the rubble after the theater the stage company rehabbed burned, but would soon and assuredly, be rebuilt. The photos gave me perspective on her life, energy and enthusiasm. And reminded me how lucky I am to have experienced such a rich time in Loveland and still have strong ties.

We reconnected with a few other longtime friends and acquaintances with refreshing big rounds of hugs and quick catching up. I noticed Wayne, who had been the city manager when we moved in next door. We even did some design work for the city and got to know him fairly well. I sought him out, thinking I'd have to explain who I was, when his arms opened wide and he gave me a giant, fatherly hug. "Oh, no, don't you remember we first met when I was consulting for the City of Montgomery and you were a reporter?" I had forgotten. He asked what I was doing and when I explained my Artsy Fartsy Saturdays program, he said "I am so proud of you."

As we were leaving Pat on the dance floor, I got a great idea: maybe she'd come to Artsy Fartsy and teach the kids drama. They would eat her up just as everyone else does.

Happy birthday, Pat, you're as vivacious and inspiring as ever. I am grateful for your friendship.

• When have I been inspired by someone?
• Whom do I know that is so inclusive and makes everyone want to participate?
• What other leadership qualities do I admire?
• How has a place and its people strongly affected me?
• How do I see Spirit's hand in those relationships and experiences?


Pat is
commanding
AND
generous

You can't
say no to her,
nor do you
want to

because whatever
the task or challenge,
she will make certain
it is enjoyable

as her zest
for life is
contagious

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