Last Saturday night, as I was getting ready to go out for the evening, I was breezing through the kitchen when the words of my mind suddenly declared, "I'm ready for the next thing." It was a joyful and assured declaration. But still I had to laugh and shake my head. "Oh, Kristy...you know you failed once again to include an appropriate modifier in your statement," I smiled, with a twinkle in my eye. Now I'm leaving it wide-open! Is it going to be a good thing or a bad thing? But then I realized, in a way, that it didn't really matter. I was ready for the next "Thing", with a capital T, no matter what it was. Not that I wished for anything negative, of course, but I was aware that I felt completely armed for whatever it would be that came next.
When you are in a place where you are ready to be able to embrace engaging the next Thing, regardless of where it falls on the positive or negative end of the spectrum of life events and experiences, I think you're standing on some pretty good, solid ground. Your core is balanced. Life feels pretty substantial.
I believe it was that bold statement of intention--saying "I'm ready"--that is leading to new pathways being opened in my life. Signs suggest that the next Thing, whatever it may be, is going to be a positive thing. Truthfully, there have been a lot of good things unfolding in my life recently. So many good things that I find myself, at times, so profoundly moved by gratitude that I can hardly bear it. Even the gratitude itself feels like a gift.
A lot of hard, hard work is finally paying off. It's gratifying, humbling, enlivening, and inspiring.
Today the words of the following hymn were on my heart. I think I've learned firsthand what they truly mean.
"No storm can shake my inmost calm;
...How can I keep from singing?"
There is a light, a spark, a peace deep inside me that is untouchable by anything but love and grace....and that's why I can't ever stop singing.
Wednesday, December 07, 2011
Tuesday, December 06, 2011
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Why Kindness is Under-Rated
I ran across this poem yesterday, and it moved me.
And now today, this poem also brings the following quote to mind:
I believe the ability to embrace sorrow is also the gateway to more authentic joy; for, how can you truly know one without the other?
Perhaps it is because I'm so unabashedly not afraid to be sad that my life is correspondingly filled so plentifully with joy and kindness. It's all about having an open heart. Sure it hurts sometimes, but do you really want to give up all the GOOD STUFF that you cut cut yourself off from when you start putting up walls around your heart? That seems dumb to me.
KINDNESS
Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.
Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.
Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.
Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.
Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.
Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.
Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.
~Naomi Shihab Nye
And now today, this poem also brings the following quote to mind:
"How beautiful a day can be when kindness touches it!"
~George Elliston
I believe the ability to embrace sorrow is also the gateway to more authentic joy; for, how can you truly know one without the other?
"The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain."
~Khalil Gibrahn Perhaps it is because I'm so unabashedly not afraid to be sad that my life is correspondingly filled so plentifully with joy and kindness. It's all about having an open heart. Sure it hurts sometimes, but do you really want to give up all the GOOD STUFF that you cut cut yourself off from when you start putting up walls around your heart? That seems dumb to me.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Home Sweet Homeostasis
A couple of months or so ago, I was watching an episode of Biggest Loser. I don't really remember what it was in the show that particularly sparked my thought process, but I began to think about the fact that "weight loss" does not always mean the loss of fat. The loss of water weight and/or muscle loss can also contribute to the net number that shows up on the scale. (This is why it's important to lose weight in a healthy manner--to help maximize fat loss, rather than muscle loss, etc.)
I began to consider that perhaps other significant things could be lost as well. What if, over the course of losing 80 pounds, I somehow managed to lose other parts of myself that are generally hidden from the naked eye, but still somehow contribute to our overall self-expression. Think of all the molecules, and neurotransmitters and whatever else we have on our insides that somehow make up our complex being. Surely it doesn't seem illogical that all of that fitness training could knock a few things loose or perhaps throw the system out of whack.
The truth is, I've been worried. I went through a lot of change in my life over the last couple of years--both all at once and then repeatedly. Things were finally settling down, but I still felt like a car that had been taken all apart and put back together. After being reassembled, it looked the same on the outside. (Well, actually that's not true--got body work done and a new paint job, too!) But it just didn't seem to be running the same as I remembered it doing so prior to the dis-assembly. I began to wonder if there was a bucket of spare parts that didn't get reinstalled correctly when the car got put back together. It runs fine...and looks pretty...but I can tell when I sit in the driver seat, that it's just not running the same.
I began to consider that maybe there was a biological reason that it felt like I was missing spare parts. 80 pounds is a lot of weight. You could hide a few spare parts in there, easily!
But I'm happy to say...my worst fears have finally been absolved. I finally got my whole self back from the shop, and she's running beautifully again. I can't tell you how much GRATITUDE I feel as a result. It's a weird thing to outwardly gain your life but inwardly be missing your life. It's kind of like an inverted out of body experience. Now I FINALLY feel back in sync again. I regained a part of myself that had essentially been missing since I departed Columbus...over two years ago now.
When I try to pinpoint exactly what it was that had been missing, this is what I've come up with: the authority and respect that naturally comes with being me. It's a lot easier to be myself (and feel like myself!) when the people around me treat me as myself!! I had felt out of sync for so long because I was perpetually in new situations with people who barely knew me. Sure, we all experience new situations from time to time, but think about how different one's reality might be altered if this happened on such a grand scale. In retrospect it's easy to see why I was feeling out of sync, yet unable to fully put my finger on what it was that was still "missing." Now, instead of everyone relating to me as "a person," many people around me are actually relating to me as "Kristy" again! About the time I hit the one-year mark at my current job is when this shift started occurring for me. I'm not bad as a generic person, but I prefer being phenomenal--and let's face it, Kristy Rocks!! ;)
The best metaphor I have for how I'm feeling as a result is that I got my feet back under me again. I've been treading water for so long (I've got great endurance!), that it feels so good to finally get my land legs back again. And standing on firm ground again helped bring all my confidence back. It was harder to trust myself when I didn't quite feel like myself. With my feet back under me I feel in a better place to be more proactive in life again; whereas, before it felt like I was expending so much energy trying to weather a barrage of things life kept throwing at me. I liken it to how the body responds to an infection. So many of the body's natural resources and reserves are taken up trying to fight off the infection that outwardly make the body appear weaker. With my feet back under me again I'm better poised to spring forward and more actively engage life from a more proactive angle.
Throughout the last couple of years I've felt a certain kind of alienation from "home." At an intuitive level I understood some of the reasons why this was. So often we associate "home" with our external surroundings, and we tend to recognize those places that feel like home by the manner in which they warm our hearts. But now I understand an even deeper meaning to "home is where the heart is," because the feeling of home that has been restored inside me actually has little to do with my external surroundings; rather, it is the restoration of balance within myself. This return to homeostasis culminated in the familiarity of noticing that people around me were finally beginning to relate to me as myself again. Home is relational. It's not solely about our external relations--to people and places and things--but also about our internal relationship with ourselves.
May you all find home in your hearts...if you are not already there.
Home sweet home(ostasis).
I began to consider that perhaps other significant things could be lost as well. What if, over the course of losing 80 pounds, I somehow managed to lose other parts of myself that are generally hidden from the naked eye, but still somehow contribute to our overall self-expression. Think of all the molecules, and neurotransmitters and whatever else we have on our insides that somehow make up our complex being. Surely it doesn't seem illogical that all of that fitness training could knock a few things loose or perhaps throw the system out of whack.
The truth is, I've been worried. I went through a lot of change in my life over the last couple of years--both all at once and then repeatedly. Things were finally settling down, but I still felt like a car that had been taken all apart and put back together. After being reassembled, it looked the same on the outside. (Well, actually that's not true--got body work done and a new paint job, too!) But it just didn't seem to be running the same as I remembered it doing so prior to the dis-assembly. I began to wonder if there was a bucket of spare parts that didn't get reinstalled correctly when the car got put back together. It runs fine...and looks pretty...but I can tell when I sit in the driver seat, that it's just not running the same.
I began to consider that maybe there was a biological reason that it felt like I was missing spare parts. 80 pounds is a lot of weight. You could hide a few spare parts in there, easily!
But I'm happy to say...my worst fears have finally been absolved. I finally got my whole self back from the shop, and she's running beautifully again. I can't tell you how much GRATITUDE I feel as a result. It's a weird thing to outwardly gain your life but inwardly be missing your life. It's kind of like an inverted out of body experience. Now I FINALLY feel back in sync again. I regained a part of myself that had essentially been missing since I departed Columbus...over two years ago now.
When I try to pinpoint exactly what it was that had been missing, this is what I've come up with: the authority and respect that naturally comes with being me. It's a lot easier to be myself (and feel like myself!) when the people around me treat me as myself!! I had felt out of sync for so long because I was perpetually in new situations with people who barely knew me. Sure, we all experience new situations from time to time, but think about how different one's reality might be altered if this happened on such a grand scale. In retrospect it's easy to see why I was feeling out of sync, yet unable to fully put my finger on what it was that was still "missing." Now, instead of everyone relating to me as "a person," many people around me are actually relating to me as "Kristy" again! About the time I hit the one-year mark at my current job is when this shift started occurring for me. I'm not bad as a generic person, but I prefer being phenomenal--and let's face it, Kristy Rocks!! ;)
The best metaphor I have for how I'm feeling as a result is that I got my feet back under me again. I've been treading water for so long (I've got great endurance!), that it feels so good to finally get my land legs back again. And standing on firm ground again helped bring all my confidence back. It was harder to trust myself when I didn't quite feel like myself. With my feet back under me I feel in a better place to be more proactive in life again; whereas, before it felt like I was expending so much energy trying to weather a barrage of things life kept throwing at me. I liken it to how the body responds to an infection. So many of the body's natural resources and reserves are taken up trying to fight off the infection that outwardly make the body appear weaker. With my feet back under me again I'm better poised to spring forward and more actively engage life from a more proactive angle.
Throughout the last couple of years I've felt a certain kind of alienation from "home." At an intuitive level I understood some of the reasons why this was. So often we associate "home" with our external surroundings, and we tend to recognize those places that feel like home by the manner in which they warm our hearts. But now I understand an even deeper meaning to "home is where the heart is," because the feeling of home that has been restored inside me actually has little to do with my external surroundings; rather, it is the restoration of balance within myself. This return to homeostasis culminated in the familiarity of noticing that people around me were finally beginning to relate to me as myself again. Home is relational. It's not solely about our external relations--to people and places and things--but also about our internal relationship with ourselves.
May you all find home in your hearts...if you are not already there.
Home sweet home(ostasis).
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Monday, November 21, 2011
Soul Tunes
My life is a symphony
A musical masterpiece
A dance of instruments
Singing together rhythmically
A complex sound
Even deeper than poetry
It makes communication challenging
Because a language of words alone
Speaks only one instrument at a time
I have a story to tell but I'd need five or ten of me
Talking at once
In a round of sounds and cadences
And then maybe you'd get what I'm talking about
But even if you didn't
You'd be so moved by the music
That it wouldn't even matter
Because then we'd be talking soul to soul
A musical masterpiece
A dance of instruments
Singing together rhythmically
A complex sound
Even deeper than poetry
It makes communication challenging
Because a language of words alone
Speaks only one instrument at a time
I have a story to tell but I'd need five or ten of me
Talking at once
In a round of sounds and cadences
And then maybe you'd get what I'm talking about
But even if you didn't
You'd be so moved by the music
That it wouldn't even matter
Because then we'd be talking soul to soul
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Poetry in motion
Some poems are meant to remain unwritten
For to put them into words
Might speak a truth with such utter and profound clarity
That life itself might be forever changed
But try as I might
The poetry of my life is forever writing itself
On the walls of my heart
My soul
My mind
Apart from any will of my own
And so it is that my life has been forever changed
For to put them into words
Might speak a truth with such utter and profound clarity
That life itself might be forever changed
But try as I might
The poetry of my life is forever writing itself
On the walls of my heart
My soul
My mind
Apart from any will of my own
And so it is that my life has been forever changed
Wednesday, November 09, 2011
Word
"We are all words spoken by God and our calling is to learn how to pronounce ourselves."
~Thomas Merton
Tuesday, November 08, 2011
Grace happens
Gratitude. The secret to living large, I believe, is gratitude. Lately my heart and soul are filled with a kind of gratitude that makes life feel ten-times, if not one-hundred-times, larger than it normally is.
Gratitude takes us outside of ourselves to acknowledge some sort of imparted grace. I've never been to the Grand Canyon, but the thoughts, feelings, and emotions that come up for me lately as I encounter my daily life seem similar to what one would experience gazing into that vast canyon--awe, wonder, amazement, and the clear awareness of being a part of something so much bigger than oneself. "Life is beautiful!" is the current refrain that has been playing repeatedly in my head.
Facing each day with a heart already overflowing with thankfulness for all the blessings I've been graced with allows me greater freedom to be in the moment and to live more fully in the present. I'm able to live large--to have abundant life--because of how this perspective of gratitude shapes my response to anything that gets "thrown" at me.
Shit happens...but grace happens, too. Why not choose grace?
Tuesday, November 01, 2011
An Epiphany for Today
Today, just like any other day, I was walking to lunch, listening to music through my headphones.
Walking, breathing, connecting with the music and the lyrics, listening to an inner dialogue beginning to transpire. I feel another epiphany coming on!
The music puts a rhythm in the steps of my stroll, and I look up to see a few golden leaves falling like feathers from the trees, littering the sidewalk with a beautiful yellow carpet of autumn shining brightly in the sunshine.
"Today is the best day of my life," I note. Simple thoughts often create the most profound moments for me.
There's nothing outrageously unique about the day that makes it so. Yet, still I have faith that I've touched onto some important kernel of truth.
"Why?" I ask as I'm rounding the corner at the end of the block "What is it about today that makes it the best day?" Even as I ask the question I'm aware that tomorrow will be an even better day, yet. How is it that I know this? What is this truth I'm experiencing in this very moment?
And as I look up at another beautiful tree beaming brilliantly in yellows, golds and reds, I feel a swell of emotion as the epiphany breaks in at that exact moment, touching my soul with its light.
"Today is the best day of my life because I am not living in the past, and I am not living in the future. I'm living in the here and now in this present moment. And this is the Life!"
I smile, nodding. This is the life.
I believe this is why I've been feeling a new sense of fullness to my days. As I let go of the ways I want to cling to the past or grasp at my future I become more free to live more fully in the present and engage the here and now in more ways than I've previously allowed myself to do.
When you think about it, the NOW is really the only thing we have at each and every given moment. Beginning to grasp the implications of this has added a whole new dimension to the way I am experiencing life.
I encourage you to make today the best day of your life, too. The truth is, you can't really MAKE it happen...you just need to open yourself up to receiving it.
As it turns out, as my day went on, several things occurred at work that would have otherwise made it a stressful day. Instead, I felt relieved that I had already declared it the best day of my life; as this freed me from having to "take on" the weight of the stress at an emotional level. How could I be stressed if it was the best day of my life? Those things just don't go together. And, if I am going to have to pick one or the other, why would I pick the stress?? I believe this is something of what living with intention is all about.
Walking, breathing, connecting with the music and the lyrics, listening to an inner dialogue beginning to transpire. I feel another epiphany coming on!
The music puts a rhythm in the steps of my stroll, and I look up to see a few golden leaves falling like feathers from the trees, littering the sidewalk with a beautiful yellow carpet of autumn shining brightly in the sunshine.
"Today is the best day of my life," I note. Simple thoughts often create the most profound moments for me.
There's nothing outrageously unique about the day that makes it so. Yet, still I have faith that I've touched onto some important kernel of truth.
"Why?" I ask as I'm rounding the corner at the end of the block "What is it about today that makes it the best day?" Even as I ask the question I'm aware that tomorrow will be an even better day, yet. How is it that I know this? What is this truth I'm experiencing in this very moment?
And as I look up at another beautiful tree beaming brilliantly in yellows, golds and reds, I feel a swell of emotion as the epiphany breaks in at that exact moment, touching my soul with its light.
"Today is the best day of my life because I am not living in the past, and I am not living in the future. I'm living in the here and now in this present moment. And this is the Life!"
I smile, nodding. This is the life.
I believe this is why I've been feeling a new sense of fullness to my days. As I let go of the ways I want to cling to the past or grasp at my future I become more free to live more fully in the present and engage the here and now in more ways than I've previously allowed myself to do.
When you think about it, the NOW is really the only thing we have at each and every given moment. Beginning to grasp the implications of this has added a whole new dimension to the way I am experiencing life.
I encourage you to make today the best day of your life, too. The truth is, you can't really MAKE it happen...you just need to open yourself up to receiving it.
As it turns out, as my day went on, several things occurred at work that would have otherwise made it a stressful day. Instead, I felt relieved that I had already declared it the best day of my life; as this freed me from having to "take on" the weight of the stress at an emotional level. How could I be stressed if it was the best day of my life? Those things just don't go together. And, if I am going to have to pick one or the other, why would I pick the stress?? I believe this is something of what living with intention is all about.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Open Season
A couple of months ago I read a book that inspired me to think about our way of being in the world. I believe in every moment we are either opening ourselves up or closing ourselves off--and I think the goal is to strive to always remain open.
This simple insight may very well have been the turning point for me as I have since moved into a new season in my life. Life is grand. Not just good--it's also larger, grander, than it was. As a result of making conscious choices to open myself up during many of those times in which my reaction or response tempts me to close up, I find that the world itself opens up before me, mirroring my own actions.
My life still contains the same amount of stressors and I still continue to work through my own lot of personal issues. The fact that life is "grand" does not negate those things. Rather, it gives me a way of rising above the current--whereas, before I kept getting pegged by the crashing waves and getting pulled at by the undertow, I now find that I'm actually surfing!
A friend of mine talks often about "Living Large." I am discerning what this concept means for me as I find myself in a season in which my days have a fullness to them that makes life larger than it seems on the surface. Through this experience I've learned that Living Large, for me, means Living Thoroughly. My days are much the same as they were prior to this new "season"...but there is a fullness to them that was missing before. It is a fullness that reflects this sentiment: at the end of the day there is a contentment that I've really given it my all and I can't ask for anything more. There is still a laundry list 100 miles long of "things to do" but somehow I've managed to open myself up to the here and now in such a way that it reinforces my trust that everything else will happen all in good time--at least all the necessary things.
I want to squeeze everything I can out of life. Make the most of every moment. Completely indulge in life's many blessings with an open heart full of thankfulness and praise. The only way I can do that is to remain open.
This simple insight may very well have been the turning point for me as I have since moved into a new season in my life. Life is grand. Not just good--it's also larger, grander, than it was. As a result of making conscious choices to open myself up during many of those times in which my reaction or response tempts me to close up, I find that the world itself opens up before me, mirroring my own actions.
My life still contains the same amount of stressors and I still continue to work through my own lot of personal issues. The fact that life is "grand" does not negate those things. Rather, it gives me a way of rising above the current--whereas, before I kept getting pegged by the crashing waves and getting pulled at by the undertow, I now find that I'm actually surfing!
A friend of mine talks often about "Living Large." I am discerning what this concept means for me as I find myself in a season in which my days have a fullness to them that makes life larger than it seems on the surface. Through this experience I've learned that Living Large, for me, means Living Thoroughly. My days are much the same as they were prior to this new "season"...but there is a fullness to them that was missing before. It is a fullness that reflects this sentiment: at the end of the day there is a contentment that I've really given it my all and I can't ask for anything more. There is still a laundry list 100 miles long of "things to do" but somehow I've managed to open myself up to the here and now in such a way that it reinforces my trust that everything else will happen all in good time--at least all the necessary things.
I want to squeeze everything I can out of life. Make the most of every moment. Completely indulge in life's many blessings with an open heart full of thankfulness and praise. The only way I can do that is to remain open.
I wish I could say what I am really thinking
I have too much to write about. I sometimes lament that so many of my thoughts are getting lost when I don't have time to write them down. My act of writing not only documents my moments of inspiration and insight, but it very much gives life to the thoughts themselves--the writing adds yet another creative layer of processing, and the act of trying to synthesize and articulate my thoughts often leads to further insights and inspirations--quite often the BEST ones. This makes me aware that I am potentially "losing things" when I don't have time to devote to writing--especially when there's lots of material percolating inside my head.
What I only very recently have come to realize, however, is that I am not necessarily losing things permanently. Rather, the thoughts re-enter the stream which makes up my life and, if called for, will resurface again later...somewhere further downstream. They aren't "lost forever" just momentarily recycled. This awareness is helping to lessen some of my anxiety as I learn to place more faith in trusting in the process--believing that all the important things will happen eventually, if they are meant to happen.
As I sit here now and feel moved to write, I am overcome with emotion because there is indeed far too much to write about. To write it all down would take an entire lifetime, and perhaps that would still only be a drop in the bucket.
Over the last several weeks I've been feeling like I'm stretching the limits of my life in a way that makes it seem like I am having difficulty containing myself in "real time." It makes me conscious that there is an expansive quality to my self and my life experiences that makes it feel like I need to open up the canopy of time so that my soul can stretch out into its fully inflated form. My soul wants room and space to stretch and breathe freely. Real time is cramping it. Actually, more than just cramping it, there is a sense that there is still so much out there to be experienced and known, if only I could transcend the limits of concrete time. I keep having profound moments in which I touch upon the edge of some spiritual truth and I'm awe-struck by the simultaneous simplicity and sheer awesomeness of that experience/truth. It's fair to say that I'm frustrated by the limits of language in being able to convey such a profound, yet equally simple experience in a way that truly gives it justice.
I don't mean for it to sound like I'm walking around with a suffocating soul--as that's not it at all. I feel very much full of life. Rather, it's the awareness that even as full as my life is these days, I've encountered the edge of something that suggests there is the potential for so much more--if only I can figure out a way to break into it.
As I explore the edge of this mystery, I'm conscious of contemplative spirituality and the various traditions that focus on rituals of silence while engaging in prayer and communion with God. For, often silence alone is the only way to communicate that which cannot be expressed within the limits of human language. Why should one's experience--of any kind--be limited by language? Some things are so profound that they will never be able to be fully expressed through language alone. Thankfully there are other modes of expression. And sometimes silence is the only space that will allow for such expression.
What I only very recently have come to realize, however, is that I am not necessarily losing things permanently. Rather, the thoughts re-enter the stream which makes up my life and, if called for, will resurface again later...somewhere further downstream. They aren't "lost forever" just momentarily recycled. This awareness is helping to lessen some of my anxiety as I learn to place more faith in trusting in the process--believing that all the important things will happen eventually, if they are meant to happen.
As I sit here now and feel moved to write, I am overcome with emotion because there is indeed far too much to write about. To write it all down would take an entire lifetime, and perhaps that would still only be a drop in the bucket.
Over the last several weeks I've been feeling like I'm stretching the limits of my life in a way that makes it seem like I am having difficulty containing myself in "real time." It makes me conscious that there is an expansive quality to my self and my life experiences that makes it feel like I need to open up the canopy of time so that my soul can stretch out into its fully inflated form. My soul wants room and space to stretch and breathe freely. Real time is cramping it. Actually, more than just cramping it, there is a sense that there is still so much out there to be experienced and known, if only I could transcend the limits of concrete time. I keep having profound moments in which I touch upon the edge of some spiritual truth and I'm awe-struck by the simultaneous simplicity and sheer awesomeness of that experience/truth. It's fair to say that I'm frustrated by the limits of language in being able to convey such a profound, yet equally simple experience in a way that truly gives it justice.
I don't mean for it to sound like I'm walking around with a suffocating soul--as that's not it at all. I feel very much full of life. Rather, it's the awareness that even as full as my life is these days, I've encountered the edge of something that suggests there is the potential for so much more--if only I can figure out a way to break into it.
As I explore the edge of this mystery, I'm conscious of contemplative spirituality and the various traditions that focus on rituals of silence while engaging in prayer and communion with God. For, often silence alone is the only way to communicate that which cannot be expressed within the limits of human language. Why should one's experience--of any kind--be limited by language? Some things are so profound that they will never be able to be fully expressed through language alone. Thankfully there are other modes of expression. And sometimes silence is the only space that will allow for such expression.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Choose Joy -- My New 3 Second Rule
Generally speaking, over the last year or more I have been making conscious efforts to live more fully in the present. I have friends who seem to do this well, and they inspire me in their ability to live in the present moment in a way that essentially gives a certain kind of honor and reverence to life that is easy to lose when we hurry ourselves or become distracted from the present moment when overly preoccupied with the future or the past.
One of the benefits I've found in trying to live more fully in the "now" is that when I'm doing so, it allows me to let go of a number of anxieties about my future that tend to weigh on me--and some of these can get quite heavy! When you're weighed down by stress, it makes it harder to be productive...to be efficient. Letting go of all that extra unnecessary "stuff" allows me to use MORE of myself in the present...allows me to be myself more fully...allows me to be more present IN the present, rather than just haphazardly showing up to make an appearance.
My latest focus in training myself to live more fully in the present is to focus on choosing joy. I think we have a lot more control over our attitudes than we often allow ourselves to believe. Not that unfortunate things don't happen or we don't ever get sad, or angry, but we have options in what we are going to do with all of that in the aftermath. Will I cling to the anger, or put myself in position to learn to let go of it?
As I was walking on my lunch break the other day, my ruminations on choosing joy developed into a concrete scenario. I was able to simplify it into a single, literal question:
It was later that I fleshed this idea out into the three-second rule. I needed to clarify when "right now" was. If I wasn't "happy", of course, I needed enough time to supposedly "fix" the scenario before the actual death moment. So, asking the question with zero seconds on the clock made no sense. I considered five or 10 seconds. How long does it take to choose joy? Now, to some, 10 seconds may not seem like a long time, but it can actually be an eternity. I reflected on my workout from the day before, when Bob Harper was counting backwards and I was in fact literally about to die: that count-down was only from eight seconds! So, zero was too short, and eight was too long. Five seconds? Three seconds? How long does it take to let go of what we're stuck on in the moment and pick something that makes us happy?
That's when I realized something key: Choosing joy does not mean fixating on some particular thing that "makes us happy". It is found in the letting go of all those things that create a joy dam.
Isn't it human nature to want to be happy? Certainly, our longings for joy often get distorted by all our dysfunctional behavior, but at our core I believe that desire is the same in all of us. Thus, I believe there is a reservoir of joy in all of us--a wellspring just waiting to be tapped, if we can learn to let go of all our "dam" crap. It's not being joyful that requires effort--the work is found in the removal of all the things that impede our natural predisposition for joy.
Now, if it turns out that we are still alive in seconds four and five and beyond, then we are free to move on and address any and all these topics more fully--we've managed to escape death this time around and have the luxury of returning to address any of those things that came up for us during those three seconds when our life passed before our eyes. Being in the now does not mean the future is not important. Learning to let go, in the present moment, of those things that impede our happiness is also what helps free us to be able to have the courage, and strength to be able to deal with those very same issues in the long term.
But for now, let's just keep it simple. You've got three seconds left. It's time to choose joy. Are you with me?
One of the benefits I've found in trying to live more fully in the "now" is that when I'm doing so, it allows me to let go of a number of anxieties about my future that tend to weigh on me--and some of these can get quite heavy! When you're weighed down by stress, it makes it harder to be productive...to be efficient. Letting go of all that extra unnecessary "stuff" allows me to use MORE of myself in the present...allows me to be myself more fully...allows me to be more present IN the present, rather than just haphazardly showing up to make an appearance.
My latest focus in training myself to live more fully in the present is to focus on choosing joy. I think we have a lot more control over our attitudes than we often allow ourselves to believe. Not that unfortunate things don't happen or we don't ever get sad, or angry, but we have options in what we are going to do with all of that in the aftermath. Will I cling to the anger, or put myself in position to learn to let go of it?
As I was walking on my lunch break the other day, my ruminations on choosing joy developed into a concrete scenario. I was able to simplify it into a single, literal question:
If I were to die right now, am I dying "happy"?
It was later that I fleshed this idea out into the three-second rule. I needed to clarify when "right now" was. If I wasn't "happy", of course, I needed enough time to supposedly "fix" the scenario before the actual death moment. So, asking the question with zero seconds on the clock made no sense. I considered five or 10 seconds. How long does it take to choose joy? Now, to some, 10 seconds may not seem like a long time, but it can actually be an eternity. I reflected on my workout from the day before, when Bob Harper was counting backwards and I was in fact literally about to die: that count-down was only from eight seconds! So, zero was too short, and eight was too long. Five seconds? Three seconds? How long does it take to let go of what we're stuck on in the moment and pick something that makes us happy?
That's when I realized something key: Choosing joy does not mean fixating on some particular thing that "makes us happy". It is found in the letting go of all those things that create a joy dam.
Isn't it human nature to want to be happy? Certainly, our longings for joy often get distorted by all our dysfunctional behavior, but at our core I believe that desire is the same in all of us. Thus, I believe there is a reservoir of joy in all of us--a wellspring just waiting to be tapped, if we can learn to let go of all our "dam" crap. It's not being joyful that requires effort--the work is found in the removal of all the things that impede our natural predisposition for joy.
Now, if it turns out that we are still alive in seconds four and five and beyond, then we are free to move on and address any and all these topics more fully--we've managed to escape death this time around and have the luxury of returning to address any of those things that came up for us during those three seconds when our life passed before our eyes. Being in the now does not mean the future is not important. Learning to let go, in the present moment, of those things that impede our happiness is also what helps free us to be able to have the courage, and strength to be able to deal with those very same issues in the long term.
But for now, let's just keep it simple. You've got three seconds left. It's time to choose joy. Are you with me?
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Living Fearlessly
The following is one of my favorite lines from one of my favorite songs, "Glitter in the Air" by P!nk:
"Have you ever looked fear in the face and said I just don't care?"
My recent experience flying on the trapeze brought a lot of things in my life to light in a completely new perspective. Most profoundly these insights have surrounded the topic of fear. Honestly, it wasn't until the next day following my trapeze class that I acknowledged to myself, "Yes, that was actually terrifying, now that I think about it." The whole trapeze experience was one of the most amazing experiences of my lifetime and I definitely hope to do it again--need to do it again!--but I had to admit there were at least brief parts of it that were terrifying.
Here's a video clip of me on the trapeze, taken about half-way through the two-hour class:
Maybe it's only because I'm a processor that I didn't actually label it as fear until the next day. In the moment, rather than freaking out saying, "Oh my god I'm so scared!" I am focused on all the things that are required of me to push through the fear. I don't think it's even registering to me that it's fear at the time--rather, I recognize the familiar physiological symptoms that just bug the hell out of me because I want to be able to control them. I'm not scared of leaping to flight from a platform high up in the air...I think it sounds FUN!! So, it's as if in the moment when "fear" would normally kick in, it's more like I am struggling with some sort of feeling of powerlessness (not being able to mentally control my body's physiological response) and the immense frustration that brings, rather than fear itself. My soul wants to be free to soar, not hampered by sweaty palms and shaking limbs! In the moment I don't feel like it's fear that I'm battling; rather, I'm wrestling with the inconvenience and limitations to my freedom.
As I think about the fear/powerlessness concepts and how they both in some way reflect a sense of loss of control, I see that it's also related intimately to personal vulnerability. That makes sense: of course it's when we are feeling most vulnerable that our fight or flight response is most apt to kick in.
Over the course of my trapeze class I had several opportunities to repeat the literal journey through fear to flight. Performing this ritual several times in succession, of slowly climbing a tall, wobbly ladder up to the precipice of fear and then launching myself from the platform completely, gave me a new paradigm for recognizing how often in my life I do things that, even if only in some small way, terrify me. It suddenly dawned on me how much I've failed to truly give myself the full credit I deserve in some cases, simply because I'm just "doing what I do" without fully appreciating my own "bravery." Actually, it's not uncommon for people in my life to comment on my bravery at times, but I tend to shrug it off because in some ways, it's just something I'm used to doing as a natural part of who I am.
So, to add another paradox to my life, I have now realized that I am both fearless yet simultaneously committed to doing things that scare the hell out of me. I guess maybe fearlessness, rather than being the absence of fear, is the willingness to embrace fear: to stare fear directly in the face, pause briefly to say, "I just don't care," before boldly leaping to flight--jumping straight through the fear. That crucial moment, I believe, often sets things apart in helping you to discern your heart's true path. For, I've also discovered something else about the things in life that scare the hell out of you: many times, these are the very same things your heart most desires.
Fear, in many cases, simply reflects a chasm of vulnerability which we desperately long to leap across--if only we could assure ourselves of landing safely and securely on the other side. I think it's my willingness to live with an open heart, my openness to leaving myself quite vulnerable at times, that is the undercurrent that drives living a fearless life. I wholeheartedly believe it is worth every risk to take a leap of faith across those places that scare us, even when it means risking falling to our death, for the things that matter most to our heart and our soul. We so often forget that in many cases there are safety nets, and we don't always have to get it right the first time. We're not going to literally die even if in the moment it sometimes feels that way. Truthfully, I think I'm much more prone to a long, slow and painful death if I don't leap for those things that my heart truly wants, no matter how much it scares me to do so.
I am eagerly looking forward to another opportunity to fly on the trapeze--to keep practicing what it feels like for my heart to leap freely so that my soul can truly soar. I learned so many things about myself through the experience. I have more posts to make on this topic. Actually, my original post was going to be "Leaning into the Discomfort" but sometimes my blog gets a mind of its own and takes a detour. So watch for this one coming soon.
Until then...I encourage you to venture out and do something terrifying. Afterward, please come back and share your story!
"Have you ever looked fear in the face and said I just don't care?"
My recent experience flying on the trapeze brought a lot of things in my life to light in a completely new perspective. Most profoundly these insights have surrounded the topic of fear. Honestly, it wasn't until the next day following my trapeze class that I acknowledged to myself, "Yes, that was actually terrifying, now that I think about it." The whole trapeze experience was one of the most amazing experiences of my lifetime and I definitely hope to do it again--need to do it again!--but I had to admit there were at least brief parts of it that were terrifying.
Here's a video clip of me on the trapeze, taken about half-way through the two-hour class:
Maybe it's only because I'm a processor that I didn't actually label it as fear until the next day. In the moment, rather than freaking out saying, "Oh my god I'm so scared!" I am focused on all the things that are required of me to push through the fear. I don't think it's even registering to me that it's fear at the time--rather, I recognize the familiar physiological symptoms that just bug the hell out of me because I want to be able to control them. I'm not scared of leaping to flight from a platform high up in the air...I think it sounds FUN!! So, it's as if in the moment when "fear" would normally kick in, it's more like I am struggling with some sort of feeling of powerlessness (not being able to mentally control my body's physiological response) and the immense frustration that brings, rather than fear itself. My soul wants to be free to soar, not hampered by sweaty palms and shaking limbs! In the moment I don't feel like it's fear that I'm battling; rather, I'm wrestling with the inconvenience and limitations to my freedom.
As I think about the fear/powerlessness concepts and how they both in some way reflect a sense of loss of control, I see that it's also related intimately to personal vulnerability. That makes sense: of course it's when we are feeling most vulnerable that our fight or flight response is most apt to kick in.
Over the course of my trapeze class I had several opportunities to repeat the literal journey through fear to flight. Performing this ritual several times in succession, of slowly climbing a tall, wobbly ladder up to the precipice of fear and then launching myself from the platform completely, gave me a new paradigm for recognizing how often in my life I do things that, even if only in some small way, terrify me. It suddenly dawned on me how much I've failed to truly give myself the full credit I deserve in some cases, simply because I'm just "doing what I do" without fully appreciating my own "bravery." Actually, it's not uncommon for people in my life to comment on my bravery at times, but I tend to shrug it off because in some ways, it's just something I'm used to doing as a natural part of who I am.
So, to add another paradox to my life, I have now realized that I am both fearless yet simultaneously committed to doing things that scare the hell out of me. I guess maybe fearlessness, rather than being the absence of fear, is the willingness to embrace fear: to stare fear directly in the face, pause briefly to say, "I just don't care," before boldly leaping to flight--jumping straight through the fear. That crucial moment, I believe, often sets things apart in helping you to discern your heart's true path. For, I've also discovered something else about the things in life that scare the hell out of you: many times, these are the very same things your heart most desires.
Fear, in many cases, simply reflects a chasm of vulnerability which we desperately long to leap across--if only we could assure ourselves of landing safely and securely on the other side. I think it's my willingness to live with an open heart, my openness to leaving myself quite vulnerable at times, that is the undercurrent that drives living a fearless life. I wholeheartedly believe it is worth every risk to take a leap of faith across those places that scare us, even when it means risking falling to our death, for the things that matter most to our heart and our soul. We so often forget that in many cases there are safety nets, and we don't always have to get it right the first time. We're not going to literally die even if in the moment it sometimes feels that way. Truthfully, I think I'm much more prone to a long, slow and painful death if I don't leap for those things that my heart truly wants, no matter how much it scares me to do so.
I am eagerly looking forward to another opportunity to fly on the trapeze--to keep practicing what it feels like for my heart to leap freely so that my soul can truly soar. I learned so many things about myself through the experience. I have more posts to make on this topic. Actually, my original post was going to be "Leaning into the Discomfort" but sometimes my blog gets a mind of its own and takes a detour. So watch for this one coming soon.
Until then...I encourage you to venture out and do something terrifying. Afterward, please come back and share your story!
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
A Brand New Day
Today I was listening to the radio at work and I happened to catch a few lines in a song that spoke directly to me, as they seemed to reflect exactly what's going on inside me:
"It's a brand new day
The sun is shining
It's a brand new day
For the first time in such a long long time
I know, I'll be ok"
~Joshua Radin, Brand New Day
The lyrics hint at similar words that have been a beacon for me over the last several months:
"And love says: I will, I will take care of you."
~Hafiz
The Hafiz quote summarizes my faith in God, and the trust that no matter what happens, I am fully embraced in God's love and ultimately that will carry me through anything no matter what things may look like on the surface. This quote links my past with my future and my present--love is a continuum in which no single moment is irrelevant. Everything matters. I matter. My heart matters.
Recently God and I had a fight. I argued that God was not being very kind to me and then expressed exactly what I thought about that fact. Actually, this angry episode happened not too long after I had run across some writing in one of my college journals. In my journal I described how I found God most responsive during those times in which I became most adamant or demanding with God. Sometimes you've got to raise your voice a bit in order to get an appropriate response! Rather than being a form of "manipulating" God, I think my actions reflect a more acute expression of faith. It's a moment of crying out, "Listen to me, because right now I'm cutting through all the fluff and crap and getting right to the point. I. Need. You."
And so it worked again. Faith moves mountains. This is a miracle that leaves me awestruck every time. (I think I may actually have a scar on my chin from my jaw dropping to the floor so much...)
Immediately, beginning the very next morning and continuing still through the present moment, God began sending me a steady stream of kindness. Life is in the details. The gifts have come as gentle whispers, little winks, smiles. A wordless exchange that speaks to me everything I've needed to hear. In return I've softened and opened myself up as well, knowing that it usually takes two to tango...and there were things I could be doing to better encourage--namely, being more open to, and in a better place to receive--God's kindness.
And so I began saying yes to joy in my heart. I had long recognized that my life was out of balance--my heart, my soul, my mind, and my body were exhausted. I was a weary traveler just longing for home. Home is where the heart is, so I decided to start better listening to my heart, and be more conscious of letting it be my compass.
Although the demands in my life did not really change, the weight of them has shifted. As I began following my heart in even the most minute ways, moving towards those things that feed my soul, piece by piece things started settling back into better balance in my life.
Having just returned from a weekend trip to Oregon to visit friends and family--true soul food--my heart feels quite nourished. My words don't do justice to the full depth yet complete simplicity of what I'm feeling--there are so many more things to write about that would help illustrate how this is being expressed in my life. But, like I mentioned in the above paragraph...."the demands in my life did not really change"....so I don't have endless hours for being able to scribble it all down.
But, there is definitely a feeling of comfort and peace, in knowing that when I follow my heart all my needs really are taken care of. "And for the first time, in such a long long time, I know I'll be ok."
I recently made up a new quote of my own: "Follow your heart, but lead with your soul."
I can't remember if I blogged about it or not, but over 4th of July weekend I did some journaling and discovered through that process that it's my mind that does the thinking, my heart that does the feeling, but it's my soul that does the knowing. If I continue to live with the intentionality of having a soulful life, I believe my heart will be full every day. I think that sounds like a good way to live.
Here's to a brand new day! And if you're interested, here are the rest of the lyrics to the song:
BRAND NEW DAY
Some kind of magic
Happens late at night
When the moon smiles down at me
And bathes me in its light
I fell asleep beneath you
In the tall blades of grass
When I woke the world was new
I never had to ask
It's a brand new day
The sun is shining
It's a brand new day
For the first time in such a long long time
I know, I'll be ok
Most kind of stories
Save the best part for last
And most stories have a hero who finds
You make your past your past
Yeah you make your past your past
It's a brand new day
The sun is shining
It's a brand new day
For the first time in such a long long time
I know, I'll be ok
This cycle never ends
You gotta fall in order to mend
It's a brand new day
It's a brand new day
For the first time in such a long long time
I know, I'll be ok
"It's a brand new day
The sun is shining
It's a brand new day
For the first time in such a long long time
I know, I'll be ok"
~Joshua Radin, Brand New Day
The lyrics hint at similar words that have been a beacon for me over the last several months:
"And love says: I will, I will take care of you."
~Hafiz
The Hafiz quote summarizes my faith in God, and the trust that no matter what happens, I am fully embraced in God's love and ultimately that will carry me through anything no matter what things may look like on the surface. This quote links my past with my future and my present--love is a continuum in which no single moment is irrelevant. Everything matters. I matter. My heart matters.
Recently God and I had a fight. I argued that God was not being very kind to me and then expressed exactly what I thought about that fact. Actually, this angry episode happened not too long after I had run across some writing in one of my college journals. In my journal I described how I found God most responsive during those times in which I became most adamant or demanding with God. Sometimes you've got to raise your voice a bit in order to get an appropriate response! Rather than being a form of "manipulating" God, I think my actions reflect a more acute expression of faith. It's a moment of crying out, "Listen to me, because right now I'm cutting through all the fluff and crap and getting right to the point. I. Need. You."
And so it worked again. Faith moves mountains. This is a miracle that leaves me awestruck every time. (I think I may actually have a scar on my chin from my jaw dropping to the floor so much...)
Immediately, beginning the very next morning and continuing still through the present moment, God began sending me a steady stream of kindness. Life is in the details. The gifts have come as gentle whispers, little winks, smiles. A wordless exchange that speaks to me everything I've needed to hear. In return I've softened and opened myself up as well, knowing that it usually takes two to tango...and there were things I could be doing to better encourage--namely, being more open to, and in a better place to receive--God's kindness.
And so I began saying yes to joy in my heart. I had long recognized that my life was out of balance--my heart, my soul, my mind, and my body were exhausted. I was a weary traveler just longing for home. Home is where the heart is, so I decided to start better listening to my heart, and be more conscious of letting it be my compass.
Although the demands in my life did not really change, the weight of them has shifted. As I began following my heart in even the most minute ways, moving towards those things that feed my soul, piece by piece things started settling back into better balance in my life.
Having just returned from a weekend trip to Oregon to visit friends and family--true soul food--my heart feels quite nourished. My words don't do justice to the full depth yet complete simplicity of what I'm feeling--there are so many more things to write about that would help illustrate how this is being expressed in my life. But, like I mentioned in the above paragraph...."the demands in my life did not really change"....so I don't have endless hours for being able to scribble it all down.
But, there is definitely a feeling of comfort and peace, in knowing that when I follow my heart all my needs really are taken care of. "And for the first time, in such a long long time, I know I'll be ok."
I recently made up a new quote of my own: "Follow your heart, but lead with your soul."
I can't remember if I blogged about it or not, but over 4th of July weekend I did some journaling and discovered through that process that it's my mind that does the thinking, my heart that does the feeling, but it's my soul that does the knowing. If I continue to live with the intentionality of having a soulful life, I believe my heart will be full every day. I think that sounds like a good way to live.
Here's to a brand new day! And if you're interested, here are the rest of the lyrics to the song:
BRAND NEW DAY
Some kind of magic
Happens late at night
When the moon smiles down at me
And bathes me in its light
I fell asleep beneath you
In the tall blades of grass
When I woke the world was new
I never had to ask
It's a brand new day
The sun is shining
It's a brand new day
For the first time in such a long long time
I know, I'll be ok
Most kind of stories
Save the best part for last
And most stories have a hero who finds
You make your past your past
Yeah you make your past your past
It's a brand new day
The sun is shining
It's a brand new day
For the first time in such a long long time
I know, I'll be ok
This cycle never ends
You gotta fall in order to mend
It's a brand new day
It's a brand new day
For the first time in such a long long time
I know, I'll be ok
Sunday, July 24, 2011
A Love Letter...To My Parents
I just finished writing a love letter.
It's a love letter to my parents, actually. A few weeks ago I encountered a card while browsing at the mall that aptly captured in words a summation of many thoughts I'd been piecing together in my my own mind and heart in recent months. I knew immediately that I wanted to send them the card, after adding to it my own personalized words.
All too often we don't take the time to share with people what they really mean to us and how much their presence in our lives has effected us. I didn't want this to be another time in which "the good stuff" just slipped on by. Sure, my parents know I love them, but it's not every day I take the time to write them a love letter. They deserve the opportunity to hear how much their love for me has shaped me.
And, I want to include the letter here, because they also deserve the recognition and honor for what they've taught me. I will have to wait to publish this posting after they've received the "hard copy"...but I'll copy the words now, before I send them on their way through the mail.
Dear Mom & Papa,
A few months ago I began reflecting on relationships and love--and in particular I decided to focus on what I understood/knew of God's love, thinking that would help illuminate and define what I wanted "love" to look like in other areas of my life.
Interestingly enough, it didn't take me long to figure out that everything I know about God's unconditional love and grace and faithfulness came from the both of you. Not only by what you introduced me to in church, itself, but perhaps more importantly by what you taught me at an even more basic level, through what you modeled to us at home: the simple, unshakable truth of your love for each other and for each of us kids.
I can still hear one of Papa's favorite refrains, "Don't tell me; show me." You were right--actions do speak louder and more deeply than words. I know what love is not because you said, "I love you," enough times, but because no matter what the circumstance you've always treated me like I was loved.
And so, in my experience, love is never something to be questioned--it just is. It's not something that is earned; therefore, it is also something that can't ever be "un-earned," or lost due to any "failed" expectations. It exists apart from me, yet completely envelopes me. I was born into it and I will one day die in it, no matter whether or not you've already gone on before me. And, something in me believes it will still exist even after we're all gone. I'm not sure what happens to it then, but I hope it will be recycled and reused.
This morning in church we heard the following verses from Romans, and I both know what the words mean and believe in their promise because of you:
"Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will hardship, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? ... I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord." (Romans 8:35, 38-39)
Love is permanent, no matter what ups and downs life brings. Sometimes love is all you can count on.
I know that being a parent is hard, often under-appreciated work--but you both did a fine job because you understood and believed in all the simple, most fundamental things.
It occurred to me earlier this year that even if I never have kids of my own, I will still be blessed to love with a mother's kind of love--because that's what my heart learned from an early age. I don't think you could have given me any gift more precious than that.
Anyway, I saw this card and I wanted to send it to you. But, really there are no "ifs" about it: I do know what love is because of the both of you.
And I love you, too.
Love,
Kristy
P.S. I hope you got that "thank you" was implied! :)
It's a love letter to my parents, actually. A few weeks ago I encountered a card while browsing at the mall that aptly captured in words a summation of many thoughts I'd been piecing together in my my own mind and heart in recent months. I knew immediately that I wanted to send them the card, after adding to it my own personalized words.
All too often we don't take the time to share with people what they really mean to us and how much their presence in our lives has effected us. I didn't want this to be another time in which "the good stuff" just slipped on by. Sure, my parents know I love them, but it's not every day I take the time to write them a love letter. They deserve the opportunity to hear how much their love for me has shaped me.
And, I want to include the letter here, because they also deserve the recognition and honor for what they've taught me. I will have to wait to publish this posting after they've received the "hard copy"...but I'll copy the words now, before I send them on their way through the mail.
Dear Mom & Papa,
A few months ago I began reflecting on relationships and love--and in particular I decided to focus on what I understood/knew of God's love, thinking that would help illuminate and define what I wanted "love" to look like in other areas of my life.
Interestingly enough, it didn't take me long to figure out that everything I know about God's unconditional love and grace and faithfulness came from the both of you. Not only by what you introduced me to in church, itself, but perhaps more importantly by what you taught me at an even more basic level, through what you modeled to us at home: the simple, unshakable truth of your love for each other and for each of us kids.
I can still hear one of Papa's favorite refrains, "Don't tell me; show me." You were right--actions do speak louder and more deeply than words. I know what love is not because you said, "I love you," enough times, but because no matter what the circumstance you've always treated me like I was loved.
And so, in my experience, love is never something to be questioned--it just is. It's not something that is earned; therefore, it is also something that can't ever be "un-earned," or lost due to any "failed" expectations. It exists apart from me, yet completely envelopes me. I was born into it and I will one day die in it, no matter whether or not you've already gone on before me. And, something in me believes it will still exist even after we're all gone. I'm not sure what happens to it then, but I hope it will be recycled and reused.
This morning in church we heard the following verses from Romans, and I both know what the words mean and believe in their promise because of you:
"Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will hardship, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? ... I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord." (Romans 8:35, 38-39)
Love is permanent, no matter what ups and downs life brings. Sometimes love is all you can count on.
I know that being a parent is hard, often under-appreciated work--but you both did a fine job because you understood and believed in all the simple, most fundamental things.
It occurred to me earlier this year that even if I never have kids of my own, I will still be blessed to love with a mother's kind of love--because that's what my heart learned from an early age. I don't think you could have given me any gift more precious than that.
Anyway, I saw this card and I wanted to send it to you. But, really there are no "ifs" about it: I do know what love is because of the both of you.
And I love you, too.
Love,
Kristy
P.S. I hope you got that "thank you" was implied! :)
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Choose Your Battles Wisely--We've Got Cookies!
On some days the only kind of control we are granted, towards attempting to manage the chaos of the day, is that which we can rely on when wrestling with our own demons. A lot of things happen around and outside of us, over which we often have little, if any, control. So, as my Monday got off to a rough start this week, and the day began reeling out of control, I was going to have to find some way to "get a grip" and hold my ground--"right the ship" and regain my equilibrium, (which has already been a little off recently, to begin with).
Mondays, in general, are the most stressful day of my work week. This Monday, in particular, all hell was breaking loose as I was putting out fires left and right (on top of the lingering pop-up flames from past fires). In order to survive the day I was going to have to call on all my troops. I reached down into the depths of my core to summon all my reserve strength.
The ability to focus and to creatively harness the power of symbolism: those are both key for me. Chaos raging all around--I needed to choose my battle...pick my opponent. I may look small, but I'm deceptively feisty and fierce when necessary. I am David...send me your Goliath...and I'll show you what I've got. And so it was that I picked the largest, most seemingly insurmountable target in the room: the plate of fresh cookies someone had piled high on the table in the center of the staff room.
Game on!
"As a matter of principle, I will not eat any of those cookies." Focus. A good old-fashioned stare-down began. This was no longer just an everyday plate of cookies. It now became a stockpile for all my other battles, both internal and external. Symbolism. Already the "cookie" metaphor is very strong in my life. They are the one food that possesses the power to unhinge my entire agenda for eating a wholesome, healthy diet. Cookies are my kryptonite. So, the symbolism riding on yesterday's battle was inherently rich and strong.
As the day wore on, the cookies slowly began to disappear from the pile, one by one, as other staff members passed by the plate. I stared resolutely back at the cookie heap as the balance of power between us teetered and tottered noiselessly in the atmosphere of the room. The cookies stared glaringly back at me, unwilling to give up so easily. Both of us seemed to gain a strange kind of satisfaction from the fact that no one else in the room was even remotely aware of this high stakes competition taking place right in their midst. If there was no audience, no one would be there to witness if we simply folded. I could eat a cookie and no one in the room would think anything of it--what is there to lose? Yet, somehow that made the stakes even higher. I would know, and the cookie pile would know. And really that's the only thing that matters.
Cookies have been around for millions of years....plenty of time for perfecting their offensive strategies. This battle of the wills was an even match of iron clad patience and perhaps even a little defiance. The quickest way to light a fire in me is to tell me there's something I cannot do. The cookie's taunt, "You can't outlast me in this stare down..." only sufficed as more ammunition towards my resolve. Poor move, cookie!
And then it was down to one. By mid afternoon there was only one cookie remaining. The cookie pile was weak from the long day's battle, but it was perhaps saving its strongest tactics for the end. Apparently the cookies have been working out with Bob Harper as well. "Finish strong!" I can hear Bob chanting, "Everyone starts out strong....it's the ability to finish strong that's a marker of true strength!" That's not an exact quote, but it conveys his message.
A couple more hours and there is still only one cookie left. No more pile of cookies. It's almost sacrilegious to leave a solo cookie just sitting there on an all-but-empty plate. Really, it is a compassionate and virtuous act to put that last cookie out of its lonely misery. I'm not sure exactly where I learned that, but isn't it true?
But I didn't fall for it this time. Too much was riding on this particular battle.
I do have a competitive spirit. I have to admit, I could hear "We are the Champions" playing over the loudspeakers of my mind as I prepared to leave work for the day. I stared down my opponent one last time, turned off the office lights and peacefully shut the door behind me, with a smile on my face. The sweet taste of victory is more lasting than that of any cookie I've ever known.
As I left the cookie sitting there on that plate, it left me feeling like I had managed to gain a little more of an upper hand on my day. Sure, there were still things outside my control, but in my own small way I would carve out a space to create my own order and sense of control. And so I did not let the battle end there. The stare down was only the beginning. In order to prove my point ever so clearly I then rushed off to the gym. I left work promptly in order to make it to a cardio kickboxing class--an amazing, intense workout with some great core work, which I love! It was everything I needed to help wipe out the stress from my day. And then, to really put the nail in the coffin, I followed that up with running two miles on the treadmill.
There was a lot hinging on Monday's battle....but I think it's fair to say I came out on top. I'll take the win! In fact, I put it in my quiver as I prepared to do it all over again the next day.
C'mon Goliath....bring me your cookies! Show me what you've got! I dare you.
Welcome to Tuesday.
Sunday, July 03, 2011
Moving Mountains
I am on a welcome and much-needed retreat right now. My soul was in serious of need of replenishment, and God provided for my needs, once again, at just the right moment in time. I'm enjoying a quiet, long holiday weekend in Bellingham, house- and dog-sitting for my sister and brother-in-law while they are visiting friends in Portland. Of course, I would love to be in Portland, right now, too, but my soul was much more need of this quiet escape from all the crazy, intense, busy-ness that life has brought me as of late.
I don't mean to suggest that everything going on in my life right now is less-than-positive. In fact, there are many things going on that are quite positive. Monumental even. Life-altering in positive ways. But, even that takes its toll after a while. I am all for personal growth. One of my favorite pastimes, actually. Still, I was querying God a few days ago: "What's wrong with slow, continuous growth? Why does it have to happen so frequently in seismic shifts??!" But, in reality, I'm not actually complaining. I can appreciate the seismic shifts--they are actually quite awesome to behold. Just a bit exhausting at times!
During my drive up to Bellingham on Friday evening, I was flipping through the local radio stations as I neared my destination. A song came on the radio that spoke to me instantly. It sounded a little country-ish (not something I tend to listen to very often), and initially I thought perhaps it was the Dixie Chicks. I was actually quite surprised after the song ended and the DJ clarified it had been Miley Cyrus. (So THAT'S what Miley sounds like!) For some reason I then felt a little silly to be moved by a Miley Cyrus song...but I'll never be ashamed to own up to anything that moves me. The song was "The Climb." The mountain imagery really resonates with me and what I think life is all about. Here are some of the lyrics:
There's always gonna be another mountain
I'm always gonna wanna make it move
...
Ain't about how fast I get there
Ain't about what's waiting on the other side
It's the climb
It is all about the climb, baby. If there were no mountains worth climbing, life would be boring. I lived in Ohio for 11 years--I know what flat looks like! I also recognize there is an undying spark in me that will never be afraid of the mountains. And I know for a fact I am always going to want to make them move.
Faith can move mountains. I've recently seen huge mountains in my life crumble into such fine dust that their trace left behind is nearly unrecognizable. All the credit goes to God, but I still had to do the climbing and the wanting. Based on my latest experience of mountain climbing, it seems the ability to move the mountain finally comes when we reach that exact moment of faith in which we hand everything completely over to God. Surrendering our own will seems, to the naked eye, like a moment of human weakness and giving up--but really I think it is a moment of faith that represents a clear expression of our pure, inner strength.
I saw a quote the other day that said something like this: "Our strength is what remains when we've used up all our weakness." I love this quote as well, as it really resonates with the truths I cling to in my fitness journey. We pass through our weakness to get to our strength. When I am sweating and breathing heavy and working out so hard that I'm about ready to collapse, it is THEN that I am blessed to catch yet another glimpse of that part of me who is beautifully strong and passionate. She's the one who powers me through life...and steps up when it's time to face another mountain. I suppose it's my penchant for moving mountains that is causing those seismic shifts I referred to at the beginning of this post.
Here's a video I found on YouTube featuring Miley singing The Climb. I encourage you to listen to it, and think on the mountains you're facing in your own life...and about the meaning you might find in your journey if you were to embrace the fact that right now is exactly where you're being called to be (it's about the climb!) and trust that in time, this (mountain) too shall pass.
I don't mean to suggest that everything going on in my life right now is less-than-positive. In fact, there are many things going on that are quite positive. Monumental even. Life-altering in positive ways. But, even that takes its toll after a while. I am all for personal growth. One of my favorite pastimes, actually. Still, I was querying God a few days ago: "What's wrong with slow, continuous growth? Why does it have to happen so frequently in seismic shifts??!" But, in reality, I'm not actually complaining. I can appreciate the seismic shifts--they are actually quite awesome to behold. Just a bit exhausting at times!
During my drive up to Bellingham on Friday evening, I was flipping through the local radio stations as I neared my destination. A song came on the radio that spoke to me instantly. It sounded a little country-ish (not something I tend to listen to very often), and initially I thought perhaps it was the Dixie Chicks. I was actually quite surprised after the song ended and the DJ clarified it had been Miley Cyrus. (So THAT'S what Miley sounds like!) For some reason I then felt a little silly to be moved by a Miley Cyrus song...but I'll never be ashamed to own up to anything that moves me. The song was "The Climb." The mountain imagery really resonates with me and what I think life is all about. Here are some of the lyrics:
There's always gonna be another mountain
I'm always gonna wanna make it move
...
Ain't about how fast I get there
Ain't about what's waiting on the other side
It's the climb
It is all about the climb, baby. If there were no mountains worth climbing, life would be boring. I lived in Ohio for 11 years--I know what flat looks like! I also recognize there is an undying spark in me that will never be afraid of the mountains. And I know for a fact I am always going to want to make them move.
Faith can move mountains. I've recently seen huge mountains in my life crumble into such fine dust that their trace left behind is nearly unrecognizable. All the credit goes to God, but I still had to do the climbing and the wanting. Based on my latest experience of mountain climbing, it seems the ability to move the mountain finally comes when we reach that exact moment of faith in which we hand everything completely over to God. Surrendering our own will seems, to the naked eye, like a moment of human weakness and giving up--but really I think it is a moment of faith that represents a clear expression of our pure, inner strength.
I saw a quote the other day that said something like this: "Our strength is what remains when we've used up all our weakness." I love this quote as well, as it really resonates with the truths I cling to in my fitness journey. We pass through our weakness to get to our strength. When I am sweating and breathing heavy and working out so hard that I'm about ready to collapse, it is THEN that I am blessed to catch yet another glimpse of that part of me who is beautifully strong and passionate. She's the one who powers me through life...and steps up when it's time to face another mountain. I suppose it's my penchant for moving mountains that is causing those seismic shifts I referred to at the beginning of this post.
Here's a video I found on YouTube featuring Miley singing The Climb. I encourage you to listen to it, and think on the mountains you're facing in your own life...and about the meaning you might find in your journey if you were to embrace the fact that right now is exactly where you're being called to be (it's about the climb!) and trust that in time, this (mountain) too shall pass.
Monday, June 06, 2011
Always
I looked in the mirror today
At just the right moment in time
To see myself
So clearly
I smiled
Then I tried to commit this view
To memory
So I might never forget
The beauty and grace of the moment
-06/06/11
At just the right moment in time
To see myself
So clearly
I smiled
Then I tried to commit this view
To memory
So I might never forget
The beauty and grace of the moment
-06/06/11
Monday, May 30, 2011
Conversation with a Stairwell
From time to time I can have quite animated encounters with what I think most other people might typically consider inanimate objects. Trees...candles...and, now, I can add stairwell to the list.
One day last week I was in the underground bus tunnel in downtown Seattle. As I reached the base of the stairwell and moved toward the first step I noticed a word engraved between the first steps: "Why." I've used this very stairwell on several other occasions, but had never noticed the engraving before. And, although "Why?" is a perfectly good question all on it's own, I quickly made the assumption that more words were to follow. Sure enough, the words came one at a time between alternating steps: "Are...You...Not...Afraid."
Why am I not afraid? Admittedly, that's a bit of a startling question to be asked as one is emerging from the dark, underground bus tunnel. The interesting juxtaposition of the words with the locale made me question, "Should I be afraid?" What does the stairwell know that I do not? While instinct tells me this is not a place at which I'd like to find myself alone, late at night; still, I couldn't imagine that the words were intended to frighten me as if I had just stepped into a horror flick.
I looked around intently for the answers to my questions. I looked on the walls for some kind of companion piece. When I reached the landing I turned to head up the next flight of stairs--I was sure the answer would be there. I encountered only silence. I looked between the steps, but there were no words.
As I continued my ascent, I also began to question the "voice" of the one who asked the question. Whose idea was it to engrave these precise words in this precise spot? Who wants to know why I am not afraid--and why? What's the origin and history of these words. What kind of response are they intended to evoke?
I cleared another landing and a shade of disappointment set in my heart as I again saw only empty stairs and bare walls. Nothing. I was certain when I first encountered the words at the base of the stairwell that they were a lead-in question to something more profound. Does the conversation really end here? Seriously?
The question hung in the air suspended by a great dramatic pause.
Why. Are. You. Not. Afraid?
Finally, as I rounded the corner to face the last flight of stairs, it was with an air of relief that my eyes zeroed in on words engraved, once-again, between alternating stairs:
Look. At. The. Reason. Why.
I found it symbolic that the "answer" came as I reached the point in the stairwell where the daylight from street-level was streaming in, shedding light on the darkness. Though, rather than a question and answer session, I think it would be more fitting to describe my conversation with the stairwell as a call and response kind of dialogue.
I still don't know what the intention of the conversation was supposed to be--or even whether the creator, indeed, had a specific kind of intended response in mind when setting up the potential conversation. I wondered how many 100s of people walk through this very stairwell every day and never notice a single word. I do, at times, have a tendency to notice things that the average person may not. On some days, that makes me observant; on other days, perhaps a little weird (hopefully a harmless, charming kind of weird...).
As I wrapped up my conversation with the stairwell, I made a point of offering my thanks and appreciation for the new revelations. I think, as human beings, we will always have to wrestle with "fear" in at least one of its many manifestations: fear, anxiety, insecurity, etc. There are small fears and big fears. Subtle fears and screaming-in-your-face kinds of fears. Through my conversation with the stairwell, I learned a new key trick for maneuvering through or past one's fears: examine the opposite thing. Where in your life are you safe from fear? Where are you secure, courageous, or confident? After you've named those places (Why are you not afraid?), examine what it is that makes all the difference (Look at the reason why.). When you are able to pinpoint the "why" then perhaps you can find a way to multiply that why into other areas of your life as needed. It may still be a process that takes time, but at least it may be a "step" in the right direction.
One day last week I was in the underground bus tunnel in downtown Seattle. As I reached the base of the stairwell and moved toward the first step I noticed a word engraved between the first steps: "Why." I've used this very stairwell on several other occasions, but had never noticed the engraving before. And, although "Why?" is a perfectly good question all on it's own, I quickly made the assumption that more words were to follow. Sure enough, the words came one at a time between alternating steps: "Are...You...Not...Afraid."
Why am I not afraid? Admittedly, that's a bit of a startling question to be asked as one is emerging from the dark, underground bus tunnel. The interesting juxtaposition of the words with the locale made me question, "Should I be afraid?" What does the stairwell know that I do not? While instinct tells me this is not a place at which I'd like to find myself alone, late at night; still, I couldn't imagine that the words were intended to frighten me as if I had just stepped into a horror flick.
I looked around intently for the answers to my questions. I looked on the walls for some kind of companion piece. When I reached the landing I turned to head up the next flight of stairs--I was sure the answer would be there. I encountered only silence. I looked between the steps, but there were no words.
As I continued my ascent, I also began to question the "voice" of the one who asked the question. Whose idea was it to engrave these precise words in this precise spot? Who wants to know why I am not afraid--and why? What's the origin and history of these words. What kind of response are they intended to evoke?
I cleared another landing and a shade of disappointment set in my heart as I again saw only empty stairs and bare walls. Nothing. I was certain when I first encountered the words at the base of the stairwell that they were a lead-in question to something more profound. Does the conversation really end here? Seriously?
The question hung in the air suspended by a great dramatic pause.
Why. Are. You. Not. Afraid?
Finally, as I rounded the corner to face the last flight of stairs, it was with an air of relief that my eyes zeroed in on words engraved, once-again, between alternating stairs:
Look. At. The. Reason. Why.
I found it symbolic that the "answer" came as I reached the point in the stairwell where the daylight from street-level was streaming in, shedding light on the darkness. Though, rather than a question and answer session, I think it would be more fitting to describe my conversation with the stairwell as a call and response kind of dialogue.
I still don't know what the intention of the conversation was supposed to be--or even whether the creator, indeed, had a specific kind of intended response in mind when setting up the potential conversation. I wondered how many 100s of people walk through this very stairwell every day and never notice a single word. I do, at times, have a tendency to notice things that the average person may not. On some days, that makes me observant; on other days, perhaps a little weird (hopefully a harmless, charming kind of weird...).
As I wrapped up my conversation with the stairwell, I made a point of offering my thanks and appreciation for the new revelations. I think, as human beings, we will always have to wrestle with "fear" in at least one of its many manifestations: fear, anxiety, insecurity, etc. There are small fears and big fears. Subtle fears and screaming-in-your-face kinds of fears. Through my conversation with the stairwell, I learned a new key trick for maneuvering through or past one's fears: examine the opposite thing. Where in your life are you safe from fear? Where are you secure, courageous, or confident? After you've named those places (Why are you not afraid?), examine what it is that makes all the difference (Look at the reason why.). When you are able to pinpoint the "why" then perhaps you can find a way to multiply that why into other areas of your life as needed. It may still be a process that takes time, but at least it may be a "step" in the right direction.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Cultivating passion, standing in truth
"If you cannot cultivate your passion...and stand in your truth...how will you ever know what it is that you want? If you don't have a clear vision of what it is that you want to go after, how will you ever get there?"
~Jillian Michaels
These are some of the words I've been chewing on as of late. I first heard them in a recent podcast by Jillian Michaels as she was discussing her latest book, Unlimited. (You can find her podcasts on iTunes by searching for "The Jillian Michaels Show.") I found the phrase "stand in your truth" to be particularly gripping--compelling--as I visualized its implications. I envisioned something of a chalk outline of my body--a white outline of a hollow silhouette not unlike what you might find on a crime scene. I pictured my physical self standing within the white boundary lines, right in the very center--the core. The core representing "my truth."
I like to think of myself as generally being fairly adaptable most of the time--flexible to whatever life throws my way and willing to compromise when necessary. I won't pretend that my flexibility is always instantaneous--the rate of speed at which I am able to adapt to certain situations and circumstances can vary quite drastically. Still, it is a quality I take pride in as one of my unique gifts, and it feels good to be able to put it to good use.
What I like about this imagery of "standing in my truth" is its emphasis both on the possibility as well as the necessity of enunciating a clear and distinct "Kristy" at my very core who still remains completely visible and unchanged even as she bends and sways with the natural (and sometimes unnatural!) ebbs and flows of life. For, it is clear to me that at some point a line must be drawn such that my very adaptability does not effectually become a complete submersion of my self--the world swallowing me up completely.
Standing in your truth, for me, does not necessarily include a soap box. In fact, it likely does not include one. I tend to prefer more subversive ways of being "loud." There are some truths that are spoken most eloquently and profoundly in silence, without words.
Kindness
Grace
Empathy
Gentleness
Laughter
Love
These are the kinds of things I think I will find as I examine my deepest spaces and search for the truths that reside within. My hope is that doing a more conscious inventory of these already residential truths will ultimately help reinforce them and strengthen my resolve to continue in my latest quest:
to be more of myself
by being less of myself
by being more of myself
Yes, as a matter of fact, that does get confusing at times. But, if life were to be completely straightforward all the time, then I can't help but think something valuable would have been lost along the way.
As for cultivating my passion, some interesting new insights came to mind this evening over dinner. I considered making a list of all those things that I would want to do with my time if I suddenly had limitless hours in a day. Even before I could think literally about the items I would include on the list, I instinctively knew it was a list that would grow exponentially the moment I put my pen to the pad. Suddenly I felt an awareness of all my dreams and passions as they swelled up in my soul to a place just below the surface--energized by the mere suggestion that they might get let out to play. Wow, there really is a lot in there, I marveled momentarily. Hopes and dreams. My passions. Many of them are tucked away inside, hibernating, still stifled by the fact that there are only 24 hours on any given day and I have not yet figured out a trick to negotiating a different kind of currency in the economy of time. This thought--knowing that they are there--makes me smile. It's good to have truths and passions. It's even better to know what they are, of course! And, though I still won't be able to change the fact that there are only 24 hours in a day, not a limitless bank, the fact also remains that even a small amount of seconds or minutes or hours collected faithfully each day can metaphorically become unlimited hours when stretched over a lifetime.
There's still plenty of time to live the life I've imagined! Let's get to it!
~Jillian Michaels
These are some of the words I've been chewing on as of late. I first heard them in a recent podcast by Jillian Michaels as she was discussing her latest book, Unlimited. (You can find her podcasts on iTunes by searching for "The Jillian Michaels Show.") I found the phrase "stand in your truth" to be particularly gripping--compelling--as I visualized its implications. I envisioned something of a chalk outline of my body--a white outline of a hollow silhouette not unlike what you might find on a crime scene. I pictured my physical self standing within the white boundary lines, right in the very center--the core. The core representing "my truth."
I like to think of myself as generally being fairly adaptable most of the time--flexible to whatever life throws my way and willing to compromise when necessary. I won't pretend that my flexibility is always instantaneous--the rate of speed at which I am able to adapt to certain situations and circumstances can vary quite drastically. Still, it is a quality I take pride in as one of my unique gifts, and it feels good to be able to put it to good use.
What I like about this imagery of "standing in my truth" is its emphasis both on the possibility as well as the necessity of enunciating a clear and distinct "Kristy" at my very core who still remains completely visible and unchanged even as she bends and sways with the natural (and sometimes unnatural!) ebbs and flows of life. For, it is clear to me that at some point a line must be drawn such that my very adaptability does not effectually become a complete submersion of my self--the world swallowing me up completely.
Standing in your truth, for me, does not necessarily include a soap box. In fact, it likely does not include one. I tend to prefer more subversive ways of being "loud." There are some truths that are spoken most eloquently and profoundly in silence, without words.
Kindness
Grace
Empathy
Gentleness
Laughter
Love
These are the kinds of things I think I will find as I examine my deepest spaces and search for the truths that reside within. My hope is that doing a more conscious inventory of these already residential truths will ultimately help reinforce them and strengthen my resolve to continue in my latest quest:
to be more of myself
by being less of myself
by being more of myself
Yes, as a matter of fact, that does get confusing at times. But, if life were to be completely straightforward all the time, then I can't help but think something valuable would have been lost along the way.
As for cultivating my passion, some interesting new insights came to mind this evening over dinner. I considered making a list of all those things that I would want to do with my time if I suddenly had limitless hours in a day. Even before I could think literally about the items I would include on the list, I instinctively knew it was a list that would grow exponentially the moment I put my pen to the pad. Suddenly I felt an awareness of all my dreams and passions as they swelled up in my soul to a place just below the surface--energized by the mere suggestion that they might get let out to play. Wow, there really is a lot in there, I marveled momentarily. Hopes and dreams. My passions. Many of them are tucked away inside, hibernating, still stifled by the fact that there are only 24 hours on any given day and I have not yet figured out a trick to negotiating a different kind of currency in the economy of time. This thought--knowing that they are there--makes me smile. It's good to have truths and passions. It's even better to know what they are, of course! And, though I still won't be able to change the fact that there are only 24 hours in a day, not a limitless bank, the fact also remains that even a small amount of seconds or minutes or hours collected faithfully each day can metaphorically become unlimited hours when stretched over a lifetime.
There's still plenty of time to live the life I've imagined! Let's get to it!
Monday, April 25, 2011
The Knowing
"And love says: I will, I will take care of you."
~Hafiz
I encountered this quote at the very beginning of Lent and was deeply moved and inspired by it. In fact, my exact words at the time were this:
"I discovered the poetry of a 14th century Sufi mystic today, and it was as if an ocean instantly opened up in the desert and swallowed my heart whole. And this was a good and comforting thing. I'm looking forward to immersing myself in this new world!"
Reading poetry from the mystical genre inspired me to write a piece of my own. I enjoyed the exercise of writing in a different "voice" of sorts--different from my usual pieces.
THE KNOWING
What are you doing here?
My soul asks
The mysterious figure emerging from the mist
I am your lover
I am here
I don't have a lover
My soul responds pointedly
And that wasn't my question
But I AM your lover
I am here
I have come to see you
And to listen
How long will you be here?
My soul asks
Still viewing the stranger with suspicion
I am your lover
I am here
And I will remain here
Until every last word has spilled from your heart
Instinctively my heart springs open
My soul rejoicing
In this homecoming
Rapture of love
I look into the eyes of
My lover
And recognize the reflection of my own heart
Looking back at me
Later
My mind queries
My heart and my soul
But how did you know?
How could you know that this was
Truly your lover?
And not another impostor?
Because
My heart and my soul answer in unison
As they lock eyes knowingly
Because
Only the lover
Knows about the secret vault of words
"For it is out of the abundance of the heart that the mouth speaks." ~Luke 6:45b
~Hafiz
I encountered this quote at the very beginning of Lent and was deeply moved and inspired by it. In fact, my exact words at the time were this:
"I discovered the poetry of a 14th century Sufi mystic today, and it was as if an ocean instantly opened up in the desert and swallowed my heart whole. And this was a good and comforting thing. I'm looking forward to immersing myself in this new world!"
Reading poetry from the mystical genre inspired me to write a piece of my own. I enjoyed the exercise of writing in a different "voice" of sorts--different from my usual pieces.
THE KNOWING
What are you doing here?
My soul asks
The mysterious figure emerging from the mist
I am your lover
I am here
I don't have a lover
My soul responds pointedly
And that wasn't my question
But I AM your lover
I am here
I have come to see you
And to listen
How long will you be here?
My soul asks
Still viewing the stranger with suspicion
I am your lover
I am here
And I will remain here
Until every last word has spilled from your heart
Instinctively my heart springs open
My soul rejoicing
In this homecoming
Rapture of love
I look into the eyes of
My lover
And recognize the reflection of my own heart
Looking back at me
Later
My mind queries
My heart and my soul
But how did you know?
How could you know that this was
Truly your lover?
And not another impostor?
Because
My heart and my soul answer in unison
As they lock eyes knowingly
Because
Only the lover
Knows about the secret vault of words
"For it is out of the abundance of the heart that the mouth speaks." ~Luke 6:45b
Is She Breathing Yet?
Happy Easter!
Resurrection is the main event of Easter--not just the story of Christ's resurrection, but also how that event touches and transforms us in our own lives. Resurrection is not just a futuristic "something that happens when we die" kind of concept; it also takes place in the here and now. Resurrection is what leads us into new life. My pastor made an important distinction about the concept of resurrection in her Easter sermon this past Sunday: "It is not coming back to the life you lived before; that would be resuscitation."
My recent vacation time away in Oregon helped serve as a vessel that carried me through to my experience of this year's Easter resurrection. Before my trip I was weary, stressed, stretched, depressed, exhausted, frustrated, and generally maxed out emotionally, physically, mentally, and perhaps spiritually. I needed a break!
A break is exactly what I got. It ended up that my time away was extended by several days due to needing car repairs--and I knew immediately when my car broke down that this was no random, unfortunate accident; God was providing for me exactly what I was needing at the time. "Move back, everyone--Kristy needs some breathing room!" (Ahhh...now I see the symbolism of my recent asthma struggles!)
The extra days away made all the difference in the world. I returned to Seattle, but not to "the life I lived before." Although nothing significant had changed about my life situation or about me personally, the time away provided me with the necessary grace to return with a resurrected spirit. The things that were weighing me down and holding me captive before (the metaphor of death), have been loosened and lifted. As I described it to friends this weekend, "It's as if my life right now is an open parenthesis. Sometimes that kind of openness is a scary state to be in, but right now it feels hopeful and full of potential."
Pastor Susan also mentioned in her sermon, "You can't explain the resurrection; the resurrection explains us." Once again, this relates back to a key concept I elaborated on in an earlier blog post: "We live by the stories we tell." The Easter joy, peace, hope and expectation I am experiencing in the here and now have everything to do with the stories I tell...the stories I choose to live and re-live, including how I choose to tell my own story. From time to time I do find myself stuck on some of the stories that threaten to weigh me down or hold me back from living life to the fullest expression that I think is intended for me--but that's what Easter is for. Easter reminds us to say "Yes!" to--and therefore begin to live into--the promises of the resurrection.
What is it that you need to say "Yes!" to in your life right now? My prayer for you is that resurrection promises will meet you there.
Christ is risen!
Christ is risen, indeed! Alleluia!
Yes: it is good to breathe again.
Resurrection is the main event of Easter--not just the story of Christ's resurrection, but also how that event touches and transforms us in our own lives. Resurrection is not just a futuristic "something that happens when we die" kind of concept; it also takes place in the here and now. Resurrection is what leads us into new life. My pastor made an important distinction about the concept of resurrection in her Easter sermon this past Sunday: "It is not coming back to the life you lived before; that would be resuscitation."
My recent vacation time away in Oregon helped serve as a vessel that carried me through to my experience of this year's Easter resurrection. Before my trip I was weary, stressed, stretched, depressed, exhausted, frustrated, and generally maxed out emotionally, physically, mentally, and perhaps spiritually. I needed a break!
A break is exactly what I got. It ended up that my time away was extended by several days due to needing car repairs--and I knew immediately when my car broke down that this was no random, unfortunate accident; God was providing for me exactly what I was needing at the time. "Move back, everyone--Kristy needs some breathing room!" (Ahhh...now I see the symbolism of my recent asthma struggles!)
The extra days away made all the difference in the world. I returned to Seattle, but not to "the life I lived before." Although nothing significant had changed about my life situation or about me personally, the time away provided me with the necessary grace to return with a resurrected spirit. The things that were weighing me down and holding me captive before (the metaphor of death), have been loosened and lifted. As I described it to friends this weekend, "It's as if my life right now is an open parenthesis. Sometimes that kind of openness is a scary state to be in, but right now it feels hopeful and full of potential."
Pastor Susan also mentioned in her sermon, "You can't explain the resurrection; the resurrection explains us." Once again, this relates back to a key concept I elaborated on in an earlier blog post: "We live by the stories we tell." The Easter joy, peace, hope and expectation I am experiencing in the here and now have everything to do with the stories I tell...the stories I choose to live and re-live, including how I choose to tell my own story. From time to time I do find myself stuck on some of the stories that threaten to weigh me down or hold me back from living life to the fullest expression that I think is intended for me--but that's what Easter is for. Easter reminds us to say "Yes!" to--and therefore begin to live into--the promises of the resurrection.
What is it that you need to say "Yes!" to in your life right now? My prayer for you is that resurrection promises will meet you there.
Christ is risen!
Christ is risen, indeed! Alleluia!
Yes: it is good to breathe again.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Waiting to Exhale
Well, my next post was going to be on the topic of what I've learned about Love during my Lenten journey, but I'm still working on that one--a lot to sum up after nearly 40 days of reflection and musings on this topic!
In the meantime, here's a poem I'd like to share. This poem is full of many stories. Some of the stories are mine, some of them belong to others. Some of the stories are from the past, some are in the present, and some are still in the future. I'm fascinated by the power of words to transcend so much time and space.
WAITING TO EXHALE
The words of my heart are primed
I open my mouth to speak
But before I can complete a sentence
In an instant you have vanished
So quickly
Your very shadow yet remains
The only evidence now
That you were ever standing here
I crouch down
And touch my fingertips
To your darkened outline on the ground
Lingering signs of your presence
Now speak only of your absence
I consider for a moment
The prospect
Of standing here for all eternity
In the hopes that one day
You'll return
To hear the rest of my sentence
Words that are now displaced
Because they were meant only
For you
But though hope tugs solidly
At my heartstrings
Life has taught me an important lesson
To which my will must now bend:
I mustn't hold my breath
Or I'll forever be waiting to exhale
~Kristy
03/12/2011
In the meantime, here's a poem I'd like to share. This poem is full of many stories. Some of the stories are mine, some of them belong to others. Some of the stories are from the past, some are in the present, and some are still in the future. I'm fascinated by the power of words to transcend so much time and space.
WAITING TO EXHALE
The words of my heart are primed
I open my mouth to speak
But before I can complete a sentence
In an instant you have vanished
So quickly
Your very shadow yet remains
The only evidence now
That you were ever standing here
I crouch down
And touch my fingertips
To your darkened outline on the ground
Lingering signs of your presence
Now speak only of your absence
I consider for a moment
The prospect
Of standing here for all eternity
In the hopes that one day
You'll return
To hear the rest of my sentence
Words that are now displaced
Because they were meant only
For you
But though hope tugs solidly
At my heartstrings
Life has taught me an important lesson
To which my will must now bend:
I mustn't hold my breath
Or I'll forever be waiting to exhale
~Kristy
03/12/2011
Lent Happens
Lent is drawing to a close as we enter Holy Week. Easter is now only a week away. Part of me would like to be able to say that I spent the last several weeks engaging in regular acts of contemplation and meditation as part of my Lenten discipline. But, as usual, "life happens" and some of the things I had hoped to "accomplish" during this Lenten season fell by the wayside because my life happens to be extremely busy right now. I realize, however, that while life is happening, Lent itself continues to happen as well...in and around, under and above all the other "stuff" of life. My spiritual reflections continued to take place right there in the mix of all the crazy busy-ness of the many other life demands with which I've been wrestling. I just didn't have the time to write about it at the time--a source of frustration for me on more than one occasion!
I just returned from a week in Oregon, spending time with my family and getting some much needed respite. Originally my trip was only supposed to be five days long, but car troubles extended my time away by three extra days. Without a doubt, those extra days were exactly what my spirit and psyche needed in order for me to return back to Seattle feeling much more centered and in better touch with myself again. Actually, I think it has more to do with returning with a better focus, rather than feeling more in touch with myself. Nothing about me has changed, and nothing about my general life circumstances have changed; but, our attitudes and outlook and focus on life and self have everything to do with how we see, hear, feel, think, live and breathe. When those things get off track, it's easy to feel like I've lost touch with myself even though I haven't really gone anywhere.
I've been back several days now, and in spite of having to deal with the costly side-effects of being away even longer than planned, it's easy to recognize that I'm in a much better space than I was before I left. Yesterday as I was paying attention to this change in my spirit I couldn't help but smile to myself as I connected these events to a foretaste of the promise of Easter. I like how I phrased it in my last post: "Easter has never failed me." Again, here is an example of how my life often feels so in sync with the liturgical calendar. I began to think of how the church calendar is like an itinerary. It gives times and points directions as well as provides a brief synopsis of the places we will go when we arrive. While our experiences on this journey are sure to be unique and widely varied, we are at the same time participating in something of a universal story. And we can visit the same places repeatedly, experiencing it differently each time. I have been to Easter before. At least 36 times, if you want to think in literal terms, but I think Easter also happens at many other metaphorical times. (As an aside, "time" as a concept is one that still confounds me in many ways--but that's a whole other blog post!)
I have been to Easter before. Still, as I look down at my itinerary and see that we reach the destination of Easter in only a week, something of a child-like energy of hopeful, expectant excitement begins to rise up from the deepest part of my being. Even though I've been there before, the excitement still feels as if I will be seeing Easter again for the first time--delightful surprises await me in the days ahead! Easter is a place that you can visit an infinite amount of times and still experience something new with each trip. My self-awareness of the rejuvenation of my spirit after having been away is one of the markers on my itinerary--it announces that we are about to reach this long awaited destination. Lent is an incredibly rich place with lots to see and experience, but nobody goes to Lent to stay there. Nobody. If you don't continue your trip on to Easter then there's no real reason to have visited Lent in the first place.
Part of my excitement lies in wondering what Easter miracles are about to unfold in my life. I am poised and ready for some known transitional changes of sorts, and it's refreshing to be in a space again where there is an influx of positive energy towards whatever it is that will unfold in my life in the days ahead.
Of course, we still have to journey through Holy Week itself, before we arrive at Easter. You can't get to the Easter Resurrection without going through the cross event. This very week is the most dramatic part of the Jesus story, and, as my pastor commented this morning, it is in Holy Week that we "enter the deepest mysteries of God's love for us." And this brings me to the topic of my next post: what my Lenten journey this year has taught me about love.
I just returned from a week in Oregon, spending time with my family and getting some much needed respite. Originally my trip was only supposed to be five days long, but car troubles extended my time away by three extra days. Without a doubt, those extra days were exactly what my spirit and psyche needed in order for me to return back to Seattle feeling much more centered and in better touch with myself again. Actually, I think it has more to do with returning with a better focus, rather than feeling more in touch with myself. Nothing about me has changed, and nothing about my general life circumstances have changed; but, our attitudes and outlook and focus on life and self have everything to do with how we see, hear, feel, think, live and breathe. When those things get off track, it's easy to feel like I've lost touch with myself even though I haven't really gone anywhere.
I've been back several days now, and in spite of having to deal with the costly side-effects of being away even longer than planned, it's easy to recognize that I'm in a much better space than I was before I left. Yesterday as I was paying attention to this change in my spirit I couldn't help but smile to myself as I connected these events to a foretaste of the promise of Easter. I like how I phrased it in my last post: "Easter has never failed me." Again, here is an example of how my life often feels so in sync with the liturgical calendar. I began to think of how the church calendar is like an itinerary. It gives times and points directions as well as provides a brief synopsis of the places we will go when we arrive. While our experiences on this journey are sure to be unique and widely varied, we are at the same time participating in something of a universal story. And we can visit the same places repeatedly, experiencing it differently each time. I have been to Easter before. At least 36 times, if you want to think in literal terms, but I think Easter also happens at many other metaphorical times. (As an aside, "time" as a concept is one that still confounds me in many ways--but that's a whole other blog post!)
I have been to Easter before. Still, as I look down at my itinerary and see that we reach the destination of Easter in only a week, something of a child-like energy of hopeful, expectant excitement begins to rise up from the deepest part of my being. Even though I've been there before, the excitement still feels as if I will be seeing Easter again for the first time--delightful surprises await me in the days ahead! Easter is a place that you can visit an infinite amount of times and still experience something new with each trip. My self-awareness of the rejuvenation of my spirit after having been away is one of the markers on my itinerary--it announces that we are about to reach this long awaited destination. Lent is an incredibly rich place with lots to see and experience, but nobody goes to Lent to stay there. Nobody. If you don't continue your trip on to Easter then there's no real reason to have visited Lent in the first place.
Part of my excitement lies in wondering what Easter miracles are about to unfold in my life. I am poised and ready for some known transitional changes of sorts, and it's refreshing to be in a space again where there is an influx of positive energy towards whatever it is that will unfold in my life in the days ahead.
Of course, we still have to journey through Holy Week itself, before we arrive at Easter. You can't get to the Easter Resurrection without going through the cross event. This very week is the most dramatic part of the Jesus story, and, as my pastor commented this morning, it is in Holy Week that we "enter the deepest mysteries of God's love for us." And this brings me to the topic of my next post: what my Lenten journey this year has taught me about love.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Daring to Dream in the Desert
Lent is here. On Thursday morning, as I was driving in to work, I metaphorically took a look around at my internal and external landscape: "Yes," I recognized, nodding to myself, "here we are in the desert, again."
The desert wilderness is a familiar setting for Lent. The season typically begins with the Gospel texts telling the story of Jesus going out into the wilderness following his baptism, to face the devil's temptations. The Old Testament imagery of the Israelites wandering in the wilderness for 40 years on their journey to the Promised Land also comes to mind.
I'm continually amazed at how closely my own life cycles seem to mirror the church's liturgical calendar. This is probably one of several key reasons my own Lutheran faith has been a good spiritual home for me. Last year, during this time, I was navigating a wilderness of still adjusting to a new life in a crazy big city. The church calendar provides for me what has been a helpful framework for orienting my own human story within a story that is greater than mine. It helps both shift and shape my focus towards that bigger picture so I don't get lost in my own "stuff." It provides me with a system for placing a more positive spin on certain life events as they unfold, as it gives me a better vantage point for attributing deeper meaning to things that might otherwise appear meaningless. "Wrestling with the devil in the wilderness" is a struggle much easier to endure when you know that Easter is coming. Easter has never failed me. In a prior blog post I wrote about the notion that "We live by the stories we tell" (Elie Wiesel). My own living takes place within the drama of a story that is much broader and wider and longer and deeper than my own. This helps me make greater sense of my life.
Lent is an appropriate time for wrestling with one's demons. This past summer I encountered a written meditation about this "confrontation":
"If you therefore go to the desert to be rid of all the dreadful people and all the awful problems in your life, you will be wasting your time. You should go to the desert for a total confrontation with yourself. For one goes to the desert to see more and to see better. One goes to the desert especially to take a closer look at the things and people one would rather not see, to face situations one would rather avoid, to answer questions one would rather forget." ~Alessandro Pronzato, Meditations on the Sand
Lent is a time for being brutally honest with ourselves. I wholeheartedly believe this can be done in a loving manner--being brutally honest does not mean self-battering. Regardless, it still might hurt just a bit as we examine ourselves and start to recognize the various facades we have built up in our minds, our hearts, and even our souls. Lent is a time for taking the steps toward returning to a more authentic version of ourselves. Who is it that God created me to be? How is the quality of my life suffering as a result of not embracing the fullness of that vision? What are my Easter hopes this year--what kind of healing do I need to bring to my mind and my heart and my soul? What will this year's Easter resurrection look like in my own life story?
I am a dreamer. As I look around at my current wilderness surroundings, I recognize that I am wrestling with certain byproducts of this fact. As a dreamer, I hope. As a dreamer, I tend to see visions of things not-yet-existing-but-seem-so-completely-plausible. As a dreamer, I am more optimist than pessimist. As a dreamer, I often view limitations as artificial perceptions. As a dreamer, I recognize that I am typically at odds with many predominant worldviews. And, just yesterday, I realized the fact that, as a dreamer, there are some days in which my life is probably more fiction than real. But this doesn't make it any less true. One of the unfortunate byproducts of dreaming is simply dreams unrealized--some dreams may still eventually be realized over the course of time, others will ultimately fail to catch the wind they need to set sail. And sometimes there is an ongoing cycle of dreams being seemingly dashed, yet resurrected again and again, refusing to be laid to rest permanently in spite of their repeated failure at managing to get both feet off the ground.
So, it seems, my Lenten journey this year is going to include wrestling in the desert with these hopes of mine that are still stuck hanging around, waiting for their wind. In light of the theme of love I articulated in my last post, I'm going to be reflecting on my own visions of love and why the things I dream about sometimes seem so incredibly elusive. The Easter story, in a nutshell, is about God's intimate, passionate love for us. This story shapes everything I believe about love. When my hopes get dashed, I think it's because of my repeated refusal to buy into society's competing worldviews of what love is "supposed" to be about. In these moments, sometimes my own faith languishes as I pause to question whether or not the things I hope for actually do exist. But, in time, I eventually return to the space where I again taste and see that love really does exist in the way that I understand it--and this is what gives me the courage to dream. I know this at the very core of my being, and this is the very bedrock on which my faith rests. Sometimes I just forget.
I hope that I will always dare to dream, even during my brief desert expeditions.
"Hold fast to dreams for if dreams die, life is a broken winged bird that cannot fly." ~Langston Hughes
The desert wilderness is a familiar setting for Lent. The season typically begins with the Gospel texts telling the story of Jesus going out into the wilderness following his baptism, to face the devil's temptations. The Old Testament imagery of the Israelites wandering in the wilderness for 40 years on their journey to the Promised Land also comes to mind.
I'm continually amazed at how closely my own life cycles seem to mirror the church's liturgical calendar. This is probably one of several key reasons my own Lutheran faith has been a good spiritual home for me. Last year, during this time, I was navigating a wilderness of still adjusting to a new life in a crazy big city. The church calendar provides for me what has been a helpful framework for orienting my own human story within a story that is greater than mine. It helps both shift and shape my focus towards that bigger picture so I don't get lost in my own "stuff." It provides me with a system for placing a more positive spin on certain life events as they unfold, as it gives me a better vantage point for attributing deeper meaning to things that might otherwise appear meaningless. "Wrestling with the devil in the wilderness" is a struggle much easier to endure when you know that Easter is coming. Easter has never failed me. In a prior blog post I wrote about the notion that "We live by the stories we tell" (Elie Wiesel). My own living takes place within the drama of a story that is much broader and wider and longer and deeper than my own. This helps me make greater sense of my life.
Lent is an appropriate time for wrestling with one's demons. This past summer I encountered a written meditation about this "confrontation":
"If you therefore go to the desert to be rid of all the dreadful people and all the awful problems in your life, you will be wasting your time. You should go to the desert for a total confrontation with yourself. For one goes to the desert to see more and to see better. One goes to the desert especially to take a closer look at the things and people one would rather not see, to face situations one would rather avoid, to answer questions one would rather forget." ~Alessandro Pronzato, Meditations on the Sand
Lent is a time for being brutally honest with ourselves. I wholeheartedly believe this can be done in a loving manner--being brutally honest does not mean self-battering. Regardless, it still might hurt just a bit as we examine ourselves and start to recognize the various facades we have built up in our minds, our hearts, and even our souls. Lent is a time for taking the steps toward returning to a more authentic version of ourselves. Who is it that God created me to be? How is the quality of my life suffering as a result of not embracing the fullness of that vision? What are my Easter hopes this year--what kind of healing do I need to bring to my mind and my heart and my soul? What will this year's Easter resurrection look like in my own life story?
I am a dreamer. As I look around at my current wilderness surroundings, I recognize that I am wrestling with certain byproducts of this fact. As a dreamer, I hope. As a dreamer, I tend to see visions of things not-yet-existing-but-seem-so-completely-plausible. As a dreamer, I am more optimist than pessimist. As a dreamer, I often view limitations as artificial perceptions. As a dreamer, I recognize that I am typically at odds with many predominant worldviews. And, just yesterday, I realized the fact that, as a dreamer, there are some days in which my life is probably more fiction than real. But this doesn't make it any less true. One of the unfortunate byproducts of dreaming is simply dreams unrealized--some dreams may still eventually be realized over the course of time, others will ultimately fail to catch the wind they need to set sail. And sometimes there is an ongoing cycle of dreams being seemingly dashed, yet resurrected again and again, refusing to be laid to rest permanently in spite of their repeated failure at managing to get both feet off the ground.
So, it seems, my Lenten journey this year is going to include wrestling in the desert with these hopes of mine that are still stuck hanging around, waiting for their wind. In light of the theme of love I articulated in my last post, I'm going to be reflecting on my own visions of love and why the things I dream about sometimes seem so incredibly elusive. The Easter story, in a nutshell, is about God's intimate, passionate love for us. This story shapes everything I believe about love. When my hopes get dashed, I think it's because of my repeated refusal to buy into society's competing worldviews of what love is "supposed" to be about. In these moments, sometimes my own faith languishes as I pause to question whether or not the things I hope for actually do exist. But, in time, I eventually return to the space where I again taste and see that love really does exist in the way that I understand it--and this is what gives me the courage to dream. I know this at the very core of my being, and this is the very bedrock on which my faith rests. Sometimes I just forget.
I hope that I will always dare to dream, even during my brief desert expeditions.
"Hold fast to dreams for if dreams die, life is a broken winged bird that cannot fly." ~Langston Hughes
Monday, March 07, 2011
A Lenten Journey: Love's Recovery
I've been thinking ahead to Lent, pondering what shape I would like it to take this year as I seek to deepen my spiritual life in some meaningful way that's appropriately relevant to my "now." People often give something up for Lent, as a spiritual practice reflecting sacrifice and penitence...but really the focus of this discipline is not what we "give up" but what we replace that "giving up" with. It's an exercise meant to renew our focus on our relationship with God and what that means for us in our lives.
Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday, which marks the beginning of the Lenten season. Lent is actually one of my favorite times of the liturgical church year, as it is a season that is rich in metaphors (sin and grace; brokenness and wholeness; journeying through the wilderness to the promised land; life, death and resurrection; etc.). One of the Bible verses that always comes to mind at this time of year is one that stood out to me during the first Ash Wednesday service I attended in college:
"Yet even now, says the Lord, return to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning; rend your hearts and not your clothing. Return to the Lord, your God, for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and relents from punishing." ~Joel 2:12-13
"Return to me with all your heart." This is always the theme that stands out for me as I think of Lent each year. This year, rather than trying to think about what I might "give up" for Lent, I'm pondering what kinds of things I might do to actively engage this task of returning to God with all my heart. What might this look like? I just read a reflection by one of my seminary colleagues who writes about a similar contrast: Giving Up or Opening Up.
Yesterday morning on the way to work I discovered more clues to my spiritual path as I continued listening to the Indigo Girls (I'm on Disk 2 now of the 1200 Curfews album). My attention took hold as the following lyrics played:
"Oh how I wish I were a trinity
So if I lost a part of me
I'd still have two of the same to live..."
It's hard to live life fully with an open heart without continually facing threats of losing a part of yourself in the midst of the journey. To live an authentic life requires constantly risking yourself. (I've never been very good at the whole "putting up walls" thing.) I loved how these lyrics recognized the reality of this risk of loss while remaining unwavering in the desire to keep forging ahead, living life to the fullest.
"But nobody gets a lifetime rehearsal..."
Oh, God, there are definitely days on which I could really use some dress rehearsal time! But...it's not gonna happen. Thankfully there's grace in appropriate places and at pertinent times, to help minimize the bruising when we don't always get things quite right.
"As specks of dust we're universal..."
Segue to Ash Wednesday! (You are dust, and to dust you shall return...) I was beginning to see my own personal theme for this year's Lenten journey take form. I began to ponder the title of the song that was playing: "Love's Recovery." And then I heard the echoes of my favorite Lenten verse, "Return to the Lord with all your heart."
"To let this love survive would be the
Greatest gift we could give..."
I rewound the song and began to listen to it from the beginning. Tell me, Emily Saliers and Amy Ray, about this greatest gift of love. As I listened to the lyrics I heard the story of a love that weathers the storm and safely survives even as relationships fall apart all around the pair. Love's Recovery.
"Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things." ~1 Corinthians 13:7
My journey this Lent is going to be a journey about Love. If there's anything I've learned through my fitness journey, it's that everything we "DO" matters. Rituals matter. Repetition matters. What we think about matters. And so, I'm reminded, that in order to surround myself with the kind of love I hope to have in my life, I need to return to the very source of that love. ("We love because he first loved us." ~1 John 4:19). Immerse myself in that love. Practice and participate in that love. And then, most importantly, share the love.
Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday, which marks the beginning of the Lenten season. Lent is actually one of my favorite times of the liturgical church year, as it is a season that is rich in metaphors (sin and grace; brokenness and wholeness; journeying through the wilderness to the promised land; life, death and resurrection; etc.). One of the Bible verses that always comes to mind at this time of year is one that stood out to me during the first Ash Wednesday service I attended in college:
"Yet even now, says the Lord, return to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning; rend your hearts and not your clothing. Return to the Lord, your God, for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and relents from punishing." ~Joel 2:12-13
"Return to me with all your heart." This is always the theme that stands out for me as I think of Lent each year. This year, rather than trying to think about what I might "give up" for Lent, I'm pondering what kinds of things I might do to actively engage this task of returning to God with all my heart. What might this look like? I just read a reflection by one of my seminary colleagues who writes about a similar contrast: Giving Up or Opening Up.
Yesterday morning on the way to work I discovered more clues to my spiritual path as I continued listening to the Indigo Girls (I'm on Disk 2 now of the 1200 Curfews album). My attention took hold as the following lyrics played:
"Oh how I wish I were a trinity
So if I lost a part of me
I'd still have two of the same to live..."
It's hard to live life fully with an open heart without continually facing threats of losing a part of yourself in the midst of the journey. To live an authentic life requires constantly risking yourself. (I've never been very good at the whole "putting up walls" thing.) I loved how these lyrics recognized the reality of this risk of loss while remaining unwavering in the desire to keep forging ahead, living life to the fullest.
"But nobody gets a lifetime rehearsal..."
Oh, God, there are definitely days on which I could really use some dress rehearsal time! But...it's not gonna happen. Thankfully there's grace in appropriate places and at pertinent times, to help minimize the bruising when we don't always get things quite right.
"As specks of dust we're universal..."
Segue to Ash Wednesday! (You are dust, and to dust you shall return...) I was beginning to see my own personal theme for this year's Lenten journey take form. I began to ponder the title of the song that was playing: "Love's Recovery." And then I heard the echoes of my favorite Lenten verse, "Return to the Lord with all your heart."
"To let this love survive would be the
Greatest gift we could give..."
I rewound the song and began to listen to it from the beginning. Tell me, Emily Saliers and Amy Ray, about this greatest gift of love. As I listened to the lyrics I heard the story of a love that weathers the storm and safely survives even as relationships fall apart all around the pair. Love's Recovery.
"Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things." ~1 Corinthians 13:7
My journey this Lent is going to be a journey about Love. If there's anything I've learned through my fitness journey, it's that everything we "DO" matters. Rituals matter. Repetition matters. What we think about matters. And so, I'm reminded, that in order to surround myself with the kind of love I hope to have in my life, I need to return to the very source of that love. ("We love because he first loved us." ~1 John 4:19). Immerse myself in that love. Practice and participate in that love. And then, most importantly, share the love.
Thursday, March 03, 2011
For Everything There Is a Season
Over the last couple of weeks, as I've struggled with enduring a long season of trying to fight off colds, viruses, and other ailments that have plagued me off and on since New Year's Day, I have been intentional in trying to listen for what I'm supposed to be learning during this time. Rather, regardless of whether I am "supposed" to be learning anything, it's still important for me to ask the question, what "can" I be learning?
This latest bout--round 3--has really dug me down deep. I'm wrestling with an asthmatic bronchitis that has taken deep root in my lungs and I've been slow to recover from. Just yesterday I returned to the doctor for an updated plan of action for helping to return me to my healthy self. It's slow going, but I have faith that I am finally on the right track and will soon be able to put this "sick" season behind me. My spirit NEEDS to finally put this season behind me. Besides my body being exhausted from fighting off ailments, there are moments when I've felt the emotional effects of depression from being down so long physically. I can't get out to do the things that help ward off the usual negative toxins that life throws at you: stress, anxiety, sadness, or whatever other things come up in usual day to day life. My ability to go work it all off at the gym has been thwarted by not being able to breathe. Oxygen is important.
So, in spite of everything, I've tried to embrace even being sick by trying to listen for what I might be able to hear. It's lonely lying in bed trying to breathe through inflamed bronchial tissues, just trying to sleep so my body will have time to repair itself. When the tears come (I'm sure the various steroids I'm on have had an added effect to feeling hormonally out of sync) I try to maintain a delicate balance of letting them run the course they need to but also trying to gently steer them away as I know crying is not helpful for someone already struggling with breathing issues. Finally in the last couple of days some of my intention is starting to pay off. I'm recognizing some spiritual movements within that are leading me to feel more hopeful again. I'd say there's a lot in life that is worth putting up with if I find that I am also simultaneously being spiritually moved. But, just as creative inspiration usually cannot be forced, spiritually moving experiences aren't usually something we can just plan on. We can be disciplined in trying to create spaces that allow such things to happen, but then...we just have to sit and wait, sometimes in sheer silence. But, as I was reminded today, sometimes God is in the silence.
1 Kings 19:11-12:
"He said, 'Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.' Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence."
Sometimes we have a tendency to look for God in moments that dazzle, amaze, excite, thrill, or even comfort us in some dramatic ways. But sometimes there is simply silence. Perhaps when we try to pay attention to God's presence in those moments and places where there is silence--moments and places which, on the surface, may seem to reflect God's absence--perhaps this act of spiritual discipline actually beckons God's presence into our life and hearts in a new way as we are intentionally seeking God out...extending an invitation for God to come near.
So, I've been seeking God in the silence, trusting that if I keep listening, eventually the words would come. In the last several days or so I've felt myself entering into a new season of my life....a season which I'm hoping will begin with feeling healthy again soon! Additionally, I am looking forward to a season of spiritual nourishment and growth. Having already sensed this spiritual shifting in various ways internally, I finally heard some words that I was needing to hear as I was driving home from work today. Sometimes God speaks in the silence. Other times, God speaks while listening to the Indigo Girls. "Kristy, what do you want your life to be about right now?" This is the focus I've been looking for. I want a lot of things, but I know where the focus has to be if I want those things ever to come true. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. The things I want come out of what I treasure most. And actually, as I am typing and reflecting on the fact that I just said I want a lot of things, I realize in some respects that I really only want one thing: one true love. But, like creative inspiration, and spiritual experiences, real love can't be conjured up on command. I can be disciplined in creating an open and welcoming space for love to enter in....but then I can only wait for nature to take its course. But I'm re-learning that it's worth it to wait for the real thing. It's worth everything for that one thing.
This latest bout--round 3--has really dug me down deep. I'm wrestling with an asthmatic bronchitis that has taken deep root in my lungs and I've been slow to recover from. Just yesterday I returned to the doctor for an updated plan of action for helping to return me to my healthy self. It's slow going, but I have faith that I am finally on the right track and will soon be able to put this "sick" season behind me. My spirit NEEDS to finally put this season behind me. Besides my body being exhausted from fighting off ailments, there are moments when I've felt the emotional effects of depression from being down so long physically. I can't get out to do the things that help ward off the usual negative toxins that life throws at you: stress, anxiety, sadness, or whatever other things come up in usual day to day life. My ability to go work it all off at the gym has been thwarted by not being able to breathe. Oxygen is important.
So, in spite of everything, I've tried to embrace even being sick by trying to listen for what I might be able to hear. It's lonely lying in bed trying to breathe through inflamed bronchial tissues, just trying to sleep so my body will have time to repair itself. When the tears come (I'm sure the various steroids I'm on have had an added effect to feeling hormonally out of sync) I try to maintain a delicate balance of letting them run the course they need to but also trying to gently steer them away as I know crying is not helpful for someone already struggling with breathing issues. Finally in the last couple of days some of my intention is starting to pay off. I'm recognizing some spiritual movements within that are leading me to feel more hopeful again. I'd say there's a lot in life that is worth putting up with if I find that I am also simultaneously being spiritually moved. But, just as creative inspiration usually cannot be forced, spiritually moving experiences aren't usually something we can just plan on. We can be disciplined in trying to create spaces that allow such things to happen, but then...we just have to sit and wait, sometimes in sheer silence. But, as I was reminded today, sometimes God is in the silence.
1 Kings 19:11-12:
"He said, 'Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.' Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence."
Sometimes we have a tendency to look for God in moments that dazzle, amaze, excite, thrill, or even comfort us in some dramatic ways. But sometimes there is simply silence. Perhaps when we try to pay attention to God's presence in those moments and places where there is silence--moments and places which, on the surface, may seem to reflect God's absence--perhaps this act of spiritual discipline actually beckons God's presence into our life and hearts in a new way as we are intentionally seeking God out...extending an invitation for God to come near.
So, I've been seeking God in the silence, trusting that if I keep listening, eventually the words would come. In the last several days or so I've felt myself entering into a new season of my life....a season which I'm hoping will begin with feeling healthy again soon! Additionally, I am looking forward to a season of spiritual nourishment and growth. Having already sensed this spiritual shifting in various ways internally, I finally heard some words that I was needing to hear as I was driving home from work today. Sometimes God speaks in the silence. Other times, God speaks while listening to the Indigo Girls. "Kristy, what do you want your life to be about right now?" This is the focus I've been looking for. I want a lot of things, but I know where the focus has to be if I want those things ever to come true. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. The things I want come out of what I treasure most. And actually, as I am typing and reflecting on the fact that I just said I want a lot of things, I realize in some respects that I really only want one thing: one true love. But, like creative inspiration, and spiritual experiences, real love can't be conjured up on command. I can be disciplined in creating an open and welcoming space for love to enter in....but then I can only wait for nature to take its course. But I'm re-learning that it's worth it to wait for the real thing. It's worth everything for that one thing.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Get Well Soon
Evidently I spoke too soon. Just as I thought I was finally well enough to move on living my inspired life, another bug took hold of me. And of course, each bout of being sick has left me feeling at least a shade more miserable than the one prior. Oh what a wretched week it has been! And that's putting it quite nicely.
The good news is the doctor finally loaded me up with an arsenal of drugs to try to combat bronchitis and the flu. Hopefully this will help me finally get well once and for all so I can actually get on with my life again. It's killing me to be down so long.
It pains me that I am blogging about being sick. I wish that I had the energy to write about the many other things that currently touch my heart and my soul. I am trying to be patient with being sick--to learn what I can from every moment in my life, even when I am simply lying in bed coughing up a lung.
There are some things in life we don't have much control over in some respects, but we do have a lot of control over how we choose to respond to them. So, although a part of me resents having spent probably at least 6 of the last 8 weeks being sick in some form or another, I am thankful for an earnest heart that is striving to maintain a sense of peace, optimism, hope and reverence for my very life. It's all a gift. Every obstacle is a learning opportunity if we are willing to open our eyes to it as a teachable moment. I hope I will always live life with my eyes open. Actually, even more importantly, I hope I will always live into my future with an open heart as well.
In the meantime, I am just going to be praying for some open lungs!
The good news is the doctor finally loaded me up with an arsenal of drugs to try to combat bronchitis and the flu. Hopefully this will help me finally get well once and for all so I can actually get on with my life again. It's killing me to be down so long.
It pains me that I am blogging about being sick. I wish that I had the energy to write about the many other things that currently touch my heart and my soul. I am trying to be patient with being sick--to learn what I can from every moment in my life, even when I am simply lying in bed coughing up a lung.
There are some things in life we don't have much control over in some respects, but we do have a lot of control over how we choose to respond to them. So, although a part of me resents having spent probably at least 6 of the last 8 weeks being sick in some form or another, I am thankful for an earnest heart that is striving to maintain a sense of peace, optimism, hope and reverence for my very life. It's all a gift. Every obstacle is a learning opportunity if we are willing to open our eyes to it as a teachable moment. I hope I will always live life with my eyes open. Actually, even more importantly, I hope I will always live into my future with an open heart as well.
In the meantime, I am just going to be praying for some open lungs!
Sunday, February 20, 2011
30 Day Return Policy
So, I'm sitting here cleaning off my desk at home, and I feel compelled to come here to my blog page. I notice immediately that my last post was January 20...and it's now February 20. 30 days! It's time for a new post. I've written several posts in my head on the fly in recent weeks as life has kept me too preoccupied to find time for blogging in the real physical sense. Although there have been many topics that have touched me in the last 30 days since my last post, I am jumping in to this post rather suddenly without any real plan for what's going to come out as my fingers strike the keyboard. Not my usual method...so it could get interesting...
2011 started out with a bang for me. I felt lots of amazing, inspiring energy leading up to the New Year as I was looking forward to what I think is going to a beautiful, fun, and fulfilling year for me in many ways. I had just rejoined the gym to continue working on my fitness goals, and I was thriving in my workouts which metaphorically spilled over into my every day life and led me to exclaim with a bright smile, "I'm having a love affair with my life!"
But, as January arrived I suddenly picked up a bad cold. Then, just as I was getting better mid-month I picked up a nasty virus. I spent most of the month being sick...and have only just started feeling like a normal human being again in the last couple of weeks. So, it was a real momentum killer to all that passion I was riding towards the end of December. It's so frustrating to have desires flaring in your heart, but to be limited from being able to act on them! Lately I've been trying to remind myself that I don't have to live my entire life in one day. It's not the end of the world to have to pace your exuberance.
So, here I am, returning after a 30 day break from blogging. What do I feel I have to say? Where am I now in comparison to 30 days ago? I guess, to use an all-too-common metaphor, I am getting ready for a new chapter in my life. The depth of winter has passed as the days are finally beginning to get longer and spring is getting closer; I'm finally well enough to return to a more regular workout regimen--something that fuels my passion and continues to inspire me in all facets of my life; my basketball season has ended, freeing up my weekends for alternative activities including weekend road trips (my sister in Bellingham is particularly excited about this!); and after a year of several important growth spurts, I'm simply looking forward to putting all the new things that I've learned about myself into play as I continue on in this fascinating journey of life. I can't wait to see what new things are in store and discover what such things may have to teach me about myself and about the world around me.
And hopefully this new chapter will also allow more adequate blogging time!
2011 started out with a bang for me. I felt lots of amazing, inspiring energy leading up to the New Year as I was looking forward to what I think is going to a beautiful, fun, and fulfilling year for me in many ways. I had just rejoined the gym to continue working on my fitness goals, and I was thriving in my workouts which metaphorically spilled over into my every day life and led me to exclaim with a bright smile, "I'm having a love affair with my life!"
But, as January arrived I suddenly picked up a bad cold. Then, just as I was getting better mid-month I picked up a nasty virus. I spent most of the month being sick...and have only just started feeling like a normal human being again in the last couple of weeks. So, it was a real momentum killer to all that passion I was riding towards the end of December. It's so frustrating to have desires flaring in your heart, but to be limited from being able to act on them! Lately I've been trying to remind myself that I don't have to live my entire life in one day. It's not the end of the world to have to pace your exuberance.
So, here I am, returning after a 30 day break from blogging. What do I feel I have to say? Where am I now in comparison to 30 days ago? I guess, to use an all-too-common metaphor, I am getting ready for a new chapter in my life. The depth of winter has passed as the days are finally beginning to get longer and spring is getting closer; I'm finally well enough to return to a more regular workout regimen--something that fuels my passion and continues to inspire me in all facets of my life; my basketball season has ended, freeing up my weekends for alternative activities including weekend road trips (my sister in Bellingham is particularly excited about this!); and after a year of several important growth spurts, I'm simply looking forward to putting all the new things that I've learned about myself into play as I continue on in this fascinating journey of life. I can't wait to see what new things are in store and discover what such things may have to teach me about myself and about the world around me.
And hopefully this new chapter will also allow more adequate blogging time!
Thursday, January 20, 2011
I've never been good at goodbye
In the wee hours of this morning I find myself thinking about silence and the space it provides for the voices of the soul to speak.
This morning a quote from a movie emerges from my thoughts. It's from one of the most moving scenes I've ever watched--a scene from Homeward Bound: The Incredible Journey. Yes, those animal movies will get you every time! The two dogs and cat are making their journey across the landscape trying to get back to their human family. As they are crossing a train yard Shadow, the wise, old Golden Retriever, falls into a hole and injures his leg. He is unable to climb back up out from the hole. Chance, the young, exuberant American Bulldog, encourages him to not give up now! But, Shadow is just too old and now he is injured--it looks like he's not going to make it up out of the slippery sides of the hole he is now trapped in.
Shadow then imparts to the young Chance some of the most insightful words of wisdom I've ever heard:
"You've learned all you need to know, Chance. Now all you need to learn is how to say goodbye."
It's a heart-wrenching scene--I sobbed upon hearing these words. I've always hated goodbyes! But in spite of my tears I recognized how profound and graceful Shadow's words were.
Of course, that scene makes the ending of the movie all the more moving as we discover that Shadow does miraculously escape from the hole and still makes his way home to rejoin the family just a half-second after they've all had the realization that he wasn't able to survive the journey. Yep--you guessed it--more tears for me! I have no shame in being moved--even by a Disney movie!
Goodbyes, hellos, tears of grief, tears of joy....sometimes they are all so intricately intertwined. I'm feeling a lot of that these days. I've always been gifted and being able to laugh and cry simultaneously--I think both are important if one wishes to experience the very fullness of life. I'm wrestling with what it all means for me. The deepest joys often bring that very same depth of grief--this doesn't seem like a very fair trade-off. Shall I then seek a life that is more shallow so that it might not hurt as much? Of course that's a ridiculous notion to me, but the argument does have its merits!
I found this video clip while searching for the scene I described above. While it's not exactly what I was originally looking for, I wept upon encountering it and felt moved to include it here. Even in our goodbyes we are never really alone. And sometimes goodbyes aren't really "goodbye"....but just "see you in a little bit."
This morning a quote from a movie emerges from my thoughts. It's from one of the most moving scenes I've ever watched--a scene from Homeward Bound: The Incredible Journey. Yes, those animal movies will get you every time! The two dogs and cat are making their journey across the landscape trying to get back to their human family. As they are crossing a train yard Shadow, the wise, old Golden Retriever, falls into a hole and injures his leg. He is unable to climb back up out from the hole. Chance, the young, exuberant American Bulldog, encourages him to not give up now! But, Shadow is just too old and now he is injured--it looks like he's not going to make it up out of the slippery sides of the hole he is now trapped in.
Shadow then imparts to the young Chance some of the most insightful words of wisdom I've ever heard:
"You've learned all you need to know, Chance. Now all you need to learn is how to say goodbye."
It's a heart-wrenching scene--I sobbed upon hearing these words. I've always hated goodbyes! But in spite of my tears I recognized how profound and graceful Shadow's words were.
Of course, that scene makes the ending of the movie all the more moving as we discover that Shadow does miraculously escape from the hole and still makes his way home to rejoin the family just a half-second after they've all had the realization that he wasn't able to survive the journey. Yep--you guessed it--more tears for me! I have no shame in being moved--even by a Disney movie!
Goodbyes, hellos, tears of grief, tears of joy....sometimes they are all so intricately intertwined. I'm feeling a lot of that these days. I've always been gifted and being able to laugh and cry simultaneously--I think both are important if one wishes to experience the very fullness of life. I'm wrestling with what it all means for me. The deepest joys often bring that very same depth of grief--this doesn't seem like a very fair trade-off. Shall I then seek a life that is more shallow so that it might not hurt as much? Of course that's a ridiculous notion to me, but the argument does have its merits!
I found this video clip while searching for the scene I described above. While it's not exactly what I was originally looking for, I wept upon encountering it and felt moved to include it here. Even in our goodbyes we are never really alone. And sometimes goodbyes aren't really "goodbye"....but just "see you in a little bit."
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