Cerveza n lime

Last year I bought a plant called Cerveza n Lime.  If you brush your hands through it, it releases a wonderful lime fragrance.  It is one of my favorite plants. This summer it was out on the deck, so it dealt with more extreme issues of weather than it had over the winter on my dining room table.  Storms shook the leaves free. The sun and the heat did their work as well.  

On this plant, each stem holds many leaves.  As the leaves are bumped or blown off, there is a opening in the stem.  Maybe it is a bit of a plant wound, one could say.  At first, there was simply a small open area in the stem, but then something happened.  As that little openning closes, it produced another leaf.  Although this time, it isn't one leaf, rather about 6 in the shape of a small daisy-like flower. Every time a leaf fell off, an opening was created bringing a place for several new leaves in come into existence.

I was thinking how it seems to be in life.  We experience difficult weather conditions like sun and heat - things we did not expect: job loss, relationship rifts, deaths of those close. We can experience seasons of barrenness with places where we have been wounded seeming more plentiful than the green, lush areas.  Yet with time and intention, those wounded areas can be transformed into lush greenness.
  
This summer my plant had several nearly bare stems, but now is completely covered with little blossoms of leaves. It seems that in there some where is a picture of redemption. Healing can come to our our lives, producing far more gifts than had been there before we lost the leaves.      

4 cats, 2 dogs, a book and a gazebo

Maybe that is the next blog name or perhaps a movie...  That is how many are in the gazebo this afternoon. Mind you this is not abnormal at all. It seems as if, when I am home alone, I am never really alone and that is perfectly ok with me. There is a sacred rhythm that a cat's head nudge or a dog at your feet brings. The sacredness of companionship without words.  

We have this sometimes with friends, family, our significant other. Sometimes it comes while sitting in the same space, in that lovely silence where one does not feel compelled to fill it with talk. Sometimes it is on a walk where the falling leaves are the only voice needed. It is in the rise and fall of a baby chest during nap. It is in the hospital room with the bbrrr of the machines that guard life. It is all around us.  The thing is, sometimes I just don't allow myself to slow down to hear it. Sometimes the silence feels scary because i get thinking about things that brings anxiety. 

Over the past months, I have been learning to pay attention to those things that bring anxiety.  In fact, I have been learning to let anxiety be my teacher and in that, I have also found that I can enjoy the silence. I can let the silence speak it's own message. The silence brings great wisdom and healing, if only I take the time to listen.

The gazebo seems a bit quiet today. However, if I lean into the silence this is what i hear: children's laughter, 4 or 5 different birds chirping, a purring cat and a snoring dog, the breeze blowing through the trees, the guy up the road getting his race car ready for tonights race. In reality, silence isn't a vacuum of noise, rather it is listening to life on a different level than we are accustomed. There are a lot of exciting surprises at this level.   

good group guidelines

We used these group guidelines during during my graduate work. I also use them in all the groups that I facilitate. Several have asked for a copy, so here they are!

They can be attributed Parker Palmer.



To create a spirit of respect, curiosity, and dialogue, we will...

- Presume welcome and extend welcome.
- Refrain from fixing, saving or setting straight others in the group.
- When interaction gets tricky, turn to inquiry rather than advocacy. (wonder about something instead of defending something) Pay attention to the distinction between dialogue (which begins with a question) and debate ( which begins with an answer).
- Make sure your questions are real questions, not ones intended to make a point, demonstrate prior knowledge or communicate a hidden agenda.
- Observe confidentiality, especially regarding material shared by other participants.

Tears of August

I cried a lot the month of August.  Sometimes it was one of those body shaking sobs, sometimes it was just a single tear at the edge of my eye. Tears arrived in the middle of a meeting, at the end of lunch, in the morning as I drank my coffee and in the evening while watching a sitcom.  The tears seemed to have a rhythm of their own, showing up in the darnedest places and the most inconvenient times. And, I allowed them to be. 

I allowed my joy live with my sadness.

The events at the end of August were probably some of the biggest transitions points of my life.  I said good-bye to some folks who probably know me better than most. They were a holding place for me over this past year, as I explored a number of deep soul areas: for this I am eternally grateful.  Second, my daughter headed to college, which of course carries with it joy and sadness all wrapped up together. I don't mention these for any reason other than to give you context for what I am going to say next.

I was present for the joys.  I was present for the sadness.

I was thinking the other day about how I learned to deal with difficult emotional situations.  Somehow, somewhere, and probably from many different teachers, I learned to run from them, distract myself so as not to feel them. I learned to fear them.  I think most of us learn this in some way or another. In fact, it is how part of our brain actually works.  We perceive threat of some sort and our brain's survival system is activated and we fight, fight, freeze or head to our preferred addiction. this might seem helpful in the short term, but we are not created to live in this part of our brain...but that is another discussion.  

In a sense, it is a bit like seeing a traffic jam ahead on the highway. We can get off the highway in order to avoid the traffic back up.  That might work well for a traffic jam, but we often take the exit ramp of of of our own lives in order to bypass the traffic jam of difficult feelings. The hard emotions never seem to go away if we try to go around them, so we tend to get stuck under the bridges, never re-entering our life and experience all that it is meant to be. It is as if we creep back up the ramp to see if the traffic has cleared, only to find out it is still there.  We are desperate to experience relief so we stick with our distractions. However, truly relief does not come until we able to get back up on the highway and travel through the difficult emotions from which we have been trying to hide. This is the process of a life time.

So, back to that earlier note: I was present for the joys, and present for the sadness of August. I was compassionate toward my sadness and I let it be. Part of this past year's process has been allowing myself to be present and aware of what was going on inside of me, to lean into whatever it was and to consider it all gift.  It is really hard work. Often times situations do not feel like a gift until later when we find out how strong we (or another) are, or how resilient, or how brave... It is what we discover about our own self and each other: that is gift.  

I no longer find it helpful to exit my life, to live under the bridges, rather I find it much more rewarding to work through the emotional traffic jams. It is still hard work. Over the past month I have experienced some of the rewards of doing so.  I can experience the joy more fully when I attend to the sadness. I learn when I allow the sadness to come, it will not over take me rather it can transform me.  It isn't sadness for sadness sake. It is sadness that shows me more of who I am, and what I value. And in it all, I can experience joy more fully. I find out I am stronger than I thought.  It is the transformation of suffering. In all of this: is gift.

 

Lessons from Last Place

This past year, I admitted to a close group of confidants that I am competitive. You know, sort of an AA type of admission. “Hi, I’m Andrea, and I’m competitive.” Most who know me would say something along the lines of, “duh.” While it might have mildly squeaked through in my actions, I have never felt at liberty to actually admit it, let alone to actual enjoy it. In my mind for me, it was always a very bad trait. Growing up, I learned from several that to be proud of your accomplishments was well…not good. In fact, it bordered on…well: evil. It was pride, and that was one of those “deadly sins.” (Cue: scary music) An example took place in high school. I had earned a spot on an All-Star team that represented the 5-state area – we were headed to a national competition, I was so excited. A religious leader gave me a note on my way into competition that said nothing more than; “the first shall be last and the last shall be first.” It was a nice bubble burst-er, to say the least. The meaning made by me was “don’t think you are anything great by being on this team. And, if you do, you will pay a price.” I remember nothing about the actual competition, but I still remember the words.

This weekend, I was with that close group of confidants, who are also very good athletes. (You know where this is going, don’t you?) We were up north, hiking, climbing around on rocks, some were running trails, others reading on the deck. We climbed several decent hills and the cliffs of Mother Superior. I came in dead last every time. Every time. It tore at my ego. As I was reflecting on why this bothered me so very much, something very cool happened. Someone waited on me. Then, another time, someone else waited on me. My ego hated the fact that they did, my ego was humiliated. However, my soul…well, my soul experienced an element of healing on that day. The healing came from something that I didn’t even know was in me. Somewhere along life, I had begun to believe that my worth was wrapped up in where I landed in the pack. Since it was “wrong” to end up first, I had accepted, (under internal duress,) that 2nd or 3rd place was fine. But being last just wasn’t okay, on any level. Until last weekend. I have spent the last year learning to embrace myself in its entirety. This weekend I learned that I can also embrace the part of me that can come in last place. Because where I land in the pack really has no impact on my value as a person, a friend, family member, colleague. It is just part of what makes me who I am.

A good friend re-defined competition as “having grit to make it through whatever comes.” I think I will hold that definition of competition instead of the old definition of youth. All in all, the weekend up north was marvelous. My new mantra is: “just because it was hard, doesn’t mean it wasn’t good.”

Love can win regardless of your theology.

You may have been reading the latest about Rob Bell's new book "Love Wins," which questions the idea of a literal hell. That said, you can only imagine the onslaught of finger pointing and name calling that has taken place on the internet, in the name of God. A friend of mine lost his position of pastor over changes in his theology. And, I believe this sort of thing has only just begun. This is not a new discussion, but we now have the internet where a person's face or story can circle the globe in minutes. There has never been a time where we can become so divided, so quickly. I also think that this gives us a great opportunity. We could behave in a life-giving manner, and love one another within the discussion. Within the discussion. We have a choice in this discussion. What kind of people do we want to be?

In work as a chaplain, I am often in the midst of death. Families choose how they want to be in the midst of dying. When loss happens, there are many underlying emotions of which we are often unaware. On the surface can be sadness, but underneath can be strong emotions such as; guilt, helplessness, or isolation. Elizabeth Kubler-Ross. in her book, On Death and Dying, describes 5 stages of grief that people often experience: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. People experiencing loss of any sort can experience these stages - and they do not necessarily come in order as Kubler-Ross initially thought.

Watching the fire storm surrounding Bell's book, I considered the varied reaction as descriptive of the stages of grief. I have noticed, when confronted with doctrines that oppose the ones in which we believe, we often can be seen living out of one of these stages of grief. Sometimes we get angry. We see this in many of the posts that rail against the book - sometimes before it is even read by the blogger. Some people get into bargaining - trying to make the new doctrine a little easier to swallow, perhaps trying to mold it into an existing doctrine we have believed for years. For some, depression sets in and the conversation becomes overwhelming because the risk seems so very high. Finally, there is acceptance, either of staying with the doctrine of our past, or changing to a new belief. On the surface of the argument, we can see anger or defensiveness, but underneath can be strong emotions such as inadequacy, hurt or insignificant. Working through this can be some of the hardest work in our lives, and with it carries a risk of losing one's tribe, one's community. Perhaps this is the greatest fear of all.

So, how do we want to be in this discussion? Each of us is at a different place in regards to our theology. In this instance, we may believe in a literal hell, or not. For me, the question of what we believe is less important than how will we choose to be with each other within this discussion. Will we choose to see others (those who oppose the doctrines of our youth or those who do not accept our new theological place) as fellow travelers? Will we choose compassion or defensiveness? Curiousity or anger? Some are scared that something sacred is being compromised. Others may be excited because they are in a new place. Many may be too overwhelmed to even talk about it. None of these people are any less our brothers and sisters. None of these are any less people of God. It seems as if we must consider how we choose to be within the discussion, and choose to communicate in a life giving way, that love might really win.

“Be still and know I am,” and btw, get the cow off the lake.

A few weeks ago there was a news story reporting a calf stuck on a frozen lake. There was no snow on the ice, which made the situation quite slippery. The calf being young and not having the strength needed kept slipping, leaving him floundering in the middle of the lake. The ice is not deep enough to walk on, so the rescuers had to come up with a plan that would save the calf, and yet not endanger their own lives. They lowered a helicopter near the calf, and gently blew the calf along the ice to a place where it could find firm ground and it’s own legs. Nearing shore it fell through the ice, but was able to find firm ground, regain it’s footing and move itself into the safety of the land.
Sometimes I feel like the calf, floundering around, attempting to gain my footing in a situation where I feel quite weak or unprepared. Stuck in a place or situation that I wasn’t expecting to be in. It can be a place of feeling completely overwhelmed. Bills due, the uncertainty of illness, unemployment, life’s pressures…
The anxiety could come from a multitude of things that reminds me of what it might feel like to be the calf on the ice. Experiencing a feeling of out of control, like I am spinning my wheels, going no where. What I usually do not notice in myself is an innate, natural ability to be calm, sit down and wait. I do not often remain present to the day, instead I often panic and struggle to find something to do to make the situation better – or at least make myself feel better in the midst of the situation.
Instead of panic, what would it be like to wait? To sit on the cold, hard place, a bit like the lake ice, and wait. The calf had no choice, struggle as it may, it could so no where. When we are in a time that feels uncertain, that feels chaotic, how might we wait for the gentle breeze (or strong wind) to blow? Scripture calls this the breath of life. The New Testament calls it the Spirit of God. How is the breath of the divine moving you?
Ralph Waldo Emerson speaks of “lowly listening.” Listening to the still, small voice within us – the one that knows which way to go. The small voice can be persistent, thankfully. I often find my self caught up in what distracts me, busyness, life, etc. If I can stop and listen, I can hear the low voice of my own voice, and of the divine. This voice does not seem to shout, but rather speak quietly, so it is needful to take time to stop and listen to it. The Christian psalms remind us to “be still and know that I am.”
It seems as if a key might be “be still.” In the being still – which is not part of our busy culture we can experience the breeze in our lives. Remaining busy we can be distracted by life’s pressures. However, if we stop and are attentive to what we experience, we can feel the breeze – we can “know” by experience that “I am.”
Here is what author C.S. Lewis says, “ That’s why the real problem of the Christian life comes when people don’t usually look for it. It comes the very moment you wake up each morning. All your wishes and hopes for the day rush at you like wild animals. And the first job each morning is just shoving them back; just listening to what other voice taking that other point of view, letting that other; stronger quieter life come flowing in. And so on, all day. But from these moments the new sort of life will be spreading through out system.”
Author John Ackerman suggests this exercise:

Stop – Relax, Breathe
Look – Open Your Mind
Are there blessings? Is there pain? What is God doing?
Listen – Open Your Heart
What is God saying? Will you receive grace?
Go – Open Your Will
Let go, let love come. How will you live?

The saving grace of the calf, was not the rescuers, at least not directly. It was the wind from the helicopter. It was a “new sort of life” that the rescuers heard by listening to this voice. While many people took part in the rescue, but it was the wind that blew the calf to safety. Listening brought life to the situation. It was the choice of the rescuers to step back and allow the wind to do what wind does that allowed the calf to arrive at a safe place.
Stop, look, listen and go. Some days it may feel as if the divine is right there with us – as a tangible force. Other days it may take time more attention, more intentionality, more time being quiet…sometimes it is sitting down, waiting, being quiet and letting the breeze blow us to the shore.