My art room has been a space of solace during these pandemic days.  As I live alone and now work from home, I sometimes get too much in my head.  There’s so much to think about and pray about these days.  There’a a laundry list of things I worry about.  So, when I need to come out from under the weight of thinking, I go to my art room.  I’m often there first thing in the morning and at the very end of the day.  Sometimes, I just walk into this space to look, to grow calm, or to become more steady.  It is a haven in these times..

I’ve positioned my art table so that I can look outside as I create.  I have a good view of the mountains and sky and neighborhood trees that always seem to be reaching towards both.  I love seeing kids on their bikes and new moms strolling their babies in the fresh air and dogs walking their people.  I put a bird feeder right outside of the window, and that has it’s own share of delight.  Sparrows.  Doves.  Cardinals.  Wren.  The feeder is their local  diner where they swap stories, learn to share, and receive sustenance.

On my windowsill, I have a collection of treasures that also catch my eye and soothe my spirit.  Seashells, feathers, a Native American rattle, and a little angel from my brother.  Back in the fall, I was shopping with friends in a thrift store, when I found this ceramic figurine of the Virgin Mary.  I brought her home with me, and added her to the windowsill.   She watches over me as I invite God’s spirit to be with me as I stir the creative waters and seek the peace that passes all understanding.

An unexpected joy has also come to this window during the pandemic.  There are two volunteer sunflowers cheerfully blooming in the flower bed outside of the art room window.   I like to think that the warmth that rises from all the love in my art room spilled out on the seeds and encouraged these sweet friends to rise up.  They stand there each day as reminders that possibilities abound and goodness keeps on flowing even on the hardest of days.

Today, I noticed how sweetly the sunflowers seemed to cup Mary.  They encircled her with their warm glow… so much so that I had to grab my camera and kneel down to take the photo.  So, there I was in this dear sacred space kneeling with Mary and the sunflowers, when low and behold, a goldfinch arrived.  He perched on the stalk of the sunflower and nodded to all that was holy in that moment… and there was so much that was holy.  The distance between heaven and earth eased, and I could feel God’s assurance embracing me with love and care.

I am reminded today that while this pandemic is awful, rending our minds and bodies and spirits, it is also creating spaces that invite us to lean our heads on God’s heart and rest easy in that love.  So much is beyond our control and so much is within our reach.  Let the veils be lifted.  Let the downhearted, sing.

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Before you put your weary
soul to bed each night,
open the window.
Let the hush of the day
blanket your rest.
Let the night light of stars
and moon
rest easy on your
day-lit thoughts.
Now is the time for rest,
for abandon,
for the cool balm of quiet
to mend you.
And come morning,
come the blue of dawn rising up
out of the dark of night,
let the bird songs anoint you,
moist and hopeful.
Let their innocent joy
seep into your waking
so that as you rise,
you rise 
in wonder,
in peace,
and in gratitude.
Open the window,
and welcome this anointing
so fresh
from the arms of God.

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Years ago, as a counseling intern, I worked in a local retirement community under the supervision of their nurturing chaplain.  She had devoted much of her life’s career to the service of older adults and by such, she had gained much wisdom.  Among the many valuable things I learned from her was this remarkable insight.  The illness that is most fatal among older adults is living with a lack of purpose.

We can all understand the need to feel we are contributing in some way.  We want to be valued and to recognize the value in others.  We want to feel like our lives have meaning and that by being here, we evoke something positive for those around us.  We also are aware that as folks age, changes can occur in housing arrangements, mobility needs, and health vulnerabilities that can deter social engagement.  In fact, we recognize at this time in our nation’s history, we must isolate our older adults in order to best shield them from the pandemic taking place.  So how might we also work to keep their emotional lives healthy?  How might we bear in mind the deep need for connection, purpose, and intergenerational engagement?

Valley Program for Aging Services (VPAS) and James Madison University’s Institute for Innovation in Health and Human Services (IIHHS) supports the Caregivers Community Network.  This is a one credit class that enables students to be trained to offer respite to caregivers of those 60 years old and older.  Students make weekly visits throughout the semester and engage older adults who are frail or living with dementia in evidence-based activities that stimulate the mind and lift the spirit.  Caregivers use these visits as respite to invite more balance and self-care into their own lives, which will then better equip them to care for those they love.

There are many benefits to this model, but the intergenerational component is worthy of praise.  There is a vitality that flows between these very different generations, and students find purpose in service learning, while those they visit find purpose in sharing their life stories and wisdom with the students.  We see time and again the merits of intergenerational interactions and how this positively contributes to the greater good of our society at large.

In light of the pandemic, students are currently no longer able to make these visits, and families are feeling this loss.  Out of this circumstance, students are being encouraged to think ‘outside of the box’ and find new ways to remain in contact with these families who are now even more confined.  Perhaps all of us can be reminded of the importance in staying socially engaged with those who are older and more vulnerable to social isolation.  Here is a list of ways to be socially supportive in healthy ways at this time.

1.  Snail mail!  Make a card yourself or engage children who are home from school in making cards.  Include newspaper cartoons, jokes and riddles, funny stories from your life!  Toss in some photos!  Toss in a stick of gum or a tea bag!  Tape the envelope closed rather than licking it shut!

2.  Phone calls! There is nothing like hearing the voice of one we care about!  Set up specific times to call not just to check in, but to share stories.  At the end of conversations, name a topic to talk about next time you chat! Read each other favorite poems! This will invite engagement in planning as well as the pleasure of having something to look forward to!

3.  Visit by phone but also while you are outside of a window!  Let your eyes and smiles meet!  What joy to see each other, if even through glass!

4.  There are some older adults who are not tech-savvy.  By phone, help them order meals that can be delivered to their door. Read them menus, order online, discuss how to make payments.  Similarly, groceries can be ordered online.  Perhaps you could help with pick up and again wave to these dear ones through the door upon delivery!

5.  For those who are tech-savvy, plan some times to face time, or play online games together.  Send them links of things you could both watch and discuss later!

6.  Mail them something they can work on and then mail back to you!  Have your children write a list of questions or make up a ‘mad libs’ they can fill in parts and you fill in parts!  Give them a story prompt like:  What was the funniest thing that ever happened to you in elementary school?  Be sure to enclose a stamped envelope for them to use to return!
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7.  Leave some springtime flowers on their front porch or by their apartment door!  

8.  Extend comfort.  Listen deeply and with patience.  Acknowledge the difficulty of this time, but also highlight the good efforts all around us.  Listen to concerns and ask if they need additional support for specific matters.  Ask if they need help in accessing the additional support.  Things that may need consideration:  getting medications, having good phone access, food and water needs, financial guidance, navigating medical appointments, and transportation.

9.  Offer to speak with caregivers when their loved ones are resting or out of the room.  Give them the time to process aloud what it is like to care for a loved one round the clock in the midst of a pandemic.  Engage in some mindful practices with them via phone.

10. Wash your hand.  Paint it with a cheerful colored paint and press it onto a heart cut out of paper.  Let it dry.  Send it to one who needs a reminder that they are always in your heart.  Encourage them to put the heart to their heart and press their hand to your hand-print.  In mind, heart, and spirit… we are together in care.

As the cold days of winter are upon us,
we carry seed to the feeder
so that even the smallest may find nourishment.
Doing so, reminds us, that we hold our own
hunger and dreams,
and that while we are strong and patient, 
we are also creatures who need
sustenance and encouragement.

We yearn to be our best and give our best to those we love,
and yet, to continue to do so,
we need encounters with joy and rest, companionship and freedom.
We wish we could be like those little birds
and take to the skies and the treetops
and sing our own lovely songs with zest and zeal of spirit!

But for today, with sunflower seeds in hand,
we will breathe deeply from this sacred earth and bless the cold air that fills our lungs.
We will notice the light resting easily upon the rough bark of the tree,
and we will hold hope as this New Year begins.
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May we be comfort and find comfort.
May we trust the goodness present in each moment.
May we lean into simple pleasantries that are often born of both grace and labor.
And may we quietly allow ourselves
the gift of peace in the midst of our holy imperfections.
May we be reminded that little brown birds
fill the skies with songs
warmed by the breath of our yearnings and our small seeds of care.

For all these many years of revisiting the Christmas story, I’ve felt so badly that  humankind didn’t take better care of the Holy family. We imagine that it was cold and physically taxing for Mary, so full of baby, to ride a donkey for miles on end.  We imagine that Joseph wanted the best for his beloved, that he worried for her and the baby, and that he wished for every safeguard imaginable to be in place for the birth of this child.  And what happens? They end up in a stable! In a drafty, most likely stinky, barn for the lowly animals. Jesus, God’s sweet son, was born in a barn. I mean, come on folks! Couldn’t we do better than that?

This Christmas, however, I’ve been thinking about that stable almost daily.  It has come to me in a new light this year… one that has been comforting and inspiring. Along with the birth of Christ… perhaps where he was born was intended to be a gift to our hearts.  He wasn’t born upon satin sheets in a room scented with the finest perfume. Nor was he born where throngs of people waited outside of the doors to catch a first glimpse or report the first story. His parents did not have a fine team of labor and delivery nurses or champagne to celebrate his arrival.  Jesus was born in the quiet, soft light of a stable where the cows lowed as Mary pushed.  

I’ve been going to the stable, metaphorically, throughout this advent.  I put on my boots. I grab some oats, and with tea in hand, I go to this sacred space.  Deep within, this stable space is where I can grow quiet, sit with my Maker, and uncover more of who I am meant to be.  I return to the well-crafted center of my heart where all parts of me are welcomed. This stable is a place of sustenance and peace.  Like Mary’s stable, it is also a guardian of labor, pain, and tears. It bears witness to and shelter for the yearnings and the births.

Perhaps in Mary’s stable, the cows and horse’s warmth heated the space and their hay filled the air with sweetness.  Perhaps their presence was a comfort to Mary as she remembered how animals deliver their babies so instinctively. And perhaps Mary was thankful for the privacy of welcoming her Son with only her beloved Joseph by her side.

I think of the darkness of night and the warmth of a lantern’s glow as the Holy family first saw their baby’s face, and how they rested together in one another’s arms under the rustic beams of that small barn.  Couldn’t it be that this stable was a blessing to this family and an ongoing symbol to all of us that we are called to find our own stable spaces of simplicity and grace.

What we need is most often… close… in the simplest of means.  Snowfalls and morning fog to slow us down. Shelter to give us warmth.  Loved ones to bless our lives. And the peace of God that is always reaching out for us.  I hope this Christmas you find your way to the stable and that in the coming year it brings you closer to your own peace and joy, and the ongoing blessings of God’s tender love.  May you, too, follow the small, yet bright light of the guiding star through the fields of your own life, and arrive at the humble stable that waits to make you new.

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