With keen gratitude, I noticed my morning meditations and commute.  With prayers, may we each find spaces in which to be fully alive.


Work Attire

Today was one of those days when I wanted to be there.  I wanted to be my richest, my most alive self.  I wanted to stand in my own shoes and say, "Yes!!  I've arrived!!  I am finally here!!!"  I wanted to be known as evolved... not as in the process of.  I wanted this for me and for all the people I see and hear who yearn to claim their own living souls.  I wanted to get the heck out of this blasted cocoon and flitter around the sun and the moon and dance to the song I've been singing since caterpillar days.  My hand was on my hip in the stance of an eight year old with my feet firmly planted on the floor, and I was determined that my way was the one and only way... and I should have everything I want right now!!

Yes, I was hanging out with these thoughts and feelings throughout most of the day.  I was growing a bit weary of waiting.  So much of what I want doesn't seem to be here, in this place, at this time.  So much of what I want and who I want to be seems beyond my reach and beyond my knowing.  I am impatient with being patient.

But then, like a surprise package, I noticed a teacher in the room.  She heard every thought.  She understood every wish, and she beckoned me to come close, and to quietly peer into the face that is hers today. 

And tonight, as I prepare for sleep and dreaming, I carry with me her pure, unfinished completeness.  Surely, I shall sleep and awake... whole.

On a recent walk, I came upon this field I love.  In it was something new… a tree branch with a pink ribbon tied on it, and the whole thing was stuck into the ground.  The light at that moment was really exquisite, and I found it all quite captivating.  Wonder what that means?  Wonder who put that there?  Wonder if it is marking something, naming sides, or what should be in and what should be out?

What it felt like to me was that it was a sign that asked, “What do you claim?”  And as I looked at the pink ribbon, I decided right then and there that I would claim life for women fighting breast cancer.  I put my face toward the sky, I took a deep breath, and I prayed, “Let there be healing.  Let there be wholeness.”

And then I began walking again, and thinking some more.  I thought about my friend, Janet, who recently passed into that beautiful light bearing her own wondrous light.  She lived her life (and you should hear the emphasis on the word ‘lived’) while MS captured her arms and legs.  I only knew Janet in the days she roamed about in her wheelchair.  But she claimed life and joy and generosity.  Oh, yes!  Janet was generous of spirit and love.  She lived with MS, but her claim was life.  Her claim was inner joy and strength and abundant love.

As I approached my little house in the woods, I thought about how much it is home to me.  And then I thought about houses just a few miles from me that were disabled due to the earthquake last August.  I thought about how many people need a home, how many people suffer loss in so many different ways, and how at any moment, I could face a new loss or burden.

But what then came to my heart was this:  My house is still here, and God is here.  But if my house fell down, God would still be here.  People I love have weathered depression and cancer and hardships, and God is here.  And people I love have not weathered depression and cancer and hardship, and I have lost some of these beloveds… and God is still here.

We can claim land.  We can claim our political party or branch of religion.  We can claim family and friends.  We can claim that we are of this profession or of such and such socio-economic status.  We can claim to be healthy or ill.  But the most life-giving claim is one that comes only from within.  It is the affirmation that pours forth from the deepest source, the purest well.  It was alive when time began and will continue to radiate in truth long after the earth wears away.   It is the claim that we are each created in the Image of Love and that we are loved beyond understanding or merit.  By this Divine heritage, we are always encircled and kindled by the peace of knowing all will be well… that indeed, all is well.  Oh, don’t get me wrong!  Our circumstances can be treacherous!  We can and do grow lost from time to time.  But below, deep below the turbulent waters is a steady stillness if we will but grow still ourselves.

There is a land within that waits for your marker.  It’s calling to the people of this world like it has never called before.  Shall we find our way to this field?  Shall we let the light remind us that we are never alone, that we are beautiful, and that grace is eager to be recognized?  Shall we dive deeply into the soil of our souls that we may live wide and open and free?

“Happy Birthday to you.  Happy Birthday to me...”

I was speaking recently with a friend about how this life seems to teach us to be tough, to keep rigid edges in place.  It’s as if we must hold the tension in order that life doesn’t absolutely break us.  We both agreed, however, that our faith teaches us something entirely different.  Our faith teaches us that we are to be tender, to embrace the good and the bad and the heartbreaking with a sense of grace and vulnerability.  Our bodies teach us this as well.  We are healed and mended and energized in those unexplainable moments when we let go and release and yield with wild abandon to what is.  When I try so hard to ‘hold it together’, my walk is different and my shoulders are tight.  I follow the lead of this voice inside my head that says, “Hold that wall up.  Stay strong like concrete.  Don’t give into those soft emotions.”  And in those times, my body often hurts or grows ill.  In those gentle moments, when I allow my being to feel what is present, to be open to pain and confusion, my body begins to rest.  When I put down the resistance, all that I am left with in my body is release.

I took the stance of gentleness in the month of December.  I also put down the stance of expected joys in this season of what is meant to be merriment.  I only wanted to expect that what would come, would come, and what would be absent, would be absent.  I wanted to truly be in this season for what is present this year, this day, this moment.  I believe most sincerely that this was the gift of Christmas.

Here is how Christmas found me this year:

I witnessed my brother, David, graduate with a Master’s in Rehab Counseling.  He was once lost.  He said to me many years ago that his life was over, that he would never this and never that.  The odds have been stacked against this man.  But what does it mean, what does it say when a depressed soul finds new life again in the form of helping others?  I walked the dark roads with him.  And now we stand together in warm light.  Christmas saved.

My father, who is the most precious man in my life, had kidney cancer.  That was a bit over a year ago.  Every day since his surgery, I am grateful.  Truly the walls came down, and I am more present to my loved ones than I have ever been.  Take nothing for granted.  Nothing.  That’s what my father’s round with cancer inscribed on my heart.  And what did he do this year?  He planned my birthday dinner at one of the fanciest restaurants in town, and he beamed at the gift.  And for Christmas?  He quietly found a way to record his favorite Christmas story A Child’s Christmas in Wales and gave each of his beloveds a copy of his rendition.  He and I sat together a couple of nights after Christmas and listened to it.  His voice would swell, and both of our eyes would spill over tears.  At the conclusion, we found our arms around one another crying for all that was, for all that is, for all that will one day be.  And Christmas saved.

I also had two experiences from my car that soaked into my heart.  One evening, I was at a stoplight, and the car beside me had the light on in the backseat.  This light displayed this precious baby boy in his car seat.  I don’t know how old he was… but he was little… a toddler at the most.  But he looked right at me, and then he waved.  He waved and waved this most tender, endearing wave.  And I felt myself saying, “Baby Jesus is here with us.”  And Christmas saved again.

On my birthday, I was on my way to meet my brother for brunch, when at a stoplight there stood a woman holding a sign.  Her sign said she had fallen upon hard times and simply wanted a place to be for Christmas.  Yes.  That is what her sign said.  And here I was all dressed up for my birthday about to be treated to something extra nice… something I didn’t need, and there she was.  I never know what to do, how best to address these moments, how to be wise and safe and Christian.  So, I followed the thread.  I looked her in the eyes, and she looked into mine.  And I mouthed to her, “I’m sorry.” Then I placed my hands upon my heart, and I continued to hold this gaze with her.  And then I prayed for her… hands folded to my lips, and still holding the gaze with her… we prayed.  It was just a moment; all unfolding with me in my car and her on the street, but it was a moment.  And then the light changed and I moved on.  And Christmas saved me once more.

The last story is that after Christmas I had some art work that I wanted to have printed.  For about ten years, I have worked with the same man, John, at a local print shop.  He has always been this light.  I’d walk into the store, and he’d welcome me like a friend.  He’d inquire about my dog and my daughter and brag to other customers about my current work.  He always made me feel valued… and actually, cherished.  Well, he wasn’t there the day I went in recently, so I chatted with his co-worker, Tammy.  In our conversation, I asked how John was doing, and she said, “John died.”  He had kidney cancer, just like my Dad, and passed away quite quickly after he was diagnosed.  I was heartbroken.  I was always appreciative of John, and always quick to praise his good work.  But I never really told him how he brightened my life, how he made me feel loved and seen and worthy.  And here, once again, Christmas saved me.

Now is the holy season to live the stable story.  Now is the day to bring our gifts to the vulnerable and become so ourselves.  Now is the moment to take down the walls, to remove all the covering from our eyes and ears and hearts, and embrace fully the journey beneath the star filled skies.  Holiness is here.  Let it save you, too.