These wants are often astonishingly inaccurate: drugs and alcohol, which poison instead of reintegrate; relationships with people who do not make us feel safe or loved; objects that we do not need, cannot afford, which hang around our necks like albatrosses of debt long after the yearning for them has passed. Underneath this chaos and clutter lies a longing for more elemental things--love, beauty, comfort, a short spell of oblivion once in a while. Everyday life is so often isolated, dreary, and lonely. A little craving is understandable. A little craving might actually be the rallying cry of survival.~Katherine May (From Wintering, The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times)
I don't often write in the evening. Mornings usually entice me more gently into my study. I could not resist the sky outside my window, the light diluted into an ephemeral pink glow behind the line of trees on the horizon. It will soon be dark. I've lit a candle and classical music plays from an app on my phone. These small pleasures never seem to disappoint. Writing, my loyal companion, wax dripping from the candle, the fragrance of jasmine as it burns. The setting sun. Chopin.
My heart is not entirely light. I received word that a beloved friend is not doing well. She is exhausted from care giving. She is spent, her family support sparse. Perhaps I turn to the page as a way to assuage my own powerlessness to offer her any practical help as we live in different geographies. Tonight I imagine that she might be looking out over the landscape of her life wondering if things will ever change. I would walk behind her and place my hands on her shoulders and tell her that she is loved. That she is not alone. That her longing to rest, her craving for retreat is no insignificant matter.
I never know who reads my blog posts, but I imagine there may be others that feel like my friend and long for relief on some level. I offer you this blessing...
Comfort Blessing
(From the book of Colossians, The Passion Translation)
May your heart be wrapped in the comfort of heaven.
May you lay hold of your spiritual wealth that is stored up for you like hidden treasure waiting to be discovered.
May you know that your spiritual roots go deeply into His life as you are continually infused with strength, encouraged in every way. Your completeness found in Him.
Christ's resurrection is your resurrection too.
May the light of His countenance drench your tired body. May you sleep in peace knowing that He restores you.
May you know that the little cravings of your soul are known to Him. And they are not small. He hears your rallying cry.
Amen.
Some of us make highly visible, elaborate contributions to the whole. Some of us are part of the ticking mechanics of the world, the incremental wealth of small gestures.~Katherine May (From Wintering, The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times)
He loves teeth and finding ways to keep them. My dentist. Two days ago this humble doctor performed surgery on my mouth. Before he began, he told me that he prays over each patient that he sees. This small gesture before surgery caused my heartbeat to slow. During surgery I drifted in and out as the IV sedation flowed through my veins. I heard bits and snippets of the conversation between my dentist and his assistant. "That looks perfect. Just perfect." "We have done just what she needed doing." "Wonderful outcome." It was as if their hopeful declarations blended together to create a chorus of goodwill.
The surgical experience reminded me of the beauty of small gestures that often go unnoticed by me--that happen every day. The postman whose smile is bright white and always tells me to have a good day. "We must stay positive," he says. I always feel better after I see him at the mailboxes inside my complex. Then the kindness of strangers. The driver who lets me merge, then waves and smiles. My husband who brings me hot, fragrant coffee (with just enough cream) and places it by my bedside. The unexpected text. "I'd like to invite you for a glass of prosecco to celebrate the next chapter in our lives." The snail mail from a friend. I recognize her handwriting and it's as if I'm with her. The homemade blueberry muffin served on a pretty plate. A Will Ferrell GIF that makes me laugh. The librarian's friendly greeting.
May we all be aware of the wealth of these small gestures every day. May we provide them to others...
Blessing Of Small Gestures
We all have something to give.
We all have something to receive.
May we give and receive each day and recognize the beauty and balance of each act.
When in doubt, give freely to the person who frowns and spews negativity. A smile costs nothing other than moving a few facial muscles. And it might help more than you know.
Speak gently.
Blessed are those who laugh.
Use your pretty plates.
Whisper a prayer for the angry driver who flips you the bird.
Blessed are the tolerant.
Be the artist of your day by offering small gestures of love.
Blessed are those who give and receive.
Blessed are those who notice.
Amen.
All these pulls on me that cancel one another out like an algebraic equation I can't solve.~Lily King (From Euphoria)
Last night I watched Nomadland, the movie that recently won best picture at the Oscars. It's about a woman who left her home and all she knew to live in her van after her husband died. She joined a growing population of mostly senior citizens who decided to do the same thing. I'm pondering why I'm fascinated by the folk who embark on the "nomad" life. Why do they pack up and leave what's familiar to live in an RV and follow temporary jobs around the country? There's a certain appeal, I know. A dog for company and the beauty of purple mountains and russet and pink sunsets. Sharing campfires with others along the route. The rush and risk of a pioneering spirit.
Most, I think, feel tied down to the pressures of modern life--the mortgage, jobs they hate, an overwhelming sense of responsibility to maintain possessions. The yard. The cars. They want a less complicated life--a less expensive life. I can understand this. I wanted these same things when I retired. Less complexity. Less responsibility. Less pressure.
Yet one thing I've noted is that one can never totally separate from the responsibilities of life and its complications. Even the nomads must manage inclement weather and maintain their vehicles. Confront loneliness.
Perhaps it's our mindsets more than anything else that determine our satisfaction about life. It's how we think about our lives, no matter where we live or how intricate living can be. Perhaps it's like not allowing ourselves to be tied to the railroad tracks of dread or anxiety or guilt about where we are in life. Perhaps we are like Popeye when he finds himself bound to the tracks, the locomotive steaming toward him. He pops a can of spinach and springs up from the tracks. Perhaps our thinking is like that can of spinach, convincing us that life is to be lived, to be enjoyed, to be held dear, no matter the messiness.
I want to live like this, reaching for the beauty, the warmth. Life's exquisite pulse.
Freedom Blessing
There you are, tied to that railroad track, bound by ropes of dread or despair or melancholy. Fear. The train chugs near, the sting of smoke in your eyes. The blasting horn.
Then you remember there is spinach in your pocket. Like Popeye. You wriggle inside your ropes and free that can of empowering green. Gobble it down. Presto!
The ropes disintegrate as you leap from the tracks. You watch from the sidelines as the train sails past. Unscathed. Free.
May you know that when you are constrained and tied to the tracks, life barreling toward you with all its uncertainty, that you have metaphorical spinach in your pocket. May you circumvent the dread, and not be chafed by rope burns of fear or self-doubt, shame or melancholy.
May you realize the reservoir of God's pleasure over your life. May you know His supply of power that enables you to vault from the tracks.
May you experience the exhilaration of bursting through the ropes as He infuses you with strength. You without a scratch. You rescued from darkness. The sight of that train now merely a distant black speck on the horizon, the sound of its thundering horn only a fading memory.
You living your life in all its glory.
Amen.
Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don't be afraid.~Frederick Buechner (From When The Stars Go Dark)
I adore Paula McLain's writing. I read her most recent novel, When The Stars Go Dark, this week. As I read, I kept thinking, "This book does not sound like her other books." It almost seemed like a different author. I loved the writing, yet it was stripped back, entirely vulnerable, almost like she stood before the reader with no ornamentation, bare of make-up. No mascara, no lipstick. Work boots and a torn T-shirt. The plot was compelling, her protagonist working out grief and a traumatized childhood. Then an "author's note" at the end of the book explained my observation about the changed dynamic in the writing. Ms. McLain states, "Writing a novel is such an interesting mix of effort and surrender, of control and vulnerability. It wasn't until late in the stages of drafting that it fully dawned on me just why I was so drawn to tell this particular story and not any other. My troubled detective, Anna Hart, is obsessed with trauma and healing, with intimate violence and the complex hidden connection between victims and predators, because I'm obsessed with those things, and long have been. I've given her other parts of me too--a version of my childhood spent in foster care, and my abiding love of the natural world as deep medicine. What Anna knows and thinks about the hidden scars of sexual abuse, I know as a sexual abuse survivor."
I won't spoil the story for you by disclosing the end. I will tell you this, though. There is a thread of mercy that runs through the plot line as Anna finds her way. The themes in the book caused me to think about all the ways this character attempted to "fix" her life. "Fix" herself. "Fix" her past. I could identify with Anna, thinking about all my striving to make things better on my own, refusing to surrender to life's paradox, its symbiotic nature of both terrible and beautiful. Perhaps this is why I kept reading hour after hour until I reached the end. To see if Anna had figured "it" out.
Surrender Blessing
We've tried everything--the apps, the meditation, the breathing, the yoga. The therapist, the spiritual director. Even the pastor.
We've watched a million YouTube DIY videos. Still we struggle with "it."
It's not that apps and therapists and pastors and breathing and meditation and yoga and spiritual directors aren't helpful. Even all the DIY videos increase learning.
What is it, though, that makes us believe it's all about, and sometimes only about, changing "it" ourselves? Our only option to rely on our own competence. Our doing. Our striving. Our self-effort.
Might we consider adopting the art of receiving as well?
May we imagine ourselves walking into the stillness of an empty chapel. Sunlight streams through a stain-glassed window.
We sit alone, gazing at the window's beauty, our palms open and resting on our laps.
Surrender.
The glass emits smoldering hues of cobalt and rose. Golden orbs of light dance before us.
May we drink in the array of radiant colors, receiving the mercy of God. May we absorb His goodness, His acceptance, His peace. Like a child leans into his mother's embrace, knowing that inside her warmth, he is enough.
Knowing that the "it" is not up to him to change. Knowing that he is the beloved, relieved of self-effort and striving to be better. To be enough.
Knowing that divine grace is the antidote to "it." Whatever "it" is.
Amen.
We are never as alone in our beginnings as it might seem at the time. A beginning is ultimately an invitation to open toward the gifts and growth that are stored up for us. To refuse to begin can be an act of great self-neglect.~John O'Donohue From To Bless The Space Between Us
I'm surrounded now by people in my life who are initiating beginnings. A friend of mine walked me through his newly purchased empty house and pointed to the wall he would tear down, and then explained to me where another one would be erected. A couple showed me where they are planting new shrubs and trees, planning for eventual shade. Another person told me of a trip he planned after many months of COVID isolation. Another friend shared she'd begun a painting she'd been thinking about for many months. "It's daunting. I don't know if I'll ever finish it."
A dear lifelong friend shared that she and her family decided to move, uprooting from a home where she'd spent the last sixteen years raising her family. While bittersweet to know she'd be further away, I felt excitement for her as I sensed she'd taken a risk to begin anew. Her announcement that she was moving came simultaneously with something I'd been pondering lately--wondering if I could begin writing blessings for people. Before I left her home, my friend gave me a newspaper article she thought I'd enjoy. In the article, I discovered John O'Donohue's book, To Bless The Space Between Us. The book is filled with blessings for various events in life. I decided I could begin to write blessings for my friends and for people I don't know, like many of you loyal readers who allow me into your lives each week. Here is my beginning...
A Blessing For Beginning
Beginnings are fragile, like the fontanel on an infant's head. Your fingers feel the heartbeat, feel the warmth. Touch life.
May your beginnings not frighten you in their fragility. May you sense breath in them. Inhale God's peace. Exhale anxiety.
There are countless doors inside beginnings. Doors contained in doors waiting to be opened. Thresholds to step over. Corridors to walk down to the next door. May your courage to step through those unknown passageways lead to myriad joys that are unlocked in that initial act of bravery and curiosity.
May you not dismiss any beginning as too small or despair that any beginnning is too expansive to undertake.
May you experience both internal as well as external beginnings as God illuminates your spirit.
As you embark, may you know that God's mercy, wisdom and affection trails your path, His goodness your reliable and steadfast companion.
Amen.