Travelin' with Charlie

Playing to Lose

2012-02-09T14:56:00.000-08:00

Today I was killing a little time while waiting for a phone call, playing Spider Solitaire. The single suit is pretty easy to win, but playing with two suits is much more challenging for me and can be so frustrating; it’s much rarer for me to win. All four suits is a lost cause for me. You work hard to get a suit of cards lined up in order and all you need is one more card to complete that row, but you’re out of plays so you have to go to the pile and deal out another set of cards. Inevitably you’ll end up with a king now burying your almost-completed string of cards or see something you could have used to make some great progress if you hadn’t made a move or overlooked a play before this last deal.

I’m realizing how much like life that is. You lay out your plans so carefully, know exactly what cards you need and how they will all fit together. You think you’re getting close to having it all work out and . . . wham!! Life deals you something that totally messes everything up. Sometimes the cards are such a mess in Solitaire you just have to resign. And sometimes in life the cards that get suddenly dumped on you create such a mess, destroying all your plans, that all you can do is . . . let it go. Accept it. It’s not that the forced changes to all your planning are a disaster; it’s just that you feel angry and frustrated because you felt SO CLOSE to winning. And it was all snatched away from you so quickly. You have to start all over again and hope for a better outcome.

I’ve have a couple of those “bad deals” the last couple of weeks that set me back on my heels, made me question everything I’ve been doing over the past several years. It felt like hiking in the woods and suddenly having your path disappear into blackberries, hawthorn and nettles – all very thorny, potentially painful barriers.

Just because you can't see the end of the road doesn't mean you're lost

In my frustration and hurt -- and being Irish -- I lashed out a little at the two friends who, I believed, had dealt me those cards. In an email I outlined how hurt I had felt by the way I perceived they had treated me, how betrayed I felt by people I loved and trusted and thought were my friends. I figured between our original interaction that had so upset me and my subsequent defensive email that our relationship was a lost cause. It made me sad but I was feeling defiant and hard-hearted. In fact, my heart felt completely frozen; I couldn’t even pray about it. I was pretty ticked off at God, too, whom I blamed for putting me on a path that seemed only to lead to a dead end. Anger and pride will do that to you.

And then another mutual friend whom I had sought counsel from reminded me of some truths in my life, including the fact that both these friends do love me and would never, ever hurt me intentionally. Through her gentle, loving message and kind words, I realized maybe it was my own lack of wisdom, my inadequate skill at handling the cards dealt to me that caused the pain, rather than my friends. It was my perspective, tainted by a lifetime of fear that I will always fall short, that I will never quite be good enough. In spite of years of work, my fallback position seems to be the belief that I can only be loved if I earn it through my own behavior. Sometimes it seems I look for reasons to believe that and blame others for not loving me when, in fact, it is me who fails to be loving and compassionate to myself.

My friends showed me a different path and, for me, it was a clear experience of people modeling Christ. One of my friends immediately sent back an absolutely accepting, kind and loving response to my email that overwhelmed me, made me cry, and thawed out my heart.

After sitting with this for a few hours, I realized it was I who was being unkind and judgmental; I was at fault in this situation, and I sent an apology email. Both my friends responded with understanding, forgiveness, kindness, love and acceptance rather than anger or defensiveness. For me this love is otherworldly. It’s how I want to learn to love. It’s how God loves us all, and I continue to try to understand and accept that kind of love. It’s rare to find in other people, and I am incredibly blessed to have a number of friends who know how to love like that.


Hold onto your loving friends with both hands

And as for my path, I realize this was a correction. I obviously had taken a wrong turn along the way, and by walking through those brambles, even though they are painful and it will be hard work, I think I can reconnect to my right path. Hopefully I have learned some important truths about myself and my friends and learned to trust a little more, learned to love a little better.

Maybe also I could spend my time on pursuits that are a little more fruitful and less frustrating than Solitaire. On the other hand, maybe it’s good practice in accepting defeat, realizing how little control we have over the deal, and letting go of the need to win.

Sometimes You Need the Freedom to Leave the Flock

2012-02-02T14:20:00.000-08:00

Today while walking I stopped and watched a flock of wild geese, as I often do whenever I hear their cries overhead. I’ve recently shared in this blog the experience of watching two large flocks come together seamlessly and merge into one. A number of metaphors could be extracted from that: cooperation, giving ground for others, making room by letting go of your own agenda and working together so that a greater goal can be achieved. But there’s also the idea of union, bringing many parts together and understanding and accepting that we’re all in this together, part of a much larger story, and that we all have very similar goals and longings, at the heart of the matter, that we're here to help and support each other, not see who can get there first.

Today’s message was a little different. The flock of about 16 geese was heading south when a group of four broke off and flew more westerly. Based on my experiences and observations, adult Canada geese are almost always found in even numbers: pairs, quartets, etc. This is because these geese mate for life so they very often have a partner, and they tend to be quite social, enjoying the company of each other. (Apparently the only time geese prefer a little more separation is while they are nesting. During this time the male remains with the female and stands guard as she keeps the eggs warm.) But Canada geese also feel very free to leave or join a flock as their needs require. They don’t seem to feel constrained by any expectations of the other geese to remain faithful to one flock, only to one mate. They don’t feel guilty for leaving and the other geese don’t seem to care. They don’t fight about which river to fly to or which field they are going to feed in. They just go where it is best for them – as couples -- and let the other geese choose what is best for themselves. No expectations, no recriminations, no guilt.

Apparently Canada geese don’t form attachments to one group as we humans so often do, feeling it necessary to defend our group as the best one to belong, the only right flock. Until our own beliefs trap us with a group that no longer fits, that doesn’t meet our needs. Since we’ve convinced ourselves – and tried to convince others – that this is the right group, how do we ever leave it?

Last week I had a couple of experiences that reminded me I have to be careful about getting trapped by attachments that aren’t life-giving for me. I need to remember to set boundaries for myself that allow me the freedom to be me, to do what is best for me, rather than to do things because I think they are what others expect or want from me. I need to live out of that freedom, not some old story that tells me how things “should” be or what someone else thinks is the right place for me to be, or the right thing for me to do. No one can tell me that; I have to find what is right for me in my own heart. What others expect or demand from me is about their needs and wants; and if I do not meet them, it is their problem to deal with, not my problem to fix.

Letting go of my need for acceptance and approval and admiration – which equals love in my old story line – is incredibly difficult. I don’t think I can do it alone; in fact, I’m sure I can’t. But until I am able to find that place of self-acceptance, only with God’s help, I will continue to be hurt when others treat me without love and kindness and respect, when others judge me or question who I am. Until I truly accept my worth and that I am loved without the need to prove it, detaching from others’ expectations and judgments will be like trying to stop the waves from rolling in, the wind from blowing, the sun from rising. I will truly find it impossible to be compassionate and loving to myself, honoring my authentic self, my deepest longings.

And until I accept the promise of unconditional love from God, “pressed down, shaken together and running over, poured into [my] hands (Luke 6:38),” I will have a hard time giving up my own judgments, comparisons, expectations and learning to accept and love others unconditionally.

Sometimes honoring my true self, being compassionate, means leaving certain flocks that have ceased to help me on my journey but, rather, hold me back because of their demands that I fit in with their expectations, meet their needs, and keep my thoughts and opinions and wisdom to myself. I am taking a large step back from the parish I have belonged to for 29 years. It feels like a separation from a marriage that has become dysfunctional and void of love and consideration. It is possible that this will lead to a decision to let go of a life-long connection to the Roman Catholic Church, which continues to limit the voices and views it allows to only a certain few: those who fit in with the right rules, the right sex, the right life-style.

Perhaps, like wild geese, this is just a time out, time to continue to care for myself, hatch and nurture the new me that has been coming forth from the shadows. Perhaps I will learn to detach emotionally enough that I can let go of the dismissals, the rejections. Perhaps I can continue to grow stronger in the knowledge of God's love so that I can eventually let go of the need for approval from others, especially where I have always sought it and seldom received it, and at least return for the liturgies and sacraments that have continued to feed my soul, some of the people who have brought me joy and laughter and love. Perhaps this "marriage" can be saved. But perhaps not, and I have to be willing to let it go.

If so, will I find another flock, one that better fits with the person I have become after years of intensive prayer, study, reflection? I can only trust that this new journey I am setting out on will be life-giving and that I will find the right guides to help me find my way, wherever that may lead.

Life as Metaphor

2012-01-23T13:57:00.000-08:00

As I grow in experience, age, and – hopefully – wisdom, I find more and more often that if I keep my eyes open and pay attention, valuable lessons and metaphors are all around me.

This morning I took Charlie for a walk along the Clackamas River. We’d just been there last week, Monday or Tuesday. There were plenty of rocky beaches exposed and the water was fairly calm. Today it was a completely different story. I was . . . flabbergasted is the best word I can come up with . . . at how much water was in the river and the lagoon Charlie often likes to wade and swim in.

The river was twice as wide as the last time I’d seen it; the lagoon much bigger and deeper. Those rocky banks were completely covered in several feet of murky water. In fact, the areas just a few feet below the paved path looked liked swamps: the alder, maple and cottonwoods looked more like cypress wading knee-deep in water. The little area where we usually walk down to the lagoon was completely gone. The ramp to the Sheriff’s boathouse and dock is normally a steep decline; today it was almost level. And it happened so quickly!

As I walked along pondering these huge changes, I thought about how the landscapes of our lives can completely change overnight. Losses or disasters, accidents or illnesses, even unexpected blessings and graces and insights can completely change our views. Often these can be very painful and difficult and we long to go back to normality, to what we’ve always known and been comfortable with. But these experiences often have the potential to broaden us, deepen us, carry us beyond our normal channels of life, of thinking, and give us a kind of unexpected freedom. Like the rain-swollen rivers, we can become filled to overflowing with compassion, understanding, love, wisdom and a desire to make a difference, or at least be different.

Usually, like the floods, these feelings and changes are temporary, and eventually we recede back into the well-known paths, the accepted comfort zones for us. But sometimes the experience of flowing beyond our banks, being freed to be a little wider, a little wilder, a little outside the expectations of family, friends and society, can lead us to flow through new channels, follow new paths. I’ve been reading “Falling Upward: A Spirituality for the Two Halves of Life” by Fr. Richard Rohr. He talks about great suffering and great love as the two main portals to the second half of life, one of wisdom, love and union with God and all of creation. This is a journey that is ongoing and takes great courage but holds the potential for becoming fully the people God created us to be. It’s a great book, very thought-provoking and wise.

Another recent experience I had presented more metaphors from nature. I’ve likely mentioned before that birds seems to me to be special messengers. I have a particular affection for Canada geese; I use a sketch of one on my logo for Gray Wings Press. I can’t recall when I first felt this connection to Canada Geese – possibly when John and I, fairly recently married, moved to a small farm near the Ridgefield, Washington, wildlife refuge and regularly experienced huge flocks of geese flying overhead. But perhaps this connection goes back much further.

A little over a week ago I was driving north on I-205, bound for an interview regarding my next book. Just after I crossed over the I-205 bridge spanning the Columbia River I spotted a flock of geese – probably 15 or so – heading west. As I watched them I saw another flock of about the same size heading east. The two flocks were flying directly towards each other, like two spears poised to strike together. I held my breath and watched in fear and awe, believing they were going to crash together, fight to hold their position, their “sky space,” and that geese would be injured and killed in the coming together.

But I was wrong. As I watched, the most amazing thing happened. The flocks of geese did, in fact, come together, but they meshed seamlessly – as skillfully as a well-practiced drill team -- and formed one larger flock. In the process of this maneuver, the flock turned south and flew towards the river. I gasped, in relief but also amazement. I believed I had received an amazing gift in viewing this cooperation. As I continued my trip north, I thought about how many times humans hold so fast to our beliefs, our positions, our possessions, our self-righteousness that we aren’t able to even see the possibility that we might all be going in the same direction. We can’t give up an inch of our space, our stuff, our beliefs in order to help each other and work together to arrive safely at our journey’s end. A journey that we really all are on and that well might be much more enjoyable and productive if we worked together instead of gritting our teeth and flying forward headlong, giving no quarter to our supposed enemies. And these are geese! Clearly much wiser than many humans. No wonder I think of them as special messengers.

So keep your eyes and hearts open to the messages the world sends you through nature. You might see or hear just exactly the message your soul needs today.

No Wrong Place

2011-12-20T10:11:00.000-08:00

It’s amazing to me how often – if we pay attention and look for it – we find inspiration. I have often written about finding it in nature when I take Charlie on his walks. This morning I found it checking Facebook. Some of my friends post quotes from time to time and I have a growing collection of beautiful quotes that some day I really will have to organize in some fashion.

This morning’s offering came from my friend, Laurie, in Denver. Laurie and I have never met; we’re Facebook friends through a mutual friend. In fact, several of my Facebook friends, including Laurie, were as a result of my connection to Sherold, who is one of the authors in “Real Women, Real Wisdom.” And Sherold is my friend through Marilyn – also one of the contributors to the book and who, coincidentally, grew up in the Denver area. I’ve known Marilyn for a number of years, though we’ve really only become very close over the last few years. She has been an amazing gift in my life. Just sort of an example of how interconnected we all are, or can be if we want connection. I personally think connections with good people, as well as with nature and the world, are critical for our journeys.

The Zen quote Laurie posted this morning actually supports this: “No snowflake ever falls in the wrong place.” (Zen Wisdom)

In a conversation with a friend late last week, I shared my belief that things happen the way they do for a reason. As I wrote in “42 States of Grace,” I don’t believe God orchestrates our lives or creates crises. It’s a natural, physical, real world and things happen. But I do believe God is there holding us as we cry, and crying with us in our pain. I also believe God can use anything and everything as an instrument to open our hearts, make us more loving and compassionate. More connected to all of creation. God can even use Facebook.

For me, the lesson in this quote is: right now, at this present moment, you – like the snowflake -- are exactly where you are supposed to be. And right now, in this present moment, is where God can be found. In spiritual circles, this is called “the sacrament of the present moment.”

I’ve been reading more of Richard Rohr this week and he often talks about the need to lose ourselves, our egocentricity, our need to control, be noticed and be special. Jesus said that “unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains just a grain of wheat.” (John 12:24). The truth is, there is very little we have control over, and letting go of that illusion is very freeing. We are unique and special and noticed, just by virtue of being children of God, but we don’t trust the truth of that. If we cannot believe in our own inherent value, it will be very difficult to believe in the inherent value of all others of creation, including a single snowflake. And it will be impossible for us to let go of our need for individualism, for ego gratification, which keeps us separate, rather than connected.

So, back to the snowflakes. Another quote Laurie posted (I think it may be snowing in Denver): “A snowflake is one of the most fragile creations, but look what they can do when they stick together!” (Unknown) They can create beauty, but they can also create chaos. Alone they are unique and beautiful but will quickly melt away. They have to give up some of that individuality and join with many others to have a lasting impact. In the same way, we are called to give up many of our individual ego needs and become united, at one with creation.

So my Christmas prayer for you is that you take each moment as a gift, know that God is in that moment. Taking time to spend with loved ones, giving gifts of yourself, being present to each other is much more important than serving a perfect Christmas dinner, or having the presents wrapped and under the tree exactly by 10 p.m. on Christmas Eve. Let go of others’ expectations of you and see yourself and them as inherently beautiful and beloved, just as you are.

And if you are blessed with a white Christmas, remember you, like each snowflake, are exactly where you are supposed to be right now, at this present moment, creating beauty by just being you.

A Dance of Freedom

2011-12-12T14:56:00.000-08:00

We’ve had a pretty amazing run of weather for December in Portland. It’s barely rained at all. We’ve had some foggy, cloudy days, and some unusually cold weather. But the foggy days have been sprinkled here and there with one or two or sometimes even three days of bright, crisp weather with clear blue skies and sunshine that warms through the chilly temperatures. It’s been the kind of weather I grew up with in Central Washington, the kind of days I experienced last January in Albuquerque. The gray foggy days make me appreciate so much the bright days and how energized I am when the bright sun is again part of my life.

Charlie has loved this weather because it means he gets longer walks. Even as Charlie gets old and slows down, he still becomes full of life and almost puppyish when I put his harness on and he gets to get in the car. It’s well known that dogs’ lives are measured in sevens: one year of dog life equals seven human years. But that’s more of an average. The larger breeds have much shorter lifespans and so their years are more like eight or even nine human years. That puts Charlie, who will be 10 in April, at around 70 or possibly closer to 80 in human terms. It’s reassuring that, even at his age, he can be so enthusiastic and joyful. He loves to run and explore when I take him off-leash, and today we walked our favorite walk near the river so he got to go wading chest-deep. No matter how cold it is out, he still loves getting wet.

I’ve written before about leaves falling. For some reason they capture my imagination this time of year. There are very few left on the cottonwoods, alders and poplars along the river but those that are left seem to be clinging tightly, perhaps struggling with the decision of whether to hold on or let go. Last week while walking in the sun, there was a light breeze and occasionally a leaf would come drifting, dancing down. They reminded me of princesses waving from a parade float: all fluttering, flittering, spinning and swirling. And they seemed joyful, too, like Charlie being off-leash.

It was like they had finally been able to come to terms with whatever fears or reluctance had kept them tied to the tree, shackled, and they were finally able to let go of the fears of falling. It felt as though, as I watched them drift down, that they called to me: You, too, can let go of your fears, let go of judgments and criticisms and comparisons, let go of what others expect of you. Come join us, dance with us, let go of your ties and shackles and flow into the currents of life and find your true destiny.

As I look at the naked trees this time of year, I see the stark beauty revealed that is hidden when the leaves cover up the branches.

And so, as Advent progresses towards Christmas and another year draws to a close, I continue to find myself longing for freedom, the freedom to let go of all attachments and dance like a leaf on the currents of God’s grace.

Good Mourning

2011-11-13T15:05:00.000-08:00

I think fall may be MY season; I love the colors and the coziness. I love the sunny Indian summer days and the crisp nights that sweeten the apples and grapes, as well as the first days of rain that water the earth and bring the rich green of Western Oregon back. I love having a pot of butternut squash soup simmering on the stove or the smell of pumpkin pies baking. I even love football; well, I like football, especially when I have a team to cheer for.

But despite my love affair with fall, it often evokes in me feelings of melancholy, a sense of loss and mourning. It is a sure reminder of time passing, of the coldness and dreariness of approaching winter. While I love all four of the seasons, as I grow older, I am less and less enamored of the approaching dark and chilly and damp days of winter.

Those changes I wrote about on my last post continue to entrance me. When I wrote that just a couple days ago, very few of the leaves had started to fall. But this weekend they seem to be making up for lost time. My lawn that was green just a couple days ago is now completely yellow and gold with all the leaves. I watch them spin and dance as they tumble down from my maple tree, in a hurry to move on to the next phase of their leaf lives. The dogwoods and sweet gums, so gorgeous in their crimson and scarlet cloaks just days ago, are almost bare.

And I realized this afternoon while walking Charlie that I am mourning that and other losses: promises and possibilities that never came to be; dreams that remain unfulfilled and seem unattainable. Like those dancing leaves, life around me seems to be in a hurry to move on to its next phase – whatever that may be – but sometimes my heart isn’t ready to go there; or perhaps my mourning stems from the realization that my heart is ready but, unlike the leaves, it is not yet my time to float free.

November is the month in the Catholic Church when we especially remember loved ones who have died. All Saints and All Souls days are specific feast days set aside to remember those who have traveled to the far distant shore ahead of us. I have become more convinced of what we call the “Communion of Saints” this fall, that those who have died remain part of us, continue to be with us in spirit and love. They have left us physically but aren’t really gone. Eight years after losing my husband John, I had a conversation, of sorts, with him last month. The messages I received were comforting and reassuring. I was reassured of his ongoing deep love for me and our children and grandchild and of his continued presence in our lives. But even more, I was reassured of God’s love and promises, of a future filled with hope and beauty.

As I wrote in “42 States of Grace: A Woman’s Journey,” after John’s accident, while he was being life-flighted to Seattle, he died on the plane. The medical people with him resuscitated him. What I didn’t know then but understand now is that he didn’t want to come back, wasn’t willing to stay bound to earth and his broken body; he had already decided to move toward the amazing light and love pulling him away from us. He didn’t want to leave his family, but he knew we would understand. And be happy for him.

I do understand. Perhaps that is part of my mourning, my melancholy: the desire to experience that wonder and mystery in such a profound way. To feel that love that everything we have experienced here on earth can only hint at, can never quite compare to or measure up to. But I accept that my place is still here; I apparently still have work to do. Sometimes it feels like very lonely, fruitless work, and I continue to long for someone I can share this life with, but that, too, seems not meant to be my path.

Some day it will be time for me to lay my burdens down, but that time has not yet come for me. So I am reminded to use fully the time that remains to me, to love tenderly, to be gentle and forgiving, especially of myself, and to enjoy the gifts God sends us all every day, if we take the time to look for them and to pay attention.

A Very Positive Review

2011-11-09T19:41:00.000-08:00

We received the following review a couple weeks ago from Rose City Reader, a well respected book blogger:

Real Women, Real Wisdom: A Journey into the Feminine Soul is a collection of 17 essays by women "of a certain age," all reflecting on what they have learned from the stories they have lived. Maureen Hovenkotter, author of 42 States of Grace: A Woman’s Journey (reviewed here), edited the collection and contributed the final essay.

Each piece focuses on, or is inspired by, a "transformative" event in the author's life – death in the family, illness, divorce, or job loss, for example. One essay specifically examines suffering as part of our lives, and another the idea that things don't turn out as we expect, but the themes of suffering and unfulfilled expectations run throughout all the stories.

What makes these accounts of suffering and loss emotionally piercing instead of maudlin is that every writer concentrates on how her experience brought grace into her life, and how she used to the experience to move closer to God or grow spiritually. Many of the women are in a Catholic writers' group together, so they bring a Christian perspective, but none of the essays are dogmatic. One of the authors is a practicing Buddhist, another a self-described seeker, and all share an acceptance of traveling varied spiritual paths.

The authors aren't celebrities, but don't be put off by the somewhat amateurish nature of their publication. Most are professional writers; all are gifted storytellers. The collection will teach and inspire as the stories linger. It is the kind of book that many readers will turn to again and again as they face the same sorts of life challenges as the authors.

NOTES

This book is at the top of my gift list for women over 40 with a spiritual bent, which, when I think about it, is a LOT of women I know.

Got Too Much Change?

2011-11-09T17:11:00.000-08:00

Columbia River Gorge in Autumn

Kayaking on the Willamette River in November

I've been noticing some changes lately. Today while walking Charlie I was struck by change -- not nickels and dimes; that might hurt --but rather how different everything looks now on the path from when we walked along it just last week. I try to pay attention and be aware of the life around me as we walk, try to make it a contemplative prayer walk rather than a get-it-done walk. I look for God in the beauty I see, and this time of year there is plenty of beauty out there. The weather is cooler, the days shorter, the sky not as blue.

Today’s message on the walk was a reminder of the constancy of change. As I wrote in the introduction to “Real Women, Real Wisdom,” there is no insurance you can buy to prevent change. It can’t be stopped. Life is a change agent: as long as there is life, there will be change. It’s kind of a paradox: everything changes except change.

Today the river that was so wild and full just a few months ago had relaxed into a fairly quiet, docile stream, and the shoreline has grown as the river has shrunk. I would guess it’s dropped 25 feet or more since early summer.

The tall green grasses and brush along the path have all gone to seed and the smaller birds are feasting; many of the grasses are now brown and dead-looking. The osprey family has abandoned its huge nest for another climate where the fishing is better.

Of course, the deciduous trees are changing color daily. The sweet gum trees in my neighborhood that were more than half green a couple days ago today are bright scarlet. The leaves are hanging around later this fall – something to do with all the rain this spring and summer, the weather geeks say. The leaves are also unusually brilliant in color. I think I say that every fall but it’s actually true this year, at least according to those same meteorologists.

Of course I am changing too. Physically I get older every day, gaining new little pains or issues. This summer I started working with a chiropractor to address some issues with the narrowing of my spinal column (spinal stenosis) and then worked with a naturopath to look at my diet and how it might be impacting my health. We made some major changes – eliminating all grains, dairy, sugars – but I found it too challenging and elected to just try gluten- and lactose-free for the time being. It seems to help.

But I have to accept that I am no longer in my 20s or 30s, no longer able to do some of the things that were so easy back then. That can be frustrating. I had to hire someone to help me finish some of the yard work I’ve been hoping to get to all summer. It wasn’t happening and every time I worked on it, I paid for it with a good deal of back pain.

At the same time, as I have grown emotionally and spiritually these last few years, I find I am much more at peace with the person I am, with my limitations and failures, as well as with my successes and blessings. I am more accepting. And perhaps that is what change teaches us – whether it comes on fast and furious like a flood or slowly over time like the leaves changing color. If we can accept that things change and that we often have little or no control over them, we learn to adjust. We adjust our viewpoints, our expectations. We learn better how to live in the now, because we realize our now will likely look very different next week or month or year. And we learn to appreciate and be thankful for what we have, even the hard things.

As we change and grow, we often get little epiphanies about how something that seemed very painful at the time was, in fact, a gift that helped us on our journey. I had that experience last month. A woman in my spiritual direction class was preparing for her upcoming wedding. She shared with me how long she’d had to wait to find the right partner but admitted that it was for the best. She said it really took those long years for her to become the person who could appreciate the man she was planning to marry. She needed all that time to get to know and love herself, to be ready for this relationship. It struck me that the losses I’ve experienced over the last eight years, though incredibly painful, were necessary for me to begin my own journey of knowing and loving myself.

So I try to remain open to the change, embrace it even. I trust that I am in good hands and the God who knows and loves each of us better than we will ever know ourselves will not steer me wrong.

Review of the Day: 42 States of Grace

2011-09-12T13:53:00.000-07:00

Review of the Day: 42 States of Grace

Real Women, Real Wisdom: A Journey into the Feminine Soul

2011-09-08T09:03:00.000-07:00

The book is out and available through Gray Wings Press (http://GrayWingsPress.com/) and on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B005JTRCHQ/ref=pd_lpo_k2_dp_sr_3?pf_rd_p=486539851&pf_rd_s=lpo-top-stripe-1&pf_rd_t=201&pf_rd_i=0785212612&pf_rd_m=ATVPDKIKX0DER&pf_rd_r=02HS08GAAHW66KK59Q1R

Real Women

Real Wisdom

a journey into the feminine soul

“I have always believed that the most profound and powerful stories are those lived out consciously by ordinary people.
This book is a collection of such stories-- authentic, moving and passionate. We enter the worlds of women whose lives have been transformed through the joys and suffering of their life experiences leading them to deepen into the God who lives in the heart of our chaos.
Both inspiring and deeply comforting.”
-- Edwina Gateley
Poet, author and public speaker

In Real Women, Real Wisdom 17 ordinary yet extraordinary women—most in their 50s and 60s—reflect on the challenges, mysteries and ultimately the triumphs in their lives. Their stories tell of the transformative experiences of loss, suffering, life-threatening illness, recovery, and forgiveness, as well as the quiet moments of reflection that have led to their personal encounters with the Divine. This book allows their beautiful stories to shine some of the light they have found into the lives of others who might need a glimmer of hope to get through their own dark journeys. As one woman suggested: these are stories that needed to be told. $15

Books available in paperback through the publisher. Contact publisher

to receive 20% discount for quantities of 5 or more books;
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Paperback and Kindle versions also available through Amazon.com.

Published September 1, 2011, by:

Gray Wings Press http://graywingspress.com/
P. O. Box 593 graywingspress@gmail.com
Clackamas, OR 97267
(503) 908-0686 * (971) 645-8950

Travelin' with Charlie: Letting Go

2011-08-28T16:41:00.000-07:00

Travelin' with Charlie: Letting Go

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R6pKX3whms8

Letting Go

2011-08-28T16:37:00.000-07:00

Seems like we always have plenty of things that tie us in knots, imprison us, keep us from being free to love and be loved.

Lately I’ve been struggling with some changes in the Catholic Church. They’re really fairly minor: some of the ecclesiastical powers have decided we need our ritual language to be more poetic but also more pompous, more true to the original Latin translations but less relevant and real to our lives in the 21st Century. I spent most of Saturday at a workshop listening to all the explanations for this. I sat there simmering, thinking only that there are so many more important issues for the Church to deal with and that I would have to be learning a bunch of new Mass settings in addition to the new responses that will take effect this Advent. I was so frustrated and angry I was considering leaving my parish and the larger Catholic Church.

This morning our homilist talked about detachment and freedom. I realized immediately that my negative emotional reaction to the changes is something I need to let go of. God will not let a few little changes in liturgy and music come between us, so why should I allow that to happen? It’s my reactions to it that create the fissure. I get caught up in self-righteous anger and ownership of things that are comfortable for me. I see the sleight-of-hand happening in Rome that keeps our energies focused away from the real problems, and I allow that to really get to me. I know we are being worked and we can’t do a thing about it.

But God is in none of that, and my relationship to God doesn’t have to be, either. Rather, I can do as I see so many people who are upset about this doing – bow my head, accept, let go and move on. Try to find the gift in it, and trust that God will use this, too, as an instrument of grace.

OR, I can decide whether my lifelong membership in the Catholic Church is itself an attachment that keeps me from freely being the person God made me to be, from abandoning myself completely into God’s arms. Looking out at my congregation today it occurred to me that they are all an important part of my journey and part of my lesson. It is not yet time to turn my back on that connection. Perhaps some day it will be, but not now.

This afternoon I decided to give Charlie a bath. He was getting very smelly from too many weeks without one. My son Karl, grandson Jesse and I filled the wading pool with warm water. Charlie stoically stood while I soaped him up then rinsed him off. He loves water – wading in it and swimming in it. But baths are another matter. He tolerates them. Even with his boy Jesse helping (as much as a three-year-old can help), Charlie badly wanted to get out of the pool. But he stuck it out, he accepted the unpleasant parts of having water poured over him.

Afterwards, as I was drying him, he became very playful and exuberant, wild with joy. Was that because the bath was over, or because he was getting so much attention, or because so much dirt and hair had been washed away, making him feel free? Probably some of all three, but the idea of washing away the dirt and excess hair hit home: getting rid of “stuff” that weighs us down, restricts us, creates burdens in our lives.

It reminded me of a video I saw recently where a team of whale scientists freed a young humpback whale that had been badly tangled in fishing nets in the Sea of Cortez. She was nearly drowning because her fins and tail flukes were so entangled. They were able to slowly free her and when she swam away, her joyful exuberance was exhibited in countless leaps and breaches. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R6pKX3whms8

Oh how wonderful it can feel to lose the ties that bind us, the attachments that hold us and can eventually drown us! Sometimes cutting those ties can be difficult and take much time and perseverance. Sometimes we have to be patient and stoic and put up with unpleasant initial experiences. But the rewards can be amazing.

Just let it go. Feel the freedom.

Rest and Refreshment, Peace and Prayer

2011-08-19T23:06:00.000-07:00

I’ve been feeling really tired the last few weeks but I think it’s mostly a function of not getting enough sleep: staying up too late and then waking earlier than I’m ready for. I’ve had a lot of company since the end of July: three of my siblings – plus their spouses, grandsons or large dogs -- have spent the night (or several nights). That’s a lot more dinners and breakfasts than I’m used to preparing, plus the late nights talking and then early mornings to get coffee made and breakfast started that often come when family members you get to see far too rarely come to visit.

My energy has been focused primarily on being a hostess and enjoying their company; doing both is sometimes a difficult challenge for me. Finding time to spend with God has also been a challenge and I feel like I've been neglecting that part of my life. And when you toss in the upcoming next book, the September fundraiser I’m co-chairing for a friend, my spiritual direction class preparation and other things, I’ve had a little stress in my life. Of course, I’m POSITIVE this isn’t a sign that I’m slowing down, getting older. Absolutely sure of it. Okay, so Monday is my birthday, but that’s only a day on the calendar, and the years are only numbers, right? I just need a good rest!

In spite of my abundant blessings of company this summer, I’ve still managed to struggle a little with loneliness. One of my closest single friends has – without seemingly looking for it – found a really great relationship. She and he had been corresponding on Facebook based on similar interests and three weeks ago he drove out to Portland from the Midwest. They have spent every available minute together and are apparently quite smitten with each other. He’s planning to go back to the Midwest, collect his things and move to Oregon to be with her.

In following their whirlwind romance, I have been alternately stricken green with envy, exhausted at the pace they are keeping in going and doing and exploring the world together, and completely delighted for her that she has apparently found someone who seems so right for her. It gives me a little hope that it could some day happen for me. But only a little: I am realistic. We talked the other night, and she reminded me that it was their common love – passion, even – for a sport that had brought them together. And things just clicked. She asked me what I love. That’s a tough one.

Sharing my misgivings about lacking a specific passion with my sister-in-law during her visit last weekend, she suggested my spirituality, my faith life, appears--at least to her--to be an area in which I seem to have a lot of passion. That thought had occurred to me earlier, as well, when I was musing privately over this quandary.

I spoke with my spiritual director about this today and, as always, Jack had a great deal of wisdom to share. In my chapter for the next book, Real Women, Real Wisdom: A Journey into the Feminine Soul, I write:

“My spiritual director often reminds me that accompaniment—being present and supportive to others in their journey—is a skill that not everyone is willing or able to develop. He encourages me to accept that skill as a gift to myself and others. Being present to people, being a supportive, listening friend on their journey is not an impressive skill or one our culture values very highly. But it is a way of mirroring God’s love and presence in our lives, of modeling God for others.”

Being present to my family is part of that. Jack also reminded me today that Jesus wasn’t noted for having had any big successes when he walked the earth with his 12 rather-sketchy and not-always-astute apostles. He didn’t build cathedrals, or start major corporations, he didn’t have money, control, a political role or even a role within the church. He was just with people, there for them, loving them. Jack also reminded me that even when I feel like I haven’t had time for God, God has been there, waiting for me. He encouraged me to consider it prayer when I am aware, paying attention to God being present in the world, and allowing myself to be an instrument of God in the world in whatever ways I am presented with. And, I might add, letting God be present to me, there for me to lean on.

This morning sitting with several friends in our contemplative prayer gathering, I complained to God how tired I was and that 6 a.m. was just too darned early for me to be getting up to drive into the city for prayer. “How about,” I suggested to God, “I just curl up in your arms, lean my head on your chest and you hold me while I sleep.” God agreed that would work. I didn’t actually sleep at all, but I felt peaceful, held in a safe, warm embrace as I imagined myself floating on the ocean of God’s boundless love. I meditated on the feelings of what it was like as a child lying on an air mattress floating on a gentle lake, caressed by the sun, listening to little birds singing softy and water lapping at the edges of my little island. And like that child, I felt cherished, rested and refreshed and ready to see what wonderful surprises God has in store to delight me as my 61^st birthday approaches. More than I could possibly imagine, no doubt!

A Book Coming to Life

2011-07-29T17:15:00.000-07:00

It’s been a busy, busy summer so far with projects pulling me in several different directions; but I’ve spent a lot of time this week focusing on the next book, Real Women, Real Wisdom: A Journey into the Feminine Soul. I am feeling very positive about it!

In Real Women Real Wisdom, 17 ordinary women—most in their 50s and 60s—reflect on the challenges, mysteries and ultimately the triumphs in their lives. Their stores tell of the transformative experiences of loss, suffering, life-threatening illness, recovery, and forgiveness, as well as the quiet moments of reflection that have led to their personal encounters with the Divine. The journeys they share hold great wisdom, hope and inspiration for all who read about them.

I have all 17 chapters edited and most of the book laid out. I have a cover mockup that I’m just waiting for some final information for. I have requests in to two well-known Catholic spiritual writers, both of whom have agreed to read some or all of the 17 chapters and, if they like them, to give us an endorsement to include in the final copy.

The book turned out to be a little longer than I anticipated, with all the author bios we’re at about 220 pages, I think. But I figure people can pick it up, read a chapter/reflection and lay it back down for days or weeks or whatever they need and then go back to it without a hitch. It isn’t something that needs to be read in one sitting.

There are some very touching stories, and some very painful experiences are shared, but each of the women has wrestled with darkness and come out of it into brightness and freedom. As one of the women suggested: These are stories that needed to be shared. I am pleased to be the instrument that is helping bring these women’s beautiful voices to light.

My goal is to have the books printed and ready to sell by September 24, the date on which we are holding a benefit concert and auction to help one of the women who has been stricken by cancer. Marilyn has battled thyroid cancer for nearly two years, undergoing five major surgeries, radiation, and ongoing physical and speech therapy. Her most recent surgery was less than a month ago. She lost her job this winter when she could not return within the 90-day window because of complications. She lost her voice when the tumor in her thyroid wrapped around her larynx. Not only does she share her story in the book, but I want some of the proceeds from the sale to go to help her financially during this very difficult time. It’s what I think we are all called to do, help each other through the difficult times in our lives.

As I’ve been working on this next book and working on the fundraiser, I’ve let some things slip, including this blog, and including any promotional work for 42 States of Grace. In the meantime, it got picked up by a bookstore at a spirituality center for their summer program, and a well known book reviewer/blogger, Rose City Reader, did a very positive review on it. So it seems when I let go of stressing and obsessing over it, Someone else has taken over. I suspect there could also be some “coattail” effect when Real Women, Real Wisdom comes out.

In closing her chapter about her struggles with cancer, my friend Marilyn writes:

“Life is not about reaching Happily Ever After, as tempting as that seems. There is no place of perfect insight, perfect peace, perfect faith where, once we reach it, we will stay forever in safety.

“Rather, life is joy and suffering unfolding step by step. The gratitude of the beach is followed by the sorrow of the highway home, and then that is followed by the joy of seeing loved ones again and telling them the story. God is found in our life as it is. And our call is to live, to be present to our lives, in pain or in promise, and sometimes in both.”

Kinda makes you want to get the book and see what other beautiful and thought-provoking nuggets are hidden within, doesn’t it?

Heart to Heart

2011-07-15T21:41:00.000-07:00

Well, it hasn't quite been a month since my last post. So much for resolutions and good intentions! It's been a very busy few weeks. I've been working on editing the contributions for the next book--17 women (including me) share insights and experiences about their lives and their faith journey. There are some beautiful stories so stay tuned.

In addition, I'm working on some fundraising activities to help a good friend who has been very cruelly struck by what is often a fairly curable type of cancer; but it hasn't been playing fair with her, and she just underwent her fourth--or was it fifth?--major surgery in less than two years. She's lost her job because of the cancer and it will likely be months before she can even begin looking again. She definitely needs some financial help right now.

I have been working on completely relandscaping my front yard, going from almost all grass to hardly any grass, and doing almost all the work myself. (No wonder my back hurts!)

And, my son moved back home a couple weeks ago so I now get to have Jesse every weekend again. Busy times, but good times; productive times.

In fact, today I had Jesse, who turned three a couple weeks ago, all day while his dad was working. I'm exhausted! Three-year-olds have so much energy! I had forgotten, or else I had enough energy of my own that I could take it all in stride 25+ years ago when I last had a three-year-old.

Jesse and I had a busy day, taking Charlie for a walk and taking time to play at the park, watering the plants in pots, picking strawberries and blueberries (I picked and Jesse ate them) from my garden, playing Wii, making homemade ginger-peach ice cream. (This was following my experiment making lavender panna cotta last week--Practicing for a dinner we're auctioning off as part of the fundraiser.) So after all this hard work, Jesse finally took a nap around 2:30. About an hour later I heard Charlie bark and the doorbell rang. Jesse had fallen asleep in my recliner in the living room so I wasn't too happy. It was another solicitor. They come seeking donations, trying to sell things, trying to sell services. It gets incredibly tiresome and I'm almost ready to put up a "No Solicitors" sign. Of course, after sending this one on his way--he promising to return and I telling him not to bother--I closed the door and saw a little blond head leaning out from the recliner. A little voice greeted me with "Hi, Grandma!" Jesse was awake. But not completely finished napping, apparently.

He wanted a drink so we walked into the kitchen, but then he wanted to be held. I picked him up and held him, and he put his head on my shoulder. Completely relaxed. My back has been giving me lots of grief lately so I went back into the living room and sat on the sofa. Jesse continued to cuddle and it was clear he was going back to sleep. I sat and held him for awhile. As his body pressed against mine I felt his chest move in and out with his breathing, felt his heartbeat keeping time with my own. It's been a long time since I've held anyone this close for such an intense, intimate embrace. As I sat and just experienced Jesse's heart beating against mine, I felt completely at peace, whole, and yet also part of a greater whole. I felt a deep connection to this child of my child, this busy, smart, sassy, darling little boy. I remembered times holding Karl this close when he was a child, and thought about holding Karl's father, my husband John, in just such an embrace. Much as I sometimes miss John, it is reassuring to know he lives on through Karl and Jesse, and through our daughter, Kristin.

Life is a mystery to me most of the time. There is so much I don't understand and likely never will. But there are moments of clarity, like this afternoon, when I know I am exactly where I am supposed to be, doing just what I am meant to do. Even if those things I do likely mean little or nothing to society, to anyone else. I know in my heart spending time with my grandson, helping my friend with cancer, being here for my son all matter very much in the only scheme of things that really counts.

On Love and Forgiveness

2011-06-17T14:19:00.001-07:00

Last week I wrote a post based on my reactions after watching the 1978 move Same Time Next Year. A reader took issue with my reflections, apparently thinking I was condoning adultery. I read his or her comments just before going to prayer this morning and have had several hours to prayerfully reflect on this subject.

I want to stress that my post was not meant to condone adultery – which I think can have some very painful results. Adultery leads to a loss of trust, fractures relationships, and maybe worst of all, leads people into a place of guilt and self-hatred that distances them from God: “How could God ever love or forgive me after what I’ve done?” That, I think, is the definition of sin: how much it destroys our relationships with God, ourselves and others.

My thoughts were based more on my (most of ours, I imagine) tendency to judge other people so quickly. Because that, too, I believe distances us from others and separates us from God. We are in essence putting ourselves in the place of the only One who is qualified to judge us. As Jesus said in Luke 6:37: “Do not judge others, and God will not judge you; do not condemn others, and God will not condemn you; forgive others, and God will forgive you.”

The Book of Exodus recounts God giving TEN commandments to the Hebrews but we all seem disposed to focus only on the one dealing with sex. There are NINE other commandments. There’s that one about keeping holy the Sabbath (in the very unchurched Northwest it might be one to reconsider). There’s the coveting your neighbors’ possessions. We’re all pretty good at doing that coveting thing. There’s that one about having no other gods; what about all of us who worship at the altar of consumerism, who desire more money, more material goods. And what about taking God’s name in vain? There are plenty of sins out there, enough that we could all be spending most of our time pointing fingers at each other.

There is a lovely and thought-provoking essay in this week’s issue of America Magazine, Forgive Us Our Debts : What Victor Hugo Taught Me about Justice (http://www.americamagazine.org/content/article.cfm?article_id=12919). In it, Jesuit Fr. William O’Malley, who teaches at Fordham Preparatory School in the Bronx, reflects on the difference between justice (following the rules) and Christianity. He cites several examples from Jesus’ life in which Jesus seemed to go out of his way to be present to people society viewed as terrible sinners. The example that leapt immediately into my mind this morning, before reading this article, was Jesus dealing with the woman caught in adultery, John 8:1-11. When the “teachers of the law and Pharisees” brought the woman before him for judgment, he refused to condemn her. Instead, he reminded them that none of us is without sin and so none of us had the right to throw stones at others.

The article recounts the episode from Les Miserables in which Jean Valjean has stolen silverware from Bishop Bienvenu, but when he is brought before the Bishop, instead of being forced to return the stolen property and receiving retributive punishment, he is magnanimously forgiven: “Ah, my brother,” the Bishop tells him. “Here you are! How is it you forgot I gave you the silver candlesticks too!” O’Malley points out how this treatment is not what we consider justice; it’s foolishness. It’s like rewarding the sinner. Kind of like the father throwing a party for his prodigal son.

O’Malley reminds us that “Christianity’s two overriding laws are not strictures but limitless invitations, and its sole determinative assessment of one’s life at the end is not about conformity but about attentive kindness.” Love God and love your neighbor. It’s about loving each other, and leaving it to the only One who truly has no sin to throw the first stone. Whether those stones ever fly is something we may never know and maybe don’t ever need to know. For myself, I’m learning what a difficult journey it is to not buy into society’s expectations for blame, punishment and retribution. It is so easy to give in to my ego needs and prove how good and worthy I am by pointing out someone else’s failings, much more challenging to learn to follow Jesus’ example of loving sinners, a category that includes every one of us whether we like to admit it or not.

On Love and Love Affairs

2011-06-08T13:19:00.000-07:00

Last night I decided to watch an old movie that has some meaning for me. Same Time Next Year came out in 1978 but I didn't see it until six or seven years later when I was taking classes for my degree in Communications. One of our professors seemed to like Alan Alda; during his psychology classes we watched that movie and The Four Seasons. Granted, there is a lot to learn about the human psyche from both movies.

At the time, being married for 15+ years and having two small children, I was aghast that two people could have that kind of on-going relationship on the side and still maintain relatively good marriages. And not absolutely die of guilt; or at least feel so guilty that you confessed your sins to your spouse and . . . all hell would break loose. That was back in my innocent and more judgmental days (my prudish, puritanical days), before I'd experienced some of life's less-than-gentle touches. Back then I believed things were supposed to happen in certain ways, rules had to be followed, and any aberration, any exception, any crossing the lines was wrong wrong wrong! And if you behaved correctly, life would be smooth and you would be happy. It was only when you crossed the line that life got difficult. Right . . . did I mention I was very naive back then?

The movie came up in conversation with a friend a couple years ago, and I'd been thinking it might be interesting to see it again so when I found it on NetFlix, I decided to add it to my queue. Last night I watched it.

Turns out I am now much more disposed to viewing George and Doris in an accepting and even positive light. I could see value in their relationship and perhaps better understand that you could love someone and still have a healthy, happy marriage to someone else. Granted, I'm still not convinced affairs are good for anyone, but I know and accept that they happen. Obviously, according to the news, they happen far more often than we are willing to admit. And I've learned it's not my responsibility to judge the people who have them. Because they are humans, and we all have our moments of failure, our times when we are less than we know we should be. As a good friend of mine is fond of saying: Life is messy. And, I would add, it can be damned hard and painful and filled with suffering. So who am I to question where anyone finds joy or peace, a few moments of bliss? And perhaps, with life experience, I better understand that love should be treasured whenever and wherever it happens.

At least as depicted in this movie, perhaps that once-a-year touch of freedom was enough to keep them going through all the challenges of married life. It gave them something to look forward to each year. And maybe that's what kept it going so long: being able to look forward to spending a weekend with someone who truly listens to you, treasures you, wants you, someone who is willing to devote all their time and attention to you. What's not to love about that? In the day-to-day work of living life, running a household, careers, children, paying bills it is easy to lose sight of the tender, passionate feelings that first brought you together with your spouse. It's easy to get so busy with "stuff" that you forget to really pay attention to your life partner. I do wonder if George and Doris had ever married whether their love and passion would have been sustained. And if, instead of meeting each other, they'd taken an annual "passion weekend" with their spouses that would have made their marriages fulfilling enough.

But they were perhaps more sympathetic as a couple because it wasn't as if either of them was off having affairs with lots of other people; it was more than just sex, physical, another conquest or a fling. It was, strangely, a commitment to each other that they kept for more than 25 years. An odd love story, but a love story, all the same.

With all the infidelity of famous people in the news lately, it's easy to get on our high horses, point fingers, be judgmental and "holier than thou." I just can't go there. Perhaps my life experience has taught me that our lives don't always follow convention, that love is where you find it and, from my perspective, finding real love can be a very difficult task. I've learned you can love someone deeply and, unlike Gorge and Doris, never be able to physically consummate that love. But ultimately, it's the love that matters: wanting what's best for the other, and accepting that "best" may preclude you from ever really being part of their lives. And, at the same time, remembering to love and be kind to yourself. Perhaps that self love is what helps you see the path of love for others most clearly, helps you make the right choices for all.

So, do you suppose George and Doris are still meeting on their little Northern California rendezvous? Nah, after 60 years they would likely be in their 90s and their bones probably got too brittle for passionate embraces long ago. But I suppose one could say they lived in the moment, the now, and for one weekend a year they were able to let go of everything else and just focus on each other.

Dream a Little (or Big) Dream

2011-06-07T10:40:00.000-07:00

What would you do if you weren’t doing what you’re doing now?

Ever think about what else you might be doing with your life? Is there something better suited to your personality, skills or desired life-style? I’ve had this discussion several times the past couple weeks with friends and family. They love parts of their jobs, but the jobs also can be very stressful and sometimes drive them crazy. They have shared with me some of the frustrations and dreams that lead them to question current career paths. But they have been in their respective jobs long enough that the pay and benefits would be very difficult to give up. The job has become a security blanket that they are reluctant to leave, almost a golden chain. In today’s economy I can understand the reluctance to leave a well-paying job, especially when you are the sole support and have no on else to help with finances and insurance.

I think it’s easy to become trapped in a situation: job, relationship, community, even our own thoughts about ourselves. Change is difficult and takes a great deal of courage. There is comfort in the familiar, even when the familiar isn’t very comfortable.

I don’t have the issue of being unhappy with work, since I am retired—though that has its own frustrations and difficulties sometimes—but I do sometimes have difficulty moving on. I shared with a friend last night my sadness about a group of friends I’ve known for many years, but I have never felt like we were the right fit. There is always an awkwardness there and I usually leave gatherings feeling much smaller than I know I am. Being with this group feels something like owning a really pretty dress I bought years ago but one that never did fit me right. I keep it in my closet, pull it out occasionally, admire it, try it on, but then just hang it back up. I have grown and changed so it fits even less well than when I first acquired it. For some reason I have trouble letting go and moving on, despite having many other clothes that fit me much better and that I feel much more comfortable wearing. Okay, enough metaphor: you get the idea.

My wise friend suggested that maybe this was really more than I needed to deal with; that perhaps I shouldn’t try to keep up friendships that aren’t life-giving, no matter how many years those connections go back. She isn’t the first to share that wisdom. And this isn’t the only time I have been unable or unwilling to let someone in my life go, even when they no longer fit, if they ever did. Maybe I’m just stubborn, or maybe I need the security of saying I have lots of friends when the truth is I have many acquaintances but only a handful of truly good friends whom I know I can rely on, who support me and are there for me when I need them, and who let me help when they need me.

I think about my reluctance to leave an organized religion that doesn’t always (or even often) feel all that helpful, supportive or right. I think about where I live; I’m not sure it was the best choice for me, but I’m also not sure what would be better. Family closer would be better . . . I think. I think about commitments I’ve made that have long since “expired” but I just keep doing them because people expect me to and I don’t want to let people down.

In conversation with family members last week, we talked about finding your “bliss,” or at least work that would be more life-giving. We talked about—of all the crazy things—starting an Irish pub in Southern Oregon. In many ways it would be perfect for a gregarious, friendly group of siblings who love to cook, sing, be creative and entertain. It was a life-giving idea . . . at least for me. Being with family, welcoming people into our little corner of the world, creating a fun, vibrant place that celebrates our heritage. But there are so many challenges . . . I’m sure it will never happen, especially with a group of people who are as risk-resistant as we seem to be. And as broke as we always seem to be. Still, it was fun to brainstorm, dream, come up with some alternative things we might do with our lives. And I think it was helpful for my siblings to have a little dream time-out, to really think about ways of living that might be more life-giving, less stressful. Kind of like taking a vacation without leaving home.

It’s okay to dream, and it doesn’t cost anything to dream big. In fact, sending those dreams out into the Universe, visioning them, can lead to fulfillment. Just be sure you’re willing to let go of that security blanket if the opportunity to follow your dream surfaces.

Lessons in Biology

2011-05-11T12:53:00.002-07:00

Have you ever heard the term “interstitial?” I hadn’t until my friend Katie recently used it to describe the way that she and I often fill in the spaces “in between.” After getting her note, I did a little research and found in a couple of on-line dictionaries that an interstice (from which interstitial comes) means an intervening or empty space or gap between things or parts. This space helps keep things in perspective or provides balance. In medical/scientific use, it is the space between cells, and the fluid inside it facilitates the transfer of life-giving things like proteins and nutrients that allow the cells to do their specific work.

This dynamic space is always hidden, behind the scenes, and most people (except maybe medical professionals) don't know anything about it. It is, however, an integral part of a bigger system of things working together, often without any recognition of the individual parts, but without which things wouldn't work as well or at all.

At first the idea that the many little things I do for my faith community, friends and family was just “filling empty space” was not very reassuring. My ego rebelled at the thought that my efforts and time could be boiled down to something as mundane as the grease that helps the bigger pieces work. My ego wants to be one of those bigger pieces with an important role that gets recognition. I don’t want to just fill in the spaces; I want to do something that brings me appreciation, respect and admiration. My ego want to be a star not an unnamed, faceless member of the chorus.

But because the friend who sent me this note is one of the most integral, involved, admired and beloved members of our faith community, I realized how crucial filling in the spaces can be. And frankly, I don’t hold a candle to her involvement; but I very much appreciate her kind thoughts equating what I do to all that she does. Taking time to thank me for my little contributions is just another example of how she fills in the empty spaces and keeps the nutrients flowing. She is one of several wonderful, supportive friends I am blessed to have in my life.

While reflecting on her note, I thought of the role mothers often hold: filling in the empty places, tying things together, keeping things running smoothly, often without anyone noticing. Mothers often are the ones who keep things in balance and provide the flow of life-giving nutrients.

Katie’s note reminds me how many people are there filling in the empty spaces in our lives, those who do the little behind-the-scenes things that so often are taken for granted or overlooked but that allow us to fill our roles. Because what I do often doesn’t stand out, is hidden from most people’s view, I understand working in obscurity and, consequently, I try to remember to thank others who do work that is seldom recognized or appreciated. But I’m sure I’m just as guilty as everyone else when it comes to being blind to some of the contributions others make in my world. I’m much better at being disappointed when people occasionally fail to meet my expectations.

The other day I went kayaking with a couple of friends. We shared the river with ducks, salamanders, osprey, May flies and the fish occasionally leaping out of the water to feast on the insects. As we paddled very close to the rocky cliffs, we could see the individual plants: ferns, wildflowers, shrubs, blackberries. Viewed from farther back, they created an interwoven painting of green hues from the pale gray-green lichens hanging from trees to the golden-green moss covering the alder, to the deep green of the fir and cedar and hemlock on the banks of the river. We discovered hidden waterfalls and little grottos that we could not see from the middle of the river, let alone from the highway following it. It was a lesson in subtlety, and how many little things work together to create a beautiful, harmonious whole. Even the tiniest plants and insects have a crucial role, though they are easily missed in a quick glance.

As I’ve searched for what work I am being called to in these remaining years of my life, wise friends have suggested that it could be I'm called to just “be.” Just being a friend, just being calm and prayerful. Just being available to help where I am needed. Not being in charge. Not being a star. Just being. That’s kind of like interstitial space: filling in those empty holes in a quiet way but one that makes a big difference, even if it is seldom recognized. In spite of what our egos might tell us, that's probably the place God wants us to be: making a difference without making a splash.

Mothers and Daughters

2011-05-05T15:12:00.000-07:00

My dad and mom on their wedding day

Unless you live under a stump and never crawl out, you realize that this Sunday is Mother’s Day. It’s been 15 years since my mother passed away from breast cancer. Since she died I haven’t much liked Mother’s Day. Even though I am still a mother and have two wonderful adult kids of my own, all the ads telling us what to get for Mom always felt a little like a slap in the face, a reminder that my mother was gone. Over the ensuing years I was to find more and more reasons to dislike the commercialization of holidays and the unpleasant ongoing reminders from the advertising world of how much I have lost and how little my life resembles the perfect world their ads try to convince us we should strive for. But capitalism must go on, it seems, whether we want to participate or not. After all, we really can’t live under a stump.

This year there is a little campaign on Facebook to post photos of your mother in honor of Mother’s Day. Of course, I have no digital photos of my mom. She died long before I had a digital camera. But I found her and my dad’s wedding photo and scanned it into my computer. My parents were a very attractive couple.

I just got back yesterday from spending more than a week in Medford helping my youngest sister after she had some major surgery. It was nice to spend so much one-on-one time with her without tons of other things going on. I cooked, did a little cleaning, walked the dogs, planted her garden for her, and enjoyed her company and the warm sunshine and blue skies. Although she is almost 16 years younger than me, we have a good relationship and manage to have fun together, even when she’s recuperating.

In looking at the closeup of Mom today, I realize how very much my sister looks like her: she has her smile and square jawline, although she got Dad’s big eyes, a fact of which I am very envious. I can see my older sister in Mom, too, but not as much of myself. Maybe others see what I don’t; that’s often the case, in my experience. We don’t always see things when we’re too close.

Colleen, Shirley and me at the wedding of our brother's daughter

But looking at the photo of Mom and Dad on their wedding day put me into a reflective mood, thinking about who I am and how they both played such a huge role in the person I’ve become: a role both good and not always so good. Seeing how much my sisters look like my mom also helped me remember that she and Dad still live on through their children, grandchildren and their great-grandchildren. It’s a reminder that, though we all will die at some point, we leave behind parts of ourselves in those we love and we have some ability to influence how positive our impact has been. This helps me focus on gratitude instead of loss.

Me and my own daughter

I think of my mom often and still miss her, even after 15 years. Though their lives were often challenging, my parents loved each other very much and loved their six children as well as they were able. I am grateful for a family that is still strongly connected despite the number of miles that separate us. I am thankful for the blessings, gifts, talents and values that were passed down to me because of my family of origin, and I try to let go of the parts of my life that were less than idyllic. I hope I have been able to provide my children with at least as good a grounding as my parents gave me. But even if I’ve fallen short, I know they love me and will remember me with affection and appreciation just as I do my parents.

In Real Women, Real Wisdom: A Journey into the Feminine Soul, one of my authors, Barbara Underwood Scharff, writes a very moving tribute to her own mother and recalls the blessings of being a daughter and having a daughter. A very brief excerpt from her piece, Motherhood and Daughterhood: Love and Good-bye: "In the kinship of mothers and daughters, what we love is not to be fastened to this earth, but to be believed in. Love and good-bye. We will all someday vanish into the unreachable distance. It is in this mystery that each one of us will someday be entrusted to God in the place where we started and the place where we end."

Roll Away the Stone

2011-04-22T12:05:00.000-07:00

We are in the midst of Triduum, the emotional days of Holy Thursday Good Friday, and the Easter Vigil of Holy Saturday night. It is a busy time for me since I sing in the choir. Most of us are present for all three nights as well as for the Easter morning services. We tend to be very alert as to what’s happening in the liturgy, to pick up our cues for what to sing when. In other words, we have to be present and pay attention in each moment. And because we have been practicing for several weeks, we have had plenty of time to reflect on these celebrations. It helps us get a stronger grasp on what is transpiring in this most holy week of the Christian calendar.

The Triduum is truly a celebration of and journey through God’s salvific history. We commemorate the gifts of Jesus’ body and blood on Holy Thursday’s feast of the Last Supper, in which Jesus gave us his body and blood to be with us always. St. Ambrose called this Christ kissing us on the mouth. Other theologians refer to Eucharist as God’s physical embrace of us. Ronald Rolheiser wrote: “On the night before his death, having exhausted what he could do with words, Jesus went beyond them. He gave us the Eucharist, his physical embrace, his kiss, a ritual within which he holds us to his heart.” Eucharist is God’s way of touching us intimately and deeply. I think of some of the kisses I shared with a man I loved. I literally felt as though I was physically melting into, merging souls with this man. That is what sharing Christ’s body and blood through Eucharist should feel like.

On Good Friday, we remember Jesus passion and death on the cross. It is more than just weeping for what Jesus endured. It isn’t so much about Jesus paying a penalty to save us, but Jesus showing us the way we all must go. God didn’t need a penalty, didn’t need Jesus to pass a series of tests to free us or make us lovable. We always have been loved and forgiven. Instead it is a reminder to us that we must die to things that keep us estranged from deep union with God. It is a painful dying but Jesus’ death is a reminder that God is with us through our loss and suffering, and that it is necessary to bring us to new life. And that resurrection awaits us.

The Easter Vigil is a beautiful, if long, liturgy filled with symbols and imagery. It begins with lighting the fire from which the Paschal candle is lit, dispelling the darkness and bringing light. The flame is then passed by candles from person to person and soon the church is filled with lit candles providing the only source of light as several readings commemorate God with us from creation throughout Biblical history.

The Easter Vigil is traditionally when new Catholics are welcomed into the church and we all renew our baptismal vows. With those vows we promise to reject Satan and his works and empty promises, we pledge our belief in Creator God and God’s son, Jesus. Then we acknowledge our belief in the Holy Spirit, the Church, “the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting.”

It strikes me as a bit odd that, while we promise to reject Satan, nowhere do we promise to love God and accept God’s amazing love for us. We only promise to believe in God. Nowhere in these vows do we proclaim our gratitude for our own creation and for all of creation or promise to care for it. And considering the night before we have commemorated Jesus’ suffering and death--usually through intensely emotional rituals--where is the gratitude for all that Jesus went through to help open our eyes to the truth of how beloved we all are? The baptismal vows are all about doctrine, but God and Jesus are all about love. For each one of us. Equally. No matter who we are or how small and worthless and unlovable we think we are.

One of the songs we sing at the Easter Vigil and Easter morning is “Roll Away the Stone.” Of course this refers to the stone being rolled from the grave on Easter morning and the hope and vindication Jesus’ followers experienced. But it also refers to the personal stones that block us from true belief and acceptance, beyond all dogma or doctrine, beyond rules and laws and policies. And especially beyond ego. Roll the stones from your hearts, God is saying, see the glory of God reflected in you and all of creation. Know how deeply beloved you are.

In Hebrews 10:19-20 Paul writes” We have, then, complete freedom to go into the Most Holy Place by means of the death of Jesus. He has opened for us a new way, a living way, through the curtain—that is, through his own body.” Jesus became a portal directly into the heart of God. The door is open, we only have to accept the invitation to enter and let God’s abundant love flow over us and through us.

Take, Lord, Receive All You Have Given Me

2011-04-12T14:40:00.000-07:00

I have been reading Ronald Rolheiser’s book on contemplation and mysticism, “The Shattered Lantern: Rediscovering a Felt Presence of God.” I have previously read (or tried to read) some of the work of John of the Cross, but Rolheiser seems to put it into a more accessible language that fits everyday people. John of the Cross wrote about the Dark Night of the Senses and the Dark Night of the Spirit, ways to divest ourselves more and more of our need for pleasure, gratification, satisfaction. Instead of needing to find our value through the positive feedback, respect and appreciation of others, we can do what is right simply because it is the kind and loving thing to do. We learn to understand and follow the motivation of Christ.

This is a letting go of our ego to allow God to be more in touch with us. It is what St. Ignatius of Loyola was talking about in his Suscipe prayer: take all that I have, know, am and give me only your love and grace for that is all I need.

My decision to continue to write my thoughts and release them to the world through my blog whether they matter or not was a step in this direction, but I didn’t realize it fully until I read these passages last night. “We are to move beyond our need for praise, affirmation, recognition, status, and attention” and do whatever we feel God is calling us to do. “Persevere . . . despite the lack of gratification.” Such a hard thing to do: let go of my need to be acknowledged, appreciated, respected, and complimented. Let go, even, of needing to know that what I do or think or say makes any difference to anyone. It seems like the whole point of my life so far has been to impress others to earn love and worthiness. How do I accept that has been a lie? How do I live in the truth that what I do or know, how I look or what I accomplish is irrelevant?

As usual, my mind was wandering and pondering this heavy stuff as I was walking Charlie on this beautiful though still chilly day. We so often take for granted the many gifts in our lives; and it is only when they are missing that we realize how much they meant to us, how much we value them. Today was a rare sunny day in the Pacific Northwest. We have had nearly constant gray, dark, very rainy days since February. It has been at least 10 degrees colder than normal springs. The flowers have managed to push their way through and the bees and other insects are finally starting to appear so spring is coming, though it could take months to dry out.

One of the thoughts that occurred was the supposition that perhaps these unusually dark, gray days are a gift from God in helping us let go of our need for the pleasure of spring. Maybe these are a little experience of John’s Dark Night of the Senses. We are all praying, begging, whining for sun and warmth because it makes us happy, brings us out into the beautiful world, fills our senses. Even if the flowers are finally blooming, we are reluctant to go out into the cold rain to enjoy their beauty. Being deprived of that delightful experience of spring is a way to help us give up our need for that small pleasure, even if we are dragged into the experience kicking and screaming!

So I am trying to be equally thankful for the dark, dreary, cold spring days as well as the bright, blue, warm days. I am trying to find the gift in things that don’t feel at all like gift. For me, the gift of dark and rain is an intentional drawing in, a chance to move deeper, find the quiet stillness of God. These days give me time for solitude and reading, for writing and praying instead of being out in the world enjoying its beauty.

As I walked, I felt the warm sun on my face and shoulders; I drank in the blue sky and the pale green new leaves, the fluffy white cherry blossoms. I heard bees humming and birds singing and smelled the faint scent of grass and damp earth. As my mind admired this beauty, a prayer formed.

Thank you for eyes to see the beauty of this world you gave us,
The blue sky, the flowers and trees, Charlie running ahead of me.
But were I to lose my sight,
I could still sing songs of praise and thanks,
Could whisper I love yous and share laughter with friends.
But if I could no longer sing or speak,
I would still have ears to hear the beauty of birdsong
And bees humming among the flowers, children laughing.
But were my hearing to be lost,
I could still taste the sweet and
Juicy tartness of your apples and peaches.
But were everything to taste like bitter ash in my mouth,
Still I could smell the delicate aroma
Of lilacs, of fresh-mown grass, cinnamon rolls and coffee, of a baby’s neck.
Even if my sense of smell were taken, I would have touch,
the feel of warm sun on my skin, cooling rain or breezes on a hot day,
Of velvet rose petals between my fingers,
the softness of a kitten or a child’s face.
But were I even to lose my sense of touch, even then, God,
you have given me memories of all these gifts,
enough to last a lifetime.
But I know that even memories, even minds can wander away,
and should that some day happen, I know you will be there,
by my side, filling my senses,
guiding my blind feet, showing your love. Always.

Let It Be Now

2011-04-10T18:00:00.000-07:00

I had this strange little epiphany this afternoon, after sitting in on a class on meditation given by my friend Julie Dale with Motivated Zen. I was looking out at the grass in my yard, trying to be aware and notice. This is actually something I think I’m pretty good at much of the time: noticing, being aware and present, and finding God in many things. The problem is what happens after I notice something.

So I was thinking about the grass, the rich deep spring green in some spots but the chartreuse spots that dominate parts of my yard where the moss has taken over. I started to beat myself up about it, telling myself that I need to get busy and do something to fertilize, kill the moss and probably even reseed the lawn in some places. Then I realized when you are in contemplation, you are not supposed to be scolding yourself, or judging yourself. You are supposed to be just taking things in, not making judgments about them.

The epiphany was some strange little thought that scampered across my brain when I was thinking these thoughts and wondering if it was worth sharing them in a blog. I don’t have a clue if anyone reads my blogs or how many have read my book, or will read the next book coming out this summer (though I only have a small role in that). Still, I think this is something I am supposed to be doing, sharing whatever little pieces of wisdom I have. And sharing those epiphanies and ahas. But not knowing if what I say has any value or makes a difference to anyone, I sometimes find it hard to bother.

As I was reminding myself to quit judging myself, I was also thinking about how badly my head hurts. Obviously, I’m feeling vulnerable because of a headache. I’ve been dealing with a number of headaches lately, which aren’t common for me. I have also felt a little dizzy from time to time. I notice it mostly when I am driving (how scary is that?). I’m good at keeping up with my normal cancer screenings: mammograms, colonoscopies, etc. but these headaches make me a little nervous. Well, that and the news my brother, who is 14 years younger than me, just had a melanoma removed. Who knew we are supposed to get skin screenings annually? Is there some screening we could do for other parts of our bodies? Or maybe I’m just getting paranoid. I don’t want to run to the doctor every time I sneeze; I don’t want to be a hypochondriac. Still, it’s a little unsettling when you hear of people who discover they have advanced cancer that only leaves them with weeks or months to live.

Of course, this could be nothing. It could be stress or sinuses. Who knows. Still I was thinking about that this afternoon when my little “aha” moment occurred. What if there was something wrong? What if I were one of those people who finds out they only have a few weeks to live? Think of all the time I would have wasted feeling unsure or unmotivated. I thought about how frantic I would be to say everything I thought I needed to say, to do those things I feel I need to do before dying. I would have to post to my blog several times a day, assuming I were properly inspired, to make up for all the times I’ve shrugged, told myself no one cares, it doesn’t matter, and just played another game of Solitaire on the computer.

The truth is, we are all going to die at some point. It could be next year or 30 years from now, or it could be tomorrow. I wonder if John had been able to think about it in the three or four hours after his accident before he died what he might have most regretted not being able to finish. I’m sure there would have been a lot. I like to think one of those things would be the fact that he couldn’t tell his wife and children that he loved them one last time.

So once again I am reminded that all we really have is today. If there is something important we need to do or say to someone we love, let it be now. If there is wisdom you are called to share, do it today. It is a reminder that if we feel we are called to a certain task, we’d best get on with it and stop stalling or putting it off, making excuses, or as my parents might have said: stop dilly-dallying. So what if no one ever reads this blog? Some day someone might and some day something might make even the tiniest bit of difference to someone. So I will try to make a more concerted effort to be faithful to this blog, when I feel inspired to share something, whether anyone ever reads it or not. In a way, it is part of my spiritual journey and journal.

Seeing the Osprey in the Storm

2011-03-29T14:31:00.000-07:00

This morning, driving through the rain back home after a walk with Charlie, I realized my gas tank was getting low. With a shudder I pulled into the station I usually patronize, seeing that gas had jumped another ten cents a gallon. As the dollars rolled upwards, on the gas pump, I started to feel the whininess come over me. Wow! Forty-three dollars! That’s crazy!! I caught myself before I made some sarcastic remark to the attendant. It’s not his fault, after all, that gas has gotten so expensive; he has probably heard about it all morning long. For the past month, in fact.

And what’s with this weather! Here it is the 29th of March and we haven’t even hit 60 degrees yet this year. All we get is rain rain rain!! I was starting to go into a negative spin when I stopped myself.

Okay, Maureen, what about the ospreys. Wasn’t it great to see them again? I had seen one of them flying over us during our walk and realized the pair Charlie and I watched raise their chicks last summer had returned to their nest by the Clackamas River. Today I took a different path that led right under their nest. Charlie and I watched Mom and Dad Osprey fly back and forth, carrying sticks to shore up their nest, refurbishing it after a long, wet winter. Charlie was intrigued when he heard their chirping sounds and realized there were living creatures up there moving around. It will be fun to follow their lives for another summer.


Obviously these are not today's osprey photos. Would that the sky had been blue!


These were taken along the Rogue River a couple summers ago. But, hey, they're still osprey!

And even though it is dark and rainy now, it was only misting lightly during our walk. And I had the umbrella. And the wind didn’t blow it inside out. Rumor has it there might be radiation in that rain, carried aloft somehow from the nuclear disaster in Japan. But I managed to avoid getting much on my skin; I’m undoubtedly much safer than those people living in Japan who are so much closer.

As I drove home and into my garage I reminded myself that I still have a house, running water, heat to warm up after a chilly walk. And I own a car to drive and can actually afford to pay those outrageous prices for gas – at least I could today. And if paying a little more for gas is the price of freedom for people in the Middle East, I should be willing to make that sacrifice for them.

This little exercise in spinning my perspective helped me look more closely at how very blessed and fortunate I am.

Think about all your friends, your family, Maureen. Wasn’t it great that Karl brought Jesse, Eli and Asher over and you got to spend most of Saturday with them? How fortunate you are to be healthy and able to enjoy grandchildren. And to have such a great community of friends. You’re really not alone, you just convince yourself that you are!

It’s so easy for me to find things to get upset about, to feel badly about; it can begin to spiral downward. It takes a lot more work sometimes to spin those things and find the positive perspective. The next book I am planning to publish through Gray Wings Press is a collection of women’s stories about finding the positive gifts in negative or difficult life experiences. These will include reflections by a number of women about difficult or challenging things in their lives and how they have been able to fight through and grow, and become more whole.

Originally I was just going to compile and edit this book, but recently a couple of women dropped out so I decided I would do a chapter, as well. I decided to write about loneliness. Anyone who reads this blog regularly knows this is an issue that I often struggle with. So perhaps by writing about loneliness and exploring ways to “spin” that, find the gift in it, I can help myself as well as others. This will also address the sister concern of feeling no sense of purpose in my life.

Feedback I’ve received from women who are contributing chapters to this book is that it has been a cathartic, healing experience for them to explore their pain and share it with as-yet-unknown readers. It seems to me that in sharing our stories with each other, we find kinship. We have much more in common than we realize, and we learn that every one of us has a piece of wisdom. By listening to each other and sharing our stories and wisdom, we all become wiser. We often believe we are alone in our struggles and pain, but in sharing, we learn we are all together.

A Lonely Journey Looking for Hope

2011-03-06T17:26:00.000-08:00

I’m beginning to hate retirement.

I retired almost four years ago to travel around the country in a motor home, following a dream John and I had shared. The hardest part of that journey was being alone so much of the time and so far from friends and family. Last year I finished writing and published my book about that journey, 42 States of Grace: A Woman’s Journey.

One of the reasons I returned to Portland, where I was transplanted some 33 years ago, was because my community is here, my friends, my faith community. Out of my biological family of six siblings, one brother who is single lives here, and I see him maybe once a week, on average. Of my two children, one lives in Coos Bay with her husband and I see her probably five times a year, give or take.

For the past year, up until last month, my son had been living with me. This took some adjusting to and definitely had its drawbacks. But one of the huge benefits was having someone in my life on an ongoing basis. It helped combat the chronic loneliness I deal with since John died. Karl was home most evenings and weekends and he brought my darling grandson, Jesse, over to spend nearly every weekend. Last month he moved back in with his wife. I have no idea where this will go, but I am happy for him and hope for his sake, and for Jesse’s, that it works out this time. I admire his perseverance and faith that eventually this would work out, and I hope and pray that is rewarded with a long and happy relationship.

Again, there are many blessings in this, for me as well as for him, but there is also great challenge and pain for me. I barely get to see Karl or Jesse, haven’t, in fact, seen them for two weeks. And once again I struggle with loneliness, being alone often for days on end without a face-to-face conversation with someone I love. Except Charlie, of course, and he’s not a great conversationalist, to say the least! Once again it seems my life has been completely stripped of purpose and meaning, and once again it is due to events over which I have absolutely no control.

Today, after Mass – the one time I can at least count on talking to people, touching and hugging and laughing and smiling with friends -- I called Karl to see if he and Jesse were coming to visit. He had too many things to take care of. It feels as though I don’t matter. We’ve had this conversation before, but I don’t want to go there again. I don’t want to GUILT him into seeing me. I don’t want him to see it as a duty. But at the same time, I am deeply disappointed.

So I took Charlie out for a long walk, where it seemed that everyone was walking with friends or family, spouse/partners or children. After my walk I did a little grocery shopping – something I do much less of since Karl and Jesse are seldom here, one of those little benefits. Partly I just needed to be with people, but all the people were again parts of families or couples and I’m sure I was invisible or at least inconsequential.

It hasn’t escaped me that 10 or 15 years ago I would have loved having a weekend in solitude. But like anything else, too much of a good thing becomes a really bad thing. And it’s not that I mind my own company; I think I’m pretty great company in small doses. I think perhaps it’s mostly my perspective. This being alone stuff is painful because I never expected this is how I would spend my life. It doesn’t fit in with my plan. I was supposed to be retired with my husband, doing great things together. After he was killed, I was supposed to find someone wonderful to share my life with. Besides Charlie.

Many people I know are struggling with challenges these days. Many people are looking for work and incredibly frustrated – and afraid -- that nothing seems to be available that matches their skills or experience. I have been there myself, years of trying to find a job in my career path with little luck. I have experienced my husband’s pain in trying to find work to support his family, again for several years. There were years when I worried we would lose our house or suffer similar financial setbacks. But I always had faith that we would be okay, even if we had to live in our car, because we would have each other, we would still be a family, and that was what mattered most. In retrospect, I didn't appreciate how fortunate and blessed I was then.

Now, I have a regular stream of income, primarily from John’s retirement, but I have no family to share my life with on an ongoing basis, no one special to be with. I think if I had to choose, I would take those days of fighting through as a family and knowing I was loved and valued rather than my current life of just figuring out how to make it through the next long, lonely, pointless day.

And so I find myself asking God on a daily basis for some kind of relief, some glimmer of hope that I will not have to spend the rest of my life alone and lonely and irrelevant. But I also pray that if that is my role for the next 20 or 30 years, or however long I have left on this earth, that I am able to find some acceptance, joy and peace in this life I have found myself living, that I find purpose and meaning and ways to make a difference.

Unfinished Symphonies

2011-03-04T14:22:00.000-08:00

"In the torment of the insufficiency of everything attainable we eventually learn that here, in this life, all symphonies remain unfinished." -- Karl Rahner, SJ

I know I've already posted today, but you take inspiration where and when it comes and those "aha" moments should be captured and maybe even shared. It came this afternoon as I was walking Charlie. We often see Canada geese as we walk in my neighborhood, which is fairly close to the confluence of the Clackamas and Willamette rivers. I have always loved them and use a drawing of one as my logo; perhaps they are my totem. I love that they are "community," that they mate for life, that they're really kind of pretty and, maybe most of all, that they sing continually, even if they don't have the most melodious song. I never fail to stop and just watch as a flock flies overhead.

Today, gazing on the numerous flocks of geese flying over our heads, I thought about a video a friend had posted on Facebook that I had watched earlier. It was of someone scuba diving off the coast of Kauai and in the background, amid the turtles and trigger fish, you could hear the songs of humpback whales. Thinking about the song of the whales and the call of the geese connected me to that Karl Rahner quote.

The geese, the whales, other birds, the wind in the trees, the rivers bubbling and singing over rapids -- all of these things, I realized this morning, are part of the unfinished symphony: a symphony of praise and thanksgiving to our Creator that is meant to go on and on forever. The geese pass their songs on to the goslings; the whales to their calves. I don't know if they actually teach these songs to their young or if it is inherent in them, part of their spirit. I think perhaps the latter is true.

We, too, have our own songs inherent in us, created and formed in us before we were born. And our songs are all part of the symphony of all of creation. Being a singer myself and having sung in my church choir for a number of years, I can easily slip into song at any little suggestion. One song springs to mind that has long been used in Catholic liturgies: Marty Haugen's Canticle of the Sun: The heavens are telling the glory of God, and all creation is shouting for joy . . . sing, sing to the glory of the Lord." This doesn't list a biblical citation but I suspect it is based on Psalm 19: "How clearly the sky reveals God's glory! How plainly it shows what he has done!"

Somehow this morning I felt comforted knowing that we are all part of this unfinished symphony, that we are all called to go on singing our songs, knowing we will never hear the ending -- at least not in this life -- but it is up to us to keep carrying the tune for others to continue after we are gone. If I didn't feel connected to others, nature, all of creation before, I certainly do now.

So get out there and sing your song, whether you think it's beautiful or worth listening to doesn't matter. God loves your part of the music of life.

Touching God Through the Homeless

2011-03-04T12:30:00.000-08:00

Yesterday morning I spent time with a group of homeless women and some of the volunteers who work with them at the day center that provides meals, clothing, classes, activities to bring a little joy, light, hope, safety and companionship into their lives. Some of the women have a book club and are currently reading and discussing my book, 42 States of Grace. These women ranged in age, education and ability and it was touching to hear the wisdom some were able to share. But they don’t consider themselves wise or gifted in any way. Most have been told far too many times that they have little or no worth or value.

We tend to put homeless people – along with a lot of other people we come into contact with and judge on surface information – in a tiny box. They are addicts or alcoholics, they have no education, they are mentally ill, or they are just pain lazy or irresponsible. Those are often the descriptors we use when we encounter the homeless. Some of them are true but not for everyone who is homeless, and even if true, that doesn’t mean they are throw-away people. They deserve our respect and consideration. But you often don't realize that until you spend time with a few people on the margins of our society.

Sometimes people just hit a really bad patch that leads to a downward spiral. Or it could be the result of one or two bad choices. Any number of things could throw people off track and out of their homes.

I know from personal experience that if you lose a job, it can be a Herculean task to try to find another, especially in a bad economy like we have now. The longer you are unemployed, the more rusty your skills become, the more dispirited and even depressed you can become, making it far more difficult to find work. Keeping positive in the face of continuing rejection is very daunting even for people with plenty of tools and support. Many of these women have little of either.

I know from personal experience that devastating medical bills can happen literally overnight, and if you are uninsured or you reach your insurance limits, your financial health is severely threatened, especially if the medical condition impacts your ability to work. Most of the bankruptcies in this country, I am told, result from uncovered medical expenses.

I know from personal experience that losing a spouse can push you into a mind-frame in which you make poor decisions, either from stress or from not having a partner to mull the decisions over with. I’ve made plenty of really bad financial decisions in the past seven years, and other decisions that I would not have been faced with at all if John were still alive.

One of the women I spoke with had her college degree and work experience in her professional field, but circumstances on her job made it impossible for her to stay; and she has subsequently spiraled down financially and emotionally to the point of becoming homeless. I have met women who were studying for a professional career but the stress of studying and working and/or raising a family was so overwhelming they sought “help” in controlled substances or alcohol.

Members of my own middle-class biological family have been faced with the challenges of spouses and/or children addicted to drugs or alcohol. It is a painful and helpless situation.

I think it is only in spending time with people we tend to put in boxes that we are able to see the individuals and the gifts they are. It is in hearing their stories that we are able to understand, have compassion, and be open to the goodness and lovability of all humans.

One of the often-proclaimed but usually-ignored calls of the Christian faith is to follow Jesus’ lead of being with the poor, the people on the margins. We are called not only to give a couple bucks to the Salvation Army or our used clothing to Good Will and consider we have done our duty, but to actually be present to, in companionship with, those who are hurting. It is in learning on a more intimate level the struggles and challenges of the poor and coming to know them as people that we are able to have true compassion, respect and love for others. It is very often we who are most blessed in this endeavor by letting go of prejudices and becoming more attuned to all of creation and, thus, becoming more in touch with God.

So I give thanks for the opportunity to meet and share with these women. I hope I gave them as much inspiration as they gave me.

It's All About You

2011-02-20T15:31:00.001-08:00

This morning I’ve been reflecting on my last blog post and especially the wisdom from Mother Teresa: “In the final analysis, it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway.”

So often we are consumed – at least I am – with thinking about what others do or say or think. We compare ourselves to others, what they have achieved or where they have failed -- in our opinions. We judge others, usually without benefit of full knowledge of them and their circumstances. We measure our worth by how we think the world views us. We imagine slights and offense where none may have been intended, and then we react unkindly – toward ourselves and them. How many times, in just the last few weeks, have I been incredibly judgmental of myself because of how I thought someone else was disrespecting me! So much of how I view myself is based on outside influences and how I react to them.

But ultimately, it is how kindly and lovingly we view ourselves and the world that matters. It is not the number of people who love me or are kind to me, respect me or appreciate me, not how many people invite me to their parties, or pick me for their team, or even how many people will show up at my funeral when I die: these are artificial measurements that only make our egos feel better. Truth lies in understanding and accepting that what other people do and how they treat me and others has nothing to do with me and everything to do with them. My perceptions and resulting self-talk are the only things that I can control.

The true measure of my lovability – my ability to love – is how well I love others, the kindness, respect and appreciation I have for them, regardless of the way they treat me. What they do is their business, not mine. It is not my place to punish or change or train them. How I respond to things in my life over which I have no control shows my true depth of spirituality, my willingness to love and accept that I am worthy of love. It is me making the right, loving choices for me, irrespective of the choices others make. It is learning to withhold judgment, learning to let go of little things that feel hurtful, loving people anyway and doing what I am meant to do with my life – that will make me authentic and whole and help me fulfill my purpose.

I create my own Hell on earth by judging myself and allowing others’ judgments of me – real or perceived – to break my heart. That is what brings me pain and estrangement – from others and from God. And Hell is the ultimate estrangement from God. I think it’s something we all do to ourselves; it is not God casting us into a fiery pit of despair: we cast ourselves there.

It’s okay to have feelings, to be a little angry or a little hurt or sad. Jesus got angry at people. He was, after all, human, and subject to all human emotions. There are many places in the Gospels where he got frustrated and vexed, was sad or disappointed in people, even those he loved most. But he didn’t stop loving them because they let him down. He never gave up on them, never stopped trying to help them understand what he was all about and how much they were loved by a God consumed with love, not anger, not retribution.

We don’t have to earn love – it is always there for us. We can choose to accept that love and appreciate it, or we can question and doubt our worthiness. God loves me in spite of my own occasional bouts of self-doubt or even self-loathing. But I think those sadden God. Have you ever loved someone who just can’t see the good in themselves and, consequently make self-destructive choices? It’s so frustrating!

So the second Valentine’s gift I am giving myself this month is the acceptance that I am loved regardless of stories I tell myself. Every time I look in the mirror for the rest of this month I will remind myself: No one knows you as well as God knows you. You are beloved and worthy of great love because you are the object of the greatest love there is, you are desired deeply because of who you are – a daughter of God. You are exactly who and what God made you to be, and that is sufficient.

Love Them Anyway

2011-02-14T09:31:00.000-08:00

Well, the saying No Good Deed Goes Unpunished hit home this weekend. Trying to be nice, I ended up getting a metaphorical slap in the face. When you do nice things for someone who takes way more than you offered, it makes you wonder why you bother trying to be a decent person. At least to some people. At my core I am a kind, compassionate, loving person. Even when people have hurt me over and over with betrayal, sometimes it's hard for me to just give up on them.

Much of yesterday I wrestled with my hurt and anger about this one person. But in that process I shared my pain with three other friends who were loving, kind, compassionate and supportive to me. That reminds me to focus on those many positive people in my life and let go of the few who drag me down consistently. It is not my job to get everyone I know to appreciate me or love me, no matter how much I want them to. I don't have the ability to force people to see the good in me if they are blind to it.

A friend posted on her blog (http://ahalifedesign.com/) a suggestion for Valentines Day:

VALENTINE CHALLENGE: Each day for the next two weeks be Your Own Valentine. Do something special for yourself, something that is an expression of self-love in one way or another. This something can be big, or it can be very small. Enjoy!

I think today's gift to myself will be letting this person go who has been in my life in various ways -- loving as well as very hurtful and hard -- for more than seven years. The hurtful thing he did to me this weekend was pretty minor in comparison to some of the things that I've put up with during our years of on-again, off-again friendship, but it was the tipping point. So today I give myself permission to let him go and accept that we will never really be friends. And accept that I have done everything possible to save this friendship but he has done next to nothing. So someone I wanted to be a friend but who never really was is now merely an acquaintance. Today I will appreciate and be grateful for the 99 percent of people who love me, think highly of me and are good to me, who truly are my friends, and ignore the 1 percent who just use me, who don't appreciate the person I am, only what I can do for them.

I have been thinking about Mother Teresa's quote below, which may be a restatement of Kent Keith's Paradoxical Commandments -- it's not clear who came up with this first. But based on the content, I doubt either would expect credit. Perhaps they, too, subscribed to the understanding that all expectations are disappointments waiting to happen. Better to just do what is the right thing for me to do, be true and authentic to myself, and not hold out hope for any kind of outcome or recognition, beyond what I give myself. I especially like that last line:

People are often unreasonable, irrational, and self-centered. Forgive them anyway.

If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives. Be kind anyway.

If you are successful, you will win some unfaithful friends and some genuine enemies. Succeed anyway.

If you are honest and sincere people may deceive you. Be honest and sincere anyway.

What you spend years creating, others could destroy overnight. Create anyway.

If you find serenity and happiness, some may be jealous. Be happy anyway.

The good you do today, will often be forgotten. Do good anyway.

Give the best you have, and it will never be enough. Give your best anyway.

In the final analysis, it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway.

A Valentine's Message: You Are Loved and Lovable

2011-02-12T16:55:00.000-08:00

On Friday I visited a Portland-areabook club to talk about my book, “42 States of Grace.” These are older womenwho have been meeting together for a number of years and have become acommunity for each other. Many of them are widows themselves. The book elicited remembrances ofjourneys these women had taken with their husbands and families in years past.It is rewarding for me to see how my book touches people in different walks oflife and to hear some of their stories. We all have stories and, at least thoseof us over 50, have all accumulated some wisdom.

One of the women is a Franciscannun and a spiritual director who has ministered in Guatemala and Africa to thepoorest of the poor. I have taken several classes from and with her and she hascontributed greatly to my own spiritual journey. Sr. Mary is a darling Irishwoman with a lovely, lilting accent. I love her spirit and her spirituality.

I am so touched and gratified whenpeople like Mary and some of my other deeply spiritual friends who have taughtme so much by their own lives speak glowingly about the book and the spiritualmessages it contains. Several long-time spiritual directors who have read thebook have recommended it to others. I was pleasantly surprised at theconference I attended last month to hear Richard Rohr, Edwina Gateley andRonald Rolhesier make statements mirroring things I wrote in the book or havewritten in my blog posts.

During our discussion Friday, anintriguing question surfaced. Sr. Mary works with a transitional housingfacility for chronically homeless women. Many of these women have lived inabusive families and/or abusive relationships. She is leading a book discussion group there made up ofthese women who are also currently reading and discussing my book. In the course of their most recentconversation, mostly – at this point – regarding the quotes I had selected tobegin each chapter, one woman asked: Is everyone lovable? This apparently led to quite adiscussion from women who had experienced monstrous people, cruel andcold. How could there possibly beanything to love in these people. I will be meeting with these women next month so am hoping to find somekind of reassuring, comforting, compassionate answer that goes beyondplatitudes.

I thought about this question assome of the women on Friday made their attempts to answer it. One womanmentioned that no matter how monstrous, if God loves them, we should be ableto. Another suggested that once they were innocent children too, and lovable. I pointed out that many people becomemonsters because they were treated in unimaginable ways as children. Anotherwoman suggested many of these people may have undiagnosed mental illnesses.

Last night this was in the back ofmy mind as I was reading Awakenings by Thomas Keating before going tosleep. Keating’s reflectionson Christmas spoke to this question, at least for me. Through the Incarnation,he writes, “God has become one of us and is breathing our air. In Jesus, God’s heartis beating; his eyes are seeing; his hands are touching; his ears are hearing.. . . By becoming a human being, he is in the heart of all creation and inevery part of it. . . .Every human person, by virtue of the Incarnation, isChrist.”

Based on this understanding ofGod-made-man and God-in-us, yes, every human being, at their very core, islovable and valued. Often thethings we humans do are distinctly NOT lovable. This is because our free willallows us to tune out that part of us that should be connecting to God. And Ithink sometimes this is because of our own deep woundedness and need that wehave no idea how to fill.

Accepting that we are all lovableis one of our greatest tasks, and I think once we even can grasp that truth, webegin transformation.

Two more wonderful quotes toconsider:

"Your task is not to seek forlove, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that youhave built against it." – Mawlana Jalal-al-Din Rumi

"It is intriguing to speculate thatJesus’ fundamental saving act may have been not dying on the cross but ratheraccepting God’s love as much as it is humanly possible to do. Then thefollowing of Christ might mean not so much doing heroic deeds, or even wantingto love as Jesus loves, but much more fundamentally desiring to let oneself beloved as much as Jesus was and is loved. Perhaps the world will be saved whenthere is a critical mass of people who deeply believe and experience how muchGod loves them." -- William Barry, SJ

Reflect on these and accept thatyou and all humans, along with all of creation, are inherently lovable becausethat is how God made us.

Rainbows Still Promise Reconciliation

2011-02-07T15:13:00.000-08:00

Of course, this wasn't this morning's rainbow; I don't walk near Niagara Falls!

It is a spring-like day in Portland, fairly warm with sun breaks and rain showers. When Charlie and I left this morning to drive to the park we sometimes walk in, there was a large patch of blue sky overhead surrounded by dark clouds. I thought we might get a walk in before the rain hit. But as we arrived at the park, it was sprinkling a little. I put my hood up and Charlie and I headed out. It could have gotten very wet, given the clouds, but it was just a light drizzle.

We often encounter a number of people on this walk, many with dogs. Today we met a couple with an Airedale and an elderly beagle just leaving, and at one point two young women jogged past us. Otherwise we had the park to ourselves so I let Charlie run off-leash.

Before we finished the first loop of our walk, the sun was back out, shining through the light rain. I glanced off towards the dark clouds in the north and saw a large, brilliant rainbow shining in the gloom. This felt like a positive sign, reconciliation and forgiveness, a gift of promise after a tough weekend dealing with some emotional pain. That often happens before I make a breakthrough to a new level in my spiritual journey.

I have been toying with the idea of doing some training to become certified as a spiritual director. I’m pretty sure I am going to do this, at least see where it takes me. Perhaps that discernment was in the back of my mind as I was struggling with some other things Saturday night and most of Sunday. I won’t take you into the depths of the Hell I had descended into; I wouldn’t want to invite friends to such an ugly place. But part of this, I think, was a reluctance to believe I could help anyone else in their spiritual journey or that I have anything useful or valuable to share with the world. This is some of that sin I talked about in the last post: an unwillingness to accept that God could possibly love me. Oh how I limit God!!

Then last night I read a reflection on Jesus’ invitation to Matthew to come follow him. Matthew, a tax collector who hung out with all manner of disreputable characters, was considered a sinful man. But he was willing to believe that Jesus saw something worthy in him, and he immediately threw in his lot with this teacher. This was an important reminder to me that God calls all of us, at different times, in different ways, and it takes courage and faith to trust and follow that call.

The rainbow this morning reminded me that we all have storms and dark days in our lives. But they end; no one has only good days or only bad days. The rainbow is a kind of bridge between the rain and the sun, creating beauty that can take our breath away. I’ve commented before about sunsets: the last rays of the sun reflecting on disorder – pollution, dust, smoke – in the evening sky often brings amazing sunsets. God can create great beauty out of the least likely things; and so God can also use the least likely of people as instruments if they are willing.

It also occurred to me, as Charlie and I finished our walk in the sunshine and saw a number of other walkers arriving at the parking lot, that because we had been willing to brave the rain, the stormy weather, we had been blessed to see a rainbow that others might have missed because they waited until after the rain quit. So I’m hoping that my willingness to wrestle with my hard times, my loneliness, my feelings of failure will be similarly rewarded. I trust God will forgive my frustration and anger and my unwillingness to believe God knows what God is doing in loving me and wanting me. I take that rainbow as a sign of forgiveness and a celebration of moving past the storm and back into the sunlight.

Oh Sinner Woman, Where You Gonna Run to?

2011-02-04T11:19:00.000-08:00

Last night before turning out my light I was reading from one of my many spiritual books, “Awakenings” by Thomas Keating, considered by many to be the father of modern centering or contemplative prayer. He was reflecting on Luke 7:36-50, the story of the “sinful woman” who bathed Jesus’ feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair. Jesus explained to his Pharisee host, who had provided none of the customary courtesies, that he or she who sins greatly and is forgiven is more appreciative than one who thinks they sin little. One who is forgiven much has greater love for the one who forgives them. It was a way of reminding the Pharisee that even though he considered himself upright, righteous, correct and pretty much free from sin, there were dark places he refused to go into and so would never find healing and forgiveness.

As I drifted off to sleep I thought about myself in my 20s, 30s, and 40s when I believed I was a good and righteous person who never broke any of the rules and always lived what I considered to be within the laws and bounds of being a good Christian. I was one of the upright people who looked down my nose at people who couldn’t seem to get their act together. I imagined others looked up to me. I was a Martha, to be sure, the older brother of the prodigal son, the workers who put in a full day and complained when the people who only worked an hour got the same wage. Yeah, I still go there sometimes.

Now at 60 I realize how much I had fooled myself then. Or maybe I’ve just gotten “badder” since then. Now, with greater wisdom, I can accept and acknowledge that I have many dark places, many sinful thoughts that often lead to sinful actions. I am filled with sin; it sometimes oozes out my pores. I’m not talking about morality issues here – which is where our minds automatically seem to go when we speak of sin. I have never killed anyone, or stolen anything, told any outrageous lies; I am not a particularly “loose” woman (I rarely have the chance to be, more’s the pity!). But my understanding of sin and darkness have changed significantly since I was young, in that first half of life when I thought I had everything figured out.

Thankfully I can also accept that I am human, very beloved not in spite of my humanness and failures but precisely because of them. Sin is part and parcel of being human, of having free will, and perfection is not in our gene pool. And I am in very good company: most of the saints and mystics talk about their own struggles with sin. But thankfully being lovable and loved unconditionally, being valued is also part of our heritage.

Richard Rohr says sinners are not “moral inferiors” but rather “people who do not know who they are and Whose they are, people who have no connection to their inherent dignity and importance.” I would add – as I’m sure he would approve of -- sinners are people who think they can save themselves by following rules. Rohr calls sin self-erected barriers that cut us off from God and therefore from our own authentic potential: “Fixations that prevent the energy of life, God’s love, from flowing freely.” So do I have fixations? Oh you betcha! And I know when I’m going there and I realize how damaging that is to me, to my relationships with others and most especially with God. But I do it anyway. I can’t seem to stop myself. Well, there I go, thinking I can “save” myself; it’s those times I really must – and usually do – turn to God for comfort and love. But I also have many wise friends I can turn to, as well.

I have toyed recently with the idea of our egos being Original Sin; it seems to be the source of so much of my own sin: my pride, envy, self-righteousness. It is our ego that insists on our moral superiority, that causes us to compare and judge to satisfy that hungry beast. Hmmm, wonder if those are the beasts Jesus sometimes referred to, lions or wolves waiting to devour us. Maybe he was talking about our own dark or shadow sides, the side that is unwilling to let go and let God. My spiritual director reminds me that our egos are part of us, an essential gift to help us through life. However, they can get out of control, overly fed perhaps and become gluttons, and it is then that we want to be gentle and kind to our ego, put it on a bit of a diet with healthier stuff, and help it not be so insecure and needy. It is then that we need to love ourselves and allow ourselves to be loved by God and others.

The journey continues and I have been thinking with all the struggles I’ve had with my own spiritual growth, getting on with my own further journey, perhaps I could someday help others negotiate the wasteland and find the oasis on the other side. (Not that I have yet, at least I don’t live there all the time, but if I were there all the time I probably wouldn’t appreciate it as much as when I return there from time to time. And I think out in the desert is where we learn and grow.) Yesterday, at the recommendation of a dear friend, I had a conference with a man who trains spiritual directors. I am strongly inclined to do this and he was very supportive and encouraging. It was so affirming and yet I know that affirmation appeals to the very ego that so often gets me into trouble. So there will be a little more discerning as to whether spiritual direction of others is a true path on which I am led. But right now it feels like a path on my journey that wasn’t there before. Sometimes those new, intriguing paths are there for a very good reason.

Second Thoughts on Life

2011-01-31T10:45:00.000-08:00

It is Monday, the last day of January, 2011. Another month of my life is gone and I’m not sure I have much to show for it. It doesn’t feel like I’m accomplishing much, doing really anything of consequence. Friday night I had a long, wonderful conversation with a friend who is nearly 20 years younger than me. She was sharing some of the exciting events in her life and the dreams and goals she has for future accomplishments. She’s already accomplished much more in her short life than I have. I felt a longing for excitement and doing important things in my own life. But it was only momentary. I was able to be happy for her successes and cheer on her efforts but I realize that time of my life is past and I need to let go of trying to accomplish things.

This is first-half of life thinking and I am definitely moving into the second half of my life. I sometimes struggle to let those value judgments, those self-criticisms go. After a life-time of being productive, getting things done, having measurable accomplishments, fulfilling the needs of others, just being has got to be some of the most challenging work there is. I have few outside forces congratulating me or directing me or encouraging me. No one is telling me: “This is where you need to go next.” At this point my life feels like a wide, unmapped road and I have no idea where it might be going. This is unsettling. And it feels like a pretty lonely road sometimes. Most of my friends are still doing important work and very busy with their lives and careers.

The conference I attended in Albuquerque the weekend before this last one focused on this time of life: the second half. In notes I took during Richar Rohr’s introductory talk, he explained that the first half of life (according to Carl Jung) is the search for security, reproduction, survival. It is driven by the ego. It is a time for accomplishing the task we think is our main task , “me doing the work to save myself.” It is a necessary time to learn impulse control, but it is not the whole journey. At some point you begin to lay that burden down.

The second half of life, Rohr said, is the task within the task, the sacred dance and learning to let God lead that dance. If the first half of life is to learn to follow the Ten Commandments, the second half is to learn to follow the Beatitudes, to learn to be in union with God. I was struck at the synchronicity of having the Beatitudes as the Gospel at this past Sunday’s Mass.

It is good this morning to sit with those ideas and thoughts and accept the value of just being, just being present and aware, being grateful and accepting the gift of having this time.

This past Saturday I was invited to do a book reading/signing that my sister-in-law Brenda had set up in Olympia. We went to the home of her friend – a beautiful home on the shores of a lake. The hostess talked about seeing otters playing off her dock, of watching eagles and great horned owls. It wasn’t my dream “log cabin” on a lake, but it was a Northwest lodge style with massive timbers, a beautiful fireplace soaring up to the peak of the home.

I sighed as I gazed out the window and realized that much as I would love a place like this, it is not in my deck of cards. It will have to be enough for me to visit others who have such homes. And it is. Just seeing beauty doesn’t mean I have to own it. It is one of my second-half of life lessons: you can appreciate others’ blessings without feeling envious, without feeling disappointed that you can’t have what they have. I still struggle with that in the relationship department when I see other couples my age together, but I try to remember that I was blessed with 33 years of a good, solid, loving partnership.

It was a wonderful time of sharing my journey and my book “42 States of Grace” with other women – I think there were close to 20 there. I sold and signed a few more books, many of the women already had the book. One of the most touching moments was when my 28-year-old niece told me how proud she was of me, and what a role model I was for her and others. Much as I tell myself I shouldn’t need affirmation, it still feels really good to know you are making even the tiniest of differences for a few people.

Even these tiniest steps that feel insignificant to us can make a difference in a much bigger picture. It is a picture we will likely never get to see all of in our lifetimes, an ongoing story that we only have a very minor role in. As a reminder to myself, and all of you I found a couple of quotes I wanted to share that express this idea of all of us being a miniscule puzzle piece in a much more magnificent and amazing picture, but no matter how small, our piece of the puzzle is critical to helping complete and accomplish the entire work.

It helps, now and then, to step back and take a long view.
The Kingdom is not only beyond our efforts,
it is even beyond our vision.

We accomplish in our lifetime only a tiny fraction
of the magnificent enterprise that is God’s work.

Nothing we do is complete,
which is a way of saying that the Kingdom always lies beyond us.

This is what we are about.
We plant the seeds that one day will grow.
We water seeds already planted,
knowing that they hold future promise.
We lay foundations that will need further development.
We provide yeast that produces effects far beyond our capabilities.

We cannot do everything,
and there is a sense of liberation in realizing that.
This enables us to do something,
and to do it very well.

It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning, a step along the way,
an opportunity for the Lord’s grace to enter and do the rest.

We may never see the end results,
but that is the difference between the master builder and the worker.
We are workers, not master builders;
ministers, not messiahs.
We are prophets of a future that is not our own. Amen. – Archbishop Oscar Romero

“In the torment of the insufficiency of everything attainable we eventually learn that here, in this life, all symphonies remain unfinished” -- Karl Rahner, SJ

Golden Thoughts from Charlie

2011-01-10T17:07:00.000-08:00

A couple years ago, when I was in the midst of a writing dry spell I let Charlie “write” a blog post, and apparently he got the blogging bug. A friend who spent several hours with Charlie this morning suggested when I picked him up that she thought Charlie might have something he wanted to “say” through the blog, and so once again I am letting Charlie woof his mind. So, without further ado, Charlie’s thoughts for today:

What a lucky dog I am -- sleeping on the couch and sharing my life with Spiderman!

Me and my boy Jesse cuddling

I am so glad I am a dog; after nearly nine years of living with them, I’ve come to the conclusion that being a human must be exhausting.

First of all, I can cheerfully accept that I don’t have very much control, except for those all-too-rare times when I can get on the same wavelength as my “mom” and get her to understand what I want. Even when I am able to communicate to her how badly I long for a walk, or to be petted/loved, or a treat, she gets to decide whether and when it actually happens. Often she doesn’t have the time or it’s not necessarily good for me (like when I show her how much I want to help sample her cooking or clean up the leftovers after dinner and she gets impatient with me). I accept that she calls the shots, forgive her and just go lie down somewhere (like on the couch; she lets me do that – see how lucky I am?) and take a nap, and I continue to love her anyway, no matter what she decides. Deep down I know I can trust her to do what’s right for me.

And what wonderful walks I get to go on sometimes!

On the other hand, I have seen her get really upset or sad when things happen she doesn’t agree with or doesn’t like. For some reason my love and acceptance of her, just the way she is, don’t seem to be enough for her. She sometimes wants validation from other people and, when she doesn’t get that or believes she doesn’t, she imagines people either don’t like or respect her or even notice her. She sometimes seems to measure her value based on her perception of what other people think of her. Knowing how self-absorbed and complex all humans can be, this is really silly and, like I said, it must be exhausting!

Even as good as she is to me and as much as she loves me, I know sometimes she has bad days. If I measured my worth based on the times she scolds me for tearing up important papers, tracking in mud or stealing my boy Jesse’s food, I might be sad too. But I know enough to let those little hurts go and choose to focus on all the loving things she does for me and has done for me all my life. The walks she takes me on, the petting, when she talks to me and we cuddle, that really big long joy-ride we took in the motor home – those are the things I think about and focus on, and they help me remember how much I am loved.

Besides that, I know I am a dog. I am proud to be a dog – especially a golden retriever! I know that mom loves me and that, really, pretty much everyone loves me. If a few people or dogs don’t, I’m okay with that too, because I have plenty of love in my life. And I know that the Creator, Father Dog, the Great Coyote (we all have different names for Him/Her), thinks I am perfect just exactly the way I am because that’s how He made me. I don’t need to do anything to earn love; really, it’s all over out there. Love is in the tall grass I like to run through that gets burrs and seeds in my coat. It’s in the water I like to wade and swim in and even the rain puddles I splash through. It’s in the mud I roll in, the smells I sniff on my walks. Love is in my boy Jesse, his dad Karl, my friend Tom and all the rest of my family and friends and their dogs. Love is even in the squirrels I get to chase. It’s in the rain and the sun, certainly in my food and occasional treats. It’s just everywhere; I don’t even have to go look for it like I do the old bones I buried last summer.

Of course, I know I’m a lucky dog. I have a loving family, a warm home, enough food; many dogs aren’t as fortunate as I am. And I always remember to be thankful for that; I know I don’t have to do anything to earn or deserve it. It is all goodness and gift that just comes to me. Sometimes mom forgets how blessed she is. After all, she has me and I love her always, no matter what. But I’m not the only one who loves her. I wonder why I – a dog -- can accept that I am lovable and that all creation is steeped in love, and she has such a hard time remembering how lovable and beloved she is.

Why is it so many humans think they have to work to earn love or that they don’t deserve love when just the very fact that they, like me, were created by a loving Creator makes them inherently lovable? Their lives would be so much simpler and filled with joy if they could all just accept that, learn to love themselves – their good parts and their not so good -- and love each other. Maybe if they all learned how to love as much as golden retrievers – okay ALL dogs – do, they wouldn’t have to be so violent and end up hurting and killing each other and even sometimes themselves.

So now I think it’s time to go rest my head on mom’s lap, remind her I love her and see if I can get her to scratch my ears. – Charlie

The Never-ending Journey

2011-01-05T11:00:00.000-08:00

This morning I lay snuggled under my cozy down comforter and, as I often do in the morning, I was busy thinking. (I LOVE not having to “punch a time clock” and the fact that, these days, lying in bed thinking qualifies as my work.) My mind wanders to strange places in these times of half-dream, half-wakefulness.

Today I was reflecting on a disparaging comment a reader made recently regarding one of the characters in my book. I am dismayed – a little guilty, maybe? -- that a couple of people who have read the book have had negative reactions to characters who were in my life during my travels. I didn’t include them in the book out of spite but rather as an integral part of my journey of discovering myself. It was never my intent to make them look like villains, as they apparently do to some readers. Of course, I accept that what other people think and how they react is completely beyond my control.

As I mused on this issue I consoled myself with a reminder that every good story needs an antagonist to counter the protagonist. Of course the protagonist would be me, spunky little widow. The antagonists might include Lance, Troy and Keith, the men who, for various reasons, did not become my Filipe (Elizabeth Gilbert’s Prince Charming in Eat Pray Love). There has to be tension in a story, difficulties to overcome; even for a true story to be interesting there must be challenges.

But as I lay there thinking, I realized these guys were not antagonists. The definition of an antagonist is one who opposes another, an adversary or enemy, someone hostile to the protagonist’s attempt to accomplish her goals.

Lance was an impetus to doing the journey, along with a variety of other factors. He was never an antagonist.

Keith was along for the ride at my invitation, and while sparks flew between us – both negative and positive – and I ended the journey for his sake, he was never an impediment. He supported my journey early on and was one of my cheerleaders. In fact, he helped me go back out and continue the journey, though in truth his presence affected my interior journey a great deal. Still, I learned much from this relationship.

Troy was possibly the closest thing to an antagonist in that he tried to talk me out of going and in subtle ways showed he didn’t fully support my journey. However, he never overtly stood in my way.

So was there really an antagonist in my story? Of course, and she was me. My antagonist was my own woundedness, my discomfort and sense of shame in being alone, my unworthiness and lack, and my willingness to capitulate to those feelings and fears. My antagonist listened to the people who questioned whether what I was doing had value – some of those voices were my own. She sometimes failed to trust that inner voice that came from my heart and God’s heart. It was I who invited Keith and others along on parts of the journey, perhaps not trusting my own strength and courage enough.

Ultimately I think we are all our own antagonists. We are usually the ones who hold ourselves back. Our fears and insecurities and doubts are what keep us tied to old beliefs and ways of being. Sir Edmund Hillary, who with his Nepalese guide became the first known people to reach the 29,0928-foot summit of Mt. Everest in 1953, said: “It is not the mountain we conquer but ourselves.” It is a reminder that we must learn to trust ourselves, our own deep inner voice, and ignore those unkind voices, even when they are our own.

My journey didn’t meet all of my expectations, and it may not always meet the expectations of others when they read about it. But it was my journey, and I learned a great deal about myself and others. I grew in wisdom and grace. It is an ongoing journey and revelations and epiphanies continue to come to me. And the graces continue and it is my hope that they extend out to others, as well.

Sharing Inspiration

2011-01-03T16:18:00.000-08:00

Today I have been reading some of my recent blogs trying to imagine how it might sound to people who don’t know me. (Assuming anyone reads it, which I really have no way of gauging, though I know a few people do follow it.)

A little whiny was one reaction that leapt immediately into my mind. But also open and still (always?) seeking. Maybe if I were contented and complacent, satisfied with myself and my life, I wouldn’t be seeking. Assuming “discontented” means restless longing, as I have seen it defined, I’ll admit that describes me more, and I actually see that as a grace. It doesn’t mean I can’t be happy or joyful, it just means I believe there is more and I want to find that.

It also occurs to me (not for the first time) how often I am inspired by nature, by being out in creation. Walking somehow seems to engage my brain – or perhaps just free it up to roam open meadows and flow with the streams I sometimes walk near.

Today, for instance, as I was walking Charlie on one of our favorite trails adjacent to the Clackamas River, a bald eagle flew directly over us, not 20 feet above us. It had apparently been fishing in the nearby lagoon. I watched as it flew slowly through a clear blue sky and weak winter sun and threaded its way through the trees, a soul-stirring experience. Perhaps it has a nest nearby. I have seen osprey here often and caught glimpses of eagles before. This time there was no doubt.

There were other people in the vicinity, but they were too involved with their tasks to pay attention: looking down, not up. They perhaps haven’t read Mary Oliver’s “Instructions for living a life: Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.” I was astonished, and felt blessed by the experience. It seemed, on this first Monday of a new year, like a wonderful sign of promise and hope, especially given how threatened bald eagles were just a few years ago.

But, back to my blog and why I wanted to see how it sounds to others: This weekend I sent an invitation to a number of women to participate in the next book I hope to publish this coming summer. My blog and “42 States of Grace” are my examples of what I would likely share as my own reflection in this new book. It is not yet titled, and may not be for awhile, but it will be a collection of essays/reflections, perhaps poetry, written by women in mid-life and beyond who, because of their life experiences, have a deep wisdom to share. These are not famous women, but ordinary women, living their lives as fully and truthfully as they can, dealing with life's disappointments and crushing blows, but seeing the beauty and gift of life in spite of its challenges.

Each of the women I have invited has faced some kind of loss, serious illness or other life crisis that has helped her come to know herself more fully, to accept herself and others as human and lovable. Each of these women has, I believe, spiritual truths based on her own experience of the Creator. Often this knowing is a result of the seeking that followed her personal challenge. As Franciscan Father Richard Rohr writes, the path to transformation is either great suffering or great love, undoubtedly both.

I believe there are many women who have important things to pass on to others but who don't necessarily have a very large platform from which to share their wisdom. I hope by combining the reflections of these women, we can also combine our platforms, our circles of influence, and provide a wider audience than any of us could alone -- a multiplication factor, kind of like Jesus' multiplying the loaves and fishes to feed the hungry. I think there are many who hunger for the kind of healing wisdom we could share.

This collaboration of wise women would focus on Life, Love, Loss, Making the Most of Your Life, Living in Joy, the Gift of Experience, On Being Spiritual Creatures. It would include essays dealing with important lessons we have learned about living fully, what things we hold onto and what things we have learned to let go of, what are OUR truths. It would include reflections that are wise, witty, pithy, meaningful, poignant and true. These reflections would be meant to help other women who struggle with similar life challenges and to share our hard-earned wisdom with younger women.

So far I am surprised and touched by the overwhelmingly positive response. As I told one of the women, it’s a little scary and I will have to put on my Big Girl clothes, show up and be ready to work hard to bring this together. I asked for a purpose, a challenge, and looks like I’m getting one.

But this morning seeing the eagle seemed very reassuring and comforting, helping me believe in myself and that anything is possible.

Letting Go Takes Courage, Strength, Grit

2010-12-29T10:49:00.000-08:00

Yesterday evening I spent several hours visiting with dear friends. It amazes me to realize I didn’t even know this couple three years ago; I first met Mike in the late spring of 2008, just after returning from my year of travel, and got to know him better through our joint work on a council that he chaired. Through Mike I got to know Janet. They are wonderful people and I decided to invite myself over, using a nice pinot noir as the bait.

Two of their adult children and a daughter-in-law were there; one of their sons was a year or two behind my son at a Catholic high school where they played football together. There were also three large dogs present, including Charlie, which made for an exciting evening at times. Fortunately their cat was safely hidden away. (The last time we visited, Charlie was intent on finding her and ridding the house of an evil feline intruder. Unable to do that, he did the next best thing and raided her litter box. Yuck!)

It was, to use a very tired phrase, a dark and stormy night. The drive across town through rain was challenging and the drive home on the freeway no less so. But the warm friendship and stimulating conversation was so gratifying and well worth any nervous or confusing moments on the road. (“Where IS that road I need to turn on? Is this the right way? Why won’t that guy behind me back off? I can’t see a thing through this mist and rain!” and other whiny exclamations better left unshared here.)

As Janet prepared salad and ravioli, we all stood around their kitchen island (I admit to a bad case of kitchen envy!), sipping wine and munching on some appetizers I brought. Mike and Janet own a restaurant and are both excellent cooks so it is always a little intimidating to cook for them.

After dinner the younger adults left and Mike, Janet and I sat and talked while Charlie made the rounds getting pets and love. Janet remarked how impressed she was with my journey, but especially my selling or giving away nearly everything before the journey began. She said I was her hero, which of course embarrassed me tremendously, and I had to make a smart-ass response that was self-denigrating. I would have been better served and kinder to just thank her, instead of questioning her judgment in her choice of heroes. But I added that it was extremely freeing to be rid of all that “stuff,” though there were things I have come to regret parting with and sometimes go in search of, only to realize I no longer have them. Still, I have managed to get along well without most of it, though I have replaced a few things now that I have a house and room for things. I admitted that while I always wished I had a nice set of china, of crystal and other nice things, that will undoubtedly never happen. And dang, I’ll have a full and happy life anyway!

Later in the course of our conversation Mike mentioned the need for detachment. This morning, in ruminating over our conversation I realize getting rid of stuff is one small step towards detachment. Though difficult, it is much easier than giving up expectations, than holding on to desired outcomes, our need to be right, our need to feel important and valued. Often these define us more than our things, more than where we live, or what we drive, which I think are just a symptom of deeper desires to feel that we matter, that we are of consequence.

This fall I have struggled with the feelings of being rejected by people who matter to me, of being not chosen after offering myself for service. I beat myself up for having nothing of value, at least in their eyes, and it’s a dark and dismal place to go – even worse than that dark and stormy drive last night.

As I was walking Charlie the other day it occurred to me that perhaps this is because I have other work to do. Maybe God is telling me: Missy, there’s something else I want you to do and this committee you wanted to be on, this relationship you wanted, this job you were thinking of, they would be impediments to doing our work. They might make you feel useful and wanted and loved, but you don’t need others to make you feel that way. You ARE wanted and needed and loved, and incredibly useful just being you.

So that’s where the detachment gets tricky. Letting go of my desired outcomes, my needs for emotional fulfillment, my needs to feel important and valued. Basically, it’s letting go of what my ego tells me is necessary to be happy. I need to continue to pray that beautiful prayer of St. Ignatius: “Give me only Your love and Your grace; that is enough for me.”

Only God knows what lies in my future, but whatever it is I need to be open to it, ready to love it and be there, fully present to my own life. I just hope whatever is out there includes my many good and wise friends.

Reflections on Light and Love

2010-12-21T18:17:00.001-08:00

On this winter solstice day I am thinking about Christmas dreams and being human. Today is the day the earthly balance tips and days begin growing longer again, every so slowly, literally minute by minute. I did some rough figuring based on information I found for sunrises and sunsets in Portland, Oregon, and found that in six months we will have six-and-a-half hours more of sun. Add to that the many cloud-filled winter days when we don’t see the sun at all and it’s no wonder we get grumpy here in the Pacific Northwest!

As I write I am waiting for some of my family’s traditional cookies to bake. I will make another couple of batches before Friday and share them with the family and friends who join me for Christmas dinner. As usual, I spent way too much money on ingredients to make this a picture perfect Christmas. While I enjoy providing delicious foods for company, especially for special holidays, undoubtedly there are other things going on here.

Perhaps I’m trying to recreate family Christmases past, when my parents and husband were still alive. Of course, I’m viewing those days in the most rose-colored way possible. They weren’t storybook blissful, but I miss getting together with my brothers and sisters and their families around our parents’ huge dining table. My mother loved Christmas and there were always plenty of presents, homemade cookies and delicious food. To fill the void in my life a little, in addition to my son and grandson, I am expecting a friend who is a single mom and her three kids and their grandfather for dinner.

I want everything to be welcoming and delicious and as admirable as I can get it. I have to admit that is probably because I like to impress people and get a little emotional stroking to help myself feel more appreciated. There I go again, judging myself based on outside responses to me. I need to accept that my intrinsic value is already a given and not determined by how anyone else sees me. That’s true for each of us.

Still there is that desire to please others, bring joy to their lives. Kind of a Santa Claus complex: make everyone happy. Sorry, not possible. Just as I’m responsible for my sense of self-worth, I am responsible for only my own joy and happiness. I can be kind and generous, but ultimately it is up to each of us to be happy. What happens, for instance, if I shop all month for the perfect gift and it doesn’t bring joy to the receiver? I can choose to feel like a failure, or I can accept that I am a kind person who did my best and the receiver of my generosity chose not to appreciate my efforts. It’s a reflection of them more than me. Christmas can either be a test of who loves whom the most or a celebration of family and community and the most generous gift any of us could hope for: completely unconditional love from a most generous God.

Recently a friend who is battling cancer reflected on the loss of a mutual friend who lost her battle with cancer last week. She wrote: “She was a woman with a deep and quiet faith, and the journeys we have both been on in these last few months reminds me that for we who celebrate Christmas, its meaning is not about a God who rescues us from our pain and sorrow and loneliness, but about a God who is with us in all that we experience, the light and dark, joy and suffering, life and death.”

Our God isn’t Santa Claus and doesn’t fulfill our wishes and dreams. I think God plants those dreams within us, but it is ultimately up to us to discover them and achieve them. God doesn’t necessarily FIX things by waving a heavenly wand and sending trouble on its way and health and prosperity to us. Thinking that God will and should be there at our beck and call, like a magic genie, leaves us vulnerable to doubt. If God doesn’t grant my wish -- answer my prayer the way I want -- that might mean that either God doesn’t love me enough, God really isn’t all powerful, or maybe God doesn’t even exist. In the past I’ve tried to test God in this way and I’m not sure God likes tests any better than we do.

Instead God is present with us, comforting us, whispering how deeply loved we are, as we face our human challenges. God is more than a cheerleader; God understands the challenges because God became human in the person of Jesus, and experienced all the light and dark, the joy and suffering, and life and death we all must face at some point. This is a reminder to all of us as those we love struggle with difficult times. We are not necessarily here to rescue them, to fix things . . . but we can make things better by being companions on their journey, by being with them, and reminding them of how loved they are. Tidings of comfort and joy.

And this is what we celebrate at Christmas: that despite our human weakness and frailty, God loves us enough to be there for us always and in all ways. Even when the sun is scarce, as it is in Portland in mid-winter, God is faithful and God’s love always shines brightly for us.

Winter Math

2010-12-15T10:51:00.001-08:00

Winter Math: a few short walks between rainstorms, or no walks at all + no kayaking + holiday treats like cookies and Almond Roca + the hibernation syndrome of packing on a little weight to make it through the scarcity of winter = diet disasters.

Today I am grateful there was finally a nice long break in the torrentially rainy weather, and Charlie and I got to take one of our favorite walks along a paved trail that is adjacent to the Clackamas River.

The river is wide and full from all the rain; the rocky banks we often explore were covered with water. No swimming for Charlie today. It hurries on its way west to join the Willamette, itself hurrying north to join the Columbia. I thought rivers weren’t supposed to flow north, but rivers do what they will. Who am I to suggest otherwise?

The trees are bare, reaching naked branches starkly up into the pale blue sky carved and sculpted by snowy clouds. Without the leaves it is easier to see their form and shape. I wonder if there are growth patterns specific to different trees: the alder forming branches different from the vine maple. Truthfully, without their leaves I have a hard time knowing which is which. But again, the trees grow as their nature intends for them to, absent interference from humans, animals, storms or other threats.

The osprey family that I watched over the spring and summer is gone. The chicks have grown and gone their own way. I don’t know if osprey winter here or follow the ducks south.

A few of the Himalayan blackberries still sport red or golden leaves;, the Himalayan is an invasive species imported from Europe or Asia. Like the starling and English sparrow, these weeds have wreaked havoc with native species, usurping their territory, out-competing for resources needed to grow, pushing natives out of their own home. But I have to admit, as much as I hate their thorns and their pushy attitude, I love the taste of their summer berries. The birds and small animals do, as well.

Another non-native, wild clematis, catches my eye as we walk. From a distance it appears to be blossoming with little white blooms as it climbs up into a tree. I know these are its seedheads but am intrigued. On closer inspection I see the heart of the “flower” is several small black seeds that form a star shape. Attached to each seed is a gossamer angel wing (it is these that appear to be petals) that will help it fly to a patch of bare earth where it will send down roots and eventually form a new plant. I’m not sure when the vine will let go of these seeds; perhaps a finch or chickadee will find the seeds before they are released, and enjoy a Christmas feast.

These are hopeful reminders to me that God can take all our mistakes and badly-executed good intentions and create beauty and value from them.

Walking in nature with a little sunshine is good for my body but even better for my soul. It clears my mind of dark thoughts that accumulate with dark days. Filling my lungs with air and my mind with beauty always energizes me and makes me want to be a better person, to be the best me I can be, to – as the river and the trees – flow and grow in the directions I am mean to follow.

Star of Wonder

2010-12-13T16:13:00.000-08:00

Some people burst into our lives, bringing brightness, light, and, like Polaris – the North star – helping us find our true north. While many stars move with the seasons, Polaris is almost motionless, a fixed point above the North Pole, with other northern stars appearing to move around it. Because of its value for those who have navigated by the stars through the ages, Polaris is greatly esteemed and perhaps the most well known of all the stars.

But when I think about the heavens, I think about the millions – probably billions upon billions – of stars that together make such a breathtaking display on a clear December night. Polaris has been important as a guide, but how dull would the sky be if it were the only star, or if all the stars shone in equal brightness. Once again I am awed by the diversity God intentionally placed in our world.

Even within our own little constellations of life – our families, our faith communities, our neighborhoods -- there are people who serve as our Polaris: people whose wisdom and words are valued and often sought. I know people like that. They are beloved and respected and often stretched because of the great demands on their time. But I also know many people who are wise but are rarely asked to share their wisdom, maybe because their wisdom is shared in much more quiet ways. Perhaps they would be uncomfortable being viewed as a leader, a teacher, a spiritual guide. It makes me a little sad to know there are many whose gifts aren’t always appreciated or fully used or even recognized.

Today I lost a friend who was one of those quiet stars; rather than a bright and fiery star, she was a steadfast, quiet light. To my knowledge she never led others with words – she never made a speech or led a retreat or wrote a public reflection that I am aware of -- she led by just doing what needed to be done. She took care of the little things that made life easier for those around her.

About three years ago I joined a women’s spirituality group. Carolyn was always there, every second Saturday, to set up the chairs, to make coffee, to make sure our meeting space was open and welcoming. She took care of the finances and probably did much more than I ever realized. No doubt people – including me -- took her for granted, just accepting her quiet gifts of herself, her dedication to this group of women without realizing the graces she gave us. She always shared during our discussions but truthfully I didn’t know her that well, or know that much about her. She was clearly an intelligent and kind person and whatever she shared among the group was always a gift.

Carolyn had struggled with cancer which she shared a little with our group, though never in a self-pitying way. This fall she found the cancer had reoccurred and just this afternoon she passed away. And so a star has fallen, and the heavens are a little bit less beautiful because of the loss. It is a reminder to me to really get to know and appreciate people, to see their light. It is a reminder of the value of little, quiet ways of loving. And a call to live life fully while we have it, to touch others whenever we can, and tell them we love them and cherish them.

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

2010-12-13T14:21:00.001-08:00

“Christmas future is far away, Christmas past is past . . . “

This morning while running an errand I heard James Taylor on my car radio singing “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,” and listened to the lyrics. I’ve heard this song hundreds – maybe thousands – of times but this morning those opening lines really hit me.

Maybe because I spent yesterday afternoon and evening putting up a Christmas tree. When I sold most of my things to do my traveling in 2007, nearly all the Christmas ornaments I’d collected over the years were included. I kept only a few that had special meaning, primarily those John and I had collected together. Whenever we traveled we tried to get a Christmas ornament to remind us of the trip, a way to relive our experiences as a couple and a family every year.

So this morning JT got me to thinking about Christmas past. This is a really difficult time for me and for many people who have lost loved ones. My mother loved Christmas, and no matter how challenging our finances were (and there were years they were incredibly tight), mom always found ways to cover the floor under the tree with gifts. Of course, when the credit card bills came in January there were often fireworks between her and dad. But it was important for her to be generous and give her family memories of abundance and joy, of wishes fulfilled. I miss her presence in my life very much, even after 15 years, and especially at this time of year.

I have found the Christmas holidays even more challenging since John died. This is my eighth Christmas without him. There are many times I think of him, with sadness and longing, as little things pop up in my life that remind me of him, things we did together or of my status as a widow, as I see other married couples with their families gathered around them.

Decorating the tree with those ornaments we collected throughout our 33 years together brings to mind the trips we took. One of my favorite ornaments is a little angel I found shortly after we moved to Vancouver, Washington, from Yakima in 1971. It was our first Christmas being away from our families and really on our own. I have always treasured this little angel that was made in Italy for her beauty; but now I also treasure the memories she brings. There is the cute little howling coyote we got in Arizona one year, a ferry boat from the year we went to the San Juans. Another angel is made of shells. John and I bought her on our first – and last – trip to Hawaii. We visited Kauai in late January of 2003. Just over 9 months later John was gone. I like to think these angels are bookends to the years we had together.

Thinking of those Christmases past, I am reminded of how sometimes I was sad or sulky or disappointed or had my feelings hurt. There were times when I wasn’t feeling all that blessed. Now, in retrospect, I realize how very fortunate I was to have a loving family gathered around an abundant tree, a table filled with delicious foods, and mostly just conversation and laughter, singing Christmas carols together. Perhaps it is true, in the words of Joni Mitchell, that we don’t know what we’ve got till it’s gone. I would give anything for those days again, and a chance to be more thankful and appreciative and joyful. But Christmas past is past.

So will I be having regrets 10 or 20 years from now – Christmas futures far away – because of joy that I might overlook now, because I get so caught up in feeling lonely or left out or sad? I’m the only one who can make sure that doesn’t happen and I can only do that by being in the now, being present to my life the way it is, finding joy and blessings there, and sharing my gifts as generously as possible. Christmas, after all, has nothing to do with gifts but everything to do with giving and receiving – light, love and joy. It's not about presents but about presence: being there for each other. We were taught how to do that by the greatest Giver of all. And that’s something worth celebrating!

“Christmas present is here today, bringing joy that will last.”

Winter Garden

2010-12-02T14:43:00.000-08:00

Gardening always gives me good metaphors for life.

Today I took advantage of a dry day to do a little yardwork. I started by cutting the iris stalks and blades (I think iris is technically grass?). I had neglected them last year, although they bloomed anyway, and this fall they are bedraggled and very sad. Kind of like I’ve been feeling the last few days, actually. My mood has been grayer than the skies; maybe there’s a connection. As I was cutting out the last two years’ growth of Iris blades I discovered tiny little bright green blades pushing up through the brown, dead material. It’s heartening to remember that even when we might feel hopeless and decayed, there is some bright lifeforce trying to push through the ugliness and find it’s way to the light.

Next stop: the roses. Again, they had been neglected last fall and much of this summer. I gave them a much-needed pruning: think buzz-cut. These roses have been here many years, I think, though I have only known them just over two years. There is a great deal of old, dead wood and the new greener wood is having a difficult time finding a place to grow up out of the rootstock. So I did as much heavy pruning as I could to give the roses a little better chance next spring. We’ll see if it helps. Just to let me know they wouldn’t take this assault without a battle, a couple of the pruned branches got me pretty good with their thorns.

This reminds me again that sometimes we need to cut back things that look and feel okay or normal to make room for true new growth. This can be very painful. I often get caught up in old stories, old beliefs, and unless I stop and examine those and toss a few out, I find myself being dragged into lifeless places where my quest to find authenticity is stifled or blocked.

Final stop: the tree in my front yard. I’m not sure what it is, some type of ash, I think. It has lovely scarlet leaves in the fall. And they’re much smaller than the maple leaves in my back yard so a little easier to contend with. However, this lovely tree has been very inexpertly pruned over the years and its form and shape are unhealthy. Not that I’m an expert by any stretch, but I do know a little bit about removing redundancy and cutting off branches that tend to grow downward instead of up. Another lesson about removing things in my life that drag me down instead of helping me reach for the light. Using a hand-saw on the larger branches also gave me a good physical workout. Sometimes breaking a sweat helps break up negative thoughts.

So yes, working in the garden this afternoon gave me a feeling of accomplishment, got me out into the fresh air, and gave me a little exercise for both my body and my brain. This time of year I often think it’s unfortunate that my life is in Western Oregon: my family, my friends. Late fall and early winter can really depress me – the short days, the lack of sun. I don’t like to be cold. It might make more sense for me to find a sunnier, warmer place to spend my winters. Is living where the people I love are something in my life I need to prune? Or could I just get a full-spectrum light and do something to mentally take a little vacation?

The other thing I can try to do is focus on positives, think about others who might also be down and see what I can do to help them a little. Part of my downspin this week is a sense that I have no purpose, that I’m not making a difference in anyone’s life, that no one needs or appreciates me. So I focused on connecting with a few people who have been supportive to me in the past and thanking them, showing my appreciation, reminding them they make a difference to me. And I checked in with a couple of women who lost their husbands this year, just telling them I care and I understand. I spent a little time on-line trying to see if there are some volunteer opportunities that might help me feel useful and needed. My spiritual director reminded me a couple weeks ago, and a friend reaffirmed it today, that perhaps my presence, just my being with and for others, is what I can do and what makes a difference, even though I may never realize that.

My friend also suggested I stay with those hard, dark moments, to see where they lead. Does desolation lead us to light if we stay with it? I guess it did for John of the Cross and many other mystics. Perhaps it is only through that darkness that we can finally find the courage to go deep enough for the questions that really matter, to find that still, quiet voice of love and new life hidden beneath the decay.

Advent Is a Hopeful Season

2010-11-29T14:34:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was the first Sunday of Advent, the four weeks in the Christian season leading up to Christmas. In recent years this has become my favorite liturgical season, a time of sacred waiting and longing and anticipation. Not for Christmas, but for The Messiah, God-With-Us, the fulfillment of promises made to humankind that God is and will always be with and for us. Advent brings me hope, even at a very challenging time of year.

I love the music of Advent and while many people are frustrated with too much to do and not enough shopping or baking or decorating days before Christmas, I am disappointed we only have four Sundays to sing some of these haunting melodies. They tug at my heart.

I find comfort in the readings, especially those beautiful poetic words from the prophet Isaiah. These readings are filled with promise but also with warnings, like in this past Sunday’s Gospel (Matt. 24:37-44), that we must stay awake, be alert, that God can come at any time. “Therefore, stay awake! For you do not know on which day your Lord will come. . . . So too, you also must be prepared, for at an hour you do not expect, the Son of Man will come.”

This warning is something I have been acutely aware of for seven years. You do not know when, in a heartbeat, your life will change forever. These changes can bring great pain and sadness, but they can also lead to transformation if you are willing to allow God to work with you. God comes to us through pain as well as through love and beauty; if we are awake and alert, God will always be ready to show us divine presence.

In my own life, transformation is an ongoing process; it comes in fits and starts, two steps forward, one step back. If I focus on what I have lost, on what is missing in my life – which is a very easy trap to fall into – I become mired in sadness and hopelessness. Today while walking Charlie I thought about how my mind seizes on negative thoughts, gnaws on them until they consume me. In dog training, when a puppy is chewing on something it shouldn’t, the command is usually “Leave it!” I decided I might try that on myself: when my mind goes to those sad places and I don’t have time to process the thoughts using Byron Katie’s “Work,” I can tell myself to “leave it.” Then I distract my mind with something more positive: the fascinating clouds, the beautiful leaves, a flock of geese overhead.

Gratitude is a good way to distract myself. As I was raking up the huge quantities of leaves in my yard this morning and putting them into the yard debris bin, I thought about how nice it would be to have someone to help with this major fall task. I tried to imagine what my life would be like now if John had not been killed. And I realized my life would be quite different, maybe better, but I don’t know that for sure. I thought about the new friends and experiences I’ve had these past seven years – including publishing a book this summer – that most likely would never have come into my life if John had not died. I thought about coming to know myself, finding courage and strength and a different kind of joy. Although there have been some losses, there have also been wonderful gifts in my life.

So I continue to live with hope – not expectation, which can bring disappointment – but hope. Next Sunday’s reading from Isaiah 11:1-10 is one of my very favorite scriptural citations:

On that day, a shoot shall sprout from the stump of Jesse,
and from his roots a bud shall blossom. . . .

Justice shall be the band around his waist,
and faithfulness a belt upon his hips.
Then the wolf shall be a guest of the lamb,
and the leopard shall lie down with the kid;
the calf and the young lion shall browse together,
with a little child to guide them.

How can I not have hope when I have been promised that God is faithful? As Franciscan priest Richard Rohr writes in his daily reflection: “In Jesus’ birth God was already saying that it was good to be human, and God was on our side, and on the side of all creation.” If God is on our side, how can we not have joy?

Heroism Is Alive and Well

2010-11-17T14:11:00.001-08:00

Yesterday’s White House ceremony awarding the prestigious Medal of Honor to Salvatore Giunta got me started thinking about heroes, people who go beyond the expected, who put their courage to the test and sometimes their life on the line to help others or make a difference in the world. President Obama called him heroic, but also humble. “He'll tell you that he didn't do anything special, that he was just doing his job, that any of his brothers in the unit would do the same thing," Obama said. “He just lived up to what his team leader instructed him to do years before: ‘You do everything you can.’” I think that’s a great definition of a courageous hero: just doing what needs to be done, facing down the odds, the threats, the fears and just going forward.

Our society often considers professional athletes our heroes. I think this dates back to ancient Celtic times when warring chieftains had personal champions. These warriors, highly trained and greatly esteemed, were sometimes called upon to engage in hand-to-hand combat against the champion of an opposing king or chieftain. This match was used as a substitute for pitched battle between two armies, with victory determining which side ultimately prevailed in the conflict. I think we in modern society view our Trail Blazers or our Mariners, our 49ers or our Ducks as the champions for our own little fiefdoms. Believe me -- I have experienced the highs and lows that come with following a sports team. But unlike medieval times, which team wins or loses these sports battles is really inconsequential. And although these young athletes often work very hard to perfect their skills, sometimes overcoming difficult challenges, very few of them are true heroes. Most of them are motivated by the financial rewards, not altruism.

Most of us will never have the opportunity to save a life, or will never be asked to put our own lives in jeopardy by trying to save others, as did Staff Sergeant Giunta. Most of us will never have the combination of physical size and athletic ability to compete with Kobe Bryant or Peyton Manning. But I believe we all have the opportunity to be heroic, to show courage and fortitude and strength of will in the face of challenges.

I’m thinking of friends I know who have been unemployed for many months, years even. My friend Michael, who finally found work after two years of searching, had to sell his house, live with friends, lost nearly everything. But he kept applying for work, taking the next step, when the temptation to just give up had to be overwhelming. I celebrate his heroism and his victory.

I’m thinking of friends who have faced or are facing incredible health challenges. My friend Marilyn recently spent a month in the hospital following very extensive surgery to remove a tumor. She has been such a source of inspiration and wisdom for so many people; reading the comments posted on her CaringBridge site confirmed how many lives she has touched. I know that throughout the daunting task of recovery and recreating her life she will continue to inspire and touch others by her great courage and strength of character. She and I visited yesterday for the first time since her surgery: she knows she has many challenges ahead but stated it is worth the fight to chose life. I am moved and inspired by her, and I know her battle will help give me strength for my own journey.

As an ironic aside, when I was researching the history of “heroes,” one source mentioned that mythological heroes often had “close but conflicted” relationships with the gods and were often tormented by them. Marilyn has spent much of her career working in spirituality, giving retreats and classes. She is a living example of Teresa of Avila’s challenge to God: “If this is the way you treat your friends, it is no wonder you have so few.” I feel certain this will give Marilyn a good chuckle.

I think of my sister, a grade school principal, and the many other teachers I know. Most don’t literally put their lives at risk but many of them are incredibly dedicated and work long hours, often sacrificing other things, to encourage children to learn life skills that will help them become adults who can fulfill their own destinies and contribute to our world. I know sometimes it is a thankless task but they just keep putting one foot in front of the other, taking the next step, doing their jobs, doing what they can.

Here’s to my heroes: people who face down their fears and frustrations, who keep fighting when it seems hopeless, who choose life and are willing to do battle against all odds to defeat darkness and despair. These are people who can’t always see the light at the end of the tunnel, but they have faith that it is there. Their courage and strength inspire me, and that’s what heroes do!

Falling

2010-11-02T14:39:00.000-07:00

Fall always feels like the last season of the year to me. Winter starts so late in December that the year is all but over by then. We who live in the Pacific Northwest are preparing for the usual gray, drizzly, short days so when we get gifts like today (and tomorrow is supposed to be even nicer), we store them up like the squirrels are currently storing up walnuts.

This year the leaves seem much more striking than usual here. The reds and bronzes, crimsons and carmines, the golds and yellows dance in the sunlight and I gaze in awe at them. This blaze of beauty seems a bit of a paradox as the year is winding down towards its end. Another example of new life rising in spite of a world preparing for winter rest: with the fall rains the grass has returned to a rich, almost spring-like, emerald green.

As I was out walking Charlie this morning I pondered the amazing plan of creation that causes deciduous trees to go through such a gorgeous transformation just before they become bare, stark, exposed. I wondered about this process in people: do we have an age of transition into elderhood during which a new kind of beauty shines out from us? There are some who say that human beings often become more beautiful as they age. I’m not so sure that’s true if we use the world’s definition of beauty to measure this process. But then, not as we see does God see.

Often gracefulness and a discernible presence of wisdom and kindness can shine through certain older people; a twinkle in the eye or some gleam of deep knowing that is its own kind of beauty. I think this comes as we begin to accept that we cannot control most of what happens in our lives, that we can only control how we respond to life. It comes as we stop worrying about how we look to others and start actually looking through loving eyes at all around us. We learn to let go of things, not take them so seriously, to stop judging and comparing. We learn to be thankful for the many gifts we have received and put aside our wish-lists and our expectations for more. We become less driven and more willing to be. Well, some of us do, anyway. I think those are the gifts of beauty that can come to humans in the autumn of their lives.

This time of year is also traditionally the time that we in the Catholic tradition remember those who have died, who have touched our lives, made us better people. Many Spanish-speaking countries celebrate Día de los Muertos, the Day of the Dead. The first time I was in Mexico I was appalled at all the skeleton-people I saw; little dolls or statues of skeletons dressed in all manner of garb: a garish yet joyful celebration of life after death. Perhaps their culture has it right and we have it wrong: bury the people we love and then try to forget about them. We don’t like to think about the possibility that the dead might still have a role to play in our lives.

Early this morning I was lying in bed, mostly asleep, when I heard a flock of Canada geese fly overhead, honking to encourage each other as they travel south for the winter. At the time I wasn’t thinking about this being All Souls Day, one of the “thin days” in the Irish/Celtic tradition, days in which the veil between this life and the afterlife becomes so thin it allows the dead to pass back into the land of the living. I fell back asleep after hearing the geese and had a dream in which John came to be with me. He just held my hand to reassure me, to encourage me on my own journey.

This dream brought me a great sense of comfort that no matter what happens in the autumn of my life, there is beauty to be found, grace and gifts abound. It’s all in the way I look at life and how much I am able to let go of how I look to others and what I am no longer able to do. I pray I will always have the strength to smile and laugh, to be grateful and joyful, compassionate and kind, and to know God finds me and all of us beautiful.

Dreaming About Trusting My Own Nature

2010-10-28T13:17:00.000-07:00

Recently I have been a little preoccupied with thoughts of death and dying. My friend who had very serious surgery earlier this month is recuperating well, for which I am very thankful. But this week I have had my own little scary incident that I continue to monitor and consider options for. There is nothing imminently threatening my life (at least not that I know of), but I have been reminded again of my mortality. And this makes me think of what I have, or have not, accomplished in my 60 years on this earth. Part of this review includes judging my perceived worth and value in the world.

When I judge myself, I continue to find myself wanting. For instance, lately I continue to remind myself of the steps I could be taking to promote my book, but I don’t pursue them. I am torn between wanting the book to be very successful – thus a positive reflection on my value and worth (measured in both financial terms and the level of my talent/skill/depth) – and just wanting to trust that it will go where it is meant to go.

I also have an ongoing fear of rejection, of looking foolish if I talk to bookstore managers/owners, talk show producers or other media trying to get them to carry my book or do an interview with me. Truthfully the only “rejection” I’ve gotten so far is having my inquiries, phone calls or emails completely ignored. I know these venues are very busy with the upcoming election, and I keep telling myself I can wait till they have time for me. But there’s also this persistent voice (my ego?) that tells me if I don’t become an overnight success, I am a failure. I have to hit the ground running with the book and never look back. This is so NOT true in reality. Some books take years to become successes; others never do. The truth is, the book is done and where it goes isn’t completely within my control.

I belong to a dream group and yesterday we discussed a dream I had in which I needed to get to Portland for an appointment but I kept getting sidetracked or lost. Some of my distractions resulted in me making the conscious choice to not explore something intriguing or interesting or beautiful because I “had to get to my appointment.” Whatever that was. Following the group’s suggestions about the dream, I have decided that the message of the dream is I need to pay more attention to the beauty, the interesting, the distractions that pique my interest and less attention to the “shoulds” or expectations. Those outside forces that I allow to influence my decisions do not come from my own authentic source, my heart or soul. They come from others. I allow their judgments to affect the person I am, the way I spend my time and energy.

Yesterday morning was a beautiful sunny fall day, sandwiched in between days of gray skies and rain. I took Charlie for a walk along a trail adjacent to a river not far from us. There were few people out so I let him run off leash. Charlie is 8, no longer a pup, but his exuberance and enthusiasm when he is free is a joy to watch. As he raced down the edge of the trail across wet grass, his paws threw out tiny droplets that sparkled like diamonds in his path. I watched him be a golden retriever, running and sniffing, weaving in and out of brush, following scents. I expected at almost any moment for him to flush out a pheasant or grouse. A little later he raced down to the river and waded in.

Charlie looked so authentic, so full of life, because he was doing exactly what he was born and bred to do: hunt open fields and splash in water. He is not a German shepherd or a border collie and I don’t expect him to act like something he is not.

It makes me wonder if I am doing what I was born and bred to do. Sometimes it feels like I expect more of myself and I get frustrated and angry that I’m really not accomplishing anything. But the truth is, not everything worth doing is an “accomplishment.” Putting pressure on myself to do things because I think I SHOULD is a fast way to nowhere besides frustration. We don’t always know how our lives affect others or the results of what we do and who we are; we don’t need to know, though we always want to know. Again, it’s a way of measuring our self-worth; we don’t believe we have value unless we have some measurable accomplishments or we can see our value reflected in others’ opinions of us.

So I continue to work on just accepting myself and knowing I am valued, loved, worthy just because God made me the person I am. I work on trusting that where I am led and what I do is rooted in me and not based on the hope that my efforts will help me look good to others. And I continue to work on allowing others to be who they authentically are without my or society’s judging them. Hard work but moving in that non-judgmental, non-dualistic way is perhaps moving closer to finding my own true nature, what I was born and bred for. That includes taking time to stop and explore beauty where I find it.

Say What Needs Saying While You Can

2010-10-15T15:21:00.000-07:00

This week I have been thinking a good deal about dying and death. Being living creatures, death is something we all must come to terms with at some point; the loss of pets, parents and grandparents and other loved ones. Perhaps most challenging, eventually we all must face the prospect of our own death. But we don’t really like to think about any of that. We don’t want to go there.

Often only experiences like standing on the threshold of death with a loved one facing critical surgery or attending the funeral of someone who died unexpectedly can pull us into a place from which we are forced to view, however unwillingly, life and death in context with our important relationships.

This morning I attended the funeral of a man from our parish who died very unexpectedly following routine surgery. He was 73. His family is shocked; they had just buried his mother, who lived into her 90s, less than two months ago. I didn’t really know him or his wife well but I wanted to be there to support her. Hers is a road I know well, having experienced the sudden loss of my own husband 7 years ago. I understand her sense of numbness and shock.

It’s never easy when death comes suddenly, like a tornado or tsunami, unexpectedly appearing out of nowhere. I have experienced my share of loss over the years: my grandparents and parents, my husband, a couple of very dear friends. Many of these were expected and, in some ways, death was a gift, a relief from suffering. As a survivor, I much prefer these deaths, the ones that come like hurricanes, giving you some warning and time to prepare but without requiring loved ones to suffer too much or too long. The really difficult losses, for me, have been those that came out of nowhere, blindsiding me and many others. Without time to prepare, you sometimes miss the chance to say things that need to be said, to forgive and ask for forgiveness, to tell people how much you love them, how much they have meant to you.

On Wednesday a dear friend underwent her third surgery for a very stubborn and aggressive cancer. She knew her life would likely be changed irrevocably after the surgery; she faces a number of challenges during her recovery. On Monday we had a long conversation on the phone and though she seemed to be in good spirits, she had some fears about the outcome. Any surgery can have complications, and hers had some serious risks that could have ended her life very prematurely. It felt strange talking to her, laughing with her, knowing we might never speak again.

What do you tell someone when you might never get another chance to say what needs to be said? I wanted to assure her everything would be fine, but I didn’t know that. My own life has taught me that unfulfilled expectations and people promising things they can’t deliver are the source of much of my pain. I can’t control the future and it seems disingenuous to make promises I have no control over. I didn’t want to have unrealistic expectations, and I didn’t want to give her false hope. I wanted to be able to just accept and help her accept whatever comes. So I listened to her, laughed with her and told her I loved her and would be there for her in whatever ways she needed me as a friend. But even that offers a promise based on things over which I have no control. I have no idea what my own tomorrows will bring. All I have – all any of us have – is today, this very moment.

She shared some of the graces of closure she has experienced the past few days, conversations that perhaps should have happened a long time ago. These have brought her peace, reconciliation, and validation. Old hurts and betrayals have been discussed and put to rest, words of love and forgiveness shared.

Her comments made me wonder if there are people I need to reconcile with. It only takes a moment of impatience, anger or pride to deeply wound someone you love with words. Sometimes a thoughtless remark or something said in jest can cause pain that drives a wedge between two people. If that pain remains buried, never brought out to the healing light of day, the wedge grows to a chasm and will destroy the relationship. I try to deal with my grievances promptly, or at least at some point. There is a sense of closure when you ask for forgiveness for something you’ve said or done, even if it happened years earlier. And forgiving others who have hurt you – whether they seek that forgiveness or not – can be very freeing.

There’s a Country/Western song that advises us to “live like you were dying.” Never mind the bucket lists: seeing and going and doing aren’t really that important. Being truthful with those we love is what matters. We are all dying and every day could be our last; we don’t always get the chance my friend has for closure, to make peace with old hurts, and to share words of love we put off out of fear of rejection or pride. I believe it is important to take every opportunity to be open, honest and authentic with those we love so we never regret loving words left unsaid or scars unhealed. There's no time like the present; in fact, it's all we really have.

Battling Fear, Pride and False Humility

2010-10-07T10:55:00.000-07:00

I've spent much of the last two days sending out press releases for an upcoming book event and researching "bloggers" who review books, asking several to consider reviewing "42 States of Grace." There is something strange about promoting yourself; it feels inappropriate to brag on something you've written. Trying to convince others of the value of my book (which in many ways equates to my own worth) is a daunting task. I often use comments from people who've read and loved the book to add more "glow" to the press releases I write because I have a difficult time promoting myself. So when I ask people who tell me they love it to write those reviews down in a public format, it's mainly because I am uncomfortable building myself up.

My spiritual director explained to me, when we talked about my doubts, that those feelings of unworthiness, those fears that I have no credentials or appropriate background to write about spirituality, are voices of desolation. They are not, he says, from God. This, in itself, should harden my resolve because clearly there is value in what I have written if darker forces work to keep it from becoming known. The feedback I have received confirms there is value in the book for many. We are called to let our lights shine forth and not hide them under a basket. I need to keep remembering that and stop dwelling on the possibility that one or two people might read the book, dislike it or disagree with it, and thus not only would I feel like a failure, but a liar and fool, as well.

Sales have slowed after a really great August and September, which is depressing. But I do have an event coming up in November, the 11th. I am working on setting up other signings and events. And truthfully, after a big push in late August and early September, I haven't done much to promote or advertise it. Partly that has been because I was dealing with a flu or other medical condition that left me exhausted and brain-dead most of the time. And partly that's because I've been gone and had company much of the last six weeks. It has felt good to dig back in and try to generate interest again.

I was thinking today about artists who spend their lives creating works that may never be discovered or the value of which is not recognized until after they are dead. How sad to spend your life and energy on something and never enjoy the fruits of your labors. But ultimately, if you are doing what you feel you are called to do, if your creative work flows from a spiritual well, then it isn't completely in your hands. I tell myself this often: If God wants this to get out there, God will guide me in the process, will open doors for me. It is my own negative self-talk that keeps me from walking through those open doors. It is my fear of rejection and failure battling with my pride, wanting to be admired because of ME, because of MY words and gifts, and what I have done, not because I view myself merely as an instrument of God's grace and love. If I can take my ego out, perhaps I can better see myself as doing God's work instead of my own.

Not everyone who writes a book makes it to the New York Times bestseller list in the first couple of months. No matter how well written people tell me the book is, no matter how much people who've read it love it, if the world doesn't hear about it, it will be limited in the value and good it can provide. Perhaps this is my life's work. It clearly doesn't end with the writing; the journey itself would have done little good if I hadn't spend two years reviewing and reflecting on my experiences, bringing them more fully into my consciousness through writing about them. The book that resulted is now sending me on another journey and I continue to learn more about myself and the graces that encircle my life through friends -- old and new -- and family and because of the love of a generous God.

That's What Friends Are For

2010-10-05T12:03:00.000-07:00

I think my weekend with a certain group of friends is becoming a tradition. This year six of us gathered at a beach house in Oceanside, west of Tillamook. For some reason, nearly every time I go there it is beautiful. This weekend it was raining when we arrived on Friday but by Saturday afternoon we had blue skies and sun that carried into Sunday.

It is the friendships and the wisdom shared that really warms our hearts and souls, along with the wonderful food we always bring or prepare.

In the course of our conversations, I sometimes find myself withdrawing emotionally; one friend said she noticed there was even a subtle physical withdrawal. This has nothing to do with the love and kindness and acceptance of these women. It has everything to do with my own ways of judging me and how I fall short. First of all, I'm not married. These women all have been married many years and have adult children my children's ages. I was married for 33 years and understand marriages are not always happy and easy; but not having a husband puts me in a different place from many of my friends. At least I feel different and sometimes awkward; I'm not sure if it feels awkward to them. They didn't know me when I was married. Odd to think that many of my good friends now did not know John at all or know me as a wife.

Sunday was the 7th anniversary of John's accident and death and a good time to reflect on my life. It occurs to me that I might not even be friends with these women if John were still alive. It also occurs to me often that I would likely not have written "42 States of Grace" if John had lived; it certainly would have been a different book if I had. The journey of my life has taken a significant detour from what I expected years ago. Mostly it's been a good ride, and when I can get past my own self-criticism and judging, I am happy and content with my life.

Another thing that leads me to withdraw emotionally is my sense of status. These women are married to professionials; all of them are professionals themselves. Most grew up in professional, fairly privileged families; all had the experience of going away to college after high school, of obtaining their degrees and beginning their careers as young single women. I grew up pretty poor, lower middle class, my parents were not professionals, nor was anyone in their families. I married very young, after attending community college and living at home, and didn't complete my degree until my children were in grade school and I was in my mid-30s. I spent my early career working in the secretarial field before obtaining my degree in communications and beginning my career as a writer.

Many of these friends have traveled extensively. I never left North America until after John died; and though I have traveled some since, my experiences are much more limited than theirs.

Several of them live in an area of Portland where the "movers and shakers" of Portland and Oregon live, the progressive thinkers, the people whose names crop up in the news fairly often. It is "the place" to live if you consider yourself politically active and liberal or progressive. I could never afford to live there. Even though I worked for a U.S. Senator for 10 years, he was of the "wrong stripe" for most of these women. Though I know many of the people they know, I am no longer actively involved in political or community activities. When I left the Senator's office in 2007 most of my community connections were lost and my political status disappeared.

So I often feel like the odd person out. Their actions never make me feel this way; I feel this way all by myself, with my own negative self-talk. Sometimes it just feels like I have nothing to add to the group conversations because my life and experiences are so different from theirs. They accept me with open arms; I seem to have a hard time accepting myself, how I grew up, where I came from.

Funny thing is, if I talked to them individually, I would probably discover that each one of them feels like they, too, are different and don't fit in in some ways. The truth is, we are all different, but we are also all the same in so many ways. We all are loved and we love, we are deeply spiritual women who care about each other, our families and our world. We may go about it in different ways because our paths are all slightly different. I need to remember that. It helps when I get notes from people who've read my book and tell me how much it has touched them, how much our journeys are similar. It seems no matter how or where you grew up, where you live, what you do, we all have insecurities, raw places that feel mismatched with the world. But we are all beloved, we all have a place at the table, we all have a path to follow. Sometimes that path intersects with others' and we journey with them for awhile. And when we can reach out and help each other see how lovable and loved we all are, we are doing God's work, no matter how or where or with whom.

One Spirit, One Call -- to Justice or to Fear?

2010-09-28T17:39:00.000-07:00

I’ve often heard that if women ruled the world there would be many fewer wars. I’m not so sure that’s true. Recently it’s come to my attention, I am very sad to say, that women can be every bit as judgmental, dogmatic, controlling, full of themselves, and fearful as men.

On Sunday One Spirit One Call, a Portland-based group of Catholics, held a rally to call for a greater, more just role for women within the Catholic Church. This was attended by both women and men as a way to call the Church hierarchy to truly put on the mind of Christ and celebrate the gifts God has bestowed on all of us. It has long frustrated me that more than half the membership of the Catholic Church in the world has been prevented from fully sharing our wisdom and spirituality. There seems to be some conviction on the part of the Church hierarchy that God doesn’t speak to women. Wonder how God might respond to that?

This summer the Portland Archdiocese lost one of the few married priests in the country when Slider Steuernol passed away. I knew him as a Presbyterian minister and was touched when he decided to become Catholic. Because he was already married and a minister, when he entered the seminary to become a priest, an exception was made for him allowing him to be ordained as a married man. I have often wondered what it might take to make an exception to the even longer-standing rules that women cannot be ordained in the Catholic Church. A sex change operation, perhaps?

While I find this injustice to be frustrating, I don’t personally feel a particular call to the priesthood. For my women friends who do, however, it can be very painful. I was planning to attend the rally on Sunday to support them but ultimately wasn’t able to make it. So I wanted to see what kinds of reports had been published on it.

What I found dismayed me greatly. There were at least two websites or blogs, apparently both written by women, that were downright hateful towards the event and the women who organized and attended it. I find myself asking: what do they fear? Why are they afraid of having women be considered spiritual equals of men? They would argue – I can guarantee this – that they are not afraid at all. They are merely trying to help their lost sisters attain salvation by following rules. They will quote you from any Catholic catechism or “rule book” that it is their duty to help their poor misguided sisters see the truth. That is, THEIR truth. This is such a provincial, dogmatic way of looking at spirituality, it really is painful. Whatever happened to the idea that salvation comes through the narrow gate of Jesus, not by our own efforts at “being good” and following rules?

I think anytime someone is that certain about the truth, thinks the Unknowable God is so easy to explain, and knows exactly who is going to heaven and who is not, that they have been greatly deceived by the Great Deceiver. Their assurance, their smugness, their closed-mindedness tells me that they really have never carefully studied scripture. Their belief that our God is a punishing God and that we each have to toe the line of human-made rules in order to get into heaven is absolutely counter to what Jesus taught us.

And I am truly sad for people who don't see a God of love and forgiveness, but rather see a vindictive God who keeps score.

If they took the time to truly study some of the great saints of the Church, including one Cardinal Newman who was very recently beatified, and others such as Catherine of Siena and Teresa of Avila, they would realize that many of these holy people were reformers. In their efforts to listen to God through contemplative, silent prayer, they realized things were amiss within the Church and called, sometimes loudly, often persistently, for reforms. Many of our saints were castigated and even, as in the case of John of the Cross, imprisoned by their Catholic brothers (and sisters) for speaking out against injustice or just plain wrong thinking. Kind of like what happened to Jesus.

As I read some of the really nasty, judgmental comments made on these sites, I could hear the Pharisees, the temple priests, calling for the head of John the Baptist, for the death of Jesus. Why? Because they feared loss of power. They feared. These women fear, but they will never admit it and they will likely never take the time to even investigate why they believe so strongly in a status quo that is so unjust.

The Launch Event

2010-09-06T20:47:00.000-07:00

I am a little remiss in reporting on the launch event of my book "42 States of Grace: A Woman's Journey." My initial reading/signing was held on August 25. Somewhere between 40 and 50 people came, though some just popped in to get a book and have it signed but didn't stay for the reading and Q&A. During the evening 42 books were sold, which is kind of auspicious, given the name of the book.

I got plenty of compliments on the reading and Q&A. People seemed to be surprised I can actually behave in public and have a little class and decorum. I can; I don't always like to, but I can. No, just kidding; I try to mix fun and decorum in equal parts.

See, I can show class and decorum.

I was very pleased with the turnout, with the results, and most especially pleased that I had some wonderful friends there to help me, to support me, and to cheer me on.

The next reading/signing is this coming Thursday, September 9, from 7-9 p.m. at the Assistance League headquarters, 4000 SW 117th Avenue, Beaverton. I sent announcements to some of the local newspapers; I haven't heard whether they will publish anything. I guess I will see on Thursday. From thence, whoever can say? I'll try to keep you up to date.

The Labor Day Weekend Blues

2010-09-06T20:28:00.000-07:00

Holidays are hard. I’m often tempted to think about what my life would be like if my husband were still alive. Of course, I always tend to imagine scenarios that are fairly unrealistic, based on our history of holidays. I have to guard my thoughts carefully and not give them too much free rein or they could run away with me and I’m likely to get bucked off into a prickly bush of depression.

A friend from Nebraska was in Oregon for the weekend, and she convinced me on Friday to ride along on a drive east past Mt. Hood, south to Bend. Then we headed west out of Bend through Sisters (of course she loved Sisters! What’s not to love about this gorgeous little town??) and on west to Salem and back home. I found myself thinking about previous trips to this area John and I had taken, with the kids and on our own. My mind wandered down pathways of imagining John still alive and the two of us taking off on random drives to explore parts of Oregon we’d never visited. Retirement is, after all, the time you finally have the opportunity to take a short little mid-week trip. It left me feeling a little maudlin in spite of the glorious scenery we drove through.

The Three Sisters from Sisters, Oregon

The top of Mt. Hood with it's cloud cap

If I’m not very careful, I can get caught up in feeling sad about things that never will be. It’s a dangerous place to go.

On Saturday Karl and Jesse and I ran errands and did a little exploring in Portland. I took them to North Portland to see the Rebuilding Center on Mississippi; Karl likes to do little projects and was interested in all the recycled raw material for all manner of projects. John would have really liked the Rebuilding Center because he, like Karl, was a tinkerer, a project kind of guy.

On Sunday I was absolutely thrilled when Karl mentioned that he and Jesse might like to come to church with me. Sunday after Sunday I get dressed and go off to Mass to sing in the choir; several times Jesse has mentioned – in his two-year-old way – that he’d like to go to church too. So Sunday Karl and Jesse came to Mass. It was such a joy to stand in the choir area and see my boys in the congregation. Jesse waved at me a couple of times, and I heard him tell Karl he wanted to “go see gramma.” Imagine my heart bursting with pride! He was very good for his first time ever at church and fell asleep mid-Mass on his daddy’s shoulder.

Then we decide to take Jesse to the zoo, so we spent hours wandering around the zoo, showing Jesse the animals. He was fascinated and seemed to thoroughly enjoy it. He was such a good boy all weekend. Well, today I think he’d had enough of “being good” and acted more like the two-year-old he is. Even when he is sassy and a little naughty, I can’t help but think how blessed I am and how very, very much his grandpa would have loved him.

Karl helps Jesse ride the lionness.

The goats at the zoo seem to be drugged, or catatonic.

Finally wandering around my yard, I am disgusted with the condition of my lawn, the gardens and just the general maintenance of my property. In a nutshell: it looks like hell. I just don’t have the equipment, the strength and the knowledge to do what needs to be done. I don’t have the money to hire someone to help me. I’d like to rent a tiller and redo the entire yard, eliminating much of the grass, replacing it with a much smaller lawn but more hardscaping, more landscaping. I don’t even know where to start on such a project; John was the instigator in those kinds of landscaping projects. I helped as much as I could; but he had the skills and knowledge to get them going. I’m feeling very frustrated about my seeming inability to do anything to change my yard and gardens.

So I try to focus on the positive things. Even though I don’t have John to share my life any longer, I have Karl and Jesse who are a continuing source of smiles and laughter, companionship and purpose in my life. I have Kristin and Ryan, though they live several hours away. I have wonderful brothers and sisters. I have Charlie, who loves me all the time but most especially when I am cleaning up all the leftover food that Jesse hasn’t eaten. I have many friends, for whom I am forever grateful. And I will be okay, as long as I don’t let myself get carried away with what-ifs and should-haves, with dreams that will never come true. There are other dreams to dream, other ways to be.

Travelin' with Charlie: It's a Doggone Good Life

2010-08-24T22:04:00.000-07:00

Travelin' with Charlie: It's a Doggone Good Life

It's a Doggone Good Life

2010-08-24T21:58:00.000-07:00

Fairly early this morning, before it got hot, I took Charlie for a walk. I've been feeling guilty for neglecting him lately; I've just had so many things to do regarding the book ("42 States of Grace") and the upcoming launch tomorrow evening. Of course, Charlie always forgives me and is happy to see me whenever I have a little time to spend with him, a little love to share.

Charlie's newest cousin, Tillie, wore him out last week.

Spending time with Charlie is really for my benefit, as much as his. I get exercise when I walk him. I get love and stress reduction when I pet him or talk to him. Brushing him helps keep my house a little cleaner (though you'd never know it, really, as much as Charlie sheds!!) They say being around animals relieves stress; I believe that. Dogs especially can be so easy to be with, so non-demanding.

While traveling two years ago, "Keith" and I joked about writing a book I called "The Church of the Golden Retriever." It wasn't meant to be irreverent or frivolous or sacrilegious. In fact, I actually started writing the book, and here's a little excerpt:

"For me dogs -- and golden retrievers in particular -- have always been something of a metaphor for God's love. It is boundless and given willingly without being earned. Dogs are experts at unconditional love. There is a steadfastness, a loyalty in dogs that you find in few other living creatures. You can lose your patience with a golden and yell at him, you can be so busy you barely have time to let her out for her dog duty, never mind taking him for that long walk he craves or throwing the ball for her. Yet they never hold a grudge. They will love you as much five minutes after you give them a bath as they will five minutes after you give them a treat. Woofie, of Patrick McDonnell's "Mutts" comic strip, is unquestionably a golden retriever. Not only does he look like a golden, but his attitude of "wuv is the answer" and his obsession with "wuvving evwebuddy" is totally golden.

Charlie with his cousins, Lilo & Stich (and Kristin and Ryan)

"Conversely, golden retriever puppies are notoriously full of energy and stay puppies for two or three years, sometimes longer (hence the "losing patience" reference above). But no matter how naughty they can be, in an instant they win back your love and affection because they are so darn cute and earnest and sincere. You just know whatever mischievous thing they did was completely without evil intent but was a "sheer joy of the moment" occurrence. Really! The reason they rolled in that dead, smelly fish they found on the beach was because they liked that smell so much they thought surely you would too, and they just wanted to share! It is genuinely impossible to stay angry with a golden for longer than a moment. And that, for me, is a metaphor on how God is so completely taken with us that forgiveness is a foregone conclusion, if we only ask and mean it.

As Charlie and I were walking this morning, we met a woman walking a young female golden. She started to tighten the dog's leash and told me, "she isn't very social with other dogs." Charlie went up to her anyway and they touched noses and sniffed. "Wow! I've never seen her do that before," the woman exclaimed. She went on to explain she had rescued the young golden from an abusive situation. Charlie, in being his kind and gentle self, somehow reassured the young female that she had nothing to fear from him. He must have given her some kind of non-aggressive clue.

I think about the kinds of messages I send to others when we are out in the world. Do I come across as threatening or unfriendly, as too busy to bother or just unapproachable? Do I make assumptions that others are? I know I'm guilty of that; it doesn't take much for me to feel slighted or hurt by someone. When we project an image of being open and friendly and safe to engage in conversation with, what doors does that open? If we meet the world with enthusiasm, curiosity and confidence, expecting positive things, I think the world just might meet us in positive ways. But when we expect negativity, that's often what we find. Maybe we're unconsciously seeking it to confirm our suspicions.

I'm also thinking today about courage, about taking the first steps forward in the face of challenge or fear. I think when we see life's inevitable challenges as a threat, they become far more scary and far more likely to defeat us. Maybe that little bit of sniffing was the first step in healing for that young bitch. If her owner had pulled her away out of fear, that would have reinforced the image that all other dogs are dangerous and should be avoided, making it harder for her to ever socialize with other dogs.

Interesting how often we find life lessons all around us when we take the time to observe and be present to them.

TravelinLady

Eat, Pray, Love, Journey

2010-08-17T14:48:00.000-07:00

I saw the movie Eat Pray Love twice this weekend with friends. The movie is loosely based on Elizabeth Gilbert's book of the same name. I found the movie entertaining -- contrary to what "the critics" said about it; I understand they gave it a C-. But I found it was much less satisfying than the book. The movie was like eating cotton candy while the book was more like eating a fresh, juicy peach. There was just a whole lot more there to digest.

Interestingly, I was reading the book in 2008 while in the midst of my own journey seeking myself. I mention this in a blog post from around January of 2008 and in my book, 42 States of Grace: A Woman's Journey: "I am struck by the things Gilbert and I share: a traumatic, difficult life marked with depression, anxiety and struggles, and the satisfaction of seeking your own heart."

Not, of course, that either of our lives were that difficult in comparison to many others'. We had loving families, we always had food to eat and shelter. But somehow our brains got a little off track, and we thought we needed to find our worth, our validity, through others. That's not possible, I now realize. You have to find your own truth and learn to believe in it.

Although the end of her journey was, supposedly, the great love of her life in Filipe, she also found a new way of looking at the world. This was my outcome too, minus Filipe (or any other man, for that matter). What I discovered was a way to better love myself, to better treasure myself as whole and complete, but also as part of a much greater whole -- all of creation.

I learned that there are many ways to love and that all of them are good and valid. I learned that judging others isn't fair or right; just as judging ourselves too harshly is self-defeating and can be self-destroying. As long as we are doing the best we can, moving continually towards light and love -- and for me this includes moving towards God -- then we are okay. And even when we slip, which I do often, it's still okay, because we are human and imperfect and broken. It's how we were made.

I have heard back from a number of people who have read 42 States of Grace and they often tell me it is thought-provoking, it raises "sensitive spots" within them, that they themselves have dealt with similar issues. I think there are some universal truths afoot here: We are ALL searching. As St. Augustine wrote in his Confessions: "for Thou hast formed us for Thyself, and our hearts are restless till they find rest in Thee." Oblate Ronald Rolheiser explored this issue in depth in his book, The Holy Longing.

We are all, at some point, -- unless we are really messed up -- searching for our authentic selves, for meaning, for purpose, for validity. Our search often takes us on widely differing paths, and thus putting labels on people, putting them in boxes, judging them in any way is counterproductive to our own search and theirs. Better to wish them light and love, and then move on in our own journey. Because, as is underscored in the movie, nothing lasts forever. Enjoy life and all its abundant gifts and blessings.

TravelinLady

Soft Summer Days

2010-08-12T21:50:00.000-07:00

I took Charlie for a walk this morning and was reminded of the mellow "dog days" of summer. There is a softness to the air these days that's a little different from earlier summer. There's also a little melancholy. We've had a pretty cool summer in Portland -- I know many parts of the country might envy that. But for us it almost seems like summer missed us. Or we missed it.

We are finally getting more warmth and sunshine starting tomorrow and we're expecting temps in the mid-90s this weekend and into next week. But these cool, cloudy mornings are putting us on notice that summer is nearing an end.

There is also a subtle difference in the light these August days, especially in the evening. It's like the Universe is whispering: "Gather ye rosebuds while ye may," for these balmy days will soon be but a memory.

I listened to the tchk-tchk-tchk of a sprinkler as I walked Charlie in a park and watched the maintenance people mowing the turf. The grass is still a rich green in parks, baseball fields and golf courses, but here in Portland we don't irrigate and many of the lawns -- including mine -- are brown and sad. They will green up again this fall and possibly stay green most of the winter.

As I walked I was thinking about the melancholy part of this time of year. In the early summer, there is hope and expectation; anything -- absolutely anything -- could happen! Of course, anything could include bad things, but we don't really think about that. In August, in spite of the richness -- the ripening of gardens and pending harvests, in spite of fresh peaches and other fruits -- I feel a sense of loss. Summer is nearly over and all that expectation and hope is facing reality. Perhaps this is a throwback to childhood, knowing summer would soon be over, freedom gone, and "real" life would once again rule my world.

Truthfully, it's been a good summer. I am so pleased to have finished the book, 42 States of Grace, and it is now available on Amazon and through me directly. (Copies are $14, plus shipping.) I have scheduled a couple of readings/signings for August 25 and then September 9. I have a Facebook page for the book, and just started a Twitter account. My web page should be up and running (GrayWingsPress.com) very soon and books will be available there.

It feels like my own rich harvest is about ready. I hope that includes a positive reception of the book, but I also hope the book can make a difference to people who read it, in how they look at the world, at spirituality, and at their own lives.

Although I mourn the passing of summer, and time, I can look forward to challenges and rewards. I think that's kind of like life. Next week I turn 60. I mourn the passing years that have left me a little older and a little softer. But those years have also made me a lot wiser and a lot mellower. And, truly, in many ways a lot happier. My life isn't perfect but I'm working at making it fulfilling and continuing to work at creating that rich harvest.

TravelinLady

The Journey Goes On

2010-08-02T16:31:00.000-07:00

My New Kayak

In my book "42 States of Grace: A Woman's Journey," I quote Jesuit Anthony deMello: "On the day you cease to change, you cease to live." A similar thought was expressed by Irish poet Willam Butler Yeats: "Happiness is neither virtue nor pleasure nor this thing nor that but simply growth. We are happy when we are growing."

There is no doubt in my mind that I have been growing in many ways over the past few years. I think when we stop learning and stop growing we begin to atrophy and a slow death ensues. I don't expect this to be an issue for me.

In the past couple of weeks I have purchased a used kayak and am learning a little bit more about handling my little boat and about the waterways in Northwest Oregon. I have always loved sailing but never felt I could afford to buy a boat and learn all the intricacies of handling one on my own. A kayak, however, is much more attainable. I'm thinking the kayak is this "poor woman's" version of a sailboat. At least for now. And who knows what the future might hold.

Similarly, I have never before published a book. I've written hundreds of articles for newspapers and magazines, many as a free-lance writer. But this is a huge step for me and I am quite proud of myself. The book that chronicles my year-long journey across the U.S. in 2007-08 and, more importantly, my interior journey of trying to find myself, is about ready to be published.

In fact, last week I uploaded files so that the book is now available on Kindle through Amazon. I hope to have the paperback version available on Amazon and on my own web page, www.GrayWingsPress.com, within another week or ten days. In addition, today I just scheduled my first formal reading/signing event.

It will be the evening of August 25; from 6-8:30 books will be available to purchase and I will be available during most of that time to sign them. At 7 p.m. I will do a formal reading from a portion of the book. The event will be held at the Portland Community Music Center auditorium, which is located at 3350 S.E. Francis Street. This was the best venue I could find that would accommodate a good number of attendees (140), was easy to get to and had plenty of parking, and was actually reasonably affordable.

The Community Music Center is near the neighborhood where my late husband John and I built our home, close to our faith community and near where our children attended school. The other thing I like about it is that it is a Portland Parks facility. John worked for Portland Parks for nearly 20 years. This seems fitting.

So as I wander through the labyrinth of book publishing, corporate paperwork, web pages, on-line sales, marketing, scheduling readings, and other challenges, I am struck by how far beyond my comfort level I have come. Often I find myself wishing I could share my thoughts and concerns and questions with someone who's advice I trust; but John is no longer here to help me make up my mind about such things. It is up to me to wade through the details and find the right turns that will lead me to my next destination. And I know I am up for the challenge. It might not be perfect but it will work out.

Another Anthony deMello quote I love: "Extend your arms in welcome to the future. The best is yet to come!" I look forward with trust and anticipation.

travelinLady

42 States of Grace: A Woman's Journey

2010-07-28T13:25:00.000-07:00

It is finally happening!!

Today I sent the pdf files to the printer to begin the process of printing the book.

Monday I downloaded the document for inclusion in Amazon as a Kindle book.

Eight or nine people have read the book, most with very positive feedback. I find some people would like to see more of the travel details, but that's not what it's primarily about. Besides, people who want more of that can just come and read my blog here!

Some readers thought I should have included more details about the relationships I discuss, including my traveling companion for three months. (The other male, not Charlie.) I was reluctant to do this for two reasons: (1) their own privacy; and (2) While the issue of my loneliness and longing for another life partner was something I grappled with, and still do sometimes, it was not the primary purpose of the journey. Others felt the book could have been complete, and maybe better, without the inclusion of romantic entanglements; but they were part of my journey.

Finally, some of my earliest readers thought I didn't provide enough of the spiritual/self-discovery journey so I have tried to punch that up a little. That was the primary reason for this journey, after all. And the primary purpose for the book. I hope I have done an adequate job.

Ultimately, though my intent is that people will enjoy the book and that it brings them new insights or inspiration in their own faith journey, I wrote what I felt was most important. While writing for my readers, I cannot please everyone and so I have tried to please myself and God. This is my way of being authentic, true to myself. Doing anything less would be selling out, and I have discovered that our true selves are priceless!

I don't expect to get rich from the book. I would love it, of course, if some day a movie was made based on the book, or if I make the New York Times Bestseller List. Truthfully, I would be thrilled if I could cover some of my expenses in the journey and in writing and publishing the book! But my measure of success for this book is that it will perhaps help some people, entertain some people, encourage some people to make their own mid-life spiritual pilgrimage in whatever way is best for them. If I can open a few hearts, I will consider my book, 42 States of Grace: A Woman's Journey, a complete success.

I hope to be writing more about the process and the challenges and accomplishments, the frustrations and the joys of this most recent journey into publishing.

blessings
TravelinLady

"Sometimes I Live in the Country

2010-05-26T12:57:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I live in the town. Sometimes I get a great notion, to jump in the river and drown."* Or sometimes I just waste a lot of time living vicariously through other people since it feels like I don't have a life.

I'm trying to figure out why I feel so compelled to continually check my emails (yes, I have two accounts, one for friends and one for junk, but sometimes I get friends on the junk account and sometimes I get junk on the friends account). If I have no messages from anyone (which is often the case), then I check Facebook to see what's happening in other people's lives. Maybe I'm bored, but it's not because I have nothing to do. I have plenty to do.

Maybe I'm hoping someone will give me an excuse to avoid doing the harder work? It's so much easier to waste a lot of time answering email, reading people's FB posts and commenting. Wouldn't it be more productive -- and ultimately less frustrating -- for me to just do some of the work I need to do? Like work on the next book? Or clean up and organize my office? I just bought a small worktable for exactly that purpose. Perhaps I should start setting some goals. Writing them down. Being more intentional. I can imagine my office without clutter, with everything filed where I can find it immediately. My cupboards and bookshelves and desk drawers straightened and dejunked and organized.

To give myself a little credit, I spent this morning finishing painting my dining room and entry hall. I need to do one more coat on one wall and I'll be done. That will be every room in this house painted except the guest bathroom which had pretty decent wallpaper when I bought the place. So I haven't totally wasted the day, or the year.

My book is going to an editor on Monday and should be ready to self-publish by July sometime. Hope to do some book-launch signings in August and into the fall. Got the next book (a novel) started. Got another one "percolating." Got my webpage started. I've gotten some things accomplished, but sometimes it feels like I'm just drifting along.

Maybe part of this is the terrible weather we've had pretty much all of May, with a handful of exceptional days. But stormy and dark, gray and rainy, lightening and thunder days have been the rule. My garden's in but at risk of drowning. The slugs and the lettuce like this weather; not much else does. When it's dark, my spirits droop. It's harder to be happy, to find positive things, to be light and joyful. I'm waiting for something wonderful to come my way -- through the internet????? -- that will give me enough positive energy to sink my teeth into some unpleasant projects. Or an excuse to avoid them altogether.

I'm used to rainy, dark Oregon days but by May we all expect some measure of warmth, occasional blue skies and sunshine. I shouldn't complain, though; until May it was really a lovely spring.

So how to motivate myself out of this funk? Maybe by just doing. Just writing this blog is a start. Then maybe I'll take myself down to Trader Joes to do a little shopping and buy myself an orchid. Spend more time writing some positive self-affirmations instead of beating myself up about what I could be accomplishing and am not. Put some new music on my iPod. Okay, I have a plan. Come rain or come shine.

*"Goodnight, Irene" -- 19th century song written and published in 1886 by Gussie Lord Davis an African American songwriter.

Thoughts That Hurt

2010-04-14T08:32:00.000-07:00

This spring I have been taking a teleconference class based on the work of Byron Katie about how our thoughts are what bring us pain and suffering. Our ego likes to create stories about things that are often untrue (but wait, I thought the right side of our brain was the creative side?!) Turns out most of these stories are not new creations but old tracks that we keep following until they become so well worn we don't see any alternative paths.

So the way to get out of these thoughts is to sit down with pen and paper, write them out and find ways to look at them differently, to spin them around and discover those alternative pathways.

I had a little meltdown this weekend with my son, now living with me. He was stressed about a number of things -- and I can totally understand why -- but I sat down to watch the Portland Trail Blazers on television Sunday and immediately started complaining about a non-call by the refs. He spoke rather loudly and condescendingly to me about how the television can't hear me, and it hurt and it made me angry. What makes him think he's so darn mature he can criticize me? So I took Charlie for a walk and vented. I told myself he doesn't appreciate me, that he has no right to talk to me that way. That if his dad were alive he would demand Karl respect me. I nursed my hurt and anger and told myself what a good person I am for putting up with him. I told myself if he couldn't be respectful and helpful, he needed to leave.

If I spin these thoughts, I can see that perhaps my behavior was inappropriate, especially since my grandson was with me. He wouldn't understand why I was getting angry and it could frighten him, or at least be an inappropriate role model for him. I started thinking about the ways I treat Karl. Do I respect him and treat him justly, as an adult? I thought about how I treat myself; how productive is it for me to get angry about things over which I have absolutely no control. Am I expressing latent anger over something else that perhaps I could have some control over if I acknowledged that pain? Pondering these things I can see how there is truth in many of these alternative paths. That helps me understand that the first story my brain told me, the one that was very hurtful -- that my son doesn't respect or love or appreciate me -- could be completely false. In fact, I know it is. I have plenty of evidence to dispute that original, painful thought that resulted in my anger. Interesting stuff.

Earlier this week I was feeling pretty badly about another relationship that left me feeling abandoned, unloved, unappreciated. Then I happened upon a letter I sent this particular friend last summer, asking them to do certain things that were very difficult for me to ask but very necessary for us to ever have a healthy friendship. Basically I needed to ask this person to attend to and spend energy on another relationship and try to make that work. That needed to be resolved one way or the other before our relationship could change or grow. Recently some examples of how that friend is doing exactly as I asked -- working to make this other relationship better -- have come into my radar field. I spent a couple days feeling extremely low and sad about it. Of course, I was also coming down with a cold and had a fever so my emotional defenses were very weak.

Finding and rereading my request/advice, I could now see that this friend is doing exactly what I asked. And that helps me understand that this friend does care about what I say and think; probably cares more about me than I can believe, maybe more than I care about myself. But in a good way, an appropriate way. So another little meltdown that I managed to work through by looking at my thoughts and managed to avoid doing or saying something cruel and unkind or hurtful. Though for a couple of days I was being very cruel and unkind and hurtful to myself with these thoughts; telling myself what a loser, what worthless wretch, how unlovable I am and who could possibly love me, stupid as I am?

And I find that these feelings of not being appreciated, not being valued, not being loved continue to go back to my childhood. I thought I'd rooted them out long ago. I thought I'd investigated and learned to follow new thought paths that aren't so destructive. But sometimes -- in times of stress -- I manage to stumble back onto these old, hurtful but familiar paths.

I continue to try to live in the Now, in present times: to let go of hurts from the past, forgive myself for stupid things, forgive others who hurt me whether intentionally or unintentionally. I try not to worry too much about the future because I can't really control anything that might not even be . . . now is what I have; it's the only thing any of us have. So NOW, the sun is shining, the trees are all in blossom (the lilacs smell SOOOO wonderful!!) that it's time to go out into the world and be thankful for God's beauty.

Good Friday Morning

2010-04-02T09:06:00.000-07:00

It is stormy today. Rain pours down and later we are expecting heavy winds. It seems appropriate for Good Friday. While warm and sunny weather is perfect for Easter, this feels like the heavens are crying in sadness at the suffering Jesus was called to endure for love of God and of us. Would that I loved enough to suffer life's pains with such grace, accepting them, dealing with them and moving on. As a friend reminded me this morning, though, along with all the Good Fridays we endure, there are also many Resurrections.

Last week I had a Resurrection Day, hiking with a friend in Catherine Creek, a beautiful area on the east edge of the Columbia Gorge. The wildflowers are beginning to bloom here and we caught a few on camera. I have included photos of Yellowbell and Mountain Shooting Star; the purple daisy-shaped one, the most profuse among the flowers currently blooming, is not yet identified. I have also included a couple photos from the hill looking down at the Columbia River. If you look closely you can see Mt. Hood in the distance on one of them.

After three hours of hiking in which Charlie was allowed to run and explore to his heart's content, I took my friend, a Jesuit priest, up into Trout Lake and Glenwood to show him beautiful, up-close views of Mt. Adams. He'd never been in this area before. This is an area my late husband John and I loved and we went hiking in Bird Creek Meadows several times. I hope to take my friend up there this summer. He is a photographer and this area is a wealth of beauty just begging to be recaptured.

It was a gorgeous, sunny and fairly warm day, a day filled with grace and blessings, clear air and quiet. I didn't realize until a few days later that it was also a day filled with ticks. It is tick season and we were east of the Cascades and poor Charlie had nine ticks that I found later and removed. Incredibly gross!!

Last night, Holy Thursday, as I was singing in the choir I watched some of the people having their feet washed. It is touching to watch as families with young children participate in this ritual commemorating Jesus' washing his disciples feet. Most touching of all for me was watching a couple my age who have been married for many years but recently found out he has inoperable cancer and maybe has five years or so to live. When I saw them come up to wash each other's feet, I wanted to cry for them and yet celebrate the love they have shared for so many years.

Another couple was a little more painful to watch: a man I have loved who is now married to someone else. They have struggled with some challenges in their marriage and part of me was happy to see them making this overt sign of recommitment, forgiveness and love, but part of me also grieved. I grieved that I have no one to love and to love me. I grieved that a man I once thought and hoped would be a long-term fixture in my life will never be. Sometimes it takes awhile to close a door completely. I need to do that. Close that door and find another. Another place to put my love and energy, another place to hang my heart. It will happen. It may not be a man; it may be a mission. Perhaps seeing the obvious care they have for each other will help me finally accept the inevitable. I think so. Today I think so. But it is still hard and I feel fractured, wounded, a little broken. Not quite ready to be grateful yet. Maybe those are appropriate feelings for Good Friday, along with the storms outside.

So life continues, with its crosses and its empty tomb, its dyings and its risings. The work on the book is very near an end. I will probably give it to a professional editor in the next couple weeks. I would love to have it ready to published by the end of April; that has been my goal: two years after returning.

Getting Ready for Spring

2010-03-15T10:15:00.000-07:00

Truthfully, spring has been hanging around the Northwest for weeks. My daffodils are all but spent, the azaleas are getting ready to bloom. It is supposed to be sunny and in the sixties much of this week. I'm sure by some standards that sounds like winter, but for my friends in, say, Minnesota or Maine, that's definitely spring weather. Late spring, even.

It's been a crazy few weeks, especially last week. It was delightful to have my daughter come spend almost a week with me while her husband was at a conference in Corvallis. It was also the week of our Novena of Grace, nine days of Mass and prayer and wonderful reflections. Many people consider Novenas to be old fashioned. But this has been a part of our faith community's Lenten journey for many years. It's a Jesuit thing and all the Jesuit parishes, at least in the Oregon Province, hold the Novena in honor of St. Francis Xavier (Ignatius' good friend and fellow "charter member" of the Jesuits) from March 4-12. It is a graced time and we always have wonderful homilists. This year was no exception. And it was an extra blessing to have Kristin join me for two of the Masses.

In addition to Kristin's visit, of course I have Karl living with me now and his 20-month old son, Jesse, was here for four days. Kristin was a great help riding herd on this darling but very lively young man. He was fascinated by her dogs but they were not equally entranced. Charlie, however, continues to be extremely patient and gentle with Jesse.

So given the beauty of this winter (for technically it is still winter) and the joy of spending time with my family, why am I angry with God? Screaming angry? So angry it shocked and frightened Charlie who, of course, is the only one who ever sees those dark parts of me.

Sigh, it's a long story but it starts and ends with my life feeling out of control. I joke that I prayed for a man to come into my life and God sent me my 27-year-old son who is a wonderful young man in many ways but continues to create havoc in my life, though I know that isn't his intention. Yesterday, after coming home from church with Jesse and one of his older brothers who is 9 having been here since Friday night, the house was an absolute mess. Food crumbs and dirt from outside all over my very expensive rug. Dishes everywhere. Clothes everywhere. Toys everywhere. Edible food, nowhere to be found. It feels like I have lost my house and am on the verge of losing my sanity -- at least my safe refuge from life's onslaughts.

It feels like God has said: Okay, you whined about being lonely, here have family. Now you can't complain about being lonely, can you? Now stop your bitching. I know that isn't what God thinks or why my life is becoming this morass of obligations and taking care of and picking up after and paying for. I am feeling used and abused and I told my son that last night. I love having Jesse and I loved having Kristin here to spend time with her nephew (and me) but my life has suddenly taken a very sharp turn and I am still adjusting. It takes awhile to adjust to any new circumstances that affect us, and I took my frustrations out on God.

Which, actually, is just fine. God can handle my anger and frustration. At the very least, it shows I view God as a Being who cares whether I am happy or angry. If God didn't care, or didn't exist, there would certainly be no point in getting angry, would there?

The other frustration was I decided (will I NEVER learn) to go back on-line and see what I might be able to find man-wise. One of the profiles that came to my attention was amazing in the similarities and things we have in common. We met on Saturday and had a very long conversation (4 hours) over wine and dinner at a friend's restaurant. He is very intelligent and well rounded, a scientist and a poet. I wanted very much to like him, and I do like him. I just felt ZERO attraction to him. We will go out again but I'm pretty sure this will not go anywhere because I feel no physical interest. Dang. And to top it off, his name is the same as a guy I've had very strong feelings for in the past and struggle with letting go of. Maybe that's the reason for going on-line; I knew it was time to let go of him. But I haven't fully yet and so I think it will be hard for any man to measure up. I keep thinking if I meet someone wonderful I will be able to move on (I just corrected that from what my fingers typed: "move up" -- freudian slip perhaps?) but my spiritual director and other advisors say I have to let go before the door will be open to someone wonderful to walk into my life.

Alternatively, I could just accept my single-hood and learn to be happy and contented with that. Especially now that it appears I may have a long-term roommate.

Postscript: I just got a call from the literary professional who's reading my book and he told me that while it needs some polish and tight editing (more??) and he thinks he knows the perfect person to help me with that, he really likes what I've done, he loves reading it and it's "something good" that will be better with a little more editing.

Giving Up Guilt

2010-03-04T10:14:00.000-08:00

This year for Lent I decided to give up guilt. Well, a little of it anyway. There are so many things that make me feel guilty, but I thought my commitments to two non-profits would be fulfilling and life-giving. Instead they only make me feel obligated, they added more SHOULDS to my life. They are both great organizations.

One, Jesuit Refugee Services, works with refugees, immigration detainees, immigration reform issues. From my years of working for the Senator I know how totally messed up current immigration law is, how unjust, how it divides families and keeps people down. The issue of refugees has always been close to my heart. I started this fall doing volunteer work, finding news articles that the communications director could use in the JRS/USA blog. It was interesting and challenging at first, but as I became more involved with my book and publishing efforts, the JRS was taking more time and I wasn't giving it the effort and energy I needed. This made me feel guilty. So just before Lent started, I bowed out.

The other obligation was with the Franciscan Spiritual Center. I set up a blog for them and had offered to do some marketing volunteer work. But nothing ever came together; they didn't know how to use me and I didn't know how to help them. It was awkward. Then they dragged me, kicking and screaming, onto their advisory council. Really, it was a draft; I felt pummelled into it. But I didn't go to many meetings, I didn't participate much. Obviously I resented it. So I also resigned from the advisory council.

It feels freeing to let go of obligations that don't feed me, don't give me life but only make me suffer and beat myself up. There are plenty of things I really do have to be responsible about (getting my taxes done, taking care of Charlie and the house and the bills, being a good friend, my prayer and reflection, my writing). I'm sure many people -- women for sure -- take on responsibilities and obligations they don't really need. And then when they fail to fulfill those roles perfectly, guilt steps right up and blasts them, makes them feel like failures or at least really bad human beings. Stop the madness. Let go of unnecessary obligations and the guilt that comes with them. Just say no to things that don't give you life when you have the option to do that.

Instead, find ways to feed your soul this Lent, ways to grow closer in touch with yourself and God. Go have a massage and feel in touch with your body. Go walk through spring flowers. Put on your raincoat and boots and walk through wet grass and puddles during sprinkles. Take your dog on a run and watch for bald eagles or goldfinches and swallows. Meditate or just sit in quiet prayer. But don't feel guilty.

True Confessions

2010-02-26T14:20:00.000-08:00

Okay, I admit it. I have been unfaithful. I have blithely ignored my commitment to my blog and have been carried away by Facebook where I just have to post a sentence or two every few days and get to read what's happening with everyone else, in a sentence or two. But for Lent I decided it was time to give up Facebook (and Freecell, for all you solitaire fans -- not sure which has been more challenging).

I think with Facebook I have the impression I'm actually interacting with people. Sometimes I comment on their posts, sometimes they comment on mine. It feels a little like a conversation. Sort of. But in truth it's a big time-waster and doesn't really elicit true communication. So I gave it up for Lent.

Which in a way is too bad, because I have some news to report. So I'll report it here. Last Tuesday I put the finishing touches on the last chapter of my book. My conclusions were the hardest part to write but I have written them.

I had been working on updating my proposal and query letter and earlier this year sent out a number of queries. Those who responded declined to see more; most didn't even respond. I finally decided I was wasting my time sending out queries, even based on some pretty good research about agents who represent the kind of book I have written (memoir/true adventure, among other aspects). So I decided: who needs an agent and a publisher. I'll self-publish. In order to look "legitmate," I decided to create my own publishing company, Gray Wings Press, LLC (which I registered with the Oregon Secretary of State). I bought my domaine name and am ready to put up a web page to sell my book from.

After doing more research, I set up an account with a self-publishing process (Createspace, part of Amazon) and figured out what I need to do there. They are "print on demand" so whenever they get orders through Amazon (or other sources), they print the books. I had to set it all up in camera-ready format (for a PDF) which I have done as I edited and completed the work.

Then based on the suggestions of a friend who has had several books published, I met with a man who knows the publishing industry well, has been an agent and is now a "book packager." He has lots of contacts and is trying to help me get it put together to either self-publish or publish through a recognized publishing house. He tells me I still need to do some serious editing (cut it down by about 40,000 words) and will probably have a professional book editor work it over.

But it should be ready to go (from my perspective) within another couple months, I hope. If I self-publish, I have contacts to try to promote it locally and hope to have some of my friends across the country who were part of my travels promote it in their regions, too.

Part of my marketing plan is to recommit to my blog and try to post at least a couple times a week. Even after Lent! Once I have my webpage set up, I will like that to my blog and my blog to the webpage.

Further plans for my publishing company might include some collections of essays/reflections by some of the lovely women over 50 whom I know, thoughts on life and love and faith from the middle ages, something like that. I have other friends who are or want to write non-fiction. I want to write fiction. Between us we might be able to put together a nice collection of books for Gray Wings Press to represent. I could help with the self-publishing process, help a little with editing, promotion, etc. We'll see how it goes. For now it feels right, exciting, invigorating.

So onward and upwards. More editing on my book, then figure out how to do a web page. Step by step, again. I know how to do it now, after my 25,000 mile journey.

TravelinLady

Happy New Year and All That Jazz

2010-01-16T19:02:00.001-08:00

Wow, I am soooo bad. It's been almost two months since I last posted. I've been busy, but not THAT busy. Mostly I've been focusing on the book. I thought about calling it "The Adventures of Dashboard Dog and Motorhome Mama" but my brother and my son both thought that was a little too silly for a fairly serious book. So, back to the drawing board. It is almost finished however; I've printed up the first 21 chapters and am proofing and editing. I still need to finish the final concluding chapter and talk about the affects -- positive and negative -- this year of travel and discovery has had on me.

And, true confession: I spend my time updating my Facebook page. Those little short snippets are so much easier and faster to do. Isn't that the story of all our lives, though: instant gratification?

This weekend I have spent time researching agents and revising my query letter. Today I sent out nine query letters by email and have two ready to go by snailmail. I will send them out Tuesday since Monday's a holiday.

I had my usual week in Cabo San Lucas and, because I missed my week last year due to the 14 inches of snow, I got a second week (for $100 I couldn't pass it up). My sister was with me the first week; I was alone the second week but that gave me time to work on the book. I also put in a little time with the sun, lying on my deck looking out at the Pacific Ocean while working on my laptop on the book. Nice. Sadly I have no place to go where I can show off my tan so it will probably just fade away.

The biggest news in my life is that I now have what will likely be a long-term roommate. My son moved in last Monday. Seems their marriage isn't working out so they will probably be filing for divorce this spring. He lost his job in December so has been looking for work and has found a position that will probably work out for the short-term. I am encouraging him to think about going back to school in the evenings. It's really the only way he will probably ever get onto a decent career track. While I ache for him that he has to go through these challenges, I am glad to be able to be here for him, to offer him love and support and a little bit of help. I know he will get his feet back under himself soon but for now I am enjoying his company.

Watching the devastation in Haiti and being reminded of the ongoing struggles the Hatian people have endured for generations is pulling at me. I have been looking for a focus for my time and energy, something to do that shares the graces I have received with others. I am currently doing a little work with Jesuit Refugee Services -- just finding relevant news articles for their on-line blog. But I want to do something more. Now that Karl will be here, this might give me the flexibility to go abroad for short times to do something more hands-on. JRS is active in Haiti, as are a number of other agencies. So, we shall see if that leads to any new projects. The poverty and despair in Haiti reminds me in a very graphic way of how blessed and fortunate I am, even when I get into little funks and feel sorry for myself. I have so much more than any of those people, and than many people here in the U.S. Certainly my traveling showed me that. Yes, I have a lot less than some people; but I have enough.

In the meantime, I continue to read and attend my parish liturgies, sing in the choir, serve on Pastoral Council, attend my Friday morning contemplative prayer, participate in other spirituality classes and groups. And I continue to work on my writing and hope that someday it will be of some interest and even help to someone.

Peace and all good to you and your loved ones in 2010
TravelinLady

Further Reflections, Further Aha's

2009-11-18T13:01:00.000-08:00

This morning a few more of those leaves I wrote about yesterday found their courage and let go. The reason I know this is because I raked up everything yesterday afternoon and put those leaves in my compost pile to begin their new life. This morning a handful of golden leaves are lying on my lawn that weren't there yesterday. That passing is as inevitable as the turning of the seasons, the movements of the earth.

In thinking about letting go, yesterday's poem takes on several more layers. On Saturday I went to a wedding and was happy for the couple, the family, was enjoying the celebration and comeraderie of old friends. Until the dancing started. Then seeing all the couples who had been friends of John and me for so many years out dancing together, that secret stiletto of pain came to rob me of the pleasure I had felt earlier.

Every once in awhile I see something -- in life, on television, wherever -- that reminds me the life I once thought I could look forward to is gone. I am not walking into retirement hand-in-hand with my life partner. We won't explore the world together, on local hikes or flights to exotic places. My children and grandchildren are not gathered around me at holidays. All these dreams are gone and yet I still can't quite let go of them. Until I do, until I can move beyond those dead dreams, stop mourning their loss, it will be very difficult for me to find new dreams, new joy, new bliss.

In my mind, I know this. But perhaps my heart is just not ready to let go. What do I fear? Falling? I've already done that plenty of times. More likely, failing. Losing what little I do have and having nothing to show for it. Except maybe myself.

Then there is the fear of letting go of youth. I turned 59 this summer. I freak a little when I think of this as my 60th year on this planet. I think about all I haven't done and how little time there is left. That leads me to think: what's the point in starting something new? Is there enough time? Just excuses to keep me from letting go of my youth. It's not that I'm obsessed with youth as some people are. I will never have surgery to look younger. It's hard for me to accept that I will never again look like I did 30 or 40 years ago. Our standard of beauty is young, thin, wrinkle-free. But that doesn't mean I can't lose a little weight, get in better physical shape, try to take care of what I have, be the best me I can, physically as well as emotionally.

Then there's that whole level of spirituality, letting go and letting God. Allowing God to use me instead of me grasping on to my own limited power, clinging to what little strength and talent I have instead of releasing myself to a higher power.

So even though I am home in Portland, the journey continues. Always.