When I find it difficult to tend my soul, I tend my garden and my garden tends my soul.
It also tends to the caterpillars bees butterflies hummingbirds that tend the planet.
So I guess it’s a pretty important garden.
From palm trees to pine cones. I’ve been at a three day retreat in North Carolina. This year my birthday coincides with the glorious turning of the leaves into burnished bronze and amber gifts. I’m brazenly thankful.
Like a good introvert, I’ve stayed back from one of the outings to be silent and think. My thoughts dance around perspective, provoked by the visual richness around me.
See the reflection of the windows… cute, little, inaccurate?
They look like this in real life (IRL!):
If I only stare at my cute, little, inaccurate view, I’ll never know that the windows frame a tranquil forest, a fire pit, inviting chairs, a carpet of leaves and so much more. What’s more, if I continue to sit and stare at my cute, little, inaccurate view, I’ll never know that the windows open, that crisp air will clear my mind. That life is inviting.
I challenge you to remember this–that your perspective, my perspective, every single day, is limited.
Live life looking around, noticing details, looking for the REAL everywhere.
Don’t ruin relationships, or miss out on adventures and growth opportunities, or let bitterness weigh you down like cement shoes on a defunct wiseguy (where’d that come from?), because you failed to look around for the greater perspective on people and events in your life. Look up or turn around. Dig. Dig deep if need be. Ask. Question.
Everything of the best,
Like many of us this week, I have felt sad because of so much crisis in the world and its nations.
When I think of the beauty of the cultures in this big blue marble, I feel such a blend of love and pain, hopelessness and hope. All I know is I’d rather die from feeling too much than expire on the shelf dusty from disuse. If we are still on this planet it’s to do our best, to love our best and bring peace, which I am fully convinced cannot be brokered, expected or otherwise spread by men and women who do not have it in their own hearts.
So when my fellow humans are hateful toward each other in discussing peace in the Middle East, or the situation at the US/Mexico border, or the value of the unborn and the already grown body, I look numbly and cannot hear.
The arguments are vapors if while bitterly and hatefully calling for peace and compassion, one can’t forgive one’s husband or wife or love one’s poor neighbor and rich neighbor equally.
Peace on a grand scale cannot happen if it is not first present on the micro-heart scale. This was one of the great lessons papa Mandela taught us. He became a man who was wisely and contagiously peaceful once he found peace in his own heart.
We demand that Jews and Muslims, Russians and Ukrainians, poor and rich, brown and less-brown, privileged and forgotten, men and women find a way to live together magnanimously on a grand political scale, pass legislation that is fair to all, accept all…
Yet in our homes and jobs and worship places and co-ops we are petty and self-interested and unjust and steal and lie and laze… what delusion makes us think that is going to scale up into goodness in the public square of the global village?
My conclusion after such philosophizing and ranting, is that we are not actually helpless.
There is one seemingly tiny insignificant thing we can do–we can try to love well. I think we mustn’t underestimate the power of loving well. You never know who you might impact.
People that have loved me well have helped me become whole. Whole people don’t need to conquer or hate or belittle. That’s all I got. Let’s help each other become whole.
God help us.
Had a nice walk in the park this morning. Three miles or so. With Abba in my headphones. Voulez-Vouz perfect rhythm for walking. I can’t believe how strong an influence music has on my person, although it makes sense, I was a dancer. All I could do to not twirl and leap around the path… A few people around. Big sky smiling down. A guy with little guys practicing hoops. Family with mini-me’s on playground. A couple on the tennis courts in the park center. Suddenly music got louder. Bunch of guys in the tennis court doing running backflips off the 10 foot high chain link fence; all kinds of people dancing on the bball court and pathways. Spectacular choreography. Movement, rhythm, craziness, colors, notes… Thank You for the Music. Little lizards doing their push ups on the benches in the sun unfazed. Burrowing owls overseeing the fun. Sun-showers starting, kissing my cheeks and spotting my sunglasses, and the earth emanating that special smell from when it first starts to drink. Suddenly I Dreamed a Dream piped in (thank you spotify)… Anne Hathaway’s rendering… and the dancing changed and sobered but not in a depressing way, and all the people slowly left with new determination to go fight for good things… And Dancing Queen walked home…
Life without fantasies & dreams = walking dead
“Streams in the desert”–take a moment to visualize them… mmm. Feet burning in the sand, then stepping into coolness and salvation.
Streams in the Desert is an old school devotional that I love.
I meant to share this with you the other day, from August 3:
Do not pray for easy lives! Pray to be stronger men. Do not pray for tasks equal to your powers. Pray for powers equal to your tasks. Then the doing of your work shall be no miracle, but you shall be a miracle. ~Phillips Brooks
We must remember that it is not in any easy or self-indulgent life that Christ will lead us to greatness. The easy life leads not upward, but downward. Heaven always is above us, and we must ever be looking toward it. There are some people who always avoid things that are costly, that require self-denial, or self-restraint and sacrifice, but toil and hardship show us the only way to nobleness. Greatness comes not by having a mossy path made for you through the meadow, but by being sent to hew out a roadway by your own hands. Are you going to reach the mountain splendors? ~Selected
We are not here to play, to dream, to drift;
We have hard work to do, and loads to lift.
Shun not the struggle; face it.
‘Tis God’s gift.
Say not the days are evil–who’s to blame?
And fold the hands and acquiesce–O shame!
Stand up, speak out, and bravelly,
In God’s name.
It matters not how deep entrenched the wrong,
How hard the battle goes, the day how long,
Faint not, fight on!
Tomorrow comes the song.
~Maltbie D. Babcock
I’m at the DFW airport. Got an unexpected ride here so I’m earlier than usual for my flight. Walking down the corridors humming with life, ruminating about the seminar I just attended. Given my forever involvement with communication, events and the irresistible impulse to make communication more effective, I always ruminate after events. Especially regarding message – were there any interferences between the intent, the conception and the reception of the words?
But I digress. Walking down the corridor toward my gate, a cart driver offered me a ride. But I was only 6 gates away. So I said no thank you. He said – But I want to help you. I said – cue big friendly smile – no, really, thank you. Kept walking.
Humming along, roller bag cooperating, glancing here and there, instinctively people watching, and I spot a female flight attendant, cornered up against a kiosk, looking for emotional safety as she reads something on her phone with tears running down her cheeks. We made momentary eye contact and I didn’t break stride – until about 10 feet past her and then I just had to back up, approach her kind of sideways and say, “Totally none of my business, but are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m okay, just very sad…” Ow. “I’m so sorry,” I said. “Whatever it is, I’m so sorry. I will go away and say a prayer for you. Whatever it is, know you are not forgotten. You are not forgotten.” She thanked me. I touched her arm gently then went my way, lest I totally creep her out.
So I am saying a prayer for comfort for her, for solutions, for logistics. She probably is in the middle of a shift and will have to go now and smile at all the passengers and try to make their flights pleasant, while inside she is weeping and coping and processing whatever bad news she just got.
You know, we’re all together on this planet… the butterfly effect of the private aches we carry is a cosmic mystery…
In the meanwhile, be kind to your flight attendant.
Oh, and sometimes say no to rides.
“the kind of dad I have goes to the store at 10pm to buy me tres leches (or other random cravings) when I’ve had a not-so-great day such as yesterday, and he’s been doing that since I was knee-high to a grasshopper (tall people, am I still knee-high to a grasshopper?) thanks Daddy.”
That is a recent facebook post from our daughter, @sadpotatoes… Yesterday had been a bit of a rough day emotionally for all of us, for various reasons… When I saw her post and the comments on it today, it reminded me of how I learned to make a cup of tea!
So, at the risk of embarrassing Peter even more, and with the excuse that Father’s Day is not too far away, here goes:
When we were first married, I resented the idea of getting my British-influence South African background husband a cuppa, mostly because of the machista culture I was raised in, wherein brothers and men in general expected to be served… “Mija, ¡¿ya está la comida?!”
One night many years ago, Peter, my sister, and I were hanging out just before ten, watching tv, when the words “I feel like cheesecake!” popped out of my mouth. I just sort of said them to the universe. Without hesitation, he jumped up off the sofa, got his shoes and said he would go get some.
About half an hour later he returned with an entire cheesecake. The story? He’d gone to the local Marie Callendar’s, which had just locked its doors for the evening. He knocked on their door until they let him in and sold him a cheesecake.
And that is how I learned to make a cup of tea.
It’s all about what my pastor in Chile (Alf Cooper!) used to call “mimo mutuo.” Mutual pampering. I discovered that getting a cup of tea (or hunting down a cheesecake) for someone isn’t about control, or anything that complicated! It’s just a nice thing to do. It’s a kindness. Peter is not perfect. Nope. Not at all. Trust me. But he has always modeled kindness for me. And something as simple as that has helped me to begin to know love… And probably helped us to stay married!
I woke up this morning to a silent house – Peter with his headphones downstairs, watching the news, the kids in a deep sleep. And in that silence, the thoughts that came bursting into my head first thing were for my friends who are not mothers, and this not by their own choice, and are struggling quietly today because of the hoopla and Hallmark.
To you I say, You are not incomplete. You are not “less than.”
I don’t have time or space here to delve deeply into the complexities of humanity’s love/love/hate/buyflowers/deride/canonize relationship with motherhood. And chances are high this writing is going to be clumsy, because of the delicate nature of the theme. And kinda sorta deep cause I usually go there… so sorry ahead of time! But still…
I am thinking of a gorgeous loving girlfriend whom I once callously asked at a baby shower, “So, when are you guys going have one?” – only to be stopped in my tracks by immediate overwhelming tears that brimmed her big eyes. “We can’t.”
And others, who would make amazing mamas, but are battling with health issues or life circumstances so their future in that regard might be uncertain. And amazing couples that are moving forward in their adoption process, after an agonizing soul searching and decision making process.
I just woke up wanting to hug all the women who can’t have kids and tell them the truth. I write this because it seems tradition and society subtly conspire to make a woman feel “less than” when she hasn’t biologically experienced “the miracle of birth.” That – to put it eloquently – is crap. I say you’re “more than” – more than amazing and inspiring, creative and beautiful and full of power to change lives and grow lives and be an agent of redemption. I salute you!
Yes, motherhood is amazing. And yes, I have often gushed over the miracle of it. But motherhood is not the most amazing experience in the world, and I mean that. I believe the most amazing experience in the world is connecting at the deepest levels with the human and the divine.
Bearing children biologically, and raising them, does allow us to experience that connection. But having a child is not the only way, doesn’t even guarantee it.
What do I mean by “connecting at the deepest levels with the human and the divine”? I wish I was a good enough wordsmith to flesh it out… Here’s my clumsy (I warned you), and admittedly limited, attempt:
Impacting another life – true, when you are raising a child you are literally molding another life. That is power and responsibility. Yet I can think of teachers, mentors, and relatives that helped mold my life. If you have that innate instinct to mentor, to impact, to help a person discover who they were meant to be, pursue it!
Agonizing heartache – one of my abiding ponderings is the mystery that heartache and joy are two sides of the same coin. The journey with another person through bad and good is the connection with the human to which I referred. Kids will absolutely sear your heart; some of the greatest pain in my life has come watching my children go through bad times. That feeling is matched in intensity by the joy of watching them make right decisions. All of us, to grow, have to connect at that level – and you can have that connection with a lover, a sibling, a kindred spirit…
Self-sacrifice – laying down your life for another is the beginning of connecting with the divine. This is another abiding pondering for me – self-actualization often only happens through self-sacrifice, because that is when you discover who you really are. Losing myself has helped me to find myself. Self-sacrifice means doing things when you just don’t feel like it; it means going on when you want to give up; it means being misjudged. I promise you, there is someone out there who needs a hero like you today.
Redemption – a third pondering: the dynamic tension between my choices and my destiny (in religion-speak, free will vs. predestination). As life unfolds one day, one year, eventually one decade at a time, there is a matching revelation – things work out. With children you can see how a choice you felt forced to make (and feared would hurt your children) – say, to move to another state – ultimately leads to very good things for them… There’s something about the helplessness of parenting that ultimately helps you surrender to redemption. You already know about helplessness and surrender. And everywhere in life we can witness goodness and redemption working out, both despite and because of, the decisions made. With eyes wide open and an attentive spirit, we can see this redemptive grace at work everywhere.
Bottom line – it’s rough. The ache may never fade. But just in case you have subconsciously bought into the lies, be free. Motherhood is not the be all and end all of womanhood. Connecting with our fellow humans and our God, and channeling life through those connections, is the essence of womanhood.
This is an excerpt from The Shack, an allegory. The setting is a dock, on a small lake, out by a secluded country cabin. Mack is the main character, a man struggling with some serious pain and injustice (more than most of us will ever know). Jesus, in simple human form, is chatting with him. He’s invited Mack to walk with him on the water.
“Tell me what you are afraid of, Mack.”
“Well, let me see. What am I afraid of?” Began Mack. “Well, I am afraid of looking like an idiot. I am afraid that you are making fun of me and that I will sink like a rock. I imagine that – ”
“Exactly,” Jesus interrupted. “You imagine. Such a powerful ability, the imagination! That power alone makes you so like us. But without wisdom, imagination is a cruel taskmaster. If I may prove my case, do you think humans were designed to live in the present or the past or the future?”
“Well,” said Mack, hesitating, “I think the most obvious answer is that we were designed to live in the present. Is that wrong?”
Jesus chuckled. “Relax, Mack; this is not a test, it’s a conversation. You are exactly correct, by the way. But now tell me, where do you spend most of your time in your mind, in your imagination, in the present, in the past, or in the future?”
Mack thought for a moment before answering. “I suppose I would have to say that I spend very little time in the present. For me, I spend a big piece in the past, but most of the rest of the time, I am trying to figure out the future.”
“Not unlike most people. When I dwell with you, I do so in the present – I live in the present. Not the past, although much can be remembered and learned by looking back, but only for a visit, not an extended stay. And for sure, I do not dwell in the future you visualize or imagine. Mack, do you realize that your imagination of the future, which is almost always dictated by fear of some kind, rarely, if ever, pictures me there with you?”
Again Mack stopped and thought. It was true. He spent a lot of time fretting and worrying about the future, and in his imaginations it was usually pretty gloomy and depressing, if not outright horrible. And Jesus was also correct in saying that in Mack’s imaginations of the future, God was always absent.