One Perfectly Enjoyable Moment

This morning as I was driving along a beautiful road with overhanging trees and filtered sunlight, I thought about what it would feel like to be so in tune with our lives that we experienced perfect enjoyment of even a single moment. Somewhere deep inside I believe that our sacred appreciation of a day, or a moment, or a hug, or an experience honors God in a way a thousand wordy prayers cannot. I have this feeling that if we were able to feel--even for the slightest instant--completely full, completely happy, completely at peace, completely whole--it would be all we would need to fill our lives with divine bliss forever. I'm not going to work too hard to find that sense of enjoyment because I think the effort drives it away...it has to emerge naturally, simply, like a rosebud opening. But I'm going to hold on to the idea that it's possible, that it will dawn on us suddenly like a rainbow in the clouds, grace of the highest order, reflecting God's smile deep within our souls for all eternity.

A Meditation on Success

You, O God, are continually about the business of creation. A bird sings, a sky lightens, a breeze lifts, leaves rustle, a world awakens, fresh and new. I breathe in the sweet world you've given us for yet another day and feel uplifted and renewed; I join with you in celebrating its Goodness. What more than this, O God, do we need for a successful day? To breathe in the wonder and gift of each new person who crosses our path; to embrace and give thanks for the moments--no matter what emotions they carry--that lead us still closer to you. Instead of running out into the world chasing plans and ideas that might ultimately prove Good, perhaps success lies in simply allowing ourselves to shine like the candles we are, burning forth in gratitude and hope, lighting the way for each other while expressing your Divine Principle, your saving grace. We participate in your on-going creation by being the loving beings through which you bring light into the darkness. Help us, O God, to recognize we are a continuing, contributing part of your creation and to relax into the knowing that our attunement with you is the only real success we ever need. Amen.

Help When We Need It

My dad told me a story about something mysterious that happened when I was born in a hospital in Decatur, Illinois in the early 60s. My mom had been very sick and she went into labor six weeks early. When I arrived, no one expected me to live because my lungs were full of fluid and I was unable to breathe on my own. My dad was working in Chicago at the time and remembers the phone call he received from my grandmother: Instead of saying “You have a baby daughter,” she said, “You’d better make funeral arrangements.”

When my father arrived in Decatur the next morning, he didn’t know what he would find at the hospital. To his surprise, the nurse led him to the nursery window, where he could look in and see me in an incubator—tiny, red, but still alive. The nurse told him that she’d heard that a young intern had sat beside my bed all night long, squeezing a bulb aspirator that manually inflated my tiny lungs until they were strong and dry enough to begin taking over on their own. When morning arrived, the young intern disappeared without a word—and no one on the floor knew who he was, where he came from, or where he went.

I have noticed throughout my life that in every sad, scary, or tragic circumstance, there are always people—some might say, angels—who are there to help us in one form or another. A person has just the answer we need when we’re trying to figure out how to solve a big problem. Just when we give up trying to find directions to a place we’re trying to find, we discover the road we’ve been looking for. In a moment when we’re feeling hopeless and discouraged, a friend shows up with something that lifts our spirits. We get messages of hope in songs, in prayers, in smiles, in sunrises.

It reminds me of a story I heard a long time ago in which a father and daughter are sitting on the front porch when the little girl hears the sound of a siren not far away. She looks worried and says to her dad, “I hate to hear that sound—I know it means somebody is hurt somewhere.” Her dad thought for a moment and then hugged her tight. “It might mean they are hurting right this moment,” he said, “but it also means help is on the way.”

My hope for us today is that we remember that help is all around us in the moments we need it most, and that even when we’re hurt, sick, frightened, or confused help is on the way.

God's Prayers

This morning I was reading Carolyn Myss's book Why People Don't Heal and How They Can in preparation for a paper I'm writing on the role of religion in American medicine. She had just related a story a woman shared in one of her workshops: in the midst of a near-fatal traffic accident, the woman had an out-of-body experience in which she saw what was happening from a hundred feet above the accident. She could hear how people were reacting in the cars behind hers on the busy expressway--some were traumatized by what they saw, some were panicking about being late for appointments, and from one car about five cars back, she saw a beautiful swirl of light, coming up to the clouds and going back to her car. She realized the woman was praying for her. I loved that image and imagined someone in need suddenly receiving in a very real way beautiful swirls of light from everyone who comes to support them in prayer.

Just then, the sun broke through the clouds for the first time this morning and touched my shoulder and the back of my head. Feeling the warmth, I thought, "Oh, there goes God again, praying for us." What a wonderful idea! That our beloved Creator not only knows, loves, guides, protects, and walks with us through our days, but sends the kiss of prayer to our lives daily, moment by moment, in beautiful swirls of light and love we can experience in any moment we are willing.

Enjoy the swirls of light that come your way today!

God's Answering Machine

I just love this poem I read in the Writer's Almanac newsletter this morning and wanted to share it with you. I think of my own voice and my face over dinner each day, with my hungry kids waiting, forks poised, and my husband hoping I don't launch into anything other than the usual, "Please bless our family and our food, and thank you for this day" kind of prayer. In my heart, I would love for that moment to be about thanking God for all the good things that have happened that day...but everyone else seems to see it as a gateway to mealtime. Ah well. Perhaps one day they will have an experience like this author had:


Grace
by Linda Pastan, from The Last Uncle © W.W. Norton.

When the young professor folded
his hands at dinner and spoke to God
about my safe arrival
through the snow, thanking Him also
for the food we were about to eat,
it was in the tone of voice I use
to speak to friends when I call
and get their answering machines,
chatting about this and that
in a casual voice,
picturing them listening
but too busy to pick up the phone,
or out taking care of important
business somewhere else.
The next day, flying home
through a windy
and overwhelming sky, I knew
I envied his rapport with God
and hoped his prayers
would keep my plane aloft.

Rugged and Old

Occasionally I bump into people I know I could never have met without divine assistance. Not long ago, I had one of those blessed contacts. It was a chance meeting with a man my father's age. In the middle of our brief conversation, he suddenly said, "Would you like to hear how I came to know the Lord?"

He told me that 35 years ago, he'd been in a bar with his best friend on a Friday night. They were doing the usual--drinking, smoking, killing time. On this particular night, the bar manager decided to open up the stage for a kind of singing contest. It was before the days of Karaoke, but something similar. Although he'd never wanted to be up in front of a crowd before, he jumped to his feet. "Come with me," he said to his friend. The friend looked at him like he was crazy for a minute and then agreed. They made their way to the stage.

Together they turned the pages on the songbook, trying to find a song they both knew. There was only one they both recognized: "The Old Rugged Cross." The man looked at me incredulously and shook his head. "I have no idea how I knew that song," he said. "I'd never been to church in my life. I had never thought twice about God before that."

He and his friend began to sing the hymn. He laughed, remembering. "You should have seen that place clear out! I think they thought the roof was going to fall in."

But then his eyes filled with tears. "You know, after we finished singing, I went back to my seat. But God was already working with me. The words of that song were sinking in. After that, I started noticing God wherever I went. That's what started it all...and I'm so grateful to him."

Thank you, God, for your consistent, constant, abiding welcome; for the way in which you touch us and reach us; for the amazing and creative ways you hold us close. Thank you for loving us so much that you come and stay with us wherever we are--in a smokey bar, stuck in traffic, sitting in a cubicle, alone in the kitchen, or in the middle of a congregation on a Sunday morning. We thank you for the softening and transforming that's happening in our hearts even now. May we be a blessing to you and to each other this day. Amen.

New Steps

Last Friday I was walking across the Earlham campus, heading toward my car. All was quiet except for a cardinal singing in the top of an ancient tree; the snow stretched before me, a collection of interweaving and dividing paths, memories of others who had journeyed this way before me.

As I trudged toward my car, I suddenly noticed that I was very intentionally (but unconsciously) stepping into places that still offered fresh snow--I was making new footprints and not stepping into the steps of those who'd gone before. I was curious about the change in me. I remember, as a child, carefully stepping into existing footprints to avoid getting snow in my shoes, slipping on unnoticed ice, or experiencing that unpleasant sensation of stepping on ice covered snow for a bare moment and then falling through--crunch!--to the soft snow underneath.

But on this day, for whatever reason, I had mysteriously made a shift from path follower to trail maker. Looking back, my footsteps showed where I came from and how direct (and indirect!) the path had been.

May we each feel a renewed sense of readiness and confidence as we create our own footsteps--together with God--through the adventure of our day! :)

Bits of Glass

I saw on the Writer's Almanac newsletter I receive every morning that today is the birthday of Anton Chekov. The last quote of the article is attributed to him: "Chekhov said, "Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass."


I know of my work in chaplaincy how the circumstances in our lives can get broken when something upsetting, frightening, or tragic occurs. Telling someone "God loves you and is with you" doesn't help because it's far and distant--like the moon--even though I believe it is certainly true. But helping someone (and this goes for my own brokenness, too) notice where in their lives God is reflected in those broken pieces...where is God working in our lives today?...brings the realization that nothing--not illness, injury, loss, calamity, poverty, doubt, anger, or failure--can separate us from God's love. God's here right now. We just need to let ourselves look at the broken pieces and see the reflection.

First One Out There

This morning I was sitting at the table in the kitchen with a steaming mug of coffee cupped my hands, looking out at the bitterly cold morning. The sun was just beginning to light the sky. A lone duck swam across the lake. A few stars still glimmered in the west. And suddenly the song of a bird came, loud and clear, ringing out from one of the trees beside the house.

A bird? Singing? It's six degrees! I thought, as a feeling of warmth and remembering--and gratitude--swept through me. How odd and wonderful and brave of that little bird to find something to sing about when it's six degrees and the sun isn't even up yet. How amazing that God whispers in the ear of a dove to bring an olive branch back to Noah to give him a sign of land. How perfect that we can sometimes be signs of hope for each other long before our relationships are healed, our health improves, our burdens lighten. May we each be aware of the signs of hope we are for each other today and have our eyes and hearts open to receive the hope others bring to us.

Blessings on your day!

Transcendent God

The curator of a local museum, the Eiteljorg, was interviewed on our public radio station this morning, and she described a new Georgia O'Keefe exhibit opening tomorrow. She talked about O'Keefe's ability to find the infinite in the most earthy places. This reminds me of some of my favorite saints--St. Teresa of Avila, St. Francis of Assisi, St. John of the Cross. Something about finding God in the guts and reality of our lives really moves me. It's as though the closer we get to God the more we find Him--not as a distant Sunday abstraction--but right here, in the ice on the sidewalk and the new laugh lines around our eyes. God seems to call us deeper into an embrace with our own creatureliness, our humanity, and we are so surprised--and overjoyed!--to find Him there. Our journey isn't as far as we thought.

Here's something about O'Keefe I found on the Eiteljorg's web site (art image is from Art.com)"In "Pelvis with Distance" (1943), [O'Keefe] painted the sky through the hole of a bleached pelvis bone that she had picked up in the northern New Mexico desert. O’Keeffe painted pelvis bones because she “was most interested in the holes in the bones—what I saw through them—particularly the blue from holding them up in the sun against the sky.”

“When I stand alone with the earth and sky, a feeling of something in me going off in every direction into the unknown of infinity means more to me than anything any organized religion gives me.” --Georgia O'Keefe

May we feel the stretching and spreading of our souls today, as we experience all that God delights to give us.

Well Said

I ran across this quote in a book this morning. It's actually the epitaph of Benjamin Franklin. It made me smile (and nod inside):

The Body of

B. Franklin,

Printer;

Like the Cover of an old Book,

Its Contents torn out,

And stript of its Lettering and Gilding,

Lies here, Food for Worms.

But the Work shall not be wholly lost:

For it will, as he believ'd, appear once more,

In a new & more perfect Edition,

Corrected and amended

By the Author.

Thank God the Author for his continual care and tender molding of us, his Works in Progress. :)

Praying for the Wounded Soul of the World

I read this amazing passage in Flora Slossen Wuellner's book, Prayer, Stress, & Our Inner Wounds and felt it was an appropriate thought to lift up in light of the tsunami tragedy and the continuing heartbreak in Iraq and the Middle East:

"I first began to think seriously about this form of prayer when I was asked to lead a retreat for a church that had recently lost its pastor under circumstances agonizingly traumatic for both pastor and people. As I sat with the group of lay leaders in the church parlor and we talked and prayed together, I became aware that I was not sitting with just a group of hurting bewildered individuals. It was as if the group there had a personality, a soul of its own, that was wounded. I shared my impression, and we began to pray for the wounded memory of the group, as if the group were one person."

What groups are you part of? Has there been a sadness, a frustration, a hurt in your home, in your office, at your church? Is there division and heartache, loss and grief? I love this idea that we can pray for the soul of our families, the spirit of our church, the healing of our nation, the Divine Light of our world . This is prayer on a big, transformative scale, and another way to touch and bless and honor the shared life God has given us.

Unfathomable

The huge wave of the tsunami continues to sweep over us...a horror of tragedy, unspeakable loss, indescribable pain and fear. I've been watching and praying, praying and watching. Remember how Jesus wept over Jerusalem? If we believe that God grieves with us (and I do), how must God's heart be breaking now over such unspeakable pain his children are experiencing? If God loves us with a depth we can't even imagine, how intense must this horror be for him? I pray God brings us all peace and healing and enables us to bring light even into this darkness. Especially I pray for those precious ones having survived this nightmare who now face the days ahead having lost everything--everything--except perhaps the One who, knowingly or unknowingly, grieves with them. God, give us your grace and comfort. And we will do our best to dry your tears.

An Exercise in Futility

Well, my lesson this morning was not as warm and wonderful as yesterday's. Today what I learned had more to do with a battle of wills that I had no choice but to lose. It was outside my control. I was met with an insurmountable obstacle. And his name is Edgar:

I knew that the medicine I was trying to give Edgar would help his breath and make him easier to cuddle on these long winter evenings. I knew that the result (because Edgar loves nothing more in the world than to sit on your lap and have his ears scratched) would be worth the temporary angst brought about by taking and swallowing the liquid medicine. But Edgar was having none of it. And I mean none of it. We struggled for several minutes. I tried a dozen different ways. Each time Edgar flipped up and around, doing everything he could to dodge the medicine, to escape my embrace, to avoid my hands. I finally let out a totally exasperated "Aaaarrrrgggg!!!!" and put him back down on the floor, where he stood looking at me innocently (was that a victorious gleam in his eye?) and wondering when I'd be giving him his breakfast.

I like to start out my mornings with peace, solitude, prayer, quiet. Good feelings. Quiet time with God. But here I stood, in the kitchen, with my heart thumping in my chest and my blood coursing through my veins. I was mad. I'd been bested by a 15-pound Bichon Frise with the worst dog breath I've ever experienced. We call his condition "death breath" and he really needs this medication--otherwise, someday, somebody is going to melt or turn to stone when he breathes on them!

I'd run up against a wall that just wasn't going to move. I'd hit the limit of my ability to control the situation. Suddenly I felt a kinship with the friend whose teenager is totally ignoring her rules about curfew. I felt a stab of understanding for the friend whose father is being transformed by Alzheimer's, who often acts in a way no one else can anticipate or control. I understood the frustration of friends know with bosses who won't listen, spouses who won't forgive, parents who can't forget, bodies that won't heal, ideas that won't go away, addictions that can't be conquered, jobs that can't be found, and homes where peace just doesn't come.

God, please give us the grace to accept the things we cannot change and show us the next step you want us to take. Enable us to relax into your arms in those moments when we hit the wall of someone else's will or circumstances that are beyond our control. Show us what we can do to bring light into our dark times. And give us the courage to follow where you lead. We usually don't know why things are as they are, but we know--and claim--that you love us and know us and are with us in our struggle, and in our peace. The moments that we can't control can offer us jewels of wisdom. Helps us accept those jewels, dear God, and watch for you to show us how these moments can be transformed in your love.

(And please, God, would you do something about Edgar's breath?)

Love to you all today! :) k

Small Things, Faithfully Done

This morning as I awoke I was still hearing the trailing end of a pleasant dream, in which a man's voice said, "Small things, faithfully done, make for a good life." I felt so peaceful when I awoke! Throughout the day, I began to notice small things I might have otherwise missed--getting breakfast for the boys, cuddling the dogs, feeding the cat, telling my husband I loved him, thinking good thoughts about the future, saying a quick prayer, feeling my heart respond to someone's sadness, caring so much and so deeply about so many things. Small things in our day, faithfully, faith-fully done, bring God into our hearts and through us, into our lives--and maybe that light will spill over into someone else's day.

So whether your tasks are big or small today, take heart! You're creating something good. :)

All of Who We Are

This morning wisdom is on my mind. Isn't it amazing to think that all our experiences--from our very earliest moments with our parents, to our most recent interaction with a stranger on the street--is teaching us what we need to know about life? As amazing and spiritual nerve endings, we receive and respond to every happening--internal and external--in our day. The amount of input and output is staggering. Think about it: each time you pet the dog, each time you look up from your work, each time you remember God, each time you forgive yourself, hope for something, feel a wave of sadness, laugh with a friend, you are contributing to the creation of life in this very day.

Wisdom comes pouring from us through all of who we are--through our gifts and our blind spots, from our painful past experiences as the moments that gave us the greatest joy. Miraculously, the wisdom born of the understanding that bubbles up from that still, small voice is available to us in every single moment and act of our lives. We only need to turn the volume of the world down a bit in order to hear it. Even--and maybe especially--in the midst of the rush of the holidays, the wisdom that radiates from all of who we are shines out of us like star atop a Christmas tree.

May you shine bright and proud, knowing that every moment of your life up to this very minute has prepared you to give all of who you are today. We are ready. We are grateful. Shine away! And watch God smile. :)

All Is Well

My dear friend Susan sent the following post to me from an Internet newsletter she receives called Inspiration Peak. It's wonderful! See whether it speaks to you, too:

"How would you feel if you had no fear?
Feel like that.

How would you behave toward other people
if you realized their powerlessness to hurt you?
Behave like that.

How would your react to so-called misfortune
if you saw its inability to bother you?
React like that.

How would you think toward yourself
if you knew you were really all right?
Think like that."

-- Vernon Howard

Holiday Peace

May your gathering this holiday--no matter where you are or who you're with--be filled with divine peace:

• P for experiencing the continual Presence of God
  
  
• E for the Everlasting Love God has for us
  
  
• A for a sense of Angelic Protection and Companionship
  
  
• C for the Care and Kindness we share with others
  
  
• E for a sense of Eternity, which we are living in this moment and all moments.

This holiday, we have much to be thankful for, but to my way of thinking, nothing beats this: We have a God who loves us, who seeks us, who desires our companionship and walks with us through every day, circumstance, trial, and blessing. May we open our hearts to receive a full understanding of this greatest gift and remember, in gratitude, to offer it freely to each other.

Blessings on your holiday!

The Better Angels of Our Nature

For some reason this phrase has been floating around in my head this morning. I looked it up and found that it is from Lincoln's first inaugural address. It seems uncannily timely now:

We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stre[t]ching from every battle-field, and patriot grave, to every living heart and hearthstone, all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.

May our "mystic chords" of unity be touched again--as surely they will be--and may we even today recognize and welcome those better angels who, as the Talmud says, bend over each blade of grass (and each of us), whispering "Grow! Grow! Grow!"

Peace

This day, above all days, is a day of peace. In the hours that stretch before you, God will walk with you and show you where your gifts are needed--a kindness here, a forgiving word there, a touch, a hope, a dream, a vision. Walk in peace today, Dear One, knowing that God takes each step with you, smiling each time your heart responds so naturally in love to those brought across your path.