I am aware, as you are, that time is fleeting and moments are passing. Life has taught us that. But there is more, like a dandelion will scatter with the wind as we hold it in our hand. There is no stopping any of that. Nor can we control it.
Still, there are messages for us here, right now, as we contemplate a little reality. If you know me personally, you know that I have lived an uneasy life full of trouble. In a way, tragedy became the path I traveled. I would struggle my way through one tragedy and then steeled myself waiting for the next one. The next tragedy always came eventually, a tragedy large or small.
When tragedy cruelly and abruptly stopped me in my tracks, I found that most of the time, I was resilient and full of hope. Yet, I became exhausted by the trauma, or the sorrow, or the grief.
It is true that when I fell to my knees, I always got up. Good for me! It’s not like that, though, that “good for me” attitude. I was strong enough to get up and move forward, but it was more like God graced me with the courage and hope I needed for to pick myself up and take my next step.
Void of any pending tragedy, I have felt positive for the past weeks. I finally have a stable, working kidney. My frequent falls have stopped. I didn’t get seriously hurt by falling, just a sprained wrist and later a bruised rib cage. So I firmly believed the words of faith from Julian of Norwich, “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.”
Until, until, I heard the doctor say to my husband Fred and me, “You have advanced prostate cancer.”That’s when I broke my streak of resilient responses to tragedy. I have been happily married to this good, good man for 55 years! He cared for me during my long illness, five years of dialysis, and my kidney transplant. He cares for me every day in a thousand different ways! I honestly don’t know how I would live without him. Then I heard a whisper, “Where is your hope, my daughter? Where is the resilience that has always carried you through the hard times?”
That whisper was what I needed to hear, because everything about this felt different to me than any other time I had heard bad news. Questions and concerns and worries about every kind of life change flooded my psyche. I was assuming the worst right at the very beginning of this current life tragedy. I could not put my finger on it, until I saw this bit of insight from C.S. Lewis.
No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear
—C.S. Lewis, from “A Grief Observed”
I felt instantly that my feeling since the awful diagnosis day was indeed fear. That’s why it felt so different. It was not my normal response of sadness, anger, devastation, aliveness, fatigue, and more sadness. This time my grief felt more like fear. So there you have it. The gentle make up of a dandelion is not one you can hold together. It scatters with the breeze. Time continues to fleet no matter how we try to stop it. Moments are passing and that will not stop.
But we have this moment and all the comfort and peace and hope and joy we can get from it. And we can do just that: consider only the present; feel the emotion of it; recognize it as completely yours; and summon the courage to hold it in your arms and grab the good things. That is one simple definition of resilience, and you have it! You have resilience! Everyone has it! Keep it close and continue to move on your sacred path.
You have probably had that kind of dream at a few junctures on your journey. I know I had many dreams along the way. Sometimes they scared me to death. I dreamed of peace, equality, freedom, changing the world, and many other huge and noble dreams. I dreamed some silly dreams, too! I soon got the hint: changing the world is a formidable task. I followed all the rules, but being a rule-keeper does not make a person effective in dreaming and imagining. Women who follow the rules (someone else made up) could correctly be called well-behaved. They might even be called good girls because they don’t cause much of a flurry. They typically don’t make history and they certainly don’t change the world.
What Does a Woman who Does’nt Behave Look Like?
A woman with less-than-good behavior looks like someone at peace with herself, someone who radiates hope, someone with the courage and determination to do justice. I have admired and emulated so many examples of women who did make history, women who were not well-behaved at all. Here are only a few: Rosa Parks, Harriet Tubman, Lucretia Coffin Mott, Sojourner Truth, Susan B. Anthony, Nancy Sehested, Elizabeth Cody Stanton, Prathia Hall, Julian of Norwich, Malala Yousafzai, Mother Theresa of Calcutta, Ann Hasseltine Judson, Lucy Stone, and so many others!
Becoming a “Bad Girl”
About 24 years ago, a chaplain colleague recommended a book to me: Goodbye Good Girl: Letting Go of the Rules and Taking Back Your Self by Eileen M. Clegg. I think my chaplain friend was suggesting that I should get out of my comfort zone and take some risks, that I should courageously follow God’s call on my life. I knew that the members and churches of my denomination would “throw a fit,” like we say in the south! After all, I was an ordained minister serving as a hospital chaplain, which placed risky challenges before me every day.
Reading for Transformation
So I read the book immediately and set out to become a bad girl, a girl who fully intended to change the world and to make history for it! So far, I have not made history. I have not managed to put my name in lights. I have not started any big public movements. But I have done some things that matter! I have learned how to create sacred space; I have learned the depth of liberation theology; I have found enough grace to endure the consequences of being a “bad girl” and then a woman with questionable behavior; I have held off anyone who tried to tell me who I am; and I have called up the courage to fight for justice. Colleagues, friends, family, co-workers reacted to the change in me, since they never expected me to dissent, or disagree, or refuse to behave.
Becoming a Catalyst for Change
Suddenly I let go of my “good girl” image and basically said “goodbye” to my restrictive behaviors. I took back my life, put aside all the rules, and followed my soul. I watched for the winds of the Spirit to lead me, and I moved forward to all the places that needed some attention. I was able to help change unjust systems, unjust policies, and unjust processes by not being so well-behaved.
Becoming Your Authentic Self
Still, I sometimes think I have reached an uneasy place when it comes to letting go of my “good girl” persona. I’m really not a “good girl” and I don’t think I ever have been. My parents had to endure the sassy exclamations of my toddler years, like “Nobody’s the boss of me!” Creating shock from those who knew me, I mostly remained a “bad girl” from that day to this. I set aside the rules that were designed to keep people down and I took back my life. Today—in my mid-seventies—I continue to spew out uncommon proclamations that are quite annoying to those who are determined to hold on to their power and resist change.
Embracing Change is Hard
Truly, it was sometimes hard being a change-maker and a rule-keeper! Always a people pleaser. Always the ultimate perfectionist. I discovered along the way that sometimes rule-keeping, people pleasing, and keeping every little thing “perfect” can harm your inner core. In fact, it’s less risky when you follow the leaders, make sure everyone is pleased, and doing everything with glowing perfection. Stepping out of line is always a bit dangerous.
Being Resolute and Unmovable
When you become exactly who you are, resolute and unmovable about the things that matter to you, you will raise a few eyebrows, and sometimes people will get angry with you . You see, those people expected something else from you. Each of us becomes “me”— the “real me”— at our own peril. In a sense, we have to fight for the right to be ourselves in the world.
It is true that the people around me reacted strongly when I took back my life and became fully invested in my destiny. They thought that I had become radical, maybe even unhinged. I did not respond appropriately to their demands. To unreasonable demands, this is essentially how I might have responded, sometimes out loud, sometimes under my breath . . .
I will do it. /It’s my right! / It’s my choice! / It’s my prerogative! / It’s my decision! / I’m doing it anyway. / You can’t stop me! / Just watch!
You Are Not Enough!
All the while, I felt uncomfortable because of so much disdain from others, who began sending me a new message, You are not enough! I Imagine that many of you have heard someone say to you, You are not enough. At least, we may imagine someone saying those hurtful words. Unfortunately, we believe it because we don’t know ourselves, meaning we don’t know our bright and dark places, we have not yet realized our sacred worth, and we have not yet searched our souls.
Perilous for My Soul
For you see, you and I are afraid because it is perilous for the soul when we don’t search diligently for our soul’s passions and dreams. You and I sometimes accept what others say about us and tuck it away in our deepest places. When those words sneak all the way down into the soul, we tend to give up. We start from the moment we make ourselves nonchalant about it all, that moment when we shield our hearts from hurt. One of the saddest phrases we use is “I don’t care.” When we no longer care, we begin, one by one, eliminating the people around us, never realizing that they are hurting, too. And maybe the reason they send the message, You are not enough, is because they believe that they are not enough either.
The Hazard of Other Voices
I can honestly say that I have often heard voices—known voices, unknown voices, and the weak little voice in my head—telling me, You are not enough! I have learned that once I have embodied that negative message, it rolls around in my psyche for a long time, maybe forever. It becomes a state of being that goes deeper than skin. It penetrates in deeper places, and takes its toll on my emotional and physical well-being. I recall many such times, none more painful than the wagging tongues around my ordination . . . You know the scenario, “She can’t be a minister because she is a woman! Anyway, she’s not good enough! Other voices are often hazardous, dangerously breaking down our sense of self-worth. They may be yelling, speaking in a normal tone, whispering, or imagined in our heads. In response, we must prepare ourselves to hear the voice above all voices, saying, “You are my beloved daughter with whom I am well pleased.”
Embody—What Does It Mean?
For a long time, I embodied the traits of the good girl, but to embody good girl traits is not really a once-and-done action. Embodied lasts a while! Embody does not have a shallow or surface meaning. It is deeper. I like the word embody. It seems to suggest that we can live a soulful life. In the very middle of the Greek word for “embody” we find the word σώμα, which means body. However, the Greek word for body cannot be translated in a way that reveals the depth of its meaning. The definition of σώμα is deeper than we realize. It is not skin-deep, it is deeper, approaching a definition more like soul.
Touching My Soul
I do like the word embody and the word soul. In some ways, to embody means to live in your soul. The word embody may whisper to you that in your body’s center, you will find the path to reach your soul. A person who lives in the soul is a person that does not live a shallow life, devoid of the emotion that makes us alive. The soul will help you, if you can just start by daring to touch it.
How Do I Do It?—Live in My Soul, Change the World. . .
So what are the things we can actually do to take back our lives and live soulfully? What path do we follow to transform ourselves and change the world? My initial response to that is, “I don’t know.” Not very comforting, I know, but mostly true. We cannot forge the path for any other person. We cannot know what’s best for them. So not knowing anyones path, nor their dreams, I can give you a list of things others are finding the leads to their transformation. Here they are, not at all an exhaustive list, and certainly not a perfect guide for you:
Carve out some time for quiet, restful, meditation.
If you are a person of faith, get in touch with God or whatever person you worship.
Listen.
Listen some more—to your heart and your soul.
See if you find there a sacred direction especially for you.
Do you feel you are getting any closer to discovering your authentic self?
Can you begin to believe you will be transformed?
Can you take a step or two, in faith, into a holy place of transformation?
Pray, making your needs known to the source of your faith.
Read! Read the stories of others who found life transformation.
Find community, even one other person, who understands your journey.
Start all over again, leaning into the wisdom you found on your previous journey.
Take as long as it takes, until you realize that suddenly, you are becoming emboldened and scrappy!
emboldened and Scrappy
You may not know her name, but Lucy Stone was steadfast in her belief in self-authentication and in her ability to change the world. Lucy Stone was called “emboldened” and “scrappy” because of her tireless work for the abolitionist and women’s rights movements through the 19th century. A bona fide pioneer of her time, Lucy Stone stands as a historical titan. Her book “Unapologetic Life” describes a model of a revolutionary living. As for me, I would count it an honor to be described as emboldened and scrappy.
Riding on the Wings of the Spirit
Life is more fun when you’re emboldened and scrappy. Not that we want to reduce the life experience to just scrappinesses. Life is so much more, like authenticity and the willingness to be a change-agent. Life is about having enough courage to persevere! Life for me is about my soul and all the ways it has been transformed over many years. All along my journey, I knew that my soul was a problem! At every age, there was a part of me that wouldn’t follow the easiest path. I longed to be empowered to make societal change. I chased down injustice and worked to dismantle it. I spent most of my career working with victims of domestic violence, child abuse, and human trafficking. This was not the easiest and most pleasant vocation, but the work had made its way into my soul. To do it, I had to live in the light of self-awareness and soul-awareness. I had to constantly listen to the sighs of my soul, and move only after I had heard them clearly. If I had just one nugget of advice for you, it would be to touch your soul and ride on the wings of the Spirit.
Expect to Make History
Sisters, don’t forget that when you touch your soul, you might just not be a “good girl” anymore. Or a good boy, for that matter. As for me, I am not a “good girl” living at the whims of other people! And I am definitely not a well-behaved woman! So I fully expect to make history! Because making history means leaving a legacy, creating a world brimming with peace, and embodying your best self!
A PAUSE FOR SOME WHIMSY . . . Why don’t we have a little whimsy today? I have invited my snail-friend to join us. And anyway, we all need a little whimsy in these troubling days! So here goes!
I’m sorry to tell you that the snail in the picture will take forever to reach that mountaintop, and you and I simply don’t have the patience to walk with a snail. Even so, I feel good about my chances when racing a snail to get up on top of a mountain!
DOES THIS MAKE ANY SENSE AT ALL? . . . Not that this makes any sense at all. Why I would even be considering such a race! In fact, this is completely nonsensical, and if you know me, you know I’m far too serious to entertain whimsy! Makes no sense at all. Oh, but it does make some sense. Let me tell you something about me and what I have learned about the wisdom of the snail and its slow journey!
LIFE CAN BE DEVASTATING . . . When I think of the life catastrophes that have been the hardest for me, the ones that hurt me the most, I immediately recognize that I never slowed down enough to clearly see the unrest brewing around me and inside me. Multi-tasking and acting like an overcommitted, overwhelmed wife, mother, professional minister and hospital chaplain squeezed my spirit enough that I became hopelessly entrapped. That was in my younger days, those days when most of us stretch our commitments to the breaking point.
Before I could change course, I could see my dreams fading and my ability failing. It was impossible for me to reach the top of my mountain. It happened before I realized I was in trouble.
In the light of day, I can somewhat see, but at night, I can hardly see anything—literally and figuratively. But at least I have learned to take time to look up at the stars in a dark sky. It’s easy to see, to envision stars twinkling in the heavens, when you’re still young and when you can still find your hope-filled dreaming place inside you. You can still be breathless, open-eyed and awestruck!
CAN I STILL BE BREATHLESS, OPEN-EYED & AWESTRUCK? . . . To be honest, I must confess to you that I find it difficult to see with my soul, to be open-eyed and enthusiastic. I have lived my life with visions of dreams and hopes, and I have loved the fullness of my days. But being retired is another story altogether.
The story of my young and middle adult days was a story of constant activity, challenges, and tall mountains to climb in search of dreams. Dreams, dreams everywhere! Wherever I looked, I found another dream to dream!
RETIREMENT CAN BE DISHEARTENING . . . Retirement is another thing, and I am there! Illness and aging has nearly shut off my dreaming and visioning. Still, though I am sparring mightily with retirement, in the end I have slowed down to a snail’s pace. And snails probably don’t climb mountains or search for dreams.
What pieces of wisdom can we receive from a snail on a slow slither? Perhaps we should look elsewhere for such wisdom. One of my favorite authors gets to my soul with almost everything he writes. His keen spiritual insight has guided my path time after time. This is what Bishop Steven Charleston has to say about seeing more clearly.
I see more clearly, now that I am aging. Not with my eyesight, but with my soul. I see the fine detail of what I missed in younger years. I see the place of faith and forgiveness in my story. I see the possibilities of life in ways I never imagined. I was not blind in my youth, but my vision was limited to only a few seasons of seeing.
Now I am an old man standing on a hill. I see more clearly. The universe stretches above me in infinite glory and the Earth spreads her shawl to wrap me in creation. Open the eyes of your spirit. Look out in wonder. See the fullness of the life you have received. See the promise of love walking in beauty before you.
— Bishop Steven Charleston
MY FRIENDS FINDING NEW WAYS TO DREAM . . . These are words I can hang on to and patiently learn how aging folk can still hope and dream, and maybe even climb new mountains. It’s possible. I have seen several aging folk on top of the mountains they dreamed of. One of my 70 year old friends travels all over the world. Another has launched out in a new calling to counsel kidney transplant patients. Yet another friend faced a closed door, so she picked up her skills and began a brand new ministry. And one friend left the United States to feed hungry people across the ocean.
All of these friends made it up to the mountaintop, though some of them might have traveled at a snail’s pace. That doesn’t matter, and I have a notion that their secret to life has to do with slowing down and stopping their frenetic pace. Why do that?
To give yourself time to dream, time to contemplate and pray, time to pull your soul back together, time to open your eyes and truly see, time to meet God who may well whisper in your ear . . .
Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?” And I said, “Here am I. Send me!”
—Isaiah 6:8 NIV
TIME FOR SILENCE AND CONTEMPLATION . . .So walk on, slow if you have to. Take your time and wait until you hear God’s voice or sense the presence of the Spirit. Give yourself time for silence and prayer and a lot of contemplation. Keep your courage ready, and then go with all your courage when your heart says it’s time. Don’t let the snail discourage you. Your pace, whatever it is, will get you there. Don’t let anyone block your path or steal your dreams! And I’ll meet you on a mountaintop somewhere!
A LOVELY HYMN FOR YOUR QUIET TIME . . .
Here I Am, Lord (Anniversary Recording) · Dan Schutte Here I Am, Lord (30th Anniversary Edition) ℗ 2001 2009 OCP, 5536 NE Hassalo, Portland, OR 97213. All rights reserved. Made in USA. All selections BMI.
SHARE YOUR STORY . . .
If you are a new to my blog or have been reading it for years, you are welcome here. If you would like to leave a comment about your experience with slowing down your pace, finding time for prayer and contemplation, or renewing your spiritual, physical, and emotional life, please tell us about it in the comments. Your story can help others see life more clearly.
Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the LORD has risen upon you. For darkness shall cover the earth, and thick darkness the peoples; but the LORD will arise upon you, and his glory will appear over you. Nations shall come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn.
Lift up your eyes and look around; they all gather together, they come to you; your sons shall come from far away, and your daughters shall be carried on their nurses’ arms. Then you shall see and be radiant; your heart shall thrill and rejoice, because the abundance of the sea shall be brought to you, the wealth of the nations shall come to you.
A multitude of camels shall cover you, the young camels of Midian and Ephah; all those from Sheba shall come. They shall bring gold and frankincense, and shall proclaim the praise of the LORD.
When the Holy Child is born into our hearts there is a rain of stars, a rushing of angels, a blaze of candles, this God Burst into our lives.
— Ann Weems
On this particular day, I am finding it difficult to declare that Epiphany is my favorite day in the Liturgical Calendar. But it is my favorite day of celebration in the Church year! The truth is that this day of Epiphany, 2023 reminds me that today is both a day of shining splendor and a day of shameful scourge. After all, this year Epiphany falls on the sixth day of January, the third anniversary of the day the United States Capitol was violated by a mob of insurrectionists. Thousands of attendees, some armed, walked to the Capitol, with hundreds breaching police perimeters as Congress was beginning the electoral vote count. Among the rioters were leaders of the Proud Boys and the Oath Keepersmilitia groups, who conspired to use violence to interfere with the peaceful transfer of power.
Within 36 hours of the event, five people had died: onewasshot by Capitol Police, another died of a drug overdose, and three died of natural causes, including a police officer. Many people were injured, including 174 police officers. Four officers who responded to the attack died by suicide within seven months.
That day was a disgraceful moment in this nation and beyond, as many countries around the globe lost confidence in America. American citizens also reacted strongly and suddenly questioned our nation’s democracy, the sovereignty of free and fair elections, and the participation in “a historic and profound abuse of the judicial process.” We were questioning our ethics, our morals, our human decency, our abhorrence for violence, and sadly, our sudden refusal to discern the vast difference between peaceful protest and seditious mutiny.
Can we finish this unpleasant conversation and change our view to the stars, thousands and thousands of stars in the Milky Way galaxy? They are perhaps a sparkling reminder of other sparkling things that are worth remembering—the birth of America’s democracy, the toil of creating the United States Constitution, the Veteran’s Day commemorations year after year, the moving inaugurations of the line of U.S. presidents, America’s many fragile freedoms, the outstanding individuals we become when we give the best of our hearts and spirits to dreams of peace and justice.
And yet, these are earthly accomplishments and events. We must keep looking up into the heavens, listening for the Prophet’s voice saying, “Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the LORD has risen upon you. For darkness shall cover the earth, and thick darkness the peoples; but the LORD will arise upon you, and his glory will appear over you.”
This is the holy proclamation from the Prophet that Epiphany gives us every January. It is the soulful serendipity of the new year. It is a kind of GodBurst that gives us the energy to keep moving closer to dreams of peace and justice.
I need Epiphany this year. Perhaps you do too. There is far too much darkness surrounding us all—war, violence, abuse, division, rancor, injustice, racism, misogyny, xenophobia, gun violence, illness, drug abuse, homelessness, hopelessness—darkness. I think maybe our Epiphany prayer needs to be a prayer of lament for the part, large or small, that we have played to bring the darkness upon us and our world.
But after lament, we can always look up to see the stars. You know the ones, the ones God placed in the galaxies to brighten our darkest nights and lift our darkest spirits. God set these glittering Stars in the sky to always remind us to look for Epiphanies, and find them when we least expect to. Even if we have only one brief, transcendent, shining moment, we can claim as our own the brilliance of the stars that hover above us in the night sky. Our GodBurst! Your sacred path and mine definitely does take us through dark and frightening places sometimes, but look up! That’s the command I keep saying to myself. Look up! “Arise, shine, for your light has come and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you!”So look up into the heavens and see the most brilliant, glimmering stars giving light for your journey.
May God make it so. Amen.
A Prayer of Lament
Radiant Star of Hope, we lament the darkness of our world.
Forgive us the darkness we ourselves create. Star of our deepest Hope, you grace us with guidance and mystery, Visit our troubled rest with disturbing dreams,
and our journeys with strange companions. Grace us with the hospitality to open our hearts and homes
to visitors filled with unfamiliar wisdom, bearing profound and unusual gifts.
Guide us on Epiphany’s path and disturb us with Stars, O God,
that the radiance and Spirit working in the world
mightgather together all peoples and nations in one community to offer you worship and proclaim your everlasting splendor. Amen.
Help me call a blessing down, for I think our poor old world needs it, a blessing of peace, a blessing of the ordinary, a blessing of national life without chaos and personal life without fear.
Help me pray a healing down, for I know how much we need it, a strengthening of the bonds between us, simple respect and patient listening, a new beginning for us all.
Help me welcome the sacred down, the wide-winged Spirit, drawn from every corner of heaven, to walk among us once more, to show us again how it can be, when justice is the path and love the destination.
Art by Catrin Welz-Stein, from The Cosmic Dancer Facebook community
A friend sent me a lovely blessing today and I want to share it with you. These days, many neighbors and friends — people all over the world actually — have a new dream, a new calling to change the world. It’s an important dream right about now. Pandemic and protests — and all the causes lying underneath them — desperately need to change, and it will take huge dreams to change them. Trouble is, most people like me and you have only small dreams, a few small dreams that sometimes seem so insignificant. Certainly, they are dreams too small to change the big world.
But maybe not!
The message my friend sent me (actually she posted it on Facebook) reminded me that huge change can most certainly come from small acts. The message was today’s grace for me. So I share the message with you. It comes from The Cosmic Dancer* and is written by Scott Stabile.
She felt like doing her part to change the world, so she started by giving thanks for all of the blessings in her life, rather than bemoaning all that was missing from it.
Then she complimented her reflection in the mirror, instead of criticizing it as she usually did.
Next she walked into her neighborhood and offered her smile to everyone she passed, whether or not they offered theirs to her.
Each day she did these things, and soon they became a habit. Each day she lived with more gratitude, more acceptance, more kindness. And sure enough, the world around her began to change.
Because she had decided so, she was single-handedly doing her part to change it.
— Scott Stabile
Hope is tucked into these words, hidden there and bringing to mind that God highly values gratitude, acceptance, kindness and our smallest, powerful dreams. My dreams and yours can change a world filled with violence, hate, grief, fear and so many more hurts and harms.
Tikkun Olam Together provides cultural learning opportunities for mothers and daughters’ grades 6-9 as they work to improve the world – Tikkun Olam.
There is a lovely Hebrew phrase, Tikkun Olam, that means “repair the world” or “heal the world.” The call of Tikkun Olam has always inspired me to more fully offer my life to be a part of the healing God desires for creation, for the earth’s protection and for kindness, equality and justice for all people.
Can we heal the big world with even the smallest acts of kindness and compassion? Doesn’t God whisper to us that we should begin healing the injustice, the violence, the hate, the fear, the mistrust and the deep divisions in the world? Doesn’t God inspire us to know the truth that our dreams are never too small? And doesn’t God promise to guide us and to lead us in following the compassionate footprints of Jesus until we see the world begin to change?
Resting in the grace of inspiration given to us by God, we truly can cast off the gloomy thoughts that our dreams are too small, too weak and too insignificant. And we can hide inside our hearts God’s promise that our dreams can become reality, that our tiny dreams really can change this big world. God will enlarge our smallest dreams if we offer them. We can count on it!
May each of us live “with more gratitude, more acceptance, more kindness” and may even our smallest dreams change — heal — the world.
* The Cosmic Dancer is a Facebook community that shares insights through art, poetry, dance and other “revolutionary rhythms.”
Ugandan Washday at the River. Watercolor art by Kathy Manis Findley
When life moves on — from twenty to forty to seventy — you take into your inner place the ominous idea that if ever there was magic in your life, at some point, you left it behind. You know what I mean. The magic of your first love. The magic of the birth of your child. The magic of the time when you believed you could accomplish anything and everything you set your heart on. The magic that you actually did accomplish that thing, that sparkling thing that made you stand tall and celebrate yourself.
You might be wondering what in the world set my mind on life-magic this morning. I think it might have been carryover from my musings on yesterday’s blog post. But mostly, it came from reading a novel by one of my favorite authors, Sue Monk Kidd. This is the passage that captivated me, captured me as if it were some sort of sacred scripture.
There was a time in Africa the people could fly. Mauma told me this one night when I was ten years old. She said, “Handful, your granny-mauma saw it for herself. She say they flew over trees and clouds. She say they flew like blackbirds. When we came here, we left that magic behind.”
My mauma was shrewd. She didn’t get any reading and writing like me. Everything she knew came from living on the scarce side of mercy.. She looked at my face, how it flowed with such sorrow and doubt, and she said, “You don’t believe me? Where do you think these shoulder blades of yours come from, girl?”
Those skinny bones stuck out from my back like nubs. She patted them and said, “This all what left of your wings. They nothing but these flat bones now, but one day you gon get ‘em back.”
I was shrewd like mauma. Even at ten I knew this story about people flying was pure malarkey. We weren’t some special people who lost our magic. We were slave people, and we weren’t going anywhere. It was later I saw what she meant.
— Sue Monk Kidd, from her novel, The Invention of Wings
Part of why these words so thoroughly captured me is in the very first sentence that mentions the place I so love, Africa. And even though the words don’t really have all that much to do with Africa, I found myself transported, walking among the banana trees in East Africa — Fort Portal, Uganda to be exact. Walking into a village brimming with people, and oh, the children! So many glimmering eyes, wide smiles and glowing dark faces that expressed everything from sheer delight to excruciating sorrow, and everything in between.
That was in one of my former lives, and pure magic it was! Because when you are able to make a child smile with a sweety (a piece of hard candy), there’s magic in that moment and it is a moment you carry through your day and through the rest of your life. Maybe that’s the grace of growing older — that you carry with you moments of magic from every place you have been, from every soul who touched your life so deeply.
In Sue Monk Kidd’s words, the magic was being able to fly, probably meaning to soar into the clouds above your troubles and woes. It hit me in my deep place, that the Ugandan people we came to know and love did soar into the clouds. Indeed, they left the agonizing hardships of life on the dusty earth below as their wings lifted them up, higher and higher to where life’s pain was replaced by pure exhilaration.
Back on the earth, in their world, not much was very exhilarating. Life was the same, predictable day after predictable day that disheartened them with hunger, malnutrition, thirst for clean water, oppression, soldiers with their machine guns and all the commonplace bad things that formed their lives. But there were better things too, like lush banana groves and children singing; like the music of drums at dusk; like the shimmering embers from their cooking fires rising into the night sky and reminding them that the day’s toil was not so bad when family could still gather together around a centering, comforting fire. There was magic in all of it. It was the magic of surviving war and embracing the loved ones who were still alive. It was the magic of celebrating the extraordinary lives of loved ones who had died and knowing that generations would move forward carrying the family’s magic into the future. It was the magic in their remembering, remembering the holy words they had hidden in their hearts . . .
“For I know the plans I have for you,” says the Lord,
“plans for well-being and not for trouble, to give you a future and a hope.”
— Jeremiah 29:11 New Life Version (NLV)
Maybe you, like me, have forgotten that we brought our magic with us to this day from the scenes of our past, from the happenings and the people we have known. This kind of magic never leaves one’s spirit. This kind of magic is holy mystery, really. It is tucked away within us for the times when we most need to take wing. Still, it does take some courage on our part, some brave resolve that we can lift up our heads and embrace “a future and a hope.”
No, we have not left our magic behind! It waits in us for a moment when we are languishing, when we feel sorrow or discouragement, fear or desperation — for a time when we feel disconsolate. It is in that moment we fly, by the grace-filled mercy of God, on the wings of the morning,* forever lifted above the troubles of the world.
I need that sometimes. Don’t you?
For your meditation time, I share with you this beloved hymn, “Come, Ye Disconsolate.”*
* Psalm 139:9
* “Come, Ye Disconsolate”
Lyrics: Thomas Moore (1779-1852); Altered by Thomas Hastings (1784-1872)
Music: Samuel Webbe (1740-1816)
Photography by Jim Dailey: January 1, 2020, Lake Ouachita, Hot Springs, Arkansas
My dear, long-time friend, former Little Rock Mayor Jim Daily, sent me this photo this afternoon. Mayor Jim is a hiker, a camper, a photographer and a naturalist. He loves the outdoors. He is a person of profound thought, and he spends a good amount of his time in thoughtful contemplation — on a lake or an Arkansas River, in a verdant valley or on a mountaintop. He frequently blogs on what he calls his “adventures,” and his blog is filled with thoughts about wherever he is and whatever beauty he has found. For Jim, every day is a new adventure, and his adventures hold sway over him. They change him in so many ways
One more thing — As a tribute to my friend, Mayor Jim, I want to introduce you to his Blog, which you may enjoy viewing at this link: Last Pair of Boots
His Blog, called “Last Pair of Boots,” tells a poignant story — of nature’s beauty, of God’s presence in it, of friendships, of Arkansas’ and America’s holy places, of worship and contemplation and prayer. Here’s what Jim says about naming his blog:
The name “Last Pair of Boots” came to me when my ten year old boots broke down and it occurred to me that at my age the new pair of boots might be my last pair. Metaphorically my boots represent the trails and travels of life.
Whitaker Point … aka Hawksbill Crag! At the Buffalo National River
This is such a thought-provoking description that fits Jim’s love of nature’s splendor. He also hints at endings, not in a melancholy way, but in words the reveal his life of contemplation and curiosity. Jim’s outings are hiking and wilderness camping, skiing, fishing, exploring, visiting every Arkansas State Park through his job as Arkansas Tourism Director, finding friendships in every small Arkansas hamlet, searching for Arkansas treasures,
finding God in all the places and faces.
I imagine he will hold all of these adventures in his heart now that he has finished his work as Arkansas Tourism Director this past December.
Hamfest — Whatever it is … it’s gotta be something special to celebrate 50 consecutive years on top of the second highest mountain in Arkansas — Rich Mountain — in the beautiful Ouachita Mountains, Queen Wilhelmina State Park.
Congratulations, Jim, for your many years of service to the citizens of Little Rock and of Arkansas. Your wisdom, your love of nature, your unquenchable thirst for adventure and your unfailing commitment will remain as one of our enduring Arkansas’ treasures.
As I mused about Jim’s outings tonight, I asked myself about the places and times that created my contemplative times. They are few, too few.
For whatever lame reason, I do not take the contemplative times I need. I think that my kidney transplant on November 12th pushed me into a soul-need that beckons me to solitude, silence, contemplation, adventure — new things to examine in the stunning beauty of nature. It calls me out of the house and into the sunlight or under the stars of the night. It calls me to breathe in the fresh air of God’s creation and, with that breath, to take in the miracle of God’s presence.
Now that I’m retired and have time, I tend to fill my time with all manner of preoccupation. At times, I feel busy and frazzled and don’t really know why. Why am I unable to make enough time to spend in the mesmerizing beauty of nature, keeping silence in God’s creation? Why do I not spend time beside still waters, listening to the silence of a pond? What is wrong with my soul that it is rarely drawn to God’s quiet places, and my heart that does not often seek God’s presence in silent space?
I dare not answer those questions until I am prepared to make some life changes. But what I can do is to hold near these reminders of what God desires for me until I can change my life. These reminders might even inspire me to seek change:
O Lord, my heart is not lifted up,
my eyes are not raised too high;
I do not occupy myself with things
too great and too marvelous for me.
But I have calmed and quieted my soul,
like a weaned child with its mother. (Psalm 131:1-2)
For God alone my soul in silence waits. (Psalm 62:1)
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he restores my soul. (Psalm 23:1-3)
Let him sit alone in silence, for the Lord has laid it on him. (Lamentations 3:28)
To you, O God, silence is praise. (Psalm 65:1)
It is never a bad thing to offer God the praise of silence, to invite God into my contemplation and to allow God’s presence in my moments of prayer and meditation. The truth is that God has always been present with me. But my deepest desire is that I be present with God. As the Psalmist wrote, “My soul in silence waits.”
May those words become my words . . . and yours. Amen.
Sleep would not come easily last night. It occurred to me that I would probably struggle all night to get to sleep, and I began to hope for the coming of daybreak. As I drifted slowly into sleep, I did what I often do on sleepless nights. I began to sing a hymn, under my breath of course, careful not to disturb Fred’s sleep. I began to sing a Gospel hymn Fred and I used to sing many years ago. In our church, or in concert at other churches, “His Eye Is on the Sparrow” was one of the favorites every time we sang it. It was certainly one of my favorites and last night while experiencing a little pain, it came to mind that God was indeed watching over me and, as the hymn says, “Jesus is my portion, my constant friend . . .”
Of course, I also began whispering the Scripture text that inspired this hymn.
Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.
— Matthew 10:29-31 New International Version (NIV)
And then the hymn:
Why should I feel discouraged? Why should the shadows come?
Why should my heart feel lonely and long for heaven and home?
When Jesus is my portion, a constant friend is he.
His eye is on the sparrow and I know he watches me.
His eye is on the sparrow and I know he watches me.
I sing because I’m happy.
I sing because I’m free.
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know he watches me.
Let not your heart be troubled,” His tender word I hear,
And resting on His goodness, I lose my doubts and fears;
Though by the path He leadeth, but one step I may see;
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me;
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.
Whenever I am tempted, whenever clouds arise,
When songs give place to sighing, when hope within me dies,
I draw still closer to Him, from care He sets me free;
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me;
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.
I sing because I’m happy.
I sing because I’m free.
For His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.
I love learning the stories behind the hymns we sing. This is the writer’s story behind “His Eye Is on the Sparrow.”
Civilla Martin was born in Nova Scotia in 1866. Her husband was an evangelist who traveled all over the United States. She accompanied him and they worked together on most of the musical arrangements.
In 1904 Civilla was visiting a very ill friend. Although discouraged and sick, her friend remembered that God was watching over each sparrow and would certainly watch overher. She shared with Civilla the words in Matthew 10: ” . . . don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.”
Civilla was a poet and thought this would be a perfect idea for a poem. She jotted down the idea and by the end of the day, had completed “His Eye is On The Sparrow.” The entire poem was sent to a well-known composer of that day, Charles Gabriel. His lovely music has carried it all around the world in small churches and great crusades.
And then there is my story behind this hymn: that I learned it decades ago and sang it often; that it spoke comfort to me back then, just as it did last night when sleep would not come; that God has given me the gift I call hymn memory so that every time I need encouragement, the text of a hymn — usually every word of the hymn — comes to mind to comfort me.
For this gift, I give thanks to God. Daybreak did come this morning, but before that I was led by the message of “His Eye Is on the Sparrow” into a restorative night of sleep. And I know this truth in all my deep places: “Jesus is my portion, my constant friend.”
I hope you will take a moment to enjoy this video of the hymn.
I may not be able to speak of joyful things today. The physical pain I am experiencing is far too strong, covering me with just a little bit of despair. More than one of my good friends told me in the past few days that I am strong. I am not and, thankfully I don’t have to be because the friends that surround me are being strong for me. They are calling on the minuscule strength I do have and bringing it into view for me. They have told me joyful things when I could not name joyful things for myself. In the process of loving me, my friends call out to the joy and strength that is in me to make itself known. And on top of that, they allow me, without judgement, to be where I am and feel what I feel.
So although I may not be able to speak of joyful things right now, I know that you have already tucked joyfulness into the recesses of your heart. I may not have much hope to send to you today, but you have hope in abundance and it breathes over your spirit during times of courage and times of fear, times when you feel certainty and times when you feel disillusioned. Out of your stores of faith, you encircle me and breathe hope into my spirit . . . and strength and joy.
For that, I am most grateful. And I am grateful that when I am weak, God is my strength. When I am joyless, God covers me with joy. I believe this by faith (a smidgen of mustard seed faith) in those times when I cannot experience those comforts within me, times like this present time of struggle and recovery.
I’ll leave you with these words of comfort that you already know so intimately, words that I also know intimately, but that I need to hear anew today.
And God, the giver of all grace, who has called you to share His eternal glory, through Christ, after you have suffered for a short time, will make you perfect, firm, and strong. — 1 Peter 5:10
For our light and temporary affliction is producing for us an eternal glory that far outweighs our troubles. — 2 Corinthians 4:17
Though I cannot manage to speak of joyful things today, the writers of 1 Peter and 2 Corinthians most definitely can!
Transplant Day Four was a blur. There are no words to adequately describe the volume of information we had to digest just to know how to protect this new kidney. So with all the education we had to learn, both Fred and I are on overload. The pain continues, and hopefully the healing.
But hovering over all the physical and emotional pain are the prayers of the people — my people — my dear friends and family members who are holding hope up high so I can see it. Their love and their compassionate concern is grace for me.
I have few words of my own today, but this prayer shared by Joanna Harader speaks exactly what I need God to hear from me today.
Holy One,
This day may I know
Your health in my body;
Your enlightenment in my mind;
Your grace in my missteps;
Your patience in my frustrations;
Your inspiration where I am stuck
And your tranquility where I need to slow down and rest.
This day may I
Breathe each breath with gratitude,
See each color with wonder,
Hear the hum of the Divine beneath the noise,
Feel your solid presence with each step I take.
Let me live out of your joy
And within your power.
Amen.
Rev. Joanna Harader serves as pastor of Peace Mennonite Church in Lawrence, KS, and blogs at SpaciousFaith.com.
November 12, 2019 — the day of my kidney transplant
I’m welcoming twilight today, that space created for me by a gifted anesthesiologist.
It is, I imagine, a magical thing that gathers all the worries, fears, disappointments of illness and tucks them neatly into a glittering silver pouch.
The twilight is a good feeling, a sense of new well-being in the all places where my feelings and emotions live.
It is a comfort and a grace.
It is a relief, a blessed sense that all is well.
It is an alchemist holding the silver pouch in her hands and flinging it into the heavens, each fear and worry joining the stars in the night sky.
And as dawn breaks — a new dawn — I welcome a new life, a different life, a gift of life that feels like hope.
On another note, please pray for me as I look toward my kidney transplant today at Mayo Clinic in Jacksonville, Florida. I am so grateful that you are walking with me on this journey that often felt so frightening. Your thoughts and prayers mean so much. If you would like to rea the story of my illness, please visit the Georgia Transplant Foundation’s website at this link:
A “Go Fund Me” page is set up for contributions to help with the enormous costs related to the transplant, including medications, housing costs for the month we have to stay near the transplant center, and other unforeseeable costs for my care following the transplant. If you can, please be a part of my transplant journey by making a contribution at this link
Sometimes I am inspired by the strangest things. This time the inspiration centers around Mexican-born, American-educated artist Enrique Chiu. While the Trump administration remains intent on separating us from our Mexican neighbors with a border wall, Enrique Chiu is leading a cadre of bi-national volunteer artists to paint a mile-long mural on the border fence. The reason? To celebrate unity and peace. Their intent is to turn the fence from a dividing wall into a work of art that spreads a message of hope to families that cross the border.
Enrique Chiu calls the project, “The Mural of Brotherhood” (and “Sisterhood” emphasis mine), and enlisted more than 2,600 volunteers to paint uplifting messages on the Mexico-facing side of the U.S.-owned fence. The goal is to create an artistic riposte to Trump’s nationalist and anti-immigrant politics.
Chui has a very personal motivation for the project. When he was eight, he crossed that border with his mother and lived in Los Angeles for a year without legal status. He grew into a renowned artist and envisioned this project, which he dedicated “to all those people who are looking for a better life. Who take enormous risks. Or those have been deported and are separated from their families.”
That inspires me. Creative gifts used to make a statement; Volunteer work offered to encourage; Personal conviction making a statement about unity, peace and justice . . . through an in-your-face act of resistance to divisive, oppressive policy.
Godspeed, Enrique. May God bless the gift of inspiration you share.
On another note, please pray for me as I look toward my kidney transplant currently scheduled for November 12th at Mayo Clinic in Jacksonville, Florida. I am so grateful that you are walking with me on this journey that often felt so frightening. Your thoughts and prayers mean so much. If you would like to rea the story of my illness, please visit the Georgia Transplant Foundation’s website at this link:
A “Go Fund Me” page is set up for contributions to help with the enormous costs related to the transplant, including medications, housing costs for the month we have to stay near the transplant center, and other unforeseeable costs for my care following the transplant. If you can, please be a part of my transplant journey by making a contribution at this link
Stellar Babies: Infant stars are glowing gloriously in this infrared image of the Serpens star-forming region, located approximately 848 light-years away in the Serpens constellation. NASA
Who am I? Of course, I know the origin of my physical body, but from where did my soul emerge? How did it become what it is, what it feels, what it knows? Where were my dreams born, and the longings of my being? How do I awaken to all that I am meant to be?
The point is that our souls must be tended and nourished, but in order to do that, we must know them. We must know what our souls need to thrive and we must know intimately the Healer of our souls. I want to share a beautiful song for your time of meditation, Healer of My Soul by John Michael Talbot. Find a comfortable place and spend a few moments in silence before playing the video:
I often wonder about my soul and what it holds so deeply. I search it and find it impossible to reach down far enough to understand the wonder that is the soul. For years I have heard the admonition, “Search your soul,” I always wondered how exactly to do that. What spiritual discipline might help me search the depths of my soul? I remember the words of one of my favorite Psalms.
O Lord, you have searched me and known me!
You know when I sit down and when I rise up;
you discern my thoughts from afar.
You search out my path and my lying down
and are acquainted with all my ways.
Even before a word is on my tongue,
behold, O Lord, you know it altogether.
You hem me in, behind and before,
and lay your hand upon me.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me;
it is high; I cannot attain it.
Where shall I go from your Spirit?
Or where shall I flee from your presence?
If I ascend to heaven, you are there! If I make my bed in Sheol, you are there!
If I take the wings of the morning
and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,
even there your hand shall lead me,
and your right hand shall hold me.
— Psalm 139:1-10 (ESV)
What stunning words the Psalmist uses to describe how intimately we are known by God. Our challenge is discovering how to know ourselves. And so we plumb the depths of our being, seeking to know what dwells in the soul so that we might live life based on the soul’s longing.
It is true that this soul thing is a mystery, always eluding us and calling us to deeper understanding. And so I come full circle from the beginning of this post? Who am I? And what is my soul’s deepest yearning? Does my soul guide my life? I recently stumbled upon these words:
We are slowed down sound and light waves, a walking bundle of frequencies tuned into the cosmos. We are souls dressed up in sacred biochemical garments and our bodies are the instruments through which our souls play their music.
— Albert Einstein
I love the last thought that our souls play their music. Would that we lived and moved always to our soul’s music! Would that we might see our music creating life and hope and new dreams? When our souls play their music, everything is transformed — within us and around us. That soul music is our gift to the world.
On another note, please pray for me as I look toward my kidney transplant as early as November 6th. I am grateful that you are walking with me on this journey that often felt so frightening. Your thoughts and prayers mean so much. If you would like to read the story of my illness, please visit the Georgia Transplant Foundation’s website at this link:
A “Go Fund Me” page is set up for contributions to help with the enormous costs related to the transplant, including medications, housing costs for the month we have to stay near the transplant center, and other unforeseeable costs for my care following the transplant. If you can, please be a part of my transplant journey by making a contribution at this link
I love the simple beauty of a lotus blossom. Since the lotus is often associated with yoga (a practice I avoid with every fiber of my being), I have never really considered the lotus and its intriguing life cycle. But lately I have been curious about the story of the lotus, which has long been considered one of the most sacred flowers. I wondered what it is about this mysterious bloom makes it so enrapturing and symbolic to so many people and cultures.
I think the answer is that the life cycle of the lotus is unlike any other flower. With its roots buried in mud, the lotus submerges every night into murky river water and miraculously re-blooms the next morning without any muddy residue on its petals.
The general consensus among ancient texts that the lotus symbolizes spiritual enlightenment and rebirth. Over centuries and across cultures, the lotus stunned people with its ability to dip into the grime and revive itself unscathed—an incredible daily cycle of life, death, and a sudden immaculate rebirth that can only be described as spiritual. In fact, the lotus flower blooms most beautifully from the deepest and thickest mud.
The lotus flower’s daily resurrection is certainly interesting and symbolic of revival, transformation and new life. But even more interesting is the flower’s stubborn will to live. A lotus seed can withstand thousands of years without water, able to germinate over two centuries later.
The lotus also blooms in the most unlikely of places such as the mud of murky river water in Australia or Southern Asia. Not only does it find sanctuary in the muck, but due to the waxy protection layer on its petals, its beauty is unaffected when it re-blooms each morning. It continues to resurrect itself, coming back just as beautiful as it was last seen. With such refusal to accept defeat, it’s almost impossible not to associate the lotus flower with unwavering faith, more specifically the faith within ourselves.
My serendipitous lotus research did what my research often does: It prompted me to re-examine my faith. I can readily identify times when I had to wade through the murky, muddy waters that life sometimes brings. And although it seemed impossible to re-emerge from the mud clean and renewed, I did, every time, because of a God who understands both the murk and the rebirth.
It’s all about faith, after all is said and done. Once again God’s creation gives us a stunning example of experiencing thick, murky, dark life experiences; going under into the thickest mud when you no longer have the strength to stay above water; and miraculously emerging again — clean, new, reborn. We can learn a valuable lesson about determination, defiance and perseverance from the determined, defiant lotus seed that can survive over centuries. It hints to me about God’s “long game” for my life that simply shouts “hope” not just in my present circumstance, but in a future I can not begin to envision. God envisions it, though — a year from now, two years, my future, the years God has already numbered for me and the mystery we name “eternity.”
Thanks be to God for my eternity and for a faith that is reborn again and again and again by grace.
*********************
On another note, please pray for me as I await a life-saving kidney transplant. I am grateful that you are walking with me on this journey that often feels so frightening. Your thoughts and prayers mean so much. If you would like to read the story of my illness, visit the Georgia Transplant Foundation’s website at this link:
A “Go Fund Me” page is set up for contributions to help with the enormous costs related to the transplant, including medications, housing costs near the transplant center, and other unforeseeable costs for my care following the transplant. If you can, please make a contribution at this link:
I struggle with the life of contemplation I most desire. I long to stand on the Holy Ground of God’s presence. And yet, I often fail in my attempts to enter that spiritual space. My mind is filled with thoughts, words, concerns, plans, worries. And with so active a mind, I am hard pressed to meditate on the divine presence of God. I simple cannot seem to find a way to enter the great silence that enables me to hear the whisper of God I so desperately need to hear.
In a recent meditation, Richard Rohr spoke of “the great silence” as he described the prayer of the contemplative. This is his thought:
The prayer of the contemplative is, essentially, an attention to the omnipresence of God. God is omnipresent not as a theological doctrine, but as the great silence that is present in every moment—but from which we are usually distracted by an overactive mind that refuses to wait in a humble unknowing for a pure wisdom from above.
As always, he nailed it, describing the kind of waiting in silence we must do if we are to encounter an omnipresent God. Certain ways of being can move us more fully into the great silence.
The beauty of nature, the sound of a gentle breeze, the patter of a soft rain can lead us on the contemplative path. Intentional prayer, journaling, experiencing the healing of music, walking the sacred path on a labyrinth — all of these can encourage us into a more contemplative life.
Most of all, we need the longing, our deepest soul desire, to encounter God. The Psalmist expressed such a longing.
As a deer longs for flowing streams,
so my soul longs for you, O God.
My soul thirsts for God . . .
There is a very special call from God that lets you know that it is your call and that no one else can respond to it quite like you can. It brings with it a kind of holy, inexplicable energy.
Your call may be teaching or preaching, caring for others or working with children, tending the sick or lifting up those who live in poverty. Your call may take you down your street or halfway across the world. But when you hear your call and know it, you will also know the feeling of that holy energy. There’s really nothing quite like it. Its precisely the reason that no human has enough power to thwart your call for any reason — for being a woman, or being too old, too young, too inexperienced. No human can steal the holy energy of your call!
Preaching releases every kind of holy energy for me. Preaching creates in me a unique awareness of my body, mind and spirit. It is, above all, a soul exercise that brings me fresh new life. That’s the best way I can describe the event we call preaching, at least from my view. But it is so much more than just an event; it is a 20 minute pursuit of truth, inspiration and spirit movement. It is for the hearer and for the proclaimer, for both are in this place of spiritual replenishment in need of new awakening to the things of God.
Last fall, I preached at my church in Macon. It was a rare opportunity, a red-letter day really. It was the first time I had preached since my illness. It had been roughly five years since I stood in a pulpit to do what I have been called to do. Those who have a similar calling probably know the angst of not preaching when God has called you, for God’s call is a lifelong agreement. For me, there is something life-giving in the act of preaching a sermon. I experience a special connection to the congregation that feels as if it moves by the wind of the Spirit.
So it would not be an exaggeration to say that I miss preaching deeply. I miss being a pastor. I miss creating worship experiences for a congregation.
But back to the opportunity to preach at my church . . .
I was looking forward to the holy energy, hoping it would come back to me after so long a time. And this was such an important life event for me that I had several conversations with “my village.” Most importantly, I had a conversation with my former pastor and colleague in ministry from the previous church I served in Little Rock. I think I needed some encouragement that I could still preach after so many years of illness. The words — the right words — came just in time from a person I will always consider to be my pastor. He is a person I greatly admire, and a male minister who knows how to serve a congregation in mutuality and communion with a woman. He is a minister who embodies that holy energy I’m talking about, and he inspires others to find or reclaim their holy energy.
How rare it is to enjoy the interrelationship and kinship of male and female in mission and ministry! I miss the time we served New Millennium Church together. I miss Wendell Griffen’s support, encouragement and respect. So when we exchanged messages that day, his words were the right words, the words I really needed to hear, so transformative for me in that moment that I copied them to my journal. This is what I wrote:
From Wendell, September 30, 2018:
“Praying for and with you, Kathy!Preach like only you can!New Millennium is praying with you, Reverend!”
It occurs to me that all of us need encouragement at times. We need persons who will cheer us on, persons who will believe in us when we don’t believe so much in ourselves. For me it was an illness that interrupted my life. For others a life interruption can be any sort of change — the loss of a job, the loss of a loved one, dealing with an empty nest, moving to another home, leaving a church and searching for another church. For whatever reason, life interruptions do hold some measure of power that can break us down and assault our confidence.
It is no big news to know that life interruptions can throw us face-down in the dirt, and it is extremely important for us to have the fortitude and the will to pick ourselves up and dust ourselves off. It’s not so easy to do that for so many reasons. With self confidence eroded, we can be motionless, bereft of spirit, with little energy left.
So then, we must do two things to make sure that we can reposition ourselves — upright and moving forward after a life interruption. The first is to recall the Divine promises of a God who always holds us up. These are three of the promises that give me hope:
We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed . . .So we do not lose heart . . . For this slight momentary affliction is preparing us for an eternal weight of glory beyond all measure.
— 2 Corinthians 4:8-9; 16,17 NRSV
And after you have suffered for a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, support, strengthen, and establish you.
— 1 Peter 5:10 NRSV
Thus says God, the Lord . . .
I am the Lord, I have called you in righteousness, I have taken you by the hand and kept you; I have given you as a covenant to the people, a light to the nations, to open the eyes that are blind, to bring out the prisoners from the dungeon, from the prison those who sit in darkness.
— Isaiah 42:5-7 NRSV
The second thing we must do is to surround ourselves with a community of care, love and grace — individuals who will listen, understand and always encourage. The book of Hebrews offers us good instruction to “consider how to stir up one another to love and good works.” (Hebrews 10:24 RSV)
Each person has the opportunity to open up their hearts and spirits to the calling of God. Each person will hear the call to mission in their own way. Each person will decide whether or not to respond to God’s call on their life. But all of us — together in community — will be able to hear God’s call clearer and find in ourselves more courage to follow. Community, when it is genuine, is like that.
I hope that you will find your genuine community as you listen for God’s call to you, the call that no other person can fulfill. I hope that you will experience holy energy, that fire in your bones that no human can extinguish. There’s really nothing quite like it!
I don’t usually write about charts in my blog. I’m not really a chart person at all. But my friend, Kim Rosby, recently sent me a chart that is worth contemplating. The chart is a snapshot of what it might look like when we become our better selves. It’s entitled “The Comfort Zone,” which is a place most of us want to be.
That’s the problem. There is no growth and maturing in the comfort zone. It can become for us, not just comfortable, but also stagnant.
So I spent some time contemplating this provocative chart, and it definitely provoked some emotions in me. It appears that there are four zones that are possible for us:
The Comfort Zone
The Fear Zone
The Learning Zone
The Growth Zone
There you have it! So let’s unpack this chart a bit. When/if we manage to move ourselves out of the comfort zone, a place where we feel safe and in control, we will most likely enter the fear zone. In the fear zone, we are not at all sure of ourselves. We hang on the opinions of other people and use anything we can find as an excuse to remain frozen in place. If we don’t make a move, we can’t make a mistake. Right? We come to a point, though, where we do not believe we can move. We don’t believe we can change. We don’t believe we can seek another way.
Fortunately, some of us do make it out of the fear zone and thus find ourselves in the learning zone. What a renewing place to be, a place where new and fresh ideas are possible. It is in this zone that we realize we have moved at least a few steps past our comfort zone. We learn new skills and we discover that we can navigate challenges and solve problems. As long as we are learning, our path is clear and a future is possible.
So we move with courage into the growth zone, where we will re-invent ourselves in positive and exhilarating ways. As we conquer the objectives that were holding us back, we begin to believe in the possibility of new life goals, a deeper purpose. And then suddenly, we surprise ourselves with dreams and aspirations for something more in our lives, something fresh that inspires us to be our better selves.
I like my friend’s chart. I also like this promise that also says something very compelling about becoming our better selves:
. . . I came that they might have life, and have it more abundantly.
—Jesus
I refuse to disappear! All my life, I have experienced forces and people and systems that wished for my disappearance. As an advocate for victims of violence in the court and criminal justice systems, powerful people just wanted me to go away. As a child advocate, the foster care system definitely wanted me to disappear. As chair of the Little Rock Commission on Children, Youth and Families, the city power brokers wanted me gone so that they could pretend rather than acknowledge the reality of caring for the real needs of children and families.
As a pastor, I spoke truth every week, often controversial truth that the congregation might resist. I was never one to shrink back or hide. I was never willing to disappear when proclaiming the Gospel compelled me to speak. I was always fairly brave.
But I digress. The past is the past, and even now, in retirement, I often feel very much like people want me to disappear. I am resisting the way people do “placement,” that is the way people place me in a category called retirement. It feels as if others are most comfortable acknowledging my past career but forgetting that I still have talents and gifts and creativity. So here I sit — placed in one of three slots: 1) a carefree retiree that enjoys a traveling, active lifestyle; 2) a retired “old person” who can’t really do much anymore; or 3) a shut-in who is too disabled to be an active part of society.
But sitting has never been for me. I’m terrible at it. I have never allowed others to set me aside. I have never allowed people to insist on my disappearance.
These days, though, it’s a struggle. Invitations to preach or speak or teach are few and far between. It is true that I have health issues that slow me down. It is also true that a part of retirement includes challenges. But I want to resist being dismissed as irrelevant. I want to urge people to pay attention to my abilities. I want to continue my career in ways that are possible and appropriate for me. I do not want to disappear.
I refuse to be small and quiet. I refuse to hide my fire. I am still capable of disrupting the universe. I am still going to do the next right thing.
I love these words shared by women just like me who simply won’t disappear. And I love the writing of Glennon Doyle who speaks a lot of truth, inspiring and uplifting truth. She calls out to women, especially, inviting us to be the persons we want to be even when outside forces try to hold us back. “It’s not a woman’s job,” she writes, “to get smaller and smaller until she disappears so the world can be more comfortable.”
Yesterday was not my best day. All day long challenges got the best of me — health challenges, schedule challenges, even bad haircut challenges. My sister of the heart, Donna, said I was cranky. My husband, Fred, said I should chalk it up to Ash Wednesday. Martie, my dear Little Rock friend, said that yesterday was the first day of Mercury in retrograde and that I should do my best to survive until it’s over on March 28th.
I’m not so convinced of any of those explanations, but I’ll let it be for now. Today is a new day, a day in which I have chosen peace for the beginning of my Lenten journey. Typically, the way I find peace is through music. So Pandora is on my sacred music station today. It would be an understatement to say that the music has lifted me today and has almost made yesterday’s fiascoes a dim memory.
As I listened, a song from my past brought sweet memories. Years ago, before I learned to renounce masculine pronouns to refer to God, I was inspired greatly by these words: “Because He lives, I can face tomorrow.” We sang this Gospel song often to remind us of hope, of perseverance, of God’s faithfulness and of Christ’s resurrection. Today, those words and that melody on Pandora reminded me of those exact things. In spite of masculine pronoun referring to God, the music moved me as it has always done. The message has not changed. God has not changed. My faith in Christ has not changed. Thanks be to God!
Here’s my truth as I follow my Lenten path, the abiding truth: “Tomorrow” for me seems murky, with the path ahead unknown and somewhat disconcerting. I do not know if I will receive a kidney transplant or live on daily dialysis for the rest of my life. I do not know what tomorrow promises.
But this is as it has always been — before illness and after. I never knew what tomorrow would bring, even in those days when I thought I was fearlessly and fully in control of my life. So it feels like a Lenten testimony of my faith to say that I do not know what tomorrow looks like for me. Leaning into the reality of the unknown future, I feel embraced in the consoling truth that “because He lives, I can face tomorrow.”
Of this, I am confident. Resting on this promise, I can move onto the Lenten path before me with refreshed hope and renewed faith. Amen.
Chui has a very personal motivation for the project. When he was eight, he crossed that border with his mother and lived in Los Angeles for a year without legal status. He grew into a renowned artist and envisioned this project, which he dedicated “to all those people who are looking for a better life. Who take enormous risks. Or those have been deported and are separated from their families.”
Yesterday was not my best day. All day long challenges got the best of me — health challenges, schedule challenges, even bad haircut challenges. My sister of the heart, Donna, said I was cranky. My husband, Fred, said I should chalk it up to Ash Wednesday. Martie, my dear Little Rock friend, said that yesterday was the first day of Mercury in retrograde and that I should do my
God of the Sparrow 🌱 By Kathy Manis Findley 
