Birdsong, Calm, Creation, Fear, Grace, Knowing, Life’s meaning, Listening, Paul Simon, peace, Prayer, Quiet, Reflection, Sacred Pauses, Sacred Space, Self Awareness, Self care, Self-understanding, Serenity, Silence, Simon and Garfunkel, Soul, Soul work, Spirituality, Stillness, The Sound of Silence, Whispers of the Soul, Wholeness

One Day I Listened

I wonder if you would be willing to stop what you’re doing right now and spend a quiet moment with me, just listening? Your time might well be a needed time for you and for your soul.

There is always so much to listen to — traffic, sirens, video game sounds, annoying household noise like the washing machine/dryer, food processor, mixer, fans, buzzers and alarms and the awful sound of the disposal trying to crush that inadvertent chicken bone. These, of course, are not our favorite sounds, but they are the myriad sounds and noises we hear in a typical day.

There are sweeter sounds, too, like the sound of a gentle, falling rain or the sound of rain when it hits hard on the roof; the sound of a gusty breeze as it rustles the leaves on a tree; the sound of a flowing stream, a rolling river and constant, ever-rushing ocean sounds; the flutter of a hummingbird’s wings; the sound of cicadas on a Southern summer night; the sound of a child’s laughter; the sweet, peaceful sound of a purring kitten; and birdsong, always birdsong.

Of course, listening as pure joy is listening to music — quiet music, lyrical melodies, rhythms that slow the pulse, the sound of a bow moving across a cello’s strings, the mesmerizing sound of a harp, the velvet sound of voices in harmony or the enthralling sound of a symphony orchestra.

Sounds fill the space that surrounds us, all the time. What is rarer for us is to hear the sound of silence. Some of us fear the silence or dread silent moments. Others of us avoid it at all costs because the silence tends to bring up whatever we are afraid to hear. So the noise that enfolds us fills the place that might otherwise hear the sighs of the soul — its cries and laments, its laughter, its sound of contentedness. It seems to me that this is the place we long to be, in the soul’s sound chamber where whatever we hear — if we’re listening carefully — is the song of the soul that tells us who we are and why we are.

There is a poem that many of you will remember (if you’re old enough) as a Simon and Garfunkel song from the 1960s. The poem was written by Paul Simon and it presents a frightening picture of the modern world doomed by the lack of spirituality and the people’s aversion to the true meaning of life. It is not so different in these days that spirituality and life meaning can be elusive, no matter how hard we may search for it and yearn for it.

The poem, entitled The Sound of Silence, is written by the voice of a visionary asking people to be serious about the true meaning of life. The poem’s message is that people are moving further and further away from true happiness because they have ignored life’s true meaning. They debate and quarrel about worthless things. They listen to or watch meaningless things. The poet writes that the people “speak and hear without listening. Like we often do?

Throughout its five stanzas, the poem presents the conflict between spiritual and material values. The poetic persona is a person of vision who warns against the lack of spiritual seriousness. The poem begins with an address by the poet persona to the darkness, saying that he has come to talk with the darkness. When he awakens, he says that the vision still remains as the sound of silence.

Some of us fear the silence or dread silent moments. Others avoid it at all costs because the silence tends to bring up whatever they are afraid to hear. So the noise that enfolds us fills the place that might otherwise hear the sighs of the soul — its cries and laments, its laughter, its sounds of contentedness. It seems to me that this is the place we long to be, in the soul’s sound chamber where whatever we hear — if we’re listening carefully — is the song of the soul that tells us who we are and why we are.

The words of the poet . . .

And in the naked light, I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more
People talking without speaking

People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one dared
Disturb the sound of silence

And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon god they made
And the sign flashed out its warning
In the words that it was forming
And the sign said,
“The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls

And tenement halls”
And whispered in the sound of silence

All of that trivia about the poem certainly moved us a little farther away from my point, which is that most, if not all, of us have a deep emotional and spiritual need to listen to our souls, really listen. Even if we don’t know it, we long to hear what the depth of our being wants to say to us. We want to find our true selves, a quest only our souls can accomplish. If we are honest, we would say that we want to do the soulwork that leads us out of the darkness of our own making and into a place of light.

When we do carve out a sacred pause, when we wait in the darkness of that silent space, and when we open ourselves to deep listening, we will likely hear God’s whisper. We will probably move slowly out of darkness and realize the promise that as “God’s own people” we will “proclaim the mighty acts of God who called us out of darkness into his marvelous light.”   (1 Peter 2:9)

This is the place we long to be, in the soul’s sound chamber where whatever we hear — if we’re listening carefully — is the song of the soul that tells us who we are and why we are.

— Rev. Kathy Manis Findley

Hearing God’s voice moves us to a deeper experience of life, but hearing our soul’s sighs may take us deeper still, because we open ourselves to self-knowing. It’s not a surface knowing. It is a deep knowing of who it is that lives in our skin. Without hearing the sighs our souls are making, we might never enter into fullness of self. I suggest that only the fullness of who we are can stand before the God who knows us even better than we know ourselves. 

In my own experience, I think that perhaps I cannot be in deep communion with God if I try to face God as my superficial self. Perhaps God seeks relationship with my soul, my deepest place of being. To find and define my soul for myself, to know myself fully, I must find the sound of silence and sit with it patiently and expectantly. Maybe that is the essence of spirituality.

So there are a few lessons in these words and these are the obvious lessons:

  • Limit the harsh sounds in your life.
  • Surround yourself with tender, gentle sounds.
  • Make sacred space and holy time to listen deeply for the sounds that speak to your soul.
  • Listen for God’s whispers. They are important to hear.
  • Always consider what is, for you, the true meaning of life.
  • Listen to your soul — its sighs, its cries, its songs. 

And who knows? If you linger for a while in your sacred listening space, you might just find the very essence of grace by hearing what your soul whispers to you. It will be the most beautiful sound of all.

— Rev.Kathy Manis Findley


One day I listened — really listened. And I heard the whisper of God and the song of my soul. Thanks be to God.



I invite you to hear the poem, “The Sound of Silence,” through music. It can rightly be said that no group or person could ever sing this as well as Simon and Garfunkel, but I thought you might enjoy it covered by a very popular contemporary a cappella group, Pentatonix. 


The Sound of Silence by Paul Simon

Comfort, Contemplation, Emotions, Feelings, God's presence, healing, life, Meditation, Poetry, Politics, Racism, Reflection, Repentance, Restoration, Sacred Pauses, Sacred Space, Silence, Soul, Spirit, Spiritual Discipline, Stillness, Trump, Wholeness

NO MORE AIRTIME, MR. TRUMP!

 D7940A7F-BEAB-4445-B30D-C9739A8076AE

The time for Donald Trump’s airtime is over! In my life, I have no available airtime for him, and I wish the media would follow my example. I’ve heard enough of his rants and tweets. I’ve heard enough of his incendiary speech. I’ve heard enough of his indiscriminate name-calling. I’ve heard enough of his lying. I’ve heard more than enough of his disrespectful, hate-filled, divisive rhetoric. More than enough!

My soul will no longer give Donald Trump airtime. Why? Because often my responses to hearing him were anger, disgust, self righteousness and even hate. And those emotions darken my soul. Those emotions do not belong in my soul at all, because they have a way of displacing love, compassion, gentleness, peace, hope, light and grace — all the good emotions that God plants in the soul through Spirit breath.

I think of the beloved hymn . . .

Holy Spirit, breathe on me until my heart is clean.
Let sunshine fill my inmost parts with not a cloud between.

Breathe on me, breathe on me, Holy Spirit, breathe on me; 
Take Thou my heart, cleanse every part,
Holy Spirit breathe on me. 

— Words by Edwin Hatch, Music by B.B. McKinney

In these days of harmful politics, racial injustice, coronavirus fear and isolation, I need a Spirit-cleansing of my heart and soul. God has been ready to begin the cleansing for a while now. God has heard my repentant prayers admitting anger and hatred. God has waited patiently for me to embrace the stillness that can begin to heal my soul. 

Stillness! Stillness longing for healing. Stillness whispering words of repentance. Stillness yearning for calm. Stillness seeking peace. Stillness waiting in solitude for the presence of the Healer of the Soul.

I’m going there — to that place of solitude where one can breathe slower, sigh deeper, listen attentively to the whisper of God and the breath of the Spirit. I’m going to solitude’s “luminous warmth” as John O’Donohue’s poem in which he describes the soul as the divine space. 

There is a lantern in the soul, which makes your solitude luminous. 
Solitude need not remain lonely. It can awaken to its luminous warmth. 

The soul redeems and transfigures everything
because the soul is the divine space. 

When you inhabit your solitude fully and experience its outer extremes of isolation and abandonment, you will find that, at its heart, there is neither loneliness nor emptiness but intimacy and shelter.

― John O’Donohue, Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom

Right now, in the midst of the disheartening mood of the year 2020, I am entering the solitude I desperately need so that I can experience my soul as the divine space it is. 

Politicians, continue your rancor in loud and powerful voice! I will not hear you from my place of solitude, from my soul’s divine space. And as for you, Mr. Trump, I have no further airtime for you. I refuse to sit in front of my television for another minute, anticipating — hoping — that you will finally say or do something appropriate, beneficial, worthwhile, productive, compassionate or kind.

Instead, I will change the channel to more soul-healing television. In fact, I will leave the television altogether and go to a better place, higher ground where peace and silence and reverence and awe can begin the holy work of healing my soul. I am taking a sacred pause from my life that has been so anxious and worried and isolated. I will wait there in that sacred space where my “soul redeems and transfigures everything.” Thanks be to God.

Inner joy, Loss, Music, simple joys, simple pleasures, Singing, Soul

I Think I May Have Lost My Music


I think I may have lost my music, and I’m not sure exactly when I lost it, or how. I can probably get away with blaming it on the coronavirus. After all, choirs cannot really sing right now, at least not safely.

The coronavirus has stolen so many things from us all — important things and things that are not so important. For me, one of the stolen things that affects me deeply in my soul is music.

When I hear music, the melodies and rhythms often reach into my soul. Music is my muse. Losing my music is one of my most troubling losses. I know, of course, that I can listen to Pandora or Spotify.  Or I can listen to quality music on National Public Radio and find hundreds of concerts on YouTube.

What I am missing most is being inside my church sanctuary listening to the music of the pipe organ and anthems from our choir. Part of it may well be that I’m missing the people who offer their gift of music every week. Part of it is probably nostalgia when I contemplate the decades I spent singing with choirs and other groups. Part of it is missing my many years as a soloist. Part of it is missing my last ministry position as minister of worship at New Millennium Church in Little Rock, Arkansas. Part of it is having to leave my piano when we moved in 2015. Part of it, I am certain, is that I can’t really sing anymore, at least much of the time. After my illness in 2014 and its very long recovery, I lost my voice. This was such a profound loss for my soul.

For some reason, all of this was on my mind this morning when I had a serendipity moment. I received an email with a brief thought for the day. I receive it every day, but today it happened to include a passage of Scripture closely related to my present thoughts. This is what it said:

But now, get me a player of music, and it will come about that while the man is playing, the hand of God will come on me and I will give you the word of God: and they got a player of music, and while the man was playing, the hand of the God was upon him.

— 2 Kings 3:15

Haven’t we all heard someone singing and playing music when we were touched and changed? All creativity and beauty in this life are but a small reflection of the master musician, our Creator. Listen with your heart and be glad.

John Gaudreau

Music can be our soul’s joy or our heart’s expression. Music can lift us from sorrow’s depths and raise us to higher planes of grace. Music can be our most lavish praise to God. Music can open our spirits and create in us expressions of gladness, even in times of trouble. May God make it so. Amen.

Let me end without any more words, just music. “Listen with your heart and be glad” and hear this beautiful anthem, “Through Love to Light” with text written by Richard Watson Gilder, 1844-1909.

Through love to light! O wonderful the way That leads from darkness to the perfect day; From darkness and from sorrow of the night To morning that comes singing o’er the sea! Through love to light! through light, O God, to Thee, Who art the Love of love, th’ eternal Light of light! Amen.

Celebration, Change, Comfort, Creating, Dancing, Growing up, Joy, life, Memories, Muse, Soul

My Soul’s Muse

13FC4C26-1160-4312-AED4-47DCD8DD80A9
The Muse Terpsichore, the Muse of Dance in Greek Mythology; Rare Ancient Greek art pottery plate. https://www.worthpoint.com/worthopedia/muse-goddess-terpsichore-greek-1868160296

I never dance anymore, and that’s a real shame. It’s about losing a part of my soul, really. Letting persnickety circumstances overshadow what my soul loves and desires, maybe even needs. Persnickety circumstances like . . . My back hurts. I’m too old now. I can’t remember how to do it anymore. There’s no room in my living room. It’s just no fun dancing when I’m dancing by myself. But those thoughts describe now! In the past? Well, as you might expect, my past was very different! I lived to dance whether the music was Rock ‘n Roll, Soul, Greek Folk Dancing or Motown. Especially Motown!

If my friends from the past described me, they would most certainly declare that I was a dancing fiend. I think that would be a fairly accurate description. As a young child, I cut my teeth on what I would describe as Big Fat Greek Dances. There was simply no place to be that was as much fun as those Greek dances that could last well past midnight. Did I fall asleep in a chair in a corner as the music filled the hall? Not a chance! When I heard music, I had to dance! Greek dances in big halls or hotel ballrooms included a lot of Greek dancing, which is probably more fun than any dancing known to humankind. But when the band played American music, I waited in my chair, smiling, and waiting for a boy (or a man) to ask me to dance. The men usually came through — favorite uncles, my Godfather, my Godbrother, family friends. It is no exaggeration to say that I traveled far and wide with my Aunt Koula and Uncle John to go to Greek dances — Montgomery, Atlanta, Mobile and, of course, at home in Birmingham.

So that’s my dance-filled childhood. My teenage years were another story altogether! I continued to dance at Greek weddings and other ballroom dances with my friends Suzanne, Frank, Demetra, Xane, Greg, Terry, Sammy and Gussie, to name only a few that come to mind.

96975CE0-82A4-4CCA-BCD3-2010E385F224
Here’s Proof: I’m posing with my best friend, Suzanne . . . as Ancient Greek Goddesses 

But my best friend, Suzanne, and I were all about Motown! With Motown, there was no holding back, and we didn’t hold back. We scandalized every Motown venue we could find with our slick and sultry dance moves.

On one day, we might be depicting beautiful and stately Ancient Greek Goddesses, golden laurels in our hair. On another day, you might find us at The Hangout in Panama City dancing to the sounds of Motown.

And that’s how I earned the reputation of being a “dancing fiend.”

 
Now that I think back on those years, I don’t accept the title “Dancing Fiend!” Especially now that I am remembering the ABBA song . . .

Friday night and the lights are low, looking out for a place to go
Where they play the right music, getting in the swing
You come to look for a king.

Anybody could be that guy
Night is young and the music’s high
With a bit of rock music, everything is fine.

You’re in the mood for a dance, and when you get the chance . . .

You are the dancing queen, young and sweet, only seventeen.
Dancing queen, feel the beat from the tambourine.

You can dance! You can jive!
Having the time of your life
See that girl, watch that scene
Dig in the dancing queen!

With that ABBA inspiration, I declare myself, not a dancing fiend, but (Wait for it!) “The Dancing Queen!”

But that was then and this is now. I don’t dance anymore, and that is beginning to trouble me. What troubles me isn’t really about the dancing. It’s that something that was a part of my soul has withered away. That can happen to all of us when, at some point in time, we stop hearing our soul’s music. When a certain life circumstance, a crossroads maybe, cuts us off from our muse,* we lose a part of ourselves. We awaken one morning with the stark realization that something that was important to us is lost. So I ask you, as I ask myself, what important thing have you? What does your soul long for, something that you have lost that was once so healing, so comforting, so fulfilling, so much fun?

These are the pressing questions I am asking myself: What has my soul lost? When did I lose it and how did I lose it? For some it might be singing, dancing, teaching, painting, writing, walking, reading. We could list dozens, maybe hundreds, of things that once nourished our souls and we sometimes deeply regret those soul losses.

Sometimes we seem doomed to feel nostalgic despair or disappointment. OR . . . might we find a way to unearth whatever we have lost? Could we reclaim our ability to once again do what we love, in spite of any limitation that the passing years have brought us? It is indeed a question worth pondering.

So you see, this post isn’t just about dancing. It’s about embracing whatever your soul has lost and allowing your muse to spark within you the creative spirit that nourishes the soul. So go ahead and take a chance. Dance! Sing! Teach! Preach! Garden! Read! Paint! Throw yourself again into whatever your soul loves and needs. I predict you will find comfort, peace, joy and a new refreshing of your soul.

As for me . . . If we ever break out of our social distancing mode and you drop by my house, you might just catch a glimpse of me dancing in the living room!

Motown, of course!

 

SPECIAL BONUS: I want to leave you with a “social distancing video” that will lift you up and inspire your soul. It isn’t Motown music at all, but its music will probably inspire you to celebrate the gift of ballet. Take a few minutes to enjoy it and to celebrate the enormous talent it brings to us from all over the world.

 
* The Muses were the nine Greek goddesses who presided over the arts, including music and dance. An artist or poet about to begin work would call on his particular Muse to inspire him, and a poem itself might begin with such a call; thus, Homer’s Odyssey begins, “Sing to me of the man, Muse” (that is, of Odysseus). Today a muse may be one’s special creative spirit, but some artists and writers have also chosen living human beings to serve as their muses.

 

 

 

Advent, anxiety, Bitterness, Darkness, Despair, Exhaustion, Faith, Fear, grief, Guilt, healing, Hope, Light, Loss, Mental health, Mourning, Pain, Perseverance, Reflection, Sorrow, Soul, Suffering, Unfaith, Weeping, Worry

Dark Night or Advent Light

DF745CFF-118C-480C-B837-0A81F4520CEA

The Second Day of Advent
Transplant Day Twenty-One
December 2, 2019

THE CHRISTMAS SPIRIT

The Christmas spirit
is that hope
which tenaciously clings
to the hearts of the faithful
and announces
in the face of any Herod the world can produce
and all the inn doors slammed in our faces
and all the dark nights of our souls
that with God
all things still are possible,
that even now
unto us
a Child is born!

What could this beautiful poem titled The Christmas Spirit possibly have to do with my recent kidney transplant? At first glance, not much. But lingering on the poet’s words made some of them leap from the page for me. I have to admit that the words most piercing to me are these: “. . . all the dark nights of our souls.”

Guilt overwhelmed me after the transplant was complete. I was back in my room six hours after the surgery — barely awake, a little confused, exhausted, in pain and, they tell me, very quick-tempered. I yelled at my husband, something I may have done twice in 50 years of marriage. The truth is I was feeling covered with a blanket of guilt. The nurses, my surgeon, my family were all celebrating the transplant miracle. I was in pain, second-guessing my decision to even have the transplant in the first place and feeling guilty for not acknowledging the miracle everyone else saw.

For the next two days, every person on my transplant team who came to see me entered my room with a large smile and expressed one word, “Congratulations!” said with joy in a most celebratory voice. All the while, I was often weeping pain’s quiet tears. I stared at each congratulating person with a little bit of concealed contempt. In my mind, if not on my lips, was a response that went something like this: “Congratulations? Do you have any idea what kind of pain I am experienced right now? And have you had this surgery yourself? Save your congratulations for another day!”

The physical pain was very real and very intense. The soul pain hurt even deeper. Body and soul — the physical, spiritual and emotional — were so intricately fused together that it was all but impossible to isolate or separate them. Is this just physical pain? Is part of it emotional pain? Am I experiencing, heaven forbid, a spiritual crisis? I found no way to tell. For me, it was pain in all three parts of me and that made it almost intolerable.

For two nights, I did not sleep at all — awake all night, feeling alone, abandoned and in a wrestling match with my pain. As I went over and over in my mind all the reasons I had for getting a transplant, my thoughts morphed into a fairly clear “What have I done?”

It felt so much like a dark night of the soul as I grieved my aloneness and isolation, mourned the loss of my previous life and felt deep fear of the dark, unknown path ahead. And all of those points of crisis made me feel that guilt for not being grateful for the living gift of a kidney.

As Ann Weems’ expresses in the poem, “Hope tenaciously clings to the hearts of the faithful and announces in the face . . . of all the dark nights of our souls, that with God all things still are possible, that even now unto us a Child is born!”

Twenty-one days separated from my transplant, I am able to attest that hope does cling tenaciously in my heart, that hope announces in the face of the dark night of my soul that with God, all things are still possible. And most importantly, “Unto us a Child is born!”

Into me a Child is born, and that presence empowers me to walk through my soul’s darkest night into the light that Advent brings.

Thanks be to God.

    

Awakening, Dreams, Inspiration, Music, Mysticism, Soul, Spiritual awakening

When Our Souls Play Their Music

 

DCE47FFD-B0CB-4B8A-B801-00653E8AE8C4
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.

 

 

F9FA5D3C-53F0-4043-8A72-F9E2D63F7349

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:

://client.gatransplant.org/goto/KathyMFindley

“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

https://bit.ly/33KXZOj

F9FA5D3C-53F0-4043-8A72-F9E2D63F7349