Too many days...

An old favorite photo and memory: Gelato in January in Rome.


I have spent a lot of time this week feeling sorry for myself.
I have thought back to trips I have taken earlier in my life
and lamented the fact that there are no future trips on my calendar at the moment.
I thought: "Too many days have passed since my last seven to ten day solo journey."


See the two candles burning on the lower right side? I lit them - I always light two. These were lit at the church of Santa Maria sopra Minerva in Rome.



I have thought back to meals and coffee shops
where I have sat alone with The Alone,
lost in my thoughts
and lamented the fact that I don't do that nearly enough anymore.
"Too many days have passed since my last three to six hour solo journey."




Then yesterday, I slapped myself in the soul and thought,
"How dare you complain? How dare you feel sorry for yourself?
Yours is a blessed life. You have more than you need of everything you have ever thought you wanted.
Be grateful."

The problem is not that there have been too many days since something significant has happened in me or to me.
The problem is that I have not accepted this day, this hour, this moment
I have not loved this day, this hour, this moment,
and lived it fully. Here and now.


I have allowed myself to believe that there is some future moment,
some future journey, some future relationship that will fill the emptiness in me.
That some other person, some other house, some other body,
some other something or other
will satisfy me.


The truth is that the freedom I feel on the streets of Spain and Italy,
the joy of those peace-filled hours of wandering without accountability,
the soul-filling that comes from soul-stirring conversations and exchanges -
all of that is available to me right here in Charlotte.
Because that joy and that freedom exist within me
right here, right now.



Earlier this week, I wrote the following in my journal:

"Too much time,
too many days
pass
without me writing
without me praying
without me reading
* without me. *

I miss myself.
Alone. Quiet. Wandering.
Walking. Listening.

So, G, what are you gonna do to meet up with you again?
To reconnect with yourself? Where will you go? For how long?
What will you do there?

I need to begin right here, on the floor of my study."



So that's where I began that morning.
That's where I began this morning.
On the floor of my study. On the floor of my soul.
Forgetting the days "I have wasted." No such days have ever existed.
Forgetting the days "I will make the most of." No such days will ever exist.

No, live this day. Right here and right now.

Gotta take a chance...

Nearly 43 years ago, my parents took a chance on raising a daughter after trying their hand at raising three sons. Over 20 years ago, Steve and I took a chance on a long-term relationship after trying our hand at several less successful attempts with other people. Fifteen years and two weeks ago, we took a chance on brining a child into the world; we welcomed a second soul to join our clan two years and eleven months later. Over six years ago, we took a chance on life in Charlotte after more than a dozen years in suburban Connecticut. Over a year ago, Lisa took a chance to come here to Charlotte to meet us. Last week, this nation took a chance and elected a President who is unlike any other president we have ever had, and not just because of the color of his skin.


The thing is, relationships, raising children, moving to a new city,
making a new friend, and new government officials -
life itself can get wet and messy.




And tangled.



And thorny.



And even rotten inside.



But sometimes, somehow, it works out.
It is beautiful, fragrant, warm, and deeply soul-full-filling.




And even when things don't work out as I hope,
when the messiness is more than I can withstand,
and I have to retreat from the battle line with the white flag waving behind me,
I know that I tried.
I tried really hard.
I did.

In the end, I am learning to sing in the rain!
Life may be messy, but at least I'm alive to make the mess!
Like Billy Blanks says at the end of many of his Tae Bo workouts,
"Everyday above ground is a blessed day."
Amen!

I had no idea

Sorry, this image is so small. But I couldn't figure out how to enlarge it.
***********************************


I had no idea how happy I would be that Obama won the election.
I had no idea how sad I would be to hear that people in my state
are buying more handguns and assault rifles as a result of his win.
They say they are buying them because they fear he will increase gun control,
so they'd better stock up now.

I had no idea how much I would think about Barack Obama's family life in the White House. The girls going to school. Raising their new puppy. Deciding on dinner menus and birthday guest lists.
I had no idea how sad I would be to have to wonder and worry about whether or not the President-Elect would survive until his inauguration.

But I am happy, hopeful, prayerful, and excited.
I had no idea just how happy I would be.

*********************************************

Here is an email I received recently that moved me deeply.
I don't know who all the people are that are referred to in this piece,
but that's okay. They all had a part in what we celebrated last Tuesday night.
And they have much to celebrate with us.

Inauguration Ball 2009

Guests began arriving early. There are no place cards and
no name tags. Everyone knows everyone else here. Now, there's a grand
foursome - Malcolm X and Betty Shabazz sharing laughs with Martin and Coretta
Scott King. Looks like Hosea Williams refused the limo again, keeping it
real. And my goodness; is that Rosa Parks out there on the dance floor
with A. Phillip Randolph? Seated at a nearby table, Frederick Douglass has a captive
audience in W.E.B. DuBois and Fannie Lou Hamer, and Medgar Evers has just joined them.

Marian Anderson was asked to sing tonight, but she only agreed to do it if
accompanied by Marvin Gaye, John Lennon and Jimi Hendrix.
Look, there's Harriet Tubman. No one knows how she arrived, but there she
is. And my guess is that, when the time comes, no one will see her leave.
There's Jackie Robinson swiftly making his way through
the hall as the crowd parts like the Red Sea to the unmistakable sound of
applause. "Run, Jackie, run!"Along the way he is embraced by Jessie Owens.
Three beautiful young women arrive with their escorts - Schwerner, Goodman and
Chaney. Ms. Viola Liuzzo flew in from Michigan, exclaiming, "I could not
miss this." Richard Pryor promised to be on his best behavior.
"But I can't make any guarantees for Redd Foxx and Moms Mabley," he
chuckled. Joe Louis just faked a quick jab to the chin of Jack Johnson, who smiled broadly
while slippingit. We saw Billy Eckstine and Nat King Cole greet Luther
Van Dross. James Brown and Josh Gibson stopped at Walter Payton's table
to say hello.

I spotted Congressman Adam Clayton Powell of Harlem having
a lively political discussion with Eldredge Cleaver. Pearl Harbor WWII
hero Dorey Miller shared a few thoughts with Crispus Attucks,
a hero of the Revolutionary War.. And there is Madam C.J. Walker talking
with Marcus Garvey about exporting goods to Africa.
General Benjamin O. Davis flew into Washington safely with
an escort from the 99th Fighter Squadron - better known as The Tuskegee
Airman. At the table on the left are three formidable women - Shirley
Chisholm, Sojourner Truth, and Barbara Jordan - gathered for a little
girl-talk... about world politics. As usual, all the science nerds seem to have gathered off
in a corner, talking shop.

There's Granville T.. Woods and Lewis Latimer needling each other about whose inventions are better. Someone jokingly asked Benjamin Banneker if he had needed directions to Washington. And George Washington Carver was overheard asking, "What, no peanuts?"

Dualing bands? Anytime Duke Ellington and Count Basie get
together, you knowthe place will be jumping. Tonight is special, of course,
so we have Miles, Dizzy, and Satchmo sitting in on trumpet, with Coltrane,
Cannonball, and Bird on sax. Everyone's attention is directed to the
dance floor where Bill "Bojangles" Robinson is tap dancing. Right beside
him is Sammy Davis Jr., doing his Bojangles routine. And behind his back, Gregory
Hines is imitating them both. Applause and laughter abound! The Hollywood
contingent has just arrived from the Coast. Led by filmmaker Oscar Micheau,
Paul Robeson, Cana Lee, and Hattie McDaniel, they find their way to their
tables. Dorothy Dandridge, looking exquisite in gold lamé, is seen
signaling to her husband, Harold Nicholas, who is standing on the floor with brother
Fayard watching Gregory Hines dance. "Hold me back," quips
Harold, "before I show that youngster how it's done." Much laughter!

Then a sudden hush comes over the room.
The guests of honor have arrived.
The President and Mrs. Obama looked out across the enormous
ballroom at all the historic faces. Very many smiles, precious few dry eyes.
Someone shouted out, "You did it! You did it!"
And President Obama replied,
"No sir, you did it; you all - each and every one of you - did it.
Your guidance and encouragement; your hard work and perseverance. .."
Obama paused, perhaps holding back a tear.
"I look at your faces - your beautiful faces -
and I am reminded that The White House was built by faces that looked just like yours.
On October 3, 1792, the cornerstone of the White House was laid, and the
foundations and main residence of The White House were built mostly by both
enslaved and free African Americans and paid Europeans. In fact, most of
the other construction work was performed by immigrants, many of whom
had not yet become citizens. Much of the brick and plaster work was
performed by Irish and Italian immigrants. The sandstone walls were built by
Scottish immigrants. So, I guess what I'm trying to say is that The White House is,
ultimately, The People's House, with each President serving as its steward. Since 1792
The People have trimmed its hedges, mowed its
lawn, stood guard at the gate, cooked meals in the kitchen, and scrubbed its
toilet bowls. But 216 years later, The People are taking it back!

"Today, Michelle and I usher in a new era. But while
we and our family look toward the future with so much hope, we know that we must
also acknowledge fully this milestone in our journey. We want to thank each
and every one of you for all you have done to make this day possible. I
stand here before you, humbled and in awe of your accomplishments and
sacrifice, and I will dedicate my Presidency, in your honor, to the principles of
peace, liberty and freedom.

If it ever appears that I'm forgetting that, I know I can count on you to remind me."


Then he pointed to me (the author of this piece) near the stage...
"Kenyada, isn't it time for you to wake up for work?
Isn't it time for all of us to wake up and get to work?"
Suddenly I awake and sit up in bed with a knowing smile.
My wife stirs and sleepily asks if I'm OK.
"I've never been better," I replied, "Never better. It's gonna be a good day."


***********************
A good day, indeed.

A prayer for peace

Lord, Make us instruments of your peace,
Where there is hatred, let your love increase
Lord, make us instruments of your peace,
Walls of pride and prejudice shall cease
When we are your instruments of peace.




Where there is hatred, we will show his love
Where there is injury, we will never judge
Where there is striving, we will speak his peace
To the millions crying for release,
We will be his instruments of peace



Lord, Make us instruments of your peace,
Where there is hatred, let your love increase
Lord, make us instruments of your peace,
Walls of pride and prejudice shall cease
When we are your instruments of peace.



Where there is blindness, we will pray for sight
where there is darkness, we will shine the light
Where there is sadness, we will bear their grief
To the millions crying for relief,
We will be your instruments of peace.

(from Rejoice Africa!)

Alice Walker wrote a long poem called, "These Days," a long time ago. In that poem, she describes people she loves and tells why she loves them. At the end of each stanza, she write, "Surely, the earth can be saved for ________." That's how I feel today.

As I think of the people I have met and come to know and love,
as I think of places I have visited and have come to cherish,
as I think of this pivotal election day in this nation I love,
I return to those words Walker imprinted on my heart years ago.

Surely the earth can be saved for them.
For you.
For me.
For all of us.

Let there be peace.

Thanks, Lisa, for posting this prayer. It is one we all need to pray far more often.

Whatever "it" is...

Between appointments today.
A quick stop at Starbucks for a drink.
Pull out my journal, of course.
Pause. Breathe. Give thanks.
Look down at my cup.
Smile.

What is "it" that are you looking for?

As we enter the final days...

Here's what Kristiana and I heard at the hairdresser on Thursday:

"Rosa Parks sat so Martin Luther King Jr could march.

MLK II marched so Barack Obama could run.

Barack Obama is running so our children can fly."




Win or lose, he has fought a nation-stirring and historic battle.
He has earned the attention not only of our nation but also of the whole world.
He is the embodiment much of what MLK dreamed of 40+ years ago.
He has changed the landscape of Presidential politics forever.

I truly did not think this would happen in my lifetime.
I am so glad it has.

Let there be hope!

Tiny pieces of a huge mosaic

We are living through days of big issues.
Big problems. Big failures. Big consequences.
Big spending. Big decisions. A big election.


At a time when there are big promises are made and big lies are told,
when big debts are accumulated and big fears are expanded,
I need to be reminded that it is in the small things,
the small acts of kindness from strangers,
the flowers and butterflies at the Botanical Garden,
the revelations of God's creativity and love,
the quiet walks with the children,
the cups of tea sipped and the chunks of birthday cake eaten the day after the great celebration,
the quiet and tearful prayers we say for our Nicaraguan friends who are suffering through the worst rain storms in years,
the hugs and snuggles as we read together,
the cards we make and give to Regina, the woman at my mother-in-law's assisted living facility, for the scarves and afghans she made for us,
the laughter we share over the crazy words Daniel puts on the Scrabble board every day...

these are the tiny pieces of joy that make up the mosaic of our lives.
And we give thanks to God daily for those tiny signs of love.





At a time in the world, when the stories we hear are so big and internationally important, we aren't hearing much about the little things.
The ways in which the sacred shows up in the tiny moments of life.
The meals given to the hungry and desperate.
The hot coffee served on cold mornings to the homeless.
The clothing drives for those whose needs are great.
Toy collections for Samaritan's Purse boxes.
Visiting the sick and house-bound.
Praying with the fearful and lonely.
Emails, phone calls, and snail mail cards to friends.
Lighting a candle and saying a prayer for a distant loved one.
The men and women who walked miles and miles in the memory of cancer victims, in honor of cancer survivors, and for a cure to cancer this past weekend.
Smiling at a woman sitting across the coffee shop;
sometimes it is so good to be alone.
These are the little things that matter.
The little things that make life matter.
In some cases, these tiny acts determine whether one hungry, scared, sick, lonely person lives or dies.



In his book, Messy Spirituality, Mike Yaconelli wrote:
"Spiritual people are about tiny things, which is the fruit of their spirituality. The spiritual life is not a life of success; it is a life of faithfulness, and it's not easy. God does "big" things once in a while, but there is no question that the primary work of God in the world is salt-and-light tiny. God knew we would naturally be dazzled by big; that's why Jesus told the parables of the lost sheep, the lost coin, the lost son, the mustard seed. Jesus was trying to tell us something: the spiritual life is a tiny life, filled with little decisions, tiny steps toward God, tiny glimpses of his presence, little changes and small movings, tiny successes and imperceptible stirrings...Every tiny contribution we make to His kingdom is noticed and remembered, and one day we will understand just how beautiful our thin sacrifices are.

"Our tiny choices and tiny moves toward God may not seem like much. But someday you and I will stand together in the great cathedral of heaven, and up front, by Jesus, will hang the most magnificent mosaic we could ever imagine, made up of thousands and thousands of our tiny responses to God's love in our lives."


A long time ago, Jesus told a crowd of people a story about how our lives will be reviewed and judged once all the big and little stories of our lives come to an end. He said that some people will hear this response: 'Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat. I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink. I was a stranger and you invited me in. I needed clothes and you clothed me. I was sick and you looked after me. I was in prison and you came to visit me.'

Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?'

The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these, you did for me.'"



For the least of these.
For the tiniest pieces of the human mosaic.

I'm off to do something tiny for somebody small.
What about you? What small thing have you done lately?
Has anyone done something small for you?
********************************************
All the photos in this post were taken today at the Daniel Stowe Botanical Gardens. A glorious day to capture images of the glory of creation.
Breathtaking beauty at every turn.
Yes, that was a living butterfly aflutter in the orchid house.



PS. Thanks, Laura, Andrew, and Caroline, for inspiring us to take this trip.

On This Day Fifteen Years Ago...

My daughter was born. She almost wasn't born - because she simply refused to come out into the world without external prompting. She was born 15, yes, fifteen, days late. When she finally made her exit from my body and entrance into the world, the OB-GYN said that, based on her physical maturity and the pruning of her skin, we had not miscalculated the due date. Kristiana simply didn't didn't want to leave the womb, literally!



These days, Kristiana baffles my mind with her physical maturity, her emotional strength, her unshakable faith, her love of animals and nature, and her unfathomable love and forgiveness for those who hurt her, including her oft thoughtless mother.




One friend of mine, the mother of four daughters, tells them on a regular basis, "I am so glad that when God looked around at all the babies in heaven, He chose you to send to our family." When I ponder the two children that grace my home, I am grateful that God chose me to be their mother; I do not deserve either one of these truly amazing people.




This photo of Kristiana was taken at Misty Meadows, the horse farm where she takes weekly riding lessons and also volunteers to work with children with physical and mental challenges. On this day, I made a mistake on the time of her lesson, and we arrived an hour earlier than we were supposed to. Eager to show us one of the trails on which she sometimes takes the horses, Kristiana led us on a tour. That girl loves that farm, and she spoke of nearly every turn in the path with the same tenderness I might use for a favorite passage in a cherished book.




Just a few paces beyond where the previous photos was taken, I snapped this one.

The road ahead through the remaining teen years may prove uneven, sometimes treacherous, perhaps dangerous. But together we will walk its every twist. Exploring. Wandering. Telling and writing and photographing the stories of our lives. We will weep and laugh, question and respond. We will live the questions and question our living. We will run into things and into each other.

And every day that I am given the chance to love this beautiful girl, I will.
Every day that I am given to teach her, to learn from her, I will.
Every day that she opens her soul to me, I will open mine to her.

On this day fifteen years ago, the trajectory of my life was altered.
Thanks be to God for this daughter of mine, this indescribable gift of Kristiana.

Am I the Only One?

Looking in the mirror of my car at a monster-truck wannabe.
I feel like much of my time these days is spent wondering when another attack ad/email/video is gonna come up behind me and threaten to crush
my sin-sick, worldly, obviously deceived soul...
Am I the only one sick of it all?
*****************************************************

Am I the only one who is sick and tired of every doom and gloom-predicting political ad? "If you elect that other guy or that other woman, then you will lose your job and your savings account and your small business and your future, and your children will be doomed to a substandard education. He/She has no idea what to do if elected, but I have years of experience. OR He/She has decades of experience and what has all that experience given us but more headaches? Do you want to trust your future to that guy/gal? Elect me and all your problems will disappear magically within a few short weeks."

Am I the only one who is weary of every news broadcast starting with a story about how many people in my city have been raped, murdered, and robbed at gunpoint? Doesn't anyone anywhere ever do anything good, anything positive that is worth reporting to the public? Has anyone saved a life, reported the discovery of a lost wallet or earring, taught illiterate adults to read, rescued women from domestic violence or slavery or eating disorders or racial discrimination or anything like that?

Am I the only one who is disgusted with the refusal of our political leaders and pundits to look into the television cameras and tell us that we, the American people, have done this to ourselves? That we have brought our own nation to its financial knees? That we are the ones who never learned contentment, never learned that if we couldn't pay our bills on time in full at the end of every month, then we have spent too much money? We did this. I did this.

The blame for the current state of our nation cannot be laid at the feet of terrorists or illegal immigrants or women who have had abortions or homosexuals - and let the rest of us off the hook. The blame for the current state of our nation cannot be laid at the feet of Chinese-Korean-Nicaraguan-Mexican-Nigerian workers who earn less than we do or corporate executives or welfare recipients - and let the rest of us off the hook. The blame for the current state of our nation cannot be compared to the state of other nations - and let us off the hook because they have it worse than we do.

We have seen the enemy; it is us!
We are the ones with credit card debt.
The mortgage we cannot afford to pay.
The storage units for the stuff that we bought that won't fit into our overstuffed houses.
The distended bellies and thighs and bottoms due to the fattening and overprocessed foods and sedentary lifestyles that are killing us slowly.
We are the ones who import and export fear and hatred and intolerance.
We are the ones who refuse to forgive, to turn the other cheek, to be reconciled with each other.
We did this. I did this.

It seems to me that the sooner we face up to our individual and collective responsibility for the current state of our nation, the current state of our broken families, the current state of our dysfunctional unions, the sooner we have any chance of resolving any of this crap.




Am I the only one who wants to run away from all this and relocate in the Italian countryside?
Or perhaps hide away in a large Spanish city?
Am I the only one who wants to pull back into my shell and hide?


Perhaps, instead of all this complaining, I should go shopping.

On Not Being Good...

Last week, I read three or four magazine pages, blog posts, and other seemingly unrelated pieces that suggested that I read some poetry. Mary Oliver has been spoken of highly in some of the circles in which I travel, so I decided to look her up online. I clicked on the first interesting-looking link that showed up in my search results. I read the first poem, and here is what the first lines read.

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.


What? Me? I don't have to be good?
What else do I not have to be or do?

I do not have to clean up every mess every time.
I do not have to smile.
I do not have to be calm and patient.
I do not have to believe what you say.
I do not have to always have the answer.
I do not have to agree with you or him or her or them.
I do not have to pretend that all is well when it is not.
I do not have to deny what I feel.
I do not have to fake something I no longer feel.
I do not have to go anyplace just because someone told me I should.
I do not have to stay home just because someone told me I should.
I do not have to put up with being disrespected and taken for granted.
I do not have to ask for permission to feel this way, whatever way this feels.
I do not have to be right.
I do not have to be good.


And I get to love whatever and whomever I want to love?

The coffee and toasted, buttered bagels.
The tea and shortbread cookies.
The Ghirardelli chocolate squares with carmelized almonds.
The Vosges deep milk chocolate Barcelona bar with almonds and sea salt.
The toasted bagels with butter.
The salad with bell peppers and flax seed, dressed only with sushi vinegar.
The cedar plank salmon and key lime pie at the restaurant I sneak off to.

I get to love the wild-eyed people who howl at the moon
and yearn to break all the rules.
The calm ones who break the rules without much fanfare.
The ones that travel and the ones that stay at home.
The ones who read and the ones who paint.
The ones who write poems and the ones who explain them to me.
The ones who tell the truth and the ones who live it.
The ones that dare to challenge the old ways and question the old assumptions. Especially the ones who look at me perplexed and ask,
"What assumptions? Whose assumptions?
And why do you care what they think?"

I get to love them too???
Who me?

Addendum: for more thoughts and commentary on this poem, check this out.

Just over the next hill...

"Some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end.
Life is about not knowing, having to change,
taking the moment and making the best of it,
without knowing what's going to happen next.
Delicious ambiguity."

Gilda Radner

I wish you...

Celebrating Kristiana's 12th birthday.
Our awe was at how well Steve had decorated the cake!
Nope, he had never done anything like it before.
I don't think he has ever since either...

**************************
Kristiana's 15th birthday is coming up in a couple of weeks.
Daniel's 12th recently passed.
I will turn 43 in December.
Steve has to wait until March to blow out candles.

But today is a day worthy of celebration anyway.
Today is somebody's birthday.
And the day on which someone's soul will be reborn.
I hope it is mine.



On my 40th birthday, nearly three years ago now!



Below is a much-loved poem by Ruth Forman: On This Day.

this is a day without chairs
a day where all the rooms melt together
and there are only corners/corners and humming
wishes and slight breeze
brushing you like palms
this is a day of prayers
a day of painful breaking/a day of peace beneath
a day of arms
of hands
eyes and quiet windows

i wish you love from your mother backwards

i wish you deep tunnels without fear
i wish you children's laughter
i wish you cactus flowers
i wish you moonlight
i wish you real eyes
i wish you a hand across your back/soft like when you were a child
i wish you tears
i wish you clean
i wish you angels in conference around your bed holding you
so there is no space for me even to touch you/just watch

i wish your mother watching

i wish you abalone dreams
i wish you peace
i wish you doves in your kitchen
moonlight in your bathroom
candles when your eyes close and dawn when they open
i wish you so many arms across your shoulders
so many lips kissing your ears that you smile from the inconvenience
i wish you all your babies' love attacking the center of your heart
just so you know they are there

i wish you banisters, railings, and arms around your waist
i wish you training wheels, i wish you strong shoes
i wish you water o i wish you water
through your feet flowing like a stream
and i wish you hammocks
and melon on your eyes
strawberries in your mouth
and fingers in your hand
fingers in your hand all day
through this house
on this day with no rooms
only corners
and an uncommon breeze

In Quietness and Trust...

I continue to be awed by the writing of my online soul sisters.
Jena Strong is the one who has touched me most deeply today with her thoughts on Yom Kippur, atonement, missing the mark, awe, and celebrating the simplest things in life.

Thank you, Jena, for this reminder.
To pull back and walk away from the chaos and busyness of life.
To embrace those who are in our inner faith and life circle.
To sit quietly and ponder the beauty and beautiful people around us.
To blow the shofar, the trumpet, to sound the call to return, to ponder, to pray, and to be made whole again.
To listen to the reverberations across the waters of our lives.
To forego the predictable answers to the ancient questions and dig deeper.
To sometimes deny ourselves physical food in order to feed our famished souls.
To sometimes unplug from the world in order to reconnect with myself, my loved ones, and, most importantly, The Spirit.


Isaiah 30:15 tells us:
"In repentance and rest is your salvation,
in quietness and trust is your strength."




I think I will retreat to my study, stare at and hold in my hands some of the many reminders of peaceful, rejuvenating moments gone by,
quiet my anxious heart,
sit for a few moments of quiet prayer,
and rest.

Wishing it was...

One friend advised that I take myself away or go inside myself, whichever is needed, in order to "sip, sigh, redeem, and re-center" my weary soul.

Another reminded me that, when the fear comes and I am unable to move deeper into trust and peace, then hope is a brave place to start.

I'd love to return to the spot captured in this photo and spread out a blanket with a journal, several markers, my camera, and dive into a soul-stirring, compass-resetting conversation.

Until then...

I'm off to sip tea, nibble on a muffin, sigh a few times, redeem what remains of this afternoon, and re-center myself in terms of who and what matters most.

Peace out.

A Long Slow Journey into the soul

I am reading The Interior Castle, a volume written in the 1500's by a Spanish nun, Santa Teresa of Avila. It is an excellent book about the discovery and intricacies of one's soul. The seven dwellings within the castle of the soul. Mirabai Starr translated Santa Teresa's words from Spanish to English. In the introduction to her translation, Starr writes the following.



Listen. Softly, the One you love is calling. Listen. At first, you will only hear traces of his voice. Love letters he drops for you in hiding places. In the sound of your baby laughing, in your boyfriend telling you a dream, in a book about loving-kindness, in the sun dipping down below the horizon and a peacock's tail of purple and orange clouds unfolding behind it, in the nameless sorrow that fills your heart when you wake in the night and remember that the world has gone to war and you are powerless to break up the fight. Let the idle chatter between friends drop down to what matters. Listen. Later his voice will come closer. A whisper you're almost sure is meant for you fading in and out of the cacophany of thoughts, clearer in the silent space between them. Listen. His call is flute music, far away. Coming closer.



Be brave and walk through the country of your own wild heart. Be gentle and know that you know nothing. Be mindful and remember that every moment can be a prayer. Melting butter, scrambling eggs, lifting fork to mouth, praising God. Typing your daughter's first short story, praising God. Losing your temper and your dignity with someone you love, praising God. Balancing ecstasy with clear thinking, self-control with self-abandon. Be still. Listen. Keep walking.



What a spectacular kingdom you have entered! Befriending the guards and taming the lions at the gates. Sliding through a crack in the doorway on your prayer rug. Crossing the moat between this world and that, walking on water if you have to, because this is your rightful place. That is your Beloved reclining in the innermost chamber, waiting for you, offering wine from a bottle with your crest on the label. Explore. Rest if you have to, but don't go to sleep. Head straight for his arms.

When you have grown still on purpose while everything around you is asking for your chaos, you will find the doors open between every room of this interior castle thrown open, the path home to your true love unobstructed after all.


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On Sunday after the morning service at church, Steve and Daniel went to a Panthers' football game. Kristiana and I opted not to drive the minivan to church so that we could walk home. On our way, we saw the turtle in the photos crossing the road. Kristiana has loved turtles all her life, so we had to go investigate. Later that evening, she had a youth group activity, and I sat in the church parking lot in the minivan reading, watching the sun set, and observing a flock of geese making its way across the lot. There was one goose with only one foot. Moving at a far slower pace than the others.

Such powerful and appropriate metaphors for my life.
A solo journey across vast open spaces. Carrying my life, my protection, my home on my back.
Feeling like parts of me are missing. Incredulous at being able to continue anyway.
Being unwilling to stop moving. Even if I move at a turtle's pace.
Picked up and gazed upon by unknowing strangers.
Judged and criticized, insulted and belittled.
But undaunted, unfazed, determined, diligent.

I hear the voice of The Beloved, calling to me to come away, come apart. To leave behind some of the attachments that keep me anchored to stuff and programs and unrealistic expectations that have nothing to do with me and everything to do with other people's fears and doubts and confusion. I see so many connections between the books I read, the movies I see, the music I hear, and I smile because I know that it is all perfectly timed and divinely inspired. I wake up in the middle of the night and cry about international and internal conflicts that I feel powerless to end. I read the words of fellow travelers struggling with life's messiness with sadness, but I rejoice with each of them as they, as we refuse to settle for less than what is best.


Between the sound of the approach of fighter planes, the popping of gunfire, the exploding of bombs,
between the predictions of the end of the world as we know it if ______ happens,
between the honking of horns, the yelling of epithets, the banging of enraged fists on steering wheels,
between the cacophony of fear and panic and chaos and terror,
there is silence, there is peace, there is hope, there is love,
there is the wonder of travel, of movement, of discovery on this long slow journey into soul.

I find myself returning often to the words of the Only One whose utterances make sense so much of the time.
"Then because so many people were coming and going that they did not even have a chance to eat, Jesus said, "Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest." So they went away by themselves in a boat to a solitary place."

I think I'll go have some tea, toast, and solitude.
Well, until homeschooling starts in half an hour...