Category: Uncategorized

Reflections on Corona’s Lessons

[This was written to a beloved friend after watching the National Cathedral Sunday service and the Episcopal Presiding Bishop’s sermon.]

“What struck me in the service were the words that I’ve sung a million times but that suddenly resonated:  “Through many dangers, toils, and snares, I have already come . .  .”   Yes! So many challenges in my life — and yours and all of us.  We have survived many challenges that seemed overwhelming.  But we survived and even grew and lived life well.  The words continue, “. . . it’s grace that has brought me safe this far and grace will lead me home.”  Grace — simple love and trust that there is a life force in this world and in all of us that is activated by love — love received, love given, love shared, love gifted not earned. 

The Bishop quoted Mahalia Jackson singing “If I can help somebody/as I travel along/with a word or a song/. . . then my living shall not be in vain.”  I remember my grandmother singing that.   

Somehow after hearing those passages I feel more in touch with what I truly believe instead of the fear and anxiety that has been so present.  I truly believe that there is the potential for love and goodness in this world and that even when T… and others who are similarly unconscious and malicious seem to cover all that is good, they cannot kill goodness and love. 

And perhaps this virus is something that (while horrible and a killer) will make us realize that the only way through this is to recognize our interconnection with each other and how if one of us is infected we are all in danger and to have a chance at life we have to think of others as well as ourselves and isolate until this virus cannot glom onto anyone else.

You probably think I’ve lost my mind (well, maybe I have?).  I’m not trying to preach to you — not my nature.  What I’m doing is thinking on paper — I can write my thoughts better than I can verbalize or think them.  

Please know that we send our love.  You are precious to us and we hope that soon we can forego this isolation and see you.  And your garden.  And my irises are growing — hoping for blooms!”

Mr. B’s Safe Spaces

It is starting to rain heavily outside. The day is dreary and grey as it has been around the Lehigh Valley for far too many days this year. My cat, Mr. B., has just started cowering in the corner of the living room near the door — his “safe spot”.

He is fearful when it rains. I think he senses a drop in barometric pressure when a storm comes through. Yes, I know that cats’ hearing is better than humans so you may think he hears thunder before we do. It doesn’t even have to be a thunderstorm for him to respond this way.

I know rain is coming when he jumps down from his favorite chair and blanket and begins to s-l-o-w-l-y slink low to the ground towards the wall near the door . . . or sometimes under the table. He looks around warily, moving in slow motion. I calmly and quietly call his name and slowly move to pet him. But this gentle, affectionate lap cat will not look my way and focuses instead on moving to the safe space near the door or under the breakfast table. I pick him up in hopes of sitting him on my lap and giving him a calming pet or massage, but he squirms and wiggles free of my arms and settles himself into his chosen safe spot.

We came to be Mr. B’s “staff” (cats don’t have owners) a year ago in January 2019. He had been abandoned in November 2018 when his owners moved away. He spent 2 1/2 months outdoors in the deep winter of the Poconos. One evening when it was freezing rain, friends of ours heard scratching at the door to their deck. They found Mr. B. caked with ice and snow. Scruffy and hungry and scared, he reluctantly stepped inside the door. Our friends knew they could not keep him (they have 5 cats already) and tried all evening and the next day to find his owners. They gradually learned the story of his owners who had lived a mile away and of neighbors who left food outside but could not provide shelter.

My husband, Bill, and I had always had cats, but had just had our last elderly cat die. Bill could not face having another pet and loving and losing again . . . but when we found that Mr. B. would have to go to a shelter with unknown consequences, he agreed we would take Mr. B in. And so we have Mr. B. . . and we are definitely his staff.

It took only days to “tame” him back to being an indoor cat. He has never tried to get outside and seems to call to any neighborhood cat that comes in the yard — never hissing or spitting but giving a quiet call that, if I were to put words to it, would say, “Hey come on in. Let’s play!”

Mr. B would spend hours on my lap if I let him. He knows when it is feeding time but never begs for people food. He waits and calls to us at the bottom of the stairs to our bedroom when it gets to be 9 pm — a sign he wants to cuddle while we read in bed.

But his fear of storms is hard to see. I suppose I should be grateful that he has identified safe spaces to contain his fear. After all, as the rain moves out, he quickly resumes his usual demeanor.

It makes me wonder where are my safe spaces? I am usually gutsy and not easily intimidated, but these days I am feeling more anxiety and fear than I think I have felt in my life. I’m sure some of it is personally generated from my own recent and ongoing health challenges, and those of my family. But I think more of it is from the changes in our surrounding culture and the changing relationships with fellow citizens. Three years of this administration and I feel like nothing is predictable, and much is being unraveled that in the past was honored as foundational. Even the physical world — ferocity of storms and drought — is changing. And it is happening at such an unnerving pace .

I wonder where are my safe spaces? I want to be intentional and aware of where and with what and with whom I can feel safe in times when I need to retreat from this chaotic world and reclaim my roots. Aha . . . it is time to get out my meditation cushion and my journal and put away the computer for now and enter my safe space. And I’ll take Mr. B. with me . . .

Boxes

A couple of weeks ago I was sorting through one of the many boxes from our basement shelves. The object is to sort and discard what is no longer usable or needed so that we can live a bit lighter. Some of our boxes (blush!) have not been opened since we moved to Memphis, hurriedly packing in less than a month. That was 2005, almost 15 years ago.

Sorting through these things was my intention as soon as I retired. Life happened, though, and I am beginning that project now.

As I opened this first box, loose photos and a few written bits met my gaze. As I sat that afternoon and the next, I entered a mostly forgotten time in my life when I was a young, newly minted PhD and mother of a pre-teen. We (my husband, daughter, and me) lived in a house we were gutting and rebuilding for open space living. Pictures showed a progression from bare bricks and studs that we lived with for a time, then wallboard and spackling, naked windows morphing into curtained beauties, a kitchen that was not functional for cooking for 9 months (amazing what you can do with a microwave and the bathroom sink . . . ). I remembered the endless time line of renovations done almost entirely by my husband while he was employed fulltime.

Pictures emerged from the box of our daughter in middle school — awkward but sweet — and cards for Mothers Days and tales of summer camp (“Hi, Mom and Dad, I fell out of the top bunk last night. We’re going swimming today! I really like my friend, Ginny . . . “).

I had forgotten the lushness of my gardens there so long ago. Roses and irises and zinnia’s and many others. Our magnolia trees whose blooms so lush and pink we could see from our bed in the spring. Family events, familiar places, people who surrounded us with warmth and friendship.

So many memories . . . and emotions. I loved that time of my life. It was a golden time — at least in my memory. It is easy to forget the teen and mom struggles, the work conflicts, lack of sleep when working full time and trying to complete a PhD program. Nonetheless, looking at these images of time past I got weepy and for that week, I felt on the edge of tears — grieving the loss of that younger me and wishing I could re-live that time and perhaps live it differently with some different choices.

I sound like Emily in Thornton Wilder’s Our Town. It is one of my favorite pieces of literature and very wasted on eighth graders who can have little lived experience of the preciousness of life. At least I didn’t appreciate it when it was assigned in middle school. But having read and reread it many times since — such precious wisdom it offers.

“Does anyone ever appreciate life while they live it?”

I am grateful that I saved those photos and that I opened that box to let so many memories tumble out. Today I will start the next box, not knowing what it will offer, yet willing — eager — to let the memories come — even if there are tears that are also there.

At Peace. . .

The night before New Years Eve and I feel a deep calm. Unusual for me on this day of the year. I usually have a twinge of anxiety on the cusp of the new year to come. I feel like we are about to jump off the edge of some metaphorical cliff into the unknown — not knowing what awaits us in the year to come.

Of course everyday we face the unknown — we can never really know what awaits in the day. But we can tend to fool ourselves into thinking that our calendar lays out what awaits us . . . what appointments, what is on our to do list, what people will be showing up that day for dinner, etc. etc.

But on the day before the eve of the new year, it is so much more apparent that the future has not yet been written. It is not yet known. There will be joys to come (I am trusting that) and there will likely be sadnesses to be borne (unfortunately I am sure of that). But not knowing the specifics of either joys or sadnesses creates in me that twinge of anxious dread.

I would have expected much more than the usual anxiety at this soon-to-be New Years Eve and so I am surprised at the calm and peaceful feelings that have come over me. Why would I expect more anxiety than usual? With the surprises that came at the end of the year in October and hailed health challenges that were entirely unexpected, I experienced a return of my PTSD from earlier life surprises. From late October until just a couple of days ago, I could slip easily into mild panic and fear. Sleeping was often a challenge. But in between those moments of anxiety, there were experiences of calm and peace. Often those times came when I received a message or email from someone wondering how things were going, or from my daughter or sister or brothers. Knowing I was remembered and wondered about was comforting.

And so I will enter this 2020 year ahead with calm and peace, having learned one thing very well: how deeply meaningful is contact with another human being. Whether by a 3 word email or a phone conversation or a note in the mail or a cup of coffee at Panera’s — caring relationships are healing and their maintenance is a priority.

Have I been here before?

Have I been here before? The Advent scripture readings on Sundays are familiar. . . I know the cycle of preparation for the birth, the dressing down by John the Baptist, the scary predictions of the end times in the OT . . . I’ve been here before. Or have I?

I come to this 2019 Advent season carrying different burdens and celebrating different joys from the year past. Every year at this time I feel a mix of familiarity and newness. Always, wonder fills me with amazement at the ancient story of the shepherds and Jesus birth and the angels singing “Do not fear”. Do these angels know that in a few nights Joseph, new to parenthood, will have a nightmare that feels all too true and that he will awaken his wife and child and lead them into another country where they will settle in until the crisis in their home territory has passed. Do the angels know this?

Wonder fills me, too, as I look at my tree full of memories. Lit with warm LEDs, nearly every branch holds an angel or a star. There is the angel we brought back from a college visit to Boulder CO. There’s an angel with a violin that a family at my father’s second parish gave me as a child because I had just started lessons on the violin. There are capiz shell stars from my first husband’s ornament collection. There are Moravian star ornaments that Jessie and I made years go. Homespun angels, handmade paper angels, embroidered fabric angels, stars of rusty tin, stars of fancy gold-embossed glass, a Haitian angel with broad hips and colorful wings made from a recycled metal can.

Wonder. Surprised by angels of light in a dark sky, the shepherds’ wonder triggers in them both awe and fear. “What does this mean? What is this for? Why to us? What should we do?” Curiosity wins out over fear and the shepherds go to look for a child in the middle of that strange night. Down the road in a quiet, private space used for sheltering animals, they find a young family and a newborn baby suckling his mother’s breast. I wonder what sense did they make of the angels’ message then? And what about me? What sense have I made of this? Haven’t I been here before?

Yes . . . and no. Yes, I have followed the path of Advent to Christmas Eve many times before. Yes, I have heard (and read) the birth story countless times and imagined myself at the baby’s birth. But the story of the shepherds and angels and baby and his life on earth continues with challenges and dangers that the young parents could not have imagined. We who have traveled their story know very well what is to come in their lives . . . . but not in our own. Although I may know their story, I have no idea of my own to come in 2020.

So yes I’ve been here before. And yet no I haven’t been here before. I am about to step over a threshold into a new year that holds as yet unknown joys and challenges. And I am filled with wonder . . . both awe and a bit of fear.

I am listening for angels who will sing “Fear not” to me. I bid them to come close and sing loudly so I cannot miss the message. “Fear not, Jane. You are loved. You are not alone this year or any year. The one who is born in Bethlehem is with you always.”

Thanks be to God!

P.S. Oh, and angels . . . please sing your “Fear not” message with a catchy tune so (like an earworm) I can never forget it :^)

First Snow 2019

Opening the curtain this morning . . .

. . . I sucked in my breath. The world had changed overnight. Covering everything — the branches of shrubs, the lawn that had been dotted with the last leaves of fall, the porch bench — was a wispy layer of white . . . just enough to mask the unfinished tasks of fall cleanup still to be done. Such stillness and perfection.

The first snow. It always brushes the landscape with forgiveness, covering even the rustiest, ugliest rake (left out and forgotten when dinner called) with soft white. What we might think of as imperfections dotting our yard — a fallen limb that remains from the wind storm earlier this week, dead flower stalks not yet cut down, the place in the garden fence that needs repair where the deer trampled it in search for veggies — such imperfections disappear beneath a white puff that covers it all.

This white beauty will disappear by noon when the sun returns. But for this moment, I marvel at the miracle an inch of frozen water can bring . . . and am grateful to the Creator who gave me eyes to see a white miracle.

Unexpected

Virginia Theological Seminary, an Episcopal Seminary, is offering a “word a day” to consider during each of the days of Advent (a Christian season observed during the four Sundays leading to Christmas). The word of the day, this first day of Advent, is Unexpected. (see link below)

https://adventword.org/en/?mc_cid=be6749bb61&mc_eid=0f6a0eaef9

Unexpected . . . what unexpected event, person, insight has come into your life recently and unanticipated?

I am someone who doesn’t like surprises. Unexpected events can provoke in me a fear response whether they are good surprises or foreboding ones. Once I get over a startle response, my heart rhythm recovered, my breath deepening, I can look at whatever has surprised me and take it in or respond in a more measured way. Most people would describe me as a calming presence, and would be very surprised to know how little it takes to awaken my startle response of sudden sucked-in breath, slight tightening of shoulders, widening of eyes. Someone walking up beside me when I am not paying attention and saying my name, touching my shoulder when I am reading. Nothing big. But I often am deep in my introverted world. In those moments the world outside fades and when it beckons me, it sometimes startles me.

Today’s word, Unexpected, can point to many such experiences. Surprises welcome and unwelcome. Joy at a fulfilled hope. Fear of “what next”. Being unprepared for whatever.

Advent is a season of preparation in my religious tradition. Four weeks, plus or minus a few days, in which to consider our “track record” of living our lives as meaningful opportunities to grow, to share, to love, to forgive and be forgiven. And four weeks to prepare for a new birth of Light and Love which we are called to carry out into the world. We are to share life-giving Love and Light so all may know they are Beloved and share the Light.

Predating Christianity, this dark season in which cold wins and darkness seems to take up most of our 24 hours has always been a season of longing for the return of the Light. Whatever your tradition or practices, may these days be gifts of welcoming the unexpected not with fear but with knowledge that the Light is coming — and Love is already here with us.

Where will I be in 2021??

I just left the orthopod’s office after my one year hip replacement anniversary check up. I’ll only need to check in once every two years from here on. My hip surgery has been a total success and it was a good decision to undertake it.

I stopped at the check out desk and commented to the clerk that I didn’t need to come back for two years. Would someone from the office get in touch with me to make an appointment closer to that time or would I need to make a note to myself?

“Oh, we’re making appointments for two years out,” she said and opened the calendar software to 2021.

So, I will be seeing the doctor on November 29, 2021 (a Monday in case you wanted to know). It is now in my Google calendar on my iPhone — the first appointment date in 2021!

As I left the doctor’s office, I wondered . . . 2021. Will I be healthy? Will I be living in the house we’re presently in? What will be going on in my life then? What will I have done with these two years?

Two years used to be a long time. Even now, thinking about 2021 seems so far in the future! And yet as any of us grows older, our perception of time changes — speeding up and making it seem like days fly by before we’ve noticed.

Before we’ve noticed . . . that is the biggest wondering I have about 2021. Will I arrive at November 29, 2021 and wonder where the time went? Will the days between now and then hold any meaningful events, quilting projects (;^), interactions with others, counseling or spiritual direction sessions, losses, challenges . . . ? I cannot expect of myself that every day will be an experience of deep mindfulness — I know I won’t be able to bring deep intentional attention to every moment. But what I do want is to become better at reaching out to make connections with those around me . . . family of course, current friends, but also others whom I don’t know yet (or don’t know well).

I have spent my life as an introvert and my introversion won’t suddenly change to extroversion. All the flavors of my active vocational life (counseling, priesthood, spiritual direction, teaching) involved intense, often profound interactions with many people, and I often ended a work day exhausted and longing for some time alone to allow my soul to catch up with the rest of me.

But in retirement, I have lots of time alone. I have awakened in this stage of life to a longing for connection with others. . . a connection that goes beyond casual conversation and into a deeper knowing. Martin Buber, Jewish theologian and philosopher, called the first kind of relationship an “I/it” relationship in which neither person really knows the other. The latter relationship he called an “I/thou” relationship. In the latter kind of relationship, one seeks both to know and be known by the other. There is vulnerability, authenticity, discovery of truths about oneself and the other. Not all relationships or interactions can be I/thou, and there is nothing wrong with having some I/it relationships. But I know I seek more of the I/thou in my life.

So November 2021? Will I be nurturing deep friendships? Will I be seeking to live mindfully as I walk this earth? Will I be striving to leave this earth and its people a better place in some small way (undoubtedly an infinitesimal drop in the bucket — but hopefully in some way) for my having lived?

Gratitude

Grateful eyes look at each thing as if they had never seen it before and caress it as if they would never see it again. ~ Br. David Steindl-Rast

I write on the day after the latest school shooting. You may find it odd to be writing today on “gratitude.” I find no joy in the meaningless deaths of children at the hands of other children via deadly weapons that should be used only in war or self defense. Yet such tragedy makes me even more grateful for this day of life and the awareness of it as precious gift.

This recent health challenge magnifies my awareness of this moment, this day. I had slipped back into taking for granted this day and this life and fell into imagining that I had at least a decade (probably more like 2 decades if I’m honest) to enjoy the pleasures of not having deadlines or work projects that required major effort. My initial response on receiving the challenging news was anger that it was likely that I had been given a new “assignment” that would take away from my newly discovered pleasures (reading fiction, learning quilting, enjoying walks, etc.) and replace them with unwelcome “deadlines” and scheduled “must appear” events.

I still can feel angry — at fate and I suppose at God — if I allow myself that wasted energy. But more often now I notice with gratitude the small things that I might have previously passed over without much of a thought. I’m still not great at recording my gratitudes — a spiritual practice that I want to become more regular in. But I often acknowledge what I notice to myself or aloud with a “thank you, God”, or even just see how many people I can offer a grateful smile and “hello” to as I go through the grocery store or on my walk.

I am awed today at the prayers and love that others have offered me in this time. It usually comes via text or email. Sometimes a gift of homemade soup and a book left on my porch or a card with a hand written message delivered by the mailperson. And with each message or gift I return a prayer for that person and feel a deep gratitude that I (who have been a person who often has felt her “otherness” and awkwardness) am loved and held in prayer. I don’t feel deserving of such gifts and prayers — but I am aware that it is not about deserving but about accepting what comes (with gratitude) and not keeping it to myself.

And not keeping it to myself is a fruit of gratitude, I find. Gratitude creates an abundance of feelings . . . of safety, love, joy, astonishment, wonder, connection. The abundance is not to be held close nor stored but to be shared. So I share, perhaps in overly simple ways, but offering gratitude in writing or via a phone call, in my own prayers for others, in offering a smile to each person I see, in writing cards of gratitude for persons who have touched my life.

And I have a long, long list of people that will keep my pen busy for as long as I can write . . . I keep a rainy day file of notes or letters that I have received over a lifetime from persons who have taken time to let me know something that has touched them. They inspire me to respond to others with a “rainy day” message to let them know how their lives have touched mine.

Gratitude . . . I am grateful today for the chill in the air that drives birds to our feeder where Mr B (my kitty) and I watch with wonder. And I am grateful for my body . . . its strength, its resilience, and the ability it gives me to move through the world. Thank you, God, for all your gifts.

Doors

In the universe, there are things that are known, and things that are unknown, and in between, there are doors.

~ William Blake

I am at the threshold of a door between what I had known and expected and what is unknown to me. Actually, I may be one step beyond that threshold. I am dealing with a very unexpected challenge that is requiring hope in the midst of fear, present moment awareness rather than future planning, and willingness to step back from being in charge to allow others to help me and pray for me and love me.

I vacillate between overwhelm with the messages and kindnesses of friends and family and even strangers who are praying and caring for me . . . a welcome overwhelm that feels like a warm, comforting safe place to dwell. And there is also the overwhelm from medical facts, statistics, and the physical experience of today’s technologies . . . an overwhelm that feels unsafe and fearsome.

I am keenly aware that I am not alone in this experience . . . it is a human experience and a spiritual pathway that so many others have taken and are taking or will take at some point in their lifetime.

The quotation that “caught” me this morning says there are doors between what we know and what we do not yet know or cannot know. I would change Blake’s word to “doorways”. Doors require opening to walk through, and there are some doors like that in our lives that we need to choose to open or leave closed. Images of doorways are different to me — they are openings that are already open. Some doorways we may choose to walk through or not. Some doorways we may not notice and therefore we walk by. Other doorways offer multiple openings and force a choice between one thing and another.

The doorway in my life today offers no choice . . . there is only one portal to enter without choosing or desiring this path. I cannot know what awaits on the other side. What will be revealed (in part or whole) when I step through onto the path? Adventure? Challenge? Affirmation? Ending? Healing? Love? Purpose? Call?

I am not a stranger to this doorway, though. I have walked through a similar doorway several times in my life and I have found a deepening of my spirit, an expansive space inside where empathy for others (and myself) dwells, experienced a humility that reminds me that a greater Being is accompanying me in love. In each experience, I have grown as a person, a therapist/healer, a spiritual guide.

While I am walking through a doorway onto a path that is new and unknown, gratefully, I am not alone. You who read this are part of my circle of witnesses. Thank you.