Tag: love

Elfin Magic

Elfin Magic

I had started my walk in a nearby park in a rather serious mood. My head down and engaged in thoughts triggered by a podcast playing in my ear, I didn’t notice the few others who were on the trail even though I only wear one earpod when I walk so I don’t miss birdsongs or the crunch crunch crunch of a fellow walker coming up behind me.

I was well into the two mile walk when I started to notice something odd with the trees along the path. At first I thought the gleaming little Christmas ball was the only one and only on that tree. Nope. When I noticed a third tree with a shiny ornament, I put the podcast on pause and the earpod in my pocket. There were more ornaments but only one per tree.

One on the next tree on my right. And the next one on my left. And the next. And the next. On some trees the ornament was hanging out in plain sight. On others there seemed to be no ornament. But when I looked more curiously every tree along my path had a ball hung somewhere within it. There were small round balls of red, white, green, silver, and even black. Some were not much bigger than a grape while others were the size of a navel orange.

I smiled then laughed out loud as each shiny ball reflecting sunlight caught my eye. Branches bare of leaves made identification something that will require waiting until spring, but no matter. I was not looking for leaves. Rather, I was looking for this winter “fruit” — these ornaments.

I had come to my walk in a familiar park, Louise Moore Park in Northampton County, Pennsylvania (just a few minutes drive from my house). The paths in the Park are neither fancy nor wild. They amble through fields. Some are mowed to ankle depth while others have been left wild for birds to nest and scavenge. Along some sections of the path are groves of 8 or 10 mature copper beeches, maples, oaks, and pines. I wondered who had taken the time to offer these gifts along the path. It wasn’t the rangers and it likely wasn’t a paid worker. The balls were not hung with panache or professionally placed. Some were tied to branches with unraveling yet colorful ribbon, some with sparkly twisted pipe cleaners, others hung on a colored metal hook that contrasted with the color of the Christmas ball it attached to the tree. Someone had anonymously hung the path with shiny bright objects that could not be missed and that made smiles emerge and childlike delight fill hearts that needed a bit of joy.

“Have you noticed the Christmas balls in the trees?” I asked an older couple holding hands.

“Oh yes, aren’t they wonderful,” the woman said. “We were just wondering how they came to be here. Who did this?”

I smiled as I said, “I think it is the elves who decorated our path.”

“Oh yes! Isn’t that something! Elves!” And she smiled as she and her husband nodded to each other.

Later, a jogger approached, head down, concentrating on the path ahead with headphones sealing out any other sound. I smiled and asked if she had noticed the decoration. She slowed slightly, took off her headphones and looked quizzically at me. I repeated my question.

“Oh, yes. They’re cheery aren’t they?” she said. Putting her headphones back on, she smiled and waved goodbye to me.

Yes, they are cheery. I needed “cheery” today. \Others may have needed it as well. And for this simple bit of good cheer I thank the Elves who took time to make this writer’s day brighter. It was a simple thing. Something that made a difference . . . at least to me. Thank you so very, very much. Now, I’m thinking about what small Elvish thing I can do to make tomorrow a day with good cheer and smiles. . . Suggestions invited below in comments — don’t be shy if you have an idea! And be an Elf!

Sisters

My sister is the one I turn to when I want to share something. She always helps me feel better if I’m feeling scared or sad. I know she is there and loves me. If something wonderful has happened, she knows just how to celebrate.

It hasn’t always been easy between us. I am the Elsa, the oldest sister. She is the Anna, the younger of us by 6 years. When I graduated from college, I went home until I began work on another academic degree. Karen was almost 16 and as a middle child was a peacemaker and very sensitive and compassionate. My parents and I were having a tough time — conflict arose between me and my Dad. He was a military chaplain and I was an activist whose antiwar stance was rooted in the values of the faith my parents had instilled in me.

Karen was then in her late teens and admired me as her big sister. She was caught between our parents and me. I saw her as siding with our Dad. Although she tried her darndest to strike up conversations with me and even mimicked how I dressed. I avoided her. I resented her company when she asked to ride into town with me whenever I left the house.

Why did I feel that way? I didn’t like who I had become — I was lonely and lost without my campus comrades. I was struggling to work out what believed, what I loved and what I wanted to do rather than simply what I opposed. I had more questions than answers at that time, and I didn’t feel like any kind of healthy model for anyone else.

Karen’s admiration made me painfully aware of how lost I felt. One evening she followed me to my car and asked if she could come along. Something in me snapped. I don’t remember what I said but I know it was hurtful because I wanted her to leave me alone. I chose to verbally attack her where it would hurt most. It took many difficult years for her to let me near her heart again. She built a wall to protect herself from my hurt. Eventually my apologies and attempts at rebuilding trust met her brave risk at opening herself to me. Now we share hearts and even souls. Her life has blessed me in many ways. I am grateful.

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!”

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.

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.

Reconnecting with Heart and Hand(written)

My handwriting has gotten a bit more messy and angular over the years. My hands are increasingly arthritic and stiff and have begun to look like my mother’s. For this reason, I often choose to write emails, notes, reports (and this blog!) on my laptop. In this season of retirement, I am embarking on a project that I have not made time for until now. For as long as I am able, I am bent on handwriting notes and letters of gratitude to persons who have touched my life.

Now, understand that I type well and my speed on my laptop is excellent. I can capture most of my thoughts when I type. However, when I handwrite letters something different and lovely happens . . . there is an emotional experience to the writing. As ink meets paper, memories of shared times and treasured conversations often arise. And the writing of a letter becomes a time of intimate reconnection rather than simple words on paper.

In retirement, one of my intentions is to reconnect with people who were once in my life and who touched me in some way. I have frequently let time carry me past relationships into some different stage of life without acknowledging the way those relationships have touched me and formed me. I know that many of us could say the same thing. I am blessed, though, with this time of my life in which I have more opportunity for reflection and for searching out where the angels in my past have got up to. Some have moved on to be part of the “cloud of witnesses” that I wholeheartedly believe continue relationships with us when they die, and currently surround us with encouragement and guidance. Those who are still alive and kicking I will try to find and reconnect with in notes written in my messy and angular hand. And I will savor the memories such writing brings and hope that they will touch the heart of the other.

Surprise!

My birthday was a couple of weeks ago. It usually passes with three birthday cards (my Dad, my husband, and a longtime friend who never forgets). The weekend before, my husband (a woodworker) was going to pick up some wood from my brother’s house and asked me if I wanted to go along for the ride. I accepted eagerly — I don’t get to visit with my ebrother and his wife often enough through the year, and when they heard I was coming with Bill, they invited us to lunch.

After the usual 90 minute drive, we walked in the door. . . “Surprise,” they yelled. My brother and his wife, my sister and her husband, my 94 year old Dad, and Bill had planned a surprise party for my 70th birthday. And I had had no idea — really!

Now, for some folks, a surprise party might not be a big deal — for some, it might be annoying, especially for a big birthday like 70. To me, it was a huge and welcome thing. I still have the balloons tied to a chair in my dining area — 7 foil balloons of different shapes and messages. “One for each decade,” my brother bragged.

There were cupcakes of a variety of colors, flavors, and icings. There was pizza from the local pizza place. Simple. Unpretentious. But so very affirming that I was loved and cared about. And that warmth and glow fills my heart each time I think of the shout of “Surprise!”

I am noticing a difference in myself since my retirement last summer. Retirement agrees with me and I have had no trouble “adjusting” to it. What has most touched me is the slowing down of time and schedules. I used to feel (most of the time!) that I was running behind — a consistent feeling of having so much to complete but never quite being on top of things — never quite completing what needed to be done. I always got things done — sometimes by the skin of my teeth — but never felt that I finished tasks with time to savor their completion. In retirement I still have things to do (retreats I’m leading, doctors appointments, working out, making connections with friends) but my life feels more leisurely.

A friend of mine says it this way, “I have things to get done, but there’s always tomorrow.” At least it feels like there’s always tomorrow.

I’m cognizant of taking time seriously because I can never know if today will be all I have. But what I am experiencing at this stage of my life is that life can be more leisurely than pressured.

I told myself that I would know I was ready to retire when I felt that my life in the world had made a difference to others. I feel I have made a difference — though not in dramatic ways. I’ve made a difference in small ways in many peoples’ lives. My “rainy day” file teaches me that as I read through two file drawers of notes, emails, journals that offer thanks to me for counseling help or sermons that “landed” or something I said (most of which I don’t remember). I studied and worked at professions that were intended to serve others. And I have served others — sometimes very well, sometimes not — but always that was the intention. And I still find ways to serve, but not with frenetic pressure on myself.

All this is to say that the difference I notice (that I mentioned above) is an ability to be present with others, to trust and accept their love/friendship/ caring. Letting love into my heart and basking in it is new to me (believe it or not). And I am grateful for this softening, letting in, and trusting. It is a true gift from God!

From Curiosity into Love

The surprises I’ve experienced in my writing practice have dislodged me from curiosity into love.           –Layli Long Soldier                                                                 (Lakota Poet interviewed by Krista Tippett)

Curiosity

I have taught counseling students that their initial attitude toward their clients upon the first meeting should be curiosity.  Curiosity about someone requires a stance of unknowing.  One who enters a relationship of any kind with curiosity is saying, “I want to know you.  I am listening.  I don’t know who you are and what you love, what you think, what soothes you, what scares you.  I want to know.  I’m here.  Please share what you can.”

The stance of curiosity in a counseling relationship, or any intimate relationship, is something that usually has to be learned and practiced because it doesn’t come naturally.  I believe most of us most of the time encounter another person whom we don’t know assuming something about them.  Almost unconsciously, we look at a person, at the clothes they are wearing, at their grooming, notice the color of their skin, their posture . . . and we make assumptions about this person.  Our amygdala at work, probably, sizing up another being to see if there is threat or not.  It is normal — I do it, you do it.  And in itself this automatic reaction is not bad.  It is only destructive if it is unconscious and not brought to our awareness.  Unconscious assumptions cannot be challenged nor evaluated for accuracy.

In therapy, if we therapists are not aware of our assumptions about a client, we cannot be helpful to them.  Our curiosity is a part of the healing skills we offer as we help them explore, discover, and tell us who they are.  They then can make courageous choices that are more consonant with who they know themselves to be.

As we participate in the process of learning one’s own story and honoring one’s identity,  our curiosity often becomes love.  By love I mean deep resonance and respect for another’s willingness to explore what may be painful experiences or choices.  Knowing someone deeply (as our curiosity and the other’s trust allows us to do) opens the door for loving the humanity, courage, and trust that another may place in us.  

I am grateful to the many clients and directees who have allowed me to witness to their journey toward wholeness.   Through my work as therapist and spiritual director the capacity to live my life with greater curiosity and love in all my relationships continues to grow and change me for the better.