Monday, March 31, 2008
And yes it's Kindness that comes you undone like a shoelace. Tips you over with awkward grace back into that perfect place -- that only you can fill for this world. --Pavithra Mehta
Thursday, March 27, 2008
A friend of mine recently e-mailed because she was electrified by a book titled The Shack. She was blown away by truths conveyed in this imaginative, paradigm-shifting book, and was eager to dialogue about it. So, I picked up a copy at my local library. After devouring the story in two days, I'm buzzing with a "MUST READ" endorsement. Whether you've been "walking" with God for years, or you're simply curious about what a relationship with one's Maker could look like (apart from the rules and ruts of religion), this book is a page turner that'll challenge your understanding of God, Grace, and what it means to commune with a Loving, Surprising, Peace-giving Creator!
Just promise me that if you read The Shack (or already have read it), you'll post a comment about the impact it's made on your life!
I can't wait to hear how your daily dance with the Divine is growing and changing! Because of The Shack, my own spiritual perceptions and understandings are being stretched--in a freeing, life-giving way!
For more on this book (endorsements, author info, purchase details) go to www.theshackbook.com.
Easter Jesus -- Chrysalis as tomb
Monday, March 24, 2008
This year, my 40th birthday is on the third day of Easter! I've heard it said that not for another century (or more) will Easter fall this early on the calendar. And so even though I'm turning The BIG 4-0, I think this birthday might be extra special because of March 25th's allignment with the Easter season. Could it be?After the double-drama on Maundy Thursday (see previous post Story Weaver) I woke up at 4:00 AM unable to sleep. The 4-0 on the clock made me think of my 40th birthday. So, I crept into the living room, grabbed a present from Sally that was waiting perched on the entertainment center, and opened--EARLY!
Wrapped in blue paper with blue ribbon was a small butterfly jewelry box, and a book, The Spirit of Butterflies: Myth, Magic, and Art. It's an enchanting collection of writings and images that I'll treasure and revisit often. (Thanks for knowing me and supporting my spiritual journey, Sal!) In the book's introduction, author Maraleen Manos-Jones reflects on the special fascination with butterflies:
". . .my strong feeling is that we need butterflies to remind us that positive change is possible, that there is magic to life, and that we have to be mindful of our surroundings, because if we destroy nature, we destroy ourselves. Butterflies awaken our spirits and open our hearts. They give us a sense of hope and the possibility of our own transformation and evolution."
My heart's prayer is for personal growth, healing, CHANGE. I need to break free from fetters of shame, doubt, and fear. (I AM growing and changing, but it feels like I've been praying this prayer forever!) And so it makes sense that the butterfly is an image to which I'm drawn.
I've never really thought of the butterfly as an Easter image. But even more than bunnies and eggs, IT IS the perfect symbol of resurrection!! Manos-Jones explains:
"In the fifth century, Pope Gelasius I issued a pontifical decree declaring that Christ was a caterpillar, for not only did he humble himself and was humbled, but he was also resurrected: Vermis quia resurrexit (The worm [caterpillar] has risen again.) The chrysalis represents the tomb, the place where the miraculous resurrection takes place, from which the soul rises, and the beautiful free-flying butterfly, of course, symbolizes Christ's spirit reborn. Even today, in the west of France, the Cleopatra butterfly, which appears in early spring, is called the Easter Jesus.
It's because of the RISEN Christ that there is HOPE for change. Loving Creator, and Cocoon-spinner, help me to walk in Easter-life. Help me to recognize, nurture, celebrate, and draw from the Spirit of You IN me.
Therefore if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come! 2 Corinthians 5:17
Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is FREEDOM. And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord's glory, are being transformed into his likeness with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit.
2 Corinthians 3:17
Story Weaver
Friday, March 21, 2008
Sean was an unexpected, but miraculous, "oops" baby. And ever since his birth three years ago, I've instinctively known that he'd be the one (between all three of our kids) to keep the "surprises" comin'.
Just as expected, he's kept us on our toes.
When he was only a year old, Sean's energy rivaled contestants on television's "Amazing Race." In Play With Me I explained: "My youngest son has Spiderman-scaling instincts: reaching, grabbing, hoisting, sliding, and swinging his way (whenever possible) to the highest fixture in the house and once there, doing everything possible to threaten a fall: swaggering with pride, doing a teetering victory dance, waving arms gleefully above head to solicit that needed fix of parental surprise and fear."
Now, at almost 4 years old, I affectionately call him a Tazmanian devil of sorts. He continues to be a whirlwind of activity. A true mischief-maker.
This week, I found Sean standing in the living room with what we thought was an out-of-reach DVD remote. He had opened the remote-back and with a glance I could tell that the battery (a small nickel-sized disc) was missing.
Knowing Sean's obsession with batteries, I panicked. "Where's the battery, Sean? Where is it?"
He simply stared at me with a silly sort of grin and pointed to his stomach.
"You ate it?" I half screamed, while scouring the floor and nearby furniture for any sign that he might be lying.
When he put his hand on his chest and said, "It's in my tummy, Mommy. And it kind of hurts." I froze. A mischief maker, yes, but an honest one at that.
Emergency room X-rays proved that Sean's swallowed battery had made it safely through his esophogus to the stomach. With expectation that the intestinal track would simply "move things along" we were sent home from the hospital to "watch." Two days later we were still waiting for Sean's BM jackpot.
And then he began complaining of more pain.
A second trip to the ER. (And because I had that familiar "oops" baby feeling--this time I brought him to Children's Hospital in Minneapolis.) Further X-rays explained that the battery was NOT in fact moving down. It was still floating around in Sean's stomach and starting to leak.
Surgery was set up for the same day.
This "same day" was yesterday. And in my opinion there was already enough "drama" on the schedule. . . The Christos kids I'd been directing in a play were scheduled to practice ONE LAST TIME (at 5:00 pm) and then PERFORM immediately following for a 6:30 pm service. Sean's surgery was set for 4:00. I was disappointed about missing the play, but of course there was no question about where I most wanted to be.
Jennifer, too, wanted to be with the family, and with mixed feelings she chose (very mature of her, I think) to pass her acting role on to another student, and miss the service designed to feature her First Communion.
We're both SO glad we stayed with Sean.
We thought we knew how the evening would end, and we'd made our peace with that ending, but thanks be to God, Our Great Story Weaver wasn't finished with his tale. Because He (more than spunky, spiraling Sean) knows a thing or two about the element of "surprise." What happened next was this: we experienced a circumstantial parting of the Red Sea. . .
Miraculously, Sean was in and out of surgery without complications--ready to go home by 5:45. . .a mere 45 minutes before the Maundy Thursday service.
Rich and the boys hopped into one of our cars, Jennifer and I took the other. Anxiously, we drove and prayed and drove and prayed. I kept saying, "Jennifer, it's rush hour. There's a good chance we won't make it." But every stop light stayed green. And amazingly the traffic was sparce. A quick 2-minute pit stop at home, and we made it to the church on time. . .just as kids were taking their places for the play's first scene.
TALK ABOUT HOLY COMMUNION!!
The play was wonderful. Jennifer's First Communion was meaningful. My heart was soaring with thankfulness. . . for Sean's health, for these children who so earnestly shared the story of God's endless welcome, and for the gift of Christ's body and blood.
When Jen and I arrived home an hour or so later, the doctors had prepared us to find a SUPER-SLEEPY, recovering three year old.
Instead, I was greeted at the door by wildly scampering feet and a huge, happy tackling hug. "Mommy, the battery is OUT of me. It's OUT!"
Contrary to medical prediction, Sean never did wind down. Even after "celebrating" for several hours he was still going!
Have you ever heard of the "Energizer Sean-ny?"
Just as expected, he's kept us on our toes.
When he was only a year old, Sean's energy rivaled contestants on television's "Amazing Race." In Play With Me I explained: "My youngest son has Spiderman-scaling instincts: reaching, grabbing, hoisting, sliding, and swinging his way (whenever possible) to the highest fixture in the house and once there, doing everything possible to threaten a fall: swaggering with pride, doing a teetering victory dance, waving arms gleefully above head to solicit that needed fix of parental surprise and fear."
Now, at almost 4 years old, I affectionately call him a Tazmanian devil of sorts. He continues to be a whirlwind of activity. A true mischief-maker.
This week, I found Sean standing in the living room with what we thought was an out-of-reach DVD remote. He had opened the remote-back and with a glance I could tell that the battery (a small nickel-sized disc) was missing.
Knowing Sean's obsession with batteries, I panicked. "Where's the battery, Sean? Where is it?"
He simply stared at me with a silly sort of grin and pointed to his stomach.
"You ate it?" I half screamed, while scouring the floor and nearby furniture for any sign that he might be lying.
When he put his hand on his chest and said, "It's in my tummy, Mommy. And it kind of hurts." I froze. A mischief maker, yes, but an honest one at that.
Emergency room X-rays proved that Sean's swallowed battery had made it safely through his esophogus to the stomach. With expectation that the intestinal track would simply "move things along" we were sent home from the hospital to "watch." Two days later we were still waiting for Sean's BM jackpot.
And then he began complaining of more pain.
A second trip to the ER. (And because I had that familiar "oops" baby feeling--this time I brought him to Children's Hospital in Minneapolis.) Further X-rays explained that the battery was NOT in fact moving down. It was still floating around in Sean's stomach and starting to leak.
Surgery was set up for the same day.
This "same day" was yesterday. And in my opinion there was already enough "drama" on the schedule. . . The Christos kids I'd been directing in a play were scheduled to practice ONE LAST TIME (at 5:00 pm) and then PERFORM immediately following for a 6:30 pm service. Sean's surgery was set for 4:00. I was disappointed about missing the play, but of course there was no question about where I most wanted to be.
Jennifer, too, wanted to be with the family, and with mixed feelings she chose (very mature of her, I think) to pass her acting role on to another student, and miss the service designed to feature her First Communion.
We're both SO glad we stayed with Sean.
We thought we knew how the evening would end, and we'd made our peace with that ending, but thanks be to God, Our Great Story Weaver wasn't finished with his tale. Because He (more than spunky, spiraling Sean) knows a thing or two about the element of "surprise." What happened next was this: we experienced a circumstantial parting of the Red Sea. . .
Miraculously, Sean was in and out of surgery without complications--ready to go home by 5:45. . .a mere 45 minutes before the Maundy Thursday service.
Rich and the boys hopped into one of our cars, Jennifer and I took the other. Anxiously, we drove and prayed and drove and prayed. I kept saying, "Jennifer, it's rush hour. There's a good chance we won't make it." But every stop light stayed green. And amazingly the traffic was sparce. A quick 2-minute pit stop at home, and we made it to the church on time. . .just as kids were taking their places for the play's first scene.
TALK ABOUT HOLY COMMUNION!!
The play was wonderful. Jennifer's First Communion was meaningful. My heart was soaring with thankfulness. . . for Sean's health, for these children who so earnestly shared the story of God's endless welcome, and for the gift of Christ's body and blood.
When Jen and I arrived home an hour or so later, the doctors had prepared us to find a SUPER-SLEEPY, recovering three year old.
Instead, I was greeted at the door by wildly scampering feet and a huge, happy tackling hug. "Mommy, the battery is OUT of me. It's OUT!"
Contrary to medical prediction, Sean never did wind down. Even after "celebrating" for several hours he was still going!
Have you ever heard of the "Energizer Sean-ny?"
Come to the Table
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
It's been awhile since I've written. . . I've been swimming in a sea of creativity with about 48 drama-driven kids!
Every year, during the season of Lent, I write and direct a play for the 3rd- 5th graders at my church. For the past five weeks, this group of kids has been memorizing lines, painting set pieces, hunting for props and costumes, creating invitations, practicing dance moves--laughing and learning through the gift of "play."
The drama we are performing is a modern day version of The Parable of the Great Banquet, found in both Luke and Matthew. Tonight is our dress rehearsal, and tomorrow we share our story with an audience during a+of+P1010025.JPG)
Maundy Thursday service!
Please pray for me, but especially the kids (for health, protection, and a deep, meaningful connection to the story) as we practice and pull together all of+of+P1010062.JPG)
the final details!
My 9 year old, Jennifer, is part of the play, too! She's having a blast! The other day she said, "Mom, I'm sooooo glad you're the director."
Could I feel more blessed? It's been an incredible journey. . .
Every year, during the season of Lent, I write and direct a play for the 3rd- 5th graders at my church. For the past five weeks, this group of kids has been memorizing lines, painting set pieces, hunting for props and costumes, creating invitations, practicing dance moves--laughing and learning through the gift of "play."
The drama we are performing is a modern day version of The Parable of the Great Banquet, found in both Luke and Matthew. Tonight is our dress rehearsal, and tomorrow we share our story with an audience during a
+of+P1010025.JPG)
Maundy Thursday service!Please pray for me, but especially the kids (for health, protection, and a deep, meaningful connection to the story) as we practice and pull together all of
+of+P1010062.JPG)
the final details!My 9 year old, Jennifer, is part of the play, too! She's having a blast! The other day she said, "Mom, I'm sooooo glad you're the director."
Could I feel more blessed? It's been an incredible journey. . .
My Mantra
Sunday, March 9, 2008
The Universe is generous
The Universe is generous
The Universe is generous. . . . .
I was reading Eat, Love, Pray when the above phrase (my new mantra) jumped off the page.
The truth hit me like a splash of cold water in the face, mostly because it wasn't the point of the author's story. It was just a simple, easy truth she was sharing along the way. Delivered almost off the cuff. Like. . . "of course this is true."
I took pause.
Do I believe this? I want to. I need to have eyes for abundance. I want to "expect" generosity from the earth and its Creator. I think my heart's soil is ready for new fruit.
And so I plant a few mustard seeds every day, repeating. . .
The Universe is generous
The Universe is generous
The Universe is generous!
The Universe is generous
The Universe is generous. . . . .
I was reading Eat, Love, Pray when the above phrase (my new mantra) jumped off the page.
The truth hit me like a splash of cold water in the face, mostly because it wasn't the point of the author's story. It was just a simple, easy truth she was sharing along the way. Delivered almost off the cuff. Like. . . "of course this is true."
I took pause.
Do I believe this? I want to. I need to have eyes for abundance. I want to "expect" generosity from the earth and its Creator. I think my heart's soil is ready for new fruit.
And so I plant a few mustard seeds every day, repeating. . .
The Universe is generous
The Universe is generous
The Universe is generous!
What's All the Buzz About?
Monday, March 3, 2008
For several years now, I've sensed the need for a mentor. I crave direction in my life. Guidance. Truth. Wisdom. A new path.Has this need been brought on by midlife? Or the major transition to a debt-free life? Hunger for happiness? A need for personal change? A sense that my life (for the first time in 7 years) is actually ripe for change? Whatever it is, I've been stumbling along with only tiny glimpses of clarity, little aha moments to which I fiercely cling, all the while asking God to give me someone who can show the way.
In January, an 'aha' moment came like a pin prick of light. I was standing in my kitchen when an idea came for writing a one-woman holiday play. Tossing the idea around in my mind left every cell in my body dancing, twirling, spinning, "buzzing."
I paid attention.
"My body is trying to tell me something," I thought. "What is the source of this buzz? Why don't I listen to this cell-dance more often--nurture, honor, indulge, and encourage it?" The 'aha' wasn't as much a new script-idea as the realization that there are things that get me excited on a cellular level.
Buzzing. An important piece of the puzzle. But, I kept wondering, "Is this what turning 40 is going to be about? Simply following a buzz?" I'm still hungry for more. There has to be more. . .
Then, last week, the library e-mailed notice that a book I've wanted to read is finally available. I waited THREE MONTHS (on a long list of what I have imagined are pacing, spiritually hungry, Oprah watching housewives) for a turn to read the popular "Eat, Pray, Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert.
Timing is everything. The book is EXACTLY what I needed at just the right moment.
The author's name is "Liz" and the book opens with a devestating divorce which places her in a painful, personal pile of war-torn rubble. The war is emotional/spiritual brought on by her own afflicted soul more than any one person (ex-husband or otherwise), and the book is about her healing journey. It starts with a surprising conversation with God, and a sense that she should (or better yet: "can," "must") find and follow pleasure, seek devotion to God, and find balance between the two.
The journey takes her to Italy, India and Indonesia.
In Italy, she studies and learns to speak Italian. The flowery language--the romantic turn of the words--is her "buzz:"
"For years I'd wished I could speak Italian--a language I find more beautiful than roses--but I could never make the practical justification for studying it. Why not just bone up on the French or Russian I'd already studied years ago? Or learrn to speak Spanish, the better to help me communicate with millions of my fellow Americans? What was I going to do with Italian? It's not like I was going to move there. It would be more practical to learn how to play the accordion.
"But why must everything always have a practical application? I'd been such a diligent soldier for years--working, producing, never missing a deadline, taking care of my loved ones, my gums and my credit record, voting, etc. Is this lifetime supposed to be only about duty? In this dark period of loss, did I need any justification for learning Italian other than it was the only thing I could imagine bringing me any pleasure right now?"
She actually moves to Italy, and learns the art and spiritual necessity of "pleasure" a concept she feels Americans don't truly live or understand.
Several months later, living in an ashram in India, Liz (still following her desires) seeks God through the discipline of devotion--prayer, meditation, solitude, selfless service, etc. She comes face to face with inner-demons, and God himself, who insists "I LOVE you, I will never leave you, I will always take care of you."
Liz's entire journey through three countries is sparked by an Indonesian medicine man who is willing to answer one question or problem. She meets him and asks: "I want to have a lasting experience of God. Sometimes I feel like I understand the divinity of this world, but then I lose it because I get distracted by my petty desires and fears. I want to be with God all the time. But I don't want to be a monk, or totally give up worldly pleasures. I guess what I want to learn is how to live in this world and enjoy its delights but also devote myself to God."
In January, an 'aha' moment came like a pin prick of light. I was standing in my kitchen when an idea came for writing a one-woman holiday play. Tossing the idea around in my mind left every cell in my body dancing, twirling, spinning, "buzzing."
I paid attention.
"My body is trying to tell me something," I thought. "What is the source of this buzz? Why don't I listen to this cell-dance more often--nurture, honor, indulge, and encourage it?" The 'aha' wasn't as much a new script-idea as the realization that there are things that get me excited on a cellular level.
Buzzing. An important piece of the puzzle. But, I kept wondering, "Is this what turning 40 is going to be about? Simply following a buzz?" I'm still hungry for more. There has to be more. . .
Then, last week, the library e-mailed notice that a book I've wanted to read is finally available. I waited THREE MONTHS (on a long list of what I have imagined are pacing, spiritually hungry, Oprah watching housewives) for a turn to read the popular "Eat, Pray, Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert.
Timing is everything. The book is EXACTLY what I needed at just the right moment.
The author's name is "Liz" and the book opens with a devestating divorce which places her in a painful, personal pile of war-torn rubble. The war is emotional/spiritual brought on by her own afflicted soul more than any one person (ex-husband or otherwise), and the book is about her healing journey. It starts with a surprising conversation with God, and a sense that she should (or better yet: "can," "must") find and follow pleasure, seek devotion to God, and find balance between the two.
The journey takes her to Italy, India and Indonesia.
In Italy, she studies and learns to speak Italian. The flowery language--the romantic turn of the words--is her "buzz:"
"For years I'd wished I could speak Italian--a language I find more beautiful than roses--but I could never make the practical justification for studying it. Why not just bone up on the French or Russian I'd already studied years ago? Or learrn to speak Spanish, the better to help me communicate with millions of my fellow Americans? What was I going to do with Italian? It's not like I was going to move there. It would be more practical to learn how to play the accordion.
"But why must everything always have a practical application? I'd been such a diligent soldier for years--working, producing, never missing a deadline, taking care of my loved ones, my gums and my credit record, voting, etc. Is this lifetime supposed to be only about duty? In this dark period of loss, did I need any justification for learning Italian other than it was the only thing I could imagine bringing me any pleasure right now?"
She actually moves to Italy, and learns the art and spiritual necessity of "pleasure" a concept she feels Americans don't truly live or understand.
Several months later, living in an ashram in India, Liz (still following her desires) seeks God through the discipline of devotion--prayer, meditation, solitude, selfless service, etc. She comes face to face with inner-demons, and God himself, who insists "I LOVE you, I will never leave you, I will always take care of you."
Liz's entire journey through three countries is sparked by an Indonesian medicine man who is willing to answer one question or problem. She meets him and asks: "I want to have a lasting experience of God. Sometimes I feel like I understand the divinity of this world, but then I lose it because I get distracted by my petty desires and fears. I want to be with God all the time. But I don't want to be a monk, or totally give up worldly pleasures. I guess what I want to learn is how to live in this world and enjoy its delights but also devote myself to God."
He answers her with a picture of an "adrogynous human figure, standing up, hands clasped in prayer. But the figure has four legs and no head. Where the head should have been, there was only a wild foliage of ferns and flowers. There was a small, smiling face drawn over the heart." (I wish I could draw it here for you, because the image is so powerful.)
The artist/medicine man explains, "To find the balance you want. . . this is what you must become. You must keep your feet grounded so firmly on the earth that it's like you have four legs, instead of two. That way, you can stay in the world. But you must stop looking at the world through your head. You must look through your heart, instead. That way, you will know God."
Her journey was so inspiring that I literally re-read entire sections of the book, taking notes. I have pages and pages of wisdom that I want to remember, revisit, retain--and most importantly learn to live! I have talked Rich's ear off, sharing with him all that this means to me, and I ask everyone at work: "Have you read Eat, Pray, Love? Isn't it amazing?"
In some strange and surprising way, Elizabeth Gilbert is my mentor and "medicine wo-man." Her memoir is a personal picture, a map, and a specific answer to a question that has been burning in my life for far too long:
The artist/medicine man explains, "To find the balance you want. . . this is what you must become. You must keep your feet grounded so firmly on the earth that it's like you have four legs, instead of two. That way, you can stay in the world. But you must stop looking at the world through your head. You must look through your heart, instead. That way, you will know God."
Her journey was so inspiring that I literally re-read entire sections of the book, taking notes. I have pages and pages of wisdom that I want to remember, revisit, retain--and most importantly learn to live! I have talked Rich's ear off, sharing with him all that this means to me, and I ask everyone at work: "Have you read Eat, Pray, Love? Isn't it amazing?"
In some strange and surprising way, Elizabeth Gilbert is my mentor and "medicine wo-man." Her memoir is a personal picture, a map, and a specific answer to a question that has been burning in my life for far too long:
How do I move beyond experiences of personal poverty (spiritual, emotional, financial) to find happiness?
I'm literally buzzing with possibilities!
I'm literally buzzing with possibilities!
To check out Eat, Pray, Love, click here and visit amazon.com:
Or, RUN to the store and buy this book NOW!
Anne Lamott (one of my favorite writers) endorses Liz's book with this review:
"This is a wonderful book, brilliant and personal, rich in spiritual insight, filled with sorrow and a great sense of humor. Elizabeth Gilbert is everything you would love in a tour guide, of magical places she has traveled to both deep inside and across the oceans: she's wise, jaunty, human, ethereal, hilarious, heartbreaking, and God, does she pay great attention to the things that really matter."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Cheri Mueller
The Word Girls Writing Studio
Need help bringing your writing to the next level? Contact Cheri & Sally by clicking on the red couch!
You're Listening To . . . .
