A+ha.

Damn. I mean, "thank you."

 

This is the image that was waiting for me when I got to work today: bright blue fall sky, brilliant red leaves, and tree branches that are becoming more and more bare with every passing day.

It made me smile...because I'm working on letting go. I am one of the most curious people I know. I want to try everything: I want to learn to play the accordion (I even own an accordion). I want to learn to play the guitar (ditto with the guitar). I want to start knitting again (I have drawers full of yarn and needles and patterns). And I want to run another marathon (the shoes are just sitting there waiting...).

I have a PASSION for the Enneagram and want to learn everything there is to know about it (hence all of the workshops, classes and conferences that have filled up my travel schedule this year...and there's more to come). Speaking of the Enneagram, I am chomping at the bit to teach classes on the Enneagram: an Introduction to the Enneagram class, a Relationships and the Enneagram class, and even an "I know the basics...now what?" sort of thing. I use the E-gram in coaching all the time...which reminds me that I can't wait to start working with my colleagues around the country in business settings, using the Enneagram and Coaching to bring spirituality and mindfulness into the workplace through one-on-one interactions, small group and team building work, and large group trainings and retreats. 

And then there's my job. My brand new job as Minister to Small Groups. Talk about exciting! I am one of those people who can't wait to get to work most days. I. Love. My. Job. There's the advisory team that I'm working with to create this new small group "thing": a place where people will be a part of intentional small groups for the purpose of spiritual growth and transformation. We get to create this thing from the ground up...so I get to read and dream and plan and learn and experiment. I can't wait to get this thing going: we'll kick it off this winter with a class on wholehearted living, then we'll develop a leadership training program, and while we're doing that we'll be developing our own curriculum: a creative, experiential, provocative, insightful curriculum that will give folks the tools they need to get to know themselves a little better as they open up to love God and one another even more.

On top of all of this, I still get to preach and teach and marry and bury and baptize and listen and pray and love on people.

Wow. 

All of these things are on my mind because I had to write out my goal statements for the year this week. I was told that I have too many goals. That I can't do it all. 

My first thought was: Who says? 

And my second thought was: I know. But I want to do it all. I don't want to miss out on anything (and yes, for those of you who are Enneagram geeks: I am a Seven.)

As a very wise person once told me about the church: we have the resources to do a lot of things...but we can't do everything. 

Well, that  same wise person said to me yesterday that this wisdom applies to people as well. He meant me: this wisdom applies to me as well. Yes, I can do a lot of things. I am interested in a lot of things. I am curious about and want to experience a lot of things. And I'm good at a lot of things, too. But I can't do everything. 

It's time to prioritize. Do a few things wholeheartedly. And let other things go. 

Damn. I mean, "thank you."

I'll let you know how it goes.

 

Birthdays. Not mine. Others. And life.

Yesterday I cashed in some well-earned frequent flier miles and hopped a plane to Phoenix to surprise my daughter on her 23rd birthday. It worked: the plane was on time, the surprise was a real surprise, and I got to spend 12 hours with Bailey. We didn't do anything extraordinary: we laid on the couch, played cards, watched football and ate dinner with her friends. Which is what made this trip absolutely, positively extra-ordinary: it was simple and extravagant at the same time.

Common sense told me not to cash in those frequent flier miles. After all, I might need them for another trip someday. And this was a quick down-and-back: I left Des Moines at 10:00 am on Monday and will arrive back in Des Moines at 5:00 pm on Tuesday (I'm actually writing this in the plane as I fly over New Mexico). All told, I only saw Bailey for 8 hours (we did manage to get 4-4.5 hours of sleep). It just seemed so...so...impractical. Extravagant. Too much.

Which is precisely why I did it. Like so many other people, I get caught up in the "save it for a rainy day" mindset. Thing is, I'm always looking for a rainy day to be easily identifiable--as if I'll wake up one morning and say, "Oh! This is the rainy day I've been waiting for...and now my calendar is clear and I have lots of money and time and resources to spend because I've been hoarding them for so long..." 

That rainy day thing rarely (if ever) happens you know. At least I rarely experience it. So I fought that little voice in my head that kept saying "This is crazy...you have work to do...it's too expensive" and decided to give myself and my favorite kid the best gift that I could possibly think of: time. Doing nothing. Doing everything. If even for a couple of hours.

She was utterly and completely surprised that I came, BTW. Her experience is of a mom who is in a job where others get first dibs on my time and attention, where weekends have always been work days, and down-time can often be interrupted by events that require me to change my schedule. Our moments of just being together have been few and far between...not something I am incredibly proud of, BTW. 

Do I wish the trip could have been longer? You bet I do. Do I wish it would have come at a more convenient time? Of course. But it isn't and it didn't. It was what it was: just right. And I am grateful.

Do yourself a favor today and throw caution to the wind. Be extravagant in at least one relationship today. Sit with someone you love if even for a moment. Put everything else aside and laugh a little. The dishes will wait. The e-mail can be answered later. And you can always earn more frequent flier miles. Trust me on this one. You'll be glad you did. I know I am. 

 

Compassion.

Evidently there's a message I'm supposed to be picking up on. The theme of a retreat I attended over the weekend was compassion. While on the retreat, I started to re-read Brene Brown's book "The Gifts of Imperfection" and guess what she talks about there? Yup. Compassion. On the flight home from the retreat, I opened up Pema Chodron's book "The Places That Scare You." The topic that comes up over and over again on those pages: compassion.

I'm picking up a pattern here...so, OK, God. I'm listening. What is it I need to know about compassion?

Oh, yeah. Real compassion starts with yourself. Compassion for yourself, that is. You cannot be truly compassionate for another unless you can go there with yourself. The retreat leaders said it this way: understanding and compassion lets our hearts open. When we have compassion for ourselves, we can be ourselves. And when we are ourselves, we are being compassionate and loving to others.

Brene Brown says: Owning our story and loving ourselves through that process (in other words--being compassionate with ourselves) is the bravest thing that we will ever do.

And Pema offers these words: Self improvement can have temporary results, but lasting transformation occurs only when we honor ourselves as the source of wisdom and compassion. 

Lasting transformation. Being ourselves. Loving one another. Owning our story. Being brave. Showing up. That's what we're supposed to do here for ourselves and for each other.

That'll preach. 

Come gather 'round people wherever you roam...

The 7th graders and their parents got together tonight @ Plymouth UCC to talk about life--specifically how things have changed in the world since the parents were in 7th grade. 

Every year when I teach this class, the kids are surprised (horrified?) to know that their parents only had access to four TV stations, no computer in the house, a telephone that was attached to the wall with a cord that would sooner or later turn into a knotted mess, and had to wear "good clothes" to church (in other words: no jeans allowed). 

Every year when I teach this class, adults are surprised (encouraged?) to remember all of the advantages our kids have, too: kids have access to technology that will allow them to connect with other kids all over the world, and more often then not kids have access to media at home that will allow them access to all kinds of information (when we were kids, we only had a dictionary and an incomplete set of the Encyclopedia Brittanica--and even that was pretty old). Church (or at least Plymouth) is now a place where kids can talk about relationships and stresses and pressures, too--there is a recognition that God is present in and through all of life (not just "church-y things"). People are free to ask questions and enter into conversation here about who God is and what God wants us to do (in other words: the minister doesn't have the only say about all of this). And church is a place where "no matter who you are, no matter where you are on life's journey you are welcome here." Very cool.

Every year when I teach this class, I am reminded (surprised? amazed? incredibly grateful...) that God is here in the midst of it all: in the sharing of our stories, in the highs and lows of life, in our questions, our laughter, our tears, and in our relationships. We are called into relationship to share all of life--and by doing so we are reminded over and over and over again that we belong to one another. We belong to God. 

Every year when I teach this class, I grow further in my knowledge and belief that what we do and say and how we share our time and our talents, our stories and our live, matters. It really matters.

Laughter as a spiritual discipline.

"Laughter is the closest thing to the grace of God."
--Karl Barth

“Blessed is he who makes his companions laugh.”
--The Koran

"When you laugh, aside from the endorphin rush, there's also a spiritual opening.  You're not so tight inside yourself.  That opening I've found to be a real gift, in people being able to absorb spirituality."
--Rabbi Sydney Mintz

"Laughter connects you with people.  It's almost impossible to maintain any kind of distance or any sense of social hierarchy when you're just howling with laughter.  Laughter is a force for democracy."
--John Cleese

"I would not exchange the laughter of my heart for the fortunes of the multitudes; nor would I be content with converting my tears, invited by my agonized self, into calm.  It is my fervent hope that my whole life on this earth will ever be tears and laughter.  Tears that purify my heart and reveal to me the secret of life and its mystery, Laughter that brings me closer to my fellow men; Tears with which I join the broken-hearted, Laugher that symbolizes joy over my very existence." 
-- Kahlil Gibran

Intentions. Kinda like resolutions. But more so.

I have given up on New Year's resolutions, mostly because I know I only set them because everybody else is setting them...and also because I know that after eating and drinking and celebrating my way through the holidays, the odds are of my having a resolution for something other than losing weight or getting back in shape are slim to none. 

So I don't do it. It's just a set up for failure.

Birthdays are another story, though. Every year as I start a new trip around the sun, I set an intention: to be more kind, to talk less and listen more, to create space in my life for God. Those are intentions from years past that I kept (more or less) and really did make a difference in my life. 

This year's intention: to be more grateful. Or, rather, to be grateful for all kinds of things and not just the the things you know you're supposed to be grateful for. You see, I've always been a little lax in the whole gratitude department. Not that I'm ungrateful. I'm not. Really. I am incredibly grateful for all kinds of things. But I rarely say so--or at least, I don't say so to the people who need to hear it. 

In other words: I suck at saying "thanks." So that's my intention for the year: to say "thanks" more often. 

With that in mind, here are some of the things I'm thankful for today:

amazingly talented, holy, groovy, fun colleagues.

music that makes my soul sing and my heart sigh

Skype

laughter

do-overs

difficult conversations

did I say do-overs?

gluten free pancake mix

walks around the block with a big ol' Golden Retriever

nail-biting football games

honest prayers

people who are willing to share their real, true-blue highs and lows with you

and those who are willing to listen to my real, true-blue highs and lows

silence

...and about 100 other things, too.

Thanks for reading this. Thanks for sharing my life with me. 

What are you grateful for today?

Real.

(from The Velveteen Rabbit):

The Skin Horse had lived longer in the nursery than any of the others. He was so old and most of the hairs in his tail had been pulled out to string bead necklaces. For nursery magic is very strange and wonderful, and only those playthings that are old and wise and experienced like the Skin Horse understand all about it. 

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?" 

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real." 

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt." 

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?" 

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand." 

"I suppose you are real?" said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive. But the Skin Horse only smiled.

"The Boy's Uncle made me Real," he said. "That was a great many years ago; but once you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always."

The Rabbit sighed. He thought it would be a long time before this magic called Real happened to him. He longed to become Real, to know what it felt like; and yet the idea of growing shabby and losing his eyes and whiskers was rather sad. He wished that he could become it without these uncomfortable things happening to him.

 

Hungry.

I have small groups on the brain. Which is a good thing, I suppose, since that's my job.

At any given moment, I am thinking, dreaming, planning, talking, obsessing, wondering, experimenting, questioning, worrying or cheerleading  or reading  or writing about this small group 'thing' we're creating at Plymouth. 

Which is why I'm surprised when people don't get it--after all, if it's on my mind 24/7, shouldn't it be on everybody else's mind, too? (ha)

But I'm equally surprised when people do get it...which happened to me today. Yesterday afternoon, I threw out a blurb about what I envision and hope these groups will be: places where people will discover more about themselves, be able to be themselves, show up, ask questions, listen to one another, pray, laugh, cry, learn and grow more whole and holy. It's going to take time. It's going to mean learning new skills. It's may even be a little uncomfortable. 

And you know what? Six people immediately responded with "I want that." I want to be challenged. I want to know myself. I want to know other people. I want to experience God. I. Want. To. Be. Me.

Real. 

Authentic.

Evidently, there's a hunger for this kind of thing. So we're going to do this thing right. Set the bar a little high. Breathe. Not take ourselves too seriously. But also take ourselves way seriously. 

It's life, after all. 

And here we go...

Margaret Wheatley once said, "I believe we can change the world if we start listening to one another again." 

I agree. When we truly listen to one another, when we truly listen for the holiness in and around us, we become more compassionate, whole and holy. And when we are more compassionate, whole and holy our relationships become more compassionate, whole and holy. And when our relationships become more compassionate, whole and holy, our communities become more compassionate, whole and holy. And when our communities become more compassionate, whole and holy...the world becomes more compassionate, whole and holy.

It starts with one. Its starts with us. Being open. Vulnerable. Slowing down. Listening. 

So join me in remembering why being in relationship matters, why authentic conversations matter, why being courageous enough to slow down and listen for that still, small voice that lives in and around us matters. 

We'll start by reading Meg Wheatley's Turning to One Another book. You can order by clicking the link on this blogsite (look at the reading list). Or click on this link and go to Meg's website. 

Happy reading...we'll be talking more soon. 

So far, so good.

I have a new job. As of September 1, I am no longer the Minister to Young Adults and Youth at Plymouth UCC. If any Plymouth people are reading this, don't worry: I'm not going anywhere. I'm still at Plymouth. But I'm doing a whole new thing. I am now the Minister of Small Groups. 

This is a bittersweet, wonderful, exciting, and really cool announcement for a number of reasons:

1. I am feeling my age. There comes a time, after all, when being the Minister to Young Adults and Youth just isn't cool. I'm there. And that's OK...but still...

2. I've been the MtoYAandY for 11+ years. I know that job really, really well. I have a routine. A system. (well...sort of). The Plymouth folk and I know what to expect from one another in that capacity, but now...

3. ...there's a whole range of possibilities that are wide open for me. For Plymouth. For all of us. Routine? Ha! A way we've always done this? Not in the least. This is new territory we're wading into.

This thing we are about to do is going to rock beyond belief. I know it. But I don't know what, exactly, it is we'll all be doing. I know that there will be small groups (hence the title). And we'll be stretching and challenging each other by sharing life and asking questions. Whatever this is going to be will be simple. And complex. And incredibly, amazingly holy. And transformative. 

I. Cannot. Wait. To. Get. This. Thing. Started.

Wish me luck. And stay tuned. God is up to something here...I know it.