A+ha.

Blah.

Buddy got his stitches out this morning and thinks that life should be back to normal. He is ready to run and play and head up the stairs to sleep in the bedroom again. 

The thing is: his leg is still technically broken. The doctor sawed his bone two weeks ago, put a metal plate and screws in to hold it all together and stitched him back up. Just because his stitches have been removed doesn't mean he is healed. He still needs to take it easy. He still needs to lay low and let the healing happen...or else his leg will be worse of than it was before the surgery. 

That feels like good advice for people, too. After all, things happen. Bones are broken. So are hearts. Relationships break up. People get laid off. Kids grow up. Things change. 

And yet we go about our business thinking we just need to "get over it" and "move on" and "suck it up" and "stop being such a baby." As if a couple of weeks of grief will cure the ache in our hearts and the pain in our souls.

It doesn't work that way. Actually, the more you try and rush the healing, the worse off you'll be.

So if you are tempted this holiday season to put on a happy face and pretend things are just fine when in reality they really aren't: don't. Follow the veterinarian's...errrr...doctor's orders: lay low for awhile longer. Don't run and play just yet. Let the healing happen. 

Don't be afraid.

Does anyone else think it's a little cool that pretty much anytime an angel shows up in the Bible the first words out of that angel's mouth are: "Don't be afraid..."?

Pretty good advice. 

Transitions.

It's only how many more days until Christmas? Yeah, I know. It's not even Thanksgiving yet and a lot of folks are already counting down the days until Christmas...as in: ___ shopping days, ___ days to bake cookies, ___ days to get the cards out, ___ days until the Christmas party...holiday concert...Christmas gathering. It's so...so...so...FULL. So much to do. So little time to do it.

Exactly the opposite of what Advent is all about. Yeah, Advent. The four weeks leading up to Christmas. The time to prepare--really prepare--for God to break in yet again in ways that will shake us up, stir our souls, remind us who we are and to whom we belong in ways that will surprise and enliven and set our hearts on fire. 

Advent is really a time for quiet. For space. For breathing. For reflection. Hope. Peace. Joy. Love.

So do what it is your body and your soul really want most this holiday season: rest. Remember. Reconnect. Resolve to not just make this a season of checking things off of a list...instead, set the list aside for awhile and just be. The cookies will wait. So will the shopping. For a few minutes, anyway, the world will wait while you sit with God for awhile.

And that really is the best. gift. ever.

Happy Advent, everybody. 

The Cone of Shame?

 

Buddy the Wonder Dog had surgery on Tuesday. He has been instructed to lay low for the next six weeks in order to fully heal.

The problem is that Buddy doesn't understnnd English. So "laying low" makes no sense to him. He'd rather be up greeting people, wandering around the house and licking his stitches (which kinda grosses me out...but he seems to want to do it anyway).

In order to keep him off the stitches and focused on the task at hand, he has to wear an E-collar--better known at "The Cone of Shame" to many people (a line from that all-time great movie "UP"). 

The cone keeps him from doing things that feel good in the moment but will be harmful to his health in the long run. And it keeps him from being distracted by things in his peripheral vision. 

It doesn't sound like a cone of shame to me at all. It sounds like a holy cone: something that helps him slow down, be present, and heal. 

Maybe I should put it on for awhile...

Playlists. Rituals. And Soundtracks.

Very few people know that before I get ready to preach I have a playlist that I listen to. It's kind of a pre-game ritual: songs that pump me up. The playlist varies according to the season of the year. For example: Lent and Advent have a bit more of a meditative feel while Epiphany, Easter and Pentecost are a bit more upbeat. No matter what the season, though, there is one song that is always on my list: Honky Tonk Woman by the Rolling Stones. I'm not exactly sure when I started listening to this one as a part of the ritual, but it's been at least six years. It has a good beat and I can dance to it and besides--it's my favorite song. Oh, yeah: dancing is an important part of the warm up ritual, too. Moving. Getting going so that I can get others going (or at least try to get others going). I one of those people who believest that moving and music are pretty holy...and this is a holy ritual every week. 

What are your rituals? And what music provides the soundtrack for those rituals? 

 

Purging. Part 2.

Clearing out closets. Cleaning out the basement. It feels good to get rid of the things you don't need anymore, the things that clutter up your space, the things that used to seem necessary but just don't have any place in your life anymore (can you say "Thighmaster"?).

It also feels good to get rid of the things you don't need in your emotional and spiritual life, too: all of that baggage that you've carried around for years that you just don't need anymore. Things like old grudges, past hurts, old stories that you once believed about yourself but may not be true anymore. 

Yup. It's good to clean out our emotional basements and our spiritual closets every now and then.

What old junk is cluttering up your life? 

Purging. Part 1.

Every now and then, it's good to go into your closets, look under the bed, go down in the basement and rummage around...and then start throwing away all of that stuff you've been hanging onto, carrying around, sitting with, saving "just in case." Pitch it. Toss it. Lose it. 

That's what I've been doing for the past couple of weeks: sorting through years and years and years worth of crap that has been accumulating (multiplying?) and cluttering up space. 

What amazes me is that even after sorting and cleaning out and cleaning up, there is still way too much stuff. It's amazing what all I've been holding onto. What I still hold onto. There's more work to do...

 

Holy Now.

Everything is holy now.

 

Bewitched.

I owe a lot of my childhood development to TV shows (I know--that explains A LOT). One of my favorites? "Bewitched." I always wanted to be Samantha. Actually, that's not quite true: I really liked Serena the best...

Anyway, here's some of life's great lessons learned from that classic, campy show:

• Pretending to be something you're not is a recipe for disaster. (Samantha was always trying to be a regular human instead of a witch in order to make Darrin happy--what kind of marriage is that, anyway??--which seemed to land her in trouble pretty much on a daily basis)
• Things aren't always as they seem. (thanks, Gladys Kravitz, for being so nosy and assuming the worst)
• Things sometimes are EXACTLY as they seem but we choose to ignore the facts. (ditto Gladys Kravitz)
• And there's no way we can do life alone (the Tates, Endora, Dr. Bombay and Aunt Clara were always popping in to help out).

Thanks, Samantha, for the reminders: be yourself, pay attention, and surround yourself with people who uncondtionally love you "as is." Seems like pretty good advice.

 

Don't. Do. Anything.

So...yesterday I posted a link to the "don't do anything for two minutes" site. And then I tried it myself, thinking "two minutes: huh. Piece of cake."

Ummm....NOT.

Here's what happened when I clicked on the link:

I instantly adjusted the volume on my computer, then got the "FAIL" notice. Had to start over. Oops. Two more minutes.

Then I listened to the waves for a bit and felt the urge to move my mouse over them to see what would happen. FAIL. Had to start over again. Two more minutes.

Deep breath.

I almost made it the two minutes on try #3...but then I started to make a list (on paper--I'd learned my lesson about messing with the computer. I don't like to FAIL.) of all the things I needed to this weekend.

GAH. 

Seriously? It's only two freakin' minutes...

Two minutes. In two minutes, we can breathe deep.  Two minutes can bring us back to the moment, back to ourselves. Two minutes can stop the spinning, craziness in our minds and bodies and bring us gratitude and connection again.

I never did "get it", by the way. I never was able to sit for the whole two minutes with an empty mind, completely zenned out. I couldn't make it ten seconds to tell you the truth. But I kept coming back. And coming back. And coming back.

I think that's the purpose. Perfection ain't what it's all about. It's about coming back. Messing up. Coming back. Zoning out. Coming back. Coming back. Coming back.

Coming back to yourself. Coming back home. Coming back to God.

Give it a try. See how two minutes (and then five and then ten and then twenty...) can bring you back.