A+ha.

Holy.

Be.

Be still.

Be still and know.

Be still and know that...

Be still and know that I am God.

Today is a day of stillness. Silence. Waiting.

Listening.

Being.

Good.

Annie Lamott writes, “I hate it that you can’t prove the beliefs of my faith. If I were God, I’d have the answers at the end of the workbook, so you could check as you went along, to see if you’re on the right track. But nooooo—Darkness is our context, Easter’s context; without it you couldn’t see the light. Hope is not about proving anything. It’s about choosing to believe this one thing, that love is bigger than any grim, bleak [stuff] anyone can throw at us.”

That's what Good about this Friday. It's a reminder that we are Easter people who live in a Good Friday world. And sometimes it feels like Good Friday is going to win--sometimes life feels pretty freakin' dark. Amazingly, painfully, horribly dark. But you know what? Good Friday isn't the end of the story. Death doesn't win. Darkness doesn't win. Light wins. Life wins. Love wins. 

So here's a reminder (another thought from Anne Lamott) as you step into this dark, holy day:

"When I was 38, my best friend, Pammy, died, and we went shopping about two weeks before she died, and she was in a wig and a wheelchair. I was buying a dress for this boyfriend I was trying to impress, and I bought a tighter, shorter dress than I was used to. And I said to her, 'Do you think this makes my hips look big?' and she said to me, so calmly, 'Anne, you don't have that kind of time.' And I think Easter has been about the resonance of that simple statement; and that when I stop, when I go into contemplation and meditation, when I breathe again and do the sacred action of plopping and hanging my head and being done with my own agenda, I hear that, 'You don't have that kind of time,' you have time only to cultivate presence and authenticity and service, praying against all odds to get your sense of humor back."

It's Good. And it's Friday. So pray. Cry if you need to. Plop down. Hang your head. Breathe. And remember that the darkness of this day isn't the end of the story...there's more light and life to break through. Stay tuned...

Maundy.

It's another word for 'command.' I guess Maundy Thursday sounds more intriguing than Command Thursday but the message is the same: live your life in love. 

Love wins.

Love one another.

Love God.

Love yourself.

That's what it all boils down to: all of the commandments, all of the laws, all of the gospels, all of life.

Just: LOVE. 

Period. 

The question of the week is...

It's Holy Week, y'all. Honestly, this is my favorite week of the year--it's intense, it's focused, it's full of ritual and story. OK I admit that all of life can be intense, focused, full of ritual and story if we're paying attention...but let's face it. We're not always paying attention. Or at least I'm not. Which is why I jump into this week with both feet: I GET to pay attention this week. Focus. Listen. Holy Week is an out and out excuse to explore and play and ponder who I am and what I'm here for.

So the question of the week is: what am I really committed to--what is it that I would give my life for? 

More to come...

Clamoring toward happy.

Mary Oliver says it this way: 

Everyone should be born into this world happy
and loving everything.
But in truth it rarely works that way.
For myself, I have spent my life clamoring toward it.
Halleluiah, anyway I'm not where I started!

Seems fitting for Holy Week as I find myself clamoring toward happy, toward hallelujah, toward life. Things rarely work out the way that I think they should. But wow--am I grateful for this moment and that the journey keeps going. Hallelujah, indeed.

(if you would like to read the whole poem, here's the link: Mary's Oliver's poem "Hallelujah")

Slowing Down.

(you never know what you're going to find when you slow down enough to be present...)

Walking the dog through the cemetery in the morning is more than exercise. It's a spiritual practice. On these early morning strolls I become more fully aware that: 1). we all come from the dirt and are headed there again, 2). stopping to eat grass is good for the soul (the dog eats the grass. I watch.) It's in the slowing down to eat the grass that I find myself more and more grateful for these days above the ground and those that I share this life with.

Spring cleaning.

Raking. Raking. Raking. Raking. I am amazed at how many leaves there are in my little yard. Just when I think I'm done raking...there are more leaves to rake and bag and haul to the curb.

Same thing with my house. After purging and pitching a dumpster's worth of items out of the basement last fall, I thought I was done. Ha. There are still closets and drawers and cubby holes that are begging to be de-cluttered, cleaned out, sorted through. Even the basement needs some more attention already.

Today I was in the middle of emptying out a desk when it struck me that all of this cleaning out is symbolic of a healthy spiritual life. You don't just "get faith" once and you're done. There's always more to discover, more to uncover, more clearing out to do, more stuff to haul to the curb. That's pretty much the only way I know of to make space for God to enter in and do God's thing: sit, listen, pray, clean, let go. Over and over and over again. It feels good...

Through the looking glass.

 

I love Gillian Welch's voice. And David Rawlings is insanely talented on the guitar.

And their cover of Jefferson Airplane's "Go Ask Alice" rocks on. So I thought I'd share. Happy Thursday.

Wilderness.

It's the first weekend of Lent. Wilderness time. Listening and looking for God. Listening and looking for ourselves. 

Here's a poem to remind us of the journey that lies ahead and the miracle of life that lies on the other side.

Blessings for the journey...

Sweet Darkness (David Whyte)

 

When your eyes are tired
the world is tired also.

 

When your vision has gone
no part of the world can find you.

 

Time to go into the dark
where the night has eyes
to recognize its own.

 

There you can be sure 
you are not beyond love.

 

The dark will be your womb
tonight.

 

The night will give you a horizon
further than you can see.

 

You must learn one thing:
the world was made to be free in.

 

Give up all the other worlds 
except the one to which you belong.

 

Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet
confinement of your aloneness
to learn

 

anything or anyone
that does not bring you alive

 

is too small for you.

 

"Set it down."

(photo from the Cairo airport--I like "minding my step" much better than "watching my step")

"SET IT DOWN!" That had to be the best advice I received while in Egypt. Technically, I guess I wasn't in Egypt yet--I was in the air flying between New York and Cairo. The flight attendant was trying to serve me coffee. I was holding my cup for her, trying to be helpful. My help wasn't appreciated. She finally shoved a tray in my face and very sharply barked at me, "SET IT DOWN!" I gladly let go of my cup and let her do her job. It worked beautifully.

"Set it down" turned out to be my theme for the trip. Everywhere I went, I ended up setting down a whole lot of preconceived ideas about spirituality, history, people, and God. It was funny--the more I was able to open up to new ideas, new ways of being and new experiences--the more I was able to "set it down"--the more whole (and holy) and happy I felt. When I set it down, I felt pure, unadulterated joy.

More on this to come...especially now that I'm home and trying to figure out how to keep setting things down and opening up and experiencing God in new ways. Stay tuned...