7

I have my friend Steph to thank for almost ruining our Florida vacation. While staying at this very savvy resort and spending long days at the pool and beach with utter no responsibilities, I am reading this book which Steph nearly forced into my hands a few days before leaving for vacation. It's called 7: An Experimental Mutiny Against Excess, and it's all about one woman's journey to simplify her life in order to open herself up greater to God and to generous living. This woman confronts American consumerism and Christian wealth head on and invites her readers' hearts to bleed for the homeless, the refugee, the orphan, and the hungry. In truth, I am deeply grateful to Steph for this recommendation.  It is as inspiring as much as it is challenging.

What I am trying to say is that it is impossible to be here and not be reminded that we are within the top 1 percent wealthiest in the world. That most families feel it is a privilege to send their children to school while we view it a responsibility to take our children on vacation each summer (we were actually told, "Well, you have to take your children on vacation every year," by the vacation representative who visited our room this afternoon.)  While we might stress over which restaurant or beach we must visit while here, many families are stressing over which meal to eat today.  The gross gap in equity between the rich (us) and the poor (80% of human beings) is just that... gross... shameful... embarrassing... heart-breaking.

So back to the book: 7. Jen Hatmaker, the author, took seven months and chose seven areas of her life which needed simplified and tackled each problem area for a month.  Here's her list:

• Food
• Clothes 
• Possessions
• Media
• Waste
• Spending
• Stress

Could you do this?  She ate only seven ingredients during the Food month. She wore only seven items of clothing during the second month. She gave over seven possessions away daily during Month Three.  And she (and husband and children) abstained from all TV, video games, Facebook, blogs, Internet-surfing, iPhone Apps (basically anything other than work-related) during Media month.  You will have to read the book on your own to see what she did during the last three months, as I am still reading the chapter on Waste right now, but to be sure, she gained some golden perspective which no doubt will affect their life choices forever. 

The cool thing about reading this while on a family vacation is that I've been able to talk about this with my family!  In fact, Jarred has been so kind to endure my numerous outbursts of laughter (this is probably the funniest author I have ever read) and to listen to a few "short" sections that I just had to
read to him.  We've talked about how fortunate we are that we actually can take vacations.  I've shared anecdotes from 7, like the time that Jen Hatmaker and her then mega-church husband/pastor heard Shaine Claiborne speak about the homeless shelter nearby where sturdy shoes were a great necessity. And how he challenged everyone to leave their shoes and socks at the Communion table to be donated to this shelter.  And how Jen and her husband took off their brand new, very expensive cowboy boots and went home barefoot on a winter night, challenged and changed. 

I, too, am being challenged to change.  And I'd like to invite my family and perhaps some friends,  too, to engage in some of these experiments ourselves.  I'll be sure to post more on the subject then!

For now, please find a copy of this book!  You will be challenged and changed, too!

Quaker for the Day

One thing I value as a "glo-burbanite" is learning from faith traditions other than my own.  I believe there are nuggets of wisdom found in most faith traditions if we are humble enough to listen and learn from one another.  This does not mean I adopt every belief or practice as my own... only that I am open to what truths may be expressed or experienced in ways I am not familiar. 

For example, growing up across the street from Amish neighbors provided a window into a culture that has many values worth borrowing, not the least of which are hard work, humility, simplicity, and forgiveness. I still keep in touch (and am challenged by) my childhood friend Elsie who is one of the most joyful and content women I know!

Borrowing from the Catholic tradition, I began seeing a spiritual director four years ago (who happens to be Mennonite, actually), and her mentoring friendship with me has been one of the most significant gifts in my spiritual journey as an adult.

And I began practicing yoga and meditation (which I love with my whole limber self!) a year ago, borrowed in part from Buddhist and Hindu practices.

Yesterday, I decided to visit the Quakers.  I have been wanting to visit a Friends Meeting House for quite some time now, as I find the Quakers very intriguing.  One of the "nuggets" I have learned from them is that they value the divine presence of God (often termed Light) in every human being (even in their "enemies") which has led them to value non-violence and peace-making as a way of life.

Another interesting tidbit about the Quakers is that they usually do not have spiritual leaders.  When they gather for Sunday morning worship, they sit in silence until someone feels led by the Spirit (or Light) to share something for the benefit of the whole group.  Then they return to silence and prayerful meditation until another might feel led to share. 

Since Jarred was in Boston for the weekend at a conference and the kids had spent the night with their grandparents, I decided that I'd go and visit the Maidencreek Meetinghouse, a small stone structure built in 1759, near Leesport, PA.  These are my reflections from my journal...


Struggling to find my turn off of 61, I tried to silent my pumping heart like a good Quaker girl. (Rushing into a silent room doesn't seem to be the Quaker way.) I found it, a blessed ten minutes before 10:00, and was, a little awkwardly, only the second person to enter the meetinghouse. "Oh no," I thought. "What if it's just me and that man?" Then I heard another car pulling along the stone drive. Phew...

One by one, the faithful strolled in.  Sometimes I glanced their way and received a smile or "good morning." There were twelve of us altogether (the same number Jesus thought would be good to change the world.)  ;-)

This one was a silent meeting. No words were needed today. Personally, I thought the setting was a beautiful sermon in its own rite.  The old stone building with its wide, wooden-beamed floor and long straight wooden benches--covered by faded orange cushions--sang with total tranquility and sacred tradition.  The open windows and doors were just that... open.  They welcomed not only the nameless strangers such as I, but the breezes and the bees and the flies.  Had a skunk walked in the door, I think he would have been offered a seat.

Instead of a choir, we had the birds.  And let me tell you, their voices echoed beautifully over the lake and the trees, filtering into our sanctuary. 

As the hour passed, I shifted my posture now and then, as well as my thoughts.  They drifted to loved ones, my friend who just moved away and to my brothers.  They drifted toward the members in the room... What are their stories?  How long have they been "Quaker"?  What do they think of me?  They drifted to myself... I need to stretch.  Can I clear my throat silently?  I'm getting sleepy.  

I thought about other moments where I've sat in silence with others--at the beginning of Nar-Anon meetings, before our sung prayers at the Pilgrimage of Peace retreats in West Virginia, at youth group events when we'd spread out for silent prayer or devotions, during the evening Scripture meditation at the Kairos retreat back in January.

I've decided I like sitting in silence.  (Almost as much as I love gabbing with friends.)  Both are good. Both nourish the soul.  Both communicate truth and love if we have ears to hear.  And so I think I will practice Quakerism more often. 

How about you?  Have you ever experienced a faith tradition outside of your own?  What did you learn from it? 

Compassion and Kids

Have you ever witnessed a child being humiliated by their parent? I recently witnessed a mother pulling her son by the ear and pushing him into their car with her knee outside of a McDonalds. A sickness rose to my stomach and I yelled out my car window from the street, "Stop doing that to your son!" She turned to me, shrugged, and said, "He's my son, not yours." I suppose if I were to ask that mother why she chose such a violent form of discipline she'd say she's trying to teach him to cooperate. She'd probably tell me how bad her son is, how badly he had behaved, and how he needed to be "dealt" with. She probably has no idea that children who are bullied often become bullies themselves.

I have come to reject the idea that children are inherently evil and need that evil driven from them,a belief held by many. One of the reasons I have come to reject this idea is that I have observed many interactions where children are viewed as and treated as "bad." Unfortunately, we humans tend to behave the way people expect us to. We tend to believe the labels that our parents or teachers or peer groups give us.

I remember one heart-breaking moment when I was babysitting two little girls. I told the older sister that she was "such a good sister." I will never forget the look she gave me when she realed her head around and asked me in all seriousness, "do you really think I am good? My mom tells me that I am bad all the time." With as sincere a voice I could convey, I replied, "You know, all of us have some good and some bad in us. But I see a lot of good in you."

Though I believe each human has the potential for contributing evil to the world, I prefer to view each child (and each grown up child) as made in the divine image of a loving Creator, with great potential for much good. I wonder if we were to spend as much energy, if not more, nourishing the good in our children (and in ourselves) as we do discouraging the "bad," if our world would be that much fuller of love and goodwill.

There's a group from our church who meets in our home to encourage one another in life and faith. Most of us are parents, and recently we found ourselves lamenting about our self-centered, entitled children despite our best attempts at teaching gratefulness. However, on Sunday morning during our worship gathering, I watched as many children were moved to compassion without a parent or teacher telling them to be so. It was a special Sunday morning-a morning where we invited all the children out of their regular classrooms for a presentation on Compassion's child sponsorship program.

We watched a video clip about a little girl from Guatemala who lost her mother and whose father is physically disabled and unable to provide for his family. This little girl, at only ten years of age, does all the cooking, laundry (by hand), and other household duties. Thankfully, she has a sponsor who helps make it possible to receive an education, proper nutrition, and medical help.

After the service, I stood at the Compassion table as several families came back to sort through profiles of children awaiting a sponsor. More than one family was directed there by one of their children who said, "Can we do that?" Two girls completed the sponsor information under their own name. These children innately recognized the injustice of poverty, and their spirits were moved with compassion.

I often find myself trying to shame my children into seeing their mistakes. The other day my daughter was giving me a lot of sass. I tried correcting her which turned into us arguing which turned into me giving her sass. None of it was appealing to her conscience. I finally gave up and decided to try a completely different approach. I sat down beside the couch where she was sitting, looked her in the eye, and took her hand in mine. I told her that I cannot make her understand how her words hurt me, but that I forgive her. I told her that she is a very kind and generous girl, but that when she gets frustrated, she at times loses control of her words and they become hurtful to others. I told her that I hope she learns how to control her words as she grows and matures. I told her that I love her. After I finished, she miraculously said, "I'm sorry, Mommy."

My daughter is inherently good. She has divine imprints of Love and Grace all overhear being. I must choose to see that and help her to see that. I want her to believe that. I want to model patience and generosity and integrity and gratefulness, believing that someday her young soul will grow and mature and offer those things to a broken, yet beautifully-loved world.

Falling Off the Treadmill

Sometimes it's tough trying to live the "glo-burban life" I am trying to live.  It turns out that many of the blessings of living in the suburbs (being only 5 minutes away from Target, a half dozen grocery stores, a handful of gyms to choose from, and a myriad of places to eat out) have a flip-side "curse" to them as well.  See, there are a lot of opportunities to do a lot of wonderful things, and each one is just within reach.  There are ballet and karate classes, sports of every kind, art institutes that offer art, music, and drama courses, birthday parties at Chuck-E-Cheese, BodyZone and the local skating rink, Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts... and all of this is just for the kids!  For the middle-class couple, there are career ladders to climb up, exercise classes to "tune-up," at least two cars to fix up, and social circles to keep up, not to mention all those meetings for work, school, and church.  It's my observation that for the average suburban family, life is just one non-stop treadmill ride with flashing signs that scream, "OPPORTUNITY HERE!!!" at every glance.  And you know what happens when you try slowing your pace on a treadmill... you end up in a heap on the floor.

I say it's tough living the "glo-burban life" because creating a meaningful existence in this rat-race culture means running at a much slower pace.  Sometimes it even means sitting down in the road for awhile.  And when you sit down while others are running frantically around you, you tend to wonder if you are lazy... or maybe crazy.  The last year or so, I have been sitting down a lot more often.  I've looked around at the over-scheduled moms and dads and kids; I've overheard the impatient tones (too many times in my own voice) that more-or-less mean the same thing: "I don't have time for you or what you are feeling or wanting to talk about; we're going to be late!"  I've asked myself, where is everyone going anyway?

So why have I been practicing "sitting out" more often?  Well, for starters, I want to know where I am headed.  I thought I was headed to working a full-time job as a teacher once my children were in school.  Then I began subbing two years ago and realized I felt completely anxious in the shoes of a teacher and drained by this type of work.  I imagined how life would have to change if I dedicated myself to teaching, and I came to the conclusion that I am not cut out for the life of a teacher (no matter how much I admire them with all my heart!).  I am also not willing to make certain sacrifices I would no doubt have to make on my time with my family and friends, with books, with quiet and solitude, with making meals from scratch.  Re-evaluating the course ahead calls for large doses of reflection, awareness, and patience.  That's why on random days when I am not subbing or volunteering somewhere, I might be found on a long walk or at the Jesuit Center's library or with my pen in my journal.  It takes time to discern the way ahead, and like we've said before, tread mills don't slow down.

I also sit out more often because I have learned the wisdom that the journey is more important than the end point.  Few people meet their "endpoints" (or accomplish their dreams in life), and those who do often feel disappointed when they finally get there.  The view wasn't as great as they had anticipated, and when they look back down the mountain, they realize they passed a lot of roses that needed smelling--many they even crushed in their effort of climbing.  I don't want to walk by any roses without stooping to drink in their unique fragrance.

I don't want to rush by any child of God who needs a smile (the kind where your eyes crease), whether that be my own two little ones or the sweet, quiet man who returns my grocery cart at Giant.  I don't want to pass by the trees when they have something to teach me or miss out on the beauty of a sunset or full moon because I have "somewhere to go."  I don't want to be so busy in "my important pursuits" that I can't hear the heartache in my friend's voice or see the stress on my husband's brow or feel the cuddle of my child who is growing up too fast.  I still want to be able to hear that still small Voice within me, the Voice which is usually only heard when my mind and body are stilled.

So what has this slowing down taught me so far?  I'm learning a lot of things actually.....

I've learned that my kids don't have to try EVERYthing out there to be happy.  "One thing at a time" has been working out pretty well.  We all are a lot happier when we spend a few nights a week at home, digesting our food slowly, talking about our days, perhaps reading, playing a game, or just doing our own thing side-by-side.

Sleep is a gift... and it is necessary to treasure it!  Burning the candle on both ends eventually gives me a headache, compromises my immune system, and always leaves me irritable.

Homemade bread is oh-so-delicious!!!  The process of kneading and waiting and rising binds me somehow to women around the world who spend long hours preparing food for their families.

Being is just as important as doing, maybe even more.

Taking care of the body is a sacred act.  Practicing yoga, walking, eating real food, and resting keeps me healthy and limber and allows me to give of myself more effectively.

Deep friendships need nourishing and are not to be taken for granted.  Coffee with a friend fills my soul and strengthens my steps for the journey.

Quantity of time does not equal quality of time.  I can spend many hours "living" under the same roof with my family members, but if those hours aren't infused with love and deep listening and patience and FUN, well then... they don't count.

God does not impose God's self.  Yet God's Spirit is always present.  My spirit tends to be dry, cracked, and infertile unless warmed and watered by the Spirit's presence.  It's really tough to be aware and open of this Presence when I am on a treadmill.

Will you join me in sitting out the rat-race of life every now and then?

Big, Beautiful World!

The world is a beautiful place, isn't it?  So rich in diversity!  I have not traveled it extensively by any means, but I feel that one of the blessings of living in a suburban area such as mine is that you get to rub shoulders with a lot of different people!

Take just today for example.  This morning I ventured into the city, a ten minute drive from my home, to teach my weekly ESL class.  Most of our students are Latino, but there is a quiet Iranian woman who wears some beautiful head scarves and an elderly Chinese woman with a big, toothy smile and a passionate zeal to learn.  After that I drove to Lancaster County to visit my Mennonite friend for spiritual direction.  Then I made a stop at an Amish grocery store where I listened to a conversation between the Amish girl with a Dutch accent behind the counter and her customers--a short, elderly couple with a strong Asian accent.  That's when it hit me.  Wow!  Such diversity!  In my own backyard!

Two weekends ago I had another experience that struck me with how huge, but also how close, the world is.  I attended a spiritual retreat at a Jesuit Center, only fifteen minutes from my home.  If you don't know much about the Jesuits as I hadn't, they are a priesthood of the Roman Catholic Church.  At this enormous, grand Jesuit Center with statues and stained glass windows was a quiet Quaker woman who gave a seminar on the topic of discernment.  The woman who sat beside me during the seminar was a first generation Philipino-American pastor. And the other retreatants I met during the weekend seemed to come from a wide range of faith backgrounds.

I am often reminded that my story, my understanding and experience of life, is just that... mine.  There are countless other stories, understandings, and experiences that are separate from my own.  Our world is definitely getting smaller, and if I want to get along with my neighbors, I must listen to their stories.  I must try to understand other perspectives.  I must be willing to learn from my brothers and sisters from around the globe and from my brothers and sisters who may have a different faith perspective than my own.

This is a part of the "glo-burban" journey I am on.  I believe it is the journey of life.

Resolving to Read

I love making New Years Resolutions.  Some only last so long, such as the annual resolution to go to bed earlier and wake up earlier.  Others have been almost life-changing, such as when a few years ago I resolved to "giving up TV" except for watching The Office, the only show that Jarred and I both shared in common.  I realized that I had become addicted to wasting time watching "reality shows" on a screen rather than living in reality.  It was then that I became a reader and found other more important things to do in the evening.

So this year one of my resolutions is to read one hour a day.  I have a long list of books waiting to be read as well as a large pile gifted to me for Christmas.  I cannot wait to delve inside their covers and get lost in the novel my brother gave me.  But I am especially looking forward to reading some of the non-fiction books given me.  There are so many amazing people whose lives have created beautiful, inspiring stories--stories that continue to inspire new stories in new people.

Since I am trying to live with a greater global perspective, I want to read stories outside the walls of my familiar territory.  I want to learn more about the movers and shakers of world history, not just of American history.  I want to learn from those outside of my own religious upbringing.  I want to learn from those whose economic and social and ethnic backgrounds differ from my own.

I am beginning with one of my Christmas books from my mother-in-law, Where There is Love, There is God, words and teachings from Mother Teresa, edited by Brian Kolodiejchuk, M.C.  Here is a life of a devoted Catholic nun, an Albanian woman who spent most of her life ministering to the poorest of the poor in Calcutta, India. Though I have only read the first chapter, I am already amazed by this woman's love for God, her simplicity, and her love for all people.  This woman's close connection to the Source of Love enabled her to see God's imprint on every human being, even the Hindu Indians with whom she lived.

Mother Teresa did not believe that everyone was called to Calcutta as she was, though thousands of Missionaries of Charity, sisters and brothers, were spread around the world at the time of her death, loving the poorest of the poor just as she had.  She believe everyone ought to find their own Calcutta.

There was once a man from Holland who came to her and told here that he had a lot of money.  She told him that she didn't need his money.  He asked if he should sell his big house and his expensive car.  She told him, "No.  But what I want you to do is to go back and see some of the many lonely people that live in Holland.  Then every now and then, I want you to bring a few of them at a time and entertain them.  Bring them in that big car of yours and let them enjoy a few hours in your beautiful house.  Then your big house will become a center of love--full of light, full of joy, full of life" (Where There is Love, There is God, p.28).

So at the start of this New Year, I am asking myself what does it look like for me, for you, to create "centers of love"?  In our own homes? In our own communities?  In the larger world?

Christmas at the Nursing Home

 Christmas... how quickly it comes and goes.  We're pretty good at fitting "it" all in, though, aren't we?  We squeeze in each party and family dinner into our calendars; we dig out our favorite cookie recipes; we scour the web and the weekly fliers for the best sales; we put up the lights and tree, wrap presents, send cards and scratch off our to-do lists with frenzied diligence.

Something I think we are not very good at, however, is being present in the moment. We allow our days to whirl by in a flurry, qualifying them by what quantity of items we were able to check off.  Some never learn this art of slowing down.  Often it takes a terminal illness, a literal dying of the body, to place life into perspective, to re-evaluate our priorities, to slow down and savor moments.  

I was given this very opportunity to slow down the week before Christmas.  The children from our church had partnered with a local elementary school in Reading to make Christmas cards for nursing home residents  in West Reading.  My six-year-old Jaida and I joined some other children and parents in Christmas-caroling, handing out cards, and visiting many sick and dying people.  Nothing quite puts things in perspective than visiting with people who are bed-ridden, many of whom have almost completely lost their minds.  These tender souls are totally dependent upon another's care.  They have no ability to go shopping, bake cookies, or visit loved ones.  They can only hope that someone will remember and come to visit them.

I am still savoring a few of the moments that really touched my heart that day:

The handful of elderly women who burst into tears at the sight and sounds of little children.  

The man in the wheelchair with his broad smile and the twinkle in his eye who kept calling out to us, "Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!  And don't let the bed bugs bite!" 

The woman who looked to be asleep but who sang along the words to our carol.  

The mother in our group who willingly lifted up her toddling daughter to be kissed by a doting stranger.  

The other mother in our group who connected to a woman by the name of Mary, promising to visit her again the next week, because neither of them have connections to their families.

Then there was the elderly Haitian man who told Jaida and I this was his only Christmas card and who literally came alive when I began asking him about his country and what he used to do there.  He worked for UNICEF back in the day, educating his people about how malaria is contracted and teaching them how to spray their homes with insecticide and use mosquito nets.  Then he gave me a most precious gift.  He asked if he could sing a Haitian Christmas carol, Papa Noel, which tells the story of an orphan boy asking why Father Christmas takes toys to other children but not to him.  The sad French tune and sincere look in his eyes seeped into my heart, and I wished to free this bright mind from the chain of his broken body.  He talked on and on, willing us not to leave, and I was amazed how my daughter continued to stand on her tired legs as if she knew this was a sacred moment.

The visit to the nursing home was as much a blessing to my soul as I hope it was to the dear people who are still living there.  I left reminded not to take my health, my home, or my loved ones for granted.  And I was reminded that it is better to give than to receive.

What moments are you still savoring from the Christmas season?

Thanksgiving Crumbs

"A desire to kneel down sometimes pulses through my body, or rather it is as if my body had been meant and made for the act of kneeling.  Sometimes in moments of deep gratitude, kneeling down becomes an overwhelming urge, head deeply bowed, hand before my face."  

~Etty Hillesum

Do you ever feel like that?  So overcome with gratitude and joy that you could drop to your knees?  The closest I feel to that sort of gratitude is when I am taking a quiet walk by myself, my eyes drinking in the beauty of trees, skies, flowers, sun and my ears absorbing bird songs and dancing breezes among the leaves.  Except rather than bowing low, my head, heart, and sometimes arms reach high up wanting to gather the beauty and goodness of God into my soul.  

And yet days and weeks can go by to the hum-drum of daily life or to the sad tune of heartache without my knees bending or my arms stretching wide in gratefulness.  I'm learning that these long stretches need not be.  I'm learning that the hum-drum days and even heartache days contain their beautiful, even glorious moments, if only I have eyes to see them.  Macrina Wiederkehr calls these moments "crumbs" for the soul, and I love that analogy. A warm, thick slice of bread is most delicious to the soul, such as the moments I am walking amid the beauty of an autumn day, but crumbs can be savored, too.  Indeed, when I take the time to savor them, rather than gulp them down without a thought, my soul is that much more satisfied.

"Crumbs are those small things that the world would toss aside, seeing little value in them.... Everything in life can be nourishing.  Everything can bless us, but we've got to be there for the blessing to occur." (A Tree Full of Angels, Introduction, xiii).

"Being there" or being grateful is a spiritual discipline, a practice that nourishes the soul.  Sometimes I practice this at the end of the day when I am lying in bed.  I think back upon my day and ask myself what "crumbs" I gathered.  Usually, they are the simplest of moments: a snuggle with my daughter in the morning, the sight of the red maple in our backyard, the conversation with a friend which left us each a little lighter, the smell of muffins baking in the oven, the laughter from my children and their father as they wrestled and tickled on the living room floor.  I think back on these crumbs, savoring them, rolling them around on my tongue.  My heart beats stronger with thankfulness, and I go to sleep at peace.  

Thanksgiving may be over, but there are crumbs on the table of daily life, if only we stop to look, to savor, to nourish our souls.  What crumbs have you gathered from today?  

The Hour of Illumination - Peace at Noon

War. Poverty. Illiteracy. Sex-trafficking. Addiction. Depression. Unemployment. Disease. To be true, much of our world is not at peace. And often I find myself overwhelmed by the weight it all. What can I do? Where do I put my energy? How might I lighten the load?

Lately I have been feeling especially overwhelmed.  I've been reading Ashley Judd's memoir, All That is Bitter and Sweet.  Her experiences in working with women caught in the cycle of poverty and forced prostitution and her own stories of childhood neglect and depression split my heart wide open.  My heart then wanders to the orphans in the world and then to my friends who are struggling as single moms and then to my "neighbors" living in Reading, so many dealing with unemployment, poverty, drugs.  Where is the peace?

Then yesterday I stopped at one of my favorite places of tranquility, the Jesuit Center only fifteen minutes from my home, for a Midday prayer.  Macrina Wiederkehr calls the Midday pause the "Hour of Illumination" and notes that its themes are commitment, passion, faithfulness, and peace.  As I wandered through the grove with its tall trees and little statues, I came upon a leafy canopy of green hovering above three benches and a brick patio.  A Crucifix was hanging at the far end of this little hideout, and I sat myself beneath the one who is known as the Prince of Peace.  I opened my prayer book and read this prayer:


"In this the hour of the noonday sun,
we raise our hands to the Peaceful One.
This is the hour to pray for peace,
for kindness and compassion to increase.

So let this be the hour of release.
Let us bow to each other and pray for peace.
Let this be our promise. Let this be our song.
We will be the peace for which we long.

Before we share our noonday meal,
our deepest hungers let us feel.
This is the hour for peace to flower.

Let us be the peace, Let us be the peace."

~Macrina Wiederkehr 

Seven Sacred Pauses, pp. 101-102

Yes, I long to be a part of the Peace.  I am quite aware that each soul can either add or take away good to the world.  How fitting it was that I was sitting beneath the Prince of Peace during this prayer.  I allowed him to be my teacher as I began to meditate on how Jesus lived Peace while walking on earth.  These were my thoughts:

He sought peace (stealing away for inner-peace with his Father).
He taught peace (to those within his influence).
And he walked peace (in dealing with his enemies).
It struck me then; Jesus never forced peace.  For how can peace be forced?

So this is the example I seek to follow.  As much as I or anyone would love to wave a magical wand over all of the heartache in the world, Peace does not behave magically.  It begins as a small seed in the soul and it grows into a fragrant flower for the world.  Perhaps all I can do is continue to seek inner-Peace with the God of Love; I can also try to teach peace within my influence (mostly to my children right now); and I can walk the walk of peace (in my relationships, in my community, and in the world) as best as I am able today.

Sometimes that walk of peace means not acting in frustration when I am feeling frustrated.  Sometimes it is advocating for the poor and oppressed.  Sometimes it is holding an area of the world in my heart with compassion and hope.  Sometimes it is being a peaceful presence amid a friend's storm. And sometimes it is walking the grounds of the Jesuit Center, allowing my own soul to find its way back to Peace again.

What does your walk of Peace look like?  At least for today?

The Blessing Hour - Mid-morning

"Sacred is the pause that draws us into stillness. Nourishing are the moments when we step away from busyness. Teach us the wisdom of pausing. Reveal to us the goodness of stopping to breathe."  


Last week I wrote a post about a little book which has helped to teach me the importance of pausing throughout the day. After the awakening hour, my second most favorite "hour" or pause, when I am home and able to honor it, is the Mid-morning Blessing Hour. It is the time of the day when I am encouraged to step away from the kitchen or my computer and reflect on the sacredness of the day's work. Or better put in Macrina Wiederkehr's words:

"When I have the wisdom to step away from work momentarily, I am able to see it as a gift for the entire world. A short, refreshing pause can enhance my growing awareness that all work has the potential of becoming love made visible--a blessing."


I love this perspective of work, "love made visible." How often do we look at work as drudgery, whether it be preparing a meal, doing laundry, teaching, throwing hammers, treating patients, cleaning up messes, or working at the office? I know I've often been guilty of resenting work, rushing through it or simply enduring it, in anticipation of getting to the things I really want to do. But I am learning that work can be sacred when seen as an act of love.

"Bring to our memory the truth that we are the temple out of which you pour your gifts into the world. We are the temple from which you sing your songs. We are the temple out of which you bless."


And so chopping vegetables and mashing potatoes is no longer just "meal prep," but a loving gesture of feeding my family nutritious, delicious food. And doing laundry is a time to be grateful for modern technology that helps me keep my children clean and smelling good. Teaching not only means checklists and counting days until the next holiday; it is a sacred act of seeking the potential for growth in students. Throwing hammers builds and fixes safe, secure shelter for people. Treating patients is a sacred act of giving health and hope. Cleaning messes is serving those who may not be able to take care of themselves. And doing one's best at the office helps to serve a larger community.

"Bless the work that awaits us. Anoint our hands, hearts, and minds as we joyfully enter into the heart of this day. Make our spirits lucid, attentive, and open to all that can be."


Finally, I love the reminder that work is not only something we do with our hands. There are days where my hands are busy with sacred work.  But there are times when my mind and heart need to be at work, which may mean putting aside some of the "hand work." May we not underestimate this sort of work, which may mean reading or journaling in order to expand our limited thinking or taking the time to embrace our spouse or children for a longer moment as the heart works to communicate love or listening deeply to a friend who needs a shoulder to lean on. I even think that writing this blog can be sacred work, as my mind, heart, and hands unite in an effort to inspire.

And so perhaps we all, no matter where our place of work or what our work entails, today can offer this prayer:

"Lovingly behold the work that my hands, heart, and mind have achieved thus far. Receive it as part of my morning prayer."


Note: All quotations are taken from Seven Sacred Pauses by Macrina Wiederkehr.

Awakening Hour - Splendid Mornings

Isn't it a wonderful thing that there are mornings?  That every dark night ends with a dawn?  Much like storms, too.  The clear blue of this August sky and the still, crisp morning air make it difficult to remember that a hurricane just blew up the East Coast yesterday.  And yet, this is how life goes.

I bear witness to the dark nights and storms of those around me... a friend's painful divorce, the loss of another baby in utero, the crippling brought on by addiction, an unwanted diagnosis.  Some nights are so dark,  not even the moon or the stars can be seen; there is no light to brighten the way.  And yet... there comes the morning.

About a year ago, a friend gave me a little book called Seven Sacred Pauses.  It is written by Benedictine nun, author, and retreat guide, Macrina Wiederkehr, and with the risk of sounding cliche', it has changed my life.  Not in a huge, "a-ha!" sort of way.  But in an altering of routine sort of way.

The seven sacred hours that Macrina practices and invites me to do as well, are adopted from St. Benedict, the founder of western Monasticism, who established a patterned life of prayer and scripture-reading throughout certain hours of the day.  Many monastic communities still follow the Liturgy of the Hours, in one form or another.  But the roots of this practice go back even further in history, to the early Christian Church, and back to the Israelite Nation in the Old Testament, who prayed three times a day.

Macrina's little book is filled with poetry, prayers, Psalms, and quotes, and I have begun to adopt them into my daily routine as well.  I find when I take a few minutes, a "sacred pause," in the middle of my hurried days to mediate, I become re-centered.  I am reminded of my purpose or of the fact that I am loved or of the suffering of those walking through a dark night.

And so I wish to share my mediation on the Awakening Hour, the Morning Prayer (or Lauds),  It's themes are of praise, resurrection, and joy.  I find this very fitting, because sunrise reflects the attitude of the soul when it is coming out of a long, dark night.  It symbolizes that joy and hope can be found even after walking through the darkest, lonliest season of life.


As much as I have witnessed dark nights of the soul in my life or in another's, I have also witnessed the rising of light, of joy, of renewed energy and vision, purpose and healing.  I have laughed many times with my friend who was left by her husband with a broken heart.  I have noticed the resilience in another dear friend who is planning meals for a new mother, only days after a second miscarriage.  I have seen hope and strength resurface in a loved one fighting addiction.  And I have seen contentment engulf the one living with disease.


Ah, yes.  In the words of Anne of Green Gables, "Isn't it a splendid thing that there are mornings?"