Return Home

On the first day of my return home, I sit in bed with my coffee and look out the window to the wispy soft blue cloud in the distance, lying peacefully among the trees. Beyond, I see the red roofs and tall Italian cypress of our village, snuggled into the base of the foothills of the Mogollon Rim.

I feel the shackles around my heart and soul fall away as I put the memory of metal and concrete, traffic, and hard edges, from my visit to the city, behind me .

My surroundings feed or starve my soul. I choose nature's welcome. Home.

You write it:  What is home to you?

Ride the Current of Love

A young friend recently told me about challenges of being a mother of young children, a wife, and an artist. To meet all of her obligations, she had made a schedule for her day:  Get up at 4:30 a.m.; get to the gym by 5:00; go back home and paint until the children awaken.

The only problem with the schedule was that the baby didn't follow it. He started waking up every morning at 2:30 and then again at 4:30. So my friend was tired and also frustrated that she couldn't follow the schedule she had so meticulously made.

My advice to her was, "Throw away the schedule; instead, list priorities and then dance with them."

What are the priorities? 

1. Self-care, including time every day for meditation and communicating with God.

2. Spouse's well being. Take care of the marriage and give it what it needs.

3. The children's well being. Make sure they get time for play with you and being outside together, as well as the routine care.

4. Create art.

Only four things to remember. Ride the current of love throughout your day.

Set priorities and then dance with them. Relax and enjoy.

P.S. I wrote this post several weeks ago. Since then my friend has realized a need to spend more time with her painting. That's part of the dance, isn't it? Realizing adjustments that need to be made along the way. May we never get stuck in what we think is our "ideal" schedule. It's not a list. It's a dance.

You write it: How is your life dancing right now? How well are you dancing with it?

Bunnies and Coyotes

Each morning as I stand in front of my bathroom mirror, I'm also watching the bunnies grazing in the yard outside--two larger rabbits and two smaller. Somehow it brings me peace to watch them eating breakfast just before I eat mine.

The last few nights we've heard coyotes howling, marauding through our neighborhood while I, in my warm, safe bed, hope the bunnies cling tightly to the inner bushes and go unnoticed.

Today when I looked out the window, I saw one bunny. My husband says the others are in the bushes, being cautious, but I fear he's wrong, trying to mend my broken heart.

I'm letting my heart be broken, and I long for a world without coyotes. 

What do you long for? What do you do when your heart is broken?

The Path

This morning I took a hike on my favorite trail--only this time I did the hike backward! I started where I usually finish.

The trail looked different. My feet didn't automatically take the steps they had memorized. I had to open my eyes and look closely. The trail curves and arcs, rises and falls. I could see only short distances.

Just like life. We really can't see the whole pathway, only what's in front of us. But many fears and apprehensions are born from trying to see the whole trail.

Today, may you be blessed by focusing only on what's in front of you, one day at a time. Some days, one hour at a time. Some hours, one minutes at a time.

All truly is well.

You write it:  What's right in front of you?

The Big Shift

I used to measure the success of my day by how much I got done--how many tasks I listed and checked off on my calendar.

In the last few years I've made a focused effort to pay attention to the energy I put into each day, not the activity. Am I being kind? Am I being guided by love? Am I being true to my authentic self? Do I respect and accept others? Have I allowed my emotions to be hijacked by the latest news or catastrophe or someone else's behavior?

In the end, we all come to the end. What matters is how we lived, not what we did.

You write it:  Someone recently said, "What you are seeking is within you." What does this mean to you?

A Quiet Thing

A friend recently remarked, "I wish I could recapture the bright light of feeling that something wonderful is about to happen!"

The truth is that, in this person's life, many wonderful things have happened. She has a good marriage. A great career. Happy, healthy children. Many friends and meaningful relationships.

So I said to her, "You've matured. That bright, shiny feeling of something new may have faded. But it's not gone. You're living in the glow. Things don't 'knock you off your feet' like they used to."

Lyrics to a song I love go like this, "When it all comes true, just the way you planned, it's funny but the bells don't ring. It's a quiet thing.  When you hold the world in your trembling hand, you'd think you'd hear a choir sing. But it's a quiet thing. There are no exploding fireworks. Where's the roaring of the crowds? Maybe it's the strange new atmosphere way up here among the clouds. But I don't hear the drums and I don't hear the band--the sounds I'm told such moments bring. Happiness comes in on tip-toe. It's a quiet thing. A very quiet thing."

One Day at a Time

Our friend Tony had cancer from the first time we met him. He was a remarkable man, an expert in agriculture, a bull rider in his youth, and a faithful member of a 12-step recovery group. His favorite slogan, which I heard him say every time I was with him, was "One day at a time."

When his cancer recurred and radiation was required, he said, "It's one day at a time." When hip surgery was needed so that he could tour Europe with his wife and grandchildren, he said, "It's one day at a time." When chemo was administered, he said, "It's one day at a time." Then when other surgery was performed, he said, "It's one day at a time." When he had to walk with a cane, he said, "It's one day at a time." And when he had to be pushed in a wheelchair. . . .

Five months before he died, Tony and his wife Andra hosted a "gratitude party," to express their appreciation for the love and support of friends and family. 

The last time my husband and I spoke with him, two days before he died, he said, "I've come to the end of the road." There was no trace of resentment in his voice. It was simple acceptance.

Never resentment. No anger. His soul was clear. He had lived life on life's terms, one day at a time. 

Tamales

Some people might call it coincidence; some, synchronicity. I call it answer to prayer, from this definition of prayer that I learned as a teenager:  "Prayer is the soul's sincerest desire, uttered or unexpressed." These days, I strive to keep myself in the place of possibility by daily meditation and consciously choosing love, grace, and peace above all else.

Here's what happened: My daughter and son-in-law will arrive for a visit on the day that my husband and I return from a trip. We'll meet up at the airport. All good, except that I won't have my typical week-before-a-visitor-comes to cook and prepare. So I wondered if Virginia might agree to make for us some of her wonderful tamales, realizing that she typically does that at Christmas, and this is August.

Moments later, the phone rang. Virginia. She said, "I'm making tamales this week-end. Would you like some?"

"Thank you, God," I said, realizing that no request is too small.

You write it:  How does answer to prayer manifest for you?

Breathing Under Water, a Poem by Carol Bieleck

I built my house by the sea.

Not on the sands, mind you; not on the shifting sand.

And I built it of rock.

A strong house

by a strong sea.

And we got well acquainted, the sea and I.

Good neighbors.

Not that we spoke much.

We met in silences.

Respectful, keeping our distance,

but looking our thoughts across the fence of sand.

Always, the fence of sand our barrier,

always, the sand between.

And then one day,

--and I still don't know how it happened--

the sea came.

Without warning.

Without welcome, even

Not sudden and swift, but a shifting across the sand

like wine,

less like the flow of water than the flow of blood.

Slow, but flowing like an open wound.

And I thought of flight and I thought of drowning and I thought of death.

And while I thought the sea crept higher, till it reached my door.

And I knew then, there was neither flight, nor death, nor drowning.

That when the sea comes calling you stop being neighbors

Well acquainted, friendly-at-a-distance, neighbors

And you give your house for a coral castle,

And you learn to breathe underwater.

This profound poem provides the title for Richard Rohr's book about spirituality and the Twelve Steps. Each time I read it, I find a more profound meaning. What does this poem say to you?

Peace

On this soft summer morning

The distant hum of mowers--

Sun sifting through mesquites.

A white dog licks her paws.

I celebrate peace.

You write it:  What gives you peace?

Speak the Truth in Love

Three times recently I have witnessed the power of truth spoken in love. When people speak from their hearts, saying only what truly needs to be said, energy shifts. Witnesses relax into safety. Everyone in the space feels free to be who they truly are.

Years ago I developed a tool for learning to speak the truth in love. Called "The Eye of the Needle," when people use it, things change.

You write it:  When have you experienced someone--or yourself--speaking the truth in love?

Breath

Islands disappear--reappear.

Tides come in and go out.

Neighbors move.

Children grow, leave, and

Return--maybe--to visit.

Friends die.

Breath moves through all of it.

Inhaling--exhaling--

Inhaling--exhaling--

You write it:  What sustains you through change?

Under a Rainbow

I fell asleep under a rainbow.

After the rain and darkness,

The setting sun broke through the clouds,

Showering the hills with soft light.

Above the hills, on the dark gray clouds,

A rainbow appeared, stayed, floated against the clouds.

I fell asleep under that rainbow

And awakened with the dawn of a new day.

You write it:  Author and Franciscan Priest Richard Rohr says, "The entire visible universe is manifestation of God." When have you experienced this truth?

Grace and Mercy

Last Sunday my husband and I served as ushers for our small church. One of the duties is to light the altar candles at the beginning of the service and extinguish them at the end.

Later that evening, as I lay in bed awaiting sleep, I sat up with a jolt, realizing I had not extinguished the candles! Panic overcame me as I visualized the church in flames, and I felt a strong urge to drive there--alone--in the dark--in rain and lightning.

Then I took some deep breaths, started journaling, and asked God to do for me what I couldn't do. As my mind calmed, I considered possibilities. The candles are on tall brass candlesticks on a stone altar--not likely to ignite anything. Then I realized that whoever cleared the communion paraphernalia from the altar would have seen the candles still burning and extinguished them. 

I gave thanks to be part of a church where people see what needs to be done and simply do it, regardless of whose responsibility it is. Grace. And mercy.

I slept peacefully and drove to the church first thing next morning. The candles were not lit.

You write it:  When did someone show grace and mercy to you?

You Be You, and I'll Be Me

My daughter recently bought a tee shirt with the words, "You be you, and I'll be me,"  which truly reflects her outlook on life and her relationships with other people. 

Much of our distress is caused from disappointment when other people don't do--or think--or behave the way we want them to do--or--think--or behave. 

Much emotional pain is relieved when we simply ask, "Am I being the person I want to be?" and leave the rest to answer that question for themselves.

You write it:  Are you being the person you want to be?

Live in Your Heart's Desire

In Man's Search for Meaning, Victor Frankl wrote that the ultimate freedom is to choose one's own state of mind. Regardless of our circumstances--and his were severe--we can choose happiness, contentment, even joy.

Yet so many people are stuck to what is happening around them--in politics, in the work place, in family dynamics, allowing circumstances beyond their control to trigger emotional responses that they don't want.

I learn and teach tools for living in peace. My heart's desire is to set myself and others free.

You write it:  What is your heart's desire?

Hidden in Plain View

Something makes me think that what I seek is difficult to find--that I must exert great effort to be fulfilled--that what I want is outside of me.

Lately I've had a notion that I should be doing more. My mind has been restlessly searching for some pinnacle out there.

Then, in a phone call, a coaching client said, "You should write a book. I write down what you say and keep it." I realized that, once I say the words and they have been received, my creation is complete. I don't need to write a book; I just want more clients.

The answer to my seeking was hidden in plain view.

You write it:  What do you seek?

Acceptance

"Water freezes at 32 degrees Fahrenheit, and there's nothing I can to about it."

My friend was talking about acceptance. It's easy to accept natural laws; we have no choice. Then why do we struggle to change the behavioral set point of others? We think they should be different. We know they could choose better behavior. We're angry or disappointed when they don't behave as we would like.

Just for today, grant us the peace of acceptance.

Let's Play

After a long day of driving, my husband and I went to dinner at a pub with lots of games. We chose table shuffleboard, which I won. On our way back to the hotel, we passed a miniature golf course, made a u-turn, and played 18 holes. 

It lifted our spirits to play.

You write it:  When was the last time you played?