Staying in Love: Letting Go

My friend Linda Storms responded to last week's blog with these profound words:

Staying in love 

When I find myself doing or thinking unkind, impatient,

and judgmental actions or thoughts, it’s when I’m resisting what is.

Then I remind myself, "Not my will,"

I learn to trust what I can’t see.  For me it represents surrender and coming to the realization that no matter how it looks, I don’t see a big picture. But ALL THAT IS does🙏🏻.

You write it: What is your experience with the power of surrender to strengthen love?

Staying in Love

Love is patient. Love is kind. Love keeps no record of wrongs. This is the checklist I use when I feel ill at ease and know I need to examine my own reactions to people and events. I know I'm happiest and strongest when I'm acting from love. So when I'm feeling impatient, unkind, and resentful, I know I'm not in love.

That's when I stop, pivot by remembering what I'm grateful for, and then recite to myself, "Love is patient. Love is kind. Love keeps no record of wrongs." 

You write it:  What do you do to stay in love?

The Power of Respectful Listening

It was a simple invitation to dessert in the evening in my friend's home. I prepared for light, trivial conversation. But one of the guests was interested in the work I had done in my career. I tried to answer casually, as one does in social settings, but he probed, maintained eye contact, and listened carefully as I told the fuller story.

I left my friend's home that evening bathed in grace and blessed by someone who truly listened and respected what I had to say.

You write it: When have you been listened to with respect? When have you been a respectful listener?

The Peace of Order and Routine

As the last decorations of Christmas go into storage for another year, a familiar rhythm speaks to my soul. Order. Routine.

The beauty of the ordinary reigns.

You write it: What brings peace to your soul?

Keep It Fresh

Along the way, someone told me, "Not everyone who has been driving for 30 years is a good driver."

When we're learning something new, it's easy to be open, creative, alert, and responsive. But when we're doing something we've done for years, it's tempting to be rigid.

My intention for this first day of 2018 is KEEP IT FRESH!

You write it:  What has become a bit stale or slimy for you? What might you do differently to keep it fresh? (Note: you might even consider throwing it out.)

Blessing

May you be infused with peace. May you find joy. May good health make your life enjoyable. May you laugh and be at ease. May you be surrounded by people who love you.

Most Precious Gift

About ten days before Christmas in 1971, my sixteen-month-old daughter became suddenly, seriously ill. Her doctor thought she might have pneumonia, gave her a shot, and told me to call him back early that afternoon if she didn't improve. I looked down at her limp, gray, body and said, "I want her in the hospital right now."

A little before noon, a nurse, alarmed at her unresponsiveness, called the doctor to come to the hospital right away. A spinal tap revealed meningitis, and she was immediately hooked up to all kinds of tubes, placed under an oxygen tent, and wheeled away to isolation. The doctor said, "I think we caught it early enough that there won't be any permanent damage, if she lives."

Stunned, I donned my mask and robe and took my place beside her bed, where I stayed. That first night I kept asking God to save her life, praying that God would save her life. Around midnight, peace came over me. Somehow, I knew she would be okay.

For days she lay motionless under that oxygen tent, hooked up to life-saving chemicals. Finally, on Christmas Eve, nurses came into the room, unhooked her from all the tubes, and removed the oxygen.

I picked her up for the first time since the ordeal had begun. She felt like a newborn, unable to control her head. Nurses reassured me, "These little ones bounce back quickly." They were right. That evening, she was running down the hospital hallway.

On Christmas Eve my precious daughter and I went to sleep in a regular hospital room. She was in a baby bed, and I was in a regular hospital bed by her side. I slept so soundly that I didn't hear the Christmas elf that crept into the room to leave a red flannel stocking with candies and a toy plastic lion peeking over the top.

Every year at Christmas time, I give thanks for a vigilant nurse, a capable doctor, the most precious gift of a healthy child and the elf that hung the stocking on my daughter's bed.

You write it:  What is your most precious Christmas gift?

Pure Gift from a Pure Soul

When I learned of Mark's death, my first memory was the jar of clear, golden honey he gave me when he was a junior in high school, a student in my English class. He and his father together tended their bee hives, and his dad later told me that Mark had selected the finest honey to give to me.

A pure gift from a pure soul. Rest in peace, Mark.

You write it:  Have you ever received a pure gift from a pure soul? What was the experience?

Two-a-Day

One of the truths that became clear to me when I began my spiritual journey is that what I focus on, gets stronger.

So recently, when I found myself distraught over one bad news report after another, I decided that instead of attending to current events, I would focus on performing two actions every day that make my part of the world a better place.

In the morning, I think about what those two actions will be. They don't have to be large or earth-shaking. As I perform them, I am aware of good energy. At the end of the day, I give thanks.

Will you join me?

You write it:  What are two actions you could do today to make your part of the world better?

Two Empty Chairs

A neighbor constantly makes home improvements. One of those changes, made before we moved here, is a high platform built for a better view of the red rocks. Atop the platform are two chairs. Empty chairs.

In the 2-1/2 years I've been their neighbor, I've never seen anyone sitting in those chairs, contemplating and meditating, or even having coffee and pleasant conversation.

As I watch the sun rise this morning, I marvel at the effort we make to build what won't be used. And I wonder what it will take for us to simply enjoy what is.

You write it:  How do you simply enjoy what is?

Giving Thanks

As I load my dishwasher, I often think of my grandmother who didn't have running water and pumped water from a cistern to wash dishes. Yet she loaded the table for a large family with delicious foods and always had cookies for me.

Then I think of my other grandmother. She always met us at the gate with, "I love you," which she repeated as we left. Her drumbeat was, "Get an education."

Then there's my mother, whose pecan pie was legendary. Later this week I'll follow her recipe, which never fails.

For those who came before me, I am grateful. For those coming after me, I am grateful. For all the experiences of my life that have brought me to today, I am grateful.

You write it:  What are you grateful for?

The Power of Intention

The power of intention became real for me on a day when I asked to "be open for all the love that is here for me." Then I spent the day among people I hadn't seen for years and who I thought might not be happy to see me. Instead, love flowed abundantly and freely around, within, and through me for the rest of the day.

Lately I'm following the work of Lynne Mactaggart, an investigative reporter who is working with scientists to measure the power of intention. The results show unmistakable positive impact. 

Power of Eight is the title of her book. I recommend it.

You write it:  When have you felt the power of intention?

Piddling

Piddling has always been one of my favorite things to do. When I have nothing else to do, I give my mind permission to take over and float me for awhile.

This morning's piddling involved battery-run candles. For two or three years, those candles with dead batteries had lain at the bottom of a drawer. 

My piddling mind doesn't put things off. It says, "We could do that right now." To my utter amazement, I found batteries that fit and was able to light the light, which is now glowing from a favorite Frank Lloyd Wright-inspired glass candle holder. To my even greater amazement, it took only a few minutes.

Piddling brings me pleasure and contentment.

You write it:  What brings you pleasure and contentment?

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?