Saturatation

This is one of those Friday nights where I have been completely grateful that my most social interaction needed to take place at the local pizza joint, picking up dinner that could be consumed with minimal preparation or mess. I love Friday pizza night, and the indulgent luxury of ending a re-entry week by soaking up quiet.

Sometimes on Friday nights, I just let it all sink in. Tonight, I could simultaneously cry and laugh at the bizarre, intense, heartfelt, ridiculous, annoying, overwhelming ordinary chaos that has been wrought during this week of re-entry from vacation back to work and school. Whole sit-com episodes and drama series could play out on the week’s adventures. But, as my spouse pointed out at dinner, that doesn’t mean anyone else would actually want to watch it. At least, laughing about it over Friday night pizza entertains us. Perhaps that is enough.

What I am reflecting on tonight is simple: we need down time. We need it because sometimes, we become saturated by life:

sat·u·ra·tion (ˌsaCHəˈrāSH(ə)n/)
noun
1) the state or process that occurs when no more of something can be absorbed, combined with, or added.
CHEMISTRY
2) the degree or extent to which something is dissolved or absorbed compared with the maximum possible, usually expressed as a percentage.
3) to a very full extent, especially beyond the point regarded as necessary or desirable.

That’s it…that is exactly how my whole being feels tonight.

Even though I can be a crazy, busy multi-tasking agent of doing good…sometimes I just need to sit. My body, mind, and spirit need to get in the same place at the same time. I am trying not to allow guilt, to forbid using the term “lazy” or denigrating myself for an evening of quiet. I am learning to appreciate the sacred space to simply be.

I am about to dispense with my electronics, too, and make myself some tea and symbolically stir in honey just to watch it dissolve. I am replacing my saturation of re-entry and all its crazy energy with a cup of warmth, saturated with sweetness.

I will sip on that tonight. Maybe you can do the same?

Taste the sweetness of that small point of light…

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Epiphany and Science

On Christmas day, Neil deGrasse Tyson tweeted a little gem that stirred up some sentiment…or at least, some social media air time.  In case you missed it, his now infamous tweet was: “On this day long ago, a child was born who, by age 30, would transform the world. Happy Birthday Isaac Newton b. Dec 25, 1642”

While one can infer a host of things about that message (irrespective of whether a “heavenly host” was involved) what clearly comes across in his message is a linguistic and intellectual positioning of science and religion as separate, side-by-side entities which may co-exist, but do not co-mingle.  Many responses to that tweet perpetuated a sentiment that religion (here, Christianity) and science are in some sort of competition for existential meaning and importance on December 25.  Personally, I don’t believe that the two are distinct, nor in competition, but I realize and respect that some people might.  Regardless of how you may feel about Dr. deGrasse Tyson’s December 25th tweet, I hope this blog post offers something new to this conversation.

Today…January 6th…is Epiphany.  Epiphany is for scientists.

Let me explain.

The one common feature that I notice in every one of my scientifically minded colleagues is that there is an unmistakable awe in the possibility of discovery.  That moment of discovery…which in the realm of translational science we even refer to as “T-Zero”…is when something happens that takes us by surprise, and makes us reject the null hypothesis when we didn’t have another hypothesis that we were observing and expecting to occur.  It could be the moment that a cancer cell dies in the presence of a newly introduced substance; it could be an observation of a potentially different species or the prospect of a new element that exists even for a fraction of a nano-second; it could be an intervention that produces a desired effect three times faster than anything else that has been tried. It isn’t yet “proven” through testing, re-testing, and challenging contextual limitations but there has been discovery.  Any scientist who loves what they do will have a “discovery” story to share that has hooked us in our field and keeps us asking the next question, examining the data a little more deeply, considering alternative hypotheses, holding out the prospect of meaning in emergent design.  We can study people, cells, robotics, plants, art, cognition…the list is endless.  The moment of discovery is Epiphany; it is where wisdom meets knowledge and creates a spark.

Today is that day…Epiphany…in the Christian calendar.  By tradition, Epiphany celebrates the arrival of the Magi…the “We Three Kings” of song and legend…to deliver gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh to the young Jesus and his family.  Although we are not told a great deal about this visit in scripture, the inference that we have is that these visitors traveled from far away; they were educated, wise, and used all the evidence around them to chart a course toward something that inspired their intellectual curiosity.

We aren’t told that the Magi had any kind of conversion experience.  We don’t really know if or how their world views changed after their moment of discovery.  Like most scientists, they likely didn’t make an instant pronouncement, and they most certainly would not have discussed it with any sources likely to report on it out of context; that happens without scientific effort.  But, like all those of scientific mind and intellectual curiosity, they were seeking to find something…yet, they were also holding out the realization that they might find nothing.  That is one of the hallmarks of science.  As Albert Einstein so succinctly put it (at least according to the plaque in my office): “If we knew what we were doing, it wouldn’t be called research.”

The one aspect of the Epiphany Gospel from Matthew stands out to me:  “…and having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.”  We are told the magi chose a different direction; this is a response to discovery, to new information, to an unsettling of the status quo.

The one thing that all scientists have in common is the prospect that we will find nothing.  So, when we have a moment of discovery…when we can reject the null hypothesis…when an emergent finding materializes from within an inquiry…wisdom touches knowledge.  We are transformed.  Knowledge is generated.  Epiphany.

I’m not suggesting that any person has to believe that three smart men rode camels across a desert and found a baby laying in a manger the way that carved crèche might suggest.  But, I am holding out the possibility that even in the midst of a religious story, scientific discovery can occur.  And, that during a life of scientific pursuit, a spiritual experience of wisdom can emerge.  In both situations, we are transformed. We will likely go home by another road.

Epiphany: where wisdom and knowledge meet each other, and we are transformed.

With gratitude, as I close this Epiphany, for transformation that has allowed me to travel home by another road.

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Charmed

You never know when a moment of serendipity will emerge; I suppose that is the point of these random acts of cosmic curiosity. Today, as we were driving home after my daughter’s guitar lesson through a crowded part of the city, she blurted out, “Look! Plaid!!” as she pointed out a rack of flannel shirts outside a vintage clothing and whatever-else store. Normally, I might have kept driving toward the highway on-ramp. But, since I was still feeling the freedom of the last few days of my holiday break I said, “ok, if there is a parking spot in the next three blocks, I’ll stop.” Two and three-quarter blocks later, I was parallel parking.

She by-passed the rack of plaid altogether as soon as we walked past and saw it was sized to fit an XXL man rather than a small tween, but she quickly became intrigued by a display of vintage photographs inside. Having spent a summer learning to shoot 35mm film and develop black and white photos in the darkroom, she is now hooked. Sixth grade is clearly the year of flannel, guitars, and black and white photography, I thought. I breathed a sigh of relief at the end of the American Girl era…I was ready to move along from the girls of the year and their over-priced accessories.

I do not need even one more vintage object in my home, so I was rambling about trying not to look at anything too closely while she browsed through the old photos. Jewelry is always safe…or at least, small…so I peeked into a cabinet with a vast array of sterling silver charms and pendants. There were a few sweet little crosses and such which I sometimes pick up to make prayer beads. But one charm, almost buried beneath the others, caught my eye. The owner noticed something had grabbed my attention and came over to unlock the case. He even had a hard time figuring out which one I wanted to see.

That one…the tear-shaped one…it has a celtic cross on it…

He handed me several pieces of celtic knot silver first, thinking I would like them better.

No, the one underneath…yes, that one!. He finally found the one I had spied. I held it in my hand, feeling the weight of cast sterling silver and felt an undeniable connection between me, and that particular symbol. I looked at the beautiful, rustic celtic cross on the front of the pendant:

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Then, I flipped it over. Of course…it all came together:

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The Triquetra knot, topping the words, “St. Martin’s Cross” and “Iona” where the patron saint of my birthdate, June 9, lived out his days in the monastery on that celtic isle.

I knew, at that moment, I was supposed to find this. This little moment of serendipity, a charm of blessing and a reminder to center myself in this new year that I am stepping into. It’s an old piece, and it has a history I don’t know. But, it will remind me daily that the ancient past, the present moment, and the future converge and emerge with each step.

I paid for my purchase…a whole $15…and bought a few favorite black and white photos for my daughter, too. We walked the three blocks back to the car and headed home, both smiling contentedly at life’s serendipity.

I close and rest tonight with a prayer from St. Columba, vintage style of course:

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Unsettled

My daughter and I were sitting in our favorite local “vegetarian friendly” diner today. It has haphazard vintage tables strung together, serves all day breakfast to college students, hungover hipsters, and whatever other slices of humanity walk in the door. Growlers, grits, and gluten-free vegan tempeh dishes are all served up amid conversing diners sporting rainbow shades of hair which, in winter, are frequently topped with all forms of hats. There is clearly no dress code: diners wear whatever they feel like, exuding individuality. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner are simultaneously served. Fluidity comes in all forms here, from bottomless coffee to local brews to non-binary gender expression.

Did I mention it’s one of my favorite places in town?

We sat down and read through the menu, considering all the vegetarian possibilities. My daughter is adamantly claiming her vegetarian identity these days, so these outings offer good practice for encountering a range of culinary options. I ordered a vegan curried “chicken” salad wrap. Although she stuck with time-honored grilled cheese and french fries this visit, her options widened a bit more for the future. She was more relaxed and at peace with simply being herself than I have seen her in a long time.

Truthfully, it was more than a desire for flesh-free eating that compelled me to suggest our lunch visit today. I am wearied, saddened, and unsettled in my soul by the tragic deaths of beautiful young people like Leelah Alcorn. Whether judged by gender expression, sexual orientation, or other diverse facets of personhood, some beautiful young adults are forced into unsettling hopelessness. I am a social worker who has worked as a grief therapist, so I fully understand the role of mental health challenges that impact suicidality. But, I also agree with Leelah’s last words: society has to change.

While I know that changing society isn’t as simple as lunching in our hipster dive, there is a lesson to be learned here. No one was cast a funny look, not even the relatively mainstream college professor and her tween daughter. We were all seated and served, said hellos, happened to see a friend or two, sat amid strangers and asked for ketchup from a table with two bottles when our table had none…and it was gladly shared. It’s a sub-culture of sharing and acceptance here. We talked about that openly, felt it, and lived it. If I can offer my child one thing, and one thing only, it will be this reality: you are loved and welcomed, exactly as you are. So is everyone else. That was today’s message, implicitly and explicitly.

What would the world be like if we could get over ourselves enough to read through the entire menu to see what all the options were, even if we ended up sticking with the familiar? How amazing would it be to sit and serve and sip with people who experience life so very differently from us, and yet we could share a common place that feels like home? We might even learn that our options are far wider than we ever realized on our own, and find others who seem so different on the surface, but also love the same things we love.

There is another place where this level of radical love and welcome can happen. The Church has that potential, even if we have not always lived into it. I am committed to creating it, living it and nurturing it into being. Radical hospitality, grace, welcome, communion: we can choose to feed others and be fed in a place of welcome. We can choose to be that place of radical welcome.

Being unsettled has a purpose: it’s the harbinger of necessary change that is ready to be set free. We will be unsettled until we can stop judging, until we can stop fearing.

Yes: Society has to change. Church has to change.

Yes: Society has to be forgiven. Church has to be forgiven.

We must learn to share, to serve, and to trust the radically perfect love and welcoming grace of God. We simply need to see it, live it, experience it reflected in the amazing and vibrant diversity of all who surround us.

It is in that radical love and grace where my unsettled spirit can rest tonight.

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The Eve before the Eve before New Years

When I was young, I had a record (yes, a vinyl record) of children’s Christmas songs, one of which was called The Day Before the Night Before Christmas.  I can’t recall all the lyrics, but some of them were, “…it’s the day before the night before Christmas, and I’m busy, busy, busy being good.  It’s the day before the night before Christmas, doing everything a good girl should…” As one might predict, the singer was taking every opportunity to demonstrate to Santa that she has a well-deserved place on the “Nice” list.

Inexplicably, I woke up with those lyrics running through my head this morning.  It’s amazing what trivial information the vault of our mind contains, truly.  Never one to ignore the trivial, though, I started thinking about those words, since (after all) today is the Eve before the Eve before New Years.

I know that it’s tempting to wait until the last minute to enact change in our lives.  I notoriously start flossing regularly when I receive a reminder card about my dental cleanings, and of course resume any ill-fated exercise regime a couple weeks before my annual check-up so I can confidently report what my “usual exercise routine” looks like.  It’s human nature…well, at least its MY human nature…to shift into high gear when I know that accountability is about to find me.

There are areas of my life where I enact change because I want to, of course.  What is harder to deal with are the areas where I lack motivation to change.  People telling me what I should do, or that it’s good for me…that is not all that motivating, I have to be honest.  On my more passive-aggressive days, it might even ensure my non-compliance. In order to actually change, I first have to take in the possibility of change, to really know and believe that I’m getting benefit in either the short-term or the long-term (even better, both!).  Then, I have to integrate the change into my routine in a way that feeds me, and helps me realize the benefits of change. This whole process of motivation to change is what social scientists understand to be the root of all positive behavior changes: we even have a fancy word for it, the “Transtheoretical Model of Change.”

[Note:  For some of us, and we know who we are, fancy words and empirical evidence also help us make these shifts in our own thoughts and actions. It’s OK, really.]

Back to my point, though.  It’s the Eve before the Eve before New Years.  It’s a good day for me to ponder: what have I done this year that makes me want to take note of its benefit, to encourage myself to stay on the course and keep growing?  That is probably a better mental exercise on the day-before-the-day-before than getting out the big stick and beating myself up for what changes I have yet to accomplish.

Phrased this way, my biggest achievement of 2014 is probably stillness.  In 2014, I have worked to refine being still, and listening to what is offered to me in that space.  In the 43 1/2 years prior to 2014, I did a really good job at filling up all the spaces of my time, attention, and energy.  I haven’t lost that urge, trust me.  But, an appreciation for a time of daily stillness has become incredibly important to me this year.  I was able to “hear” things in that space that I would have missed, that have given me strength and confidence, and wisdom.  Yes, stillness will remain in 2015.

Next up: resignation.  I learned, finally, how to step away from something that wasn’t serving me.  It’s not in my nature to step down, and even when I have done so in the past, I generally craft an excuse that makes it sound better than it really is.   I learned how to resign authentically and honestly this year.  I left a position that wasn’t serving me and I have no regrets about it.  I’m making less money, woo hoo!  I’m working just as hard as ever if not harder, and seeing less in my paycheck, hooray!  No tangible rewards on this one, at least not short term or to society’s standards.  But, I have peace of mind; I have freedom to pursue work that feeds my soul and the satisfaction of enjoying it. Now, I know how to engage the process of stepping away so that the next time I feel the need, I will not go through the internal anguish that I did reaching the decision.

Finally, discernment.  This, I didn’t learn on my own.  I have had circles of people helping me, supporting me, challenging me and teaching me the difference between deciding, and discerning.  In fairness, the value of discernment was predetermined for me.  I didn’t intuitively want to like it.  I stepped into a process with the Episcopal Church that valued discernment, and I had to learn how to slow down and appreciate how to discern, rather than decide.  My personal nature isn’t all that process-oriented.  I like making things happen, and getting all the details tied up in a neat little package with a funky eye-appealing wrapping and ribbons to hold it together.  That isn’t what discernment is about, though.  It is the iterative process of stepping in, offering what we have to others and working through a process of actively listening, patiently waiting, and jointly hearing the wisdom that is offered in the process.  The spiritual and emotional place where I closed my 2013 is very, very different than where I am closing my 2014.  Discerning is a supported process where knowledge and wisdom meet each other.  Actually, I learned to love it. There’s a peace here for which I am deeply and reverently grateful.

So, here I am.  The Eve before the Eve before New Year’s.  Instead of being “busy, busy, busy being good” I am still; I have learned the art of resignation; I am continuing to discern and growing with each iteration.  It’s a joyous place to end the year, and to move forward in faith to what 2015 offers.

Yes, yes…and I will resolve to resume my exercise routine, too!

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Winter Sunset

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The sun sank low
as cold air filled the void
left by its warming rays,
swiftly departing.

As quickly as it sank,
Brush strokes of coral
tinted the western canvas,
exposing the stark outlines
of skeletal trees.

There, then gone in an instant.
All of it, vanished.
The fleeting beauty of winter,
the shortest days
the longest nights
but vibrant living
in between.

–SKP

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Advent Word: Delight

I have vivid memories of Christmas Past that involve the “Festival of Lights” in Niagara Falls. I don’t look back at high school with much awe, I must admit. But, one of my fondest high school memories was arriving by bus to the then-glorious Rainbow Mall; walking through the multi-story winter garden greenhouse hearing carolers dressed in Renaissance garb serenading us in our young friendships and romances; crossing over to the state park filled with light sculptures and eventually walking to peek into the roaring, icy Niagara Falls amid the freezing mist stinging our cheeks.

I held some of that memory in my mind as I coaxed my mother and daughter to make the Niagara Falls drive with me during our holiday visit. I knew we had to stay stateside due to lack of passports, but I was undaunted in my quest to show them both the lights of Niagara this Christmas season.

As it turns out, not only is the former Rainbow Mall now demolished, but the former “Winter Garden” is now a multi-story souvenir and ethnic fast food establishment. Not quite the winter-tide festivities I remembered. On the bright side, the parking was free and plentiful this side of the Falls, with all the action now having moved to Canada.

I admit, I started to get a little annoyed at my daughter whining about not having a passport. I was biting my tongue, hoping and waiting for something to redeem our hour long trek. My Mom was a good sport, though, and we hiked toward the falls through an empty, unlit park. As we approached the Niagara Rapids, I started to feel myself getting drawn in to the stark beauty of the dusk, the rapids, the unlit winter trees standing in stark silhouette to the rushing water:

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My daughter, who had been dragging her feet, suddenly sprang to life and brought out the 35mm camera she has been learning to use. She started testing out settings, lighting, lenses. This was the perfect place to experiment. A dozen or so other people…not hundreds…were gathered by the edge of Niagara Falls waiting in hopes of an illumination. It was past 5 p.m. and dusk was becoming dark. The sky was majestic with winter clouds as the sun dipped low into the horizon. At that moment, the illumination emerged full force from the Canadian side, creating billowing mist clouds:

First, vibrant red:

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Then, an enchanted green:

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Next, bright golden yellow:

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Finally, a lavender dreamscape:

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We snapped pictures through several cycles through each color on that cold, misty evening. It suddenly didn’t matter any more if the timing of a former grand event had come and gone. There was beauty here…total delight, in fact…even in the remnant pieces of nature that were illuminated during the warmth and wonder of a three generation trip.

Even if we think we know the destination, sometimes we arrive to a place different than our expectations. I was reminded that it isn’t about getting where we think we want to go, but about our willingness to take in what gifts are offered here and now, as the present moment unfolds.

Now, I hold this new memory as delight.

In response to the AdventWord global advent calendar project with the Society for St. John the Evangelist. Today’s word: #Delight. Follow the worldwide advent calendar at: http://www.aco.org/adventword.cfm

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Advent Word: Relate

Tonight, I am wrapping up the final night of holiday visiting with my family. It’s been a relaxing time to reconnect with the people who formed me, sharing stories and memories along with meals, cookies, candy and cards. In the midst of an often complicated world, visiting my family has a feeling of old fashioned simplicity. Of course, we also have all those real-word complexities of health, aging, relationships that all families navigate. But, there is something special about reconnecting with my family this particular time of year with its cut-out cookies, chocolate covered peanut butter balls, hand-made candle votives and taking a visiting “tour of trees” to the home of each of my relations.

Every visit, I learn something new about this family that raised me. This time, an unexpected gift came in the form of historical records about my great-grandfather, Henry Hauber. My mother had received a letter in the mail after visiting the Pierce Arrow car museum in Buffalo where she signed the guest register and penned a note that she was related to a former employee, Henry Hauber. Unexpectedly, the museum contacted her a few weeks ago with a copy of his draft registration card from World War I.

On June 5, 1917 this young man named Henry Fred Hauber went to work as a carpenter for Pierce Arrow, using his skills to build the wooden dashboards and interiors of the newly invented automobile. He dutifully filled out a draft card, noting at age 22 that he was asking for an exception to service, because he needed to provide for his wife and two young children. He had gray eyes and light brown hair; he was short in stature and medium build. His card noted he was not bald, although his lack of height and hair undoubtedly defined him later in his life.

At first, I thought the document was pretty cool, and I was admittedly quite impressed with the due diligence on behalf of the museum. But, what really made an impression was discussing this newly found document with various family members as we made our visits during this trip.

First, I visited my great-aunt Virginia…who will be 93 next week…and she pointed out this must have been completed when only her older sisters Marcella and Viola (my Grandmother) were born, before she and her younger siblings were even a glimmer in his eye. That made me do a double-take, having already had to say good-bye to my great-aunt Marcella and my grandmother Viola.

The conversations continued, remembering my great-grandfather as the master carpenter city dweller…with country relations…who eventually also settled himself and his family in the small farm community where my extended family now resides. His children married and settled in down the road and on nearby farms, creating the spread of family in that rural community that I grew up knowing and loving. As a child, my grand-mother had spent her formative years living in the city, too. Hearing their stories perhaps made me ponder my own duality…always a pull to the beauty of the country, along with an ever-present city sensibility. The early origins of a city-country blend are evidently at the roots of my family tree. This particular document reinforced that for me and I felt renewed belonging and a sense of being understood.

Today, as I sat lunching with my mother and her two sisters, we continued this conversation about Henry Hauber. I was able to hear their memories of their grand-father from their own experiences. For one of my aunts in particular, memory is a fleeting and precious thing; so hearing her own recollection jarred was a gift. I even caught a flash of memory of my great-grandfather from my own past even though our overlap on this earth was only for a few short years when I was very young. I remembered a kind, funny man who asked me to draw him pictures of his favorite foods so that he could pretend to eat them. I remember drawing him a watermelon, one day around the 4th of July. That would have been around 55 years after he had filled out that draft card…something he himself had probably even forgotten.

Today, nearly 100 years after filing that document, Henry Hauber’s grand-daughters, great-granddaughter, and great-great granddaughter all sat around a dining room table, relating to each other. That is how it is with families…it just keeps going on, moving forward, life creating life. But the depth of our connections is not lost, and it’s astounding that something as a simple as an old draft card can remind us of how much we share.

Tonight, I am reminded of how much all this relation means to me, even as I move about my own independent life almost 100 years later. I am grateful to be a part of this family, drawing strength from the roots of our relations that run deep and strong.

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In response to the AdventWord global advent calendar project with the Society for St. John the Evangelist. Today’s word: #Relate. Follow the worldwide advent calendar at: http://www.aco.org/adventword.cfm

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Advent Word: Ask

The human heart holds so many longings. It seems almost inevitable that we would look to something larger than we are to carry our prayers and wishes beyond the possibilities of our own understanding.

Of course, the moment we set free the prayers of our human longings we face another dilemma: what happens to our prayers? When we ask, are we heard? If we are heard, why aren’t our prayers always answered in the ways we would like?

Today, I have been pondering the word “ask” as the advent word of the day. As if in response, I had to consider: what do I ask for?

I am not one to hold out my begging bowl and plead to the Deity on bended knee for small favors. I don’t pray for sports teams, nor for good parking spaces to appear. To me, there is a lot of daily life that truly is just detail unfolding upon detail. You win some, you lose some. Even in the bigger issues of life…health, happiness, relationships, fiscal security…there are lessons to be learned from the challenges, as well as sweet release and joy in moments of uplift. Then, we hit hard issues of life and death, failure and success. I have heard prayers of faithful people, and dubious ones. Bad things happen to good people, and good things to ones I may consider bad. I don’t want to be in the business of judging the worthy and the unworthy, and I cannot imagine conceptualizing the Divine as a sifting place for whose prayers will or will not be given an audience. If that kind of asking and receiving was my litmus test for belief, I would be a flat out atheist by choice.

But, I do pray, and I do ask. My asking forms me each morning:

One thing I have asked of the Lord,
this is what I seek:
that I may dwell in the house of the Lord
all the days of my life;
to behold the beauty of the Lord
and to seek You, God, in Your temple.

My ask, every day, is to be present in God’s motion in the world. It isn’t an easy ask. It is, though, the ask my soul most wants to make. Some days, I still look to the heavens and ask “Why??” or I close my eyes and hear the longings of my soul calling out, “Please!” Of course. These are the prayers of human longing with which we are created and have our being. God wants them, the way in which we want to know the cares and longings of our beloved so that we can respond. God seeks this same relationship with us, and meets us where we are. That is the nature of Love. Prayer is living in the active flow of that Divine Love.

Everyday, this world is filled with the longings of our hearts, our thanksgivings, our prayers. In all our asking, God is Present. Incarnate. Loving us, exactly as we are.

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In response to the AdventWord global advent calendar project with the Society for St. John the Evangelist. Today’s word: #ask. Follow the worldwide advent calendar at: http://www.aco.org/adventword.cfm

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Advent Words: Heal and Thank

I sit tonight with two days of advent words on my mind and in my heart: “heal” and “thank.” I was in travel-mode yesterday, in route to visit family. So, I set aside my nightly writing to enjoy the family reunion time. Tonight, sleep has drifted over the countryside, and I am breathing in a quiet moment on a snowy night to reflect and to write. I am glad I waited, as is often the case in Advent. I like the idea of these two words coming together tonight. Healing and reconciliation so naturally transform to gratitude and thanks. In fact, once you have lived them, it’s almost hard to imagine them as separate constructs.

I had these words in my mind tonight as I opened up the fridge to get some water. My parents’ refrigerator is plastered with pictures of my daughter from birth to present day: it’s a grand-parental right to be indulgently proud. There are photos downloaded from cell phones, and printed on ink jet printers; many involve birthday cakes and culinary adventures. One picture caught my eye: I am holding my daughter as an infant, wearing the cloth harness that kept her legs positioned like a tiny frog while her hip was healing. I am looking at her with a mix of wonder and worry…perhaps the most common dual combination of feelings for most of us throughout parenthood.

My daughter came out with a huge set of lungs, a flare for drama, and bright eyes that loved to take in the world around her. She was a healthy, vibrant newborn that suddenly spiraled us into concern. First, a fever of unknown origin required immediate treatment with antibiotics in the NICU. Then, the discovery of a “click” when moving her tiny hip, which was soon confirmed as hip dysplasia…one of her hip joints was much smaller than its socket, and it was rather freely moving in and out of joint. We were sent to an orthopedic surgeon, with whom we would spent a lot of time. His recommendation was to work towards slow healing through her first year of growth by wearing a contraption known as a Pavlik harness, made of cloth and Velcro. For many people, hip dysplasia resulted in significant limping and ambulatory problems later in life that could only be surgically corrected. We had a chance at slow, natural healing with patience and diligence of daily harness use. We took that chance. Once she had been fitted, I put her tiny feet and legs into the harness to bend her hip joints into a stable, optimal position for her joints to grow and form over the course of time without shifting too close to the socket. We did this every day, all day, for eight months. Every few weeks, the harness would be adjusted and new x-rays taken to monitor her progress.

My daughter and I made a lot of outpatient visits to the orthopedic surgeon’s office at Children’s hospital. He had twins only a few months older than she was, and we would compare notes on hours of sleep we managed to get and other new parent woes. This specialist was kind, understanding and deeply invested in insuring and encouraging our diligence for success. In public, people often stared at my baby-in-harness and at first, I felt embarrassed. Then, I realized that a little miracle was in progress, using the technology of bone-growth monitoring and some well-placed fabric to allow non-invasive, natural healing.

We never had any early crawling or rolling over moments to record in a first year journal. Sleeping was always flat on her back (as recommended!). As we began to wean her away from the harness once progress was taking place, she quickly learned to pull herself up, doubling the use of her arms to propel herself until getting her walking-legs in full swing right around her first birthday. By then, she had two perfectly formed hips. No limping, no pain. Healing had taken place slowly…day by day and night by night…as she grew.

I was so thankful to her orthopedist, to the kind hospital staff, to the many volunteers that I came to know from spending lots of time at a Children’s hospital. I learned to be grateful, daily, for healing and health and strength.

Tonight, years later I stood looking at this decade-old picture of me holding my tiny baby in a harness, and I felt wonder. It was the same wonder I felt this week watching her skate with her middle school friends across an ice-rink, practicing cross-overs and spins. Her motion is evidence of healing, and for that I am deeply and persistently thankful.

Healing is happening everywhere…sometimes with braces and supports, sometimes slowly, and occasionally not even noticeable to the eye. It doesn’t always even look like healing. But much more is happening below the surface of our human lives, individually and collectively, under the watchful and healing care of Divine Presence who is our great Physician. It isn’t about an instant cure or a quick-fix. It’s about healing and wholeness, slowly emerging one moment at a time.

Healing is happening. Be patient. Be diligent. Allow it to progress, to transform, to grow. And in all these things, give thanks.

In response to the AdventWord global advent calendar project with the Society for St. John the Evangelist. Today’s words: #Heal #Thank. Follow the worldwide advent calendar at:http://www.aco.org/adventword.cfm

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