Anam Cara

Return....

"In the woods we return to reason and faith."
~Ralph Waldo Emerson

This weekend my guys and I stepped out of Chronos and into Kairos for a bit.  We went into the woods.  We breathed the scent of damp leaves and water and evergreen.  We felt the cool mist that blows off falling water.  We dipped hot, tired feet in the icy chill of a mountain stream.  We listened to birds and crickets and frogs; to water gurgling over stones and gentle raindrops on our tent.

And a silence...something deeper and more profound than absence of sound...seeped into us.  Subtle, but insistent.  A slowing of the breath.  A becalming.  A washing.

We scrambled over gnarled tree roots and stones to get to waterfalls and to spectacular views over the gorges that penetrate the Cumberland Plateau.  We drank deeply of the crimsons and golds that are already creeping into the forest, playing against a panoply of greens...against stark, leafless limbs that arrest the eye and pierce with a loveliness closely akin to pain

And we talked.  That sort of deep, important talk that only happens when there is luxury of space and time.  When close intercourse with beauty and immensity and intricacy loose in us that which is most valuable and profound.  And it seeps to the surface....a word here...a phrase there....in the leisure of slow ambles across creek beds...in the warm lazy glow of campfire.

We pursued....and attained...roasted marshmallow perfection:  delicate shell of crisp browned sugar, warm liquid pool of sweet deliciousness.  For breakfast.  Then we packed up sleeping bag, tent, cooler, and left our little world apart.  We returned to the everyday.  To the tyranny of schedule and interruption. 

And yet....I suspect.......somewhere in the part of us that is most us...some of the silence remains.  And that sweet, inner core has been strengthened.  And we remember who we are....

 
 

 

*Photographs in the post taken at beautiful Fall Creek Falls State Park in Middle Tennessee.

Game Fuel.....

Sometimes I feel like a power plant.  Family, friends, responsibilities, activities, all plug into me and ask me to give them something.  I sense the energy draining from me as though it were liquid...flowing...drop...by...drop.  And I am so TIRED.  And so EMPTY.  All that's left are dregs...like the leaves at the bottom of a cup of tea.  Bitter.  And coarse.

I could close up shop.  I could say, "No more!"  I could refuse to give; to serve.  Sometimes I do.  But that is not the person I want to be.  That is not the person I am called to be.  How do I replenish my stores?  How do I keep giving?

Game Fuel: replenish, restore, repair, renew, strengthen...

1.  Running.  Counterintuitive, perhaps, but true.  It makes me stronger so I am more efficient and less taxed by daily tasks.  It releases endorphins which elevate mood.  And, it provides solitude which I know to be absolutely ESSENTIAL to my well-being.

2.  Nutrition.  If I eat crap, I feel like crap.  To fuel my running, I have learned to choose foods that are nutrient dense.  It's not enough that there is nothing terrible in it.  Does it give me anything that will build or repair, will convert easily to energy, will sustain?  I feel so good, I eat this way even when not in training.

3.  Stimulation of the mind.  For me, this comes primarily through reading wonderful books.  But I also find it in conversations with friends and family, games, art, movies, etc....  When my head is full of ideas and stories, mundane tasks take on a whole new glory.  They provide opportunity for contemplation.

4.  Beauty.  I require a steady diet.  Fortunately, beauty is never far away if my eyes are open.  Art, flowers, sunsets, poetry, music, my children's faces...  It feeds my soul.  It makes me alive and vibrant and whole.

5.  Worship.  Worship transforms.  Worship makes clean and new.  Worship orders my perspective.  And worship connects me to the source of all power, a strength far beyond my own. 

6.  Solitude.  I love people.  But I MUST have time to myself.  I grab bits of it where I can; on runs, in the garden, in the car.  But, occasionally, I treat myself to two or three days away.  By myself.  It is gift.  It untangles the knots I tend to tie myself in.  And I remember who I am.  And who I am not.

7.  Sleep.  I saved the hardest for last.  I have never been a good sleeper.  As a little girl, I got up on Saturday mornings and watched the lines on the television til cartoons came on.  In kindergarten, Joey Williams and I got in trouble every day during nap time because we couldn't sleep and so got into mischief.  I still struggle to make it all the way through the night asleep.  But I have become more deliberate about the parts I can control: being in bed on time, no caffeine past mid-day, a regular bedtime routine, etc...  I do not like me when I am not sleeping.

How about you?  How do you "refill your tank"?   What is it that restores and revives you? 

Permission to Speak Freely...

"People need stories more than bread.  They teach us how to live...and why." 
~Arabian Nights

When I was a little girl, we had a glass percolator.  My mom would pour water in the bottom, scoop coffee into the basket, and set the pot onto the stove.  I watched, mesmerized, as the water bubbled and boiled and danced in and out of the coffee grounds.  Slowly it became dark and fragrant and strengthening...because of the dancing. 

Good stories are very like that.  They deposit themselves within us.  Then our hopes and fears, our experiences and our thoughts, begin to bubble and dance through them.  And this percolating, this rumination, produces something rich and robust and important.

Anne Jackson is one of the finest storytellers I know.  And one of the bravest.  In her new book, Permission to Speak Freely, she tells her story...raw, honest, difficult, beautiful...a story that percolates and dances, that shines light into dark corners, that emboldens and encourages.  And she creates a safe place...a space of grace...for us to tell our own.  She gives us the "gift of going second"...of knowing we are not alone.

"There is redemption and freedom that occurs when darkness is forced into the light, sometimes disguised as awkwardly spoken words.  Somebody is waiting on you to tell your story.  To share how you're being rescued.  To share how scary it is but how beautiful it is.  So take a step.  Confess the beautiful and the broken.  It happens one word at a time."  ~AJ

This gorgeous book, subtitled "Essays and Art on Fear, Confession and Grace", also contains poetry and photographs, as well as confessions and art submitted by people from all over the world.  I bought the book on audio because I hear so much of Anne's heart in her voice.  But I had to have the hard copy as well because it is SO lovely. 

You can sample seven chapters beginning HERE.  Read about the question Anne asked on her blog that helped inspire the book. You will also continue to find additional confessions and art on the Permission to Speak Freely website.

This is one of the most significant books I have read in a long time.  It is powerful and important.  The stories will captivate you, inspire and provoke you.  They will open places that have been long closed...neglected...forgotten...and create a space for healing. 

Someone needs to hear YOUR story....... 

Poet, Singer, Saint....

It is my great good fortune to live in community with women.  Women older than me, and women younger than me.  Women with a wisdom gathered over years, and women who challenge me with youthful audacity and vigor.  Each one exposes bits of truth I cannot attain on my own. 

Almost a year ago, I added to this circle of women a soul whose earthly life ended over a millennium ago.  I have been slowly learning what it means to carry on a conversation...to  live in communion...with one who does not sit across a table from me or hold my hand.  Yet she is a presence in my life as real as breathing. 

 The daughter of a nobleman, Kassiani grew up in the palace at Constantinople in the early ninth century.  She was classically educated, and was reputed to be exceptional in both beauty and intelligence.  Always a person of deep conviction, as a teenager she was drawn into the controversy over the role of icons in worship.  She was beaten for assisting iconodules and exiled monks.  She would continue to speak out in support of icons until their position was restored near the end of her life. 

The Dowager Empress chose Kassiani to be one of the young ladies presented to Theophilus in the "bride show".  Captivated by her beauty, he stopped before her with the golden apple in his hand.  In possibly the worst opening line in history, he said to her, "Through a woman came the baser things of this world." (referring to Eve)  Kassiani calmly replied, "And through a woman came the better things of this world." (referring, of course, to the Incarnation through the Virgin Mary).  His pride wounded, Theophilus chose the more demure Theodora to be his bride.

It has been suggested that Theophilus later regretted his decision, never able to fully put Kassiani out of his mind.  She went on to give herself completely to the work of God, founding a monastery and composing volumes of poems and hymns.  Near the end of his life, Theophilus visited her monastery, wishing to see her one last time before his death.  She was in the midst of composing what would become her most famous hymn.  When she heard him coming, she hid herself.  Many suggest this was because she too had wrestled with feelings for the Emperor over the years.  He read the poem that lay on the table, adding a line of his own.  As he left, he spotted Kassiani in her closet but honored her wishes and did not speak.  She kept his addition and finished the poem.

A woman who had fallen into many sins
    perceiving Thy Divinity, O Lord,
    fulfilled the part of a myrrh-bearer,

And with lamentations 
    poured that sweet smelling oil of woe
    on Thee before Thy burial; 

Woe is me! she said.
For night surrounds me,
    dark and moonless
    and stings my lustful passions
    with a love of sin.

Accept the fountain of my tears,
    O Thou who drawest down from the clouds,
    the waters of the seas

Incline to the groanings of my heart,
    O Thou who in Thine ineffable self-emptying
    hast bowed down the heavens.

I shall kiss Thy most pure feet
    and wipe them with the hairs of my head;

Those feet whose sound Eve heard at dusk in Paradise
    and hid herself for fear.

Who can search out the multitude of my sins,
    and the abyss of Thy judgments,
    O Saviour of my soul?

Despise me not, Thine handmaiden,
    for Thou hast mercy without measure.

This Troparion tells of the fallen woman.  We sing it on Tuesday night of Holy Week.  And it is this hymn that knit my heart to hers, and made me to know that she would be a significant voice in my life.  Each week as I receive communion, it is her name I give to the priest.  I ask her to intercede on my behalf in the same way that I ask friends to pray for me.  And I pray that God will give me the same life-giving words He gave her.

Today, September 7th, the Church comemmorates St. Kassiani:  a woman of courage, faith, poetry and song.  May her memory be eternal!! 

Divine Discontent...

Poverty is not unknown to me.  I grew up in Appalachia, an area of astonishing beauty, but also an area where poverty is a neighbor, if not a family member.  We were better off than many, but I remember the "shame" of handing over my reduced price lunch ticket in elementary school.  I knew people who did not have indoor plumbing.  I can still recall the sour, woody smell of an outdoor toilet.

My parents are the most industrious people I know, and by the time I was in high school, we had attained a comfortable standard of living.  We had all we needed, and many of the things we wanted.

I carried many thrifty habits into my marriage.  Though God has generously rewarded our labors, I still buy most of my clothes at Goodwill or consignment stores.  I clip coupons and shop sales.  We have had the privelege over the years to give money to many organizations and individuals who are doing important work in the Kingdom and among the needy.  I would have told you that I was keenly aware of the plight of the poor.  But now, I'm not so sure.

In preparation for our women's retreat, I have been reading The Hole in Our Gospel by Rich Stearns and St. Basil On Social Justice  They have rocked my world and messed with my paradigms.  They have confounded, rattled and provoked.  One of the ways they have done this is by exposing unfamiliar truths inside very familiar stories.

Jesus tells the story of a "certain rich man" and the beggar, Lazarus, who laid by his gate.  (Luke 16)  When the two die, the rich man finds himself in Hell.  Stearns points out that we are never told that the rich man abused Lazarus or harmed him.  He simply did not see him.  His was not a sin of commission, but of omission.

If I refuse to see the poor and the hurting, I am no better than he.

A young man asks Jesus what he must do to be saved. (Matthew 19). 
          "Keep the commandments." 
                     "I have kept all these; what do I still lack?" 
          "Go, sell your possessions and give to the poor." 
The young man went away grieved because he had many possessions.  Basil challenges us to see that Christ was not asking something more of the young man.  Rather, he was exposing the truth that his riches testified that he had not "loved his neighbor as himself."

As long as I have more than the poor, I do not love my neighbor as myself.

What does this mean for me?  I'm not sure yet.  But business as usual is no longer an option.  I welcome your thoughts.

*I am indebted to Bill Hybels for the phrase "Divine Discontent"  He used at the 2005 Leadership Summit to describe a discomfort given us by God that propels us to action.