Category Archives: Soul Care

What’s love got to do with it?

11 Sunday Jul 2010

Posted by in Home Restoration, Life at Home, Prayer, Soul Care, Writing

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Is it my fault that I’m better at starting projects than finishing them?

The more I live, the more I realize that fault has nothing to do with it.   The simple truth is that I’m okay with unfinished business.   Tying up loose ends, for me, is analogous to eating canned spinach, something I might do, only because it’s good for me.

I’m not one who needs closure.  If I’m not enjoying a television show, I’ll just walk out of the room.  Sometimes, for the rest of its television shelf life.  But  while I don’t need closure, that’s not the kind of world I live in, either here at home — with a husband who happens to love decisions and lining up ducks in a row —  or in this great big beautiful world, where we pursue high school diplomas, college degrees and all sorts of certifications.

If my husband were here, looking over my shoulder as I write, he would be nodding his head in agreement.  My husband loves to have a plan to execute, while plans for me, are nothing more than one possibility.  Life was once tense until we figured out we each  regarded “plans” differently.  Now when I causally mention a movie I might like to see “this afternoon,” he knows I’m only dreaming out loud, that I’m not really making definite plans to go buy tickets and sit in a theater.

Pity my poor husband who believes in the holiness of made beds every morning and a well-ordered kitchen.  Though I finally bought in to his way of thinking on the bed, my kitchen is never orderly when I’m in the business of entertaining with food.  My wonderful husband has cleaned up my kitchen messes since the beginning days of our marriage, where it seems my goal is to dirty every bowl and pot in the kitchen.  Almost twenty-five years into our marriage, we each, by now, know our roles and lines:

I apologize for the mess and say, ‘Thanks, Honey,” as sweetly as I can.

He in return smiles, shrugs and says with matter-of-fact acceptance, “That’s my job.”

It’s good to know and accept our lot in life.  And perhaps it begins by knowing and accepting ourselves (and each other) for who we are…. and for who we are not.  It begins with knowing ourselves, followed slowly by self-acceptance, followed by a steady diet of prayer, mostly of the canned serenity variety:  God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference.

This thread of thoughts is helping me sew up one large loose end that has been hanging and dangling in the wind since Daddy died.  When Daddy decided it was time to tie up loose ends here, I was in the midst of writing a research paper, a  final requirement to complete  my spiritual direction coursework.  But after-wards, words and thoughts wouldn’t come, no matter how much I wanted them to.  The writing part of me  just shut down for a while, that’s all.

But tying up loose ends is very much in my business plans right now.  Both at my sister’s place as well as completing that final bit of writing for class.    Words are finally coming and I’m so happy I could weep.   I go to bed thinking about the project and wake up with new ideas.  Then I write.  Steadily.  I’ve almost got a first draft.

I’m writing on a subject that has attracted me for more years than I can count,  with an eye toward how self-knowledge (specifically, knowing our spiritual type) ties into spiritual direction.  The coupling of spiritual direction and self-knowledge is as old as the hills, of course.  It’s scattered upon most every page of the Bible, from Eve to Noah to Moses to Jonah to Peter to Paul  to Doubting Tom.  Dick and Harry too, I imagine, though their stories never made it to print.

Spiritual direction and self-knowledge are natural  companions, in any encounter between God and humans.  Even beyond the pages of the Bible, we find in  the fourth century B.C. writings of Plato that everyday Greek saying, “Know Thyself”, said to be one of three inscriptions carved into the walls of the Temple of Apollo at Delphi.  The apparent wisdom lying beneath this Greek proverb was this:  seekers had to first know themselves before they could properly apply guidance received from Apollo’s mouthpiece, the priestess called the Pythia.

Then and now, self-knowledge is good soul food and a good meeting place to encounter God.  Tying up loose ends has evolved into a spiritual practice for me, for there is always something of God in it when I’m picking up a loose end.  God knows that loose end will be tied strictly out of love for others:  My husband;  My children:  My sister.

And speaking of my sisters… in that photo at the top, showing my sister’s newly renovated kitchen, where Sis is busy preparing for her first dinner party and I’m busy snapping photos…. well… about those lovely kitchen cabinets.  Would you believe me if I told you that they’re not quite done.  They need another coat of paint.

But just between us — aren’t they pretty anyways?

Passalong Thinnings

28 Monday Jun 2010

Posted by in In the Garden, Life at Home, Prayer, Soul Care

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Guests wander out to my cottage garden, even in the horrible heat of summer.

The garden is showy right now, even though it claims such little space.  Hollyhocks grow next to tomatoes.  Lambs Ear competes with Black-Eyed Susans, to see who can claim more space.  Both are prolific and haven’t learned to make do with what this gardener has granted them.

It’s human nature too, to want more space than we really need.  My sister’s newly renovated home is a perfect size — 1104 square feet to be precise — where mine is around 2600.  I’m of the mind these days to downsize my house and up-size my garden space.

Two of my three bedrooms are rarely used.  Bryan borrowed “his” for about a month after graduation and I expect, upon his return from southeast Asia, Kyle will once again use his.  But these borrowings will be nothing more than brief interludes.  Soon, Kyle will claim his own space and my husband and I will become true empty-nesters.

Today my husband turns 55 with me following suit in October.  When I look at my husband, I don’t really see a man growing old;  instead, I see my husband, no worse for the wear and tear of 55 years of living and the raising of four children.  I hope he can say the same about me.

But my children already see me different; yesterday, during Bryan and Amy’s move, I was protected from most heavy lifting.  I guess my children regard me as fragile.  Is it because I don’t hear as well as I once did?  I confess to knees that creak as I walk down the stairs, and getting stiff when I sit too long on my sister’s floor, painting walls near baseboards.

During one of those hard-to-rise episodes of painting low to the floor, my sister shared a story of a local Shawnee woman, aged 80, who still gets on her riding lawnmower to mow her own lawn.  God willing, I pray to be like this ‘old woman” too.  I don’t want to stop living as long as I have breath in my body.  I want to be active.  I want to contribute to others welfare, to make life better for those whose paths I cross, even if it means just leaving an extra nice tip when dining out.

Soon, I will thin out my garden.  I’ll divide perennials, remove greedy hogs like that Joe Pye Weed — whatever was I thinking, to add a plant in my postage stamp garden, that is brazen enough to calls itself “WEED?”– and dig up some of those naughty Cleome that have seeded themselves throughout the garden.  I’ll pass along my thinnings to someone else to the benefit of both of our gardens.

And maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to do the same with myself.  Maybe I can continue to pass along the best parts of myself,  so that even as I grow old, I won’t be regarded as old and useless but more like a treasured antique — worth holding on to, worth spending time with.

The roses outside are in all stages of life — some newly bloomed, others in their red prime and still others growing pink and papery dry along their edges.  But all are beautiful to my eyes.

Lord knows we can’t control how others regard us.  But we can control how we regard ourselves.  And somehow, in a hard-to-explain way, these views are inextricably linked — one feeds off another.  The state of my physical health is in part what I see and feel about myself, but is it not also, how others view and see me?  God knows I would not have rushed off to Urgent Care about my Brown Recluse Spider bite had it not been for others telling me to go…

I need to live planted in the firm of both perspectives —  mine and others who care for me —  for somewhere in the middle, truth exists.  Somewhere in the middle of that love, God exists.  And there, grounded in truth and humility, I can continue to thrive to passalong thinnings of my best self.

Love Waits

27 Sunday Jun 2010

Posted by in Far Away Places, Life at Home, Prayer, Soul Care

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Somewhere in the churchyard of St. Paul’s cathedral, my husband sits in Sunday afternoon, waiting for his London hotel room to be prepared.

Further east, my youngest son Kyle lives in Sunday evening, waiting to go to bed to prepare for his fourth week of teaching in southeast Asia.  I was able to hear a bit about his new life, during a 20 minute phone call last night — though I must confess that hearing the sound of his voice was just as good as hearing the news he shared.

Meanwhile, here I sat at home, a West living in the West, who waits in Sunday morning.  For what do I wait?

I wait for Max to get well.  Our standard poodle Max has been suffering a stomach upset from a bug picked up at doggie daycare this week, where the dogs went to play while our house was receiving a new roof.  One of his canine sisters brought home the bug and now each has suffered the same ailments, with Max having last rites.

I wait for today’s family lunch, where remnants of family will gather around a local pub for lunch and a visit.  It is always good to sit in the midst of people I love best in the world — to see their faces, their smiles; to hear their voices and snippets from their lives.  I will try to enjoy the ones I’m with — rather than mourn the absence of those further afield.

I wait in prayer as Bryan, Amy and Amy’s sister Emily pack and load a moving van full of Bryan and Amy’s furniture.  Soon, all their ‘must-haves’ for everyday life will find their proper place in the “new” vintage apartment that lies just a hop, skip and a jump from here.  I pray for an injury-free transfer, for furniture is so very heavy and bulky.   I pray for safety in driving an unfamiliar moving van.  And sometimes I pray for something that I can’t quite name, though it rests near the lump of my throat.

All of these thoughts about waiting make me realize that much of my life is spent in a state of waiting.  For the most part, mine is not an anxious, stress-filled waiting but rather an attempt to ride through the moment, to see how everyday life will unfold, to see where I will be carried by the river of God.

I’ve learned there is a spirituality of waiting, something picked up from the writings of Henri Nouwen, that I encountered as a first-year student of Heartpaths Spirituality Centre.  Henri introduces his reflections on waiting with words that paint a familiar scene:

“Waiting is not popular.  In fact, most people consider waiting a waste of time.  Perhaps this is because the culture in which we live is basically saying, “Get going!  Do something!  Show you are able to make a difference!  Don’t just sit there and wait!”  For many People, waiting is an awful desert between where they are and where they want to go.  And people do not like such a place.”

Waiting can be difficult.  Sometimes, I want to know how “it” will all end.  And I want to know “it” now.”    The reason is fear, of course, as Henri points out later in his writing, and my wish for certainty rather than “lumps in my throat.”  Where fears are related to wishes, hope is related to trust, Nouwen teaches.

While I endeavor to wait out everyday life in hope rather than fear, I wait in the company of love, which makes up for many sins and shortcomings, at least in my book.   And how wonderful to know that someone, somewhere, is waiting for us.  How wonderful it is to know that we are missed when we become separated by time and space.

Does God miss me, I wonder.  Does God wait for me to return “home?”  I’d like to think ‘yes’  — though here’s hoping that heaven can wait too — at least for a while.