On Miracles

Mar 14, 2016 | Hope & Encouragement, Sacred Stories, Spirituality

I made a video a few days back in which I talked of Tabitha. Little known. Rarely told. Hugely significant. (This could be my tagline!)

If you didn’t watch the video, here’s the quick recap:

Tabitha dies. Her friends aren’t OK with that and so they send for Peter to come and bring her back to life – which he does. He says, “Tabitha. Get up.” She opens her eyes, takes his hand, and is presented back to her community – the women who love her.

Truth be told, there’s a part of me (and probably you, as well) that struggles with this story because, well, she was resurrected! That seems too good to be true: some made-up story to make the “miracle-worker” himself look better, an ancient version of the snake-oil salesman. But what if we reserved such judgment and instead, allowed the story in its entirety? Even more, what if we could/would allow her story to be ours?!?

What if we allowed miracles into our consciousness, our everyday reality, our lives? Even more, what if we actually
believed that we are one?

That just might change everything. (Kinda like a miracle…)

We’ve been conditioned to think of a miracle as something that is completely outside the realm of possibility. The parting of the Red Sea. Walking on water. The blind and lame healed. And yes, the dead raised to life. But…

What about the miracle that despite our grief and agony and depression and profound sadness, we still hope?

What about the miracle that despite marriages that bind and bruise, we continue to live…and sometimes leave?

What about the miracle of birth in its EVERY form?

What about the miracle of friendship?

What about the miracle that flowers die and the sun goes down and yet both will rise again and again and again?

What about the miracle of opening our eyes to one more day, to taking someone’s hand,
to rising? (Just like Tabitha.)

That is phenomenal and anything but ordinary. That is extra-ordinary. That is who we are. Miracles – each and every one of us. Including you.

So the question remaining is simple:

If you will but allow that miracles do occur, more, that you actually are one, how then will you live?

Where have you hesitated, held back, and played it safe? Where have you not risked, feared misunderstanding, and stayed quiet? What have you not yet written, said, or done? What emotion, passion, idea, brilliance, heart have you not yet let out of the bag? What dance is yet within your bones and song within your lungs? All of these are yours to do, oh miraculous one.

And believe me, I’m right there with you (along with Tabitha, of course).

May it be so.

Remember who you are (x3)

Feb 28, 2016 | Hope & Encouragement, Sacred Stories, Sovereignty

We are desperate to see ourselves in powerful and empowering ways. It’s no wonder: we have too-often and for too long been deprived of stories that remind us who we truly are. We are ravenously hungry for those stories, for the stories of women in our lineage, our line.

Take heart! Though we live in a world that has based its predominant understanding of women on the (poorly told) story of Eve, there is another one, almost the very last story of a woman in the same text that Eve begins, who once heard, makes all the difference, who does remind us of who we truly are – over and over and over again.

I made a video about her, the Woman of Revelation 12, a week or so ago and have spent time these past two weeks writing more and more. Including this:

Remember who you are. Remember who you are. Remember who you are, she says.

Anything, anyone, all that has made you feel less than, even remotely disconnected from the truth that you reflect entire  galaxies, that you are a veritable constellation of beauty and strength, has not really seen you and somehow, in such,
you have forgotten. This breaks my heart.

Remember who you are. Put on your gown of sunlight. Step into your silver-as-the-moon stilettos. Place your crown that’s laden with glistening stars upon your head. And glow, glide, blaze through your world. Shine light in the darkest of places. Bring warmth to the coldest of nights. Sparkle brightly in the dingiest and dirtiest of places. And in your own darkness, cold, and less-than-desirable places? Turn within, turn within, turn within. Remember who you are. Remember who you are.
Remember who you are.

This is all you need to know, all you need to recall, all that ever matters.

If you will remember who you truly are, all the unnecessary and less-than-worthy things that have taken up space and energy and time in your life will fall away. If you will walk through your world today and all days embraced by the celestial light that is yours, you will not falter.

If you will remember me, the Woman of Revelation 12, you will, without question, be able to step into who you are, take your throne, and don your royal robes. And then, oh, then…you will be able to be you, be you, be you. The you you’ve always been – though sometimes disguised and distracted. The you you’ve forgotten. The you the world has been waiting for. The you you have been waiting for. The you I have always remembered and will never forget.

Remember who you are. Remember who you are. Remember who you are.

Rise up. Shine. Beam. And then some.

*******
Have I repeated it too much? Can I possibly express it enough? It’s all I want to say. Even more true, it’s all I want to hear. It’s what I need to hear. It’s who I want to be. More than anything. And it’s what I want for you…more than anything.

Remember who are. Remember who you are. Remember who you are.

Letting Go and Holding On

Jan 4, 2016 | Hope & Encouragement, My sort-of Sermons, Women's Wisdom

Living through years of infertility taught me an invaluable lesson. And truth-be-told, I continue to learn it just as, if not more profoundly as a parent:

Much that happens (or doesn’t) is not in my control.

The strength of my desire does not alter this reality one iota. The endless spinning in my brain to understand the “why” does not change what’s true. My dissociation and/or denial does not mitigate surrender’s incessant demand. But still I fuss and fight! I desire more. I visualize and dream and plot and plan. I think harder. I analyze everything. I labor and strain.

Nothing moves. Nothing changes. At least not in the way I want.

I am required to loosen my grip, to let go.

 

Not of my dreams or desire and never of hope, but of the outcome, the timing, the particulars, my certainty, my dogmatism, my stubborn belief that I am in control.

This is the challenge, yes? To do good work without guarantee of impact (or income). To write without demand of publication (or perfection). To be creative without fear of critique. To love without requirement of its return. To dream and dream and dream without promise of its waking-fulfillment. Yes, this is the challenge…and… it’s also our deepest calling.

We must let go and hold on at the same time. It is the tension between the two that is the nature of our journey, that does – endlessly and always – compel our growth and transformation, that is the incontrovertible evidence of the sacred in our midst.

How else are we to understand our capacity to hope in the midst of despair, to find light in darkness, to get out of bed despite overwhelming grief, to see beauty and hear music and feel wind and drink coffee and eat chocolate and ever, ever laugh? How else are we to explain the fact that we have survived, that our hearts have continued to beat, that still we continue to dream and desire and yes, love?

In admitting that there is much over which we have no control, we do let go. And in letting go we realize that there is much worth holding on to, even more, that we are worth holding onto.

It is in letting go that we are able to hold on to ourselves. And that, amazingly enough, we can control!

May it be so.

A woman’s heart = experiencing God

Dec 9, 2015 | Hope & Encouragement, Spirituality, Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom

From the beginning of time we have been asking questions about the Divine. The form, complexity, and context of the questions have changed as centuries have passed – influenced by our understanding (or lack thereof) of so many things: cosmology, philosophy, psychology, sociology, biology – but at the end of the day, year, generation, epoch, our inquiry remains essentially the same: Is there a God? And if so, how are we to understand
this God?

I hardly mean to make light of humanity’s quest – or even that of an individual – but what I know-that-I-know-that-I-know is that all it takes to solve any and all existential angst is to hang out with a woman.

I have the privilege of doing a lot of this – which, when I think of it, leaves me profoundly qualified to speak of God. (Bonus!!)

As I write this post, I am sitting in the airport awaiting my flight home after enjoying 5 days with one of the wisest, most beautiful, kind, and compassionate women on the planet. To call her friend takes my breath away. I stayed in her home, spent time with her family, ate her food, slept on her fold-out couch, kept her up way too late, and enjoyed a number of bottles of wine, spirits, and of course, champagne. It was fun, restful, encouraging, inspired, heart-overf;owing, grace-filled and above and beyond all else, just pure-and-endless love. It was, quite simply, divine. I did, quite clearly, experience the Divine.

So, want your own proof for the existence of God? Want to know how you are to understand this God? Yep. Hang out with a woman! The Divine will be revealed in and through her embrace, through the experience of being seen and heard and known by her, through the gift of time and conversation and hospitality and rest and most of all, her pure-and-endless-love.

And here’s even more definitive proof: When you show up and hang out with a woman, she becomes certain of God’s existence, as well – because of you. (Bonus!!!)

You can push me on this anyway to Sunday, as you please, but every bit of my experience, education, and expertise only validates what I know to be true:

It is only through our experience of love that we are certain of God’s existence. And love is experienced through a woman’s heart.

I know this is shocking, but it’s really that simple, that clear, that easy, that delightful.

Test this for yourself. Hang out with a woman. Pay attention to everything that is most true about your time together and apply these characteristics to the Divine. They won’t be wrong, I promise. Then take this one step further. Look in the mirror and revel in the fact that you reflect exactly the same!

All existential questions answered. All denominational strife solved. All religious wars settled. Every doubt soothed. Every hope realized. Every faith made real. God incarnate. In our midst. Relevant. Present. And right here. (Sounds a little reminiscent of the Christmas story, yes?) Yes.

‘Looking to experience God? Hang out with a woman. Yourself included. (Bonus!!)

When Darkness Threatens

Nov 16, 2015 | Hope & Encouragement, Spirituality

But a grave separateness has invaded the world… ~ Naomi Shihab Nye

It is said that in the beginning, darkness hovered over the face of the earth. God separated the dark from the light, the night from the day, created the moon and the sun, and decreed that all of this was good.

Oh, how we fight the separateness, the disconnectedness, the darkness, the aching spaciousness and silence that often seem to reign. We are loathe to call such “good.” Still, there is something about the darkness that connects us most profoundly to ourselves and to each other. And this is good. Not as reason or justification for the grief, the violence, the harm, the graves; but as evidence of light’s endless, undaunted, and determined presence, despite it all.

Clarissa Pinkola Estes tells an old, old story of when Mother Moon was stolen. At its end, these words:

On nights there was no light to guide, and so many people became lost, and so many children became orphaned, and so many people suffered, the villagers decided they must go and find what had become of the moon. Armed with torches and clubs, they trekked through the night into the bog, sinking down into the wet and slimy grass all the way up to their knees, and cold and wet they continued on. The evil things were about and surrounded them, scratching and clawing at them, but the flames from their torches kept them safe.

And they came to a great boulder, and they said they did not think this boulder was in this place before. There was a little lip of light all the way around it that shown whiter than white. With great excitement they lifted and they hauled and they tugged until the boulder rolled away. And then staring down into what seemed like the most beautiful face they had ever seen, they saw eyes filled with the love of humanity.

This is what we seek, and this is what we find when darkness threatens to overwhelm: “…eyes filled with the love of humanity.”

Ours. Other’s. Always.

May it be so.

*******

(This post acknowledges and grieves darkness’ aftermath in Beirut, Baghdad, Kenya, Syria, and Paris. In endless hope that light will dawn…)

Chasing Rainbows

Jul 6, 2015 | Hope & Encouragement, Sacred Stories

The night I saw THE rainbow was the culmination of another out-of-town weekend. I was in my 20’s (a very long time ago) and driving home after having played too hard; wishing for any story but my own.  Discouraged and exhausted, I headed into the most desolate part of the trip. Endless miles with ample opportunity to feel sorry for myself, to become lost in familiar regret.

When I looked up, farther than the worn and mind-numbing highway dividing lines, I saw it: a breathtaking bow across the sky. It had to be a gift, a sign, some kind of divine apparition that meant I was not alone, that things were destined to change, that my hope had been worthwhile.

I wanted a picture to preserve this memory, this memento, this marker. I rustled through my purse, leaned over to check the glove-box, and then remembered I’d packed the camera in my trunk. I decided to watch for as long as I possibly could, drive underneath and through this arc that stretched from one side of the road to the other, and then stop the car.

I let the heat of the late-evening stream into the car – windows down and sunroof open. For the moment it lasted, I imagined myself enveloped in all that color, light, magic, and promise. Then, as planned, I pulled over, retrieved the camera, and lifted my head to frame the shot.

The sky was blank. Everything was gone. Nothing was there!

It is hard to understand how something so seemingly real and substantial can sometimes be nothing more than an illusion.

On the other side, from that angle, looking back with perspective, the rainbow I’d been
chasing no longer existed. What had I been thinking?

The metaphor isn’t lost on me.

*******

Back at the height of my piano-playing days, I perfected a piece called Fantasie Impromptu by Chopin. In the middle of a start and finish that were fast, complicated, and complex was a beautiful, calming, almost haunting melody. Years later, that tune was extracted out of the larger composition and made popular. It’s name? I’m Always Chasing Rainbows. Of course.

I looked up the lyrics:

Why have I always been a failure? What
can the reason be?
I wonder if the world is toblame.
I wonder if it could be me.

I’m always chasing rainbows,
Watching clouds drifting by.
My schemes are just like all my dreams,
Ending in the sky.

Some fellas look and find the sunshine.
I always look and find the rain.
Some fellas make a winning some time.
I never even make a gain.

Believe me,
I’m always chasing rainbows,
Waiting to find a little bluebird,
in vain.

The connection between this story and the one above is not lost on me.

*******

Still – and always – I am an optimist through and through. Hope does not leave me. It is relentless. And this gets me into trouble, spells certain disaster, and has broken my heart more times than I can count.

What is the alternative?

I don’t look at either of these stories with a lens of harsh scrutiny – beating myself up for my naiveté in the first or acceding to the inherent pessimism in the second. Instead, I see my patterns – with clarity and courage. Sometimes I can laugh. Often I am called to grieve. And I am certain that I’ll know far more of both – with a better (and wiser) perspective, with ever-increasing strength, and maybe with a camera closer at-hand.

*******

I grew up learning to associate the rainbow with God’s promise to Noah that the earth would never again be destroyed. That telling skipped over one incredibly important part of the promise-fulfilled that I now have the perspective to see and offer, one that is anything but illusion: Noah’s Wife.

Whether read as literal tale or mythic archetype, her symbolism and truth are rife. She suffers through incredible tragedy and impossible-to-fathom loss. And it is on the other side of the rainbow that her flesh and blood births new life; that her legacy enables the future to exist at all. She is hope enfleshed.

As her, so too, you and me. She calls us – her daughters, her lineage, her kin – to see ourselves as the rainbow’s promise fulfilled – life sustained, legacy continued. She calls us – her daughters, her lineage, her kin – to be the visible reminder and sign that destruction never wins, that hope always endures, that beauty and life always triumph. No illusion. Promise, indeed.

“What is the alternative?” Noah’s Wife asks.

Indeed.

*******

I have lots of stories in which I’ve chased rainbows; times in which I thought I was heading toward something miraculous and amazing that turned out to be something far less, even nonexistent. Still, from this side, with perspective, I don’t believe I would change a one of them. For in spite of them all, it is hope and hope and hope that has healed my heart. It is the surviving the storm, the flood, the tragedy, the loss that has brought me blessing untold. It is the chasing of the rainbow that has made life as beautiful as it is.