God on a Woman’s Terms

Jul 31, 2017 | Hope & Encouragement, My sort-of Sermons, Sacred Stories, Sovereignty, Spirituality

For most of us, the word “sacred” conjures some thought of God.

Perhaps you associate this with a positive set of adjectives, ideas, beliefs, experiences, and memories.

Perhaps not.

  • Perhaps your experience or understanding of God is one you’ve worked hard to redefine and redeem (on your own terms).
  • Perhaps you’ve walked away from all you were taught and have chosen to not reconstruct anything in its place.
  • Perhaps you’ve never learned of God in any formal way, but have always known that some greater power or force or energy existed; you just knew, no one had to tell you.
  • Perhaps you’ve known God by another name, by many names.

Whichever “perhaps” is yours or combination thereof, we can agree that it’s a complicated word, a complicated concept, and highly diverse.

As I grew up, in the way that I grew up, a diversity of understanding or experience was suspect. There was only one God and only one way in which “He” was to be understood and all others were misguided, at best, dangerous, at worst. We could only hope and pray that any who followed anything (or anyone) other would someday find their way to the truth.

As I grew up, my understanding of God changed. It continues to – for which I am profoundly grateful. The sacred (on my terms) is hardly static, but ever-evolving, ever-shifting, ever-growing, ever-transforming itself…and me.

  • My grown-up understanding of God allows, welcomes, and encourages a diversity of experience, naming, theology, and expression.
  • My grown up understanding of God recognizes that any attempt to define the Divine is mere folly and in and of itself delimits the very God I might try to comprehend.
  • My grown-up understanding of God encourages any form and comprehension of such because it realizes that if God is real, if God exists, if God actually is, then God’s very self is quite capable of managing a myriad of forms, thank you very much, and hardly needs my opinion or dogmatic stance.
  • My grown up understanding of God has let go of a Deity that deals in judgment, retribution, or shame.
  • My grown-up understanding of God realizes increasingly that God cannot be understood at all, only experienced, trusted, believed in, doubted, denied, and sometimes all of the above simultaneously!
  • And my grown-up understanding of God doesn’t have to be anything like yours.

I ran a quick search on Amazon in the “books” category with the word God. 481,502 entries exist – which is just the tip of the iceberg, given that the number is merely reflective of those with “God” in the title. I point this out because what I have articulated above is hardly exhaustive, hardly conclusive, hardly anything at all in the context of the Divine. As it should be.

Defining God is a paradox.

Any God worth believing in far-exceeds definition. So I prefer to remain confused, lost in mystery, ever-asking questions, pushing boundaries, risking sacrilege (which I don’t actually worry about at all), being dangerous (which I am completely fine with), and leaning- leaning-leaning into my desire.

Because the God I want to believe in is the God who believes in me. And when I encounter that God, I have come full circle – back to the myself which, if you’ve been following along, is the sacred.

Believe me: your experience and expression of the sacred on your own terms will be profoundly enhanced and exponentially more expansive when you decide for you what, how, and even who the Divine is – and isn’t.

The decision is yours. The choice is yours. And you can change your mind as you wish. You have permission!

So…do exactly this!

Carve out some time to create a couple of lists. No pressure. Nothing taxing or difficult or even required. Again, just curiosity and grace and kindness. On the first list write out everything that comes to mind when you hear the word God. No editing. No censoring. No holding back. On the second list write out every good quality, characteristic, and/or experience that you most deeply respect, even desire. Again, no holding back. Where do the two lists overlap? (It’s possible that your answer is “nowhere!”) Where do they diverge?

Now, consider a God who looks and feels far more like the second list than the first. If that list described God, what would your belief look like? What would your faith feel like? How would your trust be strengthened and made manifest? What would the sacred now mean? Who would you now be? Mmmmm. Exactly.

May you always remember the Beloved is your divine and sacred self. ~ Earthschool Harmony

My invitation and endless desire on your behalf:

Reclaim the sacred for yourself – on your own terms, in your own ways, through your own lens, on behalf of your own experience. Because you can. Because you must. Because the sacred is you, you know. The real, holy you. And you matter. A lot.

The Scaffolding Around My Heart

Jun 6, 2017 | Hope & Encouragement, Mothers and Daughters, My sort-of Sermons

Today is Abby’s last day of high school.

I just finished packing her last school lunch – ever; my last school lunch – ever. So many mornings over so many years now complete. it’s a big deal. She was always the hard one to pack for, only liking certain things. Were the truth told, she’s probably
thrown more lunches away than eaten them. So much energy expended and angst expressed. Now done. Now over. Now finished.

I remember her labor and delivery. I consciously thought, “This will be the last time I ever do this.” As I nursed her I realized the same. Last Saturday’s prom, today’s school lunch, this Friday’s upcoming graduation: all markers of more ‘lasts’, of endings, of completion.

Yes, a summer awaits before college begins. Yes, more meals to prepare and cleaning to do and cash to hand over and crises to solve. But very little of all this remains when juxtaposed to the years of such. Now nearly over. Just…like…that.

As much as I have complained about all of this (the meals and cleaning and cash and crises), these very tasks, responsibilities, even struggles have created the scaffolding around my days, my life, my heart. And now, like any long-term construction project, I watch the last supports fall away and witness the finished product standing tall, intact, and completely separate from me.

And so, I stand back and take it all in, take all of her in, as she turns and walks away.

In just moments she will get in her car and drive to school. She will park one last time in her reserved slot. She will sit in class and move locations with each bell and wave to her friends in the hall – realizing (and not) that this is it. She will turn in one last paper, sign forms, and say goodbye. And it’s definitely time for all of this. She’s ready. So am I.

Still, I feel undone – this scaffolding now gone. Not unravelling. Not unstable. Not upset. Just aware that the rigor of a world ruled by school lunches and after school agendas and a 9-month calendar and back-to-school shopping and homework and field trip permission slips and immunization records and yearbook photos and choir concerts and sleepovers and late nights and early alarms all falls away, fades away. Just…like…that.

I am still here. In the same chair with the same pen and the same ritual of coffee and writing and the dog on my lap. And she is leaving. Yes, just for this last day of school, but for so much more.

I get up from this page to hug her goodbye, to tell her I love her. She shrugs and looks at me, wondering why I’m making a big deal about any of it.

Because that’s what I do as a mother: hold the awareness of all that is happening to and for you, all that you are – until you can and will and do. I build the scaffolding and then dissemble it, piece-by-piece, year-by-year, lunch-by-lunch, until you no longer need any of it. Because you don’t.

I’m guessing there will be days, months, and years ahead when I will gather that scaffolding around me, in my mind’s eye and deepest heart, that I will recount how every bit of it was privilege and precious gift, that I will realize I now stand intact because you always were – my beautiful and amazing girl. As it should be. As it will be. And so it is. Just…like…that.

Holes. Gaps. Cracks. Miracles. Light.

May 18, 2017 | Hope & Encouragement, My sort-of Sermons, Writing

When you write you have to attempt something greater than you can possibly hope to accomplish. That is the only way you can leave a hole, a gap—some chance for a miracle.
~ Heather Harpham, I Went to the Animal Fair

Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.
~ Leonard Cohen

Holes. Gaps. Cracks. Miracles. Light.

These are true words about writing.

We start with the holes: holes in our thoughts, our experiences, our emotions, our theories, our theologies, our relationships, even our sentence structure.

We feel the gaps: between what we ache to say and the words we can (or cannot) get onto the page, between what we feel and what we think, between what we long to articulate and our fear of who will (or will not) read, between edit and “publish,” between what is for our-eyes-only and what we so want to have seen.

We know the cracks: the hairline breaks in the sidewalk we hop over instead of land on squarely (safe topics vs. powerful ones); the crevasses into which we fall when no words come; the faultline between writing for readers’ sake and writing for writing’s sake.

But we also experience the miracles: the words that form, the prose that flows, the poetry that seems to create itself; the truth-truth-truth on the lines and in-between them; the recognition and honoring of a wisdom that is ours, all ours.

And the light. Oh, the light. Words that blaze brilliantly into our own holes, our own gaps, our own cracks – and fill them. Words that miraculously shine like a beacon into our own darkness. Words that somehow, painstakingly, mysteriously crafted are actually and amazingly cogent, beautiful, powerful, even breathtaking. Words that lay all our cards on the table, eliminate shadows, reveal our heart, and offer radiant glimpses of our purest, strongest, truest self.

The truth about writing? It’s one of the hardest and bravest and most vulnerable things we can ever do.

There is nothing more sacred, more spiritual, more holy than having a safe place in which to write/speak your voice, your mind, your heart.

So begin, persist, return, lather, rinse, repeat. Please?

Why do you write?

May 16, 2017 | Hope & Encouragement, My sort-of Sermons, Women's Voice & Power, Writing

“Why do you write?” was a question recently asked of me. 

Here’s my answer:

I write because it is the space in which I feel most creative, most challenged, and most
compelling. Here on the page – whether literally with paper and pen or document open and cursor ashing – everything that swirls within me finds a place to land.

I write because at least for these minutes and sometimes hours, I feel calm and sane.

I write because I have something to say, lots to say. My thoughts are my own, but I long for them to take shape and form that will make their way into the world on others’ behalf, on behalf of the women’s stories I tell and love, and yes, on behalf of me.

I write because the craft of choosing particular, perfect words and then deleting them in favor of others thrills me. To realize that paragraph five is really paragraph two, that the sentence with which I started is actually my ending, that seemingly disparate threads can weave themselves together under my care, time, and attention; this is delight beyond
compare.

I write because sometimes magic descends, ascends, enters in and I become a channel, a vessel, a conduit of something other, something more. It’s of me, to be sure, and not. It’s a voice that mirrors mine, but knows and says things in ways that bypass my ever-processing mind and sometimes even my inner critic.

I write because it feels like, no, is, the place in which I feel capable and strong, wise and certain, creative and alive. All heart. Less head. All together. Less disparate. All me. Less less.

I write to name, to not ignore that which is true. I need this: my ego’s skill at disguising my every proclivity and pathology as normal and logical, convinces me it is unnecessary to do anything of the kind. When my words – my words – show up on paper, or pristine screen, I see my soul; it is grateful to finally be seen and heard, acknowledged and loved.

I write because it is a space that is bigger than me. No one asks me for money. No rides are needed. No lunches must be packed or dinners cooked. No demands are made. And all I hear is “yes.” I am allowed – all of me. My tears, my rage, my fantasies, my frustrations, my desires, my doubts, my big and brilliant thoughts, my expansive heart, my heartbreak, my strong love. There is no one I have to convince or cajole, no one for whom I have to dumb myself down, no one who can’t handle me. It is rare: this space, this respite that restores.

I write because somehow, no matter how much pours forth, there is always more. It offers me the miraculous glimpse of what the best relationship could potentially be: complete honesty, no hiding, and days, weeks, months, years, centuries needed to ever exhaust every word/thought/idea/feeling that is there to be expressed, invited, and loved out of me.

I write because it is the felt and known-with-certainty place in which I discover the discrepancies between who I truly am and who I sometimes become; between the me who stays strong, soars high, dances seductively, loves passionately, speaks boldly and the me who does not a whit of this. Writing brings me back to myself – over and over again. It stands tall, bows low and winks mischievously, then opens its arms, draws me in, holds me tight, promises me everything and means it. I am home.

Mmmm. That’s at least a start to my answer.

And you? Why do you write? 

Sacred Conversation with Your Heart – #6

Apr 29, 2017 | My sort-of Sermons, Sacred Stories, Spirituality, Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom, Writing

Today concludes this 6-part series on (Sacred) Conversation with your Heart. I am hopeful, though, that it is just the beginning of so much more of the same!!! 

If you’re just tuning in today, I’d encourage you to read the first 5 posts: Introductions, Tentative Listening, Hearing Deeper Truths, Speaking Deeper Truths, and Loving the Dialogue. 

And now, today, the big finish: 

PART SIX – HEART CONVERSATION AS SACRED CONVERSATION 

For me, this intimate and honest dialogue with my heart is synonymous with the Sacred. There is nothing disparate between the two. They are one-in-the-same. That know-that-I know-that-I-know voice within is the voice of the Divine. 

I’m hearing the Divine speak to me. Not in a burning-bush sort-of way, or miraculous thunder-clap or shout from on high. Rather, a constant, generous, and trustworthy source of wisdom, love, and life. And this knowing, this awareness, this experience IS what enables me to speak (and live) out loud.

Sadly, our religious traditions have been filled with both language and praxis that too-often have kept us silent. We can go back to the earliest tellings of the earliest stories and see how this silencing has been perpetuated, how it has become part-and-parcel with our deepest and most intrinsic belief about ourselves – particularly as women. Beginning with Eve, we’ve been told that her curiosity, her voice, her conversation with and trusting of her own heart is what led to the downfall of all creation. I COMPLETELY disagree. (Watch my TEDx Talk to hear more of my VERY strong opinions about this.) 

Keeping our hearts (and very selves) silent is painful. It twists us into ways of being that are unnatural, unhealthy, and ultimately, not even remotely reflective of the Divine that dwells within. 

When we raise our voices, speak our hearts, and shout our truths, the S/sacred is seen and experienced. 

This matters! Your voice matters. Your truth matters. Your conversations with your heart matter! Potentially more than anything else. For this IS the sacred – made manifest in and through you. Beautiful. Powerful. True. Yes. 

And so it is. 

REFLECT 

Jan Richardson, one of my all time favorite writers has a poem called Having Taken the Fruit. Here are the last two verses: 

It took a long time to gure out / that my stiing silence / was not a path / back to a paradise / where I could never live. 

I finally learned to listen / to the hissing in my breath / that told me the roots / of my own soul / held the healing that I sought / and that each stilted syllable / I let loose / was another leaf / on the tree of life. 

  • Have you ever considered your inner dialogue, your conversation with your heart, as conversation with the Divine? As Sacred conversation? What does that prompt for you? 
  • Where have you known aspects of silence/being silenced in the context of religion or faith? How has your heart shut down when that’s occurred? 
  • What if the loosening of your tongue, of your throat, of your voice is the redemption of Eve’s story in the here-and-now? Can you see how it IS the redemption of YOUR story here and now?
  • The voice of your heart is the Sacred in and of itself. Will you believe this? What might change if you did, if you could? 

I am hopeful these six posts have been helpful, encouraging, and have offered specic ways in which you can step even more deeply into conversation with your heart. Did I mention that it really matters? 

Know that the process and practice of having heart-conversations is ongoing. It takes time to learn to listen and then respond to that steady beating, those internal messages that will guide you into places of strength, courage, passion, and life. And, as you might have guessed, I am beyond-passionate about such; about heart-conversations: yours, my own, and ours together. 

I promise: your heart will not lead you astray. Listening and responding to it is the safest, surest, sanest thing you can do. It can be trusted. As can you. It is good, beautiful, and strong. As are you.

Sacred Conversation with Your Heart – #5

Apr 28, 2017 | My sort-of Sermons, Spirituality, Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom, Writing

We’re moving toward the end of this 6-part series. I am hopeful it has done your heart good – especially given that it’s all about your good and to-be-trusted heart! If you’ve not read the earlier entries, they all build upon each other. I hope you’ll take the time to catch up. 

  1. Introductions 
  2. Tentative Listening 
  3. Hearing Deeper Truths 
  4. Speaking Deeper Truths 

Today, drum roll please… 

PART FIVE – LOVING THE DIALOGUE 

Once we have become familiar with the language of our heart, the ways in which it speaks to us, the ways in which we learn to listen, AND the ways in which we learn to speak, dialogue is a daily gift. 

Think about the experience of having friends with whom you can pick up conversation and relationship exactly where you left off. No matter the miles or even years between; it’s as though no time or distance has passed. There is an intimacy, a knowing, a familiarity and trust – like synchronized heartbeats. 

The same can be / is true about conversation with your heart: ongoing, meaningful, spontaneous, eortless, and continuous. 

I know a woman who has created a daily ritual of letting her heart speak to her. She carves out time each morning to sit and listen – expecting to hear. She writes down all that her heart chooses to say, trusting its wisdom, its deeper truth, its insight, its value. In so doing, she hears what her heart wants her to speak and do. And then she responds! She articulates (to her heart) all of her fears, her hopes, her desires. Back and forth this dialogue goes. She has learned to trust this process, to be sure; more to love it! Her heart readily responds. 

You can do the same, of course – creating ways to allow and encourage these conversations with your heart, learning to love the dialogue between you – and you! 

And when natural lulls occur, when you struggle to hear – or feel heard, just like in any relationship, you can trust the bonds already formed. You return. You stay. You wait. You hope. And throughout, more certain and sure than ever before, your heart keeps beating, speaking, calling. 

Loving the dialogue with your heart keeps you centered, grounded, and in touch with your most honest, brave, and true self. That dialogue and that relationship fuels and invites a passionate, full-of-heart life! 

May it be so! 

REFLECT 

  • Try the exercise above. Carve out time to listen to your heart – with the full expectation that it will respond. And, as in any good dialogue, respond back. 
  • Consider using two different color pens (or fonts, if typing). Let your heart speak – freely, candidly, spontaneously. Change colors and write out your response. (Remember: no holding back.) Switch colors again, and let your heart speak to what it hears, in response to your response. This is dialogue at its best. And the more of it you do (just like in any relationship) the stronger your bond, your intimacy, your (self) love. 
  • I do this often in my own journaling practice – especially when I’m struggling with myself, something, or someone. I write out how I’m feeling – no matter how cranky or negative or despairing. And then I listen/imagine my heart’s voice in response. I write out exactly what it has to say to me, no matter how hard it sometimes is to hear, allow, even believe at times. It always speaks (like any good friend would). And seeing its “voice” on the page in front of me, gives me opportunity to respond more deeply, more honestly, and almost always with far more tenderness, softness, and vulnerability. Oh, what a difference this has made for me over the years…hearing that wiser, truer, sage-of-a-voice within; learning to love the dialogue with my heart…my very self. May it be so for you, as well.