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The Unanswerable Question of “Why”

Dec 10, 2014 | My sort-of Sermons, Sacred Stories, Writing

Every day we are confronted with realities that confound us, enrage us, and break our hearts. We sift through their rubble for the smallest shard of meaning. We search for clues, breadcrumbs, anything that will put our tired minds at rest. And for all of this striving, it is rarely with measurable result.

We know Frederich Buechner’s words are true, but we’re loathe to admit or accept them:

“Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Do not be afraid.”

Still we fight, wrestle, and do battle with the unanswerable question of “Why?” We are ravenous for an answer.

I am no different than you. I see things I cannot reconcile, no matter how hard I try. Too painful, too diffcult, too impossible, too violent. I can’t shrug my shoulders and move on nor take a dogmatic position that enables me to rail at all who disagree with me. I have to find a way to hold ambivalence, to stay, to allow (though not accept) what I hate and hold on tenaciously to hope.

The only way in which I know how to do such a thing is to go to stories.

Stories of others who have asked the same questions – even more, have somehow lived without their answers. Stories that offer me perspective and wisdom – even more, companionship, kindness, and support. Stories that name and normalize my own – even more, remind me that so many have persevered and survived; that perhaps I will, as well. Stories that remind me that despite so much evidence to the contrary, grace, hope, miracles, and love endure – ever more, ongoing, infinitely, no matter what.

“All sorrows can be borne if you put them into a story or tell a story about them.”
~ Isak Dinesen

Stories are hardly an escape from reality; rather, a visceral and poignant reminder that one profound truth supersedes and wins out over all others (despite evidence to the contrary at times): Stories reveal all that we have in common, all that we share, all the similarity found even (and maybe especially) in difference. When we listen to an ancient myth, though far removed from our day-to-day reality, we see aspects of ourselves. When we hear a fable or fairytale, though hardly the stuff of our lived experience, we see aspects of ourselves. When we watch a film, whether drama, romance, or sci-fi, we see aspects of ourselves. And we see each other.

We must tell stories to be reminded that we are more the same than not. No matter the time period, the culture, the politics, the religion, the lens, the perspective. We are one.

“To hell with facts! We need stories!”
~ Ken Kesey

So let us tell stories. And let us listen to them. Our own. Others’. Any and all we can get our hands and hearts on. Those that break us open and those that bind us back together again. Most of all, those that bind us to one another – again and again and again.

When we do, the inexplicable, unanswerable, and ever-nagging question of “why,” loses a little bit of its power and grace, hope, miracles, and love gain back so much more of theirs. As it should be. As it must be.

May it be so.

 

 

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Extravagant Love. Extravagant You.

Nov 26, 2014 | My sort-of Sermons, Sacred Stories, Women's Wisdom

There’s an ancient sacred story told of a woman who was beautifully, lavishly, even shockingly extravagant.

Desiring love, she risked. Potential misunderstanding. Certain ridicule and scorn. Whispers, shouts, and most certainly shame. None of it mattered. Only the experience and expression of love. Compelled by love, she held nothing back. Unrestrained and passionate, her deepest heart revealed and exposed. A recipient of love, she gave. Generously, without thought to prudence, scarcity, boundary, or anyone else’s ideas of what was appropriate (or not).

Because of all this, she knew extravagant response:

Worthy of love, she was honored. All shame erased. All spoken and unspoken bonds broken. All penalties paid. Freedom hers. “Truly, I say to you, wherever good news is spoken in the world, what she has done will be told in memory of her.”

*****

There’s so much I love about this story, so much I love about her. But most of all this: Her love was pre-determined, her actions hers alone, and NONE of this dependent on the response she might (or might not) receive. That is extravagance, right there.

And that, right there, calls forth the truest, most honest expression of self we could possibly hope to attain.

Want to be more authentic? Want to live in a brave and connected-to-the-Sacred- Feminine way? Here’s the template:

Risk.
Hold nothing back.
Give.
Be extravagant.

And all as expression of the love that is yours to offer; the Love that is you!

Extravagant, indeed.

This woman calls us to be exactly who we are: risky, honest, generous, and completely compelled by (not for) the love that already dwells within us; the love that defines us; the Love that is us!

When we are truly ourselves, we can be nothing other. And this is extravagant, indeed.

*****

Be assured, I’m hardly preaching here – other than to the choir. I’m working diligently on these ideas/practices in my own life. For I intuitively know that this is the way in which I am to be. The afraid, protective part of me is, well, afraid and protective. It’s true: I’ve been hurt before, the love I’ve expressed has not always been returned, and the risks have often felt far too costly. With a closer and more honest look though, I can see that these memories and experiences also carried my expectation, my desire demand for love’s return and a reward/recompense for being oh-so-generous and eh-hmm, loving. This is not my truest self. This is not my truest nature. This is not the Sacred radiating forth through my life. And this is not extravagant.

So what if, even in the smallest of moments and slightest of ways, I could move through my world as the glorious being I most truly am?

What if I were to risk because it’s a thrill; because I’m strong enough to handle it?

What if I were to hold nothing back – in my relationships, to be sure, but also in my writing, my parenting, my friendships, my self-care? What if I gave little-to-no thought to what’s in it for me, and instead, just gave, period?

What if I were extravagant?

Though a rhetorical question, I already know the answer. I would be me. I would be Love. And I would reflect the Divine.

May it be so.

 

If my writing resonates, I’d be honored if you’d subscribe to A Sunday Letter. Long-form, from me to you, every week. Learn more.

Everything is Sacred

Oct 27, 2014 | My sort-of Sermons, Spirituality

“In this moment, everything is sacred.” ~ Ariel Books

Oh, how we long to accede to this intellectually, but far more, to know it, to believe it, to live it – emotionally, relationally, intimately, viscerally, really. We spend an inordinate amount of time trying to incorporate the sacred into our day-to-day lives in ever-increasing, palpable, felt ways; to figure out how to sense and know Its presence. And though such efforts are wise, grounding, and strengthening, here’s the thing:

We don’t have to look for, search for, or beseech the sacred into our midst. Nothing is required – not our attention, our awareness, or even our acceptance. No faithfulness needed. No obedience demanded. No demonstration of particular behaviors or beliefs as proof that we’re deserving.

The sacred does not depend upon you.

This is grace, to be sure: to realize, allow, and walk through every single aspect of your day completely soaked in the stuff, breathing in sacredness no matter what. It is just.that.simple.

Repeat after me:

In this moment, everything is sacred.
In this moment, everything is sacred.
In this moment, everything is sacred.
In this moment, everything is sacred.
In this moment, everything is sacred.

May it be so. (Oh wait! It already is!!!)

How to usher in the gods.

Oct 22, 2014 | My sort-of Sermons, Women's Voice & Power

While at the movie theater last night, I sat enthralled through the trailer for Exodus: Gods and Kings. Out this December, it’s the story of Moses and Ramses. Two brothers. A burning bush. Plagues of locusts and frogs. Waters turned to blood. The Red Sea parted. An epic battle.

Christian Bale aside, I love these kind of films, these kind of stories. There’s something about good triumphing over evil, about grand- sweeping drama, about the vastness and passion that captivates me.

And I am easily captivated. We all are.

We long to be swept up in a story that is marvelous and beautiful and powerful, one that eliminates the humdrum, the day-in-day-out hassles, the harm.

This desire speaks to something inherently good within us. It’s hardly some delirious fantasy. It’s a glimpse into what we know to be true, into who we know ourselves to truly be. If only we could get there…

What holds us back? Why do we only peer at this life through a fog. Why does it remain just out of reach? Why do we struggle and settle and stay put? You already know. To live in an epic tale, to usher in the very gods, we have to give up the smaller one(s).

“When half-gods go, the gods arrive.”

So said Ralph Waldo Emerson. He was right. This is exactly what captivates us and what it costs.

We have to let the half-gods go.

Easier said than done. I’ll speak only for myself. My half-god list is long: those things to which I pay attention and by whom, if I give enough allegiance, I am convinced will eventually reward me.

Codependent behavior: if I try hard enough you will change.

Idealistic body image: if only I could get my act together with this last __ pounds then surely the rest of my life would fall into place.

Entitled success: actually believing that I deserve more, better, every and any thing I want.

Platform: if I just accrue enough social media clout, develop perfect marketing language, create impossible-to-resist product offerings, and procure a waiting list of clients then surely Oprah’s Super-Soul-Sunday rep will call.

Someday my prince will come: surely he will ride in, white horse and all, looking like Christian Bale, and sweeping me away to the life that I long for and deserve (see “Entitled success” above).

Illusions. Not healthy or helpful. Not even remotely representative of the Divine. In fact, though feverishly wooing me with their empty promises, they offer just the opposite. Truth-be-told, they offer nothing; they only take. And when I bow to their demands I feel smaller, inadequate, broken somehow, and just not quite up to snuff – ever. Hardly created in the image of the gods. No, these feelings, experiences and beliefs are the insipid work of the half-gods. As compared to the god(s). Chariots blazing. Heavens opening. Angelic choirs singing. Zeus himself making way. Epiphany. Inspiration. Truth-telling. Awe. Power. Beauty.

  • The god(s) that remind me I am enough; that I can take care of my own business and let you take care of yours.
  • The god(s) that assure me I am beautiful and worthy of kindness and respect no matter what.
  • The god(s) that do not promise success or a happy ending; rather, presence, constancy, and strength.
  • The god(s) that smile at the idea of Oprah’s Super-Soul-Sunday to be sure, and say, “the only call you need is the one that tells you to keep writing, speaking, creating with integrity and in truth.”
  • The god(s) that summon the battle cry; the endless song that heralds my inherent and unshakeable worth in and of myself – Christian Bale, or not.

These are (this is) the god worthy of honor, respect, reverence, and worship. Mine, to be sure. And yours.

So don’t settle for the lesser ones, the half-ones. Don’t settle for a less-than story; anything other than epic, full-tilt, all-in. No compromise. No holding back. A grand, sweeping drama. Vast and passionate. Captivating, to be sure. The gods – and goddesses – will surely show up.

I can already see the waters parting…

Open the door. No matter what.

Oct 13, 2014 | My sort-of Sermons, Sacred Stories, Women's Voice & Power

Same thoughts. Same frustrations. Same choices. Different day.

To open the door, or not…

Your hand trembles on the knob, uncertain, not ready, afraid.

No. Not yet. Step back. Stay safe.

But you don’t want to be safe, do you? Not really. You want to fling the door wide and dance through its frame. You want to write poetry and paint wildly and speak prophetically. You want to move through your world with the freedom and abandon of a young girl – dandelions in her hair, trees bowing down to her in worship, grass the grandest of blankets, blue skies that surround in song.

Tell me why you stay inside? Remind me?

Listen. You already know this. Nothing that you want, desire, or deserve remains on this side of the threshold. You’ve given it every chance. You’ve been patient. You’ve been gracious. You’ve stayed seated. You’ve been silent.

You know this, as well: Until you step over the threshold and turn your back on the familiar, the entrenched, and yes, all that
seems safe, you won’t be able to taste the wildness that awaits.

You don’t know what will happen (which, of course, is why you have continued to stay inside). You don’t need to. Turn the knob, open the door, breathe in the brisk, fresh air, and move. Don’t look back. Be impatient. Choose yourself. Stay standing. And start speaking, shouting, yelling, singing. Who cares what anyone else thinks? You’ll be free.

Will you stumble and fall from time to time? Probably. Will you know grief? It’s a given. Will people sometimes often misunderstand you? Mmm hmm. But will you be alive? Yes.

How about this? I’ll stand on the other side and just keep knocking. Eventually, you’ll get so tired of not accepting the invitation that is so clearly yours that you’ll open the door anyway. And there, waiting as I’ve always been, I’ll grab your hand and pull you into the world, the beauty, the life that awaits you.

[The story of Jepthah’s Daughter inspired this post. Just one of the ancient, sacred narratives I so need and so love.]