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Fanning Desire’s Flame

Apr 9, 2018 | My sort-of Sermons, Sacred Stories, Spirituality

Desire is a tricky thing.

  • To desire feels dangerous because we might not get what we want.
  • To desire is risky because, when expressed, is too much for the people in our world.
  • To desire reveals the dulled desires of those in our midst.
  • To desire means that we see ourselves of worth.
  • To desire calls us to foresee a future that is better than what we have now.
  • To desire requires that we actually believe we are deserving of that which we seek, even demand.

Some even say:

  • To desire is entitled or arrogant.
  • To desire is privileged or elitist.
  • To desire is assumptive and arrogant.
  • To desire is to be ungrateful for all that we have; to somehow be demanding of even more.

I completely disagree.

The biggest risk is not our desire itself, but that we do not desire enough!

We are far too easily pleased. We somehow believe that our desires will never come to be, anyway. And so, we choose to believe that we’re better off hedging our bets, playing it safe, and toning things down.

I completely disagree. Did I mention that?

Here’s the thing: the heart, when listened to and trusted, will have none of this! Nor should you.

One of the many ancient, sacred stories I so love tells of a woman’s desire. And surprise! It’s not Eve (though hers does, of course – in beautiful and to-be-trusted ways).

This woman was so determined in the expression and sustenance of her longing, that a priest saw her praying and was convinced she was drunk. He reprimanded and shamed her. But she was not to be stopped. In fact, just the opposite: she boldly and blatantly persisted. She held on. And ultimately? Well, ultimately, finally, her desire was fulfilled.

Instead of desire’s diffculty slowing or stopping her, it grew in power and force until she could not, would not be denied.

[A brief intermission: Lest you think I am saying that if you just desire enough, your every desire will be met, think again. (That would be a lovely formula, wouldn’t it?) What I am saying is this: Her desire remained intact without its fulfillment. And it is THIS to which she calls us.]

It is to this that she calls you. Longing even more instead of letting go. Persevering instead of settling. Fanning desire’s flame instead of dousing it. Holding on no matter what.

Desire for desire’s sake is what matters most.

Listen to her voice (as I imagine it). She speaks on your behalf:

Oh, the beauty of your desire! The stronger and fiercer and more tightly held, heaven rejoices and earth stands still in reverential awe. Know this: the object of your desire is not as important as having and holding on to desire in the first place. Desire for desire’s sake is what matters most. The act and art of desiring causes your body temperature to rise, your pulse to quicken, your heart to beat, your life-force to surge, your voice to swell, and your very presence to make a visceral, unmistakable and impossible-to-ignore mark on this world. Believe me, I know all about this. I am Hannah, and YOU are my daughter, my lineage, my kin.

I know all-too-well the temptation to tone down my desire. But that has not served me – ever. Nor does it you. Hannah’s story reminds us that perseverance makes a difference, that faith matters, that hope must endure, and that desire – whether fulfilled or not – is a force to be reckoned with. Desire is what makes us – you and me – a force to be reckoned with.

So go ahead: want more, pray more, long for more, desire more. Less is, well, just less. And that is not to be your fate.

*****

[A version of this post appeared in April of 2016. When I came across it, I realized I do not feel any differently – for myself or in regards to what I desire for you.]

When Things Don’t Go as Planned

Feb 22, 2018 | Hope & Encouragement, Mothers and Daughters, My sort-of Sermons, Women's Voice & Power, Writing

I’ve been thinking a lot, even more than I normally do, about my daughters. About the trials and tribulations that, by necessity it would seem, visit every life. About how each and every one of these pains feel insurmountable to them right now. They are not. But neither of them know that yet.

So this: an open letter to my girls (and maybe to you, as well).

Sweet girl:

I know you hold a picture in your mind as to how your story “should” go, at the very least, how you want it to go. It might be one you began to create when you were so very young (which doesn’t seem all that long ago to me) – nurtured and nuanced over these past years: you’ll be safe, you’ll b  nurtured, you’ll be protected, you’ll be loved. It might be more specific: the white picket fence, the 2.5 kids, the perfect job-body-marriage-bank account. And it might be all of these and then some – including a strong-and-sustained sense of what, quite frankly, just seems right and fair: happiness, ease, satisfaction, fun, and a lack of struggle and pain. There’s nothing wrong with these pictures. They are beautiful manifestations of your desire, your longing for all that’s possible, your hope.

But reality doesn’t always (if often) comply. Life doesn’t always (if often) go as planned,
dreamed, or even pictured.

And when that dissonance arrives? I know, sweet girl: it hurts.

“So?” you ask. “Now what?”

Maybe, for now, allowing the hurt is what matters most. It’s completely acceptable: feeling sad and forlorn, lost and confused, discombobulated by the curves thrown your way. Yes, for now.

“For how long?”

I wish I knew.

But here’s what I do know:

You let go, or at least loosen your grip on how it all “should” be. Even more, you hold on – with all the conviction and determination you can muster. Yes, this I
know for sure: you hold on to you.

That is enough. Because you are.

You are strong enough to weather any set-back – including this one. You are brave enough to manage every emotion – whether fleeting or seeming to take up roost. You are tenacious enough to grab onto the tail end of hope and wrangle it back into its rightful place in your psyche, your perspective, your present tense. You are tender enough to make room for grief while trusting its healing power. You are bold enough to get up again tomorrow, to stand tall, to face all that awaits (within and without), and to step forward – no matter how tentatively – into the life that is yours, the one that spreads out before you in all its unknown, in all its possibility, and yes, right now, in all its poignant ache.

I know you aren’t buying most of this, that you don’t quite believe me. Not yet. That’s
OK.

In the meantime, you can hold on to me. Because I do know a few things that I’ll hold in trust and reserve until you are ready to try them on and take them in:

  • Things don’t always go as planned and they do get better. I promise.
  • What feels like forever, isn’t. I promise.
  • What seems a mess, might very well be, but it will turn into beauty. I promise.
  • Every bit of this is part of your story, a chapter you’ll look back on fondly (eventually) – aware that it formed you in profound and powerful ways. I promise.
  • It won’t always hurt as much as it does right now. I promise.
  • Though you doubt me in this moment, I’m right about this: you are more than enough. I promise.

Little consolation, I get it. Still, my heart on your behalf. Still and again, hold on, sweet girl. When things don’t go as planned you can rest assured that you are yet to live into a picture, a story, and a life beyond imagining.

How can I say such a thing with any degree of con dence, let alone sanity? Well, almost exclusively because of you.

When I was your age, I could not have possibly imagined a picture, story, or life that was big enough, vast enough, amazing enough to include you. I could not have
dreamed this big or believed I could love this deeply. And I could not have known that I was enough to bear my own disappointments, shattered dreams, mislaid plans, and broken hearts. But I was. And I am.

As are you.

So hold on, sweet girl. I promise: it’s all going to be OK.

Before Valentine’s Day

Feb 7, 2018 | Hope & Encouragement, My sort-of Sermons

I have an ambivalent relationship with Valentine’s Day.

When young(er), I wished and prayed that I would have a Valentine by the time the day arrived. I was almost always disappointed. Much, much later, when I married at 31, I chose Valentine’s Day for the wedding itself. That changed my position and perspective. Every year, as our anniversary rolled around, I was (mostly) able to see the day in a positive and heart-warming way. After 14 of annual celebrations, we separated then divorced, the former occurring just weeks before the marking of our 15th year. That Valentine’s Day was significant – not a celebration, but certainly a marker not about relationship with another, but with myself; not about another’s love, but my own – for me. And now, 10+ years later, I admittedly vacillate between the wishing/praying of my younger years and an almost complete disconnect from the day itself.

Would I like to have this day marked with roses, chocolate, a sweet card, a romantic dinner? Of course. And is any/all of that predicated on someone else? Uh, no.

So, before Valentine’s Day arrives, I’m asking myself some questions. Maybe you could as well.

  • In relationship, can I remain clear and committed to all the places my passion lies – and for whom, all the ways it is expressed within and through me? Will I express it – in articulate, even lavish ways?
  • Out of relationship (and frankly, even in), will I refrain from bitterness or caustic cynicism; instead, smiling generously and genuinely at those who are captivated by this day, grateful that love still holds sway, still conquers all, still survives and thrives?
  • Will I treat myself to the gift I most want to receive? A leather-bound journal. A beautiful ring. A good bottle of wine. A weekend away. An exercise routine. An Instant Pot. A quiet day of writing.
  • Will I courageously ask for what I most want? An honest conversation. A conflict resolved. A decision made.
  • Can I, will I, wholeheartedly declare-and-believe that I am whole, complete, and worthy of love – first and foremost my own?
  • Will I recall, recite, and recommit to these two truths: I am not too much and I am more than enough?

It’s estimated that more than 1 billion Valentine’s Day cards are sent each year, And, not surprisingly, women purchase approximately 85 percent of them. Given such, let’s buy and send them to our girlfriends, our sisters, our daughters, our mothers, ourselves. Not because we feel the need to mark such an arbitrary date and contrived “holiday,” but because we deserve to make it our own.

Toward that end – making the day our own – let’s boldly declare our love (to others and self) whether roses are delivered or not. Not because it’s Valentine’s Day, but because it’s who and how we are: strong, glorious, expressive women who do not shy from telling our truth, from giving our heart, from risking everything on behalf of what matters most.

So before Valentine’s Day – and in preparation, know this: you are worth the greeting, every sentiment held within, and all the love (and then some) that you can possibly bear.

Magical Thinking

Jan 12, 2018 | Hope & Encouragement, My sort-of Sermons

Many of us wait around or secretly hope that something magical will happen. If I’m lucky enough, patient enough, good enough, mystical enough, faith-full enough, magic will surely make its presence known and I (or my circumstances or that other person) will finally change.

But Yeats knew better; he says it’s the other way around:

The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper. ~ W.B. Yeats

The arrival and presence of magic is not predicated upon some incantation or slight-of- hand; rather, upon me. Embodied me.

Sight
Taste
Touch
Hearing
Smell

And because it matters, let’s add the sixth one in: Intuition

It’s compelling (and a bit convicting) to see this list: the means through which magic apparently appears. Because in truth, FAR more of my energy and attention goes to my mind, my mind, my mind. Thinking. Processing. Analyzing. Figuring. Considering-pondering-perseverating on all that I think I can control if I can only get my head around it, ponder it long enough, come up with an incontrovertible-and-brilliant solution.

No, Yeats says. None of that. Magic waits for the senses to grow sharper. And this, it seems, is mine to do…(Maybe yours, as well.)

But how?

Thankfully, Alice in Wonderland offers the wisdom I need:

You know what the issue is with this world? Everyone wants a magical solution to their problem, and everyone refuses to believe in magic. ~ Lewis C. Carroll

Wait a minute! Yeats is focused on the senses and Alice is focused on belief. Which is it? No surprise: it’s both/and. Magic requires my intention and my belief. (That’ll preach.)

This is the way of most all things, is it not? Focus, sharpened-senses, intention and leaping, trusting, believing. Both. And. Always.

And those moments in which both show up? All of me (and maybe even you), senses awake and alive and my deepest faith fanned into flame? Well, that is magic.

(I could write at least two more posts on the problems inherent in shutting down either side of this equation. What happens when I rely only on my senses and “refuse to believe in magic/faith? What happens when believe only in magic/faith and see no value in sharpening my senses? Maybe another time…)

An 18th century, German writer and statesmen offers a tidy conclusion; the benediction and blessing I would most hope on my own behalf (and yours):

Magic is believing in yourself, if you can do that, you can make anything happen. ~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

May it be so.

As 2018 begins…

Dec 26, 2017 | My sort-of Sermons, Sovereignty, Women's Voice & Power

Rebecca Solnit has written a book called, The Mother of All Questions: Further Reports from the Feminist Revolutions – now in my Amazon cart. One quote, read just this morning, convinced me I needed it as part of my library:

The task of calling things by their true names, of telling the truth to the best of our abilities, of knowing how we got here, of listening particularly to those who have been silenced in the past, of seeing how the myriad stories fit together and break apart, of using any privilege we may have been handed to undo privilege or expand its scope is each of our tasks. It’s how we make the world.

I read these words and immediately acknowledge that no truer or better work could be done or hoped for as we step into 2018.

At the risk of sounding redundant, here is Solnit’s quote in list form along with some questions I’m asking myself…maybe you:

Tell the truth to the best of our abilities.
What is the truth that I have been resisting, that deserves to be heard, that WILL change my world and potentially/probably others’?

Know how we got here.
What are the stories I have lived that have compelled and shaped who I am today? What of these need my attention, my affirmation, my intentional healing and change?

Listen to those who have been silenced in the past (a la Harvey Weinstein, not to mention an entire freight train of stories throughout history).
What are the specific ways in which I can create invitation and space for stories not heard, for women who still feel unheard, even for myself?

See how our stories fit together and break apart.
Will I recognize that my story is both the same and different from others’? Will I allow the complexity, the both/and, the dissonance, in order to expand my heart on my own behalf and far, far beyond?

Use our (acknowledged and expansive) privilege to undo such and expand its scope.
What steps am I willing to take to ever-admit and name my own privilege? What will I do to utilize such (and let go of such) on behalf of those who need and deserve it?

I won’t presume to write your New Year’s Resolutions for you, but these might just serve as prompt or verbatim; a way to “make the world” we long for, hope for, and so desperately need.

May it be so.

To hope is to gamble. It’s to bet on your futures, on your desires, on the possibility that an open heart and uncertainty is better than gloom and safety. To hope is dangerous, and yet it is the opposite of fear, for to live is to risk. ~ Rebecca Solnit, Hope in the Dark

These Stories Still Speak

Dec 18, 2017 | My sort-of Sermons, Sacred Stories, Spirituality, Women's Voice & Power

I’ve been awake since 4:30 this morning. Uncharacteristically, instead of lying in bed and trying to tame my immediately-upon-waking thoughts or my desire to sleep for at least a couple more hours, I just got up. I turned on the Christmas tree lights, made the coffee, had a handful of Chex Mix (that remains far too tempting to pass up, no matter how long the supply lasts), and then sat down at my computer.

I thought about lighting a fire and snuggling in with a book, but once I was in front of the screen I was stuck – for hours – almost unaware of how much time had passed. It wasn’t until both of my girls got up, the dog came running to me, and I moved my hands away from my keyboard that I realized it was no longer dark; rather, almost afternoon!

I was working on New Year SacredReadings – the 5th year in a row that I’ve offered them.

And though you’d think that the stories themselves are old hat and probably repetitive to me by now, the exact opposite is true. With each card I pulled, I realized a truth to this particular story (and then the next one and then the next one…) that is actually tied to my own. I heard her voice speaking into my heart. And as the minutes and hours ticked by, I found myself surrounded by text that yes, I am offering to others, but that actually feels like it’s all for me.

Which, of course, is why I continue to do this work – and offer it to others: these stories still speak!

None of this is surprising – at least not to me. These are ancient, sacred stories of women who have been, for the most part, marginalized and misunderstood. Still, all the while, they have laid in wait – longing to be heard, longing to be seen, longing to be known and trusted and called on for their wisdom, encouragement, and grace.

Every single one of them has lived through things unfathomable to us…and…all too real and relevant even still. Every single one of them knows what it means to pursue desire and have it thwarted. Every single one of them knows how it feels to be silenced or small (but to refuse such!) Every single one of them knows what it means to abide in a world of patriarchal power and yet live a powerful and out-loud story in spite of it all. And every single one of them remain profoundly relevant.

As I worked on their stories and held the stories-and-hearts of those who have already purchased their 2018 New Year SacredReadings, I thought of so many other women; all women, actually. And I felt such hope. Hope that these women’s
stories – the ancient, sacred ones I love – would be yet heard, known, honored, and loved. Hope that you will discover which one of these stories is choosing you and, in truth, longing for you to know and believe that your story still speaks – in ways you have not yet imagined…or dared to hope.

I’ll gladly wake up tomorrow and the remaining days of this year at the same early hour if it means that more and more of these women’s stories from days gone by can be placed into the hands and hearts of women today.

These stories still speak and we deeply, desperately, perhaps more than ever before, need to hear them.

May it be so.