"Today like ever day we wake up empty
and frightened. Don't open the door to the study
and begin reading. Take down a musical instrument.
Let the beauty we love be what we do.
There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground."
~Rumi

Waking up empty. Did you wake up empty today? I am not talking necessarily about waking up with an empty stomach. It is probably a good sign when that happens. It means we did not eat so much yesterday that we are still full from a day of over indulgence. That is not the emptiness I am talking about. We certainly know there are hundreds of thousands of people who wake up with empty stomaches, denied the life-giving nutrition most of us take for granted. May God's blessing be upon them today.

No, I am talking about a different kind of emptiness. That nagging feeling that makes a home at the center of who we are, longing to be filled with....what? Purpose? Creativity? Hope? Understanding? Companionship? God? This emptiness is that deep knowing that something is missing from our lives. It can be ignored but not forever. It can be anesthetized but not for long. This kind of longing left unattended breeds fear. Never a good thing.

We can try to fill this emptiness with all kinds of things...food, drink, overwork, distractions of all kinds. But in the end it is a longing that will not let us go because it somehow points us to a fuller knowledge of who we are, whose we are. I believe that in some way this emptiness, this longing to be filled, almost always points us toward some distance we experience from Spirit. The Sufi poet Rumi suggests that we find our way to filling this longing, not through more knowledge or greater study but through allowing ourselves to do what we love. Sounds nice, doesn't it? 

When was the last time you did something you truly love? Maybe you are one those blessed people whose work allows them to do what they love every day. I feel that blessing in the work I do. But this 'what we love' and its beauty takes many forms. What beauty is blessing your life, filling up the emptiness you feel? Is it time to tend this soil before it becomes a matter of urgency?Perhaps it already has.

It is a rainy day today and promises to be so for several more days. As the earth is being washed of its winter dirt, preparing for the spring that will certainly come, it is a good time to reflect on what it is you truly love and all the beauty that produces. Allowing the rain to wash over whatever has accumulated, creating an emptiness, a longing waiting to be filled, it is an opportunity to connect once again to those things that fill us. Whether it is taking down an instrument to make music or picking up up a paint brush to paint or reaching out to hold a child as you read them a story or simply staring out the window into the middle distance, all these acts might be the one to bring beauty out of what you love. It would be a good thing to do not only for yourself but for the world. It would an act of gratitude. 

It would be a prayer.

"We have endured
The Order of Winter
The Hunger
The Winds
The Pain of Sickness
And lived on.....
Once again we shall
See the Snow melt
Taste the Flowering Sap
Touch the Budding Seeds
Smell the Whitening Flowers
Know the Renewal of Life."
(found beside a Boreal Forest display at the Museum of Man and Nature, Winnipeg, Manitoba.)
 

It is a time of revelation in Minnesota. As the sun shines and the temperatures warm, the multiple inches of snow has been melting slowly into the thawing ground. We are glad for this slow melt as it lessens the chance of spring floods in those areas prone to rising waters. But as the snow melts the great reveal begins.

 This revealing consists of all those things captured and held suspended in the layers of snow and ice over the winter months. Last week on my walks I saw many interesting items that are emerging from the snow. Aluminum cans of various brands and in a multiplicity of forms: flattened, ripped in jagged shreds, full and empty. Wrappers of all kinds: candy, gum, potato chip bags, a sliver of gummy bear bag, many tossed plastic bags from a variety of chain stores. Items once found in the mouth: gum, chewed and now thawing to present a walking hazard, cigarettes, some still intact as if the sign of a kicking the habit moment, others fully smoked down to the filter. Clothing: a pair of jeans, a stray tennis shoe, a once white t-shirt now mutilated by car tires, a blue t-shirt flat as a pancake but in good condition. A fully preserved pigeon, feathers still glittering oil slick colors, lying within the thawing snowbank as if it had made its nest there and was only sleeping. Not far from the pigeon, a pink pacifier, lost to its no-doubt anxious owner.

These treasures I noticed caused me to wonder about what else might be revealed as these days of winter melt into the new birth of spring. What are the things in my life that have been hidden beneath the ice and snow of this winter? What parts of my living have been frozen in time waiting to be picked up and tossed as the waste it now is? Or what is waiting to be found, washed, cared for and nurtured back to life? Like the pink pacifier owner, what have I,perhaps, outgrown? If we are awake and aware,these revelations of melting can bring great change, new life.

The slow melt will continue over the next several days. We've even been promised an early rain which will begin the clean up toward spring's greening. But before we get to that point, perhaps it is wise to take stock of what is being revealed. With eyes wide open our spring might take on a whole new dimension that could make all the difference in our lives and in the life of the world. 

As I understand the season of Lent, that is really the point.

~Ann Reed

I've been singing these words over and over in my head today. I know that it is partially because I am anticipating Ann Reed's concert at church tomorrow night.We are looking forward to her 'Songs of Hope' concert, an opportunity to bathe in words and music that will lift us above whatever is dragging us down.  I am singing them also, I think, because I am very aware of this journeying time we are in. The journey of winter to spring. The journey of Lent to Easter. The journey of darkness to light. So many journeys.....

Of course, we are all on journeys all the time. The journey of our day, our year, our life. We just rarely think of our living in quite this way. But when we really allow ourselves to be in the 'journeying mind' each day can be an adventure, a series of steps toward something more. Many people I know are on significant life journeys.They are dealing with illness, death, losses of many kinds, journeys they never intended to take. But life showed up and off they went, down the road. Still others are waiting for new babies, graduations, weddings, the joy and promise of birth. Perhaps more joyful journeys but filled with great change nonetheless. 

This journey becomes even a greater experience when we are awake and aware of those who travel by our side. Ann Reed's lyrics continue:" And we cannot know what you go through or see through your eyes but we will surround you with pride undisguised. In any direction, whatever you view,you're taking our love there with you."

Isn't that the blessing we all seek? To be understood for our unique experience and affirmed in it. No one can really know what our journey feels like, how the experience is for us. It is a great gift to be surrounded by people who are filled with pride at our triumphs and with compassion at our failures. It is a great gift to travel in the love of others.

Who are you surrounding with love this day? Perhaps it is a family member, a close friend or co-worker. But maybe, just maybe, it might be the overworked sales clerk, the harried teacher at your child's school, the bus driver. What might the world be like if we surrounded, not only those close to us, but those we simply encounter with the same compassion and love ? Like Tinkerbell sprinkling fairy dust, we have the opportunity to spread well wishes on the path of every fellow traveler we meet. I'd like that, wouldn't you? 

"Maintaining a complicated life is.....one of the best ways we have to avoid looking at some of the larger questions. ~Elaine St. James, from Living the Simple Life

Last week I was about to throw away a newsletter I'd received when I saw this quote at the bottom of the page. I had to smile. I thought I could get away with pitching this piece of paper but it wasn't finished with me yet. There was a little message meant just for me and it was going to find its way to me no matter what. I thought of all the ways I perpetuate the complicated life. Too busy for this or that. Saying yes to too many obligations. Allowing myself to be consumed by the seemingly urgent while ignoring what is truly important. It is a common dis-ease of our 21st century life. 

Creating a complicated life does, indeed, allow us to hedge the larger questions. If my life is too full, too busy, too overbooked, too....you can fill in the blank.....it is very easy to never get to the larger questions of life. It becomes, at least for me, easy to continually tick away at the to-do list than take the time to grapple with the bigger issues that press at my heart, that stir my soul.  It is also easier to continue to put off till tomorrow, when things are less complicated, those questions that really are calling to me at a deeper level, those experiences that bring me pleasure, fulfill me. Living the complicated life is, after all, exhausting. 

What is complicating your day? What is complicating your life? Are there dreams and goals you have been putting off until the time when life is less complicated? Sometimes we have no control over the complications that come our way. They simply need to be dealt with in the here and now.For those times we offer our prayers. But other times we create complications to keep us from taking the risk, seeing the bigger picture, taking stock, asking the hard questions. It is important to recognize the difference in these complications of life.

Nicola Slee wrote this grace for distracted eaters: "Today my food has no flavor. I do not notice what the weather is doing. I eat distractedly, consumed by my own absorptions. Still I make this prayer and my lips utter Thanks." Whether we describe our living as complicated or distracted, it is my belief that we all want to taste the glory that is our food. We all want to look outside our windows and notice the blazing sun and the melting icicles. We all want to arrive at the end of another day of life, which is pure gift, knowing that our mouths can form a 'thanks'. 

And so, perhaps it is a good idea to clear out a little space where complications cannot live. Five seconds, five minutes, five hours, five days to rest in the larger questions. Whatever we can muster that will get us to that place called gratitude. I have to believe it will make a difference, not only to us, but to our world.

Yesterday morning I was making my way to the office along my usual route. I was taking in the piles of dirty snow and general grayness of day's beginning. I was listening to my usual radio station which was delivering its normal banter. I was thinking of the details of the day ahead with a certain 'ho-hum' nature. It was Monday after all and I knew what every Monday holds, which meetings will happen when, the cleanup of the aftermath of any given Sunday. Plainly put, it was shaping up to be a regular, normal, nothing-out-of-the-ordinary Monday.

And then, boom, my eyes beheld a giant lemon! Sitting in the driveway of a house I pass numerous times during any given week, there sat a giant lemon shaped structure. It was the size of a small camper or, dare I say it, ice fishing house! It was shiny and looked new. It sat on a nice green platform as if this giant lemon had fallen from an even more enormous lemon tree onto a bed of newly cut grass. The brilliant yellow of the lemon was such a shock to my eyes,now so accustomed to the blur of winter white, that I shook my head to see if I was hallucinating. But no, there is was a giant lemon showing itself on the first day of March. It seemed to say:"Look out! Summer is on its way!" On further inspection I saw a window in the lemon, obviously an entrance for people to order lemonade and an exit for the sweet, sugary drink of warm days. 

I laughed out loud. This unexpected sight set the tone for my day. It helped to remind me that there are surprises waiting to delight us, to jar us out of the routine we cling to. These surprises can bring us the gift of seeing what has been too familiar, boring even, in new and exciting ways. It is the basis of all creativity to see the world in this way. It is, I like to believe, the way children still walk in the world. It is a practice most adults need to recapture to help them see the world that has become too static in new ways. Seeing the giant lemon certainly did that to my usual Monday.

What surprises have you seen lately? What experiences have jarred you out of the routine of a typical winter, a regular work day? We cannot manufacture surprises and the gifts they bring. But we can all walk into each day with eyes wide open to what the world might bring. The giant lemon helped me to be open to other little touches that made my Monday, the first day of March, a day like no other. It was a day that held lots of laughter with my co-workers, big belly laughs. It also held a few tears as I met with someone who had lost a loved one, as we planned to keep their memory. As I read a wonderful book about feeding people and the true meaning of communion, I noticed that some refraction of light had caused a rainbow to form on the surface of my creamed tea. It was so beautiful and then I drank from my tea cup. I like to think that rainbow is now inside of me. I came home to find the amaryllis that is reaching toward its fullness even taller than yesterday. So many things to notice on any given day. 

And to think it all started with a giant lemon........It was just what I needed.

"Mystery is at the heart of creativity. That, and surprise."~Julia Cameron

I had the privilege yesterday of spending time at two events led by J.Philip Newell, author, poet and former warden of the Iona community on the island of Iona, Scotland. I have long been a follower of his work which finds its home in Celtic spirituality helping readers to reclaim some ancient wisdom of the early faithful. It was an inspiring day, filled with hope and new insights for these renewing days of Lent. While most church leaders can paint a fairly bleak picture of the future of the faithful, Newell describes what he believes to be a 'New Pentecost'. From his eye view he sees the 'Spirit hovering over us bringing a 'new consciousness of Oneness.' His descriptions of co-leading retreats with Jewish and Muslim faith leaders are humbling. The ways in which he shapes words and stories to show the unity of different faith traditions rather than their division fills me with hope and excitement. Truly, as a world, we can no longer continue to further divide and alienate one another. We see the fruits of this kind of destruction all around us, in our churches, in our governments, in our warring, in our brokenness. 

Perhaps, like J. Philip Newell, we might embrace the idea, the hope, that we are in the midst of a 'New Pentecost'. Perhaps the Spirit is moving in ways that, like the story of Pentecost in the Book of Acts, shines the spotlight on people being able to understand one another even though they spoke different languages. Wouldn't that be wonderful? Wouldn't that be a sure sign of the kin-dom of God in our midst? I can imagine Israelis and Palestinians talking across fences seeing, not the long years of divisions, but the human longing in one another's faces. I can dream of seeing all the places of war in our world being healed by conversations about how both sides love their children, their partners, their homeland and each one understanding how more alike they are they they ever imagined. I can see our politicians opening their hearts, minds and very spirits to pursuing the common good, laying aside their party language for words that move toward healing and a renewed sense of what it means to be a nation that cares for the least, the lost and the left out. I imagine a time when young men won't need to join a gang to find identity and belonging but will be so secure in their home and school that they will stand strong in knowing they are unique and blessed children of God.

This kind of systemic change will take more than legislation. petitions and votes. It will take a 'New Pentecost', a stirring of the Spirit so full and vibrant that there will be no turning back. We will have understood one another so fully and will have seen the Holy in the other's eyes. I pray J. Philip Newell is right. I pray that what he has been speaking of and experiencing is signaling a new way of being in the world that allows us to see our unity, not only with one another, but with the One who breathed us all into being regardless of the color of our skin, the faith we proclaim, the political party we support, the size of our checkbook, the place we call home. 

As we finished our day with worship at the lovely Pilgrim Lutheran Church in St. Paul, we sang this chant from the ancient Gaelic writings Carmina Gadelica: 'May God's goodness be yours, and well and seven times well. May you spend your lives.' I woke this morning with those words still echoing in my head and my heart. Perhaps this new Pentecost will allow these words to be the silent greeting we offer to all we meet. May we spend our lives, literally, embracing the goodness of Creation that is our gift. And in this embrace may we hold one another dear, as dearly as we are held by the One who breathes over us. 

"When the day of Pentecost has come, they were all together in one place. And suddenly from heaven there came sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them,and a tongue rested on each of them.All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability.Amazed and astonished they asked, "Are not all these who are speaking Galileans? And how is it that we hear, each of us, in our own native language? .....All were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, "What does this mean?" Acts 2 selected

Have a blessed weekend.............................

In this morning's Star Tribune newspaper, I was interested in Deb Brown's article debunking certain plant facts or fiction. I was particularly drawn to several paragraphs about talking to your plants. Now this is an idea that has been around for many years and I have certainly observed many people lovingly talking to their plants. I haven't,l however, ever done any hard research to see if talking while watering and weeding really makes any difference. I mostly have just thought it was sweet, a lovely thing to do between plant and gardener.

It seems, according to Brown, that it does indeed breed healthier plants. It does not really matter much what the love words you say are as long as you breathe long and hard on them. It seem the human's inhalation of oxygen and exhalation of carbon dioxide goes up against the plant's 'exhalation' of oxygen and 'inhalation' of carbon dioxide. As we are talking to these leafy ones, our breath feeds their need for CO2. It's kind of a mouth to leaf thing. 

Breathing is important business for people, plants and, well, all living things. But it is certainly something we take for granted, in fact, I know people who often hold their breath unconsciously when under stress. Breathing well regulates our hearts and calms our tensions. Breathing deeply lowers our blood pressure and can take us to a place of meditation. Paying attention to our breath can also help us connect to Spirit, allowing our prayers and our breath to unite. And it seems our breathing can also bring much needed greenness to the world. 

On this winter day, it would be a good thing to spend some time breathing.....just breathing....connecting with the Life Force that keeps us moving through this amazing and ever changing world. Breathing in, we are filled with the Spirit. Breathing out, we exhale a life giving form that causes plants to grow and flowers to bloom. Feels good, doesn't it?

"What can we do but keep on breathing in and out, modest and willing, and in our places?"  ~Mary Oliver

There is an interesting and somewhat dangerous experience that happens in the waning days of winter. In places where the pavement of the road contracts and is often pummeled with salt and other chemicals, large potholes grow at an alarming rate. We have now entered such a time. Most streets, having frozen and thawed many times over the last months, are now filled with gaping holes, some as large as several feet in diameter. Many streets are so laden with these potholes that one must drive at reduced speeds, swerving and swaying to avoid destroying their car or disappearing into the hole altogether. 

On my way into the office this morning I heard on the radio of a link on Minnesota Public Radio simply called "Search Potholes". It allows people to report potholes on various stretches of road. An area map is then marked with an orange flag to show the egregious pothole. Supposedly drivers might steer clear of these hazards by knowing where they are located. Visiting the sight I saw that, at least in certain parts of the cities, it would be nearly impossible to drive any place!

"Search Potholes" got me thinking about these road nuisances in a more metaphorical way. I thought about the people I know who are experiencing some dangerous roads. Most of them did not know the 'potholes' that steered their life in a different way, or brought it to a halt altogether, were out there. They were simply going along in their usual way when 'BOOM' they hit a deep hole breaking their speed and their spirit. I am thinking of a woman I know who is doing mighty battle for a second time with cancer. She had no idea the potholes were ahead of her ready to zap her of her energy, her zest for living. I also think of those I know who are finding themselves out of work or under-employed, people who were just cruising along in their usual way and a big hole opened up in front them, threatening to swallow all they had known. Or then there are the people of Haiti whose lives have been turned upside down by the aftermath of the earthquake. As they literally pull themselves out of the mire, there must be so many days when they long to have had a sign, a warning of what was ahead. So many potholes.

Wouldn't it be wonderful if there was a way to search for the potholes that bring these kinds of stress and strain, even disaster, to our lives? Wouldn't it be wonderful to be able to go to a "Search Potholes" link and know which roads to avoid, which ones to take? Of course, there isn't. But there is wisdom to be gleaned from these pothole days. When you drive along a road with little knowledge of what it ahead, going a little slower,helps. It also is wise to drive with intention watching with wide eyes and an alert mind to the next pothole that might appear. It is also good to keep open and flexible, taking a turn that might result in a less bumpy ride. And it is really good to be gentle with yourself, snuggling deep into the padding of your car seat, finding a nice comfortable spot to protect you against the jar and jumble of the road. 

The good news is that soon, when the days get warmer and the sun is higher in the sky, those potholes will get filled in, patched over creating a smooth ride again. Sometimes it just takes a little waiting, a lot of patience and a good dose of prayer for those bumps in life to smooth out. And when that happens we might realize that the potholes had lessons all their own.

People in Minnesota and like climes are getting antsy for spring. I saw several people carrying bouquets of tulips over the weekend. No doubt they were bringing some signs of this longed for season into their homes to add color and promise. I also noticed that many of the conversations I had over the last several days somehow meandered their way to spring topics.....gardening, Easter, baseball. Even the birds can now be heard trying to usher winter out the door, throwing out their welcome mat of music.

We have planted several things indoors that are helping us gauge the coming of spring. We have a long silver planter filled with herb seeds beginning to show their lovely little, yellow green heads. We have another pot filled with paper whites reaching toward the brilliant February sunshine flowing through the window, reflecting off the still white ground.And on our kitchen table is the creme de la creme....an amaryllis bulb as big as a softball digging its roots into the dirt. Planted sometime last week it is now making a show of itself, green shoot pushing out of the gnarly bulb at what seems like an inch an hour. It is growing so quickly, it seems as if we could almost watch it, catch it in its upward movement toward becoming beautiful. 

These are the little tricks we winter people allow ourselves so we can hold onto hope, so we can remember what growth feels like, looks like. I recommend it. By the time spring actually arrives, which will be much longer than we'd like given March is our snowiest month, there will be the delicate flowers of paper-whites blooming in the family room. And if the amaryllis continues at the speed and power it has shown so far, our kitchen will be flooded with a flower the size of a dinner plate. These little signs of growth will carry us through the days when the melting snow will turn even dirtier as it reveals all kinds of hidden objects caught off guard by the falling snows of October. 

Over the weekend, our opossum returned to the backyard. This time I wasn't even concerned. I just smiled at his seeming eagerness for spring as well. He loped around the backyard looking not quite so confused, more awake, as he munched on some stray birdseed. The squirrels didn't even give him so much as a look. Perhaps we are all just getting used to one another, waiting for winter to be finished with us.

Spring is not here yet but we are having glimpses and that can make all the difference. On Sunday at church someone requested the lovely song by Natalie Sleeth, "Hymn of Promise". We began our singing clothed in the grays, browns and blacks of our winter state of mind. Our voices joined together: "In the bulb there is a flower, in the seed an apple tree; in cocoons, a hidden promise: butterflies will soon be free! In the cold and snow of winter there's a spring that waits to be, unrevealed until its season, something God alone can see."  When we finished singing, our cheeks were rosy with the promise of what is to come.

This spring we long for will be revealed in its own time, like all good gifts. Our work these days is to wait......and watch. And not get too antsy.