Diligent Joy Blog

Yoga kicked my butt today.  Ok, mostly my quads.  I hadn't been there in 3 weeks due to vacation, conflicts, etc., so I was more than ready to attend my regular Thursday morning yoga class filled with familiar faces, greet the instructor I've had for nearly 10 years, and enjoy the yoga routine I had missed.

There was a sub.

I walked in right as class was starting, so I quickly unrolled my mat, glancing around at...NO familiar faces in the room.  I had a moment of wondering if I'd the entire schedule had changed while I was gone--but it's just summer, and my instructor and over three-quarters of the regulars were on vacation.

Just as I was forming unconscious opinions about all of this, the new instructor invited us to let go of all we came into class with, including any thoughts or opinions.  Huh.  Let go of my opinions?  I decided to give it a go for the next 75 minutes.  It turned out not to be that hard. There was so much new and unexpected in the class that it took all I had for me to breathe and stay present.  Which turned out to be an awesome way to spend 75 minutes on a Thursday morning.

I've been CEO of "hit-the-ground-running enterprises" this week.  Upon return from our vacation, we literally left the van and boat, still packed to the gills, on the street while we rushed inside our house to quickly shower, change, and head off to a wedding.  The next day, we attended a special worship service and picnic at church, involving the Marshall Islands congregation who also uses our space.  Monday was all about the final preparations for a two-day retreat I was leading Tuesday and Wednesday for 32 teenagers.  I remarked that I felt like I had been sauntering through the airport and suddenly stepped on the moving walkway going at a much quicker clip.  It was all wonderful, celebratory, positive, life-giving stuff, and because I'd had an amazing vacation, I had energy and a great attitude with which to participate in it all. Still, I was more than ready to go to yoga this morning.

I am blessed to live a very full life--full of family, a stellar spouse, friends, engaging and meaningful work, spiritual growth, and a really fabulous dog.  What I've learned about myself (again) this month is how important it is to schedule down time; to give ourselves time to process and integrate all the blessings in our lives.

Saturday, our family will climb back in our van, which this time will be filled with the contents of one son's room to be moved across the state into a dorm.  What a marvelous opportunity to take time to integrate some of what our family has been and to dream about what it is growing into. 

The feeling of letting go of the last child is similar to the feeling I had when I walked into yoga this morning.  I don't know what to expect, but I trust the being in charge to guide me in a direction that will nourish my body, mind, and soul.  I just need to stay present and breathe.  And hope my quads will hold out.

 

Personal thoughts: one parent's reflections on transitioning to a spacious nester......

Today is a transition day at my house.  Fittingly, it is cool outside, but not too cold.  Raining, but not too hard.  And, it's the last day of class of my son's senior year in high school.

Since he is our youngest, I am feeling the transition on multiple levels.  Walking around what was a newish neighborhood when we moved in sixteen years ago, I noticed that what once were baby trees have matured.  They stand tall, bend in the wind, take the rain as nourishment, and continue growing.  Sure, they get bare and stark every winter, but they always, always bloom again come spring.

And here are my sons, once babies, now much matured, standing tall (literally--they are both over 6 feet), bending with the curve balls that occasionally come their way--they are young enough to have the flexibility to do that, and still bloom again.

I pulled up to the 4-way stop in the neighborhood yesterday, and a young man in a truck-type vehicle pulled up at the same time to my left.  He barely stopped before hurrying through the intersection.   I caught myself thinking, "Ah, youth.  I remember when I was always in a hurry."  Something was always urgent, and often times felt more important than anything anyone else could possibly have going on.

In that moment, I knew that I am, in the worlds of one of my favorite hymns, "in the middle ages of your life, not too old, no longer young....."

I take a breath.  I helped create,  with hard work and intention and the partnership of many, a family that is connected, has its own brand of humor, welcomes friends, nurtures growth, supports each other through rough times, celebrates together. 

As I let go of this time of active, daily parenting over the next few months, I breathe.  I think of yoga and the way we take time at the end of each class to integrate what we have done for our bodies, minds, and spirits.  Before I Iook forward to what I will create next, I plan to take time to integrate all that this part of life has been.  With that will come joy, and tears, celebration, and sorrow.  And for me, all this is important-- to acknowledge the transition before moving on too quickly to something else.

Adventure awaits.  But first, the uncertainty of transition and the gifts it has to give.  I breathe.  I notice.  I am grateful. 

Some personal thoughts on letting go.....

Yesterday, driving home from a college visit in Eastern Washington, I was overcome by the site of trees in bloom.  "Spring is so refreshing!" I said outloud to my sleeping family nearby.  We've had a particularly cold, gray spring this year in the Pacific Northwest, and yet, here were the trees, starting to bloom just like any other spring.  I was reminded of the line from "How the Grinch Stole Christmas."  The Grinch is pondering how the Whos down in Whoville could be celebrating when he took all their gifts.  "Somehow or other, it came just the same," he muses about Christmas.  And here was spring, coming just the same, even without the usual gifts of warmth and sun.

Earlier that day, I'd been clutching palms during Palm Sunday Mass at the student chapel at Gonzaga University.  I am not Catholic, but I wanted to attend, because it was Palm Sunday, and the priest who was giving the homily used to be on staff at my son's high school.  Plus, he's funny. 

I use the word "clutching" on purpose about those palm leaves, because as this amazing man was talking to us parents about our children going away to college, and joking about religion, and making analogies with Holy Week, and talking about discernment, and the greater good, and what's it all about anyway--I needed something to hold on to.  So, I clutched my palm leaves. 

Letting go for me is a process, fraught with tension, private and not-so-private tears, blessed moments of laughter and gratitude,  intermittent regret--all of which eventually result in an unfurling of metaphorical wings and a greater capacity for love and acceptance.  Hanging on to those palm leaves allowed me to let go of another piece of what my family has been so I can continue to move forward and embrace what it is becoming.

And it is becoming.  Much like the tender, vulnerable, new leaves of spring--quietly but persistently unfolding--my family is blossoming.  It won't look the same way it did last spring.  There are some things that have been uprooted to make more room for growth.  There are others that are bigger and stronger.  We need to prune a few things so more growing can continue.  My husband and I will need to learn how to live in this spacious nest.  It's not always a pretty process, and involves not a small amount of pain.  But like spring, our family will continue to grow and become what is next. 

And that is reassuring.

Love, Love, Love!

Inspired by the sharing of a song by a friend on facebook, and fueled by the amount of media attention given to Pastor Terry Jones and his illogical campaign to burn Qur'ans Saturday, I decided this song summed up my response to him, and my hope for what will prevail, not only Saturday, as we commemorate the 9th anniversary of 9/11, but into the future, as we continue to strive toward peace in our country and world.

Islam is not of the devil, Pastor Jones. In fact, Islam is closely related to Christianity and also sharing the same Abrahamic roots with Judaism.  

But here, truly, is my bottom line.  Thanks, Gungor, for putting it so succinctly.

Bang!

The end of summer arrived with a bang at our house.  Perhaps "crack!" is more accurate.  My husband and I were watching The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, concentrating intently on reading the subtitled film, when the phone rang.

"Mrs. Johnson?" said my son's girlfriend.  "Uh oh," I thought.  The two of them and a few of their friends had headed up to Sky High, a popular trampoline/sporting center to have "one last summer fling."  I signed the waiver and sent them off with my usual words:  "Be safe, make good choices, and let me know if you have any fun."  I even thought ahead to have them designate a texter for the driver, a fabulous, brilliant young man who has a bad habit of texting while driving.

But this was not texting accident.  "[My son] was doing a flip into the foam pit and hit his eye.  It's swollen and bruised."

"Do we need to come up and meet you guys there?" I said.

"Well, we were thinking we probably should take him to the emergency room.  He's not looking too good."

"OK.  Good idea.  We'll meet you there," I said very calmly.

Sparing you too many gory details, this apparently very impressive double front flip resulted in 5 broken bones in my son's face, courtesy of his knee.  He spent several hours in the ER and a night in the hospital on an I.V. and with a pain pump.

At home the next day, his recovery progressed quickly.  Ice, rest, lots of attention (though I limited visitors), and lots and lots of prayers seemed to buoy his spirits, even if he couldn't yet open his eye. He even tried to get me to let him "stop by" a birthday party he was "supposed to go to."  No has become my favorite word.

I marvelled at his:

a) resilience

b) lack of life experience

c) lack of previous serious injuries (thanks be to God), and 

d) lack of pre-frontal cortex development

that all combined to create a much lesser sense of urgency and need for recovery in him than I had for him.  

All in all, I have had a few moments to reflect, in between doctor's appointments to confirm the healing is going well and there's  no permanent damage.  I am thankful I am one of the Americans who is blessed to have really great health insurance.  I am grateful for my husband who diligently works at the job that provides the health insurance.  I am blessed to have a son who has such a positive attitude and heals quickly.  And I am thankful to have the opportunity to chat with him about slowing down a bit.  It's his senior year in high school, that magical, pivotal year that rushes by so quickly.  Instead of cramming it full, I suggested, take some time to savor it, process it, enjoy it on a deeper level than rushing from one activity to the next.

Good advice, huh?  And some that many of us parents would do well to heed.  The parenting of our children rushes by, even though there are moments when it feels endless and relentless and we sigh our sighs and growl our growls and lament the consequences of adolescent brain development.  In the end, they will leave, one way or the other, and we will be left to assess what we did well and what could have gone better.  And to remain connected, respecting their adult status, and offering help when needed.

And so, I am practicing the savoring, too this year.  Even the stay in the hospital and visits to so many doctors I ended Tuesday fairly frazzled.  It's time to stay connected to family and friends, to reminisce and savor, to grieve and celebrate.  And live.  Fully, completely, and with as much awareness as I can muster.  Before I know it, this year will be over for me too.  Hopefully, we'll go out with a celebratory Bang! and no more cracks.

 

Making Room.....

I'm not a big fan of burning books.  I figure I'm blessed enough to live in a country that allows free speech and protects it, so I need to be supportive of folks giving voice to their opinions.  That's one of the great things about America--that we're free to disagree with each other, and our government, and as long as we don't turn violent doing it, no one needs to go to jail.

So, when I hear about book bannings, or book burnings, I confess, I have judgement.  I imagine someone is so fearful of an idea that they give it more power by taking drastic steps against it and calling all kinds of attention to it, instead of saying, "Well, that's the way some people think about that, but I disagree because...."  I believe the latter way encourages people to think about what they believe, and the former way encourages people to be afraid of what others believe.  

Being a person of faith, I think fear is a big sign for me that I'm not looking at something with faith and love.  So, when I heard that there's a church in Florida burning as many copies of the Qur'an, I sighed.

http://cnn.com/video/?/video/us/2010/07/29/ricks.burn.koran.cnn

Not surprisingly, this pastor's view and tactics are so extreme that they have gained a worldwide audience. Also not surprising, people oversees see this as a mainstream "Christian" response.  Which really torks me off.  I'm really tired of extreme Christians commandeering the media and implying they speak for me. Let me be clear: they don't.
 

Someone who comes much closer to speaking my truth is a Christian pastor in my denomination (United Church of Christ) who has a church in the same town.  Here are his thoughts, actions, and beliefs: http://creativeseminole.com/2010/08/19/if-they-can-burn-it-we-can-read-it-a-ucc-ministers-response-to-burning-the-quran/

Just to call out a key phrase, when he was asked what he'd say if he could preach to the Qur'an-burning congregation for 5 minutes, he said:

"The danger to our faith comes not most from outside, but from the shadows within. We must pay attention to our neglect to look at ourselves, instead of automatically pointing the finger elsewhere. God’s call is for constant opening.”

Amen, Pastor Reimer.  See, this is why I love my church.  We don't see different ideas as a threat.  We see them as an opportunity to learn and expand our love.  And isn't that what Jesus was about? Expanding our love for one another?

This means, then, that I have to expand my love for the Qur'an-burners, and their pastor, no matter how crazy or disturbed or fear-driven I may think he is.  So, don't worry Pastor Jones, I'm praying for you, too.

Some churches have joined together to agree to include words from the Qur'an in their worship on Sunday, September 12.  I hope you'll consider joining them and embracing expansion, love, and freedom of religion.

Another quote:

“I’m not trying to make this a national or international event, but I feel that those who understand that allowing [the Qur'an burning] to pass silently by allows Dove Outreach to win in the fight against tolerance and religious compassion will stand up and share scripture from the Qur’an.”

And the article ends with this, which is why it is important to not do nothing:

Not a moment too soon. In the words of German poet Heinrich Heine written in 1820, now enshrined on a plaque at the site of Nazi Propoganda Minster Joseph Goebbels’ book burnings, “There, where they burn books, they will in the end burn people.”

The Language of God

I hope you'll take 90 seconds to watch this video, which has been praised across the nation and the world, from our own UCC folks, to other denominations for its depiction of inclusion and its message about faith in action.

The Language of God.....

The Rainbow Connection

On a recent trip to San Francisco, I was struck by the disparity just a few blocks apart.  We were driving through town to cross the Golden Gate Bridge and meet relatives for dinner.  We passed the massive concrete of the business district, viewed glimpses of Chinatown and North Beach, a heavily Italian neighborhood, and kept going.  Further on, our borrowed TomTom device took us through a neighborhood teaming with activity.  A couple of men sauntered down the street, beer cans in hand.  Another literally wove his way across an intersection, while still another sped up and yelled something back to the weaver.  A Sikh squatted against a brick wall and dropped a piece of his dinner, which looked to be contained in a foil wrapper.  Women were conspicuously absent, and bars conspicuously adorned every ground floor window and door. it was the kind of neighborhood I wanted to notice every detail, yet at the same time, not be noticed noticing.

Just a few blocks north, the scene changed.  More modern structures.  Trendy diversity.  Happier looking ethnic restaurants and businesses.  Advertisements with clean, young, beautiful people of color.  We crossed the bridge and entered a tunnel painted with a rainbow around the entrance.  We looked at the view of this shining city in the evening sunlight.  Ahhh, how beautiful!

I wondered later how many of the people in the "in-between" neighborhood were born into families who had planned for them, were ready financially to support them, had parents who wanted them and took time to understand them, learn about what they were going through at each stage in their lives, volunteer at their schools, help them through tough times, take them on vacation and buy souvenirs....Not that all those things are necessary to become a well-adjusted adult who is contributing to society, but they sure don't sure as heck don't hurt.

When people say that these residents need to pull themselves up by their bootstraps, I always remember what my grandpa said:  The presupposition to that statement is that the person has boots.  Some people think that homelessness and drug-addicted lowlifes and poverty aren't their problem, but I disagree.  Social issues like this are everyone's problem.  They cost our entire society in lost income, crime, incarceration, medical services, not to mention, it's just the right thing to do to care for our neighbors, no matter which neighborhood they live in.

When I was in DC this spring, I met a young man who said he was a Professional Idealist. I tend to think along the same lines--you know, shoot for the moon, because even if you miss you'll land among the stars type of thing.  And this is where I am regarding comprehensive sexuality education, because, call me crazy, but I tend to think that if everyone had complete and accurate information about their sexuality, relationships, and safety, and it were offered in a safe, caring, culturally relevant context and environment, it might make a difference how many people ended up with nothing else to do on a Monday night but saunter down a street filled with bars on the windows, drinking beer and looking for trouble.

So, I'll keep on keeping on.  Because "someday, we''ll find it, the Rainbow Connection--the lovers, the dreamers and me..."

BFD

I know better.  I really do.  But every once in awhile I do something crazy like run errands involving purchasing Easter Candy during the lunch hour.  When I'm hungry.  Maybe it was a rebellious reaction to the "spring cleaning" yoga class I'd just attended--one designed to detoxify our bodies from heavy, fatty, sugar-laden food ingested during the holidays and winter months.  Maybe it was just too much detoxification for me in one day.  At any rate, suffice it to say that a small chocolate binge occurred in my presence this noon.

Later on, when I was looking for Easter in the storage closet (where are those boxes I so carefully re-organized earlier this year?  Where did I put them?  I know the stuff is in clear boxes--oh!  There they are.  Right next to Christmas.  Hmmm.  Appropriate....), I began to reminisce about this holiday.

When our boys were young, we would tie a string to a note or picture and they would follow the string to find their baskets.  This evolved into picture clues, then multiple word clues in multiple places, generally alternating between up and down stairs, so they would wear off a bit of excitement before digging into chocolate and jelly beans and counting the change we'd hidden in plastic eggs.  We'd cut some flowers from our yard for the cross at church, and proceed to our place of worship, where they would participate in another egg hunt.  Sometimes, there was an extended family gathering with ham and fruit salad.

This year, we'll celebrate Easter apart--three of us on a plane to California for the Great 2010 College Tour, the fourth happily at college with his buddies.  But I kind of feel like I've already been given my Hallelujahs this year, since I happened to be in Washington, DC when the health care legislation was passed. (I'd also like to note for the record, that Joe Biden stole my line.  I didn't actually say the f-word though.  On Sunday, when I was saying I wanted to eat dinner somewhere where we could watch the proceedings on CNN, the youth I was with were unimpressed by the historic relevance of this moment in time.  "This is history!" I exclaimed! "Everything you've just said is history," they said, with the swagger and confidence of youth.  "Well," I responded to their response, "it's....it's...it's a BFD is what it is!  A Big Freakin' Deal!" At which point the Rabbi in the room who'd been listening to our conversation quietly got up and started streaming CNN on the laptop through the projector in the room.  Gotta love Michael Namath.)

So anyway, a part of my soul feels like Easter already came, even though tomorrow is Good Friday, and there are forces at work to tear down the hard-won victory.  Isn't that how it always goes, though?  Work for good, someone might wreck it--do it anyway?  (I'm paraphrasing here...).

This year, I'll put out the bunny and egg decorations, I'll lovingly create Easter baskets (a day early, and 2 "to go" ones for the college roommates), and I'll pray and sing Hallelujah on Sunday, no matter where I am.  And this Easter,  I will also hold in my heart and celebrate the face book status I read yesterday, attributed to John Fugelsang: "Obama is not a brown-skinned, anti-war socialist who gives away free health care. You're thinking of Jesus."  Yeah, that Jesus.  He was a BFD, too.

Amen.

The Prayer of the Children