Category: Attitude

This Moment…

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This moment, I’m struggling to be here now. My thoughts, as usual, are running quickly ahead of me, attempting to rush me on to the next place and the next phase, all without allowing me to slow down and arrive in the place that I’m in. So slow down, beloved. It’s up to you to choose.

As Thoreau said, “Live in each season as it passes.” I slow, remembering that haste makes waste, attempting to be mindful of simple pleasures—washing my hands w/ sweet smelling soap and hot water, a pleasure around seventy percent of the world doesn’t have. I take in the beautiful fall colors as I walk—stunning hues of browns, golds, and reds in the tundra and trees. I breathe in the cool fall air and autumn scents. I thank God for the breath and life he gives, for legs that move and walk and a body that allows me to get out of bed and outdoors each day.

This moment…this moment…is a gift. Each holds possibilities of wonder and joy, or perhaps sorrow or grief. As most often happens, each will hold a mix of things. I have no control over what the next moment may hold, but I do have the power to accept and embrace it—to allow myself to experience it, come what may. If I don’t allow fear to rule me regarding the many difficulties that may come, I may find I am more equal to greeting them. I may encounter a greater capacity for celebrating and enjoying the good ones—abandoned to joy instead of holding some space for anxiety of the future or regret for the past. The ability to be present will fill me, recharge me, strengthen me.

There is so much my mind, heart, and body are holding at any given moment, especially at this season of life—family, finances, relationships, work, and a pandemic world struggling with conflict. Balance feels elusive. If I look around at others, it’s easy to feel they have it mastered, but most people freely admit they struggle too. What would it feel like to let go…to release the burden of trying to measure up and figure it all out? This is the ideal, yet something I’m not sure I know how to do. “God, give me the strength to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference” (Serenity Prayer).
Eleanor Roosevelt once said, “Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift. That is why it is called  the present.” May I live this day with the knowledge and acceptance of the gift of every moment. And moment by moment, may I live this day. As the wonderful Celtic poet John O’Donohue said, “May I live this day/Compassionate of heart/Clear in word/Gracious in awareness/Generous in love.”

Leave Them Better…

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Henry Van Dyke once said, “There is a loftier ambition than merely to stand high in the world. It is to stoop down & lift man up a little higher.” How easy it is to get caught up in the enticing busyness of everyday living. Though we may not set out to “stand high in the world,” in the end, the effort to “keep up” can be self-consuming. 

And yet, need is always in the world around us. If we take time to look into the faces around us, to truly see people, we find a world muddling through various desperate circumstances. Empathy, compassion, and generosity are there in many individually, but relatively speaking, they are still in short supply. Ian Maclaren once said, “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” Though the struggle is different for each one of us and varies in different seasons of our lives, it is there for all of us nonetheless.

A colleague reminded me recently that although I’m a perfectionist, it’s okay to let go sometimes. In this crazy COVID world we’re all currently experiencing, to slow down and be present with kids is one of the best gifts we can give them. The same is true for adult needs as well.

In her book, WHEN THINGS FALL APART, Pema Chödrön suggests that one way to relieve our own suffering is to face it, recognizing it for what it is instead of running away from it and allowing it to rule us. In our willingness to face this pain, we can begin to focus on others in the world who might face the same difficulty and emotions. As we awaken to the suffering of others and wish for improvement and relief for all, we can begin to spread contagious compassion and empathy. 

Mother Teresa once said, “Let no one come to you without leaving him better.” What a great reminder, a wonderful intention to set. It’s another way of saying I must learn to keep judgement from my heart and  love my neighbor as myself. Today, I choose to open my eyes, remove them from myself, and focus on others. Albert Schweitzer said, “Until he extends his circle of compassion to include all living things, man will not himself find peace.” I will need to choose this attitude over and over again. Each time that I practice, it will become easier to leave others better after our encounters. I can be a small part of making peace on earth with my own two hands.

The Dance of Surrendered Faith…

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Sometimes living feels like a bit of a tightrope walk, doesn’t it? There are so many keys to staying the course and living life well. We need to be strong, but not hard or callous. We should be fun and relaxed, but also hard-working and disciplined. Flexibility is a must, but so is holding to and protecting our boundaries. There are rules that must be followed and those that, at least on occasion, appear to be made to be broken. Our culture sends us a whole slew of confusing messages on a daily basis, something that feels especially true for women. 

A friend said to me recently, “What a crazy dance life is.” She’s right, at least based on my experience–there is a great deal of craziness that keeps us spinning. But if it’s a dance, then there’s beauty in that, for dancing involves music, steps, rhythm, and hopefully, a fun partner who gently leads. Dancing can be a celebration. Entering in means embracing it for what it is, choosing to be led, choosing to be joyful in it.

Of all the crazy dances or tightrope walks in this world, one that I find the most challenging is the balance between faith and surrender. Jesus tells us that if we have faith as small as a mustard seed, we can tell a mountain to move and it will. He also tells us, “Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find…” (Matthew 7:7). Paul and other apostles applauded men like Abraham who, “…human reason for hope being gone, hoped in faith.. as he had been promised” (Romans 4:18). So, for example, I can pray in faith for God to heal me, believing that He can at any moment, but I must also walk in complete surrender, trusting Him to do His will. No matter how things appear, I believe that He is always at work for my good and for His glory.

Jesus tells us that as His followers we must take up our crosses daily and follow Him, that whoever desires to keep his life must lose it. Brother Lawrence, a saint of old, encourages us, “Complete surrender to God’s will is the only sure road to follow. In it, there is always enough light to assure safe travel.” We are told in the first chapter of Ephesians that we are seated with Christ in the heavenly realms and that, “…God placed all things under His feet and appointed Him to be head over everything for the church.” He has given us authority over all the things that trouble and plague us here on this earth, yet we’re also told that for a little while we must suffer. What a crazy dance life is.

In her book, When Things Fall Apart, Pema Chödrön expresses it this way, “…We think that the point is to pass the test or to overcome the problem, but the truth is that things don’t really get solved. They come together and they fall apart. Then they come together and they fall apart again. It’s just like that. The healing comes from letting there be room for all this to happen, room for grief, for relief, for misery, for joy…. Letting there be room for not knowing is the most important thing of all” (p. 9). 

Christ holds out His hand and asks, “May I have this dance?” I accept His invitation and embrace the journey. I surrender and make space, that I may be open for all that comes next, however unknown it may be.

*Photo Credits: lovedoes.org

“Just As I Am…”

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Mistakes and failure seem to be a part of venturing bravely and wholeheartedly into this great big world, or just staying at home. I can’t say I’m thrilled about it. Over and over again, I come to the feet of God, the plea of Charlotte Elliott’s old hymn on my lips:

 

“Just as I am, without one plea,

But that Thy blood was shed for me.

And that Thou bidst me come to Thee.

O Lamb of God, I come. I come.”

 

As many times as I think I’ve accepted the fact that I’m going to make a million mistakes in this human adventure, the ugliness of failure hits me anew each time like running into a brick wall. Like author Anne Lamott, I must tape Hillel’s line on my wall, “I get up. I walk. I fall down. Meanwhile, I keep dancing.”

 

Nelson Mandela said, “The greatest glory in living lies not in never failing…but in rising every time we fall.” And I have this blessed hope. As I pick myself up and dust myself off, my loving Father greets me with His arms wide open. He looks at me tenderly, telling me without words that all is well, and all manner of things shall be well. He whispers that He has loved me with an everlasting love (Jeremiah 33:3) and I am completely right with Him through the blood of His Son (II Corinthians 5:21).

 

I walked yesterday, a few things troubling my spirit, the weather windy as a storm rolled in. As I rounded the corner to my house, a warm sunset greeted me. Pastel purples, pinks, and yellows stretched thin across the western sky. Just then, a small wren landed on top of my wind chimes and sat there bouncing joyfully in the wind. As he began his song, accompanied by both the stormy breeze and the chimes, silhouetted by the mellow evening sky, part of a favorite song came to me: “I sing because I’m happy, and I sing because I’m free. His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.”

 

That night I read a portion of Bill Holm’s poem Ann Lamott quoted in her book BIRD BY BIRD called “August in Waterton, Alberta,” and it connected these musings on failure and songs in storm:

 

“Above me, wind does its best

To blow leaves off

The aspen tree a month too soon.

No use wind. All you succeed

In doing is making music, the noise

Of failure growing beautiful.”

 

Though perhaps my time for success in certain realms has not yet come, if it ever shall, and the wind may blow all the while, my roots grow deep and my colors turn bright and beautiful. “Meanwhile, I keep dancing” (Hillel).

Let’s Be Still…

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The past few weeks, I’ve been in a season of mandated rest. Thank God. This is what my body, mind, and spirit have craved for years, yet somehow, it’s a place I could not arrive at by myself. Why must I be forced to do what I most crave? A wonderful question, but still, undeniably true. I needed the help of being temporarily unemployed and recovering from unexpected minor surgery to get here, but alas, here I am at last.

 

I’ve learned to make my coffee and sit outside in the morning sun to read…to rest at midday…to walk more slowly and take in more of my surroundings and schedule fewer things…to quite sooner and push less. I can’t fully express how good it feels to give myself a little bit of breathing room and to have the gift of being able to do so. Not everyone gets this and I know I won’t always have it, so I am soaking it up with as much gratitude as I can muster.

 

Leeana Tankersley, an author I’ve been reading a lot of lately, writes about learning to be a companion to yourself. This is the art of treating yourself kindly, as you would a dear friend, instead of punishing, criticizing, and bullying yourself, as so many of us are prone to do. It’s occurred to me in this time that the driven pushing that is so much a part of my perfectionist personality is a part of that adversarial relationship with myself that I would love to leave behind. How do I learn to do this? Perhaps the answer is, at least in part, more simple than I expect…through stillness and breath. In her book, Breathing Room, Leeana Tankersley writes:

 

“The human body’s urge to breathe is irrepressible and essential. When we hold our breath, we begin to feel a pain inside our chest…called our critical line…. Our body tells us it’s time to exhale. Only then can we take in the air we need.  ‘As it turns out,’ a breathing researcher writes, ‘the opposite of holding your breath isn’t inhaling, it’s letting go.’ ”

 

So this is the key to providing the way to the spacious place in which I want to dwell—letting go. May it be so, and if only it could be as simple as saying it. I know each day I will need to teach myself anew to breathe, exhale, and let go in the moments where I most want to cling and tighten. The more that I practice, quieting my heart and opening my eyes to the beauty around me, the easier it becomes. As C.S. Lewis said, “The sweetest thing in all my life has been the longing…to find the place where all the beauty came from.”

 

My favorite band, The Head and the Heart, sing a song that captures it well called “Let’s Be Still:”

 

The world’s just spinning a little too fast

If things don’t slow down soon we might not last

So just for the moment, let’s be still

“I’ll Follow the Sun…”

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I’m loving the extra light within each day as summer approaches. Every morning I’m greeted by a stunning sunrise creeping over the jagged mountain peaks, stirring my soul and taking my breath away as it gradually lights and touches them with rainbow hues. But…I should say that’s true–the light stirs my soul and takes my breath away–only if I let it. I must take the moment to breathe deep, to be still, to take in all that goodness–a surprisingly difficult feat. That act of stillness is a gift of kindness I can show myself or share with others. Most days, I drive myself on to the next thing and the next thing without taking the time to stop and accept the series of similar gracious gifts I’m given, forgetting what Mary Oliver says, “Sometimes I need only stand wherever I am to be blessed.” 

 

I’m currently taking a wonderful course from Life is Good Playmakers called “Compassion is a Superpower.” It highlights the fact that human beings are all wired with compassion and empathy but that these are qualities that can be controlled. We can each either choose to repress them, as we often do out of busyness, or cultivate them. Yet the simple act of being PRESENT, opening our eyes to truly see those around us, can help us to show more empathy and grow the quality of compassion. Research has shown that different areas of our brain respond and grow as a result. Learning about this science takes me back to the importance of breathing to slow down each day, reminding myself that life is not an emergency. 

 

Another study I’m doing highlights verse six of the Twenty-Third Psalm: “Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever.” As author Jennifer Rothschild says, this promises us that “…goodness and mercy invade every scene of our stories” (emphasis mine). Jennifer also asks, since that is the condition we are being left in, do we also allow goodness and mercy to follow us when we leave a room or an interaction? I want to live slowly and intentionally enough that this is true. I also know that I can’t give what I don’t have. If I am to show empathy towards others, I must first allow enough space and grace in my life that I can practice self-compassion. An unknown author encourages us, “Validate humanity without highlighting brokenness.” What an important practice in both the way I treat myself and others.

 

I want to “Follow the Sun,” as Xavier Rudd sings:

 

 

“So follow, follow the sun…

The direction of the bird,

The direction of love.”

 

 
When I think of living in the light, I think of living in the full-fledged Presence of God. Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote, “Earth’s crammed with heaven, and every common bush afire w/ God; but only he who sees takes off his shoes.” If that’s true, I aim to walk barefooted through this one great life we’ve been given. I hope I can stay with this thought from Max Lucado: “Next time a sunrise steals your breath or a meadow of flowers leaves you speechless, STOP, remain that way. Say nothing and listen as heaven whispers, “Do you like it? I did it just for you?”

“Welcome It All…”

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Uncertainty clouds these present days…times unprecedented for many generations. Few of us could have foreseen our entire nation on high alert due to a dangerous new pandemic virus. The citizens of many states have orders to shelter in place, everything from schools to salons to government offices are shut down, and the majority of those who still have employment work from home. It’s easy to see that if nothing else, the economic ripples will be far-reaching. In all likelihood, far more will be affected.

It’s no wonder why the natural response of many is to panic. Reactions range from everything like hoarding toilet paper and Tylenol to becoming agoraphobic. Though I’m feeling increased anxiety these days, I’m also continually reminded, more than anything else, to breathe. Author Brené Brown says that according to her research, the majority of those who live wholeheartedly are “obnoxious breathers.” Though stated comically, I believe it’s true. Regulating our nervous systems often takes so much intentionality that it can come across that way. But the more we can keep ourselves from reacting emotionally, even naturally, in difficult situations by stopping to take a few deep breaths, the better chance we have of responding with equanimity.

 

In the first episode of her new podcast, “Unlocking Us,” Brené also discusses that when transitioning into difficult new seasons, experienced adults know that as hard as it is, the only way to get to the other side is to push through. As we do this, however, it’s crucial we take the time to name the difficulty of what we’re doing. Only then can we get to the place where we can embrace where we’re at without burying resentment and frustration.

 

For example, while sheltering in place and working from home, screens seem to await me at every turn. Work requires being on my computer eight hours a day, something my spine finds very difficult. Everything from church to medical visit to most shopping now come online. Connecting socially most often means texting, phoning, or Facebooking. Although I initially felt grateful to have these opportunities, I must admit, I’m finding tele-connecting difficult and far from authentic. 

 

But on a cool windy day this week, it dawned on me that spring arrived with the equinox earlier this week. The birds arrived weeks ago, baby calves play on a neighboring field, and neither seems to realize we’re in the midst of a pandemic. On a whim, I grabbed my gardening gloves, a spad, a bag of potting soil, and a few plants that needed repotting. We all went out into the sun embracing it along with the bitter wind. I closed my eyes and decided, as Father Thomas Keating once wrote, I would, “Welcome It All:”

“Welcome, welcome, welcome [it all]…I welcome everything that comes my way today because I know it’s for my healing….I let go of my desire to change any situation, condition, person, or myself. I open to the love and presence of God and God’s action within it.”

 

For an hour or so, I immersed my hands in earthy soil and attempted to give the beautiful living plants I’ve been given more space to stretch their roots and GROW. ITs was a wonderful reminder of BEAUTY and LIFE, a gentle nudge to get off all the screens as much as I can and nurture the things that provide me with sustenance and rest. I love Eugene Peterson’s translation of Matthew 11:28-30 in The Message: “Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.”

 

Jill also sings this invitation in her song, “I AM:” 

 

“The tide can change so fast, but I will stay the same through past, the same in future, the same today

I am constant, I am near, I am peace that shatters all your secret fears…

Oh weary, tired, and worn, let out your sighs, and drop that heavy load you hold, ’cause mine is light.”

Framing through Attitude…

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Many things are a matter of perspective. Our point of view often frames our experience, though life would have us believe we are victims of circumstance. Regardless of what we have suffered or the hands we have been dealt, we always have a choice over our attitudes.

 

In one of my all-time favorite quotes, author and pastor Charles Swindoll states:

 

“The longer I live, the more I realize the impact of attitude on life. Attitude, to me, is more important than facts. It is more important than the past, than education, than money, than circumstances, than failures, than successes, than what other people think or say or do. It is more important than appearance, giftedness or skill. It will make or break a company…a church….a home. The remarkable thing is we have a choice every day regarding the attitude we will embrace for that day. We cannot change our past…we cannot change the fact that people will act in a certain way. We cannot change the inevitable. The only thing we can do is play on the one string we have, and that is our attitude…I am convinced that life is 10% what happens to me and 90% how I react to it. And so it is with you…we are in charge of our attitudes.”

 

Kristene DiMarco of Bethel Worship has a song entitled, “I Am No Victim” in which she proclaims this:

 

“I am no victim, I live with a vision. I’m covered by the force of love, covered in my Savior’s blood.

I am no orphan, I’m not a poor man. The Kingdom’s now become my own, and with the King, I’ve found a home.”

 

Kristen continues by assuring us, “He’s not simple reviving, not simply restoring. Greater things have yet to come.”

 

How wonderful to believe that the best is yet to come. 

 

One of my favorite bands, The Head & The Heart, echoes this sentiment in their spellbinding song “Library Magic” with the hopeful cry:

 

“I can see the sunshine rays gleaming through the clear waters,

Telling me you gotta hop in for this chapter’s ride.

There will always be better days….”