Saint Francis and the Animals

On Sunday evening I was the preacher for our outdoor service for blessing animals. Being an outdoor service with a collection of pets who couldn't care less about what I said, I went for short and sweet. I actually loved the challenge of preaching with the cars whizzing by on one side and a trio of French Bulldogs wheezing away on the other, looking out over a collection of dogs, a cat, and a rat.

Here is the manuscript, although as with all of my preaching and talks there was plenty of room for the Holy Spirit to take over and edit on the fly!

It is big. Shaggy. Scary. Many of you have seen it, lurking in the shadows waiting to attack. Even if you haven’t seen it, you’ve heard the stories. The howls, the attacks. No fear, you friends tell you. It isn’t afraid of anything. Even the town dogs can’t defend anyone or anything from it. Some of them have even been eaten. It won’t stay in the hills, and it isn’t satisfied with attacking the flocks. Rumors say it even attacks people. The Wolf.

But most people are distracted. They aren’t here for the wolf. They are here for a more interesting reason. Your Italian city of Gubbio is the temporary home for the renowned preacher, Francis. He isn’t much to look at, in his patched and rough brown wool garment, barefoot, tonsured. But he draws people in to listen to him. He has that charisma, that genuine caring about every living creature that gets close to him.

He preaches about the gospel, how the kingdom of God is drawing near. Rumor says that he heard the Gospel say to sell everything and give alms; to not worry about anything but to trust God to provide for every need. If God cares for the every sparrow, how much more will God care for His faithful children? Francis teaches people to walk in the footsteps of Jesus, and unlike the priests, he is out among the ordinary people. Like us. He doesn’t live in a fancy palace or wear expensive clothes. Yours are probably worth more than his.

One day, while Francis is teaching about all of creation being his brothers and sisters, someone in the back of the crowd whispers a remark about the wolf. It was meant as a whispered comment to his neighbor, but someone overheard it and it shot through the crowd. He stopped, and someone explained to him that your town is under attack from this terrible creature. He goes on teaching, but when he is done and the crowd begins to disperse you notice that he is whispering to his followers. They gather themselves together and head out of town, up into the hills.

Soon his followers come straggling back, a look of fear on their faces as each passes back into town. Then, Francis comes back. But he most certainly isn’t alone. Pacing alongside him is the wolf. It certainly looks fierce, the way the whispered stories describe it. Francis enters the marketplace where everyone is gathering, and when he reaches the center he stops. The wolf quietly sits beside him. All eyes are turned to this unlikely pair. Francis explains to you that the wolf is hungry, and looking for food. If we, as a town, agree to feed him, the wolf will no longer attack our animals or people. You hear the quiet roar as the people around you talk to their neighbors about this turn of events. Eventually, one of your leaders calls out your assent.

We will feed the wolf. But how do we know that the wolf will keep his end of the bargain?

Francis ignores that question for a moment as he turns to speak to the pack of dogs in one of the alleyways. He tells them that if they will not bother the wolf, the wolf will leave them alone. Someone in the crowd snickers, and it echoes over the quiet heads of the people who are watching and waiting to see what this crazy holy man will do next.

He turns to the wolf, reaches out a hand, and blesses him.

This is the sign to assure us that the wolf will keep its end of the bargain?

A blessing, indeed.

Of course, this is all based on legends about a real man. A real saint. Francis of Assisi. He really did exist, and he really did talk about all of creation being his family. One of the more famous poems or prayers that he wrote is called Canticle of the Sun, or Praise of Creation. He talks about Brother Sun and Sister Moon; Lady Poverty and Sister Death. It really is no wonder that he has become the patron saint of the environment (and animals)! But it is for stories like this about the wolf of Gubbio and his preaching to the birds that we most strongly associate Francis with blessing animals.

For many of us, our animals are indeed our family, certainly they are our close companions and friends. In Francis we find someone who is not afraid to agree with us, who is not afraid to say that as part of creation, these creatures deserve the blessings of God just as much as humans do.

And so, around the feast of Saint Francis we gather together to celebrate, bless, and remember our companions of the not so human variety. We bring them, or the memories of those who have gone ahead of us, to the arms of God and we bless them. Because even though Jesus was undoubtedly human, none of us can say for sure that God doesn’t come into our lives through the love of our pets.

A Poem

This poem appeared in my life when I needed a reminder to look to one of my favorite teachers. Some spiritualities might say that the Oak is my totem or spirit tree. I just know that oaks are an important part of my life story, and they give me strength and peace.

"The Oak Tree"

A mighty wind blew night and day.
It stole the oak tree's leaves away,
Then snapped its boughs and pulled its bark
Until the oak was tired and stark.
But still the oak tree held its ground
While other trees fell all around.
The weary wind gave up and spoke,
"How can you still be standing, Oak?"
The oak tree said, "I know that you
Can break each branch of mine in two.
Carry every leaf away,
Shake my limbs, and make me sway.
But I have roots stretched in the earth,
Growing stronger since my birth.
You'll never touch them, for you see,
They are the deepest part of me.
Until today, I wasn't sure
Of just how much I could endure.
But now I've found, with thanks to you,
I'm stronger than I ever knew."

 - Anonymous

Musings of a Transplant

Some days it just feels as if the boxes, the smallness that my life has been reduced to in this transition will never end. I am counting down the days until these boxes and stacks get piled into a rental truck to be driven 500 miles to my new life.

While the physical space of the new cottage is smaller it feels as if I am being transplanted from a cramped pot into a spacious and roomy new pot with wonderfully nutrient-rich soil and plenty of room to grow. I can't say that this wild oak is being transplanted back into the wild just yet because I know that seminary is just a container for the next three years of intense training and formation where I will be strengthened and prepared to be transplanted into my true habitat.

Somewhere in my boxes there is a precious little bronze cross with a tree growing on it. If you look carefully there are places along the trunk of this cross-shaped tree where you can see the wounds of pruning. It reminds me that I am constantly being tended to by a Gardener who sees my potential and exactly what I need in order to fulfill the deepest purpose of my soul. I resent the pain of pruning, but it helps when I can somehow manage to return to the perspective that it isn't being done with malice but with love.

In 12 days that truck will be taking me to my new home and I will begin the process of settling into my new pot; setting new roots and strengthening my growth. Not only am I looking forward to this awkward transplanting time to be over I am looking forward to the new adventure that is ahead of me.

Finally Some Unpacking Among the Packing

On June 15 I boarded a plane with no real idea of what I was heading for. This was not the first time God had put me on a plane with spiritual destination unknown, but for some reason I thought I knew what to expect. I was going to spend four days with other young Christian leaders, doing some sort of service project and learning about where the church seems to be heading. Pretty simple. Except that all I really knew was that I was going to New Orleans and everyone told us to pack for heat and to bring bug spray.

It has taken me nearly a month to begin to unpack the lessons and experiences of those few days in New Orleans as part of the Fund for Theological Education 2011 Leaders in Ministry Conference. Sure, I had the experiences. I had the notes I took and the notebook with handouts and schedules. I read blog posts by others who had been there and listened to the recordings of various talks. I also pondered. There has been a whole lot of pondering.

The first day with all of the travel and assorted confusion of checking in and getting situated took me completely out of my comfort zone. The group I was assigned to arrive with was late, so we were unable to check in prior to beginning the conference. This meant that while everyone in our Round Table groups were forming the foundations of those small communities a couple dozen of us were down in a stuffy office while staff members continued the struggle to find acceptable housing among the apartments we had all been assigned to. Jocelyn Sideco, one of the leadership team members, finished off any expectation I had that this would be just another conference when she looked at us standing in line for apartments that may or may not be ready for us and said “at least you know you have a place to stay, even if you don’t know where it is or if it has linens and toilet paper waiting for you. That is more than some people in New Orleans still have even now”.

As I stumbled off the shuttle with my fellow students into the dark courtyard of the apartments we had been assigned to I realized that I needed Jocelyn’s very honest reminder of my surroundings. As I would discover later the physical scars of the storm were everywhere, including these apartments where we lived and gathered as small Round Table groups.

Worshipping with 108 enthusiastic young leaders from across all denominations was truly inspiring, as were the discussions it often started. It was also a way to discover that there is so much more common ground among Christians than we often give ourselves credit for. I can’t even begin to count the times in my life where worship styles have drawn lines in the sand that have caused argument and dissention where there should have been peace and compromise. I am not saying that I would like to worship in that style all the time – I am, after all, a cradle Episcopalian who loves high church liturgy – but it was truly refreshing to find a middle ground that was nourishing enough that it seemed that everyone could not only participate but learn something new in the process.

New Orleans itself became our teacher outside of worship. The heat and humidity forced many of us to slow down even more than the usual disorientation of a new city, and New Orleans embraced the chance to really force us to pay attention. Our first full day we were out and about getting personally involved by taking a bus tour on our way to various service project sites. It was an incredible experience to stop at various churches and ministries to hear their stories of ongoing recovery and struggle as well as their stories of hope and everyday miracles. As I listened to these stories wash over me and stood in places where so much change was taking place I was able to begin to wrap myself around the scope of the disaster. Like so many people I remembered watching the news about Katrina and the disastrous flooding that had destroyed so much of the city, but I also remember being utterly baffled at the sheer size of what was happening. Now I had no choice but to see the reminders everywhere. The houses still damaged and vacant in so many parts of the city; the marks still spray painted on homes that had been searched one by one for dead bodies, even homes that were inhabited still bore these marks; the contrast in recovery from area to area.

We traveled to the Lower Ninth Ward, one of the hardest hit in the flooding and still one of the least recovered areas of New Orleans. I spent that afternoon at Viet New Orleans, a group that is working to provide a safe place for the children of the neighborhood. In this case it is a primarily Vietnamese population, with the recovery effort led by Mary, Queen of Vietnam church. We picked up debris from when this location had served as a construction dump during the rebuilding of the neighborhood, cleaned playground equipment, painted a volleyball court, and installed fake turf on the beginnings of a mini-golf putting green. Other groups in other locations were helping to cut back overgrown vegetation from lots where houses had been swept away by the flooding, picking up trash, and helping a congregation prepare for a Vacation Bible School. For so many of us, we felt that it was a small drop in the bucket of what was needed and that our efforts wouldn’t have much of an effect. For the communities it was an affirmation that they were not forgotten and that somebody still cares about them even if the media has moved on. In the end it was a potent lesson about the gift of presence. It may not seem very big or important to us, but to the person or community we are with our mere presence may be the biggest gift God could give them at that moment.

The rest of the conference was spent on the campus of Dillard University in discussions, practical workshops, and small groups. Within the context of disaster and recovery we learned about new ways to help make the church relevant to a world that increasingly describes itself as spiritual but not religious and sees churches as irrelevant. In a potent video we watched a couple of times during the conference and is still posted on the FTE website Rev. Dr. Lois Dejean tells us that “I am not just here to talk a scripture. I’m here to do a scripture. To be a scripture. Ministry is no longer just at the pulpit”. This became a powerful reminder that sticks with me as I move forward in my discernment and ministry journey.

One of the tools the conference put into our toolboxes is the VocationCARE practice, which provides a framework for taking a community as well as an individual deep into discernment and acts as a catalyst for ideas and action. CARE is an acronym: C, create space to explore Christian vocation together; A, ask self-awakening questions together; R, reflect theologically on self and community; E, enact ministry opportunities. This formed the foundation not only of the small group discussions but also our large group times and even the way the conference was shaped.

My workshop time was spent with Enuma Okoro, who taught us about writing not only as an agent of community building and storytelling but also of being a faithful witness to the community. We did some writing exercises and discussed the role writers have often held as a reflection back to the community of what it is doing both right and wrong.

In the end, it is the experience of the community as a whole that was the most dynamic piece of this conference. Within that framework God took me and turned many of the things I thought I knew on their heads while also confirming things where I had felt so much doubt and concern.

Once again, God placed me on an airplane home with so much more than I expected and more than just my luggage to unpack. In the chaos of returning home and the sorting and packing involved in my preparations to move and begin seminary I have been quietly unpacking the lessons learned from four days in New Orleans. I have been changed by this experience and I am only now beginning to see those changes emerge. With God’s help they will grow and lead me closer to the heart of the purpose God has laid out for me in this path.

Since Blogger is not allowing me to embed the link to the page with the video and conference information I will do it this way: http://www.fteleaders.org/events/detail/2011-leaders-in-ministry-conference/

Waltz Anyone?

As with all good intentions, the one to try to write at least every other week has fallen by the wayside as my family and I have been walking a difficult path these last few months. It has seemed so difficult to face the day on some days that I simply stare at my computer, at this link to a community of loving people, and turn away to sit quietly in my chair in the corner and think.

Transitions are yucky, uncomfortable, beautiful, messy seasons in our lives. It becomes so difficult to see the beauty when you are in the midst of the mess, and it has been more important than ever for me to nurse my inner hermit with long stretches of silence and sitting in contemplation of the current moment.

I started this blog during a very low point in my life with my husband's encouragement. I chose my name - Sulwyn - and created a character in my mind for this wise woman and her quiet cottage. Somehow, this wise woman I thought I had created in my imagination is becoming a deeper part of me. That I have called her out of my depths into my reality, and I love the wisdom that she is sharing with me. But I have continued to hold her at arm's length, to believe that she is somehow imaginary - like the imaginary friends from childhood who nonetheless gave you good advice. But even this is changing, and I am embracing the reality of this part of myself. It isn't easy, and sometimes I fail to recognize the growth that she is calling me into. Sometimes I turn away from that growth because I am afraid of it. But that is honest and true fear speaking, and eventually we waltz together and I end up on the other side somehow and I am stronger for it.

All of this to say that my writing will likely be erratic for a while still. There are some mighty big waltzes with any number of fears currently and ahead of me. But I am still here, still reading and following the things my friends share. Still praying for all of you.

A Little Excitement

Saturday afternoon was spent standing in a parking lot with my husband and many neighbors, watching a wildfire rampage across the hills behind the Cottage. It really was rather alarming, and I find that I am angry at the "kids" (no real way to tell ages, sometimes even genders) who have used the area for their hangout to smoke and do drugs as well as the general management of the area who refuses to take responsibility for their own property.

Yes, I am still steamed.

I was, however, awed, impressed, and very grateful for the skill and dedication of the fire crews that responded. As hours passed and I watched a pair of brush trucks that we were able to determine were parked directly in front of the cottage to maintain that edge of the burn area, I relaxed knowing that they and the many other crews were fearless in their determination to stop this blaze. The precision water drops from the helicopters and the bombers dropping bright orange-red retardant kept my attention as a well-choreographed but improvised dance. Toward the end a Chinook (the kind of helicopter with 2 large rotors that was designed to be able to haul a tank and then some) arrived with what we are guessing was a 500 gallon bucket. The ability they had to drop the water exactly where they wanted it was fascinating! The maneuvering and delicate balancing to react to the loss of the weight of the water was incredible. I was even impressed watching the mop-up crews work late into the night to ensure that no hot spots were left behind.

Today I look out over a half-charred hillside from my front porch and ache for the earth that was so suddenly laid bare. I realize that this area evolved as a burn and regenerate ecosystem, but it just doesn't feel right knowing that this fire was human-caused. Even my husband's cheerful observation that at least part of the tinder-dry brush has been consumed and will create a break for any other fires rings a little hollow right now.

So I thank the firefighters, the amazing pilots who work with them, and the earth herself that this was no worse than it was. But next time I could use a little less drama.

New Eyes

There has been a great deal of growth happening here at the Cottage since I took a deep breath and hit publish on my last post. It seems as if that has opened a door for me to accept myself a bit more, to lean into the scary side of being the woman that I have been created and shaped to be.

It makes regular posting here a bit more difficult sometimes, as I know that early on what interested people was the writing of bits of everyday life at the Cottage. But everyday life here is taking dramatically wild and amazingly divine leaps and bounds daily now; the everyday commonplace is no longer the same old bits of garden, herb, and tea information. Is there still some of that? Sure (except perhaps the garden, which I have decided in this climate with our particular brand of totally stubborn soil is to be given over almost completely to succulents!). But there is more now, too.

I see more magic in life with my daily Reiki practice, with learning even more about tea and the beauty and health benefits it can provide, with opening my heart to allow myself to be the unique wild, holy, mystical, wise woman that I am. Of course, I have days when I forget that I am a goddess (one who is a female embodiment of the divine image), when I forget that the purpose of my life is to live my truth and by myself.

But the magic and the mystery of life is pursuing me forward into places where I am exploring and discovering new (to me) territory. Some of it is quite tender and difficult to share, some of it has been shared better by others in whose footsteps I am dancing. All of it incredible. And Beautiful.

So things may be changing on the blog over the next months as I get my bearings in the world that is opening up around me as I open my eyes and live into my truth. Bear with me.

Lessons from a Prayer Shawl

With all of the time I am spending recovering from surgery, I find that my mind is working overtime! Mostly I have been observing myself and seeing if I can root out where my illnesses have grown into my identity. Once I find that, I can go about blooming more freely as I know where to watch for the weeds that try to choke out the good, healthy growth.

Perhaps that sounds a bit dramatic, but I have always had a rather dramatic streak - though it usually keeps itself confined to my imagination. One of my projects that I have been working on the last two weeks is a prayer shawl based on a series of granny squares using bits and pieces of yarn left from various other prayer shawls and baby blankets that I have made over the last few years. As I crocheted the squares from small leftovers I saw myself putting my life back together. There was a time in this most recent month of conventional treatments that I began to wonder if I were really being called to be a healer, especially one drawn to natural modalities. I mean, with such a powerful tool as Reiki along with proper dietary changes and other work shouldn't I have been able to take care of the gallstones without surgery? What kind of healer am I that I couldn't heal myself?

So I stitched and I thought. Squares were made and stitched together to form a rectangle, and I began to work on the border stitching that makes this one big shawl, and I began to realize that I am like those squares. Many different parts coming together from who knows what to form a cohesive whole something new. I had yarn from a baby blanket next to yarn from a shawl I crocheted for a dying person next to some that had been in my stash so long I no longer know what it was originally used for. Reiki sits beside the new pills I take to help control the debilitating headaches beside the drug intolerance that led me to embrace natural healing in the first place. Embracing all of those strands and all of those squares are the basic truths I know about myself - even though I am finding that those have been hidden for so long behind illness that I seem to have forgotten their names.

Today I read over at Unfolding Your Path To Joy about her choice to live in love, to know herself through her experience of nature and nature's moods and another strand was added to the shawl I am making. Her words reminded me of how I used to be so in tune with nature as a child, embracing the windy afternoons that sometimes threatened to blow me away or the soft and tender touch of fog or rain on my cheeks. Coming home from the beach or the local pool, or after running through the sprinklers and lying out in the sun on the brick porch to dry. I have missed that connection, and though I have tried to return to it over the years since I have grown up I have never been able to embrace the depth of truly knowing myself as a child of the earth. I have hidden in my head and tried to be totally and completely a child of the culture and utterly failed. Especially since I have never had much love and admiration for the culture I have been surrounded by.

So today, although I am still taking it easy and working on allowing myself the leisure to recover fully from the surgery, I am opening my heart to those small whispers that tell me to listen ever deeper to myself and my heart and to wrap myself in the story that is unfolding as I crochet this prayer shawl.

Easter Vigil and Easter - Not the Holiday I had Planned

My journey through the rest of Holy Week and Easter did not turn out as planned. I last wrote on Good Friday, and though I had the best of intentions of completing my meditations on Easter Vigil/Holy Saturday and Easter, a big thing got in the way. Easter Vigil began like any other Saturday before a Sunday holiday - preparing good food, enjoying the time puttering in the kitchen with my husband. I wasn't feeling my best, but not so bad that I could point out that I was feeling any worse than usual.

We gathered up our bells and went to church, where I realized something might not be right. The Easter Vigil service starts in the dark, out on the porch of the church where the priest strikes the new light of Easter and lights the Paschal Candle. The congregation lights their own candles from this great big special and beautiful candle, and then turning to share that light with their neighbors before filing in and filling the church. The first part of the service is then conducted solely by candlelight, as we read and sing together of the salvation history, from creation through the resurrection. Just before we read the Gospel, the whole church is lit up, we sing a beautiful Holy, Holy, Holy while ringing our bells and removing all of the black drapes that have covered the flowers and dressing the altar and clergy in their glorious golden Easter vestments. Easter has arrived!

With my uncertain balance, I waited inside for the rest of the congregation and choir. I had a bit of a headache, but nothing too horrible. I did notice myself flinching from the brightness as the lights came on and we completed the service, but I put it down to being tired and late at night. Joining the feast after the service I still felt a little odd, but again put it down to eating a light supper at 11:00 at night which is totally outside of my usual routines.

I went to church on Easter morning with a headache, thankful for my Easter bonnet that shaded my eyes from the direct glare of the overhead lights, even though I was still staring into the bright stained glass window that forms the wall behind the altar. Later, at brunch with my parents I noticed that the headache hadn't eased and that I did not eat as much as usual.

It hit that afternoon after the earthquake. My husband and I had gone back to our bedroom to lie down for a while and enjoy the quiet. Suddenly the quiet was shattered by the unmistakable sound of the house shaking with an earthquake. No big panic, but the intensity kept growing and the shaking kept going. At one point I stood up, thinking that it was over. No dice. It just kept on, and I began to feel a bit of panic as all of my childhood "earthquake preparedness" stories bubbled up, and the terrors that I thought I had put away came with them. Finally it ended, and we lay back down (after spending quite a bit of time looking it up online!). I stoically rode through the aftershocks, privately waiting for "the BIG one" that my childhood fears told me was still coming - especially since the cat was still crammed into the few inches between the floor and the bottom of our bed!

Shortly after that I noticed that my headache was ratcheting up in intensity. My husband was ready for dinner, but I was starting to get a bit nauseous so I passed. By six or so I called the nurse line to find out if I should be going to urgent care. Around seven the lovely nurse called back after conferring with a doctor - with my symptoms I should go to the Emergency Room.

By eight my mother had joined us for the wait. I had blood drawn and a couple of other tests. By that point I could barely walk. Finally, a bed was available and I was taken back. I've never been so happy to have drugs that work extremely quickly in my life! Unfortunately, they seemed to wear off quickly, too. A second dose and they sent me home around one in the morning.

It didn't do much beyond make me feel sick to my stomach. I think I slept a little, but not much. I listened to the rain and my husbands breathing until the alarm went off. My mom was coming to sit with me while my husband went in and got things started for the week with his staff so he could head back home and not have the phone ringing off the hook. I was in agony. The neurologist was called, and decided that we needed to try a migraine medication. Migraine? I've never had anything anyone ever called a migraine before, but I'll try it if it might help. I'd probably try anything at that point. It helped. Immediately.

So now I am working on yet another possibility for all of this pain and frustration. Migraines. In the meantime, we will still be doing a spinal tap to at least get a baseline reading if not a definitive diagnosis on the intracranial hypertension and removing my gallbladder as soon as we can get it set up. I'm so tired of being in so much pain!

Good Friday

It seems odd to me that today dawned clear and bright. Good Friday is a day of deep darkness for many, for this is the day our Lord was crucified and buried.

It has been a personal tradition - learned from observation in my childhood church - to wear black today, as for a funeral, and to fast as much as I can without creating a medical issue for myself. I will spend the midday hours at church, where we will be spending time focused on the events of the cross.

Noon is the preferred time for services today because biblically it was at the noon hour that Jesus died. There was a solar eclipse, an earthquake, and the curtain in the temple that hid the Holy of Holies was torn in two from top to bottom. All creation recognized what we in our humanity did not.

Good Friday is a solemn day. A day of death and sadness. A day to reflect on what it was and is that put Jesus on the cross and what that horrific death granted to us.

Maundy Thursday

Today is Maundy Thursday - the name comes from the latin for commandment, and recognizes Jesus' commandment to his disciples after he washes their feet to love one another as he has loved them and us. On a more literal level it is the institution of the Last Supper as it has been passed down to us in the Communion Service. To take bread and wine, bless them as Jesus did, and to share them with those gathered around the table with us in love and charity. This loving of community is a hard commandment to follow. It is even harder when, just a short while later, he is betrayed by a kiss from one of his own.

I believe today gives me the greatest glimpse into the foundations of the Christian tradition as I understand the day-to-day living of it. To serve those around me as generously and graciously as I would serve Jesus. To wait patiently and expectantly for the outcome, even when it seems that all is lost. To bask in the loveliness of each moment as it comes, full of the power and presence of the divine, even knowing that the loveliness may be hidden in what appears to me to be a heap of mouldering refuse.

Within the tradition I was raised in, today is the day to celebrate and remember the Last Supper, the Washing of the Feet, and the Vigil in the Garden. The services this evening throughout the Anglican, Episcopal, and Roman Catholic world share similarities in that they will, to some extent, re-enact each of these events. The Last Supper is communion. The washing of the feet often brings people to a point of discomfort, for who wants to have the priest (or bishop) kneel in front of them and wash their feet? It is even more uncomfortable when one realizes that the person kneeling there so humbly before you is there as the hands of Jesus, not as themselves only. My favorite part comes after the service, though. The vigil in the garden.

Growing up, my parish would decorate a special altar of repose, where the consecrated host would be placed with reverence and surrounded by white linens, vases of white flowers, and as many candles as we could fit onto the small portable altar. The church was left silent and available to any and all who wished to come and keep vigil with Jesus from the ending of the service on Thursday until noon on Good Friday, when that service started.

I loved to sit in the dark silence of the little church, steeped in the aroma of years of incense and candles, and watch the small flame of the red votive candle dance in the reflection of the immaculately polished paten beside it casting a rosy glow onto the white of the consecrated Host. This was holiness. Me and God, waiting for who knows what. As I grew older and went to a different church there were other traditions. I tried to keep the vigil, but without an altar of repose and with the church stripped bare in preparation for Good Friday I felt bereft. No candle shining through the dark, no aura of incense to remind me of the holiness of this place. There was no presence to wait with me, and I was plunged prematurely into the darkness of Good Friday. I wanted to bask just a little longer at the feet of the living Jesus, to offer my presence back to Him in His hour of agonized prayer as He had been with me in mine.

Tonight I seek again that moment of close communion with Jesus. The depth of the beginning time of the Triduum - the holy days of Eastertide. I am going to a different church, one that is a bit closer to the traditions of my childhood. But not only do I know that the church is different, I am different. I, too, am in a time of waiting for my trials to be completed. I, too, am suffering still from the sting of betrayal. I feel ready for this season this year, and I am throwing myself headlong into the rituals as I know them.

Pathways

I was reading Goddess Leonie's post today about walking her wise woman way over on Goddess Guidebook when I was struck by the idea of remembering who each of us is inside, and that we have a connection to much greater wisdom than we know if we would only take the time to listen and plug ourselves in to it.

Wednesday I went to meet my new general practitioner, and I handed her a long list of current symptoms and drug intolerances. Our family jokes about it, but we have not been known for having easily diagnosed or treated medical issues. This is part of my path as a healer, because if I could simply go to the doctor and take drugs to fix (or cover up) things I would never have had to turn to alternative medicine. Not being medically "normal" has opened my world wider than I ever would have imagined. I see plants as allies and friends, able to ease some of my discomfort when little else can. Folk remedies and energy healing bring their own relief. But I walk this path alone in so many ways.

Like Goddess Leonie, I struggle with trying to fit in, trying to shape myself so that I can be a part of that "sea of normal" that she describes. Most of the time I do a pretty admirable job of it, but at what cost? Since July I have been trying to understand this cost to myself. I have hidden my light under a mountain of rubble in the effort to please people who only care about how much they can control and manipulate others into doing things that are detrimental to any individuality they may possess. For two years I focused my life on fitting in at my workplace, doing my best to not let on to myself that I was letting their ridicule of me destroy any personal strength I may have had. When they destroyed me by their final deep betrayal I began the long process of slowly digging out of that pile of rubble that I had pulled down upon myself. Only now am I beginning to see my light shine more brightly than it has in a long time. I am returning to the wisdom of the path I was created to walk, listening to the knowledge deep inside of me that tells me how to ease the headaches, how to use what little energy I have to make it last longer, how to care for myself and eventually others.

I may not be around as much for a time, as my symptoms are progressing. I have less and less tolerance for the brightness of the computer screen (or pretty much any bright lights) and the headaches, general soreness, feelings of illness and fatigue are worsening. I have an MRI and Venigram scheduled for March 15th and Spinal Tap following on the 18th, but am on a list to get in earlier if there is a cancellation.

Wild Weather and Good Tea

Wild nights are my glory. - Mrs. Whatsit, A Wrinkle in Time

Wild days, too. Here I was, quietly minding my own business and watching the clouds drifting through out of the corner of my eye when the world went dark, small hail began falling from nowhere, and a brilliant flash illuminated the little ice pellets bouncing like miniature toy balls on the ground followed a moment later by a roll of thunder that seemed to be a wheel traveling into eternity, shaking the earth around it before fading away. Even as the storm cell recedes and the birds come out of their hiding places, the thunder rumbles on though ever-decreasing in volume.

Yesterday our county recorded the lowest ever barometer reading since they started recording in 1881: 29.15 inches of mercury. This record low pressure front that has moved through is trailing plenty of unstable weather which makes for interesting weather watching. I didn't realize that I was so fascinated by the weather, but I suppose it helps to have interesting weather to watch! Most of the time there isn't much to see here.

The Cottage is situated in a valley that nestles up against a mountain in Southern California, where the weather patterns are generally quite stable. It does mean, however, that I am having to learn that the inland valley microclimate is a whole different microclimate than the coastal microclimate in which I was born and raised. The range of plants available to someone seeking to create a water-wise garden is quite wide, though the number of typical garden vegetable plants is far more limited! I am having fun researching the native plants that I could choose for my small space, and even more fun learning about the various medicinal and ceremonial uses for them. I haven't made any decisions yet, but with share when plans come into the works.

In the meantime, I will share with you a favorite tea blend I make with a lovely and fragrant native herb (and which has been a staple in my pot with all of this crazy and cool weather!):

For 1 cup of tea combine 1 tsp or 1 teabag of good, plain black tea with 1/2 tsp of dried or 1 tsp of fresh white sage leaves, broken up into small pieces. Steep for 4 minutes in just-boiling water and remove the tea and sage. The sage is quite strong, so I will sometimes soften it with just a hint of local wildflower honey or agave syrup though stevia or sugar will work also. If you prefer green tea this will work, but it would be preferable to use garden or common sage to allow the flavors to work better together! Sage is quite a warming herb and enjoys being mixed with other herbs like rosemary and thyme to help clear up congestion and breathing difficulties when suffering from a cold.

Eyes on the Sky

I've been thinking about posting all day. Really. But I found it much more fascinating to sit by the window, yarn and hook in hand, watching the weather happen. Today was supposed to be the biggest storm of the three hitting us this week. That meant all kinds of stuff: high winds (waking up to the wind sounding like a freight train can get your day off to a wild start), possible thunderstorms (haven't seen any yet, but I keep hoping), possible hail (and one report suggested some new-to-me form of precipitation - graupel - which I had to research), and possibly the lowest barometric pressure ever recorded in this county. Of course I was glued to the greatest show happening today!

Weather aside, things have been quiet at the cottage. A lot of icky inner work as I prepare to dig deeper into my creative little brain and figure out how to put together all of the pieces that have been put together to make me me actually fit and can be shared with the world. I have been given definite passions and gifts and I want to take them out of the box I have stuffed them into and actually put them to the use for which they were intended. Except that I do not yet know what that use is. Small glitch in the plan, there. But I have been given the gift of faith and have learned tools to use in discernment so I plan on starting there. Searching for the key to the box where I have shoved all of my gifts and passions is not easy work. It is messy and downright gross at times. Not to mention painful. But in the end it is satisfying work because I know that I am right where God wants me. Stay tuned, it could be as interesting as the ever-shifting weather today!

Bronte Weather

I'm feeling a bit Bronte-ish today. With the wind howling up the valley at intervals, making eerie wuthering noises around the house and driving the cat crazy and the low grey skies I can easily imagine myself on the windswept moor surrounding Haworth listening to the stories of my siblings and seeing my own stories to tell in the flame of a candle. I've put a pot of tea on and am deciding which of my items on my to-do list should come next. It seems a bit prosaic to be worrying about laundry and kitchens when the weather is calling for a hot cuppa and a blanket on the couch with a suitably absorbing book - Wuthering Heights or Jane Eyre are favorites for this weather, but the lesser known Bronte books work well, too. Or, for a bit of dark humor Elizabeth Gaskell's Cold Comfort Farm. Just as long as it is a rather familiar book - I don't want to be caught up in a brand new world if the power goes out!

I do enjoy this weather - stormy and so atmospheric for storytelling - but it can get me down sometimes. This week I am prepared. I have a delicious smelling candle burning (a bonus is that if the power goes out this evening I will be prepared and have a light already lit as I fumble around looking for where I stashed the lighter!), a series of sweet crochet projects already on the hook, and a recently finished lap blanket to cuddle up under. Now all that is left is finishing up the less exciting housework so that I can curl up near my favorite window and watch the weather.

Welcome 2010

I let go of 2009 quietly. I didn't want any big fanfare, no loud parties, no countdowns. My husband, step-daughter and I spent the evening quietly at home; a fire in the fireplace, homemade clam chowder on the stove, and a jigsaw puzzle on the coffee table in all of it's difficult glory. We didn't make the effort to stay up. I didn't want 2009 to think that I wished it to linger any longer than necessary, so we drifted off to bed when we felt sleepy. I didn't even wake up at midnight with the neighborhood noisemakers. I simply woke to the sun at our window the next morning and a bright new future waiting for me.

I chose a word of the year for 2010. Bloom. Because I feel like a plant that has been carefully transplanted from a place where I was barely surviving (what a shock, though!) and then fed and watered with all kinds of good stuff that seems nasty and icky at first (manure, anyone?). With all of this glorious care, what plant wouldn't recover with lush and healthy growth and a plethora of staggeringly beautiful blossoms? So with the darkness and ickness of 2009 behind me and the door closed, I am blooming in 2010.

On December 30, I received news that allowed me a huge amount of closure for a very painful time in 2009. The door has been closed and I have barred and locked it from my side, to make sure that it stays there until I call on it. But with the closing of that door a whole new door that was opened just a crack at first has blown wide open with all of the glorious possibilities and dreams waiting for me to follow them. So these first days and weeks of a new year, a new decade, are filled with searching for tools to help me in my search for what dreams are truly me and what dreams are simply dreams. Who am I and what gifts was I given at birth in order to fulfill my created purpose? Why was the last path I was on so traumatically ripped away from me... what was it keeping me from doing?

Solstice Blossoming

My Amaryllis is blooming, and I pray that it is a foretaste of the blooming that I will soon do myself. I have patiently waited and watched and nourished it while the bulb sat until I could find the right pot to plant it in; while it waited in the darkness of the earth to know that the time was ripe to grow tall; while it sent out it's single strong stem; as the bud grew fat with promise. I have waited to know the beauty of this flower, this particular plant, until the time was right.

I see the lessons for my own life - that I must wait patiently while I am transplanted from a pot that was too small for me to the place where I will next be able to grow and thrive. I must continue to wait patiently as that place is prepared for me, the proper hole dug deep into the soil, amended with the proper nutrients and compost (this is especially important, because improperly prepared compost can burn a plant just as the difficult lessons in our lives burn and hurt us even as they give us the things we need to learn in order to be our best). When my new place is ready, I will be transplanted and my roots will find fresh nutriment and I will be able to thrive once again. I will be patient as my roots send out new rootlets and I become established in my place. I will soon be prepared to send out new stalks, laden with heavy blossoms. I will bloom.

It is difficult to be in this time of waiting. I have been uprooted, and am still waiting for my new home. I have a choice, though. I can be like some of my succulents, who require a time of hardening off before they can be rooted to start new bushes and who can survive on very little as they wait. Or, I can be like many plants that, if they wait too long for a new home, wilt quickly and may never recover. I choose to be like the hardier plants, the ones who wait patiently and transplant well. I choose to hold tight to the knowledge that my new place is nearly ready for me and that I will soon have a new well of nourishment with which to supplement my own inner supplies.

I will bloom again.

Seeking Christmas

Christmas Eve is a week from today. My creche is on the mantle, waiting for the small figure of the baby Jesus. My tree is in it's stand, waiting for the lights and ornaments that will make it sparkle like magic. I have a list of things to do to keep me busy... baking, wrapping, watching. Yet it feels almost empty this year.

My decorations sit in their boxes, waiting to be set out in their places. There is the beautiful nativity scene embraced by the wings of an angel, lit gently as a nightlight. The lovely Madonna figure crafted many years ago by my aunt that used to grace my Grandparent's house with her gentle presence each Christmas. The sweetly smiling Santa figure that my husband and I picked out our first Christmas that we were together. The angel with feathered wings. The glass ornaments. All of them are waiting patiently for me, sitting reproachfully in the boxes that fill up the space on the floor where I walk around them and carefully avoid looking at them.

I had planned to make lovely goody bags for friends and family this year filled with homemade candies and cookies. The list of what I am planning to make grows smaller and smaller as Christmas grows closer. My alternative plan is ready to go.

Instead, I sit on the couch and wait. I wait, along with my special decorations, along with Mary, Joseph, the Shepherds and the Wise Men. I watch in the dark stillness of the night, wrapped in a nearly finished blanket and unable to sleep. I seek and hope that I am prepared when it breaks through.

I seek the joy, the light, the love of the season. My spirit is cold in me as I wait for the nights of joy that I pray are coming soon. This year it seems that my heart is duller in my breast, my spirit farther away from me, my energy sapped. I have heard myself say, more than once, that "Christmas is just another day this year" and I wonder at how it got this far.

So I press my face close to the spicy needles of my Christmas tree, inhaling the sharp aroma of the sap and rejoicing in the tickling of the branches against my skin. I light a candle to ward off the darkness, praying for the light to lighten my heavy heart. I play the music of the season; carols and ancient tunes sung by joyful voices, ballets played in tuneful splendor by orchestras, thoughtful musical meditations played on the organ. I pray that the music will wash away the slowness that is shadowing my every movement and weighing me down.

I seek out the beauty and I pray. I wait, I listen, and I yearn for that moment in time that is coming when a miracle is born in the darkness of an unknown night.

Energy Flows

Our little cottage is a bit of a conundrum. When it was placed here on its little plot of land it was set so that the master bedroom is facing the busy street corner with our rooms for entertaining set in the middle and the office and spare bedroom furthest from the street, where there is peace and quiet. Personally, I would have preferred it to have been flipped 180 degrees - with the carport side along the side street where our garden is currently and the master bedroom in the back. In systems like Feng Shui our current alignment is a detriment, because it means that the private areas of the house are most exposed to the busy energies of the street while the areas that would thrive most on the passing energies are buried in the back. Most difficult of all is that our front door and porch are placed so that they face the foothills that run up to the back of our neighbors, making it so that energetically we are always coming up against large obstacles in our forward movement.

Lately, it seems as if those obstacles have become insurmountable and I was even ready to switch doors in their frames if it would declare to the universe that I am ready for a change. Unfortunately (or fortunately) the doors are different sizes, so that didn't work. I try to remember to call them by their opposite names, but everyone still refers to the door to the carport the back and to the porch the front, so I can't even fool the universe that way.

So now I am simply trying to open up our views a bit. Working on the house to maximize potential and energy, to capture opportunities to expand and rise above those foothills. I do not wish to say that moving to this house was a mistake, for I am learning a great deal from our cottage in the foothills. I am simply ready for the tides of energy to change.

Tonight I will join Suzie Ridler and many others in lighting a candle in the dark to proclaim myself a child of the light. I have not finished a great deal of cleaning, clearing or cleansing. I am walking my own journey through the clutter; energetic, emotional and literal. I will keep vigil tonight by my candle flame as it lights a circle in the darkness and I will remind myself of my potential as a child of light. Perhaps I will even gather my courage to work with the Reiki energy that I have been afraid to work with directly since my attunement went so wrong. Perhaps it will simply be enough to cup my hands around that one simple flame as it burns away the darkness of my night. I will not know for sure. Whatever happens, I will bask in the spiritual community of those who will be lighting their own candles, burning away their own darkness.

Changing Seasons

The wind is picking up, the sky is shades of grey, and the temperature has dropped dramatically since yesterday's clear blue skies.

We are supposed be getting the edge of an Alaskan cold front for the next few days and it is helping me get in the mood for Halloween. Samhain, if you prefer. All Hallows Eve. Followed by All Hallows (All Saints) and All Souls days. Dias de los Muertos.

In other words, the veil between the worlds is thinning at this time and we are preparing for visits from friends and loved ones who have passed on. It isn't that they can't visit or send messages to us at any time, but this time of year is especially potent for celebrating and communicating with them. In many cultures the dead are welcomed with feasts of their favorite foods, special lanterns set out to guide their way and make their path easier, and elaborate displays of photographs and mementos. Think of it as a giant family reunion if thinking about dead people scares you.

I look forward to the shifting energies of this season. The welcoming of those from the other side for a time of reunion, checking in and sharing messages. The turning inward to celebrate and give thanks for all of our blessings, whether we are happy about them or not. The further turning inward to experience the fallow season as we rest and prepare for the return of spring and the blossoming of seeds that have been planted and rested in this quiet time.