Songs Amidst the Thunder

I woke this morning to the sound of thunder (and yes I am hearing Bob Seger in my head as I type that line) and heavy rain. It is very hard to get out of bed on a morning like this and so I took the luxury of lingering there for a bit. I did not sleep, I just listened...and prayed...and listened some more.  I would like to say I heard God speaking to me and leading me toward some great epiphany...but I did not. I tried listening harder...I still heard nothing.  So I stopped listening...and oddly enough - that is when I started to hear.

I stopped being so intent on hearing God's voice and instead I just let the sounds around me begin to nurture me. The rolling thunder - this isn't a violent storm, it has the gentleness of a lover, the murmur of lovely words whispered adoringly in your ear.  The falling rain - mostly a steady heartbeat, sure, even, strong, never threatening. And then I hear the unexpected - birds singing joyfully! In the midst of a storm even the birds have found a song worth singing this morning.

It occurs to me that in church circles we often talk about the raging storms of life and how God is there to calm the seas and get us through - and this I believe to be true. But...it also occurs to me that sometimes the storms in life are gentle ones.  These calm and gentle storms are the hardest, for we don't always see the need to seek God and cling to him as we do when the storm is raging and violent. In the gentle storms we are lulled into a sense of peace that says, I've got this God - no need to busy yourself today.  And there we languish in our own sense of self control and assurance.

I've been in the midst of one of those calm storms for a while and today as I listen to the birds sing I am finding refuge and redemption in the midst of this storm. I have sought to put God back in his rightful place as Lord of my life and I have handed the reigns of control back over to him. I have found peace and comfort in his refuge. I have found redemption in his forgiveness.

Now I lay here, listening to the birds sing...we share joy. They say to me - sometimes a storm is just a storm - relax, listen and enjoy.

Glimpsing the Masterpiece

Late last year my daughters and I had the opportunity to return to one of our favorite cities - Washington D.C.  I normally allow the girls to choose our activities but they had both visited more recently than I so that day I decided to be selfish and demand some time at the National Gallery of Art. The girls believe this to be a total waste of time so I left them to sit on a bench and listen to their ipods while I flew through as many galleries as I could before they could find me and drag me out...which didn't take long.

As I entered one of the gallery rooms I immediately noticed a painter in the midst of his work.  This surprised me that they would let folks with paint within 100 yards of these priceless works of art - but nonetheless, there was a man obviously copying a portrait of a woman.  From my angle I could only see the copy being painted and not the original.  I was very impressed, he was obviously a man of great talent and I wondered how it felt to be copying someone else's work when he obviously had the talent to create his own.  I stepped in for a closer look. She was beautiful, the colors, the slight shy smile on her face. I could see why he was drawn to paint this particular portrait. It truly was a great work of art.  But by then I had moved close enough that I could look past the easel he was painting on and see the original masterpiece on the wall in front of him.  I think I might have actually said, "Oh my" right out loud.

His painting was gorgeous and I thought it was perfect - until I saw the original - then it was obvious, his was just a painting. It looked like a painting. The colors, the proportions, the detail were all there in his copy but the original looked as if you reached out to touch it, you would feel the warmth of her skin, touch the curl of her hair, slide your hand upon the yellow silk of her dress.  Her skin glowed with a light that can only be described as "life" - she really gave the appearance of life and dimension!  I'm sure you can tell by my fumbled attempts to describe this scene that I don't know a lot about art - but that day, I saw for myself the difference between a painting and a masterpiece.

I thought about that painting today as I took a ride through the country. Watching spring come alive, even though we had snow and ice this morning. I saw pale rays of sunlight dancing through the new pale green leaves. I thought about all we do in the name of beauty...how we build, how we landscape, how we paint and create and shape and form.  And yes, sometimes we do create beautiful and wonderful things...but if we are not careful, those beautiful creations will end up blocking the view of the masterpiece behind it all...God's creation!  There can be nothing more beautiful, nothing more stunning and full of life than the created world we call Earth.  God has indeed poured upon it all manner of glory and wonder for us to feast our eyes upon - but how often do we stand still long enough to notice? How many times do we bother to shift our gaze past the "art" of this world and look to the original masterpiece of God's work?

Yes, I know Spring has backslid into mild winter, but tomorrow, brave the cool dampness anyway - take a walk, take a ride - but go and see a real work by the real Master. Prepare to be astounded - it is glorious to behold!

The Quilt Maker's Hand

I was graciously and mercifully spoiled this past week while on my retreat. It was as if God knew I would be missing the loving warmth of my family and so he warmed the earth just for me. I had plenty of sunshine and warm, breezy days in which to get out and walk.  But just in time for my return home, to the warmth of my family, the wind has turned chill and I have to break the coat out once again.

It is one of those days where I haven't really wanted to climb out of bed, it has been dark and misty - not very inviting. I want to draw the quilt around me tighter and just stay snug in my little cocoon.  Instead, I ponder the quilt...it is worn, faded and stained. I look at the stitches...every one almost the same length - tiny stitches, some crooked, some straight.  I remember the hands that made each and every stitch.  Geneva's hand...soft, warm, always busy with some household chore. My Granny made quilts for all of us over the years. It was something she took great pleasure in, but never pride. She never felt her quilts were anything special - but to us, they are a great treasure.  I know I should stop using them - pack them away and protect them from more wear and tear. But every time I cocoon myself in one, or place one over my feverish child, it is as if we are wrapping ourselves in her loving care one more time. Her hands go to work...healing...comforting...being.

It occurs to me that the beautiful things of the Earth can be similar expressions and remembrances of God's loving care for us. Wrapped in the warmth of sunshine...comforted by a sparrow's song...healed by the solitary quiet of a mountain breeze or a valley's wide, lazy river.  If we stop, look and feel the beauty of the patchwork quilt we call Earth, we will see God's hands at work...healing...comforting... being.

Suddenly the chill of the day is gone...I want to go out and feel God's loving care in the world - to see the trees turning green with new leaves, to see the tulips pushing their way through the soil - tiny stitches created just for us...healing...comforting...being.  The Quilt Maker's hand at work.

Silence of the Latte'

Well, it is the final day of my Spiritual retreat. In a few hours I will head toward home and the loving embrace of my family and friends.  I have had a long journey this week. I have learned things...I have relearned things...I have let go of some things...I have picked up others.

One of the most important things I relearned is the gift of silence. To sit in silence and not think about anything but my breath....to walk in silence and contemplate God in the world...to pray and offer silence so that I can hear the conversation God offers back.  Silence is fairly easy to come by on Spiritual retreats - they are designed to give you time alone. I've sought out solitary gardens and out of the way spots. I've eaten alone most days and I have sat quietly in my room with the TV off most nights (although I couldn't resist watching the Duke game last night).

But now, I will go home and I wonder - will the silence go with me.  As I sit in Panera this morning I am only mildly aware of the chaos around me.  There are a multitude of conversations - some loud, some quiet. There are children running around and elderly watching on with a smile of remembrance. There are business meetings and friend meetings and so there is a loud mix of humanity all around me.  And yet, I sit and seek out silence...realizing that we can't always withdraw from life to hear from God - we must instead train ourselves to seek and embrace the silence, even in the midst of noise and chaos.

Is God in Panera on a busy weekday morning? Oh yes :)  He has nudged me to have patience at the disorder at the counter and allowed me instead to see the kindness of folks helping one another. He has been glimpsed in the hugs and kisses a mother is sharing with her little daughter as they enjoy a morning out. His peace is found in the faces around me, pleasant, kind, gentle.  I look around me and realize that life viewed from a distance is its own dance...its own poem...it has a rhythm and a movement that, when seen from the silence of prayerful contemplation, has its own beauty and glory as the image of God is made visible in remarkably ordinary ways.

"a few words together and don't try 
to make them elaborate, this isn't 
a contest but the doorway


into thanks, and a silence in which 
another voice my speak."  
                  ("Praying by Mary Oliver)

Amen.

It is Well With My Soul...and my body...and my mind...

At midnight a new day blew into town....and I do mean, it literally blew in with a violent storm beating at my hotel window. I lay there listening to the rain, wind, and hail...and I wondered, will anyone tell me if I should take cover? Will I know if danger is approaching? Needless to say, I couldn't get back to sleep for a bit, I just laid there and listened to nature roar.  All this fuss because the temperature was going to change - a cold front moving in and a warm front moving out - not a big deal it would seem but at the line where the exchange occurs - turmoil, chaos.

How like life that is.  This week I have been making some changes of my own - trying to get healthy again: body, mind and soul.  I have hit the gym every day. My muscles have been stretched and crunched, pushed and pulled. I am feeling muscles I never even knew I had and they are not happy to have been awaken from their long slumber.  They rage, they hurt...or at least they did. Today they are more alert, they are not screaming at me every time I try to take a step or rise from my chair.  They are starting to wake up. My trainer tells me this is normal and ok - waking up sleeping muscles is painful business but the pain won't last and the benefits are worth it.

How like life that is.  I have discovered that waking up a slumbering soul comes with its own pain.  Pain in knowing you have pushed God to the sidelines. The pain of realizing your own ego has hindered or hijacked the work you were called to do.  Stretching the soul to take deeper lunges of thought...pumping the soul to more weightier issues...these things are accompanied by their own pain.  But I am assured that is ok, it is normal. I am also assured that the pain won't last and the benefits are worth it.

This journey with God - to Barnes and Noble, to the Garden, to the gym - has been an incredible, insightful and healing process. It has not been without pain...but that's ok. The pain has not lasted and the benefits are already felt.  

In the calm sunshine after the storm, God has spoken..."Feel my warmth? See my light? Hear my call? You have weathered the storm, all is calm...all is well."

Eyes Wide Open

I am going to dinner with a friend. This may seem like a small thing to some but for me it is a great sign of hope and affirmation.  "Hello, my name is Karen and I am a recovering introvert."  I have journeyed to this spiritual retreat to refill my soul - this is an important and necessary job for us introverts (I can hear your amens from here.)  In introvert is not necessarily anti-social; they are not people-haters or recluses. We can do all the same things extroverts can do! I can be the center of attention comfortably enough, just ask anyone who knows me! I can stand and sing or speak in front of 100's of people with barely a butterfly.  The deal with introverts is that when we do those highly social things, even if we love doing them, we expend a lot of energy in the process.  While an extrovert will draw more energy from the crowd and socialization - an introvert can only renew energy by being alone - by seeking solitude and self-care.

I came on this retreat to re-fill my depleted energy. I came desiring to retreat and withdraw socially for a bit. But this morning I woke up and thought, "I don't want to eat alone again."  With a smile I rejoice, I know my levels are back up - I can re-enter the world.  A recovering introvert, if they are honest, will tell you that even as they rejoice, this step brings a level of anxiety with it. "What if I'm not ready?" "What if it is too soon?" This is especially true when coupled with a Spiritual aspect. "What if, when I re-enter I can't find God again? or as easily?"

There is the anxiety that the work of the last few days to re-fuel the spiritual tank and to reconnect with God might be lost amidst the gathering chaos and noise of re-entry into the "real world." I can already feel that anxiety - I only have 2 days left!!!  But then words of comfort...

Everything is His.
The door, the door jamb.
The wood stacked near the door.
The leaves blown upon the path 
   that leads to the door...


And, simply said, all the rest.
                  (Musical Notation:2 by Mary Oliver)

It is silly to fear that I won't find Him upon re-entry...for He is everywhere and all is His. The only way I will miss seeing, is if I stop looking.

Garden Psalm

God sat with me in a garden today. With a slight nip in the air, the sun working hard to warm the new day, I took my new book of poetry and went for a walk.  I found myself in a churchyard where off to the side was a small prayer garden. It looked inviting in the glow of morning.  I sat upon a bench and read a few poems aloud to the birds and squirrels - and perhaps some puzzled neighbors wondering what crazy fool was reading poetry out loud on a busy Tuesday morning.

"Around me the trees stir in their leaves and call out, 'Stay awhile."
The light flows from their branches.


And they call again, "It's simple," they say,
"and you too have come 
into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine."
                (When I Am Among the Trees by Mary Oliver)

I stop reading and gaze at a flowering tree. I really should learn the names of these beautiful things. I am struck at how the tree is a visual metaphor - some flowers are only buds, not yet given birth. Some were open, red, beautiful and mature - glorious. Others were brown and giving way to death. It made me sad. Remembering I was also here to deal with grief and loss.

But then the words of the poem came to me..."and you too have come into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled with light and to shine."  As I thought about the dark and shadowy world of sorrow my eyes traveled around the little garden and I saw that even in the shadows, there were beautiful things growing.  And there, out of the darkness of a deep mound of mulch and wood chips, sprouts were forcing their way into the light.  I looked again at the glorious, red flowering tree and beneath it I notice a lush carpet of red petals that litter the ground. A royal carpet. It will now turn to fertile soil and thus will bloom again.  There is even beauty in death. I am no longer sad.