The Icicle Lesson

The hard wooden bench, hundreds of years old, in a small room that was lit with natural light, was warm and quiet as they gathered in silence at Meeting for Worship. My friend Anj had invited me to join her and L as they went to their Quaker gathering on Christmas morning. The silence, like the room, was warm and inviting.

Silence has been revealing her true heart to me in this last while. She has moved out from my view of her as the darkness of punishment and legalism into the warmth of the sunlight and shown me her embrace of tenderness and grace. My solitudinal days in the Rocky Mountains, when I lived in Alberta, have been reframed to include the beauty of silence sitting within intimate spaces with the Almighty.

In the quiet of Meeting for Worship my heart began to race and I became thirsty, literally thirsty for water. Silence often urges me to keep my eyes open and watch while I wait for her to speak to me, to make me very aware of the presence of the Trinity. On this Christmas morning of 2005 I opened my gaze and watched an icicle outside slowly drip drip drip. It had formed, grown and become still in the cold, yet now, on this morning of celebrating new life, new birth, the atmosphere that surrounded it and held it also warmed it and began to melt it. I wondered if the melting was also the water of life for my thirst. Was that my own heart journey being reflected back at me? My gaze roamed the small interior of this wooden structure with uneven beams on the ceiling, walls and floor. The years of journeying were visible, as was the invitation to come and wait within her open room. There were several rooms in this little house for worship but the walls were boards that had been hinged so that they could be lifted up and held fully open. Therefore the rooms were completely open and natural light could be seen within, without any barriers. My own heart has many rooms but if I am willing to open the doors of each one the Spirit will fill them with light. When the heart continues the process of thawing it also needs the sanctuary of warmth and Light to give it courage to remain there. My soul is thirsty for the process to continue.

Silence, sacred silence, invites me to embrace the thirst, embrace the openness, and move more deeply into the place of receiving and giving life. Because silence, for me, is becoming a beautiful open room in the dance of intimacy with the Almighty while at the same time it is the safe sacred embrace where every emotion is honoured.

Childhood Questions

I just read a delightful comment here about experiencing the new Narnia film with the comments of a small child behind him. I can see the laughter in Wes's eyes and voice as he re-tells this addition to the movie. I often hear people say that Christmas is for children, and of course we want to be the child in that statement as well. But in this moment, reading McNair's outline and the comment my memory sorts through the archives and retrieves moments of inhaling the wonder of wisdom from a person of very few years. You know, those profound moments that when remembered you find such beauty?

Paul used to love to be read to from books on animals, and the most recent one had been describing birds with large beaks. At the dinner table he sat quietly, as my Aunt and Uncle had instructed him to, and to speak only when spoken to. There were often guests at their dinner table and that evening Mr Hill was visiting. When the meal was finished and Paul was excused he turned to Mr Hill, studying his large nose, and seriously inquired of him "are you a horned bill?".

Alicia is just 2 1/2 now and recently she has learned that inquiring about her parents day would be a suitable activity at the dinner table. She places her elbows on the table, her chin in her hands and asks her father, "how was your day Daddy?". When that is finished she asks her mother the same question.

I took two of my nephews to California when they were age 7 and 9. Disneyland was enjoyed but the highlight for Colin was Hearst Castle. One of the stops was the massive library where, out of the crowd came Colin's little voice "please can you tell me how many books are in this library?.

Taking children out to lunch on Sunday was one of my favourites times of getting to know them. One Sunday I had 4 boys along at the restaurant, ages 11, 10, 9 and 4. Asking them what they were going to do when they were finished school gave some great insight as to how they could dream, and what they already knew about themselves. The 11 year old had no clue, and he had never been encouraged to dream. The 10 year old loved food so he thought he would be a food editor and go to all the best restaurants in town. The 9 year old had already spent 2 years learning how to live with juvenile diabetes and had become one who wanted information and knowledge. He was going to be a book illustrator. Josh, the 4 year old was already reading encyclopaedia's for information and he didn't hesitate for a moment when he responded with "I will be a managing director".

Christmas may be our excuse to let the child within have fun but as I remember these titbits I wonder if it isn't a reminder to my own heart to let the wonder and the beauty of spontaneity and fun be the child like part of this adult. To always live with wide eyed wonder and exploration, to never be afraid to be like Lucy, who stepped out of the wardrobe and into the adventure with such curiosity and amazement. There is also the remembering of being full of questions as a child, and my heart and head still are asking questions, still wondering, still wanting to know more. Hmmm those are some good words to keep in mind as these last few days of the year unfold.

Trusting the Space

The only way to get from my small community into the large city is by ferry - a 40 minute space of time to stop, to slow down, to wait and watch.

I had been in the city to see a powerful and exhilerating African music production, Umoja and headed back home yesterday. People meandered around on the ferry carrying parcels, pulling luggage, children were full of energy, and somewhere at the other end of the boat the Shriners were singing Christmas songs. I snuggled down in my seat by the window just enjoying a moment to do absolutely nothing.

As the ferry pulled away and headed out 8 seagulls flew along side us, keeping pace. Those wings seemed to keep a perfect rhythm, carrying them just above the surface of the water. How do they do that? How can they fly so low and yet trust the space between their belly and the water? There must be a perfect balance of all the factors required.

I have 40 minutes of "space" to wait, or to methaphically hover, and be moved forward while I waited. Somehow this speaks to me of learning to "trust the space", trust that the Spirit is in any given moment, and when I have time to wait or to listen to lean into it.

Hmmm, it fascinates me how those gulls could know the perfect amount of space required in their flight beside us. Nature, creation and its intricate character never ceases to amaze me.

Daring to Risk for the Dream

Reading an article this morning about an 84 year old Polish man who had a dream and dared to pursue it, reminded me that there is no age limit to following our dreams.


Farmer's dream ends at Heathrow
An elderly farmer who disappeared from his home in central Poland was found wandering around London's Heathrow Airport in search of a new life.
Ludwik Zon, 84, put on his best clothes and rode his bike to catch the bus and train to Warsaw, then flew to London without telling his family.

Read the rest of it here. That kind of courage and guts makes me laugh with wonder.

Women of Strength

Each Monday afternoon 13 women gather to share where they are on the journey, to tell their stories, and to hold each other in the Light as they walk through their fear, their joy, their pain and their healing. This group started over a year ago with one woman coming to Linwood House to share and she has brought many more. We call it our Happy Hour group! A couple of weeks ago two new women came to join us and see what this was all about. One of them, S, is celebrating one month on the road to freedom from addictions. She has never come this many days before and this week she brought a copy of what women of strength are to her, as she continues toward freedom:

A Woman of Strength

A strong woman works out everyday to keep her body in shape,
And a woman of strength builds relationships to keep her soul in shape.
A strong woman isn't afraid of anything,
But a woman of strength shows courage in the midst of her fear.
A strong woman won't let anyone get the best of her,
But a woman of strength gives the best of herself to everyone.
A strong woman makes mistakes and avoids the same in the future,
But a woman of strength realizes life's mistakes can also be unexpected blessings and capitalizes on them.
A strong woman wears a look of confidence on her face,
But a woman of strength has faith that it is in the journey that she will become strong.

I have the privilege of working with an amazing team of women, and men like Mike, learning who Jesus is and how he asks us to live, and sharing that path with any who cross it.

Holding the Gift

A Mother' Gift

Holding fragile gifts - the heart remembers

Fragile Packages

Fragile Gift

Yesterday I had a couple of hours to do some Christmas shopping. You can get such a variety of packaging for any gift. Gifts are being wrapped and carefully carried home, hidden, or placed beneath the Christmas tree. Some of the contents are incredibly fragile.

Yet in the midst of this time that seems to be obsessed with "buying gifts" my heart is constantly reminded of those who are holding fragile packages of life in their hands. This photo is Amy - being held for the first time by her Mommy, when she was almost a month old. She was such a fragile delicate package of life - only 10 months were on this earth. Amy is my niece.

During this season of festivity and laughter there are those who are painfully spending the last precious moments of life with those who are weak and fragile. There may be only moments, or days, or months of that left, and those with them are spending Christmas keeping watch as life slips away. Perhaps it is a son or daughter by the bed of a parent, or a parent at the bedside of a child. It could be a volunteer beside someone who has no family or a friend sitting with one who has meant so much to them. Husbands and wives - one of them slipping away from life. How do you hold this package that is filled with pain and longing, and you are powerless to keep it in your hands?

I have no children of my own but within me is a mother's heart that aches for those in pain. Within me is God's heart beat that is both mother and father. And perhaps it is those Divine hands that hold the most fragile packages of life at this time - a father's hand and a mother's hand. Henri Nouwen describes these hands of the Almighty in his book "The Return of the Prodigal Son":
"The Father is not simply a great patriarch. He is mother as well as father. He touches the son with a masculine hand and a feminine hand. He holds, she caresses. He confirms and she consoles. He is, indeed, God, in whom both manhood and womanhood, fatherhood and motherhood, are fully present." Pg 99 Return of the Prodigal Son

I remember the week I sat with my friend Edith as she died - a gift that will be in my heart for a lifetime.

Those father and mother hands of Abba hold the living and the dying - I pray comfort in this season of holding fragile packages of life, no matter what race or religion you are, whether you have a faith or not. Life is still a fragile gift to be held in our hands.

Seven Things

Bobbie tagged me, so here is my response:

Seven Things I want To Do Before I Die:
-visit Calcutta
-complete my Story Cookbook
-Spend another year in Italy
-Become fluent in more languages
-Tangibly live in freedom
-be in a mutually loving, passionate, committed relationship
-facilitate story and food workshops

Seven Things I Cannot Do:
-stay completely organized
-draw
-write legibly
-hide my feelings
-ignore people who stand alone in a room
-stop dreaming
-be athletic

Seven Things That Attract Me to People (romantic, best friends, whatever applies to you)
- love of adventure
- love of dialogue
- depth of heart and soul
- sense of humour
- ability to think globally
- an open heart (authentic)
- ability to let go and be zany

Seven Things I Say Most Often:
- oh dear
- I've been thinking about...
- Oh Mama Mia
- What does that look like for you?
- What are you passionate about?
- That is crap
- Love you

Seven Books, or Series, That I Love
- Pilgrims Progress (childhood favorite)
- When The Heart Waits
- The Promise, The Chosen
- Sea Edge
- Bread and Wine
- Interview with History
- The Mother Machine

Seven Movies I Would Watch Over Again
- Sound of Music
- La Vita Bella (in Italian)
- Jerusalem
- Sheltering Sky
- Pole to Pole (Michael Palin Series)
- Cry the Beloved Country
- Out of Africa

Thanks Bobbie for an interesting look within.

Solitude and Community thoughts

Parker Palmer has some interesting thoughts on solitude and community, and spoken of within the context of the "circle of trust" - safe places. In my own journey into solitude and into community, both have undergone transformation in my perspective and in my degree of participation. Solitude, or aloneness, seemed to be a punishment, an isolation where others did not want my company. Community on the other hand was simply a place of being alone when surrounded by others and neither looked like the circle of trust that Palmer speaks of. Wearing a mask, carrying high walls round the heart, and trying to live a performance based life (the performance to please others) contributed a great deal to the fear of solitude and the fear of community.

Palmer says "We have much to learn from within, but it is easy to get lost in the labyrinth of the inner life. We have much to learn from others, but it is easy to get lost in the confusion of the crowd. So we need solitude and community simultaneously: what we learn in one mode can check and balance what we learn in the other. Together, they make us whole, like breathing in and breathing out." (pg 55 Hidden Wholeness)

"it is about being fully present to ourselves, whether or not we are with others." (pg 55 Hidden Wholeness). This comment in particular has given me new insight into "love your neighbour as yourself" - the ability to love community as much as I love solitude. In the place of hating who I am and keeping walls around my heart I am unable to love, partly because I don't know who I am when I stay in that place. Solitude is the sacred space that invites us to let our soul speak, to be alive, to be authentic, to be heard by our heart and to be heard by the Almighty (as well as the sacred space to listen to the Almighty). How will I be able to let my heart be open to loving others when I cannot love myself? Perhaps Jesus knew how hard it is to truly love ourselves as we and for who we are, yet we deeply crave others to love us. How confusing! I am again seeing the thought of how unbalanced love is when we want others to love us but we are unable to love ourselves. We are not fully present in solitude therefore we are unable to be fully present in community, in relationships. Being fully present anywhere is a journey in itself. How wise of the Almighty to see that we must start so much from the inside so that we can enjoy, participate, be present in the life on the outside, and know true freedom. Loving from within also gives us the grace to find the beauty of others in community, and to accept them as they are. At least that is my quest - as I learn to love myself and be patient with myself, that there will be more grace, patience and love for those around me.

Inhale solitude, exhale solitude
Inhale community, exhale community

and love.

"If we want to create spaces that are safe for the soul, we need to understand why the soul so rarely shows up in everyday life." pg 52 Hidden Wholeness

More morning ramblings.

Early Morning Rambling

In the movie Secret Garden there is a special key to the garden and once it is found they go in and begin to discover the beauty the lies dormant within those walls. I thought of my heart that way and wondered why someone didn't find the key or climb over the wall to see who lived within. I had this picture again this morning and thought of how my heart was never really seen until I began taking down the walls, open the gate and letting others in.

Perhaps if we wait for someone to climb over the walls, the truth is the relationship will be co-dependent because we see them as our rescuer who is responsible for our happiness. Authentic friendship, love, authentic relationship will evolve when I become vulnerable enough to risk. That sounds theoretical but for me it has been the truth. Only when I am willing to keep my heart open do others see who the real me is. It isn't for them to discover it - it is my gift to offer it.

Does it get trampled on? Yes. Does it get misunderstood - yes? Does anyone really hear my heart? Oh yes they do and those are the gifts of friendship that are very valuable.

Just some early morning ramblings.

Faith, Passion, Contentment and Stillness

Some recent conversations round the table have entered the realm of "faith and passion" and why is it that the Christian community seems to feel those two cannot go together. The answer to "why" has not yet become clear but my search for it deepens.

Passion - a word of enormous significance, and defining for me. Passion, as I see it, means living life with your senses fully awake and alive. Yet somehow, in religious terms, it seems to be solely connected to sexual passion. While that is a piece of it, there is so much more to this vitality of living, of seeing, of hearing, of knowing, of tasting of life that allows us to live in colour, in sound, and in texture. I like to call this holy passion, the place where I am learning to let the breath of God, Ruach, breathe into my whole being, and the exhaling of that passion into living.

I feel like I am starting my favourite sermon here, but I can't help it... I feel so passionately about living with passion! My heart has come alive after years of being in a boxed up prescribed place and it just refuses to let me stay long in anything less that the passion for which it/we were created. Oh I still wrestle with it, but I am learning to lean into it. Maybe it is like leaning into love.

The table discussion went something like "somehow the church has decided that faith and passion don't exist together". Not only is that hogwash, or whatever word you prefer to use, it is a complete lie and travesty of who the Almighty created us to be, created in his image.

When the Spirit breathed into the friends of Jesus it must have been a breath of passion for their soul. I feel the breath of the Spirit breathing this same fire for life into my soul, my heart, my senses, and my words. Anj has written this wonderful piece about contentment and in it I hear passion. "Be still and know that I am God" - is a place of contentment and stillness as well as passion - at least from my perspective.

I have been mediating on Galations 5:13-23 (The Message) which is all about passionate living - and nothing less than that.

Abba, I so want to live this life with the inhaling of your passion and exhale it into life for as long as my heart beats. Not with arrogance or power but from a place of trust, an open heart, humility, wisdom and love for others as I love myself in the "act of true freedom".

"Live freely, animated and motivated by God's Spirit"

"But what happens when we live God's way? He brings gifts into our lives, much the same way that fruit appears in an orchard - things like affection for others, exuberance about life, serenity. We developed a willingness to stick with things, a sense of compassion in the heart, and a conviction that a basic holiness permeates things and people."

I'd love to hear your thoughts on how faith, passion, contentment and stillness fit together.

quote de jour

Erin over at Biscotti Brain sent me the link to Superhero Journal for this beautiful quote, along with some amazing photography.

"Your hand opens and closes and opens and closes.If it were always a fist or always stretched open, you’d be paralyzed.Your deepest presence is in every small contracting and expanding, the two as beautifully balanced and coordinated as bird wings."-Rumi

What is Love?

Love is the most characteristic and comprehensivie act of the human being. We are most ourselves when we love; we are most the People of God when we love. But love is not an abstract word defined out of a dictionary. In order to love maturely we have to live and absorb and enter into this world of salvation and fredom, find ourselves in the stories, become familiar with and follow the signposts, learn the life of worship, and realize our unique identity as the People of God who love.
From the Introduction to the Books of Moses in The Message

Thanks Wes for the tip on some good reading.

Circle of Dreamers

Circles of grace, circle of women telling story, circles where we sit shoulder to shoulder and can look each other in the eye. Twice in the last week I have had the privilege of sitting in a circle of women who have dared to share their dreams with each other.

One of my friends here in this small West Coast community has recently published her first novel. She has waited through this process, searching for a publisher, wondering if there was one, yet never giving up on her dream. She kept herself busy with her work which is writing articles for a German newspaper, while continuing the search to keep her dream alive. I would give you a link to the book but I can't read German, or write it! Befriend Your Enemy is her novel and it can be found on Amazon, in German. Bernadette had invited us to a cocktail party, a group of 13 women from this community, yet originally for all over the world. We sat down together it became a circle. Bernadette challenged us to share a dream we have fulfilled, or one we are still waiting on. Some of us knew each other but for others this was a first time meeting. Yet each courageously dared to share a dream.

Each dream was grand and glorious - simply because it is daring to believe what looks impossible could become reality. Speaking the words legitimized them - how often we feel our dreams are illegitimate and have to be hidden away. Why? Why must they be kept in the dark when they are written on our heart and soul? Do they not deserve the dignity of being spoken, to be given breath? Fear holds the key that wants them locked away; fear that this one will never come to pass. Oh I know that fear well but today I look it in the eye and challenge it for what it is - the cowardlyness of those who dared us not to dream and gave their keys to our own fear. All the dreams shared came from artistic souls. They were not "role" dreams but rather individual and unique coming from the place of knowing their own identity. Not spoken from a place of who others thought they were but of knowing their own heart writing.

Another circle was women who are getting to know each other, meeting each Monday afternoon to share where we are on this journey. The ones who did share spoke of relationship, of heart longing, yet perhaps less of knowing their own identity. I ask the question - why is the "Christian" community so afraid to dream? Why are we so afraid to believe God can and does give us dreams? That is another topic to explore.

The commonality lies in the passion of the dreams. To dream is to let passion breath upon our soul. At least this is how I see it. Passion that dares us to live, really live, within our own skin, learning to love our story and every winding road it has travelled. Daring to give the future roads honour and dignity,(as well as the past) and the passion of letting the Spirit within breathe through me, in me. Perhaps dreaming is placing the etchings of the heart in holy waiting, sacred space where the circle of Grace holds us and our dreams in the Light.

Circles - we come full circle when we travel through the Valley of Weeping and step into the Acres of Hope. A circle of others who travel with us gives us hope.

"I've always longed to live in a place like this, always DREAMED of a room in your house, where I could...And how blessed all those in whom you live, whose lives become roads you travel;They wind through lonesome valleys, come upon brooks,discover cool springs and pools brimming with rain!God-travelled, these roads curve up the mountain, and at the last turn - Zion!God in full view!"

Evening Prayer

Taken from Northumbria evening prayer page.

Expressions of faith

Lord, You have always given bread for the coming day;
and though I am poor,
today I believe.

Lord, You have always given strength for the coming day;
and though I am weak,
today I believe.

Lord, You have always given peace for the coming day;
and though of anxious heart,
today I believe.

Lord, You have always kept me safe in trials;
and now, tried as I am,
today I believe.

Lord, You have always marked the road for the coming day;
and though it may be hidden,
today I believe.

Lord, You have always lightened this darkness of mine;
and though the night is here,
today I believe.
Lord, You have always spoken when time was ripe;
and though you be silent now,
today I believe.

For Edith

The Story Ring

A true friend hears you when no one else can,Dares you to be yourself when you have lost your way,Reminds you of the song in your heart, when you have forgotten the words,And above all loves you for who you really are.

These are the words on a beautiful birthday card I received on the weekend. They speak of grace, of love, and of those who have committed to walking the journey into freedom with me.

But they remind me of someone very special who walked through my life, who walked with me for 20 years - Edith. She was my boss, who when I was 19, didn't fire me because I didn't know how to do the job they hired me for, but instead she patiently began my training. She arrived early at work each morning when her husband dropped her off on his way to work. I began coming early so we could have coffee together. Edith made me laugh, she took me outside my serious world and told me the stories of her life that had been filled with dancing at country dances, dating, flirtation, 5 engagements and how she finally chose Pete. She was going to be a nurse but at 18 the pain in her hands and feet was too great and she had to drop out. Edith and Pete had longed to adopt a child but in those days the Doctor had to sign the papers of approval and he refused to do so - he felt her disease wouldn't allow her to be a mother. Edith had rheumatoid arthritis and whatever medications were available in her early years she was allergic to.

When I met her she was in her 50s. Edith became the first person that I really opened my heart to, the first person I opened up my inner windows of the soul to and she poured her love through them. To her I wasn't known by who my father was, or who my mother was, rather I was just "Stephanie" with individual character, dreams, and struggles. I wasn't defined by who I belonged to, or by the church I was in - to Edith I was her friend, and almost a surrogate daughter.

There is much much more to the story of my friendship with this brave and courageous woman but I will not tell that today. In the last years of her life my spare time became her time sitting on the floor at her feet where we watch TV together and where she could see me easily because she couldn't lift her head up. She poured courage into my soul and she was my safe place to tell my story. In fact she was the only place to tell my story which was a most treasured gift from her heart. She was that true friend. In the last week of her life I sat by her bedside watching her breathing slow, her eyes close and then that final moment of the last heartbeat. The gift of sitting beside someone as they die cannot be put into words and that was what I had with my friend - the last moments with her.She left me a couple of rings that have been sitting tucked away in the 7 years since she has been gone. I have been waiting for the right way to use them to honour this precious friend who poured grace into my life. In April I began the process of designing this piece of jewellery with her rings - blending her story and mine together. She was unable to cry because her tear ducts did not function and so her unshed tears, and my own tears (many unshed) are symbolized in this "story ring":

Life is full of threads that seem to twist and turn and wind together and often you cannot see where they begin or end. The tears we shed do not come in any pattern but rather they are woven into, between, underneath and around the threads of our own life story. Every tear we shed is its own jewel, its own multifaceted diamond of truth and reflection as our story is held in Abba's Light. The colour (for me) of honour is gold and one must hold the tears and threads (cup of joy and cup of sorrow as Henri Nouwen speaks of it) with the gold of honour - the Almighty holds our story that way asking us to do the same. Finally in the circle of life there is Grace! Grace that holds it all together, grace that is seamless with no visible beginning or end, grace that borders every story written, in process of writing, and being told. It is all fashioned by hand, the hands of the Almighty with artistic precision.

Thank you Edith for your amazing friendship, your love, your laughter and your example of living through the challenges. You dared me to swim to freedom! I still miss you. As the diamonds sparkle I remember you, I breathe gratitude out for those 20 years of gifting you gave to this soul.

quote de jour

"God hath given you one face, and you make yourselves another."
William Shakespeare

from TrueFaced - trust God and others with who you really are
by Bill Thrall, Bruce McNicol and John Lynch

Going Through The Motions

going through the motions
a ritual
make a big show
act like..but don't mean it
just use me
take this to heart...

In a quiet morning waiting time for a passage in Mark 7 to speak to me, these were the words that grabbed my attention. So I waited for the Spirit to show me more, to give some kind of thread or body to these words and bring them together into something I had never seen or heard before. The Message has titled this passage as The Source of Your Pollution and Jesus is talking to the scholars and the people who "knew everything". Once more my attention is tweaked because Jesus is again using the illustration of the ritual around a meal time! Of course that fact has me stopping, eyes wide open and taking a second, third and forth look. As a culinary minister (thanks again Wes for giving a Kingdom definition to my art!) anything to do with food and coming to the table has my attention.

So the following are the thoughts that left a trail along my path that morning:
"Going through the motions" was how they saw this ritual of preparing to eat but in this particular exchange it was all about pointing out the mistakes of others. Coming to the table is to be with grace, extravagant, abundant, scented grace so that we find the "holy ritual" of dining one of beauty. What does a critical spirit do to the heart? What does it do to the digestive system? It does affect both.In some ways ritual at a meal time brings a certain kind of honour to the occasion. The celebration of breaking bread with another, whoever it is that has come to your table, is a gift. The practice of the meal table being a place of honour, and the food holding the taste and textures and flavours of the celebration allows this moment, these participants to have come together mind, body and soul and be nurtured. Embodied prayer could be a piece of the ritual of mealtime.

Perhaps my most significant question in this passage was "how does fast food affect the heart?" If we are only "going through the motions" of living how does that affect the heart? I firmly believe these two are very connected because fast food has eliminated the ritual of sitting together, of lingering conversation and of truly tasting and enjoying your meal (conversation allows you to eat slower which aids the digestive process). Fast food is full of the worst kind of fat that clogs the arteries of your heart - "going through the motions" is void of the both the joy and pain of living and shuts down the heart. Neither of these have me in a place of being obedient to Jesus instruction to love myself as I love my neighbour.

I have been very busy lately and there is the danger of "going through the motions" just to accomplish everything. And perhaps that is why the Spirit spoke to me about how it affects the heart - life is not a "Mc D" experience to me but when I run hard somehow it can slip into that place. I love life to be the lingering coffee at an outdoor cafe where I watch my "neighbour" and learn about loving them. Living is where you sit by the window on a stormy night and savour hot soup and cradle a warm cup of tea in your hands. Ritual, grace filled holy ritual, is sitting at the table and hearing the stories of those who God-cidence placed there with me. A healthy heart comes when my mind, body and soul are connected and communicating and in motion together, dancing together.

And so an invitation from a friend to a retreat for the next few days is also an invitation from the Spirit to linger and wait with those words take this to heart. When I return I look forward to inviting some friends to my table this weekend.

Eyes of Restoration Views

Room with a view

At the edge of the Inn of Still Waters

Eyes of Restoration

Inn of Still Waters

She resides at the top of the hill - the lonely little road leading to her sees only a few residents slowly walking by or hears the buzz of the vespa going by loaded with fresh
produce as it teeters and totters down the narrow road to the fruit and vegetable stand where it will be divested of its load. Her view is wide and she sees the Golfo di Napoli from her back windows and the Golfo di Salerno from her front windows and garden.

The fragrance of the jasmine and the sound of the wind in the kiwi vines are part of summer. The scent of the lemons in late autumn before they are plucked and brought in where some of them are used to make a limoncello, an after dinner drink. The heavy laurel trees provide the leaves to scent the cooking (bay leaves). They also can be made into an after dinner drink that aides the digestion. Or should someone have a nauseating headache, laurel(bay) leaves and fennel seed make a tea that is helpful. Fresh oranges, bread and espresso on the terrazzo in the morning, steaming plates of pasta at noon and in the evening there are endless surprises from the culinary art room. Birds will hint at the morning and invite you to swing open those deep windows and lean out to inhale the day. Exhale and you stretch and open your heart to what it will offer you - only you can reach out to partake of it. These feathered creatures will serenade you from the privacy of their various spots on the perimeter of the garden. They see you, you hear them, and they tease you to find their operatic stage. Hot summer evenings draw you into sitting outside at the bistro table or in
a deck chair. Once the cooler breezes have ushered in the night you can slowly walk in bare feet along the tiled floors and stretch out on the fresh linen sheets ...and dream until you are invited into the new day. When winter arrives thick quilts are placed upon the beds and spending longer in bed corresponds with the length of the darkness. Soon she will be filled with the fragrances of traditional Christmas cooking and the scent of greenery and the deep rich colours of her elegant fabrics.

She is stately and elegant, warm and full of passion and she beckons you with her charms. She invites you to live, to life, to this very moment, all your senses awake and engaged. You are asked to acknowledge and recognize them - through her sounds, her colours, her own music, her garden with its changing seasons and the blend of sunlight and shade, the fabrics she is draped in and how the light changes them. The scent from her culinary art gallery invites you to partake of her abundance with delight and honour.

When I saw her I fell in love with her - my walking companions thought she was worthless, but I see her beauty, I hear her beautiful life giving purpose. I see her complete glorious self even if no one else does. I've named her, I love her and I still dream of her. She is my own "Inn of Still Water" - the place where soul is restored.

Like the woman in Hosea who was broken, caused huge heart ache, carried enormous pain and anger - she was visibly a wreck. Yet, to the Almighty, she was looked at with the eyes of the heart that saw the complete restoration. He said "Here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to start all over again...I'll give her bouquets of roses. I'll turn Heartbreak Valley into Acres of Hope..." Oh yes! The Almighty sees beyond the brokenness and devaluation, the anger and the shame and holds out the picture of truth - what His eyes and heart really see! He never stops inviting us to see and live in that picture as well.That's the eyes of restoration.

I see my Inn of Still Water with eyes that take in the brokenness and yet my heart sees her completely restored and inviting others to that restoration of soul. The Almighty sees my/our brokenness with both the eyes and the heart while at the same time seeing us as healed, beautiful and complete with both His eyes and His heart. And I hear the Spirit whispering that truth this morning, I am accepting the renewed invitation into today.

Romans 8 Ponderings

absolutely nothing can get between us...

I read these words a few weeks ago and I seem to be going back to read them over and over again.

assolutemente niente

Relationships that seemed so close and as if nothing could come between them, but one day there is a little word or action and it gets on your nerves. Slowly more things pile up and somehow a wedge has come between the two of you - and someone must take the action to remove it.

It is part of humanness, part of brokenness and the reality of my life that has had illusions and then the disillusionment that brought truth. It is part of living, I think, that we experience whatever it is that comes between lovers or friends or family, and our relationship with the Almighty. In fact whatever gets between us can be so deeply wounding that contempt and bitterness can live in the places where love and gentleness used to. Love and grace are not happy with eviction notices either!

This weekend I have wrestled with the fact that contempt and anger still live within me in ways I don't want them to. I wish they would simply vanish and gentleness and love and consistancy would be in their place! I wish that I could always be even and never hot tempered. How do I balance who I am with how passionately I want to live, to speak and share and for it all to co-habitate honourably? Sometimes it feels like the old "push-me, pull-you" story I read as a child. There were so many years spent in silence and even though I have the freedom to speak, there are times when subconsciously the old fear that no one will hear surfaces - and therefore, unaware, anger is attached. Alas it brings out arrogance and love and grace are not given space to breathe. Honouring others is missed. Unwanted pain comes between myself and others in this learning journey.

absolument rien

As I looked at this truth a friend showed me this weekend I knew it was one of those "teachable" moments" to check in and see that there are still things to be worked on in this area. (Honest friends like this are so valuable) The conversation didn't make me angry, or bitter, or reach for the defensive walls which is huge change. What it did take me to was the truth and reality of a relationship where "another" is the one who works faithfully to let nothing come between us, and this is the truth of what he does:

None of this fazes us because Jesus loves us. I'm absolutely convinced that nothing - nothing living or dead, angelic or demonic, today or tomorrow, high or low, thinkable or unthinkable - absolutely NOTHING can get between us and God's love because of the way Jesus our Master has embraced us.

Absolutely nothing can get between us - that is a pretty safe place to be! And that is an amazingly accepting embrace that leaves no room for anything to come between us.

What Can I Prepare For You?

If a plate was placed in front of you at this moment, and the food on it reflected exactly how you feel, what would be on your plate?

I asked this question of someone recently and the reply was that their plate was empty. They apologized for not answering the question - but they did answer! This person is in a place of dispair and soul emptiness and longing for nourishment and nurture and for various deep reasons cannot find it. Our conversation then turned to comfort food and the memories of coming home from school for lunch on a cold winter day. You were bundled up against the cold and when you walked in the door you were eager to peel off the layers of heavy warm clothing and get to the table. A bowl of hot steaming, brilliant red, Campbell's tomato soup was ready for you. Soon to be loaded up with Saltine crackers too! For this person the child inside longed for the tomato soup of inner comfort yet at the same time was thinking of lobster bisque (same tomato base) as an adult comfort food. Somewhere in between the child and the adult was a hurting person who is struggling to connect the two.

Over the weekend a group was being served dinner. Baked chicken with creamy Dijon mushroom sauce, garlic mashed potatoes, steamed carrots and lemon butter asparagus, along with some mashed turnip was the evening main course. When the plate was placed in front of one person their reaction was "what is that slop?". They are suffering from severe depression and their pain could only see the indefinable, not the colour, texture or fragrance of what was there to nourish them.

Dressing up and going out to dinner often happens when we need a change and a "lift". One reason maybe, and perhaps this is more from a woman's perspective, is that when an artistically designed, flavourful and colourful beautiful meal is placed in front of us we feel beautiful. I know this to be true for there are times when I have needed to do that - go out to dinner alone - to be reminded by Abba of my own beauty and worth.

Dining out at ethnic restaurants awakens the sense of adventure within, as the music and exotic spices also bring all the senses alive through things that are out of the ordinary.

Comfort food choices are incredibly connected to the memories of how we soothed the hurt with that particular food. I believe that in our healing processes we can bring new foods into our diet that help create new patterns of wholeness.

I am sipping a cup of tea, Sadaf Special Blend with Cardamom Flavour, as I write. There are powerful memories of freedom and aliveness connect to this tea. It used to come in surprise packages in the mail to me, and it came with laughter and love. On the weekend I made a huge bowl of linguini with salsa commodore (tomato sauce), mushrooms and salami for the group lunch being served. When I lived in Italy, Signora Guilia would often make this simple sauce with tomato sauce, fresh basil, olive oil and salt. I love this sauce over pasta with a spoonful of fresh ricotta cheese! After the group had been served and I had my own bowl of pasta, I felt the aliveness and freedom that I experienced in Italia.

So I am wondering, if I could serve you something now, that would reflect what you are feeling, what can I put on your plate for you? If I could serve you something that could reflect how you would like to feel what can I prepare for you?

Quote from Nouwen

The parable of the prodigal son is a story that speaks about a love that existed before any rejection was possible and that will still be there after all rejections have taken place. It is the first and everlasting love of a God who is Father as well as Mother. It is the foundation of all true human love, even the most limited. Jesus' whole life and preaching had only one aim: to reveal this inexhaustible, unlimited motherly and fatherly love of his God and to show the way to let that love guide every part of our daily lives. In his painting of the father, Rembrandt offers me a glimpse of that love. It is the love that always welcomes home and always wants to celebrate.
The Return of the Prodigal Son, pg 108/109
Henri Nouwen

Named and Visible

There is an enormous population that feels invisible and unnamed. They are unseen, unknown, and their stories lie buried deep, waiting to be told, wanting to be visible, longing for someone to call their name. Funny how many places now you simply take a number and wait till that is called so you can transact your business. Stores even carry "no-name" brands that are lower in cost.

This week is a busy week in the home for ministry where I work as our guests this week are women from the downtown eastside of Vancouver, women who walk the streets, who are involved in the sex-trade. They are "visible" in their profession but the wounded woman who lies deep within has become invisible and the name they will give you is most likely not their real one.

As a child in school no one could remember my name, I sat at the back of the class hoping to be invisible - and for much of my life the real woman within has remained invisible. My true character and my name have always been known by Abba, but I have not always believed that. He does not hesitate to remind me:
"Don't be afraid, I've redeemed you. I've called your name. You're mine."
"I'll never forget you - never. Look, I've written your names on the backs of my hands."

Being seen and being called by name are some of the essential ingredients to being in a safe place to tell our story. As I work in the kitchen, the gift of story is becoming such a rich gift and reward of my work. I love to call people by name, to say it, remember it and use it because it is part of their identity. It has often opened the door for conversations and as I mix, chop, make sauces, create the next meal - they will respond to the speaking of their name, and lay out their story. They have no idea they have added to the seasoning of their next meal - the seasoning of pain and tears has unique and precious flavour. In fact it is like saffron - it comes from deep within their beauty, is delicately retrieved, costly and unique and adds very distinct colour and flavour.

Zaccheaus was unnamed and invisible as Jesus was walking into Jericho - he did his best to remain that way too. What was his story? We are not told but Jesus wanted to hear it. By calling out Zaccheaus's name the invisibility was removed and identity was revealed - and a meal was shared!

One more reason I see to sit down at the table together and let the conversation flow - your name will be spoken, you will not remain invisible and if there is authentic community, unconditional love and grace, there will be the invitation to know more of your story. The invitation to know more of each ones story. As our beautiful guests come to the table over the next few days the only thing invisible will be the invitation from Abba - the Spirit hovering over each of us. Our names will be used regularly, stories will be heard. Grace wants to remove another layer of their invisibility and thereby reveal another layer of the Image Bearer who has called them each by name, written them each on His palm and waits for them to call His name.

More on Waiting

Waiting

Waiting at Still WaterOctober 13, 2005

Waiting is an action that causes impatience in us as children. Waiting can bring despair as adults. Waiting is often where we are in the "dark night of the soul" as St John of the Cross wrote.

Waiting has taken on some new facets as I have been reading through Sue Monk Kidd's book When the Heart Waits. She speaks of waiting as a place of great creativity, if we will let ourselves embrace it.

Biblical waiting is very often spoken of along with hope - not hopelessness. The expectation, the action of watching, while in this space of unknowns and seeming inactivity is beginning to reveal great creativity! Hope and waiting are indeed holding hands, and holding mine in this birthing process.

Sue Monk Kidd says "the process of waiting takes us not forward but inward" which takes us deeper, takes us on the journey to authenticity, and that brings us into freedom IF we are willing to wait while the Spirit leads us in the work required to move us from forward racing to inner streams of still water that restore the soul.

King David's picture of still water that restores the soul then is also a place of waiting
"Adonai is my shepherd;
I lack nothing.
He has me lie down in grassy pastures,
he leads me by quiet water,
he restores my inner person."
Complete Jewish Bible

This photo, where beauty was rolled out in front of me as I sat in the quiet autumn afternoon, reminded me that waiting is not just the dark night, but the beauty the pursues us as we are waiting, as we sink into the stillness beside those still waters.

"Counsellor Helen Luke cautions that without significant times to be still, we extinguish the possibility of growth and walk backwards. Here's the paradox: we achieve our deepest progress standing still" (pg 34 When the Heart Waits - Sue Monk Kidd)

One thing I have come to realize is that waiting causes me to pursue stillness and contemplation. In that place of stillness I also find the presence of the Spirit within,
and the presence of the Almighty surrounding me. Abba's orchestrating waiting is also the personal invitation to come and be still where the reality of what He spoke unfolds "Be still and know that I am God." Stillness calls all our senses into aliveness and in that place the soul, my soul, is eager to listen to the still waters that gently speak of and call forth passionate living.

Equations and Hospitality

It is Thanksgiving weekend here in Canada and Saturday evening I was invited to attend a dinner prepared by some of my faith community, and great feast it was! I ended up staying over in Vancouver and attending Sunday morning church with a friend. Now you have to know, going to church is something I am not in the habit of doing much anymore. Many reasons behind that decision and part of that is that I literally feel nauseated when I go into a church. That is another discussion altogether. Anyhow in the service a young woman spoke about a facility she runs that is specially to single moms - Thanksgiving is a tough time for those who have no family to gather round the table with. As is every "family" celebration time. The pastor then gave a sermon on hospitality.

Hospitality has come to mean a meal in our time but originally it simply meant to share your recourses with those in need.

Sitting listening to this sermon I wondered what I was doing there hearing what seemed to be rhetoric to me! You know, blah blah blah - how good it is to open your home and show hospitality, to bless others...and inwardly I groaned. I have spent all my life listening to the subject being discussed, it being legislated as the way to "earn" spirituality and the acceptance or shunning that occurs if you don't follow the prescribed rules of this instruction. There are those who frenetically have people through their home, like some revolving door, and others whose home is a sanctuary to which a "keep out" sign is invisibly posted at the entrance. It has long been the tool used to create exclusive clubs and the painful isolation of those who don't make the grade or meet the criteria of that social group. You are either "in or out" - to dine or not to dine. All these things came to mind as the pastor spoke. He seemed to have many words but I didn't connect.

Then it happened - no drum roll, no bright lights, no thunder from the heavens, just tears. He told a story of loss that brought emotion and tears. In that moment, for me, the sermon began. He had spoken of us inviting in those in need, which for me, gave the image of one standing up higher and reaching down to one lower. In that moment he ceased to talk at me and seemed to be on the same level as I was.

This creates the "greater than" and "less than" equation. Are we not all in need? Are we not all broken? Are we not all needing a place to share pieces of our story? I see us all sitting on the floor at a meal time, with Jesus, eye to eye, and in that place all on the same level, we share our recourses and break bread together in the tent. Or today, we all sit round the kitchen table, shoulder to shoulder, laughing, eating, reaching for more, and letting the stories be told, the tears be shed, and the fragrance of truth, humility and vulnerability reveal parts of the truth of hospitality. A place where there are no "greater than" and "less than" equations, but an equality that allows each one to be given the highest value because that is how Jesus sees them - whether they are in relationship with Him or not.

Having spent the last 4.5 years in a ministry that bring hospitality together with brokenness, I have come to see that humility, vulnerability and honesty are essential ingredients to the truth of what Jesus showed us in this whole area, and how we can be image bearers to each other as we sit round the table together.

I love the story Henry Nouwen tells of his friend Trevor - where they went off to a dinner and at the door Trevor (who was handicapped) was turned away as he didn't have an invitation, nor did he "fit" the learned status of those at this event. Henri Nouwen replied that if his friend couldn't dine, neither would he. The equation here is again that we are equal - no less than or greater than. ( Can You Drink The Cup )

Jesus invitation seemed so often to be to those who society called less than and he made them equal too. What does Jesus say about "great than"?Luke 7:28 Let me lay it out for you as plainly as I can: No one in history surpasses John the Baptizer, but in the kingdom he prepared you for, the lowliest person is ahead of him. The Message

Jesus also knew the table as a place of betrayal. Perhaps that will be another discussion.

Sitting in our home on the sofa or on the floor or at the table is a place of equalizing so that each person, whether or not they are in relationship with Jesus, knows that this time of conversation and sharing is sacred space, and safe space. Sounds idealistic? Perhaps it does but I am convinced that this is what Jesus talked about when he speaks of hospitality - sacred space of honour and trust and where story is important and held in the Light as a priceless work of art that is still in progress. A place where food is the catalyst to our coming together and from there we celebrate our "cup of sorrow and cup of joy" as we "break bread" together. There is no Kingdom caste system, nor is there any Kingdom club we belong to - the banquet table invitation is to everyone. The joy of the banquet is increased when we come in humility, vulnerability and honesty to eat together, to enjoy, and to linger.

For many years I have come to the banquet table simply to watch but not participate. But in the experience of telling the story, being vulnerable and honest, I have also found the laughter and joy that has brought me into the true equations of hospitality - eye to eye, face to face, and in His image, no matter where we are on this journey of life.

In the Sunday sermon the Spirit invited me to look more closely at Divine equations - and for that I am thankful on this Thanksgiving weekend.

Herstory

This past week has been very full of rich conversations with women that have delighted and challenged me. Several in particular have stood out but I will share a tidbit from one of those conversations. It is all part of my "work" - which I no longer see as work but as what I do because of who I am, in my co-authored story with Abba.

Many many amazing women cross my path and this week it was "B". Her smile, her laughter, her fascinating mind, her story and her wrestling in learning to honor and love her story made her very intriguing and very lovable. She is taking some courses through an organization and one of them is history, in particular the history of women in the bible. She wanted to know when they were finally going to realize that it was time to stop telling "HIStory" and call this "HERstory" class!!

I loved it.

And this morning as I sit through another wave of pain in the birthing process of freedom, this made me laugh, and relax and breathe into the next wave.

Seasoned with Salt

When I cook I prefer not to use a salt shaker but rather a salt cruse where I can feel the weight and texture of the salt between my fingers as I put it into my cooking. Contrary to some thinking, I cannot cook without salt because it draws out the flavour, and is an essential factor in making good pasta - no salt in the water, no flavour in the pasta! My elderly friend Signora Guilia told me this many times as I sat in her cucina in southern Italy. Salt went on her oranges at breakfast, into the salsa, on the lettuce along with olive oil and lemon juice. I cannot be without my sea salt in the kitchen cupboard - impossible to cook without it.

Being by the ocean you cannot miss the scent of the salt water in the air. On one of my trips to Barbados I cut my foot on the rocks over at Bathsheba. Mamita, my friend, suggested spending plenty of time in the water at the quiet beach at end of her road, where she assured me the salt water would be the best healing agent, and she was absolutely right.

You know those times when the pain within is so intense that the only release for it is tears. Tears that well up and then begin to flow down your cheeks, soaking your face and your clothing. Soon there is no point in holding them back and they flow copiously mingling with the sobbing that gives voice to the depth of the sorrow this moment is honouring and releasing. When the tears stop flowing and have dried they leave behind the traces of salt on your skin.

Seasoned with salt.

Perhaps one of the reasons we have tears is because they season our soul with salt, giving it the essence of what God's heart tastes like. A heart that knows every emotion, feels every emotion. And perhaps the seasoning in the tears allows us to wrestle with the emotions and find the place they fit in our story, in our journey, in our image bearing of the feminine and masculine heart of God. Our God weeps with us in our pain.

Sea water, so full of salt, cleanses, heals, and seasons the life in it with flavour. This dried sea salt also seasons and preserves in our culinary world. Tears - they cleanse, heal and season our soul and there is no shame in letting them flow.

In the story of the young man who left home, returning years later broken and humiliated, the father runs out to greet him, embrace him and pour unconditional love on him. The son was wrapped in warmth, and love, and although it doesn't say so, I am sure that the kisses and hugs of welcome were accompanied by tears of joy. The salt of the fathers' tears upon his broken and destitute child must have been healing to both their souls.

The prophet Jeremiah said "The tears stream from my eyes, an artesian well of tears. Until you, God, look down from on high, look and see my tears."

Physician Luke tenderly writes that "you're blessed when the tears flow freely".

Tears and their seasoning to our souls are for now, for earth, for the healing and preserving effect they were designed for - tears that connect joy and pain within the same
soul, body and mind and allow them to exist together in this earthly journeying.

"He'll wipe every tear from their eyes. Death is gone for good--tears gone, crying gone, pain gone--all the first order of things gone." (Revelation - Message)

The Almighty created us with tears for now, for this journey; tears that cleanse, heal and season our soul. Tears that the Almighty Himself will wipe away one day. Until then I will continue to learn to honour my own tears, and those of others, as diamonds in each soul tapestry.

Brokenness

Mark, over at CowPi, has a beautifully honest piece about depression and the journey of the day to day. I appreaciated the glimpse into this heart journey.

And I realized that grace and brokeness go hand in hand, if I can choose to be honest in my relationship with Abba.

Grace - I keep thinking about how little I understand grace, how much I want to know it, and how often it is being sung over me every day, and night. How much I love music and yet how deaf I am to many of the delicate notes of grace. At this moment, to be delighted in by One singing over me (Zephaniah 3:17) feels like exquiste grace. A melody of tenderness and love in our place of brokeness is a soothing balm.

Inner Season Changes

If you have read some of the previous posts here you will have gleaned the impression that I love autumn! This most delicious season of colour, of texture, of scent and cool mornings with Indian summer afternoons. Yesterday was yet another glorious autumn gift, added to the fact it was a day free from activity and so my friend, visiting from New Zealand, and I were able to have a long walk by the sea and then pull out two folding chairs to be still. The inhaling and exhaling of the sea, playful seals slapping at the water with their tails, gulls, herons, and crows wandering in their habitat here at the edge of the sea.

Seasons come and go within us and around us don't they. We cannot stop them though we may try to block them and find we have remained stuck somewhere in a season that no longer gives life. I have been pondering how the second half of our lives has to count. At least I want the second half of my life to count in the Kingdom purpose. I want to live it wildly and passionately, with the blend of voice and community and the contemplative, infused with the scent of freedom.

So when I read the following quote by Carl Jung "Stages of Life", it grabbed my attention:Wholly unprepared, they embark upon the second half of life. Or are there perhaps colleges for forty-year-olds which prepare them for their coming life and its demands as the ordinary colleges introduce our young people to a knowledge of the world and of life? No, there are none. Thoroughly unprepared we take the step into the afternoon of life; worse still, we take this step with the false presupposition that our truths and ideas will serve as hitherto. But we cannot live the afternoon of life according to the programme of life's morning - for what was great in the morning will be little at evening, and what in the morning was true will at evening have become a lie." pg 9 When the Heart Waits - Sue Monk Kidd

What is this afternoon of my life? Certainly for me it is a span of time where freedom has become the scent, the theme, and the humour blended with tears in my life, along with creativity being birthed, nurtured and named within my body, mind and heart. An unusual dichotomy of waiting and action, and the incomprehensible see-saw motion of it requires time in order to accept the reality of it.

Reading Sue Monk Kidd's words in When the Heart Waits have encapsulated many of my thoughts and questions. This morning these was Light from the Spirit as I read them: LIVE the question, God whispered. That was the moment that knowledge descended into my heart and I understood. Really understood. Crisis, change, all the myriad upheavals that blister the spirit and leave us groping - they aren't voices simply of pain but also of creativity. And if we would only listen, we might hear such times beckoning us to a season of waiting, to the place of fertile emptiness.Page 13 When the Heart Waits by Sue Monk Kidd.

This second half, this autumn season, THIS season of waiting, of creativity, of birthing freedom - I simply inhale it deeper within and cradle the beauty of it, let it write within and wait and listen for what those words are, those words of life. I wait for the Spirit to speak in the language of life and love - and to be made in the image of the Giver of life and love.

"Every word I've spoken to you is a Spirit word, and so it is life-making."

Bruderhof Quote Today

Killing Him Softly
C. F. Blumhardt

Nothing is more dangerous to the advancement of God's kingdom than religion. But this is what Christianity has become. Do you not know that it is possible to kill Christ with such Christianity? After all, what is more important - Christianity or Christ? And I'll say even more: we can kill Christ with the Bible! Which is greater: the Bible or Christ? Yes, we can even kill Christ with our prayers. When we approach God with our prayers full of self-love and self-satisfaction, when the aim of our prayers is to make our world great, our prayers are in vain.
Source: C.F.B, "Action in Waiting"
Link

Long Road of Solitude

Road of Solitude

The road stretches out ahead
so much seems blurred, unclear
It can feel so ...alone
But like a fallen leaf
waiting for the wind to move it on
It is a season.

We wait in this season
we walk through this season
knowing it is not forever
knowing that Abba
is moving the seasons forward
and moving you and I
in those seasons.

Breathe - Just Breathe

Earlier in the day I read this article by Wes and smiled at the thought of a 15 minute celebration break – as I then continued on at breakneck pace to accomplish the tasks with “today” invisibly written on them. Dashing off to pick up the mail I rolled my shoulders to ease the tension in them and realized that the distance between my shoulders and earlobes was decreasing! Soon my feathery silver dangling earrings would be brushing my shoulders! My thoughts swirled about in my brain as if in a tumble dryer that had no off switch.

After stopping at the local post office I guided my little VW down the hill to the waters edge to take one of those 15 minute celebrations! I just needed to breathe, breathe, breathe.

The Strait of Georgia stretched out in the distance but the ocean exhaled rhythmically on the shore close by. The smell of salt water and fish was in the air as the brisk cool wind ruffled my hair, gave me goose bumps and made my eyes smart and my ears ache. Frogs croaked in stereo from their hiding place under logs that had washed up on shore after escaping the log boom that slowly headed to the mill near Vancouver. The drying leaves had more staccato in their lilting melody, and some sunflowers stood proudly up against a cottage daring autumn to steal the remains of summer from their plot of soil.

As I swung my limbs trying to ease the tension; exhale it, inhale those unforced rhythms of grace, to slow down and just breathe, breathe, inhale, exhale. I thought of what Anj writes here on the stiffness she experiences and how she no longer has this ease of movement and how that affects her life. The unforced rhythms of grace do not depend on my ease of movement but on my breathing in, and breathing out that grace, which, like the water in front of me, stretched into the horizon beyond my vision, past my comprehension.

This short space of time drew up the breathing of the Spirit from the artesian well They have placed within. The visible horizon was a reminder to keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly (Matthew 11:30 Message)

I am grateful, as my shoulders lower, my breathing slows, and the tension begins to ease, for these words in the Psalms: You didn’t leave me in their clutches (tension/business) but gave me room to breathe. There was a breath of worship in there, in gratefulness as I joined every living breathing creature praising the Almighty, as He breathed upon creation in this 15 minute celebration! Maybe it was a 15 minute choir practice!

Autumn Leaves and Soup - in Season

Soup Season

Autumn has truly arrived here on Canada's West Coast. Days are shorter, nights are cooler, the perfume of autumn - her own crisp cool fragrance permeates the air, and the warm sensual colours she wears are in fashion for all creation. Autumn leaves and soup season go hand in hand.

In the kitchen soup is on the stove often with root vegetables more plentiful in the produce department. Soup - that wonderful dish that has come to the table after hours of it's simmering flavours permeating the house. My large heavy orange coloured dutch oven sits on the stove and holds the flavours and stories of many years of soup making.

There is a certain sympatico between autumn and stock-making. Perhaps it is the pervasive aroma that fogs the kitchen windows as the broth simmers and thickens, imbuing a home with a sense of well-being.
Molly O'Neill
20th-century American writer

A Saturday evening dinner began with soup - rich steaming vibrant orange in colour. Its creation began with chopped carrots, celery and onions sweating in a touch of oil and a hint of bacon fat. Yes that bacon fat can add just the right hint of flavour to this soup. The clang of the stainless steel spoon again the pan as I stirred the vegetables mixed with the sizzle of their cooking. Sweating the vegetables releases much of the flavour required for a good hearty broth to result. Next goes in the finely chopped fresh ginger and a new fragrance is carried into the air. Stir that for a few minutes and then chop in some apples for a fruity hint....hmmmmm one must lean over the pot and inhale the aroma. Almost as if leaning over for a facial!! A few more ingredients are required before the lid goes on and the slow simmering can really begin. I love the blend of exotic so along with the ginger and apples I added a healthy spoonful of curry paste and then a hint of nutmeg, as well as taking the sea salt in my fingers to feel the right amount to add. Lastly add the chicken broth, bring it to a boil and then on goes the lid and down goes the heat. It will do it's own thing for a while and allowed me to get on with other tasks. In the end, after it was blended to a fine smooth thick texture it could be refrigerated overnight for the flavours to continue to blend. Soups are almost always better after hibernating overnight in the fridge. There they wait for just the right moment to be heated and served in all their steaming glory to those who come to the table.

Soup - the starter for a great autumn meal or the warming bowl that gives a hearty lunch, or perhaps just comfort food on a rainy autumn day to warm you up. Soup that has you leaning closer to the table, bending your body forward to bring that spoonful of flavour to your lips and taste buds.

How ever you like it, soup season is beginning again so enjoy every bowl of it!

My Bunch of Balloons

It wasn't an unusual morning, just ordinary, as I had slipped out of bed before the light had filtered through the blinds. It is cooler now so turning on the gas fireplace gave a comforting glow and warmth. I wrapped my hands round a mug of warm water with lemon slices floating in it. I have been rising, wrapping my robe around me and sitting in the fire glow these past few mornings and waiting, listening, for the whispering of a theme thread to follow in the day. This particular morning I had not found any threads.

At work, the ministry house I work in, I arrived, let myself in, and the silence surrounded me. Those who live there are away for a few days, and with no guests until the weekend, the 8000 square feet seemed almost too much, the silence seemed too big. I fixed myself another cup of warm water and lemon, wrapped my hands round another mug, as if it could warm me and take away the silence that seemed to penetrate my heart. This silence needed to be welcomed and embraced. I wanted to continue searching for the threads of theme in the day. I didn't need company, but I did want to hear the whisper of Ruach in the largeness of the silence in the Victorian house.

The silence gave way to the opening of a phone conversation with a dear friend. Listening to her heartbeat, her passion, the call to community brought me to the place of finding the threads for this day - threads of community. Long after the conversation ended the passion I had heard was lingering in my thoughts. They revolved around community here, now, where we are - what is the community surrounding us that needs our/my participation? The silence had begun to unfold just like one of my favorite piano pieces - Beethoven's Pathetique Sonata. We can reach out to Africa, to New Orleans, Mississippi and those in this heartwrenching tragedy unfolding, but what about the community at the end of our sidewalk, across the street, the corner store down the block? I cannot forget that that is where I am now.

Before long a weaving of the theme of community began to roll out in front of me.

Someone stopped by at the ministry house and asked if she could share her story with me. Threads of her story were revealed, her brokenness, her wrestling, and her courage. What an honour to hear a story that had those haunting yet distinct notes of the Pathetique. What a privilege to hold her tears, and fears, open to the Light of Abba's eyes.

I needed to rush off to do the business banking on my way to the ferry to the city to attend my faith community get together, The Whatever. The teller wore a delightful shade of green, not one her normal colours, and I commented on it. Therein began another story, threads of a story of childhood struggles, poverty and a green bedroom that was so hated - hence it took courage for her to wear that colour. Another stanza in the Pathetique sonata - part of the melody of one in my own community.

In our faith community, hearing the passion of one who wrestles, and was honest and courageous enough to share it, revealed more threads of the call to community right where I am, for my heart to listen and participate in the continuing sonata I live in.

I remained in Vancouver overnight and another friend gave me a bed for the night. We both needed a good brisk walk before the day finished so we headed along some of the busy downtown streets. I watched her passion for her community as she greeted and hugged "Eagle" who was panhandling - her love for people oozes out of her. We were startled when a young man ran out onto the road, yelling and screaming, stumbling - and being ignored by all around. We looked at each other and said "should we help him" but both of us were a little afraid he would be violent. Not long afterwards he was on our side of the street, calmer, crying, and saying "why is everyone so mean". My friend stopped, looked in his eyes, asked his name, and his story, and gave him significance and dignity as she listened. He desperately needed to know he was not invisible on this city street.

I was holding many threads of community, like the strings of a bunch of balloons, that caused me to look up in wonder and awe. A delightful morning conversation was pivotal in my day. As I lay down to sleep I felt like a child with those balloons, amazed that I had been given them to hold today, loving the uniqueness of each one.

Re-Framed

Reframed

Thoughts, ideas swirl around
in the perameters of where we are.

Sometimes the exercise of reframing,
moving the picture slightly
is all it takes to get new ideas flowing.

Right now I am doing some re-framing
so creativity will flow,
new ideas will begin to take shape,
they will take flight
and soar.

It isn't about getting the picture
but about letting the ideas become
3 dimentional right now.

Ever been there?

Musings on Inner Life

St Peter said Your life is a journey you must travel with a deep consciousness of God(The Message). This consciousness/awareness/knowing is meant to be felt in community, in contemplation, with the scent of hope. I believe that consciousness grows as we begin to love our own story and hold it in the Light with the Almighty who co-authored it.

Parker Palmer says "a circle of trust holds us in a space where we can make our own discernments, in our own way and time, in the encouraging and challenging presence of other people.
Hidden Wholeness page 27

This balancing of dialogue and silence is not an easy learning process. Both bring out our own wounding and yet both will offer great healing if we learn to trust the One who we journey with and become more conscious of the Almighty's presence. And learn to love our own story.

Palmer also writes about cultivating the inner life. As I pondered these things in the coolness of an autumn morning I saw the "garden" of our lives that must be tended, nurtured, respected and honoured through each season of living. Our inner life is the sacred property on which story is planted, faces seasons, life, death, and redemption. Inner life is also the sacred canvas upon which our own stories are painted with dark and Light, and every colour in the spectrum. It is a masterpiece worth loving. There is also the fact that it is sacred parchment upon which every detail is written. Whether it is the property, the canvas or the parchment your life is a journey you must travel with a deep consciousness of God and where community, a circle of trust, is a safe place to share the wonder of this "inner life".

Lord in Your mercy lead us to safe places. Let us be unafraid of silence, and fill our dialogue with grace and truth and Light.

Breaching the Levee

Living below sea level
keeping the water out by a dike system
Storms that breach the dike system and the resulting floods and destruction have done catastrophic damage. New Orleans will never be the same again.

Humans have run and left all behind, only to be herded like cattle into stadiums. No dignity or honour in that, simply surviving - if only barely. Animals have been left behind starving to death on rooftops. Animals that afforded comfort have been abandoned and now are slowly dying, watching rescuers work to find any alive. People stayed behind and died while waiting for rescue.

Our stories have this very theme in them. We have built walls around us to keep out the sea, the power of life, the water that can overpower us and carry us away from where we are. Storms may have put us there, or perhaps the storm is what breaks the heart levee, the walls around, and the resulting flood is so powerful, so overwhelming there is no where to hide, no where to shelter, no where to run - we are at the mercy of being rescued.

For some, this soul flooding is so catastrophic that numbness is the only way to survive. Yet have we been living in unreality, below sea level all along? Is this not an unreal place to begin with? It is our own reality but may not be truth. Truth as opposed to lies we have believed.

The levee broke and flooded their world. The pain of what they lived in, with and through and the losses were too great and they took their own lives. Suicide.

Maybe it is a slow leak, not a sudden massive flooding, but the slow leak that little by little swamps hope and energy, vision and truth.

The only visible answer is to end the pain, the sorrow, the incredible horrors, by forever stopping the heart beat yourself. Living is too painful. Suicide seems to be the only answer to quenching the pain.

Reading about the law enforcement officers who have taken their own lives, there is a mixture of sorrow and a tinge of pity and contempt in the words I read. I am so sorry for their pain that had to end this way, and sorrow is not a deep enough word to convey the agony their relatives and friends will live with. Sorrow is not deep enough for the tragedy that precipitated it.

Yet I understand their pain that sees only one way out. I have been there - at that very edge of despair that has been dealt a final, and fatal blow. For them this was a catastrophic pain that I can never begin to understand.

I continue to weep with those who weep, for those whose lives can never be "as before". I also weep for those that are geographically no where near Louisiana, Mississippi, Texas, Arkansas or any other place Katrina swept through. It is the ones whose hearts have built a
levee to keep living out, or to protect themselves from the flooding of past pain. Life has breached the levee and in the overwhelming aftermath their soul is barely alive. I pray that somehow their silent screams will be heard today. The pain of a thawing heart is incredibly painful but I do know, yes I really do know, that the spring thaw does bring LIFE through the pain.

I pray for men, women and children who are numb and soon will face the thawing and the incredible pain that will begin then. God help them.

Quote de jour

In books our dreams take refuge so as to not freeze to death

Quote by Don Gregorio in the Spanish FilmLa Lengua de las Mariposas (Butterfly)

Beautiful movie on the wonder of a child's thirst for "awe" in purity and innocence until the moment it is corrupted by our adult thinking (and often religious ideology at that).

Hint of Her Perfume

Autumn Tears
Just a hint of her perfume
so subtle it might be missed.

Like the turn of an ankle
a glimpse of her glory

Her robes in earths' own tones
colour and sky that intertwine

Just a hint, just a breath
almost impercetible
yet, indeed her arrival is almost here.

She left a calling card
to tell me so
painted in her own hues
of passion, of change
her very own - Autumn

Soaking in Fragrance and Flavour

Soak it in
The steep climb in the gondola took you from sea level, up several thousand feet, from the heat below to the cool breezes above, at the top of Monte Faito. The buzzing of Vespas, the constant cacophony of car horns, the odour of exhaust was below at sea level and up here was clear clean cool air. The temperature below was hot and sticky but here in the quietness, it was a balmy 80 degrees. Olive trees swayed and whispered, birds sang and their symphony was tender, dogs stretched out in the shade of the small cafe, and I sat with pen in hand, camera ready, letting this sacred space speak to me every time I sought it out. There were conversations with school children who wanted to hear about Canada - I shared about my country in their language. Sometimes it was English speaking tourists who had chanced upon this beauty and needed some help translating. There were days when the peeling back of the layers of my soul could not be done in the constricting confines of the four walls of my living quarters - only the wind and open space of a mountain top could hold the sacred of this work.Whatever it was Monte Faito became a place of soul soaking when I lived in Italia. Soul soaking that puts one in a place of inhaling the fragrance that begins to change the whole consistency and balance of Light and dark, of story, of pain and of joy, were the wind wipes away the tears and lets the sun turn them to diamonds.Tre Pini was a small ristorante. I say was because I know it has closed down now. Built with its back against the rocks, it nestled into the mountain side. Lina, whose family owned this place, became a friend who knew my face, and let me spend hours writing, while I enjoyed their delicious simple creations from the kitchen. At this time of year, August, the peaches were in plenitude. One way to enjoy them was to skin them, slice them, and drop them in a jug then fill it with home made red wine. We would enjoy the wine with our meal. When it was time to eat dessert the peaches would be skewered, then savoured as their wine soaked juice trickled down our throat. Intoxicating indeed! But mountain top experiences can be intoxicating. They are soaked in fragrance and flavour that at times cannot be described in our limited language of words.

Surprises and Serendipity

Serendipity and celebration -it's like they quietly step into the backyard and move the heart from solitude to communion with God. I firmly believe that both are when the wind of the Spirit moves into the stillness of the heart and opens all the senses up to the absolute deliciousness of that very moment in time. In the last few weeks several of these moments came to me, uninvited but welcomed. The need to be alone with the combination of warm sun and some spare time, gave me the opportunity to go to my favourite cafe. On the third floor, with a large sun deck, overlooking the bay, this cafe run by a couple from the Middle East has become sacred space for me. Ahhhh, the bistro tables, large umbrellas swaying elegantly in the gentle breeze, and a perfect vista out over the Georgia Straight made the perfect setting. A place to deep breath, feel very alive, bring out my journal and pen and ...just be. Then add to that the best baklava ever, not too sweet, just enough honey to let it melt in your mouth. Celebrate simply because I could. Celebrate with a special coffee - a French kiss that came with layers that looked intriguing. Hanni and Viva know that food at any time deserves respect and awe and this afternoon I wanted to be awed by the ordinary. Hanni brings pastries in from France and he was telling me about their croissants. My mind wandered back to Castellammare and our late night bakery visits. Often, after midnight, we would hop into Maria's bright orange Fiat Cinque Cento (500), buzz open the family gate, and navigate our way through the Vespa's roaring round the City streets. The streets in the Neapolitan area never go to sleep until about 4AM, taking a short nap before waking shortly after 5AM. She knew the streets well, especially the oldest part of the City that is inhabited by one of the oldest cultures of the country - the Camorra. Narrow cobblestone streets just wide enough for her machina, full white bedsheets fluttered from balconies above, drying in the night air. Rattling along we climbed up the hills until we came to the corner where the open door of the bakery welcomed us in. The croissants always came out of the oven between midnight and 2AM, and you could smell your way to them in this crowded, old part of town! Hot steaming croissants that could be filled with either custard or nutella - whichever you prefer! I smile, outside and inside, when I remember our laughter as we sat by the beach in the early morning eating this decadent late night snack. Hanni laughed at the croissant story and agreed - celebrating isn't necessarily for events, but simply for the serendipity of the moment. A few moments later he arrived at my bistro table with one of his freshly baked croissants! "In honour of this moment here and the memory of late night croissant runs" he said. Memory and present were entwined together. I was sharing this recently with my friend Anj, when the two of us were at Mars Hill Graduate School for a weekend workshop on writing our story. It was our final day, and there were a couple of hours of free time and a place to sit in the shade would be perfect. We strolled out of the air conditioned confines of the cookie cutter office building, longing for a serene spot to sit together, continue our writing, and our conversations. "For a shady place to sit and relax", Anj said. "Well" I replied, "if we can find a shady quiet spot, I have the chairs in my car". One must always be prepared for serendipity!! My end of season bargains last summer of those folding chairs in a bag are kept always available, just in case I can slip by the beach and read a book, or snooze in the sun - with an extra in case a friend is along. We didn't have far to go. The far back corner of the office complex parking lot had trees nestled at the base of a rock retaining wall, soft ground cover, shade and tranquillity. There we sat, feet up, Anj with her computer on her lap, I with my journal, wearing elegant skirts, sipping bottled water and basking in the delight of our own little "park". Ahhhhhhh sometimes serendipity is just too delicious to pass by. And sometimes it simply arrives before your eyes and begs you to take advantage of the moment. However it arrives I think we should celebrate it! The sun has come creeping through the blinds this morning, pulling them back I am drinking in the colours of my garden, and sipping my soy latte - this feels like celebration this morning. And perhaps I realize that before long summer will be gone and hanging onto it for as long as possible imprints this one on my memory with the previous ones.