Glimmers

Dear Friends,

Last Sunday, I heard a 6 minute description of the current living conditions of detained migrant children along the US-Mexico border.  I cannot get the words and images out of my mind. Their plight has become a part of my prayer. Their experiences of loss have kindled my own.

We all face the pain of death in our lives, we resist as death steals our loved ones away. But loss does not stop there, it has many forms. Francis Weller’s The Wild Edge of Sorrow: Rituals of Renewal and the Sacred Work of Grief  masterfully names the layers of loss that we carry as human beings, from “everything we love” to the “sorrows of the world.” The Second Gate, as he describes it, is “The Places That Have Not Known Love,” and it is here that my heart is caught when I remember those children.

I have places inside that did not know love. My mother’s car accident, when I was 18 months, created a patched-together upbringing with missing pieces. While they did the best they could, my parents moved into survival mode and everything changed for that little one. We all have such places, of course… little hidden secrets, fears of inadequacy, conscious beliefs based on unconscious pain. Grief’s great gift of healing leads us into these spaces to release the pain and make room for love. This is part of our human journey, part of our story, or as Wes Anzinna put it in a NYT Sunday Magazine article,

“A lot of things had to happen for me to be me.”

I am finding my way. There are many folks who take steps to open their heart to the pain inside, allowing grief’s wisdom to lead them toward healing. Leonard Cohen sings, “There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.” and Scripture reminds us, “Let light shine out of darkness.” Life includes the process of loss, healing and hope.

I leave you with an image, friends, the image of a woman aching after a loved one’s death, courageously saying yes to love’s presence in her heart. Her smile fills the room with her light. At the same time, I hold the image of the children, wrapped in silver plastic. I ache for their places that do not know love. Their story is indeed one of the “sorrows of the world” and I grieve for all of us.

Grateful for your loving hearts,

Lisa

Dear Friends,

I have missed you! The month of May was filled with travels, out into the world of Italy and deep within the heart of Lisa. I come home changed by the new sights, sounds and feelings I encountered…the winding, narrow roads through Tuscany, marked by the tall Cypress trees that stood as sentinels on our journey; the memories of my parents that returned, unexpectedly, but a treasure to renew our braids of love; the awareness of my place in the world, a citizen of the planet along with every other human being.

The calendar image for May of 2019 winks at me with one last reminder before I turn the page:

“Wisdom is not knowing more, but knowing with more of you…”   Cynthia Bourgeault

It’s interesting that our ego-driven consumerism can find its way into our spiritual journey. We seek to gather more – books, teachers, experiences – searching for answers. As the challenges of life mount up, we work to respond with a corresponding pile of lessons and quotes!  Cynthia Bourgeault’s reminder (yes, it is in the form of a quote) invites another pathway of growth….a wisdom found from within.

My recent conversations with a young neighbor offer an example. As I listen to this nine year old’s questions, I’m reminded of my own curiosity at that age. I explain my gardening to her and I remember my mother’s love of the garden – even though she had to drag her paralyzed legs along the dirt as she worked. We smell the lavender and taste the chives while we talk, my heart is happy.  In  that holy moment between my young friend and I, I am present to her with all of these aspects of myself: my curiosity, my story of love and grief, my connection to the earth.

When more of me is engaged in my life, the sun is brighter and a friend’s smile touches my heart in a new way. When I welcome more of my story on this day, I experience a fullness, a peace which “passeth understanding.”  Here, on this sunlit morning at Lake Beseck, I encounter the Holy and I stop trying to explain it.

Blessings to all, Lisa

Dear Friends,

I have been thinking about transformation lately.

I guess that’s not surprising, Spring is slowly making its way into our formerly frozen New England landscape. Change is all around us. I’ve recently had the opportunity to be with grieving folks, offered programs for two different groups at Connecticut retreat centers. People arrive with broken hearts, with a desire to stop the sadness. After learning a bit more about the Land of Loss, they leave with a willingness to let grief guide them through the difficult terrain. Some speak of a desire “to live in healing more consciously.” Again, transformation is taking place.

I’m experiencing transformation in my own heart, as well. I’ve loosened my grip on expectations, opening myself to new ways of being. It’s ironic though, the path isn’t completely new to me; it’s as if I’m settling into a more authentic version of myself. The “big change” that I’ve been resisting is more of a refinement. The Sculptor has smoothed away unneeded stone, letting beauty be revealed.

My Lenten practice this year has been a commitment to daily movement through yoga and other physical activities. It’s not about losing weight, but a more intentional relationship with my body. My body and I have been out of touch for much of my life.  Three and a half years ago, she got my attention with a broken leg. Now, she speaks in more subtle language and, through our regular “conversations,” I am finally listening.

Why do we resist the changes that appear in our lives? Of course, we all have our own stories, our unique reactions. As human beings, though, we often share a defensive response to the demands of life’s revisions. We try to push it all away. But the death of a loved one, for example, does not let us avoid life’s call to change. Neither, on a much smaller scale, does a broken leg. And so, we try to learn from the crisis and grieve the loss. We honor what was, we pray for what is and trust what will be. Transformation does not happen in an instant, its a process of opening to mystery.

As we stand before the ultimate mystery of Easter, this holy week leads us through a sacred letting go.  We listen to a story of transformation and look at our own lives.  Can we open our hearts and shout Hosanna at the arrival of Love? Will we share community with others, loving them as who they are? Can we confront the emptiness found in the absence of love, however that experience comes to us? And, when our hearts are ready, will we say “yes….Yes….YES!” to the fruits of new life that are bursting from within?

Jesus showed us the way on his path, what does our own path of transformation look like?

Happy Easter, dear friends!

Alleluia!

Lisa

“There is comfort in keeping what is sacred inside us, not as a secret but as a prayer.”

Terry Tempest Williams

Dear Friends,

This quote entered my heart a few weeks ago. It comes as invitation, as reminder. As a child, I would ride my bike through the walnut grove, an adventurer under the sunny skies of Northern California. Alone, or with my friend, I was free to climb the rock piles, rest under the trees, poke around the creek bed. This was my secret place – away from the emergencies at home – where I could experience life’s fullness. I was learning to pray.

A lifelong extrovert, I engage with the people and activities around me. As I age, however, I relish the comfort of quiet, sacred moments. I’m traveling a path to life within – a more introverted approach –  into my place of prayer. Here, I pause, listen for answers to my questions or just trust the silence.

Recently, I was a volunteer “sorter” at our local library. Hundreds and hundreds of donated books needed to be organized for an upcoming Book Sale. As I put the paperbacks on their designated shelves or the non-fiction hard covers under the proper sign of “Biography” “Photography” or “Education,” I consider the hours each author spent to create that one book.  I remember my own journey as an author… the many demands of editing, rewrites, or obtaining permission for quotes. I smile at the thrill of that accomplishment, heart full of gratitude, while I imagine my book tossed in the “Self-Help” pile.

I keep my thoughts to myself as we organize the books stacked around us, grateful for this reflective moment….to keep what is sacred inside, not as a secret but as a prayer. Through this experience of birthing a book, then 12 months later see it’s temporary nature, I’m reminded that life is filled with impermanence.  At the same time, I trust that my contribution adds a little more light to the world. And that is enough…today I am enough.

And so are you, dear friends. The gift that you are lives alongside the human flaws and foibles that concern you.  Let us move into unitive thinking where all comes together in the Grand Design of creation. Richard Rohr, OFM puts it this way in “Eager to Love,”

“The transformed self, living in union, no longer lives in shame or denial of its weakness, but even lives with rejoicing because it does not need to pretend that it is any more that it actually is – which is now more than enough!”

With affection,

Lisa

Dear Friends,

My son gave me a gift card from Stitch Fix for Christmas.

Have you tried this sort of service? It was new to me, but I was intrigued. I filled out the online form in great detail – sizes, body parts to cover or enhance, style preferences and so on. When Stitch Fix #1 arrived, I kept one item and returned four. Stitch Fix #2? I kept four and returned one! So far, the conversation with the stylist is working. She’s like a Guardian Angel in the world of shopping.

But the part of this arrangement that really captures my interest?  My willingness to “try on” someone else’s point of view about my clothes. Yes, I contribute to the process, but some of the styles that arrive in that box are new to me. I feel brave as I slide into extra skinny jeans or a scalloped edge sweater. Through my willingness to experiment, I give myself permission to explore more sides of my fashion-self.

Sometimes I “try on” feelings or ideas, as well. I give myself the opportunity to adopt a new attitude, even if its just for an afternoon. Last night, as my husband and I lit candles and shared some brandy, I was reminded of our visit to the Woodstock Inn in Vermont. So, our home became Beseck Inn for the night, cozy and charming.

This experimental approach has been helpful to those grieving a loss, as well. Instead of staying home all weekend, Janet decided to attend the library’s book sale to find a book for her niece. She expected people to ask about her husband and anticipated feeling the pain of her loss, but at the same time Janet wanted to stay connected with her neighbors. Her “experiment” created boundaries that protected her still-healing heart, while she explored life around her.

When Janet walked away from the library, she carried seeds of courage and hope. She has a little more confidence in herself. As I wear those skinny  jeans and receive a compliment, I experience much-needed encouragement to heal the shaming wounds from adolescence. Our losses come in all shapes, friends, and they all require our tender care. When we trust grieving’s wise guidance, we learn to hold those losses with love and allow the healing to unfold. 

These days, I’ll wear skinny jeans, drink brandy and thank God for the opportunities around me. I’ll honor the message of Dag Hammarskjold, a former UN Secretary General, with a shout-out to each of you;

“For all that has been – Thanks. For all that will be – Yes.”

with affection, Lisa

Dear Friends,                                                        

I have missed you! I have missed the connection found through this monthly ritual of wondering what light I can offer, of holding you in my heart and mind, of listening deeply for the right words. This month, January 2019, marks five years that I have reached out in this way. When I began, I trusted an invitation that could not be ignored…these Glimmers and our relationship are the foundation for my ministry during five these years, including my books on grief. I am so grateful for each of you.

A new year, a new day, a new moment in life… we hear Mary Oliver’s wonderful question,

“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one, wild and precious life?”

This wild, precious life of mine has been hard-won. I have climbed steep mountains and sat in lonely darkness. I have also rested in loving arms. For me, life is an unfolding, an unwinding of fibers, some coarse – some intricate lace, each a part of the tapestry that is weaving within and around me. Such is the invitation to authenticity.

What about you, dear friends? What do you plan to do with your one, wild and precious life? I am hoping you embrace the idea that your unique light is needed in this new year, it is gift. I am hoping you trust your light and let it shine! I close with words from Roger Wolsey for your consideration as we begin anew…

“You, the real you, knows the truth. The truth is you aren’t the things that have happened to you, you aren’t the things you’ve done. You aren’t the things you’ve failed to do. You aren’t your wounds or the ones you inflicted. You aren’t your regrets. You aren’t in anyway a should have, could have, or would have.

You are fully human and fully divine. You are the very incarnation of God. No, not the only one, but no less than one.

The unique prism of your life reminds us of who we are too. Thank you for your colors. Thank you for your light. Thank you for being a stained-glass window picture story of glory.”

 

With  affection and gratitude, Lisa

Dear Friends,

Happy Advent! A wonderful season of hope!

Hear these words of Jan Richardson, artist, author, and minister, as she describes a “Blessing on a Strange Road:”

Now this blessing meets you…looking like nothing you have known, fragrant with some far scent and humming an unfamiliar song. Still, somehow…it calls you by name, curls into your hand, settles inside your heart as if it has always belonged.

A blessing that is familiar but new; intimate, but mysterious…such is the language of Love.  When we commit ourselves to love’s call, we travel a path that is ever-unfolding throughout our lifetime. We take honest looks at what gets in the way of love and seek healing. We learn to live with ambiguity, with a heart-centered prayer for increased trust during times of uncertainty.

I love the nativity story. In fact, I am again adding a creative piece to our nativity corner for this year’s Advent. Each day a new figure appears, and carries with it, another layer of my heart. As the early morning light hovers over an empty stable, all await the birth of Love, once again. I love the imagery of time, location and participants in the nativity story, it has given me this sense of freedom to play with more personal meanings, more transformative images. Together, we await a celebration of Christmas, but are we ready? Can we open ourselves to the gifts of love that are coming our way? Do we believe ourselves worthy of blessings?

Advent is, indeed, a strange road. It is everything that our commercial Christmas experience, isn’t. At the same time, it paves the way for fully entering the joyful craziness of Christmas, multi-colored lights and all! The path to the stable has enough room for everyone and for all the uniqueness of each one of us. Advent’s rich welcome of the heart even invites those parts of myself that I’ve kept hidden all these years. “Come, Advent calls out, let Love enter your heart! Come, let Love replace those fears and doubts! You are worthy of blessings! Let the Light shine through you!” 

Remember, Meister Eckhart’s words, “We are all meant to be mothers of God, for God is always needing to be born.”

How are each one of us being called to bring love into the world?

Friends, know that you are in my heart as these days pass by. I may or may not reach out again before 2019 arrives, but please receive my love and gratitude for your willingness to receive my Glimmers. It is an honor to share thoughts and feelings with you. I pray for your intentions and needs, hoping my words support your journeys.

Blessings of peace, of hope, and for the birth of love,

Lisa

I also wanted to mention that my prayer during these days of Advent has been supported by an online retreat with Jan Richardson, Illuminated 2018. She’s created a gentle, authentic experience of hope, shared prayer and intention for the season.

Dear Friends,  

You’ve been on my mind. The calendar turned to November and its time to write a new Glimmer. What shall I explore within the limitations of this online message? How does my point of view add to the crises, challenges and conversations that we’re experiencing all around us?

I choose to be a voice of hope.

Not “egoic hope” – the sort that is fixated on a certain outcome, that emerges out of fear. I choose “holy hope” – a combination of deep trust, a commitment to love, and an engagement with life. Through holy hope, we seek to dedicate our energy toward a vision that is embedded in the present moment. Those who have faced deep loss have learned the difference between these types of hope. They painfully understand that they can no longer control their future. They’ve learned to accept the limitations of their “new normal.”

Now, as holy hope unfolds in their hearts, these brave men and women surrender to a new dimension of soul. They trust the present moment as well as their own capacity for healing. They awaken to hope as a state of being. Rev. Cynthia Bourgeault explains in her book, Mystical Hope,

“Hope fills us with the strength to stay present, to abide in the flow of Mercy no matter what outer storms assail us. It is entered always and only through surrender, that is, through the willingness to let go of everything we are presently clinging to. And yet when we enter it, it enters us and fills us with its own life – a quiet strength beyond anything we have ever known.”

This is my prayer for each of you on this new day in November. As outer storms surround you, may you discover the seeds of holy hope flowing through you. May you learn to “live inside that hope,” as Barbara Kingsolver describes it, “Not admire it from a distance but live right in it, under it’s roof.” May we, too, live inside hope and let it fill us with its own life. May we have the courage to join Kingsolver as she proclaims,

“Right now I’m living in that hope, running down its hallway and touching the walls on both sides.”

peace to you,

Lisa

Dear Friends,

Leaves turn color and fall to the ground, illness appears and we slow down for a spell, friends arrive or recede from our life…change happens. Some changes we seek – a new house, weight loss or a new job – and we forget that loss is still attached to the transition. Some changes come without our permission, without our understanding – and the experience of loss is undeniable. Change sends out ripples into all facets of our lives. It asks us to adjust to, accept, and trust all the moving parts that change can bring. Somehow we’re supposed to accommodate something different, even as it seeps into our way of being in the world.

During a recent program on loss and grief, I was asked about the relationship between vulnerability and resiliency. I had been explaining that our willingness to be vulnerable in our grief is a key step toward healing. We know that the loss of a loved one is one of the biggest and most painful changes around, so I bring this question into the conversation: How do vulnerability and resiliency partner in our journey through life? What can we learn about them that might help us adjust to, accept and trust the changes?

Nature, once again, is our teacher. The leaves of autumn are just one stage in the lifecycle of trees. The daffodil bulbs that are planted today will wait in stillness and then bloom when it’s their time. The tiny, ruby-throated hummingbirds travel 500 miles to enjoy summertime here at Lake Beseck. Nature’s big picture reveals the over-arching resilience embedded in Life. At the same time, each hummingbird travels alone in solitary flight; each daffodil bulb is dependent on the sun’s warmth and the soil’s moisture. Each living thing returns to a vulnerable state to claim the gifts of its true self.

Our vulnerability and our resilience are partners in this journey, rooted in the gift of Life. One may shine more brightly at certain points along the way, our unique personality may have more ease with one or the other.  If we are to learn from the season of change, though, it is best to open our hearts and minds to both. Our most tender, vulnerable self and our creative, resilient self come together to guide us toward the wisdom that resides within.

This is my prayer for you, dear friends, trust the gift of who you are as you navigate the changes that life brings.

Blessings on this new day, Lisa

Dear Friends,

 After I offered an update on my 2016-17 writing project, my friend said, “It sounds like the book is writing you.” He was right. Each time I dipped back into the words to rework, edit or add source material, I re-entered sacred space. I returned to a place of waiting and deep listening. I hoped my message was authentic and true, at least from my point of view, and that it might help others. At the same time, the process of writing opened a place of honesty and humility that feels like home.

Thus began my journey back into the Land of Loss. My intention was to describe the landscape of Loss and offer tools to navigate it’s various territories. I knew the Well of Sadness and the demands of Surrender. I had traveled through the agonizing forests of Passage and was painfully familiar with Secret Yearning. But I also knew the Fountain of Hope, it’s waters had soothed my journey and I believed it could offer hope to other travelers in the Land of Loss.

I did not understand, however, the impact that writing a book to help others would have on me. I did not fully appreciate the influence of the writing process on my inner life. Each time I returned to Alone, Passage, Surrender and Changed – the four territories in the Land of Loss – I entered an emotional experience of feeling stranded, of surviving, of letting go, of allowing transformation. My work deepened after each revision, my heart claimed what I was learning.

My personal story is not woven into the body of the book, instead I shared stories of those I worked with at the hospital bereavement program to illustrate how I have come to understand grief. But my story is, of course, the place I return to retrieve wisdom and insight, to find my ground. It is the counterpoint to fellow grievers’ stories, the bereavement research and grief theories that I learned in my work as a chaplain. My story is my teacher. My friend’s suggestion that the book was “writing me” led me to a felt-sense of my own transformation and a return to my soul.

Writing and grieving are similar. They each provide a reliable, yet mysterious, template for movement through the unknown. As a writer, I may have a sense of where I am headed, but at the same time, I remain open to new ideas or shifts that ask a little more of me. Grief, too, offers a path to follow. But if I listen carefully, I might find myself asking questions or facing fears that come forward unexpectedly. While painful, grief guides me through loss toward healing.

Grief is my ally in the ways of Loss, just as writing is my companion in the mystery of Life.

The light that each provides shines just as far as I need to make the journey, one step at a time. My task is to keep going and to trust the great Wisdom that underlies the human story, that holds all of us in the arms of Love.

Peace to you, friends –

Lisa