Glimmers

Dear Friends,

As each winter day holds more light, I’ve noticed glimmers of hope within the snow and ice…and in my writing room, as well. I lit three candles last night, each a happy memory of a gift received. As I sat in the quiet, I remembered the three women who share their light so generously…Sarah, Shaila and Corinne.

Sarah’s light shines through a sphere of crystal glass. The many facets reflect and transfer the light within and without. Always changing and always the same, Sarah’s light reminds me that indeed, all will be well.

Shaila’s light illuminates an image of peace…an angel holding a child against a dark winter sky. Her light reveals hope in unexpected places, life in new possibilities. Shaila’s light makes me smile as the angel’s wings seem to embrace me, as well.

Corinne’s light, tucked away on the shelf, shines through the silhouette of a dragonfly. This light has been with me the longest of the three and I may have taken it for granted. Today I see the dragonfly’s story of transformation shining through, resonating with my own truth, leading me forward. Corinne’s light, ever faithful, will not fade. It is part of who I am, part of my light in the world.

Who are the lights in your life? And how do you share the singular warmth that only you have to give? May we all join with the Light of Love for our sake and for the sake of the world. 

with peace, Lisa

Dear Friends,

I have been thinking about you and praying for you, since the calendar turned and we entered 2017. Oh my goodness, here we are. A new year…time to reflect, however briefly, on our life, relationships, disappointments and joys. I pray you are well and ready to embrace your life!

As many of you know, I am working on a book. “Grieving – the Sacred Art,” has been with me for one and a half years now and I’m ready to give birth! But, as with all of creation, I am merely part of the flow. So, I keep working, keep breathing and giving it my all. Recently, a friend shared this quote from Robert Gregory Browne,

“Writing a book is like working a really difficult jigsaw puzzle without the benefit of knowing what the completed picture will be.”

As it turns out, our Christmas included hours and hours of focus on tiny little jigsaw puzzle parts. Bodies leaned over the table, stretched out on the floor – bodies returning as if the puzzle had a gravitational force.

This firsthand witness of the puzzle’s lure captures the experience of writing my book. I get lost in hours of writing as my family got lost creating Stuttgart’s Schlossplatz and a colorful Charleston house. And yes, a difference between us is the picture they could check to complete the puzzle. My project is more open-ended, which feels a little daunting. But there are similarities, as well. Each piece is sorted according to color, or in my case, theme. The outside edge or organizing structure is the first task to accomplish. And help is always valued!

But there is one more similarity I noticed, the lure of love. All the combinations of family members working together on the puzzles created a sacred space. Time and effort became a shared memory of just being together, of loving each other. My writing is a very solitary experience. Some days a candle provides a focus or Facebook, a distraction. But I keep returning, I keep seeking new ways to explain my thoughts on the sacred art of grieving. I too have been lured by love and I am trusting this call to share the light of Love as I know it. When I sit down to write, I bring the faces and hearts of those who have shared their stories with me. I see the images of love that they described and try to capture their wisdom. I’ll keep you posted, friends, in the meantime, I’m so grateful for my family, their excellence in jigsaw puzzles is keeping me going!

with love, Lisa

Dear Friends,

I have missed you! When I sit in this chair and think of you, my heart warms up and smiles! I am grateful for our connections found through word and image, I am truly grateful for you. Blessings on you and your loved ones today and every day.

“Love is the gravity of our soul.”  

These words of St Bonaventure speak to my heart this Advent. They create a compass I can rely upon in this time of change and uncertainty. They remind me of what I know in the deepest places of who I am, Love will show the way.

Sometimes fear prevents me from staying grounded in that truth…fear of not getting my needs met, fear of cruelty’s poison in the world, or simply fear of a new pain in my body. When fear seeps in, I lose my mooring and I lose my way. But then, a word, touch or a sweet bird flying across the winter sky appears, and I remember. I am held fast by Love.

Sometimes forces gather and all my fears come tumbling in at once, it can be overwhelming. I have learned to trust the line that holds me close to Love’s berth, I just hold on as best I can. Other reminders appear, like the anticipation of seeing my children again or a neighbor’s generosity. Or the words to a song that rises above fear and doubt, leading me back home to Love.

David Wilcox’s “Show the Way,” (1995) is my gift to you as the night gets longer and the air colder. Let’s pray these words together as we await the Light that always breaks through the darkness.Love can show the way…

It is love who mixed the mortar
And its love who stacked these stones
And its love that made the stage here
Though it looks like we’re alone.
In this scene set in shadows
Like the night is here to stay
There is evil cast around us
But it’s love that wrote the play.
In this darkness
Love can show the way.  

with love, Lisa

Dear Friends,

The squirrels will not give up! It would be comical if it wasn’t so annoying! And distracting! I’m supposed to be working at the computer, but instead I’m watching their antics. We are new to the world of birds and bird feeders, just starting our second year. I think the squirrels gave us a pass in the first few months, giving us time to enjoy all the new visitors. But as time went by, these furry-tailed rodents became more insistent, and creative. Their leaps became longer, their visits more frequent. Despite the baffles and squirrel-buster techniques, I think they are here to stay.

I imagine there is a lesson here for me, perhaps you more experienced “birders” have come to peace with the unwanted guests? As I look out this November morning, my heart is calmed by the mourning dove’s silhouette as she walks up the shed’s roofline. I smile at the nut hatcher who pecks for food while upside down. The tufted titmouse bounces from arm to arm of the black metal stand before setting down with some seed. All is right with the world, and then…(cue the soundtrack from “Jaws”)…instead of nicely rustling around in the leaves below, picking up the leftover seeds and shells, Squirrel remembers, “There are seeds in yonder ‘hills’!” and the ritual begins again.

Squirrel doesn’t give up, and her tenacity inspires me. I suspect the rewards are few compared to her heroic efforts, but persistent determination keeps her going. Could that be the lesson for me today? Is Squirrel teaching me to respond to the challenges in my life with purpose and renewed stamina?

Right now, it’s time for me to go to my water aerobics class. When I get back, its time to work on edits for my book. Its time for me to climb up that pole, leap from that shed, and trust I will land where seeds are plentiful. It’s time to rely upon my life-giving instincts and keep going!!

with affection, Lisa

Dear Friends,

Here in Connecticut, Fall is welcomed with pumpkins on the porch and warm apple cider on the stove. These rituals help us say goodbye to the warm pleasures of Summer. The wind blows new beginnings into my heart, a leftover from back-to-school rhythms, I suspect. What will happen in this new year of learning?

Is the cardinal, who keeps visiting, trying to tell me something? Or how about the book I am looking for on the shelf or in a stack somewhere… is the fact I can’t find it telling me that its not yet time to read it? These kind of questions mystify me. They invite me into a new way of thinking….a way without clearcut answers. When I don’t have an answer, though, I get a little nervous. There is security in certainty, my preferred route. But life keeps presenting unpredictable, or challenging, questions without answers. And I remember words I that resisted the first time I heard them, “Maybe the answer is not yours to know.”

Let’s say, I accept this open-ended approach to life. Let’s say, I say yes to Mystery, even when it touches the details of MY life. What would that feel like? How do I wrap my control-desperate mind around a call to such deep surrender? Today, I embrace the words of Dag Hammarskjold as my mantra for the new “school year.” May I, may we, cultivate a heart open to Mystery…

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

with affection, Lisa

Return to the Lake

Oh, its been too long. Too long since I’ve sat here and received your wisdom. The September sky changed everything, and I remembered. Without you, without the created world that surrounds me when I sit with you…I lose touch.

I love looking out at the expanse of the lake, especially when the sky’s reflection doubles the view. I see the lake below and the lake above, parallel colors, but not exactly the same. I love entering the scene, becoming a part of it, just another bit of mystery – like the sky, the ducks, the ripples in the water. I find great freedom in that imagining – is my fear stronger than the trees that withstand the cold of winter? Is my stress more important than the swan protecting her family? Instead, I see my life’s tasks and tensions become a part of the wholeness around me, my concerns aligned with Mystery and I can let go.

My dear friends,

It’s been two and a half years since I started This Little Light. Since then, my monthly Glimmers have become part of my prayer and, I hear, part of your life. I have embraced digital communication and hope it will help you and I continue to learn from one another. This November, I plan to launch a new website that shares the vision of Light we have been enjoying and offers a more consistent message through a blog format. I hope you will join me in this venture. Thanks to the return emails from many of you, I experience my writing as dialogue with you. Its sacred, really, to know there is an exchange between us in the midst of our solitary lives. A blessing, freely given and received.

I will still email and post monthly Glimmers with observations and (hopefully) inspirations, the blog will have a separate theme: Return to the Lake. It has come to me that if I slow down long enough, I can hear the wisdom around me. It is healing for me and perhaps will be helpful to you.

Blessings on the little children who go off to school this September. Blessings on each of you who face challenges and fears. Blessings on those who pray for healing, body, mind and soul.

With love, Lisa

Dear Friends,

July’s gifts were many…warm summer nights, freedom found through vacations and long weekends, and heat that forced us to slow down. I hope you found some pleasure in your July this year. I chose to make the most of my flexible calendar, attending three lengthy experiences away from home – finding new faces, uncomfortable beds and the loving support of my husband when I returned home each time. I might have planned too much, but am grateful for what I learned. Enough for a year’s worth of Glimmers, but let me share an observation about meeting new people.

At 66, you would think I’d be used to the process of making a new friend. But as I age and gain perspective, I look at this (and other) phenomenon differently. First, I don’t take it for granted. People are often comfortable with their circle of friends and don’t exert the effort needed to get to know someone new. I understand the ease of long-term friendships, certainly treasure my own. But since I’ve felt the “closed door” version of relationship, I am sensitive to those who turn to me with an expectant smile and an unspoken desire to be known.

Then there’s my need to be known…and liked…and approved of…its exhausting! I’ve worked hard to “clean up” my neediness and like most of us, I enjoy the connections found in friendship. I try not to let my needs get in the way, instead I focus on the person in front of me, the gift that she or he is at this moment of our encounter. As I hear stories, understand points of view, and experience an emotional presence, I’m aware of grace stepping into the conversation.

When I, when we, open our hearts to a new person we are saying yes to the possibility of love. We are saying yes to vulnerability in the midst of our story, our fears, our desires. How brave we are! How beautiful! Each time we let go into an unexpected intimacy, we meet a new side of who we are, as well. We place it before another and risk their willingness to meet us right there – in that moment. I had a few of those encounters in my time away from home, Each felt like a blessing, a gift of love flowing over me and into my heart. This summer’s legacy will be these memories of sweet affection found in a complicated life. May it be so for you too, my friends.

With thanks for your friendship, Lisa

Dear Friends,

I’ve been thinking about “disappointment.”

Do you know disappointment? Do you know the “downer” feeling when things don’t go your way and, as a grown up, you’re supposed to accept, adjust and “move on?” Disappointment feels like a dark cloud between me and the elusive contentment that I prefer….Moving on? How?

I seem to stay in the sad place when my hopes and expectations are not met…. longer than I would like. AND on top of that, I feel guilty for my inability to let go of my disappointment! I think, what do you have to be disappointed about Lisa? Look at people around you who face serious illness, can’t find work, are displaced from their home or country, or at odds with family members. What do you, on this lovely June day, possibly need that you don’t already have? Get over yourself and your “disappointment!”

I wonder, do we talk to others with the same impatience and judgement that we use to talk to ourselves? I doubt it. Can I (can we) treat myself with the gentle affection I offer to a neighbor’s grandchild as she visits on a sunny afternoon? If a loving presence is good for her, wouldn’t it be good for me too?

What’s wrong, Sadie? You seem a little “down” today.
Mrs Irish, my dad said I can’t go with my sister to the movies.
She’s going with her friends from school.
Ahh – you wanted to go?
Yes! I was the one who wanted to see that movie! But now I can’t!
And you’re disappointed….I’m sorry.
I don’t like being disappointed Mrs Irish! I feel it inside, its pushing at me.
I don’t like disappointment either Sadie. Can I stay here with you?
Could you? Could you watch me? Look, I can do a cartwheel!  

Is it really that simple? Can I make a shift in the feeling of disappointment just by being “present” to it? Can I love my little girl self as she adjusts, at her own pace, to unmet expectations? Can I be patient with myself as I manage responsibilities and relationships with the reality of unpredictability all around me?

I say yes. On this new June day, I choose to treat myself with compassion and to honor my feelings, whatever they are. I’ll consider trying a cartwheel later!

Seeking the Light,
Lisa

Dear Friends,

Something new happened for me this Spring.

I stopped waiting for leaves to appear and began seeing the beauty of the trees, just as they are. I admired the grey-brown textured trunks, reaching up into the sky. Branches, thick at first, created a labyrinth as they narrowed and met one another above me. Some trees were clumped together as tall families hovering over the ground below. I looked far into the woods, no shady green branches were blocking my view. I saw past their upright lines and beyond, light came through from the other side. In a few months, this will be a forest. It will be a place of shelter and quiet. But today, the space feels like a foreign land inviting me into a new perspective.

The eagles called me to this new way of seeing. Their flight past my window thrills my heart every single time. They dip into the lake for a snack and then, whoosh, up into the tree to munch on their catch. I watch their naps, occasional preening, and their community meetings of 2, 3 or 4. Without leaves to block my view, the private life of my eagle friends has become accessible to me.

I don’t want to rush the arrival of green that covers the world above me. I’m looking for new signs of life that are hidden when summer’s leaves arrive. I find I am grateful for the trees in their vulnerable state. They have revealed another beauty around and within their midst. With quiet assurance, the trees have survived our Connecticut winter, and I wonder…have I?

I think of my own vulnerable places. Can I, like the trees, live for today just as I am? Can I see beauty  in what is, without imposing expectation or defense?In other Springs, I saw the trees as “naked” as I waited impatiently for their green vestments. This year, I’m learning that these noble trees “are” just as they are supposed to be. There is grace in their faithful acceptance of the rhythm of life. Could it be, that I too am just where I’m supposed to be? Can I embrace what is within, around and before me? May I stand tall with my tree friends and remember…”I am enough.”

Peace be with you this day, Lisa