Prayer

     Stepping out on any journey, great or small asks of us preparation and intention. It’s helpful along the way to be mindful of what we carry – and what we no longer need to carry. As I continue on this Lenten path, Carrie Newcomer’s words companion me. From her song, Two Toasts, “To the words and how they live between us, and to us and how we live between the words.” Prayer is that. The words of our prayers and how they live between us, and then our living into and between those praying words. Prayer invites us to pay attention, to open up the doors of our lives that may have been slammed shut (intentionally and unintentionally) and dare to step over their threshold. Prayer invites us to live into the grace that is always holding us.

     Niebuhr’s Serenity Prayer is etched upon many of our hearts. These words have been spoken at the end of meetings on mornings after mornings and nights after nights - encouraging, reminding, leading members from one place to a recovering place. Words whispered and proclaimed. Words of hope and healing, strength and perseverance. Words that just don’t give up.  

     Acceptance. A couple weeks ago we began our journey into the wilderness. Now as our lives are literally being turned upside down, this wilderness trek feels much more real. So much is up in the air. Last Saturday feels like ages ago. Words of quarantine and testing and contamination bring fear and stress. For this journey, for this season I/we have the power to choose a different state of mind. If we can begin with Niebuhr’s first words “accept the things I cannot change,” then we might lean into any shifts that come. This path that we now travel is one unexpected, unplanned and perhaps feels unsupported. And yet here we are on this path, you and me. Left foot, right foot. In the midst of our unknowing, we continue on. We continue on in this season of purpose and practice to come closer to the center, closer to God. It is a journey to discover and to begin to trust with a new heart. More than I can remember, this time feels like one of powerlessness and the feeling that I'm in a free-fall. This feels this morning like a time to acknowledge and accept what is coming at us/ what is coming to us instead of using our precious energy attempting to push everything away. If we can accept this journey to be just this journey, who knows what we might experience? Left foot, right foot.
 
     Courage. This trip is not for sissies. These days are not for sissies. We are asked to seek less. We are asked to keep our hearts open for what may change in us and for us. We are asked to continue in and through these next free-falling days, these Lenten days with open hearts as we make our way to Jerusalem. Courage to continue, courage to be generous, courage to accept, courage to receive whatever messages come our way. Left foot, right foot. 
 
     Wisdom. There is in us a deep wisdom. There is in us an understanding, a knowing of what we yearn for and what we pray to live into. This wisdom is our compass. This wisdom is guiding us toward what is next. This wisdom is as close as our next breath, as steady as our next heartbeat. Left foot, right foot. 

     We don’t often hear the second half of the prayer much. Most every time I read it; I’m drawn to a different phrase. Today I’m mindful of being “reasonably happy in this world.“ We are still early in this season of Lent, earlier still in these days of living in a time of COVID -19. We are just beginning. These words of being reasonably happy on this road sounds pretty good to me. Full blown jubilation would be great, sure. Normalcy sounds like paradise. But reasonably happy in this world, sounds to me like a Balm in Gilead. It’s not always dark. It's not always going to be new words to comprehend, not always watching the numbers that rise in the virus and tumble in the markets around us. There are places and spaces for reasonable happiness. Perhaps reasonable happiness can be found in living this moment, this day. Individually and together being mindful, prayerful, hopeful in seeking beyond what is just on up ahead a little bit, just on up over that next hill. Having faith to claim Acceptance, leaning into the strength of Courage, and being guided by the shining light of Wisdom, we speak silently and aloud this prayer as we continue on this path, as we continue to live in and through these days. 
 
 

                                                                                                                                                                                              Signum
                                                                                                                                                                     (Symbols)
 
     As we set out on this wilderness journey, as we begin walking our winter days into spring, it matters that we pay attention. It matters now and will matter even more in the days to come that we be mindful about what we need and what we don’t need to carry.

     I don’t know about you, but I am most always lugging around more than what I really need. In addition to physical possessions, I feel burdened by my emotional baggage and stressors, as well as my spiritual grief and anguish. The weight of all these bags wearies my body and spirit.
 
     I am bad to overpack. Trip after trip, I fill my bags with just in case provisions. Trip after trip, from here to there and back again, I drag bags overstuffed with extra socks, underwear, shirts and books. Trip after trip, I come back with clothes not worn, books not opened and a back that has been strained and spent.
 
     Maybe this 2020 journey can be lighter. Maybe on this journey my focus can be on the inside of me and not so much on the outside of me.
 
     Laying down my burdens is as much a spiritual invitation as it is a physical one. How do I / how do we go about doing it? What does this laying-down-act require of us? Perhaps a starting place is to ask – what matters most for these next forty days? Who are we seeking? What do we hope to discover? Re-discover? To learn? Re-learn? Un-learn?
 
     How do I pack for a trip that promises to unfold along the way? As I am just now setting out, how am I supposed to know what will be needed? What will change in me if I don’t plan for every possible need? What will happen if there isn’t much planning at all, but instead  my prayer is to be stay awake for this journey? 
 
     What if it’s as easy and as hard as paying attention? Left foot, right foot. What if this is the time to be open to receiving what is to be given? What if I step out with less and feel that soon my back is a bit straighter, my eyes and heart wide open, that my stride is strong and steady? No longer dragging my worn-out bag of just in cases,’ just bringing me – the inside me, the lighter me, the less burdened me, the heart of me. Left foot, right foot. 

                                                                                                                                 Spiritual  Songs

     Walking lends itself to singing. I was probably 8 or 9 when that life lesson found its way to me. Summers at Girl Scout camp in Indiana were always filled with singing – along the road, around the campfire, in the lodge after meals. Along the way we were taught walking songs – we walked trails through the woods or blacktop, back roads. These songs entered in and have never left me. Now they are life-gifts, always to be treasured.

     There were usually 20 or so campers hiking from here to there. Sometimes we knew exactly where we were going and exactly how to get there. Sometimes we just didn't. Either way turned out fine, because of the singing. It was summer in Indiana and we away from home at camp. When our talking-words ran out, someone would start a song. Someone would sing-out a song born from inside her to keep us moving. There, on those hikes I learned the beauty of singing rounds. On those hikes we would sing repeating songs that would push us up the hills and over to the next place. I bet "Green Grow the Rushes ‘O" lasted an hour or so, if we sang all the verses – and I think more often then not we would sing them all. Polly or Tracey or Brenda or Kim or Jody would have to verify this, but I do believe at some point one of those summers we actually did sing every verse of "99 bottles of beer on the wall."

     It was on those long, blacktop road hikes that I learned to sing harmony. I learned the beauty and significance of those echoing melodies. The gift of harmony is (at least) twofold. First, it is the freedom found in blending notes, followed closely by the grace and life that can come when we intentionally listen to another. (Could there be a more important lesson for the living of these days?) We never used sheet music. These were songs passed down from our counselors or the older campers to us. And most of them, we took on for our own.

     Singing set the pace. It changed the mood. It brought us together in step and in spirit. It passed the time. It unified us and helped us lean in way long before we ever realized we would need that skill for the rest of our lives. It taught us about life ("This Land is Your Land," "There is a Balm in Gilead," "Dona, Dona," and “Puff the Magic Dragon”). Singing made us laugh and cry, sometimes during the same song. Singing brought us together and eventually brought us home.

     And now as we set out on our journey through the wilderness, singing will serve us well. Choosing or being gifted with companioning songs will encourage us and renew us. Pilgrims learn and listen to one another, they irritate and inspire one another, they renew and remind one another. Songs can help shake up and lead on those who are traveling. "...and if we never find them, I shant mind, shall you?" More often than not, with the right song, it’s not as much the destination, as it is the journey. 
 

​ 
​     Lent is only for a season. Coming from the word spring, we think of Lent as a time of 40 days. Truth be told, during this season of Lent, the Sundays aren’t counted so we really journey longer. Sometimes life is like that, "things take the time they take…" Many say that Lent's timeframe comes from the story of Jesus wandering in the wilderness for 40 days. Lent also welcomes us, reminds us about, teaches us and even prepares us for the seasons in our lives when we find ourselves wandering in the wilderness.

     For many this is a time of intention. It is a season of spiritual practices, old and new. Lent is a time of holding on and letting go. It's a time of ending things to make room for welcoming whaat will come next. For some of us, Lent is about giving up and giving in. It is about turning and returning to purpose and place.

     Carrie Newcomer is one of my sheroes. Carrie is a mother and partner, a Hoosier, Quaker, folk singer, poet who writes words from her heart. Many of her words have served as a compass for me as I have continued to make my way through. In her song Two Toasts, she sings, “To the words and how they live between us, and to us and how we live between the words.”

     With these words as my Lenten compass for 2020, I am hoping to companion images of faith and hope and love on this journey into  and across space and time. 

     Lent is a spiritual season that bridges our winters into spring. For the next days, I will be writing words for reflection. My intention will be to focus on different guides for each day of the week. On Sundays words from Jesus' teachings; on Mondays, words of holding on; on Tuesdays (thanks to Latin student, son, Sam…) mysterium tremendum et fascinans, mysteries that fascinate us; on Wednesdays, words of letting go; on Thursdays, signum, symbols that hold and companion us; on Fridays, spiritual songs; and on Saturdays, prayers. Along with that, each day I will share a picture of a recent sunrise. Most every morning, I walk from the parking deck through the upper side of Lullwater Park to work. I'll share pictures of sunrises to share images of the changing of seasons.  
 
     Sometimes I lose sight of what is always true: even if we do something we have done before, it is always a new thing we are doing. Always. This will true for these coming days. We are not the same as we were for last year's Lent. Life happens to us, in spite of us sometimes. We are changed in little and great ways because of it. So, as we enter into this season, we begin with only the bare trees of winter and will finish seeing buds on their branches. Time will pass, it just does. The wisdom and grace of the wilderness journey, await us. I trust that they will companion and guide us as we step out into this holy season. 
 
     Grace upon grace to you as we begin a time of more than 40 days into something new. Here's to you and here's to me - and to the words and how they live between us, and to us and how we live between the words. 

                                                                                                                                                                                ​Letting Go

     Ash Wednesday. Today is the beginning our Lenten journey into the wilderness. For centuries the season has started with the ritual of receiving ashes on our foreheads. This ritual is an outward and visible sign of our marking something new, of accepting and joining into the ancient story – again, as if for the first time. Some of us may go today to a place of worship and participate in this age-old practice of bowing our heads to receive the ashes. We will hear the words spoken to our grandmothers and to their grandmothers as well, “From dust you have come, to dust you shall return.” 
 
     It is a powerful practice to set out on this wilderness journey with these words of mortality echoing in our ears. Sensing in our hearts and in our bones the truth of our own beginnings and endings, we take our steps. Although on some level we all know that we weren’t meant to live forever, many of us don’t think about it much. As we step out on this journey of faith, we are reminded – again, as if for the first time - of the preciousness of time, the preciousness of living. This life we have been given is marked by time as surely as the mark we wear on our foreheads. 
 
     In this time of spiritual journey and intention, we are mindful of the opportunities of this season to turn and return to what matters most. On this Ash Wednesday we are invited to breathe deeply and to take stock of who we are and whose we are. We are reminded that our time on this earth is finite. Is it our deep desire to go through the motions each day? Do we want to sit in the audience and watch as the world spins on? Just as surely as we choose to take these steps into Lent, we know that we also choose how we spend the living of each day of our lives.  
 
     Ash Wednesday is our holy day of letting go. Today we are mindful of ​letting go of what no longer brings us life. It is the time of letting go of what we no longer find purposeful. It the day when we search our souls and lean into the heart of what is authentically and divinely alive in us. With the words still echoing in our ears, it is the day we sent out. It is moment we know that by letting go, we are opening ourselves up and making room for what matters most.  

    Lent is only for a season. Coming from the word spring, we think of Lent as a time of 40 days. Truth be told, during this season of Lent, the Sundays aren’t counted so we really journey longer. Sometimes life is like that, "things take the time they take…" Many say that Lent's timeframe comes from the story of Jesus wandering in the wilderness for 40 days. Lent also welcomes us, reminds us about, teaches us and even prepares us for the seasons in our lives when we find ourselves wandering in the wilderness.

     For many this is a time of intention. It is a season of spiritual practices, old and new. Lent is a time of holding on and letting go. It's a time of ending things to make room for welcoming whaat will come next. For some of us, Lent is about giving up and giving in. It is about turning and returning to purpose and place.

     Carrie Newcomer is one of my sheroes. Carrie is a mother and partner, a Hoosier, Quaker, folk singer, poet who writes words from her heart. Many of her words have served as a compass for me as I have continued to make my way through. In her song Two Toasts, she sings, “To the words and how they live between us, and to us and how we live between the words.”

     With these words as my Lenten compass for 2020, I am hoping to companion images of faith and hope and love on this journey into  and across space and time. 

     Lent is a spiritual season that bridges our winters into spring. For the next days, I will be writing words for reflection. My intention will be to focus on different guides for each day of the week. On Sundays words from Jesus' teachings; on Mondays, words of holding on; on Tuesdays (thanks to Latin student, son, Sam…) mysterium tremendum et fascinans, mysteries that fascinate us; on Wednesdays, words of letting go; on Thursdays, signum, symbols that hold and companion us; on Fridays, spiritual songs; and on Saturdays, prayers. Along with that, each day I will share a picture of a recent sunrise. Most every morning, I walk from the parking deck through the upper side of Lullwater Park to work. I'll share pictures of sunrises to share images of the changing of seasons.  
 
     Sometimes I lose sight of what is always true: even if we do something we have done before, it is always a new thing we are doing. Always. This will true for these coming days. We are not the same as we were for last year's Lent. Life happens to us, in spite of us sometimes. We are changed in little and great ways because of it. So, as we enter into this season, we begin with only the bare trees of winter and will finish seeing buds on their branches. Time will pass, it just does. The wisdom and grace of the wilderness journey, await us. I trust that they will companion and guide us as we step out into this holy season. 
 
     Grace upon grace to you as we begin a time of more than 40 days into something new. Here's to you and here's to me - and to the words and how they live between us, and to us and how we live between the words. 
​