Internal or External?

Pondering. Resting. Sleeping. Reading. Considering others. Caring for myself. All of these things seem to be the rhythm of my Lenten days. An internal air continues to hover around me and as I just responded to a lovely post at Barefoot Toward the Light, I realize this quiet space feels just right for now. Different for me, but somehow just right.

It has been a simple weekend filled with walks and lots of rest. I've taken care of the few "have to's" on my list and spent the rest of the time tending to relationship - sometimes with my family, often with God, always with me. It feels necessary and good.

In the midst of the internal space, I also received two very outward reminders of my presence in the world which were delightful indeed. Yesterday, I received my very own copy of Awakening the Creative Spirit - a fantastic new book by Christine Paintner and Betsey Beckman, two of my dear friends and colleagues. I highly recommend it for anyone interested in the arts and becoming "fully awake" as today's Lenten verse* highlights. The exciting news for me is that I am the co-writer of Chapter 15 on "Arts-Centered Supervision". You can only imagine my delight to see my authorship officially acknowledged on page 197 (as well as a few other places throughout the book!)

The other 'outward reminder' can be found in visual form where you catch a glimpse of me as spiritual director in this PBS episode on religion. I show up around minute two with my most compassionate face and listening ears. Don't blink or you'll miss my adult TV debut! Seriously, it's a great video covering the topic of spiritual direction. I hope you'll go take a peak!!

OK, that's all I have to share for now. Time to huddle back up with hot tea and my Kindle!

P.S. I'd love to know how your Lenten season is progressing.

*Luke 9:28-36

Shilshole Sailboats - 2.20.10 © lucy

Clean Heart

Have mercy on me, God, in your goodness; in your abundant compassion blot out my offense.
Wash away all my guilt; from my sin cleanse me.
For I know my offense; my sin is always before me.
Against you alone have I sinned;
I have done such evil in your sight
That you are just in your sentence,
blameless when you condemn.
True, I was born guilty, a sinner,
even as my mother conceived me.
Still, you insist on sincerity of heart;
in my inmost being teach me wisdom.
Cleanse me with hyssop, that I may be pure;
wash me, make me whiter than snow.
Let me hear sounds of joy and gladness;
let the bones you have crushed rejoice.
Turn away your face from my sins;
blot out all my guilt.
A clean heart create for me, God;
renew in me a steadfast spirit.
Do not drive me from your presence,
nor take from me your holy spirit.
Restore my joy in your salvation;
sustain in me a willing spirit.

-Psalm 51: 3-14

Well, I have to say this week’s Lent readings from Abbey of the Arts are tapping into my fury at a God of judgment and condemnation. My early personal story contains a history of God principally being defined by fear and rarely offering unconditional love. I also struggle with the notion of being “sinner(s) even as (our) mother(s) conceived (us).”

Today I wonder about the Psalmist and consider perhaps he wrote from his own inner voice of condemnation – passing the buck to God as the One who blames us for sin. For most human beings, it’s much easier to blame outside circumstances or other people rather than look inside and hold our own responsibility. Personally, I would prefer to “blame” myself rather than worship a vengeful God who creates sinners by design.

I’m much more inclined to start with Genesis 1:31 and hear the resounding, “it was very good” than “...born guilty, a sinner, even as my mother conceived me.” Where does the latter fit with “it was very good”?

Lest you think I believe everything is sweet hearts and rosy flowers, I know it is true that we “sin.” We turn away from God. We turn away from ourselves. We turn away from others. The cloak of darkness shrouds us tighter and tighter, especially when we listen to those voices of condemnation and evil. We move toward hate – hating ourselves and thus hating others. I cannot reconcile the discrepancy (and ensuing theological debate) between Genesis and this Psalm other than to consider it as man’s influence in the writing. Perchance he writes from a mind riddled with guilt, thus momentarily forgetting the goodness and light I believe resides in each of us.

This Lenten season, my turning is toward God – toward my inner most self – the one who shows mercy and compassion. If I truly forgive myself knowing all that I have done wrong and felt and been, how can I not forgive others? How can I not find rest and have my joy restored?

By being more compassionate toward myself and thus others, I move toward God. We are all created with a Divine spark – perhaps it is hidden in the clean heart this Psalmist begs for.

I'ao Valley River © lucy
Maui graffiti © lucy

To Be

My thoughts wonder if it’s vacation? Lent? Something else? But, I have been experiencing a rather odd aversion to communing with my computer. My quiet time seems of utmost importance lately. I just want to be. Slow. Still. Present.

I returned home from vacation with a slight cold and it seems to slow me down even more. I find myself just wanting to close my eyes and be. No input. No output. A recent Lent reading* spoke of Jesus in the desert. I’d love to be in the desert for 40 days to just be, but what in the world does that even mean? Right now it feels like no details – no have to’s – just show up and be present to God. To be one with the world. Sit in the glow of the sun or feel raindrops on my face. Watch water trickle from the edge of the Creator’s fingers while matching the pace of gentle, falling rain. Pondering what it means to be.

"Be still and know I am God."
Be still and know I am.
Be still and know.
Be still.
Be.

*Luke 4:1-13

shilshole gull © lucy 2.20.10

Ash Wednesday

Even now, says the Lord,
return to me with your whole heart,
with fasting, and weeping, and mourning;
Rend your hearts, not your garments,
and return to the Lord, your God.

-Joel 2:12-13

Receiving the ashes from an Episcopal priest in the open-air church on the island of Maui is a far cry from my experience of last year’s Ash Wednesday. I find myself wondering is it time, distance, place, me or all of the above that rings differently? Last year’s celebration was in a more evangelical setting and I found that I was battling my own inner struggles with childhood and early adult notions of fire, brimstone and eternal hell.

This year’s rendering felt more attuned to my heart and state of mind. The here and now was more prescient than an out there view of penitence. My morning focus came from today’s verse (see above) in the Abbey of the Arts Lenten series where I landed on what it means to “rend my heart.”

“Rending” to me focuses on those tiny rips and tears that happen subtlely (and not so subtlely) throughout the day. Do I say a discourteous word to someone or think a prideful thought? While I in no means want to lean toward the do’s and don’ts of a faith by works theology, I am struck by the infinitesimal ways I can offend others and thus my own self (often without a word leaving my mouth or an overt action taking place.)

Today after the morning church service and breakfast, we took a drive to the Iao Valley, which is one of our personal guide’s favorite historical spots on the island. A great battle was fought in this valley and so many died there legend says the river ran red with blood for weeks after the engagement. There is also a lovely park with visual representations of the many immigrant populations of this island. My heart again turned to “rending” and the large tears and carnage that we as human beings inflict upon each other.

It has been another magical day in paradise. My heart has turned toward God again and I ponder what the rest of Lent will hold for me. What will the rending look like? Will there be healing too? Where will blood flow through the rivers of my life? What battles lie ahead?

This morning rending came defined as harsh and harrowing, and while the definition may not have changed, it feels like the turning (& tearing) of my heart continues on the path toward a God who heals and walks alongside through both peaceful times and tumultuous ones. It is a God worth turning toward.

Where is your heart turning this Lenten season? Can you feel the rending? Will you be open to God’s mending? Is paradise yours - here and now?

view inside Holy Innocents Church - Maui © h3images
Iao Valley © h3 images

Sea glass. Sea turtles. Sea breeze.

Amazing time away. The title of the post narrowly describes it.

The meditative time of sorting, sifting, digging and splashing for decades old pieces of tumbled glass is only describable to those who "get it." My sis and I... we do. The rest of the clan smiles and says "You look happy." (We are.)

Today's amazing glimpse of water enveloped a giant sea turtle who entertained us for what could have been hours. A massive head and enormous flippers bobbed up and down out of the water only feet away. The full portrait of the prehistoric shelled beast captured in the aquamarine wave back lit by the sun left us gasping for more.

Pink-tinted cumulus clouds wrapped the Valentine's evening as the sun set over the Pacific sea. How do you define paradise? Read between the lines if you must. All I have to say is, "I'm here."

Aloha, my friends.

The weather's beautiful. Wish you were here...

'surfer's on maui's north shore' © h3images