Daily Dose (Oct 15 – 18)
TUESDAY OCT 15 —
This week: what do we do when we feel threatened (undone) by uncertainty?
When we feel undefended and vulnerable?
When, like the farmer, we put our arms up to welcome the animals into our world, only to be seen as a scarecrow, frightening them away?
What does it mean to be gentle with, and reconnect with, that vulnerable part of me?
Let us remember that reconnecting with our heart we are not attempting to create something out of sheer willpower, or adding something to our life we do not already possess.
“Letting our arms down”, we give ourselves the permission to fall into (embrace, invite, appreciate, receive) our strength, fall into the enough—the sufficiency—of what is already there.
In the Gospels, this is the invitation Jesus offers to every person he encounters.
The invitation that will embolden me to access—to draw on—what is at the core of human dignity (the light that is within… “this little light of mine… keep it under a bushel, no”).
That at my core, I touch the capacity to both grieve and to give,
to tremble and to be courageous,
to doubt and to be faithful…
to be uncomfortable (yes, frightened) and to love,
to be watchful and to be generous…
to be fully human and fully alive…
From that grounded self, to be compassionate, patient, resilient, kind, unselfish, responsible, spirited, high-minded. To be a listening heart.
There is a part of every single one of us that is eager (yes, hungry) for connection. And we want to open our arms in a welcoming pose.
But let me pause, and talk about another awareness here. For those who have known and lived with abuse, putting one’s arms up is visceral, just for safety.
They are up for protection. Yes. It is our body instinctively saying, “Don’t hurt me.” This, I do understand. At my core.
It’s not easy when someone tells me to put my arms down. So. It is okay to go slowly. Taking stock of our lives, reflecting on what no longer serves, and embracing what is most precious in our lives, beginning to release through a gentle cleansing of our minds and our bodies, saying goodbye to old hurtful stuff. When we embrace this process of self-compassion, think of it as creating a releasing ritual, honoring both our gratitude and our grief.
Our invitation this week: if I do expand my world, open my fields, invite “them” (or any other) into this world, I (and my heart) am exposed to touch.
To connection. To kindness.
To tenderness. To empathy.
To wounds. To love. To untidiness. To healing.
To generosity. To loss. To bounty. And yes, to the unknown.
WEDNESDAY OCT 16 —
What do we do when we feel threatened (undone) by uncertainty? When we feel undefended and vulnerable?
What does it mean to be gentle with, and reconnect with, that vulnerable part of me?
Let us remember that there is a fine line between safe (certain) and stuck–which becomes paralysis. When I see only “the expectation of certainty”… when I see procedure and creed, over journey and faith—you know, the “right notes” or the “right answer” or “when real life begins”, I miss having my world shaken. And I miss… opportunity,
learning,
change,
transformation
and grace.
And I miss wonder, every time.
When closure is a prerequisite, we miss all the gifts (the sacred, the music, the dance in ordinary moments) on the journey.
In other words; “We live like ill-taught piano students. We are so afraid of the flub that will get us in dutch, we don’t hear the music, we only play the right notes,” Robert Capon.
It’s paradigm shift time. It’s not where we arrive, it’s the direction we are going. The permission and invitation to embrace the gifts on the journey.
And I think of the gifts my friend Phil Volker helped us see through the power of the pilgrimage, the power of the music and the journey. Phil Volker died in 2021, and now continues his walk in the great Santiago in the sky.
He talked a lot about the journey versus the destination. He had a right to. He lived with stage four cancer, meaning very slim odds. Well, so he was told. So, he decided to walk the Camino de Santiago (which began as a half-mile track in his own back acreage on Vashon Island until the doctors let him travel to Spain), and he learned early on that healing is far more important than a cure.
Phil’s story is wonderfully told in the documentary Phil’s Camino, directed and produced by Annie O’Neal, which includes Phil’s musing about his own journey while carrying a chronic illness. (Check out his movie, Phil’s Camino.)
“There is being cured, and there is being healed, and there’s a difference,” Phil said in a moment of reflection some halfway through the pilgrimage. “I’m not going to be cured of the cancer, but I’ve been healed, and what that means is the joy of knowing that all things are reconciled with family and with God. There is a great joy and a great peace in that healing.”
Cure versus healing. Thank you Phil, for helping us all hear the music, letting our arms down to welcome the gifts of today.
THURSDAY OCT 17 —
What do we do when we feel threatened (undone) by uncertainty? When we feel undefended and vulnerable?
Given the invitation, and the permission, to be gentle with, and reconnect with, that vulnerable part of me, this story from Anthony deMello is my go-to.
Yes… the gift of embracing the healing balm of self compassion.
A man who took great pride in his lawn found himself with a large crop of dandelions. He tried every method he knew to get rid of them. Still they plagued him. Finally he wrote the Department of Agriculture. He enumerated all the things he had tried and closed his letter with the question: “What shall I do now?”
In due course the reply came: “We suggest you learn to love them.”
I too had a lawn I prided myself on and I too was plagued with dandelions that I fought with every means in my power. So, learning to love them was no easy matter. I began by talking to them each day. Cordial. Friendly. They maintained a sullen silence. They were smarting from the war I had waged against them and were suspicious of my motives. But it wasn’t long before they smiled back. And relaxed. Soon we were good friends. My lawn, of course, was ruined. But, how attractive my new garden became.
And this, from Rachel Carson, “If I had influence with the good fairy who is supposed to preside over the christening of all children, I should ask that her gift to each child in the world be a sense of wonder so indestructible that it would last throughout life.”
FRIDAY OCT 18 —
I’m smiling at a memory of watching the movie A Star is Born, in one of those theaters reclined in a cushy chair and a glass of fine wine.
The movie is the story of two people (Jackson and Ally) trying to find their way. Jackson, feeling at the mercy of the “creatures”. He is like the farmer in our story on Monday. And his “scarecrow” stance, affects his relationships and his wellbeing. I feel it at my core when Ally sings,
“Tell me something, boy
Aren’t you tired tryin’ to fill that void?
Or do you need more?
Ain’t it hard keeping it so hardcore?”
Yes. What does it mean to be gentle with, and reconnect with, and to embrace, that vulnerable (and uncertain, even frightened) part of me?
In one of her blogs Maria Shriver posted, “In the spirit of fall, I’ve been thinking about the idea of falling into every part of life. So many of us hold ourselves back from really letting go and falling in. We are scared that if we fall in fully we will get hurt or be disappointed. We are terrified that there will be nothing there to catch us. There is always a chance of that but I’ve come to believe that standing back is far scarier than falling in. Standing back and being aware of it makes us feel stuck, makes us feel afraid, makes us feel less than. When we let ourselves fall in, we fall into our courage. We fall into our strength. We fall into our power and our worth. We fall into ourselves and our joy and meaning.”
No, falling into our strength is not always any easy thing. Especially if we associate our strength with personas or roles we play, all linked to performance.
So, gentle steps… I love this from Katherine Dunham, “Go within every day and find the inner strength so that the world will not blow your candle out.”
And gratitude for this poem from Sabbath Moment friend, Terry Waggle.
Armed
Arms stretched wide
in scarecrow mode
might scare good folks away.
I think we need to hold arms forward
with palms upturned in welcome mode
to give out the message that we care,
that we care for the unloved,
that we care for the misunderstood,
that we care for the hurting,
that we care for all God’s people.
We are, after all in the same family
even though we’re not all the same.
Our differences shouldn’t
separate us or alienate us.
Let us be armed with love.
October 13, 2024
Terry Waggle
I am writing this, gratefully, from Fort Ashby, WV, guests of Martin and Barbara Townsend at the home, Shepherd’s Croft.
Prayer for our week…
This is the time to be slow,
Lie low to the wall
Until the bitter weather passes.
Try, as best you can, not to let
The wire brush of doubt
Scrape from your heart
All sense of yourself
And your hesitant light.
If you remain generous,
Time will come good;
And you will find your feet
Again on fresh pastures of promise,
Where the air will be kind
And blushed with beginning.
John O’Donohue
Benedictus: A Book of Blessings
Photo… “Hi Terry, My heart aches for a place and people I cherish in western North Carolina. May God bless them and keep them as these strong people recover. Here’s an Autumn picture from North Carolina,” Pam Webb… Thank you Pam… I’m so grateful for your photos, please send them to [email protected]