Worth the risk

Last night our sky lit up, glowing with drama and theater, flashes of lightning followed by resounding thunder, accompanied by wind and heavy rain. And let’s just say, this is very rare for the PNW, especially in August. Even so, it was quite a spectacle, inspiring awe and wonder.
And then the morning after. I walk out into the garden, seeing the toll on so many of my plants, now a wee bit beat up, bedraggled and worse for wear. A good reminder that gardening is not for the faint at heart, and may be hazardous to your emotional wellbeing.
I spent a good bit of time talking with my distressed perennials, offering loving touch up, because even though it is sad to see the damage, in my heart I knew, the garden is much bigger than just “the beat up”, and even in the blemished and broken places, the healing power of sanctuary is real. The soft color palette and gentle beauty in the vulnerability of distress is a soothing antidote to those parts of my week that have nicked and depleted me.

And it takes me to a memory of walking along the shore of Lake Michigan, on the campus of Northwestern University, our backdrop the straight-edge line of a powder-blue horizon toward the east, and the Chicago skyline to the south. My friend and I had nowhere to go, and weren’t in a hurry to get there. It seemed a good day for a long and restful nothing.
At the entrance to an inviting tree-dotted and grassed area, a prominently placed sign greets all who walk into this place of respite, rest and sanctuary with the unusual and curious caution: “Enter at your own risk.”
The sign stopped me. Literally. I did a double take. And I laughed. And of course, I took a picture (after all, what’s the point of having a phone if you don’t take photos and post them for public envy).
Okay. At one level, I get the “risk” part. Everything now in our world is tainted with the fear of liability (or affronting). After all, someone may get hurt. (Although it doesn’t read well on your medical report, “Injuries sustained while savoring the day.”)
Risk becomes a double-edged sword.  However, I believe that in our fear-induced world, our energy is given to casting a watchful eye to the danger always lurking (or the enemies always at bay). And here’s what I know: we live in a world tense and on edge.
So. “Watch out!” You could be ridiculed, frightened, attacked, alarmed, injured, or worse, sued. And our life is now predicated on limiting liability. I know what that feels like. I mean viscerally. Emotionally. And spiritually. You know, when you are tempted to either bow out, or to go back to your corner and then come out fighting.
Isn’t it interesting what happens when we choose (or live by) that particular choice of words? When I use the lens (or perspective)—“enter with caution”—I instinctively see (perceive, view) my experience in a narrower or more restrictive framework. In other words, I live this moment anticipating fear.
But it’s not just about caution. Yes, I do understand that there are times when caution is called for. What troubles me is that more often than not, I trade in my freedom or imagination or choice or intention or unabashed delight or even my contentment, because I am certain I may rock the boat… or that I don’t deserve it, or that I haven’t earned it, or that I have colored outside the lines, and must pay the price. Like the faithful band of “believers” in one of my favorite movies, Babette’s Feast, who, when offered an extraordinarily generous gift of the feast-of-a-lifetime, make the decision to “taste” the wine, but not “enjoy it.”
I don’t want to live my life in fear.
We quote Thoreau, longingly, “I went into the woods because I wanted to live deliberately. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life… to put to rout all that was not life; and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.”  Which all sounds admirable and dauntless. But what does it mean?  I’m wresting with this… Perhaps, that is where the sign “Enter at your own risk” should be—any place we choose to live deliberately.
To live deliberately is risky. Yes. But I want to live deliberately. True, some caution is warranted. But here’s the deal: To really care, to grieve, to love, to begin again, to give birth to passion…
To open your heart, accept loss, be overcome by beauty, sustain friendship…
To sit in stillness, wrestle with prayer and faith…
To speak the truth, and offer sanctuary to joy, sadness or injustice, requires a heart willing to accept the risk.
Yes, and who knows, to be broken wide open.

It’s interesting to me that I found this sign in a place of sanctuary.  That is the flip side of the coin. And the truth is they may be right. The truth is that if I do enter a place of sanctuary, if I do practice Sabbath, or if I do honor stillness, or if I do give up my diversions to be grounded (at home in my own skin), or if I do choose the courage to be fully present, to let my soul catch up with my body, it may not be easy. It may, in fact, be risky.
Do you want me to tell you something really subversive? “Love is everything it’s cracked up to be. That’s why people are so cynical about it. It really is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for. And the trouble is, if you don’t risk anything, you risk even more.” Erica Jong

So. Sanctuary is replenishing. But it is so much more than that. Because we need to remember what is being replenished.
Let us not forget… Blessed are you who know deep in your bones—even in the broken—that you are beautiful. And beloved. And sacred. And worthy. And believed. And held. And capable of healing beyond your wildest imagination.
Without sanctuary, we are unmoored from the true self at our core. And we give way to a veneer that is injurious. This is the great irony. “Enter at your risk” need not mean, “shut down your heart”… or restrict your life or your passion or your sorrow or your joy. It is the opposite: enter at your own risk, precisely because your heart is fully engaged. Yes, fully present and fully alive.
So, take heart. Change percolates from individuals who enter.
I wish I could tell you that after my walk, I gave up all my fear.
I have not. Not yet. But I do have a picture of that sign. Just to remind me… maybe today I will take the risk and open my heart.

Quote for our week…
I bet I can live to a hundred if only I can get outdoors again. Geraldine Page (as Carrie Watts in The Trip to Bountiful)

BULLETIN BOARD

Today’s Photo Credit: “Hi Terry, Much thanks to all my girlfriends for going on another sailing adventure with me in South Haven, Michigan. No wind unfortunately, but the temperature was perfect and the evening quite lovely.” Ruth Brandt… Thank you Ruth… And thank you to all, I love your photos… please keep sending them… send to terryhershey.com 

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Help make Sabbath Moment possible. I write SM because I want to live with a soft heart; to create a place for sanctuary, empathy, inclusion, compassion and kindness… a space where we are refueled to make a difference. SM remains free.
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NEW Audio SM… Enjoy — Fallen in love with living
Join us every Wednesday… Audio Sabbath Moment
Letters that do my heart good…
–Dear Terry, Today’s Sabbath Moment just made me smile. I have just finished my morning coffee while standing and looking out our kitchen window that gives a view of the bird feeder in our backyard. Every year we have a pair of cardinals regularly visit us there. This year though we’ve been blessed with the parents and their 3 kids –now juveniles and not quite ready to stop bugging mom and dad for a meal now out of habit, not need. As I stood there watching their family antics I slowly drank my entire cup and discovered a 2nd family group had joined the action. To my delight there are now 7 cardinals that come by to visit. You see, I have a note placed so I see it every morning with a quote from a recent Sabbath Moment, “Pause and honor the ordinary.” And just like magic, the ordinary is no longer just ordinary. It is extraordinary. Thank you! Have a wonderful day, Sue
–Hi Terry, I love Cat Steven’s Morning Has Broken. We had it played for our wedding and are requesting it to be played at our funerals. I recently started reading Learning To Pray by James Martin, SJ. He writes about the many ways to pray. One way he calls “A Long, Loving Look at the Real. ” Long, because it’s important not to rush; spend time noticing and settling into God’s presence and activity in our daily lives. Noticing the joys and miracles around us. As I read this, I thought, yep, Terry knows this one! Bless you, Carol
–While listening to “Fallen in Love with Living,” somehow this word floated into my mind. I’ve used it for years, and I think it makes a point that I believe in: There are no accidents. Serendipity is a nice thought, but it isn’t the whole story. When things, happenings, interactions come together in a particular way, good or bad, I simply don’t believe the reason is a “coincidence,” but a “God-incidence.” Of course, one always runs into some times when there is a genuinely negative outcome. I still claim that God is still in the midst of it, even if we can’t possibly expect to be able to see that long God-view. I’m fully thankful for God-incidents, which, I believe, work out even better if we acknowledge them as such. Onward and upward with gratitude and joy, hope and love, and always music and prayers, Ann 

POEMS AND PRAYERS

I tell you this
to break your heart,
by which I mean only
that it break open and never close again
to the rest of the world.
Mary Oliver

Lord, the air smells good…
Lord, the air smells good today,
straight from the mysteries
within the inner courts of God.
A grace like new clothes thrown
across the garden, free medicine for everybody.
The trees in their prayer, the birds in praise,
the first blue violets kneeling.
Whatever came from Being is caught up in being, drunkenly
forgetting the way back.
Rumi was a 13th century Sufi mystic