Fleeting Frost Weed

"Trash bags in the woods!" I thought to myself. I saw about a dozen similar images like the one above scattered on the trail one cold, wintry morning. It looked like someone had just let loose of plastic bags and let the wind carry them away to eventually settle on the forest floor, wedged between shrubs and sticks and whatever green ground cover survives the winter months here in the South. I stopped, surprised at the volume of supposed trash. I mean, one bag would be "tolerable," but a dozen or more? Nope! Not good for mankind. I don't actually pick up trash when I'm running; I just get annoyed by it. And that's not good either. I realized I should probably act on this one, let my conscience kick in and not just my criticism and annoyance at other people's poor decisions, as the trash just seemed so irreverent out in the stillness of the early morning in the woods.

I walked closer to one of the white "bags," and when I reached to pick it up, it melted in my hands! It was nothing more than delicate, icy ribbons of layered patterns and folds! These were not trash bags strewn in the woods at all. These "now picturesque," white, ghostlike sculptures were the beautiful phenomena called frost weed, a perennial herb that grows in wooded areas and has a thick stem that holds a plethora of water. When the first freeze comes, that water bursts out of the stem and produces white, ribbonlike, one-of-a-kind designs that . . . well, can resemble plastic bags. Frost weed only remains in its icy state for a few hours, then the morning sun or rising temperatures melt away the frosty designs, and all traces of ice ribbons disappear. I know this because I came back later with my "good" camera and all the frost weed had melted within two hours of seeing it that morning.

Just like the frost weed, sometimes I have felt misjudged and misrepresented. I have felt that I put out my best efforts of love and beauty to others in my actions and intentions, but the reaction was not what I had hoped for. Ever felt that way? We all hold true value. But people disappoint us. Our gifts to this world are so unique, just like each spiral and fold of the ice patterns that burst forth from the stem of the frost weed plant when it can't hold its contents in any longer. When we have a vision or idea or a new version of ourselves to offer the world, we rarely get the accolades we are anticipating. Rather, it's more like an accusing stare that implies, "How can you be so . . . ?" But if we are in tune with our life's mission, and God's guiding force in our life, then we know to "Stay in this place, until the current of the story is strong enough to pull you out," as the poet David Whyte says in his poem "Coleman's Bed." We remain as steady as we can on our divine course until people around us recognize the beauty and gifts we are offering and take a closer look. Suddenly we are not misunderstood. Suddenly we are not mistaken for the plastic bag littering the woods and are valued as a unique but fleeting moment of impact and beauty when taken a closer look at. And sometimes we don't wait on others to validate ourselves; we get to the point where it's enough to feel it and live it from the inside out. To positively identify with our own uniqueness. We believe in ourselves again, free from outside approval.

"Stay in this place, until the current of the story is strong enough to pull you out." Powerful words. We often have to sit in our aloneness until our outer story catches up with the inner life that is rich with uprising force and momentum. The other "players" in our life story (parents, children, spouses, lovers, bosses, friends, and even different parts of our own self) keep the "current" of our life stories moving, but at the pace that is governed ultimately by God's unique design. We cannot control the timing of the current or the lens with which others choose to see us. They are on their own journey as well, learning their own lessons just the same.

Now I anticipate frost weed every winter and am often not up and out in the woods early enough to catch sight of it. Therefore I only see it here and there. But I get a rush of pleasure when I do come upon it because not everyone sees this plant in action: forced by the cold temperatures to "create" beauty when it would be so much easier to stay warm and "in tact." Neat and tidy. Boring . . . but safe. I'm willing to let go and risk the cold forces of winter moving me (moving the current of my story) into a unique beauty instead of the warm lull of safety that an unchallenging life offers.

In the Dirt I Write . . .



Surrender tree

The Surrender Tree

opens me to what I cannot see . . .

As I write in the dirt that

supports its roots:

names

symbols

words

I release my logic,

my will,

my need to know,

and trust that my small act

of faith,

of letting go,

will create beauty and life

more wild than my imagination can dream.

Looking around,

I see that I am alone.

My ritual is guaranteed.

Today is another day

to speak my surrender

into the air,

while the tree bears silent witness

and keeps my secrets

to itself.

Walking away,

I look back at the tree,

then the ground.

I envision the words, like offerings,

stirring in the dirt,

under the small stones and branches

I’ve laid upon them,

actively in dialogue with

Source

for me.

I cannot communicate the depth

of what my surrender means,

because even I do not understand it.

But the words I’ve spoken out loud

and set into the dirt

by the base of the tree

make me

FREE. 

© 2011 by Jenna Love

This poem came from a ritual I created at a time in my life where nothing I could "do" was changing anything in the physical world around me. My deep need to make things and situations turn the way I wanted, in the time I wanted, only left me frustrated, disappointed, and even a bit faithless in my spiritual journey. I'm naturally drawn to trees because to me they represent groundedness. Their root systems are complicated, entwined, far-reaching, and adaptable. The trunk and branches grow toward the light and seek higher awareness.

Notice in the picture how this beech tree's bark has been carved into by people who have left an initial or a word, a marker of an emotion, a record in history. Well, I wanted my history to be more private, subtle, just between me and God. I wanted to place my words and symbols in the ground right at the base of the tree, as if they would somehow penetrate the soil and become buried, go underground and emerge again in a new, enlightened form. I was seeking for my grief and frustration and hopes to die and be transformed.

Many times a week I performed this ritual. I also placed special rocks I collected, favosite coral fossils to be exact, on the dirt. I wanted to take the fossils home because the coral had become crystalized and they were really beautiful and rare. But leaving them at the tree was like another offering, to go along with my words and symbols in the dirt, to give away the things I needed to surrender: thought patterns, expectations, desires, fears.

One day, though, I brought a stone with me to the tree, which I had recently bought, called chiastolite. It is a stone noted for its distinctive cross-shaped, black graphite inclusions against a brownish background. Symbolically, I connect with the cross symbol for Christian representations, and carrying it with me was a positive reminder of discovering my life mission, realizing that the path to fulfilling it would not be easy. It would require a sacrifice. But in the sacrifice there is the promise of a kind of death that only leads to transformation and the promise of something better. To me, Jesus and the cross is relevant to me on more than just the level of how He suffered for us. It is also a prophetic announcement to all of mankind that our life is a journey that will require a time of coming to terms with our mission, a wrestling with God and ourself (and even bargaining) to possibly have some other option than what we know is our path. Then there's a coming to terms with whatever lies ahead, not knowing for sure where the journey will lead but having a surrendered faith that gets you on your knees and in the dirt of your life for a while, wondering if you heard the calling correctly because it sure doesn't feel comfortable. Next comes some real pain. The death of the old self, the old thought patterns and expectations and beliefs of how you thought your life would be. All gone. Done. In the dirt ready for transformation.

Then some time has to pass. That time is different for everyone. For me, usually things do not transform overnight, but require months and years to bring certain situations full-circle. God is really not concerned with how long we spend in a death/transformation cycle; He's concerned with the outcome, the change it produces on the other side.

When transformation and restoration occur, there is a great respect for the process that was required to enter this new territory of change and rebirth.

But back to the chiastolite stone I carried with me one day to the tree . . . I really didn't want to leave it there, buried in the dirt, but knew symbolically I needed to. I scooted some dirt around and then suddenly it fell deep into a hole an animal had dug, so deep that I panicked that it was out of my reach. I tried to retrieve it, but it was long gone. Just like everything in my head (my worries, my fears, my longings and expectations) that needed to slip away, the rock with the cross on it went first; it led the way for my personal surrender.

I felt a little shocked that the chiastolite was gone so suddenly and was so out of sight and reach. But it confirmed my need to stop obsessing about what I need to leave behind, to just do it once and carry on. Trust that doing it once with certain faith is better than doing it daily with no faith. So, I let go.

About two months later I was at the tree, snuffeling about the dirt, and as I moved some leaves I saw the chiastolite right there on the surface of the dirt. Just right there in plain sight! Not underground in the pit of darkness. Simply there for me to pick up without having to search for it. It was odd, really, to have so much time and weathering occur over the two months---and the area is on an incline. I never expected to see that rock again. I felt it had been given back to me. It was okay to take it home. Because I didn't look for it and dig it up and chase after it, it rose to the surface in its own time. Right then, I realized the clarity I sought in my life would probably follow this same pattern.

For the first time in a long while, I felt that my acts of surrender at that tree were heard all along. That not one grief cry, faithless moment, plead, petition, or longing had gone out to oblivion. Though nothing had, in fact, turned a corner in my life or had really changed or come full-circle yet, I knew that I was heard and that I was told to keep enduring. The chiastolite cross stone was given back to me as bread for the journey, you could say. An offering to ME this time. A reminder that endurance builds the soul's stamina for the next stage of the journey.

Endurance is a teacher.

Patience and higher understanding are its gifts.

As long as we resist the path we do not want to traverse,

we cannot embrace endurance

as it is meant to work in us

and change us.

May you speak your surrender like a mantra today, then let it go.

May you write words and symbols in the dirt as Jesus did, then let them go.

May you believe in the grace of endurance and the grace of restoration.

St. Anthony

This picture was taken 400 feet underground in a Tennessee cave. Amidst the dark depths, a wishing well was started some years back as visitors were drawn to the small, constant pool of water. When we see water, often we are reminded of movement, fluidity, life, and healing. These coins are like offerings, signs of hope from those who travelled far beneath to move upward toward something better and more life-giving. This wishing well was a spectacular, glittering presence in a dark underground world. When I came upon it I was reminded of a poem I wrote about soul retrieval, and how St. Anthony is associated with helping us retrieve that which was lost, stolen, or misplaced. I believe our souls can't ever really be lost, but we can feel so disconnected from ourselves that we need intervention from a higher Source to reconnect and reunite and "find" ourselves again. This poem is a representation of the metaphorical "retreival" of my soul when I finally wasn't afraid to make the journey down in order to come up again. Note the word "retrieve" means "to get back again", "rescue", or "recover". 

St. Anthony

BREATHING, STILL BREATHING,

so I must be alive.

But my shallow breaths

match the shallow depths

where my soul could not survive.

LOST, EVER LOST,

yet I search for my soul.

But where does one look?

There is no instruction book.

And my life feels out of control.

St. Anthony, hear my plea.

My soul I need to retrieve.

St. Anthony, illuminate the way.

And may the angels around me stay.

STRENGTH. I'M GAINING STRENGTH

My hope is not in vain.

I breathe deep and slow,

intuiting the way to go,

knowing I must cross harsh terrain.

TRUSTING, FAITHFULLY TRUSTING

though nothing is yet found.

My soul floats on the air,

waiting . . . somewhere.

And I seek it like a bloodhound.

St. Anthony, hear my plea.

My soul I need to retrieve.

St. Anthony, illuminate the way.

And may the angels around me stay.

DARK, SO DARK

is the place I must go.

Seeking the eternal ember of light,

hidden deep within the night,

I feel the nearness of its glow.

WARMER, FEELING WARMER;

the ember’s heat reaches me.

My eyes gaze upon a vision:

a spiritual collision

of who I am and what I can be.

St. Anthony, hear my plea.

My soul I need to retrieve.

St. Anthony, illuminate the way.

And may the angels around me stay.

SUDDEN, VERY SUDDEN,

a hand extends out toward me.

When it touches my face,

I feel calmed by its grace,

and my eyes close in reverie.

 

MOVING, I AM MOVING.

A strong hand now in mine.

It’s pulling me

from the chaotic debris,

allowing my senses to realign.

OPEN, MY EYES ARE OPEN.

In front of me he bows.

Holding a crescent-shaped bowl,

St. Anthony returns my soul,

and all I can ask is, “How?”

LISTENING, I AM LISTENING

to one much wiser than me.

One who heard my distress,

and found me worthy to bless.
NOW MY SOUL IS RETRIEVED.

Copyright © 2012 by Jenna Love

To Freeing the Caged Bird Within . . .

This poem is written to all of those who live in self-captivity.

Remember: You hold the key to releasing yourself from old patterns, beliefs, and the bondage that keeps you from living your authentic life. The key is always within reach, just as in the picture above . . . sometimes we just don't expect the help to come from ourselves . . . we wait on someone to bring us out of our misery. Look around, pay attention, and take control of your path!

red scarf

Following the trail with obedient feet,

every day I make the same groove

in the dirt

while my eyes scan the abundant life around me

outside of the manmade path.

Frostweed sprouting on a hillside.

Hollowed-out tree trunks.

One red leaf swinging on a branch,

unique in its ability to hold on, though it is now winter.

All of this is just out of my reach . . .

The area off the path holds a secret

I’ve been too narrowly focused to understand,

because this path I walk is dull.

This dirt is dry.

The tree roots threaten my ankles.

New life doesn’t emerge here.

But my eyes see life over there, in the valley.

And over there, where rock and water meet.

And over there, where the red leaf still clings, triumphantly.

But I was told to stay on the path that was created

for those who enter the woods.

It’s safer, I’m told.

It’s easier to walk on, I’m told.

It’s respectful to the woods and animals, I’m told.

And I’m used to being blindly obedient.

But . . .

This path I walk is dull.

This dirt is dry.

The tree roots threaten my ankles.

New life doesn’t emerge here

on this worn-out, manmade path.

My focus is narrow, like the trail.

I’m daily kicking up dust, creating clouds of confusion.

This temporary blindness is causing

disruption

dissatisfaction

disappointment

disillusionment

                 yet a determination

                                            for something else

                                                                         over there.

As my determination builds,

I gaze upon a divine omen.

It is red.

It is long and winding through a pile of leaves

off the trail.

Its twisting shape beckons me to move toward it

and I find myself swaying and moving,

like I haven’t done in years,

feeling happy and alive.

My feet stop at the threads

of the bright object

rising out of the leaves

like an out-of-place red vine

I look down.

It is a red scarf.

Abandoned.

Yet its abandonment has saved me from my own.

Its hopeful red energy

and billowy movement under the leaves
fills my mind with future possibilities

I had never considered.

How can this object have such an effect on me? I wonder.

Is it because it escaped its tight hold on the traveler’s neck

who fervently kept to the path?

Is it because I admire its fluid escape into

the area off the path where life is

interactive and wilder,

holding all the potential I need

to have hope in feeling alive again?

In feeling courageous enough to get off the trail

and walk an unpredictable, curvy terrain

that restores wholeheartedness and wonderment?

I look around and I am eight yards away from

the dull, dry dirt of the trail.

I smile and keep moving farther away from it,

with the scarf loose in my hands,

blowing in the wind.

Free

Guiding me toward my own freedom.

© 2011 by Jenna Love

Love Is Where You Find It

I have made a hobby of collecting heart-shaped rocks for many years, so I expect to see them. What I've not expected to find was a rock like the one above, with a heart-shaped opening. This has become one of my favorites now because of the "unexpected" uniqueness, yet it still has the common heart-themed thread.

In my life I often get sidetracked by how I think things should be. When the expected things in life show up, I cancel out all other things that come my way because I am satisfied. Why bother to look for the ways life could surprise me? I often think. This stale philosophy reminds me of the saying that we were not born to merely survive; we were born to thrive. This "open" rock reminds me to be open to the unique things that show up in the periphery of my life and bring them to the center of my vision for a better observation. Often what I tend to overlook will actually harmonize with my life goals and plans, which ultimately leads me toward a state of thriving.

"It is not inertia alone that causes the unspeakably monotonous and unrenewed human condition to repeat itself again and again. It is the aversion to  anything new, any unpredictable experience, which is believed to be untenable. Only he who can expect anything, who does not exclude even the mysterious, will have a relationship to life greater than just being alive."                             

Rainer Maria Rilke in Letters to a Young Poet

"Every bridge connects. Every path welcomes the traveler's footsteps. Every person has the power to decide when to cross the bridge and when to take the first step."  ~Jenna Love

Tibetan Singing Bowls

My birthday was last week, and my mom and sister gave me a very special present: an antique Tibetan singing bowl, dating back to the 18th century . . . just old enough to have accumulated some layers of use and history. My interest in Tibetan singing bowls began about two years ago, which prompted me to purchase a CD by Benjamin Iobst called Seven Metals: Singing Bowls of Tibet. After many repeat listenings to the calming sounds and varying tones of these bowls, I decided that I wanted to purchase my own bowl and came upon a great Web store that sells new and antique bowls: http://www.himalayanbowls.com/. On this site you can listen to different bowls to see which sound fits your style. Not many sites offer this feature. And if you are not familiar with the sound of singing bowls, I recommend you listen to a few just for fun. Very calming and centering.

Traditional Tibetan (or Himalayan) bowls are made from seven metals: gold, silver, mercury, copper, tin, lead, and iron. Sometimes iron would be replaced with meteorites found on the Himalayan mountaintops, often called "sky-iron" or "metal from the heavens". The combination of different metals is what makes them multiphonic instruments, which means they produce multiple harmonic overtones at the same time. Each metal produces its own overtone, resulting in a beautiful and sacred sound. As a singing bowl ages, it is gifted with richer tones and warmer, mellower sounds. The antique ones are worth spending more money on compared to the newer, cheaper, machine made varieties . . . which can sound good, but they lack the richness of sound that only time can produce--and they lack the hand-hammered, prayed-over qualities bestowed on by either monks or village craftsmen in days long gone.

The sound vibrations and harmonic frequencies of the bowls can stimulate the natural harmonic frequencies of different parts of the human body, putting physical, emotional, and spiritual energies back into alignment and providing a perfect environment for healing (a form of sound healing or sound therapy used by many holistic practitioners today). The multiple harmonic overtones have the ability to activate alpha brain waves, thus inducing relaxation, concentration, and meditation. The one simple goal, though, according to Tibetan monks, is to pay attention to what the bowl teaches you, through sound, about EMPTINESS (as the bowl is empty)--emptying our minds and going into our inner silence, the void, where our soul is waiting to reconnect with our whole being. Sound vibration affects not only the person using the singing bowl; it also affects the surrounding area, clearing negative energies and promoting inner wellness to those receptive to its teachings of emptiness. The sound and vibration carries far, even when we can't hear it anymore.

My bowl is only about five inches in diameter, but it has a beautiful sound. There are two ways to play it. One way is to just strike it on the rim or the inside with a wooden mallet or a wool covered mallet. The other way to play it is a true other-worldly experience: to circle the outer edge of the rim with the wood mallet in a steady rhythm until the sound starts to build, and then it resonates in a way that is so full and tonal, it envelopes your whole being and takes over your sense of sound for a moment. This way is called making the bowl "sing".

I guess I love this meditative experience because I love anything that involves heightened senses and subtleties. There is something so spiritual and sacred in this sound healing meditation that can only be understood through experience . . . even the CD does not do the bowls justice, though it is wonderful to listen to. Having a bowl to use is a beautiful ritual utilizing sound and vibrations to promote healing on so many levels. It's also special to use before prayer to help center yourself and rid the mind of the racing thoughts that often clutter our prayers.

Time for a Change

Over the past month I've been having dreams about my kids being toddler-young. The dreams are sweet, capturing memorable things about each one that I adored in them. My younger daughter was born with really big lips, still has them to this day, so her baby lips were featured in one of my dreams (odd, I know). In the dream were images of her snuggling up close to me, lips in my face, upset with something in that cute way only toddlers can get away with. (When you've seen adults try to pull anger and cuteness off at the same time, it really doesn't work!) The dreams of my older daughter have featured simply her nearness, which reminds me of years ago (ten, to be exact), being a new mom and getting used to having a new person to love who was ALWAYS there with me. Day in, day out. Exhausting--both mentally and physically, but in looking back, I see it as what jump-started my soul from merely existing to really being alive with passion. I was surprised at these dreams, because I don't usually dream about my children. Right now, life with them is still pretty simple and uncomplicated because they are only ten and seven. There's not much drama relating to them to work through in my dream state at this point. And then I realized that these dreams are not really about them; they are about me coming to terms with the fact that they have changed . . . are changing . . . will always be changing. I'm not okay with them getting older and growing out of those early years, because it means leaving behind a whole world, a whole pattern of living and interacting. But I have to learn to be okay with this inevitable change in them because it's unstoppable. It's all for good. The larger lesson for me in all this is to look around in other areas of my life where I've been fighting change within myself because I'm scared of letting go of old ways and patterns simply because I've gotten used to them, even though they don't serve me. Change always feels awkward and doesn't fit comfortably until you get into the flow of surrender and acceptance---where joy usually shows up.

Here are photos of my daughters standing against an old beech tree. The photos were taken exactly two years apart. Their physical changes are subtle yet dramatic at the same time. But the most important changes have taken place within each of them.

The beech tree as well has undergone dramatic change throughout its centuries in the earth. But the day-to-day physical changes are almost imperceivable. If the tree resisted its growth, though, its natural tendency to reach upward for height and yet also reach deep in the soil to remain anchored and stable would keep it a sapling, just a mere stick of what it could become if it accepted the changes in itself along the way. Change calls forth movement, uncertainty, transformation, discomfort, awkwardness, stops and starts, decision-making, and most important . . . FAITH. Faith in what could be, or hopefully will be. But it's all unknown.

Author Caroline Myss reflects on how life challenges us to move forward instead of remaining in an unyielding, mental mind-set: "Seen symbolically, our life crises tell us that we need to break free of beliefs that no longer serve our personal development. These points at which we must choose to change or to stagnate are our greatest challenges. Every new crossroads means we enter into a new cycle of change . . . . And change inevitably means letting go . . . and moving on to another stage of life."

Ice Crisis

It's February . . . still. January felt long as well, with cold, icy, dark days that felt longer than their allotted twenty-four hours. But February is the final month that ends the bleak winter days (at least in the area I live), so the anticipation of March and spring just weeks away makes me want to move quickly through February. Sometimes I think it would be nice if humans could just collectively hibernate right about now. Just shut down, regain our strength, and avoid the feelings of bleakness that this season can bring. Then we could wake up as the warmth settles around us and the natural world comes to life with buds and flowers, inviting us once again to the world of renewal and hope and life. But the more I think about it, if humans could hibernate, we would miss out on many experiences that the "winter" months could teach us, if you look at the winter months symbolically . . . as times of tribulation. Read the following quote from author Caroline Myss in her book Invisible Acts of Power:

"Many of the crisis in our lives are divinely scheduled to get us to head in another direction. No one gets off a comfortable couch. We need stress, often an enormous amount of it, to muster up the willpower finally to try something new with our lives. As . . . Scott Peck writes, '. . . our finest moments are most likely to occur when we are feeling deeply uncomfortable, unhappy, or unfulfilled. For it is only in such moments, propelled by our discomfort, that we are likely to step out of our ruts and start searching for different ways or truer answers.' "

Everyone gets challenged by a crisis. But what usually happens with me is that I become paralyzed, useless, and unable to find my center. I generally don't take any action, even though my thoughts are spinning. A good word to describe my reaction during these times would be frozen . . . in a metaphorical winter ice crisis. When ice and snow come upon a landscape, it really cements things in place for a time. Small twigs are not likely to blow away until the ice releases its hold; rocks are almost impossible to dislodge from a frozen forest floor; and, on a lighter note, I've even had my daughter's jump rope become frozen under the ice, only to be rescued when the warm sun shines on it days later. When it snows here in Tennessee, life basically shuts down because no one is prepared to move fluidly along the roads, since our driving skills in icy conditions are lacking and the city rarely salts the roads thoroughly in preparation. So, I've had my fair share of days through the years in Tennessee of simply being stuck in one place for a few days because of the snow and ice. But recently, I've begun to take a new perspective on the benefits of the various internal "ice crises" I've found myself frozen in.

For example, if I reword being "stuck" and "frozen" during a difficult time with being "still" and "receptive", then my attitude can change and the end result moves to a positive. Being still and receptive while moving through a difficulty also echoes of silence and meditation, waiting on God to reveal the next step, discernment, and rehabilitating the self through patience and gentleness.
I searched the Bible for references to snow, and I did not find anything negative associated with that word. In fact, the purity and renewal of snow was reiterated again and again. And it's true. Snow and ice can represent a new start, acting like a blanket, covering over the old decay of the past season. When it thaws, the water is set free, affirming life by allowing new growth to take root and established trees and plants to keep thriving. Can you see the need for stillness and patience as we learn to wait on God to move us through the difficulties? Help will come to us, but shutting down and becoming paralyzed by fear shuts down our ability to perceive God around us. He is always there, but we have to look and listen through our STILLNESS without letting our feelings of being frozen and stuck get the better of us. The crisis we are going through will "thaw", and the new growth that takes place when the Living Water runs through us only makes our souls more beautiful.

Note: The above picture is a brachiopod fossil half, filled with tiny crystals, sitting in the snow.

The Prayer of My Child

This past September my sister gave my youngest daughter, age seven, a crucifix for her birthday. No, neither my sister nor I are Catholic, but we both respect other denominations and often intermingle various religious customs in our own to enhance our spirituality. The crucifix she picked out was silver with pink beads, and it came stored in a sweet little ceramic dish in the shape of a bed with a child sleeping in it, holding a bunny. Very child-friendly. She felt that this gift was appropriate for my daughter because she has displayed an ease at talking with God and "connecting" to Him through prayer and the songs she writes . . . ("Heart of Gold" topping the list as my favorite.) When she opened the gift, she kinda knew what it was, but my sister explained more fully what a crucifix was and its use during prayer. She then gave her a simplified way to use it with prayer: just hold it while praying and use it to help feel closer to God. Simple enough . . . even though some Catholics might be in an uproar by now at this modified usage!

She doesn't use it very much, but it sits in its ceramic dish on her nightstand day after day, a sort of zen spot amid the cluttered mess of her extremely disorganized room. One night, though, I walked in to say goodnight and tell her that her Daddy would be in soon to say prayers with her (as is the nightly ritual), when I noticed she had her crucifix out and cradled in her hand, in the dark. She asked me to sit down and tell her of any prayer requests I had. I was a little thrown off, since I had never heard her say the words "prayer requests" before, but I sat down and smiled, knowing that my heart was in fact a bit troubled by a particular issue that day in which I had not yet prayed for help. For a moment I was tickled at the situation; it felt as if I was going into a Catholic confessional, and she was there to listen in the cloak of darkness, as if I was one of many people who would be passing through her room that night seeking peace and redemption. But I quickly reminded myself that God had simply stirred in her heart, and without her questioning it, she asked me to tell her my requests, so I did . . . to my child . . . but really to God (while we both touched the rosary): "I pray that my body feels better very soon and that I stop worrying about it." That was all I said; then I asked her for a prayer request, and she chirpily replied, "Oh, I don't really have any. I just wanted you to say one." Well, well, well, was I caught off-guard. That was the whole purpose . . . my prayer for myself, with my daughter (the power of two or more). Children are so open to the divine when it calls. And she, unknowingly, answered the calling of God to specifically ask to pray with me and for me.

I thank God every day for the blessings of my children! Amen!

Into the Light

My mother gave me this heart rock today. Usually I'm the one who finds the heart rocks, so this was an unexpected gift. It was not found by her, though. It was found by my great grandfather on my father's side, Charles, whom I never met . . . he died before I was born. In the early 1900s he collected arrowheads, along with a few other interesting rocks. My mother came over today to hand over half of his collection to me (and the other half will go to my sister). The collection includes petrified wood, arrowheads, clear quartz, calcite, carnelian, and many other types of stones. But, of course, my eyes went straight to this small heart rock, and I had to smile at the generational link between us. For even though we never knew each other, we both obviously appreciated treasures in the natural world.

Now let me explain why this picture above is so very important to me, because it represents right where I'm at spiritually. First, notice that there is so much darkness in the photo. I did that on purpose . . . I could have cropped it away, but metaphorically it captures the darkness that has surrounded me during a recent time of struggle in my life. As much as I wanted to immediately push away the darkness and pretend that it was not there, it could not be denied. It had to be acknowledged. As Neal Donald Walsh states in his book Conversations with God, "What we resist persists. What we look at goes away." So, with much reluctance I accepted that I was in a dark period. After a while I started to understand that the dark time was a sort of slowing down time, a time for contemplation and refining, although much fear was felt at this stage as well, because darkness always seems to arouse fear in me. After all, I can't see things clearly. I don't trust that walking through the dark with my hands outstretched will lead me safely into God's arms. I'm more afraid that I'll end up farther away, in more darkness, unable to return to any sense of safety. My tendency is to panic in the dark moments, which highlights my lack of faith. This refining period proved to be painful, yet productive. Empty, yet full of beauty the more I stopped running and started looking at what God had to teach me.

Now notice the red flower in the photo, rising up out of the dark, soft and encapsulating. It seems to be suspended in the dark, thriving amidst its bleak surroundings. This represents hope, safety, and rescue . . . or, simply put, God. Even through my struggle in the "dark", I was never alone. I was always resting in the soft layers of spiritual divinity, nestled in His promise of rescue, enlightenment, and refinement.

Obviously, in the photo, the heart rock represents me, being gently supported by the velvety petals of God's love. The heart rock's colors also represent me as well: darkness and light swirling together, making a beautiful, although not perfect, design. But the light that seems to pop from this rock is what matters most; it represents my spiritual light. The fact that there is any light at all in me proves that He is doing His work in me. I'm still not perfect; therefore the dark veins still course through me, but the light always shines through, pushing the darkness away, ultimately triumphing. The darkness within myself serves a purpose, though. It keeps me real, allows me to approach others with my brokenness, and reminds me that He has more work to do in me. So the next time I'm refined, hopefully I won't resist it or fear it as much as I did this time around.

"Learn the alchemy true human beings know.

The moment you accept what troubles you've been given,

the door will open."

~Rumi~

"And the time came when the risk to remain tight in a bud

was more painful than the risk it took

to blossom."

~Anais Nin~

A Soft Place to Land

A couple of years ago I discovered a special place in the woods that I call the moss trail. It's not a trail for walking on, but every now and then I can't help myself, I just have to take the detour and get my feet on that path . . . that soft place to land when I need a little extra support. I often notice many areas where animals have walked because the moss has been kicked up in places; maybe a deer, bobcat (yes, I've seen bobcats in these woods), or a fox were travelers here. And it makes me smile to think that even the animals can't resist this many-hued green pathway. The moss in the picture above is the most predominant variety on the path, but the beautiful sage green reindeer moss is abundant as well. I love to just set my gaze on the various green mosses and take in the natural colors on display before me. One day, while with my two daughters and husband, I showed them the trail for the first time. The girls loved it and wanted to explore deeper into the woods down the moss path, which was farther than I had ever gone before. To all of our surprise, the path went on and on. We passed large rocks, beautiful, old trees, and places that seemed untouched and untraveled. I had to smile as I watched my daughters literally lie down on the moss and revel in the natural beauty and comfort around them. And my oldest, who is very sensitive and easily frightened at anything, especially death, told me she wanted to be buried right there under the moss! Wow! For just a brief moment she got out of her fearful mind and entered into that beautiful S P A C E where there is no fear, no worry, only a pure moment of being in the present, graced by the divine. I'm glad she allowed her soul to shine it's radiant, true self in the moment, reminding me that we are so connected to the natural world but so often forget it. We are made of organic elements just like the trees, dirt, streams, and rocks. It's only natural that we should feel so at home and so connected while in the woods, or traveling through the desert, or on a mountaintop, or at the ocean.

"There is a great healing in the wild. When you go out into nature, you bring your clay body back to its native realm. A day in the mountains or by the ocean helps your body unclench. You recover your deeper rhythm . . . you begin to realize the magnitude and magic of being here. In a wild place you are actually IN the middle of the great prayer. "

~John O'Donohue, Eternal Echoes

Beauty Redefined

"The irony of being here is that sometimes it is precisely what you want to avoid that brings you further towards creativity and compassion."

~ John O'Donohue, Eternal Echoes

The past few years I've been challenged to redefine my idea of beauty. Beauty in everyday life. Beauty in my surroundings. Beauty in the face of another. I had this inherent belief that beauty is only what looks good, or makes you feel good and peaceful, or what pleases the mind, creating a sense that all is well and in its right place. If I experienced beauty, it meant I didn't want to look away from someone or something because IT DID NOT CAUSE ANY PAIN. And this can all be true of beauty. But lately I was first gently nudged, then shoved into understanding and seeing the other dimension of beauty and the unexpectedly generous supply of wisdom it holds. But it requires an often uncomfortable journey into pain--either physical, mental, or spiritual-- which I have too often avoided because I was afraid of "not being pleased."

A few things in particular stand out as I allowed beauty to be redefined in my heart. One was a relational disappointment in which I expected something from someone who had nothing to give me. I was forced to look at painful truths about myself, in what appeared to be rejection. In reality, it was redirection that was offered to me, which was beauty manifesting through the strength of another. I went through a "dark night of the soul" period, in which everything seemed ugly and empty, even myself. But after a while I started paying attention to what was going on inside of me. And I noticed that I was beginning to grow spiritually, in new and different ways. Beauty revealed itself to me in my emotional pain, as strange as it sounds. The pain I felt propelled me toward my Maker, seeking direction and comfort in Him.

Another way that beauty was redefined for me was during a recent bout with pain--physical pain. I'm a relatively strong and healthy person, with not a lot to complain about in the health department. But when I recently experienced an injury that left me in chronic pain for months (I'm still recovering!), it rocked my world. Needless to say I did not handle the pain well. Fear crept in, a few panic attacks were unleashed, and my mood plummeted. I wondered if I'd ever get better. But then my thoughts went to the numerous people who will truly live with chronic pain throughout their life, with no relief. I've often overlooked those who chronically suffer with pain because it was overwhelming to me. And it was easy to overlook those who hurt when I felt so wonderful. So this injury really opened my heart to have compassion for those suffering physical pain. This has been important to me since I practice Reiki (a form of energy work). I often help those with physical pain, as well as emotional issues. And I can only be helpful to my clients if I have an appropriate level of empathy. My empathy toward others definitely increased because of the pain I was in. The beauty of this lesson was only revealed through the pain I experienced. Not a fun process for me, but full of lessons and self-discovery.

I love the above John O'Donohue quote that reminds us that beauty is often found in the things we avoid. No one chooses to suffer. No one wants to walk into something that is seemingly "unbeautiful" and painful. But when we find ourselves in a situation that seems to be a struggle, we need to surrender to it and let it run its course in us and use the experience as a teacher. Then our surrounding darkness can be infused with a bit of light, which translates into beauty, and we can watch it transform us.

A Reluctant Heart

Have you ever had the realization that you're not as helpful a person as you thought you were? I'm in the middle of a wake-up call right now, taking a deeper look at my under-the-surface reluctance to be helpful to someone truly in need. I'm so ashamed, I have to confess. But this experience has made me look at other times when I have avoided helping someone because I thought someone else surely would, or because I was wary of getting too involved and, possibly, taken advantage of. Horrible thoughts, I know, but I'm wondering if I'm not the only one who feels this way at times. Sure, it's easy to help when I am not inconvenienced or pulled out of my comfort zone. But what about those other, more intimate situations when a person is seeking help? Well, let me confess here my avoidance to a dear woman's needs, then the blessing I received after "getting involved." Maybe it will help you look at someone in need (really look them in the eyes) with compassion rather than avoidance. Here goes . . .

I received an e-mail from a parent at my daughter's elementary school---a desperate mother who needed her daughter driven to school . . . and picked up, for an extended/indefinite period of time. She was given my e-mail by a person who knew we lived in the same area and thought it would be convenient to take her. I was reluctant to agree to the daily carpool, because it meant the girl arriving at 7:oo in the morning, hanging out with our family, and being subjected to our harried morning madness until we leave at 7:25. It also obligated me to help out in the afternoon, picking up her daughter and then meeting the mom and other children at a bus stop and driving all home every afternoon. I felt smothered already, even before accepting to help, so I simply ignored the e-mail, assuming she had other people to contact for help. But she persisted, until I finally agreed, during a desperate phone call one evening. During that phone call I learned the story behind her need:

She is a divorced mother of three children, all going to different schools. The mother is in school full time, working on a master's degree, trying to get a better job to raise her three children . . . alone. Her car had recently caught on fire, just as the new school year started. Now her extra money has to be saved in order to buy another car, which will take some time. I found out that she and her children walk about 2.5 miles before their school starts each morning (and again in the afternoon) to either catch the city bus (she and her son) or walk to a gas station where her younger daughter was getting picked up for school by someone else, who eventually stopped her services with no explanation.

So, I got involved. When I met her, all it took was one look in this woman's eyes, one look into her children's eyes, to see that NOT helping her was not an option. Her eyes were like my eyes; her children's eyes like my own children's eyes. Would I want to be ignored, passed off, or seen as a burden? Would I want my children to not be able to get to school? Would I want ANY major need unmet for me or my family? Of course not. Needless to say, I made an immediate friend in this woman. She's awesome, and so inspiring: in her strength, in her attitude, and in the grace with which she handles every unpleasant circumstance. She flows. She trusts. She is focused on a better tomorrow, a better future. She does not allow thoughts of scarcity (not having enough or not having needs met) to paralyze her. What a blessing for me to know her. I'm now fine with my role as driver for as long as she needs my help. We've bonded. I'm "involved." I got out of my "comfort zone" and headed straight into the unknown zone, where so much learning and growth and blessing awaits. And all it took was looking someone in the eyes and really seeing their situation as if it were my own.

The heart rock pictured above is particularly unique. It has two parts to it: the bottom is a piece of crystallized honeycomb coral; the top part (the heart rock) sits fused on the piece of fossilized coral. Two seemingly unrelated natural pieces have come together. This union is so special to me. It's almost as if the coral is "carrying" the heart rock. This is another natural-element example of how we are all called to carry one another in life. Doing so not only leads to a need being met--it also creates beauty. And in carrying another we also increase our opportunities of being carried when we are in need. The beauty of carrying and being carried by another changes us and reminds us that we are all united; we are all one.