Searching for Sacred

I find myself in the tense space between dreams and practicality.   I am wrestling with living out a “calling” and doing what is necessary for my family. I often asked others, “If money were a non-factor, what would you do with your life?”   This question is aimed to help in searching out one’s calling, giftedness, and identity.   My answer:   write, have deep conversations about things that really matter, help people heal, and tend a few acres of land.   Of course, my dream includes having my family around me, hiking in the woods, and helping my children grow into mature, compassionate, and thoughtful adults.   In my mind, it sounds like a perfect life. My husband also has a dream of having some land around him.   We contacted a realtor and started looking at some options.   There are land and houses to be had within our budget, but we started assessing what we would trade off.   We have a great house, and we have put a lot of work int...

Yesterday, I came face to face with the question, “What is compassion?”   I am regretting my response; my seeming lack of love and mercy towards the stranger-neighbor who crossed my path.   I have always been taught and come to believe that we are to love one another.   This love included a holding back of judgment in regards to surface realities.   If you peeked into my heart and could see the thoughts I harbored, you would find contrary evidence to my spoken belief. Yesterday, I took the kids to the Y pool.   It was 94 and sunny, so you can imagine the crowd of fellow patrons seeking cool relief.   We found chairs and arranged out towels.   We left our chairs to enjoy a picnic lunch.   We returned to find one of our towels had been removed and someone else’s stuff in its place.   I see the woman who orchestrated the chair stealing – I have seen and observed her before.   She was a tough woman with obvious signs of a hard life. ...

Looking at sin, especially the sin in my own life has historically been a signal to bring on the shame. I might as well have stood in front of a mirror and waved a wagging finger in front of my face. It is no surprise that thinking of an examination of conscience would bring about feelings of dread and avoidance. Lately I have come to see this assumption as an irrational belief. Looking at my own sinful ways is actually a gift. It is an invitation to set aside my false self and become more of the person I was designed to be. It is an invitation of movement closer to my True self; toward the better me. This brings me to an honest confession. In my own examination of conscience I have looked at the role of vices in my life. Pride and envy are obvious, though I certainly wish they were less oppressive. But, I have maintained a blind eye to presence of greed in my soul. It was easy to ignore avarice. On the surface I am generous with my possessions -- with my material goods....

A week ago, I spotted a new bird sitting on our fence.   I was struck by his beauty.   His song, one I had never heard – a sweet cackle.   He presented as friendly, allowing me to approach him with only a few feet separating us.   Curiosity grabbed hold of me.   I researched.   He is a common house martin.   I began looking for him.   I found myself needing to see him. I continued to see him.   And then she joined our party of curious encounters.   It seemed as though we studied one another.   I sat in frequent anticipation hoping to have just one more look.   One more moment of watching, hearing, and noticing them.   They were doing something for me – giving me something I could not quite put my finger on. I continued to anticipate their presence.   These past few days, they have joined our home.   Just inches outside our porch, they are building a nest in an ugly, old birdhouse.   I almost threw it...

Ashley Judd is the latest celebrity in the spotlight of scrutiny for her physical appearance.   Her face is puffy.   Critics assumed she had work done.   The reality, she was ill for a month and was taking steroids.   In addition, she confessed to not working out for six months and consequently gained weight.   Society deems her size 8 no longer thin and beautiful. Ms. Judd answered her critics in a thought provoking article( click here to read Ashley Judd's article ) .   Apart from raising awareness of how we are quick to judge and criticize one another based solely on appearance, she invited us into a conversation.   She asked the following questions:   “ Why was a puffy face cause for such a conversation in the first place? How, and why, did people participate? If not in the conversation about me, in parallel ones about women in your sphere? What is the gloating about? What is the condemnation about? What is the self-righteous alleged “all...

My heart is broken, or at least that is how it has felt the last couple of weeks.   I have been moved by discussions of race and social injustice, and noticed our knee jerk reactions to blame and accuse “those people” on both sides of the issue.   In the news, I learned that my former tennis coach was arrested for sexual misconduct with a 14-year-old student.   Outraged comments poured forth, “Yet another Christian pervert . . . let him burn in hell.”   We are quick to point fingers of harsh judgment and condemnation believing we would never act in such a devious way. We choose to blame and accuse in hopes to find reason and meaning into senseless acts. There seems to be a shortage of dialogue and an unwillingness to look deep into ourselves.   To see that we too have the capacity to destroy lives either through our direct actions or through our silence.   I have been intrigued with the Holocaust since my adolescence.   It began with reading The ...

I did some math the other day. I have been with my husband for almost a fourth of my life. For the girl who never thought she would get married, this 23% has been amazing. I have a good marriage, in part because I am married to a good man. He is quiet, safe, and consistent. People refer to him as a “calm presence.” He has a way of comforting people without saying a single word. I knew I was going to marry him after we sat for an hour of silence under a tree listening to live folk music. There was no awkward silence, only an assurance that we were connected on a deep and meaningful level. While we are both introverts and find comfort and renewal in the silence, we are also vastly different. I am an ambitious dreamer with great aspirations for my life. I feel a pull toward a life beyond myself. I dream big and in times of enthusiasm I run after things with full speed, not always considering the path of half-done projects I have littered along the way. My husband is one who is...

I have a tattoo. I am not exactly the sort that fits the stereotype of an inked person. One, I am clean cut. I prefer shirts with collars tucked into pants complete with a belt. Years of private school dress code has stuck with me. My clothing is boring – if I wear a striped shirt I am being bold. And I freak out if people write on my skin with pen or marker. I like things untainted, pure, and orderly. Nine years later, I still love my tattoo. I love what it symbolizes. The ink on my skin is the symbol for life. To the best of my knowledge, it literally means, “to live.” There is a story behind my marking. Twenty-one years ago, I no longer wanted to live. I believed the world would be better off without me. Call it adolescent angst; call it depression. I called it a desperate need to get away from my life. I am fairly certain I did not want to die, but I certainly did not want to live either. I wanted the pain ripped out of my insides. I wanted the hurt to stop. I wanted to be...

I am reading St. Therese of Lisieux’s, A Story of a Soul . St. Therese, also known as the “Little Flower of Jesus,” entered the Carmelite Order at the young age of fifteen. The Order did not allow girls her age to enter, so boldly St. Therese went straight to the Bishop, and then the Pope to seek special permission. She had guts. But she also had great wisdom beyond her years. She wrote her spiritual autobiography for the Carmelite Mother prior to her early death at the age of twenty-four. The more I read, the more I am struck by her humility. I am baffled by her passivity. Rather than engage in power struggles over what most would deem her rights, she surrenders to the aggressor and lets them win the argument. If people ‘steal’ her thoughts and insights and claim them as their own, she does not attempt to reclaim the credit. St. Therese holds a belief similar to the Buddhist philosophy of indifference – none of it is mine to begin with; I own nothing, therefore I have nothing to l...

Lent began today. I went to the Ash Wednesday Mass this morning and the homily focused on the words, ‘grievous sins.’ The priest asked if anyone knew what the word ‘grievous’ meant and a young student raised his hand ready to answer (this was also an all-school Mass.) The student said, “Like General Grievous?” Yes, Star Wars made it into Mass this morning, and the priest ran with it. He said, "Yes, like that because he was a bad guy". A light-hearted laughter filled the church, and then it shifted to a serious tone – a grievous sin is a serious sin. It is something that causes severe grief, pain, or suffering. A few months ago, I began to notice how uncomfortable I was with the word “sin.” Upon further reflection, became aware that I had basically removed it from my vocabulary over the past several years. I had much nicer words to use – infraction, slip-up, fault, wrongdoing, a mistake. These words are applicable in many cases. If I forgot to pour my child milk for break...

Some weeks ago, someone asked me to consider writing on the Ten Commandments. She noted that of the ten, several had commentaries or lengthy explanations with few exceptions (adultery, murder, and bearing false witness.) I loved the invitation to wrestle with my own thoughts on this subject. And being that I am one to wrestle, chew, and then wrestle some more on specific thoughts, I am finally ready to respond to the request. The idea of following commandments strikes two struggles for me – obedience and authority. I do not think I am alone in my resistance towards surrendering my will towards another authority. Like many, I often would prefer to be my own god – be my own measure of what is right and wrong and choose my own path in life. After all, I am an intelligent, competent, strong woman who has a high moral ethic by which I follow. Surely the combination of these characteristics makes me quite suitable to be my own guide. And then again, perhaps not. The life I would direct...

When I was in grad school studying to be a therapist, we had a saying that the answer to any Marriage and Family question was “both/and.” Unsure of the answer to an exam question? Fall to the back-up, answer “both/and” and you were guaranteed to pass. While there was jest among us, we were also wrestling with a complex truth. In the world of therapy, there is a little room for black and white thinking. People are not so clearly defined. There are not simple solutions to life’s problems. After all, if there was such a quick fix or simple solution then there would be no need for therapists. Instead, there is a myriad of resistances, narratives, and personal histories that keep us in the place of doing what we do not want to do and not doing what we desire to do. We enter into counsel (whether that is formal therapy or coffee with a trusted friend) to help uncover our blind spots; to know more about the roadblocks that stand in the way of our hopes, dreams, and true desires. We enter in...

I read a quote this morning by the ancient scholar, Jerome (342-420). “The kingdom of God is in your midst. Faith beholds Jesus among us. If we are unable to seize his hand, let us prostrate ourselves at his feet. If we are unable to reach his head, let us wash his feet with our tears. Our repentance is the perfume of the Savior.” Two Gospel stories come to my mind – the woman who reached out and touched the tassel of Christ’s garment seeking healing, and the woman who poured out the alabaster jar and washed Jesus’ feet with not only the precious oil, but her tears and hair as well.  I was drawn into this quote with the concept of touch. My mind has been meditating on the idea of touch for a few weeks. To be more specific, I have been chewing on the idea of tangible experiences with God, my family, and the Community that surrounds me. Or even more specific, I am confronting my reluctance to place myself in a position of being able to be touched by God and others and m...

I am a serious woman. I take my work seriously, my life seriously, and my religion seriously. Another way to look at it, I do not laugh nearly enough. I have moments of impish desire. I work with a math teacher, and for some reason I cannot walk past her classroom without shooting her a silly face. There are a few other playful souls that have the ability to pull out my silliness, but unfortunately these moments seem few and far between. I thought a good New Year’s resolution would be to laugh more each day. I did not make this “official”, but wouldn’t you know it is creeping its way into my life despite having a formal invitation. Let me take you back to Wednesday night. I am tucking my three preschoolers into bed. We have a routine. I go to each individual bed and sing two lullabies, say a series of “I am thankful for . . . “, and conclude with praying the “Our Father.” It is a sacred time of ritual and routine, of deep felt affection and connection as mother-child and also with...

I started re-reading one of my favorite books today, Return of the Prodigal Son , by Henri Nouwen. For those unfamiliar with the book, it was largely inspired by Rembrandt’s painting by the same title. I find the painting, Nouwen, and the Gospel parable all to be incredibly inspiring and relevant to where I am today. In the book, Nouwen depicts his own spiritual journey as seeing himself as the three main characters of the painting, the lost but returning son, the jealous and faithful son, and the embracing father. But Nouwen begins his introduction by noticing the four observers in the background and shares his temptation to remain an observer of the father’s welcoming embrace rather than allowing himself to be held and comforted. This is where I found myself this morning. Standing in the backdrop. I watch others find comfort in the surrender of the Father’s embrace. All the while I am burning with jealousy at the gift they are receiving, but finding difficulty in allowing myse...