over the moon

     Our nine-month-old grandson Lee just learned to walk behind his little push-cart, and his parents are over the moon. They cheer. They congratulate. They take videos. He is having fun, but I’m pretty sure his parents are having even more fun than he is.

     They are overjoyed because their little guy, who could only crawl yesterday, is tottering along on two legs today. They aren’t upset or annoyed that he can’t really walk yet. They don’t demand faster progress. They don’t stand with their arms crossed, scowling, until he ups his game. They are delighted with his baby steps.

     I think that is how God feels about me when I practice something He is teaching me-—letting go instead of controlling, for instance; or being grateful instead of whining. So, the next time I start to berate myself for not being more (whatever), I’m going to remember Lee’s parents. And then I’m going to enjoy my new baby steps.

“It was I who taught [My people] to walk. I took them in My arms. . . . I bent down and fed them.” Hosea 11:3-4

“[T]he Holy Ghost over the bent / World broods with warm breast. . . .” Gerard Manley Hopkins 

the claim of guests

"If we let our life . . . be overwhelmed by the claim of guests, we could endanger the resources by which we serve them. . . . Every [monastery] shall have a private area to which guests are not normally invited." Monastic Rule of Life, SSJE

     I probably will have a lot of good “guests” today (in the form of good work and good activities and good things to learn and good people). It is easy for me to get overwhelmed by the claim of my good guests--squeezing in one more email here, mentally racing there, overfilling every waking minute--until I’m running on fumes. So my guests and I will benefit if I allow myself sacred pauses here and there: private, uncrowded moments of rest and healing and feeling and arms-wide-open listening and course-correction and thank-You.

“Then, because so many people were coming and going that they did not even have a chance to eat, [Jesus] said to them, “Come away with Me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.” Mark 6:31 

hiding imperfection

    For a long time, I did my best to hide my imperfection, sometimes even from myself. Then, a few years ago, a teacher introduced me to the idea of paying attention to myself as if I were my friend. She taught me to simply notice my thoughts and motives and actions, without judging or condemning. I practiced. The more I practiced, the more clearly (and compassionately) I could see my imperfection. Now I don’t try so hard to hide it (which saves me a lot of time and energy).

“[We are] hard on ourselves because we are not yet the people WE think we ought to be. . . . God knows we are not perfect. . . . Imperfection is part of the deal. . . . [K]now you are imperfect. Face it. Embrace it. Stop hiding imperfection.” Br. John Braught

“Then the Lord God called to [Adam], ‘Where are you?’ And he said, . . . ‘I was afraid because I was naked, so I hid.’” Genesis 3:9-10

at day's end

     At day’s end, I have an important choice to make: will I carry the day’s excitements and anxieties into the night, or will I leave them behind? Choosing to leave them behind takes practice, and sometimes I have to choose over and over again during the same night. Slowly, though, my nights are becoming a place and time for inward recollection--the gathering back together again of all the scattered parts of me--so that I can remember what I often forget during the hubbub of daytime: God is with me, so I am very safe.

“Gracious God, I seek Thy presence at the close of another day, beseeching Thee to create a little pool of heavenly peace within my heart ere I lie down to sleep. Let all the day’s excitements and anxieties now give place to a time of inward recollection, as I wait upon Thee and meditate upon Thy love.” John Baillie

“In peace I will lie down and sleep, for you alone, Lord, make me dwell in safety.” Psalm 4:8

WAIT: why am I talking?

    WAIT: why am I talking? I’ve been asking myself that question lately. Why did I choose to make that comment or ask that question or send that email? I’m asking in a light-hearted, simply-noticing way--more like an interested friend than the word police.

    Here’s what I notice. Sometimes I say things for very good reasons. Sometimes I say things just to get attention and affirmation. Sometimes I say things because I’m complaining on the inside and I want to complain on the outside, too. Sometimes I say things to fill gaps that make me uncomfortable. The more I practice simply noticing, the more I find myself gently choosing to wait.

“[B]e . . . slow to speak. . . .” James 1:19

savoring and saying thank-you

“You have made me glad by what You have done. I will sing for joy at the works of Your hands.” Psalm 92:4

    This morning, after I read those words, I closed my eyes and counted, rehearsed, and said thank-you for all the good that God has brought into my life in the past week. I replayed events, savoring. I relived. I re-enjoyed. Even in the hard and the heart-breaking, I saw and savored God’s good gifts to me and to my family.

    Then, to my surprise, the circle widened. I sat remembering things outside the small circle of me-and-mine. I saw and savored God’s good gifts to friends: the grandson expected; the long-awaited job; the new client; the evening of unexpected delight; the contentment in marriage. I shared their joy.

    This week, I will search (in texts and emails and phone calls and visits and meetings) for all the good that God will bring. I won’t limit my search to the small circle of me-and-mine. I will let the circle widen. I wonder how many good things I will have collected for next Sunday’s savoring and saying thank-you.