The In-between Season

Typical tree many days, including yesterday, this spring.

Pearl Street Mall on Sunday

Yes, the sun is brightly shining!  It was still nippy (41 degrees) when I went for a walk about 4 pm.  Enough of Tuesday night and Wednesday's 10.5" of snow had fallen from the trees that I could walk under the big pines that are just outside my condo without fear of a big clump of the white stuff falling on my head (as it did earlier when I went to the mailbox).  Tomorrow it is supposed to reach 50!

April and May are usually in-between months for hiking in this area, particularly in the near mountains--mud season as snow melts and water runs in streams down the trails.  I'm having withdrawal symptoms as I haven't been out snowshoeing for almost three weeks.  I've even resorted to the StairMaster at the Y for aerobic exercise since I'm there for Pilates twice a week.  (Oh yes, I feel rather righteous about the Reformer Pilates I've been doing twice a week, going no matter what.)

In between--that's how my life feels right now.  I feel as if I know what I'm called to do, yet the how, where and when are elusive.  The friend who offered to connect me with a Utah community has now fled this fickle spring for a warmer climate, not to return until June.  If any of you want to be on my prayer team--the request is for me to see the "how to begin" soon.  A "where" would be good too.  My young priest-to-be (soon) friend said that he knows God is doing something good in my life.  I'd like to know what that is!

My in-between season has been marked by huge bouts of grief--pain too, but largely grief.  The darkness of snowy days and cold have made this spring perfect for dark revelations.  Befriending the teenager in me who was angry and determined to make it through those years and to see retribution has allowed the grief and loneliness to come to the surface.  Now I'm the one who is always saying that bringing the pain to the surface so that God can heal is the important work.  Right!?  I know that to be true--and I know it to bring on deep fatigue too.  It has sometimes seemed too much and too lonely--and I have remembered that even if I were in contact with my daughter, she wouldn't want to know about any of this.  You may not want to know about it too--but you can click a computer button and disengage.

My lack of energy to do more than my commitments (oh yes, they are sometimes a bit much) has been forcing me to do this grief and loneliness work.  Now I'm looking outside at the sunny (still cold) day and awaiting the spring flowers.  I know they will come!
 
                                Golden Banner from Goshawk Trail near Boulder in April, 2012

                                                    Sugarbowls -- also from last year

Forgiveness -- long roots

I've been thinking lots about forgiveness since the St. George Quiet Day--about how deep the roots of grief and pain go in our unconscious and how much those unconscious hurts affect our lives. 

I was deeply affected by my visit to the Kingsley Plantation on Ft. St. George Island.  Nancee loaned me her car, saying that I would want to go to the Ribault Club--a lovely old club that was once open only to the wealthy who vacationed or lived on the island, but is now open to all.  She cautioned about visiting the Kingsley Plantation as it could be painful with ruins of old slave quarters.

I did stop briefly at the Ribault Club, where a woman who had attended the Quiet Day was the tour guide that afternoon.  The historic exhibits there are instructive and well done, but I hurried through so I could spend time at the Plantation.

The approach to the Plantation, maintained by the National Park Service, is through the slave quarter ruins.  While they were much sturdier than the shanties I've see African Americans and poor whites living in, they are strong representatives of a people who had no rights other than those granted them by their owners.

These dwellings had two rooms so were considered better than the homes for most slaves.  They were made of tabby, a concrete-like material made of crushed shells, sand, lime and water.  Think of the work it took to make the tabby to construct these homes.  Below is a close-up of one of the walls.

In addition to thinking about how those slaves lived in the plantation period of 17 and 1800s, I began to think of the beliefs and behaviors that imprison us.  Unlike the slaves of that era, we are often unaware of the ways we imprison ourselves, the thoughts and beliefs about ourselves that keep us from being the people that we were created to be. 

I have a deep-seated belief (that I haven't yet unraveled) that if I am out in public with my healing journey story in too big a way, too successfully, I will be punished.  And for me, this message came (and I absorbed it this way) from both of my parents.  Mother absolutely couldn't stand for me to get attention when she wanted to be the center of whatever was happening.  She was so angry about a woman (only 1) who told her I looked like a movie star's daughter in a plaid taffeta and velvet dress the Wood cousins had bought me that she considered cutting the dress into pieces.  When I chose to be in a skit for a school program rather than play the piano, Mother tried to talk me out of it, even asking the teacher to be sure I was playing a solo, saying that was my talent--not the acting.  Dad made sure I was punished when I did too good a job of a task in the meetings.  Don't be too attractive or too successful.  Don't get too much attention on a stage. 

I find myself looking for affirmation that I'm called to tell my story, to provide hope to some who might not find hope easily, from other women who are out in the world with what they are doing, particularly those who are in spiritual or religious pursuits.  And often (my priest friend Nancee a notable exception), they are only interested in what I've done if it can help them.  It's as if I've picked the women who, like mother, need center stage--or a platform bigger than the one they have, and want them to stand in for her--giving me that encouragement that I didn't get. 

I'm wondering if forgiving Mother at deeper level than I have will free me to let go of the prison of wanting validation and encouragement from those who do not have it to give. 

I know how many times seeing my boss standing at the back of the room looking stern (my assessment), maybe just perplexed, when during a large meeting, I said something that made those listening laugh, made a voice in my head say, "straighten up and be serious."  He may not at all meant for me to interpret his appearance in that way.  In fact he may not have been scowling as I often thought.  It was Dad's face I was projecting on him. 

These are the prisons of my mind that I am working to break out of--the bars that I'm hoping to dissolve.  They certainly don't constrict my life the way the slaves lives were--though I identify with them by way of the tortuous meetings I couldn't escape as a child--but they do impede my ability to do what I feel called to do with my life at this time.
Where slaves worked sometimes --

Prayers for healing for all who share this writing.

                                              Plantation house from the back (the front faces
                                              the river)

Amelia and Ft. St. George Islands -- and my talk

There are so many things I would like to write about this morning that it's hard to choose. However, I'm ruminating on my Quiet Day presentation at St. George's Episcopal Church on Ft. St. George's Island, Florida and how I might move forward to schedule similar programs so that is today's topic.

When I talk aloud about something I'm working on, I usually have insights that don't come other ways.  I don't know that this will suffice, but I'll try it and see.

I probably need a publicist, but hope the Holy Spirit will lead for now.  One thing I learned was that I'm not comfortable with my picture and publicity posted around for all to see.  My friend, the Reverend Nancee Martin, and her staff had done an outstanding job with bulletin inserts and posters.  I found myself squirming as I looked at them.  Nancee took many photos of me--can't remember when anyone has ever done that--as she wanted me to have choices for future publicity.  Some are nice--and they all have lovely backgrounds as they were taken in beautiful spots.

My sea walks were wonderful and refreshing.  Sunshine reigned and although the temperatures were chilly until Sunday when it warmed, I relished my time on the beach.  On Friday I spend most of the day walking between and around the birds--my primary companions, perched on a dune on the edge of a state park where I was alone on the beach for a couple of hours, and tossed my shoes and waded in very chilly water one afternoon.  The sea restores me in ways the mountains cannot.  I returned grateful but not happy to be back.  (My 80-year-old friend and I snowshoed to a favorite lake last Friday, accompanied by memories of our friend who now walks California beaches.  She wants to do a couple more snowshoes so we will--if there is enough snow.)

The Quiet Day presentation was easy--the way things are when I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing.  The folks there were welcoming and open.  They participated in the sharing, some deeply.  I used the nature photos for sharing my story, knowing that since those people live in such a glorious place (more about that in a bit), nature must be important in their lives.  The lone man asked a question about forgiveness that allowed more conversation about that important topic, and the woman who gave me a ride to church (so I didn't have to go for the early service) said that had impacted her more than anything.   

I spoke about healing--through nature, through my meditation practice, and through opening more and more to Divine love.  Through the Darkness into the Light was the topic--perhaps more appropriate during Lent than other times, but it speaks of my journey.  The participants shared their childhood escape or safe places generously when I finished that portion of my presentation.  I had asked that question when I gave a short program for my Daughters of the King prayer group and had one lone responder. 

The most effective tool for the primary exercise I used came to me as I walked the beach--broken, but lovely shells.  Other options were writing or drawing and choosing a scripture verse from those I had available, but most chose a shell for reflection.  The topic--what keeps you from opening fully to God's love or from being the person you were meant to be.  I was clear that this could be related to any part of their lives.  Their shares were inspiring. 

The islands--Amelia and Ft. St. George--have old growth forests with moss swinging from high branches and lush vegetation as well as wonderful waterways and beaches.  That was a delightful surprise.  One of Nancee's parishioneers took us on a walk through the Ft. St. George forest.  There are other sights worth mentioning on that island, but that's for another day. 

Blessings to all who read.

Finding the Joy -- Writing

Lately I have found that even when I can squeeze time to post, I don't want to sit down and begin.  As board president, I must write many e-mails to our CASA agency board and staff.  After that I want to stop. 

I continue to have deep old hurts thrusting upward to receive my attention for healing--particularly those from my adolescence.  I'm using Anne Lamott's prayer "Help!" a lot these days, realizing more and more each moment that I can't heal without the help of the Holy Spirit in ways of which I am not aware.

A friend is leading a series on forgiveness in Denver during Lent.  I responded to her invitation to join the class with "once again, I'm learning more about how particular events have colored my life in so many ways--how the decisions I made as a young adolescent have been buried in my unconscious and sprung a wide and deep root system."  I told her that I can't do the next level of forgiveness without more understanding of how those events and my decisions have stunted my accomplishments, my relationships, especially with men, and my desire to protect myself by being stronger, more determined, more sure--and on and on. 

I have known about that adolescent anger and rage for years.  I have touched it, hung with it, and acknowledged her for her fury and determination to keep going.  As a woman said to me last fall, I thank her, for without that stubborn girl's determination to find a way to beat those men I might well have succumbed to the fear and pain that was being inflicted.  I have also known that under that anger and rage would be grief and sorrow.  I now find there is a sense of "no matter how hard I try, I won't win--I won't figure out what he (Dad) wants, there is no way out so I must adjust, manage, handle it."
It's that sense that is so present that I have difficulty looking at the many positives with all the things we need to create at VFC CASA.  That same sense gives me a lens that notices the road blocks in that and other groups in which I am involved--WITHOUT giving me the path through, as I'm accustomed to seeing.  That old "I've worked so hard, why aren't things working out the way I'd hoped" voice is too loud. 

On the farm I loved the sunsets, especially the ones that seemed to turn the gray farm buildings pink.  Now I realize that the strong rolling colors could express emotions other than joy, though for me joy co-exists with the anger and rage that I can imagine reflected in the bright boiling clouds.

Last Friday's snowshoe, brief though it was, allowed the joyful girl to come out and play.  My friend said my joy was part of what allowed her to keep going, that it inspired her.  I need that joy for this noon's meeting with the fledgling healing ministry team at church.  I need it even more for Monday's VFC CASA Board meeting.  I'm praying for the joy--not for it to obscure the challenges, but for it to be present with the challenges.

May you all find peace and joy. 

Epiphany

Epiphany-- the definition that I like most is the literary one--a sudden realization--a flash of recognition in which someone or something is seen in a new light.  There are days and weeks when I have several of these and other days when I am bombarded by old messages, many that I need to let float by as if they were clouds.

The past few days have been saddened by a sudden angry outburst and resignation from the board of which I am president, and it appeared that I was the villain.  The person in question is a man--no surprise--and when he refused to answer my e-mails or return phone calls, I envisioned a complete long-term cut-off.  I worried about it so much that I wrote our pastor to ask for prayers (and maybe that helped!). 

My mind quickly went to old cut-offs--one from a man who had been not only my significant other, but my daughter's surrogate father--who decided to treat me as if I were dead when we broke up.  It was many years later before he changed his mind.  And like the man who was on the non-profit board, we attended the same church and many of the same functions.  Then, of course, there is the more recent cut-off of communication by my daughter.  I was projecting this man's future behavior on these past experiences.

Those with whom I spoke gave me good advice--let go of my guilt that I had done something to warrant this behavior, let go of my worry, bless him and let go, move on, he can be difficult so don't blame yourself.  No one said just wait a few days and see what happens--or if they did, I didn't absorb it in my own whirling mind as I searched for my mistakes.

There had been a sharp misunderstanding.  I could have been more patient.  I could have sent him more information.  We would have used the same process, but this could have helped.  However, it was a relatively small thing so others involved were shocked at his resignation and anger.  I kept trying to find some bigger transgression that I might have made, obsessing about it even during my centering prayer time.  It had to be something I could have controlled, right?!  No, probably not.  This man had been upset about a variety of things on that board for some time and this must have been the match that lit the already burning fire.

This morning, after hearing that he had told others he had resigned, I wrote a letter of appreciation for his service, said I had enjoyed working with him, etc., and attached it to an e-mail to our entire board with a copy to him.

Mid-morning I received an e-mail from this man.  He asked questions about the board as if he had never been angry.  He did acknowledge that he would no longer have to deal with these things so it wasn't about returning to the board.  Then a little later, after I had wished me well for a planned outpatient surgery later this week, I received a cute response.  This seemed to be about re-establishing the friendship, and to me that is much more important than having him on our board.  It didn't take so long either.

The two insights--perhaps not as bright as an epiphanies, but so important--don't find the worst past examples to project onto current events and don't try so hard to find and accept blame. 

The first one I think I will remember.  The second, maybe I'll catch myself as I'm doing it a few times and then move away from that habit.  It's a brighter possibility!

Happy Solstice - Happy Birthday - Merry Christmas to come!

 Boulder Reservoir near dusk      --           both from  yesterday's walk     --      On the ice at Coot Lake

December 22nd, today is an important day for me.  First, it is the birthday of grandson Will in Nashville.  Though now a young man, Will is our child who has a sunny face and stories galore.  He is also, at his best, the sweetest of my four grandsons.  He takes after his Dad with this quality, and it's a tough one for a boy in our culture.  His Dad has learned a balance that Will has yet to find.  I have confidence that he will and hope that not many more hard knocks will be needed for him to learn that taking care of oneself must come before one has what it takes to care for others.  This year Will has asked family to wait until tomorrow for his birthday dinner so I can be there, sweet since I paid too much attention to the cost of my plane ticket and didn't get there today.  I am honored and can't wait to celebrate Will's twentieth with him.  Hard to believe that he will no longer be a teenager.

                                               Dressed for his Mom's law school graduation

Today is also the birthday of my long-time friend Elizabeth.  She is not yet sixty--young as far as I'm concerned.  Elizabeth met me when we had very different lives--she, the newly hired Executive Director of the Chattanooga Symphony and Opera, a job most had still expected a man to hold, even in the early 90s, and me, the ED of the Enterprise Fund, an experimental small business investment fund in a city where women bankers were a scarce commodity.  She was there--and didn't flinch--when the old dreadful memories consumed my life.  Our lives have evolved.  Now we both live in Boulder County, Colorado, and focus in our own ways on our spiritual journeys.  She is a blessing in my life.

I also like December 22nd because tomorrow the days will begin again to get longer--little by little for sure, but longer, more light.  And it's that light that I focus on today.  As an Episcopalian, I belong to a faith group that looks at the days prior to December 25th as Advent--a time of waiting, the darkness before the light of the Christmas miracle.  There is beauty in that dusk before light, a heightening of perceptions that might go unnoticed in the glare of bright sun light.  That is a bit like the Christmas holiday rush.  We have to stop, find a quiet place, to allow the coming miracle of Christmas to seep into our hearts.

I don't pretend to believe that on a December 25th many years ago a baby named Jesus was born in a manger.  I do, however, love the story.  It speaks to me of new birth, new ways of being in our lives, an opportunity to change directions, even slightly, to allow Divine love to enlarge our hearts and lives.  It is a miracle waiting to happen.  Let's allow for darkness if that's what it takes for that love to explode within and light up our lives and that of those with whom with share this world.  

And for those who light up my life -- below is daughter-in-law Margaret's induction into the Tennessee Bar, which happened this past week.  I look forward to celebrating with her in Nashville!

 

Ode to Judith -- Changing Times

Hiking with Judith -- Odessa Lake 2012

It is hard to imagine going into a snowshoe season in the Rockies without my companion of twelve winters to venture with me into roaring winds, lightly falling snow, giving me a hand when I can't quite make the step up, sliding down the hills from The Loch or Emerald Lake, and marveling at the beauty of a snow-covered landscape.  With Judith with me on the trail, I would go forward when otherwise I might have stopped.

The Loch, a favorite snowshoe hike, has a steep climb near the top, and on more than one winter hike, I have faltered, but with Judith's encouragement, have taken one more step forward, dug in, and gone on to the top.  The photos above and below are from our hike winter before last when the sun and the deep snow combined for one of the most stunning hikes ever.

Going foward when I might have stopped--that has been true for many of life's passages over the last twelve plus seasons of hiking and show shoeing.  Her amazing listening ear, her patience when it seemed as if I was going through the same inner-journey turmoils that I had going through years before (and I was, only on a deeper level, which she understood--though it must have been tiresome). 

Celebrating beauty even when the ledges were slim and the snow was falling so that seeing ahead wasn't easy reminds me of gratitude, even when life doesn't seem so good.  We stood in RMNP's Glacier Gorge parking lot many times when the wind threatened to blow us backward.  We would remind each other than once on the trail, the wind wouldn't be so strong.  Again, a lesson for life, that when we stop on our paths during a tough time, that moving ahead, even ever so slowly, will ease the angst.  That is a reminder I need right now, when I don't know what comes next. 

Judith was there years ago when it seemed that many of our hikes required me to walk through fear, sometimes fear that required stopping until I could gather the strength to go on.  She never waivered.  We have gone places I likely will not go again.  As she leaves for a sea-level life for the next four months, she will return to Estes Park for a while, but hopefully for her sake, she will be able to live where sleep and breath come easily without the aid of a mask.  That is the plan Judith and her husband are making, the adventure they are setting off to pursue.  I wish you well dear friend.  I will think of you often, but especially when the wind is cold and the steps ahead hard.  I will borrow from your courage and strength and go forward.  Enjoy the warmth, the sea and the beach--and sleep well!