I think I need some Guidance

I know little about the spiritual beyond an awareness that I need more of it. When, years ago, a District Committee on Ministry instructed me to work with a spiritual director, I first had to find out what a spiritual director is. Turns out, I wasn’t alone in my ignorance. Most Methodists would have been puzzled. Until recently, Catholics – who had kept the tradition alive through the centuries – were advanced far beyond Protestants who had only recently shown interest (after which they’d been learning from the Catholics). In asking around, I learned of a Benedictine community in the area with sisters trained in spiritual direction and made an appointment.

I confess that I did not find my sessions with Sister Ruth helpful. Maybe we were not a good match. Maybe it was that, in not knowing what I was doing, I didn’t know to direct our conversion or what questions to ask. I was doing what I’d been told to do by a group committed to helping folks like me begin our paths in ministry. I’m sure the committee meant well but, looking back, I wonder if the members were assigning me something that they now realized might have helped them in their faith journeys – without really knowing what it was about.

After that lukewarm introduction into spiritual guidance, my family moved and moved again. I went to seminary and earned an M.Div. I began pastoring congregations. My young daughter became a teenager. I ended my marriage. Life continued as, all the while, the seeds planted during those few sessions with Sr. Ruth germinated. Maybe that was the point.

When I returned to the Fox Valley area to serve another congregation, I was ready. And as we sat together in a meeting, I asked my colleagues for spiritual director recommendations. One person offered one name yet it turned out to be a good fit. Until just before her death four years later, I visited Connie regularly. I don’t know if we’re ever aware of spiritual growth as it happens yet I’m confident that it did. Though her training and experience was in psychiatry, Connie was a good listener. She asked good questions. I could bring any topic to our monthly conversations.

Since her death, I’ve been without again. Life continued with all its good and bad – friendship, illness, rejection, pandemic, healing… I’ve been wanting, needing, someone to accompany me spiritually but the timing has seemed terrible. Still, the feeling had grown more insistent until, finally, I called the retreat center recommended to me by a counselor I saw as I was preparing to transition out of ministry and into healing-mode. Tomorrow afternoon I will drive there. pitch my tent, take quiet walks, meditate and I know not what. On Saturday I’ll meet with Sister Gabe.

I’m hoping for good things but I don’t know what will come of this. I’m leery of over-planning which could lead me to miss synchronicities. Holy moments. So except for trip-taking organization, I’ve made few preparations. Is this a wise choice? I don’t know. My meditation and prayer times this week have set out the intention that I will be open to what will present. I’ve been thinking of topics of interest:

• What does leading a meaningful life look like for me, here and now?
• I’d assumed that times of transition eventually end but I’ve been floating in a netherworld for a long time now. What am I missing?
• Who am I, living alone in my 101-year-old fixer-upper, with no career and a very small circle around me? How can I matter?
• How can I practice accepting what I cannot change?

Four days away is not likely to change my life yet I confess to a hope that I’ll return, not simply renewed but also more ready for either the samenesses or the changes that will follow.

100 days

It’s Friday afternoon as I write this. I’m waiting for the sun to shift a little further north so that I can continue painting the south wall of the garage. I substituted at a couple elementary schools today and yesterday. Early tomorrow I’m planning to join a group for a birding hike at Rib Mountain State Park. Then at noon I said I’d help with face-painting at the UU booth at the downtown Pride event. For me, this is “busy.”

As I prepare to write though, I see the above picture in the desktop folder, waiting for its moment. And I wonder, how did my personal busyness supplant the empathy that has sometimes shut me down? The quick answer is that humans are not built to live in, or even next to, ongoing crisis. Not letting myself off the hook that easily, I continue to wonder, how did I go from reading every piece the New York Times printed about Russia’s invasion of Ukraine and the subsequent war to skimming the headlines and reading one, maybe two, pieces before turning off my phone? In only one hundred days?

That’s how long it’s been, 100 days since families, businesses, places of worship, everything was upended for our Ukrainian neighbors. One hundred days was enough to awaken the European Union, a sleeping giant no longer, and for folks there (and some here) to welcome thousands, no, millions of Ukrainian refugees. 

The world has not forgotten this crisis or the opportunity it provides for us to exercise our humanity as we reach out to others in their need. But… their need and others’ response no longer seems to be front and center. Too many other crises have crowded into the foreground of our concern. One hundred days seems like a short time. Yet how much has happened since Februrary 24th. We might think of the lives taken violently as young, white males used guns to assert their manhood. Or of police officers who forgot or ignored the basics of their jobs or their responsibility to those they serve. How many women and men are on edge about abortion access, or simply a removal of a 50-year-old right? How many ordinary folk have moved even further toward the edges of a spectrum that reflects their ability to connect with others who aren’t just like them?

Compassion fatigue is a term used primarily to describe the exhaustion experienced by those in helping professions. Psychology Today tells us that “the more such individuals open themselves up to others' pain, the more likely they will come to share those victims' feelings of heartbreak and devastation. This sapped ability to cope with secondary trauma can lead to total exhaustion of one’s mental and physical state.” While not diminishing the toll of such work, my thought is that many of us (ordinary) folks are similarly struggling. Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary’s secondary definition for compassion fatigue might – at least in odd moments – apply to most of us:

“apathy or indifference toward the suffering of others as the result of overexposure to tragic news stories and images and the subsequent appeals for assistance.”

How are you holding up? Can you still access your passion, your motivation to keep caring? Or are you used up and trying to give from an empty place? Those in the know say that a media fast can really help in circumstances like these. Have you taken one lately? What would lead you to try it? It's been two years since I attempted a media fast (and that one was brief) yet if something within you cheered when you read the words “media fast” you’d do well to listen to your inner voice. Try it.

Whether you’re free-faced or still masking, are you making opportunities to connect with the ones who feed your being? And no matter your workload, paid and unpaid, are you allowing yourself some sabbath rest? I admit, now that I’m not working full-time I seldom make this happen but I know it kept me going while I serving churches. I’m not talking 24 hours. Two hours spent browsing your favorite shops, 20 minutes doing walkabout in your yard or through your neighborhood, an hour cuddling with that special one – all of these and more can be sabbath if we let them.* Just invite the Spirit, or whatever you call her/them, to be part of your experience. And let yourself be refreshed.

And whenever you find that your attention to others’ crises is sapped, be gentle with yourself.

* I've heard from multiple sources that in the Mishnah (the first written record of the Jewish Oral Law) rabbis are strongly encouraged to include sex with their spouses as part of their Sabbath practice.

Snowshoeing & Self-Care

“Woodland Encounter” by Bev Doolittle

How have you practiced self-care recently? What have you done to remind yourself that you are truly living and that life is good?

Go ahead and think about it. I'll wait.

...

That's great! Wonderful, even. And how did that feel for you?

...

This has been a tough few weeks for me – with more hours worked than my mind and body can sustain, with votes at The United Methodist Church's Special General Conference that left me (still) grieving, and with a few other personal and professional challenges as well. I'm not complaining. Life is like that. But all of this has left me sorely in need of sabbath rest and intentional self-care.

Thursday evening, a friend let me use their piano while they were out (I know, me without a piano! who'd have thought?) and I played for 90 minutes. It's been ages since I played that long and oh, did it feel good!

Friday morning, I drank tea, ate and napped off and on as Beethoven symphonies played in the background. During an easy snowshoe walk in the afternoon, I was gifted with views of myriad branches against a breathtakingly blue sky. I had to go back.

So today, after sermon work and lunch I returned to Rib Mountain, this time choosing the longer trail. All were shades of gray and I didn't expect the beauty of the day before, so I was taken aback when I looked up. It was like a Bev Doolittle painting (only better) – the birches gray, black and white mottled against the leaden sky and snow. 

Continuing, I followed the red chips that marked the trail until they seemed to be leading back toward the road. “That can’t be right!” I headed in the other direction, recalling the old logging road below. Only, after descending about 30 yards, I conceded that the road wasn't where I thought it was. I heard voices ahead and continued on but soon discovered they came from some crazy downhill skiers who had left the runs in favor of the wilds of this state park. 

 
Climbing back up this Wisconsin-sized mountain in deep snow left me quite warm (I was on all fours part of the time) yet it was all thrilling. I felt so alive!

Eventually I found the path with its red chips and continued, exhausted yet at the same time energized.

There will be days when accompanying, letting another lead or even surrendering will be victories. For this day, pressing my limits and finding myself up to the challenge was a way to remind myself that I am enough just as I am and that life is good.    

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Did I say that?

“I’m stupid,” I said as I pointed to the closet door in my office that was now stuck shut (again) due to summer humidity and the slight shifting that sometimes occurs in older buildings. Yes, I said that. Me, Jayneann.

Expressions like this were common at home as I was growing up. But since then, I’ve worked hard to leave behind such disparaging speech – both to others and to myself. While my practice is certainly imperfect, my saying this brought me up short.

I could make a case for saying it. I felt foolish about closing the door when less than two weeks ago, I’d shut it and had to ask for help getting it open. I should have known better!

Still, my point today isn’t that I unthinkingly reverted to a speech pattern I thought I’d left behind. It’s that this slip let me know I’d been pushing myself too hard. Earlier this month, I moved to a new (old, really) house in a different town and started a new job. The job’s fabulous. I’m enjoying it, but it’s also taking a fair amount of mental energy. And, when I’m not at church, I’ve been working on my new digs – mudding and caulking, cleaning, buying painting supplies, etc.

Mowing the backyard was the only time I spent outside last week which – for me – is a crying shame. In July, I’d almost prefer gardening to eating. And, speaking of eating, I didn’t do that well either.

Besides the “stupid” incident, last week I had the hiccups three times, eye twitches twice, and a few other twitchy moments. My body as well as my mouth were clearly sending me a message. And that message? Stop! Slow down! 

The stressors may not be bad ones, but they’re still stressors. At a time when a person needs to practice better self-care, I’d been giving myself less time. A friend once described this idea as a lot of straws stuck in a glass, all of them sucking out the water (or whatever). What had I been doing to make sure I didn’t run out? Not much.

So, Friday (my sabbath) I worked hard at doing less. I asked Kay to set up the hammock frame for me because every time I stepped outside to do it, I found tasks that distracted me. (Thank you, Kay!) As soon as I stretched out on the red and orange striped canvas, I realized how very tired I was. How do we not realize when when we’re in this state?!

This week’s calendar looks at least as full as last week’s. But I’ve been reminded that I’m not superwoman. I’m one small person with finite mental and physical resources. I still have to mud and paint, but this week I’ll make a point of eating regularly. I’ll sit outside and read in the evening once or twice instead of watching reruns on my tablet. I’ll drink plenty of water.

Maybe this isn’t the week when you need to focus on such things, but your time will come. Practice taking care of yourself now so that when it does, your mouth doesn’t get you in trouble and your body doesn’t have to complain in order to get your attention. You’ll be better for it and you’ll be better for those around you.

Be careful what you think,    because your thoughts run your life. Proverbs 4:23 (NCV)

My heart swells

Where can I go
from your spirit, O God?

Opening Prayer and Thanksgiving

I awake this morning
In the presence
of the holy angels of God.
May heaven open wide before me
Above me and around me
That I may see
the Christ of my love
And his sunlit company
In all the things of earth this day.
        J. Philip Newell, Each Day & Each Night

It’s Friday morning and I usually wouldn’t write on Friday morning – it’s my sabbath – but the words came upon me with the desire to put them down. So here I am.

I drink some water and set my tea to steep. Planning to do morning prayers and yoga, I’m inspired by the rabbit I spot nibbling on red creeping thyme to take my mug and do walkabout . What beauty I find. The sun is warn, the grass wet from last night’s shower. The peony blossoms still have some life in them.

Joe Pye is a native that will grow to 5 feet.

Wild Ginger is a native groundcover.

I pick a stalk of rhubarb to add the ones I didn’t use last night. They’ll make a nice something for supper. I talk to the brunnera, the Joe Pye weed, the rabbit. Oh, and the rose. It was eaten to a nub but is coming back nicely now that I’ve stacked bricks around it.

The iris are beginning to bloom. Lovely. The white sage refuses to give up though I keep digging out whatever sprouts appear. The hostas in the corner seem to be thriving in spite of their munching neighbors.

Full of the beauty of God’s creation I come in, pour more tea and head toward my prayer chair – a rocker that fits my smaller frame (so many are too big) but I stop by the lilacs in a vase. (May is the only month I use this vase as it’s too large for anything but a mess of lilacs.) I tell myself I’ll need to dump these on the compost today but then I smell them and decide to wait. The lilac fragrance is still in them. One more day they will bless my home with their fading beauty.

There are even spider's lines on it...

I sit in the rocker, full to overflowing with the beauty I find around me. As I open my prayer book and read the verse from Psalm 139 (a different one each morning) I thank God and realize I need to share this. I continue to read first – an opening prayer, then a psalm and a bit of scripture, more prayer, intercessions, and closing prayer.

May you be open this day to the beauty that is around you. Though you may not be blessed with gardens to walk through or the time to savor them, allow yourself to see, hear, smell, taste, touch, whatever is part of your day’s experience and know God’s presentness in all of it.

Closing Prayer
The love and affection
of the angels be with me.
The love and affection
of the saints be with me.
The love and affection
of the heaven be with me,
to lead me and to cherish me
this day.
        J. Philip Newell, Each Day & Each Night