My son Andy was 18 and in college when he sadly said to me, "Mom, I don't have any of my own memories of Daddy. I was too young when he died. All I have are the family stories." His statement shocked me. It made me profoundly aware of what a gift memory is.
Right now, I'm enjoying the memory of a wonderful week spent with friends in the Colorado mountains. What are some of your special memories? Getting your child ready for the first day of school? A spontaneous "date" with your spouse? A much-longed for trip you were finally able to take?
Sometimes we get so busy multi-tasking that we don't pay attention--we literally don't notice--our own memory-making moments.
Today, resolve to pay attention. Notice. And right now, take a moment to recall some of your own special memories. What a gift they are!
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Monday, August 30, 2010
I’ve been remiss in writing my blog this past month--and for a good reason, I think. I went to Colorado to a wonderful Women’s Fitness Camp and left my computer and smart phone behind.
Years ago, my friend Don Campbell, a man who truly walked his spiritual talk, said to me, “If you want a relationship with someone, you have to invest your time: the same thing holds true for a relationship with God. Start your day with an hour of prayer.”
In these days of addictive texting and Face-booking, when we can easily spend an hour (or two!) checking our Facebook messages, it’s worth asking: “Do I care enough about my day to day relationship with God to spend at least as much time communicating with my Creator?”
In between hiking and biking and yoga and water aerobics at the Fitness Camp, I found it spiritually renewing to walk among the trees and gratefully ponder for an hour all the gifts in my life that have come from the great universal force of Love we call God.
Notice how much time you spend on Facebook today. And then, ask: “Can I spend at least as much time in prayerfully building my relationship with God?”
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
A Psalm For traveling along the Way
The path winds before me
Curving, hidden in parts
So I do not see where it turns.
And how easy it is to fear I will
Stumble or take a wrong turn.
Yet lifting my eyes upward,
Above the trees I see the sky,
blue and sun-tipped.
And in the dazzling brightness,
I step out in faith
Knowing I will not stumble for long.
Knowing that God is at my right hand
And at my left foot.
Above me as the dazzle.
Below me as the humous.
And when I walk with God
I never walk alone.
Curving, hidden in parts
So I do not see where it turns.
And how easy it is to fear I will
Stumble or take a wrong turn.
Yet lifting my eyes upward,
Above the trees I see the sky,
blue and sun-tipped.
And in the dazzling brightness,
I step out in faith
Knowing I will not stumble for long.
Knowing that God is at my right hand
And at my left foot.
Above me as the dazzle.
Below me as the humous.
And when I walk with God
I never walk alone.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
The Real Thing: Celebrating July 4th
American Reality is shaped by the freedom
into which all of us are born.
No more than we can experience what it is
to be a jellyfish can we understand
the reality of tyranny and non-freedom,
for we have never experienced what it is.
Our Constitution is more than our birthright.
It is our birth channel, for from its articles and amendments,
its freedoms and guarantees, we American are formed.
Nowhere on this globe can we find
a more perfect vision of freedom than the vision that
you and I got up with this morning.
And probably didn't even notice.
into which all of us are born.
No more than we can experience what it is
to be a jellyfish can we understand
the reality of tyranny and non-freedom,
for we have never experienced what it is.
Our Constitution is more than our birthright.
It is our birth channel, for from its articles and amendments,
its freedoms and guarantees, we American are formed.
Nowhere on this globe can we find
a more perfect vision of freedom than the vision that
you and I got up with this morning.
And probably didn't even notice.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Pedaling my prayer
Last week I “pedaled my prayer” on a five-day, 385-mile bicycle ride up a few hills and down again through the Fox River Valley in Wisconsin, from Watertown to Green Bay and back. Sixty-two riders breathed in the fragrance of Wisconsin’s dairy farms, waved to the black and white cows in the fields, admired the lush green tidiness of the state, and tried to laugh off the drenching rain on one of our days of riding.
I was a little worried at the start: Could I manage to bike 68 miles a day?
As it happens any time we successfully step outside our comfort zone, I felt a great sense of accomplishment when I did manage, even on the toughest day when we faced the big 3: hills, headwinds and heat.
And I truly did pedal my prayer because bicycle tires going ‘round and ‘round remind me of prayer beads, and it was easy, as I pedaled, to fall into the cadence of “Jesus, mercy, Christ, have mercy.” Or, “God loves me, Jesus loves me.”
Think about a time when you stepped out of your comfort zone and succeeded in something you weren’t sure you could do. I remember a woman who attended one of my women’s talks and who said to me afterwards: “I found the courage to start law school at age 42 once I discovered I could stand on my head in yoga class.”
Whatever the accomplishment, we feel, “Hey, if I could do this, why I can do that scary thing over there.” And isn’t that how we grow, psychologically and spiritually, throughout our lives?
I was a little worried at the start: Could I manage to bike 68 miles a day?
As it happens any time we successfully step outside our comfort zone, I felt a great sense of accomplishment when I did manage, even on the toughest day when we faced the big 3: hills, headwinds and heat.
And I truly did pedal my prayer because bicycle tires going ‘round and ‘round remind me of prayer beads, and it was easy, as I pedaled, to fall into the cadence of “Jesus, mercy, Christ, have mercy.” Or, “God loves me, Jesus loves me.”
Think about a time when you stepped out of your comfort zone and succeeded in something you weren’t sure you could do. I remember a woman who attended one of my women’s talks and who said to me afterwards: “I found the courage to start law school at age 42 once I discovered I could stand on my head in yoga class.”
Whatever the accomplishment, we feel, “Hey, if I could do this, why I can do that scary thing over there.” And isn’t that how we grow, psychologically and spiritually, throughout our lives?
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
What's so amazing about Grace?
I've been rereading What's so Amazing about Grace by one of my favorite authors, Philip Yancey.
He reminds me that the root word for grace in Greek means "I rejoice. I am glad" and that we receive grace as a pure gift, not something that is earned.
I grew up as a military brat and as a Roman Catholic girl child in the 1950s--two very powerful authoritarian environments where you were expected to "earn" your way--and where "rank hath its privileges" whether it was a military rank or an episcopal rank.
But really, when you think about it, isn't the entire American culture rank conscious?
It has taken a looooong time to understand what Jesus was talking about: that Grace exists and comes to us as pure gift. We do not earn it. It often enters our lives as serendipity. Or as hope--"that thing with feathers" as Emily Dickinson said.
I think the Creator reminds us of the existence of grace whenever we walk into nature and see the wild and wondrous colors assigned to flowers, fish, and fowl...and the almost infinite variety in the shape of leaves and insects. It's as if the message is shouted: "Look! Look at this incredible world I have bequeathed you. Rejoice and be glad!"
All we must do is open our eyes so we can see. So we can see the many gifts of Grace that come our way every single day.
He reminds me that the root word for grace in Greek means "I rejoice. I am glad" and that we receive grace as a pure gift, not something that is earned.
I grew up as a military brat and as a Roman Catholic girl child in the 1950s--two very powerful authoritarian environments where you were expected to "earn" your way--and where "rank hath its privileges" whether it was a military rank or an episcopal rank.
But really, when you think about it, isn't the entire American culture rank conscious?
It has taken a looooong time to understand what Jesus was talking about: that Grace exists and comes to us as pure gift. We do not earn it. It often enters our lives as serendipity. Or as hope--"that thing with feathers" as Emily Dickinson said.
I think the Creator reminds us of the existence of grace whenever we walk into nature and see the wild and wondrous colors assigned to flowers, fish, and fowl...and the almost infinite variety in the shape of leaves and insects. It's as if the message is shouted: "Look! Look at this incredible world I have bequeathed you. Rejoice and be glad!"
All we must do is open our eyes so we can see. So we can see the many gifts of Grace that come our way every single day.
Monday, April 26, 2010
A Bicycling Metaphor for Your Next Challenge
The cyclist next to me faltered. “I can’t go any farther,” she gasped.A 30-mph headwind and 94-degree temperatures had turned our 76-mile hilly ride into the ride from hell.
It was the fourth day of RAGBRAI, the annual 500-mile bicycle ride across Iowa, which attracts nearly 10,000 bicyclists from around the world in July. It still surprised me to be there. But the break-up of my 20-year-marriage had surprised me too.
Divorce is so common these days that it’s easy to forget how devastating it feels to go through one. To cheer me up, a friend had encouraged me to join a cycling group that met every Saturday.
I found two-dozen cyclists hunched over skinny-tired road bikes, wearing black spandex bike shorts and helmets with miniature mirrors attached. Their shoes clipped onto their pedals. Whoa, I thought, these are serious cyclists. Sure enough, the leader said they planned to ride 40 miles that day.
I had to quit after ten.
But I liked bicycling. So I bought a used road bike and showed up the next Saturday. My bicycle buddies became a supportive community, and bicycling, with its physical demands, helped me cope with the pain of divorce. But could I manage a 7-day, 500-mile ride across Iowa?
At first—no problem. The air was rich with the fragrance of sweat, manure, hogs, flowers and barbecue. There was a visceral sense of being in the moment. Then came that awful day of headwinds, heat, and hills.
When I finally staggered off my bike, after 12 hours, another cyclist, who had ridden ten times across Iowa, said, “Man, today was the toughest day I’ve ever had.”
The toughest day? My shoulders straightened.
My divorce had just become final. And suddenly it hit me: If could cycle Iowa on the toughest day, why, I could re-cycle my life after divorce.
That’s what is special about athletic endeavors. Indeed, about any activity that takes us out of our familiar comfort zone. They help us realize --”Wow, if I can do this (you fill in the blank), why, I can do that. (your next challenge).”
Remind yourself now: What tough thing have you accomplished? Whatever it was, it means you can successfully face your next challenge. Count on it.
It was the fourth day of RAGBRAI, the annual 500-mile bicycle ride across Iowa, which attracts nearly 10,000 bicyclists from around the world in July. It still surprised me to be there. But the break-up of my 20-year-marriage had surprised me too.
Divorce is so common these days that it’s easy to forget how devastating it feels to go through one. To cheer me up, a friend had encouraged me to join a cycling group that met every Saturday.
I found two-dozen cyclists hunched over skinny-tired road bikes, wearing black spandex bike shorts and helmets with miniature mirrors attached. Their shoes clipped onto their pedals. Whoa, I thought, these are serious cyclists. Sure enough, the leader said they planned to ride 40 miles that day.
I had to quit after ten.
But I liked bicycling. So I bought a used road bike and showed up the next Saturday. My bicycle buddies became a supportive community, and bicycling, with its physical demands, helped me cope with the pain of divorce. But could I manage a 7-day, 500-mile ride across Iowa?
At first—no problem. The air was rich with the fragrance of sweat, manure, hogs, flowers and barbecue. There was a visceral sense of being in the moment. Then came that awful day of headwinds, heat, and hills.
When I finally staggered off my bike, after 12 hours, another cyclist, who had ridden ten times across Iowa, said, “Man, today was the toughest day I’ve ever had.”
The toughest day? My shoulders straightened.
My divorce had just become final. And suddenly it hit me: If could cycle Iowa on the toughest day, why, I could re-cycle my life after divorce.
That’s what is special about athletic endeavors. Indeed, about any activity that takes us out of our familiar comfort zone. They help us realize --”Wow, if I can do this (you fill in the blank), why, I can do that. (your next challenge).”
Remind yourself now: What tough thing have you accomplished? Whatever it was, it means you can successfully face your next challenge. Count on it.
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