Saint Theresa's Prayer

May today there be peace within.

May you trust God that you are exactly
where you are meant to be.


May you not forget the infinite
possibilities that are born of faith.


May you use those gifts that you have
received, and pass on the love that has
been given to you.


May you be confident knowing you are a
child of God. Let this presence settle
into your bones, and allow your soul the
freedom to sing, dance, praise and love.

On Praying For Our Kiddos

Every part of me is praying...right down to my atoms I am praying.

 

~ Valerie ~

The Offer

I found Natalie in Geez magazine's (http://www.geezmagazine.org/) latest collection of thoughts on "holy mischief in an age of fast faith". Her gently provocative thoughts moved me to change, to grow, to take the face of a friend in my hands and say, "Look away."

So impacted was I that I hunted her down and asked her permission to re-print her thoughts here:

The Offer

In my house live two cats. In the morning, as I eat breakfast in our solarium, surrounded on three sides by panes of glass, the cats sit on the other side of the table, flicking their tails wildly as they stare out the window. They stare at the birds flitting to and fro amongst the trees and telephone wires, free to do as they please, to do as they were created to do. They sit there; the heart-shaped cat food they've been purring for all morning is left abandoned at the sight of what they really desire. They gaze, poised as if they might strike at any moment, sneaking and hiding amongst the chair legs as if lurking in the shadows of the forest underbrush, though they've never experienced any such thing. Yet they never jump, never even paw at the transparent barrier between them and the object of their longing.

Their ritual of walking away from the cheap, substitute, ridiculously processed product and staring out eagerly, impossibly at the world they long to be a part of pains me. Some mornings it pains me to the point of tears. It pains me for them, and it pains me for humans too. We too are offered our hearts' desires in cheap substitutes, products that claim to offer fulfillment. But what pains me most is that the cats know to look away from the processed promise of fulfillment, even if they remain physically trapped. We do not even know how to look away, let alone walk away, though no panes of glass (except maybe the ad-laden TV screen) stand between us and the experiences that would fulfill us.

Let us help each other look away.
~ Natalie Boustead ~ 

I Asked Forty Women

What gives you goose bumps? A thought-provoking question from Trina, right? You puzzled over this, describing goose bumps as "thoughts" and things that pop up when you're inspired, moved, frightened. Most of you struggled to answer in a definitive way, but some of the answers themselves will give you goose bumps, for sure! Here's what some of you had to share:

 when someone tells you they're pregnant - instant goose bumps for them!
 really, really good singers.
 walking in the early morning after a night of rain showers. (It) makes me shiver with delight and (I) imagine that the fresh scent of rain I'm smelling is one more gift from God saying, "I'm here. This is for you."
 when I'm studying and researching, and I find out some well-hidden, oft-overlooked tidbit of information that gives me a glimpse of who someone really was, how they thought and what they dreamed. It's fascinating, and I feel privileged when I'm allowed that peek into the heart of someone who has gone before me.
 hearing the ways God answers prayers. (It) just makes Him seem so real and so close when it's something so tangibly answered.
 stories of strange, unnatural coincidences. You know those stories that can't possibly be true but are? Especially the good stories....they make you BELIEVE!
 a cold wind
 fear
 intimacy
 freedom from everything (the only time I felt this and had goosebumps was when I jumped out of the airplane at 3500 feet).
 the thought of moving out of the city with my family and having a house on a piece of land away from all the people.
 when my son says “I love you mom!” with that big smile on his face.
 seeing the delight in the eyes of my grandson as he relates the details of an adventure he had while camping with his Dad, his brothers and his Grampa.
 listening first hand to everyday, sometimes 'humdrum' living experience come to life (that) propel me forward into a better frame of mind.
 when I'm doing something I know is wrong (more often than not, gossiping). *sigh*

 standing on the beach in the dark, watching the full moon glimmer on a glass top smooth ocean, and realizing again, and again how great our Creator is.
 a kiss from my husband.
 certain emotional, heart touching songs.
 seeing my dad's handwriting since his passing.
 exceptional live music
 Watching someone succeed
 When I hear stories about animals or little kids being tortured for somebody's fun.
 when I sense that God is doing something I never expected and I am watching it unfold.
 when someone speaks a truth or revelation about something they see (God) doing in or through themselves.

And finally, "Watching a CF18 fighter jet fly over my head at close range, and the split second pause of the sound to follow."

Goose bumps!

Adjusting My Listen-er

Two men were walking along a crowded sidewalk in a downtown business area. Suddenly one exclaimed, "Listen to the lovely sound of that cricket!" But the other could not hear. He asked his companion how he could detect the sound of a cricket amidst the din of people and traffic. The first man...had trained himself to listen to the voices of nature, but he did not explain. He simply took a coin out of his pocket and dropped it on the sidewalk, whereupon a dozen people began to look about them.

"We hear," he said, "what we listen for."

~ Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh (The Discipline of Transcendence) ~

Silver

                                                           Refined Silver

...I will refine them like silver and test them like gold. They will call on my name and I will answer them; I will say, "They are my people," and they will say, "The Lord is our God."

~ The Bible ~

Sometimes it's not about getting rid of our pain. It's not always about medicating or comforting or squelching grief. If we want to grow ~ to change, to enlarge our understanding of our world and our neighbors ~ we will need to, sometimes, surrender to the process of sorrow.

Like silver being perfected in most intense heat, our souls, minds, and emotions undergo transformative, purposeful purifying if we will let the searing struggle of our everyday do its work.

I wonder: What will come if we set aside our comfort food, our cigarette, our drink, our tv show, our isolation ~ if we set aside our pacifiers and fall into the torturous heat of this day's grief.

What does your life, purified, refined, perfected look like? Who are you on the Otherside of surrendering to your right-now heartache and imperfection? Who are you becoming?

I Asked 20 Gals a Question

I asked twenty women, “What makes you smile with contentment?”
They replied,


 When I see two old people in their 80's, married 60 plus years and can see they totally love each other.


 A hot, clear, sunny day -- especially at the beach


 A crumb-less kitchen floor, or counter, or table


 Bills paid


 Fresh sheets


 Soft toilet paper


 Reading


 Good conversation


 Psalm 119


 Solitude


 Family home together and safe


 Answers (and eating) after a day of prayer and fasting


 Smarties...I don't mind if they do melt in my hand, I can lick it off.


 Brunch with a friend


 Sitting on my mom-in-law's deck having my morning cuppa


 Meals I don't have to prepare or clean up


 Children playing together...nicely


 Anything that turns out well


 The end of a great work day


 A good meal made for company


 A song that I've written and enjoy singing over and over


 Sometimes it involves people...but other times it's a solitary thing


 Reading a book before bed


 Listening to CBC radio chatter


 Discovering a new place to walk or drinking peppermint tea


 Hershey's Bliss Dark Chocolate melting in your mouth


 A dish of President’s Choice Chocolate Fudge Crackle Ice Cream


 Relaxing on the deck with my morning coffee and a good book


 Surveying a room after I have spent the day house cleaning and seeing everything clean and in its place


 Crawling into bed with clean linens


 Cuddling under a quilt with a cool breeze blowing in the window


 Knowing my family is all safely at home during a storm


 The feeling I get after my grandson’s spontaneous hug of greeting


 When I'm out walking in the woods, especially near the river (with my dog 'cause seeing her enjoyment of the walk definitely adds to mine), and my brain quiets down enough for me to just enjoy the beauty around me ~ then it feels like life is good and everything's okay, I can breathe; and God is near.


 When my kids are really actually loving each other, or someone who needs it


 When the house is quiet (and clean!) and I don't feel lonely, just relaxed


 A really good hair and face day


 Watching my children do something kind or caring, or that they excel at or love -- then I know I'm doing something right as a parent; seeing them become the person God made them to be


 Good sex


 Watching the two people I love most – my daughter sleeping peacefully on her daddy’s chest, with her ear laying right over his heart


 Everyone sleeping peacefully


 Cheese is right up there


 Watching my children play and laugh -- Seeing my husband being attacked by our children


 Watching a glorious sunrise


 Visiting with good friends


 Knowing God is in control over everything


 Knowing I am deeply loved just as I am


 Long, leisurely walks with a dear friend


 Looking up at the stars at night


 Quiet moments with God


 Good questions with insightful answers

Sweeping The Lawn and Other Excercises in Domestic Futility

I woke up to three three dead plants, a soggy loo, and a generally disasstisfied family. I couldn't see our kitchen counters: they're covered in school supplies and last night's supper muck.

By ten o'clock (still morning) I had a rolicking headache and had threatened a complaining child (the one who, just last night, spent a solid ten minutes making a case for why he is no longer a "child") within an inch of his schooling life. The words "boarding school" careened around inside my head but, thankfully, never escaped my lips. By eleven o'clock he was out in the backyard working off his attitude in a most tedious and ungratifying manner.

I cannot find the replacement part that I need to repair the (borrowed!!) power washer that I broke.

Moments ago I discovered that the dogs, in silent protest over the recent grooming they received (hairless dogs are a beautiful thing), have been digging ENORMOUS holes in the backyard tree and flower beds. Too lazy to trek all the way to the shed for a rake, I just grabbed a nearby broom and did an expletive-laden sweep of dirt back into offending hole.

I find myself unable to tap my creative resources to come up with yet another Phys. Ed. 20 "long-term objective." Even though my high school lad "kind of need(s) it right now." It's tough to be ingenious when the tap AND the fridge are leaking, the floor's sticking, the laundry's piling, the dog doots are smelling, and there are males everywhere.

But at 12:20 (insert soundtrack of otherwordly music here and find yourself bathed in a holy glow), with a mess of peanut butter, tuna, and old soup making it's slow march across every surface that is not covered by a book or a drawing or a school list, I cracked open my first ever box of the Mr. Clean "Magic Eraser."

Oh yes. I did.

I was skeptical. So skeptical. And I was cranky. Very cranky. But a friend had generously dropped some by for me to try, and they were sitting right there (smushed between the marker bin and the tea pot), so I had nothing to lose.

And now? All wrongs have been righted. ALL wrongs. A lawn that needs sweeping? Who cares! I can clean scuff marks off of the baseboards! Scuff marks, I tell you! A half-hearted little scrub of the fridge has the door shining ~ sparkly new! The footprint left on the front door by firefighters (Yes. That was two years ago.)? Gone! I've tried everything to remove that mark...and now, thanks to Mr. Clean, it's gone.

Magic. My sons can attest to the transformation I'm undergoing as we speak, "Look," Jamy said just moments ago, "the little cleany thingy is making Mom squeak." They're mocking me, I know, but I just don't care because, in the days ahead, the smudges and smears and gashes that have been adding to the befuddlement of my haggardly housewifey brain will all be gone. 

And you can bet that the next Mr. Clean claims "magic" as part of their results, I'll buy into it. My deepest hope, in this domestic moment, is that the next product on their list is a wand. A magical, magical wand. One flick of the stick and all will be righted. Clothes, hair, walls, loos, dogs. All. We're counting on you, Mr. Clean.

Where Wasps go to Die

The water in our backyard swimming pool is sickly green. Clumps of wind-blown dog hair and dead leaves slither their way across it's bottom, carried by the sludgy currents rippling down from the bug and algae laden surface.The twelve by three foot rubber and plastic oasis is so nasty looking that even the neighborhood boys won't stick their toes into it.

And I'm standing on the edge of it, using my body weight to depress the side so that the muck can seep it's way out of the tank and into the grass. Dead wasps and flies, fully encased in stringy, feathery algae, slip over the toes of my Crocs. Clusters of now-green dog hair slide eagerly by my ankles, shooting for freedom.

I am confused by the state of things: How did a consistently cared-for luxury become such a labor intensive disaster zone? I drain and scrub and drain some more. I scrub some more. Hours later I begin the process of re-filling the pool and think, "I'll just take a look at the filter to see if it needs a scrub, too." And there it is: The solution to the mystery.

No filter. The canister that holds the filter ~ the one we'd carefully hooked up to the side of the pool, the one we'd been faithfully running for months ~ is empty. No filter. Just dirty water in. Dirty water out. Dirty water in. Dirty water out. Hours of electricty and good intentions spent to no useful end.

As the dead insects and slime swirl around my toes (believe me, if there was a less disgusting way to achieve the same end, I would have found it!) I think about some of the conversations I've been having with friends lately. We've been talking about morality and about how to raise children in a culture that seems to be going mad in it's insistence that everything goes. 

The making of a porn movie has become the stuff of comedy. And people think it's really, really funny. 
Degrading men and masculinity in every conceivable manner is standard comedic practice (Imagine the writers of TV land attempting to denegrate women the way they do Homer or Ray Romano or Jim.). 
Teenage girls pole dance on a teen award show. Young girls watch and can't wait to be "just like her when I grow up!"

We could all add things to the list, right? Moments from our everyday where we've thought, "Whoa. Is that really okay? Did I just see that?"

Last week I observed a group of young guys hanging out at a cluster of picnic tables, their long arms and legs dangling casually all over everything. I was fascinated by their relationships to one another, their characters, everything, until I drew close enough to hear their conversation.

A solitary girl stood at the edge of their group, shifting uncomfortably, one hand twisting the strap of her purse nervously; one hand absentmindedly tugging at the hem of her so-short shorts. One of the boys said, "You remember, don'tcha'? You got so drunk and then you remember what we all did to ya', don'tcha'?" Her reply was too soft for me to hear over the boys' not-so-fascinating laughter. 

It's no great reach to observe that the sludge in our cultural "pool" is building up. While the mucky muck in my backyard made for a pretty cool Science project and a few hours' entertaining swabbing, the sludge of a culture that is stewing in it's own mess without any filters is a lot less amusing.

Some of my friends want out of the pool ~ They just want to go find a nice, new, clean pool to splash around in. Some suggest that the pool isn't dirty at all and that we just need to become more openminded about the floaties and the detritus (Those "some" have never tried to keep their footing when green goo is coating the bottom of the thing!). Some would say that if we just put some filters in place we can clean up the pool we've already got.

Our own pool now has a filter in the filter canister. The bottom has returned to it's original inviting white and blue tiled pattern. The deceased wasps have been siphoned off to that great wasp's nest in the sky and the dog hair was all pulled up by the lawnmower.

Mental note for next summer: A pool without a filter stagnates. It becomes useless and repugnant. Unless you're a bug that's looking for someplace to die. Filtered water is cool, refreshing, alluring, and a lot less work. Unless we decide we can afford a new pool every few months, we'd be wise to remember the filters.

Hungry?

In his book, "Hunger for God," John Piper suggests that the spiritual discipline of fasting allows us to acknowledge our true hunger for the Divine ~ for God. By setting aside the comforting anesthetic of food, by engaging in a degree of physical discomfort (that leads to emotional discomfort), we permit ourselves to address our deepest longing: The longing for restoration with God.



When we deny ourselves food, he says, we are forced to ask, "Do I really hunger for God? Do I miss Him?"



Do I miss Him?



We spend our everday actively working to silence the need, sorrow, anger, and longing for purpose that powerfully threatens to overwhelm us in our materialistic and relationally bankrupt culture. Alcohol, cigarettes, prescription (and non) drugs, work, affairs, and such: Television is my own most effective soother, but food is it's comforting companion. By assuring myself of their mind-numbing, emotion-squelching constancy I can surely navigate a day's dis-ease.



By choosing to set them aside, I might find myself nose-to-nose with the desperate realization that I miss Him. I miss His sanctity and justice. I miss His clarity and hope. I miss His goodness. I miss things about Him that I've never known: the touch of His hand, the look of His eye, the cut of His jaw.



I miss Him. We miss Him, don't we? I wonder at the opportunity to set aside the good things of our lives long enough to be reminded that He is Goodness itself. The bounty that we know here is a shadow, a dim reflection of the substance and Glory of God Himself.