Wonderings in the Word

Healing Prayer – Holy Ground

January 31, 2012 By Diana

Our text on Sunday was Mark 1:21-34. Check it out.

I love the gospel of Mark.

Quick to the point of brusqueness,

Mark moves things right along,

no meandering,

no wondering.

A lot of “immediately”s and a lot of “amazed”s

are peppered throughout his narrative.

Usually, I enjoy a story that unfolds slowly,

like a beautiful flower,

gradually revealing its hidden beauty and fragrance.

Mark will have none of that.

And on Sunday, I remembered how much I like that,

how thankful I am for Mark’s rapid-fire depiction of the jaw-dropping things
Jesus began to do after his immersion in the Jordan River.

Living in the 21st century as we do,
I am struck by how underwhelmed we are a lot of the time.

Maybe that’s because we’re bombarded with HEADLINES all the time,
most of them horrific.

Maybe that’s because finding a good news story

is increasingly tough to do.

Maybe it’s a cultural thing.

But maybe it’s a church thing, too.

Maybe we have mislaid

our sense of wonder,

that overwhelming well of gratitude and praise

that winds like a shimmering ribbon throughout so much of our Holy Book,
most especially the gospel narratives that

tell us about the life of Jesus.

So let me ask you a question:

When was the last time that you were truly amazed by Jesus?

I mean, stopped in your tracks,

drop to your knees,

dumbstruck,

bleary and teary-eyed

at who Jesus is and what Jesus does?

It’s so easy to become slightly blase about the whole thing sometimes.
Oh, yeah, Jesus is a great guy – loves little kids, lives simply, must have been a quiet sorta fella,

don’t you think?

Yawn.

But start reading Mark and those yawns

will be stifled pretty darn fast.

The people of Capernaum, that little backwater town in Galilee,
they were stunned.

The man in the synagogue –

did you catch that –

in the synagogue

who had an evil spirit within –

both he and the spirit were slack-faced with wonder

and fear.

Peter’s mother-in-law, the one who was too sick to serve,

she was pretty bug-eyed, too.

And then all those townspeople,

the ones who crowded around the front door

of Peter’s house that night.

Dumbfounded.

Jubilant.

Amazed.

Here was someone who spoke and taught with authority.

Here was someone whom the powers of evil

knew instinctively was their nemesis.

Someone with whom evil was totally incompatible.

Here was someone who cared about

his friends and their families.

Here was someone who had compassion on an entire town –
and who showed that compassion by ‘healing many.’

Our pastor noted that the first step to healing

is to rout out evil.

That’s the first little nugget in this narrative –

the spirit of evil is noisy and chaotic.

Jesus is calm and clear:

“Shut up. Get out.”

Can we do that to the evils that beset us,

those voices,

temptations,

habits,

thoughts

that fill us with chaos and noise?

It’s time to be released from the noise,

to lean into the calm,

to be amazed at the gracious,

authoritative healing power of our God.

Our service ended with a time of anointing,

of coming forward to be blessed,

touched by the oil of grace,

prayed over.

One of my very favorite things ever

in my years of pastoral ministry.

And, at the very last minute,

I was invited to stand in front of the kneeler

and pray for some of the hurting ones who came forward.

While the congregation sang, about a dozen people found their way to the front.

Each one amazed,

each one open,

each one blessed.

And I?

I was the most blessed of all.

For I stood on holy ground,

lifted by the music,

surrounded by the people of God,

amazed at the power of grace

all over again.

Linking with Michelle DeRusha and Jen Ferguson and Jennifer Lee and Ann Voskamp
this Monday night.

Filed Under: Wonderings in the Word, Wonderings in the World

Sunset on the Bluffs

January 31, 2012 By Diana

Dick was in Chicago for board meetings on Friday.

Lilly came to play for a couple of hours in the morning,

and Eric picked her up about 11:00.

“Whatcha doing for dinner tonight, Mom?”

“Oh, nothing much. Got some leftover chili…”

“Have you taken your walk yet?”

“Nope.”

“Well, why don’t you meet us at the bluffs

in Carpinteria and take your walk

with us tonight.

Then we can go out to dinner.”

What a grand idea!

Nothing quite like an invitation from your children, right?

So I drove my way through the small neighborhood
which borders the oceanside path.

Their family of four had walked down from their home and were waiting when I drove up.

“Can you believe this view is right here, Mom?

We can walk here.

Isn’t that something?”

That’s something, all right.

I will admit to liking this view a lot, too.

Two girls in the fading light.

Especially the pink boots.

So we set off to the south.

Mama and Dada and Gracie and Lilly

and me.

We were heading to the seal rookery.

Yes, we have one of those nearby –

not those gigantic guys I wrote about here –

but your normal, everyday sea lions,

many of them heavy with pups.

To get there, we walked along the edge of the bluffs,

through the eucalyptus woods,

by the oil refinery, hidden just north of the train tracks.

The rookery is right on the beach next to the oil company pier.

Great care is taken to be sure this area is protected from undue noise or confusion, so that these mamas can rest, give birth and nurse their young.

The Chumash Indians who used to live in these parts
came to these headlands to build their canoes.

Why?

Because of the copious amounts of black pitch
available right on the beach –

oil –

that precious commodity of 21st century life,

that bane of environmentalism,

oil seeps right through the sand all along this shore.

The off-shore rigs have actually helped keep the beaches accessible, in an oddly ironic meet-up of modern technology and environmental science.

Within the next few weeks, all of these

sausage-like creatures will push out new pups,

and the place will be ringing with the noises

of new life.

Trying out a new camera as the sun sets into the sea.

Checking out the seals and the birds, too.

A greater egret and a brown pelican rest for a moment before heading to their roosts for the night.

The Surfliner heads east and then south to San Diego,

sending out its mournful, evocative cry all along the way.

Even the intrusion of spidery equipment looks

quieter and dreamier in the last of the sunlight.

And a telephoto close-up reveals the striped glory of sky

and sea as night approaches.

I have lived in Santa Barbara for 15 years.

I’ve been down to my local beach countless times.

I’ve traveled to other Santa Barbara beaches weekly.

But I’d never been to these bluffs in Carpinteria

until my son suggested I come and see.

I never stop learning from my kids –

and that’s exactly as it should be, I think.

It was a lovely walk.

And a great dinner, too.

“From all eternity, Lord, you are.
The waters have lifted up, O Lord,
the waters have lifted up their voice,
the waters have lifted up their thunder.
Greater than the roar of mighty waters,
more glorious than the surgings of the sea,
The LORD is glorious on high.
Truly your decrees are to be trusted.
Holiness is fitting to your house,
O LORD, until the end of time.”

Psalm 93:2c-5

Joining with L.L. and Laura for their weekly sign-up – as playdates go, this was a fave.

And as far as a sense of place? Oh yeah, this spot has it in spades.

Filed Under: Photo Essay, Wonderings in the Word, Wonderings in the World

The Light of the Lord’s Face: Still Saturday & Sunday!

January 29, 2012 By Diana

“What can bring us happiness?” many say.

Lift up the light of your face upon us, O LORD.

You have put into my heart a greater joy

than they have from abundance of corn and new wine.

I will lie down in peace and sleep comes at once.

For you alone, LORD, make me dwell in safety.

Psalm 4:7-9, the Grail translation

Joining with Deidra at JumpingTandem and Sandy at SandraHeskaKing (widget promised soon!) for their new(ish) invitations to be still on the weekends.

What a lovely idea.

It’s orchid season here on the central coast and the warehouses are full to bustin’ with glorious color and shape.

Filed Under: Photo Essay, Wonderings in the Word, Wonderings in the World

When Life is a Struggle: The THC Book Club

January 29, 2012 By Diana

(The book we are studying, in case you are joining in after the first two installments – which can be found on my blog here for the first segment, covering the introduction and the first 3 chapters, and here, for chapters 4-6, is David Brooks’ book, The Social Animal: the Hidden Sources of Love, Character and Achievement. The prime point of discussion begins with the wonderful writing and observations of Laura Boggess over at The High Calling. This was a birthday week for me, so I am very late in contributing to the discussion and, as a disclaimer, I must admit that I have not yet read any of the other blogs, including lovely Laura’s. That shall be remedied anon, I promise!)

My parents, on their wedding day and many years later.

Their story shares some slight – accent on the word slight! – similarities to that of Erica and Harold’s.*

At last, we meet Erica. The other half of this fascinating and complicated story about the forces that form us into who we are. And I, for one, am delighted to make her acquaintance. Erica comes from a very differently storied environment than does Harold, and reading about how her life unfolds is both startling and intriguing.

These three chapters about her are titled, “Norms,” “Self-Control,” and “Culture,” and they are rich with interesting, and sometimes controversial, information. Erica, you see, comes from what most people would call a highly dysfunctional family system, fathered by a mostly-absent Hispanic father, mothered (occasionally, between bouts with mental illness) by a Chinese-American mother. She and her mother cycle in and out of both poverty-stricken and working class neighborhoods, setting Erica up for what might seem to be a pre-determined future of struggle and failure.

But Brooks chooses to take a different route: he describes how Erica, through the intervention of a counter-cultural high school environment and the loving, though flawed, attention of both of her large, extended families, is able to succeed in ways far beyond most indicators and projected outcomes.

Most intriguing to me in the first of these three chapters were the discussions about “emergent systems” and “Gloomy Prospect” thinking and behavior, the latter often a byproduct of the former. Like our brains, our marriages, our cultures, poverty is an emergent system because the causes and contributors it are many and varied. Trying to pull one causal element out of the mix for some kind of ‘fixing’ is nearly impossible and just about always doomed to failure.

Instead, new thinking is required; the transformation of personalities and experiences by immersion in a completely different system. That system for Erica is the Academy high school she brazenly pushes her way into. Reading about how this system worked its ‘magic’ through their diverse and wholistic approach – offering counseling, medical care, new thinking, long hours, high demand and one-on-one interaction with teachers and coaches – was truly eye-opening. As I read about how and why the founders of this particular school succeeded in changing the ethos of their students, thus dramatically improving their chances for breaking free of the inter-generational cycle of poverty in which they were trapped – I found myself reflecting on my own recent professional past. This story underscored for me the importance of presenting the whole gospel to the cultures within which we live and work. The work of the church should never be restricted to gathering conversion-notches on our belts. Instead, we need to be practicing love and living gospel truth by reaching out to people in all areas of their lives, by seeing people as whole persons.

The themes that emerged from the next two chapters also resonated with a lot of what I have been learning and practicing in my own spiritual journey over the last fifteen to twenty years. These are the ideas (and the reflections they invited) that spoke most clearly to me:

1.) the power of anxiety to change the very structure of our brains (perhaps this is why, “Fear not!” is one of the most frequent imperatives in scripture?)

2.) the remarkable interplay between our conscious and unconscious selves

(we are integrated creatures and God meets us in every part of who we are)

3.) the use of the imagination in helping us to learn healthy habits (the value of dreams, imagined outcomes, hopes)

4. Self-control can be nurtured and strengthened by a whole series of small choices that center on the task at hand

(removing the egotistic self from the center of life)

5.) the primary power of how we see things in the decision making process

(“those with eyes to see…”)

6.) the tremendous impact of the community in which we live on the formation of our individual character

(how much of the story of scripture is centered around this whole idea? the chosen people in the OT, the church in the NT?)

7.) the import of paying attention in developing strong character (almost all contemplative spirituality begins with this truth)

8.) the influence of practice and repetition on the development of talents/skills

(the role of things like scripture memory and regular habits of prayer and study in the spiritual formation process)

9.) the force of positive self-interpretation in determining outcomes

(learning to see ourselves as loved and valued – by God and others – is crucial to growing in faith)

10.) the uniquely human ability and predisposition to teach, to hand on culture, to build “scaffolds that guide future thought.”

(the call in Deuteronomy 6 to teach our children, the entire rabbinic structure into which Jesus moved so readily and his call to us to teach what we have learned)

The least successful part of Brooks’ presentation came near the end of Chapter 9, Culture. He cites the work of Thomas Sowell who argues that cultures are not only intrinsically different, but also differently successful. For me, this argument only holds if we insist on a western view of ‘success.’ Having lived for 2 years in an African nation where none of our markers for success (upward mobility, salary, status) are valued, I had to fight the urge to feel superior to a people whose values were very different from those with which I was most familiar. The people of the southern province of Zambia value community, connection, paying attention to the intricacies of conversation, and are deeply committed to tradition. I would not choose to live there forever nor to absorb their cultural values. But I do hesitate to say that mine are better just because they’re mine. Some of this rang true to me, but a lot of it was troubling. It cuts to the heart of some of the difficulties of the modern missionary movement – where western culture was imported along with the gospel. Thankfully, that has changed a lot over the last 40 years!

By the end of her college career, after eight years of observation and learning in both high school and college, Erica distilled everything into these three life maxims: 1.) Think in networks; (we are all embedded in multiple ones) 2.) Be the glue; (always work in an environment of high trust and do all you can to be a conduit of it.) (3.) Be an Idea-Space Integrator. (standing at the junction of two ideas can be a place for success and connection – fill any existing gaps in information and/or in trust.)

I look forward to learning how Erica implements these maxims in her future life, both professionally and personally. Seeing how this young woman with seemingly few prospects grew into a determined, self-controlled, committed young adult was fascinating. Surely, sparks of all kinds will fly when she and Harold connect!

*The differences between the home ‘cultures’ of my parents were not nearly as dramatic as those of Harold and Erica. But…my father was raised by southerners committed to education, had two parents with middle-class jobs (accountant and school teacher, when she worked before she had children), was catered to, showcased and favored by his mother (to the extent that it made him physically sick for one entire school year), was successful academically and musically. My mother was raised by Canadians from the working class (father a binge alcoholic jack-of-all-trades {butcher/gardener} and a mother in retail sales who didn’t spend much time at home). Education was not a value in her home, although she did attend college for two years – until the money ran out. The counter-culture for my mom was the church her parents dropped her off at each week – it’s where her gifts were affirmed, her primary friendships were formed (many of them lasting 50 years or more) and where she met my dad. The two of them filled the gaps for one another and together, they worked hard to create a happy and healthy home life for me and my brothers. I’m curious to see what Erica and Harold do with their own family, if they have one.

Filed Under: Book Review, Wonderings in the Word, Wonderings in the World

Five Minute Friday: Tender

January 28, 2012 By Diana

Yes, it is Friday once again. Seems like it rolls around a little bit earlier each and every week. Lisa-Jo’s invitation still stands and now about 200 folks are signing in each week with their 5 minute, unscripted, unedited posts on the prompt of the day. Just writing, whether it’s ‘just right’ or not. So, in a minute, I’ll set the timer and see what comes. Try it – you’ll like it!

Prompt this week: TENDER

The sweetest feet on the planet belong to this girl.
Are these the cutest or what??

Go:

She was only about 18 months old,

already talking a blue streak

and often including some of her

newly learned vocabulary

in the ‘project’ of the moment.

That day, she was playing with two of her

favorite ‘dolls’ –

a very old, very dingy Cabbage Patch infant,

and a somewhat larger

orange-haired Zoe doll

(you know, the character from Sesame Street)

which she inexplicably insisted was

really Abby

(another character from that life-and-sanity-saving bit of television history).

We’d taken her in the yard for a walk earlier

that day, in a stroller I found somewhere

for a good price,

and it was still sitting in the living room,

waiting to be scooted out of sight

after Lilly went home.

She immediately commandeered it,

placing her two friends neatly into the

seat, adjusting their clothes a little,

making sure each one was comfortable.

From that day on,

Baby and Zoe were in that stroller

every Wednesday and many Fridays.

The day I am remembering happened
the week following her initial discovery of this grand new addition to

her child-care game.

Her daddy dropped her off, as usual,

and, after helping herself to Poppy’s breakfast,

checking out a few additional toys

in the baskets we keep for her,

she found her way to the stroller,

not aware that I was watching.

Carefully and tenderly,

she bent over one side.

“You okay?” she asked Baby.

Waiting a beat, as if for an answer,

she walked around to the other side,

leaned in again and said,

“You okay?”

Apparently they were both doing fine.

But I was struck by how very early our children
begin to mimic what we do, what we say.

How many times had her parents, her sister,
her other grandparents, we ourselves – how many times had we leaned over her,

carefully and tenderly, and said,

“You okay, Lil? You doin’ okay?”

It’s lovely to see that sometimes,

sometimes,

parents and grandparents get it right!

STOP

I got interrupted by a phone call, so this one probably got about 2 extra minutes (and a few edits here and there, too).

Filed Under: Wonderings in the Word, Wonderings in the World

Looking Long at the Sea

January 27, 2012 By Diana

I paid attention when he spoke.
“Sit and look at the sea,” he said.
“Look a long time.
Look long enough to become
the sea looking back at you.
Then tell me what you see.
I think you’ll like it.”

So I went to the sea.
I sat in the sun,
high on a bluff.
And I looked long.
I looked wide.
I breathed slow,
and I moved slow,
and I was slow.

And here is what I saw.

Islands, off in the distance,
a low layer of fog
pushed up against them,
like the covers
in a bed just left.

Kelp beds, red and brown,
swaying with the tide,
housing life
deep down,
where I cannot see.
I know it’s there,
moving, feeding,
following the rhythm
of the water.

LIGHT,
sprinkled across
the surface of the sea,
light.
Dancing, winking,
blinking, blinding.
I see light.
And I am undone.

Mesmerized by the motion,
caught by the pattern.
One spot, shining bright.
Then two or three more,
then hundreds of them as
the wave reaches its zenith.
See that thread of molten silver
as the water breaks against
the sand!

For just the briefest of moments,
enough for a breath or two,
I know the sea,
I am the sea,
And I see myself as lovely.

Loved.

See for yourself: (and listen, too.)

We’re experiencing a winter heat-wave here on the central coast. It was nearly 80 degrees today, and beautifully clear. Somehow, my parking spot was perfectly situated to see these cascades of moving light as I sat and contemplated the magnificence of the sea. I watched for a little over an hour. I was actually anxious about trying this. Generally, I have a book to read, a lunch to eat, a nap to take when I park at the beach. Trying to imagine sitting and looking for a long stretch was hard to do. The actual doing of it? Divinely wonderful, amazing, restful, moving, sacred. I’ve been told that this experience can be replicated by choosing any natural location that is beautiful to you – your own back yard might work just fine. The point is to sit in contemplation for a long stretch of time – 1 to 2 hours. Finding the time is probably the biggest challenge – but I am now hoping to do this regularly and will make the time somehow.

Filed Under: Photo Essay, Wonderings in the Word, Wonderings in the World

Looking Long at the Sea

January 27, 2012 By Diana

So I went to the sea.
I sat in the sun,
high on a bluff.
And I looked long.
I looked wide.
I breathed slow,
and I moved slow,
and I was slow.

And here is what I saw.

Islands, off in the distance,
a low layer of fog
pushed up against them,
like the covers
in a bed just left.

Kelp beds, red and brown,
swaying with the tide,
housing life
deep down,
where I cannot see.
I know it’s there,
moving, feeding,
following the rhythm
of the water.

LIGHT,
sprinkled across
the surface of the sea,
light.
Dancing, winking,
blinking, blinding.
I see light.
And I am undone.

For just the briefest of moments,
enough for a breath or two,
I know the sea,
I am the sea,
And I see myself as lovely.

Loved.

See for yourself: (and listen, too.)

Filed Under: Photo Essay, Wonderings in the Word, Wonderings in the World

A Grandfather Pastor? I Think So.

January 26, 2012 By Diana

He walks quietly across the lawn,

laden with fallen palm fronds,

speaking softly to the small person who follows in his wake.

She is busy, looking at flowers,

discovering sour grass,

looking for birds.

They are content together,

the two of them drifting slowly towards the driveway.

She squints a little,

facing into the sunshine.

And then the smile breaks and I hear her laugh.

He has asked her a question –

who knows what it is.

And she laughs and says,

“I no know. I no know, Poppy. I NO KNOW.”

Ah, but I do.

I know that this man is a good man,

a faithful one,

and an earnest and committed follower of Jesus.

And he happens to be gifted with children.

He always has been,

especially small ones.

And anytime he’s with a toddler,

or a pre-schooler,

or even an elementary student,

he gives them undivided attention.

He delights in their presence,

their growing intelligence and understanding,

their open-heartedness.

And he lives the gospel when he’s with them.

As I have reflected on Sunday’s sermon,
I have thought a lot about this man.

This good man who happens to be my husband.

We’re in the midst of a series called,

“What Time Is It?”

And each week, the topic for the morning follows

that introductory phrase,

“It’s Time to…,”

finished this week by “…Repent and Go Fishin'”

We were in Mark 1 on Sunday,

that scene where Jesus sees some men fishing and

challenges them to come away

from their nets for a while.

He calls them to repent, to follow him,

and then…

to go fishing –

fishing for people,

not just sea creatures.

They’re in for an adventure, these fishermen,

an adventure that begins with who they are,

and where they are.

And Pastor Jon just nailed it.

There were several lovely points woven through his narrative, but this is the one that stuck with me the most,

the one I’ve been ruminating on as I watch my husband

in this second year of our shared retirement:

Not one of the people that Jesus called to follow him

was a religious ‘professional.’

Every one of them was called

in the context of what they were already doing.

And that’s where the adventure began.

Where it begins for each of us.

Nothing is secular,

everywhere has the potential to be sacred space.

We are all called,

every single one of us.

If we follow after the good news of Jesus,

we are called right where we are.

Every job is a mission field,

every person we meet is a gift of grace,

every word we offer has the potential

to be gospel good news for someone, somewhere.

Here is the takeaway quote for me this week:

“Jesus is not calling us to church work;

Jesus is calling us to follow him in our work,

whatever that may be.”

So, if you’re raising babies and toddlers,

and able to stay at home with them –

there is your good news platform.

If you’re in an office, behind a bank window,

standing in front of a classroom,

driving a cab, rising early to bake bread,

serving food in a restaurant,

or moving into the new rhythms of retirement –

wherever you are,

there is where you are called,

there is where YOU are a pastor.

So I watch my husband pastor our granddaughter,

as he has every one of our children and our grandchildren,

as well as many of the children in every church

we have ever attended.

And I thank God that he has heard the call of Jesus

so clearly;

that he has responded so obediently;

that he is living the good news…

right where he is.

How about you?

Joining with Michelle and with Emily and with Bonnie this Wednesday night:

Filed Under: family, Photo Essay, Sunday Reflections, Wonderings in the Word, Wonderings in the World

A SLO Day: Spiritual Direction + A Tribute to Abbot David

January 25, 2012 By Diana

I am re-posting this one from last January,

in honor of Abbot David Geraerts,

my spiritual director and friend,

who died on Friday morning.

These are some words I wrote to some friends earlier today about my response to receiving this sad news:

My mentor died on Friday. He was 77 years old – only 10 years older than I am –

and he’d battled a number of ailments this past year. But still…I didn’t think he would DIE.

We all die.

I know this in my head.

I even know it in my heart,

as we’ve lost a lot of dear ones in the last 10 years.

Yet each time I get a phone call like the one I got on Friday afternoon, I am bereft. Like part of me has been sliced with a very sharp blade and all that pours out are tears.

I took my usual evening walk on Friday, walking circles around our large driveway parking area. I’ve been learning to pray while I walk this past year – many fewer words, lots more images. But what I found myself doing on Friday was simply saying the name of Jesus, over and over and over again.

And here is why: a friend had posted a very old video on YouTube. A video of the mentor I had just lost. This clip, filmed in 1986, was an interview with Abbot David (who, at that time, led a much larger community in New Mexico) by a nun named Mother Elizabeth. Now may I just add, with a repentant heart and spirit, that if I had seen this video when it was filmed 26 years, I would have either switched it off immediately, or watched it with a sort of gleeful feeling of superiority to those ‘weirdos’ in the habits and collars. I’m ashamed and embarrassed to admit that, but it’s the hard truth.

I watched all 30 minutes of that grainy old video, marveling at the sweetness in David’s face, the kindness of his words and the truth of his life. I met with him monthly for the last three years, receiving spiritual direction in the form of dream interpretation. He was an expert at that and also at encouragement and gentle prayer. In this video, he suggested praying the Jesus prayer (which has been a favorite prayer practice of mine for about ten years) or just simply saying the name of Jesus over and over for 20 or 30 minutes. I have discovered that following Abbot David’s advice is a very helpful thing. (I wrote a post about the benefits of one piece of that advice at the end of January.)

So on that first afternoon after this dear man’s death, that’s what I did when I walked. I cannot put into words how intensely moving it was for me, in these initial hours of grief, to just say the Name over and over and over again. And I wept my way through a 45 minute time of walking, praying, remembering, celebrating. I will never again feel the dear Abbot’s fingers make the sign of the cross on my bent forehead at the end of our hour together. I will not be blessed by his hand when I receive my certificate in spiritual direction next August. I will not engage with him in friendly, loving conversation.

And that is a huge, huge loss to me.

And to so many.

Thank you Abbot David Geraets for your loving commitment to Jesus, for your years of kindness, wisdom and gentle correction, for your heart as big as the sky above the ranch you and the brothers live(d) in out in the back country of San Luis Obispo.

I will be grateful for your presence in my life during these pivotal years in mine until the day I die.

And then I will hug you fiercely.

SLO stands for San Luis Obispo, a town 115 miles north of my home.

This was our late-lunch view today, as we traveled home again.

One day each month,

I take a road trip.

This particular road trip is not like

the other ones I take.

I’m not going to take care of my mother.

I’m not going to enjoy my children and my grandchildren.

I’m not going on vacation.

Strike that.

I am going on a vacation, of sorts.

I am vacating the usual rhythm of my days

to embrace a different one.

And I find that I am hungry for re-creation as I travel.

I am eager to be addressed as…

me.

Not as wife/mother/grandmother/daughter/

pastor/teacher/friend.

Just me.

Child of God.

Stumbling follower of Jesus.

Seeker after wisdom.

And this is where I go.

A strange looking monastery,

one that used to be the ‘dream house’

of a retired dentist,

but was bought by some monks

from New Mexico to be their community home.

The monastery is the long white,

red-tiled house to the left in this shot.

To the right of the drive, is the chapel & bookshop

with a couple of additional bedrooms.

To the left of the drive, below the monastery itself,

is the home of Connie, the oblate who lives on the premises

and assists the brothers.

There are only five or six of them now,

praying the hours,

assisting the people of a dozen parishes

with healing prayer, special masses and spiritual direction.

This is where I meet my spiritual director every month.

The sign says it all:

And this is the view from that house,

in the springtime,

when all the hills are green and the sky is blue.

And this is the man I meet with in that house:

Abbott David.

Spiritual Father to this small band,

and an acclaimed leader in the

charismatic renewal movement

of the Roman Catholic Church.

He is a remarkable man, gifted and humble.

Did I ever tell you how we met?

Now, that’s a great story.

“Once upon a time, there was a tired pastor,

full to overflowing with the needs of her congregation,

the struggles in her family.

She had tried direction a couple of times,

with mixed results.

“Not a good fit,” was the diagnosis,

whatever that means.

For her, it felt like failure.

And she is not a fan of failure.

So she began to pray about it,

to search for someone.

She even went online, used Google

and found a monastery website.

Not a fancy, bells-and-whistles kind of place,

that website.

And the monastery featured there was over 100 miles away.

But something caught her eye,

her spirit.

And email responses were invited.

So she sent off a note.

“Is there anyone there interested and available

to offer direction to a tired

female pastor,

one who needs listening ears,

wise words,

some guidance along the way?”

That was in July of 2007.

Nothing came back.

Sigh.

So, she got on with life,

a life that was feeling a bit overwhelming

about then.

And she forgot all about that note.

One early morning, in September of the following year,

FOURTEEN MONTHS

after her initial inquiry,

her cell phone rang.

Puzzled at the early hour, she picked it up.

“Abbott David here,” a strong, friendly voice declared.

“You wrote about spiritual direction?”

And she burst into laughter.

“Yes,” she said. “I did. Over a year ago!“

“Really?” came the response.

“Because I just received this yesterday.

Would you like to meet with me and see if this

might be what you’re looking for?”

They set a date for one week later,

she drove up the 101, took the country road out to

his place and sat,

absolutely fascinated and astounded as he told

her his story.

Raised on a farm in Wisconsin,

paid his way through college by playing

trumpet in a dance band,

became a priest,

sent by his order to

study in Rome,

multi-lingual,

specialist in Jungian psychology

and dream analysis.

“If you work with me, you’ll keep a dream journal.

And that’s what we’ll talk through each month.”

She was hooked – line, sinker, bobble, lure –

the whole kit and caboodle.

“Thank you, Jesus,” she cried to the heavens as she headed south again

at the end of the hour.

Before their next visit,

there was a tragic death in her immediate family.

And before the following visit,

there was a ferocious wildfire in her community,

stripping lifetime memories from many in her congregation.

Within the first year, she herself landed in the hospital, was forced to make a major shift in her own training

program to become a director herself,

and by the second year, she was enrolled in the Abbott’s school for spiritual direction certification.

Not sure that she lived happily ever after,

but deeper ever after? That would be a big ‘yes.'”

Now I would call that whole tale

a God-thing.

My friend Jennifer might call it “God-Bumps” or a “God-Incidence.”

All I can tell you is that my entire spiritual journey

took a decisive turn upward from the moment

I heard that voice on the phone:

“Abbot David here. You wrote….?”

Abbott David leading mass in the monastery chapel.

Today, I had only one dream for the month.

Of my own, that is.

I also shared a tricky one from someone I am directing.

Somehow, this kind, brilliant man

(who has been seriously ill this year)

wove those two together, asked me some penetrating

questions, and helped me think about myself

in some new ways.

“You’ve spent your whole life relying on your left brain, Diana, your intellect.

It’s time to learn to trust your gut, your intuition.

You need to spend long stretches of time just sitting and looking at the ocean.

Do that long enough so that eventually, you find yourself on the other side of the picture – you’ll be the ocean, looking back at you.

And take a look at what you see when that happens.

I think you’ll like what you find.

Be still long enough to let the beauty in,

to let God in,

to shift inside from reason to intuition.

Learn to trust that,

to know that God meets you there, too.

This is the gift of aging, Diana.

There is gift in all of life.”

I sure hope he’s right.

I’m counting on it.

Stopping at Costco on our way home this evening,

I looked up from loading the bags into the back of the car and saw this.

My gut said, “Grab that camera, even if it is the little one,

even if the picture won’t be sharp.”

So I did.

The gift of the present moment.

Right brain all the way.

Joining with Jennifer and her “God-Bumps” meme. And with Ann and Jen, too.

Filed Under: Photo Essay, Spiritual Direction, Sunday Reflections, Wonderings in the Word, Wonderings in the World

God Has GOT to Have a Sense of Humor

January 20, 2012 By Diana

Remember that trip we took?

The one on the winding road? Highway One?

You remember. I’m sure you do –

the one with views like this one?

Sun on the water, rocks and sand and surf?

Well, take a closer look at those rocks.

Especially that big one right in the middle of this picture.

Hey, wait a second!

That ain’t no rock.

In fact, it’s a seal.

A very particular kind of seal,

that hauls out on a very particular beach

called Piedras Blancas.

And you can park-and-view near this very particular beach.

And let me tell you, if you’ve ever wondered if there is

weird wonderfulness in this world,

this is the viewpoint where every single suspicion is confirmed.

These are elephant seals.

The males can weigh up to 8,800 pounds

and live for 20 years.

Their name comes from that strangely-shaped proboscis –

and their immense size.

And they are amazing to watch.

They spend 80% of their time in the water, diving deeply, eating a whole lot.

They haul out to breed,

to birth,

to rest.

And we get to watch it all.

These mamas are very attentive – for about five months.

Then they waddle off to swim away and the pups are on their own. All of them that survive that first year find their back to their birthing beach again and again.