I had an inspiring all-day class at the Smithsonian last Saturday--A Day at the Louvre. When I emerged at 4:15, I was delighted to discover not only a beautiful summery day in the mid-60s, but that, now two months passed the winter solstice, the days are noticeably longer. After being in a cavelike classroom all day, I relished the warmth of the sun on my face, and rather than ducking into the Metro station that was feet away, I decided to walk 20 minutes to a more distance station to enjoy the day and movement.
In the short duration of a 15-minute train ride, by the time I emerged from the subway, I was feeling really tired and a definite tickle had developed at the back of my throat. Determined not to let the feather at the back of my throat spoil this splendid day, I nearly sprinted toward the pharmacy and grocery to run my errands.
But my determination was thwarted. With every step, my feet became heavier until, as I walked into my doorway, my shoes felt like I was dragging lead. I tossed perishables into the refrigerator, put on my jammies, got a hot pack, and curled up on the sofa, where I vegged until my eyelids, now equally heavy, would no longer stay open.
Mid-evening I awakened, and pushed into the kitchen to mark my name on freezer containers, which held my contribution to parish lunch. I gathered books for a lecture the next day. I kept pushing. I was not about to let something like an upper respiratory irritation keep me from my plans.
I should know by now, but the will of my ego is intransigent. If I push hard enough, I can will my way through anything, I seem to believe. I think that may have been more true at some point, but as I focus more on spirit, my inner knowing will no longer allow it.
I coughed a lot in the night as the congestion in my chest grew thicker. Yet, I still wouldn't surrender.
Finally, at 7 on Sunday morning, I gave it up. I emailed a woman in my building who attends the same church to take my contribution and the pastor to let him know she would bring my goodies.
I crawled back in bed and slept for what totalled 13 hours. (You think my body was trying to tell me something?) I moved from bed to the couch, watched something on TV, and passed out for a few more hours. Repeat the pattern.
Monday morning the ego rears its head yet again, and I push through to the office where I cough, am cranky, and feel miserable all day. At 4, I tell my boss that, if I can get out of here, I will go home early. I couldn't get people out of my office, phone and email to make that happen. Finally at 5:15, I left. Finally! I went home and slept another 36 hours or so.
Why is it so hard for me to admit that I am a mere mortal? My body gets tired and stressed, and my compromised immune system fails me. Through the ancient miracles of surrender and sleep, I feel great today, but I really wonder why it is that I have to fight this up and down thing.
Most of my life my commitment to health and fitness have been a testament to my intention to create wellness in my life. Even my struggles with sugar are against amounts miniscule compared to the general population. Am I so hard-headed and strong-willed that I cannot seem to listen to my body when it speaks? Or, perhaps even worse, am I so hard-headed and strong-willed that I will not listen when God speaks to me through my body?
I am very busy much of the time, and perhaps the only way that God can get my attention is to knock me off my feet. OK. I get it. I listened. It is Lent: my very work is supposed to be prayer, meditation, and reflection. So, if it takes a respiratory infection, and it would seem it does, I finally listened. Ahh!
Showing posts with label spiritual surrender. Show all posts
Showing posts with label spiritual surrender. Show all posts
Thursday, February 25, 2016
Thursday, July 24, 2014
The Spiritual Sweet Spot
I find it interesting how sometimes variations in a theme repeat throughout the day. Today the theme was about being comfortable with not knowing. In a coaching session, an executive wrestled with planning for five years from now in a world so dynamic that no one could really know what that world would be like.
Later in the day I met with another executive, who knew his organization needed to change, but how it needed to change was unclear.
Over dinner before my tango class I received an email from a friend, who related a tumultuous summer during which she has continually had changes thrown on her path over which she's had no control... and all have left her hanging without answers. I found myself responding, "Ah! The spiritual sweet spot!" I've written a lot about not-knowing "as a way of life," but I don't believe I've ever used that term. Yet, it seemed just right.
I googled "the sweet spot," and it said the sweet spot is "the point or area on a bat, club, or racket at which it makes the most effective contact with the ball." It added that the sweet spot was "an optimum point or combination of factors or qualities." Just the right term. The spiritual sweet spot is that point in our relationship with All That Is where we make most effective contact--an optimum point or combinations of factors to allow us to really connect with God.
My intention in my comment was that most traditions have some dimension of "God," which is mystery. The times when I feel closest to God are the moments during which I am conscious that what happens is really out of my hands, so I might as well surrender to divine wisdom rather than attempting to control the uncontrollable. To be "the sweet spot," I believe we really must be conscious that we are out of control but be both available and vulnerable to divine inspiration.
When I've written about "not-knowing as a way of life," my message has been that we choose to embrace life from a place of knowing that we never really know, so we allow ourselves to always be available and vulnerable to divine inspiration. It is about consciously holding the intention to allow ourselves to be guided--to live in sweet surrender.
I related yesterday that this evening I would walk to my dance class, take the class, and then perhaps write this post on my smartphone on the way home on the train. As I walked from class to the Metro station, I puzzled over what to write. I was tired, and nothing seemed to be there. Quite appropriately, the moment I sat down and took out my phone, the thought of "the spiritual sweet spot" came to me. That is often how these posts happen. I just sit in "receive mode," and something always comes. So, this article on the "spiritual sweet spot," was born from the spiritual sweet spot. What could be truer?
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Later in the day I met with another executive, who knew his organization needed to change, but how it needed to change was unclear.
Over dinner before my tango class I received an email from a friend, who related a tumultuous summer during which she has continually had changes thrown on her path over which she's had no control... and all have left her hanging without answers. I found myself responding, "Ah! The spiritual sweet spot!" I've written a lot about not-knowing "as a way of life," but I don't believe I've ever used that term. Yet, it seemed just right.
I googled "the sweet spot," and it said the sweet spot is "the point or area on a bat, club, or racket at which it makes the most effective contact with the ball." It added that the sweet spot was "an optimum point or combination of factors or qualities." Just the right term. The spiritual sweet spot is that point in our relationship with All That Is where we make most effective contact--an optimum point or combinations of factors to allow us to really connect with God.
My intention in my comment was that most traditions have some dimension of "God," which is mystery. The times when I feel closest to God are the moments during which I am conscious that what happens is really out of my hands, so I might as well surrender to divine wisdom rather than attempting to control the uncontrollable. To be "the sweet spot," I believe we really must be conscious that we are out of control but be both available and vulnerable to divine inspiration.
When I've written about "not-knowing as a way of life," my message has been that we choose to embrace life from a place of knowing that we never really know, so we allow ourselves to always be available and vulnerable to divine inspiration. It is about consciously holding the intention to allow ourselves to be guided--to live in sweet surrender.
I related yesterday that this evening I would walk to my dance class, take the class, and then perhaps write this post on my smartphone on the way home on the train. As I walked from class to the Metro station, I puzzled over what to write. I was tired, and nothing seemed to be there. Quite appropriately, the moment I sat down and took out my phone, the thought of "the spiritual sweet spot" came to me. That is often how these posts happen. I just sit in "receive mode," and something always comes. So, this article on the "spiritual sweet spot," was born from the spiritual sweet spot. What could be truer?
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Thursday, January 2, 2014
Wonder
Nothing touches the wonder of Nature for me. Some even believe Nature is God. I am certain that I cannot distinguish the two. There are times when that wonder takes my breath away. This evening is one of those times: I have felt like I was worshipping at the altar of the park behind my home.
Just as I was coming out of the Metro this evening, the first flakes of what was predicted to be a light snow were beginning to fall. By the time I made dinner and had eaten it, the park behind my apartment had been transformed into a winter wonderland. I stepped out on my balcony to get a better look, and millions of unique flakes had woven lacy doilies on all of the trees. I could hear the rushing of the creek below and leaned out to feel the light cool splashes as flakes hit my hand and face.
I am not much of a photographer, but I grabbed my iPhone to attempt a picture. Instead of capturing the beauty of the snow-covered trees, the camera captured the falling snow, making streaks like shooting stars.
I've looked out several times since my first breath-taking view. Each time the wonder engenders a sense of humility in me. Whether God is Nature or God created Nature seems moot to me. That millions and millions of snowflakes could each have been created uniquely and woven together in such a perfect tapestry leaves me wondering what God has in mind for me.
I have heard a myth, which I believe to be from the Jewish tradition, that for every single blade of grass, there are 1,000 angels, encouraging the grass to "Grow! Grow!" That at times I either can't hear, won't hear, or just plain forget to listen seems small of me. If God who could send such support to a blade of grass and create such a beautiful landscape in what felt like a blink of the eye, I can only ask, what is God trying to do for me, and why do I resist?
Spiritual surrender is what I like to think of as getting my ego out of the way and letting God be God. Spiritual surrender is not giving up. Surrounded by the wonder of Nature this evening, I feel personally invited to let God be God--to allow God to do for me what is done for blades of grass, lilies of the field, and trees in the snow.
Lean-in was voted best new word for 2013. It implies that when there is resistance to push through it. I resist spiritual surrender, and I believe that it is now time to lean-in to my resistance, allowing God to grace me as part of Nature's creation.
Just as I was coming out of the Metro this evening, the first flakes of what was predicted to be a light snow were beginning to fall. By the time I made dinner and had eaten it, the park behind my apartment had been transformed into a winter wonderland. I stepped out on my balcony to get a better look, and millions of unique flakes had woven lacy doilies on all of the trees. I could hear the rushing of the creek below and leaned out to feel the light cool splashes as flakes hit my hand and face.
I am not much of a photographer, but I grabbed my iPhone to attempt a picture. Instead of capturing the beauty of the snow-covered trees, the camera captured the falling snow, making streaks like shooting stars.
I've looked out several times since my first breath-taking view. Each time the wonder engenders a sense of humility in me. Whether God is Nature or God created Nature seems moot to me. That millions and millions of snowflakes could each have been created uniquely and woven together in such a perfect tapestry leaves me wondering what God has in mind for me.
I have heard a myth, which I believe to be from the Jewish tradition, that for every single blade of grass, there are 1,000 angels, encouraging the grass to "Grow! Grow!" That at times I either can't hear, won't hear, or just plain forget to listen seems small of me. If God who could send such support to a blade of grass and create such a beautiful landscape in what felt like a blink of the eye, I can only ask, what is God trying to do for me, and why do I resist?
Spiritual surrender is what I like to think of as getting my ego out of the way and letting God be God. Spiritual surrender is not giving up. Surrounded by the wonder of Nature this evening, I feel personally invited to let God be God--to allow God to do for me what is done for blades of grass, lilies of the field, and trees in the snow.
Lean-in was voted best new word for 2013. It implies that when there is resistance to push through it. I resist spiritual surrender, and I believe that it is now time to lean-in to my resistance, allowing God to grace me as part of Nature's creation.
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
Feeling Our Prayers
Prayer--communion with God. Ahh! Just being with those words makes my heart "vibrate" with warmth. Prayer is a two-way communication with the divine, but deeper and more consuming of our total presence.
It is not always so. As children, we spilled out the words, "God is great. God is good. And we thank him for our food," by rote and quickly at that, lest the food get cold in the few seconds they took.
And, there is the "Lord's Prayer," which many of us have said so many times that we don't even think about the words, much less feel them. When we pray the Lord's Prayer together in church, more often than not, if seems to me as if the congregation is racing through the words without even pausing for a comma much less to put feeling in them.
Several years ago, I studied the "Lord's Prayer" in Aramaic, the original language of the prayer. Since then, at least once each day, I say the prayer in Aramaic. When I first started, the prayer was slow and thoughtful, as I remembered the richness and complexity of the words in the original language. Sadly, the Aramaic words now spill out as thoughtlessly as the English version does most of the time.
After making my blog post last night, I felt my prayers. Why on one particular night did I feel my prayers? Perhaps it was the intensity of the visits to the war memorials that slowed me down or maybe it was the realization of the multi-generational pain of which I've been a part because of those wars. Whatever the reason, I had really felt the presence of the divine in my heart yesterday. As I prayed, I felt my prayers. It is a profound experience to really feel prayer.
The words were really irrelevant. In my heart, I could feel love, ebbing and flowing with my breathing. I actually felt bringing more love into the world so there would be less pain, loss, and grief. Today I've felt love, warmth and mercy being wrapped around me like a warm blanket on this cold and windy night. I feel the relaxation that comes with spiritual surrender. I will feel grateful as I write my gratitude journal, sending prayers of thanks. I will feel delight as I express gratitude that I can wiggle my fingers and toes. I will feel the reality of my affirmations as I say them.
I am quite confident that this is how we are in communion with God, the divine, all there is, or whatever term you prefer. This is how we say to God, this is what I intend to receive into my life. How often though I have prayed out of fear or anger, and fear and anger were the messages that I communed to God. Just thinking about it breaks my heart, but in its breaking open, I also send a prayer. Our feelings are the messages we send to God. If fear and anger are prayers, then so much more are joy, peace, and love prayers.
I am not sure if God even hears those rote prayers; of course, I am not sure that God doesn't hear them either. However, I am certain that when we are present to what we are feeling, we can be intentional about our prayers. A happy thought can be a prayer. A smile may also be a prayer. Delight is most certainly a prayer. Playing the Grocery Store Game can be prayer. Each moment we pray. Consciousness allows us to decide what we will pray and then really be present to the prayer.
It is not always so. As children, we spilled out the words, "God is great. God is good. And we thank him for our food," by rote and quickly at that, lest the food get cold in the few seconds they took.
And, there is the "Lord's Prayer," which many of us have said so many times that we don't even think about the words, much less feel them. When we pray the Lord's Prayer together in church, more often than not, if seems to me as if the congregation is racing through the words without even pausing for a comma much less to put feeling in them.
Several years ago, I studied the "Lord's Prayer" in Aramaic, the original language of the prayer. Since then, at least once each day, I say the prayer in Aramaic. When I first started, the prayer was slow and thoughtful, as I remembered the richness and complexity of the words in the original language. Sadly, the Aramaic words now spill out as thoughtlessly as the English version does most of the time.
After making my blog post last night, I felt my prayers. Why on one particular night did I feel my prayers? Perhaps it was the intensity of the visits to the war memorials that slowed me down or maybe it was the realization of the multi-generational pain of which I've been a part because of those wars. Whatever the reason, I had really felt the presence of the divine in my heart yesterday. As I prayed, I felt my prayers. It is a profound experience to really feel prayer.
The words were really irrelevant. In my heart, I could feel love, ebbing and flowing with my breathing. I actually felt bringing more love into the world so there would be less pain, loss, and grief. Today I've felt love, warmth and mercy being wrapped around me like a warm blanket on this cold and windy night. I feel the relaxation that comes with spiritual surrender. I will feel grateful as I write my gratitude journal, sending prayers of thanks. I will feel delight as I express gratitude that I can wiggle my fingers and toes. I will feel the reality of my affirmations as I say them.
I am quite confident that this is how we are in communion with God, the divine, all there is, or whatever term you prefer. This is how we say to God, this is what I intend to receive into my life. How often though I have prayed out of fear or anger, and fear and anger were the messages that I communed to God. Just thinking about it breaks my heart, but in its breaking open, I also send a prayer. Our feelings are the messages we send to God. If fear and anger are prayers, then so much more are joy, peace, and love prayers.
I am not sure if God even hears those rote prayers; of course, I am not sure that God doesn't hear them either. However, I am certain that when we are present to what we are feeling, we can be intentional about our prayers. A happy thought can be a prayer. A smile may also be a prayer. Delight is most certainly a prayer. Playing the Grocery Store Game can be prayer. Each moment we pray. Consciousness allows us to decide what we will pray and then really be present to the prayer.
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