Full Circle

I am elated. Something has occurred that I had never really thought about, but when it happened, it was powerful. I have now walked into the home of one of my children (of course, I do mean Michayla) and found a book on their shelves with which I was not familiar and yet was drawn to and I am now reading and gaining from this novel. I cannot tell you how much I love having this happen. I am not even certain that I can explain why it means so much, but it makes me feel as though I got through and taught her something.

The book I am referencing is titled "The Birchbark House" by Louise Erdrich. I have not finished it yet and I may feel differently when I do because I do not think that it is going to end well, but I am enjoying the journey. There have been a number of passages that I really appreciated but there was one in particular that gave me chills. It describes so perfectly exactly how I feel when I am having a moment of profound discovery or a spiritual epiphany. Here is the passage:

"Yes, there was something about what had happened that made Omakayas very quiet. As she worked, she began to get all empty and peculiar and faint inside. A thought was coming. A voice approached. This happened to her sometimes. A dizzy feeling would pass over her. If she attended to it closely, once it was gone she would know something a little extra, as though she'd overheard two spirits talking."

Young Omakayas then has a powerful spiritual moment in her life. I loved the way the author described that feeling that comes when the spirit of learning or discovery is so real it is nearly an entity.

And now...I cannot wait until the day that I can discuss this novel with Michayla. I am missing her so intensely right now even as I find myself growing daily more proud of her and all that she has and is accomplishing.

The way I see it

Today I posted a quote from Lucille Ball on my Facebook wall. It said, "Love yourself first and everything else falls into line. You really have to love yourself to get anything done in this world." I stated that I was not certain that I agreed with this idea and invited discussion. Well...I certainly got what I asked for, and more. But there was one comment in particular that caused me to think that perhaps it is time that I said my piece on a certain passage of scripture. (Okay, I have said it before, but I need to say it again.)

In Mark 12:30-31 we read, 30)And thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind, and with all thy strength: this is the first commandment. 31)And the second is like, namely this, Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself. There is none other commandment greater than these.

I have always been told that this second part means that I am to love my neighbor as I love myself. But from a time since I was quite young I have read it differently. To me, when I read this first scripture, we are being told to love Him with everything we have got and then we are told that the second is like unto the first. So...in my mind that translates to say that I need to love my neighbor as myself. As me. I need to love my neighbor as only Cynthia can love them, with my particular gifts, talents, and abilities. I need not love them in any other way but the unique way that God gave me to love. Too many times we try to love our neighbor as someone else, as a facade, as we think we should be or as someone tells us we must be and we do not meet the measure of love for which we are capable. In my way of thinking, this means I must know myself, but not necessarily have a huge pile of self love. And I must know myself in conjunction with the first scripture, through God.

I struggle to love myself. But I do not struggle to love others. And the more that I am loving others, the easier it is to be less harsh with myself. So I am going to continue to read this scripture the way it makes sense to me and keep trying to be the most loving self that I can be, and hope that this is enough.

The voice of God

I have spoken many times of the fact that I hear God's voice in the pounding of the surf. But I sense something more in this time at the beach. It is the roar of the ocean, that roar that is ever present and when there is that momentary lull in the pounding of the surf, there is still that roar. That is a constant and it is powerful and yet still all that the same time. It is less of a noise and more of a presence that one feels more than one hears. It simply IS. THAT is what I really loved in what I have felt at this time at the beach. As I stood there this morning, my "special" scriptures suddenly washed over me and filled my mind. The scriptures in the last few chapters of Job, beginning with chapter 37 all began to dance through my brain. It was glorious. It was as though I was hearing the voice of the deep speak scripture to me. And as those scriptures began to make their way through my head, one stuck, Job 41:31, "He maketh the deep to boil like a pot: he maketh the sea like a pot of ointment." And then He offered me the gift of truth that I really needed, desperately needed. All things, through God, can be a salve. All things can be an ointment of healing and power. The sea is that for me. I am healed of some basic ills from my time here. I cannot have this place all the time, but there is an entire earth and creation that contain His voice and I need to just use the holy spirit to make certain that I am hearing, or feeling that roar in whatever part of creation I am currently standing in. I know that it is available. It is up to me to hear/feel it.

Finally, I can explain it!

Okay. Deep breath. I am going to admit something here that will upset some of, perhaps many, of my literary friends. But here goes...I struggle with "Pride and Prejudice". There, I said it. I have not spoken up about this because frankly I could never quite put my finger on just why it bothers me. Well...today I was reading a book that my mom gave me and told me I simply had to read so that we could discuss it. Now this is a difficulty in the relationship between my mother and myself, we do not read the same things and so she knows that to ask me to read something that she has read is kind of a tough thing. As many of you know, I have a list an eternity long of what I hope to read someday and I hate bumping anything off that list! But she pleaded and she had already dropped the book in the tub so it was pre-soaked, which seemed a good choice to bring to the beach, so I am reading "One True Thing" by Anna Quindlen, at my mother's request. And then, today, I came to a passage where the main character's mother is explaining why she has an issue with Jane Austen and the breath left my body. This was exactly what I had been trying to formulate in my brain for years. Here is the passage, an exchange between the main character Ellen and her mother.

Mother: "I remember this book. I was reading it when I met your father. I remember admiring it but being a little put off by it, too, because it does that cheap thing that people do, it makes the sister who is sweet and domestic and good a second fiddle to the one who is smart and outspoken. Jane and Elizabeth. I remember them now. It didn't seem fair to me, that Jane was so good and yet Elizabeth is the one who is admired."

Ellen: "I suppose that's Austen fighting back. She was that kind of woman and she knew that it was the sweet and good girl who was esteemed in society, not the one like Elizabeth who speaks out."

Mother: "But Jane Austen should have known better than to make women into that kind of either-or thing..."

Ellen: "Do you really think she does that?"

Mother: "Yes, I do. It happened in another book, too. Little Women, there was the sister who was the writer, and the one who had babies."

Ellen: "Jo and Meg."

Mother: "It's all the same. Women writers of all people should know better than to pigeonhole women, put them in little groups, the smart one, the sweet one. Women professors at the college do it too."

Ellen: "Perhaps Austen just meant them as prototypes."

Mother: "No, they're real enough, both of them, Jane and Elizabeth. Jane admires Elizabeth, and Elizabeth admires herself."

Ellen: "Not true, Elizabeth admires Jane plenty."

Mother: "Really? Where? When you are reading it this time through pay attention to that, show me where, tell me if you still believe it when the book is done. I remember liking Pride and Prejudice, only wishing that it could be told from Jane's point of view which you and your father would say would make for a very dull book."

WOW! The mother's thoughts hit it right on the head for me. The mother was saying these things because she was a "Jane" through and through, who had been dismissed by both her husband and her daughter because of her "Janeness", just as Elizabeth does dismiss Jane in the book. I am a mix of Elizabeth and Jane and I want both sides of me and all different women to be appreciated and allowed to express themselves fully and not be deemed second class, no matter their lifestyle choice. I don't want any woman to ever be second fiddle.

I realize that there are few who would agree with me, but it is nice to come out and admit how I feel and the wish I have that this book and others (not necessarily Little Women, I think more balance is offered there, though it is still slanted) would give more balanced weight to every women's choice, even if it might be the conventional choice or the choice society dictates. Jane was happy to be a sweet and domestic creature and there is nothing wrong with that happiness.

Resources

I am very blessed. With the travel issues I experienced on my flights to and from England and a couple of other situations that have arisen this week, I realize just how many resources I have at my disposal. Yes, a lot of this is due to being blessed. But a great deal of that has to do with hard work and good choices. Karl is the master of taking care to watch pennies and he is also the king of hard work. He balances this lazy soul well! Because of the work we did early in our marriage and family, we have opportunities and resources now that are often a true godsend. The more I pondered this the other day when I found that I had to fall back on some little utilized, but still available, resources the more I realized that it really is true that the harder you work and the more resources you build, the more it snowballs and the more become available. I know that you are likely all saying "Duh" right now, but this was a real revelation to me. I am now grateful for the hard work and sacrifice that we have made through the years that now allow us to have resources for both ourselves and to offer to others. In fact, I am exceedingly grateful.

Generational memories

I came home over these past couple of weeks. There is no other way to describe it. Even Cardiff had a sense of this, even if that was not necessarily a positive thing. I have always toyed with the idea of genetic memory being carried down somehow through the brains of our ancestors into our brains, but now I believe. And I am grateful. It is a powerful sense of wholeness to come to a place where you have never been and feel as though you belong.

And when you consider the vast amount of generations that have gone before this generation that walks the earth now, it is stunning to consider what memories you may carry forward in your brain. I think that this is why we are here now. I do not believe that this is an accident. With memories comes connection and I believe that we have the opportunity to be more connected to the earth and its places than any people who have ever lived. We have been blessed to love places and peoples and cultures on a level that should make us want to have peace and be connected. And we should feel passionate about this, so many have gone before to open up this gift to you. So...what are you going to do about it? What are you going to do to learn to recognize your connection to the past people and places and then what are you going to do to work to preserve what is important and needs to be carried beyond you?

I know that when I sat and wrote and wrote and wrote in that spooky churchyard the other night, I came to know part of what I need to do. I challenge others to seek out the places of memory for their brain and also set goals to make a difference for that place or people. Let me know your stories of trying this challenge, please.

Theatre is the correct spelling

I just had to title this blog post with that smarmy title because I feel strongly about the spelling of this word. And I am in England so there.

I am ever so grateful that we took this extra day in Stratford Upon Avon (I love that name). It was a good day. It was a day of feeling more connected to things that I love and that have truly come to define me. I got a message from a friend back in Conifer about a new theatre that they are putting together for the youth of our community and the help they need to pull the set together in time for their imminent opening. In her email plea for help she mentioned the good she has seen for her son Ben during his work in the theatre. This got me to thinking (as if I have not done enough of that the past few days) and I am so grateful for the theatre in my life. I tried to think of what I would be if I had not discovered the theatre at a relatively young age. I was stunned at the fear that filled my entire being at the mere thought of not having the theatre as part of my foundation. Wow. I am so tied to this medium. I owe so much of what I am and what I believe and what I know to the theatre itself and to the works created for the stage. Of course, Shakespeare is such a deep part of this, he not only is part of the theatre, he gave me a love, appreciation, and understanding of words that give my life such meaning and wealth. Rich. That is the word that comes to mind. My life would still have purpose and I would still have belief and many other blessings if I did not have the theatre, but I would not have the depth of richness that fills my soul and gives me wings. And makes me want to inspire others to find their wings as well.

At the core of this all, is still Shakespeare. I know that there are many thoughts and theories about him and his works and whether or not he even wrote the blasted plays and such but I don't care. I am a purist and I am not sorry to be so. I have studied the theories, tasted them and they are not enough to sway me. And being in this place and seeing Richard II performed as part of the RSC has only cemented it all for me. This has been the experience of a lifetime and I am so very blessed to have been given the opportunity to discover Shakespeare while in my youth and to grow up with his words ringing in my ears and heart. And to offer a love of him to one of my children. Oh how I am missing Michayla while I am on this trip. She would have loved this so much. And tonight, I had the perfect spooky set up in the lonely church yard cemetery that she would have eaten up on every level. I look forward to the day when I can return here with her and offer this all to her. She will feel it as deeply as I do.

As we took a boat trip up the Avon today and came up on the Trinity church it occurred to me that when Shakespeare demanded that he be buried so deeply beneath the altar with his curse resting on the slab that covered his body he was feeling great insecurities. He was concerned about being just tossed out with the rubbish, in the bonfire, like everybody else. He became so real to me in that moment. He was the greatest worker of words who ever lived and he still lived in fear of being forgotten. He was the greatest worker of words who ever lived but he was still a man. He was still sometimes a frightened little boy. He just knew how to express his fears better than most. We all have a way that is ours to express ourselves. A way better than most. We all need to make the most of it. That is what hit me at the end of the day as I sat meditating on a bench under the spire of the Trinity and a full autumn moon with mice rustling through the leaves at my feet and a spider making her web in the bench arm beside me and a wind moaning low in the trees and the doves cooing softly from their perch on the church eaves. I have a voice. I have a way that God wants me to express myself and bring aid and comfort to the few that he puts in my path. I also have the strength to do what God has and will ask of me. And so do you.

It's the little things

Today I walked where Shakespeare walked. I was in his home, I learned about how he lived. I would never have wanted to have lived in that time but I am grateful to be able to see where he was born and lived and learned and died. Although I am a wimp and could never have lived without the comforts that I know today, there is one thing that I wish. As I stood in the gardens where Shakespeare's last house once stood (and should still be standing, but some people are beyond idiots) I found myself wishing that I could be back in his time, just for a few moments so that I could experience the world without the noise that we know today. We are constantly humming and I would love to hear the true stillness that could only be experienced in a time before cars and planes and the hum of electric power. I would love to hear that quiet. But here I am, in his place, where he walked and privileged to witness one of the works of his hands performed around a couple of corners from where he was born. I was called a pilgrim by one of the tour guides we encountered today and that was interesting to roll around in my head. This next stage of my England adventure is rapidly becoming about words. I know that I have written about words many times before but, what can I say, words are what make life worth living.

I think that in many ways it will be the little things that I carry away from this trip that will carry me and enrich my life and the life of my family. The one thing that has been the most fun for me is the origins of words that I have used all of my life but never understood until I saw them in context.

Here is a list of some of the words/phrases that have been most exciting for me to come to an understanding of while on this trip.

Crestfallen - I have read and used this word all of my life, I have even read it in the play Richard II but until I saw it used on stage, I did not realize what it meant. When the loser of a duel of lances falls from his horse, his crest has fallen. He is crestfallen. Cool, huh?

Good night, sleep tight - I have said this to my children a million times over the years but I now know that to sleep tight is to sleep with the ropes of one's beds pulled taut. And if those ropes go slack during the night, a bad night's sleep is inevitable.

Bonfire - Every twenty years, back in the day, they would dig up the cemeteries and burn the bones of the old dead to make room for the newer dead. This was called a "bone fire", it has now become the word bonfire that we use today.

Raining cats and dogs - back in the day, they would place small dogs (terriers) and cats up on the thatch of a house as a way to keep the critter population down. But thatch is slick. Very slick. So when the rain began, those animals began falling off of the roof...thus...raining cats and dogs...

I would love to hear from you. What word/phrase origin is your favorite?

I am sitting here, writing tonight's blog post. It is late and I should be sleeping, I have a huge day tomorrow, but I am so hyped up. (Remember in the Ghost and Mr. Chicken when the occult ladies group saw something of note and came home and vibrated for an hour? Yep, that's me.)

I am here. I am in Stratford Upon Avon. I am getting emotional (again, it has happened a bunch today) as I consider just how much this means to me. Yes, I have posted some silly fangirl stuff about David Tennant tonight, but in the end tis all about Shakespeare. It always comes back to Shakespeare. That is who I am the ultimate fangirl for. And to have this opportunity to watch Shakespeare, performed by some of England's finest actors in Stratford Upon Avon is..well...it truly is like a dream. And this town, it is the quintessential English village. I am so in love. And this flat is gorgeous and even smells like my grandma's house. I teared up when we opened the door because of the smell, which must be something that old homes smell like I guess. (I know that I say a lot about scent, but that is a key memory factor for me.) This is perfection and I am so grateful to Erin and Karen for the working and planning that Erin especially went through so that we could have the perfect experience.

Now...the play's the thing...

As a Shakespeare scholar/actor/freak, I am filled with all sorts of emotions about tonight's performance. We have the privilege of being one of a few number who get to meet with the director of this show for a presentation tomorrow evening and I CANNOT WAIT. I am dying to hear about some of his choices, a few of which I question, in directing this play in this fashion. It is doubly powerful thing to see this particular show just 24 hours after being in the Tower of London. I am nearly back to the history overload that I was feeling last night. This is my history. Not my direct line, but this is my history. And it is rather overwhelming to feel it so personally and so in your face. And as I see the earlier history, the bloody history of these islands, I am even more overwhelmed with the choices that a few people made to break free of this ages old battle for power and try a new way. The emotions are intense.

Shakespeare. Oh how I long to one day have a conversation with that man. While I understand that he took some license with history, how masterfully he captures the flaws and strengths of humans an their decisions. And his words, oh heavens, his words. I laughed, I wept, I gasped, I swooned. And this all happened at the lesser known of the history plays. He is THAT good. And this play is so very lyrical and beautiful. As I told my companions earlier today, this is a play that, did it not star David Tennant, I could just listen to with my eyes closed. It flows so beautifully, especially towards the end. I know this play. I have seen it repeatedly and I read it through a few times in the past few weeks preparing for this trip, but as I sat there watching it performed, there were two times when I had to grab my program and my pen and write down a line I had just heard. IT IS THAT GOOD. SHAKESPEARE AND HIS USE OF WORDS IS THAT INCREDIBLE. Oh, I am just so excited and fluttery. The two lines that struck me tonight were, "Grief makes one hour, ten" and "Comforts are in heaven, we are on earth". Just a few words, simple words even. And yet, they strike my heart as though it was being pierced through with one of those huge swords they had on stage tonight.

Okay. I could go on all night but I need sleep. "Sleep that knits up the raveled sleeve of care" (name that play, it should be easy). I am going to really channel Shakespeare tomorrow and then get angry at King Richard II all over again tomorrow night. So...until tomorrow...

History is Hurting my Head

This is my last day in London. While I am looking forward to the next leg in our adventure, this makes me really sad. I came to quickly love this place even more than I expected. Part of it is the energy and power of the city, but I really fell in love when I looked under the table and found my own little nooks and crannies that spoke to me. St. Andrews By the Wardrobe is my personal piece of London. This morning I woke up early so that I could catch a bus and make it to morning prayer service at the church. What a perfect way to begin my last day in London. The rector, Guy, was so very sweet. I could tell that part of him hoped that this would be a typical morning and nobody would make an appearance for morning prayer, but I did show up and he accommodated me and blessed me for his efforts. Because I am not of the Church of England he instructed me on how the service went and my part to play and then he chose to do the longer service, the one from the time back when this parish first began, the service that my ancestors would have known. It is beautiful, absolutely what I needed to hear this morning. And the scripture passages that he chose, from both the old and the new testaments were tailor made for my needs and my heart. It is an interesting experience to do the morning prayer service between the rector and just a single patron. It is very intimate and powerful and I was in tears by the time we were done. He had things to do and places to go but he gave me a quick tour and then graciously left me with the church open to explore on my own. I simply fell in love with the place. I am ever, EVER so glad that I chose (or was led) to go back there this morning. I needed to be inside. I especially needed that morning service in the small, intimate chapel of St. Anne. Thank you Guy and blessings be on your head for going the extra mile with me today.

I met up with Karen and Erin at the Tower of London after I finished up at the church. WOW! My friend Karena had lent me a book that gave me a history of the tower so I came in with some knowledge, but I was still blown away by this place. I am now so full of history that I am in serious trouble. There are so many things that I need to know more about. The one part of the Tower trip that did not hurt my head was the wonderful Beefeaters. I have already come to love the British people, but those men are a special breed. I think that they are especially important to do a delicate job. To give tours and answer questions in a very heavy place, dealing with intensely tragic history. And they handle it with a wonderful balance. I was impressed. The Tower is a heavy place. I have some sensitivity towards such things and this place was wearing my down by the time we left. And yes, as we were leaving, I do swear that I saw a ghost in one of the high windows. A figure with a lit candle that was there one moment and then gone.

One would think that we would have had enough history by this time...but one would be wrong...we headed over to the British Library to finish our London stay looking at their rare book/document collection. I was not able to take photos there, but I will never forget what I saw on this day. I saw letters written and signed by Michelangelo, Da Vinci, and Churchill. I saw a Tyndale Bible. I saw THE MAGNA CARTA. I SAW THE FIRST FOLIO. There were moments when I seriously could not breathe.

There is no way that I can express all of the feelings and thoughts that are in my heart and my head from this past week. Life-changing is one term I suppose I could use but even that does not quite speak it clearly. Anyone have a thought for a word that might fit...

Weight of ages

This has been the day in London that may well be the reason I have seen God's hand so clearly in allowing me to make this trip and to be in all of the places I needed to be leading up to this afternoon. We began our day at the National Gallery looking at portraits. The Gallery houses my favorite portrait. It happens to be the very first portrait they obtained upon the founding of the Gallery. Very wish choice. I wish that this were the portrait of Shakespeare that we saw always. If you ever get a chance to see it in person. Stand close to it and let him look you in the eyes. It will take your breath away. Seriously.

After the Gallery, we raced up the Mall to get near Buckingham Palace to see the changing of the guard. It was raining. It was miserable. The crowd around the Palace was large. We failed to see much except the soldiers marching towards the circle in front of the Palace. And we could not see their uniforms as they were covered in ponchos. Oh well, we did get to see the Queen the other day so we are good. We left Buckingham and headed over to the British Museum. What a place! I could spend an entire vacation here just in those buildings. I spent my time in the Egyptian area as well as the Enlightenment Room, showcasing stuff from the eighteenth century. As I was nearing the end of my time there, I was standing in a corner, studying antique books and their titles and had an experience that left me realizing that I have a great deal of responsibility. My ancestors, most of whom were living not far from where I stood likely never even owned a book, perhaps a Bible if they were lucky, but that was the extent of their ability to study, read, and learn, for the most part. But they worked and strained and died so that I could be where I am and be what I am and I can and must study all the more and gain all the more in thanks for what they went through to allow me be what and where I am, and the same is true of my children. We must not squander the fact that we have all the resources we could ever want at our fingertips and that I have the privilege of a vast library right in my own home. I must never take this for granted and I must continue to try and gain as much as possible and guide my children to do the same.

We left the museum to get off of our feet and enjoy some Turkish fare and then decided to each go our own way. I knew then that I had to get back to the church St. Andrew By the Wardrobe. So I went back to the flat and grabbed my journal and headed up the Strand. I intended to take a bus both ways but I missed the bus just as I arrived on Strand Street so I started walking, thinking that I might catch another bus if the opportunity presented itself, but I got so caught up in walking and seeing so much, that I made the entire trip on foot. That was a good thing. As I approached St. Paul's I was trying to remember how we had stumbled upon the marker that referenced the church when we had gotten turned around getting to the Globe a few days ago. I could not find the street we had wandered on, but I did find a map, London is very good about putting maps up near places of historical interest, like St. Paul's and I was terribly grateful for their insight at this moment. I studied the map for a moment and located where I needed to be and started walking. In just a few moments, I left the noise of the circle surrounding St. Paul's behind and I was in the most delightful neighborhood, obviously very old, but so beautiful (see photos on Facebook if you are interested). Because of its location, it took me a few times around the block to spot the church and when I did, I was stunned at how shlumpy and nondescript it appeared. I stood there for a moment in my disappointment when I had another experience that reminded me of perspective. It washed over me that this was the church of real people. This was the church of the working class. This was the church of the people I was descended from. As I walked around the corner to enter the gates to this small, quaint worship center, I got the shock of a lifetime. There, up on the wall of the building across the street was a plaque designating this place as the place where Shakespeare resided during his time of living in London. MY ANCESTORS BELONGED TO THE SAME PARISH AS SHAKESPEARE. I had come full circle. So much of this trip has been about the Bard and here was proof that the people I descend from had at least some contact with him. I managed to move up the stairs to one of the benches outside the church before the tears started. The church was shut up and locked for the day so I just sat there on that bench, taking it all in and writing in my journal, again feeling the need to admonish myself to make the most of all that I have been given to make my ancestors proud of me. It was a moment I would not trade for anything. As I wrote and prayed I came to see more clearly just some of the things that I need to do be the best Cynthia I can possibly be for the remainder the time I have on earth. That is a gift. I pray that I will take this experience and carry it forward and do hard things, real things, things that could make all of the difference in the world. Whew. What. A. Day.

Old Things

I like old things. I know that I have passed this condition down to my eldest child as well. Oh how I missed her today as we were wandering down Portobello Road and there were antique shops galore. And then it happened, I looked in one of those antique shops and I could see books, old books, all along the back wall. (If you are reading this Karl, you can breathe easy, I did not purchase any.) I did not purchase any, but I played with them for some time. I pulled books that I never dreamed I would see in my life time off of the shelves. I stroked them and smelled them and yes, I wept a wee bit. It was magical, just like in the Library of Unseen University. OOK! This evening, on our way back to our flat, we stopped in a regular old bookstore and it was not magical. This rather surprised me, y'all know how much I love books. And I have always loved new bookstores and will continue to enjoy them, but they do not hold the magic and warmth and depth of old books. Old books have character and a story. One of the old books that I was sorely tempted to purchase while in that shop on Portobello today was tempting me on many levels (it was a printing of Samuel Pepys diary from the 1800's, not all that old, all things considered, but still leather bound and smelly and wonderful and I am in London and it was a copy of this work that sparked the friendship that means so much to me in the book/movie "84 Charing Cross Road" which is so dear to my heart) but one of the greatest tugs to my heartstrings was the fact that a previous owner had left notes in this book. This book was so very real and loved and filled with voices. I just love that much more than I can ever express.

We spent much of this day seeing things that were nearer to "new" than we have seen in days past and it was not nearly as wonderful as the old. I love grateful that we moved back to the old at the end of our day. That we wandered across Westminster Bridge so that we could stand beneath Big Ben again and be near Westminster Abbey and the houses of Parliament. As I mentioned in a FB post yesterday, the smell of old stone is intoxicating to me.

But there was one special "old" thing that really solidified this blog post that had been niggling at me all day. It happened towards the end of our day as we were crossing a bridge to head over to the London Eye and take a ride up high into the night sky. As we walked, it was crowded. Londoners really make the most of their weekends. But as we walked I noticed an older gentleman walking in a slow but very forthright manner. He struck me because he was so measured in his posture. Then, as he neared me, I could see that he was walking ahead with his sweet little wife behind and he was parting the crowd for her. He kept looking back to check that she was there and then he would look ahead again and march forward, being her knight in shining armor all the way. I was so touched by this, I totally choked up and made my way the rest of the way across the bridge in silence. I was grateful for the distraction of a group of drummers putting on a great show so that I did not have to try and speak at that moment.

So yes, I like old things. Old things are real. Old things have character and an understanding. Old things have weathered storms and fires and who knows what else to get where they are now. And old things, whether they be of stone or of flesh have a depth of care and protection that cannot be equaled by something new and unproven. And I pray that I can some day grow and learn enough to be really good at being an old thing.

A wet day of Shakespeare

“But tis strange: And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, the Instruments of Darkness tell us truths, win us with honest trifles, to betray's in deepest consequence.”

I could write a blog on the above quote and it is quite likely that one day I will. It is something that speaks deeply to me. But today I am choosing to simply begin my blog post with my favorite quote from Macbeth and that be it. Today we saw Macbeth performed in the Globe Theatre. I never really thought that I would be able to type that last sentence. What an absolute treat for me. It rained heavily through the night last night and we woke up to soggy skies and so we were kinda lazy and we did no morning exercise. It is surely a wise decision to close the season at the Globe around this time of year. It was pretty miserable watching that play today, both for the actors and for the audience. It gave us a very real experience but that is not always a good thing. We did some shopping and wandering this morning and then we made lunch and headed to the bus stop and over the bridge to the theatre. It was wet. It was cold. It was magical.

We watched the play, very near the stage. The acting was superb. That is so important in a setting such as the Globe for all you have are the actors and the bare stage. Very few props or set pieces. I love that. This is how it should be performed.

As soon as it was over we moved ourselves quickly back over the bridge and into a coffee shop for tea, hot chocolate, a bathroom, and some warmth. Further shopping, wandering, and the discovery of a quaint vegetarian restaurant rounded out our day.

I find myself feeling rather pensive tonight. As Dr. Dobson mentioned in his lecture last evening, that is to be expected after one has seen The Scottish Play. But it is something more than just the quiet weight I always feel after being exposed to this work. I am fighting some insecurities and this is causing me a great deal of reflection. At what point and at what level can one question what is told of them or shown to them by "authorities"? A couple of things that Dr. Dobson stated last night were contrary to my what I have come to feel about elements of Macbeth and Shakespeare's intentions. And today, there were a number of choices made by the director that frustrated me deeply. But this is the Globe Theatre. This is THE GLOBE THEATRE. LOCATED IN LONDON. THIS IS THE LAND OF SHAKESPEARE. Do I have any right to question or struggle with any choices that these obvious experts make? That is my struggle. I know what I know. I know what my heart has told me after years of studying Shakespeare and especially this play. And that is what I sit here, in a lovely flat in London, struggling with. And then it hits what else I know. I know that I have told countless numbers of students that if someone ever tells you, I do not care how impressive their credentials may be, that they can tell you what an author intended to say then you need to remove that person from as much influence as possible in your life. If they are a professor then you do what needs to be done to complete the work in that class but you beware of allowing that person much influence. A true mentor/leader will offer you the correct questions and guidance to come to your own understanding of what the author was saying TO YOU.

So...I am gonna take my own advice and I am going to allow myself to be frustrated by a number of the directorial choices in the offering that I saw today. And it is not prideful. It is fine, I have indeed put in the time and effort to have my own understanding. And I am going to be a wee bit sad that the impact that this play can have on people's hearts and psyches was watered down for the audiences that have seen this interpretation, in my opinion. And I am gonna embrace the jeers of literary snob that seem to come my way more and more often as I get old and crotchety.

I am still loving every minute of the trip, don't get me wrong just because I say that I am pensive. Perhaps this is part of the healing I was seeking on this trip. Perhaps I needed to find the strength to be willing to own the idea of thinking for myself. Hmmm...will have to do some further pondering on this matter.

And now...off to bed...

Providence

We had great aspirations to get up and do our exercise in the earlier hours of the morning...but...Erin was so sweet as to not bother me when she realized that I had not slept well. So we slept in and did not head out our separate ways until after 8:00. I am very grateful to Karen for kicking my butt out the door and making me exercise. Yesterday I whined that I was too tired because of what I had experienced on my flights over here but she would not allow any further whining from me. Go Karen!

As an aside, I really am grateful for this opportunity to spend this time with these two women who motivate me highly to improve my health and well being. They are grand examples and spending these days with them has and will help to strengthen my resolve to work towards health and the peace that health brings in my life.

We had hoped to be to the Globe Theatre by 10:00 when the box office opened to throw ourselves at their mercy and beg for tickets to one of these last two final performances of MacBeth. Those of you who understand my history with this play will know what an absolute dream come true it would be for me to see this performed in the Globe. However, because of our late start and the fact that it is so easy to become distracted when out running and exploring, we did not arrive at the Globe anywhere near ten o'clock. (Might I just say that the walk/run that I did alone this morning was something that I would not have traded for the world, see my FB status that outlines some of things I saw and experienced, it was a trip.) And when we approached the man at the box office he kind of rolled his eyes and told us that there were NO tickets available. But then a man in the next queue jumped in and offered to sell us three tickets to Friday's matinee and to throw in tickets to the behind the scenes lecture that was being presented tonight. We were elated. I cannot speak for Karen and Erin, but I am very excited that the tickets are for the grounds so I get to experience the Globe just as the commoners did back in the day and I wouldn't want it any other way. It turns out that this man was an English teacher, born in Rhode Island but now teaching at an embassy school in Uganda and four of his students, as well as his fellow traveling teacher had not been able to make the trip and so he had these extra tickets which he sold to us for face value, kicking in the lecture tickets as well. Everyone benefitted and we got, not only tickets, but also the opportunity for the lecture, something that I find terribly exciting.

After leaving the Globe with tickets in hand we ventured into a very different part of London looking for the Doctor Who shop. We found it, but we saw a very different side of London than we have been seeing in the Westminster/Covent Gardens area. It was good for us to experience this adventure. And Erin and I came away with two lovely Tardis keychains.

We then headed back to the area around the Globe where we found a French restaurant for food and enjoyed a wonderful repast until time to head to the lecture where I was so very excited to learn that we would have the privilege of hearing from Professor Michael Dobson himself. It is probably also providence that I did not think to ask this of the man who sold us the tickets because had I known that it was Dr. Dobson, I would have been and chattery and obnoxious companion leading up to the lecture. Dr. Dobson is the director of the Shakespeare Institute in Stratford Upon Avon and to have a chance to sit right there in that small meeting room and have him offer us his insights into the Scottish play. Well...it was the opportunity of a lifetime and I am terribly grateful.

I have thought a great deal about the providence that I see so often cropping up in my life. I am so very blessed and it really often does not feel like an accident. And today I find that especially true. First, there is the fact that Karen and Paul and their family chose to stay in Colorado all of those years ago when leaving was a very real possibility on their radar. And now they are a wonderful part of my life and are women that I can have this kind of experience with and also share time with them right at this time in my life when I am ready to make some changes that they are uniquely qualified to help me see clearly in this time and this place when I am removed from the distractions of my every day life.

Then there are the smaller things. Like feeling prompted to follow one crowd of people when I was out exercising this morning and finding myself in the Victoria Embankment Gardens. Everyone else was using the Gardens as a shortcut but I found a treasure. Things like the fact that when we got off of our bus stop at St. Paul's Cathedral, we took a slightly less than direct route to the Millennial Bridge and this caused us to go by an ancient church that I happened to glance up and read the placard only to see the words "St. Andrew-by-the-Wardrobe". This is the parish where a number of my ancestors were christened, married and buried. WOW! I had always assumed, due to the name, that this was located in some small town in the English countryside. But there it was, right in the heart of London. That was a real treat and part of an answer to the prayer I had offered to connect with the spirits of my ancestors while on this trip. And then there was the so perfect timing that put us at the box office of the Globe at the same moment as a kind man who had tickets to sell and even the opportunity to attend a lecture given by someone I admire greatly, adding tremendous richness to what is rapidly becoming a Shakespeare themed vacation. There are more, but you get the picture. It is my firm and solid belief that there is a higher being out there who is very aware of me and has love for me and understands just how much this trip means to me and I believe that I am being given a few choice providential moments that make an already magical experience one that is truly the experience of a lifetime.

Thoughts on my first full day in London

There is too much to say to just make a Facebook status. I have posted photos from today in the "London 2013" album if anyone is interested, you can find them there.

We began the day with a plan to see the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace. This happens every other day and today was it, but as we approached the Palace, we found the streets blocked off and a large crowd forming and police everywhere. Karen is our question queen and so she found out that there was to be a military processional with a band and and runners carrying a baton representing the kickoff for the passing of said baton around the world to all of the Commonwealth countries prior to the Commonwealth games next year. We also learned that the Queen might make an appearance to pass the baton. So, we hung around and worked our way through the crowd a bit and managed to get a glimpse of Her Highness on the large video screen! I never imagined that this would happen while I was here. What a treat, even if her hat was one of the ugliest things that I have ever witnessed. We were not able to see the changing of the guard but we will catch that another day. It was while we were waiting in line that I heard the first of three of four precious gems that I heard from the mouths of warm and wonderful Brits that we struck up conversations with throughout our day. We were standing next to a family who were wondering if the Queen would really make an appearance and so they asked the policeman standing near us and he responded that she may or may not, depending upon how she felt. The man then followed up by asking, "Is there not some kind of protocol surrounding such things?" The policemen got the cutest twinkle in his eye and then he said, "The protocol is whatever she says it will be." It was adorable. And we got to see Sir Chris Hoy running with the torch in a kilt. Very nice.

From the Palace we wandered through St. James Park and it is so beautiful. We saw the most monstrous pelicans that I have ever seen. And they were NOT afraid of humans, but we were nervous about them. We made our way through the park over to the Parliament Square area with the intention of seeing both Westminster Abbey and Westminster Hall. When we got to the Abbey complex we first went into St. Margaret Chapel. It was so gorgeous and intimate, I fell in love with that building and it was delightful to find an Edward Lloyd buried there who was noted for his work as a printer and a wordsmith. I am SURE that I MUSt be related to him! As we moved into the Abbey itself and approached the man distributing the self guided tour handsets (it is a working church and services are often going on and so the tourists must make their way through in such a way as to keep it very reverent inside) he looked up and grinned and scolded Erin for taking a photo (photography is not allowed) and then grinned and said, "You must be Americans." Karen and Erin explained that they were originally Canadians but that we are all now Americans. He said he had no doubt that we were all from North America. His reply was intriguing to me when I asked how he knew we were North Americans. He said, "Because from the moment you walked through the doors you were happy, I could see it from all the way across the room. Americans are happy, Brits are not. You left and you took the happiness with you. It is like you decided that you wanted to be a happy people and so you broke away from the motherland and made your own, happy place and people." I thought he might be joking, but upon talking with him further, I realized that he was quite serious. In many ways, coming here to London has felt like a homecoming, but in that moment, it just washed over me how grateful I am to be an American and to be part of a happy people. We are so blessed and the liberties that we take for granted truly do make us a happy people. We need to fight to keep both these liberties and this happiness. We are in danger of losing both I fear.

Westminster Abbey was amazing. It is grandiose and yet there places of deep intimacy tucked away throughout the edifice. It was so beautiful. I just cannot express how I felt in there. However, the restriction on taking photos was a wee bit sad. I am grateful for such a rule, places of deeply spiritual importance should be shown such reverence, but there were things that I wish I could have come away with a photo memory of. I would have to say that my favorite part of the Abbey was Poets Corner. I will be posting a saying from one of my VERY favorite authors that is stated on this author's memorial plaque as my status in the morning. Seeing Chaucer's grave was awe inspiring, as were a number of other tombs, in particular Edward the Confessor. Something special about that one. I picked up a chart for my kids that shows the kings of England, with dear King Egbert right up there at the top. We were starved after leaving the Abbey and so we asked an Abbey worker on our way out and he directed us to a pub down the street that was perfect. And we sat and talked and laughed. We were very obviously Americans but I think that is good after what our friend in the Abbey said!

After lunch we wandered until the line going into Westminster Hall went away and then around 5:30 we were able to get into the Hall. This was a place that I was really looking forward to seeing as it is the Hall built by Richard II and I have been studying that play in preparation to seeing the play in Stratford and the idea of being in a building that was built in the 1300's was so intense. It was everything that I hoped it would be and more. We were able to not only see the building but we had the opportunity to witness a debate in the House of Commons over a government transparency bill. That was extremely interesting. And that led to my third most wonderful statement by a Brit today. After the government made their case on the second reading of the bill, a Scottish MP stood up and said, "That was such a pile of dog breakfast" in a super heavy Scottish brogue. I just about fell off of the bench up there in the gallery. Totally made my evening. We watched for a time and then struck up a conversation with an off duty policeman that was also there observing and learned more about the politics of the UK and then we walked out and got further information from a very nice security officer on the exit gates. Now I understand where things stand politically a bit better.

We wrapped up our day with wonderful curries in our home neighborhood and then Karen telling us British jokes until our tummies hurt. They do have a sense of humor, even if we took all of the happiness with us. We now continue the debate over whether or not we are indeed a happier people, we loud and crass Americans...what do you think?

Crying out for help

Earlier this week, I taught a group of amazing kids about the Greek play "The Suppliants" by Aeschylus. I love this play and the themes that it offers and I was excited to see how their minds so quickly grasped concepts and ran with them. I then held a debate with the class, with the men debating the point of view of the women and the women debating the point of view of the king. It was a fascinating experience!

But that is not why I am here. I am writing because a line from this play stuck a chord deep in my soul and I have to record my thoughts. In the play, moments after meeting the king and pleading with him to give them asylum from the horrible Egyptians who want to force them into marriages against their will, the women refer to themselves as follows:

"See me, the suppliant, the wandering fugitive, like a heifer chased by a wolf up the steep rocks, where, trusting to their protection, she lows loudly, letting the herdsman know of her peril."

This took my breath away. I had never considered that base instinct to cry out, loudly, for help when a life is on the line. Even humans, when faced with a deadly pursuer will often cry out even though this reveals their location to the pursuer, as well as to any rescuer.


This may seem like a stupid response but, at least in the case of the heifer, it is a response of deepest faith and trust. That is what struck me so powerfully. That faith and trust. If we focus our energies on what is wrong with us, on the negative voices from within and without, Satan wins. But if we focus our energies on crying out to God and on what we do have that is positive, we can make a difference. Of course, the heifer's lowing is heard by not only the herdsman, but also by the wolf who is pursuing her and yet still she lows, because of her faith that the herdsman will reach her before the wolf does. We need to learn from the heifer and have that kind of faith in God, even as Satan is snapping at our heels, trying to take advantage of our weak and frightened moments. We cannot choose to be faithless victims. We must choose to have faith in whatever higher power we choose to believe in. I have chosen to cry out a couple of times in the past few days and it has honestly made a huge difference. It is a risk but I am willing to take the gamble.

Hurt vs. Injured

"Football players get 'hurt' virtually every practice. When hard plastic meets soft human tissue, soreness sets in quickly. We try to teach our players to play through this soreness. Some are better at it than others. It gets tricky when a player is injured. This would be a time when trauma has occurred to the point where the player can no longer perform at a level that can help the team. Typically this is when a medical professional should be consulted. We leave this to your discretion as parents. Typically, a player can practice when they are hurt, but not when they are injured."


These are the words of Mike Schmidt, the principal and football coach at our local high school where Kodren is now playing football. I have known Mike for many years and have always appreciated his point of view on all areas of education and sports but the above quote is one of my favorite. And I believe that it really applies to life in general, at least it does for me. This is a follow up post to my last post about seeing the parable of the talents in a different light. In that post I stated the following: "People will hurt you if you are vulnerable. I cannot promise otherwise, this will happen." I have pondered this a great deal and I realize that I often take myself out of the game and even out of practice because of a hurt, when I should be able to play through the soreness. I fear that a lot of people in the world are doing likewise. And I think that the people out there who have agendas are using the fact that we want to avoid not only injury but we want to avoid all hurt to keep us from fully living.


How do we learn to play through the soreness? How do we not allow the hurt or the fear of the hurt to rule our decisions and our actions? And if we receive true injuries, how long do we place ourselves out of commission before we jump back into the fray? These are the questions that are weighing on my mind right now. I want to be a star player. I want to seriously make a dent in the mission that I feel I was placed here to fulfill. But I have to learn to play through the soreness and that is hard. I am a wimp. I really, REALLY like to be comfortable and safe but it is time now to take risks and push myself. In the words of my daughter Michayla, "It is time for adventure". A large enough part of me is ready for adventure to begin to do some hard things and to push back against the pain and soreness. So tell me...how do you find a way to play through the soreness? And how do you manage to understand fully when you are hurt vs injured? I would really love to get some feedback on these ideas. I want to be fully alive and not have anyone and their agenda(s) rule over me because of my fears or needs to be comfortable.

A new "ah-hah" on a beloved parable

I love the parable of the talents. I do not pretend to understand it completely, but I always thought I had a pretty good grasp on the basic concept. But today I got a blessed insight into this parable that gave me peace and hope and a soft heart and I am so grateful. So...I had to get it down before I forgot or the impact lessened. Keep reading if you want, but this one is really for me, something that I must not forget.


I had always seen the talents or money in this story to represent...well...talents or spiritual gifts. And I still believe this to be true. But there can always be additional meanings to scripture, especially to a parable, which can have so many levels. As I have been carrying on a few conversations over the past few days and even weeks, it has struck me repeatedly that we need to really work on having an open and (at least) relatively vulnerable heart if we are to truly be ambassadors of Christ. This is difficult and downright scary because vulnerability so often means pain. People will hurt you if you are vulnerable. I cannot promise otherwise, this will happen. But I do believe that if we are soft and vulnerable and open to being led by the spirit of God then the joy we receive will more than compensate for any pain that we suffer.


As I was petitioning (well begging) the Lord for a soft heart this morning, the parable of the talents popped into my head only I felt the spirit whisper that I should substitute the idea of "heart" for the word talents in the story. WHOA! Think about it. God gives us the opportunity to have a good heart, a heart that has even been called to be a servant of Him. But we must choose how we use that heart. Do we take it out and invest it in a number of relationships and discover that there are a number of ups and downs in the relationship market but in the end we get back at least double for what we put in? Or do we think that we must take care of this heart and protect it and return it to God completely unscathed so we bury our heart and we put up walls and defenses and in the end, we have only our own rather shriveled heart to present to God. It has not grown and God is disappointed both in us and for us because of the richness and opportunity lost.


In the version of this parable found in Matthew chapter 25, the Lord follows up the parable of the talents with those beautiful verses that say, in part, "For I was an hungered, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in: naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me..." This speaks even more strongly to me that the parable of the talents might be more about the charitable heart than we realize.


We are in a time in the world when we truly cannot afford to shut away our hearts. We have to put ourselves out there and find those in need of our special offerings and we have to do God's work here on earth as his instruments. I can testify that when I am operating with this kind of attitude, I am seriously the richest woman on the earth. I find myself surrounded by people that I love and by increased opportunity to offer and to feel love.


As Pastor Ed said in cowboy church a couple of weeks back, we must stop arguing doctrine and spending our energy on trying to be right and find the common ground we have in Christ and be the body of Christ within that common ground, no matter what our doctrinal differences. I am working to continue to have the faith to open my heart and to love and to serve every chance I get. I do not say this flippantly. It will not be easy, but I do believe that my investment will pay off in a big way and I do believe that it will be worth it.

An interesting story that always makes me think

One of my heroes is Glikl of Hamburg, a Jewish merchant woman who lived and wrote an incredible journal in the late 1600's. Here is one of my favorite stories from her journals. Scholars call this story the antithesis of King Lear, which is one more reason that it intrigues me. I would love to hear thoughts on what you think of this and what you think that Glikl was trying to say to her children with this story. Thanks for reading and have a great day.



IN THE LAST DECADE of the seventeenth century-the year 5451 by the Jewish reckoning- a Jewish merchant woman of Hamburg wrote down a story for her many children. It told of a father bird who lived with his three fledglings along a seashore. One day a fierce storm came up, sending huge waves over the sands. "If we cannot get to the other side at once we are lost," said the bird, and took the first fledgling into his claws and started over the sea. Halfway across, the parent said to his son, "What troubles I have to stand from you! And now I'm risking my life-strength for you. When I am old, will you also do good to me and support me?" The little bird replied, "My dear beloved father, just take me across the water. I will do for you in your old age all that you want of me." Whereupon the parent dropped the birdling into the sea and said, "So should be done with a liar like you."

The parent bird flew back for the second fledgling and halfway across said to it the same words. The little bird promised to do for him all the good in the world. Again the father dropped his young into the sea, saying, "You, too, are a liar." Carrying the third birdling across the water, he asked the same question. The little bird answered , "Father, dear father, all that you say is true, that you have had troubles and grief because of me. I am duty bound to repay you, if it is possible; but I cannot promise for certain. This, however, I can promise: when one day I have young children of my own, I will do for them as you have done for me." At this, the father said, "You speak aright and are also clever. I will let you live and will take you across the water."'

Distractions

The assignment was to observe nature on the City Hall grounds in downtown Salt Lake. We were to observe for then minutes or so and then begin writing. LaRae pointed out that there were benches located around circular planting areas and so we headed that way. Then I spotted the next group of plantings over and I just had to go there. I knew it would be fragrant because I could see lavender and I could also see many, many bees moving around through the lamb’s ear plants (and yes, I did pet them). It was as fragrant as I hoped in fact it was divine and enveloped me almost as soon as I sat down. And I quickly found myself distracted in the most silly way. I noticed a roly-poly bug moving on the sidewalk in front of me and it took a great deal of willpower for me to stay on that bench and not get down on my hands and knees and frighten him into a ball. But, that was a momentary distraction and it was not what really grabbed my attention, after watching the bees for a few moments (and being so very grateful to see so many bees in one place) I realized that I could not hear the bees. I wanted to hear them but that becomes difficult in a city setting with traffic, skateboard, and people noises. So I tried watching the bees. I knew that they were moving and that, while the sound was soft, it was there. But stare though I might, I could not hear them. So I tried looking up. Being the cloud freak that I am, and having such great clouds moving over the top of the City Hall towers, I thought that this would help me to focus and hear the bees. But, as they often do, the clouds distracted me and I pretty much forgot about the bees. It was worth the distraction. Those clouds, with good movement, against the backdrop of the gorgeous City Hall with its spires and statues, were incredibly beautiful. It was very tough to tear myself away and turn my attention back to the bees. But I managed. I finally tried closing my eyes and concentrating on hearing the bees. It was not enough. The outside sounds were overwhelming. So I began to go through the steps of my sacred warriorship meditation and at about three steps in I began to sense the bees. I was feeling them and their movement more than hearing actual buzzing but it was a start. At this point I realized that I could hear crickets chirping so I knew that my efforts were working. Then I realized that I could hear the buzzing I wanted to hear but it was mostly coming from behind me. I opened my eyes and looked behind me and quickly realized that there was a rather cantankerous large drone back there who was literally picking fights with other workers. So I laid my head back on the bench and closed my eyes again and moved back into meditation mode. Now all I could hear was Mr. Grumpy Drawers. I could no longer sense the overriding collective droning that had been so beautiful and peaceful. I couldn’t even really hear the crickets any longer. I do believe that I could have captured that connection again if I had continued into deeper meditation but I really hate to do that when I am working with time constraints. So I opened my eyes again and played with the lamb’s ear plants for a while. I was sad. I had loved those brief moments when I felt the collective buzzing deep in my chest.

As I finished my observing time and thought about the applications to my life, and myself it quickly boiled down to distraction. I hate the fact that that there are so many distractions in my life and that I, in turn, can be such a distraction for others. I long to be a part of a collective where the buzzing is in harmony and all are filling their stewardships with peaceful abandon. How can I foster this, beginning with my own thoughts and then my own family, then my other communities? I think that helping bring that kind of connection is part of my mission here on earth. But it is overwhelming to consider and I really am not sure how to avoid being a Mr. Grumpy Drawers. And how does one maintain one’s individuality and the individuality of others and maintain that peaceful, loving collective? That is God’s plan, that is what we want for our eternity and we must be working to create that as much as possible here on earth. My cousin Patty’s recent work on my energy tied me to so many things and people, even many generations back on my family line. I truly want that cleansing to allow me to be more connected and open to those connections, especially in my family. There is a huge part of me that seriously wants to remain a Mr. Grumpy Drawers. I. Must. Choose. I do realize that I have to be careful and protect my children and myself but I need to work on being as open as possible while still sheltering correctly. Only the spirit can guide me to work this fine line. I am going to end here by acknowledging that I can see that I am clearer and in a much better place than I was even a week ago because I did this assignment without a moment of reservation or argument or grumpiness. That is huge. Of late, my natural response has always been to question and debate and get dark and closed to this kind of activity but I did not even give this one a second thought. I just did it and I am glad and I am now going to desperately try and build on this clearness and understanding to make myself as positive an influence as possible.

PS. Since writing this back on the 13th of July, it has been stunning to me the amount of times that bees have cropped up in moments of despair or self doubt. I do believe that the bee is going to be an intense symbol that God uses in my life for a time to help me keep my focus. How I appreciate these symbols and reminders.

Reactions

I have had a number of things occur in the past few days that make me really consider my reactions. What do I do in the few seconds after an incident or a question or an occurrence or a meeting with someone and just how much do those reactions say about me. Do they reflect negatively on me, as they did on the woman that I saw blatant racism from tonight when a young man that was in my company offered her his chair and she stated that she did not want his chair and then seconds later another young man offered her the same thing and she took his chair. There was only one difference between these two young men, the young man with me was African-American and the other young man was not. I felt truly ill. I do not want to ever make someone feel sick due to one of my reactions.


On the flip side, I had two very positive reactions in these past days that warmed my heart and got my tear ducts lubricated. Yesterday, while visiting Tarpon Springs, and particularly the Greek sponge diving area of town, I left Tim and Michayla shopping and I slipped into the public bathroom. I needed to use the restroom but I also needed to apply some aloe lotion to an intense sunburn I received on the beach (a sunburn that is really Michayla's fault, but that is another story). In the bathroom I observed an elderly Greek woman sitting in front of the hand dryer, with a loaded cleaning cart next to her. As women came out and washed their hands, this woman would tear off a paper towel from the roll in her lap and hand them a towel to wipe their hands with. She had a small tip jar in her lap where women were dropping a dollar or change in exchange for her service. I was dismayed as I saw one woman refuse the offered towel and lift her dripping hands over the elderly woman and proceed to use the hand dryer, all the while dripping on the elderly woman's back. But the old lady did not seem to mind, she just kept distributing her paper towels and all of the other women that I observed, while they may have at first been taken back, all quickly caught on and took the towel and left a tip. It was rather painful to watch, actually, due to the fact that this elderly woman's hands were extremely twisted and bent with arthritis and it was not an easy task to even tear the paper towels off of the roll. When my turn came, I was prepared and I left a nice tip in her jar and thanked her. Then I moved off to one side so that I could apply my aloe gel. At this point, there was only the elderly woman and me in the bathroom. As I lifted my pant leg, the woman gasped (it is a pretty nasty burn) and she immediately went down on her knees, out of her chair, held out her hands and said, in broken English, "let me rub on the cream". I was stunned at first as I looked at those knobby hands. I took her hands in mine and told her that I could do it and I found myself tearing up as I asked if this was her job and how bad her pain was. She explained that she also cleans the bathroom and that this was indeed how she earned a living since her husband died. Now...I do understand that she may have attempted to apply the gel for me because she was seeking additional tips, but it seemed like just a genuine and sweet reaction to my injury. And I was seriously touched. Yes, I cried. I pretty much kept it together until I left the bathroom, but then I had to take a moment and work through it. And as I leaned against the building and thought through this experience, I found myself desperately hoping that I would fall on my knees, off of my chair, if I saw someone in pain. It was a powerful reaction.


Finally, today. I was a grump. I went to Sea World with Michayla and Kaylei, they met some friends so I had a bite to eat with them and then I went my own way. I am tired and footsore and I found some of my favorite animals, but I could not find the one that I really wanted and the park was extremely crowded and I was just being grumpy. So I sat down on a bench to write a really grumpy status on Facebook about how I dislike people and I only care for the animals in this place. I opened the app and started to log in and then I saw a young man skip by the bench where I sat and I saw the "eyes" from his penguin Sea World cup (think Mr. Potatohead eyes) fall down and roll away. I will admit it, I sat there for a moment or two and stared at it and thought about the effort I would have to make in order to retrieve that toy piece and then chase the boy down. But I finally got up off my big, fat, rear end and grabbed the piece and headed for the boy. I got to him at about the same time he realized that he was missing the eyes and was beginning to scan the ground around him. I tapped his shoulder and held out the eyes to him and his reaction was so priceless. Before he could even take a second breath, he had thrown his arms around my waist and squealed, "Thank you! I love you!" Again, I was stunned for a moment but then I put my arms around him as well and told him he was very welcome. And his mother smiled at me over his head and it was a perfect moment. And I turned away and walked over to my bench and wrote a much different status. But this moment also got me thinking about reactions. I do not have this kind of grateful reaction nearly enough. I have a lot of great people who do a lot of great things for me and I need to throw my arms around more people, without even thinking about it far more often than I do.


I want to have what my husband and I have termed a "Charity Reflex". I want my knee-jerk, very first reactions to be as Christlike as possible and I do not want to have to stop and think about it, I want my reactions to be just as reflexive as these two people that wandered into my life. I need to find a way to work on this area in my life. I am still working out just what kind of exercises one must do in order to have better reactions and I would love suggestions...

One of THOSE moments

It doesn't happen very often, but every once in awhile we got one of those extra special moments when we know that God is real and that he is aware of us. This just happened to me and I am so grateful. It has been a long day and I should have gone to bed but the water was calling me and so I donned a suit and headed out the pool alone to soak off the day's stickiness. I did a few exercises and such and then I just stretched out and floated and as I looked up, I saw the gorgeous moon (I believe that it is no accident that Cynthia means "moon goddess") and she was looking down at me through the spokes of the screened covering which looks remarkably like a gorgeous spiderweb when viewed looking up from below (and you all know how much spiders mean to me) and the heavy, gorgeous scent of the neighboring orange grove was wafting over me and there was this intense and weighty sense of anticipation. But, anticipation of what? And then...it happened. As I floated there, almost breathless, a wee cloud floated in and took just the right position and formed the most incredible rainbow corona around the moon and there it was, there was the moment. There was that undeniable and completely encompassing sense of wholeness, peace and love. Like the entire multiverse was giving me a hug and just everything loves me and I love it all right back. And then, after I caught my breath, I suddenly realized that I was crying. Not weeping, just leaking. And I was complete and worthy and whole and it has been a long time since I felt one of those moments. God is good.

Midnight Musings On Les Miserables

As much as I love the musical of Les Miserables and the movie version of the musical moves me and I am so grateful for the amazing job that they did with it. But...and it is a big but...it is still not the book. And, in particular, one of my very favorite scenes is not portrayed in the musical/movie. So I am going to journal some of my thoughts here about that pivotal moment in Jean Valjean's life. After Monseigneur Bienvenu allows him to have the stolen silver and presents him with the candlesticks, Valjean begins to randomly wander, retracing steps that he has already taken. He literally does not know where he is going. He is so confused and at such a loss. He finally stops, just as the sun is setting and as he is huddled near a bush, he watches an approaching chimney sweep, a young boy, approach. This youngster is tossing the coins he earned that day in the air and expertly catching them but a forty-sous piece gets away from him and rolls over to land in front of Valjean. Valjean puts his foot over the coin and does not move. At first the boy is not afraid and he tries to retrieve his coin in a number of ways but Valjean will not move his foot. Finally Valjean stands up and the boy suddenly finds himself very frightened and begins to run. It is at this moment that Valjean wakes from his stupor and realizes, with an electric shock what he has just done. He grabs the coin and tries to follow the boy, calling his name but there is no response, the boy is gone. A passing priest explains that the boy is likely a gypsy and Valjean is forced to give up returning the coin.


And now, I need to use Hugo's words. "He fell exhausted onto a large rock, his hands clenched in his hair, and his face on his knees, and cried out, 'I'm such a miserable man!' Then his heart swelled, and he burst into tears. It was the first time he had wept in nineteen years. When Jean Valjean left the bishop's house, his thoughts were unlike any he had ever known before. He could understand nothing of what was going on inside him. He stubbornly resisted the angelic deeds and the gentle words of the old man. 'You have promised me to become an honest man. I am purchasing your soul. I withdraw it from the spirit of perdition, and I give it to God.' This kept coming back to him. It opposition to this celestial tenderness, he summoned up pride, the fortress of evil in man. He dimly felt that this priest's pardon was the hardest assault, the most formidable attack he had ever sustained; that his hardness of heart would be complete, if it resisted this kindness; that if he yielded, he would have to renounce the hatred with which the acts of other men had for so many years filled his soul, and in which he found satisfaction; that, this time, he must conquer or be conquered, and that the struggle, a gigantic and decisive struggle, had begun between his own wrongs and the goodness of this man...He was just out of that monstrous, somber place called prison and the bishop had hurt his soul, as too vivid a light would have hurt his eyes on coming out of the dark. The future life, the possible life offered to him, all pure and radiant, filled him with trembling and anxiety. He no longer really knew where he was. Like an owl seeing the sun suddenly rise, the convict had been dazzled and blinded by virtue."


In this moment, Valjean had to decide. He had to wrestle with releasing his hard heart and accepting the blessing of the aged priest or continuing on the path of hateful revenge which had driven him for so many years. He stumbles around the road all night long, like a drunk man, trying to resolve this huge battle for his soul. He wept for a long, long time. He wept until he was completely spent and weak. And he wandered and he saw himself for who he really was, saw the darkness and the bitterness and the hardness and he saw how monstrous was his crime against Petit Gervais because it came on the heels of Bienvenu's pardon. And he also saw the light that was filtering into his soul because of the bishop's actions. I love the way Hugo puts it, "It seemed to him that was looking at Satan by the light of Paradise". We do not know how long he wept but the stage driver, the next dawn saw a man kneeling in prayer, on the pavement in the dark, before the door of Monseigneur Bienvenu.


Why is this one of my very favorite scenes in Les Miserables. Because I fight demons. I fight addictions and laziness and shallowness and anger and I sometimes hurt others in the same way that Valjean hurt Petit Gervais and I need to see the monstrous in my actions. I need to weep more, not over a movie or a book (which we all know I can do readily) but over my own actions. And Hugo's words here remind me of what I need to do to take full advantage of the redemptive work that so many have done for me, just as Valjean made the decision to take advantage of Bienvenu's act of supreme charity. Feel free to remind me.

Fear

Many years ago, when we were first married I trained to be a Master Gardener and then an Advanced Master Gardener. One day I was working the phones as part of the hours we were required to work to make up for the training we had received. I was approached by the new extension agent and she asked me if I were interested in doing further training to become a Wildlife Master Gardener. OF COURSE! I loved the classes and training that I had already received and I was so hungry for more. I was so excited. A few days later I received a letter from the extension office outlining the training that I would receive. It also contained a short resume of the agent. When I opened this letter, I saw one word...ARACHNOLOGIST...Oh no. This woman was some kind of freaky spider scientist. I could not do this. I had a total and abject fear of spiders. If I saw one in the house, I would scream for Karl or remain paralyzed in fear until it moved out of my path. Karl had a special wood turned spider smashing tool that he had made in wood shop back in high school that I kept always at the ready in case he was not there to save me. I did not want to go and take classes from this woman. I battled this out over the next week and my hunger to learn won. I went to class. And for the first couple of classes all was well. Because of our location, we focused on studying about the varmints that plague our area and then the large predators that we all need to respect. The third class was all about snakes and reptiles. I was feeling all big and bad as I was one of only two women who would handle the two snakes that the agent brought to class. Then it happened. At the end of that class, she announced that the next class would not be an evening class but a Saturday excursion up the Apex Trail to learn about the spiders of Colorado. I quickly decided that I would not attend this class. She grabbed my arm as I left and told me that I could not miss the next class, it must have showed in my face. I literally lost sleep over this. I was terrified. But I went. It changed my life. We hiked up the trail and she put a sheet under a large bush and shook it and a number of bugs and yes, spiders fell out. AND SHE STARTED PICKING THEM UP. I nearly passed out. She then sat us down while she held a variety of spiders and explained to us the various devices such as behavior, colorings, movement and web design that allowed these creatures to make the most of life and catch the most bugs. She then elaborated on what would happen, quickly, if the world were to suddenly find itself without spiders. Then she explained that there were really only two spiders of any large number in Colorado whose jaws had the ability to pierce human skin. In other words, there are relatively few spiders who can actually hurt me. Then she stood up and walked over to me and held out her hand, on which rested a large, very yellow crab spider (he had been resting on a wild daisy and they are chameleons who change their color to blend with their surroundings). She told me to hold him. That may be one of the hardest things anyone has ever asked me to do. She reminded me that he was harmless to me. After some coaxing, I held out my hand and she scooted him on. She told me to look at him, really look. So I got my face right up close to my hand. That caused the spider to rear up and wave his silly smaller legs around all threatening-like, just like a crab. So, I backed my big fat face up a bit and he calmed down and then he looked at me, I mean he really looked at me and we had a moment. He tilted his head to one side and studied me and I studied him and then he made himself comfortable on my hand. She told me to hold him while she finished the lecture. A few moments later, I glanced down and realized that he was in the process of adapting himself to match my skin tone. I know it sounds crazy, but it was a powerful thing and I was hooked. Yes me, the person most fearful of spiders ever was now totally captivated by one that was SITTING ON MY SKIN. I went on to hold other spiders and even her pet tarantula that day. It was amazing. I got home and stunned my husband by showing him that I no longer feared, and even LOVED spiders. He was blown away and spoke of how absolutely true it was that education is the key to changing our lives and making us more free.


My life was never the same after that day. I have tried to take this lesson learned and carry it forward. I have overcome other fears by choosing to educate myself. From my grandmother on down through a number of cousins, there is a vast amount of artistic talent, but I had always been told that I did not get any of those genes so I had never tried creating anything in the visual arts. Right after the spider incident and with the encouragement of my husband, I took a class in tole painting with oils and discovered that, while not wholly creative, I could make something that had beauty. When things began to go sour for my oldest child in school because of some regulations, I bundled myself off to a weekend long seminar with a terrific mentor and began a long term learning path that would allow me to take a deep breath and choose to homeschool my children, even while remaining on the payroll of the public school system. After 9-11, I chose to work to face my intense fear of Muslim people by studying their core book and other writings. This led me to a level of comfort that opened the door to me encouraging my husband to approach a group of Muslim men at a hotel in New Mexico (my husband is better at this than me) and engaging them in conversation. I powerful experience that opened my eyes and brought about an experience that I still cherish. This encounter led me to study the Sufi branch of Islam where I totally fell in love with the words of the Sufi poets, who express so beautifully exactly how I feel about God. These are a few examples of things that I have been able to face because I educated myself. But the big one came in 2006 when I had to face my biggest fear, the one we all face. I had to face my fear of death and of loss in a huge way due to a number of deaths that occurred that are beyond the scope of what any of us normally face. Because of the magnitude of these tragedies, I faced a life crisis. I had been raised in a faith in which my family deeply involved and I had always professed a testimony, but now I was faced with having to know, really know, if God was real and if there is hope for more beyond this life. So, I began the process of truly educating myself. I began with Genesis 1:1 and went through the core books of my own religion and then I branched out to other faiths, beginning with my beloved Sufi's and the Koran Qur'an and went through the Tao and the writings of Confucius and the Bhagavad Gita and the four agreements of the Toltec faith as passed onto me by my good friend Ellis and so on and so on until I came full circle and returned to where I had begun. It was intense and powerful but I came to a point when I could breathe and face death and loss as well as could ever be expected and I came to know less fear and more peace and stillness. And I came to know that there was indeed a God who loved me and had a plan for me and for all of his children. And I came to know that the faith of my youth was where I wanted to be. I know that there are some of you out there who may be reading this who struggle with this, but I am truly where I want and need to be. And, I came to know and love truth in so very many beautiful works and words. And I came to appreciate people and cultures that I had not yet understood on any level. And my heart was at first comforted and then soared with this new understanding and education.


The journeys that I have been on, in particular these past seven years, are not for everyone, but educating ourselves away from fear is a valuable concept. I realize that it may sound mighty silly that it began with a spider, but I am so very grateful for that spider and for God's willingness to put me in a place to face a silly fear so that I had a path to follow when a much deeper fear threatened to overpower me. So...what new thing have you learned today...