Category Archives: Uncategorized

My adopted family

The last few weeks in spirit play we have been playing with the idea of family (if you haven’t brought in your family photo yet, there’s still one more week).  What makes a family?  How are families the same and different than each other.  How is church a family of families?

This week’s lesson focused on adoption.  We read a story about a boy and his adopted family as they expected to adopt a new baby into the family.  The kids were antsy and eager to move and play.  I was the door teacher and eager to sit and be still and sink into witnessing our classroom.  It was a good day of interaction with children, a visiting family and lots of energy and laughter.  I had come from the service where Rob had talked about sin and Christian rituals re-imagined and used powerfully with Unitarians.  We also sang, “Sometimes I feel like a Motherless Child” which moved around in me and stirred things up.

Unity is my adopted church.  I was raised Lutheran and am grateful for the community in which I grew and learned.  It was also a place that did not seem to nourish my desire to seek a deep relationship with the Holy.  I was thrilled to study religion in college and wrestle with all that I had been given.  For a long time I found no nourishment in Christian spaces and when I desired to be a part of a worshiping community, I first adopted the Quakers and then I adopted you.  It has been a joy to be among fellow seekers where the path to our own answers is honored and informed by the gathered community.

These past few years have brought an unexpected twist to that journey.  To use the metaphor, my birth parents found me and we have been re-establishing a relationship.  Suddenly what I had felt lost feels profoundly found.  My original belonging to Jesus has been transformed and is meeting me now, exactly as and where I am.  Sometimes, though, it does feel like I live in two worlds a belonging both to my birth family and my adopted family.  Both in Christian and Unitarian spaces I can feel like a motherless child.

This is one of the reasons I show up each Sunday to be with your children.  I want them to feel that our community is their home, that they are loved here.  I want them to know by the attentiveness of their teachers that someone other than their parents see and love them.  That we are all family.  I want our belonging to each other to help us feel less alone and more willing to explore in the safety of our church home.

I have adopted Unity because it offers me the possibility of belonging to something honest, true and resonant for me.  I adopt Unity because I want to offer that belonging to others in our community.  I want our home to be hospitable and mutually inviting.  If you have come from some other place, why have you adopted this community?  If Unity is your birth family, why do you choose to stay?  Our freedom to come and go creates an authenticity in our community that I haven’t experienced in other congregations.

I believe our freedom in the classroom to sit where is comfortable, to pass if we need to, to play alone or with friends, creates a different version of authenticity that helps our children practice their choice making and gives them skills that all seeker’s need:  a sense of play and safety, a sense of courage and risk taking, the ability to try on new things, the practice of allowing for difference and the honoring of difference.

My hope for us is that we journey together in our exploration, that we adopt each other and care for each other in turn, that we follow our hearts desire and reach out to each other for support.  I hope that if and when we feel like a motherless child, that all our adopted family are there to welcome us home.

On the Edge

No edges?

This Sunday I was on edge.  It maybe started even before I began my day.  The service left me in tears several times.  It was just that kind of day.  Janne preached about praying for each other, to be really for each other, not just with each other.  It made me wonder about my place in church.  I do pray.  The formless void silent meditation kind and the kind where I put voice to my intentions.  I hold your children in my prayer, for their joys and sorrows and for the inspiration and challenges they bring me.  Sometimes you are in my prayers whether I know you or not, intending for your great good and the realization of your beauty and wholeness.  I wondered though, who might be praying for me?  And like I said, I was on edge.

The edge for me on Sunday was that feeling of separation that is illusory, but sometimes feels real.  I was the only one signed up to teach and didn’t know who else might come.  I had a strange interaction with my co-parent in the parish hall that made me wonder if I was missing something.  I thought about the worship associate who spoke of friends and strangers helping her in a time of need and wondering why I was so hesitant to ask for that help last year when I was in need.  It was because I was on the edge.

It seemed like it took me the whole day to come back from that edge.  Two teachers showed up to help me practice spirit play.  When I got home I journaled and came up with a list of people in our community who are praying for me, if not in a formal way, in an informal way without a doubt.  A subsequent conversation with my co-parent brought us back into balance and I remembered and was grateful for all those friends and strangers who did show up and help me when I was in need.  I came back home in myself; back into right relationship.

There was a gift on the edge in addition to all the gifts I found when I moved away from it.  We had a wiggly class on Sunday and the children had a hard time listening to the story.  They could hardly make it through the wondering questions.  When I asked them, they would give me answers like, “nothing in this story was the best part”.  And then other kids would parrot that answer.  At one point I stopped and told the class that I was feeling sad that they weren’t participating thoughtfully and asked them to please participate with their whole selves.  When the next child made the flip answer that nothing in the story was important, I looked at her and asked her again.  And her eyes wavered.  And she looked at the story.  And she answered the question.  A small bit of connection.  A small meeting right at the edge.

I am grateful to be a part of our community.  I am grateful to work with adults and children to explore the joys and struggles of life.  I am grateful that I am a part of this whether I feel myself on the edge or not.  It is wonderful to move away from that space and realize it was just something inside of me seeing separation and that the more true story is that I was totally surrounded by love and connection the whole time.  This realization turns this story from separation into invitation.  Who else is on the edge here at Unity?  How do we reach out and remind them that we are connected and not alone?  A potent question for me in this political landscape.  Who is on the edge?  Can we invite them into connection?  What story do we want to create?

Show up Flexible

Building a yes

It’s a new year.  I have been happily anticipating moving from the storyteller role into the door teacher role.  Thankfully another teacher really wanted to tell the story consistently throughout the spring.  And so when I showed up to class two weeks ago and again last week to absence, I found myself looking at my own expectations.  This is a big part of my journey in Spirit Play and shows up in many different ways.  It’s that moment when you show up with one idea and then something totally different happens.

And so I came to class having not prepared to tell the story and then needed to decide how to meet the moment.  Since I taught the story role all last year, I knew the stories, or at least their basic outlines and after a quick consultation with my fellow teachers, I assumed the storyteller role.  I can imagine another time where this quick change would have un-centered me and where I would have been disappointed.  I can hear the old script in my head creating unhappiness because I wanted something different to happen.  Things didn’t go my way.  But, they did go a way and gratefully, I was able to go the way that the moment was going.  This is that moment of “yes” that improv is famous for.  The rule is to say yes to whatever story line is presented to you and continue on.  This is a spiritual principle too.  To accept the present moment as it is allows one a certain peace and freedom.

This aspect of flow or allowing the fullness of the moment is also an aspect of delightful play.  How many times have we heard our children build a story by saying yes to each other and, of course, heard tears and protests when the action of play is stopped by a no.  How wonderful to be in that opening and surprising place of being able to say yes.  I have a friend who works in a middle school.  There are many times where she needs to say no in her work.  Instead of no, she is trying to say, “yes, and….”.  She says that this sometimes works beautifully, calling both parties into a creative process rather than a power struggle.

In our spirit play class, we try to wonder in the spirit of yes.  We try to gently call each other into respectful speech and action by finding the yes in the situation we’re in.  We try to say yes when we show up to what we don’t expect.  We try to find some kind of yes so that we can fully experience what is unfolding and don’t get stuck seeing everything through a lens of disappointment or resistance.  Where do you find yourself in a space of yes?  When you want to say no, is there a way to play around to find a hidden yes?

Perseverance

This week’s reflection starts long before the classroom.  I woke up Sunday morning and started my morning meditation.

The Rocky Path

The Rocky Path

When it was time to wake up my children, I called to them through the door to their room so I wouldn’t have to open it and disturb the blanket fort they were sleeping under, it’s corner wedged between the door and frame.  I started to get dressed and think about breakfast when I heard my children talking and then yelling and then screaming at each other.  I called through the door again hoping my voice would disrupt their anger and retorts, but it didn’t.  In fact, I could hear that the argument had turned physical and they were hurting each other.  It was time to come in, fort or no.

These moments prove to me some of the most difficult parenting situations I encounter.  I want to protect both of my children from being hurt physically or emotionally.  I want the yelling and fighting to stop.  I want to bring calm to the situation, but their anger tends to fuel my anger, especially when they are more intent on continuing their argument than in listening to me.  I found myself getting louder and louder and more frustrated and soon we were all yelling and unkind to one another.  Embarrassingly, the melee ended by me tearing down the blanket fort and separating the children.

As I prepared breakfast and took some time to calm down, I marveled at how fast that situation had gotten out of control and how disappointed I was in myself.  I not only didn’t manage to bring calm to the situation, I added to it.  That is not the kind of parent I want to be.  Parenting is a spiritual practice for me and it truly breaks my heart when I fall short.

I first decided I needed to apologize to my son, who had built the fort.  I told him that I wished I hadn’t taken it down and I would help put it back together.  I apologized to my daughter for yelling.  We ate breakfast.  And then I built the fort myself, fixing the blankets higher than they had been which was a welcome improvement according to the kids.

And then we went to church.  It was story Sunday so we all went to the Sanctuary together and sat down.  Even though I sat between them, they started to poke and pick at each other disturbing those around us.  I stood up for the first hymn and noticed they were drawing a line on the pew delineating whose side was whose.  And then they started drawing a line up my back.  This was a sad moment for me.  I don’t want my children to feel scarce with my love and attention so that they need to claim their part of me.  I want all of me to be for both of them.  Listening to Jessica’s sermon asking us to please have mercy on ourselves for our moments of failure was just the balm I needed.

Our lesson in class was about the Persevering Ant who goes on a pilgrimage to find what is biggest and most powerful, ending up in conversation with God who was everywhere and nowhere at the same time.  One child said that the piece of fabric under the story was the most important part because it held all the other parts.  All the pieces were included.  And it made me think about one of the greatest powers of Love, to hold all things, even the things that we sometimes find difficult or painful.  To have mercy on myself means that the power of love can draw me back to my center and give me the strength to apologize.  It gives me the desire to wonder why I behaved the way I did this time and what I might do differently next time.  It gives me the assurance that there is more than this;  more than my painful learning as a parent, more than the smaller forces of fear and tiredness and hurt.  There are more chances, more relationship, more love and more mercy than I can exhaust by my mishaps and missteps.  This is truly good news and worth practicing again and again and again.  What does the power of love call you to?  Where do you need to have mercy on yourself?

We Practice Listening

Last Sunday I got to tell a story about listening.  The gist of the story was that Love/Truth/God is something that is always available to us if we stop and notice and listen.  2016-10-09-12-34-49We experience this in the depth of our hearts, in relationship with others, through the gifts of nature, through stories, song and poetry and through the gathered community when people come together for service or worship.  Each way to experience had a section of underlay all it’s own separated partially by popsicle sticks.  After introducing each I said the refrain, “We practice listening.  We listen with our whole selves”.

Listening seems simple enough, but, like meditation, it’s harder than it seems to truly listen.  This is because it asks of us the same quality of presence that we use in meditation.  There is a person here speaking.  As soon as we start composing our response or associating about when that happened to us, we have ceased to be present.  I’m sure we’ve all had the experience of listening to another and missing what was just said as our attention wandered off to our own thoughts.  We maybe even appeared to be listening, but we weren’t really there.

I know from my work as a Spiritual Director and from my experience with friends and family that truly being in a moment by moment listening presence is  rare.  When we find those rare people who can simply be with us, listening, to whatever comes, it is a profound gift.  That moment requires receptivity and acceptance that isn’t found easily in daily life.  Most of the time we listen to others and they listen to us in order to try to teach, help, fix, analyze and advise us.  These interactions can be helpful, but how often are we allowed and offered the space to be exactly where, who and what we are in the moment?

And if we have such difficulty truly and deeply listening to each other, how can we listen to/for that Infinite Mystery we sometimes call God?  Where is the presence of Love in our beloved community?  Where is the presence of Truth in our sacred stories about people who have tried to live in faith and love?  Where is God in the gifts of the natural world that touch us through our body?  Where is the Mystery in our encounter with any other person, with our own deep heart?  And how do we come close with that formless and unimaginable Beyond that always just is?  When we start listening in any of these arena’s, when we come into awareness or silence to simply notice and look for Love/Truth/God, we start to find it everywhere.

When wondering together, many of our children decided the best and most important part of our story was the gathered community where we come and listen for God together.  2016-10-09-12-35-32In our story, that special place of community is where we turn into God’s presence for each other and the world.  I reminded them that our Spirit Play class IS the gathered community.  They were amazed.  It was beautiful for our children to understand that this story is our story too, right now.  Our last question is always if there is anything we can take out of our story and still have all the story we need.  This question is especially hard for this age group, but in this class, one child said the dividers between the ways we experience listening for God could be taken away.  How wise, I thought.  Yes, truly that could be taken away and we would still have all the story we need.

At the 9 o’clock service we came to the part of the Embracing Meditation when we are invited to offer aloud or hold in the silent sanctuary of our hearts, the names of those we want to hold in worship.  The usual low mumble of voices faintly rose and one very loud clear voice saying, “I’m sorry.  I didn’t quite catch that.  You’ll have to try again”, issuing from someone’s cell phone.  Since listening was on my mind I wondered about this seeming random occurrence.  Since the embracing meditation is usually the only place in our service where the whole gathered community is invited to use their individual voices I wondered how we are listening to each other in that moment, how we are listened to by the presence of God we embody for one another?  I wonder today what it looks like in our lives to remove the barriers between our experience to make our encounter of Life seamless and focused on listening for the Love/Truth/God in each moment in everything.  What if our personal practice, our worship, our family time, our commute, our activism, our teaching was all one experience of listening for Love/Truth/God and then speaking back into the world as the Presence of that Love/Truth/God?  In our story when we stop to listen and connect with Love/Truth/God, we gain clarity on who to be, what to do and how to love.  It starts in every moment.  It starts now.  We practice listening.  We listen with our whole selves.

All These Alters

This Sunday in Spirit Play we told the story of Many Paths to the Mountain.  It is a story about 5 travelers who are all traveling to the mountain, but are each convinced that their way is the only best way.

The Alter Path

The Alter Path

When they all reach the top, they celebrate and share stories of their many adventures.  This year I have arranged my schedule so that I am able to attend worship and teach so when I came to class I had Rob’s sermon ringing in my mind.  He preached on the story of Abraham bringing Isaac to the mountain to be sacrificed, a difficult story to plumb.

I also could not help but have KP’s words ringing in my mind from our teacher training where he spoke of alters as places of burning, a place where we are undone.  He challenged us to accompany our children in a way that opens our hearts to vulnerability and risk, to be in an authentic place of journey with one another as we engage in the spiritual practice of teaching and learning together.

As I sat by the door breathing and witnessing I found myself tearing up as the Storyteller introduced each path.  One traveler picked the forrest path to face fear, the next picked the desert path to encounter austerity.  One picked the rocky path to test endurance and worthiness, one picked the river path so they would be refreshed for the journey and the last picked a path through cities, so they could have community along the way.  All the paths brought the respective travelers to the destination.  How many times have I picked the path of my journey from obligation and fear?  And still there is something to learn.  What path do I choose now?

And what are these paths?  Maybe they too are alters.  Maybe each path to each traveler is so important that they must give themselves over to it so that the path itself becomes the encounter with the sacred, that the traveler surrenders to it in a way that irrevocably changes/alters the person walking it.  What path do you choose to give yourself to?  This is serious business, this journey.

And then there are the children, our children.  Before our story, we brought the children into the sanctuary to witness the Celebration of New Lives that we had just talked about the week before.  And there was another dedication.  These parents are promising to bring their children to us, to Unity, to our community.  A community which seeks to make the beloved community real.  And we promised to love these babies as they grow.  We have given ourselves over to that path and their parents have given them to us.  And this happens at least each week as we give our children to this community to learn together, to discover our truth and our path, and to walk it with as much engagement and awareness as we can.  Who knows what happens next?

Our youth just won an award for their dedication to Black Lives Matter.  For our youth, participating in this movement for justice is the path that they have chosen.  Whether chosen from a deep yes, or from a place of inner obligation it has brought them into a beautiful and dangerous journey of love.  It has brought them to the 4th precinct.  It has brought them hand in hand into community.  We love these children, our children.  We offer them over and over to this path with fear and trembling and pride.  Their path is the depth of love and the flame in the chalice of our hearts that we cannot resist, that we must give ourselves over to.

When asked at teacher training to name a value we hold and an example of being undone by it, I answered that I deeply believe that all children should be loved and feel a sense of belonging.  I am undone by this all the time and I come to our Spirit Play classroom partly to know and fiercely love our children.  My work is to see them, to notice them, to let them know that their presence is a joy and a delight; and to let them know I missed them when they have been gone.  This is a path I give myself to.  As I teared up in class, one of our children put his hand on my hand.  He put his hand on my shoulder.  On an alter so important, in work so sacred, it is a relief to know we’re not alone.  We are on this beautiful and dangerous path all together hand in hand.

Being the Story(teller)

The Storyteller role in our classroom seems clear cut.  There is a book with the ritual we use to open our class.  The book contains the story.  The Storyteller leads the class through the ritual and the story and dismisses children to their work.

Many paths obscuring the mountain

What’s the story?

But this role done well is an invitation into a different world.  A good story draws you in so that for a moment, the story is your story, the message is spoken right into your soul.  The telling is so important.  We are working with our stories this year so that the content is rich and ripe, but that is only the very beginning.  To be an invitation that draws one into the moment, we must take care to tell it with reverence and fascination.  The story is an opening to bring us all on a journey together.

If we peek inside the story(teller) we might witness this:  I sit with the story in the days before class.  I wonder about it.  I live the story.  I become the story.  By Sunday I do not need the book.  I am the book.  Within me is the story that is every story.  It is my story and it is yours.

Our first story is always the story of our opening ritual.  It is the welcome and the greeting we sing to one another.  It is the meeting of the eyes as we share a peace greeting,  “I see your beauty.  I hear your needs.  I honor the wisdom in you”.  This is a story we share. This is our story of Spirit Play.  This is the story of the spiritual life.

 

And then begins the story of the week.  Our ritual has gathered us into a community of safety and love.  Now we are ready to journey together into a new time and space.  We are ready to encounter ourselves and wonder about what is mysterious and scary and surprising.  A box or a basket containing our manipulatives comes off the shelf.  It is time.  We begin with wonder…What is in here?  What could this be? I handle our props as if they are the most fascinating treasures.  I dissolve into the telling of the tale.  I am a mirror.  I am an invitation.  I am the story.  I am each character.  I am the scene.  I am the dramatic pause.  On a good story day, I do not make eye contact during the telling.  All my attention is focused on the story itself leaving the children to draw close and see themselves and see for themselves.  We lose ourselves together as we move along the narrative.

When the story is done, we pause and come back into the room.  I emerge from the character, from the role and sit with these children as a curious fellow explorer.  What have we seen in this story?  We wonder together.  These stories are metaphors and symbols.  These stories are myths and dreams.  These stories are illustrations of human life and meaning.  They are a microcosm of the whole.  The experience of the story and the questions that follow are designed to bring us further on this journey of discovery.  What part of the story do you like best?  What part is most important?  Who or what would you be if you were in this story?  Is there any part of this story we could leave out and still have everything we need?

And the story moves on after the telling and is playfully processed through art, through puppets, through sand and exploration.  We become the story.  The story becomes our play.  The story becomes a teacher and we take it with us in our hearts and hold it and turn it and look for it’s treasure.  If we take the time, we see ourselves there and know ourselves.  That awareness gives rise to our continued growth into people of integrity, a community of joy, and a life of service.  We bring our story to this story.  We hear this story and create a new ending, a meme, a backstory, a story within a story.  Our class creates a new story every week by our presence with one another.  We are transformed and that changes the world every week.  Create this story with us.  Let’s write in Love and Life and Joy.

On Retreat

On the shore

On the shore

Today I got the pleasure and the honor of exploring Christian traditions of contemplation and meditation with a lovely group of women.  One of the things we did was an active imagination contemplation on a passage from a gospel.  I used Mark 6:53-56 which is a short passage whose language captured me a few months ago when I ran across it in my morning scripture readings.

“Once they had crossed over to land, they landed at Gennesaret and dropped anchor.  As soon as they had gotten out of the boat, people recognized him right away, and they ran around over the whole area and started bringing those who were ill on mats to wherever he was rumored to be.  And wherever he would go, into villages, or towns, or onto farms, they would lay out the sick in the marketplaces and beg him to let them touch the fringe of his cloak.  And all those who managed to touch it were cured!”

I read the passage a few times and asked the women to imagine themselves in the story.  Where are they?  On the shore?  Running around over the whole area?  In the marketplace?  On a farm?  And what do they experience there with their senses?  Is it hot, does it smell like lake-shore, is there sand on their feet, do they hear animals or people?

And then I asked them to consider who they might be in this story.  Are they Jesus?  Are they one of Jesus’ followers?  Are they bringing their loved one for healing?  Are they themselves laying in the marketplace hoping that Jesus will come near?  Are they a shop keeper or bystander watching and wondering what is happening?

And then I asked them to inhabit the story and imagine what might come next after the text ends.

Today I read this passage and found myself in the marketplace.  I have heard a rumor that Jesus is coming and I am in need of healing.  My family humors me and doesn’t understand why I would go, but I know I need to go, even if they don’t understand.  I have no mat.  No one can tell that I am there too hoping and waiting to see if the Healer will come here.  No one can see my illness.  I can see the others, those with scaling skin, those laying in the hot sun barely breathing, those with withered limbs, with all manner of physical illness.  And I see those family and friends who have brought them here, anxious mothers with their sick children, friends standing by, all of them ready to rush their loved one close to him, to help them to reach out, to press in all around in the chance that they will come close enough to be cured.  They are the ones who really need the Teacher.  They are the ones he should reach out to.
I don’t know why I thought I could come here, whole in body, and seek for my own healing.  There are so many here who will die if they are not helped.  Still….I will stay regardless.  Maybe there is a chance he will come here and at least I will see him and see for myself this man of God.  I smell the fires of the cooking ovens.  I wait for a long time.  The air feels tense with anxiety;  everyone straining to see down the path.  Will he come? And then suddenly there are shouts and a great many people run down the road. He is coming.  He is coming here.  I hold back assuming there is no room for me to get anywhere near him.  He is pressed from all sides.  Everyone is scrambling and calling out.  Voices everywhere beg and plead.  He walks through the crowd slowly reaching out and touching the sick.
He is amazing to watch and as he moves further into the crowd, an amazing calm moves through the people.  They witness him in awe.  Everyone who touches him, everyone he touches, even just a brush of his clothes, becomes well.  They sing and shout their praises.  Mothers weep in gratitude.  I watch and wish that I too could come close.  Suddenly everything stops and he meets my gaze through the crowd.  He knows exactly why I am there.  I am embraced in a feeling of all-encompassing love.  There is nothing but his gaze and somehow I am standing before him.  He takes my hands and tells me that I too am well.  And I am.  I am well.  I am a boundless perfection beyond all thought and word.  I am an essential piece of everything and there is Love, only Love.  Everything is Love.  He smiles at me and tears run down each of our cheeks.  He says, “Come.  Follow me.”  And I do.  I leave everything I have known for Love and Joy.

Give us this Day

This has been an intense season of change in my life.  Last spring I started studying with a meditation teacher after a synchronistic meeting.  I had already been engaged in a meditation practice- survival meditation as I thought of it.  I did not start meditating to enhance my life, or because I thought it was something I should do as a spiritual person.  I started meditating because I felt like if I didn’t, I might just lose myself in the Universe and be unable to manage being alive.  And my practice deepened further when my healer/teacher withdrew from my life.  By last spring I was ready to get some guidance and focus to stabilize and enhance what I was already doing.  The method I studied was a hindu/yogic style practiced and taught by Paramahansa Yogananda.  As soon as I began the techniques of this path, something happened that surprised me, but maybe shouldn’t have.

Daily Bread

Daily Bread

Jesus returned to me.  I think this happened for a number of reasons.  Firstly, I had not engaged in devotional prayer for a very very long time and praying that way brought me back to practices I had engaged in many years before as a serious disciple of Jesus.  Secondly, well, Jesus and I had a thing.  We had a deep and committed relationship until I up and left him in the late 90’s.

Since Jesus came to me again, I have found myself closing a large circle in my life.  I find myself feeling comfortable thinking of myself as Christian….almost.  I have found a few Christian mystics who feel like my tribe and my people, something I searched for with very little success early in my life.  I find myself reading the Bible again with eyes opened in a very different way than they ever have been.  Jesus and I made up.

I am in the midst of transition where I cannot see what will happen next and it seems terrifying at times.  I would never ever have thought I would find myself praying something as traditional as the Lord’s Prayer, but I seem to be profoundly coming back home in an alive and authentic way that has included saying and appreciating this prayer….almost.  Some things about Christianity still chafe.  The almost exclusive referencing of God as male, the literalism that sometimes dominates reading of biblical text, and especially the institutional atrophy that has reduced some churches to rote supporters of a social status quo.  All of that feels dead.  However, there is a reason the Lord’s Prayer is said so frequently.  I incorporated it back into my personal prayer mostly for the line, “Give us this day our daily bread”  which I feel is another way of recognizing that the whole Universe is a gift running through my hands and doesn’t belong to me at all.  And yet, in this moment, I have everything I need and so much more.

It is hard for me to pray this prayer without modification.  It holds powerful truth, but for me it also holds some pain.  So, what does one do?  Retranslate.

Here is my Lord’s Prayer that I’m trying on in the morning and evening:

Source of all Love, in this eternal now,
may your Presence be honored.
Align all life with your Life and bring us all into awareness of our belonging as we realize the truth of our oneness with you.
Gift us all the resources we need each day.  Transform our brokenness with the generosity of your healing love as we extend healing love to one another.
Please do not keep us in darkness, but redeem our trials with new life.

This practice is breathing new life into me that I could never have imagined for myself.  I hope as you read along, it offers you an invitation to new life as well.

What are the resources you need this day?

Haven

Haven

Haven

 

 

 

 

 

 

I am one who is seeking and finding refuge,
opening a soft place in my heart
opening up
like my newborn in warm water
gently blossoming
to let in the sun
and the bees
an invitation into beautiful sanctuary.

I am one who is seeking and finding rest,
is sinking into the support of
water
to be nurtured and birthed.

I am one who brings the belonging
of my heart
with me everywhere
and invites others to rest
in love.

I am one who moves from
I
to
We
to
Us
to Home in this moment
into greater expanding Life and Love.
Come rest in this haven.