The Farewell Tour

“Well…you need a new knee.”

Not the words I’d hoped to hear from the orthopedic surgeon recommended by my physical therapist who I trust almost as much as Jesus. He continued, “You are young, strong, and you want to keep doing these things that you love for a long time, so there couldn’t be a better time to do this. Go take that 100 mile trek in England, and then let’s get this thing done.”

That he called me young and strong made me want to kiss him on the spot, but orthopedic surgeons aren’t known for being the touchy-feely type. I was trusting him with my knee, not my heart, and his words rang true. I’d gone in to his office with the intention of walking out with clarity, and I had it. We took that 100 mile trek through the Lake District in England, dubbing it the “Farewell Tour” for my right knee.

I’m not looking forward to the surgery, or the early days to follow, (Hello, Oxy. Nice to meet you.) but I am grateful for the chance to get a new knee. A bionic knee. One that will help me continue logging as many miles as are mine to hike on the trail that is my life.

A farewell tour signals the end of a thing. It’s a chance to showcase something one final time. In this case, the right knee I was born with, but for musicians, it usually means performing the best of their best. The fan favorites. The songs people know by heart and that that particular band or performer are known for. For those who love the band, the musician, and the music, attending that farewell performance can be a spiritual experience, connecting them to one another and the music they collectively love. It is an experience where the whole is greater than the sum of the parts.

Maybe life is like that. As our years accumulate, we have the chance to offer the best of our best. The music written in the key of our life. The songs we’re known for. Our fan favorites. The ones they will continue to hum long after we’re gone. We get to offer what we have to give. Not for the applause or the standing ovation, but for the chance to give away what we have gathered up from the life we have lived, starting with those we love the most. It too is an experience where the whole is greater than the sum of our parts.

Every gig worth the usually exorbitant price of admission includes an encore performance. The audience calling for one more song, and another, and another, and another, until the performers have nothing left to give, and it’s time to exit stage left. To leave the scene without a fuss, because they know their time, on that stage, is done.

Maybe life is like that too, with calls for one more song, and another, and another, and another, until we have nothing left to give and it’s our time to exit stage left. To leave the scene without a fuss, because we know that our time, and this stage, is done.

Leaving Our Mark

There is a tradition at the Glenwood Rodeo, and every year it gives me pause. At the beginning of the show and before the events get underway, time is taken to honor those in the community who are no longer with us. It may be a veteran who served, a longtime resident who passed away, or a community member that left us too soon. For each person being remembered, a cowboy rides around the arena leading a riderless horse as our beloved announcer pays tribute.

This year one of those who is no longer with us was a young man named Angel, and along with working on one of the original ranches in our area, he attended community college to learn the art of saddle making. His new craft gave him great pride and hope for his future, and while his future was cut short, his pride in his work will live on.

In listening to this tribute today, I learned that a maker leaves his or her own unique mark on every saddle they craft. It is a mark that says I believe in what I do enough to stamp it as my own. Those lucky enough to own a saddle that came from Angel’s hands will treasure it even more now that he is gone, his mark a reminder of what it looks like to believe in what we offer enough to stamp it with our own unique mark for all to see.

Holy Fires

For me to be a saint means to be myself (Thomas Merton)…We owe it to the God who created us, to ourselves, to the people we love, and to all with whom we share this troubled planet, to become “saints”. How else can we run and complete the errand upon which God sent us here?

The Road Back To You by Ian Morgan Cron & Suzanne Stabile

Sometimes someone speaks truth into our lives in a way that changes us. In a way that reminds us of who we are and why we are here.

Recently that happened to me.

Twice.

The first, when a new friend, one I met just last week at Rancho La Puerta, stopped me mid-sentence and said, “Molly, you are a holy fire.” It simultaneously gave me shivers and a lump in my throat then, and gives me the same now as I see her words in print. I knew what she said to be true, in that kind of quiet, deep knowing that happens in such moments.

The second, when my dearest friend of almost 45 years told me that in all of our times of working together, she’s never seen me as she is seeing me now. That I am “at the top of my game”. Again, I knew her words to be true, but at 65 years of age, the top of my game isn’t about building my brand, or establishing myself as a well-known expert, rather, it is about offering my work in service to others. Perhaps that is what being at the top of our game is meant to mean at any age.

I hesitate to even write about this, as it sounds high and mighty, and like I think I’m all that. Quite the opposite. Rather than high and mighty, I feel low, as in grounded on the earth, and small, as in a tiny reflection of what happens whenever we live our lives from the center of our being. Yes, I’ve honed my craft and refined my skills, but I can stake no claim to that holy blaze, other than that I’ve learned to stoke the fire that was laid for me from the beginning. And being at the top of my game? It doesn’t mean showing off…it means showing up.

We are each meant to be a holy fire, and called to be at the top of our game. Let’s remind one another of who we are, by speaking truth that will help us complete the errand upon which we’ve each been sent.

Written with deep gratitude

Mirror Mirror

“Our deepest calling is to grow into our own authentic self-hood, whether or not it conforms to some image of who we ought to be. As we do so, we will not only find the joy that every human being seeks--we will also find our path of authentic service in the world.” 
― Parker Palmer

When we look in the mirror, who do we see?

Do we recognize the image looking back at us?

Does our outside match our inside?

If not, what do we need to do to uncover or reclaim our own authentic self-hood, so that we can walk our path of authentic service in the world?

It is our deepest calling.

Let’s answer it.

Write here…

True North

There are such things as magnetic moments. Times when we sense an inner pull, an invitation to step more fully into our lives, calling us to our own true north, that unique, authentic, wholehearted life that is ours, and only ours, to live. 

Magnetic moments ask us to step over the threshold of uncertainty and fear, cross over the border of the familiar and the comfortable, and venture into the unknown. Marking both the ending of what has been, and the beginning of what could be, it is the threshold that bridges the gap. Sometimes that threshold sits beneath a door that opens inward, drawing us deeper into self-knowledge and awareness. This usually requires that we find the courage to look into our shadows, those parts of ourselves that we prefer to ignore or keep hidden, or those issues and relationships that call for our attention, but are painful, or scary to look at. Other times we are invited to venture further out, beyond the boundaries we’ve come to count on. Taking risks, embarking on new work, making important changes, practicing new ways of being in the world.

In case, like me, you didn’t know this, there is a difference between magnetic north and true north. A compass automatically points to magnetic north, which shifts over time, while true north does not change. In order to find true north a compass must be adjusted. Magnetic moments are an alert to adjust our inner compass. In the world of auto-correct, adjustments happen automatically on our devices, but not so in our own lives. Recognizing that magnetic pull, we adjust our inner compass to make sure it is aligned with who we are and what we care about. This adjustment doesn’t keep us safe…It keeps us true.

Magnetic moments are game changers, and the choice is always ours to step over that threshold.

Or not.

Either way the game changes.

This first day of the new year is a chance to adjust our inner compass, allowing it to help us make any necessary course corrections so as to step boldly towards true north. The life that is ours, and only ours, to live. This adjustment won’t keep us safe…it will keep us true.

First light of the first day of a new year.

Committed

Later this week I will have the privilege of facilitating a day-long meeting in Nashville, TN for a group of educators, all dedicated to advocating for and advancing STEM Education (Science-Technology-Engineering-Math) for Girls.

The core purpose of the meeting is Reinforcing Our Unbreakable Commitment to GIRLS in STEM Education. It is my honor to step in and help in this effort, and I can’t think of a better way to spend a day.

Ever since my dear friend and colleague Dr. Barbara Bell engaged me for this meeting, I have been captivated by the language she chose to clarify the purpose for the day. Reinforcing Our Unbreakable Commitment… While theirs is a commitment to girls in STEM Education, the idea of an unbreakable commitment is worthy of anyone’s consideration.

What is my Unbreakable Commitment?

As I ponder this question, on a plane bound for Nashville, here is my answer:

I have an unbreakable commttment to the following core beliefs:

~ We are all created in the image of God

~ We are all called to live our most authentic, whole-hearted lives.

~ We are all called to love, help, and heal the world that is within our reach.

How will I Reinforce My Unbreakable Commitment?

I am fiercely determined to live in a way that those core beliefs are evident to others. These beliefs need to be more than good words, because talk is cheap. They need to run through my veins, energize my actions, and inform my choices. While I’m pretty sure I’ll never get it perfect, I’ll never stop working to get it better.

I’ve shared these core beliefs before, and will continue to do so going forward. Not because I need to spread them far and wide, but because I need to stay close to them myself. When we give voice to what we believe, we are compelled to live those beliefs out loud.

What is Your Unbreakable Commitment?

How will you Reinforce  Your Unbreakable Commitment?

Onward.

Upward.

Together.

It Is Well

My soul is tired tonight.

It’s not a bad thing, just a true thing.

Many near and dear to me are in the midst of loss, grief, pain, uncertainty, and unrelenting change, and their souls are weary too.

It’s not a bad thing, just a true thing.

There is no way around or over such times, there is only through. And while we can’t walk someone else’s trail for them, we can accompany them on their way. If we are called to do nothing else, we are called to this. To sidle up to one another, and stick together, come what may.

We listen, and listen, and then listen some more. We connect them with needed resources, and clear our calendars.. We show up without being asked, and pick up the phone and call. We get online and order something that will lift their spirits when they find it delivered to their porch. We cry with them, and laugh with them in that crazy-ass way that only dark humor can turn on a moment of light. We commiserate with them, and cook for them. Shake our fists heavenward with them, even as we offer up prayers of gratitude for the grace and strength to make it through another day.

As they do for me, I do for them. As I do for them, they do for me.

And so it goes.

It is nothing if not a maze of shared grace.

Weary though it may be, at the end of this day, it is well with my soul.

A Flaming Mystic: Practicing the Presence

One of my favorite podcasts is On Being , hosted by Krista Tipett. She is one of the best interviewers out there, and one of my favorite episodes was her conversation with Dr. Rachel Naomi Remen, a physician working in the field of integrative medicine. Dr. Remen was speaking about her grandfather, a man who had profoundly shaped her life and view of the world. He was an Orthodox rabbi who studied the Kabbalah. She referred to him as a "flaming mystic", and went on to clarify what she meant by that term. Paraphrasing here, she said that her grandfather viewed the world as a place that was inhabited by a Presence, One with whom we could be in constant communication. We could daily, constantly, be in conversation with this abiding Presence by speaking to and asking of, and be directly spoken to and asked of right back. I LOVE that view of the world, it is one that I share, and, one that I all too often forget. In the midst of my days it is easy to imagine that I am out here on my own, forgetting that I'm connected to life in deep and mysterious ways that are as real as real can be.  

The word mystic can be scary to some as it might suggest a connection to some sort of magic or  "new age nonsense". To others, the term can seem foolish as it is not grounded in scientific fact and hard evidence. I wonder if looking at the  word in either of those ways shortchanges us of some of the riches that life wants to offer. Personally, I believe that we are all, every single one of us, created in the image of a magnificent God. That the creative force behind all of life is present around us and in us, and wants to work with and through us. Every. Single. One. Of. Us. I believe that we are all here to live our most authentic and whole-hearted lives. And, I believe we are all here to love, help, and heal the world that is within our reach. Weaving those three beliefs together is where the magic happens. Connected to the Source, we become a source of healing and helping in the world in our own authentic and whole-hearted way. 

You may or may not agree with Rabbi Remen. But what if, just for the heck of it, we all tried on a mystic hat for size. Wake up in the morning and connect with that magnificent Presence, by speaking to and asking of, and then listening for the response. Perhaps we will find that the voice that speaks back to us is as close as our own hearts.

Photo: Brad Hannon

Time For New Stories

As I reflect on this new year, I want to share a singular thought that keeps coming to me—2018: The Year of New Stories.

I’ve decided to consider what old stories are ready to be put to bed. Those stories that might have served me in the past, or maybe never did. The stories that I don't want to take with me into 2018. And, with more room in my heart, mind, and soul, what new stories might I be able to write? To tell? To create? To live? 

Our stories can keep us stuck in old patterns, and confine us to small dreams and fruitless actions. Or, they can open the doors to new ways of being in the world and in relationship with ourselves and with one another. New stories offer us a vision of how things could be, and invite us to take daring and necessary leaps of faith. Sometimes they even weave new patterns in our hearts that allow us to make peace for the first time with who we are in all of our glory and our brokenness. 

As 2018 begins, I find my heart overflowing with gratitude for you...for those of you who are near and dear, those with whom I have only recently crossed paths for the first time, and, for those of you I may never meet but who share this planet we all call home. You matter in so many ways, and my life is abundantly filled with love, deep joy, and meaning because of what each of you bring to the world.

As human beings we are storytellers at heart, and we see ourselves in one another's stories. May we be bold, and bring forth stories worthy of telling for years to come.

With abundant gratitude.

Molly

Photo: Tom Pierson

The Thread

For months and months my writing had a clear, specific focus to it, as I worked to complete the manuscript for BLUSH: Women & Wine . Daily, and with purpose, I would head to my desk, sit down, and allow the message to find its way onto the page. Some days the writing was harder than others, yet slowly but surely, the thread that wanted to run from beginning to end began to shimmer and weave the words forward into my long imagined book. The thread, I explained to those who wondered, wasn't about the fact that I had long used my nightly wine ritual as a way to distance myself from pain, stress, and uncomfortable emotions and issues. Nor was it about my commitment to changing an unhealthy pattern. The thread ran, and runs, deeper than understanding and changing a habitual coping mechanism. My thread, the one I have attempted (with varying degrees of success) to hold on to over the years, is made of the these three deeply held strands of belief:

1. We are all created in the image of God.
2. We are all called to live as authentically and whole-heartedly as we are able.
3. We are all here to love, help, and heal the world that is within our reach.

Anything that gets in the way of our ability to hold onto our thread is deserving of our full attention. Wine was getting in my way. Thankfully, now it isn't. 

However.

After the book was published, my thread sort of disappeared. Life became about promoting the book, creating buzz, garnering more attention, and increasing sales.

Not. My. Thread. 

In my efforts to promote the book, I forgot about my purpose. When I most needed to remember it, the following piece, written by my good and wise friend David Berry, showed up in my in-box. His words led me back to my thread. My purpose. Which is to help people live authentic, whole-hearted lives, in order that they might better love, help, and heal the world that is within their reach.

I'm feeling the silkiness of the thread in my hand again, and my commitment to hang on to it is renewed. I know it will lead me to the next right steps. As it always does. I'll keep you posted.

Until then, I invite you to pour a glass of your favorite wine, savor David's words, and hang on to your thread.

You Have To Explain About the Thread

JULY 10, 2017DAVID BERRY

“The Way It Is”

There’s a thread you follow. It goes among
things that change. But it doesn’t change.
People wonder about what you are pursuing.
You have to explain about the thread.
But it is hard for others to see.
While you hold it you can’t get lost.
Tragedies happen; people get hurt
or die; and you suffer and get old.
Nothing you do can stop time’s unfolding.
You don’t ever let go of the thread.

– William Stafford –

I was captivated this week by the most recent episode of the podcast, This American Life. Specifically, a segment featuring the magicians Penn and Teller describing their process of developing a new trick. Teller, the conspicuously silent partner, has fallen in love with the idea of recreating a classic floating ball and hoop routine. Penn is less enthusiastic, as in not at all. As Teller works and works to make the trick worthy of their show by the standard they have agreed to over 40 years of collaboration he falls short time and again.

A breakthrough comes when they agree that the way to make the trick compelling to both themselves and their audience is to let the audience in on it from the very beginning. The trick begins with Penn’s announcement: “The next trick is done with just a piece of thread.”  And off goes Teller, beautifully and brilliantly manipulating a ball with nothing more than a piece of thread.

What Penn and Teller understood and acted upon – after years of work on one specific illusion – is what William Stafford implores us to do in the poem above: “You have to explain about the thread.” 

I am often in a position to do exactly that. In the classroom or at a speaking engagement I am frequently asked about my own thread. Why do I do what I do? How did I get started? What are the steps I took from there to here? I always respond in the same way, that I knew exactly what I was supposed to do with my life when I was 17 years old. A bright red thread emerged through my experiences in musical performance and student leadership. I was intuitively aware that the abilities developed and practiced in those early settings were the strengths I would call on throughout my adult life. I held onto the thread through the first few years of college but lost it completely once I had to marry my intuitive sense of it to the harshly practical world of “knowing what you want to do with your life.” I didn’t know how to manifest my nascent understanding of my thread into a next step. And I was too afraid to explain about the thread. I wasn’t willing to say, “This is my thread. I don’t know much about it but I do know a few important things, not least of which is that it’s mine. Will you please help me figure out where it leads?”

Instead, I let it slip away. As it turns out, it did not let go of me. We played peekaboo on occasion, a flirtation here and there, but it took over 10 years and an extraordinary confluence (aka, the thread working hard behind the scenes) of people and events to land me in front of a classroom of aspirational leaders. The specifics of that first class are hazy because my memory is dominated by the aliveness I felt at having my hands on the thread once again.

Most recently, my thread has led me to the college classroom and the opportunity to teach and mentor undergraduate students. The thread has a solid sense of humor. It says, “You struggled to claim me as your own. Others struggle, too. Here is your chance to help a few people struggle a little less, to find the thread a little earlier, and to gain the confidence and declare their commitment to hang on.”

There is no “magic.” There is finding your thread and there is holding onto your thread because “while you hold it you can’t get lost.” There is demonstrating to all who cannot see it that what looks like magic is just your commitment to trust where it will lead. Sometimes, like Teller performing for a full house, we hang on with artistry and elegance. Sometimes, like Teller in the early days of practice, we hang on in spite of our fumbling because our curiosity compels us to learn where it wants to go.  And sometimes we don’t hang on at all. But it is there, waiting to dispel the illusion that we can find our way without it.

What is your thread? Where is it leading?
Who have you explained it to? Who have you asked for help?
What makes it hard to hang on?
Is there someone whose thread confuses you?
Will you listen to them explain about the thread?

For further reading, here’s another reflection on “The Way It Is” by Parker Palmer.

DAVID BERRY is the author of “A More Daring Life: Finding Voice at the Crossroads of Change” and the founder of RULE13 Learning. He speaks and writes about the complexity of leading in a changing world.