On Holy Ground

Yesterday morning we parked in our usual spot at the bottom of the hill. Getting out of the car, I put on my pack, lengthened my trekking poles, and was ready for another trip to the top of the logging road. Uncertain of what the trip up - and down - would feel like given a recent, but unspecified, injury to my right knee, I waited uneasily for Tom to lock the car and join me.

I have no idea what I did to that knee, but whatever it was, it wasn’t good. Swelling, pain, instability. That kind of not good, and our upcoming hike into the crater at Mt. St. Helens in two weeks was looming especially large in my soul that morning. The hike is no small thing. 10 miles round trip over uneven terrain, some gnarly trails and boulders, no shade, and plenty of elevation gain, a girl wants to be able to put her best almost 70-year-old knee(s) forward. Not to mention the fact that Tom is the geologist who will accompany those who have paid a pretty penny for this bucket list trip, and I want to keep up with his almost 76-year-old knees.

I have the never-to-be-taken-for-granted privilege of easy access to incredible healthcare, including a stellar physical therapist. Working with her, icing and elevating my knee, self-massage, targeted stretching and exercises, things were improving. But still…

Tom walked up with a look I’ve come to recognize. It is a look that signals his certainty for what is called for in that particular moment. Bending down, he laid both hands on that troubled right knee. And prayed. Out loud. For strength and healing and ease.

And then we headed up the hill.

And it felt good.

His wasn’t a “name it and claim it prayer” for which tele-evangelists are famous, and sometimes go to jail for. It wasn’t a plea for divine intervention. It was simply an acknowledgement of the sacred in the midst of our everyday lives. Of a Loving Presence that is greater than we can possibly imagine and closer than we will ever know.

His quiet words, spoken out loud, were a reminder that wherever we are, we are standing on holy ground.

Mt. St. Helens—Into The Crater Hike—2019

(Stay tuned for 2023)

A Collective Prayer

The unexamined life is not worth living.

Socrates

Yesterday in church during a time when anyone in the congregation can share a prayer of concern or gratitude, I found my hand going up in the air almost without my consent. I hadn’t planned on sharing anything, but it seemed that something wanted to be shared and I was the one to share it. Taking the microphone that was passed down the pew to me, here was what wanted to be shared...

If our daughters were here today they would tell you that I was (still am) fond of saying that we all have our “stuff” (only I usually use a better and more descriptive word when not in church). It’s the stuff that we need to work out, usually with the help of a therapist, so that we can become our most authentic, healed, and wholehearted selves. When we don’t take our stuff on, we take it out on other people. The wounds and hurts that go untended go on to wound and hurt other people. Especially those we care the most about.

May we all have the courage to do our work.

There was a collective resonance in the sanctuary, the nodding of heads, and quiet murmurs of acknowledgement and understanding. I seem to be thinking, talking, and writing about this a lot right now, and if you are tired of reading about it here, I understand, but somehow it feels that if we don’t get this right, we don’t get anything right. Inner work is hard and uncomfortable. It requires courage and vulnerability. But it is the only way to an authentic, healed, and wholehearted life, which is why we arrived on the planet in the first place.

May we all have the courage to do our work.

Amen.