All In Good Time

For as long as the weather holds, coffee happens in the field in front of our home. This morning the mountain was out in all of her glory. It was 37 degrees, which meant an extra layer, a wool beanie, and a buffalo plaid, wool, fleece lined blanket. I was taking notes to get ready for my upcoming conversation with my spiritual director, Dane, which meant capturing the various wonderings going on in my head and heart. It’s always a meandering list, often times so random that I can’t imagine how one thing connects to another. Yet somehow, in conversation with him, the seemingly disparate threads begin to weave together, connecting this part of my life to that one, this question to that answer, this seeming ending to that possible beginning, this lingering fear to that little swatch of bravery. It is a beautiful and rare gift that he brings to our conversations, helping me stitch my life into the tapestry that is uniquely mine.

Looking at my list, it was indeed a bit of a hodgepodge, made up of a little bit of this and a little bit of that, and it was hard to see if and how it all tied together. But somehow I trusted that it did. Or it would, all in good time.

As I closed my journal, a text came through. A storm from Hurricane Francine had knocked out his internet and we would have to reschedule. While disappointed to miss our conversation today, I knew we would have it eventually, all in good time.

In large part thanks to our work together, I’m learning to hold it all a little more lightly. All, as in all of it. Time, schedules, plans, perspectives, beliefs, and even life itself. Grasping and gripping rarely make things better, and usually worse.

The day I had anticipated became something else. It was bit of a hodgepodge, made up of a little bit of this and a little bit of that. No big progress made in any direction, and it’s hard to see if and how it all ties together. But somehow I trust that it does. Or it will, all in good time.

In gratitude for Dane Anthony, and the gift of working together.

Counting The Cost

When someone asks, it can be hard to say no.

Such was the case for me not long ago. An organization that is doing important work, as in really important work, asked if I would consider bringing my experience and expertise to their efforts. Because I hold them in high esteem, respect their work, and consider their mission critical, I was honored to even be asked. It was a request not to be taken lightly, which I didn’t. I took time to consider it and did my research.

There was a part of me that was ready to say yes. Another part still wasn’t sure. Until my good friend and colleague asked me the clarifying question I needed.

What won’t you have the time or energy for if you commit to this?”

As important and crucial as this work was, it wasn’t mine to do.

Saying yes to one thing means having to say no somewhere else. Putting energy here means less energy there. Committing the time to this endeavor leaves less time for that one.

Before jumping in to almost anything, it is good to count the cost.

Photo by Karolina Grabowska from Pexels

Time-Frame

A recurring thought as I look ahead to a new year is that it not get away from me before it even starts. It is so very easy to allow my days to be in charge of me rather than me of them. There is a distinct difference between being in charge of, and being in control of. In charge implies that I’ve built a framework within which life can organically play out, making room for both the planned and the unexpected. Control on the other hand, suggests attempting to desperately hold on to all the moving parts. Of which there are too many to count.

Having had the unexpected privilege of building a custom home, I was able to observe first hand the process of framing the house. This wooden framework is later hidden behind the walls within which we live and work and play, but it is what makes all that living and working and playing possible. It creates the shelter within which we live. It defines the different rooms and areas we inhabit, and creates a kind of order within even the most chaotic of days can occur.

Our time can be likened to a kind of home as well. It is the shelter within which we live, and to hold up to all that life brings our way, it too is in need of a solid framework. One that creates and defines distinct spaces for who and what we care about. A structure that both protects us from taking on too much, and enables us to love, help, and heal the world that is within our reach. Which, I believe, is why any of us are on the planet in the first place.

Putting such a framework in place doesn’t happen by chance. First and foremost, it requires our intention. How do we intend to spend our days? What gifts do we intend to offer to the world? What and who matter to us, and based on that, what impact do we intend to make and how will we do that?

Along with intention, creating our framework requires our attention, not only to details, but to the bigger picture as well. How can we bring our attention to who and what are right before us, and yet not lose sight of the larger view? How can we commit ourselves to what is ours to do, and refrain from jumping in to what is not?

As Annie Dillard reminds us, How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. The timeframe of our lives is unknown to us, which is all the more reason to build a solid framework within which to live whatever time we have.



Like A Hawk

In front of our home there is an expanse of open field that stretches out toward the mountain. Trees are scattered around the perimeter, and on any given day It is likely that you will find one of the many hawks that call our little valley home perched on the top of one of those trees. From that vantage point they are able to scan the entire field for possible prey. These sharp eyed birds don’t spend all of their time on a tree top, nor do they endlessly fly about in search of their next meal. They seem to know that in order to survive, it is necessary to get a good look at the bigger picture before heading out to do what hawks do.

When it comes to us humans, we could take a lesson from these birds of prey. It is easy to get so caught up in our daily rounds that we forget to take time to pull back and get the big picture view. We simply go and do. Go and do. And, go and do some more.

Any free space on our calendars gets filled by the next request, because rather than pause and head to a nearby treetop, we swoop in on the date and time, and if it’s open, we let the next commitment snatch it up. Simply doing something because we can isn’t necessarily a reason to do it.

If we want to spend our days and expend our energy on who and what we value, we have to learn to pull back and get a hawk’s-eye view of the field that is our life.

Photo by Harrison Haines from Pexels

Creating Space

Last night as we sat outside with a glass of wine and our calendars, we looked back over the last few weeks, and out over the ones ahead, and it was obvious that our days had been, and will be, filled with things that matter. What wasn’t obvious was space, and space matters too.

There were things that couldn’t be taken out, but some that could. One, in particular, stuck out as negotiable. It needed to be done. It just didn’t need to be done right now. With one click I deleted it off of my calendar, and not only did space open up in my days, but in my chest as well. My breathing slowed, my shoulders dropped, and an inner window opened wide.

It’s amazing what can happened when we build space into our days. Sometimes it’s easier said than done, but like anything, it’s a habit to be cultivated. Who knew rescheduling a colonoscopy could be so good for your soul?

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