The Plague Upon Our House

Sometimes things happen over which we have no control. Okay, when it comes right down to it, most things are not under our control. A couple of things that are? The mindset we choose, and our response to what life brings our way.

A few weeks ago, life delivered right to our doorstep an example of just how little control we have, in the form of millions if not billions of grasshoppers. I’m talking a plague of locusts of biblical proportions.

Before they arrived, the field out in front of our home was a beautiful array of greens, golds, and reds. Today, it is a pale memory of what it was, and fading fast at that. And there’s nothing we can do about it.

Before they arrived, our lawn, while not ever a thing of beauty, was at least green and easy on the eyes. Today it is turning into a mini dustbowl right before our eyes. And there’s nothing we can do about it.

Before they arrived, we loved taking a walk down our road any time of the day. Today, we are relegated to first thing in the morning or after the sun starts to set. And there’s nothing we can do about it.

Thankfully, these swarming hoards don’t come through our valley every year, but this year they have, and we will most likely have to live with them for a few more weeks. And there’s nothing we can do about it. In the meantime, we are reading up on grasshopper mitigation efforts that we might implement in the future, enjoying our walks when we can, and relishing our early morning coffee before the little devils wake up and our evening glass of wine after they’ve turned in for the night. Anything else would eat away at our spirits like the grasshoppers are eating away the grass.

As the Dali Lama reminds us…

“If a problem is fixable, if a situation is such that you can do something about it, then there is no need to worry. If it's not fixable, then there is no help in worrying. There is no benefit in worrying whatsoever.”

In Need of a Dock

There are days when I am so in need of grace that I can hardly catch my breath. When it seems that try as I might, I am unable to find an inner dock on which to drag myself out of the murky waters in which I am drowning.

As you might suspect, today is one of those days.

Our family arrives tomorrow for our annual Father’s Day Glenwood Rodeo Weekend Gathering, which I love.  It is way too hot, which I hate. Projects are running behind, which should be expected, but somehow have caught me by surprise. Again. Gracie-the-chocolate-labradoodle picked now to have intestinal issues, which should evoke my compassion, the operative word being ‘should'.

I could continue, but you probably get the gist.

Searching madly for something to grab onto an hour ago, I remembered a poem by Carrie Newcomer that my spiritual director, Dane, shared with me after our last session together. I had every good intention of reading it the day he sent it to me, and, as we all know, the road-to-you-know-where is paved with good intentions.

Drinking in the words, I found a grace soaked dock on which to rest, and there is no doubt that the timing of finding it was heaven sent. If you are in need of a dock on which to rest, feel free to join me there, and we can sit with not knowing together.

I’m Learning to Sit With Not Knowing

Carrie Newcomer

I am learning to sit with not knowing.

Even when my restless mind begins jumping

from a worried

“what next”, 

to a frightened

“what if”, 

to a hard edged and impatient, 

“why aren’t you already there?”

I’m learning to sit and listen

to pat myself on the knee,

lay my hand on my heart,

take another deep breath, 

laugh at myself,

befriend my mistakes,

especially the ones,

that showed me how,

I most needed to change.

I’m learning to sit with whatever comes

even though I’m a planner,

because so much of this life

can’t be measured or predicted

or evenly portioned.

Because wonder and suffering visit

when we least expect 

and rarely in equal measure.

I’m learning to sit with what

I might never know

might never learn

might never heal

with what might waltz in and surprise me

might nudge me into the risky business of growing

might crash into my days

with unspeakable sorrow

or uncontainable delight.

I’m learning to sit 

with not knowing.

Photo by Yiğit Yıldırım from Pexels

With deep gratitude yet again, for Dane Anthony for walking with me on my spiritual trail, for my one and only sister Margie for never leaving my side, for my niece Katie for always bringing a spirit of peace to the adventure, for Harper Joy for bringing us joy, for my geologist Tom for caring that I care not only about how things function but also for how they look, and for my hermano-in-law Bobby for always showing up no matter what.

Grounded

“Ground is what lies beneath our feet. It is the place where we already stand; a state of recognition, the place or the circumstances to which we belong whether we wish to or not. It is what holds and supports us, but also what we do not want to be true; it is what challenges us, physically or psychologically, irrespective of our hoped for needs. It is the living, underlying foundation that tells us what we are, where we are, what season we are in and what, no matter what we wish in the abstract, is about to happen in our body, in the world or in the conversation between the two.

To come to ground is to find a home in circumstances and in the very physical body we inhabit in the midst of those circumstances and above all to face the truth, no matter how difficult that truth may be; to come to ground is to begin the courageous conversation, to step into difficulty and by taking that first step, begin the movement through all difficulties, to find the support and foundation that has been beneath our feet all along; a place to step onto, a place on which to stand, and a place from which to step.”

- from Consolations: The Solace, Nourishment and Underlying Meaning of Everyday Words by David Whyte

The Dark Night

“The first fingers of light appear on the horizon, and ever so deftly and gradually, they pull the mantle of darkness away from the world.”

John O’Donohue - Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom

There are times when life so overwhelms us with grief, pain, fear, and loss that we don’t think we will survive. Some do not, and there is no room for judgement or criticism, only mercy and compassion. I have not inhabited their hearts, only my own, and the only reference I have is my own experience of being plunged into darkness, not knowing when even the faintest glimmer of light will appear.

In those dark nights, we are alone with our own hearts. No matter how much love and support we have surrounding us, no one can make our way for us as we wait for the light to appear. Others may walk with us, but they cannot walk for us. Others may help us bear our burden, but ultimately it is ours to carry. But the treasures of our darkness belong to us. Whatever we discover in the blackness of our night has the capacity to transform us in ways only possible when we have found our way to the dawn of our new day.

In the darkness, while we find ourselves alone, we would do well to remember that we bring with us all of our hard earned resources. Any strength, wisdom, faith, grace, and love that we have accumulated thus far will be our faithful companions, and will sustain us through the night. In her book, Learning To Walk in the Dark, Barbara Brown Taylor says, “…I have learned things in the dark that I could never have learned in the light, things that have saved my life over and over again, so that there is really on one logical conclusion. I need darkness as much as I need light.”

I’ve often wondered if the power that brought the world into being knew that we would need to find hope for a return of the light on a daily basis. That there is a deeper meaning behind the daily cloaking of the world in darkness, so that once again, we can be reminded of the illuminating light that is sure to follow.

Cooking Up Joy

“Any possibility of joy requires the acceptance of reality. “

*The Book of Joy

Well, that sucks.  

Reality, at least in my world, doesn’t always match up with how I want it to be. On any given day, things can go off the rails, and I’m left to deal with what I’ve got, not what I want. Where’s the joy in that I ask you?? Well, if there is any to be found, it has to be smack dab in the midst of it, because if it can’t be found there, joy is going to be darn hard to come by.

Joy, at least the real meal deal, isn’t dependent on circumstances, it’s abides in the midst of them. Not the happy meal kind of joy, but the stick to your ribs kind. Not the fast food variety, but the slow cooker style. The kind we cook up by being the best us we can with the ingredients we’ve got to work with. It may not be fancy, but it is food for the journey.

Joy as comfort food.

* The Book of Joy by His Holiness the Dali Lama, Desmond Tutu, and Douglas Abrams