This Is The Day

This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.

Psalm 118:24

The alarm went off at 5AM this morning. Opening my still sleepy eyes, this was the image that greeted me through our window.

The first words that came to mind were those of the writer of the words from the book of Psalms quoted above. Grabbing my phone I stepped out into the cold early morning air, the frozen grass crunching beneath my feet, and captured the image of the moon as it set, ushering in the morning of a new day.

Walking back into the house it dawned on me, again, that this day, like every day, is a gift. It is the day that has been given to us, and it is the day in which we can choose to rejoice.

Or not.

The Psalmist doesn't say, “Tomorrow is the day” or “Someday, or another day, or yesterday” She (or he for that matter) says, “This is the day”. He (or she for that matter) doesn’t say, “We are rejoicing” or “We should rejoice” or “We might, could, must, or will try to rejoice.” The Psalmist says, “We will rejoice and be glad in it.”

Rejoicing is a choice. A commitment to find a way to be glad in this day which has been given to us. It is the only one we have. The day before is gone, and the day ahead not promised. It is only this day in which we can choose to rejoice.

Or not.

As I look around the world that is within my reach (and don’t even get me started on the world at large), on any given day there is at least as much heartache as there is happiness, as much pain as there is peace, and as many problems as there are solutions. It is in the midst of the complexity of our very human lives that we are called to rejoice.

This is the day that has been given to us.

Will we rejoice in it?

Or not?

The choice is ours.

A Stake In The Ground

There is something about making a commitment out loud.

At the end of a workshop or retreat, I ask people to reflect on what they’ve discovered or learned as a result of our work together, and to write down, specifically, what commitments they are willing to make. What are their personal marching orders going forward? At this point I also advise them that as a way of closing out the time together, each person will have the chance to share one of their commitments, out loud, with the rest of the group. The caveat being that whatever they share, they are giving everyone in the room permission to support them in their efforts, check in on them, and help them stay accountable to their word.

It is inspiring to watch them think deeply and trust the information that surfaces for them. The words they write down are an important step in keeping them close to their intentions once they leave the room. But there is something powerful that happens when they give voice to their commitments. By speaking them out loud, they are putting a stake in the ground for others to see, and once it’s out there…well…it’s out there.

Recently I decided it was time to drive a stake in the ground myself. I’ve lived with tinnitus for a number of years now, and lately it has been ramping up even more. I’d give up almost anything to experience actual silence. Except coffee. I love coffee almost more than life, and my morning cup is about as sacred a ritual as any I can imagine. I go to bed at night in anticipation of that first cup the next morning. I. Love. Coffee.

However, as it turns out, coffee is one of the culprits that, for some people, can contribute significantly to this ringing I live with day and night.

I’ve known that fact for a while now.

I’ve inwardly made a commitment to think about eliminating it.

I’ve inwardly made a commitment to eliminate it…someday.

I’ve even written that commitment down.

But until a few days ago, that’s all it was. Some words written down on a page. That was the morning that I turned to my husband, hands wrapped around my favorite coffee cup, and said, out loud, Starting tomorrow, I am going to stop drinking coffee long enough to see if it makes a difference.

Tomorrow will be day number three.

My stake is in the ground.

Any stakes to put into the ground?

Just remember. Once it’s out there…well…it’s out there.

Old Year's Resolution

New Year’s resolutions have been around for thousands of years, and while many of us seem to make them, not so many of us seem to actually accomplish what we set out to do. Or not do. Whether you are a fan of making some sort of promise to yourself as the calendar turns over to another year or not, there seems to be a cultural expectation that we make one. 2019 is looming large, and it can be easy to consider the current year a done deal. Too soon to set our resolutions for the year about to begin, and too late to make any for the one about to end.

But this morning it dawned on me that there are still 38 days left in 2018, and in order to have a sense of contentment and satisfaction about ending this year well, I’ve decided to start a new tradition: An Old Year’s Resolution.

When the shotguns go off in our little valley at midnight on December 31, 2018, what would I like to be true?

What would I like to have accomplished?

Done?

Not done?

Grabbed hold of?

Let go of?

If I had the courage, what would I do before ringing in another year?

In his poem, Start Close In, David Whyte writes:

Start close in,
don’t take the second step
or the third,
start with the first
thing
close in,
the step
you don’t want to take.

An Old Year’s Resolution is a chance to start close in. To take that first step. The one we’d rather jump over and get on to the next steps. The one we’ve known we need to take, but haven’t found our way to do actually take it.

What is the step I don’t want to take? I’ll take that one.

What is the step you don’t want to take? Maybe you’ll take that one.

There’s still time.

38 days to be exact.

Broken Records

Sometimes I know that I sound like a broken record, but then I guess there are some things that are worth repeating. My dad was a broken record.

Remember who you are and what you stand for.

If I heard that once, I heard it several thousand times. And so did everyone else who knew and loved him, and some who didn’t know him and if they did, they probably wouldn’t have loved him. I got tired of hearing it, and there were times I wanted to throw the nearest sharp object at him for saying it. But you know what? It stuck, and those words spoken to me, over me, and around me, have gone a long way toward helping me to become a better version of myself. There are things for which I’ve thrown my dad under the bus, but these words are not one of them. I will alway be on board the bus with him on this one. 

Recently I’ve begun to hear my own broken record. Like my dad’s words, mine are short, not-so-sweet, and to the point.

Do the work.

Simply stated, it means choosing over and over and over again, to do the hard work of becoming your best, most authentic and wholehearted self.

Do the work. 

It means uncovering our wounds (we all have them) and doing what it takes to heal them, and turn them into scars. It means sitting with our pain, anger, grief, and all of the other shadow emotions, and learning from them rather than running from them. It means asking ourselves what we are currently carrying with us that needs to be dealt with and left behind, so as to move into whatever is next with more love, compassion, freedom, and peace. It means admitting when we are wrong, and making amends. It means learning how to apologize and mean it not justify it. It means having the hard conversations and doing the deep listening. Again, and again, and again.

Do the work. 

It means figuring out what makes us tick, and what triggers us. It means taking ownership for everything in our lives. Every. Single. Thing. Not that we are responsible for everything that has happened to us, or for the wrongs committed to us by others, but that we are responsible for what we do with what we’ve got.  

Do the work.

It means finding the professional help to support our efforts. At the risk of sounding like another broken record, we all need professional help to become our best selves. Every. Single. One. Of. Us. Depending on the circumstances, that might mean a therapist, psychiatrist, coach or spiritual director, or some combination thereof.  

I’ve been heartened recently by examples of those doing their work, and heartbroken by examples of others who are not. When we do the work every one around us benefits, and when we don’t, everyone around us pays. Which is why, later today, I am grateful to be meeting with my spiritual director. I know I’m better when I do, and it’s better for everyone around me too. 

Some things are worth repeating. 

Let’s do the work. 

Captivated

Several months ago I made the commitment to a daily writing practice, and there are times when sitting down and trying to put words together well is the last thing I want to do.

I feel captive to the process.

Thankfully, more days than not, it is also one of my saving graces.

Faithfulness to a practice can be its own reward, reminding us of our determination, persistence, passion, and discipline. There are also, I’ve discovered, unexpected blessings to be found in staying true to our chosen course. One of the most surprising for me has been an expanded awareness of the present moment. Every day, images of extraordinary beauty in the midst of the ordinary, and creative expression in the middle of everyday circumstances catch my eye.

Rather than feeling captive to the daily practice, I find myself captivated by daily life.

Morning walk. Radnor Lake, Nashville TN

A trail for slow wanderings. 

A miniature display of equine grandeur...in a nail salon. 

Stairway to heaven (Bell tower stairs, Viborg Cathedral)

Your 2-3 Minute Story

On my way to Nashville to facilitate a meeting for a group of educators, I wrote about their Unbreakable Commitment to GIRLS in STEM Education. The meeting is over, and as I reflect back on my day spent with them, the power and inspiration from our day together did not stem from their knowledge, expertise, and competence, although they have all of those in spades. What carried the day was their stories.

Each person was asked to come prepared to share the 2-3 minute story behind their own Unbreakable Commitment. Throughout the day we would pause from the meeting agenda and invite another person to come take the floor, in front of their colleagues, and tell their story. As they gave voice to their individual stories, the collective commitment of those in the room grew stronger, and everyone left with a deterimination to continue to hone and tell their story to those that need to hear it. 

We are story tellers at heart, and we see ourselves in one another’s stories.  What is your 2-3 minute story? Who needs to hear it? 

Stories change the world. 

The world is in need of your story.

2-3 minutes is a great start.