Ho-Ho-Hoping

When I was growing up, getting into the Christmas spirit happened via family traditions, of which there were many. The Nativity Scene appeared on the marble-topped dresser, illuminated by two flickering votives in their red antique hobnail candle holders. My dad made his famous eggnog, I sat in the window seat beside the Christmas tree listening to A Christmas Carol on the record player, captivated by Basil Rathbone’s voice, and the stockings were hung by the chimney with care.

And then there was Santa Doll.

He was dressed in a worn red and white fleece onesie, had  a kewpie doll baby face to which had been added white hair, handlebar mustache, and a full beard. He had a tiny music box inside that played Here Comes Santa Clause, and truth be told, he was a sad little rendition of old St. Nick. But it was his  appearance every year that said in no uncertain terms, that Christmas was a comin’. It was never a question of if he would show up, but when.

Traditions inspire us to hope. They remind us that regardless of our circumstances, there is a thread we can count on to carry us through the good times and the bad. Traditions are a calm place in the midst of our storms, and a beacon of light when times are dark.

Santa Doll still appears every year, as he has for as long as I can remember. Come what may, this small, ragged doll continues to herald the coming of Christmas.

#dailydoseofhope

To HOPE is to be in a confident state of anticipation and expectation.

Hope can mean different things to different people. For me, it is to set an intention to look for good things to occur, to believe that goodness is always an option, and that in the long run, goodness will prevail, despite evidence to the contrary.

Hope is both a choice and a practice, and In order to keep hope alive, we need to look for it, foster it, and participate in it.

Every day.

For example:

Gracie, our 8 week old chocolate labradoodle, has accepted us as her family. After only four days here, she feels safe and secure in her new home, invites us to play with abandon, and is sleeping peacefully in her crate, which means we are sleeping too. Because of Gracie, I am filled with hope for what family, trust, play, and a good night of sleep can do

This morning my good friend David Berry gave me a shout out in his daily blog. He included a link to a piece I’d written, referred to me as his friend and thought partner, and then, using my words as a jumping off place, offered his own piece that is both beautiful and profoundly practical. Because of David, I am filled with hope for what collaboration, friendship, a passion for doing good work, and offering our gifts to the world can do.

I heard James Doty, neurosurgeon, tell Krista Tippet (On Being) that he believes we are at the beginning of the Age of Compassion. If that possibility isn’t a dose of hope, I don’t know what is. His book, Into the Magic Shop: A Neurosurgeon’s Quest to Discover the Mysteries of the Brain and the Secrets of the Heart arrived today, and I can’t wait to dive in. Because of Dr. Doty, I am filled with hope for what compassion, new discoveries in neurosurgery, and the magic that happens when head and heart are connected can do

My husband turned 71 today, and he can run circles around men many years younger. After 25 years together, there isn’t a person on the planet that I’d rather spend my time with. He chooses to show up for life and our marriage every day every day. Because of Tom, I am filled with hope for what commitment, love, and an exuberance for life can do.

And, then of course, there’s Nate Burleson. An American football commentator and former WR in the NFL, he talks in this clip about why he believes the Seattle Seahawks are going to make it into the playoffs. My team had an especially slow start this season, but they are on a roll now. Because of Nate’s confidence in the Hawks, I am filled with hope for what determination, grit, brotherhood, and a unique coaching philosophy can do. Go Hawks!

Like exercise and taking your vitamins, make sure and get your #dailydoseofhope

Working For Hope

“Don’t wait for good things to happen to you. If you go out and make some good things happen, you will fill the world with hope, you will fill yourself with hope.”

~ Barack Obama

Hope is not static.

It is a noun that names a state of expectancy and anticipation, and, it is a verb that describes an active expectation and anticipation for a treasured outcome. Hope is a two-step process.

Step one is gaining clarity on a treasured outcome. The more clear the desired outcome, the stronger the state of expectancy and anticipation as we wait for our hopes to be fulfilled.

Do you want to write a book? Create a more fulfilling life? Stand on a stage and move an audience? Make a ton of money? Help heal the earth? Climb a mountain?

Step one only gets us so far.

Step two is doing something about attaining what we hope for.

Books get written by those who write. A fulfilling life might mean letting go of what and who no longer fit, in order to fit in what and who just might. The stage door opens for those with a compelling message. People will pay big money for what they deem valuable. The smallest right actions helps to restore the planet. Summiting a mountain starts with summiting a hill.

Sometimes hope looks like waiting and working your ass off all at the same time.

The Holy Ground of Hope

Sitting down to write about Hope, the Advent theme this week, I found myself wondering what hope feels like. Unexpectedly, a memory of a shared outdoor church service this past summer came to mind. Gathering with another church at a waterfront park, we were assembled under the blue sky ceiling of the sanctuary that is the Columbia River Gorge, a space as sacred as any church, mosque, or cathedral.

We came together to lift our voices, hearts, and minds in praise, thanksgiving, and reflection. At the beginning of the service, we were led in a time of honoring the history of this part of the world that we call home. Native peoples inhabited the Gorge long before white people came to dwell and dominate, and the pastor led us through a series of prayers of gratitude and thanksgiving for these people who came before us, their care of the land, and for the shared earth upon which we stand. With eyes closed, as her words poured over me, I had a sense unlike any before, of the ground actually holding me up. It was not my feet pressing down, but the earth rising up. There wasn’t anything required of me to engage this support except to recognize that it had always been there, was there in that moment, and would be there in the future.

That sense of the solid ground upon which to stand is the place from which we can dare to hope. And we can dare to hope because it isn’t our feet firmly planted that hold us up, but the holy ground upon when we stand.

Sometimes hope feels like the firm foundation found squarely beneath our feet.

Ushering In Hope

Advent begins today, and each Sunday ushers in a different theme. As it is an especially meaningful season in my spiritual tradition, I decided to write through each one over the course of the next four weeks.

Today ushers in the week of Hope.

Let’s start with the basics. What is hope?

The dictionary defines it as a feeling of expectation and desire for a certain thing to happen. We set our sights on an aspiration. We look to the fulfillment of a wish or desire. We focus on what we do want to happen, rather that what we don’t. We allow ourselves to take in the feeling of expectancy, stay close to it, and take steps to bring it into being.

Several months ago, Tom and I decided that it might be time to bring a dog into our home. Knowing that it is a big commitment, and a bit of a game-changer, we began to set our hopes on the right dog appearing at the right time.

Well, she did.

Meet Gracie.

A Season of Waiting

“No man reaches where the moon touches a woman.
Even the moon leaves her when she opens 
Deeper into the ripple in her womb
That encircles dark, to become flesh and bone.

Someone is coming ashore inside her,
A face deciphers itself from water,
And she curves around the gathering wave,
Opening to offer the life it craves.

In a corner stall of pilgrim strangers,
She falls and heaves, holding a tide of tears.
A red wire of pain feeds through every vein,
Until night unweaves and the child reaches dawn.

Outside each other now, she sees him first,
Flesh of her flesh, her dreamt son safe on earth.”

The Nativity by John O’Donahue

Tomorrow is the first Sunday in Advent, a time which in my tradition is a season of waiting, expectancy, and anticipation. In our church, on each of the four Sundays leading up to Christmas, we will light a candle to symbolize one of the themes specific to Advent:

Hope.

Peace.

Joy.

Love.

Every year before the first Sunday in Advent a nativity display appears in front of the Glenwood General Store in our little rural town. This year, however, the display moved a few feet west of the store, landing the holy family in front of the Burger Shed. A gas station in days gone by, which one can imagine in ancient times might have been about the size of a small stable in which to take shelter. But not all the holy family is visible. The mother and father, on either side of a small empty manger, await the arrival of a new life on the way. These are their days of waiting, expectancy, and anticipation, as they are ours.

Come Christmas morning, anyone driving by the Burger Shed will find the babe in the manger, a symbol of hope, peace, joy, and love. No matter our beliefs, religious or not, each of those is a fundamental longing of the human heart, And as the days grow shorter, and the darkness arrives earlier, it seems a season primed for us to eagerly wait for hope, peace, joy, and love to rise up. But let’s not just to wait for them, let’s watch for them.

Let’s claim them wherever we find them.

Let’s proclaim them whenever we see them.

Let’s call them forth.

Let’s carry them forward.

Let’s offer them up.

Let’s embody them.

Let’s embrace them.

Let’s give birth to them.

Home For The Holidays

Tomorrow is the first day of December, ushering in another holiday season.

May you celebrate the season in a way that brings you peace.

May you celebrate the season in a way that brings you joy.

May you celebrate the season in a way that brings you connection.

May you celebrate the season in a way that brings you life.

May you celebrate the season in a way that brings you contentment.

May you celebrate the season in a way that brings you rest.

May you celebrate the season in a way that brings you grace.

And…

May you celebrate the season in a way that brings you home.

“Roxy”

Photo by Nick Giles

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.

Catch And Release

This morning, as I was reading Walking A Sacred Path: Rediscovering the Labyrinth as a Spiritual Tool by Dr. Lauren Artress, I came across a sentence that made me pause. I read it again, slowly, taking in the words along with a slow deep breath. Exhaling, I felt a sense of deep appreciation for the truth contained in just one short sentence. I read it again, more slowly this time, breathing in the words, and exhaling them as an intention and a prayer.

“The mind needs release from itself in order to find peace, and wisdom.”

There are times when I find myself completely stuck in my head, captivated by my stories. The ones I tell myself about how things are, have been, might be, will be, should be, could be. The trouble with our internal stories is that we tend to believe them, and they often lead to inner angst and outer actions that take us further away from ourselves and who we want to be in the world. I am finding that the sooner I catch myself caught up in an old story, the sooner I am able to release it, making space for peace and wisdom to find their way back in.

When I was in Nashville a couple of weeks ago for work, I was working with a room full of educators committed to advancing STEM Education for Girls. To a person they were intelligent, articulate, accomplished, and highly educated. I was there to facilitate a day that allowed them to connect and think well together. To create a safe space for courageous thinking. That’s what I do, and I am really, really good at it.

Each person was asked to come prepared to share their own story of how they came to their passion for, and commitment to STEM. Periodically throughout the day, we would pause and turn our attention to the front of the room, and listen generously to the next story teller. In order to create that safe space for courageous thinking it is important for me to quickly establish credibility and earn people’s trust, and to do that, I work to be authentic and vulnerable from the start. To that end, I chose to go first, sharing an especially personal story from my college days, when I was advised by my dad “not to appear too smart, so as not to intimidate the men in the class.” I went on to tell how that statement sent me on a long detour away from myself and my belief in my own intelligence and capabilities, and, how I eventually found my way back.

I’ve told that story many times over the years, and it can feel like those words are nothing but a distant memory, no longer holding sway over my mind. At the end of the day however, one of the educators came up to thank me. She shook my hand, holding onto it as she looked deeply into my eyes and expressed her gratitude, telling me that I was very, very good at what I do. Before I could even begin to appreciate her acknowledgement of my contribution to the day, I was gripped by the thought that she must have been trying to make me feel good about myself as a result of the story I had shared. And just like that, I was back in college, questioning my abilities and my intelligence.

Catch and release.

Thankfully, I saw the old story take over, and just as quickly, put it back in its rightful place. A piece of my history, that has no relevance to the person I am today, and the contribution I bring to the world.

We may never be completely free of our old stories, but we no longer have to believe them.

Catch and release.

ATG Photography

What Doesn't Fit

While I have what I consider to be few good talents, two that continue to surprise and delight me are a freakish ability to spot wildlife, and a knack for finding incredible treasures at insanely low prices. After 25 years together, my husband still counts on me to find where the wild things are, and in my family we joke that finding the next great treasure for next to nothing is my spiritual gift.

They may sound like very different skills, but both are rooted in the same principle. Look for what doesn’t fit. Be on the look out for what is out of the ordinary when compared to the surroundings. Pay attention to the thing that doesn’t quite make sense. A pattern that goes against the grain. What just doesn’t belong.

Do you remember the song One of These Things from Sesame Street? The tune, sung here by Big Bird, was usually accompanied by a grouping of four items, one of which didn’t fit with the others. Young viewers were asked to identify the thing that didn’t belong. It was designed to help kids sort through input, make connections, and draw conclusions. But it is a principle that reaches far beyond Sesame Street, a walk on the wild side, or a wander through the local Goodwill.

On the one hand, it can alert us when we, or someone we love, is in trouble. When we notice that something seems amiss, it is a call to delve deeper. Something that is out of character can signal a cry for help.

On the other hand, when something stands out as different from the rest, it can point us to the possibility that something or someone, is a cut above and worth our consideration.

While I no longer tune into Sesame Street, I always tune in to what doesn’t belong.

One (or two) of these things is not like the other…….one (or two) of these things just don’t belong…..