Silence and Prayer

“In the silence of the heart God speaks. If you face God in prayer and silence, God will speak to you. Then you will know that you are nothing. It is only when you realize your nothingness, your emptiness, that God can fill you with Himself. Souls of prayer are souls of great silence.” ~ Mother Theresa

I recently read Mansions of the Heart, by Tom Ashbrook. It is a wonderful exploration of how we grow spiritually, and a reminder that we never truly "get there" in this life.

One of Tom's stories resonated with me and the purpose of The Oasis Renewal Center. Tom spent some time on a retreat at a monastery, and was curious how the monks could devote their entire lives to prayer. He watched them for a few days before finally asking one of them about it. He offhandedly commented that he would run out of things to say to God, and asked the monk how he could pray all the time. The monk smiled, and replied, "Well, mostly I listen."  Aha!

There is silence at The Oasis. In the silence, you can listen to God. At times the silence at The Oasis almost seems deafening. One of our guests  commented: "It's almost too quiet here!"

When was the last time you experienced silence? In the silence you may notice that your ears are ringing. Or that the wind is blowing. Or that birds are singing. Or that you can actually hear yourself breathing. Or that God is whispering to you.

Javalinas before breakfast

Those creatures are called Javalinas ("hav-a-LEE-nahs"). Yes, they look kind of pig-like, because they are distantly related, but they are really Collared Peccaries.They are native to the Americas; from Arizona south to Argentina.

So why do I have a photo of javalinas? Because last week at The Oasis Renewal Center, I had the pleasure of watching a large family of 12 javalinas walk through our yard! There were 2 babies (javalinets?) with the group, which were really cute. This photo was taken at 7 am on Saturday, from my bedroom window. These guys were strolling through the front yard on their way to their breakfast buffet - the yucca plants on the southern section of the property.

I happen to treasure these wildlife encounters. To me, it is a confirmation that God has chosen to share some of His marvelous creatures with us. Even if they wake me up at 7 am on a Saturday.

Shock value and happily ever after

Twenty-four years ago I married a guy.

It seemed like the perfect thing to do at the time. He was a lot of fun, I thought he was kinda sexy, and he was exactly the opposite sort of person than me (you know, that "opposites attract" thing.) And then there was the shock value. I often thought it would make a great story - the artsy writer from Boston marries a bull rider from Oklahoma and lives happily ever after.

Granted, I'd spent the previous year drunkenly meandering through my life, often in panic mode. I really had no idea what I was doing from one day to the next, but I knew I wasn't happy.  I was stuck in a job I detested, (in the accounting department of a bank, no less!) and that biological clock ticks VERY loudly when you're 25.

So I married a guy. We did not live happily ever after. In fact, we have been divorced exactly the same amount of time that we spent being married. 

Looking back though, I smile. We did have a lot of fun!

We have two fabulous, gorgeous, successful  grown-up children.


We played Canasta and drank beer with friends in our little trailer house on an ostrich ranch in Texas, every Friday night.

We partied like it was 1999, and stood on the roof of our little bungalow in Las Vegas watching the fireworks as the year 2000 rolled in.

We once took a camping trip with the intention of going fishing, only to discover that the lake had no water in it, and hadn't had any for almost a decade. I learned that the fact that it is blue on a map, doesn't really mean anything.

Then there was the time he gave me a set of French doors for Mother's Day.  I wanted them installed in our bedroom, so we could walk outside and sit on a nice backyard patio. When the doors were still sitting by the side of the house in September, I took a sledge hammer to the wall. Sledge hammers have a funny way of motivating people.

OK, so most of our misadventures were my fault, but I laugh at all of those memories now.

So remember, boys and girls: shock value is not a very good reason to marry someone. But if you do, make as many good memories as possible. You just might live happily ever after.

Emptier Nesting

So our son is moving out.

He's 19, so obviously, this is not a surprise to me, but still.

He actually has a pretty sweet deal. He graduated from high school last year, and is working full-time. He has his own "man cave" in our house, complete with sofa, coffee table, game systems, mini-fridge, and lots of friends who crash there. He pays rent, but also has the unrestricted use of our laundry room, full-size fridge, and the coffee maker. He pretty much comes and goes as he pleases. So, not a bad deal, right?

I was 19 once, and I remember that I couldn't wait to move out on my own. So I really do get it. But when he asked me to go looking at apartments with him today, it kind of threw me for a loop, which I didn't expect.

I am becoming "that woman."

That empty nest lady.


The woman who - even though I've been through this once before when our daughter moved out -  can't help worrying that my child will starve to death. Or forget to pay the electric bill.

The one who panics and thinks, "...but he's my baby! How can he possibly want to live on his own?!"

The woman who sees two-year old children screaming in McDonald's and sighs, telling their harried moms "I miss those days..." (and really mean it!)

And the funny thing is, we don't even have an empty nest!

We have three other kids living here! And at any given moment there is a great likelihood that one of their friends is crashing on our sofa. We have an open-door policy, in that regard. However, by August, two more of our kiddos will be moving out and across the country to go to school. That will leave only one in the nest for the next few years.

Maybe by the time the last one flies away, I'll have pulled myself together, and figured out how to live in an emptying nest.

Confessions

They say that confession is good for the soul. (I have no idea who "they" are, but they are probably correct in this case.) And, of course, James the brother of Jesus, said "Confess your sins to one another and pray for each other."

What I am about to confess is not really sinful. Or, at least I haven't found a prohibitive verse in the Bible, specifically referring to my own situation. So here goes:

I AM AN ENIGMA!

There. I said it. Whew, I feel better already!

You may be thinking, "OK...so?"

Well, this enigmatic thing has bothered me for some time. You see, I was an English Literature major in college. I went on to earn a Master's degree and I am a Pastor in the RCA. There are, shall we say, certain expectations and assumptions about people like me. And I don't think I live up to those expectations.

And so, I hereby confess that:


I read Stephen King novels.

• I have never read Moby Dick. Or Tristram Shandy. Or Robinson Crusoe.
• I detest Charles Dickens. Describing a mud puddle with just two run-on sentences that go on for three pages is not good writing, it's showing off.
• I found Jane Austen's books to be silly. I didn't like the characters. Not even Mr. Darcy.
• Don't even get me started on the Left Behind series...
• For the record, I loved the Harry Potter series. All seven books. J.K. Rowling is a genius.

I watch The Walking Dead, Doctor Who and The Following.

• I couldn't sit through 5 minutes of The Bible mini-series. The book is far better.
• I don't like musicals. I have never watched Glee.
• I don't understand the appeal of most sit-coms or reality shows.

I listen to Rammstein, and other Industrial-type rock. Sometimes I listen to other genres, but:

• I have no idea who the latest Christian artists or rappers are.
• I have never heard a song by Ke$ha, One Direction, or Wiz Khalifa that I'm aware of.
• I don't listen to the radio in the car (or anywhere else) so I don't know which station is K-LOVE.

I love Ice Hockey! Even the on-ice fights.

• Baseball bores me to tears.
• I don't understand American football.

I have a warped sense of humor.

• My favorite movies are Dodgeball, Shaun of the Dead, and anything by Monty Python.
• I think Eddie Izzard is brilliant.

I realize that putting all of this out there is just asking for backlash. I mean, a Pastor who admits enjoying violent TV shows and sports? An English major who reads horror novels? What's with her obsession with loud music, and the Un-Dead? What do you mean baseball is boring?? What on earth is she thinking?

I simply want to admit being an enigma; a puzzle; a complicated being who cannot be stereo-typed. I am an enigma, and I'm proud! I think that secretly, we all are.

Holy Yoga, Batman!

I spent last week at an intense yoga retreat. Intense and yoga should not be used in the same sentence. In fact that entire sentence is an oxymoron.

You're probably thinking, "Oh wah! A yoga retreat? Quit complaining!" But bear with me, please.

The "retreat" (and I use that term very loosely) was a week-long intensive training to complete my certification as a Registered Holy Yoga Instructor. I was at this so-called retreat with about 50 other people, from all over the country, who were also completing their yoga training. It was an amazing time of worship, bonding and stretching; and a crash course in getting to know the muscles in my body that had apparently been on vacation on a tropical beach for the past few years. 

Did I mention that we were stretched?

There was very little rest or relaxation involved in this - we were up early and on our yoga mats by 7 am. Yes, you read that correctly. For those of you who don't know me well, the very idea of being anywhere but in my bed at 7 am is anathema to me!! Especially before 3 cups of coffee and breakfast. So you can imagine what was going through my head as we began to stretch and move at that absurd hour: "These people are trying to kill me!"

On the second day, the morning yoga hour was followed by breakfast, then a very full schedule of workshops on yoga poses, lectures on anatomy, a light lunch and some Bible study thrown in for good measure. After dinner we got to hit the mat once more for something called "Power Yoga." I have no idea who came up with that idea, but they obviously have an affinity for torture. This confirmed my initial suspicions.

By the third day, my butt was so sore it was actually numb. This was from sitting on my yoga mat while listening to those previously mentioned lectures and workshops for three days. And then I got a cramp. In my right butt cheek. Not in the usual gluteous maximus butt cheek muscle, but somewhere deeper...somewhere mysterious and terrifying. Somewhere where no muscle should even be, let alone one with a cramp. So, that was fun.

On Friday we had to design a short Holy Yoga class of our own to teach to our fellow yogis-in-training. This was actually fun and challenging, because we could show our "class" how to get into specific yoga poses and connect a worshipful experience to the poses. My class became experts at breathing deeply while in Corpse Pose. After 10 minutes of that however, it was suggested that I teach them something a bit more vigorous.

By Saturday I didn't want to go home. I was having so much fun! I was enjoying the fellowship and worship experience that is Holy Yoga, and I was really getting into the physical challenge of yoga! Who knew? 

I never expected God to show up on my yoga mat (at an absurdly early hour) and teach me something about myself. After all, I'm 49 - I'm in the "middle" of my life, and I figured I must know myself pretty well by now. Ha!

I learned that getting up early and working out before breakfast did not kill me.
I learned that what doesn't kill me actually does make me stronger!
I learned that I shouldn't say "I can't."
I learned that excuses are just that...excuses.
I learned that I am much more flexible that I gave myself credit for.
I learned that I can S T R E T C H. In more ways than one.
I learned that even if I am physically unable to get into Lotus pose, that's OK. I never wanted to do that one  anyway.

Peeping-Toms and Prayer

We have a hummingbird.

Or I suppose, a hummingbird has us. After all, we live in his territory. And we never thought to ask permission to move in, we just did. I often wonder what he thought about that. It probably made him grumpy. If I had been away on my annual migration and come home to find a large boxy house planted smack in the middle of my territory, I'd be pretty grumpy about it. Even if it did come with flowers.

At any rate, our hummingbird has been in the yard for several years, and makes his rounds several times each day, surveying his empire. He carefully checks on each plant in our back yard as if he planted them himself. I don't suppose he remarks on how much they've grown or if he even notices that they need to be watered. He pays very careful attention to the blossoms on the apple tree, and the flowers in the side garden, harvesting what nectar he can find. Then he diligently checks each and every succulent, cactus, flower, herb and vegetable to see if any of them have blossomed yet. It is his job, and he is very good at it.

One day I sat outside our on the patio and waited for the hummingbird to stop by. He did, of course, because that is his routine. He didn't seem to even notice that I was there, although he may have been scolding me the whole time. I have not yet learned to speak hummingbird.

The most curious thing about our hummer however, is that he's a voyeur. He is a tiny peeping-Tom. He likes to peek inside our windows. At first we thought he might see flashes of color in our house and was investigating. And then I thought perhaps he saw his own reflection and was threatening a perceived enemy which might have strayed into his territory. However, he does this every day and does not seem to be upset by what he finds.

The hummer hasn't slowed down long enough to explain why he peeks in our windows. Yet each day at noon, and again at 4:00 pm, the hummer flies up to the windows in the living room and hovers in front of each one. Then he maneuvers over to the side of the house and looks into each of the windows of the family room, and the french door in the kitchen. In order. Every day. Twice a day.

Perhaps its a hummingbird form of prayer. Each day the hummer pauses to catch a glimpse of a realm which he can perceive, yet cannot quite grasp. It's as if he's peeking into another dimension, where beings so different, so "other" than him, reside.

We do the very same thing. Every Sunday morning, and perhaps at other times on other days, we try to catch a glimpse of God. We know God is there - we've seen the evidence, we've heard the stories, we've read the Bible. We know that God somehow hears our prayers and answers them, even if we are unsure of the exact mechanism for that process. Yet we still crave the chance to catch a glimpse into that other dimension, where beings so different, so "other" than us, reside. We too are tiny peeping-Toms, hovering by God's windows, yearning for answers.