What is shadow dancing? and why does it matter so much that we figure out how to simply stop doing it? Because we all do it, whether we realize it or not. Who is that shadow? and why do we dance with it?
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Well - hello friends! It’s been a few weeks since I last posted, and I think I’d better let you in on what’s been going on in my life. No tragedies, no major upheavals (at least outwardly) - but some changes nonetheless. It’s deeply true that internal changes are often far more monumental in the shaping of our lives than external ones; perhaps I need to explain
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Anyone who knows me, knows well that I do not believe in New Year’s resolutions, so consequently I don’t make them. The reasons for that are varied, and not relevant to this post except in the framing of how I’ve learned to journey from one year to the next. I’ve come to believe that, at least for me, there is greater value in living intentionally day by day, following Holy Spirit nudges as they come along, and waiting with anticipation to see where I end up. And invariably, I learn a few things along the way; things that change my heart and change my mind; a renewed repentance if you will, an annual ongoing transformation that at once surprises, yet doesn’t - for these lessons have evolved with the intentional grace and mercy of a loving God. It’s not that I don’t have a plan; I do. Living with daily anticipation of what might be, acknowledging Holy Spirit moments as the guiding light of my life’s journey.
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The Nativity scene, with all of its elements: the virgin birth, an infant born in a stable with animals all around; the angels and shepherds, the visiting wise men - they are all symbols of that greater mystery of the Incarnation, of Divine Spirit enshrined in human form. God reveals in the Nativity that regardless of how rough-hewn our foundation, of how smelly the creatures that live within and around us, no matter the rags of sorrow and heartache that we swaddle around our brokenness - we are loved.
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Radical gratitude begins with seeing that all of life is a gift; that the sunshine today is a gift, and that the raindrops pouring from heaven tomorrow are also gift. I train my heart to be thankful even when my mind sees the mess around me. In every situation, I acknowledge the blessing or pain of the moment, and whisper thanks. I may mumble it through tears, or shout it with joy, but there is intentionality in facing each moment with a word of thanks.
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There is something earthy and grounding about planting our feet on the earth, on a rock, in the ocean, or the sand, but also deeply sacred. How do we connect with that sacred space, with the holy, when all about us is in turmoil? Just ask, “Where are my feet?”
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The tragedy is not that people have opinions, or that they try to defend their opinions; it is that no one listens. On neither side is there any indication that people actually hear or care about the opinions of others. The tragedy is that lost in the whirlwind of the hot air and gesticulating hands is the whispered dirge of the lost, the broken, the lonely, the wounded, the disenfranchised. We have come to see our problems as political pawns in a chess game of power instead of symptoms of a broken world that desperately needs compassionate, loving and holy listening.
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When did we stop shouting aloud “I did it!”? When did we stop demanding “Look at me!”?
When did we stop saying “I can do it, I can do it!”?
When did that refrain of confidence and wonder go silent in our own minds?
It is midsummer —in my heart, if not by the sun. And as always, it’s hard for me to ‘settle’ in these long-light days, when dawn sneaks into my window around 4:30am, and persists in claiming a part of my conscious-breath well past 8:30pm. It is a beloved time, a time filled with longing, with lassitude, brimming to overflowing with the smell and sight and sound of summer.
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Beauty not only blesses us and enriches our lives, but it heals us, too. As we sculpt and paint and quilt and knit and sew; as we steward our gardens and parks; as we create beautiful music and delicious food, we bring forth a part of the Divine, and then we share it with others. We share beauty to heal deep wounds, to love and cherish. We share the beauty that rises from within our deepest selves to heal others with that same Divine Love that first conceived of universe and man.
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Human beings have demonstrated throughout the ages - in fact, from the very beginning when the Divine Spirit hovered over the waters of chaos- that hope prevails; that there is nothing, literally No. Thing. that can prevent us from moving forward, moving on, moving up. Hope is what keeps us standing, keeps us moving, keeps us reaching for the next thing - even if it’s only our next breath. Hope is what keeps us reaching out for another hand to hold onto in the midst of rubble, another brow to wipe in the cascade of tears, another cheek to kiss in the face of unbearable loss. Hope is what keeps us alive deep inside, regardless of whatever comes our way
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Focusing on what brings joy is an amazing way to shift our attitude, a holy way to create an atmosphere where we see and feel God’s presence in the very world and circumstances that surround us. And doesn’t that point to joy as being a sacramental gift in a deeply visceral way? For what is a sacrament, after all, but a physical sign or symbol of a spiritual reality. By choosing to ponder the things that bring us joy, we are affirming the reality of God in our lives by affirming Him in those things that speak to us of Him through joy.
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The real tragedy here is not just the abortion rights struggle, (though that is heartbreaking on so many levels) but that we - as a country and as a society - just don’t get it. Again, we’ve missed the point - we are like the passengers on the Titanic, rearranging the deck chairs, refusing to see that the ship is sinking, and that what we are doing to right the ship is futile. The battle over Roe v. Wade will likely devolve into yet another loud political shouting match, with each side trying to convince the other of their absolute “rightness” while around us, men, women and children will continue to struggle to deal with deep hurts, chronic anxiety, poverty, illness and death.
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On vacation, there’s an expectation to “do something”; to hike, to bike, to see museums and visit great monuments; or to go to spas and get healthy; or take courses to learn something new. None of that is bad in and of itself; but it is not rest. I suspect we don’t rest well because we are afraid of what we’ll think, of what we’ll feel. Activity is a great master of disguise; it provides multiple ways to hide so that we never truly wind down, never get to look closely at who we are, or how we really feel.
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True wisdom in work is in the attitude of the heart, the knowledge that holy work is the best work, that holy work can be found anywhere and everywhere, in ways as varied as our fingerprints. Wisdom says there is a balance in our lives that must necessarily encompass some type of work, in some form; balance that calls forth our innate talents and gifts, that leads to a way of living that brings joy.
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