We went to 8 o’clock Mass this morning and Sister Karen did the Homily. It was short and as always makes one think. She talked a lot about how we are all in such a rush we feel frazzled and how we often lose sight of God in the middle of all that. Boy, after the last two weeks, that certainly hits home with me. Then at the end she read a paraphrasing one of her sisters in Japan had written. I copy it below:
The Lord is my Pace Setter,
I shall not rush.
He makes me stop and rest for quiet intervals.
He provides for me with images of stillness
Which restore my serenity
He leads me in ways of efficiency
Through calmness of mind,
And His guidance is Peace.
Even though I have a great many things
To accomplish each day
I will not fret
For His presence is here.
His timelessness,
His all-importance,
Will keep me in balance.
He prepares refreshment and renewal
In the midst of my activity
By anointing my head
With his oils of tranquility.
My cup of joyous energy overflows.
Surely harmony and effectiveness
Shall be the fruits of my hours
For I shall walk
In the place of my Lord
And dwell in His house
For ever.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
COMPASSION
Last Lent, I spent the time reading and meditating on Forgiveness. This year, I decided to follow up with Compassion, at least partly because the book club we belong to at St. Francis, had done several books on compassion, so I had a good start even before Lent. On the surface, it seemed like it would be pretty clear cut. Compassion is about empathy, the ability to feel “sorry” for someone. We all can work up compassion for an injured animal, a suffering mother, even if that mother belongs to an “enemy” group.
Well, surprise, surprise!! Compassion is about power. More specifically, how we use power. As we tread through this life we leave our footprints everywhere, wanted and unwanted. The careless word, the impatient moment all affect others. Often, we are so involved in our own needs and wants, we don’t even notice.
Compassion is about the conscious decision to tread softly, with awareness. We will guard our words, our actions so as to lift and complete those around us. We will subvert our own pressing needs to spend an extra second listening. Being heard is less important than hearing.
And the best news is that Compassion is not something you have or don’t have. It is developed. C. S. Lewis writes about putting on the cloak of Christ. He says (paraphrased badly) that on a bright, glorious morning the cloak slips on easily and you are ready to embrace the world. The struggle comes on those mornings when you are tired, your knees hurt and the last thing you want to do is greet anyone. But you make a decision to put the cloak on and greet the world with faked joy and a forced smile. You do that morning after morning, until one morning you can’t put the cloak of Christ on, because it never came off. It is now a part of you, and the faked joy has become real joy and the forced smile is genuine. And in the process you have become a compassionate human being.
Last Lent, I spent the time reading and meditating on Forgiveness. This year, I decided to follow up with Compassion, at least partly because the book club we belong to at St. Francis, had done several books on compassion, so I had a good start even before Lent. On the surface, it seemed like it would be pretty clear cut. Compassion is about empathy, the ability to feel “sorry” for someone. We all can work up compassion for an injured animal, a suffering mother, even if that mother belongs to an “enemy” group.
Well, surprise, surprise!! Compassion is about power. More specifically, how we use power. As we tread through this life we leave our footprints everywhere, wanted and unwanted. The careless word, the impatient moment all affect others. Often, we are so involved in our own needs and wants, we don’t even notice.
Compassion is about the conscious decision to tread softly, with awareness. We will guard our words, our actions so as to lift and complete those around us. We will subvert our own pressing needs to spend an extra second listening. Being heard is less important than hearing.
And the best news is that Compassion is not something you have or don’t have. It is developed. C. S. Lewis writes about putting on the cloak of Christ. He says (paraphrased badly) that on a bright, glorious morning the cloak slips on easily and you are ready to embrace the world. The struggle comes on those mornings when you are tired, your knees hurt and the last thing you want to do is greet anyone. But you make a decision to put the cloak on and greet the world with faked joy and a forced smile. You do that morning after morning, until one morning you can’t put the cloak of Christ on, because it never came off. It is now a part of you, and the faked joy has become real joy and the forced smile is genuine. And in the process you have become a compassionate human being.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Dr. Hall
It certainly is no secret that I spent several years in a condition frequently and lovingly referred to as “Nuts”. Now, I don’t feel badly about that because in true Christian Philosophy we are all nuts and salvation comes with the realization of how insane we are and then admitting we can’t fix it ourselves. We need a higher power. Once we are ready to search for that power, God will provide all the guidance we need, in spite of the fact we are usually too blind to see or too deaf to hear.
In my case, the day I snapped for good, I was smart enough to call a person I had been told about by dear friends who saw how badly I needed help. In our first phone conversation, Dr. Hall told me he was not taking any new patients but he could spare a few moments to talk on the phone. After five minutes he told me to show up that Friday at 9 AM. Since then we have had some great “disagreements”. At our very first session, he told me I would come to see Cancer as a blessing from God. I now agree with that completely, but at the time I thought he was crazier than I was. I have to say that after four years, I am healthier than I ever have been in my entire life. I never felt that I was smart enough, funny enough, kind enough. I spent most of my life thinking I was responsible for all the problems around me, that if I just planned harder, or worked harder or somehow was better, everything would be fine. When something inevitably went wrong, I took all the blame. I was terrified of not being good enough. Well, for better or worse, that is all gone. I knew I was truly cured last year when Kay and I went on vacation and I got blessedly lost because I had not obsessively planned the route with three alternative ways of getting there. And it didn’t bother me a bit. I knew it would work out, and in the end we had a great time.
Below is an address to Dr. Hall's Web sight. I tried to embed it in this writing, but if it can be done, I don't know how to do it.
www.awakentotruth.com
It certainly is no secret that I spent several years in a condition frequently and lovingly referred to as “Nuts”. Now, I don’t feel badly about that because in true Christian Philosophy we are all nuts and salvation comes with the realization of how insane we are and then admitting we can’t fix it ourselves. We need a higher power. Once we are ready to search for that power, God will provide all the guidance we need, in spite of the fact we are usually too blind to see or too deaf to hear.
In my case, the day I snapped for good, I was smart enough to call a person I had been told about by dear friends who saw how badly I needed help. In our first phone conversation, Dr. Hall told me he was not taking any new patients but he could spare a few moments to talk on the phone. After five minutes he told me to show up that Friday at 9 AM. Since then we have had some great “disagreements”. At our very first session, he told me I would come to see Cancer as a blessing from God. I now agree with that completely, but at the time I thought he was crazier than I was. I have to say that after four years, I am healthier than I ever have been in my entire life. I never felt that I was smart enough, funny enough, kind enough. I spent most of my life thinking I was responsible for all the problems around me, that if I just planned harder, or worked harder or somehow was better, everything would be fine. When something inevitably went wrong, I took all the blame. I was terrified of not being good enough. Well, for better or worse, that is all gone. I knew I was truly cured last year when Kay and I went on vacation and I got blessedly lost because I had not obsessively planned the route with three alternative ways of getting there. And it didn’t bother me a bit. I knew it would work out, and in the end we had a great time.
Below is an address to Dr. Hall's Web sight. I tried to embed it in this writing, but if it can be done, I don't know how to do it.
www.awakentotruth.com
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Perfect Spring Day
Last Tuesday was nearly a perfect day. Now the truth is I played hooky from the job I was supposed to be doing. I promised to finish Zoey’s changing table by Saturday. I finished it Saturday on time, but Tuesday that was not a sure thing. And still it was just to perfect outside to stay in the shop and cut wood.
So, we went to work opening the pond and stream. Last Spring, a dear friend gave me five little gold fish that were destined for sad endings if I didn’t take them. I figured we would throw them in the pond and they would have a good last summer. Despite assurances they would make it through the winter, last fall I gave the three surviving fish a ceremonial kiss good by (metaphorically speaking) and closed the pond. Winter was winter, so the pond froze, yuck blew in and I expected to find fish bones on opening day. To my vast surprise, I was greeted with three little fishy smiles.
We pumped about 30 gallons of pond water into a gigantic container, netted the fish and added them to the container, then pumped the remaining 700 gallons onto the lawn, pulled the plants from the pond and cleaned them. Then - the dredging of dead leaves, pine needles, enough algae to power the car for a year and a lot of unidentifiable yuck. While I slaved over the pump, Kay scrubbed and cleaned the stream. Within an hour, we were able to install the pumps, reinstate the plants, refill the pond with clean water, add organic yuck remover and chuck the fish back in. Once the statuary and lights were back in place, we added chairs to the patio, wine to our stomachs and joy to our hearts. April 6th seems pretty early to be soaking up the sun and relaxing around the pond, but it makes for a near perfect day.
Last Tuesday was nearly a perfect day. Now the truth is I played hooky from the job I was supposed to be doing. I promised to finish Zoey’s changing table by Saturday. I finished it Saturday on time, but Tuesday that was not a sure thing. And still it was just to perfect outside to stay in the shop and cut wood.
So, we went to work opening the pond and stream. Last Spring, a dear friend gave me five little gold fish that were destined for sad endings if I didn’t take them. I figured we would throw them in the pond and they would have a good last summer. Despite assurances they would make it through the winter, last fall I gave the three surviving fish a ceremonial kiss good by (metaphorically speaking) and closed the pond. Winter was winter, so the pond froze, yuck blew in and I expected to find fish bones on opening day. To my vast surprise, I was greeted with three little fishy smiles.
We pumped about 30 gallons of pond water into a gigantic container, netted the fish and added them to the container, then pumped the remaining 700 gallons onto the lawn, pulled the plants from the pond and cleaned them. Then - the dredging of dead leaves, pine needles, enough algae to power the car for a year and a lot of unidentifiable yuck. While I slaved over the pump, Kay scrubbed and cleaned the stream. Within an hour, we were able to install the pumps, reinstate the plants, refill the pond with clean water, add organic yuck remover and chuck the fish back in. Once the statuary and lights were back in place, we added chairs to the patio, wine to our stomachs and joy to our hearts. April 6th seems pretty early to be soaking up the sun and relaxing around the pond, but it makes for a near perfect day.
Friday, April 2, 2010
As a Franciscan, I am somewhat ashamed to admit that each year we rent a spectacular condo at the ocean. But I defy anyone to sit in the predawn darkness surrounding “my” chair and not feel God sitting in the chair next to me. And, as a Franciscan, I am supposed to see the Gospels all around. What better place?
Each morning, at first light, a flight of Pelicans drops over the roof of this building. I sit less than ten feet from their passing, and then as they glide in perfect beauty, Like Peter and the boat, they seem to remember they can’t really fly, and they plummet into the water, much as I envision Peter hitting the drink when he realized he couldn’t walk on water.
The last morning we were there, I arose even earlier than usual. As I settled myself to await the rising of the sun, three or four miles up the beach, a lone automobile drove up and down the beach, showing first his headlights and then his taillights. I thought about how that person, whatever his mission, had no idea that miles away he was being watched. How often do we pass unknowingly through someone else’s life, with no idea what effect we have on them? A smile, a kind word or conversely, a dismissal or an impatient moment all have effects. I have come to believe that in the end, those things matter. So, I said a silent prayer that my mystery person would have a safe day and would discover a moment of joy that day.
When the sun finally did appear, when the pelicans performed their morning ritual, when the outside world could no longer be ignored, I rose from my window chair for the last time this year and prepared for the return to home and all the joys that brings.
Each morning, at first light, a flight of Pelicans drops over the roof of this building. I sit less than ten feet from their passing, and then as they glide in perfect beauty, Like Peter and the boat, they seem to remember they can’t really fly, and they plummet into the water, much as I envision Peter hitting the drink when he realized he couldn’t walk on water.
The last morning we were there, I arose even earlier than usual. As I settled myself to await the rising of the sun, three or four miles up the beach, a lone automobile drove up and down the beach, showing first his headlights and then his taillights. I thought about how that person, whatever his mission, had no idea that miles away he was being watched. How often do we pass unknowingly through someone else’s life, with no idea what effect we have on them? A smile, a kind word or conversely, a dismissal or an impatient moment all have effects. I have come to believe that in the end, those things matter. So, I said a silent prayer that my mystery person would have a safe day and would discover a moment of joy that day.
When the sun finally did appear, when the pelicans performed their morning ritual, when the outside world could no longer be ignored, I rose from my window chair for the last time this year and prepared for the return to home and all the joys that brings.
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