Peregrine Journey

The Awaken Your Senses Contest begins today--with TASTE!

2012-02-06T06:59:00.000-06:00

TASTE: The senseof the week!

“Have you ever thought about tasting God in what you put in your mouth?The idea that food can remind us of the different attributes, ways and storiesof God is a novel thought for most of us. If we are open to letting God teach us the ways of faith through ourbodies, though, then we can learn theways of faith through our taste buds as well as our brain. The sweetness of a freshly baked cinnamonroll can remind us of the sweetness of God’slove in the same way that horseradish at Passoverreminds Jews of the bitterness of slavery.” Awaken Your Senses, pg. 26 (adapted)

Today (Feb. 6) we begin the “Awaken Your Senses Contest.” (But you can join anytime!) The contest will be featured on:

· The AwakenYour Senses Facebook Page

· Brent’sBlog

· Beth'sBlog

Here’s how it works:

1. Thisweek, you are invited to pay attention toyour sense of TASTE and see how itintroduces you to the wonder of God.

2. If something cool happens, post a description about thatexperience on the Awaken Your Senses FB Page or Beth or Brent’s blogs. (Allentries must be submitted by Sunday at noon.)

3. Brentand Beth will choose a winner on Sundayevening and that person will receive a $25gift card that will be sure to please his or her palate! Brent and Bethwill also do a drawing from the names of everyone who participates and giveaway an autographed copy of Awaken YourSenses.

4. Thewinners will be announced on the FBpage and their blogs on Monday when a new sense begins!

Tell your friendsabout the contest. Tweet, tumblr andblog about it! Spread the word!We can’t wait to hear about your experiences as you awaken your senses to thewonder of God!

2012-02-02T16:35:00.002-06:00

The Awaken Your Senses Contest is about to begin!

On Monday, February 6^th, Beth and Brent will host an “Awaken Your Senses Contest” featured on:
·     Awaken Your Senses Facebook Page
·     Brent’s Blog
·     Beth's Blog

Here’s how it works:

1.       Each week, for five weeks, Beth and Brent will post a sense-of-the-week. You are invited to pay attention to that particular sense and see how it introduces you to the wonder of God.

2.        As you begin "listening" to that sense, we bet you'll have some stories to tell! Post a description about your experience on the Awaken Your Senses FB Page or Beth or Brent’s blogs.
(All entries must be submitted by Sunday at noon.)

3.       Brent and Beth will choose a winner on Sunday evening and that person will receive a $25 gift card for a gift related to that sense. They will also do a drawing from the names of everyone who participated and give away an autographed copy of Awaken Your Senses.

4.       The winners will be announced on the FB page and their blogs on Monday when a new sense begins!

Tell your friends about the contest. Tweet, tumblr and blog about it! Spread the word! We can’t wait to hear about your experiences as you awaken your senses to the wonder of God!

Seeing, Tasting, Smelling, Hearing and Touching the Wonder of God Beyond Advent

2012-01-18T15:58:00.000-06:00

Some people become depressed during the Christmas season. Some become depressed after. With the Christmas lights put away, the nativity pup back in the box, the multiple gathering of family and friends ceased, what now? How do we continue to engage wonder? That's what Jeff Crosby, Marketing Editor at Inter Varsity Press, has addressed in his review of Awaken Your Senses. Hope it helps you continue to look for Immanuel--God with us.

Confessions of a Flip-flopper: 2011 in Retrospect

2012-01-01T10:25:00.001-06:00

As I reflect on this last year, I notice a pattern emerge that makes me sort of uncomfortable. It looks an awful lot like flip-flopping. I have changed my mind, gone back and forth, discovered and re-discovered what I believe to be God's path forward for me--particularly as it relates to starting Sustainable Faith Indy, an educational retreat center. Yet, as I reflect on how God is speaking to me through this year in retrospect, I see that this circuitous path is helping me discover God's will.

Through my 2011 journey, I've been reminded that:
Time is my friend.
The birthing process for SFI has taken much longer than I had hoped. It's kind of torturous for me to be in a waiting pattern--honestly. Yet, I find myself today so thankful that it has taken longer to discern where and when to begin this new venture. With each twist and turn, I've discovered new and important findings. The waiting hasn't been wasteful. My husband, David, and I have had shaping conversations that have forged a deeper solidarity in us related to this dream. I'm learning that time is my friend.

It's okay to change my mind.
When I first began to talk about starting SFI, I pictured it in an urban setting. But then, after visiting a beautiful retreat center in the mountains of Virginia, I began to wonder if a rural setting would be more conducive to help people discover a contemplative life. Yet, as time has passed (remember--time is my friend), moving further away from our family, community and work has felt concerning and ill-timed. I've had to work through the belief and subsequent guilt that there's something wrong with changing my mind.

God knows me better than I know myself.
So, with each change in thinking, I've found myself considering conflicting, yet deeply held values within me. Not anything I didn't know was there--like my love of nature and my immense joy in nurturing strong relationships with my family; our dream of leaving land as a legacy for our kids and grand kids, as well as a strong desire to be accessible to people in our community. I'm reminded that "The purposes of a person’s heart are deep waters, but one who has insight draws them out (Proverbs 20:5)." As I reflect on this year, I sense that the Insightful One who has been drawing me out knows me better than I know myself.

I honestly can't say where things will end up or how long it will take before we start Sustainable Faith Indy. It looks like it could be a long and winding road. But with each flip and flop, there is more to discover about the ways of God and the his purposes for my life.

As you reflect on 2011, have you done any flip-flopping? Or do you need to do some flip-flopping--change some ways you have been thinking about yourself, your life or God? If so, take some time to reflect on what you learn about God and his purposes for your life.

It's probably not what you think: Reflections on writing a book

2011-12-29T11:04:00.001-06:00

One of the first impulses I had when I opened the box and took out Awaken Your Senses was to find a place to hideaway so that I could read it. Funny, isn't it? After all, by the time the book made it to print, Brent Bill and I had read and reread the manuscript more than a half-a-dozen times. Just the same, and maybe from the realization that others can now read what I've written, I wanted to experience the book in the same way you might. I wanted to hold it in my hands and take it in.

There are lots of things that have surprised me about writing and publishing a book. My guess is, it's probably not what you think it would be like, either. For instance:

I'm not famous.

I'm not rich.

And I don't (think I) have a big head.

Writing a book doesn't make you famous. It's not uncommon to sell only a few thousand copies of a book. And, if you haven't noticed, there are a few thousand titles to choose from when you're looking for a book to read. The competition is stiff. But I have noticed that writing a book opens doors to good conversations. It's very cool to me when someone picks up my book, reads it and then emails or Facebooks me to talk about it. In fact, not long ago, someone with whom I went to high school but never knew well read The Wide Open Spaces of God. As a result, we got together for coffee and had an awesome conversation about our spiritual journeys that would have never happened if she hadn't read my book.

Writing a book doesn't make you rich, either. It was a bit of a shock when I published my first book and discovered that I only made a couple bucks from each copy. So, you can do the math--if you only make a couple bucks and you only sell a few thousand copies, it doesn't add up to much cash. The reward for me is more personal than it is monetary. My heart feels incredibly full after completing the process of writing and publishing a book. The conception, creation, writing process and completion is a huge accomplishment with very personal dividends.

Finally, writing a book doesn't really give you a big head. (Well--maybe if you became rich and famous.) Undoubtedly, some assume that if you write and publish a book, you must be full of your self. You must think you're an expert and everybody should listen to what you have to say. Maybe this comes from believing that writing a book is a bigger deal than it really is. Now--don't take this wrong. It is a big deal to me and to my publisher for sure. We want Awaken Your Senses to be a tremendous success--to sell thousands of copies and, most of all, to help people connect more deeply with God. But for me, writing a book feels natural, like it's the work I was called and created to do--not some extraordinary feat.

Ever since I wrote and published my first book, I've met lots of people who say they want to write a book. If you happen to be one of them, I hope my honest reflections haven't discouraged you. It's one of the most satisfying and rewarding accomplishments of my life--but probably for different reasons than you might think. And one last thing--if you are thinking about writing a book, I would love to send you a great resource called Writing a Winning Book Proposal. (It's what you provide a publisher--not a whole manuscript.) This resource was written by Michael Hyatt and is very helpful for writers who have never written a book proposal before. Just email me at bethbooram@sbcglobal.net and I will send you a pdf.

There you have it! Honest reflections of a very grateful author. I hope this was helpful. Have a blessed New Year!

Advent: Jesus Came; Jesus Comes; and Jesus will Come Again

2011-12-07T11:24:00.001-06:00

It wasn't until I served in an interim role at a Lutheran church that I really understood the significance of liturgical seasons like this one. Since that time, I have come to appreciate the historical (since the beginning of the early church) and global practice (with Christians from around the world) of joining the common prayers and reflections of a given season in the church calendar.

This is the second week of Advent, a period of preparation, a season of anticipating the coming of our Lord. It a beautiful perspective--one in which we look at the past, the future and the present. Advent celebrates the truth that Jesus came; Jesus comes; and Jesus will come again.

Jesus came: a truth that can sometimes feel sentimental, as though it's a fairy tale. Yet, when I reread the gospel accounts of the little babe born of a virgin in Bethlehem, I am rooted once again in the solid, historical and undeniable truth of the human Jesus.

Jesus comes: a truth that can feel mysterious and squishy, applying to those who have a mystical relationship with God, but not the rest of us who live very tangibly in the hear and now. Yet, when I awake to each ordinary day with eyes wide open, I do see Jesus come to me: alive in Scripture; in the words of my husband, daughter, or friend; through the natural world speaking; and through my daily bread.

Jesus will come again: a truth that has been propagandized and can often feel irrelevant in light of the work that needs to be done today. Yet, something inside me knows. It knows that time is moving forward, culminating in a day, someday, in the future. That something is the notion of eternity, planted in me by God who made my spirit/soul eternal. One day, I will bow the knee of my heavenly body, and my tongue will confess in unison with all humanity that Jesus Christ is Lord.

So, I'm curious. Which perspective is hardest for you to believe? That Jesus came? He comes? Or He will come again? Maybe that's the direction you need to face as you look for Him during this Advent season.

Giving Birth to Our Dreams: Consensual Pregnancy

2011-12-05T08:14:00.001-06:00

I held Madonna in my hand--a small figure from our Nativity. Her head was slightly bowed; posture tipped forward, as if bowing her heart, as well. I studied her, something of her form speaking to me about myself.

A word came to mind--a strange word, at first. Consensual. It was a consensual pregnancy that led to the birth of Jesus.

Typically, when we hear or use the word "consensual" it is in relationship with the word sex. We speak of two "consenting" adults, agreeing to engage in sexual relations with one another--often illicit sexual relations.

Yet I saw it here, as well. Consensual pregnancy. Holy Spirit consenting to impregnate. Young virgin consenting to be impregnated. Both with postures low, head's bowed. One, not considering equality with God something to be grasped. Another, not considering being chosen by God something conceivable.

Protests rose up within her. "But how can this be? I'm a virgin; unworthy; not capable." Protests rose up within him. "Must I take on human flesh; leave the heavens of my home; suffer?"

In the end, both said yes.

Giving birth to our dreams begins with the same consent on both our parts--God's and ours. Our being humbled by being chosen; God's humility in choosing. Heads and hearts bowed.

What protests rise up within you and me? Do we have the courage to consent, to say, "Be it unto me as you have said."?

Giving Birth to Our Dreams: What's God waiting for?

2011-11-18T07:35:00.000-06:00

Do you ever wonder what God's waiting for? Why God delays answering your prayer. Why he's stalling to realize a dream or even need you have? The answer to that question is often unclear. Yet, as I ponder this waiting period as we prepare to launch Sustainable Faith Indy, I do notice important things happening. The one's most obvious to me are within me.

It's not that I can see obvious, tangible reasons for God's delay, but I can see a shifting within my own heart. As I settle into what feels like a "long winter's night," I find myself thinking and processing important questions, finding a heart posture that I can support during this stand-still.

Most of all, I sense a deepening yieldedness. Through the passage of time, I notice God inviting me to a greater surrender to his will and an openness to receive his guidance and counsel. It takes time for me to get to that place. It's interesting to me that just as I think I'm waiting on God, in reality, He's waiting on me.

Last week, I was Sustainable Faith Cincy SFC for the School of Spiritual Direction. As we gathered for our first morning together, Dave Nixon led us in a version of the Lord's Prayer that he wrote after reflecting on the passage. As we repeated this prayer, phrase by phrase, one particular line stood out to me. In a moment, I knew that it expressed what God is waiting for in my life.

Here is Dave's paraphrase of the Lord's Prayer. The line that spoke most to me is in bold. Take some time to pray it, line by line, and in the process open your heart to a posture of surrender.

Our Father-in-Heaven, be lifted up today.
Let your intention for us be realized completely regardless of what it might cost.
We look to you to feed us, to provide what we need.
Forgive our sins; cancel our debts.
Teach us to do the same for others.
We are weak and prone to wander.
Oh, have mercy, dear Lord.
Find us in our weakness; rescue us in our lostness.
Protect us from the evil one.
We confess you as King of the Everlasting Kingdom,
The High and omnipotent God,
The All-Glorious One.
This is how it is and how it always will be.
Amen.

Giving Birth to Our Dreams: Trying to Figure God Out

2011-11-08T08:30:00.000-06:00

A friend of mine wrote me recently and made the off-hand comment that it "seems like we are confined to understanding our lives backward." I knew just what he meant. Often, as I puzzle over the mixed media of my life, I have a difficult time understanding the emerging image. It isn't until I get some distance, step back with time, that I can make out the purposes of God in it. But when I struggle to understand, my natural tendency is to try to figure God out. I ruminate and speculate about what is going on and what he is doing. And that preoccupation typically makes me more anxious.

As I give birth to the dream of Sustainable Faith Indy (SFI), I find myself trying to figure God out. The birthing process has not happened quickly and concisely and the way forward is not clear. The tangible reality of this dream is still hazy.

I read a short paragraph this week that brought this experience together for me. It's by a 17th Century priest named Francois Fenelon. I thought it might having meaning for you. Fenelon offered this counsel to one of his friends:

"The future is in God's hands, not yours. God will rule it according to your need. But if you seek to forecast it in your own wisdom, you will gain nothing but anxiety and anticipation of inevitable trouble. Try only to make use of each day. Each day brings its own good and evil and sometimes what seems evil becomes good if we leave it to God and do not forestall him with our impatience."

Trying to figure God out can be a perplexing vocation when using our own wisdom and vision. I know that my impatience to understand my life often leads to frustration. I appreciate Fenelon's advice to "try only to make use of each day." That seems to be God's word for me right now. That and being grateful for what I have today.

So, let me invite you to join me in an imagining prayer exercise that might help us "make use of each day" as we live into our dreams:

As you embrace the dreams within you, imagine being a tree, stretching tall toward the sky, yearning with desire. As you reach upward, what does it means to "root yourself" in today? Feel yourself thirstily sinking your roots downward into the soil of your present life; imagine living right now in Christ from your true self.

Giving Birth to Our Dreams: Miscarriage

2011-10-27T08:25:00.000-05:00

For those who have never suffered a miscarriage, it's probably hard to know what it's really like. The elusive emptiness; the hollow sorrow of losing something that you never held; something that never had visible substance, yet had become real to you.

It became real because your imagined it. You found out that you were pregnant and soon your mind was alive with images, with wonderment of what it would be like, some day, to hold this little child in your arms. And when the miscarriage happened, all those dreams had no where to go, no funeral, no place to be buried.

Our first pregnancy ended in miscarriage. We hadn't planned on or tried to get pregnant. But once we found out, it took no time before we let our imaginations frolic along the path of future parenthood. It felt like a cruel and unbelievable prank when, at 14 weeks, I lost our baby.

I felt so very alone in my pain. Nothing to show for it, other than the dreams I'd dreamed. I ached and wept for days, cocooned in a dark space of disappointment and bewilderment. It took weeks to come to terms with the loss of this dream and with God. Over time, I suppose I did.

Strangely today I feel some of the same anguish. I've grown up a bit since my first miscarriage and learned a bit more about the nature of life and what to expect of it. But today I feel that same elusive emptiness and hollow sorrow. Not because of the loss of a human life within me, but the loss of a dream--a dream that had captured and consumed my imagination for weeks.

In the process of giving birth to this dream of a retreat center (SFI), David and I found what looked like a viable property. It was a little, hand-hewn log home in a cluster of woods with a stream and pond on 5 acres of land. It had much of what we wanted and the setting made our imagination combustible.

Then we found out on Monday, the same day we also found out that we had a guaranteed buy-out on our home, that the cabin had sold over the weekend. So..., here we are, wondering and grieving; aching and wistful as we reminisce about what could have been.

When I had my first miscarriage, God met me in a particular gospel story. Interestingly, last week, before we "miscarried" the dream of our little cabin in the woods, I spent time in imagining prayer in the same story: John 11.

This chapter tells about Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead. The narrative explains that Jesus dearly loved Lazarus and his two sisters, Mary and Martha. Yet, instead of coming to them when he heard the news of Lazarus's serious illness, he tarried and Lazarus died. All along, he told his disciples that this sickness would not "end" in death. And days later Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead.

As I used my imagination in prayer, walking through the story with Jesus, the theme that surfaced was the reality that God often brings life from death. I know that to be true. My journey with him illustrates that reality over and again.

So, right now I am looking for life, trying hard not to keep my eyes narrow but wide open, studying for signs, even in unlikely places. Maybe the most important thing of all, I'm allowing my dream to continue to inspire my imagination. Perhaps miscarriages have that affect.

Giving Birth to Our Dreams: The Risk of Desire

2011-10-20T06:44:00.000-05:00

One of the greatest risks in giving birth to our dreams is the risk of desiring. Desire is what spawns dreams. Desire--an unweildly beast--is what rises up within us like a caged animal wanting to be released. But something in us knows that if we open the cage door, life will never be the same. Pandamonium may result.

(Yes, I'm using this analogy on the heels of the national news story of the guy in Zanesville, Ohio who "collected" wild animals for a hobby and two nights ago let them out of their cages and then took his own life.)

It feels like I've let desire out of it's cage and it's running loose. Not only have I embraced the desire to establish Sustainable Faith Indy (www.sustainablefaithindy.com ), but David and I have let our hearts go for a specific property to house SFI. After we found it, we immediately put our house on the market and have been earnestly moving forward to see if we could purchase it.

We wrote a contingency offer on Friday (contingent on selling our house) and yesterday we found out that someone else has put an offer on it--without a contingency. Now it hurts to desire. It feels like a trick to desire. Our imaginations had run wild with desire as we envisioned ourselves, our family and Sustainable Faith guests retreating at this property.

Now what do we do since desire is out of it's cage?

I'm not sure. That's what I am asking God this morning. All along we have prayed deeply about our dream and this property--prayed that if it's not the place, that God would redirect us. I'm still not ready to give it up; not ready to let this particular property go. Perhaps the desire it evoked can lead us to a better place, a different property that has the same, or even more potential.

Yes, it feels like a risk to desire. At the same time, it seems unimaginable and even tragic to keep my desires caged inside me. I know that true desire needs the freedom to roam, to explore its surroundings and establish itself. So, even though it hurts right now to desire, it's still worth the risk. (And it certainly beats shooting it--the fate of the lions, tigers and bears in Zanesville. How very sad.)

Giving Birth to Our Dreams: Waiting

2011-10-03T07:26:00.000-05:00

The for sale sign is in the front yard. We stuck it in the ground together, ceremoniously, and with a lump in our throats. We've lived deeply and well in this home for fourteen years. It means a lot to us. We've raised four kids and owned two dogs while living here. We've worn traffic patterns in the carpet. Gotten our hands dirty in the garden, planting and transplanting.

The sign in the front yard represents movement--our overcoming the inertia of fourteen years of staying in one place. We've put it there in faith that the dream within us to give birth to Sustainable Faith Indy is a God-dream. And so we wait--something that's never been easy for me.

We wait for the one person to walk through our home and say, "This is it!", so that we can, in turn, say the same to the person who owns the property we have identified. A chain of events. A sequence that must be followed for this dream to have it's day.

This morning, as I was reading The Inner Compass by Margaret Silf, she provided a very helpful prompt for prayer. She invited me to visualize leaving my little, secure cottage at the edge of the banks of a river, and to step out onto the stepping stones in the river (of life). The river around me might be racing or it might be calm. Either way, I must stay planted on the one stone, waiting, until God provides the next one. (Oh, and by the way, I can't see the riverbank on the other side.)

Silf writes, "As time passes, I learn to recognize God's ways, and to trust, when I stand in the middle of the fast-moving water, that he will always bring me one more stone--just one--and call me forward to one next step."

So, I'm waiting for one more stone to take one next step. That's all I need. A chain of events. A sequence that must be followed for this dream to have it's day.

Giving Birth to Our Dreams: Contractions

2011-09-25T06:49:00.000-05:00

I will never forget lying in the hospital bed, preparing to give birth to our first child. I was hooked up to an IV of Petocin, a drug used to induce labor, listening to a woman in the next room in active labor. The sound coming from her terrified me! I listened in horror, thinking to myself, "Is that going to be me in a few hours?"

I never saw the woman, but I pictured her. Her loud, guttural screams made me suspect her to be a large, robust woman with a set of huge lungs. Every time she had a contraction, it sounded like she gripped the side of her bed and fought them with all her might, as if by doing so she could get them to stop. I listened, vowing to myself that I wasn't going to do the same.

In that moment, I realized that I could either work with the contractions or against them. I could allow them to do their work or fight the work they were trying to do by resisting them. I won't tell you that I followed my advice with agility and flawless execution. I did, however, succeed in not screaming:)

As I give birth to my dream of starting a contemplative retreat center (SFI), I don't know if I am feeling the onset of labor. I might be. We listed our house last week and have our eye on a property. Things could be ratcheting up. Labor could be imminent. In preparation, I am reminded that I can either work with or against the contractions.

Here's what I mean:

I can allow God's timing to naturally progress or resist it, hoping to speed things up or slow things down.
I can grip life and try to control it, or trust God to be in control of things like the sale of our house and the purchase of an ideal setting for Sustainable Faith Indy.
I can scream at life--or at God--when I feel the pain of leaving a home we love and have lived in for 14 years to embrace the new and unknown.
I can resent the labor it takes to overcome the inertia of 14 years of rootedness and forget why I am giving birth and what I have to look forward to.

So, as you, my reader, think about something you are in the process of giving birth to, how would you describe your relationship with the contractions? Are you working with them or against them? Are you embracing the pain and allowing it to do its work in you? The one thing I remember that helped me during active labor was keeping my eye on a focal point. What are you focusing on?

I will keep you posted at the onset of labor, when the true contractions begin!

Giving Birth to Our Dreams: Meandering

2011-09-11T07:10:00.000-05:00

I like to meander. I even like the word meander. It conjures the image of strolling along an unfamiliar path, finding your way as you go. You come to a fork in the road and feel the direction you should take, a route that brings you to new crossroads, ones you wouldn't have found if you hadn't chosen the first way.

I believe that birthing a dream requires a willingness to meander. First, you go one way and travel for a while and then you see a new path that feels copacetic; it feels right and good. That's what happened to me recently, as I was rambling along the path of giving birth to my dream of launching an urban retreat center. I came to a new crossroads.

I came upon it when David and I were on vacation. The first days of our time away were in an extraordinarily beautiful retreat setting in Virginia called the Belfry. I was there for a writing retreat with other InterVarsity authors. This gracious home was snuggled into a cascade of hills amidst the Blue Ridge Mountains. Each morning we woke early, grabbed a cup of coffee and blanket and headed to a large hill in front of the Belfry to greet the rising sun. It reminded us of what we already knew--that being surrounded by God's creation helps repair and re-center.

This led to a number of important and revelatory conversations about the idea that perhaps we should consider a setting in nature, rather than in the city, for our retreat home. It's like we have approached a new intersection, must stop and look both ways, as we consider this different path.

This morning, David read a verse to me that was meaningful to both of us. We sat and mused about it together. "Stand at the crossroads, and look, and ask for the ancient paths, where the good way lies; and walk in it, and find rest for your souls." Jeremiah 6:16

As we amble along this path with twists and turns and intersections, we have come to a crossroads where we must pause and ask where to go. Ask for the ancient paths. Look for the good way as we yearn for a place of rest--a retreat--for ourselves and for you, our friends and fellow travelers. Would you pray with us and for us. Thank you.

Giving Birth to Our Dreams: Drawn or Driven?

2011-08-19T09:47:00.000-05:00

If you've been following my blog of late, then you know that I am in the beginning stages of giving birth to a dream of starting an urban Christian retreat center in Indianapolis. This endeavor is in partnership with Sustainable Faith in Cincinnati and is called Sustainable Faith Indy.

From the beginning of this dream's inception, I have had tremendous energy for this endeavor. But about two or three weeks ago, the energy changed. It wasn't that I necessarily lost desire, it's more that the passion and movement felt like it was coming from a different place. A more anxious, willful, self-oriented place.

For days now, I've been observing this shift and trying to figure out why my dream had become draining. Through a wonderful book I have been reading, I believe God pointed me to the heart of the matter. I was being driven, not drawn toward this dream.

Margaret Silf, in her book Inner Compass, explains a distinction that St. Ignatious made many centuries ago when he spoke of periods in our life when the inner movement or motives of our heart are drawn toward consolation (in God) or driven toward desolation (away from God).

Smack in the middle of the chapter, she had the audacity to ask me (the reader) a very pointed question: "Am I feeling drawn, powerfully perhaps but always gently, or am I feeling driven?" It took little pondering to know the answer. Driven.

Why had my heart shifted toward desolation and driveness? As I reflect, I see a point when I felt like God was not moving things along solidly enough, quickly enough for my taste. I thought, perhaps, he could use a little help. My help, my initiative, my driveness.

There is something very comfortable, even natural about relying on drive to produce the energy and movement necessary to keep going and continue accomplishing. That's why I think we rarely notice or challenge what's driving us. When I was pressed to stop and clearly ask the question, "Am I being drawn or driven?", it wasn't hard for me to see the source and root of my quest. It was coming from my own self-will and anxiety, rather than from being drawn by God toward God and life and this dream.

One reflection that feels ever-so-subtle is the sense that in my fervor, I began to hide from God. My heart knew that I was straining forward in order to get done what God didn't seem to be getting done. And in the process, I began to follow down the lane of desolation, turning my back upon the precious and faithful presence of God.

So, in the spirit of Margaret Silf and St. Ignatious, may I do a bit of noodling in your life and ask you a question or two:

Are you being drawn or driven? Is the movement, action, energy of your life and work coming from a place of consolation or desolation? If you take some time to ponder this question, my guess is you will know.
If you are being driven and moving toward desolation, how might you stop in your tracks and reorient your direction toward the One who draws you with loving kindness?

Let's hold one another in prayer that we might give birth to our dreams through the energy and passion of being drawn by God. The fruit of our life and work will be far sweeter.

Giving Birth to Our Dreams: Faith

2011-08-12T08:25:00.000-05:00

Whether you're pregnant with a baby or a dream, during the period when there are no visible signs of life, you have to take it on faith that something is happening "beneath the surface." That's where I find myself these days as I pray for my dream to become reality. A picture has come to mind that gives me reassurance. It's one that Jesus used to help us imagine the nature of God's Kingdom.

“The Kingdom of God is like a farmer who scatters seed on the ground. ²⁷ Night and day, while he’s asleep or awake, the seed sprouts and grows, but he does not understand how it happens. ²⁸ The earth produces the crops on its own. First a leaf blade pushes through, then the heads of wheat are formed, and finally the grain ripens. ²⁹ And as soon as the grain is ready, the farmer comes and harvests it with a sickle, for the harvest time has come.” Mark 4: 26-29

God's Kingdom is at work within and through the nature of things. In this parable, Jesus speaks of the "earth producing the crops on its own." Interesting. A seed planted in rich soil naturally sprouts on its own time. A seed of a man planted in the womb of a woman does the same. Magic.

Faith is what we dreamers must have as we go about our lives, asleep or awake, waiting for the seeds of our dreams to break ground and sprout into something visible and tangible. We don't understand how it happens. And we don't have to.

Where do you need to trust that the Kingdom of God is at work, even though you don't see the evidence?

Giving Birth to Our Dreams: Waiting for Signs of Life

2011-08-04T14:45:00.001-05:00

I remember distinctly the awkward period in pregnancy when I knew I was pregnant, but I felt little to no signs of pregnancy. It was after the usual morning sickness had subsided. (Mine, confessedly, was never all that bad.) And it was before my waist began to thicken and belly swell. Most of all, it was before I could feel the little life inside me letting me know he or she was there.

It was an awkward time.

In my head I knew the pregnancy test was positive; the doctor had confirmed it. But nothing else confirmed to me that a baby was on the way.

That's a bit how I feel right now in the birthing of this dream. I've named it and told others about it. But as I do the slow and often unnoticeable things like write a business plan, form a board and meet with potential donors/investors, the dream seems like exactly that....a dream.

I am waiting for signs of life. Confirmations that the dream I am birthing is taking shape and form and one day will be a real, tangible urban retreat center called Sustainable Faith Indy.

So, for now, I take it on faith that the baby's in the bun warmer. (Did I just say that? Where in the world did that expression come from?!)

Giving Birth to Our Dreams: Opening Pandora's Box

2011-08-02T19:23:00.001-05:00

If you've ever cracked open the door of your heart to a new dream or desire, then you might feel like I do--like you've just opened Pandora's box. All the desires and interests that accompany your dream, mingled with a brew of anxiety, obsession and impatience seem to pour out of the same spout.

According to Greek mythology, when Pandora opened her box, supposedly all the contents emptied except one. All the potential evils of the world were released into the atmosphere. One item remained. Hope.

As I wrestle with unpacking this dream of starting an urban retreat center ( SFI ), I see all kinds of emotions and interesting motivations surfacing in the midst of what seems like, feels like, smells like a vision that God has planted within me.

What do I make of this Pandora's box? I've learned in the last few years to pay attention to the mixed bag of things within me and not shame myself for them. (One of the great lessons learned from David Benner in the Gift of Being Yourself--the idea of offering hospitality to your false selves.) Instead, I am trying to be curious and honest; prayerful about what I see that is less than noble and bringing it to God for understanding.

I thought about it today--the fact that I could have left the lid on Pandora's box. I think life would have been easier if I had. But opening it and taking a look inside and wrestling with the contents seems to me a more transforming way. And lo and behold, after all the contents have emptied, there is something left inside. I still have hope.

Giving Birth to Our Dreams: Infertility

2011-07-27T09:49:00.002-05:00

When I began this blog series on giving birth to our dreams, someone made a poignant comment, lamenting that she struggled with infertility as it pertains to dreams. She wondered why; why do some people brim with visions while she struggles to conceive.

This week I had breakfast with a friend. In the course of our conversation, she made a comment that lingered in my mind. This friend is in the process of giving birth to a new chapter in her life. One day, she wrote in her journal that she didn't feel allowed to dream because her dreams "might inconvenience her husband or harm her kids." I knew the fear and guilt she was describing.

It occurred to me that women who are married and have kids might struggle most with embracing the dreams in thier hearts for fear that they will follow them and forsake their families. I wonder if men/husbands/dads struggle with the same fear. (Men--by all means, speak up.)

So, perhaps one cause (though I suspect there are many) for infertility may stem from fear of how it will affect those closest to us--and that is certainly important to consider. As David and I muddle through this process of me starting Sustainable Faith Indy, I know it's been really important to involve him every step of the way; to make sure he feels heard and his concerns taken seriously. In turn, I am so grateful for his support and belief in me. He has been key to me conceiving and giving birth....in more ways than one.

Giving Birth to Our Dreams: What Is It??

2011-07-18T10:50:00.001-05:00

So, here's a picture of our grandson Eli's first encounter with his brand new baby brother, Riley. I feel like the caption should read, "What is it?" Eli looked curiously, with a bit of apprehension and puzzlement, at his little brother. It was as though he couldn't decide if he was real, and if so, just what kind of "real" he was.

I have found myself looking with the same kind of puzzlement at this dream inside me. What is it--I've asked myself? Pages and pages of journal entries indicate that I have been just as confused and uncertain as little Eli was when first meeting Riley. (Of course, he has long gotten over that and adores his brother!)

When we meet our dreams face to face for the first time, we may not recognize them as real either. Often, they feel like romantic obsessions or idealistic visions. It helped when I saw something real that reminded me of my dream. That happened almost two years ago.

I enrolled in a seven month School of Spiritual Direction at Sustainable Faith in Cincinnati (SFC). When I arrived at SFC, located in an old convent in an urban area called Norwood, I was immediately enveloped by this wonderful, substantial structure and the way it felt. "Sacred"....I would say to others, as I tried to describe it. It felt like sacred, hallowed space. Each time I returned, I felt escorted into the peace and quiet of the convent and into stillness in the presence of God.

Over time, I began to realize that what I was experiencing at SFC was what I longed to help create....a "come away place," an urban retreat center in the heart of Indianapolis. So, now you know the "baby's" name. Sustainable Faith Indy is in-utero....and I am anxious to tell you more about it. SFC

Giving Birth: The Quickening of a Dream

2011-07-16T06:39:00.002-05:00

Over the years, I've had a number of people, mostly women, tell me that all they've ever dreamed of was becoming a parent. Their whole life they've looked forward to having kids of their own. I can remember our son when he was maybe seven or eight, and just as earnest as can be, tell me that he couldn't wait until he had a wife and kids. (Thankfully, he did wait until he was 23:)

I bet I've heard that statement most from women who struggled to get pregnant. In their case, it seemed like a cruel form of torture to have such a deep longing for something that they were unable to affect on their own.

I don't know if giving birth to a dream is typically a life-long ambition. But I do know that it can form in you like an ache, poke at you in the pit of your stomach not unlike the desire to have a baby. I've had that sensation for three or four years now.

I can look back in my journals and see entries where I wrote about this "thing" welling up inside; this desire to do something, begin something, give birth to something. It would go away for a time and then there it would be again, asking for me to look at it, listen to it's cries, examine it to see what it was.

I would write about it as if a distant cousin I was trying to remember or know after a separation of years. I would try to name it but found that difficult. That is until I saw something that reminded me of it. It wasn't until I experienced what I yearned for that I was able to name the "baby" inside me.

So....I know I'm stringing you along. In fact, I'm going to postpone telling you the name of my dream until later. But I do wonder if you can relate; if you have a nagging, unrelenting desire to give birth to a something welling up inside you.

If you do, you might asked yourself, "What have I seen or experienced that reminds me of what it is I yearn to create?" I promise I will tell you the name of mine very soon.

Giving Birth

2011-07-12T07:12:00.002-05:00

Giving birth. When you hear that expression, I am guessing what comes to mind is the birth of a baby. Same for me. This expression is especially meaningful because five days ago I witnessed the birth of a baby--our second grandchild, Riley Daniel. I will never forget that experience. Even now, I have a picture in my memory that surfaces--the incredible image of this tiny creature emerging, eeking out his first audible cries, covered in the stuff of birthing, beautiful--a miracle!

Giving birth is an appropriate and often used expression for other kinds of creative processes, as well. And today, that is the kind of birth I am thinking of too. I want to begin a series of blogs about the process of giving birth to dreams--those seeds of ideas, visions, imaginations that each of us are impregnated with and have the awesome task to deliver into this world.

I am in labor. I am not sure where I am in the birthing process. I suspect somewhere in the middle. A dream is about to crown (I hope) and sometimes the joy of anticipated birth is eclipsed by the fear and pain of giving birth.

In my next post, I will share with you the specifics of this "baby."So for now, let me ask you a question: where are you in the birthing process? Have you conceived a dream? Does it reside deep in the belly of your imagination, just beginning to take form? Or are you in the early stages of gestation, beginning to feel life? Are the labor pains intense? Are you about to give birth?

I invite you to journey with me as I cooperate (or not:) with the birth pangs and learn through the process of giving birth to God's dream planted within me.

"She lived her loves." Reflections on Grandma's life

2010-12-09T08:35:00.000-06:00

Yesterday we remembered and buried David's grandmother, Margaret (Peg) Mary Theising--October 27, 1916 to December 4, 2010. She lived 94 years of a full life. David and I have had many conversations, reflecting on Grandma (she was a grandma to me, as well) and her impact on our lives. Yesterday, David put words to what we witnessed in her: "She lived her loves."

Grandma lived her loves. She took effort and initiative to pursue and enjoy what brought her the most pleasure: family and friends, good food, fishing, nature, ceramics, nice things and good books. (Up until a few months ago, Grandma was a regular patron of the Mooresville library, often reading a couple of books a week!) Many of David's and my loves today were influenced by Grandma and Grandpa's loves. (They introduced me to a love of birds, for those who know that about me.) What we love says much about us. What Grandma loved gave shape to her beautiful soul and beautiful life.

Two hours before Grandma died, David witnessed a peculiar, once-in-a-lifetime sight. He was shoveling snow, heard a loud, wild sound above his head and saw 50 or more white egret flying in an arc. They were heading southwest (the direction of Mooresville). After we found out that Grandma had died, he reflected on that experience and wrote this poem. He gave me permission to share it with you.

I am

sad

yet happy

The life

lived before me

lives on

Replenished

Exhaled

A wild migration

accompanied

by 50 great winged ones

The simple and true one

gone

Positivity, optimism

departed

Yet lingering long,

an unforgettable

perfume

remains,

surrounds,

breathed in

as a kiss.

Another artist

of exotic cooking,

ceramics and canning

A reader of stories

who mended her mind

with determined pleasure

A woman in waders

or furs

risking desire unafraid.

My history

merges with so many others

with her

most of all

today.

Her story woven

in treasured

memories, photographs,

furnishings and trinkets.

A life has a halo

an after effect

that changes

we who watch.

Changes we who are touched

by a grace

seldom seen.

Breathe again

united to deeper loves

Rest in renewed

peace

Strengthened and carried

to love

and live

Unrestrained,

unfiltered

both

here and

where-ever

The first volume

finished

The pen returned

the tale savored

and retired

with a smile.

12/5/2010 (Grandma Theising is gone.)

Thanksgiving Reflections 2010

2010-11-27T21:44:00.000-06:00

I'm full. Very full. And it's undeniable that I ate too many carbs and calories over the holidays. But the fullness I'm talking about isn't from over indulging. It's from enjoying an unusually wonderful time with our family this Thanksgiving. We're at a sweet time--all four of our kids are young adults, all living in Indianapolis and we are experiencing the pleasure of adult relationships. We have one adorable grandson, Eli. He's fourteen months old and we are absolutely smitten! We followed tradition and ate turkey and pumpkin pie and hung leaves on our Thanksgiving tree. We listened to David pray and read a poem he wrote. We played a game and watched Toy Story 3. We laughed, told stories, snuggled and teased. We reenacted the rituals that have defined our Thanksgivings for many years. I am full because I participated in them. I am full because I am so grateful for my family.

30 Days of Smell

2010-09-06T07:01:00.000-05:00

Day 19: Campfire

Last night, as I laid my head on the pillow, a cloud of smoky smell drifted by my nose and floated off into the air, carried by the cool breeze floating in through the open windows. In other circumstances, the scent of smoke would have alarmed me. It didn’t last night because I knew immediately what it was from. Over the weekend, we went camping with some friends, partaking in the ritual of campfire (no s’mores, however) and sleeping under the stars. I had forgotten to change our pillowcases.

After we came home on Saturday and I took a shower, I remember smelling the strong aroma of campfire as the water rinsed over my body. It’s interesting how we can be covered in the stench of smoke but not know it. It seeps into our pores, absorbed by our hair and clothes. Smoke soaks into us like a filmy residue, often difficult to eliminate—as those who have had a house fire can attest.

Do you remember the story of Daniel and his two friends who were thrown into the fiery furnace? After they were brought out, unscathed by the fire, “the high officers, officials, governors, and advisers crowded around them and saw that the fire had not touched them. Not a hair on their heads was singed, and their clothing was not scorched. They didn’t even smell of smoke” (Daniel 3:27)!

I thought about this story, as I smelled lingering smoke. I have been through a few fiery ordeals in my life. I wonder if the “smell of smoke” still loiters. Can you smell it on my clothes and in my hair? Do you catch a whiff of it in my singed heart? I do. I still notice an occasional waft of sarcasm and cynicism related to a blazing trial of a few years ago. I don’t know that, like Daniel, I have come through absent of the smoky residue from the ordeal—although, as time goes on, I see far less charring and more of Christ’s healing and wholeness.

As you think about the times you have gotten close to the fire, absorbed the smoke from difficult trials in your life, when do you still smell the scent? Does it drift off you at night as you lay your head on your pillow? I am mindful of my need to keep turning to Jesus to cleanse and restore me so that I don’t smell of the dregs of my own fiery furnace. How about you?

30 Days of Smell

2010-08-27T07:10:00.001-05:00

Day 18: Hospital

Walking down the hallway of the surgical floor, the permeating smell of antiseptic-adhesive-gauze—the smell of a Band-Aids—registered with my olfactory sense. Even now, I can recall it, a familiar smell, not altogether pleasant or repugnant, but one that makes my stomach stir.

We were there to pray with a very dear friend who underwent a daunting, extremely serious surgery. At 30 years old, an athlete her entire life, she needed to have an operation to reconstruct her hip. As I visited the hospital, twice in two days, I noticed the hospital smell. I’ve known people who can’t stand that particular odor—it brings back too many bad memories or incites too many overwhelming fears. Not for me.

I do have strong, difficult memories of hospitals and they all do seem to smell the same. But for me, I think of a hospital as a sacred shelter, a place where sick people can be held in stillness so that others who know how to care for them can do so. I feel a profound gratefulness for hospitals, for all the care we have at our disposal in this country—at least many of us.

In another hospital only a few miles from my friend, two of my daughters stood vigil with another 30-year-old woman. This one is fighting for her life. She has cancer and yesterday took a surprising and devastating turn. Her family and close friends gathered to form a circle of support, their aching, breaking hearts clasped together.

When I smell hospital, I envision holy ground. As a pastor, I have prayed many times with people in the hospital. For me, it is a place of healing and sometimes a place to walk with God and another through the valley of the shadow of death. I have no doubt that the Spirit hovers amidst the blend of medicinal smells, ministering through the prayers of those who bleed them, doing the work of healing and in some cases extricating—extricating spirits from their earthly bodies, releasing them to their eternal home.

Would you mind taking some time right now and praying with me for these two women? Pray for those you know whom are sick, perhaps in a hospital. Ask the Spirit to anoint them in the healing name of Jesus.

“Are any of you sick? You should call for the elders of the church to come and pray over you, anointing you with oil in the name of the Lord. Such a prayer offered in faith will heal the sick, and the Lord will make you well.” James 5:14, 15

30 Days of Smell

2010-08-21T07:37:00.002-05:00

Day 17: Sour

When we talk about the sense of smell, we must inevitably acknowledge the many unpleasant smells that accost our nostrils—and one of those sickening smells to me is “sour.” You know what smell I am referring to? Sour—as in sour milk or cottage cheese; sour towels; and sour from the odor of vomit. It is by far one of the most off-putting smells. And right now, sour is lingering on my sofa!

On Monday morning, our dear sweet pup, Bongo, decided to help himself to a tub of butter when I wasn’t looking. I had just opened it—of course. So, he consumed about 8 ounces of real butter with canola oil and then proceeded to vomit, spontaneously with out any warning, for the next 48 hours. (And you know what comes after vomit…) One of the places he projectiled was at the end of a sofa in our family room.

I immediately tried to remove the contents and smell by washing it with baking soda and water. No improvement. Then I took the cover off (it is at the dry cleaners) and washed the inside of the cushion with all-purpose cleaner. Still only a little improvement. Today, I will try again, though I’m not sure I know what product I will use. Any suggestions?

Sour. A putrid smell develops because of something going bad — staying too long in a refrigerator, a closed hamper or a living being’s stomach. But what about stuff that stays too long inside our hearts? As I ponder this smell and am guided by the Spirit to let this sense teach me, I think of how certain attitudes sour within me and when I vomit them, they smell vile.

Anger stuffed inside comes out sour and accusing. It often has a rancid smell as it brews in my heart and turns rank. Bitterness and resentment has the same shelf life—it doesn’t take long when left inside, closed up in the dark recesses of my heart, to turn bile-like. A critical spirit is another attitude that just this week the Spirit opened my eyes to, a souring disposition stewing inside me that in a matter of time will explode.

Attitudes turn sour because they are kept bottled up until they erupt like vomit, often onto the nearest person we can find to blame. The secret to keeping these feelings from turning noxious is to confess them to God before they turn sour. No matter how awful they are, whom they are directed toward or what language through which they are spoken--honest, ruthlessly raw confession is the best anecdote for removing sour smells from our own heart. In the presence of God, we have a Gentle Counselor who listens without judgment, glad that we trust him enough to share our rank, stinky thoughts before they spoil.

So, what feelings have you stuffed inside that are about to turn sour? Take some time to write in your journal or take a prayer walk and come clean before God.

30 Days of Smell

2010-08-16T11:37:00.001-05:00

Day 16: Valve Oil

On Saturday, I did something I haven’t done in a couple of years. I got out my French horn and played it for our grandson. He is almost a year old but seems to love music and sounds. He plunks the piano, bangs on our tom-tom, and when I got out my horn and played it, he sat listening--mesmerized.

For not having played in a couple of years, I didn’t sound too bad. I was a French horn performance major at Indiana University and my tone had the reminiscence of someone who once played well, but my technique was a different story. I felt clumsy and had no embouchure what so ever. What really stood out to me through this experience was all the seminal smells.

When I got my horn out of its case, I smelled the scent of must and brass inside. I cradled my horn in my arms, slipped in the mouthpiece and could smell the inside of the lead pipe--a combination of old saliva and metal. I took out some valve oil and oiled the rotary valves. Wow. I had strong, distinctive memories flood my mind: my first horn professor, John Miller who played with the ISO; Philip Farkas, my horn prof at IU; playing in orchestras in high school and college; friends who were horn players like Patti, Jill, Eric and Chris. I wonder what has happened to them?

These aromas were nostalgic ones—some of the most powerful smells I have smelled. In part, it might be because they were not subtle odors. Valve oil, slide grease and musty brass are very strong and distinctive smells. But what I think made them really powerful was the ambush of profound memories of people and experiences that have shaped my life.

Even though I don’t play my French horn much now, I know that my experience as a young musician molded me in significant ways. Even today, I think my sense of cadence in writing and speaking was shaped through learning to phrase music. My love of the arts, the intangible gifts of sound and sight that speak so directly to my heart were nurtured through learning this wonderful instrument.

Even to this day, no matter where I am, if I hear the sound of a French horn, I am immediately and uncontrollably drawn to the sound—just like Eli--mesmerized! How has learning a musical instrument shaped your soul? What smells do you associate with that instrument?

30 Days of Smell

2010-08-13T07:32:00.000-05:00

Day 15: Smelling Yourself

It’s been said that women don’t sweat—they glisten. I don’t buy it. It’s a polite way of avoiding the awkward truth that we all smell, women and men alike, and sometimes that odor isn’t very pleasant. So why is it that we have such an aversion to the natural smell of body odor? I guess for the obvious—it isn’t a very agreeable smell and offends our noses.

In fact, a whole industry exists for the elimination of bodily, human smells. Body washes, deodorants, body sprays, colognes and perfumes have been designed to wash away, protect against and cover up our natural scent when we sweat. These products are not always successful but they do a pretty good job of masking the discomforting, stinky smell of b.o.

When I smell myself--after I’ve worked out, gardened, or been in my un-airconditioned car too long (yeah, it’s now on the fritz—great timing with this blast of scorching, drenching heat!)--I can’t wait to take a shower or douse myself with body spray. My initial reaction is to quickly eliminate the odor my body naturally emits from sweating. (Or did I mean, glistening?)

That reminds me of the tendency I have to cover up other issues of my life that I find embarrassing—things like my sensitivity to criticism, my over-reaction to blame, my pettiness. The emotion that ties these two reactions together—the reaction of smelling myself and my “stuff”—is shame. Shame is self rejection; it’s the reaction of self-embarrassment, self-loathing, the need to hide.

We all stink, inside and out. Wouldn’t it be much healthier to accept the earthy, human smell of ourselves than quickly and anxiously try to cover it up? (I'm not advocating a deodorant-less free-for-all!)

So, here’s an unusual spiritual practice I bet you've never tried: the next time you catch a whiff of yourself, instead of running off to take a shower or re-apply your deodorant, why not smell yourself. As you breathe in the odor of your own sweat, ask God to help you fully accept your humanity, your body, your earthiness. Open yourself to be loved and embraced by God in your own stink.

2010-08-07T16:59:00.000-05:00

Day 14: Old English Almond Oil

It’s Saturday and for me, that means it’s time to reclaim my home. After a week of work, living with a very hairy dog and often having kids or company of some sort in during the week, I am keenly aware that my house needs some attention. So, I started this morning with the kitchen floor. As it was drying, I moved to polishing the furniture. Usually I use lemon oil, but the store was out, so I bought, instead, some Old English almond oil.

I opened the bottle (actually I had to have David give me a hand—don’t know why they make tamper resistant tops so resistant!) and began to sprinkle it on top of a large wooden chest we use for a coffee table. Ahhhh….the fragrance was wonderful. It filled the room with this warm, luscious nutty scent. After that, I found great pleasure in lathering anything that required polish with this new found favorite polish.

As I dusted and enjoyed the bouquet of almondy fragrance, I thought of how this smell speaks to me about my spiritual life. Almonds are probably my favorite nut. I love to sprinkle them on our yogurt in the morning. The flavor and texture are so satisfying to me. And then I thought, to top it off, God not only made almonds with a fabulous taste, he gave them a wonderful aroma.

I think that provides some insight into what God is like. He is a sensual creator. God is anything but pragmatic. If he were, everything he made would serve a utilitarian purpose. It would meet our needs but it wouldn’t satisfy us—our love for beauty, pleasure and delight. Instead, God created a world bursting with sights, smells, tastes, textures and sounds that are as diverse as they are magnificent.

I love that almonds not only have an amazing taste but they also have a delicious smell. I love that they produce oil that restores moisture and sheen to my furniture. Sometimes I am just amazed at how God thought of it all.

30 Days of Smell

2010-08-04T09:45:00.000-05:00

Day 13: Organic sweat

With record-breaking temperatures and humidity oppressing large areas of our country, it’s no wonder today’s smell is one my husband described as “organic sweat.” We went for a walk early this morning, and though it was before 8 am, the temperature felt in the 90’s with 99% humidity. As we slogged along our usual loop, I asked David how he would describe the smell outside. About that time, we caught a very strong whiff of steamy compost coming up from the ground and then he named it—organic sweat. Yes. Very apropos.

It’s the smell of wet, earthy, decomposing plant matter. It’s heavy in the air; hanging like a damp sheet on a line, unable to dry. Another name for it might be humus—an organic brew of decayed plants and animal excrement that gardeners add to soil to enrich it. (Not to be confused with hummus—a wonderful, Middle Eastern dish made from chickpeas and tahini.) As we smelled organic sweat, it had this intense quality—natural but not all together pleasant.

For that matter, human sweat is no different. Our bodies have a built-in cooling system that excretes moisture to decrease our body temperature. The moisture we produce is a combination of oily, glandular, stinky, sweaty smells—natural but not all together pleasant. Among both vegetation and humanity, sweat helps maintain life and keep us hydrated. Today’s smell leads me to the question, “What do I learn about life in the Spirit from sweat, organic or human?”

I think of times when life around me feels humid, hot and heavy. Circumstances, expectations, schedules lay on me like a wet, cumbersome blanket. The temperature of my life situation feels like a pressure-cooker. During a heat wave, nature compensates by becoming very still--you can almost feel it's breath. In the same way, I need to become still and resist unnecessary movement. I need to conserve my energy and preserve a spiritual and emotional temperature that enables me to remain calm and hydrated.

When the heat is turned up in our life, we won’t be able to throw it off by brute force any more than we can throw off this oppressive heat. Rather, we must find shade, a place where we can wait it out, until the oppressive temperature lifts. So, where do you find shade? How can God become your shelter? Take some time to meditate on the image in this Psalm and see where God invites you to rest: “The Lord himself watches over you! The Lord stands beside you as your protective shade. The sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon at night." Psalm 121: 5, 6

30 Days of Smell

2010-08-01T21:12:00.000-05:00

Day 12: Smelling Fiesta

Thursday night, we hosted a fiesta in celebration of our oldest daughter’s birthday. I love to fix a meal that is a particular favorite of that son or daughter and so Mexican was the obvious choice for Britt. The night before, I roasted poblano peppers and prepared chilies rellenos. I smelled the tangy, peppery smell as they popped and sizzled in the oven.

The next afternoon, we grilled Yucatan chicken, a spicy dish that I marinated all night in ancho chili pepper and lime juice. The smoky, zesty fragrance must have made the neighbors hungry. Not long before the guests arrived, I prepared queso fundito, a famous Bobby Flay recipe from the Mesa Grill. It was fabulous—a bubbly hot mess of Monterey jack cheese and goat cheese with a green chili vinaigrette garnish—savory to smell.

I served each dish tapas style and we dove into each one and relished the zesty combinations of smells and flavors. But food wasn't the only smell filling the air. I could smell the party. It was the aroma of celebration, being family, enjoying each other. It was the scent of festivity, the fun of being adults, having grown-up conversations, everyone old enough to drink a margarita. I smelled the aroma of home, the place David and I have created together; the place that still draws us together.

I love the smell of fiesta—especially when it involves my family. I’m already planning my next.

30 Days of Smell

2010-07-26T10:20:00.000-05:00

Day 11: Mystery Smell

I opened the refrigerator yesterday and began to sniff. A smell wafted by my nose from some deep, concealed place—the smell of rotten. I began to look for it, trace it down. I started with the vegetable drawer where I often find the culprit, although not this time. I spun jars and bottles around on the door to look for expiration dates. Nothing obvious there. Finally, in the top shelf toward the back I saw an old container of hummus. I picked it up, looked at the date—which was well past due—and saw on the inside a clump of gangrenous-looking mold. Yuck!

My sleuthing and finding of the mystery smell took the use of all my senses. I looked around. I heard containers clang as I shifted them, careful not to knock them over. I touched them and rotated them for better viewing. I let my smeller direct me toward the source of the stench. The only sense I didn’t use was taste—for obvious reasons! My other senses provided enough evidence to be convinced that I had found the offender.

This experience makes me think of Martha’s protest when Jesus suggested that someone role away the stone at Lazarus’ tomb. “Lord, by this time he stinketh: for he hath been dead four days.” Refrigerators are a bit like tombs: cold, dark and dank. Sometimes they conceal dead things, rotting things that indeed stinketh.

Even within our own hearts are concealed places, cut off from light and cold as death. In those places lurk past wounds, sinister lies and cruel secrets. To discover them, we must trace the rank smell of death. That requires all of our senses and the desire to eliminate the source. Do you long to search out the places in your own heart that stinketh? Why not begin with some questions for spiritual direction:

• Where do you smell the stench of rottenness in your life?
• If you were to hunt it down, what containers would you open?
• What experiences, events or relationships have left a bitter taste in your mouth?
• What’s the expiration date? When were these hurts sealed inside you?
• Where do you hear the cries of your soul for healing and resurrection?
• Are you willing to open the container to God and let him deal with the contents?

30 Days of Smell

2010-07-21T10:39:00.000-05:00

Day 9: Hypnotic Poison

Last night, David and I stopped by a local restaurant where our youngest daughter works. She had been a hostess for a couple of years and recently graduated to server status. When she saw us, her face lit up and she came over and gave me a big hug. The first words out of my mouth were, “Oh, you smell so good!” I immediately identified the scent of her perfume—Hypnotic Poison by Dior—one that has been a favorite of mine since the first time I bought it for one of her sisters. (It's a strange name—like who wants to wear poison--but a wonderful fragrance.)

Every time Brooke came to our table (and by the way, the service was excellent!), I caught a whiff of her perfume. It has an unusual combination of smells: sweet, musky, heavy, dark and spicy. I really love it! It is the most memorable fragrance I know. After we left the restaurant, we went shopping and I could still detect the scent—somehow it stayed with me. Even this morning as I was reading, once again I became aware of Hypnotic Poison. (Maybe the name is apropos. It’s certainly hypnotized me!)

Have you ever had a perfume or cologne become a memory-trigger of someone in your life? I have known many friends who identify certain fragrances with a loved one. One friend told me that she kept a bottle of her mother’s perfume after she died. Occasionally, my friend opens it and smells it and when she does, she has an intense memory of her mom.

When we smell a familiar and potent fragrance that evokes the memory of someone, why not allow that to be the spark for prayer: a prayer of thanksgiving for that person; a prayer of healing for that relationship; a prayer of blessing for him or her. As I sat and smelled Hypnotic Poison this morning, I thought of Brooke and prayed for her. It was a sweet prompt that allowed me to enter into her life through prayer, asking God to keep her close, draw her near and help her find her way in this world.

30 Days of Smell

2010-07-19T08:18:00.000-05:00

Day 9: Lake

Over the weekend, David and I went to Lake Wawasee with our house church. We had a blast! (That sounds so high school—but fitting, maybe because we acted like we were in high school!) Numerous times while I was there, I smelled the close scent of lake water. I noticed that when we were on the boat, I even felt the smell of it as it whipped across my face, slicing by my nostrils, clinging to my skin. It was the odor of algae, fish and soggy wetness.

I wouldn’t describe it as pleasant nor unpleasant. It’s a nostalgic smell with strong associations of wet bathing suites and slippery docks; spray on your face and coolness on your skin. It evokes thoughts of summertime, friends, laughter, play and sunburns. It’s a weathered smell, filled with old, musty sentiments. I like it. It has a lot of character.

Jesus spent a great deal of time around lakes—fishing, walking on them, napping in a boat as it rocked in a storm or speaking from its bow. He smelled all the smells of lake. I have a hunch he liked them, too. In fact, I picture Jesus being most at home by a lake. It suits him—a weathered, earthy, unpretentious man who wasn’t afraid to get wet, brave the elements and let the spray hit his face. I like that about him.

30 Days of Smell

2010-07-14T08:44:00.000-05:00

Day 8: Filled with the fragrance

You know those stargazer lilies I wrote about on Day 7? Yesterday, I went around the house to see them, take a moment to intoxicate myself with their heavenly fragrance and to my dismay, they were toppled over! The weight of the flower heads was too much for the stalks to bear. I saw only two options: allow their petals to fall to the ground and wither or cut them and bring them inside. I chose the later.

I cut two large clumps and placed them in a vase in my sitting room—the room I look into when I come in the front door or see when I walk from the upstairs to the downstairs. I placed them their so that I could see their beauty. Little did I know, I would also become aware of their fragrance every time I walked by.

I’m amazed at how permeating their scent is to the entire entrance of our home. Each time I pass by, they remind me they are there by the lovely, sweet, light perfume they emit. I thought of a passage of Scripture I read just the other day. It takes place in the home of Mary, Martha and Lazarus during a dinner party in honor of Jesus. In the story, Mary took a twelve-ounce jar of expensive perfume, anointed Jesus’ feet with it and wiped his feet with her hair. Then John records, “The house was filled with the fragrance.”(John 12:3)

Filled with the fragrance. That’s what happens when we bring something fragrant into our home; it intensifies the scent because it is concentrated in the space of those walls. Though I had a hard time smelling the lilies’ perfume outside until I got close and stuck my nose in their blossoms, I had no trouble smelling them inside my home. My house was filled with their fragrance.

When we receive Christ, we receive his fragrance into our interior lives, permeating our being. We become filled with Christ’s Spirit, the scent of his nature permeating our true self. This image prompts me to open my heart and bring Christ deeper in so that his aroma is more concentrated within my very being. How does this experience speak to you?

30 Days of Smell

2010-07-10T06:49:00.000-05:00

Day 7: Lilies

On the west side of the house, standing tall and proud, is a throng of Georgia O’Keefe lilies—blossoms so akin to her paintings, it’s impossible not to make the association. The difference is—these are real. David told me to make sure and look at them today. They are in brilliant bloom, gorgeous and lush, pink and prestigious-looking. As I walked to that side of the house, I felt immediate surprise to see them, like an unexpected visitor knocking at my door.

I leaned in to smell. At first, my olfactory didn’t pick up any fragrance. Then, I moved closer—stuck my nose right down into a big blossom and breathed in through my nose. Ahhhh. The waft of sweet, delicate fragrance floated into my nostrils and registered “lilies” in my brain.

I thought about the fact that these beauties, though striking and bold in appearance, possess a very faint, subtle smell. In some ways, their scent doesn’t match their dramatic appearance. Yet, it does. Something so lovely must have an equally lovely smell. But I wouldn’t know it unless I bothered to stick my nose in its business.

How much do I miss of the fragrance of life and its characters; the fragrance of the Author of life, because I don’t bother to lean in and get close enough for a whiff? Keeping a safe distance won’t do if I want to gather their perfumes, the fragrance of God within them.

I end with a question for you and myself:

Who or what do I need to move closer to in order to enjoy its scent?

30 Days of Smell

2010-07-05T21:32:00.000-05:00

Day 7: Sulfur

Last night, we met some friends along the canal in downtown Indianapolis to watch the fireworks. Before they began, someone lit some sparklers next to us. The sulfur smell caught my attention and took me back to childhood. I remember being a bit afraid of sparklers, yet mesmerized by them. We would take them in our hands and circle our arms wide, making an arc. The hot sparks would fall of on my wrists, smarting them, but not enough to stop playing.

Once the fireworks started, the sulfur smell hovered in the hot, humid air of the evening. The odor was mildly unpleasant—sort of a burnt, eggy aroma. It lingered way past the time when any smoke from the fireworks remained. It’s a distinctive scent with strong associations. I don’t think I notice it during any other time than around the 4th of July.

Sulfur is what I would call an “anniversary smell.” It happens yearly at a predictable time and evokes images of celebrations, patriotic music, and red, white and blue. In fact, a friend said to me recently that when she smells a sparkler, she “feels” blissfully patriotic. I don’t know that I have the same reaction or feel compelled to hum “America, the Beautiful.” I do feel deeply grateful for the freedom and privileges I enjoy because I live in this country. Sulfur may be a disagreeable smell, but it stirs a good feeling.

30 Days of Smell

2010-07-02T07:56:00.000-05:00

Day 6: Pot Roast

As I stood in front of the open freezer, I saw a pot roast staring back at me. Typically, it wouldn’t sound good during the hot summer months. But, I bought the roast two weeks ago because it was on sale and since the temperature around here has dipped—it’s felt almost fall-like—it sounded good and so out it came and into my slow cooker. Then all day long, the aroma of simmering beef, potatoes and carrots filled the house. Mmmm!

Beef cooking on the stove, roasting in the oven or grilled over charcoal has a tantalizing smell. It makes me hungry to think about it. A warm, comforting and filling aroma, it makes me think of home, growing up and Sunday dinners. It has a permeating, savory fragrance undoubtedly because of all the fat it contains. Meat, in general, has a much stronger odor while cooking than other foods. And beef, above all, awakens the olfactory glands with its strong, greasy, juicy bouquet.

It seems odd to me that rarely do I make the connection between the beef I am browning and the docile creature from where it comes. It’s as though I forget that it was once a living being—the blood that oozes from the package is a liquid of some other source than a life. When the Israelites brought their animal sacrifices to a priest, how did they experience its slaughter and then later sit down to a meal of its meat? Did they more readily smell and make the association? I wonder what that was like.

Another realization has provoked David and me. Recently, he read these disturbing statistics: *“The facts are now out on the price the Earth and the poor are paying to continue the meat addiction of rich countries. Twenty times more people can be fed from an acre of land if they are eating a vegetarian diet than if they are eating a typical American meat-oriented diet. The water required to raise livestock for a meat eater is 4,000 gallons per day; for a vegetarian, it is 300 gallons per day. Over 50 percent of the total amount of water consumed in the United States goes to irrigate land growing feed and fodder for livestock. In addition, ‘the livestock of the United State produces twenty times as much excrement as the entire human population of the country.’”

Though the delicious smell of pot roast bubbling in my slow cooker is enticing, we’ve made the decision that it will only be an occasional pleasure—once a month, or so. I don’t know that we are ready to become vegetarians. However, we do sense the need to reduce significantly our consumption of beef. It’s too easy in the 21st century, in our country, to live far from the food we eat, without connecting the dots that this is a living being I am consuming and it is costing our earth dearly to sustain this habit. So—savory as it is, the pot roast and all its relations will be a delicacy in the Booram home.

The Reinvention of Work, Matthew Fox, pg. 149

30 Days of Smell

2010-06-28T07:33:00.000-05:00

Day 5: Gardenia

Of all the floral fragrances, gardenia is by far my favorite. I fell in love with gardenias on my wedding day. My bouquet ensconced several blossoms and created a trail of the most luxurious scent throughout our entire celebration. Ever since, I have had a romantic attachment to this delicate fragrance. In fact, whenever David buys me perfume, he looks for something that is a variation on the theme of gardenia.

On our anniversary this year, David gave me a small gardenia plant. Because they are typically grown in a warm, humid climate, I decided to place it in our dining room between two windows in order to stay warm and get enough sunlight. Then on Saturday, as I was cleaning, I noticed my dear plant looking very forlorn. Many of its leaves had turned brown; the blossoms were not opening; and there was no fragrance what so ever.

I’m not sure why. I suspect it’s getting too much of something or not enough of something else. The environment obviously isn't quite right for this somewhat temperamental flower. As a result, the wonderful fragrance native to its blossoms is non-existent. What a shame!

As I pondered the quandary of my gardenia and ask for God to speak his wisdom, I thought of what it means to be a “fragrance of Christ.” Paul writes in II Corinthians 2: 14-15, “Now he uses us to spread the knowledge of Christ everywhere, like a sweet perfume. Our lives are a Christ-like fragrance rising up to God.” So, I ask myself (and encourage you to do the same):

Is my life emanating the fragrance of one who knows Jesus?
What of my environment or the way I live life stunts my growth and blossoming?

The amazing scent of the gardenia is a byproduct of a healthy, growing plant. The only way it gives off its natural perfume is by flourishing in an environment conducive to its peculiarities. I am a peculiar person and so are you. We must not apologize for or neglect pursuing a life that fits the particularities of our nature.

For instance, I know that I need extended times of solitude, several “slow” mornings each week in order to be at my best. I must walk regularly in natural settings and drink in creation in order to keep my soul alive. I thrive when I have deep conversations with God and others, sharing the real and hidden secrets of my heart. I often need times to be creative, to participate in some expression of art.

What do you need in order to be at your best? If you were to write "care instructions" like you find on a tag with a new plant, what would they be? Why not take some time and jot them down.

30 Days of Smell

2010-06-23T09:08:00.000-05:00

Day 4: Cedar

We recently acquired a bedroom suite that belonged to David’s grandma. She is almost 94 and needed to move into a nursing home. Most of her earthly belongings are being dispersed among kids, grand kids and great-grand kids. Grandma gave us a set of depression-era bedroom furniture from her spare room, including a beautiful cedar chest.

I opened the chest today and was surprised at the strong, enveloping smell of cedar. The scent is sweet, woody and piney, like a forest-in-a-box. David’s dad said that if the scent fades, we can lightly sand the inside and it will release the cedar fragrance once again.

I have very specific memories associated with cedar. I think of my grandmother’s cedar chest, which I keep in our closet. She gave it to me years ago before she died. Inside the chest, I used to keep her fur muff—a gift of my grandfather—with a little note pinned inside, “To my darling Lillian, Merry Christmas, Walter.” Along with it, Grandma also gave me a braid of her hair, probably ten inches long and a beautiful, golden blond.

Cedar has long been used to protect and preserve things—it has a natural resistance to destructive insects and decay. For me, the fragrance of cedar also preserves something else—the past. Its aromatic smell carries me away to memories of two grandmas who have meant and mean the world to me. My two cedar chests hold the legacy of these two women in the memories evoked as I lift their lids and inhale long and deep.

Father,

Thank you, for two beautiful, loving and vibrant grandmothers whose memories I long to cherish. Every time I see or open one of their cedar chests, bring to my mind their legacy of love. I pray that their lives will stay with me, just as the fragrance of cedar lingers. And when my recall of them begins to fade, sand the surface of my mind and reawaken my sense of them and all the ways they have blessed my life. Amen.

30 Days of Smell

2010-06-21T10:25:00.000-05:00

Day 3: Murphy’s Oil Soap

It was Saturday morning and we were intent about our goal of cleaning the house. For years, our weekly Saturday rhythm has included a couple of hours of home hygiene. In fact, I find myself consoled by this ritual. I know that if the house begins to lose its luster and clutter starts to pile up, on Saturday, I will tackle it and restored it to a place of order and sanctity.

As I was wiping down the counters, I sprayed some Murphy’s Oil Soap and began to mop it up. The familiar smell lingered in the air as it drifted down onto the counter tops. I noticed how much I liked the fragrance—a mix of woody, piney, clean scents—yet, more subtle and natural than strong detergents. The aroma lingered long after I’d coiffed the counters and furniture, leaving behind an invisible olfactory witness of a clean house.

I enjoy the act of caring for my home. The visible, measurable, noticeable work of cleaning is satisfying. I rub down counters and furniture, remove sticky dribbles and dust and I immediately see a difference. A shine re-appears; a clean fragrance loiters; and I feel satisfied knowing that I’ve nurtured the environment in which my family and I live.

A couple of weeks ago, right before our son and daughter-in-law moved in to a new house, we went over to help them clean. Right away, Laura handed me a bottle of Murphy’s Oil Soap. She said that when she and Brandt were at the store buying cleaning supplies, he opened a bottle and smelled it. He remembered that this is what we used when we cleaned our home growing up.

I was amused and encouraged that he would remember the scent and that it was a positive association. Smells are often one of the strongest memory makers. Evidently, for our family, the fragrance of Murphy’s Oil Soap is an aromatic icon of hearth and home—one that conjures recollections of weekly cleaning rituals and the place we inhabit together.

30 Days of Smell

2010-06-18T07:50:00.000-05:00

Day 2: Old, hot dust

On Wednesday night, we slept with our windows open. The temperature had settled down, as well as the humidity. I much prefer sleeping in fresh, night air. Though it was cooler, we still needed a fan to keep the air moving. So, David plugged one in—a fan that had belonged to his Grandma, one from her old farm house.

As I lay in the dark, I began to smell a familiar, nostalgic smell—the smell of old, hot dust. Do you have any idea what I’m talking about? When I was a little girl, we had an attic fan. Once the sun went down and we prepared for bed, my parents would open all the windows and turn on the attic fan. With tremendous force, it would begin to draw all the hot air up and out of the house and pull the cool air from outside in. And I would begin to smell old, hot dust.

I don’t know how else to describe it. It wasn’t musty air. It was dusty. It wasn’t fresh air, it smelled old and stale. And it felt warm, as it swirled past me, drawn upward, into the attic. That’s the sensation I experienced Wednesday night.

Old
Hot
Dusty air
Wafting by
On it’s way out
Tickling my nose
Ushering in
New
Cool
Clean air

A prayer of response:
Spirit of the Living God,
Blow through my life, drawing out from it all the stale leftovers of your breath and replacing them with new breath, new life—fresh and clean.
Amen.

30 Days of Smell

2010-06-08T07:07:00.000-05:00

Day 1: A Daughter’s Scent

I have three lovely daughters. Each one is unique, like three exotic flowers bursting with vibrant colors and aromatic fragrance. Yesterday, I walked into my middle daughter’s room to get something—she hasn’t lived at home for a few years—and I could smell her scent. To try to portray it causes me to confront the challenge of this new 30-day experiment. It’s difficult to describe smells.

Here’ what comes to mind: musky, natural, spicy, patchouli, pungent and earthy.

After I left my middle daughter’s room, I went into my youngest daughter’s room. She hasn’t lived at home for a couple of years, either. Once again, I caught a waft of her scent. It was different from my middle daughter’s.

Here’s how I would describe it: sweet, rich, fruity, nutty and grassy.

When I hug each of my girls, I notice their scents. They are subtle but very much a part of them. I love the way they smell! Each fragrance captures their essence in a complex, intangible and wonderful way. I am struck with the fact that even years after they no longer live in our home, I can still smell them.

As I think of these scents and ponder their significance, I feel a flood of gratefulness for my girls. I love and appreciate each one and savor them for their differences and the qualities they share because they are sisters, my daughters. I celebrate them and thank God for them. They are adorable, beautiful, striking young women—full of life and promise. My heart is filled with delight as I savor the fragrance of their lives, an aroma which will linger with me forever.

Last chance to come to your senses!

2010-06-07T17:43:00.000-05:00

Many of you know that I am in the process of writing my next book, Awakening Your Senses: Exercises for Exploring the Wonder of God (InterVarsity Press/2011), along with co-author, Brent Bill. Beginning last fall, Brent and I initiated a series of 30 day experiments focusing on each of the senses. We are on our fifth and final one--30 Days of Smell--and would love for you to join us as we begin this olfactory journey. The purpose is to hone our sense of smell and let it teach us to notice the fragrance of God in our world. Brent and I invite you on one last adventure beginning Monday, June 7th. Fire up your smeller! Like a hound dog on a trail, attune your nose to the potpourri of fragrances around you and see what you find.

Here's how you can participate:

Put a note in your calendar for the next 30 days that reminds you to pay attention to what you smell.
Each day, notice fragrances, whether pleasant or repugnant, and ask God to speak to you through them.
Keep a journal of your experiences and what you learn.
Follow my blog http://peregrinejourney.blogspot.com or join me on Facebook and contribute your own stories. I look forward to hearing what you learn!

Warmly, Beth

30 Days of Hearing

2010-05-16T13:45:00.000-05:00

Day 30: Encouragement

Today I will conclude 30-days of hearing. As you may have noticed, I’ve taken a slower pace; I’m simply not able to write each day because of my increased volume of work. Even though I haven’t written daily, I have been conducting this experiment in earnest—particularly regarding the practice of listening. I'm sure my heightened attention has a lot to do with the fact that I am currently studying to become a spiritual director. Since January, I have read half-a-dozen books on the topic for my program. Through learning, my desire to be present to others has definitely increased.

Just this week, I had a number of meaningful conversations. In each case, I found myself recalling the dialogue and cherishing the privelege ot bearing witness to another’s life and story. I think of Jesus' words after his disciples found him listening and talking with a Samaritan woman. He told them, “My nourishment comes from doing the will of God, who sent me, and from finishing his work.” (John 4:24) Deep listening nourishes my soul.

Through listening, I also received a gift in return--the gift of encouragement. On Friday, someone sent me an email that expressed what my listening meant to him. As I read his words, I experience almost a physical sensation--like my heart was glowing.

By definition, encouragement means, “support of a kind that inspires confidence and will to continue or develop.” That’s exactly how I felt. I had a full heart and a desire to continue to develop as a listener. It’s not surprising that encouragement is a gift of the Spirit. Though I am convinced in the power of presence and active listening, I am also reminded of the equally powerful impact of encouraging words. I hope you are receiving and offering a generous dose of both!

30 Days of Hearing

2010-04-28T08:21:00.000-05:00

Day 29: Active Listening

I sat with a woman for two hours, listening to generous details of her life and journey. It was hard work. Hard work to stay present with her, to not zone out and take a mental holiday some place else. I was aware of my need to pray and stay connected to God as I stayed connected to her and her story.

After some time, the folds of her heart began to open. Tears flowed freely, pooling in her eyes and overflowing onto her cheeks. She spoke of things that she hadn’t expressed outside her own head. She spoke words that for the first time her ears heard her own voice speak. Words that needed to come out. Words that had been imprisoned and longed to be set free.

As I listened, occasionally asking a question, adding a cup full of thoughts in a torrent of hers, I knew some things. I knew, as I listened to her and listened to the Spirit, that she needed me to give her “permission” to feel. She needed to know that she wasn't crazy or cruel to desire what she desires. I affirmed her longings and her questions.

Afterwards, she hugged and thanked me for listening. Something so ordinary, a gift that one would think natural and to be expected. She expressed to me how much it meant to be heard. I have pondered her response and felt deep joy while at the same time perplexed. Why is active listening so hard to do? Why is active listening so rarely offered? How many people in my life have I missed hearing? Has anyone really heard me?

Here are some questions to help you be an active listener. The next time you sit with a friend, set the table for rich conversation by asking:

What is important to you right now that you would like for me to know?
How did/do you feel about that?
Can you tell me more?
What do you mean? Can you give me an example?
Where is God in this?

30 Days of Hearing

2010-04-27T10:04:00.000-05:00

Day 28: Songs that make me cry

Saturday morning was colored in a shade of melancholy blue. I don’t know exactly why. Both David and I felt it. Perhaps it was tinted by a conversation we had with his grandma who is 93 and not doing so well. We love her dearly and it hurts our hearts to think of a day when we can’t hear her voice or experience her presence.

During breakfast, we listened to some music by a wonderful Italian composer/pianist named Ludivico Einaudi. You have to listen to this song called Svanire. I'm telling you, it is exquisite, heavenly-sounding. Here’s a link: Svanire We sat together speechless, allowing the beauty of this sweet, melancholy music to wash over us. It made us cry.

Why? What is it about the nature of some music, some songs, that can dissolve us into tears? I think it’s summed up in the word transcendence. This song conveys so vividly to me that there is a world “out there”, beyond me and beyond the world I am sitting in. It reminds me that I know “this world” isn’t forever and that world is. It helps me touch that world; taste that world; live for a moment in the bliss and uncertainly of that world.

I know that some of you find the blues of a melancholy day un-useful or disturbing. I’m sorry—but I think you are missing something. Hearing the sounds of music that make you cry deepens you and stirs your soul toward God who is transcendent. Please take some time to listen to this amazing song and allow the blues to enter you and connect you with him and heaven.

30 Days of Hearing

2010-04-22T21:32:00.000-05:00

Day 27: If battlefields could talk

It’s a good 10 hour drive to Gettysburg from Indianapolis. I know because I road in a van there and back this past week—along with the other staff from my church. While there, we walked the battlefields of Gettysburg, reliving history and the very trying time in our nation we call (in the north) the Civil War.

If battlefields could talk—what would they say, what would we hear? Tom, our guide, told us stories of conflict, bravery and bloodshed. If battlefields could talk, we would hear cries and screams; cheers of victory and sobs from defeat; cursing and congratulating. We would hear the stories of young men, mere boys, whose lives were cut very short. We would hear stories of seasoned men driven by pride, prompted by character, and pressured by fear.

If battlefields could talk, I think we would be overwhelmed by the clamor of stories and the screams of the dying. If they could talk, I don’t think we could bear to listen. Yet, here we are—reaping the benefits from those who freed us, kept us unified, led us toward freedom. Maybe we need to let the battlefields talk.

30 Days of Hearing

2010-04-17T17:11:00.000-05:00

Day 26: Opening our heart to God’s voice

I’m an avid reader. I’m looking at my nightstand right now—a modest stack of books on top, another pile next to it. If you walked into my office, you would see the same--piles of books, great and small, all beckoning to be read.

Though I am an serious reader and can’t imagine having a serious appetite for God without enlarging my appetite through reading, I don’t always read to hear—I read to read. I know the difference. For me, I am reading just to read when I gloss over the words on the page as if I’m in a race to reach the bottom of the page, the next page or the end of the chapter.

When I read to hear, I am more deliberate and measured. I stop at profound sentences and re-read them. I write notes in the margin; underline sentences; place question or exclamation marks off to the side. That’s when I am reading to digest. I am reading to nourish my hunger for God.

This week, I received an email from the Henri Nouwen society—something a friend of mine put me on to. I love Nouwen’s thoughts and musings and this quote was about spiritual reading—reading to hear. Here is what he had to say:

“Reading often means gathering information, acquiring new insight and knowledge, and mastering a new field. It can lead us to degrees, diplomas, and certificates. Spiritual reading, however, is different. It means not simply reading about spiritual things but also reading about spiritual things in a spiritual way. That requires a willingness not just to read but also to be read, not just to master but to be mastered by words. As long as we read the Bible or a spiritual book simply to acquire knowledge, our reading does not help us in our spiritual lives. We can become very knowledgeable about spiritual matters without becoming truly spiritual people.

As we read spiritually about spiritual things, we open our hearts to God's voice. Sometimes we must be willing to put down the book we are reading and just listen to what God is saying to us through its words.” Henri Nouwen, Bread for the Journey

Keep reading. But not only that, keep reading to hear God's voice.

30 Days of Hearing

2010-04-14T06:44:00.000-05:00

Day 26: Song in my head

I woke up this morning with a song in my head. Does that ever happen to you? Lately, the songs playing involuntarily inside my brain have usually been by Ingrid Michaelson—the singer I talked about a few days ago. There have been times in the last week when I began to hum a tune and David has said, “That song was in my head, too.” Weird how that happens.

So, what is that about? Why do some songs get stuck in our auditory memory and replay on their own? This phenomenon certainly testifies to the power of music. It carves an indelible impression into the folds of the mind. Composed of melody, harmony and rhythm, tunes are sticky and for some reason our memory latches onto them.

So, back to this morning’s tune. It was Ingrid’s song, The Mountain and the Sea. Once I realized that this was the melody playing in my mind, I decided to listen to it, almost as I listen to a Lectio Divina of Scripture, to hear if God wanted to speak to me through it.

As I listened, I was struck with the fact that though the song more than likely speaks of human love, it can also translate into lyrics about Divine love. In this song, Ingrid speaks of being a mountain and her lover being the sea. She says, “You can move me, if you want to. You can move a mountain, you can move everything.”

My mind connected her words with the words of Jesus, “I tell you the truth, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there' and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you." (Matthew 17:20) While Jesus can move me if he wants to, he tells me that I can also move mountains with a small seed of faith. Hmmm….

Here are some questions for spiritual direction. Why not ask them for yourself.

What mountains are before me?
How might God move them through my faith?
How does God want to move me?

30 Days of Hearing

2010-04-12T06:59:00.000-05:00

Day 25: Groanings too deep for words

I know that I have dreams and longings that live unnoticed and unnamed within my soul. Sometimes those yearnings bubble up within me, groanings too deep for words, and surface in ways that surprise me—like the sudden impulse to cry, to act, to investigate. I see that same phenomena in others.

I don’t always know what to do with my dreams and desires—a topic of discussion this last week with my spiritual director. I don’t always notice them for what they are. Recently, I listened to a friend share some deep longings that have been gurgling inside her. She knows the sound but doesn’t know what to make of it. Neither do I.

As the Proverbs says, “A person heart is deep waters.” I find the deep waters of my heart to be murky at times. Yet, as I strain my ears to hear, as I slow down and attend, the waters still a bit and I hear God’s Spirit in the yearnings within me.

Here are some questions to help you listen to the cries of your soul and attend to the voice of the Spirit within them:

Where are my thoughts and preoccupations led when I let my mind wander?
What stirs up anxious feelings? Why? What am I avoiding?
What thoughts or actions bring pleasure and life to me?
What ideas, thoughts, or movements do I keep circling back to? Where is God in the circling?

30 Days of Hearing

2010-04-09T06:38:00.000-05:00

Day 24: Antiphonal Psalms

We have had some uncharacteristic spring days for early April. Hence, windows have been opened. I’ve gone without a jacket. The daffodils, crocuses and Bradford pear’s have burst into glorious bloom. And the birds have been happy—oh, so happy!

I sat next to my open window early in the morning and listened to the delight in their songs. Chirping in a chorus of a dozen different voices, I drank in their delight as the sun was dawning. Then I noticed. One bird—I don’t know what kind—would call out and another would answer in like song—an antiphonal psalm.

Antiphony is a musical term that refers to a hymn or song sung alternately by two groups of singers. When I was a music major and played in brass ensembles, we often played antiphonal music. It has the quality of an echo; one section plays a melody and then the other section answers back. The effect is quite beautiful!

The little birds answering one another in antiphonal psalms reminded me of the liturgy in Roman Catholic or Episcopal churches that incorporate antiphonal responses as part of the liturgy. The echo of human voices reflects the contagious nature of praise. One group speaks forth their praise and the other answers in like fashion.

The birds clearly enjoyed “encouraging one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, with gratitude in their hearts toward God.” (Colossians 3:16) Do I inspire an antiphony of psalms to be sung in my world? How might I spread a contagion of praise?

30 Days of Hearing

2010-04-06T19:01:00.000-05:00

Day 23: Listening to Ingrid

Last Thursday night, we jammed into the dank confines of Bloomington’s Blue Bird and grooved to the tunes of Ingrid Michaelson—along with 400 college students. I don’t know when I have ever felt like such an young old person!

I’m listening to Ingrid right now as I write this blog. Her music can be haunting and melodic; silly and profound. Her voice has a unique quality but not one that is “pretend.” She sings from her natural voice with a clear, focused tone. The words to her songs are often singable—something I witnessed at the concert as 400 college students serenaded her by singing along.

Ingrid’s voice, words and music move me. I identify with many of her sentiments and acknowledge my human condition as I listen and join in her songs. Music is an amazing gift. Maybe, along with creation, it’s one of the most convincing apologetics for the existence of God.

30 Days of Hearing

2010-04-04T18:37:00.000-05:00

Day 22: “I just want to see what’s on top, Dad.”

On Thursday, David took me away on a surprise overnight trip to celebrate my birthday. We had extraordinary weather--especially for April—I’ve had it snow or rain cats-and-dogs on other birthdays!. The first leg of my surprise trip, we went to Brown County and had a gorgeous hike down a deep ravine to a lake and back. Then we picnicked along a creek.

While we were eating, a little boy and his dad hiked by on the other side of the creek. I was amused, watching the lad tramp along, exploring everything he encountered. At one point, I heard him say, “I just want to see what’s on top, Dad.” Then without pausing, this little guy turned upward, clinging desperately to the steep hill above him. His father watched below, patiently waiting as his son gave into his quest to discover what he couldn’t see.

This boy’s spirit stirred me. For no reason other than the love of adventure, he leaned hard into this upward climb and conquered it. He inspired me and scolded me all at once. I want to live with the same curiosity, boldness, and willingness to risk and expend myself for the sake of seeing what’s on top.

I sense that God longs for me to be an explorer but it will require mustering my own determination to conquer the next hill and find out what’s on top. What does that mean for you? What new horizon might the Spirit lead you to investigate? Let’s go for it!

30 Days of Hearing

2010-03-31T20:03:00.000-05:00

Day 21: Texting

I heard that oh-so-familiar blurp from David’s phone last night: a text! It was from our daughter, Brooke, who incidentally was in a college class at the time. (She reminded us of what a good multi-tasker she is.) For several minutes, we went back and forth, discussing options for the birthday cake Brooke is baking for Easter/my birthday/Laura’s birthday.

I thought later about the sound when a text arrives and how when I hear that sound I immediately check my phone. It’s like I’m a “Pavlov’s dog” and have been trained to respond to the buzzer and salivate. I don’t even answer my phone calls with that kind of diligence. A text happens in real time. It conveys short, vital bits of information and it usually warrants a response.

So, how does hearing the sound of a text speak to me spiritually? It causes me to ask, “Do I respond with that kind of trained intention when the Spirit sends me a message?” Of course, the answer is no. I often get those nudges to say or do something and too often I tune them out. How might I become more responsive to the sound of the Spirit’s texts? What would it be like if I acted with the same curiosity and interest? I think I will find out!

30 Days of Hearing

2010-03-29T06:44:00.000-05:00

Day 20: Laughter

Today is the second day of Holy week, a week that descends toward the dark desolation of Jesus’ betrayal, abandonment and death. It seems strange to write about the sound of laughter while on such a somber trajectory. Be patient with me.

When I awoke this morning, I had the odd recollection that at some point in the night, David woke me up laughing. I confirmed my suspicion and asked if he recalled doing so. He said, “Yes,” though he couldn’t remember what he was dreaming or why he was laughing as he lay next to me chuckling, spastically at first, and then almost uncontrollably. It made me laugh and still does as I think about it.

Laughter is such a contagious and unusual sound. Most people have a laugh all their very own. For instance, Eli, my grandson, is laughing now--sometimes even cackling. I have another friend whose piercing laugh is so jolting that in public it makes head’s turn. My mother-in-law has an hysterical laugh and when she gets going, she usually ends up crying she laughs so hard. Who can argue that laughter is a gift from God?

This morning as I meditated on this sound, I had an unusual picture come to mind. I imagined laughter as a spirit set free from a deep catacomb within my soul, released to dance and play. The scene that played in my mind was on Resurrection Sunday. Matthew 27: 51-53 records, “At that moment the curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom. The earth shook and the rocks split. The tombs broke open and the bodies of many holy people who had died were raised to life. They came out of the tombs, and after Jesus' resurrection they went into the holy city and appeared to many people.”

This morning, I heard laughter as a sign of resurrection, what I look forward to at the culmination of this week. It’s the signal that death did not triumph; the tomb has been emptied; the spirit of laughter has been set free within each of us because Jesus died and rose again in victory over all that makes his and our heart weep.

30 Days of Hearing

2010-03-28T06:00:00.000-05:00

Day 19: Rain

I awoke early this morning to the sound of rain. Yesterday was such a beautiful day, full of sunshine. I admit I felt disappointed. The sound of rain conjured the image of gloom and dreariness. Yet, after I got up and listened, the rain became an invitation to snuggle into the day and be still.

Whenever it rains, I often have the sensation of wanting to curl up in my bed or on my sofa and be still. Rain brings out my contemplative nature. I am aware of being inside, away from the elements of cold drizzle. I seek shelter and find security in being home.

So, this morning, the rain led me to seek the shelter of home—my home in God. As the droplets sputtered on the roof and windows of my house, my heart, in prayer, meandered toward my haven of Grace.

As I prayed, the image of God hiding me in the shelter of his wings, away from the drenching shower was a wonderful comfort to my heart. I know that right now you might feel a craving for shelter from the elements of your life. Might you turn into the path of prayer and seek refuge in him? Will you seek shelter in his presence?

30 Days of Hearing

2010-03-25T07:21:00.000-05:00

Day 18: Hearing Confession

This morning, I sat in my usual spot--a low-to-the-ground, over-stuffed chair in my office--as I read and prayed. My laptop was to my right and open on my desk. The sound of the McAfee security system hummed as it scanned the entire contents of my hard drive and inbox, cleaning contaminants—anything of a virus-like nature.

I listened subconsciously as I sat in my chair. Then, at some point, I read in I Kings 15: 5. “For David had done what was pleasing in the Lord’s sight and had obeyed the Lord’s commands throughout his life, except in the affair concerning Uriah the Hittite.” I was struck by the grace of God toward David that rather than define David’s life by this event of moral failure, God extended forgiveness and grace and took in the whole of David’s life.

At that point, I felt led into the Jesus prayer that I wrote about a few days ago: “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” I felt grateful and relieved to turn to Jesus and confess my own failures to him and receive his cleansing wash.

Confession is a gift. It’s that moment in our lives when we offer our tormented selves and twisted acts to Jesus. Immediately, what could have been the devastating and defining moments of our lives no longer are. Instead, the next step, the new day before us become the page upon which God continues our story.

How is it for you? Do you experience confession as a gift? Take some time right now and let the Spirit "scan your hard drive and inbox" and see if there is anything that needs cleansed. Receive Jesus' forgiveness as a gift and this new day as a clean page!

30 Days of Hearing

2010-03-23T19:54:00.000-05:00

Day 16: Recurring Themes

One of my favorite symphonies is Dvorak’s New World. As a teenager, I would listen to it in my room and pretend that I was a conducting it. (Okay, I don’t know that I have ever admitted that to anyone.) It is a glorious piece of music with several prominent, recurring themes. I am humming one in my mind right now.

Recurring themes show up not only in music but also in literature, art and even conversations. Often, when I hear repeating ideas in different conversations I have with people, I take notice. I find it to be one of the ways that God speaks to me.

I had lunch with two friends yesterday. In the course of the exchange, we talked about some things we have been learning. What I found interesting is how all three of us have been thinking and reading about many of the same things. I heard recurring themes.

Do you notice when you begin to hear similar thoughts and expressions? As you participate in 30 Days of Hearing, don’t forget to listen to repeating patterns in the conversations you have. If you hear some, take time to ask God what they mean.

30 Days of Hearing

2010-03-21T08:00:00.000-05:00

Day 16: Disquieted

I woke up this morning disquieted. I don’t know why, except that I remember dreaming a lot. The dreams I remember were not nightmarish, but for some reason unsettled my heart.

The sounds of my disquieted soul provoked me to seek God’s peace. I remembered the Jesus prayer and began to meditate on it. “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” This ancient prayer, practiced over centuries, has been a mantra of saints who long to live from a peaceful union with Christ.

The desert fathers and mothers of the 4th and 5th centuries used the Jesus prayer to practice “hesychia”, a Greek word for tranquility or peace, “a state in which the Christian, through grace and intense asceticism, reintegrated his or her whole being into a single person who is placed completely under the direct influence of the Trinity dwelling within….” (The Power of the Name, Alphonse and Rachel Goettmann)

As I repeated the Jesus prayer, meditated on each word, I was reminded that when I bring myself into God’s presence, it isn’t my ability to purge myself of sin or produce perfect piety that warrants Christ’s presence. It is Jesus’ mercy on me, a sinner—grace emanating from his nature--that welcomes me into his presence.

My heart is quiet now. It is well with my soul.

30 Days of Hearing

2010-03-20T06:42:00.000-05:00

Day 15: Loud voices

I declared yesterday a personal health day. As you may have noticed, I haven’t blogged as regularly as in past 30 Days experiments. That’s because the last two months I have been working three jobs. Yeh. Not exactly the life of a contemplative. I am a part time resource consultant, a spiritual formation director and I have had speaking engagements almost every weekend in February and March. So, yesterday, with nothing on my calendar (except a hair appointment, which I would NEVER miss!), I declared a personal health day, or “Beth” day, as I often call it.

The whole point of a “Beth” day is to let my heart lead me toward whatever sounds good, sounds soul renewing. So, after my all-important hair appointment, I spontaneously called my son to see if he would like to go to lunch. (Did I mention that Brandt’s wife, Laura, is my stylist. Lucky her, right--having her mother-in-law for a client!) Brandt met me for lunch with our grandson, Eli, which is a big reason why my heart prompted me to make this call. Eli totally fills my heart with joy and refreshment.

The first thing I noticed when I arrived at Paradise Bakery was how loud it was. I sat waiting for Brandt and was almost deafened by the clamor of human voices echoing all around me. It wasn’t a pleasant sound but one I found myself wanting to get away from. When Brandt arrived, thankfully, we moved outside where it was more quiet.

After lunch, I headed to a favorite walking path that follows along a canal. Ahhhh….quiet, finally, except for the fact that it was a lovely spring day and there were many people walking on the path, often with a friend. Every time someone would pass me, my reverie was interrupted with loud voices.

Next, I decided to pop into the Indianapolis Art Museum. As I walked from the parking lot into this fabulous building, I thanked God for such an amazing gift—all free to the public. I started on the third floor with contemporary art. It didn’t really do it for me. Then I went to the American art floor and found more that drew my heart. As I positioned myself on a bench to absorb a particular painting, in walked a three-some who seemed to follow me the rest of my time. One of the persons, a female, had a particularly loud voice. Every time she saw a painting, she had the same reaction: “Oh, look at this one. I like this one. Isn’t it cool?” (Okay, so I thought to my self, “Surely you have a more elaborate vocabulary to describe your reaction to this masterpiece?!" I was a little cynical at this point.)

My last stop was a favorite coffee shop—where I actually had a glass of red wine. I chose a sunny spot, sat with my journal from this last year, reading through the pages, asking God to show me where I have been, where He has been with me over these last months. Sitting next to me was another women—another loud woman. She was talking on her phone to her parents. Sweet. But her voice was so loud!

If you haven’t discovered by now, my hearing experiment centered on picking up the piercing sound of human voices. As I reflect on this, I realize how distracted I am by the voices of people, unable to filter them like I might filter other sounds. Is that because they are my species? Is it because I am nosey and can’t help but hear what they say? Is it because they speak in a language I understand?

The human voice is a penetrating sound of which I contend every day. Sometimes, I need to not. I need to not hear people and just hear birds or water or wind. But for whatever reason, though yesterday felt like one of those days, it wasn’t to be. So, I finally gave in, talked to the woman next to me after she got off her cell phone. Heard all about her African Gray—a bird. (Don’t ask me how we got on the subject.) And then I came home and welcomed the quiet.

30 Days of Hearing

2010-03-18T20:45:00.000-05:00

Day 13: White noise

We had house guests staying with us the last two nights—a family with two small girls. I noticed that when they put the girls to bed, they turned on a white noise fan. When I came upstairs, I could hear the dull hum coming from their room.

As I’m sure you know, the whole purpose of white noise is to drown out extraneous sounds that might otherwise distract or awaken us from our sleep. As I listened to the constant, monotonous din emanating from the girls room, it sounded so loud to me that I wondered how they were able to fall asleep. Perhaps they’ve been conditioned.

I wonder if I've been conditioned. What do I turn on to drown out sounds that I want to block? Or, maybe it’s not that intentional. I unconsciously turn to different forms of white noise and the affect is that I miss what’s going on around me and how the Spirit is speaking to me.

My white noise is most often the constant thoughts drumming through my head. I am always “processing” something and “in the process,” I undoubtedly miss important voices, songs, calls and echoes of life.

Do you know what the source of your white noise is? Is it external things you turn to like television, radio, computer, or Face book? Or is it internal, like mine? A churning mind, thinking about what you have to get done next, or reliving the past. I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to turn the white noise fan off.

30 Days of Hearing

2010-03-16T06:56:00.000-05:00

Day 12: Three-Dog Day

I grew up listening to the band, Three Dog Night. Loved their music. Loved to dance to their music! Any fans out there? Well, yesterday, I experienced a “three-dog day”—music that was not so pleasant nor inspiring to dance to.

My daughter Bri is on spring break from IU and home for a few days, along with her adorable pup, Rufio. Meanwhile, Brandt and Laura were in Chicago and left their dog, Amos, in our keep. So, Bongo, our canine creature makes for a “three dog day.”

As you can imagine, all this dog fur and dog paws makes it tough to keep the house clean. So, yesterday (and because we are having houseguests tonight:), I decided to mop the floor. Consequently, Bri had the odious job of taking the three dogs upstairs to my bedroom.

You would have thought they were being tortured! Amos, with his forlorn and desperate moan, began to howl. Bongo and Rufio joined in a chorus of yips, punctuated by moments of irritating playful yelps. Even from my vantage point downstairs, mopping the floor, I was about to lose my mind.

Their continuous and unrelenting barks were so distracting, I felt miserable that I couldn’t respond by letting them out. Their commotion pierced my hearing and became fodder for my 30 Days of Hearing and my spiritual journey. As I reflect, I think of the passage in Exodus 2 where God heard the desperate cries of the Israelites, suffering under Egyptian rule, and those cries got to him. He responded by sending Moses to lead them out of Egypt and back to the land that he promised them.

The mournful, desperate cries of the oppressed should wear on us. If we don’t hear, don’t notice, don’t attend to them, we are deaf to the world of which God tunes in. Whose pitiful calls for help are you responding to? Who of the oppressed and marginalized, those suffering injustice, do you notice and move toward to free? Pay attention today to the sounds of the living around you who feel locked up in a room somewhere, longing to be set free.

30 Days of Hearing

2010-03-15T07:28:00.000-05:00

Day 11: Counsel

To whom do you go for counsel? If you were to seek advice about God’s path for you, whose guidance would you listen to?

Yesterday, I read an odd story in I Kings 13—one that I didn’t remember reading before. It told of a prophet whom God sent to prophesy against King Jeroboam. Afterwards, God gave him strict instructions to leave by a different route than he came and not to eat anything while he was there. But on his way home, an old prophet from the town came after him. The old prophet contradicted God’s directions to the man, but because he was a prophet, the man followed his counsel. This decision ultimately led to his death.

The story piqued my interest. I found myself identifying with the prophet, knowing that I would likely have done the same—listened to the counsel of someone whom I perceived to be from "the same school” as me. I am more susceptible to believe another’s counsel who is like me, who speaks my language. What the story underscores is how important it is to know your own heart’s counsel, what God has made clear to you. Even people who think like you and come from a similar place can lead you off-track.

Here are some questions for spiritual direction:

What do you know to be God’s values and directions for you today?
Whose advice are you listening to? Does it confirm what you already know in your heart?
Have you veered away from following God’s path? If so, how can you return to the path he has called you to follow?

30 Days of Hearing

2010-03-11T07:56:00.000-06:00

Day 10: Listening to the voices within

I am currently receiving training to offer spiritual direction; a wonderful ministry of attentive listening, helping a person identify where God is at work in his or her life and how God is inviting him or her to respond. In many ways, it is helping a person listen to the voices within—the voice of the Abiding Christ and the voice of one’s own abiding heart.

For whatever reason, we all experience resistance when it comes to listening to both voices. This morning, as I spent time praying, I found myself distracted, drawn away from “being” with God and switching gears toward “doing” for God. It seems that being held in silence by God is an uncomfortable and unnatural venture. Yet, of all spiritual practices, it may be the one that is most restoring and re-pairing.

Consider the words of Henri Nouwen about listening to the voice within:

“Have you ever tried to spend a whole hour doing nothing but listening to the voice that dwells deep in your heart? ... It is not easy to enter into the silence and reach beyond the many boisterous and demanding voices of our world and to discover there the small intimate voice saying: "You are my Beloved Child, on you my favor rests." Still, if we dare to embrace our solitude and befriend our silence, we will come to know that voice.”

Henri Nouwen, Life of the Beloved

Rather than an hour, why not spend five or ten minutes of listening to the voice that dwells deep in your heart? Here are some suggestions:

Begin by breathing deeply, calming yourself and “locating” yourself within your own body. (That may sound strange, but often we are so over-identified with our thinking that we forget we are not our thinking and that we live in our body.)
Feel the presence of God within you. Sometimes it helps to imagine an image, like John 15, where Jesus describes himself as a vine, you, and me as a branch. Picture abiding in Jesus like a branch in a vine.
Stay still in that place. “Cease striving and know that I am God (Ps. 46:10).” Rest. Relax. Dwell with Christ.
When your mind moves you away with a distracting thought, brush it aside with a mental broom. Don’t get down on yourself. Just say, “No, not now.” And then return to your place of abiding with Jesus.
Listen. Listen for the voices within. What is your heart telling you? Lean into Christ with great attention, eager to hear his whisper. What is he saying? If nothing comes, just enjoy being with Jesus. Like a little child, enjoy resting with him.

30 Days of Hearing

2010-03-10T05:55:00.000-06:00

Day 9: Fiddlin’ and toe tappin’

On Tuesday, I drove to Angola and Ft. Wayne related to my role as a resource consultant with the Center for Congregations. It was a 2 ½ hour drive each way. Thankfully, the sun was shining and the traffic was sparse. On the way there, I purposefully didn’t listen to the radio or a CD. I basked in the silence and sunshine of the morning and spent a good deal of the time praying.

On the way back, I was a little tired and sleepy. So, I popped in a CD of the group, Time for Three, a group of three hip, young fiddlers, and let them help me pass the time. Their music is a wonderful fusion of old tunes improvised with fresh style and, occasionally, they break out in blue grass fashion. That’s when my toe started tapping.

I noticed that I couldn’t restrain my left foot from keeping time with the music. I had to move as I listened. I’m that way. Even when I played French horn in an orchestra (my major at IU), I always tapped my foot with the music. These fiddles were no exception. The punch of their down beat, the edge of their rhythms, got my blood flowin’ and my foot tappin’ all the way home.

Isn’t it interesting that often when we hear music we want to dance? What is it about certain kinds of music that entice our bodies to keep time with the sounds we hear? For me, it’s an uncontrolled response. Certain rhythms wake up my limbs and provoke my feet to move. I want to participate with the sounds, not just observe them.

Yesterday, I was thankful to have an accompaniment to my journey home. How might the sounds of the Spirit accompany me throughout my day? How can the daily rhythms of life invite me to dance with God?

30 Days of Hearing

2010-03-09T05:29:00.000-06:00

Day 8: Bird Songs

The sun has been shining for three days—an occasion to celebrate for those who live in this part of the country! Spring is teasing us, playing peek-a-boo and today I fell for it. I had to get out and take a walk, drink in the sunshine. As I walked on a familiar path, I noticed a symphony of bird songs in surround sound.

Cardinals sang their lyrical songs.
Red-winged blackbirds blew their whistled songs.
A flicker of red-bellied woodpecker hammered his song.
Robins composed their common, modest songs.
Flocks of Canadian geese honked in chorus—sounding the most boisterous songs.
Tree swallows chirped while playing catch-me-if-you-can.
Blue birds—yes, two!—made no discernable sound but dazzled in the morning light.

I thoroughly enjoyed a concert this morning. The field was the stage upon which each bird played his or her tune. At the end, I gave them and their Conductor a standing ovation!

30 Days of Hearing

2010-03-07T20:52:00.000-06:00

Day 4 – 7: My hearing journal

As I mentioned in my last post, I have been out of town for a few days. I went to Cincinnati to participate in the School of Spiritual Direction at Sustainable Faith. We meet in a former convent. Then on Friday afternoon, I headed back to Indianapolis to speak at a retreat. Even though I didn’t have the ability to blog, I did listen for sounds of God in each day. Here is a journal of what I heard.

Train:
Wednesday night, I lay in bed in black darkness and heard the sound of a train in the distance. The whistle sounded lonely—perhaps because it had no company in the silence of the night. It was a nostalgic sound, taking me back to my childhood when I would lie in bed and listen to the whistle of a train that ran close to my home. The piercing trill established a truth in me, one of reckoning with the fact that there is a world “out there” that is separate from me and me from it.
My heart:
Thursday, I spent the morning listening to my heart. I had things planned to do, but my purpose in going a day early to the convent was to listen to what was going on inside my heart. I discovered something surprising—a belief that God was holding back from me. Once I realized my folly, God and I talked with renewed intensity and intimacy. The next morning, as I was waking up, I “heard” the Scripture running through my mind, “I will never leave you or forsake you.”

Velcro:
On Friday, our spiritual direction cohort met for the first time. I sat next to Todd, a very funny and tender man who often keeps us in stitches. We were discussing how our commitments to certain spiritual practices were going and in the midst, from my left, I heard that unique, one-of-a-kind sound of Velcro. Todd was putting on his yoga shoes! (I had never seen yoga shoes—quite interesting, if I might add.) Velcro makes such an unusual sound; I think I would recognize it anywhere. As I heard the Velcro, I was aware of the tightly enmeshed bond the two pieces of fabric make with each other. A tight bond is formed that requires effort and exertion to tear loose. It reminded me of the bond I have with God, with David and my kids, with friends.

Chimes:
I spoke at a retreat on Friday and Saturday, which was held at a Catholic retreat center. While I was there, a number of times I heard chimes, presumably a signal for one of the fixed hours of prayer. What a different life, to be governed by prayer, by rhythms of prayer that are initiated by the sounds of lyrical chimes. I find myself drawn to a monastic life, at times. I imagine each day having a slower, more deliberate, pace. My heart tells me that I would be living closer to God, perhaps closer to the way God intended me to live, if I quit living by a clock and, instead, lived by fixed hours of prayer.

Ludivico Einaudi
It’s Sunday afternoon, probably my favorite time of my week. As is often the case, David and I are relaxing, listening to music. He found a new pianist named Ludivico Einaudi. His music is haunting, melancholy and passionate. I treasure being home, sitting in the same room with my lover, hearing music with the ears of my soul and "being." I appreciate the simple pleasures of life, pleasures that are so abundant to me.

30 Days of Hearing

2010-03-03T16:26:00.000-06:00

Day 3: Splash

This morning, David and I took our dog, Bongo, and Brandt and Laura’s dog, Amos, for a walk on the golf course near our home. Clipping along at a pretty good pace, suddenly we heard a splash! I turned around and looked behind us and saw that Amos had gotten separated from us by a creek and tried to cross it to catch up. Once he decided that wasn't such a good idea, he began to claw feverishly at the soft earth of the embankment, scaling up its steep side. It was a tense moment as this 90 lb. dog, strong but cumbersome, made his way to land and back across the bridge to us.

As I thought about sounds today, the sound of splash stood out. I heard it before I saw it. That kind of sound can often be frightening, at least when the sound is dramatic, loud or unexpected. Had we not heard, we might have continued on, not noticing that Amos was not with us.
Sound is often used as a warning—like a siren or storm alert to stop us in our tracks.

How has God used sound to stop me in my tracks? To signal that I have become separated from him?

· The sound of tears—my own or those of a loved one.
· The sound of angry words—my own or those of a loved one.
· The sound of crashing—when I drop things, bump into things, hit things because I am moving too fast.
· The sound of noise in my head—when I can’t rest or when I have no peace.

How has God used sound to stop you? What signals are you hearing as warnings? Will you listen?

P.S. I will be gone for a few days to participate in my second School of Spiritual Direction Cohort at Sustainable Faith Community in Cincinnati. I will catch you up on my hearing when I return on Sunday.

30 Days of Hearing

2010-03-02T20:44:00.000-06:00

Day 2: Listening to our knowing heart

For the last couple of days, I’ve been spending a lot of time in my head. My mind has been over active, over analyzing things that I’m involved with in my work. I haven’t been able to settle my mind down. It’s exhausting.

Tilden Edwards from the Shalem Institute says that we can live out of our ego, our analytical mind or our knowing heart. I have been functioning from my analytical mind, for sure. All three are ways we think and the place from which we live our life. The ego drives us. The analytical mind sifts through life as we go. But the knowing heart leads us wisely.

This morning, aware of the voices in my head, I spent some time in centering prayer. Once my mind was calm, I listened to my heart. Once I did, I knew how to live.

If you feel like you are on an unrelenting mental treadmill, consider trying this:
• Take several cleansing breaths.
• Begin to focus your mind on seeking God in prayer.
• Any time a distracting thought enters your mind, sweep it away.
• Then return your attention to God and enjoy him.
• Finally, once your mind is calm, listen to what your heart is saying.
• Write down anything that comes to mind.

30 Days of Hearing

2010-03-01T20:05:00.000-06:00

Day 1: Footsteps

This morning, as I sat in bed, sipping my morning coffee and “coming to,” I reminded myself that today was the beginning of 30 Days of Hearing. About that moment, I “heard” footsteps. David was walking from the kitchen toward the stairs to bring me a refill of coffee (yes, I am totally spoiled—I admit it!) and I heard his familiar slippered steps padding up the stairs. I felt grateful as I heard him come.

Footsteps—sometimes barely perceptible, at other times sharp and distinctive—stir a host of feelings from joy and anticipation to fear and dread. I recall hearing the footsteps of a toddler approaching the side of my bed to crawl in; or the footsteps of my grown daughter, clopping around in her high-heels; or the footsteps of a stranger walking behind me in a parking lot. Each evoked strong feelings just from hearing the sound.

The way we feel when we hear the sound of someone’s steps has to do with whether we know them and what we think they are coming for. Adam and Eve heard God’s footsteps in the garden and were filled with dread and fear. “Then the Lord God called to the man, “Where are you?” He replied, “I heard you walking in the garden, so I hid. I was afraid because I was naked.” (Genesis 3:10)

Here is a question for spiritual direction: If you heard God’s footsteps coming toward you, how would you feel? Why? What does that tell you about your relationship with God?

Exciting news about The Art of Faith/Awakening Your Senses!

2010-02-28T17:37:00.000-06:00

I'm writing to share some very exciting news and an invitation! First of all, I am delighted to share with you my wonderful news! I just received a contract with InterVarsity Press to publish The Art of Faith/Awakening Your Senses with co-author, Brent Bill. I am thrilled to work with such an exceptional company--one who publishes many of my favorite authors! The title of this book has not been settled but the contents will come from The Art of Faith workshop and the 30 Days experiments that Brent and I have been blogging about for the last several months. This book should be released sometime in 2011.

Second, mark your calendars for another 30 Days experiment beginning Monday, March 1st! This time, we will focus on the sense of hearing. As I've encouraged you before:

Put a note in your calendar each day for 30 days that reminds you to pay attention to what you hear.
Every day, isolate your sense of hearing and see how God speaks to you through the sounds of life bubbling up around you.
Keep a journal about what you discover.
Follow my blog and comment or write about your own adventures.
Join The Art of Faith on Facebook and share your experiences with other sensory pilgrims.

If you or someone you know would be interested in hosting The Art of Faith: Awakening Your Senses to the Wonder of God, please let me know. Brent and I would love to share this unique, engaging workshop that helps more of you experience more of God.

Warmly, Beth

30 Days of Touching

2010-02-09T20:09:00.000-06:00

Day 29: Wind

A second snow storm hit today leaving it it's wake several more inches of frosty tundra. Now the winds are picking up. I can hear them howling outside my window. Winds may gust to 30 + mph. The house feels drafty from the temperature drop and blustery conditions. I don't mind snow and cold, except when it's windy.

Strong winds send a chill straight through me. Though invisible, a wind can feel as sharp as a slap across the face--and take your breath away, just the same. And speaking of touch, I can't touch the wind, but the wind touches me. With a mind of it's own, it can spin me around and send me in a direction I hadn't intended to go.

Jesus told Nicodemus that the Spirit moves like the wind--coming out of nowhere and returning from whence it came. In the wake of it's movement, dramatic things happen. People wake up to life, living breath breathed right into them. The Spirit turns them around--turns them toward Jesus. They take stock of their new orientation and gawk with wonder at how they ended up where they are.

So, the next time you are greeted with a stiff wind in your face, check in with it. It just might be the Spirit, ready to turn you around.

30 Days of Touching

2010-02-06T06:35:00.000-06:00

Day 28: Scrabble

Last night, David and I played a game of Scrabble. By the way, did I mention that I won? Yeh. It was a good night to stay home. We had about eight inches of fresh snow, so I made stew and beer bread and we decided to play a game. In principle, I love Scrabble because I love words. So, it sounded good. But about mid-way through I began to tire of it. It does drag on.

I have funny associations with Scrabble. I picture my dad neatly straightening the rows of tiles, his hands steady as an ox. I remember the time I spelled the word “sex” and got 78 points. The next day I proudly announced to one of my kid's and her friend, while playing another game of Scrabble with them, that I had “sex” yesterday—on the Scrabble board!*#....

As I think about playing this game, I realize it's a very tactile experience. I reached into the bag for the tiles, groped to find them and pull them out. I placed them on the trivet and rearranged them. I set them on the board and lined them up. Scrabble is a game of touching.

Playing Scrabble also mimics life. We reach into the bag of life and pull things out without knowing what we have at first. We learn to work with the “tiles” we’ve been given. Sometimes we can’t find a way to play. Sometimes the small plays add up most. Often, learning patience is the key—holding onto tiles until we have the best move. (Last night it was “quell” for 44 points!) Not taking the game too seriously.

Who would have thought Scrabble to be such a pointed metaphor of life! I am glad I played. And by the way, did I mention that I won?

30 Days of Touching

2010-02-05T05:30:00.000-06:00

I thought I would share with you a wonderful prayer from a Celtic Psalter that expresses my desire for you and me as we awaken our senses to the wonder of God. The line in this prayer that relates particularly to "touching" is on my mind this morning. It reads, "That in the body of another and the intermingling of friendship, I may touch your beauty." I woke up early this morning, aware of David next to me, the one with whom I snuggled a good portion of the night. As we fell asleep last night, I was aware of his body--it's warmth, softness, aliveness felt in the rhthm of his breathing. Flesh of my flesh and bone of my bone, sleeping with my beloved is one of the sweetest pleasures of life.

Enjoy reading this lovely prayer and then pray it for yourself today!

Prayer for Awakening the Senses

That in the elements of earth, sea and sky
I may see your beauty,
That in wild winds, birdsong and silence
I may hear your beauty,
That in the body of another and the
intermingling of relationship
I may touch your beauty,
That in the moisture of the earth
and its flowering and fruiting
I may smell your beauty,
That in the flowing waters of springs
and streams
I may taste your beauty,
These things I look for this day, O God,
These things I look for.

J. Phillip Newell, Sounds of the Eternal, a Celtic Psalter

30 Days of Touching

2010-02-03T19:30:00.000-06:00

Day 26: A Kindle or a Hard Copy?

The other day I was in a meeting when someone asked the question, “If you had your choice between a Kindle or a hard copy of a book, which would you choose.” Of the dozen or so people around the table, only one said the Kindle. Which would you choose?

Well, I don’t own a Kindle, so I don’t know what it is like to hold one in my hands. But I do know what it’s like to hold a book in my hands—to touch the spine, the cover, the pages as I turn them. I am a book person and getting my hands on a book is part of the experience of reading it.

For me, I am a book user. I don’t merely read a book, I dog-ear the pages where I stop and start. I underline, highlight and write notes in the margins. I work the pages of a book and make it my own. That’s why I love to hold a book.

Every day, I spend some time—from 15 minutes to several hours—reading books. I can’t imagine ever going electronic when it comes to what I read. I love to feel the touch of a book in my hand.

In many ways, reading a book is a spiritual experience and discipline, whether it’s my Bible or a novel. Sometimes I even call my books my friends. The authors are some of the people who have influenced my life the most.

The next time you read a book, take time to feel it between your fingers, the cover of it in your hands. Enjoy it as an experience of “touching” the thoughts of God communicated through the words of man.

30 Days of Touching

2010-02-02T19:32:00.000-06:00

Day 25: Massage

Do you like to have a massage? I happen to think that one of the finer pleasures of life is to have someone rub my body, knead my muscles and turn me into butter. Usually that somebody is David and when he gives me a good back rub—a really good one—I feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven!

What is it about the sensation of having your body rubbed that is so wonderful? Maybe it’s the fact that when our muscles are tight, massage loosens them. Actually, I think mine melt. The pleasure of a massage is only half the benefit. The other half is how relaxed it makes you feel.

Questions for spiritual direction: What helps you loosen up and let go of the tightness and control inside you? What massages your heart for God and gets the blood flowing?

30 Days of Touching

2010-02-01T20:09:00.000-06:00

Day 24: Juggling

Have you ever tried to juggle? I have—without success. I just don’t have the coordination to keep multiple balls in the air. I would imagine if I did, I would learn that juggling requires a very special touch—a light touch, as you catch one ball and throw it up before you catch another.

Though I don’t juggle balls, I do feel like I often juggle many other things. Today I felt that way. It was my first day as the part-time Spiritual Formation Director at White River Christian Church in Noblesville. In addition, I am also a consultant with The Indianapolis Center for Congregations and juggle the balls of writing and speaking.

Questions to ponder: How can I keep my touch light? How can I stay focused on the ball in my hand? How can I let go when I need to? Those are the questions on my mind tonight. Do you find yourself doing a lot of juggling? Maybe those are questions for you, too.

.

30 Days of Touching

2010-01-31T20:38:00.000-06:00

Day 24: Bad Touch

Do you remember when you were a kid and your mom talked to you about “bad touch?” I don’t remember every being touched inappropriately, but I do remember one incident when a friend of the family hugged me too tight and wouldn’t let me go. I knew instinctively that he wasn’t safe.

As I have practiced honing my sense of touch, I don't know if I had considered the fact that not all touch is positive or good. Some can be traumatizing and abusive. That kind of touch tears apart the soul with its bare hands and leaves a gash in the life of those who are its victims.

This morning, David and I attended White River Christian Church in Noblesville. An announcement was made for a gathering on Wednesday evening at 7 pm to inform parents and citizens of the nature and danger of child abuse in our community. This gathering is sponsored by Hands & Feet (http://www.handsandfeethc.org/), a not-for-profit committed to educating and uniting churches to end the awful blight of child abuse.

It’s shocking to read the statistics about child abuse in my county. According to a 2006 CPS report, 733 cases of child abuse and neglect were reported. It is likely that three times that number of children are abused every year but are never reported to authorities.

What can we do? If you live in Indy and have a tender heart for victims of child abuse or just want to know more, consider attending this presentation. If you haven’t talked to your kids in a while about “bad touch,” today is a good day.

As much as touch can be a pathway to experience God, it can also be a terrible trauma-inducing act. Please do what you can to prevent "bad touch" in your own family and community.

30 Days of Touching

2010-01-30T16:38:00.000-06:00

Day 23: Touched by an Angel

Do you remember that show? I think we watched it occasionally with the kids. Even if you never saw it, you probably get the gist of what it was about—moments when something eerie, mystical happens and you feel as though an angel has touched you.

Have you ever had a real experience when you felt like you’ve been “touched by an angel?” I don’t know that I would attribute those moments to an angel, but have had on a few occasions a moment when the voice of God or presence of God seemed almost palpable.

I had one of those times yesterday. It’s always hard to describe things like this. And please know this doesn’t happen all the time to me. I was reading a very provocative book called The Failure of Nerve by Ed Friedman. In the introduction, I was processing something he said, felt the nudge to turn to God and pray and then had this sense; this thought came into my mind more like a suggestion and instantly I knew what it was about, though I don’t know how I knew.

It was as though the Spirit said, “You are going to learn that when you are too empathic with people, you get in the way of empowering them”—something like that.

Two pages later, I literally read a thought almost identical to that.

I felt like I was “touched by an angel.” It was eerie. And God certainly has my attention.

Question for spiritual direction:

Thinking back over your life, when have you been “touched by an angel” or had a moment when God’s voice of presence felt palpable?
What was that like for you?
Would you like to have an experience like that? Why or why not?

30 Days of Touching

2010-01-29T19:42:00.000-06:00

Day 22: Rituals of Love

What comes to mind when you think of the rituals of your life? Do you tend to think of things that are boring, rote and meaningless? David and I were just talking at dinner about the beauty of rituals—ones that have been part of our lives over the years.

For him today, it’s the ritual of cleaning his paintbrushes after his has “played with paint” (created art). He has this way of doing it—filling the brushes with soap and then rubbing them in the palm of his hand to get the paint out.

That triggered a memory for me of when I would practice my French horn. (I was a French horn major at IU—for those who didn’t know.) I would lift my horn out of the case; place a piece of lederhosen on my knee and set the bell on top; put the mouthpiece in my mouth to warm in; insert the mouthpiece into the horn and blow warm air through it. I can almost smell the valve oil and musty brass as I remember it.

We have morning rituals that we’ve practiced for years: David makes the coffee, usually the night before. He wakes up first, goes down, gets it for us, and brings it to me in bed. I sit for a while in bed, waking up slowing while sipping it. We both read, journal and pray. Then at breakfast, we talk about our thoughts and experiences.

We have evening rituals, too. We head to bed about ten—sometimes earlier. After we brush our teeth and I wash my face, we crawl into bed, side by side and read. At night, we usually read novels. Once we get sleepy, we turn out the lights and spoon.

Last night we babysat Eli at Brandt and Laura’s. Even Eli has a bedtime ritual at four ½ months. After a bottle, diaper change and cuddling, I read him a book and sang him a song. He lay down, cried for a little bit and was soon fast asleep.

I think rituals are ways we keep in touch with the world and keep in minds that we are still connected to it. Rituals are tactile reenactments that remind us of what matters, what we love. The things that keep us tethered to each other are the rituals we go through each day.

What are your rituals, those daily or occasional rhythms that reinforce the patterns of your life, patterns of what matters to you? Do you practice your rituals with awareness? What do your rituals say about you?

30 Days of Touching

2010-01-28T22:16:00.000-06:00

Day 21: Guiding Hand

Turn about is fair play, right? It was for me today. If you remember my post from last Thursday, then you might recall the title “Flush,” referring to my experience of having a colonoscopy. Well, David had the privilege today.

This time, I experienced the whole procedure from the other direction. I watched the nurse whisk him away. I talked to the doctor and got a good report. And I watched David “wake up” from the anesthetic. The kind used during a colonoscopy is unique. You remain in a twilight sleep so that you can cooperate with the doctor, but afterward you remember nothing. And you continue to remember nothing—even if you are told the same thing seventy times!

What I noticed most about David’s recovery was his insistence that he was wide-awake. The nurse brought him a cup of coffee and he insisted on holding it, even though he kept falling asleep with it in his hand. I would then take it or support it with my hand and he would wake up and inform me that he had it. That scenario continued several times.

Of all my touching experiences today, I am most thoughtful about this one. I played the role of a guiding hand, even though David insisted he didn’t need guidance. Is that how it is with God as my guiding hand? He doesn’t take the responsibility of my life away from me. But he comes, places his hands around the “cup” of my life and supports me. Sometimes I resist; I think I’m more awake than I really am. Yet, he doesn’t consider my orneriness as an offense. He remains faithful.

“Where can I go from Your Spirit? Or where can I flee from Your presence...If I take the wings of the dawn, if I dwell in the remotest part of the sea, even there Your hand will guide me….” Psalm 139: 10

A question for spiritual direction: How do you sense the hand of God guiding your life today? Are you resisting or cooperating?

30 Days of Touching

2010-01-27T20:18:00.000-06:00

Day 20: Touchy-Feely

I was driving to Ft. Wayne today to meet with a client when the Spirit prompted me to pray and open myself to the world of touch. Almost immediately, the expression “touchy-feely” came to mind. I mused about the expression; tried to wrap my mind around what we mean when we say something is touchy-feely.

Touchy-feely typically refers to something that is sappy, emotional and sentimental. Is that what it means to you? I wondered if it also described the two directions of affection—I touch you, I feel you touch me. That reminded me of my relationship with God. I even had the image of Da Vinci’s Hand of God painting—the one where God’s hand reaches down from heaven and a human hand reaches back. Now the expression spoke in a new way for me.

Touchy-feely began to describe to me the reciprocity of affection between God and humankind. James 4:8 comes to mind: “Come close to God, and God will come close to you.” That little equation has proven true for me. A relationship with God involves touching God—reaching out, seeking after him, “feeling our way to him” (as Paul says in Acts 17: 27). Likewise, it involves God touching us, seeking after us and pursuing us with his love and presence. (Luke 15:3-7)

So, now when you hear or use the expression “touchy-feely,” you might think of it differently. A bit like the Dr. Seuss character, a Push-me-pull-you, touchy-feely is a beautiful picture of how we engage with God and God engages with us.

A question for spiritual direction: Which are you more comfortable and familiar with—touching God or being touched by him?

30 Days of Touching

2010-01-26T20:59:00.000-06:00

Day 19: Touching the Keys

I remember several years ago, when I first began to write that I would feel this excitement as I placed my hands lightly on the keys of my computer and began to type my thoughts. I felt the same thrill tonight.

I took one last look, said a prayer and hit “send,” launching into cyberspace a new book proposal and sample chapters for a book, The Art of Faith: Awakening Your Senses to the Wonder of God. (My friend, Brent Bill, and I are writing this book together. We also offer Art of Faith workshops and have been doing these 30-Day exercises on each of the senses related to this book idea.)

Even though I type on a keyboard all the time, the familiarity and habit feels comforting. I know what to do when my fingers light upon the keys. I know how to pause and think while I type. It’s my craft. I don’t think that I am a perfectionist about most things, but when I write, I'm pretty obsessed.

I think of that line from Chariots of Fire—you know the one—“God has made me fast and when I run I feel his pleasure.” (Eric Liddell) That’s the way I feel when I touch these keys. When I do, I feel God’s pleasure.

What do you touch that, when you touch it, you feel God’s pleasure?

30 Days of Touching

2010-01-25T20:45:00.000-06:00

Day 18: Slimy

Of all the feeling sensations, I think I hate slimy the most! Slimy fish; slimy mucous; slimy bird poop; slimy slugs. Today, I noticed the slimy feeling of a raw turkey breast as I was washing it and preparing it for dinner. Slimy—a combination of sticky and slippery, yuck! When I think of it, I want to wash my hands—about five times.

I have a natural aversion to slime. I don’t want to touch it, taste it, see it, smell it or hear about it.

As I was handling the turkey breast, noticing my touching, I asked God what he has an aversion to:

Here’s what came to my mind.

God has an aversion to falseness.
God has an aversion to hypocrisy.
God has an aversion to pompousness.
God has an aversion to flattery.
God has an aversion to being judgmental.
God has an aversion to indifference.
God has an aversion to hatred.
God has an aversion to pride.

As I consider this list, I have to scratch my head. How in the world can God still love me and pursue me? Every one of these attitudes he has an aversion to is resident within me.

Bless you, God, that even though you have an aversion to these, you don’t reject me as if I’m slime:)

30 Days of Touching

2010-01-24T21:11:00.000-06:00

Day 17: A Kiss

One of my friends told me a story of how she was looking at an art book with pictures of Jesus with her little four-year-old daughter. Each time she turned the page to a new image, this little girl would lean over, pucker and delicately kiss Jesus. What a picture!

David and I were talking today about the simple act of love expressed in a kiss. He came upstairs this morning to bring me a refill of coffee, leaned over and gave me a kiss. That small, tender act of love and affection carried enormous weight for me.

A kiss is a very intimate act of adoring. When I am with Eli, it is the most natural and instinctual thing to want to kiss him—on top of his head, on his chubby little cheeks, on his tiny hands and his plump little feet.

Sometimes, there’s just no other way to express the love you feel for someone than to give them a kiss.

Have you ever expressed your love for Jesus through a kiss? Here are some examples of how you might incorporate a simple kiss in your adoration of him.

If you have a small cross, hold it in your hand, express your love to Christ for what he has done for you and kiss the cross.

Hold your Bible open on your lap. Thank God for his word and place a kiss on the open page.

Contemplate a picture of Jesus and like my friend’s daughter, kiss the image of Jesus.

I realize that this might feel awkward, especially if you are a man. I encourage you to take a risk, though, and see what happens when you express your love for God in a simple kiss.

30 Days of Touching

2010-01-23T22:40:00.000-06:00

Day 16: Tangible

Much of the impact of my work seems intangible. I write, speak, offer spiritual direction and consult. Occasionally, I see real, concrete evidence that what I do is making a difference. Sure, I sometimes hear about how my life has affected someone elses. But often, I do what I do because it’s in my heart to—not because I get a lot of feedback.

That’s one of the reasons why I like to do tangible work—like clean my house. Most Saturday mornings, that's my mission. It’s really a joint effort because David almost always vacuums. So, today, my touching had to do with cleaning. I touched a mop and bucket, a dust rag and lemon oil, a laundry basket and clean clothes, a sponge and bathroom cleaner. With my IPod in my ears, listening to Robinella croon, I cleaned my way upstairs and downstairs (not in my nightgown, however) until the whole house sparkled.

That’s what I like about this kind of touching. I can see what I’ve done and feel satisfied. I apply elbow grease and I see the results. It feels good to put my energy into caring for our home. And when it’s all done, I get to relax in my favorite chair, sip tea and feel like all is well—there is peace in my world.

Thank you, God, for good work and the energy to do it!

30 Days of Touching

2010-01-22T20:25:00.000-06:00

Day 15: Hand to Mouth

I spent the day babysitting Eli, my four-month-old grandson. It’s been a couple of weeks since we had him all to ourselves. David and I couldn’t get over how much he had grown and progressed. From routinely rolling over to grasping at things with accurate eye-hand coordination, we marveled over him.

One thing I noticed repeatedly is his instinct to put everything in his mouth. From his own fist, to mine, to toys that we gave him—all became fodder for exploration with the use of his mouth. Babies don’t just touch with their hands. They use their mouths to feel, taste and discover.

I watched him passionately mouth a teething ring hanging from his pumpkin seat. The spoon I used to feed him cereal became an instrument of great interest to his tongue. His fist followed, jawing it like it was his last meal.

When do we become so inhibited that we no longer use our mouths to touch and explore? At what age do we stop this intimate form of discovery? Is it when our mothers tell us not put things in our mouth because of germs? Or is it when we become self-conscious, worried what others might think as we gnaw on something we find intriguing.

Eli’s earnestness to take everything he found and put it in his mouth amused me. He showed me what it looks like to have a zeal for touching and knowing what ever I find. He made me wish I were not so careful and could lose myself in the curiosity of discovering something new.

Questions for spiritual direction:
What did I touch today that I am curious to know more fully?
What inhibits me from exploring the world around me?
How is God inviting me to get to know Him more intimately?
What untapped abilities do I possess that help me investigate my life?

30 Days of Touching

2010-01-21T21:38:00.000-06:00

Day 14: Royal Flush

I was checking out at the drugstore and set my six-pack of Gatorade, a large bottle of Musilex, a box of Dulcolax and an 8 ounce bottle of lemon flavored magnesium sulfate on the counter. I looked up at the clerk who was checking me out. “Bet you can’t guess what I get to do tomorrow?” She glanced at my purchases and smiled a wry smile. “This is the worst part,” she said. “Yeh, I know. I’ve heard.”

The fact that doctors now recommend every 50 year old to have a colonoscopy is incredible to me. Not that it’s a bad idea—it’s a life saver. Just the same, it isn’t on par with having a mammogram or bone density scan. It’s a very big ordeal! I know. I spent from 6 pm to 10 pm flushing out my body with the above regimen of laxatives and from 10 pm to 6 am flushing the toilet. I don’t know how many times my hand touched the handle and pushed down. Too many to count.

Then at 6:30 am, David drove me to the hospital (did I mention that he is scheduled for next Thursday?:) and I had my first ever colonoscopy. The clerk was right. The worst part is the prep. In fact, I really don’t remember the procedure at all. And by 5 pm this evening, I felt good enough to head down town for Happy Hour with the Indianapolis Symphony. I guess I’m not too worse for the wear.

The objective of the preparation is to flush your intestinal track of all its contents so that the doctor can scope it out and look for polyps or any other signs of cancer. On the one hand, it felt good to get all that “stuff” (I’m being polite) out of my system and lose four pounds in the process. (No joke.) Purging or cleansing my bowels felt therapeutic.

As I think of all the flushing that transpired, I am drawn to thoughts of what it means to be forgiven—cleansed from all my sin. What happened today is actually a pretty amazing picture of what that means. And that was a huge ordeal for Jesus. I’m so grateful that he was willing to go through the “regimen” in order to get rid of all my “stuff.” (Again, I’m being polite.) I’m also grateful today that my doctor said I don’t have to go through this again for 10 years! That’s a relief. It’s good to know I am healthy. Even more, it’s good to know that I'm forgiven.

P.S. Did I mention my doctor’s first name? Anil. Yeh, for real.

30 Days of Touching

2010-01-21T05:15:00.000-06:00

Day 13: Cup of Our Life

My friend sat across from me, each of us holding our cups of tea in our hands as we chatted. A few weeks ago, I had loaned her a book called, The Cup of Our Life by Joyce Rupp. I discovered this book awhile back and have read it a couple of times. The author uses a cup as a metaphor of our lives. During each daily reading, she invites you to use the cup in prayer and for journaling exercises.

For instance, one day you might hold the cup and look it over for any cracks or blemishes. Rupp then connects the worn and weathered cup with our own lives and how the cracks and blemishes tell part of our story. When I read the book myself, I used a very old cup that belonged to my grandmother. She drank tea out of it every day. Noticing the tea stains, small chips and fine fissures made me think of my grandmother’s story.

Until my friend talked about it today, I hadn’t thought about The Cup of Our Life and my experiment with 30 Days of Touching. It brought back memories of how the cup really did help me open myself to God and pray more honestly. I also remember how often what I read for the day corresponded to something going on in my own life.

The next time you have a cup of tea or coffee, hold the cup in your hands and let God speak to you about your life. Imagine your heart to be like an open cup and ask God to pour out his love and grace and fill you up. If you are really intrigued, pick up a copy of the book and see what you think.

30 Days of Touching

2010-01-19T21:29:00.000-06:00

Day 12--Textures

I love textures. I am drawn to nubby, natural, variegated textures. The first thing I do when I shop for clothes is feel the fabric and notice the texture. So today, I noticed textures.

I wore pants that had a some wool in them and I found myself running my hand across my thigh to feel the blend of threads.
My sweater, on the other hand, was thin and soft. It had big pockets in which I thrust my hands and felt the smoothness of the material.
I sat in one chair whose fabric was a blend of materials, causing friction when I felt it across my hand.
I sat in another chair that was made of smooth, sleek material, the kind you could slide right out of.
I felt the texture of the food I ate--crusty bread, slippery avocado, crunchy flax seed chips, soggy vegetable soup and soft pumpkin cake.
I felt the texture of skin: David's, my own, a friend's.
I touched the smooth, slick steering wheel in my car, the cushiony fabric seat and the form-fitting gear shift.

In a given day, my hands and yours touch a thousand different textures. What do they tell us of God and our spiritual life? God shows up in the textures of life--the varied textures. He seems both nubby and smooth; rough, at times, and shimmery at others. For as many textures as there are in the world, God has them beat.

30 Days of Touching

2010-01-18T19:57:00.000-06:00

Day 11: Holding Hands

I was sitting at the kitchen table with our daughter, Brooke. She is the youngest of the four Booram kids. Brooke has always been tiny—even from birth. She was born a month early and weighed barely 6 pounds. Her whole life, she has maintained a petite stature. Today, I was noticing her small, thin hands. They are beautiful—diminutive, smooth and feminine. I love to hold them.

I know Brooke’s hands so well that I am confident I could pick them out in a crowd of hands! The same with David’s. His are smallish, sturdy and strong. The tips of his fingers are thick and flat—good for guitar playing and creating art. I love to hold his hands. One of the simplest pleasures in my life is walking, hand in hand, with him.

My dad had wonderful hands, too. Course hair covered the top but the underneath was very smooth. He had capable hands. He used them to build things and to pinch my knees when I sat next to him. I always loved to hold my dad’s hands.

Then there's my grandson, Eli's hands. Chubby and little and sweet. He wraps his hands around my pointer finger--that's how we hold hands.

I love hands. They are remarkable. Each pair has distinguishing features that belong to the individual with whom they are attached. Hands have character. Maybe that's why holding hands feels so intimate.

Questions for spiritual direction:
What do you learn about yourself when you look at your hands?
How do you picture God's hands?
How can you be held in his hands?

30 Days of Touching

2010-01-17T20:56:00.000-06:00

Day 10: A quarter for your thoughts

As I mentioned in my last blog, I was out of town for the past four days at Sustainable Faith in Cincinnati where I began a spiritual direction program. It was an incredibly wonderful experience! I felt as if I was with “my people”—people who love to go deep with one another and see what God is up to in the environs of another's heart. I am trying to sift through the many experiences and decide what to write about—no easy task.

David Nixon, the founder of Sustainable Faith and leader of the cohort told us about an interesting social experiment. Researchers conducted a study where they placed a quarter in a phone booth and waited for a person to come along to make a phone call. The researchers wanted to know if the caller would pick up the quarter. They usually did. When they exited the phone booth, a person would approach them and ask if they had found a quarter in the phone booth. Only about 25 % admitted they did and returned the quarter.

They staged the experiment again. This time, when the “plant” approached the person, he or she walked up and gently and unobtrusively touched the person’s arm. Then the person would ask if this individual had found his or her quarter. 80 % of the people said, “Yes” and returned it.

What does this experiment tell us about the efficacy of human touch? Something happens when humans touch. Energy is exchanged. A subliminal bond is formed. We become personal. We touch the humanity in another and that makes it harder to rip them off.

A quarter for your thoughts.

30 Days of Touching

2010-01-13T15:21:00.000-06:00

Day 9: Shoe Shine

This afternoon, I leave for Cincinnati where I will begin a year-long School of Spiritual Direction cohort at Sustainable Faith. Just a head’s up; I probably won’t blog until I get back on Saturday or Sunday. No matter—make sure you keep on touching the textures of your world with interest in how God speaks through them.

As I was packing, I realized that I wanted to take a pair of comfortable boots with me. The ones I had in mind were a brilliant find—made by Cole Han and on the clearance rack at DSW for $20. They needed polishing, something I don’t often do. So, I hunted down the black show polish and got to work.

I gooped a rag with greasy polish and began to rub and swirl it in. I took a brush and swiped it across again and again. The boots began to shine, the leather re-conditioned and supple. As I was wrangling with the boots, trying to apply the polish and buff it, the smell permeated the air. Instantly, I had a memory of my dad.

Polishing shoes was an event for him. On Saturdays, he would gather the shoes that needed attention, line them up on the table, get out his shoe shine kit and polish away. I think he enjoyed doing it. I can picture him right now, chewing his tongue (something he was infamous for!), and relishing the simple act of restoring shine to his shoes.

This was the first time my touching experiment evoked a memory. I suspect it had to do with the strong smell of shoe polish—one of the strongest factors of memory retention. It was good to remember my dad. I miss him. I miss watching him chew his tongue and many(not all:) of the other idiosyncrasies that made him—him.

What have you touched recently that reminded you of someone you love? Enjoy remembering.

30 Days of Touching

2010-01-12T21:22:00.000-06:00

Day 9: Pickin’ Chicken

This afternoon, I spent a very long time pickin’ chicken off the bone. I made one of my favorite soups—white bean chicken chili. In order to prepare the soup, I had to stew two chickens in a large pot. (I’m making some to freeze.) Well, let me tell you, it’s a lot of work picking the meat off the bones of two chicken carcasses!

With my hands covered in grease, I labored over each of the parts, trying not to waste any of the meat. I shredded the meat with my hands, pulled it away from the bones, and painstakingly separated the “wheat from the chaff.”

As I was handling all this stuff, I kept thinking, “God, how is my touching a way to experience you?” Several Scripture came to mind, like the word of God “piercing the division between joint and marrow” and the parable of separating the wheat from the chaff.

Finally, what began to speak to me is how resourceful God is, never letting anything go to waste. He gets his hands messy doing his work; he patiently separates what is useful from what isn’t; and he perseveres until his work is done. I am encouraged from a lifetime of evidence, that God can use anything as a tool of transformation and take anything and turn it into something good.

How have you seen God take the scraps from your life and turn them into resources that bless?

P.S. Here’s the recipe, just in case you asked:

Beth's White Bean Chicken Chili

Ingredients:

1 whole chicken or 3 chicken breasts
32 ounces of chicken broth
3 cans of great northern beans undrained
1 can of green chilies
1 can of Rotele tomatoes
8 ounces of cream cheese
1 cup of half and half
1 T cumin
Dash of cayenne pepper

Preparation:

Stew the chicken in the broth until fully cook. Take off the bone and shred; add to broth.
Puree 1 can of beans and the cream cheese in the blender until creamy.
Add to broth.
Add the rest of the ingredients and simmer for 30 minutes.

30 Days of Touching

2010-01-11T19:51:00.000-06:00

Day 8: Removing Obstacles

Today, I wore a sweater with sleeves that extend beyond my fingertips. The arms are belled and have a fringed edge. (Groovy, right?) I like the sweater, but it bugged me how often I had to roll the sleeves up and down to get anything done. When I washed my hands, put my arm in my coat, or typed on my computer, I first had to roll up my sleeves to get them out of the way. This necessity made me realize how wonderful it is to have hands and fingers with which to touch. Rolling up and rolling down would be impossible without my dexterous digits!

I also thought about how, before I can make progress in other areas of my life, I often have to remove obstacles in the way. My sleeves, though perhaps clever fashion, just don’t work when it comes to doing normal chores. Too much stuff, too much planned, too much on my mind gets in the way of being fruitful and living life to its fullest. The writer of Hebrews speaks of it this way: "let us strip off every weight that slows us down, especially the sin that so easily trips us up"in order to live purposefully. (Hebrews 12:1)

Here are some questions for spiritual direction:

What is getting in the way of me accomplishing my dreams and desires?
How can I remove this hindrance?
What do I spend too much time fussing with?

30 Days of Touching

2010-01-10T21:28:00.000-06:00

Day 7: Breaking Bread

We just came home from meeting with our house church. (For those who wonder, it’s the name we give to small groups at Trinity Church.) We always share a meal —or “break bread” together. Tonight, our host made an amazing Tomato Basil Soup, I brought salad, and two others brought bread.

For us, breaking bread is a bonding experience. The act of sharing a meal, one that is prepared by all, brings us together. Our hands have touched the food we share: sliced and diced, measured and seasoned, sautéed and stirred. When we eat it, we are nourished by one another.

Several times throughout the meal, someone would slice a piece of bread from one of the large loaves in the center of the table. I watched as the slices were cut and passed and the loaf disappeared. I held my slice, dipped it in oil, and thoroughly enjoyed the soft, dense texture of home baked bread.

Wonderful community happened around these loaves of bread. Tonight was especially sweet. We had guests—a delightful couple and a young, courageous African woman. (She has come to the U.S. to seek political asylum.) I don’t know that we would be as comfortable with each other if we didn’t take time to break bread. I hope you are finding time to do the same with a few people you enjoy.

30 Days of Touching

2010-01-09T18:46:00.000-06:00

Day 6: Life with Bongo—a Touching Story

At 6:35 am, our alarm clock sounded. Not the one in front of our bed, but the four-legged, fur-coated one. I lay in a twilight sleep as the sound of his padding up the stairs woke me. He rounded the bed to David’s side, jumped up, put his paws on the bed and poked his snout at David’s sleeping face. (Can you tell who gets up first each morning?)

After a concerted attempt to dissuade him, David got up and began his ritual of feeding Bongo and making coffee. Once Bongo had his breakfast and outside bathroom break, he bounded back up the stairs and plopped on the end of the bed, across my feet. I tried to dislodge him, but he thought better of it.

I came downstairs and curled up on the sofa, my mind on “screen-savor,” sipping coffee and slowly coming to. Bongo joined me. He curled his body next to mine as I pet him, stroking his soft, luxurious fur and rubbing his ears. We continued like this for a good hour—with me, every so often, running my fingers through his silky-smooth fur and caressing his adorable face.

In my opinion, petting a dog is one of the most delightful, consoling experiences in our lives! I pet Bongo, in part, because he has the most amazingly soft coat. (He is an Australian shepherd—a black tri-colored.) I love the way he feels. In fact, I can’t keep my hands off him; he is so sensational to touch. I also pet Bongo because he likes to be petted. I enjoy watching him enjoy being stroked.

In terms of how touching Bongo enhances or augments my spiritual life—I’m not sure of the connection. All I can say is that I am sure glad God made dogs! It’s one of life’s best pleasures, to have a dog to love and be loved by.

How about you? Have you pet your dog today?

30 Days of Touching

2010-01-08T18:25:00.000-06:00

Day 5—Joining Hands

This morning, I visited with my oldest brother in the hospital, right before he had his gall bladder removed. Even though the surgery is a common procedure, it’s still nerve-wracking to go through something like this. I could see apprehension and fear on Bruce’s face. My instinctive response was to ask if I could pray.

Two of his friends were there. So, I leaned over and held Bruce’s hand and one of his friend’s hand, who held the other friend’s hand. Instantly, a circle of prayer was formed—made through the joining of hands.

The impulse to join hands speaks of our desire to be united, especially when facing something that makes us feel small and feeble. The impulse to join hands says, “We are in this together—nobody has to face their troubles alone.” The impulse to join hands reaffirms that though we feel weak alone, we feel stronger when we’re together.

I will remember that moment of joining hands—of touching—as a moment of grace and a very good thing to do.

With whom do you need to join hands?