Beautiful Yearning

Last night I ran across

this poignant vintage image;

I spent a thoughtful morning with her

today -- while also learning

how to add the transparent image

and beautiful score of music.

It seems as if every fiber of this woman's

heart, soul, mind, and strength

stretches up in hopeful yearning.

Can you see the lift of every muscle

in her neck, every rib in her torso,

every breath that she takes?

Can you see the hope in her upturned

face, in the soft corner of her eye,

in her gently closed lips?

Hope radiates from her soul,

sings from her heart,

lifts her entire being.

She reminds me of Bernini's exquisite

carving St. Theresa of Avila in

Santa Maria della Vittoria in Rome.

I'll share that with you one day soon.

But for today, what is it that you yearn for?

What would make your heart sing?

Go ahead and reach for it.

Reach for it like she does, with every fiber of

your heart, soul, mind, and strength.

What Helped?

People often ask me,

What helped you get well?

For the breast cancer it was radiation.

But they usually know that.

It's the depression most people ask about.

It's not an easy question to answer.

I worked so hard to get well -- but it took more than two years.

There were the usuals:

A good counselor, meds, vitamins, healthy food,

plenty of sleep, yoga, meditation, spiritual reflection,

caring family, humor, good books, chic-flicks ...

And time. Lots of time. Much more time than I wanted it to take.

But I'm convinced that the most important thing

for my healing has been friends.

For years my focus had been on our family and the people

in congregations I served as a United Methodist pastor.

I loved everything that I was doing, even thrived on it.

But there was little time left for personal friendships.

And over time this took its toll.

But when I went on medical leave all I had was time.

Time and more time. Time to rest, time to sleep,

time to practice yoga, time to walk, time to bike,

time to meditate, time to journal, time to play the piano,

time to read, time to watch movies, time to do crosswords,

time to visit family ... and time to seek new friendships.

I'm convinced that it's the friendships that turned things around.

Centuries ago Dorotheus of Gaza taught that

our spiritual lives are much like the spokes of a wheel.

The closer we move toward the holy, the center of our being,

the closer we move to one another.

Likewise, the closer we move toward one another,

the closer we move to the holy.

Then there's the corollary.

When we intentionally move away from one another,

and also When we fail to move closer to one another,

we find ourselves moving away from the center, the holy.

Without taking time for myself and deep personal friendships

it was like I was skipping around and around the spokes.

Eventually I found myself spiritually drying up

in a very different way from the natural ebb and flow

of desert times and bountiful times.

It's truly not enough to focus just on our spiritual lives.

The pairing with meaningful relationships provides a rhythm,

a continuity, a balance to our journeys.

Thanks everyone.

You're parading through my mind as I write.

Wow! It's true, I just realized!

Enough friends, enough meaningful friendships,

for an entire parade!

Singing the Blues with Buddy Guy

We planned our day in Chicago:

an afternoon wandering through the Art Institute

and then an evening listening to the blues

at Buddy Guy’s Legends.

What is it about the blues that I love so much?

I think the movie Adventures in Babysitting got it right.

The children and their sitter find themselves

racing through Chicago on a Friday night rescue mission;

they escape one predicament just to find themselves in another.

But things change when they find themselves in a blues club.

They can’t leave until they sing the blues:

Nobody leaves this place without singing the blues.

They’re slowed down because you can’t escape or run away;

you can only go through what life puts before you.

So Elisabeth Shue (the babysitter) takes the microphone

and tells their woeful story.

It’s amazing what happens when we tell our story.

Things aren’t quite as bad as we thought.

Oh, they may be bad alright,

but naming them takes away ruthless their power.

A little perspective helps too.

This is what I love: when you sing the blues you go through them.

And it’s really the only way.

Oh, I’ve tried other ways. Haven’t you?

The old Spiritual explains it though:

You can’t go around them ‘cause they’re too wide;

you can’t go over them ‘cause they’re too high;

and you can’t go under them ‘cause they’re too low.

So there we were in Chicago

celebrating the blues -- on Buddy Guy’s 73rd birthday.

We showed up early for front row seats,

played pool, and shared our table with new friends.

We sang and listened, laughed and talked.

We shared stories of cancer, unemployment, and new jobs.

We worked our way through the blues

and came out on the other side.

Even news of a positive breast cancer biopsy

could be experienced in a different light.

Our new friend hugged me good-bye

and added through tears, It’s going to be alright.

I pulled back, looked into her eyes,

and saw the strength reflected there.

Yes, I agreed.

It would somehow be alright for them.

For mother and daughter would go through it together.

That’s what the blues brings. Hope.