Happy Spring!

Spring does come ... regardless.

Thanks for the pic Cody!

All Shall Be Well

Whatever the circumstances of her life,

including the Black Plague

-- not just once -- but twice --

Julian of Norwich received

this "Showing" from God:

All Shall Be Well

All Manner of Things Shall Be Well

And All Shall Be Well.

What circumstances cloud your days?

How might you imprint this promise over

that situation?

After the night ...

As long as the night seems,

the morn will still dawn.

What brings you hope today? 

Battling Depression -- via a Young Don Quixote

As a child I was always intrigued by a section of gnarled tree trunk
that was carved into the head of Don Quixote.
 It never occurred to me to wonder who Don Quixote was; 

after all, he was just some guy dad liked.

Dad also had a small wooden piece, only a few inches tall, a 

skinny old guy with knobby knees, pointed helmet, and tall spear-thing. 

My brother now has these in a niche in his den.  
A good friend has a silkscreen print of Don Quixote on a horse, 
again a scrawny guy wearing a pointed helmet 

and holding a  lance, all drawn with a striking grungy outline.

I finally wondered, who is this Don Quixote?

Well, he’s a guy who seems to be simply silly or crazy-as-anything.

Maybe that’s because he goes through his days with boundless hope.  

Or maybe it’s because he thinks every 

windmill is a giant enemy that needs to be slain. 

(At this point it occurred to me that the pic of dad at nine, 

grinning big-enough-to-beat-all as he sat on a horse, 

would be perfect to alter: Young Don Quixote!)

Seems to me that jousting with windmill blades is either crazy or delightful.  

I think it’s a delightful metaphor 
for battling depression -- that visible/invisible 

giant-of-an-enemy found in homes far and wide.

What a way to bring a smile to your eyes and a lift of the chin:  to face

the day with an imaginary lance (how about this candy-cane striped one 

I found on flickr?) ready to battle any giant you might encounter.

Enjoy!  Click comments below to share your fav Don Quixote story, 

your battle with those visible/invisible-giants-of-depression-or-you-name-it, 

or anything else on your mind.  (Yes, you can

also still email me -- people love to read comments though

as we grow, think, and learn together.)

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.

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.

Gazing as Prayer without Words

Just look at the serene blues and greens in this watercolor --

and the tranquil reflections in the water are amazing!

It's the lake I wrote about a couple of posts back.

I'm so grateful to Mike Thomas for permission to use

Boathouse at Smith Lake, Washington Park, Denver.

It really gives a wonderful impression of the the park.

I love how our thoughts and feelings can be subtly

affected by contemplating a setting like this. Last Friday

as I gazed at the currents flowing across the lake,

I slowly rested into hope; that was my prayer.

Words were unnecessary.

When talking isn't helpful and words only get in the way,

gazing at an image can help shift our thoughts -- and in turn

shift our physical and emotional reactions.

For example, have you ever found that talking about a problem

doesn't bring relief, but instead causes a tense visceral reaction?

Things like an anxious tightness in the back, churning knots

in the stomach, or tense clinching around the shoulders.

What I tend to notice first is how my voice rises a level or

two ... or three ... and how my pattern of speech often begins

to gallop into breakneck speed.

By gazing at a calm scene or a soothing watercolor like this,

our mindful attentiveness can become prayer.

When our lives are disrupted and our souls disturbed,

when words are insufficient even in prayer, we can

allow our gaze to settle into prayer without words.

Tranquil Waters, Gentle Waves

Every Friday morning I meet a group of friends

at one of the parks in the Denver area.

Today we gathered near the Vintage Boathouse at Wash Park.

We spread my Great-Great-Aunt-Sissy's quilt with its faded pink flowers

beneath huge lakeside shade trees and lounged with

our coffee, tea, and morning snacks.

The peaceful water seemed to soothe everything around us.

Even the white geese with trailing toddlers

were more tranquil than usual.

I gazed out over the gently drifting current

and thought of friends whose days and realistic expectations

are anything but calm, serene, or tranquil.

Hundreds of applications and dozens of interviews,

sleepless nights and stressful days,

anxious weeks extending into months.

How long? How long, O Lord? echoes the 13th Psalm.

How long must sorrow remain? How long?

There are no words sufficient for my hopes.

But there are gentle waves drifting by.