or knot

There's a big knot in my right shoulder. Left over scar tissue from a slide down the stairs one day in my slippers (quite appropriately named). But I can't blame it all on the yanked shoulder. I think it's probably just as due to years of semi-cringing. That slight raise of the shoulders, accompanied by nervous tension. As the knot refused to release, I had to contemplate what I was holding onto so tightly - fiercely, really. Ironically, or maybe not, what kept coming into my head was fear. I was/am fiercely clinging to fear. I'm much more a fan of paradox when it doesn't involve my body, or pain.


Gentle me, Holy One, into an unclenched moment... These are Ted Loder's words, not mine. Part of a prayer that I've turned into a mantra over the years. What would it be like, though, to live unclenched? I can't quite fathom it. I think that this is something to ponder, as I wait and watch and prepare for Christmas.

December 1

Hello and Happy December! In this season of dark days and twinkling lights, of celebration and loneliness, of hope and all else, I'm struck by how much of the season's focus is "out there" rather than inward. Waiting and watching happen inside as we look out to events that shape us, but what about taking a moment (or more) to notice the reverse? How what's happening within is shaping life around us? How this time between holidays, between dark and light, could also be an opportunity to check in, re-group, and re-imagine? What if we took a deep breath or two before doing the next thing? Mary pondered, after all. It says so in our Advent story. Maybe we, too, could do the same. I'm willing to give it a go... Are you?

It was 20 years ago today...

Twenty years ago this morning, I was married. It was a Saturday, the Apple Cup game day, in the University District. I have vivid snapshots in my head. The George Winston Pachelbel Canon. Waiting and watching my sister carry the twins down the makeshift aisle along the windows in the church lounge. My dad escorting me toward Graham - and Gail. All the parents filling the front row, together for this day only. Holding hands and saying vows. Oblivious to the squawking of my young sisters just a few feet from us. And afterward. The hugs and well wishes, and so many pictures (or were they taken beforehand?). Just the "real" parents. Just the "current" marital arrangements. Everybody on one side, then everyone on the other. Friends, the wedding party, and some just with us.

The sweet reception at the in-law's home in Magnolia. With food I helped prepare the day before. The cake, though, was not mocha - could I really have been that bride who called the bakery on the day of my wedding to complain? Yes. All the people from the different parts of my life - camp, high school, college - I guess I didn't have that many parts back then. Grandparents, so proud. And my other sister with baby Whitney, just two weeks old. Amazingly beautiful - was she aware of the looks, the whispers? Most likely she was.

It was a great day. That says it, and also doesn't say it at all. It was lovely. Just what I wanted - especially if I ignored everything else that was sitting behind the smiles that day. It was simple, fun, "me". There wasn't much "us". I didn't know at the time how true that was, and how devastating that would become. It is so good that we don't know what will become of us.

Twenty years since. And it's a beautiful morning.

leaves and life

I can see the trees reflected through the glass and windows. Bare branches, clinging vibrant, dying leaves. At home, the maple is bare this morning. Last night's wind shaking free the glowing yellow leaves that only yesterday were gently waving as I passed by on my way to the door.

Why did it bother me to see the tree so barren? The branches were now exposed - red, maroon, lovely.

Was it the suddenness of the change? Overnight - literally. It takes some adjustment on my part. Some catching up to where nature has already gone.

I want to slow it all down. This changing of the seasons and this big changing of my seasons. He's a senior in high school, already. I woke up and the trappings of childhood had fallen away. Here he is. Taller, leaner, exposed. And even though I've surely felt the winds of this change blowing ferociously, I'm still startled by what cannot be denied in the morning's cloudy light.

He's letting go. And now I have some catching up to do.