100 Lighter Days

Left of Snow

 
Photo courtesy of Mister Wind-up Bird and Flickr's Creative Commons

Left of Snow

 

by Peter Andringa

 

What is left of snow?

You asked it knowing--

Nothing.

 

Why was there snow?

You asked it knowing--

I couldn't stop it, snowing.

****** 

Musings on “Left of Snow”

by Deborah Jansen

We think we know all about snow. After all, we shovel it, drive through it, and listen to school cancellations when we get too much of it.

Scientifically and rationally, we remind ourselves that snow starts as moisture droplets that cling and freeze together randomly. Melting and refreezing takes place, which produces intricate, crystalline shapes that finally reach the ground as snow.

But if we stop rehearsing all that we think we know rationally, we finally have room for mystery.

When I read my Uncle Peter’s “Left of Snow,” it hushes me and leaves me open to the sacred. It’s an invitation to be present in simple, daily beauty that’s laced with grace. What is it that keeps us gazing at a sparkling prairie under a winter moon? What is it about mystery that keeps us coming back for more?

Writing Prompts. . .

1.    When was an important first time you remember gazing with childlike wonder at the snow? Did it involve looking out the window, running in it, sledding, building a snowman, making snow angels? Tell me that story. Ten minutes. Go.

2.    When was an important first time you remember snow stopping you from doing something you had planned? Did it involve school closing, getting stuck in the snow, a sledding accident, being homebound for days at a time? Tell me that story. Ten minutes. Go.

 

 

Need Inspiration and Light?

 
Want to walk lightly and boost your creativity? Daydream of spring’s buttery tulips while you write, paint, or work? I can vouch for “about yellow” by Tammy Haze and Cheryl Murphy of Watercolor Harps.  Click here to sample one of the tracks entitled, “Your Smile.” The harpists say they composed the music to frame a simple question, “What will you do with your smile?”

During the CD release party on a sultry afternoon, I met nine-year-old Karina, who painted the CD’s cover art (above).  She could mentor the world—she knows how to wrap up her smile and give it as a gift!

When she painted "about yellow," she inserted the essence of joy with extravagant yellow brush strokes and hid a secret or two. “Can you find the hidden treasures in the sun?” she tests me with a clever grin.

A riddle. How about you, what do you see?

A Time to Be Silent

 

“Word”

by Madeleine L'Engle

I, who live by words, am wordless when
I try my words in prayer. All language turns
To silence. Prayer will take my words and then
Reveal their emptiness. The stilled voice learns
To hold its peace, to listen with the heart
To silence that is joy, is adoration.
The self is shattered, all words torn apart
In this strange patterned time of contemplation
That, in time, breaks time, breaks words, breaks me,
And then, in silence, leaves me healed and mended.
I leave, returned to language, for I see
Through words, even when all words are ended.

I, who live by words, am wordless when
I turn me to the Word to pray. Amen.

from The Weather of the Heart, poems by Madeleine L'Engle; Harold Shaw Publishers, 1988

Be Tender and Wise

  
Our hearts go out to people in Haiti this morning. We’re grateful a mission team from our community arrived there safely. They reached their destination in Fedja just hours before the earthquake on Tuesday.

While the earth shook, a news stream revealed a woman who wailed, “Oh my God, the world’s coming to an end!” Streets jammed with panicked people. The injured moaned from beneath the rubble. The sky filled with dust.

A Facebook comment asks, “Will this catastrophe help us pay attention to a suffering nation so close to us?”

I pray it will be so.

While our hearts are open and eager to give, let's also be wise. Unfortunately, there are people who have no trouble scamming in a time like this. Do a little homework, so those in need can truly benefit.

I’m sure there are other credible lists, but CNN offers a good one. Click here.

 

A Little Bit of Air

“Just so you know, Grandma, get ready for your butt to hurt,” my granddaughter cautioned me. I nodded, grabbed my sled, plopped down on it, and pushed off toward the snow jump.

She was right. Foolish Grandma, jumps are for kids. Well, at least if you’re this grandma.

When I landed, my butt wasn’t the only thing that hurt—so did every vertebrae, the base of my neck, my tongue, and my teeth. I stood up, brushed off the snow, scooped up the plastic saucer, and yelled, “You’re right! I’ll stick to the bunny slope now.”

She flashed an I-told-you-so smile and giggled.

Play! That’s what I love about being a grandma. Stuart Brown, the play guru, says you travel to a parallel universe of free-floating time and creativity when you play. You get to do stupid things, laugh about them, and hopefully learn something. You get to taste the joy of getting a little bit of air—even if your butt still hurts the next morning. <sigh. . .>

Can You See Hope?

 

My friend Amos just came back from an internship in a Ugandan orphanage. When I listen to his stories, at first I think of a hopeless place where children have been permanently scarred by AIDS. Their mothers have died or realized they couldn’t care for a child who needed medical attention. The orphanage’s goal is to bring children back to stable health, so they can possibly return to family members where they’ll be loved even though they can’t be cured.

One child’s story, particularly, touched my heart as I listened to Amos. In his arms, he held a baby named Yuben, whose lungs had filled with fluid. His breathing was labored and shallow much like the rasping of an old man near death. Oxygen tubes delivered air he needed to stay alive, but recovery didn’t seem all that possible. In that hour, Amos cradled and rocked him. Tears streamed down his face. He was firmly seated in a place of deep suffering. Optimism was no match for this scene. What they both needed was hope.

In that frozen moment, Amos instinctively held out his finger for Yuben to grasp. A prayer floated from his lips, “God, hold out just a finger of your love for him to hold.” His other hand rested on the little boy’s chest. “Let him breathe.”

Weeks later, it was obvious that Yuben’s infant mind and spirit had turned a corner. He was gaining weight and breathing on his own.

Amos still fights back tears today when he tells this story. He sees that place of deep suffering. But, he also sees a light-infused time when he and Yuben reached beyond reason into hope.

A Not-So-Big State of Mind

 

Enchanted Rock near Fredericksburg, Texas is a huge, pink granite dome that rises 425 feet above ground and covers 640 acres. Photo courtesy of Flick'r Creative Commons and boydbrooks999

“I always told myself that if I weren't interesting, at least I'd lie,” Jerry said as he leaned back in his chair at the dinner table. “Don't you want to tell your car accident story again—this time with more drama?” He arched his eyebrows and sipped his glass of Chardonnay.

“No thanks. Not right now.” I smiled, but flat irony seeped into my voice. We were seated in a restaurant deep in the heart of Texas, and I wasn't in the mood to relive my rollover into the ditch.

Jerry's request for more excitement contrasted with Sarah Susanka's wisdom in the Not So Big Life, which I listened to as I drove to Texas. Susanka claims adrenaline has become our drug of choice. I know that's been true for me. There was a time when I might have milked my accident's play-by-play for all it was worth—or at least tried to.

But tall tales and the BIG LIFE come at a cost I'm becoming less willing to pay. If I don't start rebuilding my life without adrenaline as core operating system, my body will probably get locked in some sort of chronic condition.

During my one-week vacation in Texas, I eased past my basic physical therapy exercises. I hiked to the top of Enchanted Rock on a sunny, 80-degree day. I took as much time as I pleased to bike the long hill to a lookout the locals call “Bat Cave.” Before dinner each night, I sipped a glass of Cabernet and settled into laid-back conversation with friends.

When I returned home, my chiropractor noticed my miraculous, post-accident progress. “It must be the vitamin D,” he quipped. “You were probably deficient.”

“You're probably right,” I replied. I cracked a half-smile when I thought about my Not-So-Big state of mind and the Lone Star slogan, “Everything's bigger in Texas.” Wink, wink.

Morning baptism

photo courtesy of Flickr's Creative Commons

--post by Jennifer Irsfeld James

News reports invade my dreams at too early an hour. A nudge from the other side of the bed encourages me to swat the snooze button. Nine minutes later a loving shove shoos the night owl from her roost.

Brain and body whine for more sleep as I strip down and suit up. I’m headed for holy water: a pool in a school basement where regular immersions stretch and strengthen both muscle and mind. The coached workouts leave me refreshed more so than an extra hour of sleep, but the delayed satisfaction requires discipline.

On the pool deck, I tug on cap and goggles. After a quick glance at the warm-up, I spring forth in a shallow dive and meet the chill with an involuntary underwater yelp. Eventually speed evades the cold: I skim the surface as soaring gull and powerful porpoise until lactic acid builds in my muscles and begins its slow burn.

I take the workout sets one at a time, to stay focused and in the moment. “Participate, don’t anticipate,” sings out one morning-glory fellow swimmer. How wise: Unburdened by future concerns, I swim faster and freer as I push my threshold in speed drills and distance swims.

The intense concentration empties my mind of extraneous thoughts. I surrender myself to the water, which submerges me in active silence.

Calm, centered, and breathing hard, I churn the water with high elbows. Kick strong. Flip at the walls. Grab life-affirming air. Exhale all else.

This is how I meditate as I swim. Regular practice helps me in and out of the pool to let go of multitasking, ruminating, and rehashing. When I can quiet my chattering thoughts, I open myself to clarity, inspiration, and spiritual insight.

After my final lap, I climb out, steadying myself on solid ground. I’m weary, yet buzzing with gratitude. Thanks be to God.

Embrace all of it

A little more than six weeks ago, I was involved in a car accident that nearly took my life. That experience left me navigating a very troubling paradox. I was grateful to be alive, but I was also ungrateful to be alive (mind-body recovery, replacing the wrecked car, etc.). I became irritated whenever someone tried to counterbalance one of my emotions by using the well-meaning phrase, “Oh, but remember. . . .”

Then I focused on "Turn, turn, turn," a classic duet by Judy Collins and Pete Seeger. Thank God, this song's wisdom as found in Ecclesiastes of the Bible allows me to embrace my paradox known as SURVIVAL. And, if I'm honest, this dialectical existence we call LIFE ON EARTH. “For everything, there is a season. . . “

What seasons are you navigating? Tell me that story. . . leave a comment, and I'll respond.

Watch Your Time

 

Click Emergent Task Timerto download the PDF.

David Seah is generous as well as brilliant. His Printable CEO Series works whether you consider yourself a home executive. . . .a corporate executive. . . or something between those two. I'm fighting with time right now. I know it can become my friend, but I'm not ready to shake hands yet.

The Emergent Task Timer has been a great place to start. I'm a person who often gets lost in a project—while the balance of my life inches toward chaos one day at a time. I'm using the printable sheet to take my “temperature” and realistically figure out where my time is going each day.

This morning, I woke up eager to get going on this week's writing project, which happens to have a Wednesday noon deadline. As I emerged from morning meditation at 8 a.m., I received phone calls a few minutes apart from two different people. Each wanted to download swirling thoughts and sort them out. I took out time to do that because both relationships are important to me, but my Wednesday writing deadline didn't move. Now, I'm starting my project at 9 a.m. rather than the intended 8 a.m., so I'll have to choose to give up something else later today.

Hmmm. . . wonder what that will be?