PAY ATTENTION, BARB!!!

When I got on the scales this morning I weighed one hundred and twenty eight pounds. One twenty is a good weight for me. One twenty five is a wee bit over the top. One twenty eight is beyond reason. I haven't been paying attention. I have been wallowing in circumstances that make me believe that God is present with me. Shocking. Humbling. More than a little scary.

Well, duh, God is ALWAYS present with each of us ALL the time. But I have been feeling a physical indication that God is with me -- now. I just don't know what to make of that. I am numb with unbelief and yet I believe. I don't want to put it into words because it might go away -- and how egotistic is that? OR it might be more. And so I ponder. I contemplate. I pace. I try to understand. And most of all I pray.

Perhaps this Presence of God that I am experiencing is an admonition to prayer. Worked, that's for sure. I find myself in prayer more and more times during the day. Sometimes conversation with God. Sometimes mental pictures. Many times just sensation. More often than not just 'being.'

But being with God cannot exclude being in the world -- at least not for now. And so I must learn to manage both/all. Gaining weight is both unhealthy and economically unwise as I have a simple wardrobe that fits one twenty to one twenty five. What was that lesson of being "in" the world and being "of" the world. Don't remember. But I do know for now that I need to acknowledge this Presence of God in the world in which I exist and must function on a daily basis.

Close my lips. Accept less food. Be prudent. But above all, give thanks for the presence of God.

HOLDING PATTERN

I am in a spiritual holding pattern, drifting somewhat easily, trying to discern what it is that God is trying to tell me -- or not. There are a lot of key words in that sentence. Maybe they are all key. The good news is that it is mostly a comfortable place to be. But I don't want to get too comfortable.

And there is a niggling to be more actively exploring. Exploring what? Good question. I asked for and was given a few books to peruse and have chose one -- Joyce Rupp's "Dear Heart, Come Home - A Path of Midlife Spirituality." The 'midlife' part held me back at the beginning. I mean, here I am at seventy, well beyond midlife. BUT, if you subtract the thirty years that I opted out of anything religious, theological, or spiritual I am about right, I guess. And then, of course, I have those thirty years of observing life that must account for something.

At the beginning of the preface of this book there is a poem by Joyce Rupp. I read it several times before I chose the book. I have read it a kazillion times since; copied it out and keep it here on my desk. It is a jumping off place. Not a starting place because as I said in a previous post, the beginning was probably ever so long ago. It is a continued search.

At the end of each chapter there are what Rupp refers to as 'simmering times.' Suggestions on how one might contemplate the material in that chapter. Some are ideas to journal, or paint or sketch, some are just for thinking or discussing with a friend or a chosen group. The one that popped out at me is "Search within to see if you have any fears of going inward." OUCH! You mean look at myself -- the deep down self?

My very first thought was, Well, yeah, I have fears. What if I look inward and don't like what I see? Now THAT is scary. OR, worse yet, what if I look inward and nothing is there. Well, I am hoping these are my worst thoughts. I am going to continue to contemplate this search within and how I feel about it.

BREAK THROUGH

God has broken through my spiritual drought. The Presence of God is at hand and I am at once startled and comforted, unsettled and pacified. God is. That much is certain. But what does it mean and what is expected and how do I proceed? Big questions.

An IPod comes with a detailed instruction manual. So does a lawn mower, and so does a jig saw. There are no instructions that come with this Presence. Jeffri says I need a burning bush. I would be happy to awaken one morning to words scrawled across the wall that say ' now do this......,' but neither is going to happen. I am going to have to figure it out somehow -- or not. I can only liken it to a marriage. Each day is a new day and we figure it out as it comes -- or not. The 'or not' option is troubling. I do not want there to be an or not. I want there to be fruition, progression, growth, continuing enlightenment, and above all, goodness. Please, God, let there be goodness.

Prayer comes to me easily now. And often. Not formal prayer. Mostly not even words. Feelings, a knowledge that God is with me and I am with God. Images too. Images of those for whom I pray. And energy. Energy to and fro and all over the place, connecting my prayer and God and my prayer people. The most astounding experience. Hard to put into words. Reluctant to put it out here. But for those who know and see and believe, those of you who experience God, you will know. You will believe.

I am now into the middle of a journey. The beginning began so long ago that I don't remember it. If it was even 'my' beginning. Beginnings are a myth, I think. Except for the WORD. I believe this was the true beginning. All other beginnings after that were probably 'middles.' There are probably no forks in the road just as there are no going backs in life. The choice is how we move forward.

That is the current dilemma -- how to move forward, how to work with this Presence in my life. A dear friend tells me that this is too new to be thinking about any whys or hows. So I think I will just be with it for now. Experience it. Rest in it as I did the drought. Experience it but don't get too comfortable. The way may be easy but, frankly, the yoke is NOT light. The yoke is the yoke of responsibility and that is not easy.

And so this is more journey. I really have come to dislike this term that is bandied about in the jargon of the church. But it IS a journey. And I have this feeling that it is not going to be an easy one. It will be fraught with emotional and spiritual challenges. There will doubts. There will be denials. There will be confrontations with the past and the self. I am at once daunted and excited for that which is to come.

SPIRITUAL DROUGHT

It happens sometimes. The spirit just seems to not be there. For a great long period this time. I haven't written pages forever. No prayer before sleep. No thankful awakening prayer. No formal prayer at all. Not even Celtic prayers. No relevant spiritual reading. Not much of anything.

And I haven't fought to get it either. In the past I would delve into something I felt should be in place. Prayer beads. Palm cross. Daily Office. Morning pages. All those practices that I thought were supposed to make me a spiritual person. All plastic. Once in awhile I would fall into good prayer but it was not a lasting thing. Did the candle lighting thing. Made a quiet 'sacred' space. Nothing was lasting.

Today I was able to name it -- Spiritual Drought. And face it too. Here it is. Here I am. I seem to have been here for longer than I have been aware. It is not a very comfortable place to be. But here I am. And I have decided to not fight it this time. Just be in it. Allow myself to feel it and to lean back into the tension that is here.

Eventually there will be a spark that will ignite my inner core. I will nurture it. I will make it mine

CULMINATION SUNDAY

Just as Friday signals the week's end, I look upon Sunday as the culmination of the week. It is the beginning and the end. It is the pivotal time of being. Saturday is the time for replenishing my physical resources. Saturday is the ketchup (for you non-Bancroft people that is catch up) day of the week. Laundry, sleep in, mail, read, relax, run errands, anything, everything.

But Sunday. Sunday is the most special day of all. Sunday means church. Sunday means being with God in a corporate way as opposed to the solitudinous way of the week. Solitudinous -- it's a word, an adjective, I just looked it up in the dictionary and it means what I want it to mean. Sunday is the high point of my week. It carries me forth to the middle and carries me forward from the middle.

Church is the liturgy. Church is the people. Church is my corporate connection with God. Church is where Jesus welcomes me to table to share the blessed meal. Church is music -- today it was "I Walk In The Garden Alone." My mother was a Methodist. Her father was a Methodist minister, of sorts. She sang the old hymns. The Presbyterian Church where I sometimes did Sunday School also did these old hymns. The 'garden' is one of my favorite places to be with God and it was a special moment for me in today's service.

Sunday morning church is a 'high' for me. A beautiful, natural, God-given high that sends me forth into the Kingdom to do God's work. Do I always do it? Not always. Do I want to? Yes. Do I try to? Yes. Am I successful? Sometimes? Does it matter? Not at all. What matters is the caring and the effort.

WEEK END

It is Friday. The end of the week. I am weary. No energy. No spark of interest. Just a lackluster being sitting at the computer reading other people's blogs. I have always been drawn to human interest stories and there are certainly a myriad of them being blogged.

You will note on the side bar 'Blogs I Follow' that there is a variety in the blog topics. I usually check in on them daily and sometimes, moved by the Spirit, I will leave a comment. People offer so much of themselves. I am astounded at how open people can be with their thoughts and feelings. Some of the bloggers write anonymously, others quite publicly. I congratulate those who are able to write openly and share their lives with us. I applaud and delight in their accomplishments and am encouraged to get on with my own creativity.

And I cherish the writings of the anonymous writers who are struggling with personal life issues. These struggles reach my heart and enter into my prayers

As for me, I will blather on in my mundane way until one day I will stumble upon a natural thread that will lead me into some serious blogging.

SPRING BREAKS

It rained today in Connecticut. All day. A gentle rain that clung to the trees in heavy droplets. Tiny buds just barely bursting forth. The promise of leaf. The grass is greening. It is daylight at 6:30 when we get up in the morning. We have supper in this light of day. Our spirits lift. Spring!

And in the front yard the maple towers above with its own swelling red buds against the bleak gray sky. Soon they will burst forth, spilling onto the ground, staining porch and steps with their redness. Spring!

Indoors, however, things are really bleak. The Brugmansia that I brought in when the fall weather came on are not doing well. In fact they are doing badly. I won't even take pictures of straggly, leafless stems. They are constantly bug laden even though I frequently spray them with soap insecticide. Spring can't come soon enough for these guys. I just hope they survive.

The good news is that the brugmansia cuttings that I took in the fall are doing fairly well. At least they are green and growing. Of the fifteen, six have survived. Of the four cuttings that I brought back from Indiana, one has survived. I hope it makes it because I want to see that wonderful peach blossom and smell the intoxicating aroma. Spring is hope.