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Sacred Conversation with Your Heart – #3

Apr 26, 2017 | My sort-of Sermons, Spirituality, Women's Wisdom, Writing

PART THREE – HEARING DEEPER TRUTHS 

My heart does not steer me wrong. It may speak to me of things I’m not yet ready to hear, acknowledge, or accept; but its wisdom remains solid, faithful, and true. (Much like the heartbeat itself…) 

It took me a long time to hear this voice within, to acknowledge it as my heart, to trust it—and even longer to follow it. I knew that if/when I did, change would come: relationships would shift, plans would alter, pre-determined paths would be abandoned.

This may not be your heart’s deeper truth, it’s unique conversation with you; but it was mine. When I learned and was willing to listen to it, my heart told me of my deeper truths; realities I ached for – and the ones for which I’d been too afraid to hope.

Deeper truths are unsettling and stunningly beautiful. They are the stuff of legend, of passion, of dreams fullled, of courage, of faith. But they rarely come without cost, without bloodshed, without tears. Ours. Others’. 

We already know this intuitively and, of course, it causes us to shrink back. 

Our gracious heart knows-knows-knows this, as well – that we are hesitant, fearful, and resistant to hear-and-trust-and-follow what we know lies within. And still, that same gracious heart keeps beating. It calls to us in rhythmic, endless ways. A beckoning, a nudge, a gentle reminder, an emotion that catches us off guard, a piece of music, a memory—all vulnerable (and deep-truth) expressions of the heart’s longing to be heard. 

If you will but trust it, your heart will oer up deep, deep truth that can’t not be heard and honored; that can change everything.  

Deeper truths are there, waiting. Oh, the courage it takes to believe them… 

REFLECT: 

But you can’t get to any of these truths by sitting in a field smiling beautifically, avoiding your anger and damage and grief. Your anger and damage and grief are the way to the truth. We don’t have much truth to express unless we have gone into those rooms and closets and woods and abysses that we were told not to go in to. When we have gone in and looked around for a long while, just breathing and finally taking it in – then we will be able to speak in our own voice and to stay in the present moment. And that moment is home. ~ Anne Lamott 

  • “Deeper truths are unsettling and stunningly beautiful.” Can you name the “rooms, closets, woods, and abysses” to which your heart invites you; the deeper, darker places that call to you? And will you stay? When you do, even for moments, can you recognize and acknowledge even the smallest part of you that feels like you’ve finally come home? 
  • As you listen to what emerges in this deepest-truth conversation with your heart, this know-that-you-know-that-you-know voice within, can you feel and name the emotions that lie just under the surface and the ones that emerge? They all deserve and desire to be heard – as do you.
  • If you truly believed that your heart would not steer you wrong, what would you do? What would you say? And what might that cost? (You already know, don’t you? That is your deeper truth. Beat-beat. Beat-beat. Beat-beat.) 

*****

If you missed the first two posts you can find them here and here.

Sacred Conversation with Your Heart – #2

Apr 25, 2017 | My sort-of Sermons, Spirituality, Women's Wisdom, Writing

Today features Part 2 in a 6-part series that’s all about Sacred Conversation – not with me, but with your heart. You can read Part 1 here. Each post offers a new aspect of the topic, the practice, and its signicance. and concludes with reflection questions and prompts to invite you into the most important (and ongoing) conversation you’ll ever have. Truly. 

*****

PART TWO – TENTATIVE LISTENING 

When I first began to consider it, the idea of listening to my heart scared me to death. Because deep inside, I already knew what I would hear. If I listened for long, I’d actually have to do something about the things my heart was trying to tell me. It was far easier to stop listening—or do so only half heartedly. 

Most of us have been discouraged from listening to our hearts. We’ve been told they can’t be trusted; that objective, reason-based mental processes are far more reliable. Understandably then, when our heart invites us, again and again, to an inner, subjective, emotion-based conversation, we convince ourselves that our head knows better. 

But your heart waits patiently because it knows that it knows better. And so, tentative listening is a very good place to start.

When you begin, you can expect to be confronted by thoughts and emotions that feel contrary to your existing circumstances, relationships, or responsibilities; things you may expend a lot of effort to not think about or feel. Not surprisingly, you are then far less-than inclined to quickly embrace and inculcate everything you hear. You hold back. You test the waters. You wait. You listen some more. Just like conversation with another person, yes? You make sure you can trust the source before you slowly, cautiously turn toward the whispering within; that still, small voice. 

Spoiler alert: you can trust the source; you can trust your heart. 

Yes, tentative listening is a very good place to start. Then, when you’re ready, ask yourself, “What if I listened fully instead of tentatively?” 

What if, indeed… 

REFLECT: 

  • What are the challenges you face in being able to hear your heart? Focus? Technique? Noise? Or is it the fear/awareness of what you might actually hear? 
  • Try tentative listening. Give kind, gentle attention to what comes up that feels opposed to your objective, reason-based mental processes. Can you kindly, gently allow the subjective, emotion-based thoughts to come to mind…to heart? 
  • Even if you listen half-heartedly, only a little, and maybe with great hesitation, what whispers do you hear? Every glimmer, fleeting thought, blurry image, and pang of emotion matters. Your heart is speaking. Can you hear it beating? What does it tell you? Keep listening. And write. Anything, everything…gently, gently. 

Pssssst. You can trust what you hear.

Sacred Conversation with Your Heart – #1

Apr 24, 2017 | My sort-of Sermons, Spirituality, Women's Wisdom, Writing

Today starts a 6-part series that’s all about Sacred Conversation – not with me, but with your heart. Each post will offer another aspect of the topic, the practice, and its significance – along with reflection questions and prompts to invite you into the most important (and ongoing) conversation you’ll ever have. 

*****

We are surrounded by conversation all day, every day – at the very least, words and talk and verbal noise. At home and work, in the car and on the bus, in stores and on streets, on the web – on TV – in music – on blogs – in books, in neighborhoods and across the globe. Sometimes we engage. Sometimes we listen. Other times it’s just din. 

And then there are the conversations that take place endlessly, continuously within. In my experience they can be far harder to engage and sometimes seemingly impossible to hear. And – they long for both: your hearing, your engagement, your response. These are conversations with your heart. 

Did you know? Your heart speaks. It listens. It asks. It tells. It knows. It feels. It advises. It desires. It hurts. It hopes. It loves. 

Your heart invites you to ongoing, articulate, and beautiful sacred conversations with your deepest, truest self. 

And these are conversations worth having. 

So…let’s begin at the beginning. 

*****

PART ONE – INTRODUCTIONS 

Every conversation between two people begins with some kind of introduction, a greeting, a hello. For it to move past this point and take on meaning and value, we must want to hear more, want to know more; we  have to determine how the  other wants to be known, how much they are willing to share, how they speak, even  what they don’t say. If either party is reluctant to listen, to hear, to understand, to learn, the conversation ends before it’s even begun. 

Conversation with your heart is no different. 

Do you want to hear what your heart has to say? Do you want to know it well? Do you want to learn the unique ways in which it expresses itself? 

I’m speaking only for myself when I say that sometimes my answer is “no.” 

Sometimes it can be far easier to turn up the volume on other aspects of life than to listen to the heart’s quiet whisper, deep desires, and patient but persistent beating as it waits (and waits and waits) to be heard, acknowledged, trusted, and followed. 

Because here’s the thing: When you really listen and engage in conversation with your heart you find yourself face-to-face with powerful truth: words, sentences, and emotions that graciously ask for response and ongoing dialogue; powerful truth that compels honesty, risk, and change, that will not leave you unchanged. 

Knowing this, tell me true: Do you want to hear what your heart has to say – directly to you? I hope the answer is “yes.” 

REFLECT:

  • Imagine listening to your heart’s introduction of itself when you say, “hello.” How does it respond? Is it outgoing? Shy? Reticent? Enthusiastic? What can you learn of it already… even in these first few words? 
  • If, even for a moment, you could silence all the voices, pressures, demands, disappointments, and expectations that swirl within, what do you imagine you might hear – even in this introductory stage? Single words? Fragments of sentences? Any images that come to mind? 
  • Listen. What does your heart want you to know, to hear, to consider? Write any and everything that comes… 

Why Stories Matter

Dec 16, 2016 | Sacred Stories, Spirituality, Writing

We live in a world of stories. Childhood fairytales shape our dreams and hopes. Family legends, imparted over kitchen table conversation, at reunions, and during road-trips, build our memory and craft our beliefs. Historical narratives inform our understanding of culture, politics, our larger world. Film, music, literature, and poetry mysteriously and continuously
speak to our deepest heart – communicating truths we implicitly know and others we long to grasp. And then there is the media…

Stories serve the way in which we are able to make sense of our world, our relationships, our behaviors, everything. They are how we speak of our circumstances, our deepest emotions, and our biggest questions; how we create and apply meaning. And they connect us to one another, bridging differences in language and perspective, time and place, past and future.

Most of us acknowledge that it’s less about a particular story and more about story, itself. It is the device, the vehicle, the means through which we express, listen, and even participate in our own life and others’. We admit (and even enjoy) that most stories, when told over and over again, not only shift and morph over time, but take on a life of their own.

The fish gets a little bigger, the storm gets a little wilder, the love gets a little stronger, our bravery or disappointment gets a little exaggerated in the telling over time. There is creative tension in story. When we hear it, when we read it, when we speak it, when we write it, we filter words through our own experiences and our need for meaning. We shape the tale to reinforce our understanding of how life is. ~ Christina Baldwin

This is what we love about them. This is why we tell them. This is why we live our lives within them. This is the power of story.

But when it comes to the stories in Scripture, something implicitly and explicitly changes.

Our claws come out and our defenses go up. Or maybe we just shut down. Though told for thousands of years, these particular tales have taken on a life that is not their own. Instead, they have been claimed and co-opted, parsed and paraphrased, interpreted and indoctrinated. Now, seen as either sacrosanct and inviolable or completely irrelevant, it’s no wonder we struggle to hear or tell these powerful narratives in beautiful, meaningful, and truth-filled ways.

Frankly, it is this very tension that keeps me connected to them, working with them, and yes, telling them. Believe me, I feel the pull every single day: the embedded and assumed doctrine that permeates their pages and the deep, rich, yet-to-be-mined wisdom within; the patriarchal God I seek to escape and the shockingly kind, compassionate, and feminine one who pursues me. Further, I am not willing to let our collective seen and felt tension, our theological arguments, our political agendas, our denominational differences, or even our general ambivalence allow us to drift and fall apart when I know that stories (even these stories) are what bring and hold us together. More than all else, I cannot bear to let the stories I love, stories of women, drift and fall away. To even contemplate such a possibility completely breaks my heart.

Whatever is unnamed, undepicted in images, whatever is omitted from biography, censored in collections of letters, whatever is misnamed as something else, made difficult-to-come-by, whatever is buried in the memory by the collapse of meaning under an inadequate or lying language — this will become, not merely unspoken, but unspeakable. ~ Adrienne Rich

It matters, perhaps more than most else in my life, that these sacred stories not become unspeakable; rather, that they rise up in power and strength, relevance and meaning. And I don’t know how to make that happen without just continuing to tell them – one at a time, even to one person at a time.

Are there days in which I long to abandon the lot of them and talk about something else?

Absolutely. Are there other days in which I wish I long to stand atop a mountain and command entire swaths of civilization to listen to me? Most definitely. Are there more days in which I long to sit in even the smallest, most intimate of gatherings, hands clasped around warm mugs of coffee, and tell you tales of amazing women? All the time.

Here’s why: underneath all the doctrine and dogma are women whose stories have changed me women’s stories; stories and women who change me still.

Nearly every day, whether in the most mundane or significant of circumstances, I think of one or another of them. They come into my mind and heart. And I imagine, consider, and wholeheartedly accept every ounce of wisdom they offer, every word they speak, every strain of strength and solace they sing into me. They are that present, that real, that relevant, that powerful.

A Reflection on 12

Dec 7, 2016 | Sacred Stories, Spirituality, Writing

  • 12 represents the completed cycle of experience.
  • 12 is the symbol of cosmic order.
  • There are 12 months in a year.
  • Time is measured in two groups of 12 hours.
  • There are 12 signs in the zodiac.
  • There are 12 days of Christmas.
  • On the 12th day of Christmas my true love gave to me – 12 drummers drumming.
  • Apollo 12 was the first moon walk.
  • A total of 12 people have walked on the moon.
  • There are 12 names for the sun in Sanskrit.
  • In the color wheel there are 12 basic hues.
  • There are 12 steps in recovery programs.
  • There are usually 12 people on a jury.
  • The 12th man in football refers to the role of the fans.
  • There were 12 principle gods in Greek mythology who resided on Mount Olympus.
  • King Arthur’s Roundtable had 12 knights.
  • The Beatles released 12 studio albums.
  • There are 12 half notes in each octave.
  • In numerology, the number 12 is a higher octave of the number 3 and represents careful planning and orderly growth leading to spiritual development.
  • My birth number is 12 before it is reduced to 3.
  • I was born on the day before the 12th month began.
  • I was 12 years old when a self-image formed that has stayed with and haunted me my entire life.
  • Just under 12 years passed between my sister’s birth and when I left home.
  • 12 years passed between leaving home and getting married.
  • 12 years passed between getting married and graduating from seminary.
  • 12 years passed between graduating from seminary and today.
  • 12 years ago, my daughters were just 6 and 8.
  • By this time next year, I will have been blogging for 12 years.
  • Two years from now, I will have been divorced for 12 years.
  • There were 12 tribes in Israel.
  • The first recorded words of Jesus were when he was 12 years old.
  • Jesus had 12 disciples.
  • Mary Magdalene is mentioned 12 times in the Bible.
  • Revelation 12 tells one of my favorite stories – about a woman clothed with the sun, the moon at her feet, and a crown of 12 stars round her head.
  • There is another favorite story of mine that tells of the Hemorrhaging Woman who bled for 12 years.
  • There are 12 letters in the word “hemorrhaging.”

I can tell her story in 12 sentences.

  1. 12 years of bleeding meant 12 years of isolation, pain, and grief.
  2. She had tried every medicine, method, and mantra – all to no avail.
  3. Still and always she held on to hope.
  4. When she heard about the man with the 12 disciples – a healer and miracle-worker – she was determined to put herself in his path.
  5. “Surely, if I can but touch the hem of his garment, I will be healed.”
  6. So she did.
  7. And she was.
  8. He said, “Who touched me?”
  9. His 12 disciples were incredulous as they looked at the pressing crowd and said, “What do you mean who touched you?”
  10. The woman finally stepped forward and said, “I did.”
  11. He responded: “Your faith has healed you.”
  12. Then he continued on his way – soon after to heal a 12-year-old girl.

I can finish this piece in just 12 more sentences. I promise.

  1. “Your faith has healed you,” he said.
  2. It was not the Divine, the miracle-worker, the man that made the difference.
  3. It was her.
  4. She made the healing happen.
  5. That feels hugely important to name and remember.
  6. My word for this year is “healing.”
  7. It is now the 12th month.
  8. Maybe there is still time.
  9. And maybe neither time nor healing is the point.
  10. Maybe it’s about still and always holding on to hope.
  11. Maybe it’s about faith – not in a miracle, a miracle worker, or even a man, but in myself.
  12. May it be so.

This woman’s story, the Woman of Revelation 12, even Mary Magdalene (mentioned 12 times), are but three of those I work with to create SacredReadings.

About Fall, Writing, and Letting Go

Nov 4, 2016 | Hope & Encouragement, Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom, Writing

Never say there is nothing beautiful in the world anymore. There is always something to make you wonder in the shape of a tree, the trembling of a leaf.
~ Albert Schweitzer

 

There has always been something beautiful and miraculous about one solitary leaf as it lingers then slowly, finally dances toward the ground. Glimpsed by few, maybe by none, but no less gorgeous, no less significant, no less real or relevant.
~ Ronna Detrick

Once upon a time and a hundred years ago a woman typed away on a laptop as she sat in a gray chair in the living room of her condo in the city of Tacoma in the state of Washington in the United States of America in the Western hemisphere of the world as she knew it. She typed what you are reading now. And she wondered if anything she could possibly say would have relevance in the future.

Then she began to wonder if anything she had already said, already written, already created had any relevance. “Probably not,” she realized. So she pondered whether any of her labor or struggle or questioning of her work and voice in the world had been or was was worth it.

“For if, after all, 100 years from now, no one recalls or even cares about what I did and said back then, does it matter?”

She realized, even as she asked it, that it was an existential question, one that made her want to pour another glass of wine and think less and watch back-to-back dramas on Netflix. But it was only 10:30 in the morning. Wine and mindless entertainment weren’t timely choices right now. So instead, she sat with the question, mulled it over in her mind, and stared out the window. She saw the sun streaming through the lingering leaves: all browns and yellows now – the green faded and gone. They clung to the branches as long as
they could before fluttering to the ground. She knew they would eventually disappear – raked up into piles and scooped into big black plastic bags and taken to some distant destination for disposal and decay. It all felt related somehow, timely and true.

But the longer she looked at those leaves and thought of their pre-determined demise, she realized that after Winter, Spring would come again and new leaves would grow, that Summer would arrive with green-in-glory, that Fall would return; the cycle repeating itself over and over. And all of this without her effort, without her intention, without a bit of her labor or
concern.

She wondered if maybe, just maybe, the same might be true about her writing, her words, her life.

Maybe all she needed to do was be the leaf,
to allow the sustenance of the roots to be unfurled through her. No effort but that which naturally came forth. No intention but being right here, right now. No labor or concern, but that which turned her face toward the sun, or drank in morning’s dew, or huddled in chill at first frost, or sought shelter in the storm.

Nothing required except to finally loosen her grip and gracefully, willingly, let go.

“Yes,” she thought, “just let go.”

She wondered if in 100 years there would still be leaves and trees and seasons, if there still would be women writing, never mind if they were reading anything she had written or said.

And she realized that she could not, would not let go of this – what mattered most of all:

women’s words still bursting into bloom and thundering forth in greens and reds and oranges, becoming the very substance that fertilizes those that are yet to come.

So she turned back to her laptop and typed some more…

There has always been something beautiful and miraculous about one solitary leaf as it lingers then slowly, finally dances toward the ground. Glimpsed by few, maybe by none, but no less gorgeous, no less significant, no less real or relevant.
~ Ronna Detrick

 

Never say there is nothing beautiful in the world anymore. There is always something to make you wonder in the shape of a tree, the trembling of a leaf.
~ Albert Schweitzer