In a mother's womb were two babies. One asked the other: "Do you believe in life after delivery?" The other replies, "why, of course. There has to be something after delivery. Maybe we are here to prepare ourselves for what we will be later. "Nonsense," says the other. "There is no life after delivery. What would that life be?" "I don't know, but there will be more light than here. Maybe we will walk with our legs and eat from our mouths." The other says "This is absurd! Walking is impossible. And eat with our mouths? Ridiculous. The umbilical cord supplies nutrition. Life after delivery is to be excluded. The umbilical cord is too short." "I think there is something and maybe it's different than it is here." the other replies, "No one has ever come back from there. Delivery is the end of life, and in the after-delivery it is nothing but darkness and anxiety and it takes us nowhere." "Well, I don't know," says the other, "but certainly we will see mother and she will take care of us." "Mother??" You believe in mother? Where is she now? "She is all around us. It is in her that we live. Without her there would not be this world." "I don't see her, so it's only logical that she doesn't exist." To which the other replied, "sometimes when you're in silence you can hear her, you can perceive her." I believe there is a reality after delivery and we are here to prepare ourselves for that reality....

(Source: current.com)

Play...find time...let your inner child develop fully.

Thanks for the reminder, Friedrich Froebel.

Look for magic!

SPRING FIREWORKS

By Kathie Houchens April 22, 2013

Awed by the colors, surprised by the bright blooms of spring exploding from trees, shrubs, bulbs and bushes,

I drive down an ordinary street and it seems a floral Fourth of July. 

The white cherry blossoms burst bold and full in round formation,

             like a million lights against cerulean skies.

Cascades of delicate pink from the weeping varieties follow. 

Their drooping branches drip with fresh petals like sparklers sending showers to the ground.

The chartreuse contrast of new foliage on early maples

impacts the eyes like a sonic boom the ears. 

Tulip magnolias mix cream and purple,

 draw me into the fragrance as well as the fullness of their flowers.

 In succession an arboreal parade along the avenue lifts me out of everyday mode

 into a spirit of holiday. 

Celebratory  ground displays of tulips, daffodils and hyacinths

punch out gutsy red, orange, yellow, blue and purple.

Festive Spring, you excite and delight!

DORCAS

Dorcas

By Kathie Anderson Houchens, April 15, 2013

This week’s lectionary readings include the passage in Acts 9:36-43 that recounts the resurrection of Dorcas, also called Tabitha and meaning Gazelle.  Just a couple of weeks after Easter, resurrection is a word that haunts my comprehension.  Yes, I believe, but, Lord, help my unbelief.  This is, to the logical grown-up mind, a great mystery.  Even more so as we watch our friends and acquaintances meet death and leave us wondering, “How can this be?”  Perhaps, once again, it takes the childlike willingness to trust in Truth not yet fully revealed, to trust that in time “when we grow up” we will understand, even embrace the ultimate “Good News.” 

Clear images surface each time the story of Dorcas comes around for me.  I played the part of Dorcas in a church play when I was a child.  I can remember the green and black pattern of the cotton fabric that my grandmother had made into a skirt and a head scarf that I wore.  We took our places in the organ loft at the front left of the sanctuary.  As in the scriptural account there was much loud crying by the “widows” when I fell lifeless to the floor.   The physical involvement created a visceral memory for me as I first “played dead” and then “arose” after “Peter” prayed over me.

I was probably about nine at the time.  When I was five I had been quite ill with an extended period of fever, strep throat, ear infections, achy joints and other unrelenting symptoms.  I spent months in bed with twice daily visits from our family doctor.  The hushed conversations in the hallway outside my bedroom and then the visits from well-meaning clergy introduced me to the limbo-world of expecting to die.  Friends brought coloring books about missionaries, boxes of little “open one a day” gifts to cheer me, simple embroidery projects and art-oriented games to play in bed.  There were prayers said over me by family and local pastors, and the doting attention of my “Nanny” (maternal grandmother who lived with us, or rather we with her.)  After a long siege of treatments, medicines, and a tonsillectomy (a topic for another day)I was healed!

So the “Dorcas” story cycles into my awareness yet again.  I remember the ease with which I accepted the “resurrection” story as a child; yet I am challenged in my “adult world of thinking” to believe without seeing.  So I return to another childhood memory that has served me well, Psalm 23, also in this week’s lectionary.  So good to have memorized these precious promises…..of goodness and mercy and forever dwelling with LOVE eternal!

I wonder if the rising of Dorcas (who in many ways IS the grandmother who loved so warmly, who sewed so expertly, who baked so deliciously, who shared so generously) happens when I invite those same passions and gifts to expression through me?  Let the Creator keep on creating and bringing us to life anew and renewed.

RETREAT DAY - Monk, Artist, Mystic

I promised myself a "retreat" day, and in life's usual way of surprising me, it didn't turn out at all the way I had planned.  I was to go off to a park for the day to enjoy an experience planned by a friend who leads retreats.  That was cancelled at the last minute, so I still had the day "cleared" and decided to make it an "at-home retreat."  

In a book by Christine Valtners Paintner called "The Artist's Rule."  Subtitle: Nurturing your creative soul with monastic wisdom, I discovered a twelve week plan for "Claiming monastic gifts for creative living." as she titles the introductory chapter.  John O'Donohue's quote opens the chapter this way: "The heart of human identity is the capacity and desire for birthing.  To be is to become creative and bring forth the beautiful."  Birthing! Yes, on so many levels...coming to life again and again in an infancy that allows soul-freedom to discover and savor the new, the full expression of LOVE that is now not just from earth-parents, but from LOVER of my soul, CREATOR God who keeps on creating in me and through me.  

So I am in week two of my commitment to experience the journey, dare I say pilgrimage, to allow my inner monk, artist and mystic to meet and create a new rhythm for my walk.

Week one reminded me of the importance and necessity of quiet time, solitude, listening deeply to life in the NOW.  Week two, just completed, considered the archetypes of monk, artist and mystic, all present within.  I took a non-judgmental look at the inner conflict that comes when the "efficient" part of me (that wants to be "grown up", responsible, get things done, and meet my goals) encounters the "free spirit" part of me (that feels like a mix of butterflies fluttering inside ready to burst out and a pudding pot boiling with sweet energy ready to make all of life dessert).  Old inner messages always favor efficiency over effervescence.  In concert my two halves agreed to following through on my commitment to follow the book (efficient) and plunge into a playful state of mind and heart (effervescent) to allow the day to unfold as it would.

Week two included contemplative time, reflection on Jeremiah 6:16, visual art exploration and finally some writing prompts.  I share here the culminating prose-poem, after a free-write to open up ideas, following the three prompts "I am going to start living like .....a monk, ....an artist....a mystic."

"New Rhythms 2013" 
by Kathie Houchens, April 13, 2013

I am going to start living like a monk...
     simply - with new focus...
     not on where will I end up,
          but on where I am now;
               not fear-filled grasping for security, 
                    but grace-filled gratitude for today and for the abundance all around!
     My senses are overwhelmed with birdsong, flower fragrance, moist grass,
            colorful Spring blooms, tender taste of early lettuce.
     Dare I walk barefoot?

I am going to start living like an artist...
     freely - with new enthusiasm...
     permission granted to "play" in color, in sound, in taste and fragrance;
          not saving up "art"  as a rainy day treat
               but making it a daily pleasure;
                    not saying to myself "work must be done first, then time for frivolity."
      I awaken daily to rainbow-hope and thrill-bound joy to be alive.
     Am I ready to spread new wings?

I am going to start living like a mystic...
     contemplatively - with deep mystery,
     willing to embrace unknowing,
          releasing my tight grip on judgment and personal goal-tending;
               allowing more serendipity daily and meeting God in the unexpected;
                    open to the slowing that restores my soul;
                    open  to the silence that unclouds my  vision, unplugs my hearing, 
                         to the hum of the universe that meets all my senses in a symphony of delight.
    What instrument will I be today?
                    

A Buechner quote of the day.

One of my favorite authors, Frederick Buechner, posted this on his "Quote of the Day" today.  It speaks to my exploration of coming to all of life with a childlike vulnerability, trust, wonder, and hope.  In this short piece he recounts an important, if painful, learning about the cruel reality of human nature, even in those closest to us, maybe especially in those we love and want to keep on the pedestal we create for them.

"IN ANY CASE, OF all the giants who held up my world, Naya [Buechner's maternal grandmother] was perhaps chief, and when I knew she was coming to Georgetown for a visit that day, I wanted to greet her properly. So what I did at the age of six was prepare her a feast. All I could find in the icebox that seemed suitable were some cold string beans that had seen better days with the butter on them long since gone to wax, and they were what I brought out to her in that fateful garden. I do not remember what she said then exactly, but it was an aside spoken to my parents or whatever grown-ups happened to be around to the effect that she did not usually eat much at three o'clock in the afternoon or whatever it was, let alone the cold string beans of another age, but that she would see what she could do for propriety's sake. Whatever it was, she said it drily, wittily, the way she said everything, never dreaming for a moment that I would either hear or understand, but I did hear, and what I came to understand for the first time in my life, I suspect—why else should I remember it?—was that the people you love have two sides to them. One is the side they love you back with, and the other is the side that, even when they do not mean to, they can sting you with like a wasp. It was the first ominous scratching in the walls, the first telltale crack in the foundation of the one home which perhaps any child has when you come right down to it, and that is the people he loves."

- Originally published in The Sacred Journey

From the thirteenth century German mystic Meister Eckhart:

My soul is as young as the day it was created.
Yes, and much younger!
In fact, I am younger today than I was yesterday,
and if I am not younger tomorrow than I am today,
I would be ashamed of myself.
People who dwell in God dwell in the eternal now.
There, people can never grow old.
There, everything is present and everything is new.

And from the Russian archbishop and physician Anthony Bloom:

There is absolutely no need to run after time to catch it.  It does not run away from us, it runs toward us.

I have been fascinated by the idea of kairos time vs chronos time.  God's time is timeless, non-linear, eternal.  Human's time is chronological, linear, seemingly going to run out.  

Think about it....what concept of "time" affects your living?

How does it  affect your "aging"?

Can you visualize your "young soul"?  .....and time running toward you?