Tag: love

Swimming In the Deep

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“The inner life of any great thing will be incomprehensible to me until I develop and deepen an inner life of my own.” – Parker J. Palmer

This weekend my friend Eric told me a story about a course that he took in college. He went to one of the Claremont Colleges in the mid-1980’s and this sounds like something that might have only been possible in that place and time.

The course was called Mind, Culture and Sports and it was held at the professor’s house, usually with drinks served and the professor encouraged everyone to take it pass/fail. The course content varied greatly – one week it might be a study of how hard it was to hit a baseball and the next week it was about meditation.

One weekend their field trip for this class was to spend a night at a Buddhist monastery. With great interest I asked how that went and Eric replied that he was terrible at mediation. Apparently the monk kept coming by to (gently) correct his posture. But, Eric brightened considerably when he reported that he was great at “sweep the path,” the chore he was assigned at the monastery.

It made me reflect on what we get out of our experiences. I’d have probably missed the whole point of a meditation retreat when I was 19 years old as well. But in contrast, can I name what I get out of meditation now?

If I didn’t meditate, I’d spend the day operating from my to-do list and getting a great deal done but swimming on the surface of the lake where the conditions of the weather affect the choppiness of the water a great deal.

By meditating, it feels like I spend at least a few minutes submerged in the deep. It’s where the quiet allows me both to read about and hear the bigger forces at work – the thread of the Divine in my life, find the echo of Love and Beauty in what I’m doing and touch the feeling of Peace that pervades regardless of the surface conditions.

I was also in college and about 19 years old, the same age as Eric when he took his college course, when someone who was trying to recruit students for the Church of Scientology stopped me on University Avenue and asked me “What about your life do you not want anyone to know?” At age 19, I was still blissfully naïve, untroubled and pretty uncomplicated. Perplexed by the question, I replied, “Nothing?”

Now, 33 years later, I’d answer a lot more assuredly “Nothing. Because after all those years I spent thrashing about on the surface, I’m finally submerged in the deep.”

(featured photo by Pexels)

It’s Love Calling

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“Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.” – Lao Tzu

To some degree I always write about what I don’t understand in hopes that the words on the page will put some order to the giant gaping hole of the mysteries that I can’t comprehend.

But today I’m writing about a bigger mystery than usual. The best I can hope for with these words is just to describe the size and shape of something that I can’t fully grasp.

The other day my phone rang. I’m notorious for not answering my phone especially when, as was the case here, it’s just a number and not attached to anyone in my contact list. So I didn’t answer, there was no voice mail. It rang again, there was no voice mail. It rang again an hour later from the same number. I knew in my bones after the second call who it was so the third time I picked it up.

It was my friend Bill and he just said, “Wynne” in this deep voice that sounds like it could be the voice of God. And I replied, “I knew it was you calling.”

This friend only calls me about once every five years. When he calls, it’s always from a new number so it never comes up as a name. And yet, somehow I always know it’s him.

In the five years since he last called, I had another baby, my son. And he’s moved twice to different countries. Now he lives halfway around the world in Eastern Europe.  

I ask him about his parents who I’ve never met. He tells me through tears that he lost both of them 7 months apart a couple years back. He asks me about work and I tell him I’m doing the same thing — it doesn’t feed my soul but it feeds my kids. So I tell him that I’m writing.

In worldly terms, we don’t know each other that well.  We’ve maybe spent a dozen days together over 25 years. But we have this deep connection that was instantly apparent when we met.

It’s something I can only describe in metaphors. The connection is like plugging into a bolt of lightening when you only need a 200 amp current. The results are apt to blow a circuit and also are a little dangerous. It’s a mistake we made when we were younger and tried dating only to find it chaotic and unworkable. He’s a road sign, not a destination.

When he calls it’s always at a point when I’ve gotten so busy playing the roles I have in life that I’ve forgotten that there is a core, central “me” that is lovable.

The calls remind me to come alive in a way that is more than what I do. They speak to me of great love even though its quite clear that we will never be in each other’s lives on a daily basis. It’s more that we share the same core so when he calls it sparks some primal memory in me to remember to take care of that precious center of my life. The sacred space in me that touches the sacred space in others.

The connection we share is inexplicable in practical terms. There should be no way that we can speak so deeply to each other and be a reminder of anything. The only thing that rings true is that it’s a spiritual connection that affirms that God is Love and Love is God.

In the end, I said to him. “Thank you for calling until I picked up.” And he replied, “I will always call you until you pick up.”

I’ll close with the final text he sent me after the call. I had written to him, “I suspect possible in our comprehension is a small sample of what is truly possible in the Universe. And you are evidence of that gift.”

And he replied, “That I am the evidence that is closely related to the everything that you must give daily, is the best of compliments. You, Wynne, creator, inventor, leader and human are truly one of the most beautiful humans I know! Thank you for finding me.”

I bet that we won’t communicate again for another 5 years. And that will be enough. Because maybe what we remind each other of isn’t anything about the specifics in life, it’s the big picture Life where love reigns and we are all known in our core.

Humor: Dec 26

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I’ve gone back to my dad’s humor notecards again this week so I can post the kids love advice that is teased in the featured photo. Enjoy!

Tips on Love
(All questions answered by kids age 5-10)

WHAT IS THE PROPER AGE TO GET MARRIED?

Once I’m done with kindergarten, I’m going to find me a wife. (Tom, 5)

WHAT DO MOST PEOPLE DO ON A DATE?

On the first date, they just tell each other lies, and that usually gets them interested enough to go for a second date. (Mike, 10)

WHEN IS IT OKAY TO KISS SOMEONE?

You should never kiss a girl unless you have enough bucks to buy her a big ring and her own VCR, ‘cause she’ll want to have videos of the wedding. (Jim, 10)

Never kiss in front of other people. It’s a big embarrassing thing if anybody sees you. But if nobody sees you, I might be willing to try it with a handsome boy, but just for a few hours. (Kally, 9)

It’s never okay to kiss a boy. They always slobber all over you… that’s why I stopped doing it. (Jean, 10)

CONCERNING WHY LOVE HAPPENS BETWEEN TWO PARTICULAR PEOPLE

No one is sure why it happens but I heard it has something to do with how you smell. That’s why perfume and deodorant are so popular. (Jan, 9)

I think you’re supposed to get shot with an arrow or something, but the rest of it isn’t supposed to be so painful. (Harlen, 8)

ON WHAT FALLING IN LOVE IS LIKE

Like an avalanche where you have to run for your life. (Roger, 9)

If falling in love is anything like learning how to spell, I don’t want to do it. It takes too long. (Leo, 7)

Christmas Wish

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“The most effective medicine here on this Earth is unconditional love.” – unknown

I woke up this morning thinking of two types of people working on Christmas Eve. Healthcare workers and pastors. The former must be so discouraged to see the Omicron fears and anticipate the number of people who might overflow their beds.

And the latter must be so disappointed to see the Omicron fears, knowing that it’ll keep people away from services and reduce the number of people in their pews on Christmas Eve.

Growing up in a pastor’s house, Christmas Eve was a big deal. It was a chance to celebrate with the congregation and whoever else came along the hope, peace and magic of a story. It was a chance to hear silence because regardless of anyone’s particular beliefs, it is a day we close our stores and change our schedules.

It makes me wish on this day where our bodies might not be able to go where we want to be, that at least our hearts can be in the right place. May the spirit of Christmas with its hope, peace and generosity fill us wherever we are!

The Gifts of Imperfection

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“Resolve to be tender with the young, compassionate with the aged, sympathetic with the striving, and tolerant with the weak and wrong. Sometime in your life, you will have been all of these.” – Buddha

The other day at work, I jumped in to help my colleagues with a project to create order from a bunch of data. In the course of an afternoon, we had so many emails, spreadsheets and versions flying around that my inbox was overflowing. Finally at one point I stated to a colleague that I didn’t have the version he was talking about. He forwarded an email sent to me 2 hours earlier that had the version.

I was mortified. I hate that particular kind of mistake that could have been prevented by a more detailed search of what I already had. It triggered the most unkind voice in my head.

I’d really like to do this all perfectly but fortunately I’ve had many years to come to terms with the fact that I’m far from perfect and never will be. Also on the plus side, I’ve learned a technique from my meditation teacher to create some space when I bump up against this.

It’s simply to talk to myself as if it were a friend that had made the mistake. It’s pretty easy to realize that I wouldn’t chastise a friend who had done the same. I’d say things like:

“Oh, I’ve done that before. It’s frustrating.”

“At least you didn’t send it to the customer with the wrong data. You stayed curious and kept asking questions.”

“Missing one spreadsheet in twenty? Not a bad ratio!”

Several times I’ve heard the Biblical instruction “Love your neighbor as yourself” turned around to be “Love yourself as your neighbor.” There is a lot of wisdom in not only cultivating kindness to others but also ourselves.

(featured photo from Pexels)

Cracked Open

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“Never get so busy making a living that you forget to make a life.” – unknown

Yesterday I canceled all my work meetings and stayed home with my toddler who needed one more day of recovery from a cold. It was a hard thing to do. Like generations of parents before me, I found it difficult to put aside all the urgency my own life to support someone else when needed and not according to plan.

It was also the right thing to do. As my dad often said, “If it’s the hard thing to do, it’s probably the right thing to do.”

Sometime in the middle of the day, pinned down with a sleeping kid on my lap, frustrated the illusion of predictability in life being shattered yet again, time slowed enough for me to notice his heart beat. Once I felt that, then tuned in to his breathing and the weight and warmth of him, I was overcome with the sensation of the deepest meditation. That feeling that there is no doubt there is a Universal center that we all belong to and can reach. A sacred place of timelessness and love. The Divine heartbeat.

It never fails to surprise me that beneath my narrative is a rich and deep experience. Like a nut, when I crack open the hard exterior of my perspective, I am always rewarded but the meaty contents within. At the end of the day, my son felt better and I, surprisingly, found myself rested and restored even though not a single thing on my to-do list was done.

(featured image from Pexels)

Naming and Owning

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“The limits of my language mean the limits of my world.” – Ludwig Wittgenstein

I was driving in the car with my kids talking about envy. It oftens happens in our house when one of my kids discovers a toy long hidden and invents a new game for it and the other wants to grab it from their hand. Or, as I heard a child quoted in a sermon once, “Why do I always want what’s in my brother hands?”

In response my 6-year-old daughter asked me, “How do you know so much about feelings?”

The voice in my head, a little exasperated, wanted to reply, “Because you two have so many of them! And guiding you through this minefield of growing up emotionally intelligent has required me to come to terms with my own emotions when I’d prefer just to always to say I’m happy and call it good!”

Dr. Brené Brown, research professor and author, lays the groundwork for mapping human emotions in her book Atlas of the Heart by describing a survey she used in workshops for five years. It asked people to list all the emotions that they could recognize and name as they were experiencing them. The average number named was three: happy, sad and angry.

Many of the parenting books I’ve read about raising resilient children have advised to help children move through situations that we have to help them name their emotions.

 In trying to help my kids identify what it is they are experiencing, I’ve found that I’ve had to name and face my own emotions. In this way I have learned so much nuance about my own interior, sometimes grudgingly, but always resulting in better color and effect in my own life.

So instead of voicing the snappy retort in my head, I responded from that place in my heart that holds love, warmth and awe for the lessons I continue to learn, “Because I love you two so very much that I want to help you grow up so healthy, inside and out.”

Some Things Can’t Be Dropped

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“If peace comes from seeing the whole, then misery stems from a loss of perspective.” – Mark Nepo

The year after I’d summitted Mt. Rainier for the first time with a guided group, my friends and I put together a team of four of us to make an attempt on our own without a guide. We left on a Friday afternoon, climbed three and a half hours to ascend about 3,500 feet in altitude and started to make our camp.

It was dark by this time and as we hurried around with our headlamps on, I went to pull the tent poles I was carrying out of my pack. One of the poles slipped from my hand and started to slide down the mountain. Panicked by my mistake, I leapt forward and fell on it before it could disappear out of the spotlight of my headlamp.

I was thinking about that pole as I hurried around making Christmas plans yesterday. In a season where it seems like there are a hundred things to do, some things can’t be dropped.

The slipperiest sometimes is the whole point in all we are celebrating. In my family, we celebrate the birth of Jesus and the promise that love, light and kindness spread generously can make a difference in this world. As we celebrate the delight of this year, we also recognize that there are many ways we can do it better next year.

On that climb twenty years ago, fortunately I caught that tent pole because without it, there wasn’t going to be a tent. At 9,000 feet of altitude on a dark night with a whole lot of mountain to search, we weren’t going to find it if it slipped out of sight. But with it, we went on to climb and summit the mountain safely with a warm, dry tent as our base.

I keep coming back to that story as a way to keep me centered this Christmas season. With the point of all we are celebrating in the spotlight, it gives us a solid base from which to attempt everything else we are doing.

With Me Still

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“You cannot know what you cannot feel.” – Mary Shelley

I hiked a trail this week that I had unconsciously avoided for 4 years and didn’t realize until I wrote a post about patterns. The last time before now that I had walked it was after I miscarried a baby at 10 weeks. But more than that, this trail reminds me of loss because I walked it so often with my beloved dad and dog.

When my dad died suddenly 7 years ago after colliding with a car on his bike, I naturally went through a range of emotions. One of the most recurrent was gratitude that my dad didn’t have to get old. When he died at age 79, he was still so vibrant and fit, retired but so active in the organizations he cared about. He would have made a terrible old person if somehow limited in what he could do. And he never had to find out.

Then my beautiful golden retriever collapsed on a walk 5 years ago when he was almost 14 years old. He was such an amazing companion, enthusiastic and faithful, and I was so grateful that the vet made it clear that the time had come and saved me and my dog the angst of trying to cure a cancer that would just torture us both.

After I lost my pregnancy in miscarriage, two years later I had my son. I have two happy and healthy kids that have a relationship that seems perfect for the age difference between them. I’m so grateful that how life worked out set their capabilities at just this range.

I truly live in all that gratitude AND still avoid the trail. When I walked it, I remembered all the times my dad and I walked and talked about so many deep and interesting subjects. I could practically see the way Biscuit the dog would wiggle in excitement at the trailhead and come out the other side so muddy and happy. I felt their absence so clearly but more than that, I felt their presence.

As I visited the beautiful old trees I’ve missed so much and looked out onto the amazing view of Puget Sound stretched before me, I realized that not feeling their losses didn’t save me any grief. It only robbed me of the opportunity to go walking with my dearly departed yet again.

We lose things in life. But we don’t have to set aside a part of ourselves to go along with them. I remember this every time I let myself feel the loss all the way through. More often than not, it isn’t that I’m consciously blocking feeling it, instead I’m just choosing to feel the gratitude instead of the ache. Then something like this trail comes along and reminds me that the ache is proof that the enthusiasm of my dad and the loyalty of my dog are with me still.

Foreboding Joy

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“Wear gratitude like a cloak and it will feed every corner of your life.” – Rumi

Standing side by side yesterday with my 82-year-old mom as I made Thanksgiving dinner and she made the apple pie, I felt the physical presence of gratitude: the warm heart, the loving hands, the palpable sense of how many years we’ve been doing this. It, combined with the sounds of my kids playing in the other room with my friends, would have brought me to my knees in a prayer of thanks had my hands not been covered with turkey.

As I counted my many blessings in that moment, I couldn’t help but feel that pang of fear. What if something changes? It was the counter punch of foreboding joy.

It was such a relief when I started listening to the work of researcher, educator, author Brené Brown when she talked about the fact that we all stand over our babies at night or loved ones in a vulnerable moment and feel that seizure of heart that is “what if something happened to them?” And more so, her research that says giving in to the foreboding joy but trying not to enjoy it too much doesn’t work.

In fact, the only thing that works is to be grateful. Which in the midst of Thanksgiving seemed like a perfect full circle thing to remember.

So I’m grateful I know that other people feel this. And that it doesn’t mean that something bad is going to happen.

I’m grateful I know that I don’t need crisis to change. Because I associate the foreboding with my past when things fell apart so they could come together again. I’ve come to recognize that I can both keep evolving and handle things as they come.

I’m grateful that even the day after Thanksgiving, what I’m grateful for is still at the fore.

I’ve heard Brené give the example of a man who she interviewed as part of her research. He talked about losing his wife of 40 years after a car accident. He regretted holding back even a little bit of love so that he wouldn’t lose it all if something happened to her. Because when something did, all he thought was that he should have enjoyed it all more.

I’m carrying that story with me as we move into the Christmas season and all that’s good ahead.