Lessons from a Retreat

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On a recent night, I sat by some trees on Lake Michigan, the waves crashing so loud on rocks below me I’d have to yell to be heard over them. Fireflies flashing all around, clouds and stars swirling above, crickets chirping between crashes, mosquitos buzzing. A calm night with only a gentle breeze yet so much noise and movement: the bugs and birds, water, even the stars seemed loud.

I dissolved into it all. Nature so loud and always moving, changing. Not still. I’m part of nature, always moving, changing, transforming. My mind swirls with clouds and stars, flashing thoughts, nerves buzzing, moods loudly crashing and slamming into awareness.

It’s all one dance and I’m part of it.

Night after night, day after day, for 13 days, I experience the water’s constant change. Exploding loud and crashing waves or gentle ripples like a rocking cradle. Sometimes bright blue or shimmering green or moody grey.

I am a moody, moody person. Even by myself, on retreat, no conversations or internet or news and here comes a crash of joy, a wave of anger, a ripple of sadness. Ha! How freeing to let the waves roll over me, laugh at their bluster, see them dissolve on shore leaving behind either nothing or maybe a pebble, a rock, something to take a look at and see what its message is.

Every day and night for 13 days, I watched, prayed to, swam in and learned from the water. And not just any water: MY water.

How funny to be a visitor to this town in Wisconsin, my first time here, and yet this is MY lake, the Lake Michigan water that flowed through the pipes of my Chicago childhood home, hydrated and cleansed me. The sprinkler water my friend and I jumped through on hot summer days. The lake I told my problems to as a teen as soon as I could drive the 20-some minutes there, or as a young adult when I lived close enough to walk. The lake I swam in with friends or cried to alone. The very lake my grandfather fished, my great-grandparents lived by as soon as they got off the boat from Poland.

We recognize each other, the lake and I. This lake knows me, it knows my people, my ancestors and where I come from. It shows me that everything moves and changes, my mind buzzes, my moods come and go. Yet at my core, I am recognizable through the ages, a consistent presence, an essence, a stillness beneath the noise.

Just like the Lake.

Healing Home

Gratitude, seasons, spiritual practice, spirituality, , ,

Every morning, the first thing I do is come downstairs, open the blinds and thank the Creator for my view of the trees and creek. The lush, varying greens of Summer are a favorite, although those first explosions of Spring also take my breath away and the white etchings of snow-covered winter branches are the highest form of art, and the brilliant orange, yellow golds of Fall are ridiculously spectacular.

This weekend marks 13 years of living here, and I have loved the view each day of those many years.

Opening the blinds is my morning prayer. I’ve woven many forms of continual prayer into this home.

How many hours have I spent on the deck, watching the many busy chipmunks, the albino squirrels and their common grey cousins, the cardinals and woodpeckers and occasional hummingbird?

How many moments of crisis or heartbreak have I paced the driveway, arms raised to the trees, imploring their guidance and protection?

Often, I place my hands on the walls and say thank you.

Some evenings, when I’m walking up the stairs to bed, I see myself doing so throughout time, imagine my ghost gliding up and down the stairs into infinity.

Echoes of a little girl, friends and family gathering, Christmas carols fill each room.

Is it unhealthy to love a home so much, an apartment I don’t even own, a simple, aging duplex in the city?

The basement has a cupboard where my dog liked to sleep. The crayon sign my daughter made proclaiming his private space is still scotch-taped to the door. He died upstairs as I held him and I can point to the spot out front where he raised his head and luxuriously breathed in the autumn breeze for the last time on his final walk.

Today I swept the back deck, also a practice of prayer, and then lifted my eyes to the cobwebs reaching up the corners of the building, around the windowsills. Old and catching leaves.

I swept them down with satisfaction until I saw a spider scurry away and then another. Then I continued sweeping but with un-ease filling my gut as I took down their homes, maybe even killed them. This is part of the prayer, the attention to each moment, how I affect each being around me, how I am affected by each being, each place.

This place, my home for 13 years, has held me with a loving energy throughout all the joys and suffering that a decade-plus can bring. I’m a big weirdo, a sappy cornball – I know! But this home has nurtured my contemplative spirit more than any other place on earth.

Thank you, Creekhouse.

Grandson at Target

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I took this photo of my grandson Lucas yesterday. His hand is on the shoulder of a young Target shopper he just met. Lucas had enjoyed sitting inside that cube for a few moments, then saw a little person walk by and said “Come in here, baby.” The other boy then hid behind his mom’s legs and Lucas went after him. “Come in here, baby,” he said, his tone not demanding or forceful, but gentle and encouraging.

“He’s really shy,” the mom explained to me. “Does yours have siblings?” she asked, wondering where he gets his social confidence. “Not until next month,” I said.

Before finding the hollow cube, Lucas excitedly pointed out to me all the spectacular things on the shelves, the many colors he knew, the faces he recognized like Baby Shark and Mickey Mouse. Both his joy at the visual delights and his exuberance in sharing them with me (“Gammy, look!” “Gammy, look!”) melted my heart.

I know many toddlers are this way, fully present in the moment, able to find joy in the simplest things and eager to share them with others. But I know this specific toddler, see his unique preciousness in the way he is so attentive and caring, the way he looks into my eyes that peer above the mask I must wear in the store. As Grammy, I recognize his sensitivity, the preciousness of his heart as similar to his mother’s.

Soon enough, he’ll be lured out of the joy of each moment and learn to numb his exuberance with the screens in front of him. I know this as someone who spends plenty of time with screens of my own. I also know the new baby sister will no doubt be challenging, and that his devoted Mama worries about his feelings being hurt when her attention is divided.

I see these hearts, Lucas’ and his mother’s, the precious unique spirits we each enter into the world with – and then I see how the harshness of life, of being human among other humans hurts us and dulls our senses, our ability to feel the Sacred all around us. Oh, how part of me would love to preserve forever Lucas’ sweetness just as it is right now. After all, Lucas will probably have times of feeling sad and unseen when Sister comes, and the thought of that pokes at me, and certainly worries his Mama too.

Then I look out my window to see the young brother / sister duo that live next door exploring their yard together or playing ball on the driveway. Lucas will have moments of delight in playing with Sister, important lessons learned while sharing with her. He and Sister will have a relationship that further shapes him, maybe transforming the pure sweetness of his heart into an even richer capacity to love, a capacity far more expansive than my own heart, which grew up without siblings.

So I look at this photo of sweet Lucas, his hand on the shoulder of a shy little boy, his beautiful spirit shining and I remember that the whole point of being human is to be present to the full range of experience – simple and complicated, joyous and heart-wrenching – to experience all of it and then somehow find our way back to our own unique precious spirit with an even deeper capacity to love.

Larger than Pandemics

darkness and light, depression, Gratitude, spiritual practice, wisdom

Yesterday, I had the pandemic blues.

Then around midnight, I was getting ready for bed when I heard the owls hooting.

They’ve been coming by this creek house for about a year now, the hooting loud even through airport proof windows. I finished what I was doing, taking my time.

Then I stepped outside onto the driveway, hearing hoots out front on the creek when suddenly something swept over me from behind, from the backyard. It swept over me and towards the creek (towards its owl lover, perhaps?) and in the rays of the street light I saw a feather drifting down, landing in the darkness, a small, slight feather I quickly retrieved.

After that, I stood on the front lawn for about half an hour, the blues long gone, the 2 owls flying to trees on either side of me, sometimes talking to each other, sometimes looking at me in silence.

Pandemic blues seemed all the smaller, more fleeting as I stood on the grass, in the dark, positioned between endless cycles, filling with ageless knowing, a part of infinite wisdom.

From The Wheel of Change Tarot by Alexandra Genetti

Imagine a Waterfall

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Imagine yourself on a sunny day standing in a waterfall. The water is warm but refreshing. It cascades and envelops you, filling you with love and deep peace, washing away your thoughts and revealing an expansiveness that flows from your soul. This water is God.

You can imagine God as a being who created the world, a father, a mother, a web of energy interlocking us, a waterfall seeping into you. Any form of what I call God or you call Oneness, the Universe or Mystery comes from the imagination and yet is real, coming alive through sacred experiences and stories.

Some of us have been lucky enough to experience moments of true peace, true oneness, true joy, connection, knowing. We name this experience – I name mine God. The experience becomes the touchstone of our faith. It carries a feeling so profound that it shifts our understanding of all life, our life, all that is. It orients us deeper into love and gratitude.

We want to tell others about it, to share the experience but we don’t know how. How to put words to Mystery without sounding trite? Love, peace, blah, blah, blah. But we try, I try, I’m trying now with this little blog, with the children and teens I work for at church because I hope more people open to this experience.

And I’m trying to do it while being real. I experience God and the centeredness that comes with it – but I also experience irritation, fear, depression. Sometimes I’m thoughtless, impatient, rude. Plus, I’m a Southside Chicago girl at heart –  I talk rough, am too confrontational, have a dry, dark sense of humor. I’m rebellious.  I’m still me.

I also have this waterfall of sacredness that I sometimes notice enveloping me. I draw from it even in these scary times of disease and distancing. It helps me be kinder, less fearful.

I hope you can draw from it too.

Be Mindful of What You Wish For

creativity, Gratitude, spiritual practice,

There is sometimes (often?) irony to be found in the reflectiveness and goal-setting of January. I rang in the New Year bemoaning how creatively on-fire – to the point of agitation – I was in 2019 for a vision that has met only roadblocks. Then today, I came across my New Year’s 2015 intention to feel *inspired* moving forward and had to laugh. It seems my intention kicked into high gear a few years after I had forgotten about it, and that I probably should have added something about “accomplished” to the mix.

Our intentions – whether we remember or are conscious of them – do matter. Creative inspiration and expression is something I value. Some of my happiest times have been dreaming up and then bringing to life the wanderings of my imagination. New Years 2015 I was still in the midst of emergencies (that I thought were over, ha!) that required me to squelch creative ideas and projects – and it was 2019 provided the freedom to dive back into them.

Yes, I met some frustrations – but looking back at my reflections and intentions reminded me that creativity is a core value and that it was a gift of 2019 to have the time and space to be inspired. Moving forward into 2020, I will do what I can to bring my project to life AND appreciate the process regardless of the outcome.

What are YOUR core values? What are your intentions moving forward into 2020? Join me for an afternoon of clarity, reflection and visioning at my Moving Forward in Sync with Your Soul workshop on January 18, 2020. Click here for more information and to register.

Sparks & Passions of 2019

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2019 ignited the energy of my long-held vision to a fever pitch, and as anyone within earshot of me knows too well, I was on fire with passion to bring this vison to life. Many hours and days and weeks were spent seeking funding – mostly through grants – and well, none of it panned out.

I am trying to exercise patience and faith that the seeds will still germinate.

I am trying to not lose heart.

Because, oh my God, this vision, this thing I see every time I enter a beautiful open interior space and makes me have to sit down and catch my breath –  this thing that will feed hungry young souls – is a vision I am honored and humbled to have and I pray that I don’t blow it by not being savvy enough to bring it to life.

Sigh.

There were successes too. I facilitated my first 3-day retreat. Later, my first online 5-day retreat. The response exceeded my expectations, validated my mission and yes – boosted my ego (something to keep in check!)

2019 also fused my youthwork experience, my spiritual work and my fervently feminist sensibilities in fun new ways.

Invited to lead a workshop for Catholic middle and high school confirmation students, I framed it on the life of brilliant mystic Hildegard with the message of breaking beyond misogynist, homophobic barriers and tapping into your own brilliance and connection to God.

Invited to lead a session for Catholic middle school girls, I began with the “secret” that Mary is a story to pay attention to – not because she was a virgin, that’s an archetype that can and should be separated from her sexuality – but because she paid attention, then questioned and then courageously, knowingly said yes to bringing the Creator’s love into the world.  

Ah, those were the opportunities, the professional moments that lit up my 2019!

Then late in the year, the most unexpected opportunity: leading the youth program of a Baptist church in my neighborhood. Wow, I did not see that coming! They were seeking creativity and spiritual depth and their feminist, LGBTQ+ worldview matches my own. The kids and teens have already shown up in the background of my nighttime dreams – I take this new charge very seriously and humbly.

The pic of me holding my grandson captures the spirit of my 2019. Full disclosure, folks: my interior reaction to news of my 20-yo-daughter becoming a mom did not perfectly match my jubilant exterior. But, at the ripe old age of 50 and with the encouragement of friends, I finally learned to take the unexpected in stride, to let go of what I cannot control, to reach out only in love, to cherish each moment of connection no matter how small.

The rewards of practicing those lessons have been FAR greater than I deserve. L fills my heart with his funny, happy bright spirit. The loving attention he receives from my daughter and her partner soothes my soul and often (I don’t think she knows this) brings me to tears. I am always grateful to be invited into their lives.

L’s smile lit up each of my most special days of 2019.

Where Are YOU in the Sacred Stories of Advent?

advent, art, seasons, solstice, spiritual practice, , ,

When I was a little girl, my December ritual was to sit alone in our living room beside the twinkling tree lights and imagine myself into the coffee table manger scene. I visualized myself with the shepherds underneath a Bethlehem sky full of angels until the angels and the tiny God lying among the ox and cows felt real, became real to me. I wasn’t spiritually advanced, I did the same thing with the Santa’s Workshop pop-up scene that sprang to life when I opened our Ronco Christmas album cover. Both these imaginings were how I felt “The Christmas Spirit”

When I grew up, I experienced some heartbreaks that made the Christmas season too painful and I avoided much of it. Adopting my daughter and getting to play Santa for the first time dissolved those pains and I turned the car radio to the Christmas station. When O Holy Night played, I cried through the whole song knowing I was part of the weary world who at long last was given a thrill of hope.

Photo Credit Below

I unpacked the manger set from my childhood and imagined myself into the scene again – but now the rich metaphors of the annunciation, nativity and epiphany unveiled truths of my own life. These Christmas stories – together with long winter nights and a longing for the sun – are a powerful gateway into a deep part of my psyche. The part that holds my most painful wounds, my most naked need to be seen, valued and loved as well as my deepest capacity to fully love those around me.

Now I am a new grandma with a precious baby, a daughter and a son-in-spirit to love until my heart explodes. When I held my newborn grandson fresh from the womb – the angels singing at the Bethlehem birth became real for me in a whole new way, as did the desperate love of the parents and onlookers at the manger. My wounds still hurt, my needs still poke me with longing, my capacity for love keeps expanding – and the stories of Christmas and the returning sun still offer me beautiful new ways of exploring these truest yearnings of the human heart.

It is from this experience with the stories of Christmas that I created the Spiritual Imagination and the Nativity Series at Loyola Spirituality Center in St Paul starting Dec 4th, 2019. My intention is to carve out a time and space for participants to explore their own Christmas imaginings using music, art and guided reflections. Click the link for more info and to register.

Even if you’re not able to join us, I invite you to spend some quiet time with the sacred stories of the season exploring the rich metaphors they offer.

Middle Photo Credit: Cosmic Birth/Sacred Moment in Time ©Mary Southard marysouthardart.org Courtesy of Ministry OfTheArts.org All rights reserved

Inviting Children into Spirit

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Photo: Michael Neugebauer

Last April, famed scientist Jane Goodall recalled a transformative moment she had in Notre Dame cathedral: light streaming through the Rose Window, Bach filling the vastness. “How could I believe it was the chance gyrations of primeval dust that led to…the collective inspiration and faith of those who (built the cathedral); the advent of Bach… the mind that could, as mine did then, comprehend the whole inexorable progression?.. And so I must believe in a guiding power in the universe—in other words, I must believe in God.”1

Transformative moments like Goodall describes take place in the spiritual imagination, where image, story, music come alive and point towards a reality beyond what we can see. Creative humans purposefully designed cathedrals – as well as Aztec dance, Hindu altars, Christian passion plays – as invitations into Spirit. There was a time when children grew up seeped in these invitations, when societies gathered to express wonder and awe for creation, gratitude to Creator.

Philippe Wojazer / Reuters via nbc news

Today, children grow up seeped in invitations from advertisers and corporations pointing them not towards Spirit, but towards improving physical appearance, owning material things. Is there meaning beyond our material existence? Increasingly, we tell our children “no.” Churches are failing to spark the spiritual imaginations of younger generations as evidenced by declining membership. This failure can be linked to escalating rates of teen anxiety and depression,

as numerous studies find that the most important factor in preventing teen mental health issues is an “inner sense of a living relationship to an…ultimate loving, guiding life force.” 2

For Goodall, this inner sense was sparked by her epiphany in Notre Dame. How can we spark such epiphanies in our children and grandchildren today? Let’s be purposeful and creative as we invite them into a reality beyond the material and into Spirit. After years of listening to what is on the hearts and minds of hundreds of young people, I have ideas about how to do this and you probably do too.

I invite you to join our Spiritually Guiding Young People group that will meet monthly starting Nov 1 at Loyola Spirituality Center in St Paul to share ideas and keep each other focused on this important work.

Click here for more info or to register: Spiritually Guiding Young People Group

Footnotes [1] https://news.janegoodall.org/2019/04/15/dr-goodalls-thoughts-on-the-fire-of-notre-dame/

[2] Miller, Lisa, and Teresa Barker. The Spiritual Child: The New Science on Parenting for Health and Lifelong Thriving. Picador/St. Martin’s Press, 2016, p 5-9 and p 208-209.

To Be Seen, or Not Seen

community, love

Behind the teen’s question, “How do I know that what I see as blue is the same as what you see as blue?” is a fear, a fear that there are no words to bridge the chasm between my inner experience and yours. “What if every time I see blue, it looks like yellow looks to you?” We will never know, and so we live side by side, you seeing yellow and calling it blue, and me wanting to believe that we understand each other and see the same thing.

This past week, I told someone I am just starting to know something personal about myself. Nothing big and no big deal, I thought.

Today, I heard their take on my words and jarringly realized that what I had offered as a clearer glimpse into who I am had instead distorted how this person sees me. Being misunderstood in this way makes me a bit sad.

So much of our inner experience cannot be described and add to that all the layers of story revealing who we really are and it’s a wonder that we ever have those magical encounters of feeling truly seen, truly heard by someone new.

What if it wasn’t so rare and instead we learned how to see past idiosyncrasies, personality differences and into each other’s story in such a way that reveals the beauty of their humanness? I’ll tell you, it’s so easy as a spiritual director to see the beauty of each person who sits in my office and tells me their story. So easy!   

And then I go out into the world and sometimes struggle to hear in that way, to see with love.

Feeling sad today about being misunderstood makes me wonder about all the times I have misunderstood others and caused them to feel distorted, unseen, unheard.

There are countless ways to interpret a person’s words and what you call blue may be my yellow. But if you are telling me something about yourself, I hope to interpret with an aim to meet you in your inner experience and see the beauty in who you are.