Puffing up the Pillows

“For many a dance starts with a trip, and many a song finds its opening through a cough.” Mark Nepo

The place was a mess. He’d lived alone for ages and didn’t care what his apartment looked like. “I should clean up the place,” he thought to himself and walked over an puffed up the pillows on the couch. Unfortunately, he thought his work was over, when, in fact, it was just beginning.

Maybe it’s my stage in life, but it is becoming clear to me that the most important work we can do is to become our true selves. After years of striving to be this or that, to achieve this or that, I realize what matters is finding our true selves. Such a quest is not an invitation for more striving, although it is going to take enormous effort. Such a quest does not mean looking for a new job, although the implications of such a journey may involve changing the outside of our lives. But where it all begins is inside.

Who are you . . . really?

Underneath all the outside and visible, is there a flickering light within you, longing to be seen or given air?

Turning one’s gaze inward is scary. Outward striving is easier. (Afterall, we have years of practice.) Looking inward is new and challenging. It takes time, and the results are illusive . . . but they’re lasting. It’s easier to puff up the pillows than get at the work that’s really needed. I, for one, am tired of puffing up the pillows.

In alcoholics anonymous, they say someone is either moving toward a drink or away. I think the same is true with our journey toward authenticity. In each action we take, each comment we make, we are either moving toward our authentic selves or away.

Only one direction leads to new life. We might stumble as we do this work, but that’s because this path is new. I have no doubt it’s worth it.

Day Hiking

I couldn’t resist. I saw the sign driving into town, and it taunted me all weekend until I gave in. Ever since I first heard of the Appalachian Trail, I was enamored by the idea of a trail that went from Georgia to Maine. At one point in my life, I seriously thought of walking the entire thing, but now I look on and admire those who have.

Sort of like my life of faith.

I climbed out of my car and took a deep breath. Although I wanted to remove my shoes, like Moses, because of the sacredness of the trail, I knew better. I walked an hour in one direction and then back again. For me, there is nothing like hiking to take my mind to places beyond day-to-day logistics. What really matters is clearer when I’m on the trail.

Sort of like my life of faith.

Halfway through, I came across a hiker with a beard, backpack, and stabilizing poles. I asked if he had walked much of the AT, and he informed me he’d walked all of it. He began at Springer Mountain (the trail’s origin) in February and was on his way to Mount Katahdin. “You’re a Through-Hiker!” I said with chills. After he continued on his way, I felt as if I had been in the presence of greatness. Somehow, knowing he was walking the entire trail made me feel better. If I can’t, or won’t, do it, at least there are those who do.

Sort of like my life of faith.

Once I was back at the car, I drove back to my hotel and passed a beautiful church with a sign about Sunday services. Like the AT sign, it stayed with me. I knew I had to return on Sunday. I’ve always loved going to church; it’s a way for me to get back on the trail again, even if for an hour. Maybe I’ll sit beside some “through hikers,” people who live their faith every day. That would give me chills and inspire me to hike just a little bit more.

Three Dots Blinking

I was texting with a dear friend, and the humorous banter made me eager for his next reply. Staring at the three dots blinking in succession, I knew he was coming up with a witty reply, and I couldn’t wait. It seemed to take forever, but, as I sat there staring, I realized how often my conversations with God feel like that.

I’m not good at praying. Growing up in the Episcopal church, I felt my prayers needed to be read from the Book of Common prayer, or be as poetic as Thomas Cranmer. Eventually, I worried less about how I spoke and focused on what I was trying to say. I found it easier to speak when using my own words, expressing my deepest thoughts regardless of how raw or unpolished they were. I’ve also turned to writing in a journal in an attempt to get my soul to breathe, which, after all, is what prayer is.

The problem is, my prayer life so often feels like a monologue, like one hand clapping. I’ve never had a burning bush, nor been knocked off a horse (in the spiritual sense). While I do think God has spoken to me, it’s always in whispers. It’s never been as clear, or as often, as I would like. It’s felt like the three dots blinking, like God is on the other end working of His response, but it takes forever. I wait, staring at the screen, so to speak, but the dots keep blinking.

I’ll keep waiting.

A response will come.

At least, I hope it will.