A holy space

It was an old musty garage holding treasures from the past 13 years. In a fit a of spiritual rage I turned it into my holy space. A place where I could pray, listen, meditate, explore, paint, and write. In this place I came to know Her.

Now four years later, I delight as I read the entries from my first months in that holy, holy place.

3-13-2000

I sit in this place...this holy place...with deep determination and conviction that something will be born here. Waiting. I am in this space to be a midwife to my soul. To be fully born and reborn...again and again.

3-14-2000

Here in this room...my soul's nursery. I sit with great anticipation for what will be born...is being born...preparing...opening making room for what is to emerge. At times it feels as though the water will burst. Fresh, wet, hungry...ready to feast at Her table. I will be full.

3-31-2000

This room is like a magnet to my soul. I feel safe. I feel known...called by name.

4-10-2000

What is the purpose of this time? What do have to show for sitting in this place...waiting? What if I can't find my way back? What if I break? What if I am already broken? What if I never paint anything great? What if I never know God?

5-12-2000

Give your spirit time...freedom...gestation. You in in process. Premature life is not sustainable. Fully develop in the womb of this time and space. Wait now in this space. Be here now...don' run...stay. You have nothing to fear. I am holding you in the womb of my belly. You are safe.

Meeting Her

Ok so I stink at this blogging thing...but I was so inspired yesterday by Jen's posting about her journey.

As women it seems that between the ages of mid 30-40 a new birth occurs. One that is often unexpected and a quite bold.

I recall sitting in a big comfy chair at a women's retreat about 5 years ago. We were writing letters to ourselves. I was writing something about God and I began to use She rathter than He. The floodgates opened that day and my soul has never been the same.

In the weeks following...everything turned upside down. One afternoon while journaling on my deck I was overcome with a need to paint. Now understand I am no "real" painter. My earliest memory of painting is standing next to Julie Johnson in Preschool and the teacher would walk by and praise the neatness of her picture. There is nothing neat about me so I bowed out of the art thing early.

But this inner hunger to paint had to be fed...there was no walking away. I recall walking into the paint store...awkward..as though I was looking for something illicit. The clerk tried to help by asking my medium...uhh..watercolors..yes watercolors is my medium...don't know where I came up with that but that is how watercolors entered my life.

Arriving home with the watercolors and the huge pad of paper, I was nervous...kind of like a first date. What am I doing I wondered? I took the paper out on the deck with a big bowl of water in my favorite ceramic bowl....baptism occured.

I dipped my hands in the cool water and slowly squeezed the tube of paint...a perfect blue...onto the page. My fingers moved between the water and the paint. Something in my soul began to loosen... a bit of air breathed into my heart that day. The picture from that first day is one of my most treasured possessions. For the casual observer it is a simple blue fingerpainting with a handprint...for me it was the day I met a long buried part of my soul.

thoughts on play & family continued

We just got back from a lovely 6 day vacation. Our first stop was Santa Monica to visit Bob's sister. It was a wonderful, wacky 48 hours of kids running and playing. A great day at the beach jumping waves. A chance to chat and validate the realities of family. We had a wonderful dinner Saturday night for my niece's 18th birthday. How quickly these little people grow into adults.

We then headed to Disneyland. It's cheesey but I love it! I think I love the fact that it gives you permission to suspend time and space and again to just play. We are fortunate that the girls are now 8 and 16 so there wasn't much whining or getting over stimulated. It was really our first family vacation where we could all enjoy the same activities. We rode the new Tower of Terror...ahhh! Mary rode it 6 times. I'm not sure I will ever feel the same about elevators.

The best part of the trip were all the silly times...Bob leading us in skipping through the hotel, screaming in the hotel elevator like we were on the ride, running from the hotel pool into the park to ride the Grizzly (and getting soaked!), collecting all the disposable items in the hotel to create a new "hotel" game for Katie. We stayed up late each night watching the Olympics which was also great fun.

Somehow it was also a very reflective trip for me. I know Disneyland and reflection...go figure. Most of my reflection was centered on the girls growing up and my role as a parent changing. Mary has had an amazing transformation since her trip to Costa Rica. She is like this flower coming into to full bloom. I am a bit in awe of the young woman she is becoming. On the one hand I am so honored to be her Mom and on the other hand I feel this nagging sadness knowing that she is slowly moving out of our nest. How do you let your child go? What can ever fill that space in your bed each morning? I am not yet sure how I will adapt. For now I am just present to a growing bittersweet sadness in my heart.

Home

I'm still thinking about this whole concept of family. We saw Garden State last weekend and one of the great lines in the movie was family is just a group of people who miss the same imaginary place called home.

I'm not sure I concur with this line. Doesn't ever member of a family hold a unique longing for their personal imaginary place called home? Food is central in my image...fresh baked cookies, chicken and rice in wine sauce, iced tea with fresh mint, tacos with too much cumin. These things still make me feel home.

One of the dictionary definitions for home is: a place where one originates or is found.

I wonder if we sometimes get the originating and being found confused. Don't many of us return home hoping to be found.

Family

I have actually had time to read a few novels this summer. Elizabeth Berg is one of my favorite authors. Her recent novel, The Art of Mending, captured the complicated nature of family realtionships. Since reading it I have been wondering, what is family? why are the ties so deep? why do families cause such joy and pain? why are are we all yearning to go home?

I love to call my Mom. I usually talk to her daily. It is like a little touchstone that makes me feel safe and complete. We don't talk about anything particularily deep. Mostly, my day, her day, my work, the kids. I am pretty much past looking for her approval. Our world views are very different, yet, the thrill I feel when she says hello...it's like ahhh she's there...my body relaxes into her voice. I am safe.

Play

Play... a simple word that I have become swept up with this summer. Play a time to just do something for the heck of it....no agenda, no plan, just fun. Play has becoome my summer spiritual disipline. Long games of Uno with my daughter, kick ball games in the park, walking through the grass barefeet....mindless playing.

For me playing takes me out of time and space into a realm where I feel the most holy, primal part of myself connect with others. Laughing, cheering, lounging...basking in the wonderous joy of play. In this frivolous connection with others I feel the warmth of the Divine.