Let Go

Earlier this week I was reading Robert Alter's translation of Psalm 46, and was struck by his alternative version of verse 11, which begins "Let go, and know that I am God."  This was a surprise. I know that verse which begins in the Book of Common Prayer with "Be Still." However, this time it is prefaced by the command "Let go."

I use Robert Alter's The Book of Psalms because of the cadence of the translation and his extensive commentary.  Reflecting on the verse, Alter notes that the Hebrew verb used literally would translate to "relax one's grip on something. . . to unclench the warriors fist."  As I read those words, I could feel them sink into me.  The common thread of my life at this time is how I need to practice letting go, relaxing my grip on things.

Much of my learning in Clinical Pastoral Education has a foundation in the ongoing need to let go.  In order to be extend an open hand in ministry, to extend vulnerability by coming alongside, I must unclench my hand and let go of behaviors and feelings that become barriers.  I am learning to recognize when I hide behind particular habits or attitudes.  I am breaking out of those shells that block my growth and limit my freedom to be with others in their time of struggle and need.

Later in his commentary, Alter comments that "The eschatologically triumphant God speaks directly, declaring His supremacy over all the world."  I struggle to remember through my letting go I am opening up to the possibilities and demands of God, opening to the Holy Spirit so that it can move through me as compassion and healing for those broken in body, mind or spirit.

It can be very scary letting go, going against all instincts of self-preservation.  Yet, as my first spiritual director would often remind me, "scared" and "sacred" are the same word with just two letters in reversed.   

Two Josephs

Janie has collected hundreds of nativity scenes from across the world, but there was a special one that she wanted us to see. 

A number of years ago a friend who imported handcrafts from around the world called her in despair.  A nativity set had arrived that did not have a Mary, but had two Josephs instead.  Our friend quickly said she would be happy to buy it, and had set it up for many years in her home. 

Upon seeing it in their living room, I impulsively told Janie I wanted her to put my name on it if she ever decided to give it away.  So, a few weeks ago, she asked me to walk with her out to her car after church, and presented the set to me.  I don't know what the original craftsman would think about it, but it gives me great joy!

Healing

In the late 1990's we returned from summer vacation to find the back basement door hanging open.  Someone had broken into our house and had time to dig through everything, stealing many thousands of dollars of items.  The sense of invasion of our personal space, coupled with the loss of many family items caused pain and insecurity that carried forward in our lives for many years. 

One item that became a symbol was a Hall teapot that my partner planned to give me as a Christmas present.  The teapot had been dumped on the floor and broken, except for the lid which was intact. We listed the teapot in our insurance claim, and looked through local antique stores to find a replacement.  We did find one teapot in the same style, however, it was a bright, fire engine red; not what we wanted.  We finally settled for a cash payment from the insurance.

I kept the lid, hoping to find a teapot missing its lid.  I searched Ebay, and for over 15 years wandered through antique stores, with no matching blue pot.

This summer, visiting the same place we had been visiting those many years ago, we were wandering through a large antique barn.  I saw the same Hall teapot design, missing a lid, for $5.00.  It must have been used as a flower pot because there was a crust of soil still on the inside near the top.  I walked away without buying it because it was that same fire engine red, and didn't match.  But the more I thought about it, the more I knew it was time to bring the two unmatched pieces together.  With a soaking and scrubbing, this is what they look like together.

Over the years, we still remember stolen family items, such as a grandfather's pocket watch and a wedding ring.  They were tangible connections to people important to us. 

This combination of these two pieces, worthless by themselves, into a usable and visible presence for everyday use reflects our healing from that time.  It is not the way I wanted the healing to be, yet it is what is possible. And that is enough.

Waiting While Letting Go

It has been more than a year since my job was eliminated in a corporate reorganization.  The first three months were a time to allow feelings to move through, to let go of old patterns and habits, and to imagine new possibilities.  The next eight months focused on training as a chaplain through Clinical Pastoral Education, serving as a hospice chaplain.  The last three months I have applied for jobs, interviewed multiple ways, been rejected, and waited for new openings. Waits that always seemed long whether they were days or weeks in between.

When I started this process, I expected something like taking a hike on a trail. I pictured a trail like the one to Chimney Rock, Ghost Ranch, New Mexico, that my friends and I hiked one afternoon.  Not all a wide pathway as seen in this photo, the trail at times became only a foot wide, with drop offs on each side; a misstep would have meant tumbling dozens of feet down.  Other times it seemed to fade away into the rock and sand.  But there was always a clear goal, the destination that made it all worthwhile.

Time has shown that "hiking a trail" image has many problems. This transition has no clear destination, and often no continuous path. 

As much as I try to let go of being too attached to a potential job, I am still trying to picture what it would be like to be working for that particular company or in that particular location.  Every time I am told someone else has been offered the job, I have to let go of the combined hope and anxiety that that job offered. 

Another problem is the sense of a continuous path.  Often there is no path, no clear sense of useful direction, just open space every direction.  I begin to wonder if I am even pursuing a realistic option?  How long will I have to wait until I can find the right job? How will I know when to give up trying to find a job, and do what is necessary to cut expenses and live on savings?

Those are the times to stop working on all of the "what if" scenarios, and practice letting go.  When I am very anxious, I start with another spiritual practice such as the Jesus Prayer or walking a labyrinth. Each practice begins to settle me down for either meditation or Centering Prayer, deliberate processes of letting go of thoughts and distractions. 

What I did not anticipate was the way strong memories or emotions would arise during those deliberate periods of letting go.  Even with all of the work I have done in therapy, Clinical Pastoral Education, and in meeting with my spiritual director, surprisingly intense stuff arises.  In the moment, I know I need to let go of that stuff; there are others times to deal with it.  Usually I can let go of it and sometimes it jolts me out.  Each time new stuff appears, I need to respect its power and work out what is means for me now.  It is something to do while waiting.

Waiting for a Bus

For a number of years I commuted to work on a city bus.  It was the reasonable thing to do since the bus stop was a half block from my home, and dropped me off across the street from my office.  Riding during rush hour, the buses were frequent, so even if I missed my intended bus, another would be there in ten minutes.

Even though it is still reasonable to take the bus, I hate waiting for a bus.  Waiting for something to happen without any control triggers all my anxieties.  A worst case situation occurred yesterday going meet friends at the National Cathedral, which can only be reached on a bus.  I set out on the trip with lots of extra time.  Arriving at the bus stop, there were already three young women waiting, a good sign that a bus had not just left.  I found a place to wait, able to look almost a mile up the road.  Minutes passed as I watched a series of buses turn off on other streets, following different routes.  After waiting for fifteen minutes, I checked the posted schedule, noting one bus should have already gone by.  More people arrived, and more time passed, my anxiety rising about making to the appointed meeting.  Finally, the bus arrived after I waited over a half hour. 

Other waits can be very long.  Last week I had an interview for a job, one that would be a very positive step in my career transition.  I was told it would be a week before I would learn their decision.  Just like waiting for the bus, day by day I have had rising anxieties.  I have worried about mistakes made during the interview.  I want to do something, to take action, but know my email think you is plenty enough.  I wonder why they haven’t contacted my references, or if they even will.  I am waiting in suspense.

While waiting, I have been practicing letting go and being present to each moment.  Meditation is one way I continue to learn how to let go.  While sitting in silence, I acknowledge my thoughts and feelings before letting them go.  Like any skill it takes time to be comfortable with letting go, and constant practice. 

Being present is closely related to letting go.  Worry and anxiety focuses on the past or the unknown future, so being present breaks away from those paralyzing states.  Staying in the present moment involves closely paying attention to where I am and what I am doing.  Being present is grounded in my senses.  At this time, I am able to look out the window on a cloudy hazy day.  I can smell the fragrance of the peonies I cut from the garden.  I have my cup of tea nearby, which is beginning to cool down.  I hear the creak of the chair as I move.

Being present with people means engaging with them rather than turning inward.  Joining the group at the cathedral was a way to feel their energy and playfulness of a group.  In an unexpected surprise at the cathedral, when I saw an old friend, and we had a few minutes to talk.  If I had not stayed present in the moment, caught up in my worry and anxiety, I probably would have missed her. 

There are many times in practicing being present when I have been surprised, and blessed, by experiencing something wondrous.  In staying present to the moment, I might find God reaching out to reassure, to comfort, to encourage.

Even though I got to the cathedral later than I wanted, my friends were also later than expected.  So the worry and anxiety was unnecessary.  I hope that will also be true for my job search. Even if I get something later rather than sooner, God will be with me throughout the waiting, if I am able to let go and be present.

New Growth

One year ago my job was eliminated.  Last Saturday was the anniversary of being escorted into the Executive Director's office and told I was not needed.  In spite of time and effort to work through my grief, it still has been a heavy anniversary that needed to be honored.

A few weeks ago the Spiritual Directors International sponsored a Contemplative Retreat at Ghost Ranch, Abiquiu, New Mexico.  Rabbi Nahum Ward-Lev led a small group of us through periods of sitting meditation balanced with contemplative time exploring the landscape around us.

The last morning had a thick layer of clouds, muting the light.  When Nahum sent us outside for a contemplative walk, I started up the trail up to Box Canyon.  I had traveled 30 minutes up the trail then turned around return to where the group was gathering. 

Alongside the path there was a large juniper tree, with a massive trunk, lots of twisted gray wood and only a few branches with foliage.  Its half-dead condition was like so many others I had seen along the trail.  Yet, there was a remarkable profusion of bright green and yellow sprouts coming out of the trunk hear the bottom. I stepped off the trail to look at it more closely.

As I pulled up the camera and took a few exploratory shots, a bright column of sunshine broke through the clouds and lit up the tender branches.  The green became more intense, the yellows shining with the warm light.  I shot from several angles before the sunlight was stopped by the clouds a minute later.  I offered a prayer of gratitude and felt deep joy.

Although much of the year was spent grieving what is dead, I recalled and began nurturing a different part of myself.  Significant knowledge and skills had been rejected by that former workplace.  In my old wood, I found new and tender growth emerging from a deep internal source, cautiously reaching out into the harsh world.  New growth was emerging from seemingly dead part of myself. 

This is my new image for growth into a new life.