Grounded: Day 1

Ash Wednesday

In my tradition, it is the practice to have worship in the evening on Ash Wednesday, during which ashes in the shape of a cross are rubbed on our foreheads. The ashes are often made by burning the branches of the Christmas trees used during the Advent/Christmas. I have always admired that connection between the birth and the death of Jesus even if it is a bit contrived.

Today is Ash Wednesday, 2020 and once again I have ashes on my forehead. Tomorrow, my book group is going to begin reading "Grounded: Finding God in the World" by Diana Butler Bass. I'm kind of excited that tonight I got grounded, as in dirt rubbed into my face; a reminder of the reality that life is death and death is life. It is a reminder to me that I am of the earth, and that I also am part of the cycle of life that includes dying so that life might continue.

It's a mystery for sure, this dying to live thing. And I don't have all the answers. And I'm sure Diana Butler BAss doesn't either. But I look forward to this time of Lent, when I will give the inward journey a bit more attention and intention.

The term "grounded" is interesting. What does it mean to you to be "grounded?"
What grounds you? How can you build a practice of grounding into your life, a way for you to remember the source of your life, a way to reach in and find nourishment for your soul?

--just jules, 2/26/2020

A week wrapped in love and a "rain-set"

Last night's "rain-set" (a combination of rain and sunset) was spectacular. Here is a photo of the sunset through the gentle rain that had fallen all afternoon ( out my book door). As Pete and I stood on our back steps and watched, I kept thinking that this was a week wrapped in love and prayer. The sun and rain helped me see that. Let me explain.

I have to back up a ways. At the end of June, our son noticed a bump on Pete's neck which we decided should be checked out. then there was a doc visit, an ENT visit, a CT scan, a biopsy and an ultrasound. On August 4, Pete was diagnosed with papillary thyroid cancer. That whole first week after the diagnosis, I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. It took all my strength to not jump to horrible conclusions. And actually the news was good. This is a cancer with a 95% cure rate, even after 20 years. And Pete is one of the healthiest people I know. But I've been down the path that runs through the shadow of death before and I've lost people, including my 11 year old son Hans (in 2000). Just because everything looks good doesn't mean it is. I know this truth in my bones and deep in my heart. So I reached out for support and prayers because no matter how things turn out, life is just better when the community focuses on blessing and supporting each other.

On Wednesday, September 14, (just two days ago) Pete had his surgery at the U of M hospital with the same surgeon who did my parathyroid surgery 5 years ago. This helped give me confidence in the outcome. I totally trusted Dr. Evasovich. Then on the day of surgery, my friend Cheryl, and Pete's sister Kris (and later my children) joined me in the family waiting room. It was a long, long day which included a 3-hour delay before the surgery started. But we weren't wrong about Dr. Evasovich. She did a great job taking out his thyroid and several lymph nodes as well as avoiding all the risks of nerve damage. She even caught an extra problem in one of Pete's parathyroids and removed that.

All the while, I knew people were praying and sending love and holding us tenderly in their hearts. It was exhausting to wait but inside, at the center, I felt a peace that passes all understanding. It was similar to something I had felt before when our son Hans got brain cancer...the mystery of beauty in the midst of pain and chaos, the mystery of how people can hold one another with love.

Yesterday, Thursday, I brought Pete home from the hospital around noon with every hope that he will fully recover. He has a very sore throat but was able to eat and spent most of the afternoon resting. And then in the evening a very sweet thing happened. There was this poetic movement of the sun echoing off of every raindrop as it sank into the horizon. Yellow and orange filled the sky as the rain continued to fall. I couldn't help but think this is what happens when everyone prays...the light shines and echoes off of every teardrop, every deep sigh. Tears wrapped in love turn to gratitude and joy. This is another truth sinking deep into my bones. Light and love change everything, even a week spent fighting cancer.

So I offer my gratitude to God, to all of you, to the mystery of how love can make a rain-set appear on your back steps at the end of day full of struggle. Thank you for wrapping my week in love!

Love, jules ~ 9/16/16

A prayer by Ulrich Schaffer

This prayer has been sticking with me the last few days and I just feel drawn to share it with you. It is written by Ulrich Schaffer in his book, "Searching for You, " which has been a favorite of mine since I was in college (a long time ago). It is no longer in print so I share it with you here. Savor it and enjoy! ~ love, jules

YOU ARE

I HEAR YOU

IN THE CRY OF THE GULL

IN THE WIND CHASING THE LAST LEAVES OF FALL

IN THE WHISPER OF A CHILD

I SEE YOU

IN THE ANIMAL SHAPES OF CUMULUS CLOUDS

IN THE TREES TEN TIMES MY AGE

IN THE WRINKLED FACE OF A WOMAN OVER NINETY

I TASTE YOU

IN THE SWEETNESS OF WHOLE WHEAT IN BLACK BREAD

IN THE SMOOTH RICHNESS OF AN AVOCADO

IN THE CREEK WATER FROM A CUPPED HAND

I SMELL YOU

IN THE AIR AFTER A CLEANSING RAIN

IN THE FRESLY CUT GREEN ONION

IN THE THICK CARPET OF AUTUMN LEAVES

I TOUCH YOU

IN THE SMOOTH BARK OF A WHITE BIRCH

IN THE ROCK BENEATH THE SUMMIT TEARING MY HANDS

IN THE TEXTURE OF WET AND DRY SAND

I READ YOUR LETTERS TO ME

IN THE TALKING EYES OF A STUDENT

IN THE JOY OF SHARED GRIEF

IN THE APPROPRIATE PHRASE RELEASING TENSION

IN THE SILENCE THAT FOLLOWS THE STORM

IN THE PLUNGE OF A SUICIDE

IN THE NOVELIST CREATING HIS CHARACTERS

IN THE TEAR CRIED IN SELF-PITY

IN THE TELEPHONE THAT NEVER RINGS

IN THE LIFE-CYCLE OF A SALMON

IN THE CANDLE FLAME THAT DIES IN ITS OWN WAX

IN THE WHITE CANE OF A BLIND MAN

IN THE EMPTY CHURCHES

IN THE BEGGARS MOUTH ORGAN

IN THE UNFINISHED SYMPHONY AND THE UNPAINTED PICTURE

TEACH ME TO HEAR AND TO SEE

TEACH ME TO TASTE, TO SMELL, AND TO TOUCH

AND TEACH ME TO READ

TO READ YOUR HANDWRITING

YOUR LETTERS TO ME

Looking at Light

What if the gift of the shadow, the fog, the smoke 
is that you can bear to look at the light?

welcome shadow

welcome mystery

welcome tenderness

those moments that invite me

to look toward the light

to see the gift

to open myself

to love

to grace

to god

~just jules, 7/5/2015