Archive for the ‘Inspiration’ Category

Because it’s important

June 19, 2011

I was sad to learn about the recent passing of Mr. Beverly W. “Booty” Armstrong, one of the first people I met in Richmond and someone who made a lasting impact on me. During my rounds of informational interviews, a potential employer suggested that I speak with Booty about his work with the Virginia Performing Arts Foundation – at the time, the Foundation was raising capital to renovate and expand a historic downtown theater. I asked what motivated him to become involved with the project. He replied, “Honestly, I would rather be at a football game than watching a performance, but I do this because it is important for Richmond.”

I’ll never forget that straight-shooting and honest statement about why he was doing what he was doing. As I came to know my adopted city, I found Mr. Armstrong to be among a generation of Virginia gentlemen who cared deeply about the community in which they built businesses and raised their children, and who hoped it would continue to be a city in which their grandchildren would want to live and work. (I mention the men because at the time, they were more visible in corporate leadership than equally- involved and -philanthropic women.)

While meeting with this slightly intimidating yet humor-filled man, he also said to me, “You’re quite comfortable talking with wealthy people, aren’t you?” I was taken aback, and hoped I had not been so informal as to be disrespectful. I had just moved from Aspen, where people of different socioeconomic levels mixed on a daily basis, mostly on a recreational level. Friendly, real interaction with people of wealth who cared about their community as I did had been integral to my eight years of non-profit fundraising in that town. However, there is always deference involved when asking someone to invest their hard-earned money in the common good. Even while I firmly believe that it takes many people playing different roles to create good change in the world – those who ask for funding, those who provide it, and the experts and participants who use it to make change happen – I still find it humbling when donors say yes.

I only spoke with Booty a handful of times after that exceptional first meeting, and I hadn’t seen him for several years. However, he continues to be a role model for me in his commitment to issues he considered critical for the health of this city. I suspect we had different political views, but I’ve been repeatedly surprised by the ways that we in this town can come together to work for what is important.

I do my work primarily because I care about creating equal opportunities for people who do not have them. I also do it because I feel affection for this old, traditional, southern city: a city with injuries so deep they will always be felt, and at the same time a city with promise so great it has yet to be fully realized.

Richmond, along with many other high-poverty urban areas, has problems that are too large for us to solve on our own, either as individuals or as small groups. I think these are problems that require God’s help to solve. But I also believe God wants us to give it our best shot, and at least try before depending on divine intervention to cure our ills.

During my workday, while driving from meeting to meeting, I’ve begun asking for knowledge of God’s will for our community and for God to grant us the power to carry it out. While sitting at a table with colleagues who are working towards a common goal, I sometimes ask the Holy Spirit to come into the room with us. I’m not sure it works, but I sense that my own will relaxes and I become open to our creating something greater than any of us can envision on our own.

I will miss Mr. Armstrong’s presence in this city. Though I didn’t know him well, I believe his big spirit and his example will live on as the rest of us continue to care for this place we love.

Joy!

December 13, 2010

I’ve recently come to trust, without a doubt, that God cares about my immense joy. I believed that God would care for my heart with solace, healing, and happiness. What I didn’t quite get, until now, was that God could and would blow my mind with totally unearned levels of grace.

Last Saturday, my beloved boyfriend bent down on one knee and with tears in his eyes, asked me to marry him. And of course I said YES! To know that the man I adore loves me enough to want to spend his life with me… well, it is a profound feeling. When I look at his sweet, handsome face, I am so hopeful about our life together.

I owe God my humility and a huge dose gratitude for bringing into my life someone who fit my soul. I love being alone, yet he has become an integral part of my life and with him, I feel more joy and more peace than I’ve ever known on my own.

As some of you are well aware, I am almost always late, and at the same time, not terribly patient. I believe that despite my periodic emotional questioning as to when my turn would come, God knew that waiting would be oh so good for me. I’ve grown in my capacity to love. I’ve become more whole, whole enough to now merge with another.

I’m convinced that God orchestrated this waiting for just the right man, just the right me and just the right time. I want to say thank you to the Big Powerful Heart for loving me that much.  

And thank you too for being with me on my journey through this blog, and for being out there in the world, vulnerable in your own way.  

When I look at my ring, I feel our love has been there all along. I believe we are meant for each other and that is why it feels so good and so easy to be with him. He is kind to me, even when I send him seven emails about our wedding after he’s worked a 36-hour shift.

Word has it that marriage is hard and the statistics aren’t good. I hope, though, that ours will be filled with wonder and laughter. Now more than ever before, I understand the yearning of same sex couples to marry. This feeling of saying “yes” to formally and reverently binding my life with that of my beloved… anyone who loves another should be able to take this step.

Twelve months ago on my 41st birthday, I declared it would be the Year of Love. Indeed it was, and with more to come! My sweet man’s proposal proved to me that sometimes good things, the things I want more dearly than anything else, really do happen.

Being Careful with Anger

October 27, 2010

After a glorious Sunday spent reading in Byrd Park, it’s hard to believe that just a few days earlier, I was furious. I do remember, though, the visceral feeling that led me to slam my hand down on a table during the heated encounter. And what it felt like to obsess about the issue while turning my usual evening stroll around the neighborhood into a strident march. I went to bed that night with my journal to try to make sense of what happened – and my part in it – by writing it out of my head and onto paper. Yoga the next morning helped to calm me down and bring me some perspective. I knew that no matter what frustrations had come my way, I had not been who I wanted to be in my response.

I hadn’t been “careful with my anger” as a friend had suggested years ago when I first started exploring the benefits and risks of feeling and expressing anger. Sometimes, it’s freeing to do so. Maybe because anger is often just a few steps past passion – a feeling I’m very much in favor of – it seems justified at times. But is it? Isn’t civil society based on our ability to hold back or at least be angry in a respectful, careful manner?

When I tell friends about slamming my cell phone down on the counter after a stressful conversation, they say, “You? I can’t see you doing that.” Last week, I too thought, “Who am I? Who is this person I’m being?” Certainly not the grounded, kind woman I’d like to be. But maybe the anger is also part of me. And it can serve a purpose, as long as I handle it well.

A rising anger in my chest and clenching of my throat tell me when another has crossed my line and is now stepping on my proverbial toes. GET OFF! I want to scream. I don’t; instead, I get quiet and my speech becomes clipped.

After I analyzed my part in the matter – how I was being just as bitchy as I felt the other was being bullish – and confessed my transgressions to my boyfriend, he said, “We all wish we could be more gracious when we’re mad.”

I think there is a time and place for anger that is born in the heart and used selectively, with care for the recipient. In a recent leadership workshop, we were asked to identify qualities of a leader who had made a significant personal impact on us. Among all of my descriptors, I was surprised to find that I had written “anger” as one of the qualities of an inspiring leader.

My high school music teacher, Mr. Pipkin, used to get furious. He once threw a chair across the music room when a student made him particularly mad. Yet his anger seemed warranted and filled with love. He believed in his students. He had high expectations for us, and he got mad when we didn’t rise to meet those expectations. If he thought we were slacking – and he was usually right – he’d get furious. I was scared of that part of him and I loved that about him. I knew how much he cared about us. He fought for us. But he also knew when to let us go.

Toward the end of my senior year, I began pulling away and distancing myself from his care and guidance. I was often snotty to this person who meant the world to me and had seen me through tough times in high school. When he was on his death bed a few years later, I apologized for treating him that way. He couldn’t speak, but he squeezed my hand, which I took as his generous, loving way of saying I didn’t need to apologize. He understood young people.

Unlike my anger last week, Mr. Pipkin’s anger was unselfish. It was born of care. A priest friend was describing for me some of the many ways that God similarly uses anger. I don’t know the sacred texts well enough to quote any of those instances, but I will say that I believe – as you have likely seen – anger can drive necessary change if it is couched in care. I’m not so skilled at this yet, but I’ll keep working on it, and hopefully, I won’t do too much damage in the meantime.

It might actually mean letting myself get messily angry so I can practice a more elegant response. When I think about doing my work in the world, I’d like to use my anger for good in a powerful, passionate, and care-full manner. I’ll let you know how it goes. And if you have thoughts on the subject you’d like to share, I’d love to hear them.

Welcoming the Unknown

September 27, 2010

Give our Lord the benefit of believing
that his hand is leading you,
and accept the anxiety of feeling yourself
in suspense and incomplete.
Above all, trust in the slow work of God

I first heard these lines, written by Jesuit theologian Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, when they were included in a profound sermon given by Brother Geoffrey Tristram. I thought God had spoken directly to me, because it answered the exact yearning of my heart. Trust in the slow work of God, Eleanor. Accept the anxiety of suspense. Trust that there is something necessary happening during this time of not knowing.
 
It was the first time I had heard the suggestion to accept the anxiety. I’ve always tried to get beyond anxiety as quickly as possible, thinking that peace is where I’m supposed to be. I regularly try to breathe my way, or “yoga” my way, to peace. If I can’t, I call a friend, talk to a coach, write my favorite priest, read a book hoping for insight, or…start trying to control my way out of feeling anxious. By trying to manipulate outcomes or force answers before their time, I often create more of a mess inside and around me.
 
What I have not done is trust that there is value in the anxiety of not knowing. I don’t have to make it go away. It will go away in its own time, after the work of God is done. Paradoxically, once I start accepting anxiety, it lessens its grip on me.

We are impatient of being on the way
to something unknown,
something new.

Indeed, I’m impatient by nature. If there is change to create in the world, I want it to happen now! If there is love to be experienced, I want to be living all of its glory now! While my belly is full of passion, my heart doesn’t always get it – that not everyone is where I am, when I am. Lately, my head has saved the day, by coming to understand intellectually that abiding love takes time to grow strong roots, and lasting change takes planning, patience and thoughtful execution.

Change within me takes time as well. Many times God has seen me through this familiar struggle to surrender control and accept the anxiety of not knowing how it will turn out. Luckily, God didn’t give up on me in frustration when that fear of the unknown showed up again. Instead, God sent me this poem. I thought I’d share it with you because I think I might finally be getting it.

Do not try to force them on
as though you could be today what time
- that is to say, grace -
and circumstances
acting on your own good will
will make you tomorrow.

- Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, S.J.

Choosing Love

August 17, 2010

I find it so easy to hate from a “righteous” place. I’ve done it a lot. I do it still. Just the other morning at 7-11, I felt it looking at a Time Magazine cover photo of a young woman whose nose and ears had been cut off by decree of the Taliban.

I hate the Taliban, what I know of the Taliban at least. When I indulge in my fury, it gives me a little high to feel so strongly about something; then I crash with frustration at the realization that fury alone won’t change anything. Upon hearing about a crime against humanity such as the butchering of the Afghan woman, I feel hate grip my mind, body and heart.

Many people who work to right social injustices find their fuel in anger, yet at what cost and to what end when that anger boils over?

Hate against hate does nothing for the world. Hate doesn’t conquer inequality. Hate won’t change the minds of those I disagree with. Hate will do nothing except burn me from the inside.

Constant rage is not sustainable in a human being. It seems to me that hate-filled bodies are more susceptible to disease of the same “angry” nature. Similarly, I think the degree of fervent hate in the world and our own country is growing to a level that is unsustainable. Just like a 105 degree summer day with 90% humidity is often broken by a massive thunderstorm; at some point, hate will crash.

What will we have left? I imagine the shredded, burned remnants of what it once meant to live in community. Maybe though, after the crash, we’ll be able to start again. If one person can remember what it is to love.

One of my heroes, Morris Dees, founder of the Southern Poverty Law Center, knows a lot about hate, having fought legal battles against white supremacist groups for more than 40 years. The SPLC has documented 932 known hate groups currently operating in the United States; 22 of them in Virginia.

I received an email from the SPLC that ends: “People of goodwill can make a difference in the fight to expose organized racism and hate in our country. Remember to be an advocate for justice and speak out against hate wherever and whenever you see it.”

I added my name as a “voice for tolerance” on the SPLC’s “Stand Strong Against Hate” map. What will it do? I think it is a small, public way to speak out for a different world – one moved by care for each other.

Rob Bell writes in Velvet Elvis, “The goal here isn’t simply to not sin. Our purpose is to increase the shalom in this world.” He defines shalom as God’s goodness. I believe that goodness is expressed as love.

A few days ago I lay on the floor under the ceiling fan trying to get cool. My boyfriend was sitting across from me. As he spoke, I wasn’t really paying attention to his words; instead, I was watching the crinkle of his eyes when he smiled and thinking how happy I am with him in my life. Lately, I feel filled with love, and while I feel blessed to experience it, I believe love is also a choice.

I’ve heard many times the expression that “hurt people hurt.” I would reason then that the moment-to-moment choice to fill myself with love or hate has a direct impact on the world and others around me. In the face of so many social issues that get my ire up  (way up!), I pray that I may choose my response carefully lest I add to the problem instead of help to alleviate it.

Hope and Humility

July 26, 2010

  “Hope is a decision.” – Jim Wallis, founder of Sojourners, in a Speaking of Faith interview  

I’ve been thinking about hope and humility. If hope is a decision, I believe humility is as well. I came to this theory in my yoga class. The instigator was chaturanga pose, my nemesis, a reverse push-up in which you slowly lower your body like a plank to a hover a few inches above the floor. I’m not very good at this pose. In fact, I hate it.  

This week I found myself getting angrier and angrier at my teacher each time she asked us to do another one, until, in a moment of grace, the word “humility” came to me. I decided to just accept that the pose is hard for me rather than wish I could do it as well as my classmates.

Letting chaturanga be an intentional exercise in humility is a relief. It helps me let go of my frustration that I’m still doing it on my knees (A.K.A. the “girl” version) after 11 years of practicing. There are a lot of things I wish I were good at, but I’m not. The expectation that I even need to be is what I’m letting go. Anne Lamott writes in her book Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life:

“Perfection is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people… It will keep you cramped and insane your whole life.”

I know that cramped feeling. I know insanity. In fact, it creeps up on me any time I disappoint a friend, compare my arm strength to that of my fellow yoginis, or am embarrassed that I need others’ talents to balance out my shortcomings.

Humility is a welcome alternative. Thank you, chaturanga, for teaching me this lesson. I’m not a big fan of the phrase “lighten up,” as it is often delivered in a condescending tone, but indeed, when I decide that it’s OK to be less than perfect, I lighten up. 

In a common Sun Salutation yoga sequence, one moves from chaturanga to upward-facing dog pose, described in Yoga Journal as “an invigorating backbend that opens the chest and shoulders.” If chaturanga feels like humility, then upward dog feels like hope. From one to the other in one breath. Bowing my heart to God; opening my heart to God.

With intention, I move from accepting my place in the order of things to using my gifts to create something new. Over and over again.

What’s on your A list?

July 20, 2010

A friend of mine is working towards a joint master’s degree from Duke University’s School of the Environment and Divinity School. It’s exciting to hear about her intention to combine the two fields of study for the good of the planet. Our conversations about all of the theology she is learning are incredibly enlightening and fun. They confirm my desire to work for social justice driven by an ever-unfolding understanding of the responsibility I’ve taken on by being a child of God. She recommended to me – a Bible neophyte – that I read the Old Testament’s Book of Amos for a good dose of social justice.

So I added “Read Amos” to my newly organized to-do list for the weekend. Last week I took a workshop on planning, focus and prioritization, an experience I hope will make me more “efficient and effective” (or at least punctual!) Particularly now that I have a super cute, salmon-pink planner making it all the more fun to get organized! One tip offered was to rank the importance and urgency of daily tasks with an A, B or C. I ranked reading Amos a B since “Pay Bills” was a bit more urgent, if not more important.
 
I wanted to read Amos without looking at the footnotes to see what I could absorb on my own. Luckily, it was pretty easy to get the gist of the following admonition from the Lord:

“I hate, I despise your festivals, and I take no delight in your solemn assemblies. Even though you offer me your burnt offerings and grain offerings, I will not accept them; and the offerings of well-being of your fatted animals I will not look upon. Take away from me the noise of your songs; I will not listen to the melody of your harps. But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.” (Amos 5:21-24)
 
You might recognize that last line from Martin Luther King, Jr.’s “I Have A Dream” speech. I yearn to hear more of its kind in church, to inspire and embolden us to follow his and others’ examples.

I admit though that I was feeling a bit anti-church this morning after reading about the Vatican’s including the ordination of women in the same “grave delict” category as the sexual abuse of children. If that kind of thinking is Christianity, what am I doing getting dressed up to go be a part of it? I then reminded myself that my church has two ordained women priests! So off I went and asked God to please let me hear something I need to get past my doubt.
 
I walk in and what’s being read aloud? Amos! Now, I don’t believe I’ve ever heard Amos in church. Granted, I’m usually late so I well could have missed it! I couldn’t help but feel that God had asked them to read it just for me, as a way to say, “Yes, you are meant to be here today.”

Adding to the list of grace-filled coincidences of the morning was priest Randy Hollerith’s sermon. In it, he noted how some people rank their to-do lists as A, B or C priorities. Hey! I just learned that little organizational trick in my training! Randy closed by saying, “The demand for justice is God’s ‘A’ priority.”

 
I was glad to be reminded of what needs to be at the top of my to-do list Monday morning. 
 
What’s on yours?

Living Out Loud…Why?

July 15, 2010

On my makeshift altar, there is a card with a quote from Emile Zola that reads: “If you asked me what I came into this world to do, I will tell you: I came to live out loud.” I believe I did as well. I came to talk about real things. I came to share my heart and to feel yours.

I need that reminder as I contemplate why I write and share this blog with you all. It’s scary to do so. In the last three weeks, I’ve been on vacation and I’ve started a new job; the time off from writing was freeing. I felt free from the dread of Monday morning – Should I have hit send last night? Free from the feeling of vulnerability – Did I say too much? Will they think I’m crazy for baring my soul? And free from doubt - Who cares what I think?

But I want to connect. With you. With my spirit. With a deeper truth.

It’s the uneasy feeling of vulnerability that makes me regularly question whether I should keep doing this. Vulnerability seems like a very good thing to avoid! Other people don’t say these things about their lives out loud. That seems like such a safer and saner way to live.

I realize though that it isn’t just my writing that makes me feel that way – my whole life ethos is dependent upon a willingness to be vulnerable. I feel it walking up the aisle towards the Eucharist. Talking about the future with my boyfriend. Being authentic with his family. Starting a new job. Leading a contemplative workshop for my friends and their husbands. Hoping for something I really want.

When I seek safety instead of risking vulnerability, I need to ask in whose service am I writing and is the risk worth it? I believe that I live out loud in service to God.

Does fear of embarrassment or total mortification ever hold you back from giving what you have to give? What if that very thing you are afraid to share matters more than you know?


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