Hurry up and wait! Hurry up and wait! That seems to be one of the messages of our lives these days. So many people I know are in a rush, only to find that when they get somewhere, they have to wait.
This past week I went to my eye doctor's office for my checkup. The waiting room was filled with people waiting to see the doctors. Yesterday I was running late, so I almost ran to the subway. When I got on the platform I found it was packed with people who likely had also rushed to catch the train only to learn that the trains were delayed. So we waited for nearly 25 minutes before a train came.
Today I got up early, finished packing my suitcase, and charged out the door to catch a taxi. The ride to the airport went amazingly fast for New York City. I felt lucky - we only stopped twice in the traffic to wait. Of course, I had to wait in line at the security checkpoint and waited at the gate for almost two hours. And then I waited for almost five and a half hours for my plane to reach its destination on the other side of the country.
As I began to think more about waiting, I realized that there is a lot of waiting time in all of our lives. How do we use that precious time? Do we use it in a constructive way or in a wasteful way? Do we get frustrated and angry or do we see the time of waiting as a time to be open, to pay attention, to be present, to learn, to pray, to connect with God?
Beloved God, we bustle through our hassled world rushing about and then waiting for something to happen. We need to learn to use our "waiting time" in useful and peace-filled ways. Help us to use this time as special time with you. Amen.
The winter this year in New York has seemed longer, colder, and harsher than usual, and there have been more snowstorms than we ordinarily have. People seem hungry for a touch of spring. One day when the weather got over 40 degrees, I saw a number of people walking on the streets with only light jackets, and one brave soul was in shorts and a T-shirt. Yes, we’ve been ready for the arrival of spring for a long time.
This weekend on a very promising day, I decided to drive out to my little beach house to check out the status of my snow-covered, frozen, dormant gardens. The sun was shining in a blue sky, the winds were calm, and the thermometer was reaching into the mid-40s. I felt a sense of pleasure when I saw that the hardware store in my little town was displaying its rakes outside instead of snow shovels, and the local nursery seemed to be gearing up with soil, fertilizer, and plants.
I felt so encouraged and inspired that I decided to start cleaning out the broken branches, twigs, and dead leaves from my flower beds. How surprised I was to find under the winter debris that tiny shoots of green were popping up in the most unexpected places.
Sometimes we can get so bogged down with the darkness of winter in our lives that we may forget that spring is coming with new life, new possibilities. As spring approaches, it’s a great time to liberate ourselves from our darkness and our fears. Perhaps we can open ourselves like spring flowers to God, to our gifts, and to the fullness of our souls.
As I worked in my garden enjoying the hint of spring, some questions came to mind:
• What does the darkness of winter mean to us?
• Are there gifts we can glean during winter times and how can we best use them?
• What does "springtime" mean to us?
• Are we open to the gifts of springtime? And how can we use those gifts?
Oh, God, as your children, you generously give us the gifts of spring, of new life. Help us get un-stuck from the darkness in our lives and to be grateful for your love and forgiveness. Help us to be worthy of your precious gifts and to use them in meaningful ways. Amen.
For many years, I worked for international development organizations in different countries around the world. I had the opportunity to meet people of diverse cultures, customs, styles, races, religions, and faiths. I learned how much we had in common: a primal need to have adequate food and water, a desire to have good health, a yearning to read and write, and a longing to have a decent quality of life.
One of the privileges of living and working in so many places in the world is the pleasure of experiencing many different flavors of foods. At times I wasn’t sure what I was eating. However, when I learned that a particular food was a delicacy of a community or that it had been specially prepared for me, I tried it. At other times, I had no choice; there was nothing else to eat. When I was working for Save the Children and visiting some of the programs in Nepal, I had to walk deep into the mountains to remote areas where no vehicles could travel. Each day I was served a little rice and dal (a spicy lentil dish) for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I grew quite accustomed to this routine and began looking forward to each meal and savoring the subtle differences in the flavors of the dal, which had been lovingly prepared for me.
As a result of my international work, I’m open to trying new foods and to paying attention to the way they have been cooked. I’m always surprised when people tell me they don’t want to try something new – that they probably won’t like it. How can they know if they don’t try?
In a way, it’s similar with prayer. We might not be willing to try out new ways of praying, new avenues that may help us better reach the Divine. Not long ago a woman I work with said that as a child she had been taught only to pray the prayers that were found in a certain prayer book. She had followed those instructions all her life, but she didn’t feel connected to God and she was afraid to venture out on her own and diversify her style of praying. When we discussed how she might like to speak with God, she said she yearned to talk with God as a child to a parent or as a friend to another friend, to someone with whom she would feel comfortable. So I encouraged her to test different types of communication with God. Recently she reported that she had tried out some new ways to pray and had discovered she felt more peace-filled and tranquil. She had found new flavors of prayer that brought her closer to God.
God of all the Nations, of all the peoples, of all religions, thank you for loving all of your children and calling us your own. You invite us to reach out to you in whatever ways we can that will help us draw closer to you. Teach us not to be afraid to try out new flavors of prayer, so that we can experience your peace and your love in all aspects of our lives. Amen.
As I spent time in India, I saw that, for most Hindus, religion is deeply intertwined with daily life and activities. Their gods are prayed to every day and are consulted and asked for help in almost all aspects of daily life. A devout Hindu doesn’t have to attend a temple service to worship or to honor a god or goddess, because the divine exists in everything–every living being, every animal, every tree. Perhaps that is why Hindus are so hospitable to strangers, since every person carries something of the divine within them. Even the traditional greeting of "Namaste" means "I recognize the divine in you." A very worthy custom.
One day I had the opportunity to join in "bathing elephants" in a beautiful clean river about an hour outside Cochin in Kerala, India. I had no idea what to expect. So when I saw Sunitha, a huge 40-year-old female elephant lumbering down the hill toward me, I confess I felt afraid. How on earth could I get up the courage to help bathe her? Sunitha approached the river with great excitement trumpeting her glee as she stepped into the water. She placed her long trunk into the water, sucked up some water, lifted her trunk into the air, and showered herself with delight. At a gentle command from her trainer, she laid down in the river like a baby happily waiting for her bath.
It was then that three baby elephants walked down the hill toward the river. As they passed me, I could see their almost human-looking eyes. I remember having a similar feeling the first time I saw the eyes of a whale up close. One four-year-old elephant named Asha stopped near me, sniffed me with her trunk, looked me in the eye, and smiled at me–or so it seemed. I knew then that Asha was the elephant I would wash. She was absolutely precious, and I wanted to hug her. So I rolled up my trousers, stepped into the river, and began talking to her. I bathed Asha with a coconut husk marveling at her skin, the little hairs that grew on it, and her amazing trunk that sniffed at my arms and gently touched my face.
What a privilege to talk to and bathe an elephant–an animal that is considered sacred in many countries and represents loyalty, wisdom, elegance, and good luck. As I bathed Asha, I told her that she was indeed one of God’s beautiful creatures, that I could see the divine in her. It was truly a sacred spiritual experience–one I will always treasure.
Amazing God, You shower upon us so many surprises in life. Who could begin to imagine that bathing an elephant would leave a person awe-struck and grateful? Ah, if we could just stay open to your surprises and gleefully rush to the river of life. May we recognize the divine in ourselves and in each of your creatures. Amen.
The first time I rode with Navas in his motorized rickshaw through the streets of Cochin, India, I was impressed with his gentleness and kindness. He carefully tried to miss the potholes and bumps in the streets. He seemed sympathetic to those he met – both people and animals. He had a huge smile that could steal your heart away, but he also gave off a sense of dignity and pride.
One day as I was waiting for Navas to pick me up, he was a few minutes late. When he arrived, he apologized and said he was feeling very sad. He had been driving two people who had “problems something like his,” and he wanted to help them as much as possible. They both were disabled.
When Navas was only eight months old, he was struck with polio. He survived, but both of his legs were badly weakened. Because he lived in Kerala, he still had the opportunity to be educated (Kerala has a 100 percent literacy rate – one of the hightest in the world), and he was very intelligent.
About 10 years ago, my artist friends Cai and Didier, who live in Greece, started spending two months of every year in Kerala to rest and get inspiration for their work. One day Navas picked them up in his rickshaw, and they took an interest in him. In the last two years they have generously helped Navas to buy his own rickshaws. At the end of each day, after Navas drives Cai and Didier home, they have a conversation about his business and provide him with helpful tips. Now Navas is hoping to buy another rickshaw that he can rent out. If the complications from his polio ever prevent him from driving, he would have another source of income to support his wife and three children.
When Navas drove me to his home and proudly introduced his family to me, I felt honored. Such beautiful people.
God reminds us that we should love our neighbors as we love ourselves, that we should do unto others as we would want them to do unto us. Didier and Cai’s generosity and ongoing support of Navas is a perfect example of that kind of love. And Navas passes it on to his passengers with his kindness, his smile and laughter, his generous love.
Beloved God, you have been so generous to us. You have loved each of us as your children. Thank you for your gifts to us. Now help us to be more generous to one another – to all peoples everywhere. Amen.
As my airplane flew to India, I occasionally looked up at the flight map on the screen in the front of the cabin where I was seated. I wanted to know where I was. My routing took me from New York to London to Bahrain, and then to Cochin in Kerala, India.
Every plane enroute was packed, so there were no extra seats where I could stretch out. I dozed off and on as we flew on that long journey to the other side of the world. At one point when I woke up, I saw that our plane was flying near Iraq and Iran. I remember thinking: “These are countries that we think of as ‘enemies’ to our nation.” And it flashed into my mind that likely many people in those countries think of my country as their “enemy.”
As I leaned back in my seat reflecting on those thoughts, I remembered that Jesus had been very clear about “enemies.” I pulled my tiny little pocket Bible out of my purse and found his words: “But I say to you, Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. . . . If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? . . . But love your enemies, do good, and expect nothing in return. Your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High; for he is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked. Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.”
As I sat quietly pondering those words at 39,000 feet, I decided to try to pray for “my enemies.” When I ended my prayer, I added a P.S. – that “my enemies” would pray for me too. I hoped that perhaps we could learn to love and be merciful to one another so that we would truly be children of the Most High.
Oh, merciful God, we come to you asking for forgiveness for our arrogance, our self-importance. Teach us to truly be your children and to learn to pray and be merciful to each other – even to our “enemies.” You are the Most High, and all things are possible with you. Amen.
A number of years ago, I worked in India and had the opportunity to see many parts of the country. I grew to love this astonishingly diverse country. The colors, sights, smells, tastes, and sounds are truly a sensory delight. This week I’m traveling to Kerala, a place I’ve never been, to visit friends. (I’ll write more about that in my next prayer blog.) My friends are artists who live in Greece and who temporarily move to Kerala for two months to be inspired. They say they are both restored and stimulated by the splendor and exquisiteness of Kerala, and when they return to Greece, they feel motivated to take up their art work with new vision and energy.
As I’ve prepared for my trip, I’ve had some interesting, almost synchronic experiences. I use the word synchronicity with a sense of delight. The word is described as an experience of two or more events that are unrelated occurring together in a meaningful way.
Last week as I stood in line with dozens of others waiting to apply for an Indian visa, the man behind me asked where I was going. When I said “Kerala,” he smiled and responded that was where his family lived, that he was returning home after many years. “It is the most beautiful place in the world,” he said with tears in his eyes. “Would you like to meet my family?” Later that evening when I returned to pick up my visa – again with dozens of other people, a young man asked where I was going. When “Kerala” was my answer, he beamed with joy and told me about his aging mother who soon will retire from managing her small shop in Cochin. He gave me the address of the shop. “You must come to meet my mother. I’m sure she will want to serve you her special tea.” And he smiled with delight. Then yesterday in the church I was visiting, a young Indian priest told the congregation that he was going home to visit his family in India for six weeks. As I left the church, I asked the priest where he was going. “To my home in Cochin, Kerala.” He was pleased that I too would soon be there, and he invited me to visit his family.
Different places, different times, different people – all going home to Kerala, all inviting me to visit them there – a place of beauty and a place where people love to say, “This is my home. Come visit me.” God’s creatures and God’s lovely place – created for us.
Beloved God, we thank you for creating so many beautiful places in the world. We also thank you for loving and hospitable people who invite us into their homes – just as you invite us into ”your home.” May we learn to appreciate synchronicity in life and to be hospitable to others – as you are to us. Amen.
This past weekend my friend Jen and I went for a long walk. It was a cold, grey, blustery, and about-to-rain-or-snow kind of day – what you might say was not really a good day for a walk. And you may be even more surprised when I tell you where we walked: on the Peconic Bay Beach on Long Island.
I confess that I’m a lover of beaches. There is something so magnificent, so powerful, and so spiritual about water, sand, rocks, and waves that it takes my breath away. It’s not easy for me to find words that describe the feelings I have when I’m on a beach whether I’m with friends or by myself. It doesn’t matter what time of the year or what the weather is like, I find time spent on the beach restorative, uplifting, and invigorating.
My friend Jen also loves beaches, so she too was up for a walk even in the less-than-perfect-beach-weather. But when we got there, we were astonished to see that huge wedges of ice and snow had been blown up out of the water onto the beach. They were stacked like shimmering, iridescent piles of lumber. It was so beautiful that it took our breath away. And if that wasn’t enough of a miracle, the rocks on the beach were absolutely stunning in their gold, pink, and orange shades as they peeked out from under the sparkling ice mounds.
What a shock to find so much beauty on what could have been described as a drab and cheerless day. Ah, but God continues to surprise us with special gifts of beauty in such things as rocks and beaches. If only we could keep our eyes and our hearts open to God’s generous offerings.
Giver of gifts and surprises, we thank you for loving us enough that you provide us with such amazing beauty – especially when we think things are dingy or dark or terrible. Open our eyes and our hearts to your offerings – even to rocks and beaches on dreary days. You are our awesome God. Thank you especially for that gift. Amen.
This week one of my spiritual companions sighed and said, “I hoped to slow down my life a bit in 2010. But unfortunately it already feels frantic and harried, and we’re only a few weeks into the New Decade.” I know many people who are feeling the same way. At the end of last year, they made little promises that they would slow down and simplify their lives. But soon after the New Decade began, they were again caught up in the frenzy and craziness of “over-stuffed” lives. They know they want less rushing and distractions in their lives; they yearn to have more serenity and peace.
Our spiritual lives are stunted when our lives are too busy, too stressed. If we reduce the complexities of our overly-programmed lives, we may find that we will experience a kind of serenity and inner growth. If we rearrange and un-complicate areas of our lives in our homes, our work, and our personal/social lives, we may discover that we don’t feel so frantic and harried, and we may find time to do the important things that really matter to us.
We can start with our homes, which should be a sanctuary for us – a place where we can leave hassles and pressures behind and where we can nurture our souls. As this new decade begins, we may want to think about the things we might do to make our lives gentler and more spiritual where we live.
I’ve found a few simple things that have made my home more of a refuge: putting a few meaningful photos, flowers, and special fabrics around to create a feeling of love; turning off the television and playing soothing music; cleaning out the clutter – almost as soon as it comes in the door (living in a small New York City apartment has its benefits – if something comes in, something has to go out); and designating a place in my home for prayer and meditation.
This is a New Year, a New Decade – and we have a chance to make it gentler and more spiritual.
Peacegiver, we turn to you for help in this new decade. We have allowed ourselves to get too caught up in too many activities and things. We need to remember that Jesus went to the hills, to the lake, to the garden to pray and to be with you. Help us to do the same – to be with you. Amen.
In my November 23 prayer blog, I wrote about my friend Roger adopting two little cats following the death of his much-loved older cat Magic. Stevie, one of the two cats, is blind, but Jet, his constant companion, “showed” him the ropes. For two months those lovely creatures lived happily in the safety of Roger’s home, and he was delighted by their frolics and playfulness. After a few weeks, Jet began to trust Roger and slept on his bed with him. At first Stevie wasn’t sure how to get up on the tall bed. But one day he reached up with his paw, found out how high the bed was, and jumped up – only to be surprised to find that someone was sleeping in the bed. Although Stevie romped contentedly around the apartment, he kept his distance – not cuddling, not sleeping in Roger’s bed, and not purring.
Then last week, tragedy occurred. Jet stopped eating and drinking, ran a fever, and was completely lethargic. With fear and trepidation Roger took her to the vet, where she was admitted to the animal hospital for intravenous fluids and tests. After five days, she was diagnosed with a fatal viral disease with no cure. Roger was devastated by her death – it was just too soon for another loss.
But there was another problem: How would Stevie adjust to the loss of Jet since he had never been separated from her? One night as Roger was lying on his bed grieving Jet’s death, he felt a slight movement. Stevie had quietly jumped up and was lying on the other side. Roger reached out, gently petted Stevie, and told him they would get through this pain together. Stevie responded to Roger’s gentleness and grief by slowly inching his way across the bed until he was lying next to him. As Roger stroked him, Stevie rewarded him by snuggling under his chin and loudly purring. Since then, Stevie continues to bond with Roger and the two of them are helping each other to heal their loss and grief.
Beloved Creator of every living creature, help us understand that when we are hurting we can reach out to you and to others – even to a precious creature like blind Stevie. We stand in awe and wonder at the gifts your beloved animals can give to us. Teach us to be patient and tender to ourselves and others in our grief. Amen
The winter this year in New York has seemed longer, colder, and harsher than usual, and there have been more snowstorms than we ordinarily have. People seem hungry for a touch of spring. One day when the weather got over 40 degrees, I saw a number of people walking on the streets with only light jackets, and one brave soul was in shorts and a T-shirt. Yes, we’ve been ready for the arrival of spring for a long time.
For many years, I worked for international development organizations in different countries around the world. I had the opportunity to meet people of diverse cultures, customs, styles, races, religions, and faiths. I learned how much we had in common: a primal need to have adequate food and water, a desire to have good health, a yearning to read and write, and a longing to have a decent quality of life. 
The first time I rode with Navas in his motorized rickshaw through the streets of Cochin, India, I was impressed with his gentleness and kindness. He carefully tried to miss the potholes and bumps in the streets. He seemed sympathetic to those he met – both people and animals. He had a huge smile that could steal your heart away, but he also gave off a sense of dignity and pride.
As my airplane flew to India, I occasionally looked up at the flight map on the screen in the front of the cabin where I was seated. I wanted to know where I was. My routing took me from New York to London to Bahrain, and then to Cochin in Kerala, India. 
This past weekend my friend Jen and I went for a long walk. It was a cold, grey, blustery, and about-to-rain-or-snow kind of day – what you might say was not really a good day for a walk. And you may be even more surprised when I tell you where we walked: on the Peconic Bay Beach on Long Island. 
This week one of my spiritual companions sighed and said, “I hoped to slow down my life a bit in 2010. But unfortunately it already feels frantic and harried, and we’re only a few weeks into the New Decade.” I know many people who are feeling the same way. At the end of last year, they made little promises that they would slow down and simplify their lives. But soon after the New Decade began, they were again caught up in the frenzy and craziness of “over-stuffed” lives. They know they want less rushing and distractions in their lives; they yearn to have more serenity and peace. 
In my