I live in New York City, where almost every day there are opportunities to hear different kinds of fabulous music. This past week I went to an open rehearsal of the New York Philharmonic. An open rehearsal is a working rehearsal and is the last opportunity for the conductor and the orchestra to work out the details of the music. But because it is the final rehearsal, the music is played as beautifully as if it were the actual performance.
Given that I was running a little late that morning, I ended up finding a seat in the back of the concert hall. I usually like to sit close to the front so I can see the faces of the musicians. However, because I was too far back, I wasn’t able to do that. So, I chose to sit back and relax in my seat, to let go of all the things I’d been thinking about that morning, and to allow the music to take over. As I totally listened to Jean Sibelius’ Symphony No. 1 in E minor, I found myself absolutely captured and mesmerized by the breathtaking music. At some point during one of the slower movements, I realized that I was almost breathing in sync with the music and that it had lifted me to a completely different place than where I had been when I entered the concert hall. I began to feel that the music had been like a prayer for me, a time of peace, and a lovely gift from God.
Our lives are so full of external and internal noises. Perhaps we can occasionally turn off some of the noises and take the time to listen to music that can be a blessing and a prayer for us.
Beloved God, creator of music and giver of the gift of music. Help us to stop from time to time, to block out the noisiness of our lives, and to listen to your music. Teach us to pray with your music. Amen
Last weekend I returned to my home state of Nebraska and had the chance to relive old memories with former classmates and friends. It was a wonderful experience. I also had the opportunity to give a speech to the reunion classes at Wesleyan, my alma mater. In my speech, I focused on the subject of re-connecting to our purpose.
Having worked in a hospice program in New York City, I remember people who were dying saying how important it is to have a purpose in life and how essential to stay connected to meaningful work—be it paid or volunteer work. One 92-year-old Chinese-American man said that if people don’t stay connected to a purpose, they experience boredom. He vividly explained to me that the Chinese word for “boredom” has two characters in it: one stands for “heart” and the other for “killing.” So if we allow ourselves to be bored and without purpose, it is the same as killing our hearts.
When I lead workshops and retreats, I often ask the participants to tell me about their special gifts and how they use those gifts. Many people say, “Oh, I don’t have any” or “Oh, that thing, it’s really nothing.” Others say, “If only I had been smarter…or had more money…or had married someone special…or…then I might have…” Yes, it seems difficult for many of us to define our gifts and our purpose in life.
How do we use our God-given gifts and our time and our precious energy? How can we re-connect to a sense of purpose and meaning? Is there something in our lives that yearns to be expressed?
Beloved Creator of all of our gifts, Thank you so much for the amazing gifts you have given us. Help us to identify those gifts and use them in meaningful ways. Help us to know our true purpose in life. Amen.
This weekend I’m traveling to Nebraska, where I was born and raised. My university, Nebraska Wesleyan, is giving me an award for my humanitarian work. Nebraska is one of those wide-open, big-sky states with awesome sunrises and sunsets. Growing up there, I was continuously reminded that the universe was an awesome place, and we were just a tiny part of the great cycle of life. My parents, Wilson and Alma Haupt, raised my sister Shirley and me on what I thought was a enchanting farm of haystacks, little lambs, mulberry trees, snakes, coyotes, and our dogs Brownie and Buddy.
My parents were hardworking, faith-filled, compassionate people. My father had such a respect for nature that he never plowed under the 20 acres of original prairie grass that grew on our farm since the days the Sioux roamed the Plains. He could have planted a cash crop, but he wanted to preserve the prairie so future generations could enjoy it too. As I grew up, I came to share my parents’ reverence for nature and its cycles. Birth and death were normal parts of life as we watched animals give birth and die. It was natural for children as well as adults to be in attendance at funerals. After all, we knew everyone died — Grandpa, the piano teacher, the mailman. The meaning of faith was affirmed each year when Daddy planted the fragile winter wheat seeds just before the harsh winter arrived. Then in the spring we watched the fields transformed as they came alive with the brilliant green sprouts of wheat.
Before I left Nebraska, I vowed I would do my best to try to make the earth a better place for all living things. Now as I return to the place of my roots, I want to reaffirm my commitment to helping make the world more compassionate and life-friendly.
Beloved Creator, we get too busy, too caught up with our stuff that we forget that you have made us stewards of this amazing universe you’ve created for us. Help us to remember our roots and to be givers of life and love. Amen.
I lift up my eyes to the hills—
From where will my help come?
My help comes from the Lord,
Who made heaven and earth.
--Psalm 121:1-2
Last week I led a retreat for 62 women in the Appalachian Mountains in Eastern Kentucky. Since my flight was delayed because of bad weather in New York City, I arrived in Lexington when it was almost dark. By the time we had driven for 2 ½ hours to the retreat center in Hindman, it was raining, foggy, and very dark. I had no idea what was “out there.” It just looked dark and wet and somewhat frightening.
The next morning I peeked out the window and could only see fog and rain and a menacing darkness. During the two-day retreat, the picture didn’t change. And although there was much joy and light from the women’s participation at the retreat, I was beginning to doubt that I’d have the privilege of seeing the beautiful hills that the women described.
On Sunday morning, the sun burst through the clouds and lit up the valleys and hills. It was breathtaking to watch the sunshine burn off the fog in the valleys and to see the leaves of the trees burning with color. What I had thought was only darkness was transformed before my eyes to be truly an exquisite splendor. I found myself recalling the words of a wise friend who told me there will always be periods of darkness in our lives, but we do not need to fear them, that the darkness announces and welcomes the dawn. So we can look with hope to a new day, new joys, and new possibilities.
Beloved Creator of the hills, the light, and the darkness. Remind us to have hope in dark times and to lift up our eyes to the hills – even when it is dark. Our help always comes from you. Amen.
Recently I heard the hymn "Take Time to Be Holy," and a phrase in one of the verses really spoke to me: "Be calm in thy soul." It reminded me how important it is to pause and be quiet, to calm our souls, to be holy, to be prayerful. For me, prayer is a way of taking "time to be holy" and of connecting to the Divine. I visualize prayer as being like plugging an appliance into an electrical outlet or logging onto the Internet. I don’t really understand how that works, but I know when I "plug in" or "log on" something happens and I benefit.
For many of us, we may not always know how to pray, to whom we are praying, or how we will be answered. But if we are brave enough to try to make a connection, we just might access new energy and insights. And we may find that we will establish a live connection to God.
As a spiritual director, I’m invited to lead workshops and retreats on spiritual topics. As the facilitator, it’s essential that I ask myself questions about my beliefs – about God, prayer, my spiritual journey. I don’t always come up with answers, or they may be different each time, but I keep asking the questions.
What is my concept of God? What is my relationship with God?
What do I know (or not know) about prayer? How do I pray?
What is most comfortable for me when I pray?
What circumstances invite or inspire me to pray?
Beloved Creator, we are not sure what it means to pray correctly or to pray in such a way as to worship or to serve you. But we want to plug in and log on with you. So we offer what we have as our prayer. Amen
Early this morning when it was still dark, I woke up feeling a bit anxious about the problems of the day and the troubles of the world. I admit that at times it’s easy to feel discouraged, even overwhelmed, as we face the dilemmas and hurts of life. But before I got out of bed this morning, I remembered to say, "God, thank you so much for the gift of another day of life.” Not long ago, I had three close encounters with death including a lethal streptococcus infection, a serious accident as a pedestrian hit by a car, and a brain tumor. So most of the time my response to waking up to another day is "thank you, God." And if for some reason I’m not saying "thank you," I know I have some work to do with my soul.
Each one of us has heartaches and problems, but we also have something to feel grateful for. Maybe if we would pause and take stock of the good things in our lives, we would be more grateful. Gratitude is recognizing that God has lovingly given us many gifts –our life, our breath, joy, love, the beauty in the world. We cannot take any of them for granted. When we choose to be grateful, we will count our blessings and begin to create a better life for ourselves and for the world. So let us pay attention to God’s goodness and love and to the wonders that are in the world, and let us be grateful.
God, Giver of life, thank you for giving us another day. We are truly grateful that you love us and that you have shared your beautiful creation with us. We are overwhelmed by your faith in us. Thank you, thank you.
I live in New York City, where almost every day there are opportunities to hear different kinds of fabulous music. This past week I went to an open rehearsal of the New York Philharmonic. An open rehearsal is a working rehearsal and is the last opportunity for the conductor and the orchestra to work out the details of the music. But because it is the final rehearsal, the music is played as beautifully as if it were the actual performance. 
Last weekend I returned to my home state of Nebraska and had the chance to relive old memories with former classmates and friends. It was a wonderful experience. I also had the opportunity to give a speech to the reunion classes at Wesleyan, my alma mater. In my speech, I focused on the subject of re-connecting to our purpose.
This weekend I’m traveling to Nebraska, where I was born and raised. My university, Nebraska Wesleyan, is giving me an award for my humanitarian work. Nebraska is one of those wide-open, big-sky states with awesome sunrises and sunsets. Growing up there, I was continuously reminded that the universe was an awesome place, and we were just a tiny part of the great cycle of life. My parents, Wilson and Alma Haupt, raised my sister Shirley and me on what I thought was a enchanting farm of haystacks, little lambs, mulberry trees, snakes, coyotes, and our dogs Brownie and Buddy.