Food for thought: You are complete unto yourself, and you also part of something much, much larger – just as the individual pictures that make up the photomosaic above are complete unto themselves but together make up a larger whole. Each piece contributes its “color” to the whole. Each piece matters. Each piece is holy. Your piece, no matter how insignificant it may sometimes feel, contributes to the whole. Your piece matters. Your piece is whole, and holy.
Everyone seems to be talking about “re-entry” these days. Now that many of us have been vaccinated and pandemic restrictions are lifting, life is starting to return to some semblance of “normal.”
But what do we want our new “new normal” – our chosen new normal – to look like? Which activities do we want to resume, and which are we just as happy without? How safe (or not) do we feel in larger groups of unrelated people? What grief do we have yet to process? What joy do we yearn for? How do we cope with the uncertainty that now seems to be part of our lives?
For me, the answer to all of those questions comes…
Feeling a little low? Science is now showing what spiritual sages have long known: that “small doses of daily delight can shift our focus away from our worries and give more opportunity for joy to arise.”
What brings you delight? Standing barefoot in the grass on a warm summer day? Taking a dip in a chilly lake? Spending time with your grandchildren? Quilting or knitting? Playing tennis? Having a bouquet of flowers on your desk? Whatever it is, make a bit of time for it this week, and notice what a difference it makes.
If you need a quick boost right now, try NPR’s Joy Generator and hit the re-set button on your day.
I want to be more like the trees, responding to the Force of Nature, the whispers of the Holy Spirit. I want to be flexible, available, ready to pivot and respond and care for what shows up in front of me. I want to let go of planning and control and worry.
And yet, I do need to plan.
The Psalm tells me there is nowhere I can go. If I lie down in the depths/Sheol/Hell, God is there. If I take myself far away, God is there, too. And yet there are places I do try to flee to when things get hard: to my phone, my computer, social media, books, TV. I flee to my plans, to my regrets, to my attachments. Sometimes I flee to food or drink. I flee to worry. I flee to complaining. God may in fact be in all those places, but my attention toward God has fled. I am putting my attention somewhere else, while God patiently waits for me to notice that the Presence is always with me.
Why do I flee?