There are two pumpkin pies in the oven. Last week in our CSA share, we found a pie pumpkin, and I determined I was going to give this a go. They smell fantastic, but I am nervously checking on the crust periodically. God did not gift me with crust crimping skills, or with much luck when it comes to one crust pies not burning. We'll see, but I am pretty excited about them. Baking them has been an all day process, interspersed with some other food preparation -- including cooling time after roasting the pumpkin.
When I went to bed last night, my plan for the day was all laid out. But I woke this morning with a scratchy throat and a drippy nose. Not terrible, but enough to make me happy that I hadn't planned on going in to work and wondering if the cooking and baking would get done. I kept the day to just those activities, foregoing other errands I had been adding to my list. At lunchtime, I made some tea, intending to rest up a bit by praying and doing some scripture homework before continuing with the pie. Before I could even begin, our youngest came home for lunch. A quick visit later, I wondered if I should just get the pies in the oven before I went up to finish what I hadn't even started. "No," I told myself, "sit down and rest a bit."
Of all the stories in the Bible that strike a chord with me, there is one in particular that for a long time gave me more discomfort than comfort. It took me a really long time -- most of my life so far, actually -- to even begin to consider why. Today I wrote in my Sacred Space, "How fitting that I spent the morning 'doing' and almost let myself get distracted by more doing when I decided to sit, read, and pray! ...." Mary and Martha have been duking it out in my heart for years. At times I've wondered why Jesus was so hard on Martha, or so easy on Mary, or even paid any attention to either of them. I've wondered why Martha addressed her problem to Jesus, instead of to Mary directly. I've wondered why Mary doesn't even speak. A year or so ago, the debate came up again: in different places over the course of an entire week, I came across some mention of Mary and Martha and Jesus. Having no idea why the series of mentions, I kept it all in my pondering place. Weeks later, after an experience that clarified Mary's place in the story to me, I began to utter a promise each day. "I will sit at your feet and listen."
Although I say it every day, I know I am not very good at actually doing it. I sit sometimes. I listen sometimes. I don't always make a point of just sitting and listening with the intention of hearing the story, of sharing the moment, of being right there, of being. Many times, I sit to listen, to hear. Mary was doing more than that. Martha could possibly have heard what Jesus was saying while she went about her chores. Perhaps that was part of her frustration: Mary would have been able to hear as she walked about, doing while the sound of His voice carried through the house. What Martha missed was the experience of hearing. The subtle nuances of facial expression and body language that enhance or change the meaning of the words, even ever so slightly. The occasional eye contact that emphasizes a point. The silent shake of the head that signals another thought flitting through the speaker's mind. The responses of the others there listening as well. Martha may well have been able to hear the words, but Mary was there to experience the story. When I make a point to do more than simply listen, to focus on where I am and what I might hear, or say, I find that I often feel more. I pick up on little things I might have otherwise missed. When I make a point to listen, to experience in prayer, I find that I listen better and experience more in my life, with my family and my friends. I'm less distracted, less likely to find some thing to do.
I will. I will sit at your feet, and listen to your stories, to your voice, to you."
Showing posts with label feet. Show all posts
Showing posts with label feet. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 7, 2014
Thursday, April 4, 2013
journeys begin
Shoes are my least favorite article of attire. Socks, I like, shoes, though, I wear because I have to. As soon as I walk in the door, off they go. When I learned (many years ago!) that leaving shoes at the door helps in keeping the house just a tad cleaner, I rejoiced! And immediately started training my family to leave their shoes by the door. True, they sometimes get in the way of our everyday life (we have neither a "mudroom" nor entrance hall--or even a closet!), but my happy feet enjoy freedom from the time I get home until I have to leave the confines of our humble abode. Summer is awesome, because other than work and Church, I'm all about flip-flops or naked pigs. (In the colder months, I also get to indulge my penchant for sliding on the wood floors! Never grow up!)
I try, with varying degrees of success, to keep my shoes out of the way, if not organized. However, my sneakers make up a pile of their own between the radiator and the cupboard. I have the pair I wear for running, and I few pairs I wore out running that I keep around for various reasons: rainy walks, long standing up days, just in case the running shoes blow out unexpectedly. My work and dress shoes I try to keep in the closet in our bedroom, but there are usually a pair or two stashed around the room; removed in haste, of course.
About three times over the past week or so, I've reached for a pair of shoes and come up with two different shoes. That much didn't surprise me as much as the fact that every time, it has been two right shoes. Normally when I put my running shoes on, it's in the early morning dark, so I look for the subtle variations that are visible by the streetlight shining through the window, and sometimes end up with a mixed pair at first. Two right running shoes happened twice. (All the more strange because after our run, the pair of shoes is together at the top of the pile.) The third time, I reached down to grab my shoes on the way out of our bedroom before work, got downstairs, and discovered I had two black shoes, both the right side of a pair. And they look nothing alike!
After the second time, I suspected there might be a reason, but after the third time, I began to wonder just what the message could be! This morning, I began to realize that I had an inkling. As I've certainly mentioned before, I'm not one for subtle signs (directed at me!), and have often prayed that messages thunk my over the head. The meditations in my little morning book this week, the prayer I decided to read from an app on my phone, even some little something from our retreat orientation last night have all had a theme that I didn't pick up on until lunchtime, reading the last little bit of Soeur Therese of Lisieux's story.
When I was a kid, dancing, my teacher found it odd that I was left-footed when I am right-handed. Turns to the left, kicks, lunges, all were more instinctual to the left. The right caught up, eventually. (Interestingly, my left hand did not cooperate with choreography quite as well, presenting some challenges!) I had all but forgotten. Standing backstage during a facility tour two nights ago, I suddenly had a feeling that something should be clicking. I missed the performing, or rather, the anticipation of performing, that I had done so many times. For a fleeting moment, I thought the message was to "put my best foot forward."
Still, it took me a while to realize that was only part of the lesson. Slowly, the pieces began to fall into place; the meditations and prayers were about doing one's best--at work, at play. Getting dressed this morning, the quote on my mirror caught my eye: "Your work is to discover your world, and then with all your heart give yourself to it."* I marvelled that a similar sentiment was brought out last night, with regard to the Sacred Heart.
Then Soeur Therese.....What clicked really had little to do with anything in the book. Reading today, I made the connection between "right" and "just" and my shoes. Put my best foot forward; not my right foot, but my Right foot. A little reading about Grace and Mercy. A comment on the journey of faith. A journey that starts with a single step, but strives to continue with right steps. It all came together, just before I read this: "...I see clearly that you are mistaking the road, and that you will never arrive at the end of your journey. You want to climb the mountain, whereas God wishes you to descend it. He is awaiting you in the fruitful valley of humility." (The story of a soul)
To top it all off, I listened to a CD while waiting for track practice to end, and heard Fulton Sheen say that far too many people say they wish to lift up their cross and follow Jesus then say their cross is too difficult, too heavy, certainly not what God would intend. I've been there. I've been to the darkest and dreariest parts of my soul. By the Grace of God, and with the help of many along the way, I take one step at a time. I falter, I wander off the path, I still sometimes feel lost, but I try again each time.
*quote is attributed to Buddha
I try, with varying degrees of success, to keep my shoes out of the way, if not organized. However, my sneakers make up a pile of their own between the radiator and the cupboard. I have the pair I wear for running, and I few pairs I wore out running that I keep around for various reasons: rainy walks, long standing up days, just in case the running shoes blow out unexpectedly. My work and dress shoes I try to keep in the closet in our bedroom, but there are usually a pair or two stashed around the room; removed in haste, of course.
About three times over the past week or so, I've reached for a pair of shoes and come up with two different shoes. That much didn't surprise me as much as the fact that every time, it has been two right shoes. Normally when I put my running shoes on, it's in the early morning dark, so I look for the subtle variations that are visible by the streetlight shining through the window, and sometimes end up with a mixed pair at first. Two right running shoes happened twice. (All the more strange because after our run, the pair of shoes is together at the top of the pile.) The third time, I reached down to grab my shoes on the way out of our bedroom before work, got downstairs, and discovered I had two black shoes, both the right side of a pair. And they look nothing alike!
After the second time, I suspected there might be a reason, but after the third time, I began to wonder just what the message could be! This morning, I began to realize that I had an inkling. As I've certainly mentioned before, I'm not one for subtle signs (directed at me!), and have often prayed that messages thunk my over the head. The meditations in my little morning book this week, the prayer I decided to read from an app on my phone, even some little something from our retreat orientation last night have all had a theme that I didn't pick up on until lunchtime, reading the last little bit of Soeur Therese of Lisieux's story.
When I was a kid, dancing, my teacher found it odd that I was left-footed when I am right-handed. Turns to the left, kicks, lunges, all were more instinctual to the left. The right caught up, eventually. (Interestingly, my left hand did not cooperate with choreography quite as well, presenting some challenges!) I had all but forgotten. Standing backstage during a facility tour two nights ago, I suddenly had a feeling that something should be clicking. I missed the performing, or rather, the anticipation of performing, that I had done so many times. For a fleeting moment, I thought the message was to "put my best foot forward."
Still, it took me a while to realize that was only part of the lesson. Slowly, the pieces began to fall into place; the meditations and prayers were about doing one's best--at work, at play. Getting dressed this morning, the quote on my mirror caught my eye: "Your work is to discover your world, and then with all your heart give yourself to it."* I marvelled that a similar sentiment was brought out last night, with regard to the Sacred Heart.
Then Soeur Therese.....What clicked really had little to do with anything in the book. Reading today, I made the connection between "right" and "just" and my shoes. Put my best foot forward; not my right foot, but my Right foot. A little reading about Grace and Mercy. A comment on the journey of faith. A journey that starts with a single step, but strives to continue with right steps. It all came together, just before I read this: "...I see clearly that you are mistaking the road, and that you will never arrive at the end of your journey. You want to climb the mountain, whereas God wishes you to descend it. He is awaiting you in the fruitful valley of humility." (The story of a soul)
To top it all off, I listened to a CD while waiting for track practice to end, and heard Fulton Sheen say that far too many people say they wish to lift up their cross and follow Jesus then say their cross is too difficult, too heavy, certainly not what God would intend. I've been there. I've been to the darkest and dreariest parts of my soul. By the Grace of God, and with the help of many along the way, I take one step at a time. I falter, I wander off the path, I still sometimes feel lost, but I try again each time.
*quote is attributed to Buddha
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