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The Agony and Awe of Parenting

This week I had a sacred exchange of texts with my sister-in-law, Jean, about the blessed agony a parent experiences when her child is hurting and struggling. It is one thing to welcome the meannesses to the inner home of the heart when the surprise guest is personal. It is quite another matter when the sojourner makes the visit to one’s child.

My children are indelibly etched into my heart and soul – the three who gestated in my body, each for nine long months, and the one for whom we journeyed to the other side of the world to birth into our family. So it follows that their soul-guests would be mine, as well.

Most demanding our attention – I’m not sure what to call this guest – was sent at the behest of the education system and a society that expects our young people to pursue higher education, yet without the promise of viable job possibilities, though the assurance of immoral, dumbfounding debt on the other side.

When I met with the school counselor to discuss ways we might help my son finish high school (my brilliant child was considering dropping out), the school was reeling from the news of a brilliant young woman, a sophomore there, who had just taken her own life the weekend before. Of course, we all know there are myriad reasons someone comes to that desperate space of utter despair. But it is difficult not to wonder what kind of pressure our kids undergo in an educational system that starts to “prepare” them for college while still in elementary school, while still locked into a teaching style that honors only a particular learner (in mode and means).

Though, headway is being made by some – like my awe-inspiring cousin, Matinga – to change things, these changes will not impact my youngest two still in public school.

So, how do I welcome this guest? I am reminded of a poem that I will use in a workshop next week, by the astrophysicist Rebecca Elson. It is a purpose statement, of sorts, for astronomers of their responsibility to awe. And it seems productive way to meet this interloper – if for no other reason then that I cannot conjure anything else! To be in awe of my son, of all the beautiful, brilliant, quirky gifts and talents that are not valued by the current iteration of standardized assessments.

Here’s the poem:

We astronomers are nomads,

Merchants, circus people,

All the earth our tent.

We are industrious.

We breed enthusiasms,

Hounour our responsibility to awe.

But the universe has moved a long way off.

Sometimes, I confess,

Starlight seems too short,

And like the moon

I bend my face to the ground,

To the small patch where each foot falls,

Before it falls,

And I forget to ask questions,

And only count things.

I would like to practice my responsibility to awe. If other elements of my son’s life insist on looking down and counting, assessing, rather that asking about all the amazing things (and the many mundane) I will notice, and ask, and live into the questions, see into him all that is divine, and help my son live into the questions.

Perhaps, you would like to practice with me by choosing a person (your child? another’s?) with whom you would like to co-host a surprise visitor. And notice. consider. Be in awe. It is our responsibility – not just astronomers – as human beings.

I’ll begin to get us started. Then strike the singing bowl.

His curiosity.

His initiative to seek answers – and persistence in the search when they are not immediately apparent.

His ability to use three distinct languages to speak a single sentence.

Chime.

His ability to see the goodness into everyone. And be in wonder of complex mathematical equations.

Chime.

Might you write your noticings in a note or text or poem and perhaps send it to this soul-companion?

And let us commit to practicing our responsibility to awe today and the next . . .

As always, you can find a transcript of this podcast and resources on my website, eirenicole.com.

And today, may you walk at the pace of grace.

Music: Jon Foreman’s 23rd Psalm, performed by, Samantha Nicole Snyder

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Mindfulness and Depression

Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year’s celebrations have come and gone, and we now find ourselves in the second week of January. After two weeks of being nearly housebound because of the extreme cold it is currently 55 degrees and drizzling. The little snow cover from this past week is completely gone, revealing the dead grass, mud and general muck leftover from the trees’ last-minute shedding of leaves just over a month ago.

I need the sun.

I am among the 1 in 3 who suffer from Seasonal Affect Disorder (SAD) and find it difficult to muster any enthusiasm when the sun’s rays have lost their way to my world. While I know intellectually that my depression is mild in comparison to the more than 16 million Americans who suffered at least one major depressive episode in the last year, doesn’t feel good to feel depressed.

What is more, when one is depressed, all of the well-documented methods shown to alleviate depression are often the very things those who are depressed often cannot bring themselves to do.

Mindfulness practice is one of those methods that are indicated to help. But one feature about being in the habit of practicing mindfulness is that it helps to prevent one from delving as far into the depths in the first place. It also offers tools that are practical, easier to access and doesn’t necessarily need additional medication (though, please hear me, if you do endure clinical depression, are formed with brain chemistry that is better balanced with medication, it is absolutely necessary to continue to maintain this routine).

Even just knowing how something works helps the method to work better. Mindfulness practice helps to enhance psychological resilience and improve the quality of social interactions.

It addresses the areas that conspire to impede a sense of well being by helping one to notice and be aware of bodily states (shallow breathing, ache in the back of neck, pressure or pain in the head, etc.); mental states (compulsive, seemingly unending thoughts, confusion, etc.), recognize deficient social interactions (lack of empathy/compassion for others, isolation, etc.), and addresses the existential (search for meaning).

But the first aspect of mindfulness practice is to see things as they are.

I love the poem by Rumi I’ve read before, but would like to read again here.

This being human is a guest house

It is the very unexpectedness of joys and meannesses that disturb us.

It is here, welcoming the depression and meannesses that are so deeply felt—especially when the sun is not out! It is here that we recognize them as guests. Welcome each sadness, greet each sorrow.

Perhaps, ask them why they have come.

Do not judge the sorrow. Do not strive to turn away the sadness.

Honor this experience, this moment of communion together – because, you are not alone. There is always a third guest, this One who resides in the very center of the heart, of the soul.

It is this One who witnesses to my spirit that I belong to God.

It is this One who has welcomed the same guests and knows.

Remain here a while longer.

Wait.

Because there are other guests who will come: hope, and joy. They may come while the others linger. They may pass each other at the door.

Do not hurry them.

Thank you, for dwelling here with me in this time.

As always, you can find the transcript of this episode and resources on my website, eirenicole.com

Today, may you walk at the pace of grace.

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An End-Of-Year Examen

It is the end of the year, 2017. It is easy to perhaps breathe a sigh of relief that the year is over, and maybe – flippantly – mumble a resolution for the coming year, or even create a spreadsheet filled with goals. Consider with me another way to journey across the edge of 2017 and into 2018.

The Ignatian Spiritual practice of the daily Examen involves intentional reflection of the day at its end, to see God’s action in it, recognize when I did not move in God’s presence, and acknowledge my desire to more closely move in that presence tomorrow. At the end the year, it is fitting to practice a similar examen of this past year. Will you join me in mindful attention of examen for this year – see it for what it has been, notice my reaction, your reaction to the events, hold loosely these things in God’s presence, and bring our intentions for the new year into awareness of God’s presence and intention toward you, toward me.

Psalm 139 is a beautiful prayer-song to guide the process.

The Examen

Psalm 139: a healthy process of self-examination involves

Prepare. Spend a few moments in silence, allowing yourself to become still and aware of God’s unconditional loving presence.

Review the year. I will walk you through the steps of the discipline commonly known as the examen with the aid of a chime. It will begin with 2 chimes to help draw us deeper into that space where Jesus dwells. Listen for the that space where the sound ends and the silence begins. Listen.

Psalm 139

The Inescapable God

To the leader. Of David. A Psalm.

7 Where can I go from your spirit?

13 For it was you who formed my inward parts;

19 O that you would kill the wicked, O God,

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Consent to Love

Mary replied to the angel, “Here am I, your servant. Let it be according to your word.”

God has brought down the powerful and lifted the lowly; filled the hungry with all their needs and sent the wealthy away empty handed.

My favorite Christmas cantata since I was young is Ralph Carmichael’s, ‘Specially For Shepherds. At its climax, the angels make the announcement of the long-prophesied coming of God’s promised saving grace – a messiah who will make all things right between Israel and God and between all people. They are astounded that they, the marginalized shepherds are entrusted with such a proclamation.

My favorite part, though, is when Mary receives the news that somehow she will become pregnant by the Holy Spirit even as she is engaged to another man. A great scandal for a girl in any era, but especially so 2,000 years ago – yet, she responds, “here am I, a servant of the Lord. Let it be, let it be according to your word.” And continues to with, “Come to me, come to me, blessed Holy Spirit, come to me. Fill me now, fill me now, gladly do I give myself to thee.”

Women have been, and continue to be exploited for their bodies, taken advantage of and subjugated because of that very ability to carry a child. But everything about this Emmanuel, God-With-Us, is wholly different. The scripture clearly teaches that it is through Jesus all things came into being – through Christ everything was created, everything was birthed.

Not all can or will carry a child in one’s belly. But, we can conceive the love and awe we might have toward this developing person. We can understand what it means to nurture a precious new life. We know this because we all understand what need we have of it ourselves – a need for someone to be in awe of me, to love me with everything, to care for and nurture me as though I am more precious than the costliest of stones.

This is the love that God has for us. We know and experience that love because of the approximation of it given through others – first our parents (usually, tho not always); then by experiencing that love for others – perhaps our own children – or friends, or spouse, or whomever . . . .

We all possess the capability (as created in God’s very image) to conceive and grow creative life, to give birth to a nurturing love toward other human beings. We are equipped with the capacity to consent, as Mary did, to the presence of God’s Spirit, the creative life and love within.

Whoever loves is born of God, knows God – God is Love. (1Jn4)

In silence, we consent to God’s presence within. From this silence endless internal conversations give way to rest – a relaxing into that Presence.

Then, from consenting to God’s presence within, solidarity is conceived – a growing awareness that we are part of a whole: humankind. Sensitivity develops to the inspirations of the Spirit – in those moments, throughout the day.

And the expression of solidarity is birthed – out of the solitude in God’s loving presence, God loves through us – is birthed through us – to love others, live externally in solidarity with each other and creation.

So, in a moment, I will strike the Tibetan singing bowl twice, a call to enter that internal space where God dwells, then deeper still into God’s embrace.

Slip deep into that solitude and experience God’s love. Allow God’s attention – in creative intention – to saturate and contain you.

And with each breath, exhale the attachments to the grief of not being loved well by someone (perhaps a mother/father/spouse/lover/child/friend). Loosen your grip on the wrongs done to you . . . and suspend all your senses . . .  and just . . . notice the all-encompassing presence of God’s perfect and perfecting love that does – dwell. in. you.

Hear God say to you, “Arise my love, my fair one, and come away . . . let me see your face, let me hear your voice; for your voice is sweet, and your face is lovely.” (SoS2:14)

bell

As I strike the bowl again, invite the Spirit, consent to the Presence, the creation of Love in you – Emmanuel, God-with-Us.

Hear God say through you to another, “Arise my love, my fair one, and come away . . . let me see your face, let me hear your voice; for your voice is sweet, and your face is lovely.”

bell

Come, Holy Spirit, fill me now. Nurture God’s love. Grow love. Birth love.

As always you can find resources and a transcript of this podcast on my website, eirenicole.com. There you can also explore the podcast archives and find the 10-day mindfulness challenge.

And today, may you walk at the pace of grace, in love.

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A Collision of Peace

As long as some are not at peace, I cannot really know true peace.

What brings you peace?

Recently, in the field of physics someone developed a simplified (for physicists, anyway) model, or sketch, to describe what happens after particles collide. Nima Arkani-Hamed, a Princeton physicist, discovered a shape that could describe the condensed calculations involved in all the possible outcomes of particle collisions, and called it the multidimensional amplituhedron.

What is interesting is it can only be conceived when allowing the originating point of the particles – the source of the first particle – to be located outside of space-time, a constraint that scientists now concede is unfortunate. How can they test such a thing, right? But, to understand this mass of equations one must change perspective from what has been accepted wisdom and permit alternatives to the universe we all thought we knew. According to this new model, the collision still happens in space-time, but it is only possible to really understand the potentials of collision effects when first the scientist allows the originating point to occur outside it.

The most complex, profound collisions – human beings living and moving and loving together – create a sequence of pure life-giving energy that we can only begin to understand if the origin of that life-spark is located outside space-time. It is a complex, beautiful, terrifying multidimensional human experience, existence.

What brings you peace?

As long as some are not at peace, I cannot really know true peace.

Jesus said, “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.”(Mt5:9)

Jesus taught, “Whatever house you enter, first say, ‘Peace to this house.’”(Lk10:5)

And as he neared Jerusalem, whose name itself – foundation of peace – cried, “If you had only recognized on this day the things that make for peace!” (Lk19:42)

Jesus came “to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.” (Lk1:79)

I love the prayer attributed to St. Francis of Assisi and make it a regular centering breather prayer:

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.

It first assumes that peace will exist in me – that the source for that peace I’m meant to be instrumental in sharing – must dwell within me. It is only then that I might orchestrate even a single line of peace. And then, if we are a community of instruments of peace, imagine the symphony we might perform?! Because, do you know what happens when 2 particles collide? Well, an entire universe can be created – well, initiated, anyway. But, really, anything can happen – but something always happens. Mass happens – something tangible, something real. Life.

The brilliant artist, and really, theologian, Everett Patterson, created the picture I am using for this podcast. It is titled, “Jose y Maria.” He says of the drawing, “A word on perspective: for this image, I chose very, very wide vanishing points. The result is what I occasionally call ‘middle-class white people perspective.’ Rather than feeling immersed in the scene, the viewer is looking at it as if from across the street or from the warmth and safety of his or her passing car. I have a small hope that this Christmas image will come to mind when we see other ‘down and out’ people huddling outside of gas stations, reminding us that our Savior’s parents (and indeed, Jesus himself) were at one time similarly troubled.”

As long as some are not at peace, I cannot really know true peace.

As I pray St. Francis’ prayer, line by line, center your breathing, allow your thoughts to draw inward, toward the center, where Jesus resides.

Breathing in, notice the source and energy of that peace that Jesus brought into the world at his birth.

Breathing out, carefully loosen your grasp of all the little things that really are unimportant.

Breathe in the particle, the bundle of quarks that collide with yours to create, to spark a chain of living events a multifaceted peace

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.

Where there is hatred, let me sow love;

where there is injury, pardon;

where there is doubt, faith;

where there is despair, hope;

where there is darkness, light;

where there is sadness, joy.

to be understood as to understand;

to be loved as to love;

For it is in giving that we receive;

it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;

it is in dying that we are born again to eternal life.

Sometime this week, with me, use the icon of Jose Y Maria to be a prayer of peace, that I be made peace, to unlike Jerusalem at Jesus’ time, recognize the things that make for peace. Study the image as you pray. Consider how you might play the music of peace – consider from a perspective outside space-time. Who knows what the collision of peacemaking energy might create!

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.”(Jn14:27)

Special thanks to my daughter, Samantha Snyder, for composing and performing the song, “Peace,” for this podcast.

As always, you can find the transcript of this podcast and resources on my website, eirenicole.com

And today, may you walk at the pace of peace and grace.

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Joy: Cultivating Delight During Advent

This week, in practicing hope, the longing or desire for something –accompanied by the belief in the possibility that it will actually occur, I noticed something happening: during moments of frustration and discouragement, a sense of hope arose unbidden. Reflecting on this, something else surfaced: joy.

Joy is the sensation of great pleasure, true happiness, delight.

What brings you joy? Is joy easily found in all the hubbub of the advent season?

So, apparently, when merchandise is advertised as “on sale,” consumers are more likely to actually spend more. Advertisers allocate a significant percentage of their budgets to the study of human behavior in relationship to the psychology of spending. The research informs how merchandise is advertised and priced, an extravagant manipulation to garner business. It is not evil. We all need to earn enough to support us, and we are more likely to purchase an item or service if we are persuaded that it is worth the price.

The problem comes when, in the overstuffed schedule of the holiday season I do not take sufficient time to practice presence, train in habits of mindful attention, I make more impulsive decisions based on superficial criteria. When I am despairing about last minute gifts and whether we can afford these things and if the recipients will even appreciate them, Hope does not immediately well up within. So there definitely is no room for joy.

When I asked my daughter, What first comes to mind when you think about joy. She replied, A big smile, The sun. I thought about the supremely innocent delight in a baby’s grin, and the warm sense of well-being when I turn my face up to the sun and feel its warmth and light.

What brings you joy?

It isn’t as if we can expect joy to just appear. It is true that some circumstances we find ourselves in might occasionally bring unexpected joy. But most of us cannot conjure a grinning baby at a moment’s notice, or live in Chicago in the wintertime and expect the sun to shine that day.

And during Advent, it is more likely that crowded stores and slow internet and crazy drivers and the kids whom we love so very much want something we cannot really afford – it is more likely joy will be in short supply.

So, one practice I found enormously helpful in cultivating delight in even those people who irritate me, or whom I do not understand, is a practice of loving kindness. It is a beautiful reminder that every person around me has the same desires and needs that I do. And praying for their well-being shifts my perspective. And maybe I can appreciate them. Perhaps, even delight in them.

Practice with me this week. I will read the prayer (a modification on Mirabai Bush’s, “Just Like Me”) Will you commit with me to practice joy by practicing loving kindness toward others this week?

Breathe deeply. Settle as you hear. Exhale the urge to rush. Inhale the hope of expectation. Exhale agitation and unrest.

She is just like me, in a body, going through life.

He was once a little child, a little vulnerable child, just like me.

She has had happy times in her life, just like me.

This person has loved someone, just like me.

His heart has been broken, just like mine.

They have also been sad in their life, just like me;

and been disappointed by life, just like me.

This person has been hurt by someone, just like me.

She has been confused by life, just like me.

He has done some things that he regrets, just like me.

She has known physical pain and suffering, just like me.

You wish to be safe, and healthy, and loved, just like me.

I wish you strength and support in your life, so that you can do the things

that you are made and gifted to do.

I pray that you delight in life, because I know you want to be delighted, just like me.

I pray that you may know God’s healing presence in pain and suffering, because I know that you are a fellow human being, just like me.

Be thankful. Be joyful.

Special thanks to my lovely nephew, Ethan Oliver, who gifted me with his piano skills.

As always, you can find a transcript of this podcast episode on my website, eirenicole.com.

And today, may you walk at the pace of grace.

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Advent is an arrival or coming, particularly one that is anticipated, long awaited. The advent season is certainly one of anticipation and the very clear knowledge that something is coming . . . and soon. But doesn’t it tend to be more that of Christmas concerts, office parties, and end-of-semester papers and finals; shopping for the right gift at the right price for the right person – for every person on your list; and what of blended families and coordinating the exchange of children, perhaps contentious?

This is why I love that the first Advent candle we light represents Hope.

Hope is the longing or desire for something – that is accompanied by the belief in the possibility that it will actually occur.

What do you believe?

As we pondered last week with the fallen leaves, everything decays. All that is sure and whole and solid pulls apart eventually. Still, Jesus is “before all things, and in him all things hold together.” Col. 1:17 And, that is the hope – that deep desire to be held together when so much seems to be pulling apart – held in tension with a sense that Jesus will actually do this. Even now—on earth as it is in Heaven—with all the chaos of the season around me, when in the very depths of my heart, my soul, I have not the strength to keep it together, the Spirit of God dwelling within me . . . does. Hope.

I love the Sufjan Stevens song, Chicago. And not just because we live in the Chicago area. “I fell in love again; all things go, all things go,” so it begins. To Sufjan, falling in love means that everything else is no longer important. All things go, all things go. It recalls Jesus’ exhortation: Sell everything and give to the poor – all things go; I made mistakes – even my thoughts, my mind is only on getting there, being there – a sense that in that place in that space, recreation will occur: hope. This week of Advent, let us practice Hope together.

What do you believe?

Where is your hope?

If you do not know what to believe – listen. In a moment, I will ring the chime and invite you to listen for that space where the sound ends and the silence begins.

When you hold in your hand the things that distress you, the fist clenches and everything seeps through, between the fingers – coming apart.

Suspend all belief – hold it loosely.

Begin now. Chime.

Breathe in, soak in the hope that there is something more in this season. Something more in this day. Someone More in this space, in this moment.

Breathe out the urgency of your lists, your chores, the discord between family members, the concern over the kids.

Breathe in the hope of possibility – that it is not blind, that there exists a reality that penetrates your soul while extending past the farthest expanse imagined.

You came to take us

Practice hope this week, the holy indifference – hold loosely the things that seem to be falling apart or breaking you apart so the More Than can have space, have room, to hold it all together. Hope. Share your experiences with someone, and perhaps even be an agent of that same hope.

As always, you can find the transcript of this podcast and resources on my website eirenicole.com. And special thanks to my dear husband, Howie Snyder, for adding his voice to the words of Chicago.

And today, may you walk at the pace of grace.

Chicago, by, Sufjan Stevens; performed by, Howie Snyder

Photography: “Wait,” by Ethan Oliver

I fell in love again

We sold our clothes to the state

You came to take us

We had our mindset

I drove to New York

I was in love with the place

You came to take us

We had our mindset

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Thanksgiving Tree bathing: We have been bombarded with a wave of mindfulness apps and agendas, myriad techniques and promises. From Indian yoga and Ayurvedic prescriptions to Japanese tea making to Scandinavian simple-cozy homemaking, we embrace these new (to Statesiders) methods – learning from other cultures, always a beautiful thing – while at the same time, forgetting a rich literary heritage already in our collective archive. Walt Whitman on the healing properties of nature, Ralph Austin on the spiritual use of tree blossoms, John Muir’s meditations on the Sequoia’s, to name a few.

Even the Buddhist Shinrin-Yoku: “forest bathing,” is recognized in other cultures. But with focus on this particular subset researchers demonstrated that this “taking in the forest atmosphere,” is healing. Indeed, measuring cortisol levels and cerebral activity indicated that cortisol and stress-indicators were significantly lower after just 20 minutes of forest walking.

The poets new this instinctively, however, and I’m sure we do too.

For his part, Ralph Austin draws from the “deep religiosity of his era, [while] at its heart is a deeper, timeless wisdom that speaks to those [ . . .] who are nonreligious but invested in attaining a sense of secular spirituality  . . . Trees, he assures us, contain great gospels of truth:

“The world is a great library, and fruit trees are some of the books wherein we may read and see plainly the attributes of God, [God’s] power, wisdom, goodness … for as trees (in a metaphorical sense) are books, so like-wise in the same sense they have a voice, and speak plainly to us, and teach us many good lessons.”

And John Muir wrote, “Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that . . . Wilderness is a necessity.”

Walt Whitman suffered a stroke at 54. In the two long years of recovery he found solace and healing among the trees: “How it all nourishes, lulls me, in the way most needed; the open air, the rye-fields, the apple orchards.”

This week, for the US, is Thanksgiving. It is meant to be a feast and gathering of family and friends, and space for communion, of rest, and place of gratitude. But too often rapidly decomposes, as it were, into a stressful flurry of cleaning and cooking and fretting over how the guests will get on.

So with me, please commit with me to daily find nourishment, strength and healing from the trees:

Go outside! Grab a coat, it may be cold.

Inhale, deeply. Gaze on the branches – nearly naked now, that persist, reach out and up and on. They defiantly hold their pose, stretching still further – a promise, the hope that comes with long-lived experience: they will bloom again.

Drink in the crisping air the hint of the winter to come; sip the fragrance of dirt now laden with layers of fallen leaves. Smell the ground where the blades and needles begin their work to decompose, to rot, decay. They go willingly, carrying with them that secret power the putrefaction transports deep into the earth, covering the roots, nourishing, nurturing the tree-in-cold.

Listen to the wisdom in the trees’ voice.

[“Thanksgiving Forest Bathing,” ©️ Nicole S. Oliver Snyder]

Let the air that carries such substance waft and whirl, convey its insight through your senses. Bath in the forest – if even, for you, for now, is a row of bushes along your front porch. When the kitchen heats up, or the tensions rise, step outside.

Start today. Go outside! Grab a coat, it may be cold.

Inhale, deeply. Gaze on the branches – nearly naked now, that persist, reach out and up and on. They defiantly hold their pose, stretching still further – a promise, the hope that comes with long-lived experience: they will bloom again.

Drink in the crisping air the hint of the winter to come; sip the fragrance of dirt now laden with layers of fallen leaves. Smell the ground where the blades and needles begin their work to decompose, to rot, decay. They go willingly, carrying with them that secret power the putrefaction transports deep into the earth, covering the roots, nourishing, nurturing the tree-in-cold.

Listen to the wisdom in the trees’ voice. What wisdom do you hear, today?

“Down To The River To Pray,” vocals: Greer Snyder, Samantha Snyder, Nicole Oliver Snyder

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The art of observation: Awe and Wonder.  At the dinner table last night, my son told us about popping a piece of candy into his mouth earlier that day and being surprised by the flavor. It was a candy he has had before, and mindlessly eaten. Yesterday, though, he noticed the distinct flavor and how pleasing it was, enjoying the taste of it. He said, “I was thinking that was a mindfulness thing, right, mom?” the awe and wonder I experienced in that moment really cannot be described. The writer, Marguerite Duras observes,“The art of seeing has to be learned.”

“(“Attention is an intentional, unapologetic discriminator,” [the cognitive scientist, Alexandra] Horowitz tells us. “It asks what is relevant right now, and gears us up to notice only that.”) But while this might make us more efficient in our goal-oriented day-to-day, it also makes us inhabit a largely unlived — and unremembered — life, day in and day out.” Now, this is very different from the easily distracted inability to stay focused on a task or conversation. Oh, look! Squirrel! What were you saying?

My now 17-year old son, Lysander, is a beautiful example and reminds me to foster imagination. I often still find him wandering the house, sometimes circling the living room on his tippy toes just thinking, imagining, considering; or outside jumping around on the trampoline or lying down gazing at the sky, listening to an audio book or music – and wondering. Is it any wonder, then, that he can imagine four-dimensional space and shape computer code to conceptualize that imagination into a game, to a play-space? Only do not ask him to recite the times table! But the most brilliant minds have always been thus. Just as sports science finds that runners perform better when they intentionally take rest days, so our minds perform better, are more creative, interesting, resilient, when they are intentionally directed away from to-do’s, list-checking, achieving – to wonder.

Howrowitz admits, “We see, but we do not see: we use our eyes, but our gaze is glancing, frivolously considering its object. We see the signs, but not their meanings. We are not blinded, but we have blinders.” And can recall William James’ observation that “My experience is what I agree to attend to. Only those items which I notice shape my mind.”

I advocate for Noticing Adventures. On these adventures we anticipate that, from the ordinary – that which we overlook while on autopilot – we might see, notice, the extraordinary. Or not-so-ordinary. Adrian van Kaam called this, awe abiding attention—that is, an alert, lived moment – in each moment, each step – alive to circumstance: open to see each person passing on the street, the parent and child holding hands – what is the child noticing? The sound of traffic or buzz of voices or lack of voices?

We see the signs, but not their meanings. We are not blinded, but we have blinders. What I notice shapes my mind. And I choose what I will or will not notice. And in doing so, this affirms my prejudices, and confirms my expectations. Awe and wonder erase expectations. The ability to be surprised is exactly that: an ability – one that must be fostered, nurtured, practiced. And then it is conceivable to see what is possible in myself, and in another person, and in the day. And, isn’t that exactly what hope is? And hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us. (Rom5:5)

To notice is to hope; to give attention is to love. Let us cultivate the art of observation today by gathering the scattered, anxious thoughts toward the center where Jesus resides, where hope is nurtured and love is fueled.

Listen to the sound of the Tibetan singing bowl. I will strike the bowl three times.

With each strike, slow your breathing, deepen each breath. Settle, as your mind and thoughts are brought inward to the heart, while paradoxically becoming more open, receptive, aware – creative. Listen for that space where the sound ends and the silence begins.

Do you hear the voice of God? Listen.

As I chime again, gather your thoughts again (because, if you are like me, they might have drifted back to concerns of the day), and listen with your eyes. Notice where you are, notice something new. An unexpected object or behavior. A color you didn’t notice there before, or a person you often overlook but recognize here.

Wonder at the possibilities. Be in awe of the beauty, or the strange or the unexpected.

Wonder. Be in awe. Remain. Wander.

Be grateful. Give thanks.

You can find links, resources and the transcript of this podcast at my website, Eirenicole.com.

And today, may you walk at the pace of grace.

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The language of emotion, and mindfully using our words.

One thing that I can know for certain is that what I feel is undeniably true. You might feel something different, but the feeling that each of us have is what it is – true. Right? You might agree that even if your feelings change, what you feel in that moment is a very real, experienced truth of that moment. Well, a certain branch of field of Psychology, psychological constructionists [language as symbol], who ascribe to Conceptual Act Theory suggest otherwise.

The premise of Conceptual Act Theory is that for anything to hold meaning, one must ascribe a concept, and in turn, a concept shapes the very meaning of that thing. That is, the language ascribed to it shapes what I might understand about emotion. Language is a symbol that points to meaning. Meaning, then, develops and is shaped by the symbols I use to denote or describe that emotion.

Of course, when I feel something – especially if it is a very strong emotion – my brain does not process all of the words I might use to describe what I feel. At the same time, how I experience that emotion is closely tied to the language that I use associated with that feeling. You have heard it said, “every obstacle is an opportunity . . .” yet does that notion actually change the felt reaction you have toward that “opportunity?”

There is evidence that supports, for instance, when hotel housekeeping staff change the way they describe their work from naming it “labor,” to instead call it “exercise,” statistically significant physical and psychological changes occur (weight loss, lowered blood pressure, increased sense of well-being) all without changing their actual daily activity.

And even when I might mindfully consider how I describe a situation, it is exceptionally easy to continue using that word or phrase mindlessly and fall prey to circumstance, once again. “Every obstacle is an opportunity” looses its power (if it ever had any) if you are not the one crediting it as an opportunity. Words are only symbols. But the kinds of words we use convey far greater sway than we usually recognize. How does my word choice influence my perception of a situation or relationship? How do my words influence yours? Do they drag you or me down; deplete the energy so needed to meet an obstacle? Or do they bolster, nourish us to face the opportunity?

It is a mindfulness practice to reflect on a situation or issue.

So, today – and this week – let us consider. First, take a few moments to notice your breathing. Settle into your space and begin to draw in a breath. 2, 3, 4; hold, 2, out, 2, 3, 4. Again, breathe in the spirit of peace 2, 3, 4, hold, 2, out anxious thoughts, 2, 3, 4. Breathe in the spirit of the Word, God with us. Breathe out the sense of being out of control.

Now notice. Consider the thoughts that have just before now raising your blood pressure, causing you anxiety or fear or ill will toward someone. . . . What is the circumstance from which these thoughts and the words you use to describe the feeling about them, comes?

Hold that word or phrase like a ball of light in front of you.

Let the light illuminate why you might feel the way you do toward that situation, or person, or condition.

Shift the ball around and see it from a different position. Is your response as intensely felt? What is changing?

Is there a different word or phrase that comes to mind to describe it? allow God’s wisdom to speak to it.

Sense how the ball is now lighter.

Allow the Light to carry it now.

With this new word or phrase, consider how you might refocus on that situation and the day ahead. Offer it to God with thanksgiving and be grateful.

I would love to hear – as I am sure others in the community would – what word or phrase you swapped for what you earlier ascribed to your situation. Please share on the Eirenicole facebook page or at my website eirenicole.com (where you can also find resources and a transcript for this podcast).

And, today, may you walk at the pace of grace.

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