BELIEVE IN YOURSELF

 

Collage Journaling

Perhaps you know Mother Teresa's Meditations from a Simple Life.  Of course it is filled with wisdom.  From time to time I thumb through it.  My copy is heavily marked; like many readers, I often have pen in hand.  Her small meditations can throw you deep into thought.  That's the way reading is, isn't it?

Mother Teresa says that the soul needs prayer as the body needs blood.  I think Christians sense this.  When prayers are neglected the doldrums set in; we feel sluggish, a spiritual dehydration so to speak.  But today, something different caught my attention.  On my umpteenth perusal I noticed this:

It is important to gain self-knowledge as part of spiritual growth--to know yourself and believe in yourself means you can know and believe in God.  Knowledge of yourself produces humility, and knowledge of God produces love.   

Much of what we may do concerns, at least peripherally, knowing ourselves.  My mindfulness and meditation practice, my blogging, prayer journaling, and collaging invariably lead me to self-knowledge.  But because they are not in service of others necessarily, nor do they earn money, or meet the definition of productivity, I can feel guilty about the time spent.  Perhaps you have some activities about which you feel the same, solitary activities such as gardening, doing cross-word puzzles, or walking (all offering time for introspection), or even reading.

But now here is someone no less than a Saint telling us that gaining self-knowledge is part of our spiritual growth.  We could intuit this perhaps, that loving ourselves--surely part of knowing ourselves--is important.  After all, if we are to love our neighbor as ourselves, we do need to love ourselves.  

But to have it confirmed by Saint Teresa of Calcutta is a gift.  She is saying that knowing and believing in ourselves is prerequisite to knowing and believing in God. We can extrapolate to say that showing ourselves tenderness helps us show tenderness to others.  Respecting ourselves allows us to respect others, and so on.  This may be obvious, but I cannot say that it always is to me.

I am always looking for something helpful.  This is.  We do not have to feel self-indulgent for taking care of ourselves.  It can be done humbly. We can be introspective and committed to our own well-being, knowing that this will facilitate our relationship to our God.  And of course from there, the sky is the limit, is it not?  Once we are right with God, there are no constraints.  Thanks be to God.                 Nina Naomi

 

 

THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE HOME

A favorite spot in my home

Is anywhere better than home?  I've lived in some strange places and loved them all.  One a three room basement apartment beneath a heavy smoker with a loud cough and next-door to the rumbling laundry.  One might wonder why such a noisy year would be fondly remembered, but it is.  We painted all the used furniture (actually curb-side retrievals) a high-gloss green or blue--except the bookshelves of  brick & board  which we painted a high-gloss white.   Low ceilings, a window in the living room and bedroom, but bath and kitchen dark and underground.  I taught English to 10th graders and loved it.  My husband was a seminarian.   This was in St. Louis, Missouri. 

I can't say it was my favorite home but for that year it was both an adventure and haven.  A stray cat lived with us.  

Later we lived in a roomy parsonage in Illinois in the middle-of-nowhere.  Soy beans, corn fields, graveyard out back, gravel roads, electric fence between us and the cattle, and two babies 14 months apart.  Not my favorite home either but, at the time, perfect.  Braid rug in the kitchen, window air-conditioners for the brutal Midwest summers and just an hour from family.  The cattle broke out a few times but no one got gored.

Oh, and (how could I forget), one year in a two-room flat in a reconverted Slovenian butcher shop in Cleveland, Ohio where my husband was a Vicar.  We slept on a pull-out couch in the living room.  So cozy.  Plus an eat-in kitchen and a truly lovely garden out back.  The kitchen had charming white cabinets with red trim.  We put a throw (blue and green naturally) on the one itchy chair by our pull-out bed and painted the walls pale green, but left the kitchen white.  I loved reading in that garden.  I taught English to 12th graders; they were the best kids.  

All these homes.  And many more since then.  Ranch,  two story,  a 'modified' Dutch Colonial (still can't figure that out), and for the last many years a mid-century modern in the woods, hands-down my favorite.  

What triggered these memories?  Well, I've mentioned that UK magazine The Simple Things.  They do a feature on "My Place," the corners of our homes that mean the most to us.  Last month (it arrives a month late) it was the "view from the bed."   One person said, "I always wanted a bedroom that was both cozy and moody." Here's the photo:

Isn't this the loveliest room for reflection?  I've never had a bedroom this dramatic. And isn't the idea of a moody bedroom original?   Someone else described their bedroom as a soothing space, with a window view of sky, birds and rooftops.  That also sounds wonderful.  I love a city view of rooftops.  Most everyone described their bedroom as a sanctuary, no matter the size or placement.  Attic rooms have their  charms.  Some people like to let in the world, some like to shut it out.  

It's interesting to see how people live and what they like.  And why is it that our recall of where we have lived almost always brings positive emotions and feelings, no matter that it may not be where we want to live now? The reason must be healthy.  

We often read that every  emotion is just fine;  that there are no wrong emotions.  I find this reassuring.  Sometimes I feel guilty for being happy when the world is on fire.  Sometimes the other way around:  why am I down when crocuses are up and forsythia are blooming?  But today it's just a plain memory of places lived and the joys there.  Perhaps you might think of the same, places lived and what they mean to you.  I'm glad I ran across this article.                                        Nina Naomi

 

SURPRISE--A SILVER LINING

 

           “You can cut all the flowers, but you cannot keep spring from coming.” Pablo Neruda.

Oh my, hard to believe--a silver lining.  I've been looking for one and today, voilà. 

Remember the quote from Margaret Renkl in the Post of Mar 11, 2022?  

In this troubled world, it would be a crime to snuff out any flicker of happiness that somehow leaps into life.

Well, here's another flicker of, aptly, happiness about happiness.  

The annual World Happiness Report (WHR) has just been released. You know, the report that finds Finland "the happiest place in the world" each year? (Or at least the last 5 years.)   If you've forgotten how it works, the WHR is authored by independent experts who compile the results of a global survey of people from more than 150 countries.  It's published by the United Nations.  

Our ranking has never been high, with low institutional trust and steep income inequality affecting what we see as our best possible lives. But we did modestly rise from 19th to 16th this year which, given the darkness of the times, may be more meaningful than it looks. 

After all, like memory, happiness is elusive.  And two years of pandemic readjustments have disrupted people's feelings.  Yet worldwide, people's overall positive emotions have continued to be more than twice as frequent as their negative emotions. Measurements of laughter, enjoyment, and learning or doing something new, lead measurements of sadness, anger or worry 2 to 1.  

And where sadness or worry did increase, in 2020 during the first year of the pandemic, anger did not.  We stood together.  We worried together.  We were sad together.  We were not angry with one another, and this is worldwide. We the people ignored political finger-pointing.  If laughter decreased, it was more than made up for by learning or doing something new.  All those hobbies, recipes, and new or recovered skills raised our happiness quotient.  We weren't simply staying afloat, much as it seemed some days. Working from home made us happy.  Even having the children home did. Even (or maybe especially) not working did.

Historically Canada, Australia and New Zealand, countries with social safety nets, measure high in life evaluation and remained so.  But the real surge, for the whole world, was in simple kindness.  Sewing masks, volunteering for clinical trials (not a small thing), checking on neighbors, gathering family and friends outdoors or through Zoom, providing free services . . . .  The ways of stepping up have been as varied as we are.  In every region of the globe during 2020 and 2021 strangers helped strangers more--a whopping 25% more.  Everywhere donations, volunteering, and selflessness increased. 

Why is this good news, other than the obvious?  Well, because positive emotions promote optimism, resilience, and increase our ability to adapt to future challenges.  In other words, they're not just an end in themselves.  They carry over into tomorrow.  

The pandemic has cut many flowers.  Lives, education, jobs are like a meadow mown.  But spring came anyway.  It's here and in bloom. 

 

BE TENDER WITH YOUR DARK SIDE

Be tender with your dark side now

Lest it mistake your needs.  

Your soul in cashmere takes a vow

To keep you safe from deeds

Like words unkind that one might feel.

"Remember when you said. . . ?"

We think that only light can heal.

Dark too can banish dread.

 

"Tell all the truth but tell it slant," 

She told us, that we know.  

No facts, no details to recant,

Just focused breath to slow.

 

One wakes with thoughts that do not hold.

They dissipate so fast.

So from now on obliquely write.

Be grateful they don't last.

It was on impulse; no, forethought,

Or foresight, better yet.

 "And if thou wilt, remember."

"And if thou wilt, forget." 

                                     by nina naomi

 

 

 

A BONFIRE DAY

A bonfire day, my prayers are gone.

The paper crackled, seared.

My words in flame, 

The pages curl,

And all my thoughts are charred. 

But still You hear them, give me peace,

Come by my side and stay. 

I feel Your touch.

You seek, console

And help me find my way. 

 

You hold my soul between Your palms.  

If palms You have, and slow

My breath with love.

I thank you, Lord

For calm when moonbeams glow. 

 

My new words will be few and slant, 

No one to wound but me.

So slight in heart 

And deed am I,

A kernel naught can see.  

 

I once was hurt, or twice or thrice.

Or more?  But who needs know? 

If words are kept 

From pen and ink

Are thoughts denied their flow? 

 

Will memories un-remembered be? 

Kept at a cost no more? 

Nor read at cost?

Nor burned at cost?  

No ruminations soar? 

Does anyone know more than I 

That words are not unpled?

Words take you to

A railroad track.

(But wait, no facts, I said.)

 

Forget it slant, nay live it slant.

Sand clean your mind; it's done.

Do not crush love, 

Do not soil love.

(This could be anyone.) 

        by nina naomi

 

 

 

NO JOY ELUDES HER

 

 "If my son hadn't died . . ."

There, she said it.

That's all she wants,

A do-over of life

With no death in sight. 

"If I'd never been hurt . . ."

She said it again.  

Nothing to hide.

Staying in bounds, no crack to be found.

A life lived un-stunned.   

Yet no joy eludes her.

Not peace nor flame.

Nor love fierce as steel.

No summit, no goal.

"Nothing can change but I." 

            nina naomi 

 

 

 

 

SPRING IGNORES OUR TROUBLES, HALLELULAH!

What to Do With Spring's Wild Joy in a Burning World by writer Margaret Renkl (NYT, Mar 7), was the luckiest find today.  For weeks, ever since that fateful Thursday when Vladimir Putin anointed himself God, I have pondered the disconnect between my life and the scenes I see playing out on the news: caravans of Ukrainian families on foot, children in strollers, pets abandoned; explosions, rubble, death.  I suspect most of us feel helpless this spring.  Just where do the boundaries of ethics lie?  What risk/benefit analysis can we apply without guilt or shame?  Every day I am grateful these decisions aren't mine.  It is Lent and evil has been loosed. Europe has been there before.  

Then today a respite, Margaret Renkl's beautiful words.  First she describes March.    "Cue the waking insects," she says.  "Cue the flashing bluebirds, swooping." "Cue the fox," "Cue the hard brown buds, waiting all through winter . . . ."   Since I too live in the South, I am right with her. Out my door are early woodland violets, arcing branches of wild yellow forsythia, dozens and dozens of Lenten roses.  Renkl says we don't deserve a March like this because we humans are destroying our home.  She doesn't mean Vladimir Putin but all of us.  I understand.  She's right.  Planet news, when we really listen, when we believe--as we must--is as scary as any war. Armageddon can be anywhere.  

"I am in love with the mild light of springtime even so," she says.  "With all you are, listen for the hum and quiver of the waking world."  Yes, I answer, I am doing this.  I am inspecting everything.  Leaf mold, tender greening moss, crocuses and daffodils of course, lavender hyacinth, bright unfurling hydrangea, whatever perennial makes itself known.  

But then she says what really draws me to this article:

In this troubled world, it would be a crime to snuff out any flicker of happiness that somehow leaps into life.

Isn't that absolutely true?  It's not whether we deserve the joy of spring.  It's already here. It's here to comfort.  It's here as a cradle for our cares.   

We know the difference between curing and healing.  Fresh growth in the forests on the Polish border where the Ukrainian refugees come--or out my door--won't banish the need for freedom or the hunger for peace.  But it can help repair and strengthen our minds and spirits.  New life, whether rising from the ground or held snuggled in our arms, helps lift depression and gladdens our hearts.  It reminds us what it means to be human.  Let us respect that and rejoice.      Nina Naomi          

THOUGHTS COME LIKE RAIN

Thoughts come like rain on a day you were looking for sun.

Sun to warm your ragged mind, to sear your old familiar pain with warmth.

But rain instead, who knows why? 

Harsh, pummeling rain that causes banks to overrun and hauntings freely flow.

In they rush, they lie in wait.

A word, a memory, the least thing. 

A day you were gifted when all was well,

Or so you thought.

Some hours, who knows why, the thoughts gouge until you almost bleed.

You can't prepare.  

The thoughts punish you for having them.   

 by Nina Naomi (a sort of a poem) 

IT'S ASH WEDNESDAY EVEN IN UKRAINE. SEIZE THE DAY.

I've backed away from the news this afternoon to retreat from sorrow for all those under the thumb of Vladimir Putin and his war.  In this country we have that selfish luxury.  There is such a disconnect between the lives of some and the lives of others. Do I deserve a quiet day when Ukrainians are in bunkers or fleeing?  Maybe some of you feel that way too; readers this week live here in the US, in Canada and the UK, and in Germany, Spain, Portugal, Brazil, Japan and Sweden.  A deep thank you to each of you.

Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday for Christians, when we respect our mortality by wearing the sign of the cross in ashes on our foreheads.  Some Ukrainians no doubt will be wearing this too. The day begins the six-week Lenten penitential march to Easter Sunday.  The beautiful circle of the church year is a gift to worshipers:  Advent, Christmastide, Ordinary Time, Lent, Eastertide, then Ordinary Time again.  Each season comes around as quickly as a birthday or New Year's Eve.  We seem to move between repentance and celebration as surely as morning turns to night.  Our Lord is born, our Lord dies, our Lord is risen.  All religions have their beauty. I think of the Islamic call to prayer, haunting and rhythmic; who wouldn't answer that call? 

So we have the world, we have our faiths, and we have our ordinary days of work, griefs and simple pleasures.  Everything cycles, our minds and hearts included.  The symmetry is amazing:  daylight to darkness, winter to spring to summer to fall; but also good to evil, peace to war, repetition that does not delight but newly stuns, as now when a bully attacks its neighbor, sudden if not unexpected.  

We know the phrase carpe diem, seize the day.  Perhaps when we stand back from the news and let our empathy have a momentary respite, that's what we're doing--seizing the day. Surely it is never selfish to be grateful . . . especially when so many of our blessings seem to be simple luck:  where I was born, who my parents were, how I was nurtured, my health . . . .  Life is hard but not equally so for all.   

There is so much goodness each day.  So much beauty in everyday things.  On the best days, bright mornings, busy afternoons, restful evenings.  Each the same and yet completely new. Or maybe all your days are busy:  children, work, spouse, supper, laundry, then bed. But these are simple pleasures too, aren't they?  Children who need us; a job well-done that puts money in our pocket; a spouse to share the load; no one hungry; clean clothes; a cool pillow and warm blanket.  Each of those things we want for those in need as well. 

I will turn the news back on tonight for President Biden's State of the Union address.  As a country, we no longer need to be ashamed of our president.  We can work with NATO and the European Union on the life and death issues of peace and our warming planet.  And we can take time for self-care and gratitude when our hearts and minds beckon us to. Then tomorrow, if you happen to be Christian, you can begin your Lenten journey with a smudge of ashes.