The Three Most Important Questions

Almost always during breakfast and lunchtime, I read to my children.

They each grab a book from the library bag or one off their bedroom shelves and gnosh while I tell the story.

One of my favorite author/illustrators is Jon J. Muth and one of his most profound pieces of children's literature landed in my hands today while the kids devoured pasta and plums.

The tale is called, "The Three Questions," and is based on a book with the same title by Leo Tolstoy...the famous Russian novelist who wrote "War and Peace" and "Anna Karenina."

Muth's version is about a young boy named Nikolai who is on a quest to find the answers to the following:

• When is the best time to do things?
• Who is the most important one?
• What is the right thing to do?

Along the way, he meets a heron, a monkey, a dog, a tortoise and a panda who help to teach him that ultimately, there is only one important time and that is now......the most important one is always the one that you are with....and the most important thing is to do good for the one who is standing at your side.  For in the end, this is the reason why we are here.

The beautiful part of the story which my children know all too well and through their actions teach me...is that Tolstoy's lesson is that of the obvious.  Something happens when we grow older and suddenly, our experience has a tendency to turn into baggage and we make the simple complicated. 

We're all on a path.  The people that we engage along the way are purposeful.  The circumstances we encounter are the right ones at the right time, even if they are painful.  The most important players in our story vary as does the timing.  The greatest challenge is being open to doing the right thing in that moment knowing that it may change tomorrow.

For now, I was comforted by the fact that my children seem to get it, even if I'm a bit thick headed.  They understand that it's not that hard and that you don't have to decide about tomorrow today.  You just have to be here in this moment, now, and the rest will unfold exactly as it's supposed to.

Lingering in Awe...Moment by Moment

We are smack dab in the midst of the Lenten season, counting the days until Easter Sunday.

And as the tradition of sacrificing for 40 days goes, some of us have given up things like screen time, cursing, or sugary substances and others of us are doing things for the greater good like extra chores or writing letters of gratitude.

So it was yesterday that I gathered my precocious three-year old and headed to church for a monthly women's circle experience.  I love having a hot cup of coffee, seeing my fellow "mom friends" and finding ways to engage in our community.

But this time, different than usual, we had a guest.  A Jesuit.  Which shouldn't seem odd given that we're Catholic and that Jesuits come in and out of the parish and school all of the time. But what was odd...was just how amazing that he was. 

Most of us don't know the tradition of the Jesuits...how nearly 500 years ago, a Spanish soldier, St. Ignatius Loyola founded the Jesuits and established the Society of Jesus after nearly dying on the battlefield.  His cry to those who followed was to find God in all things. His practice was to impart the Daily Examen...a meditation and reflection on where the divine exists in the ordinary. 

And so, the first thing that our Jesuit speaker did was to sit his cup of dark roast coffee on the table and praise God both for the gift of caffeine and the divine peanut buster parfait he indulged in the night before...Amen, brother, amen.  Clearly, he hadn't given up sweets for Lent. Thank the Lord.

Next, he shared a Jesuit site called "Moved to Greater Love" that provides a daily meditation to be used throughout the Lenten season.

And this is the part that got me. 

He didn't read a scriptural passage.  He shared a poem by Mary Oliver, one of my all-time favorite writers.

Here it is...

The Place I Want To Get Back To

is where
    in the pinewoods
      in the moments between
        the darkness

and first light
    two deer
      came walking down the hill
        and when they saw me

they said to each other, okay,
    this one is okay,
      let's see who she is
        and why she is sitting

on the ground like that,
    so quiet, as if
      asleep, or in a dream,
        but, anyway, harmless;

and so they came
    on their slender legs
      and gazed upon me
        not unlike the way

I go out to the dunes and look
    and look and look
      into the faces of the flowers;
        and then one of them leaned forward

and nuzzled my hand, and what can my life
    bring to me that could exceed
      that brief moment?
        For twenty years

I have gone every day to the same woods,
    not waiting, exactly, just lingering.
      Such gifts, bestowed,
        can't be repeated.

If you want to talk about this
    come to visit. I live in the house
      near the corner, which I have named
        Gratitude.
After meditating on Mary Oliver's words, he asked us to consider the power and importance of lingering in awe, in the moment....moment by moment.  The truth is that we never do it.  We feel guilty if we linger...lazy almost, as if we should be focused on our plans and all of our to-do's.  The idea that staring into the nothingness of our thoughts, of our heart's desires, of our wonderings is a waste of time.  And yet, we all know that when we focus exclusively on our goals, objectives, plans for the day, we're never really satisfied, never completely filled, we're always longing to be back in that place where we could just "be."

And what is wrong with just being....being caught up in the moment, being carried away by the feeling, being enraptured by the color, the sound, the joy, the mystery, the awe.

And this our speaker said is where God resides.  It seems as though the experiences of feeling God is such a mystery that it's really, only, remotely knowable when we empty ourselves to be available to the moment.  And most of the time, we're never really available...too many other things get in the way.

But as you take care to engage in your day, you might ask yourself, when was I truly in awe today?  When was I surprised?  When did I let my guard down and allow my heart to feel?  When was I filled?  When did I experience God?

It makes the idea of a Lenten journey far more engaging than,  "how did it go giving up chocolate or potato chips?"

And so, as I left the meeting, I couldn't get Mary Oliver's words out of my head:

Such gifts, bestowed,
        can't be repeated.

Because really, who knows when, if ever, the moment may come again.  

Just Listen to Me...I Love You

This morning, I ran 12 miles.

The evolution of the run was pretty typical.  My first two miles are always the hardest.  The music starts to pump, my feet hit the pavement, my breath is choppy, and I spend what seems to be an inordinate amount of time trying to find my groove.

I start to fuel and hydrate.  I exhale and then it happens, I get lost.  I know my training course so well that I could probably run it blindfolded and this morning it served me well.

I was able to really think and clear my head.

It's been a long week.  An intense week with my husband out of town and all of the last minute summer festivities unfolding before school starts on Monday.

So, it was with a big smile on my face that I remembered Kate, my little girl getting ready to start Kindergarten.  It was the night of her Open House and for some reason, I was distracted and not paying attention to her.  All of a sudden, she grabbed the sides of my face and said, "Just listen to me, I love you."

It caught me completely off guard and captured all of me immediately.

With all of the hoopla and anxiety surrounding my trip to Chicago to run a half marathon race, I've been clinging to my faith.  Praying that the logistics will take care of themselves.  Hoping that the weather will hold out on race day.  Trusting that my legs, heart, and spirit will get me through.  Believing that I'll feel connected to the friends that I haven't seen in years.  And feeling secure that the time, the energy, and the agony will have been worth it.

And strangely in those moments, I hear God saying, "Just listen to me, I love you."  I'm with you...each step...each moment...each memory.  This is a gift.  Enjoy it.  

A Time to Enjoy

I've never been good at savoring the moment.

I'm that person who assumes that if the "now" is perfect then the other shoe is about to drop.

I've always got one eye looking toward tomorrow wondering what I should be doing today to make the here after better.

Unfortunately, as we all know, all we have is the now.  And, most every religious text will tell you and every motivational poem will entrust that life is for the living.  It is meant to be joy filled not saturated with worry and anxiety.

So why do I do this to myself?  Why not indulge in the laughter of my kiddos being silly?  Why not take in the chocolate cake without feeling guilty or weak?  Why not let today be what today is going to be trusting that tomorrow will take care of itself?

I just think that some people are better at being joyful than others...but innately, I think we all yearn to be and have the capacity to do so, if we just let go of the need to control the outcome and surrender to what is.

Today, I'm going to see what unfolds and laugh when I feel happy, scream when I feel frustrated, dream when I'm feeling inspired and believe that this moment, right now is to be treasured.

I'll never get it back again...so, why waste it.  Here's to joy!

Breathe In, Breathe Out

Moments after my husband left to take our oldest on a cub scout camping trip, our youngest daughter, Claire (17-months) woke up from her nap with a raging fever. 

So we spent last night up and down interchanging ibuprofen, acetaminophen, water, rocking, singing, walking and in general, sharing exhaustion.

Our middle child, Kate (4 years old) has been an absolute trooper.  Entertaining herself with oil pastels, painting, building forts, reading Dr. Seuss, eating Bomb Pops, and watching Toy Story... I owe her big.

We haven't left the house.  It's 5:00 pm and we're still in our pajamas.  Claire's had three  tubs.  I've drank copious amounts of coffee and eaten more dark chocolate covered espresso beans than I care to admit.

And, all in all, we're winging it and trying to breathe in and breathe out until bedtime.

Do you ever have those days?  You know the ones.  Where they don't go down at all as you'd expected.  I had planned to take the girls and their friend to the park for a picnic lunch.  I was going to paint Kate's toes and my own.  We were going to order in pizza and watch a movie.  It was going to be a fun girl's weekend.  But with a baby attached to my hip and crying ringing in my ears, I'm trying to remember to be in the moment.  Even though I wish the moment would pass before I lose my mind.

The Gift of the Here and Now

You know what's debilitating?

Not being here...no, I don't mean at my kitchen table writing this, I mean in the present.

If you're anything like me, you replay memories/images from the past and reel toward anticipation/expectation for future events. 

You have an idea of how you want things to go down and you start to play out the scenario in your head.  And then pretty soon you've relived a past event or created a fictional future event so many times, that you've completely missed out on whatever is right in front of you.

Why is it so hard to stay in the present?  To be aware of the breath?  Mindful of the moment.  Content in the now.  Because really, that's all that we have.  No more, no less.

It's funny how powerful that the mind is...the more that we detach from the body and stay cerebral, the more that we can recreate things that may have never existed or create fear for future dilemmas that may never transpire.  And yet again, then we have lost the moment yet again...unable to retrieve the present.

Running has served as a powerful tool for me to shift gears.  I have no choice but to be connected to my legs, my heart, my arms, my breath, and the motivation in my mind.  I'm grateful to be smack-dab in the now when I'm in motion....slowly re-learning how to appreciate the gift of the here and now.