LOSS

 

Recently I have experienced loss at a magnitude which feels beyond what I can absorb through my normal process of grief, prayer, contemplation, and honoring the loss through commitment to life and resilience.  As I write this, I search for ways to overpower it emotionally, but I am recognizing that surrendering to God’s will is my only path.  I know so many of you have encountered the effects of loss, and I hope my reflection will lead you to the same surrender.  Because one thing I have learned is that surrender is not a concession to defeat.  It is a mark of faith.

 

Loss, as is its nature, comes in a range of forms.  It comes when we are not expecting it… not ready… and seeks to leave our soul empty and defeated.  In my case, I have lost the joy of connection and relationship as I helplessly watch a loved one suffering decline and its destruction of mind, body and soul.  And I have lost my beloved dog and companion of 18 years.

 

Your loss may be of a similar nature.  And like me, after the sorrow of emptiness and the helplessness of apparent defeat, you may have sought remedy in engaging your mind by going through a process of assessment, and your body by deciding to take action. 

 

But what do you do when you watch someone losing cognitive connection with you and with the rest of the world?  What action can mitigate the pathology of that process?  And what is your motive?  To bring back the person you once knew?  If that person is safe and happy, for whom is that remedy intended?

 

And what do you do when you lose a beloved companion to death?  No action can change that irreversible event, but what can you do to mitigate the sadness?  And again, what is your motive?  To bring back that experience of loving and being loved? If that beloved companion has passed to a place of no pain, for whom is that remedy intended?

 

My faith has often provided more questions about life than answers, but in these days, after realizing it is the endpoint to which I keep arriving, I have awakened to the fact that it should be my starting point.  I realize that I have engaged my mind and my body in trying to process loss, but I have not engaged my soul.

 

Every day, when loss comes my way (and it does, often and in obvious forms such as death or critical illness, or even news of families and friends suffering social and emotional challenges), I try and guide myself right into prayer.  I remind myself of a great bit of spiritual advice I received when a priest told me that no challenging encounter should be approached without envisioning the triangle of the other person, myself, and God.  “See the Triangle” he said.  That visual, for me, is both comforting and encouraging.  It opens a path of dialogue for me through prayer and trust in the God who is always there, always waiting, always loving.

 

And so I invite you into whatever form of contemplative prayer you practice.  When loss, in any of its many forms, knocks on your door with the potential to rock your world and shake your confidence, trust and believe that prayer can bring you the same consolation it has brought me.  Prayer can open your heart to the grace that only God can impart.  The fear of what we are losing can be replaced, even if it takes time, by gratitude for what we still have.  For we live in a world filled with beauty and grace, and we certainly do not have to reach far beyond our immediate circumstance to touch the wonders of our surroundings.  In nature, in fellowship, and even in the material things manifesting our own collective creativity, we can recognize pleasure and goodness.  And we can thank God.

 

A friend once summed this up by saying “My most fervent daily prayer is “Thy Will Be Done.”

 

Amen.

The House of Christmas

For some of us, home is a place of peace and tranquility where we are surrounded by tradition and love. For others, home is a more elusive concept. During this holy season, we pray that all our neighbors, across the street or across the globe, find in their hearts the hope and peace we all seek, for ourselves and for each other. 

For this Christmas of 2022, I am inspired to share with you the offering of Anthony Esolen called “The House of Christmas.”  Esolen is a professor and writer-in-residence at Magdalen College of the Liberal Arts in N.H., and I believe his imagination captures that feeling of awe and wonder... that feeling of home.

And so, as I share his message with you, I wish you and your loved ones a wonderful, holy and glorious Season of Hope.

"The House of Christmas" by Anthony Esolen

It’s one of the great paradoxes of human life that we so often find ourselves strangers in a strange land. “Bury me not on the lone prairie,” begs the dying lad in the old cowboy song, as he longs to be laid beside his father, far away. But though they are friendly to him, they do not heed his request. The patriarch Joseph, as he lay dying, made his countrymen promise that they would not leave his bones behind in Egypt — the land where his word was law; it was not to be their home. The soldier will never again see his true love on “the bonnie, bonnie banks o’ Loch Lomond.”

Yet even when we are at home, we are not quite at home. When I was a boy, I was often lonely as I gazed from a hilltop over my town spread out far below and across the valley, and felt that it was not my home. Yet I miss that hilltop, though I know if I were to stand upon it today, I would miss even more; for the town has changed, and many a homely thing I took for granted and in a strange way even cherished is no longer there. Blaise Pascal once said that man’s chief trouble is that he cannot sit quiet in his room. For he feels somehow that it is not his room after all; it isn’t where he ultimately belongs. But where does he belong? He cannot say.

Chesterton says it for us. We belong, we can be home, only in the place where a mother who had no home had to give birth to her child. It was a “crazy stable,” he says, meaning that its timbers were cracked and tilted and its thatch was caving in, but this place was stronger and more permanent “than the square stones of Rome.” We have lost our hearts, he says, and where did we lose them? You cannot find the place on a map. No star-chart and no compass will take you to the lost Eden. And everywhere else is a foreign land to us, even if we but walk a few blocks from work to the houses we live in, and we lay our heads peacefully in bed at night. That’s not to say that these foreign lands are poor and paltry things. Not at all! Here we have “chance and honor and high surprise,” in the daily battle of human life, but our homes are “under miraculous skies, / Where the yule tale was begun.”

Rome may be tall, but this place is taller. Eden may be old, but this place is older — or rather it never has grown old, because it is the place of the eternal Son, the same who was born in a stable in Bethlehem and laid to sleep in a manger, whose hands played with the stars. We say, in the season of Advent, “Come to us!” And He replies, “Yes, I have come — and I am calling you home.”

 

There fared a mother driven forth

Out of an inn to roam;

In the place where she was homeless

All men are at home.

The crazy stable close at hand,

With shaking timber and shifting sand,

Grew a stronger thing to abide and stand

Than the square stones of Rome.

 

For men are homesick in their homes,

And strangers under the sun,

And they lay on their heads in a foreign land

Whenever the day is done.

Here we have battle and blazing eyes,

And chance and honor and high surprise,

But our homes are under miraculous skies

Where the yule tale was begun.

 

A Child in a foul stable,

Where the beasts feed and foam;

Only where He was homeless

Are you and I at home;

We have hands that fashion and heads that know,

But our hearts we lost - how long ago!

In a place no chart nor ship can show

Under the sky's dome.

 

This world is wild as an old wives' tale,

And strange the plain things are,

The earth is enough and the air is enough

For our wonder and our war;

But our rest is as far as the fire-drake swings

And our peace is put in impossible things

Where clashed and thundered unthinkable wings

Round an incredible star.

 

To an open house in the evening

Home shall men come,

To an older place than Eden

And a taller town than Rome.

To the end of the way of the wandering star,

To the things that cannot be and that are,

To the place where God was homeless

And all men are at home.

-Anthony Esolen, December 2022 

 

 

 

QUESTIONS

“The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existing. One cannot help but be in awe when he contemplates the mysteries of eternity, of life, of the marvelous structure of reality. It is enough if one tries merely to comprehend a little of this mystery every day." -Albert Einstein

 A kindred spirit of mine has an insatiable curiosity about the Christian faith, about philosophy, about eternity, about the beauty of creation, and about our interconnectedness as human beings. I so enjoy our exchanges, because she is a profound thinker with an open heart.

 How many of us really understand that the words “I don’t know” are a doorway opened and waiting, whereas the words “I know” can sometimes slam that door closed?

 Voltaire encouraged “Judge a man by his questions rather than by his answers.”

 Socrates encouraged his “six great questions” to advance understanding of the perspectives of others.

What is virtue? What is moderation? What is justice? What is courage? What is good? What is piety?

 The next eight days, across the globe, is celebrated as the Octave of Christian Unity. Initiated by Pope Leo XIII in 1908, this prayer octave for Christian Unity encourages followers of Christ to look to each other across denominations. Asking questions about our differences often reveals that much more connects us than divides us.

 As we study ecumenism, unity at the level of spirituality, let us follow the words of theologian Yves Congar: “We can pass through the door of ecumenism only on our knees.” After all, Congar’s thesis of unity in charity is lived out all around us in the natural impulse driving kindness and generosity. The global phenomenon of crowd-funding, for example, is the consummate example of unity in charity. Likewise, it is evident in neighborhoods where an ice or snowstorm draws people to sharing casseroles, shoveling each other’s driveways, and checking in on the least mobile who may need assistance.

 Looking in on, looking out for each other, being interested in the welfare of our neighbor, is unity in charity. It starts with a basic question like “Are you okay” or “Do you need anything?” and allows us to open up, connect, and break down barriers. Doesn’t it follow, then, that those many opened doors and opened hearts can prompt a more prolonged interest in questioning the larger, philosophical issues about life and virtue and faith?

 Like my curious kindred spirit who asks earnest questions and stays open to learning and finding things that unite us, let’s use this eight days as a respite from division and an invitation to unity. I welcome the opportunity. I hope you do, too.

STORYTELLING

 

The purpose of a storyteller

is not to tell you how to think,

but to give you questions

to think upon.

-Brandon Sanderson

 

 

 

 

“Store.” 

It’s the root of story, right?  And when we root out our fears, our presumptions, and our judgements, we find our true story… our own store of truth, right? We chronicle our past as it meets our present, and we do it with honesty and authenticity.

 

“Re- Store.”

Re-rooting?  Finding that interior space where our truth lies waiting… patiently waiting for us to cast away the impediments that separate us from our store, our story. We project our future as it casts off from our present, committed to holding on to that same honesty and authenticity.

 

I think we often face difficulties in finding and holding onto our own story in these complicated times, but we have as models the balladeers of medieval times all the way to the bloggers of today.  They remind us that storytellers create, communicate, and captivate. They help us find that space that holds our own story.  They guide us to explore right to the heart of our heart and the substance of our soul.  And when we find the store of our story, we restore the fragments worth carrying into our future, separating them from those best left in our past.

 

Restoration never comes of our own making. Admitting that is often hard. But look back. How many times have you been able to turn yourself around, or get yourself reset, without the encouragement of a guide?  Sometimes we find ourselves in a spiritual void and yearn for a word from a holy text, an inspirational song, or a pithy quote. And every one of those messages that carries our hearts and souls back from the brink is a relatable, resonate story.  I contend that it is our storytellers who are the most accessible messengers of those guiding words… put to prose, or poetry, or music.   

 

As Mr. Sanderson says in our opening quote, for the storyteller that sees and lives his true purpose, the result is not that we are told how to think, but that we are gifted with questions to think about… to bring us to a place of presence where we can root out our unfettered truths.  And in that place we breathe freely, we reconnect, and we restore.

 

My friend Michael has been doing this, quite brilliantly, in a series of messages sent out on Monday Mornings for over a decade. And now, as his 4-Volume set of these curated messages (yes, it’s called Monday Mornings) is in the hands of many readers of this blog, we are all coming to see just what being in the presence of a real Storyteller means.  It means laughing, and crying, and seeing ourselves through his words.  It means finding our story in his.  And in allowing him to root out the truths to which we can relate, he helps us find our own paths to our interior selves.

 

My prayer for 2022 is that our stories will be better, because we will be wiser.  My hope is that for those who have felt disconnected, from others or (more likely) from your inner self and your own story, you will pick up that gift from your favorite Storyteller.  You may just find yourself happier. You may just find yourself more complete.  And if you find the right Storyteller… honestly… you may just find yourself.

 

I send you off into this brand spanking new year with a message from an anonymous author.  I couldn’t have said it better myself!

 

 

As the dawn breaks on a new year,

let us give thanks for all we hold dear:

our health, our family and our friends.

 

Let us release our grudges, our anger and our pains,

for these are nothing but binding chains.

Let us live each day in the most loving way…

the God-conscious way.

Let us serve all who are in need,

regardless of race, color or creed.

 

Let us keep God of our own understanding in our hearts

and chant God’s name each day.

Let us lead the world from darkness to light,

from falsehood to truth,

and from wrong to right.

 

Let us remember that we are all one,

embracing all,

discriminating against none.

 

May your year be filled

with peace, prosperity and love.

May God’s blessing shower upon each of you

and bestow upon you

a bright, healthy and peaceful new year.

 

God’s Provision

 25 years ago I met a new client couple, Kathy and Michael, introduced to me by our accountant friend, Jim.  They were charming and kind, and appreciative of my financial planning advice.

 25 years later we are fast friends, living 2,000 miles apart but connected in heart, soul, mind, and strength. 

We last saw each other in person for Michael’s 60^th birthday, and on that day met his family about whom they had spoken glowingly for years. Yet Michael and I communicate essentially daily… because our heart, soul, mind and strength connection morphed, some years ago, into a writing and editing collaborative.

Just this past Thanksgiving we had a special reason to be grateful, as our work had birthed Michael’s lifetime writing goal – the collection of a decade or more of weekly essays which he sends to hundreds of lucky recipients.  They are essays about life, and laughter, and faith, and foibles. They celebrate the things that unite us in hope, provoke us in predicament, and form is in faith. 

Upon final edit and publication, I felt an immediate sense of humble pride.  It was almost inexplicable, as we had worked on several books together prior to this particular set.  Yet there was something special about this milestone… it was Michael’s life work encapsulated, and it was the culmination of the progress in our writing/editing relationship.  When we began working together, my contribution consisted mainly of hunting for T’s to cross and I’s to dot. But by the time we had begun to work on what would become this 4-Volume set of Monday Mornings, we found ourselves collaborating on content, discussing emotional impact, and reframing important phrases to maximize reader understanding.  In his kind acknowledgement, Michael referred to the fact that I had set aside my own writing to act in the role of his editor and writing coach.  While such praise seemed like hyperbole, I was grateful I had been able to add value.

We were both exhausted when the set went to publication on Thanksgiving eve.  As I lay in bed, I became aware of something which had come over me in the last several months. In conjunction with my participation in producing the 4 Volume set of 4Ms, as I call them (“Michael’s Monday Morning Missives”), humbly aware of my modest part in that effort, I felt a stirring inside me that I had grown spiritually. And the growth on which I found myself focusing in particular was of my self-assessment of my own stature.

As many of you know, I was brought up in a Mediterranean family and culture, never married, nor did I ever have children. Somehow, despite whatever professional success I was able to have in my work life, I had always felt a sense of lack. Yet, in these last few months, I realized I had felt a sense of self-worth, encouraged by Michael’s trust in my work on this, his keystone project.

The true recognition that my heart and mind were filled with love and gratitude came when I was immediately inspired to send the 4 volume set to every one of the people in my family whom I love and who knows me well.

Why this urgency to put those books in their hands? Was it to encourage their spiritual growth? Not my role. Was it to help them recognize the real value of who I am? They know me and love me, but perhaps my excitement at this new role was a part of my motivation.

So why send them these gifts?

Because my gift is inspired by my love for them, my love for the work I have done, and my love for God.

During the course of our relationship Michael has, quite organically, assumed the role of my Spiritual Director. To say his skill set in that role is faith-filled and life-affirming is an understatement.  His faith walk aligns very much with mine, as we try and love God, love neighbor, and navigate this complicated world.

And so I brought these feelings to Michael. “Perhaps a woman,” I said, “can never feel like a child of God until she accepts her role in bringing life. And perhaps, in some small way, my participation in your work, especially this 4 volume set, has filled that lack in me, as I feel I have truly brought something to life. Further, your friendship and encouragement seems to have closed the gap in my own mirrored self-worth.” 

I added “I pause here because that series of facts chronicles the gift which you have given me, and for that gift I am eternally grateful. I believe, as I look back, that not only our years of work together, but our very friendship, is a living example of God’s Provision in my life.”

I had recently listened to two podcasts from which I had jotted down notes.  Both came to mind.

First, Magnus MacFarlane, founder of Mary’s Meals:

“God‘s provision is boundless. Whenever we ask people for help, we give them a chance to be generous, to share, to give their heart to the Lord in a way that, without having been asked, they never could have.”

And second, Jeremy Belsky with Spirit of Stewardship. In his message “Love, the Root of Goodness, is Sharing with Others,“ he had coined a term which resonated with me: “Joyful Generosity.”  

“Be joyful in giving. God loves a cheerful giver. Our need to love comes from the will of the Father for each of us, to joyfully share unselfish acts of love with one another. Love is truly the root of so much good God has blessed us with during our lifetime. Today, let us be a reminder of that love for others when Jesus shares with us ‘Love one another as I have loved you.’”

I told Michael I would incorporate these messages into my prayerful discernment.  Michael urged me with a series of questions for contemplation.

I promised to consider carefully his questions as to my inspiration to send this 4 Volume Set of Monday Mornings to those whom I love.  And, I must say, my discernment process around his insightful questions helped me uncomplicate, accept, and decouple much of my mind and heart’s wanderings.

Michael and I had a chance the next day to speak about this personal revelation of mine, and about a message I might send to accompany my gifts of books.  He suggested I might explain that the books aren’t merely about religion but life… life experiences that are unusual and somewhat captivating and often funny. He encouraged me to tell them what he always tells someone when he gives them a book –that you will never ask them if they have read from the books. But, he added, you hope one day they will sit on their shelves and maybe in a difficult time or even a time of monotony they might reach up and pull one of the volumes down and find the perfect essay to offer a different perspective or even a smile.

And now the spiritual direction, which I share with you as a reflection of how a superlative Spiritual Director (and I hope you have one) can aid, guide, and nurture with a patient, personalized approach. “Now, Michael said, “with regard to your own spirit, just be at peace having sent them. You don’t do things impulsively. Your spirit felt very strongly about sending these gifts out. You were faithful to your impulse and instinct. So that’s done and be at peace with it. Offer your gifts in prayer for the specific reaction you would like from each person. And be aware that what is unsettling you right now is that you don’t want a negative reaction that will somehow undermine your worth. Think about it, these books may be the most intimate gifts you have ever given people. You have made yourself very vulnerable in your expression of love through these gifts. Part of what you’re feeling is just the fear of your worth and love being stomped on. That is a fear of anyone who shares their faith or their heart. The bottom line is this, weigh whatever negative reaction you might feel against the possibility that one day these people will experience some things in life and you would wish you had done what you now have done.”  Finally, to punctuate and underscore, he added “Understand that I have some of the same fears every Monday when I send an essay out!”

Many of you have been encouraged by my writing role in retirement.  To you, I say “find your passion and latch onto it.”  Some of you have discussed with me your struggle in your search for faith.  My advice is to find a Spiritual Director, or a Life Coach, and air your concerns.  And I have had countless conversations with women and men whose self-worth has been overlooked, denied, or to use Michael’s term, “stomped on.” It is for you that I shared even my personal vulnerability through this message, and I welcome your questions, concerns, and feedback.

Finally, some of you (and you know who you are) will receive a heavy box of books containing over 1,600 pages of life and love and laughter, foibles and faith and formation.  Page through, read as you feel inspired, share as you feel stirred.  And most importantly… Know how much I love you. 

 

 If you’re interested in purchasing any or all of the 4-Volume set Monday Mornings:

https://www.lulu.com/en/us/shop/michael-fox/monday-morning-volume-1/paperback/product-w8krzg.html?page=1&pageSize=4

TURNING SEASONS AND MEMORIES

It’s Labor Day, and the season is starting its turn from heat and humidity to crisper, cooler air.  As leaves turn, minds and hearts turn with them… from summer’s freedoms to fall’s structure.  And for many of my friends whose lives were spent laboring in the field of academics, the connection from play back to work is in the air… even in retirement.

I sent a few messages like this one (modified for privacy) to a few friends whose work lives epitomized the contribution to society which only a passionate teacher can make. 

The retired teacher friend with whom I had the following exchange sacrificed top salary to be able to deliver education in a setting which was values-based and allowed smaller classes and closer teacher-student attention.

My email:

What a great day for you to celebrate the fruits of your labor. Think of the hundreds and hundreds of students over the years whose lives have become better and more enjoyable thanks to your able hand! Happy Labor Day!

 

Her response:

Happy Labor Day to you too. I still get a twinge every year at this time of year...I was sorry to see the summer over but excited to start a new year with new and some old "kids" depending on what courses I was assigned. Also it was always a day to celebrate my husband’s and my son’s birthdays. There was always a big celebration in our back yard with lots of family! Today I am sitting here by myself thinking about all the hectic years. I have already been see my granddaughter and her husband, my great-grandchild and great-granddog on Saturday, and my daughter and son-in-law arrived too. So I have had my family fix for a while!!  So I think I might just cool it for the day with no guilt!!!

My reply:

I think often at this time of year of the change of seasons of how vivid and important our memories become.

As Simon and Garfunkel said:

“A time it was, and what a time it was, it was

A time of innocence
A time of confidences

Long ago it must be
I have a photograph
Preserve your memories
They're all that's left you”

-from Old Friends/Bookends

 

Although that ending used to feel a bit negative to me, I think age has given me a better perspective. The memories which we choose to retain allow us to reflect on a discreet series of wonderfully rich vignettes. And if they are all that’s left us of the past, they create for us a lovely virtual photo album to page through with pride, humility, wonder, and gratitude.

 Your examples of your annual ritual of returning to school and your family birthday celebrations validate my point. You have filled your album with happy vignettes to remember. Good for you.

 

A life well lived is a life well remembered!!

 

 

God Bless Your Hands

 When I was a child, my Greek grandmother (“Yiayia”) would work tirelessly to care for my blind grandfather (“Papou”), keep house in their humble cottage, tend to fellow parishioners in their Greek Orthodox church, and prepare delicious but simple meals for family and friends. She did everything with few if any if our modern day conveniences, and got satisfyingly results without their benefit. In place of appliances, tools, utensils… she used her hands.

 

There is a Greek expression which phonetically sounds like “Yah-sta-kheria-soo,” and its translation in this context is “God Bless Your Hands.” For a generation whose hands were their God-given tools… strong and durable, easily washable, and always available… that compliment was both meaningful and appreciated.  Because we must always remember what was channeled through those hands was always an outpouring of love.

 

I have found great satisfaction in using my hands for my Yiayia’s recipes.  The process begins with carefully thumbing through recipes born in her kitchen and calibrated with added measurements in the kitchens of my mother, aunt and cousin.  Next I craft a hand-written grocery list, careful to specify brands and characteristics of ingredients.  As I shop I handle each item with care, noting its freshness. Once home I coordinate each item according to its place in the process, and choose appropriate pots and pans for the final step of cooking/baking.  It’s all a very hands-on procedure, and as a consequence it creates a certain intimacy with the ingredients, their preparation, and the end result.  Of course, as Yiayia would say, the hidden (but most important) ingredient is always love… driving a definite intentionality and mindfulness of the family and friends who will enjoy the meal being prepared.

 

Lest we assume this slow, deliberate process to be so anachronistic as to be headed for the memory heap, I recently welcomed my great-niece Sydney into my kitchen to make a favorite Greek delicacy, Baklava.

 

Our hands worked together in happy harmony as I layered sheets of phyllo dough which she basted with butter.  She scooped toasted nut mix onto the phyllo then spread it with her hands, careful not to tear the delicate dough.  The gesture was so matter-of-fact and practical to her, yet so poignant to me.  For just a moment, in my imagination, those were my Yiayia’s hands.  The wooden-handled pastry brush, the oversized baking pan, and even the gas oven heating up behind us were Yiayia’s. 

 

When the finished product was ready for packaging, Sydney thought first of family and friends. It was then that I knew the intergenerational link had been forged.  Because Sydney is precisely the baker that my Yiayia was, and her first tasters are always family and friends. Beyond my kitchen her hands explore new recipes and interesting ingredients.  They execute involved cake decorating schemes. And they deliver blessings of kindness and taste sensation to so many grateful recipients.

 

To you, Sydney, I say Yastakheriasoo!  Or I can use a more shortened version by removing the inside letters to create a universally-known Greek affirmation… YASOO!