The Edges of Life

When Wolf was small we noticed that he had an inclination toward violent play (as many little boys do). So we taught him the law of the jungle: one may only kill for two reasons, either for food, or to avoid being killed yourself. (This may have slightly backfired when, at five years old, he asked if we could please shoot--and eat--a songbird in the front yard, and I had to explain that it was too small to provide enough meat to be worth eating. He was terribly disappointed.) But I digress.

For the last two years we have been raising chickens. We are in it for the eggs, and we have quite a flock of happy ladies.

We knew that eventually they'd get too old to lay anymore, and we agreed from the start that when that time came we would kill them and eat them (or--since an old bird is tough and isn't great eating--put them in the crockpot to make soup or dog meals etc). However this last summer it became evident that one of our spring babies was growing up to be...not a girl. And so we had to face the prospect of slaughtering sooner than we had anticipated. I named him King Louie, because he strutted around, crowed a lot, and was destined to lose his head.

King Louie

(At this point you may be realizing that this post deals with slaughtering animals. If that bothers you feel free to stop reading. One photo shows blood but isn't graphic. I do discribe the process but it's not overly gory, and I share because the experience overall has been significant and poignant, so I hope you'll read on.)


We had no use for a roo. He eats food, he harrasses the ladies, we don't need fertilized eggs since we're eating them all anyway, and he doesn't need to defend the flock since we have that covered. So in October I sent a message to my friend who has butchered birds before, and asked if I could come over and she could teach me how. She was willing so we set a date.

Bear greeting the turkeys.

Hubby didn't happen to be available that weekend, and neither was Wolf, so I piled the younger boys into the truck and took them to my friend's house. She had a turkey that was destined for Thanksgiving dinner and the plan was to take care of Louie and her bird at the same time. Turkeys are big and strong and have to be wrestled a bit, so she'd invited another friend (also with experience) to come and help. All of us had young kids there, and we invited them to watch or help if they wanted to, but also told them that they didn't have to if they didn't want to. I feel like it's healthy to be part of the process though if you're going to be a meat eater, and to be conscientious of where our food comes from. (Bear opted to watch us kill the turkey and Eagle helped with plucking it.)

I was so glad that I slaughtered with these ladies though, because the first thing they both said to Louie as I got him out of the kennel was "thank you" and then I held him while one of them slit his throat, and as she did she was saying "thank you Louie" to him again.

It was a deeply respectful process. 

The place where we took Louie's life.

I somewhat expected to have a moment where I wanted to back out, but I never did. I didn't wield the blades but I helped hold both birds, helped with the plucking, and I cleaned out Louie's insides. We saved some of the feathers from both birds too--I don't know what I want to do with them but they are beautiful and I feel strongly about utilizing as many parts as we can. One of the ladies kept commenting about how clean Louie was so that made me feel pretty good about how we keep our flock. :)

It wasn't until afterward, when I was packing up and getting ready to come home, that I realized that Samhain was that weekend. That's the old observance of final harvest. (There's a grain harvest observance in August, a fruits/vegetables harvest observance in September, and the November observance is for harvesting animals.) I'm sure you know that Halloween has origins in the traditions about Nov 1 being the new year, and the old year dies on the 31st which is why the veil is thin between life and death and ghosts roam etc. Dia De Los Muertos as well as other ancestor-remembering traditions are celebrated at this time, and it all ties into the recognition of death as part of life, which I think is important even if I've never really been into any of those celebrations. This year we ate Louie on that day. It seemed fitting.

 ~~~~~~~~~

But the story isn't over. Because literally the night that I got home from killing Louie, I heard a crow from the coop.

And that's when we realized there was another roo.

I have to explain a bigger story here. We bought chicks in the spring from a local farm store. But in the summer one of our adult hens (from the year before) got broody. So we got her a few fertilized eggs to sit on, and she hatched three babies. So these babies were four months younger than the spring ones, hadn't reached their adult appearance yet, and thus we hadn't realized that one of them was a roo.

Until we took Louie out of the coop, and realized that he hadn't been the only one crowing.

But back to the broody hen: I was checking on her daily, and I was the first to see the tiny fluffy babies when they hatched. I was even there during one of the hatchings--I watched the mama turn this way and that, continually shifting her weight and position and slowly turning a full circle until a third little voice started cheeping with the other two. It was the first time I had ever been present for a non-human birth, and I felt something similar to the births of my siblings or children.

The longer I live, the more I realize that the edges of life are sacred, on both sides.

The transition between life and non-life is an important time, regardless of what you believe is before and/or after it. And regardless of whether the being involved is human.

We gave Chanticleer time to reach maturity of course, but this week his time was up. I had hoped to wait until the snow melted so that we could do it outside, but we've had a lot of snow this winter and finally we decided to just do it in the garage.

Chanticleer

This time it was just myself and Hubby. I opened the door of the little kennel we'd put him in and carefully grabbed his feet with one hand and around his body with the other. He flapped and wiggled a bit, but quickly calmed. I adjusted my grip to make sure it was secure.
Since Hubby hadn't done it before, he asked to hold the bird and have me wield the knife. I had expected this, and had had several months to anticipate doing it, but in the process of getting Chanticleer out some part of me had thought and hoped that maybe it wouldn't be me.

Because here is the thing about taking a life: it is easier to do if you can distance yourself from what you are doing (indeed, the farm kills I had seen in my youth seemed to be of this sort). I certainly understand the inclination to dissociate onself from the act of taking a life. But I think that it is important--even vital--to get ones head INTO the space of what is happening, rather than out of it. The end of a sentient life--as with the beginning of one--should be a mindful thing. 

And it was. 

As my husband held Chanticleer's body and feet, I pulled our sharpest knife from its sheath and circled around to face the bird. I gently took his head in my hand, feeling his neck to make sure I would make my cut at the right place. I looked him in the eye. He looked at me for a moment, and then his eye slid shut, as though he knew what was coming; as though he were resigned to it, and knew that he was filling the measure of his creation. I pulled the knife across his neck quick and deep. His death was almost instant.
We quickly tipped him in a large bucket as he bled out, continuing to hold him as his body spasmed a few times. It's disconcerting to feel a body move when you know it's dead, and I had the fleeting fear that perhaps I hadn't done my job right and he was still alive and suffering... But he was not. I did my job properly.

And that is my biggest takeaway from all of this: how to do the job properly. It's not that I've learned how to hold a bird to kill it, or where to put the knife, or that I've learned how to make sure the blood doesn't make a mess, or that I know how to pluck it quickly and cleanly and how to get the guts out. I think the most important lesson in all of this is that life matters, and that whether I am ushering someone into it or out of it, I will always do it with mindfulness and respect for the life in question.

Holding Space

This may be a difficult post for some to read, but it's one that has been percolating in my mind for a few days and one that I needed to write. Writing helps me sort through my thoughts, and this was something I needed to sort. So I hope you won't mind reading.

In both birthwork and bereavement work we often do something we refer to as "holding space." It means that there is not anything particular we are doing or saying (sometimes not anything we can do or say) in the situation, but we stand as sentinel over the space. We protect the peace, the calm, the energy, the emotions, and the simple right to feel.

Over the years I have held space for grieving mothers: sometimes in person but more often in virtual space, via phone or instant messages with someone geographically distant but emotionally close. Similarly I have held space for friends and family members as they labor through the delivery of a child or through any difficult time.

I have also held space for my children on many occasions; holding a small one on my lap and surrounding him with the calm of my arms and my breathing, and giving him permission to feel what he feels, and also giving my support in getting through it.

In recent days I have come to recognize the need--and value--for holding space in another way.

My paternal grandfather's health declined sharply a few months ago. He moved in with my aunt so that she could help care for him, and we have all been aware that he would not live much longer. Early last week we learned that he had stopped eating, so we knew to count time in days.

Meanwhile, my maternal grandmother has been dealing with multiple health issues for many years, and in the last few years her hospital stays have increased in frequency, duration, and complexity. A couple of weeks ago she entered the hospital, and within a few days it became apparent that this time was more severe than others had been. Last Thursday her doctor said she probably had a week left.

Last Friday my grandfather passed away. His funeral was on Wednesday.

On Tuesday my grandmother came home under hospice care, to spend her last few days with her spouse in the home they had built and lived in together. My mother was there with her, and said that grandma sat at the window and looked out at the trees that they had planted and raised together, and seemed to be at peace. She had some good hours, and got to spend her 58th anniversary in the arms of her sweetheart and with family by her side. Today she passed on.

I had neither the money nor the scheduling flexibility to visit my grandparents in their final days, nor have it now to attend their funerals. I think they will not mind, seeing as how funerals are for the living rather than the deceased. I had time to send letters, call and communicate my love, and I am grateful for the time we had to do that. Now their spirits are free of the worn out bodies that had held them back, and all I can do is hold space.

This is a different kind of space-holding from what I have done before. My grandparents are no longer here, and do not need me to hold the space for them; instead I must hold it for myself. I must allow myself to feel--whatever I feel--without judgment or guilt. I can hold their memories, carrying them onward by sharing them with my family. I must allow myself to be quiet, to rest, to think, to cry, and to be not-my-best-or-brightest at some things for a while. I must also allow myself to laugh and play and carry on, because the cycles of life continue always.

Being an Instrument

When I was first married there was a series of visiting teaching messages (for the women of the church to share with one another during monthly visits) that were centered around the theme of being steadfast and immoveable. I remember one lesson in particular which had the title of "being an instrument in the hands of God by being steadfast and immoveable." I talked with the other woman I was with about the idea, and she said that it confused her. How could someone do anything if they were being immoveable? So I shared what had come to me when I read it. A sculptor, potter, painter, or writer needs a tool (chisel, brush, pen, etc) that will not move on its own. The artist needs a tool that will be reliable and still, so that s/he can guide it and have it go where s/he wants. If the painter's brush droops the paint will get in the wrong place. If the potter's tool bends then the clay will not be crafted in the way s/he wanted it to be.

In order to be a tool in the Lord's hands, our job is to be available, and to be steady, but not to try to do everything ourselves.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Somewhere in my late teens I started singing in church. Or rather, I'd been singing musical numbers in church for years, but somewhere in my late teens I got up the confidence to start singing solos. I liked singing, I liked performing, but I also have always known that singing in church is not a performance or a recital. Singing in church is about bringing the Spirit into the space. And so before I sang I always prayed that I could be a conduit for the spirit. That the Lord would use me and my voice to speak to the members of the congregation.

It has always worked.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Recently I moved to a new city and a new congregation. I had called ahead to find out when and where church meetings were, and so someone had my name...and even before I had moved the compassionate service leader Sister J had called me. She is a woman of generous size and spirit, who knows everyone's business and everyone's needs (because she calls and asks) and then she doesn't take no for an answer in taking care of people. Two weeks after my arrival she called me again, to see how we were getting settled in, and whether we needed anything. She apologized that she had not called sooner, but explained that she had been called upon to help arrange a very unexpected funeral and that that had consumed much of her time. She mentioned, almost in passing, that the one thing she still needed was a musical number, and that she was not sure what she would do for that. I responded instinctively, almost without thought. "If you can find an accompanist, I can sing."

"I can play," Sister J said. "Is 'How Great Thou Art' ok?"

And with that it was decided. I was going to sing at a stranger's funeral. Now truth be told, this was not the first  nor even the second time I have sung at a funeral where I did not know the deceased; but it was the first time where I really did not know anyone.
Especially in the context of this funeral, where a young father had died unexpectedly, I knew the grief at this funeral would be extra acute, and that music is a powerful medium. I felt awkward and I felt pressure and nervousness that I have not felt about church music in a long time. 

When I was rehearsing with Sister J, she started singing along at one point. Then she apologized. "I got caught up in it," she said, "this song moves me so much. I don't mean to steal your thunder if I start singing along at the funeral."
"Singing in church is never about thunder" I replied.
She hesitated, as though she had not thought about it that way. "You're right," she responded, "it's not." 

The rehearsal was ok, but particularly with the high note at the end I felt like I was not singing it very well. I knew this funeral was important for all the family who would be bidding a premature farewell to their son, brother, and father, so for a day and a half I did what I always do. I prayed that I could be a conduit for The Spirit...but something still felt off. I couldn't quite place it, but I knew that what needed to come through me at this gathering was not like most meetings.

As I pulled into the parking lot with ten minutes to go until the funeral, I still felt shaky. I took the key out of the ignition, bowed my head, and murmured one last prayer...and the words came to me "Lord, make me an instrument of Thy peace."
An instrument of peace. That was precisely what I needed to be. Calm came over me.
So I prayed St. Francis' phrase over and over as I walked into the chapel. When my turn came I walked up to the podium and started to sing...and then I gripped onto the side of the podium and just held on as the music poured through me with the words and notes all where they should be.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An instrument is a still thing. I played the flute for a couple of years as a tween, and I can tell you that no matter how shiny that flute was, it couldn't do anything unless I held it, pressed the keys, and gave it my breath.
Yesterday I was an instrument with endless potential but little possibility except in the hands and with the breath of Someone else.
I am grateful for the opportunity, and touched by the experience. Because as much as I (hope I) gave the family the peace they needed yesterday, my own soul was filled too.

Between Worlds

Samhain

All Hallows Eve

All Saints Day and All Souls Day

the Day of the Dead

A time when the veil between worlds is believed to be thin, when those on the other side and those on this side can reach out toward one another, maybe even touch, and exist in the mindful space of knowing that life is eternal, relationships are eternal, and that these cycles will go on and on for always.

One heart inside another, one generation inside another

Many things are on my mind today...
Miscarriage and infant loss awareness month is just behind us and I have been working on projects for The Amethyst Network all month.
A friend who recently passed a due date for a baby who was stillborn two months ago
A friend who just found out she is pregnant (after multiple miscarriages)
A friend who is expecting a baby any day (after a difficult miscarriage almost exactly a year ago) 
My own children who are not with me here, but who sometimes seem to reach out to hold my hand or pat my shoulder
My great great grandmother Juliette who made eye contact with me through a photo this summer and whom I have been trying to learn more about ever since
Many others who have crossed over to that side, whether prematurely or very maturely, and others who are on their way to this side...
Do they see us from their side as rarely as we see them from ours? Or is the veil a one-sided mirror, where they can see us easily, but except in fleeting moments we see only ourselves?

I do not know the ins and outs of life and death.One thing I do know is that the universe and the eternities are bigger than our little minds can know in this human form. I believe in a larger interconnectedness between all generations, all times, all eternities. I believe because of times like now, where the veil is thin and we catch a glimpse between the worlds.

Interconnectedness

I was thinking about jack o lanterns this morning. A very ordinary squash, but once a year we poke through the crust so that we can see what is inside. We carve a variety of shapes and for a variety of reasons, and then we set a light inside and behold, a simple squash becomes a lantern. When I look at one now I cannot help but think of looking through to a world beyond. I just got to like them a whole lot more.

Finding the Way

We are visiting family in another state right now. Thanks to several weeks away from home at this point, my kids' routines (especially their sleep patterns) are all out of whack. This afternoon we went to church with my sister in law and her family, but Bear (5) and Eagle (2) were really tired, and since mormon church lasts 3 hours, I decided to bring them home in the middle, so that they could get naps.
My sister in law offered to drive us home (we had all come in one car), but it is only a few blocks, so I said no, we would walk home.
On the way  home, Bear got several yards ahead of me (I was walking with Eagle at a slower pace). It's a residential area, with very little traffic, and I wasn't worried about him being quite a ways ahead of me, however he glanced back and saw how far apart we were and came running back.
"I was scared" he said. Scared of being too far ahead of me. Scared of going the wrong direction, because he didn't know how to find his aunt's house.

"It's ok," I assured him, "if you start to go the wrong way I will call out to you to come back to the right way."
"But mom, what if I get too far away and I can't hear or see you?"
"Then I will come looking for you until I find you."
"But mom, what if I am so far away that you can't find me!?"

I thought of the broader life implications as I answered that one. Beyond the few blocks walk back to his aunt's house, I know there will be times in his life (as there all in all our lives) when he feels lost, when he wants or needs direction from someone else. I hope that I can be someone he trusts for that direction, but I also know that there will be times when I cannot be the one he turns to.
So what did I tell him?
I told him that most of the people he will meet in the world are good people. I told him that if he can't find me, and doesn't know what to do, that he can ask someone else and they will help him.
And I believe that that applies more broadly than just our walk home too. There are so many sources of direction (good direction) and help. Sometimes it may be a parent or teacher or neighbor, but sometimes it might also come from a stranger. I have been inspired and directed by things I've read that were written by people I certainly don't know personally, and yet they have affected my life in significant ways. Obviously, we can also find direction and inspiration directly from Deity.
It's nice to have someone to hold hands with. On the other hand, even when there is nobody close enough to hold hands, there is still always someone (or Someone) who can help you find the way.

Lights in the Darkness

Winter in the arctic is long and dark. Actually we are coming out of it now (only a couple of weeks left until equinox), but in exchange, we get something that you in lighter parts of the world do not:

The Aurora

in spite of the variety of colors I see in other photos, ours here are pretty much just green

but I did take these photos from my living room

unfortunately the video I froze my tooshie off to get just shows darkness...
with a lot of me whispering "they're so bright!"

There is actually another thing that lights up the dark days:

and they're even multi-colored!

DO Go Gentle into That Good Night

This morning I read an article in the Wall Street Journal called Why Doctors Die Differently by Ken Murray, MD. It talked about several individuals who, following a diagnosis of cancer or other terminal illness, opted out of expensive 'lifesaving' (or life-prolonging) treatments, opting instead to maybe take some pain medications, and otherwise to just live life to the fullest for whatever little time they had left. And then to die, peacefully, at home.
Doctors!
Over half of doctors have "DNR" (do not resuscitate) in their advanced directives or living will (what they want done if they are still alive but unable to express their wishes). As the article explains

It's not something that we like to talk about, but doctors die, too. What's unusual about them is not how much treatment they get compared with most Americans, but how little. They know exactly what is going to happen, they know the choices, and they generally have access to any sort of medical care that they could want. But they tend to go serenely and gently.

Doctors don't want to die any more than anyone else does. But they usually have talked about the limits of modern medicine with their families. They want to make sure that, when the time comes, no heroic measures are taken.

The author speculates that maybe this is because doctors know the real rates of effectiveness of those heroic measures. In movies and other media, for example, CPR is portrayed as "successful in 75% of the cases [and] 67% of the TV patients went home. In reality, a 2010 study of more than 95,000 cases of CPR found that only 8% of patients survived for more than one month. Of these, only about 3% could lead a mostly normal life."

A follow-up article in The Guardian (a UK publication) cites British doctors' responses to Dr Murray's article. Although one doctor said he thought that he felt differently about the US medical system as opposed to the UK medical system, the general consensus there was the same.

Kate Adams, a GP in Hackney, London, thinks general practitioners "lose" their patients when they enter hospital and take end-of-life treatment decisions with consultants. "For me, quality of life is much more important than quantity. Sometimes patients and distressed relatives focus on quantity," she says. "I wouldn't necessarily go for chemotherapy and drugs that make you feel sick if it's only going to prolong my life for a short time."

"It's a topic that isn't talked about very often, and should be," agrees Dr Clodagh Murphy, another GP, who practises in Northern Ireland. "Most people think there's nothing worse than death – but we know that there is. That's why it's so difficult when you see an elderly patient with cancer; their natural instinct is to go for treatment, and you must respect that – but at the same time, you're thinking, 'So now you're going to have an operation with a six-month recovery period, which might make the last three years of your life even more hellish than if you'd let the illness take its course.'"

It's certainly food for thought, isn't it.  As Dr Murray concludes, "my doctor has my choices on record. They were easy to make, as they are for most physicians. There will be no heroics, and I will go gentle into that good night. Like my mentor Charlie. Like my cousin Torch. Like so many of my fellow doctors."

Lent 2012

This year I've decided to observe Lent. I've never done this before--most Mormons don't--but a friend mentioned that she was doing it, and planted the idea. Then I was chatting with another friend of mine (who is Catholic) and she said this:

We consider Lent a time of penitence. While "giving something up" is a nice idea, and sometimes we do that, we see it as a time of taking something on as well. One year, we committed to attending morning Mass, every day of Lent. So, I don't think you have to give up something, like a favorite food. It should be about doing something that brings you closer to God: if that's giving something up, then I think that's great. If it's taking something on, then that's great too. But I think that all too often people just pick something, give it up, and don't think twice about it. Then there are those who have no formal rituals, but give themselves fully to the season of penitence that Lent should be.

I liked what she said. Then, just a day or two later, I read this article Don't Get Caught in the Lent Trap, and here is someone else saying that Lent often becomes a season of holy one-upmanship, rather than a time of truly trying to draw closer to Deity.

So I tried to think of what I might do to draw closer to Deity, and the answer came quickly and easily: daily meditation. Just two minutes a day, that shouldn't be hard, right? (I'll tell you, it already was hard on the first day, because I'm not used to this yet! I just forgot to do it until nearly bedtime!)

I am trying to be conscious of what Phil McLemore said in his article Mormon Mantras: that when one first begins practicing meditation, it may feel boring, or stressful, and the thoughts that come may be deeply subjective, before they are able to be transformative. BUT that's the whole point of continued practice!

I was reading another article from Psychology Today this afternoon and found Nine Essential Qualities of Mindfulness, and it was a very timely find. The nine essentials are:

• focus on the present moment
• being fully present
• open to experience
• non-judgment (oooo, I've written about that before)
• acceptance of things as they are
• connection
• non-attachment
• peace and equanimity
• compassion

I actually already had an interesting epiphany today, but that will be in its own post. :)

Hand of Love

I have a bracelet, custom made by a friend of mine, with charms of specific symbols that are meaningful to me. I have shared here about some of those symbols, such as the bee and the ruby, and I thought I would share about the other symbols, so that when I share the bracelet itself you'll be able to appreciate just how cool (and incredibly personal) it is. ☺


The spiral is a symbol of eternity (found both in Native American cave art and also in ancient Celtic carvings, such as at Newgrange). In some traditions, it is a symbol for "Spirit" (or Deity).

  When the spiral is placed within a hand shape, as is found in many places in the southwestern USA, it is believed to be emitting energy, and is called a Shaman's Hand, or Healer's Hand. The hand with a spiral on the palm is now most often seen as a symbol of reiki, or energy healing. [source] 


A similar symbol, the Jain hand, represents nonviolence (the main tenant of the religion). Jains strive to "halt the cycle of reincarnation through the practice of Jain asceticism, the avoidance of harm to any living creature."

In fact, another symbol I have seen in recent years is a hand with a heart in it being used to represent gentle discipline or nonviolent parenting. (I first saw it in conjunction with mention of the book "Hands are Not for Hitting.")



When I was looking for charms for my bracelet, I found myself drawn to this bead. I first liked it because it reminded me of henna--the drawing on the hand--but as I see the other things this symbol relates to I feel it is even more fitting. I strive to live a nonviolent life. I try to use my hands for healing, in giving care to my children, in holding them while I pray for them, and soon beyond my home as a doula.
This charm on my bracelet symbolizes peace, healing, gentleness, and using my hands (or taking physical action) to spread those things to the world around me.

Ruby

My birthday is in July, so my birthstone is the ruby. It's a pretty gem, intense and dark, and very expensive (more expensive than diamonds actually, last I heard). It is a very sturdy stone, second hardest on the rating scale after diamonds.
And it's red. My favorite color is pink. I almost never wear red. So I never really wanted anything with my birthstone on it...
And then I learned that the ruby and the sapphire are actually the same stone on a molecular level, they just come out in different colors. Actually they come in a wide variety of colors, but for some reasons the red (or sometimes pinkish) ones get called "rubies" and all the other colors are called "sapphires"...the blue ones are plain "sapphires" and the others are "green sapphires" or "orange sapphires" and so on.

these colors are all sapphires/rubies

This year I was reading about the properties of various gemstones. I have never really believed that a rock could have power, but the more I learn about the universe, the more I believe that the whole energy field notion actually has some merit. And so I decided to read up on the ruby, and see if I could make friends with it.
I found some interesting things.
The ruby

• brings integrity, devotion and happiness 
• brings and increases love
• very protective of home and children
• is a stone of high energy and power that promotes healing on all levels [link]
• is a stone of nobility 
• brings love, confidence, loyalty, and courage
• instills stamina, vitality and strength
• re-energizes one after exhaustion 
• helps to reduce negative thought patterns
• is a good stone of protection. 
• helps you feel more like giving to others and doing so with love and joy in your heart. There is no room for resentment in ones heart who is being of service to others and this stone does not allow that to be a part of your heart. it helps you relax as you caretake others because you can trust you will not be trapped in any way in that role. It helps all to be warm, caring and help out with the needs of others. it also helps one with devotion to others. [link]
• considered to be the most powerful gem in the universe
• the symbol of vitality and royalty
• contentment and peace [link]

I most frequently found the ruby associated with motherhood, home, service and healing. For these and other reasons, I and others have come to feel that the ruby's energy field is a reflection of mother, or, more accurately, of Mother.
I thought also of the fact that ruby is also the most expensive gemstone--more than diamonds--which puts me in mind of Proverbs where it asks "who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is above rubies." I have thought much on that, and about the idea that equating virtuous women (us) with rubies is actually equating us to Heavenly Mother and our potential to be like her.
Making this connection has been powerful for me, because of the ruby being MY birthstone, I now feel an additional connection to the Divine Feminine that I hadn't before. Not just a connection in terms of being more interested in Her, but a connection in terms of seeing Her in myself.

star ruby

You know something else interesting? The ruby (aka sapphire) is the only stone which may have a star in it. I haven't reached any conclusions about deep meanings in that, except I bet that there is one. (What do you think?)


Depending upon which type of gold you have the ring set in, (yellows or silvers) the ruby would bring with it these healing properties as well. The yellows carry the energy of the Sun or a masculine energy, while the silvers carry the energy of the Moon or a feminine energy. [link] Ruby rings should be worn on the left hand so as to receive the life force and have protection. [link]
It seems that I should be in the market for a left-hand, silver-set ruby ring. Don't you think?

Meditating on Hope

On Sunday night, I lit some candles in a darkened room, and made my quiet space for pondering and meditating on hope. As I've mentioned before, I need to find something to focus on if I want to think without distraction...I cannot just "empty my mind." I like to use a candle for this purpose, as looking into a candle flame helps keep me centered and mindful.

As I thought about hope, a phrase came to me repeatedly, the "perfect brightness of hope" mentioned in scripture. I also thought about hope as a virtue, large enough to be worthy of combining with faith and love (or charity as the KJV states). It's something significant. We use the word 'hope' in a flip way so often, and yet the true meaning of hope is anything but flippant.
Hope is the belief, anticipation, or expectation of something...but not just of anything. Hope is the expectation of something good. In other words, I think that hope is inherently positive, and might even be a fair synonym for "optimism." It is the expectation that goodness will come to us, the belief that people are good, the trust that God will fulfill his promises. If faith is the belief in things which are not seen, then I think hope (the next virtue in the sequence) is the expectation of goodness which is not yet realized.

I have always been a fairly optimistic person. It is interesting to consider this trait in light of being not just a happy habit, but an actual virtue.
What do you think about hope?

First Sunday of Advent: HOPE

Mormons don't typically celebrate Advent, but I frankly don't know why. Perhaps it was an effort to set ourselves apart from other churches (since Catholics and many Protestants do observe it). When he came home from his mission in Norway, my husband brought an advent wreath, which is a round candleholder which holds 4 candles. Our family has always lit the advent candles, one on the first sunday, two on the second, and so on until Christmas. (This year, since Christmas falls on a sunday, Advent begins earlier than usual.)

In some traditions, each week is marked with a virtue, most commonly (from what I understand) are faith, hope, love, and peace. This year, I am choosing to observe Advent with my own adaptation of that. Each week I am choosing a virtue (not necessarily the traditional ones), and during that week I will study, ponder, and strive to practice that virtue. Since I am in charge of the children's primary at church here, I am also doing our "sharing time" lesson based on the virtue of the week.

This week, the theme is HOPE.

I showed the primary kids this picture, and we talked about prophets foretelling Christ's coming, and about how believers had to have hope that He would come. We talked about us now having hope for His return.

hope

the feeling that what is wanted can be had or that events will turn out for the best

a person or thing in which expectations are centered

to look forward to with desire and reasonable confidence.

to believe, desire, or trust

to feel that something desired may happen

As I said, I'll be putting some study, pondering, meditation, and so forth in this week. Theoretically I will write something about my thoughts in a few days. But for now, I invite you to join me in celebrating Advent.

Everything is Holy Now

I heard this song recently, and it has struck a resonating chord with me.



(and if you are the sort who doesn't want to watch a 5 minute video, in spite of the powerful message that I promise is in it, the lyrics are the italicized parts throughout this post.)

Of course I have always known that sacredness, and communion with the Divine can be found in nature; that was one of the things that drew me to paganism.Prophets throughout the ages have gone into the wilderness, upon the mountaintops, or into the forests to talk with God. Obviously assorted locations and objects have been deemed holy or sacred by various religions over the centuries too.

When I was a boy, each week

On Sunday, we would go to church
And pay attention to the priest
He would read the holy word
And consecrate the holy bread
And everyone would kneel and bow
Today the only difference is
Everything is holy now
Everything, everything
Everything is holy now

I asked my 11 year old son how much of the world he thought was holy. He thought about it for a few minutes, and said "well, there are a lot of shrines in Japan and stuff, so maybe 0.05%"
I told him about how trees are an ancient symbol of the Feminine Divine. He thought for another minute, and then said "so maybe 10-15%, because they have cut down a lot of trees, plus there are deserts and stuff."
I asked him if he thought God could be in the ocean. If he thought God could be in the mountains. If he thought God could be in the wind.
"Oooh," he said "holiness can be everywhere huh."

When I was in Sunday school
We would learn about the time
Moses split the sea in two
Jesus made the water wine
And I remember feeling sad
That miracles don’t happen still
But now I can’t keep track
‘Cause everything’s a miracle
Everything, Everything
Everything’s a miracle

Indeed, I believe so.

Wine from water is not so small
But an even better magic trick
Is that anything is here at all
So the challenging thing becomes
Not to look for miracles
But finding where there isn’t one

My son  has been studying biology this year in school. He loves to chatter on to me about mitosis and photosynthesis and the other things he is learning about. I have always found these things impressive, but when they are presented in a textbook they seem mundane...just another vocabulary word to learn for the test. But take a step back and think about what they really are. Indeed, they are miracles.

When holy water was rare at best
It barely wet my fingertips
But now I have to hold my breath
Like I’m swimming in a sea of it
It used to be a world half there
Heaven’s second rate hand-me-down
But I walk it with a reverent air
‘Cause everything is holy now
Everything, everything
Everything is holy now

It is not just that we can sense the holiness of Deity when we see that glorious sunset. The sunset itself can be holy. It is not just that we can feel a closeness to Deity when we sit in the forest, listening to the birds and streams and smelling the dirt and pine needles. The birds and water and dirt and pine needles themselves are holy. It is not just feeling a closeness to heaven when we look at a new baby, but the baby himself is holy. In fact it is not just nature and babies and "good people," but we are all holy. We all have a godseed in us, the potential to become like our Heavenly Father and Heavenly Mother. For small times (or lifetimes) we may not live up to that potential, we may not let that holy spark shine, or we may not know how to let it shine (some of us may not even realize that it is there), but that does not change the fact that it is there.
The sunset is holy.
The sea is holy.
The trees are holy.
The animals are holy.
Our children are holy.
We are holy.

Everything is holy now

Read a questioning child’s face
And say it’s not a testament
That’d be very hard to say
See another new morning come
And say it’s not a sacrament
I tell you that it can’t be done

Obviously this is probably a bit of a paradigm shift for you, it was for me. But to perceive everything as inherently holy, everything as inherently a miracle, that adds a whole new richness to my life and to my spirituality. When holiness and sacredness were things that had to be found, or sought, they seemed "too special," like the china that my Mother in law keeps in the cupboard 363 days a year, and only gets out for Christmas and Easter. But when sacredness surrounds me every day, it does not cheapen the holy, rather it raises my everyday to a higher plane.

This morning, outside I stood
And saw a little red-winged bird
Shining like a burning bush
Singing like a scripture verse
It made me want to bow my head
I remember when church let out
How things have changed since then
Everything is holy now
It used to be a world half-there
Heaven’s second rate hand-me-down
But I walk it with a reverent air
‘Cause everything is holy now

Last Night

Thank you my little one.

I know you did not want to be awake any more than I did last night, but I also know that the time has come for you to nightwean and learn to sleep through the night, and so I was holding and rocking you as you cried, rather than just nursing you back to sleep.

And because we were awake, and because we were in the living room (due to your crying, and my desire to let everyone else sleep), I saw light outside in the sky.

And because I saw light, and because I knew what it was, I put on our coats and hats and bundled you inside my coat and took you outside.

And we walked over by the water, where we could feel the wind and smell the saltwater and hear the rolling surf and be out of the yellow glow of the streetlights.

And we looked up, in the glorious darkness of this week's new moon, and we watched the greens edged with purples of the northern lights as they danced in the sky.

photo from here, no I didn't take it, but it was taken here in Kotzebue and it is what they looked like last night

As I walked home, I fell to wondering:
If the Sun shows us Father God and the Moon shows us Mother Goddess, what is the Aurora? Is it the Spirit? Everywhere and moving and bright to see if only we can free ourselves of the little earthbound lights all about us.

Live Deep

I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately, 

I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, 

To put to rout all that was not life 

and not when I had come to die 

Discover that I had not lived.

~Henry David Thoreau

I will not die an unlived life. 

I will not live in fear of falling or catching fire. 

I choose to inhabit my days, 

to allow my living to open me, 

to make me less afraid, more accessible, 

to loosen my heart until it becomes a wing, a torch, a promise. 

I choose to risk my significance; 

to live so that which came to me as seed goes forth as blossom 

and that which came to me as blossom, goes on as fruit.

~ Dawna Markova

The first quote I learned from Dead Poet's Society when I was a teenager. In college I cross-stitched it with a pretty border and hung it on my wall.
The second quote I just found this week.

This is my mindfulness.

This is my serenity.

To live deep, and not in fear.

To love freely.

To take what comes, and make it better.

To be a force for good.

To be the change I want to see in the world.

To go

To do

To be

Mindful

and

Serene

Clarity Moon

x-posted at Mother Wheel

The first Sunday of the month is "Fast Sunday" for LDS members. We traditionally abstain wholly from two meals. There are multiple purposes for this--first, the money saved can be donated to the needy; second, denying oneself in this manner is an exercise in self-control, of spirit over body. This spiritual 'tuning-in' can help us focus our prayers for greater efficacy as well.

During pregnancy and breastfeeding, my body needs the nutrition of not skipping meals. So I have not fasted regularly in years. Although it has been months since my baby started eating enough solid food that I could skip a meal or two, I am simply out of the habit, and usually forget about fasting.

This month, the new moon was on Friday, and I began my fast on Saturday night. For 24 hours I am not eating (I am drinking water for the sake of avoiding dehydration, but only water). In January (right after winter solstice), during my Purification Moon, I cleansed my body by abstaining from sugar for several days. Now, six months later (right after summer solstice) seems a good time to cleanse my spirit. So as I fast, I am praying for spiritual clarity. As we all do from time to time, I have been struggling with some matters of faith in the last few months. So today I put my body under subjection to my spirit, and ask the Divine to help me see things more clearly.

Letters

The earliest letter I had from my cousin was when she was in second grade, so I must have been about 6 myself. Those early exchanges consisted of so few sentences that they probably scarcely justified a stamp (even though it was only 25cents!).
When I was 7, her family visited ours, and I remember spending half the week creating a secret language together which we subsequently used in our letters.
We wrote regularly--usually exchanging every month or so--until we both got to college. During high school our letters regularly reached 2-3 full pages (mine handwritten on college-ruled paper, hers typed). In college the letters slowed, and gradually transferred to sporadic emailing. But for over a decade we had written regularly.


By middle school I had two other pen-pals as well, and while the letter exchanges with them were never as frequent as with my cousin, we still wrote for years.


In high school I began corresponding with another cousin. He was my first male correspondent, and I don't know if it was a product of age or maturity or what, but we were both shy and writing to each other not only gave us a source for mutual encouragement in that matter (and a resource for trying to begin to understand the opposite sex!), but also gave us a chance to get to know each other. We had always lived several states apart, and had never really gotten to know each other. Those letters continued sporadically though his foreign mission (those 80 cent stamps got expensive, not to mention the slow transit time for international mail).

Through high school and college I kept a journal too. A lengthy, rambling, emotionally volatile thing. I still have those volumes, though I'm not certain what good they are doing me. I shared them with my husband when we were engaged, but he didn't get very far through them...they are just too loooong.


While I was in college I wrote faithfully for over a year to a dear friend on his mission. He was serving within the United States, and we exchanged letters weekly. The letters were long, often several typewritten pages. I remember perfuming one so that he could brag to his companion about it. My roommate was also writing to a missionary, but he did not write nearly so often, and I often hid my letters from her to spare here feelings because she always got depressed that I got more (and better) letters than she did. This missionary and I had started as just friends, but over the months and letter by letter we became very close. The timing was such that I ended up getting engaged before he came home, but had I not, I am sure I'd have dated him when he got home, and I would likely have married him.

My husband and I met online, and for 8 or 9 months we had a long-distance relationship. Even the first two months of our engagement were long-distance. We had lots of late night phone calls and instant-messaging conversations, but we also wrote emails. 


I don't maintain very regular correspondence with anyone now. My family all emails each other fairly regularly. Each of my siblings has served foreign missions and been allowed the use of email, so there's a weekly email from whomever is on a mission, and both of my parents write most weeks. One of my sisters (or her husband) still sends a family email every week, just like when she was on the mission.


A lot of my thoughts end up on my blog now, rather than in personal letters or in a journal. But writing continues to be a regular part of my life. I am glad that it is so.☺

Christ Conquers

Three years ago I shared an Easter Hymn here and mentioned that I had used it as the basis for a church talk. This has been on my mind a great deal lately, and I'm feeling impressed to share a larger portion of the talk I gave at that time. Lucky for you, I keep the word documents of all my talks. ☺


As I read through the hymn, I felt prompted to focus on the final line of each verse—the lines about conquering. So I will be speaking about how the atonement helps us conquer these three things: pain, death, and fear.

That Easter morn, a grave that burst
Proclaimed to man that “Last and First”
Had ris’n again
And conquered pain.
The atonement covers several types of pain. The first, and I think the easiest to understand, is the pain of sin. When we commit sins, we feel guilt and separation from Christ. The atonement gives us the ability to repent, and therefore the ability to conquer the pain of sin.
But the healing effects of the atonement are not limited to sins. Isaiah taught “Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows.” Christ’s sufferings in Gethsamane cover our sins, and the guilt and pain associated with them, but they also cover our grief and sorrows. When we truly understand the atonement, we realize that we can give our sorrows to Christ in the same way we can give Him our sins. Children seem to know this innately—they can be so sad and yet comforted so easily. Adults struggle with this, but it is something we can learn too, and with practice, it becomes easier.
This is not to say that it is wrong to grieve sometimes, over the death of a loved one for example, but to wallow in sorrows and depression is not the Lord’s way, and the atonement can help us to rise above those pains.

This morn renews for us that day
When Jesus cast the bonds away,
Took living breath
And conquered death.

There are two kinds of death—physical and spiritual. Christ’s atonement overcame both. Physical death is separation of the body and spirit. Spiritual death is separation from God. If these two kinds of death had not been overcome by Jesus’ atonement, two consequences would have resulted: our bodies and our spirits would have been separated forever, and we could not have lived again with our Heavenly Father.
I have already talked about the gift of repentance, and how it overcomes pain and spiritual death. We know the doctrine about physical death, and that through Christ we can all be resurrected. But I want to share a personal experience about when I came to understand that principle.
One morning, when I was 8 years old, my parents called us kids into their room. I was the oldest, and had four siblings—ages 6, 5, 3, and 9 months. Mom was crying, and Dad gathered us all onto their bed and explained that our baby sister had died in the night. I still had the innocence and pure faith of childhood, and my recent baptismal covenants were fresh on my mind, so I took it for granted that Amy had returned to Jesus and everything was ok. I missed her, but I did not really grieve. I was even confused by my parents tears, and brought my dad my new bible and pointed out a verse we had read together just days earlier, from the chapter about Jarius’ daughter: “why make ye this ado, and weep? The damsel is not dead, but sleepeth.” My parents printed that verse in Amy’s funeral program. And so it is that the atonement brings us comfort with the knowledge that death is not a permanent loss, but just a resting time—a waiting for the resurrection.


Thus we in gratitude recall
And give our love and pledge our all,
Shed grateful tear
And conquer fear.
The gospel is full of symbols. When we take the sacrament, the bread and water are symbols of Christ’s body and blood—we all know that part. But the actual act of partaking of them is a symbol of our commitment back to Him—to keep His spirit within us, to remember him, and to live as He taught. We “give our love and pledge our all” As we do so, we are able to conquer fear.

I find the progression of the song interesting—first to conquer pain, then death, then fear. As though fear were the biggest of the three. Actually, I think fear IS the hardest one to conquer. There are many kinds of pain—physical pain can be remedied with proper attention or medicine; guilt can be cured with repentance, grief is relieved with time and the comforting knowledge of eternal life. There are two kinds of death, temporal and spiritual, both relieved by the atonement. But fear is difficult to pin down, and creeps in when least expected.
We have been taught that fear is the opposite of faith, and since faith is the basis of the rest of religion, then fear would be religion’s greatest adversary. The scriptures teach us that faith casts out fear. Without the atonement, we would have no eternal life to look forward to or have faith in: The atonement is the basis of hope and faith, therefore the atonement conquers fear—nothing else could do so. Jeffrey R Holland states that “the Atonement of the Only Begotten Son of God in the flesh is the crucial foundation upon which all Christian doctrine rests and the greatest expression of divine love this world has ever been given. Its importance in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints cannot be overstated. Every other principle, commandment, and virtue of the restored gospel draws its significance from this pivotal event.”
Christ says “Look unto me in every thought; doubt not, fear not.” Looking to Christ, following His commandments, and accepting His atonement, will bring in faith and cast out fear.

A metaphor occurred to me that I wanted to share.
When I was expecting my first baby I read a lot of childbirth books. One concept I came across many times was called the “Fear-tension-pain cycle” The idea is that when the laboring woman is scared of what her body is doing, then she gets tense, and being tense makes it harder for her body to labor, so she feels pain...the pain makes her scared, so she becomes more tense, and so the cycle continues. The books then go on to suggest ways to release fear and tension, which, in turn, alleviates the pain of childbirth. To bring it back to the atonement—when we are afraid to turn to Christ, and to give him our sins and sorrows, we end up stumbling around on our own, causing ourselves even greater pain. If we will learn to release our fears, to replace them with faith, then we will find that the pain also fades away.

Christmas Eve Miracles

Today I was on my way to a friend's house to finish up a Christmas present project (I didn't have space to keep it hidden here, so she let me hide it at her place). I also had a loaf of cardamom bread to drop off to a friend in the same area, and decided to take the route to drop off the bread first.
As I turned up my (bread) friend's street, I saw a hunched-over gentleman shuffling along with crutches. The roads were icy, there was no sidewalk, the temperature was below freezing, and he was moving about 4 inches per step. I guessed that he was on his way between the senior center and the assisted living apartments (they are a block apart, and he was nearly to the driveway of the latter), but something told me to stop and offer him a ride anyway. Even if I only took him up the hill of the driveway, I figured he would appreciate it.
So I stopped right there in the middle of the road next to him, rolled down the window, and said "can I give you a lift?"

He stopped, looked over, and said "God does answer prayers!"

It turns out he was not going to the assisted living apartments. He was going to some other apartments, and they were up two hills and a mile away. I imagine it would have taken him an hour or two to cover that distance at the pace he was going.
I am humbled. I was the answer to a prayer. So many times others have answered my prayers (spoken or only felt), and today it was my turn to pay it forward in some measure. It puts me in mind of two years ago when I was blessed to be in the middle of another miracle. I could have done my errands in a different order this morning. I could have not stopped (I did have my kids with me in the car, and plenty of things to get done). But God used me to make a miracle for someone who needed one today.

Miracles are all around us. We just have to recognize them for what they are.

Moments of Mindfullness

I find that there are moments every day when we can be mindful. I find that the more I take heed of them, the more full my life is. So I thought I'd share a few of the things which bring me into mindfulness.

• Kneading bread
• The repetitive motion of knitting or spinning
• Getting (or giving!) a massage
• Looking at the moon, especially when it's full

• Closing my eyes, and listening to/feeling my heartbeat
• Breathing clean, fresh air
• Washing my face (I don't scrub so much as just press a really warm washcloth to my whole face and soak in the warmth and steam)
• Absorbing sunlight (I like to lay in the light and read a book, or just close my eyes and feel the warmth).

Eagle, at three days old

• Doing some yoga poses (ideally facing into the sunlight) such as the mountain, star/triangle, tree, upward facing dog, and child's pose
• Yoga-style guided relaxation 
• Putting on lotion
• Nuzzling with one of my babies
• A hot shower, especially if combined with some quiet, deep breathing as I just let the water run down my back
• Combing or braiding my hair

What kinds of things bring you into mindfulness?

I've mentioned a number of repetitive motions here--when the body is engaged in something that doesn't require attention, it's pretty easy to put the attention on something else. One repetitive activity during which I have not yet learned to be mindful is folding laundry. I detest folding laundry though, so that's a goal of mine for the coming year