Great Question

“Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.”

~ Rainer Maria Rilke

Lewis Howes, a NYT bestselling author, lifestyle entrepreneur, former pro athlete, and host of The School of Greatness Podcast, asks his guests the same question at the end of every interview. He calls it Three Truths, and he sets the table for the question like this. He asks his guests to imagine (paraphrasing loosely here) that they are at the end of their lives, and, when they are gone all of their work will go with them. Whatever body of work they have created will leave the planet when they do. With this in mind, he asks them to share three things that they know to be true, and would want their loved ones to know.

What a great question!

Since I may not be invited to be on his show, I decided to pretend that I was one of his guests. We were at the end of the interview, and I imagined that I was at the end of my life, and my body of work was packed up and ready to head out into the great beyond with me. 

So Molly, what are the Three Truths you would want your loved ones to know?

We are all created in the image of God. However you define that force, at our core, we have a spark of that from which we came.

 We are all called to live authentic, wholehearted lives.

We are all called to love, help, and heal the world that is within our reach.

My prayer is that when the end comes, I won’t have to answer that question, because I will have lived my answers out loud.

What are your Three Truths?

(Written with gratitude for Lewis Howes and his good work and great question.)

For What The Bell Tolls

 “We seldom notice how each day is a holy place

Where the eucharist of the ordinary happens,

Transforming our broken fragments

Into an eternal continuity that keeps us.”

~John O’Donohue, To Bless The Space Between Us: A Book of Invocations and Blessings

I love where we live. I love our home, and the mountain that watches over us. I love the pine forests that surround us, and the wide sky overhead.

However.

I’ve decided that there is just one teeny-tiny thing missing; an ancient church with an ancient bell that rings like clockwork, every morning at 8:00, and every evening at 6:00. Speaking of clocks, it also rings out the hour, every hour, on the hour, all around the clock.  For the past week in the tiny ancient village of Lindum, Denmark, the ancient bell in the ancient church, next to the old home in which we are staying, has done just that.

When it rings at 8:00 in the morning, it is as if to say remember, it is a new day, a holy day. What will you do with this day that has been given to you?  

When it rings out the hour, every hour, on the hour, it is as if to say remember, it is a new hour, a holy hour. What will you do with this hour that has been given to you?

When it rings at 6:00 in the evening, it is as if to say remember, it is the end of another day, a holy day. What did you do with this day that was given to you? 

It is so easy to forget the holiness of time as it marches on, day after day. 

And if time is not holy, then what is? For it is within our hours that we live out our lives.

And if our lives are not holy, then what is? For it is with our lives that we are able to love, help, and heal the world that is within our reach.

And if the world is not holy, then what is? For it is within the world that we live out the one life that we have been given.

And so it goes. Holy lives, spent in holy hours, in the midst of a holy world.

All is holy. 

Photo: Tom Pierson

Just. Do. It.

 “Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. You wait and watch and work: you don't give up.” 

~Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life 

One of the unexpected outcomes of writing BLUSH: Women & Wine, was that I fell in love with writing all over again. In the process of sitting down and putting words on the page, I remembered something I had forgotten; I love to write.

By showing up day after day at my desk, I rediscovered one of my passions; I love to write.

In honing my craft, I rekindled an important fire; I love to write.

After the book came out however, the flames that had fueled it went out. I was no longer stoking the fire.  

 40 days ago today I made the commitment to write every day. Not ready to begin working on another book (yet), I decided to just start writing. I decided to just do it.

As with any endeavor, some days are easier than others. There are days when the words can’t pour out on the page fast enough. I love those days.

Then there are other days.

Like today.  

And so...

Today it is enough to put words on the page, because when you love something, you just do it.

Today it is enough to show up again, because when you love something, you just do it.  

Today it is enough to continue to hone my craft, because when you love something, you just do it. 

What do you love? 

Just. 

Do.  

It. 

The Arcs of Our Histories

“I do not pretend to understand the moral universe. The arc is a long one. My eye reaches but little ways. I cannot calculate the curve and complete the figure by experience of sight. I can divine it by conscience. And from what I see I am sure it bends toward justice.” 

Theodore Parker                                                                                                                                       (Unitarian Minister and abolitionist. This quote is an excerpt from a sermon he delivered in 1853.)

My husband Tom and I arrived last night at the home of our dear friend, Birthe, in Lindum, a village in Denmark that dates back 2500 years. The family home, which was built in the 1800s, sits across the street from the village blacksmith shop, and in the shadow of the village church that was constructed in 12th century.

Next to the house, and behind the church, is the village cemetery.

From her kitchen window, our friend is able to see the stone, found in her garden, that marks the grave of her husband, Niels, also Tom’s host brother when he was here in 1965 as a high school foreign exchange student. 

We slept upstairs in one of the many bedrooms in this house that has been home to the same family for five generations. 

Before a new day dawned, the small house next door burned down. 

As we sit over coffee this morning, smoke still hanging in the air from the fire, and the church bells ringing in a new day, as they have every morning for generations, I can’t help but be struck by both the shortness of a life span, and the long arc of the history of this place. 

The tension between the two is worthy of our consideration.

Towards what do the long arcs of our own short histories bend?

Written with gratitude to Birthe, and in memory of Niels.  

Sit Down and Rest

 “God saw all that He had made, and it was very good. And there was evening, and there was morning--the sixth day...By the seventh day God had finished the work He had been doing; so on the seventh day He rested from all his work.”

~ Genesis 1:31 & 2:2

When I stepped into the atrium of the Glyptoteket (an art museum in Copenhagen, which, incidentally, is funded by the Carlsberg Foundation - as in the beer) the space took my breath away. There was something about it that made it impossible for me to do anything but sit down, and rest. 

We eventually continued our tour of the museum, lingering in front of sculptures from the ancient world. But that atrium space kept calling me back. To sit down, and rest. The air was soft, the light gentle, and the temperature warm and cool all at once. It felt like sitting in the midst of God’s newly created world. The world that was proclaimed good. Very good in fact. The one in which to remember to sit down, and rest.

In the Biblical story of creation, God brings the world into being, creating the heavens, the earth, and everything in them. As She looked over His work at the end of each day, She would proclaim it good. Very good in fact. And then...and then...on the seventh day, He does the unthinkable...She sits down (taking a little literary license here) and rests. 

We are all tiny little creators, bringing our own worlds into being. Like the creator, we work to create the world in which we live. But unlike the creator, we often forget to look out over our work and proclaim it good. Very good in fact. Also unlke the creator, we forget to sit down, (same license taken here) and rest. 

Sitting in that atrium, I was reminded of my desire to do good work. To work hard at doing work worthy of being called good. Very good in fact. The kind of work after which it feels good to sit down, and rest.

Very good work.

Followed by rest.

As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be. World without end. Amen.

More Than A Thousand Words

Do you ever feel like this?

Yeah. Me too. 

Music To Our Ears

“Don’t die with your music still inside you.”  ~ Wayne Dyer

Hiking in the forest up above a Bavarian village, I had the sense that at any moment Julie Andrews would burst upon the scene, singing her heart out. When it came to singing, she just couldn’t seem to help herself. She made music wherever she went.

Even though we never caught a glimpse of Fraulein Maria on our hike, the hills were alive with the sound of music, coming from the bells around the necks of the cows grazing all around us. The cows just couldn’t seem to help themselves. They made music wherever they went.

I think we are meant, like Maria, and like the Bavarian cows, to make our music wherever we go.

 Our music is just another word for our life.

The one we are meant to live.

The authentic one.

The wholehearted one.

When the music is ours, it isn’t a performance.

It is an offering.

When we find our music inside of us, we just can’t seem to help ourselves. We make it wherever we go.

Heads AND Tails

 “Always remember, your focus determines your reality.” ~ George Lucas

Yesterday we headed out to Zugspitze, the highest mountain in Germany. From the top we would be able to see mountains in four countries: Germany, Austria, Switzerland, and Italy. The day got off to a rocky start, as Tom was laser focused on the details of getting us from here to there, while I was all about the experience between here and there. He wanted to make sure we got where we were going. I wanted to make sure we got the most out of getting there. 

That happens to us a lot. 

The best example of that yesterday happened smack dab in the middle of the Munich Hauptbanhof (train station). Purchasing our tickets was a lot like standing in line at the DMV. We arrived, took a number, and waited. While we waited, I studied the people. Tom studied the map.

That happens to us a lot. 

Finally, tickets in hand, with about 12 minutes to spare, we headed for track number 29. Tom dashed ahead, laser focused on getting us from here to there, I was a few steps behind, taking in what was going on between here and there. Just in time, I grabbed him by the shirttails. “Look at that!” I said, pointing straight in front of me.  “Look at what?” Tom said, staring blankly toward where my arm was pointing. “That! Right there!” I said. “What?! Where?!” he said. “That!” I said. “Oh!”, he said.

That happens to us a lot. “

One more step and he would have walked right into the middle of a marriage proposal. Literally. A determined looking young man, down on one knee, ring box in hand, looking hopefully at a delighted looking young woman, hand over her mouth, in tears. Sometimes love looks the same in any language.  

Tom would have missed it if I hadn’t stopped him. We would have missed our train if he hadn’t stopped to figure out where we were going.

That happens to us a lot  

We are two sides of the same coin. 

Heads? We make it from here to there.

Tails? We make the most out of getting there.

It takes both sides of the coin to cash in on life. 

Friend or Foe? Part II: Taking a Closer Look.

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace:
where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy. 

O divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console,
to be understood as to understand,
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive, 
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned, 
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
Amen.

The Prayer of St. Francis

Since posting Friend or Foe? yesterday, I've received multiple comments from readers about the timeliness of the message, how hard it is, given the state of our world, to choose to see the universe as fundamentally friendly, and, how much we need to be reminded of this most important choice. I agree whole-heartedly with their comments. That's why I wrote it in the first place. I won't speak for other writers, but I usually write about what I most need to hear.

As I was putting the finishing touches on yesterday's blog, I wanted to crop the photo of St. Francis of Assisi so that very little of the mountain was left in the picture. Why? If you look up towards the top of the mountain on the right hand side of the picture, you can see a long black line that kind of looks like a fence. Except that it isn't a fence, it's a wall, as in a section of "The Wall" between the United States and Mexico. I didn't want the wall in the picture. It, for me, is a metaphor for a hostile universe if ever there was one. I wanted St. Francis, who with his beautiful prayer is, for me, a metaphor for a friendly universe *He called all creatures his "brothers" and "sisters", preached to the birds, and saw nature as a mirror of God. Hell, he even called his chronic illnesses his "sisters".  But try as I might, every time I tried to crop the photo, the editing feature wouldn't work. It. Would. Not. Work. On about my tenth try and with more than a few hostile words for my computer, I got it. The picture depicted the choice between Friend or Foe perfectly. At any given moment we have the opportunity to choose what we believe about the universe in which we live. 

Don't get me wrong. I'm not talking about putting on rose colored glasses, a happy face, or turning a blind eye to all of the vicious, unkind, malicious, unsympathetic, venomous, harsh, brutal, inhospitable (all synonyms for "hostile") actions we see, hear, and perhaps personally experience. What I am suggesting, is that underneath it all, the heart that holds the world together beats with love, respect, and the desire for the well-being of all. And just like the picture with the wall that wouldn't be conveniently cropped out, the two views of the world between which we must choose are in stark contrast to one another.  

Maybe it has to be stark so that we don't miss it. 

Lord, make me and instrument of your peace. 

Amen.

PS In case you are wondering, I do believe we need a thoughtful approach to our borders. Thoughtful. Humane, Respectful. Safe. Just. One based on the belief in a friendly universe.

* Wikipedia

Winter Outside. Winter Inside.

It's early in the morning, and as is our custom, my husband Tom and I are taking time to do a little reading, attempt to meditate, and savor that first sacred cup of coffee. The view out our great room window, however, is depressing. It has been raining for days. Never quite cold enough to snow. Never quite warm enough to melt the dirty white patches underneath the pine trees, remnants of that first pristine snowfall on Christmas Eve. The dismal weather set in a few weeks ago, and isn't showing any signs of lifting. 

Dark. Gray. Gloomy.

I have an interior sense of gloom and sadness that has settled in, and it isn't showing any signs of lifting either. Familiar with depression, this scares me just a little. It's hard to find the motivation to do almost anything, and the pressure to just do something is building. A month of 2018 is already behind me, and what do I have to show for it? What if the words don't start to flow onto the page again? What if the ideas I've been nurturing never flourish? What if the seeds I've been planting never put down roots and become something alive and vital?  

The view out our window only reinforces my internal dismal weather pattern.

Dark. Gray. Gloomy.

Wrapping my hands more tightly around my coffee cup, I say to Tom, "My insides feel exactly like it looks outside". 

Dark. Gray. Gloomy.

He doesn't say anything, and my internal ground-fog  settles in lower.  As is his way, he is slow to speak, and when he finally breaks the silence, here is what he says;  "This is the only time of the year that the earth gets to just be. To simply lay there and soak up the rain. It is almost as if you can hear the earth exhale a sigh of relief at the forced rest of the winter months. Nothing to do but quietly receive." Tom is a geologist and has spent his life studying the ground beneath our feet. As a man who has lived his life close to the earth, he has learned to recognize her ancient wisdom, her deep knowing that there is a time for everything, and a season to every purpose under heaven. 

I try to let his words sink in, and attempt to do nothing but quietly receive the perspective he is offering. Looking out the window again, something shifts inside. I begin to let go of the fear that the sun will never break through my clouds, and find instead a small handhold of faith that in good time, it will. Rather than anxiously hold my breath, I slowly exhale, and find a quiet sense of relief. Instead of grasping at straws, I take a stab at receiving the gifts of quiet and stillness that this dark, gray, and gloomy day might offer. 

There is a time for everything, and a season to every purpose under heaven. Including this one:

Dark. Gray. Gloomy.

And it is not for naught. It is for the purpose of preparing the earth for what is still to come, nourishing her for the work of the coming season. Looking out the window again it dawns on me that it would be wise to listen to this ancient wisdom. Heading upstairs to my desk I decide that this must be the time to faithfully show up at my desk, trusting that the words will again begin to flow.  It is the time to purposefully water the ideas that are quietly germinating. And, this is the season to nurture the seeds that are too busy putting down roots to show themselves above the quiet earth in which they have been planted. 

There is a time for everything, and a season to every purpose under heaven.

Amen.