The Sacrament of Letting Go

I was swinging in the park yesterday during my run yesterday. It's true, I went running. And it probably won't happen again for at least a week or two as my quads hurt super bad. That's what I get for working out once every couple months... Anyway, I was looking at this huge mama tree as I was swinging and singing with my ipod and watched a leaf fall to the ground. At first, I just watched it sway back and forth with the wind and the pretty spiral of orange that was the leaf's journey. Then I looked back up at the tree to see the other leaves and they were all gone. I watched this last leaf fall. It was a cool moment to reflect on the loss of that last leaf and the end of a season. Winter is here.

This poem is amazing, by the way...

The Sacrament of Letting Go
by Macrina Wiedekehr

Slowly she celebrated the sacrament of letting go.
First she surrendered her green,
Then the orange, yellow, and red.
Finally she let go of her own brown,
Shedding her last leaf-

She stood empty and silent, stripped bare.
Leaning against the winter sky,
She began her vigil of trust.
Shedding her last leaf,
she watched it journey to the ground.

She stood in silence wearing the colors of emptiness,
her branches wondering, "How do you give shade with so much gone?"

And then the sacrament of waiting began.
The sunrise and the sunset watched with tenderness,
Clothing her with silhouettes that kept her hope alive.
They helped her to understand that her vulnerability,
Her dependence and need,
Her emptiness, her readiness to receive,
Were giving her a new kind of Beauty.

Every morning and every evening,
They stood in silence,
And celebrated together the sacrament of Waiting.

say hello, wave goodbye

I’m sitting on the floor in my empty apartment. It’s dark and the fan is blowing strong. I just finished cleaning every nook and cranny and I’m about to turn in my keys. This is just what I did when I first moved in, too. I would come and sit here on the floor in the afternoon sun with my ipod and just sit. I loved that time. I loved the afternoon golden sunlight pouring through the windows. It was mid September and the heat had left for the year leaving perfect northwest evenings for the remainder of the month. Those golden afternoons are just what sold me when I came to look at the apartment for the first time. I wanted it for that perfect hour. I wanted that heavenly lens. I often wish every hour was just as golden as that hour. I’m still hoping for it, maybe in heaven… My days are starting to appear more and more golden and maybe that is something that I have acquired through this year, a renewed perspective.

This year has been filled with joy and heartache and so much movement and work in my soul. It was a tough year to live by myself and experience this year coming home to solitude at the end of every day, but looking back on it I think that was the best way. I had many nights of “cocooning” listening to Shannon music, thinking heavy thoughts, praying big prayers, curled up in a blanket with a warm beverage in hand, and waiting for the hard part to be over.

"And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom." -Anais Nin

It may still be tough at times and doubts and fear still nestle close, but it’s been a year and I feel renewed and restored and redeemed. And here I am, sitting in the same spot on the floor that I sat on a year ago. I’m a different person and perhaps a little more brave and I’m pretty happy about that.

I’m moving into a house with some amazing people and I couldn’t be happier to be living in community again. It makes life more interesting and fun and I can’t wait to see what this year will hold.

Rose Garden watchings and musings

I’m sitting here at the Rose Garden. Instead of a solitary hike (which my mom deemed, unsafe for a young lady like myself), I opted for pretty scenery and reflective space. I set up camp in the mini amphitheater with my blanket, lil’ buddy (my ipod), book and journal. I read for a few minutes and was quickly drawn into prime people-watching all around me.

I watched the group of kids running across the lawn, running and screaming for as long as their lungs would allow to see who could scream and run the longest in one breath. The oldest girl was the true winner and won time and time again. The younger ones, took several breaths and ended up running out of eyesight every time, but convinced themselves they had won.

I watched a couple young girls put on a talent show on the stage. Performing 10 second performances of break-dancing and singing.

I watched a young boy and girl for a while, following their play and conversation. I watched the little boy jumping down the oversized steps beside me, with his face bright with adventure. His mom calls out, “Jason, what are you doing??”

OOF…OOP…OOF…

With each jump he lets out an OOF…

He looks back with a big grin and yells, “CLIMBING!”

And continues his journey.

A young girl is following after.

He keeps looking behind to make sure she is following.

Oof….oop….oof.

She has the same smile of adventure on her face as she follows where the boy leads. His excitement is brimming when he leads.

She calls out when they reach the bottom, “follow me!”

…

He stops and sulks into the grass, his face visibly fallen. He slowly gets up walking after her, but with no enthusiasm. It’s clear her doesn’t want to be led. His joy comes in the leading, in the adventure of forging the trail, in knowing that someone is following his lead.

I wonder to myself as I continue to watch them play if I too often default to my own lead- and my own independence. If I should step aside now and then and allow myself to be led.

...And now, the clouds have moved in and I’m sitting in the sprinkle of rain, wondering if I am going to stick it out. It seemed that just when I got comfortable and settled, enjoying the sunshine and warmth-clouds moved overhead. Though it’s still sunny, I am still sitting here in the midst and mist of rain.

I love how metaphorical weather and seasons can be and singers know it.

“it never rains when you want it to”

“for tomorrow may rain, I’ll follow the sun”

Change in weather always throws people off a bit. When it’s 90 degrees for a week straight and then it drops to 65 just like that, people don’t know what to think of it. I’ve noticed that the day the weather changes in any drastic way, first snow, or downpour after a dry spell, first sunshine after weeks of rain- those are the days the coffee house is busy. Not just for beverage needs. People need to discuss the change. They need to know that other people are experiencing and witnessing the change happening around them. Change is easier when you know you’re not alone.

Change is always difficult because it means, well, just that-change. Sometimes it’s welcome change. Other times change happens and we don’t want it one bit. We liked the way things were, settled and comfortable. I'm going to have to go back to change is easier when you know you're not alone and thank goodness we are never alone.

counting down..

I am counting down…some have been counting down since we began the social work program two years ago. Others began counting down this year. I have held off, until now. This whole crazy time of theories and research and clients and service has whirled into this point of ending, of launching, of flying.

I am 17 days from graduation.
1 more grief support group
1 more big and dreadful research paper
1 lovely bite sized self-care paper
4 classes
3 more internship days
It’s all winding and whirling down…

As I always do with endings, I start thinking about them in step with beginnings. For better or worse, the second something begins, my mind fast-forwards to the inevitable ending. In some scenarios this may be considered healthy, while it others this may just be cynical. Anyhow, I can’t help it. I have been thinking about this ending for two years, anticipating graduation and walking away with an MSW, with a whole world of social work at my feet. And I still look to that world as it waits just a couple weeks out, but I hold hints of sadness at what I am leaving behind; the community, the breadth of knowledge all around me, and the support of professors and supervisors encouraging me, the whole womb of safety that is school. In all my transitional times of coming and going, of hellos and goodbyes, I find myself more and more aware of the simultaneous feeling of both joy and sorrow. I’ve come to acknowledge that there will always be both. There will always be something to rejoice and squeal for in excitement and always something to grieve and weep over, always life and always death. This is what makes life interesting and worth living.

transitions

My days of calling myself a student are quickly falling away. I have always been a student, even in my two year hiatus; I still called myself a student because I had a sneaking suspicion that I would pursue a master’s degree soon. Now as I enter into the final six weeks, I’m ready to shed my student’s skin. It’s difficult to think about giving up that title, when I’ve held tightly to it for so long. Though, I will soon hold claim to the title of social worker, I still feel that sliver of loss in parting ways with the life I’ve known all these years.

I think it was Mr. Rogers that said it best,

"Transitions are almost always signs of growth, but they can bring feelings of loss. To get somewhere new, we may have to leave somewhere else behind."

That being said, I’m ready to transition to a career of doing what I love, but I’m not sure I’m ready to transition to a new place. People keep asking me if I am going to stay in Portland or move back to Seattle. As much as I ache for my people in Seattle, I’m not quite done with Portland yet. I haven’t gotten my fill. I just have that deep gut feeling that God has more in store for me here and that’s enough assurance for me that this city is where I am meant to be.

Seasons of Change

This past year and past few weeks have been a time of change and transition for myself and so many of my friends. I am reminded over and over that nothing stays the same. We grow up. We move out of our parent’s homes. We move closer to friends. We move away from friends. We are working our way through life meeting the new and leaving the old behind. We are in a continual process of being and becoming. Rollo May said, “In human beings courage is necessary to make being and becoming possible.” We need to be courageous in the process of letting go and handing ourselves over to change and becoming who we are meant to be.

The phrase, “letting go” has been a loaded phrase for me ever since I was a little girl. I never wanted to “let go”. I never wanted things to change.

-I refused to believe my dog would never return after we hadn’t seen him in days. I wasn’t ready to let go.

-Year after year, my mom would make every attempt to get me to throw away my old toys and sentimental keepings. Every year I would plead to keep them, holding on to stuffed animals, birthday cards, and love letters. I wasn’t ready to let go.

-When I left for college, I clung to my friends at home, desperate for the familiar. I would go home any chance I could to be with them.

-After each of my summers in Malawi, I dreaded saying goodbye. The second I set foot on African soil, I was already clinging to hellos and sighing at the thought of goodbye.

-In moving into my studio, I had to get rid of things because it wouldn’t all fit in such a small space. I struggled in choosing what to keep and what to let go. There is security in stuff.

-In my own spiritual and emotional world, I have a plethora of things to let go of. I’ve packed them up and sit upon them, wondering when I will be ready to let them go.

In any season of change, there is letting go, a process of becoming. I find myself holding onto ‘how it was’ because it provides a sense of comfort. There is nothing comfortable about change and growing. It hurts to grow and it’s easier to cling to what you know than to reach out in faith for what could be. There is safety in what we know and fear in what we do not. There is a fear of letting go. As I experience change and transition alongside so many friends and strangers, I am praying that we’ll be able to let go of our fears and embrace this time of growing and becoming. That with each step of faith we would grow in courage. And even in our moments of feeling alone, that we would know deep within our bones that we are never alone. We are kept in the hands of one who will never let us go.

flowers in the window

It’s raining and cold, again. Yesterday, it was warm and sunny. It’s been a roller-coaster for the past month. Actually, it’s been a roller-coaster all winter and fall- those seasons tend to blur anyway. If my emotions were contingent on the weather, I would be a bona fide basket case.

I was sitting on my bed the other day, as I do often in my apartment, because it’s the warmest and coziest spot in the place. I was sitting and looking out the window at the cherry tree that has stood bare for the past four months. When I looked closer at its branches, I noticed that they each had a little bud at the end, beginning to open. New life is slowly and quietly unveiling itself. I hadn’t really noticed this tree until I saw these little flower buds. Now, I find myself checking up on them every time I pass the window. I like watching them to see how they are growing and changing. It’s a bit nerdy, but I’m excited for these buds to bloom into their beauty.

I feel as though something is growing and budding in me. Not like a baby, people, please. I haven’t been that busy in Portland. I feel as though parts of me have vanished and fallen away, parts of me that I love. The loss of those pieces has left me feeling empty and numb this past season. I haven’t felt like myself really, at all since I’ve been here. I miss the real me. I like the real me. I’ve spent close to a quarter century (oh wow, yes that quarter century birthday is on the horizion...) with me and I’m nostalgic for the real me. I feel that piece of me returning little by little each day. Appearing slowly and quietly like a budding flower. I know it will take some time, but I’m excited for the day when I can feel like me again. In the meantime, I’ll keep checking on the flowers in the window.