Moving Mama: Reflections on Body and Soul
Moving Mama

What If?

What if our children started each morning of school with a pledge to their own preciousness? What if they were asked to stand at their desk and say how precious they are, and then turn to a neighbor and recognize their beloved nature, and then step outside, or even look out the window, and give thanks for the trees and the earth that catches their feet everyday? What if we did that, in addition to, or instead of our Pledge of Allegiance?

This morning I was filling out a check for lunch money in the school office and heard the pledge being recited over the loud speaker. I awkwardly stood up and put my hand on my heart and faced the flag. I was awkward not because I do not appreciate my country and those who serve it in many different ways. I am not awkward because I do not value my freedom and am ungrateful. I am awkward because first thing in the morning, I like to honor the Source within me first, before I start honoring my country, my family, myself. I like to honor what created ALL living things. I suspect that if we honored that Source of Love within us first, we might start seeing some changes. And our children, actually we all, need some reminders that we are loved exactly as we are. And that sort of message comes from the Source within us. We get all mucked up in our heads around church, school, religion. We all know that debate. All faiths are to be treated equally, that was the mandate right? We do not have to negate faith entirely. Can we access spirituality in our school systems in such a broad way that it includes all pathways of faith? We cannot leave it out because we don't know what to do with it. Let us just acknowledge our preciousness, that is all I am saying. I am not promoting any dogma or doctrine, just Love. Those little ones that walk the halls, with all sorts of challenges in their families and communities, not to mention the ones that they face in the future, need Big Love to walk with them through this.

I think it would do us good to honor that Source first thing in the morning. I know to many this might seem radical, but it's really not. It is really quite simple. Our children deserve it. As do we big people.

If you have a chance, take a look at this: www.youtube.com/watch?v=iG9CE55wbtY. I think you might laugh, and at the same time, consider something new.

Lifted My Heart

So, I just came across this short little video clip that made my heart sing. I want to share it with you. Click on this link:


So sweet. Enjoy.

The Form We Have Been Given

We have heard the phrase, when life gives you lemons, make lemonade. In yoga class Jessica will often say to us as we are holding a really tough pose, "What if this was the form life gave you? Could you breathe through it?" I whine when my form is just the slightest bit uncomfortable most days. Tonight, I met a man who has been in a wheelchair for over forty years. His wife led me out to the art studio where he paints. When she turned on the light, my eyes fell on countless paintings...mountains, cowboys, jazz singers and Native American medicine men. Then my eyes rested on an easel, which was not like any easel I had ever seen. With a little lever, you could move it up, down and side to side and the paintbrushes next to it had handles and could bend. There was space enough in front of it to fit a wheelchair. Tears filled my eyes. I was deeply humbled by the resilience of the human spirit. In his form, David rises to the occasion of life. He paints oil paintings that should be hanging in a galleries all over this country.

David and Mary put my lemons into perspective. This couple lights up this little corner of the world; shining like a star in the middle of the Arizona desert.  More people need to know about the work of this man. Please check it out here: www.vangorderartaz.com/index.html and pass it on to your friends. If you are an art agent, or know of one, let me know. His work needs to be out there in bigger ways. It reminds us all to rise to the occasion of who we are, no matter what form we are given.


I AM

When Moses ask God, Who are you?, the response he heard was...I AM.

Today in yoga we explored how we limit ourselves by defining who we are, even in our poses. I did the tree pose today. And, I was falling all over the place. Simple as that. At one point, the yoga teacher even tried to catch and steady me. Nope, I fell. After my wobbly presentation, the beautifully aware teacher said, we are not here to be perfect, we do enough of that out there, as she pointed out of the room. Here, we get to be who we are. We do not aim to hold the pose perfectly, we stretch into more and more of who we are, dive more deeply into our potential, she said. So rather than holding the tree pose steady, saying to myself, I have arrived. I am here. I began to reach, and reach, and I was surprised to find myself steady. I stretched into myself not from a place of perfection, but from an innocent place of wanting to know more of me. Who am I really? I think I am that tree pose, gloating that I can hold the balance. But is that where I want to stay? Thinking I know who I am? Who the heck am I?

I am....
a mother, a wife, a therapist, a social worker, a chef, a gardener, a controlling person, a generous person....la, la la. But who am underneath all of these roles and stories? When you strip me down to the bare bones, what do you find? 

Love. Simple as that. If I tell myself I am anything other than Beloved, I try to be perfect. I strive. I try way too hard. And, I forget how precious I am. Then I forget how precious those who breathe around me are, even the trees and the squirrels that scamper up them.

am
beloved.

I am better at all of it, when I remember that.

Thank You Clarity

I have been writing for hours every day for the past few weeks. I am switching Ph.D. programs 

and will begin a Ph.D. in sustainability education at Prescott College in three weeks!! I am also 

applying for a Fulbright to teach in Ireland next year. I have had to be concise, clear and confident

with my message. Therefore, I have been spending a lot of time with my heart. The heart offers 

guidance and direction that I need to bring my passion to the planet. Wish me lots of Love as I 

enter the academic world. This is a little excerpt from my personal statement for Prescott.


As I sat with my twelve year old niece this summer and watched the pink sun set over the Colorado mountains I asked her, “How is school going for you?” She responded, “Boring..” When I inquired as to why, she explained, “We just sit at our desks and read textbooks. Then memorize what we have read, write it on our tests, and then forget it.” Our young people deserve more than this. They deserve an educational experience that delivers vitality and creativity. One that is not dead in the head, but alive in the body. Students are more than just the technical skills they are taught for their future vocations. We cannot simply leave out the heart and soul of education because we don’t know what to do with them. As educators, we hold the responsibility of educating the heart in partnership with the logical mind. Each one of us is a unique creation that longs to be of service on this planet. When we are educated wholly, body, mind, heart and soul, we tap into what sustains us. Many of us are sleepwalking and do not know the immense resources that live within us. If we are not educated towards the sustainable within, we search relentlessly for the sustainable outside of ourselves. We must push the boundaries of what sustainability means to education and to our lives. Sustainability begs the question, what sustains me? This question has guided my life for the past twenty years. Recovering from addiction as a young person, surviving a cancer diagnosis in my early twenties, birthing two children, and grieving the loss of my parents early on in my life, I have awakened, by necessity,  to what sustains me.  If I do not know what sustains me as a human being, how can I possibly cultivate good stewardship of the Earth when I myself am empty? The Latin root of sustain, sustinere, means to hold up.  Love, in the most mysterious and creative sense of the word, holds me up and frees me from looking outside of myself for safety and vitality. I know that it is not a bottle of alcohol, my parent’s opinion of me, or buying three new outfits, that will give me sustenance. When we turn to the largeness of this Love, we no longer look outward to fill ourselves up. We realize that the outward is a mirror that reflects the beauty that lives within us. 


Keeping it Simple

Andrew has been reading the children's Bible in bed before going to sleep. I walk in and he is laying on his stomach reading, page after page. Tonight, when I tucked him in I asked, "So, what is your favorite story?" And he said, "I don't know. I think the one where he is walking on water." And I said, "What would you do if you saw Jesus walking on water?" Andrew responded, "I would go out and walk around with him."

Put Them In Your Feet

I have a dear friend who is struggling, looking for light in the darkness. Or standing still, waiting for it to find her.  It is beautiful to be witness to someone committing to truth; being with her questions in the face of what will sustain her. Sometimes, I forget this. I forget that the truth comes from the light. And, that is when I put on the Mighty Mouse cape and try to save the day. In other words, I forget that there is something larger than us, and think I should be God.

It is a spectacular Colorado summer evening. I walked out of my meeting tonight and I saw the bugs dancing in the sunlit path through the tall green trees. The sky was pink and I was ready for God. I turned to my right and saw a stone labyrinth laid out before me. My feet begin walking there and I step onto the path. If you have never walked or seen a labyrinth before, the stillness of it cuts right through me. It is not a maze, but  a path to the center. When you are on the outside of it, you think you are far away from the center. And when you are walking close to the center, you are actually further away from it. The paradox of the whole thing is deafening. It makes my soul stand still. As I step on, I begin to watch my feet walk, and hear my breath pray. One foot in front of the other. At first, I was worrying about my friend. This is what I tend to do initially when someone I love is in pain. I worry and I think that in someway it might help the situation. Then, thankfully, I come to my senses and start listening. What I heard tonight is this, Put her in your feet. Great idea, I say back. So I imagine her and I put all of that energy straight into my feet. And I walk with her as I pray. Slowly letting her go into the arms of God. Step by step as I approach the center, my mind runs and I worry, then I come back to my feet. She is there. And most importantly, God it there. I get to the center, do a little stretch/dance, and begin the walk out. As I approach the exit, my foot begins to step off towards my flip flops and I hear from within, Wait. I do and I hear, Give her to me. She is mine to hold, not yours. Trust me, I will take better care of her than you will. You be my hands and feet. I will guide you and tell you what to do. But for heaven's sake, give her to me. Do not step off of the labyrinth until you do. So, I brought my foot back and waited and breathed her into my feet and felt that energy running into big Mother Earth. Then, I stepped off. I walked barefoot back to my car and felt my heart leap. I wasn't worried about her. I knew God had her. And that God was the only presence that would lead her to truth; lead her into the light. And with every cell of my being, I am down on my little knees grateful, to a Love that knows me way better than I ever will. A Love that tells me to put the cape down. It is truly laughable. And I say that with the deepest compassion for myself.

So, tonight, if there is someone you are worrying about, put them in your feet. Walk around and with every step, let them go to a Loving, Creative and Alive Love, that will take care of that person much better than you or I ever will. I just have to look at my own life. And the more I have trusted that Love, the better off I am. And the better off my life is.

The Story is Now

I did a lot of new things on my trip back to the midwest. I did things I did not expect, or plan, to do. That is when you know the Feminine is in the house. She is all about spontaneity. When you are spontaneous, you must trust. And she is all about trust. I rode a Vespa. I sat next to my mother-in-law on the couch and learned how to crochet. I threw a mug on a potter's wheel. I drove on the open plains of highway 40 in western Kansas for the first time. I jumped in murky Acton Lake and swam to shore. The peanut butter chip ice cream I ate from the United Dairy Farmers is on my top five list now. And, after eight years, I saw my mom. Yep. I saw my mom.

When we are in relationship with God, we are in relationship with creation. Just look out your window. Look into someone's eyes. Do something crazy like see your mom after eight years, introduce your children to her, and feel a palpable Love fill that room like no other. All things, if our eyes are open and we stay awake, point to grace. God is moving. God is alive. God is new. 

The story is not in how I met my mom in a little office on Grand River in Michigan, and the details of that story. The story is that the light will not be overcome by darkness. When I looked into my Mom's eyes, I saw the woman who gave me life. And I felt the arms of Mother holding us both, loving us before we even met. Big Mama had already taken care of us by putting my expectations of myself, and my mom,  where they belong. Right down on earth. 

God's grace is new...always. The story of how I came back into contact with my mom is old now. The Love that exists inside of me as I write this is where the story is at. It is in who I am now because God directed my feet towards the darkness. She did that because She knew I would find the light. And I did, right in the eyes of my very own mother. 


The Mystery of Me

What is your story? What is that little diddy that you keep telling over and over to others? The one bit that draws people in, gets attention and turns heads?

We all struggle. We all feel pain. We all celebrate joy and birth. We get bored, tired and lonely. All of it. When I wrap my arms around any one of these, and attach a story to it, I am stuck; stuck in an old story. And I miss who I am in the moment. I like to tell stories over and over again that get me attention. They can be stories of great accomplishment, or stories of great weakness. Again, it is not the accomplishment or the weakness that gets me into trouble. It is my attachment to them, and how they affect my self esteem. I will grasp onto a story that will get me attention, because most of my life, it is attention that has boosted my self esteem. Why? Because I was desperate for it.

A friend recently told me that some of my stories bore her. And then she sat across from me, holding my hands, and told me she loved me for who I was, regardless of my story. The intimacy was palpable in that moment, as we sat looking into each others eyes, tears flowing into hers. It was in that moment I realized, that not only do I hold onto the stories and tell them frequently that make me look like a hero, I also hold onto the ones that make me look weak and in need. When I hold on and define myself by my story, I am not being true to me. I am looking to draw someone in. I am not living from the inside out, but from the outside in. John O'Donohue says many of us are confusing our identities with our biographies. I am more than any story I have to tell. I am more than any emotion I feel. There is a place deep inside of me untouched by all of that. My soul longs to live from that place. The place without the story is unknown territory. We must trust deeply to live from it.

I am getting ready to head back to the Michigan, my hometown, where I have not been for eight years. I plan to visit my father's grave, the homes I grew up in and meet some of my old friends and family. And coincidentally, for the past week, I have been downstairs going through old pictures and letters, keeping a few and am burning the rest. A prayer of love and gratitude sent up to the heavens in smoke. The Love is always there. The letters don't hold it. The photos don't save it. It is always flowing.

I am ready. I am ready to live the question, Who am I without my stories? I live this question by being very conscious of how I connect with people. What are the first words that come out of my mouth when I meet someone new? Those are the meaty ones usually. When have I told a story a second time? What do I do when I feel insecure? Do I go to my breath, or do I try to reel someone in to like me? If I am not doing something "big and grand" do I start telling stories of struggle and weakness to get the attention I am craving? These are the questions I am living with, and there is no finite answer to any one of them. I pray to just live with them. And with each breath, become more and more, the mystery that I am.

In a Beautiful Nutshell

I thought you might enjoy this very well written piece about my work on Semester at Sea, written by a student, Kelly Corcoran, on the ship.

You can read it at:
http://kelly-sas.blogspot.com/2010/06/dancing-our-bodies-back.html

It is a beautiful description of what the heck happened on that wonder-filled trip around the world.


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