What I know of mothering burst upon me unprepared. No one could describe the intense tenderness that would come when I first held my baby in my arms, first fed him, first kissed him in my special place where no one else ever would…behind his right ear. I fell in love with both my boys as differently as the way they entered my life. Michael came with a roar into the cold delivery room. Two years later Andy arrived, and took a nap. I hounded the doctors both times…was Mike in pain? Was Andy okay, was he too laid back?

When he was only 6 months old Michael watched me laugh over something, so he emulated my chuckle in his baby way. Of course that made me laugh harder which in turn, increased Michael’s laugh to baby ho ho’s. Soon Mama guffaws and baby haw haw’s rolled ‘round the little kitchen. The best joke ever, it must have been, but I forget what it was.

Then came their first steps while clinging to my finger, Michael careful and Andy going full speed ahead just as he still does…all out, certain of his own immortality. I made a frantic call to the pediatrician one morning as I watched a walnut size lump grow where Andy had just hit his head, and another time when I saw him happily chewing something slimy in a shell. After she stopped laughing, the nurse told me that garden snails are not really “that germy” and suggested I just brush his teeth, all 12 of them.

The boys went from diapers to pony rides, to math problems and fireflies in a jar. Middle school and romance…Mike fell for his future wife Lisa in the 8th grade. Then came high school sports, Dungeons and Dragons, dances, weightlifting, and French class. Each layer of life settled well on their widening shoulders. College was a shock, as much to me as to them, maybe more. They were ready. I wasn’t.
I remember gulping sobs all the way home because “he didn’t need me to unpack, or take him to lunch, didn’t need any help at all”. And then they were graduating, just before our line of credit gave out. Now they’re married men in their 40’s and I have 5 grandchildren! Where did they go, my kids, …where?

But hold on, wait…I can still feel their new skin on my lips, smell the dirt under their nails and Kool-Aid on their breath. They came into and through my life so fast, too fast…and right on time. I have lost only days, just events. All my mother’s moments are safely held in my heart: little boy kisses, scratchy first whiskers, heartbreaking joyful wedding days, and my first kiss for every grandchild.

Mothers’ Day is such a tender time for us women. We sometimes birth a child that we cannot raise; instead we bravely find a loving home for him to grow up in. Others of us just make a home for a lost kid who needs one. Teachers often make their room a safe place for lonely youngsters. What of the aunts here who light up the hearts of their nephews and nieces. Oh, maybe you never bore and raised a child of your own, but that doesn’t mean you’ve never mothered, never made the tough choices, never made a kid feel safe.

So Happy Mothers’ Day to every one of you, my friends.

We had a yard sale last week. A grandmother bought a bunch of furniture from us as she had family moving in. She said she would be back to haul it away. We were surprised to see her turn up in a two door convertible and even more surprised when she crammed computer tables and TV stands into her little car and drove off with stuff hanging out everywhere. As she drove away, I thought to myself, “that is the grandmother lode.”

The mother lode is a phrase that originally referred to a source of water and was then used in the mining world. When miners found a rich source of new metal ore, they would say they hit the mother lode.

I like that. It gives a sense of the rich source of abundance beneath the surface.

We ALL have a mother lode of personal power and peace within us, even if you have to dig to mine it.

Mother’s Day, and holidays like it, are difficult for many people and for many different reasons. One of the saddest details to come out of the rescue of the 3 women kidnapped for 10 years in Cleveland was Amanda Berry finally escaping to find that her mother had died while she was held captive. I can’t even imagine how hard Mother’s Day was for Amanda with her own child, a constant reminder of her ordeal and her mother gone. I can’t imagine what Mothers Day was like for those ten years for the mothers and children.

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I knew back in March I’d have this date,
A gift to think ahead to May
And draw inspiration from the future
That I knew would be full of daffodils and tulips
And would help me through those days of gray.

Two months ago
The weeping willow, standing alone, was softly yellow,
In April, wild chartreuse, and today, she finally takes her place,
First among equals in an increasingly lush landscape.

Perhaps next month, we’ll find ourselves in the heat of summer
Sitting in the shade, thinking of the ripening blueberries.

And reflecting.

I remember a day when I was seven
I was crying and didn’t know why.
I told myself to always hold this moment.

And here she is, that seven year old, standing
With up here with me.

Victor Frankl, holocaust survivor
Author of “Man’s Search for Meaning”
Spoke of rehearsing the future telling
Of the death march he was on though icy mud.
I was privileged to hear him tell this story,
The one he imagined he would tell.

In existential glimmers we recognize that we exist in time
That we can time travel
That a song can make us young again
That a smell can bring back a lost love.

In this very moment – our present – just became our past.

In this very moment – we just entered the future.

We can be in this moment, as we often remind ourselves,
And reflect on the crops that will rise in our gardens
On the roses that will bloom in June
And think about the long dark nights of winter, past and future
And on the comings and goings of life.

And be the change -
By envisioning a future
A future that we have the ability to alter, even slightly
Looking ahead to the alteration.
Looking back at what we chose to do.

Today is our first gathering in May,
May of maypoles, May Day, and cinco de Mayo.

This very day marks the eighth anniversary
Of the day my husband died.

Death can be both friend and foe.
For those remaining, we lose a future we expected.
There are no more clocks or seasons for the one who died.
But clocks still tick.
As hard as it is to fathom, we enter the future
One day, one step, one breath at a time.
For those who have lost someone dear,
Or struggle in the many ways we do
Let us take heart in each other
And our gifts of sharing
And our hearts filled with compassion

And let us take hope in the merry month of May
And the future that we make today.
Let the future surprise us.
Namaste.

I’m a pretty mild mannered person, but do something to threaten my kids and you will unleash a lion. Among all the different motivations for living sustainably, thinking about what sort of world I’m leaving for my kids and their kids is the one that moves me most. Any action I take now to live more simply and mindfully is a way of loving it forward for them.

I was reading some predictions about what life will be like in 70 years. Its pretty scary. If we continue on the path we’re on, one third of all flora and fauna will be extinct. The sort of floods we have only usually seen every hundred years will happen every three years. Immigration from Mexico where land may become unusable could be in the millions. Wildfires in California will quadruple. I even heard that coffee may become extinct. So if you don’t do it for the kids. Do it for the coffee.

Loving it forward requires us to get out of our own comfort and needs. Its a great exercise in humility. I love the story of Hona told in the Talmud. Hona was the circle drawer. In the midst of a drought, he drew a circle around him in the first and refused to leave the circle until it rained. At first there were a few drops, and he demanded more. Then it started flooding, so he asked for less. As soon as the rain fell in just the right quantity, he left the circle.

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The image of 8 year old Martin Richard holding a handmade sign saying, “No more hurting people- Peace” pretty well broke my heart. To think that he was killed while eating ice cream at the finish line of the Boston Marathon is almost too much to bear.

The image of a group of Syrians standing in rubble, holding another handmade sign that said, “Boston Bombings Represent A Sorrowful Scene Of What Happens Everyday In Syria” breaks my heart equally.

The thought of Cody Dragoo, an employee at the Texan plant that exploded last week and also a volunteer firefighter, losing his life trying to help others is too sad for words.

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Strangers in line at Meijer strike up a conversation about what else, the weather…

cashiers, baggers, bank tellers, wait staff, coaches, the person filling a car at the next gas pump….we are all, all of us here, talking about the weather…..

Hoods up, heads down, we scurry from our cars through freezing rain, detour for puddles, try to stay dry……..

persistent snow piles cling to the shade – stubborn and crusty, we will them to melt

Shades of gray illuminate our days…..fog-shrouded misty mornings… subtle afternoon cloud patterns perhaps break to provide a glimpse, a tease, of

blue …drab evenings fade into night with barely a whisper

For we are ready, we are so ready, like our northern earth planet, we lean toward our star, inviting, craving longer days and warmer air

Impatient for sun on our skin, ready to shed coats and sweaters, boots and shoes, we must content ourselves with spring’s early markers… tree branch silhouettes

tipped with rapidly growing new buds, ready to unfold, sleeping grasses slowly turning green, crocuses too quickly come and gone, daffodil buds drooping, waiting,

like us, to lift faces to sunny skies.

Spring peepers beckon nightly from the wetlands – daring us to open our windows. Bird sounds pepper the predawn dark, Red winged blackbirds return -

their “pizzeria” calls resonate from still-stiff cattails…the prehistoric warbles of sand hill cranes shock overhead

For we are children of our planet, our lives attuned to her rhythms, year in and year out, she anchors our traditions and celebrations, her tempo a foundation for our hopes….

We know we are intricately bound, each of us unique and yet not, interdependent, an ecosystem, a community

And as we gather here this chilly morning, let us take time to slow down, breathe deeply, relax, breathe in, breathe out, listen, feel …..listen within, listen to your heartstrings… what do you need? what do you yearn? what do you fear? what do you dream?

Listen, listen to yourself. Listen to each other. What do you hear? Rustling? Silence? Inhaling? Exhaling? Sniffling? Shuffling? Connection? What do you feel?

A neighbor’s touch? Their warmth? Do you feel that you are part of something? Do you know that you belong?

Yes, as we gather here this chilly morning, as more gray days approach, let us take time for each other, let us remember that we are, each of us, both powerful

and fragile, filled with passions and insecurities, with hopeful dreams and heavy anxieties, we are healthy and ailing, tender and gruff, we are old and young, bold

and shy, we are tough and we are scared, opinionated and contemplative, we are hurting and we are healing, we are alone and we are together.

And as we turn our thoughts outward toward global struggles and challenges, big issues that threaten to overwhelm, to demoralize….let us remember Earth Day.

Let us remember burning rivers and dented bird eggs, smokestack cities and toxic dumps…. let us remember Sand County Almanac and Silent Spring’s threat – “a

spring without voices”- let us know that the words of two people were words that galvanized, that gave voice to a movement

And let us know that even as winter slowly relents to spring, so too does our global human community evolve…..sometimes in bursts, sometimes plodding, always with setbacks and threats, through small steps and big leaps, lone voices and united

chants, we can make a difference, we do make a difference…..one person, one voice,

one tweet at a time

I’m a huge fan of social media. It’s in my top 10 life passions. I love it for its power to keep me connected to family and friends who live all over the world. I love it as a super efficient means to share wisdom, and create inspirational conversations. I love it for its ability to organize and empower change. I love it because it’s fun, sometimes almost addictive. Maybe most of all, I love it for its democratic ability to put power back into the hands of people through the easy sharing of information.

Social media is not perfect. It has its holes. But as Oscar Wilde said, “The optimist sees the donut, the pessimist sees the hole.” So let’s enjoy the donut, and not focus on the hole.

Or else there’s the quote from the 1980 movie Caddyshack, “The Zen philosopher Basho once wrote, ‘A flute with no holes is not a flute. And a doughnut with no hole is a danish.’”

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I have been searching.
Searching for spring.
It seems so long in coming.
At this time last year, we had donned our sandals and shed
our coats.
But this year, even when the sun is shining,
The air is bitter cold.
I am cold and I am searching.
Searching for spring.
Yet just when I think I cannot take another day of winter cold,
I notice
The tender tips of tulips appearing in the garden,
I notice
The full throated songs of birds greeting me at first light
I notice
The bright red breast of the robin returning to the yard
I notice
A slightly warmed breeze carrying a whiff of reborn earth
I search for spring and
Oh spring,
You do not disappoint me!

I have been searching,
Searching for symbols
Symbols of resurrection
To replace the ones relinquished
Those no longer satisfy
Just last week, there was a celebration of symbols
A celebration that rang hollow
Yet made me yearn for the comfort of antiquated answers
I am restless and I am searching
Searching for symbols
Symbols of resurrection

Yet just when I think I cannot take another day with empty
symbols
I notice
The sparkling eyes and shining smile of the woman-child
learning to live in joy, despite the burdens of her past
I notice
The bright red scarf on the baldhead of the beautiful woman,
embracing her family as she celebrates her final days
I notice
The gold bands encircling the fingers of two handsome men
who at last are married
I notice
The sobriety coin jingling in the pocket of the father who
finally holds a job.
I search for symbols
Symbols of resurrection
And oh symbols
You do not disappoint me!

I have been searching,
Searching for saints who are human and honest.
A long time ago, the saints were sanctified
We were told they stood for “other-worldly” good
They disillusioned with manipulation
They harmed their followers
They damaged lives
They can no longer be my saints
Yet others still believe them
They bow before them
Their saints, dressed in robes and cloaked in traditions
This year, even though the saints are marching
I cannot join the parade
I am doubtful and I am searching
Searching for saints who are human and honest
And just when I think I cannot take the myth of another
smug saint

I notice
My friend, who asks me just the right question at just the
right time, to let me know she sees my soul.
I notice
My friend, the child–grown tall and straight, whose heart
is pure, who sees the world in the subtlest of details and
bravely speaks his truth
I notice
My friend, the volunteer who ignores his pain, leans on his
walker, and trudges on to shelter lost souls
I notice
My friend, the leader, who with tireless determination, labors
to salvage the dignity of those in her community assaulted
by the inequities of our society.
I notice
My friend, who listens to politicians on both sides of the
argument and with unwavering hope, strives for consensus
even amidst the shouting
I notice
My friend, the mentor who slogs through the weather and
traffic and frustration to read with a student with shiny
brown eyes
I search for saints
Saints who are human and honest
And oh saints,
You do not disappoint me!

I have been searching
Searching for change
Change that brings justice and love and compassion
It seems so long in coming
The news is discouraging
The famine, the war
The cold, the hungry
The broken, beleaguered
The battered, the bullied

We have listened to profits
Heard all the promises
Followed the arguments and waited in vain
But change is illusive and increments small
I am sad and I am searching
Searching for change that brings justice and love and
compassion
And just when I think I cannot take the news of another sad
story
I notice
The song written to promote understanding, resonating with
every note in my soul
I notice
The protest of millions, organized to demand equal
treatment, exciting my spirit in recognition and hope
I notice
The posts on Facebook, liked by thousands. encouraging
action to remedy wrongs.
I notice
The weekly teaching, challenging our community and calling
us to be the changes we seek.
I search for change
Change that brings justice and love and compassion
And oh change,
You do not disappoint me!

I search
For spring
And symbols
And saints
And change

I notice
And I find them

April 7, 2013

The story of Shin Dong-Hyuk is amazing and inspirational. He was born in a prison camp in North Korea, punished for the “crime” of his uncle as part of the 3 generation “justice” system. He knew nothing of the world outside the camp. All he knew was what he was taught in the camp. He was hungry all the time, but didn’t know any better. He was crushed but didn’t know any other way to feel. He didn’t know if the earth was round or flat. He regularly watched other prisoners being executed including his own family members. In one of the saddest comments ever made, he admitted in an interview that he didn’t know what love was. He didn’t even feel anything when his family was killed because it was so common place in the camp.

It was only when he met a new prisoner, one who had been to China, that he realized there was more to the world than Camp 14. He found out about broiled chicken and freedom to travel and got his first taste for freedom. One day when he was working near the border of the camp, after 23 years imprisonment, he managed to escape and now tells his story in an effort to expose the system.

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Winter wisdom bows to springtime wonder – sort of! On this in-between day, we arrive with anxieties and hopes, sadness and levity, the freedom to think – knowing full well the heights and depths of what it means to be human and a community on the move. Welcome all, men and women, gay and straight, young and elderly alike. Hold hands now, put your arms around each other. A head on a shoulder. Be yourselves, be honest, be here in all your glory, thoughts and expressions. Springing newness be upon us with cardinal call, brave robins, and blinking/elusive sun. Springing newness be with us though winter wrap still surrounds. May new energy soon emerge through tulips, raked grass and dawning possibilities; springtime energy radiate within and around even as geese on the wing return back to bless and annoy us. The transition is happening, always happening….the turning, the melting, the emerging, the endings and beginnings. As it is with nature, it is with you…and with me.

We stand in the moving, twisting streams of change and transition. Seasons, relationships, we as individuals, jobs, dreams, this community growing and becoming more of what it is meant to be. We abide in the crucible of seasonal change, sometimes excruciatingly as a trapeze artist, suspended in air, between the safety of hand-holds. We travel in this territory to learn, take care of ourselves, to retreat, to envision, to feel deeply, to make plans, to let go and be prudent all at once. We create new beginnings in this spring season of new ideas in the land of the now – new identities, new visions, new models for knowing, doing and relating. Call it spiritual change; call it cosmic change….whatever you will. We realize with brutal clarity and unparalleled relief that change will come. Nothing constant –except change itself.

We tremble on the edges of maybe as this hemisphere is once again on the bloom, fresh and full of equinox possibilities. We bring about new ideas, new thoughts, new music. Daring, risky, needed. Yet, we linger and hesitate. Our eagerness is subdued; our uneasiness sometimes wins the day. Sometimes we lose sight of doing the right thing and being less selfish, less irritated, less needy. May we forgive ourselves and each other for not being thoughtful enough and not being the change we wish to see.

May essential things be upon us, happen to us, be created by the likes of us. May our illusions of self-sufficiency and proud sophistications be subverted by humble awareness of how connected we are – and that we win and lose, create heaven and hell, by what we say, do and decide. May we be stripped to the real so we can enjoy our true selves and the beauty and uniqueness of others.

So today, as seasons and we turn, let our eyes be in love with seeing, looking with wide eyed wonder all around; let us have ears in love with listening carefully –assuring others of our care, support and loyalty. Let us have minds and voices in love with thinking, connecting, sharing ideas, building bridges of understanding. So too let us have hands and bodies in love with touching, with holding, with generating warmth that would soothe, comfort and sustain each other-and this world in need of affection, peace, connection and love. So be it.