A Flowering Presence

Recently a friend gave me the book Gifts of Near-Death Experiences by Sheila, Dennis, and Matthew Linn. One of the gifts observed by the people who have these experiences is an understanding of how close our deceased loves ones are to us after they die. Although we generally are not attuned to their presence, they are still with us in a very real way.

I’m always more aware of my mom’s presence in the spring, when the flowers and hummingbirds that she loved return to lighten our hearts. I especially think of her when I see irises, columbine, bleeding heart, lilies of the valley, vinca, roses, salvia, Stella de Oro daylilies, gladiolus, globe amaranth, zinnias, cockscomb, and clematis, all of which she planted at our house in Leavenworth. When my parents married and bought their first house, my mom told my dad she wanted to plant some flowers, and he said, “Why? You can’t eat them!” I’m grateful that she was not swayed by his philosophy and instead followed her instincts to bring beauty to our home through flowers.

My gardens have always primarily contained vegetables, but now that I am at the Mount, I hope I can learn how to grow flowers as well, especially as a way of honoring my mom’s continued presence in my life.

God the Dream Maker

The Bible is full of stories that describe how God has communicated with people through dreams. Notable dreamers in the Bible include Jacob, Joseph the son of Jacob, Daniel, Jesus’ earthly father Joseph, the three magi, and Pilate’s wife. Today, we who live in the “Information Age” generally do not include dreams as one of our primary sources of knowledge. That’s unfortunate, because as Srs. Emily Meisel and Jeanne Ranek note in their seminar “Dream Work on the Spiritual Journey,” dreams are a powerful avenue of the communication of wisdom and are one way God seeks to help us achieve healing, growth, wholeness, and balance.

About two weeks ago, the thought crossed my mind that I should arrange a visit with my aunt and cousins from my mom’s side of the family (the Will family) before I enter the novitiate, but I haven’t contacted them yet. Then last night I dreamed that my dad, who was very devoted to family, was going away for a long period and was coming for a visit before he left. I turned the porch light on but I saw him go into the house next door, where my mom’s family was gathered. I heard someone say that he only had time to visit one side of the family, and he chose to visit the Wills. It appears my dream was encouraging me to follow my Dad’s example—and so I “will”!

I suspect I’ll be gifted with more dreams in the coming year and look forward to decoding the messages they provide. As Srs. Emily and Jeanne said, the God who lives in us is a dream maker and has endless imagination and dreams for our healing and our growth. We need to do our part by being receptive, writing down any dreams we remember, and making them part of our lectio practice.

Journey to the Center

Recently I attended the workshop “Dream Work on the Spiritual Journey” at Immaculata Monastery and Spirituality Center in Norfolk, NE. During my stay I had the opportunity to practice a form of walking meditation using the labyrinth on the monastery grounds. Labyrinths are symbolic of pilgrimage for people who cannot travel to holy sites and lands and remind us of our journey to God, who is at the center of our being and of all things. Here are some thoughts on the spiritual journey that came to me as I walked:

• We need to trust the path, even when it seems to be leading away from the Center instead of toward it.

• Parts of the path are straight and other parts are twisting, but it is necessary to walk the entire path to get to the Center.

• At some parts of the path we are tantalizingly close to the Center when in actuality we still have a long way to walk.

• Parts of the path are beautiful, offering lovely views and marked by lush growth, whereas other parts of the path are undeveloped, dull, and boggy.

• You can’t take a shortcut to the Center.

• Sometimes you end up to the right or left of where you want to be.

• Walking the path takes as long as it takes.

• The desire to get to the Center will lead you there.

Finally, it was appropriate that I encountered this labyrinth at a Benedictine monastery, for it made me grateful that I am on a Benedictine path with my Benedictine companions.

Let All Around Us Be Peace

This weekend I officially signed a contract for the sale of my house in Leavenworth. It’s a lovely place … the semi-secluded location with a field behind the back yard, five large oak trees, and a wooded area/creek at the end of the cul-de-sac exuded a sense of peace. The paint on the outside of the house was even called “Peace Yellow.” It was a gift to live there for four years, and it feels bittersweet to let it go. Still, as the poet Ludwig Jacobowski said, “Don’t cry because it’s over; smile because it happened.”

Grieving our losses is necessary and important, but gratitude for what has been is key to moving on. The solitude I experienced in that house was what I needed at the time, but then I was called to grow in a new direction and learn the lessons that come with living in community.

It is also important to recognize the fine line between grieving and clinging. Ronald Rolheiser has noted, “By clinging to what once was we cannot recognize God’s presence within a new reality.” The birds sang sweetly and I felt a sense of peace at my house, but I can hear birdsong and feel at peace at the Mount—not by stepping out onto my back deck, true, but by walking in the cemetery and the woods and gardens located on the grounds at the back of the monastery. In addition, I can recognize God’s presence in the new reality of voices blending together in the chapel and conversing at the dinner table.

It’s time for the house in Leavenworth to be a blessing for my friend who is buying it and will now dwell there. Peace before us, peace behind us, peace under our feet—peace within us, peace over us, let all around us be peace.

They Won't Ever Be Gone

On Wednesday, May 3, Sr. Rosemary invited us to celebrate Sr. Lou Whipple’s 51st birthday with chocolate chip cookies in the lunchroom. Sr. Lou died in March, but it felt appropriate to feast in her honor as she herself was celebrating at the heavenly banquet. As George Eliot said, “Our dead are never dead to us, until we have forgotten them.”

Willie Nelson echoed this idea in a tribute song to the late Merle Haggard: “He won’t ever be gone / His songs live on / We’ll be singing him back home from now on / He won’t ever be gone.” I can imagine Jesus’ disciples saying this to each other in wonder after they encountered their risen friend: “He won’t ever be gone!” Their ears were opened to a new understanding of his words, “I will always be with you.” Perhaps they even sang a farewell song to Jesus as he ascended on his way back home to his Abba.

“Happy Birthday to You” should be part of our repertoire as we sing our loved ones back home to God—what better way to commemorate both their time on earth and their new life in the Spirit? So happy birthday, Lou—we rejoice in knowing that in the tree of life, our roots are forever intertwined. 

Turning Toward the Light

When we are gifted with a sunny day after experiencing a long period of clouds and rain, I wish I could feast on the light, as plants do. Actually, however, because Christ is the light of the world, when we consume the body of Christ in the Eucharist, we are in effect feasting on the light! This musing prompted the following poem of gratitude for the lessons we can learn from plants about being sustained by the light.

Sustenance

I envy plants for many reasons,

but primarily because they feed

on light, whereas I must shop and cook

and chew and digest and expel

instead of simply standing

in place and harvesting

the sun’s rays to create sugar,

guaranteeing a sweet life

and generating oxygen

for other beings,

breathing into our nostrils

with the gentleness of a Creator

who forever wants us

to turn toward

the light.

Images of God the Worker

Today, May 1, is International Workers’ Day, as well as the Feast of St. Joseph the Worker. Interestingly, at the leadership seminar I attended this past weekend, I came across an unusual image that made me think of the future of the Mount Community—several women, side by side, working in a rice field! I’m certainly not suggesting that the Mount should flood our lower field to grow rice! However, the picture was interesting in that the women’s reflection could be seen in the water, which led me to meditate about how, no matter what work we might do in the future, we can be reflections of God during our time together in the school of God’s service. As Pope Francis has noted, “Work, to use an image, ‘anoints’ with dignity, fills us with dignity, makes us similar to God who has worked and still works, who always acts.” Thus we are images of God when we work, whether that be in a school or a rice field or a kitchen. And when we work side by side, the reflection grows to become an image of the body of Christ, which is a beautiful picture indeed.