‘So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today’s trouble is enough for today. (Matthew 6:34 NRSV)

 “Give your entire attention to what God is doing right now, and don’t get worked up about what may or may not happen tomorrow. God will help you deal with whatever hard things come up when the time comes. (Matthew 6:34 The Message)

For weeks now, I’ve thought I’ll get back to blog posting tomorrow. But then something else grabs my attention, and the inspiring thought that flitted across my mind migrates to the great unreachable recesses of my memory.

Today, I will write whatever comes to mind. I don’t have anything insightful on the tip of my tongue or any rich wisdom commanding from my fingertips. I’m musing on the keyboard. Making observations about how I’ve not posted here since the beginning of the year. I had lofty aspirations, which have become small nothings.

Winter happened. I wasn’t sick very much, but I didn’t want to do much or think much or share much. I accomplished what was required of me and even enjoyed a few things, like seeing plays and ice skating and taking the train to Chicago and spending time with friends and family.

I resumed teaching my art classes, and slowly we are getting into new territory and carving out new paths for our created selves and practices. I’ve added a writing path and an evening open studio time once a month. Getting traction after a slow, long winter takes time and effort.

Observations about my own practices, such as writing and creating time and space for art: I start out with grand intentions, I wander away and now I am gathering back in for a reality check. Finding new ways to engage in familiar practices that buoy me up for the seasons ahead.

Other news, we had new countertops installed in our kitchen, and I was surprised that I chose something very similar to what I already had, just new and sturdier, but familiar and contoured in such a way that I do not have to make much of an adjustment.

It’s hard to pick up the blog after a hiatus. But I’ve picked it up and hopefully some strand of familiarity will encourage a reader or two. And most of all it gets my juices flowing again.

I will pay attention to these lapses. I will receive each tomorrow as it arrives.

I will leave you with a haiku or two, that I wrote recently about winter. Haiku is a concise language. A new way of speaking, yet familiar.

Short February–why
so tenuous and lengthy?
How will I in March?

Sunny but bitter
cold outside the window screen
better inside here

How do you deal with lofty intentions? What do you need to pay attention to right now?

 

 

 

They will receive blessing from the Lord . . .(Psalm 24:5a NRSV)

This practice of new year resolutions has taken many forms for me. For many years, the highlight of January 1st was to write out resolutions. Then my lack of keeping them dampened my enthusiasm. I gave them new names like goals and intentions, and recently (the past few years), I’ve distilled my need for a fresh focus into one word. And it works for me, so far.

I was surprised by the word that surfaced for 2019. Last year, my life was marked by release. And it was good. I got rid of stuff. I poured more into my creative life.  I worked on some creative writing and shared it with select groups for feedback.

So when, “receive” kept showing up in my journal writing, I resisted. How can a person who has mastered release, now expect to be open to “receive.” It feels awkward, and sort of humiliating. I’m a strong person, who gets rid of stuff, shares generously with others and pushes through creative blocks. I am a giver, not a receiver!

At least that’s the rant going on inside my head at the beginning of this journey. I will learn to be more receptive. I will accept the gift(s) of what it means to receive.

Part of receiving, coincides with my resolve to write daily. So far, so good. I think writing is one way to receive the gift of each day. By putting words on the page, I record thoughts, and often receive surprising insights and inspiration.

I’ve enjoyed responding to the ideas in the 365 book. (That’s what I’m calling it.) Day two encouraged me to write a list of resolutions. First response . . . resistance. Second response . . . oooh, a list! The freedom in this idea included writing down as many resolutions, as I wanted. Then, I was to go back over the list, and choose three. After choosing three, I could make a promise to keep those resolutions.

As often happens, when I tackle a prompt, it goes in a whole different direction, which is exactly why I like responding to prompts in my journal.

I wrote the list. I took a picture of part of it. (See above) On a side trip, I looked up the definition for resolution. Resolution means: “a firm decision to do or not do something” or “the action of solving a problem, dispute or contentious matter.” (www.dictionary.com)

Looking up the definition, actually released me from my prejudice of making and keeping resolutions. I felt more choice than I had in the past. I am capable of making firm decisions. I like solving problems. Maybe I could receive some resolutions this year. Yet, something else happened . . .  the resolutions morphed into affirmations. Here’s what I wrote:

I promise to believe in my abilities, skills, and experience. I will trust GOD with all my ways, being and doing.

I promise to accept the things I cannot change, to acknowledge when I am powerless.

I promise not to doubt my abilities, skills, and experience. I will listen to my desires, dreams, ambitions and even my intuitive bent, which includes wild, off the wall, weird and paradoxical ideas.

How do you feel about resolutions? If you were to receive a word for 2019, what would it be?

In the beginning
GOD formed heaven and earth
Let there be new life

In the beginning
All things came into being–
GOD with us unveiled

(Haikus based on Genesis 1 & John 1 composed by KSR)

In the past, I have set an intention to create daily. This year, when I unwrapped this lovely Christmas gift from my son and his wife, it confirmed my desire to commit to a daily writing practice in 2019. (Also timely because I have added a writing path to my 2019 souldare classes, which start in February.) This morning, I made my breakfast and coffee, and settled into to reading the intro of 365 Journal Writing Ideas Plus 400 Quotes by Rossi Fox.

The author created a welcoming atmosphere for both beginners and veteran journal writers. I appreciated the idea to name your journal, so as to build a personal dialogue within its pages, a named confidante of sorts. Mine is named, 2019. I skipped the first page of the journal to overcome any fear of “messing” up the new, fresh pages. (I have practiced keeping a journal long enough that I seldom have to worry about the paralyzing effect of the blank page, but it’s still good advice to skip the first page, and get going.) I seldom go back and fill in the first page, but you could go back and give the journal a title or create a table of contents, if you like. Fox recommends going back and gluing a magazine image there.

Here’s his simple list of things that one needs to get started:

“A journal or notebook, a pen that doesn’t bleed through the page …and Courage to take on the ‘blank page.'” Fox suggests other optional supplies to add visual interest and texture to a journal, but I leave that to your discretion. That said, I was interested in the fact that he supported using visual elements in a writing journal. I was especially helped by the idea to cover up writing that you want to keep personal by gluing a magazine page over the writing.

I thought to start this year off, I’d occasionally share some musings from my daily writing practice.

Here is my first entry into 2019 (written from the perspective of the year speaking to me):

I am 2019! Welcome. I am full of unknowns, yet you have intentions, routines and rituals you will attempt to keep. Keep an open mind, heart and soul to receive what I have to offer. You can guess that there could be challenges, joys, adventures, heartaches, misunderstandings, losses and gains, because you have experienced almost 54 of my past iterations.

That’s it. A short message, but I enjoyed the process.

The first writing idea/prompt from the book was to write about happiness. Fox shares this goal for daily writing: “Aim to fill an entire page.” That seems doable.

What makes you happy?

 

 

They are like trees planted by streams of water, which yield their fruit in its season, and their leaves do not wither. In all that they do, they prosper. (Psalm 1:3 NRSV)

I am memory tree–
each ornament she places
carefully on my branches
marks a moment–some memory–
one vague, one fresh
and others have long, deep stories
embedded in their
color, shape and texture. (KSR)

ADVENT{ure} PROMPT #10

What memories surface for you this time of year? How can you give them room and space to tell their stories?

“Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28 NRSV)

I say, “I am weary.” And you reply, “I AM REST.”

Advent marks a time of year, when I pay attention to each day. I count the moments leading up to the feast of Christmas. It’s a time of preparation. Yet apathy wrestles with my expectations and cynical thoughts crowd in to taunt me. Jeering at me, “Who do you think you are? How can you get it all done? Why bother? Why do you even make these promises to write daily? What good is a budget, when you go crazy with spending despite the plan?”

I’m not posting here daily. I am over budget, but the budget did help me make creative decisions regarding my gift giving this year. And even if, I don’t “get it all done,” I will have enjoyed the moments preparing. And I bother, because giving and writing are two ways that I express myself and my love for others.

It is helpful for me to remember that who am I and what I do are not the same. I am loved, limited and creative. I do go overboard at Christmas, because I love the season and giving to others and creating memories. I do declare intentions that are impossible to meet, but I think of them more as ideas to consider. Then, I have a choice of how much I will do or not do each year.

So, today, I am posting because I think sometimes it’s easy to hide our weariness, and I wanted to give voice to that reality of the season. Sometimes the plain old wearing down of our lives from the daily burden of interacting, intending and hoping for more is easier to deny than face.

I was reading the Lord’s prayer with fresh eyes this morning. The familiar line, “Give us this day our daily bread,” had a footnote that I never noticed before. Another way to translate this familiar request is: “Give us this day our bread for tomorrow.” What?

I had also just read to not worry about tomorrow. (Matthew 6:34) However, as I sat with the phrase “Give us this day our bread for tomorrow,” I felt reassured. I don’t need to worry about tomorrow, because I have already asked for tomorrow’s portion. And it is promised to me.

I am weary. I am hungry. I do worry, but this day, give me bread for tomorrow. And each day I  do have enough “bread” to stave off the worry and the hunger. I am enough, and I have enough.

I can make it my intention to blog daily, because words will come tomorrow. The question is not whether or not I’ll have something to offer, but will I take the time. And sometimes, I won’t because I use the time in other efforts. I am freed from self-imposed obligation. And when I do write, I am happy. And when I don’t have time, that’s okay, too.

I often write in my journal, and this morning words were flowing. Here’s a poetic pondering that came to me this morning, after a restless night of waking and sleeping every hour or so.

I am awake
asking
who am I?
who do you say that I am?
Jesus asked that, too.

I am not asleep
answering
I am weary
I am tired
I am exhausted
Jesus says: Come to me, I AM REST. (KSR)

ADVENT{ure} PROMPT#9

How are you feeling at this half-way point to Christmas? Consider this quote from my sister, Gillian McCullough:

“GOD is not limited by our expectations.”

I invite you to pick up a pen and a piece of paper and respond,

I feel . . .

I don’t feel . . .