there are seasons. it is the season of lent. it is the season of the beginning rains again.
today is a beautiful windy sunday morning - muted sunlight- making me think about solitude.
i'm kind of bad at solitude. i forget to build it into my day, and then slowly slowly i find myself demanding it at inopportune times- like when my children are wanting dinner :).
so i'm trying to build in a good walk up the hill so i can hear no one but the stillness of God.
yesterday i walked.
i'm always interested in what i hear- and i always here something. all the scramble of my brain arranges itself as i climb up that road to the top where i can see far off and feel small again. yesterday a lot of what was inside me was about zoe, because on friday she was 'off'. and this happens, thankfully not as frequently as it used to, but it happens. it's the scramble of her brain but with out a cover, with out the filter that most people develop in early childhood. when she is 'off' she can't respond appropriately to normal things- she can't internally regulate so she does or says whatever she thinks will help her to feel better, calmer, more put back together. it's hard for me to take this in stride. it's hard for me to understand her. it's hard to not be sad for her, and for me and our family. it's hard to not be tired by it- to not give up- to not feel stuck.
on the walk i started to think about understanding her- because i want to- i want to so badly.
the way down the hill was so beautiful and i was thankful. there were amazing bright orange flowers climbing on vines- and behind them the hills in the distance. sight is my dominant sense, and there is so much to see, but i began to listen too. i thought of the woman i'd met in kenya who was blind. i remembered one day i was out for a walk and i saw her with a group of people, they were bird watching. she had that beautiful smile and her cane and as we walked by she say, "it's amazing all the birds i can hear!"
so i closed my eyes and walked. immediately i could hear life differently. immediately i could feel it differently too. the wind became alive in my ears and on my arms- loud and powerful, but with my eyes open, i hadn't noticed. i could hear my footsteps crunching on the pebbles, the sun on my shoulders was warmer, the piece of hair that fell on my arm danced. i couldn't see- but the rest of my senses jumped to life and there was a richness, a focus. i thought about the gifts that can come with loss.
when i opened my eyes, i thought about zoe. her sensory system is not missing a piece but on overdrive. she doesn't have the hyper-acuity, she has the opposite- the confusion, the lack of focus, the loss that comes from too much sensory input. all the sounds, all the sensations are exaggerated. maybe that is why her visual system seems weak- maybe it shuts down to try to manage the rest. i understood a little bit better- a small piece of the puzzle- and i was thankful for that. so as i walked on down the hill i prayed for her- mostly in the form of, "please help her- because i don't know how to" and "please help me to know how to".
when i got home this lovely prayer was waiting in my inbox, sent by my dear friend erin, written by that wise old monk, thomas merton.
MY LORD GOD, I have no idea where I am going.
I do not see the road ahead of me.
I cannot know for certain where it will end.
Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so.
But I believe that the desire to please you, does in fact please you.
And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing.
I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire.
And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it.
Therefore I will trust you always, though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death.
I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.
- Thomas Merton, "Thoughts in Solitude"
we often feel lost- wandering- wondering about endings and new beginnings and purpose. wondering who we even are and why, and what is right, and what to do. even monks. even those guys who spend their whole life in solitude.
so i felt better, and i was reminded, again, it's about trust, not fear. that blind or over-sensed or struggling to find solitude- we are not left, we are not alone. we are guided, we are held.
today is a beautiful windy sunday morning - muted sunlight- making me think about solitude.
i'm kind of bad at solitude. i forget to build it into my day, and then slowly slowly i find myself demanding it at inopportune times- like when my children are wanting dinner :).
so i'm trying to build in a good walk up the hill so i can hear no one but the stillness of God.
yesterday i walked.
i'm always interested in what i hear- and i always here something. all the scramble of my brain arranges itself as i climb up that road to the top where i can see far off and feel small again. yesterday a lot of what was inside me was about zoe, because on friday she was 'off'. and this happens, thankfully not as frequently as it used to, but it happens. it's the scramble of her brain but with out a cover, with out the filter that most people develop in early childhood. when she is 'off' she can't respond appropriately to normal things- she can't internally regulate so she does or says whatever she thinks will help her to feel better, calmer, more put back together. it's hard for me to take this in stride. it's hard for me to understand her. it's hard to not be sad for her, and for me and our family. it's hard to not be tired by it- to not give up- to not feel stuck.
on the walk i started to think about understanding her- because i want to- i want to so badly.
the way down the hill was so beautiful and i was thankful. there were amazing bright orange flowers climbing on vines- and behind them the hills in the distance. sight is my dominant sense, and there is so much to see, but i began to listen too. i thought of the woman i'd met in kenya who was blind. i remembered one day i was out for a walk and i saw her with a group of people, they were bird watching. she had that beautiful smile and her cane and as we walked by she say, "it's amazing all the birds i can hear!"
so i closed my eyes and walked. immediately i could hear life differently. immediately i could feel it differently too. the wind became alive in my ears and on my arms- loud and powerful, but with my eyes open, i hadn't noticed. i could hear my footsteps crunching on the pebbles, the sun on my shoulders was warmer, the piece of hair that fell on my arm danced. i couldn't see- but the rest of my senses jumped to life and there was a richness, a focus. i thought about the gifts that can come with loss.
when i opened my eyes, i thought about zoe. her sensory system is not missing a piece but on overdrive. she doesn't have the hyper-acuity, she has the opposite- the confusion, the lack of focus, the loss that comes from too much sensory input. all the sounds, all the sensations are exaggerated. maybe that is why her visual system seems weak- maybe it shuts down to try to manage the rest. i understood a little bit better- a small piece of the puzzle- and i was thankful for that. so as i walked on down the hill i prayed for her- mostly in the form of, "please help her- because i don't know how to" and "please help me to know how to".
when i got home this lovely prayer was waiting in my inbox, sent by my dear friend erin, written by that wise old monk, thomas merton.
MY LORD GOD, I have no idea where I am going.
I do not see the road ahead of me.
I cannot know for certain where it will end.
Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so.
But I believe that the desire to please you, does in fact please you.
And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing.
I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire.
And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it.
Therefore I will trust you always, though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death.
I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.
- Thomas Merton, "Thoughts in Solitude"
we often feel lost- wandering- wondering about endings and new beginnings and purpose. wondering who we even are and why, and what is right, and what to do. even monks. even those guys who spend their whole life in solitude.
so i felt better, and i was reminded, again, it's about trust, not fear. that blind or over-sensed or struggling to find solitude- we are not left, we are not alone. we are guided, we are held.
