I needed to touch my feet to the earth, to wiggle my bare toes in the thick grass. Two of us raked the leaves into big piles, the red ones from the sugar maple with their crisp points mixing with the yellow palm-sized foliage of the tulip tree that arches across the farm lane. One kid drove the Ventrac, while the other tromped around in the worn green wagon compacting our garden cover.
These past weeks have been filled with the sacred ordinary. Chauffeuring pre-teens to activities, washing dishes, folding laundry, troubleshooting homework woes, all while absorbing the reports of catastrophe in many places. Sisters, friends, co-workers, fellow congregants are navigating disappointments, stressors and crises of scale. Images and news stories report on wars and weather events near and far reminding us pain and tragedy are unfurling on all the levels, it seems.
Numbness isn’t a lack of feeling but a response to too many feelings. When the whiplash of both and, of holding space for goodness and grief, feels as if we will be pulled apart, when breaking open feels more like disintegrating, sometimes all we can do is doomscroll, bury ourselves in sleep, or indulge in our preferred avoidance practice.
Our dog raced around the backyard living his best life. The kids were laughing, embracing the impulse to jump into the mounds of leaves. As the growing dark edged out the last bits of sunlight, we gathered around the table for dinner. Conversations of project updates, facts about ancient Rome, and recounting that silly-thing-that-happened-in-the-cafeteria filled the space as we shared about our day.
There is much to lament, worry over, advocate for and pray about. And these spiritual practices have their place and purpose. But sometimes we need to tap into the rituals that allow us to embrace the paradox, that tell the whole truth of our lives: that tears of joy and cries of pain can intermingle, that what is holy can also be hard, that silliness, too, is spiritual.
Routines and rest are spiritual practices. Touching the earth, breathing in fresh air, and moving our bodies should not be discounted. Pausing to take in the colors of the morning sky, giving thanks for being lulled into sleep by rainfall, a lingering embrace from a loved one; these too are part of a robust faith experience.
In the United States, holiday season is in full swing. Christmas music is playing in stores with their endcaps loaded with goodies featuring festive flavors. While there are many times when our feelings may seem out of sync with our context, this time of year, with its activities and expectations adds pressure to our processing; our anxiety is exacerbated as we scold ourselves for how we should feel.
But there is no right way to feel or be in this time. There only is what is, as is.
Take a moment to consider:
What feels heavy today?
In what things are you experiencing numbness or intensity?
Where do you notice goodness amidst grief?
Where have you experienced joy recently?
What grounding practice might renew and encourage you?
A Blessing for November
November arrives with demanded gratitude and decay
Growing darkness and chilling winds
The last bright yellow leaves wave against the gray skies
But the holding pattern cannot last
Soon it will be the season of hibernation and quiet
Then the work done in secret begins
All that has been gathered nurtures
The seed shell crumbles, opening, new tendrils hesitantly emerge
Waiting for the thaw of the ground above
Thank you.
Beautiful!