Anam Cara

The Seven Story Mountain

There have been men and women throughout the course of history who have known God with an intense intimacy that somehow eludes most of us.  Some of them found their path to be a solitary one.  They lived in deserts, or prisons, or caves.  Some of them sought out contemplative communities that seemed to provide them with a structure that would lead them to God.  Some were mothers, fathers, husbands, wives.  Some had visions.  Some knew long periods when God seemed silent.  Some were tortured and gave their lives for their faith.  I am so intrigued by them.  I look at them and wonder what it is that they understood but I do not.  I wonder if knowing them can help me better know God...

Thomas Merton briefly describes himself as a man who "lived a worldly life until the age of 26 when he entered a Trappist Monastery".  But that does not begin to plumb the depths of this exceptional mystic poet or his story.  Merton writes about his early years compellingly, and with extraordinary detail, in The Seven Story Mountain.  It is one of the most significant books I have ever read.

I filled pages of my journal with his words.  He had an ability to see deeper than most of us, yet write about it in a way that you and I can see it too.  I have painstakingly chosen only a few passages to share here...for now.  But I implore you to experience this treasure for yourself.

On Sanctifying the Ordinary...  "...they inspired real reverence, and I think, in a way, they were certainly saints.  And they were saints in that most effective and telling way: sanctified by leading ordinary lives in a completely supernatural manner, sanctified by obscurity, by used skills, by common tasks, by routine, but skills, tasks, routine which received a supernatural form from grace within, and from the habitual union of their souls with God in deep faith and charity."

On Contemplation and Art...  "After all, from my very childhood, I had understood that the artistic experience, at its highest, was actually a natural analogue of the mystical experience.  It produced a kind of intuitive perception of reality through a sort of affective identification with the object contemplated...I had always understood that art was contemplation."

On GRACE...  "It is only when we have lost all love of ourselves for our own sakes that our past sins cease to give us any cause for suffering or for the anguish of shame.  For the saints, when they remember their sins, do not remember the sins but the mercy of God, and therefore even past evil is turned by them into a present cause of joy and serves to glorify God."  Praise be to God!

On Freedom...  "I was free.  I had recovered my liberty.  I belonged to God, not to myself: and to belong to Him is to be free, free of all the anxieties and worries and sorrows that belong to this earth, and the love of the things that are in it."

On Transforming Union...  "...contemplata tradere... is the vocation to transforming union, to the height of the mystical life and of mystical experience, to the very transformation into Christ, that Christ living in us and directing all our actions might Himself draw all men to desire and seek that same exalted union because of the joy and sanctity and the supernatural vitality radiated by our example--or rather because of the secret influence of Christ living within us in complete possession of our souls."  May it be so! 

Gesture of Love...

Imagine you had an important story to tell.  Imagine that you had less than a minute to tell it.  And imagine that you could not use words.  Could you do it?

This film short has been making the rounds on e-mail, my-space, etc...  Perhaps you have seen it.  Purportedly it is a Cannes Film Festival winner.  I honestly could not confirm that, but it really doesn't matter.  It is an artistically conveyed story that merits your consideration.  Thank you to Rita who shared it with me.

Let Me in the Sound...

It began with a murmur.  Then a swell of applause quickly wrapped around the arena.  We rose to our feet as one body; hearts pounding, chests heaving, and eyes straining for the first glimpse.  One minute passed, then five, and the applause did not stop.  Then it happened.  Four shadowy figures emerged from the tunnel into the darkened arena.  Figures of legend, with the certain, easy stride of those who are living out their calling.  The arena erupted.  A deafening roar.  I thought it couldn't get louder.  I was wrong.  As the first Achilles climbed the ramp to emerge center stage, we found a deeper place.

We were still roaring when the drums began to pound.  Guitars sawed, then exploded into the opening of "Breathe" and a grand adventure began.  The four legends owned the stage and we willingly surrendered ourselves to them, inviting them to take us where they willed.  We were in very good hands.

Though I have long been a U2 fan and have even had the joy of playing their music in church (!), this was my first time to see them live.  I have never experienced anything like it.  Lighting, set design, and graphics were artistic and audacious.  The message, as expected, was one of love and peace and responsibility to care for "the least of these".  The music was flawlessly executed, and exhilarating or tender by turns.  But, here's the thing you can never fully appreciate til you breathe the same air as these guys--til you stand in the room where they are weaving a great tapestry of music and brotherhood and energy and grace--these are consummate performers!  Their showmanship is dazzling, as is their ability to make you feel at times like they are performing just for you.

Each song was carefully crafted to take us somewhere we had not yet been.  Moving from one to another was like opening a series of packages.  There were a few stellar moments for me--little pieces of the evening I know I'll never forget...

I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For: the sing along  We all knew it.  Part way through, Bono stepped away from the microphone to listen as we sang.  I was overwhelmed by the power of that moment.  All those voices crying out our universal complaint, that longing is our constant companion.  We try to satisfy it.  We may even try to kill it.  But in truth, it is a gift.  It will lead us to transcendence and Truth...if we let it.

Stuck in a Moment: Acoustic  Just Bono, The Edge, and an acoustic guitar.  Clean, simple, and poignant.  A nice break from the energetic frenzy for just a bit.  And just a bit was just enough.

Magnificent is the song that was playing in my head when I woke up this morning.  The melody and the words haunt me.

Only love, only love can leave such a mark
But only love, only love can heal such a scar
Justified, till we die you and I will magnify,
Magnificent...

I loved that the live performance of "Get on Your Boots", which is on my running playlist, completely rocked the house.  Kelsey, Jake and I loved it when Larry Mullen, Jr. brought the congo out to the catwalk on "I'll Go Crazy if I Don't Go Crazy Tonight" and pummeled it.  I loved the tenderness of "Moment of Surrender".  And I especially loved looking over at my teenagers and watching their lips moving to the songs and seeing their eyes filled with wonder.  It was a MAGICAL evening.

Thank you, Bono, Edge, Larry, and Adam, for years of wonderful music, for using your platform well to inspire and help others, for creativity unbound (both musical and visual), and for an unforgettable evening with my family.  Thank you Mike for surprising us with the tickets.  It was a blast!

*Note:  Please understand that all photos were taken with my iPhone so the quality is less than stellar.  Please also understand that even if I had taken them with the best camera, they would be woefully inadequate.  With that said, there are more photographs HERE if you are interested.

Awake...

"Is there anything I can do to make myself enlightened?"
   

    "As little as you can do to make the sun rise in the morning."

"Then of what use are the spiritual exercises you prescribe?"
   

    "To make sure you are not asleep when the sun begins to rise."

~Zen master to his disciple

An Invitation to Art...

 
Two very important exhibits open today at the Frist Center for the Visual Arts in Nashville.  The member preview last night was packed and throbbing with excitement.  I offer here a brief introduction, and a look at some of my favorites.  

Georgia O'Keeffe and Her Times celebrates the American voice in twentieth century art.  Though influenced, to be sure, by artistic movements in Europe, these artists gave their own unique interpretation to abstraction and expressionism.  "Deer's Skull With Pedernal" (O'Keeffe) is an effective introduction to the collection.  If you have ever been to the southwestern U.S., you will recognize that abstraction can be much more effective than realism at conveying the essence of this harsh but extraordinarily beautiful landscape.  O'Keeffe amused me with her "Red Tree, Yellow Sky".  The "red tree" is actually a piece of dead wood perched on O'Keeffe's windowsill.  Ever the master in creative proportion.

   

One of the happier surprises for me is the inclusion of three photographs by Ansel Adams.  His beautifully artistry with light is evident in both the soft glow of "Early Morning, Merced River Canyon" and the dramatic contrasts of "The Tetons and Snake River".

Marsden Hartley's furious brushstrokes and flurry of vibrant hues wonderfully capture the exuberance of fall in "Carnival of Autumn".  Max Weber uses muted, sophisticated colors and sensuous lines in his elegant "Red Poppies" (top of post).  We see another side of Weber with his whimsical "Three Literary Gentlemen" (above).  This painting smacks of  a kinder, gentler Picasso.

There are several works by Hans Hoffman.  I like the composition and contrasts of "Green Bottle", but my favorite is "Composition Number IV".  I smiled as a gentlemen tried to pick out a figure in this abstract expressionist painting.  There is no figure.  But I could lose myself for days inside the sweeps and swirls, the dips and dives of pulsating color in this work.  I would go again just to see it.  I could not find an image of the work, but perhaps it is just as well.  You need to stand before it and breathe it...to emerge yourself in it and ride the scoops and swells.

Thomas Hart Benton in Story and Song features drawings and watercolors the artist created for three books by Mark Twain, as well as paintings inspired by American Folk Music.  Benton was a part of the Regionalist movement that saw beauty in the ordinary men and women who populate ordinary towns and do ordinary things.

The exhibition highlights Benton's versatility.  Each of the books was illustrated in a slightly different medium.  For The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, the artist used pen and ink to create clean, sharp, black and white images that snap with the same vitality the rascally Tom was known for.  The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, however, received a sepia wash "to evoke the muddy Mississippi River and the somber undertones of the book".  Finally, Twain's memoir, Life on the Mississippi, is rendered in eloquently subdued watercolors.

One of the most intriguing elements of this exhibit for me is a serious of studies for Thomas Hart Benton's last work; a large scale painting commissioned by the Country Music Hall of Fame here in Nashville, called "The Sources of Country Music" (above).  Sketches of individual characters followed by composition studies reveal the mind of the artist as he worked and reworked; positioned and repositioned.  Fascinating!

While you are there, be sure to step upstairs and check out the Twilight Visions exhibit.  I confess I have a bit of a love/hate relationship with this one.  Some of the surrealist works are a little too disturbing for me.  But, there are some devastatingly gorgeous photographs of my beloved Paris at twilight.  Kelsey and I especially liked the works of Brassai (below).

   

If you have not been to the Frist in a while, or even if you have, it is a great time to pay them a visit.  Go.  Revel.  Enjoy.     

You Might Not Want to Read This Book...

Donald Miller's newest book, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, hit bookstores yesterday.  Creative social marketing initiatives and a national promotional tour have generated a lot of buzz, so you might be thinking of reading it.  Here are some candid considerations to keep in mind.

*If your significant other is sleeping in the bed next to you, you might not want to read this book.  Because you will laugh.  Out loud.  A lot.  This will not be received well.  Ask me how I know.

*If you think mediocrity and apathy are grossly underestimated values, you might not want to read this book.  You will find yourself yearning for something more.  You probably don't want to yearn.  Definitely.  No yearning.

*If you don't want anybody up in your business, you might not want to read this book.  It WILL mess with you.  It will haunt you.  It will sneak up on you and ask you questions out of nowhere. Troubling questions.  Provocative.  When you least expect it.

Me?  I read it. Twice.

"The unexamined life is not worth living."  ~Socrates

Certainly, Donald Miller has thought about his life.  He wrote a memoir after all.  A memoir that turned out to be a New York Times best-seller.  But when two film-makers approach him about making a film version of Blue Like Jazz, he has to take another look.  They explain to him that the "Don" of the book will need some rewriting if he is to be a compelling character in a film.  "He went on to say that in order to turn the book into a movie, we might have to give Don a clearer ambition and put some obstacles in his way.  I kept seeing those Japanese game shows where people have to run across padded rolling pins floating over pond water.".

Miller learns that in the very best stories, the ones that leave us breathless and satisfied, there must be a character who wants something and overcomes conflict to get it.  As he and the filmmakers begin to rewrite the life of the "Don" in the movie, he wonders if it is possible to rewrite one's actual life.  Is it possible to LIVE a good story?

The Practice Story  The first tentative steps in re-writing his life come in the form of "practice stories".  One of these is a hiking trip to Machu Picchu in Peru.  There is a girl.  There is some seriously panicked training to try and get in shape.  There is a lot of recrimination for having committed to something so outrageous.  And then, there is this:

"...you can take a bus to Machu Picchu; you can take a train and then a bus, and you can hike a mile to the Sun Gate.  But the people who took the bus didn't experience the city as we experienced the city.  The pain made the city more beautiful.  The story made us different characters than we would have been if we had skipped the story and showed up at the ending an easier way...In more ways that I can count, my practice story had changed me."

"And I found myself wanting even better stories.  And that's one thing you'll realize when you organize your life into the structure of a story.  You'll get a taste for one story and then want another, and then another, and the stories will build until you're living a kind of epic of risk and reward, and the whole thing will be molding you into the actual character whose roles you've been playing.  And once you live a good story, you get a taste for a kind of meaning in life, and you can't go back to being normal; you can't go back to meaningless scenes stitched together by the forgettable thread of wasted time..."

The Inciting Incident  "Robert McKee says humans naturally seek comfort and stability.  Without an inciting incident that disrupts their comfort, they won't ever enter into a story."  One of Miller's own inciting incidents comes in the form of an unexpected meeting with Bob Goff and his family.  I defy you to read about them and not long to live life differently.  

"I asked Bob what was the key to living such a good story...he thought about it and said he didn't think we should be afraid to embrace whimsy.  I asked him what he meant by whimsy, and he struggled to define it.  He said it's that nagging idea that life could be magical; it could be special if we were only willing to take a few risks."

The Memorable Scene  "When we look back on our lives, what we will remember are the crazy things we did, the times we worked harder to make a day stand out...We have to force ourselves to create these scenes.  We have to get up off the couch and turn the television off, we have to blow up the inner-tubes and head to the river.  We have to pull the car off the road and hike to the top of the hill.  We have to put on our suits.  We have to dance at weddings.  We have to make altars."

"The powerful play of life goes on and you may contribute a verse." ~Walt Whitman

"I don't wonder anymore what I'll tell God when I go to heaven, when we sit in the chairs under the tree, outside the City. I’ll tell him about Mike Barrow riding his bike into the Atlantic Ocean, and about Bob Goff and his family jumping off the dock, waving good-bye to world leaders as they left the lodge. I’ll ask God if he remembers when I fell apart in the hotel room in Los Angeles, and he’ll look comfortingly at me and tell me he was there. I’ll tell him about Jason and his family, about breaking ground on the orphanage in Mexico, and about my friends drilling wells in Africa.  I'll tell him about the Mentoring Project, how quiet the kids are when they meet their mentors, and how we can't get them to stop talking only a month later.  I'll tell these things to God, and he'll laugh I think, and he’ll remind me of the parts I forgot, the parts that were his favorites. We’ll sit and remember my story together, and then he’ll stand and put his arms around me and say, “Well done,” and that he liked my story. And my soul won’t be thirsty anymore."

Everyday Graces...

I live a life filled with beauty.  So do you.  We might find it in nature; like the spectacular colors that filled last evening's rain-washed sky.  We glimpse it in the smiles, or even the tears, of our children.  We hear it in symphonies and in silence.  We smell it in incense and in bread.  And our souls are enlarged and enriched by the experience.  This is grace.

Life has smaller graces too.  I sometimes find that the most humble everyday indulgences furnish me with humble everyday joys.  Here are a few of the little graces that make me smile.

TimeWise® Replenishing Serum+C  My skin has never been my most attractive feature.  My battle with acne began when I was 9 years old, and today, at 43, I still have oily skin.  My complexion is ruddy.  I look at my friend Jen whose skin looks like porcelain and am obscenely envious.  A couple of weeks ago, my friend Melody introduced me to a new skin care product.  TimeWise Replenishing Serum+C uses vitamin C from botanical sources to promote the production of collagen.  I can honestly tell you that during the week I used the product, my skin looked better than it has probably looked since I was about 5 years old.  It just seemed fresher and more alive.  And even now, a week after my little sample ran out, I can still see a difference.  It is not cheap, but I have decided it is a splurge I am willing to make, albeit on a somewhat irregular basis.  Visit Melody's website to learn more about this product or any other skin care or beauty needs you might have.  She is a precious friend and will take very good care of you.

Phiten Titanium Necklace  I first saw this product in a Runner's World article on Kara Goucher, a young hotshot runner who is racking up honors for both track and distance events.  She got the idea from Paula Radcliffe who wore it in the 2007 New York Marathon.  It is supposed to help your body with recovery and  work load.  I was honestly a bit skeptical at first, but I decided to trust people who know more than I do about running and give it a try.  I wore it for my 16 mile run on Friday.  I put it back on Friday evening--once it was dry :)--slept in it and wore it all day yesterday.  I usually have a bit of stiffness and soreness after a run of that distance, but this time there was none.  I am not sure what I think about the increased work load yet, but I am a believer in the recovery benefits.

Stacey Kent  Earlier this week I was listening to my "Edith Piaf" station on Pandora when a sultry voice captivated me.  An augmented jazz trio provided elegant, exquisitely articulated ornament.   I found her irresistible.  I immediately bought the song, then searched iTunes for more.  I played her all day yesterday.  She provided lovely radiance on a rainy day.  Get to know Stacey Kent.  I think you will be glad you did.  I include one of my favorites to tempt you.      

The Lanyard

On an afternoon, earlier this week, a young friend and I met to exchange words.  We traded a great many of our own as we talked about life and dreams and beauty and challenges and friendship and what it means to drink deeply and to live the examined life.  We also shared delicious and compelling words written by others.  It seems we two are collectors of beautiful language, and of the ideas and images it conveys. 

She read to me a poem by Billy Collins, former United States poet laureate.  It is one of those delightful poems that lives on several levels.  There is an innocence and even sweet naivete about it, but it also carries profound truth and warm sentiment.  I here share it with you in two forms.  The video at the top of the post features the poem in the voice of its author.  (Don't miss his introductory remarks: brief but instructive.)  The text is printed below in the event you wish to linger over it and sip slowly.

Thank you, dear Madeline.

The Lanyard
Billy Collins

The other day I was ricocheting slowly
off the blue walls of this room,
moving as if underwater from typewriter to piano,
from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor,
when I found myself in the L section of the dictionary
where my eyes fell upon the word lanyard.

No cookie nibbled by a French novelist
could send one into the past more suddenly—
a past where I sat at a workbench at a camp
by a deep Adirondack lake
learning how to braid long thin plastic strips
into a lanyard, a gift for my mother.

I had never seen anyone use a lanyard
or wear one, if that’s what you did with them,
but that did not keep me from crossing
strand over strand again and again
until I had made a boxy
red and white lanyard for my mother.

She gave me life and milk from her breasts,
and I gave her a lanyard.
She nursed me in many a sick room,
lifted spoons of medicine to my lips,
laid cold face-cloths on my forehead,
and then led me out into the airy light

and taught me to walk and swim,
and I, in turn, presented her with a lanyard.
Here are thousands of meals, she said,
and here is clothing and a good education.
And here is your lanyard, I replied,
which I made with a little help from a counselor.

Here is a breathing body and a beating heart,
strong legs, bones and teeth,
and two clear eyes to read the world, she whispered,
and here, I said, is the lanyard I made at camp.
And here, I wish to say to her now,
is a smaller gift—not the worn truth

that you can never repay your mother,
but the rueful admission that when she took
the two-tone lanyard from my hand,
I was as sure as a boy could be
that this useless, worthless thing I wove
out of boredom would be enough to make us even.

A Fond Farewell to Summer...

This morning I sat by an open window and drank in the final storm of the summer.  It was a quite proper storm.  It began with the long brooding...thunder and lightning and ever more urgent winds...winds that carried tiny pieces of cold through the sweltering, humid air.  The atmosphere was vibrant and pulsating with expectancy.  Then, in the midst of the rising tumult, soft, tentative droplets began to fall...a punctuation, an ornament at first...then more insistent.  Finally, it became an uproarious cacophony of hammering torrents, brilliant flashes of light, and booming thunder.  Violent.  Majestic.  Wondrous!

Autumn officially began this evening.  After spring, it is my very favorite season.  The spectacular colors, the smells, the crunch of leaves, blankets, fires, sweaters...  I am filled with anticipation. 

But today, I congratulate summer on an honorable and memorable farewell.  In commemoration of the day, a poem Dana Gioia read to us at Oxford last summer:

Summer Storm
Dana Gioia

We stood on the rented patio
While the party went on inside.
You knew the groom from college.
I was a friend of the bride.

We hugged the brownstone wall behind us
To keep our dress clothes dry
And watched the sudden summer storm
Floodlit against the sky.

The rain was like a waterfall
Of brilliant beaded light,
Cool and silent as the stars
The storm hid from the night.

To my surprise, you took my arm–
A gesture you didn't explain–
And we spoke in whispers, as if we two
Might imitate the rain.

Then suddenly the storm receded
As swiftly as it came.
The doors behind us opened up.
The hostess called your name.

I watched you merge into the group,
Aloof and yet polite.
We didn't speak another word
Except to say goodnight.

Why does that evening's memory
Return with this night's storm–
A party twenty years ago,
Its disappointments warm?

There are so many might have beens,
What ifs that won't stay buried,
Other cities, other jobs,
Strangers we might have married.

And memory insists on pining
For places it never went,
As if life would be happier
Just by being different.

A Prayer...

I want to praise Him.
Loud as a trumpet
in the vanguard of an army,
I will run ahead and proclaim.

My words will be sweet to hear.
My people will drink them in like wine
and not get drunk.

And on spring nights, when few remain
around my tent, I will make music as soft
as northern Aprils, that hover,
late and tender, around each leaf.

So my voice becomes both a breath and a shout.
One prepares the way, the other
surrounds my loneliness with angels.

~Rainer Maria RIlke

An Invitation.....

Each week millions of Orthodox Christians around the world celebrate the divine liturgy using words written more than 1600 years ago by St. John Chrysostom, Archbishop of Constantinople.  Each year at Pascha, his sermon is read word for word.  He was a brilliant weaver of language.  In fact, the title "Chrysostom" literally means "the golden tongued".

This week, my friend Gail introduced our Tuesday group to a magnificent treasure.  Chrysostom delivered a series of homilies on the Gospel of John.  Gail began our study of this gospel by reading his preface in its entirety.  We were spellbound.  We gasped and sighed at the exquisite radiance of language and the depth of perception.  We laughed at how very "relevant" many of his cultural observations proved, given that he was writing nearly two millenia ago.  We sometimes groaned and wrestled with the difficult truth of his words. 

More than anything, I think we all found ourselves wooed and enticed.  Enticed to throw open our hearts and give precise and careful attention to the words God gives to us through his servant, John.  You can read all of the homily HERE, and I heartily hope you will.  Or go HERE to find his homilies for the entire gospel.  I excerpt below some of the phrases that were most captivating for me.

St. John begins by asking us to think of how excited we become when we learn that a famous athlete or singer or speaker is visiting our town...how we will go to great lengths to see them and hear them speak.  He then gives us the glad news that we are being offered words directly from heaven; words "sweeter and more delightful than all harmony of music, and with more skill to soothe; and besides all this, most holy, and most awful, and full of mysteries so great, and bringing with it goods so great, that if men were exactly and with ready mind to receive and keep them, they could no longer be mere men nor remain upon the earth, but would take their stand above all the things of this life, and having adapted themselves to the condition of angels, would dwell on earth just as if it were heaven."

Later, he says this of John: "By this Apostle stand the powers from above, marveling at the beauty of his soul, and his understanding, and the bloom of that virtue by which he drew unto him Christ Himself, and obtained the grace of the Spirit. For he has made ready his soul, as some well-fashioned and jeweled lyre with strings of gold, and yielded it for the utterance of something great and sublime to the Spirit."

And this: "...He has speaking within him the Comforter, the Omnipresent, who knows the things of God as exactly as the soul of man knows what belongs to herself, the Spirit of holiness, the righteous Spirit, the guiding Spirit, which leads men by the hand to heaven, which gives them other eyes, fitting them to see things to come as though present, and giving them even in the flesh to look into things heavenly."

Love, LOVE, LOVE this:  "...let us preserve deep silence, both external and mental, but especially the latter; for what advantage is it that the mouth be hushed, if the soul is disturbed and full of tossing? I look for that calm which is of the mind, of the soul, since it is the hearing of the soul which I require...If a man cannot learn well a melody on pipe or harp, unless he in every way strain his attention; how shall one, who sits as a listener to sounds mystical, be able to hear with a careless soul?"

Finally:  "For it is not possible that he who is continually under the influence of the words of God, can remain in this present low condition, but he needs must presently take wing, and fly away to the land which is above, and light on the infinite treasures of good things; which may it be that we all attain to, through the grace and lovingkindness of our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom and with whom be glory to the Father and the All-holy Spirit, now and ever, and world without end. Amen."

Amen!

Bella Luce...The Beautiful Light

An afternoon of beauty...of exquisite artistry.  A delightful romp through Tuscany, without leaving Franklin.

Bella Luce sits atop a graceful Tennessee hill, not so very unlike the hills of Tuscany.  It is a lovely Italianate Villa designed with the most precise attention to detail.  Sturdy rough-hewn timbers, clay tiles in a panoply of rich shades, gorgeous stone that seems to bind the structure to earth, majestic columns, and chunky, black wrought iron appointments furnish the raw materials.  They are arranged into porticoes, cloisters, balconies and daring circular towers.  Windows in all shapes and sizes open to the spectacular views.  Intermittent sunshine, cooling breezes, and trickling water invited us to linger on the back porches.  Kelsey and I enjoyed the fragrant Mediterranean herbs growing along-side the path: Lavender, Basil, Sage, Mint, Verbena. The design is so thoughtfully executed that one can be awed and seduced at the same time;  not an austere, reclusive beauty, but  warm and inviting, so very like the precious people of Italy.     
 

We stepped inside the beveled glass doors to find wrought iron chandeliers dripping with drops of amber, heavy wooden doors in a shade very nearly the color of burnished copper, walls and ceiling covered with what looked for all the world like antique plaster finished in luscious hues and even dusted with gold.  I sometimes made myself wait to turn the corner into the next room, savoring the anticipation, for every room was an adventure of discovery.  Joshua didn't wait.  He ran ahead, then returned declaring, "You gotta see this!!"  Every room had at least one "Wow" feature.  Most had several: rounded ceilings of bead-board, iridescent tiles that shimmered like butterfly wings, and generous windows open to the stunning vistas.

Did I mention there was art?  Rodin bronzes cast posthumously in authenticated molds made from his original plasters were joined by the paintings and sculptures of 23 other talented artists.  One of my favorite Rodins, The Hand of God, was on display.  It was my first time to see it in real life.  Powerful.  There were also bronzes by Frederick Hart.  His Daughters of Odessa have a fluid grace that is quite compelling; young womanhood perceptively captured.  Bruce Peebles creates a very different sort of sculpture.  I was captivated; especially by his wooden figures of women. They are sensuous and elegant in the extreme.

 

Matt Lamb contributed paintings that were chunky and vibrant.  Meghan Sisko's Blue Car and Wall, Havana gave me butterflies with its delicious blues and greens.  Bill Starkes and Bruce Peebles made us laugh with their whimsical bronzes, Trojan Horse and Flying Pregnant Woman.  Jean Larson creates deceptively simple paintings invested with loads of character and exquisite little details you must linger and look for.  Jake and I enjoyed mining these treasures.  Gail Wegodsky perplexed us with Untitled.  This sweet painting of a little girl playing in a forest stream is at once almost photographic in its realism, yet deeply textured in fanciful layers of color and design.  Mark Carson English whisked me back to the bright colored lights of Montmartre with Party at Moulin Rouge.  His colorful works fairly pulse with energy.

If you live in the Nashville area, you have one more day to visit Belle Luce to see this extraordinary home and these exceptional works of art.  They will be open tomorrow from 11:00am until 6:00pm.  Proceeds from admission go to New Hope Academy, a private school committed to educating children from a variety of ethnic, racial, and socioeconomic backgrounds.  You do NOT want to miss this.  It is a remarkable opportunity.  All five Mullicans, aged 12, 15, 17, and 40 something LOVED it.  Kelsey took even more photographs than I did.  Incidentally, Belle Luce is for sale in the event that you have a very deep pocketbook.  If not, dreaming is completely free. :) 

Artworks in the post:

Hand of God, Pierre Auguste Rodin
The Becoming, Bruce Peebles
figure from The Daughters of Odessa, Frederick Hart
Untitled, Gail Wegodsky
Party at Moulin Rouge, Mark Carson English

 

More photos HERE.

A Letter...

 
The River Merchant's Wife: A Letter
by Ezra Pound after a poem by Li Po

While my hair was still cut straight across my forehead
I played about the front gate, pulling flowers.
You came by on bamboo stilts, playing horse,
You walked about my seat, playing with blue plums.
And we went on living in the village of Chokan:
Two small people, without dislike or suspicion.

At fourteen I married My Lord you.
I never laughed, being bashful.
Lowering my head, I looked at the wall.
Called to, a thousand times, I never looked back.

At fifteen I stopped scowling,
I desired my dust to be mingled with yours
Forever and forever and forever.
Why should I climb the lookout?

At sixteen you departed,
You went into far Ku-to-en, by the river of swirling eddies,
And you have been gone five months.
The monkeys make sorrowful noise overhead.

You dragged your feet when you went out.
By the gate now, the moss is grown, the different mosses,
Too deep to clear them away!
The leaves fall early this autumn, in wind.
The paired butterflies are already yellow with August
Over the grass in the West garden;
They hurt me. I grow older.
If you are coming down through the narrows of the river Kiang,
Please let me know beforehand,
And I will come out to meet you
As far as Cho-fo-Sa.

Painting by Julian Schnabel

Fasten Your Seatbelts, Kids. It's Gonna Be a Bumpy Ride.

Advisory to the newborn:

"Welcome to the post-umbilical cord world.  Be advised, however, that human life has been known, in most cases, to result in death.  Some individuals have reported experiences with lethal viruses, chemical agents, and/or bloodthirsty terrorists.  Birth can also result in fatal encounters with tsunamis, inebriated pilots, road rage, famine, nuclear disaster, and/or PMS..."

This world is a scary place, and by some accounts getting scarier by the day.  How do we cope?  Max Lucado uses his masterful storytelling, his keen ability to help us hear scripture as if it were brand new, and his own experiences with fear to help us wrestle with this question in Fearless.  No matter what it is that keeps you up at night or agitates your stomach by day, you will find wisdom and hope here.

Here are some of the words and ideas I found most compelling:

Do you fear for your children...separation from them, mistreatment, suffering, exploitation? God had to endure the same for His own Son. He understands. "Pour out your heart like water before the face of the Lord.  Lift your hands toward Him for the life of your young children." ~Lamentations 2:19

Can you imagine churches as places "where fear can be verbalized...an escape from the 'wordless darkness' of suppressed frights...where we pierce [fears] through with Scripture, psalms of celebration and lament"?

Do you doubt God?  Follow the examples in Luke 24. Touch Him...by mingling with His church...and rehearse his stories.

Finally, take the long view.  "Certain chapters in this life seem so unnecessary...Suffering.  Loneliness.  Disease.  Holocausts...If we assume this world exists just for pregrave happiness, these atrocities disqualify it from doing so.  But what if this earth is the womb?"

"These little troubles are getting us ready for an eternal glory that will make all our troubles seem like nothing."  II Cor. 4:17

Of Baubles, and High Heels, and Being a Girl...

I LOVE being a girl!!  Oh sure, there have been times when I have thought, just for a moment, that there might be something to that whole boy thing, but most of those have had to do with less than ideal bathroom situations and thinking that alternate plumbing might be convenient.  I'm pretty tough.  I don't mind working hard and getting dirty.  And, I am frequently the one who dispatches scary insects and/or mice in our house.  BUT, give me a china teacup with porcelain so delicate it's almost translucent, french lace and entredeux on cotton lawn, rose water, lavender soap, or a skirt with bells, and I am undone.

When I was a little girl, my cousin Vonda and I loved to play in our attic.  Mostly because my mom had two old bridesmaid dresses stored up there along with matching high-heeled shoes.  As a general rule, Vonda wore the sage and I wore the pink polka dots.  I hardly remember anything we played up there, only the dresses...and the shoes.  I remember the feel of the fabric, the crinkle of the satin, and my first taste of elegance.

Today I am a runner chick who is very serious about taking care of my feet.  And still, I can not surrender my heels.  I don't wear them often, but I have to tell you that every time I put them on there is something of that little girl in the attic still in me.  I walk differently.  It adds far more to me than two or three inches.  And fabrics matter.  The liquid grace of silk, the rustle of taffeta that says "This moment matters.", delicate lace, luscious cashmere, decadent velvet, even a hearty wool: all have the power to enchant.


One of my regular jobs growing up was to polish the furniture.  I always did a commercial illustrating to my audience the remarkable transformation Lemon Pledge brought to the bookshelves, the end tables, and such.  I always opened the jar that held my dad's pipe tobacco and inhaled deeply.  And, I ALWAYS put on my mom's necklace of glass beads.  It was a magic string of prisms, refracting light into all the colors of the rainbow.  I put them on as soon as I walked into her bedroom and wore them until I was done.  I would stop frequently to look at myself in the long mirrors that stood on her dresser.  So far as I was concerned, no queen owned anything more beautiful than those glass beads.

This fall, stores are filled with beads.  I got so distracted looking at them last week, I was late picking up my son from school.  I took him home, and went back to keep looking.  Honestly, I have been collecting beads for years, even when they were not all the rage.  They are truly baubles...not expensive in the least.  But price means so very little when it comes to magic.  I put them on while I am getting ready and I catch myself in the mirror...smiling.  There is a little window they open inside me...a window that lets light, and air, and a giggly little girl inside.  I can't not be happy.

The same day I got lost in the beads, I tried on a dress.  If you are a girl you know that some dresses fit; some dresses don't fit; but some dresses...and they are precious few...some dresses transform.  You look at yourself in the mirror and you can't believe the person you see is you.  The dress I tried on is a simple brown wool dress with a delicious beaded and embroidered bodice.  It ties in the back with cords of violet and magenta that end in pewter beads and tassels.  It is quintessential Bohemian which, better than anything, defines my own personal style.  It is a lovely dress.  It fits beautifully.  But, the reaction I had to it was all out of proportion.  Tears.  From nowhere.  Why?

Middle school was one of the darkest periods of my life.  My battle with acne began when I was nine.  I had a profound overbite AND my teeth were terribly crooked.  I never smiled with my mouth open.  If I laughed, I covered my mouth with my hand.  Oh, and I was 5'8" in the sixth grade...taller than any of my classmates, including the boys.  We took a field trip to the zoo that year.  When we arrived at the giraffe exhibit, one of the cutest boys in our class said ":Hey, there's Shelia's family!"  "Giraffe" would be my nickname for two years.  I was smart.  I had friends.  But I NEVER felt pretty any more.  Ever.

And then, my mom made me a dress.  When I was growing up, my mom made most of my clothes, a practice I continued well into my married life.  This dress was pink with a fitted bodice and embroidered trim.  It had a belt that tied in the back.  I don't know how to explain it, but when I put this dress on, something happened to me.  I felt prettier than I was.  For a while.

The new dress is brown, the old one was pink.  Both have embroidered trim.  Both have a fitted bodice.  Both tie in the back.  And, because of some inexplicable link that I can't fully explain, both make me feel prettier than I am.  I bought the dress.  If you see it, it might mean nothing to you.  But, it means everything to me.

I LOVE being a girl!!  I love the perfume, the dresses, the heels, the beads.  I love that, though I am very capable of opening a door for myself, sometimes a man opens it for me...just because...I am a lady.  I love girl smells.  I love girlie luncheons with finger foods and china and lace and silver and crystal.  I love giggles.  I love sleepovers.  And, God help me, I am infatuated with ruffles.  I especially love the women who live life closely with me.  I don't understand how they know me, REALLY know me, good and bad, beautiful and oh-so-ugly, and love me anyway.  But I am deeply grateful that they do. 

Mystery, complexity, femininity.  Baubles, heels, lace.  Giggles, confidants, friends.  Ladies, women, girls.  Thank you for counting me among your number.

I love YOU.  And, I LOVE being a girl!!! 

Rain and the Rhinoceros...

Thoughts for a rainy day by Thomas Merton:

Let me say this before rain becomes a utility that they can plan and distribute for money. By “they” I mean the people who cannot understand that rain is a festival, who do not appreciate its gratuity, who think that what has no price has no value, that what cannot be sold is not real, so that the only way to make something actual is to place it on the market. The time will come when they will sell you even your rain. At the moment it is still free, and I am in it. I celebrate its gratuity and its meaninglessness.
 
    The rain I am in is not like the rain of cities. It fills the woods with an immense and confused sound. It covers the flat roof of the cabin and porch with insistent and controlled rhythms. And I listen, because it reminds me again and again that the whole world runs by rhythms I have not yet learned to recognize, rhythms that are not those of the engineer.

    I came up here from the monastery last night, sloshing through the cornfield, said Vespers, and put some oatmeal on the Coleman stove for supper. It boiled over while I was listening to the rain and toasting a piece of bread at the log fire. The night became very dark. The rain surrounded the whole cabin with its enormous virginal myth, a whole world of meaning, of secrecy, of silence, of rumor. Think of it: all that speech pouring down, selling nothing, judging nobody, drenching the thick mulch of dead leaves, soaking the trees, filling the gullies and crannies of the wood with water, washing out the places where men have stripped the hillside! What a thing it is to sit absolutely alone, in the forest, at night, cherished by this wonderful, unintelligible, perfectly innocent speech, the most comforting speech in the world, the talk that rain makes by itself all over the ridges, and the talk of the watercourses everywhere in the hollows!

Click here to keep reading "Rain and the Rhinoceros".

Incorporated in His Incarnation...

The words of Thomas Merton have nourished and challenged me this summer as I have repeatedly read through a Book of Hours composed of his writings.  I became intrigued by him and wanted to know more about his story.  How did he become the man who could write those words to God and about God; who could see what he saw?  I am reading his autobiography, The Seven Storey Mountain.  It is a fascinating story of travel and art, philosophy and intellect, joy and loss, and throughout all a pervading sense that something essential is missing. 

Because he is writing with the advantage of hindsight, he points out to us moments and experiences in which he can now see that God was wooing him.  I watch the circuitous road that he travels before finally allowing himself to be apprehended by God, and I hear his poetry.  I hear Agonistes wrestling with God; wanting to surrender; wanting to want to surrender.  These words have been some of those that most resonated with me.

Yesterday, I sat at a table outside my favorite pub on a cool, pristine pre-fall morning and read the delightful account of his baptism and first communion.  It was so beautiful, I read it twice.  I excerpt here a portion of his words with the hope of inviting you to reflect on your own intercourse with heaven and tantalizing you to take your own journey with Merton up the Seven Storey Mountain.


"The sky was bright and cold.  The river glittered like steel. There was a clean wind in the street.  It was one of those fall days full of life and triumph, made for great beginnings, and yet I was not altogether exalted: for there were still in my mind these vague, half animal apprehensions about the externals of what was to happen in the church--would my mouth be so dry that I could not swallow the Host?  If that happened, what would I do? I did not know..."

"In a triple vow I renounced Satan and his pomps and his works.

Dost thou believe in God the Father almighty, Creator of heaven and earth?"
"Credo!"
"Dost thou believe in Jesus Christ His only Son, Who was born, and suffered?"
"Credo!"
Dost thou believe in the Holy Spirit, in the Holy Catholic Church, the Communion of the saints, the resurrection of the body and eternal life?"
"Credo!"

"What mountains were falling from my shoulders!  What scales of dark night were peeling off my intellect, to let in the inward vision of God and His truth!..."

"Father Moore turned around and made a big cross in absolution, and held up the little host. 'Behold the lamb of God: Behold Him who taketh away the sins of the world.'

"And my First Communion began to come towards me, down the steps.  I was the only one at the altar rail.  Heaven was entirely mine--that Heaven in which sharing makes no division or diminution.  But this solitariness was a kind of reminder of the singleness with which this Christ, hidden in the small Host, was giving Himself for me, and to me, with Himself, the entire Godhead and Trinity--a great new increase of the power and grasp of their indwelling that had begun only a few minutes before at the font..."

"In the temple of God that I had just become, the One Eternal and Pure Sacrifice was offered up to the God dwelling in me: the sacrifice of God to God, and me sacrificed together with God, incorporated in His Incarnation.  Christ born in me, a new Bethlehem, and sacrificed in me, His new Calvary, and risen in me: offering me to the Father, in Himself, asking the Father, my Father and His, to receive me into His infinite and special love--not the love He has for all things that exist--for mere existence is a token of God's love, but the love of those creatures who are drawn to Him in and with the power of His own love for Himself.

"For now I had entered into the everlasting movement of that gravitation which is the very life and spirit of God: God's own gravitation towards the depths of His own infinite nature, His goodness without end.  And God, that center Who is everywhere, and whose circumference is nowhere, finding me, through incorporation with Christ, incorporated into this immense and tremendous gravitational movement which is love, which is the Holy Spirit, loved me.

"And He called out to me from His own immense depths."

The Outsiders: Listening Notes...

 

Part alternative, part classic southern rock; compared to Kings of Leon AND Lynard Skynard; in the end, NeedToBreathe makes their own way.  Their new album, The Outsiders, is my current running inspiration.  Compelling lyrics, Bear Rinehart's gritty vocals, and superb musicianship all round make this a feast for the ears and for the soul.  The driving rhythms and passionate delivery are great motivation on the run.  And maybe, just maybe, I love that a guitar driven beast of a rockband still makes room for some sweet, hot piano licks.

There is not a wasted cut on the album, but I definitely have favorites.  Here are my listening notes on those.  Give them a listen.  And...you're welcome. :)

The Outsiders:  The title track opens with banjo and handclaps eventually ornamented with delicate piano octaves.  By the second verse, everyone piles in for a rollicking rockabilly fest.  The lyrics ask why we try so hard to prove ourselves and encourage us to embrace the freedom to be found on the "outside".  The quiet interlude that closes the tune reminds me of the sweet harmonies on Paul Simon's Graceland album.

Through Smoke:  This song about finding truth in the midst of confusion is appropriately uncluttered in terms of instrumentation.  A driving drum pattern keeps the song moving without interfering with the harmonies.  "When the answers and the truth have cut their ties, will You still find me?"

Lay 'Em Down: The first single is a gospel inspired invitation to rest.  "If you're lost and lonely and broken down, bring all your troubles and lay them down."  But not only that, "All you rich men and high above, all those with and without love...bring all your troubles and come lay 'em down."  Because "We're all tied to the same old failings, finding shelter in things we know, We all are dirty like corrupted small towns. We'll bring all our troubles and lay 'em down."

Stones Under Rushing Water:  This tender ballad is a gorgeous invitation to be fully present; to embrace each moment and drink in all that it offers.  Nicklecreek's Sara Watkins joins Rinehart in lush harmonies so beautiful they almost hurt.  "The years go by like stones under rushing water. We only know when it's gone..."

Won't Turn Back:  Spare instrumentation on the verses with just banjo, mandolin and delicate piano make for a nice change of pace in this song about keeping faith.

Girl Named Tennessee: Yeah, this one is just fun.  Classic southern rock.  I've rolled down many an East Tennessee gravel road with the windows open listening to music very like this.

Something Beautiful:  This is the first of two consecutive songs of surrender.  This one is a vigorous plea to see wonder and beauty.  "...this is my desire, consume me like a fire, cause I just want something beautiful."

Garden:  This progression almost reminds me of the quiet that follows a child's tantrum.  After the vibrant pleading of the previous song...quiet.  The lush, sensitive string opening stills the heart and a gentle voice prays a poetic revision of "Now I lay me down to sleep."

"Won't You take this cup from me? 
Cause fear has stolen all my sleep. 
If tomorrow means my death,
Pray You'll save their souls with it. 
Let the songs I sing bring joy to You. 
Let the words I say profess my love. 
Let the notes I choose be your favorite tune. 
Father let my heart be after You".

Let Us Love:  The album closes with a rock anthem compelling us to live up to our call to love extravagantly.  I couldn't help but think of the sharp contrast with John Mayer's "Waiting for the World to Change".  "Waiting..." seems to say this generation has been handed a world that is unfriendly and we don't know what to do about that.  So we wait for it to become different, then we can be who we are supposed to be.  "Let Us Love" says we've been called to "embrace but not accept" the world we live in.  It says "Your sorrow can't save you. It won't answer for what you've done."  Wherever we are, whoever we are with, we can love "like we were children"...extravagantly, without reservation, no qualifications needed, no one left out.

 

Barefoot Revolution...First Steps

 

When I was a kid, I was allowed to go barefoot outside after May 1st.  Sometimes I cheated that a little, but that was the official family policy.  From then til school resumed in August, I usually only put shoes on to go to church or to town.  I looked forward to the point each summer when my feet were calloused enough to run across our gravel drive without hurting.  It cost me a few bee stings from the clover in our yard.  But, I can still feel the sensation of running across dew chilled grass in the early morning, or warm, soft earth behind the tractor in the garden.  I can feel pine needles in the woods, moss covered rocks in the creek, and the impressions made by my bicycle pedals.  And then...I grew up...

The book Born to Run rocked my world a little.  It made me re-evaluate almost everything I had read and heard about running.  I have been blessed to run without injury, but I was still intrigued by the idea that there is a more natural approach, lighter, more free.  As a girl who lives in flip-flops, and kicks those off as soon as I walk in the door, the idea of running barefoot has a great deal of appeal to me.

So, earlier this week I took the plunge and bought a pair of those funny looking Vibram Five Finger shoes and prayed that I would like them as much as I thought I would.  I was a little afraid that I would miss the cushioning, or that having all that stuff between my toes would drive me crazy.  Today I took them out for the first time.

As I began to run, I realized my heel was never touching the ground.  I seemed to be running on tiptoes.  I felt like a dancer...like a feather...like I was floating my way round the track.  I kept waiting for the balls of my feet or my toes to start hurting.  It never happened.  My feet felt great from start to finish.  Where I did begin to feel the exertion from this new way of running was in my calves.  But, it was the healthy kind of pain that told me I would soon be strengthening a part of my body that has been neglected.  The screaming calves did make it easier for me to discipline myself and take a break after 2 miles. 

I stopped and changed into my favorite running shoes.  My FORMER favorite running shoes.  When I put them on they felt heavy and hot.  My toes felt quished.  Although my body immediately tried to mimick the stride I had been using in the Vibrams, it was very nearly impossible.  I felt like I had a wedge under my heel; a wedge that fairly forced me to heel strike.  After two miles, I stretched my calves a bit and put the Vibrams back on for the last mile.  Suddenly I felt light and fast again. 

I confess that when I bought the Vibrams, I bought them strictly as trainers to strengthen my feet and legs and to improve my technique.  I honestly could not imagine doing 26.2 miles on asphalt in something so flimsy.  But today I began to dream...  I began to imagine floating for mile after mile after mile...

It's early yet.  We'll see.  I am hoping I can adjust soon enough to wear them for the Franklin Classic in a week and a half.  That might be a bit ambitious.  Bit by bit.  One step at a time...

An August Harvest...of Words

In the late 1870's, George MacDonald commenced a year-long poetic conversation with God; questions and wrestlings, proclamations of devotion and surrender, declarations of love.  All have been captured in The Diary of an Old Soul.  I have been reading from it nearly every day for the past two months.  Sometimes bewildering, frequently provocative, all entries reflect rich wordcraft...and the musings and reflections of an "old soul" who has walked for a long time with his Lord and no longer has anything to hide.  Here are three stanzas from August that I found particularly compelling.

 
Keep me, Lord, with thee. I call out from the dark--
Hear in thy light, of which I am a spark.
I know not what is mine and what is thine--
Of branch and stem I miss the differing mark--
But if a mere hair's-breadth me separateth,
That hair's-breadth is eternal, infinite death.
For sap thy dead branch calls, O Living Vine!

O Father, thou art my eternity.
Not on the clasp of conciousness--on thee
My life depends; and I can well afford
All to forget, so thou remember, Lord.
In thee I rest; in sleep thou dost me fold;
In thee I labor; still in thee, grow old;
And dying, shall I not in thee, my Life, be bold?

Well my this body poorer, feebler grow!
It is undressing for its last, sweet bed;
But why should the soul, which death shall never know,
Authority, and power, and memory shed?
It is that love with absolute faith would wed;
God takes the inmost garments off his child,
To have him in his arms, naked and undefiled.

 

 

Du Siehst, Ich Will Viel

You see, I want a lot.
Maybe I want it all:
the darkness of each endless fall,
the shimmering light of each ascent.

So many are alive who don't seem to care.
Casual, easy, they move in the world
as though untouched.

But you take pleasure in the faces
of those who know they thirst.
You cherish those
who grip you for survival.

You are not dead yet, it's not too late
to open your depths by plunging into them
and drink in the life
that reveals itself quietly there.

Rainer Maria Rilke

The Next Big Thing.....

  

I LOVE running.  It hasn't always been that way.  I made two other attempts earlier in my life to take up running and failed both times.  So why did it stick this time around? 

I think the most important factor was that I was fortunate enough to learn about the Galloway method.  I have written about this here before.  The idea is that you run for an interval, perhaps just 2 or 3 minutes in the beginning, then more like 6 or 7 later on.  Then you walk for a minute.  This breaks even the longest run, say, I don't know, 26.2 miles, into manageable bites.  I only ever have to run for the next 7 minutes.  Then, I start all over again.  This is why I didn't quit.  This is why 2 miles became 3, then 7 then 13.1, and finally 26.2.

On any given run, I choose to run the first couple of miles.  I don't necessarily want to run them, unless there have been several days between runs or perhaps it is just one of those tailor made for running kind of days.  Almost every time I make myself run the first 2...because I know what will happen.  Right about the time I commence the 3rd mile I will remember why I love running.  I suppose that is where the endorphins kick in for me.  At that moment I feel like I could run for the rest of my life.  It is all I want to do.  But, I would have never found that out if I had not persisted past the first 2 miles.

It seems to me that after every running event, I have to ask all the questions again.  Why do I do this?  Am I done?  What is next?  Unless God takes my legs from me, I will probably run for the rest of my life.  I would do that even if there was never another "event".  But, I do believe it is healthy to have a goal to work toward.  I know I will ask more of myself if I am working toward something.  So, what is the next big thing?

If you have been with me since January, you probably know part of the answer to that.  I am already registered for the Disney Marathon on January 10, 2010.  The Disney parks hold a very special place in my heart.  We have been there several times with our own children, watching them encounter much loved characters and experiences at different stages of their lives.  We also had a once in a life-time trip there with Tucker just one month before the stroke that changed his little life forever.  Running through each of the parks will carry a whilrwind of memory and of magic.

The other goal, and here I hesitate, is a bit more ambitious.  I mentioned to someone early on in the Pikes Peak Ascent that I kind of wished I had not told so many people I was doing it just in case I didn't make it.  But, the truth is, intimidation is a very effective mode of motivation for me.  Therefore, I share with all of you this crazy dream that is whirling round in my mind.  I will turn 45 just one month before the 2011 running of the Boston Marathon.  This will make my qualifying time 4:00 hours.  I have from September of this year until probably late next fall to qualify.  SInce I ran my first marathon ever in 4:19 it does not seem altogether unreasonable.  It will require some serious work.  Up till now speed has not been very important to me.  I have NEVER done speed drills of any sort. 

I feel like I have a great little window here.  The speaker at the dinner before Pikes Peak said that any event reflects the training of the past 4 years.  Given that I have only been running for 3 years, I have never fully exploited this.  But by next summer, I will have 4 years under my belt.  I am reading about speed drills.  I have been to try on the Vibram Five Fingers which I have an idea will be an important part of my training.  Can I qualify at Disney?  I don't know.  It is a Boston Certified event and there are qualifiers from the event every year, but it is not one of the faster courses.  So, I am also looking into those.  I am picking out a couple of fast events for next year.

Why the Boston mystique?  I don't know.  But it is like a right of passage.  And I feel like I owe it to myself to give it a shot.  Down the road, I dream of perhaps an ultra event at a slightly more relaxed pace.  But, for now, life will be about speed...at least with regard to running. 

I have all my long runs on the calendar for Disney.  I go to sleep dreaming of little medals with mouse ears. :)  Wish me luck.  

Rocky Mountain High...

 

 

There is not a flower that opens, not a seed that falls into the ground, and not an
ear of wheat that nods on the end of its stalk in the wind that does not preach
and proclaim the greatness and the mercy of God to the whole world...

 

 

There is not an act of kindness or generosity, not an act of sacrifice done, or a
word of peace and gentleness spoken, not a child's prayer uttered, that does
not sing hymns to God before His throne, and in the eyes of men and before
their faces...

 

  

We refuse to hear the million different voices through which God speaks to us,
and every refusal hardens us more and more against His grace--

and yet

He continues to speak.......

 

Words of Thomas Merton in The Seven Storey Mountain
Photographs Taken at Garden of the Gods and Pikes Peak, CO
More Colorado Photos HERE.

Romancing the Mountain...

 

He has beckoned to me since I arrived on Thursday.  There are few places in Manitou Springs or Colorado Springs where you do not see Pikes Peak looming larger than life above all the surrounding mountains.  Today, we danced.  It was a marvelous adventure...challenging, exhilerating, and breathtaking.  Just as no photograph I have taken can begin to capture the majesty of the mountain, it is impossible to accurately convey all that today meant to me.  However, I share here glimpses, snapshots if you will, impressions...

It takes a village... Perhaps it is the fear that binds us.  Perhaps it is the sense of adventure.  But, I am coming to believe more and more, as Christopher McDougall asserted in Born to Run, that people who run, and climb, and challenge themselves physically tend to be, by in large, people of goodwill.  I saw it over and over today.  Words of encouragement.  Conversations with complete strangers.  I met a gentleman who has waited 20 years to run this race.  For most of the golden stairs, I followed a man whose skin hung like draperies on his legs.  He was moving slowly by that point, but he was moving.  For a long time none of us could bring ourselves to pass him.  It was a point of honor, I think.  I heard them announce his name as he crossed the finish line just a few minutes after me.  He is 72!  Oh, and over 800 volunteers hauled gatorade and snacks up a mountain to feed us.  Some of them were in areas so remote they had to spend the night.  Emergency personnel, organizers, boy scouts, too many to count.  THANK YOU!!  Thank you ALL.

 

How MARVELOUS are Thy works, O Lord... Where do I begin?  Silver trunked aspens with their black limbs, and leaves of verdigris that shimmer and whisper in the wind.The strong, wild, acidic scent of evergreen.  A cerulean sky of a hue so vibrant and clean that I wanted to weep when I saw it framed by green boughs and red stone.  Wildflowers.  Purple asters and Canterbury bells, rich ochre black-eyed susans, pristine Queen Ann's lace, and red coral bells filled the highland meadows.  Most striking of all were the alpine blossoms that nestled within the rocks in places where trees refuse to grow.  Astonishing delicacy in such an arid, austere place.  Standing on the side of the mountain with vast expanses of earth beneath us, I couldn't help but wonder what God thought as I revelled in His wondrous creation.  I thought of surprises I have prepared for my children and how happy it makes me when they love it just as I thought they would.  I hope He enjoyed me enjoying Him.  

Nothing seasons a meal like a hearty appetite... I know I am misquoting this, nor do I recall who said it, but I had an interesting intersection with the concept today.  Who knew I was so crazy about chex mix?  And, the grapes I was given at a mile and a half short of the summit were the best I had ever eaten.  But, the most intriguing experience involved Jelly Belly jelly beans.  Lots of runners use jelly beans because they transport easily and are quick sugar sources.  I am just not a big fan.  But today I found myself tumbled into some sort of Willy Wonka vortex.  Do you remember the gum he made that contained a whole meal? I grabbed a handful of jelly beans at an aid station and popped the first in my mouth without even looking at it.  Cappuchino, nice and frothy.  I almost stopped right there on the spot from the surprise of it.  So, I tried a white one: buttercream frosting. Mmmm.  The pink one with white spots was fresh strawberries and thick cream.  And when I selected purple, I was standing under my dad's arbor sucking the sweet nectar from Concord grapes.  Interesting.

I train hard and try to make wise choices about what I put in my body.  But, I know that health is a gift.  I am immensely grateful to have had the ability to run, walk, and stand in a place of such greatness and beauty today.  It is a satisfying accomplishment to have made the summit and truthfully, I will probably be wearing the finisher's jacket to bed for a couple of nights. :)  But, more than anything, I am humbled and filled with gratitude.  For YOUR glory, Father...

Summer Reading List...

On the porch during several rainstorms, aboard the deck of a great ship plowing the Pacific ocean, in a lantern lit mud hut in Africa, at a table on the sidewalk at McCreary's, on planes and in airports and even on runs...these are a few of the places where I have curled up with a good book this summer.  A cathedral in medieval Europe, an ashram in India, lively, indulgent Italy, sultry, enigmatic Indonesia, a channel island during World War II, the Copper Canyon of the Tarahumara, Leadville, Badwater, and inside my own heart...these are some of the places they have taken me.  As we return to school this week, I look back with fondness upon my summer companions.

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society combines several favorite motifs:  engaging stories, a true historical context, and quirky, likeable characters.  Thoughts

E. Nesbit's books kept popping up as favorites amongst some of my own favorite authors; writers as diverse as C.S. Lewis, Ursula LeGuin, and J.K. Rowling all admired this 19th century spinner of myth and fairy tale.  So, I ran the deck of a cruise ship with Five Children and It in my ears.  The children who are summering in the country discover a sand fairy in the gravel pits whilst digging a hole to China.  It turns out the sand fairy can grant wishes, one each day.  The children have great rolicking adventures as well as terrifying mishaps as no wish ever comes out precisely as they think it will.  Ms. Nesbit has an endearing way of talking to the reader in a most confidential tone from time to time of things that she is quite sure, of course, we already understand.  I look forward to delving deeper into her repertoire, but this time I will be taking Joshua along with me.  I have an idea he will eat it up.

"We are sent into this world for a short time to say--through the joys and pains of our clock-time--the great 'Yes' to the love that has been given to us and in so doing return to the One who sent us with that 'Yes' engraved on our hearts.  Our death thus becomes our moment of return.  But our death can be this only if our whole life has been a journey back to the One from whom we came and who calls us the Beloved."  These are the words of Henri M. Nouwen in his beautifully nourishing book, Life of the Beloved.  It is like cool water.  You can read my thoughts about it HERE. 

In Eat, Pray, Love, Elizabeth Gilbert takes us with her on a year-long voyage of discovery, a "search for everything across Italy, India, and Indonesia". Four months and 36 chapters in each of the three countries.  You will have to read the book to fully understand the spiritual significance of these numbers.  Put in the simplest of terms, she learns about pleasure, vivacity, and delight (la dolce vita) in Italy; simplicity, introspection, and the divine in India; and balance, perspective, and love in Indonesia.  Along the way there is laughter and sorrow, friendship and loss, tragedy and great joy.  And stories.  Wonderful stories.

In a Pit With a Lion on a Snowy Day is built around a rather obscure story of a young man named Benaiah who eventually will be part of David's inner circle.  "Benaiah chased a lion down into a pit.  Then, despite the snow and slippery ground, he caught the lion and killed it."  The author challenges us to be lion chasers...to not let fear come between us and that which God has for us.  Inspiring read.

Windows of the Soul is a celebration of moments of transcendance...those moments when we catch a glimpse of the world beyond...like looking through a window.  The book is a treasure trove of beauty, of poetry, and of story.  HIGHLY recommended.  More HERE.

I began reading C.S. Lewis's space trilogy last summer in Oxford.  I was told by friends there that the third book was very unlike the first two.  They were right.  That Hideous Strength doesn't leave the planet for one thing.  It also is darker and more desperate.  But as always, C.S. Lewis provokes us to look deeper...to ask uncomfortable questions...questions that will help us understand ourselves...and questions that will help us to see God.  Riveting, disquieting, and very important work.

My Tuesday morning friends and I spent several months crawling through Meletios Webber's Bread & Water, Wine & Oil.  It provides great fodder for discussion and gives a user friendly introduction to a number of key aspects of Orthodoxy.  One of the most helpful challenges he issues is to live in our hearts and not in our minds.  Our minds can be controlling, selfish, demanding.  Our hearts are where we learn to linger, to reflect and to love  If you desire to understand more about the Orthodox understanding of man and of communion with God, you will find Archimandrite Webber a most hospitable guide.

I found Ursula K. Leguin's Wizard of Earthsea beautifully written and deeply profound.  So I was intrigued to find the collection of essays, The Wave in the Mind.  I was not disappointed.  She discusses topics as diverse as being "taken for granite", to Indian uncles, to rythmic patterns, beauty and feet.  But my favorites were the essays about the craft of writing.  I find it fascinating to be given a glimpse inside the process of creation, wherever it happens.  Ms. LeGuin is incisive, clever, and terrifically profound.  Reading her essays is pleasurable, edifying and inspiring.

Ronald Rolheiser's The Shattered Lantern is challenging and provocative.  It opens with Nietzche's famous quote, "God is dead and we are his murderers."  The author asserts that most of us who would say we do not believe this live as though we do.  We have exponged every trace of God from our lives.  Rolheiser exhorts us to become contemplatives, living in perpetual awareness of the Presence of God filling all things.  It is a powerful book.  I must admit to being somewhat distracted by poor editing.  I am frustrated that such beautiful and intelligent writing has been sullied by inadequate review.  But, it is certainly worth wading through that for the treasure hidden in these pages.  Highly recommended.

Born to Run combines incredible characters, tenacity and joie de vivre, and great storytelling with startling and unexpected advice about running.  I loved this book.  My review HERE.

I wrote my response to the captivating book, The Pillars of the Earth just a few days ago.  You can read it HERE.

I have spent many delightful hours this summer inside Thomas Merton's Book of Hours.  The works were actually compiled into this form by Kathleen Deignan, but the writing is all Merton.  I have found in him a kindred spirit; a lover of beauty and silence, one who longs to be wholly surrendered but is terrified of the prospect.  His words are lovely, his spirit winsome, his devotion compelling.  I have found him a true friend.  He will go with me into the fall.  I cannot leave him.

In a marvelouly poetic turn, the last book I read this summer turned out to be my favorite.  In fact, there is so much I want to say about it that I refuse to relegate it to a spot on a list.  A full review coming soon.......     

A Virtuous Woman, Who Can Find?

 

Shortly after I met Mike, I learned there was an "other woman" in his life.  I could tell by the light in his eyes when he spoke about her that she was very special.  Was she pretty?  Yes.  The silver streaks in her soft, curly gray locks provided the perfect foil for brilliant blue eyes.  Her cheeks were always flushed, especially when she wore her signature color--RED.  But the real reason you could hardly take your eyes off her was this illumination from within.  She was truly radiant.  And I could easily see why she was my husband's first sweetheart.

I met her after she had surrendered her Firebird for a sensible sedan, but Mike definitely remembered it.  She talked to the kids about it just a couple of weeks ago.  "Children, this is a terrible thing for your Mamaw to admit.  But, I couldn't stand for anybody to pass me. If somebody pulled up next to me at a light, I said to myself 'they won't get past me'."  She is my children's hero.

She already was.

She was one of the few people I have ever known who did not leave things unsaid.  I never remember being in her presence when she did not tell me she loved me...that she was grateful for my presence in her life.  She saw things in Mike, in me, and in our children.  She was a noticer.  And she spoke those things over us.  I saw her do it with all the grandchildren, greatgrandchildren, nieces and nephews.  Everyone who knew her was devoted to her.  Perhaps this is why.

She was a giver.  Mike lived with her for about three months before we were married.  She fretted about him leaving for work without breakfast, so she started bringing him breakfast in bed.  When Mike's cousin Stacey went through a Laura Ingalls Wilder phase, she made prairie dresses and bonnets so Stacey could live her dreams. 

She loved beauty.  She loved her husband.  She loved children.  She loved family.  But more than anything else, she loved God.  For as long as I have known her she has talked about how much she longed to be with Him in heaven.  And as her recent birthdays passed, 91, 92, 93, you could see her excitement grow as she knew it could be any day.  On Monday evening, her fondest wish was granted.

It has been interesting watching my children walk this whole experience.  We have had sweet visits with her over the past few weeks.  Kelsey sat with her and showed her pictures of Malawi and, Mamaw was able to go there with her.  Mamaw reminded Jake how Papaw used say "There's my boy," when he saw Jake.  We treasured each moment, but we were all swept up in her longing.  Joshua would talk about it as if she were going on holiday.  "Mamaw must be so excited!" he would say.  This was Kelsey's twitter on Tuesday morning:  "My great grandmother has gone to be with the Lord, and I'm SO happy for her! 1 Corinthians 15:40-44. Further up and further in, Mammaw! :)"

Thank you, Mamaw, for loving Mike so well and for making magic for him as he grew up.  Thank you for embracing me and letting me be part of the family you loved so fiercely.  Thank you for letting each of my children (and their cousins) believe you loved him/her best.  Thank you for showing me what it looks like to impregnate every moment with an awareness of God and to find joy in His Presence.  May your memory be eternal.

Her children rise up and call her blessed; 
Her husband also, and he praises her: 
“ Many daughters have done well, 
But you excel them all.” 
Charm is deceitful and beauty is passing,
But a woman who fears the LORD, she shall be praised. 
Give her of the fruit of her hands, 
And let her own works praise her in the gates.

Proverbs 31:28-31 

 

Happy Birthday, Baby Elijah!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Congratulations, mom and dad!  Beautiful, Beautiful,
Beautiful, Beautiful Boy.

The Pillars of the Earth...

 

This time last year I was in England enjoying the fabulous Oxbridge
conference organized by the C.S. Lewis Foundation.  I saw
extraordinarily beautiful buildings scattered throughout both Oxford
and Cambridge.  Invariably, my favorites were the churches.

In the middle ages, one of the ways people demonstrated their
devotion to God was by constructing spectacular cathedrals for
Him.  There was a time when I, in my practical Protestantism,
found that ridiculous.  The very idea that people who could barely
feed their children would give money to build some monstrosity of
a building seemed ludicrous.  That was before I stood inside one...

I have never been able to describe the experience to my satisfaction. 
I only know that the sensory assault of soaring ceilings, sunlight
descending in sharp shafts, and brilliantly colored glass refracting
light into a million jewel tones penetrates to the very deepest part of
me.  And in that moment I am transported...into the presence...of
holiness... and I am completely in awe.  And the remarkable thing is
that, astonishingly gorgeous as the building is, I am not in awe of the
building.  It is only a conveyance of the glory, the otherness.  And I
know...I WOULD starve for this...

 

This week I took a journey deep inside one of those lovely cathedrals,
but from a very different perspective. The Pillars of the Earth follows
the construction of a cathedral.  There are a number of fascinating
characters, tales of intrigue and betrayal, violence, sacrifice, and love,
but all of these orbit around the centerpiece of the cathedral.

 

One of the most wonderful moments of the book for me comes when
Jack, a clever, talented stonecrafter and architect encounters his
first rib vaults and gothic arches in the cathedral at St. Denis.  The
wonder and exultation is so beautifully captured.  It was much like
the experience of watching my children encounter something they
have never seen before.  In one sense I could stand outside Jack.  I
had come to know him, so I knew what this moment would mean to
him.  In another sense, I myself was seeing it for the first time...with
new, innocent eyes...and I was in awe.

Photographs: Ely Cathedral, near Cambridge (1-4) 
                      and Christ Church Cathedral, Oxford (5)

 

Pikes Peak Prep: The Trails...

  

I have spent the past few Saturday mornings running the trails at
the Warner Parks in Nashville in preparation for the Pikes Peak
Ascent.  They offer some of the few places in Middle Tennessee
to get in some serious hill work.  They also are places of quiet,
serenity and great beauty.  I took my phone along this morning
for the first half of our run and snapped a few photos. To
completely inhale the beauty, you have to stand there, inhale
the scent of musty leaves on the forest floor, hear the water 
trickling over stones, surprise deer, chipmunks, and birds, and
watch the way the sunlight tiptoes through the canopy to gild
individual leaves.  Until you can go yourself, here's a little taste.

  

 

 

 

 

 

Mike thought this was a turtle climbing up a tree.  I can see that. :)

 

 

Pike's Peak Prep: Nutrition

With only two weeks to go until Pike's Peak, I thought I would give you a sneak peak into my training for the big day.  I should say that one of the things I love about running is that it is an individual sport.  Though there is a plethora of conventional wisdom, and I have found runners to be gracious and generous in sharing what works for them, each of us, in the end, makes it our own.  But, as I have benefitted greatly from hearing what works for others, I share here what works for me.  Use any of it that makes sense to you, and discard the rest.

In truth, I maintain a pretty healthy diet all the time because it matters to me what I put in my body and I love feeling healthy.  Once you've known that feeling, there are very few indulgences that are worth giving it up for.  However, as I have ramped up training for the Pike's Peak ascent, I have been making ferocious demands on my body.  I feel it only fair that I pay it back by giving it foods that are highly efficient in meeting it's nutritional needs, and that enable it to repair damage resulting from grueling long runs.  So, over the past few weeks I have dropped most of the garbage from my diet (ie: desserts, fried foods, empty calories of various sorts) and have been very purposeful about choosing foods that are potent, densely concentrated sources of nutrition and fuel.  These include the following:

Almonds:  I keep dry roasted almonds with sea salt in my car so that I always have a healthy snack within reach. They are a great source of vitamin E as well as protein. I also love them in salads and cereal. I eat them after, but not during, a run because I find them too difficult to digest during.

Sweet Potatoes:  These naturally sweet delights are outstanding sources of Vitamins A and C as well as potassium (critical for runners), manganese and copper (important for healthy muscle function).  A purist, I can be pretty happy with a plain baked sweet potato with butter and cinnamon, although I also enjoy dressing them up with a little Chinese five spice and Amarula (a caramely South African liqueur).

Whole Grain Cereal with Protein:  Kashi makes several good options as does the Ezekial 4:9 company.  Aim for at least 5 grams of fiber and 8 grams of protein per serving.  Whole grains provide a steady source of energy and protein helps with muscle repair and recovery.  I like to combine my cereal with yogurt (source of healthy bacteria and anti-inflammatory agents) or soy milk, both of which up the protein intake, berries which contribute heart healthy phytochemicals, and nuts.  This is my always and forever pre-run meal.

Black beans:  With 30% of the DV for protein, 60% of the DV for fiber, and 60% of the DV for folate (important for circulation and overall heart health), these are a delicious power house of nutrition.  They also lower cholesterol and offer a steady release of energy.  I use them in a variety of Mexican dishes.  I mix them with corn and salsa for a dip or salad.  I also frequently make a lunch of black beans over spinach leaves with pumpkin seeds, lime juice and Greek seasoning.  The spinach leaves and pumpkin seeds are exceptional sources of Magnesium which is essential in the conversion of food to energy and also contributes to heart health. 

Salmon:  It is fortunate that I love salmon because it is a fabulous source of protein and of Omega 3 fats.  These are miracle chemicals in the body addressing inflammation, heart disease, and even asthma.  We prefer it grilled. I marinate it in soy sauce, sucanat and fresh garlic or I season with generous amounts of jerk seasoning. Then I grill it about 8 minutes per inch of thickness so that it is crispy on the outside and tender and juicy inside.  I make enough so that it can be an entree for one meal and a salad or sandwich topping for another.  We usually have it at least twice a week, except during fasts.

Broccoli:  This nutritional superstar packs a wholloping 19 nutrients, from prominent vitamins to lesser known minerals, even Protein and Calcium.  Eat it raw or steamed for maximum value.  We like it steamed with salt as its only ornament.  We also like it sprinkled with lemon juice and sesame oil (Thx Kels).  We try to have it a couple of times a week.

Whole grain bread:  People who eat 100% whole grains weigh less, and have less belly fat and reduced risks for both cancer and heart disease.  That's pretty darn compelling.  I own a grain mill which allows me to use freshly milled whole grains in everything I bake: quick breads, biscuits, rolls, bread, cornbread, etc....  Because the flour is fresh, it is soft and light, but has a delicious depth that is woefully absent in white bread.  I have recently started using my homemade, wholegrain pancakes as refuel during my runs.  They are easy to digest on the run, and the whole grain flour means they provide a steady source of energy.  My recipe:  1 cup of whole grain flour, 1/2 cup cornmeal, 2 tsp baking powder, 1/2 tsp soda, 1/2 tsp salt, 1 egg, 1 1/2 cups buttermilk, 1 mashed banana, 1 TBS honey or sucanat. I usually add blueberries or chocolate chips.  I like pecans when I eat them at home, but do not use them for running refuel.  Too difficult to digest.  I also top with strawberries or bananas at home. Yum!

Berries:  Already mentioned above, berries are concentrated sources of anthocyanins, antioxidants which may fight Alzheimers and some cancers as well as assisting with post-run recovery and muscle repair.  I love them plain, on cereal, in salads, on pancakes, and on Pavlova, one of my favorite, not so very unhealthy, desserts.

Dark Chocolate:  This is one of those that seems too good to be true, and yet....dark chocolate, the only kind of chocolate that even deserves to be called chocolate in my humble estimation, contains powerful flavonols that boost heart health and lower cholesterol and blood pressure.  It also eases inflammation, important to runners.  I like it most with raspberries, but I also like it plain, or with nuts, or in a house, or with a mouse, or in a box, or with a fox.......

Green Tea:  Green tea contains catechins which fight heart disease and cancer, reduce muscle damage, and speed recovery.  I usually drink it after and between runs, though I sometimes take it with me to the gym.  I always, ALWAYS drink it unsweetened.  And, though I prefer a steaming cup in the winter, Kelsey and I have kept a pitcher of iced green tea in the fridge almost all summer.  Our current fav: Summer Sensation from World Cup of Tea.  Its strawberries, peaches and sunflowers provide the quintessence of summer refreshment.

Vegetable Juice:  I never drink it before a run, but I love following one with a tall glass of spicy V8 juice.  V8, like most tomato based juices, contains lycopene which protects muscles against oxidative stress and potassium which helps to balance fluid and electrolyte levels, regulate heartrate and prevent cramping.

 

*RunnersWorld.com has a great many helpful articles about nutrition.  I have found this one particularly helpful.  You might also want to visit the blog of Ultra marathon legend and vegan Scott Jurek.  Finally, Shape Magazine also shares recipes and information.