The Week of One Thing

I've been meaning to do this for a while--but I just keep avoiding it. Which (sigh) means I really probably ought to. This is the week of one thing. Or actually, it's going to be the four days of one thing, because I'm too chicken to try a week. What do I mean? Well, I'm an excellent multi-tasker. Give me a minute, and I'll check my email, look at my texts, flip through a magazine, and have a meaningful and caring conversation with my four year old. Except, of course, for that last one, which isn't really possible if you're doing the first three. So for the next four days I'm trying to leave all the multi-tasking behind. That means no flipping back and forth between two things, no scanning the web while I'm on the phone, and no glancing at my phone while I'm stopped at a red light. (That last one is really dangerous, by the way--another good reason to stop). I'm going to try for mindfulness, at least for four days. Will I get everything on my to-do list finally done? Will I get nothing done? I'll keep you updated.

It Takes a Village to Raise a Marriage

Today is my sixth anniversary, and I've been reflecting on what had made it work for us so far. When I officiate at weddings, I often invite the gathered community to offer a congregational blessing or affirmation--to make their own vow, essentially, to support and care for the couple and this new thing, a marriage, that they are creating together. That blessing isn't just a set of pretty words. It's my way of telling the family and friends that they really do have a role to play, and one that doesn't end when the rice is thrown (or in these days of wisdom about hurting birds' tummies, when the bubbles are blown). A couple's community can be so important to the success of their marriage. That's certainly been true in my own life. Our marriage has been strengthened by the date nights we get because people care for our children; by the anniversary cards our parents send us each year reminding us that a year of marriage is worth noting and celebrating; by the talks with friends who listen to our gripes but don't let us sink into them; by the example of relationships we admire and try to emulate. We have felt surrounded by a community rooting for our marriage. I wish we had congregational blessings for everything in life--that we always felt a community around us, saying, "Yes, you are doing a great job working, keep at it!" or "Wow! I see that you are keeping your house up well, and I want to celebrate that you have been doing that for years now." I wish that everyone got anniversary cards, married or not, to honor the years that any human being spends trying to live well and love well. But today I am especially grateful for the community that has supported our marriage. If you have ever been at someone's wedding, remember this: you were part of the creation of something special, something that was chosen and that takes care to maintain. Your witness to that makes you part of the ongoing story of that love, no matter what journey it takes. Care for each other.

Living in the Moment Which Will Pass

In parenting, I often find that I get myself all wrapped up in a problem--trouble sleeping, or behavior challenges, or a refusal to eat anything that isn't beige--only to find that, while I was busy researching solutions and consulting advice manuals and polling my friends, the problem went away. Actually, lots of life is like that for me. I have to constantly remind myself that "this too shall pass," that the challenge or worry that seems so present right now will eventually be a memory. It helps me to keep things in perspective, and really that's a key part of any spiritual life: knowing that the problem of today is not the sum of our existence. But I've been thinking recently about how to reconcile that with another key aspect of a spiritual life: living in the moment. Are they contradictory? Can we be fully present in the moment and, at the same time, hold in our awareness that the moment will pass? I often think life is about tensions and balance, about noticing the reality that almost everything is held in tension, in some kind of gray space between the black and white that we like to pretend make up the world. And this is no different, I guess. All we have is our current awareness, and that awareness will change in an instant. Somehow it's related for me to a breathing exercise I learned recently, that's intended for people experiencing pain. Breathing in, you say "I feel my pain." Breathing out, you say "I am not my pain." It's an acknowledgement of the very real experience of the present moment, not trying to pretend it away or ignore it...and then an acknowledgement that the present moment is not the totality of existence. I wonder how that breathing exercise would work with other things. "I experience my child's aversion to vegetables. My child is not her aversion to vegetables." What has worked for you, to be present and to acknowledge the very transitory nature of life?

What's In a Name?

Have you ever had the experience of being part of a community and not knowing anyone's name? This doesn't happen to me much at WES, where it's part of my job to know people's names, but it's the worst at my older daughter's preschool. I know the names of the children in her class, but I just can't seem to retain the names of their parents. It can make for an awkward interaction at the drop-off time. Luckily I have my daughter. She knows everyone's name, and she makes a point of using their names every time. She's been that way since she was little, wanting to know everyone's name--including both parents. And when she draws a picture for us, she never writes "mommy" or "daddy" on it, but instead "Amanda" or "Peter." There's something she recognizes about the importance of your own name. It has me thinking about our names more broadly: how we are called and the importance of being called by our names. And also about how our names change over our lives, the nicknames we choose for ourselves (or have chosen for us), the ones we hang onto and the ones we discard, the names we are called only by certain people and the names we offer to anyone. In science fiction and fantasy books, being called by your "true name" sometimes unlocks special powers...and in many cultures, your name indicates your relationships, your status, your profession. What's in a name? What does your name mean to you?