No Word For Wall

~ Deb ~ 1 Comment

The Tohono O’odham people have no word for “wall.”

Native lands in geopolitical purgatory,

Half Arizonan, half Sonoran.

A nation with no sovereignty.

The Mohawk live with one foot in Canada

And one in the United States

(note oxymoron to use later as classroom example).

The Seto people are Estonian,

Or Russian,

Or Estonian –

Depending on street address

Or school district

Or maybe just accident of birth.

Africa and the Middle East –

Ancient tribes, too many to count it seems,

Sliced and diced and filleted

Into starter kit nations –

Just add war.

How far back does it go?

Did the ancient Judeans or Eqyptians or Sumerians

Conquer and divide

In this same way?

Is it just the way humans are?

Maybe.

Maybe not.

The Tohono O’odham people have no word for “wall.”

Absorption

~ Deb ~ 1 Comment

Grief is a separate class of emotion.

No, it’s a bundle of many emotions

all vying for attention,

sometimes at the same time

and sometimes at different times.

Grief is a new layer of skin.

For awhile, it’s the surface layer.

Over time, it works its way into our being,

no longer the layer closest to the nerve endings,

but a new part of who we are in the world.

If we absorb it fully,

the pain, anger, denial, and sorrow transform

into reminiscence,

gratitude,

and a sweet sadness

that comforts a bit more

than it hurts.

How the Universe Talks to Me

~ Deb ~ Leave a comment

It’s usually through a series of otherwise unconnected but often chronologically proximal events that the Divine chooses to send me messages.  A theme emerges.  A thread becomes spiritually visible.  A connection is made.  And the message is undeniable.

Item 1:  A few years ago, I was part of developing a new theme at the Unity church where I attend and am involved in leadership.  The theme was “authentic transformation.”  It was what I felt I was undergoing and what I believed to be core to the spiritual journey.  Every Sunday morning in my roll as “platform person” at Unity of Music City in Old Hickory, TN, I say something to the effect of “Welcome to Unity Music City, a place of authentic transformation.  It’s who we are.  It’s what we do.”

Item 2:  A year or so ago, I had the privilege of meeting Michael McRay when he was speaking at Unity of MC about his reconciliation work in Israel and Palestine.  I saw him again at a workshop for Narrative4, a story-telling reconciliation practice he facilitates.  I saw him a third time just a couple of weeks ago when he conducted a Narrative4 workshop at the college where I teach.  What strikes me every time I hear Michael is that he is a very young man (28? 29?) who is able to clearly communicate his purpose.  Michael will state in no uncertain terms “This is my purpose, and these are the ways I express it in the world.”

Item 3:  During a recent Wednesday night class at Unity of MC, the idea of purpose entered the discussion.  My dear friend and minister, Denise Yeargin, said, “I know my friend, Deb, is a teacher, and a darn fine one, but I also know that is not her purpose.  Am I right?”  And she looked right at me.  I said, “You’re right.”  It was as if the Universe was saying, “You’ve danced around this for a while now; it’s time to turn it into a declarative statement.”  I hesitated for just a moment, and then I said, intuitively, “My purpose is enthusiasm.  My purpose is to help others find enthusiasm in life.”

Item 4:  I went home that night and looked up “enthusiasm” once again.  I had looked it up before, and I knew that it meant something akin to “God within.”  But when I looked this time, I found a more definitive translation from the original Greek that I don’t remember ever seeing before.  It was “possessed by the essence of God.”  Oh, brother.  That about brought me to my knees.

Item 5:  I posted something on Facebook about a successful teacher moment.  For me, a successful teacher moment is when a student expresses some newfound enthusiasm for their journey because of something that happens in my classroom.  In the comments on the post, one of my former students, from way back in my second or third year of teaching, said this, “You’re a transformational educator . . . always have been.  Thank you for your heart, mind, and spirit!  You are one of the best to ever do it! #thankGodforTSU #freshmanhonorsenglish #myfave #abetterwriterforit”  Okay, so that totally rocked my world, but what really stood out to me was that word “transformational.”

The last meeting with Michael McRay, the Wednesday night class, and the former student’s comment happened within 10 days of each other.

And it all brings me here:

My purpose in life is to teach the transformational power of enthusiasm.  My purpose is to show how transformational it is to be possessed by the essence of God.  I do this through teaching, through singing, through my work at Unity of Music City, through my work in the classroom, through my one-on-one encounters with students, through my work as a chaplain in the pastoral care ministry at Unity, and through every conversation or thought I have.

I do this by living a transformed life with enthusiasm.

And so it is.

The Spring Sun is Different

~ Deb ~ Leave a comment

The spring sun is different from the summer sun.

The sun in summer is omnipotent, omnipresent.

There is no escape from the relentless oven of the summer sun.

It WILL find you. It WILL burn you.  It WILL roast you.

A July sun in Tennessee is like being wrapped in a wool blanket

over a turtleneck in a sweat lodge.

 

The spring sun is different from the fall sun.

October evenings the sun is waving goodbye

from a place in the sky that seems farther away.

It is the recessing sun, the melancholy light of days gone by.

Its passing is honored by the momentary capture of its essence in a backyard fire pit

on a jacket night, under moons full or waxing or most likely waning.

The fall sun sits on the flatlands of West Tennessee and

sizzles its final goodbye as it sinks into the Father of Waters.

 

The spring sun is different from the winter sun.

January can be so dreary and damp.

The winter sun is often absent entirely.

They say it’s still up there, beaming as always behind a thick cover of clouds,

but I don’t always believe it.

It’s a good thing the red and green of Christmas happens in winter,

otherwise a Tennessee yule would be nothing but grey.

 

The spring sun beckons like an invitation.

It doesn’t burn; it warms.   It doesn’t kill; it enlivens.

The spring sun has a different light altogether,

one that brings promise and joy and flowers.

We are reminded that life goes on.

We are reminded that we go on.

The spring sun is different.