Category Archives: Reclaim your authority

Our integrity is our home. 

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Arrow tattoo on woman's wrist showing true north

Being alive blows me away. Every so often I’m gobsmacked anew by the miracle I am, and that you are. Animate, conscious meat sacks—bundles of aggregated Earth elements, able to sing and dance and tell stories. Able to learn. To remember.
 
Able to love. And to hate.
 
How crazy is this?!
 
This being alive thing is astounding! Awesome! Amazing! Wild!
 
I’m also able to know one day I’ll end. This self-aware, cohered dust that is me will return to the Earth from which I sprang. The miracle that is me will cease to exist in this form. This is, of course, true for every Earthling entity. I’m not special.
 
My friends in their 80s laugh at me—but I do fear aging and death. The other side of this amazing being alive thing is this amazing dying thing. I’ve already outlived both parents. I’ll be 80 myself in fifteen years.

I know how fast fifteen years goes. It’s not long. 
 
Jed’s impending retirement has made this life of mine feel all the more urgent. For 50 years, I’ve been thinking someday I’ll get around to that. And next time I’ll do it different. Better. Somedays and next times are dwindling fast. I don’t have many do-overs left.
 
I want to live MY life, the life I’m meant to live. The life I choose for myself, not the one I’ve been trained to live. The life where I follow others’ rules and measure myself by others’ standards is a safe life. Safe, easy, and painful.
 
Now I see. This is what Lent is for: to examine my choices and conform them more fully to my values. So I won’t have regrets on my death bed. I want the Earthlings I love to know without an iota of doubt that I love them, through and through.
 
This revelation is nothing new, it turns out. Tradition and Mary Oliver have gotten here first.
 
Of course Lent is about mortality, says my husband when I share my revelation. He tells me Frederick Buechner said that Lent is for the big questions. Seven weeks to take meaning and mortality seriously.
 
And, of course also Mary Oliver, who asked What does it mean that Earth is so beautiful? And what shall I do about it? What is the gift that I should bring to the world? What is the life that I should live?
 
Living my life my way requires both going rogue and returning home. Following the direction of my heart will create more external conflict, as I bump up against established patterns and others’ preferences and expectations. Following my heart’s direction also means more internal peace, as the gap between my values and my choices narrows.
 
That gap hurts. That gap sucks energy. That gap is where I lose myself.
 
I want to close that gap. I want to recommit to myself and my priorities. Living in integrity with myself is self-ish. It’s also necessary, despite all the training to the contrary.
 
My integrity is my birthright.

Your integrity is your birthright.

Our integrity is our home.

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[Photo: Natalie Rhea Rigg on Unsplash]

A letter from God to her daughters who observe Lent.

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Woman with a cross of ashes on her forehead
Dear Daughter,

On Ash Wednesday, if you are in church, the minister will invite you to the observance of a “holy Lent” and mark your forehead with the ashes of repentance.

Let me be very clear about this: I love you so much. I delight in you. I cherish you. For ever.

Here are a few more things I want you to comprehend. Despite what you’ve been taught, “holy” does not mean pure and unearthly. “Sin” does not mean breaking my rules and making me mad. “Penitence” does not mean listing and wallowing in all the ways you’re wrong and bad. “Repentance” does not mean promising to do better to stay out of trouble.

Please think about these words a new way, on Ash Wednesday and every other day going forward.

What if you only sin when you refuse healing and cling to brokenness? When you use those sharp broken edges to hurt yourself and others?

What if holiness is when you choose to be whole, even though you’re terrified? When you embrace and enfold those pieces of yourself you’ve lopped off to fit into others’ molds?

What if penitence is when you see yourself clearly, and know, speak, and live from your heart?

What if repentance is returning to your true self in all her messy glory?

What if, this Lent, instead of focusing on the ways you’re not good enough and the ways you fall short, you commit to your own healing?

I was there at the Big Bang, enlivening every particle, atom and molecule. You are made of me, and through me you are connected to everything and everyone.

I am everywhere, my love. You live in me and I live in you. This means, my dear, when you let yourself be healed, your healing heals the world. And when you cling to your brokenness, the world stays a little more broken than it needs to be. Your healing is important and necessary.

You think your healing is selfish. That’s incorrect. On the contrary, your healing is crucial. I’m using that word deliberately, sweetheart. Your healing is the crux – where you and I come together.

This Lent, the only fasts I want from you are these: Fast from distractions that allow you to stay wounded and broken. Fast from believing you’re not good enough. Fast from making yourself small, and nice, and silent. Fast from all judgment, especially of yourself.

This Lent, make space for me to flow into you and through you. Befriend your fear, your anger, and your sadness. They are a deep source of nourishment and strength. Let your love go free. Let your joy be unconfined.

Sweetheart, healing isn’t complicated, and it’s always here for you. All you have to do is tap into it, like a springtime maple tree or an aquifer of living water. You know this. But it’s so easy to forget, isn’t it? All you have to do is let me clear out the dams and the trash, the resentments and identities and old, too-small skins that keep you stuck and stagnant.

Open your heart armor just a little. Let go, child. Breathe and soften. That’s all you have to do. I’ll do the rest.

This Ash Wednesday, let those ashes symbolize our unending connection, a connection so easy to forget and so simple to strengthen.

When the priest wipes those gritty ashes on your forehead and says, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return,” celebrate your elemental oneness with this dear, dirty earth, and with me. I am in those ashes, in the dust, in the stars, and in you.

I need you, my daughter. You’re the only you I created. Please, let yourself be the creation I made you to be.

You don’t need someone outside yourself telling you how to live.

Trust yourself.

Trust your heart.

Trust me. I’ve got you.

All my Love,
God  

(A Lenten gift for you: two free PDF printables from this letter.)

Photo: Ahna Ziegler on Unsplash


   

 

Reclaim Your Authority, Christmas Edition

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Cabin in the woods
How’s your December going?
 
I don’t know about you, but at this dark time of year I yearn to be a sturdy fir tree in a quiet, snow-covered forest. I’d feel the sun on my bark during these short days. I’d feel the brilliant starlight from the spangled sky during the long, cold night. I’d shelter chickadees and nuthatches in my branches, and I’d wave my crown to the passing ravens.
 
A close second would be a couple of weeks in a well-insulated, well-stocked cabin in the same forest, overlooking a frozen lake nestled in a valley below snow-covered peaks upon which mountain goats frolic. Long walks. Fireside talks. Deep sleeps.  
 
My first yearning isn’t happening because it’s a fantasy. Perhaps I can be a sturdy fir in my next life, but for now I’m stuck in this human body. My second yearning isn’t happening either, because it’s December. And I’m outsourcing my authority.
 
If this time of year feels like a burden, you’re outsourcing your authority, too. You’re letting someone else decide for you how you’ll spend your time, energy, and money.
 
You and I can opt out of anything we want to. Really. We only have to be willing to be uncomfortable. 
 
The only way I know to a life that’s truly, authentically mine is to reclaim my authority over my choices. Reclaiming my authority starts with my theology.

You have to know what you believe. 
 
Reclaiming your theology: 
What do you actually believe about God, Life, Being, Universe? You get to decide what you believe. Your beliefs about God, Divinity, Holiness, Energy, whatever you call it are foundational. They’re the most crucial beliefs we have. And you must get concrete with them.
 
So much theological language is airy-fairy and abstract. What does “God is love” actually look like? What do we really mean when we say we’re all “children of God”?
 
And, of course, the real biggie … the elephant in the room … What/Who does the word “God” mean, to you? Go beyond and underneath the definition you learned in Sunday School. What does that word mean to you, right here, right now, today? It’s crucial that you answer this question for yourself.
 
Here’s one way into that question. I use this process with myself and with clients, and the results are always surprising. We’ll get back to Christmas, I promise.
 
1. What qualities do you ascribe to God/Being/Universe? Do you believe God is generous? Life-giving? Light-filled? Warm? Abundant? Pervasive? Beautiful? Diverse? Powerful? Nurturing? Healing? Renewing? Strengthening? Flowing? Make a good long list, then pick your foundational three to five descriptions of Divine energy—the ones that resonate most deeply. The ones that bring a smile to your face and a warm glow to you heart. 
 
2. Imagine a metaphor for God that incarnates the qualities you chose in Step 1. For example, if you believe God is healing, renewing, and flowing, you might imagine God as an infinite underground aquifer, as Meister Eckhart did. Or as the green sap rising, along with Hildegard of Bingen.
 
If you believe God is warm, nurturing, and life-giving, you might imagine God as a womb.
 
If you believe God is light-filled, life-giving, and pervasive you might imagine God as the sun.
 
If you believe God is nurturing, strengthening, and abundant, you might, along with Paul Tillich, imagine God as ground. Or dirt.
 
You might imagine God as Mother. Or perhaps Father, a time-honored choice. Gardener. Wind. A city on a hill. A potter or sculptor or artist. Rock. The only requirement is that your metaphor be something concrete and real in the world.
 
So many options. What comes up for you? Every answer is right. 
 
3. Now ask yourself: Who am I in this metaphor? If God is dirt, am I possibly a tree? If God is sun, am I perhaps a rose? Or a sunflower?  If God is wind, am I a hawk? Or maybe a sailboat? If God is an infinite aquifer, am I a well? Or a spring? If God is a woman’s womb, am I a daughter born of that womb? And so on. You get the idea. 
 
4. Use your metaphor as a springboard. Mess around. Play with this. Try several on for size. You could ask these questions: What does my metaphor for God tell me about prayer? What does my metaphor for God tell me about what “sin” might mean for me? What does my metaphor for God tell me about love? What does my metaphor for God tell me about how I want to live my life?  
5. Finally, what does my metaphor for God tell me about how I want to celebrate Christmas?
 
This is deep soul work. Deep soul work is nurturing. Nurturing for you, for those you love, and for the world. Thank you for doing it. 
 
Cultural capitalist Christmas has little overlap with deep soul work. Church Christmas misses the mark for most of us, too, with its underlying message of our sinfulness and consequent need for salvation. This disconnect is exhausting. It’s exhausting to pour so much time, energy, and money into a celebration that ultimately doesn’t reflect your deepest values and beliefs.
 
We care for ourselves when we do our deep soul work, gently and consistently. We care for ourselves, those around us, and our world when we gently and consistently bring ourselves home to our hearts. We care for ourselves when we tell the truth about our values and priorities, with our words and our lives.
 
Remember who you are.
Reclaim your authority.
Recommit to your life.
 
If you’re feeling burdened by December, I hope this helps. Let me know how it goes!
 
PS. I’m intrigued by the possibility of doing this work in community, so I’ll be hosting a free Zoom in early January to do it together. I’d love to know if that’s something you’d be interested in. And I’m available for a no-cost, no-obligation Clarity Call if you want to explore this process in person.
 
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Image: Swampy Lakes Shelter, Deschutes National Forest, 12.5.22.