Blog

Reducing Spiritual Stress this Holiday Season, Is It Possible?

Posted on by Lisa Marion

Ah the holidays, a time for family, baking, shopping, and … stress. I recently read an article titled “A Caregiver’s Holiday with Less Stress? Is It Possible?” It outlined 5 tips for reducing holiday stress for caregivers.” These tips resonated with me as I’m caring for my dying father. While reading, I paused to consider if there were 5 things I could do to reduce holiday stress for my soul? I was a fruitful exercise, but I didn’t discover anything I didn’t know before. Turns out I needed to be reminded of some important things. Below are my 5 “rediscovered” tips, I hope one of them will resonate with you, and remind you to take care of your soul this holiday season.

Tip 1: Make Time for Respite

Respite – means a pause for relaxation, but it also has a deeper meaning, an interruption in the intensity of something. Years ago, I relaxed my holiday expectation of myself. I took a break from the intensity of it all. I wrote about that last year; I’ve included a link at the bottom of this email if you’d like to read it. I discovered that less can be more especially during this season. Doing less created a stress-free (ish) space that my soul needed. I’m seeking that again this year.

Tip 2: Let Your Presence be the Present

Amid the holiday chaos, it is important to be present to those around us. My childhood memories of Christmas are shaded by my mother’s over functioning. She worked hard to give us the holiday joy she never had as a child, but she didn’t give us her. The gift I really wanted was her attention. Be present, pay attention. Enjoy those around you. Step away from the to-do list and engage. Don’t miss those tiny and precious moments.

Tip 3: Rekindle Relationships

My mailbox is filling up with Christmas cards expressing the customary sentiments of the season, many punctuated with a simple signature. They remind me this person “thought of me.” But instead of receiving a card I would have loved a phone call. Last year I took a moment to reconnect with an old work friend. Each year she diligently sends me a card with her email on the back. I reached out and after a few email exchanges, we met for lunch in February. Catching up, I realized being with her again gave me great comfort. We are created for community, real community. Connections that remind us we are not alone. Reaching out this year will be a great comfort for your soul.

Tip 4: Sing

St. Augustine said, “He who sings, prays twice.” Christmas is a season of remembering and welcoming the Christ child into the world and into our lives. Christmas carols have echoed throughout time, but where is this “double praying” today? The soundwaves are full of songs about Santa and reindeers. These are fun, but they overshadow these enduring hymns. I remember one night coming home from a school Christmas program, my 9-year-old son asked what my favorite Christmas song was. “Oh, Holy Night.” I replied without thinking. “I don’t know that one.” He replied, “Can you sing it?” So, I sang it. He sat in silence listening. As I finished, I glanced over to him, and with tears welling up in his eyes, he whispered “That is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.” So precious. Inspiring lyrics, a moving message, but made more beautiful by singing it. Sing this year my friend. Sing! It is good for your soul.

Tip 5: Rest

I’m not suggesting a mere nap, no something more, stillness. I have found true rest for my soul by being still, especially during this season of activity. Thomas Merton emphasized that true rest is a courageous contemplative act vital for the Spiritual life. Courageous because it is a reminder that God is still in control. A reminder that not everything depends on me, my actions, my preparation, and my opinion. Take my last tip to heart and create space for stillness, your soul will thank you with a newfound peace that you will grow to crave. Be brave and give it a try. Reach out to me if you don’t know where to start! Or take a look at these resources.

May God bless you with peace this Christmas. May the new year find you calm, present, connected, and still. I hope you have many moments that bring you joy.

~ lisa

 

 

Read my piece on what NOT to do during the holiday season.

Here is a link to the original article for “A Caregiver’s Holiday with Less Stress…”

If you’d like to read the full text of Merton’s poem on the Act of Resting – here is a link.

Courageous Rest

Posted on by Lisa Marion

To allow oneself to be carried away by a multitude of conflicting concerns, to surrender to too many demands, to commit oneself to too many projects, to want to help everyone in everything, is to succumb to the violence of our times.

Some of us
need to discover
that we will not begin
to live
more fully
until we have the
courage to do and see
and taste and experience
much less than usual….
There are times
when in order to keep
ourselves in existence at
all we simply have to sit
back for a while and
do nothing. And for a person
who has let themself be
drawn completely out of
themselves by their activity,
nothing is more difficult
than to sit still and rest,
doing nothing at all.
The very act of resting is
the hardest and most
courageous act a person can
perform.   –  Thomas Merton

The Cycle of Comfort

Posted on by Lisa Marion

Still basking in the glow of my retreat in the high desert. As I mentioned the topic was Dealing with Death. It was powerful. Death is never a cheery topic but it’s an important topic.

The goal of the retreat was to create space where everyone could express themselves and talk about the confusion and chaos that often lingers after someone dies. We took a deep dive into the comforting Scriptures of Eternity and God’s providential love. Here is a link if you’re interested in those Scriptures.

My first encounter with death came early. It was the violent murder of my grandmother. It changed the whole dynamic of our family. My poor young mother had a nervous breakdown, and I took over her role as “mom” at the age of 10. Her emotional darkness left her present yet unavailable. My father was overwhelmed and checked out. This left me alone to process the devastating changes. But in this void my child’s heart knew I needed to pray. I memorized the Lord’s Prayer from a small plaque in my mother’s closet. I look back now and see myself small and alone, but I also see God drawing me to him.

Interesting that at this retreat there was two women who had also experienced a profoundly violent murder within their family. It was powerful to see God use my experience (from 50 years ago) to help this family process their darkness. It felt like the  redemption of my trauma, turning my mourning into a beautiful gift. It made me think of the precious gentle movements of God. It brought life to the passage about comforting others with the same comfort we ourselves have experienced,

“Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort those who are in any trouble, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.”  2 Corinthians 1:3-4

Have you ever thought of that? How God could use the comfort you’ve received to comfort others? I feel strongly that if our comfort isn’t passed along WITH our sufferings, our sufferings are just that – sufferings. But if we share our experience of comfort our sufferings have the power to help another along their journey, and the cycle of comfort continues.

What goodness has God brought from your sufferings? Maybe you have yet to taste that kind of comfort in your sadness, that’s okay too. If something is lingering in your heart, reach out and let’s talk about it.

 

 

Keeping Track of Prayer Requests

Posted on by Lisa Marion

I keep note cards as reminders for my prayers. I keep one for each person I direct. I keep another specific card just for folks who’ve asked for healing. My cards are all different colors, except for the healing card, it is white.

Today during my quiet time, I crossed off two names and marked them with “RIP.” A phrase that has been highjacked by horror movies, but the sentiment is still full of our desires for the one who has died. In love we wish them the ability to rest from this chaotic earthly life, to rest from their pain and struggles. We pray they get the calm resting we all crave.

The act of praying for another is an act of love. People want to be released from their struggle, pain, and illness. Healing is a beautiful gift; one I’ve witnessed several times in my life. It is a profound experience, yet, one that I don’t fully understand. I’ve learned that healing is beautiful, an unexpected surprise, but I’ve also learned that death is not the worst thing that can befall us. Death can itself be a type of healing too.

My father’s health is declining. What sometimes seems “slowly” is actually “quickly.” His days drag on, and the months fly by at a breathtaking pace. This poor man is literally being kept alive with medicine and devices that propel his weakening body forward into each new day. His mind, still sharp, active, and mildly irritated, must adjust to an ever-changing medication regime. He is frail and can barely stand, but his mind rages against this reality. “I’ve got this! I am making progress.”

Yes Dad, progress, but your speech is beginning to lose its sharpness, you are short of breath, you confuse people and information. You may be making progress, winning these small battles, but you will eventually lose this war. He knows this and we are all content to leave it unsaid.

His weak heart  is full of emotions and memories. Tears are often his companion as he thinks back on his life. “I’m ready to go.” Is the battle cry some days and on other days I hear, “I’m 12 years from turning 100! Won’t that be interesting.” He may have 12 weeks, 12 months, but certainly not 12 years. It is hard.

The two souls that were marked off my white healing card were both terribly ill. One almost 100, bed-ridden, and fully dependent on others. The other younger than myself – taken too soon, or sooner than you would expect.

Removed from my prayer list, no longer in need of healing. Sad? Maybe, but not really. They received the ultimate healing. While we live, we have needs, but once this life is completed, our needs evaporate, and we move into that paradoxical place of experiencing yet waiting, “already but not yet” as some theologians put it. Death is often a great mercy.

I muse on the specific events that will end my father’s earthly life. I await the call, thinking on those last moments at his bedside. I pray for a peaceful end, yet I will be ready for whatever the end looks like.

Please pray for us. Pray for a good death a peaceful passage from this life to the next.

Thank you for listening to my thoughts, and if you have a specific need, something that I should place on one of my colorful prayer cards, please email me. lisa [at] dailypax.com

Deep Flooding and Deep Nourishment

Posted on by Lisa Marion

The flooding started shortly after I arrived. It was odd to see the water slowly rise all through the surrounding pecan orchard.

“Flood irrigation” she said. “They gradually flood the entire orchard floor, and it slowly and deeply waters the roots of the trees. It’s a very old farming technique.”

I’m fascinated by how much I don’t know. Flooding on purpose. As the days pass, I see the water level rising and reaching far and wide throughout the entire perimeter of the retreat center.

I wonder if this flooding helps me understand some of the deeply traumatic seasons of my life. I have felt the weight of flooding. Flooding that felt like drowning. So much on me, a flood of needs amid true lack. Desperate moments alone. I have seen hard things. Things you’re not supposed to see. Things you never share with anyone because the reality is too real.

The deep flooding provides a consistent watering. An odd modality of nourishment. I don’t think I like it, but as I continue to think on this “very old farming technique” of irrigation I begin to understand how the flooding in my life has led to this deep consistent experience of nourishment at my roots. I still don’t like it, but I understand it. And I’ve learned that God knows exactly how much flooding I can endure, and how much flooding I need.

As I walk around the grounds, I see the water almost reach the road. Along the surface of the ground, I notice small plants also benefiting from the flooding. Small patches of green proudly poke up through the water. It makes me think on those who have watched me struggle through my own flooding and have taken courage.

Near me I can see into the water, it is a bit muddy and small bits of nature float along. Yet in the distance the flood water takes on a clean shimmer, almost blue. A smooth blue shine, a glassy surface of light blue.

Blue? I think, why blue amid the vivid green trees with their strong brownish trunks. Then I see that the blue is reflection of the sky. The water reflects the heavens. My heart is lighter, I take moment to thank God for the flooding I’ve experienced, and I rest in the message of life around me.

 

Midway Through Lent

Posted on by Lisa Marion

Well, we’re halfway through Lent. I’m finally hitting my stride (with lowered expectations of myself). I’ve participated in over 35 Lenten seasons. Each one is different because I am different. I have succeeded some years and failed miserably in others.

Years ago, I gave up my opinion for Lent. When I share this with people, I usually get a giggle or a raised eyebrow. As funny as it seems I was surprised how much mental space was freed up in conversations as I stopped formulating what I would say next. I found myself truly listening to the other.

I tried to give up my opinion again this year … that hasn’t worked too well. Sigh.

I remind myself that my Lenten disciplines are not for God, but for me. They are a means to an end, but not the End itself. The goal is to use these spiritual disciplines to bring me closer to God, remembering His mercy, and experiencing His love.

At this halfway moment I wanted to share a sermon I found years ago while on private retreat in Conyers, GA. The sermon is an encapsulation of a longer piece called “On Loving God” by St. Bernard of Clairvaux. You can read the sermon here.

I encourage you to stop at this Lenten halfway mark and read it reflectively. Let me know what you think. I hope it will bring you the same comfort I found when I read it for the first time.

As always, I wish you peace.

~ lisa 

 

p.s. The original piece can be found in this archive. It is spiritually rich, but thick and translated from French. https://archive.org/details/on-loving-god-by-saint-bernard-of-clairvaux

Perfection

Posted on by Lisa Marion

“Everything is perfect, but there is a lot of room for improvement.” – Shunryu Suzuki Roshi

Curious how this Zen master’s quote summarizes the tension of being a Christian.

We strive for perfection; it’s in our DNA. The reality is, we are already perfect, in God’s esteem. As God is outside of time, He is experiencing all the different versions of me. I’m stuck, living constrained by time. I experience each moment in comparison to the last and in expectation of the next. I live in my mistakes without taking the past or the future into the consideration.

God on the other hand is experiencing me in light of the arch of my entire life. At once He’s witnessing not only the mistake, but what led me there and how it will resolve. He sees me changed by His mercy. He sees the old lisa and the new lisa and the perfected lisa in eternity. And He is pleased and loves all the in-between lisas.

In His eyes I am already perfect, yet I am constrained to only see me now. Perfect, yet with a lot of room for improvement. HAH! The rub. I am not to smugly sit back and rest in this state of other-worldly perfection, no.

I have work to do. Ridding myself of ego, of pride, of selfish ambitions. Daily trying to become more Christlike. I must remember in this difficult and confusing work; I am already loved, as I am.

So, lisa – put your head down, there is a lot of room for improvement. Work out your salvation with fear and trembling but remember your eternal worth.

Unconditional Love & Unconventional Forgiveness

Posted on by Lisa Marion

Recently my Spiritual Director passed away. He was a wonderful example of Jesus with skin on. He was a lover of the many people who visited the abbey where he had lived for over 50 years. He was an incredible mentor to me and loved me through a multitude of difficult situations. I miss him deeply. As I reflect on his death I am saddened by three things; the loss of this gentle man to the many who sought his help, my own loss of a wise and compassionate Spiritual Guide, and most importantly, I don’t want his wisdom to die with him. With that end in mind, I have set my heart to do my best to share the Wisdom of my friend Fr. Francis.

2015 left me in mourning. My husband of 34 years had lost a five-year battle with alcoholism. Found by a stranger, alone, and dead. The struggle was over. During those years my life had been hijacked by his destructive behavior. When I finally stepped aside to let him find his way, my life then was hijacked with guilt and shame. I had tried to stay strong, to remain at his side, as a dutiful Christian wife, while he struggled. However, the more I tried to help him, the deeper and deeper I sank into depression, confusion, and self-loathing. Surely with love I could find an answer to his problem. It became increasingly obvious that my love could not save him, and my helping was not – helping. When he died this illusion of failed helpfulness led me deeper into depression. Only now, there was nothing that I or anyone else could do to help. He was done. It was over. He was dead.

A small sense of relief led me down a path of more guilt and shame, it was almost too much to bear. I’m thankful my faith tradition offered me an opportunity to release the weight of these obsessive thoughts in the Sacrament of Confession (or Penance as it’s officially called).

My confessor, Fr. Francis, is two hours away. Two hours that provided me the opportunity to examine my part in my husband’s descent into alcoholism and death. Alone in the car I could formulate an extensive list as to why I was responsible for his death. The conflict between being a “good Christian wife” and trying to live a life with boundaries caused me so much agony.

“You should leave him.” Came as the battle cry from many, several among the clergy.

“Okay, yes, I should leave him.” But the real part, the part of their battle cry that caused me the deepest pain was the question,

“Where does it say in the Gospels that I can abandon this very sick man?” The battle cry was quieted, they could offer no answer.

As I arrived my confessor greeted me with his usual hug. A warm, comforting embrace that gave me the feeling of protection from a source outside myself.

“I want you to hear my confession.” I quietly whispered in the safety of his embrace.

“Okay.” Came the gentle reply whispered almost as quietly as my request.

Silently we walked to the abbey chapel and made ourselves comfortable in the wooded confessional room. Armed with an extensive list of my wrongdoings (formulated in the 2-hour car ride) I began, “Forgive me Father …” He interrupted me. “Lisa,” taking my hands into his he said, “Simply say you’re sorry for whatever part was yours.” Stunned by his kindness I said, “Lord, I am sorry for whatever part was mine.” He continued gently with the grace-filled prayers prayed after confession, and we were done. Grace and forgiveness for “whatever part was mine.” I couldn’t believe it was that easy.

It is a cunning lie that those who love an addict feel that – somehow – they’re to blame. That somehow, they were not smart enough, not quick enough, not crafty enough to solve the problem for the one they love. A wicked and powerful lie. Yet, in his compassionate wisdom Fr. Francis officially, lovingly, and somewhat unconventionally released me from the grips of this lie. He could have easily insisted I recount the sorted details of this painful season, sending me back to hating myself for not rescuing the one I loved. I had spent years examining my actions and inactions, constantly beating myself up. With love and gentleness and without more self-flogging, I was released from guilt and shame. Fr. Francis was truly the physical presence of a loving God to me during a time of little comfort and less love. A gift.

Have you ever experienced a gift like this? Pure grace and pure love! Sometimes we have to be in a really dark space before any light pours in! What could you let go of if you were in that confessional with Fr. Francis. What could his gentle loving kindness help you release? Can you simply ask God to release you from “whatever part was yours?” Can you believe it is that easy? Can you accept this kind of unconditional love and forgiveness? Fr. Francis truly showed me God’s love at that moment, and I endeavor each day to release the chaos of guilt and shame that tears down my heart. Love builds up, it never tears down. Thank you, dear Francis, for building me up with your tangible expression of God’s love.

A Word

Posted on by Lisa Marion

In the monastic tradition, the beginning of a new year often invokes the asking and giving of a “word.” Unfortunately, my Spiritual Director passed away this year and I’m on my own in the discernment of a word. The last word he gave me was “liminal.” Liminal is about being in one state while transitioning into another. I’m not there anymore, I have transitioned into that new state. Yet the word “liminal” was a gift to open my heart and transform my thinking while I went through a period of deep struggles.

For this season moderation keeps coming to mind. I have always struggled with a lack of moderation. I over fill, I over use, I over share, I drive too fast, I overdo most things, generally being driven to achieve and get things done. My younger sister shares this issue – so I wonder “what happened in our childhood that caused this lack of moderations?”

What is at the root? I look at my teapot. Tea spilt on the tray and my tea cozy is stained with overflowing tea. Too much cinnamon added this morning – carelessly. It’s everywhere. My chronic back pain is from insisting that I do things myself, carry too much, refusing to ask for help. I over cook most food – always, I spill – always. It’s like I don’t know when to stop or why I should. Is there some odd fear of not getting enough? missing out? Is it merely an issue of not paying attention? Or am I just slopping? (as my father always said)

My massage therapist suggests “balance” as my word. But I want to off-load things, most things. I don’t want balance, I want less. So, I asked Siri, “define moderation.”

She replied in her dry monotone voice: “Moderation is the avoidance of excess or extremes. The action of making something less extreme.”

Actively making things less extreme! Ok, how do you do that? Maybe I do have some control over this. “Avoidance of” and “the action of.” To avoid and to take action. As I’ve been musing with this idea, it is curious that the word moderation showed up in a reading in church a few Sundays ago.

                “Let your moderation be known unto all mankind.” Phil 4:5

To be known for my moderation. That’s a lovely thought, but it will take some work. So, in we go – a deep dive into original languages and other translations.

The original Greek = epieikes; seeming, suitable, equitable, fair, mild, patient, and gentle. Humm, gentle. Not a word that I usually use to describe myself. Other English versions of the Bible translate this work epieikes into graciousness, forbearance, considerate, gentle behavior, gentle spirit, and simply gentle.

A tall order from someone who struggles to NOT overfill her tea pot. But as this word persists in my consciousness, I will embrace it. This will involve slowing down, being present, and working to avoid excesses and extremes. I’m not sure what this means, but I know this is possible with the help of a loving God who does desire moderation for me. A gift for a new year, help to become more moderate, to become more gentle, ultimately to become more Christlike.

What about you? Have you mused on your word for the next season? Reach out to someone who knows you. Those in our lives often know what we need before we know ourselves.

 

Resolutions for the Illusion We Call 2025

Posted on by Lisa Marion

I don’t like categorizing a year as being a “good” or a “bad” or recounting “who we lost this year.”

Years are illusions. The marking of a “year” is a construct devised by a Supreme being who exists outside of “time.” A gift to help us carve up the tyranny of time that we are forced to sludge through. We mark the beginnings and ending of seasons with dates. We bracket them between January and December.

These months back up to one another separated by this illusion, like the Bering Strait. One side of the strait is the US the other side is Russia, and a whole day separates these two countries. They are a continuation of the same land mass, but to us they remain separated, in an illusion, like December and January. We want to compartmentalize the years and the good or bad things that the “year” brought us. In a way I think this is where the idea of “seasons” and “not forevers” helps us frame time – it is a gift. When the year brought good things, we celebrate and move forward hoping the trend will continue, but if the year brought bad, disrupting things, we turn our backs on December looking to the hope that January will bring – sorry December, you’re so last year.

Years as “gift?” God established them as such when he created the world. On the 4th day “God said, ‘Let there be lights in the firmament of the heavens to divide the day from night; and let them be for signs and seasons and for days and years.’” … for signs and seasons. So, I ask, “Lord, what signs and seasons will I experience in 2025? What will you show me, and what will I experience?” I assume things (good and bad) will happen to me. This passage speaks nothing of goals or dreams, only the expectation that there will be signs and seasons. These are things I have no control over, as I know from my 60-odd years of living. Yet wisdom has taught me, I do have control over myself. To that end I set these objectives – loosely – for myself in the illusion we’ll call 2025.

In 2025 I want to be kinder, I want to pray better, I want to write more, I want to meet my obligations with cheerfulness, I want to work, deeply on the projects that matter, and I want to say less and love more.

Reviewing this list, I think I’m being a bit optimistic. Maybe I should reflect on what I don’t want to do in this next season. Are prohibitions easier to keep than objectives?

In 2025 I want to STOP engaging in negative words about … everything and everyone! I want to be known as a person who never utters a negative word. This must start with my thoughts; therefore, in 2025, I want to STOP engaging with negative thoughts. I want to see and seek the best in everyone, in every situation, and in every encounter. No matter where I find myself. I want to see others as God sees them. I want to understand the backstory of people. God has an advantage on me here, in that He already knows the backstory. So, I will actively set my judgments aside and trust Him – asking for His wisdom as I attempt to grow in love for others.

If I can rid myself of these two things I believe I will become more Christlike in the season to come. What a lovely thought. That indeed will be a “good” year.