This time last year I ordered a Fitbit. Those who know me well thought I’d use it for a few weeks and forget all about it. I’m not known for my love of exercise, but I do love to walk, not on a treadmill, but outdoors in almost any weather. The walking part boosts my physical well-being; the outside part nurtures my spiritual well-being. So a year ago I set a modest goal to walk 10,000 steps a day at least four times a week, and most weeks I’ve met it. This Christmas Eve I attended a midnight mass. You enter church for the service at 11:00 pm on Christmas Eve and leave about 12:30 am on Christmas Day. I’ve always loved that feeling of entering church on one date and leaving on another.
Last night I drove two and a half hours each way to join in a Winter Solstice Celebration at the Serpent Mound in Ohio. About a thousand of us showed up to light hundreds of luminaries outlining the curvy mounds. We witnessed a beautiful sunset, waxing gibbous moon in the sky, and rows and rows of glittering candles. As I was driving there, I wondered what was compelling me to do this. What was compelling me to drive solo all this way to honor the return of the light? I realized it was the same kind of drive that will compel me to go to a Christmas Eve Service at 11:00 at night at a church I don’t normally attend to honor a different kind of light. What compels us to engage in these ritu
One of the things I love about living in a four-season climate is how closely it parallels the changes and cycles of our lives. Right now in my life I am mostly experiencing a period of spring. My life is filled with lush growth, new beginnings and much excitement as I set out on this adventure of improving the well-being of my community through my new business. That has not always been the case. Several years ago I attended a retreat at Hope Springs Institute during a literal and metaphorical winter of my life. I had diagnosed myself with seasonal affective disorder (SAD) over the course of the last few winters and had set an intention to experience winter differently that year. I was
After posting last week’s blog entry, I went back and reread it and realized I didn’t agree completely with one statement I made. When discussing contemplative silence, I said, “We are living in a world where silence is harder and harder to come by.” Digging a little deeper, I am not sure if I believe that silence (or in general a more simple, slow-paced way of living) is harder and harder to come by. Five years ago I would have said I absolutely agreed with that, but lately I am starting to feel a shift in our culture, as subtle as it is. I have no scientific evidence to back it up, but I sense it in the energy of the people around me. I watched people for years being sick and tired of
As we were packing up to leave after my last quiet day retreat, one of my regular participants commented on how he wished people understood these retreats better and felt the room would be packed if they did. He mentioned how he believes that many people wonder how they could possibly fill five or six hours of their day in silence when there is so much to accomplish each day. He said he wondered that too at one time, until he experienced it for himself. I started thinking about this idea of explaining silence to others. Silence is one of the greatest tools of my life, but I realized that it’s difficult to explain the power of silence to someone who hasn’t experienced it. I don’t mean ang
