​I don’t usually write political posts on this blog, but my heart has been broken again over the last few days with more, well publicized examples of white supremacy and police brutality against people of color.  From Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, and George Floyd to Christian Cooper.   From white, armed men allowed into capitol buildings with no repercussions to people gathering peacefully and unarmed to protest the murder of George Floyd being tear gassed, the discrepancies are evident, and, sadly, unsurprising. 
I think one reason I really feel called to write this post though, is to encourage each of us to look at our own healing, and to be brutally honest with ourselves about the areas we still have work to do.  For I don’t believe that fully healed human beings can look at another human being with so little regard, with such great fear and hate, without seeing that they, too, are created in the image of God.
I think I saw this especially in the recording done by Christian Cooper.  Here was a black man making a reasonable request of a white woman to leash her dog in a sensitive natural habitat where he was bird watching.  What came across to me in that video was him being grounded and calm while the woman was triggered and possibly acting on past trauma as she escalated the situation in her own mind to something dangerous.  This, in no way, excuses her behavior, but she seemed disassociated from the present reality. 
Each of us has the responsibility to do our work of healing to ensure that this doesn’t happen.  We need to look at our hurts and traumas form the past so we can move through this world fully present to what is.  We need to do the hard work of exploring our triggers, of speaking about and processing our pain, of re-wiring our responses so we can re-act to situations in a reasoned and logical way that is appropriate for the current time.  When we fail to do our work, we over react, and we run the risk of layering the current situation with all the other situations we may have been in that this is reminding our body of.  It’s not logical or fitting.  And it can be dangerous, or even deadly.
For what healed and whole human being can kneel on another human being’s neck until they die, even as they plead for their life.  What logical and present human being can hunt down and kill another human being for jogging in their neighborhood.   What human being, who has done their healing work to be able to stay present when a perceived threat appears, would threaten another human being’s life by calling the police on them when asked to restrain their pet?
I know there is a lot of systemic change that needs to happen too, but each of us can do our small part by taking an honest and hard look at ourselves to search out those parts of us that are not healed, that over re-act, that are unable to stay present to the reality before us, those parts that are quick to judge another human being as less than based on the color of their skin, or to feel attacked when we are the ones causing a danger.  Each of us is created in the image of God.  When we do our work to remember this for ourselves, we can remember this truth for the rest of humanity too. 
Will you commit with me to look at yourself?  To seek those places where you can still be triggered?  To do your work to make yourself whole so that you can see each other human being for the beautiful life they hold, no matter the color of their skin, no matter the accent they speak with, no matter their religion or education or gender?  Will you do your work, so we can join together to do the collective work we all need to do?

​Dear Loved Ones,
I’ve been reflecting a lot recently on hope, joy and tenacity.   During this time when we are uncertain of the future and what it’s going to look like;  when people are ignoring science and common sense because they believe their freedom is being limited; when the slow opening up of businesses and stores is most likely going to cause a surge in the pandemic (with the hope that we now have the needed medical equipment and ICU beds to deal with the influx), how do we hold on to hope?  How do we keep putting one foot in front of the other?  How do we find the energy to move through this world with kindness and love?  How do we dare seek joy?
I was pondering all this the other day as Gibbs and I walked.  We had gone a fair way and were walking on a grass path close to some woods when I almost stepped on it.  A tiny turtle was on the path, crossing into the meadow.  And then there was another one.  And another.  The first was just stopped as the others slowly made their way.  And I stopped too.  I had never seen such a small turtle… it was about the size of a dandelion crown.  I looked around and didn’t see a parent, just these three babies.  I wondered where they were heading, and what kind of turtle they were and how come they were here. 
After we had visited, this turtle and I, I continued on my walk, and noticed a smile on my face.  A simple, small gift was enough to answer my questions! 
Since then I have been reveling in the little gifts, the blossoms on my apple trees, the chance for an afternoon spent on a lake, the air hug and big smile from Sister Renee out in a golf cart at the monastery, the head bump of a cat or a wag from a dog, the echo of a thank you in a hallway after delivering a meal to a homeless family while practicing social distancing.
All these things are small things.  But each one brought me hope, joy and reminded me that this is what it looks like to just put one foot in front of the other.  It doesn’t change the bigger picture of our circumstances, but I believe it changes the inner disposition of how I deal with it.  Little gifts from God that place enough hope and joy in my heart to make it sing.  Glimpses of new life that remind me of the big arch of life, not just these moments.  And while the grief of the loss of life is real, there is this world that continues to unfold and embrace and astonish, which, in turn, allows the grief to be felt and acknowledged and held.
What small things bring you hope or joy?  What keeps you going?
With love,
Alison

​Dear Loved Ones,
The other day I took Gibbs out walking in some close by woods.  It was the first time we had ventured there since the snow melted.  The woods are quiet…. there is a noticeable difference when you turn from the path parallel to the road and drop into the woods proper!  A deep sense of peace permeates this place, there are not many people around, there are several trails to follow and wildflowers popping up everywhere.  And this is the prime time to go, before the mosquitos come out with a vengeance!  Gibbs and I walked nearly 4 miles, through the forests, past streams and ponds and lakes, through heavily treed areas and marshland and meadows.  We saw forest birds and waterfowl, butterflies and dragonflies, mushrooms and flowers and trees in blossom.  And when we left that sacred place I felt restored and at peace with all that is.
But it caused me to reflect.  Why had it taken me so long to get out there?  I know what a treasure this place is, so why had I avoided it since the snow left?  Sure, it’s a longer walk and I need to give her more time if I want to go on my favorite trails.  And it means my to do list won’t get as done.  Sure, it’s more up and down and Gibbs gets tired.  But none of these thoughts felt true.
Later that day I went into town to meet up with a small team from church.  We were delivering meals from a homeless shelter to families that were newly homeless and being housed in motels.  We bagged 110 meals and set off in two teams to leave them outside of people’s motel room doors.  The corridors were dingy, with low ceilings and lighting and a musty smell, and the doors we knocked on were insubstantial.  Yet the people who opened them were grateful for this meal delivered to them.
As I sat with this day, the question returned.  Why don’t I get out to these woods more?  And the feeling arose that my feeling a sense of peace while the world is in turmoil is bad.  Now, logically, I know this is the exact opposite of truth.  But that feeling of the fear of entitlement arose in me.  Why should I get to enjoy a long time in the woods when others where putting their lives at risk simply by going to work?  Why should I have access to woods when so many are surrounded by concrete jungles?  Why should I be blessed with the light filtering through the trees when others are holed up in dirty, dismal motels?  What makes it so I can sink into this place of beauty and let my worries go when others are juggling kids and home schooling and sickness and homelessness and unemployment and……
I prayed with these feelings, allowing them to arise and be.  And as I did I began to feel the peace of the woods once more.  A voice began to whisper in my heart.  “Go to the woods.  Feel the peace.  Sink into the beauty.  When you meet others who can’t get there they will feel this emanating from you.   The blessing you received gets passed on.”  I also got the sense that because I questioned my right to this, I wasn’t falling too badly into that trap of entitlement.  For I still believe and work for everyone to have access on many levels.  And that I should soak in these woods before the bugs come, sharing the beauty, the sense of peace, the pictures of spring flowers, the groundedness and gratitude.
What has fed you recently that you can share with the world around you?  Where are the places where your sense of entitlement is an invitation to search your heart?  Where have you seen beauty?
With love,
Alison

​A little while ago we finally had some decent rain…. April was unseasonably dry here, and, although the weather had warmed up, the lack of moisture was holding every sign of spring deep within it.   The day before the rain I had taken Gibbs to one of our favorite forests to walk.  The trees were still bare, a few birds singing the only sound, grasses still dry and brown.  But after the rain we returned and the birch trees had a new coat of green, the frogs were so loud it was hard to escape their croaks, the birds were singing in an unending chorus, and new green shoots were emerging from the brown stems of grass.  Life had woken up!  And that green of the birch tree leaves took my breath away with their luminous vibrancy.  Each time I turned a corner to a stand of birches I stopped and stared again, refreshed by this simple color that is just the color I imagine spring to be.
As we continued on our walk that morning, I reflected on this burst of new life, and how it was only made possible by the rain.  Without this shower of water, grace, love, hope, things would have held on to winter.  Nothing would have changed.  Leaves would have stayed curled up, frogs would have remained silent, tan the only color to see in the fields.  It reflected to me our human journey through life, in this interconnected web we thrive in. 
As people journeying through life we can get stuck in a time of ‘winter’.  Although I have come to love winter in Minnesota, it can feel very long and hard and by February my body aches for color and light.  The white glare of the snow becomes oppressive rather than magical and the layers of clothing make the body feel sluggish and hard to move.  Our feelings can be this way…. Hard, long, cumbersome, or even just a feeling of blah-ness!  We go through the days, nothing really wrong except a tinge of needing more.  We may not realize what is missing or what out longings are, or we may think that something out there can make us change and burst with new life, but mostly we are just moving through with little thought.  Alternatively we can be in an active time of feelings so strong and disturbing that we hold them as close to us as we are able, not trusting ourselves to express them, not trusting the world enough to share them, holding on, just trying to make it through another day, clinging as tightly as possible.
And then something happens.  Maybe we have a burst of emotions, expressing the pain and angst at something possibly unconnected to the original hurt.  Maybe we see something with new eyes, taking away a fear or softening our hearts.  Maybe we seek help that allows us to take control of an aspect of our lives, or share something we have been silent about for too long.  Maybe we find the courage to reach out and be vulnerable, or we find our ‘normal’ lives ground to a halt and discover new blessings in the midst of the change and grief.  This ‘spurt of rain’ strips off a layer of the sameness, the control, the pain and we burst forth with sound and color and new life springing up unexpectedly. 
As you move through these days, how is the ‘rain’ refreshing you?  Inviting you into new life?  Offering you healing?  Or are you still clothed with layers of protection waiting for that rain?  How can you croak with the frogs in a song that proclaims hope?