Tears, Dredlocks and a Street Retreat

Tears, Dredlocks and a Street Retreat:
Facing Fears of Moving Forward

In the past two years I have felt a call from God to consider a radical life change. The call is to leave my current life style, living in a comfortable “happening” neighborhood, and move to the near north side of my city, into a racially and socio-economically mixed neighborhood. I’ve been attending a church there for several years and my heart is engaged with the mission and people there. I have also had a shift in values and I find that my current housing does not fit for me as well as it once did. I desire a smaller and simpler life.

But this will not be a simple move. My heart encourages me to go on this adventure with God and take the risk. My head comes up with a lot of questions, fears and what-ifs. Is this really what God is calling me to do or am I just caught up in the emotion of the moment? What about the crime in this neighborhood and my safety as a single woman? Where I will live; in a home, an apartment or a town house? Should I own or rent? Hmm…I do not feel ready to move.

And then there is the issue of my crying. Over the last few months I cry more easily than ever before in my life. I cry when I am moved by joyful news or sad news. I cry when I hear stories of selfless people, when I read lyrics that move me, or when someone is compassionate. And it feels like I can’t stop crying. So I check out the obvious. Am I depressed? I seem to be functioning well and feel optimistic. I have good friends and meaningful work.

I bring up this crying issue with my spiritual director and she tells me that St. Ignatius, one of my mentors from the 16th century, had the same issue when he was deep in a discernment process. She gives me a book of his journal entries for a period of time when he cried uncontrollably, and I am surprised and elated that this may be a sign from God, an indication of more intimacy with God. Ignatius was asking God to let him know if the religious order he was founding should be supported by wealthy donors or whether they should beg for their sustenance. His tears were a gift from God to show how close and present God was during this time of important decision-making. I can identify with Ignatius just a bit, choosing whether to have comfort or to sacrifice some of my comforts. That is my dilemma too. I felt God coming closer to me and holding me gently in this decision/discernment process. I still don’t know the answer but I feel the tears are a reminder of God’s presence.

I know I need to deal with my fears of this neighborhood or I will never move. This is a part of the city a lot of suburbanites are afraid to drive through and I’m considering moving there. So what, exactly am I afraid of? In a small support group with my pastor and a colleague I try to name my fears; drugs, assault, gang violence, young black men with dredlocks, racial hatred. Just naming these things brings up more fear because I remember and recount an incident early in my career in which my male boss sexually harassed me.

My colleague listens to me tell my story and suggests that we do a street retreat. “A what?” I ask. He explains that we could just explore the neighborhood together and look for two things, the things I fear and also sanctuaries, places that feel welcoming, holy or safe. He offers to go with me on this street retreat and I accept. We invite the new pastoral intern and his wife to join us and set a date.

On our retreat, we find no drug paraphernalia in the local market, which is one of my fears. We find relatively well-kept homes and even an intriguing new housing development. We have great conversations as we get to know the new intern and his wife. We discover a walkway next to a creek and stand there for fifteen minutes just taking in the calm quiet of the crystal clear water. A girl and her younger brother are scouting for frogs nearby. Right next to the creek is a large abandoned building covered with graffiti. We all think it looks sort of like an urban cathedral and we wonder if homeless people live in this quiet pristine place. I return from our retreat satisfied and calm. My stereotypes of this neighborhood are beginning to change.

My fear of black teenagers is still looming so I decide to ask one of the teenage leaders in my church, who has dredlocks, to be my mentor on this journey of facing my fear. He is really surprised, though, that I am asking him to mentor me. Usually, he says, it is the other way around. He wonders what he has to offer me? I just say I want to have us tell our stories to one another and we will see where it goes.

Our stories, it turns out, level the field between us considerably. He sees that I am a real person with pain in my life and a hunger for relationships. I see that in him too. So I feel safe to ask him what his advice is for me if I move here and I get scared in this neighborhood. He says, without a pause, “Whenever you get afraid, don’t stay home.” This is very wise, in my opinion. When I ask what I should do if I get afraid in the middle of the night, he says to call him because he’s got my back. Over the next few months he teaches me how to hip hop and he gives me more of his wisdom. I deeply appreciate who he is and how he is changing my view of his world.

I am seeing and experiencing an amazing paradox. Facing fear is one way to help dissipate it. Usually I run from fear but in this case I look at it, name it and then step forward into it. Now that I’m feeling God at work in this process of moving, I’m gaining confidence that God will also forge a path for the next steps of the move—where to live. But I’ll save that for another chapter in this saga.

(Note: I wrote this essay a few years ago but felt it was more powerful to leave it as I originally wrote it; in the present tense. I am not currently considering moving.)

© Janet O. Hagberg, 2009. All rights reserved.

Reflections on this essay
What do you feel God calling you to do or be that you are afraid of?

How have you tried looking at this fear?

Who is helping you on this exploration or change?

How does this exploration bring you closer to God?

What is your next step in the process and how will you do it?

Are You Going Home for Christmas?

Are You Going Home for Christmas?

One of my favorite writers, Frederick Buechner, told a story of a Christmas sermon he heard that moved him to tears. The minister used the most common question of the holiday season; “Are you going home for Christmas?” This question moved Buechner because he was longing deep in his soul to know where home was.

This question has haunted me for years, too, because it raises a painful recognition; I don’t go home for Christmas because I have no home to go to. My parents have been dead for years, and my stepchildren and my other “adopted” family members all have other places where they celebrate Christmas. So all the usual images of home are not relevant for me. Not relevant, yet painful. Over the years I’ve learned how to redeem Christmas in a healing way but the cultural pressure to belong somewhere still arises whenever I hear that perennial question, “Are you going home for Christmas?”

I’ve become aware of a larger sense of home, of belonging, that I’m also missing. I feel it in a variety of ways in my life. In my work life I am involved in a number of endeavors; teaching, connecting mainstream people with people in the inner city, spiritual direction and writing. These are all vital and life-giving but it’s not the same as going to one place every day and being part of one consistent community.

Then there is my spiritual side, which is central to my life. I need a lot of support and collegiality to maintain balance and to stay grounded. I get that through spiritual direction, small groups, supervision and close friends. I go to two churches because I’m called to be a bridge between a suburban church and an inner city church. So my spiritual support life feels a bit splintered.

Last, but not least, my living situation is not fixed. I am planning to move some day to a smaller and simpler place, so my sense of home will shift. But as yet, I have not moved and I am in limbo in this aspect of my life as well.

I do not feel totally homeless. I feel more homesick. At times I long for a cozy home, a committed community, a place to really belong. But it does not seem to be part of my experience anywhere in my life. It may seem strange but I sense this homesickness is God’s calling in my life. It’s not a fluke, it is part of a plan. All of the aspects of my work and spiritual life are life-giving. So it feels like a paradox that none of them feels like “home.”

So where, really, do I feel most at home? This is my burning question. Where do I feel at home, if not in any of those places that are the most obvious and the ones I long for most fervently?

I asked God this question.

The truth God brought to me, the truth that rings in my soul and brings me peace in this conundrum is this: I feel at home where God is. When I really listen for God, I feel at home with whatever God brings me, wherever God sends me as long as God is with me. I make my home in God. I will spend my Christmas Day in God’s presence as a retreat day. And I feel most whole when I am in communion with God.

So, whether I am in my condo or a café, God is my nest. I carry this nest with me wherever I go. When I feel homesick I can go to this new home. I can stop looking outside of myself for God and home. God brings me belonging, joy, courage, love and healing. God also surprises me with loving friends who seek me out during the most traditional family times in our culture; they make sure to call me, go to movies with me on Christmas night, and email me all throughout the holidays.

Home, for me, is not a physical place. It is my state of mind—at least on my good days! Home is ease with God, trust in God’s provision, intimacy and humor. My model for this relationship with God is Jesus. Jesus was an itinerant. He had no place to lay his head. He depended on strangers and on those he loved. And he spent a lot of time with his father in prayer—in the mountains, in boats, in the wilderness. He was in almost constant conversation with God.

I began this essay with a story from Frederich Buechner about a question he hears in a Christmas Eve sermon. As soon as he hears the question he knows the real answer for him. In his words, ”I can almost see Buttrick (the minister) with his glasses glittering in the lectern light as he peered out at all those people listening to him in that large, dim sanctuary and asked it again–”Are you going home for Christmas?”—and asked it in some way that brought tears to my eyes and made it almost unnecessary for him to move onto his answer to the question, which was that home, finally, is the manger in Bethlehem, the place where at midnight even the oxen kneel. Home is where Christ is was what Buttrick said…”

And he goes on to say that when we experience the life-giving power of Jesus alive within us we come closest to being truly home.

Home, for me, is my inner nest filled with the presence of God.

© Janet O. Hagberg, 2009. All rights reserved.
The Buechner quotes are from his book, Longing for Home.

Reflections on this essay
When you hear the question, “Are you going home for Christmas?” what emotion comes up for you?

Have you ever been homesick, even when you were with family? Homesick for what, whom?

What is your sense of home? Who, where, why?

What does it mean for you to hear that home is in the manger?

How is God or Jesus part of your sense of home?

The Richness of Not Wanting

The Richness of Not Wanting

“Oh, there’s that dreadful word again,” I said to myself. My spiritual director had just suggested to me that I might not be capable of getting myself up at 5:00 for an hour of prayer before getting ready for my usual 7:30 breakfast meeting for my business. She said that God would have to do that for me and that this was part of the process of surrendering to God. There was that word—surrender. I dreaded it. It felt like relinquishing my rights, my will, my choices. That conversation was quite awhile ago and, as result of those morning prayers, my spiritual journey has been one of steady descent ever since!

I’ve had to move steadily downhill from control, self-centeredness, ego, self-deception, success, security, busyness and fear. All because of that central compelling call from God to surrender. It is hard work and very counter to our culture, even much of our religious culture. And it’s easy to think that the downhill journey is all downhill, with little to be joyful about. I used to believe that.

I knew little of the other side of surrender, which is freedom, inner freedom. Freedom opens doors to the eternal. Surrender transforms us, it opens us, it heals us, it relieves us of our self-imposed burdens so we are cleaned out and free to be filled with God, in order to be our best selves. I doubt if surrender will become a subject of popular workshops or book titles though, because if most people are like me, they are afraid of what it will cost, how hard it will be and what they will be asked to give up.

There is a simple poem, written by a 15^th Century Indian mystic named Kabir, that captures the essence of surrender in a compelling way for me.

Where the Shopkeeper Would Say

I was

Looking for that shop

Where the shopkeeper would say,

“There is nothing of value in here.”

I found it and did

Not leave

The richness of not wanting

Wrote these

Poems

The phrase that is most compelling for me is “the richness of not wanting.” Other ways to say this might be: let go and let God, not clinging, releasing, letting go. The word in that phrase that embraces me is the word, richness. How can there be richness in not wanting?

Freedom again. When I have to have…a house, a mate, cars, a certain job, health, money, fame, status, success, travel, clothes, attention from children, recognition, approval, the need to be needed, addictions, control, beauty, a body type etc, I am controlled by these desires, these longings. And I am not free to receive what I truly need instead.

Our culture pushes me to take the road to more—abundance, wider territory, more money, bigger job, multiple toys, having what I want right now. There are books that train our minds to deliver us whatever we dream of. I know best. I get what I want. The guarantee is that I will then be happy. Usually this regimen leaves me blind to what I actually need.

Moving into the richness of not wanting is a long, slow and incredibly satisfying experience. But it involves loss and letting go, releasing our wants in favor or our needs. It probably should not be done without guidance lest we lose track of the meaning in the process. But one thing I know; the journey is worth it and God is in the middle of it.

I would describe my spiritual journey as a slow downward spiral to the heart of God. This journey has brought me through several painful leadership experiences in which I learned to lead from behind rather than from the front. This journey brought me to the cusp of despair as a result of severely impaired relationships. It has transformed my work from traveling and key-note speaking to simpler yet deeper interactions with people. It has allowed me to downsize my living space and release many of my possessions. It has increased the richness and diversity of my friendships. It has deepened my spiritual life and increased my intimacy with God significantly.

So now whenever I crave something I do not need, I ask the simple question “why do I want this?” Usually if I go deeply enough and see what is beneath that desire, it is about security or filling an empty space within. When I can release these cravings I am free. I laugh more. I cry more too. I feel a deeper connection with the beauty around me. And I know joy.

Is this journey for everyone? No. One good church leader said to me, when I was describing the sacrificial life, “Why would anyone want this life?” I agreed. Why would anyone want this life, the richness of not wanting?

Good question. Ask God about it.

© Janet O. Hagberg, 2009. All rights reserved

Reflections on this essay

What does surrender mean to you spiritually?

What have you surrendered that has felt life-giving for you?

When have you gotten something you wanted and found out it didn’t satisfy you?

How do you experience the richness of not wanting?

How do you experience the freedom of less…?

Die Before You Die

Die Before You Die

Die before you die. Jesus says that those who give up their lives will find them, that the greatest thing we can do is to sacrifice our lives for our friends. He suggests that we seek first his kingdom and not our own. These are lofty sounding things I wish I could do but they seem outlandishly out of reach, at least on my watch.

And then I wondered…what if I just leaned into this dying-to-self gently, by asking God to mold me into a person who would long for what lasts and does not go out of style next year? What if I asked God to slowly turn my life and my daily decisions toward the long arm of eternity rather than my next trip or business success? My life would slowly but surely change in deep and mysterious ways.

As a result of these prayerful reflections I came upon a real and practical way to face into dying before I die and that was to simply plan for my actual death, my end-of-life process. I thought what I was doing would be straight forward and reassuring but I found the process to be sacred in unusual ways.  I started by redoing my will, completing a new medical directive and planning my memorial service. While they did require me to make financial and medical decisions with intention, the whole process brought up more; cherished memories, joy, gratitude and humor. But it also brought up sadness, unfinished business, questions about my legacy, my sense of home and family; things that I may have avoided if I had not done this work. But in the end it allowed me to feel the deep love of those who will miss me and it allowed me to experience God more intimately in the midst of the process.

I’ve been with dying people and know that unfinished business with loved ones or estranged friends, family or spouses begs for attention in those last days. I decided to gently attend to those loose ends now, while I have the clear mind to do so. I needed to talk to some people, hear their stories, feel deeper compassion, and forgive. Another issue for me as a single person without close family around me, was to decide who I wanted to be my “family” in my death, who I wanted to give power to for my end-of-life decisions, and then who would plan my funeral, and sort out my possessions. This essentially meant looking death in the face and saying yes—whenever that time comes. I’ve found that when I am able to face into my own death with honesty and courage and vulnerability, humor also arises which lets me know I’m in good stead. Humor balances the morbid aspects of death. For instance, in my medical directive, it asks where I would prefer to die. I wrote, “At a Twins game, after a big win, but if not there, I prefer a hospice.” And when I give my body to the University of Minnesota Medical School, I will have a scarf around my neck with Goldie the Gopher mascot symbols on it so the medical students will smile when they open the bag.

One foreboding aspect of this process was deciding who would get my material possessions after I die. Not that I have so much but just deciding who would get what was a daunting task so I brought it to prayer. As usual, God had a much more interesting way to deal with this then just making a list of names with items next to them as an addendum to my will.

God brought to mind actual items in my home and then brought to mind the person who needed this item. Then God directed me to give the item to the person now while I could enjoy the process. This would give me the opportunity to share with each person why I was giving it to them. I loved the idea, and as the items came to mind, I realized that many of these would have been just overlooked in the process of cleaning out my condo after I’m gone. Their significance was more on a personal level and not on the material level. It makes such sense now that I reflect on it. And those heart connections went deeper the longer I engaged with the process.

One example is my personal photo album of the Silent Witness March to End the Silence about Domestic Violence in Washington DC in 1997. I felt strongly about giving it to one of the women I’d mentored when I lead this initiative. As I looked through the scrapbook it became clear to me why my heart had made this strong connection with her and this album. The day of the march was a turning point in her life. She was an abused woman and mistrusted men. At the march that day she heard a man who had been a former abuser speak of his healing and of how much working with Silent Witness had changed his life. His wife, who had already spoken, was standing next to him, holding his hand. Hearing his story, my young friend knew instantly that she had to change her mind about men and she needed to work with Silent Witness in order to do that. At the time, she was a coordinator of one of our newest state projects and she ended up as one of the leaders of the national organization. It changed her life. Here in my photo album was a picture of that man telling his story in front of the nation’s capitol with his wife holding his hand. It depicted a pivotal moment that I needed to pass along to my friend.

If I had not approached this giving-away process prayerfully, I may have missed the opportunity to gave this photo album away and it may have been put in a box or thrown into a dumpster. I know that a lot of my things will need to be thrown into a dumpster but the things that God gives me to pass along now are bringing healing, joy, and blessings to me and to the recipients.

Doing this work is engaging my soul in the joy of these deep connections. It is also freeing me to live more fully now, to engage in what is most important to me, to see more clearly the dream that God had for me when I was created. Now I have more inner space to attend to it. And as I part with more of my earthly things, I feel a closer connection, and sense an eventual reunion with the God who loved me into this process. Now that’s something worth dying for.

Janet O. Hagberg, 2011. All rights reserved.

Reflections on this essay

How do you understand dying before you die?

In what way have you faced into your death?

What amends do you have left to make?

What material things have you or could you pass along now?

What connections would be special for you in this giving?

How does facing death free you to live fully?

How do you view death from a spiritual perspective?

God Smiles

God Smiles

I say hang on
God says let go
I say I’m afraid
God says I know

I say my way
He says fine
I say it doesn’t work
She smiles now mine

I say now your way
God says through pain
I say no painless
He says in vain

I say lead me on
God says through the night
I say I’m afraid
She says that’s all right

I say I let go
He says you got through
I smile I’m not afraid
God smiles too

©Janet O. Hagberg, 1987, 2006

Reflections on this poem

How do you give your fears to God?

What do you recall about doing things your own way and having them collapse?

How has God invited you to go through the pain of the night?

How has it changed you?

Recall how you and God smile at one another.

For a small book of these poems go to my web site www.janethagberg.com

Handing Over the Reins and Riding Shotgun

Handing Over the Reins and Riding Shotgun

Death is usually messy, sad, frightening and unpredictable. Most of us fear it more than anything else in life. At least I do. But I’ve also found that death or the dying process brings, to some, deeper clarity, more profound peace, and a steady rain of grace. I’m not sure what accounts for the variety of responses people have in their dying process but I have been invited to journey with a number of people in their last months of life and I have sensed that my soul is taking in life lessons that I would be wise follow now instead of waiting to learn them from my own dying process.

In a recent experience of being with a dying man named David, I became aware of the intentional way he was approaching his earthly departure and his crossing over. When he asked me to accompany him on this journey I readily accepted. As is usually the case, I learned and received much more than I gave and I felt he was a wise and trusted teacher since God seemed to be speaking through him. David taught me some poignant principles that seem worth reiterating.

Courage to face his truth: The day David heard from his oncologist that his cancer was inoperable and he had one to three months left to live, he came to a meeting of our little leadership group at church because he wanted his spiritual “family” to know. He could have gone home, isolated himself and felt angry or betrayed, but he brought all of his fears and feelings to the group. He gratefully accepted our support and prayers. I remember feeling such a strong presence of God in the circle it was palpable. David’s courage and willingness to reach out awed and challenged us. He found that facing the truth took some of the fear out of it and allowed him to focus on the deeper movements of truth within him; peace, forgiveness and letting go.

Peace as his guideline: David faced the unknown. When we met together, he spoke of unfinished internal business and he had myriads of emotions swirling around. But he knew his bottom line. He wanted to find peace. So anything that granted him peace, even if it required acknowledgment of a tough truth, was what he sought. Sometimes this meant, for me, just being quiet with him in his room, other times listening to music, other times working out an issue. He asked for God’s peace to be his guide during his dying process.

Clearing the slate: One of David’s wishes was to make all the amends he could and grant forgiveness where it was needed. He did his as he said his goodbyes and saw all the members of his extended family and friends. He included himself in his forgiveness process so he could leave without regrets. He wanted nothing to hold him back, so, even though he was still open to a miracle of physical healing, he was getting ready to go.

Observing his blocks: Over the course of his last days, David noticed he was clinging to control, trying to hold on to it as a way to ward off fear and death. We talked about this and we found an image he liked, an image that helped him transfer his control to God. This was one of our most poignant conversations, when we latched on to the image of an old buckboard being pulled by a team of horses and driven by David himself. He decided to hand over the reins to God but still ride shotgun, right up in the front seat next to God. David smiled when we talked of this and said he thought this idea would work for letting go of control.

Surrounded by loving people: As soon as David and his wife learned of his prognosis they contacted home hospice to come in and get the process in motion. He wanted to be at home, surrounded by people who cared for him and loved him. His wife was quickly granted a leave from her work. His sister and several family members and friends gathered close. Favorite clergy came to be near him. He asked a couple people to be his spiritual mentors. He was aware that, although he would be ultimately dying alone, he did not have to die by himself. And he clearly recognized God’s presence, sometimes in care givers or the soothing voices or touch of friends. His family and friends stayed by him but also eventually gave him permission to go so he did not cling to life for their sakes.

Opening to God: David paradoxically wanted to live and hold on for his family but he was also willing to hold life more lightly and take the journey towards God. He gradually became more at peace with the process and he began to actively minister to the people who came to see him. His conversations stayed with us for days. Miraculous connections happened among people. Spiritual healing and serendipity happened in his presence. His peace and courage radiated out to us. His quotes from the precipice challenged and comforted us. His desire for music, scripture, communion, prayer, touch and poetry helped those of us around him as much as it helped him.

What David taught me from accompanying him on his dying journey is that there is nothing worth clinging to and the more I cling, the less free I am. He taught me that asking whom I need to forgive and what I need to be forgiven for are two of life’s keenest questions. He showed me that if something is not life-giving I need not engage it. And he showed me that spending more time around people I love is worth the effort. But the most important lesson for me was the importance of continually dealing with all the things that are piled up between God and me, so I can continue moving in God’s direction. As I acknowledge those things and turn them over to God, it is easier to let go and allow God to lead.

Sort of like giving God the reins and riding shot gun.

© Janet O. Hagberg, 2009. All rights reserved.
Reflections on this essay
When have you learned from someone who is dying?

What was the most important thing you learned?

What truth would change your life if you faced it?

Who or what do you need to forgive?

What, if anything, is in the way between you and God?

In what areas could you release the reins and ride shot gun?

Saga of the Black Skirt

Saga of the Black Skirt

Every time I wear my favorite black skirt I get a chance to tell the story of how it dropped into my life. And that story makes me deeply grateful for the graceful way this skirt came to be mine.

I was on a rare trip, since I have consciously chosen not to travel much. A group of women were gathering at a retreat center to apply a model of faith I had written about to their lives. The two leaders for the weekend were friends and colleagues of mine and I was enthralled with the creative ways in which they engaged us with the material. One after another, the retreatants shared their core life experiences with the group. It was a weekend filled with depth and holy surprises.

The reason that so many women could share at such deep levels was that the atmosphere at the retreat was safe, personal and inspiring. I felt my own soul being fed, which is sometimes difficult when my material is the subject of the teaching. But in this group I could participate fully and allow myself to be fed. There was something different about this retreat. There was a spirit alive within this group and we could feel it. We had a full and poignant opening day of learning and sharing.

As Ellen, one of the retreat leaders, was presenting a portion of the material on a specific stage of faith, I was mesmerized by her total persona; calm, grounded, inviting. Her whole appearance spoke of her grace, simple and beautiful. She wore a light yellow v-neck sweater and a charming long black skirt that had squares on it with fringed edges. The fabric inside the squares was thin enough to see though, giving the skirt a magical quality, yet it was black so it was very subtle. I fell in love with Ellen’s skirt because it was so magical and looked so good on her. After her session I complimented her on it and then laughingly said that if she discovered her skirt missing at the end of the weekend, she would know where to come look for it. She laughed and said this was her very favorite skirt.

The next morning when I opened my door to go to our shared bathroom, there was a little gift outside my door. It was Ellen’s favorite skirt wrapped in tissue with a note saying she really appreciated me and wanted me to have it. I was moved to tears and then a not-so-deserving part of myself convinced me that I had to give it back. I paused long enough to let my other more healed voice get a chance to speak and it told me that I had rarely experienced this kind of generosity with material things, and it moved me to a deeper place of gratitude. I am usually so independent and self sufficient and this was an opportunity to receive her kind generosity to me. So it may have been harder for me to receive the gift than it was for her to give it. Although, as I thought about it, giving away my favorite clothing item would not be easy either.

I stepped back into my room and put the skirt on. It was beautiful. I loved it even more when I felt it around me. I wore it that day and everyone loved it, but mostly they loved the story of Ellen giving it to me—her favorite skirt. It must have struck a cord for many women there as it had for me since I tend to hoard my stuff, especially my favorite stuff. I think I am afraid that if I give away my things they will not be replaced or I will not have enough, yet my closets are overflowing with clothes I rarely wear. What a messy predicament.

Ellen was offering me another alternative. Be generous out of love. Try letting go of my favorite things and see the joy they bring to others. Try letting go of things that are not even my favorites and notice the freedom I feel inside. I have a feeling that if I trust God more for all of my needs, it will easier to give away my stuff, even my favorite things. To my surprise, I was about to learn another important thing about giving generously because there was an even more delicious ending to the story.

The delicious ending is this: one of Ellen’s good friends who was also at the retreat, had an identical skirt to Ellen’s except that it was one size larger. Without Ellen knowing it, her friend had her skirt taken in and then sent it to Ellen, so she received her favorite skirt back and now we can both wear them. Ellen was as surprised and thrilled with her friend’s generosity as I was with hers.

Sincere generosity like Ellen’s spreads and moves others to do the same. It changes both the giver and the receiver. No guilt, no strings attached, no agendas. Just a free gift.

So the learning, for me, is to give out of love and out of a place of inner freedom, sometimes even giving something away before I have come to that place of inner freedom. If I believe that God will multiply my generosity and also provide what I need, then I can give freely to others. And the joy that comes from giving freely is like no other.

Now, after receiving this surprising and generous gift from a loving heart, I’m wondering how my grateful heart will respond and what I will be willing to give away in love.

© Janet O. Hagberg, 2009. All rights reserved.

Reflections on this essay
What has been the most generous free gift you have received from another person? How did it come to you? How did it affect you?

When have you gotten a gift or given one that was not given in freedom but had strings attached? How did that feel? What did you do?

Is there anything you feel called to give away now? How could you have the most freedom in giving it?

How is this process of giving freely out of love affecting you?

God and my Brass Bed

God and My Brass Bed

 

On my journey of becoming smaller and simpler, I’ve noticed that God has a gentle way of pointing out what I need to release. It is usually something I am clinging to. It’s not that God makes me release things I love, but I can see that the things I cling to are usually related to status, security, ego or fear. And what do I receive when I release them? More intimacy with God. more interior freedom and even joy. My visual image of this process is that God wanders around my condo—and my psyche—looking for the items I need to relinquish and then points to them with a mischievous grin.

My beautiful and expensive brass bed is one example. It is such a lovely bed, with a lily pattern at both the foot and the head of the bed. I love this bed and I made a special quilt for it using a quilt top my grandmother started in the 1930s. This bed also has some poignant memories since it was my marriage bed for a dozen years during an especially transformative time of sorting out and healing. So this bed carries a lot of memories and stories for me.

As part of my simplifying I was considering a move to a smaller apartment and I realized that I may not have room for my queen sized bed. I felt dismay at first because I did not want to feel diminished in this move. But then I prayed about this and decided to let the process proceed and see what happened. It seemed to me that God was raising this issue of my bed with something else in mind, like a new way to think about my home and belongings. I had no idea how to sell it or who would buy it in a time of deep financial stress in the county.

One of my twenty-something friends, Heather, was at my condo for tea before the holidays and it suddenly occurred to me that she might be a perfect match for my bed. She was in law school and her apartment was not completely furnished. In fact, she and her fiance were sleeping on a mattress on the floor. So I casually mentioned to her that I might be letting the bed go when I moved. I asked her if she would want it. Her eyes lit up and she looked at me in surprise. “You’re serious? Really? You’d just give it to me?” I said I really meant it. I told her to think about it since she lived in another city and the bed would not be easy to transport.

I said I would give it to her but asked her to consider paying it forward by helping a refugee friend of mine, from Uganda, buy a plane ticket for her youngest son to join her in America. My friend had to flee the country after being tortured and now she wanted to reunite with her children.

Heather readily agreed to pay it forward and the deal was struck. Then things started speeding up. She called a few days later confirming that she and her fiance would love to have my bed and that they were going to be back in my city in a month. I was startled. That was three months earlier than I had planned. A little shock wave went through me. Was I really ready to let go of this lovely bed? It felt like a little divine joke on me and I realized that God was masterminding the process now. So I tried sleeping on my day bed, the bed I would be using instead of my brass bed, just to see how it would feel. It was a much smaller bed and I would be sleeping with my back against the headboard, a whole new experience. It also felt so permanent. But to my surprise, it did not feel as weird as I had imagined. I was going to be OK.

When Heather’s fiancé, Ben, came to pick up the bed he had two friends with him. (I just love this part of the story). The young woman just happened to work for a non-profit organization that helped homeless people find housing and furniture, including beds. When she saw my mattresses she asked me what I was planning to do with them. I had no idea. She said they could use them immediately! So that day my bed went to Heather and Ben and the next week my mattresses went to a homeless man who Heather’s friend had been working with to find a bed.

After a few weeks of sleeping in my day bed I felt kind of cuddly leaning my back against the headboard and I began to think of this as an adventure. Leaning on the headboard gave me a sense of security before going to sleep. And my bedroom looked spacious, with room to spare. It would easily accommodate my desk if I moved into a one-bedroom apartment. So I knew I could move into a smaller space and be happy. And, to my surprise, the lovely quilt worked just fine on my new bed.

When I had a chance to reflect on this whole experience, I couldn’t imagine making any other decision, even though it was hard at first. I had released what I was clinging to, the bed and the memories that were associated with that bed. My friend, Heather and her fiance would have the joy of a beautiful brass bed. My friend from Uganda could bring her son to the US. And a man who had been homeless for twenty years would have a bed of his own. That made me wonder how I could have held onto that bed for as long as I did. Imagine if I had never released it?

And now I am watching God wander around my condo again. I notice God’s pace slowing at my dining room table and chairs, and there is that mischievous grin again. Oh, oh, I think I can tell what my next assignment is going to be.

 

© Janet O. Hagberg, 2009. All rights reserved.

Reflections on this essay

What are you holding onto that you need to release?

What memories does it/they have for you?

What will you gain when you release this?

Do you feel diminished or enriched when you release things you are clinging to?

Who will benefit from your giving?

What surprises you about this release—or even thinking about releasing something?

 

Gaining Wisdom From a Grocery Bag

Gaining Wisdom From a Grocery Bag

It’s kind of embarrassing for me to admit that I learn some of my best lessons from the most trivial experiences. But I find that what I learn from the trivial experiences symbolizes larger issues in my life. Take the grocery bag issue, for instance.

I was driving my friend, Harriet, to the pizza place and then on to the grocery store and it triggered the memory that two weeks ago, when I had picked up a few extra things for her, I had forgotten to take back my new cloth grocery bag (environmentally friendly and politically correct). I casually commented that I needed to get that bag back so I could avoid using paper and plastic. As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I felt uncomfortable and I wasn’t quite sure why. All the way to the pizza place I reflected on it and then I said to Harriet, “Cancel what I said about the bag. You can keep the bag and I can get both of us another bag when we go grocery shopping.”

In those few minutes I had processed a lot of things. First, I reflected on my discomfort about getting my bag back. It came from the feeling that I needed that bag. It represented something missing from my stuff if I didn’t get it back–it was mine and someone else had it. I was keeping track of my stuff, like people track books or money they lend. I might even be diminished in some way if I didn’t get it back. No thought to how it would be if I willingly gave it up!

If I go a little deeper, I can feel that this clinging to my stuff, even the most trivial stuff, is really a sign of my scarcity mentality. It goes like this, “If I don’t get that bag back, I may be in need and not have enough. At some point there may not be enough stuff (insert the word food or jobs or money or whatever) to go around and I may have to go without and then I will be really scared.” None of this is at the conscious level, of course, which is why my clinging to my bag is sort of funny. Clinging to a grocery bag, which costs a dollar, as if it was a source of security! But this mentality also shows up in bigger things, like my time, my willingness to listen to others who differ from me, my willingness to have a smaller and simpler life style.

My friend, Harriet, who is from Uganda and has a powerful story of fleeing the country to come to America as a refugee, is generous with all of her things and gives me food and love all the time. She has almost nothing yet she is usually grateful and willing to share. I am learning from her that it is not about what I have, it is about what I’m willing to share, believing that I will be just fine. What Harriet would say, about giving the grocery bag to someone, is “God will provide.” And she would mean it, because she has experienced it so many times in her crisis-ridden life.

The scarcity life is not healthy for me but neither is the opposite, the abundance mentality, whereby if I just visualize what I want I can get it. This feeds my wants and desires without ever checking to see if God has anything to say about whether those things would actually be good for me. I find this approach feeds my power and ego more than is healthy for me and often leads me to ask for things to fill my emptiness rather than to look at the emptiness to see what it teaches me. It’s not that I don’t deserve abundance, but I’m choosing, instead, to trust in God to be my source of security and fulfillment. And if I really look underneath my desire for abundance, I find that my fear of not having enough is just as present there.

So what is the option that makes more sense? If fear underlies my sense of scarcity and abundance, how can I find a spirit of having enough? I can move to a place of sufficiency. Sufficiency is neither scarcity nor abundance. It is enoughness. It is satisfaction with what I already have and gratefulness for what I will receive without clinging to either. It encourages me to live on a sort of edge where I can’t count on a whole storage bin full of what I want, but to live as if I will always have what I need. It requires trust and dependence on the Holy and on divine providence, not on my own will and power. It is simultaneously scary and awesome. It is sacred space.

When the Israelites fled Egypt and were moving slowly through the wilderness, they complained that they did not have enough food. Moses asked God about this and God provided a daily meal, called manna, to every household. If they stored it and didn’t eat it, out of fear that they would not have enough, it rotted. If they ate too much, they did not have enough to feed everyone. So each day they had to trust that God would provide more manna. This required more courage, to go out each day to collect the manna that appeared on their doorstep.

I gave my grocery bag to Harriet with a glad heart. We even laughed about it. But now I think of my dilemma with the grocery bag as a manna story. It reminds me that I didn’t trust God’s manna. Now when I think of manna it is easier to hold all of my stuff lightly.

If you want to have an experiential understanding of clinging to your stuff, try giving away your very favorite thing or the thing you thought you could never part with, and see what it stirs in you. Think of manna and see if you feel any more freedom after you release your favorite thing.

©Janet O. Hagberg, 2009. All rights reserved.

Reflections on this essay

When have you had a sudden awareness that things may need to change or be different, a “grocery bag” experience? What was it? How did it change you?

When have you felt scarcity or lived out of a scarcity mentality? How does it affect you and your relationship with others?

When have you experienced abundance? How did this affect you and your relationship with others? Was it spiritual abundance or some other kind?

When have you experienced sufficiency? How does it affect your heart and your stance towards God, yourself, others?

Would you be willing to give away one of your favorite belongings and see how things shift in you? Why or why not? What reasons do you give for keeping your things? Can you see this as humorous?

Emptying to Make Space for the Holy

Emptying to Make Space for the Holy

Jesus emptied himself, becoming obedient to the point of death, even a death on the Cross. Philippians 2:5-11

In the last several years I’ve sensed God asking me to simplify my life, alter my work, release many of my material things and downsize my living space. In a word; emptying myself of what I hold dear.

It is a difficult process since I cling to my work and my “stuff” as a source of identity and security. It’s even embarrassing to admit why I can’t let some things go. For instance, I have a lovely glass decanter and two aperitif glasses that have survived five moves although I have only used the set once in thirty-five years. When I thought more deeply about why I’m holding onto this set, I discovered that I have an image of myself as an older women sitting in a comfortable chair with my cat on my lap before dinner having a glass of sherry. I must have read that in a British novel when I was in my twenties. The funniest thing about this picture is that I don’t have a habit of drinking before dinner and I don’t enjoy sherry. So out it went!

Some of the things I’ve held onto bring back my most cherished memories and connections. I love those things. But I’ve also held onto a few awards I’ve received so when I die those who clean out my condo will be impressed. Hmmm… Some of my things have even bleaker meanings; some purchases represent addictive behaviors, a few items are gifts I got after marital disputes, and some are just plain status symbols.

This word, emptying, describes for me what Jesus depicted in his last words from the Cross, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit!” He was releasing his life, turning it all over to God, giving it up, trusting his faithful Father to make meaning of his life for all time. Paul, in his letter to the Philippians, says Jesus emptied himself, naming Jesus’ death as an emptying process and an act of obedience filled with humility.

Jesus lived his life to the fullest. He was sorely tempted but never compromised. He healed people in deeper ways than they could even comprehend. He offered a way of life that was too sacrificial for the culture to accept. And now he was being faithful unto death in order to win victory over death forever. But at this moment, on the cross, he was leaving all that he held dear, emptying himself of his earthly life; his spirit leaving his body.

“Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.” Jesus spoke these final words from the cross with a loud voice, suggesting boldness and confidence. He had total trust in God to redeem his emptying process.

As difficult as this emptying process is for me, when I trust God and stay open and honest about my reasons for hanging onto my things, a freedom grows within me to release them—usually with a sense of humor about those darker motivations. Along the way I’m finding a new inner space opening. I’m experiencing a de-cluttering of my psyche, allowing for my creativity to bloom. I am discovering more meaningful work. And I am deeply grateful for the material things I have carefully chosen to keep.

God is speaking to me in new ways as I stay faithful to this emptying experience. At times I can even see this simplifying process as a sacred adventure that leads to more creative ways to let go—for instance, making up endearing stories about the people who receive the things I’ve anonymously given away. On Valentine’s Day last year I put two champagne glasses, that I tied with red ribbons and filled with Dove chocolates, in a give-away spot in my condo building and imagined that a young man who was wanting to ask his girlfriend to marry him saw the glasses and decided to ask her that very night, using these glasses as his symbol of their love. It gave me great joy to imagine this story, and it was much easier to part with my glasses.

More important than the actual process of giving is this: I find more intimacy with God the more I am willing to really let go—and I find God in the midst of my emptying.

When Christ emptied himself and turned his whole life over to God, his faithful Father, he fulfilled his mission on earth. Perhaps I can learn from his example and begin to experience empty as divinely full.

©Janet O. Hagberg, 2007. All rights reserved.

Reflections on this Essay

Have you ever felt God calling you to simplify your life? In what ways?

How did you experience this process?

What do you cling to? Why?

Is the word emptying a negative or positive word for you? Why?

Have you given something up that you loved and felt a freedom from the giving, a new feeling of God in your life? Describe what it was and how you were led to release it.