to experience old friends

I had just shared my intention to creatively keep the hours to the group that had gathered for spiritual direction, when a question was posed.

Why?

I spoke about being closer to God and things like that, but by the time we gathered with the remnants of the other group and.... the man brought up the question a second time... I had another thought... these are old friends.

Lectio, Imaginative prayer, Intercessory prayer, Meditation, Examen.  They are prayers that were taught to me and prayers I had taught to others.  Then neglected, some more than others.  But are they not old friends I would love to be close to, yes they are.

So why keep the hours, to visit God by visiting old friends.  And this is why I go to group spiritual direction, where old friends ask me why.

The Pug Commission

I met the Guardian of the pugs many years ago when I first entered the realm of group spiritual direction and was thrilled when she bought one of our Jazz signs, which resonated in both her love of the music and the name of her elder pug.  When I delivered that Jazz sign, we spoke of a pug mosaic.  

I surely did not move quickly on it and when I did finally face the idea of putting Jazz the pug on a mosaic, I had some second thoughts.  I sent an e-mail suggesting that mosaic may not be the best way to go, but my friend had faith in me.  And I ventured into the project.  Yes, dear friends and clients it is your faith in our ability that helps us take on commissions.  There are artists who refuse to do them, but for now we love being pushed into new realms by the desires of our clients.  Even realism (Di's Hawk and Snowcatcher's lizard paved the way)

When Mosaic Woman grouted the mosaic, I thought that I had some how pulled it off.  

So it came to the time to take another mosaic over to our friend's house.  She loved it.  And if you can trust her ability to get Jazz's thoughts down in writing, this blog post shows Jazz is OK with it, even if humans still baffle her.  By the way, a bonus for checking out the blog post is to see me hanging out with Jazz, whose head is tilted as she ponders us humans.

Fridays in PA---- Gwynedd Friends Meeting House

CLezenby


I have ventured into Gwynedd Friends Meeting House more than any other house of worship, which I have not gone to worship on a Sunday.

I have gone to lead retreats on the spirituality of gardening, to listen to music at coffee houses, to attend retreats, to walk a labyrinth, but most of the time has been to be part of group spirituality. Friends have emerged from experiencing this for many years.

Tonight, I came into the group having emerged from craft show delirium--- 6 straight weekends. The delirium can get one more focused on making sales than the desire to create art with the talent God has blessed me with and then celebrate the connections it allows me to make with people.

So I broke out of the silence and spoke of delirium and then spoke of four of the many connections I made during the six weeks. Then closed my eyes till responses flowed toward me. I spoke of wanting to relax into the craft and not feel a need to "create sales."

The delirium is lifting, the spirit is descending.

I dig Gwynedd Friends and my friend, Connie Lezenby, who not only was the architect who designed an addition to the meeting house but also has taught me what I know about group spiritual direction.

Of pugs and friends-- at spirit group, work, and flickr

I was the last to arrive for group spiritual direction on Friday night, two trains... one to Philly, one from Philly kept me by a red light for 6 minutes. They are ready to enter into silence when I get there, and so am I.

The rule is this, if the spirit moves, then speak up to 7 minutes... silence... then others can try to guide you closer to God... silence... the spirit moves another to speak our story and the cycle goes on till we have all spoken.

I have a friend, who I know from inside these groups. She may have never gone first before this past Friday. She is a lover of pugs.

In October she spoke of ...

a degenerative disease draining the life force from Molly, the pug.
a cart that brings joy to Molly whose hind legs are no longer supportive.
a woman who fell in love with Molly while watching her for my friend who was out of town.

She breaks the silence. She says, "Molly has died." I listen to her story.

My mind wonders back 5 hours as she speaks. A friend at school was wondering a bit about whether or not it is right to donate money to an organization that provides carts to dogs in need when humans are starving.

I say, "I have this friend... the cart brings joy to the dog who is OK except for those hind legs... my friend is struggling with knowing the right time to bring peace to Molly...

I listen in silence and I hear the struggle leading up to Molly's last trip to a vet...

Calling the woman, who fell in love with Molly, to be part of Molly's passing.
Calling her son to come say goodbye to the first dog he ever had.
Molly's sadness of being unable to be joyful.

When she falls silent. I let the others speak first before I tell her that just that day, my school had made a donation...

Saturday morning, this post is forming in my head. But instead of blogging I go to say hi to some Flickr friends and there I was greeted by ...



All rights reserved

it seems my friend Blamstur has a pug... meet Olive, who if one can believe titles is "Always thinking..."

How did I find this new friend, who has a pug? I remember. A while back, I did a search at Flickr for a small town where I lived while teaching in Massachusetts. Here is what I found...

All rights reserved

There are some things that even I can't forget. Besides that sign I remember autumn in New England and I joyfully watched it happen at Blamstur's site...


All rights reserved (clicking on any of the photos will take you to it's page at Blamstur's site)

My friend who lost her dear pet, speaks of not being able to love as deeply as Molly did. If she heard her voice Friday while I sat in silence, she might have less doubts about her ability to love.

peace, hope, joy, and love...


... keep unfolding

blind

I had a blog post forming in me head as I walked from south central Lansdale (Mosaic Woman left with the car from where we had coffee to be at the craft show), east to a Labyrinth, south into woods than jagged north and west past political signs and their houses to a diner, then back east walking past my old church and thinking about war and its sadness till I turned north and finally made it home.

But things change as God's creation unfolds and opens your eyes...

I go into my studio to work on a gift. This week a friend at work passes by and tells me she is leaving; her house was broken into. As she leaves I hope for the best, you know one of those burglaries where they take 5 things that were headed to good will, do some dusting, than fix the smashed window on their way out.

It didn't go that well.

She tells me about it two days later when she returns to work. Tears fill her eyes.

So I am back in my studio creating something for both her and her house and I notice the CD I played while soldering the last piece I made. I go to the song MARY, by Patty Griffin and press the repeat button.


these lyrics jump out during the third time it repeats...

Youre covered in treetops, youre covered in birds
Who can sing a million songs without any words

And your mind goes to the friend who loves birds, who is in grief, who you held that stained glass up to the light for... and your mind stays with the other friend who cried telling you about the invasion into her house.

your own tears form and you keep foiling stained glass, MARY keeps repeating.

Then these words blast your soul open

You cast aside the sheets, you cast aside the shroud
Of another man, who served the world proud
You greet another son, you lose another one
On some sunny day and always stay
Mary, mary, mary

and you say to yourself, how did you not see the connection before? how blind were you to God's unfolding creation when you held up that stained glass.

tears stay as I finish the foiling.

Last night in my first spirit group meeting in two years, a friend asks me to elaborate "how did Jesus come to you in hell." Truth be told, he did not come first, it was Mary I imagined into that doctor's office. It was Mary who first greeted me with compassion as I sat alone in silence, in desolation cursing God. It is Mary I send out to comfort my friends.

While the angels are singin his praises in a blaze of glory
Mary stays behind and starts cleaning up the place...

and I praise a God who with the help of a repeat button, allows a goof like me to see...

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