Why I Work with the Enneagram

May 14th, 2019 | Click to Comment

When I began studying the Enneagram, it was to understand more about myself and others. The Enneagram is great for making sense of why we do what we do. But figuring out our type is only the beginning of what is possible. I continue working with the Enneagram because it offers a path toward transformation.

Diagram of the Enneagram

To briefly explain, the Enneagram (from the Greek ennea, meaning “nine”) names nine basic types of people, with nine different essential gifts and inherent challenges. We have access to all of these human traits, but our Enneagram type colors how we process our experience. Our type is the lens through which we view the world.

Understanding our Enneagram type makes possible a new level of self-awareness. Appreciating the basic human longings that motivate the nine Enneagram types naturally cultivates greater compassion for ourselves and others.

But it’s important to remember that our essential self has no Enneagram type. Our type is the coping mechanism we formulated long before we were conscious of what we were doing. Our type is the way we found to make our world ok when our essential well-being felt threatened. 

Our type structure helped us when we needed it. As life unfolds, the consciousness and self-awareness that makes us human also gives rise to a sense of self-doubt and disconnection. As we grow up, there comes a time when we lose our natural connection to the joy and vitality of being alive. Or to put it more poetically, we inevitably experience being expelled from the garden.

When that happens we work to overcome what we perceive as our shortcomings, and we do this in the nine basic ways named by the Enneagram. We reach for our strongest gift, believing it’s up to us to create or earn a sense of connection, safety, or worth.

Understanding our Enneagram type helps in those moments when those deeply ingrained automatic patterns show up. We begin to notice when habitual impulses try to take over, and we learn to pause. In the space created by that pause we can be more perceptive. We can consciously choose what to do. This is the path toward transcending our type structure and becoming free.  

In this way, noticing our type structure in action comes to serve as a bell of mindfulness. When we realize we’re being driven by old patterns, we can learn to respond differently. Instead of automatically following our habitual escape patterns, we cultivate the ability to stay present. In doing this we lay down new neural pathways and begin developing responses that we consciously and freely choose.

Working with our type patterns helps us to wake up. We learn to see more clearly and act more effectively. We experience how the divine life force sustains us. We learn to differentiate between our true self and our conditioned responses. We become less susceptible to toxic influences, whether in the form of external situations or internal patterns. Instead of relying on unconscious coping mechanisms we learn to be present to ourselves and to the situation as it is, and to act from a place of higher wisdom.

I haven’t mastered all of this, of course, but I’m grateful to be on the path. Working with the Enneagram has placed me into the flow of life in a way that brings a new level of beauty, meaning, and connection.

I’d love to serve as your companion as you make your own Enneagram journey. Write to me at susan@mildlymystical.com with your questions or to schedule an Enneagram typing interview. I’m happy to meet you at my office in Lexington, Kentucky or online via Zoom.

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Metanoia

April 6th, 2019 | 1 Comment

In Leonard Cohen’s dark lament for “The Future,” he returns again and again to the refrain:

When they said,

‘Repent! Repent!’

I wonder what they meant.

Cohen cared enough about language, history, religion, and culture, to understand the importance of that question. It’s a profound question, and the heart of Christianity turns on the answer.

The English word “repent” is a judgmental word. It’s a power word—an order. It wants to force us to our knees with all we’ve done wrong. It tries to bully us into submission to an outside authority—some person or institution claiming to speak for God. The word “gospel” means “good news,” but where is the good news in the demand to repent? “Repent” has sent people streaming away from that version of Christianity, often with good reason.

“Repent” is also a poor translation of the Greek word attributed to Jesus. The Greek word, rendered into a version we can read in English, is metanoia. It’s a combination of meta, meaning beyond or greater (as in metaphysics, which considers reality beyond or above physical/material existence) and a form of nous, meaning the mind. A better translation would be something like, “go into your higher mind.”

Jesus spoke Aramaic. The gospels were written in Greek. Latin was long the language of the church, which resulted in yet another translation removed from the original. All of which mean that English bibles are at best twice-removed from Jesus’ urgent message, and sometimes even more.

When Jesus returned from his forty days in the wilderness the first thing he wanted to tell people was to go into their greater mind and believe the good news. He was inviting people into a new approach to life. It doesn’t make sense that huge crowds of people would show up, curious about a message that berated them for their past shortcomings. Rather, it was his lived experience of metanoia and the possibilities it opened up that drew them to hear his teaching.

The perennial mistranslation of metanoia, persistent as dandelions in spring, was seeded into the Christian faith with the early Latin translations of the Bible. Those early church fathers rendered metanoia into the Latin paenitentia, having to do with penance. Jerome retained paenitentia in his definitive translation, leading to the English translation of “repent.”

In our time, a kinder and gentler approach to “repent” has been to see it as meaning “to turn.” The sense of “turning” comes from some of the passages of the Old Testament, or Hebrew Scriptures, where the original Hebrew was translated into the Greek metanoia. But the meaning of metanoia in those passages means a change of mind, and not turning away from sin, unless the latter meaning is carried by the context.

So even the less punitive understanding of “repent” as meaning “turn” misses the point. Metanoia is not about what you’ve done in the past. It’s about opening your mind and living from a higher perspective.  

Whenever I see the word “repent” in connection with what we’re supposed to be doing to grow in spirit, I translate it this way: Go into your higher mind. Become more connected to your Higher Self. Live from the spark of the Divine within, the wisdom that is always with you. Believe the good news—that this life is so much more than the striving ego would have us believe.

Walking that path is what the spiritual journey is all about. Living into that perspective is what faith communities help us with. Finding practices that support the journey is what we need.

I’m grateful to Fr. Hendree Harrison, rector of The Episcopal Church of the Good Shepherd, for introducing me to the work of Ron Rolheiser. Rolheiser addresses the mistranslation of metanoia in this video, the first part of which you can see here.

And he contrasts metanoia with paranoia here.

This article explores the translation issues.

And this gives an overview of the history of metanoia and its translations.

Comments (1) | New Possibilities Tags: , , , , , ,

Dream Wisdom in Waking Life

January 19th, 2019 | Click to Comment

I’ve seen two oddly parallel news stories recently. With the power of those things you can’t un-see, they have lingered with me for days.

These stories weren’t about the major upheavals in the headlines, but I believe they demonstrate how the tone set at the top filters down to individual encounters. One happened at a nail salon involving two women. The other occurred at a gas station, involving two men. Both were recorded by the distant eye of surveillance cameras, preserved amidst the drone of everyday transactions in the public arena.

Jacob Wrestling with the Angel by Gustav Dore
Image from Victorian Web Art

In both cases, someone tried to pay with a stolen credit card. Both transactions involved a charge of around thirty dollars. When the charge was declined, they attempted to drive away without paying.

In both cases, the proprietor followed them and stood in front of their car to prevent them from leaving. Both images show, as if it were any other encounter, how the driver accelerated toward the person in front of their vehicle.

The broadcasts I saw mercifully stopped the video just before showing a vulnerable human body being run over. But just as the mind fills in the micro-moment gaps in such sketchy recordings, I can’t help but imagine in dismay how both of these people were hit and killed.

I have wrestled with these images for days as I try to find some meaning or some opening in which the presence of God might be known.

As I tried writing about them, all I could do was lament the state of our nation. I wanted to find some wisdom, or to talk about the kind of presence that can calm powerful emotions and scary confrontations. But anything I wrote sounded trite.

Eventually I remembered that I could engage with these scenes as if I were working a dream. I could look at these people as if they were characters created by my unconscious, representing a part of me outside my conscious awareness. When an event from waking life hooks us like this, approaching it as we approach a dream can be fruitful.

I asked what part of myself might be like the driver of the car. Is there an aspect of me driven by fear, determined to avoid facing some other shadowy part of myself? Can I find some way to identify with the driver of the car?

And what about the proprietor who was killed? Is there a part of me trying to hold the line on fairness, on what I’m entitled to? A part insisting on acknowledgement yet being overrun in the process? Can I find some resonance with the person whose life was taken in my own life?

Holding both characters at once, with each perhaps symbolizing part of my own psyche, is there some aspect of myself running over another part of me?

In addition, as these are stories from the national news viewed by people throughout the country, how might they represent something about our collective experience? In what way might I be part of a group that operates like the driver? How might I belong to a group being run over?

Just like working a dream, these questions don’t yield an immediate or simple answer. They are, rather, an invitation to enter deeply into my experience and my true identity. These questions challenge me to consider myself with honesty and humility, knowing that I am part of the story unfolding in the world. They invite me to look at what I’d rather not see in myself, and wrestle with it much as Jacob wrestled with the angel.

So what did I learn from this experience?

Seeing the broadcasts of these angry and fearful encounters evoked those emotions in me as well. I remained caught in the anger and fear that created such terrible events until I looked within.

The release I found from being trapped in these emotions began as I paid attention to what was going on inside, and held my dismay with kindness toward myself. This made it possible to see from a different perspective. Looking within, as if looking at a dream, showed me the need for compassion—for myself and for all of humanity. It allowed me to consider the great suffering that exists in every life.

That perspective cultivates openness toward others, even those who seem very different from me. It doesn’t mean allowing someone else to run over me, but I can hold my boundaries with a clearer mind and heart.

Compassion is worth cultivating. It yields curiosity and kindness. It helps us treat ourselves and others more gently.

Compassion helps transcend the simplistic categories of me vs. not-me. I believe it changes our experience in the world. At the very least, it makes difficulties we already experience less painful.

Compassion allows our heart to break for the world without us falling apart. It breaks us open to love, and perhaps even to heal what is hurting in ourselves and others.

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Why Keep a Dream Journal

December 31st, 2018 | 2 Comments

You know what it’s like to wake from a dream with the feeling that it somehow matters, even though you have no idea what it means or how it’s connected to waking life.

The emotion that accompanies a dream is a clue to its importance, but our task-oriented mind loses patience with it. The analytical brain rejects what doesn’t make sense, and the dream fades to mist as our to-do list for the day takes over.

Our “crazy” dreams are actually trying to show us something. Every part of the dream represents some aspect of our lives. It brings some new perspective, something we’ve missed in waking life.

Dreams seem nonsensical because they communicate in a language of images. It’s a language we barely understand, but we can reconnect with this aspect of our human heritage. The more familiar we become with the language of image and symbol, the more readily we can engage with our dreams.

The first step is to keep a dream journal.

By writing down our dreams we strengthen the dialogue with the unconscious. We demonstrate that we are interested in what it wants to show us, and this helps in recalling our dreams. A dream journal and pen by the bed is like leaving the door to our dream world ajar.

Even the clearest dream can disappear if it isn’t captured in a dream journal. The more detail we can record, the better. But even a word or two scribbled in the middle of the night can often bring back the entire dream. Making sketches of the dream, or of a particular object or scene, is another way of bringing to mind more information about the dream.

Recording our dreams also helps with learning the unique language of our own psyche. For example, a particular setting may show up regularly, and the more we explore our associations with that setting the better we understand the context of the dreams that unfold there. For me, there’s a particular figure who shows up in times of transition. Our patterns are easier to notice when we keep a dream journal.

Writing down the dream provides the option of working on the dream in greater depth. Every element of the dream represents some aspect of our waking life experience. Exploring our associations with the dream’s places, people, objects, and actions helps connect the dream to what it’s about. Even if there’s not time to do this exploration right away, recording a dream allows you to return to it later. I generally record my dream on the right-hand page of my notebook and leave the left-hand page blank for making notes about my associations.

It’s not uncommon to look back through previous entries and come across dreams we hardly recognize as our own. Yet this sense of being outside the dream is often helpful at gaining perspective on it and exploring its message. The meaning of our dreams is sometimes easier to see in looking back at them.

Finally, a dream journal helps us share our dream with others. Talking about our dreams with another person or in a dream group is a further way of honoring the dream and gaining insight from the conversation. Notes in a dream journal allow us to relate a dream that might otherwise evaporate before we have the opportunity to share it.

Do you keep a dream journal? I’d love to hear what works for you!

Comments (2) | Dreamwork,Soul Tending Tags: , , , , ,

Changing the Conversation

October 20th, 2018 | 2 Comments

Given the state of our society at this moment, we all need a time out—a chance to get quiet and restore our battered psyches. At this point in our collective history, our minds are working against us. We cannot think our way out of this mess.

 

 

We need to reconnect with goodness and wisdom individually if we’re to access the strength for healing our communities. Taking a walk in the woods, or listening to music, or creating something beautiful can help us gain perspective on what passes for today’s civil discourse.

The more we continue with our attention anchored in the politics and polarities of our time, the more we’re awash in a sea of animosity. We need a higher wisdom, a North Star shining in the darkness that helps us navigate these turbulent days.

That clear sense of direction and guidance is available to each of us when we listen to the still, small voice within. There are many ways to stay attuned to wisdom and to keep its light in front of us. If you have a way that works for you, I’d love to hear about it.

One simple and effective daily practice I’ve found to help orient towards what is good and true is called “Metta” or Loving-Kindness Meditation.

I first learned this practice years ago and recently experienced its power again over several days in an Enneagram learning community. There are four lines to the meditation, or prayer, repeated with different people in mind.

Sit quietly and begin by saying it for yourself:

May I be happy.

May I be healthy.

May I be safe.

May I be peaceful and at ease.

Then picture someone you love and say it for them:

May you be happy.

May you be healthy.

May you be safe.

May you be peaceful and at ease.

Then say it for a teacher or someone else who has benefited you.

Then for someone neutral, about whom you have no strong feelings either positive or negative.

Then for someone in your life who is difficult in some way or who brings up tension.

Finally, say the meditation for all beings, a prayer for all the world:

May all beings be happy.

May all beings be healthy.

May all beings be safe.

May all beings be peaceful and at ease.

Don’t take my word for it—repeat this daily meditation every day for a week and see what it offers you. Notice how it colors your experience, and consider how the state of being it invites ripples out into the world. I’d love to hear how it goes.

Comments (2) | Cultural Climate,Prayer Tags: , , , , ,

Ritual for Blessing a House

August 29th, 2018 | Click to Comment

My new house feels even more fully like home since a group of friends came over for a ritual cleansing and house blessing. I hadn’t known how to do a blessing for a home, but after some research on rituals for blessing a house and the practice of burning sage, or smudging, to purify a space, I designed the ritual we performed. Episcopal liturgy found in The Book of Occasional Services was helpful, as was the New Zealand prayer book.

Some parts of the ritual I wrote myself. I found no blessing of a basement, for example, and I know from Jungian thought and my own dreams the importance of a basement and all it symbolizes.

To begin, I lit a candle and filled a bowl with water. We each held the bowl in turn, offering a blessing for the house and the life lived within it, and touching the water with our fingertips. The water was set apart, made holy, in this way. One friend read “Blessing for a New House” by John O’Donohue, from his wonderful book, To Bless the Space Between Us. Another lit the bundle of sage, a tendril of smoke rising as she carried it into every corner of the house, the purifying smoke curling into every drawer, every cabinet, into the fireplace, closets, and cushions, all through the house. Yet another friend followed with the bowl of lustral water and used a sprig of greenery from a shrub out front to sprinkle it into every corner, bringing all the love and blessing held in that water to fill the purified spaces.

From the basement to the attic and circling the outside of the house, we read blessings for each space and supported those tending the sage and the water, all in a spirit of friendship and conversation and laughter. In this act of community we enacted a powerful ritual of purification—banishing any unclean spirits, cleansing any negative energy, dispelling any darkness lingering from the past. I’m grateful for this circle of friends who meet monthly in group spiritual direction, and I felt our circle become stronger through performing this ritual. Enacting it together made this ceremony of blessing deeply meaningful.

In a time when so many beliefs no longer serve us, and when so many structures that were supposed to preserve meaning and value have failed us, ritual itself holds meaning. A ritual is an outward, ceremonial act that expresses an inner, spiritual reality. The actions themselves connect us to what is true, to what endures, to the ways we are held by something larger than ourselves. We can trust a solid ritual, because it connects us to what we recognize as true at a level deeper than words.

A home doesn’t have to be new to benefit from a ritual cleansing and blessing. Clearing out clutter, creating space for new activities or new projects, undertaking new efforts within your space, are all occasions that might invite a ritual of cleansing and blessing. Perhaps this deep need is part of the continual interest in redecorating and refreshing our spaces.

If you try your own version of a blessing for a home, let me know how it goes! A New Zealand Prayer Book’s “Blessing of a Home” is here. Here’s a link to both the old and new Book of Occasional Services, shown side-by-side. The “Celebration of a Home” is on page 166 in the new book and page 146 in the old.  And if you can use some ideas for how to bless a particular space in your home not mentioned in these resources, I’m including a few of the blessings I wrote below.

Peace be with you.

 

FOR THE BASEMENT

Holy One, the ground of all life, make firm the foundation of this home and the lives of those who dwell here. Bestow your guidance and strength, we ask, in the work of bringing all the layers of ourselves into the light of your love. Be with us as we encounter the depths of ourselves and of our life in you.

 

FOR THE FRONT ENTRYWAY

Peace to this house and to all who enter. May this home be a haven for those who dwell here, and a place of welcome and refreshment to those who visit.

 

FOR THE MASTER BATHROOM

May each new day begin with a spirit cleansed and renewed, fresh as morning dew, ready to receive the day’s offering.

 

FOR THE ATTIC

Just as the roof shelters your home, may you feel God’s love and protection guarding you throughout life’s storms.

 

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Blessing of the Backpacks

August 14th, 2018 | 1 Comment

The children of Good Shepherd brought their backpacks to church this week. During the service they were invited to the front of the sanctuary to receive a blessing for the start of the new school year. Boys and girls filled the space in front of the pews and into the center aisle, and adults who work in the schools bookended the group.

“Are you excited about the start of school?” the priest asked the assembled students. After a lackluster response he smiled and said, “Let’s try this again.” With heightened energy he repeated the question, and received a rousing “Yes!” balanced with an equally emphatic “No!” from a couple of voices.

The priest reminded them that it’s as important to ask the right question as it is to give the right answer. I felt grateful that such uncommon and important wisdom was offered not only to them but to the entire congregation. He said a prayer, dipped a branch of greenery into a bowl, and flung sprinkles of holy water over the gathering he blessed the backpacks, the children, and the school year about to begin and the learning they will do.

I can still see one girl, about eight years old, standing square-shouldered in her sundress, curly blond hair in a short ponytail above the pink flowered pack on her back. She stood at rapt attention, receiving the entire ritual with dignity and reverence.

The priest asked the children to turn around and see all the people in the congregation who were praying for them as they start the school year, which made some of their eyes grow wide. Their response was a reminder to me of the power of such a gathering, and the energy of shared and fervent prayer offered in a sacred space.

May that prayer multiply and enfold all children as this school year begins:

May each child feel welcomed in their classroom.

May their teachers be centered in the value of their calling, and upheld by their community.

May each child feel loved.

May they make new friends.

May they learn patience with themselves when the lessons are difficult, and celebrate when the lessons are learned.

May they help one another and learn from one another.

May they be safe.

May they be healthy.

May their creativity be encouraged.

May their curiosity be affirmed.

May they delight in the joy of learning.

May they have the support they need.

May they be known and recognized for the unique and beautiful person they are.

And may all of us surround and enfold teachers, students, and schools with our love and care.

 

 

 

Comments (1) | Cultural Climate,Prayer,Seasons Tags: , , , , ,

Lining the Shelves

July 27th, 2018 | Click to Comment

The timing of a move this summer gave me a few days to ready the space before I moved into my new home. It was a chance to get to know the house itself, uncluttered with furniture or boxes, seeing how the light filled the rooms and changed throughout the day. I played a radio that echoed through the empty spaces while I prepared for my things to arrive.

One task was to put down clean shelf paper in the kitchen cabinets and drawers. Even before the boxes were moved in I was eager to get them unpacked and organized into a working kitchen, so I wanted all of the shelves ready to hold the things I needed.

It took forever, or at least it seemed to. Cutting the liner to the right dimensions made me aware of every inch of storage behind cabinet doors and drawer fronts. I allocated an evening for the job, but at the end of the evening I was so far from finished that I questioned the value of the whole enterprise. What had seemed like a good idea turned out to be more of an investment than I realized. But the shelves I had lined were clean and inviting, and I wanted all of them to feel that way. So I kept going.

The payoff showed up when I was unpacking boxes and working to put things in order. With that basic, foundational work done, the shelves were ready to hold what was needed.

Foundational work of any kind takes longer than we think. We underestimate what’s required to do it properly because in daily life the foundations aren’t obvious. Once the dishes are put away the shelf paper is practically invisible—unless it’s done badly, in which case it’s a continual vexation.

In spiritual life, the foundation is laid by cultivating the ability to be fully present and fully aware. It’s not until we’re able to notice what’s happening inside ourselves—our mental habits, our emotional patterns, our places of physical tension—that we become able to see clearly what’s going on in the world around us.

That practice of being present, of being awake and aware, is how we become receptive to the divine force that holds and guides us through life. Being present is how we become more loving; we can only love when we actually show up in this moment.

It’s easy to convince myself that I’m truly here because my body is. But my mind and heart go off on their own, wandering the same old paths, and lose connection with the body. If I’m not settled enough to feel my feet on the floor and the breath expanding my chest and belly, then I’m probably running my habitual patterns inside instead of truly showing up here and now. Not being in the body is a good clue that I’m not receptive to what life is offering right now.

Cultivating this practice takes even longer than putting down shelf liner. Preparing ourselves to receive the contents of whatever new box the day unpacks is the work of a lifetime. Yet when we are prepared to receive what comes, we’re better able to respond in freedom instead of from reflex. We’re more able to act from a place of love. The practice of mindfulness and meditation is something like laying down a clean lining for the shelving in our minds and hearts, and being conscious of what we will store there.

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Ash Wednesday – Finding Ourselves in the Dust

February 5th, 2018 | 2 Comments

Ash Wednesday will soon be upon us—literally, if we attend a service with the imposition of ashes. Receiving the mixture of oil and ash in the shape of a cross on one’s forehead comes with the reminder to “remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”

These words are part of a ritual I have long found meaningful even as I resisted what I took to be its message. But my attitude toward the Ash Wednesday service, with its stark reminder of death, has evolved over the years. I’ve moved from rejection of what I perceived as a dark view of life and death, to acknowledgment of death’s inevitability, to appreciation of a ritual that honors the reality of our limited time on earth. But I’ve always thought of that return to dust as happening literally, at our physical death.

Last night I dreamed I was on my belly in a dusty yard, struggling to move forward without being able to raise myself up. I was without strength or power, in contact with the ground. I could see plants growing at eye level and I thought of the healing herbs I wanted to grow. Later in the dream I was walking, but cars zoomed by leaving me in the dust.

I woke from the dream with a sense of vulnerability, yet feeling oddly peaceful. As I worked with the images from the dream I felt a shift occur. My experience of dust in the dream opened a new way of understanding the dust proclaimed in the Ash Wednesday liturgy.

Returning to the dust doesn’t happen only at our death. We return to the dust over and over as life knocks us off our feet. It feels like a defeat, which it is: a de-feat (or even de-feet), not something we accomplish but something done to us, something we endure. Some power outside our control brings a new reality we wouldn’t have chosen. Our plans and expectations turn to dust, and life as we know it is over.

But in the dust we’re back where we came from, supported by our connection with the earth. The word humble has the same root as humus (Latin for soil) and human. In the humility of experiencing our limitations, we find ourselves supported by a greater strength.  Being humble puts us in touch with what Paul Tillich called the Ground of Being. Our vulnerability brings us into contact with the real support life offers, as opposed to the illusory supports we try to create for ourselves.

Finding ourselves in the dust is a blow to the ego but growth for the soul. It grounds us and helps us remember who we are. On the ground we’re in the place where life is rooted and healing herbs grow. We experience the solidity of the earth upon which we walk. We remember our dependence on it, our oneness with it. And throughout our time in this world, the earth strengthens us as we regain our balance and rise again.

The ritual of Ash Wednesday’s imposition of ashes is a reminder of how brief our lives are. But it also speaks to the many times we find ourselves in the dust over the course of a lifetime. In those times the dust can be a place where we encounter the grounding and strength always supporting us. In the dust we encounter the essence of life and of ourselves. Ash Wednesday isn’t the dismal ritual I once thought it was. Rather, it points to how the heart of life is often hidden in the places where we least want to look.

Comments (2) | Seasons,Soul Tending Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Out into the Weather

January 9th, 2018 | Click to Comment

I usually welcome the quiet routine that follows New Year’s Day. Early January brings a welcome balance after holiday indulgences. But this year’s unrelenting blast of arctic air made for a harsh transition back to everyday life. A car door handle, brittle from cold, snapped off in a friend’s hand. It was a tough start to the year.

I wanted the option to just hunker down against the weather—my favorite strategy for dealing with winter storms. I wouldn’t have minded hiding under the covers from the news, too, along with all the other uncertainty and difficulty life can bring. Yet as it turned out, it was during this coldest week I can remember that I had scheduled a change in office locations.

So despite the single-digit temperatures, I carted boxes and furnishings out of my former office and into my new one. One morning I was thwarted when my hatchback was frozen shut, even when I tried to thaw it with a hair dryer. Only the temperature rising to the teens that afternoon allowed it to open again. These are not the circumstances I would have chosen for a move, but they offered an interesting lesson.

With hat and gloves and layers I was able to work perfectly well in the cold. The physical work helped keep me warm. And being able to accomplish my task in spite of the difficult weather gave me a different way to see myself. Instead of being oppressed by the weather I felt an unexpected sense of vitality and empowerment. Meeting a challenge stirred some energy and excitement, feelings not available from my more usual approach of enduring and waiting for things to get better. I might not have chosen to go out and meet such weather, but I found that I could and that it wasn’t as bad as I might have feared.

Life urges us forward in different ways at different times. Fortunately, it also kindles in us a flame that fuels that movement. That life force will see us through if we can just remain connected to it. The circumstances of our lives sometimes include harsh weather I wouldn’t wish upon anyone. It can take courage just to step out the door and into the day’s demands. And sometimes storms come up that are more than anyone can navigate.

But whatever we face, we can be sure that life is more than our current circumstances. The weather will change. And when we have to contend with harsh weather, we can often find a source of strength that allows us to be stronger than we knew ourselves to be.

A friend recently shared this bit of Swedish wisdom: “There is no bad weather. You’re just wearing the wrong clothes.” Oh please, is one response. But actually there’s some truth in that saying, and it’s helpful when life requires being out in the weather. The right clothes are available, even if it means putting on a mindset we’ve never worn before. And the flame within is always there, a source of warmth and encouragement that never leaves.

 

 

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