Lately, I have been thinking about Paul. The apostle Paul.

Whether I live or die…

Christ.

Don’t do anything half-hearted.

I want to spend some time in your wind today

listening to the whispers floating above the trees

noticing breeze brushing over skin.

I want to spend some time in your wind today

breathing in the scent of dew dampened earth…and
watching

burnished bronzed leaves

flutter and sway

as they take their

final
graceful
bow

I continue to be amazed at the notion that so many of us are constantly trying to look good, sound good and appear cheery–despite what’s going on on the inside.
Myself included.
Unzip the mask for a moment, and on most folks you will find a mixed bag of joy, disappointment, anxiety, and hope…
All wrapped up in one.
I love Kathleen Norris, author of The Clositer Walk, who urges us to find “life” in the Psalms–not only in worship– but in pain.
David wrote about everything. I still have not decided if he really was neurotic, or if he just had a lot of enemies.
The truth is : it doesn’t matter.
Atleast he talked about it.
Prayed about it.
We typically omit the neuroses of the psalms in our modern day communal acts of worship.
Instead, we bring our shaky or disappointed selves with a mask of serenity that invites no inquiry.

Unfortunately, when we omit phrases like “I am exhausted with groaning, every night I drench my pillow with tears,” or : “Oh that I could fly away on the wings of a dove…” we miss the opportunity to connect the human heart with a God who knows our sufferings better than we do. Our suffering stays locked down and inaccessible.

Mostly, these days, we associate praise and worship with triumph and joy.
And yes–triumph and joy are part of our collective response to God.
But Ms. Norris makes it clear: Praise must incorporate honesty, humanity, and ultimately: our fallen nature.

And when it does, it isn’t always tidy.
Because it’s a two way exchange. When we open our human hands up to a holy God, we enter a conversation. That conversation includes all of God’s holiness, goodness and majesty.
And we enter into a conversation that includes all of our being–not just the shined up stuff.
It isn’t easy; the unravelling. The unzipping of the mask. We haven’t really found a rhythm in our communal worship times to embrace the pain people bring. A beloved sister once told me she hated the worship during her Sunday services for months after her son died.
I remember her expression of feeling stuck and how she shamed herself that she couldn’t shine up and praise God anyway.

In the Cloister Walk, Ms. Norris shares about her journey living among monks who read all of the Psalms in their communal times of worship.

Perhaps my friend would have felt different if she were hanging out with people who were reading the words of David that are soaked with tears.

There is a time to name that which we hold, and there is a time to let go.

As a young therapist in my twenties, I learned the art of naming. Naming your fear. Naming your passion. Naming your offense.
Naming can be one way to acknowledge and bring life to our position or plight. I used to be a pro.
I taught others how to own and validate and be validated by the art of naming.
Yet now, I wonder about the inherent good in naming.
Naming enhances, highlights. Brings life.
What do I wish to give life to?
That which fills me and nurtures others.
Consider the young mother who lies in bed at night and feels an irregular heartbeat. She focuses on the heartbeat, senses and feels the strange rhythms, and begins to sweat. Her thoughts rant and rave and she searches for the meaning of what is happening to her. She wants to give it a name.
“I’m having a heart attack!” Surely, there must be something very, very wrong.
I am going to die
So, assured of her condition, named and set in stone, she wakes her husband who takes her to the ER.
Nothing.
She comes home with a prescription for Paxil.
Oh Great. Now, I have an Anxiety Disorder. What a mess I am…(more naming).
My wisdom teachers of today teach the art of detachment.
They teach the danger of giving something a name that serves no positive end or blessing.
Detachment.
Thoughts come and go. Some thoughts take precendence. Front row. You know the ones.

The positive ones can stay and get a name, if they serve you well…but the negative ones must be let loose.
If the young mother had detached herself from troublesome thought, she would have attended to the moment– and eventually, something different about her body, her environment, or her thoughts would have become apparent. If she had responded mindfully, remaining light and detached, there would be no need for panic, no need for a trip to the ER, no meds, and most importantly, no new diagnosis.

If you notice yourself ruminating on the same negative thought again and again, you probably are ready to ask yourself: Does this deserve a name? Do I really want to give life to this?
You– the new artist of detachment, can now notice how easy it is to practice letting loose the thought that does not serve you.
So the task is simple, really.
The thought comes.
And, as always, it poses the question; the true test.
Do I get a name?
If you answer no, you have begun to create art.

People usually consider walking on water or in thin air a miracle. But I think the real miracle is not to walk either on water or in thin air, but to walk on earth. Every day we are engaged in a miracle which we don’t even recognize: a blue sky, white clouds, green leaves, the black, curious eyes of a child — our own two eyes. All is a miracle.

~THICH NHAT HANH

So. Spend more time in nature. Instead of going to the gym or working on your machines at home, get outside. Awake to the world around you! The natural world around us offers more food for thought in its colors, sounds, smells and textures than any indoor excercise option could ever offer. To spend a little time outside each day is a gift to your body.

To your mind.

To your soul.

Connect to the natural world and watch your soul awaken to the wonders around you.

If you don’t think you can do it, then get a large dog who needs the exercise.

Then, you have no choice.