Growing Pains Sun, 10th March, 2013
This past week has been so full of meaning for me, for so many reasons. The plentiful robins that abound around St. Louis this winter have been on my mind frequently. With some research I have learned that the robin, in Native American spirituality, symbolizes new growth. I have also learned that robins only migrate when there is insufficient food. The fact that they are so plentiful and did not fly farther south for the winter must mean abundant sources of nourishment.
Likewise, there has been much food for thought for me lately. New growth abounds for me right now, but—just as with the leg aches of childhood caused by rapidly growing bones—the growth does not come without pain.
This week I have experienced a period of grief and mourning for the death, spiritually speaking, of the person I once was. I think it's safe to say that the old me has now passed out of existence. I hope you were not too attached to him.
What is propelling me forward on this journey at this stage is the difficult spiritual work of examining the dark and broken places within myself. We all have these dark recesses. We all have regrets and fears. And we all have people in our life with whom we have unfinished business that, if we listen to the prayer being prayed within us, we know is crying out for resolution.
Two truths have emerged that I feel have universal application for me, and for you, and for all of us. And they go hand in hand.
First, we must acknowledge the hard fact that the only path to true peace and spiritual fulfillment is to open ourselves completely to examining those dark, hurting and broken places within. We all have one or two and only you yourself can know what they are. A quotation that has affected me so profoundly is one shared by Erik Wikstrom in his book Simply Pray: that the reason we need to face the dark places in ourselves is not to prepare us for being in the presence of the divine. It is because the dark places are where God is.
And second, which follows so beautifully from the first, is that we are not alone on this difficult journey. Finding the divine when entering the darkness, for me, really means discovering the capacity of loved ones around us to forgive us and hold us up. I give thanks this morning for my beautiful wife and dear friends that hold my hand and keep the hugs coming throughout my journey.
I close with Walt Whitman's closing lines from Song of the Open Road, which is a beautiful gift that Betsy shared with me last week that for me was a candle in the darkness.
Mon enfant! I give you my hand!
I give you my love, more precious than money,
I give you myself, before preaching or law;
Will you give me yourself? Will you come travel with me?
Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?
Click on the picture to the right for whole poem. It's well worth a read.
This past week has been so full of meaning for me, for so many reasons. The plentiful robins that abound around St. Louis this winter have been on my mind frequently. With some research I have learned that the robin, in Native American spirituality, symbolizes new growth. I have also learned that robins only migrate when there is insufficient food. The fact that they are so plentiful and did not fly farther south for the winter must mean abundant sources of nourishment.
Likewise, there has been much food for thought for me lately. New growth abounds for me right now, but—just as with the leg aches of childhood caused by rapidly growing bones—the growth does not come without pain.
This week I have experienced a period of grief and mourning for the death, spiritually speaking, of the person I once was. I think it's safe to say that the old me has now passed out of existence. I hope you were not too attached to him.
What is propelling me forward on this journey at this stage is the difficult spiritual work of examining the dark and broken places within myself. We all have these dark recesses. We all have regrets and fears. And we all have people in our life with whom we have unfinished business that, if we listen to the prayer being prayed within us, we know is crying out for resolution.
Two truths have emerged that I feel have universal application for me, and for you, and for all of us. And they go hand in hand.
First, we must acknowledge the hard fact that the only path to true peace and spiritual fulfillment is to open ourselves completely to examining those dark, hurting and broken places within. We all have one or two and only you yourself can know what they are. A quotation that has affected me so profoundly is one shared by Erik Wikstrom in his book Simply Pray: that the reason we need to face the dark places in ourselves is not to prepare us for being in the presence of the divine. It is because the dark places are where God is.
And second, which follows so beautifully from the first, is that we are not alone on this difficult journey. Finding the divine when entering the darkness, for me, really means discovering the capacity of loved ones around us to forgive us and hold us up. I give thanks this morning for my beautiful wife and dear friends that hold my hand and keep the hugs coming throughout my journey.
I close with Walt Whitman's closing lines from Song of the Open Road, which is a beautiful gift that Betsy shared with me last week that for me was a candle in the darkness.
Mon enfant! I give you my hand!
I give you my love, more precious than money,
I give you myself, before preaching or law;
Will you give me yourself? Will you come travel with me?
Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?
Click on the picture to the right for whole poem. It's well worth a read.
