This poem, written by Jan Richardson for advent (based on Luke 3:3-4), rings also as a mid-pandemic New Year meditation. If you have been in the wilderness, feeling "like the world is leveling you, emptying you," this one is for you.

***

Prepare

Strange how one word
will so hollow you out.
But this word
has been in the wilderness
for months.
Years.

This word is what remained
after everything else
was worn away
by sand and stone.
It is what withstood
the glaring of sun by day,
the weeping loneliness of
the moon at night.

Now it comes to you
racing out of the wild
eyes blazing
and waving its arms,
its voice ragged with desert
but piercing and loud
as it speaks itself
again and again.

Prepare, prepare.

It may feel like
the word is leveling you
emptying you
as it asks you
to give up
what you have known.

It is impolite
and hardly tame
but when it falls
upon your lips
you will wonder
at the sweetness

like honey
that finds its way
into the hunger
you had not known
was there.

Jan Richardson
The Advent Door, Advent 2: Prepare

Mindfulness practice draws our mind back from anxious wandering to notice what is real in the moment, in the now. One of the things we might notice in the moment is anxiety about the future, and you might be wondering what to do with those anxious thoughts and feelings, particularly during this season of fear about COVID-19 around the globe.

Anxiety feeds off vagueness. Our auto-pilot mode of thinking can push us through thinking loops that never quite land anywhere, stirring up emotional suffering without giving us an opportunity to notice what is true or to answer our own questions.

So if you’re feeling anxious during this coronavirus pandemic, you might begin by sitting down with a pen and paper and answering this question:

What are you afraid of?

Name it
Start by creating a written list of your fears. Take them to their natural conclusion, even if that raises anxiety in the moment.

Chances are, the natural conclusion of most coronavirus fears will end with “I’ll die.” (Ex. “While I’m shopping at the grocery store, someone will pass the coronavirus to me and I’ll die.” or “Those people congregating at the park will pass around the coronavirus. It will travel to me when I talk with one of them and I’ll die.”). Or maybe there’s even a fear beyond death (ex. “I’ll die and no one will remember me, meaning I will have wasted my life.”).

You may find other fears as well (ex. “I’ll lose my job and run out of money for food and feel hungry and sad.” or “I’ll have to stay inside by myself for a year until a vaccine is found by scientists and I’ll feel very lonely and depressed.”).

Make sure you’ve taken the answers all the way to their end by asking yourself “so then what?” For example, if your answer is “I’m afraid of using the washing machine in the basement of my apartment building,” there’s a little more digging to do there before you get to the ultimate fear.

Honor your survival instinct
Remember to breathe as you’re answering this question about your specific fears. It’s okay to experience anxious feelings in this process – that’s the body’s survival mechanism kicking in, the fight-or-flight mechanism. God created this mechanism in the brain, and we can honor the emotions and physical reactions that help keep us safe.

Humans can do lots of wonderful things, even while we’re feeling anxious, so we don’t need to judge our anxious feelings. It’s okay to have those feelings, no matter how strong they are. One of my favorite therapeutic expressions is learning to “pull up a chair for your anxiety.” As you do this exercise of identifying fears, pull up a chair for your feelings and continue making your list. Anxious feelings may stay for awhile and then wander off and then come back again, kind of like a pet or a small child. But whether or not there is anxiety, you can continue identifying your specific fears, which are simply thoughts and feelings passing through the mind.

Engage in problem-solving
Once you’ve written down a thorough list of your specific, fearful thoughts, take some time to problem-solve. Examples related to the coronavirus pandemic might include…

• Are there any ways you can avoid getting the coronavirus from the grocery store or the communal washing machine? (Think very practically here – What information do you have about things like social distancing and hand washing that can help you be strategic? What are your options for getting groceries?)
• What would you do if you end up losing your job and running low on food? (Again, think practically – What could you change in order to live on very little? Who in your support system would you rely on for help?)
• What specific steps would you take if you developed symptoms of the coronavirus? (Who would you call for medical advice? How would you make yourself comfortable in your home or at the hospital? What would you do to lift your spirits while feeling physically ill?

In other words, you’ve been specific about the fears – now be specific about the provisions. What internal and external resources do you have that would help you get through future difficulties (real or imagined)?

A slightly humorous example of this might be the toilet paper crisis of the last month. I noticed myself feeling anxious about this a couple weeks ago – what if we run out of toilet paper because there’s no more available at the stores? I got a little more specific about my fear, which came down to smelling bad and feeling physically uncomfortable. So I did some problem-solving. I researched alternatives to toilet paper, of which there are many. I remembered how toilet paper has not even existed for most of human history. I also reduced the amount of toilet paper I was using in order to conserve my supply, realizing I have been using way more than needed! All of this led me to let go of that particular anxiety. Turns out toilet paper is completely optional for us to lead meaningful lives. I can find ways to exist quite happily without it, if needed.

A heavier example might be death. There have been times recently that I’ve noticed my chest tightening and my breath shortening when I think of the coronavirus – that fight-or-flight instinct kicking in. When I get specific about my fear, I realize it’s a fear of dying. So I notice that and smile at the fear, knowing it’s quite normal to fear death. Then I come back to a few helpful truths – truths I have drawn on since I first experienced an acute fear of dying during the month after 9/11, truths that have provided comfort and seen me through the loss of many people I’ve loved over the years. I identify my specific beliefs about death, heaven, and God’s provision. I recognize that my mortality is part of what unites me with every human in the history of the world. I also return to songs that ground me in eternal truths stretching far beyond this human existence, sometimes even sitting down at the piano to sing them through myself. Here are a few of my favorites:

• God Will Take Care of You – an old hymn, my favorite version sung here by Aretha Franklin
• Be Still My Soul – another old hymn, sung here acapella by Joonatan & Therese
• Death is Not the End – a Bob Dylan song, covered here by The Waterboys
• I’ll Fly Away – a classic bluegrass tune, sung here by Allison Krauss & Gillian Welch for the movie O Brother, Where Art Thou?

You will have your own grounding thought process related to the inevitability of death, so choose the path that is most helpful for you in accepting the reality of eventual transition from this life to the next. When you open to how things are instead of rejecting them, you open room for God to speak words of reassurance and comfort.

Firm it up
You’ve done some problem-solving, now be specific with yourself about how you will implement your plans. Identify your strategies for managing any actual dangers or threats, and take steps to minimize or reduce those threats. Identify thoughts, prayers, and songs that are helpful in connecting you with God’s comforting presence. Be intentional about next steps so you can rest in God’s provision.

As you engage in this specific planning, notice where you are making useful plans for the future vs. where your mind spins into less useful ruminating. Also, pay light attention to what is happening with you in the moment - what is happening right now? Is there any provision, any comfort, any goodness? Don't miss out on what God is providing in the moment. It is your reminder that he will keep providing for you in all of your moments.

God is bigger
The reality is that God is bigger than the coronavirus. Humankind has been through numerous pandemics of this nature, along with wars, natural disasters, and other devastations. This is not the first time, and it will not be the last. But our God is stronger, and his plan is bigger. We see the short game (this lifetime), but he sees the long game (eternity). We know only our own strength (as individuals and communities), but he holds the power of the universe. We can trust in him, even when we feel afraid. Someday it will all be more clear. For now, we have what we need, one moment at a time.

“For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face.” 1 Cor. 13:12

In the children’s worship class at my church, there is a tug-of-war of sorts over the music. For a long time, the standard request every Sunday morning was Joshua Fought the Battle of Jericho. Kids lined up along the wall and sang the song, and then fell down at “the wall came tumbling down” – except that several children found it hilarious every week to remain standing, and then we would sing it again to see if we could get the whole wall down.
 
After several years of this routine, a number of us teachers felt that we could no longer take it. The song was loud and chaotic, and there was no evident spiritual benefit. Some of the kids really disliked it. So we wielded our adult power and stopped taking that request in favor of songs like This Little Light of Mine and Jesus Loves Me. Before long, a formal petition was registered by one child participant in the form of a letter taped to the children’s worship wall: “Don’t band Joshwa foght the Batle of Jaraco from this cherch.” Our worship director’s comment? “Song preference troubles start young.”
 
Indeed, we all seem to have strong opinions about church music. Song preferences run deep in the river of culture, generational experience, and personal life history. I have struggled through many a church worship service in my life fuming about the music. This, I could point out, is not the most Christian attitude toward worship.
 
Mindfulness has something to offer here. The things that get me fuming about song choice are thoughts. Not facts, but judgments – my interpretations and cognitive reactions to the songs. Recently, I have started practicing mindful awareness during worship services.

• I notice the sound of each instrument, including any vibrations that might come through the floor.
• I notice the sound of voices blended together.
• I close my eyes and notice God’s presence in our midst.
• I open my eyes and take in the shapes and colors of our sanctuary and of the notes on the screen.
• I become aware of our common humanity, standing together and singing – people who are all broken, who all suffer, but who have shown up to worship God together.

In other words, I move out of thinking into being. I move out of judgment into curiosity. I open up through my senses to the experience of worship. This leads to a dramatic shift in my attitude and my ability to connect with God. It moves me out of over-analysis and into the place where God is - the present moment.

Mindfulness helps me worship.

Being a parent has some really, really challenging moments. My lowlights reel from the past two weeks includes forcing my second grader to follow through on a performance commitment while he angrily panicked, feeling tearful and fragile after he beat me at checkers for the fifth time in a row (?!), and obsessively worrying about whether he will dread coming home for the holidays when he is an adult. These moments all included feelings of shame, anxiety, and depression. In fact, I would prefer to focus on my highlights reel, which is what you’ll find on my camera roll – moments of love, connection, pride, and raw joy. But it is our struggles that pull us together, so let’s take time here in this shared moment on the world wide web to pause and acknowledge the struggle that is parenting. Parenting is a hard job.

I don’t know about you, but here are some of the things that make mothering hard for me:

1. Kids have limited control over their emotions. That is triggering for my emotions, and sometimes socially embarrassing. Will I be judged for my son’s behavior? Will my responses mess him up?
2. Family of origin issues, patterns, and fears rise to the surface as I watch my son go through the same stages of development that I went through in the past. Can things be any better with him than they were with me? Are we doomed to repeat painful family patterns?
3. Parenting is physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausting. It’s a 24/7 job, often with little thanks or praise along the way. Do I have the needed energy for this? Am I emotionally strong enough to detach my sense of worth from my parenting “results”?
4. Good parents are not overprotective (they let their kids get hurt and fail) and they are not neglectful (they provide safety and protection for their kids). So where is the magic middle point of non-overprotective non-neglectfulness? That perfect environmental blend of safety and risk that leads to resilient, confident, happy kids? Nobody knows…
5. I know that it takes a village to raise a kid – Lord knows I don’t have what it takes to do this well all on my own. But there sure are a lot of scary people out in that village, and I’m not sure when and how to let others into my son’s life unsupervised by me.
6. Some of the most important things in life must be modeled rather than taught didactically – honesty, faith, physically healthy habits, emotional resilience, good communication, etc. This means I have to demonstrate some basic level of competence with them in my own life if my son is to learn them himself. Crap.
7. Loving a child (or anyone) deeply means opening ourselves up to the possibility of deep pain. Bad things can happen to kids, or even to us – we all have stories, our own and others. This is scary.
8. Etc.

This is just an initial list, and if you’re a parent, you probably have plenty more types of challenges to add that reflect the particularities of your life. (Note: If you’re a parent who says that raising a child is all butterflies and rainbows, you’re not an honest parent. See #6 above.)

So I dedicate this blog post to all of the parents out there. If you would like to stop reading here and just dwell in the solidarity of shared suffering, be my guest – this is a nonjudgmental space. But if you are interested in hearing about how mindfulness can support us during moments of parenting pain and open us up to moments of parenting joy, I invite you to read on. Because parenting is one of the areas where I have found mindfulness to be the most delightful and impactful, and I am excited to share with you some of my experiences and practical applications in the area of mindful parenting.

Mindfulness is intentional awareness of the present moment with an attitude of openness, curiosity, and nonjudgmental acceptance. This is often effective in calming our intense emotions and providing a calming response for others who are struggling. This makes mindfulness a very effective tool in responding to children, who are still learning to moderate their own emotions effectively while often triggering our own emotional responses.

Savoring the Good
The most beautiful part of mindful parenting is when it creates connection with our children, helping us to experience and savor the joy-filled moments. Here are some simple steps I take, when I remember, to capture these moments of beauty:

1. Looking at my child’s face as often as possible to really see him
2. Looking in my child’s eyes when I am talking with him
3. Practicing awareness of the fleeting preciousness of each moment of childhood – remembering the repeated refrain of parents saying “it goes so fast” and choosing not to miss it
4. Tuning into all the senses of parenting – the sights, sounds, tastes, smells, and feels
5. Intentionally appreciating the beautiful, funny, charming, cute, and awe-inspiring aspects of my child while choosing to smile in response (physically and emotionally)
6. Making sure my schedule is filled with not just the things we have to do but also the things we like to do together

Caring for Ourselves
One of the most useful aspects of mindful parenting is using mindful awareness to calm down our own emotions, making us more effective in caring for our children and also for ourselves. Here some simple steps I take, when I remember, to effectively manage my own emotions in the midst of challenging parenting moments:

1. Taking a step back to observe my emotions, thoughts, and physical sensations – putting a little distance there, while turning toward the emotion with curiosity, warmth, and even humor
2. Speaking kindly to myself – telling myself that it’s okay to be having a hard time, that I don’t have to do this perfectly, and that I’m doing the best I can
3. Reminding myself of common humanity – all parents struggle, and no one feels competent with their children all the time – all humans have challenging emotions
4. Reminding myself that “this too shall pass”
5. Noticing my thoughts wandering through the past and future, and moving my attention from worry back to the issue at hand in the present moment
   
6. Breathing into my challenging emotions, and focusing awareness on my breath
7. Noticing where I feel the emotion in my body
8. Choosing not to act on every uncomfortable emotion that arises – giving myself permission to take a break before responding to my child in a difficult moment
   
9. Attending to my own needs in the difficult moments, both physically and mentally – extending compassion to both myself and my child, noticing that we are both having a hard time in these moments

Teaching our Children
One of the most impactful aspects of mindful parenting is the way it teaches our children to manage their emotions effectively. Here are some simple steps I take, when I remember, to support my child in applying mindfulness to his own life:

1. Showing open curiosity about all of his emotions without labeling any of them as good or bad
2. Modeling open curiosity about my own emotions without labeling any of them as good or bad, along with a sense of humor about my own failures and challenges
3. Minimizing opportunity for avoidance of his emotions, teaching him to do the meaningful things in life even when he feels nervous, angry, or bored
4. Practicing simple meditation techniques together, especially during times of emotional discomfort – we love the Stop, Breathe, & Think Kids app
   
5. Allowing him to see me meditating, and sharing observations with him from my own meditation sessions
6. Practicing full presence with him so that he knows he has my attention and listening ear as much as needed – making sure that he feels seen and understood, putting presence over performance

If you are a parent, I would love to hear about your own moments of mindful parenting. How do you practice mindfulness in the context of your relationship with your child? What resonates with you about these approaches, and what would you add?

If you are not a parent, whether or not by choice, I hope you will find these thoughts useful in thinking about your relationship with your parents, with children in your life, or even with peers who are parents. During my many years of pregnancy loss and childlessness, I held much resentment toward parents who complained of their struggles. Mindfulness would have been helpful for me during that dark period of my life. Perhaps you have thoughts on that as well.

Either way, I hope you’ll drop me a line in the comments below or at [email protected].

Special thanks to Lora Armendariz, who invited me to blog on this topic. You can find her own lovely thoughts on the subject at The Beautiful Day Project – I hope you’ll check it out.

And thanks to my wonderful son, Milo, who when asked if he wanted to contribute anything about mindfulness to this blog post said "Yes. That it works really well. And that I really like it, so I think that other people might too.” So there you go -- try it out :).

 “The story of David begins in the middle of another story. All stories do. We never get a clean start in this business of life. The tablet is already scribbled all over, smudged with ink stains, blotted with spilled coffee.”
- Eugene H. Peterson, Leap Over a Wall, p. 32
 
During the Christmas season, we become especially aware of the juxtapositions of pain and joy, despair and expectation, darkness and light that permeate our existence. Sometimes the holiday songs of happiness and cheer can seem like the saddest sound in the world. Sometimes the visions of warmly glowing homes can seem like cruel parodies. Sometimes “the way it’s supposed to be” can echo like a taunt through the realities of family dysfunction, strained pocket books, and the dreary dark days of winter. There’s nothing perfect about Christmas.
 
Other times, our hearts are gladdened by the sounds, sights, and smells of Christmas. We receive and give kindness and are encouraged by the message of Jesus’ birth. We experience Emmanuel – God with us – and we know that we are not alone. Christmas is a beautiful season.
 
We’ve been studying the stories of David in our Sunday School class, reading through the book Leaping Over a Wall by Eugene Peterson. We have explored this mysterious juxtaposition – that in the midst of our mess (and David was a mess), God keeps doing good things. This means that we do not have to feel, think, or act a certain way in order for God to advance his Kingdom. God is working in the midst of our mess.
 
Mindfulness meditation is one of the pathways God has given us to see His work in the midst of our mess. Sitting in silent, curious, accepting, nonjudgmental, open observation of the present moment, I become aware of God’s gifts. This heartbeat, this breath, this touch of clothing on the skin, this hum of sounds, this place – here is God, here are God’s gifts, here is God’s Kingdom. Emmanuel, son of David, God with us in our mess, God doing his good thing all the time, whether we are aware or not. Let’s use this Christmas season to get quiet enough to be aware and to see, to receive, the gifts of his Kingdom.

For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known.  And now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; and the greatest of these is love.
-1 Corinthians 13:12-13
 
The emotional surge of falling in love happens unexpectedly.  However, there are certain conditions that make it more likely.  The foremost of these is awareness.
 
You can’t fall in love with someone or something of which you are not aware.  So awareness, or seeing, is a prerequisite of love. (And this is not a reference only to seeing with the eyes.  Seeing here serves as a metaphor for truly and directly experiencing, with or without the physical eyes.) 
 
What gets in the way of you being aware, or “seeing”?  Since beginning mindfulness training, I have discovered that my primary blindness comes from internal distraction.  My thoughts scurry restlessly, roaming everywhere except the place that I am.  I am rarely thinking about the present moment – sometimes I’m astonished that I get through most days without major catastrophe. 
 
This is blindness.  Not seeing the thing in front of me.  Not hearing the sounds around me, or experiencing emotionally the person I am with.  This is a lack of awareness, and this gets in the way of love. 
 
Sometimes when I meditate, I have the humorous experience of falling in love with the things in my moment.  Last week, I fell head over heels for my wood floor, and a week later I still swoon when I notice it again.  I know I’m not alone in these experiences – a student of mine once talked extensively of falling in love with her raisin during a mindful eating exercise.  She was smitten, completely enraptured by this tiny piece of dried fruit. 
 
I think this makes God’s heart glad, when we see stuff.  He has woven beauty and wonder throughout the world – our difficulty seeing his Kingdom is not because it is small, but because we struggle to see it. 
 
Mindfulness meditation can be one way of opening our eyes to what is there.  When we are aware, when we see, then love will spring up unexpectedly and take us off guard.  Consider yourself warned. 

In traditional mindfulness practice, there is a meditation called Lovingkindness. During lovingkindness practice, the practitioner extends good wishes to a variety of people. This generally begins with the self: “May I be safe. May I be happy. May I be healthy. May I live with ease.” The good wishes are then extended to a loved one, an acquaintance (or stranger), a difficult person, and then to all beings everywhere: “May you be safe. May you be happy. May you be healthy. May you live with ease.”

There is a prayer-like quality to this meditation. We are requesting good things for the world, cultivating care for others and including ourselves in this circle of care. As Christians practicing mindfulness, we can consciously request these good things in the presence of our loving God, knowing that he cares deeply for us and all others in the world.

I struggle with the wording of the lovingkindness practice. It feels unChristian to pray for these particular things - to be safe, happy, healthy, and living with ease. And yet when I look at the requests being made, I am challenged to ask whether these things are truly unChristian or whether I have simply encountered a cultural difference in the words being used. Do Christians not regularly pray for safety? (“Lord, please keep Aunt Jo safe as she travels home to Missouri today.”) For happiness? (“Lord, Bill is struggling so deeply right now - please restore his joy.”) For health? (“Lord, we pray against this cancer in your name, knowing that you heal.”) For ease? (“Lord, this pain is so intense - please bring relief.”)

I sometimes use an alternate Blessing meditation that instead holds people in the loving presence of God while offering this prayer: "May I (you) know God’s love. May I (you) know God’s rest. May I (you) know God’s peace.” This is also a beautiful practice. Receiving and extending blessing is deeply life-giving. But I wonder at my discomfort at the traditional lovingkindness practice. I wonder if this is just one of the ways that my faith-related cultural norms -- my usual American, evangelical ways of doing things -- get in the way of me seeking God’s face wherever, in whatever cultural context, he may be found. This is not a knock on American evangelical culture. Simply a reminder that God shows up in every culture. I don't want to get tripped up by unfamiliar language -- I want eyes to see Him everywhere I go. 

So I pray for you today: May you be safe. May you be happy. May you be healthy. May you live with ease. Amen.

One of the best thank yous that I’ve ever received for a gift was from a one-year-old, a person too small to talk. How did he say thank you without words? He looked at the gift for a looooonnnng time. He examined every nook and cranny of the elephant pull toy, swiveling the ears and pointing his tiny pointer finger at each color. He turned the wheels with curiosity. He gazed up in his mom’s face, smiling and pointing her attention to the new toy. He gestured to unwrap it, and then took more time to point, examine, and smile. His gratitude overflowed, and my heart as a giver was warmed.

This tiny, wordless human was practicing mindfulness. He centered his full, direct attention on one thing in the moment. He allowed himself to experience the visual and tactile features of the toy without preconceived notions about what a gift should be like. He was unencumbered by the filter of language, experiencing the object (and his mother holding it) in a pure form rather than getting lost in interpretations, analysis, or judgments.

We can receive gifts in this way; we can practice mindfulness as a way of experiencing and demonstrating gratitude to God. In mindfulness practice, there is nothing off-limits to our attention. All of life is a gift, every thing in every moment, the pleasant and unpleasant. So in every moment, we have the opportunity to really gaze at the gift. We can pause to experience the gift without expectation, without interpretation or analysis or judgment (positive or negative). We can be absorbed in the gift, long enough to experience the beauty that God has woven in. Long enough for the heart to settle, the peace to grow, the smile to come. I can only imagine that this brings warmth to God’s giver heart - us entering into a full experience of what he has lavished on us in the moment.

Here are some recent examples from my moments:

• ​I cut a red onion in half. The colors inside were amazing - alternating reds and whites with moisture dripping out. A gorgeous piece of edible goodness grown with patience and then transported all the way to my kitchen counter by a host of dedicated individuals who participated in God’s giving of this red onion to me in that moment. Thank you.
• I open the blinds in the morning and cannot see outside because the window is covered in ice. Gazing at the ice, I see intricate and beautiful patterns. Swirls upon feathered swirls that shimmer and dance as they catch the light of the street lamp outside. This is art, delivered freely to my bedroom window as I awake on a dark winter morning. Thank you.
• I notice angry and resentful feelings, with thoughts that I am disconnected and left out of life’s good stuff. I turn with intention to look in the face of another person. I see their physical features. I see their humanity, notice that we are together. I notice how their face tells a story that is different from my expectation, and my story about my own life experience changes in an instant as I use my sense of sight to take in the gift of this person’s face. My heart softens, I smile. Thank you.

The examples are endless because the moments of our life are too many to count - the sheer extravagance of God in giving us so many moments, so many gifts, is staggering. By practicing focused, nonjudgmental attention, we receive God’s good gifts with gratitude and even with joy. The gifts are there, if we but take time to receive. When we do, we warm the heart of our giving God.

My six-year-old told me yesterday that he can go through life just thinking “oh, there’s a tree, there’s the sky, there’s a splash pad.”  But when he goes “behind the scenes,” he notices how beautiful these things really are.  I asked what he meant by “behind the scenes.”  He said, “oh you know, just really noticing them and looking.” 
 
Stop to notice, to really look.  The beauty is always there for those who have eyes to see. 

I typed out a snarky Facebook post: A quick perusal of FB this evening reminds me that everyone else is having a better life than me.  Then I deleted it.  I was feeling glum.  James was in Hawaii.  Anna’s kids had grown up into striking, good-looking teenagers.  Susan got into a new graduate program and looked great in her snazzy professional suit.  Alexis’ husband was publicly professing love for his beautiful wife who is an amazing mom.  Jane’s family was vacationing in some tropical location so exotically cool that I had never even heard of it. *
 
None of these things were happening to me.  Reading everyone else’s “highlights reel” in my frumpy pajamas, I felt discontent, jealous, and covetous.  I was not experiencing the fruit of the Spirit – there was no abundance of love for myself or others in my heart.  Things were looking pretty ugly inside. 
 
Maybe you already know that the Bible has something to say about this common social media predicament?  Coveting is uniformly discouraged, even condemned, in Scripture.  We see this most famously in the tenth commandment:  “You shall not covet your neighbor’s house; you shall not covet your neighbor’s wife, or male or female slave, or ox, or donkey, or anything that belongs to your neighbor.”  A social media version might read “You shall not covet your neighbor’s house; you shall not covet your neighbor’s partner, or kids, or outfits, or career, or car, or vacation, or anything that belongs to your neighbor.” 
 
So there was a pretty clear disconnect in that Facebook moment between my life and my faith.  It was mindfulness that got me reconnected, following a path that looked something like this. 
 
I noticed that it was raining and that the sound of the rain was beautiful.
 
I noticed that I was hurting, and that my viewing of Facebook was creating unnecessary suffering. 
 
I chose to step away from the screen and into the present moment. 
 
I closed my computer. 
 
I stood up. 
 
I noticed that my sweet husband of seventeen years was sleeping next to me.  My heart grew warm. 
 
I walked into the next room and saw my sweet son sleeping, ensconced in his stuffed animals.  I felt a wave of amazement and joy. 
 
I noticed the moonlight shining through the bathroom window.  I stood in awe. 
 
I became aware that I had a roof over my head, water piped into my house, and plenty of food in the kitchen downstairs – I felt deep gratitude for these provisions. 
 
I remembered – oh yeah!  This is where life’s good stuff is.  Right here, right now, in the present moment.  But I have to get my eyes off social media, off other people, and onto my own life, with mindful awareness, in order to see it. 
 
* Note: Names have been changed for confidentiality…

“Which shoes should I wear today, Henry? My new pair of sneakers hasn’t been broken in yet, but my old ones are half a size too small for me.” 

I sighed when my dear sister asked me this. I was upset that I didn’t think my advice would move her towards choosing one way or the other, and impatient at her for being indecisive when all I wanted to do was get everyone out the door. But what would have been a minor frustration for many of my friends turned into a lengthy internal dialogue as we sat next to each other in the car that morning. Was I right to be frustrated at her?

Only moments after we had left the house, frustration at my sister was no longer the main thing I was feeling. Rather, the memory of that impatience was causing me to feel guilty. Shouldn’t I have been more kind, more gentle towards her? Why couldn’t I be a good older brother to her? As in Dr. Kristin Neff’s Self-Compassion exercises, my mind had created a dialogue between the accused and the accuser.

This is not an uncommon occurrence for me. I have long learned to stifle certain emotions (fear, anger, shame, guilt) by telling myself that I ought not to be experiencing them. The word ought involves moral evaluation, or judgment. Paradoxically, judging myself in this way has lead directly to more guilt and indirectly to more of my other ‘blacklisted’ emotions. As I became conscious of this pattern I began to ask:

Must self-examination involve self-judgment? Can investigating one’s motives, hidden thoughts and desires without evaluating them be a faithful moment in Christian worship? 

These are questions that have concerned the Christian tradition for centuries. One thinks of St. Ignatius of Loyola’s spiritual exercises, or perhaps the traditional Anglican collect for purity: “Almighty God, unto whom all hearts be open, all desires known, and from whom no secrets are hid: cleanse the thoughts of our hearts by the inspiration of thy Holy Spirit, that we may perfectly love thee, and worthily magnify thy holy Name; through Christ our Lord. Amen.” One thinks of the Puritans of England and New England and pious zealots throughout Christian history, who, at their worst, were consumed by thoughts of their own guilt and blind to the transcendent grace of God. One also might think of modern and postmodern philosophical interrogations (such as Nietzsche’s and Bernard Williams’) of the guilt-dominated Western Christian conscience. 

As heirs to these rich—and, let’s be honest, confusing—philosophical and theological understandings of guilt, perhaps we might return to the words of Christ himself for clarity on the question of guilt. I’m thinking in particular of his words to the woman caught in adultery in John 8. After warding off her would-be executioners by simply inviting them to question their own righteousness, Jesus asks the unnamed woman, “Has no one condemned you?” “No one, sir,” she answers. “Then neither do I condemn you,” he responds.

“Then neither do I condemn you.” Christ’s words here do not suggest an upheaval of guilt, or express the idea that guilt is an unhelpful emotion under all circumstances. They rather constitute a suspension of guilt and judgment. After all, Jesus is just about to tell the woman to “go and sin no more,” implying that her past actions were indeed worthy of guilt. But amidst the fury of her accusers, Christ invites the woman into a moment of blissful peace, peace brought on by the retreat of all accusations, the type of peace that Dr. Neff attempts to lead practicers of self-compassion into in the exercise above. 

One could even say: Christ leads the woman into self-awareness. Paradoxically, the suspension of judgment allowed her to see herself as she truly was: a beloved child of God. Oftentimes we think that God is accusing us when in reality we are our worst critics, poised to throw the stones at our very selves. Do we dare to mindfully examine ourselves, suspending judgment? If so, perhaps we might encounter the very grace of God, who is always saying to us: “Neither do I condemn you.”

What if we were to practice this self-awareness? What if we were to sit, if only for a moment, in the absence of all judgment? For if Christ does not condemn us, “who is there to condemn?” (Rom. 8:34). What if the voices of judgment that we needed to learn to silence were not God’s, but our own? 

If these voices are just noise and not worth a tenth of the heed we give them, then silencing them will bring us peace. And in the quiet, perhaps we might even glimpse the face of Jesus…tenderly speaking to us words of peace and sending us out to lead a transformed life.

- Henry Williams

Mindfulness means being at home in the deepest part of yourself. Finding over and over -- cultivating -- a deep sense of home within yourself, exactly as you are, exactly where you are.

I am in a season of home in my life.  After a lifetime of constant moving (29 living spaces in my first 35 years), I have now lived in the same house for over 8 years.  This is a phenomenal record for me.  It feels great.  I am learning my town and neighborhood in ways one can only do by spending lots of time here.  I have gotten to know people – I run into friends and acquaintances unexpectedly when I go out.  I feel an evolving sense of belonging and fit.  Now when I see someone loading up a U-Haul truck, my instinctual response is repulsion and compassion – I am so sorry that they have to go through that.  My days of perpetual restless moving are over.  I have a home.

What feels like home for you?  Is it a house?  Or a person?  A certain neck of the woods, or a favorite song?  Is it a treasured wall hanging, a familiar meal, or a worn-out sweatshirt? 
 
What do you go to when you’re sad, frightened, or displaced to get you back in touch with yourself?  What grounds you?  What is home?

This is the feeling of mindfulness – a sense of home.  But a sense of home grounded deep within ourselves.  The only way I know to get to this deep feeling of home is to meditate.  Sitting quietly, observing nonjudgmentally, being curious, allowing the fog to clear – this helps me to know myself and to love myself.  To care for myself and settle in.

When I meditate, I am opening up this pathway to home within myself.  This makes it easier to walk that path informally during each day – to find my way home in the midst of feeling sad, frightened, or displaced.  To get back in touch with myself, to be grounded.  To be at home right here, right now.  In this home, God is present – love thrives, and I am open to receive it.

It’s the same feeling I have when I remember an untouched, remote piece of nature from a backpacking trip.  Or my young son’s affectionate snuggles with me after he returns from an adventure-packed sleepover at Grandma’s.  Or the BFF talks that I share with my husband but no one else.  Home. 

Have you had this experience of home?  If not, mindfulness meditation is for you.  God is waiting to lead you through the chaos of thoughts and feelings, through the uncomfortable physical sensations, through the blinding fog of life… into a quiet and still place deep within you that is home.  A quiet place that you carry within you every day in every moment.  Home.    

The Garden of Gethsemane.  Jesus -- the Son of God -- was about to die, taking on the sins of the whole world in an  horrific and public execution.  He had spent years on earth, intentionally sharing the human experience in a life filled with poverty, rejection, homelessness, and violence.  Now he was fully present to the reality of his upcoming sacrifice, "grieved and agitated," in deep turmoil.  No avoidance of emotions here -- Jesus is throwing himself on the ground, sweating blood, asking his heavenly Father to "let this cup pass." And in the midst of all of this intense, divine drama, there is one simple request he makes of his disciples.  Stay awake.  He's taking care of everything else.  He just wants them to stay awake.  (Matthew 26:36-46 & Luke 22:39-46)

They can't do it.  They are too tired.  Luke's account gives them the benefit of the doubt and cites their grief as the reason they can't stay awake -- whatever the reason, the disciples are checked out.  They are not present.  They have left Jesus in his grief and turmoil, not even capable of staying awake to pray for their own salvation from the time of trial as suggested.  Their attention is gone, and Jesus is urging them to stay.

I find myself comforted by this account.  Because I, too, am not great at staying with Jesus.  My devotion to Him flags, I doubt Him in my thoughts.  I forget to notice Him.  I live as if I am my own boss, generally oblivious to His all-sustaining care in each moment.  I fall asleep.  I neglect prayer.  I am like the disciples. And so I know that His ultimate sacrifice for these wandering, sleepy, avoidant, checked-out men counts for me too.  They didn't earn his love and neither do I -- He takes us as we are. 

But what an example Jesus sets for us, and what a beautiful admonition.  "Remain here, and stay awake with me." Wow.  What does it look like to stay awake?  To stay awake with Jesus?  The Taizé song, Stay With Me, is often sung during Lent, and it draws me into this longing to stay with Jesus -- to be fully present with Him.  Could there possibly be anything more fulfilling, more satisfying?  No, nothing. Being unified with Christ is the answer to all of our deepest questions. 

I use mindfulness to practice staying.  Mindfulness is sometimes referred to as the practice of being fully awake.  It keeps us from sleepwalking through life, so that we don't miss out.  Through mindfulness practice, we train our attention to rest with intention on the present moment (which, by the way, is where we must be if we are to stay with Jesus).  We train our awareness to be alert and our eyes to be wide open.  We practicing noticing our wandering (whatever the reason for the drift), and we bring our attention back as many times as we are able.  We practice staying. 

Jesus, you are here.  I choose to practice staying so that I can be with you.   

I've always believed in the importance of silence -- my religious upbringing prepared me well to understand this cognitively.  But for most of my life, I didn't know what to do with silence other than endure.  To be in silence was an act of obedience, akin to taking my spiritual medicine.  It was only through mindfulness training that I learned to listen to silence. 

That's not quite what I mean.  I didn't exactly begin to listen to silence.  It was more that in listening to silence, I learned to pull away the curtain and experience God.  To dwell in God rather than trying to hear a message or get a fix.  To saturate my senses with God's goodness.  In this way, mindfulness practice has opened the eyes and ears of my heart to the richness with which God has infused each moment of life.  Before mindfulness, I had little interest in paying attention to the present moment because I didn't believe I would find anything there but pain, emptiness, and boredom.  Now I know that every moment, whether pleasant or unpleasant, holds the delicious kernels of joy for which my soul longs. 

Emily Barrett Browning famously wrote (in Aurora Leigh, 1857), "Earth's crammed with heaven, And every common bush afire with God: But only he who sees takes off his shoes."

We rush through our days with the eyes of our hears closed to Him.  Stop.  Observe.  Listen.  Take off your shoes.  Receive.  Savor.  Be curious.  Open yourself to God.  He is here.  Now. 

To get the good stuff out of life, we have no choice but to be real -- fully present and engaged in life, with our senses alive and our eyes wide open.  And life is happening right now.  So what's to be found in your moment?  Silence will be your guide. 

I have a very specific picture in my head of how Christmas is supposed to be.  Chances are, I don't have to describe it to you because you already know.  But just to be clear, the picture looks like this: We are all super happy.  This happiness, of course, involves snow outside, a cute snowman, a fireplace, hot chocolate, a perfectly decorated Christmas tree, a loving family, the singing of carols, delicious food, and deeply meaningful (yet surprising) gifts.

Wow, talk about an unattainable vision.  It is no surprise that so many of us get depressed during the Christmas season.  Perhaps the bigger shock is why we're not all completely incapacitated by depression during the Christmas season.  Because as someone once said (maybe Socrates?), "what screws us up the most in life is the picture in our heads of how it's supposed to be."

My Christmas tree this year looked smaller in the field than in my living room -- the trunk didn't fit in the tree stand, so we had to shave down the outside of the trunk to squeeze it in (requiring a few trips in and out the front door on a freezing cold night).  As we decorated it, I stepped on a 35-year-old handmade ornament from my husband's childhood and broke it.  We topped off the tree with our only tree-topper, a pale blonde angel that triggers anxiety for me about white privilege every Christmas season (when will I just buy a star?).  A couple days later, all of the lights on the bottom half of the tree stopped working, leaving only the top half lit.  In the meantime, our freshly-cut tree was quickly dry to the bone -- it was dropping needles faster than we could pick them up, and branches became rapidly bare.  And the Christmas presents I bought were okay but not quite right.  (Did I get too many?  Too materialistic?  Or did I not get enough?  Too stingy?  Will my child be messed up because of the gift choices we've made?)

There's no fireplace in my house.  The hot chocolate we make is often too hot and too rich, and our feeble snowman attempts fall over within a few hours. Inevitably, the "white Christmas" of our dreams turns to a "slush Christmas," and the family doesn't get along as well as would be hoped.  We all feel self-conscious (or cynical) about singing carols, so we don't.  To sum up: Christmas is not always super happy.  In fact, sometimes I find a feeling of deep emptiness and despair during Christmas time that freaks me out.  Nobody sings about this on the radio at Christmastime.

I am learning to expect imperfections and even despairing feelings at Christmas, and this makes all the difference in my ability to enjoy the holiday.  It is an attitude of mindfulness that allows me to be with what is instead of with the thoughts of what should be.  Without mindfulness, I am prone to negatively judge the malfunctioning Christmas tree lights, the lack of carols, and the difficult family dynamics.  With mindfulness, I expect these troubles and am okay with them (even curious about them) as they are.  And isn't this what Jesus asked of us as he neared his own earthly life of difficulties?  "...in me you may have peace.  In this world, you will have trouble.  But take heart!  I have overcome the world." (John 16:33) 

Perhaps Christmas is a golden opportunity for us to practice noticing our expectations, laying them aside, and accepting things just as they are. It is what was asked of the Jewish people when Jesus appeared -- notice the expectation of a political Messiah, lay it aside, and accept the gift of this homeless infant Messiah laying in an animal's feeding trough.  We struggle with this.  Our carols still sing of Christ's arrival as a quiet and peaceful event.  But in reality, births are not quiet, especially in stables in overcrowded towns.  And we still long for a political Messiah today.  Perhaps we know by now that God isn't sending one directly, but we think maybe we will be saved by a different political leader, maybe an Obama or a Trump -- and we are surprised and terrified when the "wrong" political leader doesn't save us or even threatens to cause harm. 

Let's practice expecting the "trouble" that Jesus predicted and also accepting that we are okay.  We can (and will) have trouble, and still have peace.  We can (and will) experience grief, disappointment, anger, and fear, and still have peace.  We can (and will) find that the world is a broken mess, and still experience beauty and joy amidst it all.  This is mindfulness.  This is also Christian faith.  "...in me you may have peace.  In this world, you will have trouble.  But take heart!  I have overcome the world." With mindfulness and with Christianity, we practice an attitude of radical acceptance -- accepting things just as they are, recognizing that God is with us right here.  Bringing a readiness to change what we can along with an openness to being with life as it is. 

If you would like a meditation to support your acceptance (and enjoyment) of life as it is during this holiday season, you might try one here by Mark Williams.  Whether or not all your Christmas lights work this year, and whatever you are feeling or not feeling during this season -- may you know the presence of the Christ-child with you.  "In this world, you will have trouble.  But take heart!  I have overcome the world."

A friend of mine recently took her child to a clinic where she was taught to ride a bike in two hours.  One of the first steps in the process? Learning to fall. Kids fell intentionally, learning that falling did not spell catastrophe or failure -- it was simply part of the learning process. They also learned that there are ways to fall that are less painful than others (ex. into the grass), and that they could get up and keep going after a fall. 

This is a profound life lesson. Falling is part of success.  We can expect it, but not fear it -- it's part of learning, and it does not spell failure. When we pay attention, we discover what makes falling less painful (ex. try being more kind to yourself when you're down?), and we practice getting back on the bike as soon as we're ready.  We learn that falls don't define our identity.  They are simply part of life, part of learning, part of success, part of mastery.  If we're going to live life, we're going to fall. 

So go for it! Go out and fall, ready to learn and grow in the process, ready to try new things, ready to be a human being, just like the rest of us. Have some band-aids ready for those scraped knees, and then hop on that wobbly bike. 

Struggling to get up after you fall?  Here are some tips to ponder as you practice falling:

• Your fall is not your identity.  It's just a passing experience. 
• Once you've fallen, the fall is over.  Place your attention in the moment, in the now. 
• After your fall, check in with how you're doing.  Are you hurting anywhere, physically or emotionally?  Do you need some first-aid (physically or emotionally)?  It's normal to feel hurt after a fall. That's what those band-aids are for.
• Use your fall to learn where the softest landings are. Perhaps your falls are softened with a call to a friend, a time of meditation, a bubble bath, or a hike in the woods. Notice what helps you stand up, brush off, and get back on your bike. 
  
• Notice any unrealistic expectations ("I should be able to ride a bike without falling"), and practice laying them aside.  Let your experience be your experience, just as it is -- no judgment needed. 
• Give yourself active encouragement. That 5-year-old wobbling a first bike all over the sidewalk is doing one of the bravest things that a person can do, and you would offer praise to reward the effort and progress -- can you give yourself the same kind of cheerleading? Especially after a fall?
  
• Falling is one of life's great gifts. (I didn't make that up. Honest.) Your fall is a golden opportunity to learn and grow. Be curious about the growth, and stay open to any goodness that comes out of the experience.

Enjoy the ride! 

As Christians, we affirm that God is good and that we can trust him in everything.  We commit to listening and responding affirmatively to His voice, to saying "yes" to all that He gives.  We trust that what he asks is not more than we can handle, and we know that he works all things out for our good.

So what's up with all the complaining?  Humans are master complainers, myself included.  For most of us, nothing is ever quite right.  We're not happy with the little stuff (like the weather), and we're not happy with the big stuff (like the people around us).  We have a hard time accepting life as it is -- we have a hard time saying "yes" to what is given.  When God hands us a moment, we tend to either ignore it or push it away.  This is how our minds create suffering for ourselves, even when we know that God is working all things out for our good.

Mindfulness gives us a new option: to say "yes" to the moment, to extend an intentional, open, and curious welcome to each moment of life.  With mindfulness, we do not suspend our welcome until a moment proves itself worthy.  We extend our welcome to each moment.  In doing so, we say "yes" to God -- not just cognitively, but by letting ourselves experience the moment fully in our bodies and hearts.

This is confusing in the face of suffering.  We live in a world of injustice.  In America, we suffer a climate of racism and political strife that is fueling murder and unrest across our country.  We are nervous for the safety of ourselves, our neighbors, and our friends.  We know that things are not right, that love is not the norm in our world.  The more we talk about it, the more polarized things become and the farther we get from understanding one another.  Many of us feel tired, worn down, and afraid.  There are lots of reasons to reject the moments. The problem is, when we reject a moment, we are blinded to God in that moment, and we are blinded to the path before us.  We cultivate wisdom when we pause to welcome what is before us, and this empowers us to act more effectively.  Welcoming the moment also gives us the grace to experience goodness in the midst of pain. 

Just to make sure we don't take ourselves too seriously... :)