Parenting – Page 2 – Lisa Steele-Maley

September 15, 2019September 25, 2019

Gratitude and Responsibility

In early August, I celebrated the midway point between the summer solstice and fall equinox with a dozen folks from Renewal in the Wilderness. We gathered for Lammas (a.k.a. Lughnasa, Harvest Festival) next to a Community Garden overlooking a meadow with waist high grass and insects and birds of all colors and songs. Standing in witness to this abundance, we recognized summer’s bounty as well as the fading light and withering stalks that served as a reminder that a dormant season was arriving. We discussed the infinite web of connection that binds us to past and future, death and birth, light and dark. And we offered gratitude for being here to receive it all. We gave thanks to the exploding stars that give us iron to course through our bloodstream and to the biome that lives in our gut to keep us healthy. We gave thanks to the four-legged critters who bless our homes with joy and fur and to the ancestors who saved the seeds of the sweetest corn from generation to generation so that we could enjoy crisp, sweet corn that evening.

The gratitude that I shared that day has been echoing in my mind and heart ever since. I gave thanks for my children. They are kind, engaged, and curious individuals: they are also tethers to the future. My commitment to nurture and nourish my own children is simply part of my commitment to nurture and nourish all life — and the land and water that will sustain it. Simply by their presence, my children guide me into right relationship with the world around me, always moving towards just and compassionate action and words. I am grateful for the daily reminder to notice and honor my responsibility to the wider web of creation.

I had never thought of gratitude and responsibility in relationship to one another before but, since that Lammas celebration, I have often noticed them nesting together and guiding my actions as I tend to the myriad details and relationships that appear throughout each day. I have been repeating a vow articulated by Joanna Macy in Active Hope. The affirmation captures my sense of responsibility to this time and place and clarifies my intention to live in an honoring and sustaining way.

I vow to myself and to all of you:

To commit myself daily to the healing of our world and the welfare of all beings.

To live on the earth more lightly and less violently in the food, energy and products I consume.

To seek support and guidance from the living earth, the ancestors, the future generations and my brothers and sisters of all species.

To support one another in our work for the world and to ask for help when I need it.

To pursue a daily practice that clarifies my mind, strengthens my heart, and supports me in observing this vow.

– From Active Hope by Joanna Macy and Chris Johnstone

As we approach the fall equinox, I am paying close attention to the internal and the external rhythms. I am curious to see what new awareness arises internally as the season comes to balance between dark and light, warm and cool. Whatever emerges, I am sure I will be greeting it with gratitude and responsibility.

July 4, 2019

Independence, Interdependence

As the 4th of July approaches, I’ve been struggling. It is hard to watch our nation pursue profit, growth, and progress without regard to current and future life. It is devastating to see policies and practices that prioritize nations and corporations over individual lives. Independence for some at the expense of others is not ok. It wasn’t ok when our country was founded and it isn’t ok now. We have to do better. We can do better.

Recognizing that we are interdependent is a start. We have always been interdependent and we always will be. It is long past time to pledge our allegiance to the web of life. We can start with the David Suzuki Foundation’s Declaration of Interdependence.

There are benefits to independence. Trust me, I know. I live with teenagers. Life in my household is all about finding balance between being independent and being in relationship. Independence is how we find out what motivates us, how we are meant to participate and give ourselves to this life. Relationships help us find boundaries and give meaning to our thoughts and actions. There are benefits to interdependence.

I am still not sure how to reconcile all of the feelings that have been evoked but I have been helped by a word pattern that my boys learned when they were in second or third grade.

Independence

Separation, Autonomy,

Rights, Responsibility, Integrity

Cooperation, Participation, Collaboration

Connection, Cohesion

Interdependence

Naming the connection points between independence and interdependence turned the words into points along a continuum rather than punctuation at an end. As I played with the words and their associations over a few hours, my mind wandered and opened. The knot in my chest loosened as I released either/or and embraced both/and. I am so grateful to be reminded of this word play that is really an exercise in building bridges.

Try it for yourself. Where could you build a bridge between ideas or emotions?

June 14, 2019

Strong breeze

A few nights ago, a strong breeze blew through. It was pushing out a cool, soggy day and ushering in a warm, sunny evening. As I stood in the orchard watching the leaves wave and the branches bend, I couldn’t help myself from wondering what else it might be ushering in or out. It felt capable of the strong magic that could blow in Mary Poppins or transform the Kansas of our present times to the OZ of the near future. As I felt the wind on my face and in my hair, I daydreamed and wondered.

Is this the sudden shift of energy that will usher in harmony and balance?

Could the Earth help blow away the ills of our society and blow in its health?

Was there someone nearby experiencing a significant shift of perception or life circumstance?

Standing in that wind, I was reminded of the breeze that blew the day before my youngest son was born. There was no doubt in my mind that that wind was ushering in new life. The convergence of energy and air outside had something to do with the life-force that was in my body preparing to make an entrance into the world. As contractions were slowly growing, I walked aimlessly through the neighborhood. The cool air on my cheeks and swirling dandelion seeds were reassuring mirrors to the powerful energy that was building in me. The intensity of the wind and the alternating dark clouds and bright blue sky held both dark and light, ferocity and safety. As I observed the interplay of these external forces, I was acutely aware that they were also at play inside my body. Moreover, they had a life of their own.

As I walked, I remembered the words of comfort and encouragement that my friend, Su, had spoken to me when I was in early labor with my first child. I had called her in a panic, certain that I could not go through with this birth process. The intense emotions and intense contractions were too scary, too painful. “I can’t do it,” I told her. She listened patiently and then assured me that not only could I do it, but also “the only way out is to go through to the other side.” She was right, of course. I could do this: I was born for this. Emerging on the other side, I joined a long, proud lineage of startled first time mothers when my son entered the world.

Two years later, remembering her wise words and reveling in the wind energy around me, my sense of individual autonomy disappeared and was replaced by the sense of being held by this collective lineage. I surrendered myself to the labor and power of the birthing process, trusting in the ancient, inherited wisdom carried in my female body. In the face of this powerful, shifting life-force energy, acceptance and openness were my only possible responses. The next morning, as the wind subsided and the sun began to rise, my son was born, carrying the strength of that wind that blew him in. We welcomed him with love.

The wind blew strong yesterday as the city of Portland, Maine prepared to meet the needs of hundreds of asylum seekers being transferred here from the Texas border. Most of them have been traveling towards safety for many months. The new arrivals have overwhelmed the city’s established shelter system in the last few days so the city has established an emergency shelter in the expo center. They are preparing to offer safe temporary housing and food for up to 350 individuals in the next week. As a whole, the community has responded quickly and generously to welcome the new arrivals. When I first read reports, it made me proud to be a Mainer. Reading on, it surprised me to read disparaging comments about the generosity. Panicky voices of fear responded to requests for assistance — “I can’t”, “I won’t”, and “it’s not my responsibility”. People are grasping to the illusion of their control and separation even as cooperative action unfolds around them. I wish I could offer them the same assurance, comfort, and confidence that Su offered me many years ago. The only way out of this is to go through to the other side. That means that it isn’t possible to opt out. There is new life being born, not just for the asylum seekers but for all of us. Humans are social creatures. We are meant to step in close with one another. In fact, we were born for this.

In Sacred Instructions, Sherri Mitchell has described these evolutionary times as “the long, dark birth canal, and the Great Mother is in the throes of her laboring pain”.(p. 26) The analogy describes perfectly the squeeze, fear, and promise of these times. There is a strong wind of change blowing. We respond by alternating between contraction and expansion, generating ever greater energy. When we give ourselves to the possibility and promise inherent in this process, joining the light and energy within us to the shifting energy around us, we contribute to the emergence. On the other side of the long, dark birth canal is a new life, full of love, possibility and an energy of its own. On the other side of the dark, blustery night is a sunny, nurturing day. Shadow and light will always interplay, but we can choose to give our energy to the light. When we do, we may just find that the Mary Poppins magic has been here all along in the strong breezes, gentle wind, and still skies. It is here in our hearts.

May we greet each other with openness and acceptance.

May we welcome new life with love.

May the strong winds around us and within us usher in new life and possibility.

May we remember that we were born for this.

June 3, 2019June 5, 2019

Sacred One and Holy All

As I step out of the ChIME classroom and into the wider community to serve as an Interfaith Chaplain, I will lean into the divine, eternal and infinite that is here, now, in this human, terrestrial and finite life. Sacred One and Holy All.

This is the vow that I shared with the congregation that gathered yesterday to support, witness, and celebrate my classmates and me as we were ordained as Interfaith Chaplains by the Chaplaincy Institute of Maine (ChIME). I share it with all of you, recognizing kinship with the readers of this blog as fellow travelers on paths of reflection, awareness, and conscious growth.

During the service, as each ordinand shared a few words about the ChIME experience and how he or she will carry it into their work in the world, the rich diversity of human expression unfolded like a tapestry. At the center of the tapestry, our common divinity and humanity shone like the sun, offering light and life to this time of emergence.

ChIME’s two year course of study includes deep personal exploration, broad academic study of the world’s religious traditions, and many hours of service to the community. Though ordination marks a closure, it also initiates a new beginning. The inner work and outer work that the ChIME journey has nourished will continue to unfold for the rest of my life. A life of intention requires ongoing attention to the habits of heart and mind that connect or disconnect me from the world. I will continue to nurture the mindset, community, and practices that open me to the joy and the suffering in the world and allow me to meet them with compassion and love.

It is hard to answer the question that people have often asked about my chaplaincy program, “What are you going to do with that?” Yesterday, it felt even more immediate when a few people asked “What are you going to do now?” Those are not easy questions to answer. For me, chaplaincy is more about “being” than it is about “doing.” I know that doesn’t translate easily in a culture that pays more attention to what we produce and consume than it does to how we engage. When I say “being,” I mean a way of being fully present to myself, to others and to the world. It pervades all of the doing.

My eyes and heart are open to new opportunities that will inevitably emerge in the wider world now that I have passed through the threshold of ordination. For the summer, however, I will be sinking deeply into the spiritual practice that Mirabai Starr calls Householder Yoga.

If yoga means “path to union with God,” then hooking up with a life partner and having kids together can be as valid — and certainly as rigorous–as living in an ashram engaged in spiritual discipline all day and into the night. — Wild Mercy, p.118

As I am entering this new season of life as an Interfaith Minister, my children are entering the summer with new obligations, aspirations, and anticipations. My husband is engaged in deeply meaningful work but it requires long periods of time away from home. The garden and the baby chickens require tending. Our household schedule and individual needs are all over the place but the sense of safety and love in our household remains strong and consistent. This requires full attention and the intention to keep showing up to All That Is. The burnt toast, the laundry pile, the laughter, the weeds, the late nights, the cat barf on the stairs, the noise, the play, the frustration, the joy, the love… Sacred One and Holy All.

May 12, 2019

The Marathon Before Mother’s Day

Yesterday, as I drove to the beach, I found myself driving the route of a running race in progress. Judging by the distance that I drove alongside them, I guessed it was a marathon. The runners and I were traveling in opposite directions, so I was able to observe faces and bodies. Joy, struggle, effort, and perseverance emanated from their gaits and their expressions. The runners came in all shapes, sizes and levels of fitness, but they shared a common look of determination. After passing hundreds of these running, jogging, walking and stretching humans, I felt a wave of emotion and tears began to form. I was witnessing human potential being realized.

Each of these individuals had set their sights on a goal (likely a stretch for many of them) and I was getting to watch their final reach for it. For most people, race day was probably the culmination of months of training which, of course, includes planning, hopes, sacrifices, disappointments, and successes. I know the routine; I used to run long distances. For me, the race was very important. It offered a goal, something to move towards, a reason to keep running even when I didn’t feel like it. But the greatest value I gained from running was in the training, not the racing. During training, I learned to stretch my limits, find a reliable pace, and persist through discomfort or malaise. On race day — and every other day — these new skills gave me confidence, courage and capacity for any opportunity that I pursued.

Watching these runners, I was reminded of the vast potential available to each of us. Humans are infinitely creative and capable. I suddenly imagined that the same determination and inspiration that allows humans to run marathons, heal illnesses, solve problems, overcome addictions, etc… will help us heal our relationships to one another and to the earth. I envisioned that when we turn our singular individual devotions to the collective need, we will begin to cultivate the peace that is possible. On some days, I believe it is already happening. Yesterday was one of those days.

When I arrived at the beach, I walked directly to the water’s edge where the receding tide was exposing more and more walkable beach each minute. Standing there, I gave thanks to the Earth, mother of us all, for its boundless capacity to nurture my body and my soul. Earlier this week, I had written a card to my mom, feeling gratitude for the gifts of life and love that she gave to me. And then I had written a note to my oldest son, thanking him for turning me into a mama. Our possibilities and intentions are nurtured in many layers. Mothering unlocked my own potential for growing and loving, while creating tangible hope for the future and tethering me (and our children) to our ancestral lineage. Mothering provides daily training for the work of nurturing the wider community that I feel called to do.

At a workshop last weekend, Indigenous attorney, activist and teacher, Sherri Mitchell, shared an interesting bit of biological fact; Every woman carries eggs from her grandmother and her mother. This means that in every woman alive at this moment, there is the embodied ancestral wisdom from two previous generations as well as the potential for the future. We not only have the disposition to walk and run towards the positive future that is possible, we have inherited wisdom to help guide our way. Jack Kornfield writes, “The warrior in your heart says stand your ground. Feel the survival of a thousand years of ancestors in your muscles and your blood. You have all the support you need in your bones.”

This Mother’s Day, I am remembering my grandmothers with gratitude. I am thinking of my mom with appreciation. I am celebrating my children with presence. I am honoring the Earth with love. Mothering is a devotional act. It’s as hard, and as rewarding, as training for that marathon. I am leaning into the challenge… And, I am going to start running again. There’s a half marathon on a nearby wooded course in October. Want to join me?

April 21, 2019

Easter Peepers

The Peepers are here! Some people get excited about the appearance of Peeps, the brightly colored sugar-coated marshmallows confections that also appear at this time. I am delighted by the Spring Peepers.

In the patch of field and forest where we live, the high pitched call of these petite woodland frogs fills the air at dusk in the early spring. The chorus can be so loud that it feels like there must be thousands of them, each trying to call the loudest to attract a mate and establish territory. After a long winter and a tentative early spring, their boisterous presence assures me that we have really entered the season of growth, fecundity, and abundance. The peepers are singing before the crocuses have even poked out of the ground!

Each year when the peepers begin calling, I am reminded of a fatal mistake that we made a number of years ago. The boys were very young and endlessly curious about the critters that lived in our forest. We had been maintaining a rotating aquarium of sorts for a few months. We would collect bugs, frogs or salamanders from our creek and bring them inside to observe for a few days. We always took them back a few days later, hoping to let them go before captivity had caused too much stress. We thanked them for allowing us to study them for a few days, and released them where we had found them. We were trying to be careful, reverent, amateur naturalists. Our collection, maintenance, and release were guided by the principle that we would do no harm.

One summer day, we found a big blob of frog eggs in a water-filled depression in the field. For several days, we eagerly went back to check on them, hoping to observe metamorphosis. We didn’t see any changes in the eggs, but we did notice that their habitat was drying up. We worried that maybe the frog had chosen her nursery poorly. We worried that maybe there wasn’t enough water to sustain the eggs long enough for transformation to tadpole and frog. Just before the puddle went dry, we decided to help.

We put fresh water from the creek and the egg mass into our aquarium. Over the course of a few days, rather than observing frog metamorphosis, we watched the mass of eggs dissolve into a blob of gelatinous goop. We hadn’t helped at all. Maybe we had even harmed. Maybe the eggs of this species would not begin to transform until they began to dry. With regret, we took the goop and water outside and gave them back to the earth. The boys seemed to absorb the loss ok but, I was distressed by our “help” gone wrong. It still rattles me. We had the best intentions but, we had catastrophically interrupted the natural life cycles of a critter with whom we share this land.

Every spring, I wait anxiously for the peepers to begin their chorus. For a few years, they seemed substantially quieter. I attributed the muffled sound to population loss, a loss likely caused by human intrusion, including ours. I know it is irrational to think that we wiped out a whole region of the species with our egg collection that year, but reason doesn’t have a lot of influence when there’s guilt involved. Recently, I have learned that Spring Peepers lay their eggs singly, rather than in masses, and they hatch in a few days. The mass we collected (and killed) belonged to a different species. I do not know its name, its habits, or its call. I can only hope that it is flourishing today.

This wet spring seems to be good for the Peepers. They are really loud this year. Their strong presence is good for me. My heart seems to join them in song each evening. In the morning, I watch the puddles, depressions, and ponds for egg masses. If I find any, I will watch them and wish them well but, I will not interfere.

I can best serve the earth as a witness and participant in the enduring cycle of life. And I can best serve this cycle as an advocate for human systems (both large and small) that will recognize, honor, and protect it too. I will honor birth, death, and transformation in my life and in all life, fully embracing the eternal cycles of creation. What more could an amateur naturalist hope for?