Spirituality and Soup

For Christians, Advent is a time of waiting. During the darkest time and the shortest days of the year I am often met, surprisingly, with time on my hands. Anyone else notice this odd phenomenon? I feel it. It's strange, as our culture tells us we have so much to do, sometimes I find myself with more time to ruminate in the winter. The nights grow longer, days are cold and so we huddle indoors while the holidays loom in the distance, seemingly a far ways off. 

How do we find patience to wait for the light? When things are darkest it is often difficult to imagine the light ever returning. But it always does. Year after year we are reminded of this by the repetition of the cycles of nature and the meaning we choose to impose on it. God's there in the dark and the light, loving us and inviting us to a closer, co-creative experience of that love.

Mr. Rogers had a song that he liked to sing on his popular children's television show. It went like this:

 Let's think of something to do while we're waiting / While we're waiting / For something new to do / Let's think up a song while we're waiting / That's liberating / And will be true to you / Let's think of something to do while we're waiting / While we're waiting / Till something's through / You know it's really alright / In fact it's downright quite right / To think of something to do that's specific for you / Let's think of something to do while we're waiting.

I think dear Mr. Rogers was onto something. When things are darkest, we can still create. We can write a song, knit a sweater, paint a picture, write cards, wrap presents decorate, make a pot of soup. 

Yesterday I did just that. I was feeling the darkness as the day was coming to a close and so I decided to make a big pot of soup. It was satisfying, edifying, warming and intentional.

How do you live into the darkest days of the year? What sustains you while you wait for the light to return?

Advent comes every year at this time. 
Just in time. 






Spirituality of Soup

Chilly, windy.  Twilight settles early.

Hungry. Empty. Barren.
Awakening to longing; for wholeness, beauty, depth…God
Organize. Assemble. Chop.

Large stock pot. EVOO, Onions, carrots, potatoes, beans, broth, spices…

Heat. Light. Fragrant aroma, colors, flavors, textures.

Waiting. Uncertainty. Hope. Faith.

Temptation: Insta Pot (still in box, unopened).

No, souls need practice. Let boil, then simmer…gently.

Waiting, letting go, trusting the process.

Grace, Peace, Stillness.

Breath.

Watching. Waiting. Impatient.

Reflection: Darkness eventually ends. Stay.

Tenderness, patience, compassion. Steam rises. Bell rings.

Worthy container. Open to receive.

Warmth fills, nourishes, sustains.

Creation! Gratitude! Redemption! Joy!

Recipe for a meaningful Advent: Commit, Prepare, Tend, Watch and Wait, Celebrate, Share, Repeat

XO,

Connie

Five Steps to Peace: Intentional Shalom for the Holidays

According to Rabbi David Zazlow: …the Hebrew word shalom does not mean “peace,” at least not in the English sense of the word. It comes from a Hebrew root word that means “wholeness.” And what is wholeness? In the Hebraic way of thinking, wholeness is the joining together of opposites. That’s why we say “shalom” when we greet friends and when we wish them farewell. In the most opposite of situations (coming and going) we use the same word, “shalom.” There is a hidden connection to all our comings and goings; they are wondrously linked together. When I come from somewhere, I am going to someplace else. When I realize this, I feel “wholeness,” and that is the source of peace – the knowledge that all my opposing energies are somehow linked and part of a single whole. True peace must have wholeness as its foundation.

If peace, shalom, is your intention then what steps are you willing to take to ensure that it will be present in your life, especially during the challenging times? (Especially as family gathers around a table where opposite views might be present.) If wholeness is our intention, then let’s make this a little easier. Let’s start at the very beginning as Maria von Trapp (nee Kutschera) would have said (or sung). It is a very good place to start.

1.    We cannot bring peace to the table if we are not internally peaceful. Wholeness can be described as a state of balance in mind, body and spirit. What is causing internal disconnect? Is it physical, emotional, spiritual? Take a moment to be still enough to get curious about what might be off and then take action to bring yourself back to balance in whatever way seems appropriate. Maybe a run or a yoga class is in order. Perhaps some self care would help you reconnect to your true self. Maybe a talk with a trusted friend, clergy or professional would be helpful. A simple practice of deep breathing for five minutes can do wonders. Deep down, you know what it is you need. Take the steps necessary to head back in the direction of balance.

2.   Take a few moments to pause and direct your attention to each person you will be with this holiday. What is the state of your relationship with them? What is the history of that relationship? Are there wounds that could be healed through forgiveness or asking for forgiveness and perhaps making amends in some way? Be radically honest with yourself. Peace requires this of you. Where can you move your relationships to wholeness and how are you willing to do this?

3.    Bring your awareness to your heart. Bring your hands and place them over your heart. Breathe deeply. Now, and this requires courage, who comes to mind when you make this gesture? Is there someone who will be missing from your table this year? Grief and loss are often just under the surface and oftentimes can be the reason for extra sensitivity around the holidays. Take time to grieve for those you are missing. Bring them to the table. Talk about them. Recall happy memories and share them. Listen deeply as others share from their hearts.

4.    The first three steps have been mostly all about us. Now that we are centered and more whole we can take the focus off of ourselves and connect with our empathy and compassion. Has Uncle Fred been having trouble getting to AA meetings lately? How are cousin Kate’s chemo treatments going? Will your nephew whose wife recently left bring his unruly toddler this year and allow him to disrupt the festivities? We’re veering off course here. Come back. Perhaps we could bring a children’s book for the little guy (I know a couple of good ones that have awesome Youtube videos to go with them). Taking the time to engender compassion for people is a brilliant wholeness practice. It will change things, trust me on this.

5.    When we join together this week to express gratitude for our many blessings we are contributing to our communal wholeness. Gratitude is high level peacemaking. For what and for whom are you grateful? Make a list. Keep adding to it. Start small and move to the bigger things. Gratitude is healing. Gratitude is prayer. 

Peace begins with us. Whether you quote the Buddha, Emerson or St. Francis, they all say the same thing in their own way. If we truly want peace, shalom, wholeness, we must do the work. But it’s good, wholesome, worthwhile work. 

Peace, Shalom, to you at holiday times and always.

Connie

Super Socks is About Solidarity, Kindness and Love!

One Thing

I have been driven many times upon my knees by the overwhelming conviction that I had no where else to go. My own wisdom and that of all about me seemed insufficient for that day.     ― Abraham Lincoln

Through the years people have often asked me “How did you do it?”, meaning how did I survive the death of a child. They were looking for the “one thing.” In answering, I try to honor the spirit of the question, which is certainly different for every person. Some are grieving themselves and looking for concrete, practical advice. Some might be asking as they are witnessing the grief of a friend or loved one and sincerely want to help. Some are simply curious. I often feel the weight of the responsibility to answer well for each person. It’s never an easy answer. That’s why I wrote Back to Happy. The book was my humble offering in response to that question.  For me, if I was to pinpoint the “one thing” that was the thread woven through the fabric of my personal healing, I would have to say it was surrender. Surrender was the most difficult, most unlikely, most radically transformational part of my grief journey.

It’s ineffable for sure, difficult to describe with words but I try my best in Back to Happy. Just to clarify what I mean by surrender, I will tell you first what surrender is not. Surrender is not giving up. Surrender is not weakness. Surrender is not permission to check out. 

When something traumatic happens, like a loss (and these recent shootings are deeply communal losses for all of us) we often want to respond with immediate action. Action is one way of avoiding profoundly deep feelings of despair. There are others, but avoiding is not what I want to focus on here. Grief and despair can overwhelm the human system physically, emotionally and energetically. In the aftermath of trauma our minds and spirits are often disconnected from our bodies. Our mind races ahead to make sense of what has happened and wants to come up with solutions. Our body is left feeling untethered, like a helium balloon released to the heavens. Our beautiful immortal spirit, in its wisdom, seeks wholeness and gently nudges the broken parts of us back to unity. You may feel these gentle nudges when coincidences happen or unlikely people show up at just the right time or a certain song plays on the radio. 

What can we do with a racing mind and a deeply traumatized body? We can choose to surrender to the nudges. Surrender brought me to my knees, literally. I wrote about this in Back to Happy.  One day after months of pushing and doing and trying my best to keep busy with things that would seemingly help me move through the despair, somewhere from deep within came the thought that I could choose to surrender. That day in my living room, all by myself, I prayed. I prayed hard. I surrendered. And I asked for help. 

That was my turning point. Physically and mentally I surrendered to the awareness that I needed a higher power (for me that’s God). I surrendered to accepting help from other people. We are not meant to endure despair alone. Always, always reach out. But first, surrender. Love, God, the universe, whatever you choose to call her, is always there waiting for us. We have to make the first move. 

Over time surrender led me to people and places and books and churches and counselors and yoga classes. I began to heal and rediscover joy. To use the words "surrender saved me" is an understatement. Surrender changed everything for the better and for good. As I practice surrender daily it continues to teach me and never fails to amaze and delight. 

So if you are wondering for yourself or another what is the “one thing” that you could do or suggest to another to move with grace through the devastating, complicated, life changing grief that inevitably we will all face, try surrender. Surrender with your mind and your body and ask for whatever help you need. You will receive. And then, never stop asking. 

May you find the courage to surrender to the love that is waiting silently and patiently for you. May you know the peace that comes with this surrender. May you grow closer, day by day, to this miraculous, delightful mystery. In time, may you come to know the gift of sharing it with others.

Connie Bowman is an actress, yoga teacher, host of the podcast Happy Healthy You! and author of Back to Happy and children's picture books about overcoming fear, kindness and acceptance. For more about her visit www.conniebowman.com.

Blessed Overzealous Gardening

As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light in the darkness of mere being. ~~Carl Jung

On the longest day of the year, perhaps it’s good to look to the light as a source of wisdom to carry us through the ever darkening days that will surely come.

Last year I was  a new gardener. I built a raised bed garden. I had been thinking about this for a few years and, inspired by my green thumbed friend Christina who encouraged me, I decided this was the year. I prepared the soil, bought some plants at the local garden center. I was thrilled by possibility. I imagined my kitchen counter piled high with fresh vegetables and herbs, my family and friends feasting joyfully on my bountiful harvest. By July I had more garden than I had anticipated. It was abundant. It was green and lush. It was overwhelmingly extravagant. It was waaaay too much.

Last year's garden. Oh boy!

Last year, in my exuberance, I over planted the garden. It was new. I was a rookie. It was fun but because of my over planting many of my cherry tomatoes died. The zucchini that grew so fast and furiously got eaten in part by birds, in part by creatures of unknown specification. I felt vindicated when my friend Christina, my garden mentor and guru told me, “Just go with it this year and see what happens. You will figure out what works and what doesn’t and try again next year.” That sat well. Thank you for permission to fail big Christina. As an oldest child and a three on the Enneagram, that felt good to me.

So this year, I planned my garden with a bit more care and caution. I spaced and staked the tomatoes. I limited my zucchini to just a few plants. I added peppers and squash and even some lavender, thinking I might make some fancy lavender teas or ice creams or some gourmet epicurean delight such as that. A girl can dream. 

So far so good. My plants are growing well. The rains are coming at nice intervals and it hasn’t been too hot. All but the basil is thriving. I am not sure why. 

Trial and error. Trying new things is great for our growth. We can learn from our mistakes if we give ourselves permission to fail. The one caveat is we must not give up. We will know when it is time to move on. But tenacity is imperative. Stay the course. Keep the faith. "Hope is a form of planning," as Gloria Steinem told me in an interview.

This year's garden. More reasonable.

When I decided to start acting and really throw my hat into the ring, it was scary. I spent a lot of money on those first headshots. I was questioning myself at every turn. Who am I to think this could turn out OK? Many times I wanted to just give up. Auditions are the worst. Rejection is even worse. At one of my first auditions for a commercial for a local PBS channel l was asked to pantomime making spaghetti. At forty, with young children, I had made spaghetti for my family countless times. I committed to that spaghetti. I gathered my ingredients, put the pasta in the big pot on the stove, turned the gas on, leaning down to observe the flame making sure it was just right. Opening the jar of sauce was an opportunity to show my real acting chops… You get the point. I got the part. That small success gave me courage to keep going. And I did for many years. I learned a lot. Mostly about myself. I learned to be in the present moment (with the help of yoga and meditation practice). I learned to listen to directors and to the other actors in the scene. I learned that my part was no more important than anyone else’s, including the under celebrated crew that worked behind the scenes. We are a team brought together for a brief time to tell a story. I learned to let go of outcomes and just do my best. I learned that I was good at some things but not others. Auditioning hundreds of times for House of Cards, taught me that sometimes it is just not meant to be, or in the cards (hee hee). But, I never gave up. 

I suppose I got this from my Daddy. He always told us “Never say can’t.” But he said it with a slight country twang for emphasis, “Never say “c’aint” - a combination of can’t and ain’t. 

Dad worked hard. He had his own electrical contracting business. It was quite successful but he was always making adjustments based on the economy, his family circumstances, his need for more rest and recreation. At one time, he had many trucks and many employees. Then during leaner economic times he pared his business down to just a few. He approached change with balance and caution. But he did make changes as necessary. To my childish self-centered mind Dad seemed to adjust to circumstances seamlessly and easily. Most likely to him, these changes were not as easy as they looked.

What happens when things get hard, we lose jobs, loved ones, or our physical or emotional health is precarious? What happens when life gets routine and we fall into repeating patterns? Same thing day after day. Wake, work, eat, sleep. Energy drains. Addictions can set in if we are not careful. We can look outside of ourselves for a quick fix or for something to break the monotony. What if we looked inside, paused and reflected for a time on what would bring new life, new growth? 

Getting still enough to ask is helpful. What light is being offered to me at this time? 

In my family life, in my marriage, in my career, I have seen season after season of change. Sometimes growth and change happened on its own without my having to intervene, like the mint and the chives in my garden. Sometimes there was stagnation like the basil that is not doing well this year. I have found that when I ignore the call to new growth, suffering happens. It can be subtle. Stillness helps discern the next right move. 

My first pepper!

Deciding to give professional acting and voiceover a shot, write a book, teach yoga, go back to school have all been scary but life giving. For me, practice makes, not perfection, but, rather satisfaction. There is a blessed satisfaction that can transform into joy when we try new things. I have found that the greatest transformation and joy has come from a threefold process of deep listening (hearing the call to plant a garden, write a book, take a class, volunteer, etc.) following through with the task at hand (planting the garden), and finally, letting go of the need to control the outcome as my friend Christina suggested. Ultimately, the greatest joys have come out of sharing my gifts (my love) with others. I wonder if you have felt the same.

On this the longest day of the year we are reminded of the abundance of light, of love, of possibility for new growth. As we head into the familiar pattern of shortened days and the certainty of darkness, what is it you want to carry into this next season? We can be fortified by the light but only if we can absorb and accept what it has to offer. Listen deeply. What is it God is calling you to add to your garden or perhaps to weed out? What needs to die to make space for new growth? What would happen if you gave yourself permission to fail? Where can you cultivate gratitude?

Plants grow toward the light. Some will come back, tenacious as my mother’s mint and my thick green pungent chives. Some will be delicate like the basil and no matter how much love we give it, it just will not take root. Each new growth is a little different in character. Like God tends to us individually with tender love and care, so we must tend our own gardens. And God, she sees our efforts, and we are lovingly, extravagantly and abundantly rewarded.