Patient Practice

When my daughter was a toddler, she had a favorite hat. She couldn't put the hat on herself, so she would walk around the house practicing. Over and over she'd take the hat and attempt to press it onto her head. It took far more coordination that she had at first--to open the hat and place it on widely and pull it down. However, given her extreme determination and constant practice, she soon became proficient at the task.
This sort of persistent and patient perseverance children display regularly, learning to walk or talk or use a fork or spoon. One might even say they do this practice graciously, given the dozens and hundreds of times they may make attempts and fail.

Meanwhile...in our adult world things are different! I often see an adult attempt something new once. If she fails, she may not give up, but she generally makes a conclusion about her abilities based on this failure. This comes up often in yoga when a new student attempts a pose, or when any student attempts a new pose. Most adults will not completely give up a practice, however, they will think, or sometimes say, "I'm not good at that. I can't do that. This isn't for me."

Every skill requires practice. Even a skill in which we have a natural ability. I have never found yoga particularly "hard." In fact, it came rather naturally for me. Yet it also demanded a regular, persistent practice, especially in certain postures where I was more limited.

Spiritual practice is no different. Prayer, healing, positive thought, intercession, transformation--all require practice, repetitive, sometimes full of failure, practice. Wherever we want to grow spiritually, we can. But we must cheerfully and determinedly, take the task like that hat my little daughter held and keep at it, with no sense of personal insecurity or imperfection. We don't want to take our spiritual imperfections personally; if we take them to heart, we risk giving up, or drawing a false conclusion about ourselves.

Each one of us is God's beloved child. Each one of us contains all Good and only Good, the capacity to do remarkable and unimaginable Good. Each one of us has a divine gift, that through practice and time, becomes a powerful, unique Light in the world. In the middle of the mess of daily and domestic life, in the midst of the thunderous negativity of media, news and events globally, we lose sight of the glory within us, that does not belong to us, yet is ours.

I think of my little one who never asked, "Mama, what's wrong with me? Will I ever be able to put on my hat? Why is this taking so long? Maybe I'm not meant to wear a hat...maybe I'm not as good as people who wear hats."

It may take a long time (and it may not). Keep patiently practicing your spiritual gifts, keep seeing yourself as the best version, hold in your mind a picture of your Highest self. Remember whose child you are, a child of the Divine Mother Father, and reflect on the fact that the apple cannot fall far from the tree!

Rev. Sam Wilde

The Struggle

Many years ago I attended a Unitarian church where the minister always signed her letters to the congregation, "Yours in the struggle." I was thinking of this phrase the other day in the midst of a very difficult situation. We encounter many struggles in our lives, small and large, daily and ones that continue through our life-cycle. This particular struggle for my family was quite big.

I began to think about how we, any of us, make it through genuinely hard times. I also began to think about that line, "yours in the struggle." I started to ask, "who is ours in the struggle?" And, "who is with us in the struggle?"

I began to imagine God, or the Divine, speaking that line: "I am yours in the struggle." There is a sense  of belonging and connection and absolute loyalty. It may be true that when we really undergo hardship we feel alone or disconnected from the Good, but it is not a truth. Suffering can lead us to feel abondoned by the Source of Peace, but nothing is closer to us in a crises than God. Many people have found this to be so; in fact, many people do not come to a spiritual understanding of life until they undergo a hardship.

It makes me think of two of my most favorite lines in the bible: "All thing work together for good for those who love God" (Romans 8:28), and from the very end of Genesis: "You plotted evil against me, but God turned it into good" (Gen. 50:20).

You can probably think of times in your life or in the life of someone you know, when the worst happened and out of that came unexpected or unimagined good. All things can work together for the good--even struggles. All things do work together for the good. Keep your eyes on the good. Even, in a struggle, give thanks in anticipation of the good that will come.

It is almost impossible to be in a real crises and see through it to the good that may be, and yet if we can hold--cling!--to that real possibility, we can ride through the struggle with the sense that we are "Yours," that we are God's, that we are beloved children who are presently being cared for. It is a feat of imagination and sometimes fortitude to believe that out of what seems bad or evil, awful or wicked, a good thing can emerge, but we all have the gifts to do this. And the very first good thing that comes is a compassion. We become the peope who hear another person's suffering and are there for them in the struggle. Our hearts open.

In certain ways, it is as simple as "there is a light at the end of the tunnel." Except it is more more powerful and present. The light is ours now, and believing and trusting that helps us to see the Good that always exists, unfailing, all-present, more powerful than any struggle--the only power.

I wish you strength for the practice of such daring believing! And I am yours in the struggle.

Rev. Sam Wilde

New Birth

In this time of darkness and the onset of winter, we celebrate once again the story of birth: the Christ child and all the magic and mystery of that, and we celebrate the birth of light – new light, not the same light of last year, or even of yesterday, but a whole new light, a new season, a new self.  As we reflect on the year that’s passed, and the place we find ourselves in now, are you where you thought you would be? How has the year changed you?  Challenged you? Surprised you? Does the story ever turn out completely the way we imagine?

As parents know, birthing a child into the world--and the many ways it transforms us--is a lot more than what we expect. The daily challenge can’t be known prior to its coming into being, nor can the wealth of profound love and joy. I remember an evening when John River was about 7 or 8 months old, pre-verbal.We were up in the night together after a feeding and I sat with him cradling him and we sat gazing at each other and smiling.

I thought I had never seen such an exquisitely pure and beautiful being in all my life. I asked him, “Where did you come from?” And right at that moment, he pointed his tiny starfish hand at the tip of my nose and said with perfect pronunciation, “You.” I would have to say it was the first word he spoke, but I cannot explain it. I laughed out loud and tears welled in my eyes. It was a miraculous moment, a moment that felt to me like God’s hand had reached out and touched me.

In reflecting on it, I realized, as mystical as his response was, there is more to it than that. Yes he comes from me, but more as a stopping-over place. Where he comes from is much, much greater than this individual. Kalil Gibrain states it poetically, “your children are not your children, they are the sons and daughters of life’s longing for itself…they come through you but not from you, and though they are with you, they belong not to you.”

As we give birth to the new in our lives, whether it be a child or a creative project, a new job, a relationship, a garden, our faith reminds us that it is God being born in the world, God coming through us, beauty being expressed in and through the human form. As the song, “This Night” goes that my beloved wrote, “We tell the old story that brings us together, the light of the child that is born anew, deep in our heart, the memory: Love is in the world this night, a chance to recall, once more a chance to begin.”

Once more, a chance to understand that we are not the sole creators, we are the co-creators. We are not the proprietors, we are the borrowers, the stewards. We are not residents, we are visitors, here for a short while to be the mystical-physical channel through which goodness and generosity come to transform this world.

In this way, we can stand aside and stand in awe and deference as we bear witness to this miraculous and precious life. And we can release our burdens to our creator and rest in the knowing that we are not and cannot be alone on the path. May the peace of God’s light that surpasses our understanding give each of you comfort and a joy in the season ahead.              

Rev. Katherine Silvan

A Christmas Finding

During our recent move from one home to another, as we began the long process of unpacking our boxes, my husband came to me, holding sailing gloves in his hands, and said: "Where did you find these? I have been looking for these for years. I couldn't find them anywhere. For six years!"

A few minutes later, he came in holding a certain kind of power cord. "Where did you find this to pack it? I didn't know we still had it. I searched the house for it last year."

A song came instantly to mind, one I love, that I am almost certain was written by Starhawk. The lyrics: "Everything lost is found again, in a new form, in a new way. Everything hurt is healed again, in a new time, in a new day."

I love this simple, profound, honest song for the very miracle it eloquently, succinctly reminds us of. To me, it is the same miracle that is found in Christmas.

In the past few years, I have had two friends, young women, one with two daughters--an infant and a toddler--lose their spouses. I have had two other friends lose newborn children. I am sure you know of many, maybe even too many, who have lost things or people they treasure. What is the assurance of this season? As we lose the "sun," moving through the longest night of the year, what is the promise?

What is lost, will be found--in a new form. What is broken, will be restored--in a new way. It is the promise of the rose, as in the song Betty Midler sings, "Just remember, in the winter, far beneath the bitter snow, lies the seed, that with the sun's love, in the spring, becomes the rose."

One of my friends who lost her daughter at three days old has miraculously found the courage to conceive again. She will welcome a son in the early spring. One of my friends who lost her partner of nine years, has found love again; she did not think she could.

The "sun" rises. At Christmas, we think of it as the "son." They are the same. The power of restoration, finding what we have lost, is not an optimist's irrational pinning. It is a reality I see every day. Don't you?

If you are broken this season, lost or missing something lost--hold on! Your spring will come. Look for the new form, the new way, the new time, the new day. And for those who have already been given the blessing of that realization, for whom this idea is not a stranger but a comforting, true, reliable friend--rejoice!

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Solstice, Blessed New Year, much love and peace,
Rev. Sam Wilde

The You-Can't-Get-What-You-Want Blessing

About a week ago I had a conversation with God about the new house my husband and I are buying. It went something like this: "God, thank you for everything. Thank you for this new house. But how come you couldn't get me the house I really wanted? Didn't you get the memo about my dream house? Why can't I have my dream house?"

I've had more gracious prayer moments, of course, but I'm being honest here. It was a whiny-prayer and a truthful one. I simply couldn't understand why God hadn't supplied the house I longed for. Hadn't I been clear in my prayers? Hadn't I made my desires known? Was I not praying in the right way to manifest my perfect dream?

I felt frustrated, because while I liked the house we chose, it wasn't my style. While there are things I love, it didn't feel like me. In a very immature, but very real way, I knew God wanted me to be happy (this is, in fact, based on the scriptures of every great religious tradition)--so why not a house a little closer to my heart?

I got an answer. It came like this: "I'm not interested in getting you what you want. I'm interested in who you become." In a flash, I understood. The struggle with the house was a gift. Not getting what I want was a blessing, because in that happening, I could become more of who I needed to be, a better person, somehow--even if I didn't know how exactly at that moment.

I thought of taking care of my own children. Many times I make sure they do not get the thing they want--if it's not good for them, not safe, not the right time, not possible, or not in their best interest. Their frustration when I frustrate their desires is abundantly clear, but I don't care as much about their immediate gratification as I do about their hearts, their characters, their health.

The Divine Mother/Father, our true Parent, gives with intelligence and Love. For a moment I got it, and I could feel God's goodness in the decision my husband and I had made. It was a wonderful reminder that God's love is continuous, constant and always seeks our ultimate good--helping us to become who God knows we are, a reflection of the Divine.

--Rev. Sam Wilde

Ways to Thanks-giving

When I was in Divinity School, I had a friend who hosted Thanksgiving. She gathered up many of us who were not away for the holiday for an incredible meal. Before eating, we all sat down and shared our gratitude. This could take almost an hour as each person shared an incredible list of thankfulness. (In fact, one year, I brought a written list so I wouldn’t forget anything!)

The spirit of the practice was meditative, as each person took as long as necessary to say whatever they needed while deliciously conjuring up the sources of their joy. While we waited to eat our feast, we fed upon true spiritual food. I can still remember the feeling of that full table, candles lit (food waiting in the oven to stay warm), surrounded by the faces of my friends. The atmosphere changed as we recited all our blessings. Just as the smells of the dishes filled the air, the gratitude had an aroma, a sweetness that enveloped the room.

I do miss that ritual. Now, with children hungry and tired and impatient and young, we scramble to say a quick thank you before we dive in, or we dive in first and give thanks while we eat. Generally, there is chaos, not meditation, and I often eat quickly so I can hustle the cranky baby up to bed.

I like the practice of sinking myself deeply into gratitude. And I like to see what comes up as a result. For me, one of the direct results of feeling blessed is the urge to bless others. Again, though, I come up with a stumbling block. I used to be able to spend hours on projects, on service, giving my time to others. With three small children and household and work demands, I sometimes feel I don’t have enough time even for us. This feels awful. I want to give a return for the bounty I have been given.

I know, however, that there are seasons to one’s life. Having young children doesn’t lend itself well to many and in-depth service projects. Which is why I spend a lot of time brainstorming small ways that I can be a blessing to others. I want to share these with you.

And, as tomorrow is the biggest shopping day of the season, I want to share them in the spirit of genuine giving—the sort that can be done even for those of us who may have little money and—sometimes!—little time.

Some little ideas for giving thanks back:

Call someone. Anyone is fine. Maybe someone who has gone through a hard time, lost a spouse or a parent or a child. Tell them you are thinking of them and loving them.

Send a card. Fill it with loving thoughts and words. Send it to someone who may not get much mail.

Cook a meal for a busy person, a parent, someone who works long hours, someone who doesn’t like to cook, or doesn’t often get home cooked meals. Drop it off. Or cook a meal and invite a friend over.

Pray to be helpful. Ask the Divine Spirit to put people in your path who you can help with your abilities and gifts—whatever they may be.

Hug someone, or many people, even if it feels a little awkward. Do you know that some people don’t get hugged at all! Find one of those people, and even if it is hard, hug.

Forgive your family members and relatives. A good Thanksgiving ritual. No need to do it out loud or make a big deal of it. Silently forgive while you share food by sending love.

Pray. Think of those who are hurting and see them well, whole, healthy and at peace.

Bypass the food bank. If you know someone in your community who goes without, and you know where they live, leave food for them, or money, or a small gift, like a gas card from the store.

Smile, especially when you don’t feel like it, and especially at those who may be frowning. You can think of this in the cyber world too. Put something uplifting on Facebook or another medium you use. Use technology to encourage.

Invite someone for a walk. Walks in beautiful places are the perfect, free gift. When the weather is nice, you can walk and share a picnic.

What ideas do you have?

Rev. Sam Wilde

Powerless=Powerful

At our home in Massachusetts, the power turned off last Saturday night around eight p.m. All around the branches creaked, cracked, thudded to the ground. The 13 inches of snow took the leaves of our cherry tree completely to the ground. Although we wouldn't know it that night as we snuggled in tight under our heavy covers, it would be six more complete days before the power restoration. As our house is in the woods and we have no wood stove, we would also have six days without running water or heat, as well as the usual comforts of lights and refrigerator.

It was a long, stressful week, bouncing from one friend's house to another. The children were cranky and confused and probably a little afraid. The roads were dangerous with downed wires and massive trees hung precariously across power lines. The house, when we came to check on it, became colder and colder, filling with the smell of a fridge full of food now gone sour and toilets flushed with buckets of water.

It was, admittedly, hard to keep a happy face. I had laundry to face and nowhere to do it, including a pile of soiled clothes from a child who kept having accident after accident. Not wanting to outstay our welcome anywhere, we spent afternoons driving in the car. This allowed the kids to nap.

It was frustrating and annoying and difficult, to be sure. In the midst of the powerlessness, however, shining pearls of truth dropped into our lives, like those heavy trees arriving with certainty to the ground. We connected with friends and neighbors whose hospitality and kindness carried us through our days. We had meals and conversations we never would have had otherwise, making a host of new memories, and for a week setting aside entirely the TV, the computer, even the phone.

What is the true power? I have always believed it is love--not the sentiment, but the lived, expressed verb of love. This is what we met in the faces of those who took in our family of five and housed us and fed us breakfast and shared with us a fellowship of common humanity.

I like electricity, of course. For all sorts of reasons. But I am grateful to have been reminded of the true power source in my life, in the lives of my children. The internet for all its marvels, does not connect us, nor the telephone, nor the television, nor the busy demands of a household with all its incredible machines. "Only connect," wrote E.M. Forester about a century ago. Our connections are precious treasures.

That first morning I found myself standing on my street, trapped. A tree down on one side, wires on the other. My cell phone had no signal. We had no water, no heat. From the houses around us emerged the neighbors I have spent years making connections with and I was no longer alone, nor was I trapped, nor was I without the essentials of life. To the contrary, in the most profound way, I had everything I needed.

Sometimes a disaster is truthful--and truth isn't a disaster, but a reminder of power in our lives. We truly do not live by bread alone, but in and through and with one another, find, discover, remind, and reclaim the Divine reflection, the indwelling divinity, Love expressed, the Love that needs no outlets, not motors, no wires, no repair.

--Rev. Sam Wilde