Coffee

Photo Credit here.

My first experience with espresso, where I ordered it and paid for it, happened during a trip to Europe as I returned home from my year in Ukraine. My friend and I visited Rome and were leaving to head to Pisa before making a quick trip back up to Paris to meet another friend. I don’t remember if I wanted to try espresso because it seemed an Italian drink to experience or if I thought I might need the caffeine. Still, I went to an open-air café, bellied up to the bar and ordered an espresso. I received the small cup with the goods and sipped. . .I wanted to spit it out. It was awful! I had no idea why anyone actually liked the stuff.

About two years later, as I worked with graduate students at Vanderbilt, I made another attempt. Fido was the hip coffee shop in Hillsboro Village and some of the grad students visited it religiously. I ventured out one evening and got the Pink Poodle – an outrageously large (and fluffy pink) latte with plenty of sugar. I had finally found a way to drink espresso, though I still preferred Mr. Pibb to a latte any day. 

 

My coffee tastes and explorations changed little as I moved to do my own graduate degree in New Jersey, though I joined friends at local shops here and there. When I moved to Berkeley to work with college students again, my appreciation of fresh foods and expertly roasted coffee grew. With Peet’s and the influence of Alice Waters, I continue to associate lattes (especially served in a large bowl) with a truth-telling, unifying and inspiring time of my life. 

 

After marriage, I started trying all sorts of diets – more to find the perfect collection of foods which would strength and nourish J and me, not to try and lose weight or sculpt my body in some way. In Kentucky, we fell under the influence of the Whole 30, and by that time, coffee was a staple of the morning and sometimes the afternoon (but with lots of cream). Dairy is forbidden on the Whole 30, so I started drinking coffee black. I immediately returned to half and half when we ended our reintroduction phase. I will still occasionally drink coffee black, but really, coffee continues to be a conduit for lush, frothy warm half and half.

 

Now, approximately 25 years after that first espresso in Rome, I have a growing intolerance of caffeine - another gift of “the change.” If I have nothing to do, I drink coffee and lattes with abandon, but I notice. I notice I do not feel at ease come bed time. I can still sleep, but I don’t sleep well. I’m a little more cranky and irritable. I don’t have patience for much foolery. 

 

So I’ve started limiting my coffee intake when I am working. I allow myself a (large) cup for 3 out of 7 days, usually the weekends, but the other days are caffeine free. I find myself tired by bedtime. I sleep incredibly, and I wake up with energy. My mind clears and my mood remains steady (or at least steadier) as I work through the day. I’m a kinder, gentler human.

 

If I have really been hitting the coffee on my time off, I have headaches and brain fog for the first couple of days, but J and I drink 75% decaffeinated coffee now, so the withdrawal is minimal. If you try this route, I suggest getting decaf prepared by the Swiss water method – the beans still taste excellent and no chemical agents, like ethyl acetate or methylene chloride, touch the beans.

 

I have other female friends who have experienced this change in caffeine tolerance with menopause. I’ll have to see if anyone has figured out why tolerance decreases, but given how little is researched with menopause, or with women-specific issues generally, I’m guessing no one has cared to investigate. Still, I’m glad a simple fix can improve my sleep, mood and outlook. 

 

But I still love a good cup of coffee, especially shared with J and friends over breakfast. 

After all these years, it’s grown on me. 

3/30/26

Deep in the Dirt

Photo credit here.

 

Deep in the dirt,
We ripped growth
knotted with time
And the striving, which
makes each of us.
 
The elephant danced
on rooftops
While the dog
lapped the pool,
laid in the dirt
 
Dug out all those rocks
making up the world
Or at least our section,
Thrown to hold the earth 
in place, just this once. 
 
Buried treasures.
All around us
waiting for discovery
Whispering of past lives forgotten
Deep in the dirt.

3/28/26

Gardening

Photo credit here.

 For a moment today, I felt unscheduled, free to sit in the sun or lounge in the shade. I had no “to-do” list, no task pressing me for attention. My cortisol levels dropped precipitously, my mind blank and only open to the present moment.

 

Earlier in the day, we parked a little over a mile from the local botanical gardens, then walked and jogged over to the Japanese garden to catch what was left of the cherry blossoms. On the walk back, we stopped for coffee, meandered across a creek, kept searching for Jack in the Pulpit along every leaf covered hillside. Nothing was pushed or pressing. The temperature in dappled shade fell just shy of perfect, the humidity obviously on Spring Break with everyone else.

 

Currently, J is house and pet sitting, so after our excursion I joined him for the midday release of the pup. The back yard of the house contains a pool, Adirondack chairs, loungers, a cast iron dining set and several large umbrellas. I opened an umbrella up after dipping my feet in the pool, shading my upper body while exposing my legs and feet to the sun. In the quiet warmth of their back yard, all other tasks melted away. 

 

We drove back home for lunch, and my brain cranked back up with the lists: the Work list, the House list, the Yard list, the Trip list, etc. The gift of gardening lies in its absolute insistence – if a garden happens at all, the seeds must be started in the spring or the bulbs must be planted in the fall or the pruning must happen after (or before) the plant flowers. The garden has to have water, appropriate soil, sunlight, spacing. Weeds cannot get the upper hand; mulching will help every plant’s and person’s nerves. 

 

So despite other lists, the Yard list took priority and I spent the afternoon planting seeds for giant sunflowers, Rose of Sharon, basil, cilantro (hope it’s not too late!), tomatoes, carrots, zucchini, okra, and eggplant. I dreamed of where the seedlings may go in the yard and how to create space for them. I took out plants from the basement, so they can begin their spring transformations. I weeded around returning azaleas, hosta, black-eyed susans and crepe myrtle. I doted over returning day lilies, swamp irises and star-gazers. I wondered how best to reign in pushy canna lilies in one part of my yard and how best to spur their growth in another. I hoped the peony at the corner of the porch would bloom this year.

 

By four o’clock, I began to clean up the remaining tools and ended by cleaning up myself. Now, after dinner, I’m sitting on the porch with my vigilant Maltese enjoying the transition from bird song to crickets in the slow decent of the spring sun. 

 

I’m grateful for these days which slip from task to taskless, which whisper promises of bright yellow heads heavy with seeds or the sweet burst of a perfectly ripe tomato, while reminding me to care for what is most important right now. I pray that I am and trust in grace and mercy for the rest. 

 

3/26/26

Different

Photo credit here.

 

3/21/25

Resurrection

Photo credit here.

To Mom

The cherry spoke your name;

haloed by the sun,

a thousand angel wings

shimmering -

The blush of red bud,

pierced squares of dogwood,

party hat fronds clinging

to loropetalum.

My teammate once

scoffed at your many,

many pictures of trees

wondering a loud why

You loved them so.

Now, it's obvious she

did not understand,

had no appreciation of

Resurrection.

Now I do.

Until we met again.

I love you.

The Face of God

The Veil Nebula: ESA/Hubble & NASA, Z. Levay

My eyes filled with tears walking down the hallway at work. The walls, windows and floors cleaned and polished regularly, important people doing important work with data, science and objectivity. The air of distance stinging the wound of vulnerability, illness, death. I could not greet those passing by, I panicked, felt exposed, ashamed - would I inspire pity if someone saw, derision? Or worst of all, indifference and the awkwardness of emotion when one is trained to set them aside?

I had come into work and considered, as I walked the two blocks to my office, my life within this system. My mind took me to Memphis when chaplaincy opened me to working and walking the hallways of hospitals - 19 years ago come August. I thought of who might have been then, around my age now, and to my surprise, J immediately came to mind. Eighteen and a half years ago, he wasn't quite my current age, but close. His energy and enthusiasm, his love of his work and his peers, his khakis, dress shirt and executive folder - a million images decompressed in a few steps. 

The speed with which time moves set my heart on the precipice - as if a single push might send me sailing into the chasm of eternity - no hope of clawing my way back up - destruction the inevitable ending. With one step, my life with J reached the inevitable fork of parting, and then I HAD TO STOP thinking because I could not have made it up the elevator and into my office, much less completed a workday.

Sometimes the edge of grief draws near, and I don't always understand why. I have been tired, worn down by the responsibilities of the day-to-day. I have wondered how to spend more time with my precious J - to share as much love, laughter, and adventure as possible while we still have bodies willing to do the same. Then to consider how rapidly 19 years go, despite the long days. . .and my eyes filled with tears.

As I wrote this, J came in and gave me tissues, then offered to be near - stepping away as I protested because of my own self-consciousness. I, so timid and sheltering of my raw emotion, and J, so open to it, so loving of me. He is the face of God to me - a sacrament of love - thanks be to God.

PRACTICE

Lectio Divina: Read the following passage through after a few deep breaths and pay attention to any word or phrase which sticks out for you. Read through again and pay attention to anything further you notice about the word/phrase and how it applies to you. Read through again and spend time in prayer with the word/phrase asking God what you need to understand/know/do with the word/phrase (i.e., How might God be guiding you? What needs your further action? Where may your understanding need to be changed or expanded? How may this impact your relationship with someone else?). End with a time of thanksgiving. 

Genesis 33:1-11, NRSV

33 Now Jacob looked up and saw Esau coming, and four hundred men with him. So he divided the children among Leah and Rachel and the two maids.2 He put the maids with their children in front, then Leah with her children, and Rachel and Joseph last of all. 3 He himself went on ahead of them, bowing himself to the ground seven times, until he came near his brother.

4 But Esau ran to meet him and embraced him and fell on his neck and kissed him, and they wept. 5 When Esau looked up and saw the women and children, he said, “Who are these with you?” Jacob said, “The children whom God has graciously given your servant.” 6 Then the maids drew near, they and their children, and bowed down; 7 Leah likewise and her children drew near and bowed down; and finally Joseph and Rachel drew near, and they bowed down. 8 Esau said, “What do you mean by all this company that I met?” Jacob answered, “To find favor with my lord.” 9 But Esau said, “I have enough, my brother; keep what you have for yourself.” 10 Jacob said, “No, please; if I find favor with you, then accept my present from my hand, for truly to see your face is like seeing the face of God, since you have received me with such favor. 11 Please accept my gift that is brought to you, because God has dealt graciously with me and because I have everything I want.” So he urged him, and he took it.

In the stillness

By Gustav Klimt - Google Art Project, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=38827275

I joined my centering prayer group via zoom and spent the 20 minutes of silence taking in the views outside my window. A mallard landed in the pool, swam from one edge to the next, then hopped out and took off like a shot. A crane glided down to the lake's edge, then walked counterclockwise neck expanding and contracting with each step. As the sun rose, a tree portiere welcomed it through the horizon's threshold - a French fuchsia edging up, revealing an ever expanding disk; a cherry to top the pillowing clouds.

My hopes high for a well-paced day, I felt tired from too many overnight disruptions. Still, I packed my bag with running gear to take a few exploratory miles after work was done. By the time the sun set, I had spent the entire day inside and had little left: daylight, energy, desire. I wanted food - the more carbs and fat the better - and I wanted rest. 

J and I talked as I drove to the other side of town, and he reported a similar trajectory: tough night for sleep, feeling scattered throughout the day and entering into an evening spent. I hated being away from him - was the distance worth whatever we might gain? Could I coax relaxation out of his body, isometric hug him until his tank was full? Could my presence in our bed help him sleep more soundly, rest less fitfully? Is my agency as a healer in this world worth its salt if I do not first offer my gifts of healing to him? 

As I watched the mallard in the pool this morning, I sensed God watching with me - taking in the duck's experimentation, waiting to see what it would do next. I sensed God sitting and watching me - holding the night of too little sleep and my body begging for rest and suffering with me, noticing the struggle, cheering me on. I'd love to say I carried that through my day, but I didn't. Considering it now, I find gratitude, but my emotional connectivity at the moment keeps flipping the hour glass. 

And God is here, sitting with me and carrying on, carrying me - "Eh," "yeh", "Eh," "yeh." 

PRACTICE

Lectio Divina: Read the following passage through after a few deep breaths and pay attention to any word or phrase which sticks out for you. Read through again and pay attention to anything further you notice about the word/phrase and how it applies to you. Read through again and spend time in prayer with the word/phrase asking God what you need to understand/know/do with the word/phrase (i.e., How might God be guiding you? What needs your further action? Where may your understanding need to be changed or expanded? How may this impact your relationship with someone else?). End with a time of thanksgiving. 

Ephesians 3:18-21, NRSV

18 I pray that you may have the power to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth and length and height and depth 19 and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.

20 Now to him who by the power at work within us is able to accomplish abundantly far more than all we can ask or imagine, 21 to him be glory in the church and[a] in Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever. Amen.

Love Letter

♥️  

Dear J,

At this moment, I know you read these daily posts AND I know you are the only one who does so. This, too, is a metaphor for your love for me - showing up when no one else does, reaching out to me day-to-day again and again, cheering me on, believing in me, encouraging me to take the next step. Because of your abiding love, I experience God's Love and can trust it as I never could before we met. 

You have been my sounding board, my support, the one who funneled love to me as if the world is full of Love - and slowly through these years together, with the steady stream of your love to me, I feel love in my soul consistently and rest in Love in ways I have not been able to rest before you. 

On another late night, with too much to do and to little time to do it in, I find us laughing at exploding Coke cans in the pantry and your patience with cleaning up the mess once again. You tell me you are proud of me. You rub my shoulders, kiss my neck and wish me sweet dreams. 

This is our life together - as well as conspiring for crazy adventures, weeding the flower beds (again), chasing the little dog as he ventures to see "the girls," digging more holes for yet more plants, waking up ridiculously early to get our runs in, exclaiming at the overly complicated instructions for yet another not-Faster-Way-at-all meal, and loving all kinds of breads and desserts of our own making. And breakfasts, lots of breakfasts together with all the cream and coffee we can muster, outside ideally.

So this is my love letter to you - my dearest Love.

Healing the Self

Saint Raphael: "God Heals"

 J asked me how I decided what to write day-to-day for the blog. So far, I said, I look for a theme of the day and then take it to the page and see what happens. Today's theme centered around types of self-care. 

While self-care echoes a previous post about self-love, one will participate in more fulfilling self-care if self-love has taken some root. Otherwise, the motivation to pay attention to the self's wants or needs seems selfish, maybe even curmudgeonly (I won't care for you because my needs are the only ones that matter.). And any self-doubt about self-care will reflect in those around you. I believe the phenomena occurs because of "mirror neurons" in our brain which fire congruently when someone else shares an emotion or action, and we "experience" feeling or doing the action. An example: When Julia Roberts dies in Steel Magnolias, and I cry like a baby with all the other characters. My brain knows the feelings of loss, and I feel them as readily as it appears the characters feel them.

Anyway, feeling selfish about an action toward self-care likely shows up on your face, in your posture, in your voice, and those around you then mirror your guilt back to you "verifying" you are selfish for getting the massage instead of taking the two hours to cook a meal for the family (or whatever scenario fits.).  Yet I digress.

J and I slept in today, and I luxuriated in the feeling of refreshment. We went for a run (caring for my body's health) and ate breakfast in the sun (a treat on any day). I finished a project for work (one less thing on the list!) and I spent time listening to two different speakers discuss various aspects of self-care. 

One took a deep dive into mindfulness where a key component maintains the absolute necessity of nonjudgmental appraisals of all of one's life. Continuing to accept all the positive and negative aspects of one's life nonjudgmentally, over time, creates more space for enjoying life and growing cognitive flexibility. Self-care here involves becoming intimately aware of one's self and one's thoughts; holding both without judgment; and in accepting the good/bad/ugly, one accepts herself/himself fully and can accept others more readily as well.

The second speaker spoke about her own journey to creative living which found her at the brink of a PhD (and a life of consistent predictability), but lacking enthusiasm. For her, she "did the scary thing" and pivoted into a program where she immediately recognized the concordance of her inner self with all she learned and with whom she studied. Her self-care was listening to the still small voice which told her all along to ditch the secure path and follow her instincts.

A book J bought me arrived today as well: The Vital Spark: Reclaim Your Outlaw Energies and Find Your Feminine Fire. From reading thus far, the Spark's reclamation hinges on accepting culturally unacceptable feminine traits such as disagreeableness, desire, authority and shrewdness - traits we often judge in ourselves or other women as "improper" or "not nice." As the speaker tonight said, niceness will get you a long way, but it won't fulfill you (my paraphrase). 

Self-care ultimately grows out of an awareness of God's great Love - as I attune my ears to the still small voice within and all around me - as I experience God's Love of me exactly as I am with all the positives and all the negatives - I see God has formed all of me and says again, "You are my daughter in whom I am well pleased." 

Below is a passage for lectio divina. Read it through after a few deep breaths and pay attention to any word or phrase which sticks out for you. Read through again and pay attention to anything further you notice about the word/phrase and how it applies to you. Read through again and spend time in prayer with the word/phrase asking God what you need to understand/know/do with the word/phrase (i.e., How might God be guiding you? What needs your further action? Where may your understanding need to be changed or expanded? How may this impact your relationship with someone else?). End with a time of thanksgiving. 

Read Psalm 139: 13-18

13  For it was you who formed my inward parts;

you knit me together in my mother’s womb.

14  I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

Wonderful are your works;

that I know very well.

15  My frame was not hidden from you,

when I was being made in secret,

intricately woven in the depths of the earth.

16Your eyes beheld my unformed substance.

In your book were written

all the days that were formed for me,

when none of them as yet existed.

17  How weighty to me are your thoughts, O God!

How vast is the sum of them!

18I try to count them—they are more than the sand;

I come to the end—I am still with you.

Creating Space

A poem I wrote years ago had the line "hands never empty/heart never full" - an apt description of a life busy with activity and empty of soul - the action of life without the heart of it - or something like that.

After a full day, and weekend, of perpetual motion, the days' end left me exhausted. I took some moments to journal, but also to look-up the writing lecture series which led to reviewing a low-residency MFA which caused me to consider a new hire possibility at my job and eventually led me back to looking at the book I am working through about Centering Prayer and lectio divina.

The review of the low-residency MFA brought me to an article about the process of shaping a student in said MFA. Basically, the writer had been a previous professor at this program and discussed his process of guiding the students in their pursuit of nonfiction, which often translated as memoir. In essence, he said he created space for them to consider what they were "really" trying to say with whatever story they shared. Yes, questions made the walls, but not to keep the idea in, but to give it space to breath - pleasant boundary lines, as the psalmist might say, so the neighbor's conversation doesn't hijack your own.

Then in the book, the author speaks of space: The space created by breathing out, by being still when all the world pushes for movement, by sweeping out the constant ruminations of the mind so the grain of the soul may come into sharper relief.

Of all the spiritual practices which lead to God, I struggle with this the most. The granddaughter of a woman who survived The Great Depression and the daughter of a woman who majored in details, attaching a memory and feeling to each one; I hold on to anything which may be resurrected to a new life or which may someday remind me of the laughter I shared with J on a cold morning in February. 

What I've realized is the physical filling of space imitates mental and spiritual cluttered-ness as well. When I sit to be silent, the room in the inn lights the no vacancy sign, and Jesus must again find other lodging with someone who has some room to share.

While the hyperbole may indeed be overdone, the point remains - for any rearranging to occur, at least a little space is needed to shuffle the boxes around enough to get what isn't needed out the door. 

I guess the grace in all this is Love really can squeeze in between all the boxes in the first place and simply occupy the nanometers between surfaces if need be. My experience teaches me the veracity of this statement as well as the truth of Love rearranging all the furniture in the house in a heart's beat - wanted or not. Fortunately, the majority of the time, Love gently calls from every corner and provides whatever "umph" I need to get me to the room to begin the process of creating space, so my life - my soul - may be "filled to the measure of all the fullness of God." 

And often the desire to create space is all that's needed to do so. Thanks be to God.

Photo credit of a Tokonoma: https://japanobjects.com/features/japanese-tea-house

The Calling

Original Artwork from Psalm Prayers; one of my favorite modern icon artists.*

Since the beginning of the year, I have engaged in the spiritual practice of Examen. St. Ignatius is said to have had the Jesuit monks in his care engage in the practice midday and in the evening. Two basic steps comprise the totality of the practice: naming a "consolation" of the day and naming a "desolation." Practitioners expand the steps to include a moment of centering breath prior to engaging in the day's review and a prayer of thanksgiving at the end for whatever consoles or desolates on any given day.

The brevity of the exercise belies its impact on day-to-day life. Within a month, I recognized my own penchant toward pessimism completely out of proportion to the consolations of the day. Granted I listed more than just one consolation or desolation of the day, at least initially, and the collected data of the first month helped me realize the part I played in desolating myself with my attitude, presumptions, preoccupations or fears.

For Lent, I found a book at my place of worship, Sacred Breath: Forty Days of Centering Prayer, by J. David Muyskens, and I have spent all of two days refreshing my short-lived practice of Centering Prayer and lectio divina. Today, the scripture passage came from 1 Samuel when Samuel, "did not yet know the LORD," but the LORD "came and stood there, calling as before." 

The two, well three, practices above begin with the premise God is here in this moment - as well as all the moments before and all the moments after. And by nature of being God, God calls to us in the midst of our lives, the consolations and the desolations - maybe asking us if we "yet know the LORD." 

And if the answer is "No," the promise remains we can know the LORD - even more - God wants to be known and is calling to us in order to be known. 

And when God is known, Love is known - in the midst of every heartache and every triumph. May we hearing the calling.

*Additional website: kregyingst.com or @psalmprayers

Mirrored Love

Found this photo at an Etsy retailer.

I grew up in a home where, when my mother asked my father to help her with the dishes, he answered, "You have daughters to do that." What man would do a "woman's work"?

Later, when I began considering ordination, my grandmother's beliefs about women "not teaching men (which definitely meant women could NEVER be ordained)" held me web-like as I took about 7 years to finally, truly believe God called me to ordained ministry. 

I still balk at "doing my hair and make-up" as basic chores I must do to appear professional, never mind the multiple sets of clothing I must have to do the same. My husband had 3 pairs of pants and about as many shirts for his professional wardrobe, doubtful anyone ever noticed the repetition.

I think about the above vignettes as my friend wrote to me to say she was dieting again because of gaining some weight back after losing some over the course of 18 months by painstaking abstinence of even the smallest "pleasures." Then, after receiving her resolution (I had invited her to have some dessert at my home.), I read an article in the local news from a woman who talked about the self-hatred women experience - particularly of their appearance, their bodies. Still later, I cleaned out some old professional publications with one entitled "Terminal Anorexia," illustrated with a skeletal thin female body - the ultimate picture of a societal paradigm of misogyny. . .

One of the hardest lessons in love I have had is looking in the mirror and telling myself, "I love you." 

Somehow, believing God loved me remained theoretical and giving my cognitive assent to the concept changed nothing. Yet, looking in a mirror and telling myself, "I love you," brought the matter right to the heart. I didn't love myself. I could barely look at myself at first because I felt ashamed, unworthy - too imperfect in too many ways. And if I felt unworthy of love, how in the world might I actually experience God's Love in my bones? 

I realized I couldn't. The Love had no power because I kept it at arm's distance - a nice idea with no transformational force because it flitted in my prefrontal cortex, but never travelled down any further in my brain or my body. 

I can at least look at myself now and say the words. And somehow, by being able to say them to myself it helps me believe the words I read in the Bible over and again - God so loves the world, God finds the creation good and humankind very good, God sings over me (I like to think in the same way I croon again and again about the wonders of my wonder-pup.). God is a parent holding a new born for the very first time and staring at the infant in awe and wonder - and Love.

I hope gaining incremental self-acceptance has also grown my love for all the fallible people around me. I think it has. Because as I am learning to love all my shortcomings (and God loves even those shortcomings - God loves everything about me*), I become more aware of my additional shortcomings (like they've been waiting in line to meet me all these years) and in turn, I have more grace when others show me their faults and foibles. It's like, "Hey, I do that, too! Don't you hate it when that happens?" Most of the time, I'd say they do. I hurt for them when they seem unaware or utterly bent on blasting the world in some way. And still, I know I, too, am unaware and utterly bent on blasting the world - just as much as I long for paths of reconciliation and peace.

So here is to Love which simply Loves "for richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health" all the days of our lives.

*If anyone ever reads this and has a certain background, they may be affronted by this statement because the adage is "God loves the sinner, but hates the sin." Like we have some substance purely holy somewhere within us, like God is not powerful enough to love all of who we are. As if Love itself is not powerful enough to "cover a multitude of sins." If God loves us at all, God loves all of us, because God created all of us, exactly as we are.