One Thing at a Time

My mentor, Rev. Til Evans, once told me this story. When she first came to a new congregation folks had many suggestions about what needed to be done. One mom approached her after church on Sunday with a whole list of things that were wrong with the children’s program and needed to be fixed right away. These were real concerns from a committed member delivered with passion and urgency. Til said “I can only handle one thing at a time. Let’s pick one to work on and I’ll get back to you next Sunday.” And so it went, week by week until all the concerns had been addressed. The mom felt heard, and continued to be an active volunteer and member of the congregation even years later when I served the same congregation, trying to fill Til’s shoes.

I’m guessing Til told me that story as we sat drinking tea because I had likely recited my own list of the many problems that urgently needed to be solved. Til said “I had to humbly admit my limits.” I was struck by her courage to speak her truth. As a young minister I regularly tied myself in knots trying to accomplish all those things people told me needed to be done. What courage and clarity to say “here’s what I can do, the rest will have to wait.”

Now, some 20 years later I still remember this story – it sings in my ears whenever I find myself in a swirling cyclone of things needing my attention. Today I have a much better sense of what I’m capable of, which is rooted in being honest with myself and noticing my capacities. Over these 20 years I’ve learned by experience that it is just not humanly possible to do all the things I think would be good, nor all the things other folks in my communities hope to do. Perhaps it does require humility and courage to acknowledge my limits, especially when I’m disappointing someone’s expectations. But I think of that mom who, years later, told me how she felt a closeness with Til that was rare and precious. Perhaps, along with Til’s generosity of spirit and warm heart, that trust was rooted in knowing Til could admit her limitations and be counted on to come back with what she had learned.

Whenever the cyclone of activity and expectations becomes too much for you, I invite you to think of Til’s wisdom and strength to say “I can only do one thing at a time, where shall we start?”

Friend or Enemy?

My social media feed has figured out that I love trees and moss and native plants, (along with cats getting into boxes and dogs pushing buttons of course). Recently a post came up in a “Native Plants” group, with the photo a plant with tiny purple flowers I see all the time in my yard. The poster’s question- was this plant friend or enemy? Now I’m a native plant lover from way back, and I understand the harm that invasive plants can do as they push out native plants and all the critters that depend on them. But the post stuck with me- is this the enemy? It's hard for me to think of any plant as my enemy.

I’m pretty sure I have that plant, or one of its siblings in the front patch between my sidewalk and street, and based on how fast it grows it probably is invasive. So at the risk of being cancelled, I confess that a couple of years back I took (with permission) several of those plants from my neighbor’s front patch and planted it in mine. Why? Because another invasive plant, Lesser Celandine, had so thoroughly taken over my front patch that when it dies back with the first heat of summer, it exposes the bare soil which runs off quickly in the rain. Then in the July droughts nothing grows and there are no plants to hold in the water. I needed a plant that didn’t mind that challenging soil between sidewalk and street and could fill in quickly when the lesser celandine died back. I think of that plant with the little purple flowers as my friend, because it protects the soil, and helps hold water in the tiny patch.

I’ve tried planting clover and grass in that patch, but slugs think baby clover is the most delicious thing. I definitely thought of slugs as the enemy for a long time, but last year I decided I was really going to figure out how to get rid of them, and as I paid attention to the slugs in my yard, I began to notice how the parent slugs would bring their babies to a brand new basil plant to help them get a good start in life. Sigh.

Squirrels were my first enemy in the garden, as they stole all the bird food from my squirrel-proof feeders, but the more I watched the more I saw families of baby squirrels emerge from neighbor trees, delighted by their antics. I noticed that those same squirrels who stole the bird food defend the territory from mice and rats. Now these families of squirrels are old friends.

It turns out that plant with the little purple flowers is called “ground ivy” which has been a traditional medicine for headaches, colds, and a bunch of other conditions. Yes, it’s also invasive in some places. So is it friend or enemy? Perhaps it’s just a neighbor. It's hard to be alive in this world, hard to feed yourself and your family whether you are a person, a squirrel or a slug living on my block. Neighborhoods are complicated networks of beings with strengths and weaknesses. What I love is life- all the things willing and able to live and grow and fill barren places in the community of being where I call home. It feels like a gift of the spirit to watch relationships deepen as we know each other better, contemplating this web of life as I sit on my porch is a practice that grounds me and restores my spirit.

When the Maps You Trusted Are Wrong

 What do you do when the map you’ve been following doesn’t match the reality of the path in front of you? There’s a bridge under construction in my town that my GPS insists I should be able to cross. It’s kind of a shock to notice that the guidance you’ve been relying on is suddenly unreliable. Once, wondering if the phone knew something I didn’t, I walked right up to the gap only to confirm there was still a big construction site where the bridge used to be. But the software companies that make the map are far away, and here I stand, looking at an active construction site and an uncrossable bridge.

Trusting your senses is a good place to start. We are living in a time when many of the maps that have been guiding us haven’t caught up to the changes in the terrain we are trying to travel. So many aspects of our lives, of our communities, are “under construction” right now- and the ways we’ve always done things are simply not available. I talk with many folks who struggle with the gap between what they feel they should be able to do, and what is actually possible in this moment. Perhaps it’s something they were always able to do that now exhausts their changing body. Perhaps it’s a goal at work or at a volunteer organization that seems achievable but yet is always out of reach. It can be disturbing when an outcome is simply not available right now, while your map insists it should be possible. Maybe it is not you who are wrong, maybe it is the map.

How can you tell? Sometimes you don’t have a whole construction crew waving orange flags to make things clear. If you can resume your journey with a little detour, perhaps it’s easier and quicker just to take that other path going to the same goal without giving it too much thought. Sometimes it’s worth getting curious and investigating. What is the nature of the obstacle? How long might it take to clear? Is there something I could do to help? If a trashcan has blown over into the sidewalk, a moment of attention could quickly clear the path for everyone.

Sometimes we need to pull over and make a new plan. When we are talking not about literal paths, but about finding a life path, a spiritual path that we can travel with integrity, compassion and a sense of calling in the world it can be worth metaphorically pulling over to the side of the road and taking some time for discernment. Long ago, my partner worked for a company that was releasing an early GPS device. We had a beta test version that he used to write instructions, and we put it in the car. One day I was driving to a new place, and the road the GPS suggested changed to a dirt road. Hmmm. Then the dirt road got bumpy and rutty in the rain, then it turned into a bike path. I had to back up through the drenching rain and mud until I was back on solid ground again. I took a breath, turned around and found a new path.

Discernment is a way of making decisions that uses our whole self -- heart, mind, body and soul. It is a way of making decisions that also includes that which is greater than ourselves, be that the Spirit, the Universe, the community of beings. It is a way of deciding that takes a long view and a deep view and arrives at a conclusion that is harmonious for our whole being.

Once we have chosen our path, and begin moving along it, discernment continues to happen all along our journey. Discernment is not just about the big choices, this career or that one, this place to live or that one. We make big and little decisions all the time in life, for as long as we live. Each day we are invited to discern step by step the path we make by walking.

Discernment is not just about moving towards what feels good, or easy. For example, part of ministry is being with people who are struggling, being with our challenges as a community and as a world. There’s a certain way I feel when I know that something is the right thing to do, even when it is hard. I sense that staying on the hard path will matter, that it will connect me to something sacred, to the deep parts of myself, to the person I most want to be.

A blessing to all of us right now who are finding our path is blocked, that the way we hoped to travel is not available, that our map is unreliable. It’s frustrating, disorienting and sometimes scary. I wish you the wisdom to trust the reality you are experiencing, the wisdom to discern your path, faith that a way will open, and trustworthy friends and guides to support you on your way.