Journal entry by Al Negstad — 34 minutes ago
Laughter erupted from withing me, a deep belly laugh from me, who usually just chuckles, giggles, or snickers. The best, the sweetest thing about this laugh was the subject; I was laughing at myself. It was laughter over not seeing that which was in plain sight.
The context of this merriment was in the presence of my spiritual director, a Catholic sister, only a little younger than I. With Joanne's death I found more time on my hands. After accompanying Joanne through 14, surgeries, some broken bones and finally hospice, her death left we with more disposable time. Fortunately possessing energy and resources, I wondered what volunteer activity I might add to the teaching I do, both here and in Thailand.
In conversation with my friend, M, about what may be next for me, she suggested asking God at my bedtime and see what happens. Sleeping well, as usual, (I used to say to Joanne 'good sleep is a sign of a clear conscience. 😊 ) I awakened with no message from God. Wonderings about possible volunteer gigs continued over weeks or even months. Nothing seemed to present itself.
This was the story I related to my spiritual director. The ensuing conversation is something I cannot reconstruct verbatim. But, what transacted is perfectly clear to me. She told me that my writing had been a gift to her as she agonized with a particularly painful loss and subsequent grief. Then she said "Your ministry is your writing." That's when I laughed at myself for not seeing that I was already doing it.😁 😂 😁 And, oh yes, M was agitating me to be sure I scheduled in with this spiritual director, while I was a bit apathetic about it.
Something has gripped me with this writing but, casting it as "my ministry," gives me a shot of adrenaline. It's not always easy doing a daily blog but re-framing it as my new "ministry" gives me a sense of excitement. So there it was "hiding in plain sight" while I lacked eyes to see.
This spiritual director also shared this Mary Oliver poem.
Prayer
"It doesn't have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch
a few words together and don't try
to make them elaborate, this isn't
a contest but a doorway
into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak."
Takk for alt,
Al
The context of this merriment was in the presence of my spiritual director, a Catholic sister, only a little younger than I. With Joanne's death I found more time on my hands. After accompanying Joanne through 14, surgeries, some broken bones and finally hospice, her death left we with more disposable time. Fortunately possessing energy and resources, I wondered what volunteer activity I might add to the teaching I do, both here and in Thailand.
In conversation with my friend, M, about what may be next for me, she suggested asking God at my bedtime and see what happens. Sleeping well, as usual, (I used to say to Joanne 'good sleep is a sign of a clear conscience. 😊 ) I awakened with no message from God. Wonderings about possible volunteer gigs continued over weeks or even months. Nothing seemed to present itself.
This was the story I related to my spiritual director. The ensuing conversation is something I cannot reconstruct verbatim. But, what transacted is perfectly clear to me. She told me that my writing had been a gift to her as she agonized with a particularly painful loss and subsequent grief. Then she said "Your ministry is your writing." That's when I laughed at myself for not seeing that I was already doing it.😁 😂 😁 And, oh yes, M was agitating me to be sure I scheduled in with this spiritual director, while I was a bit apathetic about it.
Something has gripped me with this writing but, casting it as "my ministry," gives me a shot of adrenaline. It's not always easy doing a daily blog but re-framing it as my new "ministry" gives me a sense of excitement. So there it was "hiding in plain sight" while I lacked eyes to see.
This spiritual director also shared this Mary Oliver poem.
Prayer
"It doesn't have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch
a few words together and don't try
to make them elaborate, this isn't
a contest but a doorway
into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak."
Takk for alt,
Al
No comments:
Post a Comment