Christine Valters Paintner's Blog, page 122

A Celebration of Stuff ~ A love note from your online abbess

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

In 2012 my husband and I decided to embark on a life adventure. We were living in Seattle and had been traveling to Europe twice a year to explore ancestral landscapes. He was growing more in need of a sabbatical from his position as high school theology teacher. I had recently applied for and received Austrian citizenship through my father.

Between February and May, we began to sort through our things. It is amazing what accumulates in nine years in one place even in a small apartment with only three closets.

“Honey, I just found more stuff,” became a common refrain as one of us would open a new box or look under the bed.

We sorted through clothing and kitchen drawers, making piles for our many trips to Goodwill. My library of a thousand books went to a friend who owned a used bookshop. Some furniture was sold on Craig’s List. The few art pieces we had were given to friends. I slowly burned my pile of old journals in our fireplace, an act that became symbolic of the threshold we were on, and I would carefully carry out piles of ashes.

Eventually we sold our condo and our car, and then put a few things in storage like boxes of family photos and a couple pieces of family furniture. We packed up two large suitcases and headed off.

Dispensing of things felt almost virtuous, and certainly full of the freedom that comes with not having to maintain things or worry about them. My primary spiritual path in life is as a Benedictine oblate and the contemplative way nourishes me.  I am inspired by the stories of the desert monks who journeyed out into the wilderness carrying nothing but a deep sense of call and desire to be free.

In many ways it felt like we were heading off into our own wilderness experience.  While Vienna, Austria with its sumptuous cafes and gorgeous architecture is hardly the Egyptian desert, we were traveling with what felt essential to us, into a journey that was largely unknown.

In Vienna, our little kitchen with its tiny refrigerator inspired us to shop daily for what we needed in small amounts and we learned to love cooking on the little gas stove and fold-out cutting board which jutted from the wall when needed.

The monastic path of simplicity isn’t just about relinquishing physical belongings. It also invites a holding loosely of our habits and patterns in life which weigh us down. It calls us to release our expectations of what we want to have happen and yield to what actually arrives.

Our time in Vienna was full of opportunities for yielding in a culture where my husband didn’t speak the language and the immigration process for him was filled with bureaucratic roadblocks. After six months, with yet another letter from Austrian officials asking for more documents while the expiration date of his visa loomed, we headed for Ireland in the hope of a better outcome. We landed in Galway, a city of rich artistic culture and the wild west coast beckoning to our imaginations. Immigration went smoothly and we found ourselves falling in love.

Almost two years in, when the next invoice for our annual storage fees back in Seattle arrived and us feeling confident at last that we would not be moving again anytime soon, we decided to finally move our remaining things across the Atlantic Ocean.

They arrived twelve weeks later at the very end of October 2014. As the days grow shorter here and we move into the feast of Samhain, a time when the Irish consider the veil to be very thin between this world and the other world, I found myself sitting on the floor among a dozen boxes. Each one contained albums full of family photos, from my childhood and my husband’s, from each of my parents and my grandparents. Each image sparked a memory, flooding me with renewed connection to stories that had gone silent.

I ran my hands repeatedly over the solid wood of the secretary desk, the one that had traveled from Austria to the U.S. many years ago, and now back to Ireland. I slid open the small drawers, finding small treasures we had hidden before leaving.

Suddenly our spare apartment was littered with stuff: The Northwest Native American rattle carved like a salmon that reminded us of our life before. The soapstone Inuit carving of a bear dancing which I received after my mother died. The oil portrait of my Austrian grandmother, sitting regally in her salmon colored dress. The watercolor given to me by a coworker when I left a teaching position years before.

There was the delicate white china tea and coffee set and silver tray from which Kaffee had long ago been sipped and strudel nibbled. I found the chipped, enameled bell with blue flowers my parents used to ring on Christmas Eve when I was a child.

We are beings who cherish, who remember through touch and smell. We come to love these treasures that witness to our lives and the lives that came before, books that transformed us. We honor writers and artists, mothers and fathers, legacy and lineage. We are connected to the significant moments of our lives through the gold band on our finger or the necklace given to us by a friend who has since passed away.

There are a multitude of things I have absolutely no regrets about giving away when we moved. But there are a few I do wish I had held onto: the sword from my great grandfather who was a general in the Austro-Hungarian army, the cream pearl necklace from my grandmother, the Meissen porcelain set of dishes.

A bird’s nest is an amalgam of twigs and fluff and string. When our things arrived they marked a turning point when I started to feel really at home in Galway, that I wanted to nest. I am still very much a monk at heart, but I have also fallen in love with stuff again.

With great and growing love,

CHRISTINE

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Photo: © Christine Valters Paintner

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Monk in the World guest post: Jamie Marich

 

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission for the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Jamie Marich's reflection on gratitude for a sacred convergence:

Dancing Mindfulness Meets Dancing Monks: A Story of Gratitude

Early last summer I received an inbox notification telling me that a woman named Christine from Galway ordered a copy of a DVD I produced called Dancing Mindfulness: LIVE. Although it always warms my heart to fill international orders, I grew even more excited when I saw the domain on her email: Abbey of the Arts. Curious, I looked up her website and immediately experienced a deep, internal sensation that said, “Welcome home!” After watching the video, Christine enrolled in my long-distance training and mentorship program in Dancing Mindfulness. Simultaneously, I began eagerly working through her books, beginning with The Artist’s Rule. In April of this year, I had a chance to go on retreat with Christine and many other dancing monks in Leavenworth, Washington. On this retreat I realized with an even brighter spark that I found a beautiful source of nourishment for my body, mind, and spirit that complements my existing spiritual practice and home in the Dancing Mindfulness community. My heart brims with gratitude for this connection, and my backstory offers some insight into what makes this connection so special.

For many years, I’ve identified as being too “Eastern” in my spiritual practices to really feel accepted by many groups of Christians. Similarly, yogis and individuals I’ve met in Eastern spirituality circles often regarded me suspiciously because I maintain a strong Christian identify. Conservatives tend to find me too progressive and progressives tend to label me as too conservative. I also identify as a bisexual woman. Thus, the “middle,” the beautiful regions of grey that exists between black and white polarities is where I dwell. Raised in an American society that tends to label and compartmentalize various facets of human experience, finding a true sense of belonging has been difficult.

I grew up in an interfaith Christian household—one parent was devotedly Catholic and the other converted to Evangelical Christianity. Fights about religion were so commonplace in my household, I left at the age of 18 pretty certain that there was a God, but not wanting anything to do with organized religion. In my early twenties, I reconnected with Catholicism, the faith of my Baptism. Although my original intent for “finding religion” again was to seek a solution for my own drinking and drug use that escalated out of control at that time, I became deeply grateful that God used this lowest point of my life to reacquaint me with faith. The ritual of the Catholic Mass enlivened me, and I tore into reading about the lives of the saints and the teachings of monastics from both Eastern and Western Christianity. I even found myself working for the Catholic Church for a period of three years (2000-2003), serving as an English teacher and English language liaison for the Catholic Parish of Medjugorje in Bosnia-Hercegovina, a well-known pilgrimage site in the modern Catholic world. I coordinated music for English language Masses, sang in an international group of musicians connected to the shrine, and met many of the people who set me on the path I walk today—that of a sober woman in active recovery who works to help others achieve their own goals of recovery and wellness.

When I returned to the U.S. to begin my graduate studies in clinical counseling at a conservative Catholic institution, I started to get the sense that I did not quite fit in with the church. Quite simply, I asked too many questions. And although I was told by many that I was allowed to ask questions, it became pretty clear that advocating for gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender individuals would be frowned upon in traditional circles. Speaking up about pro-life being more than a pro-birth position was clearly not favored, and challenging patriarchal leadership structures was not met with great enthusiasm. Although I’ve met more progressive Catholics in my journey, I was aware of what official church teaching was on these matters and I decided that I couldn’t really be a part of an institution that couldn’t fully accept me. Many years of searching followed on my journey of discovery…

Four years ago I began laying the foundations for a community and training program around a practice I called Dancing Mindfulness, largely to provide a safe space for middle-dwellers like me to find a place of spiritual inclusivity. Dancing Mindfulness appreciates that all human activities can be practiced with mindful intent. Mindfulness is the ancient practice of noticing without judgment. Although the English word mindfulness traces to traditional Buddhist practices, there is nothing inherently Buddhist about it. Many of the early desert monastics whose teachings I’d studied and revered engaged in practices that clearly meet the definition of mindfulness. Whether mindfulness is used as a gateway to higher spiritual growth or as a path to more balanced, centered living, the applications of mindfulness are various. Dancing Mindfulness can be practiced individually, or as part of a formal class. In the Dancing Mindfulness practice, participants can experience seven primary elements of mindfulness in motion: breath, sound, body, story, mind, spirit, and fusion. By dancing through these seven elements, practitioners are able to access their body’s own healing resources and realize the transformative power of their personal creativity.

Inspired by my own work as a clinical counselor with a background in dance, I wanted to create a practice space for dance that was welcoming and user-friendly. What began as a few classes that I taught in my own community of Warren, Ohio and at professional conferences in the fields of recovery and mental health has grown into an international network of facilitators and friends engaging in the practice. Our video, book (releasing Fall 2015 with a foreword by Christine), and growing facilitator training program (available both live and distance-based) are all helping us to reach people seeking healing spaces through dance in both community and clinical settings.

Working with Christine and seeing the model for inclusive, expressive community created by she and John is actively impacting my growth as a leader in my own community. Additionally, in Christine’s writing and the community of the Abbey to which she led me, I’ve been able to experience even greater degrees of healing and reconciliation about my own spiritual wounds experienced at the hands of institutional church. The Abbey also led me to my current spiritual director, Melissa Layer, who is helping me to come out as the authentic person God desires me to be in both my personal and professional lives. In addition to Melissa and Christine, I’ve made countless other friends and connections through the Abbey and the Holy Disorder of Dancing Monks. Several members of our Dancing Mindfulness community are also now taking part in Abbey programming, and in the Facebook group. The gratitude I have for our two communities meeting each other cannot be put into words (which means as soon as I’m done writing this I must dance my gratitude). Although only time will tell how the various connections between souls will continue to manifest, speaking strictly for myself, I celebrate the personal healing that’s already come to me from the sacred convergence.

 

Jamie Marich, Ph.D., LPCC-S, LICDC-CS, RMT travels internationally speaking on topics related to EMDR, trauma, addiction, and mindfulness while maintaining a private practice in her home base of Warren, OH. She is the developer of the Dancing Mindfulness practice. Jamie is the author of several books, including her newest, Dancing Mindfulness: A Creative Path to Healing and Transformation  with Skylight Paths Publishing.

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Order Dancing Monk Icons Prints for Christmas (by November 18th)

Our fabulous artist Marcy Hall is making prints available again for the wonderful dancing monk icon series she has painted for Abbey of the Arts. She also has two new Irish saints added this fall: Kevin of Glendalough and Gobnait of Ballyvourney (patron saint of bees!)

In addition she has another beautiful series of Monastic Way/Monastery of the Heart prints for a series she painted for the Erie Benedictines and Sister Joan Chittister. These include figures such as Teresa of Avila, the Dalai Lama, Rumi, Georgia O’Keeffe and more!

Discounts when you order multiple images.

You can see both series here and order your prints>>

 

 

 

 

 

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Sacred Time: An Online Retreat for Advent & Christmas

 

Advent invites us into the holy practice of waiting and attending the birth that is coming. Christmas calls us to celebrate that birth with wonder and awe. Our culture tells us the season should be filled with shopping and rushing. The wisdom of ancient monastic practices tells us that this is a time for pausing, savoring, and soaking in awe and wonder.

Instead of becoming overwhelmed this year during the holidays, let this be an opportunity to move into a new set of rhythms which cultivate slowness through seasonal awareness. Imagine arriving at the New Year, not exhausted, but deeply refreshed by having tuned into your own soul’s cycles and longings and honoring those.

We may fantasize that if we only had more hours in the day we could catch up with ourselves, but the truth is what we most profoundly need is a new relationship to time and practices which call us to remember that now is all there is.

Instead of “spending” time or “wasting” time, or counting “time as money,” what if you made a commitment to a new way of experiencing the moments of your days so that you created an opening to the new birth happening right now? When we bring ourselves present we touch eternity.

Click here for more details and registration>>

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Blessings for the Feasts of All Saints and Souls ~ A love note from your online abbess

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

Today in the Celtic seasonal calendar is the feast of Samhain and in the Christian liturgical cycle the Feast of All Saints (followed by All Souls tomorrow). It is a very special time of year when the northern hemisphere is moving toward growing darkness and is time of preparation for stillness and rest. In the Irish imagination, this is a threshold time, when the veil between worlds feels especially thin. Darkness invites us to rest into the mystery of things.

This is one of my favorite moments of the year’s unfolding. Last year at this time the belongings we had kept in storage in Seattle – two pieces of family furniture and boxes of family photos – arrived to our home in Galway, bringing a deeper sense of rootedness here for us. Having those tangible connections to our ancestors felt like a gift in those November days.

This past May, we traveled to Vienna, Austria to lead a pilgrimage group and spent some time at the beautiful Central Cemetery. This is the place where my father is buried alongside his parents. I visited his grave and encountered there a cuckoo bird circling from tree to tree, calling out to me again and again. I had never had an encounter like this before with my father’s spirit. As many of you know, much of our travel over the last several years and the time we spent living in Vienna had to do with healing this difficult relationship.

I took the cuckoo bird to be a sign of his reaching out to me and have been holding that image for the last several months, savoring the solace it brought. What puzzled me about the cuckoo bird’s appearance is that it lays its eggs in the nest of another bird, removing the eggs already there, and lets the other bird warm its own offspring to hatching.

Last week, while receiving a massage from a very gifted woman here in Galway, I had a waking dream while lying on the table in the liminal space between waking and sleeping. I have been dealing with a difficult situation and my father appeared to me saying that the eggs that had been given to me were not mine to mind and doing so would take away the nurturing from my own new birthings. I began to weep at this gift of clarity.

In the dream, my father then asked me for an embrace, and I felt such an overflow of love toward him like I have never experienced. I could suddenly see him as both his innocent child self and the grown man he had become. His parents also appeared and encircled us both with their embrace. I saw this gorgeous light in the distance, the stunning gold light of October sun. I said to the three of them that they didn’t need to stay here any longer, they could walk toward the light, and so they did.

I lay there for several minutes following and savored this encounter, it felt like such a gift. After I got dressed and went out to see my massage therapist, she said that she felt my father’s presence in the room and this beautiful golden light surrounding us both. I was stunned, because I had said nothing to her of the dream and there is no way she could have known what had transpired. It was a gift of confirmation.

I have continued to savor this opening to deeper love and freedom in the days that have followed. These are the kind of magical encounters that can happen when we open ourselves to them. Nineteen and a half years later, a great healing has come.

May you experience the thinness of the veil in your own life and may the ancestors guide you with their wisdom and love.

With great and growing love,

CHRISTINE

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Photo: © Christine Valters Paintner in the Vienna Central Cemetery

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Monk in the World guest post: Melinda Thomas Hansen

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission for the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Melinda Thomas Hansen's reflection turning on the homing beacon.

“Perhaps there is some secret sort of homing instinct in books that brings them to their perfect readers.”

~ The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows

A table was set up outside the bookstore at Kanuga, the retreat center where my family and I spent our summer vacation. As so often happens, on our final day there I felt the stirring need to purchase a little token of our time in that scared place. A slim white paperback caught my attention.

The Mockingbird is a journal, published by Mockingbird Ministries “…that seeks to connect the Christian faith with the realities of everyday life in fresh and down-to-earth ways. [They] do this primarily, but not exclusively, via publications, conferences, and online resources.”* Each volume has a theme and this volume, Volume 5, focused on forgiveness.  I scanned the table of contents, flipped through the beautifully laid out pages, hesitated, and put it back.

Something larger was at work.

As I moved on, perusing the other items on the table, I felt a tug, as though the book had lassoed a rope around my body and was pulling, drawing me in.

For months I have been struggling with layers of resentment and anger. For months I have been reworking the pages of my novel unable to figure out how to fix it. For years I have been lamenting that my life has, thus far, not turned out the way I envisioned it. I am not yet a bestselling author and humanitarian—a kind of literary Bono.

"Forgive me for the expectations I had of this life.

I had very specific standards that have not been met.

Either through my own failures or those around me.

That I would be Eudora Welty-meets-Mother Theresa.

That I would write tomes of wisdom whiling away my time in an urban ministry program.

Instead I am a mother who lives in the suburbs.

I occasionally remember to donate baby formula to the food pantry…"*

This was the first piece I read (and photographed with my iPhone and texted to my mother and best friend). The anonymous author continues on with an all too familiar litany of standards she set for her life, and all the many ways she struggles with acceptance and gratitude.

Next I read an interview with “The Warden of the World’s Nicest Prison” who affirmed my thoughts about incarceration but which I felt too naive to verbalize. Then I read an essay on forgiveness in marriage. After that came Hearts and Crosses by O.Henry, a story of how we hurt each other and how we forgive.

One of the main scenes in my novel that had been giving me fits was the critical moment where the protagonist forgives herself for all the ways she blamed others for her suffering, and in doing so offers the antagonist an opportunity to do the same. The essential plot and spirit of the scene was right but the setting, the dialogue, and the actions—all the basic elements of story—felt sappy and forced.

After reading Hearts and Crosses I took out my file of magazine clippings, crayons and watercolor paper, and made some Wisdom Cards. To make Wisdom Cards write a question on three or four pieces of paper, turn them over, and mix them up. That way you don't now which question you are working with as paste on images and drawings. Each card will have its own flavor. An image on one card just won’t work on another. The pieces hone in on each other and create a new whole. When the collages are finished, turn the cards over, and read the question your art-making has addressed. I always expect direct answers. “This is action a, now take action b.”  Fortunately, art is more subtle than that.

Lying in bed that night, after reading Hearts and Crosses, after making Wisdom Cards, words and pictures churned as I faded into sleep: hearts, crosses, forgiveness; the novel, my characters… decoupage… magnolias…summer heat… photographs… an antique store… a kind gesture. And there it was, how to fix the novel.

I may never be the literary Bono I envision myself to be—though I still hold out hope for that possibility. I may never truly rid myself of anger and resentment. What I need to remember is that neither of those things is the point.

What I need to remember is that it’s the process; the movement of the soul, the diving down into the dark, painful places of the heart: the resentment, the disappointment, the selfish grasping, the shame.

What I need to remember is the many ways God has, if not answered, evolved the deepest longings of my being.

How do I practice being a monk in the world? I switch on my homing beacon, and listen.

 

*The Confessional, Mockingbird Volume 5, Mockingbird Press, page 19.

** I highly recommend both Mockingbird and the book “The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society” (which has a fabulous, unabridged audio version).

 

Melinda Thomas Hansen is mother to a one year old, so living as a monk in the world is a bit more challenging these days. Her touchstone practices are writing, yoga–both teaching and doing–, taking walks and looking at trees. Visit her online at www.thehouseholderspath.com

 

 

 

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St. Kevin and the Blackbird + Poems from the Wild Edges ~ A love note from your online abbess

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

This fall has been a season full of wonderful opportunities for journeying alongside our beloved dancing monks in person.  When you receive this love note, we will be in the midst of our third pilgrimage group in Ireland, something we love doing because we continually see this amazing landscape through new eyes and are blessed by the community that forms.

As many of you know John and I arrived in Galway almost three years ago in the midst of a life pilgrimage.  It can be hard to explain sometimes how we ended up in this place. It is certainly beautiful, perched on the edge of the ocean, with a feeling of being on the wild edges of Europe. The Irish people are genuinely warm and welcoming to us. We have ancestral connections to this land, and so something in our blood draws us to this place.

After years of claiming the path of monastic spirituality as the one most life-giving for us, it makes perfect “sense” that we would land in Ireland, a place where monasticism flourished for so many centuries in a unique form from more Roman-centered monasticism.

Here on this Irish soil we discover the sheer plenitude of monastic ruins within an hour of where we live, because it was so much a vibrant part of the culture. We immerse ourselves in the stories of saints like Brigid, Brendan, Patrick, and Columcille, hearing them whisper across the landscape.

We find a path that is more about following one’s own ripening and unfolding rather than looking for the straight path and plan. There is a wonderful story about St. Kevin, who founded the holy city of Glendalough where we led our young adult pilgrimage last spring. In his prayer, kneeling with arms outstretched and palms open, a blackbird lands in his hand and nests. He feels her laying eggs and realizes he has to stay in this position until the birds are hatched. It is a marvelous description of holy yielding of our own agendas, to the birthing happening already around and within us. (The image above is our newest dancing monk icon of St. Kevin).

This monastic path calls us to let go of our own plans. As the poet David Whyte writes, “what you can plan is too small for you to live.” This is the beauty of this ancient way. It teaches us through stories and practice and very concrete way to let go of plans and surrender to the Divine current carrying us to our own places of resurrection.

We are delighted to share with you some of the poems that pilgrim participants in our Writing on the Wild Edges retreat wrote while in the beautiful landscapes of Inismor and Inisbofin, two islands off the coast of Connemara. Click here to stop by the blog post and savor the inspiration of this sacred land.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

P.S. – If you subscribe to the wonderful journal Weavings, look for my article on “Welcoming in All of the Selves as Beloved.”

Photo: © St. Kevin dancing monk icon by artist Marcy Hall

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Poems to Savor by Pilgrims on the Wild Edges

August 30-September 7, 2015 we had 13 pilgrims join us for a very special pilgrimage and writing retreat on the wild edges of the world. We stayed on the islands of Inismor and Inisbofin, off the coast of Connemara and let the landscape inspire our creative process.

I am grateful to these dancing monks for sharing their inspiration so freely with the community. Pour a cup of tea and then savor these poems:

A Pilgrim’s Progress

She heard the call of wind and jagged earth, stones and hungry green; the raw bitter hum of want. Held to a moody sky of blue and gloom, of the spirit of rainbow and drifting cumulous, of rain and more rain; a volatile dome clothing this land.

She let the wind take her like bramble. Carried her over sharp limestone, over the courage of heather, and the green wild caught in crevices. Whipping away at her soft edges in a Pilgrim’s chant of many yesterdays to find her longing.

She let the hurt take her; reminding her of where she was and where she’d been. In that way of how the world is full of claws and serpent tongues. Of wordless stares projecting. Of the harsh spoils of thoughtlessness.

She let the wind take her in her vulnerability across the sparse hard that pilgrims had walked centuries ago to find answers to the ‘Why’? Hoping this place of stark refuge would push the questions into the heart to feel the answers.

She rolled and she tumbled. She gave no grasp to any of what might hold her to stillness. Letting what might be still settle inside her softly as her body found it’s way to the sea. Of shells, and stones, and seaweeds tangle. Of sandy grit and salty water’s healing lick.

She lay exposed in the tides ease under the sky-dome of every season’s moving. Letting the caress of home and belonging flow over her raw naked. Letting the query of her quest be her answer.

© Jeanne Adwani

 

I arise today by the grace of God,

surrounded with Christ's love,

infused with Spirit's power,

protected by Father's arm.

I arise today by the grace of God,

the Holy Three,

the Ever One.

Open me today to wonder, love, and praise,

that I might greet Christ in all people,

that I might see Christ in all places.

Awaken me today to wonder, love, and praise. Amen.

© Carol K. Everson

 

Pilgrim

How do you know to listen to the angel

who could be deer, could be skunk,

could be simply the brook water rushing

past in a constant murmur of invitation?

How do you know when the wandering

is complete, the place you are meant to be

sometimes the place you began, sometimes

so far away that everything familiar drops away

like a woman shedding veils in the moonlight;

all that is left of you is skin and soul?

Who are these saints, wandering until

they reach their place of resurrection?

You hold your doubts like burning coals

scorching your palms, smoke blinding you

to the dream just ahead

stumbling because you cannot see clearly

the one place you were meant to inhabit,

the island of your soul.

© Nita Penfold

“Why Are You Here?”

Why am I here?

to love and be loved

to listen …

and yield to the whisperings

of sacred wild edges

to bless and be blessed

open to spaciousness and wholeness

to dream, dance and sing

songs of gratitude …

to love and be loved

all the days of my life.

© Anne Wicks, 2015

Photo © Anne Wicks – Kilmurvey Beach, Inismor, Ireland

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Earth Monastery Project Grant Winners

The Earth Monastery Project is a small grant project we administer to help encourage projects which nourish an earth-cherishing consciousness through contemplative practice and creative expression.

We were delighted with our batch of applications and have selected the following four to receive a small grant for the first half of 2016. We will post more details as they complete their work and report back to us.

Laurel Dykstra, Vancouver, BC, Canada  

Earth-Bible Curriculum Boxes: to encourage multi-age (3-11 years) groups of children to engage with scripture and creation.

Sandi Howell, Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada

Creating a series of art photographs to explore the intersection of nature and humanity and generate reflection and conversation around possibilities of collaboration versus dominance.

Monica McDowell, Seattle, Washington, U.S.A.

The Girl with a Gift: a mustard seed project to distribute this work of eco-fiction, coming of age novel to churches and generate discussion on eco issues.

Philip Wood, Manchester, United Kingdom

Litany for the Wayside: a liturgical and poetic sequence with visual and musical responses

To learn more about the Earth Monastery Project and support this work click here>>

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Monk in the World guest post: Terrie Marie Childers

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission for the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Terrie Marrie Childers' reflection on responding to God's invitations.

A few years ago I returned to the workplace full time, accepting a position as the administrative assistant to the police chief in our town. I enjoy working with the officers and this job was definitely a divine appointment. However, as a contemplative individual, the long work day in a secular environment often leaves my soul parched and thirsty for spiritual refreshment.

The “Monk in the World” concept has been such a helpful perspective for me and this dear community is a continual encouragement. As I studied the commitments described in the Monk Manifesto I began to see each one as an invitation to intimacy with the Holy One. Gradually, I embraced the practice of being attentive and responsive to the invitations presented to me in the middle of every ordinary day.

My morning drive down backroads on the way to the station invites me to deepen my kinship with creation as I notice the beauty of untouched nature. My break times at the office invite me to step away for a few precious moments of silence to “be still and know.” My interactions with prisoners in our small jail invite me to show hospitality to strangers and demonstrate the unconditional love of Christ to individuals outside my typical social circle.

As I practice expectant awareness regarding these divine invitations I’ve noticed a few things.

First, invitations are personal. When I receive a gilded invitation to an extravagant birthday party, I can’t transfer that to another person and send them in my stead. The request is not for a body, any body, to be present. It is for ME, uniquely and personally.

Second, invitations compete for my time and attention. In order to respond affirmatively to an invitation, I must refuse other possible engagements. I must value that invitation above other entertainments, usually because I value that relationship above others.

Finally, invitations hold expectations for a response. I must make a choice, I must RSVP, I must show up – or the invitation is worthless.

Most of the invitations I acknowledge are for a short sacred pause or a brief moment of Presence. Not long ago, however, while enjoying a weekend getaway, God gave me a surprising and delightful invitation of a more substantial nature. My friend and I were on a private retreat featuring large chunks of time for silence, prayer and study as well as walks in nature and art making. On the second morning I hurried through my morning devotions (we must adhere to our schedules, you know) when God stopped me in my tracks with a gentle whisper, “Linger with Me.”  I realized that in my compulsive haste to get on to the next scheduled event, I was neglecting the One with whom I longed to abide. This is what I wrote in my journal regarding that encounter:

Yesterday as I was finishing

my brief morning prayers

Jesus invited me to

linger a little longer.

What a sweet offer of Presence!

Why hurry to some distracted busyness?

Why scramble to empty preoccupations?

Why rush to a chaotic and choking schedule?

Sacred life is lived

quiet, deep and slow!

Time for stillness and waiting and listening.

Time for introspection and questions and wondering.

Time for just resting in the bliss of Christ’s Presence –

kissing His feet and whispering tender words of devotion.

If God, who holds the planets in their orbits

and binds the oceans to their limits;

who ordains governments

and raise up kingdoms;

who sustains my every breath

and decrees my every heart beat…

If the sovereign and supreme

King of the universe

has time for me…

Why not linger a little longer?

I am convinced that divine invitations abound and are liberally scattered through our hurried days, if only we would notice them. My prayer for each of us is that we would be attentive to God’s whispered invitations and that when we hear them our response will be a resounding and ecstatic YES!

I live in rural Texas with Doug, my darling husband of 34 years. I am mom to my two grown children and “Nunny” to my four grandarlings.  I am passionate about art journaling and enchanted by words and in my free time I can be found outdoors with my notebooks, paints and prayer beads, trysting with the Beloved.

 

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