Molly Davis's Blog, page 33

Mary Knows

Walking into the house I could hear a noise in the back room.

What’s that? I asked.

Oh, that’s just Mary (as in Poppins) our new robotic vacuum, my daughter answered. She’s mapping the house right now so that she knows where to go when I give her a command.

A little later I noticed the house was quiet.

What’s Mary doing? I asked.

She’s recharging, my daughter answered.

Mary knows…in order to do what we have to do, we have to take time to recharge.

Hibernation

noun: hibernation :

The condition or period of an animal or plant spending the winter in a dormant state.

We only have the capacity for so much. Once at our limit, there are times when we have to choose to put something, or even, someone on hold. Not because of unimportance, but because other things or other people are requiring all that we have to give. The best thing to do in those situations is to find the honest and loving language to share where we are, and why perhaps for a season, we can’t be what we’ve been in the past, and hope to be again in the future.

Hibernation isn’t the end. It is a time of dormancy so that life can emerge once again on the other side.

Keep Going

There is no secret. Keep going.

(Words on an Oiselle coffee mug)

Walking The Refuge

We took the dogs and headed out to the Conboy Wildlife Refuge. It was cold, and sunny, and the contrast of the brilliant yellow-gold tamarack trees with their nearby neighbors, the lodgepole and ponderosa pines could not be more stark.

Once on the three-mile loop trail, we talked about things big and small as the dogs raced ahead, always coming back to check on us. From the viewing platform at the half-way point, it was obvious that fall was giving way to the coming winter, which in turn could only mean the eventual coming of spring and the appearance of new growth. New growth that is only made possible by the death and dropping away of this year’s growth.

Walking the refuge loop trail is always a reminder that life is a series of new beginnings, leading to eventual endings, only to come upon new beginnings once again. It is also a reminder of the need we have as human beings to find refuge from our personal storms with a select few sacred souls. Those who will walk with us as what has been drops away in order to make way for what can be.

Setting A Time Limit

There are many things I’ve learned from my good friend Mark Christensen, the mastermind behind and founder of the Learning Point Group, a full-service consulting firm that focuses on leadership and supervisory development, as well as workforce learning.

One of the simplest and most useful things I’ve learned from Mark is the practice of setting a time limit on something that needs to be done. Over our years together there have been times when we’ve had to complete a project, solve a problem or come to a decision. In those situations he would often say something to the effect of, “We’ve got twenty minutes to think this through and come to a decision.” Or, “We can commit the next four hours to this, and then we’ll need to move on.” It wasn’t an effort to cut corners, but rather an understanding of the value of time, and a belief in our ability to accomplish something good in the time allotted.

It is easy to let something take more time than it needs to. Or to put something off because we can’t commit as much time as we would like to our effort.

Today I had the chance to put this good practice to good use. I’m on the hook, in the best possible way, to give a reflection (aka: sermon) at our church in a couple of weeks. There are not a lot of days with much open space between now and then, so I decided to channel my good friend. I sat down at the computer and said, out loud in my best Mark impression to make it official, “You have two hours to pull a solid draft of your message together.”, and then proceeded to get it done.

When something is looming large on your mental horizon, consider channeling Mark. Set a time limit and get to work. You'll be amazed at what you can accomplish!

Photo by Mike from Pexels

Stacking The Firewood

Our yearly supply of firewood just got delivered. Two-and-a-half cords of beautiful dry wood landed on our driveway, ready to be stacked under cover for use in the coming winter months. One of my favorite chores every year is to work together with Tom to stack the wood. Piece by piece the pile that sits in chaotic disorder turns into neatly stacked rows, and we are ready for winter once again. While we are not dependent on it to heat our home, it is an integral part of how we live, and we count on it to fuel life under our roof.

This delivery and stacking of the firewood is an annual occurrence, and turning that jumbled pile into orderly rows is a reminder that our lives unfold in much the same way. Something gets dumped into our lives, and suddenly we find ourselves in disarray. Like the firewood, it is ours to figure out how to put into order what has landed on our doorstep.

As hard as it is to have the unexpected show up, if we treat it like a load of firewood, and piece by piece put it into order, It can become an integral part of who we are, and fuel the lives we are here to live.

Fifteen Minutes

“I have fifteen minutes, and I’d love to spend them with you.” The voice on the other end of the phone belonged to a close friend who was in the midst of his own busy day, and yet was able to find a small window of time for us to connect. A small window was all I needed.

What I was searching for in those fifteen precious minutes was a safe space to say exactly what I wanted to say, unfiltered. I was in need of a place to be heard and seen, and to be able to feel exactly what I was feeling with no attempt made to fix, mollify, or find a silver lining. In that moment there was none to find.

For fifteen minutes he listened, and listened, and listened some more. Safely within the emotional equivalent of a soundproof, padded room, I was able to hear myself speak, and express deep emotions that needed to come out. Those fifteen minutes made it possible to handle the next fifteen. And the next and the next and the next.

We are all in need of safe spaces in which we can show up live and uncensored. Places where we can say what is true in that moment even when what is true is messy, ugly, and broken. It is from there that that we can find our way forward to deal with the mess, discover beauty in our ability to handle what we’ve been handed, and catch a glimpse of how we might put our broken selves back together again. Not put back together as before, but in new ways. Better ways. Stronger, more authentic, and courageous ways. Ways that begin with the gift of fifteen minutes with someone who’d love to spend them with us.

Like A Hawk

In front of our home there is an expanse of open field that stretches out toward the mountain. Trees are scattered around the perimeter, and on any given day It is likely that you will find one of the many hawks that call our little valley home perched on the top of one of those trees. From that vantage point they are able to scan the entire field for possible prey. These sharp eyed birds don’t spend all of their time on a tree top, nor do they endlessly fly about in search of their next meal. They seem to know that in order to survive, it is necessary to get a good look at the bigger picture before heading out to do what hawks do.

When it comes to us humans, we could take a lesson from these birds of prey. It is easy to get so caught up in our daily rounds that we forget to take time to pull back and get the big picture view. We simply go and do. Go and do. And, go and do some more.

Any free space on our calendars gets filled by the next request, because rather than pause and head to a nearby treetop, we swoop in on the date and time, and if it’s open, we let the next commitment snatch it up. Simply doing something because we can isn’t necessarily a reason to do it.

If we want to spend our days and expend our energy on who and what we value, we have to learn to pull back and get a hawk’s-eye view of the field that is our life.

Photo by Harrison Haines from Pexels

It's Just Hard

Today I was reminded once again of something my beloved yoga teacher whispered to me during class. Struggling to hold an especially challenging pose, she quietly said, so that no one else could hear…

Sweetheart, remember, just because it’s hard doesn’t mean it’s bad. It’s just hard.

End Of Story

There are a few themes that I find myself returning to in the course of my work, and in the midst of my own everyday life. One such theme is the importance of letting old stories go. Stories that might have served us at one time but no longer do. Stories that at one time kept us safe in dangerous emotional circumstances in the past, but are no longer relevant to our present day. Stories that we’ve continued to believe because creating new ones will require that we muster the courage to practice new ways of showing up in the world.

The thing with our stories is that we believe them.

They are ours, and we’re sticking to them.

But what if we didn’t?

What if we quit believing them?

Quit sticking to them?

There’s only one way to find out, and no better time than now.

Jessica Lewis on Pexels.com