Spring Air

Spring Air

In the early mornings late in the spring, I roll my car windows down to enjoy the last of the cool air Phoenix will offer for a seemingly insufferable time. As I drive to the gym or to work the air blows through my car. My radio blares and I breathe. I imagine that God is providing this last sweetness as a measure of contentment, a promise of sorts that the summer heat will not have the final word. I love this time of year even though I know the end is coming. The looming of summer only makes my appreciation riper.   

There is certain alchemy of the spirit that occurs when an individual accepts that and ending has come. The initial turmoil that the finality of a situation brings is often a mix of numbness and denial that eventually leads to a tentative and at times fleeting acceptance. Perhaps my enjoyment of the final days of spring is a form of denial or perhaps it is an acceptance that all things end. Spring dies and our harsh desert summer enters, a purgatory of sorts. This is a time to retreat from the openness of God’s creation and roll up the windows. Silent incubation.

The Spirit takes her time and works.

The end mysteriously leading to rebirth and renewal. With the windows down. Just as God had promised.

14 Year Olds, Groups, and Ireland

14 Year Olds, Groups, and Ireland

As I write this, my oldest child is celebrating her 14^th birthday with thirteen of her closest friends. Hip Hop party music is streaming, soda’s are being sipped and abandoned with half their contents left while screams and giggles of excitement fill the house. My daughter appears sure of herself as do her friends who easily navigate amongst each other. I sense no drama. No tension. No problems. But I am sure beneath the surface there are insecurities and resentments that might even go unnoticed to those who are feeling it. Or perhaps this is just my own projection of my experiences with groups: delightful, loving and necessary with a shadow of intolerance of others’ peculiarities especially in large or drawn out doses.

Next month I will be placing myself in a group to travel 100 miles by foot on a pilgrimage through Ireland. Pilgrimages are meant to be experienced alone. One can travel together while pilgrimaging solo. I am aware that I need intention and focus to stay in my, “own” space yet the aspect of group travel is still there. And with this comes dread. Interestingly, I like everyone who is going and from an outsiders perspective there would appear to be no problems. Just like my eldest and her gaggle of buddies. Yet, I know the shadow side of groups. It is like they say about fish and houseguests: After 3-days they both stink.

My trepidation arises out of a combination of experience, self-awareness and the unknown. I know pretty well how I work in groups and the results can vary wildly. The best results have always been when I’ve displayed my professional persona. Knowledgeable, gregarious and in control tend to net favorable results in the work arena. My second best showing is with my mother/wife persona. Personable, stable, fun and can keep the kids alive? Great! When these identities are stripped from me I am often times left floundering and wondering how I should act. It’s not pretty. Grasping for something. Should I be a clown? A know-it-all? An introspective intellectual? A party girl? Somebody help! I can drown in my own existence while the group I am with looks around and wonders if anyone will throw me a life-preserver; humiliation at its peak.

So, the question is, “How do I navigate a personally meaningful solo pilgrimage while living into the tension and paradox of a group of travelers?” Or perhaps the real question is, “How do I live into my own tension and paradox?”

God, I wish I were 14 again…not really.