As Alexander would tell you, “Some days are like that, even in Austrailia.”

Now, when I am having One of Those Days I click around the internet.

Yeah. That works. (Not.)

Like Jess Weiner said at BlogHer ’11 this weekend, “The problem with that method is that inevitably someone on your Facebook has cuter kids, or a better vacation.” (Your Gremlins tend to be especially petty when you are having One of Those Days.)

But what if it did work? What if you could come somewhere and get just a little bit of something to tide you over?

That’s one of the things I’d like to do here at Magpie Girl. I’d like to be what Ree Drummond of Pioneer Woman calls “the habit someone has with their morning coffee.”

So I’m making a renewed effort to blog more regularly. To drop you little lines and small, helpful things–even if they aren’t fully realized. Even if it means leaving in a few typos. Even it means refining my theories later.

So here’s the plan. I’ll be dropping these little Magpie Minutes. So if you are having One of Those Days you can come buy, and I’ll scratch where it itches.

Here’s today’s thought.

Why You Should Stop Trying

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about Trying. It seems I (we?) are always trying to do something. Eat better. Breathe more deeply. Pay Attention. But that word “trying” has such an onerous connotation to it. Trying is hard. Trying is laborious.

What if it’s true, what Yoda said to Luke Skywalker? “There is no try only do.”

Once, when I was struggling to find away to work whilst experiencing chronic daily migraines, I said to a friend of mine, “I’m really trying here.” And she said, “That’s your problem right there. You are trying, not doing.” At the time I wanted to throw a book at her head. I mean really. I think I hung up the phone. (See, you think I am nice. I’m really not all that nice.)

Grant it, her timing might not have been the best. Telling someone “There is no try, only do” when they are struggling just to get out of bed everyday might not be super nuanced. But the idea in general is a good one.

Trying is about perfection. Until we reach our goal perfectly, we say we are trying. Until we get to our goal weight we are “trying” to lose weight. Until we have finished all 200 pages we are “trying” to write a book.

But is that really true? Are you trying to do those things? Or are you actually doing them?

For the last few months I’ve been saying that I’m trying to eat better. Then last week, at the tail end of a 30 day juice cleanse, I realized something. I wasn’t actually trying to eat better. I was eating better. Sure, after my cleanse I had to travel and I ended up not being able to meet the 70% raw goal I have for myself. But does that mean I was “only” trying? No. I was still doing. Just to a different degree.

So today, if you are feeling the burden of trying, change your language. You’re already in process. There really is no try, only do. And you’re already doing it!

Be kind to your own baby soul today, my young padawan.

Much Warmth,

Rachelle
*your magpie girl

When I first came to BlogHer in 2007, I was completely overwhelmed. I’d go to the workshops,gulp a lot, and then head back to my hotel room and put my head between my knees.

At the time I was only half-aware that I was taking my last steps away from organized religion. Everything in my history was connected to church. It was the core of my family, my education, and my career. But my beliefs were changing, and with it, my life.

Just before going to that first BlogHer conference in ’07 I wrote this at my first blog, Urban Abbess: 

When my best self is present–when I am the most centered and most aware– my guiding voice says, “You know, your pastoring self is doing just fine. You shouldn’t be doing any of those religiousy things, not any more than you are anyway. Really. It’s just fine. Go pick up your paintbrush.” It’s a peculiar thing – that all the things I’ve been preaching over the years – ‘everything we do is worship’ and ‘art creates holy space’ and ‘conversation is prayer” —all of these things are actually becoming real–and my very silly self is having a hard time believing it. It’s as though I’d hoped Willy Wonka’s factory was real, and now that I’m in the midst of the multi-colored glory of it all I’m blinking my eyes and waiting for it to disappear.(Go ahead dear, you really can even eat the dishes.)

In 2006 I closed Urban Abbess and blogged exclusively at Magpie Girl, where my tagline at the time was “distracted by sparkly things.” I held creative challenges. I made cut-color-and-paste zines about seasonal celebrations. I sold vintage clothes. The whole time I was searching–sometimes with joyful abandoned, and sometimes with knee-knocking fear. My whole life was changing and I didn’t know why or how, or what was going to happen in the end.

I blogged my way through. 

It took a long time.

Four years later, and I’m at BlogHer once again.  Since my first year at BlogHer, I’ve blogged my way through a serious chronic illness. I blogged my way through life abroad in a difficult culture. I blogged my way into legitimacy as a writer, as a teacher, as a community builder.

Through the process of blogging, I found my Way.

For those who raise a skeptical eyebrow at blogging, I stand as a withness. The writing, and the story telling, and the commenting — the very process of blogging  itself, it changes lives. My life. The life of my family. The life of my readers.

You might be overwhelmed by the sheer size of BlogHer. (3,000 people) You might dislike the sponsorships. (McDonalds? Really?) You might feel small when your mom is your only reader.  All those things about BlogHer and blogging are true. It’s big, it’s corporate, it’s a little narcisstic and…

and it can change your life.

(Blogger, Beware.)

Yours in the Journey,

Rachelle Mee-Chapman
Proud Blogger since 2003

Two years ago Easter came to me all bittersweet. It felt like letting go of a loved one’s hand as the train pulls away. Last year I was angry at the messages being handed down to our little ones. This year, after a Winter of snow and depression, Easter finds me already awash in the arrival of Spring — fields of snowdrops; a blanket of crocuses spilling out from the doors of our local castle; the magnolias tight in the bud and waiting to open.  In the midst of this earthy glory, the theology of Easter arrives as a late comer, tagging on the coat tails of a natural spectacle.

Every year Easter it comes out of its cocoon with wings of different shapes and colors. This year, I may have finally stopped trying to pin it to a board. This year, I’ve realized that I’ve developed a new practice – a practice of allowing Easter to be born again, to bring new flavors of belief, new forms of adoration. I doubt I shall ever be able to ascribe to a permanent creed. All I can say is this Easter morning I believe…

I Believe…
In a Source larger than myself which at its core is creative, healing, and restorative.  I choose to call this Source God, though I recognize her by other names and have seen her in many incarnations. I believe in all the ways renewal, regeneration, and rebirth flow forth from this Source. I look eagerly to understand her better, and to live her life of creativity and renewal more completely.

I Believe…
In a man named Jesus whose tale has been carried, replicated, and expanded through many cultures and many eras. I believe in his habit of telling meaningful stories; bringing the outsider home; and being dangerously compassionate. To these I do aspire. I believe his Sermon on the Mount creates inside me a passion for justice, equity, and inclusion. I strive to live these in increasingly meaningful ways.  I hear him in the mouth of a all the great teachers. I see him in a thousand faces. I try to reflect him back to others from my own.

I Believe…
In a guiding force which resides within each of us, sometimes called Spirit, who has made herself known to me as The Muse. I believe in her creative capacities, in her skills as a guide, and her residence in my intuition. I believe in her connection to God, and strive to align myself with her.

I Believe..
In community wherever it may be found. In dancing in the overlap. In everyday holiness.  I believe in rites, rituals and worship which connect us to God – primal, traditional, and emerging. I believe in sacred spaces and thin spots.  In inexplicable fore-knowing, sometimes called prophecy.  I believe in an unending source of love, which translates into abundant acts of charity. In generous curiosity. In the high value of hospitality. In miracle, and whimsy.  And above all, I believe in love.

____________________
Writing your own creed is an excellent way to practice Standing in Your Own Power.  If you pen one of your own and share it in the blogopshere, please leave us the link in the comments. What might be the opening lines of your creed, circa Easter 2010?

To see all the posts on Standing in Your Own Power, click here.

L’Orangerie, built specifically for Monet’s last great work, his waterlilies series.

Paul and I both love Impressionist and Post-Impressionist art. We’ve traveled the world to worship at Impressionists Temples: The Getty Museum, our Mecca in Los Angeles. The Art Institute in Chicago and the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. Even the tiny Impressionist room in the Glyptotek in Copenhagen, with a painting by Renoir of our neighborhood park. And now, at long last, the Musee d’Orsay and L’Orangerie in Paris.

As a teenager I would see posters and calendars full of pastel reproductions of Monet’s waterlilies or Van Gogh’s sunflowers and think, “Ick. Too pretty.” Then I went to the Art Institute of Chicago, walked into the enormous Impressionist wing, and nearly fell to my knees. The impact of those pieces in real life, the depth of the paint strokes, the vibrations of the color — there’s no way to reproduce it. No way at all.

The more I’ve learned about the Impressionists–and perhaps even more so, the post-Impressionists– the more I’ve come to feel a kinship with them.  Claude Monet, Edgar Degas, and dear, broken Vincent Van Gogh and Henri de Toulouse-Latrec: I adore them all. I feel if I could meet them today we would be like siblings: all bickering and laughing: remembering and reaching. These painters, who we now see as little more than producers of decorative posters, were once brave, bold radicals.

In the last 1800′s, there were two ways to succeed as artists: show in the Salon, or show in the Academy. Both French institutions presented perfectly executed works of art. And, both institutions insisted there was only one way to create and present said art. “Real” art, said the Institution, was neo-classical art. These acceptable pieces depicted the same set of myths and Bible stories, all portrayed with familiar, formulaic precision. It was pretty, perfected, and above all tame.

The Impressionists saw another way, craved another way. Truth came at them from odd angles, and they wanted to express the impressions reality made upon them. But the Academy and the Salon had no room for exploration. The new work was considered ugly, inappropriate, and misconstrued. So the new Impressionists broke away. They left paying jobs and secure posts. They gave up the professional credentials and the assured success that  came with membership in the Institution. They risked everything. The Impressionists were reformers — not to make a name for themselves — but because it was the only way to be themselves. 

Take for instance Edgar Degas, a privileged child from a family of wealthy bankers, who painted successfully in the Academic style — until he met the Impressionists. Or Edouard Manet, formally trained and accepted into the Salon, who threw his “opportunities” aside and instead surrounded himself with artists experimenting in new techniques. Or my favorite, Vincent Van Gogh, a seminary student with a guaranteed career in the church, who left it behind to follow the deep pull art, truth, and post-impressionism had on his heart.

I suppose by now you are seeing the parallels that draw me to these rebellious souls. I too had a career which was controlled by two great institutions — the Catholic and the Protestant. I too was set up for immenent success within that system. I too fell in with a crowd of outliers. I too left it all behind to follow a pull towards something “post.” (In this case, post-modernism as opposed to post-impressionism.) Like Van Gogh I battle depression. Like Toulouse-Latrec I work around a broken body. Like Monet I tend to circle around the same source material over and over again.

These are my kinsmen, these heretics we. And in their stories I find comfort.

What great artists are your withmates? Who in history partners you on your journey? Do tell in the comments below. 

Stayed tune for my next Post-Impressionist post: Vincent Van Gogh and The Terrible Need. Join the mailing list or follow me on Twitter and you won’t miss a thing. Thank you for being here!

silent park
amid city noise
passers walk by, and i

i sit in the centers of centers
x marks the spot

grey walls and stone tower
surround me
ring me with I Am’s

branches overhead cross with 
aged cracks
hail rains down

i sit alone
knowing that i am
what i am
created to do
rightwhereibelong

i circle out
dancing
 

In this photo post: What’s left of the Elys-style labyrinth at St. Mark’s Cathedral in Seattle. It was just me and the bagpiper that day. Often it’s just me and the giant pipe organ. Poem written at a labyrinth in Victoria, B.C. 2001. Would you like to Unravel? Sign up for Susannah Conway’s photography and journaling ecourse.

I struggle to live in the moment. So often I am casting my gaze back in regret and longing, or throwing myself forward in to future worries. I know it’s healthiest for me to live mostly in the Now. But to the Now I feel foreign born, and like an adopted child returning to the place of her birth, I must work a little harder to feel at home on what is truly my native land.

I notice this most when Summer fades to Fall, and the days begin to shorten. I start missing the Light even before she is gone. Start longing for her while she is yet by my side. And in doing so I waste the last long rays of her presence.

This then is my attempt to stay with her, to stay present as long as she is still here.  To remain alert to her companionship. To “…follow the day and reach for the sun.”Later when she is gone, these images may hold her near to me a little longer yet, until she gently moves my hand from her hers, pats my shoulder, and tells me to lean into the next season until she returns.  

 How do you stay present to the edge of this season? What will you need to transition into the next?

Sometimes we cannot see ourselves for who we really are.

While our compass is at our center, our community helps us to see.

What do you see in these photos? What is it about this face that moves you?

I’m curious to see what you see.

Love,

Magpie Girl

In this photo post: The four faces of me: out of the shower, made up for the day, just before bed, making dinner.

Would you like to Unravel? Sign up for Susannah Conway’sphotography and journaling ecourse.

He comes to me in my dreams, this child of my heart, separated now seas and ages.

Sometimes the dreams are all absurdity. Last night in my somnolence he came to me with a new love. I asked after her:  what captivated? what called? His serious reply: “She taught me the word “Huntington’s.” Ah, what meaning in that then? Pizza for dinner, perhaps.

Othertimes they are wrought with meaning — Jungian symbols all in a row.  He is lost in the woods. And what are these clamps there on his shoulders, at his gut? What is written on this new scroll?  Are we falling or flying?

When he feels far from me, this child of choice, I wear this ’round my neck. A charm passed to me from my soulsister, long ago when I was the age he is now. Touch it with one finger there at the hollow of my throat. For safety. For comfort. For joy. Hoping to only connect.

A talisman then, swinging there over my heart.

In this photo post: Favorite things, culled from a vagabond’s backpack while on furlough from Denmark in the States, and posed on a swing which has held three generations. 

Would you like to Unravel? Sign up for Susannah Conway’sphotography and journaling ecourse.

Did you know you could fly?

Yes you, with the middle-aged greys springing out of your ponytail…

You with the quarter-life crisis and the world as your oyster…

You with Junior High staring at you from the business end of a double barrel…

You can soar, if only you will bend your knees and leap into the great unknown.

True, the next day, you may fly in a metal tube for 9hours with your broken ankle in temporary cast, and ice from the airplane galley packed around your leg. But you will know in your core  that for those clear sparkling moments you were Icarus triumphant. And, when you are old, you will remember those glorious seconds aloft with clarity; while the throb in your bones will be but a faint memory, calling to mind not a fall, but a flight.

“In life you will come to a great chasm. Jump.”  -J.Conrad

_________________

There are surfaces in our lives which we pass by every day. The sheen of a coffee cup, the gleam of some stainless steel appliance, the window made a mirror by darkness. We pass them by, unseen and unnoticed. Yet they capture us and throw us back into the world.

If no one sees that reflected bit of us — your nose caught in the shine of the toothbrush holder, your fingers tapping out a rhythm on the guitar, the curve of your hip in the shower knob — does it make a sight? Does it make a sound?

I’ve been struggling this year with knowing that I am enough. Not when I’m fully actualized; not when I’ve achieved Nirvana; not when I’ve been transformed…but now, right now, I am enough. Even in illness. Even in shortcomings. Even in the ever-present, ever-niggling experience of not-knowing. Enough.

In every reflective surface, every unexpected mirror, the world captures my image and throws it back at me.

She chants:  “Be here now.”
She bears witness:  “You ARE here now.”
She testifies: “You, just as you are, are enough.”

Do you promise to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth? I do. Even to my very self.

This is for Susannah Conway’s  Unravelling ecourse.  If this inspires you, please consider taking the course.  In this post: Reflections in a tub fixture with a lavender filter, black & white, the original photo, and colour saturation.

Just one of many Solstice celebrations, this one at the house on Rockaway Beach. 

___________________________

It is not quite 5am and the dark is slowly dimming to reveal pine trees like shadow puppets awaiting the stage. Beyond them the water is still as glass waiting or the faithful northwest kayakers who will slip out at the dawn, leaving a silent wake in their path.

We are finally at my parent’s coastal retreat, Pura Vida, a beautifully appointed home on a tiny island in the Puget Sound. Everyone is asleep, save me, the insomniac with jet lag. But in a place a still and beautiful as this, who can be worried about a few hours of lost slumber? (Beside, the hammock is waiting on the deck below, should sleep come calling in the afternoon.)

The house will not be quiet long as Pura Vida is full of happy grandparents and boisterous children – soon to be joined by more boisterous children and chatty mamas when the cousins arrive. My Irish roots will show big and bold and the gift of gab will be used in full force over the coming weeks as we greet each other in a rush of words and stories. In the happy, overwhelming rush of family reunion, these sleepless quite moments in the early morn will be my hermit-ish ying to the jolly yang of our happy clan. A time to reflect and write, and sooth the frayed edges of a soul worn down by the coldness of life abroad, now stretched to a joyful bursting point by the warmth of familiarity and common bonds.

 Already we have be embraced by the loving arms of people we cherish:  the Curran-Coolmans who took our battered jet-lagged selves into their home so full of art, and story, and affection; the sweet child-like family at BF Day Elementary who jumped up and down to see us all on the sugar-filled high of the last day of school; the colorful chaotic buzz of the artists prepping for Solstice celebrations, awash in paper mache; the affection of our son-adopted-by-affection who apparently “does not get enough love” (hard to believe given the lovely young woman who rarely leaves his side); and the teary embrace of our dear friends Lynette and Dwight who could not possibly have more generous hearts toward we the ornery wanders.

All of that goodness in the first 48 hours—a restorative tonic for the 18 months spent in a culture which barely says “hello.”

And now, seven glorious weeks on the shores of placid sea, listening to the giggles, finding crabs under rocks, plucking oysters off the rocks for our supper, and wondering again why it was that we ever went away.

 Today Brother Sun will shine his goodness down on all of this wonder, creating from his rays the longest, most glorious day of the year. And I will see very dear moment of it, until his Sister the Moon arrives to tucks us in, just so we can rest and begin it all again.

Happy Solstice.

“I think my most important job is to make space for people to be who they are and tell their own stories…My role is to cultivate relationship, cultivate curiosity, [and] create a sense of sacred space.”     -Kelly Bean,  Soultribe Cultivator

How do I love Kelly Bean? Let me count the ways! First, she’s a redhead (big points.) Second he has the totally adorable name. (more brownie points.) But most importantly, Kelly Bean is as gentle as she is wise, with more patience than anyone I know, and has a habit of waiting and listening until the solution arrives. (Unlike some redheads we know. Hi. Me.)

There’s nothing like learning from a pro, and at 20-plus years of nurturing the same Soultribe (it’s a record!) Kelly can really give us insight into how to keep something going through the ups, downs and seasons of life.

This is a long, but excellent interview and features a unique shared-leadership model called Leadership by Triad which I’ve never heard of anyone else using. Plus there’s loads of stuff in here for those of you who are in the process of a church break-up, or who are Leaving Church. And don’t miss the bit where she lays out some of the common pitfalls Soultribes trip into, and how to avoid them. I recommend you print this out and pop it in your bag. You’ll want to underline and highlight this winsome goodness, I promise.

Kelly generously gave us her time to write up this interview, so she could encourage and guide you. In the spirit of our on-going Sacred Commerce experiment, please let me know if you’d like to send Kelly a thank-you gift from your Etsy or other shop. (My email is moi at magpie-girl dot com.)

And now without further ado my Soulsister, Kelly Bean, and the Soultribe at Third Saturdays.

Background: Could you tell us what kind of Soultribe you belong to: What do you call it? How often do you meet? How long have you been together as a group? 

My soultribe is called Third Saturday.We are a community of people following in the way of Jesus. Our gatherings vary in size from 15-30 -which includes 6 kids ranging in ages 1 to 13. We meet twice a month for sure and sometimes more frequently.

I began to host this group over 22 years ago. I remember my daughter (who is now 23 years old) was just beginning to crawl when we first started. I can still see her playing in the center of the circle of friends, although now she is a mother herself. Over time I have become the ‘official’ cultivator of this community (thanks Rachelle for the great title, “cultivator.”) I’d venture to say that most of the current participants have been attending for seven to ten years.
Group Content: What does your typical evening together look like?

Group Content: What does your typical evening together look like?

Our meetings have changed over the years. We originally met for a couple hours on Tuesday nights. After our kids began school we shifted to meeting on Friday nights so the children could continue to come along and be with their friends. We met on Friday nights from 7:00 to well past 11:00 for about 10 years. When both our daughters were in high school we found that giving up a weekend night every week made it hard to participate in their activities and to know their friends. We wanted to be able to attend the Friday night ball games at the school, provide transportation and be available to them. At that point, about six years ago, we shifted to our current rhythm.

Our primary rhythm now is around our meeting on the Third Saturday (or sometimes the second or fourth J) of the month. We meet in my home—with the exception of two periods in this 23 years, when we were building or remodeling homes- during these times other group members “hosted.” We share a meal and engage in the evening’s ritual, relational connection, discussion topic.

We also meet the first Friday of the month for Taize Prayerat a local university. After prayer and silent contemplation we trek to a nearby establishment called Chez Jose where we share Mexican food, margaritas and conversation.

Who decides what you will do together? Who facilitates?

There is room for all voices. I guide the group but the general direction we take is borne out of listening to the group. For a few years we tried an experiment of leadership by Triad. Every month three different people from within the group would set the course for the month. They would plan all that we did for the Third Saturday gathering, even down to the potluck theme.

Together the Triad would determine what they wanted the group to do or what they wanted to bring to the group. Sometimes they would choose a topic that they were all fascinated with and they would bring three perspectives. Sometimes one Triad member might be a talker and the others would be introverts. In this case it might be that one introvert would bring a mix of songs they felt illustrated the theme the talker was unpacking and the other might lead a group discussion or an interactive art project to explore of the topic. A Triad might explore a global issue or a feeling or go deep into a scripture or poem. The past two years it seems we’ve had a lot international travelers in our group and we’ve loved learning from them upon their return.

My role is to cultivate relationship, cultivate curiosity, create a sense of sacred space, guide and direct in a way that helps to bring out all the group has to offer. My incredible husband Ken makes a good pot of coffee and is always glad to get a drum circle going at the end of the evening. (Magpie Girl’s Note: In my house we call this being the “Pastor’s Husband. That’s fun to trot out at church conferences, let me tell ya’!)

People: What kind of people attend? How did you initially find and gather these folks? How do people find you now that you’ve been around for a while?

I think that Third Saturday is a microcosm of the possibility of pluralism lived out over time. Together as a community, our life has given us occasion to navigate theological conversions and diversions, some divorces, the collapse of our mother church, graduations and adoptions, addictions- our own or our loved ones, economic boom and financial collapse. marriages, births and deaths (not always staged in that order). 

When we started out we were a rather monolithic group of slightly charismatic Evangelicals in our early years of marriage and of raising young children. We all attended the same church and held fairly similar beliefs. Now 20 some years later, although life has taken us on various courses, we faithfully gather to share, worship, study, serve and create together. But now we are now a motley mixture of people with affiliation to United Church of Christ, Episcopalian, Greek Orthodox, Albanian Orthodox, Baptist, Christian Missionary Alliance and Presbyterian congregations.

Some of us have detached from the “institutional” church completely, others have rediscovered faith in artist communities, others embrace doubt. Some are Republicans and others Democrats, some are prochoice and others are prolife. Some hold to Creationism and others are Darwinists. Some doubt the credibility of global warming and others are environmental activists. Some are Universalists and others are staunch Calvinists. Some are black and some are white. Some are grandparents and others are single college students. Some are artists, some are computer programmers, others are health care workers and still others are engineers. Some are homemakers, others are writers, a handyman, salespeople and entrepreneurs, a bike mechanic, an analyst, and masseuse are all in the mix. We all struggle at times and we all have victories. We are a small enough community that there is no anonymity. We are who we are.

Although all these things are true, we don’t generally think of each other in these categorical ways. We are bound together by shared history, by a heart for the poor, by care and respect that transcends “belief”, by many shared meals , by laughter and tears, by the stories we have trusted each other with, by the burdens we have borne together and by the strong thread of Jesus in our lives and in our midst.

As we have grown and changed over the years I recognize we have continually cultivated relational space which makes it possible to share an encounter of commitments. We retain our unique identities and hold our deepest differences even as we participate in dynamic, creative, life-rearranging relationships together.

Coming Together: How long did it take your group to gel? What was that process like?

How did we come together? Well, we mostly met in the same church at various points along the way. A few have come by word of mouth. At this point we are not “officially” an open community; we are not attempting to grow in size or to promote ourselves to that end. If someone has a friend who wants to come along we welcome them. Our more recent regular participants (including our awesome violinist) came to us in this way. 

This answer feels glib but, it seems like it has always worked. And for the handful who have left here and there over the years there has been a sense of a peaceful shift to something new for them. Maybe part of that is due to being flexible and willing to let things go rather than structure them too much. At the same time I do try to keep a plan up my sleeve so if things drag we can shift gears. I trust the spirit in the group and in the process. So something can be a flop and still be just fine. There is always another week!

I think my most important job is to make space for people to be who they are and tell their own stories, to do what I can to ensure that the environment is emotionally safe and supportive, to help people connect with each other and find a way they can belong and to create a relaxed welcoming atmosphere. If people feel safe, accepted, relaxed, connected and welcomed that goes a long way.

If you got to a sticky point where you weren’t sure it was working out, how did you know to press on? When did you know you had “clicked” together?

 I can think of a several sticky points that have been the downfall of many a community but we have weathered. Here are some of those-

Breakup
We were for many, many years, a community that existed within a church. That church; our “mother church”, went through a rough time and eventually disbanded. My husband and I left the church before it disbanded. At that point the community was comprised of people who left in a great deal of pain (like us) people who still thought it could work out and were loyal to the leaders who remained, and people who didn’t identify with any church. It was a tender time and everyone had deep feelings. We resolved to make space for each other to be wherever we needed to be and to trust each other in that. We participated in silent shared rituals for grief together (sitting Shiva together, floating prayer candles, writing our feelings as prayers) to acknowledge that everything was not well and that we could all grieve even if we were grieving completely opposite things.

I was very proud of how the community navigated that time. When the church did eventually shut down there was room for everyone to remain- and everyone chose to.

 Big Change
When we shifted to meeting twice a month (and only once a month in our home) this was a rough spot. Some people felt they would lose their community, others felt like we shouldn’t make such a change. Although some were fine with the decision it did raise strong doubt and dissension with others. In hind sight there may have been a better way to lead the group into the change, but it had become increasingly clear to us that we were sacrificing the best interest of our family and must make a change. After the announcement I met with concerned group members one on one and listened to their concerns and feelings. I acknowledged that I had moved swiftly without preparing the group for such a big change. Good listening and owning your own stuff goes a long way. Gradual and strategic introduction of the idea would have been a good idea too. But, by the time we reached the point that change was needed, it was past time to make the move. I did learn some things about leading people along gradually.

 Myopic 
A few years back I got to feeling that as a group, we had become much too self focused and ingrown. I led us through a process of group discernment to determine together as a community what our strengths were, what brought us together and kept us together, what we imagined and wanted for the future (and what we didn’t want) and where we could learn and grow.

This process led to a focus on global issues and local community engagement. The focus led us to do collaborative art projects to raise money for communities in Africa. It led us to serve each other in more practical ways and to think beyond the needs of the group. I was impressed by the initiative that the community took to make this shift.

Take-Away: Why do you think people come to your group? What does being together do for you? What are the benefits of belonging to this kind of Soultribe?

Some of the many benefits are shared meals (we love good food and beverage!), encouragement for the journey of life and faith, shared history, care for each other, practical support for day to day life and through hard times, authentic relationships, new ideas and study, a sense of belonging, shared ritual, a desire to grow as a person, a desire to be known, fun, a community that welcomes kids.

The Real and the Ideal: What did you think your group would be like? How did it actually turn out? What’s that like for you?

 Since Third Saturday has simply become what it is over the years and we all have changed in many ways along the way it feels tough to answer that question.

I sometimes look at Soultribes that are just launching. These generally come together around fairly clear mutually held theologies, beliefs and philosophical or political values- these are common and not bad reasons for  people to form groups. I look at these and at times I think “Ah that looks less stressful…no debates about global warming vs global warming hoaxes that make me cringe, no strongly held difference about abortion rights to navigate, no stress when your favorite political candidate comes up in conversation.”

But then I look at the way that we respect and learn from each other, the way we can share life and still make space for the “other” right in our midst, I remember the love that holds us, and I am reminded that in a world split by difference, this is a hopeful story.

When we started out we were a Bible study and prayer group, and that was okay for that time. Over time we have been a spiritual formation group, an emotional support group, a topical study group. In more recent years we are a group of people intent on always learning and growing, urging one another on to love and to good deeds, caring for the world and our local communities together and caring for each other through thick and thin. And that is more than enough.

Advice Girl: What would you have done differently in the early days of your Soultribe?

I have loved all stages of the evolution of Third Saturday. When I look back the one thing I would like to have done differently is to have relaxed about cleaning my house. Getting ready for a large group of people to gather in your home every week can be stressful if you aren’t particularly a good housekeeper (but wish you were!). When my kids were growing up I could be crabby and uptight the day we were getting the house ready. Thank goodness the kids loved the gatherings as much as the adults did or they would have resented that high pressure preparation more than they do. Still, it would have been fine to have my house look a little more lived in when people arrived and would have been more fun to prepare without pushing so hard at the last minute to pull it all together. Frankly this is good advice to all parents of young children when it comes to house cleaning- whether a Soultribe is coming over or not. Relax and enjoy! A little mess (or even a big one) never really hurt anyone. And in hindsight, being bitchy to get a house clean isn’t worth it.

What  other tidbits would you like to add to our giant pool of wisdom?

• Laughter is good.
• Listening is essential.
• Let the seasons of your life inform your direction. Listen to your life. My own spiritual journey and the unique needs of our family have shaped the direction for the community over the years. As I look back and see this come clear I am grateful.

Kelly Bean and a slew of her wonder women are up next at Christianity21, October 9-11 in Minneapolis. Loosely based on the TED Talks model, 21 speakers will hit 21 topics in 21 minutes each. It’s the hottest Christian conference I’ve seen in years — plus, all the women are speakers but it’s not a “women’s conference.” In the world of the church my friends, that is a small miracle. To find out how to meet the miracle workers, click here. Pay special attention to Nadia, Seth, Makeesha, and our grand dame, Ms. Phyllis. They will rock your socks!

Soultribes is an on-going series helping creative souls build a place to call home. Demonstrate your commitment to forming your tribe by adding this badge to your website, and follow us on Twitter to read the next edition. “There ain’t no where to go but together!”

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I am young. Young enough to hold my father’s hand. The church is a little dim, the wood of the pews being so dark, the carpet such a deep red. Our pastor—part-grandfather, part-judge— is on the dais, his robes resplendently white, the gold of his stole glinting. He moves like an alchemist at the altar using, words, and rites, and gestures to turn ordinary things into talismans.

There is an electric organ, badly played, and an upright piano. We sing choruses before the liturgy, simple songs newly written by hippies with guitars picks. My father loves these simple songs, just a few phrase on repeat until they sink into your soul. He raises his hands to the sky, a stand out amongst the stiffness.

“Jesus, I just want to Thank You.
Jesus, I just want to Thay-ank You.
Jesus, I just want to Thank You.
Thank you for being so good.”

We unhinge our jaws. We loose our tongues. We the ordinary people of the everyday – we take on the task of angels. We sing. 

Now comes the hymns, both awkward and resplendent with age. An elderly woman with a thin, high voice warbles enthusiastically behind me. We are staid people, we Lutherans, and no inclined to showmanship. But some hymns are robust: 

“Holy, holy, holy!  All the saints adore thee,
casting down their golden crowns around the glassy sea;
cherubim and seraphim falling down before thee,
which wert, and art, and evermore shalt be.”

My mother’s hands rest on the hymnal.  Her lacquered nails are bright against the brown nougahyde cover. They are long and cool and smooth. I love to stroke them when there is no singing and the service lingers on. I do not care for the spoken words: long scripture passage read aloud, the drone of the sermon. But the songs, the psalms, the hymnody-these charm me. I am utterly in their thrall. Spellbound. The Latin is like an incantation. We make our confession in a magic tongue:

 ”Kyrie, Kyrie Eleison, Eleison…”

Finally, it is time to chant my favorite part of the liturgy, and we turn to the Nunc Dimittis, Simeon’s Song.

“Lord lettest now Thy servant depart in peace, according to Thy Word.
For mine eyes have seen Thy Salvation, which Thou hast prepared before
the face of all people.
A Light to lighten the gentiles, and the glory of Thy people Israel.
We praise Thee. We bless Thee. We worship Thee.
We glorify Thee. We give thanks to Thee for Thy great glory.
Amen.”

Years later, when decades of rock and roll have filled my ears and the chants of my childhood have long been set aside, a tragedy comes to our door. Our first child is still born, a little boy a not much longer than my husband’s hand, which holds him on my chest. The diagnosis came before the birth. No abdominal wall. No chest wall. A spine bent and misshapen. We have had time to prepare, and my heart rushes back to those long Sundays in the dim red womb of the chapel. My tongue finds the old songs. We baptize our son in the way of my childhood, the long-established liturgy our guide in this unknown and frightening terrain. Simeon, we name him. Once more we sing the song… 

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My thanks to Jamie Ridler of Starshyne Productions for submitting “How has music influenced you?” as an Ask Magpie question.

Now it’s your turn! How has music influenced you over your lifetime? Tell us in the comments, or add the link to your post.

Ask Magpie is featured (some) Wednesdays and depends on your inquiring mind. “Ask me a question, I’ll tell you no lies!” Thanks for being here.

if you are out there today
doubting
that your story matters or
that you’ll ever get there or
that you can get there from here

if you are out there today
i just want you to know
that you are enough
and i love you
and that together, we will find
the way to be joyfully extraordinary and
all you have to do
to recieve that reality
is to be out there today.

enough.

A few months ago I listened to a TAL episode entitled The Giant Pool of Money. It’s an excellent explanation of the mortgage crises that is sweeping the nation – but for right now that’s neither here nor there. The reason I mention it is that the title burrowed its way into my brain, and now all I can think of is the phrase “A Giant Pool of Wisdom.”  It’s a good phrase, don’t you think? And I am confident that we – you, and I, and all the lurkers out here (Hi lurkers! I love ya!) -can form such a pool. In fact, I know that we already have enough wisdom to fill that pool to overflowing. We’ve just got to share it.

So in our on-going efforts to figure out how to create our own Soultribes, I’m dipping into the pool and bringing up refreshing goodness one ladle at a time. To begin, I’m happy to introduce the very sassy, very funny friend Melissa Lindgren as our first guest in the Soultribe Practitioner Interview Series.  (I know, she’s so fun right? Already you want to be her friend!)

Melissa and I met at our former Soultribe, Monkfish Abbey.  Now she is a Soultribe facilitator hosting a knitting and storytelling group in Seattle, Washington. In this interview she talks about gathering her tribe, adjusting expectations, and figuring out what she values in a Soultribe.

Mis, Could you tell us what kind of Soultribe you belong to: What do you call it? How big is it? How often do you meet? How long have you been together as a group?

For the last 8 months a group of friends and I have come together to knit. We calling it “The Knitting Group” or simply ”Knitting” (I tried “The Knitstas” and “The Knitta’s” but they really didn’t take) It started out with about 15 of us and has shrunk to about 8.  

What was it about story that made you want to form a group around storytelling? What do you think is valuable in sharing our stories?

My University of Washington research has centered on knitting and storytelling as tools to form community. As I’ve drifted further and further away from concrete concepts of spirituality, and even further from conventional forms of church, I was in need of a weekly group that could give my life more rhythm and community. So I started a knitting group and began researching how telling stories and knitting together can form a powerful community.

 I wanted to add stories to a knitting circle, because I’m in the business of stories. It’s what I do. I think there are a lot of things we do that are instinctive to us. And some of us are lucky when our interests also have a long history of being important, as it gives us meaning and a certain sense of legitimacy.

Stories are something so very basically human–they are a way of being remembered, remembering, owning, teaching, loving, laughing, being known…And I am drawn to stories for all of those reasons. But the real reason I included stories in my knitting group is because I love to hear a good story, I’m good at telling my own, and that’s how I wanted to wile the Seattle evenings away.

 It is in no way lost on me that I chose a traditionally women-oriented craft (knitting) with another craft that has a somewhat complicated relationship with women (story-telling/having a voice). My group was really intentioned to be a space that glorified the story more than the storyteller–I wanted to hear well-crafted stories–stories that had a lot of depth, intrigue, humor, and suspense.

What does your typical evening together look like? Who decides what you will do together? Who facilitates?

 I’m the facilitator, I decide. :-) I started this group as a way to get together with my friends and as an independent study for my B.A. in English. The goal was to come together and knit and tell stories. I sent out emails every week telling people the topic of the stories and re-iterating the location (my living room). 

 Though people participated in the story-telling it really wasn’t what was driving the group. So I backed off with the stories and just sort of let the group chit and chat where it wanted. These were decisions i more or less made on my own, but were usually bounced off of a friend or two in the group.

 What kind of people attend? How did you initially find and gather these folks? How do people find you now that you’ve been around for a while?

The kind of people who attend are the out-going-est of my friends who are interested in knitting. I initially invited everyone I wanted to see on a weekly basis, but it has shrunk to people who need some sort of weekly outside social group. Though it sometimes feels like we are cousins with lives completely known to each other, often someone in the group will invite an unknown visitor who we all smother and gawk over. :-) Some people just want a lesson in knitting or are stuck in a project and come to get help and then fade back into their normal Wednesday night routines without us.

 How long did it take your group to gel? What was that process like? If you got to a sticky point where you weren’t sure it was working out, how did you know to press on? When did you know you had “clicked” together?

Hmm. There was a core group that already knew and liked each other. If other people were uncomfortable or weren’t having fun, they just didn’t come back. I often tried to bribe them back because my core group needs to expand itself a little more. My bribes weren’t very bribe-y though.

I had a couple people who came who were young, loud, and didn’t listen to other people’s stories. It was greatly irritating and slightly amusing. But the point, at least at first, was to knit and learn to tell great stories. So the next week, I added that after each story 3 questions would have to be asked to the teller before we could move on to the next story. This was to help our listening skills and our story telling skills (it’s a good practice to examine why we include or exclude certain parts of a story). But the noisy youngin’s didn’t come back. And I eventually took them off the email list. I have to admit I felt relieved when they didn’t come back, but I also felt old. Very very old.  (Rachelle says: I would like to insert here, that Melissa is in her twenties and one of my youngest friends, so the old things is kind of cracking me up.)

Why do you think people come to your group? What does being together do for you? What are the benefits of belonging to this kind of Soultribe?

Right now, people come to hang out. But there were a couple months in there that people came to connect in a soft comfortable way.

I once asked the group what kind of stories they loved to hear and it was always stories that were personal, stories the teller had connected to. When I asked what kind of listener they liked to tell stories to, they described someone who could enjoy the details and the setup, feel sad at the sad parts, feel tense at the build-up, and laugh at the jokes (even if they weren’t the best of jokes).  Basically they not only described themselves, they described someone who could connect to their stories. And that’s why we met for awhile–to connect to each other through our stories.

What did you think your group would be like? How did it actually turn out? What’s that like for you?

I thought all sorts of different friends would come together and eventually we would be the group that when it was your turn to tell a story, you put your knitting down and walked around the room telling these grand stories (and the group size would be about 10-15 of the closest wisest and funniest people).

But really we just sort of sat in our chairs unless getting a snack or asking for help and told stories that almost always started out with “Heh, that reminds me of this one time…”

It was a little sad for me at first. And it made my research project a little harder. But there were several meetings that were exactly what I wanted, which felt great. But it takes a surprising amount of planning, creativity, intentionality and tenacity to get a group of people to willingly do what you want. It’s like herding kittens-or worse, herding children. I mean, most people don’t naturally want to do what you want them to, and this is something worth grappling with. And drinking about.

 What would you have done differently in the early days of your Soultribe? What did you do that worked well in the early days of your Soultribe’s development?

I think I would have been more specific in wanting it to center around stories more. I thought that I could just sort of sneak them in and people would automatically respond with great stories and accolades of “I HAVE FOUND MY VOICE!”  I think I lacked a certain confidence in my desire.

What did work were comfy chairs and snacks. Everytime. And good snacks too. Also, re-assuring people many, many times that it was ok if they didn’t know how, they could learn to knit. Many people learned to knit for the first time, or learned something new.

What other tidbits would you like to add to our giant pool of wisdom?

One thing I wish I would have been told as a kid, was that there is no way one person was going to be everything you needed. Oh the agonizing conversations in my head, “My partner makes me laugh and treats me with so much respect and love…but he doesn’t know how to talk about books…we’re probably not meant to be together!”  I have learned to include more people in my interaction needs. And it has made my relationships so much richer now that the pressure is off.

The same, I think, could be said of Soultribes. I think they are capable of being a central community for people but most likely not the ONLY community–which is something probably more obvious to the group than the facilitator.

Okay now readers, your turn! What ideas and inspirations grabbed you after hearing Melissa’s story? What questions do you have for one another? What are you taking away (or putting in to) the Giant Pool fo Wisdom today? Feel free to muse away in the comments below….

click here to grab a button and build your soultribe.

Are you going the way of the hawk or the dove? Give it some thought over at my regular Sunday column for BlogHer:

Your Kindergartener Didn’t Kill Jesus, and Neither Did You.

Thanks for being here!

So, I wrote this article about my Easter discomfort, and it threw me into two worlds. The first world is the one I adore, where recovering evangelicals and other misfit truth-seekers cling to each other and celebrate discovering a (rek)new(ed) way to be. The second world is the world of religious debate, in which people–people who I like and respect and admire–spend a great deal of time trying to convince me that ”we” are wrong and “they” are right.

I get why this is. I get that in the evangelical/fundamentalist world view, there is a Right and a Wrong and never the twain shall meet. Furthermore, for these folks getting things Right is highly valued. In part, this is because not getting it right results in not being right with God, and ultimately in a really long stay in Hell. So it stands to reason that people who hold this worldview want to debate with you about the places where your ideologies and their ideologies do not match up. Of course they want you to come to The Right. They like you. Maybe they even love you. They want you to fix your thinking because they care. They really care.

The problem with this is that we are experiencing cross-cultural dissonance here. Because in the post-modern world, there is not a Right and a Wrong in the same black-and-white sense that there is in modernist country. In the post-modern world truth is not seen as a concrete, attainable goal, but as an intriguing, slippery beast. To post-moderns there is more than one true way of answering the same question–and so the questions, and not the answers are tantamount. In the post-modern zeitgeist, this is fine, because you can hold two different truths in one open palm. But in the modernist milieu, that is not an option.

So, to use a phrase of my father’s “Let me say this about that.“….My target audience is this post-modern group of malcontented seekers. Malcontented Seekers. I know it’s an awkward phrase, but both of these words are important here.

Malcontented: by which I mean “requiring change, discontent.”
Seekers:  by which I mean “not willing to stay in the discontent, but being eager to create/discover something proactive and positive, something (re)new(ed).” 

I have readers who are modernists, and I thank you for being here. But I’m asking you to please remember that you already have a place to belong. A place to live out your beliefs. A place where others share your convictions. It’s a super well established place with lots of support for your way of being. You can live there in comfort. But the others–the malcontented seekers–not so much. They are out there on their own:  beat up and disoriented; hungry and eager; excited to find something new, and more than a little bit sad that they had to leave the former behind. It’s a difficult place to be. And these folks, they need a safe place, and they need to find each other. That’s what I do here. It’s what I strive to achieve. That is mycurrent calling.

So, if you are one of those lucky folks who live happily in a safe and content place;  one of those folks who know the Truth and the Truth works for you; if  you  feel  confident in your understanding of things like Jesus, and Easter, and Sin and Redemption–I’m happy for you. Believe me, we all sometimes wish we were there with you. But we aren’t, and we literally cannot be there again. So please try to understand. We aren’t rejecting you. We aren’t trying to pull you out of what you know, or convince you that you are wrong and we are right. But your language is no longer our language, your culture is no longer our own, and the basis for how you form your understanding of the world — the idea that the Bible holds all the answers, or that faith is cut-and-dry, or that all our holy stories are literally true–these things  are no longer bedrock for us. So we may miss each other a bit, we may not always connect. And that’s okay. We can still be significant one to another. But we need you to let us explore.

What this means for me, personally, is that I won’t always respond to all the comments from modernist Christians. I just can’t. I’m a chronic pain survior, I’m the mother of several, and I’m an ExPat trying to live in a foreign and difficult (for me) culture. That doesn’t leave a lot of energy for me to play with.  The energy I’m left with I am JOYOUSLY compelled to give to my malcontent friends and soulsibilings who’s questions lead them to seek truth in the margins. These are the edge-dwellers and my passion leads me to them — leads us to each other. So their thoughts and concerns will get the bulk of my time. I hope you understand.

That being said, thank you for all who have commented here, and on BlogHer, and on Twitter, and especially on Facebook, where the discussion is the most active. I appreciate your passion, your concern, and your gorgeous hearts and minds.

And to those of you who have come to those same places to be pissy, or sad, or curious, or hopeful, or all of the above–I am so, SO glad you are here. I know that together we can form a giant pool of wisdom that will allow us to create a way of living that doesn’t do damage to our souls.  Come join me on the picnic blanket, and bring your most favorite passions–especially the one’s you’ve had to keep under that mattress until now. We’re going to have fun!

Karin and Lindord my friends, play us out, will ya please? …..

Next up at Magpie Girl:  On authenticity, niceness, and the benefits of being pissy . :-)

*8 Things Waiting to be Written.

1. Teaching teens to stand in their own power (without being an ass.)
2. Why I’m embracing my shadow self in my second adolescence (ie. 40). 
3. Why Jesus did not die for you sins, but for his politics…and..why violence is never atoning. 
4. How our doll house saved my sanity when my children were infants. 
5. “Everything You Can Think of Is True”: how Robert Wilson’s rabbit hole rescued me from winter. 
6. Turning to face loneliness and the power it holds.
7. Why I unabashedly love crime dramas and what they are speaking about American culture.
8. Feminism is dead, Long live Feminism. What we still need to teach our kids.

What things are waiting in your heart to be born?