Cate was yelling at me. Again.

Every day it’s the same story. I pick Cate up from school and she happily shows me the new trick she can do on the peddle car; the stone she dug up in the sand pit; how many times she can hop the jump rope on one foot. We find Eden and start the ten minute walk home. By minute seven Cate is screaming about something. Anything.

We started with sympathy, then moved on to time outs, and I’m sure at some point there’s been some yelling on my part as well. Clearly Cate was struggling with the transition between school and home. Clearly she was angry. And clearly whatever she was yelling about was not what was really bothering her.

Finally, I sat her down at the kitchen table and got down at eye level. I addressed her very calmly and very seriously, “Cate. This isn’t working. You’re having trouble moving between being at school and being at home. I can see that you are angry, right?”

“Yes! I. AM. ANGRY!” (also crying)

“It’s totally okay to be angry. But screaming at Mommy is not okay, right?”

“RIGHT! OKAY? OKAY? RIGHT! RIGHT! RIGHT!”

“Did you know anger is a cover-up emotion? It covers up some other emotion. Something else is hiding under there.”

“It is?” (now backing down to mere sniffles)

“Yes. And I need you to think about it and tell me what it is that’s hiding under there.”

With that, the floodgates broke open. She missed all the friends she left behind when we moved. She didn’t have any friends at school. And she missed BF Day (her old school.) And some of the kids said mean things. And she doesn’t know Danish yet. And her only friends who speak English live far, far away. And did she mention, she didn’t have any friends at school?

Well, I’d already addressed all of those things. We talked about how making friends was her superpower, but that it took time. I had reminded her that we had only been at the new school for 2 weeks. I had explained that it would take a little longer than usual because we don’t know Danish yet. But, I had assured her, friends would come.

Knowing I’d already said all of this, and having a not unsmall amount of parental wisdom, I did not go into this again. Instead I asked her a question of clarification, “Cate. Do you want Mommy to talk about all these problems with you, or do you just need someplace to put them all.”

“Like what place?”

“Like a shrine.”

“I could make a shrine?”

Sure could. I dove under my desk and came up with three or four odd little boxes and tins. Cate chose a tin that used to hold bandages – Jesus bandages to be exact. After asking for stickers, tape and some scratch paper, Cate went to work. Soon she had a bonafide Shrine for Hard Feelings. It consisted of the bandage tin, a sticker of a sacred heart Jesus, some fortune cookie sized strips of paper cello-taped to the side, and one of those tiny golf pencils. Cate wrote her hard feelings down on the pieces of paper and tucked them into the tin.

“If I put these in here, Jesus will make the sad feelings go away.” she said.

“Well,” I fine tuned, “Jesus might not make them go all the way away, but at least he can hold them for a little while.”

Cate has been faithfully using the Shrine for Hard Feelings for a week now. Sometimes she’ll start ramping up into a yell-fest, but then you can see her sort of visibly pull up, and she’ll say “Wait a minute,” and go find her shrine. I’ll see her scribbling away, then tucking the paper into the tin and snapping it shut. A few minutes later she’ll be back with me, or her sister, or her dad, and the steam will have been vented.

Sometimes I wonder what all my ad hoc spirituality is teaching my children. I’m trying my best — but so did my parents, and my church, and my religious school — and I sure ended up with a bunch of crap mixed in there with the goodies. If I make up random sacraments, if my children spend their lives building Shrines for Hard Feelings and hurling plates at Anger Altars, will they regret it? I am not sure. But this I believe; my attempts, though small and flawed and most assuredly open for misinterpretation, these humble attempts at caring for these precious souls will teach them these true things

Your feelings are real.
Someone loves you enough to help in hard times.
God is big enough to handle your anger.
There is a place for you.

That seems like a good place to start.

Cross-posted at BlogHer with links to other great blogs about children’s spirituality.

We’ve had various kinds of celebrations for Spring over the years. But I have always hoped to have a gathering for May Day—or what the Celts call Beltane—in celebration of the good earth. In my dreamy gathering we could stand on some patch of soft ground and use our bodies to say ‘thank you’ to Mama and to give her some honor.

So far, this hasn’t come to pass. I tried once, and my children totally derailed me, moving the evening from a night of Om-ing barefoot in the grass, to a night of painting toenails for the upcoming sandal season. Apparently, when you are 4 and 6 it’s way more fun to welcome the Spring with flip-flops and pink polish than to follow your breath while holding a backbend.

Now that I’m here in Denmark and far away from all my friends of the feminine divine, this little dream isn’t likely to come to past anytime soon. But this morning while I was hanging out in Shavasana, it came into my monkey mind that I could get one step closer to this dream by writing the series down. (You know, instead of just holding it in my head and hoping someone will invite me to teach yoga.)

An hour later when I sat down to write my BlogHer editorial about Earth Day, I realized that if I posted said yoga series perhaps, in some small way, we might all be connected just by doing the same practice—even if it is in different times and different places. We are all standing on this same round earth, this big blue marble, right? We might as well call it a party.

So here is my short series of Yoga Poses for Mama, from me, the wannabe priestess, to you my sister friends. May they connect your spirit to the creative, nurturing energy of sand and soil, sea and sky, meadow and mountain. Namaste! Read the rest of this entry »

Catie displays her hope note for a soulmate in Rwanda.

There was no church for us today, at least not in a cathedral. Still, I’m pretty sure we were playing in heaven’s backyard when we joined up with HopeRevo. This afternoon Cate and I worshiped at the altar of hope–crayolas and markers our consecrated objects, water and paints our bread and wine.

The women of Rwanda have taught me more about grief, hope, and forgiveness than any sermon of hymn could convey, and I’m happy my daughters and I can join them in their knowledge, exchanging hope across the miles.

Here’s Catie’s hope note to a Rwandan girl her age. They haven’t met each other, but very soon this card will unite their hearts. You can play in the fields of hope too! Click here and join our church service already in progress. Here’s to Hope and all her siblings!

“mukobwa-wurwanda niwowe mbaraga zigihugu uwize aramenya, abakobwa babanya merica bwaragu shyigikiye.” Translation: Rwandanese girls; you are the power behind your country! Someone who learns is the one who knows best. American girls are supporting you!

When I was practicing a traditional form of Christianity, there were times when I felt absolutely weighed down by the number of spiritual practices I was “supposed” to be participating in. Worship songs. Small groups. Prayer meetings. Private devotions. Bible study. Acts of charity. Evangelism. The list was endless.

In addition to the wearying psychic weight of that long list of spiritual to-dos, was the undeniable underlying reality that few if any of those spiritual practices did much for me. True there were times in my spiritual life when some of them helped some of the time. But eventually I came to a point where engaging in those practices no longer helped me feel closer to God, made me a better person, or brought shalom (wholeness) into my world or anybody else’s. Finally, I got the message. Finally, I let them go.

The thing about deconstructing your religious practices is that eventually, your soul will probably start shouting, “Hey! I’m still hungry down here.” That’s when you have to get busy with the reconstructive process. The time will come when you’ll need to find the things that will feed your soul, connect you to something sacred, or just generally bulk up your karma.

Ta da! The blogosphere to the rescue! Here are some great non-religion-specific soulful practices that might scratch where it itches. Why not surf around and see if you intuitively respond to any of them, then try out the ones that sound good?

Ask yourself, “What is it you really want?”: Liz LaMoureux over at Be Present, Be Here (which, by the way, is my current mantra) tells us a story about being brave enough to ask for what she wants. Liz’s story is an affirmation to each of us, reminding us: “You are not too much. You are not asking too much.” This once again brings to mind that familiar but powerful saying:

“What would you attempt to do if you knew you would not fail?”

Go ahead. Follow Liz and make a list – ask the universe for what you really want.

Enjoy the View: What are the snapshot images that make up who you are and what you value? Jen at One Plus Two gives her inspiring views, and challenges you to make your own list. What will your view memories reveal? (Special props to Tiny Mantras for linking me to Jen’s site.)

Capture Your Dreams: Suzie Sacred recommends that you get all paste-and-scissory with your fine self and make a dream board of what you are imaging for yourself. Sometimes we get a little stagnant and find ourselves living into our past dreams instead of extending our hands to our now-and-not-yet imaginings. Suzie asks,

“Are the images you collect out of date for who you are today? What do you need to add to your life now that these things have changed?”

Head over to her place for links to a bunch of inspiring dream boards, then sit down and make one for yourself. (Big thanks to Mother Henna for directing us to Suzie.)

Give it Up:

A young girl asks a wise old woman, "How does one become a butterfly?"
With a twinkle in her eye, the old woman replies, "You must be willing to give up being a caterpillar."

Last but not least, Blossoming Soul asks “What are you ready to give up.” Her post inspired me to make my list awhile back (several, actually) and can testify that it was literally life changing. Be bold! Ask yourself, "What am I ready to give up in order to make room for something wonderful?"

Have you got a practice that feeds your soul? Share it in the comments below, or post it and leave us the link.

Namaste!

P.s. I’ll be looking for great posts about spirituality/faith and the environment for next week. If you’ve got a good one up, be sure to let me know. Email me: moi @ magpie-girl dot com.

This article is cross-posted at BlogHer as a part of my regular Monday posts on Religion and Spirituality. See you there!

mother mary calls to me, whispers words of wisdom…

The stones lie here, behind a building, beneath a sign, under the shadow of the grand cathedral. Once, sometime before 1100, there was a church here, dedicated to the Virgin Mary. This is what is left. This, and a small sign, first in Swedish and then roughly translated into English:

“This was Sancta Maria Minor, Little Mary’s church. The people loved Mary. She understood their language.’”

Is that what we long for, when we search for the feminine divine? Something Mary reflects in pale shadow? Someone who understand our language? I think yes. I think so.

“In my times of darkness is she is standing there in front of me, speaking words of wisdom….” Play us out boys…

Eden, then five, sits pretty and pensive at our passover table.

This is the first time in eight years that we won’t be celebrating Pesach (Passover) with our community. Our dishes and haggadah (prayer books) have arrived, but we’ve yet to gather the kind of friends that would want to take part in a 4 hours meal with this electic goy girl. I’m treating my Passover jones by writing about how I got started celebrating with a Seder. You can find that story over in my weekly post at BlogHer. And here’s some pretty pictures, taken by my friend Emily Button, from our first Passover with Monkfish Abbey, back in 2004.

Anointing everyone at the table before going in to dinner.

On Passover, we eat reclining on a pillow to show that we are free. (Slaves weren’t allowed to eat reclining.)

A full glass is sign of joy. Here we diminish the wine in our glass to signify solidarity with those who suffer.

Paul serves up matzo ball soup to Catie. (3 yrs)

Eden in the role of fairy at the arboretum in 2006. Picture by MadGiddy.

There is a demonstration garden at the college of agriculture and veterinarian arts, which lies between our flat and the children’s school. I walk through it sometimes, on my way back, to escape the roar of the traffic on the morning-busy streets around our new home. The garden is moving towards its finest season, unfurling leaves and blooms.

There might be fairies here, I think, and thin spaces such as the Celt’s revere. A friend of mine, a full-blown adult, believes in fairies. She is not the type to wear caftans either, or to name her children ‘Willow.’ She’s actually an incredibly intelligent and well reasoned academic. She works with the poor all over the world, and struggles to find paths of escape for those caught in the throes of human trafficking. She is wise, my friend, and knows you cannot love reason too much and still nurture hope. And so, fairies. Why not? Why can’t the earth and her energy—the creative force of fern and flower, earth and air—why can’t these things sometimes appear to those with sighted eyes? Stranger things have happened.

At the very least, there is creative power in this place, so eagerly tended by students, their futures unfurling before their very eyes—all the possibilities of their own growth spilling out with earth and seed from their mulch-rubbed fingertips. All this cultivating. All this growth. It is the first thing we know of our parental divines: God Created. God creates. In this bright urban garden, with people barely out of their teens, that holy work continues.

I walk through the curving paths, trying out a new graveled walk or step-stone passage each time I visit. Today the garden leads me to Mallard couples, sleeping in loose pairs on the grass with their heads tucked under their wings. They look for all the world like croquet balls abandoned when the players were called away to tea. There is a pond here too, with a marsh tucked into one curve, and a lily pad farm in the other. As I walk along the curve of the pond, past low borders of bent-willow fencing and calla lilies as yellow as lemon tarts, I am greeted by a cherry tree which stretches wide where the pond path meets the trail to the gate. I pause there under her branches, the beautiful cherry, always our first hope of Spring. The air seems to hum with energy. Thin Spots. Fairydom. In a heartbeat she christens me, the cherry tree and her humming court. And then, with a slight reluctance, I move on, towards the traffic and city bustle, the chores and the normal—life beyond the narrow gate.

Just before I reach the street, there is a transitional space of sorts—the brick-paved expanse of the college drive which stretches wide between the garden and the roadway. There, I am greeted by the school’s fountain: five charcoal granite slabs slick in the sunlight. I hesitate a moment, feeling obvious and strange. Then I walk up the slick lower steps to the spring bubbling forth at the top, dip in my hand, touch my forehead, breastbone, the boney crest of each shoulder.

A baptism then, into the life of fairy and mallard, lily and tree.

For most posts about my sacred life click here, or become present to your own sacred life with Sacred Life Sunday. Thank you for being here!

100 Graces: Mealtime Blessings
Marcia & Jack Kelly

My daughter Cate has always been a pray-er. When she was a toddler she saw “Jesus giving the butterflies food.” She’s never turned back.

We have a family ritual at dinner time of lighting the candles and saying a prayer. This year, for Christmas, Cate got 100 Graces: Mealtime Blessings in her stocking. Now, with the allure of so many choice in such a tiny book, even her sister who is less sold on the whole idea wrangles for a chance to say the dinner time prayer.

100 Graces: Mealtime Blessingsis a simple book:one page, one prayer. It’s ecclectic, multifaith and offers a little something for everyone. Cate’s current favorite:

“Just to be is a blessing. Just to live is holy.” -Abraham Joshu Heschel

and my current preference:

“O God, bless this food we are about to recieve. Give bread to those who hunger; and hunger for justice to us who have bread.” -a prayer from Nicaragua

Today’s Flavor: An easy ‘Amen.’

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How much time are we willing to spend debating right thinking at the expense of right living?

The last couple of years I’ve been captivated by the idea of orthopraxy as opposed to orthodoxy. Orthodoxy is the concept of ‘right thinking,’ or ‘right belief.’ In a system which requires orthodoxy, belonging requires one to believe a certain set of assertions. If one cannot ascribe to those beliefs, then membership in that system is denied, and one can no longer belong.

Orthopraxy on the other hand is the idea of having ‘right practice.’ Rather than requiring alignment to doctrinal assertions, an orthopraxy places the emphasis on living according to a certain collection of practices.

Karen Armstrong, an interfaith specialist who writes and teaches about Islam, Judaism, and Christianity, writes in her autobiography about her own realization that one could be a person of faith without holding orthodox beliefs.

As a part of her research work, Armstrong was introduced to Jewish scholar Hyam Maccoby, who introduced her to the idea that one could have a faith based upon right living rather than right belief. In fact, he told her, the idea that faith is primarily about right belief is largely a Christian phenomenon.

“It is easy to see that you were brought up Christian….Theology is just not important in Judaism, or in any other religion really. . … We have orthopraxy instead of orthodoxy…right practice rather than right belief. That’s all. You Christians make such a fuss about theology, but it’s not important in the way you think….We Jews don’t bother much about what we believe. We just do it instead.” The Spiral Staircase P. 235,236

This is probably an oversimplification, and certainly striving after right practice can easily become a legalistic lecture about ticking things off your holy checklist. Still, after a life time of worrying about my orthodoxy, it feels good to focus on how I’m living for awhile.

I’ve been especially inspired this week by soulful folks who have found small and beautiful ways to, as Maccoby says, “just do it” in the world. Each one is an example of an orthopraxy that reflects the beauty and creativity which lies at their spiritual cores.

Tess at Anchors and Masts is spreading the word about World Water Day and inspiring people to take simple, practical steps towards getting communities access to safe drinking water.

Over at Dahl Bat small-sized projects in literacy and fair trade in Kolkata, India.

Young Laura over at Twenty Five Days to Make a Difference has taken her values viral and has inspired kids and adults alike to do something proactive every month to make the world a better place.

And finally, in an act that hits close to home, a small group of Small is Beautiful bloggers are working together to do an on-line auction for sister-blogger Jenni Ballantyne of The Comfy Place. Jen is living her last days with fierce honesty as she looks at the end of line in her fight against colon cancer. To find out how you can help raise funds for her final treatment and for her son’s future, go over to Jena’s place at Bullseye Baby and do some orthopraxis of your very own.

Here’s to orthopraxis in all the best sense of the word. Shalom!

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is it enough
this story,
this ideal,
this wistful thing—

the teacher speaking soft in the garden,
mouthing my name,
warm-blooded and real.

when I grow tired of picking,
sorting fact from fiction,
lies like stones among the lentils,
truths as yellow bulbs among the rocks,

when I tire of this painstaking plucking

i hold instead,
one smooth egg
one round stone
one child, with chocolate on her mouth and songs on her tongue.

he is wisen, comes the lisp
he is wisen indeed!

tell me true things, i whisper,
my face held close,
warm against her neck.

she sings to me
an edict, a lullaby,
ubi caritas, maman,
ubi caritas et amor
ubi caritas, deus ibi est.

where there is charity, there is love
where there is love
there god is.

enough, i think,
to hold this egg
this stone
this child
enough, to say ‘amen.’