PHOTO: Mary van Balen
Another cool, blue-sky day. I rose early to bake a carrot cake before driving off to work. A friend’s birthday is Monday, and this particular recipe requires refrigeration for two days before icing and serving. A kitchen that smells of spices and carrots justifies an earlier than usual start to my day. After making counter top room for cooling cake, I noticed the striking color combination of drying Italian chili peppers and chestnuts waiting to be roasted.

Both were shared bounty from my walk with Melanie a few days before. With packing mostly finished and legal papers finally signed, I look forward to spending more time cooking and baking. One of the pleasures of making one’s own meals is enjoying the variety of colors, textures, and aromas that accompany such culinary pursuit.

I will succumb to fast food, restaurants, and take out pizza, but they will not constitute the major part of food intake. At least I hope not. Truly “seeing” an apple, feeling its shape, smelling its freshness is part of my food “ritual.” I leave eggplant resting on the counter for a day or two to drink in its shiny purpleness; appreciating the assortment of shapes and infinite shades of green in a tossed greens salad before the first forkful is raised to my mouth; smelling cinnamon and ginger when lifting the cookie tin lid.

Cooking for oneself has many advantages. Cost of course is a big one for those of us on tight budgets. Even greater than that is the opportunity for immersion in the experience, from beginning to end. Present to the moment, as I like to say, equals prayer since God is right there with us, enjoying our enjoyment.
© 2010 Mary van Balen

Photo: Mary van Balen
On the last two mornings of September I walked with a friend along paths that wended through her property. New England Asters, golden rod, bindweed, and bittersweet splashed color across fields of browning green grasses and dark stalks that once held summer flowers. Fog hung hundreds of spider webs with crystal drops revealing the variety of design: some webs lay close to the ground, others hung between tall grasses. Later, we sipped tea and ate a breakfast of dates, nuts, and thin toast with butter. A perfect way to say good-bye to summer and September.

This morning I woke to a clear blue sky brushed with a few thin white clouds. My sister from Michigan had been visiting, and after she left I decided to enjoy the first October morning by sitting on the wooden bench swing in the back yard, skimming grass tips with the soles of my feet while slowly eating a Heath Klondike ice cream bar. Ah.

Thich Nhat Hanh would have approved. I savored every bite, letting the smooth ice cream melt in my mouth and paying attention to the taste of toffee chocolate coating. The rest of the day was split between errands, phone conversations with a fiend recuperating from by-pass surgery and a late evening cookout with one of my daughters, washing down hamburgers and baked beans with the season’s first apple cider.

October feels especially invigorating this year: Mirroring nature’s change, my life is moving from one season to another, and I am ready. Facing an unknown future, I feel like I am walking into crisp, cool air. My energy level is higher than it has been for a year.

Looking at leaves beginning to turn into gold, I remember that life is a cycle and that death is really the beginning of new life. I look forward to the new season in nature and in my own journey.

As you observe the changes around you and feel cool air slip over your skin, give thanks for life that grows of out of death in our world and in our souls, even if its roots sink deep into pain. October speaks eloquently: Change, and life are good. Celebrate them both!
© 2010 Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Thich Nhat Hanh, photographer unknown

On the back cover of “Living Buddha, Living Christ,” by Thich Nhat Hanh, Thomas Merton wrote: “Thich Nhat Hanh is more my brother than many who are nearer to me in race and nationality, because he and I see things the same exact way.”

Perhaps surprising from a Cistercian monk, but not if you have read much of Merton and Thich Nhat Hanh. I took “Living Buddah, Living Christ” with me on a trip to Thailand, knowing I would be staying in a predominantly Buddhist country. (On an earlier trip I read “Buddhism for Beginners” for the same reason: to understand and appreciate the people I would be living amongst.)

While sorting through books, deciding I could not live without, which I would pack away, and which I could give away, I came across another book by the Buddhist monk: “The Miracle of Mindfulness,” given to me by my daughter. Last week, I began reading it before going to sleep. The chapter “A Day of Mindfulness” resonated with deep-seated longing in my soul; What Thich Nhat Hanh called “a day of mindfulness” I knew as “Sabbath.”

Every Saturday, observant Jews move along my street on their way to synagogue. The men wear suits and yarmulkes or broad brimmed black hats; women were dresses and hats, often walking in heels. Some push baby strollers or hold the hands of their children. I watch for a moment, inspired by their faithfulness, then continue with my busy day.

Christians keep Sunday, the Lord’s day, sort of. Some are more faithful than others, and from all the people I see shopping at the department store where I work, I suspect most of us use Sunday to accomplish what we have been unable to do the other six days of the week.

Reading Hanh’s chapter on a day devoted to mindfulness hit me like a cold wave on a hot day. His words grabbed my whole attention: mind, body, spirit, perhaps because they expressed in an exotic way a reality that has become dangerously familiar. How often have I written about the importance of being “present to the moment” in order to encounter God? How often am I successful in doing it?

From “The Miracle of Mindfulness”:

“In principle, of course every day should be your day, and every hour your hour. But the fact is that very few of us have reached such a point…So I urge that everyone set aside one day each week.”

“To set up a day of mindfulness, figure out a way to remind yourself at the moment of waking that this is your day of mindfulness.” (A van Gogh print of sheaves of wheat that reminds me of all creation joining in prayer hangs in my bedroom.)

“Don’t do any task in order to get it over with. Resolve to do each job in a relaxed way, with all your attention. Enjoy and be one with your work…The feeling that any task is a nuisance will soon disappear if it is done in mindfulness.”

“Drink your tea slowly and reverently, as if it is the axis on which the whole earth revolves–slowly, evenly, without rushing toward the future.”

(Drinking my cup of morning tea today, I realized I was not in the moment at all, but busily planning how I can pack up all the stuff in the spare bedroom to make it look neat for a realtor’s visit on Monday, what strategy I should use for finding a better job, when I can squeeze in time to write notes to two friends who have had surgery. The list goes on. I won’t meet God in the moment when I cannot be IN the moment, or as Hanh says, in mindfulness.)

“In the evening, you might read scripture and copy passages, write letters to friends, or do anything else you enjoy outside of your normal duties during the week. But whatever you do, do it in mindfulness.”

“Somehow we must find a way to allow each worker a day of mindfulness. Such a day is crucial. Its effect on the other days of the week is immeasurable…The day of mindfulness will begin to penetrate the other days of the week, enabling you to eventually live seven days a week in mindfulness.”

No wonder Merton found a brother in Thich Nhat Hanh. Christian mystics and teachers of prayer encourage similar practices to guide those who desire a deep expereince God in their lives and to grow closer to Jesus Christ.

Thank you, Thich Nhat Hanh for the powerful reminder.
© 2010 Mary van Balen

Chart: Astro Bob
If you have clear skies tonight and a chance to go outside after 9pm, you will see Jupiter brighter than any star in the sky. The planet is closer to earth than it has been for forty-seven years! If you are interested in finding out why, check Astro Bob’s website, a user friendly site for those who are new to watching the night sky as well as for those with more experience.

Jupiter will be easy to see for a number of nights, so if you didn’t see it tonight, you will have plenty of opportunities to enjoy the sight. However, the planet will be a bit further away tomorrow and nights following.

I love to sit out in the long wooden swing just outside the back door. Even in light-polluted city skies, Jupiter and the moon are breathtaking. A small pair of binoculars will enhance your view of the moon, and perhaps you will be able to see one or more of Jupiter’s moons. If you have a telescope, consult Astro Bob’s website for times when Jupiter’s large red spot will be visible.

Perhaps Psalm 8 was written on a night like tonight. I include James Cotter’s rendering of the Psalm. ( Psalms for a Pilgrim People) Those of you familiar with Cotter’s work will not be surprised, but if you have not read his “unfolding” of Psalms, you probably will be as you read his additions to this one. While it is not a new or literal translation, Cotter’s words capture the wonder of the universe from the perspective of a 21st century poet.

“Refrain: Creator bod, Source of all life,
how gloriously does your name resound,
echoing to the bounds of the universe!

The morning stars sing for joy, and the youngest child cries your name.
The weak in the world shame the strong, and silence the proud and rebellious.

When I look at the heavens, even the work of your fingers,
the moon and the stars majestic in their courses –
the eagle riding the air, the dolphin ploughing the sea,
the gazelle leaping the wind, the sheep grazing the fells –
who are we humans beings that you keep us in mind,
children, women, and men that you care so much for us?

Yet still you bring us to life, creating us after your image,
stewards of the planet you give us as our home.
How awesome a task you entrust to our hands.
How fragile and beautiful is this good earth.

Creator God, amid the immensities of the universe you seek us out and call us to be partners in your work of creating. May we not fail you.”

Amen!
© 2010 Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Pierre Teilhard de Chardin
After an “on the porch” picnic of barbecued ribs, homemade applesauce and slaw, steaming cornbread, and fresh fruit, our small group moved to the living room for prayer and a report from one member of her recent trip to Africa where she had presented workshops on centering prayer and mid-life transitions to religious communities in Zambia.

Part of our prayer was reflection on wisdom from paleontologist,theologian, and mystic Pierre Teilhard de Chardin. The adapted reading spoke to my soul, impatient and disheartened with my life’s current situation.

Rather than comment on the reading, I will share it here with confidence that it will speak to the heart of many others. The text did not have any notes identifying the source (though it appears to be taken from a letter)or the editor Teilhard’s words.

“Above all, trust in the slow work of God. We are, quite naturally, impatient in everything to reach the end without delay.

We would like to skip the intermediate stages. We are impatient of being on the way to something unknown, something new, and yet it is the law of all progress that it is made by passing through some stages of instability– and that may take a very long time.

And so I think it is with you. Your ideas and values mature gradually–let them grow, let them shape themselves, without undue haste. Don’t try to force them on, as though you could be today what time (that is to say, grace and circumstances and acting on your own good will) will make you tomorrow.

Only God could say what this new spirit, gradually forming within you, will be. Give God the benefit of believing that God’s hand is leading you, and accept the anxiety of feeling yourself in suspense and incomplete.”
© 2010 Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen
I take heart remembering that Blessed Pope John XXIII, in his autobiography, “Journal of a Soul”, called himself a beginner when it came to prayer, always a beginner. Last night I went to bed in an agitated state, thinking about full time jobs and my lack of having one, the mess waiting to be neatly repacked in boxes, and final papers for the dissolution. I woke in pretty much the same state, so I shouldn’t have been surprised when quiet prayer was anything but quiet.

I confess to keeping the Deity patiently waiting as I jumped in and out (mostly out) of recollected stillness in the Divine Presence. One moment my mind was emptying all itself of self as Sir Thomas Browne wrote in his insightful poem; in the next it was working out a cover letter for a position at a local university. This happened again and again.

My life, my soul, seemed to be spread out in disorder that rivaled that of my belongings taunting me from behind the closed bedroom door. What hope for me? John XXIII might have thought of himself as a beginner, but he DID become pope after all. I can’t even find a job.

Banishing those destructive thoughts, I tried again and again to return to stillness. For forty minutes I tried.

“I’m sorry I’m such a mess,” was the best prayer I could muster. “I hope your feminine side is ready to draw me close. I could use a warm comforting hug,” I continued. “And for the Father in you, well, I could use some rock-solid confidence and protection from myself. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

So it went. Now I am on to laundry, packing boxes, and delivering papers to my attorney. One encouraging thought that the good pope and I share: When I return tomorrow, the Holy One will be there as always, patiently waiting with Love and a smile.

PHOTO:DEXA Bone Scan Image Rock Creek Imaging
At 8:30 am I was ushered into the ultrasound room for an inside look at liver, spleen, kidneys, and gall bladder. I watched the screen on my left as the technician skillfully rolled the transducer over my skin, and asked questions as shadowy images appeared. She explained which organs were which, showed me how she measured them, and interpreted bright colors as indicators of blood flow.

Less than fifteen minutes elapsed from beginning to end of the procedure which would provide my doctor with the information she had requested. I was prepared to find a breakfast spot with free WiFi (Fasting is required for the ultrasound.) to fuel up and write a blog before the next scheduled test: a dexa bone scan.

Thoughtfully, the technician checked with the bone scan radiologist and she was able to slip me in before her first scheduled appointment at 9am. I moved from one room to the other and stretched out on the padded table to let another bit of technology look into my body, this time to capture the state of my bones.

This test required less time than the ultrasound and before 9, I was out the door and on my way to breakfast.

Not only is medical technology amazing, but so is the easy access to it that many of us have. I did some checking with my insurance company and the imaging lab to determine cost and my ability to pay. Still, I am fortunate to be financially able to afford the procedures, at least at this moment.

Many people in our country do not have access to insurance or do not have cash to pay for basic health care let alone such diagnostic tests.

“How does the health care bill affect your ability to purchase insurance?” my sister asked as we walked together one evening. I have to confess, I am not sure. I checked a government site a while ago and did not see how the bill would make my buying health insurance more affordable. I will look again, more closely.

I have a safety net for a while. Many do not. The current health care bill passed only after many provisions were dropped, making it mediocre at best. Alone among industrialized Western nations, the US continues to fail its citizens in this area. I am grateful for my present access to care which maintains my good health and detects problems in early stages.
I take this access for granted as I suspect most do who have good jobs and insurance.

This morning’s tests reminded me that I am privileged among our citizens. In the current political climate, changing our health system into one that provides basic care for all has proven impossible. Despite the temptation to throw up our hands in frustration and give up, we must continue to hope and work for change. That is the only way change can come.
© 2010 Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen
Over the past fifty years I have entrusted my heart, soul, and mind to entries in journal pages written in eclectic styles that include reflection, documentation, study, rant, questions, lists, drawings, and pasted bits of print, but whatever the form, the writing always ends up as prayer. At least my definition of prayer, which is presenting oneself to God in the very moment, aware, if only briefly, of resting in Divinity’s infinite self, breathing the Holy One’s breath as my own.

In dusty boxes, my life’s journey is recorded between covers of various sizes and colors on unlined pages that allow my pen and mind free range. My fifth grade handwriting teacher would be appalled by the seeming chaos, with words scrawled right to left, up and down along margins, squeezed between drawings, photographs, and program notes. But as the Spirit hovered over the swirling masses of creation, she sometimes shows up and helps me make sense of life that has spilled onto the pages.

Since their youth, my children have watched me fill up journals at all hours of the day and in all types of places: my office, the living room, on a park bench, at the beach house. Those memories stirred in my oldest daughter’s mind while she browsed a gift shop in a science and history museum in Louisiana, and when she returned home she stopped by and reached into her jacket, pulling out a small book.

“I brought you something, Mom,” she said. “I think you’ll like it. Jen and I went to a museum, but it wasn’t that interesting, so we spent some time looking around the gift shop. I saw this journal and thought that it was something you would use; it’s handmade.”

I took it from her and looked closely. A tiger-eye stone embellished the soft leather cover; the weight felt perfect in my hand. After we shared dinner and conversation about her trip, I gave my daughter a hug and many thanks. I waved goodbye, then sat on the couch, stroked the cover of my new book, and felt the pages. Unique, it should hold something other than the usual variety of entries that filled my other journals, but what?

The next morning, I knew: Blessings. This gift would become the repository for blessings that I manage to recognize. God is always showering the gift of self upon us, but I am often too busy or preoccupied to notice. Every once in a while, though, a blessing hits me over the head and I can’t miss it. The first one in this book? The love of a daughter: a daughter who, while on vacation, remembered me and my journal keeping and brought me an exquisite book to fill as I wish.
© 2010 Mary van Balen

Life does not always provide opportunities to thank those who have made a difference in our lives, but when it does, the moment is one of grace. Last week I had the pleasure of welcoming into my home my high school Latin teacher who was in town for a class reunion.

The last time I had seen Louanna, she was called Sr. John Martha and wore the habit of the Sisters of Notre Dame de Namur. More than love of Latin drew me back to visit Louanna during my first year of college. She had introduced me to the classics and through them to discussions of ageless themes that thread through human existence: friendship, suffering, faithfulness, old age, morality, common good, conflict, power, and the corruption that often attends it.

Despite disliking school for most of my undergraduate life, I found Latin class to be a bright spot as I trudged through high school years. We translated Virgil’s Aeneid, Cicero’s essays, and had lively discussions, grappling with issues these great thinkers encountered. I remember one question brought up by the love affair of Aeneas and Dido: Can one love to a fault? Some classmates said yes. I thought of my mother, one of the most loving people I knew and pondered the matter: From a Christian perspective, one cannot love too much, I decided. Wisdom and prudence are necessary when choosing how to express great love, but the love itself? Jesus gave us the answer. That I remember the text and my personal reflection on it forty odd years later is testament to the quality of Louanna’s teaching.

Near the end of my senior year, when Louanna asked if we would like to sell our copies of the Aeneid to the incoming class, only two students did not: my best friend, Jolaine and me. We treasured the deep purple book with its thin paper foldout vocabulary page and wonderful footnotes. “We’ll translate it again,” we told each other. I am not sure about Jolaine’s book, but mine travelled with me to college where I did translate it occasionally as I worked through other texts in Latin class.

Knowledge of Latin provided unexpected help when I backpacked through Europe a few summers later and stopped quite by chance in the beautiful town of Zernez. The gateway to the Swiss National Park, it is nestled in the Alps in a small area of Switzerland where Romansh is spoken, even today. To my delight, I could read signs and understand a little conversation. Of course, I could also translate Latin inscriptions on monuments in Rome, but hearing a linguistic cousin of Latin spoken by the living? That was exciting.

Today I keep a Latin/English dictionary handy and am thankful for the understanding of English and grammar that comes as a bonus with Latin studies. I am most grateful to my teacher for the introduction to great thinkers, authors, and poets. Louanna was delighted to learn that one of my daughters graduated with a degree in Classical Languages. I was delighted with the opportunity to spend Sunday morning with the woman who provided not only an oasis in my high school years, but also a love of classics and language that continues to enrich my life.
© 2010 Mary van Balen

Many things, including this blog, were put on hold for the past week while I was busy packing boxes, making runs to Headstart or the Saint Vincent de Paul center with donations, and sorting through the last possessions left at the house as we prepared for closing.

I look on the successful sale of our home in this difficult economy as a grace. On the market for just a little over two months, our home was purchased by a young couple as taken with the park-like backyard as we had been twenty-eight years ago, and handing my house keys across the table to them was a joy.

Getting to that closing, however, in the three weeks from contract to sale, was not easy and included a hastily put together garage sale, endless phone calls and emails to determine what should be saved and what could be given away, and dividing what remained of jointly owned goods.

For weeks after work, I grabbed a fast food dinner and drove a half-hour to the house to help finish the job. No time for blogging or much of anything else. Now that the sale is history, I can return to “pre-sale” routines. The additional boxes sitting in my bedroom and living room waiting to be sorted through and repacked can be dealt with at a relaxed pace. I still need to find a full time job and catch up on writing projects, but with no more trips to the house or working into the early morning emptying it, my load is lightened. As I told a friend, I can see a light at the end of this tunnel.

Current changes in my life have not been easy. They require perseverance, faith, sweat, and sometimes tears. Support of family and friends have enabled me to keep going when I have felt like giving up. With gratitude and hope, I can happily say this particular challenge has been successfully met!