Navy Seal Wisdom

Today I called my mother’s doctor to inform her I was concerned about my mother’s health. I believed my mother was not getting the rest she needed to heal the radiation burns on her legs and every time I recommended more rest, she said that it didn’t make any difference. So I was taking my case to her doctor, but first, I had to get through the receptionist.

I explained to the receptionist that my mother would respond to a doctor’s order, such as an order for rest in the afternoon or to stay off her feet after a certain number of hours. The receptionist took the message and said she would give it to the doctor.

This call to the doctor’s office was the latest of my attempts to stop the busyness of mother’s life and create time and space for her to rest and heal. I was feeling frustrated and overwhelmed by my mom’s unwillingness to go along with my plan.

I decided to stop by the yacht club to see Barnaby. Instead I found Chuck Pfarrer sitting at a table with his portable office. He was exactly the person I needed to see.

As a cancer survivor, surely he knew the correlation between rest and healing. I thought I would enlist him in my efforts to get my mother to rest more. But the conversation took many turns as he artfully and skillfully and humorously took me down a road toward realization and compassion.

First it was established that my mother is now able to sleep at night with the help of her new medications. This, he said, was crucial. Then he questioned whether her condition was getting worse. Well, no, not exactly, I admitted.

Next he had me consider my mother’s baseline. As an example he asked how many times my mother had taken a nap in her lifetime. Hmmm. Good point. I recall my mother taking a nap in the 70’s when she had 4 young children and was going to school full-time to get a college degree. I conceded she rarely took a nap. That is her baseline he said.

Ok, I get it. My request is unrealistic given her baseline. An unenforceable rule as Dr. Luskin would call it, and it was only causing me grief.

I started crying and Chuck sat across from me, behind an opened steel brief-case. He said, I am holding your hand here. Without actually reaching over the table and taking my hand, I knew he was. Chuck, a big, strong Navy Seal, who had lived through countless military operations and medical procedures, was lovingly walking and laughing me through the grief.

Then he had me consider that everyone deals with recovery in their own way and that for some, like himself, the best way is to stay busy and active and not sit on the couch.

I wanted my mom to read about the law of circulation so that she would slow down and allow herself to receive, but Chuck was telling me about how some people just feel better when they are giving and doing. And, he said, this is her comfort zone.

In the end I knew he was right, my mother was doing the best she could and I was the one who needed to relax! Thanks to Chuck, I left the yacht club without my unenforceable rule. I am so glad I followed my instinct to stop by. I thought I was going to see Barnaby and get help for my mom. Instead I found a Wise Warrior Soul and got help for myself.

Birdsong

While I was at the Celebrate Your Life Conference on Sunday, I used my lunch-break to take a walk. As I approached the main intersection I felt something was amiss and I heard a strange sound buzzing in the air. I looked around to see what was making the noise.

When I reached the corner I stopped and listened. It sounded like an electrical buzz and at first I thought it was the traffic signal. Eventually I discovered the sound was coming from the birds.

I continued to listen. It seemed as though the birds were singing the song of the traffic signal --- working together and amplifying it.

I was shocked. I know birds are mimickers (recent house-sitting experience reminded me that birds sing the song of car alarms and other electrical devices) but somehow this seemed over the top.

At first I felt a bit sorry for the birds and then I realized we are not much different --- picking up the sounds around us and amplifying them. As I walked away from the intersection, I reminded myself of the importance of finding and singing our natural song.

This morning I am happy to wake at the FryFarm. Out here on the county line, we have no internet or cell reception. Very little electrical interference. I enjoy the sounds of the birds and I can be still and hear my own song.

I am grateful for Rickie Byars Beckwith who reminds me there are songs inside each one of us.

Celebrate!

I recently returned from the Celebrate Your Life conference. This was my first time attending the conference. In February, when I received the brochure in the mail, my immediate reaction was to throw it away. We had just arrived in Michigan and as far as I knew, no one had our address. “Celebrate Your Life?” I had never heard of it before and have no idea how I got on the mailing list. Frankly I was a little bothered since I have spent the last several years eradicating unwanted mail.

But somehow I resisted the urge to discard the brochure. I opened it and began reading about some of the authors who would be presenting. Michael Beckwith. He is one of my favorites. Debbie Ford, I love her work. Hmmmm. I didn’t know the other authors and the price seemed prohibitive, but something told me to hang onto the brochure. So I put it back in the mail bag and there it sat.

A couple of months passed, and eventually I picked up the bag and went through the papers. I found the brochure and this time I had a feeling it would be important for me be there. I thought about it for a while and then picked up the phone and made the financial commitment.

This conference was an amazing experience --- one that has catapulted me into greater awareness and celebration of myself and all of life. I had so many wonderful realizations, revelations and insights. I am so grateful to have received this brochure. I now believe it was one of those divine gifts and I am glad that I listened and allowed myself to accept it.

Daisy

This morning I took a walk in whatever green I could find near the Yorktown Shopping Center outside of Chicago. I am here for the Celebrate Your Life Conference. Fortunately there is a lovely little pond with tree-lined banks at the neighboring Baptist Seminary/Conference Center. [For a second I thought the sign said Buddhist Conference Center because I could only see the “ist” and there was a beautiful contemplation tree that reminded me of where the Buddha awakened.]

The area where I walked was abundant with pinecones and daisies. I looked at the daisies and thought about the game I used to play as a girl, “He loves me, he loves me not.”

Now this games seems so foreign to me: the belief that there is any truth to this game, that there is any power in it, or that nature of life would be so fickle. What I have learned about Life (or God or the Universe or whatever you want to call it) is that it is always loving --- not just sometimes, on certain days or under certain conditions, but all of the time. I don’t have to ask it as a question “loves me?” I know that it is true. And I am extremely blessed to have this in my relationship with my husband where I receive constant unconditional love.

I pick my daisy and carry it back with me to the Westin where my Conference is being held. I was happy to hear the panelist, Elizabeth Lesser, say that there really is no difference between the best-selling authors on the stage and the people in the audience as each one of us, if put on the stage, has incredible wisdom to share. This too I know is true. I am grateful for the reminders of truth everywhere I go.

Best Friend

The other day in the car, Barnaby was telling someone about a particular SNL digital video which we love so much. He said my best friend’s kids made the video. I noticed myself starting to object to the term “best friend” but I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to distract from the point he was making. Best friend? This is not how I would have described a person who is not my own age and who I have only seen a few dozen times. What was my objection to him saying that my prayer partner was my best friend? We have been talking on the phone 3 mornings per week since January of 2004 (in the beginning we spoke 5 days per week). We have shared the most intimate details of our lives. She knows practically everything about me and always sees and knows the best for me. I paused on that thought. She knows the best for me. She sees it when I cannot see it myself. Yes, I concluded, she is a best friend. I have more than one prayer partner and I am grateful to have a life full of best friends and people who know the highest and best for me. Sometimes my best friend is my mother, sometimes it is my husband, or brother, or teacher, or sometimes it is even me…

Redneck

Last night for Barnaby’s Birthday Dinner we sat down to a table of fresh fish caught by his brother, fresh arugula from his mother’s garden and the wonderful pie made from the neighbor’s rhubarb.

Barnaby wanted his birthday meal to be as homegrown as possible --- made from the efforts at the FryFarm in Michigan and the family cabin on Gull Lake in Minnesota.

I could not believe that I had anything to do with the tasty salad we were eating. Barnaby’s mother reassured me that this was the very same arugula we planted a few weeks ago.

When I was working in the garden, with the sun on my neck, I began contemplating the term redneck. Redneck was a word I used to describe a person from the country, like a hick. It was intended as a put-down to describe someone who I thought didn’t know anything.

But time has a way of changing perceptions. After living in California for the last 9 years I have grown to appreciate local and slow food. California also gave me the chance to work with farm laborers and their families and introduced me to a new State Holiday.

Now I find the term redneck endearing. A word of high praise for all who are involved in our food production. To me, redneck now conveys a sense of self-sufficiency a la Emerson and Thoreau.

Apparently my “new view” is part of a growing trend (as reported in the book Animal, Vegetable, Miracle). But when I sit in the hot-tub at the Chelsea Wellness Center and listen to the women talk, this is the way they have been eating all along --- meats from their own animals, vegetables from their gardens, canning their produce for the winter, etc. They don’t buy much from the store and they don’t need a book to teach them about it since it is something they already know. And I thought they didn't know anything.

The Pies that Bind Us

I first discovered the sanctity of pie after I moved to Traverse City, Michigan in 1994 and began doing work in the UP. (That’s the Upper Peninsula for those of you who don’t know Michigan.) I loved the ritual of afternoon pie and coffee. Time to slow down, take a break, be with others and reflect on the day. A well needed pause.

Pie is fairly popular lately with TV shows like Pushing Daisies and movies like Waitress. I expect the resurgence of interest in pie is a longing for the “old days” when people had time to bake and sit around and talk over a piece of pie. In our neighborhood in Oakland, California, a bakery moved in and was selling fresh pies for $25 each. It is so popular they are opening a second location.

For my husband’s family, pie is sacred. I have heard the stories about his uncle who knows every piece of good pie between Kearney, Nebraska and Vail, Colorado. This is more than just knowing the pie stops, he has taste-tested every place. I have witnessed Barnaby’s mother running out to the garden and then surprising us minutes later with fresh rhubarb pie. The power of pie has been known to get this family into the car instantly upon mention of the word. Pie breaks gender barriers as the men and women of this family are equally good at making and eating pie.

Last night, after our 14½ hour drive from Michigan to Minnesota, we were greeted with dinner and two kinds of pie --- an apple and a banana cream, both of which were made by Barnaby’s uncle. Tonight Barnaby’s mom and I make a lemon meringue together. And tomorrow we will be having another kind of pie for Barnaby’s birthday. See pie charts attached below for pies of years past. I told you, this family takes pie seriously.

So what’s the point? When I was walking this morning, it occurred to me that pie covers the 5 Languages of Love:

• Words of affirmation: Thank you for the pie, I love it! It is so good. You are wonderful. ☺
• Quality time: Time spent making the pie together; or enjoying the pie together; or talking and sharing while one person is making the pie (or calling your mother for the recipe!)
• Receiving Gifts: The gift of a freshly baked pie. Need I say more?
• Acts of Service: Making someone you love a pie. Taking the time and the thought to make someone a pie goes a long way.
• Physical Touch: Making a pie together, hugging and kissing your child or your sweetie as you make a pie and share the spatula. The hug you receive when you give the gift of pie to a friend or neighbor.

Pie transcends all bounds. Pie is finding sacred in the every day. Pie is enjoying the fruits of Mother Nature. Pie is…