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Macrina's Journal:
things that must be said

    Journaling is an important spiritual practice for me.  Each morning I sit under my sycamore tree and journal.  If weather does not permit or if I am traveling I  see the sycamore tree with my heart’s eye.  This is the same tree that I talk about on page 133 of my book, A Tree Full of Angels.  It’s the tree I once used as a spiritual director.  It was young then.  Now, like myself, it is looking toward the evening of life.  It’s my inspiration tree.  It holds stories and I listen.   In this journaling section I will share with you (one each month) selections from my daily journal.  Happy Journaling to all who come to my window for you, too, must have hearts full of things that must be said.

Looking for Home

    Each book I have written is like a special child.  As I look at my Song of the Seed child, which in reality is three ten day retreats I have designed for people to pray as their schedules allow, I think of all my books this one has not been fully discovered.  I have been praying this book again and quote here from Day 9 of one retreat.

    The image of wandering in the wilderness lost and hungry struck a chord in me today.  There is a restlessness that has plagued me all my life.  It is that hungry, lost part of me pacing within and always looking for home.  It feels like being lost in my own heart.  There is a wild place within me where untamed creatures seem to dwell.  Yet I am discovering that alongside those untamed things lives something tame and completely at ease with the wild things.  When my restlessness subsides, I get a glimpse of its face.  It is a kind of gentleness and understanding that is at home with the wild things.  When I am at peace with this beautiful wildness, I feel closest to God.  My restlessness comes from my inability to accept the blessing of the paradox of the marriage of the wild and tame creature within.  No wonder I feel lost and hungry, living in all the confusion that comes from fighting!  The storm comes in the fighting.  The peace comes in abiding.  So I will learn to abide and be at home with who I am.  For I have come to believe that this wild-tame creature inside me is a part of God.

                                         ©Macrina Wiederkehr
                                            The Song of the Seed

Outside my window

There’s a poem outside my window
that refuses to be written down.
Having no need to be published,
It desires rather to be taken in,
Utterly received, tenderly integrated,
lovingly included in my life.

It summons me
to behold it in silence,
cradle its healing graces,
enjoy its magical aura,
keep it secret
except for those
who notice it on their own.

It does not wish
to be proclaimed, named or analyzed.
It desires rather to be slowly revealed,
honored and absorbed.
As it shyly releases its energy
it wants to enchant me, entrance me,
drawing me into the miracle
of being in the quiet
mystery of its company.

Look out your window!
There’s a poem waiting for you too.

                     ©Macrina Wiederkehr

A Purple Cloth and an Empty Bowl
                                                  
Every Lent I throw a little purple cloth on my personal altar and place there an empty bowl.  Sometimes the bowl is wooden, sometimes glass, sometimes clay or pewter. It doesn’t matter what kind of bowl; what matters is that the bowl is empty.  If it were not empty it would just be a chunk of wood or a lump of clay.  It is the emptiness that enables it to hold treasures.  It is into that empty space that I gaze with wistful eyes and longing heart.  Desire for God is, after all, one of the primary aspirations of the monastic heart, and so my Lenten Longing almost always, in some form or another,  focuses on my desire to become a space for God.  The empty bowl reminds me of my deepest longing to rid myself of the clutter that stands in the way of my becoming that consecrated holy space for God,

And so my Lenten questions are almost always the same questions.

What blocks me from being the person I want to be?
What halts my love?
What limits my relationship with God, self and others?
What do I need to surrender today?

©Macrina Wiederkehr, OSB

Receiving and Believing

    Christmas was different this year (2008).  I spent it in the hospital in rehab after a complete hip replacement.  It turned out to be a true spiritual experience.  After all, Christmas begins in the heart rather than under a tree laden with gifts.   Christmas is about birth and life.  It’s about receiving and believing.  Of course it is easy for me to say this because I know there are people out there somewhere who love me and care for me.   I don’t have to always be alone while there are those in our world who have no choice. 

    Even so, it did take some effort to live in the NOW and it was that eternal now that saved me from self-pity.  The most difficult part of my Christmas was needing to be dependent.  As I reflected on that reality I had to smile as I recalled that in celebrating Christmas we are, in some ways, celebrating the dependency of God.  God becomes small and poor. 

    I did feel small and poor this Christmas and it was OK.  A poem by Mario Benedetti rescued me, becoming a beautiful source for my prayer.  The poem, entitled Little Stones at My Window, suggests that once in awhile joy throws stones at our window letting us know that it’s waiting for us.  The poet then suggests that  Lying flat on our backs is an elegant and comfortable position for receiving and believing.  During this holy season and on into the new year I have spent a lot of time lying flat on my back, receiving and believing.

I receive the slow work of healing moving through my body.
I receive the faithful constancy of my breath, transformed into      prayer.
I receive my inner child in honor of the Christ Child.
I receive the unexpected and surprising gift of NOW. 
I receive silence and joy.

I believe the caretakers around my bed are angels in disguise.
I believe that a positive attitude will help me heal more quickly.
I believe that creative silence is a gift the world needs.
I believe that every person has a little peace to offer the world.
I believe that much good news goes unannounced.
I believe that learning to be dependent can be a great grace.
I believe that deep in the human heart is the power to heal the      world.

Go now.  Lie flat on your back.  It’s a wonderful position of      surrender.
Receive and Believe the Good News.
                                                           
                                              ©Macrina Wiederkehr, OSB

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