Category Archives: Theology

How to heal your life.

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Woman raising fist in triumph

These eight actions will heal your life. 

Three Foundations:

  • Embodiment. Your body is the only thing you have for your entire life. Know your embodied self. Honor your body. Listen to your body. Learn to love your body.
  • Awareness. Be courageously present to your life: body, mind, heart, soul, spirit.
  • Ownership. Examine your theology. Deconstruct and reconstruct as you choose. Reclaim your rightful authority over your beliefs. 

Four Healing Shifts:

  • More soul, less façade. Explore the difference between your essential self and your social self. We all have both, and we need both. Learn which one is driving your bus, and how to change drivers if you choose to.
  • More acceptance, less resistance. Explore your beliefs about the inevitable changes of being alive in a human body. To live is to change. Much of our suffering comes from misunderstanding and resisting change. 
  • More intention, less reaction. Explore how your thoughts are causing your feelings, not the other way around. This is good news, because you can learn to choose your thoughts. 
  • More creator, less victim. Explore the victim triangle and the empowerment dynamic. Create the life you want, instead of passively settling for the life you have. 

Put it all together.

  • Design a solid, personalized, do-able plan to create what you want in your life.

These eight actions are the core components of my Coaching Intensive, a culmination of everything I’ve learned in my six decades of loving, suffering, learning, and delighting in my one life.

I’d love to share them with more of you and dig deeply into them, so this space will be devoted to exploring them in depth, one each week until the end of the year.

Currently my Coaching Intensive is only available in a private coaching format. I’ll have a special announcement soon about another way you can work with me to implement these eight healing actions, starting in January. (If you just cringed because that feels salesy, I promise I’m not being coy. I’m just still working on the details.)

PS. Thank you for sticking with me as my right hand heals from its surgical intervention. I’m typing with nine fingers now! And emerging from my chrysalis full of words and ideas! 

The Patron Saint of “Both/And”

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There’s a hidden creek in the Cascades west of Bend that we call “Fairy Moss Creek.” I spent an hour there a couple of days ago, in the company of an American Dipper. (Dippers, also called Water Ouzels, are North America’s only aquatic songbird.)

This dipper’s right leg appears to be useless. She drags it along behind her over moss-covered rocks and through the water as she goes about her dipper business.

The rills aggregating to form Fairy Moss Creek appear out of bare rock just a little way upstream from the downed log on which I’m sitting. An additional creeklet appears to erupt from the top of the ridge across from me, then bubbles down the ridge to join the main stem. It’s up this branch that our dipper moves, hopping from rock to rock, sticking her head into pools and under tiny waterfalls, evidently finding plenty to eat. She’s in no hurry, moving steadily up and up and up, dragging that useless leg behind her. No drama. No angst. Just whole-hearted dipper.

I hear her say that injured things can thrive. Hurt beings can be strong. Imperfect creatures have every right to nutrient-rich habitat. She tells me she’s whole, in spite of her injury. She tells me I’m whole, too.  

Fairy Moss Creek is magical. This dipper is a shaman. And I am a mystic.

The world talks to me on the regular, as it does to all nature mystics.

September 17th is the feast of Hildegard of Bingen, hands down my favorite saint. Hildegard, who lived in the 12th century, was the Queen of Both/And. She was an abbess of a monastery in Bingen in the German Rhineland. She was a healer and theologian. She was an herbalist, a painter, and a writer. She instructed popes while writing music. And that’s just for starters. Hildegard was many things, some of them seemingly contradictory.

I think I admire Hildegard because I have seemingly contradictory parts, too. There’s the left-brained analytical biologist who geeks out on geology, botany, ornithology, and the intricacies of watersheds. And there’s the right-brained intuitive who loves art and poetry and healing, and who receives dipper messages.

For the longest time, I’ve believed I needed to choose between these two worlds. As a kid, I was told that the intuitive me who knew stuff about people, loved narrative and color, and talked to the trees wasn’t practical. That I needed to give her up in order to make my way in the world. That the part of me that would be useful to others and would make my living is the orderly, fact-based part. That we’d all be happier if I would just get over myself, accept the loss of my kaleidoscope life, and settle for black and white.

I’ve found a little “both/and” air to breathe occasionally, while mostly drowning in my inability to choose. My master’s degree is a Both/And: Conservation Biology and Communication. My coach training is Both/And: scientifically rigorous and firmly rooted in the mystical. (Martha Beck, who developed Wayfinder Life Coach Training, is sociologist with a doctorate from Harvard and one of the most mystical women you’ll ever meet.

Like Hildegard, I’m a biologist and a poet, a science nerd and an intuitive, a healer and a theologian. I contain multitudes. And I refuse to accept the culture’s message that I need to choose.

I know there’s more to this world than meets the eye. I believe in that deep womb-heart I felt on the Camino. I get messages all the damn time from rivers and rocks and birds. That I can also tell you the story of the basalt rock we’re sitting on at the time, identify the bird you’re hearing in the trees (and the trees), regale you with interesting facts about that bird, and tell you where the river’s headwaters are, only adds to my joy. I hope it adds to yours, too.

I’m claiming my both/and life. I’m choosing my integrity and wholeness, and to hell with the culture that says I can’t have both.  

PS. Interested in more about Hildegard? The Abbey of the Arts is offering a retreat on Hildegard’s feast day. Here’s more information.

Two poems for wilderness wanderers.

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Water drops on leaf

We began our most recent Community Conversation with Lectio Divina, using the first lines of Mary Oliver’s Wild Geese. We laughed, we cried, we shared. One community member contributed David Whyte’s lovely poem to our conversation. l am deeply grateful to you all.

Both poems are potential resources for you who find yourselves walking in a spiritual wilderness. They speak to the loneliness of wandering and the joy of finding home again. And perhaps to the realization that home was there all along. Perhaps even to the realization that the wilderness is home.

Mark your calendars for our next gathering: Thursday, September 30th, at 9:00 am Pacific. We’d love to have you join us. Subscribe here for weekly-ish resources, including links to Community Conversations.

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting—
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

~Mary Oliver

The Well

Be thankful now for having arrived,
for the sense of
having drunk
from a well,
for remembering the long drought that preceded your arrival
and the years walking in a desert landscape of surfaces looking for a spring hidden from you for so long that even wanting to find it now had gone from your mind
until you only
remembered the hard pilgrimage that brought you here,
the thirst that caught in your throat; the taste of a world just-missed
and the dry throat that came from a love you remembered but had never fully wanted for yourself, until finally, after years making the long trek to get here it was as if your whole achievement had become nothing but thirst itself.

But the miracle had come simply from allowing yourself to know that you had found it,
that this time
someone walking out into the clear air from far inside you
had decided not to walk past it anymore;
the miracle had come at the roadside in the kneeling to drink
and the prayer you said,
and the tears you shed
and the memory
you held
and the realization
that in this silence
you no longer had to keep your eyes and ears averted from the
place that
could save you,
that you had been given
the strength to let go
of the thirsty dust laden
pilgrim-self
that brought you here,
walking with her
bent back, her bowed head and her careful explanations.

No, the miracle had already happened
when you stood up,
shook off the dust
and walked along the road from the well,
out of the desert toward the mountain, 
as if already home again, as if you
deserved what you loved all along, 
as if just remembering the taste of that clear cool spring could lift up your face
and set you free.

~David Whyte

 Photo by Thomas Kinto on Unsplash

Ground yourself in your soul’s deep wisdom.

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Woman with tattoo of arrow on wrist overlooking a lake

What do I believe in when church doesn’t work for me anymore? Do I have to abandon everything I’ve loved and that has fed me for all these years? What about Jesus? What about God? What about prayer? Where will I find community? How do I do this?

These are the questions clients and readers ask me over and over. Not knowing the answers to these questions keeps them in the pew long after they hear the call to leave. They feel lost, afraid, and vulnerable when they think about leaving. They know what to expect in church. Church might not feel good anymore, but at least it’s familiar.

Why so much fear? Here’s why. You’ve been taught to fear. You’re so freaking used to accepting others’ truths as gospel, because that’s how you were trained. Your parents, teachers, and pastors didn’t teach you to think for yourself, especially about God and religion. Of course you feel terrified of leaving the comfortable fold. Of course you look to others for permission. Of course you don’t believe you’re up to the task of doing your own theological work. Because you’ve been told, both explicitly and implicitly, that you don’t have the right. That you don’t have the education. That you’re just not smart enough. That you need to leave God stuff to the guys, sweetheart.

Who are you when you’re no longer who you were? Who are you, out here in the wilderness? Who are you, floating in this Sea of Ambiguity?

First of all, you’re okay. Yes, this feels scary, and you’re okay. You’re just in Square One of the Change Cycle. You’ve done this before, and you can do it again. You’re okay.

We navigate through uncharted territory by following a compass. In this case, the compass is your soul, the part of you who knows the way home.

Here are three simple ways to ground yourself in your soul’s deep wisdom.  

Be in your body. Women’s bodies, especially aging women’s bodies, have been denigrated for centuries by patriarchal religion and capitalist culture. That’s some toxic bullshit right there. Please, get back into your body. Love her. Listen to her. Body scans. Walk. Run. Yoga. Sweaty work. Warm baths. Delicious food. Beauty. Move your attention from your head to your body, my sister. Your soul speaks through your body. (The first tool I teach clients is always the “body compass.” Your body can’t lie, because it doesn’t use words. Only brains and minds lie, because it takes words to lie. I’m happy to walk you through this exercise on a Clarity Call.)

Meditate. Meditation grounds you in your truth, as opposed to someone else’s truth. When you meditate, you begin to separate what you know to be true from the cultural messages you’ve absorbed. You begin to discern your soul’s wisdom bubbling up through all the thoughts. You begin to separate the fear from the call. You can start meditating by simply sitting still and paying attention to your breath. It’s simple and incredibly powerful.

Lectio Divina. Give your brain something to do in service of your soul. Lectio Divina is just the fancy Latin name for “holy reading,” and it’s super easy to do. You can bring the Lectio process to nature, to images, and to text. Everything speaks, when we learn to listen. Here’s a free ebook I wrote several years ago with background and directions. (We’re doing some Lectio to begin today’s Zoom Community Conversation. Subscribe here for updates, including events like this one.)

You’ll be okay. As you begin to trust yourself – body, soul, and mind – you will be sourced from a deep holiness who’s always there for you. You will be guided by your own deep wisdom, which is both unique to you and as common as dirt. Let me know if I can help.

Photo credit: Natalie Rhea Rigg on Unsplash

You get to do this work.

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Camino de Santiago, 22 May 2014

It’s another rainy day in Spain. May 22, 2014. Day 17 of what will ultimately be 37 days walking El Camino de Santiago, 500 miles across Northern Spain. I’m walking alone. Jed stayed behind in the last village to buy bocadillos for lunch. He’ll have no problem catching up with me. This rain is incessant. This rock and mud Camino feels endless, Santiago a fantasy. My feet hurt. I’m sick and tired of being wet and cold. I’m sick and tired of sharing sleeping quarters with twenty strangers. I’m sick and tired of anticipating another damn albergue bathroom, hoping there will be enough hot water to get clean and that the lights won’t go out mid-shower. I’m putting one sore foot in front of the other.

I am not having fun.

But then. Then comes a moment that changed my life, a moment I will never forget.

I’m suddenly aware of a presence deep in the ground below me. I feel connected to this presence. It feels like a heart. Or a uterus. The beating heart connection between my heart and Earth’s heart feels deeply good. I know that every single pilgrim around me, slogging up the muddy hill in the Spanish rain, is also connected to this deep wombish heart. I know this deep heart is supporting, nourishing, and loving each of us. I know that every single thing is attached through this deep uterine heart to everything else, and every single thing is loved. I know this is true.

Unfortunately, this God is not the God I meet in church. The patriarchal church God is male, unchanging, spiritual, “up there” somewhere, worried about sin, and far removed from that fiercely loving muscular presence down in the dirt that I felt on the Camino. Church God and Camino God are incompatible.

I have a choice. I can take my knowing seriously. Or, I can continue to try to make myself fit into the church box, and continue to give away my power and authority over my own theology.

I choose to take my knowing seriously. After decades of contorting myself and denying what I know to be true, I choose to leave church. This moment on the Camino isn’t the only moment of truth. It’s just the one that gets me to take action.

Leaving hasn’t been easy. My “coming out” story did not sit well with some parishioners. Since I want everyone to like me, their disapproval feels mighty uncomfortable. 🙂

(I want to say again that my loving husband has done everything in his power to make church not hurt for me and for women like me. Clergy can only go so far within the constraints of the church institution. And the institution appears unwilling to change.)

No one’s forcing you to accept the tradition as it’s been handed to you. You will not die if you choose to lay that burden down. Jesus will still be Jesus, if you want him to be. Sisters, religion has been invented by institutions which don’t prioritize our well-being. If they did, they’d listen to us when we tell them it hurts, and be willing to evolve. Religion is constructed. It can be critiqued, deconstructed, and reconstructed as necessary.

You are perfectly capable of doing your own theological work.

Here’s one way to begin. (If you’ve gone through my Coaching Intensive, this will be familiar.)

Step One:

Fill in the blanks of this sentence:

If “God” is ____________, then I am ____________, and my soul is ___________.

Some examples:

You’ll notice these examples are flesh and blood, dirt and rock. We are Earthlings, and our metaphors work best when they’re earthy.

  • If “God” is water, then I am a spring, and my soul is the connection the water flows through.
  • If “God” is a womb, then I am a child of God, and my soul is an umbilical cord.
  • If “God” is dirt, then I am a tree, and my soul is where my roots touch the dirt.
  • If “God” is an artist, then I am a work of art, and my soul is the part of me that grows and changes with each stroke of the divine paintbrush.

You likely have many metaphors for God/Divine Energy/Holiness. Use them all. Play around. Try them on. Feel into your body for the ones that feel true. You decide.  

Step Two:

Choose one of your sentences and find or make a tangible expression of it. Put that reminder on your altar. If you don’t have an altar, put the reminder somewhere you will see it regularly. You could find a photo online of your metaphor. You could draw your metaphor. You could find or make a sculpture of your metaphor. Go beyond the word. Create something you can hold in your hands.

Step Three:

Visit your metaphor regularly. Sit with it. Ask questions, and listen for answers.

This work starts when you accept the responsibility to do your own theology. You are smart enough. You are brave enough. You have everything you need.

You get to do this work.

PS. Fall Semester is coming! I’m opening enrollment for all programs starting mid-September. Now’s the time to get on my schedule for a Clarity Call if you’re interested in working together. More information will be coming soon, so make sure you’re subscribed for weekly updates.

The Cathedral and the Well.

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Bedouin woman crossing the desert

(Act One)  The setting is a desert which, like all deserts, has to be crossed. In the middle of this desert is a well, fed by an underground spring of fresh, loud, rushing water. This particular well is fortunately located just at the point where thirsty pilgrims need refreshment if they are to survive and continue on their way. So in those days news got about that it was relatively safe to cross the desert as long as you listened for the sound of the spring and stopped to drink from the well. Generations of pilgrims were able to cross the desert and head into the wilderness — which is where God’s people were usually traveling.

(Act Two)  Many years later news spread of a building in the middle of the desert, a cathedral of great beauty. Throughout the years pilgrims, when they passed, had dropped stones (some fancier than others) to mark the location of the wellspring, an improvement which they hoped would show their respect for the well. Soon a cathedral stands in the middle of this desert, one stone buttressing another. Pilgrims stop, look up, and admire the cathedral from a distance. Yet most of them are close to death from thirst when they approach. They can neither hear the sounds of rushing water nor see the well, now covered by stones.

(Act Three)  Centuries later, in the same desert, one very thirsty pilgrim dares to approach the cathedral, now overgrown by weeds after years of neglect. She (most late medieval pilgrims were women) notices that a stone is loose. Pulling it out, so that she might replace it correctly, she hears the sound of rushing waters! She rediscovers the well and invites her companions to drink of its life-giving waters. Soon news spreads of the cathedral and of the well. The cathedral was imperfectly built, always standing in need of repair; the well, which stood in its midst, is free-flowing. Future generations of pilgrims, sighting the familiar landmark of the cathedral, draw close to the well, drink of its springs, and live to cross the desert.

If this parable of thirst, courage, and deconstruction speaks to you, here are some possible ways to interact with it.

1. Ponder where in your life the living water flowing from your Source into your soul has perhaps become blocked. Are you requiring certainty before you move? Are you taking literally what was meant metaphorically? Are you resisting the next step on your journey because you feel afraid? Are you trusting external authority at the expense of your own experience? Something else?

2. Use the story as your text for Lectio Divina.

3. Put yourself in the story. Be the thirsty pilgrim crossing the arid desert and approaching the cathedral. Be the thirsty pilgrim pulling aside the loose stone and hearing the sound of water. Hold the stone in your hands. Drink deeply of the cool, living water. What do you hear and feel?

4. If you’d like to chat about what this story may be saying to you, contact me for a free no-strings-attached Clarity Call.

PS. Please subscribe to my weekly letter for the latest on coaching openings, retreats, workshops, free community conversations, and more!

PPS. I’m indebted to Fredrica Harris Thompsett’s We Are Theologians for this beautiful parable.

If you’re a long-time reader and this parable seems familiar, you’re right! This post was originally published several years ago. I’m not sure exactly when. 🙂

Photo by Rubén Bagüés on Unsplash, edited on Canva.

Three more ways crappy theology causes suffering.

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Open gate leading to sun-filled meadow

Last week I wrote about three ways I see crappy theology cause suffering for my clients. These lies, taught to us by (usually) well-meaning people, are in there so deep we don’t recognize them as made-up ideas that just aren’t true.

We know they’re not true because they cause us to suffer.

In case you missed it, here are the first three lies.

Lie #1: Jesus died for your sins. On the contrary, God and Jesus aren’t concerned about how you in your wickedness are breaking their rules. What they are concerned about is how much you love yourself, each other, and the world. The only sin is failing to love.

Lie #2: God despises the world and “things of the flesh.” On the contrary, God IS the world. The world is made of God. As the bumper sticker puts it: The Earth is my church. My body is the altar.

Lie #3: God has a plan for your life, and your job is to figure it out and follow it. On the contrary, Creator God is always at work, and all She wants from you is to be the fullest version of yourself you can be, right now, at this moment.

Three more lies:

Lie #4: You need to be perfect, as God is perfect.  On the contrary, beloved, God wants you to be yourself in all your miraculous messiness. God loves your messiness.

The word translated as “perfect” in many versions of the Bible (Matthew 5:48) would be better translated as “whole.” (I like Eugene Peterson’s rendering in The Message: “In a word, what I’m saying is, Grow up. You’re kingdom subjects. Now live like it. Live out your God-created identity. Live generously and graciously toward others, the way God lives toward you.”)

Being human is messy and unpredictable, and you’re making yourself crazy and miserable when you try to be perfect. As Anne Lamott says: “Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people. It will keep you cramped and insane your whole life ….” Be whole instead, beloved. Be whole.

Lie #5: Following your heart and your desires is evil, and being “selfish” is bad. On the contrary, beloved, your desires are holy and necessary. God wants you to want what you want.

When we believe that wanting something is bad, we fight against ourselves and our deepest longings. Instead of honoring our soul’s yearnings, we talk ourselves out of them and we lose ourselves in the process. This is an especially insidious one for women, who are expected to be the caretakers of the world while staffing bake sales, cleaning toilets, and never ever saying NO. (I am NOT saying to act out every desire you have. What I am saying is that every desire has wisdom for you. Honor that wisdom. Listen for it.)

It’s a cliché, I know, and it’s still true: Put on your own oxygen mask first. Only then will you be full enough to give when it’s your turn to give.

Lie #6: God is outside of you, “up there” somewhere, separate from this messy world and its pain. On the contrary, beloved, God is Mother, here with us.

God is not “the man upstairs” or the spirit in the sky. God is not our Father in Heaven. 

When we believe this lie, we make the disembodied sacred and the bodied profane. We make spirit good and flesh bad. We then look outside ourselves for guidance and answers, and we avoid our adult responsibility to listen for the Wisdom within. We’re incapable of giving our gifts freely, because we’ve forgotten who we are.

God your Mother inhabits your everyday moments. She is as common as dirt. And She loves your body like a mother.

Oh, my beloveds. These lies cause so much suffering. They leave us contorted and stuck and so self-critical we’re paralyzed with shame and self-loathing.

You can feel their destructive power when you hold them in your body. Try saying one lie and notice how your body feels. Now say the truth (use my “On the contrary … “ formulation or your own words) and notice how your body feels. Lies cause suffering. Can you feel how you stop suffering when you disbelieve the lies causing you to suffer?

Beloved, you are not called to suffer. Being human on Earth is full of pain. Being human on Earth is full of joy, too.

Please take your suffering seriously. Look underneath your suffering and find the crappy theology causing it. We can do that together if you want to.

Heal crappy theology and you heal yourself.

We need you whole, healthy, and healed. We need you telling the truth. We need you raising your voice in the wilderness so we can find each other.

PS. A deep bow of gratitude to you voices in the wilderness who joined our inaugural Community Conversation on June 17. We were witnesses for each other’s pain and joy, and we formed deep community almost from the first moment. I’m so grateful to meet you “face to face,” and look forward to our next gathering on Tuesday, July 13, at 2:00 pm Pacific. Newsletter subscribers will get the Zoom link the day before. Missed the first one? No worries. You can join anytime.

PPS. I’ll be sending emails only to my weekly letter list beginning on July 1st. Email subscribers will get new content, current offerings, and notifications of upcoming events delivered straight to their inbox. You can subscribe here, and thanks!

Photo by Nikola Knezevic on Unsplash