this is a new country, what shall we name it?

I am traveling this week--visiting family in Charlottesville, Virginia. 

But I don't want to leave you empty handed until next week, so... I hope you enjoy this edited version of a previous blog post on one of my favorite subjects: dreams!

Via Dolorosa, Jerusalem, 2012

I have had some crazy, vivid dreams lately. 

More often than not I will only remember one image, one person, or one event in the dream, but I’ve been trying to write down whatever I do remember, especially any strong emotions I remember feeling. 

The other day I woke up with only one line: 

“This is a new country, what shall we name it?”

It made me laugh out loud.

It reminds me of something I wrote a few years ago, as I tried to sort out how I felt about my physical condition and its limitations:

I feel a layer of anger swimming right below the surface of my awareness, like a layer of fat that needs to be discarded from a great soup. I feel betrayed by my body, and I am angry about it, and angry with me. It’s a crazy circle, and I know that it’s not productive, let alone healthy.

When I shared these ponderings with my spiritual director Joanne, a wise and beautiful woman, she just smiled at me and said: 

“Maria, you are learning to take care of yourself, and you’re taking it to other areas of your life! What I hear is calmness, trusting, a certainty that allows you to name the anger. Things are okay. I am so proud of you, your faithfulness to do the healing work. God will show you what’s next.” 

The healing work that I am committed to do involves all of me—my physical being, yes, but also my emotional, mental, and spiritual being. 

I may not, but God sees how good it already is.

It frequently does feel like traveling in a new and undiscovered country, a place where I’ve never been, and where I don't recognize the language. 

But this is a journey of a lifetime and not one that I have to conquer right now. The real challenge is whether I will be true to the journey, and faithful to the work it brings to me today.

[edited version of this post was first published under "the healing journey" on October 11,2012]

change #2, #SmallMerciesMiércoles: I'm grateful for feet, even when hopping on one leg

view from my office today!

People with arthritis often claim they can predict the weather, based on their joint pain level, and with good reason. Studies show a variety of weather factors can increase pain, especially changes… in barometric pressure (especially falling) and in temperature (especially lowering). 

A study from Tufts University in 2007 found that every 10-degree drop in temperature corresponded with an incremental increase in arthritis pain. In addition, relatively low barometric pressure, low temperatures and precipitation can increase pain. Researchers aren’t sure why this happens. They suspect certain atmospheric conditions increase swelling in the joint capsule.

~Arthritis Today magazine

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"'Man is a creature composed of body and soul.' We have recited that truth from the day we first learned our catechism. But until the body fails us, or pains us, or forces itself upon our attention by some little twinge or complete collapse, we tend to take for granted this first and most precious of God's gifts to man or to give it short shrift."  

"What came to me in the prison camps was a tremendous respect and love for the poor old body. It was the body that bore the brunt of all suffering, though the soul might well experience anguish. And it was the body that had to sustain you, for all the strength of will and determination it might have. It was the body that felt the sting of the wind, the bite of the cold, the cramp of aching muscles, the raw lash of cracked and bleeding flesh, the gnawing agony of hunger in the belly, the soreness and numbness of overtaxed sinews... and yet somehow it always managed to get you through one more day. It was the body that underwent the suffering, felt the agony, and carried the heavy weight across its shoulders of this daily passion and slow death of inhuman work."  

"It is in the body that we exist and work out our salvation. It is in the body that we see and take delight in the beauties of God's created universe, and in the body that we ourselves bear the marks of Christ's passion."

"God by his Incarnation took on a human body."  

"For each of us salvation means no more and no less than taking up daily the same cross of Christ, accepting each day what it brings as the will of God, offering back to God each morning all the joys, works, and sufferings of that day. But those are abstract words."  

"What it means, in practice, is spelled out as always by the poor old body. It means getting up each morning and going to bed exhausted. It means the routine, not the spectacular. It can mean drudgery, pain, putting aside pleasures, happiness, or the love the human heart craves until another time, so that what is necessary at the moment can be done. It means working for others, touching the lives of others, through the medium of the body."

~Walter Ciszek, S.J., 

excerpts from “the Body” chapter 

in He Leadeth Me.

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I am hopping on one leg today, literally. I’m not sure what’s causing it, exactly, but I’m having pain and swelling issues with my left foot. 

I don't even have a weird, fun story to go with it! There’s nothing broken, so it seems to be related to the inflammation problems related to my condition.

Which, believe it or not, leads me to the next “adjustment” that I’m proposing to myself!

Yesterday I wrote about keeping holy the Sabbath day, and my commitment to un-plug from technology on Sundays. In addition, I have decided to also work at being more regular with my writing time, including the frequency of the blog—and yes, within my physical abilities!

I’ve written before about the importance of  thankfulness and gratefulness, and how this attitude affects my life. And I’ve participated, however briefly (so far!), in CatholicMom.com’s #SmallSuccess Thursday Project.

So it seems like a natural sequel to developing my writing routine if I include weekly posts on what I’m grateful for, with specifics.  More on the details of this idea over the next few weeks, but for today… here’s what I’m calling #SmallMerciesMiércoles, which I will publish (¡con la ayuda de Dios!) every Wednesday.

#1   I’m grateful that I did not break any bones in the foot of my “poor old body”

#2   I’m grateful for the opportunity this situation gives me to stay home, put up my feet (ha!), and write!

#3   I am also grateful for my body’s reminder that God is here, incarnate, in every minute detail of my life and myself!

Ps. For those of you who’ve reached the age where your body helps you predict the weather – here are two helpful online sources to help you verify what you’re already feeling:

Over at ArthritisToday.org, an Arthritis Index based on a proprietary forecast by the meteorologists at www.AccuWeather.com. Click here! 

and over at weather.com, you can type in your zip code and get your “local aches & pains forecast”

or even peek at the “National aches & pains map”

The “aches & pains” forecast looks great for me today!  

What about your neck of the woods?

my Camino, 10 years later: remembering Estella

Ten years ago today, my friend Pat and I arrived by foot to the 1,000 year old town of Estella--after walking 14.5 miles on the Camino de Santiago that day.

a butterfly wing that I found and taped to my journal, 

and a rough sketch of a church steeple that I played with during a break in our walk

A 10-year-anniversary is a significant landmark—and I find myself remembering, reflecting, and feeling thankful for further things about the Camino, even now.

Since Pat and I began our walk in Pamplona, this was early on in our pilgrimage. Yet that day I noted in my journal two things: I already had “big blisters,” and it was our “first internet access!”

Some people, like my husband Michael, can walk the entire 500 miles of the Camino and never get a significant blister. But as we made our way across northern Spain, I struggled with sores covering my toes for basically the entire month of June.

Here’s what I wrote in my journal:

“The albergue has 38 beds and a beautiful mural of St. Michael painted on the wall of the back patio. Our hospitalero is a guy with strict rules, big tattoos, and bad skin. 

With every painful step today, I offered my walk, my pain and my tears for the people I know who hurt even to stand everyday—Shirley, Lonnie, JoAnn’s friend who lost a leg in the [Oklahoma City] bombing, all who hurt every day. God bless them. When we arrived here we saw a man with a fake leg on a bike! God be with him.”

a traffic sign that I didn't recognize, 

and copied to my journal after I learned that it means: "unclear or undefined danger"! 

I’m convinced that no matter how much one prepares and trains in order to “successfully” walk this historic pilgrimage, the Camino will still be what it needs to be for every peregrino. It’s a personal experience.

As is true of life, we can’t predict what the pilgrimage will entail. And for me, that meant blisters and learning to walk daily with chronic pain, as well as having the opportunity to offer this struggle as prayer for others in need.

Never would I have dreamt that this experience would come back to help me and guide me years later as I began to face my own chronic physical struggles.

3 ways to help your sedentary body

A friend and fellow writer recently posted this question on our Catholic writers' listserve:

I am looking for your input, specifically your comments on my recent blog post that deals with the challenges of having a very sedentary job: freelance writing. When you spend 5-8 hours a day sitting at the computer, it is easy to lose good posture and to suffer from backaches and muscle tension... Is it necessary to sacrifice the body for writing? Please share your tips as I am desperate to know what they are!

If you found yourself nodding as you read her statement, you're not alone! Her question prompted an avalanche of sharing, advice, and suggestions.

Because I've developed a chronic/auto immune condition the past six or so years that affects my joints, I've had to not only address this question, but also to take it seriously.

My first big surgery was on my spinal cord/neck five years ago, when I had cervical spine surgery and fusion on my C-4 and C-5 vertebrae. I can't afford NOT to pay attention to my body when I sit to write for hours to work on any project.

So, if you need to reevaluate your work environment to help your physical needs, here's
3 suggestions to get you started:

my Diego

#1,  get up every hour and stretch, walk outside, check out your garden, look at the clouds, whatever… I have a great Siberian Husky named Diego that puts his head on my leg and reminds me to go out and play. And by the way, WAY TO GO to all of you who walk regularly, do yoga, etc!

#2,  be attentive to your position AS YOU WRITE -- in addition to sitting up straight, the rule for your spine is that your legs should be perpendicular to the floor. Read about this subject and take it seriously. There are lots of gadgets to help, but from my perspective the most important thing is to notice, be aware, of how you work in order to assess how to make your environment help you.

Here's a great visual guide to office ergonomics from the Mayo Clinic. 

#3,  If you are going to invest in something, and you have neck issues -- invest in a split keyboard that "opens" your shoulders by positioning your hands/arms further apart than a regular keyboard, easing the pressure on your neck. The one I have is called a Kinesis freestyle, and I use it with something called an Ascent that raises it in the middle for comfort. It took me a while to get used to it, but it has made all the difference. Here's a picture of my keyboard:

One final thought to ponder -- I don't believe that we have to "sacrifice" our body in order to pursue our vocation as writers. That's not godly behavior. Our loving God clearly wants us to be mindful of our mind, spirit, and body. As St Paul says in his letter to the Thessalonians:

"...perfect in holiness… May he preserve you whole and entire, spirit, soul, and BODY, irreproachable at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ." [1 Thes 5:23]

Not Yet

I remember my therapist grinning at my honest response, “not yet.” Struggling with a difficult situation, I sought help to see my world with new eyes. With the smile of someone who knows a secret that you don’t, he added, “Yet is such a hopeful word, full of possibility.”

I had never thought about that. There’s a vast difference between replying, “no, I won’t do it,” and “no, not yet.” I may not be ready, or not know how to do it—yet. And that’s okay.

I tend to be very hard on myself. I consistently demand things of myself that I would not dream of saying to a friend who is in pain or simply at a loss with how to proceed in her life. So it’s no great surprise that I would also assume that I should know everything, and do everything right.

Take learning to live healthy with a chronic condition. Exercise. Nutrition. Learning about drugs. Knowing how to tell my friends or family what’s going on with me. Getting enough sleep or rest—and knowing when to push myself harder. Why do I expect myself to be an expert? Why can’t I allow myself the ability to say, I am not taking care of that now, not yet.

Sometimes all I have to offer is a litany of “not yet”

Lord, I am looking, but I don’t yet see.

I am listening, but I don’t yet hear.

I remember, but I don’t yet get it.

I am moving, but I don’t yet know where to go.

I am seeking, but I don’t yet know how to find you here.

I want to trust you, but I don’t yet do so.

I desire to surrender to you, but I can’t yet let go.

I need to hope, but I don’t yet have it in me.

I come to you with open hands and a heart that still whispers, not yet.

No. Padre Island, Dec. 2010

Doing what is do-able

Every morning when I first wake up, there is a moment, an instant, really, when life is completely still, calm, peaceful. I don’t yet remember yesterday’s worries or today’s plans—but more importantly, I haven’t yet felt and evaluated the day, its work—or how my body feels. It only lasts a milli-second, a nano-second, a breath or two—but I turn to that moment often in prayer as a helpful reminder.

That moment of peace reminds me of what it feels like to bring no baggage with me into the day. No anticipating the work. No plans to rearrange.  No anxiety over how hard it will be, or how or what I will need to do to take care of it. No expectation and no regret. No super Girl Scout “be prepared” attitude. I just stand expectant, open to that moment and only to that moment.

This is what I hear Jesus saying to the Twelve when he directed them to “take nothing for the journey.” 

When you live with a chronic condition, especially one that involves pain, it is too easy to live as if I already know how terrible life is going to be. Like a gypsy reading the future, I look at the palm of my hand or the cards on the table and find strange comfort in anticipating the pain, preparing for the problems, holding the fear at bay with an attitude of readiness. This also provides me an illusion of control!

But Jesus urges me to let go and take none of that with me. He invites me to just walk into my day and into my life counting solely on the power of the authority of He who is my Lord.  I don’t even need to know how or if I’ll be able to do it well tomorrow. I only have to choose today to take nothing in my journey, and to trust Him with every detail of my life.  

No, it is not easy. But it is do-able.

Choose today, only today