Searching for Sabbath

I love to walk. I don't enjoy running or biking so much, but, especially when I don't have anywhere particular to be nor any specific time to be there, I love to simply go. 

I used to live next to 50-acres of, as they say here in Iowa, timber. Everyday that I could, I would go out there and walk that land. It was rough land, and a person could easily get stuck in knee-deep black mud, slip on frozen cheatgrass or fall face first into a bramble bed at the bottom of a rocky ravine. 

I would see deer, elk, and large birds of prey; red-wing blackbirds, chukars, and the occasional pheasant. There was always a smell of sagebrush, even on crisp winter days where breathing felt like fire was burning in my lungs.

Walking there was a kind of Sabbath for me. Stillness of mind; quietness of heart; beauty and a solitude that was never lonely. The walking there was treacherous, so I had to pay attention. The ways up and the ways down took navigation and intention. If I committed to a path across the bottom, there was no easy revision, no cut across, shortened path to return. It was either go all the way or turn around now and reexamine the steps I had already taken.

I have found a few places like that one here in Iowa. One is McFarland Park in Ames. Another is the Lime Creek Nature Center in Mason City. 

The only downside is that the dog has to be on a leash, and the walker needs to stay on the trail. Somehow, these tiny little restraints cut into the Sabbath feel of it. Somehow, there is not an openness of path-the decisions are broken into left/right forks in the mowed grass- rather than myriad meandering options cut through brush and across ankle-deep streams. There is the sense, the worry, the concern for others present and the need to make sure my little one's muddy paws don't interrupt their Sunday stroll.  

I have been truly enjoying the trail system here in Iowa City. There are great paths in so many places and walking or riding a bike are easy to do. I see all kinds of people out running, doing errands, or with their dogs enjoying the outdoors and the exercise. The dog parks are a true blessing, and Cyrus loves to go, but I am wistful for the Sabbath space. I miss being a creature among creatures in land that is so busy being itself it doesn't even notice that I am there. 

What about you? Where do you go for that silent stillness? Where do you find peace and rest in the midst of your life? What are the ways you lose yourself in beauty such that you find a revised perspective on the size and scope of your place in this time you have in the world? Is it in open spaces, or is it among friends? Is it in walking, running, biking, or is it in knitting, rocking, reading? 

Meanwhile, I will keep walking Iowa City, learning its paths and trails, and searching out its Sabbath spaces.

The Times, They Are A-Changin"

I actually made my walking goal of ~3 miles. The puppy was truly grateful. My legs, not so much. I decided to take the always turn left approach to the walk until I topped N. Westminster St. and the right turn option seemed the best. I walked a well-maintained neighborhood of condominiums. 

I walked up a street with truly spectacular homes. Each one was large, with gorgeous back yards and most of them were unique and eye-catching in some way. Wandering further up the streets, I started to enter an area of new construction. New neighbors. New people moving in. 

 These homes are raw and unformed still. They are waiting to become some kind of new neighborhood. My walk was quiet until I emerged onto N. Scott Blvd. Along N. Scott Blvd., I saw apartments and duplexes.

This walk was a study in how neighborhoods are not uniform. There are many ways of creating living spaces. Sometimes people share walls and pay collectively for yard maintenance and sidewalk snow removal. Sometimes, people invest in architecture and landscaping to create highly personal spaces of retreat, sanctuary, and family gathering.

There was so much construction and new development along my walk, I wonder if there have been growing pains. I can remember the development that happened near my own childhood home-trees yanked out, small farms replaced with tracts of 10 or so small family homes, a small mountain literally leveled to make room for a 747 runway.

These kinds of makeovers can be painful, and it is hard to make room for newcomers or to feel like sharing with people whose homes and lifestyle have replaced the pathways and secret places of childhood.

As I walked, blessing ran through my mind. "May your homes live up to your dreams. May your dreams bless others, and may strangers find ways to become neighbors despite change."

Create Routes or Search for a route from millions at MapMyWalk

Another Manic Monday

I had the best walk this morning! I have been recovering from a cold, so I decided to take it easy, and did not get out and about until around 10 or so. On a side street, I ran into a tree-trimming operation. I have often wondered how to remove a tree from a back yard when there is no room for a truck there. It turns out, it involves a crane. 

Then, the sidewalk ended, and a path led through some trees past some balloons toward a red barn. I imagine that yard belongs to people who have a gift for celebrations and surprises. So many people I saw on my walk waved or offered an easy hello.

Each house offers some unique face to the neighborhood. I find this refreshing after living the last 8 years in Mason City and Ames where the houses and yards conform a little bit more. I really, really like diversity. It provides so much opportunity for story-telling.

The last leg of my walk this morning included a conversation with a pre-school worker, a stroller full of babies, and a neighbor who has lived here for 20 years and was happy to share with me some information about the families who live nearby.

Create Routes or Search for a route from millions at MapMyWalk

Ribbons of Prayer

Walking, among other things, saved my life. Somewhere around 2000, I was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes Mellitus. This is the kind of diabetes where the body stops producing insulin altogether and requires daily injections of insulin to process sugars in the blood. I was really sick when I was diagnosed, and daily walks helped me to heal. Daily walks also improve my blood sugar control, so that I am less likely to develop some of the nastier health problems associated with diabetes.

It is good to be getting back into the practice of walking.

As I was walking back home from the Iowa City Public Library, I passed Trinity Episcopal Church and noticed this prayer box.

Inside the box was a notebook for listing prayers and strips of cloth which could be hung on a tree in the church's yard. I took the opportunity to invite prayers for a friend of mine who has cancer-ugly, messy, nasty, painful cancer. I still don't know what these kinds of prayers are all about. I don't know whether they work-whether people at a distance know they are being prayed for; whether they receive healing or help-but I do know that participating in this kind of religious practice is good. It is a practice in the humility of what if, and it can't hurt. It also connects me to countless other human beings, whether those humans are the people whose ribbons hang with mine, or the humans who built that church all the way back to the first Episcopal Church, and so on.

As I stood there and wrote down my prayer, college students, harried adults with trains of children, and Iowa City-fit older adults streamed by. It felt strange to participate in such a public act of religious faith and ritual. At the same time, I wondered what they were doing, where they were going, that they didn't stop and add their own ribbons to the tree.

I loved that the box also included a sheet with a practical guide for prayer which I could take home. Thank you Trinity Episcopal for this little piece of public religion, education and hospitality.

New Town, Renewed Purpose

The moving has ended, so the unpacking begins. Thanks to Bishop Julius Calvin Trimble, my family and I have moved to Iowa City, Iowa. A new chapter of prayerwalking begins. I have been out of the habit of prayerwalking. It will be good to get back into it. 

I thought I should pray while opening boxes and planning my kitchen and bathroom layouts, but I have honestly been too grumpy to focus.

This move will be a move of more than just physical location. It will also be a relocation into a new spiritual home. I am not sure how well I am going to do, but I intend to enter back into the world. I have been hearing a call to Spiritual leadership, to faith sharing and the creation of some innovation on the idea of religious association. In order to do that, I have to let go of the rail. I have to let go of the ready-social life that the church can provide. I have to hit the streets and meet some strangers.

Luckily, I have a good friend who is going to join me. I have the support of loving people underneath me, and I have a vision calling me forward. I hope you will enjoy this next leg of my journey, as I begin Walking Iowa City.

Next Step on the Journey

For a while now, I have been walking away from my "church." As I described it to a friend of mine, it is as though I finally made the decision to go through with the divorce. I want to be clear that I don't so much mean my local church, but rather the wider idea of church as embodied by processes, doctrine, polity, and organization. But maybe divorce is the wrong metaphor. It may be instead that I am differentiating from my family of origin, and that is a good thing.

It means I can be less reactive. It means I can be separate and together at the same time. It means I don't have to conform to pressures to stay together at all costs, but can instead take personal responsibility for my own place within the family, without being drawn into its drama and trauma. It also means I can let parts of my family self-destruct without feeling the need to rush in and rescue.

It also means I can stay in love and in healthy relationship with my church while continuing to walk away from it. Esther Perel describes it this way in her TEDSalon talk The Secret to Desire in a Long-term Relationship: 

Our need for connection, our need for separateness, or our need for security and adventure, or our need for togetherness and for autonomy, and if you think about the little kid who sits on your lap and who is cozily nested here and very secure and comfortable, and at some point all of us need to go out into the world to discover and to explore. That's the beginning of desire, that exploratory needs curiosity, discovery. And then at some point they turn around and they look at you, and if you tell them, "Hey kiddo, the world's a great place. Go for it. There's so much fun out there," then they can turn away and they can experience connection and separateness at the same time. They can go off in their imagination, off in their body, off in their playfulness, all the while knowing that there's somebody when they come back.

I love that image she creates. I am being drawn, led, pushed, prodded out into the world to find new ways of sharing faith, expressing the sacred and discovering the nature of the Christ living, breathing, pulsing, moving through the alleys and sidewalks of the world. I want to go, but I still look back to see if it is going to be OK.

What I don't know is whether my church is in that place where it can say "Hey kiddo, the world's a great place. Go for it. There's so much fun out there."

I think my church may be less secure than that. It wants me to pack its china and silverware. However, its concern for their safety if I simply put them in a backpack means it went out and bought a new set of suitcases for me. It is worried that I may forget the lessons it taught me. It is afraid that the world might actually chew me up and spit me out. It kind of wants to hover or come along for the trip.

All of those things add up to a funny pressure to stay within the bounds of the home. To continue to put my time, effort, gifts, witness, and service into supporting, sustaining, and caretaking the family. To get a job in town rather than heading off for a stint with the Peace Corps.

But Christ is calling me. Christ is telling me that my gifts are needed somewhere else; that the family can take care of itself for a while; even that the family can suffer through its own stuff for a bit. And I don't need to worry, because I am more than just a part of a family, I am an individual self with a unique life whose particularities, often overlooked by the first family, have myriad opportunities to flourish among the lives of others-people who might not automatically fit in to the family mold; people of whom the clan might not really approve; people, like me, who might actually kind of hate china and silverware.

So this feels like a faith thing to me, and a trust thing, because the growing distance between me and the United Methodist Church isn't really hate, dislike, or even disapproval. It feels so much more like leaving home for college; or deciding that my purpose as a child is to live my own life, not to serve the needs of my elders. It doesn't seem like I want to discard my name or deny my heritage, but instead like a drive to go, do, discover and explore how to be the best United Methodist I can be.

So wish me luck. Tell me "Go for it." Because I am leaving. I am heading out. I am starting a new journey. And my church will either be there when I come back, or it wont.

Charting New Territory

As I sit in my office and enjoy the Spring snow falling in my backyard, I am surprised, yet again, at how much journey is accomplished while standing still. I was recently asked by a college worship center to preach. I have never preached before, though I have done quite a bit of public speaking. There is something different, however, in calling something a sermon. I don't know if I actually preached the Gospel, but the worshipers seemed to enjoy it.

Rather than physically walking and praying in Mason City, I have been walking interior pathways. I have been organizing my maps. I have been figuring out my route going forward. Part of that pathway has involved deepening my spiritual expertise and accepting the responsibility of spiritual leadership. So here is the sermon I preached, in written form. I have included a youtube video, which is well worth watching and which significantly formed my message:


Scripture: Mark 12:41-44

I Don't Know Where You Come from, but I Am Really Glad You're Here

Before I was a Christian, I used to play piano for a small American Baptist Church in my hometown. I loved the people there, even though I thought their rituals-praying, communion, and Sunday School-were a silly waste of time. I found it hard then to believe that grown-up, adult people took this religion stuff so seriously. As though standing in a circle holding hands was going to cure cancer or alleviate financial woes. I really did not believe that thinking people could accept at face value the kinds of things I heard there: stories about virgin births, bodily resurrection from the dead, the Rapture, and a burning, tormenting eternal dimension they called Hell.

I remember that almost weekly, while I sat in the pews and listened to the sermon, I had an urge to take my shoe off and throw it at the preacher. Pastor Byron Schaffer really seemed to get that reaction from me a lot. He was good preacher with a lot of energy-he had a kind of warm fire of a voice which made you want to lean in and believe him, but the words he said-the ideas he shared-I really did not care for those.

One week, particularly, I got so worked up by his sermon, I almost couldn’t contain myself. He told this story about a woman who, at the end of vegetable growing season was really short on funds. She was a mother and her children ate primarily out of her garden. Over the winter they would be fed only if she could can the vegetables from her garden. Now, this gal, according to Pastor Schaffer, was a good, Christian woman, and she found herself between two tough choices: use the last of her money to buy canning supplies and feed her babies, or give the last of her money to her church and trust that God would supply for her need.

Now, do you see where this story is heading? Do you see the end? We just heard the story of the “Widow’s Mite,” right? We know the correct answer to her dilemma, and Pastor Schaffer, God love him, in his suit, with his expensive smile, his gold watch, his light colored skin, his shiny shoes and his masculine authority, lifted up the woman’s righteous choice to give her last money to the church as the shining example of Christian behavior.

And all I could think, while controlling the urge to unlace my tennies and wing my shoe at him was “What a pile of bullshit! Any God worth worshipping would want that woman to buy her canning supplies and feed her children, and what’s more, any church worth supporting would have already stepped up so that she would not need to struggle with that choice.”

Christian faith, for me, is most aptly described as a wrestling match. Like Jacob, I find myself in conflict with this God, this Jesus, this Holy Spirit Fire, and what is being asked of me, or what is being said. I often find myself deeply angered by the self-serving ways in which we interpret Scripture, or supremely baffled by this choice so many seem to make of abandoning rational engagement with the world as it is for the practice of shouting truth claims at geology and physics as though to change their minds. I don’t rest easy with this tradition I’ve adopted, and the story of the “Widow’s Mite,” especially as interpreted by Pastor Schaffer, really seems to get my hackles up.

You see, I imagine my own experience into that story. I imagine Jesus sitting across the street. I imagine my friend Barb Embry, walking by that treasury box on her way to the store to buy coffee with the last few dollars of her monthly Social Security check. As she passes the box she sees this sign which says “We are $1500 short on our capital campaign. Please consider upping your pledge if you have not already done so.” And she feels so guilty about her church’s money problems that she gives up her own pleasure-her morning coffee-to put that money in the treasury. And Jesus, across the street, calls his buddies over to him-his CPA buddies, his landowner buddies, his shipping venture buddies, and his pastor buddies, points out Barb’s sacrifice and says, “Would you look at that? Now, that is how a church member gives.”?!?

Doesn’t that kind of make you want to throw your shoe at Jesus? I mean, if all the church needs is $1500, two mites, why does that have to come from the small, simple-living grandmothers among us? I mean, why is Jesus so excited about that? Why does he celebrate her poverty, especially from his place of privilege. After all, he is not an elderly woman getting by on her dead husband’s pension check. He doesn’t have to think about his next meal. In the scripture it says that there are some women providing for his ministry out of their means. He doesn’t have to worry about his coffee budget, because someone else is picking up the tab. In fact, it is probably a group of well-meaning widows giving up their last two mites so he and his layabout friends can have a hot meal after a long day discussing philosophy across the street from the temple.

And why the heck doesn’t Jesus get up, approach that widow and tell her what I told my friend Barb: That that sign isn’t talking to you-that your pledge is as it should be-and that last $1500 dollars is on someone else-someone who can better afford to pay? Why doesn’t Jesus get off his butt, run after that woman and give her back her two cents-surely he has something extra squirreled away in his robes-He is the Son of God after all. Why does he sit there? How can he simply let her go home without the wherewithal to buy the flour with which to make a loaf of bread? He could at least send Matthew after her to give a few bucks out of his and the disciples’ petty cash account, couldn’t he?

It is enough to make me want to take off my shoe and throw it at his head!

When I sent my slides and worship title to Pastor Jim, he mentioned that Hillary Clinton had a shoe thrown at her recently. I went online and read a few stories about the incident. The woman who threw the shoe is characterized as being “mentally unstable” and is looking at two years in federal prison. The media and the law’s reactions seem a bit extreme. After all, as I have just admitted to you, I totally get that desire to lob something at the head of someone whose words or actions are getting on my nerves. Right? (gesture holding that shoe up)

During the second Iraq war, an Iraqi journalist threw a shoe at then President George W. Bush. There were tons of articles about the depth of the insult as understood from an Arab worldview, and lots of analysis about the intent of the thrower. It was a political incident, but not really a criminal one from our point of view. President Bush seemed to take a “sticks and stones but not a shoe” attitude toward the whole thing. We really just laughed it off as a rather uncouth and ineffective expression of free speech.

My husband, who is a UM pastor, thought there might be something Biblical about throwing shoes so I looked into that as well and learned that covenants were made by taking off a shoe and giving it to the person with whom you entered that covenant. You would walk home with one shoe off, to feel the hard truth of your promise through the soles of your bare foot. Go ahead. take a moment and feel the floor with the foot that doesn’t have a shoe.

Some sources suggest that shoes were thrown at oathbreakers. This is indicated In Psalm 60- "Moab is My washbowl; Over Edom I shall throw My shoe; Shout loud, O Philistia, because of Me!" and again in Psalm 108:"Moab is My washbowl; Over Edom I shall throw My shoe; Over Philistia I will shout aloud." A suggestion that Edom broke the covenant and God was giving back the shoe, disgracing the oathbreaker. Leverite marriage-the obligation of a man to father children with his deceased brother’s wife-could be renounced by throwing a shoe at the man, publicly shaming him in the community, but at the same time freeing him of the duty.

In Ruth 4 we learn that  "( . . .in earlier times in Israel, for the redemption and transfer of property to become final, one party took off his sandal and gave it to the other. This was the method of legalizing transactions in Israel.)"  So, In the Gospel of Mark,when John the Baptist says “After me comes the one who is more powerful than I, the straps of whose sandals I am not worthy to stoop down and untie.” he is indicating that he is somehow not important enough to enter into a covenant relationship with Jesus. Shoes then, it seems, are kind of a powerful metaphor for people and have been for quite some time. I am in good company with my urge to toss shoes at people.

In an interview with Jon Stewart, Malala Yousafzai, the young Pakistani woman who was shot by the Taliban for advocating for the education rights of girls and women, shares about her reaction when she discovered she had been placed on a Taliban hit list for speaking out: (interview shared below) “I started thinking about that, and I used to think that the Talib would come and he would just kill me, but then I said “If he comes what would you do, Malala?” Then I would reply to myself that “Malala just take a shoe and hit him.” But then I said, “If you hit the Talib with your shoe then there will be no difference between you and the Talib; you must not treat others with that much cruelty and that harshly.”

When I started thinking about my message for you today, I was going to do something about the differences between men and women and money-the widow and the rich young ruler-Jesus and gender dynamics, but for some reason, I got to thinking about throwing shoes instead. My reaction to pastor Schaffer on this widow scripture, and the interview with Malala Yousafsai where she equates using her shoe to hit a Talib with the beatings, and terrorizing behavior which the Talib used against her. I mean-this young woman was shot in the head by these people and she won’t even consider hitting one of them with her shoe. It seems ridiculous. After all, what is a shoe? It is not a gun. It is not a fist. You have one in your hand right now. You could toss that shoe at me, and even if it makes contact, it is unlikely to do me any kind of real harm.

Yet when Malala finishes that story-when she shares about using her shoe against the Talib and the audience laughs-when she quite simply and honestly says that for her that act became unthinkable, Jon Stewart drops his jaw and loses his breath. I did, too.

I was struck, if you will pardon the violence of the image, at how easily and casually I can contemplate hitting another human being. That the idea of tossing a shoe at Pastor Schaffer was an amusement for me.And I am convicted in my own violence when I hear her commitment to such a radical peace.

It was, in fact it still is, shaming for me-because in her statement, I hear Jesus telling me to love my enemies. To offer my other cheek for abuse, to bear the injustices and humiliations of my oppressors with, primarily, compassion for them. It is as though even the thought of throwing my shoe at Pastor Schaffer is a violation of these commands. If I hadn’t heard Malala Yousafsai say those words with my own ears,I don’t know that I could have believed that I, as a grown-up adult person was supposed to take this religion stuff so seriously.

And I wonder if that is maybe what Jesus is pointing to when this widow drops her last bit of money into the Temple treasury. Maybe he calls his disciples over not so much about the money, but the sheer insane, radical, and irrational faith that gesture embodies. Not only a faith witness that is kind of crazy-clearly, the sane thing to do is to buy the canning supplies-but a faith witness so full of generosity and humility that it takes your breath away.

Maybe Jesus isn’t so much saying look at how a faithful person gives? What if he means for us to simply see how a faithful person lives? What if he is saying, “Look! There.That is the thing I have been trying to tell you about!”

There is no reason for that widow to give to that Temple. There is no reason for Barb Embry to increase her pledge to her affluent church. There is no reason for Malala Yousafsai to keep the shoe on her foot, and there is no reason for Rachel Corrie to let the bulldozer run her down. Yet they do, and because they do, I find myself suddenly seeing the world as it might be: a place of faith, a place of trust, a place of peace, a place of compassion, and a place of generosity and joy.

I see, too, the times and the places where I choose not to live in those ways. Those times when I sit in my head and imagine letting my shoe fly. Those times when I make light of people for standing in circles, holding hands with one another and bowing their heads to pray. I can see, for a split second how those seemingly insignificant choices add stature to a world of greed, violation, oppression and fear, and I find myself, like Jon Stewart, saying, “I don’t know where you come from, but I am very glad you are here.”

Keep on Movin'

So, a cliché: life is a journey. Something we say a lot, as a way to mark time passing and the realization that we are unsure of how we got from the place we started in this life to the place we currently find ourselves. Yet, another dimension of the journey metaphor is an idea that life doesn't stop. Often, when we simply want to sleep in, we can't. When we wish that something will last forever, or when we are struck by falling rocks, it seems it could be simpler just to stop walking right then and there. But, life keeps moving on, despite our will.

It can get tiring, all of this movement. As I have been marking that inward journey this season, I have found it helpful to lean into the exodus verses: all of the Biblical stories, models and wisdom that focus on the idea that God's people are a moving people. They do not stand still. They do not have homes, beds, nations, statuses and roles which are fixed, but instead live in motion.

What do you think it means to be an exodus people? How do you find home when home is not to be defined by a particular place or a particular time? Who keeps you connected when your family and friends are strung up and down the mountain trail?

Lenten Journey

For anyone familiar with Iowa winters, it will come as no surprise that I have not been walking River City at all for the last several months. Cold does not truly begin to describe the weather here. Beyond that, my old dog has gotten noticeably older (2 miles is just more than he can handle), and I have to admit that there has been some grief at work, keeping us warm and loungy inside.  However, Spring seems to have flashed us the hem of her garment.  What's more, today marks the first Sunday in Lent, and I am in need of some restoration. So . . . back to prayer walking it is.

But I cannot truly set out again until I first get my gear in order. That means that I am going to spend the first week of this new journey standing still, viewing the land, scouting the way, and readying my body for the first steps. For this first week then, my walk will be an inward journey.

Today, I will start walking with Luke from chapter 19 through chapter 24, which is fitting as it concludes with the walk to Emmaus. At the end of that trail, I will stop. I will sit, and I will listen to the sound of my own breathing. Wish me luck.

Walking Restoration

Yesterday, I walked the 2200 block of 1st St. SW.  I was joined by one other person and my dog.  We started at the corner of Taft and 1st St. SW, and we read together this prayer from The Common Book of Prayer for Ordinary Radicals

The Death of Someone Killed in The Neighborhood

Lamb of God

You take away the sins of the world

Have mercy on us.

Grant us peace.

For the unbearable toil of our sinful world,

We plead for remission.

For the terror of absence from our beloved,

We plead for your comfort.

For the scandalous presence of death in your Creation,

We pleased for the resurrection.

Lamb of God

You take away the sins of the world

Have mercy on us.

Grant us peace

As we walked, I noted that this is a wonderful, Iowa neighborhood.  The drivers of every car that passed us waved.  There were dogs and young people outside enjoying the sun.  Someone was washing her car in the driveway and another house had a sheriff's car parked in the driveway.   At the end of the street, near the house where murder happened, we stopped for a moment of prayer and my companion shared concern for the family left behind, for the surviving spouse and mother, and for the cleaning woman who removed linens and cleaned up the house after it had been released from crime scene status. 

I am reminded that almost all violence in the US occurs within close relationships.  Random killings and roving bands of murderous thieves are rare enough to be myths.  It is the people closest to us who are most likely to do us harm.  I am reminded that not only people, but cultures and societies can experience symptoms of mental distress and disease.  Yet, a society cannot take medication for its bipolar disorders, its ADHD, its paranoid and compulsive behaviors.

So, what are we to do in the face of such madness, the unexpected emergence of violence in our midst, and the sudden transformation of the known patterns of our lives into chaos and fear by the acts of our neighbors?  Some might argue that we need to heighten our security-purchase handguns, put bars on our windows, punish perpetrators, and shrink our circles of trust.  Yet, it seems that violence is primarily a dysfunction of the human heart.  It seems it emerges from within us, not from without.  So, while we are busy building fortresses to hold outside evils at bay, we are locking ourselves into prisons where anxiety, alienation and paranoid division flourish and grow.

In Matthew and Luke, Jesus says, "Foxes have dens and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head."  Jesus walked.  He traveled.  He visited.  He lived in pilgrimage and traded security to witness to God's dream for this world.  And so, rather than holing up, I am going to walk.  Rather than building up my defenses, I am going to pray.  I am going to tune the steps of my life and the beats of my heart to the meters and the rhythms of the Divine.  Whether it will make any outward difference, I do not know, but I do know that it makes an inward difference.  It makes me feel less afraid.  It makes me feel less helpless.  It makes the world look a lot less hopeless, and it connects me more deeply to the idea of neighbor, to neighborhood, and the very real ways that each action we take has true impact on the world that surrounds us-even on people who never even know our names.

Witness Walk-You Are Invited

On Thursday, July 18, Tom Barlas Sr. was murdered in his home at 2921 1st St. SW here in Mason City.  On Sunday, August 4th at 4 PM, I will be prayer walking in this neighborhood.  You are invited to join me.  All that is needed are good walking shoes and an open heart.

If you would like to join me, I will start at the corner of Taft and 1st St. SW, walking West on the North side of the street, and coming back East on the South side of the street.

View August 3, 2013 in a larger map

Still Walking River City????

As I have been finishing up my project of prayer walking the neighborhoods of Mason City, I have also been prayerfully considering where to take this project next.  After all, walking is something I do regularly.  My dog and I need it, but the intentional prayer practice is running out of new places to visit.  People assure me that I should keep at it (they claim there can never be too much prayer.), but finding a format or "purposed" schedule hasn't been so simple.

At a recent church event, I was invited to participate in a new "Walking Moai"  as part of the Blue Zones Project which aims at getting Mason City to be a healthier place for people to live.  This means that I have a scheduled walking group every Tuesday night.  Rather than walking neighborhoods, this group intends to walk park trails. There is also a new project for my church which I intend to start this summer which will involve, I think, a lot of time on the sidewalks of Mason City.  I am going to shift my walking prayer practice over to these two activities.  What I would like to ask of you, my readers, is prayer in support of making those two activities intentional, Spiritual development.  I believe many of you and many who know I am walking truly value this practice, and I want to keep at it.

This will mean that I will need to overcome some shyness and ask other people to participate in making this blog more personal.  Asking them if I can share their pictures and stories here.  Asking them to participate in this practice of praying for Mason City.  There will probably be less posts about "I wonder what is going on here?" and more posts about the actual who and what inhabit the spaces I will walk in.  I hope that you have enjoyed my tour of the neighborhoods of Mason City and my conjectures and insights as they have arisen.  I look forward to a slightly different, but hopefully deeper engagement with Mason City, its people and its places over the next few months.

First Walk of Spring

Dear Readers!  Today, neither weather, schedule nor laziness got in my way and I walked!  Yay!  Buc and I started at the Norris Youth Softball Complex off Tennessee Ave.  I believe this area was flooded out in 2008, but many homes are still here.  I noticed many empty lots where structures apparently used to stand.  I walked South across State street and up behind St. James ELCA.  There were quite a few people out walking dogs, sitting in the sun, talking with neighbors and coming home from school. Spring is springing.

Homes ranged in size from small to large.  Some were new and some were old.    This seems like an area of Mason City with quite a bit of diversity in socio-economic status, based on the age of cars, the state of siding. roofing and paint, as well as landscaping or lack thereof.

As I walked I tried to pray but my mind kept wandering.  Mostly I asked for guidance, comfort and care for the people of Mason City.  You can check out the route, pictures and some of my exercise stats by clicking the link below.
http://www.mapmywalk.com/routes/view/193877402

New Phone

This walk marks a jump up in technology.  I used a new phone app called mapmywalk to record my walk using the GPS in my phone.  I took the picture below with my phone as well.  This walk was in an intriguing neighborhood.  There were Southwest mission style homes side-by-side with these Bavarian style homes.  There were small one story homes next to sprawling Victorians.  Many streets here ended in dead ends and a couple of them were diagonal streets.  Between the river and the railroad tracks, this neighborhood lacks all conformity in layout.

I was quite agitated when I started this walk, but the brisk temperature and a focus on the prayer "Please guide and watch over us," seemed to help a lot.  I stopped fretting about the little scheduling and professional obligations that were buzzing around my head.  Two things really stood out about this part of Mason City.
1.  There were a noticeable number of multifamily homes here-duplexes and apartments.
2. Many homes throughout this section of town are listed as for sale.  There were some wonderfully unique homes and yards here.  Also, many of the streets were quiet and secluded.  Though close to State Street and 4th St., one could get away from all the noise here.

I thought I had taken more photos with my phone, but the one above was the only one.  Also, it looks like importing the map to the blog is pretty simple.  The other great thing about using this system was that I got feedback on distance, calories spent and elevation change for the walk.  I look forward to truly integrating the technology with the experience.

View Larger Map

River City Review

As I have mapped out my most recent prayer walks, I realized how much of Mason City I have walked.  I only have about 3 or 4 more sections of neighborhoods to walk.  I do not know what my prayer practice will then become, but I have been asked if I would lead a Walking Moai as part of the Mason City Blue Zones Project.  The Walking Moai is a social group built around a weekly practice of "walking."  Maybe, come April, I will shift to walking a fixed route rather than the street and neighborhood routes I have been using.  It is very exciting to see all the streets I have walked and to realize how many homes and sidewalks I have been able to walk and pray since moving here.

One thing I have learned is that praying takes on a different dimension when you pursue it publicly.  Even though I generally pray inside my head, there is still a sense that I might get "caught" when I pass people on the sidewalk or wave at someone who is raking leaves in her yard.  Also, there is a sense that the prayer is real; embodied in a way that is very different from prayer in my own private space with Bible or prayer book in hand.  Being musically inclined, I have often used my iPod and listened to Psalms while walking.  The other practice I have tried is to "feel" the Spiritual energy in an area.  I wrote early on about sensing tiredness or sickness while walking streets near the hospital.  I do not know how much of that has been a real sense of the Spirit, and how much has been a projection outward of my own inner landscape.

I do know that walking and praying has really built some connections and care for Mason City.  I know which potholes are being discussed at the City meetings.  I also know that the walks where I was joined by others really stand out in my mind.  I associate those places with the people that walked them with me, so that relationship has not just been building with the spaces, but with the faces there as well.  A delightful side effect has been realizing which homes belong to church friends.  To know that I brought their church into their neighborhood, even in silent Psalms sung in my mind, is really amazing.  I don't really know why.

Below, please enjoy the map of my walks.  Also, I have posted a slideshow of the pictures I have taken.

View Prayer Walking Master Map in a larger map

The Gift of Mobility

Mobility.  Ice storms and negative wind chill factor temperatures have made getting around Mason City a challenge.  Today I started at Kiwanis Park on 14th St. NE.  I walked North on North Carolina Pl.  I had misread my Google Map, and it turned out there was a dead end on 15th St. NE off of North Carolina Pl.  That, cold weather which made my thumbs burn in my mittens, intermittent ice slicks and a loose dog all made this an adventuresome walk.  (The loose dog, by the way, was a beautiful, white Labrador Retriever without a collar.  If he had continued to walk along with us, my husband might have come home to 2 dogs.)

People were out with shovels.  People were out delivering papers.  Kids were getting off school buses on their way home.  People were mobile.  As I walked and prayed, I thought about the treasure of two legs, good ears, good eyes, and a body still youthful enough to bruise instead of break.

I thought about all the fragile people who have to venture out to get groceries on roads covered in ice.  I thought about the treachery of parking lots and snow drifts for people who cannot lift their feet more than a couple inches off the ground.  I thought about people in wheel chairs and people without cars.  I thought about mail carriers and delivery persons and I reckoned that I am truly blessed.  I get to choose when it is worthwhile to dig out or hunker in.   

Iowa winter can get pretty tough.  It can lock you indoors.  It can trip you on your way to get your mail.  Maybe that is why card games and grandparents are such important parts of the culture here.   I prayed for this neighborhood, for the people who maybe still haven't gotten out since that last big storm and for those whose work, school, church, and family commitments have led them out to brave the weather.  

Those ice skates could come in handy.

View Feb. 4, 2012, 14th St. NE in a larger map

A Visit to the Hospital

Oh Iowa, how I love you!  My second week back in the state and the temperatures were frigid.  Between the single digit thermometer numbers and wind chill, my old dog and I decided not to walk a neighborhood yet this week.  We could have toughed it out, but with a cozy house, and a pot of coffee, why?

Nevertheless, I walked yesterday.  A friend had sudden surgery and so I spent a few hours in the hospital with family and friends.  Hospitals are fascinating spaces.  They seem designed to disorient and confuse.  They have odd little jogs in the hallways and often the expected pattern of rooms is disrupted.  You turn a corner, thinking you will find the next six room numbers and find a blank wall instead.

There were nurses, doctors, patients, families, volunteers and friends.  People were walking everywhere.  I walked hallways in a round of rooms and prayed for health and for healing, but as I walked, I noticed something that movies never capture. This is a warm hospital: carpets instead of linoleum, low light instead of bright flourescents.  There is nothing antiseptic, sterile, cold, or unfeeling in this space.  This hospital is not a place of despair and hopelessness.  Instead, it feels like a place of healing.  The warm professionalism of the hospital staff and volunteers exuded calm and compassion.  People who have seen it all saying with their body language, "Do not fear."  Though likely hurting, most of the patients I saw had determined and engaged looks on their faces.  They were people getting well.  Walking themselves out of the hospital.

Creative Commons
James Jen

Walking, my mind made a turn.  There are days when I start to wish that life were different.  That people wouldn't get sick.  That bills didn't exist.  That the weather was never too cold or too hot.  That I didn't have so many chores, so many obligations, so few hours in a given day.  That poverty and war were the fairy tales.  I start arranging my schedule and organizing my time.  I start spending days doing actions, and imagining a life lived walking on a beach and drinking margaritas.

There are days like that, but as I walked, I was reminded: it is a privilege to be with sick friends in the hospital.  It is a privilege to walk beside a recovering partner.  It is a gift and a privilege to be breakable, to be needed, to play a part and to fill a role.  These are all side effects of a life lived in relationship with other people.  Money, success, power, control and invulnerability don't fill the Spirit the way being a friend can.  It is the humps and bumps, the struggles and the shifts, the losses and the pains that tell us who and whose we are.  Loss is because love is, and what I saw most in the hospital yesterday was love. A corporate love expressed in that huge institution totally dedicated to an idea that people can and should get well.  An intimate love expressed by family and friends gathered, in fear, yes, but mostly in faith, in hope and in an assurance that, no matter the outcome of the surgery, all would be well.

Now, on to the laundry.



View Larger Map

He Watches Over Every Step You Take

Have you ever had a hard time praying?  Sometimes, it is hard to "get in the mood."  It is difficult to "clear enough space."  Today was that kind of day.  The weather is still cold, but there is a warmish feel to it.  Water is running under the snow and seeping up from the ground.  The weather is restless and achy.  So was my soul.  So, when I was driving to my intended walking route, I was feeling restless, achy and edgy.  While looking for a good place to park my car, I began to feel uneasy.  The neighborhood area I had chosen to walk seemed empty, deserted and ominous.   When the most likely looking spot to park turned out to be hidden from view behind some trees, I decided that discretion being the better part of valor, that I would walk in a different area.

That led me to N. Virginia, and N. Kentucky Ave, 9th-12th St. NE.  The first thing that greeted me on getting out of the car were two joggers and two walkers all out with their dogs.  This was a better place to walk on a day like today.  Yet, I still was not really ready to pray.  So, I put in my earphones, started my Sons of Korah album and walked the Psalms.  

This is a great neighborhood.  One of the things I truly love about Iowa is a lack of pretension and arrogance.  There are very few "mansions" here in Mason City.  Usually, the only sign of "affluence" that will stand out is new sidewalk cement and a very straight retaining wall.  People don't seem to advertise their success with new cars, R. Lauren tags, or monstrously large homes; and then, every once in a while, you will stumble across a truly unique home, like this one on N. Rhode Island.

It has a wavy roof and a rock facade.  Next to the little white farmhouses next door, it is pretty fascinating. Maybe someone who lives here in town knows about this house.  I really like the blue accents.  In the Southwest, a blue door traditionally denotes welcome.

By the end of my walk, I was singing and praying.  Psalms were running under my steps and Buc and I were breathing the soft air.  The Psalm that most stood out for this walk was Psalm 121.  "He watches over you.  He will not slumber.  The Lord who watches over Israel will not sleep."

View

Good and Blessed

Brr! What a cold day to decide to get back into the action! I walked a pattern between 11th St. NE and 7th St. NE between North Carolina Ave. and Virginia Ave., and it was snowing the whole way.  It was also extremely slippery in places, where last week's melt had frozen and was newly dusted with snow.  I will have to remember my Yak Trax the next time I head out.  This is a beautiful part of Mason City.  Along the River, there are lots of trees and the streets roll up and down and wind a little.  The houses were the usual mix of humble and chic, large and small, old, new, and unique.  As you can see from this yard, bird watching seems to be a fairly popular pastime.

There was enough snow over the last few weeks to support this HUGE snowman.

Also odd, on this walk, was this pile of frozen fish in the road.  Might be a great short story starter

The following pictures were taken along streets that were flooded in 2008, and almost all of these homes have been condemned and bought by the City.  A Catholic grace from my childhood played in my mind throughout this walk:  "Bless us, O Lord, and these, thy gifts, which we are about to receive from thy bounty, through Christ, our Lord.  Amen."  I know at least one family that lost its home and many belongings in this flood that found a neighborhood and a home that it likes better, and for those that are still landing somewhere and recovering from the losses evidenced here, I pray for restitution and greater blessings still.  

The Egloff House is the white house in the far back.  An architectural  "gem" which may be moved rather than demolished

Towards the end of my walk, a friend beeped her horn at me.  "What are you doing here?" she exclaimed.  I told her I was prayer walking.  She pointed out her house, and I said, "Well, we just came up that block, so you should be good and blessed."  We laughed a little and both decided to get out of the cold.



 
View Jan16 2013 in a larger map

New Year

I am not generally a person who makes New Year's resolutions, as I am usually pretty pleased with my life.  Unfortunately, I have hit a wall in my will power over the last few months and have not successfully gotten myself out to pray and walk.

So  . . . New year and new resolution: I will get back into a regular walking and praying routine.  I am going to aim for 2 prayer walks in a week.  No excuses.  As I run into some of you readers regularly, I hope that you will continue to hold me accountable.

And for those of you who live far away, please feel free to send comments and questions my way.  I still have quite a few neighborhoods to walk, though I have succeeded in praying for many homes, streets and businesses here in Mason City.  This has been a great Spiritual practice as well as a wonderful way for my dog and me to stay young and fit.  I am not better off for my time being too "busy" or too "lazy" to get out and do this thing.

I hope and pray that each of you had a great holiday season and that the upcoming weeks will find you happy, healthy, and wise.