Clearing the Clutter

My Twitter mosaic

2009-02-16T16:38:00.003-06:00

Breathe! Even if your crow doesn't fly.

2008-11-29T09:03:00.004-06:00

My yoga teacher says the point of yoga is breathing - it's really not about getting my body into all those positions. In fact, she will often modify positions for those of us who can't quite get there. What she does insist on, however, is that we keep breathing.

Recently we were learning "the crow". In the crow only your hands are touching the ground in the final position, and your knees are resting on the back of your upper arms above your elbows. When you are in this position, the crow is said to be flying.

Debra, my instructor, said to us as we were moving into position, "Your crow does not have to fly," meaning that your knees did not actually have to come up onto your arms. I can tell you as a novice, that getting my knees up on my arms was not going to happen that night. I'm glad I have a gentle teacher who doesn't make me feel guilty about being in class and not being able to do it all. My crow was not going to fly.

The position, as I'm learning, is not the point. Breathing is the point. So at the moment when Debra said if you could to simply move into the flying position - she says it a lot better than that, of course - she also almost immediately said, "Breathe!" I did put an exclamation point there on purpose. She's quite gentle, but on this breathing thing, she's downright insistent. Sometimes she simply says, "breathe". But most of the time, it's "Breathe!" and sometimes even, "BREATHE!" Because, you see, at the moment of trying to get our crow to fly, there's this collective sucking of air in the room and then silence because without knowing it we're holding our breath. We're afraid of this position because, frankly, it's challenging, so we gasp and quit breathing. Now, in yoga, holding your breath is not helpful; in fact, if you want to get into various poses, it's downright counterproductive.

Have you ever noticed yourself not breathing as it were when something challenging happens? Something stressful? I've been thinking that what I'm learning in yoga is that this is a great place to start when I'm in a difficult spot in my day, when I'm troubled, challenged, disturbed or in any way aware that all is not well. "Breathe!"

One of the words for God's Spirit in Hebrew is "Ruach" which means "wind, breath, mind, spirit". When I breathe, simply do what my body does naturally, it is an opportunity to be infused with God's Spirit, an opportunity to be full instead of empty, at peace instead of stressed, joyful and peaceful instead of tense or disturbed. But how often we hear this collective sucking of air in the room when things get tense. Suddenly no one's breathing! In life, as in yoga, not breathing is downright counterproductive and makes stressful situations worse, makes it hard for God's spirit to flow in and out and through me.

Pay attention to your breathing. Breathe in and out and realize God is in that breathing. Wow. Your crow may not fly yet, but you can surely breathe!

Contemplation in the post-election: On Bumper Stickers and Glaphre'

2008-11-06T06:10:00.015-06:00

Lauren's car is full of bumper stickers - interesting ones.
There are the three Apples, looking a bit like Apple's version of Pac Man, from computers we have purchased;
Outward Bound Alumni sticker - of which she is understandably quite proud;
Dragon Swimming - for her 4 years of high school swim team;
the liturgy-recalling one that says, Peace be with you.

But if I have a favorite, it is this one, no doubt inspired by her years of camping and her more recent Outward Bound experiences:
Go Outside.

Are you wondering what to do with your post election joy? What to do with your grief? (I saw a friend in the store who told me she wore black the day after the election for her morning walk.) I, on the other hand, am jubilant. What to do with your fears that this new day in American history will not live up to expectations? What to do with your hopes?

Go outside!

The many opinions on facebook and my space are driving you batty and you still want the old facebook back? Get off the computer and go outside.

Seriously. For me the fastest way to get back to peace and joy is to go outside. In my case it's my back yard, but it can be anywhere.

Sit
feel the wind on your face
the sun beating down on you
enjoy the moon
and the planets hanging out nearby
breathe
listen to the birds
notice the bats swooping through the darkness
admire the wingspan of the great blue heron rising from the creek
hear the water flowing
notice the rustle of the wind in the trees
enjoy the cool morning air
let yourself get wet in the rain
savor the fall colors
hear the coyotes (or dogs next door) howl
lie in the grass
be still

Glaphre' - prayer of peace
Glaphre' a wise teacher on prayer, once taught me a prayer. It is a prayer for healing, and I spent many hours praying this prayer when Austin was so sick. I have come to realize that it's a prayer for healing of many things, and it is so appropriate now as we desperately need to be healed from our divisiveness - particularly among those of us who call ourselves Christians.

The prayer starts this way: Go outside! Find a place that is green if you can. It might be your back yard, a park or a nearby body of water. Sit comfortably. Breathe. Notice your breathing - don't try to control it.

And then pray:

Lord, this is your creation; it is at peace.
I am your creation; let me be at peace.

Pray it silently, or quietly out loud. Sit for as long as you can - 5 minutes; 15 minutes; 30 minutes. And pray the prayer, slowly, contemplatively, quietly, peacefully, with the rhythm of your breathing, over and over during that time.

Allow yourself to be lifted above, or taken deep within. Let go of whatever is on your mind. You're not praying for peace for the world at this moment - just for yourself. Let the peace of Christ protect your heart. Let the God of peace fill you (see Philippians).

And then carry that peace with you. To work, to your family, to your reading or hearing or watching of the news, to your conversations, to your email, facebook, my space; to the grocery store where you run into your friends who voted differently than you; to the joy in your conversations with those who share your thrill at this election; to your grief and fear over the results of this election.

Go outside. Bring the peace with you. Do it again later in the day. Do it again tomorrow.

Go outside!
Peace be with you.

Jan Gunter - Writing from Round Rock where the cool breeze wafts through the window, the cardinals are chirping, and we elected our first in ages Democrat to the Texas State House - Diana Maldonado! Where that cute little red car of Lauren's doesn't come home every night anymore but instead sits on a parking lot at Texas State University. Where Austin, living 25 miles away at the Moreau House at St. Edward's University, is eating vegan and loving life and getting around better than ever. Where the Round Rock High School volleyball team is hoping for a state championship after beating Cy-Fair in a hard-fought battle last night. And where it promises to be a beautiful, peaceful day.

Write when you can! Keep in touch.

Dear Bruce

2008-10-31T21:34:00.005-05:00

A Response to my friend, Bruce, on facebook.

I have been having difficult conversations this week with Christian friends who disagree with me on my political leanings. I haven't written about my politics because I have thought that they didn't belong here in my blog about clearing the clutter. But I have changed my mind about that.

As friends have challenged me on my voting for Obama - there, I've said it - and in particular on issues such as abortion and the perceived socialist/terrorist threat that they see Obama as bringing, I have found myself needing to respond, not being able to not respond. And what I've realized is that my politics are very much about clearing the clutter, about living a life with God in the world.

In fact, as I've become intensely agitated about people assuming that one party is more Christian than the other in this country, I have found myself going to God and begging for some peace, some solitude, some direction. And I have found it. Over and over. In the quietness of the creek. In the prayer book. In the gloria. In the repetition of the truths I know to be true - not American truths - Christian truths.

So tonight on facebook I did it again - I stuck my neck out there and started talking about how my Christianity informs my decision to vote for Obama. It was in response to my friend, Bruce's post, "What November 4 Means to Me". A couple of things he said the election is not about for him are things that it is about for me - the economy (the money as I say below), and the war in Iraq. So here you will find my not-so-eloquent response to at least a couple of Bruce's points. It is also not comprehensive, but it is simply a moment in time of my political/Christian thought.

Dear Bruce,

Thank you for your post, and I appreciate especially your request for others to be kind if they disagree. I've struggled as I've disagreed with some of my Christian friends and family to find a way to do that without being divisive.

I believe you and I are on different sides of this thing politically, but I welcome the opportunity to kindly share my positions. I proudly cast my vote for Obama last week in early voting. And I did so as a person of faith who believes with all my heart that we are headed in the wrong direction before God. The Scriptures have a lot to say about money, and so yes, I do believe it's about the money - not mine because I have precious little to be worried about - but about the way we all handle it, personally and collectively. It is about greed, and yes, indeed the answer is, "I am my brother's keeper." Check your OT for that one.

I also challenge you to read your NT and find a justification - any justification at all - for war. I know I'm expressing a VERY minority opinion here, but when we were going into Iraq, I prayed and agonized over that one, convinced it was wrong. In the process of praying and reading the Bible, I not only decided it was a wrong war, but that there is no NT justification for war - of any kind. A truly pro-life position would be anti-war. How can it be ok to kill soldiers and innocent civilians? How can it be ok to impose the death penalty? If you recall, the Israelites clamored for a king on a White stallion. I fear we may be more like them than we know. We are clamoring for the RIGHT (opposite of left) to win, but Jesus laid down his life instead of fighting. How do we translate that politically? I don't believe we've really tried. Augustine was the one who came up with the idea of a just war, not Jesus. That's not a Christ-ly concept at all.

Jesus' one act of aggression was, ahem . . . . about the money!! Specifically the money changers. Cheating, swindling, being greedy, taking advantage of their position.

I do not know what the political solutions are to all of these things, but it has been clear to me that what "Christian" means in political circles has become more about what certain Christian leaders and non-Christian radio personalities are spewing forth than it is about real Christian people considering all the issues before God and weeping for many things, including the taking of innocent lives.

Don't hear me to be saying that you are not considering the issues, Bruce, because clearly you are. What I do want you to know is that I am not hoping for a Messiah in Barack Obama, although I do believe he has a great deal of wisdom for leadership that we need right now. NO, we already have the Messiah - that position is taken. But I want you to know that as a fellow believer, a fellow follower of Jesus Christ, I have come to the opposite conclusion from you, and I can't be silent about it.

I appreciate the opportunity to share this in your space here on facebook, and I hope all those who disagree with me will be kind as well as we all "work out (our) own salvation with fear and trembling" (Philippians 2:12, NT).

Before God let us pray for his Kingdom to come on earth as it is in heaven.

Lord, hear our prayer.

Jan Walker (those Walkers can be SO long-winded) Gunter
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March was so long ago

2008-09-30T18:34:00.005-05:00

Why did I post my last blog 7 months ago? I enjoy writing. A few other people even tell me they enjoy my writing. But I wrote the night of the caucuses in Texas for the presidential primary, and now we are just a month away from the election itself, and I have not written anything since. So much has happened.

Life and death got in the way. Daddy was quite ill and spent some time slowly leaving his body and this earth. It was such a blessing to be with him and Mother in those last weeks of his. He went to the caucus that last night that I wrote, and he voted for Hillary. He would not tolerate other people criticizing her as so many were wont to do. I believe he saw in her some raw strength and sheer will much like his own. He saw in her some well-earned wisdom, much like his own.

That night I stood in a surprising and delightfully long line of Democratic voters at Chisholm Trail Middle School in Round Rock, Texas, Williamson County, an oh-so-red county, as we waited to vote, and I cast mine for Obama. Daddy was not well as he went to the caucus that night. His one kidney was failing. But he cast his vote that day, and that night he went to the caucus. While I don't believe he would have been like my neighbor who only took her Hillary signs down 2 weeks ago, he was determined to cast his vote for this woman he believed in. To cast his vote as he had always done. It was voting day. Caucus night. That's what Daddy did.

Daddy did everything until the end. He attended his dear friend, Dale's funeral, just two months earlier. He and Mother looked so beautiful sitting there in the honorary pallbearer section. So beautiful that I cried. I cried because I knew, as he did, that he was near his own end. But being near the end for Daddy did not really signify anything different. He just kept doing what he had always done. He got up and got dressed. He ate at the table. He cleaned up after himself and ran the dustbuster under the bar stools where he and Mother had most of their meals. He got in the car anytime someone was ready to go somewhere.

He wasn't very willing to talk about his dying. I was a bit disappointed about this - I would have liked to have had some end-of-life conversations with him, but this was not his way. He never agreed to die, never assented. He didn't deny that it was happening, he just didn't ever say that it was ok. It was happening, and he couldn't stop that, but he kept on going every day not as if it were his last. That's what Daddy did. He lived. Until the end.

At Easter dinner at our house, just weeks before he died, on one of his last outings, he insisted on staying longer than Mother thought he should. He sat in the living room and shook his head, "No" when she asked if he was ready to leave. He wanted to stay in the company of his family and the friends we had invited over for Easter dinner. Even though he couldn't talk much anymore, and not really at all in a group of people, he was there with us, listening, sharing in the conversation. And as always, always, when we would say good-bye after a visit, he said, "I love you." Clearly. Plainly. When other words failed him, those never did.

In his last three weeks, as he was having more difficulty breathing with the fluid building up in his body, he astounded me one day. Austin and Lauren brought their friends Leela and Amanda with them to visit him. When all the kids came in - 18-21 year olds with all their energy - Daddy stood up and walked over to say hi. The kids all gathered around the bar to just hang out. There happened to be a cake that a friend had brought by earlier in the day, and Daddy walked over and very clearly said, "Be sure and have some cake." Words were precious for him at this point. He often couldn't say what he wanted to, so he had given up trying much of the time. But on this day he had the words to offer hospitality, to welcome his dear grandkids' friends. Always the host. That's who Daddy was. That's what he did.

He did what he always did. Got up. Got dressed. Voted. Went out whenever he could. Shared what he had. Played the host. Loved his family. Faithful Daddy.

I haven't written for a while because I have known that the next thing to write about was Daddy. And maybe the next as well. We'll see.

Writing from Round Rock where it's been in the 90's on this last day of September. And promises to be a lovely 60 degrees or less tonight and where there is no water in the creek but many leaves falling on the white rocks.

Seeing in the Dark

2008-03-04T20:35:00.003-06:00

On my way home from the caucus tonight I walked along a little trail through a small patch of woods in my neighborhood. I've been on this trail many times, but not lately. Because I had a small flashlight, I could see enough to keep from tripping on the rocks, but I realized that the only reason I could even find the trail at night was because it was a familiar path. I had walked that way before. In the daytime.

I have spent the last week being introduced to St. John of the Cross and his many works, including his most famous, The Dark Night. Under the captivating teaching of Dr. Susan Muto, my interest in this Christian mystic was piqued. St. John writes about the light being obscured, about being without comfort and consolation and mostly about the fact that in spite of how dark it is, God is very present in the darkness. He talks about the path in order to help the one on the journey have some familiarity with it so that when the darkness does set in, the path will be at least somewhat familiar, like mine was tonight.

As I walked this dark trail tonight, feeling fairly confident albeit a bit anxious about the path, I knew I was safe. I did call Phillip on my cell phone just as I was heading into the darkness, though, because even though this is a safe neighborhood, I wanted him to know where I was, what path I was on and about when I expected to be home. It's that phone call where you say, "If I'm not home in 10 minutes you should begin to worry." Suddenly I thought, "I wonder why we don't do that for each other spiritually?"

How many of us don't even know when we're headed down that dark path and surely wouldn't consider saying to someone, "If I don't emerge from this darkness soon, be sure to check on me." It occurs to me that we don't know very well how to be with each other soul to soul. Even those of us who without hesitation call ourselves Christians, who gladly acknowledge that we are on a spiritual path, even we don't know very well how to be with each other soul to soul.

St. John of the Cross had an entire language he used to describe life with God and how best to navigate the terrain. He was there, soul to soul with Teresa of Avila and the many sisters to whom he was spiritual director. His language is admittedly hard for us to relate to, but he did have a language that spoke to his contemporaries. How do we reclaim the language of souls?

If we want to see in the dark on the path where we find ourselves, we need to learn the language of the darkness. We need to learn the language of souls.

Praying with my own words

2008-01-19T12:35:00.000-06:00

I find myself moving from low to high church. I come from a tradition where believers are taught to pray directly to God using their own words. I still hear pastors say things like, "You can talk to God on your own. You don't need special prayers or the prayers of other people. Use your own words."

At some point in my journey I discovered that kind of prayer wasn't working so well for me. I desperately wanted something more than my own words. My own words seemed weak and trivial. I realized that for years I had been longing for more help than that in my praying. I had memorized precious few prayers, and I needed a few more.

Since then I've discovered some really great prayers that are not as they say, my own words. But it is simply astonishing to me how much they become my own words when I pray them.

The book of Psalms for example, is a book of prayers and songs. If I had no other prayers, I could live on these alone. There's this one from Psalm 17:

I call on you, O God, for you will answer me;
give ear to me and hear my prayer.
Keep me as the apple of your eye;
hide me in the shadow of your wings.
Psalm 17:6, 8

Or how about this simple line just across the page in Psalm 18 - a worthy prayer for any day:

I love you, O Lord, my strength.
Psalm 18:1

In addition to the Psalms, I have come to love some very simple prayers of the Church. Who knows how old these are, but they are essentially words adapted from Scripture and prayed for countless years by Christian pilgrims:

The Jesus Prayer

Lord Jesus, Christ
Son of God
Have mercy on me.

How simple and profound is that! And how transforming and peaceful a prayer it is. How rhythmic. It's how Jesus said we should pray - how the poor man prayed.

And then this one that I love to pray when I'm facing trouble of any kind. It comes to me frequently in times that are not what I would want them to be, in times when I know I need help, in times when I feel inadequate or lonely or greatly challenged.

Oh God, come to my assistance,
Oh Lord, make haste to help me.

When I pray any one of these things repeatedly, the prayer begins to well up from within me and becomes a fountain of life. The prayer itself flows through me as the River of Life, as Christ himself, as Spirit, as God. The prayer becomes my own words.

I think I understand what the pastors are trying to say when they let people know it's ok to pray their own words. I also think it's a disservice to not help people a little bit more to come to their own words by way of a rich tradition of scripture and written prayers of the people.

Writing to you from our home on St. Williams Loop where 30+ high school girls will gather tonight at 4:30 to spray paint t-shirts for their upcoming District Swim Meet at the University of Texas aquatic center. These same girls will stay all night and participate in other traditions, some involving toilet paper and boys' houses. Lauren will be competing for the first time in the District Meet, swimming the 200 yard Individual Medley and the 100 yard Backstroke. Go Dragons!

We're having some of the best weather of the year in Central Texas. Many days of beautiful sunshine, low humidity and cold temperatures. Reminds me of one of the places of my heart - New Mexico. Reminds me of God.

Walking through fields on a cold morning

2007-12-24T08:46:00.001-06:00

The fields are still there, just as they have always been. On this Sunday morning it is cold, and the difference is that I am here, walking in the fields. How long has it been since I walked to the back of this pasture?

There was a period during high school when I trained for running track on that old rutted road that leads down to the vacant house and barn. I hated every minute of it - never was that fast, either. There was the day as teenagers when Ann and I decided to "smoke" hay. Now that's brilliant - lighting matches in a full hayloft! I remember the day some friends saw me in my pigtails driving the tractor in this field, shredding hay. They said I looked like Pippi Longstocking, bouncing around on that tractor. I did love shredding those fields.

One of my favorite things to do in this pasture was to ride with Daddy in the Chevy pickup as he sped us across the pasture so we could see the jackrabbits run from their hiding places. Now that was fun! It takes a man who really knows his pasture to run a pickup at what seemed like high speed across those fields. There were potholes there, and he knew where they were. Even so, it was a rough and very exciting ride. And Daddy was in his element, laughing, full of joy at being with his family in his field. A man with his children in his truck on his farm land.

He is still full of joy being with his family. It's been 40 years since the jackrabbit running days, we don't all fit in one pickup anymore, the jackrabbit population has shrunk because of fire ants, and today Daddy is sitting in his chair smiling simply because we are there and because our children are there. With him. Together. That is what the pasture has always been about: family, being together, loving the land.

I've done a lot of walking the land since the days of my childhood, but not much of it in this pasture. I've hiked the Sierra Nevadas, the Blue Dot trail to the Rio Grande River in New Mexico, the Quemazon trail, trails in southern Colorado near Wolf Creek Pass, many trails in Texas State Parks. This pasture I'm walking is not a trail but black dirt farmland with well over a hundred large round bails of hay, almost as tall as I am, for which there is no market this year. I wonder how we could get them over to Georgia where they desperately need hay? The black dirt on this Texas plain was productive this year.

Today I came out here to get my heart rate up. I must plan to do that on a regular basis if I want to keep living well. And my heart rate is up. So is my awareness. Daddy is not well. He is still getting up and around, taking care of himself for the most part. But he is not well. How can there be a world without this man? The earth is beginning to shift at the thought. The earth under the black Texas farmland, the earth under the mountain trails, the earth under the Texas parks. Something fundamental is changing as this man lives now on the border of this world and looks into the next. He knows he's leaving soon. We know he's leaving soon. But how can it possibly be?

The air is crisp and cold this Sunday morning as I walk the pasture. I know that my Redeemer lives and that he shall stand upon the earth someday. I will see God. I will see him with my dad and my mother, with Eula and Clint, Eunice and Marvin, Bill, Ed, Mac, Shorty, Vera, Ojeta, Jewel, Evelyn, Libby, Mark, . How does one move from one day driving joyfully through the pastures rousting rabbits to the next standing joyfully with the heavenly chorus? How does one move from being one day in the pasture on a cold morning, aware of the great cloud of witnesses surrounding us to the next day becoming one of the great cloud of witnesses? I don't know.

But walking in this pasture this morning I know that we are here together and that even when the earth shakes and shifts, we will still be together in some strange and wonderful way. This I know.

Blessed be God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. As it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be. World without end, amen.

Shepherds standing in the field

2007-12-09T21:06:00.000-06:00

We were shepherds standing in the field blinded by a great light, and the angel said, "Don't be afriad." It happened this week. Monday night. In Dr. Glen Luepnitz' office.

We had ventured once again to visit yet another doctor who might hold some hope for Austin's disease. We've never really believed that he simply "has" juvenile rheumatoid arthritis and there's nothing we can do about it. But we have been to a lot of doctors and practitioners and spent a lot of money and had a lot of hope only to be ultimately disappointed. Only to realize that for now Austin just needs to keep taking the drugs that at least keep the disease from taking over his life.

So once again we went to visit a doctor who might prove to have some answers. It was astounding, really, as we sat in his office for well over an hour and listened to him talk about chemistry and biology and genetics and all of it related to Austin and really to our entire family. The details are detailed, and that is not the point of this writing. What is important is that we sat in awe as so much of what we heard made sense, and Dr. Luepnitz said that yes, he would be able to help Austin get better. He spoke with authority. We heard as those who are dying for hope. We heard as desert travelers who have found water.

We heard as startled shepherds in the field. The light shined on us, the nighttime field was full of light, and we were not afraid. "Behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy which shall be for all the people."

I think there are many times when we are shepherds in the field hearing the angels bringing joy.

Like being with my parents tonight eating chicken soup and decorating the Christmas tree.

Like standing in the chapel at the oblate renewal center with my 40+ fellow travelers in the Academy for Spiritual Formation as we celebrate the eucharist together.

Like being a part of the 10 year anniversary celebration of St. Barnabas the Encourager Evengelical Covenant Church this weekend.

Like going on a college visit to Southwestern University with Lauren on a gorgeous fall day and getting a Baja Blast at Taco Bell afterwards.

Like being in a community of believers where I can support and be supported, where people believe in me, and I believe in them.

Like saying night prayer with my Academy friends. Like saying night prayer with my parents in their home. Like saying night prayer with Phillip and Lauren and Amanda.

Like having a friend willing to meet me at the gym and help me begin an exercise routine after being so un-routine about my exercise for so long.

Like having a really wonderful boss.

Like knowing that I am capable of loving more than I'm usually willing to love and being challenged to live into loving more than I do.

Like being thankful for the saints that have gone before us and knowing that we will join them someday - but hopefully not yet!

Like petting our 11-year-old cat.

I'm thankful that our time with Dr. Luepnitz this week called that wonder to mind, reminded me that we really are in Advent, that the coming of Christ into our world did not only happen long ago but that it indeed continues to happen. Sometimes I'm startled into awareness.

The world is wondrous, and I want to always be like shepherds in the nighttime field standing in awe of this amazing thing that is happening right before my eyes.

Autumn dragonfly

2007-11-11T11:13:00.000-06:00

Leaves are falling in my yard today, and on the creek. The creek is fairly cluttered with leaves, in fact. The water is no longer flowing because we haven't had rain for so long. So it sits. Sometimes it moves a little bit if the wind manages to reach far enough into the creek to disturb the water. Rocks and piles of brown leaves separate the different pools of water. Not stagnate yet, they will soon become so if we don't get some rain.

Watching the leaves fall on the creek today, I noticed a leaf that seemed to be flying instead of falling. Then this "leaf" hovered over a rock like a helicopter , and I realized that it was not a leaf but a dragonfly. A dragonfly that looked strangely leaf-like. A burnt orange to dark brown-ish dragonfly. Perhaps she is showing her pride today in the burnt orange University of Texas Longhorns who looked like a real football team yesterday.

I don't know anything about ddragonflies, and I've never been particularly interested in them. I've seen purple ones before and translucent ones that took on a variety of deep blue and pink colors. But I've never seen a brown one. I've never seen one that reminded me of a leaf.

I'm amazed, really. That a burnt orange, brownish dragonfly would be hanging out by the creek while the brown leaves are falling is really astounding to me. That I would see dragonfly and think, "leaf". That a dragonfly would be camouflaged as a leaf. This infinite creator God continues to surprise me. That's why I go to the creek. I'm sure there have always been brown dragonflies. I'm glad I stopped long enough to be amazed by one this morning.

Chicago

2007-10-14T10:15:00.000-05:00

Lauren here with her second cousin, Scott.

The famous Chicago bean. It was really amazing. See the skyline and clouds reflected in it? If you click on the picture to see a larger image of it, you can find the five of us by looking for me in an orange shirt in the center, back, toward the buildings. You will see Marsha, my cousin, me in the orange shirt, Lauren, Stephanie and Scott, Marsha's kids. They came in from Bourbonnais, Illinois to spend the day with us.

Chicago welcomed us Texans with record-setting heat - it almost reached 90 degrees the day we were there. We got to see part of the Chicago marathon which was going on as we watched from the top of the Sears tower. We saw marathoners proudly wearing their medals of completion. We came upon a street where a fire hydrant had been opened up to cool off the runners - we had to re-route to keep from being drenched.

It wasn't until the next morning that we heard the terrible news that a runner had died and almost 300 others had been treated for heat-related illnesses because they simply were not prepared to run in that heat wave.

Morning Prayer

2007-10-14T06:59:00.000-05:00

This year I became a part of the Two Year Academy for Spiritual Formation sponsored by Upper Room Ministries. There are just over 40 of us who arrive from all over the country four times a year to the Oblate Renewal Center in San Antonio for a week of prayer, study, reflection, silence, singing and community.

Each day at the Academy is framed by a rhythm of prayer: morning prayer at 7:00 a.m. (before breakfast, but on the first day I found my coffee before morning prayer - very important!), eucharistic prayer before dinner, and night prayer which leads us into The Great Silence until morning prayer. Within that framework we hear lectures from our faculty, reflect in silence, meet with our covenant group, eat our meals, and in short, do all the other work of the Academy.

The rhythm of the daily prayer has been calling to me - for a long time, really. I'm sure this is a big part of why I was drawn to attend the Academy. But I've always had trouble with the daily-ness of pretty much anything. Somewhere along the line the part of the brain that sustains routine did not develop in me fully. So I've been doing an experiment in morning prayer with the encouragement from my friends in my covenant group. My experiment is this: just do it! Get up every morning, and before I do anything else, I have my prayer time. I'm using a kind of daily office routine so that I'm not making it up as I go.

Now that I've been at this without missing a morning for almost a month now, I'm finding it to be like breathing. And the words from the liturgy and the songs are reverberating in my head and heart during the day:

"As morning breaks, I look to you; I look to you, Oh, Lord to be my strength this day."

"In the morning I will sing glad songs of praise to you."

"This very day our God has acted, let us rejoice!"

"Merciful God, hear our prayer."

Saying the Lord's Prayer this morning I did what I often do - I reached my hands out to the left and to the right as if I were holding hands with people next to me, together praying this prayer. Revelation: I am standing next to people holding hands and together praying this prayer.

When I sit on the bed in our extra bedroom by myself with the door closed and pray in the morning, I am not not alone. I am praying with all those who are praying this morning. I am praying with all those who have ever prayed morning prayers. I am connected around the globe and back through time with women and men who are part of the rhythm of prayer. I am connected to those who cannot pray, who haven't yet found their voice, or who, like me, have struggled to get into the rhythm.

As I say the Lord's Prayer reaching out my hands to hold the hands of the people next to me, I am praying with the world. I am praying with you.

Blessings and peace!
Jan

Somewhere on the way to the meeting my brain fell out

2007-10-06T09:46:00.000-05:00

Have you seen my brain?

Or maybe I was in a manic phase. At any rate, it happened like this. Thursday I woke up with my brain in my head, and by the time I went to bed that night, it was gone. The reason I know this is that I have now become the co-President, along with John Dillard, of Proud Dragon Parents, and our job is to throw a $35 - 40,000 party for our seniors on graduation night: Round Rock High School Project Graduation 2008. This party is designed to keep our kids safe on graduation night and it is designed to be tons of fun.

Well, we are off and running - the new executive council and committee chairs of Proud Dragon Parents. We have a website under construction: www.rrhspdp.org. We have committee chairs for about 15 committees. Our secretary already produced and distributed the minutes for the first meeting, and the fundraising has begun. We are recruiting parents of RRHS seniors to join us! It is going to be a busy year, a fun year. Maybe sometime during this year my brain will come back home to me.

Chicago!

Lauren is taking the SAT right now, and this afternoon we are getting on a plane to Chicago to visit North Park University. We are so excited. My cousin Marsha is meeting us in the city tomorrow with Stephanie and Scott, her kids who are not kids anymore. We are going to share Chicago tomorrow with thousands of Chicago marathon runners and supporters and possibly Cubs fans if they have a playoff game Sunday.

We're going to Giordano's to get Chicago style pizza. We may eat at one of Rick Bayless' restaurants. We plan to go up in the Sears tower and hope the sky is clear so we can see forever. We hope to see Lake Michigan and ride the El.

We will spend a full 24 hours at North Park University checking it out.

Blogging

I started this blog talking about clearing the clutter. As I was sitting in that Project Graduation meeting Thursday night, and all eyes were on me as someone asked me to be President, a number of things flashed through my brain. I thought about clutter, because, of course, one of the ways to clear the clutter, particularly in my soul, is to say "no" to good things. I have learned that, and I know that I have to have space for quiet in my life. But I also had a profound sense that this was the right thing to do.

One image that flashed before my eyes was myself with the largest staff in the history of the Reveille Echo, the student newspaper at my alma mater, Bethany Nazarene College. I was mortified when they actually chose me to be editor - oh yes, I applied, and I worked hard on the application, but I really did not for one minute consider that I might be the editor. I didn't realize it until I saw our staff photo in the yearbook at the end of that amazing and sometimes overwhelming year of being editor, that the way I had managed this huge task was to gather around me a rather large staff. Now I haven't done the fact checking, but I'm pretty sure it was the largest staff to that point. Perhaps it still is. But I realized something about myself then. I am not necessarily the best at doing things, but I can certainly gather people who are good at doing things. How much fun is that?? I'm here to tell you it is a whole lot of fun.

Here I am, busier than ever, so this will be a great challenge for me as I continue to seek to clear the clutter, to make space for God, to have times of silence so that I can recognize the voice of God when God speaks.

And those of us who have embarked on Project Graduation 2008 will have a wonderfully rewarding year as we give our seniors the gift of a huge, wonderful, alcohol and drug-free party on their graduation night. That will be worth it all!

Blessings and peace!
Jan

I saw a snake and wasn't terrified - and wow, is that a great economics class!

2007-09-23T19:24:00.000-05:00

Snakes on a creek

I recently took a class in presentation skills, aka public speaking. Did you know that public speaking is the second greatest fear that people have? It turns out that people are pretty much terrified of the idea of getting up in front of other people and talking.

Do you know what the number one fear is? I thought it might be spiders. I was close. It's snakes. This week in Round Rock three people drove up to the Taco Bell and threw a Python through the drive-up window. It turns out that this guy behind the window expressed what is perhaps a larger than ordinary fear of snakes. Fortunately, just across the way was a Thundercloud Subs where a woman who was working there is a snake handler, so she came - sometime before or after the Round Rock police arrived, and adopted the Python. This episode has led to some pretty interesting newspaper columns in the Austin American-Statesman and the Round Rock Leader this week. One guy suggested that you could probably rob a bank using a rattlesnake. The three suspects are still on the loose.

The creek we live on has snakes, or so I'm told - water moccasins. Our neighbor Tim, who has lived in his house on the creek for over 20 years, said that in those early days when the subdivision was new and they had children at home, it was common to hear gunshots in this quiet neighborhood - people out in their back yards on the creek shooting at water moccasins in the trees. I guess they thinned out the population pretty well, because until today I had never seen a snake on our creek. And this little guy that I saw was not like any water moccasin I've ever seen. (Oh - wait, I'm not sure I've ever seen a water moccasin, but I do have a pretty good idea of what they look like.) No gunshots are heard in Round Rock West anymore, either. Fireworks (still illegal since we're in the city limits) on all the major holidays, but no gunshots.

Lauren and I did go see Snakes on a Plane when it came out. My initial reaction to the idea of going to that movie was that I had no desire to put that many images of aggressive snakes in my memory bank. After reading a few reviews, however, I decided that this would be great comic relief because clearly the movie was designed to entertain not to really frighten. So I prepared myself to laugh, and we went.

We went to Round Rock 8 which is now the cheap theater in town since we have megaplexes just a few exits away on I35 in either direction. Small, kind of dumpy little theater, but it served our purposes that day. The theater was practically empty. We laughed from almost the beginning of the movie as we could see the really cheesy plot developing. We laughed hilariously through most of it, and I closed my eyes when the gore was getting to be too much for me. It was riotously fun! As we were leaving the theater, one of the other families we had shared the theater with told us how much more they had enjoyed the movie because we were there laughing so much. Gratifying.

It takes a village

And speaking of gratifying . . . . Monday night Phillip and I attended Open House at Round Rock High School. This is a two hour affair during which parents visit all of their student's classes in order and sit for seven minutes with other parents whose students are in that particular class at that particular time. There is then a bell and a passing period during which you go to your student's next class, and so on through eight periods. It is a chance to meet the teacher, shake their hand, let them know you're invested in your child's education - simply the act of showing up let's them know this - and listen to them talk about the class, what they expect, how to contact them, etc.

When we got to AP Economics, Lauren's 6th period class, I was looking forward to meeting Mrs. Wetzig because she is a very popular teacher at RRHS. I was not, however, prepared for what she said about 6th period economics. She said that when she got her roll at the beginning of the year, she was horrified to have 37 students listed. Her room, which is in a portable classroom (picture a mobile home classroom - yeah kind of ugly), has 32 desks - and barely enough room for those. After a week she still had 36 students, and her department head asked her if Mrs. Wetzig wanted her to do something about this too-full classroom.

Mrs. Wetzig said that she didn't want her to change a thing. She said that she has had good classes before, but not ever one like this. She said the energy is great, the kids talk when they're supposed to talk and listen when they're supposed to listen. She said it is the best class she has ever had. The four "extra" students sit in random chairs around the room, pulled up to some nearby table.

I looked around at the parents sitting in that room, all of us hearing this wonderful praise of our kids; I knew most of them and thought, "You know, this is a pretty great class." Those kids are smart and talented and creative, and they like being smart. Clearly, they also have some manners. I was proud! This is public education we're talking about, doing its job well. This is a classroom full of students who are loving learning. It's a testimony to Mrs. Wetzig, of course, because if I were in that room with those students, it would not be the same story!

I realized once again that it does take a village to raise a child. Parents cannot control many things about our kid's world. The dynamics of a whole class of seniors for one thing. In a portable classroom on a lawn that doesn't look like a lawn under some live oak trees during 6th period on B-days at Round Rock High School, the village is at work, and it is just a bit magical.

On creeks and clutter; and oh my goodness, I've started a blog!

2007-09-15T10:48:00.001-05:00

Wisdom from someone whose name you'd think is harder to spell than mine

My maiden name is Walker, and this is a name people can spell. You would think that people could also spell the name Gunter, but this is not the case. In the last 26 years since I married Phillip Gunter and took this name, I have been irritated with people trying to spell it "Gunther" or "Guenther". "Gun - ter." How hard is that?

I've never actually known anyone with either of those more classic German spellings of the name. But now I do, and I'm pretty sure I like her. I "met" Margaret Guenther this morning as I began reading her book, Holy Listening: The Art of Spiritual Direction. She has given me the inspiration for the title of my blog, "Clearing the Clutter". Margaret Guenther is a spiritual director, and she speaks wisely of those who come to her:

"Sometimes I wonder if the care of souls was easier in simpler times, for people sometimes come looking for a spiritual director because they are overwhelmed with good things: challenging work, useful charitable activities, more books than they can read and cultural events than they can ever absorb, more information than they can process, more paths of self-improvement than they can follow. Like overindulged children, they are inundated by good things; and they simultaneously yearn and fear to hear: 'One thing is needful.' They come because they want that one thing, even when they cannot articulate their need. They want help in clearing away the clutter, or at least in arranging it so that it becomes useful spiritual furniture rather than an impediment to wholeness."

-From Holy Listening by Margaret Guenther

As a fellow traveler on the Christian spiritual journey, I understand those words. I have been that person seeking to clear the clutter in my life. I've had some beginning successes in the clearing of the clutter, and it seems to me a wonderful analogy of the spiritual process.

Of suburbia and ownership

I go to my creek to clear away the clutter. I call it my creek not because I have ownership of it (although actually, Phillip and I do own a little piece of it - a strip of about 150 feet across the back of our property), but I call it my creek because I have claimed it. I am not the only one to lay claim to this little creek, Lake Creek, that snakes its way through suburban neighborhoods like Forest North and Anderson Mill and Round Rock West. Most of our immediate neighbors live on the creek; Barbara and Tim, who host our cell group live on the creek, as do our friends, Jerri and Lisa and my new hairdresser, Teresa. They all love the creek as well. There are at least two streets named Lake Creek, one in North Austin and one in Round Rock. Since two of them are directly off RM 620 and are less than 8 miles apart, it can be a bit confusing for the uninitiated driver. In Round Rock we even have Lake Creek Pool. For those of us whose homes are on lots on the creek, we own the land all the way to the middle of the creek.

But none of that is the reason I love my creek. I love my creek because I can walk out of my house (which has been known to be cluttered) and walk 61 steps north, and I am transported to another world, another ecosystem, a place where there are rocks and trees and poison oak (not on our side of the creek, thanks to Phillip!) and frogs and tiny fish and little green heron and great blue heron and cardinals (who often grace us with their presence at the bird feeder on our back porch) and tiny little shells deposited on the banks after the last "flood". And there is water. Water flowing over rocks, making that wonderful water-flowing-over-rocks sound that reminds me of the Colorado Rockies.

I love my creek because when I remember to take the time, I can walk those 61 steps back to where the water flows. I can take a deep breath, listen to the water and just hang out for 10 minutes - or an hour - while my heart rate and blood pressure go down, and I am reminded that whatever I've got going on in my mind or my heart or my life or my house, here there is space for God. Here at the creek there is time and space and color and light and life and endless creation. Here at the creek it is a different world, but one which God invites me to enter. Here there are many things, but no clutter. I walk those 61 steps back to my house less cluttered and more clear than I was when I walked down there.

Periodic musings

I've often thought of doing some kind of e-newsletter of my thoughts or musings, and when blogs became popular I began to think of writing one. I've taken inspiration from my son, Austin, who has written entertaining travel blogs changeforaustin.blogspot.com) and my friend, John Hay who was doing it before everyone else was and does it better than most (bikehiker.blogspot.com).

So here I go! I will call it periodic because while I might have high hopes of writing every day or once a week or twice a month, the reality is I'm not quite that organized yet. So I will write when I can, and I invite you to let me know what you think. I'd love to hear from you!

Blessings and peace,
Jan Gunter
Writing from Round Rock, Texas, where the sun is shining and the birds are singing.