About Caren Swanson

Caren is a former Wellness Advocate with Spirited Life who hails from a small town in the hills of NH, but currently lives in Durham, NC with her family. She enjoys growing, picking and arranging flowers, climbing the magnolia trees in Duke Gardens with her daughter Clara, and hosting potlucks with friends and neighbors.

To Love A Place

Posted on June 20, 2014 by Caren Swanson

“Love makes you see a place differently…

…just as you hold differently an object that belongs to someone you love. If you know one landscape well, you will look at all other landscapes differently. And if you learn to love one place, sometimes you can also learn to love another.”
― Anne Michaels

Three years ago this summer my family packed up our modest hill-farm in NH and piled everything we owned into the largest moving van Budget would let us drive ourselves. It took us 18 hours, down the New Jersey Turnpike, navigating through Washington, DC, but we made it–a little worse for the wear, but here. We were that familiar mix of nervous and excited and exhausted that accompanies a major life change. When we had purchased our farm several years earlier, my husband and I never could have predicted that we would land on a hot sidewalk in Durham towing the detritus of our life, and our reluctant daughter. But God’s call can be funny like that.

You see, we were happy in NH, but something there started to unfold that neither my husband nor I could have predicted: we found a church that fit us, in which we could use our gifts. Particularly, one in which my husband could use his gifts. And it became clear that there was more for him to do. More, that would lead us far from our hillside to that hot Durham sidewalk, looking up at a mustard yellow bungalow that we were to make a home in for the duration of his Divinity School studies.

We came because we were called. That much was clear. We would do what we set out to do–Dave would get his degree–and then we would go home again. We were sad to leave our home and family, but hopeful that God would make a way for us in our new resting place. What we were not expecting was to find Home here, to fall in love with our new place.

But fall in love we did. With this gritty city that is remaking itself in an abundance of delicious food, funky music, and great baseball. With the trails along the Eno River, only a short drive from our Durham neighborhood. With the Farmer’s Market and its abundance of produce all year long. With the mountains and beaches that can be reached in a few hours. With our neighbors, coworkers and classmates that we formed friendships with. Most of all, with our little church community that drew near to us in what would prove to be a difficult season.

eno The three years have flown by in a flurry of late nights writing papers, swims in the Eno, stimulating lectures, breakfasts at Monuts, jobs to find, multiplication tables to learn, walks in Duke Gardens, a family crisis to navigate, play-dates to have, deaths to grieve, hymns to sing, births to celebrate, chickens to raise, flowers to arrange…

And suddenly, it is time to go. My husband has accepted a call to pastor a church in Pennsylvania. The largest truck that Budget will let us drive ourselves will pull away from the mustard yellow bungalow next Saturday, with all our earthly belongings packed inside. I was nervous to come. I am so sad to go. The friendships that have been woven, the familiar paths we have worn through this city, all the places to love… We will miss these and so much more.

Following God’s path can take unexpected twists and turns, as any Methodist pastor knows all too well. There are seasons of abundance and there are seasons of need. Sometimes those seasons overlap and collide in unexpected ways. And sometimes we are given the grace to love a place in a way that changes us. When that happens, it can be so, so hard to take the next step, but when we have been changed by love, we can be assured that our hearts will be all the more opened to what lies ahead. Because, “if you learn to love one place, sometimes you can also learn to love another.”

View More: http://urbansouthphoto.pass.us/swanson-family

–Caren Swanson

Images by the author. Lower image by Urban South Photo, used with permission.

Also by Caren Swanson: The Healing Power of Nostalgia

We Will Uphold and Care… Together

Posted on May 30, 2014 by Caren Swanson

We all know that our relationships have a significant impact on other spheres of health in our lives. When we have strong ties to our friends, extended families, spouses, children and communities, a solid foundation for health is nourished. But when those relationships are expected to exist in isolation from each other, too much pressure can be put on those relationships. There can be pressure to have flawless relationships with our children. Single adults can be expected to endlessly serve their friends and neighbors. And we all have seen marriages that are expected to function without the support of community.

This past weekend I drove to Philadelphia from Durham to attend a wedding. My husband was there to support his best friend by being the best man. The wedding was a beautiful mix of style and substance. The bride and groom had the ceremony and reception at a facility that was in the middle of the woods, which lent the proceedings a kind of rough, rustic fairy-tale quality.

The ceremony itself took place in a stone amphitheater that felt like it was built around the time Stonehenge was constructed. It was a beautiful place to watch a couple get married and it felt like their marriage was springing up out of some primal past, up from the rocks and moss and trees. But there’s the rub: we were an audience gathered to watch something good happen. The presiding minister, who my husband’s family knows to be an excellent human being who loves God and has lived his life in God’s service, had played a significant role in the groom’s life. But it became clear over the course of the ceremony that we were there NOT as participants in this sacrament, the liturgy of marriage, but as spectators of someone else’s special moment.

He preached classic sermon texts from Genesis two and Ephesians five, but the message we were left with was that we were gathered there to watch God do something to these two people. The God in the sermon was extremely fond of marriage, so much so that He had instituted it as a rock on which to build in the creation. Marriage was about God, and a successful marriage was one that “had God at the center.” Of course, all of this was good. But as the ceremony and sermon went on, suddenly it became clear to me that at this wedding, something was missing that should have been driving the whole thing: Community.

The group rallying around this couple was not there as the Church (though nearly all of us were practicing Christians and many where actual members of the couple’s place of worship) but rather people meaningfully connected to the couple who had come to watch something wonderful happen to them. Moreover, and perhaps more deeply troubling, the unity and bond of marriage between two others becoming one was not traced back to its source. There was no Trinity. On p. 118 of the Methodist book of worship, the congregation is asked to “do everything in [our] power to uphold and care for these two persons in their marriage.” Marriage in the Methodist tradition is not a thing that happens merely between a couple and God, but one that is supported, facilitated, and affirmed by the community of the Church. It finds its shape and roots and source in a community that is God and is nourished, supported, and guided by God’s body, the Church.

Marriage, like baptism and ordination, is the work of God in the church. Pastors, baptized individuals, and married couples share the distinction of owing their lives to the church. Pastors, if they are to be healthy and whole, need the community of the church to be with them, to nurture and support them, and hold them in prayer and relationship. One of the great difficulties for clergy is loneliness—of being the other within a community–but there is a call and opportunity for pastors, like married couples, to say out loud that they need support, they need care to be whole and human in the midst of the hard work of their vocation.

-Caren Swanson

Image by Caren Swanson

Walking Together

Posted on March 31, 2014 by Caren Swanson

I had the opportunity recently to walk two different labyrinths. It had been a number of years since I’d walked one, and walking two nearly back to back was a refreshing and grounding experience.

We’ve written before on this blog about labyrinths as a form of contemplative prayer, and I’d encourage you to read that post for more information on labyrinths’ origins and modern use. I personally love labyrinths for the way they tie me to ancient spiritual practice. Labyrinths are found in Greek and Roman mythology, and came into wide use in Christian tradition in the Middle Ages, but they also have been discovered to have their place in ancient Nepalese, Indian, Native North and South American, and Australian cultures. The sense that this pattern and practice is meaningful across time and different religious traditions is very powerful for me — like all liturgy, it is a gift to participate in something that transcends my particular time and place. I also love that the path is laid out clearly before me, with no dead ends or choices to make (so UN-like life!) which allows me to sink into a deeper level of mediation and prayer.

I experienced the first labyrinth during a women’s retreat at Avila, a retreat center in North Durham (for those of you who are local!). Walking the path under tall and sturdy pine trees with the wind in the branches and the sun on my back was so peaceful.

The second one was in Duke Chapel — a large 11-circuit labyrinth made of canvas spread on the slate floor just before the altar. The settings couldn’t have been more different: hushed darkness, candles, the only noise the swish of socks shuffling along the path. And this time my eight-year-old daughter, Clara, was with me.

Walking the labyrinth with Clara is an experience I will cherish for a long time. On the way in, I led the two of us slowly, asking “What do I need?” She followed close behind. I had instructed her to open her heart to God, to pay attention to her breath. An 11-circuit labyrinth takes a long time when walking at a meditative pace. She didn’t seem to mind.

We made our way to the center and found a place to rest. She wanted to sit on my lap. I had told her beforehand that the center represented God’s womb. She understood right away that I meant a safe place, free from harm, surrounded by God’s love. I invited her to open her heart again and to ask God what she needs. We sat like that — me cradling her and us being held together in that prayerful space — for a long time. We started back out slowly, with her leading. On the way in I had given her a special stone to carry, and she passed it back to me as we started out. I held it, still warm from her little clasp, and prayed to see how and where I could best participate in God’s healing work in the world.

Walking out after her, I asked for wisdom from on high to follow her lead in life, to let her teach me how to she needs to be cared for. She walked a bit faster than me, and got ahead of me. I had the chance to look upon her and behold her. I prayed, “God, teach me to cherish her more and more each day. Make me worthy of her. Teach me to mother her with Your love and light. AMEN.”

I think the reason walking the labyrinth with Clara was so powerful is that it was something we could do together, something we could participate in as equals. When I think about passing my faith on to her, there is so much that is difficult for me to explain — so many of her questions leave me tongue-tied. And yet here was a form of prayer that was both simple and profound and that involved our bodies but not our intellects. No special training or instruction was required; she is sensitive and picked right up on the sacred tone of the moment. Afterward we quietly put our shoes back on and filed out in silence, blinking in the evening light. I held back from asking her questions about what it meant to her, though over the next few days she did offer some reflections, and mentioned a number of times that she really liked it and wanted to do it again. That evening as I was tucking her into bed, she shared that it was her favorite part of her day. All I could say was, “Mine too, sweetie, mine too.”

-Caren Swanson

First and third images courtesy of Wikimedia Commons; second image courtesy of Avila Retreat Center

Ashes

Posted on March 5, 2014 by Caren Swanson

It was a muddy March, many years ago now, and my liturgically-minded husband and I attended a small country church in rural Vermont. We had only been attending for a couple of years, but we’d missed the observance of Lent that we had enjoyed at our high-liturgy Episcopal church near our former home. Hesitantly, we approached the pastor and asked if we might be able to lead an Ash Wednesday service, and do a series of Taize services during Lent. He agreed enthusiastically, though cautioned us that the church had never done anything like that before.

As the day approached we had all the preparations in place: a simple liturgy, some reflective hymns, and the all-important ashes. What I was not prepared for was the powerful act of actually marking the foreheads of my beloved church family.

“Dust you are, and to dust you shall return.”

One by one they came and stood before me while my husband played quiet instrumental guitar music. One by one I dipped my thumb in the ashes and lifted it to waiting foreheads. I bent to mark the smooth skin of our youngest members. I looked into the eyes of the men and women I considered my spiritual brothers and sisters. But it was the stooped frame of Richard, one of the eldest members of our community, that undid me. I will never forget the grit of the ash under my thumb as I made the cross on his papery skin. I could barely choke out my line:

“Dust you are, and to dust you shall return.”

In that moment we both knew the truth of the refrain, and that it would come to pass all too soon for him. It was a holy moment, in which the nearness of death was acknowledged without fear.

In our day-to-day lives we live so removed from death–it is almost as if we forget that we will die. Is it too difficult to live with this reality? Is that why we put it out of our minds? In the wake of my father’s death over a year ago now, I have not been fully able to settle back into the familiar forgetfulness of a death-less living. I am all too aware of life’s fragility and ultimate end. But I must say, sad as I am to be without my father, I am grateful for this new reality. Each day is an ordinary gift of grace offered to me, and the chance for me to offer grace to others.

I love this prayer from Alive Now–the invitation to “reacquaint ourselves with our smoldering, crumbling, earthbound nature.” Today, as you mark countless foreheads with gritty ashes, may you be comforted by the reality of the boundaries of all our lives, and the holy thread of God’s presence that is woven in the space between.

God of all peoples and creatures,
you knew the chaos that swirled before Creation
and the clash of tongues in Babylon;
you raised up humanity from dust by your breath,
and by your Spirit we may still be renewed.

But on this day of dust and ashes,
let us not turn too quickly to the hope of new life.
Let us first reacquaint ourselves
with our smoldering, crumbling, earthbound nature:
our ability to burn down all we have built up;
our tendency to devastate, to ravage, to destroy
every place where God dwells,
where Christ abides and reaches out.

Let us come face to face with all we have failed to honor,
every difference we refuse to celebrate,
every fear-based judgment that drives us away from love,
every certainty that lifts us above our brother, our sister,
our neighbor, our enemy,
our very own Belovedness of God.

We confess we are no more than dust and ashes,
and we desire to turn from our destruction.

God of hope and healing, save us from ourselves;
breathe into us again and restore us as your children.
Draw order out of chaos once more:
let our tongues fall silent until guided by your Spirit;
let our steps fall in line with Christ’s journey through the wilderness;
let our hands reach out in care and re-creation
where your work is still to be done.

And in life, in death, and in life beyond death,
may we be marked and claimed by your cross-shaped love.
Amen.

Reprinted with permission from Alive Now.

–Caren Swanson

Welcome to the Human Race

Posted on February 28, 2014 by Caren Swanson

Parker Palmer is a Quaker teacher, writer, and world-renowned speaker and activist. He has received ten honorary doctorates in addition to his other academic accomplishments. He is the founding partner of the Center for Courage & Renewal which, according to his wikipedia page, “oversees the “Courage to Teach” program for K-12 educators across the country and parallel programs for people in other professions, including medicine, law, ministry and philanthropy.” By any account, Palmer is successful, leading a fulfilling life and reaching many people with his ministry. And yet, at the height of his success, Palmer, when in his mid-forties, faced for the first time a debilitating depression.

In his book, Let Your Life Speak he wrote about his experience. “Depression is the ultimate state of disconnection, not just between people but between one’s mind and one’s feelings. To be reminded of that disconnection only deepened my despair” [p. 62]. This disconnection was experienced as friends unhelpfully tried to cheer him up, encouraging him to get outside and smell the flowers. He writes, “And that, of course, leaves a depressed person even more depressed, because while you know intellectually that it’s sunny out and that the flowers are lovely and fragrant, you can’t really feel any of that in your body, which is dead in a sensory way. And so you’re left more depressed by this “good advice” to get out and enjoy the day.”

As someone who has wrestled with depression myself, I can attest to the difficulty of being with friends and loved ones who want to offer advice. While they mean well, and I would never want to disparage them for the courage to try to walk with me in my suffering, a depressed person really doesn’t want to hear easy answers. As the story of Job reminds us, sitting in silence with the person who is suffering is an immense gift. Job 2:11-13 recounts,

When Job’s three friends, Eliphaz the Temanite, Bildad the Shuhite and Zophar the Naamathite, heard about all the troubles that had come upon him, they set out from their homes and met together by agreement to go and sympathize with him and comfort him. When they saw him from a distance, they could hardly recognize him; they began to weep aloud, and they tore their robes and sprinkled dust on their heads. Then they sat on the ground with him for seven days and seven nights. No one said a word to him, because they saw how great his suffering was.

In real life this can be so hard to do. When someone we care about is in pain, we naturally want to do all we can to help ease their suffering. But as Palmer goes on to write, “One of the hardest things we must do sometimes is to be present to another person’s pain without trying to “fix” it, to simply stand respectfully at the edge of that person’s mystery and misery” [p. 63].

Time passed and Palmer found treatment that helped him, though he continued to struggle over the years. After a while he felt compelled to write publicly about his experience, and he was met with a surprising result–people REALLY responded to his experience with depression. In a recent interview with Palmer, now in his seventies, he shares what he learned about being vulnerable in this way:

I’ve written nine books… but the one piece that I’ve written that has gotten the most response by far is a chapter in Let Your Life Speak about my experience with depression. It’s my acknowledgement of weakness, it’s my capacity to be vulnerable which has made me more friends than whatever capacity I have to be smart and strong…

When you start understanding wholeness not as perfection but as embracing everything you are, then you become able to talk about it [weakness] and to invite other people to share those same pieces of their own lives.

For many people, Palmer included, writing and speaking about depression has been part of the healing process. It can be so hard to take that first step and open our mouths to admit we are struggling, but so often that experience is liberating. I know for me, when I have the courage to share with a trusted friend about my story, I open up the possibility of receiving new support, deepening that relationship, and allowing the other person to be honest about her own suffering.

Near the end of this short video interview, Palmer reminds the viewer of the Leonard Cohen song that says:

Forget your perfect offering

Ring the bells that still can ring

There is a crack in everything

That’s how the light gets in.

Thank you Mr. Palmer, for your honesty and vulnerability, and for reminding us all that we are not alone in our suffering. In fact, suffering is simply part of being a member of the human race.

Other Parker Palmer Resources:

I first heard Parker Palmer talk about his experience with depression in an interview on the NPR show, “On Being” with Krista Tippet. It is a wonderful episode that I highly recommend! Listen here >>
The 4-minute video interview with him talking about writing publicly about depression is excellent. Click here to watch the short video.
His book, Let Your Life Speak, is excellent! Well worth purchasing or checking out of your local library.
The website of his organization, the Center for Courage & Renewal, is pretty fascinating.

—Caren Swanson

One Is A Whole Number

Posted on February 11, 2014 by Caren Swanson

Love is in the air. Or at least in the media. It’s that (somewhat unfortunate!) time of year when we are told to express our love for those in our lives via the act of conspicuous consumption. Despite the dubious origins of the modern holiday, Valentine’s Day, it is well established in our cultural lexicon that February 14th is the day to celebrate LOVE. And chocolate.

Okay, so I’m being cynical about market culture. In all seriousness, I think it’s GREAT to celebrate love and take a day to think about making my spouse feel special. But I can’t help wondering where all this elevation of romantic love leaves my single brothers and sisters…

For too long singleness in the church has been viewed with something ranging from pity to suspicion. Christian culture often elevates marriage to “God’s plan” for everyone, or at least the mark of a true adult. Many of my single friends complain that they feel relegated in small groups to the “singles ministry” which can feel like a glorified speed-dating episode. How can we as Christians think differently about singleness, and love all our neighbors, married and single alike?

Blogger Teryn O’Brien offers these thoughts:

“The church has a deep heritage of honoring singleness. For centuries, monasticism was one of the deepest ways a believer could express devotion to God. A person would devote their life to celibacy, serving the poor, praying, studying the scriptures, teaching, making “darkness into light.” If believers were serious about their commitment to God, they had an option to remain single for the rest of their lives in worship of God. It was an honorable way to live, and many in society chose it.”

What a refreshing reminder that singleness is not merely the absence of marriage, but often a calling that people choose! Teryn goes on to remind us that in denigrating singleness we are also putting too much pressure on marriage:

“We must offer people an alternative to the idolatry of marriage. We must teach everyone that singles are whole in and of themselves because God made each individual in His image. A man does not complete a woman, and neither does a woman complete a man. Each person, not just each couple, is a vital part of the church. God has a plan for each person, single or married.

God completes us when we find our identity and our worth in Him.

Real life comes when we embrace the here and now and serve God with joy and passion.

We should be pursuing Christ, not marriage. We should allow people to be who God made them to be, not pressure them to conform to our definition of what a “mature adult” does. We should be pursuing His love that can change each one of us in profound ways—single or married.”

Preach it! I love how she reminds us of the need to shift our focus from human relationships to our relationship with God. When this happens, our human relationships can grow and flourish without the pressure to fulfill all our needs.

If you are single, what can the church do to make you feel more valued? How does being single impact your work as a pastor? What is your church already doing to include all people in fellowship? United Methodist Communications published an insightful list of ideas for starting a singles ministry at your church, including the most important point to balance your church’s activities–offering special activities for single folks while also incorporating them in the fellowship of the whole church. The needs of single people may be different than those of married couple or families, but above all we have more in common than that which distinguishes us.

SONY DSC

This Valentines day, let’s celebrate LOVE, not only of the romantic variety, but the Christian love of neighbor, the love between friends, the love we experience in our families of origin and our “chosen families.” It is time for Christians to recognize the gifts and worthiness of all of God’s children, regardless of their relationship status.

–Caren Swanson

Come Darkness, Come Light…

Posted on December 20, 2013 by Caren Swanson

The Connection will be on hiatus for the Christmas holiday. See you in 2014!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Merry Christmas from the staff at the Clergy Health Initiative!

advent 3

One of my favorite Christmas songs is by Mary Chapin Carpenter, called “Come Darkness, Come Light.” With it’s longing and hesitation, it is perfect for dark Advent nights. I love how it includes both those running and those “walking slow.” That’s how we come, isn’t it? Sometimes we’re full of hope and confidence and other times we’re stumbling in doubt. The beauty is in coming anyway.

Come darkness, come light
Come new star, shining bright
Come love to this world tonight
Alleluia

Come broken, come whole
Come wounded in your soul
Come anyway that you know
Alleluia

Come doubting, come sure
Come fearful to this door
Come see what love is for
Alleluia

Come running, come walking slow
Come weary on your broken road
Come see Him and shed your heavy load
Alleluia

There’s a humble stable and a light within
There’s an angel hovering and three wise men
Today a baby’s born in Bethlehem
Alleluia

Come darkness come light
Come new star burning bright
Come love to this world tonight
Alleluia

-Mary Chapin Carpenter

Warm wishes for a very Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

–Caren Swanson

10 Things I Want My Daughter to Know About Working Out

Posted on December 13, 2013 by Caren Swanson

Brynn Harrington, of the wellness blog Wellfesto, recently wrote a post that resonated with me about what messages we pass on to our children about health and well-being. She starts by telling the story about being in an exercise class and having the teacher tell the class to picture themselves fitting into “that dress.” For Brynn, this is NOT the reason she works out, and not the message she wants her young daughter to internalize about her body. She then goes on to write ten things she DOES want her daughter to know about working out:

“I want her to grow up knowing that…

Strength equals self-sufficiency. Being strong – particularly as a woman – is empowering. It will feel good someday to be able to carry your own luggage down the stairs if the airport escalator is broken, and it will be important to have a solid shot at outrunning a stranger should you meet one a dark alley.
Fitness opens doors. Being healthy and fit can help you see the world differently. The planet looks different from a bike or a pair of skis than it does from a car or an airplane. Out in the elements you have the time and space to notice details and meet people and remember smells and bugs and mud and rain and the feeling of warm sunshine on your face. And those are the moments that make up your life.
The bike is the new golf course. Being fit may help you get a seat at the table. Networking is no longer restricted to the golf course, and the stronger you are – and the more people you can hang with on the road and trail – the more people you’ll meet.
Exercise is a lifestyle, not an event. Being an active person isn’t about taking a class three times a week at the gym. It’s about things like biking to the grocery store and parking your car in the back of the lot and walking instead of taking a cab and catching up with friends on a hiking trail instead of a bar stool.
Health begets health. Healthy behavior inspires healthy behavior. Exercise. Healthy eating. Solid sleep. Positive relationships. These things are all related.
Endorphins help you cope. A good sweat session can clear the slate. You will have days when nothing seems to go right…when you’re dizzy with frustration or crying in despair. A workout can often turn things around.
Working out signals hard-working. The discipline required to work out on a regular basis signals success. Someone recently told me they are way more likely to hire marathon runners and mountain climbers because of the level of commitment that goes into those pursuits.
If you feel beautiful, you look beautiful. Looking beautiful starts on the inside. And being fit and strong feels beautiful.
Nature rules. And if you’re able to hike/run/bike/swim/ski/snowshoe, you can see more of it.
Little eyes are always watching. We learn from each other. You may have a daughter—or a niece or a neighbor or a friend – one day. And that little girl will be watching and listening to everything she you say and do. What messages do you want her to hear?”

She concludes: “I’ll never talk to my daughter about fitting into THAT DRESS. But I will talk to her about what it sounds like to hear pine needles crunching under my feet and what it feels like to cross a finish line and how special it is to see the world on foot. I will talk to her about hard work and self sufficiency. I will teach her the joy of working out by showing her I love it. And I’ll leave the rest up to her.” Read the whole post here.

What are the reasons YOU work out and what messages do you want to pass along to your children and grandchildren about health and exercise? Try making a list and see what you come up with. You might even surprise yourself.

—Caren Swanson

Image by flickr user Saurabh_B via Creative Commons.

What Is Your Rope to the Barn?

Posted on December 9, 2013 by Caren Swanson

I’ve been a fan of the author and teacher Parker Palmer ever since reading “The Courage to Teach” in college. In today’s blog post, excerpted from his beautiful book “A Hidden Wholeness,” he writes thoughtfully of the need for “a rope to the barn” to keep us connected when life’s “blizzards” threaten to overwhelm us.

Reposted from his blog at the Center For Courage & Renewal.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The blizzard of the world
has crossed the threshold
and it has overturned
the order of the soul.
—Leonard Cohen

There was a time when farmers on the Great Plains, at the first sign of a blizzard, would run a rope from the back door out to the barn. They all knew stories of people who had wandered off and been frozen to death, having lost sight of home in a whiteout while still in their own backyards.

Today we live in a blizzard of another sort. It swirls around us as economic injustice, ecological ruin, physical and spiritual violence, and their inevitable outcome, war. It swirls within us as fear and frenzy, greed and deceit, and indifference to the suffering of others. We all know stories of people who have wandered off into this madness and been separated from their own souls, losing their moral bearings and even their mortal lives: they make headlines because they take so many innocents down with them.

The lost ones come from every walk of life: clergy and corporate executives, politicians and people on the street, celebrities and schoolchildren. Some of us fear that we, or those we love, will become lost in the storm. Some are lost at this moment and are trying to find the way home. Some are lost without knowing it. And some are using the blizzard as cover while cynically exploiting its chaos for private gain.

So it is easy to believe the poet’s claim that “the blizzard of the world” has overturned “the order of the soul,” easy to believe that the soul—that life-giving core of the human self, with its hunger for truth and justice, love and forgiveness—has lost all power to guide our lives.

But my own experience of the blizzard, which includes getting lost in it more often than I like to admit, tells me that it is not so. The soul’s order can never be destroyed. It may be obscured by the whiteout. We may forget, or deny, that its guidance is close at hand. And yet we are still in the soul’s backyard, with chance after chance to regain our bearings.

This book [and the resources of Courage & Renewal] is about tying a rope from the back door out to the barn so that we can find our way home again. When we catch sight of the soul, we can survive the blizzard without losing our hope or our way. When we catch sight of the soul, we can become healers in a wounded world—in the family, in the neighborhood, in the workplace, and in political life—as we are called back to our “hidden wholeness” amid the violence of the storm.

Excerpt from Parker J. Palmer, A Hidden Wholeness: The Journey Toward an Undivided Life. Jossey-Bass, 2004

–Caren Swanson

Nelson Mandela, 1918-2013

Posted on December 6, 2013 by Caren Swanson

“What counts in life is not the mere fact that we have lived. It is what difference we have made to the lives of others that will determine the significance of the life we lead.”

— Nelson Mandela

When I found out that Nelson Mandela had died, I felt small and alone and scared. It’s like when I was young and had a problem but my parents weren’t home to solve it. I was old enough to be home by myself – but I still wanted someone wiser and older and better to be there with me. That’s how I feel today. Like all of a sudden we are home alone.

But it hit me this evening that we ARE wiser and older and better now. We are the peacemakers, we are the caretakers, we are the decision makers now. We are the grown-ups and this planet is ours.The buck stops with us.

Let’s honor Mandela by doing the very, very hard work of refusing to fight others and choosing instead to fight our own egos. Let’s fight for our Earth and for the vulnerable folks – our sisters and brothers – who live on it. Let’s take our places as the leaders of this home. And let’s start in our own families and friendships and neighborhoods.

If not us, then who? If not now, when?

Thank you, Mr. Nelson Mandela. We will take care of this place you loved so fiercely and tenderly. Until we meet again.

–Glennon Doyle Melton

When someone like Nelson Mandela dies, it’s hard to know what to say. I like the words of Ms. Melton reminding us that we all have our own work to do in the spirit of Mandela. There is a lovely tribute to him on the UMC.org page highlighting his many connections to Methodism. May he continue to inspire us all, and may he truly rest in peace.

–Caren Swanson

The Connection

Information and inspiration for clergy pursuing wellness

Author Archives: Caren Swanson

About Caren Swanson

To Love A Place

“Love makes you see a place differently…

We Will Uphold and Care… Together

Walking Together

Ashes

Welcome to the Human Race

One Is A Whole Number

Come Darkness, Come Light…

Merry Christmas from the staff at the Clergy Health Initiative!

10 Things I Want My Daughter to Know About Working Out

What Is Your Rope to the Barn?

Nelson Mandela, 1918-2013