For so long I focussed on doing important things, prioritizing one activity over another and resenting ordinary, necessary tasks– cooking, cleaning, check-ups, and paying bills.
Then, I kept company with folks even older than me. They helped me slow down and be present to where I was and who I was with. The wisdom of the mystics took root. Every task can be done with the awareness that I am doing it in God, with God and that makes each moment a wonderful one.
Once I stopped resenting one moment for not being as valuable as the next, stopped accusing it of wasting my time, peace settled in, even awe, sometimes.
Now, when I feel anxious about how I’m spending my time, I’m more apt to notice that I’m worrying about what to do next. When I notice that, I sense You reminding me: all I have to do is what I’m doing right now and then do the next wonderful thing.
Breathing in. There is only the present moment. Breathing out. It is a wonderful moment. —Thich Nhat Hanh
Credits and References: “Laatste blauwtjes..” by Sylvia Sassen. Used with permission. Present Moment, Wonderful Moment by Esther Hizsa, 2024 “Autumn is coming” by Sylvia Sassen. Used with permission.
On a beautiful day when nothing was going wrong anxiety showed up, just in case I needed it, I suppose.
I scanned my life to see what I was concerned about. Nothing. Then disappointment showed up– disappointment that I couldn’t enjoy the day without this annoying “friend” making an appearance.
While I was wishing I was done with anxiety, I noticed that I was wishing I was done with it. There was the gift. Stepping back helped me see that I was attached to becoming anxiety-free.
Then, I found the freedom to imagine. I could say hello to anxiety and let it pass through. (Although I was tempted to add, “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”)
What you are aware of you are in control of; what you are not aware of is in control of you. ― Anthony de Mello, Awareness
Credits and References: Image of clouds by Helen Haden. Used with permission The Gift of Awareness by Esther Hizsa, 2024. Man opening door by Picryl.com Creative Commons
The way we would begin in prayer is that we belong to God. And all the prayer starts and unfolds out of that knowing that we belong to God. We are trying to get past the topic of prayer to this deep experience that we belong to God. We are God’s beloved. Renewing our faith that we are sitting there in God’s presence, God is all about us and within us, closer to us than we are to ourselves. —Thomas Merton, from A Coaching Session on Lectio by James Finley
Every morning You invite me to begin my day the same way You invite me to begin anything: grounded in Your love, breathing in the reality that I belong to You.
I belong to You. I am Your beloved whom You will never leave nor forsake. All I need You have already given. This is the truth that sets me free to live and love and be who I am– fully alive, a gift to the world.
“Come into the quiet,” You say. “Let Me be the ground you walk on this day. Let Me be the breath you return to as I transform every moment, every circumstance into a holy one, opening your eyes to see what I see.
“Remember what Parker Palmer says, ‘When the going gets rough, turn to wonder.’ Remember what Jim Finley says, ‘Your experience does not define you. Only Love has the final say in who you are.’
“And when you are caught once again by the beauty of the hills and feel indescribable joy, peace and delight, know this: That is the feeling of belonging to Me. That is the feeling of being My Beloved.”
I lift up my eyes to the hills. From where does my help come? My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth. –Psalm 121:1,2 (ESV)
Credits and References: Morning Sun by Conal Gallagher. Used with permission. The Way to Begin Anything by Esther Hizsa, 2024. Parker Palmer quote from Circle of Trust James Finley quote from many of his podcasts in Turning to the Mystics. Vernon, B.C. by Ernest Hawkes. Used with permission.
You will say on that day: “I will give thanks to you, O Lord …” –Isaiah 12:1 (CEB)
On that day. Not today, but one day, you will give thanks for what you cannot give thanks for now.
Even though others are grateful and assume you are too, it’s okay. You don’t need to confess or explain. Who has words for it, anyway?
On this day, you will give thanks that there is nothing you need to be or become. Rest in Me where you are and let that day come in its time.
Lay down your burdens And rest for a while The shepherd who seeks you Is gentle and kind There’s nothing to pay for And nothing to earn And nothing you have to become. —Take It Easy by Matt Maher and Paul Zach
Credits and References: “Bud” by Jim Nelson. Used with permission. “On That Day” by Esther Hizsa, 2024. “Forget Me Nots” by Jim Nelson. Used with permission.
Ten kilometres from our destination, we came to a dead stop.
Over the next few hours, the line of stopped vehicles grew
from five kilometres to twelve. Emergency vehicles came.
A helicopter landed and left. When three tow trucks went by, we were hopeful. But no. Next update in six hours.
We were one of the lucky ones who didn’t have hotel reservations, a plane to catch, or a loved one who wouldn’t come home. We just had to turn back a short distance to a campground down the road. Soon, the campground filled with those who gave up waiting, too.
Twice this summer, Fred and I have been stopped for hours because of a traffic accident.
We were delayed, others taken right out of this life and into the next.
I have filled this life doing things that make me more solid, and now that life has stopped. God has placed me in a different campground and surrounded me with God’s self incarnate in the rock-solid peaks silent trees, squirrels, and a motley crew of travellers with only one job: to receive what only God can give.
At the center of our being is a point of nothingness which is untouched by sin and by illusion, a point of pure truth, a point or spark which belongs entirely to God, which is never at our disposal from which God disposes of our lives, which is inaccessible to the fantasies of our own mind or the brutalities of our own will. This little point of nothingness and of absolute poverty is the pure glory of God in us. It is, so to speak, His name written in us as our poverty, as our indigence, as our dependence, as our sonship. It is like a pure diamond blazing with the invisible light of heaven. It is in everybody, and if we could see it, we would see these billions of points of light coming together in the face and blaze of a sun that would make all the darkness and cruelty of life vanish completely. I have no program for this seeing. It is only given, but the gate of heaven is everywhere. –Thomas Merton, Conjectures of A Guilty Bystander (Image, 1968), p. 155.
Note: My apologies for the recent inconsistency in posting on my blog. I’ve had limited access to wifi and that too felt like a stop that was out of my control. Letting go. Being with what is.
Credits and References: Photo of the road closure on Hwy 1 near Field on Aug 7 2024 by Esther Hizsa. Used with permission. Accident on the Trans Canada near Field, B.C. by Esther Hizsa, 2024 Photo of Hoodoo Campground by Esther Hizsa. Used with permission.
We left the hospital to let my dad rest. Before we could return, the doctor called. with the news of his passing.
I should have been there.
The dull ache of regret lingers even though I have all the right words to release it.
Regret, blame, disappointment, guilt, and powerlessness, take up more space than I wish they would.
But they don’t take up all the space
Compassion invites me to breathe and let them be.
This, too, shall pass.
A joy, a depression, a meanness… Welcome and entertain them all! Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows, who violently sweep your house empty of its furniture… –Rumi, The Guest House
Credits and References: Photo of our dad, Max by Ron Frehner. Used with permission. “On My Dad’s Passing” by E. Hizsa, 2024 “Geese” by Steve. Used with permission
You will not fear the terror of night, nor the arrow that flies by day. –Psalm 91:5
It happened again and again and again. Moments when my body and mind were in the same place enjoying the taste of freshly picked raspberries, the smell of chopped basil, the sight of a mama deer and her fawns, the sound of my brother’s voice cracking another joke, the feel of gliding downhill at the end of a long ride.
It’s easy not to fear when life is so good.
But fear didn’t return after my brother went home and I found my father doubled over in pain, when the ambulance came or during the long hours in emerge– bloodwork, then more bloodwork, x-rays, CT scan IV, painkillers, monitors beeping.
The doctor came and went and came again, then the surgeon. I thought fear might come when he laid out the risks of a 96-year-old on blood thinners with congestive heart failure having an operation but it didn’t.
I went home and slept soundly until the surgeon called with good news.
My fears may return, if the car part doesn’t arrive or wildfires threaten. But today, I am here, unafraid of the terrors and arrows that may come tomorrow.
Credits and References: “Mutter, Kind, Kind” by Lukas Stifter. Used with permission “Terrors and Arrows” by Esther Hizsa, 2024 “Coldstream Valley, Vernon, B.C. by Ian Spence, Wikipedia, Creative Commons
It was 38 degrees outside when I entered the cool of the seniors’ residence with a potted cyclamen for my mom. Yvonne, my favourite resident, asks “Do you ever stop?”
I could have said, “Yes.” and told her about my quiet times and retreats. I could have told her that I’m a contemplative and teach the importance of rest. I could have told her about the talk I just heard by Thích Nhất Hạnh called Stop Running. But I said, “No.” because I wanted to keep moving.
I dreamt again that I was running, striving, never getting where I needed to go. Then I woke up and realized it was a dream. I felt such relief.
In my life, I’m running, striving, never arriving. But, sometimes, I pause and wake up, and realize I have arrived I am home always in You.
What a relief!
Then, if only for a long, slow breath, I say to my body and my mind, I have arrived. I am home.
For in God, we live and move and have our being. –Acts 17:28 (NIV)
Credits and References: “Stop?” by faungg’s photos. Used with permission. I Have Arrived by Esther Hizsa, 2024 Muurbloem by Sylvia Sassen. Used with permission.
Jesus will be in the seat next to this one on his red-eye flight, in the car, and at the memorial of his loved one.
Jesus will be up at dawn, grabbing his pack and joining another on the trail– forty-five kilometres from start to finish before the day’s end.
That same day, Jesus, sticky and squished in the back seat on a long drive to see relatives, may crack a few jokes.
In a foreign land on a big adventure, Jesus will be noticing a young man’s melancholy and listening to him talk about what he loves.
Jesus will be riding on all the teams in the Tour de France and cheering with each person in the crowd.
Jesus will be seen in Gaza and Ukraine.
And Jesus will go with me into another ordinary day, of cooking and laundry, wondering and planning, getting in my steps, visiting my parents, and watching another episode of Monk.
Be strong and courageous… for the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. –Deuteronomy 31:6
Credits and References: “Walking Together” by Sarah Horrigan. Used with permission. Jesus Itinerary This Weekend by E. Hizsa, 2024 Together” by Susanne Nilsson. Used with permission.
The odometer on my bike flashes 9999.9. Until it’s reset, it won’t report my distance, time, or average speed– . only how fast I’m going right now.
Signs on driveways and outside schoolyards say, “Slow down.”
I notice how long it takes Fred to end his turn at Skipbo, and how I want to shorten someone’s explanation.
I take my mom down to the singalong and a resident tells me twice, “You can stay and join us.” But I don’t because I’m in a hurry.
The market gardener, Handydart driver, and care aide all have stories to tell anyone who will pause and see them.
The weeping willow that meets me at mealtimes, the cows on the hill, the inert snake stretched across my path are my contemplative teachers.
There is a pervasive form of contemporary violence to which the idealist most easily succumbs: activism and overwork. The rush and pressure of modern life are a form, perhaps the most common form, of its innate violence. To allow oneself to be carried away by a multitude of conflicting concerns, to surrender to too many demands, to commit oneself to too many projects, to want to help everyone in everything, is to succumb to violence. The frenzy of our activism neutralizes our work for peace. It destroys our own inner capacity for peace. It destroys the fruitfulness of our own work because it kills the root of inner wisdom which makes work fruitful. ― Thomas Merton, Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander
Credits and References: “Please Slow Down” by John Reynolds. Used with permission. A Message in Surround Sound by Esther Hizsa, 2024. “Brown Cow” by Sheffield Tiger. Used with permission
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An Everyday Pilgrim 