The Dance by Oriah Mountain Dreamer is a favorite book of mine, one in which I have passages highlighted throughout the book. The book talks about us being enough, something which I struggle with.

"Lately when I do my daily practice I find myself praying to live gracefully. I have a very particular feeling in my body when I remember or imagine a graceful day. It is a day without rush, a day when I am not suffering over things not being any different than they are, a day when I take a breath and accept those things I cannot change, like long lineups at the bank or traffic jams or the weather. It's a day when I rest easy in a mysterious knowing that there is enough -- enough time and money and energy and heart in the world and in my life, a day when I know that I am enough. It is a day when I am simply present with myself and all that is around me. It is a day of being truly happy, of feeling graceful -- comfortable in my own skin and life.

"To dance is to move gracefully. To live our soul's longing is to be willing to live grace-filled moments. Grace is the opportunity to be happy that we do not earn. That's what makes it grace. But if we are old-time sink-or-swimmers, if we believe that our basic nature is in need of fundamental renovation, the unearned gifts of grace make us nervous. They stir feelings of guilt and fears about potential envy; they heighten our sense of unworthiness and enmesh us in a sense of obligation to work harder at being the people we feel we should be. If we are not in some essential way a manifestation of the Mystery that bestows grace, grace can feel like yet another burden.

"To dance, to move gracefully, to receive the grace-filled moments every day, we have to know that we are worthy not because of our hard work or our suffering or our eagerness to be other than we are; we are worthy by our very nature -- the same nature that creates and sustains all that is."

The Dance by Oriah Mountain Dreamer is a favorite book of mine, one in which I have passages highlighted throughout the book. The book talks about us being enough, something which I struggle with.

"What would you do if you knew you were enough just as you are today, if you
knew -- really knew -- that you were, in your essential nature, a compassionate,
gentle being capable of being fully present with yourself and the world?
Would you trust yourself more? And how would that trust affect your choices
about how to take care of business, how to get and spend your money?"

The Dance by Oriah Mountain Dreamer is a favorite book of mine, one in which I have passages highlighted throughout the book. The book talks about us being enough, something which I struggle with.

"The certainty that while my heart may ache, my body may be injured, and my
mind may be distressed, truly no harm can ever come to my essential nature
because it is made of the stuff of which everything is made. And so there
is simply nothing to fear. And in the moments when we remember what we are
and so are fearless, we are able to effortlessly make the choices that are
consistent with our deepest soul's longing."

Canvassing 

by Laura Jenkins

The brushes
swirl and twirl
turn and churn
blotting our lives in strokes
impossible to understand.
Some are stout and bold
others wispy, like a single strand
of hair swept up
in a capricious wind.
It's a gradual becoming,
light and color melding
in hues of deep sorrow
unimaginable joy
colliding
in an extraordinary blast
of splendor.

Every canvas has a jagged edge
a crown to wear
a cross to bear
a hungry hope that we do matter
after all.
These lines can't be traced
sloppy patches of indigo and auburn
striking the page
like a hammer pounds a nail
like a whisper
that rolls softly
into your ear.

Sometimes it's a thick mess
a story with no rhyme or reason
mostly treason.
It's a debit card that
allows you passage
to whatever is next
toward whatever is behind the wood and cloth
the great mystery of disarmed time.
We are incandescent flies
buzzing around the earth
looking for ointment to land in
somewhere we can make our mark

We exchange our days
for a chance
one opportunity
to take our place in the sun
and beat down
on this terrestrial template.

What is your plate
your matrix
the imprint of you
the world needs to see?
How many will be signed and numbered
before you take your place
in the recycle bin
nourishing the earth
with your matter
what matters
to you.

I saw my grandmother today. Tall and slender, she was walking toward me with that familiar gait, a little bit wobbly, footing unsure. She held herself with a graceful posture, one that said that though she wasn’t quite sure of her worth, she was going to show up anyway. As she moved closer I had two very sudden impressions. First, it was wonderful to see her after all these years, and I was once again filled with the certainty that I was loved and unconditionally accepted. But in a split second I felt anxious and a little shocked. Looking in to the plate glass window I was walking toward, I realized that I was looking at myself. I am not 70 years old but I can see the hints, the edges of my leaf beginning to turn. I sense the wheels of time bearing down on me, steadily turning in a sweet, violent cadence that is carrying me to my mortal end.

It took me four years to compose this song. I started writing it at 30,000 feet, while I was on an airplane coming home from a music convention in Nashville. The lyrics started as a lament over having been embarrassed in front of some relatively famous people. I kept wishing that I had just stayed at home, because that way at least I could've avoided revealing parts of me I don't want people to see.

For some reason I just couldn't finish the song, so I kept putting it down and picking it back up. It drove me crazy. Over time I worked through some of my embarrassment and regret by consciously trying to accept my own humanity. I eventually realized that I could either hide or show up, knowing full well that showing up is risky. We are all a mixed bag, heroes and scoundrels, sinners and saints. This song was reflective of my resolve to try and give it all, the good, the bad and the embarrassing. Trying to relate to people in a way that only allows them to see the filtered "Laura" -- the one who carefully calculates what she's going to say and avoids anything that would cast her in a negative light – means withholding a significant part of who I am. Somehow I don't think we can hold parts of ourselves back without diminishing what we're willing to give.

When I finally finished the song it I realized that it wasn't just about the Nashville episode, it was somewhat the story of my life. Of course I didn't have that intention when writing it, but then that's the beauty of art.

Listen Now:

An Ode to Now 

by Laura Jenkins

Live.
Throw all your shoulds out
the door. The musts must go
the would’ves too.
“I could’ve,” “I might have”
have no place
in
this
moment.

Unwrap the fortune in front of you
the velvet purr of a cat
the echo of effervescent laughter
bubbles flying upward like a cup
of delicious dance.
Place it in your mouth,
swirl it
twirl it
a mouth-watering cocktail
for your tired taste buds.
Let it roll
off your tongue
the sweet juice of now
running
down your chin.

Leap into this moment
don't think!
Fall
off the edge
with arms flailing
eyes and mouth wide open
hair trailing behind you
like Halley's comet.

Stay in this moment
don't stop!
Keep it going like a hula-hoop wrapping
and slapping your hips
while it takes your ass
for a ride.

Breathe.
Let the steam of time-stand-still rise
and seep in to your jumbled head
coloring it blue and pink
and red.

Before long
the weight of yesterday
and the concern of tomorrow
will conspire again
to hijack today
rogue thieves
who stalk every tick of your clock.

Your only defense
is to let this moment burrow
under your skin and explode
in a million little ways, snippets of joy
slivers of gratitude, shreds
of hope. Let them bind
to the molecules of forgiveness
eager to roam
from the top your head
to the farthest reach
of your toes.

Embrace yourself
in all your broken glory
in every single story
the ones you’d tell by the campfire
and the ones you keep locked up behind
steel doors so cold your tongue
would stick to them
forever.

Ignore the past;
it’s gone.

Release the future;
it’s at best a pie
in the sky.

Dance with the seconds,
grabbing big hand
and little
making your way across
the circular face.
Don't let even one number
sit on the perimeter
of the room
timidly holding a card
that hasn’t been punched.
Instead, seize its hand and pull
with a fancy flair,
making your way
to the spacious gift we call
the present
and dance the night away.

This week we are celebrating Journey's birthday. Six years ago, a small group of friends took a chance on building a faith community led not by people but by God. They put aside their own egos and needs and did their best to follow the path of love. This week in Refractions, we are looking back at six years of radical inclusion, embracing imperfection and providing safe community. Finally we reach 2010, when we celebrated our faith community's birthday at a roller skating rink!