yoga as worship

I remember the first time I did yoga, about 16 years ago. I loved it. But I remember hearing some people say that it wasn't a Christian kind of thing to do, and that if I open myself to yoga, who knows what might creep into my spirit. I could be opening the door to the occult, encouraging demons to reside inside of me, and worshiping false gods, just to name a few.

Well, here I am: 16 years later, and I've taken yoga classes off and on over the years. And still loved it. Except for one teacher who I couldn't really quite believe was real. She told us, "Everyone has India inside of themselves." (She wasn't Indian, and had never been there.) I asked her after class, "What about Switzerland? Does everyone have Switzerland inside of themselves too?"And she just smiled and told me that India is a state of mind, and you can have it or not have it. She had it.

She was more than a bit distracting during some of the poses in class. When I'd just want to breathe and calm my mind, she'd be encouraging us, "That's it! Just reach up, up, up, like a great big flower. Can you feel it? Ahhhh! That's it! Stretch up to the sun! Feel its warmth! Feel its heat pulsing and its rays warming your skin. Drink it in! Stretch, little flowers!" A bit too much for me.

So that was not such a worshipful feeling, to be mocking her in my head while trying to get something out of the yoga class. But I've had other teachers who have made me think and believe and dig deeper inside myself and have pointed the way. And the beauty of it was that they weren't pointing to their way, but helped me point deeper into my way. Am I making any sense, or am I sounding like India-flower-yoga-teacher?

Anyway, I was reminded again this evening of how worshipful yoga can be. With my body stretching, hand raised up, my gaze following it, I can feel like I'm doing the best thing I can be with this temple-body I've been given. Tree pose is a favourite too - with hands together above my head in prayer position, my foot rooted into the ground, my vision focused on a single point in front of me. It can feel like genuine worship.

"The whole person, with all his senses, with both mind and body, 

needs to be involved in genuine worship. " 

- Jerry Kerns

prayer and fasting

One member of our family - our Afghan teenage daughter that I talked a bit about here - is fasting right now for the month of Ramadan. My revelation in yesterday's post was related to avoiding unpacking and other household duties. And observing someone in my house observe Ramadan highlights this even more: I lack self-discipline.

I don't think I've ever fasted. Have you? Maybe I have for one meal, but that just seems laughable. I told her this, and she did laugh. She said, "That's not hard at all! You could have a big breakfast and then a big supper and not really notice at all!"

Her day starts with prayers and breakfast at 3:00am, followed by a bit more sleeping, followed by a normal day, followed by supper at 8:40pm. No food, no water - nothing - until 8:40 in the evening. And I marvel at her self-discipline, especially in a house where no one else is fasting. Especially in this hot summer month.

For the past 3 evenings now, we've shared evening prayers together. She prays in Arabic - a beautiful chant-like prayer with kneeling and bowing. We watch and listen and follow, my daughters quiet, awed, eager participants. Since the first evening, they have begged to do these prayers together. Then we pray in English. First, the Aaronic blessing, then the Lord's prayer. It is a wonderful moment of faith-sharing in our family.

evening prayers

It's made me think about the things I'm disciplined about. And the list is very short.

1. Writing. I've become more disciplined in my writing over the last 5 months, thanks to this blogging habit. Most days I enjoy it, but there are some days when it does feel like work. That's when the discipline kicks in.
2. Making my bed. It's a bad, bad day if the bed hasn't been made. This is one area of the house where I insist on a small zone of calm and tidiness.
3. Eating. I eat every day without fail. I even eat good meals made from good ingredients most days.
4. Brushing teeth. I brush my teeth every day too.

Things I want to be more disciplined about:

1. Praying
2. Exercising
3. Thinking before talking (especially to family members)

And you? Where do you show self-discipline? Where do you not, and wish you would?

one wild and precious life

In one of the comments to this post, a friend sent a link to this poem. And I just can't get some of the lines out of my head - the ones that I've highlighted below. I think it's just beautiful. 

The Summer Day

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean -
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down -
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
- Mary Oliver

These words ring in my ears: Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?

I sometimes think that being as productive as possible is the goal, but I love how this poem exalts idleness as potential prayer. Paying attention, slowing down enough to really watch, praying, and listening - these are some of the things I want to do with my one wild and precious life.

holding seeds like prayer beads

As we were planting small rows in our backyard, I thought about the way of seeds.

The way a small wonder is contained inside, ready to explode into plant and fruit and seed.

The way the earth envelopes a seed and encourages it to thrive.

The way the wind blows and seeds scatter - planting themselves. Effortlessly.

The way my body has grown a seed into a beautiful baby. Seeds became prayers became girls.

And the way of these children - holding seeds like prayer beads. Planting. Daring hope to live and breathe, push out of the ground, grow and produce.

The farm-girl part of me knows that these are my prayer beads - each one planted with a prayer for rain and sun and growth and sustenance. The rhythm of planting: Plant a seed. Pray. Plant a seed. Pray. Cover with soil. Water. Hope.

I learned something interesting about beads: that the word "bead" comes from the Anglo-Saxon words bidden (to pray) and bede (prayer). Strings of beads are used in many religions - Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, and Hinduism - to centre the mind and to pray.

So these seed beads help me to be centred and think of the bigger picture. Besides these little spiritual connections, it's just fun to dig in the dirt and get hands dirty. Don't you agree? Is planting a spiritual activity for you?

Some of my favourite poetry and stories have to do with planting seeds. Like this one:

Sowing Clover by Wendell Berry (in Selected Poems of Wendell Berry)

February 2, 1968
In the dark of the moon, in flying snow, in the dead of winter,
war spreading, families dying, the world in danger,
I walk the rocky hillside, sowing clover.

Or this quotation, from Henry David Thoreau's Faith in a Seed:

Though I do not believe that a plant will spring up where no seed has been, I have great faith in a seed. Convince me that you have a seed there, and I am prepared to expect wonders.

And this children's book: Miss Rumphius, by Barbara Cooney, who scatters lupin flower seeds all around her town and on hillsides. Her grandfather had told her,

"You must do something to make the world more beautiful."

This is something I learned from my grandparents: to plant, to tend, and to rejoice in the harvest. And to live my faith in simple ways like planting seeds and praying. Now if only I had a greener thumb.

glad, sad, sorry

Sometimes one of my happiest times of the day is looking at these little angelic sleeping faces.

Is that bad?

But some evenings, getting to this lovely quiet space seems like a lot of work. Like when there is a thunderstorm outside. Or when one of the girls is bugging the other (they share a room). Or when a friend said something mean and there are questions of how to deal with it tomorrow. Or when one person is singing really loudly. Or when there's a deep theological question or concern. Or when someone just wants to know that her parents are really, really close until sleep finally overcomes.

A friend taught us this bedtime ritual that I love. We read stories, do "glad, sad, sorry" and then we say this blessing.

What's glad, sad, sorry?

It's a simple version of the Ignatius practice of examen -  a prayerful reflection on the day's events - to see glimpses of God and discern future direction. In this simplified version, you answer these three little questions:

When I think back on what happened today,


1. What made me glad?
2. What made me sad?
3. What made me feel sorry?


One daughter loves to do this every night. The other one just listens, and occasionally pipes in with a "glad" story. I'm always asked to share my glads, sads, and sorries too.

I've noticed that it changes something about our days. The littlest one (the one who loves to talk and share her feelings) can usually remember the different emotions of her day. Some days she has referred back to something that made her sad or sorry from the day before, and this has changed her attitude in the present moment. She might be thinking: if I don't change my behaviour/attitude now, then this might be something I will feel the need to share at glad/sad/sorry time tonight.

And it's helped me too.

I try to encourage and expand those parts of my day that make me glad and that give me life. Granted, not all that is sad can be pushed out of our lives - nor should it. But the things that often make me feel sorry are ways that I treat others (particularly family members) that are not-so-life-giving. So these are the pieces I want to change the next day.

My mother-in-law gave me this book that I love - Sleeping with Bread: Holding What Gives You Life.

On the first pages, they tell a story of orphaned children who had been placed in refugee camps during World War II. Many of them could not sleep at night because they were so afraid. Someone had the idea of giving them a piece of bread to hang onto at bedtime. As they held their bread, they could finally drift off to sleep peacefully. The bread reminded them "Today I ate and I will eat again tomorrow."

They compare this sleeping with bread to praying the examen prayer at the end of the day, and holding on to what gives you life during the course of the next day.

Do you have ways that you "hold onto your daily bread"? Bedtime routines that get you ready for sleep, while reflecting on the day and anticipating the next? A cup of tea or wine? Journalling? Talking with someone? Do tell!

ironic blessing

A friend stayed at our house last weekend - someone who's very intentional about nurturing children's spirituality. Our daughters wanted her to do the bedtime routine - stories, prayers, etc. The thing that my daughters loved most (and have asked for ever since) was a blessing that she said to them.

My friend told me about this, and called it the "Aaronic Blessing." I heard "ironic blessing," was a bit puzzled, and vowed to learn more about what this ironic blessing was.

So... here it is! The Aaronic blessing from Numbers 6:24-26: (spoken by God to Moses, to tell Aaron and his sons the way to bless the Israelite people)

"The LORD bless you and keep you;

the LORD make his face to shine upon you,

and be gracious to you;

the LORD lift up his countenance upon you,

and give you peace."

This is how we've adapted it: "May God bless you and keep you, and may God's face shine upon you and give you peace."

What a great way to go to sleep, eh? I heard Eden blessing her stuffed bunny with this Aaronic blessing tonight.

But back to irony and blessings. Have you ever felt ironically blessed? Situational irony is when actions taken result in an effect exactly opposite from what was intended. A friend of mine was diagnosed with HIV/AIDS years ago. She called this a blessing - a second chance to change her life. I've heard of others who talk of hardship in their lives as a blessing. I hope that I will have the strength to see my own hardships as ironic blessings when they come. The kind of super-faith that can still give thanks even in the midst of despair.

But what would a profound reflection on irony be without Alanis Morissette?

I'm a bit hard-pressed to find examples of irony in this song, though. "Rain on a wedding day"? It's actually an Irish blessing (I know, because it rained on my wedding day). Maybe that's Alanis' version of an ironic blessing. Most of her other examples just seem like unfortunate circumstances. Not really ironic. "A traffic jam when you're already late"? Bad luck. "A no smoking sign on your cigarette break"? Too bad for you. "10,000 spoons when all you need is a knife"? Sucks, eh? "Meeting the man of your dreams, and then meeting his beautiful wife"? Bad timing, but perhaps an ironic blessing in disguise.

a proposed way of indicating irony,

called the "irony mark"

¡¿Who knew?!

a prayer spot

As part of Lent this year, I want to be reminded to pray more often. I don't instinctively pray unless I'm feeling stressed. I've found that some people have an aversion to the word "prayer," but they use language like "meditate" or "send out a message to the universe." Whatever words used, it means the same to me.

I made a prayer calendar for our church called "40 ways/days to pray" with suggestions for each of the days of Lent. One of the ideas was to create a place for prayer in your home. When I suggested we could do this, my daughters went straight to work collecting objects from around the house. One daughter wanted a pretty cloth to cover the small table. They seemed to instinctively know some of the things that could remind them to pray.

Can you see some of the things on table? There are heart-shaped rocks, shells, a stone candle holder, a heart-shaped cookie cutter with a bright yellow balloon attached, a bookmark with Mother Teresa on it, a prayer calendar from our church, some sparkly jewels, a special book about a small puppy, a card that says "peace on earth", and a curled-up wooden buddha. These are the things that remind them to pray.

This morning I heard one daughter explain it to a friend who had come to play. "This is our prayer table," she told her, "It reminds us to pray to God. Because that's what we believe. Those things in nature remind us of God." 

I'd like to believe that prayer isn't just an inner, quiet way of being. Prayer, to me, is another way of slowing down and savouring the moments. I'd like to think of my life as a prayer, and that prayer can come out of the most unexpected moments and from the most ordinary joys.   

Like gratitude for my two wonderful daughters and one tremendous husband. So I say a small prayer, and smile a big smile, each time I walk past.