Mystical Murmurs: My Interfaith Life

Earlier in the month I attended the Order of Julian's Affiliates' Retreat and JulianFest, held this year at the Redemptorist Retreat Center on Lake Oconomoc in Wisconsin. We had nearly three retreat days of silence, followed by two days of festivity. I love the silence: I read, meditated, sat in the sun, took a few photos, perched on my favorite swing by the lake (at left), and played peekaboo with a woodchuck, who popped his head out of his hole and regarded me solemnly, trying to determine if I represented a threat or an opportunity. Best of all, in shared silence all social pressure is off, and I find that a great relief. Retreat addresses received in silence, meals taken together in comfortable silence, always provide me a womblike security and peace. Community develops in silence -- I used to find this counterintuitive. Now it seems natural and organic to be in shared silence, sensing the loving presence of friends. I'm part of several communities: among them a par

I finally made it into a book! the whole book, in fact, is about me. I am the star of every page! I'm reading Quiet: the power of Introverts in a World that Can't Stop Talking , by Susan Cain. If you're an introvert, know an introvert, live with an introvert, can't figure out introverts, or are driven crazy by introverts, read this book! If you're part of the working world that promotes extroversion as the ideal, read this book! I already knew I'm an INFP and an Enneagram type 9 (peacemaker; conflict avoidant). But Cain's book highlights many everyday ways in which I express my basic introversion.  I can read forever, losing all track of time; I feel I best express myself when I write; I like to work alone, and I hate having to supervise anyone else; and I don't do my best work on teams. And there's the vacation thing, a constant source of stress in my house. I could write a whole book about this myself. Vacation for my husband means sightsee

Last Friday, J. went to settlement on his parents' home. Actually, he didn't go -- he signed all the papers ahead of time, and then busied himself with all the small tasks required to completely empty a house: loading the car with anything left to be brought home, hauling away the last-minute trash, locking the property securely. Then he headed back to New Jersey.  Taking care of the house has been a big burden that I'm glad he's done with (as well as that 10-hour round-trip drive to central New York State).  And yet ... Now we've both been through the process of disposing of the family home, with all the attendant sorrow.  His family home was special to me, too. The house itself was an average 1950s-era "raised ranch" (I never knew that term until we listed the house for sale), but the location was magic. His mom and dad built the house in 1959, on a hillside outside their small college town.  In the 1970s, they also bought the wooded uphill lot next

Holy Week, like all of Lent that precedes it, should be a time of faithful reflection, of additional reading or other practices which deepen our faith. We should build in extra time for solitude, for retreats, for time away with God. Have I achieved this in my life? In addition to working four full days, here's the rest of my schedule for Holy Week. You be the judge!      Monday night :  pick up new glasses; buy a couple of small Easter gifts; LAUNDRY      Tuesday night : choir practice moved up to 7 PM; DO LAUNDRY POSTPONED FROM LAST NIGHT      Wednesday night : Tenebrae at 7:30; DEFINITELY DO LAUNDRY      Thursday night : choir at Maundy Thursday service at 7:30; watch in the garden, 9:00-? FINALLY DO LAUNDRY. LOW UNDERWEAR ALERT!      Friday (vacation day??) : dye 4 dozen eggs; buy some chocolate for kids; figure out what to have for Easter dinner, since J. doesn't want ham again ; food shopping? Noon: Stations of the Cross; 7:30: choir at Good Friday service;

Today our anthem in choir was "Wounded Dove," a perfect choice for the 4th Sunday of Lent. We've been working on this anthem for awhile, since we're a tiny group of five and we need a LOT of lead-time. Well, we seemed ready. All systems were go. Right? Wrong. The tenor, our lone male voice, got sick. Unfortunately, the person with the next-lowest voice is ... me. I should have been OK. This tenor part was even written on the treble clef. It should have been a no-brainer. It sounded OK right before the service. I even looked it over during the sermon (don't tell!). I made handy notes to myself on my score.  Handy notes have bailed me out plenty of times. When it was time for the anthem, I opened my mouth with confidence. That should have been my first clue. It was a train-wreck.  First I couldn't seem to figure out what octave I should be in. Then I lost the beat against the womens' voices. Then I noticed I was in the wrong key. I mean,