Walk Humbly, Live Justly, Share Joy!

Today is my dad’s birthday. I celebrate his life, his providing for me when I was dependant, and the play-on-my-name question he used to tease me with as a youngster: “Sharon, will you share your joy?” I’m amazed at how this question has quietly shaped my life.

I try to walk humbly. Bumbly may be more accurate, as I lovingly but rather absent-mindedly and with much failure, find my way through life. I throw away the self-criticism stick whenever I find it in my hand; the act of finding it, learning from it and then releasing it keeps me humbly embracing both my gifts and my faults. It’s as hard to live justly with myself as it is live justly with others. I slip unconsciously into judgment or criticism, while being easily overwhelmed with injustice in the world, especially my abundance and others’ lack. Yet, in all this, my life invitation continues to be about sharing myself, my gifts, my joy.

As an introvert and a five on the enneagram, for those who care about such personality typing, I am compassionate, somewhat visionary, a keen observer with a need to withdraw and a tendency toward stinginess. As a middle child in a family of eleven boisterous, extroverted siblings, I struggled with my desperate need to withdraw and my equally desperate need to watch everyone having a good time. I seldom fully participated, partly from sheer fear of being overwhelmed, from incoordination and shyness, from a hint of stinginess or stubbornness, but mostly from a natural love of observation.

I'm not sure if Dad knew children live into their names, into the messages given them as they grow up. With so many child psychology books at my disposal, I knew a hint of this truth when naming my own children, understood more when I got my first cattle dog to herd the goats on our farm and was strongly advised not to name him “Killer” or “Speedy”, and am understanding more as I'm living deeper into the prophetic tone of Dad's pun with my name.

What a precious gift dad gave me in asking me this question, an unfolding gift needing half a lifetime to receive. As a pre-teen, I struggled with craving my dad’s attention while feeling awkward and shy, with wanting to be joyful and generous, but feeling pressured, stingy, like I hadn’t had enough joy and the world owed me.

I ’m glad I inherited my dad’s love of exotic flowers, orchids, amaryllis, roses (I dedicate the blooming Clivia on my windowsill to dad!) and I’m grateful for his challenge to me.    

 I laugh with my daughter, Kim, when we share the driving forces in our lives. Mine is to be in seclusion or live in a hermitage, and the other is to share everything, live intimately with others in an intentional community. She suggested I build a cabin attached to a commune! Ah, the challenge of when to withdraw and when to share.

I struggle with writing; I love it and I hold back. It comes naturally, but it's lonely. I’m afraid I’ll miss watching extroverts having good times if I withdraw and write. Perhaps, joy is right in the middle of this paradox of needing to hide and wanting to share. I receive joy when observing, when participating fully at times too, when giving to others, but there is equal joy in withdrawing to muse, dream, create, receive wisdom, and gather strength. Perhaps writing and reflecting, experiencing and observing, sharing deeply with others in honor of life, is my way of walking humbly, living justly, and sharing joy.

Thanks Dad, and HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Joyfully,
Sharon

Thoughts From a Ordinary Prophet

 

This blog started as a way of writing my way through lymphoma diagnosis and treatment. A year later, my blogging includes stuff about my dog, garden, grand children, life in general. I wonder if I need a new focus.  This silly title draws me: Thoughts From an Ordinary Prophet. I looked up the word prophet. None of the definitions are my intention. However, I could possibly see myself as a spokesperson for a cause or movement with the cause being wanting to increase my ability to love, laugh, notice and savor.

Of course, I need plenty of grace to embrace those four, especially when I’m in a bad mood and want to see the glass half empty. On the other hand, I’m fascinated by how everything I encounter in life can be my teacher, even crappy stuff like peevishness and picking up dog piles in my yard. Speaking of my dog, she could be a prophet since she teaches me how to be present, wag my tail more than snarl, and be enticed by a good path!

If I am open to learning from everyone and everything, and share what I learn with tail wagging enthusiasm, I could be a kind of an ordinary oracle, a seer of the common and normal. In a world besotted with fame, grandeur and celebrities someone in love with simplicity and normalcy could be refreshing.

I love the prayer: God help me want to be ordinary. It smacks us idealists in the face doesn’t it? I love the prayer because it shows me how to embrace my inability to change the world NOW. It means choosing the path less traveled, without attachement to having written a famous book. It means standing by a line of trees, sad they are going to be cut down, but sadder still in never noticing them before knowing of their fate.

The trees ask me: Just how much do I not notice? How often do I sleep walk through life?  How much to I dream of  extraordinary while missing the beautifully ordinary?

I also love Marianne Williamson’s quotes: “Meaningful life is not a popularity contest.” Or “The voice of ego and the world speaks louder than the voice of heart and God.” And especially, "Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.” That last one trips me, makes me want to change the world again. Then I have to sit down and pray to want to be powerfully ordinary.

Perhaps, doing what I love to do most is enough. Perhaps sitting on a bench loving this fabulous earth, being awed by clouds and birds, honoring the life of the dead cat on the roadside, loving my dog, my family, myself, loving others, passing the wonder of stars and moon on to my granddaughters, laughing with the breeze, writing a blog or poetry is actually extra ordinary, and sharing my love of life is prophet-like. If so, then we’re all prophets. If we realized our power, the power of loving, laughing, noticing and savoring, the world would surely change, one ordinary prophet at a time.

Joyfully,

Sharon