If God loves me so much, why does he want me to give up chocolate?

©istockphoto/kathryn8

It’s Mardi Gras tomorrow, historically a day of indulgence to consume the remaining foods that will be given up for Lent which begins the next day.

This 40 day period which begins on Ash Wednesday and culminates in the celebration of Easter  is prescribed as a time of penitence for believers marked by fasting and abstention from luxuries.

I remember as a child being deeply mystified by the seemingly mixed message that on the one hand, God loved me so much and yet on the other, he wanted me to give up chocolate.

For more decades than I care to admit, I retained a very childish attitude of rebellion towards the entire concept of self-discipline which engendered many an unproductive internal conflict in the pursuit of healthy goals.

In a society that venerates conspicuous consumption, commerce and instant gratification, self-denial is a hard sell.  For many people, self-discipline and deprivation are synonymous.   Ironically, considering this was an issue that began in the Church in England so many years ago, my issue with self-discipline only came to resolution relatively recently thanks to the wisdom and growth I have experienced on my yoga mat.

Part of the solution lay in a more conscious consideration of the multiple meanings of the word discipline:

Yoga reminded me that a spiritual practice is a discipline in the sense of these meanings:

I realized that part of me had been stuck in associating discipline exclusively with these meanings:

• Control obtained by enforcing compliance or order.
• A systematic method to obtain obedience: a military discipline.
• A state of order based on submission to rules and authority: a teacher who demanded discipline in the classroom
• Punishment intended to correct or train.

Slowly but surely, my previous knee-jerk reaction to reject additional commitments faded and I started to appreciate that self-discipline can be a positive choice rather than a deprivation.    I noticed that it is at the times that there is most chaos and pressure in my life, I find deep peace and comfort in routines.

Making a commitment to do something good for me used to feel like yet another chore on my to do list, in an overly full schedule.  Nowadays, I see it as an act of dedication and devotion to taking good care of myself.

Investigating the meanings that we have for things can be so incredibly beneficial. By stopping and taking the time to examine the beliefs we are walking around with, we create an opportunity to change and grow, to throw out old ways of thinking that no longer serve us and try on something new.     Which brings me back to Lent.

Even if you are not a Christian, Lent provides an occasion to try on some new behaviors. It is always interesting to challenge the things you believe you are dependent on. For some people it makes sense to give something up, even to suffer a little in the process, as a way of stimulating a form of deep reflection.

But equally, you may decide that you might have more to gain, spiritually speaking, during this period by adding something positive instead of giving something up. A couple of years ago, I found myself considering how I could choose to give up something that would also benefit others during this period.

I felt that in some ways, even giving up something that I loved seemed like a rather self-indulgent practice and so I picked  giving up complaining for Lent that year. The commitment I made was to monitor everything that came out of my mouth and forsake all negativity.

I thought it would be so easy, after all I considered myself a relatively kind and positive person.  It sounded so simple and yet I SUCKED at it.  When I started to pay some serious attention, I realized I complained without even being conscious of it way more than I could have imagined.  It was easy to avoid saying something bad about somebody, but I had no idea how much I bitched and moaned about traffic and the weather.

Over the entire period, I think I barely made it through two consecutive days of complete compliance.      This year it’s going to be my goal once again and I hope that, regardless of whether you follow this or another spiritual or religious tradition or not,  you feel inspired to think creatively about how you might benefit from a 40 day commitment to your personal development by giving something up or doing something new or different.

Tears are a river that take you somewhere

©istockphoto/giovanecek

MATER DOLOROSA: THE UN-RUINED HEART

“It is said by the old women of the family that the hilts of the swords piercing Our Lady’s heart are shaped like the curling sepals which protect the buds of roses..

..that with prayer and time, each sword hilt will burst into seven fragrant roses, blooming again and again, because suffering brings the rain of tears, because the rain of tears waters the earth, because moisture on dry earth of our being is guaranteed to bring forth new life.

Tears are a river that take you somewhere… somewhere better, somewhere good.”

“The swords through your heart are not the ones which caused your wounds, but rather, these mighty swords of Strength were earned by your struggles through hard times.

Sword of Surrender: to withstand this time of learning.
Sword of Veils: to pierce the hidden meanings of this time.
Sword of Healing: to lance one’s own agony, bitterness.
Sword of New Life: to cut through, cut loose, plant anew.
Sword of Courage: to speak up, row on, touch others.
Sword of Life Force: to draw from, lean on, purify.
Sword of Love: often heaviest to lift consistently;
turns one away from war, to instead,
fall into the arms of Immaculate Strength.

O Immaculate Heart of My Mother,
give me shelter in the beautiful chambers of your heart.
Keep me strong, fierce, loving, and able in this world.
Remind me daily, that despite my imperfections,
my heart remains,
completely un-ruined.”

From the book “Untie the Strong Woman” by Clarissa Pinkola-Estés

The pierced heart above is found above the doorway of this little Italian Church. It was painted there in the 17th Century and has recently been restored. ©istockphoto/giovanecek

The terrible jaws of regret

©istockphoto/contrastaddict

Don’t you hate it when, just as you least expect it, the untamed past escapes its cage?

With silent stealth, it attacks without warning, devouring any present peace in one fell swoop.

Before you even know what’s happened, it pounces and you find yourself captive, dangling powerless from the terrible jaws of regret.

The pain is so immediate and piercing, it takes your breath away.

At times, you are ashamed to admit, you have yearned for a swift end to what feels like interminable suffering.

You long to turn away, to blind the eyes that cannot close to things you said and the things you did and far worse still, that which went undone and unspoken.

Oh, the cruelty of hindsight, how it taunts us with impossible possibilities of how we could have been.

The shoulds, the coulds, the questions without answer.   The answers you wish you could change.

The quality of mercy may fall unstrained like rain from heaven but,

Hidden in the dungeon  of our  lack of self-forgiveness,

There is no absolution.