40 Ways My Labyrinth is Like My Life--#32, 33

32. It reminds me of the Fibonacci Series.
33. That is, the Golden Spiral around which everything's created. 


Odd, I know, but here's the story: Last year, these 40 Ways were created as Twitter posts, and you know all about the 140 characters, right? Well, it doesn't make sense to make two separate devotionals out of these two, so we'll have 39 Lenten devotionals, and one for Easter!

The Fibonacci Series, for those who don't know, is a series of numbers beginning with 0, 1, and from then on each number is the sum of the last two. So: 0,1,1,2,3,5,8,13,21. . . etc. It's named after a man named Leonardo of Pisa, who was also known as Fibonacci. He was the one who introduced the concept to western mathematics, in 1202, although it had already been described even earlier than that, in Indian mathematics.

If you plot these numbers on a graph, they create an enlarging spiral that will look very familiar to you. Perhaps you'll know why--"Hey! That looks like a chambered nautilus!" Or perhaps you'll just think vaguely, "That looks familiar. I wonder where I've seen it before?" The answer is, Everywhere! Just now when I put "Fibonacci" into Google, the third website on the list was titled, "The Fibonacci Numbers and Golden Section in Nature," and included hundreds of ways you can see these patterns.  www.maths.surrey.ac.uk/hosted-sites/R.Knott/Fibonacci/fibnat.htm The Golden Section is also called the Golden Mean, the Golden Ratio, and Divine Proportion. You could call it a visual representation of the Fibonacci Series (or Numbers, or Sequence.) And it's literally found all over the natural world, from the spiral of hairs in your cowlick to the seeds of a sunflower to the end of a pine cone. Put any of the above words into Google Images and you'll see hundreds of astounding things.

I think the Divine Proportion is truly divine. I think it's the fingerprint of the Creator. My labyrinth reminds me of it. And in the midst of all the chaos of seemingly random and senseless events that fill our lives (like alopecia in someone who, therefore, has no cowlick, a diseased sunflower that doesn't produce seeds at all, or a stunted pine cone) it's comforting to think there's some kind of underlying pattern, whether it's always visible or not.

Life, right down to its DNA, seems to move in endless spirals, growing outward, larger and larger, from the spinning of atoms to the spinning of galaxies. So do the seasons roll, and so does my life, and yours, come around again and give us a kind of second chances. In Elizabeth Goudge's book The Scent of Water, a character reassures another that life is like beads on a string, and the loving acts you didn't succeed in performing for someone earlier in your life (and now you live in regret) will come around again, and you'll get a chance to try again, to be loving not to the same person, but to another brother or sister in the circle of life.

But there is a center. There is an end to the path. Today might be the last chance you get to love, so grab it. Add together the amount of love you could give yesterday and the amount you could give today, and give that much tomorrow.

40 Ways My Labyrinth is Like My Life--#31

31. The Quiet Center is always there.


It's a funny thing. I get busy with pruning grape vines and mowing and checking fruit trees (there's some weird white fuzzy stuff in my apple branches! What is that??) and mowing and planting the new American Highbush Cranberries and mowing and everlastingly mulching and mowing. . . It gets to seeming like a busy place. I forget about the quiet center. But it's always there. Quiet. Waiting. The tree never gets upset when I don't visit it. Well, I do visit it. I cut out lower branches, and trim weeds and debate about a circle of stones. . .

And mow! Or put off mowing.

And the quiet center waits.

In life, I get busy with writing and housework and writing (and labyrinth care) and gardening and shopping and laundry and writing. I check on the goats (new twin boys born three days ago as of this writing! Adorable!) I feed the chickens and collect eggs and try to remember to whom I owe this particular dozen. I write deeply moving and insightful blogs! Or I try, anyway. Only, sometimes I have to stop and remind myself to take the insights I'm being given through the words I'm writing (it's one of God's favorite ways to talk to me) and apply them to my own soul.

God is there. Quiet. Waiting.

Always.

40 Ways My Labyrinth is Like My Life--#30

30. It takes as long to return to the Real World as to find the Quiet Center.


In my labyrinth (and most others, too) there are no walls, so you really could walk straight across all paths to reach the center in seconds, but why would you? The journey is the point! Leaving, it's even more of a temptation--you've had your contemplative journey, pondered insights near the tree in the center, and now you can simply step to the entrance path that leads so near (before its first unexpected left turn--see #4) and walk back out through the trellis.

By so doing, one would miss the entire raison d'etre of a labyrinth, of course. It's meant to be a symbol of a journey we have no power to take shortcuts in--life itself. (We can end it entirely, but we can't take shortcuts in it.) We speak of things such as "wandering from the path," "going the wrong direction," and even "sitting down and crying," but in fact, our life is composed of time, and time moves only in one direction and reigns as absolutely as any despot. No matter what you choose to do with the next minute, at the end of it you'll be exactly one minute older, which is to say, one minute further from the moment of your birth, and one minute nearer to the moment of your death.

So my attempt to avoid certain pitfalls in the Labyrinth of my Life, (meant, with all my heart, to be not denial, but avoidance of evil, let me add!) kept me circling for years around those same pitfalls, never able to get any closer to my goal. Then again, the Labyrinth of Life is more like a spiral, leading in and out from the center over and over, but on a higher (or lower) plane each time. So I also sometimes tried to rush back out to "the world" to share awesome insights God had granted at my latest visit to the center, without taking the time to stew those insights thoroughly into my own soul first.

The journey is the point. The journey is the point. Daily,(at least) as I write these small essays, I visit the center and sit with God awhile. I begin to write my thoughts, and then, following the Holy Spirit's guidance as well as I know how, I delete, and retype, and put words back in and take them out again, and reword, and reword. . . this particular one has had nearly as many paragraphs removed as you see now. . . and eventually hit Publish Post and send out another small insight into the odd world known as Blog, where I hope some are sharing and gaining from it and adding and taking away from it into their own lives' labyrinths. On the days when I rush, and barely edit, it's likely that there's less Truth Germ present.

This is just a tiny picture. In much larger and more important ways, there have been life-threatening quests to the Center, dazzling insights there, and much more time steeping than seems necessary to me, in my hurry to share these awesome things (awesome to me because they fit me--I get that).

Take your time. In the light of eternity, you have plenty.

40 Ways My Labyrinth is Like My Life--#29

29. Sometimes it's Just Perfect!


Of course, it depends on how you define Perfect. Take today, for instance. It was about 60something degrees and cloudy, but the high, bright kind of clouds that I don't mind at all. The grass is high and I'm so far behind on path maintenance that I'm worried about getting the labyrinth ready in time for Holy Week. (Next week! Aack!!) The roses at the trellis entry are reaching for your hair, and the grapes and kiwis are cheerfully reaching for everything! But the little cherry bushes are in bloom, and even one of the plums has some cute little pinky blossoms. The berry vines are all leafed out, and the grass, high though it may be, is green. Such a nice color after a gray winter!

Just Perfect!

Defining perfection. I'd say that's one of the very most essential actions of life. It makes all the difference in the world to how you value yourself, your surroundings, the people you love (or don't), your work, your faith, even God. The only thing worse than a nit-picky perfectionist, after all, would have to be an all-powerful nit-picky perfectionist! Good heavens! Or rather, bad heavens, because they would be, if they were reigned over by the kind of God famously described by colonial preacher, Jonathan Edwards--just waiting for you to make a mistake so he could throw you in the fire.

On the other hand, if you see God as a kind of wishy-washy, kind-hearted coach who gives the You're Perfect! trophy to everyone for every action, no matter whether it was good, bad, or indifferent, someone's best or someone's lazy attempt to get by with the least effort, then why even have the word "perfect" to begin with? It kind of kills motivation to learn to do anything better or grow into a new way of being.

All kinds of people have all kinds of opinions on this topic, so I prefer to see how Jesus defined perfection. In Matthew 5:48, he says, "Be perfect, even as your Father in heaven is perfect." Scary. Less scary when you see the context, which is loving everyone, even your enemies, but still! Who can do that perfectly? However, Luke 6 contains a less-famous copy of this same part of what we often call the Sermon on the Mount. And the corresponding verse, which is 6:36, says, "Be merciful, even as your Father in heaven is merciful."

Wait--you mean Jesus defined perfection as mercy? But why would you need mercy unless you. . . Oh, I get it! The grass is long and the path is partly obliterated and the pruning didn't get done in time, but the cherry bushes are blooming, and the grapes are cheerfully reaching out in all directions, and the roses grab your hair on the way by.  Perfect!

40 Ways My Labyrinth is Like My Life--#28

28. Sometimes it's cold and muddy.

A while back, I mentioned that one half of the labyrinth is lower than the other. When it rains heavily enough, that half of the field gets pretty soggy. Twice in the years I've lived here, we've had enough days of heavy rain in a row to actually flood it. Naturally, one of those floods was right after I'd planted the dwarf fruit trees, so two pears and a plum drowned in the mess. The paths have sunk a little lower than the ground around them, so on the rare occasions that I've walked in those conditions, I've literally sloshed in water part of the time.

It's kind of like depression. When you're in the heat of real trials, it seems more like the hot, muggy days, when you have fifteen things to do and none of them pleasant, when your brain seems fevered and gnats of worry or anger are buzzing around your head. But the grip of depression is more like cold mud. Your heart feels like a lump of clay, your squishy, uncomfortable feet move slowly and unwillingly, and there don't seem to be any flowers or fruit to enjoy, even if you felt like enjoying them.

There's depression and depression. Everybody, some of the time, goes through spells of gloom and joylessness. There are countless helpful things to do: pray, sing praise songs even if you don't feel like it, count blessings, write a list of all the things you're unhappy or annoyed about and see if there's one you can change (or burn the list!), talk to a friend, go do something silly, go to bed and wait it out, read a book, work on a project you like. Cry. Walk a labyrinth!

Then there's depression. If these moods seriously impair your life or the lives of those you love, if they last longer than a couple of weeks or don't seem to have any root in some real loss or trial, if your self-esteem is slipping and especially if you feel suicidal, then you need more help! To put it in our labyrinthine analogy, if it's not just that there are no fruits or flowers to enjoy, but you don't think there ever will be, call someone. You don't actually have to go find a counselor yourself, although if you take action early enough you will not find that so difficult. You can start by telling a friend, family member, pastor, your doctor--someone! That person will help you to find the help you need. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about--clinical depression has been an issue, not just in my life but in the lives of several family members.

Here's what I know: When you are slogging along in mud that never seems to end, when you are surrounded by a fog and you can't see any ray of hope, let alone sense the presence of God, God is still there. You can still speak out to the darkness and cold, you can say what seems entirely untrue: "I know you're there, God. Help me!" And even if you can't say that, God still will help you, almost certainly through kind people. Take the help. You'll look back and be so grateful!

Muddy days are okay. It's not the end of the world to get your feet wet, and the labyrinth couldn't be a living place without some rain. But nobody should have to live in mud all the time. If your path has been too cold and muddy for too long, stop, sit down, and yell for help. You will be heard.

40 Ways My Labyrinth is Like My Life--#27

27. Sometimes it's hot and breathless.

This past week, for instance. I can't believe the weather we've been having! All winter was shockingly warm, then we had a bit of mildly cold weather in early March, and now summer has apparently arrived to stay! It's nice to be outside and warm, but it makes me exceedingly nervous about July and August. And bugs this year. Well, what will be will be. We'll either survive it or we won't.

Some people hate cold. They're the kind who go to Florida for the winter. I hate heat. I grew up in the Seattle area where we thought it was really hot when it reached 70. I can stand a lot more heat than I used to, but still get faint and weak and feel awful if I'm out in sunshine above 85. When it's hot and breathless, I either don't walk the labyrinth or I walk it at dawn. Or in the evening, if it's the sort of evening that cools down. (Not all of them do.)

I wish I could make that sort of decision about life in general. Time, I've noticed, goes right on, day and night, ticking away seconds whether I'm awake or asleep, having a good time or a terrible one, paying attention or not. When things seem hot and breathless and I'd give a good deal to get off the treadmill and just stop for a while, I can't do it. I mean, I can make different choices about what to do with my time. I can rest, take a break, do something different. Some of the time I can, anyway. But life, time, circumstances go right on and I keep floating downriver, getting older. . . tick . . . grayer . . . tock . . . farther from the moments I want to cling to, closer to the unknown ones up ahead.

Sometimes, life is hot and breathless. I'll bet Jesus felt that way, on the way up the Via Dolorosa. And you just have to take the next step. And the next. And cling to a God you can't see, even though you feel completely abandoned.

The good news is, as those moments tick by, they also carry us closer to the end of trial and back around to where we can see God's face again. And the best news is, God exists outside of time and can see our faces always. Always.

40 Ways My Labyrinth is Like My Life--#26

26. It contains high spots and low spots.

The labyrinth, when you look at it, seems pretty level. It's approximately centered in a field of about half an acre, with maple trees along the road in front of it, and various hardwoods along the creek behind it. I really only realized how not level it was when I tried to mow it.

When we first restored the labyrinth, tilled the path, took out the marker stakes, and mowed the whole area with a rough field mower, it was fine. But after we spent several days laying feed sacks in the paths to discourage weeds, then covering the sacks with a layer of chips, so that the whole thing looked really nice, I gave the chips some time to settle and then tried to mow it with my regular riding mower.

The mower deck ran into a sort of ridge, took out a whole row of sacks, and wrapped them inextricably around the blades, belts, and pulley, chips and all.

Looking a little more closely, I discovered that the labyrinth is on two distinct levels. The eastern half is a good foot or more higher than the western half, with a neat bank down the middle, as if a small tectonic plate sank under one side. It sounds as if it would be readily noticeable, but it isn't. Now that I've lived here a few years, I also know that the whole western half of the field sits underwater if we have a lot of rain in a short period.

Sometimes the high points and low points in life are obvious. Wedding--high point. Failing an important test--low point. Birth of a baby--high point. Serious illness--low point. Graduating summa cum laude--high point. Loss of a loved one--very low point.

Other times, they're not so noticeable at first. It's as if the tectonic plates that underpin our lives shift just enough to make us feel off-balance, but we're not really sure why. Then, suddenly an ordinary event rips off and tangles some achievements around our best-laid plans and we have some regrouping and reordering to do.

It's okay. Happens in the best families. The overall layout of the plan for our life's path is worth the extra work, even if it means some do-overs and improvising. What's a little off-kilter in your life lately? What will it take to refigure and try again?

40 Ways My Labyrinth is Like My Life--#25

25. You still can't get lost, unless you leave the labyrinth entirely.

From the labyrinth, (and this isn't as good an analogy of real life as some of the other imagery we've shared) the center is always visible. So is the outer edge. So you may not understand why the center seems to come no nearer, or why you've doubled back on yourself so many times, but you can tell you're still in the thing, somewhere! You can back out. You can give up and stomp out the entry trellis, or just trample the fruits and flowers and step right over the boundary and out. Or you can stay in and keep trying.

If the labyrinth represents the Way of Love, the way that leads to the heart's home, to the Center of Being where the All-Being is drawing you to the greatest heart of unconditional, unfathomable love in the universe, then perhaps we could say the whole field represents human life in general. In other words, while it is possible to opt out of life entirely, either by directly committing suicide or by slowly killing soul and body with destructive practices, it's more common to stay in life but give up on the Way, concluding that it's too difficult, requires too much work, and probably won't really lead anywhere, anyway! We can spend time in the wilderness outside the labyrinth, mocking those who try to walk it and discover its secrets, claiming there is no true Center, trying to make ourselves believe we are having more fun doing whatever we want whenever we want than trying to follow any one particular path.

"There are many paths!" we can proclaim, while wandering drunkenly and aimlessly through a life that feels pointless--and looks it.

There is only one path to the True Center. Only One. It has been and is being shown countless times (literally--uncountable by human minds!) It sparkles in the eyes of many people you know and see every day. It's described in lots of holy books and scrolls (though always in human words, and more recognizable in some than in others). But I believe it was never shown as perfectly as by One Man, One who chose to be born here in our maze of dead ends and false paths,to lead us to the One True Path. This One claimed to be the Son of God, accepted worship, predicted His own death and resurrection, and walked toward it fearfully, but willingly. Who loved us more than He feared the Great Darkness. Who, in fact, lit up and thereby destroyed that Great Darkness, just as He has since lit up and destroyed the darkness in my own inner dungeons, which had terrorized and tripped me up for so long.

He says He's the Way, the Truth, and the Life (John 14:6). I believe Him. And no matter how confused or angry or hopeless I've ever felt, I've never left the labyrinth, and I never will. Like Peter, I say, "Where else would we go??" (John 6:68)

Don't leave! Yell, scream, sit down and cry for a while if you have to, but don't leave! Reach out for a hand. You'll find one.

40 Ways My Labyrinth is Like My Life--#24

24. You can't get lost. . . unless you've neglected maintenance.

As we've discussed before, there is only one path in a labyrinth, and as long as you stay on it and don't turn back, you'll always reach the center. There is, therefore, only one way to get lost, and that's if the path is overgrown and impossible to see. Believe me, there have been times when I, who know this particular labyrinth intimately, down to its smallest pebble, stand in confusion, looking around me, trying to find my bearings since I can't find the path. Didn't I just come down that path? Do you pass the red and gold raspberries before you walk the round that goes outside the bush cherries, or after? I'll lean over and take a close look at where I think corners ought to be, because they tend to be faintly visible even in choking weeds. Then, when I find a corner, I'm still not sure which way the path is going at that point, and more than once I've ended up going in circles and passing the same spot twice.

In life, there's only one path, too. It's the Way of Love, shown and lit by God. There's a sort of beacon in every soul that draws one to that Way, but if the beacon isn't regularly polished by prayer and meditation, if the "edgings" of life aren't trimmed by study of the Words God has sent us, and paths aren't weeded by consistently choosing to turn away from practices which are destructive both of the self and of others, it's easy to get lost, and to find oneself on the same unhealthy path one determined yesterday to leave forever.

When this happens, there are several things to try. Stand still. Look more closely. Take your time. Pray for help. Holler for help! Take it when it comes, but be sure the person who offers it actually does get you closer to your goal--the Center. If this doesn't happen, thank the person, wish him or her well, and seek other help.

This can take time. Years. Trust me, I've learned this the hard way! But you do know--somehow--when you're back on the right path again. Even in darkness, weeds, and gloom, there will be a sense of "yes." Isaiah 30:21 puts it this way: "Your ears shall hear a voice behind you saying, 'This is the way, walk in it.'" I've heard that voice. I've kept walking. I've found Light. I promise.

And if you still feel confused and worried. . . read the next post!

40 Ways My Labyrinth is Like My Life--#23

23. Animals love it.

Birds come to the bowl of water at the west side of the center circle. They come at fruit time, too, and I don't mind sharing a little. There's at least one hole of some small underground dweller, and since there are no bulbs in my labyrinth, that's okay. Dogs gallop through (thought not big ones anymore.) A fun way to practice leash training and teach dogs to respond immediately to your changes in direction is to walk the whole path with them. Cats like to sun themselves (and probably make other contributions as well, but we won't go there.)

The point is, we are not alone on this earth, not quite the lords of creation we used to think we were, and it's a good sign when the animals come to you.

This is one of the good things about my life, too. Animals like me, most of the time. I hope my presence is good for them; I know their presence is good for me. They remind me of important things, like play and exercise. They calm me when I need it. Once, during a serious crisis in my life, I went into some woods at a retreat center in central Ohio, with no other determination than to just sit still. That's harder than it sounds, particularly when you're in soul turmoil. But after some effort and some prayer and some calming and some re-calming. . . I succeeded.

I sat, and my breathing slowed. A Carolina wren bustled busily about in some nearby underbrush, not worried about my presence. Then I caught slight movement out of the corner of my right eye. I turned my head slowly, so as not to startle the bird (or start myself up again). A spider was using my shoulder as a hitching point for her new web! That was when I knew that not only my body, but my heart was quiet and still.

I often think, when I'm headed into the woods, of the words to the Sydney Lanier poem, "Into the Woods My Master Went." I have never yet reached the full submission of the last stanza, and honestly, I hope I won't have to. But the first part is familiar to me, and if God ever requires the last, the grace of the Christ will be sufficient.

Into the woods my Master went,
Clean forspent, forspent.
Into the woods my Master came,
Forspent with love and shame.
But the olives they were not blind to Him,
The little gray leaves were kind to Him:
The thorn-tree had a mind to Him
When into the woods He came.

Out of the woods my Master went,
And He was well content.
Out of the woods my Master came,
Content with death and shame.
When Death and Shame would woo Him last,
From under the trees they drew Him last:
'Twas on a tree they slew Him -- last
When out of the woods He came.

Sidney Lanier

40 Ways My Labyrinth is Like My Life--#22

22. It's sometimes embarrassing--passersby wonder, What is she doing??

I never used to like the idea of a labyrinth. They're often in parks and church yards, and it looks kind of silly, with a person or persons walking slowly around in circles, gazing earnestly at their feet. I didn't want to do that, though I wondered what it would be like, and what thoughts or insights it might invite into my mind. I thought if I could come at dawn, or find a labyrinth out in the middle of the woods or something, then I might try it.

But the stone walls and razor wire are down now. Lower boundaries serve me better. So while I still don't care much for plain labyrinths on concrete, I walk them sometimes. I'd still be happy with one in the woods, and have considered creating a more irregular prayer walk through my own woods, with some spots for sitting and pondering.

My labyrinth is right in the middle of those two extremes. It is more or less in the open, being set in a small green field with a state highway passing by, but it is also partly screened by a row of old sugar maples. It is flat, not within hedges or walls, but it has dwarf fruit trees and berry vines trained on wires between fence posts. I imagine that in a few years, it will be somewhat secluded when you walk, at least in parts and at least for parts of the year--and that will still be my preference. In the meantime, I walk it without imagining that passersby are particularly interested. If they are, I recognize that they're more likely to be curious or even envious. I used to imagine that they would be critical or mocking.

I used to live my life that way, too, wondering or worrying what it looked like to others, despite the fact that since my earliest childhood I have wanted to please God, not humans. I've repeated the adage that those who worry about what others think of them would be surprised to learn how seldom others do. Still, I worried. I lived my life by my own choices, and did fairly well at least not making actual decisions based on what I thought others wanted from me. But still I worried. I could never figure out why.

Now, having dug down to the deepest dungeons under the supervision of an experienced and godly "interior explorer," I understand where all that was coming from. It's gone. Thank the good Lord!

As you can clearly see, it's my thoughts that have changed. Nothing else.

40 Ways My Labyrinth is Like My Life--#21

21. It needs better boundaries, to keep the dogs from galloping through.

[Somehow, the fact that I keep falling behind in this daily posting should fit in. . .I guess that's in the "needing daily maintenance" (#7) category!]

When I wrote this as a twitter post last year, I had two Great Danes. They loved it when I took them into the field I call Prayer Park--(slated to have a gazebo and rose garden and all sorts of stuff besides the labyrinth.) They also loved galloping, and had no clue that those little plants under their giant feet or tiny whips of trees that came up to their belly didn't like being galloped on. I kept planning to fence the labyrinth so they could gallop around it but not through it, and of course it never got done. Now, my two dogs are Pomeranians instead of Great Danes and it's a non-issue. Which might make the whole analogy even more pertinent. . .

Like many of us, I grew up with a poor concept of personal boundaries. I tended to either keep up the stone walls and razor wire, or share way too much. If I felt drawn to someone, perhaps someone I'd just met, but under "safe" circumstances like at church, I might spill all kinds of personal beans, yet when I began the long inward journey with my pastor/counselor I had a truly terrible time getting up the courage to tell him things I'd never in my life told anyone, but which needed opened up to some one, trustworthy person if I was ever to be well. "You don't have to tell me," he'd say gently. "But you need to think about telling someone."

Think about? Thinking about, I could do. Thinking about telling, I mean. I couldn't think about the actual Thing. I planned on protecting even myself from that reality, at least until heaven. Stone walls, razor wire, and machine guns. Maybe a missile silo.

"I want to stay safe!" I pleaded.

"Beloved, you only think you're safe. You are the one imprisoned inside--you let everyone tramp through and hurt you!"

This hurt my feelings. I did not LET everyone tramp through!! My walls just weren't high enough, thick enough, deep enough yet! Was this a good time to add the missile silo?

God was the one who breached the wall, of course. God had always lived inside the prison with me, bless the Holy Name! But getting me out was a long and delicate process even for the Almighty. I went through nine nights with almost no sleep during the Battle, but when it became abundantly clear that it was definitely God who wanted me to tell the truth (and there was certainly no one else to whom I would even consider telling it besides my pastor!!) then I girded my loins and obeyed, terror and pain notwithstanding. You can't live with God for long, even inside a prison, without learning to obey.

So the walls were breached. The strongholds came down (2 Cor. 10:4). New, beautiful walls and watchtowers, safe but not overwhelming, were (are being) built (Is 54:11, 12). I knew all this stuff theoretically. I'd written about it in Gardens of the Soul. Living it was a lot harder. But I'm here to tell you, the breaching and rebuilding were hard, but life is a lot easier now!!! Honestly, it is!

So. Question. You don't need boundaries against little, cute dogs, right? Only against big, strong ones. . . Or does God desire to give us (to change the analogy) perfect Gospel armor at all times (Eph 6:10ff), impervious to the enemy's flamethrowers but fully open to grace, love, and light, and with the armor, the wisdom to know which is which?

40 Ways My Labyrinth is Like My Life--#20

20. IT STILL HAS POISON IVY! I THOUGHT I KILLED ALL THAT!

On our farm in Ohio, poison ivy was a serious scourge, and I'm so allergic to it that the minute I see a small spot I have to run to the emergency room for a cortisone shot. By the time I get the shot, perhaps a couple of hours from noticing the spot, it has usually quadrupled in size and swelled up a quarter inch from my skin. Here in Kentucky, poison ivy can still be a major problem, but I am blessed to have only a small amount of it scattered on my acres. A few spots of it are in the labyrinth. It's the one thing I will use serious poison herbicide on.

When I wrote the tweet last year, I was simply thinking of persistent bad habits or besetting sins we try to root out of our lives. If we try that in our own strength, it doesn't really work at all. If we do our best to cooperate with God and allow the grace of the Holy Spirit to rid us of them, that's effective. Yet still, when we think they're "all killed," they're likely to pop up again unexpectedly.

It's a funny thing, really, as I think about it now, for a longer devotional. Probably the most besetting, persistent, unkillable sin that has bedevilled me for years and decades and half-centuries was anger. I was so often irritable, so angry. Everything made me mad, it sometimes seemed. I learned, thank God, about ceasing from one's own efforts and turning character development over to God at 18 years old. But you still have to cooperate with that, turn instantly to God the second the temptation arrives, submit fully to the leading of the Spirit. . . you know what I mean. I hope you do! And still. . . poison ivy all over my soul. I can begin to describe how many oceans of tears I cried over this, especially when it hurt the people I love most. I thought I was the most unregenerate sinner that ever lived.

When I moved to Kentucky, as I've described before, my husband was well into his last illness, and I sometimes felt that the anger and impatience were in as full a sway as they ever had been. Enter a certain loving and beloved pastor. When I poured out my heart to him, he did not counsel me to submit more fully to God. He did not pray earnestly with me that God would have full control in my life. He could see clearly, God bless him, that I was already wholeheartedly devoted, determined to live as a child of God. He knew God had, in fact, sent me to him to help God do some deeper surgery. He said, "There's more underneath this. You need to come back."

I did. He listened. I talked and talked, pitching incoherent bits of my soul out on the floor of his study as Bert and Ernie pitch out toys until the get to the bottom of the toy chest. He listened. He loved. He asked questions and listened some more. We prayed, but not as often formally as simply in the actions of talking and listening--the holiest of holy communions.

Within three weeks, my anger faded away and I was able to be patient and kind at home, even though it took us three years to get to the bottom of the toy chest. I'll never forget the epiphanies, especially the one overwhelming, life-changing one when I finally, for the very first time, saw clearly the particular, specific background atmosphere of my childhood (unintended by the adults who caused it, I hasten to add) which had controlled my entire life for . . . well, as I said, years and decades and half-centuries. (One half century, anyway.)

I'M FREE, I'M FREE, THANK GOD I'M FREE!! So today, looking at that line about poison ivy in my labyrinth and realizing that here, in Berea, I only have small bits of it, when in Ohio I had acres, that has serious meaning for me. I pray for you a listener such as I found, to help you translate what God is really trying to say and do in your inner life.

40 Ways My Labyrinth is Like My Life--#19

19. The Tree of Life at the center is ever green.

When I was writing my book, Gardens of the Soul: Cultivating a Devotional Life with God, I used the imagery of a tree growing at the center of one's being to represent the inner life. The character in the parable chapters of that book thinks of her tree in capitals--The Tree--and centers all her efforts on protection and nurture of that all-important Tree, which only makes it ever more weak and sickly. When she (nervously) allows the Gardener to move in with her, He starts breaking down walls, tearing up weeds, opening vistas, and doing all kinds of things she thinks are dangerous and destructive. Patiently, He teaches her to look outward instead of inward, and to see her life's goal as cooperating with the Gardener in building a garden which will provide for many around her, not just herself. In the process, she begins to think of The Tree as just a tree, her own inner life and important, but not the all-consuming obsession she has thought it. She also learns that in drought or rainstorm, in famine or plenty, that tree is nourished by God, not by herself, and is ever green, with an ever-flowing spring of the Holy Spirit at its roots.

So, years later when I moved into my present home and found the labyrinth, it was an added and meaningful bonus to me that it had young evergreen at its center. It was about four feet tall at the time, and is now about ten, and I do believe the tree of my life has more than doubled its own height in the same period.

Do you know--really know--that God's love is evergreen at the center of your heart? Have you learned to allow the Holy Spirit to continually nourish that inner life, and make it capable of producing love and compassion for everyone around you, yourself included?

40 Ways My Labyrinth is Like My Life--#18

18. Sometimes there are a lot of turns in a row, and sometimes straight(ish) stretches.

There are areas in a five-circuit labyrinth such as mine where you only go a short way before turning back in a U-turn, then another short way and another U-turn, and so on. It's enough to make you dizzy. During this process, you can sometimes see the center growing closer, sometimes see it moving farther away, and sometimes, frustratingly, you are moving along right beside it, but unable to enter it yet.

In my life, it has often seemed that I've just settled into a certain place, or a certain job, or a certain way of being, when suddenly everything changes. When my husband was in his last illness I belonged to a support group for family members and caregivers of people with memory loss issues of whatever kind. One of the things we talked about frequently was that the hardest thing is losing the person you knew and loved, and who loved you, before you really lose the person. "You just have to try to let go of and mourn the one who was and learn to accept and love the one who is," we encouraged each other.

That was hard enough, but just as soon as you felt you'd "done that" to some extent and were reasonably comfortable accepting this new manifestation of your loved one, it changed again! You had to mourn that one and learn to accept another new one. It was exhausting!

And then, surprisingly, there were blessed moments when, just for a second, your heart sang, "There he is! He spoke to me; he smiled at me; he knew me!"

And then it was gone. Your heart ached with a fiercer pain for a while.

In the labyrinth--and I've noticed these are mostly near the end--there are longer stretches where you move along in the same direction. The last one goes halfway around the entire outside circle, from the north side to the south, then makes one final right turn and carries you straight to the quiet center you have been seeking for so long.

Les' life has made that last, right turn. I'm still blundering along, trying to trust that every turn is either necessary or, if it was not originally part of the master plan but perhaps a silly choice of my own or someone else's, then God can still weave it into the journey.

I try to rejoice in the variety when there are a lot of turns, and rejoice in the continuity when I go the same way for a while. I know my Lord both waits at the center and walks with me, every step.

40 Ways My Labyrinth is Like My Life--#17

17. It contains earth, water, wind, and fire.

This might be my favorite thing about my labyrinth. A few years ago I did a long-term study of how these four elements are mentioned or developed in the Bible. It turned out to be quite fascinating. One of these days I'll write a book about what I learned. The insight that seemed the most interesting and useful to me is that everything really is made out of these four things, even if not quite the way the ancients imagined. If you go from the bottom up, so to speak, you have the earth, with all its soil and rock, with water flowing under and over it, raining down on it, and evaporating from it, then wind, or atmosphere, which carries that rain and water vapor, and above it all, the endless fire of the sun, keeping everything going.

So a tree, let's say a peach tree in my labyrinth, "eats" dirt, "drinks" the water it sucks up through its cambium layer to pull up the nutrients from the dirt, "inhales" carbon dioxide and "exhales" oxygen (how convenient!), and in the most astonishing thing of all, if only we could temporarily set aside our familiarity with this fact, turns sunshine into food! It makes its leaves, its bark, its blossoms, and ultimately peaches, out of these elements.

I eat the peach, and voila! I, too, am made of earth, (about $1's worth of minerals, by latest estimates), water (70-80% depending on whom you ask), wind (not only the air I breathe and use for speaking and singing, but oxygen, hydrogen, etc, in my tissues), and fire (98.6 degrees of it on a good day).

I could--well, I couldn't, but someone could--go into the physics of relativity from here (I don't even know if that phrase makes physical sense) and point out that all things can be turned back into pure energy--fire, so to speak--if only we knew how.

There have always been those who believed these elements were the actual makers of life. Some worshiped them as gods; some today use them as excuses to not worship any god at all. I believe these elements were created and put together in their fascinating and infinite combinations by a personal Creator called, in English, God. A better name might be the Nameless One of Many Names. A particularly ancient name that might be better yet is the Hebrew tetragrammaton, transliterated YHWH, which means something like "the Beingness of Being," or "Isness/Wasness/Will-be-ness."

That Creator, that Holy, Gracious One, is in my labyrinth, too. That giving, constantly making One (going "from the top down") can be seen in the purifying power of fire, inspired (literally, breathed in) in the invisible motion and fullness of the wind, experienced in the cleansing, birthing, flowing nature of water, and felt in the earthy clay of our bodies, made in the image of the One.

That One is everywhere. All the time. With you now. With me now. Yes.

40 Ways My Labyrinth is Like My Life--#16

16. It's almost centered on the compass points. Almost.

This part is totally not my fault! The foundation, which was here before me, wasn't quite centered, and I have no idea whether they cared or not. I know I didn't, at that point. Much later, it occurred to me to check, and when I discovered how close it was, I thought it would have been cool to have it right on the compass points.

I don't really know why that even matters. . .

Life is like that, too. I notice that something "coulda, woulda," and immediately my mind makes it "shoulda."

Compass points are good things. Centering your life on something is a good thing. Being a little off is, well, human, actually. You can sometimes turn that to good account. In my labyrinth, there is now something that represents each of the cardinal directions, right on the compass points. What that means is that the paths take turns right next to those representations. Just think--if the paths had been right on, the symbols would have had to be off. Sometimes, being less than perfect gives someone or something else the chance to be perfect.

Just something to consider.

40 Ways My Labyrinth is Like My Life--#15

15. It's full of life. And death.

Trees, grass, vines, flowers, even weeds and poison ivy. Bugs, birds, people, microbes. Grubs (yuck). The labyrinth is full of life.

The trees lose branches, and every spring their blossoms fall, and every autumn their leaves fall. The grass is full of nice, bright green blades, and dead, yellowish-white blades. There are bug carcases and dried up worms and . . . well, I admit it--I kill poison ivy and grubs myself. The labyrinth is full of death.

The yellow blades and the petals and the bits of wood and the bug carcases dry up and disappear, but they don't go anywhere. They become humus, soil, nutrients. The death leads to more life.

I can see that happening in my life, too.

Sometimes. . .

40 Ways My Labyrinth is Like My Life--#14

14. It's less fun when it's not shared.

I'm a solitary person by choice. People who know me now have a hard time believing this, because in the past few years I've become a great deal more outgoing, and made better friends with my life-of-the-party side. But the fact is that most of my life, I've been a quiet person who kind of hung around the edges of whatever group I was near. During my high school years I attended a boarding school, and that's when I began to come out of my shell and learn that I even possessed a life-of-the-party side. In adulthood, particularly during times of stress and trauma (there have been many), I reverted to solitude. In fact, I nearly became agoraphobic, and there were periods when I couldn't work in my own yard because I was afraid of being seen.

So it's interesting that I would say the labyrinth is less fun when not shared. In fact, I still prefer to walk it alone with God and my own soul. But I do love to have it open to others, and sometimes to post readings and things that others will share when they walk it. That's because, as I grew, I was able to let go of the fear and hiding (not a healthy part of solitude) and begin to re-integrate my hermit and my party animal together again. Here in Berea, I've become more whole and complete than I've ever been, so now I like to share my life.

But I always need to remain aware that I'm a person who is recharged by solitude and --let's see, discharged? Run down? Hmm, there's no good term!--by community. We all need both, there are gifts in both, and we gain (and lose) from both, but we have to know which is the one that, in general terms, uses our energy, and which is the one that builds our energy back up.

Which is it for you?

40 Ways My Labyrinth is Like My Life--#13

13. It always looks so much messier than the picture in my head!

I've sat and looked at this one for awhile, trying to decide if I should say anything more at all. It's so true, so self-evident, so almost inevitable! Take right now, for instance. As I write this, spring is well underway. Weather has been weirder than usual this year, which is saying something, especially around here. The last bitter skirmishes between winter and spring are always weird. March is still in the coming-in-like-a-lion-lamb-lion-lamb-elephant stage, yet the daffodils are almost over, some roses are entirely leafed out and others are considering skipping this year entirely, tulips and irises are several inches high, maples already bloomed and are getting busy with seeds, and Berea's favorite Giant Magnolia (I wonder if anyone has reported that thing to Arbor Day?) burst into bloom yesterday. In the past week we've had all four seasons, so they're all confused, poor things.

So my labyrinth (in stark contrast with whatever beautiful, peaceful image I've eagerly planted and cultivated in your head), has grass that needed mowing a week or more ago, (Mowing! In February!) weeds up to a foot high in the edges and borders, leafy berry vines, budding grape vines, no sign of action at all in the fruit trees, which I worried over so much when it was 60s all the way through January and February (good goin', little guys! . . . um . . . you are still alive, right?!?) and almost completely invisible paths. Oh yeah, and one of the antique roses on the trellis, Ballerina, is entirely leafed, and the other, Zephyrine Drouhin, has about six leaves scattered here and there and is begging for pruning. In fact, none of the dormant pruning ever got done despite all my good intentions. The beds underneath the black raspberries and blueberries, which I was determined to complete last fall . . . well . . . yeah.

Meanwhile, my life . . . well, on the outside:

The house is a mess!

This is number 13 of the labyrinth posts and going up this morning even though today is the 14th day of Lent, so that tonight I can post 14 and be caught up again, briefly . . .

Day after tomorrow I leave for an 8-day service trip in Jamaica, and I haven't even thought about what I'm taking, let alone started packing!

And on the inside:

I'm feeling overwhelmed and scattered, with about six different To Do lists jostling in my head.

I'm anxious about several deadline-crunching writing tasks.

My devotions are feeling somewhat mechanical.

Emotions are . . . well, come to think of it, they're a lot like the weather these last few weeks!

I wonder why I keep and treasure and nurture that picture of the perfect labyrinth and the perfect life, anyway? Is it a help, or a hindrance?

40 Ways My Labyrinth is Like My Life--#12

12. It took a lot of help to build it.

First, others measured and marked the pattern and put in hundreds of stakes. Next, a friend helped me whack weeds enough to get in with my Mantis Tiller (those things are worth their weight in gold!!) and mark all the paths so that we could pull all the stakes and mow the field. Then my husband (right) and a friend and I spent days on our knees, splitting empty feed sacks in half the long way and laying them as a foundation for wheelbarrow upon wheelbarrow upon wheelbarrow of chips. Who would have thought we'd be grateful for the steaming mountains of chips the city had stockpiled from the countless trees and branches taken down in a horrendous ice storm! It took several pickup loads, but we got the paths all laid out nicely.

It looked gorgeous, for about a week. . .

In my babyhood and childhood, my parents and others measured and marked and weeded and mowed. As I grew, there was tilling and cultivating and straightening involved, (and plenty of feed sacks, too!) There have been some devastating ice storms in my soul, and some mountains of shredded dreams which God has used to beautify my life and lay the foundation for new dreams.

Sometimes, I look gorgeous for a week together, too!

40 Ways My Labyrinth is Like My Life--#11

11. It has pretty stones, and not-so-pretty stones.

Funny thing about stones. They seem to be so symbolic for so many people. From earliest times, stones were set up as memorials--that is, to stand and symbolically hold people's memories. On a grand scale, we have stele in Egypt which are carved with the victories and spoils of ancient kings, stone circles like Stonehenge, as well as giant pyramids, which may mark the passing of astronomical time or mark religious rituals and ceremonies, or newer memorials such as the monoliths and statues in our cities and capitals. On a smaller scale, we have the stones Joshua had the Israelites bring with them out of the Jordan and set up on the bank (Joshua 3), the Mizpah stone Laban and Jacob set up (Genesis 31), various stone altars all over the world, gravestones and mausoleums, boulders in people's yards, and the twelve stones on the Jewish High Priest's breastplate (Exodus 28). And on an even more individual scale, people today carry and wear memorial stones from engagement to anniversary rings, and can even have the ashes of loved ones made into diamonds as a permanent remembrance.

It's as if we feel that something so permanent and apparently static as a stone ought to be able to hold onto a memory long after our ephemeral human brains are dim, or gone entirely.

One labyrinth practice is to pick up a stone on the way in, to represent a burden you are carrying and want to let go of. You carry this stone to the center and prayerfully leave it there. You can also pick up a stone once you reach the center and carry it out with you, to represent a charge you feel God is calling you to take up.

In my labyrinth, I have made a point of providing stones that are pretty, smooth, and patterned, as well as stones that are heavy, dark, and irregular, so that one may choose according to inclination and need. You never really know until the moment which one you'll choose. Often the pretty ones are less important than the not-so-pretty ones. Like Christ, the stone that the builders rejected but which became the chief cornerstone (Matthew 21:43, 43; see Isaiah 28:16).

Master Builder, remove my stony heart and build me on the true, deep bedrock of your love.

40 Ways My Labyrinth is Like My Life--#10

10. Two people can be on the same Path to the same Center, walking in opposite directions.

This was another of my most important insights when I first began to learn about labyrinths. I used to believe you could tell where a person was headed by specific things you saw them doing or not doing. Attending church? I knew better than to think that guaranteed an actual relationship with the God of Life, but it was a good indicator. Avoiding discussions of God or religion? Bad indicator.

By the time I had a labyrinth, I had long since learned that someone who screamed at her kids might actually love the kids and God but have deep inner issues that needed worked out. (I had learned that from painful personal experience, you understand.) I had begun to realize that just about the only thing I can tell by watching someone is whether love is important to them (good indicator, and can be visibly present even in a screamer) or whether they are indifferent (the actual opposite of love, and indifferent people usually don't care enough about anything to scream, but if they do, they show no remorse.) I had learned long before that love is what matters, and that people can do the wrong thing even from a loving heart, or do the "right" thing without love and, as Paul pointed out, it's worthless.

Still, the person who truly desires Love, which is to say, truly desires God (whether they recognize that or not) wants desperately to learn to do the right thing, from a loving heart. And I was now receiving intense counseling from a person to whom God and Love mattered more than anything else. Therefore, God could and did use this counselor to show me the way through my demon-infested dungeons to God's Light, and how to cast out the demons of fear and anger and self-negation on the way.

So as I walked the paths of my new labyrinth and paid attention, I discovered the things I've been writing about here: that you walk away from the center as much as toward it, that there is a true path, and you do have to choose to stay on it and not turn back, and so on. And it came to me---

There you are, struggling along on the Path of Life. You don't really understand all the twists and turns, but God and godly friends are at your side, and you trust that you really are getting closer to the center, which you get tantalizing glimpses of, now and then. You see another person moving along, in precisely the opposite direction you are moving, and you realize (you can't always tell this in life, but sometimes you can) that person is on the same Path of Life, probably with her own struggles and comforters, and she, too, will reach the Center. Possibly before you.

It's a liberating realization! Comforting, too, especially if you are lucky enough to see her "arrive."

It gives you hope.

40 Ways My Labyrinth is Like My Life--#9

9. Its foundation was laid before I came into the picture.

As detailed in the first post in this series, when I moved into my present house, I found the remains of a labyrinth, which I restored. Someone had taken a lot of time and trouble, researching labyrinth patterns, choosing one, measuring, laying out lines, and marking the whole thing with dozens and dozens of little stakes. The hardest part of creating a labyrinth was already done for me. The entry was marked with two 4x4 posts, dug deeply into the ground, and a tree was planted at the center. In fact, I was informed that if I ever wanted to move that tree, only 3-4 feet high at the time, I should be aware that a beloved dog was buried there. So in a sense, the labyrinth was already consecrated as burial ground, and the tree was the dog's memorial. I never planned to move the tree, anyway. As those who have read my book, Gardens of the Soul, know, I use the imagery of a tree--an evergreen, even!--to represent the deep center of my being, and I thought having one at the center of the labyrinth was perfect!

Today, five years later, the tree is much higher than my head, and the ashes of my beloved lie under it. The whole place has been much prayed over and is, if possible, more consecrated and holy than ever. (I believe all ground bears the fingerprint of God and is holy, or meant to be.)

When I "opened my eyes," so to speak, on my life--that is to say, when my own conscious memories begin, my foundation was already laid, too. God had long ago laid whatever plans God lays--opinions vary, and the one thing I'm pretty certain of is that no human really knows! Human families had come together and interwoven in various ways, and one of their sons and one of their daughters had come together to create a new family. In the course of time, a baby girl was born, already wired to have course dark hair, green eyes, no dimples (more's the pity), a wide-ranging, curious brain, and a way with words and fiber. When I was a young adult, I was firmly on the side of nurture over nature, but the older I get, the more I realize how much is built into us from the beginning, so who knows what other tendencies and abilities were already present?

The very first two things I learned in life were that my mother would always love me, provide for me, and care for me, no matter what, and that God was right next to and within me and would do all that and more.

The foundation was laid. What I would build on it was up to me.

40 Ways My Labyrinth is Like My Life--#8

8. It produces fruit. And weeds. . .

This one kind of goes without saying! All lives, and all labyrinths that are living ones, and not created in stone or concrete or something like that, produce both living things you want, which we call grass, or flowers, or fruit, or nice names like that, and living things you don't want, which we call weeds. At least, when we're being polite.

In my case, my labyrinth is growing 3 kinds of grapes, kiwis, blueberries, blackberries, 4 kinds and colors of raspberries, bush cherries, apricots, peaches, pears, apples, and hazelnuts. I think that's all. . . Oh, and the evergreen in the middle. And grass. And roses and baby's breath.

It's also growing, much more quickly I might add, poison ivy, bugleweed, creeping charlie, various quack grasses, and a bunch of stuff I can't name, but you know what I call it all. Or you can guess.

By the way, the statement that it produces (present tense) fruit, is actually more a statement of faith than of fact. I have gotten two handfuls of raspberries, one bunch of grapes, which were not seedless as advertised, and four cherries. I mean, four cherries grew. The bugs, or birds, or someone, got them. Not me. But everything is young yet. I am hoping for a reasonable amount of small fruits this year, and possibly some apricots next year, and so on.

My life, while we're on the subject, produces smiles and kindness and some uplifting writing and handspun yarn and handmade things and hugs and compassion. And loyalty and evergreen faith.

It still seems the frowns and tears and crossness and impatience and quickness to judge and negative thoughts grow faster. But I'm young yet. This year I hope for more smiles and a reasonable amount of uplifting writing and hugs, and next year some more patience. . . and so on.

We'll grow, my labyrinth and I.

40 Ways My Labyrinth is Like My Life--#7

7. It requires endless maintenance, much of it on my knees!

This is one of the Facts of Life as well as of labyrinth care, which is often fun, but sometimes. . . not so much. The labyrinth, particularly as I’ve chosen to have it, neat, stone-lined paths with grass and fruit trees and berry vines in between, is a lot of work! It involves wheelbarrows and diggers and bags and bags of “Mountain Pebbles” and bending and kneeling and lawnmowers and string trimmers and muscles and sweat and tears and yes, sometimes some blood. And, for me, lots of prayer, too. And after a long stretch of all of the above, the neatness lasts about ten minutes!

As a Fact of Life, this endless maintenance means that I must bear in mind that I am a four-fold (at least!) being, and care for all those facets of myself. My body is, in many ways, easiest to care for because it’s visible. So it needs good food, good water inside and out, fresh air and sunshine, exercise, rest, and so on.

However, different people have trouble with different facets of self-maintenance, so for some, care of the body may be the hardest. Part of the reason for this is intrinsic to the four-fold self. We also have minds, hearts, and spirits. This is really not good wording, because these are, of course anything but separate parts. Facets is a little better, but we are one in a way we really can’t quite define, much as the various faces of Godhood are One in ways we can’t define or understand.

So take one of those physical necessities—food, let’s say. The body needs xyz nutrients, and if we knew enough about nutrition, which we do not, they could be just as well taken in pill form. But the heart (which I’m using to denote feelings, emotions, soul, personality) needs those nutrients to taste delicious and look colorful and inviting. The mind wants to know that they are well-balanced, cooked just enough, the right amount, and eaten at the right times. The spirit (which is not a separate facet at all, really, but is the whole self at one with itself) is happiest when It considers how and where the food was grown, who grew it, prepared it, and got it here, Who gave it to the world and to all of us, and honors all of those in the best way it knows. The spirit is even happier when it can share the food with some friends and maybe someone who needs good food and can’t get it, though a healthy spirit also loves to eat alone and can do so mindfully.

None of this can be well accomplished without spending a lot of time in communion with the Maker. In fact, the goal is constant, unbroken communion. My labyrinth can help with that and re-center me when I need it.