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.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
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.
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.
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.
Monday, March 26, 2012
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!
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!
Sunday, March 25, 2012
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.
Friday, March 23, 2012
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.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
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?
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