Showing posts with label spirituality. Show all posts
Showing posts with label spirituality. Show all posts

Thursday, April 5, 2012

Taking a Leap of Faith

It’s hard to hold onto hope sometimes, to continue to believe life is good when we see so much evidence to the contrary. War, unemployment, violence, and even the lack of common civility can wear us out. Yet this is the time in which we live so it’s important to look forward and not get dragged down by all the bad news we read on the Internet and see on the TV.

 Personally, I’ve always thought myself as an optimist, the possessor of the proverbial half full glass rather than the half empty, but I still sometimes find it hard to be upbeat. And with my winter goal of sending out query letters to literary agents, my usual cheerful view somehow became lost despite the warm Florida sun. Each polite rejection form letter seemed like another weight on my mood and I couldn’t wrap my psyche around enough positive energy to even write a blog entry. Instead, I resorted to sitting in the sun, scribbling some attempts at writing poetry and a mystery, and reading lots of novels.

My mood shift began when I chose a different route through downtown Fort Pierce and saw an amazing sculpture. A man high up on a diving board stood poised to dive into a tree filled with roses.

For the rest of the day I reflected on the significance of this lovely and intriguing piece of art. Such an optimistic image, I thought. Imagine viewing a lovely sight of flowers waiting for you while knowing those beautiful blooms would also hold thorns that might pierce your joy.

The figure is an average sort, a little thick in the waist, perhaps past his prime—an older man and one who wouldn’t jump as a younger person would. No, this man would definitely think before he takes a plunge.

Later, I research the sculpture and discover it’s entitled, “A Leap of Faith,” by a local artist, Pat Cochran. Commissioned in 2009, the statue illustrates the small quaint town’s determination to look forward with optimism rather than surrender to the downturned economy. It’s their symbol for taking a leap of faith by continuing to support the arts and add culture to the downtown and riverfront areas. 

As I reflect about what it means to take a leap of faith, I realize it’s something we face often in our daily lives—both big and small decisions require us to do so. Writing and sharing our  thoughts with others involves taking a leap of faith, a trust that requires moving out of our comfort zone. We sit down at the keyboard or take a pencil in hand and believe the words will come. We write our synopsis and query letter and send it off with hope that just maybe this time, this will be the one that clicks. 

Like the man on the diving board, looking out at all the beautiful albeit possibly hurtful outcomes, without taking that risk, we remain trapped looking at all the possibilities in our lives. The man stands on the edge, but somehow, I have no doubt that he intends to “take the plunge.” And like him, taking that leap of faith doesn’t mean jumping blindly; we, too, must recognize our choices will entail some lovely flowers, but possibly some painful outcomes as well.     

Here’s a few things that you might find helpful when you consider taking a leap of faith:

1.     Listen to your inner voice.

2.     Believe in yourself and your choices.

3.     Seek people who support you.

4.     Face your fears.

5.     Trust you will learn, whatever the outcome.
Most of all, stay upbeat and when in doubt, repeat the encouraging words of John Burroughs, “Leap and the net will appear.”











                                                                                      

 

Thursday, June 24, 2010

A Place to Nourish Your Soul


"You mix it with your love and emotion to create magic. Through cooking, you raise your spiritual level and balance yourself in a world that is materialistic." Laura Esqiuvel, Like Water for Chocolate

Everyone has a favorite room in their house. Mine is the kitchen, though, it wasn't always so. Several lifetimes ago, as I approached my wedding day, my then-future husband began suggesting that perhaps I should be spending time with my mother learning how to cook. I brushed off his increasing insistence, saying, "If I can read, I can cook."

After we'd been married for a few months, he confessed his parents had been teasing him, telling him he would starve once we were married since I didn't know how to cook. "Just a pretty face," my future father-in-law had said, "That isn't going to keep you from getting hungry."

I must admit for the first few months of our marriage we did exist mostly on love. My meals were definitely substandard, but dear Will quickly learned not to tell me so. Ah, discretion, another secret of a long, happy marriage. But that's a subject for another time…

Gradually, my skills improved until even my in-laws, especially my father-in-law, looked forward to coming to Sunday dinners at our house. Still, it wasn't until I returned to work that I truly realized my kitchen as a refuge and my spiritual place. I'd come home frazzled by all the work politics and problems, too tired to cook, I'd think, until I started to prepare the food.      
I began to notice that by the time dinner was ready to put on the table, a smoothing of my frayed nerves had occurred. The simple task of making a salad, peeling potatoes, or stirring the spaghetti sauce became the respite I needed to reflect on the day and my life.

A few years ago, I bought a small book entitled The Mindful Cook by Isaac Cronin. Cronin says "you can nourish your soul, develop your mind, and eat well at the same time!" That sentence, as well as, the rest of this neat tome gave me a new perspective on the everyday task of time in the kitchen.

The idea of combining those three elements into necessary tasks intrigued me. And the author gave what I already knew a voice and a mindfulness I didn't realize was possible - that by intentionally putting myself in a spiritual frame of mind, my kitchen would be even more the place where I could always retreat and find harmony.

Here's some tips on how you, too, can bring mindfulness to your cooking:
  1. Make the kitchen uniquely yours by adding a color you especially like. My favorite is teal and the backsplash is the area I see most.
  2. Put favorite pictures or paintings where you can view them while you're preparing food. I've placed pictures of my two sets of grandchildren, over my stove so I can send them my love, thoughts, and prayers. Somehow, I know those thoughts do fly across the miles to kiss them even though my positive regard may not be consciously received.
  3. Be fully present by centering on one task at a time. Multitasking may be in vogue, but it's definitely overrated and more stressful!
  4. Mentally quiet yourself so you can really see the color of deep red summer tomatoes, smell the pungent aroma of rosemary, and feel the texture of  papery parchment covered onions.
  5. Be good to yourself even if it's a meal for one. In the early Julia Child TV shows (I'm talking black and white here, at least at my house), once the meal was ready, she sat down alone, wine glass in hand, to eat and savor what she'd prepared. 
So, whether you're toasting a bagel, making sticky buns (one of my favorites), or roasting a turkey, eating alone or with others, you can bring spiritual nourishment to the kitchen and table. Somehow, the food tastes even better when mixed with joy and mindfulness.

Bon Appetit!