Goodbye and Hello…

As I write this, the last full moon of the year 2020 has risen and set — the Cold Moon, so named by the Mohawk tribe for its appearance when earth is in the grip of frigid nights, covered with ice and snow, and often blessed with sunny, brilliant days.

In our own times, rain has replaced snow, and shades of gray are more frequent than sun.  Our habits of hope at the New Year are deeply marked by our sadness and fears.

For me this year, it is also a time of difficult goodbyes and happier hellos, many of which I could not have predicted four months — much less a whole year — ago.

The goodbyes come with the heartbreak of relationships ending. The hellos greet new professional ventures.  All of these at the infant stages of making their pathways in and out of my life.

At the turn of this year, I say goodbye to my classroom for a term, and hello to my desk — and a new book project!  I am eager to share more about this as the spring advances.  For now, I’m grateful as always to have you, my readers, who encourage me in this way of praying and being present to life.

My son’s life, too, has changed dramatically, after what to a parent’s eye seemed years of a comfortable and familiar pattern.  Soon he will move to a new town and into a different future, and as the many parents I know who’ve had to adjust to such changes, I must learn to make a space within to cherish what is passing and to embrace what is yet to be.

Outside, the winds have been high.  Within my heart, as well.  I look into the year ahead, humbled to realize (if the pandemic hadn’t already taught me this) the crucial importance of listening deeply to the life around me, to ever search beneath the familiar for the signs of growth and change, and to accept that, while it is good to greet each day with curiosity and an open heart, trusting the universe to unfold as it is meant to, there must also be a time for adjustment and acceptance, for letting go of all that we may wish to cling to.

For all of these reasons, while the New Year is a often time for new resolutions, this year for me it is a time for retreat and re-collection.  I need to take as full a measure as possible of what has transpired in my life and the life of my family, and an honest look at where I need to grow — in commitment, wisdom, strength and restraint.

Three areas in particular demand my attention:

1)    What healing has taken place for me this year?  And what still needs healing – in me, or as my obligation to others?
 
I have learned this year that healing is such an on-going, fluid process.  Sometimes it’s a matter of one step forward, two back.  Only within ourselves can we learn how to measure our progress with past hurts, or ruptures that cry out repair, or estrangements that may heal into new and reconciled life.

2)    Where do I still need to work on forgiveness?  And where do I still need to be forgiven?

A colleague of mine, Marina McCoy, has recently published a small and wise book, The Ignatian Guide to Forgiveness.  In it, she reminds the reader that the act of forgiveness never return us to the previous state of things.  Forgiveness is an act of self-liberation, assisted by God.  This is its purpose, and why it is so central to the teachings of Jesus.  Pain makes us small, mean, vengeful, and stuck.  When we forgive, we release the resentments, angers and fears from our hearts, in order that we are made free to love and live again in wholeness, not diminished by the effects of the hurts that have caused us to shrink in self-defense and pain.

A friend, a spiritual director, recently told me that she believes that forgiveness is the most widespread spiritual and emotional issue facing us as a society right now.  This is a sobering assessment, but a wise one — one I know bears much reflection and prayer in my own life, from the personal to the professional to the public realm.

3)    Where do I still need to grow — especially at my points of weakness?  What is it hard for me to release?  What is it difficult to consistently follow through on?

These questions will keep me busy well through the month of January and beyond.

I have found a simple rhythm to be very helpful in this time…a way of holding these daunting inner tasks lightly, so that they don’t become heavier than I am able to bear.

In the lovely “down days” between Christmas and New Years, I’ve found myself de-cluttering cupboards and closets, without much of a plan.   It just seems to happen.  I’ll pull out a pot to boil pasta, and see that the ancient casserole has served its time.  Or, as I search for a quilt to send off with my son, I find several that should have been tossed years ago.

I let the ironing sit until I’m ready to have a quiet quarter hour with the delicious scent of steam.  I root in the freezer for Parmesan rinds to make a luscious broth.  I pick up the poetry book that in the crazier months of teaching is just a source of anxiety, yet another task undone.  I take long walks with my husband and son, grateful that the limited options exacted by COVID enable such precious time together.

I enjoy this desultory approach to the days of retreat and re-collection.  It is organic, gentle, not forced,.  The decisions and choices I make feel truer and full of value.

The same feels right as I consider my inner housekeeping.  There is clutter, certainly – excuses that I need to toss for good, narratives that no longer serve me or others.  Maybe, too, a few defenses or resistances that are just getting in the way of “what needs to happen next.”

In these days of rain and remembrance, I hold everything lightly.  The future before each of us this year seems to demand greater gentleness, insight, and care than ever before.  We know with certainty that the past year demands this.  Let us go gently, then, into this new year, seeking and offering the kindness each of us long for, and each of us deserves.

Namaste.