Meditate | A Memorable Start to the New Year

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“And…” (Genesis 1:1, Genesis 1:2…Revelation 22:19; occurring 28,364 times, it is the most common word in the New King James Bible)

The Shining Word “And”

“And” teaches us to say yes
“And” allows us to be both-and
“And” teaches us to be patient and long-suffering
“And” is willing to wait for insight and integration
“And” does not divide the field of the moment
“And” helps us to live in the always imperfect now
“And” keeps us inclusive and compassionate toward everything
“And” demands that our contemplation become action
“And” insists that our action is also contemplative
“And” is the mystery of paradox in all things
“And” is the way of mercy
“And” makes daily, practical love possible

(Adapted from The Naked Now: Learning to See as the Mystics See,
pp. 180-181, in Richard Rohr’s Daily Meditation, “Yes And,” for January 11^th, 2014)

I received a new journal for Christmas and my first entry in it occurred on January 3^rd, a day that began in Minneapolis and ended with us all sick in bed in a hotel room in Denver…we were meant to be in Philadelphia. Or were we?

Five hours into our time at the Minneapolis-St. Paul airport on that Friday, I was reflecting on Providence. Already up to that point our Christmas break had in it, in addition to a myriad of blessed memories, a good dose of random misfortune: a Christmas eve stomach virus, a scratched cornea that brought us to the ER Christmas morning, a relapse of a cold toward the end of our stay in MN, to name a few. With the addition of facing flight rearrangements due to a winter storm on the East Coast, I was led to the question, inspired by a post I read on Facebook, “Why not accept what is happening in life? Does not accepting it serve me at all?”

Unbeknownst to me, these thoughts were the perfect primer for what would happen over the next several days. Within the first fifteen minutes of being on the ground in Denver, we learned that our flight to Philadelphia was cancelled, that three of us were running fevers, and that our youngest’ refusal to eat all day was on account of a stomach virus, leaving my husband to stand in line to figure out when we could get another flight. The next flight we could get on wouldn’t be until Tuesday morning, four days later.

Being sick in an airport feels horrible. Being sick in an airport with three sick kids, feels worse. Being sick in an airport with three sick kids, not knowing whether the fever I have is a breast infection because our youngest has been vomiting and continues to refuse to nurse, feels even worse. Being sick in an airport with three sick kids, lying on the brown-stained, grubby carpet while my husband is learning that we’ll have nothing but the clothes on our backs for the next four days, knowing that we’re out of water, almost out of diapers, and our youngest’ shirt is stained with the strawberries she’s vomited up, next to a line of strangers waiting at the baggage claim office who are watching as I try to keep a screaming one-year-old from falling out of my feverish, weak arms is enough to make me cry. And it sure did. But what to do when this is my reality? Meditate. Not knowing what the next moment will hold, not about to let myself believe that things could be pivoting yet to a better course, there is nothing to do but exist in time with the repetition of sacred verses as my stronghold. I closed my eyes and turned what I could of my attention within. I believe in the power of prayer and in the presence of angels, but I’ve come to know in my life that neither of these will result in a miraculous change of circumstance. Instead, they remind me to acknowledge small miracles,¹ surrender the outcome, and put my life in the hands of the Lord’s care.

I’ve never been so thankful for water than when we arrived sometime around 11pm at the hotel. I asked the woman at the desk if there was water I could have or buy. She gave me several bottles without hesitation. We managed to cart our children and bags up the elevator to our room, and collapsed on the firm mattresses of two double beds, complete with pillows that felt like oversized stale marshmallows and blankets that could double convincingly as tablecloths or window curtains. At some point just before midnight, after brushing up on the signs of dangerous levels of dehydration in infants, our youngest managed to nurse, allowing me finally to drift off into a fevered, shivering slumber.

The next three days were a potpourri of recurrent fevers, unexpected turns, and experiences rich with beauty, turmoil, and delight. On Tuesday we managed to make our flights and it took no more than ten minutes to find our bags and car seats in the sea of backed up luggage at baggage claim. A few days after our return, I read the above poem in a daily meditation email by Richard Rohr. Its message resonated deeply as I realized that all the prayers I said, all the verses I repeated, all the teachings I held in the forefront of my mind over the course of our detour in Denver, were in essence all mediums for the same sacred mantra of acceptance and hope: “Yes, and…”

We called my Grandma to get a phone number once we were at the hotel in Denver that first and darkest night. She was horrified to hear of our situation and her first question, spoken in disbelief, broadcast on speakerphone across the room to me lying in bed was, “Why does the Lord’s providence have this happening to you all?” I couldn’t say then, and I don’t know any better now, but I am willing to believe in the progressiveness of life. That is a lesson that has been coming up a lot for me lately—I think the Lord is trying to get the point across to me that I CAN trust that I am being led in life, cared for, and provided for, even when all external signs may be taken to suggest otherwise. Why not accept what is happening in life? Not only accept, but believe that every aspect of my life, no matter how discordant the pieces may seem to be with one another, is part of the forward progression of the Lord’s infinitely wise and loving purpose for me?

Footnote

¹Of small miracles there were many: I remember the mom in the baggage claim line at the airport with her infant in a carrier telling me I was doing a good job; several of the wait staff at the hotel restaurant were so kind; the two men at Airport Rental were so kind and went out of their way to meet all our needs in a car rental, and quickly; the man at the front desk of the hotel who assured us we would not get kicked out of our hotel room for lack of a renewed coupon; the lady at the front desk of the hotel who promised to give us the same discounted rate without needing to fax in another coupon; all the people at the Boulder New Church; the kind servers at Eats&Sweets in Boulder; the airport shuttle driver who was willing to drive me around until I found a store to buy food and clothes; being able to find our way and make it to Golden, CO to see the Rocky Mountain Quilt Museum and go up Lookout Mountain to see the breathtaking views; and the kind airport staff who expedited us through security so we could make our flight home. We were being carried.

Chelsea Rose Odhner

Chelsea lives with her husband and three young children in Willow Grove, PA. She is an assistant editor for New Church Connection and an editor and writer for New Church Perspective.