Pamela Stead Jones

“Go as far as you can see; when you get there you’ll be able to see farther.”

— Thomas Carlyle

When I was a child, there were no portable DVD players or iPads or internet phones to entertain us on trips in the car.  Instead, we would play games like I Spy or making a list of different states that appeared on the license plates of cars we passed.  And we would sing.  One of our favorite traveling songs was “The Bear Went Over the Mountain.”  We would sing it endlessly as the scenery changed, and each time the bear would climb the mountain, “to see what he could see,” the punchline was that all he saw was the other side of the mountain.

Poor bear!  Whoever first sang about him must have lacked a sense of adventure.  The unexciting outcome of the bear’s climb seemed to send the message that we might as well stay home.  After all, there was nothing exciting on the other side — only the back of the same old mountain.

How often do we limit ourselves by assuming that the whole world must be the same as the one we have experienced?  How often do we plant our feet in the familiar and convince ourselves that what we see is what we get, and we should not hope for more.

I often wish that the bear had lingered for a time at the top of the mountain and had taken in all the scenery that was visible from the summit of his climb.  Maybe he would have been more likely to move on to the next valley and discover the sweetness of a new land that lay at the foot of the other side of the mountain.  Perhaps after he had spent some time adventuring there, he might have found himself with another mountain to climb.  Maybe he would have discovered that the next mountain had beautiful rock faces with sparkling streams flowing in their cracks.  Perhaps he would have discovered beautiful new flowers tucked into the crags where soil had washed down and become fertile enough to capture a seed and encourage it to grow.  Maybe there would have been other bears in this new land who would share with him the wondrous stories of life on their own mountain.  Maybe they would have discovered that their great-great grandmothers were friends or family and that they shared a common bond.

We must never limit ourselves by assuming that the world, as far as we can see, is all that exists.  We must walk to the edges of our ability to see and climb new mountains, to see what we can see.  Maybe, on the other side, we will find something incredible that will extend the limits of our vision beyond our wildest dreams.



“When you follow your bliss…doors will open where you would not have thought there would be doors; and where there wouldn’t be a door for anyone else.”

— Joseph Campbell

Are you ready to rise above the ordinary and listen to the music of your soul?

I am thinking this morning about the times when I waited in labor for each of my children to be born.  I am thinking about the years spent with my inherited son as we worked at taming one another and learned to live in domestic harmony.  I am thinking of the moments when the labor was done and the taming complete — the moments when I knew for certain that I had fulfilled a purpose for being alive, for being me.

My children are grown now, but my soul still cries out and demands that I let its music be heard.  Forty-one years of my life have been spent mothering — giving birth to new life, nurturing it, and encouraging it to grow.  Those of us who devote a number of years to this work can sometimes feel as though we have no purpose when the nest suddenly is empty and our work is done; but I say that this is the time to shine.

When the room grows silent and the music of the others we have taught to sing moves on to other places, it is then that we can, once again, hear the symphony that plays deep inside us.  Listen to your music.  Listen to your bliss.  Dance to its melody and follow the path to the doorway that will open only for you.  Don’t worry that there will be nothing on the other side.  The truth is that you just may find everything there.  Follow your soul — follow your bliss.

“Be glad of life because it gives you the chance to love and to work and to play and to look up at the stars.”

— Henry Van Dyke

From the moment we are born, we begin unwrapping a huge gift, and each day we pull back a bit more of the paper and discover another of its endless parts.  This gift is life, and it is ours for the owning.

I suppose it is only human to complain about how busy our lives can be, and I will admit that there have been days lately when I feel as though every moment is filled with demands.  What is good about our lives being filled with such a variety of events and challenges is that we are forced to find balance, regardless of our emotional response to one part or another of life.

This week has been a busy one, and I am happy to see the weekend on the horizon.  Mixed into all the small tasks and daily demands has been an emotional time for my father as he begins to think about the end of my mother’s life moving suddenly closer to reality.  My first response at a time like that is to feel like life should just go away and leave me alone.  The one piece — the emotion-filled one — seems so huge that it makes me want to stop working at my unwrapping and leave the gift untouched for a while.

Then I remember how each strip of paper removed reveals something new that makes life more exciting.  What also is important, and perhaps part of the gift, is the way that all the pieces fit together to remind us that even on a difficult day, life goes on.  As the life of one loved one seems to move toward its end, the lives of others blossom before our eyes.  This balance brings to us memories of the days when the one who nears the end also was blossoming; and those memories bring us comfort and peace and add the dignity of a life well-lived to the picture.

When life seems a bit too full and a bit too busy and a bit too filled with emotion to focus on all that comes our way, we must remember that part of the gift is the variety that reminds us that there is more to being alive than one small part that tugs at our hearts.  In the midst of the most difficult days, we must remember to keep unwrapping.  We never know until we do just what might be inside the endless gift of being alive.

“Accustom yourself continually to make many acts of love, for they enkindle and melt the soul.”

— St. Teresa of Avila

The Dance

Before the sun rises

I open my eyes

To the wonder

The splendor

Of another new day.

My feet touch the floor

And I dance.

♥

Bright, faithful sun

Brings hope to the skies

The beauty

The grandeur

Of another new day.

I breathe in the Light

And I dance.

♥

Life, the adventure

Will always surprise

The sorrow

The sweetness

Of being alive

I wrap it in Love

And I dance

♥

Evening, the starlight

With moon on the rise,

Brings peace

And reflection

‘Neath soft velvet sky

Suspended in dreams,

I will dance.

♥

– Pamela Stead Jones 2012

“Hold fast to dreams for if dreams die, life is a broken winged bird that cannot fly.”

— Langston Hughes

As we walk through life, there will always be circumstances and events that weigh us down and make us feel heavy and slow and discouraged.  The only way to get through these times is to fly.  What keeps us going during the heavy times and airborne when the road is smooth are dreams.  It is in dreaming that we discover and unfold our wings and find that we can soar toward the divine purpose of our creation.  Without dreams, we simply exist in an earthbound shell, weighed down by the burden we accept as the punishment for being human.  What we forget in this dreamless state is that we were not created to suffer, but to soar.

There will always be those who accuse the dreamer of not living in the real world or of trying to escape it; but we dreamers know that what is real lies beyond the heaviness and struggle of being human.  It is in our souls that we discover our wings, folded so close that we have forgotten we own them.  It is when we dream that those wings unfold and begin to gain the strength to carry us on the breath of our dreams.  It is in holding fast to our dreams that we discover we are lighter than air.  It is in dreaming that we finally remember we were born to fly.

Along the way, we will meet people who have forgotten their dreams; and they will tell us to leave our dreams behind.  We must not listen to the voice of defeat; rather, we must tap them on the shoulders and remind them that they have wings.  We must let our own dreams touch them and lift them and remind them to spread their wings.  The only way the Earth can be healed is if we all remember to fly.

“The whole idea of compassion is based on a keen awareness of the interdependence of all these living beings, which are all part of one another, and all involved in one another.”

— Thomas Merton

Compassion, “feeling with,” is a rare commodity in our world.  It recognizes the oneness and equality of all and wraps itself around each of our fellow creatures, acknowledging our dependence on them and their dependence on us.  Too often we confuse compassion with pity, a lesser emotion that elevates the status of one party over another and stoops low to the level of the one in need.  Pity sees us as imbalanced and in a sort of parasite/host relationship with the rest of creation.  Rather than restoring balance, pity has us leaning sideways and balancing on one leg in order to pretend that we are aligned with others, when the truth is that we enjoy feeling superior.  Pity is like the sort of cold charity that is given out of duty.  It allows us to feel involved in the pain of another without becoming truly invested; and it rarely does more than scratch the surface of need.

Compassion springs from the heart.  It raises up another being whose balance needs to be restored.  It doesn’t stop until the giver and the receiver are on an equal plane where each can see clearly how much we depend on one another for survival, and more importantly, for our humanity.  We know that our bodies are made up of different sorts of cells that work together to create the beauty of life.  In the same way, we must remember that all living beings who share our planet are cells in a huge organism called Creation.  We must care for all living beings in order to insure the survival of each individual.

Let’s open our hearts and let the love flow to all creatures who share our world.  Let us open our understanding to the idea that no individual being — not even me — is more important or more necessary than another.  Let us care for all the cells in the organism that is much bigger than any one of its components.  Let us feel with all and know that we are all connected by the wisdom that called us to exist.  Listen to the voice of Creation, it calls us to compassion.

“We are the music-makers, And we are the dreamers of dreams, Wandering by lone sea-breakers, And sitting by desolate streams; World-losers and world-forsakers, On whom the pale moon gleams:  Yet we are the movers and shakers Of the world for ever it seems.”

—  Arthur William Edgar O’Shaughnessy

What kind of music do you hear when the world becomes quiet and you sit all alone?

On an early Monday morning, before the rest of the household awakens, I sit alone and let O’Shaughnessy’s words play through my mind.  First, I hear the sounds of nature:  the gentle whispering of the wind, the rippling and tinkling sound of the stream dancing over stones and tumbling downhill through the meadow, the crescendo of bird-song as the sun peeks over the horizon and turns up the volume with each new ray of light, the gentle lullaby of the crickets as they sing the song of darkness bathed only in the glow of the moon.  Soon the music calls forth my own melody, and I find myself singing the words that try to call the images to life and spill them into waking.

If you listen closely, you can hear it — the music of your dreams.  The question is, will you dare today to sing your song for the world to hear?  Will you take the time to listen to your soul and sing its beauty as you live your life?  Will you trust its beauty enough to sing that song right out loud?

The world needs listeners who can hear the music of their dreams.  The world needs singers who are unashamed to share their soul’s song with others and spread its love.  The world needs us to discover the harmonic tones that play when our song merges with that of another singer and increases the beauty of both musical strains.  Only when we liberate our dreams in the light of day can we truly move the world and bring about the change that keeps us all growing in wisdom and love and unity.

As your week begins, take a moment to listen to the music of your dreams.  When the melody is clear and strong, open your mouth and sing.  Bring to the world all the beauty that you carry deep inside your soul.  Sing with me!  Let’s rock our world with joy!

“In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life.  It goes on.”

— Robert Frost

Life goes on.  I love those three little words.  Yesterday, when I wrote about standing and waiting, I omitted the part about how actively we must stand and wait.  In spite of the demand to wait quietly that comes from things that are beyond our control, there will always be new events that keep us in motion, even as we stand and wait.

As a member of the club sandwich generation —  one with elderly parents, a marriage, young adult children, and even a grandchild I am raising — I am often called on to multi-task across generational lines.  When one generation calls on me to stand and wait and another demands immediate action, it is easy to become confused about just where I should place my energy on a busy day.

Yesterday, as my mom and dad rode a roller coaster of medical crisis more than a thousand miles away, I knew that all I could do was to keep my feet planted on the ground and speak the words of reassurance that would allow their stomachs to settle each time their car came to a halt in the station.  I am not the ride operator; and this time, there is no seat for me in the coaster.  I think of times in my childhood when my parents would wait at the end of an amusement park ride, holding my possessions and waiting to smooth my wind-blown hair before we moved on to the next adventure.  Now it is my turn to be the one who waits.

I suppose I am more fortunate that many people my age, because while the coaster flies over the rails so far away, there is an adventure unfolding right where I am.  While others in my generation who stand and wait might need to remind themselves not to confuse waiting with grinding to a halt, I have plenty of reasons to keep on living while I wait to hear whether I’m needed somewhere else.

As thoughts of life — it’s ups and downs, its beginnings and endings — sit in the front of my mind, I see a collage of events from impending birth of a new baby, to small children learning to navigate the world, to teenagers flexing their independence as they move toward adulthood, to young parents taking over the responsibility of shaping the next generation, to my elderly parents waiting to see whether their time will soon end.  Here I sit in the middle of it all, with memories of all the places I have been and memories of the old folks in those younger scenes.  There is comfort in those three words, “it goes on.”  Long after I have lived out my days on Earth, there will be others who marvel at the never-ending dance.

Whatever challenges life may bring today; we need to remember that in spite of the outcome, life will go on.

“They also serve who only stand and wait.”

— John Milton

There is a great sort of strength in waiting.

There are times in our lives when we are called upon to work; and when those times stretch on for days and weeks and months, we might find ourselves complaining about all the things we have to do.  Then, when an event takes place that stops our doing and calls us to simply wait for an outcome, we might wish there were something we could do.

Last night I had a late-night phone call from my father.  When his number appeared on my caller id, I knew that something out of the ordinary was going on.  My elderly parents are always in bed by 8:00 PM, and sometimes even earlier.  Dad’s voice was calm, which told me that something serious was unfolding.  Mom has been feeling out of sorts lately, and yesterday she failed her EKG.  The doctor had decided it was time to send her to the hospital for evaluation and treatment; and the timing was not the best, considering my folks’ sleep schedule.

My dad has struggled for some time with a feeling of helplessness that sometimes borders on uselessness as he tends to the needs of my mom.  She has suffered from dementia for six years now, and her need for support has become greater and greater as her condition progresses.  Dad just turned 90.  Every day he thinks for two, selects wardrobe for two, even puts toothpaste on toothbrushes for two.  There are a thousand little details that Dad manages, day in and day out, that are invisible to the untrained eye.  To the rest of the world, it appears that Mom and Dad move somewhat effortlessly through their days in Assisted Living.

Dad is tired.  No, Dad is exhausted.  During his days of sports competition, Dad was a runner.  His longest race was the 440 — he was a sprinter.  This life he has been dealt is no sprint.  My sprinter Dad, at the end of his physical energy, has been called upon to run a marathon.  And he runs.

I thought of John Milton’s quote this morning as I walked quietly along my sunrise path.  It is one of Dad’s favorites.  It is made of the words he uses to encourage himself when he has a difficult day and wishes for a simpler life.  Last night, Dad heeded the nurse’s good advice and put himself to bed while my sisters and the hospital staff tended to mom.  If there is one thing a marathon runner learns, it is to conserve his energy and keep a steady pace.  The impatient sprinter has learned the wisdom of the long-distance runner — sometimes they also serve who only stand and wait.

Today will be a day of waiting.  It doesn’t appear that Mom’s current problems are immediately life-threatening; but they remind us that life is fragile and our parents are coming up on the finish line.  The trees along my walking path today were hiding places for many birds.  With all the foliage gone for the winter, one would think that their locations would be obvious to a walker like me who longs to see them.  Except for my friends, the crows, not one showed its tiny face.  I heard the sparrows, the chickadees, and even a noisy woodpecker; but not one of them caught my eye.  This is what it feels like to stand and wait.  The outcome lies hidden.  We can hear the still, small voice of faith, singing deep in the branches where we cannot see it; but still our soul can hear that all will be well in the end.  And so we stand and wait.

“Most people ask for happiness on condition.  Happiness can only be felt if you don’t set any condition.”

— Arthur Rubinstein

It is only human to formulate definitions for ourselves about what will bring us happiness.  We fantasize about a time in the future when some good dream will come true and fill us with the happiness we seek.  We decide what it is that will make us happy and then pursue that goal or object in order to assure that happiness will be ours.  It is good to know what we want out of life, and it is good to embrace the things that bring us joy; but to be truly happy, we must be ready to embrace the surprises of the unknown as well as those we have tracked down with a purpose.

When we become too focused on the pursuit of a distant and elusive dream, we risk missing out on the happy surprises that come our way each day.  It is easy to confuse being focused with wearing blinders.  I’ve heard it said that life is what happens while we are making other plans.  I think of the great happiness that has entered my own life in peculiar and unexpected ways; and I realize that without some of the sad events that altered my path, I might have missed the greater joy that I found on the side road.  We must break free of the idea that we must choose one or the other — either we must pursue our dream of happiness and miss the surprise, or we must live passively and wait for good things to come our way.  We can do both.  Pursue your dreams, but look around you as you walk.  There may be some happiness that will make your walk more enjoyable and lighten your step.  Plant the gardens of your dreams, but don’t forget to love the wildflowers that grow around the fence.  When we remove the need to choose, when we remove the conditions from our lives, happiness will surely find its way into our hearts.