by Heather Plett | Feb 23, 2010 | parenting, Passion, personality
I’d forgotten about this photo until I unearthed it the other day. I am absolutely IN LOVE with it in a way that I don’t remember being when I first saw it. There were other photos from that day (like the one in my banner) that grabbed me more at the time. (Video here.)
It tells such a great story of the generations of women I’m embedded between. My mother, my daughter (Julie) and me.
I had just jumped out of a plane. Look how incredibly joyous I am! What a moment of pure, intoxicating adrenalin! I finally knew what the sky tasted like!
When I landed, my mom and Julie were the only people to come running across the field to greet me. (My husband followed later with the camera.)
Mom, carrying my chute, supporting me, content to pick up the rear. Proud of me. And not one bit afraid to watch her daughter do something as crazy as jump out of a perfectly good plane. In her heart I know she was a little bit (maybe even a LOT) envious. If there’s one thing I inherited from my mom it is my “adventure junkie” tendencies.
Julie, wearing my helmet, leading me forward, grinning with pride, and also… a whole LOT jealous of me. Of my three daughters, she’s the one voted “most likely to follow her mom’s footsteps and go skydiving some day”. She developed a new dream that day – work at the skydiving place so she could skydive as often as possible. If there’s one thing she inherited from HER mom it is her “adventure junkie” tendencies. (If you watch the video, you’ll hear her eager voice wanting to come rushing to me before the plane landed.)
It just makes me smile to see the story of women as it passes from generation to generation – through my mother to me, and through me to my daughter.
What about you? Why don’t you play along? Show me a picture that tells a story of your generations. Or write about it in the comments.
by Heather Plett | Feb 22, 2010 | Uncategorized
I was at my favourite bed & breakfast in Toronto. I’ve stayed there nearly a dozen times. It’s my “Cheers” – the kind of place “where everbody knows your name” – and I love, love LOVE it! I even made it onto their Christmas card list this year.
James, the manager, wasn’t there. He had a few days off and David (the weekend guy) was filling in for him. I’d never met David before, but James had briefed him.
“James told me about you. You’re a writer, right?”
Hmmm…. how do I answer that question? My first instinct was to say, “well, I’m not really a writer. I make my living as a communications director in a non-profit organization and when I have some time, I do some freelance writing.” But I didn’t. At that moment, I wanted to simply be the writer that James said I was.
“Yes… yes I am,” I said simply. And then I found out that David was (very happily) an accountant when he’s not working at the B&B.
It’s something we all do, don’t we? We let ourselves believe that the only true way to define ourselves is through our professions – that which pays the bills and puts food on the table.
But is that the truth about who we are?
It’s not that I don’t like my professions – most days I like it very much. But that’s not the full picture.
As I’ve said before, writer is and always will be part of my truest essence. I could add other definitions to that – photographer, artist, speaker, fumbler, workshop facilitator, blogger, wanderer, mother, wife, seamstress, cyclist – but the truth is, you’ll rarely hear me use those words to define myself, at least not in the “elevator pitch” you’ll get in the first 30 seconds. To be honest, that’s partly because I feel like I am so many things that I’ll lose your attention span before I get to the list, but it’s mostly because we’re used to hearing people defined in a certain frame.
What about you? How would you define yourself if you didn’t have to connect it to “what you do for a living”? Perhaps you’d be different things for different people?
by Heather Plett | Feb 21, 2010 | Nikki, parenting
The naysayers won’t hesitate to tell you how tough life can be with a teenager (or two) in the house, how they talk back and have little doubt that they’re smarter than you, how their attitudes quickly outgrow your ability to be patient, how they turn dark and moody over the slightest provocation, how they would rather hang with their friends than families… BUT… they never seem to tell you how much fun it can be to have them around.
She turned 14 today, and I am still head-over-heels in love. She makes me laugh almost every day. She’s got a sense of style that puts Tyra Banks to shame. When she’s feeling confident (which she often is these days), she glows with beauty and self-awareness. She is fiercely loyal to her friends, but she still likes to hang out with her mom. She’s got a mind for history and she’ll spout off random historical facts about people as diverse as Marilyn Munroe or Ghandi. She’s become almost obsessed with keeping the house clean and picks up after her younger sisters more often than I do (how lucky am I!). She hates handing in anything late, so she’s never had to be told to do her homework. Seriously – not once! She’s never met a mirror she doesn’t like. She loves to run and there are few things more beautiful than watching her do it. She is fiercely competitive in sports and will stare an opponent down even if they’re much bigger than her. She’s got amazing focus when something is important to her and more self-discipline than I will ever have. Despite how hard it’s been, she’s shown remarkable grace and resilience this year while she’s had to wait for her knee to heel before she can return to her beloved soccer. She’s the cooperative kid in the class that every teacher likes and we’ve never had to sit through uncomfortable parent-teacher meetings with her. She makes me marvel every single day that I am lucky enough to be her mom.
Hard to believe that fourteen years ago, she made me a mom. Happy birthday, my beautiful Nicole.
by Heather Plett | Feb 19, 2010 | Uncategorized
Yesterday I happily finished my business earlier than expected and ended up with a free afternoon to wander in Toronto. There were two things I’d been hoping to do: find the “
Paint your Faith” mural and visit the
AGO (Art Gallery of Ontario).
I started out in search of the mural. As I walked I thought “this is a good chance to pause, to do what you promised to do for Lent, and just pay attention to the way your senses connect you to the sacred”.
Before I found the mural, I arrived at the awe-inspiring Metropolitan United Church. I knew the mural was close by, but I couldn’t resist first wandering through the church. There was a free organ concert playing inside, so I found a seat on a straight-back wooden pew in the back, closed my eyes and listened. Organ music isn’t really my thing, but who can’t be at least a little moved by the sound of a magnificant pipe organ in a century old church? The sounds, the stained glass, the steeples – it’s not hard to imagine why people building churches back then felt they were honouring God with beautiful spaces in which to dwell.
Metropolitan United Church, Toronto
When I left the church, I found the mural – a very different way to reflect God’s space in the world. It was painted by four graffiti artists who were asked to collaboratively interpret what faith means to them. It’s pretty far removed from stained glass and organ music, but it no less reflects the sacred spaces in which God dwells. I was moved by the colour, the vibrancy, and the energy it exudes. (To learn more, be sure to watch the video on this page.)
Paint your Faith, Toronto
After the mural, it was off to the AGO and the much hyped King Tut exhibit. I hadn’t really cared about the exhibit at first, but it seemed like a once in a lifetime experience, so I couldn’t resist.
Talk about awe-inspiring! In a way I wasn’t expecting, I was moved almost to tears by the more than three thousand year old artifacts, jewellery, sculptures, and even the wicker bed dear ol’ Tut may have slept on.
I pulled out my notebook and started jotting down details I didn’t want to forget. Mostly, I was inspired by what careful artistry was demonstrated in almost every piece. This wasn’t crude or rudimentary – this was intricate and absolutely stunning. Tiny gold beads blended together to make a collar or necklace, carved statues of rulers and gods and princesses, gold finger and toe coverings peeled from Tut’s mummy, and gold sandals meant to carry him into the afterlife.
What struck me as I stood there in awe was how much of the intricate, beautiful artisanship was meant primarily to connect people to their gods. Not only were there sculptures of several Egyptian gods, as well as artifacts (urns, alters, etc.) used in worship of them, but there were so many items in Tut’s tomb that had been placed there specifically to prepare him for the afterlife when he would join the gods in their heaven. Many of the items were plated with gold, because the believed gold to be “god’s skin”.
Something powerful and a little mysterious struck me right there in the gallery. If I hadn’t been surrounded by so many people, I might have dropped to the floor in tears.
For thousands of years, people have been searching for God and trying to connect to the sacred in one way or another. There has always been, in people’s hearts, a sense of “the other” and, along with that, a deep, deep longing to find a connection to whatever it is.
And for thousands of years – because God is a God of beauty, majesty, and creativity – one of those connecting points has been through art. The Egyptian artifacts, the stained glass windows, and the mural – all were saying the same thing. “We long to be witnesses of the presence of God in the world. This is as close as we can come to reflecting what that means.”
Part of my emotional reaction was the result of many years of suppressing this in my own life. In an evangelical protestant upbringing like I’ve had, art rarely plays a central role in spiritual practices or in the way that people seek out God. It’s not that art was seen as bad – it was just kind of frivolous and wasn’t worth as much as traditional prayer and service and the ultimate good of “leading people to Christ”.
There has been a longing in me that’s hard to describe. A longing to paint, to create, to express myself and be true to my own spirit. After years of not fully understanding it, I know that this longing is one of the ways God calls me into meaningful relationship.
Not long ago, my friend Stephanie profiled me in an article about women in leadership. After asking a few questions about what art means to me, she ended the article with my quote, “art connects me to God.” I was so happy to see it conclude that way. It took a long time to learn this, but it sure does feel good now that I’m a little closer to understanding.
by Heather Plett | Feb 17, 2010 | Uncategorized
I am an overthinker. I place a lot of value (often too much) in meaning and logic and reason. I’m sure that doesn’t surprise you, at least not if you’ve been reading this blog for any length of time. I overthink things ALL the time. Just ask my kids or my husband – they’ll tell you how it often drives them crazy when, for example, I complain that I “just don’t get what Lady Gaga is singing about – those lines don’t make ANY SENSE!”
While I was preparing to introduce the Lord’s Supper last week, I did what I always do – I looked for the meaning behind Jesus’ simple act of sharing the bread and wine. I wanted it to make sense so that I could better explain it to those who would receive it.
Somewhere in the middle of all that contemplation, I started reading “Beauty”, by John O’Donohue. Flipping through it, my eye landed on a simple phrase… “the sensuous is sacred”. In other words, my senses connect me to God.
He wasn’t talking specifically about the Lord’s Supper, but suddenly I had an “a-ha” moment. A picture flashed into my mind of Jesus sitting in that room, looking out over his friends and followers while they shared a hearty meal. Something somebody said (Thomas, perhaps?) made him pause and realize that if he was going to get through to the overthinkers in the room, he needed to do something different – something a little shocking.
“Okay,” he said. “… time to stop thinking so hard. Time to stop trying to figure it all out and just let your senses connect you to the sacred.” And then he broke the bread in his hand. “Taste this bread. Feel the texture of it on your tongue. Smell this wine. Let it flow over your taste buds. It is from the earth and the earth is my body… it is GOOD! It is sensuous, nourishing and so very tasty and beautiful! Savour it with me. Don’t waste it, don’t squander it, but enjoy the way your senses respond to it and the way it feeds you.”
That changed the Lord’s Supper for me. I didn’t have to “get it”. I didn’t even have to make sense of the whole Easter story – the death, resurrection, and assumption. I just had to pause for a moment, taste, smell, touch – and let my senses guide me to God.
This year, my Lenten practice will be just that – letting my senses guide me to God. For 40 days, I will be mindful of how my senses interact with the world and how that is sacred and spiritual. I will taste the wine that is currently on the bedside table beside me, I will smell the freshly baked bread when I walk past the bakery in the morning, I will feel the smoothness and moisture of the lotion as it soaks into my dry skin, I will look more deeply into the rich colours of the sunset, and I will listen to the subtle sounds of music as it moves my soul. I will try to do all these things more mindfully and I will savour them because of the way they connect me with my Creator and all that (s)he has created. (Together with Christine, I will approach it more as 40 days of delight, rather than 40 days of sacrifice.)
As I do so, I will keep John O’Donohue’s Blessing for the Senses close by to guide and inspire me…
For the Senses
May the touch of your skin
Register the beauty
Of the otherness
That surrounds you
May your listening be attuned
To the deeper silence
Where sound is honed
To bring distance home.
May the fragrance
Of a breathing meadow
Refresh your heart
And remind you you are
A child of the earth.
And when you partake
Of food and drink,
May your taste quicken
To the gift and sweetness
That flows from the earth.
May your inner eye
See through the surfaces
And glean the real presence
Of everything that meets you
May your soul beautify
The desire of your eyes
That you might glimpse
The infinity that hides
In the simple sights
That seem worn
To your usual eyes.
