Flat Belly, Firm Faith

 My goal is to walk 10,000 steps a day.  Today, I’m nearly half way there after walking at the high school track near my home.   I know it’s doable because I’ve done it before. Just last week I made those steps and then some when my walking partner and I talked and panted our way through our morning walk in Sligo Creek Park.  She’s out of town this week so I ‘m hoofing it at the track, which I also like doing  because going alone around the track gives me a chance to think, pray and organize my day  without worrying  about bikers, broken sidewalks or muddy trails.

Walking is my exercise. It’s pretty much the only exercise I do, and I am determined to walk my way to a flat belly.  Okay, I know that walking alone will not get me there.  For years, my husband has chided (oops  I mean coached) me, saying “you’ve got to do some crunches.” I hate crunches. Lately I’ve been reading Prevention magazine , which has a excellent walking plan, and I  even brought the magazine editors’ book Flat Belly Diet, which says on the cover “A Flat Belly is About Food & Attitude. Period. (Not a Single Cruch Reguired!).” The book  provides an eating regime of fat-melting foods.  As simple and as tasty as the authors tried to make their recipes, following the eating suggestions still takes planning and discipline.  (Not  always my strong suits.)

It’s not just that at 55 I’ve put on weight around the middle  that refuses to  move or that I want to smooth, tight abs.  I know that having two much stubborn fat around the abdomen is unhealthy.  I walk to stay fit both physically and spiritually. My body is stronger because of my brisk, hour-long walks and so is my faith.

During my walks, I take note of the birds chirping and darting about the sky. I notice the shape of the clouds and blueness or grayness of the sky.  I pass people of all shapes, colors and sizes and wonder where their life journeys have taken them. Occasionally, I’ve walked laps with a  fellow sojourner and we shared our stories.  

Praying for others is a big part of my walks.  As much as I talk to and petition God when I walk, I also listen to hear God speak to me. Some days it’s more difficult than others to quiet the chatter in my head but I’ve been fortunate on more than one occasion to get just calm enough to recall a song, a saying, a sermon or a Scripture that brings clarity to a situation.   Peace fills my soul when I walk, whether alone or with a friend.

A good walk strengthens body and soul. It takes you to both familiar  and unfamiliar places and  gives you new insights.  And hopefully day by day it will melt away what age continues to hold on to.  

Well. I’ve got to get to stepping.  I’m making each one-foot-in-front –of the-other count today…for my belly and my soul.  

“Above all, do not lose your desire to walk.  Every day I walk myself into a state of well-being and walk away from every illness.  I have walked myself into my best thoughts, and I know of no thought so burdensome that one cannot walk away from it.” 

~Soren Kierkegaard

Hold Fast to Faith Rain or Shine

The early morning  rain fell slow and steady, giving me an good excuse for not getting up and going out on my usual walk.  It has been raining a lot lately.  Since April showers and now into June. The results have not been all bad — greener grass,  lusher trees and flowers  bursting with color.  Less pollen in the air.

However as the rain increased throughout the day, I was remained of another byproduct of  this season’s persistent wet weather that I had seen on previous walks.  In two different parks over several weeks,  early spring rains had soaked the ground and left it soft underfoot. On either side of the trails that I had walked, several hunking trees that had stood generations now lay  prostrate. Their roots, which had once plunged deep into the earth,  were now severed and reaching out helplessly.

My first reaction was that the roots were too shallow for the tall, strong trees. But that may not have been the case, a friend noted.  Perhaps the tree had been weaken by disease. Not necessarily so, I later learned. Even healthy trees sometimes toppled over when the earth beneath them shifts from too much rain.

How like my faith that is. In good times, I stand tall and firm in what I believe. Head high, heart  fixed, I move sure footed into the world and can withstand  the onslaught of obstacles. Failures, like rain, may come but I am unfazed. I put up my umbrella and push on with the benign belief that failures are stepping stones to success.

On the other hand, there have been those times when no matter where I turn disappointment and frustration have come like heavy, dark clouds. Unexpected deaths in the family. Financial woes.  A rebellious child. A broken friendship. Job changes. Like drops of persistent rain, life trials have one time or another caused the ground to shift beneath my feet.

Like a tree with shallow roots, I felt the weight of the elements pulling at me and I knew a fall would surely follow. But increasingly as my faith has grown, my doubts and fears have been supplanted with my trust in an all powerful God. My roots are growing stronger and deeper.

On a walk in Brookside Gardens (one of the best places around for an inspiring walk), a friend pointed to a tree with knuckles.  Its  knotted roots look like they was gripping the ground with all the strength they could   muster.  Today I am  like that tree. I am clinging to my faith come rain or shine.   As the scripture says, “This is the day that the Lord has made. I will rejoice and be glad in it!”

A Church to Call My Own

It took me a while after moving to Washington nearly 23 years ago to find a church home, a place where my family and I could find spiritual nourishment and community. I did not look right way because I occasionally worked on Sunday and because I had a rambunctious toddler who I knew would not sit still during a service.  

But when something within me began yearning for a  Sunday sanctuary where I could worship and praise God, I dressed up my baby boy and started my search. My husband preferred tennis on the Sabbath so initially it was just me and my 2-year-old handful.  An early candidate was  a Congregationist church not far from my home. One adventureous Sunday morning, I crept into the church’s balcony, a little late, and took my seat amid several unsmiling faces. I was already insecure as a mother  and definitely certain that my son would make some noise, so I thought the balcony would be a safer place to catch some of the service. But once there, I felt like turning around and fleeing.   I stayed, though, because I needed a spiritual feeding like  a hungry baby needs it milk.  

William wiggled too much in my arms. A woman sitting near me scowled.  When he giggled and tossed his bottle on the floor for the second time and another woman glared, I knew it was time to leave. My 30 minutes or so in that church left me more frustrated than I uplifted.  It took visiting a couple of other churches, sometimes acompanied by my husband, before we finally found a place to call a church home.

 I am reminded of this incident by a story  in The Washington Post this week about several D.C. churches, especially African American ones,  flooding  President Obama and his family with invitations to join them.  The dynamics facing the First Family in finding a place of worship is far more complex, but at its core probably not very different,  from mine. Along with looking for a church that meets their spiritual needs, the Obamas are forced to deal with other people’s perceptions of where they should worship. It a very personal decision that is being played out on a public landscape. 

“Will the Obamas affiliate themselves with a black church, which could signal that they are still comfortable making their spiritual home one that is predominantly African American? Or will they choose a mostly white or racially integrated church, sending the message that they are interested in shifting the paradigm of religion and race?” The Post story asks.

Black, white or mixed, does not really matter as much as will the family be able to satisfy their own needs for spiritual growth within a church community. Will the Obama girls find a group of  young girls with whom they can  learn about God’s goodness and love through well-interepreted Bible stories?  Will the First Lady find a group of women with whom she can relate, share and bond, if she chooses, as they work together to touch the lives of others less fortunate than themselves? Will the President find godly men who will embrace him as a brother in Christ not just a  celebrity whose name can be dropped at work, on the basketball court or the golf course ? Will they hear a sermon that convicts their hearts every now and again or a song that stirs them to praise in their own ways.

Will they find a place that welcomes them simply for being the children of God that they are, and not because they are the First Family of these United States. I hope  wherever they go no one welcomes them with a scowl.

A Presidential Faith

President Obama’s speech yesterday at Notre Dames’s commencement was a a tour de force. It was eloquent, substantive and inspirational. (It made me want to go out and do something good.) It also prompted me to think more about the strength of my own faith and how I act –on don’t act on — on what I believe.

Coming off a packed weekend, I might have only skimmed the surface of his speech by hurrying through the story in The Washington Post or glancing at the clips on local news or CNN. But my friend Leetta, a form-the-beginning-died-in-the-wool Obama fan, called early Monday to see if I had watched it and what I thought of it. (She had called the night before to make sure I had seen it but I didn’t get that message.)

I came to the speech after spending nearly two days in a training module on prayer and the life of the mind, where one of the first things the presenter did was encouraged us to examine what we believe about God. What we believe informs the choices we make, said Rev. Dr. Bernadette Glover-Williams, a dynamo of a teacher. Also at church Sunday, a young minister preached about “what we believe,” further reinforcing in me the importance of having a faith based on God-centered beliefs.

For weeks leading up to his commencement address and even at the speech, President Obama faced oppostion to his position on abortion. Protesters tried to disrupt his speech with yelling yesterday, while he once again explained why he believed what he believed. He also gave a compelling argument for what it means to be a man of faith, a president who believes in God and a person who respects the other person’s right to disagree. His message resonates profoundly with me.

“Hold firm to your faith,” he advised the 2009 Notre Dame graduates, “and allow it to guide your journey.”

Those are good word for all of us. Take a look at this portion of the president’s speech.

Bonsai Faith

Recently I visited a bonsai exhibit at the U. S. National Arboretum. As I wandered through the display of bonsai trees, I could not help marveling at the exquisite nature of the diminutive beech, juniper, pines, maple trident and magnolias.

Pretty pink blooms were spouting on the Chinese Quince, which has been in training since 1875; the leaves of the Japanese maple were a gold-sparkled green trimmed in a burnished red; ash white driftwood intertwined itself with the harsh gray bark of the more than 200-year-old California juniper. Such trees have been grown and trained over time according to ancient Chinese penjing and Japanese bonsai techniques of recreating in miniature the beauty of the landscape.

The exhibit spoke to that which is spirit in me. It invigorated my soul and excited my mind, leaving me eager to learn how to grow and care for my own bonsai. That would be a huge leap of faith for both me and the unsuspecting plant that I would buy because I have a notorious brown thumb (and that has nothing to do with being a black woman.)

I returned to walk among the bonsai a couple more times, feeling drawn to the wisdom rooted in their age-old traditions and the discipline that shaped their growth. As sense of peace and well-being emanated from the trees that have been in training —clipped, shaped, wired, watered and nurtured — from as early as 1624 to the more recent 2004. Two of them had been cared for since my birth year, a gracious reminder of my own development shaped by the hand of God . Each visit brought wonderful moments of contemplation.

The exhibit became one of those adventures I could not keep to myself. Aftert taking a friend to a doctor’s appointment, I detoured on the way home and took her to see the bonsai.

Though she was a bit weary from months of medical treatment, she walked gingerly down one side and then up the other. She pondered the longevity of a juniper that had been in training for centuries and the giraffe-like shape of a maple trident. She enjoyed the simple beauty of the miniature trees and landscapes and allowed me to gush on about how much I had come to appreciate being among these unique plants.

The thought came to me during one my excursions to the Arboretum exhibit. Faith, like the bonsai, is cultivated over time and with discipline. Faith also becomes more powerful when we put into action and share it with others.

What special place speaks to your spirit?

Retail Faith

A story on AOL about retail stores and religion caught my attention today. It offers an interesting look at several business owners who don’t mind letting their customers know about their faith.  I was aware that Chick-fil-A founder S. Truett Cathy decided that he would not open his stores on Sundays and that the Washington Times newspaper was heavily funded by the Holy Spirit Association for the Unification of World Christianity.

But, even though my daughter shops at Forever 21, I did not about  know the owners demonstated their beliefs on the store’s  bags. 

Here are shopping bags from Forever 21 (at top) and In-and-Out Burger, both from the article “The Gods of Retail.”

 Take a look at the article and let me know what you think.

Losing Faith?

What I come to know is that faith and religious labels are not synonymous.  So my interest was piqued when I saw a headline on a AP  story  that said  many Americans are losing their religious identification, particularly those who once gladly called themselves Christians.  According to the study published March 9 in The Washington Post and other publications,  the number of  Americans identifying themselves as Christian had dropped to 76 percent of the population, down from 86 percent in 1990.

More than 54,000 people were surveyed between February and November.  Americans who once  referred to themselves as Christian are more frequently describing themselves as “nondenominational”  “evangelical” or “born again,” according to the American Religious Identification Survey.

According to The Post, the survey substantiated several general trends already identified by sociologists: the slipping importance of denomination in America, the growing number of people who say they have “no” religion and the increase in religious minorities including Muslims, Mormons and such movements as Wicca and paganism. “

 What do you think about these survey results?

How do you know?

Driving home from running errands on a crisp and perfect winter today, my mind was sorting through the next items on my to-do list when I noticed the dusty red jeep in front of me.

The tag refocused my attention and caused me to smile. “GODXIST” it read.

I followed the jeep when it turned just so I could revel a little more in the moving proclamation that told me in seven letters what I had come to know and believe over more than a half century. The warm weather in the middle of February and the cloud dabbled sky affirmed what the jeep’s tag declared; the smooth flow of traffic and people bustling about confirmed that a godly order was at play.

And if nothing else, my friend’s successful surgery this week testified also to the reality looming before me — ” GODXIST.”

For several minutes, until the jeep veered out of sight, I felt connected to the word on the tag. It became more important than anything on my to-do list. In a way I cannot yet explain, it buoyed my feelings and gave me hope. In those few moments, my faith was strengthen.

Life’s trials and triumphs, nature’s beauty and fury and my family and friends all taught me that God indeed does exists.

How do you know?

Finding a personal faith

Time was I had more fear than faith, more doubt than desire. The world seemed a relentlessly challenging place, where one step forward eventually led to two stumbles backward. Faith was just a word to be uttered not a commitment of heart to be held.

“Have faith,” someone would urge, “and things will work out in the end.” As a younger woman struggling to balance family and work, I tried what I then knew of faith from my mother. She was a devout woman, who prayed fervently and studied her Bible consistently. She took an active role in the Pentecostal church I grew up in and later left. She was as close to God as anyone I knew. When things were going rough in my life, I would turn to her so that she could pray me though life’s hardships and complexities.

Over time, though, I came to learn that my mother’s faith could not push away my fear of failure or my doubt about my abilities or my self-esteem about my beauty. I needed my own faith. I read books about Buddha and Eastern religions, dabbled in Transcendental Meditation, and for a time stopped going to church.

When my mother died — despite my pleads to God–soon after my second child was born, I found myself both motherless and for a time faithless. My father’s unexpected death two years later plunged me into a deeper quiet despair. Something within, however, would not allow me to remain in that place. A glimmer of hope reflected in my husband and two young children forced me to search beyond my own increasingly limiting feelings. Slowly, I began building on the foundation laid by my parents my own faith path.

I came to realize that the faith journey is very personal; it is hard; and it is rewarding.

For me, faith is having an inner compass that keeps you going in the direction of hope when ahead of you is a dark tunnel of despair. It is knowing without a doubt that you are not traveling alone, that if you persist you will reach your destiny. Faith is trusting a force greater than yourself to lead you to where you are supposed to be so you can do your best work in this world.

Faith is believing in a God who loves you so much that He will not let you fail. For what looks like failure to us, may very well be the stepping stone to greatness as we walk in faith.