Thursday, June 14, 2007 at 2:02am
The sacrament of receiving
Column: wavelength
Like a Labrador who proudly fetches the ball and places it at your feet, I am an enthusiastic giver. I get a kick out of picking out a special something for a loved one and wrapping it with care. On special occasions, I can even do theme presents, or "prezzies," as I have come to call the small goodies I bestow on my friends and family.
I love picking out cards. In fact, if Hallmark needed a patron saint, I would be a good candidate. I laugh out loud. People look askance, and they step away from me — as if I might be crazy or, God forbid, contagious. These people would most likely be shocked to learn that the howling customer is, in fact, a trained mental health professional.
The situation has escalated this year as I discovered the world of musical cards. Oh, the sheer joy of it all! Not only can I laugh, I can now sing and dance in the aisles of my neighborhood Hallmark.
Lest I lead you astray, let me be clear: I am not a Martha Stewart type. There is no wrapping room in my apartment. I recycle and reuse ribbon and even sometimes tissue paper. I just like the aesthetics of a fun package. My intention is to make my gifts celebratory and festive. Obviously, I get a kick out of all of this. This is pleasure for me.
What has been difficult for me over the years is the receiving end of gift giving.
Happily, I have become measurably more relaxed, both in giving and receiving, but I still find myself preferring to give — until recently.
I am a very blessed person; my family, my friends who are family and even my clients have always been so good to me.
This year, however, there was an unexpected bonanza of birthday gifts. I suspect that my loved ones' generosity was spurred, in large part, by my decision to close my therapy practice, thereby ending my regular income, and to walk in faith for the next chapter of my life. (If you are curious, please see my prior column "Are you crazy?" for the back story.)
What a bounty of booty I received! These prezzies were ever so perfect. They were clearly chosen to be nourishing and nurturing during my time of transition. I was bestowed with a wealth of resources that continue to feed me in body, mind and soul.
There were two gifts, in particular, that gave me considerable pause — two gifts that stunned me so thoroughly that my breath was taken away. There was no voice, only pounding heart and eyes welling with tears.
One gift left me sitting motionless and dumbfounded in silence; the other brought me to my feet as I paced and paced about in errant zigzags to refind my equilibrium.
These two gifts were sacrament to me.
The word "sacrament" comes from the Latin sacramentum), meaning to "make sacred." Sacraments, the backbone of Christian religious traditions, are rituals — physical, three-dimensional rituals. They are intentional acts of invoking the sacred.
Sacraments function as divining rods, if you will, for the grace of God. In other words, the sacrament, a physical realm activity, serves as a conduit for the invisible gifts of grace, healing, love, mercy, blessings and the like from the spiritual realms.
My friends' gifts were very much three-dimensional physical acts, and, to my way of thinking, in both instances they invoked the sacred in blessing my new path and offering the grace of their respective gifts. Both women had created intentions that their gifts serve me as I serve a higher purpose.
What were the gifts, you ask?
The first gift came all boxed up and beribboned. It was from one of my dearest friends; she is so real, very fun and an inner-circle confidante.
I had neglected to read the card first, which would have given me a clue, but instead, with a child's delight, I had leapfrogged directly to the box. Inside the box there was an envelope; inside the envelope there was a check. I muttered something akin to "Holy Mackerel" and stared in disbelief. I then had to move; there was so much emotion and energy around this gift that I could barely contain myself.
My friend said she wanted to support my new direction and be a part of my new adventure. She knew I didn't really need anything and felt this would give me a few options when I did need something.
Moreover, my friend allowed that her favorite aunt had left her some money, and my friend knew her aunt would approve of this move. Her aunt had been a woman who believed in helping in the moment. My friend relayed the story of the new pastor coming to her aunt's small Southern church, a bare-bones operation, where the church had little. The aunt walked into the empty minister's office and told him to go right out and buy himself a desk and she would cover the cost. She was that kind of woman; she saw the need, she took action. My friend is like that; she felt the "green energy" would come in handy when I found myself on empty.
The second gift was proffered tentatively and lovingly like the first blossom of spring. The gift came via an international telephone call from a lovely woman who is a healer. Our paths had crossed professionally in the past, and, these days, our relationship was morphing into friendship.
Would I be interested, she asked, in receiving a relic that her family had long treasured? The relic had belonged to a saint. The saint was one of my personal favorites. This woman had heard me tell stories about this very saint; she knew the saint was important to me. And she thought the relic might assist me with my future endeavors, in particular, my healing work.
I am not sure how I even managed a response. I felt like I was underwater and everything was gurgling by in slow motion as I swayed like seaweed in the deep currents.
Interestingly, later that day, with the knowledge that the relic was forthcoming, I did a long-distance healing session with a client and invoked the presence and power of this particular saint. The session went well, very well; thanks to a lovely woman and the intervention of a saint.
So you can see why I view these gifts as sacraments. The gifts brought me to my knees. They taught me the profound lesson to receive with an open, joyful, in-the-moment heart, for that is communion and, most certainly, it is the hand of God.
— — —
Dr. Adele Ryan McDowell, Ph.D., is a psychologist, empath and shaman who likes looking at life with the big viewfinder. Her email address is {email ARMCDOWELL@aol.com}ARMCDOWELL@aol.com{/email}. © copyright 2007 by Adele Ryan McDowell.
I love picking out cards. In fact, if Hallmark needed a patron saint, I would be a good candidate. I laugh out loud. People look askance, and they step away from me — as if I might be crazy or, God forbid, contagious. These people would most likely be shocked to learn that the howling customer is, in fact, a trained mental health professional.
The situation has escalated this year as I discovered the world of musical cards. Oh, the sheer joy of it all! Not only can I laugh, I can now sing and dance in the aisles of my neighborhood Hallmark.
Lest I lead you astray, let me be clear: I am not a Martha Stewart type. There is no wrapping room in my apartment. I recycle and reuse ribbon and even sometimes tissue paper. I just like the aesthetics of a fun package. My intention is to make my gifts celebratory and festive. Obviously, I get a kick out of all of this. This is pleasure for me.
What has been difficult for me over the years is the receiving end of gift giving.
Happily, I have become measurably more relaxed, both in giving and receiving, but I still find myself preferring to give — until recently.
I am a very blessed person; my family, my friends who are family and even my clients have always been so good to me.
This year, however, there was an unexpected bonanza of birthday gifts. I suspect that my loved ones' generosity was spurred, in large part, by my decision to close my therapy practice, thereby ending my regular income, and to walk in faith for the next chapter of my life. (If you are curious, please see my prior column "Are you crazy?" for the back story.)
What a bounty of booty I received! These prezzies were ever so perfect. They were clearly chosen to be nourishing and nurturing during my time of transition. I was bestowed with a wealth of resources that continue to feed me in body, mind and soul.
There were two gifts, in particular, that gave me considerable pause — two gifts that stunned me so thoroughly that my breath was taken away. There was no voice, only pounding heart and eyes welling with tears.
One gift left me sitting motionless and dumbfounded in silence; the other brought me to my feet as I paced and paced about in errant zigzags to refind my equilibrium.
These two gifts were sacrament to me.
The word "sacrament" comes from the Latin sacramentum), meaning to "make sacred." Sacraments, the backbone of Christian religious traditions, are rituals — physical, three-dimensional rituals. They are intentional acts of invoking the sacred.
Sacraments function as divining rods, if you will, for the grace of God. In other words, the sacrament, a physical realm activity, serves as a conduit for the invisible gifts of grace, healing, love, mercy, blessings and the like from the spiritual realms.
My friends' gifts were very much three-dimensional physical acts, and, to my way of thinking, in both instances they invoked the sacred in blessing my new path and offering the grace of their respective gifts. Both women had created intentions that their gifts serve me as I serve a higher purpose.
What were the gifts, you ask?
The first gift came all boxed up and beribboned. It was from one of my dearest friends; she is so real, very fun and an inner-circle confidante.
I had neglected to read the card first, which would have given me a clue, but instead, with a child's delight, I had leapfrogged directly to the box. Inside the box there was an envelope; inside the envelope there was a check. I muttered something akin to "Holy Mackerel" and stared in disbelief. I then had to move; there was so much emotion and energy around this gift that I could barely contain myself.
My friend said she wanted to support my new direction and be a part of my new adventure. She knew I didn't really need anything and felt this would give me a few options when I did need something.
Moreover, my friend allowed that her favorite aunt had left her some money, and my friend knew her aunt would approve of this move. Her aunt had been a woman who believed in helping in the moment. My friend relayed the story of the new pastor coming to her aunt's small Southern church, a bare-bones operation, where the church had little. The aunt walked into the empty minister's office and told him to go right out and buy himself a desk and she would cover the cost. She was that kind of woman; she saw the need, she took action. My friend is like that; she felt the "green energy" would come in handy when I found myself on empty.
The second gift was proffered tentatively and lovingly like the first blossom of spring. The gift came via an international telephone call from a lovely woman who is a healer. Our paths had crossed professionally in the past, and, these days, our relationship was morphing into friendship.
Would I be interested, she asked, in receiving a relic that her family had long treasured? The relic had belonged to a saint. The saint was one of my personal favorites. This woman had heard me tell stories about this very saint; she knew the saint was important to me. And she thought the relic might assist me with my future endeavors, in particular, my healing work.
I am not sure how I even managed a response. I felt like I was underwater and everything was gurgling by in slow motion as I swayed like seaweed in the deep currents.
Interestingly, later that day, with the knowledge that the relic was forthcoming, I did a long-distance healing session with a client and invoked the presence and power of this particular saint. The session went well, very well; thanks to a lovely woman and the intervention of a saint.
So you can see why I view these gifts as sacraments. The gifts brought me to my knees. They taught me the profound lesson to receive with an open, joyful, in-the-moment heart, for that is communion and, most certainly, it is the hand of God.
— — —
Dr. Adele Ryan McDowell, Ph.D., is a psychologist, empath and shaman who likes looking at life with the big viewfinder. Her email address is {email ARMCDOWELL@aol.com}ARMCDOWELL@aol.com{/email}. © copyright 2007 by Adele Ryan McDowell.