Season of Waiting

February was a month for me to submit all of my final applications for divinity school and seminary programs.  Now, as we start March, we have entered the waiting season - to be followed by a discernment season, and then new action come fall 2013.

Reflecting back to last February, it was at this time last year I was making my unforeseen decision to do a second year with DOOR.  Last year I had attempted to start applications to master of divinity programs (that was the master plan, after all), but experienced an overwhelming amount of internal resistance.  That resistance coupled with a deep sense that I needed to learn how to actually "be" where I was before I could scurry with any sort of integrity towards whatever I thought would be a good next step resulted in me going off-script and staying put.  Much more difficult to do than it may initially sound.  However, it has been well worth the lessons I am learning about what it actually is to be present and how much more I am able to flourish in a situation where I am grounded and rooted in deepening relationships.

In other news, my housemates and I have been waking up at 5:30am every morning in Lent (except Sundays) to read and reflect on scripture and share our insights (or lack thereof) with each other.  I have appreciated the intentional time spent together and the commitment that we have all kept so far, dragging our tired selves out of bed to be present to God and one another at the start of our day.  The rhythms of our mornings have been a good way of staying grounded with one another as we are all experiencing this year's "half-way mark" in divergent ways.

I continue to be blessed by monthly check-ins with Megan, the pastor of my church in Chicago, and this past week she ended our meeting with a Rilke poem.  The gray of winter and the arduous soul-searching that goes into crafting personal statements for graduate school applications have been wearying.  The poem was a very timely selection, so I share it here.

She who reconciles the ill-matched threads
of her life, and weaves them gratefully
into a single cloth --
it's she who drives the loudmouths from the hall
and clears it for a different celebration

where the one guest is you.
In the softness of evening
it's you she receives.

You are the partner of her loneliness,
the unspeaking center of her monologues.
With each disclosure you encompass more
and she stretches beyond what limits her,
to hold you.

~ Rainer Maria Rilke ~

(Rilke's Book of Hours: Love Poems to God, translated by Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy)