Ginny Wilder - All My Words Have Holes in Them: Simple Daily Meditations

ALL MY
WORDS
HAVE
HOLES
IN THEM

simple daily meditations

GINNY WILDER

This book is dedicated to my Mom and Dad, Ginga and John Wilder. Thank you for teaching me at a very young age that God is indeed everywhere, in the stories that we share and in the prayers that we pray. You both taught me that the holes in our words werent something to be fixed but rather something to be explored.

Copyright 2017 by Ginny Wilder

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.

Unless otherwise noted, the Scripture quotations contained herein are from the New Revised Standard Version Bible, copyright 1989 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of Churches of Christ in the U.S.A. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Church Publishing
19 East 34th Street
New York, NY 10016
www.churchpublishing.org

Cover design by Paul Soupiset
Interior design and typesetting by Beth Oberholtzer Design

A record of this book is available from the Library of Congress.

ISBN-13: 978-0-8192-3382-0 (pbk.)
ISBN-13: 978-0-8192-3383-7 (ebook)

All my words have holes in them. When experiencing something so intimate or so big or beyond my ability to grasp and respond, I find the words I use to describe or make sense of the moment fail, epically. No matter how many words I use to try and articulate, explain, give thanks, or just respond, I feel like my words fail to fully hold the emotion of the moment. These holes leave room for the Holy. These holes leave room for the mystery. These holes leave room for the consideration that Godthe love of God, the ways of Godis beyond our understanding and our ability to fully comprehend... and that is okay.

How one experiences God is unique and different, and no singular experience is perfect or complete. The holes in our words when we pray leave room for another persons response and prayer, too. Connecting, recollecting, sharing our own unique and different relationships with God helps to manifest the Kingdom of God here, on earth, and now, in our time. The holes in our words help make that possible. No one response is complete or perfect but they are all holy.

What you hold in your hands is a collection of holy moments captured in prayers, stories, reflections, and poems that tries to use words to illuminate the extraordinary among the ordinaryin our breathing, remembering, praying, releasing, and reconciling.

All my words have holes in them and I am okay with that.

Life begins with breath so, in a sense, we begin with breathing. Instinctive, life-giving, purposeful, second nature, the process to keep us moving, living, hoping, and praying is wired in the muscles that allow us to inhale and exhale and take a breath.

God breathed over creation. God breathes us into life. The life that is in your body and in your soul is rooted in the act of Creation; today is a new day waiting for you to breathe life into the world around you.

Breathingtaking a pause, a moment before beginning a new day or before closing your eyes at the end of the dayoffers us a place to land in the space between inhale and exhale. I am guilty of blowing right through that pause in order to get to the next thing on my to-do list, on my agenda, to my next thought. I am guilty of ignoring the natural spaces and places and pauses because sometimes to stop is harder than to start.

Breathing, mindful and intentional, can become prayer. Breathing gives us voice to speak and to pray. Breathing is the beginning of creation and creating. Through the breath of God, we have life within us. What we do today will be fueled by breath and blood and all throughout the day we are given natural pauses to inhale, give thanks, exhale and continue to move and live and have our being. It starts with breath.

Quitting

She took a long drag off her Salem Lights cigarette and blew smoke rings into the rainy and dreariness of the afternoon. It had been years since my lips curled around the butt of a smoke, but I caught myself breathing in with her and then breathing out with her, trying to remember the heat of fire, the cool of menthol, the pause between breaths to hold on just a little longer before letting it all go.

She looked at me, right at me. Who does that in this day and age? We look at our watches, our smart phones, our laptops, doing everything in our power not to connect with anyone. Only anythings. She looked right at me and caught me looking at her. She inhaled again. I did too. She exhaled. I did too. And then she did the unthinkable: she talked to me.

Do you want one?

Yes, for the love of God, I want the whole pack. Thats what I was thinking anyway. Instead I replied, No thank you, I quit.

Huh. You could have fooled me.

I was a little offended. It had been four years, seven months, and twenty-one days since my last cigarette. I thought I had successfully quit smoking.

You know, the funny thing about the word quit is that its a place holder, a verb thats vamping until its ready. You can only quit for so long before you begin something else.

I looked up from my smartphone and made eye contact with the smoking stranger. Sensing permission had been granted, she continued to speak.

I mean, think about it. We quit school. We quit jobs. We quit going to church. We quit exercising. We quit drinking. The physical act of quitting takes place but our emotional connection, our mental connectionthose things dont quit. I once quit dating someone, but it took me years to move beyond the quitting into the living. She took another long drag causing the cherry to glow orange and red while leaving a trail of smoke dancing on the end of her dazzling white cigarette. I swear one day Im going to not smoke. Im not going to quit, I am just not going to smoke. Quitting leaves room to begin again.

Quitting leaves room to begin again.

I turned the phrase over and over in my mind as I waited for the trolley to come. She had long since snuffed out her cigarette and returned to what I believe was her place of work. I was left to inhale the lingering smoke and think about all the things I had quit. There was a listwhich took me by surprise. I quit practicing the piano. I quit taking time each day to pray or meditate. I quit rinsing out the recyclables before putting them in the container. I quit telling the whole truth sometimes. I quit taking in the beauty around me, seeing the seasons as they unfolded with each passing day. I quit making time for the things that brought me joy. The list went on and on. When I stepped off the trolley twenty minutes later, I felt defeated. I was alive, but I was barely breathing, barely living.

Quitting leaves room to begin again.

I needed to begin something again. Maybe I needed to revisit my list of quits and see if there were any begin agains there.

I slipped the key into the door, turned the handle, and I entered my own little sanctuary, covered and comforted by all my stuff. Suddenly, none of it felt so comforting. I was second guessing all the quits it took for me to get here. What was the price of this life? What had it cost me along the way?

Damn that smoking stranger.

I sat down on the couch and had a reckoning with myself. I had spent so much time quitting this and quitting that, becoming laser-like in my focus and determination that I quit everything else that didnt fit into this one perfect, neat, and lonely life. I was shaking, but I needed to say it out loud, so my ears could hear it in my own voice, I quit quitting and I begin beginning. There was no applause or sweeping orchestra music. The occasion was marked only by a neighbor slamming his door as he left for his evening shift at the hospital. I sat on the couch and let the dust of my proclamation settle, and as the light of the day gave way to the light of the evening, I called my brother. I just needed to hear his voice. It had been so long. In the list of things I had quit, I realized my family was one I quit a while ago. One ring. Two rings. Three rings.