It’s been over three weeks since August’s Cohort #3 has come and gone. Despite it being as rich and full as the first two, I became a bit depressed since coming home – a visit from “my old friend the blues” as Steve Earle sang.  Like most of us, I’m no stranger to the blues but this visit hung on like the burrs my cat got covered in the other day. It was difficult to begin a new blogpost as the inner critic (aka my 1 wing) started getting all judgy (“Shouldn’t you be just a *bit* more transformed by now?” and the ever helpful “Ya call yourself a contemplative?!”), but since the old writer’s adage says, “Write what you know”, I may as well start with this admission.

In my previous life as a grade 3/4 teacher, the biggest highlight of the year was always the field trips, when we got to leave the confines of the class. Excitement began to build in the weeks leading up to whatever pilgrimage lay in store. I’d collect permission slips and money and teach topics from a new perspective. These were inner city kids and it was easy to dream big as hope for a better life was kindled in us all. Finally the Big Day would arrive — Freedom! We’d walk past other classes slouched sadly over their desks and proudly climb aboard the magic school bus. 

Over the years I began to notice how unfailingly, spirits began to sag after lunch and the trip back to school was usually quieter. Kids got more irritable with each other. All that buildup and now it was over already. Had our hopes been too high? 

It occurred to me that maybe my September blues after the third cohort were like the after-lunch feeling. The analogy fit in several ways.

Being accepted into the cohort back in November 2022 initiated that same field trip feeling. During a difficult year, it gave me something transcendent to look forward to — a possibility that my chunk of coal could transform into a diamond. Sleepless nights? More than one bewildering conflict with me spinning in disorientation? The mantra that kept me going in the dark times was, “I’m going to Dallas.” I’ll admit it had a tinge of “Get the hell out of Dodge” (thank you Gunsmoke). But still, my pilgrimage has not disappointed. The cohort’s teaching has provided a trustworthy path through the troubles. Thanks to Joe Stabile, Hunter Mobley and newfound friends, I have a developing toolkit of spiritual practices. My tight clutch on expectations is releasing to God’s gentle nudge. I’m sleeping better and best of all, healing has begun in ways I couldn’t have planned. A year ago at this time, I could not have said that. 

So why the long face?

The Welcoming Prayer reminded me that whatever comes to us in each moment is for our healing, and I began to relax. Maybe it was OK to be feeling down. My students unfailingly felt it so why shouldn’t I? Maybe it was also the sadness of the coming end of the cohort in November. I realized that the after-lunch feeling created an illusion. Good-byes in Dallas won’t mean good-bye to transformation (or even to future pressures on all my many remaining lumps of coal). My 6-word Centering Prayer intention “to be totally open to God” doesn’t have a clause at the end which says “during dramatic times only”.

My spiritual director wisely gave me some verses to meditate on during this time. As I’ve committed them to memory, God has breathed new oxygen into a gloominess I thought was permanent. 

Don’t run from tests and hardships, brothers and sisters. As difficult as they are, you will ultimately find joy in them; if you embrace them, your faith will blossom under pressure and teach you true patience as you endure. And true patience, brought on by endurance, will equip you to complete the long journey and cross the finish line — mature, complete and wanting nothing.” James 1:2-4 (Voice translation)

Maybe it’s time for a new mantra. I’ll need a new one for the next sleepless night after November anyway. Maybe “I’m going to Dallas” can change to “Open that toolkit”. God has been faithful in past dark moments, so why not future ones? I’m learning that each moment, high and low and everything in between, is one that God the eternal improv partner can work with. Scientist and theologian Ilia Delia wrote, “Heaven unfolds when we see things for what they are, not what we think they should be, and when we love others for who they are, and not what we expect them to be.”

As for that inner critic who expressed shock at my sagging spirits, I’ll take Ilia’s advice and love her for who she is, imperfect, becoming, unshakably beloved.