French philosopher Pierre Theilhard de Chardin once penned the idea “We’re not human beings having a spiritual experience, we’re spiritual beings having a human experience.” In other words, our very beings are spiritual.  Even if you may not feel like it, everything we do is in some way spiritual.  It’s just a matter of seeing it that way. To me spirituality is defined simply as connecting with God, yourself and others. 

 Children seem to embody spirituality better than those of us who are older.  They have a sense of wonder and awe at the everyday miracles of life. They take time to notice many things we adults may take for granted: worms and butterflies, clouds or a new flower. They ask questions about their role in the universe and how it all fits together. 

 In recent years, studies show many adults now consider themselves more “spiritual” than “religious.”  Some choose to be part of a religious community to help express themselves spiritually, while others find it in the outdoors, or in meditation, for example.  Regardless of your practice, encouraging a sense of spirituality in your child helps him to connect with something greater than himself resulting in the fostering of hope, faith and even a sense of optimism.

So how do you talk about and encourage your child’s spirituality?  Here are some ideas:

 Encourage a sense of gratitude:

Gratitude is a simple yet open-hearted attitude.  When we are grateful, we show we are able to receive from another others.  We acknowledge that we need people and appreciate their presence in our lives

Everyone likes being around someone who’s grateful versus someone who thinks they are “entitled” to things.  Yet, it’s hard to feel content and not feel entitled when we are bombarded at every turn with things we’re told we “should” have.

Try this:  Make a list with your child of 5 things for which you are grateful each day. (You’ll be amazed at how quickly an attitude of entitlement can change with this exercise.)  Make it a competition.  See who can come up with a longer list.  Or, make a list of “needs” versus “wants”.  What’s the difference in your two lists? Or when you go out shopping, be clear before you go in the store about what you intend to spend/not spend with your child.  Or have your child use money her allowance to buy what she wants.

 Practice Inner Awareness

It is a powerful experience to know what you are feeling at any given time, and yet so many of us go through life without any kind of awareness of what is going on in the moment. 

In our house, we call a lack of inner awareness “not being in your body.”  That catch phrase began one day when my 10 year old daughter was acting out.  There was no point reasoning with her.  She was way past that point.  So I tried something I learned in a seminar.  I told her to sit still and “go inside and see what was going on.”  She looked at me as if I had just spoken to her in another language.  But over the course of the next 30 minutes, I encouraged her to sit quietly and try to figure out what she was feeling and what she need to do about it. I checked in with her three or four times. After what seemed an excruciatingly long time, she finally told me she had been feeling lonely during the day and hadn’t known how to deal with it.  Wow.    

Fast forward a year later when she had a friend over.  Something was clearly going on with her…  I pulled her aside and quietly said, “Go inside and listen.” Later I asked, “What was going on for you this afternoon? You seemed a little out of sorts.”  She thought and then confidently said, “I was feeling a little insecure and I wanted some attention, so I started making jokes and acting crazy.” 

Wow. She really did get it.

Practicing inner awareness can reduce anxiety, increase productivity and self esteem.  It may be as simple as learning to pay attention to your breath. You may be surprised at how relaxing it is!

Foster a Sense of Curiosity

Why do things work the way they do?  How did that huge tree grow from such a small seed?  Why did Johnny say something mean to me? When we encourage our children to be curious, we offer them the chance to take a beat and respond rather than react to life.  Their sense of wonder is fed and their imaginations are given a chance to unfold and create something grand.

When I hear my child say, “I’m bored,” I take it as an invitation to invite her to jump into curiosity, to step back and see what’s going on. Where is she not feeling connected to what is going on in and around her? 

Build on Your Community

We all know “it takes a village” to raise a child.  Who are the important people in your child’s life?  Family, friends, religious communities, neighbors, school officials, coaches, mentors, childcare givers are all intricately involved in the lives of our children and have influence over them.  Their presence makes our lives and our children’s lives richer and fuller.

In our household, the members of our extended family all live several states away. It has been important to me to have some older adults take on the role of “surrogate grandparents” to my daughter.  Fortunately, we were lucky enough to move in across from Dee and Lou several years ago.  They check in on us, give my daughter a little spending money when we go on vacation and remember to bring her a souvenir when they go away.  They are interested in her, and they let her know that she matters to them. What a gift.

Who are the people in your child’s extended community and what do they contribute to his life?  What contributions does your child make in their lives?  How do you let them know what they mean to your family?

Encourage Giving Back

Generosity and spirituality go hand in hand.  When a person is full, they can’t help but overflow and give to others.  And it feels good to give!  Children can give of their time, their money and their creativity.  I have seen children sell lemonade and baked goods for disaster relief.  I have heard children sing their hearts out to comfort seniors in nursing homes.  I have watched children touch and soothe animals who had been abandoned in shelters.

In these days of overscheduled lives, make sure to create time for your child to give back in a way which is meaningful to her.  The result?  You help her be a better person and contributor in society.

Finally, here are some questions to reflect upon together about spirituality:

What do you feel like when everything is quiet?

What kinds of thoughts go through your head when you’re alone?

Is there a special place you like to go to be alone?  Where is it and why do you like it there?

Do you feel connected to your inner thoughts and feelings?  If so, how do you show that connection?

Do you feel connected with other people?  If so, how do you show that connection?

Several years ago, I travelled to northern Vietnam to be part of a week-long bicycling trip.  I had found the opportunity on the internet and was drawn to it because it looked to combine my love of cycling with my love of travel.  I couldn’t wait to experience the culture as well as the physical challenge.

I trained as much as possible beforehand, but given my full-time work schedule and parenting duties, I knew I was not in my best shape. It was billed as an “expert” course since it went through the mountains…but, hey, you only live once! 

We flew into Hanoi and travelled overnight by train arriving close to the Chinese border. Our group of four dropped off our luggage at our hotel and prepared for our first day’s ride.  It was then I realized that this trip was as much off-road biking as on-road.  Uh-oh.  I had cycled many miles on a road bike but only a little on a mountain bike…and only on moderately rough roads.  This was different.  I knew I was in trouble.

We started off in the cool of the day, but by the time an hour or two had passed (along with several VERY steep hills) the temperature had climbed by double digits.  Trying to be as culturally sensitive as possible, I had decided to wear cycling pants, a jersey and a vest.  I was hot as…you know what…

We approached a very step downhill on a very rough dirt and sandy road.  It went through a village of around 5 houses and a small store.  I tried to keep it together, but I was constantly cursing under my breath due to inability to change gears quickly on the up and downgrades.

As I rounded one corner, I spotted a troublesome scene down below. There lay a large dog in the middle of a narrow path surrounded by water on both sides.  Next to the sleepy fellow was a large rock.  (Mental note to self…steer clear of rock and dog ahead.)

Continuing to curse all the way down, I tightened my grip as I tried to maneuver through the obstacle course.  But, as it turned out, luck was NOT on my side that day.  In trying to avoid crashing into the dog, I hit the rock instead and BOOM!  My bike and I went flying in the air, landing in the water bike and all.  The only thing? I quickly came to find out, this was NOT water…this must have been the largest pigsty in the world, and there I was covered in pig &*$%!!

As I lay there laughing hysterically, completely immersed, I realized there were some very important life lessons to be learned in the middle of this unsavory mess:

1. No matter how much you prepare yourself in life, sometimes you may find yourself in the middle of a pigsty.  The thing is…it’s not the end of the world.  In my case, the “stuff” in the sty actually padded my fall!
2. If and when you do find yourself in that kind of situation, having a sense of humor somehow makes the stench of it all seem a bit more bearable. Laughter helps keeps everything in perspective.  When you think about it, what could be more hilarious than to actually be sitting in a proverbial pile of &*$%?
3. Letting others help you in the midst of a smelly situation can help you get back on track.  In my situation, the villagers immediately came to my aid, helping to pull my bike and me out of the sty.  Then they graciously appeared with bucket after bucket of clean water to help wash me!  That leads me to the next lesson…
4. Even some of the smelliest messes can be cleaned up.  Joy…In my case, I did have to ride on with some remnants on me before I could take a shower.  We were still 20 miles away from our hotel, and many of them were uphill.  The heat of the day helped to bake on whatever was left on my skin and cycling clothes.  As I rode out of the village, word of my spill had gotten around and small groups of women waved me on, pointing and giggling all the way.  Bonus…I provided entertainment for the villagers!

 There were many more adventures ahead in that trip—vistas too incredible to describe in words, and welcoming encounters with people in some of the most remote areas of the world.  But the lessons I learned from my brief stay in a Vietnamese pigsty are gifts which I will carry in my heart forever.

I was just out for a morning jog, when I was overcome with a feeling of support and encouragement from my Dad.  The funny thing is, my Dad died almost 20 years ago.

 If you have read any of my past blog articles, you may have surmised that my relationship with my father was a bit complicated when I was growing up.  While we looked like the “white picket fence” idyllic family from the outside, there was A LOT going on inside our suburban New York home.  Dad was a bit of a tormented man inside, and that seeped out onto some of his relationships.

 Over the years I have come to peace with what went on with my father (see the post “Changing Our Stories”) and by the time he died, I was able to speak about him with nothing but love during his memorial service.

 I firmly believe that life does not end after our physical bodies die here on earth.  I’m not sure what happens or what it looks like, but I believe that our spirits become whole…that those things which kept us bound up inside while here on earth, those wounds which keep us from loving and being love all vanish once we die.

 I believe it, and I have imaged my father that way.  I imagine him as a whole, spiritual being.  Amazingly, I have felt his presence with me over these last 20 years in ways I never felt when he was alive.  In these decades since his death I have felt his support of my efforts to be of service to others.  I have felt him apologizing at different moments for all of the mistakes he made long ago…and really meaning it.  I have felt him urging me to continue when I have wanted to collapse and give up.  I have felt him time and time again encouraging me to have integrity in my relationships, especially those with men.  But mostly, I have felt him telling me how much he loves me and is proud of me… things which were extremely difficult for him to say when he was alive.  Strangely, when I have taken those healing thoughts into parts of me which were starved as a little girl, I can feel some of my wounds diminishing.  My heart opens to apologize for the ways in which I kept myself guarded from him out of fear of being hurt. I am made more whole.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a medium for those who have died. I don’t actually see my Dad.  Instead, I’m talking about a strong feeling about him and a sense of his presence with me.  Maybe it’s my own wishes of what he could have said and what he could have been long ago, but I don’t think so.  And I’m only to happy to be in a way “re-parented” by these thoughts.  Interestingly, as I have grown through these years, the intensity of his presence has waned a bit.

 In this season of Resurrection and New Life…I believe Dad is still at work, helping me work through the mistakes and failures I make based on remnants of old wounds, so I may live more fully with those I love right now.

 May it be so…

Many of us grew up with parents who never admitted they were wrong. It just wasn’t done. My parents were young when they had me and still young when I was old enough to challenge what they were saying … and boy did I ever.

Times are different now, and it is more acceptable for parents to admit when they have made a mistake in judgment or action. In doing so, you give your child permission to see you as human. They see that making a mistake is not the end of the world, and relationships can be
repaired if a heartfelt apology is given and actions are changed. So I apologize to Peyton for yelling at her, instead of explaining away my feelings. I give myself timeouts when they are appropriate, to show her I hold myself to the same standards of conduct as I do her. She holds me accountable, too.

One day, my 10 year old daughter and I went into a shop to buy a thank you present for a friend. We picked out a fruit arrangement and I was surprised at how much the clerk said it cost. It was more than I wanted to spend, but we went up to the register anyway. I felt
ashamed that it was too much for my budget and mad that Peyton wanted to get it for our friend. “Cash or credit card?” asked the clerk. “Cash,” I told the woman and proceeded to write a check. I handed it to the woman, who said in an annoyed voice, “Oh, we don’t take checks.” “I wish you had told me that before I wrote out this check,” I replied in my nicest, passive-aggressive voice. “I did … I said ‘cash or credit’ and checks are not cash,” she said, even more annoyed. “In some places they are seen as cash,” I snipped back, as she walked away from the register. I said, “Thank you. I’ll think we’ll go somewhere else” And we left the store. Not one of my finest moments.

As we got into the car, I thought, What just happened there? I asked my daughter the same question, not expecting her to answer. But she said, “She was kind of rude.” I knew there was more to it and I was the one at fault here, regardless of what the store clerk had said. “I didn’t do too well with that interaction. How do you think I could have handled that better?” I asked. Immediately, without looking up from her Nintendo DS, my daughter said, “You
could have said, ‘Oh, I didn’t know you couldn’t write a check.’” Wow. “You’re right,” I said, “That would have handled it. Mom was wrong. Thanks for your suggestion.”

I had a choice. I could have bad-mouthed the clerk afterwards and made her look wrong by giving my “spin” on the situation, or talk about it as quickly as possible and take responsibility, which I did. Even though my pride was hurt by not being able to afford the gift my daughter picked out, the more important thing was I had been able to step outside my inside “stuff” and reflect on what was actually going on. Most important of all was that I was able to admit I was not doing it well, and give Peyton an opportunity to help me problem solve.

Later, we did try to go back so that I could apologize, but the woman had already gone home. I never went back in, but when we passed the store months later, Peyton lovingly reminded me, “Remember when we went in that store and you and the lady got into it? You were going to apologize.” Right again.

Sometimes you come across a book which cuts through all of the bologna and speaks right to your heart. The Spirituality of Imperfection by Ernest Kurtz and Katherine Ketcham is one of those books for me.

“If we can accept the reality of our imperfection, the fact that we are put together funny, that we are, by our very nature, limited and thus do not have absolute control over our lives, we are taking the tentative steps that are all we can take on the pilgrimage that is spirituality. Once we accept the common denominator of our own imperfection, once we begin to put into practice the belief that imperfection is the reality we have most in common with all other people, them the defenses that deceive us begin to fall away, and we can begin to see ourselves, and others are they really are.” (used with permission)

Why is it so hard for most people to accept their frailties to themselves and others? In my case for many years I was too fragile inside to admit it. Blaming others and trying to make myself look good was the only way I was able to make sense of certain situations. When I finally let go of my need to be perfect, that the world would not end if I admitted my responsibility, things became easier. My relationships became easier. I let myself become part of the human race.

Then I realized it doesn’t cost me anything to say I’m sorry to someone. Sure, maybe my pride, but that’s a small price to pay for the healing that can come to a damaged relationship. But if you say you’re sorry, you have to mean it, and you have to stop what you’re doing that caused the pain to the other person. That’s what’s called repentance in both the Hebrew and Christian traditions. It’s an actual “turning” of the behavior.

Yes, Mom IS wrong a lot. And I’m glad. Glad to teach my daughter that, hey, I’m part of the human race!

(This is an edited excerpt from my new book, How Was School Today? Fine available now through our website, www.shannonawhite.com)

It’s been a month. By now everyone has heard the pleas for help and seen the haunting pictures of faces of survivors and the mounds of rubble left in the wake of the devastating earthquake in Haiti s ago. The requests for money, food, and medical supplies have been urgent, and many have answered the call to help. The needs are enormous and people from around the globe will need to continue to answer that call for some time as the poorest nation in the Western Hemisphere looks ahead to its future.

Such needs in the face of massive loss can lead some of us stunned and paralyzed. The miles allow us to be somewhat detached, unable or unwilling to take on such incredible sorrow into our already full lives. But as members of the human family, we must dare to look and to feel and to be engaged on some level.

“In order to build our nation, we must all exceed our own expectations.” Those were the words spoken by Nelson Mandela to Francois Pienaar in the movie Invictus. I scribbled them down quickly as I heard them while watching the film this week. So profound and so relevant.

Invictus is the story of Nelson Mandela and his efforts to heal the chasms remaining in post-apartheid South Africa by appealing to their Rugby team to reach beyond what seemed possible… to win the 1995 World Cup. Their victory led by team captain, Pienaar united together their country to rise above their expectations of themselves.

The word “invictus” means unconquered in Latin. That’s precisely what I see as I listen to the reports of the rescue workers and the survivors in Haiti. While the quake registering 7.0 may have left the people in mourning as they bury their fathers and mothers, their sons and daughters, and left their homes in ruin, what I see is a people of hope and courage, faith and an amazing sense of resiliency. I hear stories of a people who are rising above not only their own, but the world’s expectations to survive and help their fellow country people face a new future.

Now that the fundraisers die down a bit, let us not forget. Let us be inspired to continue to help and learn from those in Haiti.

We all have stories by which we live: A set of beliefs about ourselves and others which shape our views on life. Our stories shape and encode our attitudes, our reactions, our choices in partners or professions, our hopes and dreams. Many of those stories are ancient to us with every move and thought carefully interwoven throughout our own histories. Were we abused or cared for as children? Were we encouraged to play freely, or held back in fear by our caretakers? Did we consistently hear words of rage or words of encouragement? Did we feel smart, handsome or pretty and popular or bullied and lonely? Those stories are powerful, but they can change.

A friend of a clergy colleague told her this story about a male nurse.

The nurse had left steady work in a hospital to become a refugee worker. He had lived and worked in some of the most dangerous areas of the world setting up refugee camps. During his most recent stint, he and other relief workers were kidnapped by the rebels in that area. The week before that, another group of relief workers had been kidnapped and killed. He told my colleague’s friend he was more afraid and desperate than he had ever been in his life, riding in the back of the truck with men who held guns. He said he didn’t know where it came from, but he said to one of his co-workers, ‘We’ve got to change the story.’ He turned to one of the men with the guns and said, ‘We want to thank you for keeping us safe.’ The man with the gun was completely taken aback, but the male nurse continued, ‘It’s so dangerous and chaotic here. If you hadn’t come along, who knows what might have happened to us.’ The other co-workers joined in, thanking the men. That evening when they reached camp, the leader of the rebels said to them as he closed the door of their cell, ‘We’re putting you in here for the night to keep you safe. An armed guard will be watching over you all night.’ A day or two later, the nurse and his co-workers were all released unharmed.

We’ve got to change our stories. Stories of: always being a victim in relationships, of needing to be right all the time, of proving ourselves to others so they will love us. So many of us are living out the same scripts from which we have lived our entire lives. Many of them work, but many of them don’t. What’s worse, some of those scripts are hand-me-downs from previous generations.

I was stuck in a script for well over a decade which was keeping me stuck. In my early 30’s my father was dying of cancer. He was 57 years old and the cancer was back, for the second time. The horrific reality of the disease was plain enough that my therapist at the time encouraged me to go and complete my “unfinished business.”

I was terrified. From the time I was very little, I had always been afraid of my father, who was larger than life, but who had a temper. One specific incident when I was 13 years old had left it’s mark on me so deeply, that I had been stuck in that moment ever since then, not even realizing it.

The thought of going to say my “good-byes” was beyond what I thought I could do. I was still living the emotional life of that 13-year-old in a 30-year-old body…in the rebellious, “I need space” stage of an early teen.

I knew my therapist was right, however, and I traveled a distance to the state where he lived. I walked into his living room where he sat. He spoke no words, because he had a laryngectomy.

I sat down next to him, looked him in the eye and said, “Dad, I have always been afraid of you. But I’m here to tell you that I’m OK, I’m fine. What’s important now is that there is love, and peace, and forgiveness.”

He looked at me right in the eye. I had had never spoken truth to him like this before that moment. He blew a kiss to me and closed his eyes.

I walked out of the room and out of his house and in a moment’s time, I felt myself mature from that day at 13 to my present age. As I drove through the four states back to my home, I dry heaved most of the way. It felt like slabs of concrete were breaking up and all of the fear and anger of those early years were slowly released.

My Dad died two weeks later. But I was able to attend and even speak at his funeral. My story had changed. No longer was I the fearful girl who was afraid to stand up to authority figures. I had grown up to be a woman who could speak her truth with love.

Thank you, Dad.

Scandal is not new to our world. In the past year, there have been many: David Letterman, Governor Mark Sanford, and Senator John Ensign, are only a few who have hit national headlines. The reputations of those once held in high esteem by others suddenly come crashing to the ground (in Letterman’s situation, that may not be the case) when their private deeds are exposed…not usually by their choice. Why are we surprised?

We want heroes. We want people we can emulate and look up to: people who have integrity and who are willing and able to hold themselves to a higher standard of living. We put political, religious and community leaders on pedestals and expect them to somehow be more than human. When those leaders start believing what others are saying about them and keeping themselves on those pedestals, watch out… Someone is about to come tumbling down. And then we’re in shock and become devastated at the horror of it all.

Poet and novelist Alice Walker says, “Nobody is as powerful as we make them out to be.” And yet don’t we all project on to others our expectations, hopes and dreams about who we think they are and who we think they should be? But people are just people. Even the greatest leaders are mere human beings.

Many have said David Letterman seems more “human” since the news of his affairs with female assistants surfaced on his show. But Letterman, himself, admitted that he had “deeply” hurt his wife, and in order to repair the damage done, he told the country on national television, “I’ve got my work cut out for me.”

Is it right to hold those who have positions of great responsibility and influence to a higher standard? Should they hold themselves to a higher standard? Perhaps we should ask a different question. What is required of someone who would lead or be a role model for others? That question shifts the focus and responsibility to an internal standard, rather than an arbitrary external one.

If someone is willing to keep facing his own demons, his own faults and failures and work toward healing them…while celebrating all of his joys and successes, he is on a courageous journey. If that person is willing to be accountable to others who will be honest with him, he is wise. If that person is able to admit his mistakes to others, not if, but when he makes them, while working at restoring the relationships which may have been damaged, then, in my mind, he may be worthy of leading others.

Do you know someone who is a hero or a horror? The question is, does your hero have what it takes to be able to honestly look inside, with a “right-sized” perspective or are you following a horror in the making?

Godspeed, David Letterman, (and all others) on your journey of self discovery.