A Lullaby for Anxious Souls: Finding Peace in Fearful Times.
This Week's (mid) weekly Blessing: A Bedtime Story Inspired by My Child
Welcome, dear new reader. This is Cloister Notes, an independent letter for dancing monks and weary pilgrims and all kindred souls longing for a deeper way. I am Almut, a German American writer and recovering academic, and mama of a 5 year old, trying to live a contemplative life with my family in a noisy world. Many new readers have found us this week via my viral post on substack notes picturing the courageous act of Rep. Al Green. So welcome here at this cloistered space, where we retreat inward to look for solitude and communion to find wisdom and courage within. Today’s (mid)weekly blessing invites you into a lullaby for your anxious heart.
Mummy, I do not want to die,
our five year old cried out to me. Oh my dear, I do not want you to die either, I whispered.
Looking into the fearful face of my daughter broke my heart.
When did death entered her consciousness?, I wondered quietly. She has heard from her grandfathers dying, and from animals dying, and from Jesus dying.
As always, it is the Bible stories which bring us both, life and death, sickness and healing.
And so, confronted with the fearful gaze of my daughter it was time for a conversation about life.
And while I was searching for words I felt the knot in my throat tightening. It is me, my dear, I wanted to say, who is afraid of your dying. From the moment you grew in me, every second of your life, the fear of losing you has been growing in me also.
Like every new mother, I bent down close to you whenever you took a nap, to listen if you were still breathing. Every cough, every illness, my heart aches, aware of your mortality. We all will die one day, my dear, and we all hope and pray, it will be when we are ready.
And late last night, I came back from my quiet pondering to speak to her, “Mary Mother will be there on the other side waiting for you.”
“And all other spirits I know?” she asked.
“Yes, all the other family members and friends who are already there,” I said.
A child’s questions often force us to reflect on our theology more deeply. How do we explain life and death to a child? If religion had not come up with Mother Mary, heaven and earth, death and resurrection, every mother would have invented the story anew to console her frightened child.
How do we take their fear seriously and also lightly? How do we take our fear seriously and also lightly?
One reader commented on my last post about dancing in the wilderness, that she had been fasting from fear, and that now, she added, she would try to dance with her fear also.
I thought this was a wonderful insight for this Lenten season. To fast from our fears by taking them on a dance. Too often we try to avoid fear, to suppress it, to push it away. “Oh no dear,” we would say, “you are not going to die,” a fragile consolation.
Don’t get me wrong, shushing our fear is better than avoiding it. And sometimes it is the only way to calm our anxious hearts.
Still, the terror of death is a reality and the more we avoid it the more it terrorizes us.
Much of what we see in our political landscape might be explained by the fear of dying, dear friends, fed by our fears of loosing our life and livelihood, loosing what we hold dear and what we are used to. And instead of sitting with that fear, we project it onto others against whom we can rage. We avoid our personal fears by transmuting them into exterior projections on our partners, family, or the world’s news cycle.
Here is another way: Dancing with our fear gives us a container – to hold it, but to also hold it lightly.
So when I brought my daughter to bed I offered to tell her a story. She loves stories, and gratefully, she took me up on the offer, leaning her head onto my chest in calm anticipation as only children can, full of trust I would come up with a story in no time.
And so I was searching for that story for that anxious child in my own heart as I would for a lullaby.
So here is the story I told her, my heart’s story, words strung together to shush my anxious little child into sleep. I offer it to you today as our (mid)weekly blessing and lullaby:
Once upon a time …
…there was a lovely garden as wide as the sea. The air smelled like Spring and was full of singing birds. Everything felt just so smooth like gliding through water or flying through the air. Have you ever seen the end of the sky?
Little one shook her head ever so slightly while closing her eyes.
The birds came together to sing their evening song while the sun set behind the horizon. And as we go into the night, the sun is rising at the other end of the world, bringing another day of light to the people.
The sun does not end, my dear, it just sets and rises, every day again, my dear.
And the garden where the sky does not end and the sun does not end feels just like home to you. Like when you fall asleep in the car on the way home and daddy picks you up and carries you into your bed. You snuggle into the soft pillows, happy to be back home. It feels so good, so soft, so homey, so full of love and happiness. Like the love of your mommy and daddy which will not end either.
Little one had already entered the mystical land in between waking and sleeping. And so I continued hoping to speak into her dreams some consolation.
Your mommy and daddy will end one day, but their love for you will not. Just like the sky which has no end, just like the sun, which rises every day again, love will never end.
She breathes a sigh.
This is why we call God love. Because God is like the air we breathe, of which there is no ending, which fills our lungs with life as long as we breathe. And even our bodies will end one day, we will leave them behind just like a butterfly leaves behind her husk and flys into a new day.
And though our bodies will end, life itself does not.
Therefore, we call God life. God is the life which animates our body, the life which fills your heart with warmth, warm like your mother’s lullaby, and cuddly like your daddy’s hug, and yummy like your favorite raspberry ice cream.
Like the air which surrounds us, and the sky which holds us, and the love which sustains us, God’s love for you is never ending. She tastes sweet like the milk from your mother’s breast, and smells like home, like napping in your father’s arms.
And so even as the sun sets every night, the light is always born again in the morning. Perhaps our life sets one day too, but it will surely be born again on the next morning as a ray of light.
I saw a slight smile on my daughter’s face as sweet sleep carried her into the in-between place, where our soul rests and prepares for the new day. The thin place, where transcendence meets us and our fears in our dreams.
Let’s take our fear on a dance,
let’s sing her a lullaby.
Let us reinvent our theology,
so our little one can sleep
without fear.
And may Divine love taste sweet to you like a mother’s lullaby and safe like a father’s bear hug, and never ending like the sky filled with light and birdsong.
Take your fear on a dance, my friend, and you will discover delight.
With great love, Almut
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Some questions to ponder
Which fear do you want to fast from or take on a dance this Lenten season?
What in you feels in need of a lullaby?
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In case you missed it
The latest “Letter to America” with reading recommendations:
Our latest (mid) weekly blessings:
Our first Lenten reflection:
About Cloister Notes
A letter for dancing monks and weary pilgrims in the intersection of psychology, philosophy and spirituality. Contemplations on being human to deepen your path, nourish your heart and build wisdom within.
About Almut
Almut Furchert, Dr. phil., Dipl. Psych. is a German American psychologist turned philosopher turned writer, traveler, photographer, retreat leader and mother of a kindergartener. She has taught and published on authors like Kierkegaard, Buber, Frankl, Yalom, Edith Stein, and Hildegard of Bingen. Almut is also a Benedictine Oblate and lives with her family in a little college town in MN.
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I really like the idea of giving up fear for Lent; too many things to feel anxious about if not actual fear.
May all your family sleep well!
Thank you so much for sharing this beautiful story Almut. I am sure it is what the Spirit is whispering to the world. To everyone who has already lost and who is going to lose. To everyone. And she does it like a Mother who understands…