Do you doodle?

I have always been a doodler. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I can really draw - but give me a pen or a pencil and something is likely to find its way to the edge of the page or paper in front of me.

In many ways I think it helps me to think. To concentrate on what is being read or said aloud. And there have been times, when I have been in really uncomfortable settings, where my doodles helped keep me calm. Served as a sort of balm.

This morning I was feeling weary and wanting to sleep longer. We had received news yesterday that the family medical emergency we thought was on the mend was worse than expected. I had slept restlessly as I worried about it.

But morning came anyway, and despite my tired body, it was time for morning Lauds. So I pulled my Breviary and my dog close to my side and stayed in bed to pray.

There is probably a doodle on every page of my breviary. Sometimes they are reflective of words on the page. Other times they are my own mind wanderings. I have a number of pages where I was practicing different ways to draw flowers that had nothing to do with the words on the page - but now that the flowers have moved in - they seem to bring the words to life in new ways.

Another favorite doodle is a triptych I drew for the feast day of Saint Brigid during the height of the pandemic. Next to the triptych, in little script, is the date - to remind me of the day and the prayers we lifted up for our world during so much loss.

On another page I have a a garden that has been growing over the years. I recently starting adding little bugs to the garden wall and wonder what else might move in there one day.

This morning I turned the page and saw a particular doodle that had a bitter sweetness to it (see blog picture for reference).

I had been slowly filling this doodle in over time. I imagined a larger piece I would make out of this model using the acorn tops I had collected at the hermitage we stayed in last fall. I had walked the grounds each day, searching for little discarded acorn tops that the squirrels had left behind. I came home with a bag full, diligently sealed each one, adding a shiny polish. I had planned for the piece to hang over our bed in the desert.

When the invitation came to move full time on the road I put this piece of work aside. The beautiful acorn tops now sit in our storage unit in Texas and I am not sure when I will return to them. Or if they will ever find their way to a new design. All that is left of this big idea is a doodle on the page of my breviary.

It is hard work to put aside things that are meaningful. To put aside ideas that have been blossoming over time - even if the timing coincides with a decision you know is right.

The Rule of Saint Benedict reminds us that, “always we begin again”. It references the many times we stumble and need to find our way back to God. I have been thinking of this a lot lately - though in new ways.

We are starting life over again and it does not look anything like the life we left behind. We are beginning again.

And beginning again often requires the letting go of things to make space for the new to emerge. But that is not always the case.

Sometimes we let go of things to make space for nothing to take root. To create a spaciousness that does not want to be filled again.

This feels very pertinent to me right now.

I have a sense that we are making room in our lives. Not to be filled up again, not for something new to take root. But so the Spirit can be free to roam at will in our lives.