Last week, before the retreat, while trying to find books to take along with me, I came across Henri Nouwen's "Show Me the Way." That is a book with excerpts from his other books, designed to walk us through Lent. I bought the book back in 1986, while I was walking through my divorce...a desert too many people have walked. SInce then, I never 'find' this book before Lent. It is always somewhere in the middle. This time, I found it the morning I was heading to the Arboretum with my church. God always has a plan for me. He knows what I need and when I need it. That was the day I needed to be reminded of my past Lents. And they were there, all over the margins.
Hebrews 10:35-36 My pastor Keith Cupples left me a phone message at work the day after we had a rather intense conversation. He didn't say anything other than this: "Do not lose your fearlessness now, for you will need endurance to receive that which God has promised." In the next day or two, I found the book and began another new journey.
I was just beginning to think about being a "Christian" again. The lifestyle was not deliberately part of my life back then. I spent a lot of my time hating the so-called Christians who had taken over the Republican party. I believed that forced Christianity is not Christianity at all. Psalm 51 I think...you cannot force someone to believe in God. It just won't stay. Free will is essential to faith. "Choose this day who you will serve."
I suppose I was so broken up over my life falling to pieces, it would have been impossible for me to stop God from spilling into all the holes in me...but the truth is that something really ugly could have poured itself in me, too...which should remind all of us to pay attention to our brothers and sisters. When they hurt, they will be seeking solace...and we'd better be ready to offer them the food that lasts. They will fill the holes, as brothers and sisters in Christ, we need to give them good food.
So my path back to God is found in the pages of that book. It was during Lent that I finally placed a cross around my neck again. That was a big step. Claiming God even in the midst of the fundamentalist furor of the day. I wanted God anyway. I needed God anyway...politics aside, I can't let that get in the way of my own healing. I remember the night. I remember the day. I remember the blessing I received. I remember kneeling at the altar on the kneeler used for weddings. Damn, even then, He had me...the only real love of my life took me at the altar...met me more than halfway...put a cross around my neck and now a ring on my finger.
Never His slave. Only His daughter.
I've just been slow on the uptake. Still, He waits. Waits for me to wake up.
He waits for you, too.
Love,
Cindy
Friday, March 26, 2010
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Oh, look, there's Orion!
I wish I was able to write more about the truth of last weekend. There's a fine line here about what can be said and not said, as there is a fine line in the confessional, I think. I suspect that have those lines well defined for them. I however, do not own that book.
We experienced every kind of weather God has to offer over the 72 hour retreat. Give the place was occupied with 43 estrogen-filled bodies, that should not be surprising. I think that there is a lot of the feminine in God...as there is a lot of the masculine, but being female, I identify with the woman in God.
For weeks I have been praying about love and what is really means. How to love well, how to love as Paul writes in Corinthians 13. And that kind of love is the most perfect kind of love, because it never dies. It moves around, it expands, it walks on holy ground, it doesn't hold on, but it always stays. It is reliable. It is trustworthy. It stands firm.
I say that because I am on a continual journey of learning how to love. I had things happen long ago that gave me very different rules. I am unlearning them. That is good, but also sometimes very hard. God seems to take me one step at a time, reaching into my heart and telling me, "Today there will be something new. Be open to it. Pay attention. Be ready and accept."
Last night I had an interesting prayer time. Something new happened. Resting in God's love, He spoke to me through me, that is, He used my mouth and sang poetry to me. I know it sounds odd, but I can't think of another way to write it. But it was a kind of love letter. It felt different. It felt new.
It may have happened because my heart expanded on the retreat. I hit the ground running, literally with a new friend, who asked me to pray behind her as she walked through every room, bathroom, meeting room, walkway, gazebo with blessed salt and holy water. I read prayers from the Liturgy of Hours as I tried to keep up, it was amazing I didn't trip! Some rooms made me feel different, though, and I prayed from my heart. She splashed holy water as people got in our path. Some liked it, others thought we were just curious creatures. I even surprised myself with how much I was glad that we were praying over all the spaces we would use for the weekend.
Then I learned more about the women I was 'teaming up' with. They did their jobs, they dragged others into their work as they were needed. I don't think a single person was idle for more that a few minutes. Ever. If I ever tried to sit down, someone was there, with a job for me to do.
And we had a tabernacle with us. What joy it was in my heart to open the door to my cabin and see the chapel only a few yards away and knowing that He was there...and He was here...and it was all so good!
I stood in the doorway of my cabin-mates room and watched them laugh. I saw them as a family, working together, playing in the midst of a great mission: to bring their version of God love to as many women as possible. They played and talked about past retreats and families and concerns and successes and things that just didn't matter much, except that in all the sharing there was great love exchanged.
And I watched. I was hungry for it. I wanted to join in, but I didn't know how.
I was exhausted by the end of the day, but when the retreatants arrived, I found myself blessed with new energy. I was invigorated by the hope that love would come to them in new and wonderous ways over the weekend. Here were women, willing to risk, give away 72 hours to God in a new a different way. And the apprehension showed on their faces, just as it showed on mine last year, 13 years ago too.
It is always a risk to love. It wounds, but it heals, too.
The weekend progressed. God decided to mess with me when I was handed a revised schedule that say I would speak late Friday night. I was told by the spiritual director that I would be told at some point if I would speak that night. Discussion ensued in the cabin. Not a good idea. Not fair. I am a morning person. I am worthless after 6 p.m. The spiritual director told me that wasn't true, I gave my talk at night once before and did fine...sigh. So the day took on different meaning for me.
God wants me to stop being in charge. I do not like this lesson.
So in the middle of something intense and dark, and I have already decided "it's not going to happen" a still small voice whispers in my ear: "Go get dressed. You are talking." Argh! My prayer partner and I go off into the woods back to the cabin. The weather is so very beautiful...and the stars sing to me. I start to panic. I was told later by a cabin mate who reminded me that I was 'losing it' at one point. She told me I said "What could I possibly say to these women that would matter at all?" (Did I really go there? It's not about me, it's all about Him. I guess of forgot that in my tired state)
I am dressed and walking down the dirt path when the still small voice returns. She looks at me and says, the activity is not over. You will speak in the morning. Go change cloths. No one should see you in those clothes. Argh! I bend to His will. And I just know He is messing with me!
The next morning I do my talk. A hour later than planned...after several misfires. I start slow. I know it is too long. What to do Lord? You take it. You make it into what they need. I'm letting go.
As I read, I heard gasps and weeping and laughter and sighs. Is it working Lord? Oh I hope so. I still cry at the part about my mother. Inside I think, when will you let it go, Cindy? They laugh, they cry. But do they get it? I glance at the lead table. I can feel we are behind schedule. I speed up. I begin to read like I am reading in a debate. There is applause. I don't really care for that. My music comes on: Celine Dion. All the people who have held me up come to mind. I am a blessed woman.
I find out much later that "it worked." Or rather, God worked it out. Women took risks and put there thoughts out there. I was pleased that God used me in such a way, even if it was weeks of very hard "examen." I was better for it, and it seemed to produce fruit. A perfect, happy ending.
As the leaders of the retreat walked me back to my room, one said "oh look, it's snowing." And it came to back to me, about the nun and the little boy: "Look Sister, it's snowing." It was a sign. An affirmation. Go the distance. Do what you promised. It will work,He tells me. I promise it will work.
But my personal retreat was not over. The energetic woman I followed behind while blessings cabins and such and I had a few conversations about my discernment for what I needed to do next. So at the end of the retreat, we shared what gift we received from the retreat. I was near the end of the group. As my time got closer, I realized my gift.
I had been given the gift of women. Great women. Strong women. Loving women. I remember each of their faces. All beautiful. All just like me, doing the best they can...and doing their best to get along, even as exhaustion tried to take us over. They were God's gift to me: for me to love, and for them to love me.
So she, the one with whom I shared my thoughts, comes to me after that part of the retreat and says, "Did you understand what you said? Your gift? You have what you have been praying for, Cindy. You have sisters now. Sisters. These are the ones you've been looking for. These are the ones you need."
And I realized that was true. I went from standing in the doorway watching, to dancing with them. To laughing and crying with them. To hugs and kisses...and truths and fantasies...and hopes and dreams. I have sisters.
I went on the retreat to help others. And I did. Only I didn't go away empty handed. We have to give our love away. That is the only way it can grow.
Love,
Cindy
We experienced every kind of weather God has to offer over the 72 hour retreat. Give the place was occupied with 43 estrogen-filled bodies, that should not be surprising. I think that there is a lot of the feminine in God...as there is a lot of the masculine, but being female, I identify with the woman in God.
For weeks I have been praying about love and what is really means. How to love well, how to love as Paul writes in Corinthians 13. And that kind of love is the most perfect kind of love, because it never dies. It moves around, it expands, it walks on holy ground, it doesn't hold on, but it always stays. It is reliable. It is trustworthy. It stands firm.
I say that because I am on a continual journey of learning how to love. I had things happen long ago that gave me very different rules. I am unlearning them. That is good, but also sometimes very hard. God seems to take me one step at a time, reaching into my heart and telling me, "Today there will be something new. Be open to it. Pay attention. Be ready and accept."
Last night I had an interesting prayer time. Something new happened. Resting in God's love, He spoke to me through me, that is, He used my mouth and sang poetry to me. I know it sounds odd, but I can't think of another way to write it. But it was a kind of love letter. It felt different. It felt new.
It may have happened because my heart expanded on the retreat. I hit the ground running, literally with a new friend, who asked me to pray behind her as she walked through every room, bathroom, meeting room, walkway, gazebo with blessed salt and holy water. I read prayers from the Liturgy of Hours as I tried to keep up, it was amazing I didn't trip! Some rooms made me feel different, though, and I prayed from my heart. She splashed holy water as people got in our path. Some liked it, others thought we were just curious creatures. I even surprised myself with how much I was glad that we were praying over all the spaces we would use for the weekend.
Then I learned more about the women I was 'teaming up' with. They did their jobs, they dragged others into their work as they were needed. I don't think a single person was idle for more that a few minutes. Ever. If I ever tried to sit down, someone was there, with a job for me to do.
And we had a tabernacle with us. What joy it was in my heart to open the door to my cabin and see the chapel only a few yards away and knowing that He was there...and He was here...and it was all so good!
I stood in the doorway of my cabin-mates room and watched them laugh. I saw them as a family, working together, playing in the midst of a great mission: to bring their version of God love to as many women as possible. They played and talked about past retreats and families and concerns and successes and things that just didn't matter much, except that in all the sharing there was great love exchanged.
And I watched. I was hungry for it. I wanted to join in, but I didn't know how.
I was exhausted by the end of the day, but when the retreatants arrived, I found myself blessed with new energy. I was invigorated by the hope that love would come to them in new and wonderous ways over the weekend. Here were women, willing to risk, give away 72 hours to God in a new a different way. And the apprehension showed on their faces, just as it showed on mine last year, 13 years ago too.
It is always a risk to love. It wounds, but it heals, too.
The weekend progressed. God decided to mess with me when I was handed a revised schedule that say I would speak late Friday night. I was told by the spiritual director that I would be told at some point if I would speak that night. Discussion ensued in the cabin. Not a good idea. Not fair. I am a morning person. I am worthless after 6 p.m. The spiritual director told me that wasn't true, I gave my talk at night once before and did fine...sigh. So the day took on different meaning for me.
God wants me to stop being in charge. I do not like this lesson.
So in the middle of something intense and dark, and I have already decided "it's not going to happen" a still small voice whispers in my ear: "Go get dressed. You are talking." Argh! My prayer partner and I go off into the woods back to the cabin. The weather is so very beautiful...and the stars sing to me. I start to panic. I was told later by a cabin mate who reminded me that I was 'losing it' at one point. She told me I said "What could I possibly say to these women that would matter at all?" (Did I really go there? It's not about me, it's all about Him. I guess of forgot that in my tired state)
I am dressed and walking down the dirt path when the still small voice returns. She looks at me and says, the activity is not over. You will speak in the morning. Go change cloths. No one should see you in those clothes. Argh! I bend to His will. And I just know He is messing with me!
The next morning I do my talk. A hour later than planned...after several misfires. I start slow. I know it is too long. What to do Lord? You take it. You make it into what they need. I'm letting go.
As I read, I heard gasps and weeping and laughter and sighs. Is it working Lord? Oh I hope so. I still cry at the part about my mother. Inside I think, when will you let it go, Cindy? They laugh, they cry. But do they get it? I glance at the lead table. I can feel we are behind schedule. I speed up. I begin to read like I am reading in a debate. There is applause. I don't really care for that. My music comes on: Celine Dion. All the people who have held me up come to mind. I am a blessed woman.
I find out much later that "it worked." Or rather, God worked it out. Women took risks and put there thoughts out there. I was pleased that God used me in such a way, even if it was weeks of very hard "examen." I was better for it, and it seemed to produce fruit. A perfect, happy ending.
As the leaders of the retreat walked me back to my room, one said "oh look, it's snowing." And it came to back to me, about the nun and the little boy: "Look Sister, it's snowing." It was a sign. An affirmation. Go the distance. Do what you promised. It will work,He tells me. I promise it will work.
But my personal retreat was not over. The energetic woman I followed behind while blessings cabins and such and I had a few conversations about my discernment for what I needed to do next. So at the end of the retreat, we shared what gift we received from the retreat. I was near the end of the group. As my time got closer, I realized my gift.
I had been given the gift of women. Great women. Strong women. Loving women. I remember each of their faces. All beautiful. All just like me, doing the best they can...and doing their best to get along, even as exhaustion tried to take us over. They were God's gift to me: for me to love, and for them to love me.
So she, the one with whom I shared my thoughts, comes to me after that part of the retreat and says, "Did you understand what you said? Your gift? You have what you have been praying for, Cindy. You have sisters now. Sisters. These are the ones you've been looking for. These are the ones you need."
And I realized that was true. I went from standing in the doorway watching, to dancing with them. To laughing and crying with them. To hugs and kisses...and truths and fantasies...and hopes and dreams. I have sisters.
I went on the retreat to help others. And I did. Only I didn't go away empty handed. We have to give our love away. That is the only way it can grow.
Love,
Cindy
Friday, March 12, 2010
Silence
I am remembering a book I read (in part) by Peter Frankl (not to be confused with Viktor Frankl), a classical pianist. The first chapter spoke about the importance of silence in music. In particular, he spoke about the rests in Chopin's first Ballade. One long sustained note, then a few quick notes, then silence. A few more notes. Silence again. It is extremely important for the pianist to take care with the moments of silence. They are essential to a proper understanding of the ballade.
I bring these ideas up right now because some of us actually pray with more vigor during Lent. We pay attention to God more. We try to grow in love for Him. And by attempting this wonderful 'activity,' we are dragged out into the desert.
Why? I think because we want results. Patience is not my gift. Moments are aridity are not well received, though I think I am better with them than I was ten years ago. Let me be perfectly clear here, aridity is not the same thing as hell. Hell is the complete absence of any feeling of God's presence. Aridity is a hunger for God and a belief that God is holding back or withdrawing or simply just not giving anything. Aridity is thinking my prayers don't matter, or are a waste of time, or even a belief in what the devil whispers in my ears "not good enough." But God is still there.
Silence is part of prayer, part of our music, part of our dance with God. Silence makes the notes we hear clearer and more appreciated. A song without silence is just noise. Sometimes we hear only one notes and other times we hear the Hallelujah Chorus. We should truly be grateful for both.
Now that I think about it, as I studied music so long ago, the Gregorian Chants...the beginnings of polyphony, the point and counterpoint, inventions and fugues and sonatas, preludes and symphonies are all forms of prayer. Even John Cage's music, which hurts my head to even think about, his 'prayers' are possibly great protestations against modernity by smashing it in our face...
Clearly I have gone off into the deep end of the pool.
My point is the silence. We need to embrace it, even celebrate it. My house is just too quiet right now. No TV, no real noise in it and it unsettles me. I think about things I don't want to think about. I want the distractions.
And that may be my real point. Back to Polish priest, who annoys me. He said, if I allow myself to focus too much on one thing, then that is time I am not spending with or thinking about God. That comment, was perhaps the most important thing he said to me. And so I have to really ask myself, is what I am doing right this moment for God? If I am not doing for God, I have to ask myself why I am doing it then?
And then I have to let it go. IF it is not of God, I don't need it. And I shouldn't want it.
That doesn't imply an absence of fun or silliness. What it seems to mean to me is that I have to frame all that I do in light of what I believe God wants me to do. And play is a part of our human experience. Ecclesiastes 4 says it well.
The silence brought me that today.
God is even speaking to us through His silence.
Love,
Cindy
I bring these ideas up right now because some of us actually pray with more vigor during Lent. We pay attention to God more. We try to grow in love for Him. And by attempting this wonderful 'activity,' we are dragged out into the desert.
Why? I think because we want results. Patience is not my gift. Moments are aridity are not well received, though I think I am better with them than I was ten years ago. Let me be perfectly clear here, aridity is not the same thing as hell. Hell is the complete absence of any feeling of God's presence. Aridity is a hunger for God and a belief that God is holding back or withdrawing or simply just not giving anything. Aridity is thinking my prayers don't matter, or are a waste of time, or even a belief in what the devil whispers in my ears "not good enough." But God is still there.
Silence is part of prayer, part of our music, part of our dance with God. Silence makes the notes we hear clearer and more appreciated. A song without silence is just noise. Sometimes we hear only one notes and other times we hear the Hallelujah Chorus. We should truly be grateful for both.
Now that I think about it, as I studied music so long ago, the Gregorian Chants...the beginnings of polyphony, the point and counterpoint, inventions and fugues and sonatas, preludes and symphonies are all forms of prayer. Even John Cage's music, which hurts my head to even think about, his 'prayers' are possibly great protestations against modernity by smashing it in our face...
Clearly I have gone off into the deep end of the pool.
My point is the silence. We need to embrace it, even celebrate it. My house is just too quiet right now. No TV, no real noise in it and it unsettles me. I think about things I don't want to think about. I want the distractions.
And that may be my real point. Back to Polish priest, who annoys me. He said, if I allow myself to focus too much on one thing, then that is time I am not spending with or thinking about God. That comment, was perhaps the most important thing he said to me. And so I have to really ask myself, is what I am doing right this moment for God? If I am not doing for God, I have to ask myself why I am doing it then?
And then I have to let it go. IF it is not of God, I don't need it. And I shouldn't want it.
That doesn't imply an absence of fun or silliness. What it seems to mean to me is that I have to frame all that I do in light of what I believe God wants me to do. And play is a part of our human experience. Ecclesiastes 4 says it well.
The silence brought me that today.
God is even speaking to us through His silence.
Love,
Cindy
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Some things are worth repeating
I don't write for a long time and now I have been writing non-stop for a few days. Not just here, but everywhere. But that is me, whenever I do something, I do it passionately, deeply, completely. I know that in unnerving to some people. I don't know how to be anything else but who I am...poet, philosopher, lover, dreamer, idealist, loyal, devoted, promised, wife, mother, daughter, sister, teacher, student, contemplative.
I stood in the parking lot with Jack. I stared back at my church. "I truly love this place" I told him. "I hear a 'but' in there" he says and I get a little teary. "Yes...but everything I love has always been taken away. It's always been that way in my life. I find something truly good and then it goes away." I think I said more, but I don't remember. He smiled at me and he said something like "well, that's going to change." I don't really remember, I was surprised at my own honesty but I know what he said felt good. Jack has that gift. (And I love to hear him read the gospel. I have a cassette with the "Q sayings" that I have almost worn out and the voice on it is similar to Jack's voice. I pretty much have the "Qumran gospel?" memorized...it's a shortened version of the sayings of Jesus. Really nice stuff.)
I am so deeply in love with God. How can I possibly explain that to anyone? I think it has a lot to do with always losing things and people. I lost my favorite Bible last year. Twelve years of notes were gone forever, thank you notes from friends, personal laments, anniversaries of revelations...all in the hands of someone else. And I was surprised that I didn't really get upset over it. Just frustrated. I've lost my special earrings that I bought is Estes Park in 2005...and a long time ago, I lost an emerald ring that I had pulled out to give to my daughter for her 18th birthday (she's 32 now). And I have lost so many people over the years. Some to death and some just move out of my life. But finally, at 53, I know fully well that if it comes into my life, it will eventually leave my life. That's how life works. That's what makes life so beautiful.
There was this cat that showed up at our Section 8 apt door when we were living in Tucson back between '79-'83. This beautiful scrawny Siamese kitten. Oh, hell, we don't need a cat, I complained. We can barely afford food for ourselves. Just one more thing to take care of. But Mommy! I heard...and we fed and cared for the cat for about a week. She sat on my lap and purred her way into my heart. So when the notice we put up about the kitten was answered, I handed her over and wept for days. Over a cat I didn't want.
That was the best acting job Jack Nicholson ever did: in "As Good As It Gets" when he, grumpy old man that he is, has to return "Verdell?" to his owner...he hits his head on his apt door and says "over a dog." And I know exactly what he is feeling.
We think we can hide from love, from interacting with people, we think we are keeping ourselves safe from hurt because someone along the path of growing up, we lost something important and that loss was so great that the memory of its pain can rule everything we do. We guard our hearts from further injury without ever realizing that we are letting life pass us by...by staying in our cave...or up on our mountain.
Love is always a risk. And at some point, there will always be a letting go. Even in the most perfect marriage, one spouse will die first, leaving the other feeling suddenly incomplete and with a hole in his/her heart. It's all a part of love. To love means all the other feelings that are necessarily a part of that love.
In Shadowlands, Joy tell Jack (C.S. Lewis) "The pain then is part of the happiness now...that's the deal." It makes is all so real...and so wonderful.
That's what I saw in my vision of Jesus dying on the cross all those years ago. I think that's what I came away with, that Jesus knew it worked. He knew He had won. All the love He had for us, it was all part of the pain He knew he had to endure...and that was OK. That's what He told his disciples: The day is coming when you will all scatter and leave me alone. But I tell you now, I will not be alone. My Father is always with me. I am not alone.
And I suppose that what has carried me through my life. Knowing that God's love sustains me. Knowing that God's love is enough. Knowing that even when I lose things or people, I never really lose anything at all.
I don't know how long I will have this amazing church in my life, but I need to think less about the truth that I will have to let it go and move on someday. But the pain that comes with that possibility allows me to love it more even more deeply, right now, while it is in my hands. To cherish every smile and every tear of every person I encounter there and place it in my heart and say to God "Thank you! for loving me through this church and these people."
Jack's probably right, whatever he told me. Perhaps I'll be here a long time. But I will never ever take any of God's gifts to me for granted.
It is good to be here.
"We must love because He first loved us" I John 4:19
Love,
Cindy
I stood in the parking lot with Jack. I stared back at my church. "I truly love this place" I told him. "I hear a 'but' in there" he says and I get a little teary. "Yes...but everything I love has always been taken away. It's always been that way in my life. I find something truly good and then it goes away." I think I said more, but I don't remember. He smiled at me and he said something like "well, that's going to change." I don't really remember, I was surprised at my own honesty but I know what he said felt good. Jack has that gift. (And I love to hear him read the gospel. I have a cassette with the "Q sayings" that I have almost worn out and the voice on it is similar to Jack's voice. I pretty much have the "Qumran gospel?" memorized...it's a shortened version of the sayings of Jesus. Really nice stuff.)
I am so deeply in love with God. How can I possibly explain that to anyone? I think it has a lot to do with always losing things and people. I lost my favorite Bible last year. Twelve years of notes were gone forever, thank you notes from friends, personal laments, anniversaries of revelations...all in the hands of someone else. And I was surprised that I didn't really get upset over it. Just frustrated. I've lost my special earrings that I bought is Estes Park in 2005...and a long time ago, I lost an emerald ring that I had pulled out to give to my daughter for her 18th birthday (she's 32 now). And I have lost so many people over the years. Some to death and some just move out of my life. But finally, at 53, I know fully well that if it comes into my life, it will eventually leave my life. That's how life works. That's what makes life so beautiful.
There was this cat that showed up at our Section 8 apt door when we were living in Tucson back between '79-'83. This beautiful scrawny Siamese kitten. Oh, hell, we don't need a cat, I complained. We can barely afford food for ourselves. Just one more thing to take care of. But Mommy! I heard...and we fed and cared for the cat for about a week. She sat on my lap and purred her way into my heart. So when the notice we put up about the kitten was answered, I handed her over and wept for days. Over a cat I didn't want.
That was the best acting job Jack Nicholson ever did: in "As Good As It Gets" when he, grumpy old man that he is, has to return "Verdell?" to his owner...he hits his head on his apt door and says "over a dog." And I know exactly what he is feeling.
We think we can hide from love, from interacting with people, we think we are keeping ourselves safe from hurt because someone along the path of growing up, we lost something important and that loss was so great that the memory of its pain can rule everything we do. We guard our hearts from further injury without ever realizing that we are letting life pass us by...by staying in our cave...or up on our mountain.
Love is always a risk. And at some point, there will always be a letting go. Even in the most perfect marriage, one spouse will die first, leaving the other feeling suddenly incomplete and with a hole in his/her heart. It's all a part of love. To love means all the other feelings that are necessarily a part of that love.
In Shadowlands, Joy tell Jack (C.S. Lewis) "The pain then is part of the happiness now...that's the deal." It makes is all so real...and so wonderful.
That's what I saw in my vision of Jesus dying on the cross all those years ago. I think that's what I came away with, that Jesus knew it worked. He knew He had won. All the love He had for us, it was all part of the pain He knew he had to endure...and that was OK. That's what He told his disciples: The day is coming when you will all scatter and leave me alone. But I tell you now, I will not be alone. My Father is always with me. I am not alone.
And I suppose that what has carried me through my life. Knowing that God's love sustains me. Knowing that God's love is enough. Knowing that even when I lose things or people, I never really lose anything at all.
I don't know how long I will have this amazing church in my life, but I need to think less about the truth that I will have to let it go and move on someday. But the pain that comes with that possibility allows me to love it more even more deeply, right now, while it is in my hands. To cherish every smile and every tear of every person I encounter there and place it in my heart and say to God "Thank you! for loving me through this church and these people."
Jack's probably right, whatever he told me. Perhaps I'll be here a long time. But I will never ever take any of God's gifts to me for granted.
It is good to be here.
"We must love because He first loved us" I John 4:19
Love,
Cindy
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Waiting for the Water
The challenges never stop. Nothing stays stagnant and God gives me just enough time for rest and then pushes me along again. Trying to explain this will be a bit hard.
Went on a retreat with the Families of Nazareth last Wednesday. That was after Sunday, when I received the prayer chalice and Fr Jason blessed my very messy house for me. The Polish priest on the retreat, Fr. Piotr, talked on the Prodigal Son and brought yet one more new idea to the mix. I have studied the Prodigal story for many years and lived it even longer. Have I turned myself completely back over to God? I'd like to think so, but I still have attachments that I am not yet ready to let go of. But I know that I grow closer to it every day.
Fr. Piotr (Polish priest-the irony of me getting connected to a Polish priest is just one more example of God's humor--in my mind). (My very domineering, bossy father was also Polish and I was led to believe I was Polish for the first 30 years of my life. He always knew the right way to do things and insisted that I follow his instruction, and there was always severe consequences for not doing as I was told.) This priest suggested an "activity" for me that I don't entirely agree with. I can argue quite reasonably that I don't need to listen to a man (a priest) who will not look me in the eye, but I figure if God put it there, then I need to consider it, even and perhaps especially, when I disagree.
He cut me hard, he cut me deep. And I didn't know if I could survive it. But in the prayers afterward, I learned once again about God's hesed (unconditional love) and about how much better a woman I have become over the last year. His challenge is opening up for me a new perspective and a different kind of trust. I am spending a long time with what I call 'discernment of spirits' before I decide what I will do, but I think, ultimately, if it hurts then it most likely heals, too.
So I have somewhat made peace with it. Certain power has returned to me mostly by my willingness to give it all over to God. If I am to follow through on my commitment to my sweet and loving Lord, then I have to be willing to hand it all over to Him. It is the only way for me to become truly free to serve.
I promised God all of me. That means "ALL of me." And frankly, I love dearly the woman I am growing into. She amazes me.
Sunday I sat with a woman who was dying. In the course of two hours, I got to know her family fairly well. It was a holy time and I felt deeply blessed by God to be part of it. Perhaps I have already written this. I don't know. I knew how it was blessing me. I did know know if I was what the family needed me to be.
I know that I was a bit sad that I could not offer myself what the daughter most wanted for her mother: Last Rites. We waited for the priest together, though, and in that time, grace filled the room and things happened that needed to happen. Stories were told, prayers were prayed, hands were held...in that two hours of waiting, grace began its healing process and my presence made sense. So maybe God really did think it all out when He formed us in the ways He did. I was the midwife, teaching the daughter, who actually was a midwife as her profession, how to be the midwife for her mother. Every second was sacred.
When I was 18, and flying back on a plane from Indianapolis after competing and winning a 6th place in NFL Nationals (Speech tournament), I thought to myself: "Life is just perfect, finally! I can die now. I have done all I can and I have done my best."
This year, since January 1st, I think that same thought almost everyday. "I can die now. I have done my best. There is no unfinished business. My soul is as prepared as it can be." The bliss of that day, 35 years ago, is happening every single day now...and all of the hurts, and regrets and broken promise and pain seem to make sense in ways I never thought possible. The broken parts of me have been knitted back together into a person I have learned to love, just as she is (just as I am) and I think maybe, I've been a blessing to others along the way.
There is no love unless we give it away.
At the lady's funeral, I met the rest of her children. It was like we were old friends. And kindred spirits. One said to me, I'm a mystic and I don't know what to do. I told her about the prayer of humility and how it helped me let go. And then I gave it to her. And there was so much more. So much yet to come...and maybe some miracles, too. But it's too early to talk about them here.
None of this would have happened if I had not had to return to the church early because I was late to deliver Communion to someone who had a therapist at her house. That was because this mother had died, and I wanted to share prayers and grieve with the woman who were her friends and had lived with her for the last five years. That made me late to the next appointment, in which I had yet another discussion about the benefits of reconciliation and then I was late to the third, which I had to reschedule for today. And because of all the lateness, I met these children of the mother, and I knew about their lives because I sat with some of them. And then the ones from out of town, three women, we connected like electricity moving through a wire and we all knew each other even before we knew each other and it was such a God moment. Once again, I had the chance to offer my form of healing and reconciliation from the pain I had lived through in my own life. The right words for the right time. Not from me. God was there, I was just a messenger.
I've already received an email from one of the three. As they left, one hugged and kissed me. You have given me hope again, she said. Ah, but the reality for me was that she had given me hope again.
God never works in just a straight line.
And I didn't even get to writing about the 28 year old man who cried for an hour. I'll spare you the words now, and let them be for another post. But it is really, really good. God barely gives me time to write these days. But God has given me the chance to do this work for Him.
The Lord has blessed me, the Prodigal Daughter.
I don't know which one of us is holding on tighter to the other.
Love,
Cindy
Went on a retreat with the Families of Nazareth last Wednesday. That was after Sunday, when I received the prayer chalice and Fr Jason blessed my very messy house for me. The Polish priest on the retreat, Fr. Piotr, talked on the Prodigal Son and brought yet one more new idea to the mix. I have studied the Prodigal story for many years and lived it even longer. Have I turned myself completely back over to God? I'd like to think so, but I still have attachments that I am not yet ready to let go of. But I know that I grow closer to it every day.
Fr. Piotr (Polish priest-the irony of me getting connected to a Polish priest is just one more example of God's humor--in my mind). (My very domineering, bossy father was also Polish and I was led to believe I was Polish for the first 30 years of my life. He always knew the right way to do things and insisted that I follow his instruction, and there was always severe consequences for not doing as I was told.) This priest suggested an "activity" for me that I don't entirely agree with. I can argue quite reasonably that I don't need to listen to a man (a priest) who will not look me in the eye, but I figure if God put it there, then I need to consider it, even and perhaps especially, when I disagree.
He cut me hard, he cut me deep. And I didn't know if I could survive it. But in the prayers afterward, I learned once again about God's hesed (unconditional love) and about how much better a woman I have become over the last year. His challenge is opening up for me a new perspective and a different kind of trust. I am spending a long time with what I call 'discernment of spirits' before I decide what I will do, but I think, ultimately, if it hurts then it most likely heals, too.
So I have somewhat made peace with it. Certain power has returned to me mostly by my willingness to give it all over to God. If I am to follow through on my commitment to my sweet and loving Lord, then I have to be willing to hand it all over to Him. It is the only way for me to become truly free to serve.
I promised God all of me. That means "ALL of me." And frankly, I love dearly the woman I am growing into. She amazes me.
Sunday I sat with a woman who was dying. In the course of two hours, I got to know her family fairly well. It was a holy time and I felt deeply blessed by God to be part of it. Perhaps I have already written this. I don't know. I knew how it was blessing me. I did know know if I was what the family needed me to be.
I know that I was a bit sad that I could not offer myself what the daughter most wanted for her mother: Last Rites. We waited for the priest together, though, and in that time, grace filled the room and things happened that needed to happen. Stories were told, prayers were prayed, hands were held...in that two hours of waiting, grace began its healing process and my presence made sense. So maybe God really did think it all out when He formed us in the ways He did. I was the midwife, teaching the daughter, who actually was a midwife as her profession, how to be the midwife for her mother. Every second was sacred.
When I was 18, and flying back on a plane from Indianapolis after competing and winning a 6th place in NFL Nationals (Speech tournament), I thought to myself: "Life is just perfect, finally! I can die now. I have done all I can and I have done my best."
This year, since January 1st, I think that same thought almost everyday. "I can die now. I have done my best. There is no unfinished business. My soul is as prepared as it can be." The bliss of that day, 35 years ago, is happening every single day now...and all of the hurts, and regrets and broken promise and pain seem to make sense in ways I never thought possible. The broken parts of me have been knitted back together into a person I have learned to love, just as she is (just as I am) and I think maybe, I've been a blessing to others along the way.
There is no love unless we give it away.
At the lady's funeral, I met the rest of her children. It was like we were old friends. And kindred spirits. One said to me, I'm a mystic and I don't know what to do. I told her about the prayer of humility and how it helped me let go. And then I gave it to her. And there was so much more. So much yet to come...and maybe some miracles, too. But it's too early to talk about them here.
None of this would have happened if I had not had to return to the church early because I was late to deliver Communion to someone who had a therapist at her house. That was because this mother had died, and I wanted to share prayers and grieve with the woman who were her friends and had lived with her for the last five years. That made me late to the next appointment, in which I had yet another discussion about the benefits of reconciliation and then I was late to the third, which I had to reschedule for today. And because of all the lateness, I met these children of the mother, and I knew about their lives because I sat with some of them. And then the ones from out of town, three women, we connected like electricity moving through a wire and we all knew each other even before we knew each other and it was such a God moment. Once again, I had the chance to offer my form of healing and reconciliation from the pain I had lived through in my own life. The right words for the right time. Not from me. God was there, I was just a messenger.
I've already received an email from one of the three. As they left, one hugged and kissed me. You have given me hope again, she said. Ah, but the reality for me was that she had given me hope again.
God never works in just a straight line.
And I didn't even get to writing about the 28 year old man who cried for an hour. I'll spare you the words now, and let them be for another post. But it is really, really good. God barely gives me time to write these days. But God has given me the chance to do this work for Him.
The Lord has blessed me, the Prodigal Daughter.
I don't know which one of us is holding on tighter to the other.
Love,
Cindy
Monday, March 8, 2010
Keeps on going
Third week of Lent. No TV for some time now. Still missing it. It's been quite an interesting seven days. Much of it I cannot write about yet. The woman whose hand I held died this week. I helped with her funeral and that was a gentle blessing. The gift I got, though, has the possibility of great things. I met an ex-Benedictine nun, a Methodist and several other women whose lives just entered into my heart deeply and quickly. I can't write about it now, except to say that God is paying attention to what I am offering Him, and I think, just maybe, I am pleasing Him somehow...maybe not by what I am doing particularly, but by how I continually surrender my heart to Him. It's a cross between living and dying. Each day, I die a bit more to my self and yet, when I do my examen, I see so much that I have yet to let go. But it doesn't make me sad, as it might have done in the past. It is more like it is almost exciting to discover what I need to do next.
I am learning what it really means to love. I had no idea that the human heart could love as I am learning it. I never dreamed I could do what I am allowed to do now. Each person I encountered this morning pretty much took me down, I think I mean that the walls between us were just gone and I found people being so real with me. Does that make any sense? They tell me the truth because they know they can. And I get to tell the truth back to them.
And this morning just seemed to set me up for this afternoon. I found myself brought into some new and 'perfect' worlds of strangers I had met only for moments. I could see the beginnings and middle and endings of things. I saw reconciliation and great grief and the love was so thick, it was like butter...but not as you might think of love traditionally. I wish I could explain it. The daughter placed her hand on her father...and if I explained more I might be violating a trust, but I saw healing...not completed, but beginning. And I felt so blessed to be awake enough to see it. And yet, I may have found so much more. Time will tell.
I have never felt so much joy as just being with people as they muddle their ways through their lives. It's all so beautiful, even when it hurts.
I cannot get out of my mind the young man I sat with last Saturday, not even 30, with a load so heavy on his shoulders, I wished I could have given him some kind of absolution. I did the best to listen. He cried for about an hour. I pray that I was only a empty shell and God did the work that needed doing. I felt like I was in sacred space. Like I did today. Like I did yesterday.
The trouble with sacred space is that, when you find it, you don't want to leave it. You want to build a tent and stay forever. But what you don't realize is that God has even more sacred places for you to enter. In fact, there are so many, one lifetime could not hold them all. So we'll get them later, in heaven, too.
I am just rambling I know. But I need to get the ideas down while they are still fresh.
The Bible Study tonight was icing on the cake.
And He breathed on them
Receive the Holy Spirit
Those sins on earth you forgive are forgiven in heaven
Those sins on earth you retain they are retained.
I told my class tonight: This is why He came. This is why he matters. This is because He loved us first. To show us how to love each other. Forgiving and being forgiven. Now that truly is heaven.
Love, Cindy
I am learning what it really means to love. I had no idea that the human heart could love as I am learning it. I never dreamed I could do what I am allowed to do now. Each person I encountered this morning pretty much took me down, I think I mean that the walls between us were just gone and I found people being so real with me. Does that make any sense? They tell me the truth because they know they can. And I get to tell the truth back to them.
And this morning just seemed to set me up for this afternoon. I found myself brought into some new and 'perfect' worlds of strangers I had met only for moments. I could see the beginnings and middle and endings of things. I saw reconciliation and great grief and the love was so thick, it was like butter...but not as you might think of love traditionally. I wish I could explain it. The daughter placed her hand on her father...and if I explained more I might be violating a trust, but I saw healing...not completed, but beginning. And I felt so blessed to be awake enough to see it. And yet, I may have found so much more. Time will tell.
I have never felt so much joy as just being with people as they muddle their ways through their lives. It's all so beautiful, even when it hurts.
I cannot get out of my mind the young man I sat with last Saturday, not even 30, with a load so heavy on his shoulders, I wished I could have given him some kind of absolution. I did the best to listen. He cried for about an hour. I pray that I was only a empty shell and God did the work that needed doing. I felt like I was in sacred space. Like I did today. Like I did yesterday.
The trouble with sacred space is that, when you find it, you don't want to leave it. You want to build a tent and stay forever. But what you don't realize is that God has even more sacred places for you to enter. In fact, there are so many, one lifetime could not hold them all. So we'll get them later, in heaven, too.
I am just rambling I know. But I need to get the ideas down while they are still fresh.
The Bible Study tonight was icing on the cake.
And He breathed on them
Receive the Holy Spirit
Those sins on earth you forgive are forgiven in heaven
Those sins on earth you retain they are retained.
I told my class tonight: This is why He came. This is why he matters. This is because He loved us first. To show us how to love each other. Forgiving and being forgiven. Now that truly is heaven.
Love, Cindy
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Broken Glass
I haven't written here in nearly a month. For me, that means I have been involved in some kind of active ministry. It also means that I have been involved in other writing assignments. Things are well enough. The second full moon of the year arrived Sunday. It's been 60 days since I "changed" my life and not a minute of it has been dull. I suppose I thought some part of me would grow calmer by now, but new challenges arrive daily. Some of them, I meet with joy. Other ones, I would prefer to run and hide from. But I can report that I count it all as good.
Writing out a kind of Augustine confession earlier this year was mildly traumatic. But it has been done and processed. The good part is that I pretty much feel certain chains have been removed from my soul. I know I have been of greater service to others as these chains were unbound. The only problem with that is that it exposes other chains. Sigh.
I choose the word "chains" because last Friday night, while trying to enter a Catholic Church I had never been to before, I hit and broke a chain to a parking lot that I was not supposed to enter. I did not see the chain across the drive. I only heard it...as it scraped across my car, cracked my windshield and finally broke from the stress and the chain laid helplessly on the church driveway.
I was surprised that I did not get angry about it. I just sighed. Didn't see it. It happened. Could be worse.
I've decided to not get my windshield fixed until some time during Holy Week. The windshield is cracked and scraped. Long lines run across the glass. I look at them and think about the scourging of Jesus as I tried to watch the movie, "The Passion of Christ." I still can't get myself through it.
I look at my windshield and I think about Jesus. No, I can't fix the windshield yet. "By His stripes we are healed."
I need to remember that as I walk into my own truth. The Examen and the Spiritual Exercises of Ignatius are difficult and dangerous. To really see ourselves as we are is humiliating. To know ourselves is hard, to face our truth seems impossible, but by His stripes, we can look, we can know ourselves and then live in the reality that He has redeemed us. And receiving that whole gift eventually brings on a bliss of heavenly proportion. Jesus loves me. Jesus loves EVEN me. Jesus loves me ANYWAY. Wow.
Back to the chain: Then there's the idea that I couldn't see the chain. I turned and it was there. Trying to keep me out of the church. Or maybe trying to keep me from going in the front door. Or maybe not really wanting me there at all. Or telling me I was doing things wrong. I made a wrong turn and was wounded. That happens often enough in my life. Only I wasn't wounded, it was my car. I didn't feel a thing.
Maybe Jesus feels it. When I make a wrong turn, I'm not just hurting me, I am hurting him, too. All over again. I've got to look more carefully at the road. I have to keep paying attention. Even when it is dark and I am tired and in a place I don't know. Especially when it is dark and I am tired and I am in a place that I do not know.
Yet, even in the unknown, dark places, He shields me. He takes the brunt of the attack. He guards. Even when I make a wrong turn.
*************
For two hours on Sunday, I "held" the hand of a dying woman, mother of eight, who carried the load for the family. I was allowed to stay as the priest administered "Last Rites." I have never witnessed Last Rites. I had long conversations with daughter, son-in-law, and son. These are sacred moments, the thin lines between living and dying. They are tender moments, these births and deaths. Sacred moments. All moments are sacred moments, but these live in exclamation.
Such exclamations have happened quite often in the last 60 days. Or I am noticing them more. I feel as if I am living a truly holy life. Not that I am a holy person or anything like that, but I have become deeply aware of the holiness of being alive. The sacred permeates everything I see, everything I do, everything I touch. Nothing feels the same as it did a year ago. And I pray to God that He continually pulls me forward into Him. I don't ever want to go back to who I was, but I celebrate who I was because it has given to me a Divine Now.
I can't even begin to describe the levels of humility I have started to enter. Seems quite odd to be writing about them at all. Seems to be a contraction to the action of humility. But there have been what feels like a thousand little deaths in the last 60 days. Of course, there were little deaths of which I am aware that began at least a year ago, but these deaths...are like the peeling off of very tender, very old skins. Ones I once needed to survive but now are obsolete. Little truths that are actually quite big truths...that turn out, when exposed to the light, are really lies.
Have I confused you enough today? Well, I'm not ready to say more...but you could pray for an editor for me. My grammar seems to have fallen considerably. But I need to publish this as is right now.
Seek Him and you will find Him. He's waiting. And He has NEVER stopped loving you!
Love,
Cindy
Writing out a kind of Augustine confession earlier this year was mildly traumatic. But it has been done and processed. The good part is that I pretty much feel certain chains have been removed from my soul. I know I have been of greater service to others as these chains were unbound. The only problem with that is that it exposes other chains. Sigh.
I choose the word "chains" because last Friday night, while trying to enter a Catholic Church I had never been to before, I hit and broke a chain to a parking lot that I was not supposed to enter. I did not see the chain across the drive. I only heard it...as it scraped across my car, cracked my windshield and finally broke from the stress and the chain laid helplessly on the church driveway.
I was surprised that I did not get angry about it. I just sighed. Didn't see it. It happened. Could be worse.
I've decided to not get my windshield fixed until some time during Holy Week. The windshield is cracked and scraped. Long lines run across the glass. I look at them and think about the scourging of Jesus as I tried to watch the movie, "The Passion of Christ." I still can't get myself through it.
I look at my windshield and I think about Jesus. No, I can't fix the windshield yet. "By His stripes we are healed."
I need to remember that as I walk into my own truth. The Examen and the Spiritual Exercises of Ignatius are difficult and dangerous. To really see ourselves as we are is humiliating. To know ourselves is hard, to face our truth seems impossible, but by His stripes, we can look, we can know ourselves and then live in the reality that He has redeemed us. And receiving that whole gift eventually brings on a bliss of heavenly proportion. Jesus loves me. Jesus loves EVEN me. Jesus loves me ANYWAY. Wow.
Back to the chain: Then there's the idea that I couldn't see the chain. I turned and it was there. Trying to keep me out of the church. Or maybe trying to keep me from going in the front door. Or maybe not really wanting me there at all. Or telling me I was doing things wrong. I made a wrong turn and was wounded. That happens often enough in my life. Only I wasn't wounded, it was my car. I didn't feel a thing.
Maybe Jesus feels it. When I make a wrong turn, I'm not just hurting me, I am hurting him, too. All over again. I've got to look more carefully at the road. I have to keep paying attention. Even when it is dark and I am tired and in a place I don't know. Especially when it is dark and I am tired and I am in a place that I do not know.
Yet, even in the unknown, dark places, He shields me. He takes the brunt of the attack. He guards. Even when I make a wrong turn.
*************
For two hours on Sunday, I "held" the hand of a dying woman, mother of eight, who carried the load for the family. I was allowed to stay as the priest administered "Last Rites." I have never witnessed Last Rites. I had long conversations with daughter, son-in-law, and son. These are sacred moments, the thin lines between living and dying. They are tender moments, these births and deaths. Sacred moments. All moments are sacred moments, but these live in exclamation.
Such exclamations have happened quite often in the last 60 days. Or I am noticing them more. I feel as if I am living a truly holy life. Not that I am a holy person or anything like that, but I have become deeply aware of the holiness of being alive. The sacred permeates everything I see, everything I do, everything I touch. Nothing feels the same as it did a year ago. And I pray to God that He continually pulls me forward into Him. I don't ever want to go back to who I was, but I celebrate who I was because it has given to me a Divine Now.
I can't even begin to describe the levels of humility I have started to enter. Seems quite odd to be writing about them at all. Seems to be a contraction to the action of humility. But there have been what feels like a thousand little deaths in the last 60 days. Of course, there were little deaths of which I am aware that began at least a year ago, but these deaths...are like the peeling off of very tender, very old skins. Ones I once needed to survive but now are obsolete. Little truths that are actually quite big truths...that turn out, when exposed to the light, are really lies.
Have I confused you enough today? Well, I'm not ready to say more...but you could pray for an editor for me. My grammar seems to have fallen considerably. But I need to publish this as is right now.
Seek Him and you will find Him. He's waiting. And He has NEVER stopped loving you!
Love,
Cindy
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