I had a roommate in college, ar Briarwood Apts at Texas A&M. We had a two bedroom, two bath apartment. I picked that apt. because there was a bar in the center of the complex and then I would not have to worry about drinking and driving. (Oddly, I only went in it twice. it did have a disco and pong, though)...But I had a roommate who was not neat. In my frustration, I put a comic strip on the wall in the kitchen. (passive aggressive) It was of one roomie telling the other one: "I cleaned the kitchen today. I didn't study for my exams and will probably flunk out of college, but I just wanted you to know the kitchen is clean." I think she may have actually put her dishes in the dishwasher that day, so I considered my tactics a success.
Later, when I married my "super-genius' ex-husband, I walked into his closet where I found a pile of dirty laundry almost as tall as I was. I turned to him, "I thought you only owned three shirts and two pairs of pants." He said, when he needed clothes, he just picked a few off the top of the pile and washed them. I'm sure I did over 20 loads of laundry that first week we were married.
But way before then, I grew up in a very clean house. My mother even cloroxed the sidewalks and was very proud of their whiteness. Things had to be perfect. Just like a magazine. My mother had her long list of chores for me on Saturdays when she was at work in the dress shop. Not that the house was ever dirty, but my father did not approve of me playing with my friends on Saturday. I was supposed to work. When I finished my chores, he inspected everything. If I passed, he would be in a bad mood because he could not stop me from going to play. If I didn't pass, pain usually followed in some form.
I tend to think about those things every time I look at the Missionaries of Charity's sign in their kitchen:"Cleanliness is next to Godliness." I recall how I used to be neat. Right? I was neat once. I think. Well, maybe a few times a year anyway. Life would be so much easier if I was neat.
Instead, I am generally a person who looks at the whole picture. I look through the mess to see what is really there, just as I look through the very ordered, pine-smelling home and ask, "what is this person trying to tell me? What might he/she need right now?"
What we physically see is not always an indicator of what is inside the heart. Sight is only one of five defined physical senses. It shows us only one spectrum of light...only one color in the prism...but so much more is always happening.
I think about this cleanliness thing and feel bad that my house did not look nicer for my son and his family this Christmas. I did not honor them in the way I would have liked, but I just felt too weak to do better. I have been running uphill since September and I am surprised I am still going. And not making a dime. That makes me laugh, you know. How miraculous everything is in my life. How contradictory my life is...and how good it is.
I simply had enough of what the world was telling me. I looked beyond the beautiful, neat ordered houses...and I looked beyond the ones who live in poverty...and I began to see the souls...more deeply than I ever imagined possible...and I realized that running after a dollar bill is just crap. Let me be clear, I can say that because I am living inside a miracle now. Not a lot of people can do this.
Most people, I think, want to have faith. But to have faith, you have got to let go of what you think you can trust. Like people or money or institutions. Physical things are wonderful, but they do not last. But the soul and the spirit and the love...they last. If what you are giving and receiving is truly real. Oh, how I wish I could explain it to you!
For fifteen years, I have prayed to God "Show me my sin. Show me what I have to let go of so that I can get closer to you." And bit by bit, He peels away the things that separate me from Him. Bit by bit. Never all at once, never too much. Exactly enough. He cleans me up. He makes me pretty. And I get closer to Him.
And that's what I think people see in me when I am with them. I think it is what they want to have. That is what I might call "the nun look." When I reach that point of bliss, knowing always there will be trials and suffering, and dreams deferred...but here and now is completely perfect. And here and now are all that matters.In this human shell, it is all I have. Now. And if I am lucky enough, blessed enough, to have Him enter me...ah, well...may now last forever! (And I was very cool to have Minh there with me when it happened last Sunday. A witness. I am not really crazy).
The clean sidewalks or kitchen or clothes are all good things, but very far from perfect things or holy things. Clean makes it easier to grow closer to Him, but I think I could pray in a gas station bathroom if I had to...if I wanted to...and He would be there. The cleanliness we should seek is for our heart.
Psalm 51:10-11 I think:
"Create in me a clean heart O God, and renew within me a steadfast spirit." Read the whole psalm. It's very good. It was the first one I found when it hurt too much to breathe. And it helped me breathe.
Last night, I cleaned my house.Okay, I cleaned parts of my house. Suddenly had a burst of energy. Usually that would mean I was about to deliver a baby. Ah, but I do have something I must do soon! I wonder if I will do it? The next few days will tell...I have so much more work to do. At some point, I would like to have my outer coverings...like my house...to reflect what is happening in my heart.
Like the woman, who pulled me down to her and said, "I thought maybe you were a nun. You have that look." I smiled as a new bride or maybe a very old wife. Yes, I am sure of His love. I want you to be sure of it, too. What I have, no man can take away. No suffering in this world can make a dent in its power. It heals me daily. And it satisfies me.
When I whine and complain and despair, I am not living in that love, I am living in the world. And it is nearly impossible not to fall back into the world and its traps. But each day, I get better at closing my eyes and just savoring the love He has given me. The forgiveness, the mercy and of course, the commissioning..."show them, Cindy, what it can be, what it will be, if you choose it."
So, celebrate this day. Take long enough to look into the eyes of the people you meet today and see what is there. I have a busy, busy week. And chores to do also.
I wish you the best, to shudder when you realize where God is hiding in you...and loving you there when you didn't know it...
Love, Cindy
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Sunday, December 26, 2010
One year and a day
One thing I have learned this year was probably known by the great thinkers two or even three thousand years ago, and it is something I am reminded of when I listen to my CDs of "Imitation of Christ." Feelings are fleeting, they are unreliable, they have a mind of their own. They definitely have an agenda all their own, too. They are most likely the primary source of our ability to sin. In fact, I think, without feelings, we would not be able to sin. The other side of that truth, is that, without feelings, we would not be able to love either.
Why would God wire us like that? Why is love so complicated and sin so easy?
I'm drawing close to an important anniversary. Just about a year ago, I promised to give and do everything for God. What kind of a promise is that, you might think. I mean, everything comes from God anyway, what kind of promise is it to give back what you have been given? How is that a gift? I really don't know. What I do know, though, is that I like myself a lot more now than I did before I made the promise. I love better now that I did before the promise. I give more now than I ever thought I could give. And while I have had my share of darkness in the last year...even the darkness has light, because now my life has meaning and purpose that is defined by that which can never be taken away from me :God. God never leaves. But I can always walk away. I am free, completely free, within my chains.
I have the pleasure of loving everyone I meet with deep and sincere love now. I can go into places of my heart and places of other people's hearts without fear, without expectation, without serious injury. It's creepy and wonderful. I don't know that it is for everybody, but I kind of wish it was...because it really is, I think, a taste of heaven. I want you to have it, but then I don't want you to have to go through what I had to go through to get it...I wish there was an easier way, but it really is all about surrender and a deep "humbling thyself in the sight of the Lord."
That mediation came to me last spring. I was still holding on too tightly to something, something I did not want to lose. Something that I had found that I needed more than I needed anything else in the world. It was the most perfect gift. It allowed me to step out into places I never thought I could go and in those places, I found great joy, I found myself and I found the whole world. But this gift, once it has been opened, has to be given away...once you get it...you pass it on. Keeping it will kill it and killing a glimpse of heaven is the most painful thing in the world. So its complicated.
The only way to get there, I think, is through our feelings. We have to risk love, which means we have to risk every kind of feeling we have, to receive the gift...and that gift, as good as it is, will break our heart, because that is what love does...it breaks our heart of stone and replaces it with a heart of flesh...one that can be damaged and killed, many times over. But a heart of stone feels nothing...it keeps the body going, but nothing enters and nothing leaves. It is safe and completely alone. It risks nothing. It just survives.
So I promised God my love, and my fidelity. So easy and yet, hard. I knew when I was first able to know, that God was all I ever wanted. I see that now more clearly than ever...but being a "willful child," I could not imagine that God would want me.
Now here is the paradox of religion, and perhaps dogma. What might be dogma? Doctrine? I always wondered why we had two words that supposedly mean the same thing. Basically a belief system put in place to establish some kind of order to our faith journey. Lots of fights about doctrine and dogma. I think the devil just laughs at us when we fight over them. The more we fight, the farther we get from God. And the more proud we become of our point of view. That love and surrender thing is a real problem, even for good Christians.
A year and a day. Midnight Mass was fine yesterday. But it was not exquisite. It was not like a year ago. With the snow and losing the crucifix around my neck, praying with the people in the hospital on Christmas Eve...and the painful waiting for the day when I would give myself away for good...
And my heart longed to feel all those intense emotions of the year before, as it remembered the risk and the joy that something new was about to happen. I remember it all...well, I remember what I remember. I remember going to heaven and how very beautiful it was, but nothing like what we think it will be. I know it was heaven. And over the year, as I have sat with so many people who were dying, I could tell them confidently, they have a place to go, and it is a good place, a perfect place. It's not doctrine or dogma for me. I don't have to believe. I know.
And that is what I wish I could give you. There is no doubt inside me. Yes, I still get angry and disappointed and confused and embarrassed and act stupidly...but there is no doubt in my mind. And that is scary and creepy and wonderful. And so confusing. I'm no saint. I have sins enough to fill an entire room yet I also have Him, who loves me completely, accepts me just as I am, as I was, and as I will be. The one who still swears and flips off people who annoy her...God even loves me.
Perhaps this is news to no one...the experience of unconditional love. The knowledge of heaven. The forgiveness of sins. The fact that everything we do matters, yet the world will turn without us, too. All the books and study in the world will not get us closer to God unless we enter with our feelings, with our hearts...and that is so dangerous, yet it is the only way.
You can intellectually come to knowledge of God...but that is only knowledge...and the thing about knowledge...it can always be changed...love does not change. Truth does not change. Truth does not come from a book...you can learn ABOUT truth from a book, but truth enters the heart and stays there...it comes from a feeling...that doesn't change.
Oh now perhaps I have contradicted myself! But I know, we must use our feelings to enter God. Maybe that's a girl thing...well, this is the body He put me in, so this is the body I have to use to do the work.
My goodness, where did the time go? I must get on to my Sunday work.
I am posting this anyway. I don't know if it will help anyone, but I have got to try. When you seek Him, you will find Him, if you seek Him with all your HEART...
Love, Cindy
Why would God wire us like that? Why is love so complicated and sin so easy?
I'm drawing close to an important anniversary. Just about a year ago, I promised to give and do everything for God. What kind of a promise is that, you might think. I mean, everything comes from God anyway, what kind of promise is it to give back what you have been given? How is that a gift? I really don't know. What I do know, though, is that I like myself a lot more now than I did before I made the promise. I love better now that I did before the promise. I give more now than I ever thought I could give. And while I have had my share of darkness in the last year...even the darkness has light, because now my life has meaning and purpose that is defined by that which can never be taken away from me :God. God never leaves. But I can always walk away. I am free, completely free, within my chains.
I have the pleasure of loving everyone I meet with deep and sincere love now. I can go into places of my heart and places of other people's hearts without fear, without expectation, without serious injury. It's creepy and wonderful. I don't know that it is for everybody, but I kind of wish it was...because it really is, I think, a taste of heaven. I want you to have it, but then I don't want you to have to go through what I had to go through to get it...I wish there was an easier way, but it really is all about surrender and a deep "humbling thyself in the sight of the Lord."
That mediation came to me last spring. I was still holding on too tightly to something, something I did not want to lose. Something that I had found that I needed more than I needed anything else in the world. It was the most perfect gift. It allowed me to step out into places I never thought I could go and in those places, I found great joy, I found myself and I found the whole world. But this gift, once it has been opened, has to be given away...once you get it...you pass it on. Keeping it will kill it and killing a glimpse of heaven is the most painful thing in the world. So its complicated.
The only way to get there, I think, is through our feelings. We have to risk love, which means we have to risk every kind of feeling we have, to receive the gift...and that gift, as good as it is, will break our heart, because that is what love does...it breaks our heart of stone and replaces it with a heart of flesh...one that can be damaged and killed, many times over. But a heart of stone feels nothing...it keeps the body going, but nothing enters and nothing leaves. It is safe and completely alone. It risks nothing. It just survives.
So I promised God my love, and my fidelity. So easy and yet, hard. I knew when I was first able to know, that God was all I ever wanted. I see that now more clearly than ever...but being a "willful child," I could not imagine that God would want me.
Now here is the paradox of religion, and perhaps dogma. What might be dogma? Doctrine? I always wondered why we had two words that supposedly mean the same thing. Basically a belief system put in place to establish some kind of order to our faith journey. Lots of fights about doctrine and dogma. I think the devil just laughs at us when we fight over them. The more we fight, the farther we get from God. And the more proud we become of our point of view. That love and surrender thing is a real problem, even for good Christians.
A year and a day. Midnight Mass was fine yesterday. But it was not exquisite. It was not like a year ago. With the snow and losing the crucifix around my neck, praying with the people in the hospital on Christmas Eve...and the painful waiting for the day when I would give myself away for good...
And my heart longed to feel all those intense emotions of the year before, as it remembered the risk and the joy that something new was about to happen. I remember it all...well, I remember what I remember. I remember going to heaven and how very beautiful it was, but nothing like what we think it will be. I know it was heaven. And over the year, as I have sat with so many people who were dying, I could tell them confidently, they have a place to go, and it is a good place, a perfect place. It's not doctrine or dogma for me. I don't have to believe. I know.
And that is what I wish I could give you. There is no doubt inside me. Yes, I still get angry and disappointed and confused and embarrassed and act stupidly...but there is no doubt in my mind. And that is scary and creepy and wonderful. And so confusing. I'm no saint. I have sins enough to fill an entire room yet I also have Him, who loves me completely, accepts me just as I am, as I was, and as I will be. The one who still swears and flips off people who annoy her...God even loves me.
Perhaps this is news to no one...the experience of unconditional love. The knowledge of heaven. The forgiveness of sins. The fact that everything we do matters, yet the world will turn without us, too. All the books and study in the world will not get us closer to God unless we enter with our feelings, with our hearts...and that is so dangerous, yet it is the only way.
You can intellectually come to knowledge of God...but that is only knowledge...and the thing about knowledge...it can always be changed...love does not change. Truth does not change. Truth does not come from a book...you can learn ABOUT truth from a book, but truth enters the heart and stays there...it comes from a feeling...that doesn't change.
Oh now perhaps I have contradicted myself! But I know, we must use our feelings to enter God. Maybe that's a girl thing...well, this is the body He put me in, so this is the body I have to use to do the work.
My goodness, where did the time go? I must get on to my Sunday work.
I am posting this anyway. I don't know if it will help anyone, but I have got to try. When you seek Him, you will find Him, if you seek Him with all your HEART...
Love, Cindy
Friday, December 24, 2010
Providence
I remember one of my best friend's in high school, Sam Crawford, tried to get me to understand that word when he so graciously took me on as a debate partner. I was not much of a debater...at least in a formal way. I only learned about things that I really liked, and I did not equate debate with, say, tennis, where the goal is to make your opponent trip up. In competitive debate, you learn both sides of the argument so that you can win. It does not matter who is right, it matters who wins.
I don't get much pleasure out of winning. I enjoy the competition, the pleasure that someone else is making me do my best when I might otherwise be lazy or slothful, but winning is not my goal. Staying in the game is my goal. And I am not always too good at that either. That is probably why God continually puts in my situations that require me to defend myself.
Providence. "A manifestation of divine care or direction." Or as Mary Ann would say: "God moments." Everything happens for a reason. My life has been traumatic and terrible, and exquisite and divine. So much good and so much bad that I don't care too much about who wins or loses because I see the big picture. God wins. Everything else is just adventure.
So we should live out the best adventure that we can. That does not mean immorality. We need that cardinal virtues Aquinas writes about...but perhaps in not so a clinical way. We need a moral code: temperance, prudence, integrity, fortitude...I think that's them. I don't have the book here and with all the little bodies in the house, don't want to wake them. (That one is prudence, I think, caring about others enough to want for their good--"tis a far, far better thing I do than I have ever done before"...I have done that once this year...and I may have to do it twice...and it hurts like hell, but I can see the big picture and there is a time for holding on and letting go. As a woman, that is one of the hardest things we will ever have to do. First hold on, then let go.
We have to hold our babies in our womb, caring for them, giving them our own flesh and blood, our own food, sharing their heartbeat with us, letting them take part of our life away...and then birth them, forcing them into an unpredictable environment where their lives will be in danger now and then. We must teach them how to live and how to love well enough to survive. And if we can, we teach them to love others. And later, we give them away to the world, stand at a distance and pray for them, while they debate life and live out their calling. Then if we live long enough, we are there to commend them back to God, from whence they came...and it is all a mixture of love, of great pleasure and great pain.
A mother knows this. A mother has always to see the big picture, because it is her job to see that humanity remains human.
Providence. I went to a priest the other day with a problem. I make these little requests of God: "I need to talk about this one NOW God, take me to a priest." And of course, there was one. But it was not the one I wanted to speak with. But I had prayed, and God had answered. Apparently this priest was suppose to hear and help me. (I just hate it when He answers my prayers, but not exactly as I had planned it...and I love it too, the adventure of "what might happen next") So I visited and he gave me his answer and I cried...because I did not like the answer. Then it because a bit of a debate. Kind of fun. And good. I am such a precocious child, I love to get things stirred so that revelation can occur. Always looking for that Eureka moment. Always wanting to save the world.
Well, I think maybe I caused the priest a little pain. He wasn't going to get me to acquiesce simply because he wore a collar. But because he wore a collar, I knew he was the right place to discover the answer I needed. I have no idea what God wanted him to receive from me, but I am willing to bet money, if his heart was open, he found the gift.
Just like me. I changed my behavior, but not enough. My quest was not over yet. I still needed more information.
So the next Mass I attended, I saw the chalice and I thought, God wants me to finish this now...no, I want it finished now. I clearly felt I was doing something wrong, but I couldn't identify it and I could not stop until I had some kind of understanding....very truly: faith seeking understanding.
And God provided. Such a busy week, a priest gave me some of his time and really, really listened and engaged me in the truth...which I was prepared to hear this time. And finally I am at peace about what I needed to do. And I give thanks to God for all the priests who know that their schedule is never really their own...and they can be present in that which God provides for them. That is the great sign of holiness: to know always it is God's time in which we live, and that the world will get by without us...we must remain true to the life ordained for us.
So after that, I sit at Corner Bakery and write all the little notes I should have written weeks before. That's what I do...people love my letters...and I had forgotten about how God uses me in them. I get the most important ones done, the ones for the priests who have been gracious enough to let me into part of their lives. Then I write others...and suddenly I realize I am late for a funeral. I fly out of the restaurant and into my car, and all the lights are green...the seas part and I get to the church almost exactly as I planned. And Mary comes to me and asks, "Will you carry her ashes?" And I say yes. If I had gotten there moments earlier, I would have been asked to lector...but God had a better idea.
In this funeral, I wept so much. In the presence of real love, it is hard not to weep...joyful tears, that here once again, is an example of the possibility of great goodness, that has touched my life...a man who loved his wife so deeply...and God let me carry this good woman's ashes to the Columbarium. I, a woman, carried what was not taken up to God, the remnants of the good woman, a missionary who loved everyone she met...
The weight of the box surprised me. I walked between the priest and her husband, one of the sweetest men I have ever met. I thought about all the work she did in her life, how well she loved...how she just barely escaped Laos...how much she was loved by so many...and God let me carry her to a place where I often pray and sing and dance...and I remember her husband's prayer before the funeral and was hoping God was answering it.
Yes, I read well. I'm a debater and orator. But this day was better. When I am in the hospital now, releasing bodies to the morgue...I will be thinking differently...I was changed in the morning and then I was changed again at noon. Providence.
But the day was not over. I had to deal with the mall. My life in ministry has shielded me from "the mall," the way people live outside the church. Yes, I meet them in the hospital, I meet them in crisis...I get to be a hero for a few minutes...but seeing people in this setting, near Christmas...was interesting. More interesting was how I saw myself in the context. I think maybe we become like the people we hang out with. I have out with lay Catholics and priests (when they let me!)...and that world is quite different from 'the mall.'
I will leave out all the details there for now. But I need to finish out the day. When I sit with one very special Father, he just lets me unfold my stories with no particular purpose...and then the two of us kind of recognize the God moment at the same time. He helps me to see the blessings in my life that I could overlook. How about that for wonderful?!
So the day is drawing to a close. I know there is a Mass I can attend in the evening. There will not be one in the morning because it is Christmas Eve. This day and Good Friday are long days for me. And I have that priest's card in my car. I have only given away three...and there is no way to do more for now. But I know already that God will provide the right time for things to happen. He always does.
I am in my car heading to the church, feeling tired...but I must go to church...don't ask me why. It's just part of my love affair with God. I call my son. I was informed they were ON THEIR WAY to my house...a day early in my mind. Nothing is finished. I should turn the car around and go home and pick up and wrap and go grocery shopping or something...but no, I go to Mass. What is one more hour when I have ten hours of work in front of me? Love as you are able. Don't wait.
I get there and, oh my, the confession line is LONG...I wonder...all the opportunities that were provided for them...every single day...and they wait until the 23rd to do it...and at night...still, maybe their lives are like mine. Walk out of the confessional and ten minutes later, back in a state of sin! The pressure of the guilt finally got to them...do not judge, Cindy, or it will come back to bite you!
So the priest steps out and has to do a Mass. He tells the long line that he will continue after Mass. He does not look happy. He reposes the Blessed Sacrament and hurries off.
What he hasn't realized yet is that I have slipped a card under his door. A note of appreciation for how he has allowed me to walk part of my faith journey there. How grateful I am for his kindness.
I don't know if he found the card, but in his homily, he talked about little miracles that happen every day. The Scripture was about the big miracle of the birth of John...but he pointed out that everyday, there are little miracles, if we bother to look...waiting for us, ones that we participate in and share...and he seemed...okay.
Maybe its called gratitude...maybe that's one of the four cardinal virtues. If not, it should be.
God is watching over you. He wants you to see Him. He wants you to help make a miracle. He has plans for you. He is going to make your life...perfect...and filled with joy.
Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy
Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.
Jeremiah 29:11-13
"For I know well the plans I have in mind for you, says the LORD, plans for your welfare, not for woe! plans to give you a future full of hope. When you call me, when you go to pray to me, I will listen to you. When you look for me, you will find me. Yes, when you seek me with all your heart..."
It is time. Let Him use you any way He wants. I promise you will not be disappointed. The Love is greater than anything you could possibly imagine...
Happy Christmas Eve, my dears! Thank you for walking with me sometimes.
Love, Cindy
I don't get much pleasure out of winning. I enjoy the competition, the pleasure that someone else is making me do my best when I might otherwise be lazy or slothful, but winning is not my goal. Staying in the game is my goal. And I am not always too good at that either. That is probably why God continually puts in my situations that require me to defend myself.
Providence. "A manifestation of divine care or direction." Or as Mary Ann would say: "God moments." Everything happens for a reason. My life has been traumatic and terrible, and exquisite and divine. So much good and so much bad that I don't care too much about who wins or loses because I see the big picture. God wins. Everything else is just adventure.
So we should live out the best adventure that we can. That does not mean immorality. We need that cardinal virtues Aquinas writes about...but perhaps in not so a clinical way. We need a moral code: temperance, prudence, integrity, fortitude...I think that's them. I don't have the book here and with all the little bodies in the house, don't want to wake them. (That one is prudence, I think, caring about others enough to want for their good--"tis a far, far better thing I do than I have ever done before"...I have done that once this year...and I may have to do it twice...and it hurts like hell, but I can see the big picture and there is a time for holding on and letting go. As a woman, that is one of the hardest things we will ever have to do. First hold on, then let go.
We have to hold our babies in our womb, caring for them, giving them our own flesh and blood, our own food, sharing their heartbeat with us, letting them take part of our life away...and then birth them, forcing them into an unpredictable environment where their lives will be in danger now and then. We must teach them how to live and how to love well enough to survive. And if we can, we teach them to love others. And later, we give them away to the world, stand at a distance and pray for them, while they debate life and live out their calling. Then if we live long enough, we are there to commend them back to God, from whence they came...and it is all a mixture of love, of great pleasure and great pain.
A mother knows this. A mother has always to see the big picture, because it is her job to see that humanity remains human.
Providence. I went to a priest the other day with a problem. I make these little requests of God: "I need to talk about this one NOW God, take me to a priest." And of course, there was one. But it was not the one I wanted to speak with. But I had prayed, and God had answered. Apparently this priest was suppose to hear and help me. (I just hate it when He answers my prayers, but not exactly as I had planned it...and I love it too, the adventure of "what might happen next") So I visited and he gave me his answer and I cried...because I did not like the answer. Then it because a bit of a debate. Kind of fun. And good. I am such a precocious child, I love to get things stirred so that revelation can occur. Always looking for that Eureka moment. Always wanting to save the world.
Well, I think maybe I caused the priest a little pain. He wasn't going to get me to acquiesce simply because he wore a collar. But because he wore a collar, I knew he was the right place to discover the answer I needed. I have no idea what God wanted him to receive from me, but I am willing to bet money, if his heart was open, he found the gift.
Just like me. I changed my behavior, but not enough. My quest was not over yet. I still needed more information.
So the next Mass I attended, I saw the chalice and I thought, God wants me to finish this now...no, I want it finished now. I clearly felt I was doing something wrong, but I couldn't identify it and I could not stop until I had some kind of understanding....very truly: faith seeking understanding.
And God provided. Such a busy week, a priest gave me some of his time and really, really listened and engaged me in the truth...which I was prepared to hear this time. And finally I am at peace about what I needed to do. And I give thanks to God for all the priests who know that their schedule is never really their own...and they can be present in that which God provides for them. That is the great sign of holiness: to know always it is God's time in which we live, and that the world will get by without us...we must remain true to the life ordained for us.
So after that, I sit at Corner Bakery and write all the little notes I should have written weeks before. That's what I do...people love my letters...and I had forgotten about how God uses me in them. I get the most important ones done, the ones for the priests who have been gracious enough to let me into part of their lives. Then I write others...and suddenly I realize I am late for a funeral. I fly out of the restaurant and into my car, and all the lights are green...the seas part and I get to the church almost exactly as I planned. And Mary comes to me and asks, "Will you carry her ashes?" And I say yes. If I had gotten there moments earlier, I would have been asked to lector...but God had a better idea.
In this funeral, I wept so much. In the presence of real love, it is hard not to weep...joyful tears, that here once again, is an example of the possibility of great goodness, that has touched my life...a man who loved his wife so deeply...and God let me carry this good woman's ashes to the Columbarium. I, a woman, carried what was not taken up to God, the remnants of the good woman, a missionary who loved everyone she met...
The weight of the box surprised me. I walked between the priest and her husband, one of the sweetest men I have ever met. I thought about all the work she did in her life, how well she loved...how she just barely escaped Laos...how much she was loved by so many...and God let me carry her to a place where I often pray and sing and dance...and I remember her husband's prayer before the funeral and was hoping God was answering it.
Yes, I read well. I'm a debater and orator. But this day was better. When I am in the hospital now, releasing bodies to the morgue...I will be thinking differently...I was changed in the morning and then I was changed again at noon. Providence.
But the day was not over. I had to deal with the mall. My life in ministry has shielded me from "the mall," the way people live outside the church. Yes, I meet them in the hospital, I meet them in crisis...I get to be a hero for a few minutes...but seeing people in this setting, near Christmas...was interesting. More interesting was how I saw myself in the context. I think maybe we become like the people we hang out with. I have out with lay Catholics and priests (when they let me!)...and that world is quite different from 'the mall.'
I will leave out all the details there for now. But I need to finish out the day. When I sit with one very special Father, he just lets me unfold my stories with no particular purpose...and then the two of us kind of recognize the God moment at the same time. He helps me to see the blessings in my life that I could overlook. How about that for wonderful?!
So the day is drawing to a close. I know there is a Mass I can attend in the evening. There will not be one in the morning because it is Christmas Eve. This day and Good Friday are long days for me. And I have that priest's card in my car. I have only given away three...and there is no way to do more for now. But I know already that God will provide the right time for things to happen. He always does.
I am in my car heading to the church, feeling tired...but I must go to church...don't ask me why. It's just part of my love affair with God. I call my son. I was informed they were ON THEIR WAY to my house...a day early in my mind. Nothing is finished. I should turn the car around and go home and pick up and wrap and go grocery shopping or something...but no, I go to Mass. What is one more hour when I have ten hours of work in front of me? Love as you are able. Don't wait.
I get there and, oh my, the confession line is LONG...I wonder...all the opportunities that were provided for them...every single day...and they wait until the 23rd to do it...and at night...still, maybe their lives are like mine. Walk out of the confessional and ten minutes later, back in a state of sin! The pressure of the guilt finally got to them...do not judge, Cindy, or it will come back to bite you!
So the priest steps out and has to do a Mass. He tells the long line that he will continue after Mass. He does not look happy. He reposes the Blessed Sacrament and hurries off.
What he hasn't realized yet is that I have slipped a card under his door. A note of appreciation for how he has allowed me to walk part of my faith journey there. How grateful I am for his kindness.
I don't know if he found the card, but in his homily, he talked about little miracles that happen every day. The Scripture was about the big miracle of the birth of John...but he pointed out that everyday, there are little miracles, if we bother to look...waiting for us, ones that we participate in and share...and he seemed...okay.
Maybe its called gratitude...maybe that's one of the four cardinal virtues. If not, it should be.
God is watching over you. He wants you to see Him. He wants you to help make a miracle. He has plans for you. He is going to make your life...perfect...and filled with joy.
Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy
Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.
Jeremiah 29:11-13
"For I know well the plans I have in mind for you, says the LORD, plans for your welfare, not for woe! plans to give you a future full of hope. When you call me, when you go to pray to me, I will listen to you. When you look for me, you will find me. Yes, when you seek me with all your heart..."
It is time. Let Him use you any way He wants. I promise you will not be disappointed. The Love is greater than anything you could possibly imagine...
Happy Christmas Eve, my dears! Thank you for walking with me sometimes.
Love, Cindy
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Wanting
Wrote this one this morning. Didn't think I should continue it. I have six drafts of ideas still from the first week of December. Lots to sort out. Surprised by some things I am finding out about me. This is my way of growing closer to Him. Called to be a priest, tried to be a minister, not sure if I will ever be a nun...I have to "speak" my piece. In this place, no one has to pay attention. And I get it out of my body and into the air. Like last night, when I decided I was going to blow out the advent wreath candles at St Marks...every one of them...and I watched the smoke rise and wondered if God would hear my prayers...from the full two days of just breathing humanity into and out of me. And wondering what He really wants me to do...
There will not be enough time to do much here, but here I am...54...still alive. Never thought I'd live past 50 because my mother never lived past 50. Oh my, all those little rules in our heads!
Like love. Every girl dreams of Prince Charming. Every boy dreams of...oh, my...do I really want to know what every boy dreams of??? But we have an idea of what we think we want in a mate. By the time the deal is done, I think we discover that what we thought we wanted wasn't at all what we really wanted. As Mr. Spock said in "Amok Time,": "Having is not so great a thing as wanting."
Desire.
In the first year of my divorce, I had one of those flip calendars with little sayings for the day. On Christmas, I found an helpful saying: "The only thing worse than being alone is wishing that you were." It made me look really hard at the reality of what was going on in my life. I did not want the divorce, but I was so unhappy and I found out he was unhappy, too. He had someone else to go to, so his pain was different. I learned how to make friends again. I learned how to love and appreciate what was put in front of me. I learned to stop asking for so much. I learned that things cannot make you happy. But they can deaden the great unhappiness for a few moments. I learned that the only thing reliable is God.
Desire.
When I used to hear people say that, I thought to myself, "How awful!" To be so cynical about people! But the truth is, they are just people. We are just people. And we have to make do. Share. Don't judge. Don't be jealous. Don't covet. Forgive. Be Forgiven. Say thank you.
Desire.
That's how it works. To see the beauty of the Lord in a grain of sand, and in the eyes of a person who soon will never open his eyes again. To be grateful and not greedy.
I sat with my son and his wife and their five children during a funeral service yesterday. My grandchildren were so well behaved. Oldest boy sat on my lap, youngest boy at my side. Middle granddaughter held my hand...often. They loved hearing the singer sing the traditional songs of a funeral. And when the preacher said, Let us pray, each child bowed his head and clasped their hands. I could not have been more proud of them, of my son and his wife...for giving them that gift.
Desire.
The girls rode with me to the graveside. All of my grandchildren had seen the body with their parents the night before. They understood well that the body was just a vessel and that vessel was no longer needed. So we talked a little. I explained the hearse, which one granddaughter looked at and said, oh look, there is his throne! Interesting.
We talked about a lot of things in that short slow drive. I told them when I die, I wanted my body to be planted under a nice tree, or maybe in the ocean. And that I would wait for them in heaven. The oldest granddaughter said, oh but we will be spirits then, and we might not recognize each other...and I said I hoped God would let me recognize them. But I knew we would all be happy.
We got to the graveside and it was chilly. Their dresses were so pretty but thin. I had my two prayer shawls in the car. I wrapped each one of them up in them. I stood behind them. And I marveled at, with all the things that happen to us as we grow older, life goes on. And if we are very careful to watch, life is beautiful. And I have lived long enough to learn that. To know. To see. And then to write it down.
Now when I pray, I carry them with me in the shawls. Very few times, I have placed my shawl around the shoulders of someone. I do it on purpose, you know. It is my way of saying I will carry your burden with you. We do not walk alone.
Desire.
I started this one about love. My theme. Always. Getting what you want. Not getting what you want. It's Christmas. For some people, it is all about the presents. But for me now, it is all about the presence. Practicing the presence. Wrote a sermon about it nearly 10 years ago, but it is recorded. Hope to find a way to place it here sometime. Seemed to matter to quite a few people at FUMCR. I was still getting thank yous months later.
I know I am a good preacher. (No snickers here, I know I am a weaker writer)In the Catholic Church, that gift will never be used again...unless a miracle occurs. I don't like wasting my gifts, but then, I realize I am not wasting it. The Church made its decision and I have to live with it. For now, writing will have to do. It's the way things are. These are the cards we are dealt, we have to play them as they lay.
Desire.
^^^^^^^^^^
We pray for what we want. Sometimes God gives it to us. Then, once we have it, we start to realize it was not really the thing we wanted at all. It was only a shadow of what we wanted. I learn that every day. All the wanting, without recognizing all that I already have. I knew at some point God would give me this choice to make...and while I am a little bit sad, I choose Him. I have no doubt this will not be my last experience with a real sacrifice. From this point on, each 'thing' I choose to hold means that I will have to let go of 'something' else. Each 'yes' I make now we become more personal, more invasive.
What might you be willing to let go of so that God can enter into you more deeply? I don't even want to ever ask that question, but here it is...ready or not.
Desire.
I sat with Sister Anima Christi at Mass yesterday morning. She found a seat for us and guided me through the Spanish Mass. The priest spoke in the homily about choices. We each have choices to make and those choices form our lives. I wept. I'm not ready. But He is ready. And I must say Yes.
The word desire has been placed in this writing.
He comes to you asking, "Do you desire to be healed?"
Say Yes.
Love, Cindy
There will not be enough time to do much here, but here I am...54...still alive. Never thought I'd live past 50 because my mother never lived past 50. Oh my, all those little rules in our heads!
Like love. Every girl dreams of Prince Charming. Every boy dreams of...oh, my...do I really want to know what every boy dreams of??? But we have an idea of what we think we want in a mate. By the time the deal is done, I think we discover that what we thought we wanted wasn't at all what we really wanted. As Mr. Spock said in "Amok Time,": "Having is not so great a thing as wanting."
Desire.
In the first year of my divorce, I had one of those flip calendars with little sayings for the day. On Christmas, I found an helpful saying: "The only thing worse than being alone is wishing that you were." It made me look really hard at the reality of what was going on in my life. I did not want the divorce, but I was so unhappy and I found out he was unhappy, too. He had someone else to go to, so his pain was different. I learned how to make friends again. I learned how to love and appreciate what was put in front of me. I learned to stop asking for so much. I learned that things cannot make you happy. But they can deaden the great unhappiness for a few moments. I learned that the only thing reliable is God.
Desire.
When I used to hear people say that, I thought to myself, "How awful!" To be so cynical about people! But the truth is, they are just people. We are just people. And we have to make do. Share. Don't judge. Don't be jealous. Don't covet. Forgive. Be Forgiven. Say thank you.
Desire.
That's how it works. To see the beauty of the Lord in a grain of sand, and in the eyes of a person who soon will never open his eyes again. To be grateful and not greedy.
I sat with my son and his wife and their five children during a funeral service yesterday. My grandchildren were so well behaved. Oldest boy sat on my lap, youngest boy at my side. Middle granddaughter held my hand...often. They loved hearing the singer sing the traditional songs of a funeral. And when the preacher said, Let us pray, each child bowed his head and clasped their hands. I could not have been more proud of them, of my son and his wife...for giving them that gift.
Desire.
The girls rode with me to the graveside. All of my grandchildren had seen the body with their parents the night before. They understood well that the body was just a vessel and that vessel was no longer needed. So we talked a little. I explained the hearse, which one granddaughter looked at and said, oh look, there is his throne! Interesting.
We talked about a lot of things in that short slow drive. I told them when I die, I wanted my body to be planted under a nice tree, or maybe in the ocean. And that I would wait for them in heaven. The oldest granddaughter said, oh but we will be spirits then, and we might not recognize each other...and I said I hoped God would let me recognize them. But I knew we would all be happy.
We got to the graveside and it was chilly. Their dresses were so pretty but thin. I had my two prayer shawls in the car. I wrapped each one of them up in them. I stood behind them. And I marveled at, with all the things that happen to us as we grow older, life goes on. And if we are very careful to watch, life is beautiful. And I have lived long enough to learn that. To know. To see. And then to write it down.
Now when I pray, I carry them with me in the shawls. Very few times, I have placed my shawl around the shoulders of someone. I do it on purpose, you know. It is my way of saying I will carry your burden with you. We do not walk alone.
Desire.
I started this one about love. My theme. Always. Getting what you want. Not getting what you want. It's Christmas. For some people, it is all about the presents. But for me now, it is all about the presence. Practicing the presence. Wrote a sermon about it nearly 10 years ago, but it is recorded. Hope to find a way to place it here sometime. Seemed to matter to quite a few people at FUMCR. I was still getting thank yous months later.
I know I am a good preacher. (No snickers here, I know I am a weaker writer)In the Catholic Church, that gift will never be used again...unless a miracle occurs. I don't like wasting my gifts, but then, I realize I am not wasting it. The Church made its decision and I have to live with it. For now, writing will have to do. It's the way things are. These are the cards we are dealt, we have to play them as they lay.
Desire.
^^^^^^^^^^
We pray for what we want. Sometimes God gives it to us. Then, once we have it, we start to realize it was not really the thing we wanted at all. It was only a shadow of what we wanted. I learn that every day. All the wanting, without recognizing all that I already have. I knew at some point God would give me this choice to make...and while I am a little bit sad, I choose Him. I have no doubt this will not be my last experience with a real sacrifice. From this point on, each 'thing' I choose to hold means that I will have to let go of 'something' else. Each 'yes' I make now we become more personal, more invasive.
What might you be willing to let go of so that God can enter into you more deeply? I don't even want to ever ask that question, but here it is...ready or not.
Desire.
I sat with Sister Anima Christi at Mass yesterday morning. She found a seat for us and guided me through the Spanish Mass. The priest spoke in the homily about choices. We each have choices to make and those choices form our lives. I wept. I'm not ready. But He is ready. And I must say Yes.
The word desire has been placed in this writing.
He comes to you asking, "Do you desire to be healed?"
Say Yes.
Love, Cindy
The Accessible God
Wrote this December 14, 2010, decided to put it out there. A week has passed and things just keep getting more and more interesting. I hope someone understands it. I know more today than December 14. Hope you do, too.
Last night, I tried to piece together yesterday...in a "what the h*ll happened?" day. But I am not a night person, except when God calls me outside to him in the middle of the night...but the moon is not up yet...at that time...
I am a morning person. And lying in bed, reaching around for my rosary...no relief; Jack (my reconciliation bear), no relief; a crucifix, some relief; and still I wondered. Why these things, in this way, God? I have hurt another friend...this one for sure...last week, she a different friend) was not hurt, just wanted me to be happy with who I was...
Why do I seek the company of priests? Like a moth to a flame, I immediately respect them as sources of some divine wisdom...perhaps in the same way as I befriended most of my professors/ministers at SMU...I loved them, too, because I thought they loved God as much as I did. Or more. And it was there, in their company, I was with my real family. It is in the presence of lovers of God that I am truly home.
I met a few female Protestant ministers who were passionate about God. Some were just feminists, kind of angry with God, but mostly with the Church and its unwillingness to acknowledge that women can lead souls to God from the pulpit, too. They are caught in the means rather than the end...and I am not at home with them. But others, love God...not the way I do, exactly, but they 'get it.'
Anne said I acted like a nun. Valarie called me a papist once...I didn't get it at all. Suzanne said she thought I got it right and wished her denomination had some of the rituals my Catholicism had.
But as I lay in bed this morning, I ask God again: why this way? And yet some little fire inside me tells me, it always had to be this way, Cindy. You remember that night in 1997. Why do you keep questioning it? It was all given to you that night. Why must you be so...human...about something so divine?
And I am still not ready to explain, because that is not how this is all going to happen. Yesterday more pain, and a friend I love didn't get it...and I can do nothing about it until she is ready to hear me...or better yet, to hear God. God has something great to teach her and the devil is in the playground trying to mess it all up. He may slow things down, but he will not win.
The accessible God. In the fire of salvation history, the conflict seems to always have been 'who can touch God?' Can anyone touch God? We have this exquisite, perfect, delicious creation...but how do we say thank you to God who is nothing like us?
So God reaches out into nature first. Can you see Me here?, He asks. And we say, "Yes, God, we see you here. We see you in the morning dawn and the sunset, in the winds and the rain, in the rivers and the fishes and in the stars at night."
But still, God sees that we are sad. So God reaches out again. "Can you see Me here, in birds of the air and in the fish of the stream? Can you see Me in your puppy dog or your kitty cat?" And we say, "Yes, God. We see you in the birds of the air and fish of the sea and the four-footed animals that you gave us to love us." And God says, "Yes, my children, you are starting to understand. I am loving you in the wind and the stars, in the waters and in the fish of the waters, and in the land and the beasts of the land." But still, God sees that we are sad. We do not know how to say "Thank you."
And God thinks and smiles. God says, "I will come to them as one of them. So much like them, that they will be able to say thank you and be happy."
And so God comes, in an obscure way to an obscure place...without too much noise, but just enough for those who want to see to know...that this one who comes is different. Special.
God asks, "Can you see me now, as a baby? Like you, helpless, vulnerable, unsure? Can you see that I need my mother? Her heartbeat, her milk, her loving embrace? Can you see that I need my father, his protection, his strength, his embrace? Can you see me here, in the child?"
And we say, "Yes, Lord, we see you in the Child." And there is more, but we'll go to here for now. Here the child needs preparation to live in this world. Food, clothing, shelter, protection for those who don't want Him here, an education...a study of salvation history...He is a God-Boy who needs to ask questions, to learn, to be confused, to love, to mourn, to dance, to pray and then to rejoice.
*************
Why do I seek the company of priests? Common and uncommon reasons. Jesus in the temple at age 12. He just knew where he was supposed to be. So do I. Not arrogant, not prideful..I just know. I have more to learn and I am going to learn it. I respect priests...for so many reasons. They, well, the ones I encounter, realize this amazing gift of life in a different way.
Very few of the Catholics I have encountered that have not gone to seminary have an understanding of the Catholic faith, the story of salvation history in such a way that they can hear me at all. A priest, a deacon...they can hear me. They realize that the purpose of conversation is not about being right or wrong, it is about wondering...it is about thinking...and about loving God.
I don't give a ...hoot...what the right answer is. In my book, there are no prizes for being right. But there are great rewards for those who love. I'll leave right and wrong to the Pharisees...and there are plenty of them still out there. When God calls me home, it will not be a multiple choice test. It will not be the Baltimore Catechism, where all the prepositions will have to be in the right spots. It will be, perhaps, "How did you love Me during this life?" "How did you love yourself, appreciate the gift of your life?" "What do you want now?"
I don't know.
But I don't quite understand how the role of priest came to mean to some people some unapproachable thing. A priest is not a thing. He is a human, striving to be be the best human that he can be. Striving to be the practical model of how to love one another. Yes, he does the Mass and offers the Sacraments and does for us what we cannot do, or just maybe are afraid to do...but he is a teacher. And he is here to teach us how to love.
Maybe I have that wrong. That is always possible. If I remember the story correctly, the veil between us humans and the Holy of Holies has been torn down. We have access to God now. Not just the priests. Not just the chosen few, but all of us.
We can walk into the cave, where the Boy arrived and touch the manger where he slept. We can pray in this holy place, with words of our own creation and God will hear. And God will smile. Wrong notes and all.
Next time you see a priest, don't approach him with some theological paradox in the hopes of impressing him with your liturgical acumen. Just ask him how is is. And then wait. And then listen to his answer. He will probably be stunned at first. But yes, he is real flesh and blood human. Like the baby. He is one of the greatest means by which we can access God. Learn to love the priest, not fear him and I think we are on your way to loving each other...
Set apart does not mean put on a pedestal. I wonder if anyone is able to understand these ideas. God is here. Now. We have got to be brave and love one another. We have to learn how to love one another. We do that by encountering people of God...not at a distance, but eyeball to eyeball. And it won't always be easy. But it will be better. It will be good. And maybe, just maybe, one person will not be killed today from hate or indifference or fear...because we loved...today.
It's going to work. I promise.
Love, Cindy
Last night, I tried to piece together yesterday...in a "what the h*ll happened?" day. But I am not a night person, except when God calls me outside to him in the middle of the night...but the moon is not up yet...at that time...
I am a morning person. And lying in bed, reaching around for my rosary...no relief; Jack (my reconciliation bear), no relief; a crucifix, some relief; and still I wondered. Why these things, in this way, God? I have hurt another friend...this one for sure...last week, she a different friend) was not hurt, just wanted me to be happy with who I was...
Why do I seek the company of priests? Like a moth to a flame, I immediately respect them as sources of some divine wisdom...perhaps in the same way as I befriended most of my professors/ministers at SMU...I loved them, too, because I thought they loved God as much as I did. Or more. And it was there, in their company, I was with my real family. It is in the presence of lovers of God that I am truly home.
I met a few female Protestant ministers who were passionate about God. Some were just feminists, kind of angry with God, but mostly with the Church and its unwillingness to acknowledge that women can lead souls to God from the pulpit, too. They are caught in the means rather than the end...and I am not at home with them. But others, love God...not the way I do, exactly, but they 'get it.'
Anne said I acted like a nun. Valarie called me a papist once...I didn't get it at all. Suzanne said she thought I got it right and wished her denomination had some of the rituals my Catholicism had.
But as I lay in bed this morning, I ask God again: why this way? And yet some little fire inside me tells me, it always had to be this way, Cindy. You remember that night in 1997. Why do you keep questioning it? It was all given to you that night. Why must you be so...human...about something so divine?
And I am still not ready to explain, because that is not how this is all going to happen. Yesterday more pain, and a friend I love didn't get it...and I can do nothing about it until she is ready to hear me...or better yet, to hear God. God has something great to teach her and the devil is in the playground trying to mess it all up. He may slow things down, but he will not win.
The accessible God. In the fire of salvation history, the conflict seems to always have been 'who can touch God?' Can anyone touch God? We have this exquisite, perfect, delicious creation...but how do we say thank you to God who is nothing like us?
So God reaches out into nature first. Can you see Me here?, He asks. And we say, "Yes, God, we see you here. We see you in the morning dawn and the sunset, in the winds and the rain, in the rivers and the fishes and in the stars at night."
But still, God sees that we are sad. So God reaches out again. "Can you see Me here, in birds of the air and in the fish of the stream? Can you see Me in your puppy dog or your kitty cat?" And we say, "Yes, God. We see you in the birds of the air and fish of the sea and the four-footed animals that you gave us to love us." And God says, "Yes, my children, you are starting to understand. I am loving you in the wind and the stars, in the waters and in the fish of the waters, and in the land and the beasts of the land." But still, God sees that we are sad. We do not know how to say "Thank you."
And God thinks and smiles. God says, "I will come to them as one of them. So much like them, that they will be able to say thank you and be happy."
And so God comes, in an obscure way to an obscure place...without too much noise, but just enough for those who want to see to know...that this one who comes is different. Special.
God asks, "Can you see me now, as a baby? Like you, helpless, vulnerable, unsure? Can you see that I need my mother? Her heartbeat, her milk, her loving embrace? Can you see that I need my father, his protection, his strength, his embrace? Can you see me here, in the child?"
And we say, "Yes, Lord, we see you in the Child." And there is more, but we'll go to here for now. Here the child needs preparation to live in this world. Food, clothing, shelter, protection for those who don't want Him here, an education...a study of salvation history...He is a God-Boy who needs to ask questions, to learn, to be confused, to love, to mourn, to dance, to pray and then to rejoice.
*************
Why do I seek the company of priests? Common and uncommon reasons. Jesus in the temple at age 12. He just knew where he was supposed to be. So do I. Not arrogant, not prideful..I just know. I have more to learn and I am going to learn it. I respect priests...for so many reasons. They, well, the ones I encounter, realize this amazing gift of life in a different way.
Very few of the Catholics I have encountered that have not gone to seminary have an understanding of the Catholic faith, the story of salvation history in such a way that they can hear me at all. A priest, a deacon...they can hear me. They realize that the purpose of conversation is not about being right or wrong, it is about wondering...it is about thinking...and about loving God.
I don't give a ...hoot...what the right answer is. In my book, there are no prizes for being right. But there are great rewards for those who love. I'll leave right and wrong to the Pharisees...and there are plenty of them still out there. When God calls me home, it will not be a multiple choice test. It will not be the Baltimore Catechism, where all the prepositions will have to be in the right spots. It will be, perhaps, "How did you love Me during this life?" "How did you love yourself, appreciate the gift of your life?" "What do you want now?"
I don't know.
But I don't quite understand how the role of priest came to mean to some people some unapproachable thing. A priest is not a thing. He is a human, striving to be be the best human that he can be. Striving to be the practical model of how to love one another. Yes, he does the Mass and offers the Sacraments and does for us what we cannot do, or just maybe are afraid to do...but he is a teacher. And he is here to teach us how to love.
Maybe I have that wrong. That is always possible. If I remember the story correctly, the veil between us humans and the Holy of Holies has been torn down. We have access to God now. Not just the priests. Not just the chosen few, but all of us.
We can walk into the cave, where the Boy arrived and touch the manger where he slept. We can pray in this holy place, with words of our own creation and God will hear. And God will smile. Wrong notes and all.
Next time you see a priest, don't approach him with some theological paradox in the hopes of impressing him with your liturgical acumen. Just ask him how is is. And then wait. And then listen to his answer. He will probably be stunned at first. But yes, he is real flesh and blood human. Like the baby. He is one of the greatest means by which we can access God. Learn to love the priest, not fear him and I think we are on your way to loving each other...
Set apart does not mean put on a pedestal. I wonder if anyone is able to understand these ideas. God is here. Now. We have got to be brave and love one another. We have to learn how to love one another. We do that by encountering people of God...not at a distance, but eyeball to eyeball. And it won't always be easy. But it will be better. It will be good. And maybe, just maybe, one person will not be killed today from hate or indifference or fear...because we loved...today.
It's going to work. I promise.
Love, Cindy
Thursday, December 16, 2010
As a woman, Dr. Brewster...
For he past few days, I keep thinking about the movie, "Tootsie." Dustin Hoffman plays an annoying perfectionist actor who can't find work in New York until he pretends to be a woman. As a woman, he is loved as an actor...as a woman, he learns how to be a better man. He faces all the sexist stereotypes of the 1980s. How men are supposed to be, how women are supposed to be...and there are so many great lines in the movie. Somewhere toward the end, on love camera, he reveals to to world that Dorothy Michaels is really Michael Dorsey. Dabney Coleman, God bless his soul, has always been brilliant at playing the sexist male boss. And I still love the exchange "As a woman, Dr. Brewster. On her terms..." and you hear the direct (Coleman) speak quietly, "Oh hell, here come the terms..."
As a woman. I have been thinking about it all week. The whole week has been about women. This feels new for me. Personal history, I have not fared well in the company of women. First of all, being way too pretty, I could feel the hatred toward me as adults would lavish compliments on me and ignore others. I was humiliated by the unfairness of it all. I learned to hate being beautiful. My mother wanted a model and my father wanted be to be Miss America. All show, who cared what was in my brain? But there were a few amazing women. Real women. Real friends.
But mostly I preferred the company of boys or men. I was naive enough to think that they liked me for my brain. God was good that way. Mostly, though, it was true. I had a group of "male friends" that I preferred so much over the guys I would date. I could be really real with them. I still love to think of the night Fred, Bill and Chris left me in a bar (Hip's Bubble Room) because I had mouthed off to them...imagine me, mouthing off to anyone! But I drank beer and stared at a two headed turtle until they decided to come back for me. I offered them instruction on how to understand their girlfriends well. (and no, these were NOT Dr. Ruth kind of talks!) I just really liked that role in their lives. I loved them deeply, just not romantically.
My ex-husband, Bob, asked me at a high school reunion, "Didn't you know any GIRLS?"
I tilted my head to the side..."Yeah, I knew girls..." Just couldn't think of anyone on the spur of the moment. And besides, I remember, very few of them wanted to know me. Ouch.
So this whole female thing is just...different. Now I am older. Perhaps less annoying. Gravity is winning...and who is that old woman in the photo, anyway?
As a woman. This week has been filled with revelations. I see again how women are put down just because they are women...and my blood burns at the injustice of it. I have been watching how women cope with their womanhood. Some like it a lot. Some love it. From my point of view, it is coping. From their point of view, it is a way of life.
For whatever reasons, I just didn't want to go there. Too smart. See me as God sees me. Neither man nor woman, just spirit and soul...in a female shell.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
That said, I turn to yesterday. I leaned into one woman I was visiting. I put my head on her shoulder and laughed. "Yeah," I said, "a priest would never get to do this."
I easily spend an hour with the people I visit. I bring Holy Communion, I read some theological treatises from the Liturgy of the Hours sometimes. Sometimes we pray psalms together.Sometimes I make up the words. Mostly I listen. And I have listened to a lot this week. I have heard great and deep truths. I have seen a lot of tears this week. Some joy, but many not. I have watched eyes open wide and say, "You think God wants me to do that?" And I nod. I have been humbled by the real gift of humanity. I love my life, my work, because I can love them.
And a priest has taught me how to do that. I would not have been able to learn it anywhere else. Yes, I have had lots of schooling and training in my of the helping trades. I have read many books on theology and psychology. I even have an analytical mind from studying topology and complex variables. I have lived a fairly full 50+ years. But, the priesthood...or should I say, the pastor...has taught me so much more. And it is what and who I am...as a woman.
I leaned into her shoulder and laughed. What we share is real. And it is balanced and fair. I don't come in with any feelings of superiority. I come in because we have become friends on some level. I don't talk down to her. I see her soul and it is beautiful. And the scary questions sometimes come up. Heaven and hell, forgiveness, loneliness, anger, confusion, doubt, truth...and coming to terms with who we are in this very moment. And maybe a bit about what might happen tomorrow. The priest and the woman.
All done in the context of the Eucharist. That is my reason for coming. Thanksgiving. Finding what to be thankful for that day.
The priest reassures, the priest calms, the priest listens.
A little boy in the hospital. Hurting so very much. I whisper to him. Will you let me pray for you? He is buried in his mothers arms. He nods. In my prayer, I remind him of the times he told me about meeting Jesus. And about his parents love, and that the doctors and nurses are trying to make him well and maybe that hurts sometimes and that Jesus is not going to let anything bad happen to him...and I see the little body relax just a bit and I see mom's tears and dad's tears...and I breathe deep and know that somewhere later, I will deal with my own feelings...but now, I must thank God that I get to do this work...in this moment...right now is all that matters. He is using me for something good.
As a woman.
Love, Cindy
As a woman. I have been thinking about it all week. The whole week has been about women. This feels new for me. Personal history, I have not fared well in the company of women. First of all, being way too pretty, I could feel the hatred toward me as adults would lavish compliments on me and ignore others. I was humiliated by the unfairness of it all. I learned to hate being beautiful. My mother wanted a model and my father wanted be to be Miss America. All show, who cared what was in my brain? But there were a few amazing women. Real women. Real friends.
But mostly I preferred the company of boys or men. I was naive enough to think that they liked me for my brain. God was good that way. Mostly, though, it was true. I had a group of "male friends" that I preferred so much over the guys I would date. I could be really real with them. I still love to think of the night Fred, Bill and Chris left me in a bar (Hip's Bubble Room) because I had mouthed off to them...imagine me, mouthing off to anyone! But I drank beer and stared at a two headed turtle until they decided to come back for me. I offered them instruction on how to understand their girlfriends well. (and no, these were NOT Dr. Ruth kind of talks!) I just really liked that role in their lives. I loved them deeply, just not romantically.
My ex-husband, Bob, asked me at a high school reunion, "Didn't you know any GIRLS?"
I tilted my head to the side..."Yeah, I knew girls..." Just couldn't think of anyone on the spur of the moment. And besides, I remember, very few of them wanted to know me. Ouch.
So this whole female thing is just...different. Now I am older. Perhaps less annoying. Gravity is winning...and who is that old woman in the photo, anyway?
As a woman. This week has been filled with revelations. I see again how women are put down just because they are women...and my blood burns at the injustice of it. I have been watching how women cope with their womanhood. Some like it a lot. Some love it. From my point of view, it is coping. From their point of view, it is a way of life.
For whatever reasons, I just didn't want to go there. Too smart. See me as God sees me. Neither man nor woman, just spirit and soul...in a female shell.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
That said, I turn to yesterday. I leaned into one woman I was visiting. I put my head on her shoulder and laughed. "Yeah," I said, "a priest would never get to do this."
I easily spend an hour with the people I visit. I bring Holy Communion, I read some theological treatises from the Liturgy of the Hours sometimes. Sometimes we pray psalms together.Sometimes I make up the words. Mostly I listen. And I have listened to a lot this week. I have heard great and deep truths. I have seen a lot of tears this week. Some joy, but many not. I have watched eyes open wide and say, "You think God wants me to do that?" And I nod. I have been humbled by the real gift of humanity. I love my life, my work, because I can love them.
And a priest has taught me how to do that. I would not have been able to learn it anywhere else. Yes, I have had lots of schooling and training in my of the helping trades. I have read many books on theology and psychology. I even have an analytical mind from studying topology and complex variables. I have lived a fairly full 50+ years. But, the priesthood...or should I say, the pastor...has taught me so much more. And it is what and who I am...as a woman.
I leaned into her shoulder and laughed. What we share is real. And it is balanced and fair. I don't come in with any feelings of superiority. I come in because we have become friends on some level. I don't talk down to her. I see her soul and it is beautiful. And the scary questions sometimes come up. Heaven and hell, forgiveness, loneliness, anger, confusion, doubt, truth...and coming to terms with who we are in this very moment. And maybe a bit about what might happen tomorrow. The priest and the woman.
All done in the context of the Eucharist. That is my reason for coming. Thanksgiving. Finding what to be thankful for that day.
The priest reassures, the priest calms, the priest listens.
A little boy in the hospital. Hurting so very much. I whisper to him. Will you let me pray for you? He is buried in his mothers arms. He nods. In my prayer, I remind him of the times he told me about meeting Jesus. And about his parents love, and that the doctors and nurses are trying to make him well and maybe that hurts sometimes and that Jesus is not going to let anything bad happen to him...and I see the little body relax just a bit and I see mom's tears and dad's tears...and I breathe deep and know that somewhere later, I will deal with my own feelings...but now, I must thank God that I get to do this work...in this moment...right now is all that matters. He is using me for something good.
As a woman.
Love, Cindy
Monday, December 13, 2010
What tomorrow may bring
Kind of got caught in a loop yesterday. I realized it was the weather combined with hormones...and I sure have my share of them...and being Irish...
I arise today through a mighty strength
Through an invocation of the Trinity
Through a belief in the threeness
Through a confession of the oneness
Of the creator of creation...
But me under a full moon and you will discover more than you would ever wish to know about me. But the warrior side of me came through again. The survivor. The captain of the ship. On these days, Deborah and Esther are my older sisters. My great-grandchild is Mary...we are women who can save the nation, by holding fast, birthing babies and showing men how wonderful they really are.
Did I really say that? Good thing I have only 12 people who read my silliness! Long ago, in the 60s, I wrote. I kind of figured someone would find my dead body someday and just maybe, someone would want to know who I was. I didn't like the things I was learning about people, and I didn't like where my life seemed to be heading. Gotta make a record. For posterity. For science. How can anyone solve a problem without data?
Godowski. I learned about him when I began to study piano again. He was the pianists' pianist. The recordings are on CD, but they are so very old...and he is so very gifted. Has a legato that borders on perfect. Legato is the ability to hold a note just long enough but not too much...to be able to allow people to clearly hear one note move to the next without overlap or disjointedness. Smooth, lingering, but not too much to be dramatic, not too quick to be tense.
I recall the day I began to figure it out. I was playing a Charlie Brown song on the piano in Murphy. It began to 'feel' right. Then the doorbell rang and it was the UPS guy. I saw the look on his face and knew he was listening to me. He was completely calm. It was humbling.
The birds used to fall in the chimney when I played. How about that, I can make birds swoon! That's much more interesting than impressing people!
This 'creation dance' happens when we surrender to God. We get in touch with the mud of creation and the sublime of God. It it learned, if it can be learned, by paying attention. More than the Zen of paying attention, it is attention brought into light by the unceasing realization that all is a gift from God. The song of creation manifests in us when we pray.
Our prayer may be in the form of music and art, but it is also in the form of how we love each other. I mean our prayer is in the form of our work. Attentive to God during work makes work sing its own song.
Aslan sang Narnia into creation. We sing it back to Him (God). Wrong notes and all. Even silence is a song. Think of the Chopin Ballade No. 1. Silence is key to the understanding of that music. The legato in this piece, when paid attention to, makes ordinary extraordinary.
I'm supposed to be writing a verbatim. Anyone who knows me knows I rarely do what I am told, unless of course, God is giving the orders. How I could possibly know the difference, I haven't a clue.
What I have learned in my life is that when I listen to people, I get hurt. People are basically selfish and self-motivated. People will do what they have to to win. God, on the other hand, has my interests at heart, your interests at heart...and he can see the way to make us both better without hurting either one of us. So I have to look at the person speaking to me: Is it God, or is it Bruce? Because both exist in the same shell. And Bruce isn't a bad person or anything, Bruce is just talking from his humanity...and that is myopic, clouded, driven...but Bruce also speaks as the voice of God, when he humbles himself. And then, I have to listen carefully. Something important is about to happen.
I remember the first God moments I awoke to back in the 1990s. I'd be with someone and the air seemed to get very still, like just before a storm...and yes, there would be a rush like a mighty wind...when the words were finally formed...and I would know...someone just told me their secret truth...we are on holy ground...and I better get out of the way and let God do His thing.
It was so cool. Now those times are almost regular. Now, not being in that place feels horrible, uncomfortable...and I start pouting and demanding God to give me what I want...like yesterday...but He loves me anyway. We are an old married couple now. And He know this woman has an unquenchable fire and sometimes sparks and hits the good carpet...but that was what attracted Him to me anyway.
Get it? I want the whole world to feel this way with God. I want the whole world to love Him the way I love Him. Yet, I know...my way is best for me...and your way may be best for you...but this way...is so much fun!
I can't really write verbatims anymore. I deliberately try to not think too much about what I do and why I do it. I have found, that if I remain in prayer...even my screw-ups can and are used by God.
Last night I was with a family. They were getting ready to 'pull the plug' on a young man. They wanted a chaplain. When I walked in, I just looked at all the faces and all the tears. Have I met you before, I asked. No, the wife said. But I have met them. Each time I do this, I see God. He is always there, always the same. And the humanity in that person is so scared. Love is messy. It means there will be days like this one. I just said, don't worry. Don't be afraid. He has someplace wonderful to go. I know. [I have been there, I have seen it and felt it and it is wonderful...better than any dream]
I could spend a great deal of time examining whether I said the right thing or in the right order, but I just don't stress about it anymore. I go in. I see Christ. I love, in the way I can, as Cindy. Nothing more. Nothing less.
What was so cool about yesterday, was I was showing the 10th graders the film "The Fourth Wise Man" with Martin and Charlie Sheen. Some of them were texting during the movie, but they were watching. I put the movie on because about one yesterday I got a call that my partner for the class couldn't come. I came up with the movie...no, God came up with the movie.
The the movie is all about the Sermon on the Mount: Do for others. You will be rewarded. And about halfway through, I heard an alarm. I thought, a fire drill? Now? and then knew it was my phone. The hospital was calling. The pending death. I asked the sub helper to finish out the movie, told the kids I had to go to the hospital and that they should pray for the family I was going to see.
I walked out of the room and marveled at God. I wanted to remind them about service, about loving one another...and God just made it all so three dimensional for them. God in the mix. God in the mess. Maybe a couple of them figured it out. Serve Him by serving others.
Just cool.
Thus endeth the examen...
Love, Cindy
I arise today through a mighty strength
Through an invocation of the Trinity
Through a belief in the threeness
Through a confession of the oneness
Of the creator of creation...
But me under a full moon and you will discover more than you would ever wish to know about me. But the warrior side of me came through again. The survivor. The captain of the ship. On these days, Deborah and Esther are my older sisters. My great-grandchild is Mary...we are women who can save the nation, by holding fast, birthing babies and showing men how wonderful they really are.
Did I really say that? Good thing I have only 12 people who read my silliness! Long ago, in the 60s, I wrote. I kind of figured someone would find my dead body someday and just maybe, someone would want to know who I was. I didn't like the things I was learning about people, and I didn't like where my life seemed to be heading. Gotta make a record. For posterity. For science. How can anyone solve a problem without data?
Godowski. I learned about him when I began to study piano again. He was the pianists' pianist. The recordings are on CD, but they are so very old...and he is so very gifted. Has a legato that borders on perfect. Legato is the ability to hold a note just long enough but not too much...to be able to allow people to clearly hear one note move to the next without overlap or disjointedness. Smooth, lingering, but not too much to be dramatic, not too quick to be tense.
I recall the day I began to figure it out. I was playing a Charlie Brown song on the piano in Murphy. It began to 'feel' right. Then the doorbell rang and it was the UPS guy. I saw the look on his face and knew he was listening to me. He was completely calm. It was humbling.
The birds used to fall in the chimney when I played. How about that, I can make birds swoon! That's much more interesting than impressing people!
This 'creation dance' happens when we surrender to God. We get in touch with the mud of creation and the sublime of God. It it learned, if it can be learned, by paying attention. More than the Zen of paying attention, it is attention brought into light by the unceasing realization that all is a gift from God. The song of creation manifests in us when we pray.
Our prayer may be in the form of music and art, but it is also in the form of how we love each other. I mean our prayer is in the form of our work. Attentive to God during work makes work sing its own song.
Aslan sang Narnia into creation. We sing it back to Him (God). Wrong notes and all. Even silence is a song. Think of the Chopin Ballade No. 1. Silence is key to the understanding of that music. The legato in this piece, when paid attention to, makes ordinary extraordinary.
I'm supposed to be writing a verbatim. Anyone who knows me knows I rarely do what I am told, unless of course, God is giving the orders. How I could possibly know the difference, I haven't a clue.
What I have learned in my life is that when I listen to people, I get hurt. People are basically selfish and self-motivated. People will do what they have to to win. God, on the other hand, has my interests at heart, your interests at heart...and he can see the way to make us both better without hurting either one of us. So I have to look at the person speaking to me: Is it God, or is it Bruce? Because both exist in the same shell. And Bruce isn't a bad person or anything, Bruce is just talking from his humanity...and that is myopic, clouded, driven...but Bruce also speaks as the voice of God, when he humbles himself. And then, I have to listen carefully. Something important is about to happen.
I remember the first God moments I awoke to back in the 1990s. I'd be with someone and the air seemed to get very still, like just before a storm...and yes, there would be a rush like a mighty wind...when the words were finally formed...and I would know...someone just told me their secret truth...we are on holy ground...and I better get out of the way and let God do His thing.
It was so cool. Now those times are almost regular. Now, not being in that place feels horrible, uncomfortable...and I start pouting and demanding God to give me what I want...like yesterday...but He loves me anyway. We are an old married couple now. And He know this woman has an unquenchable fire and sometimes sparks and hits the good carpet...but that was what attracted Him to me anyway.
Get it? I want the whole world to feel this way with God. I want the whole world to love Him the way I love Him. Yet, I know...my way is best for me...and your way may be best for you...but this way...is so much fun!
I can't really write verbatims anymore. I deliberately try to not think too much about what I do and why I do it. I have found, that if I remain in prayer...even my screw-ups can and are used by God.
Last night I was with a family. They were getting ready to 'pull the plug' on a young man. They wanted a chaplain. When I walked in, I just looked at all the faces and all the tears. Have I met you before, I asked. No, the wife said. But I have met them. Each time I do this, I see God. He is always there, always the same. And the humanity in that person is so scared. Love is messy. It means there will be days like this one. I just said, don't worry. Don't be afraid. He has someplace wonderful to go. I know. [I have been there, I have seen it and felt it and it is wonderful...better than any dream]
I could spend a great deal of time examining whether I said the right thing or in the right order, but I just don't stress about it anymore. I go in. I see Christ. I love, in the way I can, as Cindy. Nothing more. Nothing less.
What was so cool about yesterday, was I was showing the 10th graders the film "The Fourth Wise Man" with Martin and Charlie Sheen. Some of them were texting during the movie, but they were watching. I put the movie on because about one yesterday I got a call that my partner for the class couldn't come. I came up with the movie...no, God came up with the movie.
The the movie is all about the Sermon on the Mount: Do for others. You will be rewarded. And about halfway through, I heard an alarm. I thought, a fire drill? Now? and then knew it was my phone. The hospital was calling. The pending death. I asked the sub helper to finish out the movie, told the kids I had to go to the hospital and that they should pray for the family I was going to see.
I walked out of the room and marveled at God. I wanted to remind them about service, about loving one another...and God just made it all so three dimensional for them. God in the mix. God in the mess. Maybe a couple of them figured it out. Serve Him by serving others.
Just cool.
Thus endeth the examen...
Love, Cindy
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Mother Teresa
Jesus had to become poor to be able to be one of us.
He had to become small
He had to become weak
He had to become helpless
He had to become dependent
He had to become lonely,
To feel unwanted, unloved, uncared for.
Except for his mother, nobody knew who he was...
"Words to love by..." Mother Teresa, Ave Maria Press, p. 26
What happened yesterday? Mass, breakfast with a dear friend, hospital visits until 2??? Phone calls to people who I haven't said I love you to in a while. Emails. Goodwill Store. No statues of saints...always wanting more statues of saints. But a few books and DVDs...we all have our additions.
Left half gallon of milk in car...again...
Watched a DVD last night, not one I bought. Called "The Star of Bethlehem." a loaner from someone who knew my passion for astronomy. Had me stuck to the chair in the kitchen for over an hour. The conjunction of Jupiter with Venus to create the "brightest star" in the sky. The comments about 'reading' the stars for the prophesy of this new king go unchallenged for me. I found one or two 'holes' in his argument, but nothing to not support him.
And having taught astronomy and once being married to an astronomer, I was caught in sitting there with knowledge I already knew. Now what I must do is determine what might/can happen next. Everything is connected. Time, as it exists, is fluid, it brings us to where we are supposed to be according to His plan. Some of us see the signs. I don't know if that really helps, but some of us see ahead, two, three, four moves on the board. Those are the midwives, the ones who bring life forward out of darkness. These are the priests and prophets, the lovers of God and those who hunger for good. The ones who have hope. The ones who receive love.
The boy had to become like us so that we could see him. God is always with us, but we do not always see him.
Me, in my great loneliness, see him every minute of every day. Perhaps loneliness is too harsh a word, but solitude is just too kind. Unattached perhaps, for detached sounds so cold.
But the celibates have it right. Even John Wesley knew how much trouble it was to married. Let me try this theme again:
In order to love everyone, you must desire no one. There is not the distraction of having to satisfy the needs of a particular object of love, and then of course, the children that often result of the bond. Their needs must be acknowledged and embraced and attended to.
To love as I have learned/am learning to love...is different and yet really wonderful. Except for the times when it is not.
A conversation with a priest this week: He told me something I'm trying to get my head around..."once you experience unconditional love, things change." And like Billy Abraham would say in class, "we need to unpack that idea."
Do I know unconditional love? Perhaps. Have I received it? Maybe. You see, all the woundings of my life make me very receptive to God's love and grace. In Him, with Him, I am in bliss. Other people tell me they want this bliss for themselves, but cannot find it. I wonder sometimes, they haven't been wounded enough or broken enough to see it yet. To feel it yet, to receive it yet.
Not that someone would have to go through the things I've gone through, but that one must be willing to let go of what all those attachments they might have provide. It is easier to let go of things that are obviously unhealthy. But things that are only a little unhealthy...well, how much harm can they do?
So as an adversary to myself, I have to present the question: have I known unconditional love from a human being? Is that even possible? Most human love is based on what we might receive from the object of our affections. We love for what the object of our love can give us. Not really unhealthy, but not really selfless either. So perhaps something else is at play that I don't yet understand.
What is God teaching me right now? What does He want me to do? Where is the next step?
I have become small, weak, dependent, helpless and lonely. Many times feeling unwanted, unloved, uncared for.
Can I see them now? Can I see the work I am supposed to do? Can I love from here? Have I let Him in far enough to let Him out?
Can you see what I am telling you? Do you know what you must do? Can you be brave enough to follow the star?
Fr. Jason was right. That poem from Donkey Bells is perfect. Heaven is within your reach. Here and now. You can taste it. You can feel its wind on your face. Sister Doughtery knows it is true, so do I. we have a very good place to go, when we are ready.
Larry died last night. Now he knows. He suffers no more. We who are left behind will hold each other and remind ourselves that here and now matters too.
I wish you a blessed waiting.
Love, Cindy
He had to become small
He had to become weak
He had to become helpless
He had to become dependent
He had to become lonely,
To feel unwanted, unloved, uncared for.
Except for his mother, nobody knew who he was...
"Words to love by..." Mother Teresa, Ave Maria Press, p. 26
What happened yesterday? Mass, breakfast with a dear friend, hospital visits until 2??? Phone calls to people who I haven't said I love you to in a while. Emails. Goodwill Store. No statues of saints...always wanting more statues of saints. But a few books and DVDs...we all have our additions.
Left half gallon of milk in car...again...
Watched a DVD last night, not one I bought. Called "The Star of Bethlehem." a loaner from someone who knew my passion for astronomy. Had me stuck to the chair in the kitchen for over an hour. The conjunction of Jupiter with Venus to create the "brightest star" in the sky. The comments about 'reading' the stars for the prophesy of this new king go unchallenged for me. I found one or two 'holes' in his argument, but nothing to not support him.
And having taught astronomy and once being married to an astronomer, I was caught in sitting there with knowledge I already knew. Now what I must do is determine what might/can happen next. Everything is connected. Time, as it exists, is fluid, it brings us to where we are supposed to be according to His plan. Some of us see the signs. I don't know if that really helps, but some of us see ahead, two, three, four moves on the board. Those are the midwives, the ones who bring life forward out of darkness. These are the priests and prophets, the lovers of God and those who hunger for good. The ones who have hope. The ones who receive love.
The boy had to become like us so that we could see him. God is always with us, but we do not always see him.
Me, in my great loneliness, see him every minute of every day. Perhaps loneliness is too harsh a word, but solitude is just too kind. Unattached perhaps, for detached sounds so cold.
But the celibates have it right. Even John Wesley knew how much trouble it was to married. Let me try this theme again:
In order to love everyone, you must desire no one. There is not the distraction of having to satisfy the needs of a particular object of love, and then of course, the children that often result of the bond. Their needs must be acknowledged and embraced and attended to.
To love as I have learned/am learning to love...is different and yet really wonderful. Except for the times when it is not.
A conversation with a priest this week: He told me something I'm trying to get my head around..."once you experience unconditional love, things change." And like Billy Abraham would say in class, "we need to unpack that idea."
Do I know unconditional love? Perhaps. Have I received it? Maybe. You see, all the woundings of my life make me very receptive to God's love and grace. In Him, with Him, I am in bliss. Other people tell me they want this bliss for themselves, but cannot find it. I wonder sometimes, they haven't been wounded enough or broken enough to see it yet. To feel it yet, to receive it yet.
Not that someone would have to go through the things I've gone through, but that one must be willing to let go of what all those attachments they might have provide. It is easier to let go of things that are obviously unhealthy. But things that are only a little unhealthy...well, how much harm can they do?
So as an adversary to myself, I have to present the question: have I known unconditional love from a human being? Is that even possible? Most human love is based on what we might receive from the object of our affections. We love for what the object of our love can give us. Not really unhealthy, but not really selfless either. So perhaps something else is at play that I don't yet understand.
What is God teaching me right now? What does He want me to do? Where is the next step?
I have become small, weak, dependent, helpless and lonely. Many times feeling unwanted, unloved, uncared for.
Can I see them now? Can I see the work I am supposed to do? Can I love from here? Have I let Him in far enough to let Him out?
Can you see what I am telling you? Do you know what you must do? Can you be brave enough to follow the star?
Fr. Jason was right. That poem from Donkey Bells is perfect. Heaven is within your reach. Here and now. You can taste it. You can feel its wind on your face. Sister Doughtery knows it is true, so do I. we have a very good place to go, when we are ready.
Larry died last night. Now he knows. He suffers no more. We who are left behind will hold each other and remind ourselves that here and now matters too.
I wish you a blessed waiting.
Love, Cindy
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Truly Madly Deeply cond...
I wore make-up to Mass last night. Quite a contrast to the early morning Mass where I found myself crying buckets of tears...Fr. Henry did it on purpose, I think, for I heard many sniffles and watched eyes being wiped during his homily, which was very appropriate for Christmas: Christmas is the time of what I often call the Blue Meanies. It is the time when we remember all the Christmases past, people who are not there anymore, decisions we made, all of it comes into our heads...and we weep for what we miss. It is part of being human. Hope and regret, great joys and great sorrows.
I recall this year, the deaths I have entered...and I know this Christmas will be hard for so many people. I've called a few this December. They are open and wonderful to me, loving...and I nonchalantly ask, do you have a plan? Not directly, but I remind them this its going to hit them at some moment during the holiday and they need to be ready.
Just as Jesus told his disciples during The Last Supper, I think, or perhaps in the garden...You say you love me, but when the hour is here, you will leave me alone, but you must remember that I am not alone, my Father is with me. I tell you this now, because when it happens, you must remember that I told you.
It's like the mother in "Terms of Endearment" when she tells her son: I know you can't tell me that you love me now. But after I am gone, you must remember that I am telling you now that I know you love me. It's okay.
We are all caught up in so many feelings all the time. I'm just one of those people who writes about them as honestly as I can...because I know how lonely some people are inside their feelings. I know everyone is as scared as I am about what might happen next. I know how we built fortresses around our hearts to protect them from the pain of loving. And loving, while bringing great joy, also brings great pain.
A few nights ago, when I was playing the beautiful Steinway at St Monicas, I saw the crucifix lying on the altar, so for me, at the piano, Jesus was horizontal.
I was suddenly overcome with the feelings of being his mother...which is often my state...and being present as the nails were placed on his hands...and the pain she must have felt.
I remember holding my son down on a table in the doctor's office while they were stitching up his eyebrow. I remember the mother hold her daughter and looking at the port in her side that poured in drugs to fight the cancer.
And I looked over at my boy, being nailed to the cross. We are a complicated species, we humans.
Then I shuddered as I thought, of the cross being raised up...and I almost fell off the piano bench. Yes, the boy had to endure it...but Mother watching???
I just didn't know.
Yet we are all called to be witnesses to life, and witnesses to death. It is our gift. Like the loving husband who looks at his wife and sees only the thin, beautiful, 25 year old young mother...while she lies in her bed perhaps not recognizing him any more...that's what love does.
We see what is really there: The pain the suffering. The decay. But all of this is seen in through the eyes of love...and love, real love, cannot be killed.
We know (altho we sometimes deny) that real love...messy love, truly madly deeply love...involves everything that makes us human: joy, rage, hope, faith, trust, the good, the bad, the ugly...and it is all worth it.
Messy love is risk. Be clear here, I am not talking about lust, envy, pride, exploitation, using, selfishness...that's messy too...and damages so many people and souls...but love is messy.
The blood on the cross...most don't have that hanging above an altar...but without question, with our without the body of Jesus Christ, that cross was not brown but red. It said, "I love you this much."
Do not be afraid. All throughout His life, from before he was born, we hear the words "Do not be afraid."
I look at people who mean so much to me and I know I will have to let them all go someday. Either I will leave, or they will leave. But not today. I must not be afraid to love. Now. Truly. Madly. Deeply.
Because He loved me first.
Love, Cindy
I recall this year, the deaths I have entered...and I know this Christmas will be hard for so many people. I've called a few this December. They are open and wonderful to me, loving...and I nonchalantly ask, do you have a plan? Not directly, but I remind them this its going to hit them at some moment during the holiday and they need to be ready.
Just as Jesus told his disciples during The Last Supper, I think, or perhaps in the garden...You say you love me, but when the hour is here, you will leave me alone, but you must remember that I am not alone, my Father is with me. I tell you this now, because when it happens, you must remember that I told you.
It's like the mother in "Terms of Endearment" when she tells her son: I know you can't tell me that you love me now. But after I am gone, you must remember that I am telling you now that I know you love me. It's okay.
We are all caught up in so many feelings all the time. I'm just one of those people who writes about them as honestly as I can...because I know how lonely some people are inside their feelings. I know everyone is as scared as I am about what might happen next. I know how we built fortresses around our hearts to protect them from the pain of loving. And loving, while bringing great joy, also brings great pain.
A few nights ago, when I was playing the beautiful Steinway at St Monicas, I saw the crucifix lying on the altar, so for me, at the piano, Jesus was horizontal.
I was suddenly overcome with the feelings of being his mother...which is often my state...and being present as the nails were placed on his hands...and the pain she must have felt.
I remember holding my son down on a table in the doctor's office while they were stitching up his eyebrow. I remember the mother hold her daughter and looking at the port in her side that poured in drugs to fight the cancer.
And I looked over at my boy, being nailed to the cross. We are a complicated species, we humans.
Then I shuddered as I thought, of the cross being raised up...and I almost fell off the piano bench. Yes, the boy had to endure it...but Mother watching???
I just didn't know.
Yet we are all called to be witnesses to life, and witnesses to death. It is our gift. Like the loving husband who looks at his wife and sees only the thin, beautiful, 25 year old young mother...while she lies in her bed perhaps not recognizing him any more...that's what love does.
We see what is really there: The pain the suffering. The decay. But all of this is seen in through the eyes of love...and love, real love, cannot be killed.
We know (altho we sometimes deny) that real love...messy love, truly madly deeply love...involves everything that makes us human: joy, rage, hope, faith, trust, the good, the bad, the ugly...and it is all worth it.
Messy love is risk. Be clear here, I am not talking about lust, envy, pride, exploitation, using, selfishness...that's messy too...and damages so many people and souls...but love is messy.
The blood on the cross...most don't have that hanging above an altar...but without question, with our without the body of Jesus Christ, that cross was not brown but red. It said, "I love you this much."
Do not be afraid. All throughout His life, from before he was born, we hear the words "Do not be afraid."
I look at people who mean so much to me and I know I will have to let them all go someday. Either I will leave, or they will leave. But not today. I must not be afraid to love. Now. Truly. Madly. Deeply.
Because He loved me first.
Love, Cindy
Friday, December 10, 2010
Savage Garden - Truly Madly Deeply
Another exhausting week, so different from the last one. At least now I am not sick, and my voice has almost returned. Yesterday I spent the morning with my wonderful priest friend. He looked better. We had a wonderful time as always. He liked my soup. When we pray, I feel so much peace. We share stories. He listens to my adventures and offers a perspective. What bothers me about yesterday is that I know he told me something very important and I can't remember what he said. That's because a part of me was so caught up in his mortality. I want a miracle. I want him well. All I have is now. And now has to be enough. Tomorrow will have to take care of itself.
I remember the morning I woke up, perhaps two years ago, when I realized that one of my greatest gifts was death. I mean that I am called to help people die. I am called to draw people into reconciliation with God. My work is making beauty out of mortality.
The other night at a church coffee house, someone came up to me and hugged me. This was her first night out in public since her husband had passed away. She wanted me to know that. She was smiling. And then there were other faces that passed by and smiled, or hugged me...and I recall the encounters I have had with each one of them and what holy, holy moments they were.
It is who I am. A priest. But not a priest. Still a priest. What does this mean?
I have a new friend that I love dearly. She got caught in the crossfire on Tuesday night when I decided to throw a tantrum about not being able to be a priest. And the tantrum I threw was exhausting...and terrifying to me, because I loved this woman and she is a very good Catholic. She held me, looked me in the eye and said. "God put you in the Catholic Church for a reason. Figure it out." And I was really scared that I would lose her friendship because I showed my true colors.
Oh how I wish I could let it go. I wish I could grieve it and get on with life. I don't understand these strange feelings of wanting something that will never happen...and I wonder what it is calling me to face...or what I am hiding from that requires this much energy to hide from.
You know, like the mother of a drug addict. She spends all of her energy on praying for her son, trying to change her son...when God wants her to see what is inside her, what needs to heal in her...but this other thing is so distracting. That is how it feels sometimes.
So I must now go and beg her to forgive me. She heard words that she did not need to hear.
Truly, Madly, Deeply
I wrote a sermon for my preaching class with Zan Holmes using this song. Zan is an amazing African American Methodist preacher that, early in his career, was dismissed as uninteresting and giving a small church off of I-30...which he then turned into one of the largest Methodist Churches in the Dallas area. Zan was a gentleman of the highest order. I used this song to preach about my relationship with God...and he gave me an A.
For me, the God thing has always been truly, madly deeply...a perfect love story. This is a love that will never leave me, never hurt me, never be unfaithful, always keep me safe, satisfies my every need.
And it manifests itself through the people I meet.
Because He loved me, I can love them...as they need to be loved...I can hold on and let go...and it is all good.
And I must leave the house now. I'll finish later.
Love, Cindy
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Real Friendship
I like today just fine. I was preparing to sit in my study, literally surrounded by theology books and a statue of Mary on my right...an old ceramic lamp with one of a pink veil over the shade, a history of my way back to God tucked away into every corner. A cup of gingerbread tea in an old Christmas Starbucks mug and my breviary, waiting for me.
But my glasses were loose, so I went to find a tool to tighten them. An hour later, after a drawer has been cleaned, I remember what I intended to do. Such a silly old girl! And yet, I celebrate that I am not feeling well, and can just savor these moments of nothing...which are really moments of great somethings.
It is almost melancholic to describe what this is for me. I'd like to think I was a woman of great character, but really, my way of living has been thrust upon me. I say with hyperbole and drama that so much of what I have loved has left me, beginning at seven days old...that I was forced to learn to love differently. And I can tell you, having lived through the work of it and done so for a long time, that this is really the best way to love.
There are people I know, who are so bitter now, because they were blessed with the 'good life,' so that when it ended, they felt cheated rather than blessed. They learned to expect love, expect stability, expect things to work out their way. even expect people to treat them with respect.
I think about that. It is good to expect things. We are usually treated the way we expect to be treated. It doesn't always work that way. So we have to live in the intention of receiving respect, but not so much as to let the denial of what we ask for to dominate our feelings.
In my 'white' world, I am still reasonably attractive (not repulsive at least, I hope!). Beauty always opens doors. It is both blessing and curse. People make assumptions. In my white world, white people open up to me. In my white world, they lie my blue eyes. They give me second and third chances because I have qualities that attract them. In my white world.
In a world of a different color, I am not seen the same way. And sometimes that is a bit frightening. I go down to St Monica's Church in Dallas and it is a very different world than what I am used to. White people see me and think I am rich, too. They expect me to think and be and do like them. Non-white people there have seen me as a person in a position of power and it is very unsettling. If I go to daily Mass, I am most often asked if I would like someone to come clean my house. Or I am asked for a ride, or something...that throws my understanding of reality off balance. I am not a good housekeeper, but I cannot imagine someone cleaning my house for me. The idea of servant, even in a restaurant, humbles me. I try to treat anyone who does anything for me with great reverence. And I watch very carefully the people who dine with me. It is the best way for me to see know them...how they treat someone who is acting as a servant.
Which is why, I personally could never walk out of a Mass without thanking the priest. I don't know how others view the priest, but for me, in the Mass, he is a servant. His work is to bring the Body and Blood of Christ to us, to feed us physically, spiritually, emotionally...and he should be thanked.
I discovered in a conversation with a massage therapist that Alec Guinness was a devout Catholic. Then, as God usually does for me, I found a DVD at Goodwill with Guinness starring in a movie called "The Prisoner." He played a Cardinal who was put in prison after WWII as an enemy of the State. He told his friends (and his congregation, I think) that he would go to prison, and should he ever be released, he would not be the man he was today. And I suppose I will spoil the ending for you, but he was tortured and brainwashed...and he finally confesses to false accusations concerning his faith. So they release him. And he is so ashamed and prepares himself to be mocked and possibly killed by his faithful followers. He walks out of prison and there are his parishioners waiting for him. He bows his head. They do not say a word. They make a path for him. He walks out and the movie ends.
They know suffering. They understand the difference between justice and mercy. He warned them he would change. He let them down, he thought. They love him anyway.
And such is the Body of Christ. Such is the foundation of real friendship. It is the real way were are supposed to live with one another.
I have some very special friendships. I cherish my friends because family defined as blood relatives is a bit estranged for me. I still have relatives out there, connected to the parents that raised me, and they don't much care for me. I don't put up with crap. And they like to dish it out. I love them from a distance. I let them have their world. And they are always welcome in mine, but I choose to not enter theirs. My children, I love deeply, and my greatest gift I can give them is to let them lives their lives as they choose, not as I choose. (as if I could possibly make them live as I want them to! what a waste of energy!) I am there, but I celebrate their independence and the trials they face, but I do not fix, or attempt to correct. Their lives belong to them. They belong to God, not me. It is a different love than the love for a friend.
A friend is a choice. It is a seeking out of a person with the right mix of similarity and difference to make an encounter always interesting. It is a relationship where love can be given and received without fear. It is a place where you can kind of tell when its time to come and its time to leave. It doesn't drain either person, rather it fills and energizes. It offers hope...and a great sense of peace. Sometimes is is a natural connection and other times it requires the effort of both persons involved.
I remember at TAMU, I lived across from the most beautiful man God ever created. He was beautiful, handsome...my own personal "Captain Von Trapp" I thought. The first night I met him, we sat in his apartment and talked for hours...and then, the next thing I remember was him putting a blanket over me. I was asleep on his sofa. To this day, I remember exactly how that blanket felt and what I was thinking. I fell asleep in a complete stranger's apartment. And I was completely happy. Putting the blanket over me woke me, but I tried not to stir...because I knew I was in a holy moment and I wanted it to last as long as it could. I had found a real friend.
Real friendship is when silence between two people is comfortable.
Months later, after many long talks and laughter and meals shared, we kissed one night...and...there was nothing there to support it. We were friends. That was all. The most beautiful man God ever created...and I could not think of him in any romantic way. We were friends. I would let nothing interfere with that status.
Each of us are called into a relationship with each other. Some will be friends, others acquaintances, some family, some husbands and wives. I encourage you to enter deeply into the relationships that God has created for you.
Like the Cardinal, the relationships will always be complicated and challenging. They will be work. But they will also bring bliss and encounters of God that you could not have found otherwise.
I have people in my life that I know I will have to let go of eventually and that hurts, knowing that truth. But to not risk loving them anyway would be the greater crime.
Sometimes I walk into a hospital room and I immediately love the child, adult in the bed. I know this relationship is so temporary. Maybe I already know this person is going to die soon. At the very least, they will leave my life when they leave the hospital. But in this moment, we are friends. And that is a gift from God.
To have but not to hold.
To heal and then to fly.
To love as love was meant to be.
He loves us and lets us live our lives as we choose. He hopes we choose Him.
I'm out of time...
Love, Cindy
But my glasses were loose, so I went to find a tool to tighten them. An hour later, after a drawer has been cleaned, I remember what I intended to do. Such a silly old girl! And yet, I celebrate that I am not feeling well, and can just savor these moments of nothing...which are really moments of great somethings.
It is almost melancholic to describe what this is for me. I'd like to think I was a woman of great character, but really, my way of living has been thrust upon me. I say with hyperbole and drama that so much of what I have loved has left me, beginning at seven days old...that I was forced to learn to love differently. And I can tell you, having lived through the work of it and done so for a long time, that this is really the best way to love.
There are people I know, who are so bitter now, because they were blessed with the 'good life,' so that when it ended, they felt cheated rather than blessed. They learned to expect love, expect stability, expect things to work out their way. even expect people to treat them with respect.
I think about that. It is good to expect things. We are usually treated the way we expect to be treated. It doesn't always work that way. So we have to live in the intention of receiving respect, but not so much as to let the denial of what we ask for to dominate our feelings.
In my 'white' world, I am still reasonably attractive (not repulsive at least, I hope!). Beauty always opens doors. It is both blessing and curse. People make assumptions. In my white world, white people open up to me. In my white world, they lie my blue eyes. They give me second and third chances because I have qualities that attract them. In my white world.
In a world of a different color, I am not seen the same way. And sometimes that is a bit frightening. I go down to St Monica's Church in Dallas and it is a very different world than what I am used to. White people see me and think I am rich, too. They expect me to think and be and do like them. Non-white people there have seen me as a person in a position of power and it is very unsettling. If I go to daily Mass, I am most often asked if I would like someone to come clean my house. Or I am asked for a ride, or something...that throws my understanding of reality off balance. I am not a good housekeeper, but I cannot imagine someone cleaning my house for me. The idea of servant, even in a restaurant, humbles me. I try to treat anyone who does anything for me with great reverence. And I watch very carefully the people who dine with me. It is the best way for me to see know them...how they treat someone who is acting as a servant.
Which is why, I personally could never walk out of a Mass without thanking the priest. I don't know how others view the priest, but for me, in the Mass, he is a servant. His work is to bring the Body and Blood of Christ to us, to feed us physically, spiritually, emotionally...and he should be thanked.
I discovered in a conversation with a massage therapist that Alec Guinness was a devout Catholic. Then, as God usually does for me, I found a DVD at Goodwill with Guinness starring in a movie called "The Prisoner." He played a Cardinal who was put in prison after WWII as an enemy of the State. He told his friends (and his congregation, I think) that he would go to prison, and should he ever be released, he would not be the man he was today. And I suppose I will spoil the ending for you, but he was tortured and brainwashed...and he finally confesses to false accusations concerning his faith. So they release him. And he is so ashamed and prepares himself to be mocked and possibly killed by his faithful followers. He walks out of prison and there are his parishioners waiting for him. He bows his head. They do not say a word. They make a path for him. He walks out and the movie ends.
They know suffering. They understand the difference between justice and mercy. He warned them he would change. He let them down, he thought. They love him anyway.
And such is the Body of Christ. Such is the foundation of real friendship. It is the real way were are supposed to live with one another.
I have some very special friendships. I cherish my friends because family defined as blood relatives is a bit estranged for me. I still have relatives out there, connected to the parents that raised me, and they don't much care for me. I don't put up with crap. And they like to dish it out. I love them from a distance. I let them have their world. And they are always welcome in mine, but I choose to not enter theirs. My children, I love deeply, and my greatest gift I can give them is to let them lives their lives as they choose, not as I choose. (as if I could possibly make them live as I want them to! what a waste of energy!) I am there, but I celebrate their independence and the trials they face, but I do not fix, or attempt to correct. Their lives belong to them. They belong to God, not me. It is a different love than the love for a friend.
A friend is a choice. It is a seeking out of a person with the right mix of similarity and difference to make an encounter always interesting. It is a relationship where love can be given and received without fear. It is a place where you can kind of tell when its time to come and its time to leave. It doesn't drain either person, rather it fills and energizes. It offers hope...and a great sense of peace. Sometimes is is a natural connection and other times it requires the effort of both persons involved.
I remember at TAMU, I lived across from the most beautiful man God ever created. He was beautiful, handsome...my own personal "Captain Von Trapp" I thought. The first night I met him, we sat in his apartment and talked for hours...and then, the next thing I remember was him putting a blanket over me. I was asleep on his sofa. To this day, I remember exactly how that blanket felt and what I was thinking. I fell asleep in a complete stranger's apartment. And I was completely happy. Putting the blanket over me woke me, but I tried not to stir...because I knew I was in a holy moment and I wanted it to last as long as it could. I had found a real friend.
Real friendship is when silence between two people is comfortable.
Months later, after many long talks and laughter and meals shared, we kissed one night...and...there was nothing there to support it. We were friends. That was all. The most beautiful man God ever created...and I could not think of him in any romantic way. We were friends. I would let nothing interfere with that status.
Each of us are called into a relationship with each other. Some will be friends, others acquaintances, some family, some husbands and wives. I encourage you to enter deeply into the relationships that God has created for you.
Like the Cardinal, the relationships will always be complicated and challenging. They will be work. But they will also bring bliss and encounters of God that you could not have found otherwise.
I have people in my life that I know I will have to let go of eventually and that hurts, knowing that truth. But to not risk loving them anyway would be the greater crime.
Sometimes I walk into a hospital room and I immediately love the child, adult in the bed. I know this relationship is so temporary. Maybe I already know this person is going to die soon. At the very least, they will leave my life when they leave the hospital. But in this moment, we are friends. And that is a gift from God.
To have but not to hold.
To heal and then to fly.
To love as love was meant to be.
He loves us and lets us live our lives as we choose. He hopes we choose Him.
I'm out of time...
Love, Cindy
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