notice to friends

please note: i am at MDMC chaplaining today without my phone.  All issues and concerns will be addressed after 6 pm today.  
Blessings and love,
Cindy

We just lost the moon

Trying to 'pace myself' here at the hospital, I've got the movie Apollo 13 playing on Netflix.  I have not prayed as much as I would have liked, not as much as yesterday definitely...and that bothers me. I really expect things to get busier here as the night progresses, but I have so much on my mind...not the least of which is the dent Fr. B made in my mind early this morning. Suddenly I am aware he is going to be very important in where I go next. And how I go.  Part of me knew this earlier, but I have just realized it as truth rather than idea.
The last few days have been filled with unexpected things and events. Some parts I have handled very well, others could have been better.  I think part of me is in shock, realizi....
^^^^^^^^
That was the first eight hours of my shift...the second eight were a blur. Two deaths. One family had a strong faith in God, the other did not. One, someone who had a chance to live life a bit. The other hadn't been on the planet too long. Team members showed up. There was no good news to share at all. The days ahead will be dark for them. Lots of unanswered questions, lots of wondering if God is really there at all. I never stopped moving.
I asked the nurse, "Is this a normal night?"
She said, "For a weekend? Yes. Could be worse."  I know even the nurses gave me a wide berth, though.  I said, "Why didn't you tell me about X?" and was told, "You were busy with Y." They understood balance better than me. They've seen a lot of suffering.

Pray for nurses and doctors and firemen and policemen.  They don't have the collar. But they do God's work all night long while we sleep.  I watched a few of them drop into the chapel at the beginning or the end of their shifts.  Silent and heads bowed.  It isn't too hard to know a bit about their prayers.

I simply don't know how anyone can get through this life without God. I can see getting angry with God. Screaming at God, deliberately ignoring God...but not to have God, at least for that unexplained heaviness that stays with us sometimes...I just don't know how anyone live a life without God.

I wrote "We just lost the moon." Tom Hanks said that, playing the character of Lovell, the commander of Apollo 13. What can you say, or do...you work hard, you do what you think is right, you jump through all of the hoops...you love your neighbor, feed the poor, visit those in prison...and then something just happens...and, in a split second...everything you dreamed of goes away.  You did everything right...but you look up...and realize you just lost the moon...

Saw that twice last night in explcit ways.  The perfect husband, the one you finally found, the one you waited for for so very long...a group of people surround him, trying to bring him back to you,,,and then they stop trying, heads down...and you are already crying because you could feel it in the air, long before they knew...you knew...you were losing the moon...

Or your child, you look at them, those trying to save a life...and gently say, "Stop." I know he's not there anymore, you think. You are so very brave...and you wish that you never had to know that about yourself. The baby you brought into the world, loved, protected, cherished...in an instant, you had to let go of the dream, the hope...the possibility.

So I guess that's what I am processing now. Do we stop trying because everything we dreamed of has just disappeared? Do we live in fear of what might be taken away from us next?  Do we lash out in anger, destroying our own lives or others in response to what we lost?  Do we rend our clothes and wish we had never been born? 

Grief.  That is our gift from God. Like love, if we use it wisely and carefully, it will bless us.

In this Advent time, the time of waiting...and hoping...it is also a time of grieving. The only way we can receive something new is if we let go of the something past. When are hands are full, we have no way to reach out, to receive the gift that is coming. It is hard to let go of a treasure, especially when it was such a beautiful treasure, and was so good to us...a child suddenly taken away, a husband, a mother, a beloved pet, a job...the use of one's legs, or hands...a best friend, a home...

In Advent, as we wait again for The Gift of Him into our world, we must again try to realize that He is there for us and with us and in us, when created things leave us...when dreams and goals change...that truly into our darkness will come a Great Light, and that Light will never leave us.

We only have to open our hearts to it.  And the moon...ah well, the moon...

perhaps will remind us to dream again...and He will be there, dreaming with us.

Love, Cindy

There you are...

Wherever you go, there you are...
I'm here at the hospital, between pages. Trying to do the best I can, with my skills. Praying without ceasing. Wondering if God will let this happen, or that happen...kind of wishing He would let me in on His plans for me, but a window cracks open and then shuts itself.
Nothing, it seems, will ever be easy.  My world is spinning into new territory.  Becoming older, not willing to be used or exploited anymore...and feeling comfortable with that. I wonder if my chain in being jerked right now, not because of what is in front of me right now, but because of a memory I hold that is unpleasant. I stand here from my perspective and claim it isn't fair...but I take a few steps to the right and suddenly I see how the outrageous seems quite reasonable from this point of view. The truth is, I can't really blame anyone or declare guilt on anyone. I just have to keep stepping through the mud and push on...because, that much I know, God requires of me: To go on. 
Despite hardships or disappointments, I am called to keep moving.  Tonight, a clearly deeply loved person had to move on...to a different place...even though the many people around him wanted him to stay right here. What do we do? How do we hold on when holding on is no longer an option?  How do we keep moving forward when we have no light in front of us to guide us along the way?

Why do we continue to believe in something we do not see? Or can prove?

I stayed with a family after life support was removed. Through the tears, there were many urgings that "it was okay to go." Everyone said their goodbyes, hands were held and kissed...but the heart beat so strongly, unready to let go. Then I thought about a priest who told me about a death he witnessed, how he found what that person needed...and I thought for a minute.

Does he have a favorite song? 
A family member said no, but would you like to sing to him?

I began singing "Amazing Grace" and the whole family joined in.  The man had been declared brain dead several hours before. But with the singing, his heart rate lowered and he seemed to relax. I stopped singing...and the family continued to sing. I excused myself from the room...

In a short while, he had moved on to heaven. His family sang him into heaven. They seemed a bit more at peace, too.

Don't ever try to tell me we don't have souls, that all we are is a lump of flesh...
We are children of the Light, and when our bodies can no longer hold our light, we return to the source of all light. 

Our lives are gifts. Sometimes, I forget that, especially when I'm not getting what I think I want. But I must remember always, each day is a gift. Even the bad ones. Even the ones with disappointments.

And I pray that, when my time comes, someone will be there to sing me into heaven.

Love, Cindy

Mirror, mirror

I can talk with anybody. I have heard confessions from friends and strangers...from people with great power and from people who live on the street. They tell me their story. They want to tell me their story...and they want to tell it correctly, with no ornaments to make it pretty and they often don't have any ending, much less a happy ending. And I can listen well, I can reflect well...I am attentive, encouraging, helpful, generous, compassionate...

And I can do that with everyone except my own children.

And there is nothing more important than listening to our children.

After YEARS of personal therapy and work as a chaplain, I can at least offer one perspective to this problem: self-differentiation. Casually put, that is the 'place where I end and you begin.'  Anxiety skyrockets when we don't know where that place is.  We no longer think about what the other person is saying, we are not even sure of what we are saying. We want to be liked and listened to and loved...but we go about it in all the wrong ways.  And that ends up in fights, hurt feelings, broken relationships and sometimes violence.

The problem may stem from familiarity:
I know what he/she is going to say.
Why try?
It always ends up the same way.
Why does she/he always want to win/hurt me/have the last word?
If you loved me, you would know what I want!
Why don't you tell me about your day? All you say is ''fine"...
I'm tired of being ignored...

And it goes on and on...

I suppose I remember because it's Thanksgiving and at some point, we used to return to the eternal dance of painful questions or observations:
When are you going to get a job?
Married? A raise? Have children? Finish school?
You just need to put your mind to it...
You can quite smoking. Just stop. Easy as that. 

Some people think these words are helpful. Some think they are signs of love and caring. Some are so self-centered, they really think they are doing you a favor.

My dad's favorite, from his lounge chair in the back of the room: "Move out of the way!  You make a better door than a window...you're starting to look like the broad side of a barn."

I was the broad side of a barn.  Sigh.  And those were the good days.
And for better or worse, I loved him. 

When he was dying, I came to the hospital with a cassette player and tape. I played songs for him that me and the kids sang the day before. My mother said,"Who is that singing with Beth and Bobby? It certainly can't be you, the person is singing on key..."

And I don't sing in public. It has taken a small miracle to get me to sing Alleluia when I read at daily Mass. People don't have a clue that when I open my mouth, I can hear her whispering to me, "you can't sing."
_________________

I bring this all up because it's Thanksgiving...and the expectations are high and the disappointment potential goes through the roof.  Thanksgiving was when I first began writing, because I was so frustrated with my family and I couldn't stand to be in the room with any of them anymore. I sat in my closet and wrote...I didn't know I was writing to God then, but I was...and I was so sad...I didn't have the "Waltons" as my family. I had "Archie Bunker" without the laugh track.  There was nothing funny about the way those people in the next room were treating each other. Or treating me. Such is the truth about some families.

The second reason I have to write comes from an encounter with a woman who was facing her mortality.  With a simple question, "Why are you here in the hospital?" the tears flowed like water. "I'm not really unhappy. I am happy. I get it now. It could be worse." And then I began to practice the art of listening. As I was listening, I heard her...I must have responded well, because she told me so very much...her life story...

It seemed to begin with her mother's words to her when she was about seven years old:

Her mother said, "You're ugly."

Then she told me her mother left her with her father and a bunch of kids when she was 14 years old. She took care of every one and every thing. And then, when her mother became ill, she went to her mother, and took care of her until the day she died.

Then she told me more. She said, "You know, I have never let anyone love me....I met a nice young man once, and he was so good...but I just kept thinking it out...this is wrong and this is wrong and this is wrong, and I'm so busy and I have my work...and finally, he got tired of trying. I wish I had let someone love me."

Oh my....will have to finish this story later...my grandson just walked in and wants to sit with me...

love, Cindy

Timeline

Began November 8, 2011:
Me, being a teacher at heart and once or twice a math teacher, went up to the board and drew a line:

I------------------->  

Something like that.  I told a little story about my relationship with the TV show Star Trek.  That Q, a super being, chastized Jean Luc:

"Oh Jean Luc, you are so linear!"

And I have loved that line. It supports my love for the Gospel of John, and string theory and quantum physics and is oh so Platonic in nature.

Even on an atomic level, the world does not move in a straight line. There is no one cause, no one effect...except for God: the mover, the trancender of time, the creator of all things.  Many philosophies abound on what and how all these things have meaning, but this day, I had to deal with one thread.  Mine.

So I placed a marker on the line and said, my life began when I was 28.  That was the year I found out that I was adopted. Then I went back to the beginning. I found out that she, Jackie, was there with me in the beginning, for the first seven days. She held me and kissed me and fed me...and then she just disappeared. I had her for two years. Then she died.

And I told the story...now at nearly 54 years of age. Why I do ministry. Why I want to be a chaplain. Why God made me a healer. And in the course of the telling, and I left out all the gory, ugly stuff...but left in the interesting stuff...

And these men all kind of...said at the same time...wow, and you are still alive.

I had really thought I had toned it down considerably.  It is so very disturbing to me that people view my life that way.  One said, as they always say, "You should write a book."  And I think, but every day is different. Now I am almost too busy to think about it. God moments come and come and come...there are fleeting minutes that I only have a short time to say to someone "See God here!" and then move on. 

I'm still hoping to work a miracle, you know...what if I blow that chance because I was writing on the computer? 

I was given about 30 minutes and I took 40.  No one really seemed to mind, but when we got a break, I went out into the lobby and found not just my eye twitching, but my whole body.  Why? I didn't say anything new...at least I did not think I did...what was going on? 

What I think I did not want to own, was that I took my timeline and drew a couple of brackets...I said, "here" and "here" I was happy. Up until the age of 50, I was happy for a total of 6 years. Now that sounds really cold and harsh.  I had children, I won awards and competitions, I'd fallen in and out of love many times, I had had great adventures...but for six very specifially defined years...I found a total self-absorbed, only for me, happy. 

The first time was when I met my biological mother and had her for two glorious years, the second time was when I was in seminary.  That added up to just over one tenth of my life.   For one tenth of my life, I did/had something that belonged to me only.  For one tenth of my life, I loved authentically who I really am.

The rest of the time, I was working to be what someone else wanted me to be or thought I should be.  One could argue that the arrogance of being a full woman, even for six years, is antithetical to church teaching: that is a woman is a unit designed to care for her spouse and raise a family.  But for six unique years, I threw the teachings away and lived my life as fully as I possibly could.

Yet if I look at those years, they were a struggle, too. Hebrew and Greek were very hard for me. Systematic theology was boring, I found myself studying the personalities of the theologians instead.  Jerome had female issues. Calvin had contemplative experiences and dismissed them.  Wesley finally humbled himself enough to get it.  Tertullian had women issues, but great theology.  Polycarp was always direct. Pannenberg...eh...just annoyed me. The point was, not that I was constantly having FEELINGS and OPINIONS about all these writers...the point was that I had the chance to think about them!  That for a few moments in my life, I was not punished for reading, or thinking...and I was surrounded (at least by professors) who were thinking and reading. (many students were just trying to endure seminary so they could get their own church and be about being in charge)...but I was happy beyond all understanding.

And I am happy now, since age 52...according to the Mayan calender, I am in a new life. Since 52, I have decided to not be ashamed of being smart, or female, or being in love with God. God has provided, and I will do His work, as I grow to understand it and walk into it, for the rest of my life. I do not care if I live or die...because I have now...and that is really all that any of us has.

I feel a great love, different than anything I have ever known or understood. This love will never leave me...and it will go with me wherever I go. It is not tied to a person or a place, but there are persons and places where I feel it more strongly...where the fountain flows and I drink deeply...and it scares me a little, and sometimes makes me sad, because I do need a shoulder now and then, a place to feel safe and protected...and that doesn't always arrive when I want it...and I have to admit, I still seek solace and comfort from some people, but not from all people...I do not yet understand the humility of the now. Not completely, and I'm not certain I ever will. 

The timeline showed me a wound not yet healed.  And yet, perhaps it is not meant to be healed. It's pain gives me strength to be a seeker, to be a leader, to remain visionary, to see into people's hearts. Boy, that does sound arrogant!  But when I write such things, I write them to remind you that such strength lies in you, too.  I have no special gift, other than survival.  If you want to know the Truth, you will find the truth. If you want to see yourself, you will see yourself. In relationships, you already know what is right and wrong, good and bad...but because of fear, we hide ourselves from the real and the perfect.  We think we know what we want, but wanting changes from day to day...

The Word of God, the Sacraments, the Practice of the Presence of God, the true humbling of oneself to God, the earnest desire to speak the truth to ourselves and others, to love ourselves and others...to befriend our blessings and our faults. To help each other get through each day. To let others help us to get through each day.  Not just to pray without ceasing, but to forgive without ceasing..To accept that we will never be perfect except in God.

I only state the obvious. This is not systematic theology.  It is the theology of the heart. The physical heart will wear out one day, but the spiritual heart lives with and in God forever. Enjoy it. He wants us to be happy. He wants us to dance.

Love, Cindy

We've done all that we can...

I think I will remember her eyes until the day I die.  I'm not sure why the doctor allowed me to stay in the room, but he examined her, asked a few questions, the motioned to me to shut the door completely.  I did. I stood there. I wished I had taken a seat.
He looked at her and said, "We've done all that we can. You are too weak for any more chemo. It's time to think about what needs to happen next."
Her eyes got wide, and she asked, "What are you trying to tell me?" And he spoke again, in a gentle soothing voice. "There is nothing mre that we can do." and he went into details about all that had already been done. "You are just too weak. Your body cannot handle more."
Again, wide-eyed, she asked, "What are you trying to tell me?"
Again he answered. A long answer. A gentle answer.
And a third time, she asked, "What are you trying to tell me?"
And what I thought he said, but now I am not so sure, was "You are going to die. You need to think about hospice care."
He stayed awhile longer. He talked about what a wonderful woman she was and how enjoyed caring for her. Then he left.

I took a deep breath. I had no idea what I would do.  This is in God's hands and dear Lord, get me out of the way.

If we live long enough, someone is going to have that talk with us, surely as we had 'the talk' about "where do babies come from."  Life and death issues are perhaps the hardest issues to discuss. What defines us, what makes us human, different from all other creatures on this earth...that topic is one we never want to talk about. But it's what we think about, all day long.  I promise you, it's true.

I can wear down some of the toughest nuts.  Sometimes, like a hound dog, I'll dig into your heart until we both find out what you really want to say out loud...and then I pray like hell I'll respond the way Christ wants me to respond, and then, as quickly as it has been exposed, I pray I'll forget it...or put it somewhere so it won't hurt anyone.  I have been successful most of the time. I have failed twice. Twice someone has told me a truth that was too much for me to bear. And I pray for those persons and for me. I am not always suited to the task.  I suspect other times I will fail, but I am convinced God's work will be done, even if I have to walk away.

This day was tough, but not impossible.  I could have approached it somewhat separated from the reality of it, but God has not called me to be shy anymore. I will make mistakes along the way, I'm sure; but a mistake is better than inaction.  It is better than running away. 

The work has been so hard this fall. I should have anticipated it, given the work I did on the retreat. God was just beginning to season me for the next level of my ministry.  Teaching me to trust, and to pray harder than I ever have before...and to deepen my humility to levels I had no idea even existed. 

Redemption arrives in strange ways and from strange places. But, once the baby of humility and innocence is is born, we really don't care how it got there...but we celebrate new life and cuddle and kiss this new and beautiful thing, that is a part of us. That was always a part of us, but so deeply hidden in the mess of living.

This woman's eyes. I hold them in my heart. She knew what he was saying. Intelligence was there, but belief was still far away...and she was just beginning to realize that time was now her enemy. Pain and suffering really didn't factor in.  I could see it all over her face, "but I'm not finished with this life, yet." 

I found a spot to sit on a chair, I only say a little bit on it. I did not want to get comfortable. 

She looked at me.

"What is hospice?"

Oh hell...I thought...I swallowed. I said a lot of words, I thought. Perhaps only a few. But then I got to the important ones: "They help you to have a good death." 

Her sister, on the sofa, looked at me.

I'm thinking, "Well, somebody's got to say it. Let me be the bad guy."  And then I began to second guess myself all over the place. But she kept talking with me. She didn't shut me out.  I explained what I knew. And inside my head, were the faces of all the people I've known this year alone, who I had been with, who were preparing to die. For a fleeting second, I thought of my mother...and dismissed it quickly. All the people entered my heart at once..the ones who died, the people they left behind...the tears and the laughter and the music and all the confusion and mess...and the truth that death is part of the gift of living.

We all get to be born...and we all get to die.   It's all a gift. Beginning to end.

Last night, we had a Mass for All Souls. I read Ecclesiates 3...twice that day. Once for a funeral, in which, for some reason, I looked deep into the daughter's eyes and tried to tell her, "you're gonna make it." and "I know it hurts." I didn't want to read it again that night for the Mass in which perhaps 700 people attended. I'd already read it once that day. It was boring. I didn't want to think about it. And besides, if you exegete it, you will find it is a statement of futility. We can't change anything. We just have to accept it and we really never get to know why. 

So I read it. I looked out into the congregation, and I was suddenly overwhelmed with compassion.  My heart, that I had had to make hard because of all the deaths I'd faced in this month, was softening as the words came out of my mouth...I found myself taking the passage and working my way through it slowly and deliberately, as if I was leading a meditation...that I wanted them to really appreciate the gift of life. It was kind of creepy. I immediately felt selfish and humiliated for thinking my thoughts.

I sat down and the Mass continued. Alan read. Romans. He did a great job. I whispered to him that it was good because I had wanted to read that passage and I needed to honor him. He whispered back to me that he thought I had done the best job reading that he had ever heard (he's been listening to me for at least 2 years)...I blinked...okay. Whatever.

But then I realized how God put it all together for me. How he is working on me, bending me, remolding me into the person He wants...and quite honestly, the person I truly want to be.  I only get a certain amount of time on the planet. And perhaps only a certain amount of time living well enough to serve Him.  So it's important I don't say no. That I pay attention and keep learning. Keep allowing these little mortifications make me into a good and faithful servant. Fear is always going to be there, but fear will not be in charge. 

This beautiful woman worked to listen to a message she did not want to hear. Her bravery to fight, and to try...brought me hope and strength. She was my teacher, teaching me how to hear something hard. I pray that I brought her a gift also...somewhere in my clumsiness.

The next day I peeked into her room. I asked from the doorway, "How are you doing today?"  She smiled at me with a beautiful smile.  She looked genuinely happy, genuinely at peace.
"I'm just fine." 

Love, Cindy

Death and Age

Morning:
I wish I had just a little bit of understanding of how this life works. I love it, really I do, but the last few days have been so exhausting. I didn't think a really young priest could be such a comfort to me, but he has...in his own very unique way, And I am grateful. I am sometimes a snob when I 'choose' people for conversation. While openly capricious and proud of it, I really tend to scope and choose people I think will be helpful to me. I am not always as open as I would like to think I am. I recognize the inherent selfishness of our nature...I'm not crazy about it, but I still choose, or try to choose, who I will let into my life.
So this year is going to be a particular challenge.  I am taking on new CPE work that I pretty much stumbled into. I am now the only female and the only Catholic in the group.  Last night I stayed awake for many reasons, but wondered perhaps that I might need to quit. That this was too much.  That the two 16 hour shifts I must do in order to complete the program might kill me.
I knew last week that my little friend was nearing death. I saw and felt all the signs of it...and I was completely aware that at least his mother was not even close to seeing that. Stay in the reality of the person you are present with. See what they see. Feel with them. Be completely present with them. And then split yourself, take a step back and see what is really happening. Know that, when the time comes, they will see too. Do not pre-empt the process. Do not force a solution. Do not try to fix. It is a sin to try to fix. Your gift it to see. And be the witness God has called you to in that moment. No other. Live it out as if it was your last task in the world. Give it your best. And then let it go.
I know all of that. I don't always pay attention to it. So I feel pain again because I said no...or not now...to someone who asked me to come. I took care of myself. I rested. Or was I selfish? I don't know for certain. What I do know it that I am human. And as my priest-friend told me a little over a year ago: if you can't take the heat, get out of the kitchen.  I can stop working. I can stop trying. I can stop loving at amy moment.  But what kind of life would that be?  How could I not use the gifts God has given me? When I say no to my brother or sister, I am saying no to God.  At least, that is how it feels.

Evening:
Long conversations. Vulnerability. Communion. Tears. Laughter. Gratitude. Humility. Feeling complete and yet not complete. Still longing for the cave. What did I learn today? How will I be a better servant tomorrow? Can I pray now...in this house, or should I go to Mass in Allen tonight? Can I escape my true destiny? My sadness has migrated into falling in love all over again.

It never fails me, this love. And yet, it is so irrational. There is a part of me that knows what I do and who I am goes against all logic. The stories that had to be told were told. They have no power over me any longer. No more than the illusion that some man will take me into a "happily ever after." Happily ever after is a choice made inside the heart. No one can make me happy or sad, but others can do things that allow me to experience love or hate or jealousy or joy...I get to choose what I receive. Yet, it is through humility to God that I acquire the real power of choice. If I do not choose God first, all other choices eventually become false choices, empty choices.

A priest too young to be believed saw enough into my heart that I was able to see a bit better who I really am.  When the truth arrives, we don't look at the messenger, we look at the truth. In my brokenness, someone else found peace and safety. When the unspeakable happened, words were formed and the beginnings of healing were seen. I watched community take care of each other. I looked a friend in the eye and we were one for a few moments. I saw daughter and mother...and mother and son...and marvel how each day, something new happens and I get to be a part of it.

I get to be a part of life. This is new. Previously, it seemed like a fight to survive. It was a fight for things, for people, for love. A fight for a place, a purpose, a vision, a dream.  A fight for...the sake of fighting...because fighting meant you were still breathing, still vibrant, still relevant.

Somehow, somewhere...things changed. Is it because I suddenly feel old? Have I given up? Am I now unimportant in the scheme of things? No.  I think I have finally reached that mountaintop moment, when I truly feel forgiven. And that I have forgiven others.

All the people that I was jealous of, or made fun of, or just simply hated...because they understood what that means: forgiven.   They make sense to me now. And I don't hate them anymore.

How did it happen? Or better, how is it happening? It is that hard humility thing. Humility.Something I hated, though I didn't know I hated it. Something for...not warriors like me. Not people who have had to claw their way into survival.

Humility. You can't love without humility. And you can't be loved without humility. This is what the last three years have been about.

From Hebrews 10:
Therefore, brothers, since through the blood of Jesus we have confidence of entrance into the sanctuary the new and living way he opened for us through the veil, that is, his flesh, and since we have “a great priest over the house of God,” let us approach with a sincere heart and in absolute trust, with our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience and our bodies washed in pure water. Let us hold unwaveringly to our confession that gives us hope, for he who made the promise is trustworthy.

We must consider how to rouse one another to love and good works.We should not stay away from our assembly, as is the custom of some, but encourage one another, and this all the more as you see the day drawing near.
If we sin deliberately after receiving knowledge of the truth, there no longer remains sacrifice for sins but a fearful prospect of judgment and a flaming fire that is going to consume the adversaries. Anyone who rejects the law of Moses is put to death without pity on the testimony of two or three witnesses. Do you not think that a much worse punishment is due the one who has contempt for the Son of God, considers unclean the covenant-blood by which he was consecrated, and insults the spirit of grace?  We know the one who said:

“Vengeance is mine; I will repay,”

and again:

“The Lord will judge his people.”

It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God.

Remember the days past when, after you had been enlightened, you endured a great contest of suffering. At times you were publicly exposed to abuse and affliction; at other times you associated yourselves with those so treated.  You even joined in the sufferings of those in prison and joyfully accepted the confiscation of your property, knowing that you had a better and lasting possession. Therefore, do not throw away your confidence; it will have great recompense. You need endurance to do the will of God and receive what he has promised.

“For, after just a brief moment

he who is to come shall come;

he shall not delay. But my just one shall live by faith,

and if he draws back I take no pleasure in him."

We are not among those who draw back and perish, but among those who have faith and will possess life.

I decided to put a good piece of Chapter 10 here. I love the Letter to the Hebrews. It is of uncertain origin, yet it was left in the Canon.  Interesting.

The point is, I think, that we are simply asked to endure until we understand. When we understand, the war is over. I had to be present for a difficult death. Difficult because there was simply no way for me to reason out a why for it. Then the threat to my own life and the life of a beloved friend. A child has died...and another one has lived. I have been blessed to be present for both. Reason is not required. Reason blocks humility many times. Without humility, there is no love. There will be tragedy and comedy. Success and failure. Logic and irrationality. Good and evil. Death and life. And time.

I have been given enough time to let go of my burden, to take His, which is to love this world which tried to kill Him. It will try to kill me. But it never will. I know that now. I hope you live long enough to know that, too.

Love, Cindy

second and ten...

I have at least 10 entries started. They all look fine until I get in touch with my anger and I just stop writing. A priest friend wrote about putting our laundry out of Facebook and suggesting it mught not be the best way to communicate with God. He might be right, but I have to go my own way.

A lifetime ago, I was stuck in a house where there was no real reprieve from some form of suffering. It changed, but it was always there. There was no escape for me. There was no happiness. There were successes and failures, but no joy. It is kind of astounding to me to think about that. Part of me wants to believe that there must have been some good. And I force myself to think: Cooking was good sometimes. At Christmas...a little bit. Working in the yard was good...sometimes...moments of joy. I have to believe they were there, or I would have turned out much darker,,,right? 

The point being that long before Facebook, I used to leave little notes around the house, behind picture frames and in the bottoms of vases or in the holes of statues...about how I was hurting. I remember, after I was married a few years, my mother mentioned to me that she found very ugly things that I had written all over the house. I had forgotten about them. I had forgotten that was my way of crying out.
I'd show up at church, at the Catholic Church, but what I thought was so obvious, no one saw, no one asked questions...and if I felt lonely before, I was a hundred times more lonely there. Yet, when it was just "me and God," things were wonderful.  He explained to me all the confusing things in my life. He explained how he would use my sufferings to reach others who were not as lucky as me.

So I told God it was okay to make me suffer more. And He did. Little girls don't know much about God's love. Yet, we do. We create our own theologies based on what we experience and observe. My crazy professor in seminary called it our "soteriology." We sort out what we know to figure out what might happen next and what we should do about it.
Tradition, Sctripture, Reason, Experience. For that, Wesley was a genius. The Catholic Church forms it almost exactly the same way, but seems to combine the ideas of reason and experience.
I know I am called by God into service. I've tried to live another kind of life and I can't. Well, I can, but I dislike myself there. The closer I get to God, less interesting is the ideas of success or conquest...and semblance of winning seems so ridiculous now. The idea of confining myself to a physical marriage, with all of its demands, seems like it would limit my ability to do work.
Yet, I am not gifted with political savy. As I go through my examen, which I don't do every day but wish I did...I see this last week as a powerful week. I spoke out about some things that were grating on me, really believing I would lose one more friend. But...over and over again...I receive love instead of a beating. See how those old tapes have not left. See how God continues to try to teach me about His love...and as good as it is, it always hurts. The ego does not want to be wrong. It wants to be right, it wants to be vindicated.

I am forced to deal with over and over again...how can you still love me? You cannot realize the depth of this pain unless you know what it was like to know what it is to not be loved...and to have raised yourself in light of the absence of it.
What makes me more sick inside than anything, is the truth that a whole lot more people understand what I am writing about than I want.
I felt real love this week. From more than one person, I felt deep, lasting, unconditional love. Yet, in the deep recesses of my mind, I know...I sense...their loneliness, too. Maybe that's how God wires us, to have some innate understanding of what it means to love. To have the ability to give it away even before we are able to know a mother's love, a father's love, the love of a husband or wife, or sister or brother. I don't quite understand why some of us reach for the light while others go to the dark side.
My goal in this life, however long I have, in whatever way I have, is to love as well as I can. God put on my heart a new understanding of my priesthood, my mission, my vocation...in ways I did not expect. The politics of the Church is so unimportant to me now...although with a little teasing, I'm sure I can work up a lather about it again if I want. I just have to keep working on not caring. I become ineffective if I let rivalries and judgments interfere with my thinking through the work in front of me.
All the writings of Benedict and Thomas a Kempis...surrendering the ego...but not the soul...I have them pounding in my head. I would be shattered if I let the pettiness of my own emotions interfere with the work I have been given to do. 
Yet, I do need an outlet. We all do. That why we have poets and artists and musicians and dancers and storytellers and athletes...and every creative outet there is...our way of expressing our feelings so that they will not consume us or rule over us. We need that. It cleans us out and lets us love more and better.
So all the posts I do not post, I do not know what I will do with them. The notes behind pictures and in vases...I'll never know what they said, except perhaps they kept me from hurting myself when I felt so powerless. I get another chance to win. To let Him win, that is.
This week, I watched a mother lift her son to the sofa. Things are not going so well for them. Just not well at all. I averted my eyes politely to offer respect to them both...but really they did not care. They had their gift of each other. How much in my heart I wanted to fix it, make the pain go away. But I kept trying to remember what I read of Henri Nouwen, "Their suffering is their gift." And what Doug told me in the hospital  in 1999: "You have no right to try to take it[their suffering] away from them." Hardest words I have ever heard...and at the time, I thought cold and brutal words. Yet those words free us to love as we were intended to love. There is no ownership in love. It just is. I looked at mother and son. There was love. Something I never got to know when I was a child...but I get to know it now. I get to see it, feel it, touch it, taste it, hear it...
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
That was yesterday. We finally got rain last night. I think I woke around two to the sound of the raindrops falling on my back porch. I went into the den and listened to them falling on the skylight. I was so grateful...it has been just too dry too damn long.

I haven't really reread what I wrote yesterday. I had a strange meeting yesterday with friends. I think it went well enough. I am not convinced by it, but I know it is all I will get, so I will have to work with it. Perhaps someday, it will be better...or not. But I am setting that cross down. What I have to decide now is whether or not I am willing to work under these conditions. I haven't decided yet. God has something new for me to learn.

I suppose priests know that people only tell them only part of the story. The part that makes them look good...to get the desired response. I went to confession yesterday...I've been trying to go for two weeks. Made an appt. but it got cancelled. I suppose I can be a bit intimidating. I went yesterday to a nearby church. "Cindy, I'd like for you to be behind the screen." "I'm sorry Father, that is not possible." and I left and went to a different priest. If you can't look me in the eye, then we have nothing to talk about. Especially about my sin. I'm not going to give you that much power. If it's going to be like that, well, I can talk straight to God then...the whole point of the incarnational representation is to be the incarnate representative. And I want the whole ball of wax. not just a voice saying, "My child, your sins are forgiven."

Man, I'm really going to hell, aren't I?

But the last few weeks have been a constant reminder that the Church will never live up to my expectations. I ready to turn over a few tables myself. And I can promise you, I don't feel good about any of it.  In the beginning, God gave me an idea, a vision...of the potential of goodness and greatness in his creation of human beings. The possibility to love...and we such young lovers...should I bend this way or that, so that our noses won't bump...should I get close or wait for him/her?  I suppose that is what all these growing pains are about...surrendering to the Heart of God is pretty much surrendering to our own hearts as well.

I feel so close to God all the time. I can see and feel and taste and touch and hear His Kingdom in my body...what it can be, and slowly He gives me the tools to try to share it. But in my humanness, I get so frustrated when people are not authentic with me. I honestly don't want to waste my time with them.  And then He whispers in my ear,

"Cindy, I still loved you when you were lying to me. I didn't give up on you. Can't you do the same for your sisters and brothers? Can't you try to love them as I have loved you?"

"Crap.,,I love you, Lord. I'd do anything for you. You know that....I'm sorry I was impatient."

And He brings my head to His chest, and gently caresses my hair. I breathe hard. I just realize I've been fighting with Him again. I cry.

"There, there...it's going to be alright." And He lets me rest a bit. He puts a glass of water to my lips. I drink. I wipe my face with the back of my hand.  I look up into His eyes.

"Go now. You have much more to do."

"I love you," I tell Him. "I know," he replies. "Go."

Love, Cindy

Should I go or should I stay

I thought I might title this one "The Fine Art of Spiritual Misdirection." I have spent at least the last two years asking myself that question every morning. I am truly living out that Beatles' song that says: "Life is what happens when you are making other plans."

The reality for me, is that I have always been standing at the precipice of trying to make a decision, and never really making it. One could argue that I was never trained to make any decisions. The nuns were careful to keep free will out of the classroom and my parents made it very clear to me that I was born to please them...what I wanted never really mattered. Frankly, I don't recall ever being asked, "What do you want?"  My mother would argue differently: she worked in a dress store and would bring home clothes for me "on approval." Three dresses would be laid out on the bed. I got to pick one of them. But of course, I had to try all of them on...and then my mother would let me know which one looked best on me. If I did not choose the one she liked, she would begin to explain to me why the other dress was prettier, or more practical...with little  digs like, that one hides your belly, or that one does not draw attention to your short neck...gentle reminders of what she really thought of me.

I write that hear only as a cautionary tale to not do that to children, or to the people you love. Remember, even little people have brains and can use them.  Like the song from "Into the Woods:" children may not obey, but children will listen...and learn.

I wonder if decision-making is ever taught to children, especially to girls. This is often my experience as I enter into spiritual direction with someone. I walk carefully, knowing full well that I am trying to "teach" something I do not know well personally. I know that rules are often taught, or hammered into little people...but the actual encounter and confrontation with choice, seems to not be taught too well. Women, and most often it seems like Christian women, don't know how to choose. They was for their fathers to tell them what to do, and later, their husbands. There is an unwritten rule of obedience planted in the hearts of all good Christian women..."Do whatever He tells you" often becomes "Do whatever he (father, husband, son) tells you." The two concepts don't necessarily go together.

C.S. Lewis writes, in "The Voyage of the Dawn Treader" about the Dufflepods. These are creatures devoid of any independent thought. They follow the leader in every detail.  When presented with the opportunity to have an opinion, they always defer to the leader's opinion. And they are happy little creatures. It is an easy life if you do not have to choose.

From here, we could go into politics, theology...pretty much any topic there is to discuss. But today, I am thinking about spiritual direction.  The most frustrating and most wonderful part of spiritual direction is that a true spiritual director will never tell you what to do.  A spiritual director will not pass judgment on your thoughts or ideas, but rather, continually open the door to the options...to bring you back to your quest to make a decision.  A good spiritual director will probably leave you a bit frustrated at the end of the hour, if you expected him/her to tell you which answer is "right." ...but will also leave you encouraged to find the answer within yourself. A spiritual director will help you learn to trust yourself. You'll know it when you have it: the stormy seas will settle and all the naysayers will become unimportant...insofar as the decision that was made. You will be at peace with God and with yourself. Letting someone else choose for you...is only a cheap way of avoiding responsibility for yourself.

God plants inside of us an idea. God gives us a blessing. As human beings, as children of Eve...we can easitly take the idea, the blessing, into a place where it does not need to go...or we can choose to turn out back to the idea, the gift...or we can do it well for a time and then suddenly find ourselves in a place we did not intend to go...so we are always in need of spiritual direction. We need someone to shine a light on our thoughts, in love and in truth...to help us do the Will of God.

Yet the decision is ours alone. It needs to be ours alone. We will reap the fine harvest of good decisions and we will endure the consequences of bad decisions. But good or bad, we never have to do it alone. The whole concept of Christianity kind of flows into this part of my discussion(?). Here is that key ingredient :Love God with ALL you heart, ALL your soul, ALL your mind...and love your neighbor as yourself.  Take someone with you into your heart, hold their hand...but don't expect them to do your work for you. A good friend is always there...and loves you enough to not try to fix you. It is without question the best part and the hardest part of a spiritual friendship.

Some of us are good at making decisions. Some of us just close our eyes and drop a pin onto a piece of paper with the words YES and NO written on it.  I have within me a strong desire to let someone else handle the decisions. I don't want to choose. Probably because I don't want to let go of either good thing...or either bad thing for that matter.  That tells you that parts of me have only matured to the age level of ...about three years old. Parts of me do not want to give up the pleasure of having it all. And nothing in my life has forced me to giving away that which I hold tightly in my hand.

I hold so tightly because I fear that if I let go of one part of my life, the world as I know it will disappear. And that is a truth...the world as I know it will have to change.  But something new is way more scary than continually living in a place that is not good for me. I know the rules in my little hell. I function quite well in hell now, so why leave it?  Is the next hell going to be any better? 

All of these wandering thoughts do have a purpose. We hide from making decisions because we were not raised to make decisions. Yet the world demands us to make decisions...about every five minutes, when watching TV...they are called commercials and they want you to decide to buy their product. Those are a bit obvious...but the sneaky choices: having a donut or a bowl of fruit...or just a glass of water. Smoking a cigarette, taking a pill, driving fast, picking up the trash you dropped...smiling at a mother with a noisy child...they are all decisions and they form who we are.

Here's where the wandering took me this morning. I was at Mass with the school children. I looked around...everyone in the church seemed to have someone else watching out for them. Part of me was warmed inside by the general understanding in the church that "we take care of each other," was so very present. Everyone had a 'spiritual director' and everyone was a 'spiritual director.' Setting examples, gently reminding each how to behave in church, to collectively pray together and to collectively receive the Body of Christ in the celebration of the Mass.

I marveled at this beauty before me...and was stung by an interior knowledge that no one looked out for me. That there were connections inside this holy place that I was denied as a little girl. These children knew they were valued, they were being shepherded by caring people. And I was jealous. After Communion, I felt horror inside myself that somehow I did not deserve to be there...with these people who were loved. And I got up and left. before Mass was over.

Protestants often argue that Catholics only know how to suffer. They live forever in the "I'm not worthy" stage. They look at the crucifix...when the Resurrection is just around the corner. I can understand that thinking. Yet, to consider the Resurrection without constantly remembering why it all happened is faulty, too. 

We have to always hold in tension our humanness and our divinity.  We are of God and were are of Man (human). We are not one or the other. We are bound to a God who has blessed us with free will. Yet we have within us always a foretaste of the Divine nature. We can choose to love one another, or we can choose to exploit one another...we can base our choices on what has been done to us...or we can base them on what God did for us in the Incarnation. I'm referring to justification and sanctification here...and I will not go into detail at this time.

I left Mass early because I felt unworthy. I felt excluded...and yet, it was the brokenness of my own life that caused me to walk in the door in the first place. It's all so very hard. And it is all so very simple.

You get what you give. We all need others to remind us of what we have given and what has been given to us. We must live in community...or we are not really living at all. We do that by telling the truth, forgiving our mistakes and forgiving others their mistakes. And always, always loving.

I walked out of Mass because I forgot that for a moment.
Good thing someone reminded me who I was again...and the cool thing, he doesn't even know that's what he did.

I choose poorly for one moment. But now, I choose wisely again...be kind, rewind your thoughts...remember who you are and whose you are...
Jeremiah 29:11
For I know well the plans I have in mind for you—oracle of the LORD—plans for your welfare and not for woe, so as to give you a future of hope.

I hope it helped...<3

Love, Cindy

Trying to get that feeling again...

 (Technology did not work...sigh)
I'm not too good with technology, but I hope this will work. Coming back from Mexico Beach, I am just not myself yet...or I am more myself...one never really knows. All that love for an entire week...and that encounter with family kind of turns my head on end. I could get used to kissing little children goodnight again. I could get used to too many monkeys jumping on my bed. I could get used to walking out to the beach at dawn and being still, and just feeling God all over me and through me and beside me and...for me.

I could get used to fresh air and salt breezes, fishermen and boats, being too hot and then too cold and having my jean shorts literally stand up in the corner from so much salt water. I could get used to walls without pictures, climbing stairs, going to Starbucks only once a week and listening to a live band down the street every Saturday night. I could get used to seeing the stars as clearly and as cleanly as they were when I was a little child. I could get used to the special kind of hope that stems from a special kind of belonging.

But I will never get used to the letting go. To the saying goodbye. To having to come down from the mountain.

Loving God is always risky, but loving people is even riskier. We have so many ways now to create the illusion of being close, when what we are doing is wandering farther and farther apart. Perhaps we think we deserve it. Perhaps we think that we aren't wanted. Perhaps we think we don't want to impose, to interfere, to engage...when people are so very busy.

Here's a big secret revealed: people are not as busy as they lead you to believe they are.  Someone like me, who has so much work to do, always finds an hour...or two...for Facebook, or the computer, or Angry Birds, or solitaire....but we don't have time to sit with a friend, make the phone call, or write a real honest-to-goodness hand written letter.

I always get so introspective when I have a week of hospital visits. The great beauty of just walking into these people's lives is that I am bringing them Commmunion. And that pleases them so much. But for just a moment, I get to enter into their lives...and some of them seem surprised..."oh, you want to talk to me?" and that is...interesting. Some are glad, some look at me with distrust, some just want to be left alone...but I always wait...like the really good priests during confession. They are comfortable with silence. They can wait. Then they might ask, "Is that all?" They are saying: I have time for you. You matter. I care. I am present for you and only you in this moment of time.

Hell of a risk. Me, I'm not about confession...but I'm about hearing and listening. What do you want to tell me? What joy? What sorrow? What adventure? People just seem to know that about me. They tell me their story. A story...and I am blessed in the hearing. Even more blessed in the remembering.

And I don't ever want to lose this gift...I don't ever want to take it for granted. I don't ever want to lose the feeling of wanting to genuinely love others all the time.

But it can be tiring, long weeks like this, I feel tired...and then I have to ask myself why. Usually I am tired because I have felt too much or too little. Engaging with my children and grandchildren for a week in Florida, I have engaged without thinking too much about it. When I got back, it took me time to re-pressurize my heart to my ordinary work. I think I may have felt too much last week, cared too much, reached out too much...and it made me tired. I have to balance it all again. It takes work.

Take the story of a boy I met last week. He had a hard life for his young years. He did not see it as hard though. We started a conversation when he told me how excited he was to have his mother move closer to him now. He explained that when he was younger, it was decided that his mother could not provide for him, so he lived with his aunt and uncle. But now he was so happy he would get to see his mother again. Further stories, he told me how is mom had lost her arm when she was just six years old, how they made food stamps work, how his mother made their lives together special. Inside, I was crying. I just smiled...and gently listened about how grateful he was for his life. He told me about how his mother used to make jokes about her missing arm...and how she played tricks on people with it. We laughed.

I can't recall how it happened, but he explained to me why he never would feel sorry for himself or how he had to live with his aunt and uncle. He went on a mission trip in high school, he told me, to a poor part of Mexico.  On the last day, a little girl about five years old came up to him.(The children of the village were exchanging gifts with the missionaries who were working on the homes in the community.) She handed him a puppy. He kind of laughed and looked around. "You want me to take your puppy?" he asked.  "Yes," she said."later, if my family gets really hungry, they will want to eat him.  If you take him to America, he will have a good life." The young man's eyes teared up. "How can a child so small know something like this?" He shook his head and said, "I have a very good life."

So stories like that come to me eat week. Everyone has something to tell. Everyone has something they want to tell. Everyone wants to be heard, to be recognized as part of the family of this human race.

If you start to feel unappreciated, the appreciate someone else. If you feel unheard, then listen. If you feel lonely, reach out. If you feel unloved...then love.  It's the whole point of the beattitudes. Well, it's the natural conclusion...the St Francis Prayer:



Try to get the feeling again.

Love, Cindy

A Question...

My last post was done at dawn and in exhaustion.  I suspect the logic was more than a little faulty...not because I was particularly off-track, but because I failed to give enough information to support my arguments. Some writing is worse than others. I realize that great painters often paint several versions of a landscape or portrait, readjusting things or perspectives until they find the masterpiece that was hidden in thei hearts...and people are often glad to see the intermediary steps to beauty because it helps to understand the struggle that goes into creating.

Someday, before I die, I'd like to create a masterpiece...but if I don't, perhaps it is the exercise of creatot to asking that is sufficient to make God smile. I posted a bunch of drawings my grandchildren created in response to our boating adventure. In them, are the masterpieces of their hearts...just beginning to form.  I was delighted to see what was important to them, what they chose to remember. How they "improved" our journey with things they desired, how they combined ideas from different days...and how each one of them responded to the other with "corrections." All of which they received from each other with laughter.  No hurt feelings anywhere...

When they drew portraits of me, I looked at them and thought, "Oh, do I look like that to them? How wonderful! I would like to see me that way!"

"A question...Since before your sun burned hot in space and before your race was born, I have awaited a question."  A line from Star Trek's "City on the Edge of Forever."  Fr. John spoke in his homily about questions. He said he got the idea from a commentary I had not read...and I forgot to ask him who wrote it!  But the idea was about coming to Jesus/God/heaven as a little child.

Children approach things so much more easily than we do.  They are not afraid to ask questions. They do not have the fear of looking stupid, or weak, or ignorant. They just want to know...is there a heaven? Did Jesus really walk on the earth? How do I get into heaven? 

Suddenly I think about that question a child will eventually ask, "Where did I come from? How did I get here? How was I made?" And we adults stumble all over ourselves trying to answer it...because we still hold the shame that we learn over ther years for the most basic, important act of our lives. We llive in fear of too much information or too little. We worry about our response and we worry about worrying.

A child asks a question. And believes the answer. How often do we ask of our spouse or our parent, "Do you love me?" and we get "Yes" as the answer.  Do we believe the answer? Why do we need reassurance? Why do we ask over and over again? Why don't we believe? What has happened to us to not believe? And what inside us, when we are asked, don't often tell the truth? We say what someone wants to hear. What we think they want to hear. What we want them to want to hear.

Why can't we be like children? My granchildren love each other, but they get into fights regularly...with five, there will always be a chance of disagreement!  Mom and Dad recognise it long before I do. They name it. They ask a question. Then they say, "Ask for forgiveness." and expect it to be specific and correct to the problem. Then the jilted one is required to respond with a hug of acceptance. If reconciliation does not happen, then time and space is provided for the one still angry to 'think about it.' Perhaps a little discussion after quiet time to help understanding. There is less emphasis on who is right and who is wrong, but rather on what is right and what is wrong. But the kids work it out. Heaven returns to the family unit.  Pretty cool. 

Perhaps in a few years, it may take more work to work it out. But for now, these children get along. That's something I wish we as grown-ups could do also.

I have wandered, but Fr John brought me insight...about the idea of the question.

We have to ask the question.  God knows our hearts, but we don't.  We have to learn. That comes from asking the question. Assuming just gets us in trouble. Hiding our ignorance and calling it faith really pulls us away from God rather than into God. We must ask the question. God can give us answers galore though the Holy Spirit, through the Bible, through the Mass...but unless we ask the question, those answers only partially satisfy us.  They only get us halfway there.

I disagreed with Fr John on one point, though. He said it was alright to ask God questions, but not to question God.  I should have asked him for clarification on what he meant, but I'm already writing...so forgive me Father.  I think it is part of who we are to ask questions. Animals do not ask questions. They get confused by irratic behavior, or crisis...but they don't question it. They just deal with it. Perhaps animals are more blessed that we in that way. 

But when a child dies, or a spouse has cancer, or you lose your job...I think it is part of healing to question God. "What were you thinking, God? Why did you let this happen? Haven't I always loved you? Why did you do this?" To offer to God our confusion and anger is also a prayer. It is not a sign of not loving. It is disrespectful I suppose, but in a family, if we are hurt, we often behave like children...we have to go through our pain...and pain is never pretty...until we calm down, go into our time out...and then realize that God will NEVER let us down. We may not get the answer/decision we want, but when we calm down, we realize how much He loves us and gives us only good things. It's really hard to do. 

 But we have to ask the question. We have to lament. We want to understand. We want to be reassured. We need to be vulnerable...and felt protected. That can't happen (at least for me) without a question.

And Jesus knew the importance of asking questions:

"Simon, son of John, do you love me?" Jesus didn't need to ask...He knows everything....but in the asking, He helps to know, too, what is in our hearts.  We need to speak it out loud. "Yes, I love you. I have always loved you."

"Wow...did I really say that?  Have I always loved you, God? Yes, I think I do. Even when you don't give me what I want, I still love you. Do you still love me?"

A question.

"Feed my sheep."

Love, Cindy

May the wind always be at your back...

It is now about 4:49 a.m. right on the line of central time and eastern time.  Go over into Port St Joe for groceries and you'll think you are late...because here in Mexico Beach it is, say 6 a.m. and 10 miles down the road, it is already 7 a.m. 

That says a whole lot to me about human laws and God's law. Our brains know what time it is, but convention tells us we have to follow certain earthly rules...or the store is not open, or it is closed...or we can very very late to an appointment, or very early.  Such is life on the time line here. But you get used to it. Every morning this week, I see Captain Alan stocking his boat for his daily run to sea. He watches the sun and the moon and the stars, and travels by them.  He know the tides, which are governed by the moon, knows the time when the fish will be at a certain place, know how the weather tends to move in certain times of the year.

I was out on the deck...sadly the moon was already gone.  I went out last night, enjoyed it much and then got Bobby and Stacy to go out and see it, and then quietly slipped back into the house. That moon was way too romantic...it belonged to them.  I had my time for such things and it was wonderful and insane...but it belongs to the young ones now...

North was in a strange place. Here in Mexico Beach, the sun sets on the water...and provides a beautiful display of color and never the same painting twice. I locate the North Star, Polaris, by findng the easy w-shaped constellation Casseopia...beneath her, or to the right, is the Pleadies...proof that the universe is expanding into infinity...I see a planet, but in my ignorance, I think Jupiter, but I don't know for certain...

There is such a difference between facts...and everything else. Challenged by an interesting question by an professor from seminary, I begin to realize that I live my life and think on a different plane. I suppose we all do. Reality is so...so relative! 

Yesterday was a long day in the car. I have things I'm used to doing while I drive, but have two little girls, my granddaughters in the back seat changed everything. Wasn't sure about the music on the radio...or anything...so we sang songs...and we laughed so hard, changing the words around. "Are you sleeping, are you sleeping, Brother John..." became "Are you driving, are you driving, Trinity..." and things much sillier. The time went my fast. When I drove 35 mph or less, I let them have the windows down...and of course, their hands, like puppy dogs, danced in the breeze. 

That is the privilege of being "Nana" and not "Mom." I don't see them every day. I get to laugh and play...and only discipline a little...and my goodness, the love they pour out...all five of them actually...but I do feel so connected to the older girls so easily...can I give this love to the younger ones, I can only hope to learn how as we go along. 

So the time passed well as we sang and laughed. There were always bumps in the trip. Times when things did not go smoothly or exactly how we planned. You roll along. You acknowlege the bump, the disappointment, the broken part...and then you go back to laughing. For me, I can do that because I have given up trying to control or predict my future. I have given up wanting things...pretty much given up wanting anything. And I have discovered how grand life can be without the burden of wanting.

And oh, my...I have wanted so much!  Many things I wanted were just the ordinary things people get...but because I did not get them...I wanted big, extraordinary, outrageous things, too.  But I finally began to realize, somewhere around the age of 40, that I waste way too much time on wanting. It's pretty much the biggest thing for us humans: wanting. It is the primary thing.

It is the great Biblical "nephesh." Hunger. We sit with our hands open wide, with our mouths open wide...but all too often with our hearts shut tight.  Why, because we didn't get what we wanted. Because it took too long. Because it wasn't perfect...

Christmas morning, surrounded by all the presents, when the last one is opened and the thrill is gone, we ask "Is that all there is?"  It is not always that we are greedy, but the adrenaline rush of surprise is addictive. It, too, wants to be fed. We get a smile from a guy down the street..and then we want him to wave, then buy us coffee, then take us out on a date...and pretty soon...in the girl mind...we're off getting married and having a bunch of kids, or a successful job, or a house on the beach...

It is not bad to want. The girls were telling me yesterday, "Nana, you need to buy this house and we can move here and go the the beach everyday..." Only age, only time...will teach how these wonderful thoughts are just ideas that pass because things are good now. We will need such thoughts on the days when things are not so good.  I think that's why God gave us memories and dreams. We have the ability to look beyond the now...because we feel so much and hunger so much...which is both blessing and curse. It is a means for survival, and a means for death.

In this heat, it is easy to get caught in a thought that things will never get better. We go back and focus on our mistakes...the heat is oppressive and we can just oppress ourselves even more with thoughts about when things were better, cooler, more balanced.

Just like the Isrealites in the desert. "Oh Moses!  Why did you drag us out here...in the heat?  We had perfectly good lives as SLAVES in Egypt. This is terrible! We are hot, we are hungry, we are thirsty! What are you going to do?"

No wonder Moses went up on the mountain.  He needed to get away from all the complaining and think clearly...and maybe just ask God what in the hell was he thinking anyway...

There are ways to see. There are ways to hear. There are ways to touch. The brillance of Jesus was that he showed us all how to live well. Moses came down the mountain with a few great ideas/rules: Don't drink too much, don't eat too much, remember to rest and stay away from your neighbor's wife. Kind of obvious, but when we are hungry...we can't remember any of that. So Jesus brings in that forgiveness thing. That love thing. Those things that the Law can't touch. And he changes everything. Joe down the street, whose dog has killed Frank's prize sheep. Frank has forgiven Joe. Frank had every right to kill Joe's dog, but Frank knows that Joe needs he dog to tend his own sheep...and without the dog, Joe's family will starve. No, Frank will never get back what he lost. Frank could kill the dog, be bitter for the rest of his days. Joe could lose his children, his wife, his own life...and the Law would be served. So what? Jesus says. What kind of life is that?  Do you feel good about getting your own way? Do you feel superior? Doesn't that just want you to become more superior? And Joe, if he loses his dog, does he become bitter? Violent? If Joe doesn't lose his dog, does he think he can get away with murder now?  Has the Law disappeared for Joe?

Such complicated things to explain to others. Yet, if we choose to live in love and forgiveness...the world works. 

I have lots of reasons to be angry with the world. Things I want, things I deserve, or think I deserve. Bad things happened that should not have happened. I have good cause to be angry. And I should make those who injured me suffer as I did. Yeah, right. And a thousand other things...we all have them. Disappointments, injustices, little murders of character and love...

And getting caught in them takes times away from all the possibilities of good things. Assess the situation in front of you. Recognize what is good about it and what is bad about it. then put it in a drawer and enjoy what is in front of you. While it is in front of you. Refuse to let the unceasing hunger for more win today. Laugh, live, love. Forgive.

Make the memories so good that when the heat returns, you can say, "You are here now...but you will not be here forever...and when winter comes and I feel too cold, I will remember you and think maybe you weren't so bad after all."

I don't know. It's just a thought. 
Nearly 6 a.m. now...perhaps I'll go make one more memory of the beach???

Much love always,
Cindy

Labyrinth

I have tried unsuccessfully to transfer a movie of walking a labyrinth in San Marcos...about 5 times. I do not understand what I am doing wrong. It really is only a half of a walk, and since I was filming it, hardly authentic...still the peace and beauty of the garden in which I wandered is worth a post...and I am so sad I cannot figure out what I've done wrong. 

The post of a sweaty me on Facebook seemed to transfer without much trouble...and I hesitate to put the labyrinth walk there. I am hoping that I can get some help from my friends...

There is a song out there, which has a line: live like you were dying. Well, the truth is, we are all dying, every single day. Our bodies are going to wear out. No matter how well or how poorly we care for them.

While the blood still flows, though, we are granted the infinite possibility of connection. I know I can get quite boring, always going back to the same theme. But sometimes, when I pray, I weep so deeply for the world, because it chooses to not be connected. Or it doesn't know it can be connected. I weep because God has given me a light...an idea...a feeling...of His reality...and I am such a fool. I cannot seem to share it enough. I feel like Paul...gotta get the message out there...while there's still time.

Then I have the devil whispering in my ear: "You are wasting your time. They don't care. They don't want to know...and besides, you're a woman...nobody wants to listen to you. If you appear smart, they will kill you. If you appear ignorant, then they have already killed you. They will always win. Give up. Tomorrow, when you are gone, no one will remember you were here."

That's how the devil wins. He takes our greatest fears and dresses them up to look like truths. He tells us to stop trying. He shows us a future where we will fail...and way too many of us buy into that ruse. 

There is always a power in the world working to keep it off balance. It thrives on our desire for independence and our fear of supression. Fear drives us to excess and to hoard that which should be shared with all people. Fear creates rules of order that stifle the Spirit's movement through us. Fear is why we sometimes hide the good, because "we can't handle the good," yet without thinking, we spread evil around irresponsibly...perhaps because evil, in its own nature is irresponsible. It rationalizes, it explains, it creates committees and meetings and agendas while the oppressed go hungry...for food, for shelter, for love.

I was with a family recently. I climbed three flights of stairs to visit a very young boy who has cancer. He was hurting and in bed...In his room were perhaps ten people, family and friends...all in prayer with me...his mama jostling him just a little, "Wake up...Cindy's here." A boy with only one good leg who walks up and down three flights of stairs...pictures of Jesus and Mary and the saints cover almost every space of every wall in the home. The love for that boy in the bed is overpowering...also the helplessness...and above all the faith and the true understanding of what the word "family" means.

What right do I have to walk into the holy place? What can I bring to this child? Why to they trust me? If they only knew who I really was...ah, but was doesn't matter. Who I am, in this moment of time, in this room, with these amazing people, this family...I was called to be a witness, to share the Good Word of Christ, to carry the Communion, which they understand in ways I will never know...I do my job. I sit. I listen. I pray. I hold a hand. I hug. I cry. I try to be still and let God have it. It is hard work...but it is the best work. And I am greatful to God that I get to do it...one more day.

This is what we are about. Small moves. Lots of small moves. Working together to share the love He gave us. Climbing the three flights of steps to encounter God, then descending three flights of steps...knowing the woman who walked in the door is not the woman who walked out of the door.

That's kind of a labyrinth. And it will have to do for today.

While your heart still pumps blood through your veins...touch the person next to you with love.

Love, Cindy

Another experiment

Whose Truth is it anyway?

I've got two weeks of writing out there, somewhere...but I can't decide if it will do anyone any good but me. Yet, write, I must. I've gone through the growing pangs of not wanting anyone in my life...even in my cyberlife... to needing people a lot, to needing people too much, to distancing myself, to cutting off others, to injuring and being injured...to trusting the wrong ones, overlooking the right ones...I suppose on some level, all of that is fairly normal.

What I know now, what I understand, is how very different life is living it in the spiritual(?) way. That sounds so flimsy...so trendy...and what is going on inside me and around me is so very great and wonderful...I am a bit ashamed and embarrassed that I cannot express the goodness that I understand and that is available to every single one of us. I don't know how to tell you about this kind of love.

Time is perhaps like a river. But time is just a dimension we use to create some order in our lives. In fact, all dimensions are just that, dimensions. In my head, I can see a kind of matrix...a Cartesian coordinate system...a four dimensional calculus equation: a point, a curve, shaded and then spun over an axis to make a lead pipe, of the wing of an airplane...and we spin the image around to get perspective on it's shape, how it might work, how it will effect things around it. Then take that system of measurement and place it inside a topological ball: that is a set of infinite spheres with permeable surfaces, continually expanding and contracting, sharing itself with other sets some of the time, being affected by the sets it encounters...factor in the senses, the memory, the ability to learn...and finally the soul...and you suddenly see that that the wing or the pipe is just a tiny aspect of God, which contains all the dimensions of all things in all times in all places...and even these words can't do it justice...if justice is an appropriate word to use here.

Infinity. I loved my classes in Real Analysis classes. When my skinny white-haired professor drew a line and then put two dots on the line. He labeled one dot 'zero' and the other dot 'one.' He said the equations we were using would never get to zero or one unless we plugged in an infinte number of possibilities in sequential order...and that no matter what number we put into the equation, there was always another number that we could imagine that would get us closer to zero or one. Though we could not come up with an answer, we just knew that, when infinity was complete...we would be at either zero or one. I absolutely sparkled when I thought about it. We can't get an answer, but we know the answer.

Then there is the Tristan chord. It is a chord in music which is so close to perfect...yet is deliberately never resolved. Tristan love Isolde, but he will never ever have her. It is in the pain of desire that love grows. It is a half diminshed seventh chord...which means it is just below perfect. When we hear it, our brains desire to finish it...but the music itself will not resolve. We can let it drive us crazy, we can ignore it (go back to zero) or we can resolve it (go to one[the complete thing])

If you are not yet bored...this is how I view life...from a mathematical point of view. I see another human being. Some part of me is drawn to that person. Most likely, I will intuitively know I have something that other person needs or wants or that person has something I need or want. When I can balance the equation in my head...that is, I can see that an encounter will benefit us both, I engage. Both selfishly and sacrificially. If anyone tells you that he/she is giving...without expecting anything...be wary. This person is not yet awake, not yet humble, though the actions sound like humility, they are not. The equation is unbalanced. Pain will follow. Pain and joy balance equations.

I say that because, in some realities, nothing balances. In others, the ones that balance too easily...the set defined is small. Not much there. But to take in God (not fully, mind you) is to glimpse at infinity...and it really isn't as frightening as you might think. 

Me, a point in space, exixting only because some One thought of a point in space...separated from God...yet desiring to return to that which has no space...(I'm really losing you now, huh?)

No, not New Age, not Buddhist, but how does Christianity fit into it? Ah, well now, there is the whole point of the discussion.

God punched a hole into our finite multi-dimensional reality and said, "Here is an idea of who I am. In fact, that will be easiest for you. You may call me "I am." You exist because "I am" the one who made you...but your finite-ness makes it impossible for you to know me. I then take all of me and make me like you...for just a little while. In that time and space, I will show you who you really are...and I will show you who you can really be. I want you to enjoy being my idea. I want you to connect with each other in a union you where you realize you are not alone. That union is what you call love. It takes many forms...it is infinite, because it is what "I am." It is connecting all the parts and resolving the chord. It is seeing all sides of all things at all times in all dimensions and not being confused by any of it. When you love, reason takes a back seat...and if it really is real love...you will be calm inside...and complete because "I am" in you and you are in me and we are in everyone." You can't actually do it, you know...you can't get to One as your are still finite...but if you let go of what you think should happen, what is reasonable...then you find One.   And One is the only thing that calms you because One is complete.

So the question becomes (if you choose to buy into my little adventure) "How do you get there?"

And that, my lovely brothers and sisters...is the question of salvation.  We've been given a means, the Christ Jesus...what you do with it is your choice.  I will just say, if heaven is anything like what I have had glimpses of...well, it's worth the work to get there.

Yes, I've let a lot of unfinished ideas...It's Sunday...the personal stuff, well, I just need to keep chewing on. This big picture here though, it keeps me from leaving the earth too soon. Because I can see shadows of God...and I don't want to leave before my time...I want to get as close as possible to the One while I am still here...

Forgive me if I have offended anyone.

Love, Cindy

Theology Question

I went back a little bit in my writings, but I don't think I've written about this yet.
Driving out to Arkansas to sit on the river with a friend, one of the sweet older people I visit calls me. She says, "My husband didn't call you yet, did he?" I reply no.  "Well, then I have to tell you.  That St Joseph statue you bought for us [to help us sell the house]...well, someone in the house broke his head off. "John" was too embarrassed to call you.  Do we need to get another one?  Can we throw it away?  Will a headless St Joseph still help sell the house?"
Mind you, I'm on the road, looking for exits.  Now I'm trying not to laugh too loud.  I'm snorting. How many years of seminary training, counseling, holy listening classes have I had...no one ever came to me with this possibly scenario.

I try to calm her down. No, don't throw what's left away. Try to find the head if you can. I'll buy you another one.

I take the wrong exit. I'm trying to reassure her. I look back at where I was supposed to go and the highway is completely STOPPED.  Major accident. I go another route without any delay in my traveling. "Oh are you on the road?" she asks. "I'll let you go!" We'll talk next week." And I smile about how God does things.

Retelling this story to my priest friend, he laughs and says something like, "Now you know what it is like to be a priest.  You got "the priest question."  These are the kinds of questions that make life interesting: Can a headless St Joseph still sell a house.

And we had a good time sharing stories about some of our work.  The unusual things that cause people to be afraid...and the not so unusual things.

How many times did I have to say "novel" when someone would come to me scared to death that the "Left Behind Series" was true...or that "The DaVinci Code" was true.  Novel, I'd say over and over. It is a story...sometimes it is a good story, but it is not theology.  Unless of course, you consider the idea of novel a theology....

Somewhere in the Old Testament (Hebrew Bible) there is a story of Moses...asking for a sign...if he's going to lead all these people out into the desert, out of slavery...what will be the sign that God is with them...and it is here that I begin to see God's sense of humor.  God essentially says that "the sign will be the sign."  Which is just about as funny as "I will be who I will be." Yud-hay-vav-heh" In other words...my name is "I am." (Huh?) That's my name. I exist. That's all you need to know. Argh.

Burning bush, indeed. Take off your shoes, you are entering holy ground. Humble thyself in my sight...you ain't in charge. But I invited you here, so quit sulking and be happy. 

The ever present theological questions of being really Catholic: "Am I doing it right?" 
Most truthful theological answer: No.

We are human. We are finite. We are flawed. We are limited by our senses, our prejudices, our judgments, our selfishness, our hungers. We cannot possibly ever get it right. To get it right, it would declare that we were no longer human.

Only God is right. Only God is perfect.  Only God can work miracles. Only God understands love.  To say that we understand God is a misuse of the word. I claim union with God...I don't expect anyone to believe me. I don't always believe me...but I've had a hint of something amazing, exquisite, perfect...and I want it all the time...it hurts to not have it, but it almost a joyful wound. I just know...that we are more than flesh and blood...and there is a home...a place...a thing different...that will make all this make sense some day. 

I know others know it, too. You see it in their eyes...of maybe you feel it in their presence...these are the things which make saints...the ones who refuse to accept the world as it is and puts us on fire to reach for something better. We want to be around them all the time...we clamor all the way to the edge of the water...we hunger for that which can satisfy us and that alone is God.

So theology is only a means to an end...and can be an obstacle to faith if we worship theology too much. It is a tool, a way to communicate an idea of God...which is not God...but only an idea.

Me, in my woundedness, tried to reason out God. Unmerited suffering forces us into primarily two ways of thinking: 
The world is evil. God is good. Therefore, choose God.
The world is evil. There is no God. The only goal is to obtain power. Through power you can limit the amount of evil forced upon you.
The world is good. God is good. If bad happens to you, you are evil and must be punished.
The world is good. You are good. You have been hurt without reason, therefore God does not exist. We are all navel lint. Nothing we do matters. So celebrate your consciousness while you have it.

I was wrong about the two ways...

The point being...in my existence, I know God. And many others seem to also.  There are good ways and bad ways of expressing our love for God. A broad spectrum of rigidity and permissiveness that can distract us from the real thing.

There is no way to know when we are fully right or wrong. Not until later...that is...and perhaps we will all be so surprised by what we find...

But for now, we've just got to love, in all the ways we can, truly, madly, deeply...and treat with tenderness the theological questions we ask each other. Does God hear my prayer more clearly if I light a candle?  Does God grant my prayer request if I have a thousand people praying through emails with me for the same thing?  Did I really forgive my brother? My mother? My father?  Does God really forgive me?  What have I done that has hurt someone else?  How will I know?  Can St. Rita save my marriage? Can St Joseph help me sell my house? 

Ah, well...only you know the answers to these questions. What does your heart tell you?  In there, you will find what you need. God gave it to you long before you were born. Listen to your heart.  God is there, waiting for you to ask your question.

Love, Cindy

Qualified

Notes from last week:
I am forever facing a certain kind of problem. I am aware of the good that I get to do. I don't really take credit for it, I know that everything I do...well...perhaps 97% of what I do, is what I really believe God is doing through me.


Yet doubt still enters my heart. Yesterday, I found myself in a reasonable place. Not trying, good things happened. The residue of that feeling of "being properly aligned" with God then clouded my work today.   Is it the sin of thinking too much or too little? 


Part of this week was very scary because I heard so much truth. Funny how that unhinges me. So I suppose there are truths that I can tell are ripe, ready to be told...and others still green...not fully understood. I have discovered I feel a bit unsettled hearing those things.


It's not my place to hear certain things. Is that true? If I was in the place I need to be, I would not be hearing them, it would be God...but suddenly I feel aware of the vulnerability of others. Do I serve well my listening? Or does the telling just bring them more pain?  These questions have not entered my thoughts  before. Why are they present now?

The week unfolded and I am still alive.  Each day a surprise that I am still here.  The gifts I've been given are so precious, I always think: Today is the last day I will be able to do this. It's going to end. It has to end. Good things are fleeting...those are the lessons I learned early in life...it is very hard to unlearn them.

So I find myself sitting in a restaurant with one close friend and three new people. They ask me questions...about God. About my theology. I want to stop talking and tell them so. They ask me to continue...and in the midst of the stories, they share their stories...and I watch, being a part of them and yet apart from them at the same time. I stand in the moment and I stand as an observer.  How is that possible?

Not much of me left in here. But I could tell you the faults and weaknesses of which I always aware...they hurt still...when I befriend them, I will write about them. Even as I write that, I see immediately how unimportant they are. Yet I still give them so much power.

You must befriend your demons. The ones that won't go away. The ones you think are impossible to give up. For now, don't give them up, but don't give in to them either. Teresa of Avila writes something about this.  There will always be little lizards and demons wandering around your "prayer space," the trick is to not give them any mind. They will get bored and leave.  Without trying. That's what I have been finding lately.   Spiritual happenings in my life are not ordered or planned. I have surrendered to God and I have no plan anymore other than to say yes each time He asks.   And I will even abandon that plan if it in any way separates me from Him. 

Went home from Oklahoma a different way than they way I planned. The gift was an amazing sunrise over the lake. The timing was perfect. Could not have been planned. Yesterday the light shining on Teresa of Avila in the window...the print I had just purchased...what happened won't happen again.

In reference to answered prayer, I have longed to be at a table of great minds, discussing theology. God gave that to me last night. What I discovered...was that it was somewhat boring. Talking about what other people think/thought about God and analyzing it is not nearly as interesting or as much fun as...shall I call it...a first person experience...of God.

I mean, there are God encounters. That is the first and best...requires no prerequisite experience or education. You know...a burning bush experience...a union...a marriage...a seduction of sorts. That I will call "a close encounter of the first kind...although 'close' is misleading because it is an infused experience of the supernatural.  The second encounter might be a mystical experience that is inspired by the reading of mystical experiences. This is almost as good as the real thing, but, in being motivated by the intellect, it loses some of its flavor. The third kind of experience might be from reading the Word of God, or listening to ecclesial music. A fourth might be through practiced discipline of emptying yourself.  Learning to be still. A fifth encounter could be through the another human being, as simple as eye contact, or as deep as making love...depending on the kind of relationship you have with the other.  And on the outer edge, you encounter God through education...knowledge...reason...logic...sensibility. 

Whatever your catalyst...and I have listed them in a kind of order as the experiences come to and through me...which is not any standard by which to judge your own experiences...I have found the unplanned, unsolicited, unexpected encounter to be the most exciting...and the most wounding...the surprise encounter goes deep...and remains unchained by past, present or future events.

These are the events through which, by your memory of them, will sustain you in the darkest experiences of your life. There will be unexplainable hope in the midst of great suffering. To the level you are willing to die to yourself, it is to that level you will be sustained. 

The more you let go, the more you will have. The more you give of yourself, the more will be given to you. The more you open your heart, the more it shall be filled...by only good things. And you have to pay attention to this work...what I mean, is that you must always know if you are giving from the heart...or from a position of power...or from a desire to acquire power. If you seek something specific, you will be unsatisfied. God will give us what we want...but when we let Him give us what He wants to give us...only then will we feel satisfied.

I suppose I am saying that because I was surrounded by both the intelligent and the simple this week...and I realize that wisdom comes to those for whom God has chosen. Not to those who have the most degrees or to those who desire it most. We can't make it happen....but we can let it happen.

Does this make any sense?

I walked out into the lake last night under a half-moon. No matter how far I walked, I could not capture the moonlight reflected so beautifully on the water...I could have followed it forever...it was so incredibly beautiful, but I could never hold it in my hand. I kept hearing Wynken, Blynken and Nod in my head...sailing off...and I could not go there, no matter how hard I tried. I was created to watch the moonlight, to sing about it and perhaps to write about it...but I will never get to hold it...

To turn my back and return to the shore meant I would not see the light for a time...but I have to live on the shore...it was what I was created for...walking back made me feel so sad. Yet, back on the shore, there was the light again...kind of following along...and it did follow me...like rainbows...no one of us ever sees exactly the same thing...but the moon light and the rain's bow changed us. 

God seems illusive, but that's just because we are still in these human bodies. There will be a day when our bodies will no longer separate us from Him...we will go back to our Creator, changed somehow...more appreciative now perhaps of the union...having been separated for what feels like to long.

You can't really write about that, put it in a book and then memorize it. You just have to do it. Your way. Your time. You are already qualified. Enter the beginnings of bliss...

Love, Cindy