Divine Mercy

The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.

That's our little platitude from Job to remind us we are not in charge. To remind us EVERYTHING is a gift from God.  The good, the bad, the ugly.  Not one piece of it belongs to us, can't take even a breath with us when we leave. Everything is a gift.

Me, I've been forced to look at my life AGAIN, since the beginning of Lent, with a blind woman who is all about goals. We have struggled together and anytime I try to give her power, she throws it back in my face. And the power I gave to priests...is back in my hands again. I don't want it. I know what it means to take it back. I preferred the fantasy that I could let them guide me closer to God. What I kind of realize now is that I was taking them closer to God...not to the God of Rome...but the God of all the earth. Sounds pretty outrageous and arrogant. Still, I know it is true.

Not by me. Not by the woman named Cindy. But by her life. By how they felt around her, how they reacted...what they learned about themselves. That's the whole point, you know. That's a vision of the Trinitarian God.  The one who entered humanity and loved it.

I don't matter. But what I do matters. Who I touch matters. What I say matters. Who touches me...and why.  This is the incarnation event. Not a noun but a verb.  Nothing about God stands still. We can measure everything else in the universe, but we will never be able to measure God, because God moves...is always moving...there is no time, no place, no word....of  God....these temporal events we have are the incarnation...when a human decided, for whatever reason, to wait, to listen, to the Divine. The human began to understand soul...and then spirit...and learned mercy.

Now take what I wrote and put it on you. Each encounter is holy. Each encounter is divine. Each moment of love that you deny is an outright denial of God.

I don't want that kind of power. I don't want to be aware of the moments I deny God's love. This grief is overwhelming: to realize that I have not loved. Or perhaps to demand love...one can never demand from God anything...although I have certainly given it my best shot. Knowing His Divine Mercy allows me to choose to live in this world that unrelentingly tried to kill every good thing in a human. Divine Mercy allows me to suffer the loneliness and betrayal of those closest to my heart and survive. Divine mercy allows me to forgive the unforgivable...and casts into Hell all that which torments me, reminds me where I have failed, what I ignored, or left behind.

I can't explain these last weeks too well yet. I do not like how I feel and I do not want to be around some people. The male bear in me wants to go into the cave and sort it out first...but the only way to sort it out is coming into the light. Can't solve problems in the dark.

So maybe I'll be resurrected on Divine Mercy Sunday. That would be nice.

Love, Cindy

Zuzu's petals

Thought I'd be walking the labyrinth by now. Gotta write a letter to a friend in prison. Interviewed for a job yesterday. I just might get it. Is that a good or a bad thing? I don't know. Talked to my priest friend yesterday. I was a bit shocked how much that calmed me, after all my work at 'reclaiming my personal power.'
A month ago, I pretty much woke up to all my foolishness in thinking that the priesthood was somehow going to 'redeem' me from my crazy life. I had two priests 'let me down' in less than an hour and a third within a day...and I asked God, "What the hell are you doing to me? How am I supposed to carry on, if not to trust these guys to help?" And It seemed God was saying, "That's not what they are here for." "Okay," I mouth back to Him without any warm fuzzy feelings, "Fine. What's next, God? Bring it on!" Then began the painful process of bringing my view of them back down to "just another guy on the street." That's how it works in me...the pendulum swings way too far one way, the pressure builds and it swings back in the other direction with a huge force...to the other extreme. And oh, I was angry...

I was terrified I was losing God, or at least the Catholic Church...and I felt I was completely alone. It just looked like a bunch of posers...all I could see was the dark side of the Church and it hurt. I saw myself as a fool, stupid, idyllic, romantic...thinking I could make a difference...I was a stupid fool placing my trust in these...men...

And the days went by. People, not priests, would find me...and tell me about my work...how much they appreciated it, how it made them feel...holy moments...one after the other...and at each one, I stood resistant to the love they were offering me. What a fraud, a hoax...an illusion I am. Always a different person came to me...people I didn't know, a few I did know...telling me how something I was doing brought them something good. And I was angry with God for doing that.  I was still stuck in the either/or thinking. That one belief necessarily had to be accompanied by others.

The poem about my dream of being the scruffy dog, denied entrance into the gate because she was not wearing the right uniform...I realize that maybe I don't belong in the uniform, or even inside the gate. That just maybe God has called me to do something else...than to be and look like everybody else. And why do I want to look like everybody else anyway? If I'm bored with conformity, why do I desire it?  That pendulum is swinging away...

I had an amazing visit with my son and his family last weekend. So much love...in the mess of living...Little house, lots of kids...laundry never stops, diapers to be changed, meals to be cooked, but lots and lots and lots of prayer. I see five children who know they are loved...I know because they show love without hesitation. I watch my son and daughter-in-law tame them with gentle encouragement. If they get out of line, they know it, they go to 'time out' and there is no begging, no bargaining...they come back, apologize if needed and start laughing again. My son and his wife understand their marriage as a covenant with God. I look at them in awe...they love and respect each other.

Then my son and I have a conversation about obedience to God. About what real kingdom living is all about. I tell him about my struggles with the Catholic Church. He talks...he sounds like a Catholic, but I don't tell him that. And this child, born of my body, says something...profound and true. I realize how right he is...even though I a fully aware that we each are holding onto different understandings of what he said...and I think...yes, this is what I have to do...and the pendulum is getting closer and closer to the middle. I marvel at our different journeys and yet how God brings them together.

I wonder if that is how Mary felt about Jesus.

So who do I lean on? How do I do the work I've been asked to do with authority, authenticity and sincerity?  How do I stay true to the gospel and true to my heart?  How do I love one another now?

I don't throw everything away. I don't give away the power God gave to me. I remain obedient to my Catholic faith as much as I am able. I allow myself to get angry...but not too angry. I don't isolate. I stay in the mess of being alive. I don't demand perfection. I strive to accept the humanity in the priests in my life, as I accept the humanity in my friends...and work to accept the humanity in myself: flawed, weak, inconsistent, capricious, and also loyal, devoted, passionate....the words all seem to point to one idea: trust.

There are days I look at my life and wish I had never been born. Days I think I would be better off dead. Days when I am so disappointed in myself and the choices I have made that I can't stand to look in the mirror...that I was a fool to love or trust anyone...and that I cannot trust even myself...

And then I hear that voice, the one I do trust. The one I would lay down my life for. The one who know my truths and whose blue eyes sparkle at me as if I was the most beautiful creature on earth. The one who would never hurt me, but protects me.  The one who tells me the hard things, but in ways that I can hear them. The person God gave to me to show me how to live...and how to love.

My own personal Clarence. The one who tells me I really have a wonderful life. The one who puts Zuzu's petals back into my pocket...

With me, it's always drama. This week, my drama seems so small compared to His. Soon I will go to the labyrinth and walk...and recall the story that changed the world. The God/man who changed the world...all because a young woman said yes to a really crazy idea...

What will He tell me as I wander back and forth through what looks like a maze...looks like you could get lost...but you never really do. Back and forth...thinking you are getting closer...then thinking you are getting farther away...but trusting the path to lead you into the center...where He is waiting to tell you something important. And all that wandering and flying back and forth was just to clean you out, to prepare you to listen well. Yeah, it doesn't make too much sense today...but stay faithful it will make sense soon. Trust me.

Love, Cindy

Rebirth: the first risk: March 1996 the first teacher

I watch your brown eyes
as you remove your glasses
They shift from one of my eyes to the other
and back again
They search for my soul
Trying to read me

I sit very still when you do that
Keeping my eyes still and my heart open
Inviting you into my soul
Through a path as straight and wide as I can make it
Come into the essence
That makes me different from every other human being ever created
Look around inside me
Water the plants
Dust off the books
Straighten the linens and
Find the lost key, the misplaced book
Open the curtains
Come inside

With you I am not afraid
I have opened all of myself to you
You do not treat me like an old sock
But like fine Spanish porcelain
Or a freshly budding rose..

I know there is a God
Because you are here
Because I have a soul
And you are holding it
In the palm of your hand

Eucharist

I left this blog alone. Thought I was done with it. Perhaps I am.  The other one, the one started so long ago, with the name of my fantasy retreat center attached to it "Teresa's Gardens," is mostly about poetry. I am surrounded by a thousand books. And I have a proper pillow in the small of my back, to allow me to sit in this chair for long hours.
Last night with the guests at the Missionaries of Charity, one woman was still upset be the happenings earlier in the week. A mother had her baby and when the volunteer was busy with other things, she just left. That's it. She just walked out on her child, who was all of maybe five days old. The mama I was talking to couldn't understand. I tried to help. I don't know if I did.

I did know that there is much more suffering in this world than we will ever be able to grasp.  My daily work takes me into homes where the loneliness and fear is so thick, where the fear of forgiveness is greater than the fear of death. And I dare to push their buttons, but not too hard.

A month ago, I told a man who wanted to die that he needed to forgive everyone before he died. If he was really ready, he had to forgive. Each time I see him now, he tells me again why he won't forgive. I try again to explain what forgiveness means. It is not the absence of justice. But it is the death, the ending of the violence that continues to separate us all from God. I listen and I wait. When he is ready, I will be ready.

Much like the woman, who found her way back...who got tired of fighting and let God back in. Her choice makes me weep. She fought long and hard. She only saw what she deserved, not the gift God was offering her. But finally she said yes to grace. And I thought, stay away, Cindy. This is her time now. God did what needed to be done. You have other things to do. But it was so precious. I was informed she wanted to see me. I knocked on the door. "I've been waiting for you." she said. And we talked and smiled together. Her pain is not gone, but it doesn't wound her any longer. God gave me the gift of seeing her heart transformed...and in doing that, He also healed my heart just a little bit more.

What seems like now thousands of holy moments. I cannot imagine living any other life. Yet each day, I must remember it might all be over. I got stuck in horrible traffic yesterday and was like a spoiled child in it. I did all that I could to distract myself from where I had to be...in lane 4 on I-35 traveling a maximum of 20 mph.  It occurred to me that I chose to go down into Dallas on Friday to do some work for the Sisters. There are people stuck in this traffic hell every single day.  How can they calm themselves enough to pray?  How can they think of God in the stink and chaos and noise of the road...most often taking them to a place where they work to pay for the electricity and food and cars and educating their children...they have to be in it everyday. I get to choose when and how I drive these roads...at least for now. I am almost embarrassed and ashamed because I get to choose.
Maybe they choose, too. I don't know. And I know there will be a day that I can't do this work...and how sad I will be when it stops, or I become weak or sick...so I push onward to do the best I can, while I can, because His Voice is the only voice I can really hear. I don't much listen to the radio or even music too much...except the music that has become so ingrained in me that I really don't hear it...

This is my offering of thanks to He who loved me first. This woman. This body, mind, soul and spirit. This blood that still somehow manages to flow in my veins, despite my passive aggressive attempts to shorten my life with poor choices. Broken and bruised and bleeding...I give it back to Him...at some point...all used up. Wrinkles and gray hairs and a bit too much pasta and not enough wine...I give it back, every day, every way I can.

I could write more. Monday took me to another level. God showed me how strong I am on Monday...and how strong He is.  He showed me again that I might have to stand up for something I would prefer to leave alone. I may be called to speak about something unspeakable, but I wait...oh please, God...not yet! 

This power I gave away to priests...actually in the beginning of this particular adventure, to one priest...and then to others...God says I must take back. He has shown me what I needed to learn and how to grow. It just feels so uncomfortable, but it doesn't feel bad. It was what must happen. It was, is, part of my healing, my wholeness. 

I recall again, when I was 14, somewhere around 14...that conversation with God in my SPX Church, now recently leveled to build a new gym...I told Him I would go into hell for Him if it would help others find their way out. I told Him how I understood that my going into Hell was to teach me what the world was feeling and that the only way I could be be authentic and believed by people who were suffering was to suffer with them...

sound familiar?

Unconsciously, I got the message the Church was trying to teach. I took it on as my own. I believed every single word of it. I still do...except, maybe they (the Church) really didn't consider someone taking it all so seriously. Or maybe it did. There is something uniquely Catholic about Catholics. There is a willingness to enter into suffering that is not like their Protestant brothers and sisters. I can't speak to the real differences because, try as I might, I never really became Protestant...but like Luther, I am unrelenting in my challenge to the Catholic Church to see it grow into a richer and fuller faith tradition through discipline, education and a realistic social justice presence in the world.

Went to another Latin Mass this morning with the nuns.  Each time, I understand more. I like this learning. The Latin is far superior the the English translation simply because the English translation is so annoying male in its flavor.  The Latin hold less sexism...at least in my first few glances, it is more palatable than some of the phrases that will return in Advent.  I may actually have to start going to a Latin Mass weekly so that I do not become discouraged with the "for us men and for our [men] salvation"  phrasing that used to drive me crazy during the Mass, my head would immediately jump into the horrid archaic belief that women [and slaves and children] were saved by their relationship to their 'father/husband/owner.'  Always distracted me from prayer...and finally I had to conclude that God would never approve of such things, that the Catholic Church is always a work in progress and we just have to keep struggling along as we learn more and more about how to embrace the divine.

I can't waste my energy on politics when there is so much work to be done.

We must love one another. To play into the hands of the devil by trying to seek what is morally right in an institution that is not motivated to change will simply keep me from caring for the ones that need the basic things...the extravagance of trying to be right is just not important anymore. What is important are the men and women and children who need God's loving care through our hands, our feet, our eyes, and our hearts.  These are the things worth focusing on and dying for.

God help me. I can't do this without You. Thank you for my life.

Love, Cindy

Ashes to...

Within the Stravinsky motif
A curious child tests her limits
Plays with fire
And burns brightly
Til she burns out

Enter the stag
Symbol of strength and trust
Pulls her broken body from the ashes
Nudges her back into action

She has only the strength to cry
And her tears bring life
To all that was dead inside her
**************************
I have been commissioned to sing my note
Inside this creation
Only pleasing to God and a few well trained ears
Yet sing it, I must

I stand both inside and out
Not yet knowing whether I belong inside
Or out
What I thought was true
Is illusion
What I thought was illusion
Is true
 *****************************
"Authority rests in Me," He tells me,
"I give to you the gift to heal.
No one on earth can take that from you.
What I bind on earth stays bound to me.
Do not doubt your gift."

"But how? I am just a woman." I tell Him.
"Do not say to Me, 'I am just a woman.'
I will show you the path to walk.
I pulled you out of the ashes
And breathed life into you.
It is okay to cry. Your woman tears
Will breathe life into the dead
And give hope to the discouraged.
Your woman tears are your greatest gift.
They, more than anything else you offer Me,
Pleases Me the most.
They cleanse you
They bathe you
They make you holy
And give you great power.
Do not be afraid of them.
I gave them to you.

Each tear brings life anew
Feeds the earth again
Your special rain creates life
Because you believe in Me.
Because you love Me.
Because I loved you first."

Cindy
copyright April 1, 2011