Saturday after Ash Wednesday: Luke 5:27-28: "and said to him, "Follow me." And leaving everything Levi got up and followed him.
1996: Went to broomball.--was NOT food for my soul. Came home sad. It was a bar!
1997: the word was "precious:"- lunch [Calle Doce] in Oak Cliff with Norma and a walk in Duncanville
This was the day, in 1997, when Norma suggested to me that I work for PCEC...I think that was it. To go into Christian Pastoral Counseling. I had spent a semester at TWU taking classes to acquire an LPC or an LMFT. Ruth, my counselor, told me that with my skills, I could be making $100K a year in no time. I was unhappy at TWU. I had a beautiful woman fall in love with me. I gently told her I was not wired for women. She took it well enough.
Norma and I had a wonderful meal in Oak Cliff, my first 'real' experience of 'the city.' Calle Doce was delightful and the food delicious. Then she asked me if I'd like to go for a walk in a place where she spent much of her childhood roaming around and thinking about God. I guess it was a park...sort of. We walked in delightfully warm sunlight in cool weather, among tall dried Johnson grasses...and she told me about her life. I told her a bit about mine.
As we walked, she said, "You know, Cindy, you might want to consider seminary. Be a minister." I told her she was crazy. I liked the idea of a Christian counselor, and working for the church in that capacity...but ministry? I am the most fallen woman that exists. You have got to be joking. And we walked silently for a time...I thought back to my younger days in San Antonio, how I wandered through fields of gold and green...thinking about and looking for God. I kind of enjoyed knowing that there might be others...wandering and wondering, too.
Images fly through my head:
the Monet Water Lillies at McNay Art Institute
The Episcopal Church at the top of the hill near Sunset Ridge Shopping Center
St Luke's Episcopal Church and the very kind secretary
Feet on the handle bars, I'd cruise at 30+ mph through stop signs in Alamo Heights and just pray a car wouldn't come
Broadway Movie theater
Olmos Basin
Bun and Barrel
Ivy Lane
St Andrews UMC (when it was NOT three blocks long!)
Oak trees older than Texas
the pink house that burned in a fire
Sunken garden and giant goldfish (coy)
The house with the bars...where the lady lived whose son was murdered
Neisner's
And St. Pius X...which had a distinct smell, tall skinny windows...and we knelt for our food
Just a few images from Saturday morning rides into nowhere. Alone, God was mine. I didn't have to explain Him or justify Him to anyone. He was mine. And I was His. And I wanted nothing else in this life.
How do we explain our consciousness? How do we explain memory? How do we learn? Why do we breath? Why do we experience love and lonliness and anger? Why are there moments of ecstacy and joy? Why do we feel abandoned and misunderstood?
There is an easy meditation:
Be still and know that I am God
Be still and know that I am
Be still and know that I
Be still and know
Be still
Be
Be still and know that I am God:
As we grow up, we want answers. We are filled with questions and we want answers. And when the answers don't satisfy us, or we recognize the contradictions in the people we trust and love...we come to an abyss of despair. In that stillness and suffering of the reality that we must accept that the world has and will continue to let us down, we are confronted with an existential message: "Be still and know that I am God." Nothing is going to fix the wrongs done to us and others...no amount of justice can replace the loss of innocence and life...so be still my child, be still and know that I am God. It doesn't make sense, but you are not alone. I am God. I am with you always.
Be still and know that I am:
This God tells us to be still. What does that mean: I am God? What is God? What is a God? What does God do? "I am." I remember reading that in Exodus. What kind of name is that? I am. What a stupid name. Then I learn more. It can also be translated "I will be who I will be" Like that helps. I will be who I will be might mean that God will be what you need, when you need it, in the way you need it, for as long as you need it. Okay. That might be a bit more comforting. "Be still and know that I am Fred." is comforting to me because I had a best friend named Fred who loved me really well and never hurt me. But Tim hurt me, and Bruce hurt me and Danny betrayed me. And Betsy, well Betsy was just so perfect that I felt so small around her...and the names go on and on...yes, very good that God is "I am." Be still and know that I am.
Be still and know:
This one is so much harder. Know what? What do I need to know? How much do I need to know? Are there things I know that I shouldn't know? Can't un-ring a bell. I'm stuck with that knowing: violence, obsenity, hatred, betrayal, selfishness, pride...and so much more. I know these things, which became so interesting to learn to know when so many people told me that I shouldn't do it...(I double dog dare you to...) Be still and know...perhaps is know that, if we know that "God is God", and we know that "God is," maybe I can be still and know: that God is in charge, that God heals, that God forgives, that God is light, and the good shepherd, and the vine...I know...I am not alone...and there is always hope. Perhaps this is what I am supposed to know...that I am loved and cherished and unique and needed....Be still and know...
Be still:
Can't hear or know much of anything when I am moving around. When I am consumed with busyness and business. When I think I am much to important to remain idle, because just maybe, I'm thinking of myself as as idol...that my thoughts and words and actions are more important and need to be more important than your words or thoughts or actions, maybe I need to be still in order to know that I need to be humble...because You are God. That all the things I think I need or know seem to fall away when I am still...hearing my breathing, which you taught my body to do, to see the flesh on my bones, wrinkled and bumpy and freckled...and sometimes bleeding...but I couldn't even feel pain without your having made me human...and I remember...in the stillness...that I can feel love because you made me to feel love. Yes, I will "Be still" and know these things, about You, who are God.
Be:
When all is stripped away, when sickness comes, or death, or loss of someone we love, or a job, or a pet, when death is immanent and suffering seems to be without ceasing, if I can just be...let go of the questions, let go of the answers. Live in the very moment and Be, still I feel You, I know You, I love You. Be, when nothing else makes sense. Free will says I can stop it all: the pain, the sadness, the lonliness, the abandonment. I can stop it all in many, many ways: but in the midst of our sufferings, God calls us to just "Be." In the "Be-ing" we begin to know Him...Because we would not even "Be" without Him. So for a moment, let us Be. Let us rest in Be. And in Be, we rest in Him. In Be, in Him, we are able to "be still.' we are able to "Be still and know" We are able to "Be still and know that He is" and at last, "Be still and know that He is God."
All that from reflecting on a book I read for the first time 16 years ago. Nouwen. A genius. He knew. And he had the courage to write. So I write. Because love was given to me...through your hands...into my heart...His heart taking over mine, because He took over your heart...and you loved me, because He loved you first.
Now that was fun to write. Yes, I didn't finish the first part...you editors, you...when I'm ready...I'll do it. Pager went off. Must attend to other things now.
Love, Cindy
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Friday, February 24, 2012
Real and Imaginary
Only a few words today...apparently someone is trying to get into my account...or has gotten into the account. Some people just need to be contrary. I get like that sometimes, when I am frustrated and feel like I'm not being heard.
I went off into the woods yesterday because it was so beautiful...and to flush out all the contrariness inside me, or at least try to do it. I made a decision a while back to do something I had decided the day before to not do. When I looked at that first decision, all I could see was the loneliness that is seemed to amplify. So I changed my mind. And you know what, the loneliness is even more apparent now...and has caused me to not do other things that I should be doing.
I have not applied for more work. And yet I love the work. But I am so discouraged by wyhat I find around me. If I can't solve a problem, then I get out. If I am no longer needed or wanted, I leave. I do not like to waste time and energy on things that cannot bear fruit. Writing that down, I begin to understand how rigid I am. All I feel is anger...
Yesterday, I watched a most beautiful video on the Mass, by Fr Robert Barron. What he spoke about the Mass, I knew already...it was what I was in love with...all the little parts...and he brought to me an understanding...or at least a curiousity about Thomas Aquinas that will make me search out and learn about what he suggested. A side to Aquinas I did not know. So when the video ended, and I was still crying at its beauty...the conversation among the women turned immediately to...gossip. I was stunned. Suddenly they were comparing priests and talking about choir robes and about all the people they knew who didn't behave properly at Mass.
I thought I would throw up. I got up and went into another room. I could still hear them. I went out on the front porch and cried. Yes, I did try to bring the conversation around to something less petty, but there was no interest. I walked back in the house and heard, "Did you see her...in those leggings?" And "Then she did..." I picked up my things and left.
I have to say that I enjoy this group of women very much, and that our discussions in the past have been fruitful...and I wondered what happened to trigger such response to such a beautiful video about the Mass. Is the idea of God's love for us just too had to believe in? Are we that afraid of such a perfect gift? Have we received it without really understanding what was given?
I can't help but think about last Sunday's gospel, where the paralytic's friends lowered him in to Jesus and Jesus, seeing their faith, said "Your sins are forgiven." And they all, the know-it-all Pharisees and scribes and probably many others kind of went, "What the hell...?" And Jesus might have sighed...although...I'm sure he had much more patience than me...and thought...okay, I'll give you what you want...even though what I offered was so much better...
It's all so frustrating to me, that we constantly accept less than what God wants us to have. It's driving me crazy, in fact. Why do you want to sit in the dark and curse God? Why do you insist on carrying a cross that is not your own? Why do you take my love and flush it down the toilet? Why will you not see what is before you?
I know I am a fool. I don't know how this will end. But I am weary...I must learn how to do this work all over again. Humility. But how can I not weep, when we turn away from His gift?
Love, Cindy
I went off into the woods yesterday because it was so beautiful...and to flush out all the contrariness inside me, or at least try to do it. I made a decision a while back to do something I had decided the day before to not do. When I looked at that first decision, all I could see was the loneliness that is seemed to amplify. So I changed my mind. And you know what, the loneliness is even more apparent now...and has caused me to not do other things that I should be doing.
I have not applied for more work. And yet I love the work. But I am so discouraged by wyhat I find around me. If I can't solve a problem, then I get out. If I am no longer needed or wanted, I leave. I do not like to waste time and energy on things that cannot bear fruit. Writing that down, I begin to understand how rigid I am. All I feel is anger...
Yesterday, I watched a most beautiful video on the Mass, by Fr Robert Barron. What he spoke about the Mass, I knew already...it was what I was in love with...all the little parts...and he brought to me an understanding...or at least a curiousity about Thomas Aquinas that will make me search out and learn about what he suggested. A side to Aquinas I did not know. So when the video ended, and I was still crying at its beauty...the conversation among the women turned immediately to...gossip. I was stunned. Suddenly they were comparing priests and talking about choir robes and about all the people they knew who didn't behave properly at Mass.
I thought I would throw up. I got up and went into another room. I could still hear them. I went out on the front porch and cried. Yes, I did try to bring the conversation around to something less petty, but there was no interest. I walked back in the house and heard, "Did you see her...in those leggings?" And "Then she did..." I picked up my things and left.
I have to say that I enjoy this group of women very much, and that our discussions in the past have been fruitful...and I wondered what happened to trigger such response to such a beautiful video about the Mass. Is the idea of God's love for us just too had to believe in? Are we that afraid of such a perfect gift? Have we received it without really understanding what was given?
I can't help but think about last Sunday's gospel, where the paralytic's friends lowered him in to Jesus and Jesus, seeing their faith, said "Your sins are forgiven." And they all, the know-it-all Pharisees and scribes and probably many others kind of went, "What the hell...?" And Jesus might have sighed...although...I'm sure he had much more patience than me...and thought...okay, I'll give you what you want...even though what I offered was so much better...
It's all so frustrating to me, that we constantly accept less than what God wants us to have. It's driving me crazy, in fact. Why do you want to sit in the dark and curse God? Why do you insist on carrying a cross that is not your own? Why do you take my love and flush it down the toilet? Why will you not see what is before you?
I know I am a fool. I don't know how this will end. But I am weary...I must learn how to do this work all over again. Humility. But how can I not weep, when we turn away from His gift?
Love, Cindy
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
You're doing it wrong...
Yesterday I wrote:
Lent is almost upon me. I have ambitious goals this time around. I struggle so much with the idea of staying alive. On a practical level, life has purpose. We create things, we encounter people, we experience daily activities, we love, we hate, we judge, we consume, we use things up and what we don't use, we flush. The fact that we have been here matters to some people, and sometimes to us. In what seemed like a casual conversation, someone showed me his wrists. This was to prove a point that many of us get tired of living, tired of trying, tired of giving, tired of being disappointed. Tired of hurting. More and more, I am beginning to realize how hard it is to stay alive...and much harder than that, to stay happy.
There is so very much I need to write about, but I think now is too soon and later, it will not matter so much, and I will have forgotten much. My hope is to put these words down in a vague manner, yet with enough clarity to get an idea across. Bear with me, if you wish...
The theme of my week is perfection. I think it is perfection. I could be wrong. There is a Catholic nightmare inside of me that involves nuns and rulers and erasers...and maybe dogs...where I am being challenged to do something the "right" way, but I am doing it wrong.
As a little girl, desperate for love, which she believes she will get through approval...the goal was always to do things right, but the nuns...and the mother...always told her directly and indirectly, that she was doing it wrong. The nuns would chastise her for not folding her paper in half properly. They needed something to criticize because her answers were always right. I guess the nuns thought, "you can not tell a child that he/she is doing good work. He will get lazy and careless. Always find the mistake, the room for improvement."
My first horrible nightmare, perhaps at age 7, was of my mother forcing me to sit on a swing over a fire. She would not let me get up from the swing and she and all the girls in my Girl Scout troop were laughing at me, while I sat there crying, wanting to get off of the swing. But I was told to stay there...and burn...
I woke in a sweat and wanted to cry out for comfort...but how could I cry out for help from the one who was my tormentor? And my father would sling obscenities across the house if I woke him up. It was the beginning of my real and active rebellion. If I can't please them, I might as well take joy in pissing them off...since that is what they expected of me anyway. I was pleasing them (doing it right)by living up (or down) to their expectations.
All this comes back to me much too often...and has manifested itself in some of the work I am doing now. Here is a place where I am going to say this poorly: I am surrounded by people right now who insist on "doing it right." Not just me, but it seems like the many people are doing it to the many people...I mean, this problem is not exclusive to me. In fact, I think we are doing it to each other. They are hovering, watching, judging, suggesting, evaluating, complaining...all while saying, or believing in their hearts that they are only doing "God's will." And they all have the earnest desire to "make things better." I have had to take my gifts and cheapen them to accomodate others and I dislike myself for doing it. I am not being authentic and I am angry inside, and it comes out in unpleasant ways.
Ways in which I have decided to "give up for Lent." Hence the pressure for the next 24 hours. How am I going to do this? Give God this gift, which on some level, has less to do with some distructive behaviors and more to do with letting go of my pride, of my vision of what could be and knowing that it just ain't gonna happen this time. This is very hard work for me. I have eaten and smoked and...done all sorts of things to calm me down and absolutely nothing makes me feel better. I want to run away, I want to quit. I want to be buried in the ground...because I can see all the good things that could happen but won't because someone else has a different idea of what 'perfect' looks like.
They tell me, "You're doing it wrong." and sadly, in my heart, I 'm thinking exactly the same thing about them. So rather than argue, explain, work through it or just give up and give them what they want...I want to go away and hide.
I dislike confrontation. I also have enough brains to know that while I think I am right...I might not be right...yet it seems, when people follow my ideas, really great things happen. And when I give in, what I expect to fall apart...does...So I am frustrated and confused. And there are days, I look back at the scars on my own hands and arms...and remember why I put them there. Some days it's just too hard to live.
It seems that there might really be a God, you know...because when things got the blackest for me...the right person seemed to show up...and love me in exactly the way I needed to be loved for exactly the right amount of time...until I could get up from the ground all by myself again...and go back to the war of staying alive and loving one another.
That's what it is like going into a hospital room sometimes. I walk in, I have a certain look, or say words in the right order or the right tone...and a person I have never met before tells me their life story, many times they tell me things they did not know that they knew. And getting them out of their body makes them feel alive again...for a moment...the sickness of the mind and the mind games...is relieved.
I have been stewing for the last seven days on my mistakes, on telling too much or too little. Of being angry at people who I needed but were not there...and of being miffed that I can not seem to go anywhere without someone needing something from me...and feeling exhausted...and angry because I do not get to have my own way.
I have watched others argue and assume hatred and prejudice because someone looked at them wrong or said the wrong words. I have seen people being angry because they felt unappreciated, angry because there is not enough money, or a paper wasn't filed...and I have heard the exasperation of others just wanting to give up trying...or angry with me because I was doing something 'the wrong way.' Or just because I was a woman...oh my heavens, how that one set me off!
How weak of spirit I am, to let a man get to me...that one snowballed into an ugly mess. Why do I stay with a church that does not seem to value women? All of my Sunday was consumed with reminders of who I am not, who I will never be...this is one of those things I must leave in the desert. It doesn't matter who is doing it right and who is doing it wrong. What matters is that I follow the will of God for my life. Churches and people must follow their call...and I must follow mine. I do not wish to waste any more energy stewing over other agendas. I have enough work just trying to live out what God requires of me. I don't have to fit in, I don't have to be liked...if I follow what God asks, I know it will work out...even if I can't see it working out.
You see, in the midst of this mess...I am called even now into consolation with God. There is some deep part of me that knows how unimportant all this extra noise is...
Today, February 21, 2012:
I thought what I wrote above was a total mess. But this day, I see it has to be finished, if only in part, and put out for...I have no idea. The thousands of thoughts that continue to flood my head, you never really know which day will be your last...and I guess this is my art...a gift from God and gladly given back. Mardi Gras going on right now. I don't much care for parties. I used to handle them well because I stayed gently intoxicated...a person can do anything with the right amounts of alcohol...not intoxicated, I am always thinking, trying to solve an imaginary puzzle. I was going to speak of consolations. How can I tell you how beautiful they are? How can I help you surrender to the ones He has for you? Can I tell you to be brave and give away all that mess that keeps you chained to this world? How can I help you to understand that you don't have to do it right? There is no recipe for God. There is no incantation, no right number of Hail Marys, said daily or nightly, or in community...that will get you what you most want...and what you most need. There is only the letting go of the need to be right, or perfect, or beautiful...or in charge. God really doesn't care. His Love is not dependent on what you do insofar as what you are doing is not completely focused on Him. Every good thing is in Him...and when you are in Him, every good thing is inside you. And oh my goodness...how unexplainably good that is! Settling into Him, of your own free will...is the most wonderful thing you can do...and it fixes everything...nothing hurts there, nothing is confusing there. But it takes a complete letting go of what you want, or think you need.
It doesn't matter that it's not perfect. It doesn't matter if you do it wrong. It doesn't matter if you've denied Him three times or three hundred times...the moment you say yes, with all your being...there you will be. In the One who breathed life into you. Where life begins and stays forever...
In Him, all is perfect, all is right, all is love...
I'm not kidding.
Love, Cindy
Lent is almost upon me. I have ambitious goals this time around. I struggle so much with the idea of staying alive. On a practical level, life has purpose. We create things, we encounter people, we experience daily activities, we love, we hate, we judge, we consume, we use things up and what we don't use, we flush. The fact that we have been here matters to some people, and sometimes to us. In what seemed like a casual conversation, someone showed me his wrists. This was to prove a point that many of us get tired of living, tired of trying, tired of giving, tired of being disappointed. Tired of hurting. More and more, I am beginning to realize how hard it is to stay alive...and much harder than that, to stay happy.
There is so very much I need to write about, but I think now is too soon and later, it will not matter so much, and I will have forgotten much. My hope is to put these words down in a vague manner, yet with enough clarity to get an idea across. Bear with me, if you wish...
The theme of my week is perfection. I think it is perfection. I could be wrong. There is a Catholic nightmare inside of me that involves nuns and rulers and erasers...and maybe dogs...where I am being challenged to do something the "right" way, but I am doing it wrong.
As a little girl, desperate for love, which she believes she will get through approval...the goal was always to do things right, but the nuns...and the mother...always told her directly and indirectly, that she was doing it wrong. The nuns would chastise her for not folding her paper in half properly. They needed something to criticize because her answers were always right. I guess the nuns thought, "you can not tell a child that he/she is doing good work. He will get lazy and careless. Always find the mistake, the room for improvement."
My first horrible nightmare, perhaps at age 7, was of my mother forcing me to sit on a swing over a fire. She would not let me get up from the swing and she and all the girls in my Girl Scout troop were laughing at me, while I sat there crying, wanting to get off of the swing. But I was told to stay there...and burn...
I woke in a sweat and wanted to cry out for comfort...but how could I cry out for help from the one who was my tormentor? And my father would sling obscenities across the house if I woke him up. It was the beginning of my real and active rebellion. If I can't please them, I might as well take joy in pissing them off...since that is what they expected of me anyway. I was pleasing them (doing it right)by living up (or down) to their expectations.
All this comes back to me much too often...and has manifested itself in some of the work I am doing now. Here is a place where I am going to say this poorly: I am surrounded by people right now who insist on "doing it right." Not just me, but it seems like the many people are doing it to the many people...I mean, this problem is not exclusive to me. In fact, I think we are doing it to each other. They are hovering, watching, judging, suggesting, evaluating, complaining...all while saying, or believing in their hearts that they are only doing "God's will." And they all have the earnest desire to "make things better." I have had to take my gifts and cheapen them to accomodate others and I dislike myself for doing it. I am not being authentic and I am angry inside, and it comes out in unpleasant ways.
Ways in which I have decided to "give up for Lent." Hence the pressure for the next 24 hours. How am I going to do this? Give God this gift, which on some level, has less to do with some distructive behaviors and more to do with letting go of my pride, of my vision of what could be and knowing that it just ain't gonna happen this time. This is very hard work for me. I have eaten and smoked and...done all sorts of things to calm me down and absolutely nothing makes me feel better. I want to run away, I want to quit. I want to be buried in the ground...because I can see all the good things that could happen but won't because someone else has a different idea of what 'perfect' looks like.
They tell me, "You're doing it wrong." and sadly, in my heart, I 'm thinking exactly the same thing about them. So rather than argue, explain, work through it or just give up and give them what they want...I want to go away and hide.
I dislike confrontation. I also have enough brains to know that while I think I am right...I might not be right...yet it seems, when people follow my ideas, really great things happen. And when I give in, what I expect to fall apart...does...So I am frustrated and confused. And there are days, I look back at the scars on my own hands and arms...and remember why I put them there. Some days it's just too hard to live.
It seems that there might really be a God, you know...because when things got the blackest for me...the right person seemed to show up...and love me in exactly the way I needed to be loved for exactly the right amount of time...until I could get up from the ground all by myself again...and go back to the war of staying alive and loving one another.
That's what it is like going into a hospital room sometimes. I walk in, I have a certain look, or say words in the right order or the right tone...and a person I have never met before tells me their life story, many times they tell me things they did not know that they knew. And getting them out of their body makes them feel alive again...for a moment...the sickness of the mind and the mind games...is relieved.
I have been stewing for the last seven days on my mistakes, on telling too much or too little. Of being angry at people who I needed but were not there...and of being miffed that I can not seem to go anywhere without someone needing something from me...and feeling exhausted...and angry because I do not get to have my own way.
I have watched others argue and assume hatred and prejudice because someone looked at them wrong or said the wrong words. I have seen people being angry because they felt unappreciated, angry because there is not enough money, or a paper wasn't filed...and I have heard the exasperation of others just wanting to give up trying...or angry with me because I was doing something 'the wrong way.' Or just because I was a woman...oh my heavens, how that one set me off!
How weak of spirit I am, to let a man get to me...that one snowballed into an ugly mess. Why do I stay with a church that does not seem to value women? All of my Sunday was consumed with reminders of who I am not, who I will never be...this is one of those things I must leave in the desert. It doesn't matter who is doing it right and who is doing it wrong. What matters is that I follow the will of God for my life. Churches and people must follow their call...and I must follow mine. I do not wish to waste any more energy stewing over other agendas. I have enough work just trying to live out what God requires of me. I don't have to fit in, I don't have to be liked...if I follow what God asks, I know it will work out...even if I can't see it working out.
You see, in the midst of this mess...I am called even now into consolation with God. There is some deep part of me that knows how unimportant all this extra noise is...
Today, February 21, 2012:
I thought what I wrote above was a total mess. But this day, I see it has to be finished, if only in part, and put out for...I have no idea. The thousands of thoughts that continue to flood my head, you never really know which day will be your last...and I guess this is my art...a gift from God and gladly given back. Mardi Gras going on right now. I don't much care for parties. I used to handle them well because I stayed gently intoxicated...a person can do anything with the right amounts of alcohol...not intoxicated, I am always thinking, trying to solve an imaginary puzzle. I was going to speak of consolations. How can I tell you how beautiful they are? How can I help you surrender to the ones He has for you? Can I tell you to be brave and give away all that mess that keeps you chained to this world? How can I help you to understand that you don't have to do it right? There is no recipe for God. There is no incantation, no right number of Hail Marys, said daily or nightly, or in community...that will get you what you most want...and what you most need. There is only the letting go of the need to be right, or perfect, or beautiful...or in charge. God really doesn't care. His Love is not dependent on what you do insofar as what you are doing is not completely focused on Him. Every good thing is in Him...and when you are in Him, every good thing is inside you. And oh my goodness...how unexplainably good that is! Settling into Him, of your own free will...is the most wonderful thing you can do...and it fixes everything...nothing hurts there, nothing is confusing there. But it takes a complete letting go of what you want, or think you need.
It doesn't matter that it's not perfect. It doesn't matter if you do it wrong. It doesn't matter if you've denied Him three times or three hundred times...the moment you say yes, with all your being...there you will be. In the One who breathed life into you. Where life begins and stays forever...
In Him, all is perfect, all is right, all is love...
I'm not kidding.
Love, Cindy
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
I've got a secret...
People tell me over and over that they like the way I play the piano. I know it's not me, but God...and they don't get that. But you see, I view music as making love to God, for God and with God. My hands are the male and female...sometimes fighting each other, sometimes working together, each fighting for attention, sometimes winning and sometimes losing,,,but in the process, they make music...they sing to God...and God laughs and claps His hands...and tell me, "Play on, Cindy, play on!"
Sometimes God seduces me in the music and I get lost...but it's all laughter and joy...wrong notes and all. If you happen to hear it, I have no idea what you are hearing...because that is your dance...with God and you...just for you...so I take neither credit nor blame for my notes anymore...
They are my way of getting around my own distractions and right down into the center of God's heart...when bliss never ends...musical notes...no theology about them, no right or wrong. Just notes...and I sing them with every cell of my body...awake and vulnerable...bending to His love, which always pleases...
So if you hear me play, don't thank me. Thank God. He's the one hold my hands...
Love, Cindy
Sometimes God seduces me in the music and I get lost...but it's all laughter and joy...wrong notes and all. If you happen to hear it, I have no idea what you are hearing...because that is your dance...with God and you...just for you...so I take neither credit nor blame for my notes anymore...
They are my way of getting around my own distractions and right down into the center of God's heart...when bliss never ends...musical notes...no theology about them, no right or wrong. Just notes...and I sing them with every cell of my body...awake and vulnerable...bending to His love, which always pleases...
So if you hear me play, don't thank me. Thank God. He's the one hold my hands...
Love, Cindy
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Message Received
The last few weeks have been more than a little challenging. I have entertained the idea of running away, to the point of considering both heaven and hell as optional places of destiny. God seems to be demanding a greater obedience of me, which, in His usual loving fashion, comes along with wonderful consolations...and mostly manageable desolations...thus far. This wife of His is getting more used to His needs, if God has needs...perhaps wants is a better word, but all words fail really. There is an understanding, a correction, and then more understanding, then more correction...and so it goes. But He does seem to say, without ceasing, "I love you." The discomfort truly is like having a baby...as referenced in John 16. There is pain, but you know in your heart, this kind of pain will produce fruit, so you accept it...even while it hurts.
It appears that the stories about specific events seem to generate the most interest. I guess that's why Jesus chose the parable. Had He spoken to people like Aquinas...I don't think Christianity would have ever succeeded! Being right means very little if no one can understand you. (this is a jab at the priests in my life, who have to love me no matter what) But truly, to reach someone, you need to speak, perhaps not their language, but in a language they can understand.
Recently, I've been praying in Latin. Let me be clear, I do not speak Latin, I have never studied Latin...my knowledge comes from spelling classes as a little girl, back when our definitions always included the Latin or Greek roots. I have an idea of Latin, but not much more. So I went to my priest friend and asked him, or made the statement, how easy it was for me to enter a contemplative state as I prayed in Latin....how good it made me feel...how connected to God. I told him I was confused, because I really didn't understand the words I was speaking...and we talked about it, the motion of the words, the flow, their connection to the romance languages...and the polyphonic manner of them. And of course, because I did not "know" the words, I had to concentrate that much harder on each one...my focus was intense...and the world disappeared...and there is happened, me and God were one again. What bliss! What peace! Delicious innocence!
So, without speaking words, God prepares me again for the next thing. I am sick of dealing with my reason, my pride, my jealousy and all the others things that get in my way...but still things get in my way. These days, I am almost immediately made aware of the foolishness of my own emotions. How quickly they change, how easily we are each misunderstood, and how "explaining things" doesn't always make it better. People will think what they want to think, no matter how much you try to explain things. A handful will be open to a new thought, but only a handful. The rest, well, are just not ready. What else did Duffy tell me? He affirmed I am really not connected to the world much anymore, and to not be afraid of that.
For a couple of years, perhaps for many years...when I am in His graces, other people want to be there, inside of it, too. And how I wish I could take them there, or show it to them...and let them enjoy what I have come to know...but too often, they kind of get stuck on me, rather than God. They confuse me with the real thing. What I mean is that, in friendships, I can only be so much of a friend these days. Like Yoda, "lay down my life, I would" for my friends, but try as they might...no one can get too close to me...for me, I understand that as, "what I have given God is His alone and belongs to no other man or woman." But I can still love and laugh and be present with others. It's just that, I always feel safest with "He who loves me best." Sometimes that can be manifest in another human being, but it is momentary, expedient, necessary for whatever work lies ahead for me...and the other person involved. As each day passes, I am less and less sad about what I have given up in light of what I have received.
I know you would like stories of the hospital perhaps...each day there, is more death experiences that life...and in the life experiences, there is death; in death there is life...but I suppose the more real we can be with each other, the more we feel God. Sitting with my priest friend, the first half hour or so, I found myself stumbling over my worries and concerns about things I was doing in my life that did not seem to be producing fruit. I was wanting from him practical solutions. But God had other planes. First, another priest entered the conversation, and we got to discussing Hebrew and Greek, our different ways of ministering and we laughed. This other priest is only beginning to understand who and what I am...he teaches me too, about a world I know so little of, on the other side of the world. Then he leaves us to our conversation...I try again and stumble through things I think I want to say...and fail. And God saves me, another person arrives. I offer her my seat and plan to excuse myself, but she is open to my presence. And the conversation becomes even more fascinating. I am sharing things I would never have shared when there was just two. And this woman, how easily she accepts me...how good that makes me feel...and we all speak our truths. And my priest friend gets to observe how I live my life. This will inform future conversations. He will now provide even greater insight for me. And what I have seen and heard, I know that also give him a gift. So I don't feel too bad about being there, I see and feel God's hand in it all. And I am always aware, always attentive to the reality that such a beautiful gift could end suddenly, abruptly...without any fanfare...but in my heart, I know I have done the right thing. I have done exactly what God asked me to do.
After the woman left, and all the foolish walls I had put up began to fall away, I spoke about what was most important...about the secrets of my prayer life and what God seemed to be doing to me and for me...and I was so excited that I had the courage to share it...authentically. And we seemed to crawl out of the negativity that was so pervasive in both of our lives and into the dawn. I know that sounds odd, but his illness is always with me, the pain he feels but I never ask about, because after all, he is a priest. I must always honor his vocation and he so perfectly honors mine. Truly a trinitarian experience that not everyone will understand. Yet, I wish we could all treat each other with so much respect. Authentic. Grateful. Humble. Blessed. I think we both found hope and joy and promise in God.
That said, this special friendship is not the only one I have, but perhaps the only one of which I am willing to write about now. I have other friends, who I love...but have not yet reached this understand with me, who understand how I completely belong to God. Well, I should say, what I know I have...I have given back to God. I am certain there is much more that I have that I have not given away...that I do not yet realize I am holding on to. For if I had given all myself back to God, I would not be here, would I? But I suppose I am motivated to write these words because there are people who want parts of me that I am no longer able to give away. There are conversations and things to do that I just can't do anymore. Even in my deep depressions, it seems, I cannot give in to certain things...because my brain sees the end of them, and what a waste it would be to entertain certain thoughts.
Some of these things, I am actually sad to let them go. It's not that they are bad, but they empty time. Some of them, I am not yet ready to release. I still want to write, because I still want others to want to try this life. I still want to teach...and oh my heavens to learn. To learn one must be vulnerable...to put an idea out there in space and be willing to hear that it might be wrong...or perhaps more frightening...to be right. But keeping it inside, we live in fantasy...making it right or wrong without external consult. Ignatius would not be pleased.
So to the title of this section: Message received. On Saturday, at the end of our Commissioning Mass for the ACTS retreat...at the most perfect moment, in silence, after Father had bowed at the altar, we all heard the voice, a female voice, from a cell phone, "Message received." And I almost began to laugh out loud. It was perfect. Here we were, celebrating the feast of Lourdes, with many people and a large group of women, committing themselves to hard work and evangelization...with the scripture readings overflowing with images of motherhood, of nursing babies, and holding them...and having that one particular boy grow into a man, who teases his mother, when she complains at the wedding feast..."They have no wine." and the boy looks at her and says to her"And your point is?" But she knows her son, the message was understood. "Do whatever He tells you." and through obedience to Mary's command, the water became wine. And not just any wine...good wine...the best wine...at the wedding...and then, at the Last Supper, when the apostles did not yet know it was the last one...the best wine was served again...that of God himself.
Message received: Do whatever He tells you.
You will not be disappointed.
Love, Cindy
It appears that the stories about specific events seem to generate the most interest. I guess that's why Jesus chose the parable. Had He spoken to people like Aquinas...I don't think Christianity would have ever succeeded! Being right means very little if no one can understand you. (this is a jab at the priests in my life, who have to love me no matter what) But truly, to reach someone, you need to speak, perhaps not their language, but in a language they can understand.
Recently, I've been praying in Latin. Let me be clear, I do not speak Latin, I have never studied Latin...my knowledge comes from spelling classes as a little girl, back when our definitions always included the Latin or Greek roots. I have an idea of Latin, but not much more. So I went to my priest friend and asked him, or made the statement, how easy it was for me to enter a contemplative state as I prayed in Latin....how good it made me feel...how connected to God. I told him I was confused, because I really didn't understand the words I was speaking...and we talked about it, the motion of the words, the flow, their connection to the romance languages...and the polyphonic manner of them. And of course, because I did not "know" the words, I had to concentrate that much harder on each one...my focus was intense...and the world disappeared...and there is happened, me and God were one again. What bliss! What peace! Delicious innocence!
So, without speaking words, God prepares me again for the next thing. I am sick of dealing with my reason, my pride, my jealousy and all the others things that get in my way...but still things get in my way. These days, I am almost immediately made aware of the foolishness of my own emotions. How quickly they change, how easily we are each misunderstood, and how "explaining things" doesn't always make it better. People will think what they want to think, no matter how much you try to explain things. A handful will be open to a new thought, but only a handful. The rest, well, are just not ready. What else did Duffy tell me? He affirmed I am really not connected to the world much anymore, and to not be afraid of that.
For a couple of years, perhaps for many years...when I am in His graces, other people want to be there, inside of it, too. And how I wish I could take them there, or show it to them...and let them enjoy what I have come to know...but too often, they kind of get stuck on me, rather than God. They confuse me with the real thing. What I mean is that, in friendships, I can only be so much of a friend these days. Like Yoda, "lay down my life, I would" for my friends, but try as they might...no one can get too close to me...for me, I understand that as, "what I have given God is His alone and belongs to no other man or woman." But I can still love and laugh and be present with others. It's just that, I always feel safest with "He who loves me best." Sometimes that can be manifest in another human being, but it is momentary, expedient, necessary for whatever work lies ahead for me...and the other person involved. As each day passes, I am less and less sad about what I have given up in light of what I have received.
I know you would like stories of the hospital perhaps...each day there, is more death experiences that life...and in the life experiences, there is death; in death there is life...but I suppose the more real we can be with each other, the more we feel God. Sitting with my priest friend, the first half hour or so, I found myself stumbling over my worries and concerns about things I was doing in my life that did not seem to be producing fruit. I was wanting from him practical solutions. But God had other planes. First, another priest entered the conversation, and we got to discussing Hebrew and Greek, our different ways of ministering and we laughed. This other priest is only beginning to understand who and what I am...he teaches me too, about a world I know so little of, on the other side of the world. Then he leaves us to our conversation...I try again and stumble through things I think I want to say...and fail. And God saves me, another person arrives. I offer her my seat and plan to excuse myself, but she is open to my presence. And the conversation becomes even more fascinating. I am sharing things I would never have shared when there was just two. And this woman, how easily she accepts me...how good that makes me feel...and we all speak our truths. And my priest friend gets to observe how I live my life. This will inform future conversations. He will now provide even greater insight for me. And what I have seen and heard, I know that also give him a gift. So I don't feel too bad about being there, I see and feel God's hand in it all. And I am always aware, always attentive to the reality that such a beautiful gift could end suddenly, abruptly...without any fanfare...but in my heart, I know I have done the right thing. I have done exactly what God asked me to do.
After the woman left, and all the foolish walls I had put up began to fall away, I spoke about what was most important...about the secrets of my prayer life and what God seemed to be doing to me and for me...and I was so excited that I had the courage to share it...authentically. And we seemed to crawl out of the negativity that was so pervasive in both of our lives and into the dawn. I know that sounds odd, but his illness is always with me, the pain he feels but I never ask about, because after all, he is a priest. I must always honor his vocation and he so perfectly honors mine. Truly a trinitarian experience that not everyone will understand. Yet, I wish we could all treat each other with so much respect. Authentic. Grateful. Humble. Blessed. I think we both found hope and joy and promise in God.
That said, this special friendship is not the only one I have, but perhaps the only one of which I am willing to write about now. I have other friends, who I love...but have not yet reached this understand with me, who understand how I completely belong to God. Well, I should say, what I know I have...I have given back to God. I am certain there is much more that I have that I have not given away...that I do not yet realize I am holding on to. For if I had given all myself back to God, I would not be here, would I? But I suppose I am motivated to write these words because there are people who want parts of me that I am no longer able to give away. There are conversations and things to do that I just can't do anymore. Even in my deep depressions, it seems, I cannot give in to certain things...because my brain sees the end of them, and what a waste it would be to entertain certain thoughts.
Some of these things, I am actually sad to let them go. It's not that they are bad, but they empty time. Some of them, I am not yet ready to release. I still want to write, because I still want others to want to try this life. I still want to teach...and oh my heavens to learn. To learn one must be vulnerable...to put an idea out there in space and be willing to hear that it might be wrong...or perhaps more frightening...to be right. But keeping it inside, we live in fantasy...making it right or wrong without external consult. Ignatius would not be pleased.
So to the title of this section: Message received. On Saturday, at the end of our Commissioning Mass for the ACTS retreat...at the most perfect moment, in silence, after Father had bowed at the altar, we all heard the voice, a female voice, from a cell phone, "Message received." And I almost began to laugh out loud. It was perfect. Here we were, celebrating the feast of Lourdes, with many people and a large group of women, committing themselves to hard work and evangelization...with the scripture readings overflowing with images of motherhood, of nursing babies, and holding them...and having that one particular boy grow into a man, who teases his mother, when she complains at the wedding feast..."They have no wine." and the boy looks at her and says to her"And your point is?" But she knows her son, the message was understood. "Do whatever He tells you." and through obedience to Mary's command, the water became wine. And not just any wine...good wine...the best wine...at the wedding...and then, at the Last Supper, when the apostles did not yet know it was the last one...the best wine was served again...that of God himself.
Message received: Do whatever He tells you.
You will not be disappointed.
Love, Cindy
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
The Martha Problem
"Cindy, I think you are doing to much."
"But I feel so lazy, like I'm not doing anything at all."
Such has been the theme of too many conversations this week. The very moment I make a contract with my supervisor at the hospital to "practice self-care," I realize I am doing the exact opposite, while thinking that I am doing the right thing. I can say that I know I have cut things out of my days, yet the days remain full, I don't accomplish what I set out to do...and I seem to be more tired than I expected. I couldn't figure out why I constantly felt that I was somehow letting God down...no matter how hard I worked. I seemed to be in an endless sea of suffering, which is a reality of hospital work...and outside of the hospital, it seemed not much better. I prayed to God to make me a healer and the world seemed to come to me with their truths, their hungers, their emptinesses, and I did my best to help them fill their buckets...I simply forgot to fill mine.
Or is that true? I had an idea of how I wanted to fill it...out knocking on doors, searching for the priest or the spiritual director who carried the magic pill that would calm me down, set me straight, shine a light into my dark spots...but all I heard was, "take it easy," and that was definitely not part of the solution to my problem. I was certain. There was hardly a moment in my waking hours when I was not aware of someone else's sufferings. And then there was the guilt: I am reasonably healthy. God has blessed me with the opportunity and ability to serve...but are things getting any better? Am I really doing my part? Does God think I'm lazy? Have I let Him down?
Even just writing, seems to be filled with meaning and purpose. Maybe I do need to make love again. Do something entirely selfish, get myself a husband and let him take care of me...nah...That idea just never seems to have a happy ending in my mind...(You never really know when I am being humorous, do you?)
But yesterday, I began to see the light again. Oddly because I thought I had an agenda, but I didn't have an agenda, which I guess was really the agenda...and without all the bells and whistles, I had a conversation of sorts...and was reminded AGAIN that I needed a bit more balance...and AGAIN I argued that I must not be doing enough because I felt so...unfulfilled. But in this conversation...I left with hope, something I had not felt in a while. I wasn't walking out of a room where I knew a woman was dying, and the kids were thinking, maybe they would be Catholic again...or another diagnosis for a man with no insurance, a woman who was sad because her kids were dividing up the money while she was still breathing or another homeless person going on hospice (which was my day on Tuesday)...I got a real moment of kindness for me...someone who heard and talked real to me. And it gave me hope. I decided to take to heart the words given to me because they came from a trustworthy source...
And then I went on to my next four hours of spiritual work, thinking in the back of my head...where will I find my starry sky?
I came home beyond exhausted. I postponed an early morning meeting...
And somehow, somewhere...it came to me.
I was Martha. Not Mary. Martha.
I was annoyed with a colleague at the hospital, who, in a midterm review, called me Martha. I was the woman who got things done, he said. I stayed busy. I made sure everything went well.
I was so upset to be called a Martha! No, I am Mary! I am sitting at Jesus' feet, hanging on his every word. My house is a mess. I grocery shop only when everything is gone...I don't care about my clothes too much, I don't waste time with makeup...I'm a very simple woman...who focuses on the things...that need to be done.
Oh my heavens! I am a Martha! How did that happen?! Suddenly, I realized somewhere along the path...my life had lost much of its prayer time, perhaps for very good reasons, but I suddenly became horribly aware that I had stopped just sitting with God. Not sitting so that I could order my day...but simply sitting, just basking in His Love. And suddenly I missed it so much it hurt.
Certainly I do good work. Certainly there is always work to do. And you know, there are many hands and hearts that can do it. It's not just me. I can let it go. I can just be.
I don't have to be in the kitchen, making a meal, when my most perfect Spouse is talking about His Father. We don't need a three course meal and a beautiful table setting. We just need to be together.
And I am frustrated, "But I thought you wanted all these things, " I tell Him.
"What I want is you, my daughter. I have everything...except, it seems, your attention, your heart...your smile..." he says.
"But what will the others say," I plead, "if I don't do the work? Who will do it if I don't do it?"
My intellect kicks in. There are many hands to help. Long after I am dust, there will still be many hands to help. I don't have to do it all. And I hear Him counsel me, "Why do you think you have to do it all?" "Well, because...(and here comes the pain, sure enough) I want to be well thought of. I wanted to be needed. I want to be loved."
"Isn't my love enough for you?" He asks.
I put the plates on the table, the rag in the sink and take off my apron.
"Yes, Lord. Your love is enough." He smiles. I sit down on the floor and lean the back of my head against his knee. I close me eyes.
"Tell me a story, Lord." I ask.
"Well then...there once was a sower, who went out into his field..."
Love, Cindy
"But I feel so lazy, like I'm not doing anything at all."
Such has been the theme of too many conversations this week. The very moment I make a contract with my supervisor at the hospital to "practice self-care," I realize I am doing the exact opposite, while thinking that I am doing the right thing. I can say that I know I have cut things out of my days, yet the days remain full, I don't accomplish what I set out to do...and I seem to be more tired than I expected. I couldn't figure out why I constantly felt that I was somehow letting God down...no matter how hard I worked. I seemed to be in an endless sea of suffering, which is a reality of hospital work...and outside of the hospital, it seemed not much better. I prayed to God to make me a healer and the world seemed to come to me with their truths, their hungers, their emptinesses, and I did my best to help them fill their buckets...I simply forgot to fill mine.
Or is that true? I had an idea of how I wanted to fill it...out knocking on doors, searching for the priest or the spiritual director who carried the magic pill that would calm me down, set me straight, shine a light into my dark spots...but all I heard was, "take it easy," and that was definitely not part of the solution to my problem. I was certain. There was hardly a moment in my waking hours when I was not aware of someone else's sufferings. And then there was the guilt: I am reasonably healthy. God has blessed me with the opportunity and ability to serve...but are things getting any better? Am I really doing my part? Does God think I'm lazy? Have I let Him down?
Even just writing, seems to be filled with meaning and purpose. Maybe I do need to make love again. Do something entirely selfish, get myself a husband and let him take care of me...nah...That idea just never seems to have a happy ending in my mind...(You never really know when I am being humorous, do you?)
But yesterday, I began to see the light again. Oddly because I thought I had an agenda, but I didn't have an agenda, which I guess was really the agenda...and without all the bells and whistles, I had a conversation of sorts...and was reminded AGAIN that I needed a bit more balance...and AGAIN I argued that I must not be doing enough because I felt so...unfulfilled. But in this conversation...I left with hope, something I had not felt in a while. I wasn't walking out of a room where I knew a woman was dying, and the kids were thinking, maybe they would be Catholic again...or another diagnosis for a man with no insurance, a woman who was sad because her kids were dividing up the money while she was still breathing or another homeless person going on hospice (which was my day on Tuesday)...I got a real moment of kindness for me...someone who heard and talked real to me. And it gave me hope. I decided to take to heart the words given to me because they came from a trustworthy source...
And then I went on to my next four hours of spiritual work, thinking in the back of my head...where will I find my starry sky?
I came home beyond exhausted. I postponed an early morning meeting...
And somehow, somewhere...it came to me.
I was Martha. Not Mary. Martha.
I was annoyed with a colleague at the hospital, who, in a midterm review, called me Martha. I was the woman who got things done, he said. I stayed busy. I made sure everything went well.
I was so upset to be called a Martha! No, I am Mary! I am sitting at Jesus' feet, hanging on his every word. My house is a mess. I grocery shop only when everything is gone...I don't care about my clothes too much, I don't waste time with makeup...I'm a very simple woman...who focuses on the things...that need to be done.
Oh my heavens! I am a Martha! How did that happen?! Suddenly, I realized somewhere along the path...my life had lost much of its prayer time, perhaps for very good reasons, but I suddenly became horribly aware that I had stopped just sitting with God. Not sitting so that I could order my day...but simply sitting, just basking in His Love. And suddenly I missed it so much it hurt.
Certainly I do good work. Certainly there is always work to do. And you know, there are many hands and hearts that can do it. It's not just me. I can let it go. I can just be.
I don't have to be in the kitchen, making a meal, when my most perfect Spouse is talking about His Father. We don't need a three course meal and a beautiful table setting. We just need to be together.
And I am frustrated, "But I thought you wanted all these things, " I tell Him.
"What I want is you, my daughter. I have everything...except, it seems, your attention, your heart...your smile..." he says.
"But what will the others say," I plead, "if I don't do the work? Who will do it if I don't do it?"
My intellect kicks in. There are many hands to help. Long after I am dust, there will still be many hands to help. I don't have to do it all. And I hear Him counsel me, "Why do you think you have to do it all?" "Well, because...(and here comes the pain, sure enough) I want to be well thought of. I wanted to be needed. I want to be loved."
"Isn't my love enough for you?" He asks.
I put the plates on the table, the rag in the sink and take off my apron.
"Yes, Lord. Your love is enough." He smiles. I sit down on the floor and lean the back of my head against his knee. I close me eyes.
"Tell me a story, Lord." I ask.
"Well then...there once was a sower, who went out into his field..."
Love, Cindy
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