Today is a day that I wish I was married. Today I need someone to hold me, at least, I think I do. Perhaps this is just one more lesson in becoming stronger. Today, though, I would like to be held...so I could cry a little bit...selfish as it is. Wasn't sure about how to get home, so I pulled into a truck stop. Messed with the internet to get directions, got them backed up the car, moved forward...into a low 2 foot pole. Broke the radiator. The familiar scent of radiator fluid pouring onto the ground.
No more driving. One hundred and thirty seven miles from home. I was ashamed that I cried. What a foolish thing to do. The truck stop thermometer said 105 degrees. The bathroom was the dirtiest one I had seen in the last ten years...twenty years...inside, the smell of stale smoke and rows and rows of slot machines. Where did I just end up? More importantly: why?
I sat in the heat for as long as I could, waiting for the tow truck. Now that outrageous sum of money I was paying for car/home insurance made sense. Yes, they told me, I was a good customer. They would get a tow truck to take me all the way home...two hours each way for the tow driver.
I thought about what I knew about tow truck drivers. Suddenly I was scared. I had to remind myself that I preferred to drive alone, that I liked to travel alone...that this was my life. I chose it. And a stupid accident was far less damaging than being hit on the road. I prayed that the person who I had to ride with would be reasonable. I prayed that I would be a good rider. But inside me, I was still feeling sorry for myself.
Today is a good day to do the examen. Monetarily, I hate spending anything that I did not plan. But I was not hurt. Again and again, my memory of the father who went through a flashing light, thinking all sides were red just kept pushing in on my brain. He killed his only daughter. He loved her so much. And she was gone. And I have a broken radiator. I will not get to go to Mass today. Or tomorrow morning. How very small are my problems!
But, in the examen, I look at my day, my week...and I have no right to be upset. My dreams last night were so vivid! I dreamed of my fictional heroes: Patrick Stewart (Capt. Jean-Luc Picard) and William Shatner (Capt. Kirk). A long time ago, I dreamed that I helped Patrick Stewart die...and that dream pleased me so much, I knew that God had created me to be a death coach. Sounds horrid, doesn't it? "Death coach" was the term that came to me. I was born to help others die well. And I knew I was good at it. This dream last night, was not about Patrick Stewart's death, but about William Shatner's death. Only he didn't die. I was there to let him talk about all the things that worried him. It was so strange. Then, my home priest, Fr. Bruce, was with me in a magnificent mansion. He was doing a funeral, and I was there helping, but I didn't know the person who had died. Then my Aunt Dell showed up, wearing a wig. (She died in 2006) She was there to tell me that she was happy. She was laughing and told me to be happy. Then she took off the wig...and the dream went on, but I don't remember more now. But it stayed with me when I woke.
What was the purpose? What was I supposed to learn? Clearly, the strength of the dream was important.
I was so very sad that the trip was over. The week with my son, his wife and my grandchildren went by all too fast. And there were times my patience was much too short. I can handle two children, but five...all needing things at the same time...that was hard. I felt not too much like a good grandmother, but again, I know God wanted me there. I had a purpose, even if I didn't really understand it.
Why did I need to see the mountains, the starry nights and the stormy nights? Why the elk? Why the little Catholic Church? Why the consolations? Were those good things given so that I could do today without too much pain? I wonder if God worries about such little things.
Just remembered the potatoes on the stove. They taste very good. A priest gave them to me. That makes them taste better. And more comforting. I need a little comfort food right now.
So the driver of the tow truck was younger than my youngest child. He had four children, the oldest was nine. And he had a story to tell me, one that lasted all of the two hours. Poverty and suffering, some by choice, some just happened. We talked about life and death. How he dealt with the deaths he had to face so far, and the next two, which will be very hard for him. We talked about raising children, and raising adopted children and how he rescued one from a very dark evil...and part of me had a difficult time just listening to it...and I will be writing about it, I'm sure, in the future.
And there was so much story that was not told. He said many people he had to drive home were very unruly. They were so angry about their car trouble. I told him I was upset, and that I might cry, but I never did. I knew that if I could get him to tell me his story, it was a better use of my time. I can cry now...that I am home. But as I write, I do not feel the need to cry anymore.
Did I help him, this stranger, through a darkness he held in his heart? Was that the real reason I stupidly plowed into a two foot cement post? I took what could have been a dreadful day and I turned it into a blessing.
Was it because of the strange dream? Was it because of the beautiful week with my son and his family? Was it because of the healing power of the mountains? Perhaps.
Or the sermon I listened to on AM radio, driving the plains near Amarillo...mesmerized me...without question Methodist theology, filled with grace and warning against allowing the RULES of the Bible become more important than leading a compassionate life. It was all about Ezra, and how the people became so distressed when they realized how much they had sinned and they wept. Ezra said do not weep, but celebrate the Lord's day. Do not be sad on this day! And then the preacher went on, something about "how good it is to know the joy of the Lord." (I am writing it wrong, I think) He said it is not our joy that we rest in, but rather the Lord's joy, His pleasure, in creating us. I listened carefully, not noticing the road much at all. Found out it was the FUMC of Lubbock. Bet I can get a copy of the sermon. I liked it very much. I remembered again why I wanted to become a Methodist minister: because of the theology of grace Wesley wrote about. That the rules were there to warn us, to help us, but never to condemn us. And when the church service was over, my radio could not receive the station any longer. Suddenly, I found I was getting stations from Fort Worth. I would not have listened to the radio had my CD player not broken in my car two weeks before.
Lucky.
What could have been seen as a negative, was instead a tool by which God changed my heart...which must have needed a good wash...and then graced me with the chance to offer grace to someone else.
There is much more to say, to write, to think about...and to pray about...but this is enough for now. I have extra expenses and inconveniences in front of me. I will need the help of my friends. In fact, I chose one woman...for some reason...to pray for me in this mess. I'm not sure why I chose her, but I have faith in her prayers...and I am grateful.
We aren't meant to always walk alone. I had to rely on a ride from a stranger, I had to wait in a terrible place, hot and scary. I had to cry a little. But what seemed like a bad thing, might not have been bad at all. Perhaps God saved me from an worse accident by giving me a little one. Sometimes God will take away a good thing to bring us something better.
I think that was what I was supposed to write about today. What looks like darkness...was only the shade of His hand, outstretched caressingly (cf. The Hound of Heaven)...wanting me to seek Him...surrender to Him...to let Him satisfy me...to let Him love me...that I might love others...and myself...better.
If you have had a challenging day, look to the blessing within it. I promise it is there.
Love, Cindy
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Happy
When I worked in my first assignment as a youth pastor, I had a young Catholic boy (yes, who was part of a UMYF group) ask me if atheists were ever happy. I paused and thought. Yes, atheists were probably happy, but atheists would never know joy.
I learned in seminary the subtle difference in the Hebrew understanding of those two words. Happy is a transient feeling, but joy is eternal. Happy will come and go, like hunger or tiredness. Joy is a state of mind that looks at the big picture. Joy is an understanding, an assessment, a conclusion.
I'm sitting here in a hotel room with only moments before I must wake the children and we'll be on the road again to one of the most beautiful places in the United States: the Rocky Mountains.
When I hit the Colorado border, I am usually overwhelmed with tears, because it is so beautiful. It makes me happy to see beautiful things. Yet, when I look at the big picture, I feel joy...that I lived long enough, and had the chance, to see such a wonderful thing. It is not the thing itself that brings me joy, but the knowing...that creation is so diverse...and often to hard...and that we have many reasons to be good to each other.
Heading to Colorado in the midst of yesterday's tragedy...I am still a bit shell shocked by what has happened. The killing of 12 and over 50 injured. And in Colorado...one if the most beautiful places in the country. Again. I recall the April 20th shooting in Columbine...in Colorado...I drove around Oklahoma City yesterday, and remember the bombing of the Federal Building...it is all kind of surreal.
My gut response to this horror, these horrors...was that...of the existential loneliness these people must have had to commit such horrible acts of anger. I wonder if they every understood, or knew about joy. They were incapable of seeing the big picture...and they may have felt no one was listening.
People are listening now. I think of all the lives lost...and how nothing will be the same for any of those people who were there. I realize that stories would have to be told, again and again, until the healing is complete...and joy will be found again. I wonder in sadness why these perpetrators could not find someone to listen...so that the bottle that popped inside them might not have made such a big noise...and lives could have been saved. Was it possible to stop the evil before it started? How many people have that much pain? Have we stopped the evil before? How many are waiting in the wings, with their own desperate plan to be heard? How do we help? How do we hear their suffering?
These are the things on my mind. An impossible task for only a few, a manageable task for the many who know what love is to some degree and know how to share it.
I beg you to be brave and listen to those around you. They need to talk, to speak the unspeakable so that it will not destroy the joy that lives in them. The light has not gone out, but for some, yesterday will dim their lights to a place where they can barely be seen...or heard.
I ask you, those who can, to stay away from the dark side, where we can blame and hate with ease...and yet not hide from the truth. Yesterday was a dark day for many. But if you have the courage, listen authentically to the people you meet. Do not think you can fix them, or convert them...do not tell them what to do to feel better. Just listen. And remember your joy. Help others to remember theirs. There will always be hardship and sadness in this world. There will always be suffering. There will always be the poor, the oppressed. There will always be wars.
But recall John 16:33
In this world you will have hardship, but have courage, for I have conquered the world!
Got to get the kids up.
Love, Cindy
I learned in seminary the subtle difference in the Hebrew understanding of those two words. Happy is a transient feeling, but joy is eternal. Happy will come and go, like hunger or tiredness. Joy is a state of mind that looks at the big picture. Joy is an understanding, an assessment, a conclusion.
I'm sitting here in a hotel room with only moments before I must wake the children and we'll be on the road again to one of the most beautiful places in the United States: the Rocky Mountains.
When I hit the Colorado border, I am usually overwhelmed with tears, because it is so beautiful. It makes me happy to see beautiful things. Yet, when I look at the big picture, I feel joy...that I lived long enough, and had the chance, to see such a wonderful thing. It is not the thing itself that brings me joy, but the knowing...that creation is so diverse...and often to hard...and that we have many reasons to be good to each other.
Heading to Colorado in the midst of yesterday's tragedy...I am still a bit shell shocked by what has happened. The killing of 12 and over 50 injured. And in Colorado...one if the most beautiful places in the country. Again. I recall the April 20th shooting in Columbine...in Colorado...I drove around Oklahoma City yesterday, and remember the bombing of the Federal Building...it is all kind of surreal.
My gut response to this horror, these horrors...was that...of the existential loneliness these people must have had to commit such horrible acts of anger. I wonder if they every understood, or knew about joy. They were incapable of seeing the big picture...and they may have felt no one was listening.
People are listening now. I think of all the lives lost...and how nothing will be the same for any of those people who were there. I realize that stories would have to be told, again and again, until the healing is complete...and joy will be found again. I wonder in sadness why these perpetrators could not find someone to listen...so that the bottle that popped inside them might not have made such a big noise...and lives could have been saved. Was it possible to stop the evil before it started? How many people have that much pain? Have we stopped the evil before? How many are waiting in the wings, with their own desperate plan to be heard? How do we help? How do we hear their suffering?
These are the things on my mind. An impossible task for only a few, a manageable task for the many who know what love is to some degree and know how to share it.
I beg you to be brave and listen to those around you. They need to talk, to speak the unspeakable so that it will not destroy the joy that lives in them. The light has not gone out, but for some, yesterday will dim their lights to a place where they can barely be seen...or heard.
I ask you, those who can, to stay away from the dark side, where we can blame and hate with ease...and yet not hide from the truth. Yesterday was a dark day for many. But if you have the courage, listen authentically to the people you meet. Do not think you can fix them, or convert them...do not tell them what to do to feel better. Just listen. And remember your joy. Help others to remember theirs. There will always be hardship and sadness in this world. There will always be suffering. There will always be the poor, the oppressed. There will always be wars.
But recall John 16:33
In this world you will have hardship, but have courage, for I have conquered the world!
Got to get the kids up.
Love, Cindy
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Just in case
The adventure never ends. A death today. What I remember is a daughter washing her mother's feet. She was sitting right next to me. I watched the mother and daughter and could not stop crying. The love that was there. Now momma's gone to heaven. I was blessed to give her Holy Communion for the last time, to speak to her one last time, to gently touch her hair.
How I admired her and her daughter. How I wish I'd had some of that in my life, but I'll settle for being a witness to their love. I pray my children will find it someday for themselves, if I did not, or could not teach it to them.
So much suffering in this world, but every now and then, God shines a beautiful light on a fact of life: we are all going to have to say goodbye. Now and then, we figure it out. We get it right. We love. We forgive. We offer kindness and hospitality to each other. We love. In spite of everything. We love.
I don't know how my story will end. I hope it will be a happy ending. I hope what I have learned, I have passed it on. For those who loved me anyway, despite all the challenges, how I may have fought you...or hated you for loving me...thank you for not giving up. Or giving in.
When I see a good death...I don't know. It makes me so happy...and so hopeful for mankind. Humankind. We mess so much up...but the Light still shines. Every chance it gets.
Give it a chance to shine in you.
Love, Cindy
How I admired her and her daughter. How I wish I'd had some of that in my life, but I'll settle for being a witness to their love. I pray my children will find it someday for themselves, if I did not, or could not teach it to them.
So much suffering in this world, but every now and then, God shines a beautiful light on a fact of life: we are all going to have to say goodbye. Now and then, we figure it out. We get it right. We love. We forgive. We offer kindness and hospitality to each other. We love. In spite of everything. We love.
I don't know how my story will end. I hope it will be a happy ending. I hope what I have learned, I have passed it on. For those who loved me anyway, despite all the challenges, how I may have fought you...or hated you for loving me...thank you for not giving up. Or giving in.
When I see a good death...I don't know. It makes me so happy...and so hopeful for mankind. Humankind. We mess so much up...but the Light still shines. Every chance it gets.
Give it a chance to shine in you.
Love, Cindy
Saturday, July 14, 2012
Pruning Trees
I am suffering from a lack of focus. Too much stimulation, or not enough.Things I want that I can't have, things that need doing that I want to ignore. I took on two of them in the last seven days. I'm still alive. Amazing how fear paralyzes me so easily. Love has always gotten me through things. But the love is just not there. I'm growing up. Sigh. Transitions sucks.
When I was growing up, we had 36 pecan trees in the back yard. One tree, near the clothes line, had five different varieties of pecans: Mahan, Stuart, Texas Giant, Desirable...and I can't remember the fifth...perhaps just Native. I was always given little lectures as he worked in the yard, on the trees. Somedays, it was about budding, or grafting a limb of a different variety onto a strong tree. Some days it was about spraying for web worms. Some days, it was about proper watering...or a lecture about tap roots...or about pruning.
I remember how I would be internally screaming for him to finish, to find something else to do, wishing he would find someone else to talk to...and then after he died, I took my golf clubs out to just hit a bucket of balls...and I could hear his voice, chattering in the background of my head, reminding me of what to do...and I just started crying. I actually missed his lectures. So annoying when I was a kid, some part of me recognized that behavior as love.
Our new priest gave a great homily for his first Mass at our church. He seemed to have an inside track on some of the dynamics at the church and I was impressed and hopeful for the future. He talked about losing something cherished in order to learn to appreciate it more, and to make room for something new.
Jesus speaks about it, not really in parables, but more in wisdom sayings. Perhaps there is a better term, can't think of one now. This one is something like, "as the vinegrower prunes the vine, so that it will bear more fruit, God prunes us, to make us bear more fruit." The idea is simple. Something is taken away so that something better can be given.
It seriously sucks in that time between the letting go and receiving. Seems like an eternity...so long in fact, some people return to the old stuff...the old ways...the patterns that, if not good, were at least familiar.
A wise nun on Facebook posted:
It's true, you know. Change the behavior and the attitude follows. Knowing what behavior to move toward is a bit scary. Being attractive is an uncomfortable experience, yet I risked it on Sunday. I watched some people do a double-take when they looked at me. I had mixed feelings. I don't want to be noticed for such shallow things. I want to be noticed as completely and totally in love with God.
Just writing that down makes me wonder what is going on. I recognize that I need to be engaged but not attached to people. I am in the world but not of the world. I try to appreciate both the good and the bad as gifts. I struggle with ambition, with a hunger for education, knowlege, wisdom. And I desire to always be busy with the work of God. Then why do these thoughts trouble me? I lack the peace of being content with whatever lies in front of me in the moment. Why would I doubt anything, knowing what I know?
I suppose that to surrender completely to the love of God would mean abandoning any ideas I still hold about wanting to change ther world. That I just need to live in it. But that seems so contrary to the gospel message. I'm called to change the world, right? Right?
And then I begin to understand just a little more. I asked God to prune me, to prepare me for the next thing. And I realize that is what this emptiness and hunger are all about. This is not fasting. I am not learning discipline...that lesson will be for another day. But now, He seems to be cutting out my illusions of relationships...not that I will be denied them, or that I should spurn them...but that I need to let them be of a different origin and without agendas. I have long wanted power, but power will not satisfy me...I know that now. I wanted fame, I wanted wealth...I wanted to be held, cherished, appreciated...they are all good things...but I have to learn to stop wanting them. When I stop wanting them, I will have them.
And such is the way of this last month, feeling so lost and alone and hating the changes I forced on myself because...I knew I had to make them. Hurt now or hurt later. If you don't prune the branches, they will break when the next storm comes...no matter how lovely they may have been...they will go away.
It's always a struggle to know what to prune. Ah...you are thinking ahead of me. I'm am not the one to do the pruning. God is. You are too smart for me.
I have a friend, who reminds me with her gentle words, to pray. Some day, I hope she writes it all down. And then, I hope she shares it. But she inspires me. God grafted her into my life to teach me things that needed to come from a woman. But God tricked me...like he did three years ago, when I saw the priest walking down the aisle toward me. "Oh hell, he's going to say hello again. Why doesn't he just go talk to someone else...?" And the world changed forever.
And then it changed again.
And again.
What I thought I knew, I didn't know. What I wanted to do, I really didn't want. Where I wanted to be, I discovered it was some place else. I do not know what I want or need. I know only hunger and that hunger doesn't always have a name. And life is not a fairy tale...but it is a grand and wonderful story, with kissing parts and boring parts and tragedy and joy and miracles and challenge. We are all heroes in some sense of the word. We sacrifice for the good of the other...and someone lays down his life for us out of love for us.
So I guess, when you get the chance to rest in the hammock, or bask under the sun, you ought to do it. Tomorrow you may be carrying a large rock up the hill and not know why, only that God said do it.
The idea is always to produce good fruit, but what does that mean? I'm not always sure. The discipline of desire...will allow me to love more perfectly...myself and others...is always a work in progress.
There are good days...and yesterday was definitely a good day...but I realize it began on Thursday, when I went with some women to a new church to pray...what happened on Thursday played itself out in a beautiful song on Friday.
I have had writer's block for so long, or so it seems. But that was probably because I was not being intentionally with God. What began a week ago, the exposure of my challenge, on the feast of St Maria Goretti, was kind of a kick in the backside to remind me that trauma never really goes away, but you have to learn to let the feelings come and ask God to heal them. I cried in a woman's arms last Friday. I have not done that since my mother's funeral in 1995. Every well meaning soul in the church came along and tried to stop it from happening...trying to stop the miracle...and you know, they almost did.
Cindy, who holds others in their little deaths...allowed herself to be held by another...and in that moment, a bit of dead wood was cut away. Don't have to carry so much now. That's a good thing.
Didn't realize it until yesterday, as I talked it out with some good people...and in this very moment. I finally see the miracle.
I can be so blind.
I hope there is something of use for you here. There is more to think about...I pray for your spiritual journey, that God brings you that which heals your heart. Pray for me, too.
Love, Cindy
When I was growing up, we had 36 pecan trees in the back yard. One tree, near the clothes line, had five different varieties of pecans: Mahan, Stuart, Texas Giant, Desirable...and I can't remember the fifth...perhaps just Native. I was always given little lectures as he worked in the yard, on the trees. Somedays, it was about budding, or grafting a limb of a different variety onto a strong tree. Some days it was about spraying for web worms. Some days, it was about proper watering...or a lecture about tap roots...or about pruning.
I remember how I would be internally screaming for him to finish, to find something else to do, wishing he would find someone else to talk to...and then after he died, I took my golf clubs out to just hit a bucket of balls...and I could hear his voice, chattering in the background of my head, reminding me of what to do...and I just started crying. I actually missed his lectures. So annoying when I was a kid, some part of me recognized that behavior as love.
Jesus speaks about it, not really in parables, but more in wisdom sayings. Perhaps there is a better term, can't think of one now. This one is something like, "as the vinegrower prunes the vine, so that it will bear more fruit, God prunes us, to make us bear more fruit." The idea is simple. Something is taken away so that something better can be given.
It seriously sucks in that time between the letting go and receiving. Seems like an eternity...so long in fact, some people return to the old stuff...the old ways...the patterns that, if not good, were at least familiar.
A wise nun on Facebook posted:
Change. Pruning. Grafting. Growing. Water, fertilizer, sun, shade...winter, spring, summer and harvest. All of these things involve a kind of suffering. All changes have a bit of suffering. Holding on and letting go. Cutting away the deadwood, allowing something new and unknown to happen. But change, and pruning is good. It forces us to beyond what we think we know so well...only...perhaps we had forgotten. Introduce a little change and your are forced to rethink everything.
It's true, you know. Change the behavior and the attitude follows. Knowing what behavior to move toward is a bit scary. Being attractive is an uncomfortable experience, yet I risked it on Sunday. I watched some people do a double-take when they looked at me. I had mixed feelings. I don't want to be noticed for such shallow things. I want to be noticed as completely and totally in love with God.
Just writing that down makes me wonder what is going on. I recognize that I need to be engaged but not attached to people. I am in the world but not of the world. I try to appreciate both the good and the bad as gifts. I struggle with ambition, with a hunger for education, knowlege, wisdom. And I desire to always be busy with the work of God. Then why do these thoughts trouble me? I lack the peace of being content with whatever lies in front of me in the moment. Why would I doubt anything, knowing what I know?
I suppose that to surrender completely to the love of God would mean abandoning any ideas I still hold about wanting to change ther world. That I just need to live in it. But that seems so contrary to the gospel message. I'm called to change the world, right? Right?
And then I begin to understand just a little more. I asked God to prune me, to prepare me for the next thing. And I realize that is what this emptiness and hunger are all about. This is not fasting. I am not learning discipline...that lesson will be for another day. But now, He seems to be cutting out my illusions of relationships...not that I will be denied them, or that I should spurn them...but that I need to let them be of a different origin and without agendas. I have long wanted power, but power will not satisfy me...I know that now. I wanted fame, I wanted wealth...I wanted to be held, cherished, appreciated...they are all good things...but I have to learn to stop wanting them. When I stop wanting them, I will have them.
And such is the way of this last month, feeling so lost and alone and hating the changes I forced on myself because...I knew I had to make them. Hurt now or hurt later. If you don't prune the branches, they will break when the next storm comes...no matter how lovely they may have been...they will go away.
It's always a struggle to know what to prune. Ah...you are thinking ahead of me. I'm am not the one to do the pruning. God is. You are too smart for me.
I have a friend, who reminds me with her gentle words, to pray. Some day, I hope she writes it all down. And then, I hope she shares it. But she inspires me. God grafted her into my life to teach me things that needed to come from a woman. But God tricked me...like he did three years ago, when I saw the priest walking down the aisle toward me. "Oh hell, he's going to say hello again. Why doesn't he just go talk to someone else...?" And the world changed forever.
And then it changed again.
And again.
What I thought I knew, I didn't know. What I wanted to do, I really didn't want. Where I wanted to be, I discovered it was some place else. I do not know what I want or need. I know only hunger and that hunger doesn't always have a name. And life is not a fairy tale...but it is a grand and wonderful story, with kissing parts and boring parts and tragedy and joy and miracles and challenge. We are all heroes in some sense of the word. We sacrifice for the good of the other...and someone lays down his life for us out of love for us.
So I guess, when you get the chance to rest in the hammock, or bask under the sun, you ought to do it. Tomorrow you may be carrying a large rock up the hill and not know why, only that God said do it.
The idea is always to produce good fruit, but what does that mean? I'm not always sure. The discipline of desire...will allow me to love more perfectly...myself and others...is always a work in progress.
There are good days...and yesterday was definitely a good day...but I realize it began on Thursday, when I went with some women to a new church to pray...what happened on Thursday played itself out in a beautiful song on Friday.
I have had writer's block for so long, or so it seems. But that was probably because I was not being intentionally with God. What began a week ago, the exposure of my challenge, on the feast of St Maria Goretti, was kind of a kick in the backside to remind me that trauma never really goes away, but you have to learn to let the feelings come and ask God to heal them. I cried in a woman's arms last Friday. I have not done that since my mother's funeral in 1995. Every well meaning soul in the church came along and tried to stop it from happening...trying to stop the miracle...and you know, they almost did.
Cindy, who holds others in their little deaths...allowed herself to be held by another...and in that moment, a bit of dead wood was cut away. Don't have to carry so much now. That's a good thing.
Didn't realize it until yesterday, as I talked it out with some good people...and in this very moment. I finally see the miracle.
I can be so blind.
I hope there is something of use for you here. There is more to think about...I pray for your spiritual journey, that God brings you that which heals your heart. Pray for me, too.
Love, Cindy
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