Perhaps 13 years ago, when Keith, a Methodist minister who companioned me down the dark road of my divorce, heard me tell him that I intended to become a Methodist minister, the first words he said to me were "Count the cost." He didn't explain himself much. He looked me in the eye, saw my determination and in his eyes I saw both joy and sadness. What he had taught me, shown me over a year or so was so exciting and life-changing that I was sold on it. I had to be part of the solution, not part of the problem.
Of course, I really didn't tell him about "my call," as they say in the Methodist Church. I chose to not tell him some things because I decided that he could not appreciate or understand them. I love Methodists. They are practical people. I wanted to be more like them for many good reasons. Yet part of my make up is very contemplative, very charismatic (dare I use such a term?) and deeply spiritual. When I read John Wesley, I see a man slain in the spirit. I see a man who finally 'got it' and then tried to make it work in the Anglican Church. They thought he was a bit looney.
I have no desire to be thought of as looney.
So how to you actually reveal a truth given to you when you know the world will think you are just full of crap? How do you gain respect, if respect is the goal at all...rather, how do you give credence to an idea or thought that lacks proper substantiation by authoritative figures?
I always like to blame Aquinas for all of our problems that involve faith. He tried to make belief into a science. Or so I thought. Turn God into a mathematical statement and everyone will accept it. Ah, yes, God exists. God is worthy of our attention. I have a paper here that tells me it's all true. It's OK to believe...
sigh.
We want proof that a miracle happened. Something that supercedes (sp?) science. We want proof that we do not have a scientific explanation for what happened. Then we call it a miracle. Huh?
How about breathing? Yes, we know more about how the plumbing works. We can repair parts and we can even define what caused 'death.' Yes, it stopped working. Or it kept working. We can even take parts of one person and put them into another and make some people live longer. Big whoop. We even have an evolutionary line of thought that says one event caused another. BTW, the Catholic Church accepts the idea of evolution...if you want to read about it...don't ask me where, but I read it. (As if that mattered, anyway...sometimes we argue over the silliest things. God smiles and knows we will grow up eventually...and the devil rubs his hands together and thrills in knowing that the more time we argue about who's right and wrong, the less time we spend actually loving one another...which is what I think God wants us to do most...ALL of the time)
So how do you go about sharing something "out there" when anything even near to out there gets taken to the cleaners...literally. Literally, we take the gospel and water it down and wash it and make it all pretty and easy to accept...when the demands of it are clear enough on their own merit. I personally think women got a real washing in Paul's interpretation of Jesus' words, but I've grown to accept things as they are now and I know that the Kingdom Jesus talks about doesn't place women in a lower position. I don't think Paul even intended things to be so interpreted. He was politically savvy enough to get the message out so that it could be heard. That was his genius. But sometimes I think people place Paul above Jesus in authority. I'm not sure that is a good thing.
That being said, I have no war with the Roman Catholic Church. In the beginning when I was young, I wanted justice. I wanted the Church to recognize my value, my worth. That was my pride talking. I have learned that it just doesn't matter. My being recognized or even acknowledged for what I might do or not do is completely irrelevant to creating Kingdom Living. It's kind of like the Jews clamoring for a Judge...and then saying...no that's not what we want. We want a king. And God gives them a king...and they say no, that's not what we want. So God gives them Jesus, and they say again...no, that's not what we want.
If a person is speaking the truth, the heart will know its true. It doesn't have to come to us like a Steven Spielberg movie, or from Charlton Heston...we will know it is true because it will feel old inside us, like something we knew once, before we got lost...and it feels like we are finding it all over again and there is a kind of joy and grieving that comes with it. Like Josiah finding the scroll. The truth will cut us, but it will heal us.
Have I wandered to a place that makes no sense to you at all? What I am finding is that all the things I thought I wanted, I don't want anymore. I can bend without sadness or regret to the Church that raised me. Here is the place where I love God best. That's what God told me. That was an old truth I always knew was true, but I couldn't see it because I got lost. God can use me right here. God is using me right here. And when He is done using me, He can throw me away if He wishes. I have finally grown into a space where everything He chooses for me, I celebrate...even if I don't want it or it hurts.
I must stop here. I haven't told you much of anything yet, have I? Again, I keep thinking about it. How do I share what I have learned? How can I tell you that it's all going to work out? How can I tell you that you must be involved? How can I tell He wins?
Yet, He does. He wins. And that's all that matters, really.
Love,
Cindy
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Christmas reflections
The men are starting to arrive here at Corner Bakery. They meet in little groups these days. Most of them know each other by now. I have met many of them, but I see new faces. I don't come here as often as I did last year. It encourages me to see groups of men gather together. Most of them gather to talk about God. There is a man with a collar, but I don't recognize him. Might be a Lutheran priest.
Larry just stopped by my table. He says the forecast for tonight is 'whiteout' which means it will be dangerous. I've agreed to read for Midnight Mass. I must pray now for all those of us who will pray in the birth of the Christ tonight. Maybe Bobby is right and this is not the year to take my grandchildren to Mass. Sigh. The girls would be fine, but the boys are very active. This morning as I left, I saw the bedspread/comforter from the boys' room in the washing machine. I'm not going to ask...
I wonder what God has in store for us. For me, too. Without question, it has been the most amazing year of my life. I made a joke last November while riding back on the bus from Chichen Itza, when I learned that 52 years is the Mayan idea of one life cycle. So I turned 52 a month later and thought, thus begins my new life, my next life.
And what a ride it has been! Old hungers have been replaced by new hungers, better hungers. I told my sweet RCIA candidate a saying that keeps making more sense the older I get:
When you are 20, you worry about what the world thinks of you,
When you are 40, you don't care what the world thinks about you,
When you are 60, you realize that the world wasn't thinking about you at all
There is great freedom in the paradox that we matter and yet we don't matter. We should always strive to do good and 'be perfect as Our Father in Heaven is perfect,' but not for some recognition for what we do...just for the simple fact that we are part of God's great creation and that He loves us unceasingly. Yes, what we do matters...but what EVERYONE does matters. And if we screw it up, there are enough people out there, who can fix it, if they desire to fix it.
We are perfect, and we are imperfect. We love and we hate. We reach out and we ignore. We hold on and we let go. We promise and we fail. We fall down and we get up again. We touch and we withdraw. We forgive and we are forgiven. It just all kind of works itself out. That doesn't relieve us of responsibility. When we create a hole in the universe, someone else must step in and fill it.
I suppose that's what Jesus did. There was a big hole in creation. We stopped caring, we got afraid and we wanted to control everything because that was the only way to feel safe. We hoarded our extravagances, we indulged in cravings, we ignored all things unpleasant. We no longer believed in right or wrong, we just believed in power.
Maybe it wasn't as bad for them back then...maybe that's because I see so much suffering right now. I can't think of what it might have been like back then. I only know what I see.
And if we ever needed "God with us," it is right now. So let it be, Lord. Let it be that the Christ Child comes to us and fills that deep empty well in our hearts with living water. Let Him fill us so much that it pours out and spills everywhere we stand or walk, leaving footprints of grace and mercy in our wake. Let it wet down the people we encounter through their hands and hearts and heads.
I brought Holy Communion to many people this week. And they brought Holy Communion to me. A man lying on his back and afraid...by the third day, his face was calmer, he was sitting up and smiling. Still possible bad news loomed in his future, but he was ready...more ready anyway.
Another person told me he had bought his family 'plot' preparing for the what might happen. I marveled at God's grace. He had the courage to say it out loud. Another step, another drink of water.
A mother's love and a daughter's love. Getting used to the new place. Would you like communion, too? I asked. Oh, but I didn't make it to Mass last Sunday. Why? I asked. "I was settling my mother in here. I could have gone, but I was exhausted." I explained my understanding of what it means to miss Mass on Sunday. She cried and received with her mother. And her tears poured over my heart and drew me closer to God.
Another visit, a woman asked me, "Do you believe there is a heaven?" She didn't want to ask a priest, because she thought the priest might judge her on her faith. I get that. I recall during an intense conversation with a Methodist minister, I remarked, "You mean I can ask that [question] and not go to hell for asking it?" And that opened wide my door for prayer life that took on new and wonderful dimensions.
Two things: any priest worth his salt is not going to judge anyone else. Oh he might have a passing thought in his head, but he knows about the battle between doubt and faith and he should own that truth every time he enters into the sacred God space with another human being. That being said, God pointed out to me that I have a place in this Catholic Church that I love so much. I think some people find me a comfortable place in which to wonder about God and not feel judged. I can hear, when I am willing to hear, when I am allowed to hear...and I can walk along and help others see the good and bad and let God into both places.
Now here's the kicker: You can do it, too. In fact, I believe you are called to do it, too. Not one of us is worthy to walk next to Him, not one of us is worthy of His attention, not one of us deserves His Love...but if we want it, if we ask for it, He gives it to us and so very much more.
His awesome, mind-blowing love...and for me at least, I wonder how my heart can hold onto so much love...and then it dawns on me...I'm not supposed to hold onto it. I'm supposed to give it away.
My little boy, lying on fresh straw, born to be food for the whole world...do you know how much I cherish you? Do you know that now is the right time? How much you are needed? How much you fill my heart with good things? How all the empty places are full?
Thank you for my life.
Love, Cindy
Larry just stopped by my table. He says the forecast for tonight is 'whiteout' which means it will be dangerous. I've agreed to read for Midnight Mass. I must pray now for all those of us who will pray in the birth of the Christ tonight. Maybe Bobby is right and this is not the year to take my grandchildren to Mass. Sigh. The girls would be fine, but the boys are very active. This morning as I left, I saw the bedspread/comforter from the boys' room in the washing machine. I'm not going to ask...
I wonder what God has in store for us. For me, too. Without question, it has been the most amazing year of my life. I made a joke last November while riding back on the bus from Chichen Itza, when I learned that 52 years is the Mayan idea of one life cycle. So I turned 52 a month later and thought, thus begins my new life, my next life.
And what a ride it has been! Old hungers have been replaced by new hungers, better hungers. I told my sweet RCIA candidate a saying that keeps making more sense the older I get:
When you are 20, you worry about what the world thinks of you,
When you are 40, you don't care what the world thinks about you,
When you are 60, you realize that the world wasn't thinking about you at all
There is great freedom in the paradox that we matter and yet we don't matter. We should always strive to do good and 'be perfect as Our Father in Heaven is perfect,' but not for some recognition for what we do...just for the simple fact that we are part of God's great creation and that He loves us unceasingly. Yes, what we do matters...but what EVERYONE does matters. And if we screw it up, there are enough people out there, who can fix it, if they desire to fix it.
We are perfect, and we are imperfect. We love and we hate. We reach out and we ignore. We hold on and we let go. We promise and we fail. We fall down and we get up again. We touch and we withdraw. We forgive and we are forgiven. It just all kind of works itself out. That doesn't relieve us of responsibility. When we create a hole in the universe, someone else must step in and fill it.
I suppose that's what Jesus did. There was a big hole in creation. We stopped caring, we got afraid and we wanted to control everything because that was the only way to feel safe. We hoarded our extravagances, we indulged in cravings, we ignored all things unpleasant. We no longer believed in right or wrong, we just believed in power.
Maybe it wasn't as bad for them back then...maybe that's because I see so much suffering right now. I can't think of what it might have been like back then. I only know what I see.
And if we ever needed "God with us," it is right now. So let it be, Lord. Let it be that the Christ Child comes to us and fills that deep empty well in our hearts with living water. Let Him fill us so much that it pours out and spills everywhere we stand or walk, leaving footprints of grace and mercy in our wake. Let it wet down the people we encounter through their hands and hearts and heads.
I brought Holy Communion to many people this week. And they brought Holy Communion to me. A man lying on his back and afraid...by the third day, his face was calmer, he was sitting up and smiling. Still possible bad news loomed in his future, but he was ready...more ready anyway.
Another person told me he had bought his family 'plot' preparing for the what might happen. I marveled at God's grace. He had the courage to say it out loud. Another step, another drink of water.
A mother's love and a daughter's love. Getting used to the new place. Would you like communion, too? I asked. Oh, but I didn't make it to Mass last Sunday. Why? I asked. "I was settling my mother in here. I could have gone, but I was exhausted." I explained my understanding of what it means to miss Mass on Sunday. She cried and received with her mother. And her tears poured over my heart and drew me closer to God.
Another visit, a woman asked me, "Do you believe there is a heaven?" She didn't want to ask a priest, because she thought the priest might judge her on her faith. I get that. I recall during an intense conversation with a Methodist minister, I remarked, "You mean I can ask that [question] and not go to hell for asking it?" And that opened wide my door for prayer life that took on new and wonderful dimensions.
Two things: any priest worth his salt is not going to judge anyone else. Oh he might have a passing thought in his head, but he knows about the battle between doubt and faith and he should own that truth every time he enters into the sacred God space with another human being. That being said, God pointed out to me that I have a place in this Catholic Church that I love so much. I think some people find me a comfortable place in which to wonder about God and not feel judged. I can hear, when I am willing to hear, when I am allowed to hear...and I can walk along and help others see the good and bad and let God into both places.
Now here's the kicker: You can do it, too. In fact, I believe you are called to do it, too. Not one of us is worthy to walk next to Him, not one of us is worthy of His attention, not one of us deserves His Love...but if we want it, if we ask for it, He gives it to us and so very much more.
His awesome, mind-blowing love...and for me at least, I wonder how my heart can hold onto so much love...and then it dawns on me...I'm not supposed to hold onto it. I'm supposed to give it away.
My little boy, lying on fresh straw, born to be food for the whole world...do you know how much I cherish you? Do you know that now is the right time? How much you are needed? How much you fill my heart with good things? How all the empty places are full?
Thank you for my life.
Love, Cindy
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Reflections on the First Year of my New Life
From Seven Sacred Pauses on Facebook:
"Today is the dark New Moon, after which she begins to fill up again with light, starting tomorrow. This time of new beginnings, and, combined with the birth of the light of the sun (and length of the day) on December 21, both offer powerful celestial energy to renew, heal, and refresh your lives. Something to invite into your lives... ~ Velma"
I am constantly surprised and amazed at how God has blessed me. Broken me. Poor me. Flawed me. Proud me. Scared me. Confused me. He seems to love me anyway.
I have always felt like I have let God down.
I have been blessed with so many talents, but I have never used them enough for building up his Kingdom here on earth. I have hidden them, terrified of what might be expected of me if I was to share them, that I could not live up to what people thought I could do. And I never wanted to disappoint anyone. And that worry, I have discovered, is rooted in pride.
This summer, Fr. Jason suggested that I begin to pray the prayer of humility, which I have posted on Facebook perhaps in August. I began to pray that prayer in July. In the beginning, just the weight of the prayer almost did me in. And I do mean physical weight...of my sins, of which I was just becoming aware...I would pray the prayer three times. By the third earnest reading of it, I felt the need to lie down. It was just too hard to sit with the truth of my life. Always feeling inadequate and less than other 'normal' people, I discovered that at the root of it was pride. I did not want to look bad. I feared not being the best in the room.
(That's a real problem, I think, in parenting: We tell our children to do their best, and we put signs on the backs of our cars: honor student, quarterback, rah-rah-rah--and then we expect our kids to live up to ideal, our kids think they have to live up to that ideal and eventually everyone is disappointed) If you don't try, then you can't fail, right?
Nobody ever teaches us how to lose. Nobody ever shows us how to lose with grace.
I am thinking of that great poem by Carl Sandburg:
"We are the greatest city, the greatest nation! Nothing like us ever was!...
The woman named Tomorrow sits with a hairpin clenched tight in her teeth and turns and drawls, "My grandmother Yesterday is dead. Well, what of it? Let the dead be dead." Or something like that. (I can't seem to find the poem on line yet.)
It is about the sin of pride. We think we are so good. We think we are gods. I truly believe that if we hear God's word and say no to it, we are thinking we are gods, we are equal to God and we place ourselves in great danger of falling out of His Grace.
Saying Yes is no picnic though. Saying Yes implies the necessity of being humble. It says, "not my will but yours be done." At least I have always thought that meant letting go of something I think I want. But it can also mean taking on something I would rather not do.
Yesterday is a good example, for me, anyway. I wrote that morning about loving without strings. Or something like that. And then God called me on it. And I was pissed.(I know that is not a nice word...but I was not is a good place for some time yesterday) Then I realized I wasn't angry. I was hurt. And then I realized the consequences of being hurt. And I was convicted by my own words that I wrote in the morning. How do I love perfectly and without strings?
I sat with my feelings in prayer last night, proclaimed my lament, dropped open my Bible and it was Proverbs: Do not waste words on a fool. And I had to pray about what that really meant and not take it on just the surface value. I thought I understood what God required of me, but maybe I didn't, for the immediate desolation hurt so much and I felt lost and afraid. But not discouraged.
The desolation made me stronger. In the desolation, my Sweet Lord healed me. I was not to question Him any longer about it. What I needed would be provided. I did not have to worry. Like Jacob, I told the angel: I will not let go until you bless me. What arrogance, I thought. I have never 'demanded' anything from God before. It felt odd.
Yet, I was blessed. I arose from my prayer and the pain wan gone. And then I went to hug my sweet Lord and I felt our hearts joining together. Mine melted into His and the joy that embrace was, for me, another tiny glimpse of heaven. No words can describe it well. I can only say "it was good."
Today is the new moon. It is also my birthday. I went on my first cruise a year ago and I learned in the Mayan calendar that 52 years is a complete cycle. So at 53, I am one year old today. One year old in my new life. I can say without question, I am not the woman I was a year ago. Soon I will make my New Year's resolution. I pray that God will fill me with new light. I will take a new risk and see what God might show me through it. It may mean becoming less, but it will also mean becoming more. Fr. Henry brought the first light to me this morning during Mass. I am grateful for his blessing and for the kindnesses of so many others.
I offer these words to encourage you in your prayer life. Be bold with God, but always in humility, as you are able. Take it all to Him in prayer...and stay still long enough to get your answer. You will not be disappointed.
Love always in Christ,
Cindy
"Today is the dark New Moon, after which she begins to fill up again with light, starting tomorrow. This time of new beginnings, and, combined with the birth of the light of the sun (and length of the day) on December 21, both offer powerful celestial energy to renew, heal, and refresh your lives. Something to invite into your lives... ~ Velma"
I am constantly surprised and amazed at how God has blessed me. Broken me. Poor me. Flawed me. Proud me. Scared me. Confused me. He seems to love me anyway.
I have always felt like I have let God down.
I have been blessed with so many talents, but I have never used them enough for building up his Kingdom here on earth. I have hidden them, terrified of what might be expected of me if I was to share them, that I could not live up to what people thought I could do. And I never wanted to disappoint anyone. And that worry, I have discovered, is rooted in pride.
This summer, Fr. Jason suggested that I begin to pray the prayer of humility, which I have posted on Facebook perhaps in August. I began to pray that prayer in July. In the beginning, just the weight of the prayer almost did me in. And I do mean physical weight...of my sins, of which I was just becoming aware...I would pray the prayer three times. By the third earnest reading of it, I felt the need to lie down. It was just too hard to sit with the truth of my life. Always feeling inadequate and less than other 'normal' people, I discovered that at the root of it was pride. I did not want to look bad. I feared not being the best in the room.
(That's a real problem, I think, in parenting: We tell our children to do their best, and we put signs on the backs of our cars: honor student, quarterback, rah-rah-rah--and then we expect our kids to live up to ideal, our kids think they have to live up to that ideal and eventually everyone is disappointed) If you don't try, then you can't fail, right?
Nobody ever teaches us how to lose. Nobody ever shows us how to lose with grace.
I am thinking of that great poem by Carl Sandburg:
"We are the greatest city, the greatest nation! Nothing like us ever was!...
The woman named Tomorrow sits with a hairpin clenched tight in her teeth and turns and drawls, "My grandmother Yesterday is dead. Well, what of it? Let the dead be dead." Or something like that. (I can't seem to find the poem on line yet.)
It is about the sin of pride. We think we are so good. We think we are gods. I truly believe that if we hear God's word and say no to it, we are thinking we are gods, we are equal to God and we place ourselves in great danger of falling out of His Grace.
Saying Yes is no picnic though. Saying Yes implies the necessity of being humble. It says, "not my will but yours be done." At least I have always thought that meant letting go of something I think I want. But it can also mean taking on something I would rather not do.
Yesterday is a good example, for me, anyway. I wrote that morning about loving without strings. Or something like that. And then God called me on it. And I was pissed.(I know that is not a nice word...but I was not is a good place for some time yesterday) Then I realized I wasn't angry. I was hurt. And then I realized the consequences of being hurt. And I was convicted by my own words that I wrote in the morning. How do I love perfectly and without strings?
I sat with my feelings in prayer last night, proclaimed my lament, dropped open my Bible and it was Proverbs: Do not waste words on a fool. And I had to pray about what that really meant and not take it on just the surface value. I thought I understood what God required of me, but maybe I didn't, for the immediate desolation hurt so much and I felt lost and afraid. But not discouraged.
The desolation made me stronger. In the desolation, my Sweet Lord healed me. I was not to question Him any longer about it. What I needed would be provided. I did not have to worry. Like Jacob, I told the angel: I will not let go until you bless me. What arrogance, I thought. I have never 'demanded' anything from God before. It felt odd.
Yet, I was blessed. I arose from my prayer and the pain wan gone. And then I went to hug my sweet Lord and I felt our hearts joining together. Mine melted into His and the joy that embrace was, for me, another tiny glimpse of heaven. No words can describe it well. I can only say "it was good."
Today is the new moon. It is also my birthday. I went on my first cruise a year ago and I learned in the Mayan calendar that 52 years is a complete cycle. So at 53, I am one year old today. One year old in my new life. I can say without question, I am not the woman I was a year ago. Soon I will make my New Year's resolution. I pray that God will fill me with new light. I will take a new risk and see what God might show me through it. It may mean becoming less, but it will also mean becoming more. Fr. Henry brought the first light to me this morning during Mass. I am grateful for his blessing and for the kindnesses of so many others.
I offer these words to encourage you in your prayer life. Be bold with God, but always in humility, as you are able. Take it all to Him in prayer...and stay still long enough to get your answer. You will not be disappointed.
Love always in Christ,
Cindy
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Kind Words
This morning, I showed up at Starbucks just about the time they opened. I walked in and asked, "What's that burning smell?" To which one of the sweet baristas relied,"It's my burning love for you!" I smiled at him and told him he just made my day. And he did.
Last night, as it was very cold, I began missing having a man lie beside me and keep me warm. (Summer it was always, "Stay on your own side already!") But as I snuggled under the down quilt I finally remembered I had in the closet, I missed that kind of touch.
I think that was the hardest thing to adjust to after the divorce, the gentle pleasure of just being held. I'm told men don't get that. They think an embrace is foreplay or something. That's not true, men probably enjoy a bit of tenderness just as much as a woman.
But I am in a different place in my life now. I am learning how to loved and be loved in new and wonderfully satisfying ways. You think I'm crazy? Perhaps. Not everyone is wired for or even desires this. I don't know if I really am, either. But I have come to realize the truth of John of the Cross's words (paraphrased...summed up, whatever): "to have everything, one must desire nothing."
In a different place of my life, I needed so very much. I was so hungry for so much. I actually found myself competing for a man once (OK maybe twice)...that was a humiliating truth to own, but it helped me to realize that 'curse' on Eve: your desire will be for your husband. In an unjust relationship, that is a form of enslavement. Let me say that twice so it is not misunderstood: IN AN UNJUST RELATIONSHIP, that is enslavement. I am not talking about a just one.
It is the curse of being 15 perhaps. We absolutely must have a boyfriend! The world will end if he doesn't look at me in the hall. And then some really destructive things can happen too, to get the object of one's affections attention. Oh how very much we need to love our adolescents properly so they won't go looking for the wrong things!
But in this new life, I have somewhat detached myself of certain needs that get in the way of my ability to love and be present for whomever I meet during the day. I truly get to 'love the one I wtih' and never feel empty when he/she walks away. I am not hungry for a phone call, a reassurance of love...and that makes me a much better lover.
Let me assure you, I have not mastered this charism...can one really master a charism? But I know that, if I stay true to my prayer, my personal desires will not overshadow the good work of loving my neighbor. I'm a work in process. I will fall down many more times. But I get up a bit faster these days, and the wounds are not so big anymore. It is a good life and I am happy in it.
So the sweet comment from a friend (who is my daughter's age) is received with great joy. I thank him for it. I thank God for it. And I thank God for you, who bothers to read my ramblings.
Love, Cindy
Last night, as it was very cold, I began missing having a man lie beside me and keep me warm. (Summer it was always, "Stay on your own side already!") But as I snuggled under the down quilt I finally remembered I had in the closet, I missed that kind of touch.
I think that was the hardest thing to adjust to after the divorce, the gentle pleasure of just being held. I'm told men don't get that. They think an embrace is foreplay or something. That's not true, men probably enjoy a bit of tenderness just as much as a woman.
But I am in a different place in my life now. I am learning how to loved and be loved in new and wonderfully satisfying ways. You think I'm crazy? Perhaps. Not everyone is wired for or even desires this. I don't know if I really am, either. But I have come to realize the truth of John of the Cross's words (paraphrased...summed up, whatever): "to have everything, one must desire nothing."
In a different place of my life, I needed so very much. I was so hungry for so much. I actually found myself competing for a man once (OK maybe twice)...that was a humiliating truth to own, but it helped me to realize that 'curse' on Eve: your desire will be for your husband. In an unjust relationship, that is a form of enslavement. Let me say that twice so it is not misunderstood: IN AN UNJUST RELATIONSHIP, that is enslavement. I am not talking about a just one.
It is the curse of being 15 perhaps. We absolutely must have a boyfriend! The world will end if he doesn't look at me in the hall. And then some really destructive things can happen too, to get the object of one's affections attention. Oh how very much we need to love our adolescents properly so they won't go looking for the wrong things!
But in this new life, I have somewhat detached myself of certain needs that get in the way of my ability to love and be present for whomever I meet during the day. I truly get to 'love the one I wtih' and never feel empty when he/she walks away. I am not hungry for a phone call, a reassurance of love...and that makes me a much better lover.
Let me assure you, I have not mastered this charism...can one really master a charism? But I know that, if I stay true to my prayer, my personal desires will not overshadow the good work of loving my neighbor. I'm a work in process. I will fall down many more times. But I get up a bit faster these days, and the wounds are not so big anymore. It is a good life and I am happy in it.
So the sweet comment from a friend (who is my daughter's age) is received with great joy. I thank him for it. I thank God for it. And I thank God for you, who bothers to read my ramblings.
Love, Cindy
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Putting it back again....sigh....
I hate the fact that I cannot write clearly what forms in my head. I cannot play the piano in front of people on purpose because I have in my head how the music should sound, and what comes from my hands is never quite what I intend to give to others. I get angry and depressed and then I realize it is all about pride.
My parents wanted me to be Miss America. My dad used to sing that song as I walked out of the bedroom, dressed for a date or something. He made me laugh. And then my Mom would point out all the things that were wrong: make-up (need a little more blue eye shadow) hair (the curl didn't hold on the left side) clothes (that shirt really doesn't go with those pants)
Small things, we think don't mean much, little criticisms and they cut as deep as "You're fat, you're ugly, and I don't like you."
This ruler thing is still haunting me. Enough conversations since I deleted this one below tell me how critical we are of ourselves and each other. Left unchecked, this demon does more damage to us than we are willing to admit. When we give it out, when we receive it...we kill ourselves and each other slowly and sometimes deliberately. So it needs to stop now. Right now.
So here it is again, flawed and broken and incomplete. But if one person stops hurting themselves or someone else, I will gladly take on the humiliation of being a lousy writer.
In Christ's Love always,
Cindy
THE RULER
Mostly I remember fourth grade in Catholic school. Sister Mary Esther and her ruler. I didn't get hit too often with the ruler, she saved that for the boys. For me, it was digging her fingernails into my head, lifting my desk off the ground and dumping its contents all over the floor (because my books were not properly stacked), various punishments or humiliations in the front of the room and finally tying me to my desk with ropes because I would not sit still.
And you still wonder why I couldn't be a nun. I suppose I will go to my grave wanting to be a priest. Actually confessing that desire in this pseudo-public way really doesn't help me get past it much either. And no, I have no desire to be a priestess. That would be ridiculous. Any power I might have comes from God, not from manipulations of the earthly elements, which is how we tend to define priestess, I think. I can't weave magic and I don't want to.
But I do want to help people with the forgiveness of their sins. In this last week alone, without any deliberate action, I have heard people's sins. I have heard people's pain. And there is a lot out there. We are all the walking wounded to some degree.
The wounds by themselves will not kill us. Not forgiving them, however, will kill us. I met a woman not long ago who wanted to die. In fact I met three people who wanted to die...and those were just the ones who told me of their desire. It must have been another Holy Spirit moment for me because this woman, who was in her early 60s, said she was ready to go and be with God. I said maybe God had more for her to do. I said maybe she needed to forgive some people while she was still here. She told me she had forgiven everyone. I asked her, did you forgive your husband? She told me she would die before she would forgive her husband. I smiled just a little bit, maybe God would like for you to forgive him, I said. Maybe God was keeping her here for exactly that task. And we continued our little visit.
Each day, I meet someone new who tells me something that ultimately wonders a question in their heart: Does God love me at all? And with great confidence, I try to respond, with about as much indirectness...or directness,as I am allowed: Of course God loves you! God loves all of His creation. But that is so hard to hear and so hard to receive sometimes...and especially when we have disappointed ourselves.
A long time ago, when I was a Methodist minister, I preached "It's a Wonderful Life." Do you remember the movie? Really remember? The story about who finally decided he would be better off dead. A man who dreamed of being something great and never got out of Bedford Falls. He thought his life amounted to nothing.
Somewhere in a drawer, I still have that perfect 'thank you' note from a parishioner about that sermon that said, "I am a bit frustrated with you, Cindy. I usually write out my grocery list during the sermon...but you words kept me listening to you!" or something like that. I never got to preach very often, but people remembered the stories I told. (That is one of the dangerous things about preaching: you want them to remember, but when they tell you that they do, you can surely get puffed up about it!)The sermon about George Bailey also included a story about making fudge. (Not my personal story, it was Mary's story and she let me tell it) I got a letter from a woman saying she had been depressed and thinking about suicide...but my sermon got her to think again and differently. Wow! Then once I walked into a hospital room and the woman called out from her bed to her family, 'It's the fudge lady!' (She had to explain what she meant, and I laughed-- it was a very good story) I still have the cassette of it. Maybe once a year I listen to it...and oh, my how Roman Catholic it sounds to me! Perhaps our blindness about ourselves is a gift...maybe.
Could go in ten other directions with this, but this story is about the ruler.
We beat ourselves up daily with that ruler. We think we know who we are supposed to be and we know we are not that person. We think we know what other people are supposed to be for us and they let us down. The closer a person is to us, the greater the pain. Well, if I have learned nothing else, I have learned that all love relationships come with pain. It wouldn't be love if it didn't hurt sometimes.
Let me be clear, I am not talking about the manipulative kind of hurts that some people cause or receive to maintain control over a relationship...the kind that uses and abuses the other...I am speaking of the cost of being vulnerable between two reasonably healthy people. Hurt is just part of the deal. We couldn't love if we weren't willing to risk getting hurt. When God gave us the ability to love, He sent us His Son to give us the ability for forgive ourselves, those we love deeply, and even those we hate deeply. Remember that hate is really love turned inward instead of outward.
That ruler can help us "stay within the lines" when we need to stay within the lines, but it can also create intense despair. We beat ourselves up for who we are and for who we are not. We beat ourselves up for who they are and for who they are not. Only because we have "a ruler" that tells us one thing is right and another thing is wrong.
I wish I was writing this more clearly. (There's my ruler showing itself!)But perhaps poorly is better than not at all. I get little clues from friends that some people I know are actually reading the stuff I write. Thank you. I intend to do good. I am not always successful.
BUT...
How many suicide attempts will I witness this season? How many won't make a mistake and actually die? How many hearts will be broken because we didn't live up to our own expectations? How many people are going to feel empty on Christmas morning? How many are going to dwell on what they didn't get, or that Aunt Grace still thinks you are a size 10 and you are a size 14...shouldn't she know that by now? Doesn't she care about me?
I'm glad God has given me the grace to sit with people who hurt. I am especially glad that God have given me wonderful people who are willing to sit with me when I hurt.
I have a dream that maybe this Christmas, no one will die by his/her own hand. I have a dream that we can each say thank you to each other...not for what we get, but for who we are. And who we are depends on Him who created us. Let all people know we are all children of God. He loves us and He wants us to love His creation.
George Bailey really had a wonderful life. No, it wasn't what he dreamed of, but it was a life that mattered, that touched others...and it was time for George to let his life touch him...and to let in all that love that surrounded him into his heart. It's OK, it is worth the risk. Love and be loved. Don't throw away the gift of life. Really.
I John 4:19 "We must love because He first loved us."
Love,
Cindy
Posted by Teresa's Garden at 7:27 AM
My parents wanted me to be Miss America. My dad used to sing that song as I walked out of the bedroom, dressed for a date or something. He made me laugh. And then my Mom would point out all the things that were wrong: make-up (need a little more blue eye shadow) hair (the curl didn't hold on the left side) clothes (that shirt really doesn't go with those pants)
Small things, we think don't mean much, little criticisms and they cut as deep as "You're fat, you're ugly, and I don't like you."
This ruler thing is still haunting me. Enough conversations since I deleted this one below tell me how critical we are of ourselves and each other. Left unchecked, this demon does more damage to us than we are willing to admit. When we give it out, when we receive it...we kill ourselves and each other slowly and sometimes deliberately. So it needs to stop now. Right now.
So here it is again, flawed and broken and incomplete. But if one person stops hurting themselves or someone else, I will gladly take on the humiliation of being a lousy writer.
In Christ's Love always,
Cindy
THE RULER
Mostly I remember fourth grade in Catholic school. Sister Mary Esther and her ruler. I didn't get hit too often with the ruler, she saved that for the boys. For me, it was digging her fingernails into my head, lifting my desk off the ground and dumping its contents all over the floor (because my books were not properly stacked), various punishments or humiliations in the front of the room and finally tying me to my desk with ropes because I would not sit still.
And you still wonder why I couldn't be a nun. I suppose I will go to my grave wanting to be a priest. Actually confessing that desire in this pseudo-public way really doesn't help me get past it much either. And no, I have no desire to be a priestess. That would be ridiculous. Any power I might have comes from God, not from manipulations of the earthly elements, which is how we tend to define priestess, I think. I can't weave magic and I don't want to.
But I do want to help people with the forgiveness of their sins. In this last week alone, without any deliberate action, I have heard people's sins. I have heard people's pain. And there is a lot out there. We are all the walking wounded to some degree.
The wounds by themselves will not kill us. Not forgiving them, however, will kill us. I met a woman not long ago who wanted to die. In fact I met three people who wanted to die...and those were just the ones who told me of their desire. It must have been another Holy Spirit moment for me because this woman, who was in her early 60s, said she was ready to go and be with God. I said maybe God had more for her to do. I said maybe she needed to forgive some people while she was still here. She told me she had forgiven everyone. I asked her, did you forgive your husband? She told me she would die before she would forgive her husband. I smiled just a little bit, maybe God would like for you to forgive him, I said. Maybe God was keeping her here for exactly that task. And we continued our little visit.
Each day, I meet someone new who tells me something that ultimately wonders a question in their heart: Does God love me at all? And with great confidence, I try to respond, with about as much indirectness...or directness,as I am allowed: Of course God loves you! God loves all of His creation. But that is so hard to hear and so hard to receive sometimes...and especially when we have disappointed ourselves.
A long time ago, when I was a Methodist minister, I preached "It's a Wonderful Life." Do you remember the movie? Really remember? The story about who finally decided he would be better off dead. A man who dreamed of being something great and never got out of Bedford Falls. He thought his life amounted to nothing.
Somewhere in a drawer, I still have that perfect 'thank you' note from a parishioner about that sermon that said, "I am a bit frustrated with you, Cindy. I usually write out my grocery list during the sermon...but you words kept me listening to you!" or something like that. I never got to preach very often, but people remembered the stories I told. (That is one of the dangerous things about preaching: you want them to remember, but when they tell you that they do, you can surely get puffed up about it!)The sermon about George Bailey also included a story about making fudge. (Not my personal story, it was Mary's story and she let me tell it) I got a letter from a woman saying she had been depressed and thinking about suicide...but my sermon got her to think again and differently. Wow! Then once I walked into a hospital room and the woman called out from her bed to her family, 'It's the fudge lady!' (She had to explain what she meant, and I laughed-- it was a very good story) I still have the cassette of it. Maybe once a year I listen to it...and oh, my how Roman Catholic it sounds to me! Perhaps our blindness about ourselves is a gift...maybe.
Could go in ten other directions with this, but this story is about the ruler.
We beat ourselves up daily with that ruler. We think we know who we are supposed to be and we know we are not that person. We think we know what other people are supposed to be for us and they let us down. The closer a person is to us, the greater the pain. Well, if I have learned nothing else, I have learned that all love relationships come with pain. It wouldn't be love if it didn't hurt sometimes.
Let me be clear, I am not talking about the manipulative kind of hurts that some people cause or receive to maintain control over a relationship...the kind that uses and abuses the other...I am speaking of the cost of being vulnerable between two reasonably healthy people. Hurt is just part of the deal. We couldn't love if we weren't willing to risk getting hurt. When God gave us the ability to love, He sent us His Son to give us the ability for forgive ourselves, those we love deeply, and even those we hate deeply. Remember that hate is really love turned inward instead of outward.
That ruler can help us "stay within the lines" when we need to stay within the lines, but it can also create intense despair. We beat ourselves up for who we are and for who we are not. We beat ourselves up for who they are and for who they are not. Only because we have "a ruler" that tells us one thing is right and another thing is wrong.
I wish I was writing this more clearly. (There's my ruler showing itself!)But perhaps poorly is better than not at all. I get little clues from friends that some people I know are actually reading the stuff I write. Thank you. I intend to do good. I am not always successful.
BUT...
How many suicide attempts will I witness this season? How many won't make a mistake and actually die? How many hearts will be broken because we didn't live up to our own expectations? How many people are going to feel empty on Christmas morning? How many are going to dwell on what they didn't get, or that Aunt Grace still thinks you are a size 10 and you are a size 14...shouldn't she know that by now? Doesn't she care about me?
I'm glad God has given me the grace to sit with people who hurt. I am especially glad that God have given me wonderful people who are willing to sit with me when I hurt.
I have a dream that maybe this Christmas, no one will die by his/her own hand. I have a dream that we can each say thank you to each other...not for what we get, but for who we are. And who we are depends on Him who created us. Let all people know we are all children of God. He loves us and He wants us to love His creation.
George Bailey really had a wonderful life. No, it wasn't what he dreamed of, but it was a life that mattered, that touched others...and it was time for George to let his life touch him...and to let in all that love that surrounded him into his heart. It's OK, it is worth the risk. Love and be loved. Don't throw away the gift of life. Really.
I John 4:19 "We must love because He first loved us."
Love,
Cindy
Posted by Teresa's Garden at 7:27 AM
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Second and Third Thoughts
Woke too early this morning. Something told me to wake up...or someone. The phone rang, I knew God was being kind and giving me just a little bit gentler rousing. Hospital call. We need you in ER. Now. Ill be there in 20 minutes. Can you hurry, she may not last that long. I should have just gone as soon as I woke up. I just knew before I was told.
Not going to look now, but the is a Scripture verse that says, It is not me who lives, but Christ who lives in me. Not really certain what to say about that right now, other than, I think if I am "doing it right," people should not really see me anymore. I am just the shadow and the light that might shine is not my light but His...or hers...Mary, I mean. If I'm doing it right, I am not there anymore. I'm simply along for the ride. I can't even begin to tell you what or how I feel these days. There are no words. I still walk, I still talk, but I truly feel something bigger and better is going on inside me, or through me, or whatever. God's carrying me to someplace new...I think to a place where I can do good work for Him. I hope I can do good work for Him. It is my only desire.
It feels so strange. And it feels so peaceful.
I deleted my little argument against suicide. Thought I was being too dark for the holidays. But, the truth is, that is when the devil (if you can buy into that, call it a dark force. It is a dark force, without question) talks us into giving up, surrendering to despair. For the spiritually strong, we can see the exposure of our weaknesses as grace, a change to grow spiritually stronger. (I've been listening to Frances de Sales on a Devout Life the last 24 hours) We should try to celebrate our challenges as a chance to grow closer to God.
For the spiritually weak, though, this time of year...well, we must force ourselves to rely on the kindness of others, to gird us up and help us remember we matter to God. Even just a smile can turn a person away from despair, but I think you've actually got to breathe a least one full breath with your friend or a stranger before you dismiss him/her. If you can't do it naturally, pretend like you care, then want to care and trust God to make you care. I mean take the time. Listen, really listen. We all need His love. All the time.
This morning, I don't know if the woman lived. I have a strong inner feeling that she did not. The baby is struggling to survive. The husband is distraught. I prayed in an operating room today, I whispered words into her ear. I hope they were not my words, but God's words. Oh please, God let that be so.
I came out and found the husband's pastor sitting with him. Another woman. We women, we stay, even when it gets messy. Especially when it gets messy. But this time, it was a woman I knew. And there was a little baggage. Why would God bring this today? What am I supposed to learn from it? I don't know yet. But I am completely convinced that if we are living out a life of prayer, nothing is left to chance. God is present in every event, refining us, teaching us and loving us.
I left the hospital knowing the family was in good hands. Surprise, I find myself going to church. Gotta pray through every encounter God places before me. That's how it works for me. Give it over to God before it gets to me. Three candles, father, mother and baby. Mary will know what to do. She'll tell her Son.
Mass was a gift. Mass is always a gift. My priest spoke about devotion to Mary. I'm just learning what that means. Only he says that some of the seminarians wear a chain around their wrist to proclaim there devotion to Mary. Oh. So maybe that's why I bought the James Avery bracelet of roses some ten years ago. I gave it to my daughter to wear in her wedding. When I fainted in August, the Icthus bracelet broke off my wrist, beyond repair. The ACTS bracelet was in pieces on the floor.But my Mary bracelet was undamaged and still attached to me. If only God was more clear sometimes, and I knew better exactly what he wants from me.
I can hear Him now in my head: "Cindy, I have been very clear...every time we speak...it is you who choose not to hear me." Argh!
Off to St Joseph's Home in Oak Cliff to help with Bingo. All those nuns about. How much I wanted to hold them and have them hold me. The residents were a delight and oh so human! We went to Mass together after Bingo. Another great blessing.
Then lunch at La Calle Doce. Superb Mexican food. Five women. They want to hear my story. I don't want to tell it. It is easier to write. Then I know I'm not really boring anyone with it. And if I don't tell it exactly right, it all sounds so sad. But really, I've had a very good life. You just have to get to place where you can count it all as joy.
You can count it all joy when you die to yourself. I get that now. I wish I could have gotten it at age 20, when I might have been more useful to God for a longer time, but as it is, better late than never.
And I have so many mistakes to share. So many weaknesses. So many wrong turns. The fact that I have made it to here is a true testimony that God doesn't give up on anyone. He waits. He walks so close to us that if we turn our face so gently left or right, we can feel his breath upon us. We can feel him taking our hand and offering compassion and life.
It is no longer me but Christ who lives in me. I could say more here, but I think I should go slowly. It is so hard to hold back. God has been good to me. God has received me exactly as I am...and is transforming me into something much better.
And Mary, well, I'll continue to ponder her in my heart until I can find the right way to share what I am learning there. I can't tell you about Mary. This is all so new to me...and healing for me. The feminine connection to God. Her heart. Her love. Very, very new.
God is so very good. If this makes no sense at all, it is because I am still at the beginning stages of very good things.
Love, Cindy
Not going to look now, but the is a Scripture verse that says, It is not me who lives, but Christ who lives in me. Not really certain what to say about that right now, other than, I think if I am "doing it right," people should not really see me anymore. I am just the shadow and the light that might shine is not my light but His...or hers...Mary, I mean. If I'm doing it right, I am not there anymore. I'm simply along for the ride. I can't even begin to tell you what or how I feel these days. There are no words. I still walk, I still talk, but I truly feel something bigger and better is going on inside me, or through me, or whatever. God's carrying me to someplace new...I think to a place where I can do good work for Him. I hope I can do good work for Him. It is my only desire.
It feels so strange. And it feels so peaceful.
I deleted my little argument against suicide. Thought I was being too dark for the holidays. But, the truth is, that is when the devil (if you can buy into that, call it a dark force. It is a dark force, without question) talks us into giving up, surrendering to despair. For the spiritually strong, we can see the exposure of our weaknesses as grace, a change to grow spiritually stronger. (I've been listening to Frances de Sales on a Devout Life the last 24 hours) We should try to celebrate our challenges as a chance to grow closer to God.
For the spiritually weak, though, this time of year...well, we must force ourselves to rely on the kindness of others, to gird us up and help us remember we matter to God. Even just a smile can turn a person away from despair, but I think you've actually got to breathe a least one full breath with your friend or a stranger before you dismiss him/her. If you can't do it naturally, pretend like you care, then want to care and trust God to make you care. I mean take the time. Listen, really listen. We all need His love. All the time.
This morning, I don't know if the woman lived. I have a strong inner feeling that she did not. The baby is struggling to survive. The husband is distraught. I prayed in an operating room today, I whispered words into her ear. I hope they were not my words, but God's words. Oh please, God let that be so.
I came out and found the husband's pastor sitting with him. Another woman. We women, we stay, even when it gets messy. Especially when it gets messy. But this time, it was a woman I knew. And there was a little baggage. Why would God bring this today? What am I supposed to learn from it? I don't know yet. But I am completely convinced that if we are living out a life of prayer, nothing is left to chance. God is present in every event, refining us, teaching us and loving us.
I left the hospital knowing the family was in good hands. Surprise, I find myself going to church. Gotta pray through every encounter God places before me. That's how it works for me. Give it over to God before it gets to me. Three candles, father, mother and baby. Mary will know what to do. She'll tell her Son.
Mass was a gift. Mass is always a gift. My priest spoke about devotion to Mary. I'm just learning what that means. Only he says that some of the seminarians wear a chain around their wrist to proclaim there devotion to Mary. Oh. So maybe that's why I bought the James Avery bracelet of roses some ten years ago. I gave it to my daughter to wear in her wedding. When I fainted in August, the Icthus bracelet broke off my wrist, beyond repair. The ACTS bracelet was in pieces on the floor.But my Mary bracelet was undamaged and still attached to me. If only God was more clear sometimes, and I knew better exactly what he wants from me.
I can hear Him now in my head: "Cindy, I have been very clear...every time we speak...it is you who choose not to hear me." Argh!
Off to St Joseph's Home in Oak Cliff to help with Bingo. All those nuns about. How much I wanted to hold them and have them hold me. The residents were a delight and oh so human! We went to Mass together after Bingo. Another great blessing.
Then lunch at La Calle Doce. Superb Mexican food. Five women. They want to hear my story. I don't want to tell it. It is easier to write. Then I know I'm not really boring anyone with it. And if I don't tell it exactly right, it all sounds so sad. But really, I've had a very good life. You just have to get to place where you can count it all as joy.
You can count it all joy when you die to yourself. I get that now. I wish I could have gotten it at age 20, when I might have been more useful to God for a longer time, but as it is, better late than never.
And I have so many mistakes to share. So many weaknesses. So many wrong turns. The fact that I have made it to here is a true testimony that God doesn't give up on anyone. He waits. He walks so close to us that if we turn our face so gently left or right, we can feel his breath upon us. We can feel him taking our hand and offering compassion and life.
It is no longer me but Christ who lives in me. I could say more here, but I think I should go slowly. It is so hard to hold back. God has been good to me. God has received me exactly as I am...and is transforming me into something much better.
And Mary, well, I'll continue to ponder her in my heart until I can find the right way to share what I am learning there. I can't tell you about Mary. This is all so new to me...and healing for me. The feminine connection to God. Her heart. Her love. Very, very new.
God is so very good. If this makes no sense at all, it is because I am still at the beginning stages of very good things.
Love, Cindy
Sunday, December 6, 2009
And the greatest of these is Love...
I wrote this one sometime last week. I'm still not happy with it, but I thought I would throw it out there anyway. As I learned this morning at Mass and earlier this week over lunch with a new friend, some of our journeys are long and winding roads...not always the best plan, but we learn from the winding roads, too. Then our sweet Jesus straightens them out.
If you read ahead, may the Lord create clarity in all my cloudy thinkings.
"Draw me into your footsteps, let us run.
The king has brought me into his rooms;
you will be our joy and our gladness.
We shall praise your love more than wine;
How right it is to love you." Song of Songs 1:4
Three times in my life, I have experienced perfect love. Or at least recognized it when it was given. The first time was on a Saturday night during my first Emmaus Walk back in 1997. I stared down at my placemat, which was covered in tiny, penny-a-piece trinkets, each holding a little piece of paper that had some scripture verse and the names of women and men who wanted me to know that I was loved by God and by them. I stared at these little gestures of affection and my stone cold heart began to crack. Wait a minute, I thought, they don't know me...how can they dare say such a thing? I know me and I am definitely NOT love-able.
Rather than make a scene, I ran off into the bathroom and locked myself in a stall. Sweet Rev. Char Cowan, with whom I already had several interesting conversations, stood on the other side of the locked door, calling my name.
From my little hiding place, I called out, "I want to go home. NOW!" And she listened gently to my request. "Please stay Cindy. At least for a few more hours. I promise it will all be alright."
But she didn't realize how painful it is for a human being, for whom love was nonexistent or misunderstood, to have something like real love given to her. For this love is one that cuts deep. It demands vulnerability to receive. It is both attractive and terrifying. It is free but it has a price. The price is that is changes who you thought you were into something new. And there is no going back from it.
I've been told that when we are young, our brains are so creative that they protect us from some kinds of truths so that we can survive...war...or a death...or other things. Then, when our brains think it is safe, it lets us feel stuff we were once too young to feel. We now had enough gray cells to understand and adapt differently. Only it still has to be a conscious choice. We decide if we want to grow out of childish things or into something something completely new.
So I stood locked in a bathroom stall, crying like a baby and begging to go home. I did not want to change. I did not want to accept love on any level. My brain told me that people used the word in unkind ways. Love was dangerous. I didn't want to entertain the possibility that it could also be something very, very good.
But sweet Char talked me into staying. And the shortest version of that story is that, if love can transform a robot like me into a human being, it must be pretty good stuff and I wanted to help others who may have been as wounded by life as me to live a better life in Christ. So I went to seminary. (One thread of a very nonlinear story)
I thought I was done. I thought I'd gotten a full dose. What I had received was beyond my dreams and I felt so very blessed. I was high on God.
Then came one of my first Dark Nights. If it is all about love, well then, why aren't people being loving. Seminary was great and scary and challenging, but church work was...something different. Not bad, perhaps, but because of the transformation in my own life, I expected that church work would be like that...every day a Saturday night locked in a bathroom stall that ended up in a kind of resurrection. And of course, it wasn't. I got lost, very lost.
Then, after a few years of weeping, love found its way into my heart again. Fr. Henry told me (in his sermon) to come down off the mountain. The theory of love is a great thing, but now that you have knowledge, Cindy, you must learn to live it. In the mess of creation is great beauty; you must now move what is in your head into your heart.
And God told me, one dark night, as I sat on the floor of the chapel (at St. Mark's)weeping tears against a brick wall, and begging God to explain to me why I continued this struggle to live in two worlds: the Methodist Church and the Catholic Church...and I sat on the floor, exhausted from crying, thinking I had no tears in me left to cry, I demanded of God why I always seemed to end up here. "Why do I always end up here? Why are my tears saved for here?" Then I heard God's voice telling me "Cindy, here is where you love me best." And my shoulders relaxed and my salty tears became suddenly sweet. "Oh..." He was right.
I found my second dose of pure love on/in preparation for the ACTS retreat. At least, I was aware of being loved there. This was a different love. Just as beautiful as the first but different. This love was a reconciling love. This love was the kind of love that healed. My first dose of real love broke my heart. This second dose began to heal it. My proud nature was being tamed by women and men who understood the nature of a wild animal who had to learn to fend for herself in all things that mattered. I begged for forgiveness from my great pride, which had protected me from certain death in years past but was now killing me. And God forgave my sins.
Now I am in such a different place. I took a lot of words to get here, but yesterday made me aware again of how far I still have to go. As great as the love of God is growing inside me, I still have so many broken places. Still bits of stone shield things that I think I cannot survive without keeping. But it became clear again to me yesterday, that I do not need these things anymore. They are in the way of a greater love that God has made available to me....and quite truthfully, to us all.
Some of you have gotten here ahead of me. I am glad you found your way home. Some of you are walking by my side, just as scared and excited about what might happen next. But there are too many people I know, who are still protecting their hearts of stone.
I have finally learned that love is a good thing. I have learned that love is much greater than loving our husbands or wives or our children or our friends. Those loves are good loves, but they still have strings attached to them. Those are great things that we will eventually have to let go of. They are transitory, and sometimes so unpredictable. Good but not perfect.
And there is perfect love. With God. The glorious irrational. Faithful: steadfast, predictable Compassionate:mercy and grace-filled Selfless: giving Unceasing: without bounds Also relentless: pursuing us to the end of time Demanding: requires that we give ALL of ourselves over to it Jealous: will not share our love for God with the love of any other thing.
So, perhaps poorly written, but perhaps a beginning of something that could make sense someday, I offer to you this day the prayer/declaration of the Beloved to her Great One True Love that is God:
Draw me into your footsteps, let me run!
For God has brought me into His rooms
He will be my joy and gladness
I will praise Your Love more than wine,
How right it is to love You.
I pray now that God will clear the cobwebs that might still be in the words I have written. I am on a tremendous journey. A great adventure. Today, this is my Captain's Log. It might make sense, it might now. It is all still such a blur in my head...but it is a very good blur...of something so good and perfect, if I can just get you to think about going there too, well then it was worth writing.
To those of you with brave hearts, take the risk, let Him in...
Love, Cindy
If you read ahead, may the Lord create clarity in all my cloudy thinkings.
"Draw me into your footsteps, let us run.
The king has brought me into his rooms;
you will be our joy and our gladness.
We shall praise your love more than wine;
How right it is to love you." Song of Songs 1:4
Three times in my life, I have experienced perfect love. Or at least recognized it when it was given. The first time was on a Saturday night during my first Emmaus Walk back in 1997. I stared down at my placemat, which was covered in tiny, penny-a-piece trinkets, each holding a little piece of paper that had some scripture verse and the names of women and men who wanted me to know that I was loved by God and by them. I stared at these little gestures of affection and my stone cold heart began to crack. Wait a minute, I thought, they don't know me...how can they dare say such a thing? I know me and I am definitely NOT love-able.
Rather than make a scene, I ran off into the bathroom and locked myself in a stall. Sweet Rev. Char Cowan, with whom I already had several interesting conversations, stood on the other side of the locked door, calling my name.
From my little hiding place, I called out, "I want to go home. NOW!" And she listened gently to my request. "Please stay Cindy. At least for a few more hours. I promise it will all be alright."
But she didn't realize how painful it is for a human being, for whom love was nonexistent or misunderstood, to have something like real love given to her. For this love is one that cuts deep. It demands vulnerability to receive. It is both attractive and terrifying. It is free but it has a price. The price is that is changes who you thought you were into something new. And there is no going back from it.
I've been told that when we are young, our brains are so creative that they protect us from some kinds of truths so that we can survive...war...or a death...or other things. Then, when our brains think it is safe, it lets us feel stuff we were once too young to feel. We now had enough gray cells to understand and adapt differently. Only it still has to be a conscious choice. We decide if we want to grow out of childish things or into something something completely new.
So I stood locked in a bathroom stall, crying like a baby and begging to go home. I did not want to change. I did not want to accept love on any level. My brain told me that people used the word in unkind ways. Love was dangerous. I didn't want to entertain the possibility that it could also be something very, very good.
But sweet Char talked me into staying. And the shortest version of that story is that, if love can transform a robot like me into a human being, it must be pretty good stuff and I wanted to help others who may have been as wounded by life as me to live a better life in Christ. So I went to seminary. (One thread of a very nonlinear story)
I thought I was done. I thought I'd gotten a full dose. What I had received was beyond my dreams and I felt so very blessed. I was high on God.
Then came one of my first Dark Nights. If it is all about love, well then, why aren't people being loving. Seminary was great and scary and challenging, but church work was...something different. Not bad, perhaps, but because of the transformation in my own life, I expected that church work would be like that...every day a Saturday night locked in a bathroom stall that ended up in a kind of resurrection. And of course, it wasn't. I got lost, very lost.
Then, after a few years of weeping, love found its way into my heart again. Fr. Henry told me (in his sermon) to come down off the mountain. The theory of love is a great thing, but now that you have knowledge, Cindy, you must learn to live it. In the mess of creation is great beauty; you must now move what is in your head into your heart.
And God told me, one dark night, as I sat on the floor of the chapel (at St. Mark's)weeping tears against a brick wall, and begging God to explain to me why I continued this struggle to live in two worlds: the Methodist Church and the Catholic Church...and I sat on the floor, exhausted from crying, thinking I had no tears in me left to cry, I demanded of God why I always seemed to end up here. "Why do I always end up here? Why are my tears saved for here?" Then I heard God's voice telling me "Cindy, here is where you love me best." And my shoulders relaxed and my salty tears became suddenly sweet. "Oh..." He was right.
I found my second dose of pure love on/in preparation for the ACTS retreat. At least, I was aware of being loved there. This was a different love. Just as beautiful as the first but different. This love was a reconciling love. This love was the kind of love that healed. My first dose of real love broke my heart. This second dose began to heal it. My proud nature was being tamed by women and men who understood the nature of a wild animal who had to learn to fend for herself in all things that mattered. I begged for forgiveness from my great pride, which had protected me from certain death in years past but was now killing me. And God forgave my sins.
Now I am in such a different place. I took a lot of words to get here, but yesterday made me aware again of how far I still have to go. As great as the love of God is growing inside me, I still have so many broken places. Still bits of stone shield things that I think I cannot survive without keeping. But it became clear again to me yesterday, that I do not need these things anymore. They are in the way of a greater love that God has made available to me....and quite truthfully, to us all.
Some of you have gotten here ahead of me. I am glad you found your way home. Some of you are walking by my side, just as scared and excited about what might happen next. But there are too many people I know, who are still protecting their hearts of stone.
I have finally learned that love is a good thing. I have learned that love is much greater than loving our husbands or wives or our children or our friends. Those loves are good loves, but they still have strings attached to them. Those are great things that we will eventually have to let go of. They are transitory, and sometimes so unpredictable. Good but not perfect.
And there is perfect love. With God. The glorious irrational. Faithful: steadfast, predictable Compassionate:mercy and grace-filled Selfless: giving Unceasing: without bounds Also relentless: pursuing us to the end of time Demanding: requires that we give ALL of ourselves over to it Jealous: will not share our love for God with the love of any other thing.
So, perhaps poorly written, but perhaps a beginning of something that could make sense someday, I offer to you this day the prayer/declaration of the Beloved to her Great One True Love that is God:
Draw me into your footsteps, let me run!
For God has brought me into His rooms
He will be my joy and gladness
I will praise Your Love more than wine,
How right it is to love You.
I pray now that God will clear the cobwebs that might still be in the words I have written. I am on a tremendous journey. A great adventure. Today, this is my Captain's Log. It might make sense, it might now. It is all still such a blur in my head...but it is a very good blur...of something so good and perfect, if I can just get you to think about going there too, well then it was worth writing.
To those of you with brave hearts, take the risk, let Him in...
Love, Cindy
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