Just got off the phone with my daughter-in-law, mother of my FIVE wonderful grandchildren. She was driving the van back home after taking Bobby to work.(I will interject here something I consider of value: for two years, after we moved to Dallas, I drove Bob (Ex-husband) to work because we only had one car. We were 'forced' into conversation twice a day for more than an hour. I firmly believe that our marriage started to disintegrate once we owned two cars. We stopped talking with each other. Those of you who are married, I hope you have sacred time with your spouse each day, where you only focus on each other as human persons, not with some particular agenda or list that needs attention. Don't allow yourselves to live together leading separate lives. What you have is too valuable to mistreat.)
That aside, Stacy and I spoke of many things and I noticed that she was driving and the car was so quiet. How can a car with FIVE children in it be quiet?! Stacy said that they had just dropped Bobby off, and Bobby has a lot of energy in him, so perhaps they were just resting from that energy moving to another place.
As we talked, the background sounds began to arise. The stirring of little persons, kind of waking up and embracing the next thing in their lives. It reminded me of my walks in the woods as dawn, as the birds wake to the day. Whether I know the species or not, I do know the order of the birds as they wake. I can tell, still lying in bed, how high the sun has risen by the sounds I hear outside my window as I wake to the next thing in my life. And I am aware of the bird songs of the evening, as they return to their resting place for the night and the nocturnal birds arise for their nightly journeys.
I pretty much thought everyone is aware of these things, but I have found that is not always true, so I share them with you. I desire for those of you who hunger to be fully present to creation as it unfolds...and I hope that as you discover what you know that you didn't realize you knew...you will share it with me sometime, so I can wake to your dawn also.
Last night, I was late at the Columbarium. How odd is seems to me, to desire to sit with the dead. And yet, I have found such peace there. There is enough unobstructed sky to feel as if God can hear me (and I can hear Him!) without filters.
Two nights ago, I quietly observed again what appears to be a ritual: persons coming and talking with family members about important things. What could not be said while one was alive is now said so deeply and lovingly in death. This is a holy place, where the living and the dead meet. And it takes a great faith in something so irrational to come here and believe that you are heard. I see that as a miracle: that we believe in things we cannot see or understand. It is truly one of the greatest gifts of humanity. Faith. Trust. Hope. Other creatures are not so blessed.
Last night, while praying, I noticed some kind of animal moving in and out of the white flowers. It took me awhile to realize that is was a hummingbird. She was so tiny and popped in and out of the petunias (I think they are petunias)...and I thought, she is as attracted to the scent as I am! It is her food, real food. For me it is a scent, a memory of a moment in time. Now the scent will remind me of her...the tiny birds who comes after sunset to fill her belly with food from this garden.
I spent a lot of time trying to be still last night. The darker side of my humanity was exposed much too often this week. My passion, when not directed toward or for God, can be unpleasant for me and anyone who happens into my path. But I will not write about that now. But I felt so small and unworthy and could think of nothing that I could offer God that was good...so I had to offer Him my anger (not in that moment, for I was not angry, but I was frustrated...what do you do when you want to give and think you have nothing to give to Him?). I began to realize that these things are gifts too. These are gifts acceptable to Him because they are part of me, even though they are dark gifts. And I began to quiet a bit, my restlessness seemed to subside.
I started to be more intentional about my examen and I told Him how frustrated I was that we did not honor the Ascension that day. The word "ascension" was enough, for in that moment, He came to me and rocked me in His arms. That was the word He wanted from me. He patiently waited for me to get to where He wanted me to be, and then we were One for a few moments. And it was so very good.
I have always hesitated about writing so specifically about things here. Thought they should be in a book somewhere, but that was my pride talking. I wanted to be remembered for what I wrote.
What is much more important, I realize, is that you seek God and that you find Him, in your own way, on your journey...before you meet Him at your human death. Someone I visited with yesterday said to me she was aware of how much I have changed and when I told her of my plans, I could see her eyes grow wide with a bit of disbelief but they were also filled with a kind of love, knowing I was finally becoming who I was created to be. She clearly found a comfort is the odd words I place here, so I will keep writing.
No one has to believe me. It's just the things people say to me kind of slay me. So if it helps, I open my heart to you as I have already opened it to God. And when you find Him there in your heart, I pray you will be brave enough to tell someone what you found.
Listen to His Song. He wrote it just for you!
Love,
Cindy
Friday, May 14, 2010
Monday, May 10, 2010
Maybe I should give up on titles...
Oh but I love them so! I can think of great titles for books and stories. I can write amazing introductions and conclusions, but that middle part is always a challenge.
How do I tell a story so that it makes sense to someone besides me? I can you know the details? How much of my history do you have to know so that my ideas make sense? Where is there too much disclosure and where is there too little?
When I read Teresa of Avila, out loud, by the lake at Montserrat, it all makes perfect sense to me. This woman knew that the price for her union with God was, while she was on this earth, to know that she would never be a priest. In the last parts of her writings, she tells the nuns in her care something like, "do not aspire to do more than you are allowed to do. Make peace with what you have, what you can do." And oh, how I wept when I read those words.
Almost as much has those words from Jesus, "in a little while, I will be with you no longer, but I will send and Advocate, and He will remind you of all the things I told you."
I don't want Jesus to leave me. Ever. I want to hold him so close and rock him like a little baby in my arms. I want to make His pain go away. I want Him to not feel lonely. But when I am in the woods, reading the Scripture, or on the dock, reading Teresa, I know I don't get to hold on to anything...ever. The Holy Spirit is like the wind, it blows where it wills and if we are lucky, we catch the scent of Him in our nose, breathe Him into our lungs and then He flows into our blood and feeds our bodies. But I don't get to rock Him in my arms...and how I long to do that.
Even in the Pieta, when Mother Mary holds her sweet boy's lifeless body...move my child, do not be dead yet, we have so much more to say, to do, I'm just not ready to let you go. My life, my body, my blood is in you...oh that we could trade places...I don't want to let you go
I've seen it over and over again. Only in personal experience, I think if I stare hard enough, if my will was only strong enough, he would sit up again and smile at me one last time. Maybe they made a mistake, maybe he was just resting...
Death does things to us. Changes us forever. Every single one of them we encounter. They change who we are.
And often it is not until a death that we fully appreciate life. Until then, we live in a whole lot of selfishness, I think. Our desires are so different before we know death. And they are so much richer and relevant once we understand that we are mortal.
So His death, my Boy's death, changed the whole world. Sometimes when I pray, I call Him my Boy. I'm not sure why. I'll leave that to the psychologists in the group. Just sometimes, it feels right to hold Him as my child. Seems for me to just be part of the vastness in which I experience God. If you cannot deal with the contradictions, I can only offer that you pray harder and God will explain it to you as He chooses. Or not.
When I read this bit in John, I am lost in my love for Him as mother. I am never ready to let Him go. As Magdalene, it is easier. Magdalene is more practiced in letting go, but then her lessons are more about surrender, her lessons are about holding on. Mary surrendered to God the moment she said Yes. But the letting go is hard. I don't know about John. Peter, ah well, Peter's heart was broken whether its written down or not...I think Peter might have missed Jesus most of all.
But I digress. Teresa wrote that to love God as we do, and as a woman, there is a great risk and a great price. Since we are still in the world, we are bound by the world and its constructs. The world says I am a woman and I must live by the rules put in place because I am a woman. I can also say I am a white woman, not born in poverty, in south Texas in the 1950s. I am limited by time and by creation.
Play the cards you are dealt.
Don't try to swallow the whole thing at one. Take little bites.
Work with the ones God puts in front of you. Look at what you have. Don't look at what you lost. Don't think about acquiring more.
And that really is the key to earthly bliss: Give us this day our daily bread. Forgive: that means the past is the past. Let it go. Save us from trial: Don't worry about tomorrow. Live today. That is all we have.
Damn.
A consolation is only as perfect as you allow it to be...the very second you think beyond right now...it leaves. Happens every single time.
It is like Chicken Joe in "Surf's Up." (No, I am not completely insane) He's out there on his board and suddenly the wave catches him...he's not trying to catch the wave...and he is so simple-minded that he just rides it until he can't ride it anymore. Later someone says "You've won first prize." and He responds, "I did?!"
Consolation is a lot like that. You can't bring it on, you can only wait for it...and you really ought to be doing something good for God while you wait. Never let your work come before God. That way, when the wave comes, you can turn into it and ride every drop of it.
I like the wave image (there is so much energy in a wave) because it is hard to get distracted when you are in the midst of a really good thing. But you can distracted.
I know that on several times, my consolations were thwarted by a thought so simple as "oh this is wonderful!"
As soon as you add a thought to what's happening to you, the dynamics change and the mind wants control again...but the Holy Spirit doesn't want to be controlled or harnessed.
So Teresa urges her sisters to celebrate what you get and do not grieve when the world tries to take it away.
I'm still working on this. Figured I need to be writing it down.
Love, Cindy
How do I tell a story so that it makes sense to someone besides me? I can you know the details? How much of my history do you have to know so that my ideas make sense? Where is there too much disclosure and where is there too little?
When I read Teresa of Avila, out loud, by the lake at Montserrat, it all makes perfect sense to me. This woman knew that the price for her union with God was, while she was on this earth, to know that she would never be a priest. In the last parts of her writings, she tells the nuns in her care something like, "do not aspire to do more than you are allowed to do. Make peace with what you have, what you can do." And oh, how I wept when I read those words.
Almost as much has those words from Jesus, "in a little while, I will be with you no longer, but I will send and Advocate, and He will remind you of all the things I told you."
I don't want Jesus to leave me. Ever. I want to hold him so close and rock him like a little baby in my arms. I want to make His pain go away. I want Him to not feel lonely. But when I am in the woods, reading the Scripture, or on the dock, reading Teresa, I know I don't get to hold on to anything...ever. The Holy Spirit is like the wind, it blows where it wills and if we are lucky, we catch the scent of Him in our nose, breathe Him into our lungs and then He flows into our blood and feeds our bodies. But I don't get to rock Him in my arms...and how I long to do that.
Even in the Pieta, when Mother Mary holds her sweet boy's lifeless body...move my child, do not be dead yet, we have so much more to say, to do, I'm just not ready to let you go. My life, my body, my blood is in you...oh that we could trade places...I don't want to let you go
I've seen it over and over again. Only in personal experience, I think if I stare hard enough, if my will was only strong enough, he would sit up again and smile at me one last time. Maybe they made a mistake, maybe he was just resting...
Death does things to us. Changes us forever. Every single one of them we encounter. They change who we are.
And often it is not until a death that we fully appreciate life. Until then, we live in a whole lot of selfishness, I think. Our desires are so different before we know death. And they are so much richer and relevant once we understand that we are mortal.
So His death, my Boy's death, changed the whole world. Sometimes when I pray, I call Him my Boy. I'm not sure why. I'll leave that to the psychologists in the group. Just sometimes, it feels right to hold Him as my child. Seems for me to just be part of the vastness in which I experience God. If you cannot deal with the contradictions, I can only offer that you pray harder and God will explain it to you as He chooses. Or not.
When I read this bit in John, I am lost in my love for Him as mother. I am never ready to let Him go. As Magdalene, it is easier. Magdalene is more practiced in letting go, but then her lessons are more about surrender, her lessons are about holding on. Mary surrendered to God the moment she said Yes. But the letting go is hard. I don't know about John. Peter, ah well, Peter's heart was broken whether its written down or not...I think Peter might have missed Jesus most of all.
But I digress. Teresa wrote that to love God as we do, and as a woman, there is a great risk and a great price. Since we are still in the world, we are bound by the world and its constructs. The world says I am a woman and I must live by the rules put in place because I am a woman. I can also say I am a white woman, not born in poverty, in south Texas in the 1950s. I am limited by time and by creation.
Play the cards you are dealt.
Don't try to swallow the whole thing at one. Take little bites.
Work with the ones God puts in front of you. Look at what you have. Don't look at what you lost. Don't think about acquiring more.
And that really is the key to earthly bliss: Give us this day our daily bread. Forgive: that means the past is the past. Let it go. Save us from trial: Don't worry about tomorrow. Live today. That is all we have.
Damn.
A consolation is only as perfect as you allow it to be...the very second you think beyond right now...it leaves. Happens every single time.
It is like Chicken Joe in "Surf's Up." (No, I am not completely insane) He's out there on his board and suddenly the wave catches him...he's not trying to catch the wave...and he is so simple-minded that he just rides it until he can't ride it anymore. Later someone says "You've won first prize." and He responds, "I did?!"
Consolation is a lot like that. You can't bring it on, you can only wait for it...and you really ought to be doing something good for God while you wait. Never let your work come before God. That way, when the wave comes, you can turn into it and ride every drop of it.
I like the wave image (there is so much energy in a wave) because it is hard to get distracted when you are in the midst of a really good thing. But you can distracted.
I know that on several times, my consolations were thwarted by a thought so simple as "oh this is wonderful!"
As soon as you add a thought to what's happening to you, the dynamics change and the mind wants control again...but the Holy Spirit doesn't want to be controlled or harnessed.
So Teresa urges her sisters to celebrate what you get and do not grieve when the world tries to take it away.
I'm still working on this. Figured I need to be writing it down.
Love, Cindy
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Until You are Free
I only have a few minutes, but I've skipped the 7a.m. Mass this morning for the 8:15a.m. Mass. Go figure. The storm woke me at 4a.m. and I loved it. I walked outside and a huge bolt flashed across the sky. Are you mad at me God? Did I fail you? Have you been waiting long? Yes, I know I did not go out under the stars last night and tell you about my day, I was baking bread and stuff...but you ought to know that.
And of course, that is one way I pray. For me, that is part of what Teresa of Avila calls the First Dwelling Places. In here, all the noise of daily life continues to fog our brains and separate us from Him who loves us best. Teresa suggests that it is best to befriend the little critters scurrying around in our heads. Ignoring them just doesn't work. So you tell them to God...yep, this is part of the prayer: the laundry. Once they have their day in the sun, they usually let you go and you can get on with moving into the Second Dwelling Places...which is one step closer to union with Him.
But I'm not going to talk much about that now.
The point is that we have to work continuously until we are free.
We have to like everything about ourselves. I mean, we have to accept it. Stare into the mirror and say "that's good." Secrets kill us. I suppose they do in other relationships, but they really do their damage when we are trying to get closer to God.
Maybe our stuff really is bad, maybe we have some serious flaws that no one else has to deal with...but we have to bring them all to the altar and say "Here is my gift to you, Lord."
Just the way I am. Maybe its not what I want to be, maybe I'll never be what I want to be...but I have to be free enough to give it all to Him.
I had a conversation this week with a friend who is helping someone die. What a beautiful gift. First to be able to stand in the presence of someone who is daily losing any control over his body at all. To not stand in fear. To actually help and not simply ask unceasingly "What can I do for you?" To show respect by waiting for the person who is in need to ask for help...
Oh how I wish I could be more like that in everything I do!
And the, the beautiful other, who is gradually learning to let go of missing his power over his own body. I have to say it that way because like it or not, his body is shutting down. He cannot will it to work as it used to work. So he is forced to accept help...and he maintains some control by being able to ask for help.
These are miracle days for these two men...and I am the privileged soul who gets to hear part of the story.
But really, what I hear is really all about how we can be with God and each other.
God is respectful of us. He wants us to ask. And then He gives generously.
With our friends, we also must give and receive respect. We must ask. We must wait to be asked.
For me, this is very, very, very hard.
Got to leave now. The rain is falling on my skylight and sounds so wonderful
Love.
Cindy
And of course, that is one way I pray. For me, that is part of what Teresa of Avila calls the First Dwelling Places. In here, all the noise of daily life continues to fog our brains and separate us from Him who loves us best. Teresa suggests that it is best to befriend the little critters scurrying around in our heads. Ignoring them just doesn't work. So you tell them to God...yep, this is part of the prayer: the laundry. Once they have their day in the sun, they usually let you go and you can get on with moving into the Second Dwelling Places...which is one step closer to union with Him.
But I'm not going to talk much about that now.
The point is that we have to work continuously until we are free.
We have to like everything about ourselves. I mean, we have to accept it. Stare into the mirror and say "that's good." Secrets kill us. I suppose they do in other relationships, but they really do their damage when we are trying to get closer to God.
Maybe our stuff really is bad, maybe we have some serious flaws that no one else has to deal with...but we have to bring them all to the altar and say "Here is my gift to you, Lord."
Just the way I am. Maybe its not what I want to be, maybe I'll never be what I want to be...but I have to be free enough to give it all to Him.
I had a conversation this week with a friend who is helping someone die. What a beautiful gift. First to be able to stand in the presence of someone who is daily losing any control over his body at all. To not stand in fear. To actually help and not simply ask unceasingly "What can I do for you?" To show respect by waiting for the person who is in need to ask for help...
Oh how I wish I could be more like that in everything I do!
And the, the beautiful other, who is gradually learning to let go of missing his power over his own body. I have to say it that way because like it or not, his body is shutting down. He cannot will it to work as it used to work. So he is forced to accept help...and he maintains some control by being able to ask for help.
These are miracle days for these two men...and I am the privileged soul who gets to hear part of the story.
But really, what I hear is really all about how we can be with God and each other.
God is respectful of us. He wants us to ask. And then He gives generously.
With our friends, we also must give and receive respect. We must ask. We must wait to be asked.
For me, this is very, very, very hard.
Got to leave now. The rain is falling on my skylight and sounds so wonderful
Love.
Cindy
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Good Times
A friend once told me I liked to be "teacher's pet." She's right, I think, although I dislike the moniker. I always seek the best of everything that I value. When I discover excellence, I follow it doggedly. I do not relent until I have received what I thought I was looking for. Sometimes in the process, thinking that I am looking for one thing, I realize that was not what I was looking for...but in the looking, I discovered what I was really looking for.
It's kind of like that book "Blink." There is a part of our brain that immediately recognizes things and creates an internal response. It is before thought and probably primal in nature. A priest I know calls it beauty. I call it excellence. I seek it. I crave it. I assimilate it and then I look for the next thing. I do not possess it. I do not covet it. But I learn from it. I take what might be given but I never try to control it or manipulate it. You can't really learn much from someone or something you are trying to conquer.
As "Teacher's Pet," I seek the best teacher I can find and then I try to convince him or her that I am worthy of being taught. My favorite Star Wars movie is "Empire Strikes Back" and my favorite parts in the movie concern Luke and Yoda. Luke gets a vision from his first teacher who tells him to see out another teacher. Yoda doesn't think Luke is worth his time. When I find my teacher, I do not settle for the first dismissal. You will teach me, I think in my head. I will discover what you need and bring it to you and then you will teach me. You will want to teach me.
Does that sound manipulative? Maybe. But I am driven. For my goal is to grow continually closer to the Divine. That is a life-long education.
Now such behavior could be harmful if it was not deeply seated in love. Seeking the best while giving my best in return is a form of filial love. All life is encounter. So why not let each encounter be a learning experience? Actually, I wonder how each encounter can not be a learning experience.
Sometimes though, the teacher comes with no effort and simply by being who I am, the teacher takes an interest. The teacher sees potential when all I see is mud. Then he or she must create in me a desire to learn. I am less informed or observant about those encounters. I only really understand, and only in part, how I grow.
I have been rejected by teachers. And I have rejected teachers. The timing could be wrong. I may be driven by other interests. Some teachers just drive me crazy...and of course, I drive some of them crazy, too. I recall once a philosophy professor introduced me to one of his colleagues as his best student only for me to hand him my paperwork to drop his class.
But along the way, I have encountered great people. My first one was my kindergarten teacher in Catholic School. I remember how she looked and how she smelled. I desperately wanted to please her. I wanted her hugs every single day.
In high school, my goal was to get my speech coach to think I was worth her time. I thought she was amazing. From her perspective, I did not have that "killer instinct" in debate, and frankly I was not as smart as most of the kids on the team. But I persisted and worked day and night. Once I began to win trophies, she began to see I existed. We became good friends. She talked me out of getting married when I was 16. I would have done anything to get out of my house back then. She convinced me to stay in school, win more trophies and see what college might have to offer. I thank God she was part of my life. Leaving her was hard, but what I learned...what we learned together, still lies inside me, still informs me.
In college, surrounded by 'thinking' people, I was in heaven. I discovered that many of my professors were discouraged human beings. I could see they felt caught in a trap, that 'publish or perish' threat over their heads. So I knew my job immediately. Take an interest in their work. Ask the right questions. Wait for their eyes to light up and then help them remember why they came. Then they could teach me the really good stuff. They would show me the dusty books that no one bothered with. And together we'd come up with new ideas.
That is one of my gifts. Or my work. To help others see their own beauty. Their own excellence. Maybe even, to help them see themselves as God sees them.
That sounds so horribly female, doesn't it? A classic nurturer. Argh!
Seeing my own beauty, or excellence, is much harder. We need each other to see God in each other. We really can't do it alone. But it is a risk and there is always a price.
One of my professors wrote me a thank you note for a gift I gave him when I graduated. U have just reread some of his kind words to me.
"My days at Perkins would have been much poorer had not God entwined our paths. Your deep, persistent, and radiant faith has bolstered me more than you know..." How I wish I had his gift for words!
And his caritas for me has carried me through bad times more than once.
That is always my goal...to feed the hungry. And of course, I'm one of the hungry.
Yeah, I'll always strive to be "Teacher's pet." Of course, my greatest teacher is the one who I won't get to see until I leave this life behind.
Love,
Cindy
It's kind of like that book "Blink." There is a part of our brain that immediately recognizes things and creates an internal response. It is before thought and probably primal in nature. A priest I know calls it beauty. I call it excellence. I seek it. I crave it. I assimilate it and then I look for the next thing. I do not possess it. I do not covet it. But I learn from it. I take what might be given but I never try to control it or manipulate it. You can't really learn much from someone or something you are trying to conquer.
As "Teacher's Pet," I seek the best teacher I can find and then I try to convince him or her that I am worthy of being taught. My favorite Star Wars movie is "Empire Strikes Back" and my favorite parts in the movie concern Luke and Yoda. Luke gets a vision from his first teacher who tells him to see out another teacher. Yoda doesn't think Luke is worth his time. When I find my teacher, I do not settle for the first dismissal. You will teach me, I think in my head. I will discover what you need and bring it to you and then you will teach me. You will want to teach me.
Does that sound manipulative? Maybe. But I am driven. For my goal is to grow continually closer to the Divine. That is a life-long education.
Now such behavior could be harmful if it was not deeply seated in love. Seeking the best while giving my best in return is a form of filial love. All life is encounter. So why not let each encounter be a learning experience? Actually, I wonder how each encounter can not be a learning experience.
Sometimes though, the teacher comes with no effort and simply by being who I am, the teacher takes an interest. The teacher sees potential when all I see is mud. Then he or she must create in me a desire to learn. I am less informed or observant about those encounters. I only really understand, and only in part, how I grow.
I have been rejected by teachers. And I have rejected teachers. The timing could be wrong. I may be driven by other interests. Some teachers just drive me crazy...and of course, I drive some of them crazy, too. I recall once a philosophy professor introduced me to one of his colleagues as his best student only for me to hand him my paperwork to drop his class.
But along the way, I have encountered great people. My first one was my kindergarten teacher in Catholic School. I remember how she looked and how she smelled. I desperately wanted to please her. I wanted her hugs every single day.
In high school, my goal was to get my speech coach to think I was worth her time. I thought she was amazing. From her perspective, I did not have that "killer instinct" in debate, and frankly I was not as smart as most of the kids on the team. But I persisted and worked day and night. Once I began to win trophies, she began to see I existed. We became good friends. She talked me out of getting married when I was 16. I would have done anything to get out of my house back then. She convinced me to stay in school, win more trophies and see what college might have to offer. I thank God she was part of my life. Leaving her was hard, but what I learned...what we learned together, still lies inside me, still informs me.
In college, surrounded by 'thinking' people, I was in heaven. I discovered that many of my professors were discouraged human beings. I could see they felt caught in a trap, that 'publish or perish' threat over their heads. So I knew my job immediately. Take an interest in their work. Ask the right questions. Wait for their eyes to light up and then help them remember why they came. Then they could teach me the really good stuff. They would show me the dusty books that no one bothered with. And together we'd come up with new ideas.
That is one of my gifts. Or my work. To help others see their own beauty. Their own excellence. Maybe even, to help them see themselves as God sees them.
That sounds so horribly female, doesn't it? A classic nurturer. Argh!
Seeing my own beauty, or excellence, is much harder. We need each other to see God in each other. We really can't do it alone. But it is a risk and there is always a price.
One of my professors wrote me a thank you note for a gift I gave him when I graduated. U have just reread some of his kind words to me.
"My days at Perkins would have been much poorer had not God entwined our paths. Your deep, persistent, and radiant faith has bolstered me more than you know..." How I wish I had his gift for words!
And his caritas for me has carried me through bad times more than once.
That is always my goal...to feed the hungry. And of course, I'm one of the hungry.
Yeah, I'll always strive to be "Teacher's pet." Of course, my greatest teacher is the one who I won't get to see until I leave this life behind.
Love,
Cindy
Friday, May 7, 2010
River Rat
I haven't read much of the mystics lately. I seem to only read my breviary these days, which contains so much more than prayers. I've also been trying to read a book on Liturgy, although I have little deliberate time for it. Today I intended to read more, but twice today, God had other plans for me. I have encountered much of the divine in human form this week, in encounters with new people and with long established friends.
But last night, I realized even more the unusual blessings of my life...how fortunate I am to have them, and how even more fortunate I am to be able to recognize them. I listened to my companions in my class last night and I was struck by the truth that they were still deeply connected to the world. Or perhaps worldly things. I am not mentioning that as any kind of criticism, it's just that, for their worlds to function, they are still tired to that which is transitory.
I, on the other hand, have been given the privilege to remove myself from 'worldly things.' I have deliberately chosen what will be in my life and what will not. And I do so at my own risk.
I have not worked at a paying job in about two years, but I have been working. I am living out my vocation because I can. I watch the birds and I sing to them because I can. I write because I can. I reach out to anyone and everyone, not fearing rejection any longer because I can....because nothing is me any more. Or I can say at least that much of me is gone now...the parts of me that were not useful to the work I believe I am supposed to do.
There has been violence in the world since I have up TV in February. There are political scandals. I don't watch the news. More delightfully, I don't watch anyone's opinions about the news...and I try not to listen to opinions about the news, including politics, in private conversations.
If I hear the news, it is while I am in a hospital room before we pray. Or if someone needs to vent about what they saw, then I will listen...but it is s good to be ignorant, because I really don't have an opinion about what they are telling me. I can speak to an issue spiritually, but since I have not followed the story, I can't make a judgment on any events. I don't really want to anyway. The amount of stress I avoid by remaining ignorant is wonderful.
Now that is not to say that I am not involved. I am deeply involved with the person right in front of me.
I have observed my younger priest with great care. One of his gifts is his ability to be completely present for the person he is speaking with. Or at the very least, he gives the impression that he is only speaking to one person at a time. I found this behavior fascinating because I am often like a spy on a mission, I observe the entire room. I observe how people in the room respond to each other. I watch for potential problems, and potential praises. I see what seems to work and what doesn't. So this idea of being completely mindful of the person directly in front of me...when so much else is going on...is a skill that I am only beginning to learn. My almost ADD personality has to work very hard to stay still and focused.
But doing it, I am discovering great peace. And joy. My competitive nature has to be tamed to do this kind of work. Hard as it is, I am loving the learning of it. It is as if a whole new world is opening for me. By letting go of all the unnecessary stimulation that I could accept, I open myself only to just a little...that which God places before me in this one moment. And what an honor it is to be there.
I've always considered myself a kind of River Rat. I like the notion of being a scavenger, sleeping when I'm tired, wherever the ground is reasonably smooth. I like the idea of water that is always moving, always on its way to someplace else. I like jumping in without any plans, staying as long as I wish, and jumping out in a new place, shaking vigorously the excess wet away and then sniffing around to new friends and adventures.
Part of that is helpful to my work. I try to expect nothing from anyone. Hence almost everything is a gift. What I find is that, the more I lose my "demand desire," the more people want to be with me. The more they want to tell me, share with me, experience with me.
I am so very aware of these kinds of blessings now that I am also ultra-sensitive to recognizing the times when I am being demanding. Right now, it seems my demanding behavior is a choice. I see a situation and I demand a certain kind of response. I own the fact that that kind of power still resides in me. The difference seems to be that now, I am almost entirely demanding for/of only 'useful' things. Like respect. I still struggle with demanding respect from the people I encounter. Part of me still thinks I have a right to be treated respectfully, but as I pray about it, I begin to understand that the word means different things to different people. My opinion of what it means is only one of many. If someone is disrespectful to me and I feel my pride being hurt, I have to ask myself "why does it matter to me?" To be completely surrendered to God, I am thinking I really should not let such things control me. Because that is what happens. I get caught up in the should/oughts and I completely miss the human encounter that might have happened.
On the other side of the coin is though I should not care about how others treat me, I need to be completely respectful on the people I meet...even if I think they are undeserving...and oddly, I see that judgment of 'deserving/undeserving' as a sin also...something else to release. I need to treat everyone well. I need to be certain that, if my heart is in the room with someone, it better be a loving heart.
So you can see that there is no fairness about these ideas at all.
Not watching TV helps a lot. Most of what is out there is opinion. Very little is fact and even less is useful to daily living.
Humble thyself in he sight of the Lord.
Let me assure you that I have not mastered these skills. But I am working on them. And the more I learn, the more different I become. The less I fit in.
But oddly, I don't care. In my heart, I seem to believe what I am trying to do is right. Very hard, but right.
I will have to think more about it. These aren't new ideas, I'd say that they were all over Thomas a Kempis' writings and many other great spiritual writers...but I'm trying to explain them in my language...your job will be to explain them in your language. So you can understand and decide if you want to do it too.
Love,
Cindy
But last night, I realized even more the unusual blessings of my life...how fortunate I am to have them, and how even more fortunate I am to be able to recognize them. I listened to my companions in my class last night and I was struck by the truth that they were still deeply connected to the world. Or perhaps worldly things. I am not mentioning that as any kind of criticism, it's just that, for their worlds to function, they are still tired to that which is transitory.
I, on the other hand, have been given the privilege to remove myself from 'worldly things.' I have deliberately chosen what will be in my life and what will not. And I do so at my own risk.
I have not worked at a paying job in about two years, but I have been working. I am living out my vocation because I can. I watch the birds and I sing to them because I can. I write because I can. I reach out to anyone and everyone, not fearing rejection any longer because I can....because nothing is me any more. Or I can say at least that much of me is gone now...the parts of me that were not useful to the work I believe I am supposed to do.
There has been violence in the world since I have up TV in February. There are political scandals. I don't watch the news. More delightfully, I don't watch anyone's opinions about the news...and I try not to listen to opinions about the news, including politics, in private conversations.
If I hear the news, it is while I am in a hospital room before we pray. Or if someone needs to vent about what they saw, then I will listen...but it is s good to be ignorant, because I really don't have an opinion about what they are telling me. I can speak to an issue spiritually, but since I have not followed the story, I can't make a judgment on any events. I don't really want to anyway. The amount of stress I avoid by remaining ignorant is wonderful.
Now that is not to say that I am not involved. I am deeply involved with the person right in front of me.
I have observed my younger priest with great care. One of his gifts is his ability to be completely present for the person he is speaking with. Or at the very least, he gives the impression that he is only speaking to one person at a time. I found this behavior fascinating because I am often like a spy on a mission, I observe the entire room. I observe how people in the room respond to each other. I watch for potential problems, and potential praises. I see what seems to work and what doesn't. So this idea of being completely mindful of the person directly in front of me...when so much else is going on...is a skill that I am only beginning to learn. My almost ADD personality has to work very hard to stay still and focused.
But doing it, I am discovering great peace. And joy. My competitive nature has to be tamed to do this kind of work. Hard as it is, I am loving the learning of it. It is as if a whole new world is opening for me. By letting go of all the unnecessary stimulation that I could accept, I open myself only to just a little...that which God places before me in this one moment. And what an honor it is to be there.
I've always considered myself a kind of River Rat. I like the notion of being a scavenger, sleeping when I'm tired, wherever the ground is reasonably smooth. I like the idea of water that is always moving, always on its way to someplace else. I like jumping in without any plans, staying as long as I wish, and jumping out in a new place, shaking vigorously the excess wet away and then sniffing around to new friends and adventures.
Part of that is helpful to my work. I try to expect nothing from anyone. Hence almost everything is a gift. What I find is that, the more I lose my "demand desire," the more people want to be with me. The more they want to tell me, share with me, experience with me.
I am so very aware of these kinds of blessings now that I am also ultra-sensitive to recognizing the times when I am being demanding. Right now, it seems my demanding behavior is a choice. I see a situation and I demand a certain kind of response. I own the fact that that kind of power still resides in me. The difference seems to be that now, I am almost entirely demanding for/of only 'useful' things. Like respect. I still struggle with demanding respect from the people I encounter. Part of me still thinks I have a right to be treated respectfully, but as I pray about it, I begin to understand that the word means different things to different people. My opinion of what it means is only one of many. If someone is disrespectful to me and I feel my pride being hurt, I have to ask myself "why does it matter to me?" To be completely surrendered to God, I am thinking I really should not let such things control me. Because that is what happens. I get caught up in the should/oughts and I completely miss the human encounter that might have happened.
On the other side of the coin is though I should not care about how others treat me, I need to be completely respectful on the people I meet...even if I think they are undeserving...and oddly, I see that judgment of 'deserving/undeserving' as a sin also...something else to release. I need to treat everyone well. I need to be certain that, if my heart is in the room with someone, it better be a loving heart.
So you can see that there is no fairness about these ideas at all.
Not watching TV helps a lot. Most of what is out there is opinion. Very little is fact and even less is useful to daily living.
Humble thyself in he sight of the Lord.
Let me assure you that I have not mastered these skills. But I am working on them. And the more I learn, the more different I become. The less I fit in.
But oddly, I don't care. In my heart, I seem to believe what I am trying to do is right. Very hard, but right.
I will have to think more about it. These aren't new ideas, I'd say that they were all over Thomas a Kempis' writings and many other great spiritual writers...but I'm trying to explain them in my language...your job will be to explain them in your language. So you can understand and decide if you want to do it too.
Love,
Cindy
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Body and Soul
I was heading out of the church parking lot this morning, knowing in the back of my head I should go to the columbarium to pray. I drove near the elementary school and saw the police car waiting for people not paying attention to the school zone. Thought I was off the hook. Then I realized I left my coffee back in the church.
So I think, I'm supposed to go pray. Last night's prayers were scattered. I needed to make up for them. Or rather, I'm used to finally arriving at some kind of peace or conclusion in prayer. I hate it when God leaves me hanging.
I am such a child with God. Whatever He gives me, whenever He gives me, I still have the habit of looking around behind the gift and thinking, "Is there more?" In one way, that is good. I don't want to leave a drop of God behind. I don't want to miss out on the whole, entire, beautiful gift. On the other hand, looking around could imply that I am not grateful for what is in front of me. Or it could mean I'm greedy.
Am I over-thinking my prayers again?
A dear friend told me to watch a show on EWTN on Catherine of Sienna. She is a kind of muse for me. I have a female muse, and I think at least for a little while longer, I have a male muse. Actually the muse comes in many forms. I can be with someone and suddenly I feel my soul growing very still inside me. That's when I know I am encountering the divine. The waters around me suddenly stop splashing against my boat, the air gets thick...and then I see Him, I don't see the person before me any more. They are more like shadows, reflecting the God resides in them.
She tells me to watch this show on Catherine. Pay attention to it Cindy. So I figure out how to watch it on my iPhone. And the fire inside me burns a bit brighter. How does she know, Lord?
I think about all the women who have been born who may have inside them the call to "Holy Orders" and because they are born woman, they either ignore the gift or try to make it work in some other way. Or they die...and that is a shame. Wasting God's precious seeds because the puzzle pieces don't fit.
Makes me think about the movie "Contact." Astronomer Ellie was given all the pieces to the puzzle, but it did not make sense...only parts of the puzzle seemed to work together. Make one part 'fit' and then there's a loose end. Make the other parts fit, and you have a different loose end. So Hayden tells her, "Oh but all the pieces fit. You just have to think like a Vegan[planet near star Vega]." And he puts it together by not thinking linearly.
And that is a truth I have preached on before. Life is not linear. Yes, we can identify cause and effect. But nothing is just cause and effect.
Sometimes I get frustrated with the Catholic Church because it seems to remain so two-dimensional. It seems at times it only has one plane of understanding. It sees in length and width but not depth. Or it can see length and width and depth, but it forgets about time.
Let me be perfectly clear here, I am not claiming any superior knowledge here. I am simply observing and thinking out loud. But I believe in my heart, we are more than body. We are more than soul. We are body and soul.
And the Church does a fair job looking at this issue. But its thoughts are not the final thoughts. God is still writing the story. (Have I just committed heresy?)
The epistle reading today was Paul and Barnabas meeting with the elders and presbyters about the issue of circumcision. No, you didn't have to be circumcised to become a Christian. You don't have to become a Jew first. That's good.
But back then, even Paul had women in the positions of leadership within the early church. That eventually went away. I have to ask why. Was it that we were too hormonal to be steadfast leaders? The argument over circumcision was won because it was prudent to the faith to remove that obstacle. But women, whom Jesus honored more than any man in history has ever done, were disposable (the issue of women leaders) because the world would not receive them even if Jesus did.
How much of our beautiful faith has been slowed or lost because of this choice?
So the time has dawned again and then question arises. Why? How does it serve to take these gifted women and put them in a cage...metaphorical as it is?
But I suddenly realize, as I weep and struggle with these ideas...that I am thinking linearly again. I cannot see as God sees. What He wills for us His creation cannot be thwarted by any human powers, male or female. He calls us and puts us to work, if we remain in prayer and steadfast to our complete and total surrender to Him.
And the waters around me calm again. Only God is in charge. On Him alone will I rely. In Him only will I trust.
So I watch the show on Catherine of Sienna. OR most of it. I can feel her in my life. I can feel her life and my life sharing a space in that timeless heaven space with God. And I think, I am in touch with the divine.
She stood up to the Pope. She preached. She was illiterate. She changed lives. She died at 33. Had she been a learned woman, no one might have listened to her. They might have confused grace for cleverness. They might have thought she had a personal agenda. But by being exactly who she was in the time she lived, she changed the world.
And since I was old enough to think, I have wanted to change the world. Too early on, I saw so much suffering. We are such fools, feeding our miseries and demanding to be right, wanting our own form of justice...punishing those who cross us directly or passively, exacting vengeance over such minor things...it has to stop. That's what I decided maybe at age 6. I just know what I saw was wrong and it needed righting.
But I see this bit on Catherine and I think, I have done so little for you God. I have done so little. I have wasted so much time weeping over my own foolish life when there were people to feed and hearts to mend. How can I ever make it up to Him who loved me anyway?
But I am thinking linearly again. I go to the columbarium, I think, to pray. A woman follows me in. I sigh. But not too much. I know her. I like her. I love her.
Show me God, what you want me to know.
And He does.
Got a really nice card from someone in RCIA last night. He wrote words I wanted to hear. He wrote from his heart. The truth always sounds good eventually.
The woman I met yesterday. She gets Meals on Wheels everyday. I think, another ministry I should be doing. She wants to receive Holy Communion every day. I tell her I can come once a week (she receives on Sundays) if she would like. I tell I usually do that on Mondays. She tells me she would like Communion on Wednesdays...before 11 a.m. I smile. She's 90. She was probably 30 years old before she didn't have to use the "coloreds only" bathrooms in public buildings. She can have Communion whenever she wants it...if I am going to serve her.
The columbarium. We women talk. We are so different. And we are so alike. And I feel spiritually blessed in her presence. She tells me that one of her children works with deeply traumatized women in a psych hospital. (I am being vague on purpose) The intake includes hundreds of questions about their lives. One question is missing from the forms:
Did you ever have an abortion?
And I am stunned that the psychiatrists could be so stupid. As a woman, our ability to hold new life within us is probably the most important part of being a woman...in fact, it is why we needed male and female. The most important thing that defines us (and if you disagree, so be it)is ignored when trying to understand a woman's trauma.
So I've gone full circle. Does my having a womb disqualify me from being a healer in God's Church on earth? I'm thinking no.
All of this because I left my coffee cup in the church.
I just have to stop thinking in a line. :-)
Love, Cindy
So I think, I'm supposed to go pray. Last night's prayers were scattered. I needed to make up for them. Or rather, I'm used to finally arriving at some kind of peace or conclusion in prayer. I hate it when God leaves me hanging.
I am such a child with God. Whatever He gives me, whenever He gives me, I still have the habit of looking around behind the gift and thinking, "Is there more?" In one way, that is good. I don't want to leave a drop of God behind. I don't want to miss out on the whole, entire, beautiful gift. On the other hand, looking around could imply that I am not grateful for what is in front of me. Or it could mean I'm greedy.
Am I over-thinking my prayers again?
A dear friend told me to watch a show on EWTN on Catherine of Sienna. She is a kind of muse for me. I have a female muse, and I think at least for a little while longer, I have a male muse. Actually the muse comes in many forms. I can be with someone and suddenly I feel my soul growing very still inside me. That's when I know I am encountering the divine. The waters around me suddenly stop splashing against my boat, the air gets thick...and then I see Him, I don't see the person before me any more. They are more like shadows, reflecting the God resides in them.
She tells me to watch this show on Catherine. Pay attention to it Cindy. So I figure out how to watch it on my iPhone. And the fire inside me burns a bit brighter. How does she know, Lord?
I think about all the women who have been born who may have inside them the call to "Holy Orders" and because they are born woman, they either ignore the gift or try to make it work in some other way. Or they die...and that is a shame. Wasting God's precious seeds because the puzzle pieces don't fit.
Makes me think about the movie "Contact." Astronomer Ellie was given all the pieces to the puzzle, but it did not make sense...only parts of the puzzle seemed to work together. Make one part 'fit' and then there's a loose end. Make the other parts fit, and you have a different loose end. So Hayden tells her, "Oh but all the pieces fit. You just have to think like a Vegan[planet near star Vega]." And he puts it together by not thinking linearly.
And that is a truth I have preached on before. Life is not linear. Yes, we can identify cause and effect. But nothing is just cause and effect.
Sometimes I get frustrated with the Catholic Church because it seems to remain so two-dimensional. It seems at times it only has one plane of understanding. It sees in length and width but not depth. Or it can see length and width and depth, but it forgets about time.
Let me be perfectly clear here, I am not claiming any superior knowledge here. I am simply observing and thinking out loud. But I believe in my heart, we are more than body. We are more than soul. We are body and soul.
And the Church does a fair job looking at this issue. But its thoughts are not the final thoughts. God is still writing the story. (Have I just committed heresy?)
The epistle reading today was Paul and Barnabas meeting with the elders and presbyters about the issue of circumcision. No, you didn't have to be circumcised to become a Christian. You don't have to become a Jew first. That's good.
But back then, even Paul had women in the positions of leadership within the early church. That eventually went away. I have to ask why. Was it that we were too hormonal to be steadfast leaders? The argument over circumcision was won because it was prudent to the faith to remove that obstacle. But women, whom Jesus honored more than any man in history has ever done, were disposable (the issue of women leaders) because the world would not receive them even if Jesus did.
How much of our beautiful faith has been slowed or lost because of this choice?
So the time has dawned again and then question arises. Why? How does it serve to take these gifted women and put them in a cage...metaphorical as it is?
But I suddenly realize, as I weep and struggle with these ideas...that I am thinking linearly again. I cannot see as God sees. What He wills for us His creation cannot be thwarted by any human powers, male or female. He calls us and puts us to work, if we remain in prayer and steadfast to our complete and total surrender to Him.
And the waters around me calm again. Only God is in charge. On Him alone will I rely. In Him only will I trust.
So I watch the show on Catherine of Sienna. OR most of it. I can feel her in my life. I can feel her life and my life sharing a space in that timeless heaven space with God. And I think, I am in touch with the divine.
She stood up to the Pope. She preached. She was illiterate. She changed lives. She died at 33. Had she been a learned woman, no one might have listened to her. They might have confused grace for cleverness. They might have thought she had a personal agenda. But by being exactly who she was in the time she lived, she changed the world.
And since I was old enough to think, I have wanted to change the world. Too early on, I saw so much suffering. We are such fools, feeding our miseries and demanding to be right, wanting our own form of justice...punishing those who cross us directly or passively, exacting vengeance over such minor things...it has to stop. That's what I decided maybe at age 6. I just know what I saw was wrong and it needed righting.
But I see this bit on Catherine and I think, I have done so little for you God. I have done so little. I have wasted so much time weeping over my own foolish life when there were people to feed and hearts to mend. How can I ever make it up to Him who loved me anyway?
But I am thinking linearly again. I go to the columbarium, I think, to pray. A woman follows me in. I sigh. But not too much. I know her. I like her. I love her.
Show me God, what you want me to know.
And He does.
Got a really nice card from someone in RCIA last night. He wrote words I wanted to hear. He wrote from his heart. The truth always sounds good eventually.
The woman I met yesterday. She gets Meals on Wheels everyday. I think, another ministry I should be doing. She wants to receive Holy Communion every day. I tell her I can come once a week (she receives on Sundays) if she would like. I tell I usually do that on Mondays. She tells me she would like Communion on Wednesdays...before 11 a.m. I smile. She's 90. She was probably 30 years old before she didn't have to use the "coloreds only" bathrooms in public buildings. She can have Communion whenever she wants it...if I am going to serve her.
The columbarium. We women talk. We are so different. And we are so alike. And I feel spiritually blessed in her presence. She tells me that one of her children works with deeply traumatized women in a psych hospital. (I am being vague on purpose) The intake includes hundreds of questions about their lives. One question is missing from the forms:
Did you ever have an abortion?
And I am stunned that the psychiatrists could be so stupid. As a woman, our ability to hold new life within us is probably the most important part of being a woman...in fact, it is why we needed male and female. The most important thing that defines us (and if you disagree, so be it)is ignored when trying to understand a woman's trauma.
So I've gone full circle. Does my having a womb disqualify me from being a healer in God's Church on earth? I'm thinking no.
All of this because I left my coffee cup in the church.
I just have to stop thinking in a line. :-)
Love, Cindy
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Where's the fire?
Last night I read the concluding chapters to the Book of Revelation aloud in the sanctuary during a thunderstorm. I love thunderstorms. I love the clash of hot and cold air and all the physics that is associated with them. I gave my ex-husband a large photo of a thunderstorm at night in the Arizona desert. In it you saw the multiple shades of dark blue, lightning and cacti anchored in the desert sand. I thought it would remind him of me...as I was often a person who is very dramatic and when crossed, has the lightning and thorns to rival any summer desert storm.
Good thing I am not like that anymore...
Thomas A Kempis says passion is a handicap. One of my priests tells me that falling 'in love' with God might be a problem, because if you fall in love, you most likely will fall out of love someday.
True...perhaps. Falling in love is a disease. The writer Gabriel Marquez wrote of falling in love in "Love in the Time of Cholera" that one should "enjoy the disease while you have it." It is an irrational thing that brings people together. It makes no sense, it sees only what is wants to see...it is blind...and is happy to suffer.
It gets things started. But after the disease, after the antibodies heal you from that glorious irrational, you get to choose to stay or leave. The ride was a wild one, but as the priest says, real love is more than drama.
(Ah, but I think God loves drama. Part of that free will thing, you know. Yes, the ending is known...but the story...ah the story...is part of the joy at the end.)
But I am inclined, as I always am, to believe that things are never black and white. The storm of events that got me to fall "in love" with God have quieted some, but I would argue that the passion is always there. It is not a handicap, but there is a great price to be with God in this way.
There are deserts, and there are storms. There are mountaintop ecstasies and pits of despair. There is euphoria and there is dryness so dry that it hurts. But I wouldn't trade it for a level-headed choice of loving God because...well...its the right thing to do.
Let me fight with Him, let me argue with Him, let me try to knock Him to the ground...and let me lose to Him. Let me weep in my own willfulness, let me grieve my temper, but let me be who I am with Him! Let me be completely real for Him...and surprisingly enough...He becomes completely real for me.
Some days He is my Father. Some days He is my Son. Some days He is my Brother. Some days He is my Husband. And being who I am, I'll fight and argue with Him in every form...and I will love Him and defend Him with all of my being and with my very last breath.
We are sometimes that old married couple that I often visit in the nursing home. She is still giving her husband hell over every little thing, but watching them, there is no doubt in my mind of the deep love that they share.
Is it right to treat God that way? Should I stay at a distance, thinking that I'll only show Him the nice Cindy? Who am I kidding here? Does God really fall for manipulation? Do we think for a minute that He doesn't know the last thought in our heads? Do we think we can hide our envy or lust or laziness from Him?
Sigh...so I just go there, to Him, just as I am. A prickly cactus, a thunderstorm, a irritated porcupine...and so very often also as a frightened little girl who simply doesn't want to be alone at night. And He is there for the long haul. He never lets go, He never gives up. He hangs on when I am shaking in terror that maybe He is disappointed in what I did that day, or if I tried too hard, or if I thought for a minute that I was in control...
He's just there. Solid. Firm. Steadfast. Sure. Loving me just as I am.
Tell me, now, how can I not stay "in love" with Him?! From the time I was six years old, I knew I was His and He was mine. The child that dragged the ladder into the yard to get closer is the one today who writes Him letters with her tears...and the passion has not stopped for 50 years. I suspect it will continue for another 50, if I should live that long...
For me it was not just a coincidence that the thunder and lightning of last night coincided with my reading of certain passages from Revelation. The movement from light to dark during the 7:30 p.m. Mass on Sunday a week ago was not a coincidence. It was a gift. Realizing today yet another truth about the rings I wear...
or is it a truth? Who knows? I wear one ring on my right hand, rose gold with diamonds and rubies. Little ones. White and red, like the Divine Mercy vision of St Faustina. On my left hand, I wear a dome ring with ten diamonds. A larger diamond in the center with nine little diamonds 'floating' around it. That makes me think of the solar system, or the universe. It is on my wedding finger. On the finger next to it is my silver rosary ring that I had made for me when I entered seminary. Silver is a sign of redemption. It was/is my symbol for the Catholic Church.
So in my left hand, I am holding the cosmos(creation)and the Church. In my right hand is Divine Mercy. Sometimes at Mass, when I bow my head to pray, and my hands are folded, in the facets of the stones, I clearly see the crucifix behind the altar and sometimes I see the altar. And when I do, it shakes me to my bones.
Yeah, I like drama.
Think of it, in our hands, we hold the world...we hold creation. We hold the Church and we hold Mercy. We look into what we hold and there we see the Mass, never ending, unceasing...telling us we have within us the ability to make this world work...if we put Him first, if we put His love first.
That happened this morning in Mass.
Yeah, I like drama.
Love, Cindy
Good thing I am not like that anymore...
Thomas A Kempis says passion is a handicap. One of my priests tells me that falling 'in love' with God might be a problem, because if you fall in love, you most likely will fall out of love someday.
True...perhaps. Falling in love is a disease. The writer Gabriel Marquez wrote of falling in love in "Love in the Time of Cholera" that one should "enjoy the disease while you have it." It is an irrational thing that brings people together. It makes no sense, it sees only what is wants to see...it is blind...and is happy to suffer.
It gets things started. But after the disease, after the antibodies heal you from that glorious irrational, you get to choose to stay or leave. The ride was a wild one, but as the priest says, real love is more than drama.
(Ah, but I think God loves drama. Part of that free will thing, you know. Yes, the ending is known...but the story...ah the story...is part of the joy at the end.)
But I am inclined, as I always am, to believe that things are never black and white. The storm of events that got me to fall "in love" with God have quieted some, but I would argue that the passion is always there. It is not a handicap, but there is a great price to be with God in this way.
There are deserts, and there are storms. There are mountaintop ecstasies and pits of despair. There is euphoria and there is dryness so dry that it hurts. But I wouldn't trade it for a level-headed choice of loving God because...well...its the right thing to do.
Let me fight with Him, let me argue with Him, let me try to knock Him to the ground...and let me lose to Him. Let me weep in my own willfulness, let me grieve my temper, but let me be who I am with Him! Let me be completely real for Him...and surprisingly enough...He becomes completely real for me.
Some days He is my Father. Some days He is my Son. Some days He is my Brother. Some days He is my Husband. And being who I am, I'll fight and argue with Him in every form...and I will love Him and defend Him with all of my being and with my very last breath.
We are sometimes that old married couple that I often visit in the nursing home. She is still giving her husband hell over every little thing, but watching them, there is no doubt in my mind of the deep love that they share.
Is it right to treat God that way? Should I stay at a distance, thinking that I'll only show Him the nice Cindy? Who am I kidding here? Does God really fall for manipulation? Do we think for a minute that He doesn't know the last thought in our heads? Do we think we can hide our envy or lust or laziness from Him?
Sigh...so I just go there, to Him, just as I am. A prickly cactus, a thunderstorm, a irritated porcupine...and so very often also as a frightened little girl who simply doesn't want to be alone at night. And He is there for the long haul. He never lets go, He never gives up. He hangs on when I am shaking in terror that maybe He is disappointed in what I did that day, or if I tried too hard, or if I thought for a minute that I was in control...
He's just there. Solid. Firm. Steadfast. Sure. Loving me just as I am.
Tell me, now, how can I not stay "in love" with Him?! From the time I was six years old, I knew I was His and He was mine. The child that dragged the ladder into the yard to get closer is the one today who writes Him letters with her tears...and the passion has not stopped for 50 years. I suspect it will continue for another 50, if I should live that long...
For me it was not just a coincidence that the thunder and lightning of last night coincided with my reading of certain passages from Revelation. The movement from light to dark during the 7:30 p.m. Mass on Sunday a week ago was not a coincidence. It was a gift. Realizing today yet another truth about the rings I wear...
or is it a truth? Who knows? I wear one ring on my right hand, rose gold with diamonds and rubies. Little ones. White and red, like the Divine Mercy vision of St Faustina. On my left hand, I wear a dome ring with ten diamonds. A larger diamond in the center with nine little diamonds 'floating' around it. That makes me think of the solar system, or the universe. It is on my wedding finger. On the finger next to it is my silver rosary ring that I had made for me when I entered seminary. Silver is a sign of redemption. It was/is my symbol for the Catholic Church.
So in my left hand, I am holding the cosmos(creation)and the Church. In my right hand is Divine Mercy. Sometimes at Mass, when I bow my head to pray, and my hands are folded, in the facets of the stones, I clearly see the crucifix behind the altar and sometimes I see the altar. And when I do, it shakes me to my bones.
Yeah, I like drama.
Think of it, in our hands, we hold the world...we hold creation. We hold the Church and we hold Mercy. We look into what we hold and there we see the Mass, never ending, unceasing...telling us we have within us the ability to make this world work...if we put Him first, if we put His love first.
That happened this morning in Mass.
Yeah, I like drama.
Love, Cindy
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