Fleetwood Mac CD..."Over my Head"
Want to write about all that happened last night, but I've signed a paper for Children's Hospital to not write about it. I mean, I don't know what I can write, so I better not write.
But I got the tour. Five ICUs? I think that is right. Met a doctor or two. Met a lot of nurses...they all had beautiful teeth, I thought...such nice smiles. Watched one of them cry while bad news was delivered. But I can't write about that. Gave away my Mother Teresa medal. Someone needed it more.
ER was packed and I maneuvered through a sea of people and remembered ten years ago, when I stood by a little boy bleeding from his head and I thought how much I had changed from the girl who fainted in biology class in high school. And look at me now. Nearly a nun...or something anyway...
And it seems people are so attracted to that, to me. They look at me as if I am someone important, but I am not important at all...only He is important. I'm just a messenger. But people see something when they see me. I've been trying to figure it out: why and how I do what I do.
And really, it is not me at all, that they see, or hear, or touch...I'm just a shell or a shadow...but the Light is there. I feel it, I crave it, I breathe through it and that is what people see. Not me. Him.
It is absolutely insane to live this way. Yet I love it. And it is all so flawed and broken at the same time. I mean, we can't really leave our humanity behind. We carry it along, only it is not in charge anymore.
I have to write another talk for an ACTS retreat. I want to tell you about it here, but it has to stay secret for now. My "new" spiritual director, Fr. Joe, observed that I talk to a lot of priests...yeah, well maybe...but they are my brothers...everyone of them...and I need their protection because the world is not always nice and I am not always smart, I need them. They are family. He suggests that I just talk with God for a while.
He's asking an extrovert not to talk...ha! And when I talk just to God, well, things happen. I still need someone around to keep me grounded. Someone to grab my cloak and keep me from wandering too far off. I think I have found that person to keep me on the ground, but I'm not sure yet. I wonder how far I might reach into heaven, if I can trust this person as my anchor?
There is much more to write, but I'm not ready. It's time to get rid of the crystal and china and silver. Haven't used them in years. Don't really need them...and the thousands of books scattered throughout the house.
I'm over my head in my love for God...I give my life to Him...freely. Today. 7:17 a.m. Central Time. November 13, 2010.
Love, Cindy
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Friday, November 12, 2010
Stand by me
The rain just came back, I first heard it on the skylight. I was really hoping that my car might dry out before I had to leave again...I left the roof open during noon Mass today. I told Fr John after Mass that when I first got married, there was a lot of rain in the middle of the night. My new husband's introduction to married life was to routinely go out into the rain in the middle of the might to roll up the window of my car.
Wives are so much work...and so much worth it. Right?
What does it really mean to be married? I thought of many cute paths to take here, the ways perhaps many young people view marriage, which is why they "play" at it so much...but I think it really comes down to three little words:
Stand by me.
A real relationship consists of being there, all the time, every time, for better or worse, mistakes, warts, confusion, rapture, suffering, success, births and deaths and colds and cancers, when the chiseled figure is not so chiseled, when he still sees you as a size 10 even though you left that number behind years ago.
It is simply and continuously:
Stand by me.
Take me as I am, not for what I was or what I might become, but as I am, here and now.
That really ought to be part of the marriage vows.
Love this person. Today and always. Bad breath and indigestion. Hair turning gray and in funny places. Babies healthy and babies not so healthy. When I'm learning and growing and when I am stagnant and stale. When I clever and when I am ignorant. When my socks match and when I wear the t-shirt with the holes. When the world adores me and when it walks away.
Stand by me.
Can't seem to think about much of anything else.
Thinking about rain in the middle of the night and someone who once loved me enough to roll up my windows...
It has been an interesting week...
Love, Cindy
Wives are so much work...and so much worth it. Right?
What does it really mean to be married? I thought of many cute paths to take here, the ways perhaps many young people view marriage, which is why they "play" at it so much...but I think it really comes down to three little words:
Stand by me.
A real relationship consists of being there, all the time, every time, for better or worse, mistakes, warts, confusion, rapture, suffering, success, births and deaths and colds and cancers, when the chiseled figure is not so chiseled, when he still sees you as a size 10 even though you left that number behind years ago.
It is simply and continuously:
Stand by me.
Take me as I am, not for what I was or what I might become, but as I am, here and now.
That really ought to be part of the marriage vows.
Love this person. Today and always. Bad breath and indigestion. Hair turning gray and in funny places. Babies healthy and babies not so healthy. When I'm learning and growing and when I am stagnant and stale. When I clever and when I am ignorant. When my socks match and when I wear the t-shirt with the holes. When the world adores me and when it walks away.
Stand by me.
Can't seem to think about much of anything else.
Thinking about rain in the middle of the night and someone who once loved me enough to roll up my windows...
It has been an interesting week...
Love, Cindy
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Friends are there...
Within that last 24 hours, twice have I tried to sum up my 53 years of living, in about an hour's time. What can I say? I drove one to tears and the other to a cigarette. I recall, perhaps ten years ago, I shared a moment of my life and watched a stranger, an older man, cry. I decided to not share stories much after that.
Then some years passed by and I began to understand how telling stories is often a path to healing and wholeness.
It's the point of the gospel, I think, to bear witness to the tradition of birth, challenge, confusion, understanding, relationships won and lost, and the ultimate triumph of God.
Right now, I feel like I am sitting on a raft in a gently rocking ocean. I feel the sun, hear the birds, occasionally I can hear a fish jump and I hear the wind against my ears. The sun is both hot and wonderful and when I wonder why I would have allowed myself to go out on that raft in that ocean without a hat, your hand reaches over and shadows my eyes...and I remember I did not go out into the ocean alone. You are with me, hiding me under the shadow of your wings...
I looked up and I tell God, "Make me a priest!" and He said to me, "You are a priest." And then I said, "Perhaps that is not what I wanted after all." And He said, "I thought you might say that, but you are still a priest."
Everything I have asked God for, I have received. Everything. My life is hardly my own anymore...and I have never loved it more. Each day is better than the one before. If I didn't know better, I would think I might have married the perfect husband...the love of my life, the one God chose for me. But I realize that the one God chose for me is...Him. Of course He would be the most perfect spouse! He would know my needs before I did, I would have shelter, enough food for the day, and His comforting arms around me in the night.
It's all so bizarre. Everything I ask for arrives. My heart almost cannot bear it. But how do I explain what is happening now? Something new. Something not expected and yet expected. I am resting on the raft, in the ocean...and I see two islands, maybe three...which one will be my home? All three are beautiful and perfect. All three have exactly the right food and shelter and comfort I need. All three are good and holy places. In all three, God is there, waiting to love me most perfectly. But which one will this raft declare as home?
I ask, "Where will I serve you best, my Lord?"
He tells me, "My dear child...everywhere."
"Where are you taking me?"
He says, "Wait."
I place my hand into the ocean and make my own little waves...
I take the blue and yellow blanket and wrap it around me again.
"Okay, I'll wait."
Love,
Cindy
Then some years passed by and I began to understand how telling stories is often a path to healing and wholeness.
It's the point of the gospel, I think, to bear witness to the tradition of birth, challenge, confusion, understanding, relationships won and lost, and the ultimate triumph of God.
Right now, I feel like I am sitting on a raft in a gently rocking ocean. I feel the sun, hear the birds, occasionally I can hear a fish jump and I hear the wind against my ears. The sun is both hot and wonderful and when I wonder why I would have allowed myself to go out on that raft in that ocean without a hat, your hand reaches over and shadows my eyes...and I remember I did not go out into the ocean alone. You are with me, hiding me under the shadow of your wings...
I looked up and I tell God, "Make me a priest!" and He said to me, "You are a priest." And then I said, "Perhaps that is not what I wanted after all." And He said, "I thought you might say that, but you are still a priest."
Everything I have asked God for, I have received. Everything. My life is hardly my own anymore...and I have never loved it more. Each day is better than the one before. If I didn't know better, I would think I might have married the perfect husband...the love of my life, the one God chose for me. But I realize that the one God chose for me is...Him. Of course He would be the most perfect spouse! He would know my needs before I did, I would have shelter, enough food for the day, and His comforting arms around me in the night.
It's all so bizarre. Everything I ask for arrives. My heart almost cannot bear it. But how do I explain what is happening now? Something new. Something not expected and yet expected. I am resting on the raft, in the ocean...and I see two islands, maybe three...which one will be my home? All three are beautiful and perfect. All three have exactly the right food and shelter and comfort I need. All three are good and holy places. In all three, God is there, waiting to love me most perfectly. But which one will this raft declare as home?
I ask, "Where will I serve you best, my Lord?"
He tells me, "My dear child...everywhere."
"Where are you taking me?"
He says, "Wait."
I place my hand into the ocean and make my own little waves...
I take the blue and yellow blanket and wrap it around me again.
"Okay, I'll wait."
Love,
Cindy
Monday, November 8, 2010
It Ain't Me
Credence Clearwater Revival: It ain't me. Maybe that's what I should do with these early morning posts. Just go with the radio. I remember that as a kid, after getting that first radio back in 1964 from Uncle Chuck and waking on Christmas morning with the story about the nuns and the snow (you'd have to look way back for that story)...and how I somehow knew that was important...I would stay in bed each morning, with the radio on and not get up until I heard "the" song I was supposed to hear that morning: the one that would tell me what kind of day I would have. I love waking to Michael Martin Murphy's "Wildfire." I thought that one described me best. I loved the piano solo at the beginning and at the end. And I had at least three boyfriends over the years give me Michael Murphy's record albums as Christmas presents. They didn't know about the song, but they kind of knew me.
My kids, when they were small, saw an Acura commercial: A little girl in kindergarten coloring a picture. The teacher was saying "Stay within the lines. The lines are our friend." The little girl grinned a big grin and began coloring all over the page...and then the scene went to a woman driving an Acura Integra. Both kids said almost at the same time, "Mommy, that's you!" I laughed.
And then I got my husband to buy me the Acura Integra.
And many years later, after the kids grew up and I got divorced, the car was given to my daughter Beth...and that car saved her life.
"Stay within the lines. The lines are our friend."
Ecclesiastes 3:
There is an appointed time for everything, and a time for every affair under the heavens.
A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to uproot the plant.
A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to tear down, and a time to build. A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.
A time to scatter stones, and a time to gather them; a time to embrace, and a time to be far from embrace.
A time to seek, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away.
A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to be silent, and a time to speak.
A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.
The connection I want to make here is that there is a time for things to change and a time for things to stay the same.
Last Saturday night, I had the change to hear an articulate, educated Dominican nun offer a lecture "Reading the Scriptures with the Mind, Eyes and Heart of a Woman." She did a wonderful job. She used theologians that I have not always agreed with, but her work was clean, direct and informative. It was a good and healthy look at how very few women get to do what I have been allowed to do: think outside the box. It was not a feminist lecture by any stretch of the imagination, but it was distinctly female in color and taste.
In ancient times, the first female mathematician, Hypatia, was flayed alive and then burned at the stake. Because she dared to learn. To think. And that kind of behavior is still going on today. In Afghanistan, women carefully hide the fact that they are getting an education. If caught, the Taliban would most likely kill them. Why? Because the ignorant are easier to control. To manage. Look up the word 'maquiladores.' You will discover how this country uses the poor and innocent for profit.
Social justice has always been a primary goal and task of the Catholic Church. That is why the Methodist Church was so attractive to me. It had a bent toward social justice in a way that no other Protestant Church had. John Wesley said, Feed them. God will convert them.
This wonderful nun gave an excellent talk. Deeply Catholic audience. I watched. I observed. Only men asked questions. One woman spoke, but it was only to compliment her. I cringed.
But my reaction was set into play by the first question from a corner in the back of the room...it took no time at all to see what was going on..."Sister, how do you reconcile your lecture with what was spoken in 1990 about the ordination of women..." and she explained that was not what her talk was about. She even offered to speak with him later as he continued to press her on the question. she politely went on to another person.
Then another question, from a male religious, positing the question again from a different point of view.
No one seemed to hear what she had said. Somehow, a lecture on how women are treated for choosing to better themselves, their lives, their families, their relationship with God...got turned into a political question of power defined by gender.
The plight and learning experience from Sister's work in Chiapas disappeared because some people went down the slippery slope: educate women and they will take over the world...or something like that.
I sat and asked myself why had I returned to the Catholic Church. I had to remember what was good about it. And I realized that only death lies in front of me if I choose to fight a battle I cannot win.
The question that seemed to scare the man who sat in the back and only saw and heard what he wanted to see and hear...made me so sad. And angry. I thought, I could go to Mexico and help women learn math and the Bible. To understand what it really means to carry your cross...
It doesn't mean putting up with abuse, or destructive behaviors or immoral employers...but it does mean suffering for Christ's sake, for furthering the Kingdom of God here on earth. There is a fine line, and clever people use it to control others for their personal benefit. I want that to stop, but I also know there is a time when each will be held accountable to our choices...and they will be held accountable for what they did and did not do.
So I wonder, how to I build up the kingdom and not tear down? Many people, men and women, are afraid of smart women, educated women. This Sister showed with grace a problem and ways to deal with it. Then she encountered a Pharisee...who was all about the LAW...
I watched a living out of the gospel, in that room. Jesus spoke about the poor and the oppressed and that "love thy neighbor thing" and in the back was the question about the LAW.
I don't think I'm the woman who can show dignity and grace as well as Sister did. I wish I could, but I'm not there yet. It ain't me. But God may have other ideas. We shall see. I'll wait. For now.
Whose wife will she be in heaven? (referring to yesterday's reading) and I think Jesus might have withheld a laugh and a smile...you guys just don't get it at all, do you?
Our birth into the next place is like nothing you can imagine. But love now. Here. While you can. Because you can.
Because I loved you first.
Love, Cindy
My kids, when they were small, saw an Acura commercial: A little girl in kindergarten coloring a picture. The teacher was saying "Stay within the lines. The lines are our friend." The little girl grinned a big grin and began coloring all over the page...and then the scene went to a woman driving an Acura Integra. Both kids said almost at the same time, "Mommy, that's you!" I laughed.
And then I got my husband to buy me the Acura Integra.
And many years later, after the kids grew up and I got divorced, the car was given to my daughter Beth...and that car saved her life.
"Stay within the lines. The lines are our friend."
Ecclesiastes 3:
There is an appointed time for everything, and a time for every affair under the heavens.
A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to uproot the plant.
A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to tear down, and a time to build. A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.
A time to scatter stones, and a time to gather them; a time to embrace, and a time to be far from embrace.
A time to seek, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away.
A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to be silent, and a time to speak.
A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.
The connection I want to make here is that there is a time for things to change and a time for things to stay the same.
Last Saturday night, I had the change to hear an articulate, educated Dominican nun offer a lecture "Reading the Scriptures with the Mind, Eyes and Heart of a Woman." She did a wonderful job. She used theologians that I have not always agreed with, but her work was clean, direct and informative. It was a good and healthy look at how very few women get to do what I have been allowed to do: think outside the box. It was not a feminist lecture by any stretch of the imagination, but it was distinctly female in color and taste.
In ancient times, the first female mathematician, Hypatia, was flayed alive and then burned at the stake. Because she dared to learn. To think. And that kind of behavior is still going on today. In Afghanistan, women carefully hide the fact that they are getting an education. If caught, the Taliban would most likely kill them. Why? Because the ignorant are easier to control. To manage. Look up the word 'maquiladores.' You will discover how this country uses the poor and innocent for profit.
Social justice has always been a primary goal and task of the Catholic Church. That is why the Methodist Church was so attractive to me. It had a bent toward social justice in a way that no other Protestant Church had. John Wesley said, Feed them. God will convert them.
This wonderful nun gave an excellent talk. Deeply Catholic audience. I watched. I observed. Only men asked questions. One woman spoke, but it was only to compliment her. I cringed.
But my reaction was set into play by the first question from a corner in the back of the room...it took no time at all to see what was going on..."Sister, how do you reconcile your lecture with what was spoken in 1990 about the ordination of women..." and she explained that was not what her talk was about. She even offered to speak with him later as he continued to press her on the question. she politely went on to another person.
Then another question, from a male religious, positing the question again from a different point of view.
No one seemed to hear what she had said. Somehow, a lecture on how women are treated for choosing to better themselves, their lives, their families, their relationship with God...got turned into a political question of power defined by gender.
The plight and learning experience from Sister's work in Chiapas disappeared because some people went down the slippery slope: educate women and they will take over the world...or something like that.
I sat and asked myself why had I returned to the Catholic Church. I had to remember what was good about it. And I realized that only death lies in front of me if I choose to fight a battle I cannot win.
The question that seemed to scare the man who sat in the back and only saw and heard what he wanted to see and hear...made me so sad. And angry. I thought, I could go to Mexico and help women learn math and the Bible. To understand what it really means to carry your cross...
It doesn't mean putting up with abuse, or destructive behaviors or immoral employers...but it does mean suffering for Christ's sake, for furthering the Kingdom of God here on earth. There is a fine line, and clever people use it to control others for their personal benefit. I want that to stop, but I also know there is a time when each will be held accountable to our choices...and they will be held accountable for what they did and did not do.
So I wonder, how to I build up the kingdom and not tear down? Many people, men and women, are afraid of smart women, educated women. This Sister showed with grace a problem and ways to deal with it. Then she encountered a Pharisee...who was all about the LAW...
I watched a living out of the gospel, in that room. Jesus spoke about the poor and the oppressed and that "love thy neighbor thing" and in the back was the question about the LAW.
I don't think I'm the woman who can show dignity and grace as well as Sister did. I wish I could, but I'm not there yet. It ain't me. But God may have other ideas. We shall see. I'll wait. For now.
Whose wife will she be in heaven? (referring to yesterday's reading) and I think Jesus might have withheld a laugh and a smile...you guys just don't get it at all, do you?
Our birth into the next place is like nothing you can imagine. But love now. Here. While you can. Because you can.
Because I loved you first.
Love, Cindy
Saturday, November 6, 2010
American Woman
Got the radio on: American Woman. My CPE supervisor rode my "behind" yesterday. He said I didn't write what he asked me to write. I know. I didn't know how to write it. (That's why I pay him the big bucks, to challenge me)So I have had it reassigned. Sigh. Then yesterday morning, one of the priests at my church chastised me on a morning when I did not do anything. Well, I set up Mass. But I kind of think he just woke up angry with me. Never quite know with priests...or fathers...they get up on the wrong side of the bed and the best thing to do is get out the door quickly. Nothing good going happen here today.
I have been "corrected" on many things, but this time...was interesting. I was asked to not sing when I was a lector. I smiled at him. I didn't take it personally. (Look at me, all growed up!)And I said fine. I told him I am always afraid with music. It terrifies me. I know I have an exceptional gift on the piano (not as a vocalist)...and a different priest (gentler, younger) once encouraged me to share my music. For me, singing is about prayer. It is not about perfection. I suspect something else was going on. Well, it was just interesting to understand his theology. I would not have expected his theology to be this way. But I learned something new today. Another day, I would have walked out. Another day, I might have cried. But I know, I have learned. The words that come out of a person's mouth say much more about him/her that what they actual words might mean. There is always subtext. Catching it, hearing it...is sometimes hard and definitely tricky to expose.
That's why I try so hard to surround myself with honest people. Save the bull and the southern hospitality for others. Tell me the truth or go home. Or perhaps I will get bored and fall asleep. That's not good because, even when people are misrepresenting themselves, they are telling you about themselves. It just takes more work to see.
So Father rode my...case... in the morning...and then I got to the hospital and my supervisor did his job. He told me I had more experience than anyone else attending and if I didn't want to learn why was I there. I was calm. I was not defensive. (I think!) And he pushed. You have got to stop defining yourself by what you are not, Cindy. You need to decide who you ARE.
And I retorted, "but that's all politicians do. They never say who they are, they just rant about how they are not like the other guy." He just looks at me.
Yes, I surround myself with smart people.
You can surround yourself with adoring fans. You can surround yourself with people who fear you. You can remove from your presence anyone and anything that does not agree with you. You can buy your position in life. You can marry it. You can shut out all the ugly, walk over Lazarus and only listen to "right" notes and words.
And you can think you are the best thing God ever created...or you can think you are God himself.
Or you can live in this world. Warped, flawed, disappointing, unpredictable, capricious, dangerous, sometimes alone...
And in the struggle, you can find joy, fulfillment, ecstasy, triumph, skill, beauty, connectedness.
Being perfect isn't all its cracked up to me. Looking like everybody else is just plain boring.
I am a woman. I am a priest. I am a confessor. I am a consoler. I am a pastor. I am a friend. I am child of God. I am a lover. I am a mother. I am a teacher. I am a sister. I am human. I bleed. I cry. I dance. I sing. I pray. I love.
Because He loved me first.
Who are you?
Love, Cindy
I have been "corrected" on many things, but this time...was interesting. I was asked to not sing when I was a lector. I smiled at him. I didn't take it personally. (Look at me, all growed up!)And I said fine. I told him I am always afraid with music. It terrifies me. I know I have an exceptional gift on the piano (not as a vocalist)...and a different priest (gentler, younger) once encouraged me to share my music. For me, singing is about prayer. It is not about perfection. I suspect something else was going on. Well, it was just interesting to understand his theology. I would not have expected his theology to be this way. But I learned something new today. Another day, I would have walked out. Another day, I might have cried. But I know, I have learned. The words that come out of a person's mouth say much more about him/her that what they actual words might mean. There is always subtext. Catching it, hearing it...is sometimes hard and definitely tricky to expose.
That's why I try so hard to surround myself with honest people. Save the bull and the southern hospitality for others. Tell me the truth or go home. Or perhaps I will get bored and fall asleep. That's not good because, even when people are misrepresenting themselves, they are telling you about themselves. It just takes more work to see.
So Father rode my...case... in the morning...and then I got to the hospital and my supervisor did his job. He told me I had more experience than anyone else attending and if I didn't want to learn why was I there. I was calm. I was not defensive. (I think!) And he pushed. You have got to stop defining yourself by what you are not, Cindy. You need to decide who you ARE.
And I retorted, "but that's all politicians do. They never say who they are, they just rant about how they are not like the other guy." He just looks at me.
Yes, I surround myself with smart people.
You can surround yourself with adoring fans. You can surround yourself with people who fear you. You can remove from your presence anyone and anything that does not agree with you. You can buy your position in life. You can marry it. You can shut out all the ugly, walk over Lazarus and only listen to "right" notes and words.
And you can think you are the best thing God ever created...or you can think you are God himself.
Or you can live in this world. Warped, flawed, disappointing, unpredictable, capricious, dangerous, sometimes alone...
And in the struggle, you can find joy, fulfillment, ecstasy, triumph, skill, beauty, connectedness.
Being perfect isn't all its cracked up to me. Looking like everybody else is just plain boring.
I am a woman. I am a priest. I am a confessor. I am a consoler. I am a pastor. I am a friend. I am child of God. I am a lover. I am a mother. I am a teacher. I am a sister. I am human. I bleed. I cry. I dance. I sing. I pray. I love.
Because He loved me first.
Who are you?
Love, Cindy
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Parts is parts...
My life keeps changing. I know for the better, but still, we grow attached to what we had. This morning I woke thinking about Corinthians 12:
To one is given through the Spirit the expression of wisdom; to another the expression of knowledge according to the same Spirit; to another faith by the same Spirit; to another gifts of healing by the one Spirit; to another mighty deeds; to another prophecy; to another discernment of spirits; to another varieties of tongues; to another interpretation of tongues.But one and the same Spirit produces all of these, distributing them individually to each person as he wishes.
I was wondering why certain prayer experiences had been changing for me. The most obvious reason is that I have filled my day with more "manual" labor. That is, I am with people more than I have been in the past. I am making human contact and that is always full. I miss my personal prayer times, but I am less inclined to attend to them because...simply enough, I have no one to speak with them about. I wondered why that might matter and decided that I was an incredibly shallow or weak person to need a guide, or a witness, to what happens.
None of that should matter. I recall deep moments with God as a child when no one was around, the walks in the woods, the bicycle rides, the tree climbing...God was there. I knew God was there...and it didn't matter if anyone knew.
But then adolescence hit and being noticed mattered. But what would an outsider think about these conversations with God? A risky business to share. But an even riskier business not to share.
I am a speaker in tongues, and an interpreter of tongues. Before you judge, let me explain: I offer clues to what I know...someone must interpret them for it to make sense; just as I listen and try to interpret what someone else is trying to tell me.
I am not talking about a strange language here...unless of course, you talk with a teenager, which is always in a strange tongue, or so it seems some days. But all of us offer clues to who we really are, ALL of us are being whispered to by God and ALL of us need interpreters for the journey.
Lately I've had to dig deep for interpreters. I have serious trust issues. So I may offer a little of what is going on and just watch and see how that person deals with the little bit, before I share the important stuff.
I think we all do that. Test the waters. See how we are treated when we are a little but vulnerable before allowing ourselves to be completely vulnerable.
And that, my dears, is where true ecstasy lies. In vulnerability. Share it with a human being and the risk is great...but sometimes a child is created...or more. Share it with God and you are never disappointed.
Having a conversation with someone can be like going into battle. You have your weapons of knowledge and maybe a talisman, like a crucifix or cross or Bible...you train for it, with prayer and exercise, you learn how to listen and then to speak in such a way that your words do not make a wall between you and the other. And if your words cut...then they need to be close to His words...so that they only cut to heal.
Have I completely lost you? Engagement and encounter. Close and far away. Empty and full. Perception. Experience. Tradition. Reason. Sacred Scripture. Gifts of the Spirit.
The horizontal and the vertical.
My complaint: an interpreter of tongues. Specifically an interpreter of my tongue. The bottom line of all theologies: "Why is this happening to me?" The question by itself implies dialogue, demands dialogue. Between you and me. Between me and God.
These parts of the Body. The only reason it works is that each of us is unique. We all have a song that is ours alone...and in particular, we each have a note that God has given us and he has given it to no one else.
If we don't sing our song and use our God given note...the world is less than what it has been designed to me. And how, my dear, can a song be heard if there is no one to listen?
Clear as mud? sigh
Love anyway,
Cindy
To one is given through the Spirit the expression of wisdom; to another the expression of knowledge according to the same Spirit; to another faith by the same Spirit; to another gifts of healing by the one Spirit; to another mighty deeds; to another prophecy; to another discernment of spirits; to another varieties of tongues; to another interpretation of tongues.But one and the same Spirit produces all of these, distributing them individually to each person as he wishes.
I was wondering why certain prayer experiences had been changing for me. The most obvious reason is that I have filled my day with more "manual" labor. That is, I am with people more than I have been in the past. I am making human contact and that is always full. I miss my personal prayer times, but I am less inclined to attend to them because...simply enough, I have no one to speak with them about. I wondered why that might matter and decided that I was an incredibly shallow or weak person to need a guide, or a witness, to what happens.
None of that should matter. I recall deep moments with God as a child when no one was around, the walks in the woods, the bicycle rides, the tree climbing...God was there. I knew God was there...and it didn't matter if anyone knew.
But then adolescence hit and being noticed mattered. But what would an outsider think about these conversations with God? A risky business to share. But an even riskier business not to share.
I am a speaker in tongues, and an interpreter of tongues. Before you judge, let me explain: I offer clues to what I know...someone must interpret them for it to make sense; just as I listen and try to interpret what someone else is trying to tell me.
I am not talking about a strange language here...unless of course, you talk with a teenager, which is always in a strange tongue, or so it seems some days. But all of us offer clues to who we really are, ALL of us are being whispered to by God and ALL of us need interpreters for the journey.
Lately I've had to dig deep for interpreters. I have serious trust issues. So I may offer a little of what is going on and just watch and see how that person deals with the little bit, before I share the important stuff.
I think we all do that. Test the waters. See how we are treated when we are a little but vulnerable before allowing ourselves to be completely vulnerable.
And that, my dears, is where true ecstasy lies. In vulnerability. Share it with a human being and the risk is great...but sometimes a child is created...or more. Share it with God and you are never disappointed.
Having a conversation with someone can be like going into battle. You have your weapons of knowledge and maybe a talisman, like a crucifix or cross or Bible...you train for it, with prayer and exercise, you learn how to listen and then to speak in such a way that your words do not make a wall between you and the other. And if your words cut...then they need to be close to His words...so that they only cut to heal.
Have I completely lost you? Engagement and encounter. Close and far away. Empty and full. Perception. Experience. Tradition. Reason. Sacred Scripture. Gifts of the Spirit.
The horizontal and the vertical.
My complaint: an interpreter of tongues. Specifically an interpreter of my tongue. The bottom line of all theologies: "Why is this happening to me?" The question by itself implies dialogue, demands dialogue. Between you and me. Between me and God.
These parts of the Body. The only reason it works is that each of us is unique. We all have a song that is ours alone...and in particular, we each have a note that God has given us and he has given it to no one else.
If we don't sing our song and use our God given note...the world is less than what it has been designed to me. And how, my dear, can a song be heard if there is no one to listen?
Clear as mud? sigh
Love anyway,
Cindy
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