Do it anyway

Today, simple observations.

Most Sacred Heart of Jesus today. A few thoughts about the week. Hospital visits completed, always something new, always surprise, always grace. Tuesday night, ACTS team meeting. Many responses to some small moves, this is often surprising...but at this point in my life, little should surprise me. I simply mean, if you don't expect anything anymore, you really can't be surprised. And yet, you can. I wonder, and very much hope that each day, you reflect on your life. What happened, what was the grace of it, in it, for it?  How have you changed? What do you know now that you did not know yesterday?  Where was the pain? How did you accept it?  Did you let someone down? Did you let yourself down? Did you forgive yourself today? Did you forgive others? Where was the joy?  What was the magic? Where, when and how often, were you grateful?

That's how I survive. Reflection. Growing more honest and real each day.  The illusions, I have found, only bring pain. But it is always important to check out your own perceptions.  Is what you think you see really true?  Is it what you want to see?  Is it what you think you deserve to see?  This is a way to separate illusion from reality. 

How you see often depends on how gentle you are with yourself. I am trying to learn to be gentle with myself. It is exhausting. Old tapes, false realities still haunt me...places I have yet to surrender to God.  But  I improve, each day I grow closer to God.

Pay attention to your life, but do not take yourself too seriously. Yet respect yourself...and respect others. Sounds like old news. But it only took an old friend, who I hadn't seen in years...to nudge me on.  We spent two hours together. The cool thing is that this was an unspoken reconciliation...what we didn't speak of was how we parted years ago.  Time has allowed us to forgive each other. It was a kind of sparkly time. We each had gone off into new directions and we saw the beauty in each other. Only I had to honor the magic of our moments. "Thank you for forgiving me," I told her.  She smiled and hugged me. Neither of us spoke of what was right or wrong, we simply spoke of now. And now was good. A little miracle. One less task for purgatory.

She told me, after a couple of hours, that I needed to write. Even if I did it poorly. She said that was her first feeling when we first made eye contact. My first thought of her was "She has found her beauty." 

What has this to do with the Sacred Heart of Jesus? Last night, I went to Mass at St Jude's.  As soon as I walked into the chapel, I was taken into a bliss...I seemed to be very pleased that they had relocated the crucifix against the wall.  But that was just a noticing thing...what I was feeling...was that it had been too long since I had been to St Jude's.  At least three weeks, with all of my traveling. You know that feeling you get when you are finally home?  That you can breathe again?  That's how it feels when I enter a church. I return to the womb of God and I am bathed in love...the kind that lasts...and is perfect.

That's how I see this Sacred Heart thing.  The Catholic Church has these pictures of Jesus with his heart exposed...and in some ways, especially to non-Catholics, the photo is creepy.  Generally it is surrounded by a crown of thorns.  What I see is a heart exposed. And a heart exposed is easily wounded.

Just like mine. I put my heart out there. I tell the truth as best I am able...and I risk love. Every day.  But not like contemporary "married love," which has a nice little contract in place that says you're going to stay and I'm going to stay...so we are bound by the Law to be faithful to each other. No, this love I throw out is non-contractual. It doesn't expect "benefits." It is just there...and it can be used and rejected and wounded by the risks it takes. That's how I try to model Him.

Think of the first time you fell in love.  Remember the bliss of it, the fantasy of it, the innocence of it.  And how much it hurt when it perhaps didn't work out as you thought it might.  Bit by bit, we protect our hearts with armor...so that 'the next time" we'll know better...we'll be more careful. And nothing will ever compare to that first perfect love.

That's the way Jesus loves us, with a first perfect love...with complete vulnerability and trust. He bares His Heart for us...He loves us so much...that whatever wounds we might have and still hold, His love is so great it breaks through the even hardest of armors. And it is a patient love.  It can wait forever for us to let Him in.

That's how it is for me, walking into a church.  It is as if I am stripped naked and thrown into the pool of pureness of His existence in this world. All my weapons to keep myself 'safe' fall at my side.

There is a scene in the TV show "Saving Grace," where she is arguing with her angel, Earl.  She is making good argument, and Earl just opens his wings and touches her with them, and she falls to the floor in bliss...that is about the best I can do to describe how good it feels to open my heart to God as closely as I can in the manner in which He opens His Heart to me.

I could list off so many moments of love this week...each one a risk...but I won't bore you anymore with the details of my love life...go out and live in your own....

He loved us. We must love others.

I know it's scary.
Do it anyway.

Love, Cindy

Well, are you married or not?

I have this thing I do, which I have put off this June...for a variety of reasons. I am trying to remain open to possibilities. Should I move or should I stay? I have been boring my friends with my laments to find out "what God wants me to do." And I am beginning to bore myself.

We all spent a lot of time thinking about our decisions. Especially ones we think are important. I recall James Finley ( a disciple of Thomas Merton)speaking about decision-making. He said, "to ask the question whether or not God wants me in place A or place B, is  really not that important. Because God is in both places...and if we take on the 'mind of Christ.' it doesn't matter where we are.

But it is so much easier to expend energy on on these 'important' decisions, than to actually DO something. Inaction is one of my talents...and most of my friends allow me to get away with it, and I allow them the same privilege. 

Dorothy Day would have had a fit. Mother Teresa would have given us a good talking to.  We waste so much time on the wrong things.

"I know that you know that I'm not telling the truth.
I know you know that they don't have any proof..."

I love the show "Psych." It's about a guy who observes thing well, but passes himself off as a psychic because..people can believe that more easily than believe he is a person of meticulous detail. We have an idea in our heads of how "the job and the person" fit together. Beautiful people are good. Ugly people are bad.  Priests are men. (sorry, couldn't resist!) Profiling. Just try to tell me you don't do it. Maybe not all the time, but we are all victim to it. Our lives inform our decisions...all the time. It's part of being human.

There is a great big chasm between who we are and who we think we are.  I encounter it daily.  The sad thing is that too often we settle for less. We do less. We believe less.

I have a therapist who tells me that when we think less of ourselves, and speak of ourselves that way, we are trying to manipulate others into making us feel better. Statement: "I'm not very good at [fill in the blank]." Response: "Oh, that's not true!"  Outcome: a couple of seconds of feeling better...for both parties...and then it starts all over again.  But because someone else telling you...some kind of judgment about you...it ultimately totally worthless...

What matters is what you think about what you are doing and why you are doing it. And of course, what God thinks about what you are doing and why you are doing it.

Recently, I have been on both sides of the judgment of others. I have been told I am the greatest thing since sliced bread and I have been told I am the worst thing that ever happened. What I realized finally, as God presented me with drastically different opinions from my peers...was how their opinions ultimately don't matter. That doesn't mean that I don't love them...or disrespect them...I simply don't take their opinions to heart. 

That is the best gift of detachment. To be completely engaged in life, yet not victim to it. To be able to pay attention to being authentic in my actions...and to expect others to be authentic with me. The idea is hardly new. It is all over a great old book: The Imitation of Christ by Thomas a Kempis.  Our feelings, while a gift from God, are forever changing. We love one moment, then hate the next. We think we can't live without some man...and then we wonder what we ever saw in him...

I think that the less we trust ourselves...believe in ourselves, the more prone we are to drastic fluctuations of feelings...because we are relying on what others are telling us.  Such a life is exhausting because it changes with the wind.  I suppose it is wildly romantic in some ways...but it is ultimately unsustainable.

We have to believe in ourselves. That God loves us. And will give us the very best in life...if we let Him. Some people learn these things early in life, they have good people around them who don't try to manipulate them or exploit them, or use them...but lots of people miss out on that...and have to acquire it later.

I encountered a lot of lost people last week.  And I encountered a lot of found people, too.  And I could write, and hope to write, about it all later...if I don't forget.

But the marriage question came up more than once in the last seven days. The attendant at the motel kept asking me in disbelief, or rather, kept stating, "You are traveling alone?" "Yes." He probably asked three times. I began to wonder if I needed to acquire a weapon to sleep with.  "But you wear a ring." "Yes." and then I kind of sheepishly say..."I belong to God." And that brings on many different responses from others. This guy asked me to bless him. I stood a bit dumfounded and then thought...okay. So I prayed over him. He wanted a blessing. Then he asked me to kiss him on the cheek. I told him no. Argh...

Grandson, while playing a game, grabbed my hand. "Nana, are you married?" I paused. He's five. "Yes, I am." "Who are you married to?" "Jesus." He smiled. "No, really, Nana...who are you married to?" "Jesus." "But who do you sleep with?" (Oh heavens! I thought...) "Jesus." And he was sure I was teasing him.

There are so many reasons for why I am doing what I am doing. And telling people just makes it so confusing for them. I belong to no Order, nor have I made any public proclamation...and in these past few months, I realize how it can all be so misunderstood...and I don't want to manipulate people and I don't want them to manipulate me.  I just know that, as I choose this life, this lifestyle...I get to part of something wonderful.   I get to do very special, very sacred, very holy work.  I am aware when it is good and when it is bad.  And strangely, I never feel the dissatisfaction I felt a year ago...and I don't feel the need for approval anymore.

I sat with a priest friend last week. As we talked, I began to know deep inside, I didn't need anyone to tell me that I was good anymore. I finally knew it in my bones. I enjoyed his company very much, but I did not try to saddle him with the job of making me feel adequate, useful or approved. I knew...and he knew...I am living the life I have desired for so long.

Yes, it would be nice if certain things could happen, but they are not needed or necessary for what must happen next. If I lost my friends, I would be sad, but I know I will find others. It is a perfect truth.  Not my will but yours. If you really believe it, you will find peace.

It's taken a long time to get here. And I still have so far to go.

I write these words to encourage you to find your true self. It is impossible to do without God, though. But trusting in humans...in the manner in which you should trust God alone...will bring pain eventually.  That sounds harsh...and who knows, I may change my mind as I grow into this. But trying to please your parents, or your boyfriend, or your husband...so that they will love you more or better or deeper...is an empty pursuit. But it does occupy the time. It uses up life...and allows us to hide from the person God created us to be. I am not in any way suggesting that you love others less...but that you grow to into love that does not keep score, or manipulate, or possess, or control...rather you love in a way that sets the ones we love free...a love that builds up and does not tear down.  It plants, it grows. And it definitely does not make us tired.

Am I married? Yes. Will I enter an earthly marriage again? That question doesn't matter now. That's a future question. But I must remain open to whatever God offers me. I cannot say never.  Will I move south? Or north? It doesn't matter now.  But it is important to be able to move if He asks me. Will I keep doing the work I'm given? Of course. Will I stay connected to others? It is part of the covenant.

If I didn't write it well, may God clarify the broken parts for you. 

My children will be as numerous as the stars of the sky...

Love, Cindy

Fire and Rain

"Happy Father's Day, Daddy."
Stupid Hallmark commercials.
I remember all the planning and creating and cooking I used to do for Mother's Day, Father's Day, their birthdays, anniversary...in the beginning, surveying the pantry to see what kind of 'surprise' I could come up with with what was there...and then later, grocery shopping.  Setting out candles, making cards by hand, planning how things would happen...and my father seemed to like the fuss well enough, but my mother could never just say thank you. She always pointed out the mistakes...she was just being helpful, you know.   I kept trying to get them to love each other, forgive each other...just be nice for a while.
No Hallmark commercial...ever.

So why then, the first Father's Day after my father died, did I stand in front to the stupid Hallmark cards and the store and cry like I had never cried before? 
It was deep regret. There were no more chances to fix it, no more opportunities to love, forgive, hope, touch...it was all done. And what it was, it was.

I'm not sure why I am writing that...except that something must have triggered it. The priest in Texarkana yesterday was delightfully relational.  The 'real' church was completely gutted, in reconstruction process. The mass was being held in the school building. Folding chairs, in the lunch room.  Small group...perhaps 200 people on a Saturday night. The priest acknowledged anniversaries then called attention to visitors. I had already met several before Mass and they all took the opportunity to point to me...all of them!  He asked me why I was there, who I was visiting...and only then did I realize how strange it was for me, while driving home from Arkansas...just had to find a church because I knew it was time for Mass.  (I didn't say that of course, I just waved.)  Then the priest looked around the room and his eye caught someone else..."I don't know you," he said.  And the couple kind of looked at each other...and then waved hello to the priest.

The priest spoke to a lot of things during his homily.  I took notes, (borrowed a pen from the woman on my right, the woman on my left was the mother of a priest just assigned to Hot Springs...she was so happy for him) but right now, I'll tell you about one part:  He spoke about eagles and chickens.  (He also spoke about how he thought football was foolish...he's not "American" but that will be for another post)

Chickens and Eagles. He asked, 'Who knows why the eagle was chosen as the bird for out country?'  Because it soars. And in America, the people of this country were people who wanted to soar. I saw so many beautiful birds on my trip, colors and sizes...near and far away...one brown hawk so big and so close to my car, I almost pulled off the road to see if he would come back...and one eagle...near the wedding chapel I stopped at to take a photo...just amazing these birds. Eagles soar.

Then he talked about chickens. Chickens don't fly.  They stay close to the ground. He said that's where we get the expression of calling someone a "chicken."  They are refusing to risk. They are refusing to fly. They are refusing to soar. 

He admonished his congregation:  "I don't want to see any chickens here." 

He explained that as we receive the Holy Spirit, we should be caught on fire.  Excited to share our faith with others, and how it urges us to do good...and he explained what the good looks like.  And he told them, "When I run into you at Walmart, I will ask you what I talked about today...and you need to remember more than the joke. This parish needs to move forward"...and he went on...but I'll stop here for the moment.

Rain---the cleansing power of our baptism, the bonding of us to a family
Fire---the food that gives us the ability to love

There is just so much still on my mind. So much not yet made clear.  But it is important to accept these gifts of fire and rain...to receive the gifts God gives us, both a reminder that we are never alone and that we are called as Christians to receive and give love. BOTH. Remember that. Be not too proud to receive...and be not too proud to give. 

Because there will be a time and a day when you won't get any more chances.  You'll have to say, "This chapter is over." Death comes to all of us. It doesn't have to turn out the way you want...but you must try, you must offer, you must reach out...climb until you cannot climb anymore. And if someone offers to carry you...let them.  Love is unending...and is not selfish or possessive.  Give and receive. Fire and rain. Over and over again. While you can. Because you can.

Come Holy Spirit
Fill the hearts of your faithful and kindle in them the fire of your love
Send forth your Spirit and she shall be retained
And you shall renew the face of the earth...

Love, Cindy

God Magnet?

 Started this last week...before my trip.  Much happened after this, also before trip. But I need to post it now...things are getting so busy and complicated again...too much for one entry.  My love to you all. Thank you for being there, not walking away. I expect things to change a lot soon. Already much has happened. No matter what, remember God wins.


Had my wonderful flying dream last night. The power lines that are always there, were ever present, at least four layers deep and so close together, if I flew, I knew that my body would have to hit some of them. But I had been wandering around a house...with lots of wood paneling (another recurring theme) and there was a woman I met who could grow chamomile (herb) in the back yard really well.  She made tea from it every day.  All the chamomile I planted died in the heat, I told her, but I could grow rosemary.  There were children everywhere. Laughing, playing, running around in circles. Other things happened in the house, pleasant thing...but when I put my hand on the head of a male friend, to pray for him, he recoiled and went away.  I was sad, He needed a blessing, he seemed to ask for a blessing...but he refusal to receive it from a woman made me angry.  So I walked over to the double doors and flung them open. It was night, there were clouds...I shouted out to him, "Watch me!" And everyone else in the room turned to look, except him...and from the patio outside the double doors...I flew.  I saw the layers of wires, but I was angry and I wanted to get away. I charged right through them and one caught me on the shoulder and it stung terribly, but I was too angry...I flew so hard and fast that I pulled the stinging wire along until it broke and fell to the ground.  I looked back at the house far below.
"Oh, that's how you do it." I thought.


It was a wild night of dreams in my new bed...images of struggle and love and power, of disappointment and envy just pure innocent joy. Brought on, now doubt by the events of the day.


I went swimming in the deep end yesterday. I was both chaplain and pastor yesterday. And I was just me. Started the day at St. Marks. I had to go to Mass because I was officiating at a funeral down at Restland. I think perhaps it was the third time I've been asked in just over a year. At the first one, maybe 18 months ago now, the family was fallen away Catholics. They liked my style. Wanted me to do the service. One priest said don't do it. The second said go for it. So I consulted a third...he said yes do it, and explained to me carefully how to do it, so that I was following Catholic rules that honored my faith tradition. So I was asked again and bowed out. I was a coward.  Still struggling.
Then there are the weddings. I am flattered when asked. I smile and accept the compliment, but that request is much easier. I consider marriage a Sacrament. I cannot give them that gift because I am not allowed. It is easy, also because I do not care for weddings anyway. For me, a wedding should be a true covenant...and all the silliness about gowns matching the church carpet just wear me out...but still, it is nice to be asked.  
recently a friend asked me to do the funeral/memorial. That is different that someone in the hospital who happens to take a shine to me because I got to play the hero for a few minutes. And I said yes.Then I found out the person who died was a Mason also.


I thought, oh heavens, I already said yes. Knew the Church did not like the Masons, but didn't know why.  Knew my son had serious issues with the Masons. But as it happened, only minutes after I got the request and said yes, I spoke to a wise priest who thought a moment and then said, "Corporal acts of mercy. Bury the dead."  It is what we are to do as Christians.  The family was clearly not Catholic...and no license is required to do the work, no papers to sign.
Then he looked at me again and said, "You really are a God magnet." He has said it before. I honestly still don't understand what he means.


So I did the service for the family. I read the rituals of the Masons, which was to be inserted into the middle of the service, don by the Masons.  They referenced both Old and New Testament.  I paid attention, in case some day I might get asked to participate in a non-Christian service someday. I realized there was nothing in there that was remotely sacrificial...that Christ was quoted, but the idea of sin was non-existent. I had to be careful with my words. The priest said be a witness to your own faith Cindy. Evangelize. And it was a long night. My son left me a message that was the most helpful in his description of what the Masons are and what they believe. My little boy, what a fine man he has become.


The service went well enough. I was transported back into my days as a pastor. Sitting in the little room behind the pulpit, I remember it all...and how different I felt then, how confident and sure I was then...and how I was sweating today.  The question is, of course, why?


And that will take time to answer. My theology includes an omnipotence, omnipresent and omniscient God.I am confident that, if I screw up, He takes care of it. That is he more powerful that any denominational roadblocks we can throw at Him. There may be fallout from where I went and what I did, but God knows my heart, knows of my love...and it is only His Judgment that matters.


I just kept thinking about it all. I spoke with a different priest after Mass about it, and he told me that the Masons killed Catholics mercilessly. The energy in his eyes was strong. And my gut thought was, all the more reason to love them. Love our enemies. Frankly, when betrayal arrives...it will be our friends who will wound us the most deeply...as I have recently experienced.


All the suffering...could be avoided, but is not...is a result of sin...our own and others. We are not only caught in the consequences of our own sin, we are caught in the sins of our brothers and sisters...it's that "one Body in Christ" thing:  when one suffers, we all suffer. When one rejoices, we all rejoice.


So I did the service. I did it okay.  That's the best I can say. I was asked. I tried.  A friend who does not believe in God as I do, trying to be respectful to him while respecting myself was exhausting.


From there to noon Mass, which brought its own surprise gifts. There I learned that initial judgments and conflicts are never permanent. And that gave me hope that perhaps, the events of the spring might heal. They should heal, if we are all following our Christian beliefs. But it takes two. Noon Mass proved to me that I am detaching well...or better...than in the past. I believe that all of us are better off when we practice humility...I am a work in progress. Just as soon as I do it right, I'll do it wrong.


But God wasn't finished with me for that day.  I had a strategy meeting with a friend with brought other blessings and perspectives. And laughter to break up some of the stress of the morning.  Went hoe and had my ice cream float with blueberry soda. Then I got called to the hospital for a need. Not a death, exactly, but a tragedy. Spent at least a hour in the chapel with a couple of people. I listened, I prayed. I held hands. And somewhere in the back of my head, I began to realize again...all my suffering, my pain, the betrayals and abandonments...I survived them...because someone was there for me. Someone who didn't judge, just listened, gave me a glass of water and maybe a sandwich and said "tell me all about it." I lived through it. I'm still here.


And the suffering just goes on and on. It never stops...and we each have to do our part or it all falls apart. One person at a time. One glass of water at a time. One sandwich.  We don't take on more than He gives us, but we don't turn our back on our brother either. If we are too full, too tired, too angry...we find someone else to play Simon for us...carry the cross...not all the time, but just long enough for that person to catch his breath, remembering that there will be times when we need someone to carry our cross....just for a little while.


In the midst of suffering...thinking about the Stations...we encounter betrayal, we are given a cross to carry, we meet our family and our friends along the way, someone helps us carry our burden, someone wipes our face, someone offers us a drink. Each step, we get to choose if we will let them help...and if it really is help...


Must post and finish later. Important ideas...but only four hours of sleep last night and a very long day today.  Cooked chicken breasts, sauteed green beans and roasted garlic potatoes for friends tonight.  It was fun. More later. Thank you for being patient with me.

Love, Cindy

I have told you this so that you may not fall away.

From about a week ago, the bold is today.

At Sunday Mass two weeks ago, Fr Kelly said something important in his homily that explained the Gospel of John to me in a new way.  I love the Gospel of John more than any other book in the Bible. I love the metaphor and the theology...where time is irrelevant and God is the light of the world.
But Fr Kelly made an observation, in the ways in which Jesus spoke His words...Jesus kept repeating the same idea over and over, in several ways...
Fr Kelly said that no doubt the disciples were in shock when they were told what was going to happen next. That perhaps, in the reception of bad news, they remained in disbelief. If Jesus was really God, then what is this business about suffering and dying?  No God suffers and dies. It made no sense.


How can I have cancer? I never smoked.
Why was she killed by a drunk driver? She was so very good.
What do you really mean, "never walk again?" 
Are you sure?


Bad news is not easy to hear. Sometimes we need a helper. That's why they call a chaplain into the room as the doctor tells a family bad news. Someone there to listen, someone to get the facts straight...just in case.


I did it just today. Facing my own demons, I was given a task to do. All I could feel was hurt inside. I knew that if I opened the door again to my past, it wasn't done...and would never be done...but I had to open it so that its secrets would not control the choices I needed to make now. 
But I could not remember what she told me. I had to call her and ask again. And this time I wrote it down.  Each time I see her, she says, "Well, are you coming back?"
She knows it hurts to heal. She reminds me each time I visit that I have a choice. I don't have to do this work anymore. Yet I come back. Back into the cave where the the rules of the games don't work. Where the difference between truth and illusion are exposed.  Where it hurts like hell...mostly because the other pain...the pain of illusion...has just grown so comfortable because it has been around to very long.  We get used to bad food, bad health, bad behaviors, bad movies...because we let them into our lives...and they become familiar. Then we forget what good really looks like and feels like...and happiness...these days bought with a pill, when in earlier days, was bought in the realization of gentleness and kindness given and received.


He told us what was good. What would make us happy. What would make the world a better place...we just forgot...we forgot to remember. And now we are sad and disillusioned and we don't understand why. 


So many changes during this year. Some friends have grown closer and some have fallen away.  Hopes for a good job were dashed. Health issues improved somewhat...truths have been told, some in cruelty and others in kindness...but each day I look assess what has been given and what has been taken away...and I learn to say "thank you" to God for both. 


I have been betrayed, lied to, injured, disappointed, violated, marginalized and dismissed...
I have also been cherished, loved, appreciated, received and encouraged...


It is just the way things are. In the extremes of the good and the bad, it is easy to forget what He told me. That I needed to stay connected, that I needed to listen for His voice, remain in His light and celebrate His presence.


Because when He leaves, I will feel abandoned...there's no getting around it. And He tells me
Do it anyway. Love them. All of them. Now. While you can. And love yourself.

Love, Cindy 

Boundaries

Deleted so many lines today.  Most of what is happening, I cannot write about anymore. It is all intense, holy, unexpected...without specific direction. I may shut down this blog soon. Where I am going now...is different. The war is over. Nearly a nun, never a priest...is old news. None of that matters anymore.

The work matters. And I love the work.  I do not know if I will ever have a 'real job.' I honestly don't think I care. I don't care much about a title, or more degrees (although studying would be a lot of fun!)...I just know that each day God draws me closer and closer into His life, into my own life and into the lives of others. I am doing things I would never have dreamed possible. I am watching lives change. I am bold. I know who I am now. I also know that I don't really fit anywhere. And I know it just doesn't matter.

A couple standing in a doorway, with tears on their face. A young woman who kissed my hand. A little gleam in an eye before I left. The kindness of strangers. Real honest hugs. Hearing the truth from others. And the two biggest tests of the month: people that had power over me no longer have power over me. How I handled it, how it played out...and what it really means.

In the Gospel of John readings this month, Jesus says..."You will do all that I do...and you will do more...if you believe."  I get it now. Not fancy, Hollywood type miracles...but the little ones, that change lives.

I am pretty good in conversations with people who actually want to know what is going on, but writing it down is getting harder and harder. And less and less important. I am connected to people in ways I can't explain.  I am continually encouraged to explain all of this, but how exactly does one explain union with God?  And of course, the debate about whether or not it is really happening. It doesn't matter. What I see is good work being done. Never what I expect, never what I plan...I don't plan anything anymore.

I spoke with a woman who wanted to know if she was taking the right path...to grow in her spiritual journey. I sat quietly and waited and tried not to smile. And then I took a big breath. I told her gently that it didn't matter. Wherever you go, God is there. It doesn't matter. I finally get that. It's not the when, or the where, or the five year plan...it is the doing and being present in the now. Living passionately and connected to others in the now. All the people, the things I thought I could not live without...are still important, but they don't own me and I don't own them.

You know, this kind of loving is so much more satisfying. 

I don't know how to say it better. I have fought the good fight and lost...Jacob wrestling with the angel. And the wounds...I thank God for them.  I can't possibly dare to say that I'm done...or complete, by any stretch of the imagination, but I can say, at least for the moment, I am content with the now.  And the work I get to do, I love.

That's enough for today.
 May you fall in love with God, too.

Love, Cindy

Prison

There is a great Buddha Story about being in prison. I may have written about it before.A man stands, holding on the bars to his window, watching the sun shine through it. He is so intent on looking that he does not realize the door behind him is wide open.
We look so intently in one direction, we cannot see there is another way.This has been the theme in my heart for at least a month: There has got to be another way.
In the last seven days, I received another letter from someone I visited for about a year, who is now in prison. He sounds better, he wants me to visit and bring his kids to see him.
The Scripture readings this week have been about prison. About knowing the truth and the knowing the price for speaking the truth. About suffering and prison breaks and about not bending to the threats of men in power.
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I visited my ex-husband's parents on Sunday. It was like reliving my last days with my own mother. The visit was good. I enjoyed looking into familiar eyes and seeing smiles I had remembered from so long ago. We spoke about people and events and ideas. We even talked politics, but did not argue. The pressing matter was my mother-in-law, who had broken her hip.  I remembered how the whole world revolved around her husband's life and his career.  I remembered how much his wife cried as each stage of life would go by and she would tell me, that maybe now, they would be together...husband and wife...and how yet one more time, he had chosen his career.  She had her prison, he had his...and I had mine.

I prayed with them, left the room and got in my car. Before backing out of the parking space, I was overcome with anxiety.  I began to really see all the illusions I had created for myself in order to survive.  It is a terrifying thing sometimes, to see the truth.  I am quite certain almost no one sees their truth.  Seeing the truth is devastating.  Wasn't it Kierkegaard who wrote that the miracle was that those of us who really see the world still choose to live in it anyway?  Something like that.  Yet, without question, by facing our truths, we finally become fully alive.


I wanted to throw up. I wanted to die. I knew that I not only still loved my ex-husband, I still wanted him to love me back.  A man who doesn't believe in God. I am internally convinced he was the perfect man for me.  The only one who could challenge me, make me curious and not make me feel stupid.  And yet, I know I was so alone with him...and desperate for a "real relationship" whatever that meant.  God was showing me, I've been looking out the window for 15 years. I'm still married to my ex-husband....no matter how many men I have loved since then, no matter that he has been married for nearly all of those 15 years.
I am hanging onto to the bars, looking out...not realizing the prison has been opened and I am free. There is a disconnect in my theology.  I want to be free, but I don't want to be free. And I keep stewing over two ideas in Catholic theology: "Born of a woman" and "God does not call women to the priesthood." And the pot is boiling and I am feeling like I will explode. There is no way out of this without going through it. So go through it, I will.
It will cost me everything. 
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I wrote that a week ago. If only I had known...Yes, God is breaking my life apart. Those of you who are conservative Catholics may rejoice at what is happening to me. Yesterday I stoned by a friend. I was betrayed. I was accused. And I was told I was not welcome. And that no one wanted me.

For a short moment, I cried. And I was sad that I cried. Different tears than a week ago. But the same. Both events revealed truths about myself. My weakness. My unfinished business. The great fears I had about myself were all coming true with a vengeance. And then I began to think it through. What was really happening here? Why was he so angry? And then I thought, this does not sound like him. This sounds like a man who has been coached. It didn't take too long to figure out what was really happening. I began to think and not just feel. I know that God has been behind, inside and guiding all of my strange encounters.  My promise of confidentiality to the people meet with would not let me defend myself by countering pridefully the things I have accomplished this year. God will vindicate me, if I need vindication.  And if God condemns me, I accept His judgment. But I know He knows my heart. And I have promised Him all that I am. I have said I will accept all, and if that includes alienation and betrayal, then so be it.
I listened carefully...now that my emotions were no longer in control.  I challenged some his sweeping statements simply by asking for clarification. I decided I needed to tell him more about my visions, more of my understanding about my relationship with God. I told him about things he knew about me, but forgot.

And the heat in the room cooled...enough to let love back in.

Why are they so afraid of me? I asked God. Because you tell the truth, Cindy. I took one of his accusations and agreed with it. And I told him that was my gift. I sit with someone and I look into their soul. Tell me all the lies you want, I'm not going anywhere until you tell me the truth. Your truth...it's not for me...it's for you. And no, I will never use your truth against you. I will shine a light on it so you can see where you are going. And then you can decide if you still want to go there.

So yeah, maybe I'm scary. And those who want to live in lies...I suppose they are going to hate me. I have to get used to that. And so God took someone I love...and showed me...that I can do this work. That I was created to do this work. And yes, some days it's going to get ugly.  But if I'm praying without ceasing, I won't hurt them...and I won't hurt me.

A year ago, I was not even close to being this strong. A year ago, I would have tried to please an angry person, especially if they were...in a position of power over me. My year's work as chaplain has helped me to manage my own anxiety. Now I stick to the truth...as best as I am able. Now I know I can handle a little fire.

I have no desire to ever be a martyr in the popular sense of the word, but I am thinking I might really be able to stand up for God. To take a beating for God. If I have acted wrongly, I'm sure He will let me know. And then I will learn from that, too. 

But I am not in prison any more. Learn who you are. Then be who you are. Our wounds, if honored, will become a great source of healing for all of us. They will make us beautiful if we let them. I'm not saying anything new, but I am saying it today.

Love, Cindy