The Martha Problem

"Cindy, I think you are doing to much."
"But I feel so lazy, like I'm not doing anything at all." 

Such has been the theme of too many conversations this week.  The very moment I make a contract with my supervisor at the hospital to "practice self-care," I realize I am doing the exact opposite, while thinking that I am doing the right thing.  I can say that I know I have cut things out of my days, yet the days remain full, I don't accomplish what I set out to do...and I seem to be more tired than I expected. I couldn't figure out why I constantly felt that I was somehow letting God down...no matter how hard I worked. I seemed to be in an endless sea of suffering, which is a reality of hospital work...and outside of the hospital, it seemed not much better. I prayed to God to make me a healer and the world seemed to come to me with their truths, their hungers, their emptinesses, and I did my best to help them fill their buckets...I simply forgot to fill mine.

Or is that true?  I had an idea of how I wanted to fill it...out knocking on doors, searching for the priest or the spiritual director who carried the magic pill that would calm me down, set me straight, shine a light into my dark spots...but all I heard was, "take it easy," and that was definitely not part of the solution to my problem. I was certain. There was hardly a moment in my waking hours when I was not aware of someone else's sufferings.  And then there was the guilt: I am reasonably healthy. God has blessed me with the opportunity and ability to serve...but are things getting any better?  Am I really doing my part?  Does God think I'm lazy? Have I let Him down?

Even just writing, seems to be filled with meaning and purpose. Maybe I do need to make love again.  Do something entirely selfish, get myself a husband and let him take care of me...nah...That idea just never seems to have a happy ending in my mind...(You never really know when I am being humorous, do you?)
But yesterday, I began to see the light again. Oddly because I thought I had an agenda, but I didn't have an agenda, which I guess was really the agenda...and without all the bells and whistles, I had a conversation of sorts...and was reminded AGAIN that I needed a bit more balance...and AGAIN I argued that I must not be doing enough because I felt so...unfulfilled. But in this conversation...I left with hope, something I had not felt in a while. I wasn't walking out of a room where I knew a woman was dying, and the kids were thinking, maybe they would be Catholic again...or another diagnosis for a man with no insurance, a woman who was sad because her kids were dividing up the money while she was still breathing or another homeless person going on hospice (which was my day on Tuesday)...I got a real moment of kindness for me...someone who heard and talked real to me. And it gave me hope. I decided to take to heart the words given to me because they came from a trustworthy source...
And then I went on to my next four hours of spiritual work, thinking in the back of my head...where will I find my starry sky? 
I came home beyond exhausted. I postponed an early morning meeting...
And somehow, somewhere...it came to me.

I was Martha. Not Mary. Martha.

I was annoyed with a colleague at the hospital, who, in a midterm review, called me Martha.  I was the woman who got things done, he said. I stayed busy. I made sure everything went well.

I was so upset to be called a Martha!  No, I am Mary! I am sitting at Jesus' feet, hanging on his every word.  My house is a mess. I grocery shop only when everything is gone...I don't care about my clothes too much, I don't waste time with makeup...I'm a very simple woman...who focuses on the things...that need to be done.

Oh my heavens! I am a Martha!  How did that happen?!  Suddenly, I realized somewhere along the path...my life had lost much of its prayer time, perhaps for very good reasons, but I suddenly became horribly aware that I had stopped just sitting with God. Not sitting so that I could order my day...but simply sitting, just basking in His Love. And suddenly I missed it so much it hurt.

Certainly I do good work. Certainly there is always work to do. And you know, there are many hands and hearts that can do it. It's not just me. I can let it go. I can just be.

I don't have to be in the kitchen, making a meal, when my most perfect Spouse is talking about His Father.  We don't need a three course meal and a beautiful table setting. We just need to be together.

And I am frustrated, "But I thought you wanted all these things, " I tell Him. 

"What I want is you, my daughter. I have everything...except, it seems, your attention, your heart...your smile..." he says.
"But what will the others say," I plead, "if I don't do the work?  Who will do it if I don't do it?"

My intellect kicks in.  There are many hands to help. Long after I am dust, there will still be many hands to help.  I don't have to do it all. And I hear Him counsel me, "Why do you think you have to do it all?"  "Well, because...(and here comes the pain, sure enough) I want to be well thought of. I wanted to be needed. I want to be loved."
"Isn't my love enough for you?" He asks.

I put the plates on the table, the rag in the sink and take off my apron.

"Yes, Lord. Your love is enough." He smiles. I sit down on the floor and lean the back of my head against his knee.  I close me eyes.

"Tell me a story, Lord." I ask.

"Well then...there once was a sower, who went out into his field..."

Love, Cindy

The Mystery of Mary

I have started so many stories, and left them unfinished. Today, I need to hit publish.  Looking back on the week, not so intense, but always full and thinking back to a year ago, two years ago and three years ago...it is clear my spiritual journey is evolving into better things, more lasting things, with more wisdom and compassion...yet with enough clarity to know that there will always be new things to learn, to wound me, to lift me up...to teach me.

An old saying about friends: "My friend is not perfect, nor am I, and so we suit each other admirably."  I look at my friends, good ones and bad ones, and I am so grateful for all of them. Why say good and bad?  Because I am aware when some of my friends are using me for some type of personal gain. I don't let them know that I know, because I love them anyway. Because, when I look back at my own life...and think about some of my friendships, I can own that some of them were politically advantageous...perhaps mutually politically advantageous...but nontheless, they were formed with a purpose in mind.  What is wonderful, though, is when we come to realize that the 'friendship' has trascended it's original purpose for a greater one. So I would be a fool to hold a grudge and claim that someone has 'used' me to get what they want.   What shocks me a little, though, is that anyone could ever think that I had any power at all. 

I leaned against the wall at a chirch meeting yesterday, looked around the room and thought, "This is not me."  There is nothing here (in this lecture) that will get me what I need to continue my ministry.  I love all the people that were there, but I could tell immediately that my power and my ability to continue to spread the message of God's unconditional love would not be enhanced by my staying around. I detest surveys, special interest questions and the compartmentalization of spiritual activity.  Some people feel safer saying, "I am a priest. I took a test. I passed it and now I am a priest. I have a piece of paper declaring such. You must now respect me as a priest." 

Kind of reminds me of the story of the Wizard of Oz.  The Wizard tells the Scarecrow something like, "You are learned, you are wise. But you lack one thing: a diploma." The diploma will give you the authority you will need to lead. 

But truthfully, from where does authority come?  From God.  I wonder why so many people come to me, to tell me their stories, and to ask me some very hard questions...and to hear my stories.  I wonder why people say thank you to me so often for things I know I did not do.  And I am blessed with the most precious gifts from people. Strange and wonderful and perfect gifts.  Things I needed that I didn't know I needed. And the love that motivates them...that part is most often the hardest for me to receive.  I deserve nothing...and yet God always brings me something...through the hands of His Creation...and I am humbled again.

I am not good at saying thank you or writing nice letters. I'm not sure why. Part of me has difficulty with receiving a gift, which I think should have been given to God. I suppose I am very rude. I have more to learn here. But in gift giving, there is a kind of unsaid acknowledgement...this person is special to me. Also hard to receive.

And now I must make clear what I have been hiding. Or part of it. The stories I hear, both joy and pain, they stay with me. The acceptance and the rejection, they stay with me, and I learn from them.  This week's Bible study, Fr. Barron's Catholicism, is on Mary.  I have not stopped thinking about it for even a minute since last Thursday.  The OT readings from Samuel, about David, the power of love...or lust...and how we confuse the two...how we love each other, both romantically and filially (sp?).  You know, I really think eros is reserved only for God...but that's another topic for another day. 

In attempting a confession, a priest said that I easily unnerve people with my sincerity. ("Nothing but sincerity as far as the eye can see." says Linus)  I told him that I dislike it when people blow smoke.  Either tell me the truth or go talk to someone else. Such impatience is a sin, coming from a woman who takes a year to confess one sin.  The irony is not lost on me.  The dualism in me must be confronted and I must offer to others what I expect to receive, what I have receieved.

Still not clear.  Mary. She is always on my mind.  Who is she? What does she both matter and not matter?  I woke this morning at 5:30 and for better or worse, I turned on the TV and lo, there was the Mass and it wasn't even EWTN. Looked a rich kid's Catholic School Mass. And the priest talked about the gospel, about demons and the consequences of a divided heart.  I seek to have my heart totally and completely focused on God. When I get caught in these worldly things, like meetings, like wanting to be included in certain activities, like feeling uncomfortable with gifts, or perhaps not listening as well as I should, about forgetting to take time for myself, about wasting time doing things that don't matter and leaving things undone that should be done...these are the trappings of a divided heart.

And I need to be more attentive to what I do and how I do it, that I do not cause another person's heart to be divided. My intent is always to use my gifts to bring someone closer to God and at the very least, not get in the way of someone's spiritual journey...but to divide...oh, how painful the thought of a gift so misread! 

Which goes back to power...and ultimately...back to Mary.  

I began to think about her more this week. More than I ever imagined I would. She and I are women...and we have power far beyond what we realize. 

The angel said to her, "The Lord is with you."  That first greeting after that first command "Do not be afraid." I think of St Patrick's Breastplate: The Lord is with you, and for you, and in you and of  you, before you, behind you, above you, below you, on your right and on your left...breath in and He is there, breathe out and He is there.

And Mary, the girl that she was...knowing what was expected of her, in her community, but also holding a deep knowing of who she was, and the power she had...spoke to an angel.  She did not fall on the ground, covering her eyes. She did not cry out, "Woe is me!" She knew her power, her relevance...without knowing that she knew until that very moment...she knew her power and she claimed it.

I have spoken with women who have been offered deep spiritual encounters with God and have run from them. Their grief is deep.  Their longing for Him has increased. They beg for the moment, yet still, they hold back...part of themselves back...fearful to fall into His Arms, who will catch them and hold them. They do not understand their power. They do not know their own gift yet. And perhaps they do not really want to know.

Mary then questioned the angel. That implies power and boldness...and oh my heavens! Coming from a woman...no, coming from a young girl...what great strength she exhibited, in questioning an angel...what clarity of mind...and then, being asked the impossible, the irrational...the task of taking on something that could possibly cost her her life...she said yes. Not carelessly, not without concern...but with  obedience to to One who had the real power. The One who mattered. The One who could and would put an end to all the evil and suffering in this world.

She had a part, a role to play. She was included, because some part of her knew who she really was. Her power, which came from God. Her gift, which she received...and her love, because she risked EVERYTHING to share it with us. 

Now that's very cool, indeed. I love her. And I think maybe she might love me, too.

And I say here, thank you, to the friends who helped me to see this for myself.

Love,
Cindy

Body Surfing

I've never gotten up on water skis...been snow skiing a few times. Never gotten the chance to try a surf board...but I had a summer love, back in 1973, in Virginia Beach...a musician with a voice like an angel...he taught me so much, the poetry of William Blake, classical choral music, the term "biome" as we went on endless nature trails discovering the floral and fauna of a coastal region...and how to use a bong (wondered if anyone was out there)...we'd walk the beach at night, catching strange little animals that arrived on the surf...looked like giant pill bugs that would tickle your hand and roll into a ball when you caught them.  They tickled my feet and made me laugh a lot. Back then, I had no real fear of much of anything...I took it as it came, I was already wounded...and since I hadn't died...I was still brave. 

David taught me so much.  Most of it is not necessaryfor my tale here. David, I wonder if he is still alive.  When the world continued to disappoint him, he went even deeper into drugs, never finding what he was looking for. After two years of the most beautiful letters a girl could even receive, I had to stop writing. Drugs nearly killed him. He lost the use of his legs. Even then, he would not change his behavior. Still looking for that perfect high.  Yet he taught me one thing that, to this day, is some of the most fun in the world. He taught me to body surf. And while there were a lot of mistakes made back then, I will always think of David fondly...and our adventures on and near the shore. I write that here, to remember him kindly, wherever he is...hoping he finally found what he was looking for...

Body surfing, There is just nothing like it.  You are the earth become one....which I suppose you can say that we are one with the earth all the time...but in body surfing, you grab a tremendous force of nature and you ride it, without a board, or any special tools...but in that moment of nature's power, you find yourself suddenly in sync with it...you ride it and it rides you...but you have absolutely no control of where it takes you,or really too much of how it takes you...and it is so powerful...but it doesn't kill you...I cannot think of a physical activity that is more thrilling.

And I bring that here this day because, if I was to try to describe to you my prayer life and my encounters with God...I would have to describe them as being a lot similiar to body surfing. It's not for everyone...and some people like to have a whole lot of tools as their disposal to get to the "oneness with Him"...yet, encountering God is not an act of the will...but it is easier to encounter Him when we are weak, exhausted, lost...and so tired that we have no choice but to be completely submissive. 

That was how it felt the first time I experienced God. Maybe I had been searching for a wave...but I did not consciously look for it. I had been broken into a being so small, I marveled that anyone could see me at all. I no longer wanted anything...except maybe to die...but I didn't even care if I lived or I died. I didn't care much about anyone or anything...I just prayed, not for a husband, not for a job, not for anything...except for all the pain to go away...and at that period of my prayer life, I was just beginning to have hope...an small hint of maybe this existence is just a bit bigger than what it seems (and all these words are looking back 15 years to that first time, that first movement of God inside me)
and I knew it was something good and strange and yet something about it feeled a bit like love but I wasn't sure except that the word ''perfect" seemed to describe it and it was ovetaking me like a great rush of...water...

And that's how and why I wasn't afraid. I remembered the body surfing...I 'felt' this huge, powerful thing overwhelm me...this existence that seemed to want to be a part of me...this entry into heaven...or something very good at the very least...an explosion of bliss and contentment that is unexplainable...these words do it no justice...but it was very scary...yet wonderful, at the same moment. I don't remember being aware of anything except 'happy' or 'peace' or 'joy'...none of these words do it justice...if it is an 'it' at all.

I stayed with it. I stay on the wave, I let it take me anywhere it wanted to go. I was completely happy...for how long I do not know...but some part of my brain kicked back in...reason came to me and part of me wept at the thought of the first thought...because the thought pulled me out of the wave. I opened my eyes and found myself lying on the ground, green carpet pressing next to the socket of my right eyeball. I hated the thought of moving, but since I had become aware of myself again, I knew I had to leave. I was back in reality...and I was a little bit sad about that. I did not want to get up. 

If you know the exhaustion of a perfect encounter with someone, or perhaps you might have just completed the highest jump of your life, and you have spent every bit of energy you had inside of you and are a bit surprised that you are still breathing, that is something like how it felt.

The difference is, the meaning behind it. I won no trophy, I did not best another human being, I wrote no book, ate no perfect meal, created no new life...or did I?  No, what happened...I had nothing to do with, it happened to me. I couldn't have planned anything so blissful...but...I simply became completely aware that I was loved. Perhpas this event is so indredible to me because I felt so deeply unloved...so the movement to love was dramatic. If that is true, I pity anyone who has not had trials in life, because all the trials are worth those moment,s however they arrived, of such complete joy. 

The Power of Love

I wonder if I will have the courage to write this...and later to post it.  I have waited nearly an hour. I have eaten an entire bag of sweet potato chips.  I have tried to watch TV...but it's there in my face. Love. And I don't know what to do with it. This strange creature so foreign to my understanding of the world. It won't go away. So I better write about it. Even though some of the shine is off of it now...it won't leave me alone.

I can't explain much. This creature is so new and so foreign. And yet so very old. The powers that be are overwhelming me with moments of love...I wonder if they might have always been there...but invisible, creatures that moved around in my life but I could not see them.  Too much pain, too much loneliness, too much disappointment and far too much expectation.

I thought I was rid of this horrible handicap, that thing called love. I decided at nine years old that I did not need it...well, because...it simply didn't exist. It was not a part of my life.

When something horrible happened and no one was there...no one to hold me, or tell me I had value. All my friends were taken away. No one talked to me...and I had all these feelings...that seemed to plug up my pipes...and it was difficult to breathe...so I simply decided I would never feel again.  I knew that the animal never left the room, really...even though I did my best to starve it, to ignore it..to beat it until it wimpered and crouched in the corner...it would not go away.

It stayed there for a long time. I grew up. I was successful at nearly everything I attempted to do. I was envied and admired. I was desired. But I did not play well with others. Nerds enjoyed me, because nerds have a hard time with love, too.  Being smart was all that mattered...and I had plenty of that. Oh..and I was really good at other things...because, well...love never got in the way. 

I had been loved by others...but I honestly didn't know what to do with it. I had already trained it to stay in the corner...I certainly was not going to let it grow wild again with expectation or anticipation.  I knew that pain of feeling unloved...no kindness of strangers would tempt me to risk another wound. To those people, I offer my apologies...to those who tried to take from me what I was unwilling to give, I forgive you.  To those who took without asking, I forgive you, too.  To those from whom I took because I was afraid of being hurt again, I beg  forgiveness.

Such is love...and when it stays invisible.

But I have been redeemed...I did not earn it or even ask for it...not really. But someone came along, as I was growing older and weaker, and did not let the darkness of my soul frighten them. There was a smile and I said, "go away!" for I recognized it and knew what it meant.

But love was stronger than me that day...and a tiny piece of stone in my heart fell away...and my heart began to bleed...ever so slightly. Really? Was there something human in there? How could that be? Everything of flesh had been burned off...and a little computer clicked and whirred it's way through the world, looking very human and somewhat pretty...but not really real anymore.  Where did this blood come from? Was it even mine? I guess I'll never really know for sure.

There is more to write...

But today...today I saw so much...and felt so much...love...I can't really explain it... it is like it pouring out of the walls and flooding the room. The invisible is becoming visible. I guess maybe it started at Mass. All the faces of all the people I saw...all the lives I knew...all the connections...and the promise I made two years ago, I made at Mass today...just in passing, a quiet word to God...one more Yes, I will. It was only between me and God.

Maybe it was at breakfast, when I was late...and we talked about loving broken people who sometimes need to not be treated like fragile objects, but need to own their own feelings and not expect others to fill in the gaps...

Perhaps it was the group of women this morning, sharing their faith...and watching a film that made me cry because, while nothing else made sense in my life, God made sense.  Even in my plastic computer driven body, I knew that much. God made sense. And God is love, so I guess love made sense, too. I watched a friend blossom into the woman I knew she always was...I watched her miracle unfold. And another friend, who I had waited for for years to speak to me about God...finally say something that made me understand...perhaps it was that.

And then another visit, where someone I intended to comfort, comforted me. She had faced death and the glow of God was on her face. I knew it because I was looking into a mirror when I looked into her eyes...I just knew it...and it was more than I could handle.

The nails were driven into my hands yesterday...some of it I welcomed, some I worked hard to fight...but I begged God to tell me the truth...Have I hurt the people I love, or have I helped? And much more important...to God at that time, than to me...have I let them love me?

And I seem to understand, that, after all this time...of being strong, of watching over and out for, but mostly guarding my heart against suffering...

I realize, somewhere I must have let love in...because today, I feel it so strongly...I can see it without glasses...somehow, when I wasn't looking...it crawled out of the corner and up on my lap.  And without my knowing, or completely understanding, I find myself enjoying it and realizing that, just maybe, it won't bite. It might even be nice to hold...for a little while...

Love, Cindy

More signs and wonders

I've been trying to write for days...I've been writing for days...and it all comes out so dark.  I want to apologize for the last passage, yet I have a priest friend who tells me to never apologize, but rather ask for forgiveness. So I suppose, my intent is never to scandalize...okay that's kind of a lie. There are people who annoy me with their judgemental ways...so I work to find create ways to shock them. If they want to think I am...less than a good woman, I will often live up to that. I always aim to please. I know that I made horrible choices as a kid, just to live up to my father's expectations of me. Not knowing I was adopted, and the fact that his wife got pregnant while he was off fighting the Japanese during WWII, he had little opinions of women and he seemed to live in a world where he was proud of me (which he shared with others, but never me) and a world where women were...ahem...not nice.  I only heard about the 'not nice.'

Everyone will follow your lead. If you think they are trustworthy, they will behave trustworthy. If you think they are thieves, then they will behave like thieves. It's pretty scary, the power of our thoughts. We understand more about each other than we think we do....and we also understand so much less we think we do.  Trying to 'read' each other is different than treating them all with respect. Trying to see the world as a good place, in the midst of all the evil slammed into our faces daily, is a hard job. 

I have always strived to be like Mother Teresa.  At least the parts that I think I know of her. She entered into the lives of others with a caring and respect. She treated the poor with dignity and without judgement. She took care of them.  And I believe most of them felt some kind of love. We really don't know. How she treated her fellow sisters, and the powers that she had to deal with...I have no real idea.  They see a tiny woman, working her behind off, and are impressed. God made her small to make her powerful.  My thought has always been that, because she was so small and so insignificant, the Church blew her off and left her alone. And because of that, she became so powerful and influential. She changed everything. She knew how to get things done, in spite of being part of, and because of being part of,  the biggest bureaucracy on the planet. And that is a miracle. It never quite happens the way we think it will, or should....and that should give the rest of us hope...that, if we persevere and pray, we can change the world, too.

I reflect on yesterday now. At 4 a.m.  All the little pieces. It is one reason my priest friend is so important to me. In his presence, I remember my day in the light of God...and he never seems to mind my stories and, in fact, seems to enjoy them.  He's like writing to me, only I'm with a human instead of a computer. I can tell you, being with a human is much more satisfying. 

I watched TV. Saw the piece on soon to be Cardinal Dolan. Such an Irishman.  He'll be a bright light among all the rigid Italians over there.  He'll not break into the clique, but he won't let that bother him. At least, that's what I see. They'll think, "oh he's an Irishman"...and not expect too much, because he's not one of them. I'll be excited to see what he can accomplish as they play their games in Rome. I don't really have a clue about any of it, you know. I just saw a photo of a Italian leader smiling, looking at the backside of a woman almost down on her knees and I made a judgement about Italians. That's how that prejudice thing works. If I think you aren't going to respect me, I will probably not respect you.  And then the thought of Mother Teresa comes into my head..."she wouldn't do that. She would kill them with kindness....and win." 

Then I saw something on the science of "cute."  That seeing a picture of a baby, or an animal that reminds us of babies...triggers endorphins in our brains...and the universal response it "AWWWW!"  That got me thinking about our humanity a bit more.  About how we see things, and our bodies react to what we see, hear, touch, taste, smell....pretty amazing. We think we are incontrol of ourselves, but really we have only a little control over ourselves.

Hence the need for religion.  Religion is kind of a moral playbook for living out our lives not dominated by what our senses observe.  Practice allows us to develop temperance and modesty according to rules that make it easier not to be overwhelmed or overstimulated by the world.  The computer and the internet can make our discipline easier...and harder. I see the beauty of it...and still, I live on the edge of it...testing it, refining it...never accepting anything as it is for very long. I see religion as a very useful tool toward getting us closer to God, the most perfect and wonderful thing imaginable...it is not an ends in itself, it is a means...and I get frustrated with people who treat it as an end in itself.  Yet, if that is as far as they want to go, who am I to judge? 

I wonder if I am being clear here.  I read a disturbing blog today that said some people believe that God no longer speaks to anyone, that everything God needed has already been said...through Jesus as dictated in the Sacred Scriptures and through the apostolic fathers.  Nothing more needs to be said...or thought.  Just follow them.

"God doesn't speak to us anymore. He doesn't need to."  That is so very disturbing to me, as one who feels God has been speaking with her since she was a little girl.  Of course, that could just be my imagination, my imaginary friend, you know...who has been with me for over 50 years now.  That's all it is. Forget the reading of books, the walks in the woods, the friends made and lost...just read the old stuff (which is VERY good, don't get me wrong here!) and don't think, don't question, just obey...and it will all work out...and I'm sure it will.  If you cut off your imagination and your interior desire for God, then God will leave you be. And I suppose Teresa of Avila didn't really need to write those books, or Catherine, or Nouwen...or the thousands of others who feel God. 

The thing is, I see the beauty of both sides. There is greatness inside the early works of the Church...but there is also greatness in the world God is continually creating and recreating daily.  To side yourself with only one make life less complicated...but even if you only read Augustine...you cannot help but think...and then apply his words to your daily life...and if you do, you'll be inclined to share what you've learned...because you are Christian, and sharing what you know is a way of loving one another...but after your words leave your mouth, they get changed into what the other person thinks they heard...which may have not been what you said...and suddenly you are being credited with the sin of driving someone away from God...so then, I guess it's best not to talk or think at all...but that's not what God wants either. We are supposed to be connected to each other...oh my I am exhausted now. There are still signs and wonders...there are no signs and wonders...who is right? 

I prayed yesterday in church. I felt God call me to church...that is, if God calls at all...but there I was, praying...and many things came to me. Were they of God? Were they just fancies of my thinking? Who knows...God knows...but in my prayer, my purpose in life came through again. The threads of my life began to form another quilt...I saw the Hand of God...if the Hand of God is still moving...I saw the Hand of God in my life and was both a bit scared and a lot comforted by it.

And I began to change inside. I felt it. Of course, maybe what I was feeling were those endorphins associated with cute...and there is nothing of God in my experiences in prayer.  But I did good, and it seemed to pour out on others. I felt connected to others, I was able to love them and to let them love me.  I think that's what He wanted. I think that's why He became human.

He wanted us to love one another. That's what I feel when I pray. His love. Then I can love others.

It's time to go back to sleep for a little while now.  I don't know if this makes any sense. It feels like a kind of mathematical equation only partially written...but those who need it will find what they need.  My God is alive and well and very active in our lives. He knows what we need before we need it.

I guess I needed to write that down...

Love, Cindy

Epiphany

I know how I could get more people to read my writings. I could write about all the lovers I've had, good ones and bad ones, how I felt about them, how I thought they felt about me...and why I made the decisions I did when I let them enter into my life. I think sharing those stories would also be a way to help others, mostly women, perhaps...get real about their own lives. Ideas like "He's Just Not That In To You" might make more sense...and save us all a lot of time, when we get into our heads, male or female, that we are gonna "make" someone love us...because "it's good for them" [the martyr complex] or its good for us [narcissism].  I thought about writing about such things some day, but if I do...I'll have to do it annonymously...the thought of my children or grandchildren reading such tales disturbs me more than my desire to help others not fall.  It might encourage others to try it out...just to see what might happen...as reading wonderful love stories often did for me.  Yet, hiding the truth keeps the lies alive. 

I'm caught, this January, in such thoughts. Mostly because I have to take more tests to determine my 'state of mind' when I got married, so that I can acquire an annulment. These thoughts are so complicated and hurt so much...I don't know what to do.  These thoughts attack me, my faith, my trust in the "Church."  Yet, in my dreams, God has made it clear to me that I must face them all. There is no going back, there is only going forward...and forward looks like a sea of fire...and I know it will burn me deeply.

There are people who might wonder how I've managed to be celibate for the last ten years. At least, let me say, I am tired of being asked such questions by non-Catholics. When you've had as much "fun" as I have had, it is really quite easy.  That is what I think is a real problem with what I see the world calls entertainment.  It is an obsession with fantasy brought on by anger that what we think is "beauty and perfection" is something we can never have. 

I was listening to my radio while driving yesterday...even the titles of television shows are so disturbing to me. Every one of them seem to do their best to humiliate the human being.

Son of a....
I turn on the TV, to find out the names of the shows...and there on the Today show, Archbishop Timothy Dolan announces that he is being made Cardinal...

God is a poet...
What is He doing to me?  And why?  No doubt I have a blind side...I am sure He will make it clear when I am ready...

I'll finish this later. I'm thinking it's time to go off and pray about it...

Love, Cindy

Signs and Wonders

I wrote these words (below in italics) a day or two after Christmas. I decided to not be a downer for anyone and not publish the words at that time.  But yesterday, I spent about three hours with my dear and treasured priest-friend. I am pretty certain I talked for about three hours...and I think I gave him 15 minutes to tell me about his Christmas. It had been an unusually long space of time. I had not seen him since November. And he understands how my life moves and he very much understands how I need him to just listen...and he always asks the right questions...but I know I taxed him...I had so much more that I needed his help with...but he booted me out...my arms filled with wonderful concoctions of foods that he was not allowed to eat because of his health.  I made a mental note to not stay away so long in the future.  What words were exchanged, how the conversation flowed...I knew God had other things for us to talk about. He always laughs and gives me new titles for my book...because my life is so totally outrageous...and so filled with God...I am content that at least one person has the courage to witness my life, whether or not others will or should...well, those waters are tested here.  If my words do not teach, then they are really unnecessary.  I don't claim that I am a teacher, but like the book "Flowers for Algernon," it is about teaching without really teaching. 

More words to follow later. But for now, here are some thoughts to ponder.  May they challenge you to love God more today.



Kids have gone off to their paternal grandfather's house for round three of Christmas. I watched it all very carefully these last few days. growing to hate Christmas more and more as I tried to keep straight in my head, what I had bought, who it was for, and how much I had spent.  I hated it. Not the giving of the presents mind you...I love to give things to others...but I mildly resent being told how and when and to whom from the rules of society.  I hate the illusion that, when one gives, the receiver is the obligated to return the favor...which is really not giving at all. It is exchanging of presents, which is an entirely different event. 


I dislike wrapping them. I dislike the waste it involves, no matter how pretty they may look under the tree.  I think of my mom, who lived for her Christmas "themes."  One year was blue, another gold. Another year, a pink flocked tree and all the presents wrapped in pink beneath it.  And of course, my dress had to be pink, as sat, oh so holy-ly, with hands folded...for the 100th Christmas photo shoot. 


What is the purpose of such things? To drive us all bananas over the holidays? To see what limits we will go to make the perfect Christmas?  I am truly glad the kids bounced all over me with hugs and kisses when they received their gifts, but I'd be just as happy getting the chance to read to them, or have them read to me...holding them, hearing their stories.


Both of the older kids are talking a lot about death this Christmas.  I knew that they would. Their great-great grandmother died only two weeks ago.  Suddenly their stories have become a bit darker, the older ones, at least, are thinking beyond today in more serious ways. They are speaking about what is healthy and what is not. They want to understand what it means to die. They have lots of questions, but are only indirectly asking them. They see the sadness on their mommy's face, they don't understand her tears exactly...but a new world is opening to them...and they are watching the signs and wondering.


Now they ask me, "Where is your husband, Nana?" "Who is your husband, Nana?" "Did he die?" and things like that, making me wonder what I should say. What are they really asking me?  What is a good answer for them?


I realize I am writing best when I am in some kind of turmoil or challenge.  I feel more authentic writing then, writing when I am bubbly or in some kind of euphoria doesn't always feel apporpriate...there are plenty of "balloons and bubbles" people to fill that space.  They used to drive me crazy, but they are as much a part of the Body as me walking around with a constant raincloud over my head.  We are all Charlie Brown's or Linus's or Lucy's or Peppermint Patty's or "the girl with the naturally curly hair."  Notice how Shultz makes the only non-neurotic character in his play nameless?  Or perhaps he finally named her, but I never found out...


I've spent the last few months watching everything carefully...because I am looking for a sign.  Is it time to pack up and move to the river?  Will I survive on the river? Where and when will I find a paying job with health insurance, which really has a lot to do with my mood and my understanding of the failings of this country and this country's government.  Do I play it safe and stay, never really able here to achieve much of anything? (and don't kid yourself, I am an ambitious woman)


Take the risk, spend the money, and gamble for a life where the air is a bit cleaner and the stars shine a bit brighter...and just maybe, there will be a man who can love me for who and what I am...


That last part comes because of another yet annoying letter from the Diocese asking me to jump through one more hoop to get my anullment finished. I am exasperated and I am close to not caring at all whether or not I am granted a reprieve from my "uninformed choice for marriage" at the age of 20.  The fact that the letter arrived on Christmas Eve made me wonder again about the Catholic Church.  Is it really worth this much trouble to get a ruling from them on the personal choices of my life?  Why should I possibly care what they think?  They are not God.  Yet I am supposed to let them decide if I can let a man into my life or not? It all seems like such foolishness...and yet, as each letter comes, with it's next demand...I begin to reassess how much influence I want the Church to have over my life.  Quite troubling and disappointing, because this power play forces me to reflect on all the influences the Church subtly requests to rule over. Does the Church decide what my sins are? Does the Church dictate how and where and when I am to pray?  Does the Church decide if and when my prayers are heard?  Does the Church decide if I am forgiven?  See how this confuses me. All because of this anullment thing. I understand much better today why some people leave the Church. 


It makes me want to cry, because God never intended for the Church to separate us from Him.  The idea was to have the Church bring us closer to Him.  The Church is supposed to help us to use our reason with wisdom, to guide us and our community into a more loving life, to make precious the gift of life and of all creation. It was not created to simply make us feel bad about making mistakes. But that's how I feel. Bad. Condemned. Without parole.  Unless, of course, they can find a legal label to put on me, or my choices...because God is all about legalism...right? 


All this on Christmas Eve. If the devil had planned it, it was a success.  I did not want to go to Church.  I did not want to "play nice" with my Christian friends. I wanted to scream and throw things...and yell quite definitively at a few priests...because I needed someone to blame. Fortunately...because I am older now, I did not send the email or make the phone call...


Combine that with all the deaths I've witnessed this fall...I'm looking for a sign.  I wonder what God wants of me.


I looked into the face of a friend. She looked exhausted. I saw her looking around the room, looking for her mother, who wasn't there anymore, I saw her putting on her best face and making the evening beautiful for everyone else, because she's that kind of woman. I admired her...and I wondered if I could have done anything to ease her pain. I just didn't know what to do, or if I should do anything...but being wired the way I am, I couldn't pretend it wasn't there.  I kind of felt like a failure in those moments, not able to be helpful at all.


I looked all about the room, and saw the lives of people...their wounds that they hide behind smiles and laughter and food...but not in a sad way, because I began to see and understand more about the rituals and the games, how the real beauty of our humanity clashing with our faith is that, in spite of the real world blows that knock the breath out of us, we go on living...living well. We don't just survive, we thrive.  We take all that the world gives us...and we create a story of redemption and mercy and grace. We learn how to love from the pain we feel when someone yanks out soft fuzzy blanket away and we think, "I will not be defeated today."  We are able to see through our suffering, that suffering has great merit and gift.


To push our bodies out of the womb, because we've grown to big to live there anymore...and to labor through pushing the child out of us, in pain and grief, because we have given all that we can to that new life...is pain for both child and mother. But both child and mother know that the work is necessary for life to continue, to go on...that this kind of suffering brings joy.  Life is always good, even when it is short, or painful, or dark. Life is always good. 


I am truly angry with the Church right now. I hate what it is trying to do to me. I hate the fact that I think it is trying to control my life and my decisions.  Yet, this is another labor, another suffering...that will bring life. My grandchildren are sad and confunsed now because they can't understand yet exactly where their great great grandmother went...why her body wore out...why I don't have a husband...and are starting to think about things...about loneliness and loss...and where is God in all of that...they are in labor, watching their mother and father grieve...and are learning how to grieve from them...that, in loving, there is always loss, but there is also always life.


This battle I have with the Church, is always a growing process. It is my labor. My work as a Chaplain is my labor, freely chosen...and death, violence and suffering are always around me. I don't kid myself in thinking I am a noble person, doing this hard work.  I am doing it to teach me what I need to know so that I can be closer to God, and to God's children and God's creation.  I realize in the midst of my learning, I will often be able to help other's learn, even when I screw it up, make mistakes, hurt someone's feelings...it is all part of being alive. 


I know ultimately it doesn't matter if I live on the river, or stay in Dallas. I know that if I get my anullment or not, if I fall in love again or not...I will do what I think God wants of me...and ask for help.  If I have to leave the Catholic Church because they choose to say I'm still married to a man who has been married to another woman for 15 years...well, then...so be it. God will not love me any less. 


It all matters so much, and it doesn't matter at all. That's what I've learned. You've just got to live the life you've been given to the fullest you can. I love the Catholic Church, but it takes two to make a marriage.  I have decided I will do what they ask...simply because it is an interesting challenge...and I view it as one more test...that will defend me when the time comes...for the work I will do later.

For better or worse, for richer or pooer,
Love always,
Cindy