Each day is better than the one before.
That statement is a miracle. I suppose no one but God will get that. No one can step into my life and know how completely alone I once was, to appreciate what a miracle it is that I can speak today a thank you from the deepest part of whatever it is that make me...me.
How much I am willing to write here is still limited by my need to keep safe the gifts given to me, but I am compelled by God to speak in some way about it. Now I am aware of certain people reading my words, so I am inclned to hold back, lest I be misunderstood. I suppose there will be a day when God will command me to speak freely about some things, perhaps He is doing that now...but until I know more, I have to keep working it out as I am able.
Thomas a Kempis explains that feelings are unreliable, which is true, but they are authentic indicators that the Spirit of God moves within us. It's just that our interpretations of what we feel, the mind's understanding, is not always so truthful. We want what we want. We see what we want to see. We draw conclusions that support our theories...and if our theories are not based in truth...then all sorts of unfortnuate things will happen.
I spent the night with the guests of the Missionaries of Charity. We had some revealing conversations out in the yard...discussions of how and why the pregnancies occurred, how many children...and I was saddened to learn that many of the fathers were in jail. The conversations were oddly not judgmental. The discussion kept going, I shared in with the 'foolish assumptions' I had in my youth...and then I asked the question, by not asking the question, that was in the front of my mind:
"I suppose I was looking for someone to approve of me. I wanted my father to love me, to say that he loved me...and since I couldn't get that, I looked for it elsewhere."
That comment opened a door. Everyone was completely engaged. What I learned was that none of these women had any fathering...good fathering...ever. One said her dad has been in jail for 17 years and she has seen him only a few times. Another said that she wanted to talk with her father about important stuff and he would brush her off, or just help her to get high. Some just sat quiet but listening intently, while the children played.
I waited for them to make a another connection. Then I heard the holy words, "I don't want my daugher to grow up like that."
But for love, this world and everything in it would be condemned to hell. But for love, we would never know anything but hunger and want. But for love, loneliness would be the only authentic feeling our brains could understand. But for love, many would die by their own hands. But for love, existence would arrive and end without meaning. But for love, real life would not exist.
For love, we are here. For love, we risk. For love, we give and forgive. For love, we serve one another. For love, we do not stay hungry, naked or alone. For love, we bring life from life. For love, we sacrifice. For love, life has meaning and purpose.
In a conversation yesterday, about an upcoming movie, I can't recall the name of the movie...it is about a young woman who realizes she was an aborted baby that survived and went in search of her mother. I found myself weeping deeply, thinking about that.
It's taken almost 24 hours to understand my own tears. The feeling then now has a name: In my heart, I am not much more than an aborted fetus, looking for my mother. I did meet her and she died, by her own hand...those are the facts...but I am still looking for her...I am looking for her love, for her approval, for her hand in mine, to rest my head on her chest and hear her heart beating, to have her sing me to sleep...even at age 55...those are deep, deep hungers inside me. And nothing can make them go away.
But for love, I can live with them...because others, who were not required to love me...have loved me anyway. I stand within myself and feel the goodness of that love. I stand outside myself and see the miracle that it is: to be loved.
For real love is all that Corinthian stuff: it is given without expectation of anything in return. It fills the soul and it's taste is sweet. It is without burden, it is free. It is more than enough...and giving it away only makes it grow more deeply inside. It does not attached but is deeply connected. It is a perfect appreciation of the gift of being alive. It is the onlysalvation we can know while we are in these bodies.
One of the guests understood this idea. I watched her as she spoke of her understanding that the past, her past, was not going to be in charge of her life anymore. That she knew what mattered and how she would move forward...and how she felt called to help others out of hell. I watched the other women listen to her and marveled at God's work.
So I guess that explains my tears this morning, during a Latin Mass, in which the priest, who read the gospel in Latin, by my sweet Sister Anima Christi, held her prayer book close to me and let me read along...of Susannah...and the woman found in adultery and brought to Jesus...
What was, is no more. What you had lost, has been returned to you. Remember the mercy given. Remember the love you feel in this moment. then go and do likewise.
Love, Cindy
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Monday, March 12, 2012
Repeats
I have two television shows on right now. Both of them I have seen several times before. Outside my window, the hanging basket swings back and forth to remind me that the doves have returned. Yesterday I lost my Duffy keys...again. My house is messy...again. I'm still waiting for my annulment papers...wondering if the Catholic Church is going to give a second chance. A very tall, attractive man waited for me after Mass this morning at St Monica's. I saw him and ran as quickly as I could in another direction. I don't need to be tempted to make another mistake.
Then, at the hospital, during the last IPR we were going to have, a man in the group made a sound. A certain kind of sound, that reminded me of a grave evil committed against me 40 years ago. Suddenly I felt nauseous and threatened. I wanted to run out of the room. It took twenty minutes for my heart to stop pounding. It wasn't his fault. He simply made a sound.
Memories...likes the corners of my mind. Misty water color memories of the way we were.
We can learn from our mistakes, we can forgive our enemies and our friends...but forgetting is more about biology than choice. The whole point of training to be a chaplain is to pay attention to our past...and how it informs the present moment. We have to know what we feel so that it is helpful and nor harmful in a time of crisis. How well we know ourselves is the best indicator of how we will chaplain, pastor, befriend people.
We mark ages and seasons by the moon and the sun. We have habits and rituals. Now we are in Lent. 40 days, which in Hebrew is an unspecified amount of time, but generally is interpreted as "enough." We take the time to reflect on the repeats in our lives.
Some stories we want to hear over and over again. Those stories take us to a happy place. They help us remember the good, when perhaps the "not good" is all around us. Then there are the stories of warning. Sometimes scary stories or morality tales help us remember what not to do. Often though, it is experience that informs us best. It is the best teacher, for good or for bad.
If you have always been hurt by Jane, or by teachers or by men in authority...you expect a repeat performance. If you have been consistantly loved by someone, you expect that love to continue. It all depends, many times, on the repeats of your life...the things that happen...and the things that you choose to surround yourself with.
Mom and Dad were right. If you hang out with certain people, you will become like them, think like them perhaps even dress like them. Their ideas and their conclusions become yours. It's all about repeats.
If they forgot your birthday last year, they will probably forget it this year, too.
What's the point of these ramblings? Nothing is set in stone. Change is possible. Sometimes really hard, but possible. Reclaiming the good. Refusing the bad. Letting go of that which destroys. Hanging close to that which builds up.
The doves used to come every year, when I had my piano. They loved the music, but I gave the piano away four years ago to my daughter. And the hanging basket just rotted away. In a desperate hope, I hung out another basket. No doves the first year. I did not plant anything in it. No doves the second year. But the third year, I went out side and heard that familiar sound of wings flapping...and we had babies again. This year, they are back again. Without the music, they found the basket.
Nothing ever really stays exactly the same, but we can choose to repeat those things that blessed us before, even though we have changed in many ways...we can bring the blessing back just by being open to it. And we can let go of continuing to repeat those things that hurt...because we deserve so much better that being hurt over and over again. To do that involves attention to what really happened, to find the real truth...and not just rely on what someone was telling you (and that someone may be yourself)...and then forgive it...or him...or you.
I figure we've got about 27 days left in Lent. To bring back the good. To wash off the bad. Just remember, the calendar is just a calendar...forty is a very fluid number. If Easter comes and your not finished, that's okay. Celebrate with others...and then keep working toward your own Easter...your own resurrection. Stay close to Him, who loved you first.
I had a great visit with God this morning...and a nice short uplifting conversation with a priest. I told him I was feeling old. We walked into a group of white haired people and he said, "Look around you," and I smiled at him. But then the day got harder. There was a time all I would remember was the bad: the failures, the disappointments, the ways I hurt others when I meant to love. But I've grown a bit...enough to know that repeats are only there if that's what you want. Adventure into the unknown, trying something different (and healthy!) is good, too.
Each day, I must forgive others.
Each day, I must forgive myself.
Each day, I must love others
Each day, I must let others love me.
Each day, I must create the good
Each day, I must discard the bad
Oh yeah...and ask God to show me which is which.
And say thank you.
Not too poetic, but I didn't say anything about perfect here...
There's much more on my mind...always is...
May God greet you with a holy kiss before you fall asleep tonight...He's there for the long haul...you don't need to worry...
Love, Cindy
Then, at the hospital, during the last IPR we were going to have, a man in the group made a sound. A certain kind of sound, that reminded me of a grave evil committed against me 40 years ago. Suddenly I felt nauseous and threatened. I wanted to run out of the room. It took twenty minutes for my heart to stop pounding. It wasn't his fault. He simply made a sound.
Memories...likes the corners of my mind. Misty water color memories of the way we were.
We can learn from our mistakes, we can forgive our enemies and our friends...but forgetting is more about biology than choice. The whole point of training to be a chaplain is to pay attention to our past...and how it informs the present moment. We have to know what we feel so that it is helpful and nor harmful in a time of crisis. How well we know ourselves is the best indicator of how we will chaplain, pastor, befriend people.
We mark ages and seasons by the moon and the sun. We have habits and rituals. Now we are in Lent. 40 days, which in Hebrew is an unspecified amount of time, but generally is interpreted as "enough." We take the time to reflect on the repeats in our lives.
Some stories we want to hear over and over again. Those stories take us to a happy place. They help us remember the good, when perhaps the "not good" is all around us. Then there are the stories of warning. Sometimes scary stories or morality tales help us remember what not to do. Often though, it is experience that informs us best. It is the best teacher, for good or for bad.
If you have always been hurt by Jane, or by teachers or by men in authority...you expect a repeat performance. If you have been consistantly loved by someone, you expect that love to continue. It all depends, many times, on the repeats of your life...the things that happen...and the things that you choose to surround yourself with.
Mom and Dad were right. If you hang out with certain people, you will become like them, think like them perhaps even dress like them. Their ideas and their conclusions become yours. It's all about repeats.
If they forgot your birthday last year, they will probably forget it this year, too.
What's the point of these ramblings? Nothing is set in stone. Change is possible. Sometimes really hard, but possible. Reclaiming the good. Refusing the bad. Letting go of that which destroys. Hanging close to that which builds up.
The doves used to come every year, when I had my piano. They loved the music, but I gave the piano away four years ago to my daughter. And the hanging basket just rotted away. In a desperate hope, I hung out another basket. No doves the first year. I did not plant anything in it. No doves the second year. But the third year, I went out side and heard that familiar sound of wings flapping...and we had babies again. This year, they are back again. Without the music, they found the basket.
Nothing ever really stays exactly the same, but we can choose to repeat those things that blessed us before, even though we have changed in many ways...we can bring the blessing back just by being open to it. And we can let go of continuing to repeat those things that hurt...because we deserve so much better that being hurt over and over again. To do that involves attention to what really happened, to find the real truth...and not just rely on what someone was telling you (and that someone may be yourself)...and then forgive it...or him...or you.
I figure we've got about 27 days left in Lent. To bring back the good. To wash off the bad. Just remember, the calendar is just a calendar...forty is a very fluid number. If Easter comes and your not finished, that's okay. Celebrate with others...and then keep working toward your own Easter...your own resurrection. Stay close to Him, who loved you first.
I had a great visit with God this morning...and a nice short uplifting conversation with a priest. I told him I was feeling old. We walked into a group of white haired people and he said, "Look around you," and I smiled at him. But then the day got harder. There was a time all I would remember was the bad: the failures, the disappointments, the ways I hurt others when I meant to love. But I've grown a bit...enough to know that repeats are only there if that's what you want. Adventure into the unknown, trying something different (and healthy!) is good, too.
Each day, I must forgive others.
Each day, I must forgive myself.
Each day, I must love others
Each day, I must let others love me.
Each day, I must create the good
Each day, I must discard the bad
Oh yeah...and ask God to show me which is which.
And say thank you.
Not too poetic, but I didn't say anything about perfect here...
There's much more on my mind...always is...
May God greet you with a holy kiss before you fall asleep tonight...He's there for the long haul...you don't need to worry...
Love, Cindy
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Whale Song
I've got at least ten starts somewhere in here. It was a long night, a lot of physical problems seemed to remain front and center until midnight. That is a consequence of growing old. The aching bones and muscles, the allergies, the digestive tract, the blood...the older we get, the smarter we get and I think we kind of suffer little deaths each day...always conscious that our bodies are changing, slowly or sometimes quickly, wearing out. But that reality doesn't haven't to be the primary reality.
I learned early on, that if you don't like your reality, then change it. If you can't change it physically, then change it spiritually, emotionally, mentally. It's kind of boils down to attitude. Evil things can happen. Beautiful things can happen. All events depend on attitude, which cannot be taken away from you.
And opinion always seems to matter. Likes and dislikes. Loves and hates. Betters and worse---es. Good and bad. Same and different. Do you listen to your own voice, or are you waiting for someone else to tell you what to think? Your own survival may depend on your choice.
Whale song: I heard a news article on NPR about a whale that was singing his song in a register that the other whales could not hear. His song was beautiful, but out of the range of the other whales in the ocean. So the whale was essentially alone. I seem to recall that the news article mentioned that the whale may be depressed.
We all have been given a song to sing by God. The song belongs to no one else. And we are called to sing it to God.
If others can hear it, that is nice, but not necessary. We can choose to sing the song we were given...or we can try to sing someone else's song. I suggest that if we sing a song that doesn't belong to us, we will remain forever sad...unless we can convince ourselves that someone else's song is really ours. But we will remain in existential loneliness if we sing the songs of others when God has given us our own beautiful song.
Sometimes our song is singing sitting from the limbs of a tree, which sings with us...or with a friend who understands us completely...or we sing as if no one is listening...or we sing in a range where others of our kind really can't hear the song. But still, when we sing our own song, the one given to us by God...it is beautiful and I think God smiles.
I watch people die. I watch people grieve. I watch people search desperately to find their song...and now and then, I sing with them. It's been a hard week, but I'd like to think a productive week. I have witnessed to many things, important events in people's lives. I even got to do another baptism in the last eight days. I've also watched a baby and an old man die. I've been with people, trying to remind them to breathe again. I have said things that I suppose were sometimes good and sometimes not...but I gave it all my best. I sang my song.
Then last night, my body sang a song to me. It said I might need to do things differently, if it is not too late...but it ached and would not stop hurting. I wondered if God wanted me to feel a little bit more deeply, what I walk into when I walk into a room to be with someone. (I was just going to get graphic about what I have seen, and thought better of it).
I marvel at how some people are able to face their song and others continue to sing something else.
Then I began to realize that those songs, too, are part of the journey.
Somewhere in a prayer:
Lord, I accept all because I know it comes from You. It is your gift to me and I receive it with gratitude. I want to do what You ask of me, in the way that You ask, for as long as You ask, because You ask it. Help me to accept all that You have given me with gratitude, knowing that I would not be here at all had You not willed it. I will love and be loved. I will be with and without. I will rejoice and I will weep. I will hold and I will let go. I will stay and I will leave. I will weep and I will laugh.
All because of You, I will remain grateful.
I will sing the song You have given me, whether the world can hear it or not.
Love, Cindy
I learned early on, that if you don't like your reality, then change it. If you can't change it physically, then change it spiritually, emotionally, mentally. It's kind of boils down to attitude. Evil things can happen. Beautiful things can happen. All events depend on attitude, which cannot be taken away from you.
And opinion always seems to matter. Likes and dislikes. Loves and hates. Betters and worse---es. Good and bad. Same and different. Do you listen to your own voice, or are you waiting for someone else to tell you what to think? Your own survival may depend on your choice.
Whale song: I heard a news article on NPR about a whale that was singing his song in a register that the other whales could not hear. His song was beautiful, but out of the range of the other whales in the ocean. So the whale was essentially alone. I seem to recall that the news article mentioned that the whale may be depressed.
We all have been given a song to sing by God. The song belongs to no one else. And we are called to sing it to God.
If others can hear it, that is nice, but not necessary. We can choose to sing the song we were given...or we can try to sing someone else's song. I suggest that if we sing a song that doesn't belong to us, we will remain forever sad...unless we can convince ourselves that someone else's song is really ours. But we will remain in existential loneliness if we sing the songs of others when God has given us our own beautiful song.
Sometimes our song is singing sitting from the limbs of a tree, which sings with us...or with a friend who understands us completely...or we sing as if no one is listening...or we sing in a range where others of our kind really can't hear the song. But still, when we sing our own song, the one given to us by God...it is beautiful and I think God smiles.
I watch people die. I watch people grieve. I watch people search desperately to find their song...and now and then, I sing with them. It's been a hard week, but I'd like to think a productive week. I have witnessed to many things, important events in people's lives. I even got to do another baptism in the last eight days. I've also watched a baby and an old man die. I've been with people, trying to remind them to breathe again. I have said things that I suppose were sometimes good and sometimes not...but I gave it all my best. I sang my song.
Then last night, my body sang a song to me. It said I might need to do things differently, if it is not too late...but it ached and would not stop hurting. I wondered if God wanted me to feel a little bit more deeply, what I walk into when I walk into a room to be with someone. (I was just going to get graphic about what I have seen, and thought better of it).
I marvel at how some people are able to face their song and others continue to sing something else.
Then I began to realize that those songs, too, are part of the journey.
Somewhere in a prayer:
Lord, I accept all because I know it comes from You. It is your gift to me and I receive it with gratitude. I want to do what You ask of me, in the way that You ask, for as long as You ask, because You ask it. Help me to accept all that You have given me with gratitude, knowing that I would not be here at all had You not willed it. I will love and be loved. I will be with and without. I will rejoice and I will weep. I will hold and I will let go. I will stay and I will leave. I will weep and I will laugh.
All because of You, I will remain grateful.
I will sing the song You have given me, whether the world can hear it or not.
Love, Cindy
Friday, March 9, 2012
Good News Bad News and the Toilet
Wrote these first words while visiting south Texas. It seems like a long piece to say something, so wander around if you choose...
The sun is so bright down here is south Texas. As it rises, I become less fearful, because I begin to realize that the pollution in Dallas is why things appear so dark and gloomy sometimes. Here the air is cleaner (alas, not as clean as it used to be) and the water tastes...like water. Without a doubt, I am drawn in to the familar things of my childhood. Were things better then? Ah, well, I was not so smart or wise back then...so I suppose I'll never know. As kids, we were marvels at adapting to what was put in front of us. We learned how create games from almost nothing, we made friends with who was there...and if we didn't, we learned to read or write or draw or paint...and if we received praise, we took it into our hearts and if we didn't, we sometimes became even more beautiful people for it. Or we went down a dark path of woundedness and victimhood. I'm not really certain why some things make us stronger and other things cripple us almost beyond repair.
Good news, bad news...it all depends on where you see you see yourself in the story. And the kind of story you are trying to write. Do you want to write a romance, an adventure, a tragedy...or a technical journal? The whole Bible is just a story...the best story...the most important story...but why does it stay and everything else fall short?
Perhaps because it satisfies everything inside us that makes us human. I think we a people who cannot survive without hope.We are a people who crave redemption and salvation, however it might come to us. We drink, we eat, we make love. We build and we destroy...heavens, I'm starting to quote Ecclesiastes! We fill ourselves to fill the existential void, the daily affirmation that we will never be good enough, fast enough, rich enough, loved enough...unless we suspend reality and enter into the mystery of that which created us. Call it what you will. We want to go back to the beginning, when it was perfect...and for me, that perfect is God.
So each of us is given a pen and a blank piece of paper. To tell our story. That's all that will be left after we are dust: our story. Were we conquerors or leaders? Did we build towers to the human ideals? Did we leave behind children? How well did we love? Did our existence matter at all?
Of course it did. And it does now,
I had a startling conversation with my son and his wife last night. My own son dislodged a clog in my heart. The non-Catholic son, who made it all make sense to me. I was still trying to understand my own ministry in light of the rules I'd been given by the church, my internal rules and the state of society today. We talked and talked...the lines of argument were progressing nicely. (Both of my kids are exceptionally good at debate and argument...or perhaps apology, but I thought that would just confuse people. They are good at articulating their positions and the support that defines them. It is always so amazing to me, that I taught the boy and now the boy is teaching me. In my own way, I'd call that perfect parenting.)
My argument for compassion has always been to maybe not "walk in another's shoes," but at least attempt to understand why a person chooses the shoes that they wear. From a lofty standpoint, I can see that sin is often chosen not from laziness, but from a wound given them along the way. As long as the wound is not healed, it is impossible to make correct choices. (Then one must assume there are correct choices to make!)
The discussion was presented by a long standing moral concern I have struggled with. Not to be placed here yet, but might be easy to guess. I have always known that the most important thing we can do is to love people where they are. It is important to not judge others, knowing my own imperfection...but it is required of me, by God, in my story, in my salvation history, to love in a manner that helps others heal their own wounds.
To do this, I have to pay close attention to my own wounds. While they help me provide compassion to others, they also blind me to what might be better and more perfect.
*********
All those thoughts still seem to be in my head: How do I bring the good news and remain in fidelity with my own Catholic teaching? Some days are harder than others. Today is not hard. I find that, through this CPE experience...my third unit...the more vulnerable I am, the more sure I am of who I am. This week as always, there came a great internal panic that perhaps I had made a bad choice, that people didn't like me, that I was doing things wrong again...only this time, I found myself chanting in the car: "God is good. God is in charge. I accept whatever You give me. I know it will all work out." I felt like it was a ridiculous prayer. But in my own insecurities, I found comfort in sticking to the basics. And the feelings of worthlessness passed...it didn't take a whole day or a whole night, but maybe an hour. So at least for now, I think I am growing closer to Him. The idea that bending the will and surrendering to whatever comes along seems so contrary to strength, but is in fact, a sign of strength and maturity. No longer a child who stamps her foot and says, "No!" the child has learned to trust the greater one, the one who knows all...
"The freedom of my chains." That's in a Rita Cooledge song, "Looking back and longing for the freedom of my chains, lying in your loving arms again." To belong to no one is not free. It is hell. The human being is so separate from others...and in the mind, we are so much more separate. "No one understands me." "No one really loves me." "No one can satisfy my hunger, my needs, my wants." And that is true. No one can. They will all disappoint us, let us down, and eventually abandon us. So why let them in? Why give them a chance to hurt us...again?
Because alone is the real hell. Here on the earth...and then, if we choose, because we believe in nothing else, hell is for eternity. It is the perfect knowing that one is lost...and did not have to be. That love was there...but turned down. That forgiveness was offered...and refused. That is hell.
But the One who loves us and waits for us does not give up easily. Shut a door and he'll crawl in the window. Of course, the other one knows the way, too...that's that free will thing again...but God never gives us.
While taking care of my grandchildren at the park, with my son and daughter-in-law running off to the car to get the lunches we made...one of the five made the dreaded statement :
"I have to go to the bathroom."
Nana with five kids in tow, walk across the little train tracks to the clean bathroom of the railway station. When I looked in the bathroom, it was nearly empty. I took all five kids and the stroller into the bathroom. Keeping track of who was in which stall...and then women entering...almost made me crazy...I kept counting: one, two, three. four. five...trying to make sure I still hand all my chicks with me. Then the hand washing. "Did you wash your hands?" And the youngest boy crawled out of the stall next to me...happy as a lark..."Wash your hands." The stroller, the kids..."Stay here." and now all the women...kind of smiling, knowing I was a bit overwhelmed. And my daughter in law walks in (I had texted her) and checks on her camera...(oh yeah, the camera).
I am rescued! Mama is here and all will be in order again soon! She goes into the large stall behind me with the youngest son. I'm watching the rest of them. Their father is just outside, so I watch the older ones go out to him. Then, I see the youngest son try to crawl out of the stall again.
He is about two-thirds out of the stall and I see his little body suddenly stretch out on the floor, his eyes wide with surprise, his hands above his head as he is dragged back in under the stall.
I had to remain quiet, but inside, I was busting with laughter. That was the funniest thing I had ever seen. It was clear he was close to escape, but Mama was not going to let him out or her sight. I will carry that image around with me for a long time, I hope. It was so outrageous and ridiculous...and truthful.
God is not going to let go of us easily. He is going to do wild and wonderful things to keep us close to him. He loves us that much. And when we think we have escaped into "freedom," he'll make every effort to drag us back to Him, where it is safe...and we never fully comprehend the danger we were walking into.
The rules make sense. Even the stupid ones. God sees well beyond our seeing. He knows how we fall, how we wander off and get lost...and He tries to tell us gently how to live the better life. And when gentle doesn't work...He'll drag us back to where we need to be.
That's how it feels sometimes...especially for a woman like me who insists on testing the waters. I'm becoming more obedient...really. It's just taken a long time. I never thought things could be better this way, but God has placed into my path the right people at the right time to help me understand...ad to trust more.
As always, the consolations of realizing His love are so sweet and so perfect. It's getting better...and I'm growing closer to Him...every single day.
I hope you are, too.
Love, Cindy
The sun is so bright down here is south Texas. As it rises, I become less fearful, because I begin to realize that the pollution in Dallas is why things appear so dark and gloomy sometimes. Here the air is cleaner (alas, not as clean as it used to be) and the water tastes...like water. Without a doubt, I am drawn in to the familar things of my childhood. Were things better then? Ah, well, I was not so smart or wise back then...so I suppose I'll never know. As kids, we were marvels at adapting to what was put in front of us. We learned how create games from almost nothing, we made friends with who was there...and if we didn't, we learned to read or write or draw or paint...and if we received praise, we took it into our hearts and if we didn't, we sometimes became even more beautiful people for it. Or we went down a dark path of woundedness and victimhood. I'm not really certain why some things make us stronger and other things cripple us almost beyond repair.
Good news, bad news...it all depends on where you see you see yourself in the story. And the kind of story you are trying to write. Do you want to write a romance, an adventure, a tragedy...or a technical journal? The whole Bible is just a story...the best story...the most important story...but why does it stay and everything else fall short?
Perhaps because it satisfies everything inside us that makes us human. I think we a people who cannot survive without hope.We are a people who crave redemption and salvation, however it might come to us. We drink, we eat, we make love. We build and we destroy...heavens, I'm starting to quote Ecclesiastes! We fill ourselves to fill the existential void, the daily affirmation that we will never be good enough, fast enough, rich enough, loved enough...unless we suspend reality and enter into the mystery of that which created us. Call it what you will. We want to go back to the beginning, when it was perfect...and for me, that perfect is God.
So each of us is given a pen and a blank piece of paper. To tell our story. That's all that will be left after we are dust: our story. Were we conquerors or leaders? Did we build towers to the human ideals? Did we leave behind children? How well did we love? Did our existence matter at all?
Of course it did. And it does now,
I had a startling conversation with my son and his wife last night. My own son dislodged a clog in my heart. The non-Catholic son, who made it all make sense to me. I was still trying to understand my own ministry in light of the rules I'd been given by the church, my internal rules and the state of society today. We talked and talked...the lines of argument were progressing nicely. (Both of my kids are exceptionally good at debate and argument...or perhaps apology, but I thought that would just confuse people. They are good at articulating their positions and the support that defines them. It is always so amazing to me, that I taught the boy and now the boy is teaching me. In my own way, I'd call that perfect parenting.)
My argument for compassion has always been to maybe not "walk in another's shoes," but at least attempt to understand why a person chooses the shoes that they wear. From a lofty standpoint, I can see that sin is often chosen not from laziness, but from a wound given them along the way. As long as the wound is not healed, it is impossible to make correct choices. (Then one must assume there are correct choices to make!)
The discussion was presented by a long standing moral concern I have struggled with. Not to be placed here yet, but might be easy to guess. I have always known that the most important thing we can do is to love people where they are. It is important to not judge others, knowing my own imperfection...but it is required of me, by God, in my story, in my salvation history, to love in a manner that helps others heal their own wounds.
To do this, I have to pay close attention to my own wounds. While they help me provide compassion to others, they also blind me to what might be better and more perfect.
*********
All those thoughts still seem to be in my head: How do I bring the good news and remain in fidelity with my own Catholic teaching? Some days are harder than others. Today is not hard. I find that, through this CPE experience...my third unit...the more vulnerable I am, the more sure I am of who I am. This week as always, there came a great internal panic that perhaps I had made a bad choice, that people didn't like me, that I was doing things wrong again...only this time, I found myself chanting in the car: "God is good. God is in charge. I accept whatever You give me. I know it will all work out." I felt like it was a ridiculous prayer. But in my own insecurities, I found comfort in sticking to the basics. And the feelings of worthlessness passed...it didn't take a whole day or a whole night, but maybe an hour. So at least for now, I think I am growing closer to Him. The idea that bending the will and surrendering to whatever comes along seems so contrary to strength, but is in fact, a sign of strength and maturity. No longer a child who stamps her foot and says, "No!" the child has learned to trust the greater one, the one who knows all...
"The freedom of my chains." That's in a Rita Cooledge song, "Looking back and longing for the freedom of my chains, lying in your loving arms again." To belong to no one is not free. It is hell. The human being is so separate from others...and in the mind, we are so much more separate. "No one understands me." "No one really loves me." "No one can satisfy my hunger, my needs, my wants." And that is true. No one can. They will all disappoint us, let us down, and eventually abandon us. So why let them in? Why give them a chance to hurt us...again?
Because alone is the real hell. Here on the earth...and then, if we choose, because we believe in nothing else, hell is for eternity. It is the perfect knowing that one is lost...and did not have to be. That love was there...but turned down. That forgiveness was offered...and refused. That is hell.
But the One who loves us and waits for us does not give up easily. Shut a door and he'll crawl in the window. Of course, the other one knows the way, too...that's that free will thing again...but God never gives us.
While taking care of my grandchildren at the park, with my son and daughter-in-law running off to the car to get the lunches we made...one of the five made the dreaded statement :
"I have to go to the bathroom."
Nana with five kids in tow, walk across the little train tracks to the clean bathroom of the railway station. When I looked in the bathroom, it was nearly empty. I took all five kids and the stroller into the bathroom. Keeping track of who was in which stall...and then women entering...almost made me crazy...I kept counting: one, two, three. four. five...trying to make sure I still hand all my chicks with me. Then the hand washing. "Did you wash your hands?" And the youngest boy crawled out of the stall next to me...happy as a lark..."Wash your hands." The stroller, the kids..."Stay here." and now all the women...kind of smiling, knowing I was a bit overwhelmed. And my daughter in law walks in (I had texted her) and checks on her camera...(oh yeah, the camera).
I am rescued! Mama is here and all will be in order again soon! She goes into the large stall behind me with the youngest son. I'm watching the rest of them. Their father is just outside, so I watch the older ones go out to him. Then, I see the youngest son try to crawl out of the stall again.
He is about two-thirds out of the stall and I see his little body suddenly stretch out on the floor, his eyes wide with surprise, his hands above his head as he is dragged back in under the stall.
I had to remain quiet, but inside, I was busting with laughter. That was the funniest thing I had ever seen. It was clear he was close to escape, but Mama was not going to let him out or her sight. I will carry that image around with me for a long time, I hope. It was so outrageous and ridiculous...and truthful.
God is not going to let go of us easily. He is going to do wild and wonderful things to keep us close to him. He loves us that much. And when we think we have escaped into "freedom," he'll make every effort to drag us back to Him, where it is safe...and we never fully comprehend the danger we were walking into.
The rules make sense. Even the stupid ones. God sees well beyond our seeing. He knows how we fall, how we wander off and get lost...and He tries to tell us gently how to live the better life. And when gentle doesn't work...He'll drag us back to where we need to be.
That's how it feels sometimes...especially for a woman like me who insists on testing the waters. I'm becoming more obedient...really. It's just taken a long time. I never thought things could be better this way, but God has placed into my path the right people at the right time to help me understand...ad to trust more.
As always, the consolations of realizing His love are so sweet and so perfect. It's getting better...and I'm growing closer to Him...every single day.
I hope you are, too.
Love, Cindy
Monday, March 5, 2012
You're welcome
http://youtu.be/9CkKuA86Mis
Another experiment.
This song has appeared, then disappeared, the reappeared in my life over the last 16 years.
Today was very hard. It was hard because I didn't realize just how far I had wandered off away from my own life. It began on Friday, when I was reminded again of what mattered most...in the midst of all the things I had been doing, all the very good stuff I had been doing, I have somehow lost touch with...me. I am irritated about what it took for me to see again. The price is very high. I do not like being submissive to any human being, for any reason, anywhere. Yet it seems, I am not as strong as I thought I was. In my mind, in my reasoning, God pre-ordained this one. I don't have a choice. But much more is going on than the little thoughts I can muster inside my head. And what began on Friday continued to grow...the first wall came down...and the others, not quite so strong, with more strategic beatings, began to crumble.
There is much to write about. But I've spent the last six months wondering if I would ever let anyone love me. I wondered if I could ever love anyone in that truly intimate, vulnerable level...and survive it. But a deeper question was revealed to me today. Rather, I suppose, an observation: Did anyone ever really care about what I thought, or felt...that didn't involve some pedagogical exercise? Writing here, there is an illusion that someone will read it...and learn from it. But writing here, is only a facade of living. I realized today how I have been engaging and helpful in the last three years, but that I was living only half of a life. I gave but I did not receive. I am only just beginning to see what that looks like. There are shadows in front of me, but no form yet. The mirror is still dirty.
I was challenged today. The sword was placed into my side and, try as I like, out poured water and blood. I was given a choice. I did not have to let it happen, but I had a goal...I still wish to do my work. I wish to be skilled and not just gifted in the art of pastoral ministry. So I took the hit and stayed inside the feeling and felt the life pouring out of me...and I watched as a few tried to rescue me, the warrior stood silently by after his wounding of me, leaning on his sword...and the woman observor, continued to ask, "What do you see? What do you feel?" and she shut down all interruptions.
And I stayed with the feelings, until I could name them...then I stepped out of myself and observed: so this is what is like to be really listened to. What I have just received, I want to give. And as my tears began to dry, I saw how beautiful it is to be loved. Really loved.
Now begins the task of learning to do the same.
There is a good reason to reflect on the Stations of the Cross regularly. Yes, this form of prayer, corporate and private, reinforces our faith...but much more than that, it is the way to listen, the way to hear, the way to be truly present in another person's sufferings. To love without touching...and then to love with touching. A gentle grasp of hand that says, "with you, I don't feel quite so all alone." Or perhaps a cool rag over the face on on the back of the neck. To have help getting back up when we fall, to know in the midst of all those who might want to destroy us, there will always be people who love us...in ways that will help us get through the impossible. To open our hands and say yes, wound me, if it teaches me how to live. And that dying is only temporary when we love completely. Because true love never dies...and we know that God is love. And if true love exists at all, it is because God exists and God is present in it.
I'm not writing this very well, and I apologize for that. Something is happening to me that I have been waiting for, praying for, hoping for. It is so good, though all I see is the shadow...I want everyone I know to find it, receive it, know it, live it.
I wish I could explain better. Ask God to show you what is keeping you from becoming totally immersed in Him. He will tell you what you still hold that stops you from loving Him with all your being. Perhaps you are already there. Perhaps you don't yet want to let go of what you have. I realize most people don't have to flush the trauma I have had in my life. But I'm thinking a few people out there might want to know what I am learning, or perhaps better said, how I am learning...
When I get it figured out for real, I'll write a real book, make a million dollars or so and build a retreat center where people can feel safe enough to let God's love inside them. And sing to God their own version of "thank you."
Love, Cindy
Another experiment.
This song has appeared, then disappeared, the reappeared in my life over the last 16 years.
Today was very hard. It was hard because I didn't realize just how far I had wandered off away from my own life. It began on Friday, when I was reminded again of what mattered most...in the midst of all the things I had been doing, all the very good stuff I had been doing, I have somehow lost touch with...me. I am irritated about what it took for me to see again. The price is very high. I do not like being submissive to any human being, for any reason, anywhere. Yet it seems, I am not as strong as I thought I was. In my mind, in my reasoning, God pre-ordained this one. I don't have a choice. But much more is going on than the little thoughts I can muster inside my head. And what began on Friday continued to grow...the first wall came down...and the others, not quite so strong, with more strategic beatings, began to crumble.
There is much to write about. But I've spent the last six months wondering if I would ever let anyone love me. I wondered if I could ever love anyone in that truly intimate, vulnerable level...and survive it. But a deeper question was revealed to me today. Rather, I suppose, an observation: Did anyone ever really care about what I thought, or felt...that didn't involve some pedagogical exercise? Writing here, there is an illusion that someone will read it...and learn from it. But writing here, is only a facade of living. I realized today how I have been engaging and helpful in the last three years, but that I was living only half of a life. I gave but I did not receive. I am only just beginning to see what that looks like. There are shadows in front of me, but no form yet. The mirror is still dirty.
I was challenged today. The sword was placed into my side and, try as I like, out poured water and blood. I was given a choice. I did not have to let it happen, but I had a goal...I still wish to do my work. I wish to be skilled and not just gifted in the art of pastoral ministry. So I took the hit and stayed inside the feeling and felt the life pouring out of me...and I watched as a few tried to rescue me, the warrior stood silently by after his wounding of me, leaning on his sword...and the woman observor, continued to ask, "What do you see? What do you feel?" and she shut down all interruptions.
And I stayed with the feelings, until I could name them...then I stepped out of myself and observed: so this is what is like to be really listened to. What I have just received, I want to give. And as my tears began to dry, I saw how beautiful it is to be loved. Really loved.
Now begins the task of learning to do the same.
There is a good reason to reflect on the Stations of the Cross regularly. Yes, this form of prayer, corporate and private, reinforces our faith...but much more than that, it is the way to listen, the way to hear, the way to be truly present in another person's sufferings. To love without touching...and then to love with touching. A gentle grasp of hand that says, "with you, I don't feel quite so all alone." Or perhaps a cool rag over the face on on the back of the neck. To have help getting back up when we fall, to know in the midst of all those who might want to destroy us, there will always be people who love us...in ways that will help us get through the impossible. To open our hands and say yes, wound me, if it teaches me how to live. And that dying is only temporary when we love completely. Because true love never dies...and we know that God is love. And if true love exists at all, it is because God exists and God is present in it.
I'm not writing this very well, and I apologize for that. Something is happening to me that I have been waiting for, praying for, hoping for. It is so good, though all I see is the shadow...I want everyone I know to find it, receive it, know it, live it.
I wish I could explain better. Ask God to show you what is keeping you from becoming totally immersed in Him. He will tell you what you still hold that stops you from loving Him with all your being. Perhaps you are already there. Perhaps you don't yet want to let go of what you have. I realize most people don't have to flush the trauma I have had in my life. But I'm thinking a few people out there might want to know what I am learning, or perhaps better said, how I am learning...
When I get it figured out for real, I'll write a real book, make a million dollars or so and build a retreat center where people can feel safe enough to let God's love inside them. And sing to God their own version of "thank you."
Love, Cindy
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Round Three
Without question
God took me down
And told me I was not in charge.
He said what I most wanted,
He had already given me.
And what He gave me
Would not go away,
No matter how I might try to ignore it.
The promise was made
in front of witnesses.
This One will not be undone.
The sound of my yes
Was received as a sacrifice acceptable to Him.
I swore to the world I would never give in,
But it was not the world that was asking.
And it was not to the world I promised.
Still, I thought I would grow out of it.
Instead, I grow deeper into it.
Perfect and terrible is this place
Where I have been changed.
He won.
And all I can do
Is sit and listen
and do whatever He tells me to do.
Saturday, March 3, 2012
His Way
"It was a deliberate choice, I chose, consciously and willingly, to abandon myself to God's will, to let go completely of every last reservation...Across that threshold I had been afraid to cross, things suddenly seemed so very simple. There was but a single vision, God, who was all in all; there was but one will that directed all things, God's will. I had only to see it, to discern it in every circumstance in which I found myself, and let myself be ruled by it. God is in all things, sustains all things, directs all things. To discern this in every situation and circumstance, to see his will in all things, was to accept each circumstance and situation and let oneself be borne along in perfect confidence and trust. Nothing could separate me from him, because he was in all things. No danger could threaten me, no fear could shake me, except the fear of losing sight of him. The future, hidden as it was, was hidden in his will and therefore acceptable to me no matter what it might bring. The past, with all its failures, was not forgotten; it remained to remind me of the weakness of human nature and the folly of putting any faith in self. But it no longer depressed me. I looked no longer to self to guide me, relied on it no longer in any way, so it could not again fail me. By renouncing, finally and completely, all control of my life and future destiny...I was freed thereby from anxiety and worry, from every tension, and could float serenely upon the tide of God's sustaining providence in perfect peace of soul."
--Father Walter J. Ciszek
"I rescue all who cling to me, I protect whoever knows my name, I answer everyone who invokes me, I am with them when they are in trouble; I bring them safety and honor. I give them life, long and full, and show them how I can save." --Psalm 91: 14 - 16
The sun is rising through the clouds at last. I slept on an air mattress in my grandsons' bedroom. The youngest was quite unhappy, both about giving up his bed and not being able to sleep with Nana. His lower lip pooched out and he stomped his foot. This was the way it was going to be, whether he liked it or not. He didn't like it.
I recall the evening of my first real test. The first granddaughter seemed always to do what was required. She was more of a pleaser, she is still the one who stands quietly by and lets others get the glory...or the correction...most of the time. I admire her quietly and hope I can be a good enough grandma to her. Like my daughter, she was the test case. All the firsts come to her, and the rules get learned from what happens there.
But the first real test was with the second granddaughter. This one was going to have it her way. She and her dad stood on the side of the road. I sat in the van, hearing the entire conversation...and thinking this was a lot like my son playing football. He told me before his first game, "No matter what happens Mom, do NOT run out into the field." I thought, how outrageous! Why would he think I would do that? And then, as quarterback, he was sacked and knocked out. I sat there alone, watching three coaches standing over him. I remembered his words and realized he was right. Damn.
So now my son is all grown up and parenting. He is standing there...and I have repeat to myself over and over again: "Do not interfere. He's the Dad. Let him be the Dad." I hear my boy "reasoning" with his three year old daughter. "You have a choice. Do as I say or you will be spanked. He explained what he wanted her to do in the car. He explained that her behavior was unacceptable.What do you want to do?" (I think that's how it went, remember, I was working hard to keep my mouth shut. I wanted to defend my poor little granddaughter!)
The stand off continued for what seemed like an eternity to me. My son's patience seemed to be extraordinary. I think I would have lost my temper long before. But my granddaughter thought it out, and decided to obey. I breathed deep. They got back in the van and we all went merrily home.
This was not the way I thought I would write this blog today. I had something else in mind, but it seems that God had other plans for my hands. I have had a lot of blessings this week. Yet being anxious never seems to completely leave me.
I've been told I do exceptionally good work as a chaplain. I now must decide what to do next. I do love my work...I think I love it because it is not really me doing the work. I give my power to God and He does the work. That is why it is good. It is really not in my hands. And being in that kind of obedience, or submission, is more blissful that I would ever have imagined. I think if you have not experienced it, you cannot understand it. I stand joyful when I let God do it His way.
I've been told I do exceptionally good work as a chaplain. I now must decide what to do next. I do love my work...I think I love it because it is not really me doing the work. I give my power to God and He does the work. That is why it is good. It is really not in my hands. And being in that kind of obedience, or submission, is more blissful that I would ever have imagined. I think if you have not experienced it, you cannot understand it. I stand joyful when I let God do it His way.
So yesterday, I found myself once again thinking someone very important to me, had been harsh and I disapproved. I think I still disapprove in some ways, because I have not reached that place yet where I completely understand what it means to love. I have come a long way, yes...but now I find I am being asked to 'take it to the next level,' and that is disturbing to me.
As I mused on it all over the night, I realized how the dots began to connect. Last week in the hospital, I found myself being corrective, which I realize is not my job...but seemed to come out of me because I had been working a double shift. I talked with one man and his daughter. She was crying. I asked him what happened. He said he'd been drinking too many beers and passed out and hit is head on the driveway. I looked at him. "See how your daughter is crying? She loves you very much. Maybe you might want to make some better choices." (not quite, I'm sure I did it much better, but I kept thinking...Cindy, you are so acting like a nun...the way I remember nuns anyway) He said he was Catholic. I said I was, too, and he gasped! Everything he needed came into his head then. We prayed and I left shaking my head, "What's wrong with me? That is not what I am supposed to to!" But perhaps an hour later, I confronted another man who started a fight somewhere. His throat was slit, but superficially. I looked into the wound, curious how deep it cut, but did not succeed to cut his artery. This time I talked quite strongly about forgiveness. He nodded his head. (What the hell was I doing?) And we prayed. The whole day was like that. I couldn't figure out what was wrong with me and yet some part of me thought, "I've had enough. I and sick and tired of people abusing each other. It has got to stop. Somebody has got to say something." But still I felt like it wasn't my place to interfere.
So then yesterday, which took some time for me to understand, I was not happy with my friend. But I had always been able to trust his judgment, even when I thought he was completely wrong. I do not understand why or how we talk, but I know God knows what he is going, so I stay with it. I trust it. And I grow in spite of myself. And while I don't really know what is happening on the other side of the table, I trust I bring blessing, too.
Such is the way of living. To think we have to be in agreement to secure family and friendship is an error. We simply have to love, and through loving, the truth will out itself.
In my own stubborn way, I remain obedient to the call and to the promise I have made. God stands with me on the side of the road and asks me, "Here is the truth. What do you want to do?" And while He does not "spank," He knows (and I know) the consequences of my actions will either lead to life...or to death. Being reasonable doesn't always help. Sometimes some serious parenting must take precedence, even when we appear to be "all grown up." The conrrections are never easy to hear, and not always easy to follow, but once the emotion is spent...the love remains...and no one wants to deny real love.
"It was a deliberate choice, I chose, consciously and willingly, to abandon myself to God's will, to let go completely of every last reservation...
Love, Cindy
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