Oddly beautiful, how the poetry of God works. Christmas Eve brought the blessings of family and friends, laughter, joy, sadness, bliss, remembering people who aren't here anymore and looking around the room and knowing perhaps at least one person I with will not be here next Christmas...and wondering how that will feel.
I've been told that the greatest weeping at funerals come from people who feel regret about the death of someone. Words that should have been said did not get said. Hugs that should have been given were held back. Praise for a job well done was denied because of personal pride. Other things. The calmer deaths are with those who have some sort of peace with God. Even in great suffering, you have an inner knowledge that the person you love is going to a good place...or when it's your moment, you can rest easy in that belief.
At Midnight Mass, I believe I was taken up into heaven, or towards heaven, or near to heaven. IT felt like heaven. I felt a great peace and happiness, I felt perfect joy, I felt I was traveling very fast and beautiful white lights were racing by, not stars but souls. And they were happy. And as soon as I realized I had "left" the church, I was driven back into my body and I felt sad for just a second. And then I was awed by the gift given. A Christmas present from God.
You don't have to believe me. Just believe in Him.
So I am trying to sort out what I might be able to do for God. He doesn't need anything, you know. So what can you give God? Faith, obedience, love, will...why not just give Him all of me? Makes sense. But how? And there is my problem. Mother Teresa says "Do something beautiful for God." And that's exactly what I intend to do. One could argue that if an idea is sanctioned by God, it should all go smoothly, all the pieces should fall into place without challenge. But that is not always the way God works. Sometimes part of 'seasoning' comes from persevering in the darkness. Believing without any consolation or satisfaction. So it is always a challenge to do the will of God. And our faith takes on new dimensions.
I take some solace in knowing that God can work through my mistakes. In fact, I know some of my mistakes have brought greater blessings to myself an others than if I had done it right the first time. So being humble always helps...perhaps more than being right.
Last night, after a deep conversation with someone who matters to me, who is helping me find my way, I felt a bit full of new thoughts. I needed to pray more and allow myself to be open to how God wanted me to take my next step. I felt a bit like I had hit a roadblock and I wanted to go back to my old laments which included a refrain of "Just what the hell do you want from me, anyway?" But it didn't feel like tantrum time. I needed to remain calm. I needed to hear what He wants me to do.
So I drove to Bob Woodruff Park. Only one car was there. A truck. A man took his dogs for a walk in the snow. I could tell they were loving it. Do I really want to do this? Yes. The Divine Mercy Chaplet was playing on my CD. Should have put that on my iPod, too late now. I bundled up and stepped out. Clicked on the iPod. Beatles:
Who knows how long I've loved you?
You know I love you still.
Will I wait a lonely lifetime?
If you want me to I will.
I don't consider anything that happens to me as chance. I believe in signs. I believe in God's providence. Was I singing to Him or was He singing to me? Maybe both.
I walked around for awhile. Didn't wander too far, I'm old now, and not as brave as I was at 20. But I wasn't "finished." What needed to happen didn't happen yet.
And then it did.
I stood under a lamplight by the pond. I looked up, and there is was again. Not quite the resplendent beauty of Christmas at midnight, but there it was above me, swirling white lights against a dark sky. A reminder of Midnight Mass. Thousands upon thousands of souls dancing above me, swirling and laughing and falling into God. It almost made me dizzy, but not enough to look away. It was beautiful. Each different, each dancing its own dance, but each one seemed to be laughing as it surrendered to the place it wanted most to go.
A reminder that we all have a place to go. And it's a good place. It's a great place!
Even if we don't smooth out all the edges in our relationship with others, God takes care of it. We have to remember that. God wins. Every time. Enjoy the now, but the next place is even better!
Love,
Cindy
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Count the Cost Part 2
Fast-forward to today. Or this last year. Today. I visited a woman in an assisted living center. She calls me Cathy now. She used to call me Teresa. Whatever she calls me, it doesn't matter. What matters is that she has gone from being very angry about a lot of things to sharing a few tears and telling me how good God is. Now that's a miracle. Physical healing changes our perspective a bit, being heard by someone heals our emotional perspective and God's grace heals our wounded souls.
Someone asked me this morning about how I pray for people. I don't know. I step out of the way and let the Holy Spirit run the show. But I do usually ask a question that I hope is important to that person and then listen carefully to the answer. In my heart, I begin to imagine what I am actually being told. What is the fear? What is the need? What is the feeling associated with sound/pitch of the voice? What is pulling on my heart as I listen? How can I help?
My prayer always encounters the 'system' of people that are involved with the person I am praying for. Is there family? Are their friends? Is reconciliation needed? How can I restate what I think I heard? Are their doctors, caregivers involved? Does the room have something of value to share in this prayer? I speak slowly and deliberately. I am aware of my wrong notes, my missteps, but I do not let them interfere with the direct action of the prayer I am trying to pray. The music of the prayer has its own life and while I participate in it, it does not belong to me. It is through me for another.
"Count the cost."
Another wonderful Methodist preacher told me that my greatest problem in ministry would be liability. I almost laughed. But he was right. You do something for God and someone else thinks what you are doing is wrong, you will pay for it. Sometimes in little ways, sometimes in big ways. But you will pay. The goal is to get past the negative feelings that you naturally encounter when you take any risk. It's part of the package. Sometimes you get shot at and you deserve it. Sometimes you get shot at and you don't deserve it. Sometimes you get shot at for just showing up. It's all part of the package.
John the Baptist stood up for what he knew to be the truth. Paul, Stephen, John, Peter...they knew the cost, but they stood up anyway. Because the first cost, that gift of Jesus, was worth it.
I still have a hard time getting my head around it. I can't explain it anymore than I can explain perfect love. But I know it is true. I can't pay God back for cleaning up my life. I can't pay God back for the peace I know in my heart. I can't pay God back for the "cloud of witnesses" that surround me everyday and build me up when I am too weak to stand up for myself.
That silly Andrew Lloyd Weber song is true, "I don't know how to love Him." But I try. Every single day. I try in my own prayer life, which allows me to sit with people who are very, very afraid of living or dying and not get caught up in my own fears about living and dying. I can sit without judgment of others because He has dealt with me so mercifully. I don't have to know anyone's story to love them, but if they want to tell it, I am willing to listen. I am willing to remember and I am willing to forget. All because He has already done the same for me.
Maybe those first apostles knew something about this love. Peter knew about this abundance of forgiveness. He was the one who let Jesus down the most and the hardest, because he dared to proclaim that he would never abandon Him. Peter knew about the sin of pride better than any of us. He could have hung himself as Judas did, not believing that God could forgive such a sin, but Peter chose the better road. Own it, tell the truth and get on with the work. Peter knew the cost.
So now, 13 years later, I receive a message on the ACTS retreat: Count the Cost. Everyone else loved their messages. I just stared at mine. I don't get it. What has this got to do with anything?
And it just haunted me:
Count the cost, Cindy
Count the cost, Cindy
Count the cost, Cindy
The time arrives again when I realize what was given to me. The wound that I believe would never heal has been healed. My hunger for empty things is nearly gone. Maybe it is gone, but I don't want to own it yet.
But I am ready to count the cost and give back. Completely and totally. All that I have. To sit again with another man or woman, and be a midwife, holding their hands as they are born again into Christ Jesus.
Too totally cool...I am blessed.
Love,
Cindy
Someone asked me this morning about how I pray for people. I don't know. I step out of the way and let the Holy Spirit run the show. But I do usually ask a question that I hope is important to that person and then listen carefully to the answer. In my heart, I begin to imagine what I am actually being told. What is the fear? What is the need? What is the feeling associated with sound/pitch of the voice? What is pulling on my heart as I listen? How can I help?
My prayer always encounters the 'system' of people that are involved with the person I am praying for. Is there family? Are their friends? Is reconciliation needed? How can I restate what I think I heard? Are their doctors, caregivers involved? Does the room have something of value to share in this prayer? I speak slowly and deliberately. I am aware of my wrong notes, my missteps, but I do not let them interfere with the direct action of the prayer I am trying to pray. The music of the prayer has its own life and while I participate in it, it does not belong to me. It is through me for another.
"Count the cost."
Another wonderful Methodist preacher told me that my greatest problem in ministry would be liability. I almost laughed. But he was right. You do something for God and someone else thinks what you are doing is wrong, you will pay for it. Sometimes in little ways, sometimes in big ways. But you will pay. The goal is to get past the negative feelings that you naturally encounter when you take any risk. It's part of the package. Sometimes you get shot at and you deserve it. Sometimes you get shot at and you don't deserve it. Sometimes you get shot at for just showing up. It's all part of the package.
John the Baptist stood up for what he knew to be the truth. Paul, Stephen, John, Peter...they knew the cost, but they stood up anyway. Because the first cost, that gift of Jesus, was worth it.
I still have a hard time getting my head around it. I can't explain it anymore than I can explain perfect love. But I know it is true. I can't pay God back for cleaning up my life. I can't pay God back for the peace I know in my heart. I can't pay God back for the "cloud of witnesses" that surround me everyday and build me up when I am too weak to stand up for myself.
That silly Andrew Lloyd Weber song is true, "I don't know how to love Him." But I try. Every single day. I try in my own prayer life, which allows me to sit with people who are very, very afraid of living or dying and not get caught up in my own fears about living and dying. I can sit without judgment of others because He has dealt with me so mercifully. I don't have to know anyone's story to love them, but if they want to tell it, I am willing to listen. I am willing to remember and I am willing to forget. All because He has already done the same for me.
Maybe those first apostles knew something about this love. Peter knew about this abundance of forgiveness. He was the one who let Jesus down the most and the hardest, because he dared to proclaim that he would never abandon Him. Peter knew about the sin of pride better than any of us. He could have hung himself as Judas did, not believing that God could forgive such a sin, but Peter chose the better road. Own it, tell the truth and get on with the work. Peter knew the cost.
So now, 13 years later, I receive a message on the ACTS retreat: Count the Cost. Everyone else loved their messages. I just stared at mine. I don't get it. What has this got to do with anything?
And it just haunted me:
Count the cost, Cindy
Count the cost, Cindy
Count the cost, Cindy
The time arrives again when I realize what was given to me. The wound that I believe would never heal has been healed. My hunger for empty things is nearly gone. Maybe it is gone, but I don't want to own it yet.
But I am ready to count the cost and give back. Completely and totally. All that I have. To sit again with another man or woman, and be a midwife, holding their hands as they are born again into Christ Jesus.
Too totally cool...I am blessed.
Love,
Cindy
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Counting the Cost Part 1
Perhaps 13 years ago, when Keith, a Methodist minister who companioned me down the dark road of my divorce, heard me tell him that I intended to become a Methodist minister, the first words he said to me were "Count the cost." He didn't explain himself much. He looked me in the eye, saw my determination and in his eyes I saw both joy and sadness. What he had taught me, shown me over a year or so was so exciting and life-changing that I was sold on it. I had to be part of the solution, not part of the problem.
Of course, I really didn't tell him about "my call," as they say in the Methodist Church. I chose to not tell him some things because I decided that he could not appreciate or understand them. I love Methodists. They are practical people. I wanted to be more like them for many good reasons. Yet part of my make up is very contemplative, very charismatic (dare I use such a term?) and deeply spiritual. When I read John Wesley, I see a man slain in the spirit. I see a man who finally 'got it' and then tried to make it work in the Anglican Church. They thought he was a bit looney.
I have no desire to be thought of as looney.
So how to you actually reveal a truth given to you when you know the world will think you are just full of crap? How do you gain respect, if respect is the goal at all...rather, how do you give credence to an idea or thought that lacks proper substantiation by authoritative figures?
I always like to blame Aquinas for all of our problems that involve faith. He tried to make belief into a science. Or so I thought. Turn God into a mathematical statement and everyone will accept it. Ah, yes, God exists. God is worthy of our attention. I have a paper here that tells me it's all true. It's OK to believe...
sigh.
We want proof that a miracle happened. Something that supercedes (sp?) science. We want proof that we do not have a scientific explanation for what happened. Then we call it a miracle. Huh?
How about breathing? Yes, we know more about how the plumbing works. We can repair parts and we can even define what caused 'death.' Yes, it stopped working. Or it kept working. We can even take parts of one person and put them into another and make some people live longer. Big whoop. We even have an evolutionary line of thought that says one event caused another. BTW, the Catholic Church accepts the idea of evolution...if you want to read about it...don't ask me where, but I read it. (As if that mattered, anyway...sometimes we argue over the silliest things. God smiles and knows we will grow up eventually...and the devil rubs his hands together and thrills in knowing that the more time we argue about who's right and wrong, the less time we spend actually loving one another...which is what I think God wants us to do most...ALL of the time)
So how do you go about sharing something "out there" when anything even near to out there gets taken to the cleaners...literally. Literally, we take the gospel and water it down and wash it and make it all pretty and easy to accept...when the demands of it are clear enough on their own merit. I personally think women got a real washing in Paul's interpretation of Jesus' words, but I've grown to accept things as they are now and I know that the Kingdom Jesus talks about doesn't place women in a lower position. I don't think Paul even intended things to be so interpreted. He was politically savvy enough to get the message out so that it could be heard. That was his genius. But sometimes I think people place Paul above Jesus in authority. I'm not sure that is a good thing.
That being said, I have no war with the Roman Catholic Church. In the beginning when I was young, I wanted justice. I wanted the Church to recognize my value, my worth. That was my pride talking. I have learned that it just doesn't matter. My being recognized or even acknowledged for what I might do or not do is completely irrelevant to creating Kingdom Living. It's kind of like the Jews clamoring for a Judge...and then saying...no that's not what we want. We want a king. And God gives them a king...and they say no, that's not what we want. So God gives them Jesus, and they say again...no, that's not what we want.
If a person is speaking the truth, the heart will know its true. It doesn't have to come to us like a Steven Spielberg movie, or from Charlton Heston...we will know it is true because it will feel old inside us, like something we knew once, before we got lost...and it feels like we are finding it all over again and there is a kind of joy and grieving that comes with it. Like Josiah finding the scroll. The truth will cut us, but it will heal us.
Have I wandered to a place that makes no sense to you at all? What I am finding is that all the things I thought I wanted, I don't want anymore. I can bend without sadness or regret to the Church that raised me. Here is the place where I love God best. That's what God told me. That was an old truth I always knew was true, but I couldn't see it because I got lost. God can use me right here. God is using me right here. And when He is done using me, He can throw me away if He wishes. I have finally grown into a space where everything He chooses for me, I celebrate...even if I don't want it or it hurts.
I must stop here. I haven't told you much of anything yet, have I? Again, I keep thinking about it. How do I share what I have learned? How can I tell you that it's all going to work out? How can I tell you that you must be involved? How can I tell He wins?
Yet, He does. He wins. And that's all that matters, really.
Love,
Cindy
Of course, I really didn't tell him about "my call," as they say in the Methodist Church. I chose to not tell him some things because I decided that he could not appreciate or understand them. I love Methodists. They are practical people. I wanted to be more like them for many good reasons. Yet part of my make up is very contemplative, very charismatic (dare I use such a term?) and deeply spiritual. When I read John Wesley, I see a man slain in the spirit. I see a man who finally 'got it' and then tried to make it work in the Anglican Church. They thought he was a bit looney.
I have no desire to be thought of as looney.
So how to you actually reveal a truth given to you when you know the world will think you are just full of crap? How do you gain respect, if respect is the goal at all...rather, how do you give credence to an idea or thought that lacks proper substantiation by authoritative figures?
I always like to blame Aquinas for all of our problems that involve faith. He tried to make belief into a science. Or so I thought. Turn God into a mathematical statement and everyone will accept it. Ah, yes, God exists. God is worthy of our attention. I have a paper here that tells me it's all true. It's OK to believe...
sigh.
We want proof that a miracle happened. Something that supercedes (sp?) science. We want proof that we do not have a scientific explanation for what happened. Then we call it a miracle. Huh?
How about breathing? Yes, we know more about how the plumbing works. We can repair parts and we can even define what caused 'death.' Yes, it stopped working. Or it kept working. We can even take parts of one person and put them into another and make some people live longer. Big whoop. We even have an evolutionary line of thought that says one event caused another. BTW, the Catholic Church accepts the idea of evolution...if you want to read about it...don't ask me where, but I read it. (As if that mattered, anyway...sometimes we argue over the silliest things. God smiles and knows we will grow up eventually...and the devil rubs his hands together and thrills in knowing that the more time we argue about who's right and wrong, the less time we spend actually loving one another...which is what I think God wants us to do most...ALL of the time)
So how do you go about sharing something "out there" when anything even near to out there gets taken to the cleaners...literally. Literally, we take the gospel and water it down and wash it and make it all pretty and easy to accept...when the demands of it are clear enough on their own merit. I personally think women got a real washing in Paul's interpretation of Jesus' words, but I've grown to accept things as they are now and I know that the Kingdom Jesus talks about doesn't place women in a lower position. I don't think Paul even intended things to be so interpreted. He was politically savvy enough to get the message out so that it could be heard. That was his genius. But sometimes I think people place Paul above Jesus in authority. I'm not sure that is a good thing.
That being said, I have no war with the Roman Catholic Church. In the beginning when I was young, I wanted justice. I wanted the Church to recognize my value, my worth. That was my pride talking. I have learned that it just doesn't matter. My being recognized or even acknowledged for what I might do or not do is completely irrelevant to creating Kingdom Living. It's kind of like the Jews clamoring for a Judge...and then saying...no that's not what we want. We want a king. And God gives them a king...and they say no, that's not what we want. So God gives them Jesus, and they say again...no, that's not what we want.
If a person is speaking the truth, the heart will know its true. It doesn't have to come to us like a Steven Spielberg movie, or from Charlton Heston...we will know it is true because it will feel old inside us, like something we knew once, before we got lost...and it feels like we are finding it all over again and there is a kind of joy and grieving that comes with it. Like Josiah finding the scroll. The truth will cut us, but it will heal us.
Have I wandered to a place that makes no sense to you at all? What I am finding is that all the things I thought I wanted, I don't want anymore. I can bend without sadness or regret to the Church that raised me. Here is the place where I love God best. That's what God told me. That was an old truth I always knew was true, but I couldn't see it because I got lost. God can use me right here. God is using me right here. And when He is done using me, He can throw me away if He wishes. I have finally grown into a space where everything He chooses for me, I celebrate...even if I don't want it or it hurts.
I must stop here. I haven't told you much of anything yet, have I? Again, I keep thinking about it. How do I share what I have learned? How can I tell you that it's all going to work out? How can I tell you that you must be involved? How can I tell He wins?
Yet, He does. He wins. And that's all that matters, really.
Love,
Cindy
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Christmas reflections
The men are starting to arrive here at Corner Bakery. They meet in little groups these days. Most of them know each other by now. I have met many of them, but I see new faces. I don't come here as often as I did last year. It encourages me to see groups of men gather together. Most of them gather to talk about God. There is a man with a collar, but I don't recognize him. Might be a Lutheran priest.
Larry just stopped by my table. He says the forecast for tonight is 'whiteout' which means it will be dangerous. I've agreed to read for Midnight Mass. I must pray now for all those of us who will pray in the birth of the Christ tonight. Maybe Bobby is right and this is not the year to take my grandchildren to Mass. Sigh. The girls would be fine, but the boys are very active. This morning as I left, I saw the bedspread/comforter from the boys' room in the washing machine. I'm not going to ask...
I wonder what God has in store for us. For me, too. Without question, it has been the most amazing year of my life. I made a joke last November while riding back on the bus from Chichen Itza, when I learned that 52 years is the Mayan idea of one life cycle. So I turned 52 a month later and thought, thus begins my new life, my next life.
And what a ride it has been! Old hungers have been replaced by new hungers, better hungers. I told my sweet RCIA candidate a saying that keeps making more sense the older I get:
When you are 20, you worry about what the world thinks of you,
When you are 40, you don't care what the world thinks about you,
When you are 60, you realize that the world wasn't thinking about you at all
There is great freedom in the paradox that we matter and yet we don't matter. We should always strive to do good and 'be perfect as Our Father in Heaven is perfect,' but not for some recognition for what we do...just for the simple fact that we are part of God's great creation and that He loves us unceasingly. Yes, what we do matters...but what EVERYONE does matters. And if we screw it up, there are enough people out there, who can fix it, if they desire to fix it.
We are perfect, and we are imperfect. We love and we hate. We reach out and we ignore. We hold on and we let go. We promise and we fail. We fall down and we get up again. We touch and we withdraw. We forgive and we are forgiven. It just all kind of works itself out. That doesn't relieve us of responsibility. When we create a hole in the universe, someone else must step in and fill it.
I suppose that's what Jesus did. There was a big hole in creation. We stopped caring, we got afraid and we wanted to control everything because that was the only way to feel safe. We hoarded our extravagances, we indulged in cravings, we ignored all things unpleasant. We no longer believed in right or wrong, we just believed in power.
Maybe it wasn't as bad for them back then...maybe that's because I see so much suffering right now. I can't think of what it might have been like back then. I only know what I see.
And if we ever needed "God with us," it is right now. So let it be, Lord. Let it be that the Christ Child comes to us and fills that deep empty well in our hearts with living water. Let Him fill us so much that it pours out and spills everywhere we stand or walk, leaving footprints of grace and mercy in our wake. Let it wet down the people we encounter through their hands and hearts and heads.
I brought Holy Communion to many people this week. And they brought Holy Communion to me. A man lying on his back and afraid...by the third day, his face was calmer, he was sitting up and smiling. Still possible bad news loomed in his future, but he was ready...more ready anyway.
Another person told me he had bought his family 'plot' preparing for the what might happen. I marveled at God's grace. He had the courage to say it out loud. Another step, another drink of water.
A mother's love and a daughter's love. Getting used to the new place. Would you like communion, too? I asked. Oh, but I didn't make it to Mass last Sunday. Why? I asked. "I was settling my mother in here. I could have gone, but I was exhausted." I explained my understanding of what it means to miss Mass on Sunday. She cried and received with her mother. And her tears poured over my heart and drew me closer to God.
Another visit, a woman asked me, "Do you believe there is a heaven?" She didn't want to ask a priest, because she thought the priest might judge her on her faith. I get that. I recall during an intense conversation with a Methodist minister, I remarked, "You mean I can ask that [question] and not go to hell for asking it?" And that opened wide my door for prayer life that took on new and wonderful dimensions.
Two things: any priest worth his salt is not going to judge anyone else. Oh he might have a passing thought in his head, but he knows about the battle between doubt and faith and he should own that truth every time he enters into the sacred God space with another human being. That being said, God pointed out to me that I have a place in this Catholic Church that I love so much. I think some people find me a comfortable place in which to wonder about God and not feel judged. I can hear, when I am willing to hear, when I am allowed to hear...and I can walk along and help others see the good and bad and let God into both places.
Now here's the kicker: You can do it, too. In fact, I believe you are called to do it, too. Not one of us is worthy to walk next to Him, not one of us is worthy of His attention, not one of us deserves His Love...but if we want it, if we ask for it, He gives it to us and so very much more.
His awesome, mind-blowing love...and for me at least, I wonder how my heart can hold onto so much love...and then it dawns on me...I'm not supposed to hold onto it. I'm supposed to give it away.
My little boy, lying on fresh straw, born to be food for the whole world...do you know how much I cherish you? Do you know that now is the right time? How much you are needed? How much you fill my heart with good things? How all the empty places are full?
Thank you for my life.
Love, Cindy
Larry just stopped by my table. He says the forecast for tonight is 'whiteout' which means it will be dangerous. I've agreed to read for Midnight Mass. I must pray now for all those of us who will pray in the birth of the Christ tonight. Maybe Bobby is right and this is not the year to take my grandchildren to Mass. Sigh. The girls would be fine, but the boys are very active. This morning as I left, I saw the bedspread/comforter from the boys' room in the washing machine. I'm not going to ask...
I wonder what God has in store for us. For me, too. Without question, it has been the most amazing year of my life. I made a joke last November while riding back on the bus from Chichen Itza, when I learned that 52 years is the Mayan idea of one life cycle. So I turned 52 a month later and thought, thus begins my new life, my next life.
And what a ride it has been! Old hungers have been replaced by new hungers, better hungers. I told my sweet RCIA candidate a saying that keeps making more sense the older I get:
When you are 20, you worry about what the world thinks of you,
When you are 40, you don't care what the world thinks about you,
When you are 60, you realize that the world wasn't thinking about you at all
There is great freedom in the paradox that we matter and yet we don't matter. We should always strive to do good and 'be perfect as Our Father in Heaven is perfect,' but not for some recognition for what we do...just for the simple fact that we are part of God's great creation and that He loves us unceasingly. Yes, what we do matters...but what EVERYONE does matters. And if we screw it up, there are enough people out there, who can fix it, if they desire to fix it.
We are perfect, and we are imperfect. We love and we hate. We reach out and we ignore. We hold on and we let go. We promise and we fail. We fall down and we get up again. We touch and we withdraw. We forgive and we are forgiven. It just all kind of works itself out. That doesn't relieve us of responsibility. When we create a hole in the universe, someone else must step in and fill it.
I suppose that's what Jesus did. There was a big hole in creation. We stopped caring, we got afraid and we wanted to control everything because that was the only way to feel safe. We hoarded our extravagances, we indulged in cravings, we ignored all things unpleasant. We no longer believed in right or wrong, we just believed in power.
Maybe it wasn't as bad for them back then...maybe that's because I see so much suffering right now. I can't think of what it might have been like back then. I only know what I see.
And if we ever needed "God with us," it is right now. So let it be, Lord. Let it be that the Christ Child comes to us and fills that deep empty well in our hearts with living water. Let Him fill us so much that it pours out and spills everywhere we stand or walk, leaving footprints of grace and mercy in our wake. Let it wet down the people we encounter through their hands and hearts and heads.
I brought Holy Communion to many people this week. And they brought Holy Communion to me. A man lying on his back and afraid...by the third day, his face was calmer, he was sitting up and smiling. Still possible bad news loomed in his future, but he was ready...more ready anyway.
Another person told me he had bought his family 'plot' preparing for the what might happen. I marveled at God's grace. He had the courage to say it out loud. Another step, another drink of water.
A mother's love and a daughter's love. Getting used to the new place. Would you like communion, too? I asked. Oh, but I didn't make it to Mass last Sunday. Why? I asked. "I was settling my mother in here. I could have gone, but I was exhausted." I explained my understanding of what it means to miss Mass on Sunday. She cried and received with her mother. And her tears poured over my heart and drew me closer to God.
Another visit, a woman asked me, "Do you believe there is a heaven?" She didn't want to ask a priest, because she thought the priest might judge her on her faith. I get that. I recall during an intense conversation with a Methodist minister, I remarked, "You mean I can ask that [question] and not go to hell for asking it?" And that opened wide my door for prayer life that took on new and wonderful dimensions.
Two things: any priest worth his salt is not going to judge anyone else. Oh he might have a passing thought in his head, but he knows about the battle between doubt and faith and he should own that truth every time he enters into the sacred God space with another human being. That being said, God pointed out to me that I have a place in this Catholic Church that I love so much. I think some people find me a comfortable place in which to wonder about God and not feel judged. I can hear, when I am willing to hear, when I am allowed to hear...and I can walk along and help others see the good and bad and let God into both places.
Now here's the kicker: You can do it, too. In fact, I believe you are called to do it, too. Not one of us is worthy to walk next to Him, not one of us is worthy of His attention, not one of us deserves His Love...but if we want it, if we ask for it, He gives it to us and so very much more.
His awesome, mind-blowing love...and for me at least, I wonder how my heart can hold onto so much love...and then it dawns on me...I'm not supposed to hold onto it. I'm supposed to give it away.
My little boy, lying on fresh straw, born to be food for the whole world...do you know how much I cherish you? Do you know that now is the right time? How much you are needed? How much you fill my heart with good things? How all the empty places are full?
Thank you for my life.
Love, Cindy
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Reflections on the First Year of my New Life
From Seven Sacred Pauses on Facebook:
"Today is the dark New Moon, after which she begins to fill up again with light, starting tomorrow. This time of new beginnings, and, combined with the birth of the light of the sun (and length of the day) on December 21, both offer powerful celestial energy to renew, heal, and refresh your lives. Something to invite into your lives... ~ Velma"
I am constantly surprised and amazed at how God has blessed me. Broken me. Poor me. Flawed me. Proud me. Scared me. Confused me. He seems to love me anyway.
I have always felt like I have let God down.
I have been blessed with so many talents, but I have never used them enough for building up his Kingdom here on earth. I have hidden them, terrified of what might be expected of me if I was to share them, that I could not live up to what people thought I could do. And I never wanted to disappoint anyone. And that worry, I have discovered, is rooted in pride.
This summer, Fr. Jason suggested that I begin to pray the prayer of humility, which I have posted on Facebook perhaps in August. I began to pray that prayer in July. In the beginning, just the weight of the prayer almost did me in. And I do mean physical weight...of my sins, of which I was just becoming aware...I would pray the prayer three times. By the third earnest reading of it, I felt the need to lie down. It was just too hard to sit with the truth of my life. Always feeling inadequate and less than other 'normal' people, I discovered that at the root of it was pride. I did not want to look bad. I feared not being the best in the room.
(That's a real problem, I think, in parenting: We tell our children to do their best, and we put signs on the backs of our cars: honor student, quarterback, rah-rah-rah--and then we expect our kids to live up to ideal, our kids think they have to live up to that ideal and eventually everyone is disappointed) If you don't try, then you can't fail, right?
Nobody ever teaches us how to lose. Nobody ever shows us how to lose with grace.
I am thinking of that great poem by Carl Sandburg:
"We are the greatest city, the greatest nation! Nothing like us ever was!...
The woman named Tomorrow sits with a hairpin clenched tight in her teeth and turns and drawls, "My grandmother Yesterday is dead. Well, what of it? Let the dead be dead." Or something like that. (I can't seem to find the poem on line yet.)
It is about the sin of pride. We think we are so good. We think we are gods. I truly believe that if we hear God's word and say no to it, we are thinking we are gods, we are equal to God and we place ourselves in great danger of falling out of His Grace.
Saying Yes is no picnic though. Saying Yes implies the necessity of being humble. It says, "not my will but yours be done." At least I have always thought that meant letting go of something I think I want. But it can also mean taking on something I would rather not do.
Yesterday is a good example, for me, anyway. I wrote that morning about loving without strings. Or something like that. And then God called me on it. And I was pissed.(I know that is not a nice word...but I was not is a good place for some time yesterday) Then I realized I wasn't angry. I was hurt. And then I realized the consequences of being hurt. And I was convicted by my own words that I wrote in the morning. How do I love perfectly and without strings?
I sat with my feelings in prayer last night, proclaimed my lament, dropped open my Bible and it was Proverbs: Do not waste words on a fool. And I had to pray about what that really meant and not take it on just the surface value. I thought I understood what God required of me, but maybe I didn't, for the immediate desolation hurt so much and I felt lost and afraid. But not discouraged.
The desolation made me stronger. In the desolation, my Sweet Lord healed me. I was not to question Him any longer about it. What I needed would be provided. I did not have to worry. Like Jacob, I told the angel: I will not let go until you bless me. What arrogance, I thought. I have never 'demanded' anything from God before. It felt odd.
Yet, I was blessed. I arose from my prayer and the pain wan gone. And then I went to hug my sweet Lord and I felt our hearts joining together. Mine melted into His and the joy that embrace was, for me, another tiny glimpse of heaven. No words can describe it well. I can only say "it was good."
Today is the new moon. It is also my birthday. I went on my first cruise a year ago and I learned in the Mayan calendar that 52 years is a complete cycle. So at 53, I am one year old today. One year old in my new life. I can say without question, I am not the woman I was a year ago. Soon I will make my New Year's resolution. I pray that God will fill me with new light. I will take a new risk and see what God might show me through it. It may mean becoming less, but it will also mean becoming more. Fr. Henry brought the first light to me this morning during Mass. I am grateful for his blessing and for the kindnesses of so many others.
I offer these words to encourage you in your prayer life. Be bold with God, but always in humility, as you are able. Take it all to Him in prayer...and stay still long enough to get your answer. You will not be disappointed.
Love always in Christ,
Cindy
"Today is the dark New Moon, after which she begins to fill up again with light, starting tomorrow. This time of new beginnings, and, combined with the birth of the light of the sun (and length of the day) on December 21, both offer powerful celestial energy to renew, heal, and refresh your lives. Something to invite into your lives... ~ Velma"
I am constantly surprised and amazed at how God has blessed me. Broken me. Poor me. Flawed me. Proud me. Scared me. Confused me. He seems to love me anyway.
I have always felt like I have let God down.
I have been blessed with so many talents, but I have never used them enough for building up his Kingdom here on earth. I have hidden them, terrified of what might be expected of me if I was to share them, that I could not live up to what people thought I could do. And I never wanted to disappoint anyone. And that worry, I have discovered, is rooted in pride.
This summer, Fr. Jason suggested that I begin to pray the prayer of humility, which I have posted on Facebook perhaps in August. I began to pray that prayer in July. In the beginning, just the weight of the prayer almost did me in. And I do mean physical weight...of my sins, of which I was just becoming aware...I would pray the prayer three times. By the third earnest reading of it, I felt the need to lie down. It was just too hard to sit with the truth of my life. Always feeling inadequate and less than other 'normal' people, I discovered that at the root of it was pride. I did not want to look bad. I feared not being the best in the room.
(That's a real problem, I think, in parenting: We tell our children to do their best, and we put signs on the backs of our cars: honor student, quarterback, rah-rah-rah--and then we expect our kids to live up to ideal, our kids think they have to live up to that ideal and eventually everyone is disappointed) If you don't try, then you can't fail, right?
Nobody ever teaches us how to lose. Nobody ever shows us how to lose with grace.
I am thinking of that great poem by Carl Sandburg:
"We are the greatest city, the greatest nation! Nothing like us ever was!...
The woman named Tomorrow sits with a hairpin clenched tight in her teeth and turns and drawls, "My grandmother Yesterday is dead. Well, what of it? Let the dead be dead." Or something like that. (I can't seem to find the poem on line yet.)
It is about the sin of pride. We think we are so good. We think we are gods. I truly believe that if we hear God's word and say no to it, we are thinking we are gods, we are equal to God and we place ourselves in great danger of falling out of His Grace.
Saying Yes is no picnic though. Saying Yes implies the necessity of being humble. It says, "not my will but yours be done." At least I have always thought that meant letting go of something I think I want. But it can also mean taking on something I would rather not do.
Yesterday is a good example, for me, anyway. I wrote that morning about loving without strings. Or something like that. And then God called me on it. And I was pissed.(I know that is not a nice word...but I was not is a good place for some time yesterday) Then I realized I wasn't angry. I was hurt. And then I realized the consequences of being hurt. And I was convicted by my own words that I wrote in the morning. How do I love perfectly and without strings?
I sat with my feelings in prayer last night, proclaimed my lament, dropped open my Bible and it was Proverbs: Do not waste words on a fool. And I had to pray about what that really meant and not take it on just the surface value. I thought I understood what God required of me, but maybe I didn't, for the immediate desolation hurt so much and I felt lost and afraid. But not discouraged.
The desolation made me stronger. In the desolation, my Sweet Lord healed me. I was not to question Him any longer about it. What I needed would be provided. I did not have to worry. Like Jacob, I told the angel: I will not let go until you bless me. What arrogance, I thought. I have never 'demanded' anything from God before. It felt odd.
Yet, I was blessed. I arose from my prayer and the pain wan gone. And then I went to hug my sweet Lord and I felt our hearts joining together. Mine melted into His and the joy that embrace was, for me, another tiny glimpse of heaven. No words can describe it well. I can only say "it was good."
Today is the new moon. It is also my birthday. I went on my first cruise a year ago and I learned in the Mayan calendar that 52 years is a complete cycle. So at 53, I am one year old today. One year old in my new life. I can say without question, I am not the woman I was a year ago. Soon I will make my New Year's resolution. I pray that God will fill me with new light. I will take a new risk and see what God might show me through it. It may mean becoming less, but it will also mean becoming more. Fr. Henry brought the first light to me this morning during Mass. I am grateful for his blessing and for the kindnesses of so many others.
I offer these words to encourage you in your prayer life. Be bold with God, but always in humility, as you are able. Take it all to Him in prayer...and stay still long enough to get your answer. You will not be disappointed.
Love always in Christ,
Cindy
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Kind Words
This morning, I showed up at Starbucks just about the time they opened. I walked in and asked, "What's that burning smell?" To which one of the sweet baristas relied,"It's my burning love for you!" I smiled at him and told him he just made my day. And he did.
Last night, as it was very cold, I began missing having a man lie beside me and keep me warm. (Summer it was always, "Stay on your own side already!") But as I snuggled under the down quilt I finally remembered I had in the closet, I missed that kind of touch.
I think that was the hardest thing to adjust to after the divorce, the gentle pleasure of just being held. I'm told men don't get that. They think an embrace is foreplay or something. That's not true, men probably enjoy a bit of tenderness just as much as a woman.
But I am in a different place in my life now. I am learning how to loved and be loved in new and wonderfully satisfying ways. You think I'm crazy? Perhaps. Not everyone is wired for or even desires this. I don't know if I really am, either. But I have come to realize the truth of John of the Cross's words (paraphrased...summed up, whatever): "to have everything, one must desire nothing."
In a different place of my life, I needed so very much. I was so hungry for so much. I actually found myself competing for a man once (OK maybe twice)...that was a humiliating truth to own, but it helped me to realize that 'curse' on Eve: your desire will be for your husband. In an unjust relationship, that is a form of enslavement. Let me say that twice so it is not misunderstood: IN AN UNJUST RELATIONSHIP, that is enslavement. I am not talking about a just one.
It is the curse of being 15 perhaps. We absolutely must have a boyfriend! The world will end if he doesn't look at me in the hall. And then some really destructive things can happen too, to get the object of one's affections attention. Oh how very much we need to love our adolescents properly so they won't go looking for the wrong things!
But in this new life, I have somewhat detached myself of certain needs that get in the way of my ability to love and be present for whomever I meet during the day. I truly get to 'love the one I wtih' and never feel empty when he/she walks away. I am not hungry for a phone call, a reassurance of love...and that makes me a much better lover.
Let me assure you, I have not mastered this charism...can one really master a charism? But I know that, if I stay true to my prayer, my personal desires will not overshadow the good work of loving my neighbor. I'm a work in process. I will fall down many more times. But I get up a bit faster these days, and the wounds are not so big anymore. It is a good life and I am happy in it.
So the sweet comment from a friend (who is my daughter's age) is received with great joy. I thank him for it. I thank God for it. And I thank God for you, who bothers to read my ramblings.
Love, Cindy
Last night, as it was very cold, I began missing having a man lie beside me and keep me warm. (Summer it was always, "Stay on your own side already!") But as I snuggled under the down quilt I finally remembered I had in the closet, I missed that kind of touch.
I think that was the hardest thing to adjust to after the divorce, the gentle pleasure of just being held. I'm told men don't get that. They think an embrace is foreplay or something. That's not true, men probably enjoy a bit of tenderness just as much as a woman.
But I am in a different place in my life now. I am learning how to loved and be loved in new and wonderfully satisfying ways. You think I'm crazy? Perhaps. Not everyone is wired for or even desires this. I don't know if I really am, either. But I have come to realize the truth of John of the Cross's words (paraphrased...summed up, whatever): "to have everything, one must desire nothing."
In a different place of my life, I needed so very much. I was so hungry for so much. I actually found myself competing for a man once (OK maybe twice)...that was a humiliating truth to own, but it helped me to realize that 'curse' on Eve: your desire will be for your husband. In an unjust relationship, that is a form of enslavement. Let me say that twice so it is not misunderstood: IN AN UNJUST RELATIONSHIP, that is enslavement. I am not talking about a just one.
It is the curse of being 15 perhaps. We absolutely must have a boyfriend! The world will end if he doesn't look at me in the hall. And then some really destructive things can happen too, to get the object of one's affections attention. Oh how very much we need to love our adolescents properly so they won't go looking for the wrong things!
But in this new life, I have somewhat detached myself of certain needs that get in the way of my ability to love and be present for whomever I meet during the day. I truly get to 'love the one I wtih' and never feel empty when he/she walks away. I am not hungry for a phone call, a reassurance of love...and that makes me a much better lover.
Let me assure you, I have not mastered this charism...can one really master a charism? But I know that, if I stay true to my prayer, my personal desires will not overshadow the good work of loving my neighbor. I'm a work in process. I will fall down many more times. But I get up a bit faster these days, and the wounds are not so big anymore. It is a good life and I am happy in it.
So the sweet comment from a friend (who is my daughter's age) is received with great joy. I thank him for it. I thank God for it. And I thank God for you, who bothers to read my ramblings.
Love, Cindy
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Putting it back again....sigh....
I hate the fact that I cannot write clearly what forms in my head. I cannot play the piano in front of people on purpose because I have in my head how the music should sound, and what comes from my hands is never quite what I intend to give to others. I get angry and depressed and then I realize it is all about pride.
My parents wanted me to be Miss America. My dad used to sing that song as I walked out of the bedroom, dressed for a date or something. He made me laugh. And then my Mom would point out all the things that were wrong: make-up (need a little more blue eye shadow) hair (the curl didn't hold on the left side) clothes (that shirt really doesn't go with those pants)
Small things, we think don't mean much, little criticisms and they cut as deep as "You're fat, you're ugly, and I don't like you."
This ruler thing is still haunting me. Enough conversations since I deleted this one below tell me how critical we are of ourselves and each other. Left unchecked, this demon does more damage to us than we are willing to admit. When we give it out, when we receive it...we kill ourselves and each other slowly and sometimes deliberately. So it needs to stop now. Right now.
So here it is again, flawed and broken and incomplete. But if one person stops hurting themselves or someone else, I will gladly take on the humiliation of being a lousy writer.
In Christ's Love always,
Cindy
THE RULER
Mostly I remember fourth grade in Catholic school. Sister Mary Esther and her ruler. I didn't get hit too often with the ruler, she saved that for the boys. For me, it was digging her fingernails into my head, lifting my desk off the ground and dumping its contents all over the floor (because my books were not properly stacked), various punishments or humiliations in the front of the room and finally tying me to my desk with ropes because I would not sit still.
And you still wonder why I couldn't be a nun. I suppose I will go to my grave wanting to be a priest. Actually confessing that desire in this pseudo-public way really doesn't help me get past it much either. And no, I have no desire to be a priestess. That would be ridiculous. Any power I might have comes from God, not from manipulations of the earthly elements, which is how we tend to define priestess, I think. I can't weave magic and I don't want to.
But I do want to help people with the forgiveness of their sins. In this last week alone, without any deliberate action, I have heard people's sins. I have heard people's pain. And there is a lot out there. We are all the walking wounded to some degree.
The wounds by themselves will not kill us. Not forgiving them, however, will kill us. I met a woman not long ago who wanted to die. In fact I met three people who wanted to die...and those were just the ones who told me of their desire. It must have been another Holy Spirit moment for me because this woman, who was in her early 60s, said she was ready to go and be with God. I said maybe God had more for her to do. I said maybe she needed to forgive some people while she was still here. She told me she had forgiven everyone. I asked her, did you forgive your husband? She told me she would die before she would forgive her husband. I smiled just a little bit, maybe God would like for you to forgive him, I said. Maybe God was keeping her here for exactly that task. And we continued our little visit.
Each day, I meet someone new who tells me something that ultimately wonders a question in their heart: Does God love me at all? And with great confidence, I try to respond, with about as much indirectness...or directness,as I am allowed: Of course God loves you! God loves all of His creation. But that is so hard to hear and so hard to receive sometimes...and especially when we have disappointed ourselves.
A long time ago, when I was a Methodist minister, I preached "It's a Wonderful Life." Do you remember the movie? Really remember? The story about who finally decided he would be better off dead. A man who dreamed of being something great and never got out of Bedford Falls. He thought his life amounted to nothing.
Somewhere in a drawer, I still have that perfect 'thank you' note from a parishioner about that sermon that said, "I am a bit frustrated with you, Cindy. I usually write out my grocery list during the sermon...but you words kept me listening to you!" or something like that. I never got to preach very often, but people remembered the stories I told. (That is one of the dangerous things about preaching: you want them to remember, but when they tell you that they do, you can surely get puffed up about it!)The sermon about George Bailey also included a story about making fudge. (Not my personal story, it was Mary's story and she let me tell it) I got a letter from a woman saying she had been depressed and thinking about suicide...but my sermon got her to think again and differently. Wow! Then once I walked into a hospital room and the woman called out from her bed to her family, 'It's the fudge lady!' (She had to explain what she meant, and I laughed-- it was a very good story) I still have the cassette of it. Maybe once a year I listen to it...and oh, my how Roman Catholic it sounds to me! Perhaps our blindness about ourselves is a gift...maybe.
Could go in ten other directions with this, but this story is about the ruler.
We beat ourselves up daily with that ruler. We think we know who we are supposed to be and we know we are not that person. We think we know what other people are supposed to be for us and they let us down. The closer a person is to us, the greater the pain. Well, if I have learned nothing else, I have learned that all love relationships come with pain. It wouldn't be love if it didn't hurt sometimes.
Let me be clear, I am not talking about the manipulative kind of hurts that some people cause or receive to maintain control over a relationship...the kind that uses and abuses the other...I am speaking of the cost of being vulnerable between two reasonably healthy people. Hurt is just part of the deal. We couldn't love if we weren't willing to risk getting hurt. When God gave us the ability to love, He sent us His Son to give us the ability for forgive ourselves, those we love deeply, and even those we hate deeply. Remember that hate is really love turned inward instead of outward.
That ruler can help us "stay within the lines" when we need to stay within the lines, but it can also create intense despair. We beat ourselves up for who we are and for who we are not. We beat ourselves up for who they are and for who they are not. Only because we have "a ruler" that tells us one thing is right and another thing is wrong.
I wish I was writing this more clearly. (There's my ruler showing itself!)But perhaps poorly is better than not at all. I get little clues from friends that some people I know are actually reading the stuff I write. Thank you. I intend to do good. I am not always successful.
BUT...
How many suicide attempts will I witness this season? How many won't make a mistake and actually die? How many hearts will be broken because we didn't live up to our own expectations? How many people are going to feel empty on Christmas morning? How many are going to dwell on what they didn't get, or that Aunt Grace still thinks you are a size 10 and you are a size 14...shouldn't she know that by now? Doesn't she care about me?
I'm glad God has given me the grace to sit with people who hurt. I am especially glad that God have given me wonderful people who are willing to sit with me when I hurt.
I have a dream that maybe this Christmas, no one will die by his/her own hand. I have a dream that we can each say thank you to each other...not for what we get, but for who we are. And who we are depends on Him who created us. Let all people know we are all children of God. He loves us and He wants us to love His creation.
George Bailey really had a wonderful life. No, it wasn't what he dreamed of, but it was a life that mattered, that touched others...and it was time for George to let his life touch him...and to let in all that love that surrounded him into his heart. It's OK, it is worth the risk. Love and be loved. Don't throw away the gift of life. Really.
I John 4:19 "We must love because He first loved us."
Love,
Cindy
Posted by Teresa's Garden at 7:27 AM
My parents wanted me to be Miss America. My dad used to sing that song as I walked out of the bedroom, dressed for a date or something. He made me laugh. And then my Mom would point out all the things that were wrong: make-up (need a little more blue eye shadow) hair (the curl didn't hold on the left side) clothes (that shirt really doesn't go with those pants)
Small things, we think don't mean much, little criticisms and they cut as deep as "You're fat, you're ugly, and I don't like you."
This ruler thing is still haunting me. Enough conversations since I deleted this one below tell me how critical we are of ourselves and each other. Left unchecked, this demon does more damage to us than we are willing to admit. When we give it out, when we receive it...we kill ourselves and each other slowly and sometimes deliberately. So it needs to stop now. Right now.
So here it is again, flawed and broken and incomplete. But if one person stops hurting themselves or someone else, I will gladly take on the humiliation of being a lousy writer.
In Christ's Love always,
Cindy
THE RULER
Mostly I remember fourth grade in Catholic school. Sister Mary Esther and her ruler. I didn't get hit too often with the ruler, she saved that for the boys. For me, it was digging her fingernails into my head, lifting my desk off the ground and dumping its contents all over the floor (because my books were not properly stacked), various punishments or humiliations in the front of the room and finally tying me to my desk with ropes because I would not sit still.
And you still wonder why I couldn't be a nun. I suppose I will go to my grave wanting to be a priest. Actually confessing that desire in this pseudo-public way really doesn't help me get past it much either. And no, I have no desire to be a priestess. That would be ridiculous. Any power I might have comes from God, not from manipulations of the earthly elements, which is how we tend to define priestess, I think. I can't weave magic and I don't want to.
But I do want to help people with the forgiveness of their sins. In this last week alone, without any deliberate action, I have heard people's sins. I have heard people's pain. And there is a lot out there. We are all the walking wounded to some degree.
The wounds by themselves will not kill us. Not forgiving them, however, will kill us. I met a woman not long ago who wanted to die. In fact I met three people who wanted to die...and those were just the ones who told me of their desire. It must have been another Holy Spirit moment for me because this woman, who was in her early 60s, said she was ready to go and be with God. I said maybe God had more for her to do. I said maybe she needed to forgive some people while she was still here. She told me she had forgiven everyone. I asked her, did you forgive your husband? She told me she would die before she would forgive her husband. I smiled just a little bit, maybe God would like for you to forgive him, I said. Maybe God was keeping her here for exactly that task. And we continued our little visit.
Each day, I meet someone new who tells me something that ultimately wonders a question in their heart: Does God love me at all? And with great confidence, I try to respond, with about as much indirectness...or directness,as I am allowed: Of course God loves you! God loves all of His creation. But that is so hard to hear and so hard to receive sometimes...and especially when we have disappointed ourselves.
A long time ago, when I was a Methodist minister, I preached "It's a Wonderful Life." Do you remember the movie? Really remember? The story about who finally decided he would be better off dead. A man who dreamed of being something great and never got out of Bedford Falls. He thought his life amounted to nothing.
Somewhere in a drawer, I still have that perfect 'thank you' note from a parishioner about that sermon that said, "I am a bit frustrated with you, Cindy. I usually write out my grocery list during the sermon...but you words kept me listening to you!" or something like that. I never got to preach very often, but people remembered the stories I told. (That is one of the dangerous things about preaching: you want them to remember, but when they tell you that they do, you can surely get puffed up about it!)The sermon about George Bailey also included a story about making fudge. (Not my personal story, it was Mary's story and she let me tell it) I got a letter from a woman saying she had been depressed and thinking about suicide...but my sermon got her to think again and differently. Wow! Then once I walked into a hospital room and the woman called out from her bed to her family, 'It's the fudge lady!' (She had to explain what she meant, and I laughed-- it was a very good story) I still have the cassette of it. Maybe once a year I listen to it...and oh, my how Roman Catholic it sounds to me! Perhaps our blindness about ourselves is a gift...maybe.
Could go in ten other directions with this, but this story is about the ruler.
We beat ourselves up daily with that ruler. We think we know who we are supposed to be and we know we are not that person. We think we know what other people are supposed to be for us and they let us down. The closer a person is to us, the greater the pain. Well, if I have learned nothing else, I have learned that all love relationships come with pain. It wouldn't be love if it didn't hurt sometimes.
Let me be clear, I am not talking about the manipulative kind of hurts that some people cause or receive to maintain control over a relationship...the kind that uses and abuses the other...I am speaking of the cost of being vulnerable between two reasonably healthy people. Hurt is just part of the deal. We couldn't love if we weren't willing to risk getting hurt. When God gave us the ability to love, He sent us His Son to give us the ability for forgive ourselves, those we love deeply, and even those we hate deeply. Remember that hate is really love turned inward instead of outward.
That ruler can help us "stay within the lines" when we need to stay within the lines, but it can also create intense despair. We beat ourselves up for who we are and for who we are not. We beat ourselves up for who they are and for who they are not. Only because we have "a ruler" that tells us one thing is right and another thing is wrong.
I wish I was writing this more clearly. (There's my ruler showing itself!)But perhaps poorly is better than not at all. I get little clues from friends that some people I know are actually reading the stuff I write. Thank you. I intend to do good. I am not always successful.
BUT...
How many suicide attempts will I witness this season? How many won't make a mistake and actually die? How many hearts will be broken because we didn't live up to our own expectations? How many people are going to feel empty on Christmas morning? How many are going to dwell on what they didn't get, or that Aunt Grace still thinks you are a size 10 and you are a size 14...shouldn't she know that by now? Doesn't she care about me?
I'm glad God has given me the grace to sit with people who hurt. I am especially glad that God have given me wonderful people who are willing to sit with me when I hurt.
I have a dream that maybe this Christmas, no one will die by his/her own hand. I have a dream that we can each say thank you to each other...not for what we get, but for who we are. And who we are depends on Him who created us. Let all people know we are all children of God. He loves us and He wants us to love His creation.
George Bailey really had a wonderful life. No, it wasn't what he dreamed of, but it was a life that mattered, that touched others...and it was time for George to let his life touch him...and to let in all that love that surrounded him into his heart. It's OK, it is worth the risk. Love and be loved. Don't throw away the gift of life. Really.
I John 4:19 "We must love because He first loved us."
Love,
Cindy
Posted by Teresa's Garden at 7:27 AM
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