Wherever you go, there you are...
I'm here at the hospital, between pages. Trying to do the best I can, with my skills. Praying without ceasing. Wondering if God will let this happen, or that happen...kind of wishing He would let me in on His plans for me, but a window cracks open and then shuts itself.
Nothing, it seems, will ever be easy. My world is spinning into new territory. Becoming older, not willing to be used or exploited anymore...and feeling comfortable with that. I wonder if my chain in being jerked right now, not because of what is in front of me right now, but because of a memory I hold that is unpleasant. I stand here from my perspective and claim it isn't fair...but I take a few steps to the right and suddenly I see how the outrageous seems quite reasonable from this point of view. The truth is, I can't really blame anyone or declare guilt on anyone. I just have to keep stepping through the mud and push on...because, that much I know, God requires of me: To go on.
Despite hardships or disappointments, I am called to keep moving. Tonight, a clearly deeply loved person had to move on...to a different place...even though the many people around him wanted him to stay right here. What do we do? How do we hold on when holding on is no longer an option? How do we keep moving forward when we have no light in front of us to guide us along the way?
Why do we continue to believe in something we do not see? Or can prove?
I stayed with a family after life support was removed. Through the tears, there were many urgings that "it was okay to go." Everyone said their goodbyes, hands were held and kissed...but the heart beat so strongly, unready to let go. Then I thought about a priest who told me about a death he witnessed, how he found what that person needed...and I thought for a minute.
Does he have a favorite song?
A family member said no, but would you like to sing to him?
I began singing "Amazing Grace" and the whole family joined in. The man had been declared brain dead several hours before. But with the singing, his heart rate lowered and he seemed to relax. I stopped singing...and the family continued to sing. I excused myself from the room...
In a short while, he had moved on to heaven. His family sang him into heaven. They seemed a bit more at peace, too.
Don't ever try to tell me we don't have souls, that all we are is a lump of flesh...
We are children of the Light, and when our bodies can no longer hold our light, we return to the source of all light.
Our lives are gifts. Sometimes, I forget that, especially when I'm not getting what I think I want. But I must remember always, each day is a gift. Even the bad ones. Even the ones with disappointments.
And I pray that, when my time comes, someone will be there to sing me into heaven.
Love, Cindy
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Mirror, mirror
I can talk with anybody. I have heard confessions from friends and strangers...from people with great power and from people who live on the street. They tell me their story. They want to tell me their story...and they want to tell it correctly, with no ornaments to make it pretty and they often don't have any ending, much less a happy ending. And I can listen well, I can reflect well...I am attentive, encouraging, helpful, generous, compassionate...
And I can do that with everyone except my own children.
And there is nothing more important than listening to our children.
After YEARS of personal therapy and work as a chaplain, I can at least offer one perspective to this problem: self-differentiation. Casually put, that is the 'place where I end and you begin.' Anxiety skyrockets when we don't know where that place is. We no longer think about what the other person is saying, we are not even sure of what we are saying. We want to be liked and listened to and loved...but we go about it in all the wrong ways. And that ends up in fights, hurt feelings, broken relationships and sometimes violence.
The problem may stem from familiarity:
I know what he/she is going to say.
Why try?
It always ends up the same way.
Why does she/he always want to win/hurt me/have the last word?
If you loved me, you would know what I want!
Why don't you tell me about your day? All you say is ''fine"...
I'm tired of being ignored...
And it goes on and on...
I suppose I remember because it's Thanksgiving and at some point, we used to return to the eternal dance of painful questions or observations:
When are you going to get a job?
Married? A raise? Have children? Finish school?
You just need to put your mind to it...
You can quite smoking. Just stop. Easy as that.
Some people think these words are helpful. Some think they are signs of love and caring. Some are so self-centered, they really think they are doing you a favor.
My dad's favorite, from his lounge chair in the back of the room: "Move out of the way! You make a better door than a window...you're starting to look like the broad side of a barn."
I was the broad side of a barn. Sigh. And those were the good days.
And for better or worse, I loved him.
When he was dying, I came to the hospital with a cassette player and tape. I played songs for him that me and the kids sang the day before. My mother said,"Who is that singing with Beth and Bobby? It certainly can't be you, the person is singing on key..."
And I don't sing in public. It has taken a small miracle to get me to sing Alleluia when I read at daily Mass. People don't have a clue that when I open my mouth, I can hear her whispering to me, "you can't sing."
_________________
I bring this all up because it's Thanksgiving...and the expectations are high and the disappointment potential goes through the roof. Thanksgiving was when I first began writing, because I was so frustrated with my family and I couldn't stand to be in the room with any of them anymore. I sat in my closet and wrote...I didn't know I was writing to God then, but I was...and I was so sad...I didn't have the "Waltons" as my family. I had "Archie Bunker" without the laugh track. There was nothing funny about the way those people in the next room were treating each other. Or treating me. Such is the truth about some families.
The second reason I have to write comes from an encounter with a woman who was facing her mortality. With a simple question, "Why are you here in the hospital?" the tears flowed like water. "I'm not really unhappy. I am happy. I get it now. It could be worse." And then I began to practice the art of listening. As I was listening, I heard her...I must have responded well, because she told me so very much...her life story...
It seemed to begin with her mother's words to her when she was about seven years old:
Her mother said, "You're ugly."
Then she told me her mother left her with her father and a bunch of kids when she was 14 years old. She took care of every one and every thing. And then, when her mother became ill, she went to her mother, and took care of her until the day she died.
Then she told me more. She said, "You know, I have never let anyone love me....I met a nice young man once, and he was so good...but I just kept thinking it out...this is wrong and this is wrong and this is wrong, and I'm so busy and I have my work...and finally, he got tired of trying. I wish I had let someone love me."
Oh my....will have to finish this story later...my grandson just walked in and wants to sit with me...
love, Cindy
And I can do that with everyone except my own children.
And there is nothing more important than listening to our children.
After YEARS of personal therapy and work as a chaplain, I can at least offer one perspective to this problem: self-differentiation. Casually put, that is the 'place where I end and you begin.' Anxiety skyrockets when we don't know where that place is. We no longer think about what the other person is saying, we are not even sure of what we are saying. We want to be liked and listened to and loved...but we go about it in all the wrong ways. And that ends up in fights, hurt feelings, broken relationships and sometimes violence.
The problem may stem from familiarity:
I know what he/she is going to say.
Why try?
It always ends up the same way.
Why does she/he always want to win/hurt me/have the last word?
If you loved me, you would know what I want!
Why don't you tell me about your day? All you say is ''fine"...
I'm tired of being ignored...
And it goes on and on...
I suppose I remember because it's Thanksgiving and at some point, we used to return to the eternal dance of painful questions or observations:
When are you going to get a job?
Married? A raise? Have children? Finish school?
You just need to put your mind to it...
You can quite smoking. Just stop. Easy as that.
Some people think these words are helpful. Some think they are signs of love and caring. Some are so self-centered, they really think they are doing you a favor.
My dad's favorite, from his lounge chair in the back of the room: "Move out of the way! You make a better door than a window...you're starting to look like the broad side of a barn."
I was the broad side of a barn. Sigh. And those were the good days.
And for better or worse, I loved him.
When he was dying, I came to the hospital with a cassette player and tape. I played songs for him that me and the kids sang the day before. My mother said,"Who is that singing with Beth and Bobby? It certainly can't be you, the person is singing on key..."
And I don't sing in public. It has taken a small miracle to get me to sing Alleluia when I read at daily Mass. People don't have a clue that when I open my mouth, I can hear her whispering to me, "you can't sing."
_________________
I bring this all up because it's Thanksgiving...and the expectations are high and the disappointment potential goes through the roof. Thanksgiving was when I first began writing, because I was so frustrated with my family and I couldn't stand to be in the room with any of them anymore. I sat in my closet and wrote...I didn't know I was writing to God then, but I was...and I was so sad...I didn't have the "Waltons" as my family. I had "Archie Bunker" without the laugh track. There was nothing funny about the way those people in the next room were treating each other. Or treating me. Such is the truth about some families.
The second reason I have to write comes from an encounter with a woman who was facing her mortality. With a simple question, "Why are you here in the hospital?" the tears flowed like water. "I'm not really unhappy. I am happy. I get it now. It could be worse." And then I began to practice the art of listening. As I was listening, I heard her...I must have responded well, because she told me so very much...her life story...
It seemed to begin with her mother's words to her when she was about seven years old:
Her mother said, "You're ugly."
Then she told me her mother left her with her father and a bunch of kids when she was 14 years old. She took care of every one and every thing. And then, when her mother became ill, she went to her mother, and took care of her until the day she died.
Then she told me more. She said, "You know, I have never let anyone love me....I met a nice young man once, and he was so good...but I just kept thinking it out...this is wrong and this is wrong and this is wrong, and I'm so busy and I have my work...and finally, he got tired of trying. I wish I had let someone love me."
Oh my....will have to finish this story later...my grandson just walked in and wants to sit with me...
love, Cindy
Friday, November 11, 2011
Timeline
Began November 8, 2011:
Me, being a teacher at heart and once or twice a math teacher, went up to the board and drew a line:
I------------------->
Something like that. I told a little story about my relationship with the TV show Star Trek. That Q, a super being, chastized Jean Luc:
"Oh Jean Luc, you are so linear!"
And I have loved that line. It supports my love for the Gospel of John, and string theory and quantum physics and is oh so Platonic in nature.
Even on an atomic level, the world does not move in a straight line. There is no one cause, no one effect...except for God: the mover, the trancender of time, the creator of all things. Many philosophies abound on what and how all these things have meaning, but this day, I had to deal with one thread. Mine.
So I placed a marker on the line and said, my life began when I was 28. That was the year I found out that I was adopted. Then I went back to the beginning. I found out that she, Jackie, was there with me in the beginning, for the first seven days. She held me and kissed me and fed me...and then she just disappeared. I had her for two years. Then she died.
And I told the story...now at nearly 54 years of age. Why I do ministry. Why I want to be a chaplain. Why God made me a healer. And in the course of the telling, and I left out all the gory, ugly stuff...but left in the interesting stuff...
And these men all kind of...said at the same time...wow, and you are still alive.
I had really thought I had toned it down considerably. It is so very disturbing to me that people view my life that way. One said, as they always say, "You should write a book." And I think, but every day is different. Now I am almost too busy to think about it. God moments come and come and come...there are fleeting minutes that I only have a short time to say to someone "See God here!" and then move on.
I'm still hoping to work a miracle, you know...what if I blow that chance because I was writing on the computer?
I was given about 30 minutes and I took 40. No one really seemed to mind, but when we got a break, I went out into the lobby and found not just my eye twitching, but my whole body. Why? I didn't say anything new...at least I did not think I did...what was going on?
What I think I did not want to own, was that I took my timeline and drew a couple of brackets...I said, "here" and "here" I was happy. Up until the age of 50, I was happy for a total of 6 years. Now that sounds really cold and harsh. I had children, I won awards and competitions, I'd fallen in and out of love many times, I had had great adventures...but for six very specifially defined years...I found a total self-absorbed, only for me, happy.
The first time was when I met my biological mother and had her for two glorious years, the second time was when I was in seminary. That added up to just over one tenth of my life. For one tenth of my life, I did/had something that belonged to me only. For one tenth of my life, I loved authentically who I really am.
The rest of the time, I was working to be what someone else wanted me to be or thought I should be. One could argue that the arrogance of being a full woman, even for six years, is antithetical to church teaching: that is a woman is a unit designed to care for her spouse and raise a family. But for six unique years, I threw the teachings away and lived my life as fully as I possibly could.
Yet if I look at those years, they were a struggle, too. Hebrew and Greek were very hard for me. Systematic theology was boring, I found myself studying the personalities of the theologians instead. Jerome had female issues. Calvin had contemplative experiences and dismissed them. Wesley finally humbled himself enough to get it. Tertullian had women issues, but great theology. Polycarp was always direct. Pannenberg...eh...just annoyed me. The point was, not that I was constantly having FEELINGS and OPINIONS about all these writers...the point was that I had the chance to think about them! That for a few moments in my life, I was not punished for reading, or thinking...and I was surrounded (at least by professors) who were thinking and reading. (many students were just trying to endure seminary so they could get their own church and be about being in charge)...but I was happy beyond all understanding.
And I am happy now, since age 52...according to the Mayan calender, I am in a new life. Since 52, I have decided to not be ashamed of being smart, or female, or being in love with God. God has provided, and I will do His work, as I grow to understand it and walk into it, for the rest of my life. I do not care if I live or die...because I have now...and that is really all that any of us has.
I feel a great love, different than anything I have ever known or understood. This love will never leave me...and it will go with me wherever I go. It is not tied to a person or a place, but there are persons and places where I feel it more strongly...where the fountain flows and I drink deeply...and it scares me a little, and sometimes makes me sad, because I do need a shoulder now and then, a place to feel safe and protected...and that doesn't always arrive when I want it...and I have to admit, I still seek solace and comfort from some people, but not from all people...I do not yet understand the humility of the now. Not completely, and I'm not certain I ever will.
The timeline showed me a wound not yet healed. And yet, perhaps it is not meant to be healed. It's pain gives me strength to be a seeker, to be a leader, to remain visionary, to see into people's hearts. Boy, that does sound arrogant! But when I write such things, I write them to remind you that such strength lies in you, too. I have no special gift, other than survival. If you want to know the Truth, you will find the truth. If you want to see yourself, you will see yourself. In relationships, you already know what is right and wrong, good and bad...but because of fear, we hide ourselves from the real and the perfect. We think we know what we want, but wanting changes from day to day...
The Word of God, the Sacraments, the Practice of the Presence of God, the true humbling of oneself to God, the earnest desire to speak the truth to ourselves and others, to love ourselves and others...to befriend our blessings and our faults. To help each other get through each day. To let others help us to get through each day. Not just to pray without ceasing, but to forgive without ceasing..To accept that we will never be perfect except in God.
I only state the obvious. This is not systematic theology. It is the theology of the heart. The physical heart will wear out one day, but the spiritual heart lives with and in God forever. Enjoy it. He wants us to be happy. He wants us to dance.
Love, Cindy
Me, being a teacher at heart and once or twice a math teacher, went up to the board and drew a line:
I------------------->
Something like that. I told a little story about my relationship with the TV show Star Trek. That Q, a super being, chastized Jean Luc:
"Oh Jean Luc, you are so linear!"
And I have loved that line. It supports my love for the Gospel of John, and string theory and quantum physics and is oh so Platonic in nature.
Even on an atomic level, the world does not move in a straight line. There is no one cause, no one effect...except for God: the mover, the trancender of time, the creator of all things. Many philosophies abound on what and how all these things have meaning, but this day, I had to deal with one thread. Mine.
So I placed a marker on the line and said, my life began when I was 28. That was the year I found out that I was adopted. Then I went back to the beginning. I found out that she, Jackie, was there with me in the beginning, for the first seven days. She held me and kissed me and fed me...and then she just disappeared. I had her for two years. Then she died.
And I told the story...now at nearly 54 years of age. Why I do ministry. Why I want to be a chaplain. Why God made me a healer. And in the course of the telling, and I left out all the gory, ugly stuff...but left in the interesting stuff...
And these men all kind of...said at the same time...wow, and you are still alive.
I had really thought I had toned it down considerably. It is so very disturbing to me that people view my life that way. One said, as they always say, "You should write a book." And I think, but every day is different. Now I am almost too busy to think about it. God moments come and come and come...there are fleeting minutes that I only have a short time to say to someone "See God here!" and then move on.
I'm still hoping to work a miracle, you know...what if I blow that chance because I was writing on the computer?
I was given about 30 minutes and I took 40. No one really seemed to mind, but when we got a break, I went out into the lobby and found not just my eye twitching, but my whole body. Why? I didn't say anything new...at least I did not think I did...what was going on?
What I think I did not want to own, was that I took my timeline and drew a couple of brackets...I said, "here" and "here" I was happy. Up until the age of 50, I was happy for a total of 6 years. Now that sounds really cold and harsh. I had children, I won awards and competitions, I'd fallen in and out of love many times, I had had great adventures...but for six very specifially defined years...I found a total self-absorbed, only for me, happy.
The first time was when I met my biological mother and had her for two glorious years, the second time was when I was in seminary. That added up to just over one tenth of my life. For one tenth of my life, I did/had something that belonged to me only. For one tenth of my life, I loved authentically who I really am.
The rest of the time, I was working to be what someone else wanted me to be or thought I should be. One could argue that the arrogance of being a full woman, even for six years, is antithetical to church teaching: that is a woman is a unit designed to care for her spouse and raise a family. But for six unique years, I threw the teachings away and lived my life as fully as I possibly could.
Yet if I look at those years, they were a struggle, too. Hebrew and Greek were very hard for me. Systematic theology was boring, I found myself studying the personalities of the theologians instead. Jerome had female issues. Calvin had contemplative experiences and dismissed them. Wesley finally humbled himself enough to get it. Tertullian had women issues, but great theology. Polycarp was always direct. Pannenberg...eh...just annoyed me. The point was, not that I was constantly having FEELINGS and OPINIONS about all these writers...the point was that I had the chance to think about them! That for a few moments in my life, I was not punished for reading, or thinking...and I was surrounded (at least by professors) who were thinking and reading. (many students were just trying to endure seminary so they could get their own church and be about being in charge)...but I was happy beyond all understanding.
And I am happy now, since age 52...according to the Mayan calender, I am in a new life. Since 52, I have decided to not be ashamed of being smart, or female, or being in love with God. God has provided, and I will do His work, as I grow to understand it and walk into it, for the rest of my life. I do not care if I live or die...because I have now...and that is really all that any of us has.
I feel a great love, different than anything I have ever known or understood. This love will never leave me...and it will go with me wherever I go. It is not tied to a person or a place, but there are persons and places where I feel it more strongly...where the fountain flows and I drink deeply...and it scares me a little, and sometimes makes me sad, because I do need a shoulder now and then, a place to feel safe and protected...and that doesn't always arrive when I want it...and I have to admit, I still seek solace and comfort from some people, but not from all people...I do not yet understand the humility of the now. Not completely, and I'm not certain I ever will.
The timeline showed me a wound not yet healed. And yet, perhaps it is not meant to be healed. It's pain gives me strength to be a seeker, to be a leader, to remain visionary, to see into people's hearts. Boy, that does sound arrogant! But when I write such things, I write them to remind you that such strength lies in you, too. I have no special gift, other than survival. If you want to know the Truth, you will find the truth. If you want to see yourself, you will see yourself. In relationships, you already know what is right and wrong, good and bad...but because of fear, we hide ourselves from the real and the perfect. We think we know what we want, but wanting changes from day to day...
The Word of God, the Sacraments, the Practice of the Presence of God, the true humbling of oneself to God, the earnest desire to speak the truth to ourselves and others, to love ourselves and others...to befriend our blessings and our faults. To help each other get through each day. To let others help us to get through each day. Not just to pray without ceasing, but to forgive without ceasing..To accept that we will never be perfect except in God.
I only state the obvious. This is not systematic theology. It is the theology of the heart. The physical heart will wear out one day, but the spiritual heart lives with and in God forever. Enjoy it. He wants us to be happy. He wants us to dance.
Love, Cindy
Thursday, November 3, 2011
We've done all that we can...
I think I will remember her eyes until the day I die. I'm not sure why the doctor allowed me to stay in the room, but he examined her, asked a few questions, the motioned to me to shut the door completely. I did. I stood there. I wished I had taken a seat.
He looked at her and said, "We've done all that we can. You are too weak for any more chemo. It's time to think about what needs to happen next."
Her eyes got wide, and she asked, "What are you trying to tell me?" And he spoke again, in a gentle soothing voice. "There is nothing mre that we can do." and he went into details about all that had already been done. "You are just too weak. Your body cannot handle more."
Again, wide-eyed, she asked, "What are you trying to tell me?"
Again he answered. A long answer. A gentle answer.
And a third time, she asked, "What are you trying to tell me?"
And what I thought he said, but now I am not so sure, was "You are going to die. You need to think about hospice care."
He stayed awhile longer. He talked about what a wonderful woman she was and how enjoyed caring for her. Then he left.
I took a deep breath. I had no idea what I would do. This is in God's hands and dear Lord, get me out of the way.
If we live long enough, someone is going to have that talk with us, surely as we had 'the talk' about "where do babies come from." Life and death issues are perhaps the hardest issues to discuss. What defines us, what makes us human, different from all other creatures on this earth...that topic is one we never want to talk about. But it's what we think about, all day long. I promise you, it's true.
I can wear down some of the toughest nuts. Sometimes, like a hound dog, I'll dig into your heart until we both find out what you really want to say out loud...and then I pray like hell I'll respond the way Christ wants me to respond, and then, as quickly as it has been exposed, I pray I'll forget it...or put it somewhere so it won't hurt anyone. I have been successful most of the time. I have failed twice. Twice someone has told me a truth that was too much for me to bear. And I pray for those persons and for me. I am not always suited to the task. I suspect other times I will fail, but I am convinced God's work will be done, even if I have to walk away.
This day was tough, but not impossible. I could have approached it somewhat separated from the reality of it, but God has not called me to be shy anymore. I will make mistakes along the way, I'm sure; but a mistake is better than inaction. It is better than running away.
The work has been so hard this fall. I should have anticipated it, given the work I did on the retreat. God was just beginning to season me for the next level of my ministry. Teaching me to trust, and to pray harder than I ever have before...and to deepen my humility to levels I had no idea even existed.
Redemption arrives in strange ways and from strange places. But, once the baby of humility and innocence is is born, we really don't care how it got there...but we celebrate new life and cuddle and kiss this new and beautiful thing, that is a part of us. That was always a part of us, but so deeply hidden in the mess of living.
This woman's eyes. I hold them in my heart. She knew what he was saying. Intelligence was there, but belief was still far away...and she was just beginning to realize that time was now her enemy. Pain and suffering really didn't factor in. I could see it all over her face, "but I'm not finished with this life, yet."
I found a spot to sit on a chair, I only say a little bit on it. I did not want to get comfortable.
She looked at me.
"What is hospice?"
Oh hell...I thought...I swallowed. I said a lot of words, I thought. Perhaps only a few. But then I got to the important ones: "They help you to have a good death."
Her sister, on the sofa, looked at me.
I'm thinking, "Well, somebody's got to say it. Let me be the bad guy." And then I began to second guess myself all over the place. But she kept talking with me. She didn't shut me out. I explained what I knew. And inside my head, were the faces of all the people I've known this year alone, who I had been with, who were preparing to die. For a fleeting second, I thought of my mother...and dismissed it quickly. All the people entered my heart at once..the ones who died, the people they left behind...the tears and the laughter and the music and all the confusion and mess...and the truth that death is part of the gift of living.
We all get to be born...and we all get to die. It's all a gift. Beginning to end.
Last night, we had a Mass for All Souls. I read Ecclesiates 3...twice that day. Once for a funeral, in which, for some reason, I looked deep into the daughter's eyes and tried to tell her, "you're gonna make it." and "I know it hurts." I didn't want to read it again that night for the Mass in which perhaps 700 people attended. I'd already read it once that day. It was boring. I didn't want to think about it. And besides, if you exegete it, you will find it is a statement of futility. We can't change anything. We just have to accept it and we really never get to know why.
So I read it. I looked out into the congregation, and I was suddenly overwhelmed with compassion. My heart, that I had had to make hard because of all the deaths I'd faced in this month, was softening as the words came out of my mouth...I found myself taking the passage and working my way through it slowly and deliberately, as if I was leading a meditation...that I wanted them to really appreciate the gift of life. It was kind of creepy. I immediately felt selfish and humiliated for thinking my thoughts.
I sat down and the Mass continued. Alan read. Romans. He did a great job. I whispered to him that it was good because I had wanted to read that passage and I needed to honor him. He whispered back to me that he thought I had done the best job reading that he had ever heard (he's been listening to me for at least 2 years)...I blinked...okay. Whatever.
But then I realized how God put it all together for me. How he is working on me, bending me, remolding me into the person He wants...and quite honestly, the person I truly want to be. I only get a certain amount of time on the planet. And perhaps only a certain amount of time living well enough to serve Him. So it's important I don't say no. That I pay attention and keep learning. Keep allowing these little mortifications make me into a good and faithful servant. Fear is always going to be there, but fear will not be in charge.
This beautiful woman worked to listen to a message she did not want to hear. Her bravery to fight, and to try...brought me hope and strength. She was my teacher, teaching me how to hear something hard. I pray that I brought her a gift also...somewhere in my clumsiness.
The next day I peeked into her room. I asked from the doorway, "How are you doing today?" She smiled at me with a beautiful smile. She looked genuinely happy, genuinely at peace.
"I'm just fine."
Love, Cindy
He looked at her and said, "We've done all that we can. You are too weak for any more chemo. It's time to think about what needs to happen next."
Her eyes got wide, and she asked, "What are you trying to tell me?" And he spoke again, in a gentle soothing voice. "There is nothing mre that we can do." and he went into details about all that had already been done. "You are just too weak. Your body cannot handle more."
Again, wide-eyed, she asked, "What are you trying to tell me?"
Again he answered. A long answer. A gentle answer.
And a third time, she asked, "What are you trying to tell me?"
And what I thought he said, but now I am not so sure, was "You are going to die. You need to think about hospice care."
He stayed awhile longer. He talked about what a wonderful woman she was and how enjoyed caring for her. Then he left.
I took a deep breath. I had no idea what I would do. This is in God's hands and dear Lord, get me out of the way.
If we live long enough, someone is going to have that talk with us, surely as we had 'the talk' about "where do babies come from." Life and death issues are perhaps the hardest issues to discuss. What defines us, what makes us human, different from all other creatures on this earth...that topic is one we never want to talk about. But it's what we think about, all day long. I promise you, it's true.
I can wear down some of the toughest nuts. Sometimes, like a hound dog, I'll dig into your heart until we both find out what you really want to say out loud...and then I pray like hell I'll respond the way Christ wants me to respond, and then, as quickly as it has been exposed, I pray I'll forget it...or put it somewhere so it won't hurt anyone. I have been successful most of the time. I have failed twice. Twice someone has told me a truth that was too much for me to bear. And I pray for those persons and for me. I am not always suited to the task. I suspect other times I will fail, but I am convinced God's work will be done, even if I have to walk away.
This day was tough, but not impossible. I could have approached it somewhat separated from the reality of it, but God has not called me to be shy anymore. I will make mistakes along the way, I'm sure; but a mistake is better than inaction. It is better than running away.
The work has been so hard this fall. I should have anticipated it, given the work I did on the retreat. God was just beginning to season me for the next level of my ministry. Teaching me to trust, and to pray harder than I ever have before...and to deepen my humility to levels I had no idea even existed.
Redemption arrives in strange ways and from strange places. But, once the baby of humility and innocence is is born, we really don't care how it got there...but we celebrate new life and cuddle and kiss this new and beautiful thing, that is a part of us. That was always a part of us, but so deeply hidden in the mess of living.
This woman's eyes. I hold them in my heart. She knew what he was saying. Intelligence was there, but belief was still far away...and she was just beginning to realize that time was now her enemy. Pain and suffering really didn't factor in. I could see it all over her face, "but I'm not finished with this life, yet."
I found a spot to sit on a chair, I only say a little bit on it. I did not want to get comfortable.
She looked at me.
"What is hospice?"
Oh hell...I thought...I swallowed. I said a lot of words, I thought. Perhaps only a few. But then I got to the important ones: "They help you to have a good death."
Her sister, on the sofa, looked at me.
I'm thinking, "Well, somebody's got to say it. Let me be the bad guy." And then I began to second guess myself all over the place. But she kept talking with me. She didn't shut me out. I explained what I knew. And inside my head, were the faces of all the people I've known this year alone, who I had been with, who were preparing to die. For a fleeting second, I thought of my mother...and dismissed it quickly. All the people entered my heart at once..the ones who died, the people they left behind...the tears and the laughter and the music and all the confusion and mess...and the truth that death is part of the gift of living.
We all get to be born...and we all get to die. It's all a gift. Beginning to end.
Last night, we had a Mass for All Souls. I read Ecclesiates 3...twice that day. Once for a funeral, in which, for some reason, I looked deep into the daughter's eyes and tried to tell her, "you're gonna make it." and "I know it hurts." I didn't want to read it again that night for the Mass in which perhaps 700 people attended. I'd already read it once that day. It was boring. I didn't want to think about it. And besides, if you exegete it, you will find it is a statement of futility. We can't change anything. We just have to accept it and we really never get to know why.
So I read it. I looked out into the congregation, and I was suddenly overwhelmed with compassion. My heart, that I had had to make hard because of all the deaths I'd faced in this month, was softening as the words came out of my mouth...I found myself taking the passage and working my way through it slowly and deliberately, as if I was leading a meditation...that I wanted them to really appreciate the gift of life. It was kind of creepy. I immediately felt selfish and humiliated for thinking my thoughts.
I sat down and the Mass continued. Alan read. Romans. He did a great job. I whispered to him that it was good because I had wanted to read that passage and I needed to honor him. He whispered back to me that he thought I had done the best job reading that he had ever heard (he's been listening to me for at least 2 years)...I blinked...okay. Whatever.
But then I realized how God put it all together for me. How he is working on me, bending me, remolding me into the person He wants...and quite honestly, the person I truly want to be. I only get a certain amount of time on the planet. And perhaps only a certain amount of time living well enough to serve Him. So it's important I don't say no. That I pay attention and keep learning. Keep allowing these little mortifications make me into a good and faithful servant. Fear is always going to be there, but fear will not be in charge.
This beautiful woman worked to listen to a message she did not want to hear. Her bravery to fight, and to try...brought me hope and strength. She was my teacher, teaching me how to hear something hard. I pray that I brought her a gift also...somewhere in my clumsiness.
The next day I peeked into her room. I asked from the doorway, "How are you doing today?" She smiled at me with a beautiful smile. She looked genuinely happy, genuinely at peace.
"I'm just fine."
Love, Cindy
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Death and Age
Morning:
I wish I had just a little bit of understanding of how this life works. I love it, really I do, but the last few days have been so exhausting. I didn't think a really young priest could be such a comfort to me, but he has...in his own very unique way, And I am grateful. I am sometimes a snob when I 'choose' people for conversation. While openly capricious and proud of it, I really tend to scope and choose people I think will be helpful to me. I am not always as open as I would like to think I am. I recognize the inherent selfishness of our nature...I'm not crazy about it, but I still choose, or try to choose, who I will let into my life.
So this year is going to be a particular challenge. I am taking on new CPE work that I pretty much stumbled into. I am now the only female and the only Catholic in the group. Last night I stayed awake for many reasons, but wondered perhaps that I might need to quit. That this was too much. That the two 16 hour shifts I must do in order to complete the program might kill me.
I knew last week that my little friend was nearing death. I saw and felt all the signs of it...and I was completely aware that at least his mother was not even close to seeing that. Stay in the reality of the person you are present with. See what they see. Feel with them. Be completely present with them. And then split yourself, take a step back and see what is really happening. Know that, when the time comes, they will see too. Do not pre-empt the process. Do not force a solution. Do not try to fix. It is a sin to try to fix. Your gift it to see. And be the witness God has called you to in that moment. No other. Live it out as if it was your last task in the world. Give it your best. And then let it go.
I know all of that. I don't always pay attention to it. So I feel pain again because I said no...or not now...to someone who asked me to come. I took care of myself. I rested. Or was I selfish? I don't know for certain. What I do know it that I am human. And as my priest-friend told me a little over a year ago: if you can't take the heat, get out of the kitchen. I can stop working. I can stop trying. I can stop loving at amy moment. But what kind of life would that be? How could I not use the gifts God has given me? When I say no to my brother or sister, I am saying no to God. At least, that is how it feels.
Evening:
Long conversations. Vulnerability. Communion. Tears. Laughter. Gratitude. Humility. Feeling complete and yet not complete. Still longing for the cave. What did I learn today? How will I be a better servant tomorrow? Can I pray now...in this house, or should I go to Mass in Allen tonight? Can I escape my true destiny? My sadness has migrated into falling in love all over again.
It never fails me, this love. And yet, it is so irrational. There is a part of me that knows what I do and who I am goes against all logic. The stories that had to be told were told. They have no power over me any longer. No more than the illusion that some man will take me into a "happily ever after." Happily ever after is a choice made inside the heart. No one can make me happy or sad, but others can do things that allow me to experience love or hate or jealousy or joy...I get to choose what I receive. Yet, it is through humility to God that I acquire the real power of choice. If I do not choose God first, all other choices eventually become false choices, empty choices.
A priest too young to be believed saw enough into my heart that I was able to see a bit better who I really am. When the truth arrives, we don't look at the messenger, we look at the truth. In my brokenness, someone else found peace and safety. When the unspeakable happened, words were formed and the beginnings of healing were seen. I watched community take care of each other. I looked a friend in the eye and we were one for a few moments. I saw daughter and mother...and mother and son...and marvel how each day, something new happens and I get to be a part of it.
I get to be a part of life. This is new. Previously, it seemed like a fight to survive. It was a fight for things, for people, for love. A fight for a place, a purpose, a vision, a dream. A fight for...the sake of fighting...because fighting meant you were still breathing, still vibrant, still relevant.
Somehow, somewhere...things changed. Is it because I suddenly feel old? Have I given up? Am I now unimportant in the scheme of things? No. I think I have finally reached that mountaintop moment, when I truly feel forgiven. And that I have forgiven others.
All the people that I was jealous of, or made fun of, or just simply hated...because they understood what that means: forgiven. They make sense to me now. And I don't hate them anymore.
How did it happen? Or better, how is it happening? It is that hard humility thing. Humility.Something I hated, though I didn't know I hated it. Something for...not warriors like me. Not people who have had to claw their way into survival.
Humility. You can't love without humility. And you can't be loved without humility. This is what the last three years have been about.
From Hebrews 10:
Therefore, brothers, since through the blood of Jesus we have confidence of entrance into the sanctuary the new and living way he opened for us through the veil, that is, his flesh, and since we have “a great priest over the house of God,” let us approach with a sincere heart and in absolute trust, with our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience and our bodies washed in pure water. Let us hold unwaveringly to our confession that gives us hope, for he who made the promise is trustworthy.
We must consider how to rouse one another to love and good works.We should not stay away from our assembly, as is the custom of some, but encourage one another, and this all the more as you see the day drawing near.
If we sin deliberately after receiving knowledge of the truth, there no longer remains sacrifice for sins but a fearful prospect of judgment and a flaming fire that is going to consume the adversaries. Anyone who rejects the law of Moses is put to death without pity on the testimony of two or three witnesses. Do you not think that a much worse punishment is due the one who has contempt for the Son of God, considers unclean the covenant-blood by which he was consecrated, and insults the spirit of grace? We know the one who said:
Remember the days past when, after you had been enlightened, you endured a great contest of suffering. At times you were publicly exposed to abuse and affliction; at other times you associated yourselves with those so treated. You even joined in the sufferings of those in prison and joyfully accepted the confiscation of your property, knowing that you had a better and lasting possession. Therefore, do not throw away your confidence; it will have great recompense. You need endurance to do the will of God and receive what he has promised.
I wish I had just a little bit of understanding of how this life works. I love it, really I do, but the last few days have been so exhausting. I didn't think a really young priest could be such a comfort to me, but he has...in his own very unique way, And I am grateful. I am sometimes a snob when I 'choose' people for conversation. While openly capricious and proud of it, I really tend to scope and choose people I think will be helpful to me. I am not always as open as I would like to think I am. I recognize the inherent selfishness of our nature...I'm not crazy about it, but I still choose, or try to choose, who I will let into my life.
So this year is going to be a particular challenge. I am taking on new CPE work that I pretty much stumbled into. I am now the only female and the only Catholic in the group. Last night I stayed awake for many reasons, but wondered perhaps that I might need to quit. That this was too much. That the two 16 hour shifts I must do in order to complete the program might kill me.
I knew last week that my little friend was nearing death. I saw and felt all the signs of it...and I was completely aware that at least his mother was not even close to seeing that. Stay in the reality of the person you are present with. See what they see. Feel with them. Be completely present with them. And then split yourself, take a step back and see what is really happening. Know that, when the time comes, they will see too. Do not pre-empt the process. Do not force a solution. Do not try to fix. It is a sin to try to fix. Your gift it to see. And be the witness God has called you to in that moment. No other. Live it out as if it was your last task in the world. Give it your best. And then let it go.
I know all of that. I don't always pay attention to it. So I feel pain again because I said no...or not now...to someone who asked me to come. I took care of myself. I rested. Or was I selfish? I don't know for certain. What I do know it that I am human. And as my priest-friend told me a little over a year ago: if you can't take the heat, get out of the kitchen. I can stop working. I can stop trying. I can stop loving at amy moment. But what kind of life would that be? How could I not use the gifts God has given me? When I say no to my brother or sister, I am saying no to God. At least, that is how it feels.
Evening:
Long conversations. Vulnerability. Communion. Tears. Laughter. Gratitude. Humility. Feeling complete and yet not complete. Still longing for the cave. What did I learn today? How will I be a better servant tomorrow? Can I pray now...in this house, or should I go to Mass in Allen tonight? Can I escape my true destiny? My sadness has migrated into falling in love all over again.
It never fails me, this love. And yet, it is so irrational. There is a part of me that knows what I do and who I am goes against all logic. The stories that had to be told were told. They have no power over me any longer. No more than the illusion that some man will take me into a "happily ever after." Happily ever after is a choice made inside the heart. No one can make me happy or sad, but others can do things that allow me to experience love or hate or jealousy or joy...I get to choose what I receive. Yet, it is through humility to God that I acquire the real power of choice. If I do not choose God first, all other choices eventually become false choices, empty choices.
A priest too young to be believed saw enough into my heart that I was able to see a bit better who I really am. When the truth arrives, we don't look at the messenger, we look at the truth. In my brokenness, someone else found peace and safety. When the unspeakable happened, words were formed and the beginnings of healing were seen. I watched community take care of each other. I looked a friend in the eye and we were one for a few moments. I saw daughter and mother...and mother and son...and marvel how each day, something new happens and I get to be a part of it.
I get to be a part of life. This is new. Previously, it seemed like a fight to survive. It was a fight for things, for people, for love. A fight for a place, a purpose, a vision, a dream. A fight for...the sake of fighting...because fighting meant you were still breathing, still vibrant, still relevant.
Somehow, somewhere...things changed. Is it because I suddenly feel old? Have I given up? Am I now unimportant in the scheme of things? No. I think I have finally reached that mountaintop moment, when I truly feel forgiven. And that I have forgiven others.
All the people that I was jealous of, or made fun of, or just simply hated...because they understood what that means: forgiven. They make sense to me now. And I don't hate them anymore.
How did it happen? Or better, how is it happening? It is that hard humility thing. Humility.Something I hated, though I didn't know I hated it. Something for...not warriors like me. Not people who have had to claw their way into survival.
Humility. You can't love without humility. And you can't be loved without humility. This is what the last three years have been about.
From Hebrews 10:
Therefore, brothers, since through the blood of Jesus we have confidence of entrance into the sanctuary the new and living way he opened for us through the veil, that is, his flesh, and since we have “a great priest over the house of God,” let us approach with a sincere heart and in absolute trust, with our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience and our bodies washed in pure water. Let us hold unwaveringly to our confession that gives us hope, for he who made the promise is trustworthy.
We must consider how to rouse one another to love and good works.We should not stay away from our assembly, as is the custom of some, but encourage one another, and this all the more as you see the day drawing near.
If we sin deliberately after receiving knowledge of the truth, there no longer remains sacrifice for sins but a fearful prospect of judgment and a flaming fire that is going to consume the adversaries. Anyone who rejects the law of Moses is put to death without pity on the testimony of two or three witnesses. Do you not think that a much worse punishment is due the one who has contempt for the Son of God, considers unclean the covenant-blood by which he was consecrated, and insults the spirit of grace? We know the one who said:
“Vengeance is mine; I will repay,”
and again:
“The Lord will judge his people.”
“For, after just a brief moment
he who is to come shall come;
he shall not delay. But my just one shall live by faith,
and if he draws back I take no pleasure in him."
I decided to put a good piece of Chapter 10 here. I love the Letter to the Hebrews. It is of uncertain origin, yet it was left in the Canon. Interesting.
The point is, I think, that we are simply asked to endure until we understand. When we understand, the war is over. I had to be present for a difficult death. Difficult because there was simply no way for me to reason out a why for it. Then the threat to my own life and the life of a beloved friend. A child has died...and another one has lived. I have been blessed to be present for both. Reason is not required. Reason blocks humility many times. Without humility, there is no love. There will be tragedy and comedy. Success and failure. Logic and irrationality. Good and evil. Death and life. And time.
I have been given enough time to let go of my burden, to take His, which is to love this world which tried to kill Him. It will try to kill me. But it never will. I know that now. I hope you live long enough to know that, too.
Love, Cindy
Sunday, October 9, 2011
second and ten...
I have at least 10 entries started. They all look fine until I get in touch with my anger and I just stop writing. A priest friend wrote about putting our laundry out of Facebook and suggesting it mught not be the best way to communicate with God. He might be right, but I have to go my own way.
A lifetime ago, I was stuck in a house where there was no real reprieve from some form of suffering. It changed, but it was always there. There was no escape for me. There was no happiness. There were successes and failures, but no joy. It is kind of astounding to me to think about that. Part of me wants to believe that there must have been some good. And I force myself to think: Cooking was good sometimes. At Christmas...a little bit. Working in the yard was good...sometimes...moments of joy. I have to believe they were there, or I would have turned out much darker,,,right?
The point being that long before Facebook, I used to leave little notes around the house, behind picture frames and in the bottoms of vases or in the holes of statues...about how I was hurting. I remember, after I was married a few years, my mother mentioned to me that she found very ugly things that I had written all over the house. I had forgotten about them. I had forgotten that was my way of crying out.
I'd show up at church, at the Catholic Church, but what I thought was so obvious, no one saw, no one asked questions...and if I felt lonely before, I was a hundred times more lonely there. Yet, when it was just "me and God," things were wonderful. He explained to me all the confusing things in my life. He explained how he would use my sufferings to reach others who were not as lucky as me.
So I told God it was okay to make me suffer more. And He did. Little girls don't know much about God's love. Yet, we do. We create our own theologies based on what we experience and observe. My crazy professor in seminary called it our "soteriology." We sort out what we know to figure out what might happen next and what we should do about it.
Tradition, Sctripture, Reason, Experience. For that, Wesley was a genius. The Catholic Church forms it almost exactly the same way, but seems to combine the ideas of reason and experience.
I know I am called by God into service. I've tried to live another kind of life and I can't. Well, I can, but I dislike myself there. The closer I get to God, less interesting is the ideas of success or conquest...and semblance of winning seems so ridiculous now. The idea of confining myself to a physical marriage, with all of its demands, seems like it would limit my ability to do work.
Yet, I am not gifted with political savy. As I go through my examen, which I don't do every day but wish I did...I see this last week as a powerful week. I spoke out about some things that were grating on me, really believing I would lose one more friend. But...over and over again...I receive love instead of a beating. See how those old tapes have not left. See how God continues to try to teach me about His love...and as good as it is, it always hurts. The ego does not want to be wrong. It wants to be right, it wants to be vindicated.
I am forced to deal with over and over again...how can you still love me? You cannot realize the depth of this pain unless you know what it was like to know what it is to not be loved...and to have raised yourself in light of the absence of it.
What makes me more sick inside than anything, is the truth that a whole lot more people understand what I am writing about than I want.
I felt real love this week. From more than one person, I felt deep, lasting, unconditional love. Yet, in the deep recesses of my mind, I know...I sense...their loneliness, too. Maybe that's how God wires us, to have some innate understanding of what it means to love. To have the ability to give it away even before we are able to know a mother's love, a father's love, the love of a husband or wife, or sister or brother. I don't quite understand why some of us reach for the light while others go to the dark side.
My goal in this life, however long I have, in whatever way I have, is to love as well as I can. God put on my heart a new understanding of my priesthood, my mission, my vocation...in ways I did not expect. The politics of the Church is so unimportant to me now...although with a little teasing, I'm sure I can work up a lather about it again if I want. I just have to keep working on not caring. I become ineffective if I let rivalries and judgments interfere with my thinking through the work in front of me.
All the writings of Benedict and Thomas a Kempis...surrendering the ego...but not the soul...I have them pounding in my head. I would be shattered if I let the pettiness of my own emotions interfere with the work I have been given to do.
Yet, I do need an outlet. We all do. That why we have poets and artists and musicians and dancers and storytellers and athletes...and every creative outet there is...our way of expressing our feelings so that they will not consume us or rule over us. We need that. It cleans us out and lets us love more and better.
So all the posts I do not post, I do not know what I will do with them. The notes behind pictures and in vases...I'll never know what they said, except perhaps they kept me from hurting myself when I felt so powerless. I get another chance to win. To let Him win, that is.
This week, I watched a mother lift her son to the sofa. Things are not going so well for them. Just not well at all. I averted my eyes politely to offer respect to them both...but really they did not care. They had their gift of each other. How much in my heart I wanted to fix it, make the pain go away. But I kept trying to remember what I read of Henri Nouwen, "Their suffering is their gift." And what Doug told me in the hospital in 1999: "You have no right to try to take it[their suffering] away from them." Hardest words I have ever heard...and at the time, I thought cold and brutal words. Yet those words free us to love as we were intended to love. There is no ownership in love. It just is. I looked at mother and son. There was love. Something I never got to know when I was a child...but I get to know it now. I get to see it, feel it, touch it, taste it, hear it...
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
That was yesterday. We finally got rain last night. I think I woke around two to the sound of the raindrops falling on my back porch. I went into the den and listened to them falling on the skylight. I was so grateful...it has been just too dry too damn long.
I haven't really reread what I wrote yesterday. I had a strange meeting yesterday with friends. I think it went well enough. I am not convinced by it, but I know it is all I will get, so I will have to work with it. Perhaps someday, it will be better...or not. But I am setting that cross down. What I have to decide now is whether or not I am willing to work under these conditions. I haven't decided yet. God has something new for me to learn.
I suppose priests know that people only tell them only part of the story. The part that makes them look good...to get the desired response. I went to confession yesterday...I've been trying to go for two weeks. Made an appt. but it got cancelled. I suppose I can be a bit intimidating. I went yesterday to a nearby church. "Cindy, I'd like for you to be behind the screen." "I'm sorry Father, that is not possible." and I left and went to a different priest. If you can't look me in the eye, then we have nothing to talk about. Especially about my sin. I'm not going to give you that much power. If it's going to be like that, well, I can talk straight to God then...the whole point of the incarnational representation is to be the incarnate representative. And I want the whole ball of wax. not just a voice saying, "My child, your sins are forgiven."
Man, I'm really going to hell, aren't I?
But the last few weeks have been a constant reminder that the Church will never live up to my expectations. I ready to turn over a few tables myself. And I can promise you, I don't feel good about any of it. In the beginning, God gave me an idea, a vision...of the potential of goodness and greatness in his creation of human beings. The possibility to love...and we such young lovers...should I bend this way or that, so that our noses won't bump...should I get close or wait for him/her? I suppose that is what all these growing pains are about...surrendering to the Heart of God is pretty much surrendering to our own hearts as well.
I feel so close to God all the time. I can see and feel and taste and touch and hear His Kingdom in my body...what it can be, and slowly He gives me the tools to try to share it. But in my humanness, I get so frustrated when people are not authentic with me. I honestly don't want to waste my time with them. And then He whispers in my ear,
"Cindy, I still loved you when you were lying to me. I didn't give up on you. Can't you do the same for your sisters and brothers? Can't you try to love them as I have loved you?"
"Crap.,,I love you, Lord. I'd do anything for you. You know that....I'm sorry I was impatient."
And He brings my head to His chest, and gently caresses my hair. I breathe hard. I just realize I've been fighting with Him again. I cry.
"There, there...it's going to be alright." And He lets me rest a bit. He puts a glass of water to my lips. I drink. I wipe my face with the back of my hand. I look up into His eyes.
"Go now. You have much more to do."
"I love you," I tell Him. "I know," he replies. "Go."
Love, Cindy
A lifetime ago, I was stuck in a house where there was no real reprieve from some form of suffering. It changed, but it was always there. There was no escape for me. There was no happiness. There were successes and failures, but no joy. It is kind of astounding to me to think about that. Part of me wants to believe that there must have been some good. And I force myself to think: Cooking was good sometimes. At Christmas...a little bit. Working in the yard was good...sometimes...moments of joy. I have to believe they were there, or I would have turned out much darker,,,right?
The point being that long before Facebook, I used to leave little notes around the house, behind picture frames and in the bottoms of vases or in the holes of statues...about how I was hurting. I remember, after I was married a few years, my mother mentioned to me that she found very ugly things that I had written all over the house. I had forgotten about them. I had forgotten that was my way of crying out.
I'd show up at church, at the Catholic Church, but what I thought was so obvious, no one saw, no one asked questions...and if I felt lonely before, I was a hundred times more lonely there. Yet, when it was just "me and God," things were wonderful. He explained to me all the confusing things in my life. He explained how he would use my sufferings to reach others who were not as lucky as me.
So I told God it was okay to make me suffer more. And He did. Little girls don't know much about God's love. Yet, we do. We create our own theologies based on what we experience and observe. My crazy professor in seminary called it our "soteriology." We sort out what we know to figure out what might happen next and what we should do about it.
Tradition, Sctripture, Reason, Experience. For that, Wesley was a genius. The Catholic Church forms it almost exactly the same way, but seems to combine the ideas of reason and experience.
I know I am called by God into service. I've tried to live another kind of life and I can't. Well, I can, but I dislike myself there. The closer I get to God, less interesting is the ideas of success or conquest...and semblance of winning seems so ridiculous now. The idea of confining myself to a physical marriage, with all of its demands, seems like it would limit my ability to do work.
Yet, I am not gifted with political savy. As I go through my examen, which I don't do every day but wish I did...I see this last week as a powerful week. I spoke out about some things that were grating on me, really believing I would lose one more friend. But...over and over again...I receive love instead of a beating. See how those old tapes have not left. See how God continues to try to teach me about His love...and as good as it is, it always hurts. The ego does not want to be wrong. It wants to be right, it wants to be vindicated.
I am forced to deal with over and over again...how can you still love me? You cannot realize the depth of this pain unless you know what it was like to know what it is to not be loved...and to have raised yourself in light of the absence of it.
What makes me more sick inside than anything, is the truth that a whole lot more people understand what I am writing about than I want.
I felt real love this week. From more than one person, I felt deep, lasting, unconditional love. Yet, in the deep recesses of my mind, I know...I sense...their loneliness, too. Maybe that's how God wires us, to have some innate understanding of what it means to love. To have the ability to give it away even before we are able to know a mother's love, a father's love, the love of a husband or wife, or sister or brother. I don't quite understand why some of us reach for the light while others go to the dark side.
My goal in this life, however long I have, in whatever way I have, is to love as well as I can. God put on my heart a new understanding of my priesthood, my mission, my vocation...in ways I did not expect. The politics of the Church is so unimportant to me now...although with a little teasing, I'm sure I can work up a lather about it again if I want. I just have to keep working on not caring. I become ineffective if I let rivalries and judgments interfere with my thinking through the work in front of me.
All the writings of Benedict and Thomas a Kempis...surrendering the ego...but not the soul...I have them pounding in my head. I would be shattered if I let the pettiness of my own emotions interfere with the work I have been given to do.
Yet, I do need an outlet. We all do. That why we have poets and artists and musicians and dancers and storytellers and athletes...and every creative outet there is...our way of expressing our feelings so that they will not consume us or rule over us. We need that. It cleans us out and lets us love more and better.
So all the posts I do not post, I do not know what I will do with them. The notes behind pictures and in vases...I'll never know what they said, except perhaps they kept me from hurting myself when I felt so powerless. I get another chance to win. To let Him win, that is.
This week, I watched a mother lift her son to the sofa. Things are not going so well for them. Just not well at all. I averted my eyes politely to offer respect to them both...but really they did not care. They had their gift of each other. How much in my heart I wanted to fix it, make the pain go away. But I kept trying to remember what I read of Henri Nouwen, "Their suffering is their gift." And what Doug told me in the hospital in 1999: "You have no right to try to take it[their suffering] away from them." Hardest words I have ever heard...and at the time, I thought cold and brutal words. Yet those words free us to love as we were intended to love. There is no ownership in love. It just is. I looked at mother and son. There was love. Something I never got to know when I was a child...but I get to know it now. I get to see it, feel it, touch it, taste it, hear it...
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
That was yesterday. We finally got rain last night. I think I woke around two to the sound of the raindrops falling on my back porch. I went into the den and listened to them falling on the skylight. I was so grateful...it has been just too dry too damn long.
I haven't really reread what I wrote yesterday. I had a strange meeting yesterday with friends. I think it went well enough. I am not convinced by it, but I know it is all I will get, so I will have to work with it. Perhaps someday, it will be better...or not. But I am setting that cross down. What I have to decide now is whether or not I am willing to work under these conditions. I haven't decided yet. God has something new for me to learn.
I suppose priests know that people only tell them only part of the story. The part that makes them look good...to get the desired response. I went to confession yesterday...I've been trying to go for two weeks. Made an appt. but it got cancelled. I suppose I can be a bit intimidating. I went yesterday to a nearby church. "Cindy, I'd like for you to be behind the screen." "I'm sorry Father, that is not possible." and I left and went to a different priest. If you can't look me in the eye, then we have nothing to talk about. Especially about my sin. I'm not going to give you that much power. If it's going to be like that, well, I can talk straight to God then...the whole point of the incarnational representation is to be the incarnate representative. And I want the whole ball of wax. not just a voice saying, "My child, your sins are forgiven."
Man, I'm really going to hell, aren't I?
But the last few weeks have been a constant reminder that the Church will never live up to my expectations. I ready to turn over a few tables myself. And I can promise you, I don't feel good about any of it. In the beginning, God gave me an idea, a vision...of the potential of goodness and greatness in his creation of human beings. The possibility to love...and we such young lovers...should I bend this way or that, so that our noses won't bump...should I get close or wait for him/her? I suppose that is what all these growing pains are about...surrendering to the Heart of God is pretty much surrendering to our own hearts as well.
I feel so close to God all the time. I can see and feel and taste and touch and hear His Kingdom in my body...what it can be, and slowly He gives me the tools to try to share it. But in my humanness, I get so frustrated when people are not authentic with me. I honestly don't want to waste my time with them. And then He whispers in my ear,
"Cindy, I still loved you when you were lying to me. I didn't give up on you. Can't you do the same for your sisters and brothers? Can't you try to love them as I have loved you?"
"Crap.,,I love you, Lord. I'd do anything for you. You know that....I'm sorry I was impatient."
And He brings my head to His chest, and gently caresses my hair. I breathe hard. I just realize I've been fighting with Him again. I cry.
"There, there...it's going to be alright." And He lets me rest a bit. He puts a glass of water to my lips. I drink. I wipe my face with the back of my hand. I look up into His eyes.
"Go now. You have much more to do."
"I love you," I tell Him. "I know," he replies. "Go."
Love, Cindy
Friday, September 2, 2011
Should I go or should I stay
I thought I might title this one "The Fine Art of Spiritual Misdirection." I have spent at least the last two years asking myself that question every morning. I am truly living out that Beatles' song that says: "Life is what happens when you are making other plans."
The reality for me, is that I have always been standing at the precipice of trying to make a decision, and never really making it. One could argue that I was never trained to make any decisions. The nuns were careful to keep free will out of the classroom and my parents made it very clear to me that I was born to please them...what I wanted never really mattered. Frankly, I don't recall ever being asked, "What do you want?" My mother would argue differently: she worked in a dress store and would bring home clothes for me "on approval." Three dresses would be laid out on the bed. I got to pick one of them. But of course, I had to try all of them on...and then my mother would let me know which one looked best on me. If I did not choose the one she liked, she would begin to explain to me why the other dress was prettier, or more practical...with little digs like, that one hides your belly, or that one does not draw attention to your short neck...gentle reminders of what she really thought of me.
I write that hear only as a cautionary tale to not do that to children, or to the people you love. Remember, even little people have brains and can use them. Like the song from "Into the Woods:" children may not obey, but children will listen...and learn.
I wonder if decision-making is ever taught to children, especially to girls. This is often my experience as I enter into spiritual direction with someone. I walk carefully, knowing full well that I am trying to "teach" something I do not know well personally. I know that rules are often taught, or hammered into little people...but the actual encounter and confrontation with choice, seems to not be taught too well. Women, and most often it seems like Christian women, don't know how to choose. They was for their fathers to tell them what to do, and later, their husbands. There is an unwritten rule of obedience planted in the hearts of all good Christian women..."Do whatever He tells you" often becomes "Do whatever he (father, husband, son) tells you." The two concepts don't necessarily go together.
C.S. Lewis writes, in "The Voyage of the Dawn Treader" about the Dufflepods. These are creatures devoid of any independent thought. They follow the leader in every detail. When presented with the opportunity to have an opinion, they always defer to the leader's opinion. And they are happy little creatures. It is an easy life if you do not have to choose.
From here, we could go into politics, theology...pretty much any topic there is to discuss. But today, I am thinking about spiritual direction. The most frustrating and most wonderful part of spiritual direction is that a true spiritual director will never tell you what to do. A spiritual director will not pass judgment on your thoughts or ideas, but rather, continually open the door to the options...to bring you back to your quest to make a decision. A good spiritual director will probably leave you a bit frustrated at the end of the hour, if you expected him/her to tell you which answer is "right." ...but will also leave you encouraged to find the answer within yourself. A spiritual director will help you learn to trust yourself. You'll know it when you have it: the stormy seas will settle and all the naysayers will become unimportant...insofar as the decision that was made. You will be at peace with God and with yourself. Letting someone else choose for you...is only a cheap way of avoiding responsibility for yourself.
God plants inside of us an idea. God gives us a blessing. As human beings, as children of Eve...we can easitly take the idea, the blessing, into a place where it does not need to go...or we can choose to turn out back to the idea, the gift...or we can do it well for a time and then suddenly find ourselves in a place we did not intend to go...so we are always in need of spiritual direction. We need someone to shine a light on our thoughts, in love and in truth...to help us do the Will of God.
Yet the decision is ours alone. It needs to be ours alone. We will reap the fine harvest of good decisions and we will endure the consequences of bad decisions. But good or bad, we never have to do it alone. The whole concept of Christianity kind of flows into this part of my discussion(?). Here is that key ingredient :Love God with ALL you heart, ALL your soul, ALL your mind...and love your neighbor as yourself. Take someone with you into your heart, hold their hand...but don't expect them to do your work for you. A good friend is always there...and loves you enough to not try to fix you. It is without question the best part and the hardest part of a spiritual friendship.
Some of us are good at making decisions. Some of us just close our eyes and drop a pin onto a piece of paper with the words YES and NO written on it. I have within me a strong desire to let someone else handle the decisions. I don't want to choose. Probably because I don't want to let go of either good thing...or either bad thing for that matter. That tells you that parts of me have only matured to the age level of ...about three years old. Parts of me do not want to give up the pleasure of having it all. And nothing in my life has forced me to giving away that which I hold tightly in my hand.
I hold so tightly because I fear that if I let go of one part of my life, the world as I know it will disappear. And that is a truth...the world as I know it will have to change. But something new is way more scary than continually living in a place that is not good for me. I know the rules in my little hell. I function quite well in hell now, so why leave it? Is the next hell going to be any better?
All of these wandering thoughts do have a purpose. We hide from making decisions because we were not raised to make decisions. Yet the world demands us to make decisions...about every five minutes, when watching TV...they are called commercials and they want you to decide to buy their product. Those are a bit obvious...but the sneaky choices: having a donut or a bowl of fruit...or just a glass of water. Smoking a cigarette, taking a pill, driving fast, picking up the trash you dropped...smiling at a mother with a noisy child...they are all decisions and they form who we are.
Here's where the wandering took me this morning. I was at Mass with the school children. I looked around...everyone in the church seemed to have someone else watching out for them. Part of me was warmed inside by the general understanding in the church that "we take care of each other," was so very present. Everyone had a 'spiritual director' and everyone was a 'spiritual director.' Setting examples, gently reminding each how to behave in church, to collectively pray together and to collectively receive the Body of Christ in the celebration of the Mass.
I marveled at this beauty before me...and was stung by an interior knowledge that no one looked out for me. That there were connections inside this holy place that I was denied as a little girl. These children knew they were valued, they were being shepherded by caring people. And I was jealous. After Communion, I felt horror inside myself that somehow I did not deserve to be there...with these people who were loved. And I got up and left. before Mass was over.
Protestants often argue that Catholics only know how to suffer. They live forever in the "I'm not worthy" stage. They look at the crucifix...when the Resurrection is just around the corner. I can understand that thinking. Yet, to consider the Resurrection without constantly remembering why it all happened is faulty, too.
We have to always hold in tension our humanness and our divinity. We are of God and were are of Man (human). We are not one or the other. We are bound to a God who has blessed us with free will. Yet we have within us always a foretaste of the Divine nature. We can choose to love one another, or we can choose to exploit one another...we can base our choices on what has been done to us...or we can base them on what God did for us in the Incarnation. I'm referring to justification and sanctification here...and I will not go into detail at this time.
I left Mass early because I felt unworthy. I felt excluded...and yet, it was the brokenness of my own life that caused me to walk in the door in the first place. It's all so very hard. And it is all so very simple.
You get what you give. We all need others to remind us of what we have given and what has been given to us. We must live in community...or we are not really living at all. We do that by telling the truth, forgiving our mistakes and forgiving others their mistakes. And always, always loving.
I walked out of Mass because I forgot that for a moment.
Good thing someone reminded me who I was again...and the cool thing, he doesn't even know that's what he did.
I choose poorly for one moment. But now, I choose wisely again...be kind, rewind your thoughts...remember who you are and whose you are...
Jeremiah 29:11
For I know well the plans I have in mind for you—oracle of the LORD—plans for your welfare and not for woe, so as to give you a future of hope.
I hope it helped...<3
Love, Cindy
The reality for me, is that I have always been standing at the precipice of trying to make a decision, and never really making it. One could argue that I was never trained to make any decisions. The nuns were careful to keep free will out of the classroom and my parents made it very clear to me that I was born to please them...what I wanted never really mattered. Frankly, I don't recall ever being asked, "What do you want?" My mother would argue differently: she worked in a dress store and would bring home clothes for me "on approval." Three dresses would be laid out on the bed. I got to pick one of them. But of course, I had to try all of them on...and then my mother would let me know which one looked best on me. If I did not choose the one she liked, she would begin to explain to me why the other dress was prettier, or more practical...with little digs like, that one hides your belly, or that one does not draw attention to your short neck...gentle reminders of what she really thought of me.
I write that hear only as a cautionary tale to not do that to children, or to the people you love. Remember, even little people have brains and can use them. Like the song from "Into the Woods:" children may not obey, but children will listen...and learn.
I wonder if decision-making is ever taught to children, especially to girls. This is often my experience as I enter into spiritual direction with someone. I walk carefully, knowing full well that I am trying to "teach" something I do not know well personally. I know that rules are often taught, or hammered into little people...but the actual encounter and confrontation with choice, seems to not be taught too well. Women, and most often it seems like Christian women, don't know how to choose. They was for their fathers to tell them what to do, and later, their husbands. There is an unwritten rule of obedience planted in the hearts of all good Christian women..."Do whatever He tells you" often becomes "Do whatever he (father, husband, son) tells you." The two concepts don't necessarily go together.
C.S. Lewis writes, in "The Voyage of the Dawn Treader" about the Dufflepods. These are creatures devoid of any independent thought. They follow the leader in every detail. When presented with the opportunity to have an opinion, they always defer to the leader's opinion. And they are happy little creatures. It is an easy life if you do not have to choose.
From here, we could go into politics, theology...pretty much any topic there is to discuss. But today, I am thinking about spiritual direction. The most frustrating and most wonderful part of spiritual direction is that a true spiritual director will never tell you what to do. A spiritual director will not pass judgment on your thoughts or ideas, but rather, continually open the door to the options...to bring you back to your quest to make a decision. A good spiritual director will probably leave you a bit frustrated at the end of the hour, if you expected him/her to tell you which answer is "right." ...but will also leave you encouraged to find the answer within yourself. A spiritual director will help you learn to trust yourself. You'll know it when you have it: the stormy seas will settle and all the naysayers will become unimportant...insofar as the decision that was made. You will be at peace with God and with yourself. Letting someone else choose for you...is only a cheap way of avoiding responsibility for yourself.
God plants inside of us an idea. God gives us a blessing. As human beings, as children of Eve...we can easitly take the idea, the blessing, into a place where it does not need to go...or we can choose to turn out back to the idea, the gift...or we can do it well for a time and then suddenly find ourselves in a place we did not intend to go...so we are always in need of spiritual direction. We need someone to shine a light on our thoughts, in love and in truth...to help us do the Will of God.
Yet the decision is ours alone. It needs to be ours alone. We will reap the fine harvest of good decisions and we will endure the consequences of bad decisions. But good or bad, we never have to do it alone. The whole concept of Christianity kind of flows into this part of my discussion(?). Here is that key ingredient :Love God with ALL you heart, ALL your soul, ALL your mind...and love your neighbor as yourself. Take someone with you into your heart, hold their hand...but don't expect them to do your work for you. A good friend is always there...and loves you enough to not try to fix you. It is without question the best part and the hardest part of a spiritual friendship.
Some of us are good at making decisions. Some of us just close our eyes and drop a pin onto a piece of paper with the words YES and NO written on it. I have within me a strong desire to let someone else handle the decisions. I don't want to choose. Probably because I don't want to let go of either good thing...or either bad thing for that matter. That tells you that parts of me have only matured to the age level of ...about three years old. Parts of me do not want to give up the pleasure of having it all. And nothing in my life has forced me to giving away that which I hold tightly in my hand.
I hold so tightly because I fear that if I let go of one part of my life, the world as I know it will disappear. And that is a truth...the world as I know it will have to change. But something new is way more scary than continually living in a place that is not good for me. I know the rules in my little hell. I function quite well in hell now, so why leave it? Is the next hell going to be any better?
All of these wandering thoughts do have a purpose. We hide from making decisions because we were not raised to make decisions. Yet the world demands us to make decisions...about every five minutes, when watching TV...they are called commercials and they want you to decide to buy their product. Those are a bit obvious...but the sneaky choices: having a donut or a bowl of fruit...or just a glass of water. Smoking a cigarette, taking a pill, driving fast, picking up the trash you dropped...smiling at a mother with a noisy child...they are all decisions and they form who we are.
Here's where the wandering took me this morning. I was at Mass with the school children. I looked around...everyone in the church seemed to have someone else watching out for them. Part of me was warmed inside by the general understanding in the church that "we take care of each other," was so very present. Everyone had a 'spiritual director' and everyone was a 'spiritual director.' Setting examples, gently reminding each how to behave in church, to collectively pray together and to collectively receive the Body of Christ in the celebration of the Mass.
I marveled at this beauty before me...and was stung by an interior knowledge that no one looked out for me. That there were connections inside this holy place that I was denied as a little girl. These children knew they were valued, they were being shepherded by caring people. And I was jealous. After Communion, I felt horror inside myself that somehow I did not deserve to be there...with these people who were loved. And I got up and left. before Mass was over.
Protestants often argue that Catholics only know how to suffer. They live forever in the "I'm not worthy" stage. They look at the crucifix...when the Resurrection is just around the corner. I can understand that thinking. Yet, to consider the Resurrection without constantly remembering why it all happened is faulty, too.
We have to always hold in tension our humanness and our divinity. We are of God and were are of Man (human). We are not one or the other. We are bound to a God who has blessed us with free will. Yet we have within us always a foretaste of the Divine nature. We can choose to love one another, or we can choose to exploit one another...we can base our choices on what has been done to us...or we can base them on what God did for us in the Incarnation. I'm referring to justification and sanctification here...and I will not go into detail at this time.
I left Mass early because I felt unworthy. I felt excluded...and yet, it was the brokenness of my own life that caused me to walk in the door in the first place. It's all so very hard. And it is all so very simple.
You get what you give. We all need others to remind us of what we have given and what has been given to us. We must live in community...or we are not really living at all. We do that by telling the truth, forgiving our mistakes and forgiving others their mistakes. And always, always loving.
I walked out of Mass because I forgot that for a moment.
Good thing someone reminded me who I was again...and the cool thing, he doesn't even know that's what he did.
I choose poorly for one moment. But now, I choose wisely again...be kind, rewind your thoughts...remember who you are and whose you are...
Jeremiah 29:11
For I know well the plans I have in mind for you—oracle of the LORD—plans for your welfare and not for woe, so as to give you a future of hope.
I hope it helped...<3
Love, Cindy
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