My Own Thoughts

   Lately I've been steeped in the thoughts of others, especially regarding my spiritual journey. My two years at Andover Seminary, while not resulting in an M.Div., were seminal in breaking wide open the God box. I found there's a place for me, rather I should say I found there's room for me. Place reflects stability,  a sense of the unchanging. The study of God is broad and deep but it is not static.
    We're all on one big scavenger hunt with our lists in hand and when we collect everything on the list we hope we will get the grand prize. We will find GOD. Perhaps we already have found The One because the fact that we are searching is a manifestation that it already exists in our imagination or we wouldn't be looking. Everyone is in the haystack digging around for the needle but each seeker has a unique vision of the needle. So perhaps The One is really The Many.
   Studying the early church was frustrating due to my own narrow mindedness, ignorance and fear. I had no understanding of the cultural context in which it existed. What I saw as an attempt by the early church fathers to limit God by putting him into a finite man-made box was God revealing itself to people in the language of their particular historical and social setting. They were a diverse bunch and they too each had their own unique vision of the needle. The formation of Christianity as we look back on it from the twenty-first century was hardly the harmonious gathering of like-minded people we are encouraged to be today. It was steeped in the same political controversies and heresies that we are still muddling through. And just as today, these controversies are not so much about God as they are expressions of the tensions of transition, political and otherwise. Change is at the heart of the divine nature. God refuses to be trussed up and displayed in a carnival side-show.
   The more I read, listen, look, and pay attention to the details, the bigger God gets. This is fine with me because, quite frankly, I want a great big God, a God so big there's no hope of having a complete understanding. Just managing my little slice of the universe is quite demanding enough for me. But I have noticed that this Great Big Deity occasionally curls up inside me for one-on-one time. I don't know how it happens. I just know those are my most precious moments. I doubt if it's just my own voice speaking to me because I often hear what I don't want to hear. This presence often confuses with me with someone who is much more courageous, compassionate and talented than I am. But oddly when I'm called to be more than I believe I am, I rise to the occasion.
   

Suicide's Gift

    Gus is a big, soft sack of white feathers or so he seems when his furry 100 lb.-body is curled up at my feet. He’s my most cherished companion, comforter, jester and teacher.  Over the years I’ve come to respect the wisdom of his way of being in the world.  

There was a time when the tree of my life with its gnarled trunk nicked with lessons and loss and its deep rings reflecting a resilience of spirit just evaporated and with it my identity. Gone. The landscape of my memories was clear-cut and unfamiliar. My 23-year-old son committed suicide. 

   What was left of me was unidentifiable remains, disembodied pieces that had fallen off the whole. I could only sense life, nothing fully formed, just a petrie dish kind of sensation. The journey to becoming an integral part of existence again seemed far beyond my capabilities.  But there was Gus, so gentle ands so present. He was totally dependent on me to meet his needs - being fed, being walked and kept safe. He reminded me that life’s basic responsibilities were still there.  If I didn’t feed Gus, he barked and acted out. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t punishing me. It wasn’t a judgment, just the natural consequence of not being fed. If I didn’t walk him, well, I knew the consequences. He wasn’t telling me to stuff my grief and sadness, that he came first. He was just reminding me that for every action there’s a reaction. Slowly, I felt a sense of balance return. I was still deeply sad and at times overwhelmed but I knew I could meet life’s basic needs. Routine could be a life saver. My canine angel was showing me that not everything is personal, not all cause and effect is a judgment. Life happened to me not because of me. 

   Gus also taught me a universal language that allows all life to communicate. It was a language without words that I had dismissed as foolish, irrational and childish many years before. It was the language of instinct and intuition. It seems I’d known it all along. 

I knew just what Gus was telling me when he circled and growled rather than barking a greeting and approaching to be petted. I knew what he meant when he placed himself between me and a stranger with his tail perfectly still and straight. And he was always right. Gus helped me recover a gift of birth - to listen to what isn’t said and trust what isn’t seen. He’s the unconditional love that kept me safe until I learned to laugh again, to hope again and to see life as a circle of events that unites us even in our grief. He was my son’s final gift to me and I am grateful.

Valentine

   What a gift to be married to a man who makes me feel loved 365 days a year. We don’t need cards or gifts to show it. The romance in our lives has not disappeared. It just looks different as we move through our sixties. We certainly don’t take our love for granted, far from it. We acknowledge it and show it to one another daily. We also acknowledge the special days but with a hug or a kiss. The “need” to surprise, to WOW, to outdo isn’t there anymore nor is the guilt-driven expectation to satisfy at all costs. Love and intimacy are finally expressions of the heart.

   Each time Al does the laundry, goes grocery shopping, brings me coffee, vacuums the house, always without being asked, he is saying more emphatically than any card could say, I love you, Katie. Although Al knew I had Multiple Sclerosis when we married, neither of us imagined that I would get so weak that I’d be unable to do those routine chores that he’s taken on with tenderness and humor.

   My most cherished gift from Al is the lesson of receiving. Through the distorted lens of pride and ego, I saw strength and independence as admirable character traits. Unfortunately, I defined strength as willpower and independence as needing no one. Al patiently let me know that when I refused his help he felt rejected. It was as if I was saying “You have nothing I need or want.” Rather than arguing or chastising, he asked if I liked giving to others. When I answered yes, he asked why, then, would I not want others to have that same experience. Always giving ran the well dry after a while and “clogged up the universe” because without receivers, givers could’t exist. It was the most important AHA moment I’ve had. So simple and direct. I got it. Giving isn’t a competitive sport with winners and losers. It’s a mutual exchange of compassion and understanding.

   Over the years, it’s our weaknesses, our flaws and missteps that have led to a love that doesn’t need cards and gifts. I had never known a solid love where acceptance and respect were the foundation. It’s a love I hope to grow old sharing.

Grandfather's Ashes

   It is April.  I stand on the front porch of his farmhouse, built simple and solid as my grandfather’s nature.  Grandfather, the hinge on which our family swung, was a simple weave of dignity and duty, abundant in the ordinary. I remember how he stood straight as a steeple in the sun-bleached, denim dawn and at sunset, how his scent would crack the evening air like fresh dug dirt. He was a farmer who knew what the land asked of him and in return it held the memory of all that made him whole. 

   It was here, in the fragrance of cedar and cigars, I heard the rooftop rooster spin the stories of the wind and I learned to wonder at the size and shape of the weather. It was here, in the kitchen that his stove-hot words of whiskey wisdom were soothed as we hummed the rich, smooth harmonies of poetry and prayer. It was here, he would tip the tables of time with his stories then gently roll our questions to a boil and set our dreams to simmer in our sleep.   

   And it was here I remember a spring when there were no flowers, when the sun slept through the day and the windows wept. It was here, in the hand-rubbed mahogany of a four poster garden where the seeds of my family tree were sown, here, that his whiskey washed my innocence away. It was here I learned the sound of truth was silence.

   It is April.  I stand outside his farmhouse. I anoint the soil of the past with his ashes and I forgive him for the sin he never understood.

   I love my life. I was just reading a blog from a woman teaching yoga and practicing a positive way of being in the world. Her post reflects so much of what I've learned over the years about being responsible for my life and in that comes freedom and happiness. The key is infinite supply. As the blogger puts it, "once I opened the floodgates to There is enough for everyone, I started to believe it, teach it, and experience it daily."  
   When asked how to achieve this attitude or maintain it when things go dark, she references how she teaches yoga to special needs kids.  She asks them two questions:
     1. What do you love about yourself?
     2. What are you grateful for?
She is amazed because these children, many of them facing severe limitations such as blindness and autism, are always ready with their answers. Yet in a room full of healthy adults she can hear nothing but "crickets chirping and tumble weeds blowing." What secret do these amazing little souls have? What secrets have we adults forgotten? Her students provided a list of things that remind us how to stay positive, how to get in touch with "enough."

• Make a Joy List.  Post it somewhere where you can see it.
• Create mantras for yourself. We do this in my yoga class, as well. Create a phrase or a word and repeat it as often as needed to replace another mantra that no longer serves you, such as “My life sucks” “I am fat” “I am broke,” etc.
• Laugh when you fall. Develop a sense of humor. Especially about yourself.
• Be kind.
• Be grateful for what you have right now AND for what is on it’s way. Say “thank you” in advance.
• Forgive yourself for not being perfect. No such thing. 
• Find things to be in awe of.
• Sing out loud, 
• Write poems, even if only in your head.
• Dance.
• If you don’t have anything nice to say....
• Tell someone that you love them right now.
• Take more pictures.
• Watch Modern Family.

   How often I've forgotten what those amazing children know instinctively; not only is there enough for everyone, I am enough. 

   Life experience is a patient and wise teacher. It's lessons are tailor-made just for us. These lessons are meant to show us we are capable, worthy and lovable. Instead, we get comfortable living in the problem and deny we ever knew the solution. Today I can say with confidence I am living in the solution and Eden isn't a biblical metaphor for some make-believe place. It's as real and as close as the floor under my feet.