"I shall not want…"

"From a need to be understood,
from a need to be accepted,
from a fear of being lonely,
deliver me, O God..."

It was long before dawn, when I woke with this one truth, "I shall not want…"

It came before sentience. It came in the space of a silence deeper than "no sound." It came as conscious existence. It was not thought, but known. And it brought with it a feeling of being deeply satisfied.

I let my heart steep in it for a very long time. It felt like the purest truth I had ever known.

When I finally rose to greet the day it refused to be put aside for other thoughts and concerns.

After a few hours, I opened my computer and launched my browser. Going to Youtube, I typed in "I shall not want," and this beautiful song by Audrey Assad, "I Shall Not Want," brought me to tears. It spoke to every feeling I'd experienced in the stillness of that early morning.

As I stood on the back deck watching the first migrating birds arrive on our lake, I was reminded of Jesus' encouragement to:

"Behold the fowls of the air,
for they sow not,
neither do they reap,
nor gather into barns;
yet your heavenly Father
feedeth them." 

What tender care for the human heart. That morning, I didn't need food, or clothing, or shelter. I needed ideas that would inspire, spiritual facts that transcend the evidence of the senses. I needed the gifts of grace, the compassion that heals, and the mercy of a loving Parent.

On the heels of that sweet avian reminder, I heard this promise from Romans:

"O the depth of the riches
both of the wisdom
and knowledge of God!

How unsearchable
are his judgments,
and his ways
past finding out!"
 

I didn't need to "want" a knowledge of Him, or His wisdom.  It was not something to be searched for - and found. It was not something I lacked, and needed to go hunting for.  It was mine by simple reflection -- in stillness.

And so I did just what Jesus suggested. I watched the fowls of the air. They circled the lake, and then flew directly into the stillness of the water.  All that they needed lay just beneath the clear surface -- and it was immediately evident and available to each of them from that vantage point. They weren't landing thoughtlessly and then digging around -- stirring up surface and muddying the waters.

It occurred to me how often my frantic "searching" had muddied my own spiritual clear-sightedness.

But when I stand still -- nevertheless -- in the simplicity of one simple spiritual fact, such as: "God is All-in-all," and I allow that Truth to inform every other question or concern -- there is no want.

My freedom from want comes, not from what I think I know about my circumstances and resources, but from what I know to be true about God -- our divine Source. There is no want, because there is no lack in the Allness of All. Where there is no absence of God, there is no absence of good.  Realizing this one fact, I am consciously holding good in my experience - immediately.

In the All-in-allness of Mind, there is no lack of wisdom -- in anyone. In the All-in-allness of Love, there is no lack of acceptance. In the All-in-allness of Life, there is no loneliness or loss. In the All-in-allness of Truth, there is no dishonesty or misunderstanding. 

 In the All-in-allness of Soul, there is only beauty, peace, and the discernment of truth. In the All-in-allness of Principle, we can only experience the ever-presence of balance, order, and fairness. And in the All-in-allness of Spirit, we trustingly yield to the one divine Source of all motivation, intention and action.

Filled with an abiding conviction that our divine Parent loves and cares for us, we are playful. The "future," is not something to worry about, but is a divine surprise unfolding right before our eyes from an unfathomable well of goodness. And we are free from the finite wants, which will always fall short of His more abundant, infinite plan for us.

I think of the young King David, the Psalmist, who wrote those words, "I shall not want." His own path from ambitious self-volition to childlike trust was lovingly chronicled for us in Scripture. I am humbled beyond measure by his courage and honesty. What a journey of grace.

And since all fear has it's basis in the supposition: "what if God is absent," to be free of lack-based want is to be delivered from fear. To be free of want is to dwell in the spaciousness of God's immanence. To be free of want, is to rest our hopes in His eternal kingdom. A kingdom of still waters, tender mercies, and amazing grace.


offered with Love,

Kate

"a memory in every corner..."

"It took me by surprise
this old house
and these old feelings
Walked around and looked inside
familiar walls, and halls,
and ceilings..."

I've always dreamed of giving my children a sense of home that would evoke the same feeling Sara Groves sings about in "This Old House."

I've dreamed in houses all my life. Fairy tale houses in the piney woods. Log cabins above tree line. Clapboard farmhouses with wide front porches under a stand of cottonwoods along the Platte River. Gingerbread victorians, craftsman style bungalows, mesquite-thatched adobes that blend into the arroyo. I love them all.

As a girl, we grew up in rental housing. We'd just get moved in -- walls freshly painted, furniture artfully arranged, warm and cozy -- when the landlord would see that my parents' hard work had increased the value of his property. Their sweat equity -- combined with mom's ability to add charm to a cardboard box -- made it the perfect time for selling.

Finding my "forever" home, became an obsession for me. Owning a house meant that no one could sell your memories out from under you.  And although I've been blessed to own at least one house I truly loved, it was never my forever house. I've moved often. Far too often.

For years, suggestions of homelessness could still poke through to a very tender place of vulnerability. I'd try to catch them before they pierced my peace, but I was not always aware of what the triggers were. And once it hit, it could make me feel irrational and frantic. In those moments, I just had to find my forever house so that I never had to move again.

And considering that this is my 58th house, in 58 years, I've got lots of experience with moving. I'd joke about it. I'd pray about it. I'd try to convince myself that owning a house didn't really matter -- it's the spiritual sense of home that I carry in my heart that makes all the difference...right?

But someone would say something, and Iid be in a puddle of tears searching realtor.com for something we could afford...in a town/village/city we'd want to spend "forever."

For years I'd worked long and hard to find my peace about this. Probably more than any one issue. It could send me into tailspin that was very hard to pull out of.

It was my Achille's heel. Just when I'd think I was "over it," it would come in through a hidden back door, and I was toast.

It actually happened not so terribly long ago.

We lived in a sweet neighborhood, in a lovely little cape cod-style farmhouse with a big front porch.

We'd charmed this baby up as much as any rental property could possibly hope for.  She'd been blinged out with re-purposed, dumpster-found, shabby chic-ish porch furnishings...painted shutters, window boxes overflowing with wildflowers and herbs, adirondack chairs, and, what my daughter refers to as my menagerie of stone pets...turtles, ducks, birds of every size, squirrels, and a fox...yes, a stone-cold fox.

But all it took was for someone (who didn't know we were "renters") to make a thoughtless remark about the "those people who are foolish enough to get caught in the rental trap," and I was driven to my knees in prayer.

Thank God for musical angels. Sara's song spoke to me about the real value of home and it's spiritual foundation.

In light of the recent housing crisis, the value of "home" is something I pray about daily. Not just for myself and my family, but for all families. 

 And I am finding that this more inclusive kind of prayer has made a difference in the way I feel when circumstances poke at my tender places. I can no longer be found in a fetal ball when I hear that someone has just closed on a new house purchase.

I no longer cry while watching HGTV's Property Virgins. I no longer believe that my life will be better, "if only," I could finally move into the house I would never have to leave.

I'm no longer haunted by questions like: "What if we never left "that" house?" "What if my children had never had to move?" "How would I be different if I knew the emotions Sara sings of in "This Old House?" It's taken me a long time to get here.

In times like these, it's critical for me to remember that none of us are alone in facing these fears. There are millions of children who don't know where they will lay their head tonight. And millions more who will never know another night because of poverty, toxic water, civil war, global unrest, poor healthcare, and ethnic cleansing.

Each day I try to remember that our life's journey well-prepares us for helping others.  God has never lost touch with us.  He has never forsaken us.  Every step of my path has been designed to foster compassion, understanding, humility, grace.   

 Because of my path, I understanding what it's like to face uncertainty. I know what it feels like to discover that there's not enough in the checking account to pay the rent and buy food. But letting these experiences inform my heart...and not define me...has turned humiliation into humility. The desire to stand under my own roof, into a heart full of understanding.   And I really do understand.

So tonight -- as the temperatures drop and images of cozy fires with families around a table piled high with bounty parade across television screens and pepper the dreams of children living in shelters -- I pray that the happiest, warmest, most beloved "place" in every child's life becomes the security found within the circle of her divine Parent's arms.

I pray that the safest place she will ever know, is under the shelter of God's wing. And that the most perfect spot on earth for her, is the kingdom of heaven.

Happiness, peace, security lives in, rests upon, abides with, and resides within God's capacious Love.

In her spiritual interpretation of the 23rd Psalms, Mary Baker Eddy translates "I will dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life..." into:

"I will dwell in the house,
the consciousness of Love,
forever" 

This is my forever house. This is my forever home.

And in fact, it is yours too. The man huddled in the cardboard box, the child on the streets of Bangkok, the woman driving aimlessly to avoid an abuse, the couple feeling trapped in an upside-down mortgage...they have it as well. We all have a forever home in the consciousness of Love. It's really the one true, sure, certain, secure home we will ever know...unmovable within our hearts.

In this "consciousness of Love" there is a memory in every corner...and they are all very good because they always include Love.

warmly,
Kate

"Ignite the light, and let it shine..."

"...You're original,
cannot be replaced.
If you only knew
what the future holds.
After a hurricane
comes a rainbow.

Maybe you're reason why
all the doors are closed.
So you could open one,
that leads you to the perfect road

Like a lightning bolt,
your heart will glow.
And when it's time,
you'll know...

You just gotta ignite the light,
And let it shine...
Just own the night,
like the Fourth of July."

I'm not much of a Katy Perry fan, but I knew I'd be writing a piece with "Firework" as the keynote, ever since I first heard it on our drive in to school, one day last week.

The perfect match of "story and song" began to percolate the other night at the 'Reef and Beef Benefit Concert' (Heifer International and a Gulf spill relief non-profit were the proceed recipients) last weekend. 

There were so many wonderful acts featured during those two hours, and one remarkably funny emcee (thanks Travis).  But there was one performance that released floodgates of gratitude in my heart.

My lovely, talented niece Lily, poised on the edge of a high stool, and a brilliant singing career, performed an original, amazing composition of the "23rd Psalm" that was arranged by her mom, Laurie. 


The performance itself was inspired and breath-taking. But it was the backstory that had me in tears.   And it is the backstory, that Laurie has given me permission to share here. 

I've known Laurie since we were both newlyweds.  One weekend, long before Lily (or her sweet older sister Kristen) were born, Laurie came for a visit to our home in Colorado.   Her husband was out of town on a coaching trip with his high school wrestling team, so we had girl time. 

Laurie, our daughter, and I spent that Saturday touring the exhibition hall at our County fairgrounds for a Home and Garden show, before going out for a specially-planned English high tea at a local antique gallery.  Translucent vintage bone china, scones, Devonshire cream, marmalade, tiny cucumber and watercress sandwiches, chocolate truffles, and petit fours...it was a lavender, linen, and lace spread, right out of Victoria magazine.

We'd had a great afternoon, and were finally sitting in our cozy little living room, talking about grand hopes, career goals, interests, and dreams, when I asked Laurie what her greatest life desires were. 

I already knew that Laurie loved family.  Seeing her devotion to her husband, parents, brothers and sister...up close and personal...over the years, that fact was a given.  But that afternoon, Laurie shared with me, that her dreams for herself were, quite simply, in this order:  motherhood, playing piano, writing/arranging music.  She spoke of each with such complete focus, humility, and passion, that I couldn't imagine any of those desires not being fully realized. 

In the ensuing years, I was to discover that Laurie is an inspired spiritual thinker, a brilliant comedic writer, a gifted teacher, and a devoted wife and daughter, but it was those three "dreams"...motherhood, piano performance, and musical composition/arranging...that I have never forgotten were the silent desires...the prayers...that Laurie placed at the feet of Christ each day.

Laurie's desires weren't "wants," they were promises from her Father-Mother God.  And I made note that day, to watch those promises growing in her life...like a tender mustard seed taking root...wanting to see, as the years went on, how God would work his purpose out in her life.

Within a few years, Laurie, and her husband, were the delighted parents of two beautiful daughters, Kristen and Lily. 

Laurie is a devoted mom.  She has also played the piano for her daughters' school, her church, at family gatherings, as a teacher, at weddings, in recitals, for choirs, and during the holidays at public venues throughout the city.  She has honored, and celebrated, the musical arrangements of her favorite artists...it was Laurie that first introduced me to Jim Brickman...while developing her own "sound," as a composer and arranger.  Laurie's prayers live in the lives of her daughters, her family, and her music.

Now, for Lily.  I've always wondered if Lily was, quite literally,  born singing.  As a toddler, she could be heard singing to herself in the backseat of the van...at times, much to the chagrin of her sister and cousins.  But Lily was unfazed.  Lily loved to sing...and so she did.  Lily sang while she read, she sang while she walked, she sang while everyone else was playing outside.  Heck, Lily sang while she played outside.  She was a soccer player and a singer.  She was a swimmer and a singer.  Lily just sang.  And Lily still sings...beautifully.  It never mattered what anyone else thought about her singing...Lily sang.  And nothing ever stopped Lily from singing.

So, you may ask, what is this all about.  Well, for me, it is about seeing...watching.  It is about watching someone's desires, living prayers, take form in words and deeds.  And it is about calling attention to this spiritual phenomenon when those divine promises bear fruit.  Like that mustard seed which grows into a tree that birds can lodge in, a realized dream...anyone's realized dream...is a tree that we can lodge our own hopes in.

Watching Lily sing the 23rd Psalm, while her mom played the piano...beaming all the while at her beloved daughter... was one of the most heart-achingly beautiful moments of grace, for me. 

I don't think that Laurie has ever lost sight of her desires...no matter how they played out moment-by-moment, day-by-day. As long as Laurie was mothering, playing the piano, and involved in creating beautiful music...she was happy. 

Lily loves to sing.  And she has never cared who was listening...or if anyone was listening.  If Lily was singing...she was happy.  She lives her truth, her relationship to God, everytime she sings.

Witnessing Laurie and Lily...loving each other, playing the piano, singing a truly beautiful song they had written and arranged together...was a privilege. It was like having a front row seat on the fulfillment of a promise.  I believe that Mary Baker Eddy is encouraging us to trust in God's promises as guidance for our lives, when she writes on the first page of Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures:

"Desire is prayer, and no loss can occur from trusting God with our desires, that they may be moulded and exalted, before they take for in words and deeds."

It was clear to me the other night, that I was being given a precious gift. One that I'd had the opportunity to catch a glimpse of, almost 20 years earlier. 

Neither Laurie, nor Lily, seemed to care where they were performing. They could have just as easily been sitting alone at the piano in their living room, as they were on the stage of Ridgway Auditorium  -- in front of 200 people.  They were not living for applause, they were living their desires, their prayers, out loud...and they were just letting us get a peek at what it looks like to live your dreams...unconditionally.

And while Laurie's love for her daughters, her family, her life, quite literally poured out of her heart on stage that night...I could almost feel that same love...God's love...beckoning to each of us, asking us to embrace our own desires more trustingly. 

Only Lily could be Lily.  Only Laurie could be Laurie.  And only you, can be you.  You are an original and cannot be replaced.  If you are not living your desires...the desires that God has put into your heart... to live and to love...no one else can.  Your "niche in time and eternity" is only yours to fill, and God wants you to fill it...with your love for whatever it is...that you love.


Thanks Laurie for allowing me to witness the fulfillment of God's promise in you, and for letting me tell this story. 

Thanks Lily...you are dearly loved...


Aunt Kate


There is a link in the text, above, to Lily's beautiful performance of the 23rd Psalm, but since I don't want you to miss it, I am share it here again...I had an entire post written about the 23rd Psalm that I had expected to put with Lily's video, but Laurie and Lily's story was much more compelling. The 23rd Psalm speaks for itself. If you would like to read an earlier post about Rabbi Harold Kushner's insights on the 23rd Psalm,"It was Enough" you can click on this link.

*a new post on creativity...that refers to this one, titled "to more than I can be...".  is linked here.