"the babe of healing..."

"I am waiting
in a silent prayer..."

A friend's recent post on Facebook reminded me of an early December night, many years ago.  It was a time when all I wanted was a baby to love, to hold, and to cherish.

I'd called a friend and mentor during one of my darkest moments. I poured out my heart's sorrow. I could actually feel the compassion that filled the pregnant silence. It was as palpable as a hand reaching through the darkness. Soon, my weeping stilled, and my breathing evened.

Then, when he knew I was ready to listen, he asked me if I was ready to give birth to the most precious babe on earth -- the babe of Christian healing. I knew he was referencing a passage by Mary Baker Eddy from an article titled, "The Cry of Christmas-tide," published in her collected Miscellaneous Writings 1883 - 1896:

"Unto us a child is born,
unto us a son is given.

"In different ages the divine idea assumes
different forms, according to humanity’s needs.
In this age it assumes, more intelligently
than ever before, the form of Christian healing.
This is the babe we are to cherish."
 

He reminded me that, more than ever before, this was the babe I needed to cherish -- not just for myself, but for the world.

Then, he gently suggested that I return to a series of twenty-four questions and answers that make up the entire curriculum for Eddy's course on Christian Science healing. Questions that are found in the chapter "Recapitulation," from her primary work, Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures. Beginning on page 465 and concluding on page 497 we are given a path for seeking -- and finding -- healing. Twenty-four questions on thirty-two pages.

He told me that each December, he did this himself. He took one question per day and studied her answer. Then he pondered how he might answer that same question, based on what he had experienced as a healer throughout the year.

He assured me that these next precious days of gestation would bring forth this "babe," and I would be ready to cherish it with my whole life's purpose. These questions would prepare my heart. They were the promise of a new birth.

So, I did. And I still do. Each December 1st, I begin with the first question: "What is God?" I deeply consider Eddy's simple, cogent, complete, and profound answer.  Then I ask myself, "Based on what you have learned this year, what is God to you?" 

You see, I long to know God, myself.  

I am profoundly grateful for Mary Baker Eddy's waymarks as she chronicled her own journey towards a deeper understanding of what it means to "know the Lord." 

But I don't want to simply read her travel diary, and look at her photos -- I want to go where she has gone.  I long to feel that landscape under my feet.  To breathe that holy air.  And by revisiting those questions -- and then searching my heart for answers that ring with a true tone -- I align myself with the I AM THAT I AM.  For me, it is one of the most holy traditions of the season.

Last night, I couldn't wait to begin this year's season of expectancy, gestation, and birth. In fact, I was so eager that I rose just after midnight and took up that first question. The brevity and clarity in her answer took my breath away:

Question. — What is God?

Answer. — God is incorporeal, 
divine, supreme, infinite Mind,
Spirit, Soul, Principle,
Life, Truth, Love.
 

And as I pondered my own journey --  with that question as a spiritual waymark -- my heart opened to new views. What a revelation! Everything that I've discovered about God's allness, power, and grace this year has deepened my trust in the spiritual reality of all things.  It has informed my understanding of healing.  Over and over again, it has been my spiritual anchor in moments self-doubt and uncertainty. I wrote down my most current answers to that first question, and filled page-after-page, long into the night.

Tomorrow I will take up the second question. Then the third. And each day I will feel this babe grow stronger in me -- again.

For me, this Christmas exercise -- first practiced over 25 years ago -- was (and is) life-transforming. It has continued to renew and refresh my understanding of how to realize the healing presence of God. In fact, I find myself repeating it throughout the year.  And although I've been blessed with inestimable joy in parenting each of our children, it is this "babe of Christian healing," that has filled my heart with purpose, and brought unfathomable peace when my womb felt empty.

From experience, I know that on December 25th I will be looking into the face of this beloved babe. I will see this healing Christ in the unwavering spiritual innocence of universal humanity. This is the babe that I will hold close, and never let go of.  This is the babe that will never let go of me.

And each day as I ponder these questions I will be waiting, as Amy Grant sings in "Breath of Heaven," in a silent prayer for the birth this babe in my own heart.

For me, this is the great gift -- healing.  It is what we all seek.  To know that we are whole, well, complete in the All-in-allness of God's great love.   Or, as Mary Baker Eddy promises in "The Cry of Christmas-tide:"

"This is the babe we are to cherish.

This is the babe
that twines its loving arms
about the neck of omnipotence,
and calls forth infinite care
from His loving heart."
 

offered with Love,

Kate

"perfectly balanced..."

"I am waiting in a silent prayer
I am frightened by the load I bear..."

Sara Groves' song, "Breath of Heaven," is keynoting this post, because it has helped me find my center this morning.

When I look at Mary's story, and I can't help but think about how centered she must have been on God's purpose for her. I believe that it is this alignment with God -- rather than being pulled and tilted in a million little directions by the weight of fear -- that allows us to move forward with grace -- perfectly centered on Love's purpose for us.

And that is what this post is all about -- centering. And balance.

As a dancer, finding my core - aligning myself with a central thread which runs straight through my being -- then moving out from that core-centered sense of my orientation to the space I am in, has always allowed me to move freely, confidently, gracefully, fearlessly, and boldly.

Pausing to realign my sense of body -- even for a millisecond - was critical to moving with beauty and balance.

So what does this have to do with today -- and everyday.

As a woman, wife, mother, daughter, sister, partner, neighbor, professional, I spent many years trying to keep my life in balance. That meant rushing back and forth, round and round, trying to evenly distribute the weight -- of time, money, attention, focus -- so that nothing tipped over.

I remember when the twins were toddlers, how obsessed I became with an even distribution of my time, attention, resources, and affection between all three of our children.

I can recall nights when I would actually count how many times I'd rubbed one of the girl's backs -- during hymns and prayers --  to make sure that my time was evenly distributed and fairly meted out.

But one day, all that changed. I was failing at this kind of balancing. I never felt as if I was giving enough to anyone -- compared to what I'd given another. And I always felt as if I was running around a big plate placing a little here, only to tip it to the point that I now had to run to the other side and try to even things out from there.

I decided to look up the word balance in the tattered old dictionary on my office shelf. And that was when I remembered what it felt like to be balanced as a dancer. The first definition read:

"perfectly centered on the fulcrum"

A fulcrum is the point on which something rests. Imagine a teeter-totter (or a see-saw) the plank is centered on a beam. That beam is the fulcrum.

Or imagine a small plate that is being balanced on the eraser end of a pencil. One can either put the plate on the pencil and then try to adjust the weight around the edge of the plate so that there is even distribution, or center the plate perfectly on the eraser tip.

As I dancer, I could either try to make sure that I was putting the same amount of weight on both sides of my body, our I could realign myself with my core. One made me feel wobbly -- and was virtually impossible and implausible to do while dancing beautifully. The other allowed me to dance with confidence, strength, and grace.

So, back to my life. I'd been rushing around madly trying to make sure that I was giving everyone (and everything) their fair share. When what I really needed to do was continually realign myself with God. To constantly have God at the center of everything I do keeps me in alignment and leads to a balanced sense of living, loving, and being in the world.

Every dancer knows that a good choreographer has built in counts that give you an opportunity to pause long enough to make sure that you are in core alignment before another series of demanding movements. I believe that God, the Great Choreographer, builds these into my life. I just have to be "marking" my steps and listening for those moments of "rest" He has provided for me in my day.

In Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, Mary Baker Eddy says that:

"Fear, which is an element of all dis-ease,
must be cast out
to readjust the balance for God."

When I put Love -- another name for God, and the opposite of fear -- at the center of my life and let it be the only music I dance to, I am free to walk, and leap, and praise God with a free, and balanced, heart. 

offered with Love, 

Kate