"all you have to do is call..."

 "you just call out my name, 

and you know wherever I am, 

I'll come running to see you again.

 

Winter, spring, summer, or fall

all you have to do is call,  

and I'll be there;

you've got a friend..." 

This Mothers' Day, I am thinking about a dear friend and mentor. I am celebrating her in my heart of hearts.  Her recent passing has been one of the hardest losses in my life.  She taught me what it meant to mother a world -- as well as daughters, sons, those who call this office for support, neighbors, and "strangers" on the street.

There were so many times over the course of our friendship when I felt very alone in the twenty-four/seven demands of this work.  There were so many Mothers' Days -- both before and after children joined our home and family -- when my heart was confused or broken, hopeless or overwhelmed -- and she was the calm voice at the other end of the phone.  

Today, I would have given anything to hear her voice.  I listened to favorite songs, hoping to find some comfort, and it was finally Carole King's "You've Got a Friend" that unlocked my heart and allowed my tears to flow freely.  

I could tell you hundreds of stories about her kindness and grace.  I can't open a page in my life's story - at least not in the past 35 years - that she hasn't touched.  And I am not exaggerating, not one bit.  Whether directly or indirectly, her voice left its soft imprint on almost every facet of my heart since we met.  

And the lovely part is, she never tried to do that.  She never asked me to give her credit -- in fact, she would have been horrified if I had.  But I am more compassionate, less self-focused, infinitely more kind and honest because of her love, example, encouragement -- and gentle rebuke.  

And in all the years of our friendship, I never felt special to her -- or even wanted to.  I felt peace.  I felt hope.  I felt seen.  I felt innocent in her heart and in her eyes. 

There was a time, many years ago, when I was so lost and frightened that I didn't know where to turn.  The situation was beyond imagining.  I was a young mother with very young children, no money, and suddenly facing homelessness -- I was paralyzed with fear. We hadn't spoken in a couple of months, but at that time things were simply wonderful.  Soon after however, our family circumstances had shifted drastically.  And I was embarrassed and overwhelmed.  No one knew how bad things were -- and I wasn't about to tell them.  In my life, I was supposed to be the one helping others - it felt beyond the pale of the ego to imagine asking anyone for help.  

Then one night, when we were at the end of our options, God said, "call her."  Oh how I wanted to.  I just wanted to hear the calm in her voice.  I wrestled for hours with: Should I? Could I? What would I say?  This was long before cell phones, and I was grateful that our temporary housing had a phone in the room.  The children were fast asleep and I was alone in the dark.  I picked up the phone and dialed her number.  

When she answered I couldn't speak at first.  I just started weeping.  For the first time in almost a month I felt not-so-alone.  Without asking any questions, she spoke to me of God's love.  She encouraged me to trust.  She said that she knew how much I loved and trusted God.  Then we hung up because it was a long-distance call and I didn't think I could pay for more than a few minutes.  

But it was like Love had switched on a lamp in the room.  I felt peaceful and calm.  I knew the answers would come.  I knew God had brought us together as a family and would sustain us. I could feel the trust that she knew was there all along. 

The next morning, a cashier's check arrived by courier.  My friend had sent enough money to give us room to breathe.  We had never talked about money the night before.  I had not shared with her our financial circumstances.  But she knew.

That same morning, I was led to a solution that completely turned our situation around.  Within days we were back on our feet, housing restored, and a path forward that only hours earlier I could not have even imagined.   It was a pivotal moment in our lives -- and it was filled with clarity, purpose, and an opportunity to serve in ways I hadn't considered before. 

I was soon able to pay my friend back the money she had so generously sent.  But, as often as I told her how grateful I was for her generosity, kindness, and compassion that dark night - she always reminded me that it was God who had moved us both towards eachother in a moment of Love's opportunity.  Her humility and grace were unbounded.  

Since her passing, I have felt every emotion I never expected to feel.  I have felt loss.  I have felt sorrow.  And, I have felt a broader sense of Life and a deeper sense of what eternity is. I have wept tears that have had no clear reason or meaning -- except that when they have dried, and my breathing returns to "normal," I feel a love that is present and substantive.  I feel as if my feet have been washed with those tears. 

I am not going to include quotes in this post. I am going to let its message pool in my heart.  

For all the ways she nurtured, and corrected, and encouraged the best in me - I am more grateful than I have words to say or write.  

offered with Love,

Kate 

"Where You lead..."

"Where You lead
I will follow...
Anywhere, that you tell me to.
If you need,
you need me to be with you...
I will follow,
where You lead..."

It's midnight on a late August night in 1971. We're sailing Sunnies out to the island after a long shift at the Inn. Sally has her transistor radio in the small sailboat next to mine.  Carole King's "Where You Lead," comes on, and all twelve of us...in six different boats scattered like stars on the moonlit surface of Lake Champlain...begin singing along.

We're awake, we're done with work, we don't have to report to the kitchen again until 4:30 the next morning.  So we sail, and we sing.

We were happy.  We were following our hearts to the small, isolated island where we would take a moonbath, and dance under the stars. We would talk about hopes and dreams, and boys and college.  And we did just that, showing up for kitchen duty the next morning happier and more full of energy than ever.  We'd been invigorated by our outing, not exhausted.

Fast forward to 2011....that's about 40 years later, in case you don't want to do the math.  It's March, the girls (this time my twin 13 year old daughters, myself, and a few girlfriends of varying ages) are on a beach in Florida for Spring Break.  We are eagerly awaiting the appearance of the supermoon (the phase of the moon in which it comes closest to the earth all year).  Okay, so I am eagerly awaiting, they are skeptically indulging my excitement. 

I want to experience this phenomenon with them.  I am smitten with the pearly orb hanging low over the Gulf of Mexico, laying a path to somewhere magical and full of promise across the sea.   I hope we can sit and talk about dreams and hopes and my stories of being girls one summer in Vermont.   They run to the veranda, giggle and scream when someone pops out of the dark and scares someone else, and then say that it's "just a moon," and go back to their movie. 

It's not Vermont, it's not 1971...for them.  But for me, it calls up so many thoughts about my path from there to here, and from then to now. 

If I look at any one leg of that journey, I might be sad, disappointed, elated, angry, confused, peaceful...

But, looking back at the last 40 years, as a singular journey, I can see how each short...or long...section of highway taken, each fork in the road, each intersection I've paused in, has been exactly where I needed to be, with exactly the traveling companions I've needed to be with, every step of the way.

I've never thought I was following someone, or something, other than the voice of love.  Really...

Even when I made decisions that I thought, at the time, were fear-based, I can see now that they were my highest sense of following the path of love at the time.   As my sense of love has evolved, becoming more and more aligned with an understanding of its source -- the Love that is God, the higher motive, for each step of my journey, has become clearer to me.  I needed to grow in my understanding of Love.  But I don't know that the journey would have been any different.  If it had been,  I wouldn't be the me that I am today.

To believe that my journey could have/should have been different, I would have to believe that I am a co-creator with God.  That God created me, but that my choices could override His omnipotence, and therefore,  I could re-create myself (based on good or bad journey choices) in a way that is not according to His design.  This seems to undermine my sense of God as all-powerful, good.  

For me, this means that I am exactly who God wants me to be today.  My path is, and always has been, under His divine guidance.  I could never have taken the tiller away from Him and charted my own course full of what...to my limited sense of things...look like mistakes, bad decisions, choices, or wrong turns. 

During this journey, I may have misunderstood "why" I thought I was taking the turn in the road that I chose to take, but it never changed my course or my journey. It only gave me reason to believe that I played a role in charting my course, that I was an ill-equipped and accident-prone mortal who had control of the steering wheel...could sin and suffer...and that because of this, I could easily make navigational errors.  It was this misunderstanding that steeped me in the kind of "what if" thinking that led to a suffering "sense"...view of, or feeling about...any given situation.

Rather than see each situation as a mistake, a tragedy, the result of sin (any separation from God), I can experience that same moment as an opportunity to grow in grace. Grace, expressed in patience (with myself or others), meekness (refusing the inclination to be angry or resentful), love (to deepen my compassion, understanding, affections) and good deeds (asking myself, not, "why did this happen," but, "what can I do to help.") . 

When I am so focused on my own growth in grace, the less I look around measuring, comparing, judging the actions or choices of others. When our experiences intersect, it is only as an opportunity for me to be my best self.

The more I have discovered that my motive in life is not outcome-based: to get love, or be humanly perfect, or have things, but reflection-based: to love like God, to deepen my patience, hone my compassion, surrender self, and embrace a more universal sense of well-being, the more that the whole journey makes sense...and so do all those twists and turns that led me here.

So, as I discovered by following my daughters' directions (as they listened to the GPS on our trip), I don't need to know the name (or number) of the exact route I will be taking in 45 miles or 37 minutes, I just need to trust that when I get there, and make that turn, the divine GPS will tell me where to go next. The me of the past loved maps...I could look ahead. It's time to embrace "not knowing" with spiritual enthusiasm. Bring on the GPS!

The journey only seems tangential and random....it's not.  One of my favorite quotes from J.R.R. Tolkien reads:

"Not all who wander are lost."

I don't think any of us are lost...to an omnipotent, omnipresent, omniscient God who loves us, and never lets us stray.

with Love, 

Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

"So far away...."

"So far away...
doesn't anybody stay in one place anymore?
It would be so fine to see your face at my door.
It doesn't help to know,
You're just time away...."

Besides the pure pleasure of seeing James Taylor and Carole King performing together in 1971, this recording of "So Far Away," was the perfect keynote for today.  A new friend asked, recently, if I could write a piece about "long distance relationships."  Boy oh boy, can I.

One, because I've experienced so many of them...with significant others, my mom, siblings, and even my children...and two, because I have grown to love them. 

Some of the most deepening (and telling) times in the development of a lasting relationship, have come during weeks, months, and years when we have not lived in the same place.

Letters, phone calls, long walks by myself where the only conversation I'm having is the one I have with God about my loved one, emails...all of these alternative models of communication have strengthened the "ties that bind"...or they've gently untied the ones that weren't meant to be tied tightly.

Mary Baker Eddy, in her work, Miscellaneous Writings 1883 - 1896, counsels:

"Space is no separator of hearts."

I believe this to be completely accurate.  A relationship that is dependent on proximity, may become a relationship that suffers with proximity.  A relationship that thrives...no matter the miles between you...is a relationship that can withstand the "too close for comfort" times when unemployment, retirement, or cramped quarters puts two people in constant contact.

Sometimes, a relationship that is best when "touch" is involved, can become a relationship where another's touch is annoying or intrusive.   There is nothing wrong with touch...I love touching, hugging, embracing...and being touched, but it is  having my hopes, my dreams, my thoughts cherished by a loved one, that reaches into the deepest place in my being, and leaves the most lasting, resonant impression on my life.

I have learned the most about myself as a wife, mother, and friend, during those times when my loved one was on another continent, in another state, or has passed on from this experience. 

My devotion to the life and dreams, hopes and ambitions of one dear friend, has been strengthened and edified since her passing.  I am in constant, almost daily, relationship with her through my ongoing commitment to what she loved and cherished most in this world.

My loyalty to a cause, a patient, a dream, a project, a child...had never been, even once, impacted by the distance between us.  My relationship to the camp that I love is immeasurably stronger than it was when I lived in the same state.  My relationship with my dearest of friends is unchanged, by whether she is in the next room, or on a different continent.  My love for my husband, children, mother, siblings has only strengthened by those times when we have needed to be in different parts of the world.

The time invested in writing letters, making phone calls, prayerfully supporting their dreams, their hopes, their travels has only galvanized the tenacity of our love for one another. Sometimes it is in those moments of "stepping back" that I have seen things in the other person...gifts of humility, compassion, patience, strength, their ability to nurture others...that were not as clear when I was standing so closely I that could touch their sleeve, or look in their eyes.

In reality, we all really, only dwell "in the secret place of the most High."  We dwell in the consciousness of Love, in the silent place of prayer, we dwell in the place where thought is persistently and assertively defining our experience.  If you think about it spacially, we are "away" from everyone all the time...and yet, in that "house of the Lord," in that spiritualMind-home of consciousness...we are never any farther away from eachother, than the thoughts we embrace about one another.

One of my favorite hymns, from the Christian Science Hymnal, starts with this line:

"Pilgrim on earth, home and heaven are within thee..."

There is something about this lyric, that gives me peace when thinking about my loved ones...far and near.  According to Webster, a "pilgrim" is "a person who journeys to a sacred place."  Every relationship is a sacred place, a home for the affections, and the only place where we unite with one another...in reality...is within.

Finding you there...
Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

"what would I be...."

"Now I'm no longer doubtful
of what I'm living for...

Cause you make me feel
you make me feel,
you make me feel,
like a natural woman...."

Last night, Jeff and I were captivated by a PBS preview of the Carole King/James Taylor Troubadour Tour that will crisscross the U.S. this summer.  When Carole started singing, "Natural Woman...," she was so very naturallly herself  --  wild,  life-whitened hair, sun-softened skin, wise blue eyes, and a body that she looked as comfortable "in her own skin" with, as the warmth in her voice made me feel  --  and suddenly, I too felt at peace with my own evolving form.  Because, pouring from every pore of her being...voice, eyes, smile, embrace with her fellow musicians...was a peace that "passed understanding."   And that peace washed over me with waters that refreshed...and the valley began to bud, and blossom, like the rose.

This is the poem that spilled itself forward onto the page: 

what would I be
if 
I
weren't
who you think I am
today,
or who I think
I ought to be
tomorrow

would I
be a tree
whose branches
reach across the sky
and tremble with hope
that maybe
just, just maybe
I could be that place
where the scarlet
taninger
chooses to
feather her nest with
downy tufts of cottonwood seed
and bits of
grass
woven
together like a small
quilt
for tiny eggs
that I could
hold in the
crook of my elbow
like a
wise old aunt...and
with each soft
breeze through my
leaves
I would coo and
sigh...
rock
and weave...
softly
softly
BE a
lullaby for
what
has yet to
poke through the
shell of
its
own birthing...

what would we be
if
all that
mattered to
the other,
was the
essence,
the sap,
the consciousness....
the soupy liquid
of our being...defining us,
to us

if form and
outline were
as
free-flowing and
unfolding
as
the shifting clouds
above us
or
the
line of salted seafoam
that ebbs and
flows
upon the sand
beneath our toes
while we
splash and
play
like children
in the
surf

what would you be
if tomorrow
what
I think you are...
or ought to be...
were
washed away
like dust
from the
leaves of the sweet
and the savory,
the
green and the purple
basil,
rosemary,
thyme...
the
tender herbs
which
wait in the
heat of noonday for
rest and drink
from
a sudden summer
shower?

go ahead...

I will watch
with
baited breath...
on tippy-toes...
at the edge of my seat...
watching,
ready to sigh
with wonder
at what
God has
done...
as you!

A few statements from the writings of Mary Baker Eddy come to mind this afternoon...I will leave you wtih them, today:

"The divine Mind maintains all identities,
from a blade of grass to a star,
as distinct and eternal."

and

"Consciousness constructs a better body
when faith in matter has been conquered."

and

"Spiritual evolution alone
is worthy of the exercise of divine power."

and 

"God is the Life, or intelligence,
which forms and preserves
the individuality and identity of animals
as well as of men."

As well as this statement also from Hafiz:

"I have learned so much from God
That I can no longer call myself
a Christian, a Hindu, a Muslim, a Buddhist, a Jew.
The Truth has shared so much of Itself with me
That I can no longer call myself
a man, a woman, an angel, or even a pure soul.
Love has...freed me
Of every concept and image my mind has ever known."

And, finally, this from "Tarjuman Al-Ashwaq" by Muhyi'ddin ibn al-'Arabi as translated by Suheil Bushrui, Professor at University of Maryland (who was, herself, born in Nazareth):

My heart is capable of every form:
A pasture for gazelles,
A monastery for monks,
An abode for idols,
And a place where the votaries of the Kaaba come.
In my heart, both the Tablets of the Torah and the Holy Qur'an are to be found.
My faith and religion is love: wherever it beckons me, I follow."

Just some things I am thinking about today....have a great weekend!

with Love,

Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

Here is a 1972 Carole King performance of "Natural Woman."

And a friend suggested that I provide this link to an earlier post, "after all, you're still you..."

"Just close your eyes and think of me..."

"When you're down and troubled
And you need some loving care
And nothing, nothing is going right
Close your eyes and think of me
And soon i will be there
To brighten up even your darkest night..."

A dear, and cherished, friend sent me this video clip of James Taylor singing Carole King's, "You've Got a Friend" today.  It was perfect. 

And before the end of this post I will include links to two other versions...I hope you enjoy them. 

But back to today's story...

As I mentioned, above, it was perfect.  But it was more than just the act of sending of a song that she already knew I loved.  And it wasn't because I was "down and troubled", or that "the sky above me was dark and full of clouds."  In some ways I was, and they were. But that wasn't the point.  It was simply her way of saying, "I am thinking of you".  And that is why it was so perfect.  It is exactly what friendship is really all about. And it touched me deeply to know that she had actually spent time considering what I might enjoy, pondering what might mean something to me, and wondering if, and how, it might bring me comfort.

It is an extraordinary gift.  To give someone space in your consciousness.  To embrace their being, to "think on" their identity, and to consider them as worthy of thought.  This, more than any other one thing, says "You've Got a Friend" to me.

Thought is the most valuable resource in the universe.  It is the most direct indication of our relationship to the divine.  And to devote even one millisecond of this most remarkable gift to considering another person is the most wonderful gift we can give them. 

Mary Baker Eddy, in her last published volume, The First Church of Christ Scientist and Miscellany, in a brief article titled "What Our Leader Says," has this to say about taking thought for another:

"Good thoughts are an impervious armor; clad therewith you are completely shielded from the attacks of error of every sort. And not only yourselves are safe, but all whom your thoughts rest upon are thereby benefited."

And in her Miscellaneous Writings 1883 - 1896 she states:

"When thought dwells in God, — and it should not, to our consciousness, dwell elsewhere, — one must benefit those who hold a place in one's memory, whether it be friend or foe, and each share the benefit of that radiation. This individual blessedness and blessing comes not so much from individual as from universal love: it emits light because it reflects; and all who are receptive share this equally."

To benefit another by resting our good thoughts upon them is the gift of the ages.  It is the Christ consciousness in action.  It is the friendship that knows no friendlessness.  When we think of another with genuine love, cherish their hopes with tenderness, defend their dignity with vigilance, and appreciate their gifts with unfailing spiritual wonder and fadeless joy...we are giving them the gift of thinking about them in a way that each of us longs to experience.

I remember one Christmas, some years ago, when I had nothing to spend...no money for buying gifts, no extra food in the pantry for baking treats, no extra gas in the car for making visits, and nothing left to re-gift. 

I was considering my options when the Bible story of the poor widow woman from I Kings came to mind.  The prophet asks her, "what hast thou in thine house?" and she replies, "a handful of meal and a cruse of oil..."  I thought about that cruse of oil and Mary Baker Eddy's definition of "oil" in the Glossary of Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, in which she writes:

Oil.  Consecration; charity; gentleness; prayer; heavenly inspiration.

I realized that I could take each of the people I loved...and longed to give something special to that Christmas...and sit with them in my heart pouring this "oil" of consecrated, charitable, gentle, prayerful, heavenly-inspired thoughts on them, each for one half hour.  After I finished bathing them in "oil", I wrote them each a letter pouring out my love and gratitude for all that they meant to me.

Each letter took days to write.  I wrote a draft, and then copied it onto a clean sheet of paper, signed it, decorated the margins with tiny drawings and designs I made with colored pencils, and put it in an envelope.  Christmas day I gave each person their letter.  Those who weren't present around the Christmas tree with us, had received theirs by mail earlier in the week with a note to save until Christmas morning.  It was the purest gift of love I knew how to give. I still think it is.

I can't tell you what they felt when they read their letters, but I can tell you how I felt knowing that I'd been blessed by the gift of having devoted time to thinking about my loved ones in a consecrated way, and then being able to share the heavenly inspirations of awareness, and spiritual awe, I'd gleaned during that deep reflection.  It filled me with all the beauty, intelligence, talent, wisdom, joy, creativity, brilliance, rationality, etc. I'd appreciated and cherished about them.  By holding them in my heart and in my thoughts, loving all that they were, all that they expressed, all that they represented of the divine, I..myself... became one with those qualities, and they became a part of me.  I was reciprocally blessed.

It makes me think of the woman who came to wash Jesus' feet while he dined at the Pharisee's house. After washing his feet with her tears, wiping them with her hair, and kissing them, she anoints them with costly and fragrant oil. Having co-hosted numerous foot-washings, where we used fragrant (and costly) Sandalwood oil, I know that its strong, hauntingly lovely frangrance doesn't just cling to feet of the one washed...leaving its scent every where he goes, but also on the hands of the one who is doing the anointing...perfuming all that he/she touches along the way. When we think of someone with love, anointing our view of them with the oil of "consecration, charity, gentleness, prayer, heavenly inspiration," it lingers on both our lives for a very long time...perhaps an eternity!

So, when my dear friend...or my children, my husband, my mother, my siblings, my colleagues, my Facebook "friends"...send me a note, a video clip, a voicemail message, a card, a letter, an email telling me that they are thinking of me, I don't take it lightly.  I treasure it as something more precious than gold, more enduring than platinum, more brilliant than light.  It tells me, in no uncertain terms, "You've Got a Friend".  And Eddy says in her autobiography, Retrospection and Introspection:

"There are no greater miracles known to earth
than perfection and an unbroken friendship."

So dear friends, thank you for the miracle you give me each time you let me know you are thinking of me.  Thank you for holding me, even for an instant, in your thoughts.  Thank you for giving me the most vital and valuable resource you, or I, or anyone can possess...our thoughts.

I am so blessed.  

"...You just call out my name
And you know wherever I am
I'll come running to see you again
Winter, spring, summer or fall
All you have to do is call
And I'll be there
Ain't it good to know
that you've got a friend..."

Thank you for being my friend,
Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

"A tapestry to feel and see.."

"My life has been a tapestry
Of rich and royal hue;
An everlasting vision
Of the ever-changing view;
A wond'rous woven magic
In bits of blue and gold;
A tapestry to feel and see;
Impossible to hold…"
- Carole King

Our lives are like a "Tapestry,"and each person weaving the golden threads of their love, joy, compassion through out lives, makes that tapestry stronger...and more beautiful. I remember as a teenager thinking that if I couldn't grow up to be my own mother, who was my hero, I wanted to be her sister.

Aunt June was pretty near perfect as a runner-up.  She was a home economics teacher and it seemed as if she could do anything.  Cook, sew, garden…there was no end to her talents and accomplishments.  To one who had spent a lifetime with only one adult female role model, who, it just so happened, was now the person telling you "no" most of the time, having a perfect aunt was, well…perfect!

I have often wondered if my cousin Christie, Aunt June's daughter, thought her own mother was as perfect as I did.  Or was she, in her parallel teenage universe watching my mother through the same rose-colored glasses of distance…the way I was with hers. 

I would not get to know my aunt until the year I turned twelve.  That summer,  my family of eight piled into our old station wagon and drove 2,000 miles across the deserts of the southwest, through the endless beige plains and into the cool green of the mid-Atlantic.  First stop: The Audubon bird sanctuary outside Princeton, New Jersey.  You see, not only was June perfect, but she had married an equally perfect Uncle Doug.  If she was my 12-year-old model of a perfect grown-up wife, mother, and teacher (the three things I aspired to be), he was the perfect partner. 

Doug was the resident director of th sanctuary/outdoor education center and so our visit included immersing ourselves in the world of  field guides, binoculars, and duck blinds.  We walked through forests and sat beside marshy fields  learning about silhouettes and migration patterns.  A man who was smart, handsome and kind.  Not a bad resume for a dream uncle.  Forty years later I remember that vacation as clearly as if I were standing at the top of the broad curving staircase of the large old house that was home to the sanctuary's offices, exhibits, classrooms, and living quarters,trying to memorize the pattern in the red and white quilt that hung on the wall.

Day trips to visit other relatives…grandmothers, aunts, uncles and cousins…were filled with laughter and singing. The Turtles "Happy Together" poured from the chrome-dialed radio in the dash of our station wagon serving as the film score to our vacation.  I felt like we belonged to an even larger and more wonderful family than I had ever imagined possible. 

Those few weeks of bird watching, visiting our parents' childhood stomping grounds,  and discovering what we had in common with our cousins were extraordinary.  Yet it was an early morning visit with my aunt that I remember most poignantly.  So much so, that to this day I can still actually feel the outline of the roosters, painted in the glaze,  that my finger traced on the tuscan yellow plates and cups in her kitchen while I drank weak tea, nibbled on a buttered piece of toast, and watched her teach my cousin Scott basic reading skills.  I was smitten.

My cousin, whose learning needs were not being fully met by the local school system, was being "home-schooled" for the most part…long before the current trend in parent-based educating.  June was patient with Scott's frustration and unswerving in her persistence, despite an uber-schedule that surely left little room for rest and visiting relatives (our family of eight was not easily tucked in to even the most welcoming of home).  She must have repeated the same lesson twenty times that morning, and each time with the freshness and joy of an enthusiastic recruit eager to try new and inspired ways for  introducing the curriculum to her pupil.

For me, this was a pivotal moment in the way I looked at the uncharted territory I then called my future.  Up until that point, I think I just wanted to have things "when I grew up."  I wanted to have a nice home, a good job, a smart and funny husband, and loving children who, with their parents, were devoted to church, community and family.  Not a particular make of car or brand of clothes…my family was socialistic enough for me to have subjugated any overt consumerism from my wish list.  But I did have a full inventory of"wants" that were more spiritually-acceptable in the culture I had been raised in.  

I watched my aunt patiently and persistently teach her son the simple lessons that his younger siblings, cousins and friends had learned so easily at much younger ages.  And it made me realize that what I really wanted was to make a difference in someone's life.  To be a person who gave…not got.  Getting a particular house in a particular neighborhood was less important after that morning…it was giving one's family a loving sense of home that really mattered.  Giving someone the opportunity to learn was much more satisfying a dream to cherish than getting into the right school.  Or, as Barack Obama said in a talk he gave at Principia College last spring, "I don't want to become something, I want to do something." 

On the long drive home I thought about my aunt and what I had learned from her in the kitchen that morning, but it was Mom's example I was observing hour after hour in the car. I realized that she had always been there as a model for how to live a life of giving, rather than getting.  Day after day she modeled joy in the face of hardship, patiently walked a path of hope rather than wallow in discouragement, and gave opportunities to her children rather than pursue personal desires.

Although I left my aunts' house with a clear desire to become a teacher, I arrived home from that long drive wanting to also become someone who could turn a loaf of day-old bread and jars of peanut butter and strawberry jam (a serious vacation indulgence when grape jelly was so much cheaper) into a midday party.  That Mom could hold the attention of six restless children at a weathered old picnic table in a Salina, Kansas while she spread jam and poured juice was a miracle I wanted to learn how to perform.

By the end of that drive I didn't care if I drove a battered old car when I grew up…if I could only learn how to keep everyone in it feeling as happy, loved, and cared for as she did.  It took me years to realize how blessed I was to have the examples of two amazing women that summer.  One would awaken in me a desire to live a life worth giving…the other would show me how. 

When I look at my sisters and myself, and the relationships that our children have with each of us, individually and collectively, I am humbled by the divine design of it all.  It may take a village to raise a child, but in our family of five sisters (another story about brothers and spouses later), we are, perhaps even without realizing it, holding hands with one another as we share in the warp and weft of weaving the lessons of giving and grace to our children. 

Today the sumptuous, color-filled tapestry that Mom and Aunt June carefully wove for us is as strong as their love for one another and for all of us.   They each brought to their shared loom, the richly textured and strong, yet subtly colored of threads of their own lives as women, wives, mothers…and sisters.  Side-by-side, maybe without knowing it, they created a pattern, now so interconnected and entwined, that today we feel only the tensile strength, warmth and beauty of its fabric.  We, their sons and daughters, trace these soft, worn threads with our fingertips and can make out the story of sisters who have lived generously and courageously. 

No matter who we are, or where we live, whether we have sisters or girlfriends, colleagues or neighbors, we live our lives of giving in the context of others.  We are weaving life patterns that will give our children profound stories to trace for their sons and daughters..

The legacy of these life stories is found only in how well they point us towards the future…toward lives of strength, beauty and grace.  Like my mom and her sister, we can work together, each of us gathering our own richly colored threads of love, patience, humility, meekness, and grace,  weaving them, as we sit side-by-side,  into this beautiful tapestry called life.

"…In seamless gratitude I weave
A silent, healing prayer,
With shining threads of ceaseless joy;
For man is God's great heir."
- Violet Ker Seymer

Kate

[the above photo is of my sisters, Lila and Fawn..and I
it is with regret that I have neither a photo of
my mom and her sister...together,
or one of all four of my sisters and I...
if anyone has either...please send it along
and I will add it to this post...with great joy!]

"I feel the earth move..."

“I feel the earth move under my feet
I feel the sky tumbling down
I feel my heart start to trembling
Whenever you're around…”
- Carole King

It’s good to be home.  Spring Break was amazing.  Jeff and I loved every moment of our road trip to Colorado with Emma and Clara. But, as much fun as we had, I love the every day rhythm of our "regular" weekdays.  Getting the girls’ backpacks ready for the school week ahead on Sunday night.  Making sure that gym clothes are laundered, after school snacks are plentiful, and homework folders have been reviewed, are some of the small tasks that give me great pleasure.  

After the girls leave with their brother for school on Monday mornings, I am off to a local college where I have office hours.  Today I had a wonderful conversation with a couple of college age women about the nature of “feelings”.  One of my young friends had been feeling unsettled that first morning back from the two weeks of Spring Break.   She was concerned that the “anxiety attack” she was experiencing was the unraveling of her spiritual confidence.  She had spent much of her break in quiet prayer-filled moments seeking freedom from feelings of depression. 

As we talked I remembered how feelings of anxiety, fear, depression, self-doubt can sometimes be so assertive that we feel controlled by them and what they are trying to tell us about our state of being.  It reminded me of an experience I'd had almost two decades ago that has given me such a sense of dominion when dealing with creeping or illusive feelings that would try to drown me in despair or keep me in ruminative holding patterns in my life .

I was working in Boston as part of a two-person (with administrative support staffing when our budget would allow) office responsible for the publishing of the Bible and the Writings of Mary Baker Eddy.   We launched new print, audio and digital publications in 17 languages and over 50 formats throughout the year and our days were full of opportunities for prayer and healing. 

One late Wednesday afternoon our secretary popped her head into my office on her way out at the end of a long workday. She reminded me that it was Wednesday, that she was looking forward to seeing me at the evening testimony meeting, and that she couldn’t wait to hear me share a healing insight from that week.  I chuckled and assured her that the chance of that happening was very, very slight indeed.  In fact I think I said something like “You will never see me standing up to give a testimony in that church” followed by a chortle of sarcasm.

You see this was the world-wide headquarters  of our church and the edifice where services were held was enormous.  Hundreds of people worshipped there on Sundays and Wednesdays.  There is a massive main floor as well as two tiers of balconies that circle the auditorium.  On Wednesday evening after hymns were sung, readings were shared and announcements were delivered, the congregation was invited to stand and share experiences of healing and remarks related to their practice of Christian Science.  Often as soon as the invitation was made, a number of people would stand at once and the person conducting the service would somehow have to keep track of who stood up when so that he (or she) could nod to the next person in "line" to speak.   Many evening there would be ten or twelve testifiers standing at once waiting to be nodded at and encouraged to share next.

This process was terrifying to me.  To have to stand in front of all those people while other, "quicker to their feet" testifiers shared their remarks made my tummy do flip flops and my underarms prickle.  In my opinion, these feelings were a sure sign that I was not ready to take my place standing with other braver congregants.

But after my sarcastic response, when our secretary shot me a perplexed look and headed out the door with a gentle “see you later”, I couldn’t let it go.  Her invitation or my response.  I quickrealized that I had been dismissive. Her expectation that I would have something meaningful to share about my study and practice of Christian Science healing was genuine.  I loved the practice of healing and I was always looking for ways to apply the science of Christianity to every problem or situation I faced…at work, at home, in my relationship with other. It was fun to explore its practicality as I hungered for self-realization, salvation and health.  She and I often traded spiritual insights from our study and prayer. These exchanges were rich with ideas that had been helpful to each of us during the day and I loved those moments of sharing.  Why wouldn’t she expect that I would be as eager to share with fellow congregants at the service that evening.  I decided to open my heart to the possibility of this happening. 

But later, as the readings, hymns, and announcements drew to a close and the invitation to share was extended I sat there with the same horrible nausea and paralyzing fear.   I was, quite obviously,  NOT ready to share anything that night.  However this time, rather than just sitting back and taking my place as relieved listener, I continued to pray. And as I sat there, the story of Jesus joining his disciples on their walk to Emmaus... following the crucifixion and resurrection... came to mind. 

"And, behold, two of them went that same day to a village called Emmaus, which was from Jerusalem about threescore furlongs.  And they talked together of all these things which had happened. 

And it came to pass, that, while they communed together and reasoned, Jesus himself drew near, and went with them.  But their eyes were holden that they should not know him. …And beginning at Moses and all the prophets, he expounded unto them in all the scriptures the things concerning himself. 

And they drew nigh unto the village, whither they went: and he made as though he would have gone further.  But they constrained him, saying, Abide with us: for it is toward evening, and the day is far spent. And he went in to tarry with them.  And it came to pass, as he sat at meat with them, he took bread, and blessed it, and brake, and gave to them. 

And their eyes were opened, and they knew him; and he vanished out of their sight.  And they said one to another, Did not our heart burn within us, while he talked with us by the way, and while he opened to us the scriptures?  And they rose up the same hour, and returned to Jerusalem, and found the eleven gathered together, and them that were with them,  Saying, The Lord is risen indeed, and hath appeared...."

I thought about their statement, “Did not our heart burn within us…”  And it came to me, with a mental giggle, why didn’t they interpret that feeling as heartburn and ask “Boy, what did we have for dinner?” or “Do you think those figs were fresh?”  No, they interpreted that feeling as a result of the presence of the Christ in their experience.  They redeemed that feeling for God’s use. They claimed that "feeling" as a divine presence in their lives and let it impel them to return and bear witness to the risen Christ walking with them on their own spiritual journey.

With that realization,  I too reclaimed my feelings… of butterflies in the tummy and prickly underarms… for God.  I decided there and then that those feelings were a message to me that the Christ had been present with me on my walk that week and that I too could return and say “The Lord is risen and hath appeared…to me.”

I immediately stood up and….oops, there I was standing in front of hundreds of people waiting to be called upon to share…and I had no idea what I was going to say. 

But that too became clear and and a simple, lovely healing moment from the week before flooded my heart. I not only shared without hesitation, but didn’t get the least flustered when the ultimate reason for my “I will never give a testimony in that edifice…” happened. 

As you can see from the length of my posts I have a tendency to be a story weaver.  I love to paint the scene…but that takes time, and words…and it did that night as well  But when the gentleman conducting the service tenderly said, “I will have to ask you to please bring your remarks to a close so that others may share.”  I smiled and silently reclaimed that feeling of embarrassment...the one that tried to make me shrink down into the pew...for God. I decided it could only mean that my gratitude had been fully and completely expressed...like a full tummy... and that I felt satisfied and content and could end my remarks…with joy…not embarrassment.

From that moment on, whenever I experience any formerly yucky, uncomfortable, unsettled, or fearful feelings that would try to paralyze my expression of good... feelings that first suggest nervousness, anxiety, embarassment, sorrow... I try to find a way to redefine them as “of God”.  Since God, Soul is the only source, or Creator,  of anything, including my feelings…my feelings, no matter what they are, can only be of God…or good.  For me it's become a wonderful exercise in translation and redemption.

Or as John says in Revelation:

“The kingdoms of this world are become the kingdoms of our Lord,
and of his Christ;
and he shall reign for ever and ever.”

I will continue this on Thursday…because my college girlfriends and I had even more fun exploring this further…

Kate
(missing Jeff's amazing editing skills while he is in Colorado)