"only Jesus..."

 

"and I, 

I don't want to leave a legacy,

I don't care if they remember me;

only Jesus..."

I just wrote an entire post about my evolving relationship with Jesus over the past twenty five years -- and how the Angel Studios production of The Chosen has impacted that relationship -- and  it disappeared.  So...

God must have wanted me to hold it close and only share it one-on-one, or in a much more intimate setting.  I will do that. If you have not watched The Chosen, I can't recommend it highly enough.  If you have questions about my own journey - please feel free to call.  In the meantime, I hope you will enjoy this link to Casting Crown's beautiful song, "Only Jesus."  It says it all for me today.

Sending each of you -- all my love, 

Cate

"we were made to thrive..."

"And though my heart is torn,
I will praise you in this storm..."

My niece, Lily Oyer, offered this beautiful solo of Casting Crown"s "Thrive" at church on Sunday. I asked her if I could share a video recording of her version of "Thrive" here. I love her -- and her beautiful voice.  It reminded me of this post from a few years ago -- I am re-sharing it here below:

It's no secret that I love the inspired music ministry of Casting Crowns. Their recently released "Thrive" CD is a favorite. Earlier this week their lead singer, Mark Hall, was given an unsettling diagnosis and faces surgery soon. The Casting Crowns family has reached out to their church and fan community for support through prayer. It is a privilege to join them in this way.

In a moving post written for the band's website by Mark's wife, Melanie asked,"When it happens to you, where do you turn?" And the band offered their beautiful song, "Praise You in the Storm" as inspiration and encouragement. Both Melanie's post and the song moved me deeply.

The first paragraph of Melanie's piece read: "The call on your cell phone from the doctor with bad news -- that's something that happens to other people, not to us. Our role, for the last 25 years in ministry, is to be there to encourage other people after the call, and to pray with them and try to bring comfort. So when it happens to you, where do you turn?"

Melanie goes on to say, "Mark and I seemed to be in a bit of a fog for several days while the news was sinking in.
Yet the whole time, the verse that kept running through my head over and over was:

"You will keep in perfect peace
him whose mind is steadfast,
because he trusts in You."
-Isaiah 26:3. 

Yes. This is exactly where we turn. We turn to Scripture which floods our hearts with the Word. We rest our thoughts on these promises -- like life rafts in a roiling sea of "what if…" And as Mary Baker Eddy encourages in her primary work on hope and healing, Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, we:

"cling steadfastly to God,
and His idea, allowing nothing
but His likeness
to abide in our thought..." 

And then, we return to the Word - again, and again - for Love's timeless encouragement in stories of salvation, parables of promise, reminders of redemption and resurrection, and messages of healing.

And we are each writing new gospel stories of deep spiritual trust in our lives every day. These contemporary testaments of faith encourage others to remember that, as Mark sings, "You [God] are with us…" At times when we might feel as though we are alone in the storm, we can turn to one another for affirmation, and to the Bible for unshakeable precedent-setting cases of God's law in operation -- even in the storm.

At a particularly challenging time in my own life it was Jesus' parable of the house built on the sand that pulled me out of a death spiral of despair. I've already referred to this experience in an earlier post (linked here) titled,""I will give you perfect peace..." As well as in in another post, "A house that will not fall..." whick is linked at the end of that piece. And because of this personal storm, a parable now lives as part of me -- it is no longer "just a parable" -- it is what courses through my being as vitally as air and water.

The alarming "call" can come in countless forms -- disappointing test results, an upsetting report card, a lost job opportunity, a rejection letter, a health crisis, alarming global events, a child's cry in the night...

So, where do we turn -- we turn to Him, we turn to His Word, we turn to one another for encouragement. Our stories of hope and healing are critical to our neighbors and friends. Our testimonies of deep spiritual trust are vital to the body of Christ, in which we share fellowship in faith. And this is where we hear another call -- the call of Spirit urging us to turn to God, to look through the lens of His love. For it is here that, "He saw everything that He had made, and behold it was -- and is -- very good."

We are not alone in the storm. We are never alone. We have the still small Voice of God. We have the Word. We have the Gospel message of "the kingdom of God is within you." We have angels that hover in the stillness.  And we have each other. Our Father-Mother God is with us -- always. He will keep us in perfect peace.

2019 ps:  Mark and Melanie are thriving! 


offered with Love,

Kate

"i'm just a nobody..."

"The moral of the story is,
everybody's got a purpose.

So when I hear that devil
start talking to me - saying,
"who do you think you are?"

I say:

"I'm just a nobody,
trying to tell everybody
all about somebody,
who saved my soul...”

Casting Crowns'  "Nobody"  is my favorite song today. It had me at "who do you think you are?" I hope you will give it a listen.

My relationship with Jesus Christ has evolved. For some years it was confusing for me. Was Jesus a concept or a man. And did I love Jesus, or just the Christ-spirit that the man Jesus was the highest human example of?

Did I want a relationship with Jesus, or did I just want to understand the Christ-message he delivered to humanity through his recorded words and works?

One late night, while doing a security sweep of Mary Baker Eddy's last former home, I noted the placement of a portrait of Jesus in her bedroom - on the opposite wall from her headboard. This was so moving for me.

I knew something of the many "dark nights of the soul," she had experienced in that particular room -- from the biographies written and personal reminiscences shared by her closest household staff. To discover that, in the darkest hours of her final years there, it was his face that she had had hung on the wall in front of her -- well, to say the least, it touched me deeply. But it also gave me the permission I needed to find my own, more meaningful, relationship with him.

Since then, I have let this relationship "emerge gently." From a deeper reading of the gospels, to my heart's genuine hunger to know him, I've let Love instruct and guide me. Earlier this summer, it was this line from a loved hymn:

"Think what Jesus
did to win thee,
child of heaven,
canst' thou repine?" "

that moved me into a fuller sense of what it means to "love Jesus." The word "repine," -- by the way -- means "to worry or fret."

I have spent this summer, thinking about what Jesus did to win me -- to win my heart. In considering this question, I couldn't help but think of other times whens someone has won my heart. To ponder more deeply, what has "won me over?" Kindness to my children. Mercy shown. A willingness to look beyond a fault or failing. Persistence in loving. An unfailing devotion to seeing the best in someone when it seemed undeserving.

But, what has Jesus done to win my heart? Well, all of those things -- and so much more. And whenever I have felt fretful or worried about anything, I have gone back to this invitation -- to think about what Jesus did to win my heart. It's been so beautiful. And it has encouraged me to get to know Jesus in new ways. And when we know Jesus, we love him. How can we not?

Driving alone, three quarters of the way across the United States this summer, I have had many, many hours to be quiet, to pray, to ask questions, to listen for answers -- or at least a fresh perspective on the question itself. And to be honest, there have been quite a number of times when I found myself fretting or worrying about something.

But time and again, it has been this exercise -- of thinking what Jesus did to win my heart -- that has pulled me up short, humbled the myopathy of personal sense, and refocused my heart on gratitude for his example of love, compassion, selflessness, sacrifice, humility, and grace.

And the most amazing part for me is, that Jesus wasn't trying to win my heart for himself -- but for his Father, our Father -- God. He gave me a perspective on God that superseded any personal sense of himself. He was doing everything he could to show me what an amazing Parent we share. For this, I love him even more.

So now, when "the devil" tries to bait me with the question: "who do you think you are?" I am able to answer with absolute confidence and self-clarity:

"I'm just a nobody,
trying to tell everybody
all about somebody,
who saved my soul..."

I hope you have a wonderful day. With God as my Life, and Jesus Christ in my heart - I know I will.


offered with Love,

Cate

"I have drawn thee..."

"not because of who i am,
but because of what You've done.

not because of what i've done,
but because of who You are..."

Casting Crowns'  "Who am I" found its way to the top of my mental playlist this morning.

Here's how it started. I was reading this Scripture from Jeremiah 31:3:

The Lord had appeared of old unto
saying, "Yea, I have loved thee
with an everlasting love,
therefore with loving kindness
have I drawn thee..."

Now, I've long loved this particular Scripture for its use of the word "drawn."

As a child I imagined God with a box of crayons, drawing a picture of me. With a chimney-topped house and lollipop trees in the background.  A bright yellow sun overhead. God was designing me -- and my life.

Then, some years ago that image shifted. I would read the passage and think of God as turning on the tap.  Like drawing a bath. Drawing, from the infinite well of His infinite resources -- whatever He needed me to be. I was not coming into the demands of any given moment with a set of skills, gifts, or talents that are personally circumscribed - but with an open willing heart. And from the spigot of that willingness, God was drawing forth whatever was needed in service to Him -- and his creation.

About a year ago, this same passage unfolded on the page in a new way. It was as if I could feel God reaching out and drawing me into the close circle of his arms. I felt gathered in. I felt firmly held in a place, where -- instead of being overwhelmed by the pulsing uncertainty of the world -- I could only hear the beating of His heart.

But then, earlier this week, as I was reading this oh-so-familiar passage, a different image crossed my heart. It was of an archer drawing his arrow. It, quite literally, stopped me in my tracks. Now, I am not an archer. I don't have much experience with archery -- other than the fact that my husband teaches it at camp, and I read "Zen and the Art of Archery" many years ago.

But as that image came into focus, so did the spiritual implications of being the arrow that God is drawing.

An archer draws his arrow with intention. He takes aim. I actually felt that God was aiming me with a precise outcome -- or purpose -- in Mind. I could trust his aim. It moved me very deeply.

Although I had been feeling - since the girls left for college - a clear sense of my work, I had also been feeling a bit aimless when it came to any interests outside of the office. I thought of myself as the person who used to spend all of her discretionary time following her daughters' interests in soccer, school, camp, Polocrosse, Cowboy Mounted Shooting, etc.

I loved to knit, but I'd knitted items for everyone I knew and had become "that woman" who knitted, and then unraveled her knitting, just to save money on yarn -- since I couldn't think of anyone who wanted another scarf, skirt, or hat.

I loved to bake, but without the girls here to eat or share what I baked, it just sat there. I loved to write, but after 750 of these posts, I wondered if I was just speaking to myself. And anyway, I had begun to realize that if I couldn't communicate a concept in five short lines of poetry, I should probably sit with it a bit longer.

I have always known that a sustainable life is one that is Love-impelled. It is why I do the work that I do. I have no desire to ever retire. I love it so much. And this is good, because it is what I do all day, every day - it just brings me so much joy. But what else should I be doing? I kept thinking I had to find something to do with my discretionary time.

The image of an archer shifted all of that. It wasn't up to me to figure anything out. I could trust that in every moment of every day the Archer was drawing me with perfect, precise aim. I would hit my target, not because I had decided to "follow my heart," but because I was an arrow in His quiver. Drawn for a purpose. Never a randomly flung arrow. But drawn from the Archers bow.

In talking about this image with our Sunday School class one morning, another insight was shared. When an archer draws His bow back, it allows for a pause, and gives perspective to his aim. I could trust that when I was drawn back - by divine Love -- into recalling a past experience, insight, or lesson learned, it was with divine intention. It was never without a precise purpose. Again, there was no random or reckless flinging of arrows by the divine Archer.

Suddenly a definition of "sin," -- that I'd never fully gotten behind -- made a bit more sense. I'd always felt perplexed when someone shared that "sin" was defined as "missing the mark." Perhaps it was because my own favorite etymological definition of sin was "to sunder, or to separate."

I didn't like the "missing the mark" definition because it ratified the false (for me) view of man as self-determined, self-aimed. A mortal who could "go rogue," -- who could separate himself from an all-powerful, all-knowing God and make mistakes, bad choices, and wrong decisions.

But this view of God as the Archer changed that for me. Mary Baker Eddy states in Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures that:

"The belief in sin is punished,
so long as the belief lasts..." 

And elsewhere she writes:

"Silencing self,
alias rising above corporeal personality,
is what reforms the sinner and destroys sin."

I am not the archer. We are not the archers of our own lives.  We cannot miss the mark, because we were never given an arrow -- we are the arrows. We are what God is drawing into precise purpose. We are what He has given accurate focus to. We can't help but hit His mark.

And I have to remember, that when it feels as if life events are dragging me backwards, an arrow can only be shot forward by pulling it backwards. Sometimes we have the opportunity of revisiting something we've outgrown, in order to more thoroughly glean the full weight of the lessons learned. Then we are launched forward with even greater precision and aim.

I don't have to decide to be -- or do -- anything. I just need to be a ready arrow in the Archer's quiver. Divine Love will draw me with perfect accuracy. The peace that this has given me is deep and satisfying.

In her poem, "Satisfied," Eddy assures us:

"It matters not,
what be Thy lot,
so Love doth guide..."

In the hands of the Archer, I am guided each moment towards the mark for which I am intended. I am drawn for a holy purpose. And He never misses. Whether the target is college, a new hobby, job, community, or relationship, we are perfect arrows in Love's quiver.

offered with Love,

Kate

"what if..."

"What if I gave everything?
What if I stopped holding back from You?

Starting now,
I'm stepping out onto deeper waters

Ready to give everything..."

Casting Crowns' "What If I Gave Everything," reminded me of something I heard at a recent gathering of spiritual thinkers and healers.

In referring to lessons learned over the past year, one participant shared that -- like most of us -- they'd been buffeted by "what ifs.." I was silently nodding my head in agreement.  "Me too," I thought.

However, it was what they shared next that has stayed with me since that day. They said that they realized that it was an opportunity to ask some very different "what if" questions. Questions like: "What if I prayed?" Or, "What if I listened to God?"

I loved this.  It is a reclaiming of "what if" for God. Instead of the insidious voice of darkness hissing, "Yes, but what if you fall off this cliff? What if you never find your wallet?" Or, "What if this spot on my body means something?" 

We can immediately turn these "what ifs" around and ask ourselves, "What if God is All-in-all, as the Scriptures promise?" "What if I just take a moment to be still and recall all the ways that God has cared for my family?"

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

"The starting-point of divine Science
is that God, Spirit, is All-in-all,
and that there is no other might nor Mind,
— that God is Love,
and therefore He is divine Principle."

This happens to be one of my favorite statements. Especially her use of the word "might." Might doesn't just mean power or strength, but also possibility. What might happen. What might be true. Eddy promises us that in divine Science -- or in the science of God's allness -- there is no other possibility, than that which is consistent with God's All-in-allness.

We can return to this "starting point" over and over again throughout our day.  This statement takes all the hypothetical possibilities, all the speculative theories, and all of the "what ifs" about what "might" be true - or happening at any given moment, and puts them right where they belong: "in the hands of God, in the keeping of Spirit."  In fact, on page 521 of Science and Health Eddy clearly states:

"All that is made is the work of God,
and all is good. We leave this brief,
glorious history of spiritual creation
(as stated in the first chapter of Genesis)
in the hands of God, not of man,
in the keeping of Spirit, not matter,
joyfully acknowledging now and forever
God's supremacy, omnipotence, and omnipresence."

Next time the dark voices begin to taunt you with their "what ifs," turn them around -- with confidence.  Ask yourself, "What if I trusted God supremely?" Or, "What if this moment is really just my opportunity to step into deeper waters, and be held in the buoying arms of divine Love?" And when you answer, answer with your whole heart. You may find that those bullying taunts simply turn tail and run -- scurrying into their dark native nothingness when questioned in the light of your love for God.

offered with Love,

Kate

"to know You..."

"To know You,
is to want to know You more..."

Sometimes a song brings me back to a moment when the scene shifted so completely that I could never see the world, or hear a word,  in the same way again. Casting Crowns'  "To Know You"  did that for me this morning.

It was over three decades ago. I was ready. I was taking the step I'd been yearning for since high school. I was taking primary class in Christian Science. I was eager to discover more of what it meant to heal as Jesus healed.

But I was also nervous. I knew that I could only take this course once. I wanted so badly to understand what I was being taught. But by the end of the second day's class I felt like I was in a mental fog. I knew I was intellectualizing it all, but I didn't know how to get out of my head.

It occurred to me that it was still early in the class, and that if I quit now, I could possibly retake the course when I was more ready -- whatever that meant. I called the teacher and explained how I was feeling. He encouraged me to be very still that night and listen for direction. Either way, he told me I should come to the next morning's session -- whether it was to continue, or to say goodbye to my fellow classmates.

The next morning I felt even more confused about what I needed to do. I walked to the hotel where our class was being held with a heavy heart. There was nothing I wanted more than to contribute to the world as a healer, but I also wanted to be able to do that work effectively. I knew that understanding the fundamentals of Christian Science being taught in the class was vital to doing that work honestly and with integrity.

As I sat in class that morning, my heart was as hungry as I'd every felt it. I listened to every word as if it were my last meal. But by lunchtime, I was still feeling detached. My heart sank low. Just as were were gathering our books and materials, our teacher stopped for a moment and returned to addressing us. We had spent the morning talking about man as the reflection of God. And man reflecting God.

I was sure we'd plumbed the depths of that concept in Sunday School as a child. We'd stood in front of mirrors and talked about how the image in the mirror, could do nothing that the original in front of the mirror did. We'd often talked about how man reflects, with accuracy and precision, everything that is true about God, and included in His nature.

It was all so familiar. I'd gotten it as a child. I'd felt like crying all morning. But as I was putting my books into my satchel, I heard our teacher say -- in the most casual way, "Did you ever think of the word "reflect" as a verb -- meaning to "ponder deeply." It was like a lightning bolt passed through me.

In an instant, a dozen sentences from Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures flooded my heart. For example:

"Reflecting God’s government, man is self-governed."

Man reflects infinity, and this reflection is the true idea of God.

Man is not absorbed in Deity, and man cannot lose his individuality, for he reflects eternal Life; nor is he an isolated, solitary idea, for he represents infinite Mind, the sum of all substance."

I felt like time stood still. Reflection wasn't just a noun -- it was a verb. It was something I did. In a moment I could see that to ponder the nature and character of God -- was everything. It was the "work" of a healer. I was the reflection -- the deep pondering of God. And I reflected -- deeply pondered God. That was who I was. That was what I was. It was all I was. I was -- and am -- my consciousness of God.

Everything came alive for me. I knew what I loved most in the world. To be still and know that [my] I am -- my consciousness of being -- was, is, and always would be defined by my consciousness of God. I had a way of being in the world.  I could stop anytime, anywhere -- connect with this deep sense of being -- and know my purpose intimately.  This reflection -- like that of the little girl in the photo above -- allows for the deepest conversation with the Divine.  In it, we see and know, as we are known.

I walked to lunch in a daze that day. I was on fire. I couldn't wait to get to the restaurant with my classmates, put my bag down, excuse myself, find a quiet corner and ponder God -- deeply. I still can't wait to do that wherever I am. It is still everything for me -- decades later.

I am God's reflection -- I am what God is deeply pondering. And I reflect God. I deeply ponder Him. This is the most intimate space in my life. It is where I find my oneness with my first love -- divine Love. This is where I cease to think about God, and am living in conversation with Him.  Everything springs from this. Everything. It is my life. It is my purpose, It is what is eternal, and enduring, and fills my being. It is what I bring to the table of family, church, community, parenting.

In that moment, that moment when our teacher asked us if we'd ever thought of "to reflect" as a verb, my life changed -- forever. It is a moment I will never forget.

I could sit here and write about how that moment has radiated and grown in me over the past three decades. But I will let this be enough tonight.

Mary Baker Eddy writes:

"The Divine Being must be reflected by man, — else man is not the image and likeness of the patient, tender, and true, the One “altogether lovely;” but to understand God is the work of eternity, and demands absolute consecration of thought, energy, and desire."

This is our great opportunity and it is an eternal joy. To understand God. To ponder God -- deeply. To listen to the heartbeat of the Divine within us -- to be at one with God's deep pondering of His own name and nature as our identity.

On the very first page of Science and Health, Eddy assures us:"

"The prayer that reforms the sinner and heals the sick, is an absolute faith that all things are possible to God, a spiritual understanding of Him, an unsolved Love."

Ah, the work of eternity.  19th Century pastor and author, A.W. Tower once wrote:

"What comes into our minds
when we think about God
is the most important thing
about us."

I believe this with all my heart.

offered with Love,

Kate

"are we too blind to see..."

"People, don't you understand,
the child needs a helping hand;
or he'll grow to be
an angry young man some day?

Take a look at you and me
are we too blind to see?
Do we simply turn our heads,
and look the other way?"

I was up most of the night in self-examination and on-my-knees reflection. How?  Why?  What can I do to make a difference? Every solution to a collective issue has to start with an individual change of heart. I fell asleep -- with more questions than answers.

When I woke this morning, it was a verse from Elvis Presley's  "In the Ghetto" that just filled my heart. And I knew. I knew that there was something I could do.

This song was written just shy of 50 years ago. I remember how sad it made me feel at the time, but I also remember thinking that it had no relevance for me. That was, until two years later. My dad had passed on suddenly, everyone that I thought might help my mother and I raise my younger siblings disappeared as soon as the memorial service was over.  And I couldn't separate my grief from the anger I felt knowing that my life -- as I knew it -- was over. That grief and anger seemed so inextricably linked.

When I "heard" Elvis' song in my heart this morning, I was perplexed.  Why was this suddenly playing on an endless mental loop.  That was, until I read an article about Nicolas Cruz (the Florida school shooter) that broke me into a million little pieces. Nicolas, and his younger brother, were adopted as infants. In 2005 his dad died suddenly and his mother became a single mom who was devoted to her sons - hoping to compensate for the boys being raised by a single parent, according to the boys' aunt. Last winter, she passed away suddenly.

I can only imagine the devastation of losing both of your parents and having a younger brother to worry about. Who stepped in? Who provided the love, comfort, and support that may have made all the difference in the way this young man processed his grief -- grief that is often conflated with anger. What organizations stepped in to provide a sense of family, community, support? A church, or a hate-group looking for recruits.

Instead of finding the spiritual tools for dismantling his grief, he was given access to a weapons-based culture, and his anger was stoked into devouring flames. So, what does this have to do with me -- with us?

When my dad passed away, my sense of where feelings of grief ended and anger began -- were so confusing. One day I was deeply sad. An hour later I would be on the verge of suicide. The next moment, I was so angry I couldn't function. And in the middle of it all, I was still a child working three jobs in order to help raise my siblings. Emotions swirled and I didn't have the time, or the tools, to sort them out. Instead of taking it out on others, I took it out on myself. Anorexia, bulimia, self-harm, mis-directed social choices -- anything to distract me from the heartbreak of it all.

This post is not a justification for the actions of Nicolas Cruz. What he did is incomprehensible. But this is not about him, it is about us. What can we do -- going forward? How can we stem the tides of bitterness and inhumanity that we see in these domestic acts of terrorism -- not just in school shootings, but family disputes, work-place sexual harassments and assaults, online bullying. There is a wonderful song from Rogers and Hammerstein's South Pacific. It often corrects and alters my course of thought, words, and actions. The first time I heard  "You've Got to Be Taught"  - as a child - I knew it was true. I believe that loving others is the most natural state of being for a child.

Last week, our high school Sunday School class talked about The Golden Rule. We discussed how there is an version of its primal message in every major (and minor) world religion, practice, and philosophy.

We also talked about what the world would be like if we practiced this rule: "do unto others as you have them do unto you," moment-by-moment every day.  If it were the guiding principle of every parent, child, neighbor, community leader, political party, government, global initiative.  If it governed every choice and decision we made -- every action and interaction with others.

Then we talked about how we could begin to more effectively practice this Golden Rule in our own lives. We considered how - like "the butterfly effect" - every act of kindness and generosity could shift the mental molecules in the universe so that someone's heart is softened, encouraged, reformed --  and down the road, perhaps a poor choice is averted.

In her primary work on spiritual healing, Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, Mary Baker Eddy states:

"If we would open their prison doors for the sick,
we must first learn to bind up the broken-hearted.
If we would heal by the Spirit, we must not hide
the talent of spiritual healing under the napkin
of its form, nor bury the morale of Christian Science
in the grave-clothes of its letter.

"The tender word and Christian encouragement of
an invalid, pitiful patience with his fears and
the removal of them, are better than hecatombs
of gushing theories, stereotyped borrowed speeches,
and the doling of arguments, which are but
so many parodies on legitimate Christian Science,
aflame with divine Love."

This passage has meant so much to me today. It has been a rebuke, an encouragement, and a comfort. It has brought hope that there is something I can do - right now - to shift the way someone sees themselves and their sense of belonging in the world.

I can be kind. I can be alert. I can be the person who notices. I can be the person who stopped in my tracks and put another's needs above my own desire to tick off another item from my to do list. I can listen when I feel like talking. I can hold space for someone without an agenda. I can hold someone in their moment of confused grief and anger -- without feeling like I need to fix them. I can comfort without becoming their Comforter. I can silently affirm that God is there, and that we are not alone in our moment of Love, reflecting love.

This has been a wake-up call for me -- again. When I was looking for the above-linked version of Elvis' song, I came across another video that I'd filed for periodic referral. Casting Crowns'  "Does Anybody Hear Her?"  walks with me wherever I go. I hope it reaches you where you are. Whether you are the lonely or the busy, angry or afraid, the heartbroken or the good Samaritan today -- please let it in.

What Nikolas Cruz did is tragic.  What we do with this moment is filled with opportunity.  There will be 18 families with broken hearts.  Nikolas' younger brother Zachary will be one of them.  Will we stop the heartbreak -- wherever it is found, or will we continue to "simply turn our heads and look the other way?"

offered with Love,

Kate

"fear has to face the God you know..."

"O my soul
you are not alone,
there's a place where fear
has to face the God you know..."

There are spiritual experiences that defy being framed adequately by words. Mary Baker Eddy once wrote about this inability of words, saying that, "she lisped in numbers, for the numbers came." That is how I feel.

Sometimes it is more the sound of a song, than its words, that represent the heart's story. That is the case for me with this experience. But Casting Crown's beautiful "O my Soul."  speaks to the grace I felt, but can still barely hint at.  There is no way to adequately describe the full breadth of what this healing means to me.  But I will try.

For weeks I was in constant pain. Day and night. Nothing brought comfort or relief. The symptoms were aggressive and frightening. I was being bombarded with suggestions of specific diseases -- names, prognoses, timetables. And as frightening as it was, I had to get up each morning and persevere. I had to constantly ask myself, "Kate, what can you do -- right now?"

This moment-by-moment stepping into what I could do -- was all that kept me from abject terror. I was still a mom with the day-to-day responsibilities of raising our youngest children. I had work that I loved and am devoted to. Patients that I was committed to seeing spiritually. I needed to be able to go on. But it was getting more difficult. Day and night I prayed, claiming my spiritual freedom from the specific symptoms.

When I found it hard to think clearly I called a Christian Science practitioner to pray with me. Her unwavering clarity about my spiritual wellness was a lifeline. I can't tell you the specifics of what she said, but one night it became utterly clear to me that I was playing a metaphysical game of whack-a-mole. I would address one symptom, or suggestion of mortality and physical vulnerability, and another would raise its ugly head. Each symptom brought with it, a whole family of reasons to be afraid. I would get on top of one fear, and another would taunt me anew.

That night, as I was lying in the dark praying, the thought came so clearly, "This is not about what you think you are afraid of, it is all about the fear itself."  Typing that sentence now - and reading it - it looks so benign and so "well, of course -- duh!?!?!?" But in that moment,  it was such a big thought, so radical, so paradigm-shifting -- that it took my breath away.  I could see that fear existed without the symptoms, without the specific suggestions, without any reason for the fear.  Fear was the "enemy," not what I thought was causing my fear. Not what I believed I was afraid of.

The symptoms, the names of the disease, the prognosis, the "what-ifs," the pain that had grabbed my attention and had not let go -- were not the cause of fear. Fear was the cause of the symptoms. Like I said, I am lisping in numbers here. It is so much bigger for me than what I can possibly describe.

In that moment, everything took a turn. I wasn't trying to get rid of a disease, its symptoms, or its evidence -- so that I would not be afraid. I was going after fear itself. I stopped thinking that I was afraid of something. Or that fear was the by-product of a scary physical situation. Fear was the master manipulator -- suggesting symptoms, names of diseases, reasons it all "made sense" : heredity, contact, association. Fear was creating a story that justified itself, and reasons for its hold on my thoughts. Fear was keeping me focused on getting rid of symptoms that fear had compiled, and then added up to present as a forgone conclusion which it called a frightening disease. Fear kept me chasing after decoys. But I was no longer duped, I was going after fear itself -- not its minions.  I knew I was on the right track.

Yet that was only the first "aha" of the night -- the next one was even more vital. And it came so swiftly that I gasped. It wasn't me going after anything. This was God's "battle." God, Love, loved me. Love had never left me alone. Love had never neglected me. John gives us this promise in Scripture:

"there is no fear in Love..." 

The presence of Love in our hearts, destroys even the possibility of fear in us. Because Love is so clearly present in our hearts and lives, fear just cannot be. Love and fear can no more coexist than light and darkness. It wasn't a matter of me loving in a certain way, so that I could eradicate fear from my life.  That was God's province.  I felt love,  I knew the power of love, I had witnessed the presence of love -- therefore fear had never, could never, and would never be able to exist in this Love-based environment. The kingdom of God that is my heart and fills my life. Love destroys fear -- period. And I was as sure of the presence of love in my heart, as I was of my own existence.

Each time a symptom would assert itself, each time the name of a disease would suggest that I was doomed, each time the thought would come, "I am afraid of..." I would reaffirm -- I am not fear-susceptible.  I am Love-based, Love-filled, Love-aware, Love-driven, Love-defined.

I found myself turning to Mary Baker Eddy's autobiography, Retrospection and Introspection, for courage, and confirmation that what I was glimpsing -- was true. In the chapter, "The Great Discovery," she writes:

"Science saith to fear, “You are the cause of all sickness; but you are a self-constituted falsity, — you are darkness, nothingness. You are without ‘hope, and without God in the world.’ You do not exist, and have no right to exist, for ‘perfect Love casteth out fear.’" 

She didn't say perfect love casts out disease, pain, sickness, symptoms, etc. But that perfect Love casteth out fear. She didn't say that the patient, or the practitioner, saith to fear, "you are nothingness..." But that Science saith to fear, 'you are nothingness...'' Science is doing all the talking.  Science, the laws of God, saying to fear, you are nothing. Moment-by-moment I felt my trust in this Science -- in this law of God operating, universally and without partiality -- grow and strengthen.

All symptom-based thinking, all disease-based treatment fell away. This had nothing to do with symptoms, pain, or disease.  This was all about God saying to fear,  "you are nothing." Not me.  Fear didn't have to face me, it had to face God -- the God I know to be all-powerful,  ever-present, always knowing Love.  Silly fear. 

And yes, this symptom-based thinking is insidious.  For example:  I remember at one point thinking that I should reach out to someone -- for spiritual treatment -- who had faced the same symptoms or disease, and found healing. As if the symptoms, or the name of a disease, would lead me to a healing perspective, or a healing solution.  As if a disease could inform my search for spiritual tender-kindness, absolute confidence in the presence of Truth.  Those who needed healing hadn't sought out Jesus -- to heal their leprosy -- because he'd been healed of those symptoms himself. They didn't seek him out because he had been blind, lame, deaf, lunatic. Experiencing disease didn't recommend him -- Love did. And his understanding of Love rendered fear nothing.

The specifics of a claim -- poverty, pain, hatred, disease, anger, death -- are distractions. They are not at the root of our fear. Fear is at the root of their symptomology. And fear is nothing. It is without hope -- without God in the world.

This healing has been one of the most beautiful awakenings in my life. And yet, if you had asked me before this experience if I thought that I already understood the truth of this Truth -- I would have said, "well of course, yes..." But I hadn't -- really. And you know, as profound as this insight feels,  I know that this Truth will just continue to evolve and grow even deeper in me.  But tonight, I am just so deeply grateful for what I have begun to glimpse -- day-by-day.  As I said, I lisp in numbers...


offered with Love,

Kate

"Just be held…"

"You're not alone,
stop holding on,
and just be held..."

The past two weeks have been humbling. Loved ones are facing wilderness experiences that leave me standing in awe of their courage and grace. More than once, I've turned to Casting Crown's beautiful song, "Just Be Held" for fellowship in the middle of the night.

In the last twenty four hours I've found myself praying till dawn as one dear friend crosses the frozen Bering Sea with a team of sled dogs, and another precious friend -- his loved wife -- waits to welcome him through the burled arches of the finish line for the 43rd Iditarod in Nome, Alaska.

One promise, from Mary Baker Eddy, has echoed through my heart -- over and over again -- as Lach and the dogs traversed an arctic trail of almost one thousand miles, with gale force winds, drifting snow, and temperatures dipping to fifty degrees below zero at times:

"You are not alone.
Love is with you
watching tenderly over you
by day and night.

And this Love will not leave you,
but will sustain you,
and remember all thy tears,
and will answer your prayers."
-Isaiah 26:3. 

Time and again, I let Love resurrect in me what I know of Lach and Linda's love, courage, and trust in God's presence and power. I turned to what I have already seen of their tireless devotion to God's care, their willingness to lean on Him for strength and encouragement in times of trial.

You see, I've had a front row seat to their day-by-day consistent practice of blue-collar spirituality.  Lach and Linda are our daughters' mentors, Polocrosse coaches, and contemporary heroes -- ours too for that matter. And there are not enough tears in my body, or words in my heart, to say what their example has meant to our children's sense of who they are, what they are capable of, and where their strength, selflessness, and courage come from.

I believe that we are taught by example -- not by rote or rhetoric. Team Clarke will not "win" the Iditarod this year with the fastest time across the finish line, but they will have won their place - forever - in our hearts. When faced with almost insurmountable challenges, they have soldiered on with quiet grace and humility.

They have taught us that winning happens each time you put the good of the team, over self-interest and ambition. They have taught us that kindness trumps triumph, that humility scales the heights of holiness, and that to "run the race that is set before you," is not about miles, but self-mastery and a profound trust in something greater than yourself.

Yesterday someone asked me why I'd become such an avid Iditarod fan. I smiled and said, "Well, I don't know that I would actually call myself an Iditarod fan, but a fan of mushers, dogs, and the sled dog community."

What I've witnessed -- by following the Iditarod this year -- are countless stories of unselfish affection, fellowship, devotion, camaraderie, humility, courage, endurance, persistence, and patience. But mostly, I've witnessed an extraordinary outpouring of love.

It reminds me of something a friend once said to me when I was looking for a mentor -- someone who would inspire me, expand my sense of the world, and challenge me to be a better person every day:

"Whenever you witness
an act of simple kindness -- patience, compassion
courage, meekness, charity, grace --
stop whatever you are doing, be still,
hold your breath, watch, and drink it in.
Then, thank God for having shown Himself to you." 

Following the Team Clarke's Iditarod journey -- having a front row seat to months of profound human kindness and unselfish devotion -- has been extraordinary for me. I will never be the same.

When Lach and the dogs cross the finish line -- and Linda, Rachael and Chris greet them just beyond the burled arch -- I will be here in my office, weeping with gratitude for all that they have taught me. I will have allowed something wonderfully strange and achingly beautiful transform my sense of the world. I will have been deeply blessed.

offered with Love,

Kate

"When it happens to you…"

"And though my heart is torn,
I will praise you in this storm..."

It's no secret that I love the inspired music ministry of Casting Crowns. Their recently released "Thrive" CD is a favorite. Earlier this week their lead singer, Mark Hall, was given an unsettling diagnosis and faces surgery soon. The Casting Crowns family has reached out to their church and fan community for support through prayer. It is a privilege to join them in this way.

In a moving post written for the band's website by Mark's wife, Melanie asks,"When it happens to you, where do you turn?"  And the band offers their beautiful song, "Praise You in the Storm" as inspiration and encouragement. Both Melanie's post and the song moved me deeply.

The first paragraph of Melanie's piece reads: "The call on your cell phone from the doctor with bad news -- that's something that happens to other people, not to us. Our role, for the last 25 years in ministry, is to be there to encourage other people after the call, and to pray with them and try to bring comfort. So when it happens to you, where do you turn?"

Melanie goes on to say, "Mark and I seemed to be in a bit of a fog for several days while the news was sinking in.
Yet the whole time, the verse that kept running through my head over and over was:

"You will keep in perfect peace
him whose mind is steadfast,
because he trusts in You."
-Isaiah 26:3. 

Yes. This is exactly where we turn. We turn to Scripture which floods our hearts with the Word. We rest our thoughts on these promises -- like life rafts in a roiling sea of "what if…" And as Mary Baker Eddy encourages in her primary work on hope and healing, Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, we:

"cling steadfastly to God,
and His idea, allowing nothing
but His likeness
to abide in our thought..." 

And then, we return to the Word - again, and again - for Love's timeless encouragement in stories of salvation, parables of promise, reminders of redemption and resurrection, and messages of healing.

And we are each writing new gospel stories of deep spiritual trust in our lives every day. These contemporary testaments of faith encourage others to remember that, as Mark sings, "You [God] are with us…" At times when we might feel as though we are alone in the storm, we can turn to one another for affirmation, and to the Bible for unshakeable precedent-setting cases of God's law in operation -- even in the storm.

At a particularly challenging time in my own life it was Jesus' parable of the house built on the sand that pulled me out of a death spiral of despair. I've already referred to this experience in an earlier post (linked here) titled,""I will give you perfect peace..." As well as in in another post, "A house that will not fall..." whick is linked at the end of that piece. And because of this personal storm, a parable now lives as part of me -- it is no longer "just a parable" -- it is what courses through my being as vitally as air and water.

The alarming "call" can come in countless forms -- disappointing test results, an upsetting report card, a lost job opportunity, a rejection letter, a health crisis, alarming global events, a child's cry in the night...

So, where do we turn -- we turn to Him, we turn to His Word, we turn to one another for encouragement. Our stories of hope and healing are critical to our neighbors and friends. Our testimonies of deep spiritual trust are vital to the body of Christ, in which we share fellowship in faith. And this is where we hear another call -- the call of Spirit urging us to turn to God, to look through the lens of His love. For it is here that, "He saw everything that He had made, and behold it was -- and is -- very good."

We are not alone in the storm. We are never alone. We have the still small Voice of God. We have the Word. We have the Gospel message of "the kingdom of God is within you." We have angels that hover in the stillness.  And we have each other. Our Father-Mother God is with us -- always. He will keep us in perfect peace.


offered with Love,

Kate

"The only way we'll last forever…"

"If you can bring
your shattered dreams
and I'll bring mine
Could healing still be spoken
and save us,

The only way we'll last forever
is broken together..."

The first time I heard Casting Crown's "Broken Together I wept -- and wondered how long it would take for me to find the courage to write this post. Let's just say that it's taken more humility, than time.

If you have never had your heart broken -- or broken someone else's heart -- this post is not for you. But, if you have found yourself broken open by love, I hope it gives you courage and hope.

For such a long time I thought that a good relationship was one where no one got hurt. Both parties always put the other person first, and never did anything that would break the other's heart. No one was disappointed, sad -- broken. If you got hurt -- or worse yet, you hurt the person you loved -- it must mean that the relationship was doomed.

It's not surprising then, that whenever someone got hurt, I was ready to run. If I'd done the hurting, I couldn't stay and live with myself. If I was hurt, I was so wounded that I was impossible to live with. I stopped trusting and it was clear that whoever hurt me was in for a life of apology and regret. My brokenness was irreparable. The best I could hope for was a me that was patched together and long-suffering, but forever bruised.

In my fantasy world of one true love, there was no room for anything but Prince Charming and Cinderella meeting on the steps of a university and living happily ever after. Heartbreak would never happen, because we were "meant for each other." Enduring love was only possible if no one got hurt. When someone got hurt it was best to cut your losses and go find your real one true love -- because obviously this wasn't it.

I was wrong. Hearts break. And when hearts break a new softness is possible. I love the Psalmist's encouragement:

"The sacrifices of God
are a broken spirit:
a broken and a contrite heart,
O God, thou wilt not despise..." 

Well, if God didn't despise my broken -- or contrite -- heart, why did I? Perhaps there was something beautiful and promising to be found in the wake of those experiences that shattered pride and gave breath to deeper humility --and humanity -- in a relationship.

I am learning that most of us have felt heartbreak, or have unintentionally broken the hearts of those we love. And that sometimes -- without meaning to -- we bring heartbreak with us. But heartbreak doesn't have to mean sorrow, destruction, or endings. Sometimes the most beautiful relationships are a mosaic of "broken" experiences cemented together by devotion, respect, patience, and forgiveness.

Mary Baker Eddy acknowledges heartbreak in Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures when she writes:

"If we would open their prison doors for the sick,
we must first learn to bind up the broken-hearted. " 

She doesn't deny the presence of heartbreak in our human experience. She doesn't tell us to run from heartbreak -- our own, or another's -- but to bind it up. We are all in this together. We each do our best, and through trial -- and yes, heartbreak -- we often discover something softer, gentler, kinder than princesses who run away in glass slippers will ever find. I am learning that in most relationships, broken together is pregnant with promise, enduringly beautiful, full of hope, and rich with grace.

I hope that if you have read this far, you will take the time to listen to Casting Crown's "Broken Together it may just be one of the most beautiful Valentine's songs I have ever heard.

When hearts break, they don't have to be broken apart. Sometimes this is where -- when broken together -- our hearts in Him may blend more beautifully thus.  

offered with Love,

Kate

"the evidence..."

"Now that you're full
of love beyond measure
your joy's gonna flow
like a stream in the desert..."

Casting Crowns hit another home run with "The Well." It's a powerful message of promise -- the promise, that what we are looking for is already found deep within us. 

What lies outside of us, will never fill the void, and will never be the substance of what we are really searching for.

Last weekend I had an epiphany. I was reading the familiar Scripture from Hebrews:

"Now, faith is the substance
of things hoped for,
the evidence of things
not seen."

And as I read it, it seemed as if four words were "in bold" on the page, so that it looked something like this:

"Now, faith is the substance
of things hoped for,
the evidence of things
not seen."

I could barely catch my breath. How was it possible that I'd not seen this before? All this time I'd been looking for evidence -- it had been there all along.

But I am getting ahead of myself.  That day I'd been feeling a bit discouraged.  I'd been praying about a persistent challenge, and the evidence of healing wasn't apparent.     

Looking down at that Scripture, and suddenly realizing that "faith" is the only evidence I needed to look for -- or be concerned with finding -- took my breath away.  Faith is defined as "trust in the unseen."  I had no doubt that I trusted in the unseen power of God -- of Love.   And to discover that this trust in God was the only evidence I needed to be seeking...  Well, it rendered me speechless.

To have faith in the substance of the unseen -- by its very nature -- requires trust. In fact, Mary Eddy reminds us, in Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, that

"In Hebrew, Greek, Latin, and English, faith and the words corresponding thereto have these two definitions, trustfulness and trustworthiness."

So, this would mean that my trustfulness in God and in His trustworthiness, were the evidence of good I'd been looking for.  The evidence -- or proof -- I thought I'd find in an improved physical, emotional, financial, global situation, was not the evidence at all. My deepening trust in God was -- and is.  I could rest my search.

For so long, I had been thinking of faith as a means to an end. In other words: I had faith, I trusted God, and because of this trust, the outward picture -- the evidence -- would change or improve.

But my faith, my trust in God, was already the evidence I'd long been seeking. Feeling an abiding, unshakeable trust in His love for His creation was all the evidence I needed. And it is always within me. It is never "out there." It is never something to be gotten.  It is never something to be found.  Whenever I'm tempted to look at what I am able to see/hear/feel as the evidence of God's love, I can stop and  immediately turn inward to realize my always-present trust in Him.

I feel like I am "lisping in numbers" here. There are no words to explain the deep peace and joy this has brought to my heart, my work, and my life.

Whether I am looking at my body, our balance sheet, the geo-political climate, the changing environment, or a once-broken heart, I can always stop and re-focus. I need to start with the more important question, "do I have faith in God, do I trust?" If my honest answer is "Yes," I have all the evidence I need.

My understanding of God's nature -- which is the basis of my trust in Him -- is all that will ever be eternally mine. I want to understand eternal Life.  I want to know why Mary Baker Eddy's last words were, "God is my Life."

A longer timeline in this chapter of my life story is not the evidence that will sustain me eternally. A better body, financial abundance, the right house, a perfect marriage, obedient children, professional success are lovely, but they are not eternal.

They are not the evidence I am seeking. They are, like the wake behind a boat.  They come along. But, they say nothing about my faith in the unseen. They tell me nothing about my trust in God, or my understanding of Him. And it is knowing Him and my trust in what He is to me, that is the only evidence I am taking into eternity.

I think of Jesus from the summit of the cross. He didn't demonstrate his release from Pilate's captivity or the Pharisees' hatred. He didn't heal Judas of betrayal, or Peter of his denial. He wasn't able to keep his friends awake in Gethsemane, or protect his mother from the agony of watching her son crucified, but none of these things could undermine his trust in his Father's love for him. If that was evidence enough for him, it's evidence enough for me.

There's so much more to this insight that I don't have words for.  This Scripture is dancing in my heart tonight. And I've just run out of words. I feel like I am starting from scratch. Reading the Bible and Science and Health feels like a new adventure in what it really means to simply know and trust God -- with all my heart, and soul, and mind.

with the substance of faith,

Kate