"a hundred hands...."

"who would have thought
that a Lamb could,
rescue the souls of men..."

After last night, there was no other song than Selah's "Wonderful, Merciful Savior," that could have possibly keynoted this post.

In front of their camp brothers, I saw one hundred hands raised in answer to this question:

"How many of you experienced a healing this summer?"

It took my breath away. I was not at all surprised that they had experienced the healing power of divine Love. But that - after a reflective pause - each hand was raised. They did not look around to see how their friends or mentors had answered the question. They were not hesitant - only thoughtful.

I will never forget watching this beautiful moment. Think of it. One hundred boys and men who had competed, slept, served, played and prayed with one another - quietly answering this question together. With raised hands and gentle faces -- "yes, I have known the healing power of God this summer."

I will leave this here. No commentary. I just wanted each of you to have a window on this moment of grace. And perhaps, in the privacy of your own home, on a walk in the woods, or in a moment of courage at work -- raise your hand, and shout, or sing, or whisper, "yes, I have known the healing power of God's love."

Have a beautiful Friday.



offered with Love,

Cate

"humility and manhood..."

"when the dreams
that you're dreaming
come to you,

when the work
you've put in
is realized,

let yourself feel the pride;
but always stay humble and kind.

“it won't be wasted time,
so always stay humble and kind...”

When this post started percolating, it wasn't hard to find a song to give it voice. Tim McGraw's  "Humble and Kind"  couldn't be a more perfect.

This morning I heard a little boy stand up in a gathering of his peers -- and some much older and very much-admired young men -- and say, "we shouldn't just be focusing on our own personal achievements, but we should be helping others too."

It wasn't a big deal in the context of the meeting's purpose - encouraging spiritual thinking. But it was so brave in the context of a current world mindset - one where competition and comparisons seem to thrive, and humility and the celebration of another's gifts, is seen as weakness.

If you know my husband, you know that he is the least competitive man on the planet. I think he has a "genetic" predisposition towards letting the other guy go first, encouraging his "opponent" to succeed, and lifting up the guy in front of him - or behind him, as the case may be. It is what I love most about him. His lack of self-promotion. His natural inclination towards helping others find their place in the world -- even when it means stepping aside himself. In fact, more often than not, I have seen him not only step aside, but have used his own time in that "space," as an opportunity to better prepare that place for his successor. He is a nest featherer -- for others.

And this morning, as I looked around that room full of boys and men, I could see my husband as a little boy. Scrawny-bodied, horn-rimmed glasses, a mop of floppy hair in a nondescript color. Imagining this was not hard, since there were a dozen photos of him on the wall. And thinking about that little boy, my throat tightened - not just with love for him, but for all of the humble and kind men who had helped to raise him to be the man he is today.

Around the world, at dinner tables and in locker rooms, at bedtime and on the playing field, fathers and mothers, coaches and trainers, are being given a platform for encouraging a version of manhood that will be either self-focused, or service-focused. This morning I heard fresh promise in the voice of a young boy. He is choosing to serve others as he navigates a world full of competition and personal ambition.  He is choosing humble and kind. And, he is recommending it to his friends, mentors, and leaders.

Years ago, when our daughter was playing club volleyball, a weekend tournament was being held at a private girls school known for its privilege. The parking lot was filled with luxury cars, and the host team entered the gym carrying monogrammed backpacks. I have to admit that I was a bit intimidated. But when I exited my Jeep, and looked up at the stone wall of their beautiful large sports complex, I saw this quote:

"Humility isn't thinking
less of yourself,
it's thinking of yourself - less."

It caught me up short. I decided I was going to look for humility that entire weekend. And you know, it was everywhere. Those moms arriving in sleek sports cars and tank-like SUVs, were spending their weekend serving home-baked brownies at the snack table. Those monogram-emblazoned team members were cleaning the locker room between games. Their booster club was selling snacks to support a sister-school in another, under-privileged country.

Humility is not weakness -- it is our greatest strength. It is not the conquering of others, but the conquering of selfishness, pride, and arrogance. Humility confidently sets self-concern aside, knowing that one's truest self is spiritually designed, defined, and governed by God. Humility frees us to fully use those God-given talents and strengths for uplifting,  serving, encouraging, and revealing the gifts in others. And in doing so, we improve the world we live in.

Today, I was so moved by the humility of a young boy. Each day I am deeply touched by the humility of good men. Good boys, good men in a good, good world.

Mary Baker Eddy gives some sense of this, in referencing Shakespeare, when she writes:

"Let your watchword always be:
“Great, not like Caesar,
stained with blood,
But only great as I am good.”

Here is to good men, nurturing good boys -- to be humble and kind.

offered with Love,

Cate

"do something you've never done..."

"if you want something
you've never had,
you must do something
you've never done..."

This post might be the beginning of a new freedom for me. For the past 14 years I have been contributing to this blog. At first it was 3 times a week -- religiously. Each post included a song that had somehow served as a healing catalyst in/on my own spiritual journey.

At about year five, I gave myself permission to post, "only when the spirit moved." That meant that in some weeks I posted three or four times, and in others not so much. But always with a song. If you have read this blog for the past 14 years, you know that I have listened to, and prayed with, a lot of songs. Some of them have re-surfaced over and over again.

A few years ago, my postings became more and more infrequent. Not because I was having fewer experiences, but I just wasn't feeling as song-driven. And the thought of posting without a song as the keynote, just didn't feel like an option. So I rarely posted.

But today, I am giving myself permission to just post without it being perfectly formatted. I don't have to have the right song, or a couple of the right quotes from my primary sources -- the Bible, Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, and the other writings of Mary Baker Eddy. You can be assured that those sources are always standing right behind every experience that is shared.

This blog still has, as it's primary purpose, to "speak from experience," and to assure readers that "you are not alone." That has been the purpose of this blog from day one -- June 5, 2005. It is still its reason for being.

Some days there will be songs, some days there will be quotes. Some posts will just be "just the facts" of what I thought or experienced. I will try to write more frequently.

Today's post is all about doing something I've never done:

If you know me, you know that I am someone who loves routines. I love sameness. I have long held close the definition of "still," that sings of this nevertheless-ness. I am still a girl who loves a uniform. I am still the woman who eats dark chocolate for breakfast. I still use the same moisturizer I have used for decades. I still think of myself as a Colorado girl.

Of course I inhabit the words: still and stillness, for their motionless, silent, unruffled characteristics. But I have taken great comfort in the changeless nature of my spiritual name: Stillwater. If there is a word that most characterizes my sense of my nature, it is "stillness." I am very reliable. I am most myself in the quiet, motionless, changeless place of who I am.

So, for me to do something different -- well, that's such a stretch that it feels unfathomable when invitations come.

but I have learned that, for me, it is only when Love invites me into a new space, that I am able to take even the tiniest step in that direction.

For example, when my daughter was living in south Africa, I was willing to board 19 hour flights over the ocean to spend time with her. When my church asked me to do something I had never done, I found myself launching into new waters without hesitation.  The examples are many.

Earlier this year, a dear friend and colleague asked me to consider a different kind of summer. Since I love him, and the work that we share, I was willing.  So, here I am, on an adventure that - to others - may seem quite tame. But for me, it represents all that is wild and unknown. It is asking me to suspend my need to know, my need for the familiar, my hunger for being comfortable in "my own skin," or in this case, my own clothing. And trust.

So how am I reconciling this with my sense of who I am. Still water. I am still trusting Love. I am still when the winds of change seem to be tearing the tattered, worn out garments of how I see myself away from the dry bones of a lifetime of being comfortable with my surroundings and the people I know. I am still in the knowledge that though the faces and places may be unfamiliar, the work is ever the same.

I'll keep you posted. But for now, I am feeling like my youngest niece who will have her sleep-over camp experience tonight under a starry Maine sky, with the lapping waters of Long Lake and the call of loons. We will be more alike than different even though we span 60-ish years of bookending our family.

with my love -- and Hers...

Kate