"lost inside a wishing well…"

"When everywhere you look,
you see regrets.

Caught up in the past,
and what might have been.

What we can never know,
will make our heads spin.

A little love, a little trust,
a lot of forgiveness..."

Every few years I seem to need to spend a day or two soaking on the message in Ellis' poignantly lovely "Right on Time." It is a musical antidote to the futility of self-doubt and regret.

There was a time when my time when every day was a battle for confidence. Not so much in my ability to carry out tasks, be creative, or express courage, but to trust my ability to pause, listen for spiritual guidance, and act with courage.

I cross-questioned every choice. I doubled back on every decision. I returned purchases within moments of leaving the store. I cancelled almost every plan. What seemed wise one day, felt foolish the next. I felt like I was on the verge of tumbling down a steep hill since every step I took had the potential for misplaced footing on loose ground.

And it all had its roots in regret. I'd been faced with a difficult choice. I'd prayed deeply. Listened humbly. Waited patiently. When clear, Love-based spiritual guidance came, I didn't question it -- I trusted and obeyed. I assumed that because the guidance felt so clearly God-impelled, that the ensuing steps would be understood and well-received. But they weren't.

Before long the doubts expressed by others, became my own. And a decision that was now irrevocable, haunted my confidence and made me question my ability to actually hear God's voice. For me, there was nothing more terrifying. If there was anything I was sure of, it was my relationship with God. I trusted it above all else. To have that shaken was beyond comprehension. I didn't know how to go forward.

It was about that time that I began to pull back from trying to be all things, to all people. I hunkered down in the silence and gave myself permission to ask all of the hard questions of the heart. I was willing to be wrong. I was willing to be told -- by God -- that I'd made an error in judgment. That I'd misinterpreted His message. That I'd been willful. That I'd made a huge mistake, and that my decision would forever haunt me. Anything but the feeling of being misled by Love.

But I got none of those messages. What I did get, was a Scriptural reminder. One that stopped me in my tracks. That on the heels of God's most precious act of love and affirmation for Jesus -- anointing him with the Holy Ghost, descending like a dove upon him and assuring him that he was His loved son in whom he was well-please -- he sent him into the wilderness to be tempted of the devil forty days and forty nights.

This may seem like a strange comfort, but it wasn't. I realized that God's love for me didn't mean that I wouldn't face temptations. Especially the temptation to doubt Him. But, that I would be given the opportunity to prove my trust that His Word - alone - was operating in my heart. No matter how others might interpret His guidance -- I knew His voice, and the language of His speaking. It was Love.

As I navigated these deep waters, I couldn't help but think of those who had been there with Jesus following his baptism and anointing. Did they wonder why he wandered off into the wilderness instead of taking up the mantle of his new ministry? Did they question the direction of his path -- shouldn't he be heading back to Jerusalem?

The timing was not his to choreograph. The direction of his path, was not his decision. How could he regret choices that weren't of his to make. He trusted -- even in the face of doubt. The temptations weren't about behaviors to avoid. They were the temptation to abandon his trust in God. He was being given a gift. The opportunity to truly trust his Father's voice.

This was my first step out of doubt and regret. I might not understand what was to come or where it would take me, but I no longer doubted that God was at the helm. I would not abandon ship.


In her compilation, Miscellaneous Writings 1884 - 1896, Mary Baker Eddy shares:

"We have nothing to fear
when Love is at the helm of thought,
but everything to enjoy on earth
and in heaven."  

Little by little, I let myself trust again. I learned to listen without condition. I stopped believing that a particular outcome was the measure of God's guidance. His timing became my "right on time" -- not the other way around. I was willing to sit in the space of not knowing "why," and still trust that where the voice of Love was leading me -- however unclear to my human sense of things -- was a place where I would grown to trust God more.

I discovered that the goal wasn't to get it right, the goal was to deepen into an unshakable relationship of trust with my Father-Mother God. This became everything.


offered with Love,

Kate

"The wholesome chastisements of Love..."

"I wish for you
to be free from doubt..."

Ellis Delany's song "Right on Time," is so beautiful -- I hope you will take a moment (or two) to give it a listen. Being "right on time" wasn't always easy for me. I spent my childhood running for the school bus, slipping into dance practice well after warm-ups were over, and apologizing for being late -- a lot.

But this really isn't a post about being punctual. It's about how someone loved me enough to hold my toes to the fire and say, "no," without judgment or criticism.

It was my first year out of high school, my dad had recently passed on, and it was clear that I needed to defer my acceptance to an out-of-state college (with scholarship), and help my family. That meant multiple jobs, and one local college class at a time, for a while. A solid Monday - Friday, 9-5 salaried anchor job, waitressing on weekends, and some evenings free-lancing would make that possible.

I was thrilled when I was hired on with a well-respected law firm that shared administrative services with Certified Public Accounting office. The offices were beautiful, the people were kind, the expectations were clear, and the head of the firm was wise and funny.

If I wasn't going to be able to attend university right away, this was a place I could go to work each day, learn the ropes -and still feel good about myself professionally -- something that felt like a very big deal at the time. I was embarrassed to not be studying at a university. It felt like an unexpected crash-to-earth after a year of hard-won academic honors.

Before my dad's passing I'd had clear life path in mind. Undergraduate school, teach for a few years, law school, then a long and exciting career with the ACLU (American Civil Liberties Union) as a human rights attorney. I still thought I could reclaim that path, if I just worked hard enough.

Getting this job was the first step.

But I blew it. Really. Well, at least -- at the time -- I thought I had. I've since learned that every step in my life has been God-designed to serve a greater purpose. And that the things I've learned, during each particular chapter, have been absolutely vital to my "growth in grace" -- my ultimate goal.

But I digress.

From the first day I walked through the front doors of this firm and found my desk, loved it. I was starting at the bottom rung -- but I could see that there was much I could learn as a receptionist, typist, and assistant to the law library clerk. I was happy there. I had daydreams of continuing to work at the firm during the day, attending college -- and then law school -- at night. All I needed to do, was work hard and get my family's financial situation stabilized.

But it all started to fall apart one Monday morning after my fifth week. I arrived at the office in flurry. My purse flying off my shoulder, keys dangling from shaky fingertips, and a string of well-rehearsed apologies tumbling from my lips.

The office manager reminded me that punctuality was one of the expectations that had been lain out from the beginning. She explained that it was critical to the operation of their office, and that if it happened again I would need to speak with Mr. Rosenblum -- our wise, funny, and kind boss. I assured her that it would never happen again, put my things away, smoothed my hair, and slipped into my office chair.

But it did happen again, about a week later. And I did have to meet with Mr. Rosenblum. He was kind, heard my apologies, and then explained that this would be our last conversation about punctuality. If I was ever going to be late again, I didn't need to come in. They would send my last check in the mail. There was no lecture about his expectations being morally right, or my character being in question, because I hadn't met them. It was all about clearly stated boundaries, and just as clearly stated consequences.

I thought he was kidding. I was hard-working, loved my job, often stayed late, needed the work, and was devoted to learning. I was sure that if the circumstances were explainable the consequences would be waived.

I was wrong. About two weeks later my alarm didn't go off -- or if it did, I'd hit the snooze button without realizing it -- and when I woke with a start it was clear that even if I hurried, I would still be 5 minutes late. But it was just going to be five minutes. So I called the office and explained to the Office Manager that I was "on my way," but even with the best traffic conditions, I would still be 5 minutes late.

She asked to put me on hold while she spoke with Mr. Rosenblum. When he came on the phone, he was loving, understanding, and thoughtful -- but clear. I didn't need to come in that day. My career with the firm was over. They would send my check.

He explained that out of his care for his office, his clients, and for me -- he could not, in good conscience, abandon the established standards of his office. I had crossed a clearly delineated boundary -- and the consequences weren't personal.  He wished me well, but it was over. There was no anger, no harshness -- just a sweet sadness that we would not be working together. It mirrored my own.

It was the best gift any employer ever gave me. I learned something vital. Mary Baker Eddy promises, in Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, that it is:

"Through the wholesome chastisements of Love
[that] we are helped onward..."
 

and that:

"The way is straight and narrow
that leads to the understanding
that God is the only Life."
 

Over the years, this particular example has -- time-and-again -- confirmed these statement to be true, for me. I felt Mr. Rosenblum's love -- to the core of my being -- that day. I knew that he cared enough about me to say, "no." To set boundaries, and then hold them with the firmness of a father who dearly loves his child. A father who wants her to know when and where she is safe, and to clearly know what is acceptable -- and also what isn't. A parent who sets straight and narrow boundaries to the path so that her child doesn't wander too far afield and get lost. Why would I ever want a wide path -- again.

Losing that job made my path much more difficult -- for a while. The consequences were pointed. But so was the lesson. I continued to work multiple jobs -- while going to school part-time -- for quite a number of years. I had many jobs and many employers. But there is one boss whose name I have never forgotten -- Mr. Rosenblum.  I only worked for him for a few months, but I will never forget his name, his humor, the strait-forward boundaries he set, the lesson he taught me, the non-judgment which characterized his treatment of me, and the love I so clearly felt when he said, No."

lovingly offered,

Kate