"not even that far…"

"stop,
in the name
of Love.."

I woke up that morning in great pain -- again. But also with The Supremes 1965 hit single "Stop, in the Name of Love," playing in an an endless loop.  Yes!  Perfect. That was exactly what I wanted.  No,  it was what I needed -- for it to just stop.

It had been going on for way too long and I was tired, discouraged, and ready to be free. I had children to care for, calls to take, a community to support. I wanted to be purposeful and free to serve.

As I lay there in the silence of pre-dawn, I asked God what I needed to understand. What shift in my thinking needed to take place? What Truth was already present and graspable? I stilled the chatter of human thinking, and just listened.

The first thought that came was:

"Thus far,
and no father..." 

I let that inspiration -- that angel message -- seep in slowly and find its ground. And because I was feeling very confident about this Michael-like spiritual assertiveness, I was a bit surprised when Gabriel gently whispered:

"not even that far." 

In Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, Mary Baker Eddy defines angels as:

"God's thoughts passing to man,
spiritual intuitions, pure and perfect;
the inspirations of goodness, purity and immortality,
counteracting all evil, sensuality, and mortality." 

And then she defines two different types of angels - Michael and Gabriel - thus:

"Michael's characteristic is spiritual strength.

Gabriel has the more quiet task of imparting a sense of the ever-presence of ministering Love.

These angels deliver us from the depths.

The Gabriel of His presence has no contests. To infinite ever-present Love, all is Love, and there is no error, no sin, sickness, nor death."
 

Michael had been helping me hold the line, but Gabriel pulled me back from the battle. I had been wanting the pain to stop and was ready to go to war.  But what I needed to understand, was that the pain had never started.

Just as in coming out of a dream, when I woke up to this fact I no longer had a battle to wage. God had never left me vulnerable to injury, disease, or fear. God's presence had been continuous.

I could see this truth so clearly when I realized that I had never stopped loving my daughters. And because I knew that I could never have created that love myself, it was the perfect indicator that a divine power was always at hand - and at work - in my heart. God presence had been perpetual and persistent. That was enough.

I was now awake to the ever-presence of God -- of Love. The pain dissipated in the same way that the terror we feel in a dream disappears when we awaken from the dream. Just as darkness cannot survive in the presence of light, pain couldn't exist - even for an instant - in the atmosphere of Love.

In Pulpit and Press, Mary Baker Eddy reminds us of Jesus' promise:

"The kingdom of God is within you.”
"Know, then, that you possess sovereign power
to think and act rightly, and that nothing
can dispossess you of this heritage
and trespass on Love." 

We are not the gatekeepers, Love is. We aren't in the business of kicking pain out of the temple, Love maintains an environment where pain cannot breathe, cannot gain purchase, cannot survive.

I did not need the pain to stop, I needed to understand that it never started. God had never left me. His ever-present ministering Love had no contests. He doesn't win the war, there is no war.

with all my love -- and with Love,

Kate

"If I could see..."

"If I could see
what the angel see,
I'd see that Love
will conquer hate,
there's always hope
it's not too late,
I'd find the Truth
is easy to believe..."

She's done it again. And once more, with a song from her new CD, How Mercy Looks from Here. Amy Grant's "If I Could See (What the Angels See)," was just the ticket this week.

Years ago I had a Sunday School teacher who suggested that if every time we were tempted to use the word "If..." with regard to God,  instead we used, "Since..." we would be on solid holy ground.  

For example:  "If God is good, and God is all, then all is good," can be read, "Since God is good, and God is all, then all is good."  When it comes to God, she said, there is no "if."   I've been practicing this for decades now, and it's almost like thinking in another language.

So when I heard Amy's new song, "If I Could See What Angels See," I naturally translated it and heard, "Since I can see what angels see..."

This song became a prayer of affirmation, a rock on which to stand, an overlook from which I could see things with clarity and spiritual vision.

This was a particularly helpful prayer as my heart leapt into action in praying for the children, parents, teachers, families, first responders, volunteers, and rescue workers in Moore, Oklahoma this week.

Mary Baker Eddy, in her Glossary of spiritual terms at the back of Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, defines the word, "Angel" as:

"God's thoughts passing to man,
spiritual intuitions, pure and perfect,
the inspirations of
goodness, purity, and immortality..." 

In assuring us that these angels, or intuitions, are spiritual she is reminding us that they, like Spirit, are everywhere. They are not confined to one faith-tradition. They are not personal, but impartial and universal. They suffuse every moment with hope, every action with kindness, every word with encouragement, every heart with faith, every thought with intuition, wisdom, and clarity of direction.

The morning after the tornado hit Moore I was feeling overwhelmed by the enormity of the situation. As I stood at the kitchen window I noticed a small bird's nest that had fallen during the storm the night before. I knew right away that it was the nest a pair of small birds had been building in the crook of a tree nearby. I walked outside, gently picked it up and returned it to it's place. This morning I noticed them feathering their nest again, readying for the eggs that would soon appear.

There are no ideas in the universe of Mind that are too small, no communities that are too isolated, no homes too fragile to be precious and dear to our Father-Mother God.

We are all receptive to the angels of His Presence. These angels populate every mental molecule of the universe. Nothing is beyond their control, no one is lost to them, there is no place so devastated, no moment so terrifying that they cannot reach to comfort the frightened and give wise council to those who feel disoriented.

This has been my prayer this week: that we can all see, hear, feel, know, trust -- like angels.

offered with Love,

Kate

"a nameless impartation of Love..."

"oh we saw the face of angels,
for good reason this joy is in our hearts..."
- Sara Groves

In church this morning, the theme of our sermon seemed to be on the power of "blessing," and included the Bible story of Jacob wrestling with the angel at Peniel (Genesis 32). And although I'd been asked to re-post an earlier piece I'd written about this story a few days ago, this morning, something new came alive for me.

And this "something new" came from Mary Baker Eddy's brief exegesis of that account in her primary work, Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures where she posits:

"The Jacob questioned his deliverer. "Tell me, I pray thee, thy name;" bu this appellation was withheld, for the messenger was not a corporeal being, but a nameless, incorporeal impartation of divine Love to man, which to use the word of the Psalmist, restored his Soul, -- gave him the spiritual sense of being and rebuked his material sense.

"The result of jacob's struggle thus appeared. He had conquered material error with the understand of Spirit and of spiritual power."

The angel -- by refusing to claim for itself a personal identity -- had given Jacob a sense of his own oneness with Spirit, his own sense of dominion over error. Wow...

Finally it all made sense to me. In denying Jacob an answer to his query, the angel was not invoking some kind of spiritual hierarchy, a holier-than-thou, you-don't deserve-to know-my-name sort of power play, but giving Jacob the ultimate gift. A lens on his own spiritual identity. The angel wanted Jacob...now Israel...to realize that it was all, already, within himself. There was no entity or being "outside" of himself which had facilitated his awakening. The angel could not give Jacob it's name, because it didn't have one. It was truly "an incorporeal impartation of divine Love..." directly from God, to His precious son Jacob/Israel.

We all have angels, "God's thoughts passing to [us], spiritual intuitions pure and perfect, the inspirations of goodness..." wrestling with (and more accurately "within") us, not against us...all the time. We need look no further, than to the cherished hopes waiting deep within our own hearts, to find them there.

And today, I'm thinking this is the perfect "job description": "a nameless, incorporeal impartation of divine Love..."

always with Love,

Kate

Here is a link to Sara Groves' "Joy is in Our Hearts." I hope you enjoy it.

"in the arms of the angel..."

"You are pulled from the wreckage
of your silent reverie...
In the arms of the angel,
may you find some comfort here..."
- Sarah Maclachlan

I know I've used Sarah's "Angel" as the keynote for another post...but I can't argue with my own angels when they suggest a song in connection with a recalled spirtual experience. 

Mary Baker Eddy defines "angels" in Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures as:

ANGELS.  God's thoughts passing to man; spiritual intuitions, pure and perfect;  the inspiration of goodness, purity, and immortality, counteracting all evil, sensuality, and mortality.

So, here's another angel-based true story, exactly the right companion for this very special song.

It was a perfectly cloudless, early autumn Colorado day.  Standing ankle-deep in soft September grass, just under the shadow of the Collegiates, I was awash in wonder.  The voice of the Arkansas River...whispering her song through the air with a sweetness that swirled and pooled around me like a diaphanous, silken scarf...was so close I could almost feel the spray gathering, like dewdrops along a blade of grass, on each strand of hair.   

The day couldn't have been more wonderful.  Long-held hopes were on the verge of being realized, our children were all happily engaged in activities and interests they loved, and each challenge faced only turned us more quickly to that inward "kingdom of heaven," where the only peace worth pursuing was imminently, and infinitely, available every moment. 

I turned my face upwards to soak the long, hot rays of the sunlight into the depths of my being.  This was a good day...a very, very good day. 

With that thought, my cell phone started ringing and I excused myself from the company of a guide I was exploring new mountain terrain with.  We didn't know eachother well, but in the course of our conversations, I'd already explained that in my work, I provided spiritual support to people who were in need. And, that if a call came in I would need to step aside and take it...no matter where we were, in conversation or in navigating the landscape.

She was gracious in moving, well out of hearing range, as soon as she heard the phone begin to ring, and after taking the call I returned to where she was standing.  She could tell immediately that the call had not been the kind I'd expected.  I was on the verge of tears.  The call had been about a loved one in crisis. And rather than being the one to offer support, I was the one who longed for a strong spiritual "shoring up."

She asked me if I needed anything, and I blurted out, "I need to pray..."   Her response was instant.  She asked me if I would like for her to pray with me.  I said, "yes."  And before I could even take in another deeply drawn breath, this "angel," whose religious-affiliation, philosophy of life, and/or take on the relationship between Jesus and God were completely unbeknownst, and unimportant to me, took my hands in hers and began to pray aloud.  I was immediately comforted, grateful, and humbled. 

She didn't ask about my religious leanings, whether I loved Jesus, or if I wanted her to pray silently or audibly...she just prayed.  There was no priestliness, or hierarchy in her response.  It was clear, in her heart we were both obedient children, humble servants of a loving God.   Her words were filled with innocence and grace, and they flowed as effortlessly, and as purely, as the waters of the Arkansas River.

Her courage, in offering to pray with me, was full of the kind of primitive spiritual fellowship I longed for in my sense of community.  I was deeply touched.  I wanted to know this woman...forever.   I hope I will.

The urgency of the caller's situation was quickly down-graded.  But this story isn't about that.  It is about the courage of an angel who didn't hesitate...for one second...in offering to meet me where I was and walk me out of a dark moment into the light of Love.

I pray each day for this kind of boldness in Christ.  Thank you, dear "stranger" for your fellowship and compassion...for binding up my wounds and pouring in the oil of your gentleness, your consecration to what you know and believe, and your charity towards a fellow traveler.

with Love, 
Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

"Just the two of us..."

"Just the two of us
We can make it if we try...
Just the two of us
Building castles in the sky
Just the two of us
You and I..."

You may think this is a love song.  You are right.  It is a love song for my husband and his son. And by the grace of God, our son.

Jeff is a gentle, kind man who, with is former wife, Beth, has raised up a gentle, kind, smart, funny, thoughtful, loving, socially responsible son.  Jeremy turned twenty-one on Monday.  He is now a wonderful man.  I have been so blessed by his presence in my life.

For a number of years, Jeff and Jeremy were "Just the Two of Us" (I love this version with Will Smith and his son -- I REALLY hope you will watch it as it is part and parcel to this piece!).  They shared a home, a car, household chores and time.  The peace and mutual respect they held for each other was palpable.  Their home was modest and definitely a guy-inhabited space, but visiting them was almost oasis-like in the absence of tension or selfishness.  Each bent over backwards to anticipate the needs of the other. 

As a friend, I always felt blessed to be invited for a game of Scrabble or dominoes, or to join them and other friends for a rousing gathering at Starbucks or a local performance by one of our children.  Theirs was a world that was foreign to me. My world was so full of girls, women, and "the feminine."  And I liked it that way.  Or at least I thought I liked it that way, somewhat to the exclusion of all masculine models of behavior.  I soon discovered that I still had some serious learning to do about the wholeness of each man, woman and child... the fully balanced qualities of the masculine and feminine in individual completeness.

You see, I never thought I would be a good mom to a son.  I didn't think I got boys.  They were a mystery to me.  I thought they moved largely, and boisterously,  through space, and I always felt like curling up in the corner of any room I had to share with boys.   As a girl I always had the sensation that they'd sucked all the air out of any space we had to share...classrooms, parties, work-spaces, relationships.

I was always so, well, almost desperately, grateful when each of my daughters happened to be girls.  I felt like I understood girls.  Wasn't I, one of five sisters?  Girls made sense to me.  They were soft and quiet - gentle and graceful.  More thoughtful and intuitive.  Right?   As I said, I still had so much to learn.

When we were expecting Emma and Clara I had a dream, just before they were born,  that they were boys.  I woke up in a cold sweat.  I knew I could do anything but twin boys and was extremely relieved when they were born later that day...and were girls.

It wasn’t that I didn’t like boys. Much to the contrary. It was just that, to me, they were just like a lush, vibrant foreign culture, whose language I didn’t speak. I loved listening to its loud musicality. Much like Italian. It was colorful and best experienced with food or in an open-air “performance”…plays, sporting events, opera in an amphitheater, speeches made from the back of a jeep (think General Patton)…but much too flavorful and spicy for my blood on a daily basis. Especially if I was going to be responsible for its cooking and seasoning. I had a simple palate. I always admired mothers of boys. They, somehow, seemed more serene to me. All that energy and they were still able to think…miraculous! 

But back to this story.  Long before my husband and I went from being friends, to life partners, I knew his son, Jeremy, as one of my daughter's good friends.  He was funny and sweet.  He was the kind of boy that girls love to have as a best friend.  He was a good listener, thoughtful, and someone you could count on.  In middle school, I can remember hearing my daughter laughing from her room...long after lights out...because she was talking to Jeremy on the phone. 

Funny thing, his dad was like that too.  We'd all been friends, fellow parents, and colleagues for years.  It was easy to see what a gentleman he was in his relationships with men, and women, alike.  I remember thinking, having known his dad -- Jeremy's grandfather -- that all three of them were truly lovely men who took after their divine Parent.  They were attentive friends, good-humored colleagues, and thoughtful family members.   I'd observed each of them in diverse settings, and always felt as if I was in the company of great kindness when they were around.

Jeremy's dad and I were married just before Jeremy's senior year of high school.  And since his mom lived out of state, we were blessed to have Jeremy live with us.  It was a wonderful year.  We had a great flat in the city, we made soup, shared omelettes, played late night games of highly competitive Scrabble,  and tried to figure out how to share one bathroom as a family of five.  Jeremy was a great "big brother" to his new sisters.  He drove them to school each morning and stayed unruffled when they were bouncing off the wall.  They were, without question, "in the company of great kindness."

Then he graduated from high school, left for camp, spent his "gap year" establishing residency in California, and following a summer at camp, started college over two thousand miles away.  He was gone from the day-to-day rhythm of my life, just as quickly as he had entered it.   I missed him. 

But last spring, Jeremy came home for a visit.  It was wonderful.  Even though his dad was working out of town, he still came home, to be with the girls, and with me.  I was nervous and honored.  Nervous that I probably still wasn't such a great mom for a boy, and honored that, even with his dad away, he would still come home to us...to his pre-teen sisters and me.

That week was amazing.  Every moment he was here, was as if his dad -- who I missed terribly -- was home again.  Jeremy anticipated the girls', and my, needs.  Even before I could, "arrive" at the moment when I would have remembered that we actually had a need, he was "on it."  The dishes were emptied from the dishwasher before I got up in the morning.  The recycling was taken out.  He was dressed, and ready to take the girls to school, before I'd even pulled a pair of sweatpants under my nightgown to warm up the car in the morning. 

I had forgotten what it was like to have him home.  He appreciated every little kindness.  I discovered that the meals I prepared were "delicious," and he was still willing to play Scrabble with me, long after midnight. 

When he left at the end of the week, I bawled.  I have missed his company more than he knows.

When I mentioned to his dad that his visit had been one of the most wonderful weeks of the year, Jeff smiled and told me that Jeremy had actually decided to come for a visit, with the intent of anticipating how to make things easier for me -- for all of us.  I felt it.  It meant the world to me.

He and his dad -- and his grandpa -- have all learned how to be whole, complete, perfectly balanced men from their Father-Mother, God.  They have taught me so much about accepting this wholeness in everyone, as a divine gift.  God has promised us that:

"Before they call, I will answer,
and while they are yet speaking, I will hear."

His Robertson "sons" have followed beautifully in their Father's footsteps.  He has raised up gentle men, who are teaching me how to be a gentler woman.

I love, love, love all of our children, but it has been a divine surprise to discover the unbridled gift of having a son.  I am so grateful that he has let me love him, and has been patient with me as I've learned to how to be part of his life.

Thank you sweet boy. I love you, you are wonderful in so many ways.
Kate
Kate Robertson, CS


Jeremy doing something he loves -- slack-lining.

"Goodnight you moonlight ladies..."

"Goodnight you moonlight ladies
Rock-a-bye, sweet baby James
Deep greens and blues are the colors I choose
Won't you let me go down in my dreams
And rock-a-bye my sweet baby James..."
-James Taylor
"Sweet Baby James"

It occurred to me as I was driving home from Tulsa, well before dawn on Tuesday, that although lullabies are most generally associated with mommies, it is the voice of a father...a man, that I hear when I listen to the inner songsmith singing me to sleep in the dark. 

This surprised me greatly.  Every single night of my childhood, my own mommy sang us to sleep with a series of lullabies and hymns.  The same songs in the same order...night after night.  I repeat this tradition every night with my own daughters. And yet, when I thought about listening to the comforter within, his voice was, to me, clearly...well..."his."

Because of an earlier commitment I had made to myself, I was listening to no radio/CDs while alone in the car so that I could enjoy more silence each day.  I knew this would give me over 7 hours of quiet listening to examine the character and nature of the voice that speaks to me as consciousness...its tone and timbre, its strength and intonation.  And as I listened, I discovered that it was actually quite genderless.  It was strong, yet gentle.  It was musical, but not sing-songy.  It was soothing, but not hypnotic...in fact, it was rather invigorating while still bringing great comfort.  It was a glorious 7 hours that stretched into 13, as I stopped in rest areas over and over again to climb into the back seat and just close my eyes and listen with more focused attention.

I love the "voice" of God.  It is why, from the time I was a small child even till today, I have often thought that I could be perfectly happy living in a small darkened, silent space (like the cell lived in by Audrey Hepburn in "A Nun's Story") alone with my thoughts.  My family well knows that the opportunity to lie perfectly still for a moment (or hour) of non-sentience is a mini-retreat for me.  The perfect kind of spa. 

It is in these moments of total self-surrender to "the Voice" that the most remarkable insights and ideas occur.  And they don't just come and go,  leaving me with a return to silence.   They come and unite in community,  building on one another...angel upon angel...bringing new gifts to build on the one that has already been shared...morphing into even fresher, every evolving viewpoints, perspective, answers...and even more wonderfully...they result in more questions.   It is almost as if I am watching a team of angel gardeners planting, tending and harvesting a mental time-lapse garden in the space of a divine moment...or two.

My drive home was filled with "the Voice" waking me to "new and glorified views" of Her place in my heart, His presence in the desires of those I love, Their Father-Mother parenting in the lives of children of all ages...everywhere.  

Enjoy JT's video of "Sweet Baby James" a lullaby he sings and tells the story of writing one night as he drove from New England to North Carolina to meet his namesake nephew.  I think he must have been surrounded by a host of angels that night, don't you?  And thankfully, we've all enjoyed the blessing of the garden-song he harvested for over 40 years now.  I'm not thinking he was just driving along, chilling, and listening to the radio that night...he gave space to "the Voice" and what he heard was divine.

with Love,
Kate

"In the arms of the angel..."

"…In the arms of the angel
fly away from here
from this dark cold hotel room
and the endlessness that you feel
you are pulled from the wreckage
of your silent reverie
you're in the arms of the angel
may you find some comfort here…"
-     Sarah McLaughlin

This song always makes me feel like there is Someone out there who is awake with me in the middle of the night when thoughts of "what if" and "how could I have" haunt my every effort to twist and turn away from the sleeplessness of self-examination and reformation.

It is in these moments of "silent reverie", when the body-of-the-past feels like a dark, cold hotel room…not a well-loved farmhouse where the homefires burn…that I am really most certain that there is a God.

I recently had a couple of those nights.  Having been invited to facilitate a series of workshops for teens and adults at a conference, I lay awake in the dark asking God to show me what I could possibly have to give, in light of my own fathomless hunger for His hand in my life and my choices. 

And His angels, over and over again, swooped in with messages of grace. Mary Baker Eddy defines Angels as: "God's thoughts passing to man, spiritual intuitions pure and perfect..."  

One of these angel messages came, in height of summer,  from a traditional Christmas song, that  I love and have written about, on this blog, "In the Bleak Midwinter" (my favorite version of this song is by James Tayor, but since there is no Youtube performance of it I am including this link to Corinne May's performance...the words are a bit different, but I think you will get the poignancy of this song):

"What then can I give him
empty as I am
If I were a shepherd
I would bring a lamb
If I were a wise man
I would know my part
What then can I give him
I must give my heart…"

It was enough to give me peace…and the tools to walk with His hand in mine, into those workshops the first day.  I could and would give my heart.  I would give my love for those dear teens and I would bring my own experiences of God's merciful kindness, His ever-present care, His unflagging guidance and direction.

The next night was harder.  Who was I to facilitate an adult workshop on "relating to teens and their issues"…hour after hour I worked to quiet self-doubt and silence the Garth-like "I am not worthy" that argued in the courtroom of my consciousness while darkness hovered like a pall and dawn threatened from the edges of the eastern horizon.  Finally the quieter voices of angels prevailed. 

Another song found it's way like a lullaby through the cacophony of demons:

"I do not need to see the distant scene
One step enough for me…"
- CS Hymnal #169

I was asked to facilitate this workshop.  Did I think that God had fallen asleep and that some over zealous, ill-informed-of my-failings-and-weaknesses Conference Director had intervened and mistakenly asked me to serve in this way.  No!  What an insult to God.  I had to trust that the Conference Director was praying through each invitation to speak, facilitate, chaperone and serve, as well as each "staff" assignment, and that God had directed her all along the way.  God was in charge here.  We were all well-equipped to answer His call with the wisdom, grace, humility and love necessary to do what we were being asked.

"Here am I, send me.." 

from Isaiah, became my mantra each step forward.  Here am I at the threshold of the conference, send me to say hello to someone who needs to feel appreciated and loved.  Here am I in the dining room, send me to ask help from someone who needs to feel needed.  Here am I on the lawn, send me to embrace someone who needs to feel that they are recognized and known.

And, oh yes, here am I in a circle of parents, teen mentors, and adult volunteers. Have You sent me to help them remember how well-equipped with experience, wisdom…and most importantly love…they already are to respond to the teens in their lives?  

What then could I bring? I could be honest about my experiences. I could be humble about my moments of wisdom…and not so wise moments. And I could share my love for teens…and for them. 

I hope it was enough. 

I am so grateful that in those dark wrestling moments of an endless, sleepless night I can trust that God will send His angels and turn what feels like a "dark cold hotel room" within me, into a warm, cozy home where my heart finds all that it needs to rest upon…and proceed from…Love.
Kate