"wanting to belong..."

"as the ruby
in the setting,
as the fruit
upon the tree;

so are you to me..”

Some habits fade slowly. Feeling the first stirrings of a post, seems, more often than not, to come with a song. It was EastMountainSouth's  "So are You to Me"  that underscored those first stirrings this morning.

Here is my confession. I want to belong. I have always wanted to belong. Yes, I have often shrugged off the importance of clubs and sororities, teams and groups, but not because I really think they are unimportant - but because I always felt like I was on the outside looking in.

This morning I watched four groups of girls welcome new members as into their world as initiates. It was heartbreakingly beautiful to watch the faces of girls - who had felt outside of an inner circle - suddenly feel welcomed in. One after the other they waited - until their name was called and their team was announced. Then, cheering, hugging, smiling. I cried. Yup, walked outside and bawled like a baby.

I wanted my name to be called. I wanted to have a forever family, a team affiliation that would follow me for the rest of my life. I wanted my children and grandchildren to feel the legacy of place.

Last night, I was talking to a dear friend who had missed the opportunity to be on one of these teams. And even though she knows that this does not define her sense of place, she also told me that some of her friends had shared with her that they just knew, that if she had been on a team, it would have been on "this" particular team. [She has given me permission to share this.] I could see that this meant something very special to her. But I understand.  I feel the same way today. When a young relative received her team "assignment" this morning, I wanted to say, "can I be one too?" So this morning, I secretly chose to join her team -- for life.

I don't know that I have anything profoundly spiritual to say about this. I am still listening for inspiration and peace. But I know this, I want to belong.  I think we all want to feel a sense of belonging.  I want to know that there is a place where when I return, they will take me in and love me. I want to know that I don't have to show up perfect to be welcomed in.  I just am.

And perhaps this is the small seed of spiritual inspiration that I can bring to this moment. When I turn within, when I enter the sanctuary of prayer, I am always welcome. God never makes me feel like I don't belong here.

This morning as I walked away from that ceremony, I could barely speak. My throat was tight, and my chest burned with unspent tears. Self-knowledge is a powerful catalyst for growth in humility. I had to face the fact that I, too, so wanted to be on a team. And this is something I don't think I could ever have admitted to myself before this morning.

So, where is this going. I have no idea. But I have a better sense of myself and the girl who I was. The girl who never belonged to anything and wanted it more than she could bear to say. Owning my name, owning my heart, owning my words, owning my mistakes, owning my feelings, owning my place in the world, owning my deep need to belong -- that seems to be the theme of this summer.

In the meantime, thank you to all the people and places who are helping me see the beauty of the things I have not always allowed myself to feel. I am so deeply grateful.

I wonder if this desire to belong to something bigger than ourselves, is one of our first natural steps out of being defined by a personal, limited sense of self. To have a sense of belonging to a more inclusive sense  of:  "I am..." Perhaps it is why Jesus' Lords Prayer reads:

"Our Father which art in heaven;

give us this day our daily bread,
and forgive us our debts
as we forgive our debtors;

and lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil...”

Could this have something to do with the success and popularity of the Harry Potter book series.  Does it hint at an innate desire for belonging -- Slytherin, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw.  Did this series speak to children who were simply hungry for the promise of belonging?  

Just some thoughts to ponder and feelings to examine in the light of Spirit.

offered with Love,

Cate

"belonging, or just fitting in..."

"How can I be sure,
in a world
that's constantly changing,
how can I be sure
where I stand with you..."

The Young Rascal's  "How Can I Be Sure," at first blush sounds like the angst-filled insecurity of a teenager in love. But for me, it meant so much more. This song came out in 1967. I was 13 years old. I didn't have a boyfriend. I didn't want one. What I did want, was to belong. And this song spoke to the girl in me that never felt like she belonged anywhere -- to anyone.

A few weeks ago, a dear friend shared Brene Brown's new book, Braving the Wilderness, with me. I can only read a few pages at a time without needing to stop and process all the ways it is opening old wounds for a deeper cleansing. And I am letting the balm of understanding it leaves in its wake - penetrate deeply.

Today I was reading the transcript from Krista Tippett's February 8, 2018 interview with Brene' Brown. In it, Brene' shares this moment from her research on belonging with a group of middle school students:

"I was asking these middle schoolers what the difference was — what they thought the difference was between fitting in and belonging. And they just had these incredibly simple and profound answers: “Fitting in is when you want to be a part of something. Belonging is when others want you.”

It stopped me in my tracks. I was back there -- in middle school, and high school, at camp, in the faculty lounge, the staff dining room, the office, PTA meetings, neighborhood HOA meetings -- my family. Here is the thing:

"Fitting in is when you
want to be a part of something.

"Belonging is when others want you.”

It's not just about letting someone be among us. Its about letting them know that we want them with us. What an "aha" moment this has been for me. This is what I always longed to feel -- and always worked to hard to earn.  And you can never earn someone wanting you.  That's not about you, it's about them.  But I didn't understand that.

Later in the interview, Krista Tippets responds to Brene with this insight:

"This observation is so helpful. You said, “We are hardwired for belonging and connection. We’re hardwired to want it, and need it so much -- yet, the first thing we do is sacrifice ourselves and who we are to achieve it.”

Oh my goodness, that was me. I wanted so badly to belong. But because I had conflated belonging with fitting in, I thought belonging was something I could "achieve."

You see, I knew how to make myself indispensable. I could mold myself to accommodate any social need. Do you need a fan -- I will be your fan. Do you need someone to help you with your homework -- I will study that section so hard that even though I might have failed it earlier myself, because you need for me to know it, in order to help you -- I will become an expert on that subject. I was a social, professional, relationship chameleon.  Put me in a group of girls with green eyes, and I would try to make my eyes turn green.

But the problem was, I was what you needed, not who you wanted to be with -- and I knew it. At school, I was a scholar for the teachers, the over-eager-to-be-accepted chum - with other girls, and I was the all-too-willing cheerleader - for the boys. Whatever you needed, I was your girl.

In her interview with Krista, Brene' addresses the deep loneliness that comes from morphing into something inauthentic, in our efforts to just belong::

"What if loneliness is driven in part by our lack of authenticity — that I can go to a party, and I can be the belle of the ball and come home completely disconnected, lonely, anxious, because never once during that experience was I myself? I was who I thought they wanted me to be."

This is the kind of loneliness I felt for many years. In my striving to belong with others, I failed to belong to myself. My morphing into what I thought someone else wanted/needed me to be, wasn't leading to any real connection, It was really just about fitting in. And for most of my life I didn't understand why -- even though I could make myself fit in -- I had never felt a true sense of belonging.

That was, until the house of cards I'd been carefully building -- for many years -- fell apart. The particulars of that story are not important to this post. Going from being adored and admired to judged and rejected  - in the space of a moment - will humble all false confidence, and teach you a lot about where your true worth lies. It was a hard lesson, but one I needed and am now deeply grateful for.

I'd molded myself to fit what I thought were the expectations of the community I'd become a part of. When something needed to change -- there was no room for that adjustment. I hadn't been wanted for who I was -- I had just made myself fit a particular open space in the puzzle. As long as I stayed in that shape, everything was okay. But that was just me trying to fit in.  It was not that unconditional sense of belonging that we all hunger for.

And I didn't know the difference. I'd been doing it so long -- in my family, classrooms, work-places -- that fitting in had become my modus operandi.

After that difficult time of being "not wanted" -- when I no longer fit the shape "they" needed, I stepped back. It wasn't long before I realized that I needed a spiritual sense of what it means to really "belong."

Over the past forty years I have had a nagging suspicion that most of our societal ills come from an underlying sense of not belonging. As a teacher I could see it on the faces of students of every age. I have watched it at camp, in women's groups, at coffeehouses. And I've always thought that if we can just find the right "fit" for our gifts, idiosyncrasies and talents -- the right place to serve, the right school, the right family, the right relationship -- we would feel this belonging.

But it isn't enough to find the right space -- and then alter ourselves to fit that space.  Nor is it enought to simply let someone join our group, gathering, family. We have to help them feel wanted - for who they are, not for who they think we want them to be.

I was once in a relationship I'd worked very hard to make work. And it wasn't.  It just wasn't working.  At one point the other person said to me, "I don't know that this can be healed, but I can tolerate you." No joke. I felt more defeated and alone by being told I could be tolerated, than if the person would have said that they just couldn't love me anymore.  

There is no real love -- or belonging -- in tolerance. Tolerance is not spiritual. Its starting point is not God. It starts from the premise that there is something lacking in another that we --in all our generous human nobility -- can tolerate.

But this is not how God loves. And it certainly wasn't how Jesus modeled his Father's love. Mary Baker Eddy reminds us that:

"Jesus beheld in Science
the perfect man who appeared
to him, where sinning mortal man
appears to mortals.

"In this perfect man,
the savior saw
God's own likeness..."

Jesus wasn't just nobly tolerating a somewhat flawed mortal -- he was loving the man he knew to be the only possible version of God's child. And who wouldn't want to be with that man -- or woman.

This post is not about whether we fit-in with the group we have chosen, or a family we have been born (or borne) into. It is about belonging. It is about wanting each other. It is about leaving each encounter with a feeling of having been with someone we want to know and knowing we were wanted -- for ourselves, not the fitting-in version of that is inauthentic at best, and leaves us feeling even more alone when "it" is loved and accepted into the circle.

I truly believe that when we understand the universal desire to belong, our privilege of making others feel wanted, and the countless opportunities we have each day to really be with someone -- for a moment or a lifetime -- we will know how to:

"transform our earth,
to heaven..."

We are not just flotsam and jetsam being randomly blown into the immensity of human drama -- we belong in every moment. God wants us there. We have been sent there for a holy purpose. It is our privilege to open the eyes of our hearts and see who is in front of us -- and want to be there, to help them feel wanted. This is our security.  To know that wherever we are, whoever we are with -- we are wanted there by the One who holds the wind in his grasp and orders the stars in the courses.

What a difference it would make in the lives of our children, our elders, our seemingly used-up and discarded soldiers and servant-leaders, our tolerated -- to know they are wanted - truly wanted. There is no love in tolerance.  There is no real love in just letting someone join our group, enter our space, or be a part of our family. Being tolerated -- or even appreciated for finding a way to fit in -- is not the same as belonging. When we know the difference, we can make a difference.


offered with Love,

Kate

"Pentecost: one people, one Voice..."

"This is the sound of one voice.
One people, one voice.
A song for every one of us.
This is the sound of one voice..."

I can't get enough of the Wailin' Jennys "One Voice" this week.  It speaks to me of something I am seeing for the first time about "the day of Pentecost" in the book of Acts.

The story goes:

"And when the day of Pentecost was fully come, they were all with one accord in one place.

"And suddenly there cam a sound from heaven as of a rushing mighty wind, and it filled all the house where they were sitting.

"And they were all filled with the Holy Ghost, and began to speak with other tongues, as the Sprit gave them utterance.

"Now when this was noised abroad, the mulitude came together, and were confounded, because that every man heard them speak in his own language."

I've always believed this story, but couldn't imagine experiencing it.  But today, I not only expect to experience it, I know that I have...and often.  And I believe that you have too.

Let me explain.

About 20 years ago, I heard socio-anthropologist Jean Houston (I've written about her story before) share an experience she had as a little girl.  According to my recollection, it goes like this:

Jean's father was a comedy skit writer for ventriloquist, Edgar Bergen, and his wooden-headed dummy, Charlie McCarthy.  Going with her father to the Bergen's apartment to play with Charlie (while Edgar and her dad worked on skits) was a big treat for her. 

One Saturday her dad asked her if she would like to go play with Charlie. 

Of course!

So off they go in a taxi to the Bergen's apartment near Central Park.  They take the elevator, unannounced, up to the penthouse doors that are just a hair's breadth ajar.  They can hear Edgar and Charlie in dialogue.  Mr. Houston assumes that Edgar is rehearsing an act, and wants to see how it's going. 

He motions for Jean to stay hushed, pushes the door open a bit more so that they can watch.  There is Edgar in a chair with Charlie on his lap.  But as they listen, they realize that Edgar is not rehearsing a comedy routine, he is asking Charlie all the most important questions of his heart.  "Is there a God?"  "What is my purpose?" "Where is God when bad things happen? 

And Charlie is answering...and he is answering wisely and profoundly.

Houston realizes that they are listening in on a very private "conversation" and clears his voice, announcing his presence.  Edgar jumps and turns.  Houston, trying to diffuse the moment's surface tension with humor, asks, "okay, who's the new writer?"  Edgar meekly replies, "Charlie."  Houston, says, what do you mean, of course, you are the writer, Charlie is just a wooden-headed dummy. And Edgar explains, "You don't understand, when I ask Charlie all the most profound questions in my heart, I have no idea how he is going to answer."

This experience changed the course of Jean Houston's life.  From that moment on, her eyes were open to what she calls "human potentiality," and the depth of the unseen divinity...wisdom, compassion, grace, humor...buried within each heart, mind..."soul." 

And from the first moment I first heard her story...I got it. It changed everything. It changed the way I thought about conversations, prayers, lectures, congregational sharing...everything.  No matter who we call for help, go to hear speak, show up in conversation with, we are only...through the collective experience of being with another or others...giving ourselves the permission to stop what we are doing, and hear the divine voice that is constantly speaking within our own consciousness. 

We just can't imagine that if we stopped, and stood in the silence of our own Christlikeness, we would hear the wisdom of the ages...as it relates to our own unique needs.  And, we would hear it in a language that resonates with our own life experience, cultural context, earnest longings, and where we are in our spiritual journey.   We would hear it in "our own tongue."

Let me give one example before signing off so that I can go into my own "Pentecostal room" for a while.  Okay?

Not long after hearing Jean's story about her dad, Edgar, and Charlie, I answered the phone in my office one night.  The person was in great discomfort.  I agreed to give treatment, but she asked if I could just talk to her a bit.  I listened for inspiration, and the thoughts that came were lovely, and fresh.  So fresh in fact, that I made notes myself on a pad of paper that I always kept by my phone for just that reason. 

We hung up, and she agreed to call me back within the hour.  At that moment I was called away from the office for a few minutes, and when I returned, the phone was ringing.  I answered it, and it was the woman who had called just minutes before. 

She began by telling me that it was a very quick "healing" and that, "When you said, 'da, da, da, da, da...'"  Well, I am sitting there at my desk, looking down at the copious notes that I had taken, and I hadn't said anything that she thought she had heard me say.   But, she had heard, exactly what she needed.

And the more I looked at my notes, the more I realized that what I had "heard" and thought I'd said, was exactly what I needed to hear from God about something I'd been struggling with for some time, but hadn't given myself permission to stop what I was doing for others, and pray about for myself.

Her reaching out to me, and me showing up in the office and picking up her call, was just the permission that we'd each given ourselves to stop and listen for spiritual guidance and inspiration.  And the only Voice that answers that call, is the Holy Ghost, the Spirit...and it is always answering from within.

I believe that on the day of Pentecost, everyone in that room was earnestly longing for inspiration, guidance, comfort in the face of Jesus' crucifixion, resurrection, and ascension...and what it all meant to the future of this new community of "believers."  They heard in their own hearts, the language of their heart...and spoke out from that language those healing, transformative messages that were meaningful to each of them.

Each time I turn to God, with my entire being, for answers...whether it is in the privacy of my own home, taking a call from a friend, in community at a lecture or talk, or as a part of a collective readership nurtured by an inspired text...it is a Pentecostal moment.  We will each hear from God, what we need to hear, in our own tongue.

Back into the quiet sanctuary of earnest longings...with Love,  
Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

If you would like to hear "One Voice" in a recorded quality (with lyrics), rather than the video of the live performance (above)...here is the link.

And if you would like to read an earlier post titled"This is the sound of one voice..." which also uses "One Voice," as its keynote...here is the link to that post.

Dance....I hope you dance...

"...I hope you still feel small
When you stand by the ocean
Whenever one door closes,
I hope one more opens
Promise me you'll give faith
a fighting chance

And when you get the choice
to sit it out or dance
I hope you dance..."
-     Lee Ann Wommack

My friend, Brooke, posted this Youtube video on her facebook profile with the message: "This is what I want to do with my life now!"



After watching it I can understand why. 

I got a little taste of the spirit of this video during my trip to South Africa over the last few weeks.  Being thousands of miles from anything familiar...except my daughters face...it was easy to see that there are some things that all people have in common.  We all want the same things...we want to feel like we have a reason for dancing...at a beloved child's happy wedding, the success of a friend's new business, our own heart's racing with  the joy and passion of true love, the smile on a neighbor's face when we show up with cookies on Christmas Eve...the triumph of good over evil, honesty over dishonesty, grace over arrogance, and love over hate.

The last leg of my travel took me into, and through, a long night on a crowded (not an empty seat to be found) jet...or should I say a bus on wings!  By the time we reached Washington/Dulles International airport in D.C. we were tired from trying to sleep in narrow seats, an hour late, all rushing to get through customs, collect checked baggage, re-clear it through ATS, and jump on shuttles that would taxi us to new gates for connecting flights.  Forty-five frantic minutes after our plane touched down I was standing at the gate for my flight to St. Louis only to discover that it would be delayed another four and a half hours. 

I decided to wait with as much grace and joy as I could muster after 36 hours without sleep and vowed to actually celebrate Christmas in Terminal A.  Once I made my pact to do it, and do it with love, I looked around and saw that it wasn't such a bad place to be stuck for the morning.  The shops along the terminal were festooned with pine boughs, glittering strings of tiny white lights, and red velvet bows.  The scent of baked muffins, scones, and bagels from the coffeehop/bakery next to my gate was lovely, and people were smiling.  I decided to smile too.

I wandered the terminal collecting a hot chocolate from the recently naturalized US citizen with three small children who lived 15 miles from the airport and only made minimum wage, but loved making travelers feel welcome in "the capital of our United States of America", and a bagel from the young woman whose ID holder held her official badge on one side and a picture of her at her high school graduation in cap and gown holding her 13 month old daughter who was getting a singing teddy bear for Christmas.  I then settled into a seat at the gate with my knitting and my breakfast to commune with the stranded strangers, and spread my traveling office out on the seat next to me.

Within minutes I saw a familiar face.  It was the jolly man from the first row in economy on my long transatlantic flight, who had greeted me with a smile each time I exited the business class loo (I was such a rebel...I think he felt we were in cahoots in defying the "this loo is for first class passengers only" message from the cabin crew) and made me feel like we were part of a "community" way back there in the cheaper seats.

He, his mom, and sister were now waiting for their connecting flight at the gate next to mine and we easily struck up a conversation.  They lived in Capetown and had traveled to the states for the holidays to visit a son/brother in Atlanta.  Before long we were sharing andecdotes and laughter.  At one point the sister...who now felt like an old friend...said, "I don't know how other women balance work and motherhood..."  A trailing sentence that left me with a sense of sisterhood after only 30 minutes of conversation and 10,000 miles of shared misery on an Airbus 349. 

I suddenly realized that we were not from different cultures or places, we were from the same place.  The place that all mothers share as a homeland...the place where we want to be good mothers and yet also give our children an example of living lives of contribution and vision, purpose and passion.  We were sisters of the same Mother who had vested us with a desire to "do it right"...whatever "right" was....

This realization was like waking to a larger sense of family.  It was reminiscent of an experience I had as a child when looking up at the windows of an apartment building late one night while driving through a random Midwest city on a family vacation I caught a glimpse of a couple talking in their kitchen.  For the first time I realized that the universe did not revolve around me.  These people did not even know I existed and yet they had full lives with cares and interests I didn't even know about.  It was paradigm shifting for me then...and it was paradigm re-aligning for me last week.

As I go about my days preparing for the holidays...I pray that I can remember that people everywhere are looking for an opportunity to dance.  I hope my smile, some small kindness shown or good deed done can give them reason to kick up their heels and celebrate the life we share as children of the same joy-inspiring homeland.

Thanks Brooke...for reminding me of how I want to live my life, II Samuel says it best..."And David danced before the Lord with all his might"....I'm with David on this one!
Kate

"A Heart of Gold..."

"…Old man take a look at my life
I'm a lot like you
I need someone to love me
the whole day through
Ah, one look in my eyes
and you can tell that's true…"
-     Neil Young

The other night we were on our way home from Trader Joe's, after some mid-week grocery shopping, listening to the radio, which is permanently tuned into NPR, and we caught a special segment on songs that have had an impact on the lives of listeners. 

I was somewhat surprised when the first strains of Neil Young's "Old Man" floated lightly up and around one young woman's story.  She told us about entering a New York City subway station soon after September 11, 2001 with hundreds of other commuters.  A street musician, who was playing his guitar and singing for spare change, began Young's classic and without hesitation most everyone in the Subway station started singing with him.  For a few brief moments, while they waited for their train, they were not NYTimes-absorbed business commuters on their way to somewhere else.  Nor were they the shaken victims of a heinous attack on their city and their sense of security.

For that moment she felt that they shared a common link through this song.  They were the same...united...in their desire to love and be loved, to feel safe, and to want security for their families and loved ones. 

As I listened to her story I found myself wishing that I could have been there, singing right along with them.  Then I remembered that, in fact, I too had experienced my own moments of solidarity through music during those unsettling days following 9/11.  Moments when, while driving our daughters to school, we would all find ourselves singing the words from the same favorite Bible verse set to music.  Evenings in church when the hymns, we sang together as a congregation, united our voices…and our hearts…in an affirmation of God's presence and cementing the bonds of community among us.

In those days following 9/11 it was often music that reminded my daughters and me that nothing had changed…that we were still the same silly girls that loved Mickey Mouse's version of "Living La Vida Mickey" and shared the same childlike love of, and need for, our regular series of lullabies before bedtime…the same ones, in the same order, my mother had sung to me every night of my childhood.

As I listened to that young woman share her story, and  pondered the power of music to unite us, I was also reminded of a time when this very Neil Young song, made me feel like I belonged to a larger community of hearts.

My husband and I were out walking late one evening and as we passed the old art deco Tivoli Theatre near our home, we noticed that there was a midnight showing of a new biopic on the life and music of Neil Young called "Harvest Gold".  We both grew up with, and shared a love for, the music of Neil Young so it wasn't hard to convince one another that we should come back later that night. 

When we arrived the theatre was almost full…and, for the most part, it was full of people "like us"…men and women who seemed to be about our age, rather hippie-ish, and friendly.  We looked around, smiled, and if we were part of a couple, held hands.  The lights dimmed and soon we were bathed in the golden light and music of someone else with long graying hair and an even more gravelled, but familiar, voice. 

The music was one part reminiscent of a time past, and two parts reminder of how brilliant a song-smith Young was…and is.  It was rich with political pokes and deep emotional longing. 

He sang old songs…and we sang along.  A theatre full of folkies who spontaneously joined voices in a way that years ago we had joined hands at sit-ins and marches, rallies and demonstrations. 

He sang new songs and we were as inspired as ever by his call to action, his boldness in opposing imperialism, his deep longing for peace.

There was a feeling of church to this random gathering of folkies.  There was fellowship, singing, unity in our love for Young's message of peace and brotherhood.  We were smiling at one another as we filed out of the dark theatre, through the softly lit old lobby and into the night air.  The streets of the city seemed more full of promise, there was a glint of hope smiling down on us from a cloudless starlit sky. I wondered, as we walked hand in hand, how often we go about our lives in community with others, barely realizing that there is a silent song of longing, a wordless hymn of love, playing just below the surface of our busyness. A song we are all either humming along to, singing full-voice with, dancing to the beat of, or just swaying unconsciously with...the way a mother moves whenever a baby is in her arms, or even when she is just watching another woman hold a child. It is a song played by a loving Father who wants to set the rhythm of His universe to a song of grace.

Jeff and I walked along silently for about ten minutes before he asked me what my favorite moment of the film was.  I told him it was in a series of moments throughout the film where Young's wife, Pegi joins him on stage, with Emmylou Harris, as a backup singer.  There was such tenderness and appreciation for her from this musical giant.  We agreed that it touched us both deeply to see how his - and our - hunger to love…and be loved…knows no bounds. Neither age, race, socio-economic category, celebrity give us immunity to the call of love.  Love always shines larger and brighter than anything else "on stage".

The following week I was talking to a college-age friend who had wandered into the same theatre one night and seen "Harvest Gold".  His assessment was simple, "Boy that old guy sure loves his wife."  "How did you know it was his wife?" I asked him.  "By the way he looked at her and heck, they were old, of course they would be married."   It made me chuckle.  Here was probably one of the most out-of-the-box thinkers of my generation.  He would have gotten a kick out of that I think. 

Here's the 2006 version of "Old Man" (his beautiful wife Pegi is the singer with blonde hair on the far right in the blue dress)for those who want to see musical gold sung from a depths of a "Heart of God" (Im including the 1971 version of this classic also...for those of you who really want to remember....

don't you just love watching Love sing itself in, and as,  us...
Kate

"How can I tell you..."

"How can I tell you that I love you,
I love you
but I can't think of right words to say
I long to tell you that I'm always thinking of you
I'm always thinking of you,
but my words just blow away,
words just blow away…"
- Yusuf Islam (Cat Stevens)

I have an mp3 version of this Cat Stevens classic just sitting on my desktop so that I can play it whenever I wish to feel the tenderness of its timeless message.  It's been covered by many wonderful recording artists over the last 35 years, but my favorite is a version done recently by Ben Taylor (yes, Carly and James' son…it's a dynasty!), and it's this version that I play when I am hungering for something to re-boot my heart.

It was Ben's voice that I heard playing through my heart this morning as I pondered the ideas shared in a post titled "Communicating Love: my first stint as a grandma" on my friend, Laura's, blog.  I hope you'll take the time to read it before going any further, but in case you are in a hurry, for me, it boiled down to the question, What if "what makes up family ties [other] than eye color or height or bone structure. [is] How we express affection… We can bring people into our family circle by extending that affection outward and sharing with others until all families are interconnected in Love…[and what if we were to] Spread the forms of affection we value, rather than the ideologies or traditions that divide us. [and then] When we meet new friends, [we could] introduce them to the things that make us feel most loved."  (I have tried to give you a snippet here…but you really will love to read her entire piece…it is short, sweet and profound….and I think it will help you understand what I am trying to say too!)

I have been thinking about this all morning.  What if we thought that the most important thing we had to share with another person was the HOW of our loving.  What would happen if what someone took away from a meeting or encounter, was not our opinions, concerns or ideologies, but HOW we express affection.

One example, for me, has been a increasing affection for my daughters' stepmom.  I had known her for some time as an acquaintance and colleague, but it has only been in sharing the office of "mom" with her, that I have discovered HOW she loves.  Each day our daughters pass along, through their expressed affection for us, some of the ways in which we each express our affection for them, and through that sharing, I have grown to feel a genuine appreciation of, and love for, her.  She has introduced new traditions of loving into our family that have made us richer for her presence.

Yesterday our daughters came home after their first day back at school with Christmas gifts they had made, but had forgotten to bring home, before their holiday break.   I was so touched by a large card that said at the top:  "Why Clara and I Love you…".  This is every mother's dream gift…a list of those things that have endeared you to your children…does it get any better?  The first sentence read:  "We are grateful for you because…."   What followed was an inventory of sweet and funny things like: "You are the funniest/embarrassing person we ever met…"   I was so touched. 

I had just finished reading the entire page when Emma innocently chirped in that they had given the same letter to their stepmom.  At first I was a bit surprised.   That is until later in the evening.  I was working in my office when Clara came in and scooched onto my lap to snuggle.  It was then that she saw the letter sitting on my desk and picked it up. She explained that she and her sister had decorated it themselves and then she began to read it aloud to me.  As she came to each of the items: peace in the midst of noise, readiness to rock and roll, an artistic approach to things, etc.…she affirmed audibly to herself...and to me... that yes, both her stepmom and I were great at doing each of these things, and didn't I think it was cool that we were so much alike. 

I told her, quite honestly, that I did.  Perhaps it was then that I realized perhaps one of the reasons the girls think we are so much alike is because of what we are each learning from our daughters about new ways of expressing love. That some of these traditions and customs...lullabies, recipes, approaches to holidays and routines... which they have learned (and are learning) from each of us, are enriching our homes and families...individually and collectively.  They are cross-pollinating our lives with "love customs" that will become shared, making us truly one big family because of the commonalities in how we love….how we express our love and affection for eachother…and for others.

So, thanks Laura.  Your post from today has helped me see that it is in how we express affection, rather than a shared name, similar features, agreed upon ideologies, or even the number of years we have shared the same address that makes us a family, a community, a "people".  Or as Randall Williams sings in his song from the recently released "Praying for Land" CD titled Draw the Line:

"It comes down to how we love,
not where we draw the line..."

Kate

"I wish I had a river..."

"It's coming on Christmas,
they're cuttin down trees
They're puttin up reindeer
and singing songs of joy and peace.

I wish I had a river
I could skate away on

It don't snow here, it stays pretty green
I'm gonna make a lot of money
And I'm gonna quit this crazy scene.

I wish I had a river
I could skate away on...

I wish I had a river so long
I could teach my feet to fly

Oh, I wish I had a river,
I could skate away on…"
- Joni Mitchell

Joni Mitchell's "River," was my anthen one Christmas almost 30 years ago.  I was house-sitting, living alone in the hills above Malibu and I knew no one.  I had accepted my sister's offer to come to Los Angeles, while she and her husband worked out of state for six months.  She had suggested that it might be the perfect opportunity for me to clear my head…and my heart…after a long-term relationship had ended.  It sounded like a good idea,   I needed a fresh perspective on everything – relationships, life purpose, dreams and desires –  and a change of scenery would do my heart good.  It also came at a good time for me as a teacher.  So that summer I decided to not renew my teaching contract, sold (or gave away) everything that wouldn't fit in a small suitcase and an orange crate, and drove over three thousand miles in five days.  I arrived in the land of movie stars and palm trees on Labor Day weekend and had a job by the time my sister left to join her husband a week later. 

However, by Thanksgiving Los Angeles had lost its romance and sparkle for me.  I was lonely and scared.  My daily commute took an hour each way and my paycheck didn't go as far in the land of milk and honey, as it had in rural New England. 

I wanted to go "home", but I couldn't afford the gas or a plane ticket, and I had committed to caring for my sister's house and pets until they returned. 

Each evening I would return to their tiny cottage in the Malibu hills, walk and feed the dogs, and then I would put Joni on the turntable and wait for the first strains of, "It's coming on Christmas…" - and cry.  

I thought about buying a little tree and decorating it with tiny white lights, like I had every year since high school.   But each night as I drove past the Christmas tree lot on my way home from work I would see this wild-haired guy selling them in a tee-shirt and shorts, while Christmas carols blared in the background against the roar of the flocking machine…and I'd get even more depressed.  Just the thought of a pink, blue or yellow flocked pine tree made me want to point the nose of my car east and drive until I ran out of gas…wherever it was…and never look back.  And anyway, my mother and six of my younger siblings would all be in the Midwest for Christmas, so who would I have to enjoy it with.

One evening I decided to walk the dogs by the lake at the bottom of my sister's hill, and there I saw a flyer posted on the bulletin board outside of the village community center.  They were looking for volunteers to help with the Annual Christmas pageant.  The children in this small village put on a show each December and it was completely run by parents and other volunteers from the lakeside community.  I was a teacher, or at least I had been "back home" (sniff, sniff) and I loved working with children on theatre projects.  I took the dogs back up the hill, fed them and grabbed a sweatshirt before heading back for that night's rehearsals. 

Within minutes of walking through the door I was put to work.  There were shepherd's crooks to make out of wire and duct tape, a baby doll needed to be painted a soft cocoa brown to match the ten-year old "Mary's" complexion, and they actually needed someone to take the lead on designing flyers to advertising the one performance of the season, and I got tapped to do it.  All of a sudden, I was part of something…I belonged somewhere.

Within days I had neighbors, friends, and invitations for one Christmas gathering after another.  Soon, the play's director was calling me at work to see if I could look for the blue satin for Mary's scarf on my lunch hour.  A mom would bring an extra croissant to rehearsals in case I hadn't had time to eat after work.  A dad who worked for the school district brought me the postings for open teaching positions in the district and offered to act as a local reference.  And the nicest thing of all… if, because of my commute I was late to rehearsals, there were people who actually knew that I wasn't where I was supposed to be, and were relieved when I finally arrived.

One night after rehearsals I offered to bring some costumes home for altering and suggested that a mom and her three young actors come by for a fitting very early the next morning before school and work.  The littlest girl noticed immediately that I didn't have a Christmas tree and I assured her that I was fine since most of my time was spent at the community center where we had a big Christmas tree set up.  And I was…I was loving my time with my neighbors, and I had been invited to join the family of three shepherds and an angel for Christmas dinner.  I didn't need my own Christmas tree.  We finished the fittings and we were all out the door as the sun came up. 

Later that day, I stopped at the tree lot and bought a tiny little tree from the guy in shorts. As I pulled up in front of my sister's cottage to walk the dogs before rehearsals I realized that my little tree wasn't just for me…it was for everyone who loved me and needed to know that I was going to be alright.

I pulled the tree, already positioned on a small stand, into the living room and before long I had it strung with sparkling white lights and had carefully placed the glitter-covered pine cones and hand-cut paper snowflakes I had received from some of the children I had become friends with through our rehearsals, on its branches.

The dogs had been let out, but were eager for their walk in the hills behind the house so off we went as dusk set in.  When we came back up over the hill toward the house I stopped in my tracks.  Through the front window I could see my Christmas tree.  It sparkled like diamonds and beckoned me home. 

As I left for that night's rehearsal I felt the warmth of home and hearth…family and friendship…something I never thought I could feel in a place where they sell Christmas trees in shorts and tee-shirts under palm trees.

I had learned that when you give your heart…and your hands…in helping others…you can find home, family, community and friendship anywhere. 

As we sang Silent Night holding hands in our drafty community center at the close of the Christmas pageant, I could actually feel that sense of home and family radiating out from this small village through the starry night to embrace those who felt lonely or lost…wherever in the world they might be.  Today I realize that I always had a river to skate away on. God had given me a heart from which a river of love, a river of giving, a river of service to others flowed…and that I could always skate away on it's solid presence…far, far away from loneliness, depression, or sadness.  We all do.
Kate

"It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas..."

"It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas
Soon the bells will start
And the thing that will make them ring
Is the carol that you sing
Right within your heart…"
- Johnny Mathis

Not long ago I walked into one of my favorite Starbucks, placed my order and then stepped aside to wait for the barista to finish preparing my drink.  My eyes wandered through the store…the cute new mugs designed to compliment autumn's Pumpkin Spice Latte were now on the clearance table along with some chocoate covered cranberries.  Hmmm…the bulletin board advertised viola lessons, a new CD by a local artist and an exhibit by a young photographer.  Then I saw it and laughed out loud.  Pasted to the back of the espresso machine was a sign. 

Only 8 more days until red cups

I was charmed by the spread of Christmas joy that flowed through me.  I love the red "holiday" to-go cups.  Was it really that time of year…already?!?!  Christmas music flowing through the sound system, new merchandise on corporate-ly designed display tables, drinks with names like Peppermint Mocha, Gingerbread Latte, and Holiday blend dancing on the blackboard overhead.  I have to admit there was something sweet about it all (and not just the iced snowflake cookies in the pastry case) that had me at "ho, ho, ho".

I decided right that moment, I was NOT going to beat myself up for enjoying the rush of warmth I was feeling.  So, I sat down to examine it.  Why was it that I was a bit happier at the mere thought of Starbucks red cups.  I pulled out the journal I never leave home without…yes, yes, yes…along with my traveling office of a Bible, Science and Health, and my Daytimer (I tried a Palm Pilot, but I like paper)…but I digress. 

So, there I was my chin in my hand, my pen hovering above the blank page, when I noticed the color of the walls.  Bear with me here.  They are a warm mustard-y color and suddenly I remembered how long it had taken me to get used to them a few years back when this particular Starbucks had been scheduled for a redecorating overhaul.  New paint, new tables and chairs, new big comfy armchairs, new artwork.  I wasn't happy.  I liked the old tables with chessboards painted on the top.  I liked that some of the wooden cafe chairs matched the deep cherry color of the darks squares and others matched the honey pine of the lighter squares.  I had a perfect table in the corner where I would study, pray and see patients throughout the day…all day. 

Long after the paint had dried, I was still a bit heartbroken.  I wanted it all back the way it was.  One evening, while waiting for an appointment to arrive I was fuming and fussing about the new colors, tables and chairs.   In an effort to silence my incessant, however good-natured, whining, one of the managers suggested that I might like to rearrange the furniture while she and her staff tried to assemble the Christmas displays --  elaborate kits that "corporate" had sent to the store along with meticulous directions about how to put them together and use for displaying arrange the merchandise…right down to how to draw the special drinks on the blackboard in red and green chalk. 

So, I did.  Big stuffed comfy chairs in one corner, the "community table" in the middle of the room, small round tables scattered along the walls in intimate groupings.   By the time we were finished I was exhausted…and happy.  My appointment arrived late and as we sat down at one of my new table groupings, I looked around and realized that it really did look like Christmas within, and without.  I was feeling homey, festive, and warm.  All that was needed was for me to invest and engage in the process and I was sold on the product.

As we sat there talking, I heard a squeal go up from behind the front counter.  "The red cups have arrived!", followed in a voice that reminded me of a child opening her first present on Christmas morning.  Within ten minutes everyone there (the staff, my friend, and I) had their hands fondly cupped around a red, white and green paper cup filled with something hot.  "Now Christmas can come" the manager said with a sigh. We looked around and the room was sparkling with little white lights that framed the plate glass windows where Joyeux Noel, Feliz Navidad, Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah, and Seasons Greetings had been written in reverse with white paint.  Carols were practically oozing goodwill through the speakers near the ceiling.  Candy canes, glittery displays, and holiday merchandise were carefully scattered on tables and shelves throughout the store.  My friends at Starbucks had spent their entire evening preparing their workplace for receiving their neighbors for the rest of the season.  Tonight, this was not a workplace, it was their home…away from home. 

As we sat around finishing our lattes and hot chocolates I discovered that for a couple of these young people, this really was the place where they would spend most of their time…including Christmas Day…over the next weeks.  I learned that one lived alone and really didn't have any family nearby, another had experienced the devastating loss of a sibling recently, and yet another felt bereft and hopeless following a divorce that left him shattered and feeling unworthy of love. And then there was me, none of them could have known how much their friendship and comraderie meant to me that year.

Now, I know that there are many people who eschew Starbucks for the megacorporation it represents...but this isn't about Starbucks, it's about the people who gather there...managers, baristas, associates and customers.   But again, I digress. Back to my story...

Since this Starbucks already served as my office, I decided right then, as they were ready to close up for the night,  to spend as much time there as I could without becoming a nuisance.  I decided that I would encourage all my friends to celebrate the holidays with me there.  Over the next weeks I met with patients, played games (Apple to Apples was our favorite that Christmas), met with my knitting group and book club, spent endless hours laughing with friends, and drawing with my children…all from the cozy back  corner where a table or two became the center of my "home".  We sang along with the piped in Christmas music and drank endless cups of hot chocolate.  And did I say that we laughed...we laughted so hard some afternoons that a customer at the next table called out to the person at the counter, "I'll have whatever it is that they're having!"  Jill and I were having...Christmas.  We were sharing our love for the Christ, the presence of God's love...right there and it made us happy to be alive and grateful to have eachother as friends. 

I will never forget that Christmas.  I learned that you can take Christmas to those who may not have a traditional Norman Rockwell scenario waiting for them at the end of a workday.  I learned that Christmas is laughter, caroling, learning new things about the people you gather with, warmth, compassion and yes, red cups.  

I love those red cups…it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas.
Kate

"More to do than can ever be done..."

"From the day we arrive on the planet
And blinking, step into the sun
There's more to see than can ever be seen
More to do than can ever be done…"
- Elton John/Tim Rice
"The Lion King"

It was early December in 2000 and we were grateful for a patch of warmer than usual weather just prior to the holidays.  Emma and Clara were active, busy, rambunctious three-year-olds and a recent purchase of new tricycles had given us a playtime option they loved.  Racing around the back driveway or tearing up the front sidewalk caused an explosion of happy giggles to spout from them like bursts of water from a summer fountain in the park.

Buying the tricycles had been a financial stretch for us, but a sale at Target coupled with our urgency in finding appropriate gross motor activities for these two little monkeys who never stopped moving, quickly shifted the purchase from a want to a need. 

The girls awoke each morning with one major goal…get outside and ride their new red "bikes." But as often happens in a family of five, a third child's needs supercede the others and everyone has to cooperate with a plan that might not fulfill their greatest hopes for the day's schedule.  This particular day our older daughter's needs had to come first.  We were in the throes of pre-Nutcracker rehearsals, and as "Clara," she was rehearsing more than she was eating and sleeping…combined.

We had all piled into the Jeep accompanied by the echoing strains of "I want to ride my bike, I want to ride my bike"…a litany...in stereo.  We dropped our older daughter off at the dance studio, stopped by the grocery store, and then picked up the twins' babysitter so I could work for a few hours while she watched them ride their tricycles around the block.  When we pulled into the back driveway, I immediately noticed that something was missing…the tricycles.  I was sure they had been in the driveway…and now they were gone. 

At first I thought that perhaps their dad had scooted them into the backyard, or put them in the garage.  However, a quick but thorough search made it clear that the tricycles were no longer "in the house."  Julia quickly, and miraculously, turned the girls' attention towards a messy, therefore thrilling, art project while I assessed the situation.

The trikes were gone.  Period.

I was devastated.  We had stretched our budget to buy them in the first place.  Replacing them was going to be hard…even if the sale was still underway.  Of course I was already  praying to see that we could not be separated from anything that was truly ours,  but more critical to my spiritual poise were the feelings of helplessness, violation and despair I felt.  We lived in a very sweet neighborhood bordering the grounds of the university, and anchored by a wonderful park with a lake and ducks and a playground.  I felt so safe there and I trusted that my children could play without harm.

And, to be honest, I was angry. 

As I vacillated between praying to feel a sense of peace and wanting to let loose my tears (and feelings) of frustration, the question kept coming to me, "Who steals tricycles from the driveway of a home?"

The prayers for inner peace finally overcame the angry tears.  I sat still.  I was poised, waiting  for the inspiration that would make sense of this all.  Again, the frustrated question came.

"Who steals tricycles from the driveway of a home?"

"So much for the parting of the clouds," I thought.  But when the question came again, "Who steals tricycles?" I actually listened and engaged.   Within a moment or two, my heart broke wide with mercy. 

"Oh my goodness," I thought. "Only someone with small children or grandchildren would ever want two shiny new tricycles just before Christmas." 

I remember hearing a Sunday morning pundit, speaking about neighbor on neighbor urban violence, once say, "Desperate measures are nothing but a measure of someone's desperation."

Anyone whose experience made them feel hopeless enough to stop and steal two itty-bitty shiny red tricycles out of another person's driveway…must be feeling very desperate indeed.  And not only might they be feeling the bleakness of their own hardship, but they must have had children or grandchildren, siblings or nieces and nephews they wanted, and needed, to care for.

"...More to find than can ever be found
But the sun rolling high
Through the sapphire sky
Keeps great and small on the endless round..."

In an instant, my prayer changed from one of "take away my anger and let me find peace," to "how can I be an instrument of change and healing in my community which includes someone feeling so desperate that they would steal toddler-sized tricycles?" 

The more I prayed, the more my heart burst open with ideas for how we, as a family, could participate in some way toward making a difference during that Christmas for children whose parents may have had needs so looming that the simple traditions that we enjoyed were, for them, beyond even our modest holiday budget . 

Because our holiday plans that year were being driven by our daughter's ballet "career" and her performance in The Nutcracker, it was a natural first step for me to think about how we could roll out that performance to a larger audience…those in our community who might not have the means to purchase expensive tickets.  And although my husband and I were not poised to write a check for a block of tickets,  I knew we could always draw on an abundance of practical spiritual ideas, a generous desire for social advocacy we shared with our friends, and a love for the arts that was fathomless.  These were the things we had invested in for our own children's future.  These were the things we could offer to share with others.

Throughout the rest of December we were overwhelmed by the number of amazing, fresh ideas that God laid at the doorstep of our hearts for how we could share our holiday bounty…of dance, beauty, art, inspiration, and music with others.  However,  one opportunity unfolded immediately…and it continues to fill my heart with gratitude. 

So, back to the tricycles. 

After the girls were settled into their messy art project with Julia in the kitchen, I headed off to my "office" at the Border's bookstore café near our home.  Since I was there much of every day for appointments with patients and inspirational study, I had become quite close to the managers and employees.  That morning as I sat at my favorite table praying for answers, Heather, the store's events manager, noticed me staring into the empty space between where I sat and the snow-covered mountains looming in the west just beyond the plate glass windows.   She playfully asked me what I was daydreaming about.  

I told her, "A way to bring The Nutcracker to children whose parents can't afford tickets."  Then I went on to tell her about my morning and the tricycles. 

Within the span of ten minutes, we had our first gift to the community all wrapped up with shiny paper and satin ribbons.  We would bring The Nutcracker to Borders bookstore on the busiest Saturday of the holidays and perform scenes throughout the store.  I called the director of the ballet and she agreed that this would be a perfect opportunity to share The Nutcracker with children who may not be able to otherwise attend, promote the performances, and give the dancers another dress rehearsal.  It was done. 

Throughout the month, opportunities to share what we had with others quite literally fell into my lap.  For this "once upon a time" very poor little girl, it was as if I had been given the greatest gift…to be able to give back.  The gift I received in return was priceless…a new perspective that didn't put me on either side of an economic chasm…privilege or poverty, but gave me the tools and the heart to build bridges of compassion and humanity.

I stopped seeing desperate parents, children, teens…or desperate measures.  Instead I saw families eager to care for one another's needs. I saw mothers willing to bake and serve cookies at a bookstore rather than be out shopping for their own children at the mall.  I saw, through grateful tears,  children wide-eyed with wonder as the strains of Tchaikovsky's "dum-dum-da-dum-dum-dum" ushered in E.T.A. Hoffmann's story of a girl, a toy, some sweets and a dream…children so fully satisfied by the beauty of it all that hunger was forgotten…for a moment at least.

That was one of my favorite Christmases of all times.  As I sit here writing, I realize that I can't, for the life of me, remember how or when we replaced the girls tricycles.  Somehow it happened…but it simply escapes me today in the light of what we discovered about ourselves and our neighbors.

When we see someone resorting to desperate measures, like Cho, the young man who voiced his desperation in such an angry, violent way, we can either feel angry, hopeless, vulnerable and frustrated ourselves, or we can look for ways to bridge the chasm between hearts with practical prayer-based solutions that break through despair with the light of hope and kindness.

The answers to Virginia Tech, Columbine, 911, and Darfur do not lie solely in the portfolios of Senators, on the maps of Generals, the promises of presidential hopefuls,  or in the hands of prison guards.  They lie in the most accessible place on earth…the heart.

"..It's the Circle of Life
And it moves us all
Through despair and hope
Through faith and love
Till we find our place
On the path unwinding
In the Circle
The Circle of Life."

There is more to do....but it can be done...
with Love,
Kate