believe me when I say, "I will..."

"I know you're feeling overwhelmed,
before the day even begins;
but I can see beyond the now,
this is not how your story ends.

I will hold you when you're breaking,
like a Father and a friend;
and I will carry you through darkness,
till we see the sun agin.

So rest your head and cry your tears,
know that I am with you here.
When you can't lift that weight,
believe me when I say,
I will..."

Just when I thought it would be a while before I posted a new song, Citizen Way's beautiful,  "I Will" found its way onto my playlist. I had never heard of them before, but you can be sure I will be looking for their music again.

My spiritual sea legs are pretty solid. These past couple of years have strengthened them. Everyday there seems to be some news that crashes into my peace, and I have learned how to bend my knees, dig my toes in to the sand, and stay upright.

At the root of that resolve is this one passage of Scripture:

"Fear not, I am with thee..."

Day after day, it is enough. Night after night, it is enough. On a recent cross country road trip, it was enough. Whether I was facing a threatening black-clouded storm on an empty Kansas highway, or resting for a few hours in a rural rest area -- I was not alone. And I felt it. Deeply. This sense of being "with the Father," is tangible for me.

And not just for me, but for my sense of my children's safety. For my grandchildren's guidance as they navigate summer school or play choices. I turn to it when my heart is breaking for mothers in Syria, or children on the border in detention centers. It is my everything.

The presence of God's love is not intellectual, it is experiential. It is as real for me as is the invisible breath of a summer breeze rippling the surface of a long lake. Or the catch in my thought as I watch a horse and rider execute a perfect barrel turn. It is in the presence of love and the power of prayer.

God is constantly saying to each of us -- with every sunrise -- "believe me when I say, I will."

offered with Love,

Kate

wait, never doubting...

"Sunshine on my shoulders
makes me happy,
sunshine in my eyes
can make me cry,
Sunshine on the water
looks so lovely..."

Here in the high Rockies we've seen very little of the sun this spring. It's hard not to miss the feeling of "Sunshine on My Shoulders," that John Denver sings about in this lovely performance.

I actually love these cloudy, rainy, snow-spitting spring days in the mountains. But I also enjoy the bone-deep warmth of the sun on my shoulders.  I know that whatever unfolds in this valley is going to be beautiful.  Often I will ask nature, "what do you have to teach me today?" And then I wait. This morning was no different.

Lowering clouds of blue-black slate, the weight of moisture in the air, the soft filtered light of an impending storm -- what was it's message. I stood silently at the reed-lined edge of our lake, and saw the play of almost-light upon the water.  Then the question came, "why don't you doubt the sun?"

Hmmm, I thought. I haven't actually seen the sun for days. All sensible evidence would point to a fading, a dissolution, a failing. But I had never even considered the possibility that the sun was in decline.

Every glimmer of light, every sprouting seed, each flower reaching towards the southwest reminded me that the sun is where it has always been. Diffused light, soft shadows, the barest warmth -- it is enough.

I have been thinking about this today in light of Mary Baker Eddy's statement on the first page of her "Preface" to Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures:

"The wakeful shepherd
beholds the first faint morning beams,
ere cometh the full radiance
of a risen day." 

This is my purpose. To stay focused on the presence of light. To know -- with all my being -- that it portends the full radiant presence of the Sun. Or, as Eddy elsewhere encourages, to:

"wait, never doubting" 

Why? Why, if the light seems to be fading, the warmth to be retreating, the clouds overpowering, do we not doubt?  Well, I think it's  because we know that you can't just get a little piece of the Sun. If the light is at all present, it is all present.

So it is with God's presence. If we are at all aware of the presence of good, it portends the full and undiminished presence of all good, of complete health, of undiminished joy and peace.

You can't get a little bit of God. You just can't. The only measure of the Infinite -- is infinite. The only portion of All-in-all -- is all.

So, whatever tries to convince you that God's goodness is absent in your life: illness - parading itself as the absence of health, pain - marketing itself as the absence of peace, hatred, anger, fear - suggesting themselves as the absence of Love -- don't buy it. Keep you heart transfixed on whatever glimmer of God's goodness you can see, feel, hear. And never forget what it portends.

Just as the darkest shadow is really only an indication of the brightest light -- the darkest storm is only the opportunity to feel the central calm within.

And if you wait -- wait upon (serve), not wait for -- never doubting, you will discover a light that never fades, a warmth that never cools, and an unwavering peace that comes from a deeply radiant kingdom -- the consciousness of Love's ever-active presence -- within.


with all my love -- and with Love,

Kate