"Ignite the light, and let it shine..."

"...You're original,
cannot be replaced.
If you only knew
what the future holds.
After a hurricane
comes a rainbow.

Maybe you're reason why
all the doors are closed.
So you could open one,
that leads you to the perfect road

Like a lightning bolt,
your heart will glow.
And when it's time,
you'll know...

You just gotta ignite the light,
And let it shine...
Just own the night,
like the Fourth of July."

I'm not much of a Katy Perry fan, but I knew I'd be writing a piece with "Firework" as the keynote, ever since I first heard it on our drive in to school, one day last week.

The perfect match of "story and song" began to percolate the other night at the 'Reef and Beef Benefit Concert' (Heifer International and a Gulf spill relief non-profit were the proceed recipients) last weekend. 

There were so many wonderful acts featured during those two hours, and one remarkably funny emcee (thanks Travis).  But there was one performance that released floodgates of gratitude in my heart.

My lovely, talented niece Lily, poised on the edge of a high stool, and a brilliant singing career, performed an original, amazing composition of the "23rd Psalm" that was arranged by her mom, Laurie. 


The performance itself was inspired and breath-taking. But it was the backstory that had me in tears.   And it is the backstory, that Laurie has given me permission to share here. 

I've known Laurie since we were both newlyweds.  One weekend, long before Lily (or her sweet older sister Kristen) were born, Laurie came for a visit to our home in Colorado.   Her husband was out of town on a coaching trip with his high school wrestling team, so we had girl time. 

Laurie, our daughter, and I spent that Saturday touring the exhibition hall at our County fairgrounds for a Home and Garden show, before going out for a specially-planned English high tea at a local antique gallery.  Translucent vintage bone china, scones, Devonshire cream, marmalade, tiny cucumber and watercress sandwiches, chocolate truffles, and petit fours...it was a lavender, linen, and lace spread, right out of Victoria magazine.

We'd had a great afternoon, and were finally sitting in our cozy little living room, talking about grand hopes, career goals, interests, and dreams, when I asked Laurie what her greatest life desires were. 

I already knew that Laurie loved family.  Seeing her devotion to her husband, parents, brothers and sister...up close and personal...over the years, that fact was a given.  But that afternoon, Laurie shared with me, that her dreams for herself were, quite simply, in this order:  motherhood, playing piano, writing/arranging music.  She spoke of each with such complete focus, humility, and passion, that I couldn't imagine any of those desires not being fully realized. 

In the ensuing years, I was to discover that Laurie is an inspired spiritual thinker, a brilliant comedic writer, a gifted teacher, and a devoted wife and daughter, but it was those three "dreams"...motherhood, piano performance, and musical composition/arranging...that I have never forgotten were the silent desires...the prayers...that Laurie placed at the feet of Christ each day.

Laurie's desires weren't "wants," they were promises from her Father-Mother God.  And I made note that day, to watch those promises growing in her life...like a tender mustard seed taking root...wanting to see, as the years went on, how God would work his purpose out in her life.

Within a few years, Laurie, and her husband, were the delighted parents of two beautiful daughters, Kristen and Lily. 

Laurie is a devoted mom.  She has also played the piano for her daughters' school, her church, at family gatherings, as a teacher, at weddings, in recitals, for choirs, and during the holidays at public venues throughout the city.  She has honored, and celebrated, the musical arrangements of her favorite artists...it was Laurie that first introduced me to Jim Brickman...while developing her own "sound," as a composer and arranger.  Laurie's prayers live in the lives of her daughters, her family, and her music.

Now, for Lily.  I've always wondered if Lily was, quite literally,  born singing.  As a toddler, she could be heard singing to herself in the backseat of the van...at times, much to the chagrin of her sister and cousins.  But Lily was unfazed.  Lily loved to sing...and so she did.  Lily sang while she read, she sang while she walked, she sang while everyone else was playing outside.  Heck, Lily sang while she played outside.  She was a soccer player and a singer.  She was a swimmer and a singer.  Lily just sang.  And Lily still sings...beautifully.  It never mattered what anyone else thought about her singing...Lily sang.  And nothing ever stopped Lily from singing.

So, you may ask, what is this all about.  Well, for me, it is about seeing...watching.  It is about watching someone's desires, living prayers, take form in words and deeds.  And it is about calling attention to this spiritual phenomenon when those divine promises bear fruit.  Like that mustard seed which grows into a tree that birds can lodge in, a realized dream...anyone's realized dream...is a tree that we can lodge our own hopes in.

Watching Lily sing the 23rd Psalm, while her mom played the piano...beaming all the while at her beloved daughter... was one of the most heart-achingly beautiful moments of grace, for me. 

I don't think that Laurie has ever lost sight of her desires...no matter how they played out moment-by-moment, day-by-day. As long as Laurie was mothering, playing the piano, and involved in creating beautiful music...she was happy. 

Lily loves to sing.  And she has never cared who was listening...or if anyone was listening.  If Lily was singing...she was happy.  She lives her truth, her relationship to God, everytime she sings.

Witnessing Laurie and Lily...loving each other, playing the piano, singing a truly beautiful song they had written and arranged together...was a privilege. It was like having a front row seat on the fulfillment of a promise.  I believe that Mary Baker Eddy is encouraging us to trust in God's promises as guidance for our lives, when she writes on the first page of Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures:

"Desire is prayer, and no loss can occur from trusting God with our desires, that they may be moulded and exalted, before they take for in words and deeds."

It was clear to me the other night, that I was being given a precious gift. One that I'd had the opportunity to catch a glimpse of, almost 20 years earlier. 

Neither Laurie, nor Lily, seemed to care where they were performing. They could have just as easily been sitting alone at the piano in their living room, as they were on the stage of Ridgway Auditorium  -- in front of 200 people.  They were not living for applause, they were living their desires, their prayers, out loud...and they were just letting us get a peek at what it looks like to live your dreams...unconditionally.

And while Laurie's love for her daughters, her family, her life, quite literally poured out of her heart on stage that night...I could almost feel that same love...God's love...beckoning to each of us, asking us to embrace our own desires more trustingly. 

Only Lily could be Lily.  Only Laurie could be Laurie.  And only you, can be you.  You are an original and cannot be replaced.  If you are not living your desires...the desires that God has put into your heart... to live and to love...no one else can.  Your "niche in time and eternity" is only yours to fill, and God wants you to fill it...with your love for whatever it is...that you love.


Thanks Laurie for allowing me to witness the fulfillment of God's promise in you, and for letting me tell this story. 

Thanks Lily...you are dearly loved...


Aunt Kate


There is a link in the text, above, to Lily's beautiful performance of the 23rd Psalm, but since I don't want you to miss it, I am share it here again...I had an entire post written about the 23rd Psalm that I had expected to put with Lily's video, but Laurie and Lily's story was much more compelling. The 23rd Psalm speaks for itself. If you would like to read an earlier post about Rabbi Harold Kushner's insights on the 23rd Psalm,"It was Enough" you can click on this link.

*a new post on creativity...that refers to this one, titled "to more than I can be...".  is linked here.

"Dreams are calling...like bells in the distance..."

"...Believe in what your heart is saying
Hear the melody that's playing
There's no time to waste
There's so much to celebrate
Believe in what you feel inside
And give your dreams the wings to fly
You have everything you need
If you just believe..."

As we move towards the new year, I have been thinking about this Josh Groban song from The Polar Express, "Believe" and its message of hope and encouragement to dreamers and believers...of every age, in every place.

And today, I couldn't help but remember a conversation I had with a woman I met in South Africa last year.  Sitting under a canopy of trees outside The Wild Duck, a charming coffeehouse in a coastal village on the edge of the Indian Ocean one day, I discovered how universal our most dearly cherished hopes and dreams, actually are. 

I'd been writing in my journal, picking at a salad of sun-ripened tomatoes, fragrant, leafy basil hand-picked from the kitchen garden near the back door, and fresh mozzarella from a local farm...all drizzled with extra-virgin olive oil, syrupy, aged balsamic vinegar, and sprinkled with flaky sea salt...I was in heaven.  The African sun beating down on my shoulders was laser-like in its penetration, reaching deep beneath my skin to where it warmed my bones to the marrow, while a cool ocean breeze curled around my ankles in the shade under the table.

This was where I met Maggie.  She was also sitting alone, at a nearby table.  She asked me if I were a writer and when I answered, "yes," and introduced myself, she quickly picked up on my American accent and asked if she could join me for tea.  I was eager to learn as much as I could about my host country and urged her to move her things to my table. 

Our conversation moved easily...and briskly...from American myths and South African traditions, to our personal dreams for the future and our hopes for our families. She was a single mother of two who worked as a paralegal and was on a weekend holiday, I was...and still am...a married mother of 5 who practices spiritual healing and writes.  But when it came to our hopes and dreams, we couldn't have been more alike.  We were like  "twins daughters of different mothers".

We both longed to know that we had always (at least tried) to "do our best" in raising our children.  We both hoped that we would be "around" to see those children happily launched in their lives...professionally, personally, spiritually, and emotionally.   We each prayed/hungered for our children to be healthy, for our parents to feel honored and loved, and to see our siblings find peace.   But what was most arresting about what we held in common, were our dreams for ourselves. 

We both wanted three things...to love and be loved, to know that our lives have purpose, and to know that we are making a difference in the lives  we touch, and the world we live in.

Time seemed to stand still that afternoon. We had boiled our deepest hopes and dreams down to these three fundamental desires after only a couple of hours of talking and laughing and crying together.  And we did.  We talked and laughed, and cried...as if we were long-time best friends.  And in those hours I discovered that this was all it took to actually find the very thing we were most looking for.  And we found it by spending those hours, just listening deeply to one another's heart. 

And in that space, we each discovered that:

1.     we could love and be loved.  I felt really listened to by my new friend.  I felt her love and her care.  And in exchange, by listening to her dreams, hopes, and desires...I had loved her, just by caring about what was most important to her. 

2.     we each felt that our lives had purpose...profound purpose...that afternoon.  For me it was arrestingly clear...I was over 10,000 miles from my home, my office, my community...all that was familiar and represented years of developed connections and networks...and yet I felt alive with a genuinely focused sense of being, and an incredible awareness of my place in the world.

3.     we had each, undoubtedly, made a difference in the other's life.  I know that I felt a clear confirmation of my relationship with, and service to, something greater than myself.  And I think we both knew that we had helped the other find clarity of purpose, a thread of divinity in the sweetness of our humanity with one another, and had seen something of a release from things of time and place at a seaside table, with a stranger, on the edge of the world.

I don't think of Maggie everyday...or even every week.  But I remember our conversation, and the universal divinity I discovered in our common humanity...constantly. 

I believe in those common hopes, dreams, and desires.  I know that they are the common spiritual DNA we share as children of one Father-Mother God...regardless of age, race, gender, spiritual practice, socio-economic background, profession, nationality, hereditiy...anything.  This common hope is what I now hear in the voice of every person I speak with, see in the eyes of everyone I meet, expect in the heart of every man, woman, or child I am blessed to share even a moment of my life with.

Mary Baker Eddy, in Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, says:

"With one Father, even God, the whole family of man would be brethren; and with one Mind and that God, or good, the brotherhood of man would consist of Love and Truth, and have unity of Principle and spiritual power which constitute divine Science."

I can't think of a law, a science, or a Principle I would rather spend my every moment in the research, practice, pursuit, proof, and affirmation of.

Thank you Maggie...and each of you...
Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

[photo credit: Jon Belmont 2009]

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

"Your grace provides for me..."

"If I could have the world and all it owns
A thousand kingdoms, a thousand thrones
If all the earth were mine to hold
With wealth my only goal

I'd spend my gold on selfish things
Without the love that Your life brings
Just a little bit more is all I'd need
'Til life was torn from me

I'd rather be in the palm of Your hand
Though rich or poor I may be
Faith can see right through the circumstance
Sees the forest in spite of the trees
Your grace provides for me..."
-Alison Krauss

I've been thinking about this song quite a bit since last week.  In my Bible study was the story of Jesus' breakfast meeting with his disciples on the shore of the Gallilean Sea.  These men had experienced their master's crucifixion and had witnessed proof of his resurrection.  But let's face it, he was gone.  They no longer had a Leader whose vision would set their course.  Who would choose which dusty roads to take from village to village?  How could they continue a ministry of healing when there was no longer a great healer with them, someone who could perform the miracles.    They were more than happy to talk about the gospel message of a kingdom of heaven within, but let's face it, people were looking for those miracles.  Without his vision and leadership they might as well go back to fishing, collecting taxes, building boats.  They had to do something…right?  How else would they provide for themselves and their families?

So there they are back out on the sea toiling all night.  Casting their nets, pulling them in empty and then recasting.  Over and over again.  It's in the midst of this task...a task they know so well they can do it in their sleep...that some guy comes along and shouts at them from the shore.  He tells them they should cast their nets on the right side and then they would find.  So they do.  And they are barely able to draw the nets in for the multitude of fishes.

Now, according to the story, they still don't know that it's Jesus who made this suggestion.  But once they pull their little boat onto the shore and notice that this same guy has a fire going and fish and bread prepared for their breakfast, and is beckoning them with a "Come and dine", they know it is him. 

Okay, so I know this story pretty well.  I have read it over and over again.  But for some reason this last week it held a profound new message for me.  Perhaps it is because I know so many people who are looking for jobs, are in jobs they don't love, or feel stuck in careers that feel mechanical because they can't imagine changing course without taking a considerable cut in income – something they can not afford to do in today's climate of economic instability.  And then there are those who just have dreams that they can't even think about without feeling such deep sadness because they see no way to explore them and still provide for themselves and their families.
This is where this story reached me this last week. 

And it spoke to me in a new way.  For the first time I saw that Jesus doesn't wait for them to bring the fish they have caught to shore so that he can feed them.  Their "provision" was not dependent on their fishing.  It was as if Jesus were saying, "if you're going to return to fishing, cast your net on the right side...do it for the right reason.  Do it because you love it.  But not because you won't eat if you don't.  Here I'm going to feed you anyway.  And not only with fish, but with bread."

It was as if he was saying to them, "If you are fishing for the right reason…because you love it, because you feel a calling for that work,…you will be successful.  But if it's only because you're afraid you will starve if you don't, here let me show you that you are going to be fed no matter what.  God is going to take care of you anyway.  And since this is true…see, I am feeding you now…what is it that God, Spirit is impelling you to do in order to be about your Father's business?"

Jesus makes such a distinction in this act between the work they are doing, and their right to be fed...to be provided for.   Perhaps he feeds them not because they caught fish, but to show them that there is no connection between catching fish and being fed.  He was going to feed them anyway.  The coals were already burning, the bread was already baking, the fish were already prepared and waiting.

This story has really meant a lot to me this past week. 

Last night we were sitting with friends, after church, talking about the music industry.  Often the theme returned to how to make a living while pursuing a career in the arts.  The whole "starving artist" paradigm says that if you aren't "big"…a star, someone with a recording contract with a major label, or someone whose name attracts hordes of screaming fans…you won't make a decent living in this business, but will have to do jobs you don't love just to pay the rent.   

But that paradigm feeds off the attending belief that what you do is directly connected to how well you are able to provide for yourself and your loved ones.  What if we discovered that they are not connected?  What if God really would take care of us, provide for our needs…in ways that we can't even imagine…just because He loves us.  What if it isn't a job we should be looking for, but a new way of thinking and living?  What if what we do (as a "career") should only be determined by what we love and are divinely inspired (by Love) to do?

I had a paperweight once that said, "What would you do if you knew you could not fail?"

Just thought I'd share some questions I've been considering this week…with Love,
Kate

"Whatever you wish for, you keep..."

"A dream is a wish your heart makes
When you're fast asleep
In dreams you lose your heartaches
Whatever you wish for, you keep
Have faith in your dreams and someday
Your rainbow will come smiling thru
No matter how your heart is grieving
If you keep on believing
the dream that you wish will come true..."
- David/Hoffman/Livingston

I love it when a Disney song, like Cinderella's "A dream is a wish..." speaks to me of God's redemptive, transformative love. Here's the story that goes with this song.

It was a cool, cloudy day in Boston. It had been a very long season of heartache, and I was ready for the quietness of the soft air and less brilliant light.  I took solace in its promise. I needed time to sift through the ashes of the year, and find the gold -- lessons to glean after so many firy trials. 

That year, I'd been stripped of every dream I'd ever cherished. And yet, I was still standing, still breathing, still dreaming.  I was grateful that hope was still alive in me -- that there were desires I still cherished. The devastation hadn't destroyed my ability to dream.  And yet, some days were easier than others.

For the most part, I could navigate all that came in the wake of that year's deep disappointments -- as long as I kept my hand in God's, and my sights on the tasks at hand.  In truth, there was so much to be grateful for. And this space of gratitude became my resting place. Especially when I grew weary of the constant ache -- a longing for the joys of motherhood and family. 

The insidious disease that had lain waste to my body -- earlier that year -- was healed.  The job I'd loved -- but had given up in order to parent our son -- was mine again. And although my husband and I were finding our way through some dark days, we were finding our way. Each day brought us closer to God, if not to each other.

On this particular day, I was truly happy.  I loved my job. I was immersed in projects that stretched me professionally, made great demands on me as a spiritual thinker, and brought me immense joy.  That morning, in the midst of negotiating a contract for outside services, I realized that I needed a signature from a member of our Board of Directors. The Executive Assistant in our office was not at her desk.  But, it was a gorgeous, blustery day in Boston. So I took her absence, as an excuse to wrap myself in a sweater and scarf, and drift across the plaza for the needed signatures myself. 

I took the elevator to the ground floor, and exited the large brass doors that stood sentinel over our building. But as I rounded the steps of the large church to my left, I caught a glimpse of something that stopped me in my tracks.

There, sitting on the curbing that hemmed a rare stretch of urban lawn, was a young family.  Mom, dad, and preschool-age daughter taking time out for a midday visit.  It was easy to see that these were adoring parents. Their hearts were devoted to this precious little girl.  And the look on her face, as she smiled up at them, was something I'd long been dreaming of. 

It stopped me cold.  In one heart-wrenching moment I went from the joy of feeling purposeful and mission-filled, to heart-broken and hopeless.  Envy flooded my being.  You aren't really happy it screamed."  "You want that!"

I did. I did want what they had. I wanted a child. I wanted to be a mommy. I wanted to be a real family -- not just two people trying to make it work. 

But I was also bone-tired. I felt like I'd been through a war -- within, and without. I was battle weary and sad. This feeling of emptiness -- this gaunt want -- just couldn't continue. It had to stop.

So I plopped myself right down on the marble steps of that church, and tried to get a grip on myself.  I was so tired of that feeling.  I was so ready to be free of baby-envy.  It had been going on for too many years.  I really didn't want to want something I couldn't have.  I wanted to be happy with my lot in life.  I was tired of this feeling and I wanted it to stop. 

In my desperation I said to God, "I am not moving from these steps until you heal me of this envy.  I'm going to stare at that family until I can look at them, and not want what they have." 

And then I just sat there watching them.  I couldn't help but notice how tender this young father was with his daughter. It was impossible to not see how devoted this mom was to her young family. 

The love in the child's eyes, the trust in her reach, the joy in her laughter -- as her daddy lifted her up in his arms -- was undeniable.  I could almost feel it from across the gray pavement where I sat perched on the cold marble steps.  

They were oblivious of me -- and my envy.  While I sat there feeling so utterly helpless -- unable to banish my love that image of family and parenthood sitting squarely and heavily on my heart -- the thought came with such tenderness, "If you are able to be conscious of how wonderful and good that picture is, then it is already in your consciousness. And if it is in your consciousness, you already include it -- it is already yours."  I "got it" instantly. 

If I could appreciate something. That it was good, lovely -- and love-able -- it was already mine.  I included it.  Since, as Mary Baker Eddy says, "Consciousness constructs a better body..." The good that I was clearly conscious of, was already present within me. And it was constructing a better body of family, motherhood, life -- moment-by-moment -- in me. 

No one could take, from me, what I was conscious of. Nothing could deprive me of my right to appreciate good -- in any form.  It was mine.  Everytime I saw a young family, a happy home, a satisfied professional, a charitable colleague and appreciated that "picture," I was realizing it in my consciousness. Therefore, I already included it.  And as I appreciated (realized the value of, and was grateful for) each instance of good, that good appreciated (grew in value -- just the way money placed in an interest bearing account "appreciates") in my own life.  I could trust this law of appreciation.  I could rest my hopes upon it. 

As I unfolded myself from the cold church steps, I found that I was actually warmer than I had been in a long time.  My heart was full of appreciation for that young family -- who were now becoming a distant blur as they walked "daddy" back to his office at the far end of the plaza. 

It didn't matter whether there was a young family right in front of me, or just the memory of them that I held in my heart, I included what they represented. It was already mine and no one could take it from me. I was pregnant with the promise.

I have spent the ensuing years exercising my right to be conscious of good.  To realize that what I am conscious of, ismine. And by virtue of its presence in my thought, in already part of my experience. For me this has been the key to having all of my dreams already come true.  Everytime I appreciate seeing girlfriends laughing at a café table, I feel closer to my own friends -- even though they may be hundreds of miles away.  Everytime I see a mother and her teenage daughter shopping, I know that I include that unique mother-daughter joy -- even though my own daughter is now living half a world away. 

Whenever I am suddenly aware that a checker at the supermarket, or a customer service representative at the other end of the phone, is happy in her work -- helping others as she carries out her job -- I feel that "job satisfaction" as part of my own work.

Mary Baker Eddy, in her short volume, Unity of Good, says:

"Everything is as real as you make it, and no more so. 
What you see, hear, feel, is a mode of consciousness,
and can have no other reality than the sense
you entertain of it….All that is beautiful and good in
your individual consciousness is permanent."

Walking through life is an amazing adventure.  I now know that what I appreciate of a husband's tenderness, a child's respect, a mother's devotion, a family's security, a home's warmth, an executive's integrity -- is all of my dream's coming true -- wherever I see i. It is mine. I am conscious of it. It is part of the body of my thinking.  What a vastly wonderful world we live in. What promises there are for us as we walk out the door and commit to seeing good everywhere. And when we do, we are having our part in the wholeness of impartial and universal good.
Kate

Something Simple

"Something simple's all I ask for
Something simple's all I need
And when I find it I will surely know
Something simple shouldn't be
this hard to fall on me
Something simple's all I ask for
all I need…"
- Mary Huckins

Sometimes a song will come into my life so serendipitously that I am certain I have felt the breath of God on the back of my neck and I smile in recognition of His touch.   So it is with Mary Huckins' "Something Simple."  Recorded with her band Dakota Blonde on the 2000 release of their first CD of the same title, I hear it calling me home to a place of uncluttered stillness, a purpose defined by silence,  and an unshakeable inner peace.

The "ac" words that once defined success for me…accomplishment, accreditation, accretion, accrual, acclaim, acculturation, accumulation, acquisition, acceptance…are no longer able to push and prod me into disingenuous behavior.   There was a time, not too long ago, when "acceptance" alone…at the expense of all else… seemed more vital than living with emotional integrity and courage.   But these "howling of the hounds" words that once snapped at my heels while I ran towards a goal I never took the time to examine, are now nothing more than the impotent yipping of toothless suggestions which would have kept me running forever.   When I stopped and turned to face them head-on, they cowered in the light of what my heart really longed for….something simple.

I realized that an hour in the sun with my own thoughts was much more satisfying than a movie or even a great book.  That holding my daughters through the night while they slept…hearing them breathe and watching their eyelids flutter and fall silent as dreams washed across their slumber…was more joy than I could ever have imagined when the applause and admiration of others seemed to be a goal worth achieving.

The other night my daughter  called at 1am from South Africa (8am her time) just to say "Happy Mother's Day" at the beginning of her day.  How could she know that those few minutes of hearing her voice, still heavy with sleep, would be more precious than platinum or diamonds or gold.  Just a moment spent with  the sweet sound of her yawning, from 12,000-mile-away, was a gift from God.

"…Well I think it would be fine
just to sit awhile with you
and let the timeless hours slip right by
I don't often let them go
without trying to hang on
But something simple here
is what I long for…"

I'm learning that a walk in the park with our children on a Sunday afternoon…watching them swing as high as the clouds or kick a stone from the History Museum to the stoplight, hearing our son laugh when his sisters put an ice cube down his back or getting a call from our oldest daughter... placed in the middle of her grown-up San Francisco Sunday…would be more sweet than chocolate and add more fragrance to my life than roses.

"…In the middle of my silence
well I know there's something more
than those around me cannot lend my way
For they too are in this searching
in the silence, in the noise
In the middle of my search
for something more…" 

A beam of sunlight across our bed in the morning through the stained glass transoms, or a three-word prayer shared by a fellow healer who has answered the phone when my heart needs comfort…are more wealth than I could have ever imagined…

Sometimes when we are stripped of all the sparkly garments of accomplishment and praise...garments we once thought made us worthy of good...and we find ourselves standing naked with our true desires, we can feel the sweet breath of God on the back of our necks and we realize that it really is something simple we always wanted.

"…Something simple's all I ask for
Something simple's all I need
And when I find it I will surely know
Something simple shouldn't be
this hard to fall on me
Something simple's all I ask for
all I need..

…Breathe into me
Breath into me…please."
- Mary Huckins

with Love,
Kate