"stand up and show your soul..."

"there at the table
with my head in my hands..."

I know I have used Carrie Newcomer's beautiful, "You Can Do This Hard Thing before. But it is the only song that feels right for keynoting this guest post by Clarissa Pinkola Estes, which speaks so perfectly to the challenge of these times -- and what we are capable of.

I was sitting there at the kitchen table.  It was well before dawn on the day of Martin Luther King's birthday. I just couldn't sleep. This week would make unique demands upon us for a deep spiritual poise.  I could almost feel the heart of humanity pulsing in the quiet. I believe that many of us are wrestling with some hard questions about this moment in history.  After hours of prayer, I opened my laptop, only to discover this remarkable piece. It was the perfect answer.

I can't remember -- in more than 750 posts on this blog, stretching over 15 years -- ever re-posting someone else's piece - in its entirety. But Estes' article, "We Were Made for These Times," copied below, says it all so beautifully - and with such profound grace - that I needed to share it with those I love. I hope it edifies your hope, strengthens your resolve, and reminds you that you, too, were made for these times.

We Were Made for These Times
by Clarissa Pinkola Estes 

"My friends, do not lose heart. We were made for these times. I have heard from so many recently who are deeply and properly bewildered. They are concerned about the state of affairs in our world now. Ours is a time of almost daily astonishment and often righteous rage over the latest degradations of what matters most to civilized, visionary people.

You are right in your assessments. The lustre and hubris some have aspired to while endorsing acts so heinous against children, elders, everyday people, the poor, the unguarded, the helpless, is breathtaking. Yet, I urge you, ask you, gentle you, to please not spend your spirit dry by bewailing these difficult times. Especially do not lose hope. Most particularly because, the fact is that we were made for these times. Yes. For years, we have been learning, practicing, been in training for and just waiting to meet on this exact plain of engagement.

I grew up on the Great Lakes and recognize a seaworthy vessel when I see one. Regarding awakened souls, there have never been more able vessels in the waters than there are right now across the world. And they are fully provisioned and able to signal one another as never before in the history of humankind.

Look out over the prow; there are millions of boats of righteous souls on the waters with you. Even though your veneers may shiver from every wave in this stormy roil, I assure you that the long timbers composing your prow and rudder come from a greater forest. That long-grained lumber is known to withstand storms, to hold together, to hold its own, and to advance, regardless.

In any dark time, there is a tendency to veer toward fainting over how much is wrong or unmended in the world. Do not focus on that. There is a tendency, too, to fall into being weakened by dwelling on what is outside your reach, by what cannot yet be. Do not focus there. That is spending the wind without raising the sails.

We are needed, that is all we can know. And though we meet resistance, we more so will meet great souls who will hail us, love us and guide us, and we will know them when they appear. Didn't you say you were a believer? Didn't you say you pledged to listen to a voice greater? Didn't you ask for grace? Don't you remember that to be in grace means to submit to the voice greater?

Ours is not the task of fixing the entire world all at once, but of stretching out to mend the part of the world that is within our reach. Any small, calm thing that one soul can do to help another soul, to assist some portion of this poor suffering world, will help immensely. It is not given to us to know which acts or by whom, will cause the critical mass to tip toward an enduring good.

What is needed for dramatic change is an accumulation of acts, adding, adding to, adding more, continuing. We know that it does not take everyone on Earth to bring justice and peace, but only a small, determined group who will not give up during the first, second, or hundredth gale.

One of the most calming and powerful actions you can do to intervene in a stormy world is to stand up and show your soul. Soul on deck shines like gold in dark times. The light of the soul throws sparks, can send up flares, builds signal fires, causes proper matters to catch fire. To display the lantern of soul in shadowy times like these - to be fierce and to show mercy toward others; both are acts of immense bravery and greatest necessity.

Struggling souls catch light from other souls who are fully lit and willing to show it. If you would help to calm the tumult, this is one of the strongest things you can do.There will always be times when you feel discouraged. I too have felt despair many times in my life, but I do not keep a chair for it. I will not entertain it. It is not allowed to eat from my plate.

The reason is this: In my uttermost bones I know something, as do you. It is that there can be no despair when you remember why you came to Earth, who you serve, and who sent you here. The good words we say and the good deeds we do are not ours. They are the words and deeds of the One who brought us here. In that spirit, I hope you will write this on your wall: When a great ship is in harbor and moored, it is safe, there can be no doubt. But that is not what great ships are built for."

I am so grateful to Clarissa Pinkola Estes -- author of Women Who Run with Wolves -- for sharing her heart, her wisdom, and her compassion with us through this piece. I will let it seep into my heart and refresh my holy purpose.  We can do this hard thing, because we were made for these times.

offered with Love,

Kate

"at seventeen..."

"And those of us
with average faces,
lacking in the social graces;
desperately remained at home..."

My friend, Kathy, posted this gorgeous photo of a single peony [credit: Lynn Price] and it immediately took me back to being seventeen, and Janis Ian's 1970's anthem   "At Seventeen."  I would sing it to myself and hold back the tears.  At seventeen, I was very short, socially awkward, lonely, and desperate for friendship.

Our family of ten - two parents and eight children - lived in a 1,000 square foot carriage house on a large rural estate. The closest village was about two miles away and housed about 100 families at the most. I didn't make friends easily. That was my younger sister's job. I rode the school bus. Worked hard in school. Came home and did chores and homework. Baby sat my siblings, went to Sunday School, served on our Adventure Unlimited Teen Council board, and helped out at a horse farm across the street. That was my life.

If I didn't meet you on the school bus, it was unlikely you would have noticed me in the halls. I spent my lunch hours in the library -- is there any more frightening place for a "new girl" than the cafeteria, or in a gym class lineup, waiting to be chosen for a team sport.  I kept my head down and my back straight. It was unlikely that I would have had any friends at all, if it hadn't been for my popular younger sister.

Then one day, while sitting on the bus waiting for everyone who always arrived late -- as they boarded laughing and chatting with their friends -- a senior from our little town came up and sat down next to me. Her name was Patricia White. She was popular and pretty. She asked me questions about myself until we reached her stop. When she got off the bus, she said, "Save me a seat tomorrow." I was stunned. That one conversation changed everything for me.

No, it didn't' suddenly make me more confident or popular, but it no longer mattered quite as much - I had a friend. At first, when we saw each other in the halls at school, I'd look away.  I was certain that she was only being nice to me on the bus - pitying the new girl. But each time, she would call out my name and make eye contact. It meant the world to me.

Soon it was time for her prom and graduation. I was so grateful for the kindness she had shown me that year. It had lifted me out of a despair so deep I don't know if I'd have been able to sustain my fragile normalcy for long without her.

I wanted to say "thank you" to her, but I just didn't know if I had the right words - or if they would really mean anything to such a well-liked and popular girl.

Then one morning, while walking to the school bus, my hand trailed along the hedge row of peony bushes, in bloom, that lined our flagstone walkway. The fragrance was so lovely. It reminded me of Patty and the soft blush of her cheeks when she was happy, or as she climbed the steps of the school bus in the afternoon -- excited to share an anecdote from her day.

The night before graduation I went into the garden and cut a beautiful fist-sized peony blossom that was only beginning to unfurl. I took it into the kitchen and wrapped the stem in a wet paper towel and then tin-foil. I tried to make it as professional looking as I could. Then I found a hair ribbon and wrapped that around the tin-foil and tied a simple bow.

I walked the mile and a half to her house and presented her with my "corsage" for her graduation. I didn't say very much. Words just didn't come. But she knew. The next day after the graduation ceremony, Patty was wearing the large, floppy corsage I had given her. It looked heavy, and pulled at the fabric of her dress. But she wore it anyway.

I knew that my homemade corsage was awkward -- like me. But she loved it. And it made me feel beautiful to know that she cared more about our friendship than the drape of her dress. She had made seventeen feel like a prelude to something wondrous and beautiful -- rather than just another year of being the new girl.

There is not much more to this story. Patty passed away soon after graduation in a tragic accident. I learned at her memorial service that from the time she was a girl, she had made others feel just as loved, seen, and heard as she had made me feel that year. I have never forgotten how one person can turn the tide of things, from social hell to a little piece of heaven on earth. The scent of peonies will always remind me of her kindness.




offered with Love,

Kate

Here is a lovely video of Janis Ian talking about her song   "At Seventeen."  decades later.

"don't cry out loud..."

"don't cry out loud,
just keep it inside,
and learn how to
hide your feelings.."

Sadness is not an emotion that I wrestle with very often, but when it hits, I can hear Melissa Manchester's  "Don't Cry Out Loud"  playing in my head. A 1978 classic, it was my soundtrack during many battles with hopelessness and depression. I can think of very few songs that elicit such a feeling of complete sorrow for me.

I used to think that sadness was circumstantial. When, in my late teens and early twenties, my life was falling apart -- I thought my circumstances warranted feelings of hopelessness and depression. It was all so personal.

But of late, I have realized that sadness is an impersonal invitation. A suggestion. It comes to most of us as a wave of feeling. We begin to search for a reason for that feeling. A memory from the past or a near-time incident steps into the void and is more than willing to take credit for the feeling. It sinks its hook, and pulls us under.

That happened to me very recently. I woke with a feeling of gray sorrow. It was like all the edges of a bright blue sky, or the sound of laughter, were faded and mournful. I couldn't seem to shake off a feeling of heavy dread. I prayed, and my prayers were clear and confident, but if I turned too quickly -- the gray was hovering in the periphery.

I found myself looking for a cause. Was it a conversation I'd had with a loved one? A looming decision? Some unexpected expenses? A regret from the past? The deeper I dug for a reason, the darker the pit became.

I knew that I needed to turn around and follow the light, but now I was tired. Couldn't I just rest here in the tunnel for a while? Close my eyes, and pray? That would help, wouldn't it? I knew I had been in this very cave before. Too many times in fact. And I knew that resting in the darkness would only lead to a sleepy sense of self-pity.

Then I remembered two simple lines from the Bible, and Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures by Mary Baker Eddy:

"The light of ever-present Love
illumines the universe."

"O send out Thy light
and Thy truth,
let them lead me;
for the Lord my God
will enlighten my darkness..."

I knew that the name for God as "Lord," is directly translated to "Love," in Science and Health.   Rather than curling up in self-despair, I needed to turn around in that pit and start climbing towards the light. And that light, was Love. I might not be able to fix the problems, or improve my circumstances, but I could love. I could find someone, and be kind. I could pray a prayer of appreciation and blessing for someone. I could behold [see, and call attention to] the good in something -- anything.

Sadness, sorrow, depression are not personal. They are like wandering ghosts without a home. They have no entity, no substance -- that is why they invite themselves into the space of our consciousness. Then they dig around in our mental drawers and photo albums looking for a reason for it to make sense that they are there. They invite us to sit in a darkened room and ruminate over faded images and crumpled moments.

For just a moment, imagine yourself jumping up from that dusty old chintz covered sofa and throwing open the curtains. Grabbing the photo album and putting it back where it belongs and telling those insidiously dark thoughts to: "please leave -- now." Then grabbing your jacket, locking the door behind, you and walking out into the sunshine -- and a thousand opportunities to be kind, share a smile, do something good for someone else.

I know it sounds simplistic. But, perhaps it is simple. Saying "no" when the first wave of sadness crashes over us. Digging our toes into the sand and finding bedrock in our right to love. To live outside the pit of self.

I only know, that the longer I stay curled in the pit with my eyes closed, the deeper it pulls me into its darkness. But the sooner I find someone to love, and care for -- the happier I feel.

offered with Love,

Kate

"it moves us all..."

"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 Circle of Life"

I originally wrote this post in 2007 -- about an experience our family had it 2000. But the current economic climate of wage disparity and income inequality had brought it back into focus for me. When the chasm between wealth and poverty becomes so wide that we cease to see the humanity of the "other" - because we are looking at it from such a great distance - we have lost spiritual perspective. This experience -- which happened almost 18 years ago -- was a wakeup call for me then, and it continues to inform my sense of where we all fit -- in the body of humankind. 

At the time of this experience, we were living on a very modest budget while renovating a large home we had purchased in a "fire sale," And although our neighborhood was somewhat affluent, what may have looked like expendable toys to someone who thought we could easily replace them, were actually carefully budgeted purchases.

When we expect those who live on the edge of poverty to be willing to be away from their own families on Christmas Day, so that we can have our cup of designer coffee, we have lost our way as neighbors. When the poor cease to see that the tricycles in the driveway of a large house are the toys of children -- the distance between us has become too great.  This moral chasm is dehumanizing.  And when we dehumanize one another, we can justify decisions that are cruel and inhumane.  We must close the gap. I believe that The Golden Rule -- doing unto others as we would have them do unto us -- is our only hope. Not just doing unto those who are like us, as we would have them do unto us. But all others. Here is our story:

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 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 urgent need for finding appropriate gross motor activities for two little monkeys who never stopped moving, quickly shifted the purchase from want to necessity. 

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, one child's needs supersede another's, and everyone has to cooperate with a plan that might not fulfill their hopes for the day's schedule.  This particular day, our older daughter's itinerary had to come first.  We were in the throes of pre-Nutcracker rehearsals and, cast as Clara, she was in the studio rehearsing, more than she was eating and sleeping -- combined.

Piled into the Jeep that morning we were accompanied by the echoing strains of "I want to ride my bike, I want to ride my bike" -- in stereo.  I 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 before we left.  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 on the premises.  The girls' creative babysitter quickly turned the girls' attention towards a messy, and  therefore thrilling, art project while I assessed the situation.

The trikes were gone.  Period.

I was devastated.  We had stretched our budget to the limits that month 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.  It was 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 of frustration, the question kept coming to me, "Who steals tricycles from the driveway of a home?"

My prayers for inner peace finally overcame the angry tears.  I sat still, poised, waiting  for inspiration that would help me 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 then the question came again, "Who steals tricycles?" I actually listened and engaged.   Within a moment or two, my heart broke open -- wide with mercy. 

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

That was when I remembered hearing a Sunday morning pundit, speaking about neighbor-on-neighbor urban violence. He said, "Desperate measures are nothing but a measure of someone's desperation."

Anyone whose experience has 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 children or grandchildren, siblings, nieces, and nephews they were caring for.

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 -- a place where someone was feeling so desperate that they would steal toddler-sized tricycles?" 

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

Because our holiday plans that year were being driven by our daughter's ballet rehearsals in The Nutcracker, it was a natural first step for me to think about how we could roll out that years' performances to a larger audience.  Perhaps there were those in our community who might not have the means to purchase tickets.  And although my husband and I were not poised to write a check for a block of tickets,  I knew we could draw on an abundance of practical spiritual ideas.  What we did have was a community of dance parents who shared our desire for social advocacy and a fathomless love for the arts.  These were the things we had all chosen to invest in for our own children's future.  Why couldn't we share our abundant love for the arts with other children?

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 in the kitchen with Julia and their messy art project, I headed to my "office" at the local Border's bookstore café near our home.  Since I was often there for appointments with clients, 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, approached.  She'd noticed me staring into the middles distance somewhere between where I sat and the snow-covered mountains looming in the west, and playfully asked 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 holiday season 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 me, a "once upon a time" very poor little girl, it was as if I had been given the greatest gift imaginable -- 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.  I realized that I had 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.  I saw 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, we can either feel angry, hopeless, vulnerable and frustrated ourselves, or we can look for ways to bridge the chasm between desperation and innocence, 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, in the promises of presidential hopefuls, or 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

"we were made for these times..."

"there at the table
with my head in my hands..."

I know I have used Carrie Newcomer's beautiful, "You Can Do This Hard Thing before. But it is the only song that feels right for keynoting this guest post by Clarissa Pinkola Estes, which speaks so perfectly to the challenge of these times -- and what we are capable of.

I am sitting here at the kitchen table.  It is well before dawn on the day of Martin Luther King's birthday. I just couldn't sleep. This week will make unique demands upon us for a deep spiritual poise.  I could almost feel the heart of humanity pulsing in the quiet. I believe that many of us are wrestling with some hard questions about this moment in history.  After hours of prayer, I opened my laptop, only to discover this remarkable piece. It was the perfect answer.

I can't remember -- in more than 700 posts on this blog, stretching over 12 years -- ever re-posting someone else's piece in its entirety. But Estes' article, "We Were Made for These Times," copied below, says it all so beautifully - and with such profound grace - that I needed to share it with those I love. I hope it edifies your hope, strengthens your resolve, and reminds you that you, too, were made for these times.

We Were Made for These Times
by Clarissa Pinkola Estes 

"My friends, do not lose heart. We were made for these times. I have heard from so many recently who are deeply and properly bewildered. They are concerned about the state of affairs in our world now. Ours is a time of almost daily astonishment and often righteous rage over the latest degradations of what matters most to civilized, visionary people.

You are right in your assessments. The lustre and hubris some have aspired to while endorsing acts so heinous against children, elders, everyday people, the poor, the unguarded, the helpless, is breathtaking. Yet, I urge you, ask you, gentle you, to please not spend your spirit dry by bewailing these difficult times. Especially do not lose hope. Most particularly because, the fact is that we were made for these times. Yes. For years, we have been learning, practicing, been in training for and just waiting to meet on this exact plain of engagement.

I grew up on the Great Lakes and recognize a seaworthy vessel when I see one. Regarding awakened souls, there have never been more able vessels in the waters than there are right now across the world. And they are fully provisioned and able to signal one another as never before in the history of humankind.

Look out over the prow; there are millions of boats of righteous souls on the waters with you. Even though your veneers may shiver from every wave in this stormy roil, I assure you that the long timbers composing your prow and rudder come from a greater forest. That long-grained lumber is known to withstand storms, to hold together, to hold its own, and to advance, regardless.

In any dark time, there is a tendency to veer toward fainting over how much is wrong or unmended in the world. Do not focus on that. There is a tendency, too, to fall into being weakened by dwelling on what is outside your reach, by what cannot yet be. Do not focus there. That is spending the wind without raising the sails.

We are needed, that is all we can know. And though we meet resistance, we more so will meet great souls who will hail us, love us and guide us, and we will know them when they appear. Didn't you say you were a believer? Didn't you say you pledged to listen to a voice greater? Didn't you ask for grace? Don't you remember that to be in grace means to submit to the voice greater?

Ours is not the task of fixing the entire world all at once, but of stretching out to mend the part of the world that is within our reach. Any small, calm thing that one soul can do to help another soul, to assist some portion of this poor suffering world, will help immensely. It is not given to us to know which acts or by whom, will cause the critical mass to tip toward an enduring good.

What is needed for dramatic change is an accumulation of acts, adding, adding to, adding more, continuing. We know that it does not take everyone on Earth to bring justice and peace, but only a small, determined group who will not give up during the first, second, or hundredth gale.

One of the most calming and powerful actions you can do to intervene in a stormy world is to stand up and show your soul. Soul on deck shines like gold in dark times. The light of the soul throws sparks, can send up flares, builds signal fires, causes proper matters to catch fire. To display the lantern of soul in shadowy times like these - to be fierce and to show mercy toward others; both are acts of immense bravery and greatest necessity.

Struggling souls catch light from other souls who are fully lit and willing to show it. If you would help to calm the tumult, this is one of the strongest things you can do.There will always be times when you feel discouraged. I too have felt despair many times in my life, but I do not keep a chair for it. I will not entertain it. It is not allowed to eat from my plate.

The reason is this: In my uttermost bones I know something, as do you. It is that there can be no despair when you remember why you came to Earth, who you serve, and who sent you here. The good words we say and the good deeds we do are not ours. They are the words and deeds of the One who brought us here. In that spirit, I hope you will write this on your wall: When a great ship is in harbor and moored, it is safe, there can be no doubt. But that is not what great ships are built for."

I am so grateful to Clarissa Pinkola Estes -- author of Women Who Run with Wolves -- for sharing her heart, her wisdom, and her compassion with us through this piece. I will let it seep into my heart and refresh my holy purpose.  We can do this hard thing, because we were made for these times.

offered with Love,

Kate

"with kindness drawn…"

"You are more
than the choice that you've made, 
you are more than the sum 
of your past mistakes, 
you are more than the problems 
you create..."

This post is my prayer in keystrokes.

As I lay there in the early morning darkness, it was Tenth Avenue North's "You Are More," that comforted my aching heart.

I'd spent the whole evening "raging against the dying of the light." As state-after-state on the electoral map turned red, I felt like I was going into shock -- heavy tears fell on my now-wrinkled pantsuit, my hands shook.  I found myself hoping that I'd somehow fallen asleep and was trapped in a nightmare I'd soon wake from.

Yet, long after the man I swore to my daughters would never be their country's leader, was crowned President-elect, I was still weeping. Falling to my knees in the dark, I prayed for grace. I prayed for wisdom about how to help my daughters feel safe and hopeful about the future of the country they lived in. I prayed for a glimmer of light -- something to call me forward out of the pit of despair I was feeling.

The only thing that brought peace was trying to help others.  I listened, posted, answered texts and emails, and sought inspiration in Scripture and the wisdom of the wise.  

When I finally took my broken and tired heart to bed, the light was just breaking over Sleeping Indian. And as I lay there trying to quiet the demons that were trotting out every ugly word he'd said on the campaign trail, and every terrifying article I'd read touting his inexperience and lack of readiness, I thought I would be ill.

This was the man who considered it acceptable to sexually assault women, mock the disabled, displace refugee families, demean heroes, and deport our immigrant neighbors and friends. How could he possibly be the Commander-in-Chief of our military, the face of our nation, the heartbeat of our body collective.

That was when God broke through with a brief reminder: "with loving kindness have a drawn him," and asked me this one question? "Is this about what you think he is (or isn't) bringing to this office -- his qualifications, human history, tweets, mistakes, temperament, irrational behavior?  Or is this about what I am able -- through the appointment of him to this office as President -- to draw out from the infinite well of spiritual resources that exist in him as my image and likeness?"

I knew immediately what God was asking of me. How often had I been hired to do something that I knew I wasn't the candidate most humanly qualified or experienced for? More times than I can say. But it has always been this one Truth -  that the kingdom of God is within me - that has given me the courage and humility to accept those jobs, appointments, projects, and tasks without fear of failure and humiliation. 

 I have trusted that I am not bringing a limited (or even humanly grand) set of skills to a particular office, but that the office itself is drawing something new from within me.  Each opportunity is the pump by which God is going to draw from the infinite well of His goodness.  From which something fresh and new, that I need discover about myself as the infinite image and likeness of His infinite individuality, will pour forth.

I love a definition of the word "image" that was shared with me by a physicist and photographer friend: "Pixel for pixel, an image reflects the original. Not one pixel less, not one pixel more." Immediately I could begin to accept that even our president-elect -- a man who seemed so terribly flawed to me only moments before -- had within him the full measure of God's All-in-allness.  He was fully capable of discovering a fathomless well of goodness, intelligence, compassion, humanity, honesty, affection, faith, meekness, temperance, hope, discipline and grace within himself.

This office of president-elect is God's way of priming that pump.   There is a measureless well goodness waiting to be plumbed in him.  I could expect to see this even in this man who, to me, had been a most flawed candidate. Just like turning a spigot to draw a bath, Love was drawing out the best in all of us -- individually and collectively.

I can't help but think of King David, the beloved Psalmist, who was also a flawed character. And yet, God uses him, and his path as a leader,  to show us the value of mercy, the power of humility, the design of Love -- which is to reform and to heal.

Or what about dear devoted -- but confused and conflicted -- Peter. So willing, but so ambitious.  This disciple was distracted for so long by the success of others, vacillating in his allegiance, scolded for his competitiveness, and yet he becomes one of the most prolific early Christian healers.

Or me... 

We are all, as Tenth Avenue North sings, more than the sum of our past mistakes.  We are constantly being remade, renewed, reformed in the likeness of the original -- divine Love.

So today, I am going to stand on my spiritual tiptoes, eager to see what God -- through the offices of president-elect, citizen,  conceding nominee -- will drawn from that deep well of impartial and universal good within each of us. What am I willing to bear witness to? Will I celebrate the first sputterings of grace, applaud the humility which necessarily flow from the demands of leadership. Am I be willing to let something new rise from within me as I accept my office as citizen under the leadership of this new president.

Mary Baker Eddy assures us in Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures:

"Our disappointments
and ceaseless woes,
turn us like tired children
to the arms of divine Love,
then we begin to learn Life
in divine Science."

I was very disappointed.  I felt like we could be facing a ceaseless series of personal and societal, local and global woes. But here's the deal. I want to learn Life in divine Science. I want to learn more about Life as Love. So if this is the beginning -- count me in.

This afternoon, my post-election prayer is a simple one -- one I pray daily:

"Thy kingdom come,
let the reign of divine
Truth, Life, and Love
be established in me,
and rule out of me all sin,
and may Thy Word
enrich the affections
of all mankind
and govern them." 

This Daily Prayer by Mary Baker Eddy brings me great peace. I know that I can no longer afford the luxury of continuing to see anyone as separated from God's allness (the claim of sin) and that I must trust that His Word is enriching our president-elect's affections for good -- and governing them. The government is upon His shoulders, not his. He will reign with loving kindness and with mercy -- I trust Him.

offered with Love,

Kate