"love has no pride..."

"Love has no pride,
when there's no one left to blame.
And I'd give anything
just to see you again..."

My friend George posted this video of Bonnie Raitt singing her hauntingly beautiful  "Love Has No Pride"  with David Crosby and Graham Nash at the 25th Anniversary of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Concert in 2009. It took me apart. I am still sniffling.

This will be one of those posts that you will only find if you are looking beyond what is right at the top of this blog. I do that when I need to say something, but don't really know how I feel about it being read. I will write another post right on the heels of this one and post it quickly. Most people will not scroll further.

Here is what I need to say. I have loved three men in my life.  They were men I hoped I would love for the rest of my life. And I will. I will not be married to them -- but I will love them.  

The reasons that those relationships were not my "last great love" is not important, other than to say I was not an easy person to love or live with. I was afraid of being rejected and abandoned -- every day. And without intending to, I made sure that I'd have a reason for that rejection when the time came. Jeff will tell you that it has taken much spiritual self-examination to realize this -- and to heal it.

What happens -- at least for me - is, that when I see through the tangle of my own emotional forest, I get clearer views of what was always true, at the very heart of things. And what is true about each of these men is that they are deeply good. They are kind, honest, beautiful men of integrity. I was blessed in each case.

Have I ever told them that. No. At least not the first two. Why? Because I am afraid. Yup. I am afraid that I will be thought ridiculous. I am afraid that they will think, "a little too late." I am afraid that I will be rejected and dismissed. It is all about pride.

I have a bigger fear though. That bigger fear is that one of us will leave this chapter of our eternal lives without my having said what is in my heart. I am not "in love" with either of my earlier loves, but I do love them. I love them for the kindness they showed a fragile, skittish woman-child who tried so hard to seem confident, smart, and whole. I love them for the patience they showed each time I reached the fight-or-flight stage of my anxiety. I love them for believing in me when I didn't believe in myself. I love them for loving themselves enough to move on -- into relationships and marriages that were so much better for them. And I just love them for being the men I love.

I don't expect either of them to read this or to understand how I could love them so much, and not be able to say what is in my heart. I don't understand it either.

When my grandfather was very ill and it was likely that he would pass away in a hospital -- far from where he'd become a man, married my grandmother, and raised their children -- it was my grandmother who he'd divorced decades earlier, that he asked to see. His current wife was by his bedside, but he asked to see my grandmother. She refused. He passed without that reconciliation. That story always broke my heart.

Years late when my grandmother was facing serious memory-related issues I spent time with her in prayer. One day we were sitting in her room, at the care facility where she was living, and I asked her about my grandfather. She was silent for the longest time before she began to weep. She wept the tears of the broken-hearted. I sat quietly by her side.

After some time, I asked her again to tell me about my grandfather and their young marriage. She smiled the smile of a girl, and began to tell me about falling in love, courtship, the early days of becoming a family with the three small children they raised in a lovely neighborhood.

As far as I know, my grandmother did not have any memory-related episodes again after that conversation. She would soon leave the care facility and spend time with all three of her children and their families before her peaceful passing. Her heart was lighter, her laughter was sweeter, her peace was deeper.

I take great comfort in something Paul says in his epistle to the Romans:

"Who shall separate us from the love of Christ?
Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution,
or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?

Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors
through him that loved us. For I am persuaded,
that neither death, nor life, nor angels,
nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present,
nor things to come, Nor height, nor depth,
nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us
from the love of God..."

Love doesn't weaken us. Love empowers us. Love has no pride. It is not afraid of looking ridiculous. It is not afraid of failing. It is not afraid of being rejected. I pray that I can more fully realize this love in myself.

I know that nothing can keep me from loving the people I love -- whether they feel the same about me, or not. Perhaps someday I will have the courage to tell them how much they have meant to me -- even after we were no longer together. If I do, I will tell them how much I love them -- and their new families. I will tell them how grateful I am for their wives, who love them in ways I seemed incapable of loving when I was a younger woman.

Until then, I will pray for their happiness, I will see them through the purest eyes, I will delight in their accomplishments and weep with their sorrows. And mostly, I will be grateful that I have known great men who have helped me grow into this woman who is learning what it means that Love has no pride. Thank you.


offered with Love,

Kate

"God gave me you…"

"God gave you
for the ups and downs.
God gave you
for the days of doubt.

For when I think
I've lost my way,
there are no words
here left to say,

It's true,
God gave me you..."

It's been wonderful living on the periphery -- witnessing, from a gentle distance -- a blessed wedding that will take place this weekend. Seeing dear friends gather to celebrate a couple's love for one another and their hope for the future -- well, I can't imagine a more beautiful view.

Thinking about marriage, and what it takes to open the door of our hearts and our lives so completely to another human being, takes my breath away. There is something so sacred about this holy space that Love carves out in us. And today, it's Blake Shelton's "God Gave Me You." that speaks to what I believe about marriage -- with all my being.

It's no secret that I've been divorced and remarried. And I've discovered that, generally, people think that I must have considered my earlier marriage a "mistake."

But that's not true. Not at all true. I believe that every marriage -- every relationship -- is blessed, sacred, and holy. I was deeply blessed by my earlier marriage. However I've come to learn that for me -- and I can only speak for myself -- relationships evolve.  They don't end. My children's dad and I -- with our current spouses -- are devoted parenting partners. I continue to be blessed by what we are learning together. It's just that now, we have expanded that circle to include more love.

I am learning that we never really end any relationship. We continue to think about the people who have been in our lives. And that act of "thinking about" them is always in done the present. We don't actually think in the past. So, how we think of them - in any given "present" moment is our truth. And how we treat them -- in our thoughts, even as memory -- is all that matters.

This is what defines us -- our capacity to love without the permission of roles or reasons. We just continue to love -- honestly, appropriately, trustingly. It doesn't end, it just changes, or evolves.

I won't lie. To believe that my former spouse and I had once made a mistake -- and that we had now corrected it by "moving on," would romantically tie up all my loose ends up in a neat little bow. I could say, "whew, I got it wrong, and then, I got it right. Thank you God. Now I can be happy."

But that would put happiness on a personal, rather than a spiritual, basis. And it would also mean that at some point we had been separated from God's guidance, care, direction, and wisdom. It would mean that at some juncture, our omnipotent God either ceased to have all power in our lives, or He did have all-power, but He really didn't love us all that much. Otherwise, wouldn't He/She have intervened on our behalf and saved us from our mistakes?

Nope, I can't afford the luxury of that thinking. It would send a fissure through every holy place in my heart, shattering my trust in an omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent God who is impartial and universal Love.

The alternative is so much better.:

"God gave me you..."  

And not just the "you" I married, but all the yous in my life. Family members, neighbors, friends, fellow parents at school -- everyone.

Every person in my life, for whatever reason, is God-appointed, God-annointed, and God-sent as a blessing. Or as Blake sings, we are all part of "a divine conspiracy" designed for our spiritual awakening.

As I learn to let love unfold itself in my heart, within the context of each relationship I am learning something new about my capacity to reflect the divine Source of that love. I discover that "Love is reflected in love" -- unconditional love, impartial love -- in me, through me, as me. No exceptions.

But, I haven't always seen it this way. In fact, there was a time when I thought I had the privilege of choosing whether to love, how to love, and when to love the people in my life. I doled love out like a commodity -- and hoped it would return in kind. When it didn't, I judged the relationship as either good, or "not so good," and adjusted my affection, and expectations, accordingly.

But this never worked. I was always on the edge, waiting for something to improve -- or to end. If someone hurt me, I had the right to expect an apology. If I hurt someone else, I deserved to feel regret, sorrow, and hope for their forgiveness.

It was all in our hands. We determined the success or failure of our relationships. And God help us, if we were doomed from the outset by a poor initial choice.

Then one day I actually realized that I was dishonoring God with this thinking. It was unholy. It left God out of His own creation.

So, you may ask, if this is the case, how could I possibly allow myself to even entertain the concept of "divorce." To be honest, I never did. I was completely intractable when it came to my commitment of "making it work."

But then one day, there was an inbreaking of the heart -- and from that space of surrender, grace began to flow. Where once, I was rigid about what a "spiritual outcome" had to look like, there was a new gentleness and humility.

Something shifted, and I felt led towards a kinder version of myself. I was willing to let God unfold a more authentic relationship with my former spouse. An honest relationship that was/is filled with fresh hope and a more radical trust in God's plan for each of us -- individually and collectively. A relationship based on God's love for him, for our children, and yes, for me.

The other day, as I was thinking about marriage, and the beauty of weddings -- first weddings, second weddings -- and in some cases third or fourth marriages. And I was reminded of Mary Baker Eddy's wedding blessing from Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures:

"May Christ, Truth,
be present at every bridal altar
to turn the water into wine
and to give to human life
an inspiration by which
man's spiritual and
eternal existence may be discerned."  

Every bridal altar. What promise!

Eddy, herself, was a new bride -- three times. And I pray with all my heart that she felt beautiful, pure, hopeful, filled with promise -- each time. I pray that we all do.

Whether the "new" relationship in your life is the birth of a child, the resurrection of a once-stale friendship, a business partnership that excites you, or a first, second, or third walk down the aisle -- may it feel like a miracle. For in each case, it is.  It is a divine gift. A gift of grace.

I know -- because God gave me you. Each of you.

"There are no greater miracles known to earth
than perfection
and an unbroken friendship."  

with great hope, and always with Love,

Kate

"i never made promises lightly…"

"I never made promises lightly,
there have been some that I've broken,
but I swear in the days still left,
we'll walk in fields of gold…"

If you want to see me weep at the first strains of a vocal performance, just play Eva Cassidy's recording of "Fields of Gold." It gets me every time.

It's full of heartbreak, pathos, and promise. There are times when I've felt these emotions so viscerally, that my knees buckle.

It happened a year ago last autumn. I was driving through the lush evening light of our mountain valley. I had Eva's recording playing while the sun dipped below the ragged crest of Mt. Princeton. The meadow to the south of the Link School road was cast in gold, and I felt a sob explode from somewhere deep in my heart.

The golden light, the song, the setting -- a perfect emotional storm. Joy, sorrow, memories, regret. I couldn't sort one out from another.

I was headed up the mountain to sit in on one of our daughters' classes, Explorations in Spiritual Literature, at the expeditionary school they attend here in the valley. I knew I had to put my emotional breakdown on hold, and pull it together, or the girls would notice.

I arrived just in time for the start of the class. I was still wrestling with my emotions when the teacher opened a discussion on  the spiritual message in Jesus' parable of the tares and the wheat (Matthew 13: 24 - 30):

"Another parable put he forth unto them, saying, The kingdom of heaven is likened unto a man which sowed good seed in his field: But while men slept, his enemy came and sowed tares among the wheat, and went his way.

But when the blade was sprung up, and brought forth fruit, then appeared the tares also.

So the servants of the householder came and said unto him, Sir, didst not thou sow good seed in thy field? from whence then hath it tares? He said unto them, An enemy hath done this.

The servants said unto him, Wilt thou then that we go and gather them up? But he said, Nay; lest while ye gather up the tares, ye root up also the wheat with them.

Let both grow together until the harvest: and in the time of harvest I will say to the reapers, Gather ye together first the tares, and bind them in bundles to burn them: but gather the wheat into my barn."  

I love this parable, so he had my full attention. I've spent many hours over the years exploring its spiritual relevance to my own life experience.

I have to admit that I was tempted to just jump right in, and share my insights -- but I was a guest. Thank goodness! It made me listen more attentively.  But, I have to admit, that I sat there wondering if someone would share what had become so inspiring to me:  that the kingdom of heaven is likened unto the man -- not the field, or the seed? Was anyone going to have seen that the man doesn't accuse his servants -- or anyone in his household -- but immediately knows that "an enemy" must have done this?

Wasn't someone going to share that the roots of the tares would have helped to stabilize the roots of the wheat -- so that there was less crop loss from erosion during a heavy rainfall?

But because I couldn't share -- I listened. And I was blessed. The teacher, Bobby Lewis, shared an insight that took my breath away. He said that perhaps the householder knew that when fully grown, the tares would be more easily discernible from the wheat. And that once separated and gathered into bundles, the dry, brittle tares would be very useful as kindling for starting fires.

Wow!

They weren't being burned, just to destroy them because they were of no value.  They were being gathered into bundles so that they could be used to start fires. Fires that would keep them warm on cool desert nights. Fires for cooking meals. Fires for light, and protection from predators that might come too close to their sleeping circles at night during the harvest.

Everything had usefulness. And wasn't this the exact message I needed at that moment. I'd been so confused on my drive up the mountain. All my wonderful, holy, beautiful memories -- of a relationship set in that golden valley -- seemed intertwined with the sorrow of it not having been realized as the forever relationship in my life. Regret was mixed with joy, inspiration twisted up with the surrender of a long-cherished dream.

But this insight about the tares and the wheat gave me a sense of wholeness about my life's path -- one that I'd deeply longed for.

Nothing had been lost. It had all been purposeful. I'd learned lessons -- ones that I may not have sought out any other way. I'd discovered things about my relationship with God that will endure far beyond any particular chapter in my life. Those years were vital to strengthening the roots of my spiritual trust in the unseen power of Love - a love that defies personal sense.

And those promises that were never lightly made -- and yet, had been broken -- brought me to my knees.  I'd humbly discovered that personal self-certainty is not the same thing as spiritual self-surrender.  My self-certainty had had very little to do with "Thy will be done," and more to do with "well, I can tell you that I will never…"

Out of those experiences came a sweeter heart, less judgment of others, and a deeper trust in God's ability to override a prideful sense of right, for growth in humility. In truth, I didn't really need a sense of myself as someone who always got it right. What I really needed was to harvest in myself, a greater compassion for others, less self-righteousness, and more grace.

I left that class a different person.  I'd been ransomed, healed, restored, forgiven -- by this deeper sense of my life's path.  I was walking in fields of gold, where even my tares were useful, valued, and served a holy purpose. Those golden days had never included something useless and thoroughly regrettable.  But they had given me something warm, nourishing, and enlightening to share -- a kinder heart.

A new light was shed on a much loved paragraph from page 521 of Mary Baker Eddy's Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures:

"All that is made is the work of God, and all is good.

We leave this brief, glorious history of spiritual creation (as stated in the first chapter of Genesis) in the hands of God, not of man, in the keeping of Spirit, not matter, joyfully acknowledging now and forever God’s supremacy, omnipotence, and omnipresence.

"The harmony and immortality of man are intact.

We should look away from the opposite supposition that man is created materially, and turn our gaze to the spiritual record of creation, to that which should be engraved on the understanding and heart “with the point of a diamond”
and the pen of an angel."  

It wasn't about sorting my life into good and bad choices or decisions -- but redeeming every moment, by seeing God's presence, power, and purpose in it.

I am so grateful I was led to truly listen that night. I was given the gift of redemption. My trip back down the Link School road was beneath a bowl of stars set in midnight velvet. And yet, in my heart I was still seeing fields of gold (here is "Sting's version.)

thanks Bobby --


shared with Love,

Kate

"a golden second marriage…"

"I want a moment of silence,
and a moment of prayer,
for the love we'll need to make it
in the world out there..."

I know that I have used Don Henley's, "For My Wedding," before to illustrate a sentiment. But today, it leapt into my heart as a song of gratitude.

You see, my dear friend Barbye posted a status update on Facebook that read: "On my way to help my dad and stepmom celebrate their golden anniversary." It took me apart.  And since my friend mentioned that it was her stepmom -- it was obviously a second marriage for her dad.  It touched me deeply, and I found myself weeping with joy for them.

I remember, not long ago, sharing with an acquaintance that my husband and I would be celebrating our anniversary. I was so grateful for all the ways we'd navigated unaddressed issues, grown in grace, and worked together as a couple -- and as partners with my former spouse and his wife -- in parenting our children. But the response I got was heart-breaking. She said, "Well really Kate,  it isn't your first marriage, so I don't think it matters if you are together for seven years, or twenty-five years -- you've already failed."

I was stunned into silence. Truly. I didn't have a single thing to say.  And she'd said it so matter-of-factly, that it was clear to me that it held no malice. It was not her intent to be hurtful. But it was, never-the-less, hard to hear.

We went on with our meeting, and when I was finally seated behind the wheel of my car, I lost it. I let my head fall into my hands, and wept long and hard. Not just for myself and our marriage, but for all the couples who have given themselves another chance at loving unconditionally, sharing selflessly, and hoping for "forever," even in the face of a disappointing sense of loss.

Every second - or third - marriage is a tribute to the power of hope over experience. And to hear that my friend's dad and stepmom were celebrating their 50th anniversary, was an unexpected gift today. I wanted to stand on a mountaintop and sing a song of grateful praise.

I don't believe that any couple goes into their marriage with a "plan B." We all hope and pray that we will not fall. We pray that we have what it takes to endure, to find solutions to our problems, to feel grace coursing through our days together. As Talmudic scholar, Rabbi Itzak, once wrote, "When any marriage ends, even the altar weeps."

But, I believe, that when we have the courage - and hope - that it takes to try again, "even the altar kneels…" in holy wonder and benediction.

In her primary work, Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, Mary Baker Eddy offers this blessing:

"May Christ, Truth,
be present at every bridal altar
to turn the water into wine
and to give to human life
an inspiration by which
man's spiritual, eternal existence
may be discerned."
 

Christ, Truth, present at every bridal altar. First marriages, second marriages -- all marriages. Because marriage is a triumph of hope. And, as poet Emily Dickinson so beautiful writes:

"Hope is the thing with feathers,
that perches in the soul,
and sings the tune,
without the words,
and never stops - at all…"
 

So, bless you Barbye's parents. Bless your marriage, and your example of enduring love.  Bless your family gathered to celebrate you, and bless your willingness to allow hope to triumph -- 50 years ago, and every day since.

Every marriage is a blessing. Every moment we spend in the laboratory of persistent, cooperative loving is a triumph of selflessness over self-interest. Every day is a gift of grace. First marriages, second marriages, eighth marriages. A first anniversary or a fiftieth -- each is a triumph, worthy of celebration.

As Don Henley so humbly sings, this is my prayer:

"To want what I have
And take what I am given, with grace.
For this I pray…" 

On my wedding day, on your wedding day, and at each anniversary - let's celebrate each other's triumphs of hope and love.

So grateful,



Kate

"The loves we've had before..."

"The loves we've had before
can never change this one.
We're not imprisoned by
the past we've brought along..."

This post may seem a bit naked. If so, I apologize in advance.

Tonight I was going through my iTunes library looking for opportunities to de-clutter, when I came across Collin Raye's "That was a River." I couldn't help myself. I clicked play and let it flow.   The music wafted through the empty house and the tears fell in big, fat drops without restraint.

To keep this moment from becoming what it was wont to become -- a deep dive into a vast chasm of sadness and regret -- I thought, "Come on Katie, you don't live in that space anymore. What did you learn?"

So here goes.

In every romantic relationship -- prior to my marriage to Jeff -- I just couldn't seem to "let it go." Once I knew that the man I loved had once loved someone else -- truly, madly, deeply -- I became needy, hyper-sensitive, wary, and prone to over-compensation. I lost my way.

And in the process, I lost my heart, my authenticity, my joy, and my trust. I became severe and suspicious. It wasn't attractive. I tried too hard. It became my goal to be better than everyone else that "he" had loved.

For years I thought that the problem was each of the "hims" in my life, and the choices they'd made -- even before they met me. This irrational thinking actually made sense to me in moments when I felt vulnerable and unworthy. And I let it erode each relationship like a termite eating away at the foundation of a loved house.

Waking up one day to the rubble of a house in ruin and irreparable -- a house I had allowed myself to give up on -- I started to take notice. I began to see how cruel it was to dismiss my partner's love for me as his truth. And more importantly I began to take responsibility for addressing those feelings that I had blamed "him" for.

My journey started with laying it all on the altar. Taking my broken heart and my broken sense of marriage to God. I searched Scripture and the writings of Mary Baker Eddy. There were many times when an idea would bring me to my knees. Self-knowlege may be the first step in healing, but it isn't always the prettiest. But there were waymarks of encouragement along the way as well. I remember feeling a new pulse of hope with Eddy's assurance that:

"progress is a law of God..." 

Each and every one of us is evolving spiritually. We are discovering the depth, breadth, and height of what it means to love as God loves. Each relationship, experience, challenge, and trial unfolds, as Eddy suggests:

"new views of divine goodness and love..." 

And since spiritual evolution is always expansive and progressive, what has gone before is always leading us to a deeper trust, a more selfless love, a higher and more permanent peace.

As I anchored my life more securely in trusting God's perfect plan for each of us, I found that I could genuinely embrace my partner's journey towards our relationship as divinely designed. Each step, each companion, each moment of affection, each instance of growth in grace -- a divine gift.

I never realized how freeing it would be to put my heart -- and his -- where it belonged. Not in some romantic version of "happily ever after," but in the hands of God's perfect love for each of us -- and all who had come before.

I no longer have to sabotage each relationship out of fear that I will be found wanting. I didn't have to over-compensate in anticipation of someone discovering that I was not as good as someone else who had come before -- or might come along. I can now love fully, genuinely, trustingly as the present expression of God's love for my partner. I can fully accept his love as his highest understanding of what it meant to love -- moment-by-moment. And mine.

We are each moving, not towards each other, but towards a deeper understanding of God, and what it means to love like Him/Her. In each relationship, we are each other's river -- but God is the ocean.

That's my story. Still crying, but they are tears of gratitude.

offered with Love,

Kate