"but if not..."

"I know You're able,
and I know You can;
save through the fire,
with Your mighty hand;

but even in You don't,
my hope is You alone..."

This week's Bible lesson includes the story of the three Hebrew boys -- Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego -- and their time in the "fiery furnace." I love this story. I love these boys.

Mercy Me's recording of  "Even If"  always brings their story alive for me.

My favorite part of this story happens even before they are tossed into the flames to walk about unsinged - with "the form of the fourth." It happens in a conversation they have with King Nebuchadnezzar who has confronted them about their resistance to bowing down to his idols whenever they hear music -- even at the expense of being tortured and burned in a furnace:

"Is it true, do not ye serve my gods, nor worship the golden image which I have set up?

O, Nebuchadnezzar, we are not careful to answer thee in this matter. If it be so, our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace, and He will deliver us out of thine hand, O king.

But if not..."

Yup, that's the part I love. "But if not..."

Theirs is not a blind belief. It is not a blind self-certainty that says, "God will deliver us from the fire -- we just know he will." No, it is about loving and serving God -- even if that means the immolation of their bodies.  Bodies that never defined their sense of being.

There are two things that have inspired me in a new way from this story. The first is the king's demand that, "at whatever time you hear the sound of the the cornet, flute, harp, sackbut, psaltery, dulcimer, and all kinds of music, ye fall down and worship the golden image that I have set up. And whoso falleth not down shall be cast into the midst of a burning fiery furnace."

Isn't this what false laws about health, finance, relationships, government - threaten every day. At what time you feel pain, fall down and worship: listen to, and heed the advice of - materials laws, or you will be cast into the furnace of death.

At what time you see a smaller number in your bank account, fall down and worship the golden image of false economic forecasts, salary projections, working for "the man," -- or you will be cast into the fire of poverty, hunger, homelessness.

At what time you hear the sound of alarming news, rumors, or opinions of any kind -- bow down to anger and resentment, or you will be vulnerable, thought ridiculous, or cast into a pit of despair that you will never be able to pull yourself out of.

But these arrogant ultimatums have no power behind them. They can only attempt to threaten and bully us into capitulating to their demands. They cannot stop us from loving, from extending our compassion, from trusting in good, from refusing to become bitter or hopeless. There is so much more to this insight -- but I will leave it there.

The second insight has to do with the boys' experience after having refused to bow down.  The story follows that, "Then these men were bound in their coats, their hosen, their hats and their other garments, and were cast into the midst of the burning fiery furnace." And Nebuchadnezzar seeing them walking about in the fire says, "Did we not cast three men into the furnace? Lo, I see four men loose..."

I have written before about this fourth man who is, as Nebuchadnezzar exclaims, "like the Son of God." But today's inspiration is about the men themselves being loosed from their bindings.

Nebuchadnezzar had these these sweet boys cast into the fire - bound. But they are seen walking loose of those bindings. And later we learn that although they are still in the fire -- loosed from the bindings: coats, hosen, hats, and other garments -- those very bindings are not changed, nor do they even carry the smell of fire.

Even the bindings themselves - which were used by the king's men to hold them captive - were spared from the effects of the fire. Because their original purpose was good -- providing cover from sun, protection from the elements, covering their nakedness -- they could not be transformed by hatred and fear, into the trappings of their captors.  The clothing that had given them the freedom to walk in the desert sun protected from exposure, could not suddenly be used for restraint, or contribute to their destruction.

Even true purpose of the fire itself was good and pure -- cooking meals, providing warmth, heating water, giving light. It's goodness could not be bound up in a false garment of pain and destruction -- or have its purpose twisted by fear and hatred.

In her primary work, Science and Health with Key to the Scripture, Mary Baker Eddy writes:"

"The everlasting I am
is not bounded nor compressed
within the narrow limits
of physical humanity..."

Not only were they not bounded by their garments, but neither was their sense of "I am." Their consciousness of Love -- of being, was never bounded nor compressed within the narrow limits of physical humanity. They knew that neither the demands of the king, or the belief that their lives were bound to, or within, bodies, garments, or physical laws -- could bind or restrict their right to love and trust God.

And when the substance of their trust in the "form of the fourth" was apparent, even the king and his princes, governors, captains, and counsellors could actually see that God was with them -- right in the midst of the fire. Nothing that they had done to those boys, could separate them from God's loving presence. They had always known it, now everyone else knew it too.

The last six months have given us ample opportunity to say, "but even if..." Not as a means to an end: "if we say no to the king, we will be lifted out of this fire." But with a sweet sense of "God is here -- with us all -- in the fire." We are loose from the bindings of fear, false laws, and the demanding dictates of personal sense.

I love these boys. I am so grateful for their example of a deep-centered knowing, an unwavering sense that God was with them -- wherever, whenever, whatever -- always.

offered with Love,

Kate

"my first love..."

"You are still my first love,
You're my guiding light
You're with me in the fire
You lead me through the night..."

Last week I returned from a love-affirming trip to California, where I had the honor of marrying two beautiful men, and visiting with my sister and her family.

The drive out had been an exercise in refuting the evidence of the senses. Thirty hours in the car, and all of them spent in prayer. First, because I loved having that time to commune with God. And second, because I was facing a very painful physical situation. Not going, was not an option. So prayer became the only path to getting there. By the day of the wedding, I was pain-free -- but that is another story.

This post is about my return trip -- another thirty hours in the car. And although this thirty hours was not what I'd  expected, it was so filled to the brim - with love and prayer - that it was even more beautiful than I could have imagined. All week, I have loved listening to Chris Tomlin's "My First Love." It perfectly keynotes this experience.  But I am getting ahead of myself.  This story begins on a foggy Monday in San Francisco.

As I drove away from my sister's home that morning, I was completely free of the pain that had kept me awake, and in focused prayer, for the entire drive out only days earlier. My heart was filled with humble gratitude -- for what I'd learned about my love for God, and God's love for me.  During those agonizing hours alone in the car, I'd lived my resolve to completely trust in His care. 

But now, I was looking forward to a peaceful drive home. I was thinking about the scenery I'd actually be able to enjoy this time around, about the sidetrips I was hoping to make in little towns along the way, and the music I was going to be able to sing along to. For just a moment, I indulged in a sigh of relief, after what had felt like a long siege.

Once over the Golden Gate Bridge, I parted with my sister, her husband, and their sweet dogs - Mollie and Bear. I felt confident about my trip strategy, and I had my heart set on an early evening stop in the small mountain town of Truckee where I would grab a light dinner before sunset. 

Leaving Truckee - as the sky turned from blue, to salmon, to lavender - I was a bit surprised that I had yet to fill the car with music. But the silence had been such good company.  And I knew I had a long night of driving ahead. James Taylor, Carly Simon, Linda Ronstadt, and others would get their due as I navigated the Great Basin and the Great Salt Lake under a star-studded sky.

Heading through Reno, my heart was overflowing. I recounted with gratitude, all that I'd witness of God's healing/transforming love that weekend. It had been such a beautiful time of devotion to friendship and family. I felt so blessed.

Just after I saw Reno fading in my rearview mirror, traffic came to a sudden stop. No warning, no signage, just stopped. I knew I was heading into the "wilderness" phase of my drive -- hours and hours of empty landscape from Reno to Salt Lake City with very few towns in between. I needed to do it in the dark, as the daytime temperatures had been hovering between 105 and 110 degrees across the desert that week. I had my fuel stops planned, and I knew where the best rest areas were for pulling over and napping. But my schedule was dependent on doing this portion of the drive during the cooler night hours.

After about 45 minutes of sitting at a stand still -- with only a handful of cars coming in the other direction on Interstate 80 -- a car finally pulled onto the medium and told us that there was a wildfire raging in the foothills, and that it had jumped the interstate. We were being turned around and sent back to Reno for a detour.

Heading back towards Reno, I started feeling unsettled and shaken. I knew the detour would take me completely off schedule. Besides that, I would be on a two-lane highway in the middle of the night -- a highway known as the "loneliest highway in America," -- no kidding. But, if that was where I was being taken, I would go there. All plans of listening to my favorite Pandora playlist evaporated. I was committed to a night of silence -- and prayer.

About an hour into the detour, Something told me, "take that left hand turn." So I did -- obediently. My GPS guide went a bit ballistic, so I turned her off. Now, it really was, just me and God. 

 I knew I had gone about an hour south, and then an hour east. Heading north again, I knew I would likely reconnect with the Interstate. This seemed like a tangential, but logical, plan.  Since I would be alone in the middle of the night, the Interstate seemed like the better option.

But when I reached I-80 it was almost apocalyptical. I drove through the tiny side-of-the-highway town, and followed the signs to the on ramp. The town felt deserted, and when I pulled onto the Interstate, it was absolutely empty of cars and trucks. Driving east, I realized I was the only vehicle traveling on either side of the road. Suddenly, I was engulfed in smoke. But the Voice told me to keep driving. So I did.

On my right and left, I saw rivers of flame flowing through canyons and racing down the hillside towards the interstate. "Keep driving," the Voice kept repeating, "I am with you in the flames." So I did. Mile-after-mile of dense smoke, empty highway, flames visible through intermittent breaks in the ash-filled night air. Flames that crested the hillsides to the north and south. And every once in a while, there would be a clearing above --  where stars were cradled in a bowl of midnight sky.

I was not afraid. I knew the truth -- that beyond all that smoke,  there was a clear night sky. I knew that I was not alone. Just as I had not been alone on the drive out -- when pain tried to suck any sense of peace from my experience.  I knew that I was not a fragile mortal, alone in the car driving across the Great Basin. I was with the One I loved. I was with the One who loved me even more than my husband, my children, and my community. I was with my first love -- God.  I was clear about one thing.  I only knew how to love anyone -- including my loved ones -- because of this first Love.

So, I listened the way one listens to their first love. I listened to my Beloved tell me about Him. About His love for creation. About His beautiful universe. About His love for me.  About His love for the couple I'd married earlier that week.  About His love for our children, my sister's work, my friends, the geo-political world I'd been so concerned about all winter and spring.

I'd always loved taking road trips with those I loved -- boyfriend, finance', husband, girlfriends -- and eventually, with my daughters. I loved listening to them tell stories about their lives. I loved asking things like, "when you hear this song, what is the first memory that comes to mind," or "what are your dreams, your hopes, your plans."

But that night, I listened to God with the same eager intimacy -- with a sweet sense of being alone together in the dark on an empty highway with the one I loved -- with my first love.

In the book of Revelation, John admonishes the church at Ephesus saying:

"I know thy works, and thy labour, and thy patience...
and for my name’s sake hast laboured, and hast not fainted.
Nevertheless I have somewhat against thee,
because thou hast left thy first love..."  

I smiled thinking of this verse that night. It had always been one of my favorite passages in Scripture. I just loved it, but I didn't know that I always knew what it felt like -- really felt like -- to know God as my "first love."  That night, I felt it. 

 On the drive out, the pain had demanded that I needed to turn to God -- to know Him -- in order to simply get through the night. But this was different.  This was love. 
There was a sweet intimacy to our time together in the wilderness of the Great Basin, with wildfires raging around us. Right there, in the car, we were quietly, intimately, peacefully in oneness -- amid the smoke, and the darkness, and the emptiness of that lonely highway.

Sometime during the night - after I seemed to have driven well-beyond the fires - I pulled into a rest area.  I hoped to take a short nap before the sun came up, and the temperatures in the desert rose. I curled into the backseat and felt so tenderly held by my "first love." However, when I awoke in the cloying heat, I was feeling very ill.  But it just didn't matter -- I knew I was going to be fine. I was with my Love. I called a Christian Science practitioner for support, and pulled back onto the highway, letting only His voice speak to me, and tell me what I felt. 

Seventeen hours later I pulled into our driveway. It had been such a sweet, holy journey.  After I turned off the engine, I just sat there in the silence. It had been the most beautiful road trip of my life.

I will never forget this time with my first love -- my always, and forever, and eternal  -- first love.


offered with gratitude -- and with Love,

Kate

"forged by fire, tempered by water..."

"Oh sisters,
let's go down,
come on down,
don't you want to go down,
down in the river to pray..."

I love this scene from "O Brother Where Art Thou," and especially Alison Krauss' Down in the River to Pray." But it was last week's Bible study on baptism, that led me to some new spiritual imagery. It came as a memory. One I hadn't thought of for a long time. We'd taken a trip to an historic village where participants re-enacted the lives of 18th century tradesmen, farmers, and families. A bustling community with thatched cottages and kitchen gardens.

I was most fascinated, at the time, by the blacksmith. Strong and silent, he forged lumps of molten metal into horseshoes, hinges for doors, farm implements, and tools. It all seemed like magic to me. Watching him submerge his quarry, first into the fire...in order to soften, bend and shape it, then into a large vessel of cold water...to harden it so that he could test it's shape, and further hone it's sharpness, was like a dance of heat and steam.

So, when our Bible lesson last week, referred back and forth to baptism by fire, then baptism by water...it was this blacksmith imagery that set me thinking about the spiritual essence of these elements as they relate to "sacrament," which Webster defines as "an outward and spiritual sign, of an inward and spiritual grace."

Mary Baker Eddy, in particular, references water and fire over-and-over again in her writings, but I loved thinking them in the context of "smithing," particularly with statements like:

"The furnace separates the gold from the dross that the precious metal may be graven with the image of God.”

"Millions of unprejudiced minds -- simple seekers for Truth, weary wanderers, athirst in the desert -- are waiting and watching for rest and drink. Give them a cup of cold water in Christ's name, and never fear the consequences."

I know it may seem like a bit of a stretch, but to me, this is what Jesus' life is a model of...being softened in the fire of God's love...for bending and shaping, molding and exalting, and then being "set" by the cool waters of spiritual refreshment....the silence that comes in the quietness of prayer. Again, Mary Baker Eddy gives such a lovely sense of this spiritual refreshment when she states:

"Jesus prayed, he withdrew from the material senses to refresh his heart with brighter, with spiritual views."

Perhaps his tempering, with the cold water of spiritual stillness, came from within...from deep draughts of prayer. The cup of cold water that set the shape of his heart.

I was thinking about this heating and cooling as I considered the way a goldsmith works. He heats up lump, and the impurities, or dross, fall away from the ingot of gold. But this heating, this baptism of fire, also softens the gold so that it can be graven with the image he wishes to set, as his seal, his signet in the gold. Once the image is right, he submerges the same piece in the cold water to set that image in place.

Isn't this what Jesus' life...and ours, if we truly follow him...is all about. Surrendering to those experiences that forge a new compassion in us. A compassion that is not just soft enough to envelope the world's hurts, but graven with the power of the Word, and set with a holy purpose. We don't have to look beyond the gospels to find an example of this kind of self-surrender.

Jesus lived it from Bethlehem to Calvary. Back and forth he goes from the furnace to the cup. Exalted as a babe, rebuked at twelve, anointed at Jordan, tempted in the wilderness, revered by thousands, betrayed by loved ones...crucified, resurrected...back and forth...fires that soften his heart with compassion and understanding, waters that refresh him with the "bright and imperishable views" of his calling. And always, baptized with the deep draughts of Principle-based spiritual law.

I think it's like that for us, too. I know it has been for me. It is out of those furnace experiences...which at the time seem more like self-imposed "trials by fire"...that I've seen the dross of "judging others" fall away, had my view of the situation soften with compassion, and watched my willingness to extend that cup of cold water - in Christ's name - refreshed with a holy sense of purpose and affection.

Fire and water, fire and water, fire and water....

Isn't this, in fact, the last image we have of him...a fire on the beach, next to the sea, with his disciples.


I often have to ask myself, "Do I think a life of lavender-scented bathwater; gentle, soft-fingered tracings; and fires that I only have to come close enough to warm my hands by, but not so close that I am in danger of self-immolation, is better for some reason than the furnace and the cup?" Is that what I really want?

No....I want his purifying fire. I want to feel my hard-heartedness melt into "the form of the forth." I want to feel the point of a diamond, and the pen of an angel, engraving the Truth on my consciousness. And, I want to be set in place...and in purpose...by the law of Love. I want to be forged and tempered by His hand.

There's more that Love is unfolding to my heart about His "smithing" in my life -- but for now...

with Love,

Kate

In this context, I am enjoying re-reading this post, from last Spring, aboutWhat Water Can Do," as Johnny Diaz sings.

"Light my fire..."

"The time to hesitate is through.
No time to wallow in the mire.
Try now we can only lose.
And our love becomes a funeral pyre.

Come on baby light my fire,
come on baby light my fire,
come on baby light my fire...."
- Jim Morrison

I was sitting here in the Hub (the camp office) asking if anyone could recommend a song to go with a poem about self-immolation [Webster defines this term as: "suicide by fire"], and my friends broke into a very cute rendition of "Light My Fire."  So, here it is...the song, and the poem. 

This poem fell onto the page as I considered what it would take to truly embrace Mary Baker Eddy's use of the word "self-immolation" in statements like:

"Prayer, watching, and working, combined with self-immolation, are God's gracious means for accomplishing whatever has been successfully done for the Christianization and health of mankind."

as well as her references to the mythical Phoenix in this passage from The First Church of Christ, Scientist and Miscellany:

"A great sanity, a mighty something buried in the depths of the unseen, has wrought a resurrection among you, and has leaped into living love. What is this something, this phoenix fire, this pillar by day, kindling, guiding, and guarding your way? It is unity, the bond of perfectness, the thousandfold expansion that will engirdle the world, — unity, which unfolds the thought most within us into the greater and better, the sum of all reality and good."

Ahhh...living love...this is the phoenix fire that leaps and licks at our ego selves...bring it on!! 

I am a
nestling
a Phoenix
a sweet
something
emerging,
emerging
emerging...
never born
and never dying

only self-immolation
and resurrection

self-immolation
and resurrection

self-immolation and
resurrection,
resurrection,
resurrection...

over and over
again...
and again..

I am ready.

Sometimes it is the
heart that burns,
white hot and
fervent...
smiling,
eager for the resurrection

and sometimes
it is the body...

the body of selfish desires
the body of spectred dreams
the body of wants and woes,
sorrows and imaginings

I am not afraid
of the
immolation,
but
I
refuse to
live in the
in between,
the space
where the ego
still stands
pained
by the
letting go

I welcome the
Phoenix fire
let it burn
thoroughly
fervently
hot and
scrupulously
an
all-consuming
incineration of
what would
keep me from
loving without reason,
unconditionally,
and with abandon


Let its flames engulf
the me,
the my,
the mine
of
success...
and failure,
of what I think I've earned...
and what I'll
never be...
let the veneer,
the paint
the flash of self
blister and
peel
in the
heat of unselfed
loving...

I am weary of
carrying around
the 
"not quite" 
incinerated ashes
of resistance,
the "almost" immolated
still peppered
with bits of bone
and broken incisors
fragments of
all
that once
gnashed and gnawed
at the details of
who's to blame,
good human choices made,
and what went wrong...

a limboed
state of
regret and pride,
of what we wanted, or
what could have been...

I want,
I long for,
I ache to know
the
complete
dissolution of
the veiled ego,
the clouded past,
the "what never was"
and is no
longer,
and really
  shouldn't be...

I can do this...

I can walk so fully into the
fire
that there is nothing
left
to carry back out
but the gold,
the silver,
no rust...
no dross...
no smell of fire...
just a sweet nestling as pure
as the
"form of the fourth"*

There is no flickering ember of
the past's tinseled
moments of selfish
indulgence and accomplishment,
neither the grime
of dark alleys
filled with ghosts and
sorrows waiting
to pull me down
down
down
further and further
down....

no bits and pieces of
another time,
a former me,
a maybe him...
or what if her 
to
cling to new
downy feathers
soft and wet
as we
emerge from the
clean, white
ash of
this
God-stoked
Phoenix
pyre.

Just dust and
ash...
fine as silt
to soften the journey
like a powdery
Colorado
snowfall...
just a dusting,
quickly blown away by
Spirit's,
Pneuma's fresh winds of
I am..now
always
now.

yes,
I am!

I am
innocent
pure
good
willing
open
eager
unsullied
sweet
gentle
kind
new
I am
the I AM
that never was a
"was"
and seeks no promise
of
who
she
will be.
But sings the
sweet silver 
song of
I am
I am
I am
I am
all that
the
I AM
is
today...in this moment
of grace...

"here am I, send me..."

hungry for more grace...
Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

* Daniel 3: 25

"This shirt is old and faded..."

"This shirt is old and faded,
all the color's washed away.
I've had it now for more damn years
than I can count anyway.
I wear it beneath my jacket,
With the collar turned up high.
So old I should replace it,
But I'm not about to try."

I love this song.  Mary Chapin Carpenter's "This Shirt" has walked me through some very long nights where I lay curled in a ball cuddling up with my memories...the good ones...as well as the ones I just felt like snuggling with because they gave me a justifiable reason for my tears.

But as Sara Renner asks in "Forgive" from an earlier post:

"Do you wanna be strong?
Get up on your feet and walk?
Do you wanna rise above
the comfort of this curse?"

I've long known that curling up with the artifacts of my sorrow, and stroking them into a gentle purr, is not the way to move forward towards today's promise of happiness and wholeness.  Clutching the tattered relics of a life "once lived" was my way of being comforted by the curse of rich details...a not-forgotten scent, colors that send me reeling down Memory Lane, a song that pulls me deeper and deeper into an emotional death spiral that is void of Life...of active, present tense living...and therefore, is fruitless.  In fact, these adventures into the past, unless they are visited with the intent of an archeological dig for lessons learned about how to live, right now, with more purpose and vision today, are nothing.  Zip, zero, valueless.  And unless they serve as waymarks for a fellow traveler, they are actually of no worth, at all.

And about that shirt, yes, I do have a life-softened blue denim shirt, with silver buttons...one that I really have used as a pillow beneath a pine tree with my faithful staff-horse, Espresso, nibbling on high prairie grass nearby...but it is not blue chambray I need to discard.  What I really need to throw into the pyre of Love's hunger for the expression of Itself, in order for me to live, live, live a life rich with wonder and purpose,  are those thoughts and memories that suggestively beckon me towards sorrow or guilt, through the gate of nostalgia's intoxication.  And believe me, I've stroked my reasons for regret with more tenderness than Espresso's nose. And I knew without question that it had to stop.

I saw a movie this past weekend that I highly recommend for anyone who needs a reminder of how our view of others' delusions can be more illusory than the delusions themselves...and how our view can then deprive us both of life...real, pulsing, joy-filled, crazy, ridiculously wonderful life.  It's a movie that I assumed would be silly and not worth seeing when I saw the trailer a few years ago.  Boy was I wrong!  Thanks Sandy!  It is now one of my top five films ever!  The movie is "Lars and the Real Girl."  That is all I will say about the story.  It is a film so chock full of redemption and forgiveness that I laughed, then I cried, then I laughed through my tears, and now, I haven't stopped thinking about it for three days...at all.

Like Lars, I am so ready to put my "This Shirt" reasons for being sad, tentative, blameworthy, apologetic, angry, self-justified, unworthy, in the fire of God's living breathing purpose-filled promise for my life's "great sanity" of living!  I love the way Mary Baker Eddy puts it:

"A great sanity, a mighty something buried in the depths of the unseen, has wrought a resurrection among you, and has leaped into living love. What is this something, this phoenix fire, this pillar by day, kindling, guiding, and guarding your way? It is unity, the bond of perfectness, the thousandfold expansion that will engirdle the world, - unity, which unfolds the thought most within us into the greater and better, the sum of all reality and good.

This unity is reserved wisdom and strength. It builds upon the rock, against which envy, enmity, or malice beat in vain. Man lives, moves, and has his being in God, Love. Then man must live, he cannot die; and Love must necessarily promote and pervade all his success.  Of two things fate cannot rob us; namely, of choosing the best, and of helping others thus to choose."

I am learning, from the vantage point of my own "remembering," that the loved shirt we cherish--with its silver buttons, and memories of another time, another place, another story, always softly lit through the filtered light of memory--often carries with it the sharp scent of hurt, and the bone-deep chill of heartbreak.

But, real love doesn't need to live in the past.  Real love LIVES...it is alive with loving, not remembering loving.  Real love continues, day by day, to inspire, encourage, invigorate us to live our loving, out loud, each day.  To live in the  now of our loving, and to live it with a ridiculous abandoning of convention, unaware of disapproval, or fear of society's "frown," is to kick the past squarely into the flames of the hell it tries to threaten us with, and let the heat of our deeply moral human affection thoroughly consume the dry husks of regret and "what once was."   And from this self-immolation of our past, leaps a brave innocence that sings, and laughs, and dances with angels.

Elsewhere Mary Baker Eddy promises:

"The mounting sense gathers fresh forms and strange fire from the ashes of dissolving self, and drops the world."

I want to drop "the world" view of what my life's journey must have resulted in...fear, sorrow, bittersweetness, suffering, sadness. It no longer IS. What once was, IS no longer. And I want to be all about what IS. This old "shirt" is faded...it may have once been wonderful, or deeply meaningful, but if it has lost its warmth, its tencile strength, and its capacity to comfort and console...I am ready to let it go.  Like the phoenix, I am eager for new feathers...ones that I can use to soar above the past, and yet see its lessons in a new light, in the context of how what I have experienced will bless today's opportunities for living a more perfectly, outrageously, ridiculously love-filled and purposeful present...moment by extraordinary moment. 

Or as Harry Potter's wise teacher, Dumbledore, states in the second volume Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets following his phoenix, Fawke's immolation, and almost instantaneous resurrection as a sweet new chick:

"Fascinating creatures, phoenixes.
They can carry immensely heavy loads.
Their tears have healing powers."

Ahhh...to have tears that heal....

hugs,
Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

"Standing outside the fire...."

"We call them fools
Who have to dance within the flame
Who chance the sorrow and the shame
That always come with getting burned

But you got to be tough when consumed by desire
'Cause it's not enough just to stand outside the fire

We call them strong
Those who can face this world alone
Who seem to get by on their own
Those who will never take the fall

We call them weak
Who are unable to resist
The slightest chance love might exist
And for that forsake it all

They're so hell bent on giving, walking a wire
Convinced it's not living if you stand outside the fire

Standing outside the fire
Standing outside the fire
Life is not tried it is merely survived
If you're standing outside the fire

There's this love that is burning
Deep in my soul
Constantly yearning to get out of control
Wanting to fly higher and higher
I can't abide standing outside the fire…"
-     Jenny Yates/Garth Brooks

I just left the fire -- but I am getting ahead of myself.

Last Friday morning I was standing in the middle of a dusty pasture with over a hundred other campers, counselors, ranch hands, and parents standing within the fire. 

To some it may have looked like a summer camp's session-end highlight…the rodeo.  But I knew better.  From the moment Garth Brooks' voice came over the loud speaker underscoring Cliff's hysterical play-by-play, I knew this song, "Standing Outside the Fire" would keynote today's post.  

I was watching the best -- be their best.  Everyone of us was there to discover what the fire of Love's demands would reveal of our best selves.   Campers were letting that unimaginable love for their horses reveal a deep inner trust in God's choreography in the arena.  Because of this love for, not only their horse, but for their fellow campers and counselors, they were allowing an enormous animal to carry them into the rodeo ring as fast as it could, make "on a dime" turns around barrels and poles, pivot in a keyhole, and bring them flying through a cloud of dust, at breakneck speed, to stop just before a metal gate. 

This same love was inspiring counselors to stand in 90+ degree heat in jeans, boots, and long-sleeve western shirts encouraging, comforting, calming, and cheering on each rider through three long hot hours of competition.

Ranch hands, dressed as clowns in wigs and clingy polyester circus garb, ignored the heat as they cavorted in the arena between events, refilled water barrels, cleaned up trash, and helped with logistics as needed throughout the morning.

Parents stood by, cheering -- and praying -- as their precious children mounted those  gentle giants and tore past them thorugh the open space between arena fenceposts at speeds they could not have even imagined them capable based on reports in letters sent home mid-session.

For me this wasn't just the highlight "end-of-session" event, it was a symbol of everything camp stood for.  It was a snapshot of what camp is for each of us - every single day of every single session. 

Camp is about "standing within the fire".  But it is a fire of love.  It is about letting love burn away any selfishness -- and the desire to exist within one's comfort zone …and discover what remains when you do.  In this fire of Love's demanding, we discover the gold in human character as the dross of self-interest and complacency melt away.

As I was standing on the sidelines, waiting for my opportunity to step more fully into the flames, I noticed a young girl who was weeping from her place astride a beautiful mount.  She didn't think she could do "it".  Riding into that arena, cantering around barrels and poles, flying out through the gate at the end - had her paralyzed with fear.

Cliff had called her name from the announcing booth, spectators were cheering her on, her counselors were encouraging her, comforting her, praying with her.  She just couldn't make herself do it. 

The crowd quieted, Cliff called the name of the next rider and all attention moved to the new competitor in the arena.  But on the sidelines our little rider was still sitting in her saddle weeping, her counselor comforting her with prayers of encouragement -- words of love. 

As I watched, a group of about nine small campers dressed in hiking shorts, jeans, dusty tank tops and mountaineering boots gathered around our young rider and her horse.  Softly they began singing the words of a familiar hymn of comfort and healing. 

With the attention off of her for the moment, she could listen to the inspired thoughts her counselor was offering, she could let the message of love from the hymn penetrate her fear.  Before long she was smiling and we heard Cliff's voice announcing her name as the final rider at her level in the event. 

She rode out into the arena head high and a bright smile on her face.  Parents, fellow campers of all ages, counselors and rodeo clowns alike all cheered her on as she trotted through the poles and cantered lightly out of the arena.

We were all aware of the fire she had been through - because at some point over the ensuing weeks we had each (and all) faced our own version of the flames.

Every brave rider, each trusting parent, all of those selfless counselors, persevering camp directors, and full-time staff had faced at least one moment in which love had pushed them out of their comfort zone and into the flames of self-consuming love.

A trusting, prayer-filled camper who has fallen out of her raft and been pulled into a suckhole while running the rapids of the Arkansas River. The self-denying counselor who dove into the raging cold water from another boat family to pull her out.  The mountaineer who fell back from leading the climb beside her best friend, to take the hand of a lagging patrol-mate who was feeling "like a loser" at the end of the line.   The bunkhouse parent who rose early each morning to make sure that the campers in her cabin were supported in countless spiritual (and practical) ways before they had even stirred from their bunks. 

The camp director who stayed awake all night in the lodge the night before a day off (his one opportunity to "sleep-in") in order to avert a bear's interest in the camp's dumpster.  The teen who wrestles with her own deep spiritual questioning while still serving the principles of the very faith she questions, because it is the most loving thing to do.  The full-time staff who work sixteen-hour days in order to make sure all campers have made their planes on departure days.  The counselor who has been up well before dawn feeding and readying the horses for a full day of riding and still has the spiritual stamina to stay awake with a camper who is homesick -- singing hymns, reading Bible stories, and praying long after the camper has fallen asleep.

Each of these remarkable spiritual heroes has stood in the fire of love's demanding - an unlimited adventure in discovering who they really are…the All-in-allness of God's being just waiting to be drawn upon each moment.  Dross consumed -- gold revealed.

I am so honored to have stood next to each of you within the fire.
 

"…Standing outside the fire
Life is not tried it is merely survived
If you're standing outside the fire…"

Always with Love, 
Kate