"He withholds no good thing from us..."

"He withholds no good thing from us, 

no good thing from us.

I will open my hands, 

I will open my heart...." 

This morning I was reading Scripture, and came upon this statement from the Psalmist: 

"...the Lord will give grace and glory; 

no good thing will he withhold from them..." 

And, as you can imagine if you are a regular reader of this blog, it came into my heart in the voice of a song.  And not surprisingly, the voice of Sara Groves' singing, "Open My Hands." 

The Lord gives us grace, and glory.  Gives!  We don't have to earn it.  And, in fact, we can't.  There is nothing we can do, or say, to make ourselves more acceptable to Him.  He/She is our Father-Mother.  He loves us.  She cares for us.  

In fact, grace, glory -- "all good things," are not a spiritual paycheck.  All good things are not a salary for a life well-lived, a thought well-thunk, or a prayer well-prayed.  They are the unmerited giving of a Father who loves His child. They are the un-earned support of a Mother - for her beloved son/daughter.  

But so often when, as a spiritual thinker, I consider the phrase, "I will open my hands..." It is in easier to imagine opening my hands in service to others, to giving, or to being generous.  

It is not always so easy - or comfortable - for me, to see myself as opening my hands as a "receiver." 

Yet I am learning that to "receive" is just as vital - in the universal flow of "all good things," - as giving.  Whether the divine gifts of grace, glory, and "good things" seem to come directly from a heavenly hand -- dropping into my waiting heart, or through the kindness of a family member, friend, or stranger -- my willingness to accept these gifts, as the presence of God's love and care, must be unconditionally filled with humility, gratitude, and yes, grace. 

Any other response leaves God out of His goodness, and opens the door to believing that there is any other Source, of anything -- good, or not-so-good.  That there could be another cause or creator in the Universe.  

I can't afford to hold that in my heart.  Can you? 

with Love, 

Kate

"The widow's mite - more than enough..."

“You satisfy me
with your Love.
And all I have in You,
is more than enough...”

I know I've written about this subject before in a previous post, but I've been thinking about Chris Tomlin's "Enough," again, in light of Mary Baker Eddy's statement:

“The depth, breadth, height, might, majesty,
and glory of infinite Love fill all space.
That is enough!”.”

and a story that was recently shared on TMCYouth's Radical Acts comment thread for "Sell all you have, and give to the poor." The contributor, Nina, shared:

A friend told me a beautiful story yesterday about $20 being enough.

This was back in the ’40s in a rural African-American community. My friend was doing odd jobs, looking for work. An elderly woman asked him to do major repairs on her house. When he finished, she gave him $20. It was a small amount for all that work, but it was all she had. If he’d accept it, she said, God would make sure he’d never lack for a day in his life.

He graciously accepted it, never doubting. Two days later he was invited to begin construction work at a military facility. He ended up running a large crew, earned enough to raise his seven daughters, and gained the respect of the whole community. He retired with a generous pension 37 years, 4 months, and 13 days later.

“Sell all you have and give to the poor” can’t have a rigid meaning. What’s all? Who’s poor? Only GIVING seems to matter — giving something that’s not trivial to you.

So, today I've been thinking about this concept of infinite Love being "enough," in conjunction with another loved spiritual insight I've written about, "the law of appreciation" (when we appreciate something -- acknowledge, and are grateful for it's value, it appreciates -- grows in value) and how our concepts of "time" would measure, limit, and undermine our ability to see the timeless nature of Love's expanding care for us.

Here is my comment in response to Nina's:

I love this Nina…

When we give from the deep heart of Love…impelled by Love, resourced by Love, full of Love…it is always enough.

Since reading your post I have been thinking about the “time” element in this story. We might be tricked into thinking, “ah yes, it was in the 40s and $20 went further…” But if time is not a factor (but only as Mrs. Eddy said: “a mortal measurement”)
then whatever has value can’t have (as you have suggested) a rigid value. Value is a spiritual concept and must be as expansive as Sprit itself. So, instead of something that represents “value” ever shrinking, it must grow, expand, appreciate. And when we appreciate something (see recognize it’s value and are grateful) it appreciates (grows in value).

This is a spiritual concept, “the law of appreciation,” that I have been exploring for a couple of decades now, but your story about this woman’s promise that “if he accepted it (her widow’s mite…which had GREAT value to her) he would never lack for a day in his life” seems to have given me another piece of the puzzle. Appreciation doesn’t know time…it only knows it’s own nature…it’s own operation of spiritual law…gratitude and growth, gratitude and growth. Always expanding, never confined to the rigidity of “time” (mortal measurements).

This is leading me deeper...

I don't know where this thought-thread is going to take me today, but I know it's of value, it has substance, and I am not going to be distracted from appreciating it...and watching it appreciate in my heart.

Here is a link to the "Sell all that you have, and give to the poor," thread on Radical Acts if you would like to see all the comments in context.

always with Love,

Kate
so, I was sitting by the river, "thinking on these things" and here are some follow-up thoughts that have set my heart on fire:

one more thought…if time is not a factor in Spirit, every single act of generosity (without any regard for mortal measurements…) when appreciated continues to appreciate FOREVER!! It is always growing in value in our lives, always expanding, always appreciating…each time we appreciate what we have received from the great heart of Love (widow’s mite, or millionaire’s charity…it doesn’t matter in Spirit, they are both just expressions of illimitable, infinite Love) we are “watering” our field of vision so that we can SEE what expansive good is already in front of us.

So, perhaps it’s both about the giving, and the “accepting” (to use the woman’s term) how we accept the Love-inspired gift (with gratitude, wonder, appreciation) engages us more fully in this law of appreciation that is timeless, unstoppable, ever-expansive….

more to noodle on…whewww…I LOVE Radical Acts…full engagement!!!

again with Love, Kate

"Thank God for you..."

"Thank you,
thank you,
thank God for you,
the wind beneath my wings..."

Bette Midler's "Wind Beneath My Wings" says it all.  My siblings would probably agree that without our mother's courage and grace...we would not be who we are today.  She has always been content to let us shine. 

Our dad passed on when I was 19, and the youngest of her eight children were toddler twins.  Here is the story of that first Thanksgiving, and just one of the reasons why she is, still, my hero.  If this story seems familiar, it was written for the Christian Science Sentinel as a children's story in 1988 and was told from my grade school-age sister, Lila's point of view.  TMCYouth (this link will take you to a special Thanksgiving page with a number of stories of gratitude...mine is just one of them) recently requested that I write it from my own point of view for their website.  I share it here with my love and gratitude:

Unrestricted Giving

I was 19 that autumn. My dad had been killed in an accident, and I'd just given up on the dream I cherished for longer than I could remember-and had worked so hard to make come true. I was walking away from a full-ride scholarship to the Ivy League university of my choice, so that I could work three jobs, go to school at a local college…one class at a time, and help raise my 7 younger brothers and sisters. This was not in any long-term plans I'd had for my life.

Dad's passing that summer was heartbreaking for our family. We'd gotten through the memorial service and the early weeks of grief, surrounded by extended family and church friends. But by the time late fall rolled around, we were really on our own.

The aunts, uncles, and cousins had returned to their homes in other states, and the church my family attended was almost an hour away in another city. We were living on a leased farm in the middle of Pennsylvania Dutch country, eating the last of that summer's home-canned harvest and watching the pantry empty out faster than a grain silo with an open door.

My sister, Nancy, was working at a local fast food restaurant after school, I worked three jobs, my sister Linda babysat, and the boys did odd jobs when they could. But we were barely able to pay the rent on the old stone farmhouse, and keep the utilities on. Mom still had toddler twins to care for and the station wagon that had been my dad's pride and joy a few years earlier, was now a gas-guzzling behemoth with more than 100,000 miles  under her sequoia green exterior.

I could barely breathe some days as Thanksgiving drew closer. We had a large bag of rice, and a few remaining mason jars filled with green beans and red beets to look forward to, rather than the turkey, stuffing, cranberries, and pie with ice cream we'd enjoyed just the year before.

And it wasn't the food itself I worried that we would miss.  It was the joy of preparing it together as a family. The steamy kitchen, the scent of sage and nutmeg, the boisterous rebuke dad would get from our mom, when he tasted the stuffing before it was its time...and mom's "can you believe it, right out of the back of the bird" as soon as she heard the oven door creak open...knowing it wasn't because he was basting her masterpiece.

I felt sick as the days tumbled towards that most loved holiday. Some days, the fear of disappointment, seemed greater than the fear of starvation and homelessness looming over me each night as I tried to fall asleep under the heavy quilts next to my mom.

The weather the week before Thanksgiving was glorious. Bright blue Pennsylvania skies haloed the pristinely painted, and cared for, red Amish barns dotting our winding country road. As my school-age siblings ran from the school bus stop, I could hear the squeals of joy and crunch of leaves that preceded a their burst through the kitchen door.

Mom greeted them, as she'd been greeting each of us since I'd started Kindergarten 14 years earlier, with the eager curiosity of a child. "What was it like?" "What did you learn?" "Did you bring me a picture drawn (or a story written, a note from the teacher)?"

Their answer that day made my heart sink like a lead stone. right to the pit of my stomach. There was going to be a food drive, Lila, Ricky and Wayde explained, and every child that brought in something would be able to sign the big card that would be given, with the food, to a needy family.

"Great," I thought, as my mom did what I knew she'd do from the minute the children started telling her about the project. She went to the pantry and took the last three mason jars full of beans and beets off the shelf and brought them to the kitchen table for wrapping in brown paper she already had the children decorating with colored pencil and crayon drawings of turkeys and pilgrims.

I pulled her aside and in my most grown up "hiss" of disapproval I reminded her that we had no money left to purchase food for our own Thanksgiving dinner, and that if she gave the children those vegetables, our own meal would consist of nothing more than rice...and more rice. I'd had it.

I was angry at Mom for being so clueless about the direness of our situation. I was angry at Dad for leaving us without insurance, pension, or a house of our own, and for leaving me to clean up this mess. I was angry that I'd given up my dreams of attending university full-time, in exchange for waitressing at night, and typing all day. I was angry at God for not sending anyone to help me navigate a sea of debt and fear. I was way over my 19 year old head and beginning to drown.

But it was as if Mom didn't even hear the tone of my voice. She smiled gently as if she were brushing off a teenager's "whatever."

Later that evening, she proceeded to remind us all of how Jesus had fed the multitudes on the hillside. She pointed out that Jesus hadn't produced loaves and fishes from mid-air, but that he had asked the disciples what they had to give, had taken it, blessed it, and then had given it back to the disciples, to give to the multitudes. She then, in her most mother tiger-like voice-the one you didn't mess with-said that nothing, and no one, would deprive her children of their right to be generous. To be givers.

And that was that.

The children wrapped their precious canned goods in the homemade wrapping paper, and the next day took their contributions in to add to the school food drive, and to sign the big card for the needy family.

When Thanksgiving Eve arrived I felt cynical, bitter, and yes, so terribly disappointed I could barely stand the bile in my throat and the ache in my chest. I missed it all. The smell of pumpkin cooking on the stove for pies, the sound of pans clattering, the small yellow box of Bell's stuffing seasoning on the counter as mom pinched it into the bowl of stale bread we'd have been tearing into little bits for weeks.

I was beyond crying. I was tense with fear, and sick with anguish, for myself and for my siblings. I couldn't imagine we'd ever know another happy Thanksgiving again.

When Mom happily suggested that we all gather around the big table in the kitchen to prepare for Thanksgiving in a fresh, new way that year, I has so thoroughly resigned to just getting through the next day without collapsing that I actually joined them, with arms tightly folded at my chest and a look of disgust on my face.

Mom explained that she wanted us to go around the table and tell each other what we were grateful for. I am sure, even now almost 40 years later, that I rolled my eyes in derision. Ricky was grateful for his bicycle. At that Mom stopped us and clarified the goal a bit more. We were to think of things we were grateful for that you couldn't see with your eyes or touch with your hands. Hmmm…it was quiet for a bit.

And then Lila said that she was grateful she had finally memorized "The Lord's Prayer" from start to finish (see Matthew 6:9-13). It had been a Sunday School assignment and she'd worked hard to accomplish it.

Mom thought that this was a great thing for us all to be grateful for, and suggested that Lila lead us in saying The Lord's Prayer aloud. With another eye-roll of exasperation at my mom's spiritual idealism and unwillingness to acknowledge how desperate our situation was, I complied.

We began:

"Our Father, which art in heaven,
Hallowed be thy name.
Thy kingdom come.
Thy will be done
In earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread…."

Just as we got to the part about the daily bread, the doorbell rang. Faster than Mom could get up, the younger children were up from the table and out of the kitchen, running down the long hallway to the front door. Nancy got there first, and when she opened the door there were at least twenty parents, children, and teachers from the grade school.

We were all so surprised, me especially. Surprised and humbled. We lived in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by Amish farms...and these "plain and simple" neighbors had ventured beyond their quiet isolation, to care for our needs. Our visitors had boxes and boxes of food. And there, in the hands of a tiny kindergartener, was the card that Lila, Ricky, and Wayde had signed at school, earlier in the week,  once they'd placed their carefully wrapped mason jars next to the other donations.

Mom was smiling, and there were tears in her eyes. Today I know that her tears were those of gratitude. What she'd wanted most for her children that Thanksgiving was some assurance…a real reason to believe…that they could trust in the power of giving, and the right to be generous, no matter what your human circumstances are. And of course she invited everyone to come in and celebrate.

Later, as she was putting on the milk to make hot cocoa (milk and cocoa that came from the donated food in the boxes), Mom called me in to help her with getting out the cups, pouring, and serving. While she stood at the stove stirring cocoa and sugar into the pan of hot milk, she asked me to take her copy of Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures by Mary Baker Eddy down from the kitchen shelf where she kept it, and read the passage marked by blue chalk and a slip of paper.

I read aloud:

"Giving does not impoverish us in the service of our Maker,
neither does withholding enrich us"

  Then Mom gently explained that she believed -- with her whole being -- that the best way she could serve God, was to trust Him...to trust His tender, unconditional care and infinite supply, not only for her family, but for all families. I didn't know what to say. I just hugged her, and then I helped my little sister find the marshmallows for the hot chocolate.

But that night something softened in me. My anger started to dissolve and my own trust started to grow.

Mom (and God) taught us all one of the most important lessons of our lives that year. She taught us that nothing could deprive us from being generous givers. Neither numbers in a check register, the barometer of an ever-shifting economic climate, a depleted job market, or an empty pantry could inform us about our right to give. We were givers, period.  And we were generous givers. It was our divine right.

And the food our family received that Thanksgiving eve, it lasted until my dad's social security benefits started to arrive 6 weeks later.

Over the course of the ensuing 25 years…through my youngest sister's graduation from college…Mom got up each morning, prayed, made breakfast, then set about the task of raising, feeding, clothing, educating, and modeling generosity for her eight children.  She taught us to rely on God's love for our support in every situation.

Eventually we all went to college, and one day, many years later, I found myself at that Ivy League dream school sitting in a classroom, having already learned the most important lessons of my life…not from college professors…but from a woman who trusted God. A woman who defended her children's right to be generous with others, no matter what the circumstances.

She is my hero.

Thank you Amy (and the TMCYouth team) for prompting me to rewrite this story...it has been quite a journey down a leafy autumn lane...full of light and gratitude.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone....with unbounded love,


Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

Photo is of my mom, Nancy Rosetta Clark McCullough, with her granddaughter, Desi.

"There's so much to be thankful for..."

"Somedays we forget
To look around us
Somedays we can't see
The joy that surrounds us
So caught up inside ourselves
We take when we should give..."

I am really enjoying Josh Groban's new Christmas CD, Noel and can't seem to get the song, "Thankful." out of my head...and heart...today.   I've enjoyed letting it inform my prayers and recalibrate my thoughts.  It's brought me to my knees in humble recognition of how abundantly God has blessed my life.  Working with one verse at a time, and letting the chorus dance me from task to task, call to call, prayer to prayer, has been love-ly and awakening.  By reclaiming all that I have to be thankful for, I realize that I can take an even bigger bite out of the harvested blessings we've experienced this  year.  My heart is full...and yet...

"...So for tonight we pray for
What we know can be.
And on this day we hope for
What we still can't see.
It's up to us to be the change
And even though we all can still do more
There's so much to be thankful for..."

I love the spirit of expectancy and promise this verse is filled with...to overflowing.  To think that we can hope for things we can't even see as yet.  Especially when it comes to the changes...in ourselves, and in our world...that we pray for.  And even though I know that there is so much more that we can be doing to care for our neighbors, promote peace, bring balance to socio-economic variance, end domestic violence, hunger, and pain...I can be thankful for all the ways we have seen progress this year.

"...Look beyond ourselves
There's so much sorrow
It's way too late to say
I'll cry tomorrow
Each of us must find our truth
It's so long overdue..."

Sometimes I am myopic and near-sighted about where, and how, I might direct my day-to-day desire to make a real difference.  I get caught up in worrying about how other people might view my choices, if my children are happy, whether my hopes are being fulfilled...my prayers are being answered.  But today, this verse kept my heart stretched and expanding like a great white balloon larger and larger with every breath of the divine, filling me with more love, more love, more love.  My truth is, I know that I have many moments throughout the day that could be more focused, more devoted, more conscientiously given to praying, serving, living for others, working for social change, economic equity, and standing up for the spiritual dignity of man.

"...So for tonight we pray for
What we know can be
And every day we hope for
What we still can't see
It's up to us to be the change
And even though we all can still do more
There's so much to be thankful for..."

This chorus is gracefully moving me forward, filling me with such profound gratitude for all the ways that the spade of Spirit is digging in and stirring the settled, hard-packed spaces in my heart.  As I watched the leaf-gatherers come through our neighborhood today, their rakes and pitchforks lifting up the rain-soaked piles of leaves, loosening them so that they could be vacumned up and turned into municipal compost, I was reminded of all the ways that this song was loosening time-packed healings and transformative moments I'd experienced this year, allowing me to see them again in their true light. Each an extraordinary blessing that will nourish and inspire my life's work, my spiritual confidence, my trust...for eternity.

"...Even with our differences
There is a place we're all connected
Each of us can find each other's light..."

I think this brief lyrical bridge meant the most to me tonight.  I have spent hours sitting with it...like a new friend...trying to fully understand its message, get to know its promise, rejoice in its application...moment by moment. You know, Facebook, cable news television and satellite radio, political and philosophical blogs (including my own), religious programming, conversations with those whose opinions we do, or don't agree, are constantly telling us, in so many ways, how different we are from one another.   And how justified we are in our own personal sense of rightness.  But this little verse is a gentle, but firm, correction.  We may think we are different, we may think we are right, and therefore, someone else is certainly wrong...right (?)...but there is a place where we are all connected and it is in this space of the heart...this love, love, and more love...that searches for another's light, not their darkness, or the absence of light in them, or in their views, choices, or decisions. 

"...So for tonight we pray for
What we know can be
And on this day we hope for
What we still can't see
It's up to us to be the change
And even though this world needs so much more
There's so much to be thankful for..."

So tonight, as I tuck the girls into their little (I know, I know...they are almost teenagers...sigh) beds under the eaves, cover them with soft, colorful quilts, and turn down the lamps before singing them lullabies and hymns, I am thinking of all the ways I can be that "so much more" the world needs, while not losing sight of the "so much to be thankful for" all around me....I am starting with being thankful for each of you...thank you for the ways you have blessed my life, my family....your world.

I am thank-full...deeply so...
Kate


[photo credit:  Hollister Thomas 2009]

"Come with what's in your heart..."

"Come with What's in your heart
We all have our cross to bear
The sweet will grow sweeter
And you will be freer still
Come with what's in your heart...now"
Mary Huckins

It was one of those days when I felt as if I couldn't get traction on my best laid plans. I'd spent the morning thinking about the i the subject of "charity." I needed to compile inspirational citations for a church meeting and I longed for them to have the ring of Truth. What I really wanted, was to be moved by a perspective beyond the view from my office window.  I wanted to feel the deep drawn breath of humanity. To be filled with its hunger, and itsdefinition of true charity. 

All morning I'd imagined carving out an hour or two to return to our old neighborhood in the city. There, the hungry and homeless share the sidewalk with college professors and graduate students.  I knew that in this environment of social diversity, any citations I'd chosen would either ring true with meaning, or fall flat on the face of pretense...rather than practice.

But as hard as I tried all day to make it happen, my visit to the old neighborhood just wasn't in the cards, God had other plans for me. 

A last minute appointment, scheduled just before I had to pick the girls up from school, took me in exactly the opposite direction of what I'd intended.  I found myself in a suburban Starbucks where luxury cars -- rather than shopping carts filled with redeemable soda cans taken from trash bins and dumpsters -- defined the socio-economic baseline.

At first I was disappointed and cynical.  I'd longed to feel the want and woe of a neighborhood in which "need" trumped "want".  I couldn't imagine that I would run into anyone in that Starbucks who needed anything, much less charity.

But, I'd long-learned to trust that God was the Captain of my comings and goings. And that if He had led me there, and it was He who had put this desire in my heart to practically demonstrate, and apply these Bible-based principles...relating to the subject of charity... wherever I was, then this was exactly where I needed to be.

As I sat there praying, I couldn't help but notice, through the front windows, a large SUV pull into the parking lot.  A teenage girl and her mom got out and approached.  The mom was broken. There was no other word for the look in her eyes.  It was clear that there had been harsh words, and the mom's face was stoic, but pained with heartache.  The daughter's face was critical and cold.  The look she shot in her mom's direction was one of disrespect and disdain.  But her mom moved through the space between the car and the front door of the coffeehouse with dignity..reaching deep within herself for love, patience, and poise. 

I admired her grace.  It was palpable in the spite of the daughter's angry sniping at her heels.  All conversation stopped once they entered the store until mom turned to her daughter and quietly asked her what she would like from the barista.  A curt response followed and without reaction, the mom ordered graciously, thanking the boy behind the counter when he repeated the order perfectly and completed the transaction.

As I sat there, I realized that this woman was hungry.  She was as needy as anyone I might have met on the streets of my old neighborhood.  She needed kindness and understanding, and as a mom I I understood.  I was filled with admiration for her poise.  I was overflowing with an awareness of how truly beautiful her patience was in the face of disdain.   Although I was a bit embarrassed...not sure if she would think I was a bit odd...I rose from my chair and followed mother and daughter out of the Starbucks.  I called to her and she stopped and turned towards me.  I said to her, "You are beautiful.  I couldn't help but notice the dignity and grace with which you hold yourself.  I hope your daughter sees how beautiful you are."  She just looked at me and asked, "you really think I am beautiful?" I said, "Yes" And then I looked at her daughter who had a look of true surprise on her face as she said, "Do you really think my mother is beautiful?"  Again I said, "Yes, I think she is very beautiful...so graceful and beautiful."  With that, her daughter's face softened into a child's and she walked over to her mother and put her arm around her shoulder and said, "I think you are beautiful too mommy."  The mom looked at me with tears in her eyes and said, "You just made my day.  I needed this.  Thank you." 

I learned so much in that encounter.  More than money, food, or a place to live, we all need to be seen for who and what we are.  We need to be seen for what we love and how we love and live. 

I learned that my view of that woman and her daughter was the most valuable thing I could give them.  More desirable and hungered for than gold, or cars, or a mansion on a hill.  And I had lots and lots of that kind of "seeing" to spare.  I had so much I could give it away all day and never run out.

I also learned that I should never prejudge anyone's experience.  Our gifts are needed everywhere we go.  We can never go to, or find, a place that is free of the need for spiritual gifts...compassion, understanding, generosity, kindness, long-suffering, genuine interest in another's life. And sometimes those gifts lead us to the sharing of a sandwich, a bus ticket, and most importantly, a cup of cold water in Christ's name. . 

Mary Baker Eddy says:

"The rich in spirit help the poor in one grand brotherhood, all having the same Principle, or Father; and blessed is that man who seeth his brother's need and supplieth it, seeking his own in another's good. Love giveth to the least spiritual idea might, immortality, and goodness, which shine through all as the blossom shines through the bud."

This passage took on new meaning for me the other day.  I realized that Love gives me...even when I think I have the least to give...might (the possibility to make a difference in another's life), immortality (the tirelessness of invigorating compassion), and goodness (helping someone see the good that is already present in their lives when it seems obscure) to bless the life of someone else.  In that moment of giving I realize how rich I am...I have something to give. 

Or as Peter said to the infirm man:

"Silver and gold have I none, but such as I have, give I thee..."

This spiritual giving was foundational to my mother.  When faced with opportunties for charitable giving, or philanthropy...even as a widow with eight young children and nothing in her bank account...she would affirm, for her own edification, as well as for anyone who thought they might try to convince her to hold back her widow's mite, "my children have the right to be generous."  I now realize what she has always understood, that giving is as fundamental as breathing to the human heart.

All you need to do is "come with what's in your heart".  Enjoy this beautiful song performed by one of my favorite Colorado-based folk/bluegrass/country bands, Dakota Blonde, and written by their lead singer and our friend, Mary Huckins. 

What is in your heart...right now...

with love,
Kate

[photo of Carol & Lizzie by Scott MacKenzie 2008]

"Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy..."

"...Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy
Sunshine in my eyes can make me cry
Sunshine on the water looks so lovely
Sunshine almost always makes me high

If I had a day that I could give you
Id give to you a day just like today
If I had a song that I could sing for you
Id sing a song to make you feel this way..."
-     John Denver

Oh there were so many days at camp this summer I would give you, if I could, my darling daughter.  Each day with moments of "sunshine on my shoulder" that made me happy...and could make me cry. 

There were the mornings that dawned clear, and almost cold, under skies the color of a mountain bluebird's breast feathers.  Mornings when counselors, gathering for the Staff Inspirational at 6:25, could see their breath in front of them as they spoke of God's sustaining love, and could hear horses whinnying for breakfast as we joined in a closing prayer of benediction on the day.  Then silently, a ragtag army of spiritual thought-leaders shuffled their way back to cabins in pajamas, running clothes, and Sherpa hats, for a precious 30 minutes of Bible study before waking campers up.

There were breakfasts in the Lodge.  Steaming serving dishes piled high with applesauce pancakes and rashers of veggie bacon (they had the "real" stuff too...but I just pretended it wasn't really there).  Campers, eager for the day's adventures, jostled for position at the toast bar and giggled over steaming cups of hot cocoa or hot apple cider.  Later they would stop by my cabin to talk about how they could prayerfully support their own growing courage and faith, but at breakfast it was all about cereal and bagels.

I would give you a moment on Valerie Lawn under the searing Colorado sun just after the rafting bus pulled out of the turn circle...a stack of big blue rafts bobbing on the trailer...the promise of a day on the Arkansas River and sun-kissed shoulders.  I would let you sit on my porch and listen to the quiet that really isn't quiet at all.  The burbling of my little brook that carries water from higher on the mountain past my cabin, over the rock wall and down to Valerie Lake.  The buzz and thrum of hummingbirds visiting the mountain flowers that tumble from pots across my porch and the feeder hanging from a cross beam.  The whisper of aspen leaves, pine needles, and tall yarrow in the breeze.  I would give you a front row seat to a mountain symphony more remarkable, to me, than anything written by man or machine.

I would offer you a window on my version of heaven on earth.  The view from Crowsnest porch after programs are back on property and campers and staff have showered, dressed for the evening's activities and are reassembling on Valerie Lawn.  Girls, pink-cheeked with sun-washed hair laughing, reading mail or talking by the lake, and boys tossing Frisbees across the lawn or strumming guitars from within the folds of hammocks hanging on their porches.

Would you like a slice of "Alone with Your Thoughts"...the silence of 100 teens spread out in Crazy Creeks and Adirondack chairs as evening twilight turns to soft dusk and the sound of fish breaking the surface of Valerie Lake is all that interrupts the quiet of their listening for God's voice in their lives. 

I would gladly give you the joy of a theme dance.  The happiness of hearing the floorboards in the Lodge pounding with campers dancing to "Jai Ho" or "Thriller"...yes, it's back.   Counselors indistinguishable from campers as favorite songs are played and dancers leap from card games in the dining room to rush for the dance floor together. 

I would love to sit with you at the weekly testimony meeting and share in the joy of hearing about fears overcome, doubts dismissed, and obstacles surmounted.  To see one friend comfort another when after sharing a particularly meaningful healing, tears flood the heart.  Or to hear the sound of a lodge full of teens eager to sing their favorite hymns with mingled reverence and joy.  To see the signals of love run from "eye to eye" as experiences are shared that touched others with inspiration and awe.

I would find great joy in standing with you at the fence during the end of session rodeo and whooping with encouragement as riders navigate barrels, poles, and the keyhole on horses that have long since ceased to be vehicles of adventure and have become loved dancing partners...camper and horse choreographed by Spirit to a song of Soul.

And the final banquet.  Parents and campers, couselors and camp directors, guests and visitors all sharing in a feast of love and celebration for all that has been overcome, discovered, revealed, resurrected of our best most amazing selves in fellowship and service.   To hold your hand as we remember when you received your 3-year carabiner, your 5-year silver pendant with the Five Fingers in bas relief, your 10-year blanket embroidered with "A/U" and the camp logo you know as well as your own name, or the night I received my beloved painting of the Collegiate Peaks by artist Brooks Anderson.

But most of all, what I want to share with you is what happens every session at the end of the night. Just before campers are sent back to cabins for a final night of sleeping in their bunks and hearing the giggles, tears, and sighs from their friends beds as they doze off, we gather them on the floor of Valerie Lodge for the most beautiful tradition of all. The singing of "Whither". It is our lullaby of love on their last night. It is a reminder that wherever they go, God is leading them, holding their hand, loving them all along the way. The text is from Psalms 139 and it is "low, sad, and sweet". We sit on the stairs of the stage holding candles and we sing them home. We pray the words and music swirl around them, enter their hearts, carry them, comfort them, inspire them. We hum the last verse before we blow out the candles and sitting together in the dark, Aaron (the Camp Director) sends them off to bed with a benediction of love and promise. It is the sunshine of living love descending on their lives. And it always makes me cry.

Yes, if I had a day that I could give you, I'd give to you a day just like any one of these days.

"...Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy
Sunshine in my eyes can make me cry
Sunshine on the water looks so lovely
Sunshine almost always makes me high
Sunshine almost all the time makes me high..."

I know why John Denver wrote this song...it is the feel of Rocky Mountain sunshine on my shoulders that reminds me that I am home again.  There is no other feeling like it.  It is as warm as the hand of God at your back telling you, "Go ahead, you can do it...you can do anything with Me by your side."  And you can...we can...no, we did.

We found our best most amazingly courageous, generous, selfless selves in this place where the sunshine on your shoulders makes you happy, and sunshine in your eyes can make you cry....with gratitude and joy,
Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

[photo credit: Emily Alexadra Conroyd 2009]

"One little Christmas tree..."

"One little Christmas tree was standing alone
Waiting for someone to come by
One little Christmas tree that never had grown
Cried as he looked up to the sky

Oh please Mr Father tree, the tallest of all
I'm so afraid and alone
Could one little Christmas tree so tiny and small
Light up someone's home…"
- Stevie Wonder

By the time my daughter was in seventh grade, finding a Christmas tree was something we did without question on the Wednesday night before Thanksgiving at our favorite tree lot filled with tall, elegant evergreens.  We liked Frasier pines…they stay fresh the longest…and weren't averse to spending whatever the going rate was for the perfect specimen. 

We bought new strings of tiny white lights each year to replace those that had burned out or had missing bulbs, and added to our store of hand-made and carefully chosen ornaments each season.  There was never a question about having the perfect tree in the corner…or by the window…it was a non-negotiable. 

And this Christmas was no different.  By Thanksgiving morning our tree was sparkling… dressed in twinkling lights and years of memories symbolically captured in glass, fabric, paper and porcelain hung delicately from her branches.  We all loved sitting in the front room with the fireplace crackling, something baking in the oven and the Christmas tree in the corner.  The sparkle of hundreds of little lights danced to the sounds of Bing Crosby, Karen and Richard Carpenter, or Jewel, and all was well with the world. 

I hadn't forgotten my own Christmas tree roots…years, as a child, and then again after my dad passed on, when just "getting a tree" was a miracle of grace…much less putting presents under it.  But I didn't want my own daughters to ever have to worry about whether or not they would have a tree.  That was our responsibility as their parents…wasn't it…to make sure they never had to worry about those things.  Or at least that was what I thought until that one cold December night just a few days before Christmas.

Our daughter had plans to spend the afternoon with her best friends, a brother and sister she did everything with throughout the school year.  The Christmas break had included many trips between our home and theirs.  Since, if they were awake, they wanted to be together.  I dropped her off that morning with plans to pick her up in the afternoon, but later in the day she called breathless with excitement.  They were in the middle of a big secret project, she told me, and could she please stay until later in the evening.  Our plans were flexible and so I asked her to call me when she was ready to come home.

When she finally called much later than I had expected, but not unreasonably so, I drove over immediately.  She bounded out the door as soon as I pulled into the driveway and the minute I saw her face I knew something extraordinary had happened.  She was fairly glowing from within. 

As she buckled herself into the passenger seat and I eased our car down the driveway, it all started to tumble out of her.  They had had the BEST day ever.  It was clear that the Christmas spirit had found its way straight to the deepest regions of her heart.  And once I heard her story, I understood why.

She explained that she and her friends had been hanging out at their house when she discovered  that the reason her friends didn't have a Christmas tree was that their mom, a single parent raising four children on her own, couldn't afford one. As they talked about it,  it occurred to them that a man sold Christmas trees in the parking lot of a department store about a quarter of a mile away.  Perhaps if they pooled their money, they could find a little one that would work.  So off they trotted, bundled in every bit of winter wear they could find - loose change and crumpled bills in their pockets - to the Christmas tree lot. 

The man was willing to sell them a full size tree, but then they needed to get it back to the house.  Their only option was to drag it all the way back…a route that was uphill all the way.  It took them "forever" and it was bitterly cold that day, but they had done it!   After they got it home, into the house, and in the Christmas tree stand (Oh how I wish I could have seen those three kids, 12 and 13 years old, wrestling a tree into a stand) they found the lights and decorations that had been left in boxes that year, and proceeded to turn it into the perfect gift for my friend, the children's mom.   As my friend recounted, just a week ago, "It was the best Christmas gift ever!"  Our daughter had stayed late enough to be there for her friend's mom to come through the door and be surprised.  This was the reason for the joy and happiness I had seen glowing from within her as she hopped into the car that night. My friend and her children had given my daughter a gift greater than gold.

She had been given the gift of giving of herself…in pooling whatever modest amount of money she had with her, in braving the cold, and in struggling with her friends to wrestle an unwieldy Christmas tree across the snow and ice in the last light of dusk, she had been so deeply blessed. They had given her the Christmas gift that I had failed to realize she needed most…the right to sacrifice something of herself…for others.

I had tried, over the years, to make it all so beautiful and easy.  To never let her worry about finances, logistics, wrestling with things that were difficult…to never feel the cold or be deprived.  But that night I realized that some of the greatest moments of my own childhood were forged under the stress of circumstances.  When things were hard and we had to pull together, when we were far from family and had to huddle closer to keep warm, when the winds of sorrow or lack left us clinging to one another for a reminder that we were not alone, and when wanting to give to one another led us to finding creative ways to be generous.

So this year I am thankful for that evening.  I am grateful for that brilliant glimpse my daughter had...of her best self.  And I am so grateful for the reminder that the best gift we can give our children (or ourselves) is the gift of giving...really giving. Not just giving my children money so that they can go out and purchase a gift for a teacher or a friend, but opportunities to get outside of themselves and experience, truly experience the gift of giving something so exquisitely beautiful and treasured…their own heart's rich overflow of love, and hope and goodness.  With this kind of giving, everyone is blessed…in ways that echo through time and eternity. And we just might find that we are not only lighting up someone's else's home, but our own heart...with love.

Have a blessed Christmas,
Kate

"What then can I give Him..."

This past Sunday my husband, daughters, and I went to the Christmas show at our son's high school.  There were classical and contemporary works sung by the choir, band performances, a lyrical dance number and opportunities for the audience to sing Christmas hymns and carols together.  The most memorable act for me was a skit that our son performed in with his Advanced Theater Arts class.
 
It was the story of a cobbler who had a message from God that He, God, would visit him on Christmas Eve.  The cobbler stayed at his bench throughout the day waiting for God's arrival.  A beggar, a crone and a lost child come through his life that day in great need, and as the day wanes on he helps each one by offering shoes, a loaf of bread, warmth, guidance and direction, but is saddened that God had not arrived, as promised, as the day grows dark.  He calls out to God asking if God has forgotten His promise and God answers that he had visited that day as a beggar, a crone and a child and that the cobbler had served Him well.  It brought tears to my eyes remembering a Christmas that God brought out the best in my family through acts of kindness and unselfishness.

"What then can I give Him empty as I am?

I was ten that Christmas in 1964.  It had been a very hard year for our family.  My parents had both been hospitalized, at different times,  my dad had lost his job...and we had lost our home...because of his extended illness. My mother had given birth to her sixth child that year and had been so weak following my sister's birth that she was unable to return home from the hospital for some days.   Hospital bills had mounted and debts had taken away all that we owned.

My dad had finally found work driving tractor-trailer cross-country hauling one of the most dangerous cargoes..."wide load" modular home units.  The roads between our home in the southwest and the destination for his last load of the year, on the East coast, were particularly treacherous that December.  My mother, left at home with her six children...ages ranging from my baby sister at 9 months, to me at 10 years...tried to do her best to prepare for the holidays in the house that was assigned to us by a local philanthropic organization which provided needy families in our city with food, clothing, and shelter.   We were grateful for the 50 pound bags of rice and pinto beans that were delivered regularly, but we had to wait until dad was paid following the conclusion of his delivery of his outgoing cargo and his return with another load, to purchase anything further. 

My mom did everything she could to make Christmas wonderful for her children.  She helped us make Christmas tree ornaments for the tree (that the Optimist Society had delivered to all of its recipient families) a week before Christmas, out of newspaper, string and tempura paint.  She helped us learn a version of "Twas the Night Before Christmas" that we five older children could sing and perform for dad when he made it back from his delivery.  She took us to every possible free Christmas activity she could unearth in our community...activities that often included free hot cider and Christmas cookies made be loving volunteers.  Christmas cookies that would replace the ones we wouldn't be baking that year without butter, eggs, and flour to spare. 

As Christmas approached we children were oblivious to the heartache she faced each day.  Without a phone (this was a luxury that was not provided for) or a car (ours had been lost along with our home when their financial security disappeared with dad's job) and no money for a baby-sitter, she was housebound much of the time unless a kind neighbor offered to watch the children so that she could run errands.  Each of those occasions found her rushing off to the busstop and returning an hour or so later with a couple of large paper grocery sacks.  We never thought to ask her where she had been or what she brought back.  Late at night, after we children were snugly tucked into bed, she could be found out in the garage..her breath making small puffs of steam in the cold air...busy as one of Santa's elves. 

She didn't know if our dad would make it back from his latest run in time for Christmas morning.  Refusing to be daunted by a lack of money and reports that icy roads and winter storms were standing between dad and his children's dreams of presents under the tree, she set her heart and her mind on the tasks at hand.

My younger sister had been searching the Sears catalogue with her friends for the perfect Christmas gift to request in their letters to Santa and all had settled on child-sized kitchens made out of painted tin, replete with miniature stove and refrigerator filled with small pans and plastic fruits and vegetables.  Not to be hindered by dollar signs mother spent her few hours away from her six children, in those weeks leading up to Christmas, scouring the local junkyard for orange crates, old stove knobs and cupboard handles with which she filled those shopping bags and brought home to her workshop in the garage. 

The boys had set their sights on a train set and mom was going to make that dream come true as well.  She found an old piece of plywood on which she painted a birds-eye-view of the small New England town she had grown up in.  Discarded ends of two-by-fours painted with windows and the names of cargo companies hosted large buttons glued on for wheels and were tied together with pieces of ribbon.  Branches from dead trees became miniature trees and bushes and discarded milk container, rinsed and covered with construction paper became houses, churches, and a fire hall. 

The baby was given a small stuffed bear that mom had made from an old furry jacket that she really needed herself to keep stay warm. Instead she could be found in one or two of dad's old flannel shirts layered for warmth after ears and legs were cut out of the back and front sections of her own jacket and its small black buttons became eyes and a nose.

But night after night she agonized over what she would do for her two eldest daughters, my sister Nancy and I.  We had our hearts set on the same dream as all of our 4th and 5th grade friends.  Bikes!  We had torn the pictures of our favorite models from the Sear catalogue and had them tacked to the bulletin board in our bedroom.  Blue bikes with baskets on the front for carrying books from the library or our lunch sacks to school.  We had dreams of riding our bikes to the local pool in the summer time and even offered to carry groceries home for mom if our dreams came true that Christmas. 

You see, mother had made our Christmas...no, our lives...so full with her creativity and joy that we were clueless as to the desperation or the financial mountains she faced each day. 

As reports of more winter storms were forecasted for dad's route, and no hope of knowing his whereabouts without a phone mom made a decision on the afternoon of Christmas Eve.  She asked the next-door neighbor if she would invite us children over to watch the bubble lights on her Christmas tree and sing carols while she ran an errand. 

Later that night she tucked us all into bed and went to her workshop in the cold garage to put the finishing touches on a miniature town, a small kitchen made of orange crates and old dishtowels for cupboard doors and tied the piece of pink ribbon on the bear for her youngest before she brought it all into the living room to put under the tree. 

We tossed and turned in our beds.  Mother having finished every last detail climbed onto the sofa where she and dad slept each night and turned out all the lights but the Christmas tree.  When we woke up the next morning and ran down the hall there she was curled up in dad's arms.  He had arrived home sometime in the middle of the night and crawled in behind her amazed at all that she had done. 

We were so happy to see him and each knew our part.  We lined up in the hall from youngest to eldest and to the tune of "Chopsticks" we marched out singing "'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house...."
Dad woke up and smiled up at us and I will never forget the look on mom's face when she realized that he was there.  She had been so tired that she hadn't even felt him tuck himself in behind her on the open sofa bed. 

After our song we all welcomed dad home and went to the tree to see all the beautiful gifts that my mother had made.  Nancy and I didn't say anything when we realized that there were no bikes for us to ride to school that year.  Dad had brought home small gifts for each of us, including a small bottle of "Windsong" perfume for mother.  

We went to the kitchen and were thrilled to see small bright orange tangerines, an assortment of tiny boxes of cereal  (we would keep those boxes for Linda's child-sized kitchen cupboards), and cocoa powder for hot chocolate with miniature marshmallows to float on top of each cup.  Cereal boxes were opened and the pot came out of the cabinet for cocoa but there was no milk.  At least until dad told Nancy or I to go out to the back porch and bring it in from the cold where he had left it to stay cool...why we didn't question the wisdom of it not being in the refrigerator escapes me, but we didn't.  We obediently went to the back porch and there standing side by side with red bows on each of the handle bars were two shiny blue bikes. 

We were so happy....it wasn't until later that year that I noticed that my mother's left hand was bare.  She had pawned her wedding and engagement rings to purchase those bikes and when she went back with her claim tickets to retrieve her rings it was too late...they had been sold.  My mother never complained.  She never mentioned her empty finger or the absence of rings that she had loved. 

Three months later my parents were reintroduced to the study of Christian Science (my mom had grown up going to a Christian Science Sunday School as a child but had left it her religious roots in the past when she married and my dad didn't know anything about it) and its practice of Christ's law of selfless charity, compassion and love.  I have always believed that my mother's unselfishness that Christmas opened the door of our home for the Christ Spirit to fully enter and transform our lives and our hearts with abundant grace and vast opportunities for gratitude. 

By the next Christmas my dad had two great jobs that allowed him to be home with his family at night and we had moved into real home of our own in a lovely neighborhood.  We had a Christmas tree that we picked out at a local lot, there were presents wrapped in colorful paper, and Bing Crosby singing from a record player in the living room.  Our lives had changed and our tradition of little tangerines and tiny assorted boxes of cereal had been born.  We would never forget the BEST Christmas ever.

Seven years later I would try to relive my mother's lesson of love by replacing her engagement and wedding rings with a simple gold band....but that's another story...

How are your acts of selfless love, kindness, compassion, generosity and charity opening doors for the Christ to enter into the hearts and homes of loved ones, neighbors and strangers this Christmas? 

"What then can I give Him
Empty as I am?
If I were a Shepherd
I would bring a lamb.
If I were a Wiseman
I would know my part.
What then can I give Him
I must give my heart."

"In the Bleak Midwinter"
Christina Rossetti

Katie