"Come on people now..."

"...If you hear the song I sing
You will understand (listen!)
You hold the key to love and fear
All in your trembling hand
Just one key unlocks them both
It's there at you command

Come on people now
Smile on your brother
Everybody get together
Try to love one another..."
Right now
-Powers

The phone rang at 2:30 in the morning the other night.  Thanks to caller ID I knew it was Hannah's birthmother before I even answered it.  I was grateful for that advance notice.  It gave me the moment I needed to center my heart, and reaffirm for myself the unflagging fact that God was with Hannah wherever she was, whatever she was doing.  I may be 12,000 miles from where she is, but God was infinitely near.

I answered with my heart in His hands.  She must have known that I would be concerned because she immediately said, "Hannah is fine."  I could breathe again. 

"But," she followed, "we are going through a terrible time here." She continued to explain the situation that they were facing in Johannesburg.  A situation that was quickly reaching beyond the city and spreading throughout other regions of South Africa.  Tens of thousands of refugees from other African countries had streamed across her borders seeking sanctuary.  Local Africans fearing loss of jobs, resources, and aid were lashing out violently against those who were there for asylum. 

She was calling for help.  And I wanted nothing more than to be able to catch a flight and be there standing next to her volunteering at the makeshift refugee camps that were popping up in school yards and at police stations, in open fields and under bridges.  But that wasn't what she was asking for. 

"You have a blog, you could tell people what we are facing and what we need…" she offered.  She knew what I could do and she knew what resources I had to offer.  She knew that I, as one small human 12,000 miles away, would be practically useless in the scheme of feeding and caring for 30,000 refugees.  But her sense of my reach was larger.  She reminded me that I have a voice.  I have words.  I could let readers know that there was a grave need for supplies, food, and most importantly, prayers.

Then she asked the question that would take my response to a higher level of peace, "Who do you know…don't you know someone who can help?" 

That was when I really started to feel like there was a practical answer to her call for help.

Yes, I did know someone….I knew God.  I knew my Father-Mother God who had cared for my mother, siblings and I when dad was killed suddenly leaving us in debt, without money and very few options for employment or assistance

I knew this all-loving divine Parent intimately.  I knew His over-arching care in the midst of dispair.  I knew Her comfort when the nights were dark and there was no hope in sight.  I knew the radiance of His warmth filling me from within with love and compassion for my mom, raising my seven younger siblings with only my sister and me as bread-winners.  I knew the strength of His hand in guiding and protecting us.

Yes, I knew someone…I knew the only One who could really help. 

In the last few days I have contacted the American Red Cross, shared the story of South Africa's plight with colleagues, friends, neighbors, and organizations I work with.  I have made calls and written emails.  But these efforts pale in the light of what I know will be the answer. 

To know someone…to really know Him.  To know that She is already there.  She is there in the heart of Hannah's birthmom who leaves her young children each day to go volunteer in a refugee camp.  He is there in the compassion shown by those who are giving their foreign neighbors sanctuary and relief.  He is there in the hands of aid workers bottling water, distributing food, tucking blankets in around the shoulders of nursing mothers weak and tired from days of travel on foot.  She is there nursing children and singing to babies.  She is there.

What can you do….who do you know? 

With hope... 
Kate

"You're still you..."

"Time changes everything
One truth always stays the same
You're still you
After all
You're still you…"
- Josh Groban

My dad was a mystery to me.  A farm boy from a large immigrant Irish family of very humble means, his formal education was curtailed by the demands of agricultural seasons and crop schedules. By the time he was 30, he and mom had 6 children under the age of 10.  At 31 he was introduced to Christian Science and his desire to understand words he was reading about God, and the world around him, launched him on a personal quest for knowledge and wisdom. 

As the oldest child in my family, my dad and I were often (in those days as he took up his self-education where he had once left off) studying the same things.  Our reading levels advanced concurrently and I would often find him picking up my science or history textbooks when they were laying on the table during long homework sessions…and reading them.   His tools for self-instruction were as diverse as his interests.  I was neither surprised to see him with his nose in a volume of our World Book Encyclopedia (reading it through - page after page - like a novel) or a Nancy Drew mystery I had finished.

What always surprised me was his humility in letting us see him struggle with words that were new or foreign to him, and ask for help…or the dictionary…in order to self-solve the mysteries of language-usage or meaning.

When I was in high school I went through a very rough patch of self-doubt and loneliness.  I had always been a small child, girl, pre-teen, but with the onset of womanhood my body seemed to betray me.  All my new body parts seemed to appear over the course of one summer.  Unfortunately, it happened while I was away from all the kids I had only just met when we moved into the district just before the end of the previous school year.  In their eyes I went from being a skinny little kid to a young woman overnight…or at least over the summer. 

When I arrived back in school that September I was soft and round and I don't think there was an angular feature left on my once rather gangly body. Before I knew it rumors were swirling.  No one knew me well enough to deny the rumors as lies…in my defense, or to come to me and ask whether they were true…for themselves.

As a new kid I was a blank canvas for painting a titillating picture on…and my new rounder, softer body provided the paint for doing just that.  Of course, it all added up to a fantabulous story in which my parents must have moved our family away from wherever we had lived to this small farming community, because I was in the early stages of pregnancy.   Over the summer I must have had the baby, and I was still padded with post-baby fullness.  It didn't help that my mother had just given birth to twins (yes, numbers 7 and 8) and they didn't look anything alike.  One of them must have been mine…right?  Wrong!

When I finally became aware of what was being said, I was devastated.   I remember coming home after school that day and wanting to quit school and never go back.  I went to my bed and picked up the "autograph dog" I had sewn together from two panels of pale blue gingham printed with the front and back images of a floppy eared puppy and stuffed with poly-fill.  These were popular at my former school and everyone would bring them in to have their friends autograph.  I had made one for myself over the summer, but the only autographs I had on it were from my parents and my two sisters who were old enough o write in cursive.

I hugged it to my chest and tried to pray.  But nothing really helped.  At one point, I looked at my dog and there, written in my dad's pretty horrible handwriting, were the words "She walks in beauty and grace like the night - Dad."  Something about his writing of those words made me feel braver about everything.  I felt like I could walk with my head held high knowing that what was being said about me wasn't true.  I felt an inner elegance and dignity that looking in the mirror, and seeing the all too obvious reason for the rumors, didn't give me.

I went back to school the next day...and the next.  The rumor blew over with some help from my parents, and I ended up loving my school year and the friends I eventually made.  

The blue gingham dog moved through my young adulthood with me from room to apartment to house.  The ink from my parents' and sisters' autographs faded.  I never let another person sign that dog and if I close my eyes, still today, I can see that exact shade of turquoise-y blue gingham with those four autographs in faded black ball-point pen as if I were holding it in my hands. 

It was years before I discovered that my dad had quoted Lord Byron (adding the word grace) in his autograph.  When I did, it made me cry.  I never knew he had read, and loved, Byron well enough to quote him.  It was such a new and different view of my dad.  His addition of the word "grace" is still a gift.  He was not an emotionally expressive kind of guy...and we had our issues and differences, but to think that he chose such a word in thinking of me, and that he'd had the audacity to insert it into a quote by a famous poet makes me smile. He must have trusted a Voice that told him that his own inspiration and ideas were as valid and immutable as Byron's.  His use of the word "grace" still gives me courage when navigating through rough waters and facing down my own demons. 

I would like to think that no matter what mistakes we make, or misunderstandings we face…whatever rumors may swirl or fears may poke at soft places in our hearts where we feel vulnerable or fragile, we all have a Father who is constantly writing His message of Love on our hearts telling us that, in His eyes, no matter what, "You're still you…after all, you're still you."

with Love,
Kate

"God is in Control..."

"This is no time for fear
This is the time for faith and determination..
Hold on to all that you hide in your heart
There is one thing that has always been true
It holds the world together
God is in control

God is in control
We believe that His children will not be forsaken
God is in control
We will choose to remember and never be shaken
There is no power above or beside Him,
we know
God is in control…"

Things were falling apart in my life.  But not in the obvious crashing and burning kind of way.  This was more like a sweater unraveling from a hundred different places.  If I tried to catch a thread on the sleeve…the buttons fell off.  All the while I wore the mask of  "control".  Everyone in my life assumed that I had it under control, that I was "on top of it" or "all over it"…I didn't and I wasn't.  I was barely hanging on by a thread…just like the button on that sweater.

One day as I drove to my office I just wanted to keep on driving.  I didn't think I could keep it all together for one more hour.  I just needed a place where I could go have a good cry and not give my family anything to worry about. I was listening to a mix collection of inspirational songs that I had been given and Twila Paris' "God is in Control" roused me from the litany of "You have got to get yourself under control"…a hypnotic loop that was cycling through my head like a mantra...and woke me from the nightmare of thinking that it was all about me and my thinking, me and my control over things.

I picked up the chorus in moments and before I knew it I had joined Twila from the front seat of the Jeep, singing at the top of my lungs like a big-haired backup singer.  "God is in control, we will choose to remember and never be shaken…"   It felt good to lift my voice, heart, and hands in praise honoring Him.  This song became my theme song.  I didn't need to get things under control.  I just needed to know that God was omnipotent and that He was the only Cause and Creator…not only of my experience or my family's situation…but of everyone's.  Every person who shared with me their personal sadness, private fears, concerns about finances, worries about health, apprehension about life changes…were really only asking for me to "remember and never be shaken"…for them, with them, beside them.   My journey through the valley of the shadow of death…the death of my peace, the death of my view of myself as being "in control", the death of an image that was, by it's very nature, not true…gave me a road map for helping others.  It wasn't my job to "fix" my life or anyone else's…it was my privilege to bear witness to God's control in all things…for all of us.

For me this is what Jesus was referring to when he said,

"I can of mine own self do nothing
But what I seeth the Father do…"

And what Mary Baker Eddy encourages us to do when she writes in Science and Health:

"All that is made is the work of God, and all is good. We leave this brief glorious history of spiritual creation…in the hands of God, not of man, in the keeping of Spirit, not of matter, -- joyfully acknowledging now and forever God's supremacy, omnipotence, and omnipresence."

It was shared with me recently that a very experienced spiritual healer was once asked about how she viewed her long career.  She replied that in the early years she was certain that she was working for God.  Then after a number of years it became clear to her that she was, in actuality, working with God.  But now, she said, "I know that I am really just watching God work."

When we really know that God is omnipotent, omnipresent, and supreme – is in control -- what is there left to do but "watch God work"…or as Jesus said, "what I seeth the Father do"…and be grateful.

"...He has never let you down
Why start to worry now?
He is still the Lord of all we see
And He is still the loving Father
Watching over you and me

watching over you..watching over me..
every little sparrow..every little thing..."

Gratefully,
Kate

"Smell the Color 9..."

"I would take "no" for an answer
Just to know I heard You speak
And I'm wonderin' why I've never
Seen the signs they claim they see
Are the special revelations
Meant for everybody but me?
Maybe I don't truly know You
Or maybe I just simply believe…"
- Chris Rice

It was cold, cloudy and drippingly gray on the Cape that afternoon.  The small church seated less than 50 in its auditorium. By the time we arrived for the talk they were seating overflow guests in the Sunday School down the hall. 

I was distracted and I don't think I had ever felt so empty.  There wasn't a "reason," I couldn't put my finger on a cause.  It just felt as if all the light and inspiration had drained out of some spigot in the bottom of my big toe and I didn't know how to get it back. 

We had moved to Boston earlier that year to serve an organization we loved.  When we considered making the move from the comfort of our small university town in Colorado, it was easy to feel inspired and courageous, selfless and willing.  But once we got there and discovered that our commute was going to be about an hour and a half each way, and our work schedules were not in synch, and that I would find the tasks in my job menial and mind-numbing…well, we were not such happy campers.   All those noble motives and ideals seemed to pale in the actual light of a 15-hour work day…door to door.

The further I indulged my sense of disappointment, the less inspired I became.  What was I thinking...accepting a job as a file clerk when I had been a school principal?  Didn 't this organization realize how over-qualified I was?  Was I crazy to think that the mission of the office--and the materials I would be responsible for--would overshadow my sense of personal achievement and  job status?  Before long I was feeling an emptiness so hollow that I could hear the echo of every complaint reverberating through me like an out of tune bell.

I didn't want to feel this way.  I longed for the kind of quiet satisfaction I had felt when I'd hungered so desperately to make a difference in the world.  The kind of longing that had led me to Boston and to be willing to do the work I had accepted.   But I couldn't seem to find the heartbeat of that Soul-animated lifeforce which had impelled me to consider a life of selfless service.   The more I felt for it and was met with a cold, pulse-less silence…the more I wanted it.  And the more I wanted it, the less my work satisfied me.   It felt cyclical and bleak…and yet I still found myself waking each morning with this glimmer of hope that today some spark of inspiration would catch fire in me and reignite the passion for living with a spiritual purpose that had brought me there.  I just wanted to feel God in my life.  I wanted to hear some message of "good and faithful servant," to sense some small indication that I was on the right track with Him.

"'...Cause I can sniff, I can see
And I can count up pretty high
But these faculties aren't getting me
Any closer to the sky
But my heart of faith keeps poundin'
So I know I'm doin' fine
But sometimes finding You
Is just like trying to
Smell the color nine..."

That weekend had been particularly desolate.  I had brought work home with me and I couldn't even make myself open the manilla file folders stacked at my elbow.  I had spent hours sitting at the kitchen table looking out the window at the gray-green water lapping at the shoreline while cup after cup of untouched tea cooled in front of me.

When a friend at church suggested that we drive further down the Cape for an inspirational talk by the sister of a friend, I was really quite indifferent.  "Sure…why not…at least I will have an excuse for why I never touched those files," I thought.

But once we arrived I was thinking this was even worse.  At least at home I would be in my jammies, I could have my tea, and if I got really miserable I could turn on the TV and watch an old movie. 

Sitting in the cold Sunday School to hear a talk being given in another room seemed torturous.  It is hard enough to concentrate when the speaker is standing in front of you, but sitting in hard chairs without anything to look at except the wrinkled collar on the blue and white striped oxford cloth shirt worn by the guy sitting in front of me...was agony.  I really hoped something would penetrate my coldness, but my optimism was fading fast.  I decided I would listen for just one word or phrase I could take home with me.  I reached for an old magazine that was on the "give away" table near my chair by the door, and found a pen in my jacket pocket.  During the first 30 minutes of the talk I doodled away on the back cover of the magazine filling in all but one small square that I reserved for that one poignant message. 

When it came I was not expecting it…really.  I had been listening intently and nothing was getting through.  I felt as if I was hearing her words from under water when suddenly as clear as a bell I heard the phrase, "infinitely near."   That was it.  Infinitely near.  In thinking of God as infinite, it was always something big and "out there."  But an infinitely near God's voice penetrated deep beneath the surface of mere hope and faith to a place of oneness, a space so intimate that I couldn't sense it…any more than I can feel my own heartbeat, or find my own pulse, or see my own talents.  

This phrase "infinitely near" became a space of rest for my hope.  I no longer needed a rest from my longing for God. I rested upon that longing as the promise that God was with me IN that longing.  In fact He was the source of it.  My desire to experience Him, to sense His presence was a sure indication that I knew what He felt like and wanted to go deeper.   That He had already penetrated my complacency and dug beneath the surface of my simple senses to the place where, as Chris Rice sings, "trying to find You is just like trying to smell the color nine."  You can't sense with the senses what is part of you. 

"... Now I've never 'felt the presence'
But I know You're always near
And I've never 'heard the calling'
But somehow You've led me right here
So I'm not looking for burning bushes
Or some divine graffiti to appear
I'm just beggin' You for some wisdom
And I believe You're puttin' some here

Smell the color nine?
But nine's not a color
And even if it were you can't smell a color
That's my point exactly..."

This phrase "infinitely near" has given me a peace that is "beyond understanding"…beyond feeling, and seeing, and tasting, and hearing and touching. It is  deeper than the ocean and higher than the sky, it is nearer than my heartbeat and further than I ever hope to reach.   I went back to work not inspired to be something--a title, a mission--but to live in consonance with that deeper pulse that was so infinitely near.  No matter what...this is the rhythm I dance to...this is the beat that drives me...this is the song that sings below the surface of the quiet..."infinitely near."

It is the smell of the color 9.

With love,
Kate

"Your grace provides for me..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"...for this is the will of God..."

"Thank you for this perfect day
Truth and Love point out the way
Calm and exalted, each evening I pray:
Thank you for this perfect day."

I really don't know where this song/prayer originates*.  We sing it at camp as a round, I sing it to my daughters each bedtime at the end of our nightly lullabies and hymns…I love it.  It is simple and it brings me back to a settled, centered place of peace.

Each time I sing this song I feel like I am standing in the middle of a pure and perfect meadow.  There is only one tree standing on a rise in the middle of an undulating field of green.  The sun is shining, there are puffy clouds drifting across a sky so clear and blue you wonder if it will drip spring water if you reach out your finger and plunge beneath the surface of its fragile skin. The air that blows across your face barely ruffles your hair…but it is there…cool and dry like a silk chemise gliding gently across your skin.

The purity of its message came one day when I was desperate for direction.  I had studied, prayed, pleaded, yielded, listened, treated my own resistance, denied the belief in any outside influence, thought-taking, or speculation about my life, and prayed some more…and still nothing…or at least not anything I felt was even akin to the kind of guidance I was seeking.

In the silence that followed all my "doing" I heard a very gentle little bird-like message "Not my will, but Thine be done". 

"Okay," I thought, "that is exactly what I have been praying for all along…not my will but God's will."  But the simple purity of the voice and the message echoed again.  "Not my will, but Thine be done." 

I was about as frustrated as I could be.  Isn't this exactly what was behind all of my praying, listening, yielding…I was waiting to know what God's will was…once I knew it, I would be happy to do it. 

I gave up…and went out to the mailbox to get the mail. 

A while later I was sorting through some papers and old notes in a folder when I came across a scrap of paper, actually a donation envelope from the pew rack at church. I had used it to write down a quote, something that had been read from the Scriptures that Sunday and I wanted to revisit.  The scrawling, made with a stubby little pencil I also found in the rack, was barely visible having traveled from the pocket of my sweater, to my wallet and then finally to the folder where I kept notes to myself I wanted to return to and ponder…later.

On it was this statement from I Thessalonians,

"In everything give thanks, for this is the will of God…"

It was a pure ray of light to my heart.  If I didn't know what to do, if I felt the need for direction, guidance, mission, purpose…to know God's will…all I needed to do was "give thanks". 

Why of course that made absolute sense.  If, as Mary Baker Eddy states in Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures,

"All that is made is the work of God, and all is good.
We leave this brief glorious history of spiritual creation
…in the hands of God, not of man,
in the keeping of Spirit, not of matter, --
joyfully acknowledging now and forever God's supremacy,
omnipotence, and omnipresence."

So, if I were to break it down into a simpler form (as I've said before, diagramming sentences in grade school…and as an primary school teacher…is something that I have actually used…go figure, I thought learning sentence structure was ridiculous when Mrs. Kearns required it in fourth grade.  What promise does that hold for geometry and algebra?) So, what does that mean for me in this case?  Well…if I were to boil the above statement down, for me, it reads:

All that is…is the work of God…and is good.  Leave it (all) in the hands of God, not man (even your own)…what you get to do is joyfully acknowledge God's supremacy, omnipotence and omnipresence. 

Okay, so once you have acknowledged that your God (who is your Father and loves you) is supreme, has all the power in the universe, and is always present and only makes good…things happen, what is there left to do but give thanks? We aren't creators...we don't create a thought, an opportunity, a desire, a mistake, a mental environment conducive for inspiration...or a will. God is the only Cause and Creator. I can trust that.

So now, when I sing…I sing because I am grateful.  When I want to know God's will…well, I don't fret because I do know it…it is for me to be grateful.  The rest I leave to Him…when He wants me to know it too, He will make it so imperatively clear to my heart (His province) that any other path will seem unthinkable.  Hmmm…maybe the choices I think I am making aren't really choices at all.  In fact, if the only way to do His will is to give thanks…life is pretty sweet…like a meadow with a tree, a blue sky to lie under and some puffy little clouds to find giraffes, dinosaurs, bunnies…and the hand of God, in the lives of His children - His universe...to love and be grateful for.  Could this be the mental image that Michaelangelo was trying to reproduce on the celing of the Sistine chapel?  Could it really be that simple?

I've got to remember this more often...
Kate

[*thanks Maria for letting me know the above song is: "Evening Round" by Madora Kibbe]

"Let God be the hero in your story"

"…It might have appeared to go unnoticed,
but I've got it all here in my heart.
I want you to know I know the truth,
of course I know it.
I would be nothing without you.

Did you ever know that you're my hero?
You're everything I wish I could be.
I could fly higher than an eagle,
for you are the wind beneath my wings…."
- Henley/ Silbar

Last week I was reminded of an epiphany I had at camp years ago.  This recent reminder came as a gentle, but firm, rebuke. 

And of course, it started with a song.  No surprise I'm sure.  Whenever I've heard the lyrics to Bette Midler's "Wind Beneath My Wings" in the past, one of two things came to mind.  Either I thought about it in reference to someone (or even something) in my life - a friend, loved one, parent, sibling, a particular organization, perspective or system – who had been there for me…who had made a difference at one time or another…in my story.  Or, I am embarrassed to say, I thought about how much I wanted to really live my life in a way – nobly, courageously, generously – that would allow me to be "the wind beneath" someone else's wings.

I know…sad…but true.  I am a bit slow on the uptake sometimes! Now it's been quite a few years since I've thought about this song…I don't listen to soft-rock radio, haven't been to a wedding reception with a live cover band, and "Beaches" hasn't been on the late night movie channel…or at least I haven't had the opportunity to know about it. 

But that said, I don't know that I would have heard it any differently....  

That is, until last week when the thought came, out of the blue,  "Let God be the hero in your story…in fact, Let God be the hero in everyone's story." Now, Susan Dane, in her book "When All Systems Fail" says, "In the movies, we get to be the heroes. But in the story of spirituality, God does." However, this wasn't what God said to me last week, His angels simply whispered the above, "Let God be the Hero in your story, in fact, let God be the Hero in everyone's story."

Hmmm…right up until that moment I thought I was doing just that. But I have long-since learned that I can always do better at surrendering my own sense of having "accomplished" something. So I stopped in my tracks and actually pondered the message with an open heart. And in that space of hungering for something fresh and new, like opening the windows in a stuffy room and having the winds of Sprit blow through clearing out the cobwebs, I was reminded of an experience I had almost 20 years earlier at camp.  I was there for counselor "training school," as well as a couple of youth sessions that year, and had the opportunity to participate in some of the training workshops. 

One was a session on low-impact camping that my friend Mark James was giving.  It was all about "leave no footprints"…meaning, as much as possible leave as little of yourself on the trail as is humanly possible.  Take out your trash, disturb as little ground, return to civilization having left the forest as you found it. 

As a spiritual healer this became my model for being invited into someone's "life" and being asked to give treatment.  I wanted to go in, when invited, give treatment, and tiptoe out…without leaving any of "me" behind.  This meant that I talked as little as possible…and listened more...to God...and to the patient.  It was my job to point out God's constant, still (never-the-less) presence in their lives, and turn their gaze in that direction…instead of looking at me.  That I would leave "without a trace" of Kate. 

I love that God sends us angel reminders to keep us honest in this work.  It's always such a bittersweet joy to be reminded that we can do better. And if you know my relationship to chocolate...I'm all about bittersweet.  And this angel message was just that a reminder to "do better."  

"Let God be the hero in their story" was such a gentle way for God to hold my hand in this work, and coincides, for me, with the story of Jesus healing of the woman with an infirmity.  The Bible reports that "immediately she was made straight, and glorified God."  Some years ago, I looked up the word "immediate" and it said "without medium."  This made such sense to me in light of my desire for a "low impact camping" approach to spiritual healing.  That Jesus healed without being the medium for the person's relationship to God was so clear in light of his gospel message, "The kingdom of God is within you."  It also made perfect sense to me that following the healing, they would glorify God…not Jesus.  He had already tiptoed backwards out of the clearing like a Indian maiden in deerskin moccasins…not even a dry leaf crackling under foot. 

Couldn't this also be, I asked myself,  what he meant when he is reported as having said, "The Son can do nothing of himself, but what he seeth the Father do…"?

For me, that is my job…to see what the Father is doing.  It's like walking into a room full of people (or even just one person) and not saying a word, but staring at a beautiful painting on the wall.  Eventually, one by one, everyone starts looking at that same painting.  My job is to go in and just transfix my gaze on the presence of God that I am sure is there in (and as) someone's life.  The "first faint morning beam" of goodness, affection, grace, strength, purity…that is always present.  And patiently wait while their "eyes" focus on that same presence of God with gratitude and appreciation.  And when we appreciate something (are grateful for it, recognize and give thanks for it's worth in our lives…however faint a glimpse it might be) it appreciates (grows in value…like your money in an interest bearing account…or the value in your home when it appreciates). 

Once they are focused on the already presence of God, good in their lives…and they see it appreciate to the full-noon of a risen day (the complete sun was always there) I can tiptoe out the door and leave them transfixed on God….or as is says in the Bible, "glorifying the God of Israel."

This was particularly helpful the other night when I did something careless and injured myself quite severely. I was quick to make myself the villain in my story. I had been in a hurry, not paying attention, you know how it goes. But in a moment rife with self-rebuke the thought came again, "Let God be the Hero in your story." I was at first puzzled, I wasn't even thinking about a hero. But then I realized that what I had been thinking about was me as a careless villain. I had also assigned myself the role of being someone who either needed to find a hero to make it better, or become a hero in my own story by praying more effectively. Once again, that angel reminder stopped me cold. Ahh, God was always present in my life as the only hero, the only Mind controlling my thoughts, motives, and actions...and there were no villains. Even my silly self. Within moments of that thought I became more peaceful...and found my first moment of freedom from the extreme discomfort I had been experiencing. And right on the heels of this realization, my husband arrived on the scene. He expressed such a calm, gentle love and was so patient in helping me care for the injury. I think it was very clear to us both that he was not the Superhero, but a great sidekick...a great witness to what the real Superhero was doing all along. I slept pain-free and peacefully that night and by the next morning I was moving freely.

So…I have been gently rebuked, carefully reminded, and am deeply grateful.  It is a joy to let God be the hero in my story…and in everyone else's story too.

"Did you ever know that you're my hero?
You're everything I wish I could be.
I could fly higher than an eagle,
for you are the wind beneath my wings…."

with love for the Hero in everyone's story...
Kate