"... trying to earn grace..."

"...Why are you striving these days
Why are you trying to earn grace
Why are you crying
Let me lift up your face
Just don't turn away

Why are you looking for love
Why are you still searching
as if I'm not enough..."

I have been thinking alot about the word "grace" lately, and what it means to me.  I heard this song, "By Your Side" by Tenth Avenue North,  and I was just so struck by the question, "Why are you trying to earn grace?" 

My favorite dictionary definition of grace has always been "the divine influence on the heart, and its reflection in the life."  It is a definition that found me when I most needed to feel grace in my life.  It has helped me recalibrate my thinking over and over again.  I love it.  I have lived with it, and I have tried very hard to put it into practice in my life.  But, I've begun to see that this is where I may have lost the true chord.  I worked  it, tried to do something with it, and used it...like an instrument I could own.  However,  in the past few years it has come to mean something more.  And this something more, is actually something I don't know if I can wrap up neatly in all the right words and give it to this page.   But I will try. 

Grace for me is the un-earned moments of divinity that touch our human experience.  Grace is found in those instances of mercy when we least feel like we deserve that "beyond forgiveness" which the word "mercy" implies.  It is the kindness of a stranger...who is as surprised by his own expression of kindness, as I am by the receiving of it.  It is genuine peace while the storm still rages.   It is actually feeling the warmth of home, even though you are sleeping in your car.   It is dignity in the midst of prejudice and distain.  It is feeling affection when hatred screams that you "have a right" to feel otherwise...and yet you love.  And this love surprises you.  You are loving,  not because you are trying to do the right thing, but because God has moved your heart to feel something you could never have even imagined feeling, just moments before.

I am so moved by this concept, this gift, of grace.  It takes my breath away.  I have seen it in hospice rooms, at the scenes of accidents, on football fields, and in restaurants.  I have seen it in grocery stores and parking lots...I saw it after the Columbine shootings in the way that students found a hidden strength within themselves, and they were able to comfort adults and strangers, even though they themselves had just been through hell and back.

For me, grace isn't found in grand strategies, missions, or service projects...although, in the breaking down of pride, selfishness, and hierarchy that often attend a genuine desire to serve, these can be fertile opportunities for grace to appear...grace is found in the conversation between a volunteer and a Katrina victim where both discover something new about compassion and humility. It is found in the moment on a park bench when a lonely senior citizen just needs to tell his life story, and a teen sits and listens.  It is found in the child who shares one of her gloves with a teammate when it starts spitting sleet during a soccer game...and they both have one warm hand in a muddy glove and one bare hand for high-fiving with.  It is the middle school boy who surprises himself by hugging his mom in front of his friends after school.   It is in the  generosity of a remarkable singer/songwriter who gives you a song, just because she knows it moves your heart beyond the landscape of longing, and into holy space of unspeakable redemption and peace.

Grace is found in the most unexpected places.  It is not earned, but earnest.  It is a prayer that wells up from our emptiness and reminds us that there is still an ember of hope somewhere waiting to be fanned into a flame.   Grace is an unexpected meeting with a fox on a lone stretch of rocky island coast in the Bearing Sea.

I have known grace in the forgiveness of a friend, the patience of a child, the compassion of a waitress, the welcoming of stranger. It is a teacher who starts a community service and philanthropy revolution without a dime in his budget, but with a dream in his heart, a like-hearted partner by his side, and a passion for giving that sees only humanity's hunger, and his community's need to be generous in order to fulfill its true purpose.  

As I think about the start of this holiday season...the red cups are already out at Starucks...I am standing on tiptoes,  watching like a child at the window on Christmas eve,  for instances of grace this year.  Watching with my heart pressed up against the frosty windowpane waiting and watching for those moments of divine surprise when Diety reaches deep within us and fills our very human-ness with something sacred and holy.  

I know that it is in these times...times when, as a global community we are facing war, joblessness, poverty, a health care crisis, economic meltdowns, and strife among neighbors...that we are most ripe for the appearance of grace...the uncommon in the common, the sacredness in simplicity.  And I don't want to miss one tiny glimmer of this "miracle of grace..." that, as Mary Baker Eddy says, in Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, "...is no miracle to Love."  Love, God, doesn't find it miraculous that, in Her all-powerful love, and care for us,  She surprises us with the gifts of wonder, affection, mercy, peace...grace.  Every mother knows the supreme joy of surprising her child with something wonderful...we have learned it from Her.

Grace stands waiting to surprise us in our stillness...with a gift full of spiritual promises, reminders of His presence.  Grace appears....it always has.

It appeared in the hearts of three wise me who were sent by a jealous king to find  the "prince of peace" so that he could put an end to the prophecy "peace on earth, good will to men" and this grace led them home by another way.

It appeared in the choices made by a young fiancé who actually believed an angel that came to him in a dream and told him that his pregnant girlfriend had not betrayed him, but was carrying the child of God.

It appeared in a girl who ran through the countryside to see if her long barren cousin was "with child" as a confirmation of the miracle within her own womb.

And it will appear in each of us...listen, watch, wait for the touch of grace, as gentle and quiet as snowfall, as un-earned as a mother's love....oh sweet amazing grace.  Grace is transformative, it can change the human heart from a place of want and woe, to a sacred space where lions lie down with the lambs, men whisper to foxes, and angels sing....

"My heart is capable of every form:
A pasture for gazelles,
A monastery for monks,
An abode for idols,
And a place where the votaries of the Kaaba come.
In my heart, both the Tablets of the Torah and the Holy Qur'an
are to be found.
My faith and religion is love: wherever it beckons me, I follow."
- Tarjuman Al-Ashwaq

with Him right by our side, holding us...
Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

[photo credit:  Nathaniel Wilder 2009]

"There's no place like being known..."

"Oh, there's no place like home for the holidays
'Cause no matter how far away you roam
When you pine for the sunshine of a friendly gaze
For the holidays, you can't beat home, sweet home..."
-Al Stillman

It was the week before Thanksgiving, 1979, and it was going to be the first year in my life that I would not be with my mom for this favorite holiday, or to be more accurate, my favorite day of the year. 

Since dad's passing, she and I had worked together like left, and right, hands. We were a team, caring for and supporting, my seven younger siblings. And although her recent move to another state 1,200 miles away, had been a step of progress for us all, I was feeling lonely and adrift.

But then, I think we all were.  My next younger sister was on the opposite coast, and my brother was in the Air Force and stationed in a completely different part of the country. We were each feeling like loose halyards on a tallship's mast...each flapping aimlessly in the wind. 

The five youngest children were with mom in the Midwest, but it was a new community and they had only been there since the beginning of the school year. They'd yet to make any friends who might include them in weekend activities.

  Thanksgiving for our family was all about being together...praying, cooking, going to church, and playing games.  I didn't know how to "do Thanksgiving" without my mother…and I didn't want to learn. 

Long distance phone calls were expensive in those days, and I knew my budget would only allow for a short visit after the rates went down on Thanksgiving day. then, at the last minute, my sister was able to scrape up the fare for a plane ticket to fly out and surprise mom, and although I was thrilled for her, I couldn't imagine not being there too.  It was almost too much to bear when my brother called to tell me he'd been able to catch a flight from his base to the airport near mom, so now he, too, was going to be there to surprise her. 

I was a teacher, and since our Thanksgiving break was limited to a four-day weekend, it was hard to justify the exhorbitant cost of a ticket, for such a short visit.  It was money that could be better spent on mom's utilities or to help with the many other expenses associated with raising six children as a single working mom.

The plans I came up with for my weekend seemed like the "best under the circumstances," and I was determined to be at peace with them.  Even though a long-term relationship had recently ended, and I wasn't sure where I belonged emotionally, if it wasn't with my family.   So, in light of my new social standing,  and, as yet, shaky emotional landscape, I had volunteered to serve Thanksgiving dinner to the boys and girls at the state institution for developmentally disabled children where I was a teacher. 

Afterwards another teacher and I were going to go to the movies.  Yes, I told myself, it seemed like it would be a good plan.  And I could always look forward to calling mom, and the kids, in the evening once the rates went down…it was going to be okay...really.

But that afternoon, a week before Thanksgiving I wasn't so sure I was ready to "go it alone." Then I got a call from the my former sweetheart.  He wondered if I would like to meet him for bagels at our favorite bagel shop.  I said, "yes,
while wondering why we were doing this to eachother. 

It had been so clear, earlier that fall, that our relationship was changing, and that we needed space to figure out who we might be without the other. Neither of us knew how to transition from the two "halves" that we'd been since high school, into two wholes. But perhaps this was a first steo.

As I sat there waiting for him, I thought about all the Thanksgivings that we had shared at my mom's house.  I was so grateful for his willingness...over the years...to eat two big meals. 

He also came from a large family with eight children, and they were just as deeply devoted to their own family traditions, as we were.  Thanksgiving day for him had become a day full of driving between our family homes.  And as an avid football fan, he would often miss crucial moments in televised bowl games that his brothers would have to tell him about later. 

By the time he arrived at the bagel shop that day, my heart was full of appreciation for the years he'd sacrificed relaxing at home, for driving an hour to be with my family too.

  And as much as I knew that it was right for us, as a couple, to be going our separate ways, I was profoundly grateful for every moment we had spent together, as teenagers and young adults. In many ways we had helped each other just grow up. 

As he walked in, I immediately noticed the bouquet of flowers he was carrying. I was very concerned that he wanted us to discuss our relationship.  It was something that I was not yet prepared to do.  I knew that we needed much more time to sort through our feelings. And I wasn't ready to have that conversation yet. 

But as he sat down at the table, I realized that this wasn't what he had in mind.  The look on his face was one of absolute glee.  It was disarming.  And as he handed me the bouquet of flower tied with a wide satin ribbon, .  I could tell that he was barely able to contain his excitement. He pressed me to open the card that he placed in front of me, even before we ordered our food.

When I did I was speechless.  It contained a plane ticket to the Midwest, and one hundred dollars. 

He explained that since we wouldn't be spending Thanksgiving together that year, he wanted to be sure I was with my mom and siblings

.  He had worked it out with my sister and brother. We would all meet at the airport once our flights had all arrived, and we would be picked up and taken to mom's front door together, so that we could surprise her. 

The one hundred dollars was his gift. He wanted me to be able to help mom with the expenses of the weekend, once I got there.

  It was all worked out. Another volunteer would take my place in serving dinner to the children that day.  He had called the restaurant where I waitressed as a second job, he had made sure that my shifts were covered. 

I was going home for Thanksgiving!!.  In fact, he'd even made arrangements to get time off from his own job, so that he could take me to, and pick me up from, the airport about an hour away.  I was stunned. 

I knew how hard he worked at his job…and how modest his salary was.  I knew how many phone calls he must have made to arrange all the details.  This was not a gesture…it was a priceless gift of love.

He knew me.  He knew my heart.  This was one of the most selfless and generous gifts I had ever experienced. But for some reason it was unsettling.  I felt vulnerable and naked, I was the one who was supposed to be "the giver".  What did he want from me? 

But then I looked across the table, and into his eyes, and I knew immediately that  all he wanted was for me to know that he understood…and that he cared.  He wanted me to see him for the man he really was…generous, thoughtful, intuitive, and good.

I did go "home for the holidays" that Thanksgiving.  The look of surprise on my mother's face was priceless.  The hours of family warmth, love and laughter were nourishing and revitalizing.  And when my flight landed that following Sunday evening, he was there waiting at the gate (you could still do that then). 

I returned to my teaching invigorated and happy.  Eventually, he and I went our separate ways, a decision that was right for both of us.  But he'd given me another glimpse of what it felt like to be loved, and known. 

God had placed yet another angel in my life's path. And even though I have many lovely memories from that relationship, this is what I remember most when I think of him. 

The story of that Thanksgiving is rich with lessons of love.  This is just one of them…but it is the one I think of each time I remember that year. I am still so touched by his unconditional generosity and kindness. He knew my heart. 

To be known is to be loved.

His gift has given me over three decades of happy memories, but most of all, it gave me a glimpse of what it means to be truly known by another person…it is a gift I hope to recycle year-after-year.

with Love,   
Kate

"In the Bleak Midwinter"

Last year, in celebration of the holiday season, Hallmark released a new James Taylor CD of songs and carols.  On this collection was a song that within an hour of first hearing it,  I began replaying it over and over again for spiritual inspiration and comfort, and in it I found direction on a journey that, at best, felt most dark and bleak. 

This song, a traditional carol written by Christina Rossetti in 1872, is one that Taylor and his partner on this recording project, Dave Grusin, breathe new life into with their haunting arrangement.  "In the Bleak Midwinter..." (full lyrics below) includes the following prayer:

"Then what can I bring Him empty as I am
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
If I were a wise man, I would know my part;
What then can I bring Him?
I must bring my heart."

My days were filled with the colorful busyness of the holiday season...choosing just the right gifts, wrapping presents, making and carrying out travel arrangements for loved ones, cooking, baking, chauffeuring children and meeting with patients, tea with friends.  This busyness, with all the details of caring for others, allowed me to push down the deep sadness and pain that poked constantly at the edges of my smile. I felt like I couldn't even begin to consider what were looming questions about my life and the lives of those I loved.

My nights, however, seemed like a colorless empty pit...a void so dark and abysmal that I often felt,  once I had the children settled in for the night, I would never climb out of  the utter confusion I felt about how to take steps towards a solution.  Even the process of discovering what those steps might be, seemed lost in a quagmire of emotion, culturally interpreted issues of respectability, and my own fear of failure and rejection. Night after night I would put on my running shoes and pound the streets in our neighborhood, and cover miles on the local track, praying for direction and guidance.  I often wasn't sure whether I was using running, metaphorically, to get away from my problems, or to move towards a solution...but I ran, and ran, and ran. 

By the last week in December I had listened to Taylor's CD so often that I had all the words to each of the songs memorized.  "In the Bleak Midwinter" was my step by step mantra for covering the endless track-based miles I convered each week (an earlier blog speaks of Martina McBride's "In my Daughters' Eyes" and how that song gave some direction to thoughts during the "street" sections of my nightly running that winter). 

One particularly cold night as I stood, bent over at the waist, mid-track...having just finished an exhausting two mile "loop"...I realized that the above quoted stanza was also running, side by side with me,  in a loop through my head, and it wasn't stopping from exhaustion.   One part of my nightly routine was to take a break after each two miles on the track and go to the long jump pit where I would move through a series of yoga-based stretching positions under the treeless bowl of stars above me. 

As I found my balance in the Urdhva Mukha Svanasana (Upward-facing Dog) position that night tears rolled down my temples...gathering and freezing in the stray hairs that had fallen in front of my face.  I was bringing to that moment every sacred hope I had cherished for a peace-filled resolution to what seemed like almost an insurmountable dilemma.  I was hearing over and over in my prayers, "What then can I give Him...I must give my heart".  I returned to Balasana (Child's Pose) as I exhaled and released myself from every self-presevationist instinct that I had left to retain control over my own heart.  I gave that which I most thought I could control and hold sway over, my own heart...my own right to be the architect of my expression of love.... into His hands under the stars that night. 

As my tears froze on my face I wept for what I knew I no longer could control, determine, "make happen"...I gave up my right to define outcomes, design impressions, or preserve pretenses....I surrendered my right to decide how I was going to be seen, how my motives were going to be interpreted, or how those around me were going to feel about me.  What could I give him in this moment of worship, in the midst of these feelings of profound emptiness...  I could give Him my heart.  It was really all He ever wanted from me.  The only gift that made a difference in my worship.  So I did.  I gave him all that I loved, all that I hoped would symbolize love in my life...I gave Him my fondest hopes, deepest desires, my most longed for outcomes. 

I didn't finish my run that night.  I lay on my back in the long-jump pit until I was almost too cold to move and "let go" more and more with each exhale of steamy breath into the clear star-filled night.  I watched stray clouds move across a mid-cycle moon and knew that I was walking into a wilderness I could not anticipate the landscape of.  I rose to my feet and took a variation of the Tree Blows in the Wind position, yielding to a divine pneuma or wind that would "blow me where It listeth" ....I became a willing willow rather than an intractable and rigid oak.  I walked the rest of my course that night and was keenly aware that something in me had shifted into a new and unknown place of worship and sacred surrender.   I walked away from my control and into Her arms...for her "Mother's kiss".

I gave Him/Her my heart and didn't try to hold on enough to pull it back if things got scary.  And they did. 

He/She still has my heart.  God has proven to me this year that when I give Him all that is dear and precious and most holy and sacred in my life, He cares for it in ways I could never have expected, anticipated or imagined. 

He has a plan for you too....trust Her with your heart....She will tenderly care for Her young, She will protect and preserve its innocence, purity, its most tender desires and fiercest loves.  He is the Creator of your heart and the conductor of its rhythm, the choreographer of its beating...trust Him/Her.   What then can you give Him?....you must  give your heart".

In the bleak midwinter, icy wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
Snow on snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter, long..so long ago.

Angels and archangels may have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim rising in the air;
Oh, but holy Mary, in her maiden bliss,
Worshipped the beloved with a Mother's kiss.

Heaven cannot hold Him, nor can earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall fall away when He comes to reign.

What then can I give Him, empty as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
If I were a Wise Man, I would know my part;
What then I can I give Him: I must give my heart.

- Christina Rossetti

Kate