"let worth be judged..."

"I look to You,
I look to You..."

Selah's cover of  "I Look to You"  returned to my playlist this morning.

I was talking with a dear friend recently, and she asked me a question that touched a very tender nerve:

"perhaps it's a self-worth issue..."

I heard her, but I couldn't imagine how what we were talking about - my desire to be of better support to those I loved - had anything to do with self-worth. But I trusted her and I knew she loved me. So I filed her question away for "Someday when..."  Someday, when I have the time. Someday, when I am willing to probe more deeply. Someday, when I am unable to breathe because I feel the walls crumbling around me - again. Then I will be happy revisit the question of my self-worth.  For now, I'm okay -- but thanks.

Then, a few days later I received a note with this message on the front:

"One day she woke up
and decided she was worthy,

and her soul cried out
with joy"

"Hmmm," I thought, "is today the day to plumb this question?"  But first, I had to start with another question. What defines worth?

First I turned to the dictionary. It said what I already knew: "the level at which something or someone deserves to be valued, is fit for, capable of, or suitable for." It's etymology however stopped me in my tracks. It roots trace back to Old English. The word "worth," hearkens back to the word, "woerp" which refers to "an enclosed space, or a homestead."

I sat back in my chair and let that sink in. Was I at home in my own sense of worth? Do I feel at peace with the value of what I bring to humanity? Has my sense of home been directly impacted by my sense of worth? Has my sense of my own worth been been informed by my home -  or more pointedly, my housing? What correlation might there be between home, value, and worth? It took me a few moments to take the next breath.

As I thought about the concept of worth, I realized that a thing's worth is not defined by the thing itself, but is based on its perceived value. For example, gold is intrinsically worth no more than lead or silver. We have assigned a higher value to gold. The same with sports heroes over teachers. Or celebrities over mothers. Those who have advanced degrees over craftsmen, or those in the trades. It is society that assigned that value. There is no intrinsic higher value in one, over the others.

I needed to have a clear sense of what I valued in order to see my own -- or another's -- worth. So, I dug deeper. What clues could scripture give me in finding a truer sense of worth. I looked at what prophets, disciples, apostles, and Christ Jesus himself valued. Humility, meekness, self-sacrifice, patience. These resonated with me, but I still couldn't feel the deeper  shift that I knew came with a radical transformation of thought. Then something I found in Mary Baker Eddy's Science and Health with Key to the Scripture hit that nerve again -- and this time, it was like a tuning fork. She writes:

"let worth be judged according to wisdom..."

It rushed through me like a lightning bolt. A few weeks earlier my Sunday School class had been examining the difference between intelligence and wisdom.  And in response  to the question: "How would you describe that difference?" -- one of the girls said:

"Wisdom is intelligence
used with love."

When I heard it, I knew it was true. It immediately became my go-to definition for "wisdom." And here was Eddy saying that our sense of worth should be judged according to wisdom -- the loving use of intelligence. It all shifted into place. If I was feeling less than "worthy," I needed to examine how I was using the God-bestowed intelligence that filled my consciousness throughout the day.

For example:  Was I reading scripture, and delighting in every word, but not bringing these vital truths into Christian practice? Was I consciously bringing wisdom -- intelligence used with love -- to bear on every interaction? Was I vigilant in my daily defense of the wise [loving] use of intelligence? Did I affirm throughout the day that intelligence could only be used for good, for the benefit of humanity. Did I refuse to believe that intelligence could ever be corrupted or used "against" others?

Elsewhere in her Message to The Mother Church for 1902 Eddy assures us that:

"Conscious worth satisfies the hungry heart
and nothing else can..."

To be conscious of my worth -- my right to engage in the loving use of intelligence -- was all that would ever satisfy my hunger for peace. My worth is not based on an irrevocable history of personal mistakes, failures, choices, or accomplishments. It is not defined by how others perceive me. My worth is founded on my day-to-day practice of wisdom. This is what has value. And this is practice of wisdom is something I can monitor throughout the day.

It's not surprising that this "loving use of intelligence," aligns with a radical, conscious application of The Golden Rule: "do unto others as you would have them do unto you."  The Golden Rule is not a human choice, but a divine imperative.  It is a law that operates unspent throughout the deep collective root system of humanity. It is ever-establishing our ever-active spiritual worth -- moment-by-moment,  heart by heart.

We are worthy of this intelligent view of ourselves and others. We are worthy of the peace and joy it brings. We are worthy of being conscious of our worth,  and the worth of being conscious.  It is our divine right to be conscious of what we know, and how to use it.  This is a place we can homestead and abide in -- forever.

offered with Love,

Cate

"Hummingbird don't fly away, fly away..."

"Oh hummingbird,

mankind was waiting for you

to come flying along.

Oh hummingbird,

lend us your wings.

Let us soar in

the atmosphere of Abba.

Lift us up to the heaven of holiness,

oh source of our being,

oh hummingbird...."

I love Seals and Crofts "Hummingbird," not just for the memories of tall grass, embroidered jeans, gauzy peasant blouses, and soft messages of hope it evokes, but for the very creature it celebrates.



The more I learn about hummingbirds, the more I realize that they prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that there are no "laws" of matter.  The hummingbird dashes them with the lightning swiftness of her wings.  Hinged wings that seem to dislocate and rotate...rather than flap, the only bird that flies upright with her face forward...rather than down, and a speed that generally exceeds twenty-five miles an hour.   One scientist, in the PBS film linked at the beinging of this paragraph, calls them "nature's superheroes."  I love them for their intelligence, gentleness, strength, and grace. 



And hummingbirds are very smart!  The have the smallest of brains, and yet they can remember every flower they have ever visited and how long it will take each flower to refill its store of nectar. The can travel vast distances and have the endurance necessary for long journeys.  They learn which people fill the hummingbird feeders, and which ones don't...and interact accordingly.



This is consistent with my hummingbird experiences at camp...and at home. After arriving at camp each year, it takes about three days for the community of hummingbirds that live there to discover that I am home.  I am convinced that they know me and know that if they wait just a few days, I will hang the feeder from the porch eaves, I will keep it filled, and I am a safe place to hover, and flit, and dance, and tease by resting upon the arm of my chair just inches from my hand.



There is one hummingbird, I call her "Life," (even though her markings are that of a male, I am sure she identifies with her more feminine leanings) who returns to my porch each year.   Our shared life-transforming experience a number of years ago, confirmed in us a species-blind relationship that is enduring and still takes my breath away.  The first time, upon my return to camp, she zips out of the large pine branches just an arm's reach from my cabin, and lands on my arm,  I feel like I have been touched by the wings of an angel.  If I am very patient, she will linger for longer and longer as my time at camp each summer extends from June into July. 



During the bright, cool sunlit mornings and afternoons, she plays and hovers with her friends...moving from feeder to hanging petunias and lobelias, to the large pots of mixed wildflowers that stretch across my porch.  But she is also a bit possessive and if any of her friends decide to hover too close to my chair or bob and weave around my hair, she will chase them off the porch and out into the sunlight.



But at dusk, she shyly comes closer each evening and lingers for longer.  She returns to the "place" of our first gathering.  She darts from the pine tree to my Adirondack rocker...back and forth, back and forth...reminding me that she remembers and making sure I know it is her.  I assure her, I could never forget. 



By the end of the first week we have returned to our now five year old rhythm of evening visits.



I love her.  I love that she has taught me to look beyond the size of something in measuring its value, intelligence, strength, or worth.  She has taught me that what we experienced that evening five years ago is as meaningful, and remembered, for her as it was for me.  She has taught me that there is a mighty something, beyond all rhyme and reason, that brings us into relationship with one another for a holy purpose.



Gerogia O'Keefe once said of her encounter with a hummingbird:

"One day a hummingbird flew in. When I had it in my hand it was so small I couldn't believe I had it--but I could feel the intense life--so intense and so tiny. And I am, at this moment, willing to let you be what you are to me-- beautiful, and pure, and very intensely alive."

A few weeks ago I was back at camp for the Adult Base Camp program. And because we were running parallel with the Cowboy/Cowgirl program, for the first time in a long time, I didn't stay in Crowsnest, but in one of  the beautiful new rooms in Aspen Grove.  And although I wasn't on the porch of Crowsnest, my small balcony shared the same stunning east/west orientation of that beloved space.  I was so thankful that I could still enjoy the rising sun in the morning and the color of dusk over Sleeping Indian each evening.  And that first night, as the sky shifted from blue to lavender, to salmon, and I pulled my quilt around my shoulders to watch each transition from my small perch...a heard what sounded like a very large mosquito just behind my left ear. 



As I reached up to brush it away, my fingers felt soft feathers.  I slowly drew my hand back into my lap and waited.  Then she landed and we watched the sky turn into an upside-down bowl of navy velvet, sprinkled with a million tiny diamonds...and we remembered.



so grateful for Life's love...

Kate

Kate Robertson, CS