"there was Jesus..."

"when the life I had,
came crashing to the ground;

when the friends I had,
were nowhere to be found;

there was Jesus..."

Dolly Parton and Zac Williams' song, "There Was Jesus," has meant so much to me.

In my faith tradition, we don't talk a lot about our relationship with Jesus. We talk more about the presence of the Christ.  We acknowledge the Christ in consciousness. But this post not about that deeply spiritual concept of Christ. It is about my relationship with Jesus.

"Why?" you may ask, would I write about this, -- especially when I was doing so well at not stirring things up. Because, it isn't honest for me to post month-after-month about the healing power of the Christ, and not acknowledge a relationship that is second only to my love for God.

You see, when everything is stripped from you, and you are left without human comfort, you find him. And once you have found him, you never let him go.

The details of my loneliness -- during a particularly challenging time -- are not important. Suffice it to say that Mary Baker Eddy perfectly described it when she wrote:

“Would existence without personal friends be to you a blank? Then the time will come when you will be solitary, left without sympathy; but this seeming vacuum is already filled with divine Love."
 

Been there. Felt that. And in that seeming vacuum, I found him. Not "him," as in a guy in a white robe, but him as a mentor, a shepherd, a friend -- the one who would lead me out of the emptiness of abstraction, and into the fullness of his living, breathing, palpating love.

In Scripture we are introduced to the man who would inspire gospel choirs to sing: "what a friend we have in Jesus."  To know his friendship is to never be alone again.

I remember well the nights that I sat alone in a near empty apartment and realized that I had no one to call. I had spent all day "taking calls," but felt undeserving of the same unconditional, spiritual acceptance that I try to bring to every call that comes into my office.

You see, I've made choices that did not always align with what others expected of me. My reservoir of trust - in my own ability to intuit divine guidance - sometimes runs low. There are times when I have taken all of my cues about myself, from the opinions of others. And those opinions have, at times, been full of derision.

Sitting in the dark, the light from streetlamps all that illumined the empty silence of an empty room, I begged God for something clear and unquestionable. If I was a bad person, tell me - so that I could repent and change. For all I really wanted was to love, trust, and honor Him - more each day.

What He sent me - however - was not a message. It was a man. It was His son. And in the dark, my heart is flooded with his story. I have felt held in the comfort of his example, his words, his self-sacrificing love.

In my sorrow -- he was there. In my self-doubt - he was there.  With the woman, taken "in the very act" -- he was there. With the mother begging for her daughter's life -- he was there. His words, his comforting touch, his trust in our Father's love -- it has been there to hold me close. It is there to whisper assurance. It was there to rebuke, to restore, to return me to our shared home in the Father's house - time and time again.

Sitting in the silence, I was sitting with him. Not with a specter. Not with a character from a story. Not with a superhero. I was sitting with Jesus. I was asking him about our Father.  Asking him to tell me about His love.  I was weeping in his arms. I was pouring out my heart's deepest questions, and he invariably turned me to his timeless message - "the kingdom of God is within you." Be still. Listen. I am here. I will not leave you comfortless. I have come to you."

Of the 809 times that Mary Baker Eddy refers to Jesus in her writings, 646 of them are without reference to him in connection with "Christ." And though she refers to Christ 868 times, only 494 of those instances are where it is not in connection with "Jesus" or "the Church of Christ, Scientist."

Her relationship to Jesus has humbled me. One night, when my family was living in the carriage house at Eddy's last former home on Beacon Street in Chestnut Hill, I offered to do the security check on "the big house," -- a condition of our residency. As I climbed the stairs - flashlight in hand - I came to her bedroom, and paused. I was curious about the "images" that she surrounded herself with during her darkest hours.

Eddy faced many dark nights in that last house. Her days were filled with writing, healing, founding the Christian Science Monitor, helping to guide church leadership, and facing a world that questioned her every move and decision. Her household would later recount how dark those nights actually were for her at times.

And that night, I noted that on the wall, directly opposite her bed - in that small modest room, were three images. A small painting of a pastoral scene, a familiar painting of Daniel in the Lion's Den, and a portrait of Jesus. One that you might see in many Christian homes of her day.

It took my breath away - to think that she would wake in the night to a painting of Daniel's unfailing trust, a scene reminiscent of her girlhood in Bow, and a portrait of Jesus. I will never forget the feeling of wanting to feel what she had felt when she looked at it. It left me with a longing for something more than just words about Jesus. I wanted to know why his portrait hung on her bedroom wall and what it meant to her.

One night sitting alone in a dark apartment, I understood.

offered with Love,

Kate

"a voice..."

"Numbers and photographs
do not a person make.

I'm more than what
a page can say of me.

My identity is not
in my history..."

I was in the middle of writing another post when my friend, Scott - a brilliant musician - shared a new video of Kat Edmundson performing her hauntingly lovely  "A Voice,"and from that moment on, it was all I could write about.

Some songs, like Ellis' "Right Time," and Sara Groves' "Less Like Scars," stop me in my tracks and send fissures all along the fragile shell of what I think I know and feel at the moment.

This song was composure-shattering for me. First, it took my breath away -- literally. Once the last note sounded, I felt a shudder of air, and tears, and a tender tightness in my throat and chest. It took me by surprise. A good song will get stuck in your head. A great song will break your heart open so that all the world can fall in - and find hope.

I've been waiting for this moment for months now. I've tiptoed through my days like a once-broke teacup held together with flour paste and baling twine. "Don't bump into anyone who you know might see the cracks. Be the love -- don't let yourself be loved. Too much kindness and the tears might start falling and who knows if you will be able to make them stop."

I knew I was getting close to this moment when I hugged a friend goodbye on Sunday, and the warmth of her hug sent a new series of fine cracks through the veneer of my equanimity. I quickly excused myself, mentally touched up my mask of self-possession and hurried to the car. I knew I was postponing the inevitable, but at least it didn't have to happen with an audience.

Jeff is out of town. I've had wonderful days - and nights - in the office. Caring for others, holds the hounds at bay. But tonight, just when I thought I could take a deeper breath and not have it end in a sob -- Kat's song found me.

It wasn't just the words -- which are so poignantly beautiful. It is the sound of her voice -- the clear, raw honesty, her unflinching willingness to speak to the demon that "names us, and claims us, and shames us all," -- to quote James Taylor. And that demon is relentless.  It is the ego. The small "I" that screams we are not enough.

I don't know about any of you, but no matter how many wonderful people I am surrounded by, when that demon starts hissing its self-hate, the only voice that can truly silence its hideous sound, is the voice of The One that speaks from within. The Voice of divine Love. The Voice that speaks out from the fathomless depths of the kingdom of God - within us all.

It is the Voice of the Friend -- of the friendless. And it never fails to reach us when we think we are on our last leg, don't have a breath left to hold, and the rope is fraying at the edge of the abyss. It is the voice that says, "I love you, I've got you, you can do this hard thing..." And we realize -- we can.

In fact, we realize, we are. And we have. And we will.

I am so thankful for all the ways we are pointed to the Truth of this voice within. A song, a story, a hug, a beautiful sunrise -- it all reminds us that there is something within us that hears, listens, sees -- is aware of the presence God. This thanks is the marriage of divinity with humanity.

So. On an ordinary day, when the world might seem cold, unfeeling, dismissive, greedy, and sarcastic -- someone shares a song. And we listen. And we break. And through the cracks, the light shines through. And then we begin to feel the warmth of that light - the light of divine Love seeping into the darkness -- into places that, only moments before, felt cold and fragile.  And so, we go a little deeper.  And we discover a little more. We let the shell shards go.

We are humans. We sing to find the humanity in one another. And in ourselves.  And that thread of humanity leads us to our divinity -- what can't be shaken or taken.  The light within.

Thank you Scott.

offered with Love,

Kate

"Never alone..."

"Well, I have to be honest,
as much as I wanted,
I'm not gonna promise
that cold winds won't blow.
So when hard times have found you,
and your fears surround you,
wrap My love around you,
you're never alone..."

I thought I had the perfect opening for this post. Springing from the song, "Never Alone," by Lady Antebellum, it spoke to the feeling of knowing the presence of God in the midst of our aloneness...in those times when loneliness leaves us wondering if we aren't actually just random, solitary mortals, hanging from the edge of madness.

But I was caught up short by the sweetness of spiritual matchmaking...a divine serendipity that always takes my breath away.

So, here's the story...I promise, this one really is short.

I'd heard from a dear, dear friend I'd not seen in much too long. I'd written a note to another friend I was missing terribly. I wanted sister time, girlfriend time, belly-aching laughter, old movies, deep conversations, cards over tea, chocolate, and memories time.

I'd been praying with Mary Baker Eddy's:

"Distance is no separator of hearts."

And it was helping...but not enough. I was still searching around, in the chambers of my heart, for just a glimpse of light...that soft, gentle feeling of being "not alone."

Yes, I could feel the presence of God in the stillness of prayer. I could sense peace, and serenity, and grace. But I just wanted to feel the warmth of a girlfriend out there. No, not out there, right there. Right there beside me.

I don't get this way very often. I'm usually pretty at peace with being "here." I like the quiet, the time for thinking/praying, and the space to be available whenever someone needs me. But right then, I just really wanted to feel part of a sisterhood.

That's when I went the extra step, and said so. I said, "God, I'm feeling a little bit lonely today..."

And I let it go. I went back to my desk, my phone, and my books.

Before long, the phone rang, and it wasn't someone calling professionally, it was a friend just wanting to "be in touch," right in the middle of the work day. A heavenly gift.

Then, an email popped into my inbox. It was another friend, just reaching out. A few minutes later, someone sent me a joke in a text. A really funny one. Someone else initiated an online game of Scrabble. Three Facebook message windows popped up within seconds of each other. Each one was a "just because..." sentiment of love.

Then I opened my FB message folder, and waiting there was a note from another girlfriend, with a link to this song, and her brief note:

This is for you sweet Kate."

It was the same song I was listening to as I worried an opening thought for this post. Sigh...

Thank you, God. I got the message, loud and clear. And, more importantly, I feel it.

Yes, God is always present with us. And when we turn to Him for whatever we need...with honesty and humility...even the things of the heart are provided in practical, tangible ways.

Whether we are praying for ourselves, a loved family member, or a child orphaned by global conflict, we can trust that God's love will reach each of us, right where we are.

so deeply grateful for each of you,

and thank you God,

Kate

"I am waiting in a silent prayer..."

"...I am waiting in a silent prayer
I am frightened
by the load I bear
In a world as cold as stone,
Must I walk this path alone?
Be with me now
Be with me now

Breath of heaven
Hold me together
Be forever near me
Breath of heaven..."

Like Kathy Matthea's "Mary Did You Know," Sara Groves' "Breath of Heaven" fills my heart whenever I think about a young girl, a gentle man, a babe of promise, and a quiet manger on a starry night. 

In her small volume, The Handmaid and the Carpenter, Elizabeth Berg writes of Mary's time in the manger:

"A hard pain came upon her. She rose up, clenched her teeth, and pulled on the rope. When the pain subsided, she lay back down and allowed herself one more moment of pity for her poor circumstances: She lay on the floor of a stranger's stable. Somewhere, water dripped. The air was foul with the scent of the animals and their droppings. Wind blew in through the cracks in the walls. She closed her eyes.  So be it."

"So be it"...

And we wonder where a young man learned to say, "Into thy hands I commit my spirit?" 

This story has no season.  This story cannot be assigned, or relegated to, a single holy day.  It is a story that serves us every day, and for me, its holds it greatest promise at night...in moments raw with the cold chill of despair, and rancid with fear, doubt, uncertainty, and pain. Moments when I must go deeper. Moments when the stillness of my inner life outweighs the drama of the ego's stories. Moments when I am aware of the profound importance of spiritual in-vironmentalism and my role as an invironmental advocate.  

I remember a night, one winter, when the snow blew under the doorjamb, the cold bit into my bones while I shoveled the walk, and tears froze to my bottom lashes - hard and sharp against my cheeks.  My heart was heavy with questions which were piling up like the heavy snow I coud barely lift, and the thoughts that pierced my peace were as relentless as the driving ice storm that had blown through earlier in the day.

Why....
Why....
Why....

Why God....

And there were no answers.  Are there ever?

But then something fluttered onto my heart as soft and perfect as a snowflake:

"Behold the handmaid of the Lord. 
Be it unto me according to Thy Word." 

And suddenly, there was nothing but the quiet of a starry night.  The clouds broke, the winds stilled, the snow still fell gently from somewhere high in a sky as black and clear as a bottomless quarry.

In the wake of surrender my new question became:

"How..."

How would You have me navigate this moment?  How can I love more like You?  How shall I behave towards others in service to You?  How should I speak to him, her, them? 

And the answers came as easily, and as sweetly, as a perfectly formed snowflake .  Love unconditionally, be impartially kind, sincere, honest, consistently gentle, be acceptingly open, be willing to adapt, listen deeply, serve humbly, give generously...judge no one.


It was no longer a question of why, but only how...how to be, moment-by-gently-falling-moment...and there was a great calm and the storm ceased...and within the environment, the invironment, of my deepest thought, there was nothing but a manger.

   ...with a breath of heaven.

living in the "how" of His love...

Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

"I'm hanging by a moment here with you..."

"...I'm desperate for changing,
I'm starving for truth,
I'm closer to where I started,
I'm chasing after you.
I'm falling even more in love with you.
Letting go of all I've held on to.
I'm standing here until you make me move.
I'm hanging by a moment here with you...
I'm living for the only thing I know..."
- Lifehouse

A friend's posting of some favorite Lifehouse songs on Facebook, reminded me of this piece written soon after I first heard, "Hanging by a Moment," while sitting alone in our house, in the middle of the night, not so very long ago:

This house feels so quiet.  So empty and alone, but I have never felt so held.  So completely loved. 

My children are either at their dads, or in their own apartments.  My husband is working in a far away city, with no plans for a visit home or an end date to his assignment there. My mother, sisters, and brothers all live in distant states, and although I know a few people here, there is no one I feel like I could call in the middle of the night.   But I have never felt so safe, so sure, so loved...so secure. 

It is all about You.  It is all about You, my beloved Father-Mother God.  It is all about feeling Your encompassing love, trusting Your plan in my life, patiently waiting for Your direction, guidance, purpose in us all.

No matter how desperate I feel sometimes...desperate for a strategy to unfold, hungry for a change of course, grasping wildly for the next chapter to begin...I know that it is only in this space of "hanging by a moment here with you" that I will find real peace and happiness.  And it won't be when you make me move.  It won't be when You bring him home, or they walk back through the door, or she returns from far away, when he is doing something different, or we are in this place or that...I know that the only true living is living in this moment here with You. 

In the darkness or the light, in the sorrow or joy, in love or walking through the garden of Gethsemane, in poverty or plenty...You are there...You are here.  And I am never, ever, doing anything more wonderful or on purpose than "hanging in this moment here with You."

I am falling even more in love with you.  But it isn't happening because you have made all of my dreams come true, or because you have even met all my "needs" or the hopes and dreams of the people I love.  I love you...because you first loved me. 

I love you because when I go back to where I started...there was You.  I have always known You.  You have always been there...here, within me.  I have always sought out your touch...Love.  I have always reached for your beauty...Soul.  I have always danced with your joy...Spirit.  I have always listened for your voice...Truth. My every breath draws you in...Life.  You set the rhythm of my heart...Principle.  I wake each morning filled with your thoughts...Mind.  I have always, always, always...wanted You.  You have filled me with the knowledge of my birthright...my family name...my native language...your face is the one I seek in the mirror to remind me that I am...well, that I am...that I am Yours...and you are mine.  My Father, Mother, Creator, Husband, Counselor, King...my great Love. 

I am not waiting for something to change so that I can feel at peace and finally settle into a spiritual practice that allows me to seek you.  It is because I am..right here, and right now... "hanging in this moment here with you" that I am at peace...waiting for you to make me move....dance, sing, pray, rest in your love.

There is nothing more for me to do...I'm falling even more in love with you.

"...Forgetting all I'm lacking
Completely incomplete
I'll take your invitation
You take all of me..

"There's nothing else to lose
There's nothing else to find
There's nothing in the world
That could change my mind..."

No, there's nothing else to lose, there's nothing else to find, there's nothing in this world that could ever change my mind....I'm falling even more in love with You.

Yours,
Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

[within this post there are links to three different versions of this song]

"Show me the meaning of being lonely..."

"Show me the meaning of being lonely
Is this the feeling I need to walk with
Tell me why I can't be there where you are
There's something missing in my heart..."
- The Backstreet Boys

It was the fall of 2000, and Hannah was dancing competitively with "the Conservatory."  As much as I didn't like some aspects of competitive dancing...obsessive moms, makeup on pre-teens, being surrounded by dance teams with costumes that were barely appropriate (thank you, Katie Sue for always putting our girls in tastefully designed outfits that covered what needed to be covered)...I loved the comraderie I saw as the girls worked together as a cohesive team.

Hannah, Kelsey, and Megan were the Three Musketeers.  Kelsey was the girl with the perfect dancer's body...long, lean, flexible, and fluid.  Megan was the showman...charismatic on stage, a smile that stopped time, and an incredible sense of rhythm.  Hannah was the blue-collar dancer...hardworking, precise, relentlessly demanding of herself, rigorous in perfecting her steps, turns, and leaps.  They were lovely and funny, and as a threesome they were a force to be reckoned with.  Within the larger company of a dozen or more extremely talented dancers, they were unstoppable..pure beauty in motion!  At least to their biggest fans...us, their parents.

On a typical competition weekend one of the moms would drive Hannah, Kelsey, and Megan to Denver on Friday night and check into a hotel room. The other two moms would join them on Saturday, just in time for their first performance.  Friday nights in the hotel were full of orange-dusted Doritos fingers, root beer, popcorn, and bags full of food from McDonald's.  Once in the crowded hotel room, costumes were hung in the bathroom to steam while the girls showered, and moms organized curling irons, mascara, tights, and leotards. 

Saturdays and Sundays were peppered with running between marked off dressing areas in ballrooms and the performance hall, endless bottles of Gatorade, and hundreds of giggling girls in spandex and sequins.

I loved my fellow dance parents.  Laurie, Jane, Lynn, Kendall, Linda, and about a dozen other moms and dads.  We knew eachother's daughters so well we could order their sandwiches from Subway without asking "what do you want on it".

We were having so much fun, just being together, that it didn't really matter what happened once they got on stage. We were going to cheer them on while they performed, when they faltered we'd encourage them to realize that they had given it their all, and on the drive home, help them remember that the next time they would do better because of all they'd learned.   Little did I know that autumn, that by February our family would have moved a thousand miles away and although Hannah would fly home, on weekends, for the rest of the competitive season, I would never again spend another Saturday in a Holiday Inn near Denver International Airport watching a seemingly endless number of dance routines, set to the music of the Backstreet Boys, Madonna, 'NSynch, Cyndi Lauper, or my favorite that season, Sarah McLaughlin's "I will Remember You."

Our family's relocation to the midwest, far away from all things fun and familiar was only the beginning of my lesson in learning" the meaing of being lonely". During the next few years, I would face one instance after another  when the "ties that bind" were gently being untied, and my little boat was being pushed away from the dock and out into open water...times when I was absolutely sure I was would just drift helplessly into the dark sea of despair. 

During the most lonely of these times, I often recalled one particularly sweet afternoon from those dance competition days.  Hannah and I had driven to Denver by ourselves, so that we could enjoy a short visit with my sister and brother-in-law, her aunt and uncle.  We'd had a fun dinner at our favorite Italian restaurant and were on our way back to the hotel listening to the Backstreet Boys CD, "Millenium" which includes "Show Me the Meaning of Being Lonely."  Since Hannah was learning American Sign Launguage at the university Laboratory School she attended, and I was a fluent signer, we were singing with our hands, as well as our voices...trying to remember the right sign for each word or phrase.   I loved signing to music and watching Hannah's hands move from word to word, was like seeing her dance in a new way.

I remember thinking that the word "lonely" was not only a sad word, but a sad sign.  A forward extended circle made with the index finger from the lips down, out, and around, returning to it original position in front of the lips.  The sign itself is supposed to be accompanied by a somewhat somber facial expression.  There was a sobering silence in that sign.  It was the opposite of our somewhat raucous weekend with our dance family.  It seemed incongrous in the context of all the giggling, cheering, whistling, singing that seemed to fill our weekend.   Where did "loneliness" fit within the cacophonous sea of 18 girls (age 11 - 18) getting dressed at the same time.  By Sunday, I was often unsure if my hearing was still intact...but never suffering from loneliness.  To see my daughter singing this song in the midst of such an exuberant weekend was unsettling in some ways. In hindsight, it felt like the hand of prophecy pointing towards the next bend in the road on my spiritual journey

And it was always...every time I heard it...that line, "Is this the feeling I need to walk with" that seemed to make my heart stammer.  How could any boy-band sing about the need to walk with the feeling of loneliness?   It wasn't a concept I was looking for the opportunity to ponder deeply during that weekend of frolic and friendship, but it kept poking at me.  And to be honest,  I couldn't imagine the strength it took to actually embrace it.

In the coming months that phrase started to haunt my steps.  It was almost as if I knew what was coming.  I would hear it and my hands would start to feel as if they were dissolving in front of me as I felt myself begin to sign the words without meaning to.  My days of walking in the space of loneliness were about to begin.

In referring to Jesus' time following the crucifixion, while in the sepulchre, Mary Baker Eddy  states in Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures:

"The lonely precincts of the tomb gave Jesus a refuge from his foes, a place in which to solve the great problem of being."

Soon many of the friendships I'd held dear seemed to fall away. It was a  particularly challenging period of spiritual discovery.  A time of self-examination and of being fully engaged in crucifying a false sense of my self, my ego, and all the ways that it seemed to define my expereince.  Surprisingly,  I found myself holding onto this particular statement  from Science and Health for encouragement...and hope.  And I would sometimes catch myself signing the words to the above verse of "Show Me the Meaning of Being Lonely" to myself in the dark before I fell asleep.  I often signed the Lord's Prayer, or the 23rd Psalm to myself at night, lying on my back in the dark, so this was not unusal.   And although at times it felt as if I was in a period of self-imposed exile from my friends, and all that I held dear and familiar, I also discovered that, in the silence of my own company -- from deep within the confines of that profoundly alone sanctuary of my sepulchre space --  I was also  finding, as Eddy promised, refuge from my foes - the dark and insidious suggestions of self-doubt, regret, anger, frustration...and in this space, I could begin to glimpse Christ's solution to the great problem of being.

I could, as "Show Me the Meaning of Being Lonely" (this link is the acapella version) suggested, walk with that feeling of loneliness, until I discovered its meaning in my life.  I could companion with it, until  it blessed me with the only kind of friendship that no one, and nothing,  could take away...my oneness with God, with Love. 

I believe that this is the space that Paul is speaking to us from in Romans when he says:

"I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord."

When we cease to see ourselves as the object, or recipient of love, and begin to accept our relationship to "the love of God" as its vehicle, its body, its articulation of being, and not its destination, we being to live life as one who can never be deprived of love...because the only love that matters in our lives, the only love that is divine, is the love that we ourselves embody or express.

For me, this was the meaning of loneliness.  To teach me that my relationship to Love is only as strong and inviolate, as my willingness to rise from the ashes of hurt, shame, anger, betrayal, sadness, sorrow, exhaustion, and "love more."  This Love "alone is Life."

These days, with Jeff in Boston and the girls coming and going...school, soccer, their dad and Melinda's house, friends...I spend a lot of time alone...but I am never lonely.  Once I learned its meaning and purpose, I discovered that every silent moment in the "sepulchre" was an opportunity to  fill my heart with the pure joy of consciously being the love of Love for anything and everything that crossed my mental path.  And when I am in this space I  enjoy the company of dancing, singing, signing angels...my best friends.  

with love...and with Love....
Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

[photo credit: Lila June Jones 2009]

"...in your name I find meaning..."

"...I'm hanging on another day
Just to see what you will throw my way
And I'm hanging on to the words you say
You said that I would...would be ok

I'm falling apart, I'm barely breathing
With a broken heart that's still beating
In the pain there's the healing
In your name I find meaning
So I'm holdin' on
I'm still holdin' on,
I'm holdin' on
I'm barely holdin' on to you..."
-     Lifehouse

The other day I felt like I was "falling apart," in much the same way that Lifehouse articulates in this lovely, plaintive song of hope, and longing, titled "Broken."  But it was also just the reminder I needed.   When I heard it, I was feeling particularly lonely in the aloneness of a moment, and it immediately brought me peace. 

I love that line, "in your name I find meaning."  And the "you" in whose name alone I "find meaning" is the great "I AM" whose presence feels as intimate to me as my own hopes and dreams, sorrows and joys...the very private thoughts I cherish in the dark silence of the night. 

When I was still a very young woman, but thought I was all grown up and more than ready to fly solo, my mother and siblings...with whom I had been living since my dad's passing...moved to another state.  In some ways one might think I would have been happy and relieved.  I'd worked two or more jobs for a few years in order to help pay for our rent, utilities, food and family expenses, and this might mean a bit of a break from those demands.  But that wasn't how I was feeling.

Yes, I was excited to be out on my own.  I'd found a Manhattan couple who'd purchased a gentleman's farm in our rural community and talked them into letting me renovate the loft of their beautiful barn into a loft apartment in exchange for rent.  And I was thrilled by the opportunity to creatively redefine the space, by their trust in my twenty-one year old chutzpah, and for my first real privacy...I'd always lived in other people's spaces and had always dreamed about my own apartment.  But there was also a sadness about living away from my mother, sisters, and brothers.

I moved my few belongings into a small storage space in the barn that was heated, had been insulated for winter, and had a tiny bathroom in the corner.  I'd cook on a hot plate and use a tiny little dorm-size refrigerator until I'd finished the renovation.  I had a twin bed pushed under the barnwood eaves and a little table with two chairs. I'd brought three small paintings I done in high school, ones that the school had had framed for an exhibit at the local library.  I used my simple cedar hope chest for storing my clothes and I'd hung my three dresses (and two waitress uniforms I needed for my second job) on a nail at the end of the room.  An antique embroidered linen pillowslip folded over a wooden dowel served as a curtain on the one small window framed by rough barnwood.  I loved way the sunrise looked through the ripply green-tinted glass each morning and vowed to make that window a centerpiece in the renovation. 

That first night after I washed my mug and bowl out in the bathroom sink, dried them with the worn blue and white checked dishtowel I'd begged my mom to let me keep with me, I brushed my teeth and climbed between the soft white sheets and under the colorful quilts that represented the entirety of my dowry.  I'd always loved vintage linens and had gathered bits and pieces over the years from my grandmother, a generous neighbor who'd shared her treasures, and a dusty antique shop in the village we'd lived in while I was in high school.

I turned off the small lamp that sat on an upturned fruit crate that served as my first bookcase and lay in the dark.  I'd grown up in a family of eight children.  I'd shared a bedroom with as many as four of my sisters, depending on the size and number of bedrooms a house had, all my life.  We'd always lived in small houses.  Houses in which our rooms were so cozy, and close to one another, that I could hear my brothers whispering in their room while I read in my bottom bunk across the hall.  I'd never, ever, heard or experienced the kind of visceral silence I was greeted by that night once I'd turned the lamp off.  It was as if someone had sucked every bit of sound out of the room.  I was aware of my heartbeat, my own thoughts, the sound of my nightgown rustling against the soft cotton of my sheets.  I was aware of the unique rhythm of my own breathing, in and out, in and out, in and out. 

This was so new to me.  New, and lonely.  Soon I was aware of more than just my breathing, and my heartbeat.  I was aware of the sound of my own crying. I was alone in the dark, I was falling apart, and I was hyper-aware of everything around me.  And more importantly, everything within me.  I discovered that if you listen closely you really can hear the sound of tears dropping from your eyelashes, rolling along your cheek and falling to the pillowcase under your face. I discovered just how much I really did miss my family.  I missed all the sounds I'd complained about throughout high school when I'd thought all I wanted was "a room of my own."  I missed my sister purring in her sleep, my mother's tapping of her fingers on the kitchen table as she enjoyed a late night cup of tea in the quiet of her own house long after midnight.  I missed the mewing of babies and the turning of more than a half dozen children in their beds while I read.

I missed them. And I was aware of missing them.  It was quiet enough that nothing distracted me from the sound of the love that was happening in my heart.  

This missing them in the silence of the dark was my first awareness of the deep intimacy we each have with our God.  In my aloneness, I discovered that I was really not alone.  There were new thoughts coming to me every moment.  I was feeling the seeping in of a new awareness of my love for my mother, appreciation for my sisters, I could feel the presence of my dreams for the future, and my hunger for meaningful love and purposeful work.  I could actually feel my desire for my sister Nancy's bony spine against mine as we slept back-to-back in the double bed we'd shared at times during childhood.

This awareness of "me", my hopes, my desires, my thoughts, my sadness and longing, was rich with being, was full of the "I AM" of conscious being...God. For me, this is what Mary Baker Eddy is talking about when in Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures she refers to:

"...the conscious infinitude of existence and of all identity..."

I learned to love the silence of that small bed under the eaves, because it introduced me to myself...the self that had an inner life.  The self that was no longer being drowned out by all the hustle and bustle of being one of many voices, movements, breathing in a big family.  The self that was conscious of the infinitude of her identity and was discovering that right there, within her own conscious being, lay all the important answers she'd been looking for. 

My silent life in a drafty barn didn't last long...but I have never forgotten it in the ensuing years, as the quiet spaces started filling in with husband, children, phone calls, patients, guests, dogs, washing machines, dishwashers, computers and babies. 

And to this day, when I am feeling most alone in the world, it is not people I seek to surround myself with...even the people I love the most...it is the silence of a darkened room.  My favorite time of day, the time of day - the space - that fills me, and satisfies me most...so that I have something real to give others...are those moments just after waking, when I have not heard a sound, moved even a single finger or probed a toe seeking to feel the sheets or rustle the bedclothes. Those are the moments before I have opened my eyes to see the light of day playing on the pear colored walls of our bedroom. And it is in this timeless time that I am aware, in that profound silence, of the "great I AM" that is me, my conscious being. 

In these moments of great intimacy with my God, I am most keenly atune to the "pain" of missing loved ones...a profound love that heals.  I am most appreciative of the joys of having thoughts that are beautiful and rich with purpose...even if just to me.   I am most conscious of knowing that I am never alone...but always filled with Him...with Her...with the I AM that is the only real oneness that matters...the only I or US that all other relationships spring from.

In the silence of a my first waking thoughts, I find God...the kingdom of heaven within. And this same infinite nearness of the divine is there for each of us...all the time.

with Love, 
Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

"I know, David, I know..."

"Cold, Cold water
Surrounds me now
And all Ive got is your hand
Lord, can you hear me now?
Or, am I lost?..."
- Damien Rice

I wrote about this film and how it spoke to me about the impact of kindness, in a post titled, "Lord can you hear me know...or am I lost?" from last summer, and at the time this video clip from the film was not available...but now it is. In watching it today, and listening to Damien Rice's hauntingly beautiful song, I felt myself virtually collapsing into the arms of God, my Mother, Love.

That feeling of being completely lost seems so aggressive today.  I know it. I have expereinced it myself.  But the feeling of wandering aimlessly through your days just trying to survive without hope of really belonging anywhere...or to anyone...is not true -- for you, or for me, or for anyone.  As pervasive as this feeling may seem to be, each moment when we get up, and take the next step forward...even if it seems to only be with a blind trust that there must be something greater than ourselves drawing us out of darkness and loneliness...we are taking a step towards our divine Mother's arms.

I hope this clip makes you weep with relief.  I hope you take a moment to allow yourself to be known for who you are in Her arms.  To be recognized by a Mother who never lost sight of you.  Who will always open Her arms for you, gather you close and say, Yes, I know...I know...

with all my love and hope today,
Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

"I wish I had a river..."

"It's coming on Christmas,
they're cuttin down trees
They're puttin up reindeer
and singing songs of joy and peace.

I wish I had a river
I could skate away on

It don't snow here, it stays pretty green
I'm gonna make a lot of money
And I'm gonna quit this crazy scene.

I wish I had a river
I could skate away on...

I wish I had a river so long
I could teach my feet to fly

Oh, I wish I had a river,
I could skate away on…"
- Joni Mitchell

Joni Mitchell's "River," was my anthen one Christmas almost 30 years ago.  I was house-sitting, living alone in the hills above Malibu and I knew no one.  I had accepted my sister's offer to come to Los Angeles, while she and her husband worked out of state for six months.  She had suggested that it might be the perfect opportunity for me to clear my head…and my heart…after a long-term relationship had ended.  It sounded like a good idea,   I needed a fresh perspective on everything – relationships, life purpose, dreams and desires –  and a change of scenery would do my heart good.  It also came at a good time for me as a teacher.  So that summer I decided to not renew my teaching contract, sold (or gave away) everything that wouldn't fit in a small suitcase and an orange crate, and drove over three thousand miles in five days.  I arrived in the land of movie stars and palm trees on Labor Day weekend and had a job by the time my sister left to join her husband a week later. 

However, by Thanksgiving Los Angeles had lost its romance and sparkle for me.  I was lonely and scared.  My daily commute took an hour each way and my paycheck didn't go as far in the land of milk and honey, as it had in rural New England. 

I wanted to go "home", but I couldn't afford the gas or a plane ticket, and I had committed to caring for my sister's house and pets until they returned. 

Each evening I would return to their tiny cottage in the Malibu hills, walk and feed the dogs, and then I would put Joni on the turntable and wait for the first strains of, "It's coming on Christmas…" - and cry.  

I thought about buying a little tree and decorating it with tiny white lights, like I had every year since high school.   But each night as I drove past the Christmas tree lot on my way home from work I would see this wild-haired guy selling them in a tee-shirt and shorts, while Christmas carols blared in the background against the roar of the flocking machine…and I'd get even more depressed.  Just the thought of a pink, blue or yellow flocked pine tree made me want to point the nose of my car east and drive until I ran out of gas…wherever it was…and never look back.  And anyway, my mother and six of my younger siblings would all be in the Midwest for Christmas, so who would I have to enjoy it with.

One evening I decided to walk the dogs by the lake at the bottom of my sister's hill, and there I saw a flyer posted on the bulletin board outside of the village community center.  They were looking for volunteers to help with the Annual Christmas pageant.  The children in this small village put on a show each December and it was completely run by parents and other volunteers from the lakeside community.  I was a teacher, or at least I had been "back home" (sniff, sniff) and I loved working with children on theatre projects.  I took the dogs back up the hill, fed them and grabbed a sweatshirt before heading back for that night's rehearsals. 

Within minutes of walking through the door I was put to work.  There were shepherd's crooks to make out of wire and duct tape, a baby doll needed to be painted a soft cocoa brown to match the ten-year old "Mary's" complexion, and they actually needed someone to take the lead on designing flyers to advertising the one performance of the season, and I got tapped to do it.  All of a sudden, I was part of something…I belonged somewhere.

Within days I had neighbors, friends, and invitations for one Christmas gathering after another.  Soon, the play's director was calling me at work to see if I could look for the blue satin for Mary's scarf on my lunch hour.  A mom would bring an extra croissant to rehearsals in case I hadn't had time to eat after work.  A dad who worked for the school district brought me the postings for open teaching positions in the district and offered to act as a local reference.  And the nicest thing of all… if, because of my commute I was late to rehearsals, there were people who actually knew that I wasn't where I was supposed to be, and were relieved when I finally arrived.

One night after rehearsals I offered to bring some costumes home for altering and suggested that a mom and her three young actors come by for a fitting very early the next morning before school and work.  The littlest girl noticed immediately that I didn't have a Christmas tree and I assured her that I was fine since most of my time was spent at the community center where we had a big Christmas tree set up.  And I was…I was loving my time with my neighbors, and I had been invited to join the family of three shepherds and an angel for Christmas dinner.  I didn't need my own Christmas tree.  We finished the fittings and we were all out the door as the sun came up. 

Later that day, I stopped at the tree lot and bought a tiny little tree from the guy in shorts. As I pulled up in front of my sister's cottage to walk the dogs before rehearsals I realized that my little tree wasn't just for me…it was for everyone who loved me and needed to know that I was going to be alright.

I pulled the tree, already positioned on a small stand, into the living room and before long I had it strung with sparkling white lights and had carefully placed the glitter-covered pine cones and hand-cut paper snowflakes I had received from some of the children I had become friends with through our rehearsals, on its branches.

The dogs had been let out, but were eager for their walk in the hills behind the house so off we went as dusk set in.  When we came back up over the hill toward the house I stopped in my tracks.  Through the front window I could see my Christmas tree.  It sparkled like diamonds and beckoned me home. 

As I left for that night's rehearsal I felt the warmth of home and hearth…family and friendship…something I never thought I could feel in a place where they sell Christmas trees in shorts and tee-shirts under palm trees.

I had learned that when you give your heart…and your hands…in helping others…you can find home, family, community and friendship anywhere. 

As we sang Silent Night holding hands in our drafty community center at the close of the Christmas pageant, I could actually feel that sense of home and family radiating out from this small village through the starry night to embrace those who felt lonely or lost…wherever in the world they might be.  Today I realize that I always had a river to skate away on. God had given me a heart from which a river of love, a river of giving, a river of service to others flowed…and that I could always skate away on it's solid presence…far, far away from loneliness, depression, or sadness.  We all do.
Kate

"Walk on, walk on...with hope in your heart"

"When you walk through a storm
hold your head up high
And don't be afraid of the dark.
At the end of a storm is a golden sky

And the sweet silver song of a lark.
Walk on through the wind,
Walk on through the rain,
Tho' your dreams be tossed and blown.

Walk on, walk on with hope in your heart
And you'll never walk alone
You'll never walk alone..."
- Hammerstein/Rodgers

I clearly remember being a fifth grader at McCall Elementary School in the spring of 1965.  Lyndon B. Johnson was President of the United States, girls were not allowed to wear pants to school, and mothers still fried Spam and topped it with Velveeta cheese for a "special treat" at dinnertime.

For me that spring was golden.  Our lives had changed drastically that winter when my parents began studying Christian Science and my siblings and I started attending a local Sunday School weekly.  I was learning that I was a child of God and that I could pray.  I started looking at everything around me with different eyes. 

As a fifth grader I was keenly aware that I was growing up.  As the oldest of six children I was well prepared for accepting the new responsibilities of being the "senior class" of our grade school.  Sixth grade was looming and I took it all very seriously.  Our first mission as upper classmen was to give the graduating sixth graders a meaningful send-off as they launched their ships into the dark waters of Jr. High School. 

I was on Student Council and my fellow student leaders and I took this send-off very, very seriously.  We had meetings after school every week as the end of the year got closer.  We planned a party, a pep rally, and prepared programs for the actual graduation.

One day the choir teacher came to our meeting and asked us if we would like to suggest to our fellow fifth graders that we sing a song as our sixth grade friends walked into the gym for the graduation ceremony.  She shared with us mimeographed sheets with the above lyrics from "You'll Never Walk Alone," printed in purple. 

I loved the idea.  And I loved the song.  I carried that mimeographed piece of paper - folded in the pocket of my jumper, skirt, shorts, or sweater - for the rest of the school year.  I wore it out.  When we performed it for the graduating sixth graders I sang full voice with tears rolling down my cheeks before splashing on to the Peter Pan collar of my Sunday School dress.  When I sing it today I can still remember standing on rickety risers, shoulder to shoulder with Karen Mitchell (or was it Michaels) and a boy named Tommy, under the basketball hoop strung with crepe paper.   I had memorized the words and music for our performance, but continued to sing it to myself in the dark, long after my mom had finished the series of lullabies and hymns she would sing each night as she tucked us in to our beds.

I often find myself singing it softly when I am hiking in the woods, facing indifference,  or alone in a new city. 

I have wondered, now and again, why this song meant so much to me in the fifth grade.  I have concluded that it probably had something to do with the timing of its introduction.  I was only just discovering, that spring, that I lived in a spiritual universe with God at its center.  I was becoming alive to the promise of words as they described the deeper realm of Mind, God's ideas.  Every word of that song assured me that I would never have to see myself as "the new girl" again, that I would never again be just "the sweet plain little girl who keeps to herself.  You know the one, the bookworm who loves the library" (the way I heard my teacher describe me to another teacher on the playground one day). 

I was "not alone"…everywhere I went I had God's intelligent ideas accompanying me in "my head" as creative solutions, beautiful images and well-reasoned thoughts.  I could always reach out and feel his warm love for me (in the way I felt about my sisters and brothers, the way I adored my mom, the calm joy I felt about reading a new book) settled in my heart.  These ideas would be critical to my evolving sense of self, my confidence in taking on new challenges, and my hard-earned academic achievements as our family moved many time between fifth grade and my graduation from high school, and I was "the new girl" at another 11 schools.

This song is like a sweet lullaby from God to me.  I still sing it in the night when sleep aludes me and I feel alone on a sea of self-doubt or indecision.  Before I know it I am resting on His promise.  I can walk on, walk on with hope in my heart and my head up high…watching for a golden sky and listening for the sweet silver song of a lark.  
Kate

"You are not alone..."

"…you are not alone
For I am here with you
Though we're far apart
You're always in my heart
you are not alone…"
- Jackson

Someone asked me the other day why I write these posts twice every week.  Was I trying to teach readers something new about spirituality…no, the Bible and Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures by Mary Baker Eddy...as well as countless other inspirational books, magazine articles, blogs and websites are lovingly dedicated to this kind of pedagogy.  Was I trying to get my writing seen by blog surfing publishers….no.  Did I have an irrepressible urge to write…yes, but this is not the reason I blog.  I have been writing and journaling (at least two hours a day) daily for many, many years…I write a lot.  I didn't need another focus for my writing life.  So, as I sat in front of this computer screen pondering that question: "Why do you blog?" the AOL icon at the bottom of my screen started bouncing to alert me that a new message was in my mailbox.  I shook myself from the deep reverie of self-examination to check the message in case there was an urgent need for attention.

This is the email that greeted me (shared with permission…all personal and identifying information deleted):

Dear Kate,

I had a difficult day and then read your web-log ("Sunrise, sunset") and nearly burst into tears. Of all the many things I have wanted to ask you is how you bear this very thing … this changing and growing and going. I feel it as sadness and loss. I can't seem to find joy there. My little girl, the world's very best baby, is turning (age deleted). I love to see what she is becoming, but I miss the girl she was even last year.

I have more birthday preparations and it's late. I want to thank you again for your writing and the healings on your website. I turn to it so frequently during the day.

Love...

In reading her message I remembered with such clarity why I post on this blog each Tuesday and Thursday…it is not to share my insights or inspirations, it is not to see my words self-published on the internet, it is not to receive notes of praise…it is for one reason…and for me, there is just one message:

"You are not alone."

Just before I sit down at my computer,  to write a piece for posting, I try to become very quiet and listen for a silent cry that speaks to my heart….I am listening for the tears of those who feel -  that in the darkness of their own private sadness or confusion – they are alone.  That somehow, they are the only ones who have every felt this frightened, angry, hungry for compassion or kindness.  And then I listen for my own heart.  What in me is reaching out from the position of "experience" that might bring them honest comfort and be a beacon of faint light in that darkness.  What can I share that will assure them that someone else has been there and that there is a way out.  I am, in each posting,  trying to say…"I will sing loudly so that you can know that you are not alone in the darkness and to remind you that God is there…right there in your own heart… impelling you forward.

"...Just the other night
I thought I heard you cry
Asking me to come
And hold you in my arms
I can hear your prayers
Your burdens I will bear
But first I need your hand..."

To know that we are not alone...that God is there at every juncture to take our hand and lead us into our own light...is a message so powerful to me.  To know also that God has appointed angels of kindness in our lives...friends, sisters, mothers, brothers...to be the hand we feel, the song we listen for...this makes me weep with gratitude.

Here is my reply to my friend's email (with some minor editing):

Dear...

I burst into tears sometimes too when I later read the raw nakedness of what I have felt about something and posted to the blog.  These issues of motherhood and of journeying towards evolving as a spiritual  woman in a world that is constantly inviting us to want, want, want...more, more, more...are such powerful catalysts for my own spiritual development (de-envelop-ment).  They strip me clean day after day of all pride and ambition and leave me childlike in my need for a divine Parent's embrace and care.

I often find that the ideas I have shared are so new to me when I finally read them. It is almost as if I wrote them without even thinking of them...as if they poured out of my fingertips without passing through the medium of this false mind that would like to call itself sovereign in my life….memory, speculation, imagination.  That they come from a more silent space – the heart.

But as for your question - I am realizing that the best thing I can give my daughters is HONESTY about the journey.  Allowing them to think that I have it even one bit more "figured out" than I really do, is cruel and sets them up for failure by comparison.  So...I am staying focused on integrity in parenting my children...integrity of heart, mind, spirit, actions, words...emotions.

It is sometimes very messy and organic...but it is true...and I like truth...alot...

love,
Kate

This is my truth.  I don't write from a longing to be heard, I don't write from a need to say something profound or pithy....but I do write from the deep desire answer the call of  someone crying in the dark, to let them know that they are not alone.

"I speak from experience."
- Mary Baker Eddy

The Wilderness

The Wilderness

the wilderness
came
so suddenly
on the journey
it
was a
desert unbidden
without
warning

coming from the
lake that day
a dove-borne
benediction
freshly
laid on my brow

I was unprepared for
the way the
trees fell away
and water
disappeared and
all life
seemed hidden
beneath the
surface of
arid
clay

my last
drink
was not as I had
hoped it would be
a gulp of
lake water on
my way back
up from
surrendering to
his "suffer it to
be so now"  that
he said becometh us

the wilderness
came upon me
so quickly and
with it
the darkness
of doubt and
fear

how quickly
i traveled
from
exalted son
to
exhausted
child
searching for
a parent
to make things
right
again

jackals
pursue me into
the
night
yelping at my
heels
mocking me for
thinking that I
could ever
be
what I thought
you told me I
was to
you...
a loved son
who
pleased you

at first I
pick up a large stick
and
flail at them with
all my might
missing
my mark
with every swing
until I
realize
my power is
in
Your words

just as it was Your
words that
convinced me of
who I was and
what your purpose for
me is
it is those same
words of
authority that
will send them
cowering into
the
shadows
where they
have no
identity

so I
take your lead
and
speak
with authority
and the
wilderness
becomes a
place of
beauty
and
promise

It is written

I remember now

It is written
and it is
done

and I am
fed








K