"i will sail my vessel...."

"and I will
sail my vessel..."

I woke up this morning with two things on my heart: the story of Jesus calming the sea. And Garth Brooks': "The River." And I wept.

My heart was a tumble of images. A world panicking over a second "wave," of COVID cases. A humble savior asleep in the bow of a small boat. And, four "good boys," laughing and praying in Timberline - the cabin just below mine - almost thirty years ago. Garth Brooks and Grateful Dead music mingling in my heart, as the tie-dyed colors of that summer fluttered on the clothesline behind their cabin...

So, what do all these things have in common? Good men, prayer, music, the calming of storms? Not sure. I only know that these were the gifts of the day -- and I have accepted them, and will let them lead me to the "other side," of my prayers.

It is almost impossible -- even here at camp -- to not be aware of the deep concern for human health that is washing over the land. I am so grateful to be here in this place so devoted to finding spiritual solutions while it wrestles with very human issues.

This morning's series of images and sounds were the perfect reminder of something that was shared during a Wednesday testimony meeting a month or so ago in relation to the story of Jesus calming the sea:

“And there arose a great storm of wind, and the waves beat into the ship, so that it was now full.

"And he was in the hinder part of the ship, asleep on a pillow: and they awake him, and say unto him, Master, carest thou not that we perish?

And he arose, and rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea, Peace, be still. And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm."
 

This story has always been very meaningful for me. My husband and I had an experience many years ago while sitting on the tarmac for a flight home - that seared this story into my heart. I was alarmed by an intuitive sense that there was something very wrong with the plane and wanted to "get off," immediately.

I had heard stories of other spiritual thinkers who had had the same experience and were led to deplane. Later to find out that the flight had been buffeted by bad weather, or a failed engine, or in one instance - a crash landing.

I thought that God was urging us to take the same course of action -- "get off." But my husband, reminded me of this Bible story and said that we needed to pray - not just for ourselves, but for all the other little "ships." Jesus calming the sea, benefited everyone on the water that night. We could do that too.

I changed my mental course, and within minutes we were told by the pilot that a problem had been detected and that we would have to deplane and board another flight. It was the most harmonious and efficient change of flight I have ever experienced.

So this morning, as I was praying about camp, and the world's concern for a "second wave," I was not only grateful to be in a place that was prayer-based, and peace-inspired, but I was reminded of something that was shared in a testimony, during a recent zoom church service one Wednesday evening.

During her relating of a healing that was inspired by Jesus' calming of the storm in the above story from Mark, my friend Natalie shared this statement that has been with me ever since:

“The disciples
woke Jesus to their storm;
He woke them,
to his peace..."
 

Today, as spiritual thinkers, our camp administration and staff are not letting the world alarm us with reports of a second wave of fear or even the surging storms of doubt, that seems so riotous. They are - with every humble, active prayer - waking our brother (and sister) man, to the peace that we know and feel deeply within us -- within the kingdom of God, where only harmony reigns.

And not only ourselves, but all the other little "ships" on this sea of humanity, must feel the collective peace of this calm.

Jesus didn't dismiss the disciples' concerns about the storm. He didn't turn on his side and go back to sleep. He rose, rebuked the storm, assured all who were listening that "peace, was still - nevertheless. And he stayed awake as the surging waves ceased, and there was a perceptible calm.

Mary Baker Eddy puts it this way in her Message to The Mother Church in 1902:

“O glorious hope! there remaineth a rest for the righteous, a rest in Christ, a peace in Love. The thought of it stills complaint; the heaving surf of life's troubled sea foams itself away, and underneath is a deep-settled calm."
 

This promise stills the raging sea of human fear - individually and collectively. It gives us a shiftless position to navigate from, and anchor our hopes in.

Edwin Markham wrote a little poem. It is written on my heart and speaks to me every day:

"“He drew a circle that shut me out.
‘Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout.’
But Love and I had the wit to win.
We drew a circle that drew them in." 

Our prayers for humanity's peace, health, and confidence in Love's ever-presence, omnipotence, and universal grace - are drawing a bigger circle. And no one is left out.

One thing I learned from that summer of Garth Brooks and the Grateful Dead, tie-dyed t-shirts and Tevas was that the prayers of a few good boys, grow into a generation of good men. And when that circle of love is pure and expansive, no one is left out - all are helped, and healed.

offered with Love,

Kate

"I have drawn thee..."

"not because of who i am,
but because of what You've done.

not because of what i've done,
but because of who You are..."

Casting Crowns'  "Who am I" found its way to the top of my mental playlist this morning.

Here's how it started. I was reading this Scripture from Jeremiah 31:3:

The Lord had appeared of old unto
saying, "Yea, I have loved thee
with an everlasting love,
therefore with loving kindness
have I drawn thee..."

Now, I've long loved this particular Scripture for its use of the word "drawn."

As a child I imagined God with a box of crayons, drawing a picture of me. With a chimney-topped house and lollipop trees in the background.  A bright yellow sun overhead. God was designing me -- and my life.

Then, some years ago that image shifted. I would read the passage and think of God as turning on the tap.  Like drawing a bath. Drawing, from the infinite well of His infinite resources -- whatever He needed me to be. I was not coming into the demands of any given moment with a set of skills, gifts, or talents that are personally circumscribed - but with an open willing heart. And from the spigot of that willingness, God was drawing forth whatever was needed in service to Him -- and his creation.

About a year ago, this same passage unfolded on the page in a new way. It was as if I could feel God reaching out and drawing me into the close circle of his arms. I felt gathered in. I felt firmly held in a place, where -- instead of being overwhelmed by the pulsing uncertainty of the world -- I could only hear the beating of His heart.

But then, earlier this week, as I was reading this oh-so-familiar passage, a different image crossed my heart. It was of an archer drawing his arrow. It, quite literally, stopped me in my tracks. Now, I am not an archer. I don't have much experience with archery -- other than the fact that my husband teaches it at camp, and I read "Zen and the Art of Archery" many years ago.

But as that image came into focus, so did the spiritual implications of being the arrow that God is drawing.

An archer draws his arrow with intention. He takes aim. I actually felt that God was aiming me with a precise outcome -- or purpose -- in Mind. I could trust his aim. It moved me very deeply.

Although I had been feeling - since the girls left for college - a clear sense of my work, I had also been feeling a bit aimless when it came to any interests outside of the office. I thought of myself as the person who used to spend all of her discretionary time following her daughters' interests in soccer, school, camp, Polocrosse, Cowboy Mounted Shooting, etc.

I loved to knit, but I'd knitted items for everyone I knew and had become "that woman" who knitted, and then unraveled her knitting, just to save money on yarn -- since I couldn't think of anyone who wanted another scarf, skirt, or hat.

I loved to bake, but without the girls here to eat or share what I baked, it just sat there. I loved to write, but after 750 of these posts, I wondered if I was just speaking to myself. And anyway, I had begun to realize that if I couldn't communicate a concept in five short lines of poetry, I should probably sit with it a bit longer.

I have always known that a sustainable life is one that is Love-impelled. It is why I do the work that I do. I have no desire to ever retire. I love it so much. And this is good, because it is what I do all day, every day - it just brings me so much joy. But what else should I be doing? I kept thinking I had to find something to do with my discretionary time.

The image of an archer shifted all of that. It wasn't up to me to figure anything out. I could trust that in every moment of every day the Archer was drawing me with perfect, precise aim. I would hit my target, not because I had decided to "follow my heart," but because I was an arrow in His quiver. Drawn for a purpose. Never a randomly flung arrow. But drawn from the Archers bow.

In talking about this image with our Sunday School class one morning, another insight was shared. When an archer draws His bow back, it allows for a pause, and gives perspective to his aim. I could trust that when I was drawn back - by divine Love -- into recalling a past experience, insight, or lesson learned, it was with divine intention. It was never without a precise purpose. Again, there was no random or reckless flinging of arrows by the divine Archer.

Suddenly a definition of "sin," -- that I'd never fully gotten behind -- made a bit more sense. I'd always felt perplexed when someone shared that "sin" was defined as "missing the mark." Perhaps it was because my own favorite etymological definition of sin was "to sunder, or to separate."

I didn't like the "missing the mark" definition because it ratified the false (for me) view of man as self-determined, self-aimed. A mortal who could "go rogue," -- who could separate himself from an all-powerful, all-knowing God and make mistakes, bad choices, and wrong decisions.

But this view of God as the Archer changed that for me. Mary Baker Eddy states in Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures that:

"The belief in sin is punished,
so long as the belief lasts..." 

And elsewhere she writes:

"Silencing self,
alias rising above corporeal personality,
is what reforms the sinner and destroys sin."

I am not the archer. We are not the archers of our own lives.  We cannot miss the mark, because we were never given an arrow -- we are the arrows. We are what God is drawing into precise purpose. We are what He has given accurate focus to. We can't help but hit His mark.

And I have to remember, that when it feels as if life events are dragging me backwards, an arrow can only be shot forward by pulling it backwards. Sometimes we have the opportunity of revisiting something we've outgrown, in order to more thoroughly glean the full weight of the lessons learned. Then we are launched forward with even greater precision and aim.

I don't have to decide to be -- or do -- anything. I just need to be a ready arrow in the Archer's quiver. Divine Love will draw me with perfect accuracy. The peace that this has given me is deep and satisfying.

In her poem, "Satisfied," Eddy assures us:

"It matters not,
what be Thy lot,
so Love doth guide..."

In the hands of the Archer, I am guided each moment towards the mark for which I am intended. I am drawn for a holy purpose. And He never misses. Whether the target is college, a new hobby, job, community, or relationship, we are perfect arrows in Love's quiver.

offered with Love,

Kate