"hold them up..."

"hold them up, 

hold them up, 

never to let them go..."

Walking back up the hill from Newfound -- to Owatonna -- this morning, I was pondering a few things.  One, my gratitude for the beauty of this place - lush with love and filtered light.  Two, an upcoming wedding - that I had just heard about from a friend.  Three, God.  And not in any order -- but more about how these three things coincided in my heart.

And as I continued up the hill, a favorite James Taylor song, "Never Die Young"  came to mind.  It's always been a reminder that we have a spiritual responsibility to wrap our mental arms around every relationship, and hold them close -- hold them in hope, hold them up. 

Just before I reach the top of the hill, I looked to my right and saw the above image.  It made me cry.  I had to ask myself: do I twine myself around every couple I know and hold them that dearly and tenderly in my heart?  Do I uphold the highest sense of partnership, friendship, marriage, family - when I think of them?  

I remember when my husband and I were first married. There were so many people that questioned our union.  Too soon?  Too many opinions to overcome?  Too old to start over?  

I remember one person lamenting that I'd never reach a 50th anniversary, starting over at "this point in your life." As if time -- measured by a number of years -- validated love.  

Rather than feeling like our community was wrapping its arms around us, it felt like an axe hacking away at our prospects. But rather than letting it put distance between us, we leaned in closer and grew stronger.  After that, I swore I would model a different kind of response to hearing about someone else's "new love."  Have I been consistently faithful to this vow? I hope I have.  I pray I have.  I am sure I can do better. 

Coming upon those two trees wrapped in a single vine was a most profound reminder for me.  To love God, is to love what He loves -- His child, His children, His plan.  We are each planted by our divine Parent to grow in proximity to those whose lives we will bless and be blessed by -- whether it is for a moment, a season, or a full life chapter.  

Some relationships will be like trees with roots entwined so deeply, that they hold eachother up in a storm.  Couples whose branches are so interlaced -- as they reach for the sun, day-after-day -- that you cannot tell where one stops, and the other starts. 

Other trees are not root-tied, but provide shelter to one another during tender growing years.  And others are like an aspen grove that covers the side of a mountain -- a single organism that only appears to be ten thousand individual trees.

And when we twine our loving prayers around those who are in loving relationship, we are included -- as encircling vines -- in that tenderness, collaboration, joy, unity, and affection. We are no longer looking at something from a perspective outside of the goodness it represents.  But are, in fact, actually - now - part of that beautiful love, because we are embracing it within us.   

It is not our job to figure out how, or why, individuals find their way to one another.  It is our job to trust the divine to plant each of us in a place, and within an ecosystem, that it will bless us -- and that we will be blessed by -- for however long it takes to learn and grow in partnership, fellowship, community -- Love.  

It is our privilege to wrap every relationship in the purest expectation for each blessed union.   Since: 

"our expectation is from Him." 

Today, I am sending each parent and child, mother and daughter, husband and wife, boyfriend and girlfriend, sisters, brothers, partners, colleagues, friends -- so very much love.  

Mary Baker Eddy assures us that: 

"all nature teaches God's love to man..." 

Today, nature is reminding me to hold them up, and hold them close -- all of the "thems."  

offered with Love, 

Cate

"in the quietness of now..."

"oh, abide with me,
where it's breathless and it's empty;

yes, abide with me,
and we'll pass the evening gently;

stay awake with me,
and we'll listen more intently..."

Oh, Carrie.

Carrie Newcomer's  "Abide,"  is a most perfect description of the shared silence I so value in our marriage.

There are many day -- and even more nights -- where we share the space of our small home without sharing words. And yet, I have rarely felt so completely heard, understood, and known.

It is this "quietness of now" which allows each of us to serve our communities in the ways that we are most inspired to do -- moment-by-moment. I feel loved and supported in the deep silence of this space we occupy together.

To know that the person I am with, is listening into the quiet - with me - is such a comfort.  And it brings great peace.

Mary Baker Eddy wrote in her 1898 communion message:

"My sense of nature's rich glooms is, that loneness lacks but one charm to make it half divine — a friend, with whom to whisper, “Solitude is sweet.” Certain moods of mind find an indefinable pleasure in stillness, soft, silent as the storm's sudden hush; for nature's stillness is voiced with a hum of harmony, the gentle murmur of early morn, the evening's closing vespers, and lyre of bird and brooklet.

“O sacred solitude! divine retreat!"

I have been so blessed to have a life partner, children, dogs, and a friend, who share my love for simplicity, solitude, and silence. In these relationships, I have found the most profound kind of companionship. They are my sanctuary - my home.

I feel blessed -- pure and simple. I feel so blessed.

offered with Love,

Cate 

"i'll love you for a thousand more..."

"How to be brave?
How can I love
when I'm afraid
to fall?

But watching you stand alone,
all of my doubts,
suddenly go away somehow..."

And then there are those posts that are all about the song. This video cover of Christina Perry's  "A Thousand Years"  by Clementine, is one of those posts.

I know this feeling -- of watching someone else stand alone, and feeling braver myself. It happens in my relationship with my husband -- all the time.

His deep spiritual conviction and poise act as a focal point for me when I am feeling shaken by things that trigger childhood fears -- in the dark, un-probed corners of my heart.

I doubt that he realizes how often I use his spiritual posture to remind me that God is here, I am His loved child, and that I can rest in His presence and power. It is his spiritual confidence that I love most about him.

It is this spiritual equanimity that I feel so blessed to be in the company of. There is a deeply centered balance to it. He is not rushing around madly trying to evenly distribute the resources at hand - love, finances, attention, time, patience. He is so rooted in his love for - and trust in - God, that he responds to each call with unhurried grace. Within this man is an unfathomable patience. His children feel it. His community feels it. His wife, especially, feels it.

You know how you just know. Well, that feeling is at the heart of my marriage to this "good man." I know him. I know his heart. I know that his devotion to our children is no more, nor less, than his devotion to the children he has served in each of his professional chapters. Whether it has been working with students at a college, working with counselors, outdoor educators, and school children as the Director of an outdoor education center, or with those who have exceptional abilities and special needs.

His devotion to their self-possession in Christ is boundless. His commitment to the individual and collective realization of their gifts is dogged. I am so blessed to have his example. And I am also, often, brought up short by it. But isn't that what a good relationship is all about.

Recently, after realizing that we would be apart for almost seven weeks this summer, someone asked me if I didn't miss him terribly. I replied, honestly, that I didn't miss him at all. And I don't. He is with me everywhere I go. His love is so alive in the way he cares for our children, our precious pups, our church family, and our loved global community. I feel it every day.

His love feels like an example of this Scripture from Deuteronomy:

"My doctrine shall drop as the rain,
my speech shall distill as the dew,
as the small rain upon the tender herb,
and as the showers upon the grass...”

When there is a need for tenderness and silence, it is there. When there is a need for firm patience, I know it will be there. And when I need a stronger shower - one that will move me to grow in grace myself - it, too, will be there. I know that his love for God comes first, and as a result, his love for us is deeply trustworthy.

I will love him for a thousand years -- or more...

offered with Love,

Cate

"it's holding tight, and letting go..."

"it's holding tight,
and letting go;
it's flying high,
and laying low..."

Clint Black's 1997 hit  "Something That We Do,"  is something of an anthem for me. So much of the success stories we hear - in regard to love, are about holding on. But there was a time in my life when I really needed to hear that love was also about letting go

As a family steeped in adoption, this was a theme in our lives.  The bittersweet paradox of love. For us to be able to be a family, a birth mother -- or birthparents -- had to let go. And yet, I believed that through the path of open adoption -- the ongoing relationship between birth families and adoptive families -- letting go could also include holding on. I still do.

But when it came to marriage, for me it was all about holding on. Holding on for dear life. And this holding on was not always gentle. Sometimes it was frantic and desperate. In fact, it was often like that for me. I would not be a quitter. And I wouldn't let anyone else quit either.

But I have learned that sometimes love is letting go. After decades of refusing to "give up," one day God asked me, "do you love him enough to let him go?" It had never occurred to me that loving someone could mean not trying harder. But as I let that question sink in, I thought about how much I loved my daughters and what loving them had looked like - from the moment they came into our family.  And it was more about letting go, than holding on.

It started with letting go of my dreams of how I would become a mother.  Then it was sharing them with others: placing them in the arms of family and friends who loved them, trusting a babysitter, leaving them in the Children's Room during church services.  Before we knew it, we were dropping them off at pre-school, sports events, sleepovers, camp, international service projects, expeditions, college...

Letting go wasn't about giving up with our daughters, and it wasn't about giving up on my marriage. It was about loving enough to trust God's tender, constant, unfolding care for each of us. I can only speak for myself, but for me, it was about surrendering self-will and pride for spiritual growth and humility. It was about holding on to my highest sense of living love, while letting go of what I thought it should look like.

For those who think that this is some version of self-justification, I can assure you that it is not. I have spent countless nights rehearsing that day -- when after years of trying harder and praying more -- God broke through my self-certainty, with piercing clarity, and asked me to love enough, to let go.

It was not the first time God had spoken to me in this way -- so it wasn't a foreign language. Some years earlier, when my husband and I were in the process of adopting our first child -- a son -- his birthmother was prayerfully led to reconsider her decision to surrender. Our adoption agency had made it clear that since he was already in our home, we could contest her change of heart.

But that was the thing -- it was all about hearts. The night before she was to give us all her final decision, I was sitting alone praying about what to do.  And out-of-the-blue God asked me, "Some day that baby will be a boy of twelve. Will you be able to say to him, "your mother wanted to raise you, but we fought to keep you."

My heart surrendered in a moment. And as painfully hard as it was, I never regretted that surrender. Years later, the Voice, and the feeling, were the same -- and I knew. I felt it pierce all the disappointment and pride. All the human will and hardness. I knew it had nothing to do with not loving him -- but loving him more.

Mary Baker Eddy has this to say in her primary work, Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures:

"The sharp experiences of belief in the supposititious life of matter, as well as our disappointments and ceaseless woes, turn us like tired children to the arms of divine Love. Then we begin to learn life in divine Science. Without this process of weaning, "Canst thou by searching find out God?"

For me it read, "Then we begin to learn love in divine Science. Each time I have been asked to let go, my understanding of Love has expanded beyond anything I could have ever imagined.  I have learned more about love, and my relationship to God -- the Source of all love -- by the weaning, more than by the holding on.

And in truth, we never really let go of what we love - only of our sense of personal attachment and possession. We are not the arbiters of love in our lives -- of its presence in our hearts. We love, who and what we love by divine appointment. We can't control that. But we can let God define how we relate to one another, moment-by-moment.

Love is a verb. Nothing can keep us from being love. Nothing can deprive us of our right to love.  It is the one real power we have. Think of it.  No one can stop you from loving them -- from being conscious of, seeing, and calling attention to the best in them. Every relationship in our lives is the ebb and  flow of holding on to what is true about another -- and letting go of what isn't.

Whether it is in the day-to-day surrender of our children to teachers and friendships, or the letting go of what we think define us, and how we live, love, and work together. We are never separated from those we love. We hold them forever in our hearts - as tenderly remembered experiences, through co-parenting, and in our genuine hopes for their future joy in loving -- and perhaps, loving someone new. In this way, there really is no separation, only the surrender of outlines and attachments.

Letting go in love is not a failure. It is just another way of loving someone. Every moment of loving is a remarkable moment of success over self. In this, there is no failed love. Time doesn't validate love. Loving validates love.

I love these lyrics from "Something That We Do":

"We help to make each other
all that we can be.

Though we can find
our strength and inspiration
independently.

The way we work together
is what sets our love apart."

Life is eternal. There will be an infinite number of loves in our lives. May each one bring you nearer to God - the Source of all love. May you know the eternity of loving without possession or attachment. May you feel the power of love as an active, unstoppable, irresistible verb. May you know the love that is both holding tight, and letting go.


offered with Love,

Kate

[photo by Katariina Agnes Fagering - used with permission]

"love has no pride..."

"Love has no pride,
when there's no one left to blame.
And I'd give anything
just to see you again..."

My friend George posted this video of Bonnie Raitt singing her hauntingly beautiful  "Love Has No Pride"  with David Crosby and Graham Nash at the 25th Anniversary of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Concert in 2009. It took me apart. I am still sniffling.

This will be one of those posts that you will only find if you are looking beyond what is right at the top of this blog. I do that when I need to say something, but don't really know how I feel about it being read. I will write another post right on the heels of this one and post it quickly. Most people will not scroll further.

Here is what I need to say. I have loved three men in my life.  They were men I hoped I would love for the rest of my life. And I will. I will not be married to them -- but I will love them.  

The reasons that those relationships were not my "last great love" is not important, other than to say I was not an easy person to love or live with. I was afraid of being rejected and abandoned -- every day. And without intending to, I made sure that I'd have a reason for that rejection when the time came. Jeff will tell you that it has taken much spiritual self-examination to realize this -- and to heal it.

What happens -- at least for me - is, that when I see through the tangle of my own emotional forest, I get clearer views of what was always true, at the very heart of things. And what is true about each of these men is that they are deeply good. They are kind, honest, beautiful men of integrity. I was blessed in each case.

Have I ever told them that. No. At least not the first two. Why? Because I am afraid. Yup. I am afraid that I will be thought ridiculous. I am afraid that they will think, "a little too late." I am afraid that I will be rejected and dismissed. It is all about pride.

I have a bigger fear though. That bigger fear is that one of us will leave this chapter of our eternal lives without my having said what is in my heart. I am not "in love" with either of my earlier loves, but I do love them. I love them for the kindness they showed a fragile, skittish woman-child who tried so hard to seem confident, smart, and whole. I love them for the patience they showed each time I reached the fight-or-flight stage of my anxiety. I love them for believing in me when I didn't believe in myself. I love them for loving themselves enough to move on -- into relationships and marriages that were so much better for them. And I just love them for being the men I love.

I don't expect either of them to read this or to understand how I could love them so much, and not be able to say what is in my heart. I don't understand it either.

When my grandfather was very ill and it was likely that he would pass away in a hospital -- far from where he'd become a man, married my grandmother, and raised their children -- it was my grandmother who he'd divorced decades earlier, that he asked to see. His current wife was by his bedside, but he asked to see my grandmother. She refused. He passed without that reconciliation. That story always broke my heart.

Years late when my grandmother was facing serious memory-related issues I spent time with her in prayer. One day we were sitting in her room, at the care facility where she was living, and I asked her about my grandfather. She was silent for the longest time before she began to weep. She wept the tears of the broken-hearted. I sat quietly by her side.

After some time, I asked her again to tell me about my grandfather and their young marriage. She smiled the smile of a girl, and began to tell me about falling in love, courtship, the early days of becoming a family with the three small children they raised in a lovely neighborhood.

As far as I know, my grandmother did not have any memory-related episodes again after that conversation. She would soon leave the care facility and spend time with all three of her children and their families before her peaceful passing. Her heart was lighter, her laughter was sweeter, her peace was deeper.

I take great comfort in something Paul says in his epistle to the Romans:

"Who shall separate us from the love of Christ?
Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution,
or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?

Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors
through him that loved us. For 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..."

Love doesn't weaken us. Love empowers us. Love has no pride. It is not afraid of looking ridiculous. It is not afraid of failing. It is not afraid of being rejected. I pray that I can more fully realize this love in myself.

I know that nothing can keep me from loving the people I love -- whether they feel the same about me, or not. Perhaps someday I will have the courage to tell them how much they have meant to me -- even after we were no longer together. If I do, I will tell them how much I love them -- and their new families. I will tell them how grateful I am for their wives, who love them in ways I seemed incapable of loving when I was a younger woman.

Until then, I will pray for their happiness, I will see them through the purest eyes, I will delight in their accomplishments and weep with their sorrows. And mostly, I will be grateful that I have known great men who have helped me grow into this woman who is learning what it means that Love has no pride. Thank you.


offered with Love,

Kate

"darling, darling, stand by me..."

"If the sky
that we look upon
should tumble and fall,
or the mountain should
crumble to the sea

I won't cry,
I won't cry,
no I won't shed a tear,
just as long as you
stand by me..."

I am stepping away from writing a message with a moral tonight. This post is simply a recognition -- and a thank you -- to my husband. Florence and the Machine's lush version of, "Stand by Me" -- beautifully captured in this Game of Thrones-themed music video -- says most perfectly what is in my heart.

Marriage is not always "white lace and promises, a kiss for luck and be on your way" -- to quote Karen and Richard Carpenter. At least it hasn't been for me. Marriage has been many things -- but rarely has it been a stroll through a field of wildflowers, or a day on the beach.

When Jeff and I married, we were both grown ups who had been married before.  We had five children between us to love and nurture. The oldest three were well on their way to becoming independent adults. The youngest two were still in grade school. The last twelve years have been devoted to making sure that our children felt loved, believed in, and supported.

The youngest are our twin daughters, and we have had the privilege of raising them with their dad and stepmom -- as well as their birth mother who was part of our parenting dream team. The girls have been our day-to-day (and night-to-night) focus for more than a decade. Jeff, has been their advocate, college finance advisor, car/truck/horse trailer problem solver, banking liaison, etc. since the day he became their stepdad.

He has been willing to take whatever work necessary -- in addition to his primary jobs -- in order to make ends meet. He is often up well past midnight -- even when he has to be up by 5:30 the next morning -- filling out FAFSA forms, writing emails to the college registrar's office, or just figuring out phone plans.  He takes every call they make to him - asking for advice about anything from how to check the oil in the truck, to where they should go for fixing a broken screen.  He is the silent hero in the background of their accomplishments and successes. I am in awe of his tireless care for them. Within our parenting team -- he is on point for every situation.

When difficult bumps in the road threaten to send us careening around an unexpected curve, through the guardrails, and flying off the edge - into a logistical or emotional ravine of self-doubt, lack, uncertainty, or fear, he is as steady as a rock. He quietly reminds me that we've seen harder times, faced worse criticism, and weathered greater storms -- and that we will get through the current one as well. We might get wet, but we'll be together, and together we'll expect "a bow of promise."

When I am trembling, he is rock solid. When I am frantic, he is unflinchingly calm. When I can't find my way out of the pit of despair, it is his hand that is exactly where I need it to be to pull me up. He is faithful, trusting, God-focused, and unmoved by earthquake, wind, or fire. His peace cannot be taken from him, and I count on his calm to remind me that God is with us -- we will not be afraid.

Someone recently asked me why, after the end of my previous marriage -- one that brought three beautiful children into my life -- I would re-marry. You know, it was not something I ever anticipated doing. But when your best friend wants to stand by you -- well, it wasn't much of a choice.

Like trees, our roots have become so entwined under the surface, that even though our closest friends and acquaintances rarely see us doing anything together, we are what stabilizes the other in every storm. We trust that we are each, always, reaching towards God first, and persistently digging deeper for a spiritual foundation in every situation.

Whereas I am a turtle and would rather do nothing, than tuck deeply into myself in a storm, he is an eagle that uses the storm's invisible thermals to rise higher in his understanding of God's ever-presence.  From that higher point of view, he gathers the bigger picture and brings it down to where I am - coaxing me out of my hermitage.

Recently, it was his strength of conviction - that we were going to be safe in the midst of a storm - which gave me the courage to love when I wanted to scream, cry, wail, and weep. It was his spiritual poise that calmed my own quaking.

In the chapter "Marriage" from her primary text, Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, Mary Baker Eddy states -- with scientific certainty:

"The scientific morale
of marriage is spiritual unity." 

I have seen this proven day-after-day in our marriage. When we unite in our love for God, and our love for others -- we are strong, unflinching, and resolute in our fearlessness.

Elsewhere in a collection of articles, sermons, and questions/answers titled, Miscellaneous Writings, Mary Baker Eddy asks, and answers, this question:

"What do you think of marriage?

That it is often convenient,
sometimes pleasant, and occasionally
a love affair. Marriage is
susceptible of many definitions.

It sometimes presents the most
wretched condition of human existence.
To be normal, it must be a union
of the affections that tends
to lift mortals higher." 

I used to think that she was talking about different kinds of marriages. That some marriages were convenient, and others were pleasant, and yet others were a love affair.

That was until I was married myself. 

 Now I think she means that every marriage has moments when it may seem to look pleasant one second, and wretched the next. The genius of marriage is that it gives us ample opportunity for growth in grace, and and the same opportunity for monitoring our progress -- since we must do it over-and-over again, day-after-day, with the very same person.  As a scientist, it is this controlled environment - within the laboratory of our human experience - that allows for the most accurate assessment of change and growth. 

So tonight, I am writing to say thank you to the man who demands the best from me - by always bringing his best to the table. He would rather be kind than right. He is patient, tender and true. He is willing to go the extra mile for our daughters, and the people he works with. He holds uncomplaining guard over our family -- and the world.  It humbles me. His trust in the over-arching goodness of God's sovereignty is breath-taking. I am blessed.

offered with Love,

Kate

"The only way we'll last forever…"

"If you can bring
your shattered dreams
and I'll bring mine
Could healing still be spoken
and save us,

The only way we'll last forever
is broken together..."

The first time I heard Casting Crown's "Broken Together I wept -- and wondered how long it would take for me to find the courage to write this post. Let's just say that it's taken more humility, than time.

If you have never had your heart broken -- or broken someone else's heart -- this post is not for you. But, if you have found yourself broken open by love, I hope it gives you courage and hope.

For such a long time I thought that a good relationship was one where no one got hurt. Both parties always put the other person first, and never did anything that would break the other's heart. No one was disappointed, sad -- broken. If you got hurt -- or worse yet, you hurt the person you loved -- it must mean that the relationship was doomed.

It's not surprising then, that whenever someone got hurt, I was ready to run. If I'd done the hurting, I couldn't stay and live with myself. If I was hurt, I was so wounded that I was impossible to live with. I stopped trusting and it was clear that whoever hurt me was in for a life of apology and regret. My brokenness was irreparable. The best I could hope for was a me that was patched together and long-suffering, but forever bruised.

In my fantasy world of one true love, there was no room for anything but Prince Charming and Cinderella meeting on the steps of a university and living happily ever after. Heartbreak would never happen, because we were "meant for each other." Enduring love was only possible if no one got hurt. When someone got hurt it was best to cut your losses and go find your real one true love -- because obviously this wasn't it.

I was wrong. Hearts break. And when hearts break a new softness is possible. I love the Psalmist's encouragement:

"The sacrifices of God
are a broken spirit:
a broken and a contrite heart,
O God, thou wilt not despise..." 

Well, if God didn't despise my broken -- or contrite -- heart, why did I? Perhaps there was something beautiful and promising to be found in the wake of those experiences that shattered pride and gave breath to deeper humility --and humanity -- in a relationship.

I am learning that most of us have felt heartbreak, or have unintentionally broken the hearts of those we love. And that sometimes -- without meaning to -- we bring heartbreak with us. But heartbreak doesn't have to mean sorrow, destruction, or endings. Sometimes the most beautiful relationships are a mosaic of "broken" experiences cemented together by devotion, respect, patience, and forgiveness.

Mary Baker Eddy acknowledges heartbreak in Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures when she writes:

"If we would open their prison doors for the sick,
we must first learn to bind up the broken-hearted. " 

She doesn't deny the presence of heartbreak in our human experience. She doesn't tell us to run from heartbreak -- our own, or another's -- but to bind it up. We are all in this together. We each do our best, and through trial -- and yes, heartbreak -- we often discover something softer, gentler, kinder than princesses who run away in glass slippers will ever find. I am learning that in most relationships, broken together is pregnant with promise, enduringly beautiful, full of hope, and rich with grace.

I hope that if you have read this far, you will take the time to listen to Casting Crown's "Broken Together it may just be one of the most beautiful Valentine's songs I have ever heard.

When hearts break, they don't have to be broken apart. Sometimes this is where -- when broken together -- our hearts in Him may blend more beautifully thus.  

offered with Love,

Kate

"God gave me you…"

"God gave you
for the ups and downs.
God gave you
for the days of doubt.

For when I think
I've lost my way,
there are no words
here left to say,

It's true,
God gave me you..."

It's been wonderful living on the periphery -- witnessing, from a gentle distance -- a blessed wedding that will take place this weekend. Seeing dear friends gather to celebrate a couple's love for one another and their hope for the future -- well, I can't imagine a more beautiful view.

Thinking about marriage, and what it takes to open the door of our hearts and our lives so completely to another human being, takes my breath away. There is something so sacred about this holy space that Love carves out in us. And today, it's Blake Shelton's "God Gave Me You." that speaks to what I believe about marriage -- with all my being.

It's no secret that I've been divorced and remarried. And I've discovered that, generally, people think that I must have considered my earlier marriage a "mistake."

But that's not true. Not at all true. I believe that every marriage -- every relationship -- is blessed, sacred, and holy. I was deeply blessed by my earlier marriage. However I've come to learn that for me -- and I can only speak for myself -- relationships evolve.  They don't end. My children's dad and I -- with our current spouses -- are devoted parenting partners. I continue to be blessed by what we are learning together. It's just that now, we have expanded that circle to include more love.

I am learning that we never really end any relationship. We continue to think about the people who have been in our lives. And that act of "thinking about" them is always in done the present. We don't actually think in the past. So, how we think of them - in any given "present" moment is our truth. And how we treat them -- in our thoughts, even as memory -- is all that matters.

This is what defines us -- our capacity to love without the permission of roles or reasons. We just continue to love -- honestly, appropriately, trustingly. It doesn't end, it just changes, or evolves.

I won't lie. To believe that my former spouse and I had once made a mistake -- and that we had now corrected it by "moving on," would romantically tie up all my loose ends up in a neat little bow. I could say, "whew, I got it wrong, and then, I got it right. Thank you God. Now I can be happy."

But that would put happiness on a personal, rather than a spiritual, basis. And it would also mean that at some point we had been separated from God's guidance, care, direction, and wisdom. It would mean that at some juncture, our omnipotent God either ceased to have all power in our lives, or He did have all-power, but He really didn't love us all that much. Otherwise, wouldn't He/She have intervened on our behalf and saved us from our mistakes?

Nope, I can't afford the luxury of that thinking. It would send a fissure through every holy place in my heart, shattering my trust in an omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent God who is impartial and universal Love.

The alternative is so much better.:

"God gave me you..."  

And not just the "you" I married, but all the yous in my life. Family members, neighbors, friends, fellow parents at school -- everyone.

Every person in my life, for whatever reason, is God-appointed, God-annointed, and God-sent as a blessing. Or as Blake sings, we are all part of "a divine conspiracy" designed for our spiritual awakening.

As I learn to let love unfold itself in my heart, within the context of each relationship I am learning something new about my capacity to reflect the divine Source of that love. I discover that "Love is reflected in love" -- unconditional love, impartial love -- in me, through me, as me. No exceptions.

But, I haven't always seen it this way. In fact, there was a time when I thought I had the privilege of choosing whether to love, how to love, and when to love the people in my life. I doled love out like a commodity -- and hoped it would return in kind. When it didn't, I judged the relationship as either good, or "not so good," and adjusted my affection, and expectations, accordingly.

But this never worked. I was always on the edge, waiting for something to improve -- or to end. If someone hurt me, I had the right to expect an apology. If I hurt someone else, I deserved to feel regret, sorrow, and hope for their forgiveness.

It was all in our hands. We determined the success or failure of our relationships. And God help us, if we were doomed from the outset by a poor initial choice.

Then one day I actually realized that I was dishonoring God with this thinking. It was unholy. It left God out of His own creation.

So, you may ask, if this is the case, how could I possibly allow myself to even entertain the concept of "divorce." To be honest, I never did. I was completely intractable when it came to my commitment of "making it work."

But then one day, there was an inbreaking of the heart -- and from that space of surrender, grace began to flow. Where once, I was rigid about what a "spiritual outcome" had to look like, there was a new gentleness and humility.

Something shifted, and I felt led towards a kinder version of myself. I was willing to let God unfold a more authentic relationship with my former spouse. An honest relationship that was/is filled with fresh hope and a more radical trust in God's plan for each of us -- individually and collectively. A relationship based on God's love for him, for our children, and yes, for me.

The other day, as I was thinking about marriage, and the beauty of weddings -- first weddings, second weddings -- and in some cases third or fourth marriages. And I was reminded of Mary Baker Eddy's wedding blessing from Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures:

"May Christ, Truth,
be present at every bridal altar
to turn the water into wine
and to give to human life
an inspiration by which
man's spiritual and
eternal existence may be discerned."  

Every bridal altar. What promise!

Eddy, herself, was a new bride -- three times. And I pray with all my heart that she felt beautiful, pure, hopeful, filled with promise -- each time. I pray that we all do.

Whether the "new" relationship in your life is the birth of a child, the resurrection of a once-stale friendship, a business partnership that excites you, or a first, second, or third walk down the aisle -- may it feel like a miracle. For in each case, it is.  It is a divine gift. A gift of grace.

I know -- because God gave me you. Each of you.

"There are no greater miracles known to earth
than perfection
and an unbroken friendship."  

with great hope, and always with Love,

Kate

"a golden second marriage…"

"I want a moment of silence,
and a moment of prayer,
for the love we'll need to make it
in the world out there..."

I know that I have used Don Henley's, "For My Wedding," before to illustrate a sentiment. But today, it leapt into my heart as a song of gratitude.

You see, my dear friend Barbye posted a status update on Facebook that read: "On my way to help my dad and stepmom celebrate their golden anniversary." It took me apart.  And since my friend mentioned that it was her stepmom -- it was obviously a second marriage for her dad.  It touched me deeply, and I found myself weeping with joy for them.

I remember, not long ago, sharing with an acquaintance that my husband and I would be celebrating our anniversary. I was so grateful for all the ways we'd navigated unaddressed issues, grown in grace, and worked together as a couple -- and as partners with my former spouse and his wife -- in parenting our children. But the response I got was heart-breaking. She said, "Well really Kate,  it isn't your first marriage, so I don't think it matters if you are together for seven years, or twenty-five years -- you've already failed."

I was stunned into silence. Truly. I didn't have a single thing to say.  And she'd said it so matter-of-factly, that it was clear to me that it held no malice. It was not her intent to be hurtful. But it was, never-the-less, hard to hear.

We went on with our meeting, and when I was finally seated behind the wheel of my car, I lost it. I let my head fall into my hands, and wept long and hard. Not just for myself and our marriage, but for all the couples who have given themselves another chance at loving unconditionally, sharing selflessly, and hoping for "forever," even in the face of a disappointing sense of loss.

Every second - or third - marriage is a tribute to the power of hope over experience. And to hear that my friend's dad and stepmom were celebrating their 50th anniversary, was an unexpected gift today. I wanted to stand on a mountaintop and sing a song of grateful praise.

I don't believe that any couple goes into their marriage with a "plan B." We all hope and pray that we will not fall. We pray that we have what it takes to endure, to find solutions to our problems, to feel grace coursing through our days together. As Talmudic scholar, Rabbi Itzak, once wrote, "When any marriage ends, even the altar weeps."

But, I believe, that when we have the courage - and hope - that it takes to try again, "even the altar kneels…" in holy wonder and benediction.

In her primary work, Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, Mary Baker Eddy offers this blessing:

"May Christ, Truth,
be present at every bridal altar
to turn the water into wine
and to give to human life
an inspiration by which
man's spiritual, eternal existence
may be discerned."
 

Christ, Truth, present at every bridal altar. First marriages, second marriages -- all marriages. Because marriage is a triumph of hope. And, as poet Emily Dickinson so beautiful writes:

"Hope is the thing with feathers,
that perches in the soul,
and sings the tune,
without the words,
and never stops - at all…"
 

So, bless you Barbye's parents. Bless your marriage, and your example of enduring love.  Bless your family gathered to celebrate you, and bless your willingness to allow hope to triumph -- 50 years ago, and every day since.

Every marriage is a blessing. Every moment we spend in the laboratory of persistent, cooperative loving is a triumph of selflessness over self-interest. Every day is a gift of grace. First marriages, second marriages, eighth marriages. A first anniversary or a fiftieth -- each is a triumph, worthy of celebration.

As Don Henley so humbly sings, this is my prayer:

"To want what I have
And take what I am given, with grace.
For this I pray…" 

On my wedding day, on your wedding day, and at each anniversary - let's celebrate each other's triumphs of hope and love.

So grateful,



Kate

"never to let them fall…"

"they were true love,
written in stone,
they were never alone,
they were never that far apart…"
- James Taylor

This is the relationship I dreamed about, prayed for, gave my all to. And, I believe, it is the one that we all hope we will find, love our way into, grow up with, and be known for.

I first heard the lyrics to JT's,"Never Die Young," in 1988, and I just knew they were about "us." I thought we were that couple. I thought we could overcome anything. I thought we would be those cute little old people walking hand-in-hand, through town, at sunset.

But we weren't. And we aren't -- at least not with each other.  But I believe we are both a testament to the power of love and hope.  But I digress.  This isn't a post about our divorce. This is a post about Taylor's admonition to "hold them up, hold them up, never to let them fall…" This is an open letter to the residents of every "tough town" he is singing about. This is my plea, and my prayer.

A relationship is not a reality show, playing itself out in real time. It isn't meant to be subject to community Nielsen ratings. It shouldn't be the subject of Siskel and Ebert-like thumbs up/thumbs down assessments. A relationship -- whether it is a marriage, a domestic partnership, or a very good friendship -- is not there for our entertainment. No one is asking for our vote of confidence.

Sometimes, in the midst of the day-to-day, it is hard to separate what is our own reality, from the stories that are being projected onto us.  And sometimes, it is just plain hard.  It is especially difficult to navigate, when we begin to feel the weight of human opinions, speculation, or just the boredom-based chatter that happens when people aren't engaged in the kind of life-expansive charity, social-advocacy, and unselfed community service that keeps them from the chocolate cupboard of gossip.

As I sit here today - listening to this much-loved song - my heart cries out for social self-restraint. For an end to the practice of "everyone used to run them down: 'they're a little too sweet, they're a little too tight…"

Please, please, please -- let's just stop it. Instead let's:

"Hold them up,
hold them up,
never to let them fall
prey to the rust, and the dust,
and the ruin that names us,
and claims us, and shames us
and ruins us all..." 

Because it does you know. When we participate in knocking down someone's relationship or marriage with the kind of so-called harmless comments, speculation, criticism, sarcasm that reality TV promotes as entertaining conversation, we name ourselves as unkind, we claim our sense of ourselves as small-minded, we shame ourselves with gossip and mischief-making, and we ruin our sense of identity as a loving, supportive community -- place to grow and thrive in.

It's time to stop looking for the first crack in a person's spiritual poise, the first fissure in a relationship, the first (or second) mistake -- and jump on it. It's time to stop saying -- to ourselves and others, "see, I told you so." It's time to stop celebrating the widening of relational fault lines with self-congratulatory silent (or audible) surprise, and disdain.

This is not an easy journey. We are all doing it, with as much grace, love, trust, and courage as we know how. The last thing anyone needs is to have the acid of gossip, speculation, and "i knew it all the time…" thrown in.

The Golden Rule is precious and practical. It keeps us safe from becoming another character in a reality TV show of our own making. When we think, speak, do unto (and about) others the way we would want them to think, speak, and do unto (or about) us -- and our partner, spouse, children, family, home, business, we are on safe, holy ground. 

 And in the course of living this Golden Rule, we may just find that leaving other people's relationships alone -- or supporting them by trusting them to Love's wise guidance and protection -- we improve our own relationships, foster new ones, and strengthen our ties to the source of all love.

I love this brief statement from Mary Baker Eddy's last published work, The First Church of Christ, Scientist and Miscellany:

"No mortal is infallible, 
— hence the Scripture,
“Judge no man.” 

We're all a work in progress. And, we are all in this together. We are all trying to find, and live, the kind of love that is a little too sweet, and not too tough. The kind of love that rises from among the detritus of human drama like a big balloon and soars over it with grace. I know I do. I want my relationships to inspire, not entertain.

offered with all my Love -- and prayers,

Kate

"The loves we've had before..."

"The loves we've had before
can never change this one.
We're not imprisoned by
the past we've brought along..."

This post may seem a bit naked. If so, I apologize in advance.

Tonight I was going through my iTunes library looking for opportunities to de-clutter, when I came across Collin Raye's "That was a River." I couldn't help myself. I clicked play and let it flow.   The music wafted through the empty house and the tears fell in big, fat drops without restraint.

To keep this moment from becoming what it was wont to become -- a deep dive into a vast chasm of sadness and regret -- I thought, "Come on Katie, you don't live in that space anymore. What did you learn?"

So here goes.

In every romantic relationship -- prior to my marriage to Jeff -- I just couldn't seem to "let it go." Once I knew that the man I loved had once loved someone else -- truly, madly, deeply -- I became needy, hyper-sensitive, wary, and prone to over-compensation. I lost my way.

And in the process, I lost my heart, my authenticity, my joy, and my trust. I became severe and suspicious. It wasn't attractive. I tried too hard. It became my goal to be better than everyone else that "he" had loved.

For years I thought that the problem was each of the "hims" in my life, and the choices they'd made -- even before they met me. This irrational thinking actually made sense to me in moments when I felt vulnerable and unworthy. And I let it erode each relationship like a termite eating away at the foundation of a loved house.

Waking up one day to the rubble of a house in ruin and irreparable -- a house I had allowed myself to give up on -- I started to take notice. I began to see how cruel it was to dismiss my partner's love for me as his truth. And more importantly I began to take responsibility for addressing those feelings that I had blamed "him" for.

My journey started with laying it all on the altar. Taking my broken heart and my broken sense of marriage to God. I searched Scripture and the writings of Mary Baker Eddy. There were many times when an idea would bring me to my knees. Self-knowlege may be the first step in healing, but it isn't always the prettiest. But there were waymarks of encouragement along the way as well. I remember feeling a new pulse of hope with Eddy's assurance that:

"progress is a law of God..." 

Each and every one of us is evolving spiritually. We are discovering the depth, breadth, and height of what it means to love as God loves. Each relationship, experience, challenge, and trial unfolds, as Eddy suggests:

"new views of divine goodness and love..." 

And since spiritual evolution is always expansive and progressive, what has gone before is always leading us to a deeper trust, a more selfless love, a higher and more permanent peace.

As I anchored my life more securely in trusting God's perfect plan for each of us, I found that I could genuinely embrace my partner's journey towards our relationship as divinely designed. Each step, each companion, each moment of affection, each instance of growth in grace -- a divine gift.

I never realized how freeing it would be to put my heart -- and his -- where it belonged. Not in some romantic version of "happily ever after," but in the hands of God's perfect love for each of us -- and all who had come before.

I no longer have to sabotage each relationship out of fear that I will be found wanting. I didn't have to over-compensate in anticipation of someone discovering that I was not as good as someone else who had come before -- or might come along. I can now love fully, genuinely, trustingly as the present expression of God's love for my partner. I can fully accept his love as his highest understanding of what it meant to love -- moment-by-moment. And mine.

We are each moving, not towards each other, but towards a deeper understanding of God, and what it means to love like Him/Her. In each relationship, we are each other's river -- but God is the ocean.

That's my story. Still crying, but they are tears of gratitude.

offered with Love,

Kate

"Hold them up..."

"Hold them up, hold them up,
never to let them fall prey
to the dust, and the rust. and ruin
that names us and claims us
and shames us all..."

James Taylor's "Never Die Young" is one of the most sobering songs I've ever felt.  And yes, I really do mean "felt," rather than heard.  This song reaches me in a place that is tender and hopeful and sad all at once.

I used to feel that we were all just a bit like the people in this song: 

"...a little too sweet, a little too tight 

Not enough tough for this tough town.

Couldn't touch 'em with a ten foot pole

No, they didn't seem rattled at all. 

They were fused together body and soul. 

That much more 

with their backs up against the wall."

The bottom line is, that none of us feels immune to the kind of tearing down that these "tough towns" are sometimes so thoughtlessly engaged in.  And it can be so subtle that even when we passively participate -- just by listening -- we think it's harmless...or even deserved.

But it never is.

As part of his Thanksgiving Proclamation for this years (2012), President Barack Obama had this to say about how we might consider treating one another: 

"On Thanksgiving Day, individuals from all walks of life come together to celebrate this most American tradition, grateful for the blessings of family, community, and country. Let us spend this day by lifting up those we love, mindful of the grace bestowed upon us by God and by all who have made our lives richer with their presence."

I've been thinking about this portion of his proclamation, since hearing it in church that day.  And I can't think of any other one thing that would make a bigger difference in the lives of others.

I love the tradition of Hora.  An Israeli (among other cultures) custom often performed  at bar/bat mitzvahs and weddings, in which the honoree(s) are lifted up on chairs during a congregational dance.

Its symbology is similar to the western tradition of asking the wedding guest to vow their ongoing support of the couple --as they make their way in the world as a new family -- by replying, "we do."

But these symbols, traditions, and customs are only as good as our conscientious effort to follow through on these pledges.  

Gossip, rumors, talking about others behind their back -- picking away at the details of someone's personal decisions and choices --  never lifts up those we love, care about.  It never elevates our concept of man.  It never blesses those we are in relationship with as friends, family, neighbors, colleagues or even as fellow citizens of a global community.   And it always leads to tearing someone down.

Even when it is done in the circumspection of our own silent reverie, those negative thoughts about others, begin to tear down our sense of ourselves -- as loving, generous, merciful beings.

I believe that it is especially critical that we "hold up" those who are working so hard to be "in relationship."  Mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, siblings, fathers and sons, neighbors, colleagues, sisters, friends, in-laws, blended families.

These relationships have the potential for being the most amazing laboratories for demonstrating the consistent, enduring, persistent kind of love that seems miraculous to society these days.  This is where unselfishness breeds, where unconditional love blossoms, where forgiveness is given wings.

We can never -- ever -- know what others are facing in the sanctuary of their relationships.  But we can refuse to speculate, wonder, or imagine.   We can walk away from the mental invitation to "be concerned."  We can turn away from society's desire to "know the details." We can hold them up to the sunlight of God's warming Love.  We can hold up -- in our own heart, and to everyone around us -- the best in our fellow beings.  That gentle glimmer of grace, a shimmering slice of something sublimely sweet. 

And we can gently, but firmly, "hang up" when someone is sharing of another person's news.  Wouldn't you rather hear it from them anyway. 

As my friend Carol once said, "I don't share other people's news, it's not mine to share, it's theirs."  Refreshing isn't it!

Holding one another up.  This could just be the best Christmas gift we give eachother this year!

with Love...always,  

Kate