"how emptiness sings..."

"I haven’t been asked yet
to walk the hard roads,
still there’s a sense
of deep loss in my soul.
In the middle of a party,
I’ll just want to go home.

But oh,
My bow is on the strings,
and I’m beginning to learn
where to find the words
to the song that emptiness sings..."

Christa Wells' recording of  "How Emptiness Sings" touches me on two levels. One is just the sound of the song -- it makes me want to wrap my arms around myself and weep. And then there are the words -- so full of self-compassion, understanding, and patience with our humanness.

One of my favorite contemporary Christian singer-songwriters - Sara Groves, posted that she was looking forward to the release of Christa Wells' new single "Velveteen." I'd forgotten all about Christa's music. So I went looking for her, and when I found "How Emptiness Sings," it was enough.

This week I've been steeped in the Easter story. From Jesus' foretelling of the crucifixion to his disciples, to Peter and John's race to the sepulcher.  His narrative has colored everything for me.

His acceptance of God's purpose and path for him is so humbling. I have had to ask myself, "Would you be able to walk into the arms of Judas and accept his kiss? Would you stand tall before Pilate and not plead your case? Would your last words be, "Father forgive them for they know not what they do."

No matter how many challenges I have faced in my life, I have not faced this level of self-surrender. I remember once calling the man who was my mentor is Christian Science healing. I was tired. I felt bombarded, misunderstood, maligned. I expected his sympathy. But what he said was, "Are your feet bleeding yet today?"

I knew exactly what he meant. He was referring to three passages from the writings of Mary Baker Eddy:

"Prayer means that we desire to walk and will walk in the light so far as we receive it, even though with bleeding footsteps, and that waiting patiently on the Lord, we will leave our real desires to be rewarded by Him."

"The God-inspired walk calmly on though it be with bleeding footprints, and in the hereafter they will reap what they now sow. The pampered hypocrite may have a flowery pathway here..."

"If impatient of the loving rebuke, the student must stop at the foot of the grand ascent, and there remain until suffering compels the downfall of his self-conceit. Then that student must struggle up, with bleeding footprints, to the God-crowned summit of unselfish and pure aims and affections."

That simple reminder was enough to still my self-pity and complaint.  The last path I wanted to pursue, was the one traveled by the pampered hypocrite.

I think of David, so good and pure as a boy. Yes, a wee arrogant and over-confident - but for good reason. His innocence has been his freedom from the jaws of the lion, the paw of the bear, and the terror of the Philistine. But as a man, he let his self-certainty undermine him. I can't help but wonder if his faltering footsteps didn't serve to teach him the words we turn to in our hours of darkness and despair.  What Christa calls:

"the words to the song
that emptiness sings..."

It has never been self-confidence that has served me in times when my feet were raw -- if not yet bleeding -- on this journey. It has been humility, self-surrender, and mercy that have brought me the deepest peace. Those moments of:

"Abba, Father,
take away this cup from me:
nevertheless not what I will,
but what thou wilt..."

and

"Help me, O Lord my God:
O save me according to thy mercy..."

Lately, I have found myself listening for the song that emptiness sings whispering in my heart. The song that I have yet to learn the words to, because I have not yet traveled this road.  But I am willing -- and I am ready.  I don't yet know what I will need, but I do know that if I am very, very quiet I will hear a new song.

So, if you see me leaving the party, sitting by myself with my eyes closed, or facing the emptiness and scanning the horizon -- it is because I know there is something out there. There is something asking me to go farther than I have ever been before. It's just a feeling -- but I've grown to trust them. Sometimes in the middle of the party, I just want to go home and be still. My bow is waiting on the strings -- the music will come. And then the words.


offered with Love,

Kate

"The wholesome chastisements of Love..."

"I wish for you
to be free from doubt..."

Ellis Delany's song "Right on Time," is so beautiful -- I hope you will take a moment (or two) to give it a listen. Being "right on time" wasn't always easy for me. I spent my childhood running for the school bus, slipping into dance practice well after warm-ups were over, and apologizing for being late -- a lot.

But this really isn't a post about being punctual. It's about how someone loved me enough to hold my toes to the fire and say, "no," without judgment or criticism.

It was my first year out of high school, my dad had recently passed on, and it was clear that I needed to defer my acceptance to an out-of-state college (with scholarship), and help my family. That meant multiple jobs, and one local college class at a time, for a while. A solid Monday - Friday, 9-5 salaried anchor job, waitressing on weekends, and some evenings free-lancing would make that possible.

I was thrilled when I was hired on with a well-respected law firm that shared administrative services with Certified Public Accounting office. The offices were beautiful, the people were kind, the expectations were clear, and the head of the firm was wise and funny.

If I wasn't going to be able to attend university right away, this was a place I could go to work each day, learn the ropes -and still feel good about myself professionally -- something that felt like a very big deal at the time. I was embarrassed to not be studying at a university. It felt like an unexpected crash-to-earth after a year of hard-won academic honors.

Before my dad's passing I'd had clear life path in mind. Undergraduate school, teach for a few years, law school, then a long and exciting career with the ACLU (American Civil Liberties Union) as a human rights attorney. I still thought I could reclaim that path, if I just worked hard enough.

Getting this job was the first step.

But I blew it. Really. Well, at least -- at the time -- I thought I had. I've since learned that every step in my life has been God-designed to serve a greater purpose. And that the things I've learned, during each particular chapter, have been absolutely vital to my "growth in grace" -- my ultimate goal.

But I digress.

From the first day I walked through the front doors of this firm and found my desk, loved it. I was starting at the bottom rung -- but I could see that there was much I could learn as a receptionist, typist, and assistant to the law library clerk. I was happy there. I had daydreams of continuing to work at the firm during the day, attending college -- and then law school -- at night. All I needed to do, was work hard and get my family's financial situation stabilized.

But it all started to fall apart one Monday morning after my fifth week. I arrived at the office in flurry. My purse flying off my shoulder, keys dangling from shaky fingertips, and a string of well-rehearsed apologies tumbling from my lips.

The office manager reminded me that punctuality was one of the expectations that had been lain out from the beginning. She explained that it was critical to the operation of their office, and that if it happened again I would need to speak with Mr. Rosenblum -- our wise, funny, and kind boss. I assured her that it would never happen again, put my things away, smoothed my hair, and slipped into my office chair.

But it did happen again, about a week later. And I did have to meet with Mr. Rosenblum. He was kind, heard my apologies, and then explained that this would be our last conversation about punctuality. If I was ever going to be late again, I didn't need to come in. They would send my last check in the mail. There was no lecture about his expectations being morally right, or my character being in question, because I hadn't met them. It was all about clearly stated boundaries, and just as clearly stated consequences.

I thought he was kidding. I was hard-working, loved my job, often stayed late, needed the work, and was devoted to learning. I was sure that if the circumstances were explainable the consequences would be waived.

I was wrong. About two weeks later my alarm didn't go off -- or if it did, I'd hit the snooze button without realizing it -- and when I woke with a start it was clear that even if I hurried, I would still be 5 minutes late. But it was just going to be five minutes. So I called the office and explained to the Office Manager that I was "on my way," but even with the best traffic conditions, I would still be 5 minutes late.

She asked to put me on hold while she spoke with Mr. Rosenblum. When he came on the phone, he was loving, understanding, and thoughtful -- but clear. I didn't need to come in that day. My career with the firm was over. They would send my check.

He explained that out of his care for his office, his clients, and for me -- he could not, in good conscience, abandon the established standards of his office. I had crossed a clearly delineated boundary -- and the consequences weren't personal.  He wished me well, but it was over. There was no anger, no harshness -- just a sweet sadness that we would not be working together. It mirrored my own.

It was the best gift any employer ever gave me. I learned something vital. Mary Baker Eddy promises, in Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, that it is:

"Through the wholesome chastisements of Love
[that] we are helped onward..."
 

and that:

"The way is straight and narrow
that leads to the understanding
that God is the only Life."
 

Over the years, this particular example has -- time-and-again -- confirmed these statement to be true, for me. I felt Mr. Rosenblum's love -- to the core of my being -- that day. I knew that he cared enough about me to say, "no." To set boundaries, and then hold them with the firmness of a father who dearly loves his child. A father who wants her to know when and where she is safe, and to clearly know what is acceptable -- and also what isn't. A parent who sets straight and narrow boundaries to the path so that her child doesn't wander too far afield and get lost. Why would I ever want a wide path -- again.

Losing that job made my path much more difficult -- for a while. The consequences were pointed. But so was the lesson. I continued to work multiple jobs -- while going to school part-time -- for quite a number of years. I had many jobs and many employers. But there is one boss whose name I have never forgotten -- Mr. Rosenblum.  I only worked for him for a few months, but I will never forget his name, his humor, the strait-forward boundaries he set, the lesson he taught me, the non-judgment which characterized his treatment of me, and the love I so clearly felt when he said, No."

lovingly offered,

Kate

"Proceed as the way opens..."

"I do not ask to see
the distant scene --
one step enough for me..."

This version of "Lead Kindly Light," takes my breath away.

Sometimes I feel the urge to get out ahead of the moment. To manage potential risk by securing promises, guarantees, outcomes -- even from God. I want to know "how" something is going to work out, where the funds will come for a project, or whether there are obstacles in my path that I can anticipate and avoid.

Today I was talking with a friend about this very thing. She shared with me a phrase I hadn't heard before. And from the moment I heard it I wanted to have it tattooed on my heart:

"Proceed as the way opens..." 

Immediately I felt a deep and abiding sense of pure peace about how to proceed. When I arrived back at the office I searched for its origin. It didn't take long to discover that it is a Quaker axiom which is defined as:

"To undertake a service or course of action
without prior clarity about all the details
but with confidence that divine guidance
will make these apparent,
and assure an appropriate outcome." 

It resurrected my trust in God's hand in all things -- rather than my own. It helped me remember that every step -- preceding the one we were facing -- had come without bidding. And that all we'd ever done was place our foot on the next piece of flagstone as it appeared. It reminded me that I had trusted. And that all along the way, I'd prayerfully surrendered to this line from a much-loved hymn:

"I do not need to see
the distant scene.
One step enough for me..." 

Nothing had changed. It will always be about where I am placing my trust, who I think has the reins in my life, and in every moment's unfolding -- of all things. It was never, is not, and never will be about a particular outcome.

In Hebrews we are urged to look to "faith" [from the latin: fidere - or "to trust"] as the substance of things hoped for,"the evidence," of things not seen. This trust in God -- as the only Cause and Creator in our lives -- is all the evidence I will ever need to be at peace in each and every moment. Mary Baker Eddy gives us this promise in Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures:

"Security
for the claims
harmonious and eternal being
is found only
in divine Science." 

Security is found only in our understanding of the nature and character of God's Love -- His omnipotent care for each of us, Her always-present guiding of our hearts' desires -- in the choreography of each steps in this great dance of being, by a Divine Choreographer.

This is the only guarantee, the only security, the only assurance worth banking on.  Trusting that God is the only one opening the way, and waiting for that way to be revealed -- step-by-step -- is a sacrament.

shared with affection,

Kate

[photo credit: Kateriina Agnes Fagering]

"Star of wonder, won't you guide us..."

"Star of wonder,
star of light,
won't you guide us..."

Sometimes it is the simplest thoughts that resonate most deeply with us. At least it seems to be that way for me. A clear, true tone of truth reverberates through my being like a tuning fork. I can feel it bringing me into tonal alignment and in perfect pitch with the universe.

My friend Laura Matthews was the first spiritual thinker, I knew, who blogged. Her musings were honest, clear, and simple. I loved them. She encouraged me, and others, to find our voice and speak our truth. Then one day, she stopped blogging. Her writing took her in another direction. She'd stopped, as fearlessly as she'd started.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning once wrote:

"The capacity to terminate
is a specific grace."

It takes a manger-like stillness to hear the voice of angels whispering "this is your path." It takes the watchfulness of a shepherd to see when a faint star is pointing towards a hushed stable, and not be distracted by the bright lights of a bustling inn. It takes a wise woman to know when to turn her back on the Herod urging, and go "home" by another way. Laura has that capacity to terminate...and to courageously begin a new adventure. I watch in wonder, and celebrate in awe.

Laura's still writing. She's still encouraging blossoming writers. She's still making the rest of us "sound" cogent and wise through her editing business. I am so grateful she was willing to midwife the birth of my blogging, and cherish those infant stories. When I think of her, it is always the clear, simple voice of a single star on a December night, the tinkling laughter of a crisp, well-written sentence, the warmth of a kind word falling softly on the page like an infant's breath, that fills my heart. The following post from 2005 is just one example of her voice.


Christmas Starshine
by Laura Matthews

The manger. The animals. The shepherds. The wise men. The dutiful and selfless husband, the willing and innocent young mother. A perfect smiling baby. Compelling symbols of a miraculous event.

The symbol that moves me the most is the star. Each year our star glows brightly at the top of our tree, illuminating the entire room. That beacon light draws us along our journey, closer to Christ with unfailing certainty. It guides us in the quiet of prayerful moments, it lights the way in the darkest night. I look for the starshine whenever I pray.

I know this weekend will be very busy for most of us. I know we're hoping for memorable and pleasant family times, and to please each other with gift-giving and communing. Steal away, though, for a moment, sometime this weekend, and watch for the star. Watch for it with me. Let the star lead our actions. Let it bless us with its light.

And we will see the Christ appearing, in our hearts and our homes.

copyright Laura Matthews 2005


Here is a link to Sara Groves' recording of a prayer, as simple a single star, singing in the stillness of winter's night sky: "Star of Wonder."

Thank you Laura...for sharing your clear voice.... always,
Kate

Lessons from Chimney Rock

This past weekend Jeff and I drove to Santa Fe, which translates as the city of "holy faith"  for business, and pleasure, but quite unexpectedly...for many holy moments.    I returned inspired, refreshed....or as one hymn says "ransomed, healed, restored, forgiven".   There were so many instances where God's voice broke through uncertainty, confusion, pain and fear.  Musings on these experiences may find their way to this blog over the next few weeks...or they may just rest in sacred stillness in my heart...we'll see.  One experience begs to be shared...so, here goes...

Saturday afternoon, following a very challenging "up all night" in prayer and a holy morning on our knees, a window opened that we were happy to discover held the unexpected promise of a drive with friends to Georgia O'Keefe's "Ghost Ranch".  Twenty-one thousand acres of arroyo, canyons, buttes, river beds, trails and the most amazing stone outcroppings I have ever seen in one place.  Now owned by the Presbyterian church and home to the Ghost Ranch conference and retreat center, this sacred space evokes deep contemplation and stillness the minute you drive through the gate, and is open for the public to enjoy.

We arrived mid afternoon on one of the most glorious southwest days imaginable.  Deep blue skies with high puffy clouds hovered over pastures and arroyo.  The sunlight was bright without turning the cool air hot.  We grabbed bottles of water, baseball caps and headed for the trailhead that would take us up another 700 feet above sea level, on an hour and a half climb to "Chimney Rock"  a parapet that stands like an oracle watching over the thousands of acres of scrub and pinion-covered hills golden with chemisa in bloom and cottonwoods just beginning to turn yellow in the late September air...russet and ivory cliffs, red sandstone buttes,  while ravens floating on a thermal, called to us from above. 

As we searched for the trailhead at the base I was struck by how grateful we became when a signpost, marking a dusty, well-worn footpath was sighted across a small parking lot.  Something in me said, "be conscious of the signposts"....hmm I thought, "this looks like a pretty straightforward trail...can't imagine we will need markers"...but I have long-learned to listen to those inner callings....so I did.  As we climbed towards Chimney Rock on a trail that wound through a canyon so dramatic it almost took my breath away,  I was reminded  of how powerfully,  something so soft as water, could  carve a canyon out of rock... a place so stark with deeply gorged granite walls that it felt like a living temple.  With arresting beauty in my periphery I caught the delicate loveliness of tiny asters and Indian paintbrush.  Because our friend, Nancy, is an artist whose paintings often include images of clouds that could only be found in the expanse of a western sky, I think we were all aware of the changing cloud formations and the way they cast shadows and altered the light on the landscape that expanded in front of us as we climbed higher and higher toward the top of the narrow mesa in the sky abutting Chimney Rock.

All along the trail there were markers.  Starting with the number #1 carved into the small wooden signpost and ending with #20 at the top we were pointed in the right direction each time the trail became obscure or the path seemed to have a few options but only one would be the "right one" in the end... and often the others led to areas where the footing was less secure and more treacherous.  At one point even though the wooden marker, at the head of a particularly uncertain climb, was clear, the precise path was not and earlier travelers had placed pyramids, or small piles of stones, called cairns, to make the safest possible footing clear to future climbers. 

This was all so interesting to me in light of what thought-leader and spiritual pioneer Mary Baker Eddy has to say about Love "marking the way" in our spiritual journeying.  I pondered the kindness of strangers in carefully arranging these cairns, the care of ranch personnel in providing the trail markers, I was inspired,  but hadn't yet felt the significant "power of the Word" message in God's asking me to be conscious of the signposts. 

Our arrival at the top of the butte... we would traverse in order to reach the edge of the mesa... that was closest to the parapet called "Chimney Rock, was glorious.  The late afternoon sun, through the darting and chasing of clouds in the endless sky, made the valley below us come alive with shifting shades of color and shadow as evening approached.  We stood high above this vista in sacred awe, as long as we could, before realizing that we needed to head down before the sun set even further and our light shirts and jackets would not give much comfort when the night air became cooler. 

Retraversing the top of the mesa, each couple was lost in conversation as we started down what appeared to be a natural trail and which disappeared at the edge of a precipice.  Hmm...where was the real trail.  My husband headed off in one direction and our friends in another, when the thought came to me, "Were you aware of the signposts?"  Well, yes I thought, and the last one was at the top of the trail as we crested the edge of the mesa. 

"Then return to the last signpost" the thought came.  Well, I knew where the top of the mesa was, I knew it was up and the sky above us made it clear which direction that was...we had just come down from there.  So I started back up the 50 feet to return to where I last saw a signpost.  Once I reached the top I walked towards the end of the butte we had come from earlier and there on my right was the trailmarker with the #20 and the words "back to the ranch".  I called out to my fellow hikers and once we all started from the right starting point we were soon back to the base of the trail, sitting on the grassy lawn in front of the visitors center...content, peace-filled and hungry.  

Now this may seem like a pretty uneventful afternoon, but for me it was such a profound spiritual reminder.  First, to look for the waymarks that have been left by other spiritual travelers....Moses, Jesus, Mary Baker Eddy, Maya Angelou, Nelson Mandela, Aunt Marge, your grandmother, mom, sister, friend.  Secondly, if you know where the last successful waymark was, you can go back there and start from a secure starting point.  For me this often is a statement from the Bible or Science and Health that has proven arresting or transformative, comforting or fear-abating.  One of my favorites is from Science and Health and says, "The starting point of divine Science (which Mary Baker Eddy defines as "God's government of the universe, inclusive of man") is that God, Spirit is All-in-all and there is no other might nor Mind".  This statement for me is like being reminded to climb back up to the top of the mesa where the view is unobstructed and clear and start from there. 

When I have my footing securely placed on God being All-in-all...not All of His goodness, grace, understanding, abundance in some...or some of it in all...but All-in-all... my footsteps are strong and I climb with grace.  My path, though it is often not without what may seem like loose rock or treacherous precipices, is clear and I move forward knowing that I am on the right trail, I can be certain that if I follow those waymarks I will reach my destination....a new vantage point that looks up at sky and out at the walls of the canyons and stands in awe of God's power and grace.

As we headed out of that canyon on Saturday I closed my eyes and thanked God for Her gifts...for showing me the power of Principle in the extraordinary balance between sky, earth and water to carve out beauty and majesty from rock, the strength of tenderness in the resilience of a tiny mountain flower that is buffeted by the night cold of the desert and the searing heat of the day and still seeks out each drop of water with perserverence un-paralleled and reaches her toes through the rock and sand to find a drop of moisture in the middle of a desert drought.  I was humbled by the power of the wind to cause an ancient pine to grow at twisted angles over the course of centuries and the grace of a sandstone wall in surrendering herself to the Artist's loving hand as raging mountain streams carve new lines of wisdom in her face.

I will never forget our hike to Chimney Rock.  I can see why Georgia O'Keefe chose this valley to inspire the beauty we all see, and value, in her work.  God's hand is so clearly seen in this place of rich texture, form, outline and color...and on Saturday Her voice was clearly heard. Thank you, Georgia, for the invitation, through your work, to want to explore your 21,000 acre studio under the vast Mew Mexico sky.   



K