"i am able..."

"take,
these broken wings;
and learn to fly again,
and learn to live
so free..."

Mr. Mister's 1986 hit, "Broken Wings," will always remind me of that summer.

It had been playing on the radio for over a year, so by the summer fo 1987 it was ubiquitous in our circle. We'd moved to Boston to work for our church, and had made wonderful new friends. Our home was about an hour and a half outside of the city on a large estuary "pond" about two blocks from the ocean.

We loved having Boston friends come down to escape the city heat and water ski, brunch, watch the sunset from our back terrace or during a group walk along the beach. These were magical times in our young marriage. At least they should have been.

I was distracted through it all by a aching desire to become a mother. I could barely think - or pray - about much else. Yes, I did my job, I hosted weekend parties, I prayed for those who called for help, but the longing to be a mother never left the periphery of my heart's lens.

It became a practice for me during these times to stop and readjust the aperture of my thoughts. It wasn't possible to set this longing aside. It was as deep as my every breath or heartbeat, but I had to find a way to put it outside the focal distance of my every thought.

I am a person who needs metaphors and analogies to "get" something. And the act of focusing a camera's lens has always been helpful to me. I had to pause, often, and readjust what was central to the image in my heart.

At first it was circumstantial. I would tell myself that at work I needed to put work at the center of the lens. Then on a call with someone asking for metaphysical support, I would remind myself to adjust the aperture of my prayers to put them in the center of the image.

But this wasn't really working -- that is, until I realized that everything would be in perfect alignment, when I put God -- and His presence - at the center of every moment. Then, it always felt as if my trust was clear, my vision was clear, my heart was clear.

One thing that helped, was to remember that God's name is "I AM" -- so whatever my "I am" was at any given moment - was filled with God's presence. Wondering if I would ever become a mother, or if a project would come in on time, or if I was available "enough" to those who needed support - was not focusing on God -- I am. The same with allowing past mistakes, decisions, choices to pull me into I was, instead of "I am."

Mary Baker Eddy's statement from The First Church of Christ, Scientist, and Miscellany was an ever-helpful reminder:

“Goodness never fails to receive its reward, for goodness makes life a blessing. As an active portion of one stupendous whole, goodness identifies man with universal good. Thus may each member of this church rise above the oft-repeated inquiry, What am I? to the scientific response: I am able to impart truth, health, and happiness, and this is my rock of salvation and my reason for existing."
 

Not I was able - once upon a time, or I will be able -- once I become a mother, but I am able. Right here, right now.

Did this happen easily? No. It was work, work, work -- but with watchfulness and prayer, I became more aware of when my focus had shifted from the fuzziness of "I will be," or "I once was," to the clarity of "I am." With God's I AM-ness right at its center.

Whatever seems to be pulling us out of our focus on the presence -- the present tense-ness of God as "I am..." is depriving us of a clear sense of God's abundant gifts for us in this moment.

I spent most of what I call "my year of longing" in the peripheral field of "when will I become a mother?" -- or "will I ever become a mother?" When, right in front of me were friends to play with, colleagues to listen to - with a mother's attentiveness, patients to pray for, and a budding family to nurture in our young marriage.

The wings of my motherhood were not broken -- they were learning to stretch in new ways, finding strength in patience, and discovering that to trust the unseen thermals of divine wisdom was essential to flight.

I would become a mother to three beautiful daughters, and it was everything I ever dreamed. But it was learning to "mother" right where I was - in the I AM of each moment  that helped me discover who I really was.  Not someone dependent on the fulfillment of a far-off longing dream come true, but empowered by an overwhelming love within.

In these days of "waiting" -- I hope we can all adjust the apertures of our expectations to focus on the presence of God -- the great I AM, who is here, now, giving us -- each moment -- this gift of grace.

offered with Love,

Kate

"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

"How deep is your love..."

“How deep is your love,
how deep is your love?
I really need to know...”

I've always loved the BeeGees...still do. So I wasn't surprised when I woke up with their song "How Deep is your Love" dancing through my heart, inviting me to consider asking myself the question:

"How deep is your love?"

I've often asked myself, how deep is my faith, or my trust...but the depth of my love isn't something I've pondered lately. I think of Love as omnipresent, infinite, supreme...but deep? I had to ask, "What is the value of understanding the depth of Love, when Love is omnipresent...everywhere?"

And since my commitment to exacting the actual practice, of absolute spiritual facts, is critical to my sense of purpose, and since I also trust that God sends me clues as to what I need to be thinking about when I need to be thinking about them them...even through old BeeGees songs...I figured probing this question was the call of the day.

I liked thinking about depth. When I was a girl, we lived near a quarry that I'd been told was fathomless. We were warned that no one had ever been able to swim to the bottom, and return. The quarry was an abandoned, open mine that had filled with water from a natural well deep below the surface. It was surrounded by granite walls and the water was so deep, such a dark bottle green, that it almost looked black. We'd jump from the ledge of the tall rock face, fearlessly trusting that we'd never hit bottom. I loved to float in that still, dark water, and let all the air out of my lungs. Then I'd begin to drift downward. I felt one with. It was always surprising to see how much deeper I could sink into the darkness. It was so peaceful and quiet there. Perhaps a deeper sense of Love, would lead to more peace in my heart, a quieting of my days...

So, I decided to give it a listen. By that, I mean that I decided to take this question with me everywhere I went, into every situation, and probe it through the lens of each thought and experience I encountered.

The first thing that occurred was, I went upstairs to wake the girls for school. Now, this has never been my favorite part of any day. Repeated forays into their sleepy cocoons to cajole, shake, urge...and finally threaten "get up, or else..." leave me tired before the day even gets off the ground. There have been many days when I just want to beg their school to let them have a late start everyday.

[And yet, when it comes to getting up before daybreak at camp, to be in the corral, they're rockstars!! Hmmm...perhaps I should have been whinnying instead.]

But I digress. By the time we get into the car, I feel like I've climbed Everest or mastered some ancient yogi's walk across hot coals.

But that morning, as I climbed the stairs, I asked myself, "How deep is your love?" And I realized that...based on my history of mornings that devolve into the role of "the wake-up witch"...not so deep. Could I deepen my love? Sure. So, as I faced yet another round of moaning and groaning, that comes from deep beneath piles of quilts and pillows, I let patience...certainly a quality of love...sink deeper into my bones.

And you know, it worked. My love was much deeper than I'd thought possible. I kept a lighter heart, I mentioned that I would be ready to leave for school when they were ready...but that if they wanted to be on time it should probably be in the next 30 minutes...then I went downstairs to make breakfast.

I wasn't upset, stressed, or worried. If they were late, they would face the consequences. My love was deeper than I'd thought only an hour before.

The same thing happened at the first stoplight. The tension I felt in my shoulders after being cut off by a car full of teenagers in an Escalade trying to make a last minute illegal turn across my lane to get into the Starbucks parking lot before school , literally dissipated when I asked myself, "Kate, how deep is your love?"

"Deeper than this..." I replied to said self. Then I prayed, affirming God's irrepressible love for those teens, His undeniable control in their lives, the irresistible pull of Divine choreography...in traffic, in my movements, and in my heart.

This has become a question I've really enjoyed plumbing the depths of lately. It's brought me up short many times, and given me an awareness of how deeper I can go before I find the fathomless reach of God's Love, reflected in my thoughts and actions.

And I am realizing that no matter how deep I go, I can never become self-satisfied that it has been "deep enough." Mary Baker Eddy tells us, in Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, that:

“The depth, breadth,
height, might, majesty,
and glory of infinite Love
fill all space.
That is enough!”

Hmmm...so, I guess that until I've reached the depths of infinite Love, the question is still relevant. How deep is my love? Never as deep as it could be.... but I'm always willing to go deeper...and dive in...

and always with Love,

Kate

"God must have spent a little more time..."

"Your love is like a river
Peaceful and deep
Your soul is like a secret
That I never could keep
When I look into your eyes
I know that it's true
God must have spent...
A little more time
On you..."

I've always liked this song, "God Must Have Spent a Little More Time on You," from n Sync.  It reminds me of taking our daughter to dance competitions and rehearsals all over Colorado, but it also reminds me of the way that I felt about myself when I looked in the mirror this morning.  I have been spending all of my time patiently letting God bathe me in His love...His enduring view of me...and it's made such a difference in the way I see myself and others.

Over twenty years ago I was facing a life-threatening...and very painful...illness, a disappointed adoption, the collapse of my marriage, and the loss of my career.  Not a good day at the office...so they say. 

In the midst of all this I called someone who had been my spiritual mentor and teacher and I will never forget something he said to me, "There will come a day when you will miss this time, and long for this experience."  I couldn't believe he was saying this to me.  I was in pain, my heart was broken and I felt like I had no purpose or reason to live, and he thought I would miss feeling this way???

But I did.  Long after the pain had dissolved, the marriage was on stronger footing, I had returned to work, and we'd adopted our daughter, I remembered his words and had to admit that I did miss the urgency I'd felt every moment when I woke longing for God's tangible presence in my life and in my heart.  I missed the days when every minute was spent on my knees in prayer, at Christ's table hungering and thirsting for the inspired Word, and watching each thought with the alertness of a sentry.

There was a sadness that I had not trusted his counsel.  I was too worried that the pain would never end, that I would be left forever alone and homeless, and that I would never know motherhood...to savor those days of hungry prayer.

There have been other opportunities over the years, but in the moment I would usually forget his counsel...again...to fully "love the journey."  I would have moments where I could see the beauty of holiness, enjoy the landscape, and rest upon the lessons I was learning, but for the most part, I wanted whatever challenge I was facing to be over as soon as possible. 

But not this time.  When I suffered a disabling injury four weeks ago, as I described  in "...and He walks with me..." from February 26, 2009 (or you can scroll down 4 posts to read), I realized that I had been given a gift.  In those moments, in bed with the Bible Lesson and the story of Joseph, I saw that this was not a challenge to be overcome...no matter how aggressively the pain screamed...but an opportunity to savor a journey.  I can honestly say that I have not been anxious since that moment when "And the Lord was with Joseph..." reminded me that I was not a broken mortal in bed writhing in pain, but the child of God blessed with space to cherish time with her divine Parent.  From that first moment of happiness, in just being "with Him," I have felt completely at peace.

Whether in bed, on crutches, hobbling to the kitchen or crawling up the stairs to wake the girls for school, I have been happy and patient...grateful for each quieter, slower moment to savor my relationship with Him.

So, this is my moment of grace.  I have loved every second of this journey with Him.  My friend was right.  And I am so grateful for the opportunity to remember his wisdom and to be aware of the gift when it came again.

I think this may be what Mary Baker Eddy was referring to when she said, "The very circumstance, which your suffering sense deems wrathful and afflictive, Love can make an angel entertained unawares. Then thought gently whispers: "Come hither!" We are all called into closer union with Him...given opportunities for quiet time alone with Love...for nestling more deeply into Her arms. It is only our suffering SENSE of things that would identify those experiences as wrathful and afflictive. Or, at least, this is what I believe I am glimpsing...and experiencing...with more clarity of late. But isn't this what is "oh, so lovely" about spirituality...it is so uniquely experiential...so completely individual.

My experience has been sweet...for me. The crutches are almost ready to be returned to the nursing facility.  I will soon be more fully engaged in the day-to-day logistics of work and family, and I will enjoy the freedom of renewed flexibility and strength.  But this time I will not be left with a feeling of regret for my impatience and anxiety.  I have felt none.  I have been happy.  I have cherished every single moment of this journey.  I have savored every drop of the Word, treasured every moment alone with Him, and am now ready to go forward refreshed and happy...still happy.

Thank you Father, for spending so much time with me...I am grateful...and happy to be your loved daughter, When I look in the mirror, I know that it's true...I have spent a little more time with You.

Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

God's Promises are Kept

"I've been waiting for a girl like you
To come into my life
I've been waiting for a girl like you
My loving will survive
Yeah, waiting for a girl like you
To come into my life…"
- Foreigner

Whew!  We have just completed a marathon month of graduation and wedding celebrations that took us to Massachusetts, Connecticut, Colorado, Iowa, and Illinois, traveling through countless other states to get to our destinations. 

We attended, cooked for, or hosted, more than two dozen dinners, awards, parties, teas, receptions, weddings, baccalaureate ceremonies, showers, barbeques, lunches and breakfasts.  And we had a blast! 

May into June was wonderful and we saved one of the most extraordinary events for last…Jill's wedding.  Jill is sister, friend, confidante, fellow mom, person-I-am-most-likely-to ever-get-in trouble-with (not illegal…just silly/naughty…like nude sun-bathing in an almost public place kind of trouble) all rolled into one. 

Two years ago I was trying desperately to fix my dear friend (the same above-mentioned, Jill) up on a date with another very dear friend.  I was sure they would be a perfect match…if for nothing more than as someone they could each go to movies with and laugh out loud.  Neither was particularly interested in my match-making.  They each knew and admired one another, but as dating material…not so much. 

I was perplexed.  It was clear to me that these were two of the greatest people on the planet.  Both were funny, good, irreverent and deeply spiritual.  How could they not be right for one another…they were both so right and perfect in my eyes.

Within a short time our guy friend found himself in love with, as he says, "the love of his life" and Jill was still a successful and happy single mom hanging out with me at Starbucks playing Apples to Apples with our teenage children and laughing like schoolgirls on holiday….whenever we could.

But my deep desire to see her dream for a "happy and permanent" companionship really didn't go away.  Jill herself told me that our mutual friend's success in love, rather than making her feel envious or left out, made her feel only a sense of anticipation and promise. She knew that I had only wanted good for each of them and that, as Mary Baker Eddy says in Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, "Love is impartial and universal in its adaptation and bestowals."  God wasn't unfolding a warm and loving heart for one of them to companion with, and not the other.  Her prayer became one of expectation rather than desire.  She lived her life with the peace-filled confidence of someone who knows (not just hopes) that her days of being single are numbered.

Within months a man, she had known when they were both children in grade school, contacted her after she registered for a class reunion.  He had never forgotten the feisty little blonde on the playground although his family had long since moved to another state. Although he had seen her briefly on visits to the old neighborhood throughout his school years, over thirty years later he was still wondering what had become of the little girl, who with her sisters, had ruled the neighborhood with their laughter and their good-hearted joy.  He had never married (although he had come close), never had children, and had devoted his life to family and business.

Soon they were emailing regularly and within months he had invited her to visit him at the family farm where he had created a heartland paradise for vacationers on the Upper Iowa River.  Jill told me that the first time she visited Harvest Farm, she felt at home.  Not long after that first visit, with family and friend waiting eagerly on the ground, her prince charming gave her a bird's eye view of his 175-acre wonderland from a hot air balloon while he proposed marriage.  Those on the ground didn't need a high sign from either Jill or her fiancée to know it was time to celebrate, as one of them told me last weekend, "I could tell by the look his face that all his dreams had come true on that ride in a hot air balloon."

"…Now I know it's right,
from the moment I wake up
till deep in the night;
There's nowhere on earth that I'd rather be
than holding you tenderly…"

So, last Saturday, after driving 7 hours through the farmlands of Missouri and Iowa, we arrived at Harvest Farm for Jill's wedding.  Jeff and I had written the entire service, their vows, and a wedding song we would perform before Jill, her husband, the children, their families, and almost three hundred guests who couldn't wait to welcome Jill (and the children) into their community of love, friendship, hard work, and care.

Jill's groom, a  strong farmer with Midwestern work ethics and a heart of gold cried like a boy as he watched his precious bride come towards him through the throngs of loved ones cheering her forward…each smiling step of the way.  He wept with joy as she promised to love, honor and cherish him "longer than they both would live".  We wept, and wept and wept…for their joy, but more importantly for the indication of God's care that this day represented to so many of us.  God does "set the solitary in families" and he sets families in even larger villages of kindness, joy and love.

As we drove away from Harvest Farm Saturday night, we could hear the music blaring from speakers set up throughout the campground, we could see smoke rising from the campfire, we could almost feel the laughter and dancing ricocheting off the walls of the canyon where the river flowed beneath them.  But what was clearer than the smile on Jill's face, the tears on his cheeks, or the peace everyone of us felt about this union, was the unseen miracle we each felt we had witnessed that day.  It was a miracle with a message…a message that would echo for a long, long time  through the chambers of our hearts…

God's promises are kept…

I love you JillyBean,
Kate