"in a dream..."

"o dreamer, 

leave thy dreams 

for joyful waking..." 

I am a lucid dreamer.  There, I have said it. I always have been.  I don't know of a time when I have not had very beautiful, promising, inspiring dreams.  The above lines, from one of my favorite hymns, "o dreamer", has always made me question the validity of those dreams.  

I do not have lucid nightmares.  I do not have nightmares.  At least not since I started paying attention to my sleeping moments and thoughts, as vigilantly as I am to my waking thoughts.  

But still, I have always wondered about the place of dreaming in the life of a spiritual thinker. Do we just dismiss anything that happens when we are sleeping -- good or bad -- as if it is simply an illusion?  Do we accept that whatever happens in our "waking" moments as more real, more worthy of our active conscious acceptance or dismissal. 

These are questions that have poked at me for most of my life.  

Just the other day, I glimpsed a bit more of the truth (for me) about these questions.  It came in the form of a Bible story -- from I Kings 3 -- that is probably very familiar to anyone who might have stumbled upon this blog.  

It is the story of Solomon's encounter with God in a dream -- yes, in a dream.  God asks him what He can do for him.  And Solomon first thanks God for his care of his father, David the King, and then he asks for "an understanding heart..." which God gives him -- in a dream. 

This was such a beautiful gift for me.  And an admonition.  How many times have I encountered good, the promise of divine purpose, a loved one, an expansive sense of community, spiritual gifts -- in a dream -- and have woken in the morning to dismiss them, as "just a dream," -- beautiful, but not real.

How many times have I glimpsed the promise and turned aside in morning to return to my "real life," -- in which that same beautiful promise seems untenable and beyond reach or comprehension?  How many healings have I had in a dream that I did not accept or acknowledge in the morning in the light of a new day?  How much good have I dismissed as just a dream? 

I am vigilant about preparing my heart for the silencing of my head -- the human mind -- before going to sleep, so that I can experience the restfulness of an active conscious sense of God's presence in my life.  I redeem the "day" I have just completed with attentiveness and gratitude.  I nourish my heart with passages of Scripture and the writings of Mary Baker Eddy, I claim my right to consciously rest in the presence of Mind. 

But time after time, upon awaking, I shake myself from the dream and often sigh with sadness that it was just a dream.  I might wonder about the message, or consider the symbolism, but I have never given myself permission to be blessed, bestowed, healed, transformed -- for good -- through a dream. 

No more.  The Bible gives us precedence for the acceptance of divine good.  If Solomon could have that encounter with God in a dream and accept God's bestowal of a wise and understanding heart - so can we.  So can I.   So can you.  

Scripture encourages us to "try the spirits whether they are of God."  This is required of us whether awake or asleep.  Is it good?  Will it bless?  Is it self-absorbed or humanity-enriching? 

Mary Baker Eddy gives some sense of this new view when she asks: 

"Is there any more reality in the waking dream of mortal existence than in the sleeping dream?"

I would ask is there anymore reality in the waking dream of spiritual existence than in the sleeping dream?  

Not long ago I had a beautiful sleeping dream in which I was doing something that I could not do in my waking life because of a physical challenge.  In that dream I had been healed through Christian Science treatment and prayer.  When I woke, in the morning, I was able to move very freely -- for about fifteen minutes -- before I "remembered" that it was "just a  dream."  And suddenly all the symptoms surfaced.  I had dismissed the healing as being "just a dream," and got back to work in addressing the claim as if that healing experience had not happened. 

The healing came along.  But, what if I had been more aware of the uninterrupted presence of spiritual good operating in consciousness -- whether waking of sleeping -- and had defended that healing with the same clarity about God's love, that I defend every Christian Science treatment, its healing effect on human experience.

Solomon didn't wake up from the dream and say, "wow, that was cool, but it was just a dream.  Maybe some day God will bless me that way in my waking moments."  He accepted the spiritual good -- and acted out from that new view of himself. 

Whether in our waking or sleeping moments -- we can accept all good and dismiss what does not align with God's love. We can reject the nightmare -- waking or sleeping -- with the same confidence and relief that we feel when we wake in the morning and realize that the monster was not really chasing us up the stairs.

And we can accept the good we experience in a dream with the same joy that we feel rising from the bed of pain, having realized God's healing presence in our lives.

"O dreamer, leave thy dream for joyful waking..." now means something very different to me.  I now know that I can leave a dream-sense of the good I have experienced in a dream for a realization that God's presence knows no bounds of sleeping or waking.  If I have experienced a sense of God's love -- it is real, it is never to be dismissed or discarded as just a dream.

Thank you Solomon.  I have read your story countless time and not seen the gift in it.  How many more of these Scriptural promises are waiting in the stories of other spiritual pioneers and teachers?  The classroom is vast - the lessons are endless.  

offered with Love, 

Cate

"you can close your eyes, it's alright..."

"Well the sun
is surely sinking down,
but the moon
is slowly rising.

And this old world
must still be
spinning 'round;
and I still
love you..."

I've always loved James Taylor and Carly Simon's, "Close Your Eyes."  It feels like a lullaby from divine Love.

The fact that most nights we close our eyes and surrender control of our lives to the Unseen, is such profound evidence of our trust in something Divine.

Remembering how peaceful it felt to watch my new babies drift off to sleep -- without any concern that they would not wake in the morning (or later in the night) -- is still something that takes my breath away.

Perhaps, without realizing it as a young mother, I was witnessing in myself an innate trust in God as the Source and substance of all life. I can honestly say that I never worried that my daughters would take their next breath. I watched the rise and fall of their little chests with such an unwavering trust in Life carrying itself out -- breath-by-breath.

This week I read a passage from Scripture that brought this trust into clearer focus:

"In quietness and confidence
shall be your strength;

Ye shall have a song,
as in the night
when a holy solemnity
is kept...”

It is this trust in the presence of God as Life, that feels like a holy solemnity to me. A promise made and kept between a Mother and her child:

"Lo, I am with you alway...”

We are never alone.  Not in our waking and not in our sleeping.  Elsewhere in Scripture we are assured:

"When thou liest down,
thou shalt not be afraid;
yea, thou shalt lie down,
and thy sleep shall be sweet.”

This promise doesn't need to be read from sacred texts to be known. Every child knows that he/she can lie down and closer his/her eyes - surrendering, without fear, to the presence of something felt, but not seen.

As children everywhere seem to be facing so much -- violence in war-torn countries, family separations in immigration detention centers, economic uncertainty, educational inequity -- this one thing brings me peace and provides a springboard for my prayers. No matter what my child may be facing, he/she knows that she can close her eyes and trust that morning will come, the sun will rise, her consciousness of being -- simply being -- will greet her when she wakes from sleep.

Nothing can touch this quiet confidence. Nothing can shake the presence of "I am..." from the core of her being. Tonight I will sing this precious lullaby from our balcony, into the vast velvet of a Colorado night sky.

"Close your eyes,
you can close your eyes,
it's alright.”

And I will pray. I will listen for the peace that passes all understanding. The peace that each of us can rest upon. The peace that fills the "I am..." in every man, woman, and child -- regardless of gender, socio-economic privilege, nationality or geo-physical location. This deeper peace is based on God's presence.  A divine Voice that reaches us in the darkness of a warm bed or under an aluminum blanket on a concrete floor.  A voice that silently sings the song of songs:

"And I still love you...”

May we each feel this promise, and our rest be sweet.

offered with Love,

Kate

"...the sleeping child you're holding..."

"Mary, did you know...
That your baby boy has come to make you new?
...This child that you've delivered
Will soon deliver you..."
-Greene/Lowry

Last year, about this time, I wrote a post with this Kathy Matthea version of "Mary, Did You Know?" as the keynote... and if you do nothing more today on this blog than listen to this song, I will know your heart has been touched.  Please don't miss its blessing.  I love it so much that I am now convinced it will show up every Christmas...along with a few others that continue to bring their spiritual gifts each year. This season, I share it as the prelude to a poem. 

I am continuing to learn that when we open our hearts, manger-like...humble, simple, still, and expectant...to our Father's plan, the Christ is new-born within us.  "The blind will see, the deaf will hear, the dead will live again.  The lame will leap, the dumb will speak the praises of the Lamb..." Do you know that this sleeping child you are holding within you, is "the Great I AM"

"A Manger Within"

your quaking heart
can know a deep, unfathomable peace
even when all looks lost
and hope seems like a taunting
a haunting
a place where disappointment and doubt
lay in wait
around any
and every corner
ready to pounce and pierce
the soft places
the inner regions
the tender dreams
of the soul

but Love walks in
with all Its quiet Self-certainty
and announces
"I am that I am"
you cannot run from what "I am"
"the spiritual sense of truth that must be gained,
before Truth can be understood"

your heart is Mine
your life is Mine
your love is Mine
you cannot take it back
you cannot take control
you cannot put the shattered pieces
back into a shape that is safe
shelve it all away
in tissue paper
with the old star
the fragile Christmas ornaments
and sigh with relief
that
for another year...it is still intact

I have taken you apart for My purpose
torn away the shredded tatters
you hugged so close
I have dressed you in a bridal garment
pure as driven snow
on an empty, endless beach
along the coast of Maine
I have scattered your false convenient peace
down the abandoned church steps
like rice
raining on your hearts
rending the veil of tolerance
revealing the face of Love

within the stillness of a sanctuary heart
I have wed you to Me...to My presence in your life
I am asking you to trust Me
with your eternity
with your intuition
with your heart and soul and mind
let Me be your God
let Me prepare you a place
as I have prepared your heart
breaking it wide open
ready to receive
a babe

this will not look easy
it may not make sense
it may leave you feeling naked

but what have you learned from a girl
visited by angels
espoused to a man
great with child
giving birth in a manger

sometimes what I have planned
does not make sense
to hearts that need to know
to minds
that need to have it all in columns
and rows
and pews

but if you will let Me have your heart
like she did
I will show you a miracle
a star will lead
angels will sing
kings will bring gifts
shepherds will quake

and you
may learn
to trust
Me
...with all your heart

give it to Me
and I will fill it
with
something
Wonderful,
Mighty,
full of promise...
the Prince of Peace
...or a girl in a manger.

with an expectant heart, always...
Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

I just found this version of "Mary, Did You Know?" as sung by lyricist, Mark Lowrey. And as much as I absolutely love Kathy Matthea's version, I am always interested in seeing how a songwriter interprets his/her own lyrics.


[photo credit:  Lisa Redfern and Lydia Day (daughter of Doug & Diana) by Randall Williams 2009]

"I can see summertime slippin' on...slippin' away..."

"Well, the sun's not so hot in the sky today
And you know I can see summertime slipping on away
A few more geese are gone, a few more leaves turning red
But the grass is as soft as a feather in a featherbed..."
-     James Taylor

Summertime is no longer "slippin' on, slippin' away"...it's pretty much gone.  The girls will register for middle school tomorrow, get their photos taken for ID cards, and put their school supplies in new lockers.  The sun, filtered through the lazy, late August air, casts a golden light on everything it touches, and the "September Grass" JT sings about is a softer shade of green and even softer to the touch. 

As we say goodbye to the summer of 2009, and turn our faces towards all the newness of September, I can't help but recall the year I moved from third grade into fourth.  I had really loved third grade.  I'd had a wonderful teacher that was sweet and snuggly.  She would bring in cookies and could play the piano while teaching us Red River Valley and Home on the Range.  I thought Mrs. Hanson was the nicest grandmotherly person I had ever met, I wanted to live, and learn, in the warmth of her softness...forever.

I didn't want to go to fourth grade.  I did everything I could to convince my parents that I wasn't ready.  Wasn't I already really, really little for my age...I really, really was.  Hadn't I been really good at third grade? I had.  I had aced third grade.  In fact I had done so well at spelling, times tables, long division, and plant science that I just KNEW I should stay there.  Didn't ace-ing something mean it was your right place.  I sure thought so.  And if you got along really, really well with your teacher, didn't that mean that she should be your teacher forever and ever? 

Fourth grade was unfamiliar.  I didn't like the idea of having a man for a teacher...that was something I just couldn't get my head around.  Teachers were women.  They were soft, and kind, and they baked cookies sometimes.  That's the kind of teacher I needed.  That's the kind of teacher that worked for me.

And fourth graders ate their lunch in the lunchroom instead of in their classroom.  Fourth graders had to carry their books back and forth from home in a bookbag.  I wasn't sure I could do that.  Like I said, I was really little.  I didn't know if a bookbag would make my bicycle basket too heavy and make it hard to steer. 

I spent most of the month of August worrying about all of this.  I was so sure that I should be allowed to stay in third grade, that I refused to say that I was a fourth grader when people asked me what grade I was in.

Labor Day weekend was my last chance for convincing mom and dad that I shouldn't have to "move up".  We were doing some last minute "back to school" shopping for a blue cloth-covered three ring binder, a clear plastic ruler, a cello-wrapped package of 200 sheets of notebook paper, a new petticoat, and a pair of saddle shoes, when my mom suggested that I consider a red and black plaid bookbag with two leather buckle closures on the front.  I burst into tears and told her that I was not going to be tricked into going to fourth grade.  I didn't need a bookbag for third grade. 

She took me outside of the store and we sat in the shade on a concrete wall.  She asked me if I ever wanted to be able to read fat books with no pictures.  Now this was sneaky.  I loved, loved loved books.  I practically lived in the local library all summer.  I'd worked my way, first, through all the books in the "young reader" section on horses and dogs, and then moved on to stories about medieval castles, knights in shining armor, and damsels in distress.

I wanted to read every book in the entire library.  Mom suggested that there would be new vocabulary words in fourth grade, new periods of history I couldn't even imagine, new math games that I might find even more exciting than the times tables I had already memorized.  She said that we were going to get the bookbag, just in case I wanted to have a place to put all the new books I would be able to read, and understand, once I started fourth grade.

That night I sat in my bunkbed looking at the collection of books that filled the bookcase, that was my headboard.  The books were all skinny. And although the illustrations weren't on every page, like when I was in kindergarten, they still had some pictures.  I was beginning to think illustrated books were for babies who didn't have any imagination of their own.  I wanted to read books that let me come up with my own ideas about what a princess looked like, or the color of the sky over Narnia.

I got up in the middle of the night and quietly moved most of my books to the bookcase in my sister's headboard above me.  Before long I had made space in my bookcase, and in my heart, for fourth grade and all the new ideas that would come with it.  I found my new bookbag and took the little piece of paper out of the clear plastic window on the front and wrote my name and "grade four" in pencil...then slipped it back in to it's little leather frame with the plastic window.  It was mine...and I was going to fill it.

By the next morning I was ready.  Mom had helped me realize that, as wonderful as third grade and Mrs. Hanson had been, I was ready to take what I had learned from that experience and build on it.  I was ready to expand my horizons.  I was hungry for more.  And I was going to get it...and I had the bookbag to hold it all in.

That was the fall of 1963.  Later that November I would be so grateful for my teacher, Mr. Gaydosh.  He was strong and funny, wise and cool.  We all loved him.  He treated us like "scholars" and taught us how to play chess.  He let us make decisions about things like consequences and expectations.  We learned to set goals and work in teams. 

When our Principal came in one day and told us that President Kennedy had been shot in Dallas, Texas, Mr. Gaydosh was the perfect teacher for me.  He brought in his black and white television the next day, let us watch "history in the making," he encouraged us to write about our feelings and how the events were effecting our families, our neighborhoods, our sense of who we were in the world.

I don't think I would be writing this post if it weren't for Mr. Gaydosh.  He expected us to know ourselves, to probe our feelings, to sort through our experiences, and to see how world events were having an impact on how we behaved, thought about our roles, and began to help us determine what we wanted to become.  

I started to see that I had needed exactly what Mrs. Hanson brought to my life as a third grader, but that if I wanted to grow and expand as a learner and as a person, I would need lots of different kinds of teachers, friends, and other adults to help me discover all that the world had to offer.   I somehow knew that I needed diversity.  Even when I was content with where I was.  Mr. Gaydosh, and fourth grade made me want to learn from people who didn't necessarily think like I thought, or agree with my opinions.  Mr. Gaydosh taught us to love debating issues and ideas.  He taught me that people could disagree without being disagreeable.

In fourth grade I would meet someone who would be my first "best friend" besides my sister.  She was the first person outside of my family I ever loved.  That experience alone was critical to my understanding of how expansive the heart is.  What if I had never gone to fourth grade. 

Tonight as I thought about my daughters entering Middle School, I remembered a statement from Mary Baker Eddy's Miscellaneous Writings:

"We should remember that the world is wide; that there are a thousand million different human wills, opinions, ambitions, tastes, and loves; that each person has a different history, constitution, culture, character, from all the rest; that human life is the work, the play, the ceaseless action and reaction upon each other of these different atoms. Then, we should go forth into life with the smallest expectations, but with the largest patience; with a keen relish for and appreciation of everything beautiful, great, and good, but with a temper so genial that the friction of the world shall not wear upon our sensibilities; with an equanimity so settled that no passing breath nor accidental disturbance shall agitate or ruffle it; with a charity broad enough to cover the whole world's evil, and sweet enough to neutralize what is bitter in it, - determined not to be offended when no wrong is meant, nor even when it is, unless the offense be against God. "

I hope and pray that with new teachers, classmates, opportunities, and experiences, our daughters will grow in their ability to have compassion for the lives and circumstances of their new acquaintances, patience with the strong opinions of others, and a willingness to surrender their own opinions for open-minded discourse.  I pray they develop a keen relish for, and an appreciation of, everything that is beautiful, great, and good. And I hope that they discover...within themselves...a charity so broad, and a temper so genial, that the world becomes a playground...and not a battlefield.

Today I wrote the girls' names in black Sharpie on all their new school supplies, tomorrow I will sit outside their classrooms as they take math placement tests, I will help them find new lockers, and sew an embroidered "W" (in honor of their soccer coach) on new soccer jerseys.  I'm as excited about this "first day of school" for them, as I was for each new school year (or at least once I got over my fear of fourth grade). I can't wait to see what "new views of divine goodness and love" this "successive stage of experience" (Eddy) will bring to all of us...

Welcome September...I have always loved your promise....

always,
Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

[photo from Wyeth's first day of Kindergarten 2009]

"...just around the river bend..."

"What I love most about rivers is
you can't step in the same river twice.
The water's always changing,
always flowing
But people I guess can't live like that
They all must pay a price
To be safe we lose our chance
of ever knowing

What's around the river bend
Waiting just around the river bend
I look once more just around the river bend
Beyond the shore where the gulls fly free
Don't know what for
What I dream the day might send
just around the river bend
For me, coming for me...."
-     Alan Menken
"Just Around the River Bend"
(click on the title above for a link to the video)

She was 6 years old and fully aware of her own "promise" as she stood there that bright, hot summer afternoon in 1994.  It was the end-of-season performance for her summer arts camp, and she was Pocahontas. Together we had created her costume out of chamois (soft, pliable natural leather sold for polishing cars) we bought in ragged pieces at the local auto supply store.  She and I had worked tirelessly cutting fringe and sewing on small, colorful glass beads.  Her long hair was braided, tied with thin strips of the same chamois, and woven with flowers.  She looked every bit the strong, self-assured Indian princess.

As she threw her arms out for those final words..."Just around the river bend..." my heart caught in my throat and the moment was captured forever in memory as a moment I didn't want to ever forget. 

This is still one of my favorite mental pictures of our strong, beautiful daughter who has just finished her matric exams in South Africa.  And yes, I do believe that the Dream-giver still waits for her...and for all of us.

Recently my husband accepted an assignment in another city - work that is "on purpose" with his sense of mission and honors our vision and values as a family.  As soon as we knew that this was the right thing for him, the organization he is working with, and our family, I wanted to know "What does this mean for us...down the road? What's next?"

My husband gave me a great gift.  He said, "you don't have to know that right now."  He went on to explain that today we know everything we need to know.  We knew that our youngest children are happy in their school.  We knew that his housing was being taken care of where he was going.  We knew that if there was a need he could be home on a flight in a matter of hours.  We knew that I love what I do, and that I love where I am privileged to be working.  We knew that our older children were happy and at peace in the cities they lived in, the friends they were surrounded by, the schools they attended, and the jobs they held.  We...I really didn't need to know anything more at that moment.  I was at peace.

As I look back at the ensuing months, I realize that -- for the most part -- I have held that peace.  There have been very few moments where I have felt panicky about "not knowing." But when people have asked me "what's next," I have been completely confident in saying, "we don't know anything more than that we are all in our right place, doing what we love, and happy...today."

I know that when we need to know more...we will.  I know that whether this "chapter" is brief, or whether it lasts for years, we are fine.  We love eachother.  We are doing work we love and having opportunities to bless that we would not have otherwise. 

For the most part, I am at peace "not knowing" what's around the river bend.  Perhaps I've learned something from that little Pocahontas of mine.  Perhaps she has taught me that I too have promise and that I can trust that the God who blessed me with promise, will bring it to pass.

Mary Baker Eddy says that,

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

This is a statement worth resting my hopes, dreams...and yes, promise...on.  In this divine Science where God, good is All-in-all,  Love is the only law-giver, and I am secure and safe. In this kingdom, the province of the heart,  there is but one supreme, beneficent Sovereign who loves me, and mine, and all.  Anything that dwells there...dreams, hopes, vision..are under His divine control and I can trust His wise oversight to know where, when, and how to bring it all to pass. 

I can always feel the presence of the great Dream-giver assuring me of His presence, and I can trust...just trust...

Perhaps you, too, can feel it....  

"...I feel it there beyond those trees
Or right behind these waterfalls
Can I ignore that sound
of distant drumming?

Should I choose the smoothest course
steady as the beating drum...
...Is all my dreaming at an end?
Or do you still wait for me, Dream-giver,
just around the river bend...?

with Love...
River Song
Kate Robertson, CS

"...she judged Him faithful..."

"Our God is an awesome God
He reigns from heaven above
With wisdom, power and love
our God is an awesome God..."
-     Michael W. Smith

My Scriptural study this morning took me on a journey with Biblical matriarch, Sara.  I get Sarah.  I understand the love she felt for Abraham, her desire to provide him with an heir, her giving up hope that it would be a gift from her own womb, her compromise in finding Hagar as a surrogate, her jealousy of Hagar, her laughter when God re-affirms His promise that she would conceive long after "it had ceased to be with her as it was with women", her feelings of failure...and her astonishment at the fulfillment of the promise. 

I can relate to her on so many levels.  But this morning my heart found new light in a statement from Hebrews. 

Paul is writing to the Hebrews describing "faith".  He lists examples of faith and cites cultural precedence to these people of God through the lives of their forefathers Abel, Enoch, Noah, Abraham…and yes, Sara.

Sara as an example of faith…hmmm.  I had never really thought of Sara that way.  She seemed so desperate and afraid.  She seemed to spend years trying to take control of her situation.  Finding Hagar, convincing Abraham to "lie" with her, feeling our of control when Hagar and her son took their place in the "tribe" as the mother of Abraham's heir and his child, banishing them from the family in order to secure her own son's place.  

She seemed to make so many mistakes of faith.  Weren't there other patriarchs, prophets, faithful women that Paul could have cited?  Heck, she actually laughed at God.

I've been there.  I've had times when I tried to make my outward life fit my inward prayers.  I have laughed when God promised answers to questions I thought were unanswerable, or a solution to a situation that seemed hopeless.  Times when I have tried to shoehorn the reality of my life into a model of faith that I thought would be acceptable to others.

Often I've been left feeling hopeless, because I knew how desperate and fearful I felt.  I based my expectations on my own ability to pray, another's willingness to yield, or the circumstances at hand. 

But this morning I heard Paul describe Sara's faith in a new way.  He said, "Through faith also Sara herself received strength to conceive seed, and she was delivered of a child when she was past age…

…because she judged Him faithful who had promised...

It stopped me in my inspiration-seeking tracks and I have been sitting here ever since.  I've been sitting here not wanting to move a spiritual muscle.  It's as if the barometric pressure of the air around me has changed and I am breathing in an environment so light and rarified that there is no pressure.  I am reveling in this new sense of faith.  It is a feeling so free and pure that I can't believe I have been wrestling with how to "do it right" for so long.

I am seeing, more clearly than ever before, that it isn't about what I am thinking, who I am with, whether all the elements are right, or even if I stay on track…it's not about judging my own life, character, faith…it's all about how I see God.

Do I judge Him faithful who has promised?

Do I, like a child, see my Father as a "man of his word"?

Do I judge my Father as someone who loves me enough to keep His promises?

There is a peace beyond anything I have ever felt in surrendering all the promise- keeping to His faithful love for me, and mine…and all.   As His child He has made me that way…I am designed to trust Him.

Our God is an Awesome God...and really trusting Him to keep His promises is finding freedom to be as free as a child and love each moment…

With joy,
Kate

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