"Kickin' this stone..."

"Kickin' this Stone
kickin' this Stone…
kickin' these blues out into the open light
where moss can't grow…

…Kickin' this stone
Down this long highway
All across the countless miles
From the cradle to the grave
Past all my mistakes
With all their guilt and shame
Through the gentle rain of tears
Sweet forgiveness came…"
-     Johnsmith

I love church…especially the Wednesday evening tradition of my own faith.  I am never too inspired, too peaceful, too sure of my own spiritual ground to not have it bless me in unexpected ways. 

I have learned that if I leave all my costumes, roles and titles out on the sidewalk, and just enter the door with a hungry heart…I leave fed.

Last night was no exception…and the blessing was so surprisingly BIG.  The inspirational readings were on "opinion."  Our little group meets in a storefront on a wonderful walking neighborhood street full of shops and restaurants and coffeehouses. So we place a sandwich board out on the sidewalk.  It lists the theme of our meeting and invites everyone to feel welcome.  When my husband saw the sign last night, he initially thought it said that the meeting was going to be about "onions"…thank goodness he was wrong.

The readings were strong and compassionate.  The impotence of opinions rang through every citation.  I could easily nod my head in agreement.  Mary Baker Eddy says, "…mere opinion is valueless." I concur.  But as much as I agreed with where the readings and hymns took us, I felt like crying…church often does this to me. 

It was so easy for me to see that this spiritual premise about the valueless-ness of opinion is true.  I can readily accept that any mere opinion about someone or something is absolutely valueless to me as a spiritual thinker.  So why was this message stirring up so much sadness in me? 

As I probed around in the darkness while sitting quietly in our small congregational circle, I came upon the stone that was gathering moss in my heart.  It wasn't my opinion of others - or others' opinions about me - that made me heartsick.  It was my opinions about myself.  I realized that I had entertained opinions about my own mistakes and choices that left me filled with quiet regret and remorse. 

I sat there and wondered if those feelings would ever abate, when I heard a young college professor and research scientist begin to speak about a recent healing he had experienced.  I heard him say, "people often think that science is about proving something, but science is about disproving a hypothesis…and it only takes disproving it once to prove that it is not scientifically true."  He went on to explain that if something is scientifically true, it must be true EVERY time. So if it can be disproved even once, it is not really true.

This sent a shockwave through the dark places of self-doubt I had been wandering around in.  I was wallowing in a space where I was sure I could easily spend the rest of my life trying to prove that the bad opinions I held of myself were not true... that I would have to prove in hundreds of thousands of different ways that I was not a bad mother, a negligent sister, a forgetful friend, a less than perfect wife.  But I suddenly saw that each time I WAS a good mother, an attentive sister, an alert friend, a compassionate neighbor, a good wife, I had disproved those false opinions I had harbored in the dark regions of my heart and stubbed my toe on. 

I could kick them into the light and let them be good and precious stones…cleansed by tears, bleached by the sun, strong and ready to use for building a better view of myself...a foundation strong and sure.

It only takes one act of kindness, fidelity, attentiveness, patience, humility to disprove the validity of false opinions about ourselves...and others.   It's good to be a scientist.  To be Christian in my practice of this Science - even with myself - is heavenly.

You can see why I love church…

Gratefully,
Kate

"and the Lord was with Kate..."

"Let's feel what we cannot feel.
Know what we cannot know.
Let's heal where we couldn't heal.
Oh it's a mystery, Love is a mystery.
Oh it's a miracle, a miracle..."

I've already written about this experience in a post from 2009 titled, "And He walks with me..." It continues to inspire me almost daily -- evaporating the mists of pain, lack, fear, inharmony with the sunlight of pure Truth.  And in light of some recent realizations I've had about faith, trust, evidence, and the forms that our desires take when we allow them to be moulded and exalted by God, it begs to be re-visited.

There is no obvious or direct relationship between Sara Grove's beautiful song, "Miracle," and this experience.  But there is something about the way they both make me feel that connects them in my heart.   They beget an effortless sense of trust in God's presence.

Now the story.  It started with a fall that left me unable to walk -- or even crawl -- to the bathroom through a long night of pain.

A friend's kindness lifted the burden of how to navigate the logistics of getting the girls to school and caring for our puppy.  But I was still in grave discomfort and unable to move after she got everyone out the door.  I was alone in bed, the house was quiet, and I could barely think beyond the pain.

But it is what happened in the pulsing silence that still takes my breath away. I looked to my left, and there -- opened on the pillow next to me -- was the full-text of weekly Bible Lesson, a small leaflet-sized collection of Bible verses and inspirational citations from Mary Baker Eddy's Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures.

And one Scripture, at the top of the page -- from the story of Joseph in prison -- caught my eye. It read, "And the Lord was with Joseph."

As I read it, something in me shifted. No, it was not the unnatural alignment of bone in my ankle, or an irritated nerve -- but my heart. I suddenly felt -- with complete confidence -- that if "the Lord was with Joseph" - in prison, then of course I could trust that He was with me in my warm, clean, comfy bed.

And I stopped being afraid. Period. It was enough. I knew that if the Lord was with me, there was no better, safer, more wonderful place to be -- in all the world, than right where I was -- every moment.

I knew, without a shadow of a doubt that I was with God.  And I knew, that there was nothing more to know about that situation. I never gave another treatment.  I rested my case. I returned to that single Truth -- that the Lord was with me -- countless times.  And I can honestly say that I never tried to figure out what more I needed to know.

The change in my ankle didn't happen quickly -- or even slowly. But I wasn't concerned.  I didn't feel steeped in process -- spiritual or physical.   I felt healed of any sense of separation from God.  I felt peaceful and confident.  I knew I was perfectly at one with my divine Source. I trusted this deep spiritual calm to be all the proof I needed.  I trusted that my peace was the evidence that I was whole.

One day, more than six weeks after the fall, I was still on crutches and unable to put any weight on my ankle in the morning. The picture had not changed one bit. But by lunchtime, I was walking freely and not needing crutches or assistance. 

I had done nothing more than return to the truth that, "the Lord is with Kate." That thought filled my heart with peace.  It was all the proof -- or evidence -- I needed.

It still is.  It fills my life.

shared with Love,

Kate