"I have called thee by thy name...."

"I have called thee
by thy name,
thou art Mine..."

Recently my friend, Laurie Benson, asked her community of readers this series of questions:

Isn't it curious that we move through the world
with a name given to us by someone else?

How many of you don't like your name?

Or feel like it doesn't suit you?

I thought these were fascinating questions. Obviously, so did others -- since she had over 60 responses. If you know me, you know that I navigated this name wilderness for over 40 years before finding peaceful place to rest.

The story that leads to my own discomfort with my "given" name is not important. Suffice it to say, it was full of drama. But here is what I learned. And what I have practiced with our children.

My parent(s) did the best they could in giving me a name that would serve my childhood. But my evolving sense of "self," was between me and God. Eventually, when God called me by "my name," I knew it to be true and I answered to it. The social and legal steps I needed to take to legitimize that shift were challenging, but every bit worth it.

So why write this post. I think it is to help other realize that:

1] if you don't feel that your name is truly yours, you are not alone. That being said, it is important to be respectful of the love that your parents put into giving that gift (of a name that they loved) to you.  But don't feel that you have to move through the world with a name that doesn't feel like your own. For me, there was no greater moment than being publicly called by the name that I knew was mine.

2] if you have a friend that is considering a change in their name, try to be respectful of their need to make that change. It is not something they are doing just to be mean to their parents or to confuse their friends and acquaintances. It is important to them. Just because you feel perfectly comfortable being called the name you were given at birth, doesn't mean that they do -- or even should.

I grew up being called a name that I never felt comfortable with. I tried ever iteration of that name possible. In my heart I always knew that I was Kate. When I had conversations with myself, I was always Kate. I loved being Kate. Actually, I loved being Cate. The first time someone called out to me as Cate -- after legally changing my name, I felt like I had come home to myself within the context of my larger community.

So why did it take so long for me to do it? Well, I was afraid. Afraid of hurting my parent's feelings. I was afraid of my professional community making fun of me -- which, by the way, they did. I was afraid that my friends would think I was a flake -- which, by the way, they made perfectly clear they did. But, after the first few snarky, sarcastic comments, I realized that each "air quote" comment about my name, was really an opportunity to stand tall as Kate.  It was a gift to be able to defend her.  I loved my name and I knew who I was.

When our daughters were younger, they each felt the need to try on a new, or different version, of their names. We not only allowed them to, we encouraged them to know themselves and feel comfortable with their name. In each case they returned to their given name after a school year. It's interesting to me that, as a society, we are perfectly at ease with using a chosen (or assigned) nicknames -- for someone we know and love, but a full-on name change seems "weird" to us.

For me, it was as necessary as growing out of a children's sized clothing into grown up sizes. I never looked back. Even when a friend from the "old days" wants to remind me that I was once someone who went by a different name, I refuse to be goaded into defending my right to be who I am. I am Kate -- and in my heart, Cate. That is the spelling that I use when signing love letters. And by the way, putting that out there in this post, feels just as naked as changing my name to begin with. Same concerns: flaky, still not settled in her identity, rebellious. Think what you may, this is the most clear and settled I have ever been.

And although I love my husband, and our marriage, and his name. I do not use it when I think of myself. When I think of myself, or sign my name, I am Cate Mullane. Why have I waited to say this?  Because again, I am afraid of the social repercussions.  Another "change" feels like walking thorough the market square naked. I haven't wanted to have someone call me flaky or silly. I am neither. I am listening for what God, the great I AM, is calling me. I am His daughter, and He has said to me:

"I have called thee
by thy name,
thou art Mine..."

There is a name that is eternal in you -- because you are eternally you. You did not start with a mortal birth. You have existed eternally. You are immortal. If your given name reflects that sense of spiritual identity, "wonderful," I can't think of anything more amazing than to feel at peace in the garment of your name. But if you haven't felt that kind of peace, and you want to try on something that might be a better spiritual fit -- I hope you will call me and tell me who you are. I will never make you feel silly. I will respect you. I promise.

with my love,

Cate Mullane

"what if..."

"What if I gave everything?
What if I stopped holding back from You?

Starting now,
I'm stepping out onto deeper waters

Ready to give everything..."

Casting Crowns' "What If I Gave Everything," reminded me of something I heard at a recent gathering of spiritual thinkers and healers.

In referring to lessons learned over the past year, one participant shared that -- like most of us -- they'd been buffeted by "what ifs.." I was silently nodding my head in agreement.  "Me too," I thought.

However, it was what they shared next that has stayed with me since that day. They said that they realized that it was an opportunity to ask some very different "what if" questions. Questions like: "What if I prayed?" Or, "What if I listened to God?"

I loved this.  It is a reclaiming of "what if" for God. Instead of the insidious voice of darkness hissing, "Yes, but what if you fall off this cliff? What if you never find your wallet?" Or, "What if this spot on my body means something?" 

We can immediately turn these "what ifs" around and ask ourselves, "What if God is All-in-all, as the Scriptures promise?" "What if I just take a moment to be still and recall all the ways that God has cared for my family?"

In Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, Mary Baker Eddy reminds us that:

"The starting-point of divine Science
is that God, Spirit, is All-in-all,
and that there is no other might nor Mind,
— that God is Love,
and therefore He is divine Principle."

This happens to be one of my favorite statements. Especially her use of the word "might." Might doesn't just mean power or strength, but also possibility. What might happen. What might be true. Eddy promises us that in divine Science -- or in the science of God's allness -- there is no other possibility, than that which is consistent with God's All-in-allness.

We can return to this "starting point" over and over again throughout our day.  This statement takes all the hypothetical possibilities, all the speculative theories, and all of the "what ifs" about what "might" be true - or happening at any given moment, and puts them right where they belong: "in the hands of God, in the keeping of Spirit."  In fact, on page 521 of Science and Health Eddy clearly states:

"All that is made is the work of God,
and all is good. We leave this brief,
glorious history of spiritual creation
(as stated in the first chapter of Genesis)
in the hands of God, not of man,
in the keeping of Spirit, not matter,
joyfully acknowledging now and forever
God's supremacy, omnipotence, and omnipresence."

Next time the dark voices begin to taunt you with their "what ifs," turn them around -- with confidence.  Ask yourself, "What if I trusted God supremely?" Or, "What if this moment is really just my opportunity to step into deeper waters, and be held in the buoying arms of divine Love?" And when you answer, answer with your whole heart. You may find that those bullying taunts simply turn tail and run -- scurrying into their dark native nothingness when questioned in the light of your love for God.

offered with Love,

Kate

"to know You..."

"To know You,
is to want to know You more..."

Sometimes a song brings me back to a moment when the scene shifted so completely that I could never see the world, or hear a word,  in the same way again. Casting Crowns'  "To Know You"  did that for me this morning.

It was over three decades ago. I was ready. I was taking the step I'd been yearning for since high school. I was taking primary class in Christian Science. I was eager to discover more of what it meant to heal as Jesus healed.

But I was also nervous. I knew that I could only take this course once. I wanted so badly to understand what I was being taught. But by the end of the second day's class I felt like I was in a mental fog. I knew I was intellectualizing it all, but I didn't know how to get out of my head.

It occurred to me that it was still early in the class, and that if I quit now, I could possibly retake the course when I was more ready -- whatever that meant. I called the teacher and explained how I was feeling. He encouraged me to be very still that night and listen for direction. Either way, he told me I should come to the next morning's session -- whether it was to continue, or to say goodbye to my fellow classmates.

The next morning I felt even more confused about what I needed to do. I walked to the hotel where our class was being held with a heavy heart. There was nothing I wanted more than to contribute to the world as a healer, but I also wanted to be able to do that work effectively. I knew that understanding the fundamentals of Christian Science being taught in the class was vital to doing that work honestly and with integrity.

As I sat in class that morning, my heart was as hungry as I'd every felt it. I listened to every word as if it were my last meal. But by lunchtime, I was still feeling detached. My heart sank low. Just as were were gathering our books and materials, our teacher stopped for a moment and returned to addressing us. We had spent the morning talking about man as the reflection of God. And man reflecting God.

I was sure we'd plumbed the depths of that concept in Sunday School as a child. We'd stood in front of mirrors and talked about how the image in the mirror, could do nothing that the original in front of the mirror did. We'd often talked about how man reflects, with accuracy and precision, everything that is true about God, and included in His nature.

It was all so familiar. I'd gotten it as a child. I'd felt like crying all morning. But as I was putting my books into my satchel, I heard our teacher say -- in the most casual way, "Did you ever think of the word "reflect" as a verb -- meaning to "ponder deeply." It was like a lightning bolt passed through me.

In an instant, a dozen sentences from Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures flooded my heart. For example:

"Reflecting God’s government, man is self-governed."

Man reflects infinity, and this reflection is the true idea of God.

Man is not absorbed in Deity, and man cannot lose his individuality, for he reflects eternal Life; nor is he an isolated, solitary idea, for he represents infinite Mind, the sum of all substance."

I felt like time stood still. Reflection wasn't just a noun -- it was a verb. It was something I did. In a moment I could see that to ponder the nature and character of God -- was everything. It was the "work" of a healer. I was the reflection -- the deep pondering of God. And I reflected -- deeply pondered God. That was who I was. That was what I was. It was all I was. I was -- and am -- my consciousness of God.

Everything came alive for me. I knew what I loved most in the world. To be still and know that [my] I am -- my consciousness of being -- was, is, and always would be defined by my consciousness of God. I had a way of being in the world.  I could stop anytime, anywhere -- connect with this deep sense of being -- and know my purpose intimately.  This reflection -- like that of the little girl in the photo above -- allows for the deepest conversation with the Divine.  In it, we see and know, as we are known.

I walked to lunch in a daze that day. I was on fire. I couldn't wait to get to the restaurant with my classmates, put my bag down, excuse myself, find a quiet corner and ponder God -- deeply. I still can't wait to do that wherever I am. It is still everything for me -- decades later.

I am God's reflection -- I am what God is deeply pondering. And I reflect God. I deeply ponder Him. This is the most intimate space in my life. It is where I find my oneness with my first love -- divine Love. This is where I cease to think about God, and am living in conversation with Him.  Everything springs from this. Everything. It is my life. It is my purpose, It is what is eternal, and enduring, and fills my being. It is what I bring to the table of family, church, community, parenting.

In that moment, that moment when our teacher asked us if we'd ever thought of "to reflect" as a verb, my life changed -- forever. It is a moment I will never forget.

I could sit here and write about how that moment has radiated and grown in me over the past three decades. But I will let this be enough tonight.

Mary Baker Eddy writes:

"The Divine Being must be reflected by man, — else man is not the image and likeness of the patient, tender, and true, the One “altogether lovely;” but to understand God is the work of eternity, and demands absolute consecration of thought, energy, and desire."

This is our great opportunity and it is an eternal joy. To understand God. To ponder God -- deeply. To listen to the heartbeat of the Divine within us -- to be at one with God's deep pondering of His own name and nature as our identity.

On the very first page of Science and Health, Eddy assures us:"

"The prayer that reforms the sinner and heals the sick, is an absolute faith that all things are possible to God, a spiritual understanding of Him, an unsolved Love."

Ah, the work of eternity.  19th Century pastor and author, A.W. Tower once wrote:

"What comes into our minds
when we think about God
is the most important thing
about us."

I believe this with all my heart.

offered with Love,

Kate

"i have this hope…"

"I have this hope,
in the depth of my soul,
in the flood or the fire
you're with me,
and you won't let go..."

When I have a deep hunger for spiritual understanding, and words alone feel one dimensional, I retreat to songs. There is something about the marriage of music and lyrics that gives life to my longing. Tenth Avenue North is one of my go-to bands. And recently it was their, "I Have This Hope," that met me right where I was, and walked me forward out of darkness.

I needed a reminder. The inner critic was persistent. It insisted that I was on the verge of letting everyone down. That even my best, just wasn't good enough. It was all up to me, and I was failing.

I had been reading for days. Turning to Scripture and the writings of Mary Baker Eddy for guidance in my search for a way out of the swift spiral I found myself drowning in. There were dozens of pointers, but nothing was penetrating the atrophy of human thinking, and reaching my heart.

That's when I turned to song. I pulled up a window on my browser and found the link to Youtube that I have bookmarked. I didn't know what I was searching for, just knew that I needed something. Tenth Avenue North, Casting Crowns, Sara Groves, and Chris Tomlin are all inspirational singer-songwriters who have never let me down. Their songs spring from a deep love for God and an honest understanding of the human experience. It was what I needed.

I love the word "hope," and so I typed in Tenth Avenue North and hope in the search field and their recording of "I Have This Hope," came up. I clicked on the window and sat back. It was just what I needed. A reminder that I was not letting anyone down, because it was not my job to hold anyone up. Even myself. That was God's job. I was dishonoring Him by thinking that he was not here, with me, and with them.

It brought me back to a fundamental spiritual promise that I'd lost sight of. One that fills Scripture and generously peppers the writings of Mary Baker Eddy and countless other spiritual thought-leaders. It answered the hope-cry in the depth of my soul:

"Lo, I am with you alway..." 

This was enough to begin to free me from fear, self-doubt, worry, loneliness, flood or fire, triumph or terror. How did I forget? How do we ever forget? Doesn't every worrisome claim boil down to this one lie about God -- that He is absent from our lives, or the lives of our loved ones, neighbors, and local, national or global leaders?

It didn't take long to say I was sorry to God. To remember that my love for Him was best expressed by my trust in His love. It was never about me or my abilities. It was always about God's nature and my trust in His unwavering care for His creation. My heart broke wide open with love for God's mercy.

As Tenth Avenue North sings,

"I don't want to live in fear
I want to trust that you are near..." 

I don't want to trust God as a means to an end, but as the very "end" itself. To be so completely at peace in an abiding trust that God is near -- in flood or in fire -- that the voices of doom and doubt cease to have any information for me.   Or as Paul writes in Hebrews:

"Now faith is the substance
of things hoped for,
the evidence of things
not seen..." 

Faith, translated from the original Aramaeic is "trust." This is the substance of my greatest hope: to trust God. This is the evidence I am seeking -- in myself -- moment-by-moment. A trust that isn't just tapping her foot impatiently and saying, "hey, I trust You, so where's the evidence?" But a trust that rests -- like a small child -- in the peace which passeth all understanding. A trust that is beyond the human need to understand how God's love will manifest itself. A childlike trust that yields to the love of its divine Parent.

It is enough. No, I don't know how some of the questions and concerns that I am facing will be answered. I don't have a plan, a strategy, or a solution that is giving me peace. Those may give momentary relief from worry, but they will never give me an enduring peace. And I want what is enduring, eternal. I find this only when I am resting in this truth that:

"The Lord is with me..." 

As I said, this trust is enough. It is all the evidence I need. I may not understand how everything will work out. But I do know that this trust is the substance of all my hopes -- for all of us. May you feel like a child who trusts that your Father-Mother God is always with you -- in tear or triumph. I have this hope.


offered with Love,

Kate

"the answer..."

“I believe you are the answer
to every tear I've cried...”

Last night, I took my most yawning question to God in prayer.

His answer came in the form of a song...again.

Corinne May is one of the voices that seems to have deep spiritual resonance for me. Much like a tuning fork, it helps me find the true tone.

And in that place of perfect pitch...of sacred stillness, this song,  "The Answer" felt like just that...an answer. Not a "whew, glad I've got that figured out now," kind of answer. But a feeling of peace...a consciousness of His presence...that I could rest my hopes upon.

My prayer today is that we each feel that, "through the crosses we must carry"...our hearts are ever more closely bound to Him.

I'll let this song speak for itself....

with Love, 
Kate

"Wrestling with angels..."

A friend called early this morning during her Bible study. She wanted to know if I could find the following post, from the summer before last, and send her the link. It refers to Jacob's wrestling with the angel at Peniel. I had forgotten the post, but not the story. I was happy to oblige. So here's to pondering fireflies in December:

"Fireflies - everything is never as it seems..."

"You would not believe your eyes,
if ten million fireflies,
lit up the world
as I fell asleep...

'Cause they'd fill the open air
and leave teardrops everywhere.
You'd think me rude
but I would just stand and stare...

I'd like to make myself believe
that planet Earth turns slowly.
It's hard to say that I'd rather
stay awake when I'm asleep.
'Cause everything is never as it seems..."
- Adam Young

It was a beautiful September day in Evanston, Illinois. I loved walking along the lake, turning left and heading up towards the center of town, past gracious old Victorians with wide porches, and craftsman-style bungalows with deep lawns dappled in the golden shade of autumn. One-by-one, I greeted them like old friends, as I approached the center of town.

I was on search for answers, and I'd narrowed all of my questions down to one. One question. But it was a question I'd been pondering for almost a decade. It was my annual one-hour visit with my teacher in Christian Science...a man who was also one of my very dearest friends, and the person most likely to call me out on my nonsense...but always in the most disarmingly arresting way. He was kind and funny, but didn't suffer egos...mine, or his own.

I rang the doorbell and he buzzed me up. After a warm greeting from his wife, and a tour of their most recent art acquisitions...and a few dozen of his own paintings...we made our way to his sun-drenched office.

A few minutes of catching up and it was time to "get down to business." I asked the same question I'd been pondering all along my drive across the state of Nebraska, through the seasons that marked the year, and back over a decade of wrestling.

It began, "Do you remember during our meeting in (and I referred to a year over a decade earlier in which he had spoken to a group of us about an aspect of our work as spiritual thinkers and healers) when you said, .......... , well, I am still trying to understand that concept."

He sat, heavily, back in his chair and let out a laugh that worked its way up, from the cavernous space of his enormous heart, thorugh the avenue of his throat, and finally, bursting from his being like Mt. Vesuvius spewing magma and ash over Pompeii. "Are you really still chewing on that one sentence?" he asked.

I dropped my head in my hands and sighed a meek, "I guess..." His kindness reached across the space between us. I thought he was disappointed, that I hadn't "gotten it" that day, and morever, after a decade, I had still not fully "gotten it." I felt like the worst student in the class. I wanted to crawl under the desk and disappear. But when I looked up from where I'd dropped my gaze, in disappointment with myself, I noticed that he was grinning from ear to ear. It was that smile of his that made you feel like you were in the presence of a beneficent, spiritual Santa Claus.

His face was filled with compassion, joy, understanding, comraderie...and if that look had had a sound, it would have been a cross between the voice of angels twinkiing laughter, and Owl City singing "Fireflies." It was light, and sweet, and visceral...full of meaning, without spelling it out.

Then he told me that he, too, was still wrestling with that very statement made years earlier. The thought/idea had come to him, quite surprisingly, as he was standing in front of us, speaking from notes that day. He told me that, even for him, it was a divine surprise. He said he'd quickly scribbled what had come out of his mouth, in the margins of his notes, without really missing a beat, and had been pondering it since.

Then he told me that he loved those seemingly "little" ideas that kept him awake at night. They were the ones that continued to poke at him, leading to more questions...than answers.

Then he shared with me a idea that had occurred to him, sometime earlier, as he was pondering Jacob's wrestling match with the angel at Peniel. He said that for many years he'd thought of Jacob's wrestling the angel, as if the angel was an opponent Jacob was wrestling against. But that one long, dark night, when he himself was tumbling and turning with questions that seemed to be ready to "take him down," it occurred to him that the angel was wrestling with Jacob...they were on the same team. That the wrestling was a good thing...a very, very good thing.

He said to me, "You just keep gnawing on that bone like a junkyard dog. It's the persistence in questioning that really matters, not the answer."

Then he referenced a citation from Mary Baker Eddy's Miscellaneous Writings 1883 - 1896, by quickly scribbling a page, and line numbers, onto a little slip of paper, slipping it across the desk before turning my attention to a painting on the wall, and walking me through its spiritual symbology. It wasn't long before we were embracing, his wife was recommending restaurants, and I was thanking them for their hospitality.

When I got back to where I was staying, I couldn't wait to find a copy of Miscellaneous Writings in my host's bookcase, and look up the reference he'd cryptically shared with me...thinking it would point me towards an answer to my question. Here is what I found:

"My Beloved Students: - This question,
ever nearest to my heart, is to-day uppermost:"

Yup, that was it. What he'd written on that slip of paper was:

"MW 116: 11 - 12 (to the colon) no further!!"

It was my turn to laugh. I realized that he didn't answer my question in our meeting, and he wasn't answering it through reference to the writings of any other spiritual thinker...no matter how inspired. He was suggesting that I stick with the question myself, taking it to God...persistently and patiently...and I have. It’s probably the most important lesson he ever taught me.

Later, while praying with the fourth Beatitude:

"Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness,
for they shall be filled."

I would discover something critical to my spiritual journey...for myself.

It dawned on my heart, so clearly, that "the blessing" is not in being filled, but in staying empty, being willing to abide in the wonder...the hungering and thirsting after righteousness. To be aware of ourselves as thinkers, brimming with inquiry, filled with questioning, is the most deeply satisfying kind of peace.

Another friend, Susan Dane, calls this place "the space of the question"...it has become my favorite place to live.

Today, I love letting my questions go inconclusively un-answered. I love showing up in the middle of the night with my sleeping bag, a woolen hat, my journal...under a sky full of twinkling questions...and wrestle with - not against - the angels who ask more questions...than they offer answers.

Recently, I became an even more devoted fan of Albert Einstein when I discovered this statement:

"It is not that I'm so smart.
But I stay with the questions much longer."

Ahhh...to float in a silent pool of spiritual questions, under a canopy of infinite truths, tumbling and wrestling with possibilities, words, ideas...flickering, like ten million fireflies, generous angels full of light...this is where I am most satisfied and at peace.

"I'd like to make myself believe
that planet Earth turns slowly.
It's hard to say that I'd rather
stay awake when I'm asleep.
Because my dreams are
bursting at the seams...."

Dreams, questions, wonderment...bursting at the seams, I'm ready...bring on the fireflies, and send in the angels!!

love,
Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

"...and my heart burdened be..."

"When I am down, and oh my soul, so weary.
When troubles come, and my heart burdened be.
Then I am still and wait here in the silence.
Until You come and sit awhile with me..."

My heart was burdened this morning.  Overwhelmed beyond measure.  I thought I could push through the tightness in my shoulders, the strain in my step...so I read, studied, took calls, prayed, checked in on my Facebook office, and posted an inspiring quote by Mary Baker Eddy that had meant so much to me through a long night of prayer. And lastly, I'd uploaded a Youtube video I'd been led to view earlier by a thoughtful friend. But the personal pall persisted. My husband remained a gentle, willing support, but even he knew...what I had yet to discover in the midst of such heaviness...that what I needed to hear, whatever it was that I needed to hear, had to come directly from God...and from God, alone.

The work...the joy of serving...was my peaceful resting place.  In "the office" it was all so clear.  Inspired truths that felt so alive and substantive in praying for others, were warm companions and reliable colleagues there, in the sanctuary of books, and prayers, and gratitude..  In the fellowship of our common purpose, all was light. But whenever I seemed to get up from my desk, walk out of my "praying for others" door, and into the space of "my life, my family, my decisions," those truths somehow felt distant and flat, like two dimensional cardboard cutouts of superheroes. 

And, as much as I established my spiritual ground, and claimed that God was in charge of all the affairs of my life and the lives of those I loved, I still felt something akin to a cold, gray, stone of sorrow resting on my heart.  Too many questions, decisions, choices, demands. I didn't even know where to begin in sorting them out, and prioritizing all that needed to be addressed metaphysically.  Where should I start listening for direction, first?  What should I pray about next? 

The clarity I felt "in the office" seemed to be spectre-like, just out of reach, and ungraspable in my kitchen. 

That was where this Youtube clip of Selah's "You Raise Me Up" found me...in the kitchen.  The kettle was whistling and I'd gotten up to steep a pot of tea, when I heard the next clip in the Selah playlist coming from my office.  I poured boiling water over the Ginger Peach tea in the teapot, and returned to my desk while it steeped.  And that's when I heard:

"...You raise me up to walk on stormy seas.
I am strong when I am on your shoulders.
You raise me up to more than I can be..."

And, as Mary Baker Eddy says:

"Tears flood the eyes, agony struggles, pride rebels, and a mortal seems a monster, a dark, impenetrable cloud of error; and falling on the bended knee of prayer, humble before God, he cries, "Save, or I perish." Thus Truth, searching the heart, neutralizes and destroys error."

I fell on my knees beside my bed, letting my tears dissolve the false veneer of control, to shake and shatter the shell of personal sense...me, my, mine...allowing it to fall in shards of vanquished "self" from the core "me", the innocent and willing "I AM" within my heart...and:

"listened for His voice
lest my footsteps stray.."

And when:

"My heart bent low before the omnipotence of Spirit, ...a tint of humility, soft as the heart of a moonbeam, mantled the earth.  Bethlehem and Bethany, Gethsemane and Calvary, spoke to my chastened sense as by the tearful lips of a babe.  Frozen fountains were unsealed.  Erudite systems of philosophy and religion melted, for Love unveiled the healing promise and potency of a present spiritual afflatus."  - Eddy

In that moment of divine care, my tears changed from the hot, aching sting of want and woe, to the gentle bathing waters of promised peace.

I'd asked God for answers about things that were in the realm of tomorrow, down-the-road, and someday when...and his message was:

"I cannot give you tomorrow, I can only give you Myself, and you know Me, you know that My name is I AM, not 'I will be,' or 'I was.' I am giving you this very moment on your knees with Me, I am giving you today...and isn't today beautiful?  Don't you have all you need...every answer you are hungering for...for today?"

And the heavy stone of carrying around a burdened ego was lifted from my shoulders, and replaced with humility, "as soft as a moonbeam."

I got up from that blessed posture of "on my knees," grateful for every tear that had fallen, and dried in salty trails upon flushed cheeks.  I'd been given a glimpse, a window, a portal into the living power of a simple statement of spiritual fact...the very quote I'd prayed with all night long, for someone else in need, and had posted earlier on Facebook:

"Each successive period of progress
is a period more humane and spiritual."
-     Mary Baker Eddy

I rose from "on bended knee" with a more humane sense of my brothers' (and sisters') journeys. With a very here-and-now appreciation for Bethany, Bethlehem, Gethsemane, and Calvary...oh yes, especially for Calvary. And with a more spiritual sense of the power of The Word...a present understanding of my Father's love for me, and mine, and most importantly, for all.

He is, constantly, raising each of us up...from our knees...so that we can go forward in service to one another, and thereby serve Him.

otherwise, I remain, on bended knee...yours,

Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

"What if God was one of us..."

"If God had a name what would it be?
And would you call it to his face?
If you were faced with him in all his glory
what would you ask if you had just one question?

Yeah, Yeah, God is great
Yeah, Yeah, God is good
Yeah Yeah yeah yeah yeah

What if God was one of us?_
Just a slave like one of us?_
Just a stranger on the bus_
Tryin' to make His way home..."
Joan Osbourne
"What if God was One of Us"
(click on the above song title as a link to the video)

I've been living in this "space of the question" for a long time now...the question. 

Some think that this questioning is prayer...I am one of them.  For me, it is the clearest, and most concrete, sign of God's presence in my life.  I do believe that it...this questioning... is the blessedness Jesus refers to in the beatitude "Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness..."  I am in no hurry to rush into the space of "...and they shall be filled."

Today I am sitting here loving the questions within my heart...questions that prove I am seeking God's face in all things.  I am at peace with this me.   My questions all lead to one primary question...a question so primal there are no words adequate in describing it.

This video of Susan Boyle's performance contributed to the most lovely "aha" moment of further questioning. Note the change of perception in the judges and audience...heart-breakingly moving. I wonder what questions they are asking themselves, and their God, about their own hopes and dreams in those moments.

Mary Baker Eddy says that, "The prayer that reforms the sinner and heals the sick is an absolute faith that all things are possible to God, a spiritual understanding of Him, an unselfed love."  This understanding of Him is a constant question...rather than an answer...for me.   

Einstein said, "I want to know God's thoughts...the rest are details."   And this wanting to know was an endless journey for him....and it is for me.

Last night as I sat in the stillness of a darkened room, it was the questions that brought me into serenity and provided a resting place for my hopes. 

Questions like, "How can I best serve you?" and "Is it possible for anyone to reach the summit of his/her potential?" made me realize that I care...about service and the hopes and dreams of others.  The first question is a constant for me...it is answered in a hundred different ways each day...the second was answered, in part, by the above video. 

Enjoy the questions in your own heart today, stay open to the endless ways that they are answered moment-by-moment, and celebrate the new questions they bless you with.

always with Love....and a questioning heart,
Kate
Kate Robertson, CS


photo credit:  Sarah "Sunny" Winterroth [2009]

"I went to the mountain..."

"...I went to the doctor,
I went to the mountains
I looked to the children,
I drank from the fountains
We go to the Bible,
We go through the workout
We read up on revival
We stand up for the lookout
There's more than one answer to these questions
Pointing me in a crooked line
The less I seek a source for some definitive
The closer I am to fine..."
- Emily Saliers

One summer morning, just after dawn, I heard a knock on my cabin door.  Grabbing my sweatshirt and pulling it on over my nightgown I opened the door to find a tear-streaked teen standing on my porch in sleep-mussed braids, wrinkled jeans and obvious distress.  Her pain was palpable.

She had been up all night searching for some reason to believe... deeply within her own heart...that God was real and that she could know Him for herself.  She was tired of being told about a God who is Love.  She was ready to know God for herself.  She was at the point where she needed to experience His presence…to really feel Her power and influence in her life. She was confused by her own questioning. She had been coming to camp since she was eight. I had watched her grow from a tiny little girl on a great big horse to a fearless rodeo competitor. She was usually the first camper offering to help others on a hike, and to see her so distraught was heartbreaking. I wanted nothing more than to wrap my arms around her quaking shoulders and make it all better.

Listening as her questions tumbled out, it didn't take long for me to realize that I would never have the kind of answers she was really looking for.  God would have to "be with my mouth"…even if that meant I should just keep it closed and continue to listen.   She was full of questions for which I knew I would only have less than soul-satisfying answers for…questions about the nature of love, the reliability of truth, the seeming absence of peace and kindness in the world.  I could share with her the milestones of my own search for God and the meaning of the universe, but I couldn't be the end of her search…the seat of her answers.

Then it dawned on me.  I didn't need to answer her questions, I only needed to celebrate the deep hungering for something spiritually substantive which her tears represented. 

Her quest for something reliable, her search for a firm foundation on which to lay the beams of her faith, was a clear and powerful indication of the presence of God in her life…right in the midst of her questioning.   It was pointing to a deep longing for something more, a profound stirring within that rejected complacency, and an inner struggle for Truth. 

In what are referred to as "The Beatitudes", Jesus says, "Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness…"  The blessing is in the hungering and thirsting…the "for they shall be filled" is such a given that it almost appears as an afterthought.  My dictionary defines "blessed" as "the presence of divine favor or endowment".  I could rest my own prayers for her heart's peace in knowing that her hunger was the very indication of actually experiencing the "divine" she was searching for. 

Her search was her own.  Yes, it was spurred on by a childhood of being spiritually nurtured through years of singing much-loved hymns, her parents prayers, and dynamic Sunday school classes within a cherished faith. But whether this same faith would continue to define the path she would follow in seeking satisfying answers wasn't clear to her that early summer morning.  What was clear...at least to me...was that God would always be with her.  That her hunger and thirst to know Him was a very real and tangible indication that He was already there, that He already had His hand in hers and would always lead her to look in the direction that would show her His face in the clouds and His love in her own unselfish and generous heart.

Today, years later, this experience continues to bring me great comfort, especially when my own hunger for more satisfying spiritual answers feels like a yawning emptiness. I am grateful to realize, again and again, that I too am just "still searching".  Yes, this endless questioning continues to keep me awake at night and on my knees longing for answers.  But now I know, that if there is a hunger in my heart, He is already there with me.  For many years I thought that God was in the answers, that to know Him was to know something…I am discovering that to know God is to always be hungry, to always be asking, to always be searching for His face in the clouds and His hand on my heart.
Kate