"all I have needed...."

"all I have needed
Thy hand hath provided.
Great is Thy faithfulness,
Lord unto me..."

There are songs that feed my soul when I am sad, or lonely, or just feeling a bit disconnected from my best self. This afternoon, it was Chris Rice's version of "Great is Thy Faithfulness." I wasn't searching for it -- it was just there. Like a reminder. Like a prayer.

I would like to think that I am immune to the way that others treat me, those I love, and those I have yet to meet -- locally and globally. But I think, that at least for me, this would signal my ascension -- the ultimate dissolution of the ego. I am obviously not there. But every day I seek the grace to let the opinions and actions of others inform me less. I am discovering that this grace is, truly, all that I need.

I've never felt this need more clearly. It has breathed new life into a favorite passage from Mary Baker Eddy's Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures:

"What we most need, is the prayer
of fervent desire for growth in grace,
expressed in patience, meekness, love,
and good deeds."  

Yes, this grace is what I most need. But, it is also already what I most desire -- fervently.

Over the years I have written about healings I have experienced. About character traits transformed. About physical challenges overcome. About financial needs met. But, it is this wrestling match with the ego that continues to give me a run for my spiritual money. 

Why am I ever surprised by this? Isn't this what would keep us from feeling the spiritual freedom we ultimately seek? The ego -- which is never personal -- is simply that false sense of being. One which constantly asserts that we are separate entities from the one Source of all existence -- God.

The ego says, "You are special. You started from unique circumstances -- good, bad, privileged, doomed. You have the opportunity to either exploit this personal good, or overcome the unfortunate circumstances of your life. You can change it all. You are self-determined and self-created. You are the master of your own destiny. Now, mortal, go make something great of yourself -- or screw it up royally.  It's all up to you."

But this kind of thinking can also lead to self-blame, feelings of inadequacy, failure, victimization. "If only I..."

Where is God in either of these equations? The Divine is relegated to a help meet -- serving our self-determined, or self-condemning, agendas. This God is neither omnipotent, nor omniscient. This Deity needs our consent -- our spiritual buy-in -- to have any power. This not-so-all-knowing, knows only what we tell Him we want or need. This God is not the Source of our being, but the biased arbiter of our success or failure.

This is what the ego presents -- a self-determined mortal on the treadmill of his/her own design. And it is a treadmill that will never stop turning. Churning out endless scenarios of self. One minute a self that achieves, the next minute a self that can be deceived or deceiving. One day a testimony of healing, the next a nightmare of pain.  In one scene a confident spiritual healer, the next a fragile ego on the brink of tears.

Our only hope is grace. Grace, among other definitions, is the "unmerited and unearned favor of God." Ahhh -- this is where a fathomless peace lies. Not in our own efforts, but in an effortless trust in His/Her faithfulness -- in the unconditional and impartial nature of Love -- a love that is not personally circumscribed, but universally giving. A love like the sun -- that shines on the dandelion, as brightly as on the rose.

Tonight, I am leaning into that grace. I am kicking the ego out of its hiding place -- under a thin-skinned mortal sense of self. I am trusting Love to be impartial -- to pour It's grace upon us all - to refresh and renew every heart in the healing waters of God's all-presence.

offered with Love,

Kate

"He will not let go…"

"what lies ahead,
I'm not sure I know.
But the hands that holds,
this flailing soul,
He will not let go..."

Blinding pain ripped through my body like a bolt of lightning. In that moment, I didn't know what to think, or how to think. When it retreated, and darkness came again, it was like slipping beneath the surface of a cool dark pond. And I surrendered.

Until it came again. A screaming. A crashing. Something sharp and raw that shattered me into a million shards of pain and fear. All I wanted to do was let go and slip into oblivion. "Yes, that's right. Go ahead, and just let go," it whispered in a taunting hiss. And I considered it.  That was until I realized that even if I were to completely give up, give in, and let go, "He Will Not Let Go." of me.

I love this beautiful song by one of my favorite inspirational recording artists, Laura Story. Her music is so honest and simple that it takes my breath away.

There have been moments in my life when I've felt like giving up on my own ability to hold on. Times when the hurt was so deep, or the hopelessness so unfathomable, that looking beyond a single step felt impossible.

I remember that night - quite a few years ago now -- when the above-referenced pain was unbearable. Living with it seemed too much to bear.  Each minute felt like an eternity. Each tick of the bedside clock was torturous. As I lay there, it occurred to me that I could just give up, let go, and slip away. It would be so easy. The thought of it was so tempting.

But it was at this very moment, that I felt the presence of something profoundly clear. The thought came, "As if! As if your willingness to let go, would change the fact that I love you, and that I am holding on to you. You are the very manifestation of Me, as Life. I will not let go."

This single thought woke me up from the lie of self-determinism. It wrested from my grip, the false notion that I was in charge of my life. That it was mine to sustain, to choose, or to throw away. I realized that I had absolutely no power to make that choice. God had all the power, and He was holding on to me. He would never let go.

With the realization that I was powerless to give up, the pain began to retreat. It no longer had the authority I'd given it.  I no longer believed it could inform me about whether to hold on, or to give up and let go.  It was a decision that I'd always thought was mine to make. But the fact was, I was here, I was conscious. I still loved my children. I could still be grateful. I was still able to appreciate beauty.  Suddenly, I was no longer paralyzed by the pain and fear.  I was enveloped in an undeniable truth -- Life was insisting Itself as conscious existence - as me.

I asked myself, "In all your life, have you ever actually been aware of being unconscious?" I had to admit, I'd never experienced the kind of deep blackness.  I'd never existed without an awareness of "I AM" -- which was the very thing that I was so fearful of.  It was what I thought pain was a precursor to.  But in fact, every night I'd peacefully yielded to sleep -- without any fear of never waking up again or being relegated to a dark mental abyss. And every day, I woke up feeling a sense of uninterrupted being.

I had always been held -- deeply and inextricably held -- intact, in perfection, in grace, in consciousness. Life had never let go of me. And whether I was holding on or not, I was being held.

The pain that had terrorized me, lost its power to inform or alarm me when I realized that it could not carry out its threat. My life was in the hands of God.  My awareness of being was under the sovereignty of Mind. My right to love, to be grateful, to pray and to bless was intact.

I've been grateful for two statements - in particular - from the writings of Mary Baker Eddy, when acute or chronic pain has threatened to hold a deeper, darker meaning:

"No evidence before the material senses
can close my eyes to the scientific proof
that God, good, is supreme."

"Spirit’s senses are without pain,
and they are forever at peace.
Nothing can hide from them
the harmony of all things
and the might and permanence of Truth." 

Nothing can hide from me an awareness of God's tender hold on my life. Nothing can close my eyes to the love of my divine Parent. He will never let go.

While searching for a photo to illustrate this piece, I came across dozens of photos of us holding our daughters when they were babies.  And an online search turned up hundreds of photos of mothers and fathers holding their infants. They all looked so beautiful -- so full of tenderness, strength, and love.

Then I looked at the same photos, but imagined the parent out of the picture. The babies looked vulnerable, their positions awkward, their bodies small and fragile. It was exactly how I felt that night -- like a flailing, unsupported naked being exposed to the unknown.  Knowing that God was always there, holding me, changed everything that night -- from paralyzing fear to feeling that I was nestled in my Father's arms.  Held in a deep and abiding relationship with my divine Parent.

Whatever you might be facing, you are not facing it alone. God is holding you in perfect peace, in eternal Life, in tender love. He will not let go.

offered with Love,

Kate

"an audience of One..."

"Now I live, and I breathe,
for an audience of One."

I've used Sara Groves' "This Journey is My Own," as the keynote for a post from a couple of summers ago, but I'm not that girl -- and this is not that summer.

Rather than this being a song of encouragement for the "me" who I was then -- someone battling a desire to take the pulse of, please, and gain the approval of others. This post is about the kind of freedom that comes with living for "an audience of One."

And those "others" I was always living my life for, also seemed to include me. I wanted my own approval. I wanted to be the kind of person that I would admire. But I have discovered that -- in many cases -- this wasn't any different than wanting the approval of a family member, a friend, a community, or the world.

When I am trying to live my life in a way that I think will please others, I assume I've figured out what they want. Having an ultimate version of me in mind, I was always trying to move towards it. Whether it was to be the kind of person I've alway imagined myself to be, or the kind of person I think someone else wants from me, I've got got my sights set on something besides, "Thy will be done."

In that version of living, there's a legacy I'd like to leave, a mother I think my children would like me to be, a "someone" or "something" I could become that would please others. It is neither peaceful or inspired.

But then I look at the lives of the men and women I most admire and I realize that there is no way they could have been trying to please anyone -- even themselves -- besides God. Whether it's Jesus' willingness to disappoint his disciples -- by not praying himself free from the crucifixion, Mary Baker Eddy's loving response to her students' betrayal, or Mandela's stand for peace in the face of a nation's right to feel justifiable anger, it is clear to me that their journeys -- in moments of "choice" -- were strictly between them and God. And it was their intent to yield to, and please Him -- and Him alone.

How often are we urged to give -- or take -- advise about what should be done according to our own, or another's, best thinking about an issue, choice, or decision. It's hard, once someone tells us what they think is best, to take a different path. Their best thinking can only be right for them, and how they carry out their own choices, responsibilities, and decisions. I trust this. I can' help -- even when being invited to weigh in on someone's choices -- but remember the Philips Brooks' quote which reads:

""God has not given us vast learning
to solve all the problems,
or unfailing wisdom
to direct all the wanderings
of our brothers’ lives;
but He has given
to every one of us
the power to be spiritual,
and by our spirituality
to lift and enlarge
and enlighten
the lives we touch." 

Mary Baker Eddy noted, in her own hand -- following the appearance of this statement on a document found in her papers -- "The secret to my life is in the above."

I am trying to make it mine as well. For me, "to be spiritual" is to trust that we are all God-created, God-inspired, God-impelled, God-governed, and God-sent into every moment, situation, opportunity. It is the deep imperative, the call to go to God -- only -- for direction, guidance, and approval. It is the privilege of knowing that none of us is so wise, so powerful, or so self-determined as to be able to separate ourselves from Him, take our lives into our own hands, and make mistakes.

Even my own well-honed opinions about what I should, or shouldn't, do -- if not taken freshly to God in prayer -- can be just another outgrown best practice, and not the inspiration of the great IAM who is always present, in the present.

I am trying to be especially conscious of the subtle invitation to suggest how I think someone else might think or act -- or to judge their motives or actions. For me, it seems to fly in the face of the kind of trust that Mary Baker Eddy encourages in the second line of her "Daily Prayer," which reads:

"And may Thy Word
enrich the affections of all mankind,
and govern them." 

When we trust God's Word -- working as a moral agent in the heart of every man, woman, and child -- to enrich the affections for good, for His sense of what is right, for His plan for each of us, and for His path in pursuing it, we are free from the weight of trying to please ourselves or others. Only God -- always God. An audience of One.

shared with affection,

Kate