"first we fold in, then open out...."

"first we fold in,
then open out;
there is a faith
that's only found in doubt..."

This post did not start as an idea clothed in words. It started as a feeling. And then a name. Carrie Newcomer. So I went to Youtube and pulled up Carrie's station. The title,  "The Point of Arrival," gave words to the feeling. So I listened to the song -- which I'd never heard before. Yes. That was it. The feeling now had a sound, and a shape.

Now for the words. I woke up this morning and it was the feeling of kicking a ball that came to me. Now this is quite funny. For one thing, it is because I don't have any relationship to balls -- soccer balls, baseballs, basketballs. As a child I was ball-averse. I very much disliked anything that had to do with balls.

It wasn't till our daughters became soccer, volleyball, and Polocrosse athletes that I saw any reason to change my relationship to balls of any sport. And, at best, it was a distant relationship. One of an observer with a foreign object that seemed to have no purpose other than to come hurtling through space at you -- at random speeds.

So for me to wake up with the feeling of kicking a ball was actually quite arresting. So, as I do with all strange feelings, I sat with it. Thought about it. Plumbed it for some spiritual meaning.

Carrie's song helped me find what I was listening for. It is a paradox. One of my favorite things about being a conscious being, is being able to recognize a paradox and ponder it deeply.

This morning's paradox is all about the motion of kicking a ball forward. One has to drawn back the foot, in order to add velocity and distance. If you try to kick a ball from a straight leg, stationary, starting point it doesn't have near the speed, precision, or trajectory. Try it.

I have been praying about the hundreds of young men and women who will soon be leaving summer camps for the next legs of their life journey. I have heard some version of trepidation in their individual and collective voices. "I feel safe here. What if I'm not as funny, selfless, purposeful, focused when I leave here? What if I get too busy to read Scripture? What if I forget how it feels to pray?"

This concern is filled with a desire.  And it voices itself as either a desire stay longer in the place they are in, or to not have to "go back" to the life that they left before summer began -- to return to towns, friendships, school settings where they did not feel that they had previously been as kind or spiritually confident as they have been at camp.

I understand this feeling. I am feeling it too. This summer has been all about God's trajectory for my life. I have said, "yes," to opportunities that in other years I might have found a way to sidestep. In some instances I have returned to places where I'd made grave mistakes in the past -- in order to find peace and resolution. In other instances I have stepped back from my personal preferences -- for example: I like dry air and cool night, I like familiarity, I want to be near my dogs -- in order to walk forward into opportunities that were completely without a roadmap.

For those of you who are natural adventurers this might seem like a walk in the park. For me, a spiritual homebody, it was like waking up from that dream.  You know, the one where you have gone to school in your pajamas - and then realized it wasn't a dream. You actually are in math class and everyone is whispering about your flannel nightie.

But what I have been feeling today - as I've embraced this adventure - is the feeling of kicking a ball. Each time I have drawn back -- whether it is to return to a place I need to find redemption and healing in, or from my sense of personality, I am moving forward into the next moment with greater freedom, purpose, strength, and precision. Each time I have folded in and dealt with a past mistake or a deep fear of the unknown -- I open out with a new grace.

And in that motion, there is an almost imperceptible pause between the drawing back, and the moving forward. An immeasurable, timeless moment where I feel God's presence and power. It is as if, for a quadtrillisecond, there is an absolute stillness filled with peace - just before I am sent forward into the next moment - of being at play in the fields of the Lord.

This post may not make any sense to you. I am sorry if that is the case. Perhaps, I am writing it for the sole purpose of watching the feeling take shape in words. I don't know if writing this is a drawing back, the sweet pause, or the hurtling forward. But I know I am feeling God-sent this morning.

Each camper and counselor, in every camp around the world, who has spent time in servant leadership and spiritual self-discovery will soon return - be drawn back into - schools, friendships, towns, families where they will be poised for the pause -- and then they will be sent forward into a world so ready for the young men and women they have become. "Children" who are wiser, gentler, less self-focused, more intentional. And we will all be better for their summer of vision and service.

offered with Love,

Cate 

"grateful for it all…"

"All that I am,
all that I see,
all that I've been,
and all that I'll ever be..."

The other day someone asked me why I would encourage our daughters to work as camp counselors this summer -- long days, modest wages. I was stunned. I can't imagine encouraging them to do anything else. The above chorus from "Grateful: A Love Song…"  by Empty Hands Music, sprang into my heart. I hope you will take a moment -- or two -- and give it a listen.

Almost everything I am, and all that my children have become, I directly attribute to our years as campers, counselors, volunteers, and staff members at the Adventure Unlimited Ranches -- the opportunities for spiritual growth, wonderful mentors, and programs it offers. I do not say this lightly. I mean it with every ounce of my being.

Do I hope that my daughters will devote the rest of their lives to supporting and contributing to this organization and the programs that it provides for children, adults and families? Actually, yes. But, as much as I would hope that their hearts remain aligned with this extraordinary place -- one that lives in each of us -- my encouragement that they return to camp as counselors this summer embodies a larger dream for them.

It is gratitude. I dream that our children grow into global citizens that understand the gift of gratitude. Gratitude is much more than an "after the fact" feeling of thanks. It is a way of life. It is an empowering and sustaining way of being in the world.

No one -- and nothing -- can deprive us of our right to be grateful. And it is a right. A divine right. In the midst of the most trying times -- while facing poverty, homelessness, pain, disappointment -- we can become still enough to recognize that there is always something to be grateful for.

This gratitude is a upwelling power within us. When we realize that we are aware of some small measure of good in our lives -- good that we can be grateful for -- we bring that good into conscious being. And when we appreciate [are grateful for] this good, it begins to appreciate [grow in value] in our lives.

To live with this attitude of gratitude is to live in a state of conscious good -- of grace.

So back to camp. Yes, our family could find "jobs" that might let us sleep in later each morning, or that might recompense us in larger measure, but we will never -- and I mean never -- find a greater opportunity to nurture and develop the best in ourselves. To discover the full depth of our identities as grateful children of a generous Father-Mother God.

To give a summer -- or a lifetime -- to this "place" that has shown us our best - our most unselfed, and spiritually trusting - selves is the greatest gift we can give to ourselves. To wake each morning knowing that we will have countless opportunities to say, "thank you," through providing the same encouragement and support to a new generation of campers and camp colleagues, that we have experienced, is to live a life of beauty and joy.

Each morning that we rise in the semi-dark of dawn for staff inspirational, and every time I hear a knock on the door of my cabin after midnight, or see a camper and counselor praying together on their porch -- long after lights out -- I am grateful. And each time I catch a glimpse of a counselor alone in the corral caring for horses when the rest of camp is at dinner -- I am immeasurably grateful.  Not only am I grateful for what they are doing to support our horse program, but for what they are learning about their own ability to put self aside, in caring for the needs of another creature first.

Our daughters may have opportunities to pursue internships that could forward their professional careers.  They may be offered jobs that would contribute more significantly to our very modest college savings account.  But nothing will contribute more to them becoming their best selves, than a summer steeped in gratitude for what camp has done in their lives. A summer filled with appreciation for the spiritual values that have nurtured their "clear sense and calm trust," in God's love for them. A recognition that this same Love has afforded them priceless opportunities to attend camp every summer since they were big enough to sit on a horse.  And that Love is giving them another summer in which to say "thank you," to an organization that has so deeply blessed their lives.

So, why would I encourage our daughters to work at camp this summer? Because I can't imagine a job that will lead to a greater -- more fulfilling and satisfying -- life of gratitude, service, and joy. 

The friendships they will make, and foster, are friendships steeped in selflessness and spiritual strength. What more could I want for my children, my husband, myself -- the world?

Thank you Adventure Unlimited*. We are grateful. We are grateful for it all.


offered with love,



Kate

*for some families "camp" is represented by the Peace Corp, other summer camps, or the many non-profits that serve humanity in countless ways. This post celebrates the practice of selfless service to our common purpose -- the blessing of others, as we have been blessed.

"Does anybody hear her..."

"She is running
A hundred miles an hour
in the wrong direction...
Under the shadow of our steeple,
with all the lost and lonely people,
searching for all the hope
that's tucked away in you and me..."
Casting Crowns

I know this song...intimately.

Casting Crowns' "Does Anybody Hear Her?" could have been the song narrative to a chapter in my life.  A chapter filled with hope..and with despair.

When I "go there," it is the early 1980s and I am walking down a street paved with platinum and prosperity.  The setting is one of just a few American towns where there were more Bentleys parked on the streets, than Toyotas, and the average price of a restaurant meal was $200...in the 80s.   I was leaving a couture boutique where I'd gone to exchange a one-of-a-kind gift from the designer himself, for something "more to my liking," and as I passed the plate glass window of a another nearby boutique, and caught a glimpse of my perfectly manicured self glancing back at me, I felt as flat and brittle as the glass itself.  I knew that self could be shattered as easily as the fragile shell of a robin's egg...and it terrified me so much that I looked away quickly. 

On the surface, I seemed to have it all...the job, the boyfriend, the clothes, the car, the right neighborhood, the friends...and, the ever-present ache for something deeper.  I have come to learn that this yawning ache is the one thing that no amount of money, drugs, wine (even the best vintages...), designer clothing, plastic surgery, or "stuff" can fill.  It is the ache that we try to deaden with social anethesias, but never dies...it has life everlasting.   This is the hope that persists.  This is the insistent child, the pressing desire, the urgent "gaunt want" that, for me, is "the hunger and thirst for righteousness," that is always, and only, filled by the Christ.

Skip to another day...same year, same city, cars, clothes, shop windows, neighborhoods...but this time I am walking past another plate glass window.  In this window, what catches my eye, are a set of books.  Each one opened to pages tinted by years of pale blue chalk, marking out citations of scripture and related passages from Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures by Mary Baker Eddy.  I pause for just long enough to read each of the highlighted sections before walking on.

In that moment, I'm standing in front of a Christian Science Reading Room.  I can see the woman sitting at the desk in the room beyond.  She looks very nice.  I see her look up from her reading, smile, and return to her books. 

I wonder if they have a cassette deck and a tape recording of favorite folk hymns I loved as a teen.  I consider going in and asking, but I don't know how to cross the threshold of a doorway that seems a mile thick with guilt and regret.  Will she note the scent of wine I'd had with my power lunch?  Will she have some connection to the church-based school my mom works at?   Will she ask me if I realize that I "look just like" someone she knows at the school (my mom and I look quite alike)?  Will I bring embarrassment to my mom because of that glass, or two, of wine I'd had with my lobster salad. 

The woman doesn't look up from her books again.  The glass door with the beautifully etched words, "all are welcome" seems as heavy and impenetrable as the door of a bank vault, and I'm pretty sure that my account is no longer open.

So I walk on. 

It will take another few years, a different city, the love of a grandmother, the devotion of a mother, the kindness of a man I'd never met before, and a church community that stepped outside of itself, and boldly asked me (after only one visit to their Sunday service) if I wanted to help out in their Reading Room...to put me on the other side of that door.   The church member who approached me must have heard something I didn't think I'd even said.  And her response was to give me the opportunity to give of myself.  Somehow she knew it was what I needed most...to realize, that even in my brokenness, I had something to share...a desire to serve.

That next day, Monday, I arrived early for my "guest" shift (to plant flowers), shyly said "hello," then walked straight past my new friend (who was sitting at the attendant's desk), made a bee-line for the resource room, where I found the tape player, the cassette recording of the hymns I'd been missing for ten years, popped in the cassette, pressed play, heard the music,  and wept.  I was home.  And even though my family had indulged me earlier that weekend, singing some of those loved songs with me, it hadn't been the same as hearing the actual recording, and feeling like a deserved to be there,,,in a Reading Room...ready, willing, and eager to serve.

Another city, another plate glass window. 

I am the woman behind the desk in the Reading Room.  The door is wide open.  I see a young girl standing outside looking in the window...I smile, get up from the Scriptural study I am immersed in, walk out the door, and join her in front of the window.  It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood.  There are balloons tied to the parking meter in front of our building.  A couple of chairs have been pulled out onto the sidewalk.  The music is wafting from inside, and out to where we sit and talk about...well, just anything she wants to talk about.  No agenda.  We are two women who have stopped long enough to find God in a moment of fellowship.  It is enough.

I hope she felt heard.  I did.  We were there for eachother...no hierarchy of spiritual vision or inspiration.  Her questions were my questions, and God had all the answers for both of us.

so grateful,

Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

Here is the story behind Mark's writing of "Does anybody Hear Her?"  The story is a compelling. The song is worth hearing again.

And if you would like to read an earlier telling of a different facet of this experience, here is the link to  "In Mercy, In Goodness" from October of 2008.

"I saw what I saw, and I can't forget it..."

"Your courage asks me
what I'm afraid of,
and what I know of Love..."

I love Sara Groves music.  Her song, "I Saw What I Saw," underscores what I have discovered through my work with adolescents who are under hospice care.  My husband, after hearing this song said, "She knows you, doesn't she?"  Yes, she knows me. 

But I believe that this song must resonate with every humanitarian, spiritual caregiver, counselor, or aid worker who has every taken the admonition to "heal the sick, cleanse the lepers, feed the poor, visit the fatherless and widows, care for the untouchable, loose the prisoner of his bonds."  I believe that these demands on us are not about our own nobility and another's want or need, but a Father's lessons in grace. Lessons in which we -- as caregivers -- discover our true identity and worth. And the "cared for" are graciously allowing us to learn from them about courage and humility. 

Hospice is just one of the many classrooms I have been privileged to enter, and it has changed me.  But I have also been changed by reading to children and counseling moms in a battered women's shelter,  by serving meals at a homeless center, and by serving as a chaplain in hospitals, prisons, and jails.  However it is my time as a hospice volunteer that has taught me the most about courage and hope.

Hospice care provides support to patients and their families through palliative care, life transition counseling, and pastoral (or spiritual) care,   Hospice services are provided in hospitals, private facilities, and in homes where patients can live surrounded by their loved ones and in an environment that is familiar to them.  

This volunteering was not connected with my work as a Christian Science practitioner (providing spiritual treatment) or under the auspices of hospital chaplaincy.  This was simply an opportunity for me to give at a time when I desperately needed to feel that I could make a difference.  It was about hand-holding, cool compresses, warm blankets, and listening -- lots and lots of listening.

And this work did change me.  It asked me what I was so afraid of. It asked me to consider what I was really made of. And it asked me what I truly knew of God -- of impartial and universal Love.

I remember one night when a young patient watched as his mother slept fitfully by his side, slumped in exhaustion. He summoned every bit of strength he had to reach out and touch her face. 

I remember a father who worked two jobs to pay for medications so that his daughter could live pain free, even though his rigorous work schedule deprived him of precious time with her.

The teenager who surmounted his own fear of death so that he could sit at the bedside of a friend. And the tired nurse who found the inner strength needed to comfort yet another family who'd received an unthinkable diagnosis.

Through this work I have learned that questions about death are irrelevant to those who are living with every fibre of their being -- one moment at a time.  Living "in the moment" is not a self-help ideal, it is a present awareness of the power of Life asserting itself. 

Our Father-Mother God loves us. He/She wants us to discover the depth of our living. Loves us enough to ask that we go to the bed of pain, walk with our brethren along the road of want, lift up the broken and despairing -- and with each step, be made new.

I saw what I saw and I can't forget it
I heard what I heard and I can't go back
I know what I know and I can't deny it

Something on the road,
cut me to the soul..." 

offered with Love,

Kate

"I wish I had a river..."

"It's coming on Christmas,
they're cuttin down trees
They're puttin up reindeer
and singing songs of joy and peace.

I wish I had a river
I could skate away on

It don't snow here, it stays pretty green
I'm gonna make a lot of money
And I'm gonna quit this crazy scene.

I wish I had a river
I could skate away on...

I wish I had a river so long
I could teach my feet to fly

Oh, I wish I had a river,
I could skate away on…"
- Joni Mitchell

Joni Mitchell's "River," was my anthen one Christmas almost 30 years ago.  I was house-sitting, living alone in the hills above Malibu and I knew no one.  I had accepted my sister's offer to come to Los Angeles, while she and her husband worked out of state for six months.  She had suggested that it might be the perfect opportunity for me to clear my head…and my heart…after a long-term relationship had ended.  It sounded like a good idea,   I needed a fresh perspective on everything – relationships, life purpose, dreams and desires –  and a change of scenery would do my heart good.  It also came at a good time for me as a teacher.  So that summer I decided to not renew my teaching contract, sold (or gave away) everything that wouldn't fit in a small suitcase and an orange crate, and drove over three thousand miles in five days.  I arrived in the land of movie stars and palm trees on Labor Day weekend and had a job by the time my sister left to join her husband a week later. 

However, by Thanksgiving Los Angeles had lost its romance and sparkle for me.  I was lonely and scared.  My daily commute took an hour each way and my paycheck didn't go as far in the land of milk and honey, as it had in rural New England. 

I wanted to go "home", but I couldn't afford the gas or a plane ticket, and I had committed to caring for my sister's house and pets until they returned. 

Each evening I would return to their tiny cottage in the Malibu hills, walk and feed the dogs, and then I would put Joni on the turntable and wait for the first strains of, "It's coming on Christmas…" - and cry.  

I thought about buying a little tree and decorating it with tiny white lights, like I had every year since high school.   But each night as I drove past the Christmas tree lot on my way home from work I would see this wild-haired guy selling them in a tee-shirt and shorts, while Christmas carols blared in the background against the roar of the flocking machine…and I'd get even more depressed.  Just the thought of a pink, blue or yellow flocked pine tree made me want to point the nose of my car east and drive until I ran out of gas…wherever it was…and never look back.  And anyway, my mother and six of my younger siblings would all be in the Midwest for Christmas, so who would I have to enjoy it with.

One evening I decided to walk the dogs by the lake at the bottom of my sister's hill, and there I saw a flyer posted on the bulletin board outside of the village community center.  They were looking for volunteers to help with the Annual Christmas pageant.  The children in this small village put on a show each December and it was completely run by parents and other volunteers from the lakeside community.  I was a teacher, or at least I had been "back home" (sniff, sniff) and I loved working with children on theatre projects.  I took the dogs back up the hill, fed them and grabbed a sweatshirt before heading back for that night's rehearsals. 

Within minutes of walking through the door I was put to work.  There were shepherd's crooks to make out of wire and duct tape, a baby doll needed to be painted a soft cocoa brown to match the ten-year old "Mary's" complexion, and they actually needed someone to take the lead on designing flyers to advertising the one performance of the season, and I got tapped to do it.  All of a sudden, I was part of something…I belonged somewhere.

Within days I had neighbors, friends, and invitations for one Christmas gathering after another.  Soon, the play's director was calling me at work to see if I could look for the blue satin for Mary's scarf on my lunch hour.  A mom would bring an extra croissant to rehearsals in case I hadn't had time to eat after work.  A dad who worked for the school district brought me the postings for open teaching positions in the district and offered to act as a local reference.  And the nicest thing of all… if, because of my commute I was late to rehearsals, there were people who actually knew that I wasn't where I was supposed to be, and were relieved when I finally arrived.

One night after rehearsals I offered to bring some costumes home for altering and suggested that a mom and her three young actors come by for a fitting very early the next morning before school and work.  The littlest girl noticed immediately that I didn't have a Christmas tree and I assured her that I was fine since most of my time was spent at the community center where we had a big Christmas tree set up.  And I was…I was loving my time with my neighbors, and I had been invited to join the family of three shepherds and an angel for Christmas dinner.  I didn't need my own Christmas tree.  We finished the fittings and we were all out the door as the sun came up. 

Later that day, I stopped at the tree lot and bought a tiny little tree from the guy in shorts. As I pulled up in front of my sister's cottage to walk the dogs before rehearsals I realized that my little tree wasn't just for me…it was for everyone who loved me and needed to know that I was going to be alright.

I pulled the tree, already positioned on a small stand, into the living room and before long I had it strung with sparkling white lights and had carefully placed the glitter-covered pine cones and hand-cut paper snowflakes I had received from some of the children I had become friends with through our rehearsals, on its branches.

The dogs had been let out, but were eager for their walk in the hills behind the house so off we went as dusk set in.  When we came back up over the hill toward the house I stopped in my tracks.  Through the front window I could see my Christmas tree.  It sparkled like diamonds and beckoned me home. 

As I left for that night's rehearsal I felt the warmth of home and hearth…family and friendship…something I never thought I could feel in a place where they sell Christmas trees in shorts and tee-shirts under palm trees.

I had learned that when you give your heart…and your hands…in helping others…you can find home, family, community and friendship anywhere. 

As we sang Silent Night holding hands in our drafty community center at the close of the Christmas pageant, I could actually feel that sense of home and family radiating out from this small village through the starry night to embrace those who felt lonely or lost…wherever in the world they might be.  Today I realize that I always had a river to skate away on. God had given me a heart from which a river of love, a river of giving, a river of service to others flowed…and that I could always skate away on it's solid presence…far, far away from loneliness, depression, or sadness.  We all do.
Kate

"Teach your parents well..."

"You who are on the road
Must have a code that you can live by
And so become yourself
Because the past is just a good bye…"
- Graham Nash

Last Saturday we graduated our son and 61 of his friends from high school.  It was a commencement full joy and tears.  There was the traditional hymn of welcome as the seniors entered the gym.  It begins:

"In heavenly love abiding
No change my heart shall fear
For safe is such confiding
For nothing changes here…"
- Waring

This is the part where I usually cry.  But this year I didn't.  I know these young men and women.  I know their hearts, their dreams, their concerns and their hopes.  They were ready.  I wasn't ready for them to switch their tassels and launch out far beyond the coffeehouse I often run into them at, but they are more than ready to change the world they live in through service to others and ethical choices.

There were inspirational readings and speeches, more songs and the distribution of diplomas…but it was this statement, from one of the members of the Class of 2007, that I scribbled (I learned a long time ago, that when kids talk…have a pen ready) onto my blue and gold embossed program:

"The only failure is not taking the risk to serve."

This axiom from Zachary Lee Barron (make note of this name, I am certain that you will see it again) symbolized, for me, the heart of this generation.  It is a message that they bring to the table for each of us…young, and those with more calendar days under our belts…to chew on, digest, and hopefully assimilate into our very being.  It is this message that they breathe into the atmosphere of their future and I intend to inhale deeply.

Zach went on to quote Nelson Mandela (a man who didn't join a peace movement..but IS one) in his riveting remarks and, for me, time stood still.  This young man is the offspring of my generation, the "make love, not war" children of the 70s…but with an added grace and a fire in his belly for reform that is tempered by wisdom.  I know Zach and his friends…they will make a difference.  They give me great hope that it is possible to turn the tide of self-indulgent consumerism and bad boy/girl-based celebrity around.  They'll make service to others, the ethical use of resources, and personal integrity a tsunami-like catalyst for change.

"…And you of tender years
Can't know the fears
That your elders grew by
And so please help Them
with your youth
They seek the truth…"

So, as I walked out of McCalmont Gymnasium on June 5, 2007, the future looked brighter.  I clutched my program with Zach's statement scribbled on it, to my heart…it was 1972 and 2007 all at once. No, they can never fully know what fears we have faced down in getting from there to here…but perhaps we have provided them with waymarks, a rallying cry, and some very strange costumes along the road towards their own peace movement.  And maybe, just maybe…if we leave our bell bottoms and love beads in the attic…they will let us join them…shoulder to shoulder as they lead the way.  If their code is "The only failure is not taking the risk to serve", I want a to march with them all along the way.

"...Don't you ever ask them why, if they told you, you would cry,
So just look at them and sigh and know they love you..."

Thanks Zach…and to the Class of 2007 – wherever you are around the world - please ,

"Feed us on your dreams…"

with love, hope, and expectation,
Kate

Living with a Kingdom within

Always remember you have within you
the strength, the patience and the passion
to reach for the stars
to change the world.
- Harriet Tubman

This quote has been sitting on my desk (okay, the sideboard in our dining room where I sit to write) for two weeks.  It is typed, exactly as you see it above, as the inspirational header for a letter to donors from our local Children's Museum...one of the best in the world.

I have been looking at it because I have needed this reminder that what I need to take the next steps in my life are already deep within me like a clear, still, constant well of water...fathomless and reliable.  Jesus referred to this depth of being within as "the kingdom of heaven"....I like thinking that there is an entire, self-sustaining kingdom within me operating under the divine guidance of a benevolent, wise and generous King.  That His proclamations of purpose, movement, stillness, service...are offered to me, His waiting subject.....eager and ready to serve Him...with vision and affection that inspire my loyalty, obedience, passion, courage and vigor.

It is all already within me.  I just have to listen, with my face turned up towards the balcony where He delivers his messages of mission and purpose from....and I will always know what to do....well-prepared by my love for Him to serve him with devotion and grace...humility and honor.  He will place the armor, which bears his seal on my life and I will be able to carry out that mission safely and wisely.

So how can I know what my mission is....I have to know the language that is indigenous in this Kingdom.   What is the language spoken in this place, by my King....is it the language of fear, as in "If I don't go to this college, I am afraid that I may never succeed" or is it Love as in "I love theater arts and this school has a great Theater Arts department that would really give me the opportunity to share my talents".  Is the language spoken in the kingdom one of dissatisfaction "I am so sick of this job that I just have to get out of here to be happy" or one of satisfaction, "I have had such a complete experience with this job that I feel that I have learned all that I can learn and blessed the department as fully as I can and am so eager to move forward towards new opportunities for growth and sharing my love for this (or another) industry, trade, art form or discipline."

I always ask myself if the message that is being delivered from the balcony (in my thinking) is consistent with the character and nature, language and vision of the King.  Does it encourage me to trust Him, does it afford me the opportunity to grow in grace - "patience, meekness, love and good deeds"  - is it LOVE based...or does it try to use fear as a manipulative tool for getting me off course....and fear is a language that we just don't use, give attention to, understand or comprehend in this Kingdom.

I like having a Kingdom within me....As a young girl I was fascinated with anything "Arthur"....after Camelot (the film) came out in theatres I was even more obsessed. I read anything that included tales of noblesse oblige, the Round Table, and a kingdom where it "never rained till after sundown...July and August cannot be too hot ". My first formal dress I designed to look like Guinevere's wedding gown in the movie. It was a long sheath made from a heavy metallic fabric, with belled sleeves and a fine chain belt resting just below my waist. My hair was haloed in a thin garland of holly (it was a Christmas dance) and I wore ballet slippers that allowed me to walk with the quiet dignity of a queen...or so I thought. In reality I was a high school sophmore with soggy pink ballet slippers and my beautiful silvery dress was so heavy I could barely slow dance...forget about doing anything more energetic....but, I digress....

Those years of loving all things Camelot and Arthur gave me many mental images for considering this Kingdom within. I think about it as being a Kingdom that never sleeps....there is always something going on there.  When I am resting, the cook is up before dawn preparing the stillness that will sustain me through the day, the guards are at the gate keeping watch and admitting only those messengers that serve the King's mission and purpose.  I love thinking that the tailor is mending the garments of praise, and the panoply (the tunic worn by the standard bearer with the King's crest on it which announces the purpose of our crusade) of Love.  I am emboldened by the thought that every step I take on the cobbled paths in this kingdom have been worn smooth by the faithful feet of other servants, knights, maidens and guards, princesses and minstrels. I especially love thinking that a wise Sage, like the Merlin archetype is giving me the wisdom that will protect me from foolishness and folly.

So....today, I wait within the walls of the Kingdom, serving in the scullery or preparing for another mission, to share the King's love throughout the countryside, as his courier....currying my horse, preparing my pack....ready for the call of the trumpeters from the King's chambers...the voice of Love in my heart... signaling that a new message, a mission, is being delivered from the balcony.... I think I will go to the foot of the cross and wait to hear what He has in store for us today.  I am ready to serve my King...K

In short, there's simply not
a more congenial spot
for happily-ever-aftering
than here in Camelot.
- Alan Jay Lerner