"Unfallen"

"...I am a good child Born of God's breath Whatever would try to shake me Deliver me almighty one... Show me the ways of purity Teach me Thy paths where I'm to be A lamb of God Never will stray out on his own God is my stay, I'm not alone There's never a chance of falling..." -     Michelle Armstrong

Yesterday we launched the new design for my website.  It has been an extraordinary journey with two remarkable friends.  My sister, Fawn, was the Soul-filled, patient, creative, and visionary designer. And my long-time friend, and website guru, Mark Peesel, took her vision and turned it into pixels and code and voila...binary beauty!   The first time I saw all of the elements together, integrated into one lovely space, I burst into tears.  It was like looking at a beautiful painting that used every color in my heart.  The tones, images, music, text...were a perfect articulation of how I feel about my work, my journey, and the stories that I share with others about God's presence in my life.  Stories that often leave me feeling a bit naked.  This new design clothes my heart in radiant garments I could never have imagined for myself.  I feel a bit like Cinderella who may have imagined a pretty dress, but not the "something quite magical, and beyond her wildest hopes and dreams" that her fairy Godmother had in Mind. Thank you Mark and Fawn (and Mark's codemaster, Ryan)...you have made it happen...and I am so touched by your willingness to spend this last year tweaking, and editing, and adjusting colors, spacing, text, and images to get it "just right."  You have built a home for my heart, an office for my work, a retreat for the tired, a soft, supple, buttery-to-the-touch binding for the stories I tell.  And to each of the photographers* who have given me permission to share their images...I am so grateful. So back to tonight's song. The above lyrics are from "Unfallen."  It is the first song you will hear if you visit my website,

www.thoughtgentlywhispers.com

You can also get there through the portals of: www.katerobertsoncs.com, www.growthingrace.com, or www.prayerbasedsolutions.com.  "Unfallen" is followed by Mindly Jostyn's "In His Eyes." A song that I wrote a post about last January, also titled, "In His Eyes."  (Thank you to Mindy's family for honoring me with permission to use her extraordinary song,  of compassion and healing, on the site.) Now for "Unfallen." I've known Michelle Armstrong since she was a girl...a camper, a counselor, chef, a "gentle beam of living love" whose smile could light up the dark places of the earth, and whose voice, when floating between the willowy aspens and lodgepole pines, at camp,  was like the purest of rare oils poured on the roiling emotions and  churning fears of teen who were facing extreme adventures, navigating new interpersonal terrain, and finding their way through the forest of identity and society.  Hearing her sing hymns and lullabies to campers...once she became a counselor herself...was akin to watching a horse whisperer gentle the thrashings of a wild mustang.  Mi and I have stayed most closely in touch over the years, through her mommy, Laura.  Laura is a friend and colleague.  She is a Christian Science nurse whose practice of "comfort's art" inspires and humbles me each summer as we partner in caring for children at camp.  Her touch is gently, her eyes are kind, her voice is sweet, and her laughter is light.  But don't be fooled,  her trust in God is as firm, strong, and resilient with conviction as one of the steel cables used for belaying campers at the high ropes course.   Michelle and her sister Heather, have learned well...from their mommy, the art and science of compassion.  My love for Mi's music goes back as far as I can remember.  I loved watching her from across the lawn on the porch of her cabin cradling her guitar and softly working through chords and lyrics as she crafted new songs she would later play to her campers at bedtime, sing at the end-of-session variety show, perform during a reunion talent showcase, or harmonize with her friends on stage of Valerie Lodge as we sang "Whither" by the candle light to campers on the last night of camp. She is a brilliant songsmith and an extraordinary talent.  Her star is bright with promise.  And that promise is due, as much...if not more, to her motives for sharing her music.  She is, at her core, a healer.  A nurse.  A artist painting with the colors of love, joy, peace, and purity. So it was no surprise when I saw her performing at a spirituality-based youth conference for teens who had gathered to explore global activism from a spiritual perspective. She was, as always, breath-taking.  Performing with a number of other great musicians, she "rocked the house."   There were familiar songs off her CDs, "Apples," and "Lemons"...and new offerings as well. I enjoyed every moment of that evening's entertainment.  And it would have been enough to satisfy my craving for a bit of Mi live...at least for another year....   But when we ask God for bread, we are not given a stone...however beautiful a gem-stone it may be.  I needed something more that weekend.  I needed a gentle reminder that my hand had never left the firm grasp of my Father-Mother God.  That He/She was holding me, guiding me, guarding me...even when I seemed to have wandered off the trail.  I needed to know that my path, however bramble-infested, circuitous, or meandering, had never taken me into an abyss...one I feared I'd never be able to fully return from...no matter how hard I tried. And that wasn't an easy thing for me to remember that weekend.  I was surrounded by former acquaintances, and work colleagues, I hadn't seen in years.  Years that could only be characterized, from the outside, as a long chapter in the wilderness, and interpreted...by some...as full of missed signposts, and detours.  Yes, there were truly, lovely instances of affection and recognition, and  I was deeply grateful for sweet moments of warmth and kindness, but there were also fear-based perceptions, misinterpreted moments of chilly dismissal.  But whether it was intended or not, it was what I thought I was feeling.  And it left my heart shivering with self-doubt, and wishing for a dark corner to curl up in and retreat from the demons of despair, hopelessness, and regret. I'd gone hoping to serve, and although I'd thoroughly enjoyed every moment of sharing my love for spiritual healing with teens and adult participants as planned, by Sunday morning I just wanted to keep walking past the appointed place for our worship service, and continue off into the woods until it was time for the closing celebration.  I'd thought about having "church" by myself, in the room I shared with another volunteer, and had even gone there after breakfast, deciding to pray and read Scripture alone, when something literally propelled me off the bed, and out the door.   As I walked through a gentle spring mist, along the gravel road, up a knoll, and over a series of rolling hillocks towards the "chapel" my heart felt as if it were just too heavy to carry.  I arrived at the service during the first hymn and found a seat off to the side, and behind, a group of folks whom I'd "felt" a distance, an uncharacteristic coolness, from all weekend.  Although we'd worked closely together in the past,  that weekend it seemed as if I couldn't bridge an invisible chasm, and it left me feeling sadder than I'd felt in a very long time. I don't remember the Scriptural selections, but I do remember praying The Lord's Prayer, and quite literally,  in silence, weeping those words, "Forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors,"  then hearing Mary Baker Eddy's spiritual interpretation echoing back, "and Love is reflected in love" ...wondering if I had the right to even hope to feel the audacity of renewal,...to hope for hope.   As I sat there, shoulders quaking, wishing I could melt into the carpet below me, or disperse...like vapor...into the air circulating through the rafters above us...sitting as still as a scared bunny in the grass, I heard the first heart-stopping chords from Michelle's guitar.  The low, warm tones reached deep, deep, deeper down inside of me to find the place that felt cold and small, each syllable breathing fresh, soft life onto what were the dying embers of self-worth.  The clear, crisp, refreshing air of Truth gently fanning a barely flickering flame of hope that I might still have something left to give, that I could possibly bring gifts that were still of value, or that my heart could, perhaps, make a difference in someone's life that day. I don't remember one word of the service that followed Mi's solo that morning. I'd drunk her words until they overflowed from the vessel that was my heart, pouring over me, through me, around me...cleansing, baptizing, lifting me like a small sailboat over and above the rocky shoals of selfjudgment, sorrow, suggestion, and despair to where "the winds and waves can shock, oh nevermore." There are no words to describe the healing power of Mi's song, "Unfallen" in my life. I left that community gathering peaceful and whole. In Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, Mary Baker Eddy helps us see that,

"If we would open their prison doors for the sick, we must first learn to bind up the broken-hearted."

Sometimes the broken heart that needs binding...is our own.  We must have whole hearts ourselves, if we are to open the prison doors for the sick, and fellow travelers who are longing for freedom from sin and sorrow. Eddy also says that:

"Whatever inspires with wisdom, Truth, or Love - be it song, sermon, or Science - blesses the human family with crumbs of comfort from Christ's table, feeding the hungry and giving living waters to the thirsty."

Mi's song did all that...and more.  I am forever grateful. Later I contacted Michelle, to tell her about the healing I'd experienced during her sacred performance, to inquire if there would be a recording of it in the future, and to ask her permission for extending it as a musical welcome for  visitors to my website...my virtual office...and she said, "yes."  I visit often. It has been the soundtrack of my resurrection ever since, and I can't stop listening to it.  It is a constant reminder that baptism, redemption, and hope are not only possible....but promised.  "Unfallen" still reaches in, and it recalibrates my heart, each time I hear it. This song speaks to each of us.  It is Christ's message of salvation and purity, innocence and freedom.   I believe that every man, woman, and child hungers to feel, and know, that they are, at the core of their being, inviolate and untouched.  I hope you will let yourself be bathed in the warm beauty of its purity, refreshed by its promise, and buoyed by its message of your inherent worth as "a good child". Thank you Mi, I love you so very much. Your music fills the world with beauty and my heart with peace....healing, redeeming, overpowering, resurrecting peace. with Love, Kate Kate Robertson, CS * artists whose images have blessed my website...and whose friendship continues to bless my life:
Nathaniel Wilder Erin Laningham Rachel Laningham Megan Laningham Ashley Bay Fawn Talmon Caitlin Moss Lila June Jones Collin Wolfe Susan Golay Sune Tamm-Buckle Floyd Jones A. Paulson "Edge Fog" original painting by Duncan Martin

"in restless dreams…."

"in restless dreams
I walk alone,
narrow streets
of cobblestone…"

Emiliana Torrini's hauntingly beautiful recording Simon and Garfunkel's "Sound of Silence," was waiting for me when I woke this morning. This may not be an obvious "spiritual" post. And I am not really even sure I will be able to make the written connection that I feel in my heart. But this blog is all about speaking from experience -- honest experience -- and this is mine. So here goes.

I am a prolific dreamer. This is not something I am alarmed by -- at least, not any longer. As a child I was what is referred to as a lucid dreamer. I only had to close my eyes and I would dream. Often two or more dreams at once. I was aware I was dreaming. I could turn my head and change from one dream to another -- depending on the level of terror, or joy, a particular dream was evoking at that moment. When I'd return to the dream, whatever had disturbed my peace would have passed, and I could re-engage with what brought me respite from reality.

No, I am not kidding. My childhood was pretty scary. These dreams were my escape from the "real" terror of being me, in the world I was living in.

I became very adept at initiating these dream-retreats from reality. I believed that they saved me from madness. I still do. As I grew up, and discovered prayer, I was less inclined to disappear and more willing to stay in the moment, where I would pray for clarity, courage, and a calm trust in the power of good to overthrow evil.

But there was one dream scenario that I hoped would never fully disappear from my life. In it, I walked the narrow stone streets of an ancient village. The pages I held were not in book form, but in scrolls. I read hungrily, as the sun warmed my shoulders, and the scent of lavender swarmed like honey bees around my head. 

I was often alone, but occasionally I sensed someone by my side. If I turned to look at my companion, the dream would end, and I would be back in my bunk bed, alone in the dark -- facing the terror of a long night, just waiting for dawn. If I continued -- without turning, I stayed in the warm sunshine, reading from fragile pages, until morning. At some point, I just stopped turning to see who was with me.

As childhood turned into young womanhood, the presence of this "other," was something I actively sought out when darkness threatened. If I thought that I would even catch a glimpse of "him," I would close my eyes to avoid waking. I wanted nothing to interrupt those hours of peace where I was wise, innocent, and free.

Then in 1971, I was hiding away -- tucked into the crooked arm of a tree, my little aqua transistor radio playing as I read -- when Simon and Garfunkel's 1965 hit, Sound of Silence, came on. I can't explain why I'd never caught the lyrics before -- perhaps because I'd really only heard it on the car radio with 5 other siblings talking and screaming in the backseat with me -- but for the first time they spoke directly to me. I'd been there too -- on those narrow streets, during restless dreams. I felt known.  And I felt not so alone in the universe.

I can't tell you what all this means. I only know that, suddenly,  I wasn't so lonely and afraid of my life anymore. You see, no matter how many times I'd been told that God loved me, I didn't believe the person saying it really knew what they were talking about. They were referring to a God that I could accept was loving and good. But they didn't know me, and all the darkness I had faced.  

They didn't know all the terrible things that had changed me from a little girl, to a creature who escaped her nightly terror by retreating into dreams of ancient villages and make believe stories.  I could believe all they said about God, but not that He could possibly love me.  But the "other" that I walked with in my dreams was warm, kind, quietly present.

It would be another 30 years before I would have the courage to open my eyes in a dream, and look into the face of the person who'd shadowed me during those long walks down the narrow streets of a warm village. I was not disappointed.

I guess what I am trying to say is, don't be afraid. You are not alone. In Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, Mary Baker Eddy makes this remarkable -- and deeply compassionate -- statement of encouragement:

"Whatever inspires
with wisdom, Truth, or Love 
— be it song, sermon, or Science — 
blesses the human family
with crumbs of comfort
from Christ’s table,
feeding the hungry
and giving living waters
to the thirsty." 

Those dreams, and later the song that made me feel "understood," were crumbs of comfort from Christ's table for me. Now, when these dreams come in the night -- they are sweet reminders of God's love for the little girl I was, and the woman she was allowed to become.

You see, you just never know where someone is, what they are facing in the darkness, how they are navigating the narrow streets, or who they are being chased by in the night.  And you never know whether it is the "waking dream or the sleeping dream," that seems more terrifying to them.  But if you can just "be there." Silently when needed, and sometimes without a face -- but always with a prayer, there will come a time when they will find their way into the light. And they will remember -- and give thanks. I promise.

offered with Love,

Kate

"When You Believe..."

"Many nights we've prayed
With no proof anyone could hear
In our hearts a hopeful song
We barely understood..."

I was sitting at my desk earlier this week when my daughters came in and one asked, "Mom, why are you watching a cartoon movie?"  "Because, " I countered,  "Mrs. Eddy (Mary Baker Eddy, author of "Science & Health") says, 'Whatever inspires with wisdom, Truth, or Love -- be it song, sermon or Science - blesses the human family with crumbs of comfort from Christ's table, feeding the hungry and giving living waters to the thirsty.'  And today it's all about this song for me," I replied.  "Cool," she said, "so this is how you work?"  "Yup," says I.  "I want to work with you," she said, and sat down in my lap to listen.  Her sister joined us.  So, there we were.  Three spiritual thinkers listening to a cartoon Miriam singing to her cartoon brother Moses about hope, and faith, and miracles.

We listened to it over and over again.  Calls came in from those needing help. I took the calls, we listened...and prayed with the spirit of that song.  It was a precious window on my "office" for these daughters who are usually quite willing to read Scripture with me and pray for their friends who are hurt or sad.

It was also a sweet moment of things "coming full circle."  When the girls were just wee ones, I was in a particularly dark place emotionally.  I felt like I was, as Eddy says, "…walking wearily through the great desert of human hopes…" and not even close to anticipating the promised joy, much less finding it, when DreamWorks released "Prince of Egypt."  Our older daughter and I went to see it in the theatre and I had to excuse myself halfway through Tzipporah's singing of "When You Believe."  As I stood in the hallway of the theatre…just outside the screening room…trying to settle my uncontrollable sobbing, I realized that this was what I wanted more than anything else....her unassailable kind of faith.  I wanted to be just like an animated Miriam striving to let hope be more powerful to me than the looming emptiness of the human landscape.  It didn't matter whether that landscape threatened to be an endless emotional, physical, or economic wilderness. The shifting sands of specificity were nothing to a woman with an unshakeble faith in her God who is All-in-all to her. 

For weeks after leaving the theatre I would find myself aching to hear that song again, and finally went out and bought the soundtrack…and later the DVD when it came out.  But there were very scary scenes depicting the plagues on the DVD…scenes that left our older daughter unsettled and shaken. So the DVD was put away and the soundtrack started accompanying me in the Jeep wherever I went.  Clara & Emma from their carseats behind me, quickly learned the Hebrew chorus phonetically and would sing along in full voice.  Some days, when I was feeling particularly in need of its message of encouragement, I would bundle us all into the car, roll the windows down, turn the volume up and we would drive through the Colorado sunshine singing and crying and praying with our whole hearts, and souls, and voices…for a miracle.

And miracles came.

A healed heart, an answered prayer, a cry heard in the darkest wilderness by a loving Father-Mother God.   These were the simple reminders of His ever-present care, sweet moments when Her guiding hand was felt at the small of my back.

Sitting in my office that morning with the girls…singing this beautiful hymn of hope, and joy, and praise…lifting our hearts, hands, and lives in praise to Him, I could almost hear the voices of my babies singing words in Hebrew they didn't even know they knew, speaking and singing "in tongues." They may not have known the meaning of the words, but they knew the spirit of its message in the depths of their being. Something ancient and eternal speaking to, and singing out from, them.

Today it's all about this song…but then it's always about a song with God and me.

Below are the full lyrics and a link to a video of Michelle Pfeiffer and Sally Dworsky's version of "When You Believe" with Hebrew by Ofra Haza.

It is my prayer of hope for each of us,
Kate
[and if you really want to experience this song "in tongues," treat yourself to this video of "When you Believe" being sung in 28 languages at once...it is so remarkable and feels like a virtual moment of "pentecostal glory"]

"When you Believe"
Many nights we've prayed
With no proof anyone could hear
In our hearts a hopeful song
We barely understood
Now we are not afraid
Although we know there's much to fear
We were moving mountains long
Before we knew we could

There can be miracles
When you believe
Though hope is frail
It's hard to kill
Who knows what miracles
You can achieve
When you believe
Somehow you will
You will when you believe

In this time of fear
When prayer so often proved in vain
Hope seemed like the summer birds
Too swiftly flown away
And now I am standing here
With heart so full I can't explain
Seeking faith and speaking words
I never thought I'd say

There can be miracles
When you believe
Though hope is frail
It's hard to kill
Who knows what miracles
You can achieve
When you believe
Somehow you will
You will when you believe

Ashira l'adonai ki gaoh ga-ah
Ashira l'adonai ki gaoh ga-ah
Mi chamocha baelim adonai
Mi kamocha nedar bakodesh

Nachita v'chas-d'cha am zu ga-alta
Nachita v'chas-d'cha am zu ga-alta
Ashira ashira ashira

Ashira l'adonai ki gaoh ga-ah
Ashira l'adonai ki gaoh ga-ah
Mi chamocha baelim adonai
Mi kamocha nedar bakodesh

Nachita v'chas-d'cha am zu ga-alta
Nachita v'chas-d'cha am zu ga-alta
Ashira ashira ashira

There can be miracles
When you believe
Though hope is frail
It's hard to kill
Who knows what miracles
You can achieve
When you believe
Somehow you will
Now you will
You will when you believe..."
- Stephen Schwartz

"Sing, sing a song..."

"Sing, sing a song
Sing out loud
Sing out strong
Sing of good things, not bad
Sing of happy, not sad

Sing, sing a song
Make it simple to last
Your whole life long
Don't worry that it's not
Good enough for anyone
Else to hear
Just sing, sing a song

La la la la la
La la la la la la..."

Okay, it's time to fess up.  Yes, I love Joni, Dan, James, Jackson, Carly, Bob, Jim…all things folk.  But in high school I was a closet Carpenters fan.  Karen Carpenter and I shared the same vocal range.  Low.  Only she had range…I just had low.  So, I sang her songs constantly while I was walking alone in the woods, mucking out a horse stall, or hanging baskets and baskets of near frozen laundry on the clothesline in the bitterly cold January snow and wind.  Might I sense some personal trauma over having ten people in our family and no clothes dryer??? Not to worry, today I actually miss the scent of stiffly frozen towels in my arms after a long day of drying in the winter sun.

Anyway…once I started teaching elementary school and having children of my own, I learned that the above "Sing a Song" could be called up the moment a fifth grade boy decided to describe some disgusting thing in order to gross out the teacher, me…and any other girl with a weak stomach.  It became a joke in the classroom.  If I jumped to the end of the chorus and started singing "La la la la la…la la la la la la…" at a louder volume than the offending student was talking, it was a cue that I didn't want to hear it.  Or that I would be making a bee-line for the girls' room.

Now I have twin fifth-grade daughters who take great delight in describing yucky, disgusting stuff.  And "La la la la la…la la la la la…" still works when I don't want to hear what Billy Joe Bob did with his peas and carrots in the school dining room. 

It's also good for interrupting any endless loop of thinking that gets a foothold in my thought and won't let go. 

Last week my Bible study was focused on a number of scriptural reminders to "sing a new song."  This intrigued me.  How often do I let an old song play over and over again in my head.  Sometimes it is a seemingly harmless "old song" that I find myself chanting almost mindlessly. A little ditty like, "Why get a headstart on that project…you've always done your best work under the pressure of a deadline" or "of course you're obsessed with getting it right, you're the oldest child in your family."  But sometimes it is not as easy to recognize these songs as particularly negative. The old song…is just old.  It's a perfectly good song, but it's one that has become so comfortable and familiar in my head that I am no longer thinking about what I am singing. Often these are songs that were once prayers, but have become more like a well-worn blankie I curl up with rather than a refreshing new perspective on life, love, purpose…being.

Even these perfectly wonderful old songs sometimes need to be replaced with a "new song."   A  song that wakes you up to who you are today…rather than offering you a look back through the softly filtered lens of the past. Perhaps even back to a time when those old songs came alive…perhaps during a long siege – a health, financial, or personal crisis that was eventually healed…and they were fresh and new and brought needed peace, comfort, hope, and comraderie.  And as wonderful as I felt when I first discovered that version of a song, or learned those particular chords, what I need today is the demand of learning and discovering a something new about myself and my relationship to the laws of  music through a new song.

So today I am trying to remember to really listen to what is "playing" in my head…and in my heart.  To be conscious of what I am singing along with as I go about my day.  Am I replacing the endless loops of "old songs" in my head--some of which may indeed look, sound, and feel like beloved old inspiration…well-worn insights, prayers, or perspectives--with a new song?  I want to learn new words.  And when a loved old song starts to play, I hope I can at least find a new way to sing it.  I am looking forward to fresh inspiration about what the lyrics are trying to say today…instead of congratulating myself on already knowing all the words.

"…Don't worry that it's not
Good enough for anyone
Else to hear
Just sing, sing a song…"

Kate