"we were made to thrive..."

"And though my heart is torn,
I will praise you in this storm..."

My niece, Lily Oyer, offered this beautiful solo of Casting Crown"s "Thrive" at church on Sunday. I asked her if I could share a video recording of her version of "Thrive" here. I love her -- and her beautiful voice.  It reminded me of this post from a few years ago -- I am re-sharing it here below:

It's no secret that I love the inspired music ministry of Casting Crowns. Their recently released "Thrive" CD is a favorite. Earlier this week their lead singer, Mark Hall, was given an unsettling diagnosis and faces surgery soon. The Casting Crowns family has reached out to their church and fan community for support through prayer. It is a privilege to join them in this way.

In a moving post written for the band's website by Mark's wife, Melanie asked,"When it happens to you, where do you turn?" And the band offered their beautiful song, "Praise You in the Storm" as inspiration and encouragement. Both Melanie's post and the song moved me deeply.

The first paragraph of Melanie's piece read: "The call on your cell phone from the doctor with bad news -- that's something that happens to other people, not to us. Our role, for the last 25 years in ministry, is to be there to encourage other people after the call, and to pray with them and try to bring comfort. So when it happens to you, where do you turn?"

Melanie goes on to say, "Mark and I seemed to be in a bit of a fog for several days while the news was sinking in.
Yet the whole time, the verse that kept running through my head over and over was:

"You will keep in perfect peace
him whose mind is steadfast,
because he trusts in You."
-Isaiah 26:3. 

Yes. This is exactly where we turn. We turn to Scripture which floods our hearts with the Word. We rest our thoughts on these promises -- like life rafts in a roiling sea of "what if…" And as Mary Baker Eddy encourages in her primary work on hope and healing, Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, we:

"cling steadfastly to God,
and His idea, allowing nothing
but His likeness
to abide in our thought..." 

And then, we return to the Word - again, and again - for Love's timeless encouragement in stories of salvation, parables of promise, reminders of redemption and resurrection, and messages of healing.

And we are each writing new gospel stories of deep spiritual trust in our lives every day. These contemporary testaments of faith encourage others to remember that, as Mark sings, "You [God] are with us…" At times when we might feel as though we are alone in the storm, we can turn to one another for affirmation, and to the Bible for unshakeable precedent-setting cases of God's law in operation -- even in the storm.

At a particularly challenging time in my own life it was Jesus' parable of the house built on the sand that pulled me out of a death spiral of despair. I've already referred to this experience in an earlier post (linked here) titled,""I will give you perfect peace..." As well as in in another post, "A house that will not fall..." whick is linked at the end of that piece. And because of this personal storm, a parable now lives as part of me -- it is no longer "just a parable" -- it is what courses through my being as vitally as air and water.

The alarming "call" can come in countless forms -- disappointing test results, an upsetting report card, a lost job opportunity, a rejection letter, a health crisis, alarming global events, a child's cry in the night...

So, where do we turn -- we turn to Him, we turn to His Word, we turn to one another for encouragement. Our stories of hope and healing are critical to our neighbors and friends. Our testimonies of deep spiritual trust are vital to the body of Christ, in which we share fellowship in faith. And this is where we hear another call -- the call of Spirit urging us to turn to God, to look through the lens of His love. For it is here that, "He saw everything that He had made, and behold it was -- and is -- very good."

We are not alone in the storm. We are never alone. We have the still small Voice of God. We have the Word. We have the Gospel message of "the kingdom of God is within you." We have angels that hover in the stillness.  And we have each other. Our Father-Mother God is with us -- always. He will keep us in perfect peace.

2019 ps:  Mark and Melanie are thriving! 


offered with Love,

Kate

"darling, darling, stand by me..."

"If the sky
that we look upon
should tumble and fall,
or the mountain should
crumble to the sea

I won't cry,
I won't cry,
no I won't shed a tear,
just as long as you
stand by me..."

I am stepping away from writing a message with a moral tonight. This post is simply a recognition -- and a thank you -- to my husband. Florence and the Machine's lush version of, "Stand by Me" -- beautifully captured in this Game of Thrones-themed music video -- says most perfectly what is in my heart.

Marriage is not always "white lace and promises, a kiss for luck and be on your way" -- to quote Karen and Richard Carpenter. At least it hasn't been for me. Marriage has been many things -- but rarely has it been a stroll through a field of wildflowers, or a day on the beach.

When Jeff and I married, we were both grown ups who had been married before.  We had five children between us to love and nurture. The oldest three were well on their way to becoming independent adults. The youngest two were still in grade school. The last twelve years have been devoted to making sure that our children felt loved, believed in, and supported.

The youngest are our twin daughters, and we have had the privilege of raising them with their dad and stepmom -- as well as their birth mother who was part of our parenting dream team. The girls have been our day-to-day (and night-to-night) focus for more than a decade. Jeff, has been their advocate, college finance advisor, car/truck/horse trailer problem solver, banking liaison, etc. since the day he became their stepdad.

He has been willing to take whatever work necessary -- in addition to his primary jobs -- in order to make ends meet. He is often up well past midnight -- even when he has to be up by 5:30 the next morning -- filling out FAFSA forms, writing emails to the college registrar's office, or just figuring out phone plans.  He takes every call they make to him - asking for advice about anything from how to check the oil in the truck, to where they should go for fixing a broken screen.  He is the silent hero in the background of their accomplishments and successes. I am in awe of his tireless care for them. Within our parenting team -- he is on point for every situation.

When difficult bumps in the road threaten to send us careening around an unexpected curve, through the guardrails, and flying off the edge - into a logistical or emotional ravine of self-doubt, lack, uncertainty, or fear, he is as steady as a rock. He quietly reminds me that we've seen harder times, faced worse criticism, and weathered greater storms -- and that we will get through the current one as well. We might get wet, but we'll be together, and together we'll expect "a bow of promise."

When I am trembling, he is rock solid. When I am frantic, he is unflinchingly calm. When I can't find my way out of the pit of despair, it is his hand that is exactly where I need it to be to pull me up. He is faithful, trusting, God-focused, and unmoved by earthquake, wind, or fire. His peace cannot be taken from him, and I count on his calm to remind me that God is with us -- we will not be afraid.

Someone recently asked me why, after the end of my previous marriage -- one that brought three beautiful children into my life -- I would re-marry. You know, it was not something I ever anticipated doing. But when your best friend wants to stand by you -- well, it wasn't much of a choice.

Like trees, our roots have become so entwined under the surface, that even though our closest friends and acquaintances rarely see us doing anything together, we are what stabilizes the other in every storm. We trust that we are each, always, reaching towards God first, and persistently digging deeper for a spiritual foundation in every situation.

Whereas I am a turtle and would rather do nothing, than tuck deeply into myself in a storm, he is an eagle that uses the storm's invisible thermals to rise higher in his understanding of God's ever-presence.  From that higher point of view, he gathers the bigger picture and brings it down to where I am - coaxing me out of my hermitage.

Recently, it was his strength of conviction - that we were going to be safe in the midst of a storm - which gave me the courage to love when I wanted to scream, cry, wail, and weep. It was his spiritual poise that calmed my own quaking.

In the chapter "Marriage" from her primary text, Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, Mary Baker Eddy states -- with scientific certainty:

"The scientific morale
of marriage is spiritual unity." 

I have seen this proven day-after-day in our marriage. When we unite in our love for God, and our love for others -- we are strong, unflinching, and resolute in our fearlessness.

Elsewhere in a collection of articles, sermons, and questions/answers titled, Miscellaneous Writings, Mary Baker Eddy asks, and answers, this question:

"What do you think of marriage?

That it is often convenient,
sometimes pleasant, and occasionally
a love affair. Marriage is
susceptible of many definitions.

It sometimes presents the most
wretched condition of human existence.
To be normal, it must be a union
of the affections that tends
to lift mortals higher." 

I used to think that she was talking about different kinds of marriages. That some marriages were convenient, and others were pleasant, and yet others were a love affair.

That was until I was married myself. 

 Now I think she means that every marriage has moments when it may seem to look pleasant one second, and wretched the next. The genius of marriage is that it gives us ample opportunity for growth in grace, and and the same opportunity for monitoring our progress -- since we must do it over-and-over again, day-after-day, with the very same person.  As a scientist, it is this controlled environment - within the laboratory of our human experience - that allows for the most accurate assessment of change and growth. 

So tonight, I am writing to say thank you to the man who demands the best from me - by always bringing his best to the table. He would rather be kind than right. He is patient, tender and true. He is willing to go the extra mile for our daughters, and the people he works with. He holds uncomplaining guard over our family -- and the world.  It humbles me. His trust in the over-arching goodness of God's sovereignty is breath-taking. I am blessed.

offered with Love,

Kate

"I really don't know clouds, at all..."

"I've looked at clouds from both sides now,
from up and down and still somehow,
It's clouds illusions I recall
I really don't know clouds at all..."

I have so many stories associated with Joni Mitchell's song, "Clouds."  But today, when I saw this photo on Facebook, and the following description, I realized how true it is.  I really don't know clouds...at all.  The description read:   

"A Dutch artist named Berndnaut Smilde has figured out how to create a white cloud in the middle of a room. This requires careful regulation of humidity, temperature and light. Once conditions are perfect, he uses a fog machine to create the cloud."

It made me laugh out loud.  It was the perfect depiction of what I seemed to be experiencing.

I was sitting in my office all morning, feeling as if I was on the verge of an emotional downpour.  I couldn't pinpoint which direction the storm was blowing in from, but it was looming on the horizon.

Then, one little trigger and the tears started falling.  When pressed for a "reason," it all came rushing in.  A recent incident, the fragile emotional season,  memories associated with a similar experience...they were all there.  The ego (or mortal mind) had been perfecting the atmosphere, just waiting for just the right conditions to introduce a trigger...and voila, what looked like a real cloud ready to dump a downpour of tears into the middle of the room.

Mary Baker Eddy, in Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, states:

"Disease arises,
like other mental conditions,
from association."

I like thinking of disease...as any dis-ease -- mental, emotional, financial, relational, physical, etc. -- that would suggest God, Love, is not the only Cause and Creator...of anything.

In an attempt to forward it's story of our isolation from God's allies -- either as victim or perpetrator -- the ego dips into the muckery of regret, guilt, "what if," and "why, oh why..."  

From there, it gathers the right atmospheric elements -- mistakes, choices, fears, doubts, anger, hurt -- and sets up the perfect environment for blowing in the fogginess of self and separation.  A perfect storm. 

 The past contributes regret, the future its imaginings, and blow in a little meaningless incident or chatter, and it's a swirling nor'easter.

Yup, that's how it works...a cloud in the middle of your office ready to break into torrents of anger, a downpour of tears...bearing down in sideways sheets of misunderstanding.

But, we are not victims.  We can know what is going on.  

When the humidity in the room begins to skyrocket with a heavy sense of emotional vulnerability, or the barometric pressure of spiritual charity dips into the single digits of "me, my, mine" -- open the windows.  Turn on the fan which Eddy defines, in Science and Health, as: 

"the separator of fact from fable;
that which gives action to thought." 

...and change the atmosphere.   When we open our hearts to the freshness of divine inspiration, the ego can't create a cloud of self and sin.   Those false elements can't find ways to associate themselves into reasons for sadness, regret, guilt, or sorrow, when we stir the environment with Truth.

Just a thought...

 shared with Love,

Kate

And if you love the original Joni version of "Both Sides Now" here is a link that includes a bonus...the original "Circle Game" at the end. Enjoy.

"In this time of trial..."

In this time of trial,
pain that no one sees...
Trust me when I say,
that I will give you perfect peace...

...and though I may not
calm the storms around you
you can hide in me..."

I was sitting on the front steps this evening, watching a storm cloud drift, and fleck, and soften, and reform...and I couldn't help but think of Jesus' evening in Calvary when the earth shook. It touched me deeply tonight. My son hasn't been crucified, my best friend isn't asking me to take care of his mother from the summit of the cross, the man I've followed faithfully through the desert is not giving up his life so that I might trust God more completely... no, my evening looks benign. It would seem to be filled with sweetness...the promise of soft rain and spring flowers.

But I feel the power of this story with all my heart. I can't seem to leave it in "the books" where I know the last chapter...resurrection, redemption, ascension. That will come later. This evening, I want to let the Calvary story give context to the fulfilled promise. I want to watch with his mother, weep with the Magdalene, and hope with John. I want to stand in the space of "unknowing" and pray that there is more to the story than a cross. I want to be reminded that for every Calvary, there is a Bethany. For every tear, there is "full compensation." Here is a post from last spring that whispers what is in my heart tonight. Have a wonderful Easter...

I love Laura Story's "Perfect Peace," because of the forgiveness and compassion it represents to me.  There are have been so many times in my life when I have felt like such a failure...berated myself for not having prayed "hard enough."  So many long nights when I have thought that if only I had prayed sooner, longer, better I would not have experienced whatever storm I was going through. 

But this song reflects what I have come to believe with my entire being.  That just because I am expereincing a storm, it doesn't mean that there is something out of divine order. 

In fact, in his parable of the house built on the sand/rock, Jesus helped his disciples (and all of us) see that both houses...the one built of the sand and the one built on the rock...are beset by winds, waves, and storms.  The difference is not in the occurrence of the storm, but how well the house withstands the foul weather. 

The house built on the rock survives.  The house built on the sand...falls.  But both houses are under siege.  Jesus' crucifixion was not a measure of his ability to pray himself free from the cross...it was a demonstration of his absolute trust in his Father's love for him.

Yet how often have I given up on my prayerful self because I think, "Well, if I can't forestall the storm, I must not be praying 'right'...right?"  And since my prayer is the "voice" of God to me, I must not really know what God sounds like..."  Sigh.  Such a looser...

No!!

Not any more than Jesus' time on the cross was an indication that he didn't hear God's message of how to escape his storms and trials. Or that his mother and friends weren't praying effectively enough to discover an inspired way to help him escape his "exalting ordeal."

Our storm are poignant opportunities for strengthening our sea legs.  Each storm makes me a better sailor.  And each storm better prepares me to model a more consistent calm, when the next storm hits...whether it is my house, or someone else's.

And right there, standing on bedrock, with my toes dug in deeply through the surging surf and shifting sand of self-doubt, fear, and uncertainty, I can feel that "perfect peace" that Laura sings about, and that Jesus encouraged us to find, through his example on the cross. 

Laura and her husband Martin, are both deeply committed spiritual thinkers who faced a hurricane-like storm when Martin was diagnosed with a life-threatening illness.  This storm, rather than shake their faith, has strengthened them spiritually individually, and as a family.   I am so moved by her willingness to share her expereince through this song. 

May you, too, find "perfect peace," in the midst of each exalting ordeal, and earth-shaking storm...

with Love,

Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

"I will give you perfect peace..."

In this time of trial,
pain that no one sees...
Trust me when I say,
that I will give you perfect peace...

...and though I may not
calm the storms around you
you can hide in me..."

I love Laura Story's "Perfect Peace," because of the compassion it represents to me.  There are have been so many times in my life when I have berated myself for not having prayed "hard enough."  So many long nights when I have thought that if only I had prayed sooner, longer, better I would not have experienced whatever storm I was going through. 

But this song reflects what I have come to believe with my entire being.  That just because I am expereincing a storm, it doesn't mean that there is something out of divine order. 

In fact, in his parable of the house built on the sand/rock, Jesus has helped me see that both houses...the one built of the sand and the one built on the rock...are beset by winds, waves, and storms.  The difference is not the presence of the storm, but how well the house withstands the weather. 

The house built on the rock survives.  The house built on the sand...falls.  But both houses are under siege. 

Yet how often have I given up on my prayerful self because I think, "Well, if you can't forestall the storm, you must not be praying 'right'...right?"  And since the prayer I was praying was the only one I'd been given by God, I must not really know what God sounds like..."  Sigh.  Such a looser...

No!!

The storm is a beautiful opportunity to strengthen my sea legs.  Each storm makes me a better sailor.  And each storm better prepares me to model a more consistent calm, when the next storm hits...my house or someone else's.

And right there, standing on bedrock, with my toes dug in deeply through the surf and sand, I can feel that "perfect peace" that Laura sings about.  Laura and her husband Martin, are both deeply committed spiritual thinkers who faced a hurricane-like storm when Martin was diagnosed with a life-threatening illness.  This storm, rather than shake their faith, has strengthened them spiritually individually, and as a family.   I am so moved by her willingness to share her expereince through this song. 

May you, too, find "perfect peace," in the midst of beautiful storms...

with Love,

Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

"Here is the link to a post from a few years ago, title "A House that Will Not Fall." it also explores this parable, and many of the ideas may seem like they have been re-cycled, but tonight's understanding of them is all fresh and new.  Besides that, I just love the Jonatha Brooks' song, "I Try," that it includes a link to. 

“Just when I'm sure that I can't bear the rain..."

"Call it what you will, I call it rain.
When troubles come, and pat against my soul.
Go in if you like, I will remain,
And let the washing waters make me whole..."

One of the things I love most about summers spent high in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado, is the ubiquitous late afternoon summer storm. Following a dry, hot, mountain breeze-cooled morning, and a dusty, nap-evocative early afternoon, in come the drenching rains of a late afternoon day in the Arkansas Valley. A slate-colored bank of ominous, black clouds rolls over the mountains like smoke pouring from the stack of an old coal-driven steam engine chugging across the plains.

They release their gifts in torrents that pound the metal roof of my cabin like a cadre of drummers marching through the forest. The first few drops are arrestingly cold and pointed, but once you give in to their soaking rhythm on your head and shoulders, something in you begins to smile with delight.    The lyrics to Sara Groves' "Rain" has been a lovely, and sweet, reminder of how it feels to face our personal storms head on.

I remember the first time I let the dark rains of sorrow and fear descend, and pummel me with purpose.  I don't know how I found the strength (or the cluelessness) to defiantly turn my face up into their torrents of terror, but I did.   And I will never regret it. 

"What if you die?  What if you never have a child?  What if you are being punished for mistakes from your childhood?  What if you really are a bad person and don't deserve to be a mom?" the words pounded against my heart.  I stood there, letting the heavy, cold drops beat down on my face, until I could no longer tell the difference between the rain and my tears.

"...Just when I'm sure that I can't bear the rain,
a tiny leaf starts pushing through the ground."
In a place where the soil was too dry to sustain it,
a new tiny flower can be found..."

And even though I thought it was the loss of a child, job, relationship, healthy body that would take me down, it was actually the fear that perhaps I deserved it, which really, almost, eroded away all of my hope.  "Had I been a bad child?  Did my poor choices as an angry, grieving adult daughter, mean that I didn't deserve to become a parent myself?  Did my efforts to take obsessive control of my life, destroy all possibility for spiritual serendipity?"

"...Once I was stuck,
I thought things would never change...
And I watched that cloud pass through the sky.
And right before my eyes, it took a different shape
And I knew, so would the clouds in my own life..."

I remember sitting in the woods near our home, one rainy spring night...long after midnight...weeping like a woman who was "sore in spirit" when, in the midst of profound emotional agony, I realized something in me, still had life. I could suddenly see, with such clarity, that no matter how disappointed my hopes, no matter how painful the losses, no matter how devastating the heartache...I still had hope.  I still wanted to parent.  I still wanted to be happy, whole, peaceful, and loved.  That hope was enough of a tiny-leafed something to remind me that I had a God who loved me...unconditionally.  

"...And I see Him in the rain.
And I feel Him wash away,
what I do not understand.
So new life can spring up once again..."

I started to see that by being willing to stand in "the rain" and actually walk through the heartache of those experiences...experiences that threatened to strip me of everything that I thought I loved...I was being prepared for something new.   I was facing my fears head on, and discovering a new message within each drop that began to wash away the tatters of fear and supposition that had held me in their grip.

The driving rain pierced through the hard shell of self-preservation and dried-up desires.  The brittle crust that had long since formed over the sweetness of my childhood dreams, was broken up and washed away, allowing nourishing, living waters to reach the seeds of hope that lay far buried beneath the surface.   The rains that beat down upon me were stirring the soil, waking me to God's presence in my life...a relentless, persistent hope that may have lain dormant, but I now knew, would never die.

"...And the flowers come to show,
that all that rain,
was helping me to grow."

I sometimes wonder, "what if I had run from the rain?"  But I didn't...  And I am grateful every day that I still don't.

What seed of hope is waiting for you to be willing to play in the rain for?

"Hope happifies life, at the altar or bower,
And loosens the fetters of pride and of power;
It comes through our tears, as the soft summer rain,
To beautify, bless, and make joyful again..."
- Mary Baker Eddy

Just a question...offered with Love,
Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

My friend Michelle had this link to "Learning to Dance in the Rain"posted on her Facebook wall...I thought I'd pass it along...enjoy.

Also, here are some additional statements by Eddy that have inspired and encouraged me to trust in the power of hope, and to not fear the rain...

"Clouds parsimonious of rain, that swing in the sky with dumb thunderbolts, are seen and forgotten in the same hour; while those with a mighty rush, which waken the stagnant waters and solicit every root and every leaf with the treasures of rain, ask no praising.   Remember, thou canst be brought into no condition, be it ever so severe, where Love has not been before thee and where its tender lesson is not awaiting thee.   Therefore despair not nor murmur, for that which seeketh to save, to heal, and to deliver, will guide thee, if thou seekest this guidance."

-----------------------------------------------------------------

"The lightnings and thunderbolts of error may burst and flash till the cloud is cleared and the tumult dies away in the distance. Then the raindrops of divinity refresh the earth. As St. Paul says: "There remaineth therefore a rest to the people of God" (of Spirit)."

with Love,
Kate

"Walk on, walk on...with hope in your heart"

"When you walk through a storm
hold your head up high
And don't be afraid of the dark.
At the end of a storm is a golden sky

And the sweet silver song of a lark.
Walk on through the wind,
Walk on through the rain,
Tho' your dreams be tossed and blown.

Walk on, walk on with hope in your heart
And you'll never walk alone
You'll never walk alone..."
- Hammerstein/Rodgers

I clearly remember being a fifth grader at McCall Elementary School in the spring of 1965.  Lyndon B. Johnson was President of the United States, girls were not allowed to wear pants to school, and mothers still fried Spam and topped it with Velveeta cheese for a "special treat" at dinnertime.

For me that spring was golden.  Our lives had changed drastically that winter when my parents began studying Christian Science and my siblings and I started attending a local Sunday School weekly.  I was learning that I was a child of God and that I could pray.  I started looking at everything around me with different eyes. 

As a fifth grader I was keenly aware that I was growing up.  As the oldest of six children I was well prepared for accepting the new responsibilities of being the "senior class" of our grade school.  Sixth grade was looming and I took it all very seriously.  Our first mission as upper classmen was to give the graduating sixth graders a meaningful send-off as they launched their ships into the dark waters of Jr. High School. 

I was on Student Council and my fellow student leaders and I took this send-off very, very seriously.  We had meetings after school every week as the end of the year got closer.  We planned a party, a pep rally, and prepared programs for the actual graduation.

One day the choir teacher came to our meeting and asked us if we would like to suggest to our fellow fifth graders that we sing a song as our sixth grade friends walked into the gym for the graduation ceremony.  She shared with us mimeographed sheets with the above lyrics from "You'll Never Walk Alone," printed in purple. 

I loved the idea.  And I loved the song.  I carried that mimeographed piece of paper - folded in the pocket of my jumper, skirt, shorts, or sweater - for the rest of the school year.  I wore it out.  When we performed it for the graduating sixth graders I sang full voice with tears rolling down my cheeks before splashing on to the Peter Pan collar of my Sunday School dress.  When I sing it today I can still remember standing on rickety risers, shoulder to shoulder with Karen Mitchell (or was it Michaels) and a boy named Tommy, under the basketball hoop strung with crepe paper.   I had memorized the words and music for our performance, but continued to sing it to myself in the dark, long after my mom had finished the series of lullabies and hymns she would sing each night as she tucked us in to our beds.

I often find myself singing it softly when I am hiking in the woods, facing indifference,  or alone in a new city. 

I have wondered, now and again, why this song meant so much to me in the fifth grade.  I have concluded that it probably had something to do with the timing of its introduction.  I was only just discovering, that spring, that I lived in a spiritual universe with God at its center.  I was becoming alive to the promise of words as they described the deeper realm of Mind, God's ideas.  Every word of that song assured me that I would never have to see myself as "the new girl" again, that I would never again be just "the sweet plain little girl who keeps to herself.  You know the one, the bookworm who loves the library" (the way I heard my teacher describe me to another teacher on the playground one day). 

I was "not alone"…everywhere I went I had God's intelligent ideas accompanying me in "my head" as creative solutions, beautiful images and well-reasoned thoughts.  I could always reach out and feel his warm love for me (in the way I felt about my sisters and brothers, the way I adored my mom, the calm joy I felt about reading a new book) settled in my heart.  These ideas would be critical to my evolving sense of self, my confidence in taking on new challenges, and my hard-earned academic achievements as our family moved many time between fifth grade and my graduation from high school, and I was "the new girl" at another 11 schools.

This song is like a sweet lullaby from God to me.  I still sing it in the night when sleep aludes me and I feel alone on a sea of self-doubt or indecision.  Before I know it I am resting on His promise.  I can walk on, walk on with hope in my heart and my head up high…watching for a golden sky and listening for the sweet silver song of a lark.  
Kate

"A house that will not fall..."

"I am not a child now
I can take care of myself
I mustn't let them down now
Mustn't let them see me cry
I'm fine, I'm fine

I try and try to understand
The distance in between
The love I feel and the things I fear
And every single dream…"
- Jonatha Brooke
- From Disney's "Peter Pan – Return to Neverland"

I love Jonatha Brooke's "I Try," because I do try and try, but sometimes I don't feel fine.  This was the case one day last week when I just felt like a total failure.  And it's not the first time. 

Sometimes it just feels like I pray and study and pray and listen and pray, and pray and pray..and still things don't work out the way I thought would certainly be God's way. At least not what I thought God's way should look like.  Am I the only one who wonders, "How could a hurricane take away a grandmother's front porch, why shouldn't a job come through quickly for an out-of-work friend, why can't we find a perfect little cottage for a loved one, why doesn't a relationship issue resolve quickly,and will the check the widow is waiting for really be "in the mail" as promised? 

Yes, everyday I do see countless instances of physical healing, resurrected hopes, and personal, collective and global transformation…but sometimes I just want to not have one day in which I don't feel as if I am leaning into the winds and waves of misunderstanding, self-doubt or regret…gripping the rock with my toes and hanging on for dear life. 

Shouldn't all that prayer and study prevent misunderstandings,  unkindness, alarming physical symptoms, and the threat of  hurricane each season? 

Well, I was sitting in my office last week deep in the midst of a personal storm while studying scripture and taking calls when I came upon one of Jesus' parables that I had read so often I could recite it, word-for-word, by heart:

"…whosoever heareth these sayings of mine,
and doeth them,
I will liken him unto a wise man,
Which built his house upon a rock;

And the rains descended,
And the floods came,
And the winds blew,
And beat upon that house;

And it fell not:
For it was founded upon a rock..."

But this time it spoke to my heart in a new way.  As I broke it down it came to me with such clarity…this guy does everything right: he hears Jesus' sayings, he does what Jesus asks of him, he is wise and builds his house upon a rock…you would think that would lead to only good…  sunny days, light breezes, gentle rain, calm seas…not!!!  The rains descend, the floods come, the winds blow, and his house gets beaten.  So what is different for this guy, who does everything right and the guy who builds on the sand? 

So back I go to the text:

"And everyone that heareth these sayings of mine
and doeth them not,
shall be likened unto a foolish man
which built his house uon the sand;

And the rains descended,
And the floods came,
And the winds blew,
And beat upon that house;
And it fell:
And great was the fall of it."

So, hmm…both guys get hurricanes, monsoons, tornadoes…but the wise guy's beaten house just doesn't fall…it still gets buffeted, flooded and beaten…it just doesn't fall. 

So, I thought, "what have I done wrong, I always pray, study, listen, obey as best as I can to what God is saying…"  But then the question came…out of the blue, "What is your house…is it a job, a marriage, an arm, a bank account, a day without challenges?"  And immediately on the heels of that question, came Mary Baker Eddy's spiritual interpretation of the last line from the 23rd Psalm, "And I will dwell in the house [the consciousness] of [Love] forever" (Science and Health pg. 578).

There it was.   A sweet peace swept over my heart like a soft breeze after a long storm.  The rains, winds, floods and beating were not prevented by the "wise" man who listens to Jesus' sayings, and does them, and builds on a rock.   Both the wise and the foolish experience them.  And these storms take many shapes.  Joblessness, a marriage that ends in divorce, financial uncertainty, a life-threatening diagnosis, an actual hurricane, feelings of depression, sadness or despair…or even just the day-to-day suggestions that we are cranky, resentful, judgmental or petty mortals. 

These tornadoes of personal sense swirl around us but they are NOT the house that is so ill-founded that it falls.  Nor is owning a home without a mortgage, a secure job, a comfortable bank balance, or a symptomless body a measure of a house that doesn't fall...no matter how lovely those instances may be or how grateful I am for every bit of good I am blessed with. Otherwise, my house is constantly moving.  One day I am debt-free, but my conversation with a friend is rife with misunderstanding, or the next I find a suspicious growth, but my marriage is  happy.  Where do I find my ground in this kind of ever-changing, always moving measure of being a wise or foolish man/woman.

But, the house that doesn't fall isn't found in a job, a marriage, a bank account, a healthy organization or a beautiful body.  The house that doesn't fall is found in the "consciousness of Love", our consciousness, our awareness that we even when we can't get out of bed...we can always love, we can always find God as Love being expressed…somewhere…in the world, in our world and the world at large, and find our hope restored, our faith buoyed, our desire to go to God in prayer…one more time…resurrected. 

For me, this is the house that is built on a Rock and will not fall.  I realized that I may not always have sunny days with calm winds out of the East…that the waves of self-doubt may lash at my foundation and the winds of "what if" may try to take the roof off of my little cottage on a Rock, but my house, my consciousness of Love, will not fall.  Even if I am picking pieces of weathered clapboard off the beach and re-pointing the foundation the next day…I can always go into my little house on the Rock and find God there in all His eloquent silence and listen for His "Peace be still (never-the-less)…and the wind ceased, and there was a great calm." 

"I can finally see it
Now I have to believe
All those precious stories
That the world is made of...
Faith, and trust... and pixie dust

So, I'll try
Because I finally believe
I'll try, cuz I can see what you see

I'll try, I'll try
I will try…"

Enjoy a cup of tea in God's house by the sea…because it is in this house, in this "consciousness of Love", that:

"the winds and waves can shock
oh, nevermore…"
-Mary Baker Eddy

with Love,

Kate