"i am a mental traveler..."

"A mental traveler
hasn't the need to eat or sleep..."

The experience I am sharing today includes another person's insights and words.  But this is really about my experience with what she shared. I am not attempting to interpret her experience or her conclusions.

That said,  years later I asked her if she wouldn't mind my sharing how her example had impacted me. That permission was given in hopes that it would lead to less judging of another person's experience, and a deeper trust in the presence of God. This is my best recollection of conversations that took place decades ago:

Today's inspiration isn't a song -- it is a moment from one of my favorite films of all time -- "Out of Africa." Karin is entertaining Denis Finch-Hatton and Barkley Cole, when Denis asks her about her life travels. She responds that she is  "a Mental Traveler."  I remember seeing this film for the first time in 1985 and falling in love with Isak Dineson as a writer, a woman, a dreamer -- and yes, a mental traveler.

I was madly in love with everything about this film -- especially its characterization of Karin Blixen. "Me too, me too" -- I wanted to say from my theatre seat. I, too, am a mental traveler. I, too, dream of Africa. I, too, have no need to eat or sleep -- just to dream in stories.

I didn't know how precious this insight - about mental traveling  - would be for me, until later. I'd grown up having known a beautiful active woman of my mother's generation. She was the kind of wife and mother one dreams of having or being. Hiking, riding, leading campfires -- she was someone I admired and loved. Her family called her blessed -- and so did everyone else I knew.

One day - after only having spoken by phone for years - I saw her at an event, and she was in a wheelchair. I was heartbroken for her -- and her family. I could only imagine all the things she would no longer be able to do. I also knew her as a devoted spiritual healer, and her situation seemed to scream -- to me, in my immaturity -- that there was something she had not healed.

In the meantime, I was also aware that her husband and children remained extremely active -- mountaineering, world travel, concerts, trips to see friends. I was so sad that she was not able to join them in many of these activities.

She was also someone I looked up to professionally as an experienced spiritual healer, and over the years, I had often called her to talk about our shared love for this work. One day, when we happened to find ourselves alone together, I asked how she was doing. She must have sensed my sympathy, and pressed me to be more clear about my concern. So I did.

I asked her how she was coping with being trapped in a wheelchair, and if she was disappointed that her "healing" hadn't happened yet. She looked at me as if I had absolutely lost my mind.  I could tell that my sense of her situation, was completely inconsistent with what she herself was experiencing.  When she realized what I was asking, she smiled, and then, leaning into the space between us and said, "Oh darling, I am exactly as I need to be. I love what I do, and now, no one expects me to do anything else. I get to be still, take calls, and pray all day."

I asked her if she didn't miss traveling, hiking, going places with her family. She was even more gentle with me as she explained that she was "a mental traveler," and that she prayed with her family - through every activity and adventure. She wasn't missing anything. And in this she was firm. She was content and happy. I was the one who was projecting my concerns about what I was seeing, onto the screen of her beautiful, peace-filled life.

I immediately understood that I had been mal-practicing her joy. Disappointment hadn't touched her at all. But it had distorted my own view of her situation, and what I thought happiness should mean to her. I was the one who was trapped in my version of things.  She was satisfied, free of concern, and at peace.

She would later explain to me that she had fully enjoyed her chapter as a physically active mother and wife. But that this was her current calling as a mom and life-partner -- to be completely focused on the spiritual support that she was giving to her family -- and the people who called her for that same spiritual support each day as a Christian Science healer.

I have never forgotten this conversation. What actually needed to be healed was my sense of what I was seeing -- not her sense of her experience. And I could not be manipulated by a false sense of things. I had the right  -- and the responsibility -- to see that God was with her, and that nothing had touched her ability to be true to her purpose.

In referring to Paul's epistle to the Romans, Mary Baker Eddy writes:


"It is ignorance and false belief, based on a material sense of things, which hide spiritual beauty and goodness. Understanding this, Paul said: “Neither death, nor life, . . . nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God.

This is the doctrine of Christian Science: that divine Love cannot be deprived of its manifestation, or object; that joy cannot be turned into sorrow, for sorrow is not the master of joy; that good can never produce evil; that matter can never produce mind nor life result in death. The perfect man — governed by God, his perfect Principle — is sinless and eternal.

Harmony is produced by its Principle, is controlled by it and abides with it. Divine Principle is the Life of man. Man’s happiness is not, therefore, at the disposal of physical sense."

This statement always makes me think of my friend. She taught me that nothing could have ever separated her from her right to be loving, grateful, satisfied. She taught me that it wasn't my job to assess a situation through the lens of what I believed things "should" look like, but to simply see God's hand in every moment. To trust God's all-power at every juncture in Life's beautiful, unfolding journey. To see only His love at the helm of each unfolding opportunity.  Opportunities that would serve to draw me high unto Him. And, above all, to do His will -- which we learn in I Thessalonians is:

"In everything give thanks;
for this is the will of God
in Christ Jesus concerning you."

I can do that. I can be grateful in every moment for the only thing that is true -- God is with me. I am not alone. Wherever I am, whatever my circumstances are -- God is there. For, as the Psalmist asks, "whither shall I go from Thy spirit, or whither shall I flee from Thy presence..."

I am a mental traveler -- whether that traveling is articulated in movement through geo-physical space or by leaps and bounds through the pages of sacred texts, through time zones and across continents or bridging the abyss between human hearts -- I am satisfied, complete and my life is divinely fair.

offered with Love,

Kate

"dropping my map with a thousand folds..."

"Drop my map
with a thousand folds,
In the distance
I see it glow;

There's a light,
there's a light
in the window..."

Carrie Newcomer's  "A Light in the Window" has been my traveling song this year.

But I am getting ahead of myself. A few years ago our daughters transferred from the private school they'd attended since preschool, to The Link School, an expeditionary high school nestled in high in the Rocky Mountains. I followed them to this small town in our beautiful Arkansas River valley within weeks, and Jeff six months later.

The Link School embraces student families, and I was so happy to be able to sit in on a number of the girls' classes. That Fall, school founder and Director, Bobby Lewis, was teaching a Sunday evening class titled "Explorations in Spiritual Literature." I was fascinated. Especially when I discovered that the The Tao of Pooh was on their reading list.

The Sunday that I joined Bobby, and the fifteen students who had gathered in the yurt, seemed like any other. Little did I know that I would be given a great and precious gift that night

At one point Bobby posed the question to the students: "How would you define the difference between spirituality and religion?" What a great question I thought. I couldn't wait to hear their answers. They were thoughtful and born out of their experiences. Then one of the students asked Bobby, "how would you define the difference between spirituality and religion?"

Bobby took his time. He was quiet for a good minute before saying that, for him:

"Spirituality is the inner landscape
that we all have to navigate.
Religions, philosophies,
are just different kinds of maps
for navigating that landscape.

Some people like a road map,
others prefer a topographical map,
some use a GPS that tells them
exactly where to turn -- and when.

And some people don't want to use
a map at all -- they just like to
bushwhack. And while some use multiple
types of maps -- depending on the
journey -- they all have to find
their way through that inner territory."

To say that I was gob-smacked with gratitude and wonder -- is a serious understatement. I was motionless. I didn't want to move for fear that it wouldn't sink in deeply enough.  I wanted to be able to remember it, so I could carry it with me for the rest of time.

If I had been taking notes to revisit later, they would have been worn-out and in shreds within the first week. It wasn't just that this was simply a great way to think about the question. For me, it was life-affirming.  It resonated with everything that I believed. It gave shape to the substance of my respect for the mapping choices of fellow spiritual travelers.  I felt like I had taken this metaphor into my heart, let it dissolve on my tongue, digested it fully, and it had assimilated in every mental molecule of my being.

You see, I had always thought of myself as a map person. I couldn't ever seem to follow the turn-by-turn instruction that Victoria, my Australian accented GPS tour guide, was giving me. I didn't trust her. I liked looking at a road map and seeing the whole trip laid out before me. I felt safe being able to imagine the next turn in the road.

But I also knew that there were times that Victoria might come in handy.  And  I wanted to understand why this was the navigational tool my daughters preferred. So, the next time I had to go to "the big city," I put aside my Rand-McNally road atlas, and committed to trusting Victoria to get me where I needed to go. And you know, she did. It wasn't what was familiar for me, but I realized that it worked. Yes, I still like my road map, but I can now see that Victoria is a legitimate option for navigating a difficult path.

The next trip I needed to make, I decided that I would use no map, no Victoria -- just other humans. I'd use the trip to connect with fellow travelers. I refused to calculate my estimated time of arrival. I headed southwest -- knowing that where I needed to end up was in that general direction -- and when I felt like I might have made a wrong turn, I pulled into a coffeehouse or service station and asked for directions. Another approach -- not necessarily my preference -- but it worked. I got there, and along the way, I saw beautiful scenery I hadn't expected and met people I won't forget.

I am a planner. Or at least that has been my modus operandi for most of my life. I have felt "safe" being able to anticipate bumps in the road, possible detours and missing way marks.  I like calculating estimated times of arrival based on speed of travel and distance to cover. It's been "the only way" for me. And I've been pretty darned proud of my ability to get out ahead of the traffic.

But I realized recently that I have put very little trust in what I cannot see, with that approach to travel -- or to navigating my inner landscape. So, I have been "dropping my map with a thousand folds," and have begun to navigate this journey based on looking for the Light in the window.

I am waiting for God, divine Love, to show me where He is preparing a place -- with a little table, a bed, a chair, and a lamp. And sometimes, I find that this prepared place is actually right here within me. That the light from the window, is the love-light shining in my own heart -- leading me home to the kingdom within.

But other days, I will be reading the Bible and there will be a story or a message that will serve as a topographical map for my day's journey. Or I might just head out the door without a weather map -- knowing that I will be fine - rain or shine.

This winter Jeff and I have had the opportunity to navigate new landscapes -- spiritually, emotionally, professionally, and logistically. We have maps with a thousand folds, that have served us for years -- and we use them.  But, we have also learned to listen for step-by-step instructions, we have paused on the road and watched the Sun's movement in order to get our bearings. We have bushwhacked and followed half-broke trails. We have walked hand-in-hand, and we have split up, in order to explore new trails -- calling out to one another, "I found a cairn, here is a marker, I see a light in the window."

We have folded and unfolded those sacred maps, used our well-loved spiritual compass, read the travel journals of wiser pilgrims, and we have stood still -- so many times -- just listening for the sound of a nearby river, waiting for the Wind to bring us the scent of home. Love asks us to be still, and Love beckons us onward.

One statement has been as sweet as breadcrumbs found on the path of this journey. It helps me remember that there is a reason for taking every step. Knowing my over-arching purpose has been a light in the window. Mary Baker Eddy writes:

"As you journey, and betimes sigh
for rest “beside the still waters,”
ponder this lesson of love. Learn
its purpose; and in hope and faith,
where heart meets heart reciprocally
blest, drink with me the living waters
of the spirit of my life-purpose, — 
to impress humanity with the genuine
recognition of practical, operative
Christian Science."

This has been my "home." Navigating my way has been so blessed by maps and compasses, cairns and traveling companions, guideposts and an ever-present Light in the window.


offered with Love,

Kate

"then sings my soul..."

O, Lord my God!
When I in awesome wonder
Consider all the works
thy hand hath made,
I see the stars,
I hear the mighty thunder,
Thy power throughout
the universe displayed;

Then sings my soul,
my Saviour God, to Thee,
How great Thou art,
how great Thou art!"

I saw this Youtube video of  Vince Gill and Carrie Underwood performing the timeless gospel, "How Great Thou Art," and knew what my Mother's Day post this year would be.   This performance is remarkable...

I've written about my mom, my children's moms...birth, step, grand, and their dads who have been wonderful mother-figures for us all...as well as my aunt, and some extraordinary moms who are also my good friend, in the past.  Some parent, or have parented, children daily...and some are moms waiting for children, but they have all demonstrated a love for, and devotion to, the verb, "to mother."   It is the magna that pours from the core of their being.

But this year, I wanted to write something, ever so brief about what, I believe, is at the very heart of that core mother-love.   The Motherhood of God. 

God, as Mother, is a concept that I have grown to depend upon, most completely, as a mom.  And when I lean my whole weight into trusting it...motherhood becomes burdenless.

This weekend our middle school age daughters will fly to Costa Rica with their classmates for a one week field trip to study the rainforest.  They will board a plane, and go to a place I have never been, and where they won't have phones or computers to stay in touch with.  But I feel completely at peace. 

And I believe that this peace stems from what I know about God's Motherhood.  Why am I able to stay awake all night praying when a child needs me?  Because I have a Mother-God who has taught me how to do this,  by Her example.  Why do I know that love has the capacity to dissipate anger and hate?  Because I have a Mother-God who has always shown me mercy, extended compassion, and established peace...within me.

I know, I am certain...without any doubt...that no matter where my daughters go, or what situation they may find themselves in, they will be with their Mother, and my Mother...God. 

That the great Mother of us all will be there to advise them wisely, provide them with comforting thoughts in the night, hold them and secure them, in secret place of the Most High, and instruct them in Her ways, and bless them according to Her holy purpose for their lives. 

She will mentor every teacher, administrator, and tourguide on that trip, in how to "mother" according to Her model of strength, tenderness, wisdom, and joy.   And not only the "grown ups," She will give each of those students the qualities of motherhood that they will need, moment-by-moment,  to respond to one another patiently, respectfully, and generously. 

I don't have to concern myself with the parenting experience of anyone on that trip.  They have the one and only real expert in mothering with them every step of the way.

I am reminded of the Psalmist's great song of security and peace:

We that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.

We will say of the Lord, She is our refuge and our fortress: our God; in Her will we trust.

Surely She shall deliver us from the snare of the fowler, and from the noisome pestilence.

She shall cover us with Her feathers, and under Her wings shall we trust:

Her truth shall be our shield and buckler.

We shall not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day;
 
Nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness;  nor for the destruction that wasteth at noonday.

Because we have made the Lord, which is our refuge, even the most High, our habitation;

There shall no evil befall us, neither shall any plague come nigh our dwelling.

For She shall give Her angels charge over us, to keep us in all Her ways.

And they shall bear us up in their hands, lest we dash our foot against a stone.

Because She has set Her love upon us, therefore will She deliver us, and set us on high, because we have known Her name.

We will call upon her, and She will answer us,  She will be with us in trouble, and She will deliver us, and honor us.

We are all children, and we are all safe under the shadow of Her wing, resting in the warmth of her hands.

So this Mother's Day,  I am most grateful for the most wonderful Mother of us all....

So sings my soul my Savior God, to Thee....your daughter,

Kate

"Heaven when we're home..."

"..And something tells me
that there must be something
better than all this..."

I love listening to the Wailin' Jennys' "Heaven When We're Home,"* for all the obvious reasons...and then, for some reasons that may not be so nakedly clear. 

I've realized recently that, in the past, I've had a tendency towards dragging my baggage around searching for the perfect place to drop it.  But more often than I want to admit, the baggage I've been dragging around, close behind me, is not filled with the precious artifacts of a life well-lived...as I've always thought.  No, as much as I'd like to think I'm toting around time-softened antique quilts and hand-rubbed leather-bound first edition volumes of the classics, what I've really got in there is a mixture of metaphorical pulp fiction and a tattered old chenille bedspread stained with tears and ink. 

So what is this piece all about?  Not sure yet.  But, I think what I heard in my heart while listening to this song again this morning, were the first strains of a travelin' song...the kind of song that moves you forward when you are really just shuffling your feet.

It all started as I loaded my heavier-than-I'd-like carry on bag, and tote bag (filled with books, knitting, journal and, yes, a Chocolove's Sea Salt and Almonds in dark chocolate bar for the road) into the rental car after a wonderful weekend at camp.  A weekend teeming with over 250 teens and adult volunteers together for the Discovery Bound Leadership Conference gathered to explore the real qualities of a spiritual leader.  It was dark as I left in the wee small in between hours of a hushed crowd.   And I watched the soft violet dawning of a brand new day, as I headed east towards Denver International Airport.  Yup, just me and my baggage on a quiet drive through the Rockies, and across the Front Range.

After dropping off the rental car, I pulled the darned things into, and out of, the shuttle van, across the vast travertine of the main terminal, through the security checkpoints (at which time I unloaded little bits and pieces for scrutiny and re-packing), and down the concourse where I searched for a place to rest my weary head...and body...until it was time to board. 

I located a long row of seats that, thanks to my less than statuesque frame, would serve as a makeshift couch for napping (as long as I could twist myself into a pretzel-like shape...grateful for years of dance and yoga.)  Hmmm, I think, this is all looking quite promising, until I notice the luggage and totebag I've been dragging behind me. 

And, in light of the constant reminders about the heightened holiday travel security...warnings pouring through the airport's sound system...I realize that "leaving my baggage unattended" could result in untoward consequences.  So, I am pretty sure that falling asleep in front of your bags would be considered leaving them unattended.   In that case, I decide to put my suitcase on the seat next to me as a pillow of sorts...a very uncomfortable pillow I might add...and use my tote as something I can wrap my arms around like a child's teddy bear, and in this very uncomfortable position,  I try to rest. 

But I am resting on my baggage.  In fact, I am embracing my baggage.   I want to fall sleep on my baggage.  That's just one, too perfect, a metaphor!  But I can't.  At first I am pretty cranky about the situation.  And then, since I am clearly awake and not going to drift off into dreamland, I start to unpack the metaphor...with the help of the Jennys' song, now playing in my head. 

I realize that in order to stop dragging around my life's baggage, I have to leave it "unattended."  I have to unzip it, take out what is purposeful in helping others, and let the true source of my security, God, confiscate and destroy the rest. 

But to begin, I do have to leave it unattended. 

The word "attend" comes from the Latin root "attento" to wait for or expectation of, and is a cousin of the French "attendre" which means "to listen to, to pay attention, or give ear to."  Well, I have been attending to...paying attention to...my scuffed up baggage for way too long.  I've been dragging it around behind me, taking out little bits and pieces only long enough...and in small enough portions...to barely get me through to the next level of security clearance.  I am so focused on my journey...towards finding the "right" place to finally unpack it all and hang it on the walls of the next perfect home.  An imagined place where, I believe, what is my old junk, will somehow be transformed into the precious artifacts and antiques I imagine they could become...precious and worthy of hanging on to.  Ahh,  if only I could put them in the right setting.

But, a tattered and ink-stained bedspread will never be a hand-crafted quilt stitched together from vintage fabrics, once pieced together by a loving hand. And a dog-eared copy of hastily written pulp fiction, will never be a gold-leafed volume of love sonnets wrapped calfskin. 

Trying to rest on my old, carefully attended to baggage, has only given me a sore neck and made me want to get up and wander the concourse, looking for the next perfect place to try and rest again. 

I can't help but think of Mary Baker Eddy's "An Allegory" about a a traveler and his "baggage" which can be found in in her Miscellaneous Writings 1883 - 1896 (starting on page 323).  I chuckle to think how often I have read this with book in one hand while dragging my baggage with the other.  Especially the part that reads:

"Despairing of gaining the summit, loaded as they are, they conclude to stop and lay down a few of the heavy weights, -- but only to take them up again, more than ever determined not to part with their baggage."

It is time for me to leave my baggage un-attended...period.  To first salvage all that is good and useful from within, to responsibly report it to security myself, to let Love confiscate its no-longer-useful contents, to trust that they will be properly discarded, and finally, with Love's blessings, to walk away unscathed, unfettered, unscarred, and unburdened by what I would never find the right setting for anyway.  Realizing then, and there, that I was already happily, gratefully, wonderfully at home...within.

"It's a long and rugged road,
and we don't now where it's headed,
but we know it's going to get us where we're going.
And when we find what we're looking for,
we'll drop these bags, and search no more,
'cause it's going to feel like heaven when we're home..."

So, these were the thoughts that kept me company...poking, probing, sometimes less-than-comfortable company in Terminal A this morning.  I will be unpacking these thoughts for a while I think. 

But tonight as I actually unpacked my suitcase and tote, I realized that I had not used even 80% of what I'd taken with me.  I'd spent four days dragging around "stuff" that had never been worn, read, written in, or used...and I'd had a most wonderfully purposeful and inspiring weekend.  Just sayin'....

Thanks Sam, for getting me to listen "Heaven When We're Home"...over and over again...I love that it makes me think...
Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

*I know that some of this song's lyrics may not be across-the-board consistent with what I believe to be true...but the core message of letting go and moving forward is giving me so much to think about...and I love that.

"O life that maketh all things new..."

"Oh life that maketh all things new
The blooming earth,
The thoughts of men…"

I have been wrestling with what feels like a gorilla for the past few weeks…again.  I was beginning to feel as if this match would never end.  I had been over the same pros and cons at least a hundred times.  I had looked at it from the same twenty angles.  I had considered the impact each option would have on everyone involved.  Then I walked away from it for some broader perspective.  But I kept coming back to the same almost conclusions.   I kept hoping that someone would intervene, that there would be an eleventh hour reprieve from not only the situation itself, but from my constant mulling over of the options and consequences.  

That was when the above line from a much-loved hymn (with words from Samuel Longfellow) came to mind.  It was like having a soft spring breeze blow through a stuffy room that has been closed up all winter.  I could expect my thoughts to be made new.

I didn't have to think that those same pros and cons were going to be the extent of my thinking on this issue. I didn't have to feel helpless and hopeless waiting for outside intervention.   I could come to my prayers with an open heart for hearing something completely new...each moment. 

My dilemma involves the closing of a major highway in our city.  It has been the primary artery for getting from our home in an urban neighborhood to our children's school in the suburbs.  We have generally enjoyed a 20 minute door-to-door trip on each of the four legs we travel every day.  Twenty minutes to take them there and twenty minutes back every morning.  Then twenty minutes to go pick them up and twenty minutes back home.  Occasionally we have hit a traffic sang and our trip takes 30 minutes, but it has been painless. 

With the closing of the highway we are looking at our commute doubling.  Doubling!!!  I have been frantic.  Could we/should we move?  What surface street routes will be quickest?  What time will we need to leave by in order to get the girls to school on time?  Can we possibly impose this kind of commute on our children, our family and friends who will be visiting our home from time to time?  The questions just wouldn't stop.  What was the most right, the most loving, the kindest thing to do…for everyone?  If we leave our neighborhood, what are we saying about our commitment to joining hands with our neighbors who will also be navigating this difficult situation.  Neighbors who may not have the freedom or the resources to relocate in the midst of this real estate market.

And beyond that, we love our neighborhood.  We love being a part of an urban community with a major university only a block away.  We love having a neighborhood school on our corner where children from the neighborhood play kickball and hopscotch on the asphalt and run around the block for PE. We love interacting with thought-leaders who are wrestling with public policy, health-care, human rights, literature and technology at our local coffeehouses.  And we love it not just for ourselves, but for our children.  We love that our daughters have access to museums, the zoo, galleries, coffeehouses, and people who introduce diversity and texture into their experience.  We love that our son had a job through his senior year of high school at the local coffeehouse where he met university students, professors, neighborhood characters, and urban legends.

But we also love that our children feel peaceful and happy about the suburban school they attend.  We are grateful that they feel so invested in their school community and enjoy friendships that have been nurtured since preschool.  We appreciate the freedoms they experience in a suburban setting…having a dog, a yard to play in, closer proximity to friends/relatives making the planning and execution of playdates much easier. 

As the deadline for the highway closure draws closer and closer I have been a bit panicky.  We have to DO something…don't we??? 

But this hymn gives me peace.  I don't have to do anything but trust God to "make all things new".  To give me new thoughts about this adventure each day.  We will know each moment of every day what is the right route to take, when to leave, and how to make the best use of the time we will spend together in the car.  And if there are other options we need to consider, God will make them clear to us…we won't have to frantically search for answers…they will bloom naturally out of our love for everyone involved. 

And I finally realized that this isn't just about finding an answer for me and my commute, for me and my family. It is about, as Mary Baker Eddy suggest in her poem, Mother's Evening Prayer: "His arm encircl[ing] me, and mine, and all." Every driver on the roads with us will be guided rightly, led to take routes that keep traffic flowing smoothly and gracefully…like a ballet of cars and drivers and passengers…all being directed by a grand and wise Choreographer.  We are in this together.  We are a community.  We are neighbors.   Our community garden will not be over crowded.  We have been planted by a divine hand, watered with grace, encouraged by the sunlight of honest affection, nourished with faith, and grounded in our trust in His promise…our thoughts - our routes, timetables, choices and decisions - will be made new. 

"From hand to hand the greeting flows
From eye to eye the signals run,
From heart to heart the bright hope glows,
The seekers of the Light are one..."

the adventure begins...with Love,
Kate

"...release from things of time and place..."

"So far Away…
Doesn't anybody stay in one place anymore?
It would be so fine to see your face at my door
Doesn't help to know that you're just time away
Long ago I reached for you, and there you stood
Holding you again could only do me good
How I wish I could, but you're so far away…"
- Carole King

I've just returned from Africa…24,000 miles in ten days…almost four days, or 50+ hours of it "en route" from here to there...and back again.  That means I only spent 6+ days with the one (and only) reason for my travel…my daughter, Hannah.  And what a glorious, wonderful almost-week it was, just being with her…seeing her laugh, interact with her family and friends, eat, sleep, breathe.  Any mother reading this will understand…just staring at her while she sleeps, giggles or speaks is food for the heart.

But this trip, without my even realizing it ahead of time, was such an opportunity for a significant healing in my own heart. 

Those who know me are well aware of how geographically driven I am.  Place is paramount to my feeling of home, peace, joy.  I have let geography define my level of content for longer than I wish to admit.  Place me on the edge of the sea or on the porch of my cabin at camp high in the Rocky Mountains with the sound of a stream and hummingbirds whirring…and I am serene.  The alternative is not always the case.  I have a tendency to list (for those of you who are sailors...this means to lean) in the direction of the sea or the mountains and am rarely quite "in my own skin" when I am "stuck" in the Midwest…which happens to be where I currently reside.  This is not always good for those around me…and it leaves me feeling dissatisfied and unhappy,  always waiting for the chance to break free and "get home".

But this summer it occurred to me that if I was spiritual, I was not psychological, chemical, chronological…or geographical-ly-driven or defined.  I was spiritual, therefore I was myself…the full reflection of divine peace, creativity, strength, joy, fullness of being…everywhere.

This idea of not being defined geographically is more of a stretch for me than knowing and living out from being not chemical.  I was happy to give up being defined by what food I was eating or whether I used a particular cream or conditioner...piece of cake.  But seeing myself as complete and whole no matter where I was...this was hard.  It felt like once I gave in to this concept I might have to consent...on some deeper level...to the possibility of never "going home"...and whenever I did this I would feel paralyzed and hopeless.  

But if there was ever a summer to discover the truth of this Truth, this was the one.  My husband was going to be at home in St. Louis, we had a daughter on the west coast, a son on the east coast, the twins were going to be in Colorado, then Maine, then Missouri at different camps, and my beloved Hannah was in South Africa….and I would only be in Colorado for the first two months of summer instead of staying there after camp as planned earlier this Spring…had we relocated as expected.  Plans that changed once the girls decided that they wanted to continue at their St. Louis school for another year.  Add to this equation my deep desire to see Hannah who was half-a-world (literally) away, and you can see that I was being bombarded by "things of time and space"

The suggestion that geography could push and pull at my well-being and happiness had never been more insidious.

My husband was an angel.  He made the distance between us seem like nothing when he hopped into a friend's car at the last minute one evening  to help her drive the 16 hours to camp just so he could spend 16 hours with me before catching a plane back to St. Louis the next day. 

He then booked a flight for me to go to see Hannah before hopping on another plane to fly out to Colorado just to get in the car and help me make the drive back to St. Louis from camp....whew...

Emails and express-mail care packages to the girls at camp helped me feel closer to them even though we were thousands of miles apart, but it was actually facing my fear of flying that lifted the veil of darkness on my sense of who I am as a spiritual, rather than a geographical, being.

There were so many spiritual truths that shored up the foundations of courage and strength in me…but the one that I kept going back to was one that helped me let go of our move to Colorado when it became clear that we were to stay in St. Louis.  It was simply that as a spiritual being, a verb, there was nothing vital that I could do in Colorado that I couldn't do in St. Louis…I could love, I could pray, I could respond to the needs of others, and I could mother, nurse, nurture, appreciate, and reflect…wherever I was.

As the day of departure got closer I thought about how I could express consistency of being…as I embarked on a 24,000 mile journey. 

I refused to see this trip as an event.  I refused to buy new clothes, travel toys, or entertainment.  I knew how I liked to spend my day…reading, studying, praying, knitting…I would BE myself consistently…at 40,000 feet or at sea level…in Africa, Colorado. St. Louis or high above Namibia.

There are so many stories to share, but suffice it to say that I ended each transatlantic leg of my (according to the pilot) "longest non-stop flight in the world" rested (although I didn't sleep), inspired, and ready to continue my journey towards self-discovery, an awakening to being spiritual rather than geographical.  

My days were wonderfully, consistently…me.  I loved my daughter and her family, I read, studied, prayed, listened to new friends talk about the things they care about, and shared my love for their ideas…and I felt as close to my family in the States as I did to Hannah each day.

I love Africa and I loved my adventure there…but not because it was Africa, but because I learned that I am me…constistently me…no matter where I am. 

There are so many more stories from this summer…but this is today's.

"The outward symbols dissapear
From him whose inward sight is clear…"

Symbols of latitude and longitude, compass points, and landmarks do not define us…we are defined and driven by...grounded and at peace in...our relationship with God…consistently, persistently and eternally.

"And know through God's exceeding grace
Release from things of time and place."
-John Greenleaf Whittier

with love...
Kate

Securing Children's Safety

"Security for the claims of harmonious existence is found only in divine Science. "
                                                              - Mary Baker Eddy

Our 17 year old daughter was somewhere in a plane high above the Atlantic ocean when it occurred to me that she would be landing in Sau Paulo airport early the next morning and would have a 10 hour layover in a city that I knew nothing about.   I was volunteering at a camp for teens in the Rocky Mountains.  My job was to help counselors and campers find spiritual strength, healing, guidance and peace, through prayer, each day as they headed out for activities that ranged from backpacking in mountains that towered 14,000 feet above sea level, to whitewater rafting on one of the most demanding rivers in the southwest. 

Even though my days were filled with inspiration and I felt deep-settled calm about each of our campers, and their concerns for personal safety and freedom from harm, I sat bolt upright in bed at 2 AM that morning when I realized that I could actually google "Sao Paulo airport" on my laptop and see what Hannah's options for boredom-alleviating activities and finding a secure place to rest were, until her connecting flight to Johannesburg South Africa boarded later that day. 

I hoped that she would call when she landed so that I could share my research with her and suggest some places that she might want to take a taxi from the airport to, and explore during the day. 

As I powered up my laptop and waited for the dial up modem to find a local connection in the rather remote area where camp rests at the base of a range of mountains in the Arkansas Valley, I was somewhat pleased with myself for thinking of this little project and how wonderful it was that I could be so informed about a place I had never even considered, until Hannah's flight was rerouted the day before from her scheduled  connection thorugh Dubai, Dubai to Sao Paulo, Brazil. 

I typed in "Sao Paulo airport" and the first hit took my breath away.  It was a news item from a major US city's daily newspaper that told of riots in the streets of Sao Paulo and the burning of buses and attacks on tourists.  I was paralyzed with fear.  I spent the next hour, not praying, but googling everything I could to find as much information about the situation as I could.   I then called the airlines, the Federal Aviation Administration's hotline, and a terrorism watchdog organization that I found online that told me that "yes, there is grave concern about airport security in Sao Paulo....in fact, travel through Sao Paulo was discouraged for the next few days until the unrest had been settled", another source reported.

Still I hadn't prayed.  Oh, I had pleaded with God to protect my little (five foot, eight inch) girl...but pray....take a mental stand based on spiritual laws that govern the universe and find my peace....not yet.  I still had another couple of hours of self-doubt and compassion-building "on my knees" parental agony to go through before I would be ready for that I guess. 

I continued to vacillate between "God is All" and "I need to be informed so that I can do something to fix this" thinking...yes, I know, I certainly had high regard for my global handyman (or woman) abilities....but I was desperate! Moms fix things...don't they? 

I emailed acquaintances (and even people I didn't know) in Sao Paulo begging them to go to the airport and sit with my daughter until her connecting flight took off.  I googled a map of the airport terminal and tried to plot out what would be the safest place for her to stay for ten hours out of harms way.  When I was exhausted and had exhausted every possible strategy for securing her well-being, I sat back in my chair and took a deep breath.  There on the screen of my computer was the portal to even more details (over 12, 000 hits listed) about Sao Paulo than I could have dreamed were possible to  obtain, and yet it had not given me one bit of information about my daughter's security.  I was still concerned, feeling unsettled, and my heart ached in a way I hadn't felt since she started kindergarten and I sat outside the door all morning waiting for her little blonde head appeared at lunchtime beaming with delight at her new adventures.

That was when I remembered who I was, why I was at camp, what I knew to be true about children's safety....whether on a raging river, a treacherous mountain peak, or in a rioting foreign city.   I turned to two sources of information I had forgotten for a few hours, even though they had always brought me peace of mind....the Bible and Mary Baker Eddy's Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures.  I had been using the ideas in these two books to help campers and counselors find freedom from fear for four weeks that summer and I knew in an instant that there would be an answer of peace for me there too.   I was not alone in the middle of the night, high in the mountains. far from help, and more importantly, neither was Hannah. I was up because I loved children...not just at camp or because they were "mine", but because it was my nature. And I was awake because this was the kid-related issue I needed to be praying about right at that moment. I wasn't praying because "my daughter" was in Sao Paulo, my daughter was in Sao Paulo because that was where my prayers for the safety and security of children was most needed at that moment. Hannah and I were part of a larger picture and we were both in God's care.  We were both secure in His omnipotent government of good, safe in his ever-aware omnipresent loving of us, and of all.  Every weary traveler, every frustrated heart lashing out in anger, every law enforcement official, every parent around the world was being held by His strong hand, nestled in Her loving arms and guided rightly by His clear, firm messages of direction, discipline, affection, and grace.

As I prayed with these thoughts such a deep and settled peace descended on my heart that I must have drifted off to sleep.  I was awakened before dawn to the phone ringing.  It was my daughter. She was just calling to say that she was in Sao Paulo airport, that it was boring and the food was way too expensive.  We talked for a few more minutes...me telling her I love her and to call when she arrived in Johannesburg (which she did later that night), her telling me she would. Then we hung up before the cost of the call was more than the food at the airport.   After I replaced the handset on the phone's base,  I noticed that my computer was still open and the screen was still showing the last page I had googled.

I chuckled to myself as I exited out of the search engine realizing that I had not shared any of the details of my middle of the night research,  or my concern, with my daughter.  We both had all the information that we needed and it was coming directly from the one true source of the security itself...God.  I quickly sent follow-up emails to the folks I had asked to go to the airport and sit with Hannah in Sao Paulo. I assured them that I had heard from her and that she was fine, thanking them for being patient with my anxious missives in the middle of the night.  I turned off my computer and tucked myself back into bed for the 20 or so minutes of rest that I could enjoy before I needed to be up for the camp staff inspirational gathering at daybreak.  I was at peace.  This would be a good day, we were all safe in His love....on mountaintop, in rivers, and in airports, schools, offices, homes, neighborhoods, and warzones....we would all be safe today.  


K