Faith in a Whisper

Then the LORD said, “Go outside and stand on the mountain before the LORD; the LORD will be passing by.” A strong and heavy wind was rending the mountains and crushing rocks before the LORD – but the LORD was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake – but the LORD was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake there was fire – but the LORD was not in the fire. After the fire there was a tiny whispering sound. When he heard this, Elijah hid his face in his cloak and went and stood at the entrance of the cave. A voice said to him, “Elijah, why are you here?”

The above verse came to me the other night when I woke up just after 1 a.m. and I saw a light under my bedroom door, I thought “why is he still up?” I got up, went downstairs and I realized that Steve had already gone to bed, but this little lamp was left on…which literally hasn’t been on for more than two years. (I used it when Steve was confined to the living room after his accident, and I had to wake him up to give him medication and take care of the commode) When he got up the next morning I asked him about the lamp, and he said he didn’t touch it, it was completely dark when he went up to bed. Of course I wasn’t surprised in the least, given, well, everything lately…but anyway, I digress.

After working zealously for God, Elijah, in fear of his life and with the help of an angel, escaped into the desert and ended up in a cave. He felt alone and defeated especially after all he had accomplished for God, and that was the context of the above quote. Sometimes I think we only give credence to the large and flashy moments that grab our attention as proof there is something powerful and sacred going on, and that God works more powerfully in the miraculous and in the form of powerful humans. While those things certainly can be and are true, I was reminded in the dark, where I sat for a few moments after turning off that stupid lamp, and in quiet silence remembered the verse above. God was not in the wind, the earthquake and the fire, but in a gentle whisper requiring silence in order to hear God.

So, I sat in the dark and quiet and listened. As I become more untethered to form and convention of the world on this journey and the more solitary this road has become the loneliness I feel is becoming more and more palpable. Then my heavenly voice spoke to me and said, “Mary Frances, just be content with being a whisper and all will be well.” And like I do often these days, I cried. I spent so much of my life trying to be the wind, an earthquake or a scorching fire for God because I suppose it was what I thought I was supposed to be doing for God, when actually, all those “things” led me here, to be in a place where I am comfortable, for once, not being a movement or a force to be reckoned with (although don’t get me wrong, I am still and will always be a badass butterfly), I am content with being a whisper, sending out love and hope, in the form of words, prayers, art and simple actions.

A final caveat…during COVID, when my eldest got a job outside of Chicago, they sent me a link to a song from the 1975’s “You know the sound of my heart” They meant it as a loving gesture, thankful that someone on the planet knew their heart and they found great strength in that. I believe the same goes for all of you out there, I hope you know the sound of my heart, and that, in the rhythm of its small whisper brings you joy.

Faith in Convention

I changed my mind; I think this summer’s lessons will indeed kill me. I woke up last night at what I would swear was a less than gentle shove, and an overwhelming feeling of too many things at once, an emotional drowning, of sorts, like I could barely breath, and I wasn’t sure if it was due to a dream or something else. My first response was completely cranky, why now, why in the middle of the night? I’m tired of being so tired all the time. So, I do what I always do and got up and made some lavender tea and worked on a new painting I started. On ruminating on the said shove, my first thoughts were the weight we give human convention, or the kind of weight we give social matters or social rules of conduct, the kind that almost choke us to death. I think the overwhelming feeling I woke up with was how the weight of these human constructions we feel compelled to follow limit our ability to move and bring our gifts to the world, especially when we get so confused as to what the appropriate behavior we are supposed to adopt actually is as we make any movement forward. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not against propriety, civilized culture needs structures to live by. I just struggle with the kind of constructs that never change and never evolve simply because that is the way things have always been done or are “supposed” to be done, as defined by God knows who. Just as human beings and culture evolve, so should our human conventions. Like a choreographed dance without love, human social conventions that restrict one’s innate gifts and trajectory into the world have to at some point be redefined too. If you get so stuck into shrouding yourself in a certain propriety just to become acceptable to society or behave in a way as a simple means to an end that you desire, you might just lose who you really were meant to be in the first place (you know those initial conditions I spoke about).

The challenge is balancing the tension that exists between the convention itself and whether it helps an individual, group, or state, evolve or completely inhibits necessary growth. Therein lies the problem, when do we put the convention before the individual, and simply make them toe the line? There are plenty of times in the New Testament where social conventions were thrown to the wind, because they no longer served a purpose in helping humans evolve, or were simply corrupted over time. It was one of the reasons the Scribes and Pharisees wanted Jesus out of the way so badly. Paul, too, when bringing the gospel of Jesus to the world, included the gentiles into the fold and didn’t limit his outreach to the Jewish community, which initially created quite the scandal. And yet there are also many examples of human conventions that help an individual evolve into their best selves, like taking care of the weakest of society, the demand Jesus made to not let individuals hide their light under a bushel basket, treating our neighbors how we want to be treated, letting love be the directive to guide you etc. I don’t have much of an issue anymore with antiquated social constructs or those constructs that are defined by groups of people who believe they are the arbiters of a civil society and whose only objective is power, but last night when I was jolted awake, I got a deep feeling that there are other’s that do, others along my trajectory that are struggling. I made a decision at the beginning of this journey of mine that I would no longer accept any human convention that inhibited my ability to live as I was called to live and love the way I am moved to love. If on anyone’s personal journey they have the strength to refuse limitations with arbitrary restrictions on a personal level but yet allow society to impose the same arbitrary kinds of restrictions on you, you still lose. Let love be your guide, we all need to have greater faith in the beautiful blueprint that God created us to be. Breaking down the artifices that you’ve surrounded yourself with that only exist to deem you acceptable to society is never easy, but a necessary part of the journey. There will be sacrifices. Society has a great pull with temptations that can lull anyone into toeing a false line, so just let your heart be your guide. To quote the Little Prince: “What is essential is invisible to the eye, it is only with the heart that one can see rightly”

Faith in What is to Come

There is no picture this time, because it is my belief that it would jinx the great possibilities of what is to come….so read on.

I think it was after my dad died in 2016 that my faith in what is to come shifted dramatically towards the negative. Curiously, I would call myself a Pollyanna by nature, but my father, however, used to say it was just naivete. Over time I realized while my optimism was a great gift, when blind and disregarding the glaringly obvious, it is ceased to be a gift and became a millstone around my neck. When I say blind, I have always had a tendency to superimpose my belief and hope in individuals over who they really were and are at any given moment. Seeing potential in someone, or a community or country and seeing who they really are, are two very different things…and it is a bit embarrassing to admit that in the past I had been pretty thick about who or what I believed about the people that surrounded me. The school of hard knocks woke me up to this fact in many blistering ways and I had to learn that as much as I am hard on myself, I had to learn to be hard on others too when they came up short and I was the one left wounded. I know plenty of others have had the same kind of experiences, but since these are my observations, I choose to let the wounds help me evolve, and looking back I am a very slow learner, it would seem. I am also fully aware that I don’t live in a vacuum, I am culpable as well, I’m sure there are those who are disappointed in me too, but what is a bit different for me is that I already walk in the world completely unfiltered, so what you see is what you get, flaws and all, so usually people are just disappointed in me right away. There are plenty of posts beginning with 2017 that deal with truth, lies, power etc. that show a progression of how I tried to move more objectively in the world while trying hard to remain optimistic as well as hold onto the faith I always had in my future path. While those were pretty dark days of the soul, I knew I had to rebuild the foundation in how I moved forward in the world, while often in companionable silence with others (I never talked about it much), I grew to know that my faith in what is to come is ultimately a solitary endeavor, I learned how to rely on myself, and reassess what that looked like for everyone else in my life and shift accordingly.

Which brings me to this moment. I think the years of building and learning hard lessons paved the way for me to walk with cautious optimism into my future. Don’t get me wrong, I think we are living in the biggest shit show of our time, where foundations of culture are rattling against the will of powerful men (not being sexist here, just look around) who just want to be King of the Hill at the expense of the less powerful. I am not blindly optimistic anymore. While I still see and recognize unlimited potential in myself and others, the proof of that is in how you actually walk in the world. I have let go of false limitations that hinder my movement and embrace the fact that while at any given moment, my trajectory may bring me to uncomfortable and scary moments, it may lead me to as many amazing and celebratory ones too. It is simply a consequence of living in a deeply flawed yet beautiful world. And I do trust that God has my back. This quote from Jeremiah 29:11-14 helps me move through the tough moments as well as those that make my heart happy:

For I know well the plans I have in mind for you, says the LORD, plans for your welfare, not for woe! plans to give you a future full of hope. When you call me, when you go to pray to me, I will listen to you. When you look for me, you will find me. Yes, when you seek me with all your heart you will find me with you, says the LORD, and I will change your lot.

I truly believe that God would not have called me to this life to be stymied by it, even when it was by my own flawed sight. But as I have said before, I am limited to four dimensions, but God is not. God’s sees the end of my trajectory, I cannot. I do however know that if my movements are fueled by the deep love in my heart that I can withstand any challenge before me. I do believe God listens, and when I look for Him, for love, I will find him. For the first time in my life, I think I can say with confidence that the older wiser version of my Pollyanna nature is spot on in believing we can have faith in what’s to come.

Faith in Initial Conditions

Put your thinking caps on, this post is a bit heady. So, in chaos theory, a chaotic, or nonlinear system like weather or a singular human’s progression are deeply dependent on the initial conditions of the system’s starting point. Its opposite would be linear systems whose movements are predictable based on limited initial conditions, like the throwing of a ball or movement from A to B in a straight line. A chaotic system is often hard to predict because even the simplest change in a condition when there are a multitude, known as the butterfly effect, can have a dramatic and often times large effect on a future pattern. Unlike its name, however, chaotic systems are not random and when graphed out mathematically like a fractal for instance, are beautiful depictions of beauty and order. It is continued faith in the chaos, that even out of a seemingly randomly placed trajectory merging with another, a sense of pattern and beauty can emerge. Often looking back in hindsight, I have recognized the beauty of a pattern I didn’t even know existed that made the journey so much more worthwhile. In the unfolding of one’s own life pathway, taking time to understand one’s beginning and then supporting those initial conditions (that I believe are gifts from God built into our DNA) regardless of how chaotic they seem at any given point is an important element in learning how to shape and direct them into the future. It is a chess game of sorts, full of careful planning when we begin to recognize patterns and then make moves accordingly. It is the most important work of personal evolution and at times the most difficult, and while we never, ever should assume that chaos by its very nature is bad, but a long-term trajectory of your own butterfly wings it is also true that there is also chaos created in this world whose sole purpose is to act as a weapon against the fruition of your trajectory (which is another way of saying someone is acting against God’s gift of every individual purpose). The chess part is learning to understand when and how chaos can help you and navigate around the crap that hurts you.

When I think about the initial conditions that comprised my journey as a human, there is one that set the tone and tenor of every movement forward for this particular butterfly. At my inception, I was the third child of five. My parents had a two-year-old boy, and an eleven-month-old boy on the day I showed up (also called Irish triplets). During my mother’s pregnancy, there were complications with the RH factor which made it even more stressful. Concerned and fearful my father went to church and offered God a deal. He said if his unborn child were to be born safe and healthy, that the baby would belong to Him. He then told me afterwards, when I was born healthy that I would scream bloody murder whenever he came near me for at least the first six months, a testament to how I felt about this particular arrangement? perhaps. He never told me this story until we were having a conversation about why I chose the career path I did. He sheepishly said that he might have something to do with it and told me the above story. While my dad was a great storyteller, he was a devout man and never suffered fools. For me anyway, at this point, it added some context to the trajectory of my life. Also note, I am not saying in anyway shape or form that I was chosen by God for anything different than anyone else…except to say my dad offered God a deal and once I climbed that mountain that particular initial condition had expanded its trajectory with my own acceptance of said deal. I am also aware that this butterfly had absolutely no idea where the weather would blow, so even in the face of all the naysayers, I just followed the tune in my head and tried to find the order in chaos.

One of the reason’s I think it is so important to contemplate the initial conditions of our individual lives is based on a line in scripture from the book of Jeremiah 1:5:

The word of the LORD came to me thus:

Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born, I dedicated you, a prophet to the nations I appointed you.

So, what does this mean? Simply, I think it means that God does indeed have a plan for us, that we are all born with all the necessary skills and the appropriate initial conditions to fulfill that plan. I will never say that our lives are predetermined, while there are some that do, I do not subscribe to that idea, because it renders null and void the freedom of choice: that we embraced in the story of Eden, that the reason Jesus came to earth was so we had the choice he presented to each individual, and for human beings to do incredible shitty things to each other. Our human world is flawed, complicated, beautiful and sinful all at the same time, which is why I so readily accept the fact that my limited perspective definitely needs a source of guidance and strength not of the human kind as well as the help of the human kind trajectories of other like-minded individuals on the same kind of journey that have come in contact with mine. It’s also the reason I’ve learned to become a pretty effective cosmic chess player in recognizing what kind of chaos is good and what kind is not.

While you can’t change the past or the initial conditions of who you were called to be, you can take a moment to look inside and figure out and understand what those conditions are and how you’ve helped or hindered your path forward. It is also totally fine, at any given moment to have no idea whatsoever, but please believe that God does. Simply breath, keep moving forward with love and have faith that they will guide you along your way.

Faith in Imperfection

Often times, for me anyway, revelation gives way to a feeling of heightened stress and awareness that my boundaries have shifted, and I am no longer comfortably contained. As uncomfortable as that awareness is, I’ve learned over the years to soldier through the discomfort as a natural component of evolution. Perhaps it is why my adrenals are shot, a result of being so constantly uncomfortable, whether it’s attributably a result of not appreciating limits or embracing fully the momentum of exciting movement and not wanting to stop. I guess to my credit I never think or worry about that part much. I have learned to trust, wholeheartedly, in this journey I’m on that wherever it takes me and never resting on my laurels is a necessary part of the process. A process which began, at least most clearly for me on that day in Colorado. It took me a minute to find the photo I took on top of the mountain…and here it is. Old photos don’t give it justice, but I can still see clearly its radiance in my head.

In all my adventures, I’ve learned to appreciate how the world’s imperfections can ultimately evolve into spectacular beauty. As an artist, I love the small imperfections that bring out the beauty in a face, the lopsided curve of a lip, the unusual lilt of an ear, an elongated neck, a scar or unusual eye etc (I have a bright yellow freckle in my left iris which sometimes makes the blue, look green). I’ve been working on pencil drawings of micro expressions on people’s faces that wouldn’t be possible with perfect symmetry, and I so often wish others would see these elements with the depth of beauty that I do. I can tell you this though, had I not evolved in the manner I have, I probably wouldn’t have been able to see them either. Let me tell you about the dream I had the other night that changed my discomfort with expanding my boundaries to complete comfort in not having the need for any at all (which does not mean anarchy by any shape of the imagination, just limitations) …also, if you’re uncomfortable with expletives, there are many, so apologies.

I was in a very crowded place, unfamiliar and with no one I recognized. As it happens in my dreams sometimes, I wasn’t wearing clothes. I wasn’t particularly uncomfortable, except for the notion that it’s not normal to be in a crowded area like I was with no clothes on. Of course, these strangers did notice, and their looks of scrutiny also made it clear that I was the only one sands dress. My response this time, however, was different. Usually, I just move ahead not worrying about it. This time, however, I returned the scrutiny after realizing how many layers and coverings everyone else had on, at least I was hiding nothing, and I suddenly knew that underneath all the subterfuge, they were just as naked and flawed too. I flipped off more than one person in the crowd thinking how stupid they looked and went to look for my car. By the time I got to the street where cars were parked, I was wearing jeans and a T-shirt with a butterfly on it. I couldn’t find my keys, and when I found my car (and it was a beauty), there was a woman in a black suit standing in front of it holding my keys in her outstretched arm with a very smug look on her face (no it wasn’t a shadow form of me, and although I didn’t recognize her I’ll bet I could point her out in a line up). What happened next, NEVER, happens in my dream state. I have never felt such rage in my life, and I stepped within inches of her face and screamed: “Give me back my mother-fucking keys you bitch! You have no idea who you are messing with”. I looked down at my t-shirt at the butterfly there, snatched my keys from her hands and continued to yell: “I’m a goddamned butterfly and though my wings are small, I will change the weather, hell I will move mountains so get out of my fucking way!” (usually, I am the epitome of appropriate, always trying to treat others how I wanted to be treated…which is all fine and good, but this version made me dance a little). Stunned she moved out of my way, and I got in my beautiful car, turned up the music and drove away. God’s honest truth? I thought the lessons of this summer had about broke me. Now? I see it was all worth it. Here’s why.

All my life, I have been compelled to learn, grow, evolve, bear fruit, and to always become a better version of myself. Whether it was due to heavenly guidance, or my own DNA, my small circle of those who have tamed me, or working through my own karma, I have been graced with amazing opportunities to do so. I use the word grace specifically, because it is because of my flawed nature that the gift of grace even has a place in my life to transform my flaws into something beautiful and unique. There is no room for grace in one who refuses to see their own imperfections. Most importantly, without a lifetime of experiences facing obstacles, challenges, and sometimes taking time away to transform in my own personal chrysalis, I never would have turned into the badass butterfly that I believe I am right now. It is in weakness and imperfection that we become strong, as Paul reminds us in 2 Corinthians 12:9:

A thorn in the flesh was given to me, an angel of Satan, to beat me, to keep me from being too elated. Three times I begged the Lord about this, that it might leave me, but he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.” I will rather boast most gladly of my weaknesses, in order that the power of Christ may dwell with me.

So, my friends, I guess I would rather be naked, my flaws exposed than covered in layers of subterfuge that cloak imperfections keeping them from transforming into a bad ass butterfly. I guess it’s also one of the reasons I love art and artists so much, like a chrysalis, they transform flaws into something beautiful, where grace is sufficient, power is made perfect and can and will transform the world.

Faith and Limits

The phrase: “No Limits”, was a guiding principle of my early life, as well as the phrase: “If it was meant to be it was up to me”. I thought I was holding to the principle that with God, everything was possible, which I still believe is true, however, none of us are on this journey alone, and when you’re so hell bent on moving forward at any cost, you do miss the occasional freight train coming your way that inevitably throws you off course. I missed seeing plenty of them, and have shouldered the consequences of the trauma caused, and yet at the same time have evolved by lessons from them that I would have never learned otherwise. I did settle down, and more importantly took the time to evaluate a situation when a huge obstacle seemed to be thrown down on my path. Sometimes, I believe the obstacles were heavenly blessings, sometimes a consequence of my impatience or inability to see when I was acting recklessly (like the time I swan dived off the top of a telephone pole with a simple harness to prove to the asshole guys below that while I may have been just a “peanut” as they called me, my metaphorical balls were bigger than theirs…which is why I went last, so there would be no discussion) Like I’ve said before my greatest weakness was thinking I had none, and I’ve paid a huge physical consequence as a result. Sometimes the limitations I face are just examples of living in a flawed human world. Lastly, some of the limitations were a result of people who threw obstacles in my path simply because they just didn’t like me or care or just didn’t give a shit and wanted me to fail, which is another reason why it’s important to surround yourself with those few people who have tamed you and have your back. Another essential caveat in understanding why I am standing where I am at this point is a prayer I made while part of a peace keeping mission with the National Council of Churches in Soviet Russia in 1984. I was the youngest by about a decade and in reaction to the bombast of many Pastors and Ministers I interacted with on the trip…I simply asked this : Lord, whatever it takes please, please, please never let me become an asshole (pretty much word for word). I believe God held true to that prayer and placed many obstacles and sent karmic blasts my way that kept me in my place.

Appreciating limits, learning from them and never wanting to become an asshole, to put it bluntly, are essential guiding principles for me now, besides all those other axioms of my faith. Which is why, and I’m going out on another limb here, I need to state clearly that I am not seeking fame, notoriety, or using a subject of my art as a steppingstone or any other misguided belief others have about why I paint what I paint and where it goes once I’m finished. It has always been my practice (even though I’ve only been doing this for five-ish years) to first offer the portrait to the subject in it if they want it as a gift before I put it up for sale. There are plenty of joyful examples of that in my small circle and I do it without bragging or notoriety. I do it because I simply want to continue the ripple (which is why I’ve also thought more than once why this gift came to me so late). Since the internet is, for me anyway, a kind of wild frontier, it has become one of those limits that I will have to learn to navigate around, with as much respect as I can. And I know I am pushing the limit of the prayer I made all those long years ago to God about not being an asshole…but if I see one more reel of an attractive Asian man sands shirt or other clothing in clearly visible underwear brands my fucking head is going to explode…put your damn clothes on. One of the things I’ve appreciated about Asian TV and films is a more genteel approach to human interaction, and people aren’t nekked and eating face all the time, plus modesty to the XY’s in my house were never and still aren’t a priority much to my chagrin, so I’ve seen enough for a lifetime….

Lastly, I don’t have much of an online footprint, because my presence is more to observe and learn and broaden my perspective. What I find hilarious and representative of my relationship with God is that when you search my name according to the AI info on Meta, It turns out I’ve had a long and illustrious career as a beauty pageant consultant (and I’m dead). Best laugh I’ve had in a long time…and for some I may need to say this, that is one of the many adventures that I haven’t had.

Let your next limitation be an opportunity to learn, re-evaluate, and redirect if needed, while still holding onto the power that guides you…as I said in the beginning, with God all things are possible.

Faith and Mysticism

Since I posted the unfinished portrait of an artist in the last post, here is the finished piece. Not mystical by any shape of the imagination, but it did crack open my soul a little bit.

I rarely speak of this dimension of my faith, because I am by nature, more prone to root my foundation in doctrines and practices of behavior that fall under things that I can see and touch. Prayer is easy for me because it doesn’t feel as mystical as just singing a soul song while moving in and out of all the minutia of my life, and at this age hindsight is my best personal proof that it works. The more metaphysical aspects, which I do believe in hook, line and sinker, still freak me the hell out. I have had plenty of experiences in my life when the unexplainable, a synchronicity of events, or a stupendous moment of wonder and even a couple of times an experience of unmitigated evil, send my adrenals into fight or flight (which these days seem to be all the time). The thing that comes with an awareness of the mystical and embracing it and allowing it to change and alter one’s perspective over time, is that what you see and hear, become aware of, is demonstrably more acute than what most people are aware of, and it isn’t because they can’t, but because they won’t. I know I am walking into a territory that is akin to walking in a mine field, but here goes.

The Gospels aren’t just filled with stories about rules of behavior, rewards and punishment, ritual, or eternal life. They are also filled with miracles, mystical experiences, Jesus’ prescient knowledge of what is really on people’s minds, of walking on water, and the raising of the dead just to name a remarkable few. Those were the things originally that were the most difficult for me to embrace. As a young woman, I climbed my first mountain at 17 (I had just graduated high school and turned 18 the next day). It was Mt Yale, one of the collegiate peaks in Colorado. We were dropped off at the summit, and after four or five grueling hours with a lot of swearing on my part (like I have said before, I do not share the normal characteristics and affinities of a religious person) my heart pounding and a moment of petulant crying, I made it to the top. It was a religious experience looking out over the Continental divide, and, but for the wind, the silence was deafening and truly amazing. It was truly a rocky mountain high, but what followed was the moment my life would never be the same. As clear as day, I heard a voice say “you are mine now” I turned around in hopes to see the boy I had a crush on, and there was no one there. Knowing I wasn’t prone to auditory hallucinations, I tossed it up to oxygen deprivation and gave a chuckle, only to hear the voice again “you heard me right”. My soul cracked and I knew with perfect clarity I would never be the same again. The trip down the mountain only took an hour or so and was completely terrifying how easily it would be to tumble like Wylee Coyote down the steep slope. I threw up twice, of course both times in front of said cute boy and never said a word to anyone about what I had heard.

That was the summer before college and could not dismiss the voice that would accompany me throughout the rest of my life. I needed to know more and it was that moment I decided to study theology (much to my parent’s chagrin who had hopes of using my big brain to make some big bucks). Usually, I hear the voice at pivotal points in my life to help me focus and redirect my path necessarily, but not enough to lead me to believe that I had succumbed to schizophrenia or mental illness in any form, I’m way too practical and objective for that (seriously, I’m not an idiot… I know how far fetched this sounds). I still never told anyone about those auditory messages, because they are for no one else’s benefit but my own. But I do pay attention to the words I hear and adjust accordingly, because I have come to believe it truly is a knowledge beyond me that is assisting me, because I can be pretty clueless when it comes to reading a situation or am as stubborn as a mule when moving into territory I just don’t want to go (like right fucking now). Importantly, I think my heavenly help is truly for me alone, so I don’t get in my own way. I am never going to be one of those people who tells others the reason they are behaving in such a way is because God told them to…which truly is just an excuse to use God as leverage to justify their behavior. For me, it comes in the form of a smack on my head when I’m being obtuse, or a loving message of comfort when I’m falling apart, it is simply one of those mystical things that I can’t explain but shouldn’t feel the need to hide from, even though I still do, a bit.

If I can believe that a Savior can die for my sins, and offers me heavenly help whenever, in goodness, I ask for it, I guess the occasional message that only I can hear is part of my package. I also guess I can’t talk about faith without mentioning the dimension of it I can’t rationally explain. I am limited to four dimensions however, God is not. So, moving ahead, perhaps you will understand me and what motivates me more clearly…or write me off as delusional, which would make me sad, but it is what it is.

Faith of a Mustard Seed

The above photo was the first painting I did, inspired by my youngest son Riley (the picture following), the context of which is important in understanding the title of this post. In true transparency, I deplore weakness…which in fact, ironically, is one of my greatest weaknesses. The truth of the matter is that we all experience weakness at some point, and I think I’ve been blessed with my fair share…again, no plea for sympathy, it is just a fact, and one that became a blessing for me. I was diagnosed with a spondylolisthesis in my late 20’s (where the facet joints break off, so my L-5 vertebra is free floating). While I opted not to get surgery (because I was told it was only a 50% chance of improvement with 100% promise of future surgeries) I just kept fit, and received regular Chiropractic adjustments. (plus it doesn’t hurt that I fell in love with a chiropractor who also has a doctorate in sports injury). Anyway, along with a genetic autoimmune disease (adrenal/stomach) which caused dietary and digestive issues and bell’s palsy a facial paralysis three different times, my life has been focused on keeping a good diet, managing stress and structural strength, which I managed fairly well…until COVID.

Back in March of 2020, two days before our country shut down, while dancing with abandon at my nieces’ wedding, I shredded the labrum in my right hip (probably overtaxed by my back), which literally halted my ability to move and function normally, and since the country was shut down, there was nothing I could do to address the situation. I knew I needed a hip replacement but was forced to wait a year and a half. While trying to make the best of walking like a peg-legged pirate and being the administrator at our clinic which was dramatically altered and weakened by the pandemic and being cut off from people and unable to release my stress through movement, I really knew my mental health was at a fragile point like many others around the world. One day, my son Riley (both of my children were forced to move back home, which was also interesting…) gave me a picture he had taken the summer prior climbing Mt M at Montana State University where my oldest child got their computer engineering degree. He said simply, “Mom, you should paint this.” So I ordered a simple watercolor set and paper online and did just that. Not thinking whether or not I could do it or to what or where it would lead, I just did it, to put my energy somewhere positive amidst all the doom and gloom that surrounded me. The result has led me to a place that in hindsight, saved me. A gentle leap, the faith the size of a mustard seed has led me down another road less travelled, one more solitary and calm but vibrant nonetheless, even though it has forced me to adapt in ways I never thought possible.

I am by nature a mover. My earlier years were full of world travel that included cultural excursions, mountain/glacier/cliff climbing/hiking/biking, rafting down rivers, snorkeling, sailing etc., I also held multiple jobs beside my main gig in ministry to pay for said adventures that included aerobics instruction, cycling classes, writing curriculum, selling books and clothes (which were a wash because I seemed to use my paycheck to pay for all the good stuff I got at a great discount.;). While I’m glad I did so much when I was young, I also knew that adapting to my changing circumstances was inevitable. All was well, for a long time, until it wasn’t, when chronic pain (which I’ve spoken about before) was more in the forefront than in the background. I remember sobbing in the shower one day, when I couldn’t lift my leg up to the bench to shave my leg because of my hip issue and prayed that I could find a way around these horrible circumstances…and then Riley gave me that picture and said: “Mom, I think you should paint this.”

The reason for exposing all this personal stuff, which I am loath to do and literally makes me sick to my stomach sharing, is because I truly believe that in the depths of our sorrows, maladies, fears, disappointments, loneliness and the harsh reality of the weight of human limitation lies an opportunity that only takes the faith the size of a mustard seed in the God of love and possibility to find a glimmer of hope for a new path. To all who are weary, He will bring you rest. Part of adapting to a new reality for me means I can’t be embarrassed when my faith is stretched thin and I am weak, it happens to all of us. Faith is neither black or white…but I find comfort in believing that even a small amount of faith, when that is all I can muster allows me to take a deep breath and move forward, especially since I’m back to walking bit like a pirate again, as my other hip needs replacing. All will be well, though. I will dance the mother/son dance when Riley gets married in November, of that I am sure of.

Jesus said to them, “Amen, I say to you, if you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you.”

Hope and Innocents

When I was pregnant with my first child, I remember reflecting on Jesus words when he said that the kingdom of heaven belonged to the likes of children. I am also a strong proponent of the butterfly effect in chaos theory whereby the subtle flutter of a butterflies wings can affect a weather system a thousand miles away…its the subtle small things often overlooked that are so important in a child’s development. I believe it was and still is my job, then, to create an environment for my children that would help them develop their true potential (I really did think that way…the world in my head is exhausting). As any parent knows, raising a child is a daunting job in the best of times, often rife with unexpected obstacles along the way. While truly delightful, my oldest, an unconventional, extraverted, highly intelligent free spirit wasn’t always easy to guide along their path, considering the world we live in often doesn’t appreciate the unconventional and tries to pigeon hole children into certain restrictive molds…and mine would have none of that. My second child, in personality was nothing like his sibling. Anything I thought I could use with my first in raising my second was tossed out the window. He was introverted and cautious, never felt the need to talk much (of course he could hardly get a word in edgewise at our house), was single minded, an adept athlete, an animal lover with a sharp sense of humor and deep sense of empathy. In a highly competitive world where bluster often is represented as talent, he quietly forged his own way on his own merits.

While the initial conditions of each child were demonstrably different…I did desire my little butterflies to shape their own path, keeping their inner spirits as intact as possible. In a household full of testosterone, it was always a challenge for me to navigate the polarities on the masculinity spectrum. The odd one out, I often struggled to understand that particular language…I failed a lot of the time. But I do know this, if anyone or anything tried to harm them in any way, this is was where I would step in (and my husband too, don’t want to forget him). While I am a pacifist…there is no question in my mind that if anyone tried to harm either of my children I could exert a great deal of pain, especially with my velociraptor like rhetoric (never underestimate the power of words, especially spoken low and slow without blinking…the nuns taught me that). I am small, just over 5 feet, and both my children are 6 feet and above and can certainly hold their own, but at 30 and 28…they are just beginning to shape the weather in the world and I am still driven by the innocence they were born with, and have faith that it still remains intact deep within them and will fight to the death to protect it.

I chose a painting I did of a little Hispanic girl because I think we forget about the beauty that lies within all children. The Kingdom of God belongs to her as much as mine, and her little butterfly wings are so very fragile that I hope they aren’t crushed by the rampant racism, and fear that comes with having a different color skin before she is able to shape the future weather of our world. I’m sure her parents would do whatever it took to bring her to a safe place too. Let this be a gentle reminder then, having faith in a child’s needs means helping to keep in tact the innocence and beauty they were born with.

Faith and Integrity

Sometimes sharing my faith journey is uncomfortable to me, not because I’m embarrassed, but more because I tend to keep my deepest feelings close to the vest. Catholicism was the faith I was raised in, and while its study came easy, I didn’t always appreciate the explanations I got from the adults I was surrounded by (for example, I once had to crawl around the school on my hands and knees for messing up my first confession…but really how the hell was I supposed to know the lights went out in the confessional the minute you kneeled down?). So much of my schooling was fear based and negative, while the scripture I listened to in church, really wasn’t that way at all. I also didn’t always find the clergy very good representatives of those stories either…mostly because they didn’t seem all that happy, positive or peaceful. I remember expressing my dilemma in my childhood diary and came to this conclusion: what do I know, I’m only a kid. I’m not sure when I stopped giving adults so much deference for their instruction, but I knew there had to be another way to breath faith into my daily life.

When that did happen, and I made my own personal commitment to Christ, I felt sick to my stomach and a bit depressed. While I knew I was never an easy kid, I did take things like commitments very seriously. I knew I would be in this for the long haul, and that, if it were to mean anything at all, it would mean a deep material change to my life and how I walked in it. That’s personally terrifying for someone who felt ineffectual, lacking in social cues and graces, and didn’t particularly share an affinity for religious people. (I still feel a great deal of guilt for believing at the time, that they were too saccharine and a bit overbearing and touchy). When I found groups of faith filled people who were more like me, I was more celebratory about it, but didn’t always see how we were any different from any other young person. I also learned real quickly, as in any group, there are assholes everywhere.

My journey became much more internal, especially as I embraced theology as my major as an undergrad. The struggle was always taking all that I learned and somehow superimposing it on how I walked in the world. I also don’t naturally carry the disposition that Jesus walked in the world with, so I struggled, but still believed that it was my path to continue into the future, wherever it took me. The integrity of that commitment meant that any endeavor I made had to be a reflection of what I believed. I worked in Ministry in some shape or form for decades, and it was clinging to my integrity that brought me to the point in my life where I decided that I no longer comfortably believed that the whole is greater that the summary of its parts. This is not a denigration of churches out there who supply breath and life to faith for a lot of people. There are wonderful places out there. But if I’m honest, and that is the core of integrity, there are too many who hide under the banner of faith and never feel overly compelled to live and breathe the commandments of the Gospel. Again, perhaps I am off base, but much of the judgmental, fear and anger based vitriol I’ve experienced from religion reminds me more of the clergy of my youth than a mechanism to bring forth the Kingdom of God. Religion has become more of a mechanism for justifying intolerance and judgement than mercy and love.

I miss it sometimes, but I haven’t forgotten that what I’ve learned and understand about faith is contained in some very simple axioms…of which this is primary: to treat even the lowest as if they were Christ, and the understanding that others will know who his disciples are by how they love one another. That kind of living doesn’t depend on a structure…but the simple integrity of living according to the choice I made.

A Year of Faith

As the book of Hebrews says in the New Testament: “Faith is the realization of what is hoped for and evidence of things not seen”. I’ve always thought that was a bit of a conundrum, especially since we live in an age where people seem to believe in a ton of “stuff” without ever having seen or have evidence for it period. It seems you can make up anything these days, remain unaccountable for it and still convince a whole lot of people out there to believe it hook, line and sinker. For those of us who believe in God, then, it becomes a whole lot more complicated. For me as a Christian, I wonder, can anyone know what it all really means? While I take no issue with all the different Christian denominations out there, I do take issue with those that seem to contort the essence of the Christian message into one that serves a deeply nefarious purpose…not that anyone should just take my word for it. They should, however, note that every element in the gospels support some simple axioms…many of which have been circumvented by a human desire to use God as a mechanism for power, control and material wealth, i.e. world domination.

Faith can also be complicated, because of the alarming amount of bullshit that I’ve heard some say is part of Scripture’s message when its not. I’ve listened to preachers insist they know the mind of God when it comes to condemning the least among us as righteous, Christian behavior. I’ve listened to another who claimed expertise in eschatology (study of the end times) stating they were a Greek scholar and mangled basic syntax and pronunciation so badly, I couldn’t focus on anything else. I’m frustrated, because it appears, that anyone can claim expertise on God’s word, just because they decided they could. I mean, anyone can become a minister online, for the sake of being an officiant at a wedding, and anyone can start a church. I find that the greatest hubris of our time, especially when I worked my ass off studying theology, and working in ministry and education for years. While I am proud of my academic achievements and efforts in answering what I believe is God’s call, and that faith would lead me down the appropriate road, I also know that I’ve made plenty of wrong turns along the way, enough for me to never tell another human being that they are not what God intended, because we are all gifted with unique talents, and it is up to the individual to figure out how to develop and use them. What I absolutely do know is this: none of us know the mind of God…but based on the expectations that Jesus laid down specifically in his teachings, we should clearly know what action is required of us moving forward.

So. This is my year of faith. And I would venture to say that it is smaller than a mustard seed right now, and according to Jesus that is enough of a start to move a mountain, a hearty goal, but one I embrace nonetheless.

Joy and choice

Since my last post, I’ve thought long and hard about sources of joy and my commitment to serve and build the body of Christ. I fully realize that there are differing “opinions” about many different subjects out there. I put the word opinion in quotes, because the distinction between opinion and facts still seems to be an issue in today’s world. Phrases like “I heard”, “Someone who is (insert position of some sort) said…” are not always factual, if you bother to check up on them. Also, just because someone states something on cable news, or posts something on the internet, doesn’t make it a fact. In the alternative, “facts” are increasingly hard to come by, when the volume of information differs depending on a host of factors: bias, resources and incomplete understanding. I feel dizzy at what to believe sometimes. My personal strength lies in being prudent, cautious and researching claims and potential bias. It takes a lot of time and effort and while I’ve felt exhausted doing so, it brings me joy to do my due diligence.

There are plenty of people out there who may disagree with my ability to disseminate fact from fiction, and truly, that is of no consequence to me, which further brings me joy. Choosing to challenge unfounded information (info I did research on) and suffering consequences as a result, strangely brought me great joy and freedom, which is pretty new for me. It is a relief to exclude those who refuse to acknowledge, parse words and always demand the last word, (again, my words, my take on it). The removal of those who refuse to be challenged and or continue to misconstrue opinions as fact, view as persecution or anti whatever, and at the very minimum are never open to differing opinions has lightened my load considerabley. My youngest son challenged me by saying, “Mom, you debate and argue logically and succinctly better than anyone I know, you have spent your life studying and understanding the complexities of what is happening right now, why would you associate with people who live on conspiracy theories, misinformation and hateful rhetoric or even care what they think?” I had a pretty weak response initially, but deep down it was because I truly want to be open to differing ideas and am firmly committed to building the whole Body of Christ…to which my own internal dialogue said…so if there was a sickness or cancer in the Body that threatened its very existence you wouldn’t address it? The challenge should be on how to move forward, with different ideas and yet still cleanse the Body of disease which is horribly hard to do with the limitations of a single perspective of which WE ALL SHARE. Its why we must listen to each other. So here is what I finally and uncomfortably realized: functionally, I am declaring that I am beyond or more evolved than some people, the reason being that I am continually challenging my faith. That idea doesn’t sit easily with me because of incorrectly associating being evolved with thinking I’m better than someone else. I really don’t think I’m better, down to my core, which is why I feel joy in finally understanding the distinction. I also embrace understanding that my personal evolution also means that I am aware that I am demonstrably more flawed than I was yesterday, because of exposed holes in my belief system that are a direct result of questioning. But before I let myself spiral downward a bit at recognizing those flaws, words my father wrote to me popped into my head as I continued to ponder this challenge:

I am glad you disagree with fundamentalism because to be narrow as they are apt to be, leads to a narrow frustrating life. They tend to gather around others like them and fail to find goodness in those who are not like them or put their own faith to tests of honesty. They’re good people but they stay status quo, with no growth. It seems to me they put limits on God. To me theology is a process of change which goes on continually in a life time. One must continually grow by learning new things, theologically. As you learn more your life changes in accordance. Everything you learn, in turn, must be challenged and tested. This is how you arrive at growth, or truth. I do not judge how others believe because ultimately we are responsible for our own Christian lives and we must act according to what we know to be the Truth at the time. Over a time we may prove to be wrong but only because we had insufficient knowledge or our logic was faulty. There is always so much we don’t know but we have to have faith that somehow God will reveal to us how right or wrong we are, and with way we grow. I’m sure God does not abandon us and sometimes things happen we cannot handle alone and we give it up to Him. I see you in everything I have said. You plan your own path well enough.

I have worked really hard at this, and rereading my father’s letter brought me such joy. There are too many people who refuse to test their faith and embrace evolution. Happily, I know that I am getting better at it everyday (this is not the same as people arriving at a different conclusion, I still welcome them with open arms, our paths are all different, challenging each other is how we all grow). But those who refuse to evolve, embrace illusions and lies to be superior and refuse to be challenged? They bring me no joy, and I am gratefully releasing them from my life. Challenging my faith on issues of privilege or what personhood means and how better to be a custodian of this beautiful planet and to make necessary changes to evolve my faith are only a few that I’ve embraced. There are so many more powerful truths that are sweeping me up in the current of growth to help me evolve beyond who I was yesterday, and who I will choose to be tomorrow…and it brings me joy.

Joy and Sorrow

I wanted to start with sorrow, because it is the most prevalent emotion I feel everyday…but that isn’t the focus of my year, its joy. So I think that in this shit show of a world right now, where the condemnatory gifs and memes that condemn the year 2020, I am choosing to live in the “darkest before the dawn” sentiment and imagine that this is exactly the kind of year that will lead us to deeper and greater joy.

Perhaps the joy lies in not taking things for granted, like societal connections both strained and limited by a disease and challenged to transform because the horrific death of George Floyd. The greatest joy would lie in the belief that we really are all in this together. As Jesus says:

God has so constructed the body as to give greater honor to a part that is without it, so that there may be no division in the body, but that the parts may have the same concern for one another. If (one) part suffers, all the parts suffer with it; if one part is honored, all the parts share its joy.

Perhaps the joy comes when people of all colors and backgrounds unify and walk the streets peacefully claiming that black lives do, indeed, matter and that we need to have difficult and necessary conversations about securing the safety and welfare of all our citizens.

Perhaps the joy comes when there is a renewed effort to practice kindness…even when that kindness isn’t returned, because people don’t always act appropriately when they are overwhelmed and afraid.

Perhaps joy comes with realizing that the pandemic and racial violence also offers the opportunity to rebuild what was burned down, feed the hungry, clothe the naked, heal the sick, and visit the lonely especially those in prison.

Perhaps joy comes when empathy and compassion circumvent the need to demand perfection first. All of us are flawed and fallible at any given point in our lives…we should all be worthy, just like the good Samaritan deemed the thief worthy.

Perhaps joy comes with using your voice to ring out truths that are deemed inalienable by the founders of this great country, and continue their work to be our best selves by exercising one of our single greatest powers, the power to vote.

Perhaps joy comes with the freedom to wield our faith with impunity regardless of those who try to proclaim the belief that we cannot. There is no structure big enough, no limitation strict enough to keep us from engaging in grace and loving as Jesus commanded us to: To love your God with all your heart and your neighbor as yourself. Structures and services are not the priority, the loving part is. The rest is just subterfuge perpetuated by fear mongers. For scripture also says:

If anyone says, “I love God,” but hates their brother or sister, they are a liar; for whoever does not love a brother or sister whom they have seen cannot love God ⁵ whom they have not seen. This is the commandment we have from him: whoever loves God must also love their brother or sister.

And lastly, perhaps, joy comes from having eyes to see and ears to hear the necessary truths shared by all our brothers and sisters that will set us on the road to building a better future. We are all creations of God with unique and singular gifts. To think that we can accomplish any greatness on our own…is folly and contrary to what makes humanity great.

Joy and …..

This post was originally titled something else. I tried to live within the theme of joy, but given the current situation in our country and world, the message seemed inappropriate, because truthfully,…it felt trite, disingenuous, disrespectful, entitled, and simply unfair to be talking about joy right now. So, if you would indulge a bit of diversion this is my “not joy” insight. If joy is feelings of great pleasure, happiness and contentment, then we should all take a quick hiatus for a moment. There are times when given the gravity of the violence happening in my home town, when a discussion of joy is reserved for a later date. There may be a time to talk of joy amidst crisis, but that moment is not now.

I have only one single perspective. If I stand alone and demand that the only value is in what I see, and hear and dismiss any other vantage point because it is contrary or different than my perspective then it is antithetical to my personal evolution and contrary to my faith. If I try to move around to see things from different angles and ask for and listen to the perspective of those who may see things vastly different than I do, I think that not only helps me evolve and fulfills what Jesus requires of us, but is the only necessary place from which good solutions are to follow. I think its essential to take a moment and walk a mile in someone else’s shoes. Looking at things from a variety of perspectives, asking and listening to others doesn’t mean that I have to buy in to any one perspective, but it is required if we are to love our neighbor as ourselves, and love the least among us as if they were Christ. What seeing from a variety of perspectives does for me is to create a sense of empathy, understanding and a greater truth beyond my own limited perspective. Then I get to re clarify and move beyond my limitations.

We have some difficult steps to take now and into the future. It can’t happen without a dialogue, one that is sure to be charged with emotions and opinions. But, if we truly want to get beyond this crisis of the pandemic, racial inequity and the resulting violence and bring together the people of this country, then confronting the uncomfortable and learning to address these problems with civility and respect is a necessary requirement. Before any of us stand in polarity for or against any issue, remember these words that Jesus spoke:

I tell you, on the day of judgment people will render an account for every careless word they speak. By your words you will be acquitted, and by your words you will be condemned.

There will be a variety of perspectives on all the worlds ills in the weeks to come, especially before our elections…let reason, love, truth and the golden rule of treating others as we would treat ourselves reign. I won’t tolerate bullying, but I am open for dialogue. I am praying all the time, for us all.

Love and Money

I never anticipated using the word “hate” so much in posts about love, but here it is…I hate this year’s task, because it appears that….in order to wield love effectively, I must be whittled down to a mere wisp of myself, with all pride thrown aside (and I hemmed and hawed about the level of sharing, to keep some semblance of pride and decided, no, I am all in with this commitment). From a boil on my butt (I’ve never even had a pimple anywhere else but my face, and that was 35 years ago) that left me not only humiliated, but unable to do virtually anything, to paper cuts on every finger (it was -55 below zero with windchill after all, every scintilla of moisture gone from my body) I struggled through last week, having to make a conscious choice to get out of bed and resurrect the optimism I once had about facing the day…and I did, bully for me. I was going to title the post about it “Love and the seven plagues” but instead am just using it as a prelude to another more challenging lesson.

And so I reiterate that an interesting tidbit I learned about these silly little obstacles, in my life anyway, is that it is more often than not, that it is the “small things” that undermine my ability to wield love in the world. I am a tigress when demonstrably bad things happen. I can champion a cause better than most. I have learned to gird my loins and run into battle in defense of justice and righteousness. The embarrassing things, like those mentioned above, including but not limited to intestinal distress, and other vanity challenges have felt like a sword through my armor and it was with greatest effort that I tried to move in the world with my integrity in tact.

And then came this week, and the charge forth stopped. Every vehicle in my small family of four has just cost us thousands, within two days (in addition to the water crises and house calamities of the prior weeks). While I am thankful for Triple A, and no visible injuries…it is the very ability to actually move in the world being hindered and the financial challenges that followed (not to mention the punch the cold weather had on our business) that reminded me of all those stories in scripture when Jesus lectured us about serving God and money. It is money, the lack of it, the power of it, the injustice of it, and the corruption it brings that stands as my obstacle this week. The weight of money can cripple our ability to wield love in the world if we are not careful, and let me tell you it doesn’t matter how much you have, it may be a lot or hardly any at all. It affects each of us differently, but I have humbly learned that it can, does, and will stunt our ability to wield love in the world if we aren’t careful. The parts in scripture that I’ve held onto and so far have kept me from falling into panic are these three:

No one can serve two masters. He will either hate one and love the other, or be devoted to one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and mammon (money) Mt 6:24

Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks, receives; and the one who seeks, finds; and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened.Which one of you would hand their child a stone when they asks for a loaf of bread or a snake when they asks for a fish? If you then, who are wicked, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give good things to those who ask him. Mt 7:7-11

Now someone approached him and said, “Teacher, what good must I do to gain eternal life?” He answered him, “Why do you ask me about the good? There is only One who is good. If you wish to enter into life, keep the commandments.” He asked him, “Which ones?” And Jesus replied, ” ‘You shall not kill; you shall not commit adultery; you shall not steal; you shall not bear false witness; honor your father and your mother’; and ‘you shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ The young man said to him, “All of these I have observed. What do I still lack?” Jesus said to him, “If you wish to be perfect, go, sell what you have and give to (the) poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.” When the young man heard this statement, he went away sad, for he had many possessions. Mt 19: 16-22

So, the test is: where do our loyalties ultimately lie? Do we embrace the love of God over the power of money? Do we trust that when we ask God for bread he will not give us a stone? And I think the most important is when given a choice do we choose God and all that that entails (loving God, ourselves AND our neighbors) or our possessions. I am learning this: to wield love effectively and well, I must continually weigh all three, many times every day. Vanity? shedding that is the easy part…the real strength and conditioning comes from choosing God over money, every day.

More prayers for you on my Birthday

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Today, I celebrate the anniversary of the day I arrived on this planet. Today I feel joy because: I am surrounded by a loving family, I am empowered by a loving God, I choose love as my focus and energy, and I embrace truth. justice and the American way 🙂 So here goes…

I pray you be kind in thought, word and deed…the world is in desperate need of your kindness, make it your superpower.
I pray for you to stand for truth in all that you do, especially when it may appear to be against your own interest, watch how it can transform that moment. In truth there is always greater freedom. Lies deteriorate God’s Kingdom in this world and we have the power to stop it.
I pray you come to realize how important you are to the fabric of this world. Your golden thread holds many other threads in place to show and become an even greater beauty. Never underestimate God’s blueprint, every thread is counted.
I pray that you release fear in your life. It is a source of animosity and judgment, and inhibits your ability to be all that God intends for you to be. Find comfort in knowing that when God is for you, nothing will come between you and God’s power.
I pray your eyes are open to the wonder of God’s creation and that you can take precious moments to let the beauty of our world sink in and nourish your soul and in so doing you recognize your own beauty.
I pray you see clearly the impact you have on those around you and that your love, hope, faith, kindness and truth do influence and affect them. I pray that you’re open to receiving the same from them. I know sometimes its easier to give all those things out than receive them.
I pray that you can ask for forgiveness as well as forgive others for any intended or unintended hurts. Most importantly I pray that you forgive yourself. We are all imperfect and our journey on this earth isn’t about being perfect but growth.
I pray that you find happiness and contentment in all you do, and if what you do doesn’t make you happy, I pray for the strength to find what does and do that.
I pray that you find a way to laugh everyday, it will do your brain good!
I pray that this next year we all find ways to rise above all the negativity and work together to build the Kingdom of God. And I pray we remember every day that all things are possible through God

Getting your Hands Dirty

getting your hands dirty

Bearing good fruit into the world demands that we get our hands dirty. Creating something from nothing, or building on something to make it better, paving a new road, establishing a novel idea, are never easy or smooth…because life isn’t supposed to be easy or smooth. The dirt under our nails, whether it is metaphorical or actual grime, is a testament to what we are willing to sacrifice to bring something to fruition. When ministry became my chosen profession, God gifted me with many opportunities to get my hands dirty in ways that were humbling and well, sometimes even gross, like unwanted interaction with bodily fluids. Serving Christ demanded I roll up my sleeves and get messy. More than anything, I learned that bearing fruit in a sterile environment is impossible.

I know I’ve said this before in different ways, but you can’t skip the middle of cultivating any dream by bypassing the dirty work. Too much of the final product is predicated on the will, imagination and effort necessary to struggle through mire in order to achieve success. While frustrating, it is perfectly normal for people who are in the middle of any pursuit to wonder if the difficulty will ever end, if it is worth it, if the fruits of labor match the effort and expectation. The road yet traveled can be a daunting proposition. For me, that is why faith is so important to the process. We don’t have to be alone in our pursuits. God is the ultimate safety net, and is ever present even in the muck. And, it is often amidst the muckiest of muck where true revelation lies. Always keeping your hands clean, or the process sterile, kills growth and can mean you miss the best lessons life has to show you. The best fertilizer for the greatest fruit is sometimes noxious. It’s a testament to God’s great sense of humor that shit is one of the greatest ingredients for growth…both literally and figuratively.

So, I say, life is not sterile. Some of the greatest fruits come from mud, even seeing more clearly.

John 9:1-11

“As he passed by he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” Jesus answered, “Neither he nor his parents sinned; it is so that the works of God might be made visible through him. We have to do the works of the one who sent me while it is day. Night is coming when no one can work. While I am in the world, I am the light of the world.” When he had said this, he spat on the ground and made clay with the saliva, and smeared the clay on his eyes, and said to him, “Go wash in the Pool of Siloam” (which means Sent). So he went and washed, and came back able to see. His neighbors and those who had seen him earlier as a beggar said, “Isn’t this the one who used to sit and beg?” Some said, “It is,” but others said, “No, he just looks like him.” He said, “I am.” So they said to him, “(So) how were your eyes opened?” He replied, “The man called Jesus made clay and anointed my eyes and told me, ‘Go to Siloam and wash.’ So I went there and washed and was able to see.”

Lydia’s Fruit

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A woman named Lydia, a dealer in purple cloth, from the city of Thyatira, a worshiper of God, listened, and the Lord opened her heart to pay attention to what Paul was saying. After she and her household had been baptized, she offered us an invitation, “If you consider me a believer in the Lord, come and stay at my home,” and she prevailed on us.

After Paul and Silas were beaten and imprisoned for freeing a girl of a demon, the jailer was converted when after fervent prayer an earthquake felled the walls of the jail, but they refused escape to protect the jailer. Overwhelmed, he asked what he needed to do to be saved, they told him of Jesus, witnessed and baptized his whole family and he bathed and addressed their wounds. After refusing to leave quietly, because they were falsely detained without trial as Roman citizens, they walked proudly out the front door and went directly back to Lydia’s house where they saw and encouraged the brothers and then left.

It took me a long while in my study and ministry to understand the power and gift of Lydia. Imagine the difficulty of traveling all these territories spreading the gospel. Foreign places full of strangers with nothing really to travel with. Those few lines in Acts bring it home. She offered them a safe haven, a generous hospitality that enabled them to face hardship, yet continue their ministry. I wrote a paper about Lydia in graduate school, using her simple, yet powerful gesture as an example of environmental leadership. What Paul and his entourage did was extremely difficult, and because of people like Lydia, they could stop, refuel, take a moment to regenerate to begin the journey anew.

I never underestimate the power of hospitality, especially in terms of leadership…because being a good leader is hard. But when welcomed in and nurtured in a safe haven, they can become their best selves, and that in and of itself can be the the greatest gift to the world, bringing out our best selves to build the Kingdom of God. Face it, the world can be a scary place and we as individuals and faith communities can be a powerful source of love and safety for those on their life’s difficult journey. Never underestimate the power of hospitality, even if it means just sitting next to someone who appears afraid, or standing up for someone who is being bullied or oppressed. It doesn’t have to be a grand gesture, but compounded together these simple gestures can be beautifully transforming. Go ahead, be Lydia.

1988

My second trip to Russia was through Canada. We flew on the Soviet airline Aeroflot, a night and day difference from our commercial airlines. Cautious, I felt this would be a good thing, Russia from the perspective of the people. That hope didn’t last long. Beyond the clear evidence of what materially was not available to purchase in their home country, each citizen had bags and bags of stuff they purchased in Canada.

It is clearly evident that I am an American on a Soviet Airline. I feel like I’m on a 1950’s grey hound bus. All around me I hear incomprehensible Russian, full of enthusiasm to share the spoils of their trip with their loved ones at home. People have bags and boxes stacked on their laps and under their seats, unwilling to let go of the proximity needed to put them in the upper bins. Their “stuff” includes electronics, Reeboks, and blue jeans. I forget sometimes how accessible material things are to me (even if I can’t afford them). The air in the plane smells Soviet-a mixture of perspiration, musty air and an ointment like smell. It makes me feel like a prima dona because I’m more concerned about brushing my teeth and taking a shower. I helped a woman squeezed into the seat next to mine who looked at me suddenly panicked and I knew she was going to vomit. I grabbed the barf bag in the pocket of my seat and put it in front of her face just in time. I felt so bad for her because I know how awful it is to get sick in a crowded place (like I did last time I was in Russia). It is so easy to love when one who is so vulnerably helpless is forced to lower their guard and let someone help. I didn’t need to speak the language, only sit and be present with my hand on her back and give her a Kleenex when she needed it. She smiled and tried to communicate for the rest of the trip.

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I have always loved Leningrad, now St Petersburg. The Summer palaces, the Hermitage museum and churches are exquisite. Plagued by citizens trying to swap, poach, buy drugs was unsettling. I did not feel safe as a young woman there and wore my glasses most of the time, like it would make a difference (remember that I was young and a bit naive) I had such high hopes for a newer, fresher Russia. I expected a sense of moving with the times, but what I began to understand is that this was a country that wanted the benefits of a western society, but either didn’t want to do the work, or was ill equipped to handle the transition. And they worked so hard to create a smoke screen to make it appear that they would still be equal to or superior to America. It wasn’t a very good one though.

We’re in Leningrad-and it is the white nights. At 2:30 in the morning it looked like the afternoon. I met Leonard Bernstein in a shop. I was completely star struck. It was phenomenal, and he was surrounded by people here too.We went to tour the Hermitage Museum, such amazing beauty and art A young man came up to me and wanted to trade, which isn’t unusual, but then he wanted to know if I smoked or did coke and stared exclusively at my chest. I said “no” forcefully. It felt good, but I was mad that the only people who speak to me here-want something-money exchange or other stuff.

There were people we met with who really wanted to make a difference, but I never got a sense that they had much power or backing to really do anything about it. We met with a few peace summits, as they were called but there were always less than a dozen people present. You could hardly call them a summit. I give these people credit, though, they were working hard to make a better life for the people.

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I had a wonderful conversation with a man named Demetrius at our peace committee meeting. It was refreshing to talk to someone young who is educated and open. He gave me his address and said they would invite me to visit again. Maybe, someday. I also went to the ballet it was wonderful, of course-I’ve been lucky enough to see the Bolshoi Ballet in the States. We went to the tea room afterwards, simple and relaxing. No one to bother us. One thing I’ve noticed this tour, is that there are no visits to war memorials, last time we were inundated. The talk of war is almost minimal except for a breed of hatred for Stalin.

014 1988 russia friend

Landed in Kiev on another greyhound type plane. It is much more relaxed than last time. I stayed in the same hotel, and this time had no less than three marriage proposals. Must not be a good place to plan a future. The peace meeting here, too, was just like last time-all party line.

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My time in Crimea was wonderful and awful. I had never been, which I now see for what it was, sexually assaulted before. I am thankful that I was surrounded by people and members of my group to support me, and empowered by my own willingness to punch his lights out. The picture it painted for me was that I thought there was a license to treat women in a way that was unacceptable in Russia, and I unfairly blamed them for a long time. When I returned home and the growing awareness of sexual violence that continued to permeate my own culture, and more personal experiences on a much smaller and subtle level, I had to come to grips when the fact that it wasn’t exclusive to a reforming communist country. Yet, I’m glad that I only wrote about the wonderful and kind people I met there in my journal. When I saw the news that Crimea was annexed by Russia, I knew why. It is the crown jewel of the Black Sea, of the Ukraine, and like Russia seems to always do…it takes what it wants.

We are in Yalta, the vacation paradise of Russia. The hotel is magnificent, the beach crowded with people, families unconcerned about body image, just happy to be on the beach, work first, though. We went to a pioneer village, a youth camp and we only met one official, which was quite disappointing.One distinction beyond the same universal educational curriculum for the last 10 years, rock music is no longer suppressed, and some pictorial art.

Back relaxing in the pool, a very attractive man swam up and tried to sell me lacquer boxes. I splashed him off and then felt bad. I saw him that night in the disco and danced with him and nearly punched his lights out when he started to mall me. Whatever decorum was present last time is not present this time. It is very disturbing.

me and Diana 1988 gala dinner

Back in Moscow at the Hotel Rus (*which is now an office building…original built in 1894) and there were cockroaches. Someone stole a pair of my shoes from my room. I am ready to go home.The city tour was OK, it is dirty now.

That was all I wrote about Moscow the second time, except for one funny ditty I wrote in my journal “Hotel Rus, 6000 rooms with 6000 unused bidets”. We did have gala dinner to conclude our trip and I remember it as lovely, but full of other tourists. I couldn’t wait to go home. The only memory of my return trip was that I had to convince so many on the plane when we stopped over in Ireland not to spend all their money in the duty free shop there. It was hard to convince them that Canada would have everything they needed. Going through customs took forever, one of our party got in trouble for trying to smuggle in caviar. I missed my connecting flight and stayed in Montreal at a new friends family home. My sadness returning home would have been oppressive, but I was ready to start my new teaching job. I didn’t journal for months, so I can hardly recall what my feelings were. I did pack up all my Russia books and materials and put them into storage…which speaks volumes.

Both trips to Russia were an instrumental gift in my life. How it presented and continues to present itself in my life may seem blurred at times. I do know that my devotion to truth and cutting through political subterfuge is a result of those journeys, and is the number one reason I am so pained by what is happening in the world right now. I have paid a price for it, but one that I accept readily. Jesus says the truth will set you free…I walk in that belief and understanding every day.

Seeing Colors

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Christmas time, a season of wonder, full of hope…but what should it mean to people of faith? There are plenty of people out there who appreciate this season for a host of reasons…those of us who claim to be Christians should be on a whole different page. We should always live with a sense of wonder and hope, even if, in times of trouble, it is buried deep. The funny thing, is that given the current climate, most people (and I’m talking about Christians here) don’t live that way. They live in fear of others who are different from them, or think differently than them, or embrace such righteousness that they, like the religious elite that Jesus despised, think that everyone else is beneath them, and take pleasure in condemnation or scapegoating others. Those are the distinctions for me that are proof they don’t get it, they can’t see all the glorious colors that faith, hope and love brings. There will be plenty who read this who will have a visceral reaction…who does she think she is? except in more in more salacious terms. I don’t care. There is too much at stake. If you see yourself in any of the descriptions I’ve negatively laid out, then read a bit of the Gospel and CHANGE. Bullshit doesn’t work anymore. If you want to be a change-maker, a true disciple, then you believe what Jesus taught. Walk on water, do the things he did, show the world you are truly a disciple by how you love one another…AND DON’T WORRY ABOUT BEING SEEN, OR GETTING CREDIT, OR ANYTHING BUT LIVING JOYFULLY IN THE COLORS BROUGHT TO SIGHT BY THE FAITH, HOPE AND LOVE THAT YOU SUPPOSEDLY LIVE AND LOVE BY. For those of you who aren’t necessarily religious, per say, and are tired of me proselytizing, try and read between the lines to at least embrace the simple challenge of living beyond fear.

That is my commitment for next year. I want to meet and know people who see in color. I want to help bring that goodness to the forefront.

Observations of an Ordinary Woman

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