Grace-Filled Moments

Sunday night, around 1:30 AM, I was called in to the hospital to be with a family who was experiencing a sudden, shocking tragedy. I hurried to the emergency room, full of prayer and confidence that God was already there before me, uplifting, holding, comforting. I walked into the midst of a large gathering of people experiencing every emotion you could imagine--shock, anger, panic, fear, desperate heartache, hopelessness, confusion, bewilderment. But over the next three hours, I was able to see God work, bringing calm, understanding, comfort, and community. Their pain wasn't gone and won't be gone--maybe for months, or years, maybe never. This family, I knew, was changed forever by the loss of their beloved one. But God's grace was there--with each of us individually and together as a group--and as the moments moved quietly by, I saw hurting, scattered people come together and find a sense of peace in their sharing. Even in this darkest moment, they together found support and strength enough to face the day.

I can say without any doubt--because I have seen it over and over again--that Grace is always there, even (and especially) in the moments we are most broken. Knowing that, the words "Be not afraid" become more real, alive, and possible for me. What is there to fear, when we have the certainty that God is working now and in every moment, and that nothing--not shock, anger, panic, fear, desperate heartache, hopelessness, confusion, or bewilderment, not even death itself--can separate us from God's Love?

Hope

I have never in my life been so hopeful on the eve of a national election. And it doesn't have anything to do with who the eventual winner might be--it has everything to do with how awake, aware, and passionate our people are right now. No matter what our views on the issues or the leaders, we care. We are speaking. We are stepping out. We are thinking things through and weighing things out. We are leaning toward our television sets, watching debates in record numbers, registering to vote like never before.

In this election, kids with cell phones barely past voting age have a voice. They are welcomed and wanted--whether they have green hair and pierced eyebrows or button-down collars and Ivy League educations. This election, there is a unifying force--we care. If we were as cynical, disgusted, fed up, and hopeless as we sometimes say we are when it comes to our flawed political system, why would we lift our voices, pass along emails, drive to see candidates, watch the latest news reports, or take the time to vote?

Tonight, on this election eve, I want to jump up and down and say, "Our hope is alive, America!"--and it's right here where God put it, closer than our own heartbeats, in the vision we share of a better world.

Faithful to the Wistful Longing

Leave it up to God to remind me that my reminiscent longing to trail my fingers in the water and be thankful to Him is okay, too. I discussed this passage from Thomas Kelly's A Testament of Devotion yesterday with some friends and thought, "Oh my--that's just what I wrote about this morning!":

Some of you know this holy,recreating Center of eternal peace and joy and live in it day and night. Some of you may see it over the margin and wistfully long to slip into that amazing Center where the soul is at home with God. Be very faithful to that wistful longing. It is the Eternal Goodness calling you to return Home, to feed upon green pastures and walk beside still waters and live in the peace of the Shepherd's presence. It is the life beyond fevered strain.

I love it when something I discover in my day connects so purely with a thought or a leading I've just had. I'm beginning to think that Synchronicity is God's middle name. :)

Enjoy your day!

Add a Comment!

I'm excited--thanks to my daughter (who has now officially surpassed me in technical knowledge), I learned how to add comments to my site. So if you think of an idea or story you want to share--or you just want to say hello--you can click the Comment link at the bottom of each post and add your own message. You've been listening to me for a long time--now you can write and tell me about the wonderful and surprising places God shows up in your life!

Healing Grace

I awoke this morning with a sense of heaviness about the day. I have a lot to do. Obligations I've taken on. Time that needs to be spent on things that matter. Yet inside there's a pressure, a longing, a desire to luxuriate in this Saturday as though I were floating on the lake in a summer afternoon: kicking back, trailing my fingers in the warm water, feeling exuberantly thankful for the blue sky, the warm sun, for God.

But it's not summer anymore, and the fall winds are whipping the curtains against the windowsill and spiraling leaves around the yard. Sparrows glide effortlessly from one tree to the next, riding the wind currents deftly, not thrown by the blustery winds or worried--in this moment, anyway--about preparing for the winter.

What is it about using our gifts that enables us to let go of what we thought we wanted and instead find such joy and gratitude in what we have? Being who I am, doing what I do, and being thankful for it (that's the part I so often forget), dissolves that longing for the "time that was" and fills me with soul-deep gratitude that I can spend this busy morning in the presence of the "One that Is."

May you enjoy this Saturday--and the One you are spending it with!

Holding Life Up for Us To See

I was reading the daily entry from the book Listening To Your Life, and I found this wonderful thought from Frederick Beuchner today:

"The task of the preacher is to hold up life to us; by whatever gift he or she has of imagination, eloquence, simple candor, to create images of life through which we can somehow see into the wordless truth of our lives."

Isn't that powerful? I think it's not something only "preachers" can do but rather something we each can show each other in the mirror of our hearts...you find yourself in me and my experiences, and I find myself in you and yours. Doesn't that sound just like God to think of something so wonderful?

Night Falls

I'M NOTICING MORE TIME FOR QUIET in the fall, more time for twilight, more clouds, more leaves, more stillness. As I walk along the path, it's as though the whole world has been padded just so that my footfalls won't echo too loudly, so that I can hear and tenderly hold the thoughts that are coming together in my mind, so that I can cherish the vital, life-giving surge of gratitude in my heart. There are a million unseen things going on as fall prepares the world for winter. Likewise, there is a lot going on beneath my surface these days, as seeds are scattered and turned under the soil, leaves ride the wind and float to the ground, and my roots reach deep into the earth, ready to nestle for a long and peaceful rest in the arms of God. :)


The beautiful image shown above is a card from the Nature Gallery; Ron Mellott, Photographer.

Letting Go

If I can just let go of...

...who I think I am

...who I want you to perceive me to be

...how I'm supposed to act

...what I should think

...how I ought to see

...and how I think I should respond,

I'll be really here, really free, really ready to experience you and celebrate whatever our spirits want to share in this moment.

Heart or Head

This morning I was thinking about everything I have to do today and feeling a bit overwhelmed. I made a list of MUSTs and noticed a knot of anxiousness in my stomach. I let myself explore that tension a little bit, took a few deep breaths, and reminded myself I really wanted the things I do today to be about love, to flow from my heart and not just from my head.

When I do things from the heart, I am not acting out of fear of letting someone down, failing others' expectations of me, not measuring up, or any other ego-based punishment. I am acting simply because the openness of Love must give...flowing freely outward, expanding, lifting, playing, swirling.

I felt a huge internal shift when I asked myself what it would feel like to do those same things simply because they poured out of my heart, not because I was afraid of what would happen if I didn't get them done on time. I remembered Brother Lawrence, washing pots and pans for God. Wouldn't it be wonderful to be able to do everything in your day simply because you love God? It's worth trying, anyway. I'll let you know how it turns out. :)

Listening to God

This morning the entry in one of my daily devotionals, In God's Care, was about the voice of the ego. As I reflected, I recognized it--the voice of the ego is continually changing, either inflating or deflating us. One moment it tells us we're great, smart, and powerful; and the next it tells us we're insignificant, small, and weak. It expands us in pride or reduces us in shame. The changing of the message seems to have to do with the circumstances outside us--if something big happens that makes us feel stupid, the ego chastizes us; if something wonderful happens that makes us feel capable, the ego sings our praises. Neither of these happenings have to do with what or who we really are. That's what the voice of God within us tells us: "Beloved, Beloved, Beloved."

I believe that God's voice is constant and pure--not rushing, not shouting, not trying to make a point. God's voice gently, consistently reminds us of our deepest truth--we are loved and loving, purposeful and precious--just the way we are.

[Note: In God's Care is a small devotional book published for individuals and families recovering from addictions. I found In God's Care not long after I began to realize the effect growing up in an alcholic home had had on me. It was truly a Godsend at a difficult time of self-disdovery. ]
 

Getting There

A little while ago, I was sitting outside reading and watching the ducks take their naps under the tree, when a neighbor three doors down came running out on his deck, waving his arms in the air and yelling, "Rahhh!"

The geese who had been standing serenely along the edge of the pond on his property took a few steps toward the lake but appeared not to take him seriously. He stood at the top of the steps and fumed. I'd never seen him before and I stifled a laugh as I saw him move his arms and take a fast, angry drag off a cigarette. He looked like a cousin of Danny DeVito's, dressed in a white sleeveless shirt and blue shorts. He stomped around on his deck and said, "Rah!" a couple of times with less passion and then just stood there by the railing and glared.

I went back to reading my book, not wanting to embarrass him in case he looked over at me, and after a few minutes I looked up again. To my surprise, he had pulled a chair close to the railing and was sitting, leaning back, looking out over the pond. Soon he got up, went inside, and came back out with a book. He returned to his chair and seemed ready to enjoy the remainder of the morning. The geese still stood in the same spot, unperturbed, peaceful.

Although I'd first felt the man's outburst was silly, I began to wonder whether God had another motive going on behind the scenes. Perhaps our anger, our frustration, our outrage sometimes propels us into places where we find clarity, clearness, peace. Maybe we launch out onto our decks to rage against an injustice and find that the day is blessing us with light and cool breezes and beauty. In any case, perhaps even our moments of greatest intolerance have a purpose in bringing us closer to God's Grace. That, it seems to me, would be just like him.

How Much More for Us

Yesterday in between all my projects and family responsibilities, I was privileged to watch the almost-birth of a rose. I noticed early in the morning that the bud was beginning to open; I got my digital camera and captured images every half hour to see how quickly--or slowly--the transformation would occur. In the first two hours, the growth was amazing--the bud completely spread its lowest petals and I thought the whole flower was just going to burst open any minute. But about 10:30, the progress seemed to stall. I faithfully continued taking pictures for the next several hours, but nothing was happening. A wave of impatience--and discouragement--swept over me. What was the rose waiting for?

By midafternoon, I realized that the rose was done for the day. It had come so far, and then--nothing. I knew the rose would open eventually, but I was surprised that the growth wasn't steady and consistent. I had thought a rose would open a certain amount per hour, at a certain rate, in a certain way. But as I thought about it, I realized my own growth isn't consistent and steady--it happens in leaps and baby steps, it zigzags back and forth across dimensions, it loops back and skips and stumbles and finally drags itself forward another step, and then another, and then another. Growth in my life is often messy. Could it be that uneven growth--including cycles of effort and rest--is part of the natural cycle of creation? Even our own?

I resolved to let the rose be ("Maybe a watched rose never blooms," I thought), and I put away my camera. I had made my peace with the fact that the rose would bloom in its own time--and not according to my schedule.



This morning, bright and early, I went out to check the rose, expecting it to be in the same condition. Instead, I found an adult rose, huge and gorgeous and proud--full open, as though it had been there for days. I did a double-take, at first thinking it might not be the same rose. But it was.

I joyfully grabbed my camera and took a picture, thinking, "If God can do such amazing things with the blossom of a single rose, how much more can he do for us?"

May we each feel the transformation God is working in us today--seen or unseen--in the stubborn, unswerving hope that we are even now blossoming into a magnificent likeness of divine love.

A Meditation for Divine Presence

I read the following liturgy in kueuit, the newsletter from Alaska Children’s Services (http://www.acs.ak.org/), a residential center for children since 1890. The spiritual life director and the kids did this liturgy together and as I read it, standing in my quiet kitchen in Indiana, days and miles away, I could almost hear the sound of children's voices ringing in the air around me. The meditation brought me such peace and joy--I wanted to share it with you:

When we look into the horizon and try to picture where we want to go
God is beside us on the path
We are not alone, and though it sometimes feels that way
God is beside us on the path
When we have dreams and nightmares about where we’ll end up
God is beside us on the path
When we’ve been given so much advice that we wind up even more confused
God is beside us on the path
When we want the right school or the right home
God is beside us on the path
When we think we have what we want
God is beside us on the path
When we have to remember our sometimes ugly past
God is beside us on the path
God will walk with us
God is beside us on the path
God will carry us when we are tired
God is beside us on the path
We are servants of God
God is beside us on the path
God will never put us someplace we cannot handle
God is beside us on the path
God would never have us make decisions alone
God is beside us on the path
All things are possible
God is beside us on the path.

May we each feel God's presence in a very real, very near, very comforting way--and may we share our voices of hope with each other.

Infinite blessings! :) k

One Thing

From the movie City Slickers:

Curly: Do you know what the secret to life is? Holds up his index finger. This. One thing. Just one thing. You stick to that and everything else don't mean nuthin.

Mitch: That's great, but what's the one thing?

Curly: That's what you gotta figure out.

Thank you, God, for being One and bringing us all together as One in you. :)

Now

Conditions required to make a flower. A bulb. Sun. Rain. More sun. Time. Air. More sun. Lots of time. Someone who appreciates it (otherwise it might be mowed down to make room for another shopping mall). More sun.

Conditions required to appreciate a flower. This moment, Now. A breath. A blink. An observer. An open heart, preferrably with hands for carrying a digital camera.

Thank you, God, for beauty, and for the eyes and heart to see it.

A Simple Thought

This morning a simple, joyful thought occurred to me as I was doing my morning reading, and I wanted to share it with you. If God created us to be his companions, to share his love and creation and to enable us to "love God and enjoy him forever," are we not fulfilling our very purpose for creation when we remember him and walk through our day, sharing our hopes, fears, dreams, wants, and gratitude with him?

It's so easy to get caught up in all the ways we feel we're not measuring up, the things we don't do right, the ways life disappoints or frustrates us. But this morning it occurred to me that simply by walking with him, we are fulfilling our purpose here on earth. Amazing. Simple. Beautiful.

Thank you, God!

The real battle

Yesterday when my son Christopher came down to breakfast, he was too queasy to eat. He had several solos in the big spring band concert last night and the anxiety was making him sick to his stomach. This morning, I sat in the rain and watched my son Cameron's baseball team take the field for the first time this year. I watched as each boy struggled with nervousness, embarrassment, risking failure in the hope of winning and maybe even having fun.

The battle, it seemed to me, was won or lost before each boy walked to the plate. His body language, his stride, the set of his cap and jaw, the expression on his face, all told whether doubt or faith was winning the battle within him. Was his fear of failure greater than his belief in himself? By the time the ball came flying over the plate, the boy's swing was just a continuation of the theme--winning or losing--that was already playing inside him.

I have noticed this phenomenon at instrumental competitions as well. Young men and women who have played performance pieces flawlessly at home stand outside contest rooms struggling with self-doubt and fear. They know they can play the piece they've practiced hundreds of times. That's not the question. But will they be able to do it now and here and in front of this judge?

The real battle, I think, is not about our abilities or about the way the world will receive and recognize us. It has something to do with where we start--what we believe in, who we listen to, where we place our trust. My supervisor at the hospital would say, "It's about knowing who we are and Whose we are." I do believe that if God leads me to a situation, He'll lead me through it. But that doesn't mean I wouldn't still struggle at the plate, skip breakfast because of butterflies, or pray like crazy when I'm on my way to respond to an emergency call. It just means that I hope I remember at some point in the experience that the battle is inside, not out, and that God has already won it.

A New Way to Worship

In the midst of my crazy coming-and-goings, life at the hospital and at home, baseball practice, school work, dogs, and more, I've stumbled across a new way to worship. It occurred to me in my early-morning quiet time this weekend how rarely I say five little words: It's good to be here.

I began looking around, at the ducks, at the dogs, at the white crab apple flower petals on the kitchen floor that blew in through back door, and I thought It's good to be here.

It is good to be here, on this day, in this life, with these many blessings and problems and people and possibilities. That worshipful phrase reminds me that when I'm fixing my mind on the destination--getting Cameron to baseball practice, finishing the next chapter, running to the store--I'm missing the moment I'm living. And you know what? It's good to be here.

:)

Dawn Prelude

...and in the morning comes joy. This morning as I prepared to go to the hospital, I heard a bird begin to sing right outside my window. It was--and is--still dark. The sun is still tucked in bed below the horizon and I can see stars still shining in the night sky. And yet...this bird feels the coming sunrise and he sings about it, reminding me of hope and light and the coming of spring.

It occurs to me that we sing that same song for each other in a hundred different ways each day. May you hear all the songbirds sent into your life today, and may you be the one to sing a beautiful song of hope for someone in your life who desperately needs it.

Shalom, :)
Katherine

Something to Say

It’s an interesting thing about writing—there is always something to say, but am I willing and able to say it? My time at the hospital, in Clinical Pastoral Education, is proving to be more learning than I’d bargained for. It is alternately amazing and completely overwhelming. It is helping me know how to minister to people in new ways and showing me the ways in which I’ve never learned to minister to myself or allow myself to be ministered to.

And I don’t mean minister in the sense that a preacher-type person stands in the pulpit of my brain and tells me what I’m doing wrong or where I need to clean up my act; I mean ministry in staying with someone (maybe myself) while she cries; embracing someone (maybe me) who doesn’t have the answer she needs in order to feel safe; looking honestly into the face of grief (maybe my own) without turning away or losing hope. I’ve come to understand that ministry is a job that requires a bottomless resource of honesty and courage, and it demands a willingness to go into the dark, clinging to the hope that the promises are true—that we somehow bring light with us when we remember God.

I haven’t been posting to the blog because I wanted to be able to write about things that uplift and affirm us. I want these posts to be encouraging and invigorating for us as we experience God in the details of our days. But my experience at the hospital is teaching me about suffering and about not having the answers for others when they are in almost unbearable pain. Underneath it all, I know what I believe: I believe God is in there somewhere; I believe God is faithful and true and tenderly involved with each moment of our lives. But even believing this, I have no good answers for a woman who loses a child or a husband whose wife is dying. Reassurances don’t help the man who would rather die than have another bypass or console the woman who still carries the scars of her husband’s abuse.

I guess what I want to tell you is that I believe we can go into the dark places—in ourselves, with others—knowing that God is faithful in our pain and uncertainty. In every aspect of our humanness, God completes us with his perfection. But I can’t tell you this is a joyful and praise-filled experience for me. I’m not skipping down the hallways of the hospital after I end my time with patients. More often, I need to go sit in the chapel or the office, or walk through a sunlight-filled hallway to ask God to lift the waves of suffering I feel pouring from my heart.

And you know what? He does. Maybe that’s the whole point.