I know I am in trouble when I use the word “never.”  It usually is an indicator of my judge being in charge at that moment.  Ok, there are a few “nevers” we can agree upon regarding certain crimes, but even then this is a small list if you really look at in reality. 

 It would be my hope to I would never kill anyone, but honestly if me, my children, my husband were being violently threatened – hell hath no fury as this redhead and all bets are off.  I am again being reminded of my protective streak this week.

 A dear friend of mine is being hurt.  In fact, this is at my church.  I am horrified by the behavior of my minister and a controlling board on a witch hunt trying to force my friend out.  Interestingly enough as witch hunts go – this will explode in their own faces. 

 Witch hunts operate on assumptions and fear.  They are usually full of contradictions – thus easy pickings for those of us based in truth.  What lay beneath the witch hunt is judgment and “I never…”  It has been my experience, when that motto is at the forefront of a cause – there are hypocrites involved. 

 In this case, it has to do with assumed inappropriate behavior.  Red flags everywhere.  Warning – judgments abound.  So our minister is trying to force out the associate minister while her own niece, the youth minister, is doing the very same things she accusing the associate minister of doing.  Oh, it is a wicked game indeed.  Hence the witch hunt will to explode in their faces…Because the niece has been saying – “oh no, I never…”

 Unfortunately, there are cameras and witnesses that tell a different story.  Oh a tangled web we weave trying to deceive…So our minister is loosing her congregation person by person.  It is strange to see this unfold.  Strange that someone I admired so much and looked to for guidance again and again could come to this place.  Feet of clay.

 We all have them.  Sometimes they lead us to foolish places, but there, there amidst your own stupidity and follies – there is grace.  It is in our foolishness our beliefs are revealed.  Beliefs that are sabotaging our lives every today in quiet ways.  But this is the grace – the opportunity to see the folly in your ways and turn. 

 Turn to more.  Turn to a life of fullness with all your glory and warts revealed.  Yes, that is me too, feet of clay.  I am no better then my minister.  I trust this is part of her learning, her journey – blind spots to be revealed.  My job is to stand and reflect the truth.  Be a light of truth – no matter the cost – because I must.  I am no Judas. 

 A few years ago I read with my minister in Bible study as Jesus asked his disciples to watch with him on his last night.  I could barely stand the scene as I kept complaining to the group, “Who are these men?  Falling asleep not one time, but three?  How can these be the disciples?  Nothing divine about them?  Who does this?”

 My dear minister wisely asked me, “Kelly, have you ever fallen asleep?  Not shown up?”  Uuughhh, it was like a physical blow as I saw the disciples were me.  In the moment the bible became real to me and I am forever grateful. 

 So I trust, I can only see in part.  All will be revealed later.  

In the night, under the tenderness of the dark, you can find me resting in the palm of God’s hand.  I found my way here years ago.  I came crawling out of my despair, longing to feel loved.  What I first thought was an empty promise, lead to my grace.

As a child I was taught there is no God, only me.  I would find my way with no shelter from the storm, just me, alone and not surprisingly, frightened out of my mind.  I became an over-stressed, anxiety prone adult completely unsatisfied from within.  However, on the outside, the persona the world saw, I was fine – I had a lot of friends, a boyfriend, a good education.  My whole life lay before me and I felt lost and alone.

One Sunday, I don’t even remember why, I found my way alone to a church.  It was a beautiful church.  Pure New England style – a tall, white steeple with a giant bell, stained glass windows and filled with warm pine pews.  The minister was new, just filling in while the regular pastor who was on sabbatical.  The new minister was a woman.

She was a petite lady with a helmet of short, gray hair and sparkling eyes behind thick, black rims.  She used to be nun years ago, but left to have a family.  Immediately I felt a kinship to this woman who took the road less traveled.  Starting down one path only to shock the world by turning around and going in the opposite direction.

I’m not sure what the service was about that Sunday, but I remember I wept throughout.  I couldn’t stop.  I just felt like somewhere inside I came home.  As the pastor spoke, she silently invited each one of us to know God not only by the words she uttered, but by her very presence.  This woman was peace – a beacon calling to a new life.

I do remember she spoke of a loving God who was with you always.  The words were a balm for my wounds and I could feel myself calm from the inside.  I breathed again.  Then we sang hymns, ones I had never heard before and suddenly I was singing the words, “Resting in the palm of God’s Hand,” and I was.

In that moment, I understood – I am never alone.  I looked at the shining faces around me and saw pure joy.  “Joy,” not pleasure derived from buying or attaining something, but joy – the glorious simmering of your soul in the fullness of life.  This was a place for me, resting in the palm of God’s hand.

Today I still use this imagery over and over whenever I feel lost, or out of balance.  Sometimes, as you grow up, you discover you have to release certain beliefs you were taught as a child.  I know this lesson of “There is no God, you have to do it all,” was taught to me with the best of intentions – survival.   However, it crippled my life and I became obsessed with control or truly, the illusion of control.

Fortunately, I changed my belief and allowed myself to feel supported by an abundant and loving God.  So now, in the dark of night, you can find me resting in the palm of God’s hand.  Maybe one day I will see you there too.

For the past few years, I’ve been going on the women’s spiritual retreat with our church.  I had never been on a retreat before a few years ago.  The only other time I voluntarily lived with women was in college and only then because boys were too messy and smelled funny.

To be perfectly frank, in the past I never liked women all that much.  I usually had only a few close girlfriends growing up and the rest were guys.  Women were always too emotional, too catty for me.  They would cry easily and I could laugh with the guys.

Tears have always made me uncomfortable.  I don’t like to cry.  Both my parents were coaches, so needless to say tears were frowned upon.  If anyone started crying in my house, you were sure to ridiculed until the tears were replaced by hot anger.  Quickly, I learned to stuff all my emotions and found refuge in humor.

In my early twenties, I began uncovering all of those stuffed emotions—rejection, humiliation, anger, hurt, desperation, fear, longing, on and on.  A list of emotions we all run from, but never quite stay ahead of.  I also found  tears.  Yuck.  Aching, lost tears that would come pouring out at the movies, while watching soap operas, even commercials, the Olympics…It was pitiful.

I sought help and worked successfully with an excellent counselor.  There were lots of tears and healing, thus leading to the next phase in my life, marriage and kids.  It was only after “birthin’ babies” that I discovered the true value of girlfriends.  Girlfriends know your shoes, especially when they are covered in spit-up and the kids’ breakfast.  Not only could you laugh with your girlfriends, but you could cry too.

I joined a Mommies group after my daughter was born and found a wonderful circle of women.  I soon discovered that if one Mommy started crying, invariably someone else began sniffling and so on and so on.  Same went with the babies, one baby cries and soon there was a roomful wailing.  You did not cry alone.  Many times I would find myself welling up with tears and even sometimes, tears fell.  This was all very new to me.

Then I decided to go on the women’s spiritual retreat with my church after my son recovered from a health crisis.  Little did I know that spiritual retreats are set up to get you vulnerable, inevitably leading to tears, usually en masse.  I cried the entire weekend and I really, really needed it.

I had been so strong in my belief that my son would recover and in searching/finding the cure, that there had been no allowance for tears.  I was an old pro at stuffing my feeling from childhood.  That survivor had stepped back into my life for a while, but fortunately I was able through this circle of women and cleansing tears to regain myself, my adult.  As much as I have fought it, tears actually bring release and peace.

So I was surprised last year, when I was at the retreat that I shed no tears.  It wasn’t for lack of compassion with the suffering of those around me but I finally discovered the concept of “holding the space.”  I no longer had these wounded places that could be triggered by a friend’s pain or experience.  I was free.

I was free to support my weeping friend by just listening.  I did not need to take on her issues.  I could be her witness.  She could tell her story without having to worry about me.  It was such an empowering feeling to be on the other side.  I knew I had finally passed through and released so many of my painful “hooks.”

Her tears did not make me uncomfortable, they told me of her heart.

Oh, I know another year I’ll go to the retreat, I’ll be telling a painful story and quite possibly be in tears, but now, I know tears from every side.  I see the many facets–cleansing, sadness, joy, pain, triumph…all of it.  I am grateful to be here, in these new shoes, no longer covered in spit-up.  I am grateful to have a circle of women in my life that allow me to be wherever I am on my journey.  Sometimes holding the space, and sometimes being held.  May you find your circle.