Here is the bitch of it: for all my understanding and faith in a higher power – life is still not fair sometimes.  How can this be?  Where is my God from the 1^st Testament?  A righteous and violent God who punishes those who sin?  Then I remember rainbows…God gave up leveling communities with floods and plagues in the 1^st Testament, instead offering rainbows as a sign of his infinite love.  Personally, some days I long for the Bad-ass God…

 I try to comfort myself with the belief, “I can only see in part, You see all.”  Sometimes this works and sometimes it doesn’t.  I am reminded of Jesus on the cross crying of for his father near the end…I know that desperation, the fear of being abandoned as you know in your heart you have done all that has been required of you, yet still you hang on the cross, pushed to the outside.  How can this be?   

“I can only see in part…”

Recently a new door has appeared – an unexpected opportunity now lay on the horizon.  Unfortunately, at this moment, all we can do is wait – just staring at the door, trying to will it open with our desires…

 I have never been good at waiting.  I am an action-oriented person, none of this “sitting around and waiting for life to tap me on the shoulder,” I’m already down the road…

 Last night as we were walking the dog, my daughter asked me, “Mommy, when will this happen?” 

 I smiled and heard myself offer a very reasonable answer, “Sweets, only God knows that – we can only see in part.  All will be revealed in the right time.  Not to worry, everything is being taken care of.”  And like kids do – she bought it and shifted to a new topic.  Ummm, I think I’m supposed to learn something here…

 When I am waiting, I try to distract myself with the knowledge that everything is happening in its right time.  I repeat over and over in my mind, “I can only see in part…”  The last time I used this mantra so fiercely was years ago when my son was suffering from multiple daily seizures and we couldn’t find any answers.  Interestingly, the healing happened months before the answers were revealed…So it’s good to notice, this time we wait on our heart’s desires, instead of our worst fears…

 I have come to believe in active waiting.  I like the old Arab saying, “Trust in God and tie up your horses,” because it implies a partnership with God and your future.  Sometimes you act and sometimes you wait – knowing the difference is the rub.

 So today, we wait on the will of heaven, and pray for this or something better yet to be revealed.  So be it.   

Recently several clients and some dear friends have come to me struggling with the deaths of loved ones.  Death is often a topic each of us would like to avoid – like a dirty, little secret that if we just ignore it long enough, maybe it will go away.  However it doesn’t…It just waits for each of us.

I have an easy relationship with death.  I believe in a Christian model, however, I also believe we come back over and over.  Each of us has certain work to do in our lifetime along with the free choice to realize that work or not.  I believe most of the people involved in my life today, I have been with before in previous lives.   

A few years ago my step-sister died.  She died horribly – alone.  At first there were hints of a suicide and that is what distressed me.  I was worried her soul was lost and wandering – not knowing the grace that was available to her.  I learned of her death on a Sunday night and that Monday I had already planned to visit a mentor to train on Mediumship. 

 So the next day I went to my mentor very upset – worried that somehow Nicky was lost.  We set the space and called Nicky to us.  Immediately she came and she was so sad, but her first words were about suicide.  It was not a suicide, but a mistake – she just wanted to feel better with a little more drugs.  That was Nicky.  After she made the “no suicide message” clear, you could feel her sadness and she taught me about free will.

 She had said in this life she thought she could do it – beat the addictions, but she couldn’t.  She spoke of the love that was in her life always (family and friends) but that she never accepted while she was alive.  She helped me to understand each of us has choices.  Nicky chose drugs over and over – she couldn’t help herself and that is when I found peace.

 I understood each of us has our own “cross to bear.”  Nicky didn’t choose the drugs because of any one person.  No, this was her life, her choices and I could love her still.  I remembered her as a child and making friends with everyone – she accepted each person as beautiful and interesting.  This probably led to problems as an adult, but I know the very essence of Nicky’s soul is love – not perfect, but love all the same. 

 When we closed the session that day, I knew Nicky would be ok.  I believed in her – her soul.  I know her beauty and kindness will come back again and we will meet again.  Maybe not in this lifetime, but I know she is never lost from me.  She speaks with angels now, across the thin veil – healing her wounded places and biding her time until she comes back again.

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.  

“You learn to bear it.  Yes, some things you just learn to bear,” were the words spoken to me the other day with a tight smile and condescending eyes.  I was shocked – you learn to bear it?  Are you kidding me?  And then again she repeated this philosophy, “Someone of my advanced years has had more experiences and learned that some pains are learned to be lived with, to walk with.”

 Again, I was speechless.  Was this woman serious?  Could she possibly be trying to tell me that her life pains/traumas were more painful then mine and one day I too would gain entry into this elite group that walks with pain?  The most difficult part of the interaction for me is – she was serious.  Her pains, her life experience were so hard – she proved it, she beared it everyday, proudly even.  I shut my mouth, not questioning any longer, but spinning.

 “Bearing it” has only disempowered my life, myself and most of all my relationship with God.  I have come to accept that today, I can only see in part, all will be revealed in time.  And when my fears, my anxieties, even my own victim self reveal their presence still - I smile, start singing a Karen Carpenter song in my head and think, what do I need to lay down?     

I just got home from a Women’s Spirituality Retreat.  I am always amazed at the gifts I receive during this weekend once a year.  I think my favorite part was my date with God… 

 Most days, I wake at 5 am.  No matter the time I go to bed, my eyes spring open at five and usually, I am fully awake bounding from bed to my office – my mind flooded with ideas…But this past weekend, I didn’t bring my work with me on retreat.  Instead of working at five, I crept from my room (as to not wake my sleeping roommate) and went to me main meeting area where there were these huge windows over looking the Rocky Mountains. 

 It was quiet.  Only me.  I plopped down in front of the windows in a comfy chair with a book and knitting in hand - just in case.  I looked out the window into the darkness beyond.  There were clouds in the sky, yet there was single star twinkling, calling to me, reminding me to whom I belong…

 Without conscious thinking I began to pray aloud, over and over repeating my gratitude for my life, my family, my work, my clients…and most importantly knowing God.  Suddenly I was a child again, tears streaming down my face – not from sadness, but release, even joy to be here in this moment. 

 In my mind, I heard the voice, tender and fatherly, “This is our time, our date…me and you, my beloved child.”  Warmth spread through my body and I noticed the faint glow of sunrise beckoning from just behind the powerful mountains.  Aaaahhh, this was our time and I settled even more deeply into my chair as to watch God’s glorious spectacle unfold.

 The sky, very slowly, began to brighten and the clouds became brilliant with orange, pink, red, purple, yellow…I pulled my chair even closer to the windows - to get a better view, and that is when I noticed the floating, glittering snow flakes…I was reminded that sometimes your have to change your position to see all the glittering magic before you.  Grateful tears again.

 I was surprised at how slowly the sunrise blossomed.  Again I was reminded about time…Time is man’s invention, but with God, it is without measure.  I had slipped into God’s time, grace – moment’s stretching into hours…We had all the time in the world.

 I sat transfixed, blessed and humble.  I watched the clouds change from orange to yellow to purple…on and on the abundant colors flooded my vision.  What surprised me most was when the sun finally did come up, most of the other colors disappeared.  The clouds turned almost a steel gray, drained of their vibrant colors.  The colors had gone home, returned again to from which they came – the fiery sun. 

 I was reminded to enjoy the journey even before the prize.  And I heard the tender voice again, “This is our time, my beloved. Come, rest in me any time. I am always here.  I am here.” 

 I bowed my head, humbled by the love that poured out for me, always.  Love born not because I did something special, or achieved something great, but because, I am.  Simply.  Purely.  Divinely.  I am. 

I went to see the movie the Golden Compass last week.  I have read all three books in the series with waning interest.  What began turning me off in the second and third books was his obvious and negative view of religion.  The books – instead of making me question religion and its role in society – I became repelled by his obvious dislike of all things holy.

 Now I get the complaints about religion – violence in the name of God, a way to control the masses…Heard it all before, even spilling from my own lips at times.  I too had a Mother who identified herself as a recovering Catholic and pretty much my entire childhood was shrouded in negative views of any church and of course, God.  However, I was still curious…I have always thought it a bit naïve to criticize something not fully examined. So as an adult I joined a several different Bible studies to discover the truth for myself.

 Surprise of all surprises, I discovered a living book that spoke to my life right now.  Interestingly, the first Bible study I did was with a fundamentalist Christian (I am most definitely not) because I wanted to challenge myself.

 We read the Gospel of Matthew and one day we were reading Jesus words about his message.  He discussed how men would use his message and twist it to there own meaning, however love was truly the center.  Amusingly, as we discussed this passage, we began to disagree.  My friend really believed if you don’t follow the bible (really a fundamentalist interpretation) then to hell you go…What did you not read the loving words of Jesus – ALL are welcome????  She really could not see an all-inclusive loving God and certainly no other interpretations of God through other religious books were acceptable.

 Personally, I don’t feel any religion has a lock on God.  God is for all of us no matter how you find him/her whether through meditation, nature, different religions, books, whatever.  My image of God is clearly displayed in the story of the Prodigal Son. 

The father, i.e. God, runs arms outstretched for his wayward child.  The son only needs to turn to his father, who has been looking down the road hoping to see his child return.  The father celebrates the return and even chastises his other son for being resentful of the celebration.  I so understood that other brother’s anger and then I realized the truth.  No matter what you have done, God is there, pouring out his love and calling you home. 

 I don’t have to be perfect to be in relationship with God.  I can stumble, I can fail.  It doesn’t matter, God still waits and longs for me – each of us no matter what.  That is power, that is love. 

 So as I read each book in Philip Pullman’s series, I became more repelled.  It malice and distain for religion became more clear with each page; evil angels, the Magisterium (in the Catholic Church, an actual board of power,) the issue of souls, etc.  Honestly, it smacks of an immature and fixated negative view of religion.  I really wonder if he has done any real challenging scholarship on spirituality and religion.  I get the feeling that Mr. Pullman has no respect for spirituality and actually has a “less-than” view of those who do.

In fact when I finished the last book all I could think was, “Wow, this is sad.  How depressing to be so cut off from the magic of life.  How can do you find peace?  So lonely.”  I can honestly say I have no desire to read anything by him again, because I just have no interest in witnessing material that pedals hate, separation from God and violence towards kids guised as a children’s book.  Yuck.  This seems to at least be something that could reserved for adult books. 

What do you think?

Sometimes I forget I love Christmas.  Sometimes I get sidetracked by all the stuff, the impending arrival of relatives, the gifts, the ill-will of certain individuals, even myself.  I forget I love Christmas, because on this day so many, many years ago – I know a God that began to live with me.  I know a God that sent his child, really his own self, to live among men – not as a King with riches to spare, but as an “everyman” brought into this world through an unwed mother, poor, but never abandoned. It took me years to understand the significance of this…When we think of God – maybe we think all-powerful, the ultimate “in-control.”  Surely the God of the Old Testament displayed this imagery both positively and negatively.  (Let us not forget rainbows where a sign of God’s never-ending love after he leveled humanity…an earlier version of flowers as a make-up gift I’m thinking.)   The God of the New Testament is the vision I most closely relate to…This is the God that runs arms out-stretched for his prodigal son – aaaghh, this is my God.  A God that knows no limits - that is always available to me if only I would just turn my face to him, to her.   Long ago, in the dark of night, a couple struggled to bring a child into the world.  Joseph did his best, finding shelter where there seemed to be none.  Mary lay her newborn in the only resting space available to her - a manger where animals surely ate from moments before.  Did she know that this was the beginning?  The child she held in her womb so tenderly, even as those around her must have pointed fingers and whispered?  Did she really believe anyone bought her stories of angels? This was the beginning – confusing, slightly scandalize, but a miracle none the less.  If you believe the story, Jesus the son of God, then you know the miracle.  The Jews of Jesus’ day were on the lookout for a savior who was promised to save them.  Of course they were looking for a King in the guise of maybe someone like the powerful King David.  Isn’t that always what we believe – might and bravado will win out?  Some things never change… But, how does the savior come?  Poor, son of an unwed mother, on the margins of society – the last, almost forgotten among us.  Why did he come from the least among us?  I believe he came this way to know us better, to support each of us more.  Haven’t each of us been marginalized, less-then sometime?  Jesus came to be with us, not above us.   This is my God who came to the world, frail and helpless, dependant on the kindness of others.  He came to be loved and maligned.  He came to heal.  He came bearing the name Emanuel - translated “God with us.” He came to live with us, as I believe he still does everyday in so many different ways.  Reminding me always - I too am a beloved child of God.  May you have a very, merry Christmas.   Peace be with you.

How do you mend a broken heart?  How does it get broken?  Is it in one event?  Or are there dozens of offenses before the crack?  Oh, I wish I knew.  For me, it happens over time, dozens of offenses forcing me to dodge and weave hoping to keep my balance.  Some days I can, and some I can’t. In my early twenties, I dated a man, really a boy, who I adored.  It was an incredibly, passionate relationship.  I discovered passion is a slippery thing, it goes both ways.  The intensity you love is equal to the intensity you hate.  My, my does can that lead to interesting times…We stayed together six years. Our break-up was a pitiful good-bye, lasting a year of push and pull.  The end did not result from a lack of love; it ended because of all the hurts.  The wounds left to fester and grow.  He was an alcoholic.  I suspect he still is. I grew up with a father who drank too much and a mother who yelled too much.  My old boyfriend was like home.  I loved and hated home as I loved and hated him.  I’m sure I even became the woman who yelled too often, much to my disgust. I remember after he left, laying in bed, weeping for hours - hurting so deeply from the inside.  I would take deep breaths in all the time because I felt like I couldn’t breathe — never enough air, never any relief.   Over and over, in my mind I would repeat this poem my mother once said to me, “I told my soul to be still and wait. Without love, For I know not what to love. Without hope, For I know not what to hope for. But in the waiting, there is faith.  There is love, hope and faith in the waiting.  I told my soul to be still and wait.”  If I said it enough times, finally a peace would descend.   Comforting me, even if it lasted only a little while. Today I know that comfort was God.  I was ceaselessly praying with my poem.  As I lay in my bed at night, I would imagine myself held in the palm of God’s hand.  I started going to church.  It was when I gave up, that my heart began to mend. I can’t say it happened over night.  It was a process and time was a huge part of it.  I can’t even say it won’t happen again.  But what I can say is, I have faith.  There is love, hope and faith in the waiting.  In that space, God waits for me.  I am held there and gently reminded “courage.”  I told my soul to be still and wait.

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.