For some Christmas is about the presents, the meals or maybe seeing old friends and family…but for me, this is Mary’s time.  I adore Mother Mary.  Through her, I have learned to be a better me.  Oh sure, this may sound trite, even a touch phony – but it’s true. 

 I did not always feel this way.  I struggled with Mother Mary for years.  I didn’t understand how she could just stand by and watch Jesus die on the cross.  How could she not throw herself before the soldiers shouting, take me, take me instead?  What kind of mother was she?  I discovered, the best.

 When my own son was hurt I came to know Mary’s heart.  Oh did Mary love her son.  She loved Jesus so much she was able to stand at the cross as he bled and bled, until finally shouting out his last.  Mary believed in Jesus and his own separate purpose. 

 Was it difficult?  Unimaginably painful, just ask any parent of a suffering child.  Some parents can’t stay, some runaway or reject seeing their child in pain.  But many more faithfully stay and look for cures.  Still others find grace when there are no cures.  And if they are looking, each discovers the grace of Mary.

 Mary stayed – at the feasts and sadly, at the cross too.  As far as we know she did not try to sway Jesus from his purpose, she loved him.  She trusted his boyhood days that found him arguing with the rabbis in temple when he should have been in the fields.  Or his many trips to the desert when he would came back ablaze with the divine, overflowing with new ideas.  She trusted Jesus.    

 She also trusted in the unseen divine that sometime requires much…Did she not know herself the cost?  The sting of judgment?  Pregnant and without a husband, forced out.  Mary knew all too well the cost of faith…

 Mary has come to me many times throughout my life.  I am unbelievably blessed to have such intimate moments with her.  The first time I really experienced the presence of Mary as an adult I was overwhelmed.  My first thought was I am not worthy, there are more important people/problems than me.  I felt her outpouring love even more keenly at that moment and the words, “You are my beloved child, nothing is more important” boomed in my mind. 

 Words can not properly express the magnitude of this moment for me.  The best I can say is my life split - before I was alone and after, I was forever held.  Not only did I realize I was held but that everyone was being held by unseen forces at every moment.  I saw ways in my own childhood that Mary’s presence had been there even though I couldn’t see it at the time.

 Here’s the important part – bad things still happened and I am still the beloved child.  I’ve made peace with my past.  Even though there was certainly hardship, I know I wouldn’t be the person I am today without it. 

 Again, may sound trite, easy answer, but it’s true.  Happiness is usually standing right next to you, but only you can truly believe you are worthy to partake in the peace…You’ll have to stop beating yourself up, judging your own failings – real or imagined, you’ll have to allow yourself to come down from your own self-imposed cross into the waiting arms of peace.  She’s just waiting there, loving you just the way you are, patiently waiting for you to come home…

 Merry Christmas

This week in California a fifteen year girl was gang raped as 20 or more persons watched.  She was at her school dance.  It lasted longer than two hours.  The horror of this assault is stunning to me and it always, always has me shaking my fist at God.  Where was God?  How can a loving God allow this to happen?  What evil dwells in the hearts of men to do this? 

Too many times I have heard a version of this same event from friends and even lovers.  How can this happen?  I don’t know.  I try to tell myself, ‘there is a valid reason for everything that happens, everything in your life is a creation of you,” and these words feel hollow - insensitive really.  Why?

 I hear in my mind, you can only see in part, you can only see in part…My mind flashes when I was molested by a relative at fifteen and I think, oddly it has made me a better person.  I am more empathetic of not only the victim but surprisingly the perpetrator too.  I have come up close to darkness and discovered my light still shines.

 I discovered we are not defined by the horrific moments in our lives but there aftermath.  How do you put it back together and still live an abundant life?  Gently, one small piece at a time.

 Bad things will continue to happen and I will continue to occasionally shake my fist at God.  And God will understand.  I flash to Jesus, his son, abused and tortured.  I remember how much I struggled with the sign of the cross.  It was so depressing – a place of unimaginable agony and I smile. 

 Today I love the cross because now I see love.  I remember people saying this to me years ago and I thought they were nuts, yet now I see differently.  I see that God sent his son to be with us.  Be with us. Be with us in joy and in sorrow.  To experience not only the good in life but also it’s darkest corners.  Why?  To know God is with you.  Really with you - as he has felt the cut of the spear, the betrayal, nakedness and the abandonment – all before a crowd, who did nothing.  I guess things haven’t changed too much in 2000 years.

 I know some in that crowd were afraid and some joined in the game.  Both responses still make me sad. 

 I can only see in part, I can only see in part, I can only see in part…

Sure, at first glance it would seem these two women have very little in common, but let’s ponder this idea: both were too young when one afternoon their lives changed forever; both were strong & independent; and both were fiercely loyal. 

 Scarlett was my first hero.  I read Gone With the Wind probably six times before I was eighteen.  I loved that Scarlett was tough as nails all while looking good and batting her eyelashes.  I instantly connected to her love of the land - her red earth…Obviously the Irish thing was a huge pull, but I loved that Scarlett grew-up too.  Her heart and its wantings changed with time and age, from men to friendships. 

 Like Scarlett, I didn’t appreciate the value of female friendships until after I had had children – women were always competition before. Take Melanie - she was no simpering fool although she often appeared helpless due to her ill health, but time and time again she supported Scarlett when no other would.  Whereas Ashley appeared to be noble and forthright, but really he was an anchor to the past instead of the rock Scarlett first perceived him to be.  Melanie was the rock…and Scarlett.

 Scarlett would do anything, say anything to protect her beloved Tara and what was hers.  Of course there were costs in this.  Things were sticky – as she saved Tara and gave her family a home, she stole her sister’s fiancée, all while penniless and gorgeous in her new green, velvet dress, a.k.a. the parlor drapes.  How could you not love her???

 Mother Mary wasn’t so easy for me to attach to initially.  First off – the story of a virgin birth, can we say tramp?  Cover-up?  It took me years to allow the possibility of this story, the leap of faith.  I had to come to understand the teachings and environment of these stories.  I discovered there was much more space in the details of the events. 

 As you may know Jesus was a Jew and his story was originally told by spoken word through his disciples – something akin to a Rabbi.  Well, one forgets that the Rabbi told stories and allegories to teach their followers – the details were shifted a bit to keep the story interesting and connect to audience they spoke before.  They were, in many cases, the entertainment of the day.

 For example, Jesus was forever going off for 40 days – to the desert, in isolation, whatever, but did he go off for forty days?  Back then, when someone said, “forty days,” it just meant a long time.  The audience then knew this; however it is us, the exact interpreters that need things to be black and white.  This taught me about flexible thinking…but I digress, back to Mary. 

 Mary has always challenged me not only by the virgin birth, but also, how could she just stand there during the crucifixion of Jesus?  How could she not shout out, “Stop, stop, take me.  Take me, please, please, take me…”  What kind of mother was she???

 It took me years to discover she was exactly the kind of mother I strive to be everyday.  She supported her son and the decisions he made for his life because she trusted him…and God.  This was Jesus’ life and she stood by, faithfully until the end. 

 How could she deny the truth of what Jesus predicted to unfold?  Hadn’t she also heard Gabriel announce her own difficult path?  How many called her a tramp as she walked by? Perhaps her village shunned her…but she accepted her path and held fast to her own truth.  How could her child do less when so called?  And again, where else would Mary be, but at Jesus’ feet as he shouted out his last? 

 I believe, Mary knew the glory to be on the other side for Jesus.  You see, Mary knew magic and miracles every day – every time she saw Jesus’ smile she was reminded how real they truly are…

 There you have it - Scarlett and Mary, two heroines of tales gone by guide me each day to a brand new tomorrow, where possibilities unfold and magic is surely lurking just beyond…

 Who are your heroes??? 

For years, every time I looked at the Christian cross, I thought of death, betrayal and abandonment.  I had been raised in a home with a recovering Catholic, my mother.  Throughout her childhood she had the all-too-familiar experience of mean nuns and unsympathetic priests.  Needless to say Christian symbols and the bible were caste in the most negative of light…but I alone, I found myself drawn to Christian beliefs…

 I studied the bible first through the lens of English Literature in college, but I was not satisfied.  Soon I found myself drawn into a church community when I was in my mid-twenties and reeling from a broken heart.  There I discovered a loving God (quite different from my impressions as a child) yet still the bible and its many Christian symbols were meaningless to me…until several years ago. 

We joined a local Christian Church when our kids were toddlers and I began attending weekly Bible study classes with our minister.  It was around Easter and our minister asked me what I thought of the cross?

 I replied a bit defensively, “Well, not a lot.  I’m not sure what this die for my sins stuff is – what sins?  I like to think about Jesus’ teachings instead – specifically from the mountain top.”

 She smiled and said, “Well, I think you will discover there is more to it.”  We then began discussing the disciples with the entire group and I was appalled.  What?  Was she questioning my understanding of Jesus and God?  That I am not tied to that Catholic sin crap - I know she is also a recovering Catholic – this is leftover stuff…and I dismissed her words.

 A few weeks later my world fell apart.  Our son was hurt by a babysitter – shaken-baby syndrome.  We didn’t know at the time that was what had happened – he just started having seizures.  Up to 30 a day, both day and night.  It was horrendous.

 One day I noticed, I had become Mary, helplessly watching my child twist, writhe and fall down stairs over and over.  My son’s experience was beyond my control.  I couldn’t understand why this was happening.  I could only helplessly pray and think of Mary.  I had been so angry at her over the years – how could she stand by as her son was tortured and nailed to a cross?  Didn’t she love him?  Why didn’t she throw herself before the Romans to stop this madness?  How could she abandon him and how could the father, God, not ‘save’ him? 

 And then I realized Mary, she couldn’t change Jesus’ path.  Mary loved Jesus enough to stay with him as he followed his own soul’s calling.  The calling of Jesus’ soul was to be with us – God with us – always.  Thus he was bound to experience not only the joys of life but the pain too.  When you are betrayed, God knows this pain through Jesus and Judas.  When you are abandoned, God even knows this as Jesus cried out to God on the cross… 

 Suddenly I understood, the bible speaks of a Living God, who loves me enough to know my pain intimately, even on a cross.  Today I look at the cross and see love.  I know a God who is with me in my triumphs as well as my darkest hour, for didn’t you know?  Jesus died for our sins. 

 The true definition of sin in the bible is “that which separates you from God.”  I am no longer separated from God, for God is with me always – from sun shiny mountain tops to the dregs of despair, God is with me. 

 Our son recovered from the abuse suddenly – one day there were seizures and the next they were gone.  I am forever grateful for this highly traumatic experience because the sin, the separation, has vanished from my life.  I live every day knowing I am in relationship with a Living God and all things are possible.  I know miracles first hand and I am grateful to be so blessed. 

About a week ago John Breaux died.  He was hit by a car as he performed his daily good works.  John rode his bike all over our town picking up trash, opening doors and other random acts of kindness.  He wanted to be like Jesus – helping and serving others whenever he saw a need. 

 Some said something was wrong with him, what normal person goes around picking up the messes of others?  Why is a stranger going out of his way day after day to help others with a kind word or to carry groceries?  What’s wrong with him?  John was different.

 He lived by the motto, “I am my brother’s keeper.”  Every day he practiced this belief – with an open smile & kind words as he picked up discarded coffee cups and stray candy wrappers.  He chose to make a difference – not because someone asked him to, but because he was compelled to serve from deep within.   

Remarkably thousands of people went to his funeral yesterday – not because he solved a financial crisis or invented something great, but because he was.  He was a great man, although I doubt he would think of himself that way.  He was grateful to be of service and through his many small, quiet acts of kindness his greatness shown through to all.  Rest in peace dearest John. 

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.

Everyone, and I do mean everyone, is addicted to something.  It may not seem so on the surface.  Maybe your addiction is deemed acceptable in this society.  (Or at least legal.)  Did you go shopping today?  How many shoes do you have in your closet?  Do you have to be right?  How much caffeine did you have today?  Did you eat that whole bag of chips and not even notice?  Do you starve yourself to be just right?  Do you take pills to sleep?  For aches?  Anxiety?

Addictions come in all shapes and sizes with the same insatiable hunger at the core—seeking relief, comfort, peace.

Many years ago, an astrologer was looking at my birth chart and asked me, “So, what are you addicted to?”  Horrified, I panicked, and replied, “Not me!”  She smiled and told me to calm down.  She explained something about this planet here, basically, there it was in the stars and then she said, “Kelly, this addiction is how you’ve chosen to cope with your grief.  It can be manifested in almost anything.  It takes away the hurt, the anxiety, if only just for a moment.”

There it was, that word—grief.  The disappointments, the “I’m not enoughs,” and I saw my addiction clearly as I tried over and over to block the relentless tide of grief.  The precarious balance I forced myself into over and over when life was really not working, but somehow, by sheer force of will and of course, my fix, I marched on.  I used the same tired tactics and tricks that no longer served me over and over as the void within expanded. Fueling my addiction again and again which each “fix”, hoping to fill that ever-growing emptiness with something, anything.  Hence the term vicious circle.  A place we all know too well.

Does it end?  I don’t think ever.  I think there is always a hunger within each of us to make the hurt go away right now.  Oh sure, we may be granted a period of reprieve but life has a funny way of teaching—we think we have cast out this vice only to have it show up in another form later.

For some reason, we have bought into this concept that we should only be virtuous and pristine casting out all vice and impurity.  Who are these milk toast people?  What would these pious people look like?  Would they all look the same, think the same, most definitely act the same—doing all the right things every moment and I would detest them.

I rack my brain trying to think of one person who could join these “never make a mistake” ranks and nobody comes to mind.  Oh - good people pop in my head and then I think of the mistake, the lesson they learned from not making the “right” choice, going down the wrong path.  Even Jesus initially rejected a mother asking for healing for her child, calling her a “little dog,” as she was not of the “chosen” people, thus not worthy of his good deeds.  He only relented when she beseeched him repeatedly and he finally saw his own folly (Matthew 15:22-28.)  Not the Jesus we like to think of where all are welcome.  He obviously learned something.

It is in these very places of imperfection, the places we fall down, that we can discover our best self.  Our addictions are only outward symptoms of our inner turmoil, our hidden wounds.  What is your addiction?  Does it fill, numb, or adorn you?  How big does it have to get before you look at the stuffed hurts?

Here’s the key, acceptance.  There will always be so-called triggers.  Instead of seeing these triggers as things to be stamped out, I like to think of them as sign posts of the places I still struggle with.  Usually it is the same old crew of “not enoughs” causing problems, and without fail the sooner I acknowledge the hurt, the sooner it gets better.  It’s when I hide from the wounds with addiction that trouble brews and lingers.

I heard this story somewhere about an old shaman answering the question of, are we good or bad?…Within each of us there are two dogs, good and bad.  Always there, forever.  We decide which dog to feed, everyday.

True peace happens by accepting all sides of your personality, the good and the bad, and discovering balance comes with this integration…So, what are you addicted to?