Many of you are aware of the sorry state I was in at Christmastime. I was down in heart, to be sure. I deemed it blessed then, only to realize later just how true that label was.
Yesterday, during a retreat at St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church, Brother Curtis Almquist from the Society of St. John the Evangelist reaffirmed for me that when our hearts are broken – broken open – God can come in. Usually, God has been patiently waiting for a welcoming of His ever-available and powerful love.
I also find that when my heart is vulnerable, it is more sensitive to the slightest healing grace. Similarly, when my own will has repeatedly brought me to a dead end, I become far more attuned to the subtlest of Divine leadings.
So here we are eight weeks post-Christmas meltdown. And I’m deeply well. You see, after I placed my love life in the hands of God (with a touch of resignation), to my surprise, God delivered immediately. Now, I know that God often delivers in ways I don’t recognize. Yet this time, the gift came in clear-as-day and in such a form that I knew it, or rather he, must be from God.
A dear girlfriend once spoke of the comfort of being “well loved” in her long-term marriage even through its tests and trials. She wished for me the same feeling. I knew deep down that despite having been in a few romantic relationships in recent years, I had not been well loved in quite a while. Nor had I loved particularly well.
Perhaps I had to understand just how well I am loved by God before I could really experience that on a human level? Perhaps God wants me to know Him now through a man’s love? I will say that I’m amazed by the experience.
I heard a few lines of Psalm 30 yesterday that perfectly capture my gratitude for this gift I’ve received:
“O Lord my God, I cried to thee for help,
and thou has healed me…
Weeping may tarry for this night,
but joy comes with the morning.”
Joy did return, and boy, is it a good feeling! When I start to fear that this too shall pass, I take comfort knowing that joy and weeping are ongoing parts of life. I’ve come to trust that God will use each to deepen my relationship with Him.
In the meantime, I’m going to thoroughly enjoy this.
Archive for February, 2010
Joy Returns!
February 22, 2010Wow, what a sight!
February 15, 2010This weekend I had the immense pleasure of participating in WomanKind, an interfaith exploration of women’s spirituality hosted by the visionary St. James’s Episcopal Church in Richmond. It would not do the experience justice to recount all of the nuances here (such as the gorgeous Botticelli-inspired décor). However, I will share the most memorable moment for me.
It happened at the beginning of Saturday afternoon’s healing service. As I watched a parade of women, old and young, black and white, clergy and attendants make their way up the center aisle to the front of an estrogen-filled church; my eyes grew big as did my smile. Soon, the altar filled with women ministers and priests. I swallowed hard in disbelief and tears filled my eyes at the sight. There it was – ancient wisdom in feminine form.
After years of wondering if I would find a resonant place in a tradition about a man, a doctrine historically dictated by men and churches led predominantly by male clergy, the altar scene yesterday was startling and life-changing. I have been greatly inspired by masculine messengers and interpreters of God, including a recent embrace of the Ultimate Messenger. Nothing, however, has ever moved me more than this scene of my own kind – woman kind – delivering spiritual guidance in Christ’s name.
I know it sounds predictable coming from me to want to see women clergy. I wonder what it was like for the other 399 or so women in attendance – many of whom seemed to be followers of the Christian tradition. I believe that few would deny the lack of feminine spiritual role models held up for us to learn from, respect, and revere. The dearth of women spoken about in the Christian church was a major stumbling block for me in surrendering to this path, until I realized that Christ himself is the embodiment of what I consider most gorgeously feminine: care, love, compassion, service and community.
It isn’t that I don’t value what men bring to relationship, leadership and spiritual practice – I do, very much. Yet to surrender my heart, body and will to God is such a personal, vulnerable experience. If I am to do it within a particular tradition, I need to trust that I and all women are considered as valuable and valid as men in the eyes of the church. I’ve no doubt that we are equal in the heart and mind of Jesus, yet much of what has been built in His name has called into question the institution’s reverence for women.
Nothing can adequately convey the heart-opening power of seeing wise, white-haired female ministers with their warm smiles and distinguished voices sitting amongst an interracial mix of intellectually fabulous, young priestesses. Garbed in white robes with beautiful stoles, these women shared delivery of the Gospel and God’s spiritual food. The first prayer began, “O God, Mother of endless generations” – that alone would have sold me. The service went on to speak of “God in the midst of her” in Psalm 46 and to analyze the unconditional, deeply intuitive understanding of Christ’s power by a very poor, very sick woman as written in Mark 5:25-34. (Thanks to the flawlessly crafted and moving sermon of Dr. Linda Powell Pruitt.)
I had the intimate joy of witnessing this with my mother, an early 70′s feminist, who raised my four sisters and me to believe that something different from what she had lived as a young woman of the 50′s was possible for us. We both wondered how much more welcoming church might have felt to her as a girl and to independent young women today were this service their first experience of Christianity.
Even when the Christian church develops more balance of spiritual leadership, I will never forget my first time – yesterday at WomanKind – realizing what is possible and being sure that I belong.
13 Going on Fabulous!
February 11, 2010
I’ve just returned from my niece’s 13th birthday celebration in Portland. Let me tell you, 13 is the new fabulous! It brings me such delight to be in Libby’s company. I could listen to her wise, funny and poignant thoughts on life for hours. She is perceptive, inquisitive and completely accepting. She generates pure joy.
Her hugs last forever and she’ll still hold my hand when walking off the soccer field after a winning game. She she says things like, “I meditate in bed. I like to embrace the last few moments before I wake up,” and, “I love spending Sundays with Aunt Eleanor and Nanny Kathleen.”
Because she inspires me so with her genuine spirit and unique style (notice feline socks with flowered ballet flats in picture above), I’d like to say a word on behalf of teenage girls for I believe they routinely, unfairly, get a bad rap. Adults label teen girls as “difficult.” We approach them anticipating angst, closure and disregard. If that is what we expect from girls, that is the dynamic we will create.
For several years, I’ve been a part of Girls For A Change, an organization that respects girls for exactly who they are. I’ve seen many a girl, including those from challenging circumstances, blossom upon realizing that an adult genuinely cares about what she has to say.
As most of you may remember, it is damn hard being a teen girl – on the inside and the outside. Trying to be cool is usually masking painful insecurity. Our society doesn’t make it easy for girls to feel at peace with themselves. Among the twisted messages girls receive about their value, or lack thereof, are this week’s display of young women’s bodies in Sports Illustrated’s swimsuit issue and yet another Nicholas Kristof report of a young girl being repeatedly gang-raped in the Congo.
When I look into Libby’s eyes, I see her love-filled teenaged heart. I hope she is certain of my complete admiration. My wish is that every girl has at least one person who thinks she is the absolute cat’s meow.
More than a Few Good Men
February 1, 2010I don’t read much about football as I’m not a sporty girl. However, this article in today’s New York Times spoke to me. It’s about a group of middle-aged friends and their Sunday pickup games; it reveals what I love about men.
“People say, ‘Why do you spend so much time in the huddle?’ ” Mr. Lupo said. “By the time you tell the seventh guy what to do, the first guy forgot what he’s supposed to do.”
I love when men are confident enough to be humble. I love men who are kind and good. Many men are of course. Yet growing up in a household of six women, I didn’t know a lot of them.
My Dad was the guy who rode me on his back in the pool, brought home chocolate footballs from Rip’s Cigarettes, and held me when my kitten John died in a shoebox, yet I didn’t know really know him when I was young. Now, looking back at photos of a 30-year-old with five little girls surrounding him, I see the man. Doing the best he could to provide for and protect us. Imperfectly, he freely admitted, yet trying.
I came to know and respect my Dad’s humility, his goodness, the love behind his anger, his effort to do the right thing, and to right what had gone wrong.
I’ve spent a lot of time “learning” about men. Books. Classes. Dinners with girlfriends. What I’ve really absorbed though has come through my brothers-in-law, my friends’ husbands, a fair boss, an octogenarian mentor, a funny colleague, and …. a special few.
The few who are committed, honorable, humble and real, and whose paths, I’m grateful, have crossed mine. I look at men with more admiration and wonder now. Nothing melts my heart more than a man speaking from his.
I facilitate workshops and coach the Women’s Circle so that we may feel ourselves as women, fully. I’m inspired by the men in my life to explore even more what that means.
