Eleanor Rouse » perfection

Love in His Way

Eleanor R. Kootsey — Mon, 14 Jun 2010 03:22:29 +0000

I’ll be on vacation the next two Sundays, including Father’s Day, so I’d like to take a moment to honor my Dad who died eighteen months and one day ago.

What I want to say is that I loved him and I miss him. I remember the slightly southern and humble yet strong sound of his voice on the telephone. When I spot older men with silver white hair who dress like he did–in khakis, short-sleeved shirt and white tennis shoes–my heart skips a beat. Then I remember he’s no longer here.

He walked with a limp he acquired from a hip injury when he was young. Deciphering just how it happened was a favorite past time for me and my four sisters–football injury! falling from a tree! tumbling down a ravine! No matter how many times he told the real story, we always forgot it. After one of his several surgeries, my older sisters made me up to look like I was 13 in a yellow jumpsuit, heels, and eye shadow, because 9-year-olds were not allowed to visit the hospital. For years, we played with the weighty, silver ball and joint device that was removed from his hip. It seemed like part of my Dad.

I first came to Christianity at 21 because, after several years of distance and fighting with my own father, I needed a loving Father figure and I found one. (Now I yearn to hear “Our Mother” as well, but that’s a theological discussion for another day.) I needed a Father who forgave me for not being perfect–or so I thought. It took years to realize that perfection isn’t the point of being here nor was it what my own Dad, or God, expected.

I learned that perfection is not the point of parenthood either. I came to understand that parents are simply human. I hear so many people talking disappointedly about their mom or dad not being all they wanted or needed. I did that. I held back love from my imperfect, human father. And I regret it.

Dad, I forgive you for not being perfect. Please forgive me for expecting you to be.

I’ve come to respect that my Dad loved in his way. That was all he could do and it was enough. Even when he wasn’t “there”, maybe I needed it that way so I could become what I was supposed to become. Maybe, I can love God as He or She or It is too, instead of needing God to be exactly a form that I understand and “approve” of in any given moment.

I pray that when I am a parent, my children will forgive all that I don’t fulfill for them. I trust that God and others will fill in where I come up short and my children will grow into their own.

God, since he’s with you up there or out there or somewhere, would you please thank my Dad for me? For his frustration at my ill-heeding his guidance. For giving so much of his life to us. For his loneliness, heartache, and worry. For his piano playing, Redskins watching, and commitment to his growth as a man that led to all of this for me. Please thank him for his love.

Dad, I love you. Happy Father’s Day.

Palms Up

Eleanor R. Kootsey — Tue, 26 Jan 2010 17:25:44 +0000

As a former fundraising professional, I feel compelled to give you – my investors of the heart – a progress report on my Year of Love as there have been some fabulous first quarter results! Here’s how things are stacking up:

1. “Contribute love to my community”: Launching 150 girls on 15 GFC Girl Action Teams next week!
2. “Create love through my work”: Come to WomanKind, the Women’s Circle or the GRCC Pink Bag Seminar to let me know how I’m doing!
3. “Love my body”: Continuing my hurt-so-good, hip-opening yogic pursuit!
4. “Express and experience fabulous love with a man”: In a Q2 report perhaps…
5. “Channel love to family and friends”: Gladly, this is an ongoing practice.

You know what though? The most impactful Q1 outcome was not part of the original proposal. I do indeed have a new love… God. I know; I know you were rooting for a real, live, in-the-flesh man. (And I know some of you may think I’ve gone off the deep end.) There may indeed be a he; however, what I’m writing about is He. The He that had to (and for me, has to) come first.

My God is a combo of Divine Masculine, Feminine and That-Which-Can’t-Be-Defined. For this Year of Love, it was God in masculine form that I needed. Unbeknownst to me, this is what I have hungered for, a hunger that no mere mortal could satisfy (and isn’t meant to.)

Going alone to my sister’s for Christmas one more time had brought me to my spiritual knees. I was offered a hand and I surrendered. I leaned in and against. I trusted. I had no other choice.

Sure enough, when I yearn to be held, I feel His arms. When I need to talk, He’s completely there. To this Being, I open my heart. I’ve fallen in love.

I thought I had “let go and let God” before (oh, about 500 million times!) Yet this is different. I knew it immediately. For the first time, I feel free from the pursuit of perfection. For the first real time, I’ve let go of the reins.

With each passing day, I trust more. When I start grasping onto the earthly good this reordering has brought, I remember the wise words of a friend: “Palms Up”. With palms up, I release that which isn’t mine and I receive that which is.

Many of you wrote me of your own proclamations including “The Year of Financial Security” and “The Year of Healthy, Happy Family.” What I offer for your quest is simply, “palms up, my friends, palms up.”

Imperfectly Beautiful

Eleanor R. Kootsey — Sun, 31 May 2009 18:25:54 +0000

Last weekend, one of my best friends asked me, “Eleanor, do you think you are enough?” I answered, “Honestly? No.”

She and our other dear friend were aghast, but I didn’t want to pretend to be more confident than I felt in that moment. I wanted to be honest that yes, sometimes I struggle with the feeling that I am not “enough” for the good things I want to be, do and have in my life. Like a chronic physical injury that must be taken care of daily, this insecurity is something I have been aware of for a long time and I tend daily to its healing.

My friend said, “What would make you feel enough?” I answered, “If I had no imperfections,” knowing full well the impossibility of such a state. She then replied, “Would you like a work of art if it had no imperfections?” I immediately answered, “No,” and in that simple instant, I began to understand myself as a work of art which is MORE beautiful and interesting – not less – BECAUSE of my imperfections.

What my friend did for me on her front porch in Atlanta is what we do for each other each week in the Women’s Circle. It is a safe space to admit our fears, our insecurities and our perceived imperfections. We are not lesser women for having them; we are human.

In return for our courageous transparency, we receive loving reflection back from other women who see our “flaws” as part of our beauty and help us develop practices to transform the way we hold them and the hold they have on our lives.

A few weeks ago I went to church for the first time in years. The Rev. Dana Corsello delivered a really moving sermon. She was talking about Jesus returning to his disciples in flesh and blood with his wounds visible. She spoke of the incredible vulnerability, humility and generosity of His saying, and our saying to each other, “Hi, these are my wounds, tell me yours.”

The Women’s Circle is a space to let down the façade of perfection, reveal our wounds, and receive love, acceptance and healing practices for who we are, as we are, today.