The Wolf Howl of God

This is the assignment for the Spirituality and the Senses class I'm auditing at George Fox Evangelical Seminary: Where is God in Our Sense of Hearing.

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The river was quiet and the night cool. From my vantage point standing in the back of the boat, I peered through the darkness trying to spot any trees or rocks poking above the surface — clues there was far more hazardous material lurking underneath needing to be avoided. During a night practice, it is not an easy task. Though the lights of the city illuminate the slough to some degree, it’s not enough to make the dangers obvious. But that is my job, my sole responsibility: to keep the twenty paddlers and caller safe. Though for this reason the authority on the boat is ultimately mine, I only give commands when I have to. Most of the time, I watch and listen. Some people may wonder why I largely gave up paddling to till but the truth is, looking around at the river and the sky, hearing the birds and the breeze, I have the best seat in the house. During this particular night, we were paddling in the slough and my ears were tuned to the noises of the night. That’s when I heard the owls. They were soft and gentle and hearing them “whooo” from the trees was magical for me. I asked the paddlers in front of me if they had heard the owls’ call but they had not. I was the only person who heard them because I was the only person who was listening. Hearing the owls has since been a living reminder to me to listen deeply, to appreciate what may not be heard right away.

When choosing what kind of hearing experience to try, I decided to focus on what would be the most stretching for me and what I finally came up with was to sit quietly for a long period of time. As ironic as I know this is being part of the Friends’ church, I have a horrible time sitting quietly. When traveling around among unprogrammed Friends, I can only be quiet for so long before silently writing in my journal. I would much rather move and discuss than sit in a silent room — too polite to leave yet not polite enough to leave my journal in my bag. Even on the boat I have a job to do, a till to guide through the water. Knowing how busy my life is, I do take at least fifteen minutes in the morning to sit silently with God in my favorite chair. There’s no music, no journal — just God and I having a talk or sitting in each other’s company. It’s a needed time to just be. For this experience, I decided to stretch the fifteen minutes to an hour and to try it two ways: once with music and once without. Both were hard.

The first night I tried it with music. Knowing intuitively I needed something more meditative, I used a CD from the library called “Wolf Song”. It starts out with forest sounds — birds, a river, trees creaking, and wolves howling. Having just gone backpacking at an open sided shelter deep in the wilderness the weekend before, the sound of the wolves sent shivers up my chest. The thought of having such power so nearby and me being so vulnerable was frightening and thrilling at the same time. Wolves are humbling. Such intelligent creatures and yet so fearsome. This is how God also is – immensely powerful, uncontrollable, ready to strike in ways we may not like and this scares us.

Along with the wolves’ howl, the sounds were interspersed with musical interludes laid over the forest sounds. First there was a focus on the wolves, then the music, then the wolves again. I tend to focus on the musical side of God – thrilling and heart-soaring, enriching and beautiful, full of color and life, comforting to the soul. But there is also this other side to God – this wolf howling at the moon side I too often neglect to see. This haunting illustration of the fearsome dominance of God chills the heart in its tracks and makes one forget all shallow pretensions before God’s awesome show of power. Staring into the eyes of a wolf, one is both caught in the wonder of the moment so rare and yet also scared out of their mind at what the wolf could do. The angels in the Bible had to keep telling people to “Fear not!” Encounters with the true God, not an image, leave people trembling from head to toe.

One of my favorite books on the images of God is Imaginary Jesus by Matt Mikalatos. In the book, the main character interacts with a wide variety of Jesus images until finally in the end, he meets the real Jesus but instead of being face-to-face with “I AM,” he is kneeling and Jesus comes up behind him and lays his hands on his head. He never sees Jesus’s face. He never captures a new image – it’s the silent power and the lack of an image that finally speaks the truth of who Jesus is. I’ve had so many images of God in my faith journey and they have each been valuable and taught me something in turn. They’ve been the musical interludes to my relationship with God, the comforting moments, the healing hands, the loving words. They’ve all been immensely valuable yet it’s been the times when God has stepped in without my asking – speaking my name, coming to me in a dream or reminding me how un-knowable he/she is, the times when God has howled like a wolf in the night that I tremble before this God I cannot control or truly begin to comprehend.

The question I come to is, “Can I truly trust God if I am constantly making up who he is?” Yes, it’s comforting to imagine God sitting up in a tree beside me talking things out or just enjoying the moment, but if I stay up in the tree with him/her, I’ll have missed much of the point of who God is. We can’t ultimately name God nor is an image of God ever going to be complete. I am slowly learning to let there be space between the images, to stop in the silences and hear the wolves howling in the shadows, feel the trembling vibrations in the blowing breeze and to go further inside myself past blood and bone into my soul where my deeper wisdom tells me I have knelt in the woods myself and howled along. This is the God I want to know – the one I can’t direct, can’t grasp, can’t begin to draw or paint. Yet, at the same time, I am driven to try. As a writer and artist, I am drawn to the musical interludes, the beautiful expanses of song coloring in who God is and I long to take up my own watercolor pencil set and sketch out a few pictures of my own. Perhaps we are allowed to do this as long as we respect the silences and know we must ultimately lay our pictures down to hear who God really is.

Laying the music down and embracing the silence was difficult in its own right. Instead of the music being a bit distracting, my thoughts stepped in with the grace of an orangutan playing a drum solo. Trying to calm and quiet myself in the midst of all this noise was slippery at best and downright impossible at worst. The waiting I have endured for several months is playing at a fevered pitch for two to three more weeks and I’m now having a hard time breathing. I know this is a time when I most need to sit quietly with God and, in fact, when I wrote about my struggles breathing as a conversation with God, they did ease a bit for a day. Even so, I laid down in God’s arms and got to talk with him about my fears and concerns about all these changes going on in my life. I told him I feel like I am suspended in mid-air unable to get down and unable to move on. I’m just hanging there. It was also hard to put down the to-do list yet a relief at the same time. I have often thought in the mornings that fifteen minutes is just not enough time with God and our time often does go over. I’m hoping with a different work schedule I can take more time in the mornings to sit with God.

Out of all five senses, hearing seems to me to be the most direct to God. Though I know God is closer to me than I am to myself, I have to remind myself everything I know with my other four senses is, in fact, God present. But with hearing, whether inwardly or outwardly, I hear God and I know it’s him. You can’t mistake that voice – not when you’re standing on a beach and hear your name or you’re standing on the back of a boat gliding through the dark and hear a whisper. There are times I question if it was God and there are other times I just know. It’s at those times my body shivers for I’ve come face to face with a power unfathomably beyond myself, a love far more ferocious than I’ve ever felt, and a voice far more addicting than any other I’ve ever heard. Though I cannot tell from whence it comes, it speaks, and it speaks to me. This wild wolf howl of God echoing in the woods comes from somewhere and everywhere and invites us to set aside our preconceived notions and listen anew. 

"Need Help?"

(I found this draft for a blog post of mine while I was cleaning out some files. Enjoy!)

“Need help?”  Responding to that little voice, I turn around and see Amy sitting in the snow, her blue snowsuit keeping her 2 ½ year old body warm, her skies splayed out to one side.  She is calmly looking up at me, knowing I will momentarily reach down and pull her to her feet.  

I love this little girl.  Amy is a child who will wiggle her way deep into your heart faster than it takes her to choose a book and wiggle into your lap.  She is bright, articulate, affectionate, and adventurous. She is a delight.  Since she was born, her parents take her on “adventures”- swimming adventures, snow adventures, library adventures, among many others.  Her first hiking adventure came at six weeks old and she has been on the trails ever since.

This winter, Amy’s mom Melody and I have taken her on several snow adventures complete with little skis that strap onto Amy’s feet.  Unlike nearly every other child I know, Amy is content to sit in her car seat and look at books for hours of driving, or just look out the windows.  Arriving at the snow, Melody and I strap snowshoes to our feet and the skis to hers.  When we first started teaching Amy to ski, Melody and I each held one of her mittened hands and pulled her along, sliding her along in the snow.  We then taught her how to “poke-poke” with her poles for balance but as she has gained experience, she now prefers not to use them and can even slide downhill a little bit.  For rests, Melody pulls behind her a little sled but Amy usually prefers not to use it, she would rather be on her skis or walking in the snow, taking “deep snow breaks” periodically.  We ask her if she wants help once in a while and she replies, “Ski by myself?”  She is not asking for permission.  She ends her sentence in an upward inflection but we know she is quite determined in her decision.

Periodically, Amy falls and we hear her say, “Need help?”  Leaning over or walking back, one of us cheerfully takes a hold of her snowsuit and pulls her back to her feet.  I have learned so much from these two words of Amy’s and our response to them, that it has made me see myself and God in a new way.  When Amy falls, we never hear her say, “Idiot?  I keep falling?  I’m a bad skier!”  Nor do we ever tell her, “Amy!  Why can you not stay on your feet!  You are a terrible skier!  I am not picking you up again!  You are on your own!”  Once in a while, we do encourage her to try getting up on her own and she is learning she can do this at times but we never reject her or refuse to be there when she needs us.  We delight in her learning process, we delight in her joy.  Cameras in hand, we tell her, “Good job!” CLICK CLICK.  Falling doesn’t bother us.  Melody and I don’t see it as a bad thing, it’s simply a part of learning how to ski.    

Art of the Ages

While traveling throughout Europe, I have seen a great deal of art and religious art in particular.  During medieval times and the Renaissance, most art was religious in nature and there are certainly a lot of religious sculptures and paintings in the churches and cathedrals.  After examining all these extraordinary works from throughout the ages, I have had several questions to wrestle with, things I have pondered and asked about our view of God and self.

Look at the sculpture pictured above.  What do you notice?  What do you see?  One of the things I notice as I look at it is that everyone is dressed in the clothes of the time this sculpture was carved.  This it true for much of the religious art I have seen.  Rarely are the figures dressed in clothes they may have actually worn.  Think about the amount of fabric here, would they have actually worn that much?  Of course not!  Fabric fibers were harvested, cleaned, carded, dyed, spun, woven and then sewn. There is an immense amount of work in that process and they would have not wasted fabric on extra folds or trains.  They would have needed to be able to move around to do their work.  Only the rich could afford flowing robes.  So why are they pictured in clothes such as these?  Why go so far out of their original context?

The reason the artists went outside of the character’s context is because they weren’t painting the Biblical context, they were painting their own.  They weren’t concerned about staying true to the historicity of the times, they wanted to paint theirs.  They painted and sculpted to bring the stories of the Bible into their own world, into their understanding.  If we did that today, the disciples would be wearing jeans and t-shirts that say, “Gone Fishing”.  But in the modern western culture, we spend immense amounts of time understanding the “original context”, the Biblical cultures, clothing, and way of behavior.  We want to find out what they ate, what their houses were like, and the practices of their social structures. 

So we have two different cultures with two different views on the Biblical stories: one culture that put them into their own context and another who study the context in its original setting.  So here is my question: which is it?  Were they wrong to try to understand the stories through the lens of their own culture?  Are we wrong to keep the stories at such an objective distance?  Do one of us have the better idea?  Are we both wrong?  Are we both right?  Is there even a right and wrong in the first place?

I believe that when it comes down to it, we are both right and we are both wrong, if right and wrong are even the best terms for it.  I love the truths both views represent.  On one end, we study the original settings which help us better understand what the writers meant, the importance of some of the details in the stories.  But if we leave the stories there, they mean little.  We need to then bring these stories and characters into our own contexts, into our time frame and find out how these stories written so long ago are our stories, how they hold the truths of our lives.

At the same time, if we go too far in one direction, if we forget to look at the writers’ original context and read what they said entirely into our own world, or if we spend so long studying what they said to their culture and forget what they are saying to our own, then we are missing the whole point of why they wrote.  God’s word is always new, always speaking.  It spoke to their time, it spoke to those in the Middle Ages, and it speaks to ours here and now.  Art is supposed to be creative, to make us see things we might have missed, and whether that art places characters in clothes of their time or in ours doesn’t matter so much as the message those stories convey. 

To take this to an even broader level of Truth, I have also been asking myself a question on top of the first: do we insist on clothing God in what we see as the truth of our times?  Do we play dress-up with God?  Do we place our values and desires upon God, assuming the Lord agrees with what we hold as important?  There must be a reason most religious art of the past hasn’t even tried to portray God directly, only Jesus.  Did they know this could never be done?  So why do we try to do the very thing they never even dared attempt?  Why do we portray God in metaphorical modern day clothing and ideas, that same pair of jeans and a t-shirt that proclaims, “Turn or burn!”  God is so much bigger than that, better than that.  He outstrips us, our understandings, our ideas, our conceptions.  God wants us to search after him, to try to understand him, but not to put him inside our understanding.  He is the painter, we are the painted.

So take a step back and take another one forwards.  Put God in context then let God get back out again.  Study the art before you, either on canvas, in stone, or written onto the bark and brooks of the larger world, and see what stands out to you.    How do you see the origins of the story?  And how do you see the one who originated you?  The painter is still painting.

Ahava Auto

Note: I wrote most of this last fall and then finished the story tonight.
"Screeeeeech... screeeeech!"  That is the noise of my frustration coming from somewhere around the front wheels of my car. "Grrrr" is the noise coming from me.  Resisting the urge to pull over and exercise my kicking skills against the car, I turn into the parking lot at work instead and try my best to put the noises out of my mind until I can tend to them later.  Praying over the car and then making it a burnt offering crosses my mind. 

In the afternoon, I nervously walk back to my wax-long-gone vehicle and start it up hoping the first fall rain miraculously has wet enough of whatever is making the noise to finally make the car be quiet and not let the noises cast the "shadow of the valley of death" onto my automobile's valuable life.  "Here's to hoping" I think.

Following the advice of a friend, I turn the radio's volume up so I can't hear the noise because if you can't hear it, the noise doesn't exist, right?  This is what I have been telling myself throughout the several weeks as my car has elected to make one noise, or two, after another but I can no longer stand the aggravation.  "That's it!" I decide. "I'm taking you in!"  Windshields wipers making back and forth trips across my window, shooing the raindrops away, I find my way through the rain over to where I know I need to go.  I often avoid this place and I wish I had a good reason for doing so but until I actually get there and talk with the guy, it's hard to go to this shop because I'll take the car in for one thing and the mechanic points out something else that needs to be fixed.  Or a couple of things.  Take your pick.  It can be a heart-rending experience, especially if I haven't been in for a while and I know work needs to be done.

Parking the car in an otherwise empty parking lot, I grab my little purple backpack from the seat beside me and try to cover the lenses on my glasses as I hurry to the front door of Ahava Auto.  Bell jangling to announce my entrance, I wipe my feet on the matt and look up to see the mechanic coming in through the shop door to my left. 

"Sarah!  How have you been?  Car giving you trouble again?  You know, you can come see me anytime, not just when the car is making noises.  I miss talking with you!" 

Sheepishly, I look into his face, "Hi God.  I know and I'm sorry.  I miss our talks too.  It's been a busy week but I really need your help with this.  I've got nowhere else to go." 

"No problem but you don't have to save me till last." he cheerfully replies with a wink and a smile.  "Let's see what we can do.  Give me your keys and we'll take it for a test drive first."

After opening the front door for me and unlocking the car, we slide onto the bench seats of what I like to call, "my grandpa muscle car" and he pulls out onto the road with a master's skill.  "So how have you been this week?"

"Okay. I have too much on my plate. I really appreciate and am grateful to you for the house sitting work and the full-time hours for a little while but they are demanding and other things aren't getting done. I don't know what to do about it."

"Don't know what to do or are too scared to do it?"

"Both." I admit. "I know I need to unload a few things, that I say yes to too much.  I know what I am supposed to be doing, but I'm not putting my priorities on the top of the list.  I'm not putting first things first." 

"You know, a car like this runs well.  It's a good engine but it's meant to drive.  It can serve in other capacities when you need it to such as a place to sleep if you're homeless but that is not what it is made for.  You can do it for awhile but it feels uncomfortable if you do it for long.  A car is made to drive.  What are you made for?"

"Writing.  I know it's writing.  I love to put words on paper. It feels like painting.  I also love being in that place of prayer with another as a spiritual director.  I feel 'in my place' when I do those things."

"But you haven't been.  Why not?"

"Busy.  Not willing to take the time, to sit down and share.  Some days I feel I don't have anything worth saying."

"But you always do, eventually.  It's not yours alone you know.  Your gift is meant to be shared.  The car is meant to be driven."

"Yeah."

"Is this the noise?"

"Yup"

"Ah.  You know, there is a difference between what need to be done and what is just getting done.  What needs to be done will help your car run like it is supposed to.  What is just getting done is what comes up which may or may not be what the car is made for.  Understand?"

"I think so.  So all those little things I think need to be done may or may not be what I actually need to be doing and the things I am made for are not even on the list."

"Exactly."

"That is rather disheartening."

"Why is that?"

"Because most of the things I do feel like they need to be done!"

"Try it this way: make a list of the things of top priority to you.  Keep the list short then do those things.  All those other little things will either go away or you learn to say no to what does not fit.  You can only fit so much in the trunk of the car."

"I'll give it a whirl.  So what's wrong with the car?"

"The hub assembly, rotars, and brakes all need to be replaced."

"How much is that going to cost me?"
"More than you could ever pay, but there isn't ever any charge.  Just do me a favor okay?"

"Okay."

"Do what you were made for.  I made you to be you.  Stop trying to be everything else."

"Thanks God."

Pulling back into the parking lot, God turns off the car and gives me the keys.  As I walk around to the driver's side, he wraps me in a big hug which he knows I need. As he heads back into the garage, I am left standing by the car, wondering why I ever wait so long between visits.  Then I take my seat and look at the steering wheel, smiling at the note he's left. "God was here - Come back soon!"

Daring to Open the Door

I have long heard tales about the glories of the Woodbrooke library, how it is a literal treasure trove of hundreds of years of Quaker thought, writings from as long as Quakers have been practicing this particular spirituality.  I have been told how people come from far and wide to study here and to open the books held within its walls, how there are many nuggets of gold among the pages never fully explored.  I had also read guests could borrow the books while they were here.

Thus, when I saw the stained glass door with the word "library" incorporated into the design, I was rather excited.  Being a very curious person, using my key, I unlocked the door, walked down a short hallway, and entered a cream colored, small room.  On my right was a locked door labeled "library office" and I could see through the glass window there were shelves of material stored in there.  On my left, were bookshelves full of fiction and poetry and while scanning the volumes, I was pleasedd to see they had the full sets of Harry Potter and Narnia.  Still, I wanted to write while I was here, not read, and besides, I would be more interested in non-fiction anyway.  I figured they stored the old books in the office to protect them while no one was on duty.  Rather dissapointed as this did not live up to the glories I had heard of, I turned around and walked out. 

The next morning, I was eating breakfast with several of the other conference participants when one of them was telling us about how she spent a very enjoyable time the evening before in the library and how when she left, there were several other people still up chatting.  This didn't match my impression of the room and when I told her so and shared what I had seen, she told me I had to keep going through that room and into another.  Quickly, I finished breakfast and headed back to see what else there was.  This time, I let myself into the first room, and walked straight through it to another door I had not noticed before labeled "library".  Letting myself into this room, I saw before me shelves of non-fiction books along with moveable shelves to my right and while they looked very interesting and I figured the old ones were on the moveable shelves, I was still dissapointed.  What I saw and experienced was not what I had heard about.  So much for great libraries.

But then as I looked around, I spotted yet another door.  Pushing on the door handle, I walked through and finally saw what everyone had been talking about.  From floor to ceiling were locked book cases with glass fronts and behind them were shelves and shelves of extremely old looking books, book after book after book after book.   Looking down at a sign on a table in front of them, I read, "All books published before 1800 are now on restricted access.  Please ask library staff for help."  It took me one second flat to realize where the books published after 1800 (!) would be.  Sure, enough, turning to my left were high shelves full of both old and new books and eagerly, I ran to these and started scanning titles.  Freely, I pulled off and perused books from years such as 1818 and 1826, people's journals and periodicals, records, and theological thoughts about the goodness of God in a world with so much trouble and pain.  There were early Quaker documents, people I had never heard of, a whole library full!  The glories of reading were open for all.

As I walked back through the rooms of the library that day, I thought about how similar this is with our experiences of God.  We hear about a God who is loving beyond end, who wants to spend our daily lives with us, and how he will renew the whole of creation, glory beyond measure  We hear of wonders and miracles and joy and peace and love and those sound fantastic so we decide to explore this God of which we hear and go to church or pray.  We pick up a book or write a book, we go hear a speaker and start speaking ourselves.  We look for God in the flowers, in the smell of freshly mown grass, among the bricks and motar of the world.  And we come up dissapointed.  We do not see the God of which we hear.  Some walk out, some stay in the room trying to make the best of the situation, make the best of a dissapointment we don't even admit to.

But then we sit down to breakfast one morning, or talk to a friend and they tell us of their experiences with a God we do not know.  A God we have hoped for, but have never seen or touched ourselves.  We have heard whispers but have never known where to look, caught glimpses but never knew where to run.  But we give it a go, we decide to go back to what we have known and look again.  And this time we see a door.  Do we dare to walk through it?  Do we dare to leave what we have known behind and see what is on the other side?  Yes, we dare!  Turning the handle, we step into a whole new view of the Lord we thought we had known, new vistas are opened, new horizons before us yet this is still not the God we have heard of so we, having learned our lesson in the first room, look aroumd and explore, searching for yet another door.  Then there it is and we walk boldly before it in great reverence suspecting what is beyond. 

Grasping the door knob in our hands, we slide it open and are immediaetly in awe of what we find beyond.  Everything we have heard of is true. Everything we have longed for is there.  And God is there, full glory, eternal majesty, with our favorite cup of tea wanting to be personal, to talk, to listen, to walk the road with us, to show us this whole new creation.  Wisdom of the ages at our fingertips, love beyond measure around us.  It's all true, it's all solid, and there is so, so much more. 

We are all in such rooms.  We are all looking, searching, even if we have come to uneasy terms with dissapointment.  We suspect there is something more to God and this world.  We suspect there is deeper love and healing and we know that where we are at is not it.  And we are right.  The rooms we are in are not it and here is where the metaphor breaks down.  There is no final room.  There is no place we finally get to lay down in and say we have seen it all.  There is only door after door after glorious door.  This doesn't mean, however, we need to go right from one room into another.  It is okay to stop and take a look around, to pull some of the books off the shelf, find a chair, and open them up.  The shelves are a gift.  The books, the writings, they are to guide us as we walk through these rooms, words to teach us and let us know there are doors beyond and when we learn from them, we are better able to see the door into the next room.

I have walked through many doors in my life and it comstantly amazes me when I find yet another one waiting for me to open up and walk through. Some doors I am searching for and some are given me.  Some I find in great surprise and others are pointed out.  Sometimes it is a book I've read, or a place I have seen, but they are always there one after another, calling me to keep looking, keep knowing, and keep growing.  It's a beautiful garden that fills your soul with peace, it's the song of the birds, or tears of a new realization.  It's the love of a friend, so deep, resonating in the very core of your heart that you look at God and think, this must a part of what your love is like.  We think we know.  We think we understand.  Then something comes along that brushes our hand and haunts us, telling us there is more.  Do we stop?  Do we dare to look beyond?  Do we open the door?

Do I?  Do you?

Don't Ask - I Won't Tell

I have a confession to make. It's not easy to say this-much less publish it to the wide world-but I feel I can no longer continue in secret.  Though it doesn't seem harmful now, not opening up about it could be harmful and doing so, may help others who haven't felt free to be open up about their own desires. But I can't stay silent any more. Too many people need to take in what I have to say today. So here we go:

I have been to mass.

Not just a little bit.  Not just crossing my chest when I think no one is looking in an alleyway downtown, or sneaking the rosary under my coat in a dark movie theater, but everyday, and for years. The nave itself, has rarely seen me. In fact, before the last two times I've gone, it's been years since I've taken a knee in public.  But I have had a long-standing love affair with Catholicism. 

It started out innocently enough as all affairs do, a talk with a friend about transubstantiation and consubstantiation. You know, what Sophomores in college usually talk about.  This friend brought up some good points and we had a very interesting discussion. She invited me to mass. I went. I felt odd but she was there beside me helping me along on when to kneel, when to stand, and when to say what. It was a crash course in the holy rosary. 

Two years later, I was driving with Jesus to rehearsal. I liked Jesus. She was fun, a laugh a minute, and she fascinated me.  Jesus must have seen something in me too for she invited me to join her in leading her youth group at St. Mary's Catholic Church and you know how it goes, where Jesus leads, we follow.  Jesus, otherwise known outside of our play, Journey to the Cross, as Leonora, (I was the blind man she healed, a disciple she called, and a high priest who betrayed her rolled into one, but that is another whole metaphor for another story), was a gift in my life.  I joined her at St. Mary's as an intern and we had a blast. I got to help plan and sit in on all the lessons. I got to know the kids. I got to shoot Lee with rubber bands in the dark on our overnighter.  I even went to a tea with the women. I got to learn from her how to laugh at myself. 

In addition to being the youth leader in Albany, Lee also worked at the Newman Center, the Catholic student center just off campus.  Hanging out with all the Catholics at the Newman Center and playing "Dress Up Jesus" on the Internet became my favorite haunt.  We laughed until we cried.  We made comfort food in the kitchen and held regular get-togethers. I even took their class on what Catholics believe and why, taught by a local priest.  One night we went bowling and competed against the Presbyterian center down the street that I was also familiar with. They called me a traitor. But those times there among the voluminous tomes of Catholicism are some of my very happiest from my college years.

After college, I went and got religion.  Well, first I got depressed and then I got religion.  (Another longer story.) This religion came in the form of Christian History, a topic so little taught in our world. At seminary, I learned about our church fathers, "Lord, give me chastity but not yet." I learned about the early councils when the church was one. (Ha!) I learned about the Abbas and the Ammas who moved out to the desert when Christianity became acceptable.  I learned about those faithful followers of Christ who lived on top of pillars for years on end in faith to God.  (Someone should have shared with them the verse about wanting a contrite heart more than sacrifice.) I learned about the mystics, the church splits, I learned about the tree of faith and I learned that Catholics were Christians!  I walked the labyrinth and learned about the rosary. I knew the saints and venerated the icons. (Rublev's Trinity is my absolute favorite!)  From Carole and MaryKate I learned we are all one, we are from the same family.  What is more, I learned I loved the art, the images and pictures, the traditions and practices.  I loved the history. 

About a year ago, I attended an Episcopalian church and it was an enriching experience. I really enjoyed it. Some of my favorite authors and books have been Episcopalian. Then this last Christmas Eve, I decided to go to midnight mass. Every once in a while, you just need some good liturgy.  So I asked my spiritual director what times the services were going to be at (all my directors have been Catholic more or less). I wanted to remember in the midst of the all the Christmas decorations and shopping why we were celebrating. I was thirsty for mass.

Though it was the second time I had been there, I visited that church once years ago, I didn't really know what I was doing.  The room was packed, overflowing even, so it wasn't too hard to sit in the back and try to blend in, though I hoped they wouldn't find out I wasn't really Catholic, just a wannabe.  But even being an outsider, I felt very comfortable amongst them. My favorite icon hangs in the front on the right hand side, and it has enough qualities of Judaism, the rhythms of worship echo in my heart and make it sing.  The next week I went again, still crowded, and I still sat near the back, trying not to let people know I didn't have it all memorized.  But I love how they use their bodies in worship, it feels so wholesome, so life-giving. 

Really, the protestants left out a lot of great stuff when they "reformed".  It's like there having been missing pieces in my protestant spirituality that have been filled in and brought to light as I've engaged in Judaism and Catholicism.  While I was at seminary, we were taught these other Christian practices, a rich array of them, not to show what they did, but as pieces of us, our history, our heritage.  We we taught these practices, these spiritualities, were beautiful and meaningful and true. We were taught to respect them, to experiment with them, even to enjoy them.  I still do. So being a visitor, it would seem "home" is elsewhere, but I feel home there too.  Is God there?  Yes. Yes He/She is.  And wherever God is, there is home.  You can hear Him in the singing, you can hear her in the prayers. You can hear God in all of these spiritual practices.

Sister Antoinette once told me she didn't think I would be happy until I became Catholic.  I think she's right in a way.  I would never be happy sticking to just one spiritual practice. I need Catholicism too on top of everything else. There is so much out there. So many deeply enriching experiences that sticking to one all the time would be like having mashed potatoes for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  As much as I like mashed potatoes, I want variety in my diet. It keeps things interesting, keeps me healthy.  Diversity is nourishing.  And if diversity is nourishing in what we eat and what we do, then why not how we pray?  Why not how we relate to God?

Trying out different ways of relating to God is a good thing.  It's not that I'm betraying any faith I profess to have or church I am involved with, (though how I could betray Judaism, Protestantism, and Quakerism all in one is beyond me), it's that I'm enriching it. God doesn't have denominations in Heaven. We are all one. Why not embrace that here? Why not visit each other, get to know one another?  Why not break down those stereotypes and get to know someone from a different faith background for ourselves?  In my own life, I found that we aren't so different and in the places we are, those places enrich my life far more than I ever thought possible.

So I go to mass.  And I go to Quaker meeting.  I visit churches and I delight in Shabbat.  And yes, I have some practices that are rather Catholic. It's one of the reasons I have enjoyed becoming friends with people of the Catholic faith. I can share those things, those practices of mine, knowing full well they share them too and that they won't ever laugh at me or question why I do them.  And when they ask me if I have considered a religious life, I know they are not simply incredulous of why a woman would invest herself in attending seminary, but are asking sincerely, and we can have a real conversation about it.

God is just too big, and too wide, and too immense to limit ourselves to one way of prayer. Thanks be to God.

"What is your problem with chocolate??? "

This is a comment I received today on the post: "Peanut M&Ms in Relationship -Submission Part 3"

"So, um, you know, I really really like the general direction of this post and some parts of your metaphor really work for me, but WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM WITH CHOCOLATE??? I am not sure I want to hear, "read the whole book..."

I mean it's not really like you're talking about ecology or fair trade production or the power and wonder of chocolate in small and measured doses. It's just that no chocolate at all is not at all a leap I think a lot of relationships can sustain. Here I am not seeing the path away from chocolate mess and into the GOOD parts of chocolate."

First off, let me say I LOVE hearing from you in the comments.  I love the feedback and it inspires me to keep writing.  Thank you RantWoman for writing! Because of the nature of your questions, I thought I would address them publicly in a post of it's own. 

Let me tell you: I like chocolate, dark chocolate.  It's not something I love, as in I drool over the case of truffles in the candy store, but I do enjoy dark chocolate.  This is a case of growth and change.  Up until my mid-twenties, I preferred milk chocolate but as I lost my sweet tooth, I lost my taste for milk chocolate.  Then, several years later, Adria introduced me to dark chocolate and I could hear the angelic choirs singing their praises to God in the halls of Heaven.  It actually lasted only for a bar or two, but I have been a dark chocolate fan ever since.  I am still not a big candy fan though so dark chocolate is not something I buy for myself but I enjoy the treat on occasion when offered. 

As for the chocolate metaphor, it's not meant to disdain chocolate, but the original M&M was made with milk chocolate which is indeed, not good for you.  Neither is the candy coated shell.  The peanut is in fact the only part of the candy that has any nutritional value, just like the image of God inside each one of us is the truest part of ourselves.  The reason the M&M metaphor is used is because it is something most people in the west know about.  If I was teaching this in Kenya, I would probably use another metaphor.  I know Katie and her team have taught this in another country. The next time I speak with her, I'll ask her if they still used it. If I recall correctly, I believe they brought bags of the candy with them for the students to see and eat.
 
I have been thinking about a new installment of posts under the Imago Dei series about the drama triangle.  I love that material too!  Thank you for the feedback!

Peanut M&Ms in Relationship - Submission Part 3

You know how you can never eat just one peanut m&m? And do you also know how most peanut shells have two peanuts in them? We, as peanut m&ms, were created to be in relationship with one another. Katie Skurja writes about the Imago Dei peanut, "In this model, I am suggesting that the Imago Dei is the way we were designed to live in a triune relationship, just as the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit live in relationship to one another. The image of God, or Imago Dei, within us is how we were created for relationship with God, others, and self....There is an inter-connectedness and mutuality among the three and a two-way flow between any two persons of the relationship."

Just as there is a mutuality and sharing among the trinity, so is there to be a mutuality and sharing between us, respect and love. We are to treat each other as we would Christ as Christ is in every person for indeed, he is! And this Imago Dei is in every person no matter who they are or where they have come from. Katie explains, "The Imago Dei is at the core of all people, regardless of how much they seem to be in the light or not, though not all live out of their Imago Dei. All people can be used to reveal aspects of who God is, both believers and non-believers alike. The very people we consider to be our enemies can reflect aspects of God that we do not see with our natural eyes.... Some believe that the Imago Dei was destroyed by the Fall and that it is only in being 'born again' that it is restored. This viewpoint sets one up for judgement of others and promotes the 'I/it' or 'us/them' attitude. Jesus himself told us that what we do unto others we do unto him (Matthew 25:40). If we adhere to the idea that only Christians have an Imago Dei, then we will have a tendency to look at others for what they are not rather than who they are. We will not see how they might have something to offer us. This judgement is often not only toward those outside the Church, but also within."

If we truly do believe scripture when it says all people were created in the image of God, then we need to love every person on this earth, past, present, and future, no matter how much chocolate their peanut is covered up with, including ourselves. Each person is a unique expression of God and we need to look for the good and the light inside them. Even if they have a hard time seeing past their own chocolate and their shame, as we live out of our own Imago Deis, we can help them see theirs. We can hold up a divine mirror and help others see the treasured gem of God they are. I will be the first to admit this can be easier at times more than others but I also know it is always rewarding, even if not easy. But we are called to share God's love and how can we do that if we do not try to see through his eyes?

Between the candy coated shell, our chocolate, and our peanuts, there are many ways to relate to each other. The "safe relationship" is when we interact with our candy coated shells firmly in place, our "false selves" wearing the masks of who we want to present to the world. The false self wants to maintain the status quo, protect itself, and not have anyone ever see their chocolate. However, by living out of the false self, God's image is rarely ever seen. We all have such relationships in our lives, some churches are full of them. We aren't real with each other, either with our shame or who God created us to be. Of the false self, Katie says, "The mantra of shallow False-Self relationships is "don't rock the boat." We may even pride ourselves on how tolerant we can be in accepting other people's differences, yet we are blind to who the person really is at the core. Looking we do not see, listening we do not hear." She goes on to tell us, "Our False-Self is not capable of Agape love, or Christ-like love. It can do loving things, but not love in the way that God loves. The harsh truth is that whenever we look at someone with contempt or hatred, we are not operating out of the Imago Dei.... We can only know ourselves or others to the degree that we function out of the Imago Dei within us."

When explaining how the false self operates in closer relationships, Katie tells us, "The more intimate our relationships, the more our False Self begins to break down in that relationship. Unfortunately, that does not necessarily mean that we operate our of the Imago Dei. On the contrary, it is where we can often be the most dangerous because we no longer show the pretenses of the False Self. This "honor" we usually reserve for those we presume to love the most. Those closest to us will have opportunity to see the places where the chocolate is leaking out from underneath our False Self."

When two people operate out of their chocolate, our "wounded selves", it's like two people with sunburns bumping up against each other. No matter where they touch, it's going to hurt. This can be a very dangerous and explosive type of relationship. Their issues are at the forefront, everything said touches on a much deeper issue. For example one spouse might say to another over some dishes left in the sink, "You never help clean up around here!" That is the wounded self. Another example is when a child spills a glass of milk at dinner and the parent beats them in a back room as punishment. That is the wounded self too. This is not the true self God created us to be but it is the self many of us operate out of.

Another dangerous relationship is when one person is living out of their false self and the other out of the wounded self. This often happens when there is a power differential in a relationship, when it is a one-up and one-down way of relating. Katie explains, "The greater the power differential, the greater the likelihood that the relationship will be dangerous. Power itself is not good or bad. It is neutral, but can be used for good or evil. In linear relationships, power will invariably be used for self-serving purposes. In this type of False-Self-to-Wounded-Self relationship one may be a burn victim, but the other is a porcupine, forever shooting it's dangerous quills. Abusive relationships operate in this manner, whether the quills come from the tongue, the fist, attitudes, or behaviours. The person in the one-up position projects his/her shame onto the person in the one-down position as a means of self-preservation."

Here is a diagram illustrating the different types of relationships we've just discussed. (Click on picture for larger image.)



Tomorrow I will talk about living out of our Imago Deis in relationship with one another. For now, think about movies you've seen or people you know and come up with examples of people living out of their false-self, wounded-self, and their Imago Dei. What does it look like when these people interact? When have you seen yourself living out of each of these areas? What were those experiences like? Share your answers with God or write a comment below. (God reads this blog too.)

*Quotes and diagram taken from Living in the Intersection by Catherine Skurja. Used with permission.

The Peanut M&M - Submission Part 2

Today we're going to start with dessert. Namely, peanut m&ms. Amazingly enough, they will explain why I believe everyone, no matter what their beliefs, has God's presence within them. (Let's pause here as I thank God for letting me live in a time when I would not be burned at the stake for saying this, though Deanna says I would be persecuted no matter when I lived for one reason or another because I "keep running my mouth".)

For those who don't know what peanut m&ms are, picture a peanut covered in chocolate with a hard candy colored shell.

The peanut inside the m&m is the unique image of God we have inside each of us, the reflection of him, his spirit inside us. He made us each in his image and no matter who we are, we all have that core of divinity, of eternity, glowing inside us. It is a light of priceless worth. It is who we truly are.

The chocolate covering the peanut is all the crap and shame in our lives, it's those nasty places we don't like showing to others, the hard things to admit, to talk about, to be open with. It's the things about us and about our past we are ashamed of and want to hide away. It's the sludge we swim in, our unhealthy places full of the things we haven't worked through.

The hard candy shell is the mask we put over ourselves to hide our shame. It's the smile that doesn't light up or eyes, the scowl, the anger, the pretend face. It's who we present to the world so they don't know what is going on under the surface. Different people choose different masks, different shells, even religiosity can be a shell.

Everyone has all three things in our lives: the peanut, the chocolate, and the shell. We are each a peanut m&m.

So why is this important? Picture someone with a hard candy shell, someone you know who has such a thick exterior, it's hard to get to know them. Or picture someone you know who has a reaction to something disproportional to the question or issue brought up. Perhaps it's a topic they get particularly angry about, or you ask a simple question and they get really mad or go hide away. Now picture someone who you can clearly see God's image in. The first person, the one with the thick exterior is hard to get to know, hard to really talk to. The one with the disproportional response is also hard to be in relationship with as you never know what will set them off. The third though, the one in whom you can see God's image, is someone you can trust, someone who brings delight to life.

Here are illustrations for each person on how their peanut m&m might look.

Hard to get to know:

Disproportional reactions:

In this case, you touch a crack in their shell and get their "chocolate".
In this one, the person is all nerves, they don't have much protective shell at all and are thus, very sensitive.

Easy to see God within them:

In my own life, my candy hard shell was my silence. As the shame and crap in my life grew, I became quiet and retreated. I stopped putting myself out there and taking risks. As I've worked through my chocolate and shell, my voice got louder, stronger, and I accepted the power I have inherent within me. I learned and am definitely still learning to live out of my peanut. One of my chocolate pieces, a reaction I did not expect to be as angry as it was, was when this issue of submission came up. Knowing how powerful working through some of my other chocolate has been, I want to face this dark matter and find the peanut, the image of God underneath.

This is the challenge for each of us: to work through our shell and chocolate so we can live out of our peanuts. Be patient with yourself and others as they do this. Everyone has their own pace, everyone has their own path they must take. For example, the shell should be dismantled piece by piece, it has been a protection up to this point. If too much comes off at once, it leaves raw nerves and exposed vulnerability way too soon before the person can handle working through their shame. The chocolate needs gentle yet firm hands to help sort through things with the acknowledgement that none of the chocolate is God's truth. However, God takes the chocolate and makes it into something beautiful and pure but we have to turn over the chocolate into his loving hands first. We have to be willing to face it head on, to take a steady look, acknowledge our chocolate before we can work through it. You have to let the chocolate go. The chocolate is not your Imago Dei (Latin for Image of God). The shell and chocolate is not who you are. Your peanut is who you are. Your peanut is the person God made you to be. Live out of your peanut. After all, God loves nuts.

This is a song I love that speaks to so many of these truths:




(Thanks to Deanna who sacrificed several of her peanut m&ms to be pictured for this post.)

The Mystical Stream

Mystics: They are those who look at the blue sky and see the stars, those who reach for the heavens and grasp a hand, who talk to God and expect to hear His voice.

I wrote these words when trying to describe what mysticism is like. Many people hear that word and think of images filled with new age crystals, incense, and repeated mantras called out in a ritual. It is hard for them to imagine that mysticism could have anything to do with Christianity. But there is a rich and long tradition of Christian mysticism and it is a tradition I am proud to call my own. Wikipedia puts it this way, "Christian mysticism is the pursuit of communion with, identity with, or conscious awareness of God through direct experience, intuition, instinct or insight." If there is one Christian label I would be happy to carry it is being a mystic. The first time someone called me that, I had to go look up what it meant in a dictionary and I liked what it said but there was much I missed. I had no idea of all the mystics who had gone before me or the ones who are around me today. But they are there, talking to God, seeing him, relating to Him. I heard about them at seminary, read their works, studied them, learned from them, found mentors across time. People like John of the Cross, Therese of Lisieux, Teresa of Avila, Mechtild of Magdeburg, Brother Lawrence, among many others have taught me to listen better to the mystic music I hear and to delight in God's notes.

If you've read The Shack, and I believe many of you have as it's still #3 on the New York Times Trade Paperback best seller list, then you have read a good example of mysticism. It's looking at the world and seeing what is not seen, the light, God's presence, hearing his voice. It's looking at the shack and seeing a cabin in the woods where we spend time with God. It's knowing he's there and reaching for his hand. There are many types of mystics and many ways to relate to God. My strongest experiences have been when God comes to me in my dreams or a vision he gives me. I sometimes close my eyes and go to our special places when I need a good talk and I hear God respond, and God comes to me in many forms.

Mysticism is one way of relating to God among many, it's a tradition, a stream, beautiful among many other streams. Some people have these experiences and don't know what they are, or they think they have stepped into something heretical. But I want these people to know mysticism is a delight between God and the soul and that God enjoys giving such gifts. You are not alone. Read books on Christian mysticism, there are many. Many mystics have written about their experiences. Talking with a spiritual director familiar and supportive of the tradition is also very helpful. Most importantly, open your inward eyes, your heart, and talk to God. He'll answer.

A Love Worth Serving

This evening at church we had been discussing how one can be the image of God to those around us, particularly through service and conversations. What I talked to our pastor, Jordan, more about afterward was the place service has in our lives. Though our conversation in the group was more along the lines of service to those who don't know the love of God, I think, and Jordan agreed, that service is vitally important no matter who it is to. I believe we can all give in some way. Serving another in love is good for our souls. It gets us out of our own worlds and teaches us to look to the needs of those around us as well as our own. It can be so easy, especially when we are busy, to bury ourselves in work, but that is one of the most important times to remember to step beyond ourselves and reach out with love and a helping hand.

Our lives are a gift but we are not the only recipients on the card. Our lives are meant to be poured out, given out, invested in gardens not our own. Whether in overtly Christian service or not, it doesn't matter, it is all for God. We need to make sure our own gardens are watered, well taken care of, but our gardens will not bloom the brightest until we take our watering cans into other pathways and tend other flowers. Choose the gardens to invest yourself in. I don't always understand the why, but this I know: any service done in love is never wasted. The seeds planted today will grow into the flowers of tomorrow. The scent will permeate your life.

When I get to the end of my life, I want to be able to look back and say that I lived my life with love, that more people benefited from the breaths I took than just myself. I want to make a difference. I want people to be reminded of God's face when they see me. It's a great big dream but I know it's possible because I see his face reflected so often in the faces of others, others who serve God with great love. It is definitely a love worth serving.

365-09 #296

Exploring the Images of God

So why did I use the feminine image of God in the story? Like many fiction writers will say, that is what I saw in my mind. I started with the usual "He" but it didn't seem right and I thought it would be fun to use another of my favorite images for a story that I put so much of my heart into. I like the feminine image of God. I am still becoming comfortable using it as it is still rather foreign to me but I like the flavor. I like holding an image of God I can relate to, who can relate to me. I'm not trying to bring God to my level, but using the image of God as woman among others helps me find God inside of me.

In "Joan of Arcadia", a television show though now canceled, is still quite powerful. In it, God shows up to talk to Joan in different forms. Sometime God is a cute guy, at times a little girl, at others God is a woman. Watching the show's episodes on youtube has taught me a lot about the characteristics of God and it has helped me see God much better in those around me. I am more open to God showing up in the unexpected when I accept and cherish a variety of images, feminine images among them. They are all important. I enjoy exploring them.

365-09 #273

Please Explain to Me...

I got this comment on yesterday's post: "I just read your blog. Please explain to me why you feel God is a woman. I have never heard that one before." I wrote about this topic last year so before reflecting on why I chose to use that particular image of God, I am going to repost what I wrote then as I think it may be helpful.

____________________

I want to talk to you a lot more about the Feminine Divine. To do this though, I first want to share with you how I became interested in this topic and how it has changed me.

It all started inocently enough. Sister Antoinette, a woman I enjoy visiting with out at Mt. Angel Abbey, suggested I read "The Secret Life of Bees". Having no idea what it was about, (how bees miraculously fly perhaps?), I didn't track it down. On top of that, with all of the reading, projects, and papers I had to complete before finishing my graduate degree, I didn't have a lot of time budgeted for extracurricular reading. However, I quickly learned God has a very different idea of the difference between extracurriclar reading and reading that is required.

I was house sitting in the fall for a professor/friend of mine up in Vancouver, Washington over Thanksgiving. Having many of the same intellectual and spiritual interests as I, which would make sense considering how many classes I had with her, I was really looking forward to having access to her personal library. Looking through her shelves, I came across her copy of "The Secret Life of Bees". I was soon enthralled with the story. It's about a white teenager who escapes from her physically abusive father and finds herself at the home of "The Calendar Sisters"-May, June, and August, three black women who worship the black Madonna. They raise bees and sell their honey, teaching the girl the business and helping her to heal along the way. I loved it, it was a fantastic story and it was my first foray into the feminine divine. I told the woman I was seeing for spiritual direction at the time about the book and she suggested I also read "The Mermaid Chair" and "The Dance of the Dissendant Daughter" both by the same author. I was still finishing my program so put I them off. God though, did not.

Right before Christmas, I was on my regular rounds of author tables and holiday bazaars. I love doing these for not only do I get to talk with the public about my books, but I also get to "talk shop" with the other authors, always one of our favorite parts of any fair or bazaar. Next to me was Dolores Dahl, one of my favorite poets who is also a dear friend. She was reading, you guessed it, "The Mermaid Chair"! Seeing my interest, she told she would mail it to me when finished. A few weeks later, the book showed up in my post office box with the note I could keep it. This book pissed me off. It's written well and reminds me a bit of the island my aunt lives on that I love to spend time at, but it is about a woman's discovery of her deep femininity, creativity, and power within through having an affair with a monk. The monk part didn't bother me, neither did the sexual content, it was the possibility of divorce without caring for the other partner. A friend of mine was going through a divorce at the time so it was hitting too close to home for me. However, after reflection, I really appreciated this woman's discovery of her inner strength and her artistic expression.

Now I was intrigued. "The Dance of the Dissedant Daughter" was supposed to be the author's auto-biography. While talking with a friend nearly a year later, she told me she had a copy of a book in her car she had previously mentioned to me. When she handed the book to me, I was shocked, it was of course, "The Dance of the Dissedant Daughter". I think God knew I needed to read the two fiction books before delving into this one. This one, knocked my socks off and opened up a whole new world of truth and reality. This woman studied the feminine divine for herself after becoming fed up with the overwhelming male images in the Chrisitian church. I love being told a good story and thoroughly liked this one. Though from the perspective of a middle-aged woman, I still got a lot from it.

This book launched me into my own study of the feminine divine. Soon I was perusing books such as "History of the Goddess" and "Women Who Run with the Wolves". Online, I looked up sexuality, both for myself and in relation to my work as a spiritual director. The topic seemed to come up in conversations and being able to talk about what I was learning and sharing ideas with others was a gift. Then about a month ago, I was one of the speakers at the Pacific Northwest Quaker Women's Theology Conference where I attended a workshop on "The Feminine Divine". Sitting there in a lively discussion, I almost cried, it felt so good to hear other women use the word "Goddess" and exploring the beauty of upholding feminine images of God alongside the masculine ones so prominent in our culture. I also came away with another book to read. I don't have the title with me at the moment, but it will be fun to see how God brings it across my path just when I need to read it. [I later read the book, "A God Who Looks Like Me".

Shortly after reading Sue Monk Kidd's autobiography of her spiritual jounrney, I was cutting pears one Sunday morning when God asked me, "So what would I look like as a woman?" Caught off guard, I thought about Kidd's image of a wizened old woman, long white hair, wrinkled face and all. That didn't fit for me but then came an image that did. I told God, "You're a black woman." You tell it like it is, you're in a person's face with a strong voice. You're also gentle and wise, loving, and kind. You're someone a person can depend on. I know this is a gross over-exageration of a black woman but I hope upholding them as an image of God helps your irritation. Della Reese's character of Tess on Touched by an Angel also has a great influence here. As a person, Della Reese is someone I admire and respect. She reminds me of God. (Read her autobiography, it's wonderful!)

A few weeks after this, a friend who was auditting Spirituality and Suffering with me (I took it for fun) told me about this book called, "The Shack". The little she told me didn't sound that great until I KEPT hearing about it, again and again and again so I bought my own copy and settled on the couch one afternoon to read it. When I got to the part about Papa opening the cabin's door to Mack, I gasped audibly. The author, William P. Young, wrote God the Father as a black woman. Jesus was an Arab, and the Holy Spirit was an Asian woman. I LOVED it. The conversations Mack has with the three, especially with Papa have stayed with me ever since. As a person who loves spiritual images, Papa has become a very powerful one for me. She tells it like it is and speaks with Mack openly, with understanding and compassion. She is someone who is very approachable. I needed this image of God. I needed this Mother who understood my growth as a woman and who could help me in that, who dances around the kitchen listening to rock music that hasn't been written yet while stiring biscuit batter. Though God is not woman, or man, She/He gives us images, including personal images, that strengthen our bond and help us know God better. Even so, I know that no image, male, female, or any image from the natural world, can ever fully describe who God is. It all falls GROSSLY short of seeing the One we love fully. Still, I think the feminine divine certainly brings some missing pieces back into the picture.

Since we already dealt with the biblical issue [previous post], let me address another question I would expect to hear. "I have never heard of this in church. Are you still Christian?" The reason few have heard of this in church is because most western Christian churches still don't discuss female images of God. Femininity is still something that needs to be hidden and covered up in many communities. The more we hide and ignore the feminine images of God, the less we will honor those qualitites within ourselves. The same works the other way around, the more we hide our own femaleness, the more we ignore God. If you think you can know God while ignoring a part of your humanity, you are gravely mistaken. We cannot know God without accepting that of God within ourselves.

Because female images of God are mostly ignored at best, surpressed at worst, in many churches, those who embrace them live on the edges of the church, the fringe if you will. I am one of these. I am not happy with the rule-laden prevalant view of "living in faith". I would rather break the rules than keep them for they bind far too many people in a rigid world where God embraces you only if you meet certain standards of looks and behavior. This should not be so. The God I know loves EVERYBODY, even those who bash the rules over other people's heads as if to dent them into the shape they want. (By the way, this never really works. All it is doing is bashing that person's soul.)

I still consider myself a Christian in that I love God and I do believe Jesus is God and lived with us to show us what a relationship with God is like. I also believe God gives us freedom, real freedom, life without a rule list of do's and dont's, things to follow. If you are in relationship with God and letting God guide you, making choices together, (God respects our choices), you will also be living in right relationship with yourself, with others, and with the earth. Or I should say, you and I are in the process of living this way. Living a free life is a result of loving God. You don't follow the rules to be "approved" by God, God already loves us, everybody, male AND female.

365-09 #272

A Life of Love and Meaning

At first, I wasn't sure what had woken me up so early. Still half asleep, I rolled over in bed, barely making out the early morning sun just peeking over the horizon, shining light between the clouds. It had been a good dream, like being awashed in love, and I wanted to savor that feeling a little longer while the cool morning air brushed over my face.

Realizing I wasn't alone in the room, I looked over to the side of my bed and saw God sitting in a chair, a sketchbook in her hands and a feather in her hair, happily humming a melodic tune while busily scratching away with a pencil. Weird even for God, I shook the last bits of drowsy from my head and asked her what she was thinking waking me up so early in the morning when I wanted to sleep in.

Amused, she looked at me with delight in her eyes and explained how she had been sketching out some ideas she had for my life and wanted to know what I thought it should look like. What did I want to have in my life? If I could choose anything I wanted, what would I want most?

It didn't take me long to come up with the answer. With my dream still floating like mist at the edge of my consciousness, I took her sketch pad in my hands and wrote this:

"I do not ask for success. I do not ask for wealth. I ask for a full life of love, joy, meaning, and hope. I ask that my life will benefit more than just myself, that my life will be a blessing to others like seeds of flowers spread in their gardens. I ask to know your voice and to see your face."

God took the paper from my outstretched hand, read it and smiled, telling me, "By asking for the truly important things, the ones that will last, your life will be rich in love, joy, meaning, and hope, and you will be successful to me."

And thus it was.

365-09 #271

He Is

This is one of my favorite songs, "He Is" by Aaron and Jeoffrey. It touches a deep eternal place in me.



365-09 #256

I am Me

Tonight was our first tap class after a wonderfully long break of a month and a half. During the break, Stacey and Sheri participated in a tap workshop in Vancouver BC and as is always the case, she brought back new material for us. Tonight she talked a lot about being loose, relaxed, dancing out of our core, and not being concerned with dancing on the outside, but dancing on the inside.

This got me thinking for the rest of the evening. I'm still putting this into words for myself but I will try to share it with you. Perhaps by sharing some of my own heart, you will find truth in it for yours.

There are many people in my life and I belong to a variety of groups who all see me in a different way, some truer than others. I value these groups and these relationships but living out of who they think I am is like dancing on the outside. God gave us each an internal rhythm and it is the music I hear and feel on the inside that I need to pay attention to. It is important to not get caught up in the music others play for me, good though it may be, I need to keep listening to the music inside of me, the song God wrote within me before I was born. Sometimes that means taking chances on a dream, sometimes saying no when others say yes or shouting yes when others scream no. It is knowing who I am and keeping my focus on what I have been called to do and not letting things distract me. It is living out of my soul with integrity.

I am myself. I will always be myself. At the end of the day, it doesn't matter what anyone else says. I am simply me with my hands fused into God's thus I am complete.

This is one of my favorite stories, one sinking ever deeper and deeper into my heart as a living journey I continue to walk.



365-09 #255

Wait For Me

Spending three days at the Richmond Elementary library was a gift from God to me. I have been so busy lately over my head in projects that I have taken no time whatsoever to sit with God. Of course there is the time at church but meeting is rarely when I go deep. And not that I went deep at Richmond either, but it was a time to slow down, take a deep breath, and regain some perspective. The friend I was helping is someone who has been to those deep places with me repeatedly, someone who's voice was steady when mine was screaming, who helped me find the strength in myself when I couldn't see anything to hold on to. It was a fun and calming time to help her and to hear how she's doing. I didn't realize it at the time but with the editorial board meeting starting this week, I needed that calm sky, that time to just lay back on the hill and gaze up at the stars. I needed to know they are there.

At the same time, I have been driving the rental car until mine gets fixed and it has a CD player. Having recently come across some particular CD's of mine, I put them in my bag to listen to in the car. Two of the CD's are talks by William P. Young, author of "The Shack". If you haven't read it, I can't recommend this book enough. It's one of my favorites. Being a Portland author, I've heard him speak and I learned a lot. These talks, though I did not hear them in person have deeply moved me. On one CD is the question and answer time, on the other is him telling his story, the story of metaphorically going through his own shack. Paul, as he is more commonly known, knows what it is like to be on your knees utterly naked before God and utterly dependent no matter what his reaction is because you know you have got no place else to go. He knows what it's like to have nothing left inside, to struggle though that, and then to find life on the other side.

Hearing him talk about his experiences dropped me right back into my own as if I had just been pushed over a cliff into the deep waters of the sea. But this time, though the ocean closes in over my head, it's a welcome sensation, a familiar place that to me, has become so much truer than anything else I know. It's like hearing music, the melody of my heartbeat, the drum beat marking my steps, the life-force within me I had let go of along the way. And now I want to shout, "I'm coming! I'm coming home! Wait for me. I'll be there. Keep the light on for me, I'm on my way Papa!" It's like placing my hand on the door and having Papa burst through shouting my name.

365-09 #103

Contentment

Today was a perfectly lovely day. Both Katie and I woke up without alarms and then we got to just hang out at home until our evening activities. This is a rare occurrence, that neither of us had anywhere to go for nearly the whole day. I loved it. We both read, worked on our computers, and went through some of our stuff. I cleaned out my fabric storage so I have a large pile of fabric I want to give away sitting in front of my hope chest. Katie sat in the chair asking me, "Are you really going to use that?"

While she went off to her Jane Austen group, I continued working on my photography page for my website. I will let you all know when it is published to the Internet. Since I have my photography advertisement in the "Seussical the Musical" program at the Pentacle Theatre which opens this Friday, the website needs to be up before I leave. Tomorrow is another day that will be computer oriented.

Tonight though, I went to go see "Slumdog Millionaire" at the Salem Cinema, a small theatre showing independent films. I really enjoyed the story, the color, the music, everything. It is a fantastic movie. I highly recommend it. As I was waiting for the restroom after the movie, a woman I knew from the First Presbyterian Church recognized me not only from the church, but from the play as well. She told me what a fantastic play she thought it was, the best one she's seen at the Pentacle, and how she was so surprised at my character when I came on stage. The girl she knew from the church and the woman she saw on stage were two very different people. Goal reached. As a side note, Katie's boyfriend has commented at least twice now in amazement I really am not the person he knew in college. He's right, I'm not, and I'm very glad I've grown in the ways I have since then.

As I did all these things today, one thing stayed constant. I had this feeling starting this morning of deep peace and contentment as I laid in God's arms. The feeling and image never left.

365-09 #59

Two of the Greatet Gifts

Today I tried every remedy I could think of to get rid of this congestion. Still trying actually but it has definitely improved. Tap dancing for an hour of course made it hard to breathe without coughing but Stacey says exercise helps a cold by getting the blood flowing. Now later on, I can breathe easier but I can still feel a deep rattling. I just want this to GO AWAY! It seems whenever I get a cold, it goes to my lungs and I get congested for weeks. Why? Usually, I let whatever it is run it's course and keep doing what I do. This time, I've been spending lots of time resting on the couch watching DVD's of past Pentacle productions and trying all those remedies. Hopefully, this will cut down on my quality time with Menthalatum and zinc cough drops.

There is something else on my mind tonight, besides kleenexes and tea. I am realizing that in addition to God, we have two great gifts in our lives: who we are and who our friends are. No matter where we are at in our lives, whatever we've lost or gained, wherever our emotional, physical, or spiritual reserves are at, these things hold true if we hold true to them.

I've had people dislike me for who I am and others who have appreciated it. One thing I have noticed though, is the people who dislike me usually have deep rivers of darkness in their own lives of their own making and are not necessarily people I want to have like me anyway. In fact, I've learned to look at it in a rather affirming way for the darkness runs from the light and I pray that light is a quality that characterizes my life. Then there are the people who dislike me at first for one reason or another and then change their minds on closer aquaintance by watching how I treat other people. Then there are people like the one I met today while subbing. Having never met each other, we had been talking for a while before he asked about my education. I told him I had a Master's degree from George Fox University and even later, he asked what the degree was in and I answered, "Christian Ministry". He was impressed I hadn't pronounced myself a Christian from the get-go and try to convert him. He told me he has met many Christians who were not kind but who we're in your face about what they believed. He said I had a calm quality about me and he respected me for being me and not putting first who I wanted him to be. Him being an agnostic but raised in the church as he then shared with me, we traded book titles to read. I suggested "The Shack", one of my favorites for the images of God, (yes, I went out an evangelistic twig on that one) and he suggested I read Barack Obama's book, now in paperback. I doubt I will ever meet this man again but I was deeply touched to know that just by being myself, this man was intrigued and the God-seed already in him got a little bit of water. That wasn't my intention, and in fact, I don't go around concentrating on telling people about God, God is already in them and if anything, I just want to see him more in myself. But talking to this man and hearing his feedback taught me that no matter who we meet, who we are is going to speak more loudly than anything else we can say. And again, if we work on our character so others will be "converted", your character I beleive, will be shallow for it is rooted in nothing more than your belief that you are right and others are wrong: judgement. However, if character comes out of a relationship with God, where you and God listen and talk to each other, your character will be built on something nourishing and life giving and who you are will be nuturing and life-giving for others as a result. God cares deeply about our character and after my experiences of late, I have a better understanding of why. Just by being ourselves can affect the world in a profound way for good or ill without us ever knowing.

Following closely upon character, is that good character attracts us to other people with good character with whom to form strong bonds of friendship and love. Through thick and thin, the relationships we've nourished will sustain us in turn. I have struggled in my own life with the need of giving in return what has been given to me. But what I have learned is that relationships are not tit for tat, relationships are giving without expecting an equal return. Of course we should have good boundaries and not let people walk all over us and hurt us, but we need to give in our friendships, not as I-give-you-this, you-give-me-that arrows, but as a circle, that in a relationship where both love and esteem each other, love flows all around. Tonight my roommate (and friend), fixed dinner for herself, her boyfriend, and me. We sat around the table, passed the food around, and chatted about our time in college. This may seem like a little thing to you, but to me who seldom has an opportunity to share a meal with others around a table, actally sitting down together, it was a gigantic warm fuzzy. Katie has even taken on the bulk of the cleaning while I've been sick. The friendship we share has been a huge support during these last few months and I am grateful. Then later on in the evening, I got to go out for chai tea with a friend when we shared with each other some of the struggles going on in our lives, including a difficult question affecting us both I have been wrestling with. Though I have to let it remain a hard question and not answer it right now, I know she supports me as I ask it, no matter the difficulties my choice might result in. But knowing I've talked about it with her somehow lightens the load. It's been weighing on me and I'm glad our friendship is strong and one in which there is, in the truest sense, no beginning or end, that our characters are such that love is given first.

So now as I go off to brush my teeth and get a few hours sleep before my early morning alarm, I just want to thank God for caring so deeply about my character and relationships above all materialistic things. I'm certainly not "there" in the character department, "there" doesn't exist anyway, it's all a journey. But I ache with gratefulness I am taking the journey. And I'm grateful that by being on this journey, I have formed strong bonds with others where love is not given but lived. No matter what happens, what valleys or mountains I traverse, I know these gifts will sustain me and help me find sure footing. Thank you God for knowing what's best and pouring it out on me.

365-09 #48