A Donation

The Mystery within...

I treated myself to a new mattress in hopes it will help alleviate some of my aches and pains.  The sales woman said if my current mattress were in good condition the store would be able to donate it. That made me feel better about spending the money.  My new mattress was delivered today.  I look forward to testing its therapeutic qualities tonight but the good feeling about the donation has been dampened by the great neediness of so many people right here in my state, not to mention the country, and world.

Earlier in the week my brother sent me a New Yorker magazine article "Letter From Milwaukee – FORCED OUT – For many poor Americans, eviction never ends."  The personal account of Milwaukee's poor and their landlords is heart wrenching.  The author, Matthew Desmond states, "For decades, social scientists, journalists, and policy makers have focused on jobs, public assistance, parenting, and mass incarceration as the central problems faced by the American poor, overlooking just how deeply housing is implicated in the creation of poverty."

And a friend sent me this link to a Charlie Rose interview with Serene Jones, http://www.charlierose.com/watch/60665355 first woman President of Union Theological Seminary in New York City who laments we are a nation in a state of moral collapse where we hear cheers for bigotry and hatred.  She calls for depth of thinking about the human condition and asks that we not be afraid of moral complexity.  She said we have not even begun to address two hundred years of systematized slavery sanctioned by church and state.  She says the goal is simple, "Love each other—that's it.  Our job is to figure out how do it."

In "God Never Hurries" I write of an encounter that happened almost thirty years ago. I was returning to work one day after lunch when I passed a young black man on a downtown Milwaukee sidewalk.  I smiled and said, "Hi."  He shot back with, "Sure bitch, you can smile on your way back to your fancy job!  And I felt guilty.  I understood the soulful quality of that encounter through my own experience of tyranny from both my father and the church.  Listening to my inner voice helped me hear the voices of others oppressed and disowned.  As I worked to free myself through understanding my complicity in tyranny, I decided I'd rather be the oppressed than the oppressor. I might get crucified, but so what." 

I am grateful for the new mattress I will lay down on tonight, but I will also feel guilty.

What if we could truly appreciate our complicity in tyranny and feel guilty?

Dependable Truths

The Mystery within

"The Art of Hearing Heartbeats" by Jan-Philipp Sendker is a novel my book club is currently reading about a grown daughter, Julia, who goes in search of her father who mysteriously left family and country after her graduation from law school.  She questions:

What do we know about our parents, and what do they know about us?  And if we don't even know the individuals who have accompanied us since birth—we not them and they not us—then what do we know about anyone at all?  …on which truths can one ultimately depend?"   

Two dependable truths came to mind for me.  First, I really cannot judge another or say what they should be or do.  And second, I need to be true to myself.  Writing "God Never Hurries" was a gradual unfolding and pulling together of freeing truths for me.

The following is some of my dependable learning from "God Never Hurries:"

"Being in the present moment, however, is only half the test.  Becoming friendly with the present moment, or accepting it, is the more challenging half."

"I sat there with a great discomfort and began to understand the real test for me was to sit with my distress...it was also my deepest learning."

"The right questions began to surface from my pain.  My relief was in my pain; my safety was in my questions."

"I found much grace in my trouble."

 "I saw the complicity of my silence in all the past abuse."

"It was as if the sweet seductive voice of God whispered, Be not afraid."

"The more difficult life became, the deeper grew my experience of a caring Presence in the Natural world to whom I belonged.  I came to see God everywhere—and even where God wasn't—in the abuse."

"Bearing accusations of betrayal and seeing my mother hurt was an enormous price to pay to be true to my own soul."

"To hope means to struggle.  …It can't hurt to have hope but it can hurt not to."

"Justice will be kind.  It will be done over a period of time."

"All that lives is holy, holds truth and mystery for me that I will strive to realize for the rest of my life."

What if we could always trust our troubles to reveal the slow work of God?

Reviewing Trust

The Mystery within...

I learned many different things about life, and myself, as I struggled to care for my aging parents who suffered from alcoholism and Alzheimer's disease.  Perhaps the most important was to trust God as I was running out of solutions and hope to solve big problems. From God Never Hurries: “What a plan God had to test my trust—to go to the root of my perpetual responsibility condition—to let go of any savior image of myself, to let pain be pain and mystery be mystery.”  I found real courage during that time of significant difficulty.  I did my inner work through daily written reflection and came to own my complicity in my troubles.

Lately, life is again stressful for me on multiple fronts.  I’ve been working hard to find solutions--maybe too hard.  Is daily written reflection currently a part of my life?  No.  I know it would help.  Are there things I should be grateful for?  Yes.  I own a home and have homeowner’s insurance that will cover much of the needed repairs even though they have been dragging out all summer and are still not done.  I have health insurance to cover the medical tests I am currently undergoing.  And I have a pension that pays the bills.  I know there are deeper hidden gifts in my current troubles.  Daily written reflecting could unwrap them for me.  For now, I printed out Teilhard de Chardin’s “Above All Trust in the Slow Work of God” from my Comfort Messages titled Learning Trust.  

What if it was easy to find the gifts in our troubles?  Would we still learn as much? 

Project Belonging

The Mystery within...

I had a dream last night about a project to get everyone, everywhere to learn and speak a language of belonging.  It was one of those dreams when upon awakening it quickly fades from memory.  But I seem to recall the whole world was involved in creating a belonging language and just before awakening I was in a classroom of young children who were excited to be working on this project.  No doubt this dream was the result of listening to john a. powell’s conversation with Krista Tippet last week on how we might open up our anguished race conversation into the spiritual work of self and belonging.

Powell was right when he said we do not yet have the words to speak what needs to be said about race relations in America.  I looked up belong in my Thesaurus and most of the synonyms left me cold with references to card carrying members.  There were some words like respect, regard, concern, involve and touch that fit with powell’s focus on the spiritual work needed to promote belonging.  I believe the language of belonging will come forth when we all know, on a gut level, how deeply we are connected to one another and the natural world.

My knowing of this deep connection came when fear and intuition led me into nature where I encountered an Energy that told me to “Be not afraid” and led me to trust I would be shown the way to work through my struggles with my aging parents’.  I was shown my complicity in my troubles and gradually found ways to change myself--the only person I really can change.  It seems fear permeates both sides of race relations in America today.  Perhaps asking to know our complicity in this trouble will eventually lead us to a caring language of belonging where we all fit together. 

What if everyone everywhere worked on project belonging?

A "None" Connection!

The Mystery within...

I was thrilled to come across a pertinent post on Krista Tippett’s On-Being website titled “They Call Us the “Nones,” But We’re So Much More” by Coutney E. Matin.  I began my weekly blog posts on April 1, 2013 with the first post titled “Nun, None or None of the Above.”  It was the beginning of a promise to reflect and write for three years on what I found significant for me in each week.  Though Coutney’s and my path differ significantly in age and life experiences (I left the church of my birth eleven years ago at age 60) we do, however, share a common goal, which in her words is, “looking at the burden and joy of trying to understand how to be a good human.”

Prior to starting my blog there was a period in my life when I reflected and wrote daily for three years as I struggled with a lifetime of dysfunction and my aging parents’ care needs.  I ached for truth and was desperate for answers to heart wrenching problems.  What I needed to know came from the everyday stuff of life.  I learned I could question everything and became aware of the havoc that inappropriate silence wreaks.  I came to know my complicity in my troubles, and that I was worthy of good self care.  I also became keenly aware of the subtle, systemic oppression of women, through religion. My reflecting taught me how to recycle pain and let darkness illumine the light.  Eventually those years of daily reflection and writing turned into my memoir, “God Never Hurries.”  Now this blog, “What if… God Never Hurries,” continues to grow me through reflection and connection adding depth to my life.

What if we all reflected on the everyday stuff of life to grow?          

The Conundrum 1) and its Complicity 2)

The Mystery within

1) a confusing and difficult problem or question

2) the state of being involved with others in an illegal activity or wrongdoing

Richard Rodriguez – The Fabric of Our Identity, was a Krista Tippett On-Being program.  I identified with Rodriguez’s eloquent praise for his Roman Catholic upbringing as a foundational gift in his life, especially his participation in the Mystery of the mass.  And yet it is this institution that denies him the right to openly love his long-time male partner.  Rodriguez praised women, and their fight to win the right to vote, with his freedom to be who he is in society.  That surprised me since I suspect gender inequities will be the last discriminations to disappear.  But nevertheless I was pleased he credited my gender with such an important step forward.  Rodriquez also expressed concern for immigrant families wanting to come to America because he sees the American family eroding, with its emphasis on wealth and individuality, over society and family.  He said every thirty years we should all be sent back to where we came from to keep America healthy.  He closed with a poignant vision of a drunken priest slurring the words of consecration at mass, “This is my body, broken for you,” and concluded it is all about growth through trials and forgiveness.  And he asked, “Why don’t we talk about difficult things?”

It’s not easy to talk about difficult things or write about them.  I related Rodriguez’s words to my struggle with abuse; my aging parent’s care needs, and my decision to leave the church of my birth at age 60. I felt compelled to tell my story but I didn’t want to focus on the abuse, only the help I encountered throughout the long struggle to free myself from it.  I too valued the Catholic mass and attended frequently from a very early age.  It continued to sustain and comfort me after losing both my husband and son to suicide.  But once I saw my complicity in my family abuse, and its relatedness to the discriminatory teachings of my church, I then began the long and painful process of separating myself from it.  In my memory’s eye I can still see my favorite priest raising the host high in the air and reverently proclaiming, “This is my body...” His words triggered in me a sudden hollowness and a voice within saying, “God is in all things and everyone.”  So I went looking, and found God everywhere, as well as finding myself.  Amazing things happen when looking for God in each day, especially when you are desperate.  They arrive in the form of Synchronicities in landscapes, animals, weather, books, radio voices, and encounters with others, successes, failures and more.  And when reflected upon, they all point the way.  And I too was shown it is all about forgiveness.

What if you read my memoir, “God Never Hurries,” and had some difficult questions.  Would I welcome them?

God's Other Half

God is...

The following is from one of Richard Rohr’s Center for Action and Contemplation daily meditations: “The soul does not need answers, it just wants meaning, and then it can live.  Surprisingly, suffering itself often brings deep meaning to the surface...”

A desire to share the deep meaning brought to the surface as I struggled with my aging parents’ care needs is why I wrote “God Never Hurries,” in addition to wanting always to remember the many unique gifts I experienced during that painful time.  Soulful treks to the beach, with my buddy Bear (dog is god spelled backwards), showed me that in my churches mystical body, I really had no voice.  Then one night at choir practice, while listening to the men’s voices contrast with us women, and seeing each of us as unique, totally loved by God, and sharing our voices, let me know the importance of everyone having a voice.  And all this was helping me understand my complicity through silence in my father’s abuse.  I became keenly aware of my struggle with assertiveness and my need for voice.  I had no answers, but my soul was coming alive with meaning.

As my soul found meaning I saw how I needed to change.  Slowly, painfully, I learned to find my voice, refuse the victim role, and saw that I could no longer be “the good girl” who does what everyone else expects.  It was tough, scary work but so worth the eventual growth, freedom and understanding of what it means to be true to one’s self.  Encountering the word obdurate (hardhearted, unyielding, stubborn, obstinate) while reading Clarissa Pinkola Estes book, “Women Who Run with the Wolves,” was my first hint that I could change no one but myself.  Estes wrote:  “In ‘being good,’ a woman closes her eyes to everything obdurate, distorted, or damaging around her, and just tries to ‘live with it.’  Her attempts to accept this abnormal state further injured her wild instincts to react, point out, change, make impact on what is not right, what is not just.”

Fast forward to today.  Death eventually ended my struggle with my aging parents’ care needs. I left the church of my birth, now over ten years ago, because the struggle with my father paralleled my struggle with my church.  My hand would no longer let me write another check to an organization so discriminatory.  (I now gratefully pursue an ecumenical path.)  And although I know it is true I can change no one but myself, there is a part of me that wonders, is that enough?  I caught a few words from a speaker on public radio last week who said anyone has the right to believe anything they want to believe, but no one has the right to act upon those beliefs if they hurt others.  Oppression of women (or anyone) in the name of religion is so systemic that I think many are unaware of it.  It leaves half of God out of the blending of male and female voices and that hurts everyone.

What if we all thought about that for a while? 

Recycling Pain

God is...

This past week I have been pondering on how this mysterious God of ours, who somehow lives within each one of us, can grow us through suffering.  It brought me to see God as the Ultimate Recycler taking heartbreak, shame, guilt, rejection, abuse, fear, anger, abandonment, or whatever, you can fill in the blank, and use it for our transformation.  This, however, is not an automatic, quick, one-sided process.  It does require our full participation, awareness, patience, trust, and work.  

It seems the very first step in the recycling process is learning to sit with the discomfort, letting pain be pain and mystery be mystery, and trust good will come from it.  And while sitting with my pain, I have found breathing and praying eventually reveals the next step needed toward growth. 

I would have never volunteered to be widowed at age 33, with three young children, but it did bring me to know a capable woman who could provide for her children, could learn to balance a check book, maintain a house, yard and car, and lead me to develop talents I didn’t know I was capable of performing in the world of work.  I would have never opted to lose my youngest son at age 21 to mental illness but it did make me more aware, compassionate, and less judgmental of others.  I would have never chosen abuse and Alzheimer’s disease in my parents but it taught me to see God in all things, to know I was worthy of good self-care, to look for my complicity in any trouble, find my voice, and lead me to know true forgiveness and reconciliation.

Teilhard de Chardin wrote: “…it is the law of all progress that is made by passing through some stages of instability and that may take a very long time.”  What if we could all trust the Divine recycling process?

True Forgiveness

God is...

True forgiveness transforms who we are.  It is a process that comes from the head and the heart and results in emotional control.  Freedom, and a more real view of life, then allows us to give up resentment and come to view the perpetrator with compassion.  I learned those awesome forgiveness benefits in a two-day workshop I attended in the late 1990’s given by Robert Enright and Susan Freedman from the International Forgiveness Institute.  I was searching for real forgiveness for my father, not just the cheap kind because it is something you are supposed to do.

I also learned denial of anger and pride were obstacles to true forgiveness.  It is humbling to admit being wounded. Pride was said to be a formidable foe for we are very unaware of it.  Therefore, it can be healthy to get angry and prideful to deny it.  I learned forgiveness is most needed where you feel the least safe, and you need to be in a safe place to work on forgiveness.  It was also comforting to learn I could forgive without reconciling since reconciliation was dependent on a change in the abuser.  I attended that workshop soon after my mother and I were both in safer places and I had already experienced a wonderful cleansing burst of rage when my father denied me any voice in my mother’s worsening dementia and care.  I was well on my way to true forgiveness.

In my memoir I recorded what I wrote the evening following that workshop:

And the very next night an honest anger rose in my chest when I read a 1987 Archdiocesan Synod recommendation, item 5, “Acknowledge and respond to racism.”  Two words were so obviously missing—and sexism.

The misogyny of my church is outrageous!  It is the woman!  It is why priests still cannot marry!  It is why women are kept in place!  It is embarrassing and infuriating!  Dear God, please help me channel my anger appropriately.

And the very next day a public radio discussion was on a New York City police brutality scandal.  The interviewer asked, “Did statistics show decreases in brutality where there were more women on the police force?  The guest said yes, and added it was also true for minorities. He ended the program saying, “There is no question that any organization needs to be made up of the people it serves.”

I have come to understand my complicity in patriarchal abuse both through my father and my church.  I found my voice, refused the victim role, created a safer infrastructure, and now live with much less resentment.  Perhaps it is good to hold on to a little resentment to spark continuing change.  It’s been twenty-six years since that 1987 halfhearted Archdiocesan Synod recommendation. I continue to be challenged to trust in the slow work of God. 

What if we all came to see our complicity in patriarchal abuse?

Remembering Community

God is...

Having spent much of this past week with just my dog and daughter’s cat for company my thoughts have turned to community and the three days I spent earlier this month on retreat with other women seekers where we experienced compassion for one another and became a healing community.  In the preface to Matthew Fox’s book, “A Spirituality Named Compassion,” he writes: Compassion is not an abstraction, but an entry into our own and others’ pain.  And joy as well. … Compassion is not merely a human energy; it is integral to the universe.  ...Compassion is a mystery. …our very essence, the very best of ourselves is to practice compassion.  … Compassion is important to wounded and oppressed peoples, and to the survival of our planet.    

When I struggled with my aging parent’s care needs, the compassion of others who cared sustained me.  My pain touched others as well.  In my memoir, “God Never Hurries,” I recount words I spoke at a church reform convention’s small breakout group titled “Patriarchy to Partnership.”  I wrote:  I felt empathy for a man in that session who was struggling to understand complicity.  In response to his frustrated disbelief that we all hold some responsibility for abusive patriarchy, I said, ‘My father is a tyrant.  I suffered most of my life under his tyranny until God showed me my complicity and I started standing up to him.  I am now the only one in the family who stands up to him.  My father is still a tyrant, but I am no longer his subject.’  After I spoke those words I felt a new level of acceptance and deeper change taking hold in me.  Applause from the group surely helped along with some hugs at session’s end, but most affirming were words from one woman who said, “You really helped me.”

During that most difficult time in my life I never met some of the people in my helping community but only spoke with them on long distance phone calls.  The following is from my memoir:  Outside of alerting social services agencies that my parents now had no care, and my mother could be in serious jeopardy, there was precious little I could do except trust God had a plan and accept whatever happens, happens.  Pouring my heart out to these professionals over the past two years had not been in vain.  Now the greatest help they gave me were their respectful long distance voices.

What if the next time we are “Wherever two or more are gathered together…” we look for the mystery within us that is named Compassion, and respond to one another with respectful voices.

Disasters We Create

God is...

When I was struggling with agonizing questions and problems surrounding my aging parents care needs I had a heightened awareness to everything around me.  I suspect that was because I felt my life was at stake.  Within that awareness, comfort and answers came to me through everyday experiences.  I found much relief in the natural world, but I also found it in a variety of other ways such as a look, a word or phrase, and often from a National Public Radio program.  One such NPR program was a sociologist’s analysis of the Challenger Disaster.  I summarized the high points of that program for me in my memoir as follows:

Events leading to the tragedy showed how historical decisions created a layered inflexible bureaucracy that compromised the integrity of the original mission.  Everyone got all tangled up in the rules.  Production concerns created debate between engineers and top managers, and engineers were not involved in policy and production decisions.  Intuition and common sense were disallowed (just look out the window and see the ice); they thought pressure would force O rings in place.  Push mute button on a conference call between managers and engineers for an aside managerial conference.  The pilot was not part of the launch decision.  And point the finger of blame away from yourself. 

That analysis was a great metaphor for the problems I had with my father over my mother’s care and also for the difficulty I was experiencing with my church.  What if we used the Challenger analysis as a template showing us what not to do?  Would respectful dialogue been seen as essential in all endeavors?  Would women have half the voice and participation in what affects their lives?  Could common sense rule and simplify life?  Would we be able to look at ourselves and see where our complicity lay?