Moving to Substack

 I am moving on and trying my hand at the writing game on Substack.  Please come along with me.

Mild Musings

Learning to Listen

It seems you just never know when what appears to be a good idea is going to go badly. When the thought of beginning the new year by honoring Mary on her day of solemnity occurred to me, I was certain that only goodness would result.  It turns out that there were alternative learning goals at play. I am slowly coming to understand that all the voices in my head have merit and deserve my attention, even those that appear to be distracting me from desired results.  

Since my church home would not be having mass on January 1st, I opted for a return to the local diocesan church to celebrate Mary..  While I consider myself a “practicing Catholic” the practice is definitely on my own terms: MY church with the priests I prefer, singing the newer songs, and homilies that feed my spirit.  It is this closed-mindedness that created my urge to return to the neighborhood church.  If I was going to call myself Catholic, I had to be able to stand behind the word and everything it entailed.  I decided a day in advance where I would attend, located the time of mass and refused to entertain any negative notions of changing my mind. I was convinced that those wayward thoughts were distracting me from my spiritual goal.  I committed to the 9 AM mass and felt good about honoring Mary as my first act of the new year. 

I walked in the door and immediately felt that negative notion again when I saw older ladies in the vestibule paying homage to the priest of whom I had never laid eyes on before.  It could be that he was completely innocent but I doubted it. I just didn’t like the hierarchical feeling I was getting of HIM and us.  I tried my best to ignore it and found a seat on the side (out of visual range of the priest and near enough to the door if I felt the need to flee).  The priest made an announcement about an opening song located on page whatever.  It had no meaning to me because there were no hymnals around.  It turned out I could have sung it because it was “O Come All Ye Faithful.” But this was an O Come All Ye Faithful in name only.  It turns out that even a joyous Christmas song can resemble a funeral dirge when sung slowly enough with no accompaniment.  Strike 2.  

As I walked in, I had been awed by the size of the creche that was located, oddly enough, directly behind the altar.  Actually, it was impossible not to see it, it took up most of the space and could easily be called imposing.  But then I began to take in the rest of the environment.  Angels suspended from above, one on a tapestry and the other in tulle, outlined in gold and blinking lights.  There were gigantic wreaths on each side of the chapel also draped in chasing lights that are typically only seen on the exterior of houses.  Where am I?  What has happened to my neighborhood church?  I know that the liturgical Christmas decor is white and gold  but I’ve never seen it accentuated with so many blinking lights.  I could only imagine the impact this might have on excited children on Christmas Eve thinking only about the first Christmas gift to be unwrapped.  

The readings were done by a gentleman dressed in a sweatshirt and jeans and then came the homily which seemed to have come verbatim from the fourth grade CCD catechism.  Come to church, honor Mary, be good.  I was just about to tune completely out when, lo and behold it got worse.  The offering baskets appeared.  You’re collecting money on the Solemnity of Mary? I looked for the door but Jesus held me in my seat with, as usual, his timely words of advice.  You came for Eucharist, you’re so close.  Stay and hang out with me for just a few minutes more.  Jesus does have his way with words.  The Eucharistic Minister processed in with the ciborium like a scene from “The Crown” but I just couldn’t see the humor (or honor) in any of it.  All I could think was this is why the young have left the church and why I choose to worship at the University.  

Somehow I managed to receive the consecrated host but not before it was held dramatically above my head and ceremonially dropped into my cupped hands. I don’t think this was what Jesus had in mind at the Last Supper.  I returned to my seat and prayed for the church, the pope and anyone else I thought might find this all as ludicrous as I did.  Eucharist, prayer, final blessing?  Can I go now?  Oh no.  The pastor can’t pass up any chance to remind the congregants of his status so now he takes center stage.  For the life of me I have no recollection of his message although I suppose his presence was the object.  It was now that I headed for the side door as the priest encouraged us all to sing “What Child is This?; again, acapella.  The result was not a pleasing sound.  I breathed deeply as I emerged from the sanctuary and stepped into the chilly air.  This was for you, Mary.  Blessed are you.  

On the way home, I worked at finding the lessons learned.

• There is no need to feel obligated to go to mass because the Church put it on a calendar  

• Listen when the bishop says the obligation is lifted as the holy day is on a Monday.

• There is no need to search for an alternative church when you already have what feeds your spirit.

• The next time you tell a friend of your worship plans and she raises her eyebrows, think again.  

• Even what appear to be negative distracted thoughts have an important message to tell you

• The prayer life you have in your back bedroom is better than all the giant creches and lit angels in the world.

• Honoring Mary does not require a special building

• The Eucharist is always worth the wait

Let Me Linger Here With God

 My morning prayer often unintentionally takes its sweet time to come around to a natural stopping place and I like it that way. A few years ago, experiencing the Spiritual Exercises introduced me to this new feeling of comfort and familiarity with my Creator. As God settled in with me and I with God day after day, I came to appreciate my own lack of concern for the time or other obligations. The experience of being with God was just too good; it was hard to let go of it. So I stayed.  This was the joy of being retired and at the time knowing very few people in the neighborhood. There was little on my agenda and truly no other place I would rather be.

Just the word linger has a feeling of slowness to it. It is like sitting in an overstuffed chair and feeling it close in around and hold you in place. It is as if the sides of the chairs have become giant arms caressing you like a familiar friend. As the minutes pass by, I even find myself saying the words, "Let me linger here with God." And I never ever regret the extra minutes spent with my Beloved. I simply sit in the silence listening for more or waiting for the moment that I am ready to say "Come with me into the day."

I recall the beginning of this ritual like it was yesterday. As I awoke one morning, I greeted God in thankfulness for the new day like I always did. Suddenly, I had the sensation of my entire body being lifted up and held in the open hands of my God much like you see new dads holding their tiny newborns. The difference in size between the hands of God and my adult body felt like the exact same ratio. I felt myself fall into this position of love and safety and relax.  I softly nuzzled the side of my face against the oversized fingers and took it all in; the warmth, the softness, the security of this place to call home. For months afterwards I would call of this image and sensation of being held each morning and especially if I woke during the night. I came to look forward to this extra time with God, lingering.  It has been several years since I have felt any regrets about 3 AM wake up calls for no apparent reason.  They are always another chance to be held in God's loving embrace, my body curled up into the folds of his hands.  

And so I linger as I feel my morning prayer ritual come to a close.  Just a few more minutes, just a little bit longer.  The I and me, the lover and the beloved holding each other's gaze as we turn and together greet the day.  

Micah 6:8 In My Own Words

There's a song that's been in my head for a couple weeks and to be completely honest, it has worn out its welcome. We Are Called

I've talked it over with friends, family, and my spiritual guide with no change in its daily appearance. So it must be time to break it down into my own words. Some of the lyrics will be familiar to you because they are taken directly from Micah 6:8

We are called to act with justice, to love tenderly and to walk humbly with God.

These words are so familiar but what do they mean, really? Some of us grew up with them and memorized them. We sing them in church, we even see them painted on school walls. As Jesus would say later hundreds of years later, "It is mercy, I desire, not sacrifice." These 16 words are the simplest form in which God could call us to discipleship and worship. Believe it or not, God was not in search of rams or doves or rivers of oil; God only wanted us to see what it was to act with justice, love and humility.

Act with Justice

We are called to be fair in all of our actions; honest and impartial, no matter whom we encounter. Treat each other as you would your mother or your siblings. That's right, if you wouldn't do it to your mom, don't do it to anyone else. In the words of Father Greg Boyle, SJ, "There is no other and them, only us." We are all one so our treatment of each person should be and must be universal. God calls us to see one another as God sees us. Each of us is uniquely and wonderfully made in the image of God. Every one of us carries the moniker, Beloved.

Love Tenderly (Kindness)

Our love for one another must be, above all else, generous and without end. Jesus modeled for us the limitlessness of God's love in his parables and actions. There is plenty to go around. Many westerners live their life with the scarcity model of money and goods but God's love is counter-cultural. God is lavish and unsparing with love for all. All are welcome. And included in that love is mercy and forgiveness. Just like God's love, it is intended for everyone - no matter what. It too, has no boundaries.

Walk Humbly with God

We are invited to walk with God each and every day This is a relationship of accompaniment; God wants to be a part of our lives side by side, to mourn our sorrows and celebrate our joys. We walk together co-creating our life, each day finding ways to mesh God's will with our own free will. In our relationship, we bear in mind that we are the created alongside of the Creator.  We acknowledge the magnitude of God and attempt to follow in the footsteps of Jesus finding ways to control our own selfish wishes and desires. Daily, we return to this challenge of humility.

Act, love, walk are all verbs and all require action in relationship with one another and with our God. As we incorporate these actions into our lives and with one another, we are building community; the kingdom of God here on earth. Humans tend to want to make the call to discipleship difficult or more complicated by making up rules and expectations. But this is what's needed: acts of justice, love, and humility from each of us. No one said it would be easy but I'm excited to be bringing these words to life (and hopefully get the song out of my head).

TBD

 I, like every other human on the planet now or ever, am a work in progress.  The me that I am becoming is being sculpted and shaped into being by each passing day or event.  Every encounter I have with a person has the potential to change me and widen my view of the world if I am only willing to listen and take on his or her perspective. Author, Kelly Corrigan tells the story of her mother observing a gay couple and watched a young man lightly kiss the top of his partner's head and in the blink of an eye, she recognized how natural that simple act of affection was.  This is how we behave when we love another person, she mused; it is as normal as anything can be.  The relationship is not "wrong," the perspective was.  On any number of occasions, Jesus asked his disciples and followers to pay attention with the words, "All who have ears to hear, let them hear."  For two millennia we have been encouraged to listen, to heed, to notice, and to change our hearts.  Every day, I read an article or listen to a podcast and learn something new about a person, a belief system, and ultimately myself.  And I am changed for the better.

I'm changing every day and so is everyone else around me.  As much as we would very much like to take some of our friends and relatives and place them on a shelf to talk to later, the person you take down when you may be ready is not the one you left there to rest a few weeks or months or a Thanksgiving ago.  The growth has been ongoing in them as well as yourself.  Ten years ago, I began working at a Jesuit institution and I thought I finally understood what it meant to serve; I told everyone that I had been changed forever.  But it wasn't possible to just be; little did I know that I was becoming.  Two years ago I went through the Spiritual Exercises and I thought my life would never be the same.  This was it, I thought; I finally understood how God had been moving in my life.  I had the magic potion of discernment.  Last summer I went on pilgrimage and again was convinced this was it; I've got it now.  With each of these life changing events, we shout "Eureka!" and are convinced that we have at long last reached nirvana.  The truth of the matter is that while we have indeed grown in our spiritual practices, we are mistaken if we think we have arrived at some pre-determined finish line. 

When we allow God into our lives to work  in and through us, we give up all thought of there being an end point.  We are never "done."  Our new goal is to grow continually in faith and hope and love.  However, it is far from a direct path.  It is often two steps forward and one step back, but we're still one step ahead of where we were.  The secret is to stay open to God's voice no matter its source.  When we hear of a prayer practice or a new way of being in the world, we can try it on.  How does it feel?  Is it something that might bring us closer to God?  We can take the time to pray with it, talk to others about it and see how it fits into your life journey.  I am learning that as I develop my faith practice, my relationship with God is one that grows in depth as opposed to length.  I may be confronted with an issue that troubles me today and again in a few weeks but each time I come out on the other side at a deeper level of understanding.  So with each new encounter, let us dig deeper and keep discovering who we are becoming today and tomorrow.  

Pondering Privilege

 The term privilege has taken on a heavy weight in recent years as those of us who have had it begin to realize just how much of a difference it makes to those who don't.  In a recent air travel escapade the word came to linger with me and become a part of my spirituality.  Every now and then the mundane thoughts of my meandering mind somehow take on an existence in the holy.  

The short version of my air travel story is that a planeload of people disembarked in an unintended destination and were forced to wait many hours before they could be reunited with their loved ones in the scheduled airport.  As humans are prone to do, they look outside the box for solutions to problems and those with resources have a wider selection of tools from which to draw.  During the extended layover, several people chose to find their own transportation back home.  It was only as we re-entered the plane that we came to realize that those who accessed another option out were all those in first class; all those with privilege.  Personally, this thought landed with a thud as Uber-ing out had definitely been a thought that crossed my mind.  But I chose patience and trust in place of executing my personal will on a problem that already had a solution. This was definitely a moment of growth for me.

At times, thoughts like this stick around because I start seeing them lived out in many different avenues of life.  A few days later I was involved in a conversation about public education where the parent suggested that children of resourced (synonym for privileged) families are able to achieve success by being placed in accelerated or advance placement classes and hence avoid being placed in general population groupings. I immediately began thinking about all the euphemisms we have for privileged and resourced and the ways they/we have of negotiating the systems so the haves continue to be the haves and the have nots are left on the edges of society and economic growth.  As I continued to ponder this academic view of privilege I remembered by strong stance just last spring on limiting the incoming class size at Nativity school and suddenly the voice of privilege was my own.  I, too was playing a role in keeping out the "general population."  

As the word privilege evolved in my thoughts and transformed into resource, I indeed saw it everywhere.  Although I am a renter, I live in a fairly upscale part of town so it wasn't hard to locate.  The simple act of meeting a friend at our local rose garden was an exercise in seeing it played out.  When you think nothing of meeting in a place where other people who come, take selfies, you are living in the midst of privilege, resource, and an amazing gift of Creation.  Gradually, I was led to removing the labels and seeing all of this at God's gifts. We are the recipients and it is up to each of us to determine how to use these gifts and share them with others. I am deeply aware that my gifts have made it possible for me to retire, to donate money and goods, and to fly across the country to visit my family.  I am a person of privilege, the receiver of a generous God who gives lavish gifts.  I give thanks for this each day and continue to call myself to the mirror and ask what I am doing to share these resources of first class seats with those in coach on our metaphorical plane of life.  

Another Look at Freedom

 The value of freedom can have many interpretations and it is one that I have traditionally shied away from.  I embrace the notion of freedom under the umbrella of God's will vs free will.  But being raised in the midwest in the '50s, there was little opportunity to think about living with freedom as a value that might guide my life's path. I learned early in childhood the "right" way to do things so other options felt far outside of my understanding of the world. Ignatius brings us another definition of freedom by inviting us to indifference to all things in the world. This was a difficult concept for me to completely understand and accept. I was being told that I should neither prefer health or sickness, wealth or poverty, success or failure, a long or short life.  We lean into whatever brings us closer to God. Sadly, many times those things are sickness, poverty, failure, and a life cut short.  

But this past week, I came to understand yet another meaning of freedom.  Due to air travel delays and cancellations as well as an incoming hurricane, I made the decision to fly back home rather than to Florida to visit my mom.  This meant I would be home for a total of four days when the rest of the world thought I was away.  I immediately felt a sense of freedom, the freedom of obligations that the following week I would be introducing into my retirement plan.  I did not have the intention of secluding myself away so those people with whom I was in contact, I advised of my plans and anyone else who inquired about my safety from the hurricane, I also informed that I had returned home.  I scheduled a few social engagements over the four days but the euphoria of freedom continued to pervade my being. I began to think more deeply about this and embrace it as a new way of moving in the world.  What if I were able to lean into this feeling and find new ways to bring the sense of freedom into my life? I questioned my desire to lead from the comfort I find in a daily/weekly schedule.  This new approach did not throw the schedule away.  I still began each day with a potential list of things to do but the order and timeframe was no longer required.  I began to CHOOSE each item.  Right now I want to call my aunt, right now I want to read the paper.  I entered into each thing with greater desire and somethings just didn't get done on the day they were anticipated. But gradually, I came to trust myself and know that the things that needed doing were done.  There it is!  The key word is trust. Trust in God, trust in me, trust in our relationship that I will be led exactly where I need to be.

Daily Miracles

 Not long ago, I had reached the end of my rope on the stain removal of a favorite shirt of mine.  I had no idea of the source of the stain but had tried several options with zero results.  So my one last attempt was taking down from the laundry room shelf, my old friend, Clorox bleach.  Either the the shirt would disintegrate before my very eyes or I would have solved the problem and would get many more wearings out of my shirt.  I poured a bit in a small bowl and inserted the stained portion of the shirt and voila! the stain disappeared almost magically before my eyes in seconds and my only response was, "It's a miracle." And my mind continued to whirl.  Who invented this magical solution? How did it happen? How many years have humans been turning to bleach as that one last chance to solve this very problem? If you're wondering the same it was before the time of Jesus! And then my small brain continued its whirl around miracles.  What if we took the time to consider all the small miracles that happen every day? What if we took the time just to be present to all the goodness we witness in our mundane lives and rebranded them as "miracles?"  

Let me begin:                                                                                                                                      

• The morning sunrise
• The mixture of water, ground coffee, and a heat source to bring joy to start the day
• My body that allows me to inhale and exhale each breath and take my morning walk
• Beautiful flowers that bloom with only the addition of light and water
• My children and grandchildren and their loving partners
• The ability we have to video chat with our loved ones around the world and any time of day

Each and every one of these daily events becomes a small miracle as we view it through the lens of gratitude and ingenuity. I certainly don't have the skills to bring about the daily beauty of the rotation of the earth or of bringing a plant into bloom, let alone the fertilization of an egg that would result in the amazing people that have become my children and grandchildren. I am awed by each of these events; even the simply act of making coffee. Coming face to face with the simple removal of a stain by using a product that is accessible at any grocery store turned my perspective the tiniest of degrees and suddenly everything became a miracle that day. It was a minute action in a small glass bowl with no deeper thought than "what if I tried bleach?" There isn't a day that goes by that I don't thank the Creator for putting me in this place and time where I can be the recipient of each and every one of these daily miracles.  

Who/What is God to you? Who/What are You to God?

 These are not easy questions and their answers are a work in progress; these questions seem to keep coming across my landscape.  They show up in spirituality podcasts, they arise in Zoom meetings about spiritual direction, they come up often in conversations and prayer. So it's time to take a stab at the answers as best I can. This is a post that I will put a pin in because I have no doubt that over the next few years the answers will continue to grow and evolve.  

God is as close as my breath.  These words often begin my morning prayer as a reminder that I am never alone. I believe that the Holy Spirit resides in me and as my paraclete, operates as my advocate, counselor, and helper.  This paraclete is my greatest cheerleader and in unexplainable ways leads me onward, helping me to believe in the possible. As I read the gospel each morning, I pray and journal about how I can take on the thoughts and actions of Jesus as my own. Jesus is the role model of living out love in the world.  God is Creator,  Source of love, and worthy of my devotion and adoration.  

A few months ago in a Spiritual Listening workshop I wrote this in my journal:  The spirit of God is with me at all times. God is always here and available. God wants nothing more than to be in relationship with each of us.  We hold the power that decides the when and where and how our relationship will grow and mature. I need only take a breath and turn my attention to God.  God waits on me and looks with love each and every time I draw near to the Spirit.  God is merciful and just.  God is the prodigal father waiting in the road for our humble return.  We come with broken hearts and God wraps us in God's loving embrace, refusing to enter into conversation of our faults or misdeeds.  God is love.  There is nothing we can ever do that will separate us from this eternal and unconditional love.  

The followup question is much more difficult to answer.  Who am I to God; I am Christ on earth.  I am now the face and hands and feet of Jesus.  I am the church alive in the world. Those that I touch and welcome into the God's realm come because I am able to take on the compassionate face of Jesus. It is now I that say the words, "Come and see."

More to come...

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Zooming Out: The Long View

 Over the past few years, I have become a happy resident of the long view.  As I age and rediscover my footing as grandmother and retiree, this feeling is amplified by the passing of a parent and the death and illnesses of my aunts and uncles.  Although, you always know it's coming, one day you look around and realize there is no one left of the older generations to ask the questions: do you remember, where did we go on that train trip, who are these people in the photo? It's not so much the feeling of being orphaned as it is taking on the mantle of the sage or crone that ushers the other generations forward; the keeper and teller of the stories.  I first noticed this long view as I watched my daughter mothering her own children.  I remembered the worries that she shared of food and diapers and preschools and the futures into which she was leading them as my own when she was in my arms.  I immediately remembered the stress I felt as a mom but had somehow magically shed as a grandmother.  For the first time I could see the worries on which I had wasted my time and energy.  The kids were fine.  There was no need to be concerned of each meal, each diaper change, friends they would or wouldn't make.  The kids were fine.  That is not to say that those things were not important, only that they would take care of themselves.  

This long view has also granted me the gift of forgiveness. When you are 25 and look back on your life at the mistakes you have made, it is difficult to find the place of understanding how God could love you in spite of it all.  For me, the high school and college years were full of missteps and experimenting with the boundaries of safety and security. I did nothing that you would call dangerous but I definitely tinkered with the lines. Then, as you make the turn toward 40, those errors of your youth are overshadowed by the goodness you have left in your trail; the work you have done, the service of which you have been a part, the love you have given to your parents and children, and the sacrifices you have made in the name of that love. It becomes harder and harder to remember the errors of your past or maybe you purposefully leave them behind and choose not to carry them alongside of your goodness. You live your life stepping forward knowing that you are always moving toward goodness through the next decades of life.  

What followed next for me was the time of coming face to face with the knowledge that I am God's Beloved.  That did not come easily but it did finally come until I could at long last hold the loving gaze as God affirmed, "You are my Beloved; this is my daughter with whom I am well pleased." That led me into Week 1 of the Ignatian Spiritual Exercises.  This week starts with God's great love for us and all that has been provided through the beauty and grandeur of creation.  I fell deeply into that love and spent days in prayer of adoration and giving thanks for all the gifts I have been given.  But then came the time to acknowledge that I haven't always responded to those gifts with thanks and gratitude. I was immediately tossed back to my youth and saying aloud and trying as best I could to believe that I am a sinner but yet still the Beloved.  Only with God can those two facts sit side by side.  These were difficult and tear-filled days.  It took me some time to fully understand what it meant to be loved despite everything; no matter what I do or have done or will do, I am the Beloved.  Nothing can keep me from the love of God.  

In the aftermath of the Spiritual Exercises, I once again zoom out and engage the long view. Much like my years of motherhood, the worries of the missteps of my youth are little more than a pebble on the road of life that needs to be stepped over.  God's love is always present and although I may turn away from time to time, the love waits for me to look back over my shoulder and once again engage with gaze of Love.  I am the Beloved.  Always and forever.  

Getting Everyone in Alignment to Follow the Plan

 There have been many occasions that I believed I was following my life path only to be surprised that things didn't seem to go the way they should have or even could have. Then later, I would feel myself returning to the same location on the journey for a second or third round and this time things went much more smoothly. Could it be that I was pushing things ahead of their schedule or was it that I was not the only variable in the experiment?

Here is example #1: When I left public education in 2011, for the first time in my life I was unemployed with no job on the horizon. A friend invited me to come take a look at the exciting things that were going on at the Nativity schools in San Jose where he was principal. I was overwhelmed by what I saw and you couldn't help but call it exciting; however I was simply in no condition, physically, mentally or, spiritually to take on the challenge. I thanked him, knowing full well that this might be my only opportunity, but I was simply too exhausted from my most recent teaching experience to even consider it. I truly believed I was done with the classroom and was moving on. Fast forward two years in the future and the shoe was on the other foot. I was the one asking for the chance to be a part of the Nativity system. There was definitely some prodding that was involved but in the end the principal agreed and I signed the contract to teach English and Religion. Was the plan for me to be there in 2011 or 2013; whose free will was interceding and disrupting or delaying the plan. Here is a completely different scenario. Around the time that my mom turned 90, we all agreed that it was time to insert a safety net for her and hire a home health care agency. She went along with it for a few weeks but then started sending the aids home early or asking them not to come on their scheduled days. It took a while but Mom finally found an aid that she liked and with whom she built a relationship. But even that wasn't enough to sustain the agreement. Within a few months, we all tired of trying to convince Mom that this was for her good and released ourselves from the contract. Once again, fast forward 18 months and as things with any 90 year old does, things begin to deteriorate and we are once again in a family conversation about home health care aids. This time it works for two reasons; Mom is ready and her favorite health care aid is available. Once again, were we pushing events ahead of their schedule or did Mom have to come to grips with the idea that she really did need help before the relationship could work?

I do believe that God has a plan for my life but I also believe that I have been given free will to circumvent the plan, make a detour and come back around to the plan at a later date, or even completely avoid the plan altogether. There is ample evidence of all of these options at play in my work history. But here is the thing that I have finally come to understand; the plan/my plan is not operating in a vacuum. The plan involves not only my life but also plans for other people's lives. I could only accept the teaching position at Nativity the second time around if and when it was available, meaning someone else's life plan had to include a move away from Nativity. Mom would only agree to home health care assistance if Joyce was available and she could only come to that decision after having met and known Joyce the year before. All of the people involved in a possible scenario are operating in tanden and simultaneously with my own. So on those occasions when I start down a path and I lose sight of it, it may not be my fault; it may be that another main character in the scene has unknowingly changed course.

Pierre Teilhard de Chardin's poem about the "slow work of God" has always been one of my favorites. Patient Trust. So now the dilemma for thoughtful humans becomes: are the unpredictable movements of the involved parties part of that slow work or is God as surprised by how and when the plans work out as we are? Whichever is true, I marvel at the complexity of life and our lives in relationship with one another. Unknowingly, we are all totally and completely dependent on each other and on God's plan.  

When the Crossing of Paths Becomes an Intertwining

I am a big believer that people come into your life for a reason. There have been several people that have crossed my path and I have known immediately that they came to me for a purpose. I felt it, knew it, and said it aloud. Sometimes they came to remind me that despite the trials and turmoils that I was enduring, I was lovable because they were living proof of it. And sometimes I have known immediately that they came to teach me something about life - to find joy and delight in it, to lead me in a different direction, or just to show up and stand by my side. But there have also been a few people who have come and left and come again. Our paths for some reason began to resemble an intertwining rather than a crossing. With each meeting or crossing our relationship deepened and each of us grew because of it. I have a friend who I met when we were both first married and having our babies. It was the 70s so we were part of a vegetable coop and a cheese coop and we just seemed to pop up in each other's lives - at the park, at church, and eventually at the same school. I wasn't actually part of her inner circle of friends but we definitely knew each other and one another's kids. 

Life goes on and mothers get jobs and you just slowly lose track of people. Our paths crossed again when my job journey brought us together at the same school. The crossing this time was a deeper connection as now we not only had our families in common but came together to talk primary educational curriculum, reading strategies, and the challenges of Catholic education. We were both thinkers more than feelers and even did some teacher trainings together. There was nothing we loved more than picking each other's brains to find new ways around the challenges in early reading instruction. Our relationship now had a more solid feel to it. But once again my professional journey took us in different directions. She headed towards administration and I wanted only to know more about learning. My path moved me along the trajectory of special education and into public education and back out again with a return to Catholic schools. We would encounter each other now and again and with each meeting we remembered how much we enjoyed one another's company. We came to name our friendship the "pair of old shoes" that are familiar and comfortable. You see them in your closet often enough but you're not sure why you don't wear them more frequently because the minute you put them on, you remember how good they feel. That was how our friendship felt - comfortable and easy. 

But life has a way of moving you away from comfort and ease. Your kids get older and go to high school and college; your parents age and become ill and there doesn't seem to be a way to get back to that old pair of comfortable shoes as often as you'd like to. So the intertwining continued as we moved along on our separate paths, coming together whenever possible and enjoying the feeling whenever we did. But then it seemed that a greater power interceded. My friend found her way into the Spiritual Exercises at Santa Clara University, something I had tried to fit into my summer schedule for several years near the end of my career and it just hadn't worked. It became a "someday thing" on my life's agenda. But all it took was my intertwining friend to say, "Tere, you've got to do this," and I was in. It was Covid and I was living in Florida to be near my parents but all obstacles had been removed with the advent of Zoom meetings. Now this friendship became something far beyond anything either of us could have ever imagined. We talked often and long during my Exercises and at the end of it, God led me back to San Jose and suddenly we found ourselves within walking distance of one another. We meet for coffee and walk the labyrinth, we share the latest book we read or tidbits of conversations with our spiritual guides. These conversations help us to grow in our faith and give us a safe place to ask the questions or just admit how long it has taken us to learn to pray or meditate or contemplate. This acquaintanceship that became a professional mentorship that became a comfortable friendship was now a spiritual companionship. The intertwining of these two lives is something for which I will never stop giving thanks. There is no more crossing of these paths. We are walking side by side, hand in hand, companions on the journey.  

We are Given All That is Needed

Any adolescent's first hearing of the story of Ignatius of Loyola is left feeling with the thought of "I think I'm OK." Ignatius's early years are definitely not the model we would want our middle schoolers to emulate. (Ignatius Biography). He was born into nobility but being the last of thirteen children left limited opportunities. Iñigo brought all of his personality traits to bear on his desire for success. He was driven to be the best and that may have meant finding a female companion (some have called him a womanizer) or leading his fellow soldiers onto the battlefield of a skirmish that no one but him thought was winnable. Ignatius is well-known for his "cannon ball moment." As the story goes it was his desire to go into battle against the French in Pamplona, Spain and things did now go well as many had previously predicted. It was an especially bad day for Ignatius as he was carried off the battlefield with one leg broken and the other severely wounded. The leg was set; perhaps improperly, and healed leaving a bump on his leg. Being extremely vain and whose nobility uniform included tights, this was unacceptable and Ignatius demanded that the leg be broken again, the bump shaved off, and reset. So his recovery was quite long and extensive. Personality traits of young Iñigo from this vignette alone would include determined, proud, vain, glory seeking, and willing to win at all costs. But as we all know, Ignatius's cannon ball moment led to a personal conversion and he was able to take all of these traits and remold them in his desire to serve Jesus.

As Christians, we believe that God-given strengths and traits with which we are born are put in place to serve God. However, as humans, we often have what we think is a better idea of ways we can serve ourselves and God simultaneously with those traits. When born into nobility, it is only natural that Ignatius would have utilized his gifts toward glorifying his rise through the noble ranks. He had a strong belief in himself and that he could be the best at whatever he attempted. There is certainly no ill in being the best but through his conversion, Ignatius was able to see ways to mold those traits away from being self-serving and instead to glorify God. So when we look back at the somewhat selfish traits, Iñigo demonstrated in his youth, we can see how they could also be utilized in service to God. He was born with everything he needed to follow the path from Loyola to Rome. He believed in himself and that even if he went into battle alone, he would be victorious. After completely the writing of the Spiritual Exercises in Manresa, he walked alone to Barcelona and sailed on to the Holy Land and back to Paris to complete his studies. He was charismatic, and easily convinced others to join him in the mission of initiating the Companions of Jesus and beginning the order of the Jesuits. His dedication and devotion shifted from royalty to Jesus and his blessed mother, Mary. It bears noting that the power and personal dedication of this one man is still at work in our world today. Ignatius started an order dedicated to education and there are currently 28 Ignatian colleges and universities in the United States today. HIs mission, the spiritual design and purpose of one man, is still growing.

So when we take time to discern the direction of our life and question the decisions we have made, I hope that we can take a moment to dig deeper and consider the personality traits that have been at work. If we, like young Iñigo, have used our gifts for personal gain in place of giving glory to the gifts themselves, take a moment (hopefully not a cannonball moment) and consider how we and God might be able to work together for the greater good. How might we take the trait of being the best at something and realign it so it serves others? We, too have been given all that we need.

The Power of Place

I ponder the part that place plays in our spiritual development. Does growing up in the woods change who you are and become compared with that same being who is raised in the urban world of a metropolis? Was the role of Loyola as place vital to who Ignatius of Loyola became? Did the rolling hills and mountains that he walked as a boy form him into the man that would become awestruck at the night sky.

I am an avid reader and would agree that there are some books and writers that are so drawn to the power of place that the setting becomes another main character in the story. It is in the interaction between the persons and place that the plot draws its drama. Where the Crawdad Sings or Go Like a River would be sadly lacking in structure and form without the beauty and grandeur of the settings.

I grew up in rural Iowa and there was nothing I liked better than being down in the greenbelt behind our house which we all lovingly called "the ditch." I had no affinity to the life of Iowa, of the town, or even the houses we lived in. When I turned 18 and was ready for college, I was more than ready to leave it behind and the same was true four years later as I left Florida for California. But the Iowa trees and grasses and mud that formed that young girl somehow nurtured her into the woman that would want nothing more than a walk in the woods on a spring day in the Santa Cruz hills.

The Thinning of the Veil

There is a belief among many that there exists places in the world where there is a thinning of the veil - the space between the natural and the spiritual world, or perhaps a liminal space that is set apart between the two. The" spiritual world" may mean different things to each of us. It could be thought of as the afterlife or heaven or just some other place that isn't "here." I have felt it on a few occasions. One of the most memorable was in Assisi, Italy but not in the basilica of either Francis or Clare, and not in the monastery. As I stood at the overlook outside the basilica and took in the vista of the valley below and the mountains in the distance, the words came to me, "This is holy ground." This is Holy Ground. I felt the thinness there, more like a thought brought to life, of this being a place that had somehow been sanctified and that all who walked this ground left with a grace that could be physically experienced as well as spiritually. I looked over at my companion to see if she felt it too. I was gifted with a slight smile and the two of us both somehow knowing this was a time to be still and enter into the space. I can go back to that vision of the Umbrian Valley in an instant and the accompanying feeling of being in the sacred.

On my recent Ignatian pilgrimage, I again felt the thinness of the veil in all the locales you would expect. As the biography of St. Ignatius of Loyola goes, Iñigo converted and dedicated his life to Jesus at the shrine to Mary in Montserrat and eventually wrote the Spiritual Exercises in Manresa. Each of these three locations, Loyola, Montserrat, and Manresa held incredible gifts for me as the veil lifted. In Loyola, I was fascinated being in the family home and gazing out the window where Ignatius contemplated the stars and the universe, sitting in the kitchen and wondering what was for dinner, and praying beneath the crucifix that he passed by without a moment's notice each day of his young life. But I more strongly felt the lifting of the veil as we walked into town and entered the Shrine of our Lady of Olatz where Ignatius regularly prayed to the Blessed Mother. The bucolic scene of the sloping hillsides covered by grazing sheep on one side of the four-lane street and vineyards on the other drew me in, experiencing the beauty that the Loyola community was a part of in the 1500s and suddenly I felt transported. I took photos so that I could forever remember the deep green of the inclines and relive the feeling of the nearness to God. The encounters in Montserrat and Manresa were similar but once again I didn't experience these holy ground moments inside the shrines, abbey, or basilicas. It was the natural world that called to me. The view of the mountains of Montserrat are of such incredible strength and beauty that your first thought can only be of the grandeur of God. The veil lifts and you listen for the call. It is no wonder that it was in this place, that Ignatius placed his sword at the feet of Mary and dedicated his life to her Son. As predictable as it is to say that I felt the presence of the Holy Spirit in the cave at Manresa, that is exactly what happened. Today the cave has no similarity in appearance to what it was when Ignatius frequented it, but nonetheless, I couldn't get enough of it. I was drawn to it each morning upon rising and at any spare moment I could carve out of our scheduled excursions. It was like a magnet pulling me back in to feel again and again the thinness of the veil. This, this is holy ground. It was for Ignatius 500 years ago and it always will be for any who enters into the space with an open mind and heart.

These places of thinness offer themselves to us as a place to think about the world and our place in it differently. We are given the invitation to come and pray, come and feel the presence of God, or just come and experience whatever it has to offer. The stories of these places feed our spirits and if only for a moment we put ourselves in the footsteps of Francis or Ignatius and consider a different way, a quieter way to be in the world.

Freedom

 The Spiritual Exercises written by St. Ignatius of Loyola profess that freedom comes from releasing our hold on possessions, people, and ideas. As we gradually learn to let go, our ego shrinks, taking its place in the background, and we come to understand a little more of what is to love God with our whole selves. I learned many years ago, the value of letting go of possessions and am well known among my circle of friends and family as being a bit of a minimalist. It is a skill that certainly made my cross country moves easier.  I have held on to the essentials and the "just in case" extra dishes and glassware but there are many things I only own two of - one to use now and one for the laundry. When I travel I like to make a game of only taking what I think I will need. I come home especially pleased if I wore everything I packed and there were no extras or unnecessary weight that went to and from my destination.  But I learned a valuable lesson recently on my pilgrimage to the Camino Ignaciano when a fellow pilgrim arrived with only her carryon luggage in tow.  Any frequent traveler has experienced this feeling of unwelcome lightness and it is always a little disturbing.  You walk about knowing that something is missing and as if your feet are no longer in touch with the ground.  But you remind yourself that mistakes happen, you've been through this before, and your luggage will eventually catch up with you.  

The word of Kelly's missing luggage was disseminated through our group's What's App texts long before we ever met its owner.  Her husband walked into the first group meeting introducing himself and assuring us that Kelly would also soon be in attendance.  As she entered the room, I was struck by her calm demeanor.  She gently took a seat and joked lightly about her lack of luggage.  In the days that followed I would never see her without that same serene smile.  

The itinerary of the pilgrimage was arranged so that we would have 2-3 nights in each location so we were all fairly certain that the missing suitcase would appear before leaving Azpeitia, the home town of Ignatius of Loyola.  Kelly worked with our host at the retreat center to speak with the travel agent and airport representatives to locate the wayward luggage.  No luck.  So off we went to Javier and still there was no sign of it.  All the while Kelly appeared each looking fresh and clean with that smile and often the white shirt we met her in on Day 1.  Now and then she and her husband would peel off from our group travels to locate a grocery store and emerge with a new shirt, a pair of shower shoes or other necessity.  They purchased only what was needed.  Every few days I would ask about the progress of finding her suitcase; she always responded with a voice that could only be called calm and placid.  There was never a hint of frustration or irritability.  I was amazed and the entire entourage all began to learn the lesson of true freedom through her.  Kelly had everything she needed: her loving husband by her side, she was part of a long awaited pilgrimage to follow in the footsteps of St. Ignatius, and was deeply loved and in love with God.  She could live the rest of her life without whatever was in that suitcase.  She had proved that over the last 12 days.

There was word of the lost luggage in Monserrat, again in Manresa, and yet again in Barcelona, the point of their return flight to Cleveland.  We joked that she could just recheck it on her homebound flight. But, incredible as it may seem, she left Spain with only her carryon and few shopping bags she had collected along the journey.  And it wasn't until a week later that she and her suitcase were reunited.  

I am grateful to have learned the importance of staying in the present moment on this pilgrimage.  Kelly's suitcase reminded me again that everything you need will be provided.  

Praying with the Monks

The bells rang slowly and I immediately fell into step with their rhythm but then I suddenly became aware of their low tones. It seemed that I could almost feel them more than hear them. They had the same resonance of my heart beat or maybe my breath, not the typical higher piercing pitches that call us to Sunday mass. I took a moment to breathe in the cool air of Montserrat and turned the corner entering the Abby. Last night we had prayed at the shrine of the Virgin of Montserrat. I knew it wasn't possible for anything to top that this morning. But I also wasn't going to miss an opportunity to be a part of the morning prayers with the Benedictine Monks. Surely, this was a once in a lifetime event. The few worshipers that began the trek alongside of me at the sound of the first bell slowly increased until as I reached the door I was one of many. 7:30 AM is definitely a favorite time of day for me but it's rare to be a part of a large group at that hour. I found my way to a seat in the first few rows and quickly lost any semblance of time or place. As the monks began walking into the worship space, my focus was entirely on each man. Some walked in alone, some in pairs, and some took a moment to be with the Virgin of Monserrat before coming down the stairs to pray. This is definitely not like videos I had seen with the Benedictines marching in single file and pealing off like a marching band to take their places in unison. So as each walked in, I put myself in his presence and thanked him for his lifelong dedication to prayer and chanting.

The prayer service began and I went back to my early days of converting to Catholicism as I looked for signs in the crowd as to when to sit and stand. No matter how focused you are, the novices are always a half beat behind the regulars and I could feel the dissonance in my missteps. The prayers and songs were, of course in Spanish so I was not connecting to the message, only the feeling of being in the presence of God in this new and solemn way. I somehow had the foreknowledge that this was a memory to which I was going to want and need to return. I had no desire to be that tourist filming the Benedictines at prayer but I did discreetly recored a minute or so of the audio. As time went on I became aware of another presence in my close proximity. It was quickly followed by a thought that was mine but from eons ago. At the same time as I felt the being and thought the thought, I recognized it as coming from 8 year old me. As clear as if one of my fellow worshipers had leaned over and whispered in my year, she said, "Can you believe we are here?" It startled me so that I had to confirm with my inner self that it had really happened. Yes, little Tere was here and with me in this place 5,000 miles and many decades away. When would this little pony-tailed girl growing up in rural Council Bluffs, Iowa in the 60s, and baptized as a Presbyterian ever have heard of the Benedictines? The conversation between us continued with more exclamations of wonder. "We are here, in SPAIN!" I looked to face her dead on and all I could do was smile. Yes, my little one. We have come so far from our childhood of long ago and here we are in Spain, following in the footsteps of St. Ignatius of Loyola and praying with the Benedictines. Who would have ever thought this could be possible? Only God.

Only God could have had a plan that would move a child from Iowa to Florida to California and 60 years later after several decades of teaching in Catholic and public schools find a way to guide her in the ways of the Ignatius and the Jesuits. And then at the end of that career present to her an opportunity to travel to Spain and follow the Camino Ignaciano accompanied by fellow Jesuit teachers and administrators. Only God.

The Pilgrim Returns

A few days ago I returned from 12 days in Spain and a pilgrimage from Azpeitia to Barcelona following the journey of Ignatius of Loyola. I went into this adventure with anticipated views of a dirt or rock path and little else. So I was certainly unprepared for the beauty of the mountains and valleys of the northern provinces of Spain. I also assumed that all would be revealed to me while walking the path of the Camino. Granted, there were thoughts and images that brought many questions to a close but I certainly did not receive any answers to the big questions: What do I do next? Which direction do I follow?

So what was it all about?

Gifts of the pilgrimage:

• God is with me. Traversing the mountain from Arantzazu was definitely a challenge and as I struggled to breathe and walk simultaneously I called on God (something I have struggled to do in real time of challenges). As I attempted to put one foot in front of the other I repeatedly told myself, God is here, God is with me, I am not alone.
• I am human with physical limitations. The last 3 miles down the mountain brought back to me the pain of my running years and the tightening of my IT Band. My only consolation was that if I could keep my knee from bending, I was pain free so I knew it wasn't anything serious. I was humbled to come to terms with the fact that I would not be walking the entire pilgrimage. I am grateful that experiences with half marathons taught me that every body has a tipping point and you just can't push past the pain without creating much more serious problems. "No!" rings through the air.
• Being in the same space of a man I have respected for years, 500 years later was quite overwhelming. I was breathing the air Iñigo breathed, I stood in his family kitchen, I stood beside his death mask and sat with him in the cave in Manresa where he too wrote his thoughts. I felt his spirit everywhere and struggled to leave behind each of those spaces.
• My plan of getting a simple tattoo before I left has grown into a much more complex design. I fear that no longer will it fit on my wrist where I would see it daily. I'm trusting that with Tessa's help, "all will be well."
• I can't explain how I know it, but I was reassured that my invitation to the Pierre Favre program in September is exactly where I need to be. The feeling that you are at least heading in the right direction is enough to know that this is the call.
• Being invited into the stillness. The quiet reflection of the pilgrimage has continued as I have returned home and attempt to find my place in the world again. I step slowly into my life once more. Returning home as retired is extremely helpful to my prayer practice. It is day 3 and I remain significantly outside the world. I am reconnecting with family and friends that I know will attempt to understand this experience or at least nod their heads knowing that whatever it is I experienced was something beyond language and was all good.

When people ask me about the pilgrimage, I just say Spain is beautiful. There is little else I can say about a pilgrimage that is supposedly a trek up and down a mountain and through the valleys toward the docks of Barcelona but in actuality mostly takes place in your inner being. So I slowly, ever so slowly reenter life extremely aware that God is guiding my steps if only I take the time to wait, ponder, and reflect.