Cathee's Blog

posted June 15, 2010

Over the last month it has been my goal to focus more on the detailed ways God says “I love you” to all of us.  While we might attribute Oprah with having brought the average person to an awareness of how powerful gratitude is, it certainly didn’t originate with her.

“In everything give thanks, for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you” (1 Thess. 5:18).

 The will of God in Christ Jesus undeniably predates Oprah Winfrey! And while I’ve made attempts for most of my Christian life to follow the above Biblical instruction, I cannot say I’ve made it a daily priority. Until last month.

Two things caused this shift to take place. One is that I am editing a book, to be published later this year, on breast cancer. It is written by my good friend and radiologist, Dr. Tom Hudson. We’ve been collaborating on ideas, chapters, and the nitty gritty details of sentence structure for over a year. His book, Journey to Hope, will have one entire chapter on gratitude. That’s how important Dr. Tom feels an attitude of gratitude is for our healing – from anything. Cancer, depression, bad relationships, despair, hopelessness, and other “heart” problems that lead to heart problems, and overall poor health.

The second gentle kick in the seat came from what I consider to be the most exquisite art and word blog/website I’ve come across so far. That is Ann Voskamp’s Holy Experience. She writes with lyrical beauty in both words and photos and she has powerfully transported me to other realms with her observations of ordinary life.

I found a leather-bound journal I wasn’t using and began my list of 1000 gratitudes. It is changing the way I look at everything. It’s fun to post them on Facebook and watch how people respond with their own lines of thankfulness.

Dayenu – it is enough

And today I came across the whole Jewish idea of Dayenu – a yearly practice of reciting a simple beautiful poem at Passover. The Dayenu has 15 stanzas, 15 aspects and 15 gifts. It is worth your while to Google it and learn.

The Dayenu – a phrase that means “that would be enough”  is a rehearsal of praising God through all the history of Israel – from their redemption out of Egypt to the building of the Temple. It goes something like this:

If God had only brought us out of Egypt, that would have been enough.
But He also brought justice on the Egyptians. And if that is all He did,
It would have been enough, but He also gave us their wealth,
And that would have been enough if it was all He did, but He also…

And on and on it goes for 15 stanzas. While “Dayenu” means “it would have been enough,” it is not sufficient to merely add that phrase to each event. The full meaning is “it would have been enough to praise God if He only brought us to faith in Christ, and it would have been enough to praise God if He only gave us peace, and it would have been enough if He only provided for our needs…” and we continue down the line with all He gives us throughout our lives. We could also list our own history, naming the important markers on our journey, thanking God for leading us out of our own slavery and through the wilderness and to the land of abundance. We write our own Dayenu.

All Nature Proclaims

Since the Bible opens with a talking snake and mentions trees that clap their hands in praise to God, I wasn’t surprised to come across praying  prairie dogs recently.

Here’s a quote from environmentalist Terry Tempest Williams that is worth considering as we close these thoughts about gratitude.

“I watched prairie dogs every day, rise before the  sun, stand with their paws pressed together facing the rising sun in total  stillness for up to 30 minutes. And then I watched them  at the end of the day take that same gesture.  30 minutes before the sun  goes down they would press their palms together in perfect stillness. I  don't mean to anthropomorphize, but when you look at a creature that has  survived over the millennium begin and end each day in that kind of  stance, it causes one to think about one's own life and speed and rapidity in which we live.”

If prairie dogs have enough sense to stop and wait in His presence, can’t we? If we got to watch the moon rise one more time and make a dancing path of silver across the lake… Dayenu – that would be enough!

Be sure to view Dr. Hudson’s new website. If you know anyone with a breast cancer diagnosis, please recommend this informational website to them. Sue Riger designed it and all three of us labored to make it relevant and beautiful. YourJourneytoHope.com. You can sign up for advance notice on Dr. Hudson’s book Journey to Hope by clicking here.

If you know anyone looking for web design, copy editing, or help with writing and publishing a book, please refer them to our website BrushandQuillProductions.com. All necessary information is located there.

Annoyances, Pet Peeves and Plain Stupidity

posted April 28, 2010

Today’s blog will be a soupy mixture of thoughts, observations, and pet peeves. I’ve never written a blog about what annoys me. I think it’s time.

For one thing, I am distressed at the gullibility of most Christians. If an email comes along with a heart-rending plea for prayer regarding a missing child, or some perk the Senate gets that all the rest of us are excluded from, the emails start flying. No one bothers to investigate whether the article they’ve sent is an urban legend or not. They see it as their God-ordained duty to send these notices (99.9% inaccurate) to every breathing soul in their contact list.

Is it not incumbent upon us to first do our homework and check out the reliability of an email we will send to 53 friends? What happens when one of them writes us back saying they checked it out and it was erroneous? Do we then notify everyone that we made a mistake? Or worse yet, what about the false information we’ve spread around to other gullible people who pass it on and on and on? What does God think about this?

Over the past 10 years, I would estimate I’ve sent hundreds of notices back to people pointing out that their email contained false information. I usually forward them the documentation from www.snopes.com or www.urbanlegendsonline.com  respectfully suggesting they notify their “constituency” of the error. Do you know how much time I’ve spent doing that in 10 years? Part of the residue of Cathee trying to fix people! And need I tell you how many, three days later, sent me another such piece of drivel? That bugs me no end. I’ve since learned to love that delete button.

I could devote several more paragraphs to all the forwards I get. Mostly political. It is my opinion that if we spend ¼ of the time praying for our nation that we spend sending out these alarming messages of the fall of the United States, or the takeover of Muslims, we would see tremendous things happening all around us. I am thoroughly convinced we believe far more in the power of Email Forwards than we do in prayer. Our actions prove this to be so.

But far above and beyond these annoying email things, is the abject fear that resides in the hearts of many believers when it comes to practicing our faith. I will share two personal experiences that both grieve and anger me.

Several years ago, as a result of some research about Celtic Christianity I was doing on the web, I met a dear man in London who was particularly educated in this topic. He and Bob and I began to write back and forth and he answered many questions about the origin of the Celtics and their practice today in Northumbria, Scotland, Wales, and Ireland – where they originated. These practices predate medieval times and were simple and pure. A popular Christian book by Mark Batterson, Wild Goose Chase, gets its title from Celtic belief that the Holy Spirit is best described as a Wild Goose.

After six months of correspondence, circumstances were arranged for Bro. Tadhg to fly across the pond and visit us here in the states. His first visit to the USA. We arranged for him to speak in several venues on topics such as Thin Places, Meditation, the Importance of St. Patrick to the conversion of Ireland to Christianity, and other such things. Some people visited his website, a place he uses to attract those who may be seeking out spiritual truth, but are not familiar with God-speak or Christianese.

As a result, I received several emails from people saying they would not be attending this “new age” speaker’s sessions we were bringing to town. What?!?!? This is a fully committed, follower of Christ we’re talking about here. I was appalled. It seems that because he has studied acupressure—a specialized form of massage—that he was now suspect as a false prophet. I can now understand how the Salem Witch Trials came about.

On my own website, under the Dive In Menu, I have a page called “Still Waters” where I mention some different ways to connect with God. One of them is a Circle Prayer – called a Caim Prayer by the Celtics. It’s a practice of making a circle and placing the person who is receiving the prayer in the center. It’s an outward demonstration to that individual that they are encircled by God’s love, protection, comfort and peace.

In January I was scheduled to speak at a chapter of a well-known Christian women’s ministry. A few weeks before the engagement I received a mysterious email saying that they would not be able to have me in January. After writing back and asking for clarification, I discovered they had seen that practice on my website and decided they didn’t want their ladies “exposed to this type of teaching.” They cancelled me. I was dumbfounded. And mad as a hornet.

After spouting off all the things I was going to tell them, I decided to give it a rest. It’s just this same gullible, idiotic fear of being misled, or “falling into error.” This same organization often prays for people by putting the person who needs prayer in the center of the room in a chair, around which everyone gathers to pray. Not a bit different, except in posture, from the Circle Prayer. I decided I didn’t want to speak there anyway.

What will it take for us to realize that when we stand before Him in the end – gathered from every nation, tribe and tongue, that we will not be all doing the identical thing? That Christian practices in Ireland may be different from Christian practice in Uganda. Are we so ignorant and self-absorbed that we think we have the final word on how everything is lived out? Do we really think the underground Chinese Church sings exactly the same songs, or carries out the same practices of communion, baptism, prayer, baby dedications or weddings that we do?

Do you honestly believe Jesus says we can only worship Him in the American way when He created all peoples, nations, cultures and languages? O how foolish and narrow-minded we have become. We’ve limited God and made Him in our own image. A travesty to His greatness and surely a sin in His eyes.

Let’s try to see the bigger picture and know we are just a very tiny part of a very large story that is beyond our little narrow, circumscribed lives. It’s time to wake up to the majesty and wonder of His inclusiveness. Why not start today?

The Gift of a Breakthrough
posted March 3, 2010

Sometimes this journey we’re on feels like the last hour of a forty day trek through Death Valley. We can taste the metallic heat and the sand is ground into our very pores. We long to walk up an incline and at the crest see in the distance tall palms—dates, apricots, almonds and crystal water bubbling out of a cleft in the rock. Oh, the pure bliss of that sight and the gift of a breakthrough.

I’ve had a moment like that recently and the waves of joy are still rolling like billows over me. Bob and I were just about to start a leadership class we’re doing at church when his cell phone went off. Chagrined that he hadn’t thought to shut off the phone before we started, he fumbled a minute and turned off the call and the sound. After we returned home I turned my own phone back on and saw that I had a call from Buddy, our oldest son. I knew that’s who had called Bob before class as he mentioned it when he shut off the phone. I played back the message that went something like this:

“Mom, I wish Dad had picked up my call. Then all of your class could have rejoiced with you at the news that Dorothy is pregnant!”

“What?!?!?” I shrieked as I dialed him back on Speed Dial to hear him tell me the news in live airtime. Buddy and Dorothy have been married for 20 years and have longed for a baby of their own. They had many tests, in vitro fertilization – even struggled with fertilizing several eggs at once and then what to do with the leftover eggs. A dilemma of integrity for them. To no avail!

Several years back, when they did the last in vitro, rather than just go in the doctor’s office and give them a sperm sample (which my 6’7” son found both intimidating and callus), Buddy borrowed a 32’ motor home from a friend in Ft. Myers. He drove it to our house where he left it overnight, then drove with Dorothy to the doctor’s parking lot the next morning, and proceeded to procure the sample with his wife there and then take it in to the office. “Mom, don’t you think that’s the more loving thing to do and will please God?” Buddy’s always been somewhat of an extremist.

But even that did not end in a conception. On the way to church months later, Dorothy shared with Buddy her struggle with the fact that this prayer remained unanswered.  As they were leaving church, one of our pastors came running out the back door calling her name. Tommy knew nothing of her struggle or discouragement, but proceeded to give her a word that said God had heard their cry and would answer their prayer and give them a child. At that point they decided not to pursue any artificial means at conception but just to believe God and wait.

Years passed and still no answer. Dorothy turned 42 last May and Buddy 44 in October 2009. I could see it in her face, How will I live now, you tell me? With part of my heart torn away? The hourglass is almost out of sand.
Then the call and the news and the shouts of joy. She’s seven weeks pregnant and they’ve seen the baby’s heartbeat on the ultrasound. I’ve thanked God so many times I’m sure He’s sick of hearing from me. Buddy’s college roommate from 20 years ago, who lives in Brazil, sent this little video when he got the news. I thought I’d share it with you. It is a perfect replication of Buddy’s personality!!  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lC_fLR2tn9A

To you my son and daughter, I say:
“God proves to be good to the man who passionately waits, to the woman who diligently seeks.” Lamentations 3:25

I can hardly breathe at the thought of you placing that bundle in my arms for the first time – my twelfth grandchild. A dozen is good. Thank you both for never giving up on your dream and believing that God would do all that He said.

Star Throwers
posted January 28, 2010

January never approaches without most of us reassessing our lives. Lots of people still make a small list of resolutions that are blown to smithereens before the week is done. I gave that up some years ago realizing, that at least for me, it was not a productive exercise. If there is anyone out there who can tell me of a New Year’s Resolution you made and completed, I’d love to hear your story.

So this year – as in the last 10 Januarys – I’ve just tried to be quiet for some extended time and to let the pictures of my life flash by for a bit. Anymore, I’m not much interested in what I’ve achieved or produced, but in who I am. What I am becoming.

This year my attention seemed to center on how hard I’ve worked over the years to just be good. To do the right thing. And it came to me that God isn’t displeased with that, but He has something better. Something higher. God does want me to be good, but above everything else, He wants me to be alive.

I confess this thought didn’t drift out of nowhere and land in my cerebral cortex, but from a book I’m reading this month by Parker Palmer called The Promise of Paradox. The ideas he presents and the challenges he offers makes me liken my brain to a pair of pantyhose that have spent the day on a 400 lb. woman. I’m looking at a lot of things differently.

In the book, Parker relates a story that Loren Eiseley (1907-1977), an anthropologist and naturalist, tells that helps us embrace the paradoxes of life. Helps us live the contradictions. Eiseley struggled all his life with insomnia and would often awake early to go on long walks.

While visiting the seaside town of Costabel, and following his usual routine walking along the beach every morning, he noticed that townspeople were up at sunrise combing the sand for starfish. As he watched the villagers methodically gather and kill the starfish to sell commercially, Eiseley saw their acts as a symbol – even though a small one – of how the world says no to life.

I’ll let Parker tell the rest of the story:

One morning, Eiseley went out unusually early and discovered a solitary figure on the beach. This man, too, was gathering starfish, but each time he found one alive, he would pick it up and throw it as far as he could out before the breaking surf, back to the ocean from which it came. Eiseley found this man on his mission of mercy every morning, day after day, no matter the weather.

Eiseley named this man “the star thrower.” In a moving meditation, he writes of how this man and his predawn work contradicted everything Eiseley had been taught about evolution and the survival of the fittest. Here on the beach in Costabel, the strong reached down to save, not crush, the weak. And Eiseley wonders, is there a star thrower at work in the universe, a God who contradicts death, whose nature (to quote the words of Thomas Merton) is “mercy within mercy within mercy”?

I read that story at the beginning of this month – a new year, a new decade – and I purposed to make some changes. It helped me see that, as ordinary as I am, I can participate in God’s all-encompassing mercy, as displayed extravagantly on the cross. I can learn to recognize, identify, and lift up moments, actions, people stories that contradict the ways in which the world says no to life.

In our church here in Lake Placid, I’ve witnessed an action that qualifies as star thrower material. A man in our community was recently released from an 18 year prison stint. He’s only 39 now and all his twenties and most of his thirties were spent behind bars. The world would call him a loser, and not many would give you a plug nickel for his future. But the congregation of First Baptist Church, Lake Placid, and the Highlands County community reached out to Sammy. Even though they knew he was convicted of armed robbery on 45 banks, someone in this county offered him a job managing a tire store. He cried when they gave him the job. I heard him say recently, “If it wasn’t for the love of this church, I’d be back in prison.” Jesus saw that Sammy’s life was worth redeeming, but without a community to act out that love, he would have been left to climb the hill back into society all alone. It would have been a long climb.

We live in a world that progressively says no to life. I want my life to contradict that trend. I think this year I’d like to be a star thrower.

God, show me people this year that are like starfish lying on the beach. Show me which ones to reach out to. I can’t help them all, but I can help some. I want You to lead me or my unsanctified mercy will get me in trouble. I think it’s about time I find more ways to say Yes to this beautiful life you’ve offered me.

How about you?

Leaning Gently into Christmas... how to live the contradictions

posted December 16, 2009

Once again we drag out the boxes, put up Christmas, and lean into the loveliest of seasons. This time last year I was nursing a shredded finger and scolding myself for being driven by self-imposed demands of putting up the decorations. It’s all so different this year.

It took me all of an hour and a half to decorate the entire house and yard. And it looks simply wonderful – “simple” being the key word here. The tree looks like it came right out of the north woods and is a relative of Charlie Brown’s own primitive evergreen. It has nothing on it but tiny white lights and a lighted star on top that Bob found in the attic when we were moving in to this house. I recognized it right away. It came from Miami and was the star on top of our tree when I was a child. It still lights up. Imagine that! I love it.

What to do for Christmas!? We’re so programmed to 15 lavishly wrapped gifts piled up for each person. I wonder how many of those gifts they remember and can name today? In fact, if I asked each of my family to share their favorite Christmas memory, I doubt it would have anything to do with all those presents.

And by the way, where’s the “peace on earth, good will to men”? Turn on the evening news for just five minutes and you’ll hear any assortment of horrific things people do to each other. Someone just straps bombs to himself and calmly walks over to a school bus and blows up 18 beautiful children. A father loads his pistol and demolishes his whole family. Our nation faces its most serious challenges since the Civil War and our friends have lost their homes and jobs.

Doesn’t it seem like God contradicts His own word sometimes? He is a maddening mystery. Life is no more than a riddle, a battle and a very long and hard journey. We take note of the violence all around and our hearts cry out, Why? And the silence seems to say, Because it just is. Our world is broken; the original plan shattered. Let’s face it, nothing has really made sense since then. We can’t explain it and we sure can’t control it.

But…wait a minute! Maybe Christmas is just a paradox and we’re missing the whole point. First of all, compare the simplicity of the first Christmas to the hoopla we attempt in our holiday celebrations. We’re a bit upside down, wouldn’t you say? I mean, what kind of food do you think Joseph and Mary ate on the first Christmas day? Braised lamb chops with a Port wine reduction? Wassail spiked with bourbon? What kind of aromatherapy did they use in the barn? Winter Forest room spray with essential oils?

Come to think of it, we’d rather not imagine what they ate or smelled. It might ruin the scene we’ve pictured for so long. The paradox is that Jesus came in a simple setting. No fanfare. No extravaganza. God broke through somehow. The hopes and fears of all the world collided in that scruffy manger. He was just Present – there in that beautiful peaceful moment of truth. I’ve decided that’s what I want too. To taste the wonder, to drink in amazement of what God did that night.

Peace is a Person who is never away from us. He will be there when we sit around the firepit under a canopy of tropical trees on Christmas night and share our favorite Christmas memories with each other. He’ll be standing just beyond the giant bougainvillea grinning when I turn to one of my grown children and say, “You know what I love most about you?...”

And in the reflected firelight of their faces I will see that life can be lived with Presence – here and now, open, available and immediate. With a little bit of grace, that’s how I’ll spend Christmas.

Gift Suggestion May I humbly suggest that if you are still looking for gift ideas you consider sending a copy of Thresholds and Passages? For $17 (shipping included) I will ship directly to the person(s) of your choice in time for Christmas. You can place your order by contacting me at Cathee@SacredThirst.com.

An Enchanted Place

Posted November 8, 2009

Then my people will live in a peaceful habitation,
And in secure dwellings and in undisturbed resting places…
Isaiah 32:18 NAS

I clean and polish and shine it for the new owner, maybe doing some self-imposed penance for having to let it go.  I watch the westering sun slant through the French doors and find myself welling up, not wanting to carry out the final act—to lock the door and walk away. I drive from the glass-green house for the last time.

Did you know you can feel a house through the pores of your skin? That a house can have a presence, woven into the cloth of your being? Maybe not every house, but definitely some houses. 5601 was like that.

Was it an idol? I don’t think so. It was a gift. A gift we shared with everyone we could cram inside those lovely walls. We celebrated new brides, soon-to-be-born little ones, and those who preceded us in death. We entertained dignitaries from the Kingdom of God – from across the pond and all points in between. We used that house and relished the idea that we could. It never seemed to mind and would smile every time we announced a new gathering.

Around us there are many who have lost their houses. Should I be talking about this on the world-wide web, for heaven’s sake? Don’t I have any sense of shame or privacy? I guess not. Mother always said I wore my heart on my sleeve for the whole freakin’ world to see. I guess I do, and I don’t have any shame about this. Could we have done things differently? Of course. Which of us can’t say that about most anything in our lives?

Some have said God is getting His kids out of debt. There may be some truth to that. We’ve been instructed along those lines for years and ignored the warnings. We’d get to it tomorrow. Well – hey! It’s tomorrow. He did it for us maybe. Because He saw how weak we are. No sense at all. Flying by the seat of our pants most of the time. And that’s not so bad, is it? If you are literally flying by the seat of your pants it means something much bigger than you is carrying you.

Last summer I was looking for a ball the kids had thrown into the trees and as I searched through the foliage at the front of our four acres I found myself in a circle of cypress trees. I had just learned about redwoods that  summer – how they form natural rings of trees that sprout from seeds dispersed during a fire—and that they are affectionately called Fairy Rings. Circles of any kind are held sacred by many cultures and thus the magic of a fairy ring.

Okay! Now you’re sure I’ve flipped out. But hang with me a bit and hear me out. I was captivated by that circle of trees and set about forming it into a private secret garden. It had a natural bed of thick cypress needles which had fallen over years and I began to plant low crotons, bromeliads, and large begonias within the circle. I hung a near-dead fern in one of the trees with low branches and it thrived almost overnight in that dimly-lit, moist environment. I placed four chairs in there, a fire pit, a birdbath and some stone garden art. Then I stood back and grinned.  It was my own enchanted place.

I will miss that secret spot and I will often think of the beauty of my house. But I have a home, not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. Home is where my heart is and my heart isn’t residing within four walls of any house.

I like the words enchanted, magical, haunting but I do not practice the occult. I believe my home is in Christ and in Him I am rooted and grounded and settled in love. But that doesn’t make me a religious fanatic. I’m just one of those crazy Christ-followers, willing to go here and there as He leads.

It reminds me of the last chapter in Winnie the Pooh (not the Disney version but the original masterpiece by A. A. Milne) which is titled In Which Christopher Robin and Pooh Come to an Enchanted Place and We Leave Them There. Christopher Robin is growing up, as all boys do, and knows the time is near when he must leave his silly old bear behind. But he is reluctant to go, and takes Pooh up to a place on the top of the forest called Galleon’s Lap where there are 63 trees in a circle. Here he talks of “this and that” with his long-time pal. With difficulty Christopher Robin tells Pooh he won’t be doing “nothing” with him anymore because “they” won’t allow it.  He asks Pooh if he’ll still come up here once in awhile and then says

“Pooh, promise you won’t forget about me, ever. Not even when I’m a hundred.”
Pooh thought for a little.
“How old will I be then?”
“Ninety-nine.”
Pooh nodded.
“I promise,” he said.

That is how I feel about 5601. I will never forget it, ever. Nor my enchanted place among the trees. But I’m on my way to higher ground. Some people are afraid of flying. I’m never afraid – more astonished that we get off the ground and then exhilarated to be carried on the wind, high over the cities, looking down from a new perspective.

Sorta like flying with a Wild Goose, wouldn’t ya say?

What About Bob?

posted September 16, 2009

Judi and I walked from downtown Miami on a January day. It wasn’t an inordinately long walk, but it wasn’t a short one either. We giggled at passersby who blew their horns at us – two beauties oblivious of ourselves but high on life. Our laughter and silly teenage gossip carried us effortlessly down the sidewalks to her home. Or would have until a white 1959 Pontiac Bonneville slowed and pulled toward the curb. The driver leaned his long frame forward so we could see his face—smiling blue eyes, crewcut sharp and neat, white tee-shirt and dark Levis speaking of a man home from work and freshly bathed—and said in a deep resonant voice, “Hi Judi. Can I give you girls a lift home?”

“Who is it?”I whispered. Deftly, from one side of her mouth she said, “Bob Poulsen, my neighbor” while almost simultaneously she answered him, “Sure, Bob. Thanks.”

We slid across blue leather seats that seemed ten feet wide, Judi in the middle, me riding shotgun. The windows were down, our hair blowing in the coolness of a Miami winter, the scent of Old Spice drifting my way, capturing my heart.

I knew who Bob Poulsen was. I met him when I was in fifth grade when another neighbor girl and her mother invited me to walk to his house. The two mothers worked at the bakery together. It was an unsettling experience as I recall. Three tall and imposing Poulsen brothers milling about. I sat quietly on the sofa, somewhat intimidated, until it was time to leave. How was I to know then that I’d come to adore being tucked under the arm of a guy whose very size made me feel safe?

Through the next years, I heard his name from time to time, often linked with the “bad boys” of Pizza Palace and gave it no more thought than my grades for the semester. My only care was having fun with my girlfriends and getting out of the house one more night that week.

Things changed that January day. I saw the person, the 6’4” leanness of him, his boyish grin, his blue eyes. At Judi’s house, we hopped out and thanked him. After that day I began to run into Bob everywhere I went. He was at a Valentine’s Banquet at my church, at the Palace after choir practice, at the Hostess Formal my junior year in high school. Some destiny had begun to move us toward each other.

As I thought about what to write this month, it struck me with surprise that I’ve never written about my husband. What about Bob? What about the Bullet? What about “The Marshal”?

There are nights I lay still in our bed, moonlight pouring over the white comforter like liquid pearls. I listen to him breathe and think how blessed I have been all these years to have a man, this tall man, who loves me so. I think about what lies beneath the surface of a marriage that no one will ever know. The circumstances, tests, disappointments, glories and joys – all 46 years of them - that glue us into one flesh. I often find his hand in the dark and just grasp it. Even in his sleep he squeezes back. It’s instinct.

In a few days we’ll celebrate our anniversary – September 21, 1963. I wouldn’t change the path we’ve traveled because it’s brought us to this present crook in the road – a place where we almost share the same skin. This is our love story - written in grace and kissed with mercy.

What is love? Is it anything more than caring about someone else more than myself? Is it greater than baking a fresh apple cake and seeing the grin on his face? Is it reading in the same room for an hour and not needing to speak to each other? After this many years we are as comfortable as old bathrobes and almost as wrinkly.

I love you, Bob Poulsen. You have been to me a lighthouse in the dark night and my anchor in the storms. In you, as in Christ, I am secure and have come to know my true self. Happy Anniversary, my sweetheart. I love you more than all the numbers in the world.

A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day*

posted August 12, 2009

That’s the kind of day I had Saturday. I just felt bluesy, scattered and a bit depressed. A digression from my usual buoyant, busy self. A fog hovered over my heart sparked by family issues with grown children, and the soon-approaching short sale of our home—even the political climate got to me. I’m not whining here as much as I’m seeking to be honest and to blog with transparency. I don’t pretend my life is perfect.

The sermon Sunday morning touched on the topic of surrender, and while it wasn’t at all speaking directly to my personal struggles, that nagging little voice of the Spirit got through the blue  funk. Here’s what He said:

“Cathee, you are resisting the life you have right now, and that resistance is eating up your energy and joy. If you will accept what is in your path, surrender to what your life is in this moment, I’ll show you something.”

Those thoughts jarred me out of the fog just enough to help me see some things – things I didn’t really want to see. Things I needed to see.

My usual M.O. for dealing with heaviness is to get busy with something. That’s not entirely a bad thing to do. It’s a lot better than getting high or sleeping around. Of course, I’ve had my addictions too – retail therapy, someone called it the other day. Anything but be still and face the music – just me and God.

I’m reminded of a line from Oriah Mountain Dreamer’s book, The Invitation.

“I want to know if you can sit with pain – mine or your own
without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it.”

That’s what I’ve never been very good at. I run as fast as I can from it. So when the Lord said, “Stop resisting and accept,” it was much the same as asking me to jump off the high dive into an empty swimming pool.

Nevertheless, I said a half-hearted “Okay, I’ll try,” to the Hound of Heaven and asked for grace to accept some things I have no ability to change. Peace was slow in coming but I felt better by nightfall.

Birdsong and Solitude

The real breakthrough came this morning though. Here’s what I wrote in my journal:

After four months, why is this the first morning I drag a chair and collection of books, pens, and journal down by the lake to read and pray? It feels right to be here under the canopy of maple leaves with fish jumping and a turtle head or two cautiously raised for a breath of air. I’m reminded to do the same – “Breathe, Cathee. Drink in the morning and be still before this moment.” I feel tensions melting away, my soul quieted by birdsong and solitude. His presence. His peace. His everlasting love.

Across the lake the Citrus Tower stands tall and straight. I want to stand like that in these times of dark confusion, times when I don’t have answers to hardly anything. I want to at least accept and not resist the crucible that comes to test my faith and mold me into His image. Increase my staying power, Lord. I’ll trust you to fix the rest.

Today is another chance to live out our destiny. He is right here beside us, in us, working through us to change the atmosphere around us. Like ball games – we win some, lose some, and some get rained out. We usually get to play those over again. It’s all grace!

Remember every road that God led you on … pushing you to your limits, testing you so that he would know what you were made of, whether you would keep his commandments or not. He put you through hard times. He made you go hungry. Then he fed you with manna…so you would learn that men and women don't live by bread only; we live by every word that comes from God's mouth.
Deuteronomy 8:2-3 MSG

*Title taken from In a Pit with a Lion on a Snowy Day, by Matt Batterson.