What Spirit requires

I’ve never been a Bible thumper, not even much of a reader, but Mathew 7:7-8 keeps leaping out at me:

"Ask, and it will be given you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you. For everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened."

From everywhere.  Weekend before last, it cropped up in a retreat, then bled into the next day’s worship, as we were discerning a congregational calling. Today it was the basis for a daily Thomas Keating meditation and I have yet to spend the time in lectio divina (slow, sacred reading) with it I would like.

Before then, my prayerful partner and Quaker friend, Linda, cited that passage years ago. I’d known it, but coming from her heart and lips it became unrote and grew new meaning. I don’t even remember the circumstance, just that it was vividly important.

Almost ten years ago– can it really have been that long ago? – I followed a calling to Philadelphia to attend the two-year School of the Spirit for spiritual-nurture ministry. We met a week at a time, four times a year. The first session was held at Pendle Hill, a renowned Quaker retreat and study community. Leaving a toddler and first-grader behind, I flew off to uncharted territory, meeting two women with whom I would be close on the shuttle to Pendle Hill from the airport. We arrived and were welcomed into a small, old, quirky building and asked to choose a room. Jan, one of the women, said she wanted the one she always took and Marty chose a cozy twin room on the second floor. I selected the “family” room because there was space to do yoga, a sunny porch and it kept the family I had left behind closer. That first night I fell in and out of sleep, anxious, excited and uncertain. My door had no lock, I remembered as I heard newcomers climb to their room on the stairs located at the other side. I dreamt that I was asked to stay awake all night and guard the door and wondered why I had received the unlocked room. Somehow, in the midst of the tumultuous night and the lengthy dream, Jesus let me know it was a sign that my heart was unlocked. That I had knocked and the door to my heart had been opened.

At a reunion retreat several years later, I was assigned the smallest room and, again, Jesus whispered the reason: “because it’s closest to the worship space.”

I’ve got the knocking, door opening and seeking parts down. Guess I’m currently working on the “Ask, and it will be given you.” One of my lessons is to learn to ask and receive. I find it excruciatingly difficult to ask for things for myself; others, no problem. Our Quaker minister (we consider everyone a minister, she happens to be paid and calls herself a public Friend) kindly pointed out that I can’t seem to ask for myself even when people want to give. “You are depriving them of being able to give.” That hit home. As I was preparing a retreat on naming gifts last fall, I came across the idea that a gift is not a gift unless it is received.

I have no trouble giving; it’s my nature and I have identified it (helper) as my enneagram type. I do understand that too much of my identity is wrapped up in that mask, so asking is BIG for me; big as in hard to do and big as in deeply necessary.

Our minister has encouraged me to seek funding from my Quaker Meeting for my non-profit arts exploration for at-risk kids. I did screw up the courage to ask for a summer salary, which they generously supplied.

And, I can’t tell you how many times God has answered my prayers, even just today. Fear is what interferes with my ability to humanly seek help. Fear that I will be rejected, judged and viewed as less than because I can’t take care of everything myself. Ego has had me trapped, but Spirit frees me and tells me otherwise.

• What message(s) have been swirling in my heart?

• How do they stretch me?

• How have I possibly resisted as a result?

• What happens when I have asked, searched and knocked?

• What is Spirit trying to free me of?

I can give

until I bleed,

then rebound

and give

some more

it’s who

I have always

been

how I have

built my

identity

and yet

I am so

reluctant

to ask and

receive

for fear

it shows

my vulnerability,

which is what

Spirit requires

Listen to this post:

Abandoned Shell

Listen to this post:

The day did not start out well. I awoke tired and hot, remembering that I could not get the internet running last night and I didn’t have a current pool key. So much for working and swimming. Alone in the woods. Perhaps I don’t need my computer or the pool today.


I pry a kindly woman from her condo, who offers to show me how to open the pool gate: maybe I didn’t turn the oversized key just half way. I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t budge, but am grateful someone wants to help. As we leave the pavement for the grass, as she walks her small, fluffy dog to the pool and I follow, I spy an abandoned turtle shell by the dumpster. “Hey, think I could take this for my kids?” I ask knowing full well I intend it for myself. “Sure,” the woman says with a smile.


Not a half hour earlier I was writing about turtle shells, trying to craft the tightest summary of my book Turtlebox Stories I could manage.


About seven years ago when discerning how best to present a research paper for a session of School of the Spirit* I was attending, I hit on the idea of a turtlebox [yes one word]. It had an interesting ring because the ear is more accustomed to hearing box turtle. I had collected, mostly in person, the precious stories of people’s experiences of the divine and a boring, old paper did not seem appropriate for something so special. These personal and sacred stories cried for a container that matched their uniqueness. Thus, the turlebox was hatched.


I used a nine-a-and-half-inch, oval paper-mache´ box as the basis, painting it a myriad of bright colors. I knew the lid would be even more special: the shape of a turtle’s shell, head and legs, also painted, but with layers of pastel, loved trinkets, Mod-Podge and my signature squiggles. The top was attached to the first turtlebox with Velcro, to make sure it would be protected in flight. As it sat in our large classroom at the convent, it drew a lot of attention.


So much so, that when I returned four months later, the mother turtle was accompanied by 25 babies: one for each classmate and instructor. Honestly, making those that summer was my sanity. It was a dark time and the project lifted me from that place.


Somewhere along the way, a friend clued me into what Native Americans believe about turtles: that they are the meeting place between Heaven and Earth. The shell is the dome, pointing upward and the body touches earth. I had no idea, yet was immediately struck with the “rightness” to hold those stories. Eastern cultures also share that view.


So here I am NOW with a real turtle shell to examine, admire and wonder what happened to its owner. Somehow, it feels like a gift for me. A tangible sign that I need to forge ahead with the book that’s been 12 years in the making [ok, I wasn’t so aware that’s what was happening the whole time] and never seems to get done. Maybe it’s time for me to take off my shell and share it, not hord and refine the life out of it.


And all I could think of this morning was being unplugged and not wet. This is far better!


• What made me cranky today?
• Did I let that cloud any gifts or thoughtfulness from others?
• If I didn’t, what shifted in me?
• If I did, how can I shift myself next time?
• What stories lay in my personal turtlebox?


PS My key did not work, but the kindly woman is letting me use hers and I am still struggling to get inet access; this will get posted when I do …


*School of the Spirit is a two-year Quaker program of spiritual-nurture ministry that, at the time, met four times a year. For more information, visit www.quakerinfo.com/sos.shtml


You can see the stories I collected at www.turtleboxstories.com. I am re-vamping the site to make it more interactive, but you can still read the current offerings.

Surgery of surrender

Sunday on my drive to Meeting (church), this phrase ran through my head seemingly out of nowhere:

Cut it loose

It's still with me and I wondered if it was something I was meant to say in worship, but it didn't feel like it then.

Tuesday and Wednesday, I hosted an overnight guest, a very good friend from my School of the Spirit days. That's when I spent two years commuting to Philadelphia while participating in a Quaker program of spiritual-nurture ministry. A chunk of that time was spent in an assigned small group charged with developing deep community. Mine was totally dysfunctional for a variety of reasons and a VERY difficult period in my life. However, I learned that sometimes the nurture is not where you expect, but it IS there. This overnight visitor was one of the people who nurtured me outside of that group. She and several others kept me going when the small community was draining, even damaging, at times. I have reached a place where I am grateful to that group and carry each person fondly. There were great lessons from that trying experience. I have cut the resentment loose.

My traveling friend, as she often does, challenged me with a workshop she'd just led on discipleship. I asked her what that meant and she said letting God direct your life. Surrender, I thought. I keep hearing the same thing from my mother, who says it's easier to put that into practice as we age and gain a different perspective.

Isn't that the same as cutting it loose, I  ruminate.

Here's what I think I am being called to cut loose:
– Any expectation (mine or others') about publishing my book and just charging ahead.
– Attempts to convince others this IS my ministry. I KNOW it is and that's enough.
– Comparisons to anything else I or others may make. This book is uniquely MY message and one Spirit drives me to share.
– Worry PERIOD.
– Self doubt.
– Things and people that are not energyzing.
– Anything that's not creative or joyful.
– Feeling obligated to say yes.
– My need to control.
– My need to feel in charge.
– Being anything other than who I am.
– Ego.

Wow, that lists calls for an awfully large knife and I know of only one place that's available: surrender. I pray I can tolerate losing the burdens I heap on myself in this surgery.


• What am I called to cut loose in my life?
• What do I need for that?
 • How can I be prayerful and ask others to support me?
• What will my life look like after that emptying?
• What can that free me for?




I carry
so much


it bears
down
on me


sucking
the
joy


robbing
my
energy


all
because
I have
invested
so much


in
a persona,
a label,
a mask

that is
no longer
mine
to wear

I ache
to discover
the freedom
of  what lies
beneath

Otherness

Ever felt like other? I know I have and, I suspect, we all do at some time or another.

A couple of years ago, I was introduced to the topic of otherness. I thought it strange, at first, but it has really grown on me. I learned [formally and experientially] about  it during my two-years at School of the Spirit, a Quaker program for spiritual nurture. I felt like other there for the first year. I am certain I was not alone.

The first session, I had a big room all to myself and, at times, the spaciousness felt very lonely. The door didn't lock and the guys staying upstairs passed right by my room. I grew quite fond of "those guys" over the two years, but at first they were just footsteps. I had a dream one of the early nights about staying up, guarding the door and keeping it cracked with the message that my door was not lockable because my heart was not locked.

At the end of the first year, I made a terrible mistake. I knew I'd be leaving again for Philadelphia in a week; my paper was done and only needed a final printing. My childcare was planned and all I really had to do was pack. I noticed airfare was on sale for the following session, so I decided to check dates and prices. I retrieved my school calendar only to discover, much to my utter horror, that the current class was staring precisely at the hour I sat at my computer planning ahead.

My heart sunk, I silently burst into tears. What the %^$# had I been thinking? My reservation was booked for next week and had been for quite some time. My childcare was scheduled for next week and my mother was out of town this week.

I called my spouse in a panic. He responded: "Pack your bags, change your ticket, e-mail me your paper to print and I'll take care of the rest."

I needed someone to command me because I felt very dead at that moment.

You know when you dream that the worst thing possible is happening, well, this felt like it. I did as my husband kindly advised me and prayed like heck that night that I would sleep and not berate myself for being such an idiot. I felt I had lost everything and, only then, was able to ask for God's help.

I slept some, then drove to Dayton to board my re-arranged flight. During multiple delays, I shared a lunch with an older woman in whom I confided. She must've sensed my vulnerability. I called ahead to Philadelphia and said I'd be late, get there when I could and no one needed to call me back. Fortunately the wonderful woman eldering that session ignored me, leaving this message: "Cathy, no matter when you get here, I will be at the airport. Count on it." I really needed to hear that – even from a complete stranger.

When I arrived many hours late, we quickly found each other and embraced long and hard. She whisked me to the retreat center and suggested I unpack, get myself together from the journey, then re-join the group for worship. Wise words. Unpacking, I was amazed that I had only forgotten one item: dental floss. Oh well, I thought. As I opened the top drawer to put away underwear and PJs, awaiting me was an unopened package of floss alone in the drawer. That immediate message was "Trust and I will give you what you need. WOW, I still shudder thinking about it five years later.

I settled, washed my face and anxiously trod the steps wondering if anyone had noticed my extreme tardiness. I was fiercely greeted with bear hug after bear hug, told how much I was missed, the prayers for safe travel that had been spoken and how it just didn't seem the same.

This was God's way of letting me know I did, indeed, belong to this community -- even if I had my doubts. I realized that while my timing was whacked, the timing was at it should have been, otherwise, I would never have known I was missed and valued. Affirmation that I so desperately needed.

What surprised most of my School-of-the-Spirit buddies was how I'd had my paper done a week ahead of what I thought was the deadline. That was the last thing on my mind and heart.


• When have I felt like other?
• Why?
• What have I learned about making others feel less so?
• When I have felt most alone in community, how have I let God in?
• Willingly or only when I was desperate enough?

Cloud of unknowing: anything but boring

I have difficulty with the "m" word – you know, ministry.

I never thought it applied to me until I wanted to attend something called School of the Spirit, a two-year Quaker program for spiritual-nurture ministry. Training in ministry.

Ministers, for me, had always been above, more educated, more spiritual, more directly in tune with God, more sure of themselves, more certain in life. Maybe even a little boring. Something I was not. Even in my Quaker Meeting where I knew everyone was a minister, I still felt outside of the concept.

When I had my first clearness committee within my meeting for School of the Spirit, that word – in BIG, capital letters – stared me down. There was no escaping. I had to deal with it. I have reconciled that as I have accepted my gifts and know that I use them as ministry. I think the egalitarianism of Quakerism also helped me reach this place. Acknowledging it does not place me below or above anyone. It's just who I am and what I do. Honestly, it always has been.

I also think discovering Goddess and the Sacred Feminine within has changed my attitude. I have certainly reshaped my image of a minister to include myself.

The next piece of this journey is undertaking my real work, that which feeds all myselves, including the spiritual and creative. It is part of reaching wholeness and recognizing that my ministry can also be my work, from which I draw income.

Perhaps as I became a mother at a later age, I laid down too much. Or maybe, it's just that it's time to reclaim some of those pieces and establish boundaries and priorities, including that my gifts do have value. I am transforming my believe that only in another world I would be paid to do what I love to finding how to earn a living doing what I love here and now ... because what I love is my passion. What I was meant to do.

A current piece of that is beginning my meeting's new encouraging-and-supporting-ministry process. I really have to share this call to ministry somewhere [beyond me and God]. Not just the ministry, but holding it. I feel it has grown bigger than I can or should handle. I have been trying to figure that out on my own, but I think group discernment is the answer right now.

I have to confess that I am also a little afraid ... afraid of showing off what I have been birthing for fear of criticism and rejection. Fear that some may say I misunderstood God's call.

This blog has been a step in that direction. A testing of the waters. And, although I wish I could say I was so certain that I needed no acknowledgment, I am very grateful for the feedback and support right here.

It reminds me of something I recently spoke in worship when several people struggling spiritually were on my heart: "Do we truly live in the Spirit and, if we do, how do we know?"

The answer that came back was: "We don't; we live in a cloud of unknowing."

Hey, if that doesn't confirm I have a ministry, I don't know what does!

• Have I ever thought about myself as a minister?
• What are my gifts?
• How have I viewed ministers and how could I sculpt a new vision that includes myself?
• Can I help others do the same? Maybe even in just doing it myself?


I appear to myself
as the little girl always
struggling, thinking she
gets it because she feels it
so strongly

but never quite sure

only sure that she
has to keep struggling,
recording that journey
and sharing it

maybe that's enough