Quiet giant

Listen to post:

I want to rail ... rail that someone I consider a rock is suffering. I just don't understand this kind of pain and why it's inflicted so randomly. The phrase shit happens comes to mind, but that does not begin to cover the scope of a devastating cancer diagnosis, stents that break loose creating interior havoc, chemo that wipes everything out and a rushed surgery when a body is already under siege.

It's especially incomprehensible because it's Fred: Fred the treasurer; Fred the cautious and steady one; Fred the accountable one; Fred whom you can count on; Fred who rebuilt houses after Katrina; Fred who has always accepted my wild child Lily for who she is; Fred who makes sure the meeting [church] grounds and building are in good repair, safe and a respite from the world; organized, controlled Fred, who seems worlds away from my messiness, yet always manages to support my half-baked endeavors. We are like night and day. He's the on-the-ball numbers guy and I am the off-the-wall artsy-fartsy one, always struggling to discern my path through the haze of chronic pain. Now Fred has far more than a haze and yet, I think he saw me for who I am ... through all of the clutter.

He and Mary Ellen, his wife and our longtime clerk, have just always been there: when I applied for a scholarship to attend a far-away, two-year spiritual nurture program with young children; when we were purchasing new windows for the meetinghouse and I wondered if we could also fund ministry; when we wrestled with a formal pastor search after God had given us a gift; when I felt called to attend a Quaker writing conference and he deemed it an emergency, loosening emergency funds ...

I don't remember a time when they weren't there. Except for now, when they are at the hospital and noticeably absent from worship.

Tuesday, when then nurture group I lead met to explore a "journey to the center" with candles leading the way to a sacred circle, we placed both of them there in prayer the entire hour-and-a-half. We hoped to wrap them in God's embrace, edging the grip of disease.

I asked our minister when she visited Fred to tell him Lily was praying for him and she reported that he squeezed her hand at that message. Lily and Fred have developed an interesting relationship. As she has outwardly manifested various growth phases in her manner of dress (loud, disheveled and mismatched), Fred has always positively commented on her choices, encouraging her creativity and self expression. In his loving teasing of my wild child and constant support of my wild leadings, his BIG heart shows on his sleeve.

My prayer is that God is holding his heart and hand right now.

• Who's the Fred in your life?
• When have you found a cheerleader who seems so polarly opposite to you?

• What riches have the quiet supporters in your life provided?

• How/where do you find God in suffering?
• What prayer does that spark?



slowly the intimidation of
the quiet giant melted


he tended to physical and
financial matters of the meeting


I, to the spiritual and nuturance


he seemed controlled and wise,
me, all over the map, but learning by experience


and then we met in a kinda funny place:
somewhere between recognizing a creative kid for who she is
and a mother trying to regain her confidence and calling


he's been the rock, the foundation, that has freed me to
creativity and ministry

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

Trust and I get just what I need

Why do money issues make me crazy? I consider it a necessarily evil tool and read recently that our financial system was established centuries ago as a means for English kings to finance war. I’m no royalty, live in modern times and have no taste for war (who really does?). No wonder.

It’s funny, I have a plethora of ideas for things to do with my life, but virtually none involves MAKING money, most are "helping" kinds of activities. Sometimes I wish I were independently wealthy, but I am sure that has its drawbacks and hardships (or, at least, that’s what I tell myself).

Lately, I have trouble with the idea of stockpiling: saving for college, retirement, a rainy day ... whatever. I’ve done it, but am re-evaluating if it really has any integrity or meshes with my beliefs of what Spirit calls me to do. I know the cultural wisdom says to save (not sure too many have listened given our current economic status), but the cultural wisdom spews a lot that isn’t very wise.

There’s an interesting young man, Shane Claiborne [www.thesimpleway.org], whose middle-class mindset was vastly altered after spending time with Mother Teresa in Calcutta’s slums.* He’s since traveled to some of the most troubled spots in the world and come home to Philadelphia to live with the poorest of the poor. All because he feels that’s where and how God call us. He wrote about a health alliance in Ohio of people, regular people, who pool their money and pay each others' bills and it works. Without health insurance. Imagine!

I have always detested the idea of paying for something that may never happen, but have bought into that over the years. Insurance is a vast money-sucking hole and I can’t look at what I could have done with that money or it would make me sick. It already has (the crazy part, I wrote about earlier).

When I get crazy, I have to remind myself to practice gratitude and remember I have always had enough and just what I needed (usually more.)

One of the most broken points in my life happened when I discovered I was supposed to be in Philadelphia at School of the Spirit on that day and not a week later, when I had made plane reservations, arranged childcare, etc. I had no option but to totally surrender.

Thankfully, my wonderful spouse helped me re-book the ticket and got me on my way the next day. It was whirlwind preparations as I had a major paper due; somehow I had finished it early. There were three flight delays in getting there and when I finally reached the comfort of my room, I realized the only thing I had forgotten was dental floss. “Oh, well,” I thought. I opened the drawer to put my clothes away to discover one, unopened package of mint (my favorite) floss just lying there. And this thought rang through my head:

“Trust and I will give you what you need.”

Why do I need a constant reminder of that?

• What are my "hot" buttons?
• Can I reconcile them with how Spirit calls me to live?
• Who are examples of how I desire to live?
• How do I follow those in my own life?
• Can I remember a time I truly trusted Spirit?




*I love Shane's story about how he made those arrangements. He wrote a letter, then waited and waited, finally getting in touch with a nun in the Bronx, who gave him a number and asked that he not share it. He made a point to place the call at a decent time in India, only to be answered by a whispy voice. It was not the grand greeting he had anticipated. He explained that he and a group wanted to speak with the Sisters of Charity or Mother Teresa about an internship. That voice WAS Mother Teresa and she simply said, “Come.”