Have I been faithful?

The luxury of time to move and sort, pitch and remember has been a gift. A gift of solitude and gratitude.

After a rambunctious and unusual Artsy Fartsy session Saturday, I am taking down the big stuff, shifting packed boxes into moving positions, no matter where that happens to be in the room, and very much aware that the room is disappearing. I didn't want the kids to witness this piece. I'd packed most of m personal possessions and things tucked and squirreled away, leaving the objects that have come to define my studio and to which the children have responded: the meditation tent, theater seats, art tables and Ikea stools, my desk, posters and their art on the walls, streams of colorful fabric draped from the ceiling and the full bulletin boards.

Our memory flag created for leaving Milford Main

Today, however, the gloves are off and my mission is to smartly pack, move and store. I am relentless in pitching and recycling and may become more obsessive as I get everything into a box and see how much there truly is. I am already figuring a two-person system of getting my large garbage bags into the dumpster: having one outside on the ground below a second-story window and the other tossing down the bag, which should land only a few feet from the trash bin. The recyclable I may have to transport somewhere else.

I've been darting back and forth, packing this and that, adding to unfilled boxes with similar items. Before desiring a break to blog, I carefully folded 15 man-sized striped and plaid shirts the kids have used for paint smocks. It was almost like putting away my daughter's baby clothes. I could picture the kids in these enormous shirts and unrolled several sets of sleeves.

As I was rolling up posters, I opened what I thought to be an empty mailing tube. Tucked inside was a poster of two children holding hands and the caption: Companionship: those who bring sunshine to the lives of others, cannot keep it from themselves.

It opened some emotions as I drifted back to 14 years ago and the wonderful Neighbor-to-Neighbor group I organized. That was a three-year stint just as Artsy Fartsy has been. And the Neighbor-to-Neirghbor still meets! All of the touching and personal thank-you notes on the back became an echo of what I needed to hear about Artsy Fartsy ... the words I don't actually hear from families, but know they carry:

"You're a jewel and an inspiration.

Thank you for all you do.

God bless your caring spirit,

Thank you for your energy and compassion.

Thank you for following your heart and getting us all together.

Thank you for your hard work and inspiration.

A big heartfelt thank you for initiating and following through with Neighbor to Neighbor."

Saturday was tough. After reminder post cards, phone calls and volunteer drivers, only three kids were out and about waiting. I knocked on many unanswered doors and was told kids had other plans. We eventually ended up with 9. We've had as many as 17 at once. I really wanted them to be here to say goodbye. That was my projection.

One dad asked if I'd stop by and pick up a pizza for his wife. "No, David," I replied not very graciously. "After I drop your boys off at the school, I need to head up to Oakbrook for kids, run back and run the program." Little Caesar's is a five minute walk for him.

During our session, I pretended not to hear one of the girls say she and her friend needed a ride that night. She aimed it at me.

I was feeling under appreciated until I ran across the poster and those words that helped me see they are as appropriate now as then. Thank you, Spirit!

• How do I handle times of transition?

• Can I find reflective moments within those times?

• Can I find Spirit in the bittersweet space?

• When has Spirit provided something I desperately needed?

• How did I express my gratitude?

just because I

have spent time

transitioning,

I expected the

kids to want

that as well

to recognize that

this special

thing we've

been a part of

was changing

but, they're

just kids

struggling

in their

families

and to

survive

hardness

instead,

God sent

me a special

message,

whispered

years ago

yet in the

hearts of

those I serve

helping replace

my question of

"Have I been

successful" with

"Have I been

faithful?

Gratitude as game-changer

It was Tuesday, blogging day, and now it's Thursday and I'm still not certain I'm up to the task – rebounding from Saturday's community open house for Artsy Fartsy, the arts exploration I host for under-served neighborhood kids. Told myself, I could crash this week after many weeks of preparation and pushing.

Quietly, I am pleased. Pleased that I have not crashed as hard as I thought I would after months of planning and implementing. After long, full days, endless phone calls and to-do lists. After assigning jobs and delegating responsibilities. After being offered and accepting so much help. After  recognizing it was God who got me through.

I have not been this busy, well in this capacity [as the mother of two, I have to qualify that statement], in the 15 years I've had fibromyalgia instead of a full-time job. In a sense, I was mothering this project and the 13 middle schoolers in Artsy Fartsy.

I am bone-tired and achy. I skipped my regular Monday ritual of yoga, but have re-initiated my daily exercise regimen. Just now working up my studio routine, though I dipped in Tuesday to make a belly cast of my niece and her 38-week baby. However, Saturday after the event, I lingered long past when everyone left to re-group, unwind from the extreme extraversion this open house required and sink into the idea of what had transpired.

I poured over the guest book to get a handle on who attended and how they found out about us. Pretty enlightening, though intuitively I had a good sense of our visitors. And then, I unfolded 49 notes left in the basket at the center of the labyrinth. The hand-written sign encouraged those making it to the middle to leave a note of gratitude. There were lots people expressed thanks for:

• Joy and energy of young people
• My life and my neighborhood
• Health and family – that I have love in my life
• Family
• Stuffed animals and my dad
• Having good parents
• To be surrounded by family and friends who care about others
• Someone I can trust
• My kind loving husband and my beautiful, gentle, sweet children
• To have a world
• My family and pets because I wakeup and know I am safe and sound
• Health and companionship
• Family and friends, my artistic ability and my Xbox
• This good neighborhood
• Being so well off
• Random acts of kindness
• People who pay it forward
• All of God’s creation (plants/animals)
• Quiet, peaceful time when I can be creative
• Grandkids
• Pie
• Live and let live. Love and be loved.
• I walk this labyrinth in honor of my daughter
• Peace: inner, outer, throughout
• Everything
• This special place
• Doctor Who
• Mom, dad, dog, life
• The ability to love
• Oneness

A good many seemed like love letters to Artsy Fartsy. Those were totally unexpected; they really blew me away. 

• I am grateful that Jehovah God is with Cathy and this great group of kids.
• I am thankful for my wonderful family and for people in our community who create beautiful programs like Artsy Fartsy.
• I am thankful for neighbors and what a great gift they have given to the community.

It was a delightful surprise to know others see AF's impact the way I had hoped and prayed it would be. It lulled me out of the disappointment that half of my kids didn't show. Or that I missed my 200 visitors goal by about 80. That only one council person and one school board member attended. That people that said they would come, didn't. That, mostly, this was over.

I began to recognize how the five girls and one boy that had made it utterly rose to the occasion and shone as brightly as ever. That one woman with great connections delighted in one of the girls and, not only saw her potential, but seems to want to establish a relationship with her. That another's split, but full, family came to encourage her: mother and sister, father, grandparents and cousins. That one who began the program so shy, volunteered to demonstrate yoga and did not mind that her partner didn't make it. She also brought a thank-you note explaining how much AF meant to her:

Thank you for creating Artsy Fartsy. If you wouldn't have done that then I would't have learned a lot about Art. You have inspired me. I hope to be in this again. Thank you again.

And another, the only girl in a long line of unruly boys showed up with perfect hair and a smile to match.

How can I not smile and see what God's hands have wrought through me and so many others? It's so very humbling.

• How do I keep myself faithful to God's call?
• When do I know I have been?
• How do others encourage me?
• How does God show me the abundance in my life?
• Where do I discover love in my community, neighborhood, friends, family and myself?

Listen to this post:

Badges of survival

Him Kitty napping in the sun/Tad Barney

Soooo not the morning I expected, yet I think I was open to it. Open being the key word here. Maybe open and present.

I was jarringly awakened with my chest pounding. Thankfully, it was 5:40 am, much later than I had expected. My alarm was set for 6 and I soon heard the comforting sounds of my oldest closing the bathroom door, then flushing. It used to annoy me, now I embrace it.

I was reminded of Sunday in worship just how comforting my children have always been to me; not, of course, that that is their main function in life. They certainly have their imperfect moments, illiciting comments I’d rather not repeat here. When I ambled into worship, then, too, my chest was pounding. I asked God for peace in that hour. No sooner was it off my heart then I felt the whirlwind of nearby activity (my eyes were closed) settling as each of my daughters took a seat beside me – bookends. And I felt great and deep peace.

The residue of worship must still be with me as I lolled in bed another 15 minutes, sat up to gently stretch and realized I’d experienced a solid night’s sleep. A little more alert this morning, I descended the stairs, debating whether there was time to make coffee before I swept the kids to the bus and hit the pool. While I was measuring the coffee, the girls announced that the cat was having a “spaz” attack. By the time I could turn around to look, he was still and staring into space, his typical past-time at the ripe old age of 18. Then I noticed the puddles and my heart fluttered. I have been dreading this furry friend’s imminent end. He has weathered thick and thin with me. Three years ago we thought he was a gonner after surviving what we believe was a stroke. Him Kitty made a strong comeback: his constant circling to the right and occasional staring at the fridge, the only tell-tale signs.

I cleaned up the mess, grabbed an old towel and cuddled him in it. He purred, which signaled things were ok. I whisked the girls out the door and returned to Him Kitty napping in the bay window. Nothing unusual. Before heading to my studio, I asked my husband to bring up a litter box up in case the cat couldn’t manage the basement stairs. I was finally out the door when the unearthly distress cry cats make made me drop my wallet, keys and laptop.  My instinct was to return to the living room, but I had just checked that cat and the noise was outside. I looked and saw our other indoor cat staring out the porch door at our adopted outdoor cat wrestling in the bushes. “OMG, the groundhog’s got him,” I thought. I went closer and saw there was only one animal and no struggle. Patches was experiencing a seizure. Tad had seen it once before and almost gave him mouth-to-mouth. I spoke soothingly to Patches to let him know I was there and perched on the edge of the deck as his white-with-black body thrashed in the brush and branches. It broke my heart. I prayed and began to weep. He sensed me there and I spoke again, softly, telling him not to worry about me. A few long, excruciating minutes and he was up, at my hand nudging to be petted … as if business as usual. Except that my heart was ripped to shreds.

I have been struggling with my own resiliency only to witness the suffering of these two cats. It’s really made me ponder how our society treats usefulness. I instinctively knew to tend to these creatures, maybe only accompanying them as they suffered. God was responding through me and, perhaps, I complied because I was opened and present this morning. Maybe it was the worship experience or the fact I’ve been bumbling through a fibro flare-up and empathetic.

However, I am beginning to think it’s because I have been faithful in doing something my heart has desired for a VERY long time: offer spiritual-nurture classes in my studio. What I affectionately call my Turtlebox group. Our first three sessions have been on pain as teacher, opening to the Divine and deep connection. I can’t teach what I don’t know so, in prepping for these, I have explored all of those in myself and opened some wounds.

After a wonderfully long run of high energy and low pain – enough to get Artsy Farsty, a non-profit art exploration for under-served, local kids launched – I hit a blip and, I freely admit, sank into some self pity, whining and yelling at God.

Perhaps, if I take the example of these two cats, I can pick myself up and carry on. I may have a little pee on my tail or dirt on my coat, but I can look at those as badges of survival and carry their wisdom with me … out into the world.

• What has opened me recently?

• What affect do children and animals have in opening me?

• How have they been a comfort?

• What have they taught me?

• How can I carry their wisdom out into the world?

happily napping

in the sun,

circling only

to the right

or staring for

what seems like

forever at the fridge

I know my Him

Kitty is all right

when I cuddle

him and he purrs

It’s our signal

the constant

contact and

attention

from all

of us

jump-starts

his motor

doesn’t

Spirit do

the same

for me?

 Listen to this post:

Faint outline of grand design

Listen to post:

MESS/paint and pastel on paper 

WEDNESDAY: A transparent mess, that's what I told my shamanic counselor I was. He laughed, said no way, but that he liked the phrase so much he may borrow it. It's on his table and in his care that I feel that I can show up being that mess and not pretend anything else. It's as if my skin is clear, like a sausage casing, and everything inside is visible to all who take the time to look. Kind of like the invisible man or woman kits popular when I was a kid.

Interestingly, the visible insides are a myriad of shapes and bright colors: (at least in my vision) a chaotic, joyful tangle of sorts. I have been thinking how to represent this visually for a long time and hope to when the right concept strikes.

...

FRIDAY: I am sitting in the nose-bleed section of a Barry Manilow concert certain that this is a dream and I did not consciously buy these tickets and inflict this on my family. The audience makes me feel like a teenager and Barry's gaunt appearance scares me into thinking that if this is not relevant to me, how the heck will it be relevant to my 14-year-old, who seems to be sleeping.

BURNING/pastel on paper

And then the skinny older man on the stage transforms or, maybe it is I who does. Something snaps and I see beyond the aging frame, into the heart of the entertainer. The voice grows stronger, the songs become familiar and I begin to know this person, who shares his story. Tales of growing up in the worst school in American, but being saved by joining the orchestra and of a grandfather who, weekly, walked his grandson to Times Square to ycreate a 25-cent record because he recognized the gift of music. I actually think I like this guy. Of course, I tell my teen, I wouldn't have been caught dead in college attending one of his concerts. So why did I this time?

Possibly because I got an e-mail tip on steeply discounted tickets or because I knew my girls had studied him in music, maybe it was because he's now a classic and there won't be many other opportunities or a myriad of other reasons. Doesn't really matter because there was ONE moment when God spoke very directly and deeply to me through this performance. The message was "if this skinny Jewish kid from Brooklyn can become world famous by using his gifts, then imagine what's possible in your life." Sure erases the pile of doubt I have been collecting.

...

CEASELESSLY/pastel on paper

SUNDAY: A wonderful young-adult Friend gave a powerful message [see link below] in worship filling me with all sorts of colorful images. She spoke of the faithfulness of a specific Monarch butterfly that, against, all odds, travels thousands of miles every year, crossing long stretches of water in a body that is less than aerodynamic for anything but soaring and catching a breeze. Ceaselessly, these creatures make their way to the Sierra Nevada Mountains of Mexico, crowding and causing the trees to become burning clumps of orange. She compared this faithfulness to our own spiritual journeys. What jumped out for me was how our Quaker meetinghouse is one of those trees, where we have all been drawn and our next step is to discern who we are collectively and where God is calling us. I am salivating, waiting to capture this image of orange trees, bursting with love, faith and trust.

http://www.cincinnatifriends.org/archive%20of%20messages/The%20Faith%20of%20a%20Butterfly-%20A%20Surrender%20to%20Love.m4a   by Katie Heape
...

MONDAY: So why do these three experiences call to me, what are they telling me? Maybe:
• God wants us to show our interiors to the world in all our full color and glory as messy and human as they may seem ... there's also divine design involved.
• Using our gifts transforms us and others.
• We are meant to share our giftedness and messiness in community, acknowledging our own and those in others. Our individual journeys and their lessons of faith and trust can be applied to living, giving and receiving in community.


• When have I felt like a transparent mess?
• What, if any, freedom did I experience by not hiding it?
• How has Spirit shown me the possibilities of my own gifts?
• What unlikely sources of inspiration have spoken deeply to me?
• How am I called to community, sharing my gifts and wounds?


threads, balls,
solids and transparent
shapes, brilliant, shiny
exploding inside of the
glint of unseen skin


feels like a mess,
but a deep
introspection
reveals the
potential


then one older, wiser
and more experienced
exposes humble roots, yet
fully embodies his
gifts with joy
and gratitude


and one younger, but with
sharp eyes in her heart,
shares an illustration of
faith drawn from nature,
something simply ...
miraculous


and I begin to
make out the feint
outline of
a grand design

The juicy inner stuff

Listen to this post:

Somehow I grew up with the idea that to be a good Christian, God would ask you to give up everything at home and travel far away. There was pain and suffering. That's what we were told missionaries do and we revered missionaries.

Yesterday in the car, it hit me why I have always liked theologian Frederick Beuchner's quote about vocation being "the place your deep gladness meets the world's deep need." Because God calls us where our hearts are.

For years, I have been trying to reconcile the secular world's view of success and happiness within myself and it's never worked. I've had money and I've had time, but I've never had money and time. Time, for me, is way more important: time to discover my inner self, time to build a regular relationship with God, time to nurture others, time to paint, time to write, time to heal, time to become healthy, time to spend with others, time to really listen, time to be quiet, time to reflect.

There's still a small part of me pulling to get that job, look for work and give up my dream. Mostly out of loneliness and some need for affirmation. I am trying to be faithful to where God calls me.

I am being called to surrender not to pain and suffering or moving far away, but to not only do, but believe in the work that gives me the greatest joy: writing, making art and teaching spiritual nurture all bound together by this turtlebox framework that God planted in my heart several years ago. I must trust that it will take me on the path that's right for me as well as provide the necessary resources.

I've been trying to control the process about which piece comes first, what person to approach, when something is finished or not, whether I need to back up and earn money in another way; basically, I have tried to control the business part of the process. It's much easier to let the creative part flow. Our culture doesn't recognize, let alone honor, a business model based on Spirit's leading. But I should.

I attended a new Bible study yesterday. One my mother is leading with a variety of women from different Christian traditions. We're reading Luke and I was immediately struck by Elizabeth's easy way of embracing the announcement of her late-in-life pregnancy, then going off for five months to wait. It was so unlike her husband, who was struck mute because of his disbelief. Mary was just as accepting.

Passages about these women helped me see the connection to my periods of waiting while something of God's forms in me. I am a patient person and feel as if I've been waiting a dozen years for my fruit to ripen. Elizabeth waited much of her life.

It's like I keep sticking my finger in the baking cake, it comes out wet and I tell myself: "It isn't done yet." I want to crank up the temperature and hasten it's doneness, but then it will only be a sloppy mess.

Lord, please teach me to let go of my impatience, comparisons to secular models, need for outside affirmation and revel in the joyful work you have given me!

• What illusion of being faithful have I discovered and am shattering?
• What truth stands in its place?
• Where is God currently calling me?
• Am I patient?
• Am I willing?


how does a soul
do its real work
the juicy inner stuff
that needs tending and time


when it feels alone
in doing so


when it can't
seem to find another
walking the walk


when it doesn't
produce a paycheck
or create exciting
party banter 


how does a soul
leave the loneliness
and outside expectation
behind


replacing it
with God's
presence and promise?

Today is the day I start

So today is THE day I start my blog, an idea that’s been present and forming for sometime and I guess it does not have to be fully developed to begin. I suffer from having to know it all before jumping off and Spirit (I want to be clear that you should substitute whatever word works for you; I may use some interchangeably) says in order to be faithful, I just have to start.

I assume the shape of this will arise, too, with more practice and the actuality of putting it out there. The intention is to share my story, thoughts, dilemmas, joys (yeah, a kind of online journal), etc. in encouraging others to open as well.

I seem to have all of these pieces floating about and am looking for a way to tie them together and something (greater than myself) tells me this blog could be a way. I am in a very transitional place:
– trying to be faithful in producing and publishing inspired
words and images as books
– trying not to worry about “regular” work and doing what I am
called to
– reclaiming myself from constant motherdom as my daughters gain
more independence; figuring out what that means and what to
“do” with it

I also think this time of year, a quieter time for reflecting, also seems like transition; when I can re-create myself for the coming year. Something deeper and more meaningful to me than New Year’s Resolutions. In that vein, I looked over my journal entries for the past year because I so easily tend to forget where I am and have been and it was ... hum ... what are the right words? ... gratitude inspiring. The highs and lows, the grumblings and thankfulness, the disappointments and promises. So, I think I’ll reflect on:
• Where has the path of the last year taken me?
• For what should I be grateful?
• What lessons have I learned?
• Where is the current fork leading?
• What is my prayer for the coming year?
That seems like plenty.

May the solitude of the quiet snow fill the places in your heart and body that are too noisy. Let those meandering flakes melt into those places, spreading peace and love.

– Cathy

www.turtleboxstories.com is a place I have created for gathering and sharing the deepest stories of our hearts; please visit and/or share if you’re so inclined