The Great Equalizer

It’s Monday morning. I arrive at the women’s center a few minutes before my appointed time. The small reception area I enter is familiar but it doesn’t feel warm and welcoming, though the muted colors are probably meant to be calming.  It feels crowded and a little worn; too many nervous bodies have sat on the handful of chairs.

I give my name to the woman at the desk. “Take a seat. Someone will check you in shortly,” she says, and turns back to the older woman she is talking with. As I sit down I surreptitiously observe the two women seated across from me. One woman is older, heavy set. She wears a brightly colored, appliqued cotton skirt and black plastic flip-flops; from her darker complexion and dress she appears to be perhaps from Indonesia or Polynesia. She is sitting next to a woman, likely her daughter or a younger sister, who is wearing a full flowered skirt and also black flip-flops.  They don’t talk much.  There’s a sense of impending doom in this room that makes conversation challenging.

Adjacent to them are two women speaking rapidly in an Asian language, perhaps Chinese or Korean. I confess I am not educated enough in the ethnic subtleties to differentiate.  I do not study their appearance because I would have to do so obviously and I don’t want to invade their privacy.  

I glance at the woman at the counter. She is older with beautifully coiffed hair and manicured nails. Her awkward movements and the walker next to the counter indicate some physical challenges. She wears grey slacks and what appear to be expensive slippers.

A young woman – probably in her late 30s or early 40s -- enters from the admissions area with a clipboard. She has long blond hair and wears knee-high tan leather boots and a white leather jacket. She finishes filling out the paperwork on her clipboard and then begins to play nervously with her smart phone.  When the technician comes to take her back for her mammogram, she drops the pen on the floor and then drops her phone. This may be her first time undergoing this procedure. But whether it’s the first time or the 20^th time, it’s still uncomfortable and nerve-wracking. For me, at least, there is always a sense of foreboding, of impending doom. Ignorance is bliss.

My name is called and I step into the admissions area to confirm my registration information and show my insurance ID.

Then I go back into the waiting area. By this time the women in the floral skirts have left. My seat has been taken by the woman with the walker.  This time I sit facing the door and watch as two  women who appear to be Vietnamese enter. The younger, probably a teenager, is chubby and wears black tights under denim shorts and Converse tennis shoes. The woman with her is tiny and thin, wearing dark gray velour sweat pants and sweatshirt. The young woman speaks to the receptionist and it becomes clear she is interpreting for her mother.

It strikes me that the women I have seen in the past few minutes are completely different; from different cultures, different lands, different socio-economic groups, different age groups. Yet we are all brought here for the same reason and likely are all experiencing the same deep fear that this time they will find something.  This time the news will be bad. I wonder how many of these women, or how many of the women who are at the clinic today, will be diagnosed with breast cancer. I have been thinking all morning that perhaps this time my family history of having a mother and an aunt die of breast cancer, a sister who has fought colon cancer and whose biopsy indicated she, at least, carries the BRCA-1 gene mutation, will catch up to me. I’ve been thinking about my mother who died at 69; they started treating the cancer when she was 66. Her sister died at 59, a few months after my mother died. I am 62. I sometimes worry I am on borrowed time.  I think of friends suffering from ovarian cancer, also implicated by the BRCA-1 gene, and  my dear friend Marilyn who died of thyroid cancer last August.  I remember her courage in the face of all her challenges.  All these thoughts have been my constant companion this morning as I drove to the clinic.

A technician comes to collect me. She tells me her name but for the life of me I can’t remember it two minutes later. It’s been a little less than a year since my last mammogram and this winter and spring I’ve been a little uneasy about an area in my left breast. Something just doesn’t feel right to me. So today, for the first time, I am doing a diagnostic mammogram. I have no idea what this entails. I will soon find out. 

The technician asks me to indicate where the lump is. I explain to her that it isn’t really a lump. I’m not sure if it’s anything.  It could be my imagination.  Whistling in the dark? But I explain that I’ve noticed something that just doesn’t feel right in the upper left side of my breast and I thought I’d felt a thickening.  I show her where; she seems to feel what I have felt and marks it with a sticky tab with a little metal BB.  The fact that she also felt something simultaneously justifies my presence here and scares the hell out of me. 

She takes several views – pretty standard mammograms that feel like she’s intent on flattening my breasts, one way or another.  She doesn’t say anything. This, too, scares me.  She sends me back to the dressing room to cool my heels for a while until the radiologist can look the results over. 

I sit in the tiny olive-green room, trying to relax, trying to be comfortable. I lean my head against the wall and stretch my legs out on the bench. And I suddenly am convinced I will soon be facing some difficult decisions. I’ve wondered if I would subject my body to chemotherapy. I’ve wondered if I would have reconstructive surgery if I had to have a mastectomy.  Since I was widowed almost ten years ago, I have hoped that someday I would find another good man to share my life. Somehow having breast cancer feels like a deal-breaker in a relationship. (Though to be honest I know it isn’t always; there are some truly good men out there. I hear.)

What if I only had a few months, I wonder as I sit and wait. What would I do?  Greece, I think. I want to see Greece. I think about how much that would cost and realize that if I am dying it won’t matter.

The technician comes back and my heart jumps into my throat. But she only wants to tell me that the ultra-sound technician will be with me shortly. Nothing more. Okay. I’ve never had ultrasound except years ago when I was pregnant.

The ultrasound technician does come a few minutes later. I’ve probably been waiting less than 10 or 15 minutes but it has seemed like hours. During the procedure she too indicates she can tell where the spot is that I’ve indicated is of concern. As she runs the lubricated wand over the area it seems to catch on something.  Yes, there it is. My heart sinks. I will try to be brave and take each day and moment as it comes, I tell myself. What will be will be. It’s all good and, in the words of the Mystic Julian of Norwich, all shall be well.

The ultrasound technician tells me she wants to show the doctor and have her confirm her findings. Here it comes, I think. But I am wrong. It didn’t come. The doctor comes in and cheerfully tells me everything looks normal. There is nothing that looks at all concerning. She says it’s good that I’ve done my previous mammograms there so they can compare. She tells me to come back in a year. I can hardly believe it. I leave a bit dazed but incredibly thankful. I whisper a quick prayer of thanks. I think fleetingly that it wasn’t my day to hear bad news, and I say another little prayer for anyone whose day did not turn out as happily as mine.

Then I go to the grocery store and stock up on fresh, organic fruits and vegetables with healthy antioxidants.  Kale and broccoli, cabbage and zucchini, oranges, asparagus, strawberries, beets. It feels as though I’ve been given a little warning and a second chance to take better care of this body that sustains me and that, I have to admit, I kind of like and want to keep around and healthy for years to come.

Act Two

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The curtain rises.

Each day God gives me

another chance to make a difference,

a new opportunity to change the world

and myself.

And, I might add, another opportunity to get back on track.  Today is, after all, the first day of 2013.  It’s a natural time to “make resolutions,” and at least write down for confirmation your hopes and dreams, or at least your goals, for the new year being ushered in. 

Of course, every day – every minute, for that matter – is a chance to begin again. It doesn’t erase what happened before; it just allows you to put that behind you and move forward.  Living out of fear or guilt is not living; it’s holding your soul, and your life, hostage to negative thoughts.

Are there things I wish I’d done differently, or not done at all, this past year? Of course. Are there things I wish I’d done or done more of this past year? Of course.  How do I fix that? I can’t fix what’s in the past or worry about it. But if I take a few minutes for an assessment of yesterday, last month, last year, I can learn from those things that felt like I was wearing chains, and try to release those chains, move beyond the fears and negativity that hold me back, and set myself free to be authentic and follow my heart.

Last year I went kayaking maybe 12-14 times and had a wonderful time and met many new friends. Do I wish I’d done more? Absolutely. Those times I didn’t go and could have, I mostly talked myself out of it.  Is there work involved in going kayaking? Yes, lots. Can I do that work? Of course I can and do. I just need to remind myself that the rewards are worth a little work.

Last summer I lost a very good friend; after almost three years she succumbed to thyroid cancer. I was incredibly blessed to have the opportunity to get to know her so well and I’m so glad I took that chance. And I was blessed to have her welcome me into her life and allow me to travel this difficult path with her. I miss her very much but I learned many important lessons from her, not the least of which are the lessons of friendship, acceptance, and living in the Now. She also encouraged me to always listen to myself and trust myself. I still listen to her words of wisdom that continue to live in my heart, and on many emails we exchanged over the last few years. Sometimes it pays not to delete messages. 

Last year I took a wonderful road trip to the Southwest with my daughter. It’s something I’d wanted to do for several years; I finally made it happen. Did it cost more than I would have preferred? Yes, and I almost cancelled the trip when gas prices started to climb. But I didn’t give in to my fears and hesitations.  And prices dropped back down a little before we actually left Portland.

I want to travel more – to Greece, and Spain, back to Italy. What’s my obstacle? Money is a bit of a challenge but I could probably figure out how to do it fairly inexpensively. The biggest hurdle for me is not having a travel companion readily available and being reluctant to travel alone. Maybe I need to get past that fear of being alone and trust myself. Just go. Have my passport ready and watch for good deals, as my friend Susan does.  Better get that passport renewed!

And maybe that is my first resolution for this year: Working harder to trust myself, my instincts, my longings and follow where they take me.

I’ve already booked a trip to Albuquerque for September. Last summer, when one door slammed in my face, in spite of my feelings of inadequacy, I applied for Richard Rohr’s Living School for Action and Contemplation. About a week before Christmas I learned I have been accepted as one of 180 people (out of 700) for the first year of this program. It starts in September with five days just outside Albuquerque. I’ve booked a week in Santa Fe and will rent a car and drive to Albuquerque and have time to explore Santa Fe, Taos and other places in Northern New Mexico.  I am excited at the prospect of traveling there and, most especially, at the opportunity for spiritual growth this affords me. 

So, my second resolution is to get back to the blog. Sadly, there is no more Charlie to travel with. He died suddenly on October 3, the 9^th anniversary of my husband’s death. I think perhaps John decided I’d had Charlie long enough, and now the two of them are romping through heavenly meadows, reunited.  So my good friend and traveling buddy is gone. Ten years is too short a time to have a friend like Charlie in your life. But he didn’t suffer, and I didn’t have to make the decision to end his pain. So those are the blessings. Along with the love and support he gave me when I needed it most.  In his honor and memory, I’ll keep the name: Travelin’ with Charlie, because he will always be with me.

And life just keeps going forward.

Lost but Loved: Looking for My Path Again

Anyone who reads this blog knows I’ve been doing some imaginative prayer around the Prodigal Son parable with regard to some negative reactions I have to a certain individual who seems to keep appearing in my life and upsetting my plans. After my reflections on letting go and accepting a situation that feels unfair on the face of it, I decided I could swallow my pride, rein in my jealousy and proceed with this program I'd been working toward and which she decided to do at the last minute. 

BUT I also felt I should share my concerns with the person running the program and ask for her feedback and assistance in helping me get to that “letting go” place.  I don't want to be small and petty; I want to be generous and loving. I want to overcome my resistance to this individual who seems to be the “golden girl,” the one everyone makes exceptions for, welcomes with open arms, the one who always seems to have a place at the table; in fact, not just a place, but a place of honor at the head table. I asked for a meeting to discuss my desires for her help and support, and she agreed.

So Wednesday morning we had our conversation. I told her what was bothering me, told her I had talked with my spiritual director about it, done a lot of prayer and reflection around it, and that I wanted to continue with the process I had started to prepare for probably 18 months ago and in which I had already invested a great deal of time, energy and expense. I was trying to be proactive about solving an issue that might crop up. I was open, vulnerable and honest with her; maybe too honest, it turns out.

Going back to the parable, it would have been like the older brother going to his father, telling him about his feelings of being overlooked and taken for granted, his feelings of jealously towards his younger brother, the “golden boy,” and asking his father to help him get past those feelings, come to accept and forgive and love his brother again. He would have been asking for reassurance that he still mattered, was still wanted, needed and loved, and would have also been assuring his father that the family relationships and love still mattered to him, that he was willing to make sacrifices for the greater good.  He would have said something like: I want to celebrate my brother’s return, I want to come to the party. I just need help getting there, getting past my hurt. Will you help me? The father would undoubtedly have done everything he could to make that happen.

But in my case, the father told me I couldn’t come to the party at all because he didn’t believe I could overcome my negative feelings and that somehow, at some point, they would come out and be disruptive and troublesome and he didn’t have time to deal with that. In other words, he wasn’t willing to give me the benefit of the doubt or any help healing these wounds and finding a peaceful place with this conflict. He was willing to welcome my brother back from a wild, extravagant adventure, to see great value and potential in him but unwilling to accept that my feelings had been hurt and that I needed a little help overcoming that.

Now in fairness, maybe she didn't hear the message I was trying to present, or maybe what I heard back from her was not the way she meant me to take it. But the message I received was that I was second class, excess, not worth bothering with. It was incredibly hurtful, and underscored the injustice that I’ve experienced before with regard to the individual I have an issue with. Just one more thing, I told myself. One more rejection. In prayer this morning the thought crossed my mind that I had been “kicked to the curb.”  Again. And if this was how the prodigal father had responded to his older son, it would certainly not help promote positive feelings between the brothers.

My spiritual director has weighed in on this -- thank God for his wisdom -- and reminded me that Jesus himself was “the stone the builders rejected;” that he wept over Jerusalem because of that rejection and the Jewish spiritual leaders’ unwillingness to see value in him and his message, to accept him. Wouldn't even really give him a chance. They closed their ears to him and listened to their golden girls and boys instead. (Not, of course, that my message or concern was even remotely close to Jesus' message; it was a call for help that went unanswered.)

So as I continued in prayer this morning – when I really shouldn’t have been doing any thinking but just listening to God (and in retrospect, maybe I was) – I realized the people who had been kicked to the curb were the ones Jesus chose. And still chooses.  The ones no one else seemed to see value or worth in, Jesus found great worth and value in.  And that gave me a sense of hope and assurance and peace. It also served as a reminder that every one of us has worth and value and deserves respect and love and acceptance. Often we just need to find the right path, the one that fits us best.

The path I initially believed was right is clearly not. Perhaps subconsciously I knew that; perhaps my honesty was really only taking a risk I somehow knew would not end well. After all, I could have buried my concerns and forged ahead with the program.

But this Monday, two days before my meeting that turned out so badly, I was shown another path. I was immediately captivated by it but realized that if I did the program I’d been working towards, I wouldn’t have the time to pursue this new one. And it was a very expensive (for me) proposition. But with a newly opened door when another was closed in my face, and with the enthusiastic  encouragement of my spiritual director and another good friend, I have sent away for an application to the second program. I still have to be accepted so it’s a process that is just beginning. I will try to not invest too much hope or expectation in  it yet. And I don’t know what this will lead to, other than my own personal spiritual growth. But I trust in three things: that if this is the right path, I will be accepted; that the money will be there when I need it; and that the journey will be worthwhile and good will come from it. It will bear fruit in me that will extend out and feed others in some way, perhaps unknown to me and beyond my control. But as my spiritual director also reminded me, it is not the outcome that matters but the process; it is not the destination but the journey that brings about growth and transformation.

And if I am allowed to embark on this new journey, I should have plenty of things to share in this blog and will make it a point to do that more often. That is one possible outcome I can foresee.

More Thoughts on Being a Prodigal

In reflecting a little more this week on the Prodigal Son story, I have come to a few conclusions about what this story can teach me. 

One is that it was the older son's pride that was wounded, and his sense of justice as the world sees justice. In many cultures, the oldest son always got everything; the younger sons had to make their own way so even the father’s giving half his estate to his younger son probably wasn’t traditional.  Perhaps the older brother has been harboring a grudge this whole time, somehow feeling slighted because, through an accident of birth, he happens to be the first. Perhaps he has a huge sense of entitlement and the loss of what he felt he deserved has been simmering for months.  

Perhaps, too, the younger son has always felt that he was second-best, that because he wasn't the oldest, he wasn't loved. Maybe that was why he chose to leave in the first place. Perhaps that rivalry has always been there and he has resented his brother's willingness to always follow their father's wishes, do what was expected. Maybe he felt he never had a chance to measure up to his brother.

I wonder why the father didn't send for the older son as soon as he decided to slaughter the fatted calf and have the party. Why didn't he invite him to come celebrate his brother's return? Maybe the father knew his older son would not be happy, and he didn't want to provoke his anger.  It seems like leaving him out of the celebration would have been hurtful in itself.  Or maybe he just momentarily forgot about the older brother in his excitement and joy.  It's easy for me to understand the older brother's hurt and anger. It would be hard to come back from working, doing what was expected of me, and find that they’d started the party without me. Sometimes that feels like the story of my life.

I realize that being overlooked is just my pride being wounded, my expectations of "justice" as some kind of recognition for the work I've done.  It goes back to the many times in my life when people didn't believe in me, didn't see value in me, overlooked me, always chose someone else. It's something of a knee-jerk reaction from a wounded child who has never been healed. I'm the only one who can heal her hurts and I can’t heal them by pushing them (her) away, ignoring her or scolding her for being hurt. I have to recognize those wounds and somehow let her know she is and always has been and always will be loved.

If I beat myself up by telling myself how bad I am to feel this way or accept the lies about how worthless I am, it's only compounding the hurt and confirming to that wounded little girl that she is no good.

I try to remind myself that the feeling that I am not appreciated for my efforts doesn't really detract from who I am and what I have done; it just feels like it does.  Maybe people just get a little thoughtless and forget to let me know I am appreciated. But how often am I also guilty of overlooking someone else’s gifts and contributions? So that is another lesson: if I am feeling neglected, perhaps it is time to reach out and be kind to others, and also to be very kind to myself.  Or sometimes the wounded little girl just needs to be honest and vulnerable and ask for affirmations from someone she knows she can trust.

 

The story ends with the father explaining to his older son that "you are always here with me, and everything I have is yours . . . " The parable doesn't say what the older son does when his father reminds him of that. Maybe he goes in and joins the celebration after all. Maybe he realizes he is being prideful and that his own sense of self-righteousness is as much a rejection of his father as the younger brother's leaving was. Or maybe he goes off and sulks and gets caught up in his anger. That withdrawal and isolation is often my default response to feeling overlooked or rejected.

What would I say to the older brother if I were his best friend and knew how hurt he was? What would you say to him?  I try to imagine how the story ends if he has a change of heart. I like to think that he decides to go in and join the party. That his brother returning means he will be there to help with the work and that maybe they can be friends if the older brother can let go of his pride. I think that is what would make his father most happy, would make his own life more filled with love and make him feel better about himself. 

The other lesson in this for me, after listening to The Poetry of Self-Compassion by David Whyte, is that we all have the younger brother somewhere within us: the wild child who is willful and looking for adventure, who doesn’t care what others think but just wants to have fun. Maybe it’s a side of us we’re ashamed of, were punished for being at one point in our lives; or maybe we envy that in others because we have stuffed it away and don’t want to admit it is part of us. But we have a sense we're missing out on life because we chose not to go to the party.

And we all have some of the older brother in us: the stuffy, conservative, follow-the-rules-and-do-what-you-should person. It’s a form of co-dependency, perhaps. We believe if we do what is expected of us, we will be rewarded and loved. But when someone breaks the rules and gets rewarded, as the younger brother did, it completely upsets our view of the world. We have totally lost control of the situation. Truth is, we never had control in the first place; we just THOUGHT we could manipulate people by “being good.”

Our work is to accept that we have both of the brothers within us and, by accepting how beloved we are to our father, come to accept and befriend that part that we have tried to deny, bring it into the light. We are like a shattered favorite cup: we can pick up the pieces and, with the glue of love and self-compassion, put them back together. We won’t be perfect; we never were to start with, and never will be no matter how hard we try. So we accept that we’re cracked and chipped, and yet we still are beloved. We are worth saving.

More Lessons in Love

Rembrandt's Prodigal Son

Ever have one of those people in your life who just seems to get everything handed to them? 

Let’s say you’ve invested a lot of effort and energy in something, worked really hard, studied and read and taken classes at your own expense to improve your knowledge and skills. You’ve been committed and responsible, willing to do the hard, dirty work behind the scenes. You keep thinking some day maybe you’ll get recognized for all you’ve done, get some kind of respect or appreciation or at least notice. But then this individual sweeps in – with very little sweat equity but lots of flash and sizzle -- and suddenly she is the one getting all the attention, all the consideration and support, all the respect and almost-adulation. People – folks whom you care about and whose esteem you long for -- seem to believe far more in her potential than they believe in you, even though they’ve known you far longer, know your history, know you’ve never let them down and never would.  She gets whatever she seems to want – help, support, recognition -- and you get leftovers, breadcrumbs, or nothing at all.

And once again you find that, no matter how hard you try, you have failed to measure up, to be good enough, to impress anyone. And you begin to really resent this person, cringe every time her name is mentioned, every time someone sings her praises, every time she shows up at some gathering that is important to you and subsequently garners all the attention. You watch the way she works people and you grind your teeth but smile nicely, because that’s who you are. And because, despite how angry you are, you can’t really bring yourself to hate her. You reason that it isn’t really her fault that people seem to like her better, see more potential with her than with you. It somehow must be your own fault. Yes, it probably is something you did or didn’t do.  Some failing. So you go to that default position of blaming and shaming yourself.

I had a discussion similar to this with my spiritual director recently. This is an issue I’ve been mulling over for quite some time now, but a couple of incidents this month brought it back to my attention and I decided it was time to address what might be happening here.  In our conversation, my spiritual director told me in his experience people who keep coming into our lives and evoking these kinds of reactions are here as our teachers. There is something to learn from them, some healing to be worked on.  He reminded me that my reactions clearly stem from early painful wounding. Something that happened many years ago that scarred me, and my immediate reaction is anger for being overlooked again, anger at the people who fail to see my value but see hers so easily and quickly, and hurt that people I respect and admire don’t seem to have reciprocal feelings for me.  Then inevitably I turn that pain on myself. Either I am upset with myself for never being good enough or I beat myself up for having such negative reactions to her.

My spiritual director gave me some great food for thought: I am in the prodigal son story. When I feel this way, I am in the role of the older brother, the “good” one who stays and works, does his father’s bidding, but never ever gets a party.  He suggested I employ one of the Ignatian methods of prayer and do some imaginative prayer with this, put myself into the story, imagine I am there.

Maybe I’m the older son’s best friend who talks to him about this, asks why it is so hurtful to him to have his father celebrate his brother’s return with such wild abandon.  Perhaps I will discover that the older brother and I both have a problem with abundance. We don’t believe there could be enough love to go around. And that love has to be earned, that we cannot be loved just for being who we are.

Or I could talk to the father, find out how he feels about his oldest son’s reaction. He is undoubtedly saddened that his older son cannot celebrate the return of the younger brother, that the older son cannot accept that the father could love and rejoice in both his sons, no matter WHAT they do.  Perhaps he also feels regret that he caused his older son such hurt but also that he somehow was not able to instill in this older son that he is loved and valued and that nothing he does or says could earn that love or cause that love to be withdrawn.

Maybe somewhere in this process of imaginative prayer, I could eventually go to my own Father and ask why I can’t trust that I am loved no matter what I do or don’t do, no matter how many parties are thrown for me, or how often I am overlooked. Maybe I could learn to accept that the journey I am on does not need validation from others. Maybe I could accept that I do what I do because I feel called to it, because I want to do it, not because I think it will earn me any kind of acclaim or respect. And that doing anything because I think it will earn me love or respect or validate my worth is absolutely the wrong path to be on and will always end with my broken heart.  Because if I cannot accept that I am loved and cherished deeply, cannot learn to love myself and recognize my own intrinsic value and worth, NO ONE can ever fill that deep need.

Good teachers don’t always make your life easier; sometimes they really make you work.

Setting Off on a New Journey

Smith Rock State Park, Central Oregon

I’m embarking on a new journey.

On Tuesday evening I completed a program in spiritual direction and am now a certified spiritual director. The path ahead is not clear, and I’m not sure where this new journey will lead me, but – like any journey – the hardest part is just starting and then you just take it one step at a time. And from my experience, journeys often have a mind of their own and take us places we never expected to find.

I’m traveling light because I’ve learned you can get by with just a few things and the less baggage you have to carry, the more freedom you have.  And most of the things I’ll want and need as I journey forth can’t be packed, carried, weighed or measured.

Some of the things I am taking with me as I go include:

* An open mind and seeking spirit

* New understanding and the willingness to accept mystery, paradox, and not knowing or understanding

* Curiosity, enthusiasm, and confidence

* A good dose of faith, hope and trust

* And a strong desire to help others on their journeys

As I set off on this newest phase of my life, I have done a little assessment of where my journey has led me so far, my personal creed, if you will:

I believe we are all spiritual beings

I believe we are part of an integrated, cohesive world that was created out of love by a Being so vast and unknowable that we can only get brief glimpses of this Presence

I believe these glimpses of the Divine come through prayer, meditation, reflection, connection to others through love and service, and connection to all of creation through the natural world

I believe this Presence – whom I choose to call God – cares far more about how we treat each other, care for the “least of these,” and live with love and deep respect for all creation than about following rules, doctrine and dogma but continues to love us no matter which path we choose

I believe God is intimately concerned with each of His/Her creatures and longs for us to connect more deeply

I believe each of us has a spark of the Divine, an innate Presence that continually invites us to seek that connection

I believe spirituality is the desire inherent in all humans to accept the invitation to dive more deeply into Love

I believe every human being has the capacity to do good, to make a difference, and that each of us has a unique purpose and place in the world

I believe we are each instilled with a deep longing to achieve our own potential, to fulfill our purpose and create good in the world as only we as unique individuals can

I believe spirituality is the search for that connection with the Divine and the search for our own purpose and path and, ultimately, to find union with all of creation

I believe there are many paths to that ultimate union; that everyone has the right to pursue, without persecution or judgment, the path that best fits them; that finding our own best path is part of the journey of discovery we are all on

I believe freedom is found in letting go … of fears, attachments, the need to control, judge, compare, possess …. and learning to trust and accept mystery, paradox

and present reality

I expect to continue pursuing Ignatian Spirituality, which I think has great practical value for all who are on a faith journey. Knowing how to find God in all things – positive as well as difficult – can free us from unnecessary suffering. Being contemplatives in action is critical in our busy modern lives; without this skill we can easily lose ourselves and our sense of being loved and being part of a much larger picture. Learning to be more detached is another way of finding freedom from ego, fear, insecurity, dualistic thinking. The ongoing assessment from the Examen and learning to make life-giving decisions through the process of discernment are invaluable tools found in the Spiritual Exercises of  St. Ignatius. 

Over the past 16 years, I have been blessed to work with several wonderful spiritual directors who have been incredible companions and mentors on my faith journey. Each one was the person I needed for that time and phase of my spiritual life.  Accompanying rather than directing or leading, they have encouraged me to find my own path by helping me look more clearly and honestly into my own heart and soul. They have helped me grow tremendously in faith and love. I have found the investment in ongoing spiritual direction, as well as a number of classes to expand my understanding, has had benefits beyond measure in my life, my relationships, and on my spiritual journey.

My goals as a spiritual director:

In my work with directees I strive to pass on the gifts of accompaniment I have received from my directors. I will listen deeply with my ears, eyes and heart and reflect back to the directee what I hear and see. I will try to ask the right questions at the right times, offer suggestions on resources (books, classes, etc.) that I feel would be helpful to the directee in following her/his path. I will offer feedback that helps the directee clarify what is happening on his/her spiritual journey. I respect the individual’s journey and will set aside my own agenda and focus completely on the directee’s agenda and needs.

Related training: Degree in Communications (Marylhurst College, 1988), Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius (3 times), workshops with Richard Rohr, studied Celtic spirituality, dreamwork, the Enneagram and have completed a variety of other spirituality courses. 

Reconnecting with Nature and My Life

Kristin and I enjoying the sun and view at Lake Tahoe

I am feeling a little scattered these days. I just returned from a 17-day, 4,000-mile road trip with my daughter to the Southwest. Just before I left I filed my taxes and refinanced my house, and I admit to not being as neat and organized as I have always wished I were.  I think neatness is either lacking in my gene pool or was missing in my family-of-origin mentoring. I know I’ll find my checkbook eventually. . . . But while organizational skills may be a bit shy in my makeup, I seem to have gotten a good share of adventure-seeking genes, a need for new experiences and stimulation.

Lake Tahoe

The trip came about because I was thinking about attending a retreat led by Paula D’Arcy in Santa Fe. I wanted to explore parts of the Southwest I had missed when I cut my 2008 cross-country trip short to help a friend. Specifically I wanted to see the canyon country of Utah and was thinking I’d fly to New Mexico and rent a car to explore. But as I began working out the logistics, the miles and cost of renting a car seemed too daunting. I looked at taking my own car but then realized driving to Santa Fe was out of the question if I only wanted to take a couple weeks (which is really all I could squeeze out of my schedule of classes, meetings, and other commitments).

I was sharing my thoughts with my daughter this winter and she was very intrigued and offered to be my co-pilot. Kristin got married in 2005 and lives about four hours away, and although I see her several times a year, we rarely get extended one-on-one time to really connect. I realized I don’t know my daughter these days nearly as well as I’d like to, as I used to.

Then gas prices started to climb and there were predictions that we could be paying more than $5 a gallon before summer. I was ready to cancel the trip and throw in the towel, but Kristin offered some great wisdom: “Remember what your mother used to tell you . . . ‘don’t postpone joy!’ If we don’t do this now, when will we ever do it?”  I love that I have raised wise children who sometimes – often even – give me good counsel.

She also offered to help pay for gas, or pay for all the gas if necessary. I reasoned that if we split the cost, we’d really only be paying $2-$2.50 a gallon apiece and that seemed more doable.

Then Kristin got offered a substitute teaching job that became a full-time position through the end of the school year. What to do? What to do??  She decided they could find a substitute-substitute for two weeks, the school agreed, and we began making plans in earnest. We would visit my sister and her family in Northern California for a couple days, then drive across to Lake Tahoe and spend a couple nights at a timeshare there, then on to Las Vegas (neither of us had ever been to Vegas) to visit good friends. Then on to St. George, Utah, where we’d spend four nights at a timeshare and then drive back via Indio, California, and drive through Joshua Tree National Park. Then split the trip north into two days’ drives, stopping in Pismo Beach for a night then across to I-5 and spending our last night in or around Redding. They were longer days than Kristin preferred, but we had a long way to travel to get her back to Coos Bay. 

Kristin and I at Red Rock Canyon

Weather, for the most part, was a wonderful change. Everywhere we went it was sunny and warm, except in the High Sierras of California. We stopped for lunch at Squaw Valley Ski Resort just west of Lake Tahoe and as we were eating our pizza (delicious gluten-free crust!) it began to rain. It continued to rain very fat drops, sometimes mixed with hail and snow, thunder and lightening, as we drove around the west side of Lake Tahoe to our timeshare on the Southeastern corner. I’m sure we missed some beautiful views because of the clouds and fog. But once we arrived at our destination, it was dry and good weather remained for the remainder of our trip.

Zion National Park

Bryce Canyon, Thor's Hammer

We were both completely blown away by the amazing rock formations in both Zion National Park and Bryce Canyon National Park. We also visited a couple of state parks – Red Rock Canyon outside of Vegas and Snow Canyon just north of St. George – that had beautiful rock formations. We saw wild burros and bighorn desert sheep in Nevada, lizards and mule deer and wildflowers in Zion, a desert tortoise – they are threatened or endangered – and a variety of lizards in Joshua Tree. And NO snakes!!

Teddy Bear Cholla

We timed our visit perfectly on several counts. We were early enough that there were really no crowds; there were still plenty of people at Bryce and Zion and many of them were from other countries, but we had no problems with crowds on trails or shuttles or at any of the facilities. We were able to visit both Zion and Bryce Canyon during the free week, saving us $50 in entry fees. When we arrived at Joshua Tree the week had ended so we did have to pay $15 to visit but we found that the rain we experienced in Squaw Valley earlier had encouraged the cactus, cholla, ocotillo and wildflowers to bloom and the desert was in full flower. I have visited the desert probably at least eight or ten times in the past and never timed it to see this amazing sight.

Claret Cup Cactus

Beavertail Cactus

So in spite of several challenges before the trip commenced that threatened to postpone or completely derail it, we persevered and experienced one of those trips that will remain in our memories and hearts forever. Just having hours together to talk and listen to each other, to get to know each other as women, as equals, as friends was an enormous gift. All the beauty we experienced was just gravy!