When the connection is electric

When my soul is alive

When interactions are real and meaningful

When people leave feeling better than when they came

When my focus is sharp and my energy is high

When love and life are growing

When reality is faced

When beauty is apparent even though real

When framing is not glossing or conjuring

When hope is alive

When I’m able to be hurt, even broken

When I’m available

When I’m fearless

When I start and fail but still start again

When my ideas are in motion

When fear takes a back seat to love

What was the question?

(November 2015 Somehow I find this related to the previous post that I just re-discovered in my writing folder).

You can try to shame me

But I will not easily be shamed

I spent too many years

Trying to do the right thing

The good thing

The perfect thing

Trying to say the right things

And think the right things

Mostly to do the right things

I have spent too many days

Feeling that I’ve not been enough

Done enough

Reached high enough

Or out enough

But now I’ve had enough

Because on those days that I did not do enough

Which was all of them

I really only wanted to climb into bed

And pull the covers of defeat over my head

And not look at the next day

So if I’m having a quiet day in the sun

Not saving the world

Not being there for every person who says they need me

Not reading the right books

Watching the right movies

Having the right hobbies

Cultivating the skills that will change the world

If I’m having a moment of peace

Or a weekend of peace

If I’m reading for fun

Having coffee with my love

Basking in the joy of my children

Please forgive me if you think I’m wrong

But I will not be shamed

I’ve curled up inside of myself for a while

I’m peeling away the excess that has been put there

By me

By you

By the airwaves

I’m stripping down to my bare essentials

Finding what brings me joy

What stirs life within me

What makes me blossom and bloom

I think to be more

I really need to be a lot less

To you, to me, to the airwaves

I’ve gone into a fetal position

So please don’t shame me

I’m trusting I’ll come back out

But the fetus doesn’t know

Doesn’t project

Doesn’t plan on making a difference

But she always does

So please stand back, and take your shame with you

There’s an embryo that needs tending to

And there’s no place for you in here

  • written March 2014 (found November 24, 2015)

Do you really believe you’re going to die? Like, really believe it? In my heart of hearts when I have caught a glimpse of this reality I’ve been surprised. Mostly I live in denial.

I have friends, who have given up every bit of stability in their lives to follow their dream (gracing the world with their music). Recently she said to me “I’m going to die anyhow, I may as well live doing what I love to do!” She didn’t say “obviously” but it was implied. She believes it. She gets it. And it informs her life and her decisions. Not in a morbid awful way, but in a joyful, live-fully way.

When I was eight years old my father died. This affected me way more than I would like to let on. Up until that point I don’t think I’d even experienced the death of a pet. All of my grandparents were alive. Everyone. So the first death I experienced was sudden, shocking and close.

Here’s one of the ways it’s affected my life.

For the next couple of years I was very tense about my mother’s whereabouts. She had quickly remarried a man with four sons. My two older sisters had moved out of the house already. I felt very vulnerable about what would happen to me if something happened to my mother. Back then people didn’t think to talk about such things. A conversation about that would likely have been helpful. According to our family doctor I was close to having a nervous breakdown.

This anxiety didn’t go away. When I married it transferred onto my husband. Since that time I have planned a funeral for every significant person in my life. If you are in my family, I have considered your funeral. And I didn’t like it.

I don’t think this is a morbid fixation on death. I think it’s an attempt to never be taken off guard by it again. It is an unshakable shadow that follows me.

When it comes to my death, that’s quite another thing. I’m on one hand surprised by the thought, and on the other hand, with every headache I’m three weeks from death. Oh people, we are complex and curious creatures aren’t we?

The point is, with all of these fragments mashing together in my soul, when my friend said, “I’m going to die anyhow, I may as well live doing what I love to do!”….it was like an awakening slap to the face.

I never thought I was one of these people but I really do seem to be waiting for something.

And as I stare at that last sentence I know that whatever that something is, it’s not coming.

Life is now.

I don’t need any more time, or money, or energy, or a different home, or a different country to create the life I want to live.
I realize now that I only need one thing.


Do you put off doing things that take courage? Where do you find courage? What motivates you into action?
I’d love to hear.

The other day my daughter and I took our new pups to a deserted beach for a run and a swim. We had the whole place to ourselves for a while. Then another family joined us.

Out of the Land Cruiser spilled mother, father, children and nanny in a celebratory run for the water. It’s hot here. A cool off swim at the end of the day is the perfect thing to do.

As the family floated in the sea, the nanny donned an abaya and went around to the other side of the truck where she was alone (except for my gaze). She spread out her matt, faced the setting sun and began to say her evening prayers.

With the day’s chores behind her, the family content to bounce and laugh and enjoy the sea, she carved out a peaceful moment to herself.

At that moment I was jealous. I have never been a part of an orthodox type church. I’ve been a little jealous of that too. The church I grew up in had already disengaged from symbols and rituals in favour of ‘personal relationship with God’ type thinking. I know their intent was to move away from empty religiosity to something more meaningful. I know that rituals can become an antidote to actual change in the area of the spirit and the soul. I suppose you can say “If I say these words and do these ritualistic motions then I’m excused from my bad behaviour.” I’m not criticizing, really. It’s enticing to me actually. I’m just trying to understand why my fore-fathers disengaged from orthodoxy to begin with. I know there are lots of good reasons. The same, or similar reasons why people disengage from religion completely (or never engage to begin with).

But as I watched this woman, in her un-rushed moment, in her peaceful space saying her daily prayers, I felt what I’ve felt many times before. I’ve lost something. Also, I’ve never had much of that something.

Of course I don’t miss, or long for the empty ritualistic gestures of a faith that is used to absolve one of bad behaviour but never change the soul. Nor do I long for a prescribed, imposed prayer that is little more than an incantation to keep bad away and bring good luck (or blessing). Obviously not.

But I do long for a rhythm. A spiritual rhythm. Some symbols maybe that bring my wandering attention back to the things that are important, the things that bring life and quiet and expand my heart and my vision and make me a more whole human being.

Thank you to the nanny who was all of those things to me that day. A symbol, a guide, a hand pointing to something more. So rather than lament what was lost or non-existant, I took the moment, faced the sun as she did and had a moment of gratitude and inner silence.

That will have to do for now.

If anyone is still out there reading (it must be a year later, which is okay because It’s Already Broken)…. do you have a rhythm of ritual or any symbols in your life that connect you to the spiritual side of your being?

The Artist’s Way is doing its thing, percolating ideas and bringing its surprises and non-surprises. Things you’d like to tell people are surprises but you know deep in the depths of your heart, they don’t surprise you.

At the end of each chapter are exercises to get creative juices going, to help you to know yourself better and to bring you, the real you, to life. Sometimes I find them a lot of work and sometimes they are a lot of fun. Last week was a lot of fun as a picture that I’ve had of myself in my shadowy thoughts came out of the dimness and into the light.

The exercise was to list 3 careers that you would love to do (in my case, if you had a do-over, for someone in their 20’s or 30’s this might make for a career change). I actually have fun thinking about these things. I sometimes feel like I’m preparing for my next life, just in case there is one. If there is, I’ll be ready.

This was interesting to me for a few reasons. One is the careers (none of them a complete surprise, I’ve thought about this a lot), the other is the length to which I described each (quite telling) and lastly the challenge of what to do with the information.

So they are in order and length they came to me:

Journalist/radio broadcaster

I’d love to follow stories about all kinds of people in all walks of life. I’d like to ask questions (I have so many questions), learn about ways of life, what gives meaning, different perspectives. Also, I tend to love to be where stuff is happening. I love when history is being made. When most people’s inclination is to run from danger I am oddly drawn. I like to paint a picture and tell a story to frame it for others and to bring new light to different areas of life/people/stories/events. I would have loved to do this.


I’ve been asked before what I’d like to be if I had life to do over. I often have a fleeting glimpse of me walking down a busy Toronto street in a priest’s robes. Strange eh? I’ve never really shared that with anyone (you heard it here first!). But it’s true, I want to be a robe-wearing-priest. I heard a friend once say that they’d like to see all of religion stripped of things like robes and symbols, that they are images of power that separate one person from the others, elevating them to a higher stature. Interesting. I’ve never felt that. I’ve never felt myself less than a person in a robe, or a uniform of any sort. I just see it as a different function. To me it’s almost like a name tag identifying who is available and willing to do certain jobs in the community.

Oh, you need a hug? You want someone to lay their hand on your child’s head and bless them? Pray for healing? You need someone to talk to? See the woman over there wearing the robe? She is a safe place, a place of blessing and love. She’s ready to help however you need. I want to do that. I want to be at births to pray a prayer of welcome and protection and health over a new life. I want to be there for the sick and be nearby when a loved one is dying. I want to do funerals and speak words of comfort and healing and peace to those left behind. I want to officiate at celebrations of love and marry people. Gay, straight, old, young. I want to dance and drink with everyone at the party after.

I want to go to interfaith events and tell the Imam and the Rabbi what I appreciate about them and their traditions. I want to take people away on a meditation retreat by the sea and do yoga and tai chi and watch the sun come up and return home together refreshed and rested.

I want to climb behind a podium every week and deliver the salt filled healing words that have been seasoning my thoughts in my quiet study during the week. I want to talk to the community about what we have wrong and what we have right and what we can do better, about what I’m still confused about and the answers I don’t have and about how that’s ok. I’ll tell them that the important thing is that we journey together, that we value love above all else and that we hold onto hope and foster peace and build bridges and stay on the path.

I want to observe liturgies and traditions. I want to light candles and swing incense (…and the freak flag flies) I want to craft juicy, thought provoking words that inspire the bread and wine and wonder.

I want the homeless to be there in all their smelly glory, keeping it real, representing Jesus, taking our stuff and making us dig deeper in love.

I want to create a safe place for kids and questioners, old people and the young people who want to bust out and do something different. I want a beautiful space for spirituality and art to be active and free and forward thinking.


I want to be an airline pilot. To rise above the earth everyday and enjoy the perspective that brings. To feel gravity defied. To go somewhere new. To be in the clouds. To laugh as I do when I’m in the air.

*So…this is hilarious to me. I’ll give some thought as to what this might be indicating for me. Some thoughts and themes are immediately evident but I’ll ruminate on it and of course I’ll share what I find. So fun.

I’ve started, for the 3rd time, working my way through the book “The Artist’s Way” with a group of friends. If you’re not familiar with it, let me first tell you, it’s not about Artist’s. It’s about living your life with creativity. It’s about freedom. It’s about paying attention.

At the end of each chapter there are exercises, things to do that bring the chapter’s topic home to the reader in a meaningful way. There are two exercises that the author hopes you’ll implement for the rest of your life. In her view these are non-negotiable.

The first is called the Morning Pages (MP). Each morning upon waking you are to write (the old fashioned way, with pen and paper) three pages, non-stop, of whatever comes to mind. No overthinking it. No editing. Stream-of-consciousness blather. The idea is that whatever negativity, insecurity, or distraction you are stuck on gets splattered all over the pages and clears the way for the rest of your day to be more or less free of those things, more creative and hopefully more productive. What happens though, is that you get a front row seat to the circular thinking that keeps you stuck. You can’t escape yourself. You can’t escape your weaknesses and faults but you also can’t escape your hopes and dreams and THAT my friends is what’ll scare the ever living daylights out of you! Why? Good question. I’m sure it’s complicated. I’m sure there are childhood issues, issues of worth, issues of courage, issues of fear of failure…but that’s why the MP’s must continue.

The second non-negotiable is the Artist’s Date. Once a week you are to take your inner artist out for a couple of hours to feed her soul. Just her. Alone. This is not my favourite thing. I drag my feet every single week. An Artist’s Date could be…a visit to a museum or an art gallery, it could be sitting on the beach building sand castles, it could be a walk in a park paying particular attention to the sights and sounds, it could be going out for an ice cream sundae and tasting every single bite. Last week for me, I took a drive (because it was about 45 degrees!) around our island and took pictures of all the flowers. Next week I might try to paint some of those pictures. Whatever stretches or fuels your creative playful side.

What is emerging from my pages?

There is a perfect storm brewing. There are themes colliding, ideas rushing, reconciliation with some things in my past, frustration with endless cycles of…well of me. You know the saying ‘where you go there you are’? Here I am. I look back in my pages from the other two times I’ve done this and it’s shocking that I’m still struggling with the same things. This time, I won’t stop. This time I’ll push through. All of this feels a little like the unearthing of the soul. I feel tilled. Insides turned out. Just plain emotional. I’m trying my best not to back away but to just let it be and keep going.

Here is the most inescapable theme. I’m feeling very motherly about everything/one. This isn’t a natural feeling for me. Before I had children I was completely happy to never be a mother. I married someone who was very much looking forward to being a father so I knew when I got married that children were likely in my future. I wasn’t that opposed but if it were just up to me…I may have opted out. I didn’t feel very maternal. I had no younger siblings. I didn’t particularly enjoy being a child. As an adult, I didn’t understand children and didn’t relate very well to them. I was awkward with them. I’m not a very playful person which doesn’t help me in my relation to kids. Nothing drew me to motherhood.

Thankfully that very first gaze into my firstborn’s eyes and I was smitten. It changed me in ways I could not have imagined. Becoming a mother unlocked caverns of compassion that I likely would not have had access to otherwise. I didn’t know I was capable of loving someone so intensely. Honestly, it felt dangerous. With the entrance of this tiny being came the potential for pain in equal measures, like the opposite side of a see-saw teetering precariously on the fulcrum of life’s events. Such pleasure, such potential for unrecoverable disaster. Nevertheless this monumental change in my life was a change for good and touched so many areas of my life and others. Children that would normally have bothered me I could now cut some slack because I could imagine being their mother. I had more patience for people’s faults, even for my own.

Now, at the ripe old age of 50, having seen little people become big people, I can see a child in almost everyone. Everyone was once a tiny person protected and cheered on by an older version of themselves. Inside every person still resides that little person who occasionally needs protecting and often needs to know they are loved.

This has been such an intense emotion brewing in me lately that I feel my soul is being tenderized. It’s not particularly pleasant. I’m feeling emotional about many things and a little beaten up by life. (Note to family and friends…don’t panic, there is nothing wrong, really, this is all internal). From the aggressive driver’s on the road who I want to plead with to not play fast and loose with the sacredness that is our lives, to teachers who are feeling (understandably) tired of children and loosing patience and the solitary child standing on the edge of the football field wanting to be included, to the plight of women around the world, children sold into slavery and people doing unimaginable things because of poverty. Every harsh word (I’ve stopped reading the comment sections of blogs), every aggressive act feels like a blow to my mother’s heart. Day by day I become a little more shredded.

Why don’t I just toughen up and shake it off? Here’s why. I don’t know what the purpose of life is, I really don’t, which means that I’m a little foggy on what my goals are or should be. I’ve eliminated some things. I don’t think it’s to make a ton of money (I never have). I don’t think it’s to become famous. I’m not even sure it’s to become the best fill-in-the-blank that you can be. I don’t think it’s to be tough and independent. I don’t think it’s to conquer over others. I really don’t know what it is. But I’m going to trust this, I’m going to trust that Someone knows what I should be doing and who I should be becoming. I’m going to trust that greater love and greater compassion are never wrong and won’t destroy me and I’m going to give myself to that.

I will set my whole will to push back at the self preservation that is as innate an instinct as fight or flight. I will choose to stay open. I will give myself over to Openness and if need be Brokenness and trust that there is purpose. I will seek the Light. I will hold on to Hope. I’m going to rest when I need it and run when I need it and pull away from the crowd of many voices when I need it. I’m going to keep feeding the inner artist and I’m going to keep writing because incredible things are in front of us and all around us, if we’ll just pay attention.

I leaned my head back on the seat and listened to the baby cry as we sat on the runway. There were delays for our flight to Dubai because of the unusually heavy fog that had settled in over Doha. We were 45 minutes late in boarding and now we waited for our turn to take off. The two little Indian boys across the aisle had been struggling to be patient. They looked about 3 and not quite 1 years old. The father strapped the one year old in on his lap and waited for take off. When that didn’t happen and the baby fussed they switched to the Mom. I realized after take off that they were keeping him hungry so when take off finally happened he could nurse, a common way to keep babies from suffering ear popping on take off. Until then, the adorable little guy cried and fussed.

I closed my eyes and decided that this was a good time to do my meditating. We’d been up since 4:30 so it hadn’t happened yet. I learned to meditate in the midst of noise when I’d joined the United church a few years ago for an experiment in Advent. I was looking for a way to make advent more meaningful, to raise the spiritual side of Christmas and dwarf the commercial side. They’d decided to open the church every morning of advent, have a short little service and then tea and cookies. They expected this to meet the needs of the elderly women in the church. To their surprise the attendees were mostly homeless, two elderly ladies, a non-practicing medical doctor and of course…me, a realtor.

The little 30 minute service consisted of 15 minutes of silence, music was playing and the screen at the front ran a loop of gorgeous pictures of nature. Some watched. Some closed their eyes. And some, who didn’t really get this part chatted with each other (annoying at first), coughed and hacked and sniffed loudly clearing the night air out of their lungs and some came in late laughing etc. At the beginning it would break my chain of thought but after a while I settled into it. Be in the moment. This was the moment. Accept it for what it is. Don’t control it.

I brought those skills back into play while we sat waiting on the runway. Baby crying. Parents apologetically trying to console. I heard the baby cry. As I sunk into meditation, I really heard him cry. I hear the pain in his wordless moans. I pictured myself taking him in my arms and him settling down, snuggling into me and resting. Comforting a child is such a wonderful feeling. There is such a feeling of satisfaction, maybe you’ve had it, when a fussy baby is being passed around, and for some reason when it lands in your arms, all fight and wiggle, it settles down and the miracle of peace is finally present.

Alleviating suffering is one of those acts that I believe brings us into alignment with God. It’s holy. Alleviating suffering allows us to participate in what the Spirit of Love is doing or wants to do. It’s like being the conduit of a miracle. We can only show up. We can’t control the outcome. That’s the work of the Divine.

Sometimes I find myself hesitant to go where the suffering is. I have worked hard to cultivate a place of peace in my own soul and often, especially if we’re really empathetic, that peace can dissipate when we move toward someone’s crisis. It doesn’t even have to be crisis really. I find myself less inclined to hang out with people who aren’t comfortable in their own skin, who are insecure, who carry around anger and don’t even know it. It can unsettle my own peaceful state.

I’ve worked really hard over the years to cultivate inner peace, to work through the issues of childhood, or ministry or whatever threatened to lodge itself in my soul and create pain, or a chip on my shoulder, or prejudice or fear. For a number of years this was especially intense as I worked hard to acknowledge and forgive those who’d hurt or neglected me. I doubt I was good company at the time. I was a mess. I was sensitive, weepy, sometimes angry and depressed. I’m grateful for those who walked with me and showed me patience and compassion.

So I found myself challenged as I sunk into my 10 minutes of holding health at the forefront of my mind and being present in the moment with the crying baby. The baby became a powerful illustration to me. In order to participate in healing, whether it’s the healing of a situation, a person, a memory, or the earth, I need to be willing to go where the pain is. I need to risk some of my own peace. Of course I could maintain my peace in someone else’s crises, but it’s a risk. I might not.

Here’s an example. Many times in real estate (I estimate about half of the time) I was dealing with a situation where the marriage had broken down and now the house had to be sold. Parties were often hostile. The pain around the negotiating table was often just below the surface. I was mediating, not only between prospective buyers and sellers but also between the husband and wife. It was often an extended time of walking on eggshells. If things didn’t go well, for any number of reasons, the just-below-the-surface-anger would spill over. I was often the brunt of that anger. I wasn’t at fault. I knew that.  I was often very sympathetic to them and really wanted to bring resolution. Many times I was tempted to walk. Who needed it? There is so much peace making involved in being a Realtor. Did you know that?

In my meditation I began to see the crying baby as so many things. Angry people who can negatively affect my daily life and the pain that lies beneath their anger, teenagers trying to find their way, lonely people, hungry people, someone with a diagnosis of cancer, people who misunderstand and are afraid of Islam or other cultures or religions, the earth as it groans because of our over consumption, an unhealed part of my soul.

Going to the “crying baby” is hard work. I’m challenged to listen for the cries in and around my life, for the cry of pain wherever it comes from and to be unafraid. To walk toward it, maintaining as best I can my inner peace but at the same time not holding it too dearly, it can always be restored later. There are many things we can’t change, especially for other people, but we can be present and our presence is an act of love.

“Love hopes all things, believes all things and bears all things.

Love never fails.” ~ The Bible

To bring peace, you have be willing, to acknowledge, to reach out and to hold the crying baby.

I’m not sure how I feel about my 50th birthday being on the first day of lent. I’m not sure how I feel about my 50th birthday. Somehow being the launching day of deprivation and sacrifice and the long 40 day walk to Easter doesn’t help any.

Actually, I’m pretty ok with turning 50. Now. I’ve never really struggled with birthdays. The last one that threw me for a loop (and I’m talking a dark tail spin of oh-no-my-life-is-almost-over depression) was when I turned 18. Yep. It was pretty irrational. All I could think was, in 12 years I’ll be 30!!! Whoa! My life is zooming by! I didn’t say it made sense and honestly I haven’t had a birthday since that has been hard to take.

This one, well, the weight of this one has been coming for several months. I’ve been mulling it over and wondering where the time has gone, taking stock, finding some regrets (not something I usually do) and recalibrating goals and possibilities. I’m glad I’ve been doing it for months because today I’m just fine. Today I can celebrate the great life I’m living and just be thankful. I’m still pondering when exactly am I going to feel my age. In my mind I’m about 32 (which to my 18 year old self means past my expiration date).

Lent. Normally lent for me is like hitting the reset button regarding diet. I have many times gone overboard and bit off more than I could chew (pun not intended but certainly acknowledged).  No chocolate, no wine, no sugar, no wheat, no meat….ya, that was one year. I always envied the people who could give up popcorn or something and call that a sacrifice. On the years when I was too aggressive I often quit in the middle somewhere. Usually for philosophical reasons – sure, ya, that’s right. Usually because I couldn’t remember anymore why we give up things for lent. Usually…because I was starving and cranky.

This year however I’m eating so very healthy that it’s just not necessary. If I tightened up what I’m already doing it might wreck the balance I have going and be the end of healthy eating altogether.

So this is what I’m doing this year. Inspired by this TED talk I am taking 3 ten minute time outs each day for meditation and mindfulness. If we have to frame this in ‘giving up’ language, I guess I’m giving up 30 minutes of my day. I’m giving up the constant running dialogue in my head. I’m giving up doing. I’m giving up mental clutter. That’s the hope anyhow.

I know the classical way to meditate is to pick a word to focus on, or something like that. I’m picking three different feelings. I’ll try to describe them.

In the morning I’m going to clear my mind and feel the feeling of health. I’m going to do my best not to compartmentalize into body, soul and spirit, rather to see them all as a whole and envision myself doing and being healthy.

In the afternoon I’m going to clear my mind and feel sheer and abandoned joy. You know the kind of night with friends that ends with you laughing so hard your makeup is all over and all barriers are down and basically all caution is thrown to the wind and you’re free and euphoric and grateful and so very well? Or, for me, when I fly. Especially in a small plane or parasailing or something. I giggle involuntarily the whole time. I can’t help it. It rises up and won’t be stopped. That feeling is the feeling I’m going to meditate on in the afternoon.

In the evening I’m going to clear my mind and think of Love. Love flowing into me and love flowing out. Open channels of love. Nothing specific, no visualizing things to do, no specific words. Just the feeling of love flowing freely.

That’s how my lent is shaping up.

Are you observing lent in anyway this year? Did you make any New Year’s resolutions? How are they going?

We might not be perfect at following through on all we set out to do, but if we keep aiming and keep trying, and don’t get discouraged, surely we keep improving. Sometimes improving means letting go of those things too. Perfection is overrated. It’s all ready broken, so what are you trying?



Growing up in the evangelical scene the word salvation had a very specific meaning. I don’t think I need to spell that out to this crowd. I think we are all acquainted with how lost and depraved we are until we say the magic prayer that takes us from the road to hell and puts us on the road to heaven. One little, heartfelt prayer can do all that.  This happens a lot when the lost and depraved one is a five year old who just wants to do the right thing and be good and…oh ya…not go to hell!

Inherent in this understanding of salvation is exclusivity, superiority and the need for some serious denial. I told a very evangelical minister once that I didn’t think he really believed in hell (in the classical definition of eternal conscious torment) because if he did he’d have to be on the verge of insanity trying to do whatever he could every minute of every day to save every possible person from going there. He assured me that he did.

So salvation has been troublesome for me, until one day, another Minister friend of mine spoke about it in a sermon. She talked about the root word being salve. That’s right, an ointment, a balm, something that soothes a wound, cleanses it and brings healing.

Salvation can of course mean deliverance from enemies who seek to harm us (think inner demons, ourselves, those around us who do not have our best interests in mind). This could be personal or communal or global salvation.

I can think of salvation in these terms. It’s so positive and healing. When the Spirit of Love and Peace is applied, healing happens. When Forgiveness and Light and Grace are applied, healing happens. This doesn’t require a specific understanding of theology, it doesn’t require being part of a small exclusive club. On the contrary, it’s so inclusive and the principles for healing are so universal. It’s not a secret code it’s the backbone of many religions. Forgiveness, love, peace, taking care of the poor, loving your neighbor, justice, kindness, humility, are not only the basis of many religions but also ring true in our conscience. The salve for healing is within us.

I’d like to see our planet saved/healed/delivered from the harm we’ve inflicted on it. I’d like to see multitudes saved from poverty, from lives that are reduced to survival-at-any-cost. I’d like to see gang-ridden neighbourhoods saved. I’d like to see relationships healed/saved. I’d like to see those suffering from mental illness saved/healed/delivered.

When I pulled up some old bible verses that are about salvation and read them with this new understanding it changed everything. For example, repent (turn from your harmful ways) and be saved now means something completely different and actually seems so obvious. It’s also not about a prayer, or about a belief. Stop doing what is hurtful and harmful and be healed.

Once again, I began to see that my qualms might not be with Christianity but with what we’ve done to it. Having said that, I still think there’s a lot I can’t be reconciled with but then, before my friend preached her sermon I thought I had a big issue with the idea of salvation. Turns out, maybe I don’t.

I wonder how many other things that I think I can’t swallow are just epiphanies waiting to happen.

Thanks Rose Ann. You saved the word salvation for me.

I can’t wait until I get to writing about where I see the spirit of Love in my everyday life and how I think that spirit just might be God.

But right now, there are a few things I still have to get off my chest. Or maybe this is the last one (but I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you).

I think the notion that gets flippantly bandied about, that God is in control, is one of the most confusing and often cruel beliefs going. What does it even mean? God is in control of what exactly? How do we know?

I’m not going to get into the philosophical debate about the sovereignty of God and free will of man. Throw a dart and you can find volumes about that anywhere. Read them all and you still won’t know. I’m more interested in how we live because of what we believe. Do we abdicate responsibility in our lives or social responsibility because we believe that we are not in control but God is? Do we short circuit the process of wrestling with thoughts or situations and just throw our hands up and say ‘God is in control’? Do we feel guilty grieving because it seems to lack faith in the God who is in control?

I worry about people who face really tough situations, like life threatening illness, or that of their children or spouse, when they look like they have a secret magic card in their pocket and they say ‘it’s ok, God is in control.’ I’m not saying that he isn’t (because I don’t know) or that he won’t miraculously cure them…or whatever…I’m saying that often it seems like a form of denial of what is presently happening. Even more worrying is the underlying, often coupled thought, that if I deny it, if I pretend it isn’t there and that they’re already healed, then the disease won’t actually have any power.

Whatever the tough spot being faced, it seems to me that the first reaction of ‘God is in control’ is a form of denial. When that fades, if it does, what comes next? We’re all telling ourselves a story about what happens to us and how. We’re all framing our lives and the purpose and meaning of life in some way and I know that we all employ denial as a good, sometimes healthy, coping mechanism.

What would you tell people who’ve watched most of their family die of starvation about God’s control of everything? How can we possibly maintain this idea like it’s an orthodox tenet of our faith?

Seatbelt use here in Qatar is a new idea. Many do not use them. Daily we see children standing in the car, playing, jumping over seats, mothers holding their standing infants on their laps in the front seats. I was told that there is a pervasive thought among the Qataris that God is in control of your life and your death and it basically lacks faith to feel such a strong need to use a seatbelt. We (non-Muslims) live in fear of death and we’re not submitted to the will of God; that’s why we fretfully put our seatbelts on.

A good friend recently had major heart surgery. I was telling someone else about this and they said, “Well, God is in control. Ours is not to question ‘why’.”

Really? It isn’t? And where did that idea come from? Is believing in the laws of nature an affront to our faith in God? Is God offended by our questioning? Is he in control of every little thing?

I believe that there are consequences for our actions, both personal (health, relationships, lifestyle, sowing and reaping – known by some as karma) and global (pollution, politics, tolerance, charity). I believe we are all affected by these things and we all live under the same natural laws.

I believe there are some things we can affect and change. I believe we can make a difference. I believe, for example, that if I take care of my health I have a better chance of living a long healthy life. It’s not a guarantee because I live in the same polluted world as everyone else and I have genetics that I’m not in control of but good choices make for better chances.

I believe that if I help someone in need it makes a difference to them and if I don’t help them they suffer more. Can I eradicate poverty and suffering? Of course not. If I help one person, is that a meaningless drop in the bucket? Not to them!

In yesterday’s post I talked about doing what we can do with regard to the inner workings of our lives. Forgiving and loving and dealing with our ego etc. and watching what God does with it.  The question of who is in control is likely the wrong question. It’s too simplistic. We’re too self-serving to really think clearly about that. We want to know what’s in it for us, how does it benefit us, how does it get us off the hook or does it give us the secret magic card.

My husband thinks that rather than draw comparisons of kings and subjects, commanders and troops or puppets and puppeteers, our relationship with God should be viewed more like a dance. Two willing partners, one moves and the other responds and vice versa. (I realize there should be a leader in the dance but then you’ve never danced with me…that line is kind of fuzzy and we’ll just let my husband think that sometimes one person leads and sometimes the other person leads…also it works better with the point I’m trying to make).

I believe that God is with us. He doesn’t necessarily manipulate things so that we never feel pain, but he’s with us. He grieves with us and celebrates with us, he holds us when we hurt or feel lonely, he listens when we question.

I believe he prefers honesty to pretending even if the truth is that we’re not remarkable; we’re scared and angry and confused. I believe that when we’re genuine to our vulnerable cores that he informs our souls and our paths.

I believe that when we let our souls be informed by Love and we are finally quiet, all the way to our centre quiet, that he is there and that’s what matters.


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