Thoughts on a Sunday Morning

It’s been a quiet morning and a slow morning. I’ve come to realize how sacred my weekend time is to me—that I don’t need to get out and do, do, do all the time—it actually means much more to me to be still—to relax, to do nothing.

The art of doing nothing—ah yes, indeed.

My life has slowed down considerably since my mom’s death. I find that trying to “pack it all in” does little more than exhaust me and wear me out. I have limited energy, and I want to devote that energy to things and people and endeavors that truly matter and that are in line with my values.

As part of an assignment for a class I’m taking, I’ve been noodling with different phrases and words that can help bring me back into focus when I’ve lost it. And since I’ve done a lot of work around taking care of my body lately, I wanted to come up with a specific phrase around that.

I woke up yesterday with a specific word in my head, and I related it to taking care of my body. That word was “abide.”

I knew, loosely, what it meant. But looking it up was actually powerful, because I found new meanings for it. The word goes deeper than what most people assume.

Google’s definition for abide is: “to accept or act in accordance with.”

But I found a webpage with three additional and powerful deeper meanings, and I wanted to share:

“When we abide in something, we are loyal to it even unto death.”
 “To abide means to continue doing whatever is being done even when it is hard and the urge to quit is almost too much.”
 “…to cling to something and have faith in it, even when it seems to have failed.”

When I read that last one, I wept. How many times have I given up on my body, because it failed me? Or because I failed it?

How many times have I given up on myself, because I failed? How many times have I given up on something—anything—because that was the quickest way out? Because the urge to quit was intense, and it won?

My whole self is made up of a very important team: my body, my heart, my mind, and my soul. I need all of my team members to be on the same page. So that means paying attention—asking and listening—in the quiet stillness of my most private moments.

God is part of my team, too—and the quietest moments are usually when I hear Him speak directly to me.

We have conversations then.

We laugh and cry together, and I am reminded that I am His precious child, and what I perceive as failure or shortcomings—He perceives as learning.

Learning, that is, to be more like Him…

And so, in my learning to take care of myself the way that He wants, I came up with a phrase that resonates deeply with me:

My body tells me what it needs, and I abide.

What I've Learned About Faith

A couple of weeks ago, so much of my life was up in the air. I didn’t have transportation. I didn’t have a job. And the pending renewal of my condo lease was looming. If I couldn’t find a job and/or a roommate within a couple of weeks, I would be looking at finding a friend to stay with or moving back in with my parents.

Just the thought of going through moving (on top of everything else) made me sick to my stomach.

The Sunday night before selling my car was tough. It’s as if I stayed up as late as possible to try and put off the sun’s rising Monday morning, knowing what I would have to go through with—knowing that I would be selling my car. My one asset, the one thing remaining from my old life, but really, it was even more than that.

That car was part of my identity.

We had a good run... 

Letting go of it meant letting go of the last piece of my old identiy—one I had worked so hard to create: a delicate façade of trying to be a perfect wife, a perfect provider, a perfect friend, a perfect daughter, a perfect artist.

What I ended up becoming was a perfect failure.

Monday, February 6, inevitably arrived, of course. I hastily cleaned out my car, dumping all its contents into reusable grocery bags and hauling it upstairs.

(I might as well admit right here and now that all of the contents of my cubicle from my Frito-Lay days were still jostling around in the trunk.)

My friend David met me for breakfast where we talked about some things that were on both of our hearts, and then we headed to CarMax. The selling process was rather unceremonious, and I walked out of there with a bank draft.

My friend took me to the bank, where I deposited the check and then drafted a cashier’s check for my February rent.

Then, he dropped me off at home, where I waited for my landlord to stop by and pick up the check. When she arrived, I was very open with her. I told her I didn’t know what was going to happen—that I was doing the best I could do, and I had had some great interviews, but nothing had yet turned into an offer. I told her I wanted to do right by her and give as much notice as possible if I was going to have to move out. A lot would depend on the next couple of weeks.

She offered to go month-to-month for the same dollar amount until I got everything figured out. I think she appreciated my openness, and up until this point, I have been a perfect tenant.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

I didn’t know what was going on in the background as all of this transpired. I felt strangely peaceful.

As it turns out, a former colleague of mine had run into a former colleague of hers. And although I don’t know the exact timing, I’d like to think it was sometime around the sale of my car. Anyway, he mentioned the need for an Instructional Designer, and did she happen to know anybody?

Indeed, she did.

She recommended me and introduced us via LinkedIn that evening.

An hour later, he emailed me directly and asked if I could come in for an interview Tuesday or Wednesday.

I knew my friend David was going out of town Tuesday afternoon and had offered to loan me his car while he was gone. I asked for a Wednesday interview and sent my résumé over to him on Tuesday.

It’s interesting to note that on Tuesday, I met my friend Michael for lunch, and we talked about the Laws of Attraction. That evening, I started making a list of what I wanted—in a man, in a career, for myself, etc.

The important part of Laws of Attraction is also describing why you deserve the things you’re asking for… and to be sure to only ask when you’re in the right frame of mind—a genuine place, rather than a place of desperation or greed.

And, I realized a few things—that I have already tasted a lot of what I want, I just haven’t had a lot of it all together at one time. I also realized how far I’ve come, to dare and to believe I am worthy of all that my heart truly wants. It was a good feeling, and I went to bed feeling positive and hopeful.

On Wednesday morning, I got up and prepared… looked over all of my work and put some samples on a jump drive to show them. I thought about what I might say and what questions they might ask. I combed through their website. You know—all the usual interview-prep stuff.

I expected the interview to last an hour or a little longer. You know—the usual.

But, I ended up being there for over four hours. I met with the President and VP. I met with a main Project Coordinator and I met the other two Instructional Designers. I met a few other people, too. It felt like I was part of the team and that was my first day of work. I felt welcomed. I felt energized to finally find a small company that has a great business model that really works.

On Friday morning, I got the job offer!

That afternoon, I signed paperwork accepting the offer… just after signing a two-year renewal on my condo lease.

And, Saturday, I took care of the one missing piece: buying a car.

No longer did I have to settle for a cheap “cash car”. I could actually finance a car, and apparently I’ve done something right over the last year or so, because I managed to get a great interest rate.

So… I bought a 2009 Honda Accord.

I started my new job the following Tuesday, and I’m quite happy there. I didn’t just get any job, after all. I got a job that truly fits me and my personality. I fit, too. I get to use my strengths, my background, my education, and I get to work with great people in a great environment, too!

I feel pretty strongly that letting go of the Acura—the last piece of my old identity—was the very thing that set into motion the chain of events that happened within a span of just five days.

I’ve learned so much over the past few months—about myself, and about others. I have received an abundance of love, support, and energy. I’ve learned just how little money I really need.

There were times when I quite literally didn’t know where I would get the money to pay for my next meal, let alone my next bill. And yet, I didn’t ever truly go into panic mode. I found that in just the nick of time, I would get a donation for writing group, someone would buy a piece of jewelry, a friend would generously buy me dinner, or something else would happen and suddenly—I’d have $100 again.

I have learned the real value of money, and with all the time I’ve had on my hands—I’ve certainly had ample opportunity to examine my spending habits from the past. I realized that I spent entirely too much money on stupid things. That realization has helped me renew my focus, come up with a more realistic budget, and of course renew my awareness of where my money really goes.

I bought one thing in the last two or three months that I didn’t need. One. And that was BrenéBrown’s new book, The Gifts ofImperfection, which I recommend to everyone. (I bought it after hearing this awesome podcast, by the way.)

That’s pretty different for me. In the past—even when I was in a financial pinch—I would have found ways to spend money on stupid things like a new sweater or pair of shoes. I didn’t do that this time. I needed every dime I got to pay the phone bill or the grocery bill.

What I’ve learned about faith over the past few months is that I had to fully trust in God before I could have it. (Maybe that isn’t the case for you, but for me—it is.) I made that choice, to fully trust, back in December when I refreshed the Step Beyond training through Pathways. That was pivotal for me, and ever since December, I have felt a deep sense of peace.

Even through this crazy storm of my life, I have felt an underlying sense of peace. I did my part—looking for jobs, applying for jobs, asking for help, reworking my résumé over and over, connecting with people who might be able to help, and in the meantime continuing to pursue my passions so that I didn’t go completely insane.

And because I did my part, I was able to—somehow… let go of those things that were out of my control.

I took a leap… a leap of faith.

It didn’t feel like a leap, though. It felt like a daily practice, and there were some very dark days, to be sure.

Happy me, in my favorite shirt. It was my grandmother's.

But instead of turning completely inward during the darkness, I turned to God. I turned to friends and family. I turned to writing. I turned to all of the things that feed my soul, and I was never truly alone. I walked through this storm with dignity. I have emerged stronger and more solidified in my faith, with priorities revamped, focus restored, and a brand new appreciation for friends, family, and even acquaintances who have in one way or another been so willing to extend a helping hand… just for me.

To me, faith is a choice (and, like all things, it takes practice). But it is not a choice easily made, and I had to be in the right place, spiritually, to be able to make that choice.

I had to be on my knees. 

I have been through some of the most truly humbling experiences of my life over the past months, and I have learned so much along the way. But this time... instead of being knocked down to my knees by external forces, this was an inside job. I had to be willing to go to my knees myself. Humility was a choice. I recognize now that all of the lessons in humility that I've had over the past months (years?) led me to this point, so that I would have the courage to willingly go to my knees when it was time.

I believe faith is about stepping forward and doing something incredibly hard, and trusting that even when you have no clue what the outcome will be—you will be okay. For me, this time, it was the past few months culminating in the biggest leap of all—selling my car.

In my willingness to let go of control and trust that I would be okay, I gained deeper understanding of what it means to walk with God and to let Him carry me when I am too weak to take the steps myself.

And, truly, what I’ve learned over the past couple of years sank in, all the way to my core. I am loved. I am cared for. I am taken care of. I am not alone…

(These things are true for all of us, by the way.)

I am deeply grateful to accept these gifts and all the blessings I have received thus far.

I am drinking from my saucer, because my cup is overflowing.

What a Day.

It started last night, really. When I knew I needed to get to bed, and I also knew that today I would be making the trek to CarMax to hope for the best regarding an offer for my car.

My 2003 Acura RSX Type-S (6 speed manual)

I thought about the first memory of driving it off the lot, when my now ex-husband had the dealership put a giant red bow on the hood when we went to pick up the car… the smell of the leather when it was brand new, the way it handled so tight, the way I thoroughly enjoyed breaking in the engine and spreading her wings…

Over the years, that car has been more than just a mode of transportation. It’s more than just a possession to me. It’s more than a way of getting from A to B.

I’ve always loved driving, of course. It’s a passion for me. But with my Acura being my first brand new car, ever, it does and will always hold a very special place in my world. Perhaps for those of you who view a car as nothing more than a mode of transport, substitute whatever other passion you might have, and you might start to see my point.

I went to bed and ended up sobbing for a little while, knowing that while I am fully willing to let go of this possession, it’s still a grieving process that I have to endure.

I woke up with a heavy heart this morning.

I had a great writing (and talking, and sharing) session with John, who is my guinea pig writing coaching client. He and I have become great friends.

I’d like to share a couple of things I wrote during our time together this morning. It will make this particular blog post long, but no one has strapped you to the chair and forced you to read it, ya know?

I’m tired of thinking about it, but I need guidance. I have asked for help—from friends, trusted mentors, and of course from God. I am with Him. I can feel his hand on me, on my shoulder, even now. But I don’t yet have any answers, and that is what is painful. I have listened—sat in silence in my car, in my home… listening to music is almost too much for my brain and my heart right now. Silence is what calms me… deafens my deep interior.
And still, I have no answers. And still, I am uncertain of what tomorrow brings—let alone next week. I am scared, yes—and still I am finding a way to function, to take care of at least the bare minimum of what needs to be done. I am low down on Level 2 of Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs right now. Hunkered down. On my knees… still. In a way I never have before, I am submitting. It’s worse than uncomfortable—it’s painful. And I know why it’s painful: I am resisting.
I am still fighting it in my own way—it’s like I’m that black knight in Monty Python & The Holy Grail. My legs and arms have been hacked off by a sword, and still, I’m arguing with King Arthur as he quasi-gallops away.
“Come back here, I’ll bite your legs off!”
It’s useless. I know. And I get now what it’s about… denial. I am still denying that this is all really happening. I am still denying that I may actually have to lose everything. I don’t feel that’s the case—I don’t feel like I should have to lose everything. Is it a sense of entitlement? I don’t think so, but maybe I’m wrong… certainly wouldn’t be the first time.
I guess what I need is… answers. I have asked questions and certainly not the questions I used to ask (Why me? Where is this God everyone talks about so much? Why do bad things happen to good people?).
No.
My questions are not so universal. Why me isn’t even in my vocabulary anymore.
I guess this feels… personal. Like maybe I’m not good enough for his favor.

I am sad that it's really come to this. That I really do have to sell my car. That I really am that broke, and that out of options.

That last line really stung, though. Even just to write it down was hard. I felt the resistance in my hand, but as tears welled up in my eyes, I knew I had to come clean with that level of honesty.

John reassured me that he saw faith in me. That even though I have these questions, there is still a peace about me that he hadn't seen before. I agree with him.

For whatever reason, I ended up writing the last piece in third person. Weirdly, it’s as if I was writing it as it was happening to me.

Naked. Nervous. Foreign.
She read those words on the page—the page that described her sudden clinging to Jesus, the page that she had written, and suddenly a calm washed over her that she wasn’t even aware she needed. Deeper than peace, and something certainly not sustained or maintained by her. No. Serenity comes directly from God.
And gaining the reassurance she needed, from her friend, and from her own words, from the voice deep within her and the voice in every particle of air around her, in every cell of her body, in her very DNA: God’s voice.
The answer had come.
She felt it then—the understanding that her next step was selling the car, and just as she’d been saying the few days before, she said again: “I can only handle one thing at a time right now. What is the next thing?”
Only the next thing.
It’s the tiny details of all that could happen and all that could go wrong. It’s one thought leading to another thought and then a flurry of thoughts after that—of the worst that could happen, and the striving, the fighting, the resisting of saying, “How do I prevent that worst thing from happening?”.
That’s where she got overwhelmed… when she tried to provide her own solution before it was time.
She got that now.

I wrote some more after John left, I had some lunch, and I finally made my way to CarMax.

I had a great experience at CarMax, and the guy could tell I have an emotional attachment to my car. I got a reasonable offer, and I’m going to go through with it on Monday… I just need my car through the weekend (and I need to clean it out, which I won’t get to do until Sunday evening).

On the way home, I felt the tears streaming down my cheeks and on a whim, I pulled into Bachman Lake to watch planes land and walk around and stare at the water.

I didn’t realize I was in for a little treat… a little distraction, even.

I ran into these four clowns. In a row.

Ducks in a row...

 For whatever reason, they immediately took an interest in me and started following me around.

I walked for a ways and stopped at the most magnificent pecan tree. It immediately catapulted me back to childhood and the giant pecan tree in the front yard of the house I grew up in—the one that was struck by lightning and was badly bruised for a while, but over time, it healed up and kept growing. I often leaned against that tree, marveled at the bark, and gazed up into its branches, wondering what the world might look like from way up there.

I leaned against this tree and felt its power. I let it hold me as I stared blankly out at the rippling water.

The ducks plopped into the water and swam down to where I walked. They swam down farther and then doubled back and got out of the water right in front of me.

I watched them for a while. They watched me for a while. But this one was really stuck on me, apparently. I’ll call him Rusty, because his coloring was a little different from the others. He stayed near me the whole time I was at the lake. He didn’t get in the water when the others did. He stayed on the ground about 20 feet from me. When the others got back out of the water, he came closer to me.

And when I started to leave, Rusty followed me.

And then the rest of the ducks joined him.

They meandered towards a patch of clover, and I stopped, again remembering my childhood and wondering how many hours I’d spent in my front yard, searching in vain for the ever-elusive four-leaf clover.

Rusty was intrigued that I squatted down to his level to take a picture of the clover, and he stood very still, very close in front of me for a full minute, looking at me, as if he was posing for me to take this picture. So, of course, I indulged him.

Rusty, striking a pose

I walked to my car to see if I had any nuts or other acceptable food with me, and I didn’t. I heard some geese making a bunch of commotion. These guys were chasing everybody around, honking their heads off.

Just as I thought about leaving, though, I saw this guy.

A lone swan amongst a bunch of noisy geese and ducks.

He swam right up to me, and for a minute I thought he was going to jump out of the lake. He didn’t… but he did this funky thing with one of his webbed feet, sticking it out straight, above the water. I looked down at my hand and stretched my fingers wide, and realized that his foot was as big as my whole hand.

Yeah. That dude was big!

I realized today that I am taken care of. All of my needs are met. It felt like Rusty the duck was a little angel hanging around me, making sure I was okay. The pecan tree welcomed me, supporting not only my physical weight, but my emotional weight, too. And the clovers made me smile…

And the kindness of the CarMax salesman, and the sweet words John said to me earlier today, and the messages of support and love from other friends… all carried me through this difficult day.

And while I feel particularly emotionally drained…

Yes… I am okay.

And tomorrow is another day, where I will only be concerned with the very next thing in front of me.

My Path to Serenity & Beyond

You fall apart because you’re growing,
Unfolding slowly towards the light
 - from “A Christmas Carol” by The Neld Sisters

I’m sitting here weeping as I listen to Christmas music. Some of it, I’ve sung since I was a little girl (The Vocal Majority, VinceGuaraldi, Elvis, and John Denver & The Muppets, to name a few). I know the words, the melodies and the harmonies.

But it’s almost as if I’m truly hearing these Christmas songs for the first time.

For those of you not in the know, I became a believer earlier this year. If you haven’t read my most popular blog post, it may be worth checking out. It was a very long journey to reach that point of accepting Jesus as my savior, and it was filled with a lot of judgment, resistance, and over-analysis.

It amazes me where I came from, and where I am now.

One of the keystones in my journey of becoming a Christian (even though I was technically raised as one) was attending the spiritual training Pathways offers—called Step Beyond.

Step Beyond is only offered the first weekend of December each year.

I went through the Pathways Core training in August 2004.

So, that means it took me a whopping five years—until December 2009—to lay down enough judgments about the Step Beyond training to finally walk through those doors.

But, you know—everything happens for a reason. I truly believe that. And I knew that if I waited until I felt open enough to go to Step Beyond and feel receptive to whatever training was there for me, I would get a lot more out of it.

For the record, here are some of the judgments I had:

• Step Beyond is just for Christians, and I’m not one, nor am I interested in being converted or pursued.
• There’s nothing for me at Step Beyond. I’m not a religious person.
• I can do it my own way. I've been doing that for years, and it works just fine. 
• I don’t need that. I’m spiritual enough on my own.
• I don’t want anyone to dictate how I should be spiritual.
• It’s such a big training, with so many people. How could I possibly get anything out of it?
• I don’t know what kind of people will be there. I won't be able to connect with anyone.
• I don’t know what we’ll do. How the heck can Pathways training possibly address spirituality?
• Maybe I'll try it next year, when I'm in a better place.
• I just can't afford it.

Having grown up in the church, I quickly learned to stop asking questions, because the primary answer I got was to just “have faith”.

Faith in what, exactly?

I kept going to church because my parents dragged me, and I felt like it was the “right” thing to do.

But, I stopped taking communion in high school, and for most of the service, I just sat there staring off into space, or staring at the monstrous stained glass window, wondering who Jesus really was. Wondering who God really was, and wondering why I felt so different from everybody else—not just in typical misfit high schoolish ways, but spiritually, too.

I was taught to believe at all costs. Questions were downplayed or even frowned upon. My questions remained, though, and they turned into a whole lot of judgments about what it meant to be a Christian, to be religious, and even to be spiritual.

Of course, now I realize that the reason so many religious folks avoid answering questions about their faith is because they aren’t entirely certain of the answer, either. Instead of engaging in dialog to ask their own questions or explore the idea together, it’s easier to shut down and claim to rely on faith.

To me, that’s blind faith, and I really didn’t want that.

Although I tried different avenues, I think it’s safe to say that I completely pushed any thought of “God” far out of my mind during my college years and into my 20s. For a considerable time, I thought to myself, “I’ll figure it out someday.”

It didn't help that I went through a span of years where I experienced a lot of heartache, loss, and devastation. I thought that if God was real, then those bad things wouldn't have happened to me. 

In those years, I often found moments of peace when I’d go for a walk in the woods, strolling along the ocean, or camping in the middle of nowhere.

And when I lived in Boston, I’d escape the city for the coast of Maine as often as I could. It was only an hour or so away, after all. A man I briefly dated introduced me to a section of rocky cliffs along the shore of Kennebunkport, Maine, where the winding road separated a mountainous mass of multi-million dollar homes from a lone wooden two-story house rather precariously plopped on a stretch of smooth coastline. The water smashed delightfully against the large rocks surrounding three sides of the house.

My special place, on the shore of Kennebunkport, Maine

A perfect setting, complete with park benches staring out into the deep blue depths of the Atlantic.

Earth revealed her curve to me there, and suddenly she seemed so small, yet also so vast—not unlike my human form, trying to contain the vast love and pain in my heart. The whole seemed inadequate for all the parts.

I found solace in my special place, but I never really thought of God.

In fact, I didn’t give God much more thought until I went through Pathways.

I witnessed miracles when I went through my training, of course, but at the time I didn’t think of what I saw as God.

I didn’t think at all, really. I was mostly shocked and envious and mystified and confused and utterly in awe. Shocked, because I’d never witnessed anything like what I saw in the Pathways training room. Envious, because it seemed like other people “got” something that I was so obviously missing. Mystified because I couldn’t explain it, and confused because with me, being a “head case,” I really needed an explanation.

I discounted that it could be God, or anything supernatural. It just didn’t register. The miracles I saw in the training room were something along the lines of coincidence. Just like the beauty I saw in the woods, on the rocky Kennebunkport shore, and at times in the faces of friends or even strangers— were all just chance. It was all confusing. I didn’t process any of it as spiritual.

That’s how far away I was from feeling any sort of spiritual connection (let alone God) when I went through Pathways.

My spiritual path has been at best—tenuous, long, and slow.

Through my journey volunteering as a TA (training assistant) with Pathways, I started to acknowledge that the miracles I saw happening before me, time and time again, were God. I became more open to the idea of God, and that’s when my path started to change course.

And then, I came to a point in my path in December 2009 where I felt a tap on my heart.

I felt pulled to attend Step Beyond. I didn’t even understand why, but something inside of me recognized that it was time. And for once, I listened.

It was God doing the tapping, of course—sitting patiently, waiting.

Waiting for me.

During Step Beyond, I realized that even though I finally recognized seeing and feeling God all around me, I had never thought to allow God into my heart. I had kept God at bay with all the judgments I had about what it means to believe in God, accept God, trust God, and yes, "have faith".

And realizing that is exactly what helped me break wide open. At the heart of it all, I felt like I’d let God down. I wasn’t sure there was anything truly good inside of me. I felt like I wasn’t good enough to show my own light. I felt like I didn’t have it in me to continue on, trying to find my own way—especially since my spiritual path looked so different from that of a Christian, a Jew, a Pagan, a Buddhist, a Muslim, an Atheist, an Agnostic… my spiritual path had no clear definition to anyone. Especially not me.

At the time, I didn’t realize that was enough.

When the time came during Step Beyond for me to open my heart fully, I did not fold. I moved into the light, and I let that light into my heart for the first time.

At that point in my journey, God was a loosely shaped being represented by warm, yellow light. Light, representing a collection of all that is good, humble, and reverent.

I crawled into the light’s long, warm arms, and I curled up to rest, like a little girl.

That light is God. My light shines from the inside out. And when I let my light shine, I am a being as close to God as I can ever be.

That’s the covenant I made in Step Beyond… I am a Godly woman, letting my light shine.

Even when it’s hard. Even when I don’t think I can. Even when my heart feels weak. Maybe especially when my heart feels weak.

I believe all of us have the capacity to shine brightly, from our hearts out into the world.

Each of us contains light… each of us contains God.

For the first time in my life, God took up residence here, in my heart. And it made me realize how beautiful life really is.

It’s incredibly difficult to describe exactly how my life has changed since attending Step Beyond. But my life started to change in unexpected ways. I took a harder look at who I had really become, who I was becoming, what I had settled for, the direction in which I was moving, and I evaluated all of that (all at once, of course. This is me we’re talking about, after all).

And then I started to see God showing up in my day to day life. I started talking to God more… but more importantly—I started to listen.

I learned what it felt like to receive grace—from people, and from God. I realized that if I allow myself to be vulnerable, I’m never alone. I am always carried… by the love of others, and by the love of God. I learned what serenity really feels like.

One of the many inexplicable moments I’ve had in the last two years occurred in September 2010, when I was in my special place, in Kennebunkport, Maine. I sat on my favorite bench, watching the sunset, and grieving the loss of my grandmother, the loss of my marriage, the loss of everything I was familiar with—and finally, I said out loud, “I’m yours, God. Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it.”

True surrender.

In that moment, I felt serenity for the first time in my life.

And then I realized I was hungry. I started heading back to the town center, I parked the car, and then I started walking towards a local eatery, when suddenly I felt myself walking left, instead of right. I couldn’t understand why I was walking around the corner. I couldn’t understand why I felt drawn to set foot in a little gift shop I had overlooked so many times before.

I didn’t understand it, until I walked in and without any hesitation, I walked straight to a table and rested my hand on a smooth rock of sea glass. I looked down and read the word etched on that rock: Serenity.

With the goofiest smile and tears streaming down my face, I bought the sea glass stone and then enjoyed the best lobster bisque I’ve ever had.

I could cite so many more moments like that. Numerous. I can’t explain them, but that gives you a tiny peek into the last two years of my life. I don’t think I could do justice here to the way my life has changed in the two years since I went through Step Beyond. I owe this story more than I could possibly address in a blog.

I know—certainly, I know—I would not have made it through the last two years of my life if I hadn’t been to Step Beyond in December 2009. Sometimes, you go to a training experience like Pathways to cleanse you of all you’ve been through and all you’ve done.

Sometimes, though—it’s to prepare you for what’s coming.

And with all the changes I’ve made, and with all that’s happened in my life, I needed to have faith in God. I needed to have a solid foundation on which to lean. I needed to have a light to cling onto, when all I saw around me was darkness, as I fought through the muck of the life I had created and have since worked very hard to shed.

This year, I am taking another step in my spiritual journey by refreshing the Step Beyond training.

I’m a little nervous, a little excited, and I honestly have no idea how it’s going to turn out.

Please believe me when I say that I’m as surprised as anyone to have accepted Jesus Christ as my Savior. I really never saw that one coming! Step Beyond doesn’t turn people into Christians, by the way. Like any of the other Pathways training experiences, you get whatever it is that you need.

And as far as those judgments I mentioned earlier? Sure, I could have allowed them to get in the way. It's a choice, after all.

But a unique thing happens when you get a room full of people together, when everybody wants something and  is willing to open themselves just enough for judgments, fears, and walls to fall away. What's left are true intentions, deep needs and desires of the soul, and miraculously... a willing spirit.

One thing is for sure. I’ve stretched, grown, and changed so much in the two years that have passed since attending Step Beyond, and although I'm not yet sure how I'm going to pay for it, I cannot imagine a better way to close out 2011 than willingly stepping closer to God, to Jesus, and to my inner light.

If you need "something" but can't quite identify what... Step Beyond might be just the right place for you this weekend. Check it out, here.

My Exhausted Soul, Unfolding...

This is setting out to be the most personal blog post I’ve made to date. I have to think, though, that I’m not the only one who feels this way or has this particular struggle. So I thought I’d throw it out there and see if anyone can weigh in with their experiences. And if you don’t want to talk about it publicly, feel free to email me at lindaleetritton [at] gmail [dot] com.

I’ll ask that you “put your filters on” for what I’m about to share… to draw whatever meaning you can out of it.

My soul is so exhausted… to the core.

I just want to be.

God seems to have other plans.

Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve had several significant “light bulb” moments that I’d never quite put together before. Truths about me that have struck me all the way to my core.

Are other people so much more together, or well-adjusted? Am I really that—I don’t know… deficient, maybe—emotionally, spiritually, intellectually, socially, etc? It feels like I struggle so much more than others do with the universal, eternal truths of this life, while others seem to have it so much more figured out than I do.

Or is it that everyone else is just faking it a lot better than I can?

I can’t seem to fake anything, anymore. I’m mostly thankful for that, because it’s exhausting to fake being okay all the time. It’s exhausting to try and shove myself into a box I clearly don’t fit in.

I’m realizing that no one can ever be as hard on me as I am, and that I am so practiced in the act of punishing myself that it’s proving to be a very difficult habit to break.

I’ll go way out on a limb and share one of the truths I learned about myself, just this morning.

Last night I was up late finishing some jewelry, and as I fell to sleep, a thought popped into my mind. I’ve been feeling somewhat disconnected from God and from my spiritual path in general, and I wasn’t sure why. I also wasn’t sure how to remedy that… but the thought popped to mind that I should try and get up in time to go to a place where I love the music… Bent Tree Bible Fellowship.

Sure enough, my alarm went off and I managed to get up and out the door in time for the service.

Only, I stumbled into a service that was unlike any other I’ve ever attended. It was kind of an on-stage drama of what it might be like for the second coming of Jesus Christ.

It’s a little overwhelming to think about, mainly because I’m not entirely certain what my idea of heaven is, or who I think will or won’t be there, and what my thoughts are about “judgment day”, etc. My ideas of what heaven or judgment is really all about don’t fall into typical Christian beliefs, I guess. (A lot of what I believe doesn’t fall into “typical” Christian beliefs, but I’ll get to that in a minute.)

None of that really mattered. There was a special message for me this morning, and all it required was my presence in a building where the music tends to open my heart wide, and where I tend to allow that to happen.

I think you can open your heart at any time, in any place. But sometimes, you need a nudge. And this morning, I got much more than a nudge… I was pretty much shoved off a cliff.

I realized that the reason I’ve felt so distant from God lately is because I have rejected the love He has for me… because I don’t feel worthy of it.

Ouch.

Even worse… I realized I’ve been ashamed of my faith. Ashamed of becoming a Christian, trying to excuse myself from the bad name Christians have given themselves, instead of just striving to live by example.

Anytime I speak to anyone about my beliefs and my faith, I'm pretty apologetic. I say, “Well, I guess that since becoming a believer earlier this year, that makes me a Christian, but—”

But, what?

But, I believe gays and lesbians should be able to marry and adopt children.

But, I believe creationism has no place being taught in public schools. It’s a religious story that needs to be told within the structure of religion.

But, I believe each person has his or her own path to walk, and for me to assume or even wish that everyone ends up in the same place is not only pompous, but it defeats the purpose of spirituality, which, to me, is potentially the most personal, intimate relationship anyone can have with the divine—whatever you believe the divine to be.

But, I believe you’re not damned if you never accept Christ as your Savior. Actually, I don't know that I even believe in hell.

But, I believe developing kindness, nurturing love within yourself, giving your love to others, and recognizing how we are all connected is vitally important—far more important than how often you go to church, how involved you are in church, or how much money you give to your church.

But, I believe that humans, including (but certainly not limited to) Christians can crush others with their judgments. I think we judge out of fear, and out of what we’ve been taught, or out of limited knowledge, experience, and unexamined beliefs.

I think many of us place judgment first, and ask questions later—or worse—never ask questions at all.

In many places, judging is not only accepted, but it’s expected—even encouraged. I’ve witnessed this inside the walls of many churches, and it saddens me that judging is still so supported and even encouraged.

And I think I’ve fallen into this judgment trap, too.

Except, I’ve been judging myself and assuming that when I say the word “Christian”, I will immediately be judged by others.

Instead of surrendering, I’ve remained lost. What? I’ve actually chosen to be a victim in my own spiritual journey?

Ouch.

Instead of allowing God’s love to being me closer to Him, I’ve been rejecting that love—a way of trying to maintain control. Control of my own faith, control of my journey, control of my love.

What I’m getting at is… I don’t know how to allow someone to love me... I don't know how to receive that love without trying to do something to explain or excuse it away, because some part of me believes I don't deserve it.

Even if that someone (who is trying so hard to love me) is who I believe to be the most divine spiritual force in the universe.

Again… ouch.

Of course, awareness is the first step, and now, I am certainly aware…

my soul
it's dying to be free
i can't live the rest of my life
so guarded
it's up to me to choose..
what kind of life i lead.

cause i don't wanna go on living
being so afraid of showing
someone else my imperfections
even though my feet are trembling
and every word i say comes stumbling
i will bare it all... watch me unfold
unfold

i will allow someone to love me
i will allow someone to love me...
     - from “Unfold” by Marie Digby

There is something positive in all of this awakening. I recognize that this is really just another step in breaking free of all the confines, shackles, and chains I’ve kept myself bound in over the years. I know I’m in the process of breaking free. I know I’m in the process of unfolding.

That doesn’t mean some of those steps along the way aren’t painful…

But unlike before, I am now willing to share some of those moments. I’m not entirely certain what compelled me to share this one with you.

All I know is that we are all connected, and certainly I am not alone my thoughts here, or, if I am—then I simply offer you this piece of me, as another part of my journey, unfolding…

I’m in repair,
I’m not together but I’m getting there…
     - from “In Repair” by John Mayer

Touched By The Divine

“I’m being erased
by Your love,
by Your love,
till nothing remains…”
 - Shanti Webb

Last night, I had a really hard work-out that started with a deeply disturbing sense of emptiness. I hadn’t felt that empty in a very long time.

The good part of that is… I actually didn’t see the emptiness as a bad thing. I saw it as a new beginning. And, over the last year, I have learned how to fill myself up.

And tonight—I am again filled with the Divine.

I got several valuable reminders during Movement Montage tonight.

I am not alone. I am within a rich community of family, friends, mentors, teachers, dancers, artists, cheerleaders, and those who constantly challenge me.

This community—sometimes even unknown to them—urges me on when I most need it.

Even though I’ve been sad and emotional over the last several days, I haven’t given up on living my life.  In fact, I’ve actually done a better job of taking care of myself over the last several days than I had over the last several weeks.

I got up and got to work early, made sure to get enough sleep, I’ve been keeping up with eating well and exercising, and with yoga practice. I’ve started going to regular yoga classes, and I’m upping the ante on my exercise, including adding weights.

I feel sad when I need to feel sad, and I release it in private moments (and then, apparently, talk about it here).

In all the emotional turmoil I’ve felt over the past week, I have remained open. I have remained vulnerable. And I have remained willing.

And although I have been afraid—of sinking into depression, of the sadness taking over, of letting a piece of me fade away…

I allowed the fear to be there, and I pushed through it anyway. Just like the sassy little girl inside of me said would happen…

And tonight, I got a sweet release. I felt my own hand cupping my cheek, jaw, and neck, and yet, in that moment, my hand felt like the hand of God. He told me, again, that I’m not alone. That I have Him, always. That He is in my heart, and I am in His.

And then I danced, with the community of dancers who were present tonight—in that room and everywhere around the world… and I danced with God, and I danced with my sassy little girl inside, and I danced with me.

And then I felt called to go sit and just be with God for a while, so that I could just be still, and be in that moment with Him.

The song that was playing in the background was ethereal and divine… and the last lines were absolutely profound to me, in that moment—and now:

“I’m being erased
by Your love,
by Your love,
till nothing remains…”

God is erasing all of my judgments, all of my ego, all of the negative, awful thoughts I have ever dared to utter about myself. He’s taking it all away, step by step.

And in its place?

Love.

“You're my light in the dark
guiding, guiding me home
and Your faith in me is all I need
Your love, it sets me free”
 - Mmm… (by Laura Izibor) 

A Post About Surrender, Spirituality, and My Very Personal Journey

This got long! I am not trying to impose my views, feelings, or spirituality on anyone else with this post. All I am doing is sharing my personal experience, and I decided to be very open. If you do take the time to read all of it, that already means a lot to me! Regardless, thank you for stopping by.

I grew up attending a Presbyterian church. I could probably write an entire book about my church experience, but the most important things to note were that none of my questions were answered, and it felt like no one cared a whole heck of a lot about that.

I am very literal in that regard. If I need to know the ‘why’, then I need to know it, and I can sometimes get stuck on that ‘why’, unable to move forward.

So, when I raised my hand in Sunday School asking for clarification about the Bible stories, and how we knew Jesus was real, and all of those other big questions that kids can sometimes throw out there, taking adults off-guard every time… I didn’t get real answers. I got nebulous answers like, “Faith” and “It’s about learning how to be a good person” and other answers that made no sense to my non-abstract-thinking child mind.

As I got older, I got wrapped around the “facts” presented in the Bible—all the inconsistencies, idiosyncrasies, contradictions, and all that was ultimately left unsaid. It all led up to me going through the motions of attending church. I sat, I listened, I tried to get something out of it, and often, I left feeling just as confused as I was when I walked in the door.

I certainly didn’t feel a personal connection to God, or that God even understood me, if God was even real.

It didn’t help that I attended one of the biggest churches in the area, and the politics in the church dictated that those with more wealth (to give to the church, of course) were treated like royalty, and we Average Joes were treated like the politicians of America treat middle-class folks.

In other words, we weren’t exactly ignored, because at least two of my family members were useful, until, one day, they were no longer useful, at which point—they were ignored.

I felt confused and frustrated. I had so many questions, and I didn’t understand Jesus or most of the lessons I’d spent my entire childhood and adolescence attempting to learn.

At some point, I turned my back on God.

I wrote off Christianity as a religion that was fine for other folks, but I just didn’t get it, and so it wasn’t fine for me.

In college, and for most of my young adult life, I didn’t give much thought to God. I knew that when I needed to feel centered, I went to nature. In college, I went to a nearby lakes or campgrounds in Tennessee. It’s beautiful countryside there, and it was easy to connect with Earth. It did help keep me grounded.

I also had a close friend who was Jewish, and her family took me under their wing and invited me to all of the traditional Jewish celebrations and rituals. I grew quite attached to Judaism and at one point considered converting. But I realized that while the Jews I encountered were deeply invested in their rituals and gleaned great meaning from them, I still had all these unanswered questions based on the Bible and the teachings within. Ultimately, I knew Judaism wasn’t for me, either.

I also studied Buddhism, Taoism, and Hinduism, searching for something deeper. None of those took, either, although I began to realize they all had common principles, and that gave me some comfort.

When I lived near Boston, I found myself driving up to the coast of Maine on a regular basis, to walk along the beach collecting shells, or sand dollars, or to sit on my bench in Kennebunkport, but again—God was really nowhere in my life.

Over time—especially after attending Pathways, and seeing miracles happen before my eyes, I felt myself creepy-crawling closer to this concept of God. I found myself feeling more open to the idea of God, but I wasn't really sure how to get a real connection to God.

I tried what most people try: I studied lots of theologies (although, I tired of that quickly, since I’m not a details person), I prayed more—which I labeled as “talking to God”, and I did become more open to visiting places where some sort of spiritual growth is fostered.

It really didn’t help me feel more connected to God, though. Something was missing, and I couldn’t tell what it was. I knew I didn’t have the type of closeness to God that some people in my life had—their connection was actually visible, almost tangible.

I knew I wanted that kind of faith, but I wasn’t sure how to make that leap.

Even more nebulous than that, though—I didn’t have a real concept of what or who I felt God really is. I didn't see God as this fatherly figure with a beard and old faded robes.

I decided to do something to try and deepen my connection to God. In December 2009, I reluctantly signed up to do the Step Beyond training through Pathways.

I had all kinds of judgments about the training. I assumed that because many of the people who did the training were Christian, there wouldn’t be much there for me. I decided that I would just go and see what it was all about.

Boy, was I in for it.

That training changed me… I owe it a separate post (which is now here), but I realized that what I really needed and wanted was God in my heart. And finally, I let Him in.

I realized that I didn’t have to share anyone else’s view of who or what God is: the important thing was taking that leap, of allowing a force outside of myself to come inside and change me from the inside out.

From that moment on… my life changed.

I started talking less, and listening more.

My own little miracle happened. I started getting messages from God. Maybe it was my own voice, maybe it was my conscience—maybe there is some other explanation for what I have heard over the past year and a half.

But I do know that if I hadn’t heard that voice, with those comforting words, or if I hadn’t heard what was being requested of me and I in turn obeyed… I wouldn’t be in nearly as good of a place as I am in on this day. I wouldn't be who I am in this moment.

For the first time, I learned what it was like to follow. To submit to something greater than me and accept my path was altogether terrifying and freeing.

I began to realize that I don't have to live perfectly, to live fully.

But, still, there was this Jesus issue.

I refused to accept Jesus as God’s only begotten son, who died for us on the cross. I figured that Jesus just wasn’t for me. I couldn’t make that leap of faith in my heart—the huge abyss between Jesus as an Important Prophet™ to… The Messiah—it was just lost on me.

And I accepted that.

(Funny how God works, though. For someone like me, it had to be one step at a time, and just allowing the presence of the Divine into my heart was a big enough leap for me at that point.)

My best friend has been a bright light in my life, and she has helped me understand what it really means to be a Christian. She helped me learn to not judge all Christians, to not shut out all Christians just because of the bad apples who wear religion like some pedestal to stand upon and use as a way to live “above” others.

And she, more than anyone, has witnessed (with great amazement and bemusement, might I add) how God has pursued me over the course of our friendship, but especially in the last 18 months.

Over the past several months, a few friends and I have been visiting various churches around the area, trying to find one that fits the best.

The one we keep going back to is Northaven United Methodist. And, while I’d like to hear more modern music and see fewer robes, all in hopes of attracting more younger adults... there is also something comforting about singing hymns I used to sing as a little girl, too.

So, this morning, when I woke up before my alarm went off, I realized that even though my friends wouldn’t be there, I was apparently going to church. I wasn’t even sure what compelled me to get out of bed on my one lazy weekend out of a long string of very full weekends.

I wasn’t sure, but I felt pretty strongly that I needed to be there. It almost felt like I had a hand at the small of my back, pushing me out the door.

Lord of The Dance was part of the gathering music. It’s a song I used to sing when I went to Christian camp as a kid, and it made me smile, hearing it again.

Then, we sang the opening hymn, Christ the Lord is Risen Today… Alleluia.

And, as is often the case at Northaven, where I feel a sense of comfort, light, and acceptance, I felt my eyes welling up as tears streamed down my face.

Even through all of the religious and political dogma of the church I grew up attending, something managed to sink in. Some things—mostly the music—still offer me great peace and comfort when I least expect it and most need it, and this morning was no different.

I almost lost myself, but I hung on and clung to what little bit of composure I had… and then the liturgy started.

I had to stop reading when we came to this part: “We live in a world where our best efforts at order and control often end in entropy and chaos.”

Order and control to entropy and chaos.

Indeed…

These words resonated so deeply in my soul that I felt a stirring I didn’t yet understand.

I realized that I’ve spent the last months staking a claim on my life and trying to assert control. Control of myself, of my life, of my actions, of my very day… and at times, it’s felt like I’ve been white-knuckling it, trying to live so “right” or to do it so “perfectly” (whatever that means) because I’ve felt so wrong for so long that anything I could do to steer it “right” was better than the alternative.

Surrender?

What’s that??

Really, I’m only beginning to learn what that means, and how valuable it is.

I got a crash-course in surrender about a minute later.

I was sitting on the end of a row, watching the children bring flowers to the front of the sanctuary to place upon the cross, still with tears streaming down my face, still not really getting what was going on in my heart.

Ok, here’s the crazy part. Brace yourself…

And then, there was Jesus, sitting on the concrete steps next to me.

He turned to look up at me and simply said, “Do ya get me now, child?”

I found myself nodding through my tears.

I sat in awe. Jesus was sitting right there, beside me. We just sat together in silence, quietly enjoying the service. Everyone else in the sanctuary faded into a woven blanket of people, and Jesus and I were the only individuals.

When the gospel was read—John 20: 1-18, about Mary Magdalene coming to the tomb to find it empty, and Jesus standing before her… it was as if I was hearing those words for the very first time.

They sank into my heart like sweet music, and I realized that I truly was hearing those words for the first time. No matter that I’d heard them and read them dozens of times before during my adolescence—it was like drinking ice cold water after walking through a lifetime of desert.

When Pastor Eric began the sermon, I kept on crying. It’s as if his words were just for me. He spoke of theology and science—which I was quite literally thinking about last night—and how it was the theologians and the scientists who drove the eventual creation of Fundamentalists and Atheists, because everyone was so wrapped around the axle about ironing out the facts, and answering those questions!

And while Fundamentalists thump on the Bible as a literal record of history… Atheists can easily shrug that off and say, “No way!” and list a thousand logical ways to disprove those words.

Was the earth created in six literal days? Well, Fundamentalists and Atheists (and plenty of in-between folks) like to argue it out.

The truth is—it happened. Somehow, the earth was created, and here we are.

Did it happen exactly the way it’s told in the Bible?

Maybe.

But the truth transcends the details.

The truth is, it’s beyond our understanding.

God is beyond our understanding.

If we could really understand God, then we wouldn't need real spirituality. God wouldn’t be God, only an idol we created in our own image.

Thank God. He gave us stories to help us understand a little. He gave us stories to give us life lessons. And He gave us the deepest truth, which cannot really be explained. But, that truth gives us faith.

The service closed with the singing of the Hallelujah Chorus, which I’ve sung so many times that I don’t need any music for it.

And then, the organist played my very favorite organ piece, which I never get to hear anymore (never say never, I guess!)… Toccata from Symphony for Organ No. 5 by Charles-Marie Widor. I’ve never felt so much joy at the end of a church service as I did today… it felt so personal, like God was speaking just to me.

My soul is full and my cup runneth over. I am born anew today—the gift of new life unexpectedly bestowed upon my heart. Words really cannot express the truth inside of me, but I feel it.

New life may not happen in the way we want it to or the way it “ought” to, or the way we think it should. New life often takes us by surprise, and today—I was taken by the surprise of a lifetime.

Did the resurrection really happen?

Maybe.

But it is truth.

And today, it became my truth.

Today—Easter Sunday—I became a believer.

“All of your pain and suffering comes from your resistance to what is.” – Dick Sutphen (summing up the teachings of Buddha)

Yes, indeed. And by trying to control my own connection with God, and by trying to keep Jesus out, when He so badly wanted in… one might say I have been quite imperfect at living spiritually.

I don’t have to have all the answers. All of my questions won’t be answered for some time, and certainly not during this life.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy my life, imperfectly, and live with surrender in my heart and God in my soul.

And with Jesus… my own Savior.

Life aches to be beautiful. All I have to do is allow it…