Place Holder for the Story that Begs to be Told

 This email was sent to my children the day after I met my half-sister who came into my life less than two months ago.  From the very beginning it has been a story that is begging to be not only told but written and published.  So for now, I will leave it here so that I can hold on to the depth of feelings of this moment.  

"It is the day after my meetings with A and I’m not sure I can put it all into words yet.  In talking to Uncle M about it this morning he agreed that it was extremely difficult to explain it to anyone else.  So let me just relay some events.  Everyone keeps telling me that it is a story begging to be written.  And I'm beginning to agree.

We decided to meet for breakfast alone and then with the family for dinner.  A and I met at the First Watch restaurant in Omaha.  I parked the car and saw her driving in as I got out.  So I waited for her to join me.  We immediately fell into each other’s arms and just started crying.  We hugged each other and would step back and look at each other.  Both of us we were filled with the desire to just touch the other one and and confirm her reality.  Lots of hugging and always accompanied by tears.  As we walked in, she said, I feel like I know you but I don’t know you.  Fast forward to last night as I was leaving; I asked her if she knew me now.  She said yes and agreed that she had also known me in that morning.  You are exactly who I thought you would be.

A’s first question to me was to relay again the timeline of the Allen family moves.  This seemed to be a common topic of conversation for the entire Van Putten family and perhaps the most difficult piece for everyone to grasp - that my father was a builder and as a result we moved often.  From there the questions ping-ponged from my family life as a child to my kids, to my work, to today.  It was an extreme exercise in brain flexibility for a 68-year old.  We met for breakfast at 9:30 and finally stood up to leave a few minutes after noon. It was exhausting, and exhilarating, and an amazing gift that we freely gave to each other.  The waitress was extremely patient with us and thrilled to be in our company with Amy openly said, this is my half-sister.  Those words still ring in my ears at validation of our relationship because it was said with such love and joy.

Next came the family meeting - the family reunion that I didn’t even know that I was a part of until 2 months ago.  I drove out to their house and met her husband, Jeff, 3 of her 5 daughters, Erin, Lena, and Sarah, 2 son-in-laws, and 6 grandchildren.  It was a lot.  But the house is big so it wasn’t as chaotic as it sounds.  Everyone had questions and again they ranged from my youth, to motherhood, to professions, to this moment.  It was almost indescribable.  It was funny and light, thoughtful and caring, We laughed at the situation, at our families, and at each other.  But in the end all that resided was love for one another and joy in each other's company.  

There are several topics or ideas that stand out in my mind and that will always be remembered.  First, you can tell a child that Grandma has a new sister and you have a new aunt and they simply take it in stride, say "Cool.  It's nice to meet you," and carry on with their card game or whatever they were doing.  There are no questions or need for clarification.  They don't wonder how you could have a sister and not know it; did you lose her?  It just is.  Second, it is not possible to "know" my mom without also including many stories of my dad.  Her thoughts and actions cannot be understood without first knowing who she was in relation to her husband.  This of course, is partially a product of the time in which she has lived.  In the 1950s a woman simply didn't have the safety net for personal dreams or aspirations.  

Another piece of the story that I will always hold in my heart is the fact that simple acts can and do make monumental differences in other people's lives.  And we cannot anticipate what they will be.  I told Amy the "Baby May" story not long after we met.  I told it with only love and affection and the hope to communicate that she was dearly loved by her 4 siblings even before she was born.  While she enjoyed and appreciated the story what she took from it demonstrates the caring loving person she is.  She had long envisioned the painful decision of a mother carrying and delivering a baby and then releasing her into the world.  She knew this would be a decision that would have long lasting effects on the mother.  But she had never dreamed that the siblings would also have been old enough to feel the pain of this loss.  In her words, "I never dreamed that others would have been hurt too."  

And one final vignette, shortly after M and I started communicating with A he added her to his Family Tree on Ancestry.com.  He thought little of the act and openly states that he added A at the same time that he added Aunt P.  But this simple act had lasting implications.   As A and I talked about it yesterday she said she didn't realize how the feeling of connection had evaded her for her entire life.  This simple website action brought home to her that after all these years she was wanted, loved, and at long last connected to another person.  She talked about a lifetime of feeling untethered.  Even though she was adopted and loved by her parents as an adopted child, she realized that she never got over the act of being given up.  And because she was one of three adopted children in her family, the connection was still missing.  They simply became three children in a home with a mom and dad. So with this one keystroke by her half-brother, her entire view of family was changed.  The simplest things that we do just because we are being honest to who we are has the power to entirely shift another's experience of love, connection, and family. 

Now finally, in closing I will share that after leaving breakfast, A called her best friend to tell her the next chapter of her siblings saga and simply said, "I have the best big sister in the world!""

Embracing my 68th Year

 On this eve of my 68th year, I have nothing but anticipation in my heart and mind.  Five years ago I joined the ranks of retired educators, which now in retrospect looks more like a hiatus.  I have made my prodigal return to the school I left in exactly the same position I held.  But this time it feels manageable with a balance of time with my children and grandchildren.  I am back in the city of my home of more than 40 years.  Everything about this homecoming looks bright.  My family and friends are here, my spiritual life is in balance, and there is a renewed purpose to who I am and the gifts and talents I have to offer.  

What if?

 On this day when the unimaginable has happened, when the Supreme Court has struct down Roe v Wade, when the highest court in the land has seen as its duty the need to restrict rights rather than broaden them, I think back. I think back to a 17 year old girl living in rural Iowa. I feel that sinking feeling she experienced in her gut when she knew she was pregnant and had not an inkling of an idea of what to do next. She told her father because she knew he would somehow magically know what to do and wouldn't waste his time on the shame of it or the "you should have" lecture. There would be no loud voices and no punishment for this error in judgement. There wasn't a moment to lose. It was July and college and her future was on the horizon. There wasn't time for thoughts of keeping the baby or adopting out the baby; there was only the thought that this father would not sacrifice the future of his youngest daughter for a teenage love that had dissolved just weeks earlier. But what if? What if he and her mother hadn't already experienced the challenge of raising a baby as teenagers. What if he didn't have a Presbyterian minister who could access a safe abortion in New York City the year before Roe v Wade legalized abortion? What if he hadn't been willing to make the sacrifice of financing airfare and medical services in 1972 on a contractor's salary? What if? This girl would have become a legal adult in three weeks time. And within another several months, the baby would be born into a drafty farm house to an unemployed single mother. The anticipated empty nest of her parents would have been replenished with a second generation to raise. Her horizon would now hold only the option of a secretarial or a service industry job. The prospects for marriage would be far from the destined PhD educated man who would soon become a small business owner. And it would be ages before she could ever envision living comfortably in a 3 bedroom/2 bathroom house with 2 beautiful children. That dream of her college degree and teaching credential would be decades away from fruition, if ever. So when we speak of women's rights being cut off through the act of banning abortion, this is the life choice we are setting before our young female adults: single motherhood, minimum wage jobs and few prospects for a life partner that would help to lift them out of poverty and into home ownership. And yet, today in America, that is exactly what we have done.

Your Dad

I never knew a man who wanted to become a father as much as yours did.  It was all part of the scenario when we met.  "I want to get married and have kids."  I will always be grateful that you came along as soon as you did.  He would have quickly grown impatient waiting for his family dream.  The days of your birth were without measure for him.  He could not have been happier.  He never cared about having a boy or girl, only that you were healthy babies.  The hardest thing he did in the early days was go to work and leave you at home.  A daily walk or two to the store was always on our agenda.  The minute you showed up, he would stop everything and pick you up and hold you.  He would proudly present you to a waiting customer or salesperson with that big smile of his and eyes ablaze.  "This is my baby." Oftentimes I would take over the cash register so he could enjoy his time with both of you.  Diapers were changed on top of the freezer filled with bags of ice and we stayed until someone needed a nap or to be fed.  Your dad was always sad to see us go; he would stand at the door and wave and wave like he might not see you again for days.  When 5:30 rolled around he'd bound in the door and look for his kids to give them both a hug and kiss.  

He loved you with a love that was deep and true.  There was nothing you could ever have done that could have broken that bond.  He firmly believed from day one that you were the smartest, cutest, funniest children that had ever been born.  No matter what you were doing, he thought it was perfect and you became the focus of all of his stories.  Guess what Maria did.  Watch what Dave can do.  With each of your achievements he wanted it to be recorded and remembered for all time.  He was constantly telling me to take a picture of whatever you were doing.  So there are pictures of Dave holding a kitten, Maria eating a peach, and the two of you displaying your first savings account booklets.  He rarely wanted his picture taken so this one is special; it was taken outside of the Lawrence Hall of Science in 1985 after you had once again proven that you were Daddy's little geniuses.  

As the holder of these memories, I share them with you so that on this Father's Day, you will once more feel the love that was endlessly given to you and intended to last for all of eternity.  Let this love of your childhood hold you while you feel the embrace of your Dad as he once again swings you up and you see the world from the perch on top of his shoulders.  

Setting Your Sights

 The metaphor of setting a sight comes from the action of looking through a gun's sight and focusing on the target before taking the shot.  In life, we gradually learn to set our sights on a number of targets.  As a child mine was usually set on what my siblings had or getting the last of the cake crumbs.  As we age, we learn to set our sights on much longer term goals; a good grade on the history test, training for the race, or learning a new skill.  Eventually we look towards a college education, getting that first job and suddenly we lose track of the target.  Life takes over.  It just becomes one goal that follows another - marriage, kids, managing school and work and kids and now we can no longer see the sight or the target.  We have gone from looking intently at the target to spinning mildly out of control.  And one day we stop the merry-go-round.  We can't get off but we can definitely downshift and slow the pace.  We once again look through the sight and remember the target. Each decision now is aimed at making that target come into view.  Nothing is taken for granted.  

A line is drawn in the sand; I wake in the morning and focus on the goal.  I choose to be happy that I am awake, not irritated that I woke up and am no longer asleep.   I greet the day with a feeling of awe in the beauty of the sun rising and I am witness to its glory.  On my morning walk everything is new and fresh; the birds are singing, lizards scurry to safety, the glistening sunlight on trees blowing in the breeze reminds me that everything is changing all the time.  This sight you see right here right now won't be visible in the blink of an eye.  So take it in, relish it, and be grateful you were the spectator.  

Since my move back home, I have become extremely aware of this setting of sights and perspective.  For the first time in more than 20 years I became a renter and no longer in charge of the home I live in.  On my first day here, I questioned everything.  Had I noticed the chips and cracks in the kitchen tile or that there are three different kinds of linoleum in three adjoining rooms, or the fact that there was no dishwasher?  What was I thinking?  I was only thinking of my "sight."  My sights were set on being home, being walking distance to my family, and finally being able to once again grow in faith and love.  On day two, my sights completely changed.  Everything was unpacked and placed where it could be appreciated.  The framed photos, the art, the mementos that had been gifted to me seemed to surround and envelop me in the safety of home.  I could no longer see the tile cracks or mismatched flooring and didn't care one bit about a dishwasher.  I was home and I had all the things around me that bring joy. I began the work of arranging and rearranging furniture to get in my sights exactly the things on which I wanted to see and focus.  The living room was set toward the backyard, the computer found its own niche in the corner, and the prayer chair eventually came to face the altar with a small table beside it to house the books and journal.  

Now that the move is complete my sights gradually are focusing in on the call to service.  I have been brought back to this place in this time to continue the work that was underway before I left.  I am here to grandmother, to find my professional place in education, and to continue my faith journey.  So with every question that presents itself, I grant it the time and perspective it deserves.  I sit with it in silence. I pray about it and listen.  My yes is ready only if it moves me closer to the path that has been set before me.  My perspective is a positive one and focused on the future.  I choose not to dwell on lost time in the past or mistakes that may have been made, but only on what is coming and how I can serve.  Yes, life is complicated at times, but we can easily unravel the knots by taking the time to look through the sight and focus on the target.  I set my sights on love, on spending my time well, and on sharing my gifts.    

With Whom Do You Share Your Family Secrets?

 Less than two weeks ago a family secret was released into the world.  No matter how you prepare for the thought that there may be more to your family than previously thought, it still comes as a bit of a shock.  And being human, when things throw you off kilter, the first thing you want to do is tell someone.  You yearn for that shared looked of shock and surprise so you no longer feel alone in your dizzying stupor.  This is human connection at its strongest.  Listen to my story and tell me what you think.  

A few years ago I learned about the ring theory in grief work.  You, as the primary grievers: spouse, children, parents receive comfort from those just outside your circle, your close friends.  So comfort flows inward and grief flows out.  This all came into my mind this week as the secret began to find its way into a wider circle.  The question now became who do you tell once that inner circle has been informed and supported. It only takes one person who responds with anger in place of surprise to make you question who I am telling and why.   Is it gossip, am I sharing this just for the effect?  Is that who I am?  But the secret is not just a secret; it is a person, a human being that we, as kind and loving humans want to welcome into our inner circle.  We want to know this person, share our stories, have coffee or lunch together.  We want to meld this new person into our family and give witness to the new us that has been created.  In the spirit of openness, honesty, and transparency, people who know me need to know that we have grown and been changed.  I cannot become one who has to guard my topics of conversation depending on who I am with, trying to remember who knows and who doesn't.  I was never any good at lying so I'm not going to get caught in an "Oh, I forgot to tell you that we are one more now."  In the business of secrets, just as with grief, the telling moves outward and the support moves in.  I tell you my story, you look surprised, I nod and begin the arduous task of fielding the unanswerable questions of who is the other parent, how did this happen, were they in relationship, how did they stay married?  With time, the questions fade to black and the look of puzzlement has been replaced with joy.  Immediately the joy I have felt for the last two weeks in having found a new member of my family is transferred to my confidant.  The questions are no longer about the event but about the person.  What is s/he like?  Where does s/he live?  Are you going to meet him/her? And finally, we are able to move on, with you knowing that I have put my trust in you to have and hold this new information about me and about my family.  But the thing that is left in my heart after each of these encounters is gratitude; gratitude that this person is in the world and I get to share my life and world with he/r and gratitude that I have this circle of friends with whom I can share my story.   

What Would Happen if We All Answered the Call to Serve?

 Many years ago, I accepted a position as a 7th grade English teacher at a school that served a neighborhood of Mexican immigrants struggling to make ends meet.  I had no doubt in my teaching skills after all my years of reading and writing with first and second graders.  But something else pulled me in: service.  I was using my gifts and talents to guide these students to become first generation college graduates.   This was a school that lived and breathed service.  There was an intern program supporting student teachers; the staff worked an 8 hour day with 3 different shifts.  The kids were there from 7 AM to 6 PM incorporating time for homework as well as athletics into their schedule.  The students were served breakfast, lunch and an afternoon snack from a soup kitchen.  The faculty would often muse at the fact that these middle schoolers would one day become accountants or lawyers and tell the story of their meals from a soup kitchen.  But something else was going on in that soup kitchen that became a goal for me in later years.  Every Friday morning, our kids shared their tables with volunteers making sandwiches for the poor and homeless.  They were an ironic combination of retired men and women wanting only to give mixed with parochial high school students earning their service hours.  The retired women were all nicely dressed while the men wore their Hawaiian shirts and cargo shorts.  The students were getting their hours in before school started so they usually sported their school logo shirts and jeans.  I loved being a witness to the camraderie that set in between these 17 and 70 year olds.   It all looked like great fun as they found the perfect technique of spreading the peanut butter and jelly or the most efficient alignment of the ham and cheese.  The older teachers all set this as a life goal - someday that's what I'm going to do; when I grow up I want to make sandwiches for the poor and laugh with these high schoolers.  Today, that dream came true.  I have been toying around with service and exactly what my call has been as I learn to embrace my twilight years.  When I saw sandwich making as an option on the volunteer calendar, I jumped at the chance.  And it was everything I dreamed it would be.  Present was a staff member teaching the fine art of efficient sandwich making and I was joined by fellow retirees and high school kids.  We laughed with and at each other and we all learned something about ourselves and one another.  Eventually the conversation came around to what brought us there; the common element was service.  The question that lingered in the air was what would happen if everyone did something to serve the poor.  What kind of world would we live in if our vision was outward; if we could see there was a need and do what we could to alleviate it?  I, for one, plan to offer this tiny little service again next week and see where it leads.  

When Protecting Ourselves Actually Doesn't

 Sometimes in life terrible things happen.  We turn the corner and there it is. Someone has died, someone is terminally ill, we learn something awful about someone we love and sometimes it's us.  As we come around that corner we realize that we can no longer get back to where we were.  We are now heading an entirely different direction.  We know that we should invite our advocates and supporters to accompany us but it's too embarrassing, too shameful.  We just can't.  So we close ourselves off, we huddle into our fetal position ball and protect our vital parts.  We stop associating with those who know or we take on the role of someone who doesn't care.  We wrap our heart in skin and bones and pray for it to harden, we go mute and we choose never to speak of the IT again.  We slowly, gradually, step forward in this new way of being; the being that has walled this one part of us off.  It is unaccessible to the world and slowly it becomes unrecognizable to even us, the perpetrator.  We find the words to avoid it and they roll off our tongue like a memorized verse; he's sick, she died, I don't remember.  The years fall over each other and eventually no one recalls it and the IT actually isn't spoken of again.  But, sadly it cannot be covered up or shrouded, buried or hidden.  It will always be in our deepest recesses and every so often it will show up in our darkest hours.  We cannot avoid who we are or what we have done.  We cannot protect ourselves by hiding away from the past.  It is all a part of who we are and who we become.  As we try harder and harder to avoid it, it begins to take on a life of its own.  The secret must become known.  It can no longer be hidden.  We peel away the corner of its shroud and absorb the light it gives off.  It does not destroy us and we set about to find the one person with whom we can share the secret.  And the world does not collapse in on itself.  In exchange, we find this tiny moment of peace from the toil of hiding the IT.  The next day comes and we inch the secret a little farther into the clearing.  And again the world does not end.  But we feel the freedom of releasing the wall of our inner being, brick by brick.  Day by day, we come to understand that life will go on and we can live more fully as we embrace the whole person that we are; the one that has made mistakes, the one that has covered her tracks, the one that is human.  We mesh that person with the one who loves deeply, the one who gives with a full heart, and the one who can finally learn to forgive herself.  

Enough!

An Open Letter to the Authorities:

As educators and students, we have done everything you have asked, demanded, or required to curb school shootings and none of them have had any impact.  Our children are still dying; being slaughtered at the hands of angry young men who have easy access to firearms.  They are being shot in cold blood as they cower under their desks or self-created blockades and you, the ones who have sworn to protect them do nothing; literally nothing.  You asked me to pray for Uvalde and I have complied but not for what you might expect.  I pray day and night that this is the one; that this school shooting will be the one to bring us to our knees.  

We ask our children for their forgiveness that in our deep desire to protect them, everything we put them through was for naught.  You said increase mental health services.  You said limit access at entry points.  You said employ armed guards.  You said have regular active shooter drills (without concern for the trauma this supposed preparation might have on the hearts and minds of our youngest children).  We did all of it and in return the sacrifice of helpless children has not only continued but increased.  We have raised a generation of children to fear for the one place outside of their home that they should feel safest, their school.  We have trained our boys and young men that an active shooter drill is a lesson that they can use later when life feels hopeless.  

The one thing you didn't do is limit access to firearms.  You refuse to pass a Red Flag law; you refuse to take automatic weapons off the streets, even though they can serve no possible purpose in our society; you refuse to admit that you might have been wrong.  In the name of our children, let's try a new option. Let's start by putting our children above the gun lobby, its money, and its power.  Say yes to the Red Flag law.  Say yes to banning assault weapons.  Say yes to raising up a generation of children who don't need to memorize code words or at the age of 5 know how to excel in the building of blockades before they learn the power of literacy.  If we, as Americans, truly believe in the sanctity of life, let's do everything we can to be sure our children can grow into healthy and productive adults.  May the 19 children of the Uvalde school shooting be the last that we grieve and mourn as we lay them to rest.  

Final Thoughts on the Ignatian Spiritual Exercises

God has called me his Beloved.  I am HIs and He is mine.  The Exercises began exactly

where I left of in the cell of El Retiro more than five years earlier,  feeling completely

enveloped in the love of God and yet fearful of meeting God's deep loving gaze. 

The loving gaze of God was something to which I would slowly grow accustomed

during the Exercises and learn to welcome.  In the beginning tears always accompanied

this experience.  Who was I that God could love me so deeply?  This was followed by

the hollowing out of my ego and sinful self to make room for the loving presence of God

that would reside in me forever.  These were days of extreme discomfort and unexplainable

tears.  When it had passed, my promise was to love, honor, and praise God in my words,

thoughts, and actions.  I began to say Yes following the model of Mary and I never stopped. 

Yes to daily prayer, yes to listening for the still, small voice of God in whatever form it took,

yes to my loved ones, yes to the call - whatever it might be. 

 

Throughout the Exercises I "heard" God in new and astounding ways.  My weekly meetings

with Kelly, my Spiritual Guide, taught me to pay attention to the little things, to words and

phrases that I repeated n my sharing from week to week or month after month.  The result

was a primary teacher's Word Wall on my bathroom mirror reminding me daily of how God

was working in and through me.  God spoke to me in my dreams - a totally new experience

for this deep sleeper who has always yearned to remember her dreams.  God woke me with

songs in my head - some that I hadn't thought of for 30 years and some not since my

childhood.  What started as a lyrical mystery to be solved soon just became a welcome

reminder that God was with me at all times and nudging me into an awareness of that

presence in new and beautiful ways.  I entered the world of Christian, not specifically

Catholic, music and will never be he same.  Prayer took over my life as a constant

conversation with God.  Each morning I started with my email devotionals as I always

had but not until I had wished my Beloved a good morning and entered into deep gratitude

for what may lie ahead in this day.  I delayed my rising just to be in the loving presence of

God.  I felt his love surround me as I lay in the hollow of His cupped hands.  I never found

a systematic prayer time for the Exercises but I looked forward each day to sitting in my

prayer chair and saying Hello to the God who was always waiting for my greeting.  I

learned to begin with quiet music to calm my head and after a few minutes would look up

to hold God's loving gaze, the small act that would lead me into new and deeper

understandings of my faith, my love, and myself.  Ignatian Contemplation did not come

easily to me but as I stuck with it (thanks once again, to encouragement from Kelly) the

world of scripture as I had known it was broken wide open.  Readings I had heard in church

for decades, had read numerous reflections about , and had even taught  in Religion classes

suddenly held great epiphanies of what Jesus was all about and on a personal level,

God's plan for me.  As I traveled with Jesus during his ministry, God revealed to me what

my own journey had been and what He still had in store for me.  God spoke to me in my

thoughts but they were easily recognizable as being of and from Him.  He was now in my

head and heart and spirit.  My daily walks became time to give thanks for creation; I learned

to slow down and embrace all that had been given to me; to give thanks to be in this place

in this time.  My days were filled with gratitude and I was finally learning to live in the

moment and to be intentional. I could feel God's presence throughout my day and

at times it was overwhelmingly powerful.  Just as I started my days with God I looked

forward to ending them there as well.  In the daily Examen, God and I went through the

day together, sharing all the people and events that held grace for me and were messages

of where God was leading me. I finally understood the power of this simple prayer and

how it leads to discernment ever so gently and assuredly day by day. 

 

The urge became stronger and stronger to return home to the loving embrace of my family

and friends, to my spiritual home of the Mission Church, to the work that had been left

unfinished at Sacred Heart Nativity School.  The voices were many; Lucia, my

granddaughter whose dreams I will never again doubt, my mom who constantly

found new ways to say she didn't need me in Florida and it was OK to leave, 

my friends who revealed to me that my presence would be a loving balm to their wounds;

but more than all of these was the call of Jesus to return to the Eucharist.  The only thing

that all of these voices shared was their location - HOME.  So the release began.  I opened

my tight fisted-hold on my home, my possessions, my plan and embraced the unmarked

trail that was God's plan for me and me alone.  I learned, for the first time in my life, to

put my complete trust in a presence beyond that of my head or heart.  I embraced Ignatius's

prayer, the Suscipe and it became part of my daily mantra.  (Take Lord, receive all my

liberty, my memory, my understanding, my entire will - all I have and possess. You have

given all to me, Now I return it.  All of it is yours.  Dispose of it according to your will. Give

me only your love and your grace, that's enough for me.)  I took on the easy yoke of

Jesus and learned to love as He did, to leave my possessions behind and follow Him,

and to look at the world through his compassionate eyes. 

 

The me that I was, has been, and continues to change.  I look forward to what God has

planned for me as I listen for His voice in prayer, contemplation, music, and my dreams. 

I sit back and wait patiently, knowing that all God has planned for me is goodness. 

I was reminded of this at a recent homily about how God answers prayers - he

responds with yes, not yet, or I have a better idea.  I am trusting completely in all

three of these answers as I discern God's plan for all the grace and blessings that

wait for me in the days and years ahead.  

Happiness in the Shape of a Ring

Oh how a picture texted can bring joy!  Last night Dave sent a picture of a diamond ring on Tessa's finger.  Yes, it's happening.  Dave is getting married and they are a beautiful couple together.  My heart could not hold any more happiness for two people even if it tried.  I am thrilled for what the future holds for them.  To see him happy, this happy is something I never dreamed was possible.  They are two mature, confident adults who complement each other perfectly.  Life is full of beautiful surprises.  A move to Kentucky, a house bought sight unseen, a golden find on a dating website and you're looking face to face at happily ever after. Here's to many years of long conversations, exciting travels, and family adventures.  Cheers to Dave and Tessa, Tessa and Dave.

Waking Up to a New Year in Loss

 I said goodbye to my dad 10 months ago.  I knew the first days would be hard and I knew his birthday and anniversary would be another reminder of his absence.  I knew about the holidays with the empty chair but I wasn't ready for New Year's Day.  I woke up this morning and after starting my day I had the dark realization that at the ripe old age of 67 I was starting my first year without a father.  Yes, death is forever so my dad is still dead.  Our love is eternal but the body is transient.  

I miss him, I miss his daily advice - whether I took it or not.  I miss him being a part of the couple that was my mom and dad.  I miss being a daughter and being called T every time we said hello or goodbye.  I miss his voice and I miss his presence in my life.  

Once I acknowledge the loss, it turns into something else.  As the older generation slowly leave us one at a time, the next in line step into the outlines of the footprints.  On one side of my family I have my mom and one aunt left.  And on the other, an aunt and an uncle.  That means that my siblings and I are only a few short years away from being the family elders.  That is something that leaves me feeling a bit untrained for.  Where is the workshop for doling out sage wisdom, or telling the youth that they have it easy?  I will ponder this a bit but I think my model for this role will be my grandparents.  None of them ever gave advice unless it was requested.  Then it was frank and to the point.  But it always ended with and "I love you" hug and kiss on the forehead.  But the wisdom was free flowing.  So I step forward without a dad but in his place are two grandchildren for whom I have been called to lead.   

My Response to the Contemplation of the Kingdom of Jesus

 My Lord and Savior, I come to you with all that I am and offer it for your service.  In partnership with you and your disciples, I lay my gifts at your feet to be used as you deem important in the work of spreading Your Goodness and love throughout the world.  I wish to follow your model in trusting in God's protection that I might conquer the fear of bearing personal pain as I stand beside you in the work ahead.  I offer you unending praise, glory, and love to magnify Your being.  I offer you my YES if that is what you desire.  If I can be of service in the work at hand, I ask You to use my words, my prayers, and my actions in order to fulfill the purpose for which I was created.  

My Favorite Uncle

Paul Allen is, today and has always been, my favorite uncle. That line has become more and more humorous as the years have gone by, as he has outlasted all of the rest. But the love and sentiment behind it are nothing to be laughed at.

My childhood memories are full of Uncle Paul and Aunt Arma Jo. They were my first definition of neighbor and family. I had no idea that other children did not have a loving aunt and uncle living just a house or two away. It seemed as natural as having a mom and dad. Just the thought that they were close-by was all I needed for reassurance during my youth that love was within reach. I could simply look down the road and know that there were loving arms waiting for me through that door.

I have never known anyone who could make me feel more appreciated than my Uncle Paul. Being the third of a family of four, it was sometimes difficult to get anyone's attention, but that was never true of Paul. The minute he saw me, everything would stop. He would smile and shout out my name like I was the only kid on the planet. Even today, that is still true as he smiles his "Paul smile" and says "Hey Ter," as I walk in. His smile and the sparkle in his eyes tell me that I am loved and all my worries melt away. Nothing else matters; Uncle Paul is here to love and protect me.

My Uncle Paul has loved me throughout all of life's joys and sorrows. He was there for all the moments that counted; happy or sad. I have endured the death of my younger brother, celebrated the success of multiple college degrees, been married, divorced, and moved on. And in all of this was the loving support of my uncle. That is certainly not to say that he always took my side. One of the most important gifts of his being is his ability to tell you straight when you are mistaken or taking the wrong road and to get back on track. It may not look like a typical view of love, but it has been through his advice that I have learned to experience love in times of personal disappointment. During these moments of guidance, he never wanted to hurt my feelings and only had my personal happiness at heart. When my tears came, he was always there to wrap me in his arms and tell me that it was all going to be fine. And I knew it was true.

Now as we look toward the future, we are both aware that our years together are numbered. And so, I take time to share the blessing that his love has been to me throughout my life. I know that love is eternal and my love for my uncle will live on through my children and the stories they tell their children and loved ones but I take a moment to say thank you. Thank you Uncle Paul, for all the advice, the hugs, the kisses, and the swift kick now and then that only you could give, but most of all, thank you for the love.   

Contemplation of the Incarnation

At the beginning of what's known as the Second Week of the Ignatian Spiritual Exercises, I entered into the Contemplation of the Incarnation. It has found a home in my heart and head and given me new ways of looking at others and moving in the world.

In this meditation, St. Ignatius invites us to imagine the Trinity looking down upon the earth and seeing it filled with human beings. We are invited to use our imaginations to ponder what the Trinity sees and notices in gazing upon all the people. Ignatius adds a few thoughts on what we might see: some healthy, others sick, some weeping, and others laughing. He invites us to notice the blindness and aimlessness and to hear how people are talking to each other. Finally, he invites us to hear the Trinity say, “Let us work the redemption of the human race,” as God plans to send the angel to Mary and then watches as the Incarnation is set into motion.

As I began this contemplation, I envisioned the Trinity looking down at the world and all they survey. They are first struck by the beauty of it all. This creation is still absolutely stunning to witness. The zoomed out lens which they are viewing is that familiar sight that today we recognize as The Blue Marble, the picture taken by the Apollo 17 crew of Earth from space. As their focus narrows, they take in the forests, mountains and oceans still teaming with the flora and fauna that came into being so long ago. Their view continues to come into focus and they take in the glory of the abundant colors - the colors of people - fair-skinned and dark-skinned, the colors of their clothing, brightly hued. As they rest in this moment these human beings create an amazing tapestry beyond description. As their vision comes closer and closer, the sounds of these beautiful people become audible. There is the joyful laughter of children playing and the gentle hum of people working together for the greater good. But soon, those harmonious sounds are overpowered by loud and coercive voices. These are the sounds of adults yelling at one another, calling each other names. The Divine soon realize that what appeared to be diversity has now revealed itself to be division. People are not listening to each other and so many are being led by greed and power. The new god of worship is domination over rather than loving with.

As the gaze of the Trinity takes it all in, they realize that this is something that is not going to fix itself. Somehow, they are going to have to intervene. They need a plan and the time is now. They are Divine Love and they soon realize that they must start again and create the rebirth of love in this, Their beloved people. What better way could love be reborn than in the incarnation of God in the Baby Jesus? They agree that Jesus will be sent with the Holy Spirit to guide Him in his human form. In this way, God's people can once again know Him, love Him and come to serve Him through their love for one another.

While They are deeply distraught at all They have seen, They are also reassured that love will win in the end. Each person on Earth has been born with the spark of God's being. It is always there and can never be extinguished. As each of us loves into existence all that we can be, so will each person with whom we come in contact. This is hope in its truest sense. You and I and everyone living has the power of one. As I encounter God's presence within me and I become my best self, my love and service emanates into the world and it ripples outward to my friends, family, and strangers with whom I interact.

So, as the Trinity take in the beauty and brokenness of the world They are confident that Their love will overpower greed and division. Jesus will be born in the lowest possible form and will save the world.  

What Will You Feed Them?

As Thanksgiving approaches, our minds all turn toward dinner and family gatherings.  This year I want to feed my family more than the turkey and stuffing and pumpkin pie that traditionally have been the centers of attraction.  As we gather for the first time in two years, I have so much more with which I want  to nourish them.  

Feed them love.  As I rush to envelop each of them in my arms, I want them to feel and know that their mother and grandmother loves them with a love that is unconditional and knows no bounds.  I want them to feel that hug long after we have disentangled ourselves from each other.

Feed them hospitality.  As Dave flings open wide the doors of his home, we enter knowing that what is his is now ours for the time we share together.  We each bring our part to the feast - food, beverages, and helping hands. We know that  we will cook together, eat together and clean together. And in the end,  all that really matters is that we are gathering at the table together in love.    

Feed them gratitude.  As we go around the table and voice what we are thankful for, my response is simply each of them.  In this time of living so far apart, when I think about what I am most grateful for, it is these five humans.  They top every gratitude list that I have ever made.  

Feed them acceptance.  As our conversations grow and wind around life and love and beliefs, let them know that anything that they may worry about will not be judged, evaluated, or criticized.  We are all welcome at this table; we come with our gifts as well as our flaws.  This is what it is to be family.  

Feed them joy.  The Gianninis have always been a family of laughter.  It may be sarcastic, but we know how to laugh.  There is always abundant  joy in our time together.  This year as we welcome Tessa into the fold, I know there will be stories and there is not one of our family stories that doesn’t finish with joy at the end.  

Feed them compassion.  The last two years have been a difficult journey for all of us.  We have been apart and trying to keep our individual ships afloat until we could be together again. As we reconnect, we  rest assured that despite the trials,  we all come with nothing but love and understanding for each other..  

Feed them patience.  Work schedules and travel plans and cooking family dinners all take patience.  We come together knowing that the turkey may take longer than we thought, the gravy may be lumpy, and the wine may go quicker than anticipated.  We approach it all with understanding and flexibility knowing that the only goal is to be together.

When Thanksgiving Thursday turns into Friday and Saturday and next year and beyond, I want to look back on 2021 as the year we fed each other all the best of what we had to give.  Let us feed our joy and compassion, patience and acceptance, hospitality and gratitude, and most of all love. 

Morning Offering

Dear God, thank you for the gift of this new day.  I pray that whatever waits for me will serve as a blessing to you.  Lord, I offer everything that I will think, do , or say and dedicate it to your service.  Please protect me and keep me close to your side.  Help me keep your commandments and seek divine goodness.  Guide me in sharing all that I have with those who may be in need in order that I might see your face in everyone that I encounter.  At the end of the day, may I return to you in gratitude with open hands and a loving heart so that all I have been given is returned to you. 

Amen

The First Principle and Foundation

As is every other human being, I am the incarnate image of God and as such, am God’s beloved.  My greatest desire is to live in that love forever.  In an effort to return that infinite love, I promise to praise, honor, and serve God.  

Everything I have is created by God and has been gifted for my use and protection.  God has given me access to anything that might be of assistance in honoring my creator.  I yearn to know God more fully and to continually return that great love with the  help of the gifts that have been bestowed upon me.  

Hence as a steward of creation, I promise to protect the earth and everything in it so these gifts can be used to glorify God.  However, no part of creation can ever take the place of God nor impede me from returning God’s love.  Everything must work toward the single goal of praising God.  

It is important that I keep all of creation in balance so that I can seek and return God’s love.  Everything in creation has value only to the extent that it can be used by all of humanity to serve God.  There is no preference for health or sickness, wealth or poverty, success or failure, life or death as each of these can be conducive to searching out God’s love and calling forth our loving response.  The only choice that needs to be made is the determination of what will deepen God’s love in me.  

Neither can I be the obstacle that  stands in the way of responding to God’s love.  I cannot hide behind my ego and self-will or the walls of protection that I have built to make myself believe that I am serving God when in actuality I have replaced God’s will with my own.  

God is alive in me and together we will work to co-create the earthly journey of my human existence so that I might be the voice and hands of God at work in the world.  As God’s love is revealed to me, my response will be to live out the love of God that surrounds and protects me.  

My Spiritual Autobiography

I have no memory of when I was introduced to God by my family.  I was baptized at Grace Presbyterian Church as an infant, the third of four children,  but I don't recall ever going  back there again after my younger brother's baptism.  God seemed to be more of an assumption or an idea in our house than an actual being to which I could be introduced.  I remember being told to thank God, to say my prayers, and that God could answer my prayers. God seemed to be more present at my grandparents' house.  He was in the conversation there like God was an additional person in the house.  There was a cross on the wall, a picture of Jesus in the bedroom, and a devotional on the end table by Grandma's chair that fascinated me.  It was called "The Upper Room."   I had no idea of the meaning of the title until many years later.

So God just was.  It seemed that I was left to my own devises to determine the role he was to play in my life.  My prayer life was limited as a child.  I learned the "Our Father" but I don't remember how.  And it seemed that when you really wanted something and there was no other way to get it, you could ask God for it.  And maybe it would happen.  I remember have a warm feeling when I thought about God.  It was reassuring to know that I wasn't alone in life. 

Then an unimaginable event occurred that thrust our entire family into church and the consoling arms of God.  A tragic accident happened.  My younger brother drowned in a creek.  Suddenly God was everywhere and surrounded everyone.  I heard his name coming from everyone I met.  People talked about God having taken Davey, and that God needed him more than we did.  So now I was more confused than ever.  I began to live in fear.  If God had taken my younger brother, then I must be next. 

Just before this event, we had joined a wonderful country church where everybody knew everybody.  It is a mystery as to how Hardin Presbyterian Church entered our lives.  I've asked my parents and my aunt and uncle and no one can seem to recall how we started attending services there.  But it was closely aligned with Davey's death.  In my child's mind these two things are connected.  Church and God came into my life with the most awful grief a child can imagine.  This was juxtaposed with the infinite consolation of friends and family and became the only thing that allowed me to continue growing in my relationship with God.  So here was the beginning of my spiritual education.  We attended church and Sunday School every Sunday.  I learned to read , memorize, and interpret the Bible, I went to summer camp.  However, I still wasn't spiritually connected to God; I definitely held a grudge about losing my brother and somehow He was to blame.  There was a picture of Jesus in the church that held my attention every week.  He was sitting on a tree stump surrounded by a wooded area and he had the most loving eyes.  Jesus became my friend and confidant; my favorite song was "Jesus Loves Me" and my favorite Christmas carol was "Away in a Manger."  Jesus made sense to me.  I knew that God was his father so for many years, God was the old bearded man in a long robe that lived in heaven.  According to my calculations heaven was located just above the clouds.  I didn't really have a place for the Holy Spirit.  I knew its first earthly appearance was at the first Pentecost and Paul wrote a lot about it but in my mind it would just come around when needed. 

My beliefs as taught by the Presbyterian church stayed very concrete for many years.  As I aged into my teen years I struggled with the idea of predestination but I also did not completely understand it.  Confirmand me wondered, what was the use?  If my life was preordained by God, what was the purpose of me simply following the plan?  This would be a conundrum for my entire life.  How do I know what is God's plan and what is my plan? This was the beginning of my curiosity about faith and organized religion and the difficulty of finding its intersection.  It was also about this time that  a junior high English teacher saw something in me that no one else had.  He started recommending books to me and meeting with me to discuss them afterwards.  Move fast forward to a conversation that we found ourselves in about evolution/creationism.  This was my first introduction to a different translation of the Bible.  I don't blame the Presbyterian belief system but my own concretism for this missing piece.  I began looking at authors of the books of the Bible in a completely different light.  And it changed everything.  Now it all became a slurry of who was writing, who was the audience, what was the intention?  This was added to my interpretation of a story written 2 thousand years ago and how it might be helpful to a teenager in the 1960s. 

Although my faith often confused me, it was something that I never wanted to be without.  There was never a time that I rebelled against it or felt the urge to set it aside.  I went to church weekly with my family until high school graduation and continued the practice when I went off to college.  While I didn't become an active member of a church community at that time, I enjoyed dipping my toe into other religions and coming back home to the local Presbyterian church.  The Bible also continued to be a close companion.  I loved returning to the old memorized passages from my childhood.  It brought comfort during difficult times. 

After marriage, my commitment to my identification of being a Protestant was deeply challenged by marrying a devout Catholic.  We were married in the Catholic church which included a promise on my part to raise any children in the Catholic faith.  We talked for hours about this topic.  We both agreed that we had the advantage of being able to expose our children to both faiths and they would be so much the better for it.  But that never happened.  I attempted to find a Presbyterian home in Santa Clara but to no avail.  We started attending the Mission in Santa Clara and I was swallowed up, hook, line, and sinker.  The more I learned about Catholicism, the more I realized the differences were few.  I began taking classes from Fr. Phelan and he had the skill of making those differences disappear.  We worked our way through The Confessions of St. Augustine and before I knew it, I was being confirmed and was a born again Catholic.  I could not have been more content in my spiritual life.  We were a family in the most real sense of the word; praying together, everyone on the same page with the spiritual development of our children as our focus.  I was finding time to learn more about the saints, and icons and rites and rituals of the Catholic church.  I loved them all.  Before you knew it, I was finding peace and grace in daily mass.  It was just me and the old people but I was at peace with my God,  my brother Jesus, and Mother Mary. 

As time went on, I went back to school to get my credential and I had my first face to face introduction to the Jesuits at Santa Clara University.  I didn't know it at the time but this was another fork in my spiritual development road.  I learned to see God in all things and began to contemplate in action.  I got my credential and went to work in the Diocese.  Now I was truly living and breathing my faith in the every day world.  My faith grew through everyone I was associated with; principals, teachers, parents, religion coordinators, Directors of Religious Education.  I was in constant communication with my God throughout the day.  This became a prayer structure that would stay with me the rest of my life.  God, help this child, Oh God, look at that beautiful flower, God help me understand.  School became my church home 5 days a week and then as a family we worshipped at the actual church on Sundays.  Life would take me away from Diocesan education for a while but I was destined to return bigger and better than ever.  As the kids got older, we struggled to keep everyone content at the diocesan church and returned once again to The Mission.  It was there that we would all come to understand how everyone fits under the umbrella of love and acceptance of christianity.  It wasn't every week but when I was there, it was very good.  This is the church that would forever be home to me.  Later, when I would move away and was searching for a church home, this was the thing for which I was yearning - the rites and rituals along with a broader way of thinking of what it means to be Catholic, to be human. Even after my divorce when I grappled with the church's teaching on divorce I hung onto the icons and symbols of Catholicism. But that didn't keep me from doubting; was I still welcome?  During those darker days, I sat in the back of the Mission Church, clearly ashamed of being a divorced Catholic,  but still I was there, waiting to be fed and loved and accepted.  Gradually, the loving took hold and I came to understand that I would always be a child of God and that whether the teaching of the church accepted me or not, God did.  And God wanted me right there.

Eventually, I found my way back to Jesuit education.  But this time I was the educator and later the administrator.  Now, once again, I was living my faith in the everyday, the every minute of the day.  I discovered El Retiro Retreat Center and the joy of meeting God face to face in silent retreats and bringing that feeling of peace, love, and grace back with me to the real world.  Forever, I will remember God coming to me in the silence of prayer in my cell and calling me his beloved.  I was filled with a deep warmth from my head to my toes and could feel his love consume me.  I was his beloved.  From that day forward, I would carry God with me in a new and deeper way.

The next fork in the road was my retirement and moving away from The Santa Clara Mission.  After my move to Vancouver, Washington, I searched and searched for something close to that but my arbitrary rules got in the way.   As I look back there actually were a couple Jesuit churches that I had toyed around with but I wasn't willing to commit to the weekly drive to find what I needed.  In my search, I found my way back to the church of my birth.  I once again became a member of the Presbyterian church and was worshiping with my sister.  That brought many other gifts of which I am deeply aware but I always felt a tad out of sync.  One of those gifts was connecting with a spiritual director and her leading me to the writings of Richard Rohr.  This was a missing piece, quiet contemplation to spend time with my God.  I took on this habit with joy.  This also led me to another spiritual practice (in my mind) of the Morning Pages.  I wrote every morning and it was prayer being spewed out on the page.  I felt glorious.  But so often my practices begin glorious and then suddenly life gets in the way and the habit is lost, restarted and lost again.  I still miss finding the time for the Morning Pages.

Unfortunately, I wasn't able to stay in Vancouver as this was followed by a move to Florida to support my parents.  I am now three years into life in the south and there is nothing close to Jesuit spirituality here.  I tried out the Presbyterian church again, I have also tried the local Catholic church.  But what has filled me on this leg of my journey is reading and podcasts- Richard Rohr and others from the  Center for Action and Contemplation in Albuquerque, Barbara Brown Taylor - she gave me permission to leave church and find God in the woods, and others who can fill my head, heart and spirit with a new way of thinking about God, about Jesus, and finally about the Holy Spirit.  I finally understand that the Holy Spirit is in me.  It is God's core that resides in my core.  It is my soul.

I live 100 miles away from my mother and my recently departed father as they requested, and know only a few people in the neighborhood.  I am becoming more and more protective of my quiet time.  I am alone most of the time and have ample opportunity for my running monologue with God that continues to ground me while lifting me up.  Look God, what a beautiful cardinal, Please, God, help my mom stay strong, God, what is next?  I am finding my place volunteering at the food pantry and seeing Jesus at every turn.  My contemplative prayer is back strong, I am praying the examen, and am now looking forward to once again discovering God as my beloved in the Ignatian Exercises Adventure.  I can't wait to begin. I can't wait to feel God's loving embrace.  

A Journey Inward

 I am preparing to take off on a new journey inside.  For several years I had yearned to do the Spiritual Exercises, a 30 day Ignatian retreat at El Retiro in Los Altos, California.  But while teaching, preparing to teach, and learning what to teach, it never fit into my summer schedule.  Now that I was retired there was time, but I could no longer get to El Retiro for 30 days.  Then it fell into my lap.  My friend, Nancy told me about an at-home retreat that was sponsored by Santa Clara University.  It is an hour of prayer a day for  9 months along with weekly spiritual direction.  So I am taking off on an inward journey.  I know it will be enlightening, joyful, painful, and difficult.  I also know that I will be a fuller, more complete person when May comes.  Pray for me.