My Story Being Told; A Life Emerging

First, a mystic, then a hermit.  I have been a very old soul.  Then a teenage hermit.  Finally, almost out of my teens, a conversion experience of sorts, quietly came out as a human.  I was inspired to be part of the Mystical Body of Christ and to live Gods presence in this oft times mean little world of ours.  

With a valiant effort it has remained my endeavor ever since.  Joined the Little Sisters.  Left, life unfolded, evolved towards the Catholic Worker world in which I have remained, always at least in some part, in spirit, if not in body.  Lived here and there, thither and yon.  A free spirit?  Restless?  A pilgrim, hopefully not a pill or always grim.  Had hopes for a number of  wondrous things in my life, some happened, many have not.  

Wound up in Europe for a time, came back to my homeland, giving myself permission to evolve back in part, into my hidy hole.  Signed my own permit to hermit, communing with God so much more inviting than with humanity.  A Worker, a baker, a candle stick lighter.  Colorado, Virginia, back to old New York.  Then a bakers dozen years of struggle and service.  Struggle to survive, service of love, loving my parents.  The struggle went past bearable and I sought a new journey on an old path.  This time Francis instead of Foucauld, back to religious life.  (((sigh)))  Not the right path, but a sojourn.  

Now, a return to struggle?  I choose to try back to hope.  Approaching sixty years on this long hard road, I am trying to be open again to make something good, something happy, God willing.  I look around, so grateful for my companions, new opportunities, for old, dear friends and yes, my experiences up 'til now.  I fall down, I get back up again.  I choose daily to walk in the light, I do. I will continue to, on this perplexing dark planet, until God says "Enough now.  Come home"

Grace and blessings abound.

Going Home

Let's talk about home. Home is where the heart is. It is sweet. God blesses it. There's no place like it. According to an old English proverb, apparently it's a mans castle. It is the place where, when you go there, they have to let you in (Robert Frost). We don't all have one, but I believe we all long for one to call our own.

I had a great conversation, once upon a time, at Maryhouse, the New York Catholic Worker, with Jeanette Noel and a few cohorts. We were speaking fondly about family, about how much we share with the siblings we grew up with. No matter where life takes us, there is a shared history and a bond with them like no other. What a great relief it can be to be with folks you don't need to explain yourself to! I made the observation, "But look where we are now, and who we're sharing our lives with." We are drawn to one another in the values and dreams we seek in life. We become new family members to each other as we live those dreams and find our new homes together.

My first home was the one I was born into. At the time I was born my Navy dad was away in a training program. My mother was staying with her parents in Peekskill, NY with my two older siblings Cathy and Jim. So, I was born not actually into my parents home, but my grandparents home. Being a military family, my birth happened at nearby West Point, making me the only one of the five Navy brats in my family to be born on an Army base. To make that distinction even more special, I was delivered by an Army nurse because the doctor didn't make it to the delivery room on time. So began my lifelong distaste of waiting for doctors and my admiration for the skills of nurses.

My first passport picture was taken when I was two months old in preparation for my first move at age three and a half months. My father was assigned to the Philippines, so off we went and I have been moving ever since. In fact, I've lived in three countries, fifteen locations and moved thirty one times, so far. I'm just an Irish American Navy brat gypsy, moving for any number of reasons. First, at the behest of my folks and the U. S. Navy, then on my own. I have followed different opportunities, sometimes with as much whim as purpose.

As an adult, I have lived by the gospel edict ~ If the home is deserving, let your peace rest on it; if it is not, let your peace return to you, shake the dirt from your feet and depart. I've had to do that a time or two in the past. I've lived in community and I've lived alone. I love solitude, silence, the freedom to create my own environment in which I can welcome others. I love being alone, but I'll admit it can get lonely. Then again, once when I was living with others, my need for solitude became so great that I took a tent and walked into the woods of our multi~acre property for some much needed respite. Our community dog joined me and she was wonderful company, but decided she'd had enough hermitage time by dusk and went back home on her own.

Ever the stranger in this strange land, I find myself most comfortable outside of the pre~packaged box, among artists, anarchists and the odd monk or two. At home with folks of common decency and uncommon minds and hearts. I have been amazed and greatly blessed by the extraordinary folk with whom I have shared some of my life. Each one has claimed their own piece of my heart, some more than others. With each bit of my heart claimed in life and in love, I find that my heart has grown stronger, larger, brighter, lighter. It is a treasure~filled thing beating in my chest, even when it grows weary from the journey!

Life is about choices, one of my best treasures recently told me. Sometimes though, we don't get to choose. Sometimes we choose poorly. Sometimes, we have to live with the consequences of choices made by others. For myself, I always include God and I always seek His will. I am smart enough to apply common sense along with spiritual sense. I may choose to seek the counsel of others in some of my more important choices, like finding home. What to do? Where to go? Hoping that I choose well and that this can be a long and happy sojourn, God willing!

I've roamed the world finding kith and kin. I find myself at present looking again for a place to settle my old gypsy bones and weary heart. If I feel myself becoming discontent in my quest, I am reminded of the words of Meister Eckhart, "God is at home, we are the ones who have gone out for a walk."

Awaiting the Resurrection

Here we are, the morning after the day our Lord was crucified.  Impossible to believe, even though we saw it with our own eyes.  You said it would come to pass Lord.  But so suddenly, too soon.  There is so much more we wanted to hear, needed to ask; to know how to live.  Now, how to live without you.

Even the unbelievers were made to see the truth at your death.  When the ground shook and the Church crumbled, how else could Gods very creation react to so violent an end to the Christs time on Earth?

I look to my sisters.  They are my fellow disciples and mothers of Christs chosen few.  And where are my brothers?  I feared they too were arrested.  Now we hear they have hidden themselves away.  To mourn together, to wait for my Lords return.

We haven't forgotten your promise Lord.  As we watched over you and tenderly saw you to your grave.  Not wanting to leave you, we kept watch by your tomb until the Church guards chased us away.  How cruel to have to leave your side!  We have not forgotten Teacher,  your promise to come back to us.  We look to your mother Mary, wanting to minister and to comfort her.  But she, even in her grief is filled with peace and joy, knowing that the Father's plan for the worlds salvation is coming to pass.  She comforts us and tells us to prepare for your return.

So we pray, we mourn and we go to our homes to make a feast to bring with us.  We are going back now to your tomb to meet you.  We know you are coming, you will tell us how to live.  You will always be with us, guiding our hearts and souls in your way.

Our hearts are full of the glory of God.  We come to meet our Risen Lord.