Have I Ever Told You How I Met God?

Have I ever told you how I met God?

I was just four or five years old.  I had a decent sense of the universe thanks to a childrens record my parents had gotten for us.  I remember there was a picture on the album jacket of the planets around the sun.  The recording explained the planets in orbit, the sun, our galaxy and the universe in terms a child could understand.  I knew that I was but an infinitesimal part of matter in this reality.

I also had a sense of God and His Love from my Mom, from our church and from my childrens prayer book "Pearls of Prayer." Though I couldn't read yet, the illustrations provided me the ample confirmation that my Mom wasn't just making this stuff up!

So, one fine day I was lying on the ground in our yard watching an ant make its long, long way through the grass.  I marvelled at how huge a challenge it must be to walk through this jungle of green.  I watched as it journeyed many steps in what would take me only one or two to accomplish. Then I thought of my place in this vast scheme.   After a bit, I rolled over on my back, feeling the ground under me, seeing the trees, sky and clouds above me, just thinking how tiny the ant was compared to me, and how much tinier I was than the universe.  I started to think, "Why?  Why the grass? Why the ant?  Why the clouds and the sky and the trees and the planets?  Why me?  Why?..."  Then, as clear as if I could hear the thought aloud - another voice, silent and gentle came into my head and my heart, with complete sincerity and assurance of a true answer saying, "Because I love you."  And I felt the Presence of God for the first time.  All knowing and all love.  And I have been His from that moment.

Where does one go from there?  I would have been happy to live in a treehouse in the woods by myself (with God, of course) the rest of my days.  Alas, I was not allowed out after dark.  Then, there are customs and I'm sure laws discouraging four year old mystics in Maryland going it alone.  And so, I carried on, breathing in and out, getting up each day, learning, moving (we moved a lot), loving, laughing, crying, living among the rest of Gods world.  Always looking to share this assurance of Gods love for each of us and all of creation.  By being nice, caring, comforting, laughing and crying when life calls for it; sharing every good thing.

I've gathered so many experiences, so many loves along the way.  There have been friendships, always to be treasured, some more than just friendships, and a betrayal or two.  God wants us to struggle, just so we are sure that this love of His is real and will see us through.  A good friend once told me that struggle is a sign of an authentic life.  My life has been that!

What have I learned?  All we have is now, the only place we have is here.  I have tried to love freely as best I can, not to have expectations.  Still, I find myself always longing for more.  More love?  Commitment?  I'm not completely sure.  Whatever the question, the answer is love.  After having spent now more than half an average lifespan as my special bit of matter in the universe, I believe that voice and presence more than ever.  I embrace life, the whimsy and the woe, ever grateful for every good thing as a precious gift to be accepted, then shared, wishing that we each can know this truth of God.  As an old French love poem goes, "Je vis et je l'espère."  I live and I hope.

"Because I love you..."

Mater Invictus

       
                                                       Mater Invictus


                                           Life two days gone is gone forever,
                                             But tales from once upon a time
                                           Still cherished and shared.
 
                                           Laundry, pill bottles and mail threaten
                                             To overtake the world; dust thickens
                                           And crocheting begs attention.
           
                                           The weary old woman she didn't see
                                             Sneaking up on her now smiles
                                           Comfortably in the mirror.  She is still herself.
 
                                           Quoting Shakespeare, loving God, laughing,
                                              At new jokes and jokes made new
                                           Thanks to fading memory.
           
                                           And just now, she called to mind this poem       
                                              By William Ernest Henely, "Invictus,"            
                                           Memorized in her youth, now freshly full  
                                              Of meaning in a whole new light.

                                                        Rock on Mama-san!

                                                                                                 M. Eileen Lawter July 2014

         
                                                                   Invictus

                                                  OUT of the night that covers me,
                                                    Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
                                                  I thank whatever gods may be
                                                    For my unconquerable soul.

                                                  In the fell clutch of circumstance      
                                                    I have not winced nor cried aloud.
                                                  Under the bludgeonings of chance
                                                   My head is bloody, but unbowed.

                                                  Beyond this place of wrath and tears
                                                    Looms but the Horror of the shade,
                                                  And yet the menace of the years
                                                    Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

                                                  It matters not how strait the gate,
                                                    How charged with punishments the scroll,
                                                  I am the master of my fate:
                                                    I am the captain of my soul.

                                           William Ernest Henley 1849–1903  

The Story of Isabel

My darling Isabel has just shaken off her mortal coil.  My wee bouncy bouncy girl has ended her sojourn in my house after more than 19 years.  

Isabel on yard watch

She was fearless, more fearless than me, even on my best brave day.  She knew people I never met.  I'd hear some strange cheerful voice wafting through the window of my little house in Colorado - "Hi Isabel!"  She spent countless hours lurking down the alley ways stalking prey and making friends.  If you had a ladder against the side of your house, you'd find her, tiny and eager to see you as you set about repairing the roof shingles.  A sweetheart, open to all.

Isabel and Mannetje 1990's

She may have seemed second fiddle to our Siamese companion Mannetje, but she has always been the leader of her own band.  Still, when Mannetje left us three years ago, she seemed lost for days, inspecting every room, gazing out the window or even just towards the front door, waiting for him to return.  Ironic really, how do you explain death to a creature who has ended dozens upon dozens of lives of rodents and feathered creatures?

I brought Maggie home for a new companion, then Dorothy.  Our cowgirls.  Isabel became their protector, making sure no ferrel block cat lingered too close.  She picked her spots in the sun so that she always had eyes on her new charges.

She has always been little in size, big of heart.  She's never weighed more than 6 ½ pounds.  In her last year or two, even smaller, 5 pounds, now less.  In late September she began to go blind.  Come December, dementia has set in, she walks in circles throughout the house until she gets herself stuck in some cubby where I come to rescue her.  I set up an "apartment" of her own in the bathroom, which gratefully seems to have calmed her.  I invade only when necessary and often scoop her up to cuddle for a few hours here and there as we both wait for the inevitable time to come...

To die: to sleep; To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come...

Sweet dreams bouncy wee girl.

Train of Thought

My grandpa (in middle) and friends about 100 years ago

For the past ten years I have worked in Homestyle Desserts Bakery just one block from our train station in Peekskill, New York.  It seems peculiar really, that I rarely find myself thinking about the trains.  There is a regular onslaught of Metro North commuter trains, Amtrack trains and freight trains whizzing by right next to the bakery, blasting their horns as they pull in and out of the station.  We actually don't hear them much of the time.  The windows and doors are that good, and of course we have lots of our own ambient sounds helping to drown out the noise of the railroad along our idyllic Hudson River waterfront.  There are machine noises from mixers, ovens, fryers as well as the people noises of customers and staff and the $5 Walmart purchased radio that sits in retail.        


I blissfully work in a room pretty much to myself decorating wedding cakes.  Many of these take concentration and focus, so the solitude is a welcome necessity.  While I forget about the trains outside, I do enjoy following the occasional train of thought.  Today's random excursion in my head went something like this:    

My co-worker Katie who was writing on cakes in the adjoining decorating room was double checking with me on how to spell "Manhattan."  I said, "Man...hat...tan.  Think of a man wearing a tan hat."  And that reminded me of an anecdote my youngest brother David told me.  David, who works in Manhattan was leaving work one evening and got on an elevator.  A woman got on at another floor.  David removed his hat.  Mind you, in this day and age, he took his hat off.  He's not some elderly gentleman from a bygone generation, he was in his forties, raised in New York.  He could sense the woman noticed this and, looking a bit puzzled, she turned to him and said, "Did you do that for me?"  David smiled and replied, "My mother raised me right."      

David, if you ever write your memoirs, I suggest the following title, a chapter title at least - "Confessions of a Nice Man Working in Manhattan."  I'm so happy to know one!

Odd thing this week...

Odd thing this week. At the old bakery where I work decorating wedding cakes, we have about 50 wedding cake orders. For those who don't know how long a wedding cake takes to make and decorate and deliver - 50 cakes is a LOT. The odd bit is that almost half of them are for Sunday, not usually the most popular day. Saturday still reigns supreme. We could not figure it out.

But then today, our manager Julie was speaking to one of our banquet venue clients who told her that "everyone" wanted to book their wedding for this Sunday. People had to be turned away because bookings were FULL. Apparently, lots and lots of people wanted their wedding to be on - 10/10/10!?

I guess the numbers were more intriguing than picking a Saturday wedding date. What are the odds that such a day could fall on a Saturday?  I mean, it can only happen once a year and only up until 2012 at that. Just a wee bit curious, I looked up the "triple digit days" of the first century of our current millennium:

01/01/01 was on a Monday;

02/02/02 was on a Saturday, so there was the first possibility;

03/03/03 was on a Monday;

04/04/04 was on a Sunday;

05/05/05 Children's day in Japan (nothing to do with weddings exactly, I just came across this in the date research) - was on a Thursday;

06/06/06 was on a Tuesday;

07/07/07 was on a Saturday, so there was another one!;

08/08/08 was on a Friday;

09/09/09 was on a Wednesday;

Then there's this year - 10/10/10 which is on a Sunday;

11/11/11 will be on a Friday and

12/12/12 will be on a Wednesday. And that, digitally speaking, is that.

So that's only 2 chances in 12 years for the Saturday triple-digit day wedding thrill, with this Sunday being the tenth chance out of 12 for the thing in general. After 12/12/12, folks are out of luck for another 90 years or so. Who knew so many people are numerically inspired?

Then there was last month when September 11 fell on a Saturday. We had only 3 cakes booked for September 11 and the week was a busy one. I have to agree, I understand that having your wedding anniversary sharing the date with such a terrible tragedy as the attacks in the U.S. does not bode well for what should be a happy day.

So, here's wishing the hundred people beginning their married lives this week with one of our bakery's confections a great big happy sweet start, whatever your anniversary date will be.

It's a weird old world.

I Once Got to Hear Ade Bethune Speak About Art

I once got to hear the artist Ade Bethune speak about art.  She was a wonderful artist and a lovely woman.  I had really been looking forward to hearing what she had to say about art, ready to soak up whatever good artistic sensibilities she had to offer.  What she spoke about wasn't what I expected.  I was expecting talk of paintings and technique I suppose, but what she offered was much richer.  She spoke of inspiration and that we are all artists.  Each day, we have countless opportunities to use our creativity.  We get hungry, so we go to the cupboard or refrigerator to see what's available and decide what to put together for a meal.  That's inspiration and creativity.  Each one of us are artists.

I'm an artist who does do things with paper and pen, canvas and paint, needle and thread.  But I don't always find myself with enough time or energy these days to do those things.  I live always in hope to get to them.  Meanwhile, I do appreciate that all of the daily chores and daily choices are things I can do using my creative best, trying to draw my moments using kindness and patience, humor and hope.  I do my middle-age best getting the trash out and the household chores done, and who's budgets haven't inspired creativity these days?!

Yes.  Art is life.  Life is art.  Thank you Ade.