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.

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!