Angels Among Us ~~ Miss George

Miss George appears first in our lives in 1982 and in my memoir, A Long Awakening to Grace, on page 93. She accompanies us on our journey for a year and through page 95.

She was the best teacher my son ever had. And that is significant because in all the schools he attended, most of the teacher’s only expressed frustration or worse with him. School was traumatic for Doug and for our family.

These excerpts from my memoir will give you a sense of Miss George’s quality as a human being and a teacher.

“…when it came time for my first parent-teacher conference, I braced myself. I suffered pounding tension headaches every time I entered a school building, even if just to watch one of my children perform in a program.” 

When I called Kettering City Schools three years ago to find her, I was told that I was not the only parent who had called looking for her. Miss George was an outstanding teacher loved by many parents and students.

This next excerpt from my memoir will show why I love her.

“She said, ‘Doug’s making good progress in his studies. He’s pleasant and cooperative in the classroom.’

I burst into tears. 

Miss George leaned toward me, a puzzled look on her face. 

… ‘This is the first time I’ve heard anything good about my son from a teacher in years.'”

 

The kindness she extended to our family will always be appreciated.

“After our conference, Miss George sent home ‘Happy News Telegrams’ and lengthy notes about improvement in Doug’s behavior and work. She often wrote, ‘I’m very pleased with him, and you should be, too.'”

Unfortunately, because of a serious health condition, after twenty-three years of teaching, Miss George had to give up the job she loved. Teaching defined her life and was the purpose for which she lived. Now she struggles with living day to day. But that has not dampened her spirit and attitude.

Saturday, I had lunch with her to gift her with a copy of my book.

Miss George

When I told her she was in the book, her eyes brightened and she asked, “Can you show me where?” I opened the book to page 93 and she read those two pages where she appears.

She was so excited and kept thanking me. In truth, she is the one who deserved my gratitude. She was an angel and a bright spot in our life. And when we are going through a rough time, we need such angels.

Saturday I could see that I was a bright spot in her difficult life. I’m grateful I had the opportunity to repay her in some small way for the enormous gift of grace she extended to us so long ago.

The Kindness of Strangers

My tale begins at Dayton International Airport on July 4. My friends Sharon and Kathryn came for a visit. Sharon drove in from Pittsburgh and arrived in time to accompany me to the airport to pick up Kathryn, who flew in from Wichita.

Sharon and I were in a small area of the airport as we waited for Kathryn to arrive. After Kathryn collected her bag, I reached to dislodge my car keys from the carabiner hanging on my purse. Oh no, my car keys were there but my mailbox key was gone. We looked around but didn’t see it. I had not only lost my mailbox key, I had lost the key chain, a gift from my friend Ani.

I lost sleep that night worrying about it. The next morning I called the airport and talked with Ashley. She checked and didn’t find my key in lost and found. I called Gem City key shop. The gentleman who answered recommended I ask the mail carrier to open my door. Then I could dislodge the lock with a little lever and bring it in, saving me a lot of money.

I put a note on the mailbox for the mail carrier and he brought my mail to my door. However, he couldn’t open my door. He did, however, open the bank of boxes from the back to allow me to reach in for the lever. No lever. He and I could find no way to dislodge the lock. So, the mail carrier said he would continue delivering the mail to my door until I let him know I’d handled the situation.

I made my peace with having to dispatch a locksmith and pay whatever it would cost. But I wouldn’t handle that until after Kathryn and Sharon departed. We kept our plans for Thursday, visiting the Freedom Center Underground Railroad in Cincinnati.

When we arrived home after dinner and our Cincinnati trip, I had a message from Ashley at the airport. A key matching my description had been found.

I returned Ashley’s call the next morning and made a trip to the airport to fetch my key. I asked Ashley how she knew who to call. In my initial call, I had not given her my name or phone number.

She remembered I had called in the morning and searched her caller ID, hoping she was calling the right person.

Because of the kindness of strangers, I wouldn’t have needed to lose sleep over this event.

  • A perfect stranger found my key and turned it in at the airport information desk.
  • The gentleman at Gem City tried to save me money.
  • My mail carrier went out of his way to deliver the mail to my house.
  • Ashley from the airport searched her caller ID to find my number.

In a world gone mad with vitriol, these kind strangers renew my faith in humankind. And I learned my lesson. Yesterday I finally got around to having extra keys made. 🙂

Noticing

 

On Monday I had an opportunity to notice how I am being affected physically and mentally by the threats to the protections put in place after the 2008 financial crisis and to the Affordable Care Act. I can’t afford to lose what I lost in 2008. My daughter can’t afford to have another healthcare crisis if she is no longer covered by health insurance.

As a responsible person, a major focus in recent weeks has been consulting with financial and estate planning experts to once again make sure everything is in order. With my daughter’s changed circumstances … moving in with me and no longer being able to work and live independently … changes need to be made. As a single woman, I find it difficult to make these important decisions alone.

 

Spiritually, I know my daughter and I will be fine no matter what the future holds. I have experienced miraculous gifts of grace in the past, but as my memoir attests, my awakening tends to be long. And, it seems, I have been caught up in fear and dread again. I’ve been afraid to tap into my savings, including investing the money I’ve saved to publish my memoir. We might need it to deal with an emergency in the future.

During lunch with a friend on Monday, something had shifted. She is serving as a caregiver for her mother and is in a similar situation as I. She is single and needs to make decisions related to her mother in the same way I need to make decisions related to my daughter. She needed a listening ear. She said our conversation was very helpful.

And our conversation was helpful to me, too. It gave me an opportunity to notice a difference in myself. It was as though the light had burst through the dark clouds that had been hovering over me. I felt totally present to her, a contrast to my experience of myself in recent weeks.

My stomach has been tied in knots, I’ve lost sleep, and most noticeable to me, I’ve had difficulty with holding information in my mind and with word retrieval. But while listening and responding to my friend, I held onto what she shared and words I felt proud to utter and she found helpful flowed easily from my mouth.

And what could this difference be attributed to?

“But even the hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear  not, therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows.” ~Jesus of Nazareth in Matthew 10:30-31

Over the weekend, I received a gift of grace. Just a reminder that I am really not alone and that I never know who will show up and offer just what I need at just the right moment. I felt as though a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. And what a difference it makes in the way I move through life … in the way I was able to respond to  my friend.

I can let go of all the fear and dread because my daughter and I are being cared for and carried by a power greater than our own.

Thank you, Universe, I needed that reminder. As You know, I learn best through experience.

🙂

 

Scales Falling from My Eyes

After the 50th reunion with my former Port Clinton students, I went back to my motel room, looked at myself in the mirror, and said, “Linda, I think you need to start looking at yourself differently.”

I arrived a little late for the reunion because I couldn’t find the Yacht Club. When I walked in, the class was gathered at the far side of the room for a group picture. I walked behind the photographer looking for Yvonne, the student who called me on June 29 (See June 29-30 posts). She spotted me, jumped up from her seat, and ran to give me a hug, exclaiming “My goodness you’re tall,” just as she had done when she walked into my shorthand class in 1964. She escorted me to my seat next to her husband before scurrying back for the picture.

yvonne

Miss Marshall and Yvonne on her tip toes. She refuses to call me Linda.

She reminded me why I had such an influence in her life. She came into my class a week late and was having difficulty catching up and grasping this strange shorthand language. She tried to drop out after receiving an “F” the first six weeks. I allowed other girls to do that but said to her, “You will get it. Just don’t give up.” Then, after receiving an “F” the second six weeks, she spoke to me again about dropping out. This time I looked at her with “very caring eyes” and said, “Yvonne, I have faith in you. You will get it. Don’t give up.” The next six weeks the light bulb went off and she got it, receiving an “A” every grading period from then on.

Yvonne also told me how strict I was while teaching typing (See July 1 post) and how disappointed she was that I only taught at Port Clinton for one year. The teacher who followed me was too lenient. She credits me with preparing her for the outside world. During her 39-year career, she used her skills at the U.S. Department of Interior and the Davis-Besse Nuclear Power Station. Every time she wanted a promotion and had to perform well on typing and shorthand tests to receive it, she said to herself, “Okay, Miss Marshall, you have faith in me so let’s get this done.” I had instilled in her the faith that if she wanted it badly enough, she could do it. And she did.

I am grateful I said what I said, but her career success says more about her than it does about me. Still, I am pleased that as a young woman of twenty-two, I had the presence to give her the support she needed.

Other students attending the reunion were also eager to tell me how they had used their typing and shorthand skills in their careers.

Joyce worked for three judges throughout her career.

Linda and Joyce

Linda and Joyce

Linda sidled up to me asking, “Do you remember me?”

Linda and Linda

Linda and Linda

In truth, I remember very little of my time in Port Clinton 52 years ago and in my usual fashion, what I remember reflects negatively on me as their teacher. Linda told me a delightful story that challenges these damaging memories.

She said it was unlike her, but when she came into my shorthand class, she found something funny. She sat in the back and created a disturbance with her giggles. “And there you were, a young teacher. (I’m only six years older than these students) I could tell you were frustrated, but you didn’t say anything for three weeks. I thought I should apologize to you.” She used one of her hands to make a slicing motion across her other hand adding, “Then one day you cut me in half. I was so embarrassed.”

I have no memory of this. I do remember having some difficulty in my student teaching keeping order in the classroom. I am a soft-spoken introvert, after all. But I must have learned. Still I have difficulty visualizing myself saying something that embarrassed her so much, and she wouldn’t tell me what I said.

But I’m glad I said whatever I said because Linda went on to say, “I got serious after that and I want you to know I did you proud. I worked for the State Department in Washington, D.C. for three years and walked by the White House on the way to work everyday.”

Sharon won this award and then said she wasn’t fast and accurate enough to use shorthand in her administrative assistant position. She thinks she tried to draw the characters so they would be perfect versus write them. Oh, Sharon, how well I know that “perfectionist trap.” At the reunion, she was having a lot of fun with and quite skilled with a camera.

award

Linda and Sharon

Linda and Sharon

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My last connection was the most remarkable because it really had nothing to do with what I did as a teacher but with who I was being as a person.

Linda and Judy

Linda and Judy

Judy and her husband approached me toward the end of the evening. She said, “I didn’t take any classes from you. I was in your homeroom. I thought you were beautiful and I wanted to grow up to be just like you.”

She wrote next to her senior picture in the commemorative booklet provided for the event,  “Thank you  for being such an awesome role model for us.”

While she wrote, her husband said, “Yes, she talked to me about you and told me how she wanted to grow up to be like you.”

I said, “This is blowing my mind.”

In 1978, fourteen years after I taught at Port Clinton, I had a conversation with Harold Platz, the professor who led my core group while I was a student at United Theological Seminary. I loved and respected Harold, one of the pivotal influences in my life. I think I was seeking his wisdom, sharing with him my puzzlement about how someone had reacted to what I said during a core group session. He looked at me with gentle caring eyes and said, “I don’t think you realize the effect you have on others.”

I didn’t know what to say. He was so very right. That was 38 years ago.

Throughout my life, I have often heard, “You are so hard on yourself.” Even when I have been in the process of making a concerted effort to be gentler with myself, I would hear this. Often I was puzzled because being hard on myself felt normal. When someone liked me, I was puzzled about what there was to like. I could not and still have difficulty seeing who I truly am. Today, I know where this comes from. I am sensitive and when a sensitive child receives a lot of criticism, they internalize it. That is what I did.

Through the years, many friends and mentors who have loved and believed in me have tried to help me see myself more realistically as they see me. I’m a slower learner than Yvonne. Sometimes I’d catch a glimpse of how they saw me, but thick scales of conditioning cover my eyes.

Miraculously, on September 17, when I returned to my motel room after attending this reunion, I looked in the mirror and realized as never before that it is time to see myself differently. A chunk of scales fell from my eyes and I caught another, even clearer, glimpse of my true self.

Yvonne, Joyce, Linda, Sharon, and Judy served as agents of a Divine Presence who clearly wants my sight restored. I am still amazed that Yvonne searched for me until she found me 52 years later. Those are extraordinary lengths…not just for Yvonne…but for the Spirit working through her to finally open my eyes. I think the least I can do is begin to cooperate with the process of having my sight fully restored. My therapist has given me an assignment to further that process. What a priceless gift of grace. I am in awe and eternally grateful.

“So Ananias went and entered the house. He laid his hands on Saul and said, ‘Brother Saul, the Lord Jesus, who appeared to you on your way here, has sent me so that you may regain your sight and be filled with the Holy Spirit.’ And immediately something like scales fell from his eyes, and his sight was restored.” Acts 9:17-18a NRSV

A Fabulous Start to My Weekend

On Friday evening, September 16, I enjoyed dinner with Alice, a very special influence in my life, her husband, Duane, and my childhood friend, Amy. Alice is the parish worker who recommended I go to college when I was an insecure high school student who didn’t think I was smart enough to take that step. (See my July 1 post).

Alice Hegemier

Alice Hegemier & Linda

A few weeks prior to this, we reconnected through a wonderful hour-long phone conversation. I called her after receiving a Facebook message from a former classmate who had talked with her. Evelyn said Alice wanted to know if my my memoir had been published because she wanted to buy it.

Alice doesn’t do computers, so she is unable to keep track of the progress I post on my website and doesn’t have access to my blog. Because she expressed so much interest in my writing, I told her I would make copies of some of my blog posts and send them to her via snail mail.

As I was addressing the envelope, fear of disapproval raised its ugly little head. Since much of my writing is about my spiritual journey, I wondered if she would think less of me for my contemplative bent. Some refer to us as “navel gazers.”

contemplative-quote

Since silence is the response that distresses me the most, I asked Alice to be honest about her thoughts and feelings after reading my writing, especially if she didn’t like what she read. I explained that I find it easier to deal with negative feedback than with silence, which I most often interpret as disapproval for who I am.

I need not have feared. When she heard I was visiting my hometown, she called to arrange for us to have dinner and told me, “I thoroughly enjoyed reading your blog posts. Thank you for sending them to me.”

Whew! Alice’s opinion matters to me and I felt grateful our relationship hadn’t been damaged.

Before I left for New Bremen, I made a copy of the pages in my memoir where I honor Alice’s influence in my life. I decided not to make her wait for its publication to read what I have written about her.

pages

After dinner, we gathered back at Alice and Duane’s home for desert and more visiting. I heard more about her journey. Her parents also thought girls would just get married and have children and didn’t need a college education for that. She, however, believed in herself and had the confidence and determination to pursue her dream. Whenever she spotted a young person in New Bremen who she thought had some special quality, she encouraged them to actualize it.

How blessed I am she saw something in me that she encouraged. Her recommendation that I go to college opened doors for me that has enriched my life beyond measure. My college education made it possible for me to make a difference in the lives of many others in a way I wouldn’t have been able without that degree. In addition, college was part of what prepared me to meet more effectively the life challenges that lay ahead for me.

When I handed Alice the memoir pages I had copied for her to read later, she said, “I’m amazed at the depth of your writing.”

music-notes

Her words were music to my ears. I felt a little like that shy insecure high school kid all over again…receiving encouragement to be all I can be in the world. I fell asleep that night with a big smile on my face and a heart filled with gratitude–aware and in awe at the threads of influence in all our lives.

And that was just the beginning of what turned out to be a fabulous weekend.

A Gift of Grace from the Universe

The telephone rang, interrupting my brooding about the abrupt alteration in my life circumstances and whether or not I needed an anti-depressant to deal with my situation more effectively. I suspected I was depressed because I was loosing interest in working on my memoir. What worthwhile do I have to say anyway? I had wanted to write something on my blog, but couldn’t find the words or the strength. I couldn’t even post updates on my Facebook page or update friends about the latest in my daughter’s and my saga. Talking with friends took more energy than I had to spare. Watching mindless TV was about all I could handle, often falling asleep in the middle of a program.

I got up from my recliner and ambled from the meditation room to the phone in my living room. Picking up the handset, I checked the caller ID and didn’t recognize the name. It’s probably a wrong number. I clicked the talk button. “Hello.”

“Is this Linda Marshall? Did you teach at Port Clinton High School?”

screenbean-phone (1)

My mind scrambled to make sense of this call. Yes, I had taught typing, shorthand, and office practice at Port Clinton High School in 1964-65. It was my first teaching assignment right out of college. Why would someone be asking about that long ago time in my life?

When I responded that I was that Linda Marshall, the woman on the other end of the line began to cheer. “Hallelujah, I’ve found you. I’ve been looking for you for years.”

She went on to tell me the story about how she came to be a shorthand student of mine and wanted to know if I remembered her. I have to admit, I have few memories of that year in my life. I didn’t tell her this, but the humiliating memory I have retained is being given a negative evaluation by the principal in the lunchroom in front of the other teachers. I was under the impression I hadn’t done a very good job teaching there.

Her memories were vivid. She recounted dropping home economics and signing up for shorthand. She said I was so strict. My memory of the details are fuzzy here because she was pouring out her story faster than my brain could take it in. I remember hearing about two “F’s” and she was ready to drop the class. She said others had and I let them. But when she came to talk with me about it, I encouraged her to stay. I said, “You are going to get this.” She said I had been right. The next grade and those that followed were “A’s.”

She told about I threw away any typing papers that had errors erased on them. She said I explained to the students that employers would make them type letters and documents over again if they contained mistakes like these. She said the experiences she had as a secretary had proved me right again.

Then she told me about her career. Again, the details are fuzzy, but she was promoted several times and reached high administrative assistant levels working in governmental agencies.

She went on to say that I had influenced her more than anyone else, made her into the person she is today, and would not have had the career she had if not for me. She recounted the steps she had taken over the years to find me, discouraged by so many dead ends. Her class will celebrate their 50th reunion in September and there are several of my former students who want me to be there.

I sank back into my recliner, my eyes watering, as I took in this gift of grace from the Universe. I told her, “I can’t tell you how much it means to me to hear you say this today. I’m going through a rough time in my life and have been feeling depressed.”

We acknowledged that she had found me at just the right moment.

3e627-keyboard2btyping

This was the best anti-depressant anyone could have given me. I could literally feel the energy of aliveness returning to my exhausted and weary body. I had made a difference in someone’s life. A false impression I had carried about myself for fifty-one years was transformed. With that, I returned to writing. I do have something worthwhile to say. Thank you, Universe. You continue to surprise me with the mysterious and awesome ways in which you work.

Monarch

Missing the Mark

In the original languages (Aramaic, Hebrew, Greek), the word “sin” means “missing the mark.” In my last post written almost two months ago, I spoke of setting an intention to extend loving kindness to my daughter as she faced her health crisis. She moved into my home on June 16, almost two weeks ago. During these two weeks, especially the first week, I missed the mark. I was not at my best. This hospitalization has turned my daughter’s life upside down and, by extension, my life as well.

Her surgery was postponed for two days and she was in ICU a total of nine days before being sent to rehab. While she was in ICU, she experienced ICU psychosis. After the fact, they told us it is common. Wish they would have forewarned me. Seeing her in full-blown paranoia, convinced they were trying to kill her and if I didn’t help her get out of there, I was in league with them was scary. It is hard enough dealing with her myotonic muscular dystrophy. I feared I would be dealing with mental illness as well.

Then after ten days in rehab, she developed pneumonia and was hospitalized for another week before being sent back to rehab where they hoped to wean her off oxygen. They did not succeed and on June 16 she moved in with me. The week before her discharge, exhaustion turned me into a zombie. I couldn’t think straight, I took long naps even though I had slept soundly the night before. I dragged myself day after day doing the next right thing.

I was apprehensive about her coming to live with me. My home is my sanctuary, where I recharge myself with solitude, silence, order, and beauty. She does not share my values and her disease prevents her from maintaining the aesthetics I require. She has lived with me as an adult before, and it didn’t work well for either of us.

window

In addition, I was nervous because I am not a nurse or a trained caregiver.  I felt overwhelmed as people descended on my home with oxygen tanks, compressors, concentrators, and the bi-pap machine she will need to use while sleeping for the rest of her life. They explained how to use it all, but I couldn’t take it all in. They gave us manuals and said we could call if needed. We needed and, thankfully, they were very accommodating.

oxygen tank
BPAP-466x350

In the midst of all this, I was faced with the task of moving her out of her apartment. Cell phone pictures helped her make decisions about what to keep and what to give away or discard. I don’t know how she managed the steps for these ten years while her disease progressed and her muscles weakened. It was all I could do to navigate up and down those steps carrying out trash and stuff to my home for her to sort through. One day I could barely carry a heavy trash bag up a flight of stairs and down another as I made my way to the dumpster. When I got there, the dumpster was filled to the brim with branches from the yard work being done. The side door was blocked. I took a step back and heaved that bag with all my might and it went flying into the top of the dumpster. I marveled at my muscle strength. Not bad for an old broad.

My daughter’s first week in my home was an adjustment for both of us. In the midst of all the anxiety, it took every ounce of energy I possessed to deal with all the changes. I grieved the loss of my privacy in the sanctuary of my lovely new home, the loss of my solitude and silence.

I disappointed myself more than once as irritation and frustration crushed my intention to extend the loving kindness she deserves. I couldn’t summon the energy for my spiritual practice. Maintaining serenity and equanimity in the face of this stress escaped me. I was sorely missing the mark. The vicious voice in my head lashed me with the discrepancy between the kind of person I aspire to be and the kind of person I was actually being. In this state, my whole life looked like a sham.

As I sat in my meditation room this morning, the best part of me (my true self within who witnesses my thoughts and actions and knows that is not who I really am) took stock of the way I’m handling this very difficult situation. Even though this week has been much better, I wondered if I needed an anti-depressant to help me deal more effectively. And then the telephone rang and I received a gift from the Universe. I recognized it immediately as a gift of grace.

2015 Reflections ~ 2016 Intentions

Elijah House

Elijah House

For me, 2015 started at Thanksgiving 2014. As was often true for me during the holidays, I was focused on what was missing in my life and feeling depressed. I was stuck in the writing of my memoir and felt the need for guidance. I thought time away might give me the direction I needed. And so I made arrangements for a silent retreat in Elijah House, a cottage in the woods at the Transfiguration Center of Spiritual Renewal near West Milton, Ohio. Last year on New Years Day, I wrote about the still, small voice of the Divine within giving me what I hoped for that weekend–clear guidance for how to write and deepen my memoir to serve a higher purpose. I set my 2015 intention to increase my awareness of the light of grace in the midst of life’s messiness.

Well, 2015 was certainly a grace-filled, messy year. My condo was no longer serving me and in January the way opened for me to move. The end of April I put it up for sale. At the same time, I found an editor for my memoir. I’d been impressed with some of her online comments about the way she works, and when I read, “I want my clients to know I’m their biggest cheerleader and greatest fan,” I knew she was the editor for me.

Cheerleader

The condo selling/home searching process was messy. I continued to work on my memoir while my condo didn’t sell and properties I liked did. My faithful friends assured me the right place for me wasn’t available yet and when it was, my condo would sell. They were right. In August, a buyer appeared and I found the perfect home for me.

The middle of September, I sent my manuscript to my editor. I told her I wasn’t in a hurry for her feedback because I’d be busy with moving. As my focus switched from writing to rehabbing my home, I convinced myself my memoir wasn’t that good and would probably never be published. I decided to be grateful for the transformation I experienced in writing it and for the healing in my relationship with my daughter. If all the work I put into it came to nothing more, that was a lot for which to be thankful.

On October 5, I took possession of the house and began the rehab process. On October 15, I moved in. By Thanksgiving I was settled enough to host a family dinner. Being in a house with a meditation room overlooking a woods and a creek gives me much joy.

Sun on trees

On November 29, I received my editor’s first comments. When I saw it drop into my inbox, I started shaking. I did a few things around the house to work up the courage to read it. I’d been discouraged by critical feedback in the past and braced myself to face the fact that I just wasn’t cut out to be a memoir writer. Oh, ye of little trust.

I headed for the recliner in my meditation room to read her four pages of comments. While most pointed to what needed revising, my confidence was bolstered by these words: “Part I, in particular, will need reworking to bring it to the quality of the rest of the manuscript.”

She went on: “…your manuscript is eminently publishable and quite astonishing. It is more intelligently written, more thoughtful, and more reflective than many memoirs I’ve read…”

I sat there stunned and thinking: she sees me very differently than I see myself. This woman from Wyoming who I’ve never met in person or talked with on the phone had seen into my soul.Full Circle

Judy brought me full circle, validating the message I received at my silent retreat about the deeper message in my memoir and the way I was to write it. In our further correspondence, she continues to change my perception of myself. And I am definitely experiencing her as my biggest cheerleader and greatest fan. Grace brought us together.

“Never be afraid to trust an unknown future to a known God.” ~Corrie ten Boom

And so, at the end of 2015, I stand in awe at the light of grace. As my memoir attests, my awakening has been a long one and is a process of reawakening and reawakening.

And my intention for 2016: Increase my trust in the light of the Divine within me and all of us. Be faithful to my part in co-creating a better world by risking revealing my messy true self–the one I write about in A Long Awakening to Grace.

When we’re willing to be imperfect and real, the gifts of courage, compassion, and connection just keep giving. Paraphrased from Brené Brown’s The Gifts of Imperfection.

Why Do I Write a Blog?

The Mastermind Group to which I belong met yesterday. Two of us write blogs and part of our goal is to increase our readership. At the end of our meeting, one member asked, “Why do you write a blog? What is your purpose?” She looked at me and added, “I can see that you do it to generate interest in your memoir.”

soulcircle

Image found here: https://womenwhorunwiththewolvesblog. wordpress.com/

Yes, I draw attention to my forthcoming memoir, A Long Awakening to Grace, and hope others will be interested in reading it. I experience my compulsion to write and share my story as a Divine calling–something planted in my soul. My intention in sharing my story of growing spiritually while facing overwhelming obstacles is to inspire others and contribute to the betterment of the world.

Following this leading has already led to healing between my daughter and me–the betterment and enlargement of our world. Examining and reflecting on my motivations and feelings at different stages of my life helped me to understand and accept myself at a deeper level. It brought me closer to The Divine. For all that, I am eternally grateful. As I noted in my last post, if writing my story does nothing else, it has accomplished a lot.

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But why do I write my blog? Writers are often asked why we write. My Mastermind Partner’s question invited me to articulate my heartfelt intention beyond promoting my memoir. I write and share my writing to continue my process of growing spiritually. Writing letters to The Divine in my journal has long been a form of prayer for me. At times, wisdom from deep within or beyond emerges from my pen, taking me a step further on my spiritual journey.

But writing in my journal is a private activity. Writing a blog exposes my messy growing process. The perfectionist in me would like to keep that to myself. But hiding only keeps me stuck and isolated. When I share and others can relate, I don’t feel so alone. Connecting with kindred spirits on the path of awakening and evolving into our highest selves is vital for remaining faithful to this call of The Divine.

http://earthsky.org/ Photo taken by CB Devgun from India

http://earthsky.org/
Photo taken by CB Devgun from India

Mary Jo, a kindred spirit from the Story Circle Network, gave me a gift in her comment to my last post, Doorway to the Divine. She said, “This is such a profound, and in my opinion, the deepest and finest level of communication one can share with another. My heart swells with joy for you and your daughter. Yours is one of the best, if not the best posting, I’ve read this year and probably beyond. To truly hear and be heard…what if we could all do that for each other.”

Mary Jo’s genuine appreciation validates that I’m on the right track. I am bolstered in my intention to continue exposing  my messy process. This diehard perfectionist might just learn to enjoy the mess. Now wouldn’t that be a miracle.

Doorway to the Divine

The whole universe and all events are sacred (doorways to the divine) for those who know how to see. In other words, everything that happens is potentially sacred if you allow it to be. ~Richard Rohr

I mentioned in my last post that one of the readers of my memoir, A Long Awakening to Grace, challenged me to dig deeper into my story. In the process of excavating, I invited my forty-four-year-old daughter to have a talk with me.

When I trained in Imago Relationship Therapy, we learned a valuable listening skill called “The Intentional Dialogue.” We were taught to leave our own world behind, our perceptions, thoughts, and feelings, in order to enter and be present to the world of another. Listening deeply in this way gives us an opportunity to understand the other person at the level of their soul. It can be quite revealing. I decided to use this skill during our talk, which proved to be a “doorway to the divine.”

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After taking our places in my living room, I began, “I’d like you to tell me what it was like for you as a child having me for a mother.”

Being in my daughter’s world was heartbreaking as I listened to the depth of her anguish–sacred moments of truth telling. And then her magnanimous soul emerged. She gave me an unanticipated gift of grace–understanding and forgiveness.

Forgiveness does not change the past, but it does enlarge the future.     ~Paul Boese

My daughter received an empathetic response from me as I validated her reality. I received her understanding and forgiveness, thus allowing me to forgive myself. Our future is enlarged. If my memoir does nothing else, the writing has proved to be healing for both of us. And that is a lot! I am filled with awe and gratitude.

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