Ain't No Valley Low Enough..♪

 Head and shoulders stuck in a hallway cupboard, paint roller in hand, the opening strains of Diana Ross and the Supremes "aaaaah ah ahhhh ah aaaaahh ah ahhhh ah" drifted through the living room of the new house my then-husband and I had bought, with the help of my mother for a down payment. All of my family had paint rollers in hand, too, so we could cover up the ghastly remnants of 80's color schemes in a 1954-era tract house. It was a paint party.

I started singing in the cupboard, with Diana. "Ain't no mountain high enough, ain't no valley low enough, ain't no river wide enough, nothin' can keep me, keep me from yoooou!! aaaaah ah ahhhh ah aaaaahh ah ahhhh ah aaaaah ah ahhhh ah aaaaahh ah ahhhh ah ooohhh oooo oo mm mm"

A mountain-top experience that day, back in 1987. Still a newlywed,  surrounded and supported by my family, proud of ourselves that we could qualify to buy a home at 23 and 21. Those were the days. 

Been mostly valleys since then. HA Of course raising the boys included many mountain-top moments -- end-of-the-year awards assemblies, watching them grow into good men who could pick a tune or a baseball out of the air effortlessly, watching them graduate high school, get promoted at work, go to college. Until Jonathan came back into my life, after 35 years, the mountain-tops consisted mostly of the boys' successes, with the occasional spiritual breakthrough and a few church concerts when I could sing my heart out, like that day in the hall cupboard. 

Lately my two best girl-friends, both of who have known me for more than 25 years and still want to be my friend ( who knew??) have been popping in and out of my life long-distance and I in theirs. 

We don't have big fantastic experiences together like you see in the TV commercials, all glam and flash...just heart-to-hearts punctuated with more than a few explosive laughs at ourselves and others. Same with many my childhood friends, now on Facebook but close in heart after years of Life, Love, Divorces, Deaths, and Other Fortunes and Misfortunes. We check in on each other and keep each other's chins up in ways that only lifetime friends can do.

I've noticed a similarity in the way Protestantism and Catholicism function. ( Certainly at the time of the Reformation a new order deemed necessary, but in the 500 years since Luther nailed his theses to the doors, the Protestant church has become all about the mountain-top.) Deep, meaningful services, lively music, ongoing programs, and "worship opportunities" designed to entice the masses and save souls for Christ, at least, all those not Catholic...while the Mass is the same, for everyone, every day, every where. One can be in Arizona or Ecuador, and the readings and the litany remains constant. Boring, maybe for those seeking that youth rally/mountain-top/campfire experience that makes you cry  -- or comforting, familiar, restoring, like taking a walk or drinking water. The meaningful nature of the Mass comes from within, not on a video screen...

Faith isn't only dancing on the mountain tops, singing and twirling in the breeze like Julie Andrews. 

Faith mostly grows in the valleys, where the shadows gather and the winds blow colder and the floods rush through, and you survive being pummeled by the elements. You can't stay on the summit very long. All the water runs downhill...

Faith isn't a noun. It's not about the Presbyterian faith, or the Catholic faith, or the Jewish faith. 

Faith is a verb, a response to knowing that you are the same to God whether in the Alpine meadow or in the valley of the shadow of death, no matter what you've done or where you've been. 

Faith sings "Ain't no mountain high enough, ain't no valley low enough, ain't no river wide enough, nothin' can keep me keep me from You!" when you are huddled against a rock at the bottom of a gorge or surveying a majestic vista. 

Faith sings.  

Listing, Gently, On a Mother Sea

Brett posted a photo of his dorm room at Texas Tech last night with the caption, 'All moved in'. He has always settled into a new place with lightning speed. 
     In January, when we moved here to "The Manor", he had his room put together before the second load of lamps, furniture, and paraphernalia had even arrived from across town. 
     Three years ago, while Randall and I were lugging Craig's belongings to his freshman dorm (which smelled strongly of boy-socks), Brett called from The Cottage, where we lived at that time. " Mom, uh, can I have Craig's room?"  Balancing a laundry basket filled with tip-able non-laundry items in one arm, and cradling the phone to my neck while the other toted a zippered bag with new bedding in it, I said, "Sure. Craig can sleep in your old room when he comes home for the weekend." ( It's not as hard-hearted as you'd think. Craig stripped his room bare three days before HE GRADUATED from high school...so...) But before Rand and I got back from OKC, that day, Brett had moved into the new room and moved all of the Remnants of Craig to the new Spare Oom. Holy cow. 
     Today I am listing. Not making lists. Listing, like a ship on the water. One side to the other. 
      Nostalgic, a little wistful for my youngest's childhood discarded for new adventures. 
      Re-arranging furniture ( Randall did that part before he went to work), shifting books around, mixing Jonathan's large collection of sci-fi, military, childhood classics - Edgar Rice Burroughs and Ian Fleming -- and political diatribes with my own mix of mostly-chick-lit, Christian, political diatribes, and childhood classics -- Carolyn Keene, C.S. Lewis, and E.B. White -- helps keep my mind off of the empty room at the end of the hall and the new life unfurling eleven stories above Texas Tech University. 
     Even though I'm listing today, I'm oh-so-ready for a new phase of life.
     One where I am no longer a cancer patient or a surgery patient in interminable recovery, but one like Brett's where some stuff gets left behind and the important stuff gets taken on ahead.
     One where Jon and I pick up the reins of couples that have been together all this time and now can just be themselves without the concerns of parents concerned about their children making it to adulthood. Not that we have anything to be concerned about. 
     All nine of our kids are awesome. Courtney and Craig and Brett and Hope have left their respective nests. Carianne would have long ago (for somewhere quiet and full of books) but she has one more school year of hanging out with her twin siblings, Laura and Jack, until they graduate. Randall will get his own place when I get on my feet again -- and Samantha will, too, now that she has finished Phase 1 of her education. Plus, we'll have ten official kids when Craig and Emily get hitched the week before the twins' graduation! 
     So, today -- as I dust shelves and remember the Ian Fleming collection from a long-ago summer where Jonathan and I, two tow-headed kids had our noses in books while everyone else was outside eating watermelon -- I'm listing. 
     No storms. Just trying to get my sea legs steady while I wait to see what course I take next. 

If you've ever felt like you were adrift, or if you feel like it now, you can leave an anonymous comment at the bottom of my blog page. The Listening Post is open...
   
     
      
    
   

To beast or not to beast... that is the question.

The Listening Post is open… sorry I’ve been away for a bit.

                                    To beast or not to beast... that is the question. :-P

Ever get caught multi-tasking when you're supposed to be focused? 

While studying the hundreds of hues in the stained glass window depicting Saint Peter, right there next to my pew, I got caught up in the curves and colors and the creation of the art and the life and times of the saint himself. Good grief. Time to tune in. Through the echoes of “Taste and see, taste and see, the goodness of the Lord”, which I had just finished singing with the congregation, I hear the priest musing during his homily, “What if tomorrow no numbers existed? We wouldn't be able to survive. We couldn't measure time, we’d not be able to see what was in our bank account, how much to pay at the grocery store, etc.

Numbers seem to exist – but have you ever seen the number one? The actual number one? You’ve seen  written versions of it, pennies which representation one sent, etc., but you can’t truly see one, nor can you taste it, hear it, smell it. Feel it. It just is." 

Numbers are elusive. We experience them, but their abstract, intangible selves are not in our realm.

So it is with love. You can see it in someone’s eyes, feel it in their touch, hear it in their voice, but it is not to be defined either, only represented by human gestures. It’s elusive, but we know it.

So it is with God, who is love. God cannot be defined or quantified or explained. He just is.  People spend a lot of time trying to discredit the existence of God and use logic to dispel Christianity. They are somewhat correct. Logic has no place in love. I’ve said it before. Logic has no place in the night when a newborn is crying and you cuddle and comfort them through bleary eyes. Logic has no place in a marriage, where two completely different individuals share one life. Logic has no place in forgiveness, which is the expression of love. It makes no sense to continue to actively love someone who makes spikes in the seismograph of your life, and it’s easier to say, “I can’t deal with you” than to seek different ways to be in relationship.

Love makes us human. The priest this morning reminded us that we are animals with a soul. He even  admitted that he has often been a dirtbag, brushing people off, logically 'focusing on the task at hand" -- or conversely, aiming for the jugular to prove a point. ( D'Oh! When did start tailing me? Guilty as charged.) If we do not love, and hurt others in our own pain -- or worse, turn away from others who have hurt us or caused turmoil for us, we are merely beasts. 

We can taste and see the goodness of the Lord, which smells like, tastes like, feels like, sounds like, and looks like forgiveness and compassion – or we can live within our self-imposed boundaries, eliminating anything we can’t explain or control. Tidy up a bit to make ourselves feel like a better person. Seems like it might get a little stuffy in there… I can testify to that. Sigh.

Do you need to forgive someone? Be forgiven?? Forgive yourself? All comments are private and anonymous, when you click on the comment box at the bottom of the link.

.