Mourning A Body--My Body

My left hand is my life's blood.  It is the vehicle I use to craft words, the tool I use to live.  My right hand has never served me.  She never will.  I know that.  Blame is not for me to assign.  Anger is not mine to wield.  My right hand has never served me as others' have.
This week, a gradual diminishment--a lifelong fear--came to a head.  I made progress to the outer world.  Not by others misassigning it.  I didn't misassign it either.  Rather, I rallied the consolation I need.
A mere appointment for hand therapy, hand x-rays, and a neck MRI did not deliver this week to me...not alone.
Every 18 months or so, I receive a questionnaire to reauthorize my long-term disability insurance.  A formality perhaps.  Yet, this time it hit me hard--it hits me in the gut.  She pulls no punches.
I have forgotten the sound of my left hand's voice propelling me up out of bed in the morning.  Did she ever speak?  Have I lost my hearing?  Am I deaf to her call for help?  How long has she--how long have they--been gone?
Did I abuse my left had so much--with such bravado--that I have lost her forever?
Will remorse...a contrite heart...a confessing of my wrongful pride...be enough that my hand may be entrusted to my service?
Voicing that thought through my still-working fingers is embarrassing.  Am I losing dignity as I stand aside of my body?
I hold on for dear life in the bathtub as I pull my body to a standing position after bathing myself.  Will this be the time I will lose my grip and fall?
The time for contrition has come...a shower/bath bench.  I have looked from afar.  This week's questions--the questions are served by only one answer.  I confess a bit of vanity remains.  With Amazon.com's hand to hold mine, soon I will be the proud owner of a reasonably-priced teak shower/bath bench.
I mourn a body--my body.  Is it mine to blame?  Is it mine to wield anger at because it is not serving me.
I must serve my body regardless of how it serves me.
Thirty-two years ago I was baptized--I joined the Catholic Church.  Through friends, I learned it was more than possible to blend intellect into faith into my being.  Skeptics to that blending asked, "But...resurrection...that just doesn't make any sense!  Do you believe in resurrection?  Do you believe in The Resurrection?"
I did not know I did not understand what words to utter.
Time has passed....years have elapsed....life has changed me...life has changed my body....much over many years has made now sense at all.
Do I understand resurrection?  Do I believe in resurrection?
No.  I must.  I am a woman of faith, I am a woman of hope.  I am a woman of love.  I am a woman of belief.
Do I understand The Resurrection?  Do I believe in The Resurrection.
No.  I breathe seeking to believe what I do not understand.
I mourn a body--my body.  I mourn a bath--the loss of a bath.  I was always a woman of a shower.  So, why am I mourning?  I seek understanding that has yet to be delivered to me.
I mourn a body--my body.

Gun Control. May Peace Be with You.

     The Second Amendment of the Constitution of the United States
     A well regulated militia, being necessary to  the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms, shall not be infringed.
     Guns.  Personally, I do not use them.  My resource of self-defense is a quick wit.  Of concern for my safety, some ask, "Aren't you afraid of being alone out in the streets of downtown.  To those who express concern, my sister says, "I don't worry about Patty.  I worry about the people who encounter Patty on the streets."
     Guns.  I do not use them.  Yet....many people do.
     Foraging for food.  Hunting for animals.  Protecting oneself.  Protecting one's home.
     How do we aim--how do we control--guns to hit their target.  Food.  Animals.  Oneself.  One's home.
     Training--target practice.  Daily hunting limits.  Gun locks.
How do we control the numbers--the amount of ammunition purchased, the rounds of ammunition used?  Can we engage law enforcement personnel?  Can we capture enforcement/conservation officers?  Can we embrace the Department of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives?  Can we open our ears to hear the Director of Homeland Security?
     Decibels.  How many?  Ammunition.  How many rounds?
     What do we need?  When will we act?
     Peace.  May the peace of Christ be with you.  Peace.  Love.  Faith. Hope, and Love, and the greatest of these is Love.

Prayer...A Nascent Transformation...

     The Hail Mary.
     Shall we pray? Sister Immaculata proffered.
     Hail Mary, full of grace.
     The Lord is with thee.
     Blessed art thou among women,
     And, blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.
     Holy Mary, Mother of God.
     Pray for us,
     Now, and at the hour of our death.
     Amen.


     Seat of wisdom, pray for us.
     The prayer was a reverential invitation to understand words new to me.  I was never sure whether the words were, "Seat of wisdom, pray for us," or, "Seed of wisdom, pray for us."  Yet, somehow, that detail did not matter.  Both Seat and Seed confirmed a nascent transformation yet to be lived. 
     Hail Mary, Full of Grace.  
     As inexplicable as the Hail Mary's beauty on my first hearing 30 years ago is its beauty today.  Whenever an ambulance passes by me, the Hail Mary comes to my ears.  I do not recite it at other times.  Yet, at the moments of urgent need--the need of others--the Hail Mary is given to me to utter.
     I have no Rosary beads.  I do not know the Rosary.  I do not pray the Rosary.  Not by my judgment of its value.  Rosary has been in my vocabulary for nary three decades.  Maybe in seven more decades, I will know the Rosary.  Maybe in seven decades I may pray the Rosary.
     Others better versed than I could recite the precise chapter and verse.  Yet, I have heard it said that we need not fear, when  needs arise we shall be given the appropriate words to utter.  Whether spoken aloud, or held in my heart, confidence is given, and fears assuaged.  Blessed by and with a faith-filled worship community, and Christians who care deeply about the heart and soul--far more than structures they enter, no longer is prayer a formula I grab from off the rack.  I cannot explain its shape--its form.  Thirty years ago, a formula.  Today, a precious mystery.  Thirty years from now?  A precious mystery to be lived, not feared.

Catholic Church Reform: What Is It?

     Catholic Church reform.  What is it?  What should it be?  Who decides?  Who should decide?
     What is it?
     Hot button issues come to mind.  Women's ordination.  Married clergy. Liturgy--lay involvement.  Liturgy--inclusive language.
     These are valid, worthy issues central to Catholic Church reform.  Yet, in defining what it should be, dangers need to be identified--dangers to effecting reform.
     Herd mentality.  Rote support of hot button issues.  Rote support of advocates, who can speak the loudest.
     I write cognizant of time's luxury, which long-term disability affords me.  I write cognizant of my time's responsibility--God's time to me.  I must not squander that precious time--that precious responsibility.  Were I to squander, I would aggravate the problems--the issues--I sought to address.
     Who decides?
     "Church Hierarchy!" is the rallying cry of church reform campaigns.  Yet, hierarchy, to some degree, is necessary for the advancement of any organization's issues.  In the extreme, anarchy is hierarchy's adversary.  Effective Catholic Church reform lies somewhere in the middle.
     Catholic Church Reform.  Who decides?
     I know my place.  I make no submissive cry to avoid responsibility.  No.  I know my place.  I have been asked to help clarify issues.  Research.  Write drafts of recommendations.  Listen.  Heed direction of individuals who will make recommendations based in part upon my research.  Revise. Rewrite.  Submit.  Listen.
     I have tremendous respect for the knowledge, experience, convictions, and beliefs of the individuals I will work with.  I pray that I will nurture and maintain that same level of respect of and for each individual I meet.
    I pray that I will seek a broad understanding of the people, issues, organizations, and perspectives within the catholic church.  I pray not to imprison myself within the popular positions on hot button issues just to do so.  Already I sense myself doing just that.
   Catholic Church Reform.  What is it?
   It is not for me to define in isolation.  For now, I shall act as a squirrel might.  I shall gather nuts--food for thought--for the work ahead--nuts that may sustain me.  Websites.  Blogs.  Publications.  These are but three of the nuts I gather for the exciting, daunting, scary, exhilarating, unknown journey ahead me--ahead of us.

Compassion

     Compassion.
     Compassion gets a bad wrap.  Weak.  Idealistic.  Hopeless.  Unrealistic.
     I am not among those bad rappers.  I believe in compassion.  I believe in its ideal.  I live by its hope.
     Never before this week have a found a haven of individuals willing to admit--to affirm--their commitment to act with compassion--to live with and by compassion.
     We live in a world of instant gratification.  Impatience.  Deadlines.  As unsavory as those realities may be, these are facts of life.
     So, how do we counteract those societal pressures--those necessities of a working world--a healthy economy?  Some may say that there is no way to achieve those objectives.  We live in the world of Facebook, Twitter.  So, what hope is there to affirm--to advocate for--compassion?
     Compassion.  Achievable.  If so committed--if so wiling--you do have opportunities.  You do have options.
     PeaceNext.  Charter for Compassion.  Two opportunities.
     PeaceNext.  Social media need not be frivolous.  Peace Next.  The Facebook of Compassion.  Global.  Ecumenical.  Faith-filled.  Committed.
      I am new in my understanding of Peace Next.  Yet, I am committed to following my instincts.  As a lifelong pacifist, I am more than willing to open myself to this venue of hope.
      Interreligious dialogue.  Ecumenism.  A Parliament of World Religions its aspiration.
      In developing the World Wide Web--the human exchange of information and knowledge--within the architectural structure of the Internet, Tim Berners-Lee wrote of the opportunities for free, global communication, which are offered by such forums as PeaceNext.
      Given a forum, concrete actions are the next steps necessary to give Compassion a firm foundation.  So, what actions?  Where do I give my voice to compassion???
      The Charter for Compassion offers a wellspring of opportunity.
      The Charter is distinct from PeaceNext.  The Charter for Compassion sets forth commonsense principles to commit yourself to--to make yourself accountable to others.  The Charter for Compassion offers the space, where you may commit yourself to intentions of compassion not listed.
     In my humble opinion PeaceNext, and  The Charter for Compassion are the World Wide Web at its very best.
     Commit yourself to Compassion.
 

Compassion. Read. Consider. Sign. Live.

The Charter for Compassion

The principle of compassion lies at the heart of all religious, ethical and spiritual traditions, calling us always to treat all others as we wish to be treated ourselves. Compassion impels us to work tirelessly to alleviate the suffering of our fellow creatures, to dethrone ourselves from the centre of our world and put another there, and to honour the inviolable sanctity of every single human being, treating everybody, without exception, with absolute justice, equity and respect.

It is also necessary in both public and private life to refrain consistently and empathically from inflicting pain. To act or speak violently out of spite, chauvinism, or self-interest, to impoverish, exploit or deny basic rights to anybody, and to incite hatred by denigrating others—even our enemies—is a denial of our common humanity. We acknowledge that we have failed to live compassionately and that some have even increased the sum of human misery in the name of religion.

We therefore call upon all men and women ~ to restore compassion to the centre of morality and religion ~ to return to the ancient principle that any interpretation of scripture that breeds violence, hatred or disdain is illegitimate ~ to ensure that youth are given accurate and respectful information about other traditions, religions and cultures ~ to encourage a positive appreciation of cultural and religious diversity ~ to cultivate an informed empathy with the suffering of all human beings—even those regarded as enemies.

We urgently need to make compassion a clear, luminous and dynamic force in our polarized world. Rooted in a principled determination to transcend selfishness, compassion can break down political, dogmatic, ideological and religious boundaries. Born of our deep interdependence, compassion is essential to human relationships and to a fulfilled humanity. It is the path to enlightenment, and indispensable to the creation of a just economy and a peaceful global community.

I encourage you.  Please affirm with your name.  Embrace commitments of compassion the charter offers.  Commit to your own.  Share.  Live with, by, and for compassion.

Where is the Middle???

     I find myself in the middle of a different search for information.  The search is new to me.  I am accustomed to the search for information regarding my epilepsy, and seizures most prominently.  Brain damage and cerebral palsy to  a lesser degree.  Although all four are intertwined.  My search is for how to be of compassionately informed support to someone, who is academically familiar with the medical condition he faces now as he looks in the mirror.
     With some, the temptation is to throw facts, and information--research--at them to help them contain their condition into a manageable form.  With others,, the temptation is to offer pity.  Sometimes, that is manifest in Poster Children to attract justifiable support for individuals with the condition, and for research.  On a personal level, pity well may be uncertainty, and discomfort, as to how to address the situation.  Most tempting, and most frightening to me is the offer to cure or to heal someone by mystical powers.
     Most helpful to me with regard to my seizures, epilepsy, cerebral palsy and brain damage is a balanced approach.
     I don't seek to be cured, or to have never had brain damage, cerebral palsy, epilepsy, and seizures.  I cannot roll back history.  Such is a waste of precious energy.  I prefer to seek insights--to how to live an insightful life--on the basis of my brain damage, cerebral palsy, epilepsy, and seizures.  To some degree, I have known that since eighth grade.
     I don't know how to be of help.  Facts, and information are readily available.  Pity is against my religion--pity that is closed to the possibility that more constructive responses are available.  Healing by means of mystical powers frightens me.
     I do make a distinction between healing by means of magical waving-of-a-wand means--full healing--and prayer.  The distinction is difficult to articulate.  Sometimes, the words may be the same, yet the tone is different--completely different.  I know it when I hear it--when I feel it.  I try to respond, so as to increase the likelihood of more compassion in the future.
    So, where does that leave the man facing a medical condition new to him personally?   We have known one another for a lifetime.  We respond similarly to much of what I have described--research, pity, cures, and healing by mystical powers.  I find it difficult to articulate the nuances in prayer that exist.
    I am leery of the support that consumer organizations can, and do provide.  I am not saying that they serve no useful purpose.  My concern is that the support--their expressed mission--is aimed more at publicizing research, and raising funds for the continuation for that research.  Both, essential.
    Where is the spiritual element of support?  Where is the spirituality of the human body in this discussion?  Often, the triangle, body, mind, and spirit," is discussed.  Of the three, most often, body and mind are linked.  Similarly, mind and spirit are linked.
    Yet, body and spirit seem miles apart.  I don't know precisely how to articulate it.  Maybe if I did--if we were willing to--articulate the relationship between the two, we might get beyond some ghost-in-a-white-sheet mentality of the body and the spirit.

A New Beginning...

     This week, I joined in welcoming a priest new to our faith community--Cabrini.  This celebration was a first.
     In 1982, I accepted an inviting admonition, "Don't leave your mind outside the door of the church."  Contrary to the admonition, and to my desire to abide by it, I did not know what I was doing intellectually.  I was petrified of being discovered a fraud--a fraud for not being able to articulate what I was seeking.
    I have been blessed by involvement in four communities in 29 years.  An interloper.  A parishioner.  A member.  An engaged witness.
    A college campus faith community.  Deemed too liberal--radical--by some.  Captivating to me.
     Raised to value pacifism, I found a community--a weekly celebration--in which, "Peace be with you" was the ever faithful invitation extended to all who entered.  I sat.  I questioned.  I wondered.  I graduated.
    The only "parish" church--a very traditional, old French church.  At home in spiritual geography.
    The priest memorable to me--an Irishman with a welcoming spirit--Father Philip McArdle.  Though at home in geography, never did the spirit of that church community reside in my heart and soul.  I single and 20ish.  They married and 70ish.  Yet, what I treasure of that time was Father McArdle's endearing words, "Children of God." No tones of condescension tempered his words.  "Children of God" were filled with a spirit of wonder--loving wonder--unjaded by adult cynicism.  Long since forgotten details of my differences with Father Philip.  The gift.  The differences.  They were present--they were real.
     Moved by differences, I joined the thoughtful tradition of John Henry Cardinal Newman.  For 11 years, a member--the Newman Center.
     Students came and went.  I listened.  The Gospels--all spiritual readings and reflections I was fed.  Established traditions cradled others, were still new to me.  Priests came.  Priests went.  Yet, no sense of welcoming any priest new to our community pierces my memory.  I was an attendant member, not a faithful worshipper.
     I entered the Catholic Church long after Vatican II closed.  The Church I entered was far different than the Church others close to me left, or so I sense it was.  I never walked in their shoes--never donned their Ojibwe moccasins.  I was churched a Universalist--a parental evolution from pre-Vatican II, less engaging worship to a more intellectually-challenging fellowship.  They left, I entered.  They seeking intellectual challenge.  I answers to long-held, inarticulable questions.
     Friends faithful to the Church--the hierarchy, the dysfunctions--left.  Yet, leave?  A spiritual cavern beyond my surmounting.
    The hierarchy closed my thoughtful haven.  Some balked.  I searched.  I found.  Welcomed, I found a new home.
    Cabrini.  Celebration.  Faith.  Engagement.  Passion.  Cabrini.

    Eleven years hence, hierarchy visits our home--my new home.  No closing.  A transfer of priests.  A priest new to my home of faith.  Others knew of him.  Yet, none of us knew him.  For the first time in 29 years, I welcome a priest new to me.  Together, I join others in welcome. 

    An interloper.  A parishioner.  A member.  An engaged witness.  A new beginning....What next???  An advocate. ... Whatever it may be, a new beginning...  

Boredom. Deny. Fear. Befriend. Boredom

     Boredom.  Boredom? Yes, boredom.  Well, that doesn't sound very interesting.  Humor me.  Tell me whether hours of sleeplessness regarding a family member was the breeding ground for worthwhile insight.
     I know three people who are at different stages of their careers, who are facing boredom's reality.
     Two years ago--a lifetime ago now--my health ended a 24-year career, which was boredom's intimate. Not a constant intimate, but, an intimate, nonetheless. 
     When my career ended, my family doctor gave me excellent advice.  Get up at the same time every day.  Find something that you are interested in, and go to it as though it was your full-time job.  Though my doctor had not known me long, he did know that I was reasonably intelligent--he knew that I thrived on  intellectual stimulation.
     Of the three individuals, my influence over them varies.  I am not a confrontational person.  My default behaviors are compassion, and empathy.  I am uncomfortable being over in relation to anyone in my life, so, by that standard, I do not have influence over anyone.  I might strive to be the compassionate, yet, straightforward friend a mentor of mine is.  He does not volunteer his opinions--his judgments--readily, or with any fanfare.  Yet, if I seek out his counsel, he is honest with me, not polite and proper, but, straightforward and caring.
     The young man needs the most guidance.  He yearns for excitement.  He goes one step beyond fearing boredom in potential jobs he might secure.  He denies that boredom is a possibility.  If he denies boredom's possibility, then it will not be.  I would make a lousy mother.  I am too wishy-washy.  I want to offer the example of my life, rather than risking the rejection that a more confrontational approach might render.
     The second individual--a woman--is in the middle of her working career.  She understands the realities of the work world.  She has worked in jobs that were boring--jobs that did a grave injustice to her gifts.  Yet, she understood the basic need to be self-supporting.  Or, so I thought.  Extended unemployment has nurtured an idealism that, at other times might be healthy.  Yet, there is a time in one's career--when seeking employment--when serving as an outraged citizen advocate usurps the energy necessary to find employment.  This woman fears boredom.  She remembers its omnipresence in her work life.  She has discovered social justice--advocacy--as a realm within her reach.  Yet, her fear of boredom has the opposite effect that she wants.  She wants to pursue advocacy.  Yet, her resistance to the necessary boredom in aspects of gainful employment will distance her from the social justice she yearns to pursue.  Her eroding self-confidence is the price she is paying for her fear.
     The third individual--a woman--is in the late stages of her working career.  She is boredom's intimate.  Not a constant intimate, but, an intimate nonetheless.  She does not fear boredom.  She does not deny boredom out of fear.  She befriends boredom.  She has a tremendous threshold for boredom that many overlook--she is not a woman of fanfare.  She has flair.  She has creativity.  But, she is not someone who draws attention to herself as being some poor soul.  She lives life fully.  She pursues her passions.  She treasures people.  She is a loyal friend, and is marvelous to her family. 
     Were I more courageous, I would shake the young man, and the first woman, so that I might rid them of their fear, and denial.  Of the second woman, I need little courage to offer my support.  Yet, I fall short.  I know that I am not faced with the work world.  No longer do I need to worry about finding a job, or changing a job.  During the many years I was in the work world, I denied boredom.  I feared boredom.  I befriended boredom.  Never did I surmount boredom as I want to chastise the young man, and two women for not surmounting.  So, I find it difficult to chastise the three individuals for a standard I could not uphold.
     No longer am I in the work world.  I am working in a different world--creating a post-work world life.  Funny.  You might think that being freed of imposed boredom would be replaced by days of constant excitement.  I don't know what that is.
   Gradually, I am trying to put together elements of what I enjoy, what is necessary, and what I may do to serve other people.
    What do I enjoy?  
    Writing.  Online research.  American history--New England, specifically.  Genealogy.  Letter writing.
    What is necessary?  
    Physical exercise.  Swimming.  Being outside.  People--being in circulation with other people.  Being in community with a worshipping community that celebrates life, death, and all that is possible with the same exuberance.
    What may I do to serve?
    Identify organizations needing the skills, abilities, talents, and gifts I have been given to share with those in need.  Challenge people I know to live up to their potential.  Offer my life--my discoveries--with friends, family, neighbors, and worshipping community--fellow believers.  Be open to the lives of my friends, family, neighbors, and worshipping community--fellow believers.
     This is the structure of a new life.  Much remains to be identified.  I don't think I am alone in striving to create this new life--to recognize boredom, acknowledge denial, confess to fear, and befriend boredom, all in the hope of surmounting boredom.  I confess I have a long way to go.  I have forgotten what it is I want to do.  I am not sure if that it is denial, fear, or both.
     Boredom.  Deny.  Fear.  Befriend.  Boredom.

A Declarative Act of Living...A Defiant Part of Speech

     Make today a declarative act of living, not a defiant part of speech.
     These words were given to me on April 14, 2011, when I took ownership of a red Invacare FDX-MCG.  After hours of labor that enabled me to have a power wheelchair, I struggled.  I did not want to be victim of--a victim to--FDX-MCG.
     I am a woman of words.  I need clarity as my advocate.  FDX-MCG hardly fits the bill.
     Make today a declarative act of living.
     A declarative act is an expression of faith--a belief of what can be, if I will it.  Faith begins in prayer. I pray.  I believe it may be.  I will it. If it be, I pray.
     Do not be mistaken.  A declarative act of living is not a guarantee of a life as I want it to be.     
     Will.
     Will the faculty of conscious and especially of deliberate action.  Will is quite different from defiance.
     Not a defiant part of speech.
     Defy.  Defiant.  Defiance.
     Defy--to challenge the power of; resist boldly or openly; to challenge (a person) to do something deemed impossible.
    Defiant--boldly resistant or challenging.
    Defiance--a challenge to meet in combat or in a contest.
    Most of my life--before knowing how to do otherwise, and long after I was old enough to know better--I have lived in defiance.  I defied expectations of surgeons, "she may never walk or talk," the expectations of educators, "if I were to guess, I would say she might be mentally retarded," and occupational therapists, "here are exercises to help you to learn to use your right hand."
    As my Dad has said, "We didn't if you would learn to talk, but, once you started to talk, we didn't know if you would stop talking."  Though never a stellar student in graded terms, I did graduate from college, then, I completed graduate school.  There need be no apology for my life's story.  Only if I do not share it must I apologize.  Only if I share it will I ever learn.
      Long before graduate school--long before learning to speak--I defied the best-intentioned expectations of occupational therapists.  Carefully planned exercises--customized to my needs--were blown to smithereens.  Honestly, it was so long ago--I do not know if I could know, if I could remember.  How did I perform the assigned tasks with just one, and not two hands.  My intent was not defiant.  My act was.
   Throughout my life, if driven by nothing else, I am driven to excel-lence by, "I don't think you can do that."  "Do you want to make a bet."  Yet, such defiance comes at a heavy price.  I lived an act of defiance.  My body crumbled under its load.
     Far better than any dose of defiance is a measure of will. 
     I do not know the precise content of my acts--of my living.  I do know that I can not live under the destruction defiance delivers to my soul.  
     Make today a declarative act of living, not a defiant part of speech.

Failed Attempts...Gifted Moments...

     From the moment I woke up this morning, this was a day of failed attempts--or so it seemed.
     Never setting an alarm does not mean that I value schedules any less. 7AM.  That is my awakened perfection.  Pills.  News.  Shower.  Pack.  8:15 to 8:25.  Enroute to the Y. 8:45 to 9AM. In the pool. 9:45AM to 10AM.  Out of the pool. One hour of vigorous swimming.  No calculated laps.  No.  Intentional right leg kicks and right arm strokes.   10:20 AM to 10:40 AM. Enroute home.  E-mail message review.  Writing.  Explore potential adventures with Zoomer.  Two hours outside with Zoomer.
     Yet, I work hard not to pressure myself to abide by those guidelines.  I admit, it is completely counter-intuitive, as was much of today.  I set the guidelines precisely to guide me, not to dictate when, what, and how I breathe--how I live.
     In 2009, years of pressuring myself to abide by someone else's standards for me came to a head.  In and of themselves, the standards were and are reasonable, and essential.  Corporate benchmarks.  Anticonvulsant drug prescriptions.  Essential.  
     In 2009, my life changed radically.  My body.  My nervous system.  I could not live in accord with essential.  My body--my nervous system--would hear nothing of it.
     At 49, I rebuilt my life from the ground up.  New drug dosages.  Physical therapy.  Occupational therapy. No written lists of appointments whatsoever.  I needed quiet time.  I knew what needed to be done.  Yet, my nervous system was reeling from years of sensory overload.  I needed no reminders of how I was not measuring up to expectations--even my own, especially my own expectations for myself.
    Ankle surgery.  A new leg brace.  An electric wheelchair.
    No news...no debate about health care reform.  The hyperbole hit a raw nerve.  No one said, "I commit myself to making decisions rooted in the conviction that none of us is guaranteed that we will wake up tomorrow morning with the same capacities we have when we go to sleep tonight."
     Years of education did not teach me to listen to my body--to submit myself to my body's wisdom.  Hold less in my left hand.  Respect my left hand--the irreplaceable value she contributes to my quality of life.  Break down laundry into much smaller loads.  Grasp nothing more than what my left hand tolerates.  No more of this throwing everything together.  No more putting one load of laundry in the dryer at the same time I put the previous load from the washer into the dryer.  Reasonable to most people, yet, my nervous system felt overloaded by not completing the one task--the one load--before starting the next load.  It was unreasonable to my nervous system to expect more of it than it could handle.  Yet, that is precisely what I did for years.  To have done otherwise would have meant conceding to the helpless, incapable person I felt others would see me to be.
    Attend to my ankle.  Step gently.  Alleviate walking's burden.  Alleviate walking's pain.  Preserve my ankle.
    With time, I rid myself of toxins that poisoned my essence.  Hostility.  Career potential unfulfilled.  I relinquished a nebulous, yet, grandiose ambition of advocacy.  Somehow I could save people from themselves--from their attitudes.  With a laser, I could extract prejudices regarding disabilities, and people who have them.   Or, so I thought.  I could rid the world of all prejudice, if only I used the right words.  Or so I prayed.
     With time and patience, I have added simple elements into my aging body to create a new life.  Not perfect.  Not idyllic.  But, a new life, nonetheless.
     Swimming.  Writing.  Volunteering.  Crossword puzzle solving.  Corresponding.  News.  Hyperbole censored without guilt.
     Family.  Friends.  Faith community.  Neighbors.  Acquaintances.  Doctors.
     Challenges loom.  Medicare.
     Questions remain.  What next?  Wintertime mobility?
     Failed attempts.  My knee jerk reaction.  Yet, all my life, contrary to the belief of loved ones, I believed that each difficulty has its lesson to be learned.  Each challenge has its gift to present.  I do not consult my astrologer to schedule my actions--to choreograph my life.  Yet, I have no doubt that what happens in my life is no mistake--each moment in my life is a gift to be lived.

Zoomer Chronicles: Mapping Out a New Life

     Zoomer and I set out today to explore the southeast quadrant of Downtown St. Paul.  I am not delusional.  Downtown St. Paul, in toto, is small in geographic terms.
     St. Peter.  Wabasha.  Cedar.  Minnesota.  Robert.  Jackson.  Temperance.  Sibley.  Wacouta.  Wall.  Broadway.  Eleven blocks from west to east.
     Eleventh.  Tenth.  Exchange.  Ninth.  Eighth.  Seventh.  Seventh Place.  Sixth.  Fifth.  Fourth.  Kellogg.  Eleven blocks from north to south.
     Within these eleven west- to east-bound streets, and within these eleven north- to south-bound streets are a myriad of adventures.  The precise quotation escapes me,  yet, one sidewalk inscription said it best.  Essentially, it compared walking a dog with love.  There is a whole world out there to explore.  I will return to that quote in the sidewalk...once I remember its precise location:)
     Intersections.  Fifth and Sixth Streets are both parallel, and perpendicular.  I kid you not.  Twists and turns.  Light-rail transit construction.  I-94.  I-35E.  The Mississippi River.  These are the boundaries of Downtown St. Paul.  Yet, the question remains.  How far may I push the envelope--how far may I push myself beyond the geographic boundaries of Downtown St. Paul?
     This is not grandiose.  This is not the stuff of graduate coursework.  This is not the stuff of climbing the corporate ladder.  I achieved academic goals.  I worked in state government, a large corporation, and with an individual over a period of 27 years. Never did I approach the lowest rung on the corporate ladder.  That is the past.  Character building, to say the least.   But, that is the past.  It must be.  I cannot let any unharnessed frustration or anger steer me off course.  I may not know the direction I am to head, yet, I cannot allow any anger or frustration steer me off course from my journey.
     Now I am called to live a different life.  What does it look like? I am not sure.  We have a new map.  Now,  Zoomer and I must begin using it.  We must discover our new address.  That is my choice. Today. That is my choice.
     The geographic boundaries in which Zoomer and I travel are the framework of a different life--a life I am carving out for myself now, and for the future.  This is not brain surgery.  Yet, the only way I may know how to operate in this new life is to travel its arteries--breathe its air.  So desperately, I want to encourage friends and family to do the same in their varied lives.
      I do not have a vision for my friends, and family, any more than I understand what it is that I am supposed to live.  I do have faith in them--faith in their potential.  I do believe--understand--with every ounce of my being, that college graduation, release from prison, and unemployment are all times when lifework needs to be mapped out.
     Frustration--anger--channeled is a sign of hope.  Frustration--anger--unharnessed is a squandered opportunity.

Employing Yourself

     Today, unemployment--finding work--touched me. Not me, Patty Thorsen, but, rather, someone I know was thrown by the bureaucracy of unemployment benefits--how they are administered.
     I feel somewhere on the continuum with Guilty at one end, Gratitude in the middle, and Insensitivity at the other end.  How can I possibly offer the support, and encouragement a friend deserves?
     My guilt? I am not faced with the challenge--the stress--of finding, and keeping a job.  The unemployment statistics.  Job creation.
     Gratitude?  My pace is mine to set.  I am free from the expectations of others--arbitrarily-established benchmarks of performance.  Swimming is mine to lap up.  I awaken to no alarms--my bladder takes care of that.
     Insensitive?  Yes.  I fear I am insensitive to the challenges--psychological challenges--of pursuing and applying for work that is below one's gifts--below one's potential.
     I hear the self-destruction that, in the long run, well may erode the faith, and hope necessary to make the most of one's gifts.  Self-destruction found in job hunting is masked by outrage at the system, outrage at the plight that individuals without any resources necessary to find a job.
     Never would I have imagined that I would forget the years of unfulfilling work, the frustration of being underestimated.  Yet, nearly two years have passed since I made an unexpected exit from the full-time work world--an exit after 24 years.  Occasionally I dream that I am trying to get back to work, yet, I never make it.  In the dream, I wonder, "What is wrong with this situation?"
     I know that finding a job is not easy.  I understand that seeking job opportunities that are beneath one's gifts, and potential is a painful compromise--a compromise of conscience.
     I do understand that persevering those trying times is paying off now.  A stable income...not excessive, but, stable, and secure.  Retirement.  Pension.
     I know that I wanted no part of what I am saying now, when I was working full-time.  For that reason, I question the integrity of my prayer.  Yet, my desire that friends, and family, who are in this situation, invest themselves fully in creating their new lives.
    My prayer for anyone who finds themselves underemployed?
    May you pour the anger, hostility, outrage, and frustration into an earthen vessel that you store out of your sight--separate from the human being, who must be employed.
    May you relinquish the burden of civic responsibility, and advocacy for others with fewer resources while you heal your wounded self.
    Civic responsibility, and advocacy will re-form itself within your spirit, when you emerge from the chapter of unemployment, or underemployment.  Have faith.
    May you define compromise.
    May you make necessary compromises.
    May you continue the pursuit of a more fulfilling life--a fulfillment of your potential.
    May you give no one the satisfaction of knowing that you are the person they may imagine--a person of lesser potential.
     You are better than that.  You are worthy of the challenge.  You can and will surmount the challenge.
     Employ your gifts.  Present them to the world with humility, grace, and determination.

A Universalist Catholic

     I am a Universalist Catholic.  Being raised as a Universalist informs my Catholic being.
     In 29 years, my understanding of being Catholic has evolved.  Raised as a Universalist, more commonly referred to as a Unitarian, my basic orientation was different than it is now--not in opposition, but different.
     Catholic means universal.  For many years, I was timid in admitting, "I am a Catholic."  That proclamation was ladened with many stereotypes.  To say, "I am a Universalist Catholic," sounded as a contradiction of terms.  It is not.
     Just now, I am able to articulate a distinction that has been elusive to me.  By external terminology, the name Universalist-Unitarian Fellowship identifies the religion.  
    Faith is a term anthetical to many Universalists, or Unitarians.  I was raised to believe that intellect and faith were mutually exclusive.  I continue to discover how faith is informed by the intellect, and how the intellect is informed by faith.
     I did not know any Unitarian individuals by name.  Yet, I had a sense of a distinction between the two.  I am willing to be challenged as to my claims.  Yet, I resent attempts to engage in "gotcha" discourse in which  my knowledge is challenged as a means of discrediting me.  The first is possible.  The first is enlightening.  The first is engagement that broadens everyone involved. "Gotcha discourse" begins when someone asks what you know about a given person, term, or basic tenet central to faith and religion without any interest in broadening anyone's understanding.
    Being raised in the Universalist tradition, I was raised to believe that there is good to be found in all world religions--in all traditions.  Although I identify myself as Christian, and Catholic now, my belief that there is good to be found in all world religions--in all traditions--is strong.  It is alive and well within who I am, and how I pray I live in communion with family, and friends.
    Although I never knew an individual who identified themselves as Unitarians, I had a militant sense of what it meant to be a Unitarian.  Part of that sense was in the context of the time--the end of the 1960s in the midst of the Vietnam War.  I do not know if there was a Unitarian church in my area that was engaged in a vociferous protest of the Vietnam War.  The sentiment was certainly the same in the Universalist church community in which I was raised.  The distinction I sense may be Uni tarian versus trinitarian.  There was no way to intellectualize the Holy Spirit.  The notion of Holy Ghost was still alive and well casting white shadows over any understanding that may have existed.
   My return to my Universalist roots is inspired by a change in pastors, where I belong.  My approach to any announcement was cautious patience.  I wanted to wait until I met, and worshipped with the priest before making pronouncements about those in leadership, who are responsible for the naming.
   I am encouraged by what I have read and heard.  I do not want any excitement I feel cloud my experience of his preaching--of his pastoral care.  I want a keen ear, and an open heart to greet him--to greet how we come together in communion.
    Much has changed in 29 years.
    I entered the Catholic Church with clear values, and instructions.  Be intellectual.  Obey my admonitions.  "Don't keep your mind outside the door of the church."  "Know the meanings of the words you utter them."
   Twenty-nine years later, different values guide me.  I have not abandoned my intellect.
   I am guided by different voices.  Although the voices have no human faces visible to me, the message is clear.
  Don't let your mind consume awe--swallow wonder.
  Treasure each moment.
  Life is a gift.
  For better or for worse, life is a lesson to be learned--answers to be lived.

Pride's Distraction

    Who are your friends?
    I do not mean names.  No.  Are the individuals you associate with important to you because they have the same ideas as you do?  In order to be your friend, what is the threshold that they must meet in terms of agreement on political issues, religious beliefs, faith, values?
    Go to your inbox, your contacts list, your written or digital, and your Facebook "friends."  How did you meet each person?  What common beliefs, and/or associations did you share that drew you  together?  Were you colleagues?  Did you worship in the same community? Are you related by blood, or marriage?  Are you childhood friends?  Did you meet in some other way?
    I pride myself on being an open-minded person.  I avoid identifying anyone as having a simple faith, a simplistic view of the world.  I avoid identifying anyone on the basis of their political beliefs.  Or, so I thought.
    Someone told me that she has different friends for different purposes, or for different reasons.  Her friends were objects that she used.  Quite to the contrary.  My friend acknowledges the diverse gifts of each individual--each friend--who blesses her life.
   This week, I was reminded of the trap of the pride I claim.  I try to be in constant conversation with internal challenges that whisper for my attention.   Yet, clearly I have fallen short.
   Humility reintroduced herself to me this week.  She did not confront me.
   Humility simply tapped me on the shoulder in the form of surprise.  I thought I was open to different perspectives in other people, my surprise to the acceptance of my own explorations challenged the integrity of my thoughts.
   I am delighted by my surprise.  I pray that my surprise may humble me.  May humility dispel any distraction prideful expression of openness may cause.

Geography of Respect for Life

     I am perplexed by the geography of "respect for life."
     Affirmation seems to come too easily--what is one's positions on abortion, the death penalty, commitment of military forces to quell upheaval, and wars against humanity, as well as support for killing a despot, who orchestrated those wars?  Less immediate, although no less important are those who engage in the birther movement, and political rancor over so many issues--health care, and the federal budget, most notable to me.
     Cries for support of "respect for life" are usually singular proclamations, "I am pro-life," or "I am pro-choice."  Little more needs to be said, or so it seems.  I have never been faced with that question in my own life.  I have not known anyone closely, who has been faced with that situation.
     The death penalty.  I have known no one, who has confronted the death penalty.
     Most poignant to me seems to be the unabashed affirmation of killing despots--Osama Bin Laden, and Gadhafi come to mind.  There seemed to be great satisfaction, and accomplishment felt, when Saddam Hussein was killed.  I may be wrong, but in each of these cases, the satisfaction felt is an affirmation, "By the death of this individual, we have rooted out all evil from our lives.  We shall live in paradise from this day forward," or something to that effect.  This unabashed affirmation is the plateau of Respect for Life's Geography.
    Was there a birther movement prior to the presidency of Barack Obama?  If so, when?  Who was, or were the individual(s) targeted? If birthers were to prove their accusations, how would their priorities regarding the future of our society be changed--advanced?  I am of two minds.
   I have my own beliefs regarding the birther movement.  I shall share them shortly.  Yet, before I do so, I must be clear.  My questions are meant to imply no cynicism.  Are there more constructive means by which to address the doubts as to whether Barack Obama was born in the United States?  Is anyone, who is in the birther movement, proclaiming "respect for life" as one of their values?  Do they offer their thoughts as to how these two are reconciled within their value system?  With all due respect, I have not heard the juxtaposition of these beliefs expounded upon, or explored.
     The health care debate is one that I hope has ended.  I believe essential issues, and questions were at stake.  Yet, the tenor of the debate was not conducive to thoughtful, deliberative discourse.  The decibel level of the debate exceeded my tolerance level.  Guilty though I felt as someone who values my citizenship, my mental health was more important.  I needed to value my own mental health, if I expected anyone else do so. I needed to respect my own life, if I had any hopeful expectation that others might respect their own lives, and the lives of other human beings.
     I do not look forward to the Medicare debate.  Discourse regarding its future--how to strengthen it--is essential.  Yet, I fear that the decibel level will rival that of the health care debate.
     I shudder to use "respect for life," for fear that I am corrupting the phrase to bring integrity to my beliefs.
I pray that my affirmation, "I have a commitment to "respect for life," is understood with the full complexity with which it is lived.
     If profiled in traditional terms, I would be identified as a woman raised as a Universalist, who is now a Catholic.  I am a pro-choice woman, who opposes the death penalty in regard to any criminal offense.  I am a pacifist.  I take no satisfaction in, nor do I understand why it is thought that killing any despot will eliminate evil.  Yet, that profile of my beliefs does not reflect the texture---the complexity--of my commitment to "respect for life."
     I pray each of us who utters, "respect for life" does so with thoughtfulness--with reverence.  May we respect the convictions of others', whose convictions differ from our own.

Belittlement. Respect for Life.

     Once again, this afternoon, belittlement reared its ugly head, or so it felt.  I try to live with respect for different religious perspectives than my own--there is good to be found in all world religions.  I try to resist temptation--the temptation to be defensive--to say, "don't you know me well enough to know the serious reflection I bring to living a life of faith?"
     Ironically, a discussion of "respect for life,"--mutual sadness that the breadth of the term does not seem to be a part of its use--led to the derivation of the story of Maundy Thursday, and the actual events of the story.
Our agreement regarding the narrow use of "respect for life" in some discussions was missed.  A precious opportunity was missed.
    Taking biblical stories literally, or symbolically became a "gotcha" moment.  My antenna went up.  "Quick, an attempt of entrapment is forthcoming."
    I succumb to defensiveness.  "Many Catholics take a broader view.  Not every Catholic view 'respect for life' narrowly."  A defensive volley was lobbed back at me--reference to those who do have "a simple faith--a simplistic Catholic view."
    I grieve.  I mourn.  Three people of integrity.  Trapped in different ages of the same Church.  Pushed away...Drawn into...a Universal Church.  Different faces.  The same heart.
    There is good to be found in all faith traditions.  "Affirm, defend and promote the supreme worth and dignity of every human [being].  I mourn.  All three are members of the Universal church.
     "Support the free and disciplined search for truth..."  Though packaged differently, at the core, Universalist, and Catholic search for truth with the same depth of commitment.
     There are differences--important differences.  I mourn.  Yet, in my mourning, I question--do important differences preclude unity?  Do important differences preclude a unified pursuit for truth made the stronger by the diverse perspectives of the same truth?  Do the important differences preclude embracing the truth in Paul's words to the Corinthians?
    "So faith, hope, love remain, these three; but the greatest of these is love."

Spiritual Divorce???

     Several hours of love, spiritual commitment, and celebration of our lives' joys and sorrows leads me to wonder regarding the future of our worshipping community.  An Archdiocesan action may well result in a change of priests.
     I cannot respond in anger, submissiveness, hostility, or cynicism.  I responded to spiritual vacancy quite early in my adult life by converting to Christianity from Universalism.  I did not abandon my Universalist roots.  They inform my Christian life.  Twenty-nine years after my conversion, I cannot go back.  I cannot live by my intellect, logic, and reason alone.  Faith is essential to my life.  I have been spoiled by the integrity of the Catholic parishes--the Catholic worshiping communities in which I have lived.
    I have experienced the closing of one campus worshiping community due to an Archdiocesan action approximately eleven years ago.  Though painful, I am much stronger--much richer--by the move into a different Catholic faith community.
     Trademarked words that represent the best in their respective product, or service fields lead to the making the names verbalizing imProper nouns--trademark.  We wipe our tears with Kleenex, clean our ears with Q-Tips, we google the world wide web for information, etc.
     A spiritual profile of myself is not simple.  It complexity is essential to understand, not elusive, but, essential.  Most identifiable to most are the words Catholic in ritual, Christian in my living.  Not perfect, by any stretch.  Yet, isn't that what it means to be Christian.  It is an imperfect striving to be perfect?  Were our strivings perfect, then what would the need be for perfection? After all, wouldn't perfection be an achievement, and not a goal?
    Catholic and Christian are words that describe me as an adult seeker of ritual, and life.
    More elusive to many are my childhood cornerstones--Universalist, and Unitarian.  I understand them more as one fellowship today.  As a child, there seemed to be a more peaceful, maybe less militant understanding of what Unitarian meant.
   Only as an adult have I come to understand that each fellowship shapes, or expresses what it means to be Universalist, or Unitarian.  I was raised in the First Universalist Church in Minnesota during the 1960s.  Although the denomination was always known as the Universalist-Unitarian Fellowship, the individual churches were known as either Universalist, or Unitarian.  I don't remember knowing any Unitarians.  I understood "Unitarians" to be more militant in the expression of their commitments.  I have no recollection of what led me to that sense.  It may be the stark contrast between Unitarian versus the Trinitarian foundation upon which Christianity is built.  Universalism, I was raised to believe, was built upon the belief that there is good to be found in all world religions.  My child sense of the Universalist church that I was raised in was composed of individuals who were quite active in their support for the United Nations, and the World Federalists.
    Only as an adult have I begun to understood how the current affairs in the world shape how each Universalist, or Unitarian Church expresses its commitment to the belief in the pursuit of thoughtful, logical, reasonable deliberations.  As a Universalist, I was raised to believe that there is good to be found in all world religions.
    Only as a Catholic have I come to appreciate the vast difference between religion and faith.
Much moreso than in Christian denominations.  The gradations among Catholic parishes--Catholic communities--are understood by many Catholics to vary much more dramatic than they are.  Yet, the gradations are not as grandiose as they may seem to some.  The structure of the Catholic celebration focuses around the altar--the Table of Christ.  A Catholic could walk into any Catholic church, and be reasonably certain that they would hear one reading from the Old Testament, a second reading from the New Testament, a psalm, and a reading from one of the Gospels--Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John.  Acts might be read during the Easter season.   Three liturgical cycles of biblical readings, seasons of the liturgical year including Advent, Christmas, Ordinary Time, Lent, the Triduum, and Easter are constant across all Catholic parishes.
    In no way do I mean to dismiss the vast differences between the Catholic Church pre-Vatican II, and Post-Vatican II.  Though born in 1960, I am a child of the Post-Vatican II Catholic Church.  My sense from Pre-Vatican II Catholics is that to be Catholic implied much more of a unified expression of beliefs and forms of expression, than is the case today.
    Individuals I knew, who were raised as pre-Vatican II Catholics, led me to believe that there was one way to be Catholic.  I do not mean to blame them, or denigrate their message to me.  They were expressing their experience to me.  When I was introduced to post-Vatican II Catholics, I was blown away--perplexed.  Each individual had tremendous integrity, and yet, they were not expressing their Catholicism identically--not by a long shot.
     I do not think that the changes that are forthcoming in my Catholic faith community will be as drastic as the  Universalist versus Catholic, or the pre- versus post-Vatican II Catholics I experienced during the last thirty years.  Yet, I do believe the change will be radical.  I pray it may inform my faith, and the faith of my community, rather than weaken its fabric.

Islam's Friday

     God Be Our Help.  Peace Be With You.
     Egypt's leader of the military uttered these eight words in his closing conveyance of the military's control.
     Though this be an English translation of the Egyptian language spoken by the head of the military, these words are moving--affirming.  The head of the military affirms Egypt's security blanket of control following these precarious moments following Mubarak's resignation.
     The temptation we have in America is to speak of the repression under which Egyptians have during Mubarak's 30-year autocracy.  We pride ourselves in nearly 245 years of democracy--in our declaration of independence.  America's democracy--Egypt's repression--are truths to be honored.
     Yet, America has much to learn from Egypt.
     In America, we broadcast the First Amendment's blessing of freedom of religion, which is conferred upon us. Seemingly, freedom of religion is at odds--is to be sublimated--to the freedoms of speech, of the press, of assembly, and to petition the Government for redress of grievances.  A political officeholder may not exercise political power guided by their life of faith.  An apology for faith is requisite for the exercise of politics' power.
    Yet, Egyptians--the military and the protesters alike, may teach us freedom's essence.
     Today, the head of the military affirmed the military's leadership.  In closing, he uttered eight instructive words to take to heart:
    God Be Our Help.  Peace Be With You.
     Too often, the military AND deeply-rooted faith are characterized as Beasts of Oppression.  Liberals are quick to embrace a repulsive smugness, "Don't you dare let your freedom of religion out of Pandora's Box."
Conservatives become strident advocates of inaction's mask of order.  There is a middle ground on which to stand firm.  Let us look to Egypt.  Let us look to Islam.  Not at the surrender of Christian faith, of Hebrew tradition, of other world beliefs--of other world philosophies.
     Today--Friday--is Islam's day of prayer.
     The revolution of Egypt's protesters is built upon, not framed within Islam's Friday morning of prayer.  No strident dogma rules this revolution.  The depth of Egypt's uprising is inspiring.  Guides of Egypt's uprising signal the locus of Egypt's freedom.  Only in God's time, may we know the future of today's events--of this month's movement.
     Are we witnesses to seismic change? Or will we suffer from the aftershocks of long-time suppression?
     Let us look to Egypt.  Let us look to Islam.  In this moment's history, let Egypt be our Guide.
     Islam's Friday is Hebrew's Saturday.
     I pray.
     May Christianity's Sunday be guided by the holy spirit of Islam's Friday, and Hebrew's Saturday.

Setting the Wheels in Motion

     For the past year, the prospect of living with a scooter has loomed over me--over my future.  With Advent, I will prepare to move into a Red Scooter--a new vehicle for me.  The reason?  My get up and go got up and went.  It did not run away.  An aging body.  Weakening legs.  It limped out of my life beyond my grasp to retrieve.
     I am called to accelerate my pace toward a red scooter, so that I may move back into circulation.
     I know that fact. I knew that fact all too well.    
     Yet, that knowing did not translate to a fast, heartfelt acceptance.  I knew I needed to grieve the loss of walking--of moving quickly.  I knew I needed to grieve physically, psychologically, and emotionally.
     Grief.  Fear.  Facts.  Fear.  Acceptance.
     I am not Grief's sole companion.  Each of us is Grief's intimate. Not in the same way. Not at all times.  Neither is ours to dictate.
     Fear demands my full surrender, patience, perseverance.  Only then may I embrace Acceptance fully.
     Grief.  Fear. Facts. Fear.  Acceptance.  None  may not be rushed--abbreviated--if full healing is to be possible.
     Full Healing is no cure.  Full Healing will not return me to my former body.  Full Healing must be the beginning of a new way of living--a New Form.
     My New Form?  Yet today, I may walk some.  Stamina is no longer mine--not for now.  Advent brings to me preparation for a different movement.  More learning.  A Red Scooter.  My pace will be different from others so embodied.  My mind is ready to go forth with this New Form--with this Red Scooter.
     My journey has not been taken at a timed pace toward a known destination.  The time of arrival has been vague, at best, certainly not by any schedule known to me. My journey's pace has not been timed by My Will's control, strong though she may be.  Strength masquerades no control for me to exercise.
    Expectations--mine, others--were not for me to control.  Waiting with faith--praying--that the necessary fortitude would be given to me--that was mine to will.  
    Fear.  The scooter will fall on top of me.  Fact.  With time, the words to describe my fear have dissolved.  Fear.  I am becoming Pathetic with a capital P.  Pathetic Patty.
    I may not succumb to that Fear.  To do so would be to compromise the person I have been for 50 years--the person I pray I may be in the years I am given to live.
    I move forward now.  I ask that I may relinquish any expectation of when I should have accepted the inevitable movement into a scooter.  I ask that I release any temptation to judge how this next chapter is to live compared to what my fears have been.  
     Acceptance is no more a given than is walking.  Both are gifts.  Both are to be treasured.  Neither is to be demanded or second guessed.  
   I am not alone in my calling.  We are called--each of us is called--to move from Grief, Fear, Facts, and Fear to Acceptance.  Our time--the cause--will not be in sync--identical.  Yet, each of us must embrace our calling together with a Capital C--with a holy, Capital E.