A birthday and a lesson after death...

Yesterday was my friend Jonathan's birthday. I've known Jonathan since sixth grade. He was kind and funny and seemed immune to negativity, peer pressure, hatred or meanness. He was quite simply the kindest, most positive and upbeat person I knew. Jonathan and I lost touch as many of us Gen X'ers did (we didn't have anything like Facebook when we graduated - life was very different). One day, at some point after I found Facebook, Jonathan did too and we became Facebook friends. He would send me messages now and then (not posts on my wall but actual, personal messages that often just said "Hi Amy, how's life? I hope you're great. I'm very happy that things went well yesterday at the hospital. I'm so proud of my boy! He's going to play soccer soon!"). You see, Jon had all the reason in the world to be down-trodden. His five year old son had cancer. He and his wife did all they could to have a happy, normal life as they fought against the cancer monster and celebrated his son's little milestones in the big battle and eventual victory over cancer.

Jon died a year and a half ago, suddenly, unexpectedly. Jon shouldn't have died. There was no reason for it. He was young, he was proud of his time spent working out at the Y to be healthy, and he had a son who needed him arguably more than any boy possibly could. I attended Jon's funeral at home and reconnected with old friends. We relived the pure beauty that was Jon. We mourned, we became closer to each other and I met his wife Sheryl and his son as they were saying their goodbyes to my childhood friend.

Sheryl and I connected instantly. I wanted to do something to support her. But I felt that there was nothing I could do. I was wrong. And I am telling you this - if you are reading - because you, like me, probably need to believe in a much greater power than what you and I can comprehend. You need to know that God/the universe/an energy greater than us is always at work in our lives - just like I needed to believe.

Jon died in the fall, not long before Christmas. I felt so compelled to do something for his wife and son but I couldn't imagine what - I barely knew them and I had no idea how it would be received if I did something. I wound up shopping for Christmas gifts for them both - surely, I thought, that was acceptable and welcome. While shopping for a woman my age and a five year old boy I was utterly compelled to purchase a pink feather boa that I tried many times not to buy.  I thought it was too silly, too inappropriate, too - something. But I just went with my first instinct and wrapped it up and gave it to Sheryl for Christmas mere weeks after Jon died. When she opened the gift, she was speechless. She smacked my thigh, looked franticaly around the room and then got up, searching for something. When she came back and sat next to me, she stared at me in disbelief. She couldn't speak and I really wasn't sure what was going on. She had a pile of photographs and kept telling me she had to find one. She found it. It was a silly photo of Jon wearing a feather boa. It had become a joke the two of them shared and laughed about often. I knew instantly: I didn't give Sheryl that feather boa, Jon did. But he needed a human to be quiet enough and trusting enough of her instincts to help him give this gift to his wife who missed him so much so he could say to her "I'm here." ...And I was that human who was eventually quiet and compliant enough to take a pink boa off a wall, buy it, wrap it and give it to someone who would, unbenounced to me, know exactly who it was from.

Yesterday we remembered Jon's entrance into this world in a now-Facebook culture. Many of us posted long messages on his wall about how much we miss him, how his positive outlook continues to teach us and what a gift he was to everyone. And while Jon is "gone," he is often present in my heart and mind because he has been my teacher, both in life and in death. He gave me my first tangible experience of connecting directly with the other side, with God. I took an action that came from deep inside of me, one I could not rationalize or figure out, no matter how hard I tried. That deep instinct (Jon's urging me) persisted and I acted according to that instinct. It wasn't mine to judge, just mine to act upon for someone else's benefit. I believe that this is what we are all given every day: A strong urging to do something that we may not understand, that may not benefit us directly but something that we know comes from a place of love so we go ahead and do it anyway. And so tonight, I share this with you all to suggest that we can all hear the guidance of God and our guides if we just listen to that knowing voice inside of us which proves to always be right, even if we never receive the evidence of just how right it is.

Jon, thank you. I celebrate your birth into this world and the gifts you continue to give us. We all love and miss you and I pray that we will all continue to grow in ways we cannot yet imagine because I know you are there helping us whether we listen or not.

Happy birthday, sweet soul.

The gifts of Christmas...

It seems that if someone about my age is a single and childless adult at Christmas, said single childless adult must scrape together some semblance of holiday-ness in order to feel worthy of celebrating a holiday that is pretty much designed for children.  I have noooo problem with this as I love children. I am lucky to have several in my life (a few nearby though most live 2000 - 7000 miles away).  I love them, I celebrate them and I enjoy seeing the joy brought to them by the gifts, the lights, the magic and the general air of celebration.  I love it.  And perhaps that's why I've really struggled with the tinge of sadness I seem to have had lingering deep in my gut for years when it comes to this holiday.

I loved Christmas as a kid.  We didn't have much so it wasn't about the gifts, it was about the pure fact that we had something positive to celebrate:  the birth of a baby who started a fresh new life (which curiously seemed to end a mere 3-4 months later when we celebrated that baby's death by wearing spring dresses in the cold Northeast with matching hats and white shoes we had to try reeeeal hard not to get muddy).  But Christmastime, amidst the snow, cold temps and moon-lit nights seemed magical.  It was a happy time (and lots of people who weren't, as a general rule, happy the rest of the year seemed happier in December).  It was a time when "old" people seemed to look me in the eye and speak to me like I actually mattered.  It was a time when my daydreams got lost in the late afternoon darkness that was broken up by various sizes and colors of Christmas lights on the neighbors houses.  Christmastime was my time for daydreaming, singing, painting and making things for people who were happy to receive them.  I got lost in the wonder of laying beneath the Christmas tree and looking up into the depth of lights and branches and ornaments, creating entire worlds of mystical fairy tales complete with little beings who I just *knew* lived inside the branches of my tree.  (They probably lived inside yours too, did you ever look?)

But as I grew up and tried hard to hang onto that wonder (which manifested itself as entire Christmas wonderlands complete with live 6-foot trees in one corner or another of the various shoddily furnished apartments I occupied at the age of 21... and 22... and 23).  I collected entire Rubbermaid bins full of decorations - some handed down, some collected at after-Christmas clearance sales, some purchased with money that was probably meant for food - but I just kept collecting.  I kept up the Big Deal Christmas thing for years, through different apartments, different boyfriends of different faiths, and different cities.  I had great parties attended by great bunches of friends who had great bunches of fun.  Somehow, I was still gifting Christmas to my own child within - and to as many friends as I could have come over.

But something happened.  I'm not exactly sure when or how - perhaps a bad relationship, or no desire to unearth the Rubbermaids, maybe I was too busy in my new job... whatever the reasons, it all led to years of little or no Christmas.  As friends had babies, my Christmas seemed a little out of place, so I gave it up.  I had children around me to give to so I focused on buying the sweet little gifts, wrapping them in curly ribbon, fancy boxes you don't throw away and custom-made tags worthy of hanging on the tree.  I loved this - I still do - but I realized that this was a replacement for the Christmas I loved so much as a child and gave to myself for many years as a young adult but for some reason stopped giving to myself in recent years - until I realized something very important.

It turns out that the gift of Christmas is something you CAN give yourself.  You CAN lay beneath the tree and stare up through the branches for an hour in a state of wonder at the age of 30 or 50 or 80 (mind you, I haven't hit two of those benchmarks yet so I'm speculating a bit here...).  You really can.  You don't have to have a child to do it and you don't need to justify it to anyone.  The gifts of Christmas are gifts you give to those you love, yes, but the real gift of Christmas is something much deeper.  It's not just about the meaning that is discussed, debated, debunked, disregarded and just generally dissed more often than not lately.  Rather it is very personal meaning that matters - it's the magical one that existed in your own childhood and that is not debatable.  Nor is the deep meaning of the holiday that we each hold deep within ourselves debatable.  But I won't tell you what that meaning is - that's not up to me.  

It's up to you - not your mother, your sister, your neighbor, the talking heads on TV, the marketers at Macy's, your friends on Facebook, the people you don't really like on Facebook or your ex-boyfriend.  If it's overly commercial to you, well, I kinda think that sucks but that's your Christmas, not mine.  If it's orthodox, that's your choice too.  If it's full of Santa or ornaments handed down for four generations on your mother's side or if it's a time to bake with your sister, that's entirely YOURS to have, to experience and to love.  Don't give it up.  Don't give it away.  Do give.  And do receive the gift of Christmas that exists deep within your own heart... that wonder you once had that still lives within you and wants to give itself back to you year after year and remind you of something only you are supposed to know.  It wants to give Christmas back to you as the best gift you can ever receive, so be open and receive it.

Merry Christmas to you, to me, and to all of us, in whatever way we choose to receive that gift.

Oh, and don't forget the gift of the guitar playing Santa...  This one is for you, T.L.

When life shows up....

Sometimes it's subtle.
Sometimes it's overly avert.

Sometimes it's a shock.

Sometimes it's been there all along....

Photo of artwork in a coffee shop, name unknown, message received.

Life brings us so much each day.  Just sit, quiet and look.  Can't see anything?  Close your eyes and look within. It is in the moments when you think God has forgotten to deliver that He is doing his greatest work within you.  Be sure to pay attention to these quiet moments because they are preparing you for the moments that will arrive around the corner when everything you need outside of yourself starts to show up.  Your tools, your relationships, your challenges and your opportunities.  All yours.  All for your work in the world.  It all shows up for you to use in delivering upon your unique, divine mission in life.  

Don't miss it.  Odds are that it won't look like what you expect nor arrive when you're ready, but it all comes.  For you.  And only you.  Are you opening the door?

The look of love...

I've been to more weddings than I can count.  I've loved each one even more than I thought I would.  Being surrounded by so much love is contagious, you know.  Last night was no exception.

Meghan & Rob

Being witness to a promise made by two people to each other is quite a beautiful thing.  I've witnessed many broken promises and broken hearts in my life and they can be the kind of thing that leads some people to become despondent, pessimistic and give up on love all together.  But sharing in someone else's love story and being surrounded by so many others who love and support one couple's love story can fill a heart with faith in love and even - in my opinion - help to heal a broken heart and help some find faith again.  Thankfully, and despite a broken heart or two of my own, I've always had that faith.

The tradition I witnessed, as such, was full of the kind of ceremony and moments that one comes to expect at an American wedding.  The pledging of love, the kisses on command, the first dance and the reminder of long-standing love amongst the oldest and longest-married couples in the room.  It feels new and tender in this space if you open your heart to it, just like falling in love feels new and full of wonder - even after a broken heart or two.  There are some who have given up and closed themselves to knowing and witnessing what I did last night and to those people I say be open, forgive and believe in second (or third, or fourth) chances for love.

Love doesn't feel like or look like it does on a wedding day forever and some people, while they claim to know this, still seek moments in life that look or feel like the excitement of love at first sight or first kiss.  Far too many walk away prematurely when the honeymoon phase wears off because they prefer excitement and newness to the mundaneness of life.  Some hold on too long, suffering through something they should not and some (the couples who get to remain dancing the longest during that traditional married couples dance) have enough faith to hold on through the rough times that prove to be the cement of their foundation.  No love story looks like another and sometimes love is not promised forever.  But every opportunity for love teaches you something about yourself and gives you an opportunity to love someone in a way that can fill you with so much more than can be imagined or dreamt about.

So what does love look like?  I'm no expert but I've learned a thing or two...

Love requires work but it is generous in its giving.  Love does not exist on the surface of anything - not in the look of a person, an occasion or an interaction.  Sometimes even the most fumbling and awkward initial interaction can lead to the greatest love.  There is no perfect.  There is no script and there is no recognizable path.  The moment loves seems like it is something you have seen before, somewhere else, it is not love but rather someone else's story that's already been told (that includes your own).  Love is surprising and always shows you something you hadn't before seen - about the world, about life, about yourself.

So relax your gaze, open your heart and take a fresh look - no matter how many times you've tried before.  Perhaps what you are seeking will open to you when you change your own perspective and look in a new way rather than looking for something at all.

Love is a dance worth dancing - don't sit it out.

The moment before serendipity happens...

What does it look like?  

What does it sound like?  

Does the world get brighter?  

Do your ears buzz a little bit?  

Do you get hints?

I'm left asking myself all of these questions today.  Serendipity happened last night.  Divine intervention happened last night.  I was sent to a place to meet a person I'd never met who was sent to give me some very important information.

Where and what don't matter here.  But because I am human - and you are too, and because humans are curious and need context for a story to take root, I'll give you a bit of the story.  I will tell you though that what I am truly in awe of is how and why it happened as it did.

Yesterday afternoon's much awaited sun beckoned me to go for a drive - a drive which took me to one of my favorite places on the planet.  I wound up at my friend Corey Tevan's art studio - a lovely, imaginative human being who, when I'm in his presence, always brings me a sense of love and magic - and who opens a part of me I didn't realize needed opening.  Upon entering his gallery, he poured me a glass of wine and we began to talk.

I thought nothing and everything of the things of which we spoke - our conversations are always esoteric and like a dance without choreography but with a rhythm all their own.  This was mentioned, that was mentioned.  A person I'd never heard of was mentioned - and as such, I thought nothing of it.

My friend Corey Tevan and his art.

That person I'd never heard of and who my friend mentioned off-handedly, just happened to be the person I was meant to meet last night.  I drove an hour to have a poignant and incredibly serendipitous conversation with someone I never knew existed.  Someone who, most significantly, had no reason to show up unexpected as he did.  In fact, he had reason not to appear on this day and time as he did.  The list of evidence that shows that we were meant to meet is astounding - and terribly personal so I'm going to have to leave it at that for now.  But this person I'd never met is a messenger and a man of God - and he had a very important message for me - a message I had been seeking with great intent in recent weeks.

So you can imagine that I'm now asking myself what happened - what existed in the moments leading up to this providence that I can recount?  Is there something palpable in that space that I can use to be more aware of an impending kismet moment in the future?  Or is serendipity so magical precisely because we never know when it is going to happen?  Or can there be both?

Thinking back on my drive North, my mind was full of questions and my body was full of emotion.  I felt as though I was shedding something I no longer needed - but in order to do that, I needed it to all bubble to the surface.  Every song on the radio spoke to me.  The ride seemed both longer and shorter than usual.  My mind was elsewhere - I don't know where it was but it was not freely open to the unknown as it might have otherwise been on a random afternoon drive.  It was processing something and I now think that it was processing and working through things that needed to be brought to a level of consciousness as I grew closer and closer to my fateful encounter.

Somewhere between my divine thought of "Hey, it's so nice out today, let's go for a drive" and the moment my answer arrived in the form of Reverend Joe in his big black coat... somewhere in that divinely choreographed afternoon was a moment of "before" my serendipity and I am beyond curious to find it and recognize it for future use.   I am wise enough, though, to know that the mysteries of the universe are far greater than my linear, organizing mind is capable of understanding, so I am comfortable with the the reality that I may never be able to satisfy my curiosity.  But there's something to be said for being aware of the wonder that comes from a glimpse of divine magic when it happens.  It is that which I revel in at this moment.

My messenger, Rev. Joe.