Let Grace Lead

Posted on September 4, 2017 by sstyves

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This day has given me much to ponder, from start to end.  During my morning prayer time, I read the meditation that accompanies the Sunday mass readings. Towards the end of it, these words by Kelly Bourke touched a chord within:  To follow Jesus, we must let go of the idea that we know everything that should happen, and let grace lead our way. Let us find ways to remain open to plans bigger than our own.  These past few weeks have raised all sorts of questions for me. The intensity of life, both the best and the worst of times, has me trying to stand on a strong foundation with my hands open but I appear to have lost my balance on several attempts and pushed grace out of the way, unwilling to concede that Someone may have plans bigger than my own.

God has somehow lost first place in my life for a few months now.  Not consistently but more often than I would like.  Today was a day of God asking me to follow Jesus and remain open.  I cannot tell you all that happened today but I will highlight a couple of situations.  For awhile now, I have had a desire arise to discover what it is God is asking me to do with these remaining months.  I have tasked others to pray, but I have not.  The Holy One is not to be deterred though.  Time and again the vision is placed before me and I ignore it. I am unsure why, though I could use as an excuse my weariness.  Over these weeks, I have had two friends offer me a space to write.  I have had several people tell me how my blog posts move and inspire them.  I have had a couple tell me I must write a book about my faith experiences and, by the way, the husband offered to edit it, something he does.  Today, though God decided to use more of a bombshell since I seemed to be ignoring the whisper.  My Muslim friend said I should write a Daily Bread sort of book. I suspect I can no longer ignore the task that seems to be placed in front of me.

What I know about the Trinity is that they are extremely jealous.  They long for us to be wholly theirs.  I have not been lately and for that I am sorry.  Tonight, as I entered the door of my church for mass my infidelity to my Beloved was made clear.  I arrived one minute before the procession started–very unlike me.  The pastor happened to be opening the inner door for some reason, and he looked up at the person in front of me and then me, and welcomed us in.  A surge of energy went through me for some reason.  The rest of the mass is hard to explain but I will try.  A former colleague of mine who is rather shy, showed up two minutes after me, and motioned if he might sit with me.  I nodded. That is a first for us.  He is someone who rarely interrupts the crowd of people who gather around me at the end of mass and yet he likes to stay on top of how best to pray for me.  He is a very holy man whose presence these past two years have been a blessing. During the recessional song, one of our members who suffers from mental illness came up to us and announced that we should be boyfriend and girlfriend, loudly several times. My former colleague was sweet about it and later, after the music stopped, I said, So boyfriend….. We laughed.

The readings and the songs were powerful but I had been distracted during the Gospel about something coming up this week. As the pastor started the homily, I became riveted though.  This is for me, I thought.  Pay attention.  He spoke of how as a child, being holy was not cool. His parents were ridiculed for attending daily mass upon their retirement but they held fast; they did not push Grace out of the way.  The Psalm refrain had already alerted me to my desire: My soul thirsts for you, O Lord, my God. Yes, I thought as I sang the words.  While the pastor spoke of our desire for wholeness and holiness, I could feel tears well up in my eyes.  This was what I was being asked to do.  Find God again in new ways after clinging desperately to the Divine for so long during treatment. Find God in all things, at all times.  Yoke myself to my Beloved in a new way.  Put the Trinity first once again and be attentive to what is being asked of me.

This past week I spoke to the priest who will say my funeral.  He gave me a precious gem that I have returned to often.  While the funeral is important, the dying is much more so.  How I die sends a message.  The planning that my friends and I are doing around this excites me as odd as that may appear.  I want to die well and I want to know that it is the arms of my Beloved who will receive me.  This means that I must begin to get more serious about spending time in the Holy Presence again.

We sang tonight a song that I know well, based on a psalm–as a deer longs for running streams so my soul longs for you.  This brought tears again.  This is exactly the desire I need to embrace again. The pastor ended his homily with a line from a song that will be sung at my funeral: the beautiful L’Arche Hymn with the words that I will praise Jesus as long as I live. The song has long been a comfort and a summary of my life.  Singing even just one line tonight was a reminder of what I have always longed for in life–to serve my God, to sing praises, that Jesus is my life and my love,  and that I want my life to reflect that. Courage will come at the sound of those sacred footsteps by my side.

As I returned to my pew after the Eucharist, I knelt down and another song that I want to have at my funeral called Rest began. God restores my soul and gives me rest but asks a closer walk than what I have been doing lately.  The day seemed to whisper to me, come and find rest in me; I am waiting for you. I have not been so moved by a mass in a long time.  From the pastor’s welcome, to sitting with my holy boyfriend, to the songs and words, God had finally wooed me back.  I trust in the hands that hold me.  I must let go of the idea that I know everything that should happen and let Grace lead the way for me.  I must find ways to remain open to plans bigger than my own. These are holy days and I must keep my eyes on what is being asked of me. Being holy may not be cool, but it is my choice. May Grace take me by the hand and lead me on.

Peace,

Suzanne

Reflection Questions

How can you let go of your plans and let Grace led the way to the bigger plans being asked of you?

When has God needed to woo you back to holiness?

Prayer

Holy One, seduce me back into your arms.  Allow Grace to lead me to the bigger, more than I can ask or imagine plans that you have for me.  Let me discern distractions as they arise and seek out what should happen within the plans you have for me.  Keep my eyes open to you as you nudge relentlessly and wrap me in your loving arms, demanding a closer walk with thee. Lead me on, Beloved.  I am ready.  Amen.

 

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Loving Like Jesus

Posted on September 2, 2017 by sstyves

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As I did the morning readings, something in the Gospel acclamation in John 13 sent me off on a tangent.  I have been given a new commandment to love one another as Jesus loves me. What exactly does this mean to me right now? I have struggled a bit in these past two years to figure out how to keep my heart open and vulnerable, knowing full well how great the sorrow will be to leave this world and to break hearts in the parting. Today was the first time I ever thought about how Jesus might have felt at his departure, knowing full well that those who had grown to love him would be confused, angry, disoriented, and grieved.

Love as Jesus loved….right until the end.  He remained vulnerable and open to betrayal, sorrow, and love.  That is a tall order.  What is my lesson here?  The first year after my diagnosis and prognosis was challenging.  I would weep at my goodbyes with family and friends.  I could not bear the thought that this would be the last time I might see them. After a particular ugly crying jag with a far-away friend (who I have seen three times since), I decided that I could not go on this way.  Neither could she.  Our next gatherings were lighter and more relaxed.  Since I did not know how long I had, I needed to just be open.

This has not been a simple feat and is an ongoing struggle.  I confessed to my social worker in our last session that I felt as if my light as fading.  I knew exactly what I meant — it is the look that I have seen in the faces of those who are dying.  I saw it in my father’s eyes before I left on the trip.  I knew that he was leaving us, but I could not tell when exactly.  I saw it in my dear pastor’s eyes when I returned from Africa. I call it the dimming of the soul lamp, the moment when your spirit knows it is ready for the journey home and needs to turn out the lights in its temporary home.  It was the first time I have felt it in this two-year saga.  Naturally,  my therapist wanted to know how I left about it.  I named some emotions but danced around the one he finally placed gently on the table: Sadness? Yes, I responded, as the tears flowed, I am not yet ready to go.

I sense something has internally shifted since then.  Perhaps I was experiencing a flickering and not a dimming.  The fatigue I was feeling lifted somewhat which has been helpful. Now my thoughts turn back to how I am to engage in relationships in these final months.  I still want to create good memories with people.  The list of people who want to get together keeps growing while my desire to cocoon grows a bit.  I have an interest but not always the energy.  This morning after reading that single line from John, I had flashes of Jesus in the garden, asking his friends why they could not stay awake, returning to pray by himself, distraught at what was to come, of giving Mary to John and he to her at the foot of the cross, of looking into Peter’s eyes with love despite the betrayal, of walking the Via Dolorosa with determination, of spending time with his mother after the resurrection, and of meeting the disciples on the road to Emmaus.  How is Jesus calling me to love right now?

I have rarely chosen the easy way in life.  I am not often the tin man whose heart is missing, or the lion who needs to find courage–I have sung If I Only Had a Brain on occasion.  I am not a wooden statue who has no feelings.  I have deep relationships which I value. Decades ago when I lived on the east coast in a community, I thought my heart would be splintered into a million pieces at the thought of leaving and returning to Canada.  The experience had been so pivotal that I knew I was not the same person who had left.  I was not ready to let go of these people, the places that I had grown to love, and the new thoughts circulating in my head. As my departure date drew near, conversations on the beach, in my office, in my home, and in the park wrestled with the sadness we all felt.  Did I disengage now or did we simply tackle the reality head on?  Avoid or engage? Unplug emotions or be prepared to feel the immense pain as I headed north. I chose then to engage and let my heart shatter.  I stayed present right until the end.

Now I feel the anxiety of living loved and loving fully.  A recent interaction with a friend brought tears to us both as we embraced and I agreed that I would find a way to visit her through the thin veil. I know that it is possible. I find myself for the first time in life, taking baby steps away from people.  I cannot bear the thought of leaving my loved ones. Yet, as we prepare, I love the plans we are beginning to create around this process.  I want these moments of intimacy.  I want death to not have the final word.  I want love to place the final seal upon my life. As I look at Christ’s final days, I am drawn to stay with his example and to learn to love others as Jesus has so tenderly and mercifully loved me, and those who walked with him.  I am uncertain how to do this but I think it is the risk that I must take. No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear, Lewis writes in A Grief Observed. He is right, of course.  I cannot let fear stop Love.  I know the suffering that means for myself and those who wish to join with me on this adventure. I am more than acquainted with grief.  Perhaps if I was not, this would be much easier on me.  Still I will ponder on the One whose example is my guide.  Perhaps something will become clearer in the weeks and months ahead.

Peace,

Suzanne

Reflection Questions

How do you stay engaged when you know that the cost will be dear?

Why do you choose to stay in the game rather than retreat?

Prayer

Jesus, you show us the way.  If we keep our eyes on you, we have nothing to fear. You are with us and you will shepherd us.  May my heart be open to living, loving and being loved. Amen.

 

 

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Held Fast

Posted on August 31, 2017 by sstyves

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It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to heaven, we were all going direct the other way – in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.  ~ Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities

I think I can sum up my summer with this quote.  I have had anything but a lukewarm few months. I have in so many ways had one of the best summers of my life while at the same time I have had the worst of times.  I have felt wise and I have been foolish.  Some days I know exactly what I believe and other days much seems surreal. I can bask in the Light but the Darkness has been a hungry hound. Hope has been tenacious as despair relentlessly banged down the door. The superlatives are accurate and necessary. In between, brief rest from the highs and lows have allowed for a deep breath or two.

Psalm 139 today reminds me that there is nowhere I can go from God’s presence.  Whether I am in the best of times or the worse, acting wisely or foolishly, believing or struggling with doubt, despairing or hoping, in the Light or the Dark, God is there with me, holding me fast by the hand.  I cannot squirm out of the grip of Grace nor slip out of the sacred squeeze.  When the light becomes like night, God does not let go; the night is as bright as the day for the Divine One.  On this side of heaven, God’s plan may seem slightly out of focus, but one day we may see clearly. Whether we see blessings before us or nothing but bleakness, God.has.this.

I have faced a number of significant losses this summer.  One loss triggers another.  The other day I was thinking about my father which triggered a life dream for me.   I had always thought that once my father died,  I would pursue a vocation that I have had for decades.  I would find a worthy mission and move to my beloved Africa.  I let go of that desire that day with great grief.  I am unsure that I will see the red soil again but I have surrendered that with open hands.

With loss comes memories and a range of emotions to sort through if one is willing to do the hard work of grieving.  I found myself smiling at photographs, weeping at words written, angry at how much some people need to endure, marveling at how beautiful our world is,  feeling peaceful among friends, and grateful for blessings.  Someone who is not too empathetic said to me today that I sure had been to a lot of funerals lately.  As I unpack emotions about my situation, I also have to sort through those that surface because of other people’s predicaments.

Some people have said to me that they could die before me–they could, for example, get hit by a bus.   This comment tends to be annoying to those of us who are dying because of it is trite and minimizes our truth.  However lately, I have begun to see that there is an element of truth to that.  I have been to several memorials/funerals since being diagnosed and as I sort through one of the latest sudden, unexpected deaths, I find myself reeling a bit. The firm foundation gave way to quicksand.  I managed to scramble out and then I took a few days to let reality sink in.  Life is not always fair. Most of us believe that we can move logically from point A to point B without too much trouble but when we are thrust to K and then catapulted back to F, life becomes uncertain. What do we do?  Where is the hand of God in this?  Is that how I did not get sucked under by the quicksand?  Am I still standing because I am being held fast?

The best of times balance the worst of times.  I have had good visits from folks over the summer.  The reconnections have been meaningful and precious. I have had fun social outings. I have found rest for my weary soul. I have enjoyed walks down memory lanes and felt incredibly blessed.  Hope has grown and flourished among the rocks that have come crashing down. The Darkness has not won. Wisdom has prevailed. God has clung to my hand and held me fast. At no time was I ever alone.

Extremes are mountain and valley experiences and I am a prairie girl at heart.  I must become comfortable with the whole of the landscape of life.  The Trinity is in all things.  I must let myself be held fast and know that whatever comes, nowhere will I not find God.

Peace,

Suzanne

Reflection Questions

Have you experienced the best of times and the worst of times? Has God been there?

What does being held fast look or feel like to you?

Prayer

Hold me fast, Divine One.  Never let me be separated from you in the best or worst of times, in hope or despair, in belief or doubt, in Light or Dark, in bounty or bleakness.  Let us give you our hands even when we lack trust until we stand again on solid, sacred ground.  Amen.

 

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Grief Erupts

Posted on August 24, 2017 by sstyves

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The one thing I know about grief is you never know when the tsunami will wash over you, making it hard to breathe and find solid ground. There can be these serene, still waters around you and then bam! An unexpected wave hits and you are completely disoriented.  I have this box in which I have been tossing all of my medical and financial records connected to the cancer adventure.  I had to pull it out last night and sort through it because I need to fill out some forms.  I decided to organize it better than I had so I could find things quickly that I need.

I made a tactical error along the way though.  I did not ask for all my reports over these past two years but I did ask for some related to the embolization and resection.  I started reading them as I sorted.  I could feel anxiety rising which seemed odd to me.  I stopped for a moment, wondering what was going on for me.  My body went through trauma for 13 months.  I remember that I began to lose my hair in handfuls after surgery but before I began chemo.  I asked my family doctor if my body was finally reacting to the stress it had been through.  Running her fingers through my hair, she saw that the hair loss was abnormal and concurred that I was most probably right.  This phenomena only lasted a few weeks–no one else noticed but me.  I tried hard to love my body back into a safe space, praising it for how well it had done.  I talked about it with my counselor, thinking I was working my way through it. Reading the reports reminded me of all that I have been through physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. In many ways, I have never really fully processed all the distress I went through.  One hurdle after another needed to be jumped through and I just kept my eyes on the finish line which kept being extended.  Take these tests, inject this radioactive sugar into your body, feed the vampires in the lab, rule out another primary source of cancer, walk that chart of mine stamped urgent down the hall, try to understand the medical jargon, advocate strongly for myself, undergo this procedure that is still fairly new, be gracious to each medical team member, make final arrangements in case I do not survive surgery or die shortly thereafter, recover from surgery, figure out if those narcotics are more harmful than helpful, get used to this new body I have with the fancy zigzag scar, learn to trust yet another doctor to make proper decisions, start chemo, keep moving even when I feel like crap, be grateful, be positive, learn the cancer is back and has metastasized, live with the fact you may only have a year left, go on disability, make huge financial decisions that are not my forte, strip away each of my identities one by one until I am sure only that I am a child of God, make the unorthodox decision to stop chemo and give my poor body a break, choose to live until I die, and if this sentence is exhausting you, then you may understand why I began to cry last night.

As I filed away paper after paper of my disease, the reality of what I have done these past two years was overwhelming.  This was no pity party.  I saw in some ways for the first time what I had survived.  I thought I had known the enormity of it, but really I was just paddling like mad to keep my head above the water all this time.  I was making mental check marks on a list of completed tasks but I never essentially stopped to go over the entire list in one sitting.  This was me finally saying, Holy Mary Mother of God, look at what I went through! As the disease begins to progress now, I know that I must gear up for these next stages.  I have given my mind, body, and spirit the recreation they have needed.  I have trusted in God through it all and I will continue to trust.  Your prayers and love have carried me through too. I have seen God in it all.  I feel the cloak of Christ and the mantle of Mary wrapped around me. I took a big breath and continued sorting the box.

I smiled when I saw it–the purple notebook that my brother gave me labelled Things That Make Me Happy.  I had used it as a guest book of sorts.  Originally, I had imagined I would be sleeping quite a bit and wanted to track guests who came and went if that was the case.  The big surprise was that I did not nap as much as expected.  People wrote encouraging words in it at my direct request.  I reached for it with a smile.  I opened it and read the entries on the first page, feeling blessed once again by the sentiments expressed there.  I turned to page two and there was Dad’s signature at the top, followed by one word–a name he used when he left me telephone messages: Pa.  Two simple letters dissolved me into tears again.

Having taught many seminars on grief over the years, I know the importance of letting the pain out.  Holding it in does no good.  As much as I know I will see Dad in the twinkling of an eye in earthly terms, I still miss him greatly.  I have let myself weep only about a dozen times as we near the three-month mark of his death. I did not try to stop the emotion or reign it in.  I wept for my many losses these past two and a half years, knowing full well that Monday will be the 25th anniversary of my sister’s death.  Grief triggers all loss and I have always said that my body remembers things that I may not until I take the time to explore my emotions.

Last night was emotional but I am grateful for the insights.  I know that I am a strong, independent woman who can muster up courage when needed but I am also vulnerable and trusting.  I will not give in to despair and I will let the tears come in order to heal. They are a gift.  God has been more than merciful to me and has not left me orphaned.  On the contrary, God has surrounded me with love and support beyond my imaginings.  When grief erupts, I can appreciate the release of emotions that allow me to be freer and continue the adventure unhindered.  What a blessing!

Peace,

Suzanne

Reflection Questions

When has grief unexpectedly erupted for  you?

What lessons has sorrow taught you?

Prayer

Who knew I had so much hidden inside that needed to be washed to the surface?  Who could comprehend that even though I thought I was paying attention that I was not completely understanding what was occurring?  Who but you, Holy One? May you accompany me through it all and wash me clean when the time is right.  Amen.

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No Answer At All

Posted on August 21, 2017 by sstyves

IMG_2635I have been thinking about the Gospel yesterday about the Canaanite woman who shouts at Jesus to have mercy on her because her daughter is tormented by a demon.  Mathew 15 says: But he did not answer her at all.  How many of us have been there?  We beg, we scream, we plead, we cuss, and we do everything and all we hear is silence from the Great Physician. The woman is relentless. She kneels down in front of him, asking for help.  He says cryptically that it is not fair to take away the food from the children and throw it to the dogs.  That might deter most people but not this woman.  She retorts that even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from the master’s table.

Now if you own a dog or have friends that do, you know that some of them love to stare at you with those big puppy eyes, melting your resolve not to feed them crumbs from the tables.  They are much like that Canaanite woman who wears you down until you give in.  I sometimes slip a dog a nibble from my plate and Jesus grants the woman her request.

I have stood in that still silence, waiting for an answer and one does not seem to come.  What then when no treat is offered, not a tiny speck is held out?  What do we do then? Is God sleeping? Are we asking for something we should not?  Is this some mean-spirited test that I seem to be failing?  Is it my lack of trust or my inability to hear Christ’s response?  Am I not being relentless enough?  Do I need to whimper instead of shout? Surely there is a logic reason for my prayer not being answered?

I do not have an easy answer for this scenario.  I cannot tell you why the hatred of White Supremacists exists nor can I explain why good people, especially children, die in an untimely manner.  I cannot explain why half the world starves due to lack of food and the wealthier nations feed us images that drive young girls and women to eating disorders. I do not comprehend why women are constantly subjected to sexual violence and men have such messed up thinking about love and sex. I think these ferocious questions are often met with silence.  There might not be answers this side of the thin veil.  I do know that eventually the question finds a home in my soul and if I am fortunate enough, I might get a glimmer of why such things occur, but I am always unsettled by these ponderings.

I do not have a list of questions to demand answers from the Trinity when I arrive at the Gates. I have learned to embrace the Mystery and while I am not happy, I accept that I may get no answer at all.  Once on the other side of that Veil, I suspect, the answers will not be important.  The question that I will be asked will be the telling tale–what did you do to end these injustices, comfort those who needed to be consoled, and change what you could in your corner of the world?  That question will reckon an answer.  Silence will not be acceptable.

Peace,

Suzanne

Reflection Questions

When have you received no answer at all?

What have you done to change what you could when you are faced with injustice, violence, and sorrow?

Prayer

Ask away, but be ready for the silence.  Keep knocking, keep asking, and keep seeking.  Omniscient One, grant that I may be relentless and that I may also be an agent of peace in this world. Amen.

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Wind Whispers

Posted on August 19, 2017 by sstyves

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Sitting outside on my balcony, I let the wind whisper to me tonight.  I was trying to read but I kept getting distracted by the rustling leaves on the trees as the wind told them secrets and helped them dance.  What a song they create together! I missed at the beginning how the river joined them and all creation seemed to be lifted by the song. The wind shook the leaves and then rippled across the river, scattering the stillness of the surface.  I had never noticed this quite in this way before tonight and was distracted by the sheer beauty of a rather ordinary moment as the sun set.

I continue to read Ann VosKamp’s book, The Broken Way.  The line that jumped out at me tonight was Lament is an outrage…that still trusts in God’s good outcome.  Ann has found out at this point in her book that yet another friend’s cancer has spread.  This past week the closed group on Facebook that I belong to has had a number of its members find out the same or that the cancer has returned.  Reading the posts is painful.  The page is a safe place for us to share our fears, anger, rage, and what I would call lament by Ann’s definition. We buoy each other up in that group and many of us trust in God’s good outcome despite the various faith backgrounds on it.

I am also trying to come to terms with the fact that my symptoms are progressing and that I sleep way too much for my liking.  Cancer fatigue is a hungry beast.  Nothing really helps.  I could sleep for days and I would still wake up tired.  My energy keeps diminishing and I grieve the loss of it.  My shortened days are frustrating to me as my to-do list is long and some items such as purging or visiting can only be done by me. This lesson to stay still and listen to the whispers of the wind is equally as important though.  The to-do list simply must wait sometimes while I tune into the Holy.  The wind has always had a special place in my soul.  I remember it vividly when I went to Greece, have fond memories of it in Hawaii coming off the ocean, hear its gentle call still from a retreat centre in Ohio, feel its wildness on the Ferry to Robben Island in South Africa….the Spirit has always found me and wrapped Her arms around me with love and grace.  The wind helps me to trust in the outcome.

As I sat there raptured by the sound and sight of the wind’s effect, I felt a nudge to open Facebook and saw this image, created by my friend’s daughter:

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You can buy her art via her Facebook page, Sagebrush and Sparrow Illustration.  This was perhaps the whispering of the Spirit for me when I opened my Facebook page and saw this as the first story.  I do not always feel brave on this journey but I know for a fact that someone, somewhere, needs to hear my story.  That is why I tell it.  I know for many who know and love me, it is surreal to think that I might not be here in a year.  The possibility is highly likely though.  In my spirit, for the first time, I get the sense that the end is coming sooner than I want it to.  I am beginning to feel an urgency and that saddens me because there is a part of me that also just wants to sit outside, marvel in the dance of Creation, and not have to think about what it means for all of you to let me go.  I am running out of steam and while I hope for a second wind, I am attentive to this Wind blowing, and know that one day, it will call my name to join in the Heavenly dance.

I know it is unfair that this earthly dance will end prematurely (in some people’s eyes) and yet I hope that you will trust in God’s good outcome and lament when you must.  I encourage you to do both.  This story I am telling is not only about my bravery but yours.  So many of you face this head on and show me how to stay focused.  I have seen some of the tears that many of you have tried to hide. I feel the love as you slip your arms around me and hold me tightly.  I am grateful for the small acts of kindness in the form of food and fellowship. Your faith and encouragement are a blessing.  I think listening tonight to the wind, I heard all of the prayers being lifted for me and watched them skip across the water towards me.  What a gift that was! Your desire to create lasting memories is precious to me.  I have had such a fun summer with so many of you who have come through to visit or those who have joined me locally for events.  You have made what might well be my last summer amazing.  You have no idea what this means to me.

I am going to keep telling my story for as long as I can here.  Thank you to all who are accompanying me in these posts.  Your fidelity strengthens me. Think of me in the whispers of the wind as summer throws itself into these last weeks of sun and fun.  I will do the same. Let’s join in the dance of Creation and be glad for every breathe we take.

Peace,

Suzanne

Reflection Questions

What memories do you have of the wind whispering to you?

What is the story you must tell for others to know that they too can be brave?

Prayer

Wind-Whisperer, you tell us our story and invite us to join joyfully in the dance of Creation.  May we never miss the soft sound of Your voice calling us.  Help us to be brave and vulnerable at the same time so that our tale guides others down the path of Holiness. Amen.

 

 

 

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God of All Time

Posted on August 17, 2017 by sstyves

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I read Jesus Calling at the end of each day, unless, of course, I am exhausted and fall into bed hardly able to keep my eyes open.  A few nights ago, I read this meditation: I am the God of all time and all that is.  Seek me not only in morning quietness but consistently throughout the day.  Do not let unexpected problems distract you from My Presence.  Instead, talk with Me about everything, and watch confidently what I will do. The post goes on to say anxiety should not interrupt our communion with the Divine. I have gotten a bit better at turning to God faster when I feel am distracted.

The Trinity can appear in all sorts of ways, gently nudging us back towards peace and love. I am grateful.  Today I found myself more about something and giving thanks.  I crawled into bed this afternoon for a nap and awoke with a headache.  This is something new for me which irritates me.  I have learned to take an Ibuprofen and carry on. My symptoms are growing and I sense that I might finally need some medical intervention with pain control in the near future.  These will be the moments that I will need to seek the Holy One.

Last night I spent an evening with my brother making memories.  We had a lovely dinner and then went to see a fantastic musical afterwards.  As we were leaving the venue, stuck in the traffic of patrons, I felt a wave of nausea. This was a new encounter of sorts; I usually only have such feelings in the morning and I have not for a couple of months now.  I popped a stick of gum in my mouth and felt better.  I remembered to pray much later and lift up a prayer of gratitude. This is a humbling reminder of how distractions can win sometimes.

I had friends in from the coast the other night and it was lovely to visit with them.  One stayed over and helped me do some decluttering and cleaning which was a God-send.  I am beginning to feel a bit more organized in baby steps. I appreciate my friend wanting to help me out in a concrete manner.  Since she has left, I think of her every time I open my fridge and see how clean and manageable it now is. In the middle of her visit her brother, who is also a friend of mine, placed a video call to us. I smile typing this, as I know I give thanks often for the kindnesses that are bestowed upon me.

God is in all things…the good, the bad, and the ugly. We are not alone in any moment of our lives.  God is there, in the joy, the pain, and the mundane. God is ever-present to us.  God of all time reassures us that we are never alone, whatever we experience.  I have been thinking about the events of Virginia in this vein too.  As I have watched the horrific hatred vomited by the White Supremacists, Neo-Nazis, and other groups, a chill comes over me. What is happening in our world today? Tonight’s news story of a vehicle careening down La Rambla in Spain killing tourists was heart-wrenching.   I was there just last year with a friend of mine. What sadness this news caused me. How can people hate other people so much?

Yet God must be having a déjà vu moment.  Fifty some years ago, the KKK  appeared in public places, creating havoc and fear. I am sure that God weeps remembering the numerous times throughout our history that we have chosen not to love one another.   God has seen it all, from the beginning of time. While God never tires of our love for one another, I wonder how God feels watching us hate one another. This hatred grows in families, communities,  cities, and countries until the world is no longer safe. Those of us who believe in love must now act in love.  This is not a time to hate back. This is the time to show people that love wins. This is the time to look for God, to turn to the Trinity,  and to seek the Creator in the morning silence and in evening clamour.  Do not let the distractions of hatred steal your peace.   Now is the time to watch carefully  and confidently what the Holy One will do.

Peace,

Suzanne

 Reflection Questions 

Do you believe that God is present to you each moment of your life?

How have the recent acts of hatred in our world affected you?

Prayer

God of All Time, you know how the script begins and ends. You have witnessed since the beginning of the world our hatred and our love for one another.  In our friendships, you are there. You send earth angels to be with us and to minister to us.  On the world stage, when hatred and fear threaten to destroy the very fabric of our society, you show us that love wins. Give us the courage and strength to be people of love and not hate. Amen.

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Dream Visits

Posted on August 14, 2017 by sstyves

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In the wee hours of this morning, I had my first dream about Dad since he died. I am still trying to figure out what it all means and I can’t remember everything that happened. I do know for at least part of it that I saw Dad free of all burdens.  Both of us were in the hospital in the hallway but he was in a bed and I was on a stretcher waiting to be processed. He was in this massive king-sized bed which he kept rolling around from one end to the other freely and easily, laughing right out loud.  He was so full of joy. I know that we had a long conversation but I don’t remember one word of it unfortunately.

Upon waking, I tried hard to remember anything I could, but alas I could not. My feeling about that particular part of the dream is precious and peaceful. I had a sense that he  was unencumbered and loving wherever he was.  I also had a feeling that he was telling me whatever I needed to know for what was to come for me. At that point, he was sitting up  and his face seemed quite gentle.  I returned to the dream a number of times throughout the day. There are lots of complicated parts that I may never understand but it was lovely to see my dad in a dream and know he was at peace.  It seems like such a gift.

Today is the feast day of another great man: Saint Maximilian Kolbe who offered his life in Auschwitz so that another prisoner would not be killed.  This was a man who knew how to lay down his life for others. I have always thought of my father this way – a man who knew how to  work hard to ensure his family was taken care of and provided for. His body paid the price for it.   Others reaped the benefits of the generosity of both of these men.  May they both rest in peace.

Peace,

Suzanne

Reflection Questions 

Have you ever had a visit in a dream from a loved one who has died?

Who do you know that has laid down their life for others?

Prayer

Holy and Mysterious One, you create a veil that is thin enough that we may be visited by those on the Other Side.  I thank you for letting me know my loved one is free and at peace. May I emulate his wonderful qualities so that he may continue to shine  brightly on this side of the veil.  Amen.

 

 

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Following the Good Road

Posted on August 11, 2017 by sstyves

Go forth in peace, for you have followed the good road. Go forth without fear, for he who created you has made you holy, has always protected you, and loves you as a mother. Blessed be you, my God, for having created me.

~St. Clare of Assisi

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Today is the Feast Day of St. Clare of Assisi, Francis’ friend and associate. By now many of you know my “Clare” story.  I cannot seem to find any of my photos of her chapel in Assisi so use Francis’ cathedral which also holds a certain significance for me.  In 2014, I traveled to Assisi as part of a 3-week pilgrimage to Paris (the Miraculous Medal Chapel), Taize (which I will always love as a sacred space), Rome, and Assisi (the spot so many people told me I would adore). I immediately fell in love with the lighting and the mysticism of this charming town. God would speak to me through the lives of both Francis and Clare.

I went to Clare’s basilica one morning to pray.  I sat for a long time in front of the cross of San Damiano, praying, listening for a word from my Beloved, but I heard nothing.  Eventually, I switched to a long list of intercessory prayers that I had come with.  At the end of that, I sat silent again, longing for some sort of image or phrase that would give me peace vocationally.  Nothing came.

I went down to the tomb of St. Clare.  The line was not long but as I approached I began to weep uncontrollably, much to my surprise.  I would connect the dots later, as I became sicker.  God was not giving me a clear vocation because I would not be able to accept the answer yet. Death was in my near future and within six months that became crystal clear.  I have returned to that image often over these past two years.  The steps along the way have been daunting a procedure to kill off one part of my liver while growing another, a risky surgery and a long recovery, followed by six months of chemo.  The cancer continues to grow. I am amazed by the fact that I am still here but trust that God has been using me–since that was part of the earnest prayer I said that day: Use me as you desire so that I may bring you glory.  Not knowing what you are  praying for is sometimes helpful.  I guess I cannot really say at this point,  I take it back! 

I have not always gone forth without fear on this grand adventure. Some nights while waiting for results and surgery, I have pulled out my iPad and played a Christian song or two until I have found peace or fallen asleep.  I have started to cry in the CT scanner because of scanxiety.  Feelings of being overwhelmed have crashed through the door to my heart and ransacked its neat quarters.  I have tripped while attempting to go forth without fear.

God who has created me holy knows that I do not always feel that way.  The other day someone said to me that I did not know my sin.  She would not have called it that but that is what it is.  I disagreed.  That particular sin is always before me and I feel horrible that I make so little progress on reducing it in my life. I am hardly holy but I know that God made me that way.  Despite trying to stay on the good road, I digress from time to time.  The Examen puts this reality in front of me all the time as I reflect back on my actions during each day.  Falling short of holy happens to the best of us humans and it is a wretched fact that we are creatures who are in constant need of the Creator’s mercy. God is a loving parent…the kind that lifts you up and is your number one fan, even if you mess up.  I cannot tell you how awesome it is to be loved by such a God if you have never experienced this for  yourself.

St. Catherine of Labouré, like St. Clare, also asserts that the protection of God is always there.   It became my mantra after seeing those words in Rue du Bac at the Miraculous Medal Chapel in Paris on that same trip.  I had not noticed them on my two previous visits. God has always protected me.  Somehow, I learned early in life that this was a core Truth for me. This mantra of mine does not mean that nothing bad happens to me–it does.  I have known tremendous heartache over the decades and yet, I have chosen, yes, chosen mindfully, to move forward with joy down that good road. As I continue to follow the good road, I long to hold faithfully to this mantra.  What it promises is not an easy road.  The way will be steep and winding, with sheer drop offs, I am sure.  What I know is that God will be with me as I follow and I will never be alone.  This God who created me will give me what I need, even when the road becomes grueling.

Peace,

Suzanne

Reflection Questions

Do you believe you are protected by God?

Have you ever had a profound moment in prayer that needed to be lived into?

Prayer

Creator, thank you for creating me. May I follow with courage the good road and trust in your protection as to where it will eventually lead.  You who made me holy know I desire to be holy in all that I do so that I may bring you glory.  Forgive me when I fall short of that attempt. May your love and protection buoy me when I need it.  Amen.

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Outlier

Posted on August 8, 2017 by sstyves

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My oncologist called me an outlier today.  I liked hearing that word, as a four on the Enneagram.   I am special.  I am surpassing the odds.  I am the lone purple flower in a bed of flowers. What she meant, of course, was that I should not be so well….in fact I should perhaps not even still be here.  I will take that label and keep blooming right amongst all the other pretty flowers.

My six-month scan results came in and I was relieved at the news.  I was not sure how it would go.   The fatigue is overwhelming some days.  I sleep a lot.  I was trying to be in bed tonight by a certain hour but I have surpassed it.   I slept a good chunk of the afternoon, more than I wanted to.  I realize that this could be my new reality and somehow I need to make peace with that. I had been having some other symptoms that made me nervous but the scans showed no new metastases and very little growth in the tumours that are in the lungs. These parts of the disease are stable.  The two in the liver are growing slowly to moderately.  The size may be creating more discomfort for me but the pain does not last long enough to use medication. By the time I breathe, the painkillers would also be effective and at this point, the pain is neither severe nor long in duration.

My family has been through a lot lately, with my father’s death and a recent scary trip to the ER for my brother last week.  The trauma team immediately worked on him once he got triaged and we all held our breath as we waited the outcome.  He had experienced a severe allergic reaction and fortunately the story had a happy ending.  I was glad to be able to let family and friends know my own “good” news today.

I say “good” because I know that this news does not change the outcome for me.  I want to be clear about that.  People read what they want to hear, I am learning, and folks need to do whatever they must to receive the news that I continue to inch towards leaving this world.  People who have no experience with cancer also misread words like remission (no, I am definitely not in remission) and “good” scan results mean good scan results.  I have purposely put in the parentheses.  I like to keep things real for myself. Readers can process as they need to.

I am so grateful for prayers that are lifted. I do believe that God hears them and is responding, even as I struggle to figure out why I am granted months beyond my expiration date while others, who are equally surrounded by prayer, are not.  I have not asked for a new timeline–I am not really sure I want to know.  It could be more or less six months of feeling fairly well before my situation could shift.  I want to use my well time well.  The memories I have been creating with people are fabulous for me.   I still hope to accomplish something.  A friend has reminded me of his generous offer to write at his guest house.  Writing would be a gift indeed. I am also beginning to wonder if there is one more project of some other kind in me, something that has not yet fully percolated.  I will listen to my soul and see what might be stirring there.

Regardless, I like being called an outlier–one who lives on the edge, who does not conform to normal, whose point on the graph stands alone, and who is an exception.  I have said it before and I will say it again, I have come this far because many of you are sending prayer on my behalf which I receive with the utmost gratitude.  I have also had excellent health care.  Even as my energy fades, I am, as I have from the beginning, living until I die.

Peace,

Suzanne

Reflection Questions

How have you felt receiving better news than you expected?

Have you ever been an outlier?

Prayer

Planter of seeds, help me bloom where I am planted for as long as I can.  I do not mind being an outlier with your great assistance and grace.  May I be willing to do your will for as long as I can breathe. Amen.

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