Another Reason Why I Am No Longer a Christian

image from here

For a few years now I have been unable to accept some of the doctrines I once held to as a Christian. In many ways, the initial "break-up" of me leaving Christianity was a very emotional and gut-level reaction. I knew that claiming to believe the core doctrines of Christianity was no longer my truth. To continue to pretend it was would be to compromise my own character and to participate falsely in something I could no longer be part of while being authentically me. Lots of people who were anywhere near my facebook, blog or mouth :) could tell you that I expressed a lot of anger and sadness toward God, Christianity, the evangelical churches I grew up in and the Bible. That was real. It was very like the sort of explosive emotions that refuse to be repressed that someone experiences before an actual "break-up," and it is the intensity of such emotions that provide the energy to remove oneself, cut oneself off from and leave behind that which one can no longer participate in honestly, authentically and with a whole heart.

The further I get from the initial "break-up" of me leaving Christianity, the less angry I am. As time has passed I have found I am more able to put what I was reacting to and rejecting into words that are logical and sober.  This is important for me, even if my thought processes and truths don't make sense to anyone else, or if others think they are based on flawed thinking. I don't need to prove to Christians that I am "right," but I do want to be able to communicate why I have personally rejected Christianity, if for no other audience but myself. The simple act of writing or talking helps me do that.

One of the Christian doctrines I have rejected for a couple of years now is that of human beings being inherently sinful and in need of God's intervention, without which they would not be capable of doing "good." You can read a another post about this here. Even more specifically, I no longer accept that good happens only when humans essentially die to their own natural way of living, speaking, acting and even loving, so that the Holy Spirit, a manifestation of God that Christians believe "indwells" them, can live, speak, act and love THROUGH them.

My experience is to the contrary and has led me to believe that there is inherent goodness in every person, and that the manifestation of that goodness (love, charity, kindness, empathy, compassion, forgiveness, courage, selflessness, etc.) is possible only when one draws on one's OWN spirit, which may or may not be connected to a kind of collective spirit. Of course there are those who do bad things; I am one. But I do not wrong myself or others because my spirit (I call it "knowing place") is by nature "bad," but because I am not, for whatever reason, acting or reacting through the lens of ego. That ego is not "evil/bad," and in fact has some very important usefulnesses, but when one only looks through ego's lens (as a young child does) one does not act from that "spirit" or "knowing place." Learning to listen to my spirit is a process and that, I believe, is the journey of life: learning to act from that place, supporting those around me in learning to act from that place and, in any way I can lessening the suffering of those around me.

What's the difference between "my" version of spirit and Christianity's version of "holy spirit?" My version of spirit is already IN you. Christianity's version comes from outside of you. Further, evangelical Christianity teaches that one must intellectually assent to its other core doctrines before that holy spirit can come into and begin to live through the flawed nature that evangelicals say we are born with. My version of spirit can not be taken away; Christianity's version is not mine unless and until I convert, ask Jesus in my heart, or a variety of other actions, depending on the denomination of Christianity you listen to. My version just IS; Christianity's version has a twist in that if you do NOT convert or what have you and invite that holy spirit to indwell you, you not only are incapable of doing anything good in this life, but will be thrown into eternal punishment and separation from God.

I have written quite a bit about my rejection of the Christian concept of eternal punishment/hell and the WAY the threat of that sort of punishment "if you don't...." hanging over a person makes love impossible. Here's one post about this. Basically, if I tell you to love me, or else, all I will be able to get from you is the love that is given out of fear, which is actually not love at all.

But it occurs to me today that there is another important reason for believing that human beings are "good" inside, rather than "evil." The idea that we are evil and that the only goodness we ever do is because God somehow has done it through the filter of us as willing conduits, doesn't just make authentic loving relationship with God impossible. It makes authentic, loving relationship with other human beings impossible, too.

In other words, if you are only as good as you are allowing God to be through you, then I can not even accept your most "ardent love" as authentic. If you are incapable of doing anything good, authentically and from your heart, apart from God, you are nothing more than a machine when you are loving me. You are nothing more than a conduit of God's love.

Likewise, the love that originates in God and comes through me to you is like the air blowing out of a heater. The heat is dependent upon the heating machine; in fact, the heat is a bi-product of a machine doing what a machine is designed to do. If my love is the heat and God is the heating machine, my loving you is not because there is anything about YOU that is inherently lovable or special. You are not chosen, picked or uniquely-loved. You are loved just the same way as everyone one else is, by God, through the machine of a human being. That is not from the heart. That is not a love that you INSPIRED in me.

Not only that, but this also means that if you aren't loving me perfectly, you are an imperfect filter of God's love. You aren't allowing God to love me through you well enough. Again, you are failing. There is no human emotion. There is no "being moved by" someone and love being an expression of that movement. There is only you and I as supine conduits. Willing pipes through which God's love can flow.

Call me crazy but that sounds not only painful, but boring as hell. How then to explain it when I am "moved by" someone or something? My heart and mind tell me that that very "movement" inside is evidence that I am more than a conduit of divine love. My own human feelings, emotions and inner movements betray that I am more than just a pipe. I am definitely not just part of a love machine.

Furthermore, if it were true that the ultimate goal is to become "less" (since, according to this doctrine, that is the only way my sinful nature con be overcome) so that God can more effectively use me as a conduit of his love, I would then feel more able to love when I become "less me." And that is not the case. If that were true, when I am "less me" others would feel more loved. And that's just not so, either.

When I FEEL and then I SEE in the eyes of another human being, the reflection of what they see when they experience me, I feel most loved. When another human being says, "This is what I see..." and I can feel that what they see is the "me" that only someone who really is LOOKING and really is GAZING DEEPLY with loving, adoring, tender eyes could see, I feel loved.

To see human beings as a conduit of God's love ignores the risk and the courage that it takes to love someone else, as well. When someone, in spite of the very real fear that their expressed love will not be returned by me, allows their feelings toward me and the beauty they see in me to float fearlessly into their eyes so I can see it there, and cares enough to put the things they see in me into their own words, I am changed utterly.

Not only that but when the person doing that courageous mirroring of me to myself has seen me at my worst...my "shadow," as Carl Jung called it...and can look past that to see the truth that I AM ONLY PARTLY THAT SHADOW... I feel loved. That kind of love is more intimate and more personal than the act of physical intimacy. Anyone who has been on the receving end of that kind of love knows the way that "I've seen you AND I love you" kind of love is more transforming than almost any other human experience.

The person who, without regard for whether their unconditional love will be returned, who STILL persists in loving someone in such an active way is not being a willing pipeline or conduit. This is an active love.
This sort of love is risky. This sort of love IS being alive. It requires a kind of standing in the fire of relationship in order to even SEE those truths of someone else, let alone SPEAK/mirror them back to the other person. It requires a kind of recklessness, even, since it is the bucket of one's own soul (or it feels like it is!) that one lowers down into the deep well of someone else's real self in order to bring back the real water that's deep, deep down.

This is unconditional love: being a mirror, mirroring the goodness in the other to them, not knowing if they will reciprocate.

This is unconditional love: knowing exactly how one wants most to be loved and giving that to another without strings attached.

This is unconditional love: loving fiercely and extravagantly without holding back.

This is unconditional love: loving the other in all these ways EVEN IF the other person doesn't even "get" or "appreciate" that you are doing so, or understand/acknowledge the risk that it took for you to do so.

This is unconditional love: even allowing the person you love to walk away if they decide to but allowing your love to follow them for the rest of your life.

This is unconditional love: to choose to continue to see the other person for who they really are, and not to label them in a negative way, even if they reject you.

This is unconditional love: to, even after you are rejected, persist as far as you are able to communicate to the person in that mirroring sort of way all the beauty and goodness you experienced of them. In other words, thank them for the gift of the time they did give you, the parts of you they did show you and the way that you were altered in positive ways by having had contact with them.

I have felt this kind of love, coming and going, with and through other human beings. I have loved this way. I have been loved this way. And the only way to give this sort of love to another being is to look for, see and mirror the "real them" that I experience. That "real them" IS their spirit. The unconditional love you and I both long for is not the kind of love that says, "if...." "unless" or "until." It doesn't know time; it positions itself with arm outstretched, love offered, without condition, Now, Yesterday and Tomorrow. That love is IN ME. Not from an outside source or in spite of my nature. That love is called forth in me BY YOU. That love in me is only possible WHEN I am fully, completely and authentically ME.

Or perhaps it's this simple.

If I was standing before you and the fullness of who you are was visible, and I said, "I love the you that you are, no changes necessary and without regard to whether or not you love me back," how would you feel?

If I was standing before you and the fullness of who you are, and I said, "I love you because God is loving through me, and here is the goodness I see in you, which is only possible because God is good through you," how would you feel?

It IS that simple. Perhaps the last two paragraphs were all I really needed to write.

p.s. If you want to read more about some of my discoveries/experiences/thoughts about unconditional love, here are a few:
This one. But only if you don't mind the "f-word."
This one, inspired by a Ghandi quote.
This one about tattoos and love is one of my most-read posts.

Love is a Bucket

Love is
Lowering the bucket of my soul
Into the depths of the well of you,
Allowing my soul to be filled up
With that water that is
Deepest and
Lowest and
Truest in you,
And then fetching it back up,
Pouring in into a cup I made with my hands,
And raising it up to your mouth,
So that you may taste what I taste.

And Love is also this:
Doing so, not knowing
The outcome,
But filled with a desire to see your eyes light up
When you taste what I taste
That is greater than
My fear that you will not
Love me in return.

Today

Feeling a lot of love for my sweet friends, several of whom are hurting today. Wish we could all just put our burdens, responsibilities and jobs aside for a day and hang out together somewhere peaceful, quiet and just-warm-enough. We'd eat pinic lunches, pick wildflowers, laugh our heads off, cry if we needed to and hug one another. We would lay on a blanket, watch the clouds and listen to the sounds around us. We'd find a little creek, take our shoes off and wade in. And then when the day faded and the stars came out, we'd have a delicious alfresco dinner under the stars with good wine and plenty of cheese and chocolate. And though we can't actually pull that off in real life, maybe we can feel some of the sweetness of that kind of day as we move through "real life." I hope you can imagine my hug, friends, know you are loved and breathe that love into your heart.

Find this pic here.

An "a-ha!" moment

This blog post by Jen Lemen struck something deep, deep inside me this morning. I highly suggest you read the whole post, but #7 was particularly emotional for me; just reading it made me feel teary:

"7. Tell the truth about your beautiful, impossible dream. There’s no point in hiding anymore. Everyone already knows deep down. If you say it, there will be a price to pay, but there will also be a path forward and real excitement."

Even attempting to think about what that "beautiful, impossible dream" is for me made me weep. I chatted with my dear friend, Dena, earlier, and we talked about this. I asked her what her "dream" is and she immediately described it, in detail. It was indeed beautiful; hearing it made so much sense. I can absolutely see her doing, being, creating that dream; it fits her perfectly.

But when I tried to think about what my "beautiful, impossible dream" is, I hit a wall.

"I don't know what it is," I told Dena, "and just thinking about it makes me cry tears."

And then this afternoon, I read Dena's collection of meaningful quotes, ideas and thoughts for today that she posts one of daily on facebook. I came across a quote at the very end of her compilation that made me pause, and then tear up.

Here's the quote:

"We do not believe in ourselves until someone reveals that deep inside of us something is valuable, worth listening to, worthy of our touch, sacred to our touch. Once we believe in ourselves we can risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous delight, or any experience that reveals the human spirit."  - e.e. cummings

When I read that quote, it hit me: that is a piece of my dream. To BE that person who "reveals" to others what is "valuable, worth listening to, worthy of our touch, sacred to our touch." To BE the person who speaks out the value that I see in those I come into contact with.
 
I'm not sure what "piece" this is in my "beautiful, impossible dream," but it most definitely IS one.

Jesus & The Starbucks Connection

I don't claim to be a Christian anymore, but that doesn't mean I don't think about the faith I grew up in. In fact I think about it a lot. Write about it a lot, as you know if you stop by here with any frequency. Often I write in my sadness and anger, looking back at a former set of beliefs that hurt me in more ways than it added to me. I've left evangelical Christianity behind, but I think it would be easier for some people to believe that because I say I'm not a Christian, that that means I hate God, don't believe there is a God or have completely stopped thinking about God.

Fact is, I'm not a Christian and I think about God a lot.

I especially respect the person of Jesus as represented in the Bible. His interaction with people, especially those the religious establishment of his day judged, wrote off, condemned, rejected and abandoned is simply beautiful to me.

I'm not a Christian and I think about Jesus a lot.

Jesus, according to the Biblical account of his life, interacted with people in some really incredible ways. He connected with the people they WERE, rather than asking them to change, telling them they should change, or even asking them to emulate his own actions and behaviors. When Jesus interacted with people, he effectively made a "place" between the people he was talking to and himself. A place where they could sit down together with no shame and no hiding of their true selves. He understood the context of their pain. He saw THEM and didn't define them by their actions or behaviors.

That "place" he created for himself and whoever he was relating to was what he called "The Kingdom of Heaven." It wasn't like a lot of our experiences of "church" where you have to dress up, hide your pain, pretend you are "better" than you are and act like you have it together. Jesus, over and over, looked for and saw the REAL person underneath the behavior, actions and pain, related to and loved unconditionally THAT person. The connection between Jesus and the person he was relating to was for many the first time they had ever been utterly naked AND utterly loved and accepted. That's exactly how I want to be loved and how I want to love others.

But what was going on in those moments? I think I know. This wasn't all about God being able to magically see into people's hearts. That may or may not have also been going on. But I think to only define Jesus' treatment of others by that "divinity" would be a grave error. He seemed to think others were capable to doing the same. So what is it that he was doing that we are also able to do?

I think it was simply that Jesus approached connection with others with the expectation/goal of seeing through the shit to the real person and loving THAT person. I think it's that simple. He was living proof that the religious way of approaching people with a, "Are you 'good' or 'bad?' I get to decide," attitude was not loving and had no place in the kingdom of heaven. He simply saw. And he loved. Period.

So what was happening that created such a "real" connection between Jesus and those he interacted with? I've been thinking a lot lately about how, when we accidentally or on purpose connect with someone outside an established human construct, we often feel and experience a "connection" that we wouldn't normally. That connection is, at least in my mind, usually of a spiritual nature. Something happens when we are connecting with someone in a way that isn't governed by rules, norms or standards. It's almost as though we can sneak in a backdoor, by-passing the part of our brains that says, "Act like this; talk like this; this person is that; this interaction is limited to ..."

It happens in Starbucks sometimes. You might be sitting there in a sunny spot, watching stranger after stranger walk by, but then one stops and asks if they can share your table since the others are all filled. Every once in awhile that thing happens where two people move from strangers to people who "see" the other one in a matter of minutes, simply because they shared a table at Starbucks.

It happened in the streets of Christchurch, New Zealand a few weeks ago during the earthquake, and then again in the aftermath of the tsunamis in Japan. Strangers clung to on another in a sudden, illogical intimacy as they stood in the streets and watched helplessly while family, friends and colleagues were crushed or drowned. All of a sudden two people who would normally have no reason to even speak to one another spontaneously joined hands and cried into one another's shoulders. People who would never have helped one another because of gaps in age, gender, socio-economic level, etc. became one another's very real saviours, friends, brothers.

It happened in my family when one of my sisters gave her son up for adoption nearly 8 years ago. It is an open adoption, which means our entire family has a real relationship with my nephew and his adoptive family. Open adoption is new enough that there aren't "rules" for how to do it. We've made them up as we've gone along, following heart rather than head, without even meaning to or realizing we're doing it. While others would think we "lost" my nephew to another family, the reality has been that we "gained" a sister and brother "in-law," a second nephew and two extra nieces. My kids have an extra aunt and uncle, as well as extra cousins. There's no map, no rules and no "optimum result" besides my nephew being loved. That's it. So much beauty has grown out of what could have been a heart-wrenching loss.

Sometimes we experience this connection with someone else in the beginning stages of a romantic relationship. Often times it is at that "love is blind" stage of a relationship that we are able to see the "real," the good and the beauty in a person simply because we WANT to see it and are looking for it.

But my husband and I have experienced it in moments we'd never have expected it, as we sort through the anger, hurt, sadness and disappointment of our marriage. Our love isn't blind anymore, and in fact, the eyes with which we see all too clearly now often brim with tears. We're working through some serious shit in our relationship. It hurts like hell. But sometimes after hours of agonizing conversation, we find ourselves laughing through tears about some silly thing totally unconnected to the bitter pain that is still wet on our cheeks. In those moments of half-hysterical hilarity, we see in one another the old Cheryl and James that stood on the balcony of a pink house all those years ago, watching the stars 'til the sun came up. Sometimes the giggles lead to a tearful embrace and for a few minutes, the pain is gone and it's just ... "us," however impossibly, connecting.

Wherever or however it happens, we've all felt it to some degree. And I guess I'm just asking if maybe those "moments"—those connections—whether for a brief time or a lifetime, are what life is all about. I'm asking if maybe Jesus was living like that. I'm wondering what would happen if we intentionally lived like this, as much as possible.

How much in our lives and in our world would change if we lifted the human "constructs" off and just looked around at one another with eyes like Jesus'?

To Love Me is to Know Me

Question...

~Do you feel like you are understood by someone in your life? Like....reallllllllly understood?

Perhaps a couple better questions...

~Is there anyone you trust enough to show the real you?
~Have you ever shown anyone the real you?

And lastly...

~If you haven't shown anyone the real you, can you EVER really feel loved by anyone?
~If someone says they love you, but you know you've kept the real you hidden from them, is it possible to accept that person's love? 

Revisiting "Tattoos & Unconditional Love"

I can't stop thinking about the post before last and the concept of a community that is based on something besides common theological belief. Is it possible? If so, what would it look like?

It struck me this morning that there are ways I already know what such a community would look like. I've written about it before. It's kind of an allegory, but still...it says exactly what I've been trying to say. So I'm re-printing this blog-post and hoping you will want to join me in or continue in the dialogue about the kind of community we all long for, even if we've never been able to put that longing into words.

I'd love to hear what you think after you read it...

Tattoos and Unconditional Love
 

“I recalled a morning years ago in a boxy church in Tujunga, the fluorescent lights, chipped folding chairs. Starr charmed as a snake while Reverend Thomas explained damnation. The damned could be saved, he said, anytime. But they refused to give up their sins. Though they suffered endlessly, they wouldn’t give them up, even for salvation, perfect divine love. I hadn’t understood at the time. If sinners were so unhappy, whey would they prefer their suffering? But now I knew why. Without my wounds, who was I? My scars were my face, my past was my life. It wasn’t like I didn’t know where all this remembering got you, all that hunger for beauty and astonishing cruelty and ever-present loss…I had already seen more of the world, its beauty and misery and sheer surprise, than they could hope or fear to perceive. But I knew one more thing. That people who denied who they were or where they had been were in the greatest danger. They were blind sleepwalkers on tightropes, fingers scoring thin air. So I let them go, got up and walked away, knowing I’d given up something I could never get back. Not Ann and Bill Greenway, but some illusion that I’d had, that I could be saved, start again.”

(Fitch, p. 306)

I've been thinking a lot about who I am. Like...really, who am I? The answer to that somehow lies in the life I've lived so far, the things I've seen, the things I've heard and read, the places I've been and the people I've loved and been loved by. All of that is in me.

Like Astrid in the passage above, I say, “Without my wounds, who was I? My scars were my face, my past was my life.” Somehow this is very connected to my altered vision of God, to the wall I have always seemed to run up against. I used to intellectually say that I am sorry for my sin. Yet somewhere inside of me, I didn't feel sorry. Isn't it those things, as well, that make me who I am?

Somewhere inside of me, I feel the longing to live in a tribe where women gather and paint on their bodies the stories of the pain, the anguish, the joys, the surprises and the beauty of their lives. I know the feeling I would have as I looked at my friends’ and sisters’ bodies, the pleasure and the pain they have known represented on their skin, blending together, making something so beautiful tears would fill my eyes.

I would wear my own stories proudly, my regret and my gladness mixing inside, just as the stories on my body ran into one another, making a new, more beautiful story than if one had happened and not the other. No one would know where one story and one emotion left off and where others began. I would be a beautiful tapestry and I would not be ashamed.

I would paint honestly and clearly the truth of my life and I would read the truth of the others’ lives that they painted. I would know myself. I would know them. They would know me. We would know one another. And we would love one another for telling the truth, for being alive. We would call what we saw, the result of the bad and the good in our lives, beautiful, for that’s what it would be.

At twilight all of us women would go and meet all of the men in one central place. The men would have painted their stories on themselves, as well, and there would be a palpable excitement about seeing one another.

We would sing. We would read one another’s stories. We would laugh and cry together. And then we would dance.

I would get up and walk toward him. His eyes would be soft and gentle, filled with a loving look and lit by the fire. Our hands would touch and I would lean against him. Our stories would blend together as we danced to the music in the firelight.

“Cheryl,” he would whisper, love in his voice, as I looked up at him.

“You are wholly beautiful, my love,” he would tell me tenderly and I would know what he meant.

It would mean that he had read all the stories, that he saw it all, that he knew me. That he looked at not just the story on my arm or my left thigh, above my right eyes or across my belly. I would know he had looked at the whole picture, that he saw all of me…the truth of me.

And seeing all that, he would think I was beautiful and love me. Not in spite of the “bad” parts, not because of how much better I became after the bad parts. Not because he avoided looking at some parts or tricked his mind into not feeling anything when he saw them.

Instead, he would love me because of the whole of who I was. Because of everything and because of the beautiful design that no one else wore. Because of every part of me, each bit a result of my life, good and bad. I would be loved unconditionally.

National Back to Church Sunday: The Conversation

It's National Back to Church Sunday and I'd like to link to some posts by bloggers about their experience of today. I'll add them to the list below as I become aware of them. Please send me your link if you'd like to be included in this list (cherylensomdack@gmail.com):

Greg Albrecht (Plain Truth Ministries/Christianity Without the Religion): "Back-to-Church Sunday?"
Kristin Tennant: "'Why church?' is the wrong question"
Glenn Hager: "Back to Church"
Me: "Dis-churched on National Back to Church Sunday"
Melissa: "What Worship Means to Me"
Susan Isaacs (author of Angry Conversations with God):  "Back to Church"

The Field

“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I will meet you there.” ~Jalal ad-Din Rumi


Thinking a lot about this business of "right" vs. "wrong," "good" vs. "bad," etc. It keeps coming up, everywhere from the book my husband and I are reading to discussions my children and I have been having. I have some thoughts about this that are all over the map, and I'm going to spend some time blogging about them.
These thoughts may seem unrelated to one another, or perhaps, like me, you see, hear and feel a kind of "golden thread" running through it all, leading to....I don't know, but it's there...in that field Rumi is describing in the above (very ancient) quote that life happens. Somehow I know that it's there in that field that I'll find the Tree of Life that Adam and Eve felt "driven away from." The "good" and the "bad" sorting system will collapse and it will just be...us. To imagine the sort of love and connections we could have without that sorting system governing us is stunning. THAT, to me, would be "heaven."
I'd love any feedback you have. I won't publish Anonymous comments. Cowards comment anonymously. But I WILL publish any comments that are not hateful and are not anonymous. So let's hear what you think!
So let's start with the Rumi quote at the start of this post. Thoughts? Feelings? Even if your answer is, "Darn if I know!" I'd love to get your input.

The End of Suffering...

A Buddhist friend told me that, "Right understanding is the end of suffering." Not pain, of course. Suffering. Jesus said, "The truth will set you free."

I've been thinking about this a lot. I see over and over the way this is true. If I have the courage to say what I really feel, think and want, and then live out of that, I am experiencing relationships with others in ways I never have before. Old wounds are healed I thought were impossible to heal.

When I want to understand others, my view of them falls away and I see them as they are, usually more like me than different. When we want to understand one another and we walk into a conversation or interaction with acceptance and love for one another, no matter what, something amazing happens. There is a connection. Something clicks. Something falls into place. New things happen. A sort of richness of relationship that is different than anything I've encountered before.

I have realized as I've left behind religion the way I experienced it that I truly never learned to trust myself. Or others, really. The Bible says, "the heart is deceitful above all things and desperately wicked. Who can know it?" I believed that literally. So I grew up believing that if I am honest, if I really listen to what I feel, if I go after what I want, etc. I will end up in the very pit of hell and probably drag a few dozen others along with me in the process! I simply didn't (don't still in many ways) trust myself. It's been and continues to be a process of learning to listen to the real me inside, and then, gradually, learn to trust that.

It was as though I had these muscles inside of me that had never developed or even atrophied from lack of use; Christianity told me I wasn't allowed to use them or that I didn't even HAVE them. I was deeply and totally BAD inside, I read and heard. The only goodness I was capable was when I tapped into/surrendered to God, who, if my heart was right, would infuse his own goodness into me. But I'm finding that that's just not true. I am finding "God" (goodness, truth, compassion, love) inside of ME. Not "out there." Not infused by a sky god who is separate from me and must be appealed to.

It's not changing who I am; it's uncovering who I am.
It's not ignoring the inside of me; it's falling back into it.
It's not a big "clean-up"; it's a peeling off of layers or a birth of something inside of me.

Now I am going through some "physical therapy," I guess! Learning what those muscles, that were there all along, are and do. Strengthening them. Letting blood flow into them. The book/film, "The Secret Garden" is a beautiful allegory of all of this growth and change for me.

Watch for:
-Letting light flood into dark places.
-Truth being revealed and lies being dispelled.
-The miracles that happen as we say the way things really are, challenge what we've been told is true and walk boldly into places we thought we couldn't.
-The way other people in our lives can BE the courage we don't have sometimes.
-Old, desolate places being uncovered, opened and cut back until a beauty that was there all along is revealed.
-Suffering ending.
-Muscles being found and what happens when they begin to strengthen.

As you watch the clips from "The Secret Garden" below, what else do you see/feel/hear/notice? What causes a warmth in your tummy as you see or hear it? What brings tears to your eyes? What do you find yourself wanting to have, to do, to see? What causes something that feels like what someone striking the lowest chords on a piano sounds like?



and then...

Mothers...a short video

"Regardless of where they come from or what their circumstances may be, mothers everywhere share the same hopes and dreams...."

Art & Motherhood

Where do “Art” and “Motherhood” intersect, or do they? Are they mutually exclusive? Does one enhance the other? Can they exist in one person’s life harmoniously?

For many of us artist-mothers, the place they intersect is guilt. Neither role – artist or mother – is ever enough in itself so we are perpetually feeling badly or negatively about what we are doing and how we are doing it at any given moment. Especially with babies and toddlers around, any time spent focused on art can feel to the mother, selfish. In a society whose history is miserably misogynistic, where women taking part in an enjoyable activity for the sake of enjoyment is downright sinful, even the most ardent feminists find the “line” between the needs of self and the needs of their children not a line at all. And depending on which side of this blurry division we settle on in any given moment, we will feel negatively about ourselves in some way.

I am an artist so I can’t speak to the feelings of women who don’t “make things for fun” but I’m told the tension between the needs of self and the needs of one’s children is similar. Whether the self’s need is to paint, read a book, embroider or take a walk, the activity means the same thing: me carving out a space for myself in my life that has nothing to do with my children. What that space looks like differs from one woman to the next. And of course there are those who genuinely enjoy their career in this way and are “fed” by it in a similar way.

My experience is complicated, as every woman’s is. I can describe it best as a series of tensions:

- Encouraging independent play and education vs. Hands-on mothering and teaching

- Doing the art that makes me happy vs. being selfless and thinking about my children’s needs

- A desire for my girls, especially, to see me as an individual, rather than a role vs. a desire for my children to feel my presence is a “given” and something they can rely upon

- A desire to nurture myself vs. a desire to nurture my children

- Modeling a creative, spontaneous and artistic way of living vs. the supposed security of having me at their beck and call

- Connecting with other artist-mothers via the internet vs. ignoring the computer until they are in bed

I could go on. You have your own list like this: your needs on one side and your children’s on the other with a line between them that is so faint you can’t even find it. This guilt-inducing, stressful tension exists between so many of our priorities in a way we didn’t feel as childless women. It can feel as if we never do anything well. And when we do something well, it is at the cost of forfeiting something on the other side of our “line,” so we don’t even get to enjoy our successes.

My art and my business are mixed up with one another in a complicated way, as well, which further muddies the water. I very often feel guilty about the work I do when my children are awake but when I think about not doing this work, I feel as though my heart is being ripped out. On the other hand, I don’t like the feeling of half-heartedly, distractedly caring for my children. What to do?

Though I struggle with this “tension” daily, there is something that has helped me handle my feelings in a way that is kinder to me. I think we artist-mothers walk a tightrope of needs. The air on one side of the tightrope is our children’s needs; the air on the other is our own needs. We know that diving into just one will be disastrous for many reasons, so we are constantly trying to keep our balance on the tightrope, often shaking with the exertion. But just as a real tightrope-walker would do, we sway to one side now, to the other side later, constantly correcting our balance.

It has helped me to realize that the fact that I am willing to walk that tightrope at all means I am a good mother and that I am caring for myself and for my children. I could just hop right off the tightrope to one side or the other. And there would be a way that would be “easier.” I wouldn’t have to decide what to do today, how to handle this situation tomorrow or wrestle with my priorities the following day. I’d have a default mode and in many ways a script of how to go through each day.

Neither of those are acceptable to me. I can’t be content jumping one way or the other. The only hope of contentment, self-respect and success clearly lies in a balance of these two. It means my leg muscles get toned, my abdominals become stronger and I mutter expletives under my breath when I nearly fall off the tightrope altogether. But that exercise of righting myself, leaning one way and then the other, constantly, is, at the end of the day, where I want to live.

This feeling was confirmed by the amazing Mary Englebreit who spoke at a conference called “Silver Bella” that I attended a little over a year ago. A friend of mine asked Mary how she balances her work and her family. She paused, smiled meaningfully and said simply, “I don’t.” She described that tightrope well: some days you go and do work; other days you do your husband (her words!). She has grown children but intimated that the period of time with little ones at home was challenging. She is woman who must draw. Must. It is as necessary as water.

If, as an artistic mother, doing art is something that feeds my soul, helps me process the world, touches others and in general, adds to my emotional health and well-being, why is it so difficult to give myself what I need? I understand perfectly that when I am taking care of a newborn, it will do no good to invest all my resources, time and money in feeding my child, while I go hungry. Eventually I will starve, leaving the helpless child without an avenue through which to be nourished. My emotional health is just as important as my physical health. And yet…I feed myself guiltily. I give myself the nourishment I need with the sick feeling that I am taking food from my own children’s mouths.

What is a mother to do? I think recognizing, acknowledging and accepting our needs is the first step. Deep inside our knowing place we have heard, perhaps in a whisper, the truth: we must do art. As long as we silence our “knowing place” or “seat of wisdom,” or “gut,” or whatever word you choose to use, plugging our ears to the soft, gentle wisdom, we will be at odds with ourselves and with our life. Time spent nurturing our children will feel more like work and we will experience it primarily as inconvenience, as our children “taking” something from us, and as something slowly killing something inside of us. Our deep wisdom knows this is no way for children to be parented!

To start with we must each sit with ourselves, just as we would one of our children. Imagine, if it helps, holding yourself on your own lap, wanting to know what this dear one needs. Ask her. Listen to her. Don’t judge or qualify. Don’t interrupt her with “shoulds” and “shouldnt’s.” Give her time to speak, uninterrupted.

After you ask her what she needs, ask her what she would do if she were given permission to do so. What would she create, make, sew, paint, alter or otherwise apply herself to? What makes her heart beat faster to think about? What materials would she like to have at her fingertips? Perhaps she will tell you she needs a “place” that is all hers, in which to do her art, even if it’s a corner.

Just listen…don’t tell her what is practical, what she has time for, that the materials are too costly, or that others won’t understand. Allow her to dream aloud.

Stop there. Just sit with that artistic “you.” Again, think about her as your beloved child. If your child were to sit on your knee and tell you a fantastic dream of a beautiful playhouse, painted pink, full of child-size furniture in which she could host tea parties, you wouldn’t tell her that was stupid. If your child were to come to you with a sketch of her ideal bedroom – a bunk bed shaped like a castle, a slide coming out of it, a toy unicorn on which to ride and a specific shade of pink for the bedding, which of course would feature princesses – you would smile delightedly in the knowledge that your child has a sharp and creative mind. There would be no talk of practicality or feasibility. You would validate her imagination and love her all the more for the fabulous ideas she has.

If that dear child came to you with such beautiful, imaginative dreams, what would your response be, after the child left the room to play? You would ponder her dreams and ideas…is there a way to make this happen? You might google castle bunkbeds or pink playhouses. You would perhaps tweak the budget a bit so that even a part of your child’s dream could come true.

After all, you remember being a child like her, a dream fairly bursting out of your mind and heart. You love her. Of course you will do all you can to not just meet her needs, but to fulfill her dreams.

Give yourself this same gift. Make your own dreams and creative ideas a priority. Give yourself permission to be who you know you are inside. Your inner “knowing” will tell you that that woman, fully alive, is the best mom your children could hope for.

The other day my daughters were talking to one another about what they are going “to be when they grow up.” One said a zoo-keeper or a vet. The other said a vet or a doctor. But then she added, “Or an artist like Mama.” My eyes welled up. These beautiful little girls are watching me come alive as I create. They witness the way a pile of “stuff” becomes a piece of art that is beautiful and significant. They understand that art touches others in deep ways. They experience the real me…and they enjoy this me enough that they want to be like me. Amazing.

Tattoos & Unconditional Love

“I recalled a morning years ago in a boxy church in Tujunga, the fluorescent lights, chipped folding chairs. Starr charmed as a snake while Reverend Thomas explained damnation. The damned could be saved, he said, anytime. But they refused to give up their sins. Though they suffered endlessly, they wouldn’t give them up, even for salvation, perfect divine love. I hadn’t understood at the time. If sinners were so unhappy, whey would they prefer their suffering? But now I knew why. Without my wounds, who was I? My scars were my face, my past was my life. It wasn’t like I didn’t know where all this remembering got you, all that hunger for beauty and astonishing cruelty and ever-present loss…I had already seen more of the world, its beauty and misery and sheer surprise, than they could hope or fear to perceive. But I knew one more thing. That people who denied who they were or where they had been were in the greatest danger. They were blind sleepwalkers on tightropes, fingers scoring thin air. So I let them go, got up and walked away, knowing I’d given up something I could never get back. Not Ann and Bill Greenway, but some illusion that I’d had, that I could be saved, start again.”

(Fitch, p. 306)

I've been thinking a lot about who I am. Like...really, who am I? The answer to that somehow lies in the life I've lived so far, the things I've seen, the things I've heard and read, the places I've been and the people I've loved and been loved by. All of that is in me.

Like Astrid in the passage above, I say, “Without my wounds, who was I? My scars were my face, my past was my life.” Somehow this is very connected to my altered vision of God, to the wall I have always seemed to run up against. I used to intellectually say that I am sorry for my sin. Yet somewhere inside of me, I didn't feel sorry. Isn't it those things, as well, that make me who I am?

Somewhere inside of me, I feel the longing to live in a tribe where women gather and paint on their bodies the stories of the pain, the anguish, the joys, the surprises and the beauty of their lives. I know the feeling I would have as I looked at my friends’ and sisters’ bodies, the pleasure and the pain they have known blending together, making something so beautiful tears would fill my eyes.

I would wear my own stories proudly, my regret and my gladness mixing inside, just as the stories on my body ran into one another, making a new, more beautiful story than if one had happened and not the other. No one would know where one story and one emotion left off and where others began. I would be a beautiful tapestry and I would not be ashamed.

I would paint honestly and clearly the truth of my life and I would read the truth of the others’ lives that they painted. I would know myself. I would know them. They would know me. We would know one another. And we would love one another for telling the truth, for being alive. We would call what we saw, the result of the bad and the good in our lives, beautiful, for that’s what it would be.

At twilight all of us women would go and meet all of the men in one central place. The men would have painted their stories on themselves, as well, and there would be a palpable excitement about seeing one another.

We would sing. We would read one another’s stories. We would laugh and cry together. And then we would dance.

I would get up and walk toward him. His eyes would be soft and gentle, filled with a loving look and lit by the fire. Our hands would touch and I would lean against him. Our stories would blend together as we danced to the music in the firelight.

“Cheryl,” he would whisper, love in his voice, as I looked up at him.

“You are wholly beautiful, my love,” he would tell me tenderly and I would know what he meant.

It would mean that he had read all the stories, that he saw it all, that he knew me. That he looked at not just the story on my arm or my left thigh, above my right eyes or across my belly. I would know he had looked at the whole picture, that he saw all of me…the truth of me.

And seeing all that, he would think I was beautiful and love me. Not in spite of the “bad” parts, not because of how much better I became after the bad parts. Not because he avoided looking at some parts or tricked his mind into not feeling anything when he saw them.

Instead, he would love me because of the whole of who I was. Because of everything and because of the beautiful design that no one else wore. Because of every part of me, each bit a result of my life, good and bad. I would be loved unconditionally.