I have just arrived home from a ten day trip to Utah, that time including travel. The past day has been a long one, and in spite of being extremely tired, my ultimate desire came down to spending tonight in my own bed and the two-and-a-half hour drive home to achieve that goal became an unfortunate requirement. So I stocked up on dinner/snacks/hydration, put in the current disc of my latest Book on CD listening project, and turned myself more or less westward.
A little more than an hour from home, this passage came along. I had to rewind it three times to allow it to sink in and penetrate my thoughts.
[The time-traveling narrator, Jim, is speaking with Jude, the youngest brother of Jesus, about an injury to one of his eyes, after the younger man had told another character that there was nothing wrong with it for Jesus to heal.]
"I have not asked him to heal it," said Jude, his voice as innocent as ever. "I can see everything that I need to see." ... "My brother came to me once--before all this, his ministry and miracles. I was six years old when a scraping plane fell from my father's shelf. It hit me here." He drew a much longer line near his eyes than what was currently evident. Jude continued, "Yeshua told me at that time, he said the injury was like a gift, a gift from Heavenly Father. By giving me this weakness, he said the Father would nurture in me far greater strengths. My brother was right; as I have said, I see all I need to see, and sometimes more."
I gazed at him in astonishment. I found myself reciting a verse of scripture. "I give unto men weakness that they may be humble, and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me, for if they humble themselves before me and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them."
"Beautiful words," said Jude. "I have not heard them before. Who spoke them?"
"A prophet," I said. "His name was Moroni." ... "He's from another place," I said, "another land. Besides, for you the words are already written here." I tapped two fingers to my heart. It seemed funny. I'd memorized that verse a long time ago as a teenager. I'd recited it often during my life, and yet it had taken a fourteen year old boy--the youngest brother of Jesus Christ--to help me really understand what it meant.
I paused the book and pondered the ideas. The main thing on my mind was the same thing that has been on my mind for approximately half of my life: my "faulty" period. It--and its sister act, a hypothyroid condition--has been what I would characterize as my major physical, emotional, and spiritual weakness since my early and mid teens. It has caused me grief, frustration, embarrassment, fatigue, despair, worry, anger, and all manner of other troubles over the years, in spite of thousands of dollars and hours spent on various treatments, tests, and (personally failed) regimens. I have very much I identified all too well with the despair, pain, and hope of the woman in Matthew 9, Mark 5, and Luke 8, she who had endured a twelve year issue of blood (menstrual period) and spent all her money on various physicians, seeking a cure before she made her way through the crowd to touch Jesus' hem. Time and again, I sought out the Priesthood as an antidote, a remedy, and never found it. Was my faith that weak? I began to severely doubt myself. In time, I thankfully learned not to see myself as broken, but I could not shake the feeling of incomparable weakness.
Given all of this, I began to think; How had this "problem" humbled me? And how had it become my strength? I knew that I was humble; I cannot count the hours and the tearful prayers I have spoke with God, trying to accept my lot in life while also seeking to do the best I could with what I had. My struggles had made me frugal in that way, or as I once heard it: "Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without." My life seemed a perpetual endurance race, wanting to do some much with so little on hand.
I knew that I was promised by God to have"numerous posterity", that I would become a mother and raise my children. I have struggled with this so many times; How could such a "faulty" organ, a faulty endocrine system ever support a child, much less several of them, no matter how much I wanted them? Clearly, this must be something that, in time, the Lord would strengthen in me. Right? I have always believed this, though sometimes it seemed utterly impossible.
Since first seeing my GP at fifteen years old, I've been on this roller coaster of constantly seeking for my cure, seeking out my wholeness, seeking for a way not only to keep my blood inside my body three-quarters of the time-where it belongs-but to also lose weight and overcome my other various obstacles. My GP wanted to put me on the pill at first, an idea that I rejected. It just didn't ring true to me, forcing artificial hormones into my body. Then there was the thyroid replacement pill. Both of these plans had a fatal flaw: me. I hate pills. I hate taking them: short-term, long-term, on a schedule, with a meal, it doesn't matter. I am notoriously bad at remembering to take my pills or supplements, or wanting to when I do remember. Nevertheless, I tried. I really tried. I've tried many times over the years, and it just never quite works for more than a couple of weeks or months to stay on a schedule.
About age sixteen, I turned to herbs to try and find a way out of or through my predicament. I walked into Rosemary's Garden and bought my first herb book, Herbal Healing for Women by Rosemary Gladstar, the store's original owner. I began to read and to test out various herbs. It was a lazy, meandering sort of study, but as time went on, I bought a lot of books (that I never heard the whole way through) and did several bouts of research on my ailments. Then the ailments of others. I began trying teas and tinctures for colds and flus, and ointments for aches and pains. By age 21, I was enrolled at the California School of Herbal Studies, though I barely attended more than half of the first semester before the wind was knocked out of my sails. So I turned to massage, the path my parents had often encouraged me to follow, and it was the right fit for me. By this time I had an inkling of what a doula was, and I became interested in pregnancy and birth and babies. Again, my course was slow for several years, but in time, I trained and began to learn and study. I became a budding birth geek. I supported, I advised, I referred, I helped, I touched, and sometimes I even healed. Still, I struggled with my blood, never recognizing too profoundly what it had done for me.
As I thought through this journey, I came back around to those blessings I had received, the ones promising that my providers would have the answers to stop my bleeding, answers I never accepted. Blessings I never accepted. I had always felt ashamed at my stiffneckedness, but in a rush, I understood: God knew me. He knew that I would choose another path, but he always, always let me know that if I wanted a way out, it was there for me to take. I could have had the cure of medicine at any time I wished to claim it, but I chose this other path, whether through rebellion, stubbornness, weakness, or misunderstanding. God knew this would be my choice, and instead, set me on this path I have followed for some dozen years. Had I chosen the path of allopathic medicine to heal me, I would not be who I am. I would not have these great interests. I would not use my hands to ease pain and make my wage. I would care very little about birth or reproductive health in the ways that I do. I would not be myself. I would be someone else entirely. He used the weakness he knew I had--knowing still that I loved him, that I wanted to do his will--and used it to His purpose, all the while letting me think that it was my idea.
Perhaps most importantly, I know that my faith remains intact. I have been accountable for my choices, accountable for the fact that I still struggle with my issue of blood, but my weakness--the "failure" that I allowed to continue--has now become another, greater strength. I know I have another mission here in this life, to touch and to teach and to uphold and to heal, a mission I could not have fulfilled without my weakness.
This is my health, my wholeness, my holiness. This is my blood mystery.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Monday, September 20, 2010
The Wise Woman Tradition Loves Rough
From Susan S. Weed's Healing Wise:
Just as receptive power seems a contradiction in terms to some, so too does rough love. Compassion, forgiveness, and unconditional love evoke a sense of squishy soft acceptance to many. In the Wise Woman tradition, love is rough, real, truthful, and unattached to outcome. In the Wise Woman tradition, love says "no" as often as it says "yes."
The Wise Woman tradition sees compassion as passionate. Passion shared is compassion. Passion is rough; passion is wild. Screams and shouts and tears and touches are part of living with passion, being com/passionate in the Wise Woman way.
Forgiveness is focused on self, in the Wise Woman way, and believe me, that can rough. Forgive yourself for being hurt, for suffering, and love yourself enough to tell yourself the truth about it. Is it time to say "no"?
In the Wise Woman tradition, forgiving ourselves opens our vision to our limits, to our cramped spaces, to our self-inflicted prisons. Keen-sighted from the truth, we see how to free ourselves by setting boundaries that truly protect our fragile aspects yet are moveable, permeable to nourishment, so we receive the intimacy we desire. Saying "no" leads to unconditional love.
Unconditional love that nourishes the inner being does not tolerate abuse, ugliness, lies. Unconditional self-love brings self-respect and demands it of others. Unconditional self-love knows that it is unloving of anyone, self or other, to allow abuse to continue, no matter their age or circumstances. Loving ourselves unconditionally strengthens our power to say "no" when our heart knows that beauty and the truth are not present.
The wise woman understands that, for most of us, saying "no" is hard to do. We're afraid that if we say "no," we won't get enough love. Or worse yet, we won't be allowed to give our love away, and we need to give our love away so we can expect to get love from others. The wise woman understands that we expect love to come from outside, not inside. She knows that this expectation, this assumption, this hope--that love comes from outside--prevents us from speaking our truth when our heart demands that we say "no."
Loving ourselves, generating love from inside, not trying to get it from outside, that is the Wise Woman way, a way that allows "no" to reveal its loving nature.
Become aware of how often you do the expected thing, the good thing, the right thing, says the Wise Woman helper, and acknowledge the part of yourself that is a liar, that is afraid to say "no."
Truth and unconditional love support each other. To love yourself unconditionally, you must tell yourself the truth. You cannot hear your own truth if you are lying to others. Begin to tell the truth in the smallest thing. This brings you wholeness. Tell the truth often and you will be filled with beauty. You will have health. You with walk the beauty way of health/wholeness/holiness. Your truth will bless all you encounter. You will be blessed. Do not be afraid to reveal your own uniqueness, for that is part of your blessing.
Just as receptive power seems a contradiction in terms to some, so too does rough love. Compassion, forgiveness, and unconditional love evoke a sense of squishy soft acceptance to many. In the Wise Woman tradition, love is rough, real, truthful, and unattached to outcome. In the Wise Woman tradition, love says "no" as often as it says "yes."
The Wise Woman tradition sees compassion as passionate. Passion shared is compassion. Passion is rough; passion is wild. Screams and shouts and tears and touches are part of living with passion, being com/passionate in the Wise Woman way.
Forgiveness is focused on self, in the Wise Woman way, and believe me, that can rough. Forgive yourself for being hurt, for suffering, and love yourself enough to tell yourself the truth about it. Is it time to say "no"?
In the Wise Woman tradition, forgiving ourselves opens our vision to our limits, to our cramped spaces, to our self-inflicted prisons. Keen-sighted from the truth, we see how to free ourselves by setting boundaries that truly protect our fragile aspects yet are moveable, permeable to nourishment, so we receive the intimacy we desire. Saying "no" leads to unconditional love.
Unconditional love that nourishes the inner being does not tolerate abuse, ugliness, lies. Unconditional self-love brings self-respect and demands it of others. Unconditional self-love knows that it is unloving of anyone, self or other, to allow abuse to continue, no matter their age or circumstances. Loving ourselves unconditionally strengthens our power to say "no" when our heart knows that beauty and the truth are not present.
The wise woman understands that, for most of us, saying "no" is hard to do. We're afraid that if we say "no," we won't get enough love. Or worse yet, we won't be allowed to give our love away, and we need to give our love away so we can expect to get love from others. The wise woman understands that we expect love to come from outside, not inside. She knows that this expectation, this assumption, this hope--that love comes from outside--prevents us from speaking our truth when our heart demands that we say "no."
Loving ourselves, generating love from inside, not trying to get it from outside, that is the Wise Woman way, a way that allows "no" to reveal its loving nature.
Become aware of how often you do the expected thing, the good thing, the right thing, says the Wise Woman helper, and acknowledge the part of yourself that is a liar, that is afraid to say "no."
Truth and unconditional love support each other. To love yourself unconditionally, you must tell yourself the truth. You cannot hear your own truth if you are lying to others. Begin to tell the truth in the smallest thing. This brings you wholeness. Tell the truth often and you will be filled with beauty. You will have health. You with walk the beauty way of health/wholeness/holiness. Your truth will bless all you encounter. You will be blessed. Do not be afraid to reveal your own uniqueness, for that is part of your blessing.
Bobbie - my eulogy
He was the big man next door when I was a little girl, a giant in my eyes who towered over my entire family, and who had to duck whenever he entered our home with his gentle strength. His hands were so huge that when I was tiny, I could have almost worn his wedding ring for a bracelet. That was before I knew him, but not my family.
We weren't always next door to the Smiths. In fact, compared to the time we've known them now, those years when we could walk thirty or so steps to each other's doors were relatively few. But they have always been and will always be our neighbors. The ancient white house, now on the other side of a fence and owned by two people since they moved, will always be theirs.
Bobbie was exactly whom you would want your neighbor to be. An open smile, a firm handshake that could swallow your own, and a perfect willingness to help: these were his trademarks. He loved to laugh, and when he did, even his chuckle would fill the room with the deep sounds of his voice. No opportunity for a pun was passed over, and as I learned what they were, we would trade them back and forth like cards.
He could speak to children, he understood them, and he loved them. I never had the opportunity to be his student in school or to have him as my coach, but no one I have ever met that was in his class or on his team has ever said he was anything but the best they ever had. I would have traded a few I had for him in a heartbeat.
He loved to bake, especially his eponymous Bobbie Bread, delicious and brown and warm and unbeatable fresh from the oven. He loved to work, especially out side and with his hands. Whether it was gardening or mowing the back yard, cutting up the mint over the leach field. You could smell for days when Bobbie had mowed the yard. He gave service more willingly than almost anyone, and he gave love. He stood by what he believed without fail, and always with love.
I speak in the past tense because these are my memories, but Bobbie lives on. He has finally gone home, having enduring his trials, and I know after giving his all. The world has lost one of its greatest men, the kind you're lucky to know one of in a lifetime. I was blessed to know Bobbie Smith as the big man next door.
We weren't always next door to the Smiths. In fact, compared to the time we've known them now, those years when we could walk thirty or so steps to each other's doors were relatively few. But they have always been and will always be our neighbors. The ancient white house, now on the other side of a fence and owned by two people since they moved, will always be theirs.
Bobbie was exactly whom you would want your neighbor to be. An open smile, a firm handshake that could swallow your own, and a perfect willingness to help: these were his trademarks. He loved to laugh, and when he did, even his chuckle would fill the room with the deep sounds of his voice. No opportunity for a pun was passed over, and as I learned what they were, we would trade them back and forth like cards.
He could speak to children, he understood them, and he loved them. I never had the opportunity to be his student in school or to have him as my coach, but no one I have ever met that was in his class or on his team has ever said he was anything but the best they ever had. I would have traded a few I had for him in a heartbeat.
He loved to bake, especially his eponymous Bobbie Bread, delicious and brown and warm and unbeatable fresh from the oven. He loved to work, especially out side and with his hands. Whether it was gardening or mowing the back yard, cutting up the mint over the leach field. You could smell for days when Bobbie had mowed the yard. He gave service more willingly than almost anyone, and he gave love. He stood by what he believed without fail, and always with love.
I speak in the past tense because these are my memories, but Bobbie lives on. He has finally gone home, having enduring his trials, and I know after giving his all. The world has lost one of its greatest men, the kind you're lucky to know one of in a lifetime. I was blessed to know Bobbie Smith as the big man next door.
The Book of Mormon: A piece of my Testimony
I recently went to Utah to attend the funeral of a long-time family friend. (I will post his eulogy shortly.) While waiting for Sacrament meeting to start, I was once again pondering on something a friend had said to me a year or two ago when she was learning about the Church. It's my opinion that she was less concerned with seeking spiritual truth than learning "facts", wherever they came from, ones that she could use to tell me why I was wrong. As I contemplated, this was the result.
If Joseph had been a treasure hunter, digging for gold and claiming to have found it, why then--instead of renouncing his vision, moving far away, and changing his name to live a life of luxury--would he instead go on to publish a single book--having to borrow money in order to do so--face persecution and prosecution, be driven from place to place, threatened, tortured, beaten, imprisoned, betrayed, and be subjected to all manner of hellish tribulation and hatred? Why would anyone endure so much for so worldly little, if there was not a deep spiritual truth at their foundation. How could that book have endured for nearly two hundred years with only increasing worldwide interest and devotion without truth in its very essence?
The Book of Mormon is equal to the Bible in significance and testimony of the Son of God, Jesus Christ, the Savior of the world. The major differences between these two records are the cultures and locations that wrote them, and the methods by which we gained them. One follows the House of Isreal--and in time, primarily the Tribe of Judah--and was compiled from many manuscripts and voted upon as an official consolidation of doctrine. The second followed an offshoot of Israel, preserved in the New World from the destruction of Babylon as followers of Jehovah, handed down through generations of kings and judges, compiled and condensed by ancient prophets and hid up to later be translated by a modern prophet.
Both exhort us to be obedient, to repent, to endure to the end, to make and keep sacred covenents with God, to have faith, hope, and charity, to be about the work of spreading the Gospel, to defend and support the weak, to deal justly with all people and peoples, to be kind, to be virtuous, to be honest, to worship God as the Father of all creation, to have mercy, to do good works, and above all else, to believe in Jesus Christ as Redeemer of the world.
the Book of Mormon has over 500 pages of cultural, literary, and spiritual complexity that is so complete, it is at the very least highly improbable that a farm boy with an eighth grade education could concoct them, much less compile them in sixty days. At best, the Book of Mormon is miraculous in its existence, to say nothing of its power to inspire good and the impact it has had on millions of lives across the world over the past one hundred and eighty years.
Whether on accepts Joseph Smith as a prophet or the Book of Mormon as legitimate Christian scripture, these are the simple facts of that tome.
I do accept the Book of Mormon as scripture, as great and worthy scripture, and I testify that it has profoundly changed and shaped my life. I am a better person since I began a consistent study of it in my early 20s; I am kinder, more patient, closer to God, and spiritually more sure of myself. I have gained great insight, knowledge, and wisdom from the Book of Mormon, and I know that it is true. Because it exists, because I have felt the whisper of the Spirit confirming it, I know that Joseph Smith was and is a Prophet, that he opened this dispensation for the restoration of the fullness of the Gospel, and that his work is still in force today. This I say in the name of Jesus Christ.
If Joseph had been a treasure hunter, digging for gold and claiming to have found it, why then--instead of renouncing his vision, moving far away, and changing his name to live a life of luxury--would he instead go on to publish a single book--having to borrow money in order to do so--face persecution and prosecution, be driven from place to place, threatened, tortured, beaten, imprisoned, betrayed, and be subjected to all manner of hellish tribulation and hatred? Why would anyone endure so much for so worldly little, if there was not a deep spiritual truth at their foundation. How could that book have endured for nearly two hundred years with only increasing worldwide interest and devotion without truth in its very essence?
The Book of Mormon is equal to the Bible in significance and testimony of the Son of God, Jesus Christ, the Savior of the world. The major differences between these two records are the cultures and locations that wrote them, and the methods by which we gained them. One follows the House of Isreal--and in time, primarily the Tribe of Judah--and was compiled from many manuscripts and voted upon as an official consolidation of doctrine. The second followed an offshoot of Israel, preserved in the New World from the destruction of Babylon as followers of Jehovah, handed down through generations of kings and judges, compiled and condensed by ancient prophets and hid up to later be translated by a modern prophet.
Both exhort us to be obedient, to repent, to endure to the end, to make and keep sacred covenents with God, to have faith, hope, and charity, to be about the work of spreading the Gospel, to defend and support the weak, to deal justly with all people and peoples, to be kind, to be virtuous, to be honest, to worship God as the Father of all creation, to have mercy, to do good works, and above all else, to believe in Jesus Christ as Redeemer of the world.
the Book of Mormon has over 500 pages of cultural, literary, and spiritual complexity that is so complete, it is at the very least highly improbable that a farm boy with an eighth grade education could concoct them, much less compile them in sixty days. At best, the Book of Mormon is miraculous in its existence, to say nothing of its power to inspire good and the impact it has had on millions of lives across the world over the past one hundred and eighty years.
Whether on accepts Joseph Smith as a prophet or the Book of Mormon as legitimate Christian scripture, these are the simple facts of that tome.
I do accept the Book of Mormon as scripture, as great and worthy scripture, and I testify that it has profoundly changed and shaped my life. I am a better person since I began a consistent study of it in my early 20s; I am kinder, more patient, closer to God, and spiritually more sure of myself. I have gained great insight, knowledge, and wisdom from the Book of Mormon, and I know that it is true. Because it exists, because I have felt the whisper of the Spirit confirming it, I know that Joseph Smith was and is a Prophet, that he opened this dispensation for the restoration of the fullness of the Gospel, and that his work is still in force today. This I say in the name of Jesus Christ.
Like unto Mother Eve
Welcome! I hope you enjoy your time here and that you find something worthy of reflection and contemplation in my little blog. It's really more of a personal project, a way of consolidating and categorizing my thoughts, questions, experiences, and questions about life, the Plan of Salvation, and the deep Truths-with-a-capital-T of God.
I love our noble mother, Eve. As with any mother, without her, we wouldn't be here. We wouldn't be who we are. I firmly believe she was courageous, adventurous, insightful, and wise; that she had an inkling of the grand scope of her decision to partake of the fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, and saw that it was indeed Good; that she has suffered an unjust reputation at the hands of her children through the ages, and the world owes her (and every woman abused or belittled in consequence of that reputation) an eternal apology. If you can't respect that stance, you very well may not like my blog, and I will exercise my right not to tolerate disrespect to her.
However, that's not really to point of this blog. I imagine Eve will be a somewhat rare subject here; there are too many other things on my mind. What I do want to impress upon my readers, though, is the spirit of Eve that I strive for in my life, and how it combines two of my interests into one: my religion/spirituality, and the Wise Woman traditions. I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. LDS. Mormon. I am a "crunchy granola" Mormon, to boot, and as part of that, lately I've been studying a lot about Wise Woman tradition. A lot of it fits nicely with my beliefs, some I'm still figuring out, and some I can't yet accept, if I ever do... which is a very Wise Woman thing to say, really. Anyway, a lot of this blog will be about how my non-spiritual and spiritual beliefs collide, coincide, correlate, and coalesce. A lot of it will just be thoughts about beliefs, doctrines, traditions, history, and whatever else crosses my mind. This is my spiritual journal. (Please play kindly. Thank you.)
-Sam
I love our noble mother, Eve. As with any mother, without her, we wouldn't be here. We wouldn't be who we are. I firmly believe she was courageous, adventurous, insightful, and wise; that she had an inkling of the grand scope of her decision to partake of the fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, and saw that it was indeed Good; that she has suffered an unjust reputation at the hands of her children through the ages, and the world owes her (and every woman abused or belittled in consequence of that reputation) an eternal apology. If you can't respect that stance, you very well may not like my blog, and I will exercise my right not to tolerate disrespect to her.
However, that's not really to point of this blog. I imagine Eve will be a somewhat rare subject here; there are too many other things on my mind. What I do want to impress upon my readers, though, is the spirit of Eve that I strive for in my life, and how it combines two of my interests into one: my religion/spirituality, and the Wise Woman traditions. I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. LDS. Mormon. I am a "crunchy granola" Mormon, to boot, and as part of that, lately I've been studying a lot about Wise Woman tradition. A lot of it fits nicely with my beliefs, some I'm still figuring out, and some I can't yet accept, if I ever do... which is a very Wise Woman thing to say, really. Anyway, a lot of this blog will be about how my non-spiritual and spiritual beliefs collide, coincide, correlate, and coalesce. A lot of it will just be thoughts about beliefs, doctrines, traditions, history, and whatever else crosses my mind. This is my spiritual journal. (Please play kindly. Thank you.)
-Sam
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