Life Journey

By Faith Chatham - Dec. 30, 2010
Copyright 2010 J Chatham

In 1941 it was 6 years before my birth.

In 1951 I longed to start first grade and when my big sisters came home for lunch they had to play school with their baby sister to console me. I learned to read and thought books should be read cover to cover without interruption. In the second, third, fourth and fifth grades, and on up into high school, I'd read by flashlight under the bed covers if mom insisted it was time to close the book, turnout the bedroom light and go to sleep.

In 1961 my father was killed suddenly in a train truck collision and my world crashed with him. It seemed the only way not to hurt that badly ever again was to not love that deeply. I spent hours sitting on the veranda, pouring out my heart and hopes to the seemingly all understanding black walnut tree in the side yard outside my bedroom window, watching light and shadows as they danced through the sycamore tree leaves projecting shapes on the century old bricks in our front walk. I listened to how loud the crickets sounded in the relative silence of the night and how bright, yet fleeting, was the light of fireflies in spring and summer. I tried to figure out what life was to be for me and what I was to be in it. Despite all the nurture and encouragement around me I felt rejected and abandoned. I was thin skinned and minor criticisms could send me on a tail spin. I tried to win acceptance by being a people pleaser, over achiever, dependable, kind and talented. I was a church group youth leader. I set out to change the world, help save the world, conqueor the world. Through baptized and believing in God, I was so into being the church that I missed out on being with God.

In 1971 I was trying to disentangle my heart from loving someone who crept up on me -- one I didn't consider a candidate to date let alone to fall in love with. The 22 years age difference and more than a little circumstance crowded out our joy. For both of us love was cloaked in mourning and denial.We didn't doubt love...but I noticed that what we loved and admired most in each other was diminished in our being together. I tried to convince God that our union was worthy to bless. He never did.

During that decade, work was my solace. I co-founded a community theatre in my home town, worked at the hometown newspaper, ran my own creative shop, exhibited and sold my paintings, owned and operated an art gallery and teaching studio. I wandered the woods with my border collie, sat on the shores of Lake o the Pines and Caddo Lake writing and reading poetry, painting and listening to the waves and seeking God and wondering if what I saw and perceived of life was what it really was or was supposed to be about. Mostly I wondered why love which didn't fit wouldn't release my heart and dreams and why someone who was miles away was more present than most folks who were actually in the same room with me. Despite my wishing it were otherwise, no new love could get through to me because neither I, nor my former lover, totally willed to severe the cord, though determined to stay away. Love and futility seemed one and the same.

In 1981 I closed my ad agency/creative shop in Longview and moved back to Arlington, worked at another newspaper and returned to college full-time. I'd just completed an internship at MHMR before leaving East Texas. I'd realized it would be futile to pursue a MA in psychology because, observing the misuse of confidentiality laws to protect incompetence and abuse by mental health practioners rather than for benefit of clients, I'd realized I'd probably be a whistle blower if I worked in clinical care settings. I studied Urban Affairs, communication, international political and economic systems. I earned a second bachelors degree in Russian Language and Soviet and Eastern European Area Studies. I studied in Russia and Eastern Europe two summers and spent part of a summer doing research at Stanford's Hoover Institute of War and Peace. I used a travel grant for intergovermental studies.

In 1991, I was a consultant for Fortune 500 companies. Recently out of grad school, I lived on an international stage, was connected with friends and acquaintances around the world. God was reopening my heart like a flower, regenerating closed off dreams and talents and sustaining me as I struggled in adjusting to living without my best friend and confident and my mother, who had both recently exited this world through long, multi-yeared journeys with the same invasive form of lung cancer. During this decade, business colleagues, priests, bishops and missionaries filled my mind and daytimer. I went to seminary and was "formed" as a Fransciscan.

Usually it seemed that I had a front row seat for my own life adventures as God worked things out better than I could dream, imagine or accomplish, though most folks seemed to try to give me the credit.Eastern Europe and Central America consumed much of my attention.

Despite hard work and success I couldn't get adequate affordable health care and my body suffered.

In 2001 I suffered massive neurological and physiological damage. By the end of the year I was totally disabled and my biggest life crutch -- work was ripped from my survivors toolbag. Doctor after doctor diagnoised and labeled me permanently and totally disabled. I never accepted either the totally or permanently label/prognosis.

The monastic journey ended abruptly when the Bishop took on more responsibility than he could handle and he delegated oversight to those who were unprepared and/orill-equipped to respect the vows and vocations of others.

In this decade, without medical doctors giving reason to expect much improvement, I've had to relearn basic life skills and processes, regain speech and cognitive functioning, reteach myself (with help of an incredibly patient friend) English, studying it like it was a foreign and not my native language. I've again begun to paint, write and advocate during this decade, though not as much or as smoothly or consistently as before. I lost the ability to drive and dance but experienced heightened gifts of mysticism and intercessory and contemplative prayer.

In late 2008 I was surprised to discover the ability to set aside fear. I was astounded by romantic love from a most unexpected dearly cherished old friend. I found myself enabled to receive love and to love more more deeply than ever in my life. I came to trust in God's love and in my own, and to receive, despite the fear of knowing that whether through separation of death or a decision, mutual or imposed by another, parting eventually is the reality of all love relationships while we inhabit these mortal bodies.We knew we were God's gift to each other. Instead of my loving another romantically, I let God love another through me romantically. Each time we hit a snag I let God reshape me. Instead of my trying to convince God, this time I let God gift us. It felt and appeared like it would be forever. Our dreams, hearts and hopes conjoined and then diverted.

2009 was a rough year emotionally and physically. I had five eye surgeries and had to begin relying some of the time on an electric chair. The presence of that chair made me more determined than ever to get to the place where I'll no longer need to use it. I'm not there yet, but there is now a glimmer which builds my hope. I haven't started painting again yet, but expect to next year.

By late 2010 I'd progressed to using a cane as much as the chair or walker. Occasionally I walk briefly without pain with neither. The love of my life (thus far) returned in friendship in late 2009, and we grew to a really good place spiritually and romantically this past year. This month he encountered someone else who literally takes his breath away and he hers. There is no room in his life for a former lover, nor in mine.

As 2011 approaches, I'm acutely aware that I am richly blessed. I see how far I've come cognitively, mentally, emotionally, spiritually in this past decade. It was the most physically confining yet emotionally expansive decade of my life. I fought and worked continually, unrelently to re learn to walk, to speak, to think, to write, to reason and to love and receive love. I've almost lived the life of a recluse with only a handful of friends within my inner chambers, yet it seems that thousands of folks I've never (or barely) heard of, think they know me! The battle is far from over, but as I assess where I was a decade ago and where I am now. I have hope for a future where I'll cast off fraility and experience stamina and health instead of premature senility and restriction. After five eye surgeries in one year I'm at last able to read novels for the sheer joy of it. I hope to shed the pain and regain the ability to walk and stroll for the fun of it. I miss dancing and have never ceased to long and dream of dancing. This month I read five novels just for fun. I hadn't read a novel for fun in years

Ten years ago there was little hope of getting where I am now. I'll let God give me new hope, fresh dreams, his anointing and his blinders and his vision, and those he chooses for me to experience his life with.

It has taken many decades for me to entrust my heart and soul to love. In 2008 when I was terrified , I poured my heart out to God. The little girl who'd huddled in Aunt Pole's stair well while Daddy's funeral was being planned, pinching myself hoping I'd wake up and find it wasn't real and he wasn't dead reminded God how very much love hurt.As I faced loving, God assured the woman I'd become that some day, whether by death or mortal acts and decision, there would be a parting. He didn't tell me he'd protect me from dissapointment, sorrow or hurt. But he promised me that if I'd receive his love and let him love another through me, God assured me when the time came, however soon or however long it might be, God promised me he'd be here, would take my hand in his and guide me through it. I hope the cord gets severed this time, though I can't say I don't love him. Sometimes we must be emptied before we can be truly filled. Instead of discarding, maybe we can release former lovers to God and trust that in God, there is no blessing to one or two at the expense of another, but rather to each their own special gift from God.

He is faithful and present. I'm as inquisitive and eager to learn today as I was 60 years ago. I'm less impetutious but not really that exceptionally much more patient. Instead of ploughing ahead I usually soak in listening prayer and look for the path where God clears out the way. I've learned to release those I love to God, whether they are near or physically, mentally or emotionally far away. I know God doesn't bless one of us by failing the other. The Father doesn't give to one child at the expense of another. If we give and receive the fathers love to each other and we're led in different paths, his blessing is for all, not for just one or two or a few out of many.

I expect this next decade to be the best in my life thus far. My joy is not dependent upon how another or others make me feel. Love is now to me a presence that transcends human acts or events.

Prayer

We pray, Father, for those who are lost and bewildered,
For those who are angry and confused,
For those who seek You and those who are running away.
We pray, Father, for those who are displaced
and for those who fear being displaced.

We pray for those who are mistaken and for those who are sure.
We pray that your comfort and forgiveness will fill our hearts
and we will comfort and forgive others.

We pray that any Spirit other than your Holy Spirit will be dispelled
from your houses of worship, your people, and your land.

We accept You Father and reach for You
through Your Grace.
Please fill us anew.

May we come together in Your Spirit
to serve and worship and know that as You atone for me,
there is no one beyond your reach.
O Father God, Jesus Christ and Holy Spirit.
Amen.

By Faith Chatham - September 2009

Anaheim 2009

By Faith Chatham - July 9, 2009
Some look on from benches, googling instead of genuflecting this year
Divorce is tough
Jesus says "Don't do it."

My two oldest sisters used to vie and juggle
Playing politics and presenting cases
Why each should be the "best", "right", deserve to be "most loved"
Mother never would choose
She lived for them both
How different is the Father's love?

It's Anaheim this year.
It's been Denver and other places where blood was let
The cup was passed in Jesus Name
Yet Cain smite Able
"It's because they said this" or "They think that…"
We're at the table arguing we can serve better only "if" and "when"
Can we? Do we?

It's Anheim this year.
Familiar faces from the crowd are at home across the nation
Some are missing from other continents
Some from down the block.
Between the lines folks are reading from within the hall and from cyber portals
To see how if "just rewards" will be melted down
Or only empty spaces will walk in columns
Past the line in the sand where discernment becomes judgement.
Oh, wait!

That's what the Father said -- only the Son can judge.

It's Anaheim this year.
Those I hold dear are within the room and at home.
I agree with "this.." over here and "that.." over there.
I see imperfectly.
It isn't quite so clear
Who is "right" and who is "wrong."
The Father said: "Don't sue".
"Don't judge".
"Don't marginalize".
"Honor my Word. Don't add or take away."

We live Him imperfectly.
He loves us immeasurably.

Mother hated holidays.
Sisters sat at table with agendas and grievances
She loved us all
And wouldn't choose
Her daughters were all imperfect
She'd held us in her womb
Wiped our tears and spanked our butts
She saw promise in our eyes
And believed that hearts can mend

Mother may understand God's heart better than clerics
And Bishops, delegates in Anaheim and delegates of previous years
Creation breeds hope from the dust

The bell rings.
God is near.
The cup is passed.
He decided, He alone decides
Who knows him best.
He alone knows who calls upon His name.
He alone recognizes the hand which reaches sincere and weak
Trusting

God needs no defender.
He is God.
He seeks no one to "prove His truth."

Reach.
Know God is God.
See the chasm.
Know shortness of our mortal leap.

None of us earned our Mother's love.
None of us understand the Father.

We are imperfect in our leap.
Their love doesn't measure the shortness of our dreams
Or charge a premium for inches not fulfilled on measuring sticks.
Those at home and those in Anaheim are in His heart.
He's neither deaf nor weak
He has patience
Waiting for spiritual toddlers to run out of steam
And be still
Getting quiet enough to hear His voice
And feel His hand comfort and encompass.

We see a bit
Think we know the rest.
He sees all
And holds us to his breast.
-- by Faith Chatham
copyright 2009

Break the Cord (excerpts)

By Faith Chatham - excerpt from SACRED SPACES - copyright 2009

...
Loving is more than merely touching
on the physical you see.
Love is both spiritual and mental,
defies the mortal touch.
It is stronger than mere phrases
uttered in haste or casual words.
Once mutually acknowledged,
recognizing what is real,
the mental and the spiritual resists attempts
to banish it or break it.
It's a unity of spirit,
the touch of God on man,
that makes it hard to crush it
and makes it hard to understand.

...
Just because it doesn’t fit
into our preconceptions,
what we previously thought
we really wanted or was best for us somehow,
doesn't stop the reverberations,
of communications through the air!

Maybe it's because love is really spiritual,
though sometimes expressed
in myriads of different ways.
Some folks use their hands, words, and actions,
physical bodies, or whisper words of praise.

Those are but ephemeral ways of expressing
what can’t be captured or held
within human hands.
Perhaps that might be why loving
sometimes seems like trying
to catch light and motion,
attempting to culp energy within our hands!
...

I hold these moments sacred,
frustrating though they are.
Not good at meshing or adjusting,
we dance in some weird precocious love.
Two spirits seeking God,
not letting go of each other,
we neither ended nor grew-to-fit
love’s transforming fire.

We ran and hid from joy and fulfillment,
making excuses,
not truly embracing
either solitude or rejection in our flight.

I love you still, my darling,
though at times I wish I could wish
that were not true.
Despite hurt stemming from perceived rejection,
I have not fully let go of you.

Until we both let go of each other,
in our thoughts and reverie,
we’ll continue dancing
in some spiritual dimension,
where love isn't ended
and hope defies mortal imagination
and overwhelming odds.

If you want to be free of me
you'll have to think it and really mean it,
be convinced through and through,
that you want to be free of me forever.

If you say it to yourself and really mean it,
will to let those thoughts
travel through the golden cord,
to singe the imprint of our being
from each other's psyche and each other's hearts,
then our minds will get the message.
It will close it off finally.
We'll stop searching for each other's souls,
listening for each other's footsteps,
and the cord will break which connects us.

If you want it, you have to really mean it,
to anchor it through and through.
or we'll continue to dance united
in spirit.
To break the cord between us,
we must unite in indifference,
not hearing the other's cry.
We must not care about joy or passion,
or comfort knowing the other is nearby.

If you truly want to break the cord between us,
you must not even slightly care!
Hurt, anger, love or longing
keeps the cord intact and strong.
Only the finality of indifference
can severe it in-two.

-- By Faith Chatham
copyright 2009

Tissue Paper

By Faith Chatham - excerpt from SACRED SPACES - copyright 2009

I tell God: ‘I don’t understand?
Don’t know
what I should feel,
or do?’
Wonder if I could do
what “I should”
if I only knew!

I’ve asked you
to help me
put it into context,
to help me
understand.
Yet, for some reason
you can’t
or won’t,
and I’m left wondering
why I still seek your soul
when you flee
from mine!

I railed at God,
and asked Him
to “take this love away.”

He told me “No!”
He reminded me
that I’d told Him
if He ‘honored me
with some
of His love for you,
I’d honor it,
and you,
as long as He chose
to trust me with it!’

Now you’re gone.
You seem to have moved far beyond
loving me,
yet my hurt and anger
gets replaced regularly
with a glimmer
of God’s incredible
love for you!

I talked to God about “pride” one day.
He told me that “this time, your pride
is not the most important thing!”

When the words I had for you
weren’t very kind,
He filled me with His words
and called you “his innocent!”

O Magnificent Betrayer of my heart,
O Sweet Obsession of my soul,
I wonder how long God will fill me
fresh every morning
with prayers for you?

Will my soul ever stop
searching
for yours?

Will I be able to take some of the trust
and hope
and joy
I knew in you
and wrap it gently
in tissue paper
and lay it in the “keep chest”
until we reach that other world
where love knows no boundaries
and does not
grow cold?

Why,
when your love for me
has gone dormant
does mine
still tremble?

For now, I have to trust
that in God’s time
I’ll cease to weep
when I think
of what we shared
and what we miss
in the silence
of these hours.
-- by Faith Chatham
copyright 2009

Hijacked

By Faith Chatham - excerpt from SACRED SPACES - copyright 2009

The Bishop
and most of the convention delegates
voted
to leave the church;

In leaving,
they decided to take the diocese
with them.

My parish left
with the Bishop,
though it still stands down the block
near home,
it’s became part
of the Southern Cone.

Most of us
were Christened as babies,
then decided to be Confirmed
when we grew older.
We decided
to become Episcopalian.

When the Bishop
and the parish left
taking us with them,
we didn’t have a say.

To remain Episcopalian
we had “to transfer back-in”
or we couldn’t stay!

I’ve never been south of Honduras,
yet they took “my spiritual allegiance”,
legally shifting it
far beyond
where I’d explored
and chose
for it to be!

I’m more comfortable
with the Theology
of the Bishop and most of those
who left than with some “who stayed.”

Most of those I hold most dear
have gone south.

Joining a church,
uniting with a denomination,
changing your “letter”
is very personal.

No one,
not an elected delegate
or my beloved Bishop
should be allowed
to make
that personal
of a decision
for me.

It’s between me and God.
Not even
the broken Theology
or politics of the church
justifies
such intrusion.

I transferred back
“into”
the Episcopal Church.
I may not stay,
but if I do,
or if I leave,
it won’t be by “majority vote”
or decree
of a church convention.

It will be about
how I’m fed,
what I feel,
how I serve,
Who I hear,
what I see,
Whose I am.
It will be a decision between God and me.
-- by Faith Chatham
copyright 2009

This Time

By Faith Chatham - excerpt from SACRED SPACES - copyright 2009

I didn’t get what I wanted.
I’d fallen in love before
and it had been disastrous.

This time I wanted to walk into love
carefully, prayerfully,
with both of us having time
to explore our own hopes and wishes,
and to consult with God’s heart,
to be sure and steady.

I sought a love that was sound and solid,
suited for earth
with the bliss of heaven.

Instead we found the bliss
and soon we were far
beyond the careful or the steady.

Soon after I trusted and believed,
you came and told me
you were “in over your head”.

I thought I could back-up,
give the love I’d found for you
back to God, and “move on.”

Instead, I found that I didn’t get what I wanted.
Finding myself far from shore
in loving you.

Though God is here,
He doesn’t seem to want
to help me get back.

You’re gone
and I wonder how long
my soul will keep searching for you
in the dark and in the day?

This time, I began in prayer loving you.
I’m still in prayer, seeking a way beyond the dream
which froze in my hand.

I wanted to walk
into love with you.
But love can’t be contained, or timed
or melded out by the tablespoonful.
It flows like water through life’s conduit.

I’m left wondering “what’s happened?”,
listening to see
if “over the head”
is like bobbin’ in the water,
a transitory interruption,
or a permanent outage.

I didn’t get what I wanted.
This time I wanted to walk carefully
into love.

-- by Faith Chatham
copyright 2009

Pots ‘n Pans

By Faith Chatham - excerpt from SACRED SPACES - copyright 2009
You told me
when your Mom used to bang those pots and pans,
you used to cringe
and wish
she’d just come out and say
what was bothering her.

You left and won’t talk to me.
I wish you’d tell me
what you think,
what you want,
what’s bothering you so much
that despite your loving me
you fled.

The silence is as loud
as those pots ‘n pans
reviberating though our minds.

-- by Faith Chatham
copyright 2009

I Used to Listen Better in the Church

By Faith Chatham - excerpt from SACRED SPACES - copyright 2009

God, I’m not comfortable with your church.
I feel closer to you when I’m here at home,
or in the yard with the air caressing my cheek,
or watching the bird perched on the patio fence.

Though I love the liturgy
and am fed by your word,
in congregations of people
I feel the distortion;
Distracted by others’ imperfections
I fail to recognize my own.

I used to hear you better when in church,
though I always seemed to hear you best
in church alone!

There is no sweeter chorus
than those I hear
when “no one’s there”.

When kneeling at the chancel rail,
when no mortal footsteps are near,
I feel the breath of Saints and Mary’s presence
and hear you speaking, Jesus.

I’m never closer to you Lord,
than at the communion rail.
Then I close out the world
and taste your Grace.

Though Church is social
and partly intellectual,
I find mortal chatter distracts me
from your face.
Frequently, it’s an arrow
directing me to prayer.

Sometimes,
someone says a phrase
which draws me closer to you.
Yet, usually,
I get distracted
or distract others.

Frequently,
I find it sweeter to sit
and listen
for you Lord, when alone.

In solitude
I hear
the heavenly host,
let you
test the spirits,
and fill me
with your peace.

I don’t fit in
with any of them,
yet they are my brothers and sisters.

Of all times
to be a “high church
Episcopalian!”
I have no peace
about either staying
or going.
I certainly have no allegiance
to the diocese of the Southern Cone,
yet recognize the violence
which propelled
those I love from the fold.

Instead of “evangelism” or “spiritual formation”,
energy and resources are enmeshed
in litigation.

Some mutter
about “them
hijacking a diocese.”

I mutter
about “them
hijacking Advent and Christmas!”

Instead of penance
and Holy Expectation,
communicants
of “both camps”
were thrust into incessant meetings
of reorganization!

I shook my head in dismay,
bewildered,
thinking what a sad way
to welcome the Messiah!

I see the flaws
in all of us;
am repelled
by “self-righteousness”
as each attempts
to “reflect God
as we understand Him”.

Some stand on canon and scripture,
caught in the web
of judging.

Others interpret it
as they see it,
feeling righteous
in “being broadminded”
and “more generous”.

It seems we’re all caught
in the web
of our own thoughts.

Come, Lord Jesus.
Deliver us from ourselves.

May we be protected
from the state
of “us and them.”

There is nothing righteous
in either camp,
yet in You,
everything is Sacred
in both.

-- by Faith Chatham
copyright 2009