Absolute Forgiveness

Recently the idea of forgiveness has come up in my family circles and exchanges. I have thought a great deal about this subject, and it is one I feel particularly fond of.

The first encounter was with my brother and the question came up as to whether one is truly forgiven, deserving of grace, without merit so to speak. Do we have to earn our forgiveness by our good deeds, and only then do we become worthy or capable of receiving? The second conversation was just upon our return from Europe, the night-of actually. My mother was telling me a story about her new friend and how he felt so much better after returning from his weekly mass. When my mother pressed a little, he explained it was the forgiveness he felt that turned his world right again and made his spirit well. As my mother recounted this story she began to tear up a little bit, empathetically adding that perhaps this was so important to him because he was particularly hard on himself, and so maybe his need was especially great in this arena. She presented me with this goldmine of a conversation at 10 PM at night after being up since 4 AM Paris time and traveling two flights with a young child and infant. We had just finished eating and I was crashing big time. I could barely form my words, let alone get into this subject, but the wheels were turning....there was so much to say. Alas, exhausted I took it in and went to bed.

So here I am a few weeks later approaching these subjects....

Two particular things come to mind, the first one is the story of Christ on the Cross:

One of the criminals who were hanged railed at him, saying, "Are you not the Christ? Save yourself and us!" But the other rebuked him, saying, "Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? And we indeed justly; for we are receiving the due reward of our deeds; but this man has done nothing wrong." And he said, "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom." And he said to him, "Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise." (Luke 23: 39-43)

He is there next to a thief, probably someone who has led a life of crime and is now paying the price with his life. This thief recognizes that he actually rightly deserves punishment, and in this humble recognition opens the door to the free gift. Christ does not say to him, "well good sir, this is your due punishment", but rather: "Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise." Holy cow, what? Completely forgiven just like that? Yes, completely. No act, no deed necessary, in that very moment full Love, full Forgiveness is both available and accessible. The thief recognized his wrongdoing and also his need for forgiveness. That was enough.

Of course there are places where Christ miraculously heals and then says: "you are healed go and sin no more." It is not because the Full Love and Forgiveness is available here and now that we go about doing things we know are contrary to Christ's teachings, but that is another post. For now, I’m sticking just to the forgiveness part. This for me squares away conversation one: there is nothing we can do, or that we need to accomplish in order to have Absolute forgiveness. It is a free gift. It is given by what He has already done, not something we have yet to do. This is the starting place. How wonderfully magnificently beautiful!! But why? And here I would enter into conversation two. We ALL want to be forgiven, fully, and loved fully, unconditionally. Our souls cry out with this need, NOT because we are especially hard on ourselves, or because we had a bad upbringing, an absentee parent, abusive teacher...the list goes on (you get the point). We all have a secret guilt for our very nature, which being human naturally falls short of God's glory. This is not a criticism; rather, this is the way we are built, and deep inside we know there is a better way to be.

Anyone has only to have a child, or observe a group of toddlers to see that kindness, sharing, patience, and generosity, to name a few "good" traits, are not our natural instincts. We teach these "moralistic" behaviors to our children because we believe them to be good, to be better for society than being cruel, violent and thinking only of ourselves. However even if we are a very, very good girl or boy, we still recognize within ourselves something that could be just a little nicer, more patient, kinder, or more generous. We may work against our selfish tendencies; we may do better in some aspects than others. We may even justify our not-so-good behaviors by our good charitable deeds and find a bit of solace there. Maybe.

Perhaps we can take things a step further leaving our deeds behind and move on to our thoughts. Christ says "Even if you think it, you have committed the act in your heart" (e.g., Matt. 5: 21, 22). Ouch! How many of us can claim to never have had an uncharitable thought from time to time? I think the point is clear: we all fall short of a goodness we know and understand on some level to be the "right thing". We may not always admit it, or acknowledge it, but deep inside we know this to be the case. Herein lies the desire, need, longing, to be fully forgiven, and I would add fully loved despite these very shortcomings. This is the beauty for me of Christ's message. He says this thing you desire is available for you in Me here and now, no strings attached.

Humor me here and close your eyes imagining that you are fully loved and fully forgiven for everything in your entire life past and life future to come. You have nothing to prove, you have nothing to accomplish, it is just a present. Is there not a lightening of a sense of burden? Christ says: 'Come unto me all ye who are heavy laden and I shall give you rest" (Matt. 11: 28). This is the power of forgiveness, a lifting of a sense of burden. We may also know this in our own experiences of forgiving another. That other person may not even know we are upset. It is not that the other person necessarily deserves our forgiveness, but when we forgive freely, regardless, we are released from the prison of a grudge and the other negative repercussions when holding on to anger, pain, sorrow, or any number of emotions that being unforgiving can bring about. "Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy".

So those are my thoughts on forgiveness. When we acknowledge our very need, we open the lock to receive, and hence free ourselves from the burden we were never meant to carry.

Paris Illusions of Space and Time

It is said that God exists outside of time and space. This makes a lot of sense to me on many levels. There is the experiential level of deep communion where one completely loses the sense of time and space, and then more practically and logically our everyday experience and understanding of time and space.

It is easy to think about time being a man-made construct of minutes, hours, days, weeks, months and years. My body shows a tale of time passing, but yet there remains something of me that feels unchanged despite this exterior. Everyone can relate to the experience of the endless thirty minutes at the end of a long day in a grocery store line, or when especially hungry and waiting at a busy restaurant. Or the contrary, time spent laughing and exchanging with a friend or loved one, you then look at your watches and two hours have passed. You do not know where the time went.

I am always especially struck by time and space relativity when I go to Paris. There is a true sense of a time warp, where it moves in a completely different way. Space too becomes this strange illusion. I will explain. In Paris things take longer, even little simple meaningless things. This past trip I needed a new bank card, my old one had been sent to our old address, so I never received a new card. I had written an email to the bank about a month before going but never received a response. When I asked about it, the gentleman told me he never got it? I went to the bank, about a twenty, twenty-five-minute walk, which means almost an hour for both ways – when you add in wait and teller time, a good hour. Here in the states I would drive 5 minutes, be given a new temporary card with code, while they would mail the permanent card to the updated address, and be done with the whole ordeal in a good half hour on a given morning. 

In France it went like this. My first trip to the bank, I explained the situation, I was told we would not change the address yet because if we changed the address they would send the new bank card there. So for now, we order a new bank card to be sent to the bank, and it will be there in a week. "Ok, can I use a check to take out some money?" "No, there is no money here. You would need to walk another 10-15 minutes to the next branch that has money."  

A week later I go back to the bank. My card is there: success! "Now can I use the card to withdraw from the machine?" “No, you need the code, which we do not have. That has to be mailed to you". OK, so now we do change the address in the computer, but not to our permanent address in Virginia, but rather to my grandparents’ address where we are staying. I will need to come back to the bank after I receive the mailed code in order to change the address to our permanent address in the US. 

About a week later I receive the new code, and return to the bank to change the address. So basically getting a new bank card (that I can actually use) and updating my online information took a month, four trips to the bank, and approximately 4 hours in travel time. A banal example, but you see the point. 

Then there is this strange space phenomenon. My grandparents live approximately a block from the Cite Universitaire. There are many buildings and a big open courtyard in the back. There are some music studios where I go to practice in the back corner. When you glance across the street from downstairs of my grandparents building, it literally looks a stone’s throw away. However, when you begin to walk there, you have to cross at the cross stop, then double back to the entrance. By the time you cross the courtyard to get to the music studios it is a good 15-minute walk....and yet it looks like it is just right there. 

I also had this same strange phenomenon of space and time at the Le château de Vaux le Vicomte. There are beautiful gardens there, expansive and manicured. There is an air of timelessness and spaciousness. I began to walk and felt like I was lost in another time. They do not look huge, but once you venture forth, it is as though they keep stretching. The time is passing and yet you look as though you have not walked so far. When you turn to head back you realize the seemingly short distance takes an hour or so to get back to the enormous Chateau. 

We are now leaving the chateau, I am having a heart to heart with my aunt about my aging grandparents and all the complications that this brings. I dare to ask her a bold question. I am curious, and it would be too raw, too sensitive or inappropriate to ask others. Do they have plans for their deaths, do they wish a funeral or burial, cremation? I really have no idea. They are not people of faith, so I really don't know how they feel about any of it. She says that my grandfather mentioned a plot, near a relative, and it was a good deal. "So they want to be buried there? Have they written somewhere their wishes?” My aunt surprises me – apparently, not to her knowledge, and nobody has broached these issues. It seems strange to me, considering how well thought-out and planned so many aspects of their lives are. I ask her what she thinks. She says that she believes you have to base decisions based on the people left behind. For example, when asked about her own mother, she did not want her buried right near her as it would be too painful, but on the other hand, she cannot support the idea of cremation. She wanted her mother buried near her childhood home where she could visit if she chose, but would not be saddened daily by a place she would pass frequently in her daily routes. 

It all seems so odd to me. I understand if you think and believe this is all there is, then I suppose the people left are the priority.... but what if it is not? What if there is something of that person that still exists in another form, plane, or dimension. Should we not honor what they desire? It is a somber moment. It feels to be outside of time and space, and I am floating in the illusion of what is and is not.

Jump ahead. Back in Richmond, slowly returning to home, feeling a little in between two planes, the Paris plane and the US plane. We are snowed in almost a week, this strange time warp continues, back to reality, everyday life, but not just yet. My heart feels a little sad, melancholic. Paris was so wonderful. I think about life, and death and everything in between. Why there is something rather than nothing? I think about our lives like a video production on a screen, each one with its unique story and then that story ends.

I ask Calvin about these things, and he says he understands. He says that something is good, better than nothing, philosophically speaking. He says also that knowing there is something that does continue on into eternity makes this life have more meaning. I see his point, I agree. If there truly is nothing after, then it is easy to see a certain stark futility -- one moment you experience tender cherished moments, and then they are gone. But if there is something that continues on, then this is only a small part of a much larger story. 

The beauty returns, the flower blossoms, releases its fragrance and beauty generously to this world; the winter comes, the flower dies, but its seeds have been blown by the wind and spread far and wide. When the spring comes a new patch of flowers blossoms and so it goes on into eternity, generously sharing its beauty and fragrance for all to enjoy.

Nelly and Her Zoo

Recently we spent Thanksgiving at my great aunt Nelly's in Sarasota, Florida. We often head to her home for a holiday, either Christmas or Thanksgiving. We thoroughly enjoy our visits, and they are never dull! Nelly is the childlike princess of her saintly sister, my grandmother. They grew up together in North Africa in Algeria. Nelly's daddy was gone at age two and her maman at 14. They were raised by their grandmother. 

During the war Nelly fell in love with a dancing and drinking soldier who matched her fun flair for life.Then one sad day the gossip came back that he was a cad with a family back home. Her wings and heart, broken for a time, were comforted by the kindest man around -- a daddy soldier named Bob. He scooped up the wounded bird and flew her to the US of A where they started their own family and had a lovely daughter. Eventually they ended up in Florida. Daddy Bob is now in heaven, surely looking over his child, princess bride. I say child, not solely because of a marked age difference, but much more because of Nelly's charm and character. For me she embodies Christ's words:

"Unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven." 

At one point Nelly and Bob crossed back over the pond. There was a nice inheritance for each of the girls. Her saintly sister promptly handed over her inheritance to her husband who wisely invested in long term plans and properties. Nelly, on the other hand, had another plan. After all, this was Paris!! She hit the boutiques on the Champs Elysee, and once fully decked out in Dior and Chanel headed over to Maxim's for champagne and an unending French feast! I love this story....call it unwise or frivolous, if you will, but had Nelly met a tragic end on this fine day, she would have had a smile on her face, a full belly, and a Chanel handbag on her wrist. How many of us can say that?

Alas, no tragic demise was to come, thank goodness, and today Nelly is going strong at 90 years of age. She is an artist who paints, makes jewelry with gems and creations from shells. She loves animals, probably more than most, but likes to eat them too, just another one of Nelly's sweet dichotomies. She currently has a dog, Bijou (jewelry) and a cat (Jolie, pretty). Of course because every princess needs beautiful jewelry. 

The pets have varied over the years. There were the usual dogs, and then the more unusual like  a lizard. There was also Sweetie, the cockatoo, and by all rights Nelly's second husband. The lizard met his sad demise one day, as his favorite lounging place was Bob's shirt pocket -- he found himself drowned in a soapy swirling enemy (the washing machine). I cannot be sure, but I think there may have been a burial service for the little guy. Sweetie the cockatoo was a typical second husband, jealous and demanding of our great aunt Nelly. If he felt his space invaded, he would swoop down and attack another man's head, namely my grandfather, . He had the reign of the home and liked it that way. Cooking during this time took on a special skillset of being able to quickly get a cover on the pot of ratatouille before there were any unseemly added ingredients.

Now Bijou is the one, never fully potty trained despite everyone's best efforts. Nelly does not want to hurt a grasshopper or a dog. We tried to explain that the kennel was not punishment, but training. Nelly likened his kennel to waterboarding and was convinced he held a grudge for days to come. This is Nelly's heart, kind and welcoming, and her childlike innocence, though not always based in logic, is based in something pure. 

Nelly is not a religious person. We once talked about God. She quickly said, "I don't believe in God, for me God is in nature. Do you think a man with a big white beard lives in the clouds?" I respond, "No Nelly, I see God as intelligent mind with the ability to create. I see God as love, omnipotent, and omnipresent, and yes he indeed reveals himself in his creation." I think we understood each other and it was good.

Several times Nelly has come with us to midnight mass. I look over and see her shiny brown eyes, standing out against her silvery hair. She is singing with joy, sometimes half words, and reciting the liturgy where she can follow along. She looks so pure and free and childlike. She inspires me.

So you may think that the title Nelly's Zoo has to do with the many animals and their stories, but in fact, no. I have taken this title from a recent conversation with Nelly's daughter over Thanksgiving. She said, "I told my mom to get rid of the zoo before you all came". And at this time I learned that not only had Nelly adopted her surrogate granddaughter Gabby, who has always lived next door, but also the boyfriend, and the gay friend of the couple. All of these teenagers had been kicked out of their houses for one reason or another. We knew about Gabby before coming to Florida, and put two and two together when the boyfriend was aimlessly hanging around. But I have to admit, the gay friend was a surprise. But this is Nelly -- she cannot see people she knows on the street, even if the rest of us are concerned for her well being.

We came home from church while we were there and Nelly asked, "Did they talk about the refugees? Because they should we should let them in. They have no place to go". This is her welcoming, childlike spirit -- not wanting to see others suffer, wanting every animal, lost teenager, and war-torn family to have food and a home.

Calvin walks out of our room, and just as we catch eyes we notice Bijou doing his pee-pee on the white silk stained couch, now a brownish yellow spotted mess. We look at each other after many mops and sighs and efforts and just throw up our hands and laugh, and laugh and laugh. We are bent over, belly laughing. Our inner child has been tickled, and in that moment we have forgotten our logical, responsible selves, and that is the beauty of Nelly's zoo.

P and Me

P is a nickname I have  in writing for Pierson. P is sweet and still, simple and humble.

A few years ago we were on a trip in Paris taking the bus. I looked over at P and filled with love for him I said, "tu es mon Cheri amour?" ("Are you my darling love?"). He looked at me sweetly and replied, "no just Pierson" -- and that is P.

Most of the time he is Pierson, my larger that life lion, with a zest for life. He has a sunshine smile that will light up a room. He is proud and strong. He loves beauty, flowers, colors and trees. He also loves Pokemon and video games. He is fearless and will speak his mind whether asked or not. This is my Pierson, in all his uniqueness, that I admire and celebrate and wonder where it all comes from.

Then there are the other sides of Pierson...the more complex, difficult sides -- the sides that push all my  buttons, and drive me to my wits end. And here I find the mirror. I want to take up my sword of righteousness and my shield of life's experiences. I am ready for battle, but he quickly pulls out his steel sword of will and shield of the energy of a thousand soldiers, and the struggle begins.

This is the blessing and the curse of a child that has so much of me. I can feel it, I can see so clearly -- the struggle, the reasoning, the difficulty. I want to say it does not have to be so. You do not have to be perfect or go it alone. Let your strong fire melt your pride, and know that correction and guidance are not criticisms to hurt you. Rather, they are pearls of wisdom, a gift to be kept and strung together to one day be of profit, something of value. 

The empathy comes easy, like a free flowing river. I understand so fully. I await with open arms and know no words are needed. They will only make things worse. I give him his time and space, and when he feels ready he will come back with his six year old reason, trying to understand and make sense of the ocean of emotions that have over swept him and carry him away. 

The battle subsides. I am drained and humbled. He does not seem so affected -- he is humming or drawing, and there he is P. 

I ponder on the dynamic, and am reminded of my own inability to master my emotions and feel softened. How can I expect his six year old being to possibly master his? The truth of the mirror has done it's work for today. I want to start over, I want it to be easy, to be perfect. But that is not me, and that is not P.

Perfect – to be or not to be – that is the question

"Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect." (Matt. 5: 48)

Woah, that is quite a commandment!

So this past Sunday was the Messiah with orchestra at our church, and I had a solo. Of course I wanted it to be perfect. Dress rehearsal was pretty darn close. Sometimes that almost makes the task harder – now there is the added pressure of measuring up to your own good work. At least if the dress rehearsal is mediocre then you know you can shoot higher -- nothing to re-prove, only to gain. I guess the performance went fairly well, but not perfect. I think the dress rehearsal was closer to perfect. Certainly from a technical standpoint the performance had maybe a little prettier, fuller tone.

 

I feel afterwards a bowl of mixed emotions. It's done, phew. The tone was pretty for the most part, but there was that one glitch in the legato, and the last G was not there, not supported. I rushed into it after the pianissimo high note, forgot to take time to reground and get a good breath and the G fell flat and kind of splatted out. Not everyone noticed, but I did.

I received many compliments. One person even said "that was outta the park", which feels nice. But inside I knew it was just not quite. I am sure the other trained singers noticed too. In my head I hear another soprano thinking, “I could have done that better, I should have had the solo!” And so the torment goes. Which brings me to my voice, singing, and the spiritual path for me which accompanies it.

It is a deep can of worms, maybe because it has been my life's passion and work. And life is full of a lot. I started singing because I loved it. From a young girl I remember watching Shirley Temple movies and thinking I want to do that. I remember singing along to Dolly Parton in the back seat of my parents’ car. I remember summer vacations, being coined a mermaid by my uncle when I would sing while sitting on the big rocks in the Mediterranean while he and my cousins fished, or belting at the top of my lungs over the encouraging hum of the Boston Whaler on Lake Huron.

In my teens it was all about Barbara Streisand and music theater, and eventually I came to studying and classical operatic singing. When I was young there was a freedom in singing. It was from the heart and with joy. Then I went to school and studied seriously for a long time. I still study. Suddenly there are so very many requirements, and at times the heart and joy seem far away. A breath that was free and natural is suddenly stilted and nervous, wanting a little too hard to be perfect.

And this is the strange irony of life and breath and singing. In Yoga they say that breath is the key which leads one to Prana, our life force, the creative energy. In singing they say the breath is everything.  Maybe this is why I have always felt a certain connection between singing and spirit. There seems to be this mysterious balance, that when all the variables are lined up just right something magical occurs in the sound and in the feeling one experiences to produce it.  There is a certain control that has been mastered and in that control one experiences total freedom, but it also requires letting go. However, one element not quite right, and there will be a consequence. This can be too much thinking, knowing, not enough letting go, or too much letting go, not enough thought and care.

Maybe the idea of chiaroscuro sums it up. This is what a well-balanced beautiful tone should have: darkness and lightness, so much so you cannot determine if the voice is forward, bright, and shimmery, or warm velvety and comforting. It’s both simultaneously. The perfect sound contains both lightness and darkness...hmmm

This brings me back to perfection, and the fleeting moments when we truly experience perfection, and then all the rest of life. I have encountered this feeling of perfection at times in deep prayer and meditation too when the mind and body are calm and focused. I am completely free from to-do lists and neuroses, I am in communion, I am perfect with Him. I am basked in a shimmery transcendent light.

Then I go to get my six-year-old at the bus stop. “P, wait till the bus passes, stop". He care-freely is weaving in and out of the street as the roar of the bus engine rings in my ears. I repeat frantically as he continues to ignore. When we get home I order him to sit down, he ignores me again to go get the pencil for his homework. I then raise my voice and tell him to "SIT DOWN". He begins to cry. I have hurt his feelings; all he wants to do is get his pencil. I feel bad. "It's not about the pencil", I say, "Do you know what it is about?" 

I feel so far from perfect, just like my botched G. I have been impatient and unkind. I am so far from the Father and his perfection. But maybe even in this "darkness" there is a perfection? Maybe it is like chiaroscuro, that there is a perfection in this moment, a certain beauty in these very real, very human moments, because after all He is sovereign. Maybe it is not only about being truly perfect, but this intertwining that is life, this aiming and missing and sometimes hitting.

I see His perfection in the shimmer of the way fall light reflects in the Autumn tree leaves, or the way the sun sets and sparkles on the water.  I sense and feel that transcendent Perfection that is always available yet sometimes so hard to find.  When we try too hard it will slip through our fingers. If we don't try or seek at all how can we hope? It is like balancing on a fine spider’s web. It is trying your hardest to understand, to know, to learn, and then gently releasing.

Maybe this command is not about always being perfect, but rather recognizing His perfection, both in the light and in the dark -- that we are indeed perfect, even as the Father, because we are right where He would have us be, right now.

Sacred Dance

So here goes nothing.

About ten years ago it was suggested to me to write....

I do not actually consider myself a procrastinator, but maybe that is an issue to examine for another day. Oh, yes, occasionally I go through phases of writing my dreams, or a journal entry here and there, but in more recent years the urge has actually become strong. Sometimes I feel an inspired voice in my head, ready to write, but then time goes by, busy with all the activities of a middle-aged house wife with two children. There is singing and yoga, shopping, laundry and a daily spiritual practice. Which is usually what the voice in my head wants to talk about, think about, discuss, understand and share.

Today the crux of my meditation and prayer session is the idea of action/reaction. Is there such a thing as having it all? Or does one truly have to give something up to gain something greater? This question has come to the forefront of my mind recently as I decided to give up alcohol in order to be more holy. Okay, I realize that sounds really presumptuous, but when I think about it deeply this is the truth. No, I do not think drinking alcohol is morally wrong and me not drinking it does not make me any holier than you if you enjoy a glass of Cabernet at the end of your day.

I am not an alcoholic, not even a heavy drinker. I am probably what most would consider a moderate drinker, perhaps two drinks, at very most two and a half, on a given night once a week, or on a date night -- maybe a little more often during vacation, or over holidays, maybe less during busy life. Drinking has never caused problems with my relationships or work.  I did go through a short period of heavy drinking in my early twenties when I worked at a restaurant as a waitress. I did not enjoy the work, and this was the culture of work and after work practice. Thankfully this was relatively short lived period. And yet, I find this recent decision has shifted a great deal.

In Yogic philosophy, it is important not to create conflict of mind. I found that drinking alcohol, even moderately, did create some conflict in my mind. As a practicing Christian, obviously the idea of giving up something in order to gain something greater is paramount.

Then Jesus said to His disciples, "If anyone wishes to come after Me, he must deny himself, and take up his cross and follow Me. "For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it; but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it. "For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul? Or what will a man give in exchange for his soul?" (Matt. 16: 24 - 26)

 And this is where I found myself today, at the cross. More on that later.

So the other night was my husband Calvin's work Christmas party. Our babysitter was an half an hour late. As a nursing mom I was hungry as usual, and even more so not having had a snack in order to better profit from all the good food I knew would be at the party. However, unlike past years, something in me felt calmer. I was not looking forward to my holiday cocktail to take the edge off of a stressful season. I knew that was no longer the case. In the car on the way over I looked over at Calvin -- it was okay that we were late, that I was hungry, that I decided no longer to drink. I felt a sense of peace in that moment. Something in me had shifted and it was nice.

At the party we had our hors d'oeuvres and dinner and deserts. And then something happened -- those around me began to get their second glass of wine or after-dinner scotches, people were dancing and being merry, and I began to think to myself 'well, there really is no harm in having a little drink. It is fun, festive, lightens the  mood, and makes one merry'. There it was, temptation -- subtle and justifying, never something that bangs you over the head, but rather creeps in harmlessly and begins a small tug. But then I just let it go.

A slow song came on and Calvin and I got up and danced. I was not a little bit merry and detached floating in my mind from a cocktail. I was there, fully there, just like that moment in the car, but more so now because we were wrapped in each others arms slowly swaying. It was sweet, beautiful and perfect, and felt filled with meaning.

During that little moment of temptation to go back to an old way of doing things, I thought about my "persona" --  a fun loving girl who loves getting dressed up and being fun at a party. Yes, maybe I am shedding that skin to a more calm peaceful person who does not need to rush to get there, but can just be where I am and content for a moment, that can lead to the most beautiful moment of the evening. Yes, I gave up something small, a little aid in being light-hearted and festive, but I gained a sense of peace and presence worth so much more.

Perhaps I have died to a little bit of hot pink and sparkles, but what has been born is a pool of colors with depth and subtlety, that shift and change -- and their beauty is never-ending.

'Mad Mommy'

I am mad at my 6-month-old. That's right mad, mad, mad! Why you ask? Oh ho, I will tell you why. Last night he nursed all night, or at least it felt like all night. I am fine with our usual routine -- I nurse him to sleep between 7 and 8, he sleeps for a while, wakes up once in the middle of the night, and I quickly nurse him back to sleep. Then his usual stirring begin around 4:30-6:30, and by 6:30-7 he is usually ready to be up, until his first morning nap an hour or two later.

So this morning around 5:45 or so, I said " I can't take it. Calvin you have to take him for a while". Calvin is up at 5:30 to pray and read, philosophically examine the questions of life and death, and ponder on how to apply them to this crazy world we live in. But not this morning. This morning he will take care of baby number two until it is time for P to get ready for kindergarten.  He will then take P to the bus stop with baby in tow.

At about five to 8 Calvin comes back in the bedroom and sheepishly says with an air of guilt, "I need to leave for work soon, shall I reheat your coffee?" I am feeling a good bit better now, after a few hours of sound solo sleep. I mumble a "yes please" and proceed to have a coffee and muffin in bed. I say good bye to Calvin, wishing him a good day at work, and I take the baby downstairs to do a few chores around the house. I have stripped P's food-stained sheets and gathered an enormous amount of laundry for a mere three days since the last loads.

Then it happens, the baby starts to complain. Well, yes, after all it is just about time for the morning nap. I stop what I am doing to pick him up and set up for our morning nap routine.

We go in the sitting room -- pillow, blanket, burp cloth, water, prayer beads, spiritual journal, and second coffee all in place. I get on the couch, nursing position ready and go.  As planned baby Soren begins to fade. After a little too long caught up in FB articles, I pick up my beads ready to begin my daily practice of meditation, prayer, reading and writing while baby sleeps soundly in my lap.

Then it happens. Lo and behold, not even a third of the way into my routine and his little blue eyes pop open and he gives me that infectious smile and coo. 'Oh, no you don't', I think. I am not done, barely started in fact. Yes, I spent a few minutes too long on FB, but still that was a cat nap and you will not be rested. Sure enough he was not. I put him in his saucer and thought, 'Well at least I will finish the laundry', but no sooner was he fussing again. Well ok, let's try round two. All set up, he nurses a little then looks at me. You are just messing around I think....well let's go to the park. After all it is a most beautiful day, the fresh air will do us both good, and surely you will sleep in your stroller. So I put him on his tummy and go upstairs to change. When I return he is starting to complain. 'I know I know, you are tired, you need your nap, and oh, I smell you have a dirty diaper'. Well, at least that is justified complaining. I pick him up and put him in his pack-and-play to change him. And then IT happens. He looks at me, that little being, and he does it again. He did what our Savior does, he turned everything upside down and in turn made the world right.

It went like this, I gave him my fingers and he grasped his chubby hands around them, I pull a little and he uses every strength in his body to pull him self up to a sitting position. This is his latest favorite task. Once he has arrived seated with all his strength and some of my help, he beams a huge open-mouthed smile. It is pure unadulterated joy, and in that moment I am changed. No longer am I wondering how I will possibly accomplish Christmas shopping and packing for a big trip when doing a load of laundry is a challenge. Instead, I am swept up into his world -- a world where sitting up, even with help, is worthy of pure joy.

And then it grows. I feel immense gratitude and love for a husband who loves me and this little being so much that he is willing to sacrifice his morning for us. When he comes into our room to hand Soren off, his heart is also open, because this little being has opened it with his presence and joy.

I am not mad, I actually feel a little sad, melancholic. Psychiatrists say that anger is a secondary emotion, usually covering up sadness. Maybe I am sad because I see my own selfishness, lack of generosity,and impatience, in this perfect Joy. I am humbled and brought to the truth of what matters and what does not. This little guy wants to be held a little more today, and that's okay. A little less of my list will be checked off and that is okay too.

As I open the car door arriving at the park, he is sound a sleep, so peaceful and serene. I take a nice walk, enjoying the gloriousness of nature. I have time to do yoga, meditate and pray, and we head home, both content. Isn't it funny how when you let go, the things you wanted to do seem to fall in your lap, and sometimes when you try so hard to make them happen, they seem further and further away?

Soren, you are indeed a blessing beyond measure. Thank you for bringing me back to truth and love, for showing me that even sitting up, with help, is worthy of pure joy.