Everyone reflects, but do we share?

Reflection can be a source ...
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Everyone reflects, but do we share?

Reflection can be a source of joy and hope

Reflections can go beyond words

Reflections can change our lives

As I said in the key story, I “rarely” shared the things that inspired me as a child. This was in part because I was afraid to share. Yet from the responses I got from the key story, it seems that many children are inspired by stories of people who love heroically and inspired by people they know, particularly parents, grandparents, brothers, and sisters.

Several people recalled for me the value of simple, heart-felt prayer (“God, help me!” in the key story). Several people also mentioned how God had worked in unexpected ways in their lives. Surprising help or insight came, not so much out of the blue, but out of the unexpected corners of life that could have been overlooked. One person quoted Jeremiah the prophet, “When you look for me [God], you will find me. Yes, when you seek me with all your heart, you will find me with you.”

Several people spoke of the joy and hope that comes from God’s amazing work in their lives. But of course we all struggle with God. For example, I sometimes think that I don’t have what I need, to the things I feel called to do. So I must remind myself of something a friend said to me about a big journey he needed to make: “I keep asking God for a plane, but it looks like God’s just giving me skates. But I know God answers prayers, so I’m thinking that I have what I need for today, and it’s time to start skating.”

I and others have asked, “But how does God work in our lives?” The best answer I have is that God acts in God’s own way, not tied down in any way, the Spirit blows where the Spirit wills, yet in love God is always steadfast.

Another person reflecting on the difficulty of life and power of goodness in life said, “I do believe in a Higher Power who works to guide things towards our benefit.” Of course, we need to do our part too.

Another friend spoke about how prayer has always been natural and spontaneous in her life but that she struggled with God’s apparent silence. Thinking more she said, “I have seemingly been led to be with the right people and in the right places for great things to happen in my life.” Then reflecting further she continued, “Wait! That’s it. It’s as if God is saying right now, ‘Duh, I’m speaking to you! And you know it and recognize me, too!’ I guess I should stop waiting for a person in white robes to sit down and have a conversation with me. Maybe no words are needed at all.”

But why should we worry about God at all? Isn’t what we see in life enough? Why invent God? I have no argument with the many wonderful people, who are agnostics or atheists, because even with my best efforts I am unable to comprehend or describe God. Yet I must try because I do know, however incompletely, that God worries about each of us – and wonder of wonders God is deeply and infinitely in love with each of us for our own good. Another person shared what she has learned about people and I think it reflects in many ways God’s passion for each of us: “My face holds tears because love knocks me over and squeezes me tight. And I wish people in the whole world knew each other more closely. Last semester, I suddenly was able to word this more clearly – the power I felt coming from [realizing] … that every person has lived through moments that squeezed till their eyes brimmed over and poured tears. Every person – the kids in our class, our neighbors, our cousins and brothers and sisters, me – have lived through experiences we can’t imagine: experiences where their hearts cried out, and they made brave decisions – that no one ever knew of but they did so still. I want to love each person for these experiences and hug them for they are amazing. And even before I have heard a person’s story, I can appreciate, believe in, and love them because I know there is a genuine soul inside them.”

Thanks for everyone’s reflections, smiles, and words! I learned a lot – let’s keep sharing …

Nine years earlier, my family had moved from Texas to Mobile on Providence Street where both my parents had grown up. We lived a garage apartment with a converted downstairs living area. I had ...
Click here for full view of this post: The Key Story]]> It was 1971 in autumn. I was going to McGill high school. That’s when it happened, the breakthrough that changed my life forever.

Nine years earlier, my family had moved from Texas to Mobile on Providence Street where both my parents had grown up. We lived a garage apartment with a converted downstairs living area. I had a younger sister, Irene, and two younger brothers, Bill and Joe. Cathy and Tom, our youngest sister and brother, were born a few years later at Providence Hospital just down the street. Three of my grandparents, Grandmommy, Papa, and DarDar; an aunt, Mary Acker; and two great great aunts, Aunt WeWe and Aunt Mame also lived on Providence Street.

Our neighborhood was filled with adventures on bikes, on roofs, and in trees. There was fun at Lyons Park, the CYO Hall, and the Dauphin Way Methodist Church. The neighbors, including the nuns, priests, and religious brothers, tried to keep an eye on us. My Aunt Mame had a large, gorgeous sweet heart rose bush. Each day she would pick roses, bring them to St. Mary’s church, and pray.

Though I rarely talked about it, as a young child, I was inspired by stories of saints, like Francis of Assisi who saw all of nature as his brothers and sisters, and Bible stories, like the one of Jesus’ compassion for the woman caught in adultery. Some of the words and actions at church also inspired me, like the words the people said before receiving Communion: “Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word and I shall be healed.” Also after my Aunt Mame died, I would pray for her when there was a moment of silence to pray for all who had died.

Across the street from my house was St. Mary’s where I went to grade school. In my first years there, I learned a great deal. But in fourth grade, I stopped reading books and stopped applying myself well at school, and about two years later I was becoming much less consistent about going to church.

Still, there were important developments in my life prior to high school. I received the sacrament of Confirmation in a spirit of seeking courage for myself. Then, during the summer after seventh grade, I firmly decided to be true to myself regardless of what others might think. This determination enabled me to stop smoking and stop cussing. Many little things happened too, like my parents bringing home a cardboard box of Aunt Mame’s throw away items. They told my brothers, sisters, and I that we could pick out anything from the box. I picked out one small thing, a key, and placed it in my top drawer where I kept special things.

Down the street from my house were the boys’ and girls’ Catholic high schools, McGill Institute and Toolen High. These schools drew students from all over the Mobile Bay area. On my first day at McGill, I was anxious – so many new faces and such high expectations. I had made a low entrance test score, but, because I had scored high on an IQ test years earlier at St. Mary’s, I was placed in the lower level of McGill’s top academic tract. My family was poor at the time, and during each of my four years at McGill, I was told that an anonymous person had paid for my tuition because I was a “poor smart student.” Yet I had become a slow reader and was hardly able to keep up with class work. So I cut corners in my classes, like for book reports, I’d make up the book’s title, author, and story. At this time too, my parents had serious problems, and our relationship had became strained. My lunch was normally a 15 cent ice cream bar – that’s what I could afford. But new friends at McGill helped me with many subjects, and I could sometimes return the favor by helping them with math. Somehow, in the final quarter of the year, I made honor roll. I was completely surprised, and when I told my new friends they just thought I was kidding around.

As a sophomore, without any warning, I was moved to the upper level of McGill’s top tract. This was a huge change for me. The students in my new classes were incredibly skilled at seemingly all subjects. Additionally, my home situation had gotten worse. In my new classes, I felt a heavy loss at being separated from so many grade school friends and from the friends I had made in the previous year. In my new classes, I didn’t see myself fitting in – I felt like I had nothing to offer – and the course expectations seemed not just challenging but unattainable.

Walking to McGill, on that autumn morning in 1971, I was just coming to grips with the reality that I was flunking my classes. I had three major papers due on the following day, and I had not written the first word on any of them. I went to my locker and opened it. My hopes rose when I saw some library books that I had checked out earlier for the papers. I had forgotten all about them. Feeling relieved, I decided to just relax a bit before coming back to my locker. 

I had always quietly pitied the students who had to get their locks cut off. This was a humiliating experience often accompanied by a lot of humor at the expense of the unfortunate student. My pride would have prevented me from getting my lock cut off in front of so many students, but I knew I had to do it right away, if I had any chance of writing those papers. Students, who had their lock cut off, generally carried all their books throughout the day to keep their books from being stolen. But I was so discouraged that I just left the books in my locker without a lock. In PE class, though, I had second thoughts and asked a student if he had a spare lock that I could borrow. Surprisingly, he took out a lock from his PE bag, and he warned me saying, “This is the only key I have to this lock so don’t lose it.” Again my hopes rose. I thanked him and assured him that there was no way that I would lose his key.

After PE, I went to my locker, saw that all the books were still there, and secured the locker with the lock.

Later that afternoon, I went to get some books from my locker and made a grim discovery. Somehow, again, despite my firm promise, I had lost the key.

I could not bear the thought of getting a second lock cut off during the same day. I felt like I had no friends, and my chances of new friendships seemed like they had just gone down the drain. Classes were still going on, but I was so distraught that I just walked out and went home.

At home, with everything I needed still locked away, I did nothing on my papers.

The next morning, I told my parents that I was sick and would not be going to school. When everyone had left the house, I began to ask myself questions. Why should I work so hard to learn and live well? Why should I put up with all the meaninglessness around me? Why not just do nothing? No one loves me! Why? Why life? What is the purpose? Where is the meaning?

I searched for answers throughout the day and into the late night. I gave it my best, but around 11 that night, I still had no answers. Then seemingly without deliberation, I did something that I had not done in a long time. From the depths of who I was, I looked up and I prayed, “God, help me!” With those simple words, I lay down and fell asleep.

I know nothing of what happened while I slept, but when I awoke, I was bursting with energy! I felt like I could conquer the world! Caught up in whatever had happened while I was asleep, I hardly knew what I was doing. After getting dressed, I opened my top drawer and got Aunt Mame’s key.

Then, I was off, walking to school. It was too early for the school doors to be open, but this morning the doors were open. Still hardly knowing what I was doing, I walked up the empty stairway and down the empty hall to my locker. Without thinking, I placed my aunt’s key into the lock and turned it.

Instantly, the lock snapped open, and with shocking clarity and with all my heart, I understood what had happened, and like the lock, I had opened too.

In the same moment, immeasurable oceans of energy and light began flowing all around me, pouring onto me, touching me, and flooding through me. The oceans were wild, infinite, endlessly flowing, and incredibly alive. There was a rhythmic beating too, like a heart, beyond words and beyond my hearing and yet so clear – “I love you, I love you, I love you, even if no one else loves you, I love you!” Beating over and over again! Endless! “I love you, I love you, I love you, even if no one else loves you, I love you!”

In some ways, it seemed to last forever … deeply touching … embracing … powerful … stimulating … challenging … all-loving …

But, with all this still reverberating within me, I gathered the library books, started writing, and finished the papers before class time. My teachers accepted the day late papers without question.

The following week, my friend received his lock and the miraculous key. I asked if he noticed anything different about the key. He was puzzled by the question and said no.

From that breakthrough moment, day by day and with ups and downs, I became friends with my new classmates, started reading books again, started going regularly to church again, and became a good student.

Looking back over those years, I see how my friends from St. Mary’s, McGill, and Toolen saved my life on many occasions and in many ways. My family, teachers, and several adult mentors helped save my life as well.

Looking back and looking forward, with so many things to do and so many ways to grow, I see God’s Infinite Love for us – always seeking to enliven us – to breakthrough to us with incredible energy – to be the key that unlocks us so that we too will wildly embrace and love one another! Endlessly beating …

I love you,

I love you,

I love you,

even if no one else loves you,

I love you!

…

…

…

Korea on fire from today's bombing - photograph from CNN.com

This morning, while dreaming of some intense situations, I received a message of sorts without words from the heart-friend who dreams inside of me: “Time is generous ...
Click here for full view of this post: The Crash]]>

Korea on fire from today's bombing - photograph from CNN.com

This morning, while dreaming of some intense situations, I received a message of sorts without words from the heart-friend who dreams inside of me: “Time is generous but time is short.” Somewhat startled, I woke up, it had my attention.

Inspired to be focused and hard-working, I did my chores, wished my daughter, Mignon, a happy birthday, and checked the news. The fighting between North Korea and South Korea inspired me to draw upon the You-Are-Who-Are prayer which brought many more things into focus for me. It was also the anniversary of an important experience in my life (the Tuesday before Thanksgiving).

It was Tuesday and I was quite young, attending the Pontifical College Josephinum, a college seminary, located in Worthington, Ohio. The Thanksgiving break was just beginning and most students were going to their homes or visiting friends away from the college. The dorm hall was filled with the thrills of newfound freedom and adventure. There were, however, a few students, like myself who were staying at the college. By the time 5 o’clock rolled around, it was much quieter, and I was looking forward to some quiet time. As the noises began to cease with the last of the holiday-bound students, I began to connect, ponder, pray, …

A thought struck me hard: here at my college I knew people who not only spoke of unselfish love theoretically but who in their daily lives loved others unselfishly. I knew of course that there were many other people in my life who also loved unselfishly, but until coming to this college I had simply failed to see it. I was overcome with a sense of awe and gratitude toward God, our All in All. An aspiration welled up in me, “Lord, I am so grateful for this, that I am willing to suffer for you.” Right away, I began to sense that God was coming. I was somewhat scared not knowing what to expect. “Knock, knock, knock.” Someone was knocking at my door. What terrible timing, I was very disappointed that my experience with God was being interrupted. Reluctantly I went to the door.

Two great friends of mine were at the door. They wanted to go bowling. I told them that I didn’t want to go, but they continued to cajole me. Because the college’s bowling alley was manually operated, it took at least three to bowl. Two or more would play while another managed the pins in the back. I named four other students who were staying, but my two friends replied that they had already asked them. I had my doubts about that, but I knew too that those others were not much into sports and were unlikely to go bowling regardless. So grudgingly I agreed to go bowl with my friends for a short while.

At the alley, we decided that my friends would bowl the first game, and I would go to the back. Some frames into the game, I consoled myself with the thought that everything was going fine, and that I would be able to return to my dorm room soon. Once again the ball came crashing through the pins and I jumped down into the pit and placed the bowling ball on the return ramp above me and bent down to pick up the fallen pins. Without warning the bowling ball struck me in the head. It had fallen off the ramp. Though I passed out, I was still standing with my head bowed down close to floor when I began dizzily regaining some consciousness. I knew where I was and what had happened, but my sight was not focused and I was in intense pain. I knew that I had a fairly serious head injury and that I needed to go back to my room.

Without saying a word to my friends, I walked out of the alley. My friends tried to speak to me as I passed by but my mind was swimming and their words sounded completely garbled. I knew I had a concussion; one worse than the one I had when I was 12 years old. The dorm was close and I walked to it without problems. Once in the dorm, I began to climb the steps to my room and I think I may have fell down the steps but I am not sure. When I reached my room, I was trying to settle myself but there were new knocks at my door. I could hardly think at this moment but I opened the door. It was my friends who had no idea what had happened, much less how much I was hurt or how much pain I was in. They really wanted me to go back to the alley, and I was doing a poor job of explaining that that was impossible. At one point, I said something like I just want to pray, and one of my friends complained that I was trying to be “a saint or something.” Not realizing the seriousness of the situation and joking around he slapped me in the face. It was gentle I’m certain but the pain that I felt was nearly unbearable, tears exploded from eyes, and every curse word I had ever said wanted to unleash itself on them but I remained silent. Right away they understood something of the situation, backed up, and left my room.

Immediately, I went to my bed, took a deep breath, and for the first time since being struck by the bowling ball remembered that I had just prayed, “Lord, I am so grateful for this [seeing that human beings can love unselfishly], that I am willing to suffer for you.” I was floored. God had indeed come and answered my prayer. I just had not recognized God’s knock and presence. I realized then that I really should be praying. I knew that my suffering had meaning and let myself enter it.

Not having any idea how to begin, I began to pray the rosary (a traditional Catholic Christian prayer of meditation). It was Tuesday, which meant meditating on the sorrowful mysteries: the agony in the garden, the whipping at the pillar, the crowing of thorns, the carrying of the cross, and the crucifixion. Being in such pain, it was not difficult to identify with Jesus. While considering the mysteries silently, I was praying the rote prayers aloud, and at some point early on, I began to notice that as I was saying the words to the prayers, I was hearing myself utter a lot of non-sensible syllables. As the strange sounds continued, I began to notice some bits of meaning and even some phrases here and there: suffering … survivors … darkness … fires … a mountain … As the hours went by, I began to see visions too: people suffering and crying out in pain, fires across a very dark mountainside, large and small pieces of wreckage, … I began to realize that I was joining and witnessing the aftermath of a plane that had crashed into a mountain. Words and images continued to confirm this interpretation. In a very striking image, I saw a suffering yet peace-filled woman with hands out-stretched in praise and in prayer to God. I felt one with the people in the crash and I knew that God wanted me to join my suffering with them, be with them, and pray for them. Eventually, after several hours, I went to sleep.

Early the next morning, I was anxious to hear more about the crash, but when I checked the news, there was no news of a plane crash. I found that very strange; the experience had been so real, surely such an event would have made the news. My head was hurting, but I was able to do things slowly and carefully, so I went to breakfast. There were only a couple of people in the cafeteria, I asked, but no one had heard of the plane crash. I continued to check the news each hour throughout the day. At 2:00 P.M. there was still no news, but at 3:00 P.M. on the radio, I heard something like the following:

There was a plane crash last night in West Virginia. The plane had departed from Ohio and was en route to Washington, D.C. The plane was flying in dense fog and the pilot did not see the mountain in front of it. So the plane crashed into the mountain without warning. The reason this was not announced earlier is because the crash occurred at a site of a secret White House used in the event of a nuclear war.

Upon hearing this news on the radio, I was satisfied knowing that I had prayed for these people in the crash when few others knew of their suffering.

After several months my head healed up.

After a few years, I had told a dozen or so people about the experience. Each time I related the story, the people responded to the effect, “Oh yeah, I remember that.”

In later years deeper dimensions of this experience have emerged – realizations that have floored and dumbfounded me – realizations about suffering, revolutions of the heart, hope, unselfish love, healing, blessings, victory, and thanksgiving.

Please stay tuned. Thanks …

“Time is generous but time is short.”

Artist, Lori Bosarge, ...
Click here for full view of this post: The Future of the Gulf is in our Hands]]>

Lori Bosarge expresses her thoughts and concerns through her art. Using her front yard, plywood from the garage, and her paints, she is sending all of us a message.

Artist, Lori Bosarge, with one of her signs, photographed July 19, 2010

God, Infinite Lover of All, bless us and all of nature, we need your help, photographed July 19, 2010

This sign reminds us that dispersants are dangerous chemicals, photographed July 19, 2010

You are invited to share community needs, resources, ideas, and opportunities with other people who care at the Future of the Gulf – Community Brainstorm. Let’s brainstorm together and encourage one another to move positively to save our gulf, way of life, health, and community.

Future of the Gulf – Community Brainstorm
Wednesday, July 21, 7:00-8:30 P.M.
Shelby Center – 101 Bienville Blvd.
Dauphin Island Sea Lab

West Dauphin Island Update: As of Saturday, July 17, oil from two weeks ago was still waiting to be cleaned on West Dauphin Island.

Oil remains uncleaned on the sands of Dauphin Island west of Katrina Cut. Notice the vehicle tracks in the picture. Photographed July 17, 2010.

Oil on west Dauphin Island, photographed July 17, 2010

Oil on beach on west Dauphin Island, photographed July 17, 2010

Sharing positive energy after Hands Across the Sand on Dauphin Island, photographed ...
Click here for full view of this post: Positive Energy]]>

Sharing positive energy after Hands Across the Sand on Dauphin Island, photographed June 26, 2010 by Theresa Robinson

Dauphin Island is getting a good wind right now, much more than a breeze, but not a gale – pure, positive, refreshing energy.

A good wind is just one of the many positive energies in life. Atoms spin, waters spin, the Earth spins, and we spin. Dreaming, dancing, sharing, enjoying, forgiving – fully believing in and expressing our beauty – spinning – revolving – revolutionizing – loving without end for the benefit of all. What a wind! What clean, positive, refreshing energy!

Positive energy is all around us, a revolution always in the making, never letting go of us. Francis of Assisi, a great friend of animals and a great believer in positive energy, dedicated himself to this revolution of love with these words:

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace,
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy;

O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

Let the positive energy in each of us find expression in our own words, voice, and life. Let the wind blow where it will.