The Jasmine Plant

"But we have this treasure in clay pots so that the awesome power belongs to God and doesn’t come from us.  We are experiencing all kinds of trouble, but we aren’t crushed. We are confused, but we aren’t depressed. We are harassed, but we aren’t abandoned. We are knocked down, but we aren’t knocked out.  

We always carry Jesus’ death around in our bodies so that Jesus’ life can also be seen in our bodies.  We who are alive are always being handed over to death for Jesus’ sake so that Jesus’ life can also be seen in our bodies that are dying.  So death is at work in us, but life is at work in you."

 2 Corinthians 4:7–12  Common English Bible.

A few weeks ago, I was thinking about these verses as they apply to my pregnancy and growth.  I have this treasure growing inside my fragile and organic body, and so much is happening by the beautiful design of our creator, and out of my hands. Some power is in my hands.  The power to respond positively to stress and confusion with rest and curiosity.  The power to say no when I have done too much, and the opportunity to say yes as an answer to my intuition.

The part that gets me is the verse that says, “We always carry Jesus’ death around in our bodies, so that Jesus’ life can also be seen in our bodies.” As the life of our new child is starting to be “revealed in my body”, pains of loss continue to meet me at the same time I feel stirrings of joy.  My body continues to show signs of health and growth, and at the same time, I carry the memory of previous injuries.  When Paul wrote these words, he was talking about living as a witness to the sacrifice that Jesus had made, and the promise that awaits those who believe in the power of God.  I feel like this image also carries forward as a testimony to how God can redeem our earthly bodies and offer us new life in the here and now. I can’t help wondering if others who have survived great suffering, physical and/or emotional, also feel this juxtaposition of emotions, as we literally carry our varied experiences with us on our journey towards big dreams and new life.  When I was overwhelmed with pain and suffering, I longed for a time when all of the pain would be gone. Now that I merely carry the memories, the pain seems to add depth and beauty to the joy of new life.

A friend of mine suggested that this image of holding life and death at once exists many places in nature.  Trees, roses, bodies of water, and the list goes on and on.  So, I went looking for a little rose plant to paint in my contemplation.  At the flower market, before I could find any roses, I walked past this Jasmine plant.  The incredible, fragrant smell was overwhelming from this one plant.  Even more remarkable was the fact that it was filled with dead blossoms and stems as well as buds and beautifully flowering branches.  I knew that this is what I needed to paint, so I bought it.

I took it home and tried to take a great picture in the back yard.  I’ll say it.  Part of it was ugly.  Part of it was beautiful.  I had a hard time capturing it and getting what I thought would make a good painting.  Eventually I decided on a few pictures and printed them to paint.

My drawing turned out nicely, but I was having a hard time making a good contrast of colors.  There was just so much green, so much white, and too little purple.  So, I added more purple to the background, and that sort of helped, but it still looked so boring. Then I took it to my watercolor club and one of the members suggested that the plant was just floating.  It needed some context.  If I give it a defined table and shadows, the painting will have more structure. “Don’t rush it!” He reminded me, “It will take many layers, but it will be worth it."

So I started with a darker blue that I made from a bold blue and orange.  I added a layer of shadows and waited.  I added them again and waited a bit more.  I started to see a few trees in the background, so I made a nice brown by taking that shadow color and adding other colors in my palette.  I placed the trees and the blossoms and the background started to take shape.  I added the path in our back yard and some grass.  I added more shadows. The brown I had used for the trees made a nice addition for the dead breaches and blossoms and the soil underneath the plant.

How had I left out these parts before?  Only painting the “life” or bright colors, made the painting seem lifeless. Adding the shadows started to bring the little bush to life.  It sort of jumps off of the page now.  The death and life, the light and the dark, all coming together for a beautiful, almost fragrant, image.  So many times in my life, I dreamed of a day when there would be no more sorrow or pain and yet, especially during pregnancy, I feel like I’m discovering the beauty found in the depth of our experience: the risks taken, the lessons learned, the paths conquered, the valleys explored, the peaks sought after. Perhaps, the beauty comes in the redeeming moments when our tired hands find a new function, when our worn-in bodies serve a new purpose, when we release the expectations we have for ourselves—what we know is possible—and we accept the new gift of life that God is offering us—greater than we could ever imagine.

May you take a few moments today to sit in awe and wonder at the beauty of life you have lived and are now currently living. As you carry the breadth of your experience in your body, may you find joy in God’s continual desire to add new life. Even if our imagination can’t handle it, perhaps we can try to hold this life and death in our bodies.  In the end, may we find that the Holy Spirit holds all these things for us with a fragrant peace that surpasses all understanding. Alleluia, Amen.

My Little Secret

I’ve been keeping a secret, holding it in my heart, waiting with excitement to tell everyone I see. Robbie and I are expecting a baby in January 2019! For those of you who have been following our story, you know this is a tender time, full of joy and fear and wonder and anxiety and ginger chews and ptsd flashbacks and brand new experiences. The longer version of this story started back in January when Robbie and I embarked on a cycle of In Vitro Fertilization.  I used that time to build

trust.  I spent many hours in meditation, learning to trust my body again. I spent many hours painting, reading, and walking in contemplative prayer, learning to trust God again.  I spent several hours on the road to Kansas City, in waiting rooms and taking shots, reminding myself that all of this human effort still left room for God’s activity, that IVF is an “art” form and relies on the magic of creation, which normally works one way, but if everything was working “normally” we wouldn’t be doing this. I ended the cycle with my body being in better shape and feel healthier than I have in years. 

Unfortunately, that space for God to move was proven in a painful way—an unsuccessful cycle. On Good Friday afternoonwe got the call which revealed I was not pregnant, and Robbie and I carried on with our worship commitments, singing songs and praying with the same fervor and feelings of denial and frustration and betrayal that drove Peter to abandon the Jesus who would give up and die on a cross. “Our lives were supposed to be different. We have been serving you with our whole hearts. What have we done wrong? What do we do now? Where do we go from here? Will we ever receive the promises of God?”

I call it the worst April Fool’s Joke Ever. I literally preached on Easter morning, which fell on April Fools Day, saying, “Are you ready to be surprised by God today? No one knew what would happen that First Easter morning.  Every follower of Jesus was dumbfounded and devastated. They thought they knew what Jesus was up to, and then all of a sudden, he was gone! They thought all was lost, and then Jesus rose from the grave.  The resurrection was a HUGE surprise! God wants to surprise you again this Easter! God wants to surprise you with Joy, Love and Hope. Are you ready?” Was I ready? I wanted to be with my whole heart. Surprise us God, I prayed.

We spent that week feeling pretty lost, but we decided we would try another cycle in May, which meant a whole month of sabbath rest for us. No shots, no driving, plenty of exercise, plenty of couple’s time together, and plenty of caffeine for Kati. We would love God and love the life we had together, whatever that looked like.

By the end of the month, I had a feeling. After several fool proof tests, it was undeniable. We were pregnant. Robbie and I were speechless.  I literally laughed loud. I felt a bit like Sarah listening to the angels tell Abraham that she would bear a child. I couldn’t stop laughing. Considering about a month before a doctor had suggested we use donor eggs if we wanted to insure a successful pregnancy, considering all the extra scientific effort which had stimulated my natural hormones, considering our determination to be open to whatever God had in store for us, and God gives us a spontaneous chance with what we really wanted most of all.

So, here we are, 12 weeks down and at least 25 weeks to go. We considered on waiting to announce until the kid was graduating from High School, because we know and understand the fragile nature of life, but we wanted to share this story of immense joy as soon as we could so that we can savor and enjoy every stinkin’ minute of it.  So rejoice with us, because today is the day that the Lord has made.

Alleluia, Amen.

Bowling

On Sunday, Robbie and I went bowling at the MAC! Yes, we both sat down at a wheel and made bowls.  Would you believe it? We have been doing a lot of strength training, but I had no idea it took so much strength to make a bowl on a wheel.  We threw down the ball of clay and started molding it. Well, that’s what I thought we were doing, but then I found out we weren’t shaping it yet, we were just centering it, and grounding it to the wheel.  “Aha…,” I thought. "There is something to this."  The bowl cannot be properly shaped, unless it is centered.  Centering is hard work. The clay wanted to go on it’s own way. At first I tried to force it, but that didn’t work. I tried adding water, and added too much. Once I had to even get a new ball.  Eventually, the teacher helped me, and I got my arms appropriately propped on my legs to keep it steady, and guided the clay to the center.  From there I could begin to open it and shape it, and create it for a purpose.  

I do a lot of centering prayers, but until recently, I have worked quite hard at centering myself and steadying my breathing.  One of my guided meditations pointed out that breathing is one of the most natural things our bodies do on their own.  We can literally breathe in our sleep, if we are healthy and living.  So, when I begin my centering prayer, I now simply become aware of my breath.  I know what you’re thinking… "Isn’t that how every yoga teacher begins their class?”  Yes, I know, I’ve heard it said a million times, and yet, there is something special in noticing and choosing to do something, once you realize what that something actually looks and feels like.

As I was reflecting on God’s role as the potter, I realized that maybe God could do the work of centering me too.  I pray that God would open my heart, I pray for God to shape me, but I usually take the responsibility of finding my center.  So, here goes.

Lord, I know I am fearfully and wonderfully made by you. Guide me once more to find my center.  Hold me close to your heart. Let your will and your ways keep me at peace, that I might be willing to be opened once more, shaped once more, filled once more and used once more.  You are the potter, and I am your clay.  I was never created to be perfect, but I was created to be flexible, beautiful, hopeful, and loved. Amen.

My ball became a tea/coffee/watercolor bowl.  Nourishment it will provide, once it is fired and ready…

Wishing you had a handmade bowl or cup of your own? Click here to find more information on the Empty Bowls Event, hosted by the Manhattan Nonviolence Initiative and others, coming up April 7th.

The Little Voice

Last week on Facebook, I posted this picture of my physical transformation over the last 6 months which really just shows the strength I have gained physically and mentally.  A few people asked how I did it, and a lot of that comes from my faith.  I wouldn’t say it is in the faith that God would provide me the strength, but rather that God made me strong enough in the very beginning, and I’m still learning to tap into that power.

I am, and always have been, a self motivator. As long as I can remember, I’ve always had at least one little voice saying, “Go Kate, you can do it, I know you can.”  Sometimes the voice gets a little mean. I make a mistake or whine or drag my feet, and she says, “What’s the matter with you! What were you thinking! You have to be more and do more if you want to show them what you’re worth!”  It’s great to know your worth and what you are capable of doing, but my greatest fear is probably that I am not worthy of the work in front of me, or that I am not enough.  Because I am human, this fear will always have friends in the world and the little voice loves to mock me with their words or expectations. My worst emotional and physical experiences have been when the little voice had echoes of real people in my life or actual situations which only serve to prove the point: I am not enough.

Theologically, I can “Jesus juke” the little voice by saying, “Jesus is enough.”  But sometimes the little voice is so loud, that I’m speechless. I start to believe it.

When Jesus looks at us, he sees our failings. He doesn’t ignore them, because they are a part of us. They have formed us for better or for worse. But he has also formed us, and he knows what moves us, he knows what motivates us. He knows the deepest desires of our heart. He can use this to shape us and mold us into the best version of ourselves. When I change, I echo Gods work. God’s work is not making me enough for the world, God is enough for us all. God’s work resonates and travels when I open up my life to be an echo of grace.  I don’t have to be the copy or exactly enough for the world, I am called to be a mirror, a reflection, an echo of the one who has more than enough love to go around.

How do I ask the little voice to echo God’s voice? I think I just did. “Go and do likewise,” she says. “Go as far and as hard as you can. Jesus will make up the rest. He always has, and he always will." Even when it looks like he doesn’t come through on the route you want, he has been working with a bigger picture, and even though my puzzle piece is not enough, he will come to meet me and help me make that perfect and holy match. That is the promise of the gospel, not that God will make me enough, but that when I open up to reveal that gap, God’s beautiful love shines through and in the cavern of my inadequacy there is an echo of the little voice of God, “You are loved. You are precious, and you are spectacularly made for this.” 

I may not be perfect, but I am fearfully and wonderfully made. And so are you.

Amen.

Beauty in the Bark

Photo Credit: me. Yep. We went to Florida. So, the next few posts will most likely reveal some of our reflections during our amazing adventure in Orlando. The first "attraction" that struck my curiosity were the varieties of palm trees and palmeados. My knowledge of palm life cycles has become a mix of observation and YouTube videos of palm experts talking about how to grow one at home. What fascinated me was this longing to know why some trees are short and others are crazy tall? Why do some have a full trunk of woven branches and others just have just the top basket? Do they prune themselves or do gardeners pull off the palms to reveal their bark? I wanted to observe them up close so I could paint them, and in the midst of that longing to know more about them, I realized I was actually looking with wonder for my own self growth and “pruning.”  

In my last year of rising strong, I haven’t been sure how to put words together about where I go from what has happened to us.  Moving “forward” or “on” doesn’t seem to fit. I know that roses are more beautiful when pruned, and every challenging experience teaches us and strengthens us, but how do you move on without putting something behind you or letting go of that person you have lost? You can let go of the pain, you can receive forgiveness for your regrets, you can express grace for the shame in your life.   And then what do you do with this fact that God let you fall, you were not protected and you carry yourself differently, feeling a bit more fragile and a lot more tender.

I’ve been looking for an image of wholeness which honors brokenness and tenderness with beauty. I think that’s what drew me to look closer at the palm tree.  What I instinctively noticed as beautifully woven bark was actually broken branches, remaining on the tree. The striking rings on the tallest trees, also show the marks of palms grown and lost.  The beautiful and distinctive trunk reveals the history of the loss of life and broken branches. Like a beautiful tapestry or a growing palm tree, this masterpiece of our personhood continues to change shape and twist, to grow further out and further up, like our ever expanding universe. 

The pain and loss we have endured adds to the beauty and the grit of our character. Our experiences hang on like those broken branches, and we will continue to reach out with new branches, trusting that no matter what life prunes from our tree, the resourceful and imaginative creator will continue to add to our beauty and the Breath of Life will keep us dancing in the wind.