After my friend Paula died, I found myself writing essays (some of the favorites are attached). I would send these essays to friends and family and they would respond with “you should write a book.” And so I write.
Hopefully some day this blog/collection of posts and essays will become a book titled All are Welcome in my Father’s House. The title best describes the most important journey of my life – the spiritual journey. I hope the pages of this site describe that journey in an engaging manner.
First and foremost, I would like to acknowledge my spiritual mentor, Joanne. I would not have my own beliefs if not for her faith and guidance.
I want to thank my husband Clark for his endless support.
I want to thank my family and friends with whom I have enjoyed long discussions about our spiritual journeys. I want to thank Paula’s sister Susan and brother Frank.
I will try to give appropriate references to all the literature that influenced this writing; especially Mere Christianity 1 by C.S. Lewis. In the introduction, he considered Faith to be like a large building with a large foyer. Each room off this foyer contains the discrete Theologies (Baptist, Catholic, etc…).
I also want to thank the events that made the above picture so meaningful to me. After my friend Paula died, I decided to google the name of my childhood drug dealer. (I spent my teenage years lost in alcohol and drug abuse). I found out that he had died a few months earlier. I visited his grave site a few times to try to find closure regarding past hurts. On the anniversary of his death, I told myself that I would visit his grave if I could find an uplifting balloon at the grocery store – I found his grave depressing. The store did not have anything to my liking. As I drove home, I said a short prayer that ended with: “…when I die and breathe my last breath, it will be nice to see him again, God willing.” As I finished the prayer, I looked up and God was smiling over our home. I started to cry. If God welcomed him, God welcomes everyone.
What makes me qualified to write about spiritual matters?
Very little, I am afraid to say.
I guess as a way of introduction, I will apologize for the way I tell a story, my story in this case. I don’t start at the beginning and go in a linear fashion, in fact I spend a lot of time talking about other people’s stories. Take the picture above, whenever I look at it, I think of God’s love for all of us. I hope the reader identifies with the characters in my life and sees God’s love in each of the Chapters.
The photo above was taken two days after my friend Paula had died and the day before her family were due to fly in to make the arrangements. After spending a week with them, I emailed them this picture along with my response to Paula’s Birthday Thank-you email.
Dear Phyllis,
Thank you so much for the wonderful card and for your gift. I appreciate both.
You are aware of my conviction about your generosity: that you’ve already done way too much for me; obviously, this conviction of mine is meaningless when it comes to you just doing what you want to do for others, including me.
My fervent hope – my certain expectation – is that down the road, whenever necessary, somebody like you will be there for you.
Thank you very much.
love, Paula
My response:
What a nice thought. If you get to where we are going (some people call it heaven) before I do, maybe you can keep the door open for me.
My friend Paula – thank you for showing me the way.
Betty Mac (always an inspiration – the woman could find spiritual meaning in every situation).
Early Sobriety: I’m on the right in the overalls with flannel shirt enjoying a Blue Grass concert in 1981.
After failing out of college, I moved to Exeter, this picture was taken in front of the Grange where I met Clark. Exeter reminds me of the TV town Mayberry – the Andy Griffith town. Where else does one walk their cow in the memorial day parade?
I am holding my brother Stephen’s hand on Easter maybe around 1968.
I am the baby hugging my sister Marcella.
Below, My sister holding my hand.
This was taken on one of Grandma Shiller’s yearly visits from Fort Worth (1971).
My brother Stephen (6) and I (11) are showing off the tandem bicycle I made from 2 bikes.
The picture below is Dad with his children and Marcella’s husband Tim taken during family reunion 1994.
Wedding pictures September 2004 with mom, me, Clark and Joanne, Marcella and Tim and the Shiller family.
Mom and Dad at Dad’s retirement party from the Navy. Dad in his dress white uniform.
My Uncle Frank and Aunt Thelma
Jane M and Phyllis summer of 1980
My Cousin David and Linda with the Texan Shillers
My brother Stephen enjoying lunch at Mom’s favorite spot – Abbott’s of Noank CTThe chapel at Ender’s IslandA frog in the clouds and a real frog paying Paula a visit at the Veteran’s Cemetery.
The book that Dad and relatives wrote about the family and rural life in the 30s and 40s in central Texas.
Shiller family tree
Dad studying around 1955 (reading was a life long passion)
According to the Web Free Dictionary, Epiphany has two meanings:
1. (Ecclesiastical Terms) the manifestation of a supernatural or divine reality
2. Any moment of great or sudden revelation.
The church celebrates Epiphany on January 6 commemorating the first manifestation of Jesus Christ to the Gentiles, represented by the Magi. This year is especially poignant for me because a childhood friend, Janine, died on January 6 after a year long struggle with Glioblastoma brain cancer. Her older sister, Sue, has become one of my dearest friends. Sue has helped each member of her immediate family reach the finish line safely; first her dad, then mom, then brother, and now sister. And so, it seems appropriate to write about manifestations of divine reality. These manifestations are often called signs or miracles; they are present throughout the entire Bible as well as everyday life; if, we rightly relate ourselves to God.
I was driving to Kingston this Saturday to drop off refreshments for the meeting (I am in quarantine with a bad cold), when I thought about how group anniversaries were always special to me because my dead friends seem more real as I cooked their favorite meals. Every day is like that now, a gift of my own brain tumor. I remember days from childhood with clarity that I don’t have for recent events. I have asked people who have lost relatives, especially parents, “Do you find your relationship with them has improved since they have died?” I once stated at a meeting that my relationship with both my parents has never been better. A man, who had just lost his mother, chuckled in a way that let me know he was comforted by the thought.
My prayers each day include both the living and the dead. It seems like the very sick or recently departed have a way of adding additional people to my prayer list. My thoughts went back to Bobbi’s friend Megan and the period of time between her death and service. Each day had a rainbow, just for her and her family and friends. (I think that counts as manifestation of divine reality).
Genesis 9 NIV
And God said, “This is the sign of the covenant I am making between me and you and every living creature with you, a covenant for all generations to come: 13 I have set my rainbow in the clouds, and it will be the sign of the covenant between me and the earth.
This line of thinking always brings me back to the last lines of Paula’s poem:
“…From all of eternity He has cherished you. The world He has created would be incomplete without you.”
This line ties back to my current state of affairs; my brain doesn’t work at 100%, there is empty space where there used to be brains. Yet, I recall childhood Sunday school lessons, wise advise from Sue’s and Janine’s mother, and Bible verses with new found clarity. I suspect this is a gift of the Holy Spirit doing for me what I can’t do for myself. This gift is made much easier now that I am not trying to do everything myself. And if I am correct that some of my thinking is provided by the Holy Spirit, then all memories are in the present –a manifestation of the divine reality.
Jack used to end each talk with the forward to the 24hour book:
…Yesterday is but a dream and tomorrow a vision. But today, well lived, makes ever yesterday a dream of happiness and every tomorrow a vision of hope… I have found this true for me – all of my memories have become good memories. I would have never dreamed this to be possible. There was so much that I have experienced that seemed unforgivable. And yet, everything is possible with God.
6th grade photo. Janine is upper left and I am lower right (glasses and long hair)
In March of 2014 Dad and I were waiting for a plane to head to Texas for a semi family reunion. Our plans were for a few days visiting the birthplace of dad and his brothers as well as the family burial plots. Stephen then drove us up to Colorado for a visit with the Colorado family. In the airport, Dad shared with me that he had been dismissed as the Sunday school teacher for spending too much time teaching lessons from the book of Job to elementary age children. As my dad got older, his understanding of the scriptures deepened, not everyone appreciated this.
I remember fondly the year that Dad taught my 3rd grade Sunday school class.
In one class, we learned how to make mosaic art using minature ceramic tiles. We cut the tiles, designed the pattern, and then used mortar and cement to bind to the support piece.
In another class, we each learned to make our own Bible quiz toy – this was way cool. It still is way cool and maybe just a little too dangerous for young children, but what do you expect from the sixties. On a poster board cut out to the size of a shirt box, we wrote questions on one side and possible answers a,b, c on the other. We cut a small hole near upper edge and squeezed a miniature light bulb through the hole. Dad used electrical tape to attach electrical wire to the base, leaving the other end free. We put a piece of cardboard at the bottom of the shirt box and taped a 9V battery to one end. Dad let us connect the second piece of electrical wire to the battery. Using slips of aluminum foil attached to the back side of the poster board side, we finished the connection only for the correct answers. If you answered the question correctly, the bulb would light up. I still think this is the coolest Sunday school class ever.
As great as these memories are, I recall most often how he helped us study the Bible. I try to do the same with young people today. He would call out a certain passage and we would race to find it first without looking at the table of contents.
Now it seems like it is the Holy Spirit calling out the verse that pertains to my situation. For example, the day of my surgery, Psalm 27 was on my phone as the daily mediation:
The Lord is my light…whom shall I fear…
The Lord is my refuge…what shall I be afraid of…
One thing I ask…to dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my (eternal) life…
My friend Susan and I both take a lot of comfort in John Chapter 14.
My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.
We often talk about how we will be sitting on the wall with our mothers welcoming the newbies.
I send good morning texts to a growing number of people. I confided to one old friend, that I suspect that is what heaven is like – a bunch of people smiling at each other saying good morning.
It is that time of year that my glee regarding this day of sobriety cannot be contained; and so I write.
Prior to the celebration of my 41st sober birthday, I shared with Joanne, my thoughts:
“I have been weepy in a good way all day. You would think after all this time, that I would not be surprised when God, when asked in the morning to keep me away from a drink, keeps me sober the entire day.”
The adjectives found in the title of this essay are found in Chapter 9 (The family afterward) of the Big Book. Throughout my sobriety, I more readily related to the sentiments found on page 164.
“Abandon yourself to God as you understand God. Admit your faults to Him and to your fellows. Clear away the wreckage of your past.
Give freely of what you find and join us. We shall be with you in the Fellowship of the Spirit, and you will surely meet some of us as you trudge the Road of Happy Destiny.”
After listening to a Tim Keller sermon on Peace, all of a sudden it became clear that Happy, joyous and Free are the perfect description of the gift of sobriety. In Tim Keller’s sermon on Peace, he described the fruit of the Holy Spirit – Love, Joy, Peace… (Galatians 5).
I want to start with the wonderful condition referred to as Joy. Joy, unlike happiness, is not contingent on circumstances. I had intense joy while in intensive care following my brain surgery. I believe Joy is a gift from our Higher Power. It buoys us up into the arms of our Creator, no matter the circumstances. I believe it is never earned through good works, but is always granted to those who seek Him with their entire heart.
Jeremiah 29:11-13
New Revised Standard Version
11 For surely I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope. 12 Then when you call upon me and come and pray to me, I will hear you. 13 When you search for me, you will find me; if you seek me with all your heart…
Joy is so unlike the other aspects – happiness, freedom, even from love. It bubbles up in unexpected ways. I think I will start by sharing the experiences of old friends.
Let’s start with Betty Mac; first let’s give a little background information.
Betty Mac was diagnosed with a terminal illness affecting her pulmonary system in 1996. She was given a 10% chance to survive and told to get her affairs in order. She started an intense daily chemotherapy which continued for eight years, at which time she was considered to be in complete remission. Later she developed Lymphoma and died October 2, 2013 (on her sober birthday).
I was present when she first announced her health concerns in 1996, and would pray daily for her. In 2003, she found out that I was diagnosed with advanced breast cancer. One of my favorite memories, is Betty coming up to me Christmas Eve, with a huge smile on her face, I was now a member of her group of people with serious health issues. She told me how surprised, yet grateful, she was to be alive. And she shared with me the joy that she discovered in living each day in the knowledge that each day is a gift from God.
Next is Lloyd.
Every time Lloyd shared, he described how he had done nothing to earn the gift of sobriety. He would often share how he spent 16 years in a prison for the criminally insane, over the death of a young woman. I know he showed nothing but kindness to me; giving me rides when he saw me walking and giving me a new 100 cup coffee pot when the one that I was entrusted with caught on fire. He invited me to his wedding in 1982 and soon afterward, he and Mary moved away. A few years later they came back. I remember how he came up to me at the Saturday Night meeting and smiled from ear to ear. “Phyllis, it is good to see you….Phyllis, I have been faithful.” The way he shared that information was similar to the way a person might share that they had won a million dollars. When I think of joy, I always think of Lloyd because joy is most easily cherished when one realizes one doesn’t deserve it.
Next is Paula.
Paula and I became friends when she moved to South County RI in 2006. I would give her rides to doctors and out of town meetings. When my mother got ill, she listened and gave me support – she shared from her long list of hardships. In 2012, she was diagnosed with terminal Melanoma. She wrote me a letter describing the joy she felt in the decision made by her and her doctors not to treat her condition aggressively. We would often talk on spiritual matters, especially death and dying. I remember speaking to her the night before she died. Our reminiscing was full of laughter and joy – she could not wait to be with her husband Johnny.
Next is Jack.
In Jack’s story, he described having the last rites of the Church performed for him twice, once for a motorcycle accident and the second time for a head-on collision after a night of heavy drinking. The second accident affected the left side of his brain – paralyzing the right side of his body. He had to re-learn how to talk, walk, and use his left side for everything. All who knew him were impressed by his cheerful attitude toward life. In 2013 he fell down a flight of stairs which caused more internal injuries. It became harder for him to navigate each day, but he remained cheerful. On April 30 2021, Jack died in his sleep. The paramedics described their surprise when they reached the home – Jack was already dead, but what surprised them was that Jack had a smile on his face.
Every time that Jack spoke, he would end with a portion of a Sanskrit Proverb that can be found in the foreword to the 24 hour book:
…Yesterday is but a dream, tomorrow but a vision,
But today well lived,
Makes every yesterday a dream of happiness
And every tomorrow a vision of hope…
I used to think this was sappy, but as I lay in the hospital bed with all my memories rushing in, they were all precious because I have, in sobriety, lived today well.
I think of my Mom, Dad, Step Mom, Step sister, brother, sister, aunts and uncles, co-workers, church families, and my sober family and I realize just how fortunate I am. I love a very large number of people.
I have enjoyed writing this, with more than one tear leaking out as I reminisce about all the wonderful people in my life. If you haven’t figured it out yet, each person in my life is wonderful not by their deeds or by their knowledge, but by God’s love for them. “…Give freely of what you find and join us. We shall be with you in the Fellowship of the Spirit, and you will surely meet some of us as you trudge the Road of Happy Destiny.”
Like Saint Augustine the greatest confession that I have is that God is real. As my friend Paula would say “He is as real as the air I breathe and closer than my hands and feet”.
Funny story: On Saturday mornings, I wash up, dress in my pink outfit and head to Ender’s Island to pray (see pictures in picture section). My neighbors are used to seeing me pray every morning with the stations of the Cross Chaplet that I use for my morning prayers. One morning, when returning from Ender’s Island, dressed like the picture above, I stopped the car at the street to get the newspaper. A neighbor driving by, smiled, waved and gave me two thumbs up. I later told Susan that I beamed back a smile that said God is real; much like around Christmas when a little kid shares the secret that Santa is real.
In the EWTN Daily Readings and Homily YouTube video on 2020-08-28 – Fr. Joseph states that the most read Christian book outside of the Bible is My Confessions by Saint Augustine of Hippo written in 397AD. Father Joseph shares that instead beginning the book by talking about himself, Saint Augustine starts with this confession:
“Great art Thou, O Lord, and greatly to be praised; great is Thy power, and of Thy wisdom there is no end. And man, being a part of Thy creation, desires to praise Thee, man, who bears about with him his mortality, the witness of his sin, even the witness that Thou “resistest the proud, ” – yet man, this part of Thy creation, desires to praise Thee. Thou movest us to delight in praising Thee; for Thou hast formed us for Thyself, and our hearts are restless till they find rest in Thee. Lord, teach me to know and understand which of these should be first, to call on Thee, or to praise Thee; and likewise to know Thee, or to call upon Thee.
Oh! how shall I find rest in Thee? Who will send Thee into my heart to inebriate it, so that I may forget my woes, and embrace Thee my only good? What art Thou to me? Have compassion on me, that I may speak. What am I to Thee that Thou demandest my love, and unless I give it Thee art angry, and threatenest me with great sorrows? Is it, then, a light sorrow not to love Thee? Alas! alas! tell me of Thy compassion, O Lord my God, what Thou art to me. “Say unto my soul, I am thy salvation.” So speak that I may hear. Behold, Lord, the ears of my heart are before Thee; open Thou them, and “say unto my soul, I am thy salvation.” When I hear, may I run and lay hold on Thee. Hide not Thy face from me. Let me die, lest I die, if only I may see Thy face.“
Recently Cheryl gave me this painted rock in celebration of my 40 years of sobriety. This is a perfect symbol of what I consider to be a miracle – a day of sobriety continuous granted over a forty year period.
When I tell my story, I describe how I was a shy, angry child who often spent long periods of time separated from the normal children (put in the special ed. section). This continued until I entered a private school. I smile as I relate the story – “…where if you have enough money, you are smart.” Within a week of starting this new school, I had my first cigarette; soon thereafter my first joint; and a few months later my first drink.
After the first drink/first drunk, I drank whenever possible and life became worth living. I could talk, dance, and sing (I can’t really dance or sing). I went from being a special Ed. kid to a straight A student. I had found the solution to my problem – alcohol. Unfortunately I am one of those people, who once I have taken a drink, I do not stop until something makes me stop. My teenage years became full of experiences where I hurt others or was hurt by others. I found myself drunk at times that I did not wish to be drunk – like at a friend’s funeral.
In the summer of 1980, I was introduced to a group of people just like me. Like me, these people were powerless over alcohol. I learned that the common solution for these people was to ask a Higher Power (in the morning, on one’s knees) to keep away from a drink; put sobriety first; then thank that Higher Power at night. And as my friend Paula would say, “If you are lucky enough the next day to wake up, you do it all over again.”
One small problem – I had stopped believing in God. (I think C.S. Lewis describes a similar period in his life; “…I was angry at God for not existing.”)
I was attracted to the people who had an active faith in God, (as they understood Him). In the fall of 1980, I was walking to my car after talking with some of these people and I looked up to the starlit sky and said “Hey, I will believe in you if you keep me sober.” Every morning I would get on my knees and pray “Dear Joanne’s God, please keep me sober.” An amazing thing happened – I have not had a drink since July 11th 1980. (It makes it fairly easy to believe in God, if a drunk like me can stay sober).
Dad celebrating his 90th birthday with co-workers and friends.
I find it sad that I never truly appreciated either my mother or father until they died.
I could start this chapter by describing my dad’s life; how he was the first son of a sharecropper farmer in central Texas during the dust bowl years; how his dad died when he was just eight years old; how his mom was left to take care of five young children with little help for two years. And how, in spite of all the hardships, each of the five children became successful. (My Dad and his sister Evelyn wrote a book about their story Hertha’s Family) I highly recommend it.
No I am going to start this chapter by talking about the quirky ways that Dad fostered a reliance on self and later on God.
When my Dad died, this was the picture that was on his night stand. Stephen and I are showing off the tandem bike that I made from two bicycles. I am 11 years old and not afraid to use power tools to cut a 2×4 to the length appropriate for the job – stabilizing the bikes. “Who lets their kids use power tools unsupervised?” – my parents, that’s who. I shared this with my sister Marcella and she shared her own story: Dad was working with the extension ladder at our Gales Ferry home when an accident caused a large gash on his left thumb. He found Marcella and asked for her assistance. “Your mother will be needlessly worried if we tell her I was hurt.” And so Marcella caught the dripping blood with towels as Dad stitched his thumb closed.
The rock wall that Dad built with his own two hands; and the boulder that the builder left for us (my sister is sitting on said rock)
My mother was born and raised in south Texas (near Houston). Dad grew up in Central Texas (Fort Worth area). When Dad received the Naval orders to move to CT, he went ahead to purchase a house. My mother’s request was for the builders to leave a large rock in the front yard. They had grown up in a part of the world where large stones were a sign of great wealth. The CT builder laughed and said “…sure we can leave a boulder.” On the Sunday drives, both mom and Dad were impressed by the rock walls that had been built during the colonial period to clear the fields for planting. So Dad started to dig and collect rocks on our property for the wall that you see above.
The cottage in the woods that will house Dad’s books.
After 17 years of being cancer free, my breast cancer came back as a fast growing brain tumor. I am recuperating after having had a large tumor removed. They removed all of the tumor and left me all of my grey matter. I have no brain damage – how crazy is that. The seriousness of the situation is not lost on me and I would like to use this blog to tell my story. When my friend Joan’s cancer returned and was facing a difficult bone marrow transplant, she went on what her husband described as “my farewell tour” . This blog will act as my farewell tour. I smile to think it may be a very long farewell tour; my friend Betty Mac lived over twenty years after her terminal diagnosis.
Those people who know me, know that I am going to start with the ironing story. Those people who don’t know me so well – it is a good story.
They used to have a phrase for people like me in early sobriety – “not quite right”. I carried a buck knife in my back pocket and took it out if anyone tried to get too close. I would sometimes sharpen the blade during meetings while the other women knitted. (Then I would wonder why nobody would give me a ride to a meeting).
I met Clark on a Sunday Night, he came up to the pole I was leaning against and said may I lean also. He didn’t say anything else; I liked that about him. Two years later, he asked me out on a date – I stood him up. He asked again and we went to the Brown book store and a meeting. Later that evening he shook my hand good night. A month later he moved in. He asked me if I would iron his shirts and I said no – Thank you. Thirty years went by; my mother and I went to many meetings together and when she got ill (dementia and cancer), I took care of her.
After she died, we ended up with her stuff. I ended up with her iron. One day while, putting the shirts in the dryer. I took out the iron and started ironing Clark’s shirts. God had healed something inside that I didn’t think was able to be healed. Among our circle, we often hear the phrase beyond my wildest dreams – ironing Clark’s shirts is my beyond my wildest dreams.
We meet via zoom on Wednesdays at noon for an hour long Bible Study. Currently we are in the first Chapter of Corinthians. I tend to keep my mute on so that the distractions of my work life don’t interrupt the study. It was during one of these Bible Studies that Marie shared a very touching experience of walking down the street after her husband died and “hearing” music. Listening to people share has helped lessen the grief of losing my dad. I keep on reflecting on my early days of sobriety. When I told my dad I was an alcoholic and that I was joining a 12 step program , he had some difficulty with all of it. After some time processing, he pronounced that he was comfortable. I remember walking down the street with him and he turned and announced “you always wanted a family”
And yes I now have a very large family – I could not be more grateful.
Every May, my group has its anniversary with speakers and a buffet dinner. I look forward to this every year because as I cook I get to spend time with my dead friends. At the grocery store, while buying the food to prepare for the day long cooking, I can’t contain my joy and I smile at everyone I come in contact. They smile back with a look, “Do I know you?”
For a two week period after the diagnosis of the brain tumor, I have basked in the camaraderie of my dead friends company – aw such joy.
While I was critical, the medical staff worried about my physical body, while God kept me company. Every bit of my life, even the messy parts, is precious to both me and my Higher Power.
Also during this two week period, I have heard the choir of angels in my head. I shared this with Bobbi and she said to enjoy, but “stay away from the light” – she needs me to stay alive for awhile.
For the last two years, I have prayed, in a contemplative manner, the Stations of the Cross every morning. I have found that this act of prayer has clarified some things for me allowing me to rightly relate myself to that Higher Power I call God
Saint Catherine of Sienna had a vision in which she asked God “who are you?; who am I?” God responded, “I am that I am; and you my dear child is she who is not.”
The 5th Station – Simon of Cyrene, having come in from the field is pressed into service, carrying your cross. The church officials who had condemn you to die were afraid that you would die before being crucified. They wanted to fulfill the law and win favor with God. But God’s love is not transactional. God loves us because of who He is, not because of what we have done.
The 6th Station – Veronica, out of compassion, wipes your face. Veronica who is not found in the Bible is someone that I relate to. According to the Catholics, she is the Patron Saint of laundry workers, including those of us that iron Clark’s shirts.
Related to this contemplation is the 7th step prayer: Dear God, my creator, I am now today willing for you to have all of me, good and bad. Please remove all character defects that inhibit my usefulness to you or others. Please give me the strength to do Thy will. Thy will not mine be done.
When I think of legacy, I think of two parts, something that “lasts”; and something of “purpose”. One of the definitions on the web for legacy is “Something handed down from an ancestor or a predecessor or from the past”
Paula and I would sometimes discuss this idea of “what will be my legacy”? We both have gravitated to older, sicker people who have a habit of dying before we do. When the people who you have shared so much with leave before you do, there is a valid question “what will be my legacy”? “Who will be around to care that I existed?” “Who will care about the people in the photos that I have kept.”
Things that last:
One of my hang-ups as a kid was the thought that everything should last; nobody should die; nothing should be discarded or thrown away (I guess I still feel that way). The thought that friends of mine who I cared about very deeply are gone saddens me (“they were important to me!!”).
I have been known to get emotionally attached to many inanimate objects. My parents drove us across country from San Diego to Groton, CT in a ten-year old Renault (I was two years old at the time). About seven years later, Dad told me that he was going to sell the car, (the car that he taught me and a neighbor, both of us eight years old girls, how to drive). I pleaded with him not to get rid of it (too much sentimental value). He ended up giving it to a troubled teenage boy up the street. (Ours was the only house in the neighborhood that was not “egged” that Halloween. We always thought the two events were related.)
When Ola, our first dog died, Clark picked what seemed like the most “high end” monument retailer. They happened to be almost an hour away. We made an appointment and the sales man helped us pick out a stone that was appropriate for a dog (dogwood flowers on the corners). I bought the insurance policy on the stone that guaranteed it for perpetuity. (The stone cost more than double what I spent on my Mom’s stone). When I shared this story with my friend Frank, he laughed and said: “they saw you coming”. I can smile now because I don’t even know where the perpetuity policy is.
In New Hampshire we often visited the “man on the mountain” which was a rock formation on the side of a mountain that looked like the profile of a man. This rock formation should have lasted forever (or at least my life time), but it fell off the mountain a few years ago (acid rain may have accelerated the process).
Things of purpose:
My parents instilled in us a very strong work ethic: “work hard and makes us proud”. I have had many accomplishments in my professional life. But it has been my experience that nothing in the business world is truly lasting. Many of the companies that I have worked for got to a certain size and “got greedy” and decided to “cash out”. An example is the building, (where a picture of a former RI Governor and me was taken), sits idle without any tenants other than an occasional graduate student. I have good memories of mentoring people and helping young people find a career that fit their abilities and desires, however, any good that I may have done is “lost in the wind” once the company is gone. Even though I have been very successful, I don’t think I will have much of a legacy professionally. The environmental laboratory business is too volatile to build a lasting legacy.
Saturday Night: Paula would often tell people that Saturday night exists because of me. This may be an exaggeration (but not much of one). I help newcomers take on responsibilities in the group and if they falter, I pick up the slack. I have made more pots of coffee than I can begin to count and I have rarely missed a Saturday night (can’t remember the last one that I missed). Having said this, I am certain that when I am gone, someone else will fill that role (Paula called me a “benevolent dictator”), or like so many groups, the Saturday night group will disband from lack of interest. Again this will not be my legacy.
It appears that the adage “nothing of this world lasts” is true.
So I think maybe “legacies” may only be for famous people, and I suspect that the legacies that we build for our public figures have more to do with our wants and aspirations than the actual accomplishments of the people involved.
The spiritual angle
I smile each time I think back to what Hughie would say if a newcomer said that he/she wasn’t fond of the spiritual part of the program, He would say: “It is a spiritual program; there is no part to it.”
I think that this is true of all life, but we sometimes get muddled in self-centered thoughts (I know I do).
Paula and I would talk often, especially during her last illness, about many different topics from a spiritual angle. (In one of her journal entries, she had described some of her spiritual journey and then made the comment – “that Higher Power is as real as the breath I breathe and closer than my hands and feet”).
Some of our conversations went in the direction that scientific theories can also be spiritual theories (if you believe that all things come from God). I especially enjoy linking things that I learned in church to things that I learned in school.
Michelangelo’s Sistine chapel painting of God creating Adam:
I was drawn to biochemistry in college. I am fascinated by the fact that DNA are made from four bases: adenine (A), cytosine (C), guanine (G), and thymine (T); that DNA instructs the cells to make the proteins that drive life as we know it; and that proteins are built from amino acids, and some amino acids aren’t made by our bodies (essential). I was watching a show on PBS that was trying to recreate life by “making” an amino acid in a “test tube”. They weren’t able to do it; but the show went in the direction that the essential amino acids that started life on our planet probably came from a passing asteroid. I immediately thought of the Michelangelo’s painting of God with an outstretched hand “touching” the outstretched hand of Adam. The two images tie together in my head beautifully.
The string theory and the “word of God”
I have an easier time grasping science than religion (even though I would really like to be a “good” person). Sometimes science allows me to bridge the gap. The string theory is one of those cases. Einstein’s theories are “true” only when the object that is being observed has sufficient mass. When you get down to the molecular level, the theories fall apart. The string theory basically says that yes, matter is made of molecules; and molecules are made of atoms; and atoms are made of protons and electrons (and other small bits); but at the base tying everything together are strings (vibrations that are not made of matter). These vibrations have a frequency, and frequency is what makes sound. Therefore the universe is constantly making a sound; for me this is “the word of God”.
The thought that brings me the most comfort is that:
The part of the person that matters most never dies.
I am especially fond of the following verse of Amazing Grace:
“When we’ve been there ten thousand years
Bright shining as the sun.
We’ve no less days to sing God’s praise
Than when we’ve first begun”.
On the day that I wrote this essay a smiling face shown from the clouds over Paula’s grave (the picture above). I find it very easy to imagine Paula “bright shining as the sun”; and maybe this is the best legacy of all.
With Covid-19 wreaking havoc on life as we know it, I find that it has been easier to see God in all of the seemingly unconnected activities (especially when I look for connections). On June 6, the Lutheran Church of the Good Shepherd (LCGS) Choir shared with us a virtual choral rendition of “You Are Mine” One June 7, we started having Zoom coffee hour following the YouTube worship service. During the Sunday July 5th coffee hour, I asked for prayers regarding the weather for July 11th – it had been forecast-ed for an 80% chance of rain – it stayed dry all day. Saturday July 11th, Clark presented me with a gourmet cupcake with two small candles – 4 and 0. It was an awesome day with too many well wishes to put down in this writing. The July 12 Lutheran virtual sermon was on the Parable of the Sower (with explanation) from Matthew 13. The July 19 Lutheran virtual sermon was on the Parable of weeds among the wheat (with explanation) All of these events seem to me to illustrate the truth of Romans 8:28 And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose. Let’s start with the song; “You are Mine” by David Haas. I thought it was the perfect song to have on my playlist in the weeks before my anniversary. [Verse 1] I will come to you in the silence; I will lift you from all your fear. You will hear My voice; I claim you as My choice; be still, and know I am near. [Verse 2] I am hope for all who are hopeless; I am eyes for all who long to see. In the shadows of the night’ I will be your light’ Come and rest in Me. [Verse 3] I am strength for all the despairing; Healing for the ones who dwell in shame. All the blind will see, the lame will all run free; and all will know My name. [Chorus] Do not be afraid, I am with you; I have called you each by name. Come and follow Me; I will bring you home; I love you and you are mine.
July 11th marked my 40th sober anniversary (or sober birthdays as my friend Paula referred to them). I was deeply touched as I listened to my friend Sue’s rendition of Happy Birthday to you… recorded in my voice mail. (I wonder if she was aware that Paula used to do the same.)
Sky show on my sober anniversary 7/11/17 “I like to think that, if sobriety is God’s gift to me, then my sober life is my gift to God. I hope that God is as happy with His gift as I am with mine.” – Anonymous
The two sermons listed above both referred to agricultural parables. Jesus used simple stories to describe the Kingdom of God. The reading in the first sermon describes how a sower went out to sow and how seeds fell on the path, on rocky ground, among thorns and in good soil. In the explanation, it is explained how the things of this world prevent all but the seed in good soil from producing good fruit. As Pastor Kohl discussed how, at various times in our lives, our inner-self reflect any and all of these terrains; and since it was the day after my anniversary, I could not help but add my own twist to the story. When I first started drinking, I thought I had found the solution to my problems, I went from a special needs kid to a straight A student. I thought hard work and perseverance was the answer to any problem – walking humbly with God was not on my list of goals. Looking back on my “successes”, I see how fake they were – like the path, rocky ground and thorns. It reminded me of a Latin teacher in high school who laughing shared with us that B.S stood for bull shit, M.S. stood for more shit and P.H.D stood for piled higher and deeper (she had a P.H.D in Latin studies). As I listened to Pastor Kohl, I smiled as I realized that the failings of my life made for good manure, which in turn has produced good soil.
The reading in the second sermon was the Parable of weeds among the wheat (with explanation): Just as the weeds are collected and burned up with fire, so it will be at the end of the age…the angels…will collect all causes of sin and all evildoers and they will throw them into the furnace of fire.” After my fourth and fifth step, I am keenly aware that all grace comes from God and that anything that I grow on my own is weed. When I was younger, I was afraid of this passage thinking that I was going to burn in hell, now I am comforted that God will remove from me any character defect that inhibits my usefulness to him or others. In other words, all sin and evil will be removed making me “white as snow.”
“If there is meaning in life at all, then there must be meaning in suffering. Suffering is an ineradicable part of life, even as fate and death. Without suffering and death human life cannot be complete.” – Viktor Frankl
As a child I was deeply afraid of death. I did not want to consider my own death nor consider the possible death of a family member. Easter was fine as long as the focus was on chocolates and Jesus conquering death. Comparing our Methodist traditions to the Catholics we knew, the Catholics seemed a little dismal in their focus on the suffering of Christ. As my hunger and thirst for Jesus has increased over the last year, my religious practices have broadened to include the prayers and practices of many denominations. I am drawn over and over again to the Holy Cross as a means to fulfill my inner hunger.
Let’s start with the picture above and why it is so special. I had just finished a fourth and fifth step. (Made a searching and fearless moral inventory and shared it with another human being). This fourth and fifth step focused on my inner girl and inner kid. (I had not discussed them in my earlier fourth and fifth steps because I had locked them away for many years in a closet). At the end of this process, God invited them to become nuns, pink nuns of the Sister-Servants of the Holy Spirit of Perpetual Adoration in Steyl Netherlands. This order of nuns prays 24/7 and speaks only one hour a week. My inner girl and kid had found their calling. I describe this to friends as “my inner girl and kid are nuns, which makes me laugh because I am not Catholic.” Soon afterwards I started visiting Enders Island, whose chapel, seen above, is open for prayer 24/7. Inside they have beautiful icon paintings of the fourteen Stations of the Cross. The first time I visited the chapel, I prayed in front of each station while contemplating the meaning and bringing Bible verses to mind. I started to sob as His death (for me) became real. After I finished, I started to get emotional, once again, when I noticed water coming from the side of the Chapel on a rain free day. The two Bible verses below came to mind, (makes me smile how my Higher Power expresses himself).
33 But when they came to Jesus and found that he was already dead, they did not break his legs. 34 Instead, one of the soldiers pierced Jesus’ side with a spear, bringing a sudden flow of blood and water. John 19
“…The water was coming down from under the south side of the temple, south of the altar. 2 He then brought me out through the north gate and led me around the outside to the outer gate facing east, and the water was trickling from the south side. …9 And it shall come to pass, that everything that lives, which moves, whithersoever the rivers shall come, shall live: and there shall be a very great multitude of fish, because these waters shall come thither: for they shall be healed; and everything shall live whither the river cometh. Ezekiel 47
I tie these two Bible verses to the Eucharist that Jesus established at the Last Supper. “Take and eat. This is my body.” Jesus, for the love of us, offered His body and blood as real food and drink for our spiritual nourishment.
I often ponder Matthew 16 verses 13 through 26
13 Now when Jesus came into the district of Caesarea, Philippi, he asked his disciples, “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?”…… “But who do you say that I am?” 16 Simon Peter answered, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” 17 And Jesus answered him, “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father in heaven. 18 And I tell you, you are Petros, and on this Petra I will build my church.
(Peter comes from the Greek word Petros, Petra is the feminine word for rock)
21 From that time on, Jesus began to show his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and undergo great suffering at the hands of the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised. 22 And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him, saying, “God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to you.” 23 But he turned and said to Peter, “Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me; for you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”
24 Then Jesus told his disciples, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. 25 For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it. 26 For what will it profit them if they gain the whole world but forfeit their life? Or what will they give in return for their life?
When the Holy Spirit is working in me (when my attitude is “Thy will not mine be done”), then I live in Jesus and Jesus lives in me. (I too become a rock, a part of Jesus’s church). When I allow my fears and anxieties to dictate my actions, I have set my mind on human things.
I think St. Thérèse of Lisieux sums it up well:
“To be a little child means to recognize our nothingness, to look for everything from God, as a little child looks for everything from its father.” —St. Thérèse of Lisieux
This is the 14th Station located inside Ender’s Island Chapel by artist Jed Gibbons. Mary lovingly lays Jesus in the tomb (reminiscent of the manger). The Background is inside the small sea side chapel looking out onto the sea. Father Tom has a nice explanation on YouTube.
Clark bought a Stations of the Cross Chaplet with the fourteen Stations depicted on small color oval pendants. I pray using this chaplet every morning while I walk around the block. The neighbors smile and wave at the crazy lady who prays in all kind of weather. I have told close friends that I get to die with Jesus every day; and that is what it feels like – a death to self and allowing my Higher Power to have all of me (good and bad).
Dear God, my Creator, I am now (Today), willing for you to have all of me (good and bad). Please remove any character defect that inhibits my usefulness to you and/or others. Give me the strength to do thy will. Thy will not mine be done.
I find it easier to repeat the prayers that express what I feel. I think that is why I often interject the Fatima Prayer in devotions that don’t usually call for it:
Oh my Jesus, forgive us our sins, save us from the fires of Hell, lead all souls to Heaven, especially those most in need of thy mercy.
C E R T A I N T Y
Because of what I’ve done
do you think
He’ll accept me?
because of what you’ve done
how could He not?
because the moment you said YES
He did too
because from all eternity He has
cherished you
because those who can see
understand this is true
because the world He’s created is
incomplete without you
P. D. Papshise
This is my favorite poem by my friend Paula. I have, more than once, given it to someone mourning the loss of a loved one. She wrote this after our friend Russell died. I think that it speaks to the human condition. I love the last line: Because the world He’s created isincomplete without you. I compare this to the timelessness of the Glory Be: “…as it was in the Beginning, is now, and forever shall be, world without end. Amen”
1) C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity Harper Collins (US) Publishers, 1952
Chapter 1 (Confessions)
In the EWTN Daily Readings and Homily YouTube video on 2020-08-28 – Fr. Joseph states that the most read Christian book outside of the Bible is My Confessions by Saint Augustine of Hippo written in 397AD.
Essay Lent 2019
1) Robert Barron, The Strangest Way, Walking he Christian Path Orbis Books, Maryknoll, NY 2002.
Essay April 2019
1) Robert Barron, The Strangest Way, Walking he Christian Path Orbis Books, Maryknoll, NY 2002.
![Paula by Monica May[1]](https://allarewelcomeinmyfathershouse.files.wordpress.com/2018/11/paula-by-monica-may1.jpg)
Dad celebrating his 90th birthday with co-workers and friends.
For the last two years, I have prayed, in a contemplative manner, the Stations of the Cross every morning. I have found that this act of prayer has clarified some things for me allowing me to rightly relate myself to that Higher Power I call God
All Are Welcome in my Father's House 