Colored Beads and Coffee Beans

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Do the G.O.D. Thing

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Between

Ever get a case of the “betweens?” You might recognize the symptoms: restlessness with what is, impatience with your life’s timetable, questioning your last move, and wondering what’s next. It’s a discontent that usually has us looking way past our current circumstances, vainly wishing for different ones, and missing out on the blessing of the now. Akin to the “if-onlys,” a short-lived malady of pre-teens and teenagers alike, the “betweens” are usually found among the adult population, lasting anywhere from weeks to years.

This very moment, I am between jobs, between starting and finishing a Masters degree, between child-bearing and menopause, between parenting adolescents and young adults, between medical check-ups, between a root canal and a permanent crown, between pain and exercise, between birthdays, between hair-color appointments, and hopefully, between knowing-loving-serving Christ on this earth and living with him in heaven.

While I am living much of my life in-between right now, the only time I suffer the effects of the betweens is when I lose my faith perspective, also known as The Big Picture. The betweens sneak up on me and catch me with my immunity down. I listen more to cultural myths around me, rather than to the Word of God in my life.

Honestly, I don’t always like being in-between. I selfishly want to be more, be moved, be great, be busy, be successful, be “somebody,” be attractive, be happy, be all I can be, be entertained, be cool, be you-fill-in-blank. These thoughts diminish my self-worth and value. That’s when I get a case of the betweens.

A recent conversation with a friend reminded me of my struggles with the betweens. My friend quit her “dream job”—one that she was well suited for and well compensated for—without having another job lined up. At the time it was clear that she left for well-thought-out and noble reasons. Now in the weeks after her resignation, she is clearly in-between, and valiantly trying to resist coming down with the betweens. Sometimes God moves us to the in-between for his purposes that are not readily clear.

My experience is similar. I was strictly a stay-at-home mom for 12 beautiful-wonderful-busy years. Then I worked part-time at my own “dream job” for 4 beautiful-wonderful-busier years. Then, after a time of prayerful discernment, I left my position and came “back home.” I confidently considered the first year “back at home” a sabbatical. The second year, I began to feel the need to justify my decision to others when asked about it. I was developing a clear case of the betweens. I had taken my eyes off The Big Picture.

Two insights have helped me find a cure to my betweens-thinking. They haven’t moved me out of the between circumstances that I am in, but they have allowed me to embrace the time and value the place that I call in-between.

The first was a simple metaphor using grammar: between is a preposition, and an adverb. It’s a word that expresses a relationship with another word. Similarly, as a spiritual metaphor, a between time in my life can be a time of expressing a relationship with another Word—Jesus—and allowing him to express that relationship with me. In short, in-betweens times can be full of great blessing and renewal.

Here’s another angle: the first two letters of “between” are the word “be.” It’s a verb, an “action” word located within an adverb. Looking at this spiritually, if I examine my life, I can see that the in-between can be actively passive. There is something comforting, yet dynamic about God’s call to “be.” God be can quite active during this less-active period. Psalm 46:10 reminds me to “Be still and know that I am God.” God has a purpose for every time or season even when I slow down, take a break, or stop. This brings new meaning to my between-ness. If God has called me to this between time, then I am to be at peace until his timing proves otherwise. Spiritually speaking, for me, the struggle boils down to the need “to be” outweighing the need “to do.”

The second insight is this: Jesus is profoundly present in between-ness. Scripture shows the covenant between God and us is Jesus. His incarnation whereby “the Word became flesh and dwelt among us”(John 1: 14) brought communion between God and us, and between heaven and earth. His cross was the price between our sinfulness and our redemption. The path between this life to the next is Jesus.

Finding Jesus within my in-betweens means I don’t have to justify my existence. He does that for me. Every morning when I open my eyes, take my next breath, and put my feet on the floor, he justifies my existence. He permits it. He ordains it. Psalm 139: 16 says “All the days ordained for me are written in your book before one of them came to be.” This great loving God, whose sovereignty, friendship and holiness I value above all, ordained these days for me. He justified my being here – between all the circumstances of my life.

God knew there would be days when I was not “productive” in the eyes of the world, and yet I am still precious to him. The dignity of being means that my life is precious right now, just as it is. Just to be is holy. This dignity elevates all human life, in all of its dimensions.

And so I must choose to live in the freedom of that understanding, not waiting for the next step, the next job, the next phase, the next year, the next you-name-it. Its hard to practice, but submitting my mind and will to it allows me to make peace with the yet unknown, and not to overly anticipate it… to live in the abiding knowledge that Jesus is in between now and then.

©2005 Patricia W. Gohn

This article appeared previously in CatholicMom.com.

Moments from my Latter Days

I outlived our dog. That may seem logical in the normal cycles of life. Putting our faithful canine “to sleep” was a heart-wrenching event, as any dog-lover will attest. For me, it was one of those moments that brings your life into sharp focus. Like when the medical tests for the “heart-attack” I had revealed that it was really indigestion, or when I recovered my senses after a car-totaling accident. It made me grateful for the gift of my life.

“Sandy,” our golden retriever puppy, came into our lives the same summer I was diagnosed with breast cancer. It was a traumatic time. My husband and I wanted to keep our life as “normal” as possible while we went through this challenge. So we kept to our promise to the children of getting a puppy, even though it was the farthest thing from our minds.

Back then, I remember asking God to heal me outright, and if he didn’t do that, to please give me the grace to bravely bear my cross. Suddenly seeing my life in sharp focus brought certain wisdom in varying degrees. On the positive side: I learned to truly live in the moment. Conversely, well, there’s nothing like a cancer crisis to give a screaming voice to my deepest fears. Even with my hope set on Christ I confess I still had my worries: “Lord, I hope I outlive the dog.”

I don’t remember much about puppydom. I was sidetracked by a series of surgeries, survival statistics and support groups. Somehow we managed to train our dog, and to tame our wild medical world all at the same time. Sandy was good medicine, a happy distraction, and a new loving presence amidst the family and friends who carried us during those trying months.

In the year Sandy moved in, my cancer moved out. She and I started counting birthdays together. Each summer when her birthday came around, my “anniversary” of my cancer fight came around. I saw my survivorship as a new start on my life, and so I would say “happy birthday” to me on that anniversary day, starting with year one. So when Sandy turned one, I turned “one.” When she was two, I was two and so on.

Emerging from that Job-like period, I better understood the scripture that read: “And the Lord blessed the latter days of Job more than his beginning…”Job 42:12 RSV.
I didn’t just count my dog’s birthdays, but everyone’s! They were holy moments and milestones. Sacraments like “First Communion” and Confirmation were huge celebrations. Wedding anniversaries had deep and powerful meanings. While these dates are circled on my calendar, there were many moments that have no calendar remembrance. They are part of the bright constellation of moments that God has blessed me with in my latter days…

…Like the morning my blond cherub learned to “pump” on his own on the swings…that sunny afternoon my daughter wore a white dress for the “May Crowning…” Cheering my little leaguer’s pitching and witnessing his line drive all the way to the wall… Watching our big dog “walk” my little guy around our property... Camping-- five of us plus pooch in a tent... My son’s first piano recital... Watching my daughter’s tap class jitters fade into precision movements… Choking up when my husband had my broken engagement ring replaced and got down on one knee to propose again—in front of the kids! …My first prayer at the shrine in Fatima... Buying my son his first razor... Taking second place in a Scrabble tournament... Fitting my daughter in her first formal gown… Applauding my youngest boy’s “bridging” from cub to Boy Scout… Throwing snowballs in July-- in the Colorado Rockies... …Hosting a clambake in our backyard... Being splashed by a whale at Sea World… Savoring sunset at Cadillac Mountain in Acadia... Watching bison graze at Yellowstone… Hugging my husband at the rim of the Grand Canyon… Swimming with a sandy Sandy in the ocean... Renting a Porsche for the weekend… Taking pictures of Big Ben… Soaking in a Monet exhibition with no interruptions... Standing in St. Peter’s Square waiting to see Pope John Paul II… Praying at the tomb of St. Francis of Assisi… Eating cheesecake in New York City with my girlfriends… Playing Monopoly on the back porch all day... Buying newborn gifts for 12 nephews and nieces... Attending my son’s first Mass as an altar server... Giving my daughter her first manicure… Singing “The Messiah” next to my favorite soprano… Sitting in the back seat while my son takes his driving test… Standing at the top of a mountain run, looking down on my first set of skis… Sitting for my first exam in graduate school—after a 20-year hiatus! …Posing for pictures before my son’s prom… Watching the Red Sox win the World Series... Listening to my daughter’s aspiration to run in the school election, and hearing the winning results... Snorkeling a coral reef… Experiencing my own children being Godparents for a baby cousin… Visiting a distant college with my oldest... Watching the sunrise at the beach on Easter morning… Sailing into the wind.

Sandy reached 8 ½ when I brought her to the vet because of a limp. She was diagnosed with cancer. It was (ugh!) a moment. After the initial sadness, I realized through my dying pet, that God meant her life to be an encouragement for mine. I am grateful for all her happy doggy days, and even more profoundly aware of the life and times and moments of my own.

I am 9 this summer. Our new puppy just stole my sock.

©2005 Patricia W. Gohn

This article appeared previously in CatholicMom.com

Seeds of Truth

There are three bird feeders in front of our house. They are tucked among shrubbery and trees in front of our family room window. From inside we observe an ever-changing parade of birds: cardinals, nuthatches, sparrows, chickadees, woodpeckers, finches and an occasional squirrel. If the feeders run out of seed, our winged friends sit amidst branches in front of our family room window – staring in at us! When it snows, we shovel a pathway to the feeders. When the shrubs are overgrown, we cut back the brush. During harsh New England winters, that food means survival to our birds; in spring’s abundance, it’s an added blessing.

Recently, we had a transplant to birds’ milieu. It was our outdoor statue of Mary, the Blessed Mother. Her formal title is Our Lady of Grace; her nickname is Our Lady of Forest Street. She was the center of our backyard garden but was moved temporarily because of an on-going yard project. I enjoyed her overseeing this ornithological café. As I’d gaze out the window at our feeders, I’d wonder if Mary ever threw crumbs outside for the birds. I’d muse about her being the mother and cook in her home, making meals for Joseph and Jesus around her table – making sure they ate right!

At our house, feeding others, and making sure they eat right, is largely my job as a mother. It’s also my joy to remember the birds. Many mornings, after preparing lunch boxes –another feeding ritual-- I’d often ask a bus-stop-bound child to refill the feeders.

These feasting and sometimes fasting (oops!) birds remind me of how important it is to stay close to a food source. I have other reminders of this truth: two teenagers and a wannabe. The pressing question each afternoon after a mountain of snack food is consumed is, “What’s for dinner?”

Sitting down to our family’s evening meal takes many forms. Sometimes it’s a resting-place from the day’s labors--nourishment, pure and simple. Sometimes it’s a stop-off “en route.” Sometimes it’s intelligence gathering and analysis. Mostly, it is checking in, catching up. The dinner hour is a lifeline to knowing each other better.

As a Catholic family, we need to stay close to the food source for our spiritual lives too. Our family attends Sunday Mass to be fed by the Holy Eucharist. We make retreats. We pray and read the Scriptures. We go to the Source – our Father who feeds us… much like the birds Jesus describes: They neither sow nor reap, yet their Father in heaven feeds them. (Mt. 6:26)

Jesus wants us to be well fed by His Word and Body. The food miracles and the celebrations with food in the New Testament prove it. Only Jesus turned water to wine, fed 5000 with a few loaves and fish, turned ordinary bread and wine into his Body and Blood. The same Jesus who cooked breakfast on the beach for his friends after his resurrection is the same Jesus who prepares a meal for us whenever we attend a Mass. It will be Jesus who welcomes us at the banquet feast one day in Heaven.

I believe it was Mary, by her statue’s humble proximity to our bird feeders, who inspired me to look carefully at what is nourishing us during this Year of the Eucharist, as proclaimed by Pope John Paul II. In his encyclical, Ecclesia de Eucharista, he states: “Mary is present, with the Church and as the Mother of the Church, at each of our celebrations of the Eucharist. If the Church and the Eucharist are inseparably united, the same ought to be said of Mary and the Eucharist.”[1] Mary knows what it takes to stay close to Jesus, and offers us a holy model so we can do the same.

Like the birds needing that daily intake of seeds in a hungry world, so it is with my family and Jesus. We have to come to Him often – several times a day even! – like the birds to our feeders. When faith is scarce, this is survival. When faith is abundant, this is an added blessing.

Just like we maintain the path to the feeders, we have to make a path to Christ. We have to eliminate the obstacles between us: to be fed, to know each other better, and to have life.

And finally, where we find Jesus, we will also find Mary, close by like the Mother she is, making sure we are eating right.

Copyright 2005 Patricia W. Gohn

[1] Ecclesia de Eucharista, Chapter 6, paragraph 57.


This article appeared previously in CatholicMom.com.

Lessons from the Sauce Pot

I am adding the final touches to the tomato sauce on the stove that I have just made from scratch… The smells from the pot make me think of my sister, who gave me her favorite sauce recipe when I was a younger newlywed. As I carefully pour the red wine into the measuring spoons, struck by the wine’s bouquet, the memory of my French grandmother comes into view. She always had red wine on the table.

My saucepot musings continue as the Lord is bringing other memories to mind, and I find this cooking session is now a prayerful reverie.

My favorite meatloaf recipe comes from Mom, my favorite bread recipe from a friend I have now lost touch with – and yet I think of both of these women whenever I prepare those recipes.

And as I reflect, a more profound thought takes over. So many other ingredients that are “in me” really came from the simmering influences of interesting people, the rolling boil of intense circumstances, the fresh produce of education and work, and the salt added by my tears. My genetic make-up, my likes and dislikes, my quirks of personality, and the things that matter to me most yield this-- I am a spicy, saucy combination of what’s been handed on to me, a unique recipe.

I am the only woman of my generation to get blue eyes from my maternal grandmother.

My love of flowers and bird-watching comes from my mother, and my appreciation for craftsmanship and brick and stone masonry from my father.

My sisters taught me to lighten up and that even though I am the oldest, I don’t know everything. They are still showing me the way.

I grew up on Long Island and will forever be a beach lover, a bagel eater, and a cheesecake fanatic in search of a great diner.

I give in to the seduction of dark chocolate because my father always gave heart-shaped Valentines -- filled with Russell Stover chocolates.

I learned to love music by spinning records on my parents’ phonograph. I am captivated by guitar music thanks to Chet Atkins, John Denver, André Segovia, and Eric Clapton, not necessarily in that order.

I love the outdoors, especially mountains, because I was a Girl Scout. I can still tie impressive knots on a campout.

I write because of three memorable teachers I had in junior high and high school.

I learned about real lasting friendship and Christian fellowship in high school. I began to understand how the aroma of Christ attracts people like me. Thirty years later, I still enjoy friendships from those years, and the fragrance is still sweet.

I am a true road warrior. My mother probably doesn’t think I got this from her, but I did. I was a young child when my mother learned to drive. She’d cart us all around Long Island to beaches, museums, and the City. But “the road” really grabbed me during my 17th summer when my folks let me take a “supervised” road trip 400 miles away with a station wagon full of friends, sleeping bags, and one adult chaperone.

During my college years I sought a God who already knew me by name, and promised me a future and a hope that was yet unseen. I learned to work hard for no pay at college internships and to remember those days when I later earned a good salary.

In marriage, I understood what laying my life down finally meant.

My love of photography comes from my boyfriend, now husband of 20+ years, Bob. We need a separate bookcase just to house all the photo albums. My travel bug comes from Bob too. Over the last two decades we’ve ventured to see the places we had only dreamed about. In the process, I’ve learned that I’m better with maps and planning details, and he is a much better packer and budgeter.

Most important, Bob taught me about sharing my dreams, and not being afraid of success or failure.

I learned about mothering as a vocation from the women of my prayer groups over the years. My friends of Italian ethnic origin taught me to serve rich food alongside welcoming bear-hugs. Those same women provided me with a few more recipes that are now my own. Their friendships provided nourishment to a hungry soul.

Being a breast cancer survivor has taught me that today is a gift, and to always say “I love you” to your family and best pals. And that it is worth it to make a sauce from scratch. You learn to savor so much in the process.

My Catholic faith comes from the Church and my parents and others who don’t even know they had a holy influence on me. My parents had me baptized, taught me my prayers, sent me to Catholic schools, encouraged me to go on retreats. My high school youth group helped make Jesus “real” to me, before I truly understood about the “real” presence of Jesus in the Eucharist, and other deep theological truths.

In my worst times, sufferings taught me to hope and to understand why Jesus suffered and poured out his blood for us. And in my best times, I know why Jesus poured the wine at the Last Supper, and why we will be enjoying a finer vintage someday at a heavenly banquet. (I bet an amazing sauce will also be on the menu!)

So today I stir the sauce and I pray: thankful for all the ingredients –like graces-- that have been stirred into my life. I realize that Christ is calling me to be like this hearty sauce: A warm inviting aroma, nourishment to those I’m called to feed, and poured out for those I serve.

Copyright 2004 Patricia W. Gohn


This article previously appeared in CatholicMom.com