here I am

Here I am, Lord. Is it I Lord?
I have heard You calling in the night.
I will go, Lord, if You lead me.
I will hold Your people in my heart.

(Here I Am Lord by Dan Schutte, 1981)

I had been associating this song with my childhood until I realized it came out in 1981, when I was already in college. It is the message of the song that brings me back to my early years--the desire to go wherever the Lord leads me.

I remember walking through a young orchard set out by my dad, with trees no bigger than sticks poking up from the ground, sporting the small bags of awful smelling stuff we tied around their tender trunks to keep the deer from eating them before they had a chance to grow. I took a lot of walks, then and now, always trying to figure out my life.

"The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God stands forever," [Isaiah 40:8] is a verse I would contemplate as I walked from the house, past the barn, through the corn field, up the hill and over to the young orchard near the asparagus field. It excited me that words, something I loved even more than grass and flowers, could outlast them. 

Whether I was sitting in the large tree on the side of the hill where I would rest among the leaves or on a patch of soft, green moss in the quiet of the woods, I was always talking to God and wondering what he would say to me. Was he happy with me? How could I be of service in his kingdom? Where would he send me?

The cold, dark nights out on the farm made me hope he was calling to me. I did not worry about intruders into our rural lives as we lived where only others who lived nearby traveled. I was more concerned with heeding the call. I did not want to miss it.

Holding people in my heart is what I have always done, which makes this song resonate with me so strongly. I have held people there since I was asked to pray for those who had gone before, out of purgatory and into heaven. I prayed for the sick and for the dying. I prayed for the brokenhearted and those celebrating life's joys. I prayed for those I knew and those I did not know. I prayed for those related to me and those I would never know.

Had I not been so boy-crazy I may have ended up in a convent!

While taking one of those walks with my husband yesterday we talked about the notion of "home" and I remembered the C. S. Lewis quote: "If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world."

When one is being led by a power greater than oneself and making choices along the way that change everything, certainty becomes a relative term. Home is with whomever God puts on your path. Home is in the woods and near water--where I first sensed his presence and heard him calling to me.

We sang Here I Am Lord recently at my Presbyterian church where I continue to hold people in my heart--tearfully, joyfully, and with a sense of purpose.

I heard you calling. I have gone where you have led me. Here I am.

my name

If I were to be a superhero, my power would be invisibility--not because I would choose to be invisible; it is what I default to, like a computer going back to its original settings. It is the lie I tell myself sometimes in order to deal with life.

Like the small child in full view who covers her eyes saying, "You can't see me," I am seen.

I decided to go to a women's conference by myself. Not looking for any more than the chance to say hello to the speaker whom I had not seen in years, I decided it would be easier to just show up, and try my best to fade into the crowd of women who gathered in a small church with tissue boxes at the end of every other row.

Almost immediately a woman, probably not far from my mother's age, approached and asked if she could join me. I was not sure if she was a plant from the church urged to welcome in the strays or if she was looking for companionship herself. Shortly thereafter some women I used to go to church with walked in and I chose to reach out, literally, grabbing the sleeve of the one closest, in order to reunite with them. Joining me, I became part of a group, yet in many ways remained alone.

I came expecting nothing. A veteran at these sorts of gatherings, I knew the ways things work.

First we would sing praise songs which I have not kept up with since my musical tastes have expanded to include a wider repertoire, and yet the nature of these sorts of songs are such that anyone with any kind of musical ability can join in. They are predictable and repetitious in their simple beauty.

There would be introductions and welcoming statements. I would wonder if I would see others whom I knew.

The talk given by the speaker would be brilliant as she is not only a gifted actor but a woman who has sought the Lord and has found Him. Her pronunciation of words would rival the most seasoned newscaster; her stage presence: mesmerizing. If ever there was an ideal woman to answer this sort of call in her life--it would be her.

Authenticity was the theme I would realize as I comforted myself with the false notion that what that meant for me was to be invisible. No one would be harmed by this subtle choice, the script in my head continued. It is ok, I told myself. I am fine.

Before I would return the next day for more singing and a moving dramatic presentation; before I would hear more of this woman's personal trials and triumphs in life; before another complete stranger would reach out to me in the brief friendship a women's conference affords; something I never expected happened.

As I sat in my invisible space prepared for anything, the speaker looked out into the faces of women eager to learn from her, seeing those whom she had known during her formative years; women from a previous church; women she hoped would receive her message and at the end go forward to choose a name written on a card that would more authentically identify them than the names we make up for ourselves out of our insecurity, pain, and self-protection; she would gently lift my invisibility cloak replacing it with the acknowledgement of my existence, a precursor to the name, "Healed" I would stumble upon when I went up to the altar the next day, and before everyone there, would say, "Thank you for coming . . . Mary Ellen."  

8 hours

Sleep cannot be overrated. Eight hours of it in a row with only one interruption, is a gift from God.

Achieving balance within my spirit, mind, and body has been my goal as of late, perhaps because for the past couple of years an imbalance has threatened my peace, controlled my emotions and taken it out on my body. It was not until I ventured into an integrative medical practice, reviewing my overall health with the nurse practitioner who asked about my spiritual and emotional condition as well, that it began to resonate with me just how closely all parts of my being are connected.

It is tricky when dealing with depression, for example, because that is a symptom of hypothyroidism, a chronic condition for which I was being seen, but is also an emotional result of fatigue and stress, as well as an indicator of spiritual oppression. The simple question: how are you? is not always easy for me to answer.

Sleep eludes one who is not physically well, and has a lot on her mind or in her heart as she seeks spiritual direction. Sleep, once a refuge, a respite from the cares of the world, can seem like a vast amount of wasted time as the hours tick by and the body does not find rest. As my mind and spirit would continue to reach out for rest during waking hours, a malaise would often settle over me. There is little relief when there is no balance.

Today is a new day.

For the first time in a long time, I slept--deeply and peacefully, awaking only when the alarm I had set an hour before I am supposed to get up rang so I could take the new natural hormones I have been prescribed. It is a stronger dosage than before because a wider range of testing proved the previous medication was deficient in fully treating my symptoms--the ones affecting my outlook on life.

Much good can be said for eating a balanced diet and making sure one is getting regular exercise. When I am stressed, I do not eat. When physical pain causes me to stop exercising . . . the downward cycle continues. Each part affects the whole.

This morning the blurry view of an overwhelming amount of work ahead is replaced by a keen sense of purpose. It is taking me less effort to smile, more willingness to pray, genuine feelings of love and compassion for others.

Sleeping eight hours makes me feel like I am on vacation--except I got to sleep in a comfortable bed instead of on a camping cot. Eight hours of sleep is the kind of gift I wish I could give to others.

Maybe if we all slept more, the world would be a better place.