Tales of Religious Abandon...

         The other day I had coffee with a friend, and we ended up, in our conversational meanderings, discussing our religious histories.  Ultimately we realized that though our individual journeys have taken us to diverse places, we now see life and its spiritual applications quite similarly.

          I would not presume to share my friend’s story, but I will attempt to enlighten you on some of the finer points of my hodgepodge-ness in religious diversity.

          It really began with my mother’s family—all Irish-drinking--and fun-loving!--Catholics. (I add the “d” word since it brings a greater sense of inclusiveness in their love of the Irish moonshine.)  At a mere six weeks of age, this family kidnapped me to be sure I found my way to the holy water of Catholic christening. 

          A year later, my father’s family--all good, upstanding, Republican protestants—you know, the kind who, after John F. Kennedy was elected knew the pope would reside in the White House within weeks of the inauguration—stole my fat, wiggly body to go before their Presbyterian minister to make sure I didn't end up in pergatory.

          Naturally, on these two occasions, while I was the star, the primary focus, and the diva of the devout—I was also oblivious to any meaning of these industrious attempts at my salvation from eternal damnation.

          By the time I was twelve, we lived in a small town in Ohio.  One cannot ever refer to this village as progressive since there are currently only 200 more on the census than during my childhood years.  That and still just .05% ethnic diversity—you get the picture...  I chose to attend the Methodist church since the pastor loved kids and arranged for hayrides and picnics, or fun get-togethers at the church most every weekend.  A great sales pitch for young people!  When asked if I’d like to join the church, what could I say but of course!   My Catholic mother attended the service—which, by the way, I giggled through because the sprinkled water ran down my neck.  My Protestant father did not attend—I think he was called to the couch for a nap or something.

          At twenty-something years of age, a friend asked me to a Bible Study.  I most reluctantly went…  However about a year later, a Baptist altar call had my name on it—well, that’s what they told me, and who’s not to believe a minister?   This time it was immersion.  No giggling when one’s head is under water.

          A few years later my 5^th baptism occurred—into Seventh-day Adventism.  Needs creep into our psyche and we search for ways to find peace or comfort or some kind of tangible answers.  Some work, and some do not.

          All this pontifical activity seems so long ago.   Now the only sprinkling or immersion I participate in is done with a bar of soap or a backyard hose.  And while it’s easy to make jokes about my diverse religious background, I learned from them all.

          The hallmark of my journey now, however, is about recognizing and honoring my own inner wisdom—not touting religious labels and beliefs.  At the end of each day, I hope I've made choices to live with integrity, compassion, joy, the willingness to listen, and the ever-present drive to continue my journey to authenticity. 

     Your work is to discover your world and then with all your heart give yourself to it. 
                                                                                                                -- Buddha

            

 

Will Darcy and me...

I got up this morning with little anxiety-producing TO Dos…  Nowhere I had to be, nothing pressing—you know what I mean—or maybe you don’t.  You see, I’m retired.  (The previous statement is admittedly one of braggard-ly-ness because I just love this station in life!)

Back to this morning…  I got up, showered, made my bed and did a few routine tasks so I didn’t feel like a complete slouch. 

And then it began to rain.  A thin drizzle—tiny, widely-spaced drops that barely left a mark on the patio.  Mild humidity brought a not unpleasant chill to the air.  Now, at nearly 4 p.m., the drizzle has increased to full-blown rain and the sky is almost covered in gray-white.  And I’m loving every moment.

It’s a relax-with-a-good-book kind of weather—a climate that southern Oregon doesn’t often experience after June 21.  But it’s here, and it’s glorious. 

My good book today came in a variety of medium:  movies such as—Austenland, a rom-com about living life in the Jane Austen era; Bride and Prejudice, a Bollywood version of Pride and Prejudice; and the actual novel itself.  You will at once, no doubt, see that I am a Jane Austen fan.  You couldn’t be closer to the truth!

It’s rather ridiculous, I admit, at my age to fantasize a Darcy—everyone who reads P & P does that…RIGHT??   But I figure he'd be over 200 years old now, so I’d be just a mere teen who might catch his eye…

Yes, yes, all of this is silly, I know.  But I do love a rainy afternoon, and all that comes with it.  I love the coolness; I love hearing the drizzle fall on plants and rooftops;  I love the greenness in the variety of textures in my trees; and  I love the relax-edness of the sight and sound it brings.   

I'm back, well kinda...

Lots going on as summer begins.  That, and writer's block...grrrr.  This morning I read the following poem, and begin to feel centered again. 

Desiderata - by Max Ehrmann

Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant, they too have their story. Avoid loud and aggressive persons; they are vexations to the spirit. 

If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time. 

Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism. Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love, for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is perennial as the grass. 

Take kindly to the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul. 

With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. 

Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.