Christianity · faith · family

Love Suffers Long

Love will destroy anything that is not like itself. This is the fear we have of God. God is Love. Love is death. End game.

Ego, or self, seems to have a similar energy. The power and will to destroy anything and everything but itself.

Love suffers long, especially with self.

It is my hope that when I remain open to Love, even in the slightest, I endure. I walk the Way. Because the struggle is the Way.

I ask myself, “Who would I be without my political story, my victim story, my marriage story, my religious story?”

I try to drop the thoughts, the mind so identified. In this vacuum I realize I am a far cry from a saint. I am not open to Love’s death blow. I love my stories, even if they cause me or others pain. I am not yet willing to die, to bear my cross.

But I will remain with Christ, not because I am good, but because I am aware of Love’s reality.

He abides with me. He loves me, and Love will conquer all.

Love is ultimate reality.

Can I be at peace without demanding something from you?

Think like me.
Act like me.
Love me.
Believe like me.
Be me.

The mass hysteria we are experiencing in the world today is a hive mind deluded.
Perhaps we are confused about death. I need to be clear about death. I cannot demand anything from you. It is impossible for you to sort this mess out for me. When this happens, I stop requiring from you what only I can give myself.

Peace is a gift I give myself. When I am clear. When I am open. I alone can give myself peace when I believe that ALL THINGS work together for good. In this reality, enemies are gifts of peace.
It is impossible to forgive enemies when I am not clear about death.
Love suffers long. It keeps doing what it does. It conquers all. Over and over and over again- until I die.

Christianity · family · kids · motherhood · parenting · Uncategorized

The Works of God Displayed

His disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?”
“Neither this man nor his parents sinned,” said Jesus, “but this happened so that the works of God might be displayed in him.”

Guilt is a real part of being a mother.  The background noise of our hearts- my weaknesses are hurting my kids, if not physically, then most definitely spiritually and emotionally. What they will be at 18, 24, 35, and beyond has everything to do with what happened to them at 5, yesterday, that time when I lost it.  And that’s on me- their past is my making. I am their mother for goodness sake, and this casts me as the protagonist.  I am the cause and effect of their little lives, and this is terrifying.


Because I am a hot mess- that’s why.  I am a serious risk.  How can I be responsible for the way things turn out?  I am NOT good- not near enough.

This good enough nightmare wakes me up at night, haunts me at the kitchen sink, sneaks up on me at holidays, invades my space when I am snuggling a toddler, steals my memories, blurs our family photos, drowns out the giggles and stories, and feels me with fear on lazy Sunday afternoons.

Good enough- what did I do- what did I not do- what do I need to do?

Like the disciples, I need to know why, why are my children not perfectly happy, and well… perfect?  The malignant voice in my head replies, you did it to them, it’s your fault.  

This is my experience.

But not my mother, which used to make me angry, until I began to try and understand how and why my mother does not cast herself as the protagonist of my childhood. At first I judged this to be a lack of enlightenment, we millennium moms know better.  I am older now, five kids deep- 21 to 8, married for 25 years, and I would say that most days I feel like I have bitten off more than I can chew.  And who do I call in need of rescue- my mother- the one who knows how to write herself out of the script. 

Like Mary.

Moms in times past seem to have a laid back vibe that is impossible to pull of these days.  Because maybe they were not laid back. Maybe our moms weren’t these aloof, free spirit, self-centered gurus that are portrayed in throwback sitcoms.  Maybe our moms were silent doers. Always engaged without being the center of attention. My mom was not the center of my existence because she did not cast herself in that role. She let me play that part.  This is the reason I believe my mom does not experience mom-guilt.

My story is not her story.

What I do becomes what I did, and if that becomes what will be, then for me this is hopeless and terrifying.  Because I am only good enough as I reflect on what I should have done. In real time I am no saint.  In the now, I am not good enough to prevent the the horrific future I imagine will happen if I am not good enough- yet, I know I am not good enough. Yet, I try.  I fail.  I try again. And I fail and flounder in fear and guilt; whining, emotional, always scrounging for sage advice and remedies. And this is psychological terror.

But what if I have it all wrong?  What if all this roaming about in the caves of my motherhood consciousness is not necessary? Not the path? Not the way?

What if we as mothers, as scary and radical as it might be, just write ourselves out of the script?  Can this even be done without becoming inattentive and in-affectionate? A bad mom? 

Yes. And the thought of being okay with how things are, makes giving this a try worth the risk.   I think we can be free of the psychological torment of modern motherhood.  And we should… because behind the curtain of perfection, what we experience is a lack of meaning and despair.  Being a mother is not fulfilling or desirable when we live in constant fear- the fear of not being perfect and the implications we imagine our weaknesses will have on our children.

One of the most peculiar realities of growing older as a mother is that time has a way of eroding my sense of knowing.  Things fall apart, without notice, maybe over time, but eventually things just get messy in parenting.  When all my kids were little it was easier to do all the things, control all the things, be all the things, say all the things.  Now, it seems I find myself out of steam before the track ends. And who is there to make up the difference, take up the slack?

My kids! They are the real protagonists. Not me.  

I am prideful. It was pride that tormented me all those years.

But not Mary, not my Mom. Not mothers who work diligently behind the scenes; cooking, cleaning, praying, instructing, loving, pondering, and being perfect by not being obsessed with being perfect.  

My Mom says something beautiful to me ever so often, especially in times when I am struggling with the guilty mom virus, “I was not a perfect mother, but I loved you perfectly.” What a treasure she is to me. 

The works of God are displayed in the broken- even not perfect kids and not perfect mothers.  

books · Christianity · faith · philosophy · reality


I am honored to share a guest post written my brother, Jarrett. It is meaningful for me in this time, and I hope it will speak to you. May we find refuge in the Shadow of His wings. Mandy

Between the idea

And the reality

Between the motion 

And the act

Falls the Shadow

T.S. Eliot 

The world is a different place from the last time I put a late night thought down.  That’s how the world goes though isn’t it?  Shadows, so many are cast around us…eastern cultures see Shadow much different than we westerners do.  To the traditional Japanese, Shadow is very important. 

 “Were it not for shadows, there would be no beauty.” — Junichiro Tanizaki, In Praise of Shadows

Eliot explored the eastern culture and philosophy extensively, he knew very well what Shadow means to the east.

Interpreting T.S. Eliot is beyond my pay grade, but somehow it seems that every critical analysis I have come across casts this “Shadow” of Eliot’s in the negative.  The oppressive force that exists between us and “reality” or “action”.  Calling to mind Plato’s shadow in the cave.  How do we crawl out of this cave enlightened and perceive these Shadows and their makers?  Aristotle questioned this and birthed the scientific method…where has that lead us?!?

The realities we perceive, the actions we take never really seem to change all that much on the whole.  In our attempts to analyze and understand we sanitize everything yet we have no answers.

“But the progressive Westerner is determined always to better his lot. From candle to oil lamp, oil lamp to gaslight, gaslight to electric light—his quest for a brighter light never ceases, he spares no pains to eradicate even the minutest shadow.”—Junichiro Tanizaki, In praise of shadows

Never satisfied we of the west push ourselves willingly over the cliff into “a clean, well lit” (Hemingway) madness.  Not realizing as Ursula K le Guin did that “to light a candle is to cast a shadow.”  

Not so long after completing his famous  poem “The Hollow Men” Eliot converts to Christianity, yet I still don’t believe that Eliot’s Shadow represents a malevolent force.  We have forgotten that the Shadow also exists in our western, Christian culture as well, Eliot also knew this.  There are many scriptures in the Old and New Testament describing Shadow in relation to God and creation.  

One of my favorites reads:

“How precious is your steadfast love, O God! The children of mankind take refuge in the shadow of your wings.”— Psalms 36:7

We can find refuge in God’s Shadow.  Christ is the light of the world, but he wraps us in his wings as he casts out the darkness before us.  Shadow is not complete darkness.  Shadow is the buffer zone between the reality of our complete unworthiness (“light”) and the abyss /separation (“dark”) we have with each other and our creator.

Where are we left today, what are we to do in what seems  this spiritual “Wasteland”?  My only answer can be that we must become refugees in the Shadow of God’s wings.