CATHOLIC BROAD FINDS GOD IN BED--A MYSTICAL ENCOUNTER
As many of you know, two years ago I had had a brush with cancer (don't you love that term? It is so not a "brush"!), whacking me into 2 surgeries and months of chemo. I have pretty much "recovered," in the sense that I am not:
1/ Insane
2/ Riding a horse naked down a subzero city street
3/ Looking for discarded opiods in dumpsters
etc. etc.
Truthiness is that my strength is coming back (as I upped my game exponentially with 10,000 steps per day, more fiber, per a NY Times article which I shall post link to at end of post); my mood is good--despite Trump and subzero weather--; and I am truly grateful to be here, upright, and able to apply mascara without poking out my retinas.
A few days back as I lay on my bed recovering from food poisoning from bad fish, I prayed to God for acceptance of this awful event. I could not "lift up" the horrid effects of food poisoning to round out God's suffering. (Have you ever gotten that concept? Nope, me neither.) Anyway, as will happen from time to time, praises be, I suddenly knew God was there, right with me in bed. Imagine a burst of sunlight within your body. Remember what a bright summer sun felt like on your outstretched hands. Remember the feeling of your two year-old hugging you tight Like that. And I got the phrase inside:
"Nest in me."
"Wha's-at? You mean, Rest in me, don't you?"
Clearly, God was not changing the first message and gave no further explanation. He/she can be snarky that way I've found. This gave me furiously to think, as the famous Belgian detective used to say. What would it mean to "nest in God"?
My first thought was that I would need to gather twigs, grasses, and soft materials for my nest. Perhaps the "twigs" could be inspirational quotes or sayings (like, "Never, never, never give up!" from Churchill); scripture verses I love; with a forgiving bed of Gregorian chant at the bottom.
I pondered on what would make for a strong structure with walls able to withstand gales, sleet, snow, and driving rain up on our 1200' high hill. Prayers, always, without ceasing, as St. Paul told us to do. And giving thanks always, in all circumstances. Passing love on to others. I read a quote, perhaps from R. Rohr, that "The Buddha is passed warm hand to warm hand."
Prayer, thanks, and love sound good.
I also--'cause you know I am a foodie--have to weave in some joy to keep those twiggy walls flexible, cooking great meals and sharing them with loved ones and friends: A spicy Mediterranean lentil soup with chipotle seasoning; a pork ragu with wine, tomatoes, and spices cooked slowly for 5 hours and served over tagliatelle; homemade ravioli rolled out over my new ravioli mold (woot-woot!); a fritatta with smoked red peppers, chopped leeks, parmesan cheese, and some portabellos thrown in for good measure. That joy would weave in nicely I bet.
And though I am drinking sparingly right now (having read about the links between alcohol and cancer in that dratted joy-killer, the NY Times), I still plan on occasionally lifting a glass of superb Malbec with friends and toasting someone with a crisp, oaky Chardonnay.
Then I started thinking about what goes into a nest--can't leave it empty if it belongs to God. What "eggs" would I place in the bottom, and which ones would you add as well? I believe they are the gifts we all bring to the world--our cheer, writings, teaching, making roads safe in winter, roofing our houses, studying DNA, caring for the broken-hearted, whatever your passions and gifts are. I see them now, nestled in this strong, small fortress of twigs, ready to hatch and bring joy to the world.
Quick question before posting NY Times Link; do any of you have problems with my calling myself "Catholic broad"? Would you prefer "Catholic dame"?
http://www.nytimes.com/2018/01/01/science/food-fiber-microbiome-inflammation.html
1/ Insane
2/ Riding a horse naked down a subzero city street
3/ Looking for discarded opiods in dumpsters
etc. etc.
Truthiness is that my strength is coming back (as I upped my game exponentially with 10,000 steps per day, more fiber, per a NY Times article which I shall post link to at end of post); my mood is good--despite Trump and subzero weather--; and I am truly grateful to be here, upright, and able to apply mascara without poking out my retinas.
A few days back as I lay on my bed recovering from food poisoning from bad fish, I prayed to God for acceptance of this awful event. I could not "lift up" the horrid effects of food poisoning to round out God's suffering. (Have you ever gotten that concept? Nope, me neither.) Anyway, as will happen from time to time, praises be, I suddenly knew God was there, right with me in bed. Imagine a burst of sunlight within your body. Remember what a bright summer sun felt like on your outstretched hands. Remember the feeling of your two year-old hugging you tight Like that. And I got the phrase inside:
"Nest in me."
"Wha's-at? You mean, Rest in me, don't you?"
Clearly, God was not changing the first message and gave no further explanation. He/she can be snarky that way I've found. This gave me furiously to think, as the famous Belgian detective used to say. What would it mean to "nest in God"?
My first thought was that I would need to gather twigs, grasses, and soft materials for my nest. Perhaps the "twigs" could be inspirational quotes or sayings (like, "Never, never, never give up!" from Churchill); scripture verses I love; with a forgiving bed of Gregorian chant at the bottom.
I pondered on what would make for a strong structure with walls able to withstand gales, sleet, snow, and driving rain up on our 1200' high hill. Prayers, always, without ceasing, as St. Paul told us to do. And giving thanks always, in all circumstances. Passing love on to others. I read a quote, perhaps from R. Rohr, that "The Buddha is passed warm hand to warm hand."
Prayer, thanks, and love sound good.
I also--'cause you know I am a foodie--have to weave in some joy to keep those twiggy walls flexible, cooking great meals and sharing them with loved ones and friends: A spicy Mediterranean lentil soup with chipotle seasoning; a pork ragu with wine, tomatoes, and spices cooked slowly for 5 hours and served over tagliatelle; homemade ravioli rolled out over my new ravioli mold (woot-woot!); a fritatta with smoked red peppers, chopped leeks, parmesan cheese, and some portabellos thrown in for good measure. That joy would weave in nicely I bet.
And though I am drinking sparingly right now (having read about the links between alcohol and cancer in that dratted joy-killer, the NY Times), I still plan on occasionally lifting a glass of superb Malbec with friends and toasting someone with a crisp, oaky Chardonnay.
Then I started thinking about what goes into a nest--can't leave it empty if it belongs to God. What "eggs" would I place in the bottom, and which ones would you add as well? I believe they are the gifts we all bring to the world--our cheer, writings, teaching, making roads safe in winter, roofing our houses, studying DNA, caring for the broken-hearted, whatever your passions and gifts are. I see them now, nestled in this strong, small fortress of twigs, ready to hatch and bring joy to the world.
Quick question before posting NY Times Link; do any of you have problems with my calling myself "Catholic broad"? Would you prefer "Catholic dame"?
http://www.nytimes.com/2018/01/01/science/food-fiber-microbiome-inflammation.html
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