Moving Mama: Reflections on Body and Soul
Moving Mama
Laundry and Oprah
We have one life to live. One life to live, at least that we know of. God take my hand, because I want to plunge in. The dive in might look like me staying in my pajamas all day, having no work to do, and knowing that I am loved as I fold my hundredth piece of laundry. Or, it might look like me singing at the top of my lungs with the window rolled down at a stoplight, and not rolling the window up when I see a car pull up right next to me. It might also look like me turning in a video to a contest on the Oprah show and taking a leap of faith that I actually might get a vote or two. Seriously, If you want to vote, click on
Then pass it to a friend.
A friend of mine just wrote to me and said, we were born naked, why not live naked? She's got a point, doesn't she? So, naked I am. Whether I am exchanging emails with Oprah (okay, her tech department) or sitting in bed with my kids watching Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs and eating homemade coconut ice cream, I am diving in. Sometimes a risk might look like traveling around the world on a ship, or an even greater risk for me, is knowing I am loved when I am not leading a workshop or when I am not being applauded for something (no one is standing next to me at the dishwasher saying "Good job!"). But God is. Big Love is clapping her hands and jumping for joy. Just because I am me. She is doing the same for you. No matter what you do, you will never lose her. If we don't risk in the ways that stretch us, we do not learn how to flap our wings and fly. The Big Mama within us says, I love you always my daughter, fold the laundry or go on Oprah. It doesn't matter to me. I loved you before you were naked. And still do.
Be a Mystic
How does God entice you through Love?
written by Richard Rohr
God always entices us through love.
Most of us were taught that God would love us if and when we change. In fact, God loves you so that you can change. What empowers change, what makes you desirous of change is the experience of love. It is that inherent experience of loe that becomes the engine of change. If the mystics say that one way, they say it a thousand ways. But because most of our common religion has not been at the mystical level, we’ve been given an inferior message- that God loves me “when” I change (moralism). What that does is put it back on you. You’re back to “navel gazing” and you never succeed at that level. You are never holy enough, pure enough, refined enough, or loving enough. Whereas, when you fall into God’s mercy, when you fall into God’s great generosity, you find, seemingly from nowhere, this capacity to change. No one is more surprised that you are. You know it is a gift.
The Privilege to Love- For Kevin
When people I love get sick, I freak out. Most of it is on the inside, but sometimes it slips out. When I was twenty-four, what I thought was a swollen lymph node near my clavicle turned out to be cancer. And, when I thought I was flying home for my Dad's back surgery in the summer of 2002, I learned a few hours after my plane had touched ground in Detroit, that my beloved father had three months to live. And we know, there were all kinds of "no big deals" in the middle of those two shockers. But the trauma still seeps up from the depths of me sometimes. And in a split second, a simple headache turns into brain tumors.
My daughter has had a cold and a high fever for the past few days. And needless to say, I have been a little edgy. Sickness is a big mirror reflecting back to us, "You are powerless." Sickness says to us, I don't care about your schedules. I don't care whether you like it or not. I am here. Look at me. And when everything is running smoothly, it seems like God is on Jenny Finn's side. Sickness teaches me that life is not meant to be on my terms. I am not God. Life is on life's terms. Accepting that is not my strong suit. But, I am learning.
Yesterday morning, my edginess slipped to the outside. When I do not turn to God first with my anxiety, I usually mistake my husband for God. I slip him right up onto the higher power pedestal. I want him to take care of my powerlessness. I want him to tidy up my life events so I don't have to feel powerless. This is not possible. And it is not his job. So, as he was approaching the back porch with some bread he just bought at the day old store, I wide-eyed, forcefully said, "I need help." And then, I could not articulate the help I needed. This is when the warning whistles start blowing and the red flags are raised, alerting me that my expectations have gone awry. I expect him to handle it, take care of it, make it go away, drop everything to sit and hold my hand for the rest of the day. Red alert, in a big fat way. And, if this awareness does not propel me back to God, I usually stew in resentment and victimhood for a bit. As evening approached, I chose the latter.
As I laid tucked in my cozy light green down comforter, I raged inside. When my emotions escalate to that level, over a summertime cold, I am usually knee deep in some old family stuff. So, as Andy read in bed next to me with his headlamp on, minding his own business, I stewed. And, stewed. And then suddenly, I shot up out of bed, threw on a sweatshirt, slipped on my flipflops and stepped into the darkness. Literally. At midnight, I walked out my front door and decided to take a walk. I had no idea what I was doing, as this is not a regular occurrence for me. As I walked, I started talking out loud. I had a lot to say to God. A lot that I had bottled up over the years. As I talked, I started to yell as I walked. I wondered for a split second what the neighbors might think, but I kept walking...and yelling. "Why did you take my parents away from me?" "Why did you leave me when I was child, spending much of my time trying to control my surroundings (still do) because I was afraid?" "Why do I feel so alone and scared right in this moment?" Tears streamed down my face as I walked underneath the big tall trees. One foot in front of the other became a prayer. Of rage and of gratitude. I don't like being powerlessness. I don't want to rule the world, but I don't want to be powerless. Now that is a predicament.
I thank God almighty that I put myself in the hands of something that can hold all of me. I do not need to hide my rage from God. That Love can handle it, in fact, it says, Bring it on. Whatever is going to make you more whole, more real, bring it to me. And I did. When I got to my back porch, before entering my home, I threw a holy living tantrum on the back porch. My arms were waving, my feet were stomping, and I cried. I threw my powerlessness at God. And, God caught it. And said, "Breathe me in, Jenny. Breathe my love in." As I looked up at the stars I breathed. I breathed Love into all of the things I don't have control over. I don't like it when people I love die. Kevin, my very first elementary school love, died at forty years old this month. I don't like it. I don't like it that my mom doesn't know my children. I don't like it that my daughter has green snot pouring out of her nose with a 103 degree fever. I don't like it when Andy is not what I want him to be. I don't like that my Dad died at fifty-six years old. But you know what, that is life. It just is. And sometimes I don't like it.
But I know, like David Whyte says, we are not beyond Love. No matter how dark it is, we are not beyond Love. There is always Love to return to. I can bring my "I don't like it", and even my "I don't like you God", to that Love. That Love is big enough. It won't suffer from hurt feelings. It won't punish me. The only thing I can see when I return to the Big Love is wide open arms. big enough for me to tantrum in. Big enough to hold my confusion. I don't understand why someone who is three months older than me dies and leaves his family. I don't get it. I do not think I am meant to get it. My job is to breathe in the Love. Breathe in the Love. And trust that even when life sucks the big fat one, I am here on the planet to experience the sucky-ness. I am here to have the privilege to breathe in Love, to whatever I am feeling. It is not only a privilege, but my responsibility.
My daughter has had a cold and a high fever for the past few days. And needless to say, I have been a little edgy. Sickness is a big mirror reflecting back to us, "You are powerless." Sickness says to us, I don't care about your schedules. I don't care whether you like it or not. I am here. Look at me. And when everything is running smoothly, it seems like God is on Jenny Finn's side. Sickness teaches me that life is not meant to be on my terms. I am not God. Life is on life's terms. Accepting that is not my strong suit. But, I am learning.
Yesterday morning, my edginess slipped to the outside. When I do not turn to God first with my anxiety, I usually mistake my husband for God. I slip him right up onto the higher power pedestal. I want him to take care of my powerlessness. I want him to tidy up my life events so I don't have to feel powerless. This is not possible. And it is not his job. So, as he was approaching the back porch with some bread he just bought at the day old store, I wide-eyed, forcefully said, "I need help." And then, I could not articulate the help I needed. This is when the warning whistles start blowing and the red flags are raised, alerting me that my expectations have gone awry. I expect him to handle it, take care of it, make it go away, drop everything to sit and hold my hand for the rest of the day. Red alert, in a big fat way. And, if this awareness does not propel me back to God, I usually stew in resentment and victimhood for a bit. As evening approached, I chose the latter.
As I laid tucked in my cozy light green down comforter, I raged inside. When my emotions escalate to that level, over a summertime cold, I am usually knee deep in some old family stuff. So, as Andy read in bed next to me with his headlamp on, minding his own business, I stewed. And, stewed. And then suddenly, I shot up out of bed, threw on a sweatshirt, slipped on my flipflops and stepped into the darkness. Literally. At midnight, I walked out my front door and decided to take a walk. I had no idea what I was doing, as this is not a regular occurrence for me. As I walked, I started talking out loud. I had a lot to say to God. A lot that I had bottled up over the years. As I talked, I started to yell as I walked. I wondered for a split second what the neighbors might think, but I kept walking...and yelling. "Why did you take my parents away from me?" "Why did you leave me when I was child, spending much of my time trying to control my surroundings (still do) because I was afraid?" "Why do I feel so alone and scared right in this moment?" Tears streamed down my face as I walked underneath the big tall trees. One foot in front of the other became a prayer. Of rage and of gratitude. I don't like being powerlessness. I don't want to rule the world, but I don't want to be powerless. Now that is a predicament.
I thank God almighty that I put myself in the hands of something that can hold all of me. I do not need to hide my rage from God. That Love can handle it, in fact, it says, Bring it on. Whatever is going to make you more whole, more real, bring it to me. And I did. When I got to my back porch, before entering my home, I threw a holy living tantrum on the back porch. My arms were waving, my feet were stomping, and I cried. I threw my powerlessness at God. And, God caught it. And said, "Breathe me in, Jenny. Breathe my love in." As I looked up at the stars I breathed. I breathed Love into all of the things I don't have control over. I don't like it when people I love die. Kevin, my very first elementary school love, died at forty years old this month. I don't like it. I don't like it that my mom doesn't know my children. I don't like it that my daughter has green snot pouring out of her nose with a 103 degree fever. I don't like it when Andy is not what I want him to be. I don't like that my Dad died at fifty-six years old. But you know what, that is life. It just is. And sometimes I don't like it.
But I know, like David Whyte says, we are not beyond Love. No matter how dark it is, we are not beyond Love. There is always Love to return to. I can bring my "I don't like it", and even my "I don't like you God", to that Love. That Love is big enough. It won't suffer from hurt feelings. It won't punish me. The only thing I can see when I return to the Big Love is wide open arms. big enough for me to tantrum in. Big enough to hold my confusion. I don't understand why someone who is three months older than me dies and leaves his family. I don't get it. I do not think I am meant to get it. My job is to breathe in the Love. Breathe in the Love. And trust that even when life sucks the big fat one, I am here on the planet to experience the sucky-ness. I am here to have the privilege to breathe in Love, to whatever I am feeling. It is not only a privilege, but my responsibility.
Asleep in Momma's Arms
I have abandonment issues. My mom did not get the mommy-ing she needed. I know her mom did not get it, and I can be pretty darn sure that my great grandmother did not either. I remember seeing pictures of her with gray, tightly wound hair and her lips in a straight edged line. This lineage has left me holding my breath often for no reason. On tough days, it leaves me wondering if I am loved over inane things like if a friend chooses to take a pass on my lunch offer, or when my husband decides to read his book, rather than talk to me at ten-thirty at night. This is why I am in the programs that I am in, and on the healing path, that I walk. It takes a lot some days to remember that I am safe and beloved, even if I don't get ten emails and am not on Oprah.
I met with a friend recently, who I often compete with. I hide my feelings of feeling unloved and act like I don't need her. The other evening, as she sat on my bed with a cup of tea, and I rocked in my rocking chair, we brought our insecurities to the forefront. I shared with her that I feel like I am fifteen in our friendship. Like I need to like what she likes in order for us to be friends, to feel loved by her. I just said it, right out in the open. We shared back and forth, shedding breath and a lot of Love, on our woundedness. It is freeing taking off the mask; kind of like when you squinch your face up after a mud mask dries, and it starts flaking off. When we allow ourselves to be loved in our insecurities, we mother ourselves. And guess what, we don't have to do it alone. Those we trust can help us. If they are willing, they can be the mother voice that we may not be able to find in our own mothers. What a gift.
Andrew and Lizzie slept in the same room for four months on the ship. When they got home, they threw a tent up in the living room and have been sleeping there for a week now. It was time to take it down when I almost fell on my face with the laundry basket yesterday morning. As Andrew started taking it down, Lizzie threw a holy fit. She cried and stomped while I held her. Afterwards, I asked her what that was about. Through some left over tears, she said she didn't want to sleep alone. I assured her we would do it differently that night. I wasn't sure what that would look like, but I was sure that something would come when it needed to. She got in her fuzzy pajamas, washed her face and brushed her teeth and headed into her room with me. On our way, we chose a stone that was sitting on the piano; one that we left before we took our trip. We each chose a stone before embarking on our around the world journey, and imagined our worries going into them and left them on the piano. So, we picked one up and headed into her room. We sat on her bed and held the stone in our hands. I whispered in her ear straight from my heart, "Lizzie, there is a mommy inside of you that Loves you more than me. She loves me too. And my mommy, and my granny and her mommy. This Mommy is so big, she holds us all. And she is holding you right now. You are safe." We rocked slowly and I heard Lizzie say, "Mommy." Then we held her favorite bear Bingo, and sent all of that Big Momma love into him too. She set the stone on her dresser, right next to her pillow, and held on tightly to her Bingo. I gave her a big squeeze and promised her I would be back in five minutes. After a few minutes of emailing, I headed back to her room. The light was on as I cracked the door. When I peeked in, she was asleep.
One Minute of Goodness
LIzzie asked me in the kitchen today if she could have a skittle. Sugar is a bit of a dark monster within me. I am learning to love the part of me that thinks sugar will cure my loneliness. I did as a child, for a moment, and I got stuck on that rush ever since. Some sugar, like a cookie, at least has eggs and milk in it. I mix them up in a bowl and know what is in there. There is a little substance in a chocolate chip cookie. But skittles? I don't know how they make them all colors of the rainbow, or how they stay fresh on your shelf for years at a time. That scares me a little.
So back to Lizzie. She asked for a skittle and I said, "Just one." "Two, mom?", she nudged. "No, just one," I responded. Then I asked her, "Lizzie, why do you like skittles so much?" "Because they are goodness," she answered confidently. Goodness. Yes, I know that feeling when I am stuffing cookie dough in my mouth, or downing a tall fountain coke with Mexican food. It is a rush. And it sure does feel like goodness. But, is it sustainable? Does it really give me what I am looking for? How long does that goodness last when it comes from a skittle? I thought I would find out. "Lizzie," I asked as she chewed her yellow skittle, "Will you tell me when the goodness is gone? When you cannot feel it anymore?" She willingly agreed to do this experiment with her strange mommy. She looked up at me and said, "It's gone. I don't feel it anymore." We both looked up at the clock, and she said, "How long was it, mommy?" "One minute," I answered. One minute. One minute of goodness from a skittle. Now, generally speaking, I am not just going to eat one skittle, am I? Nooooo, I am going to eat handfuls, to keep that feeling going. Because when I look to it for goodness, it just doesn't cut it. It is not long lasting. It goes away in an instant. So, I need more and more. And sugar, as we know, is not great for the body. It is addictive and puts stress on my immune system. But I eat it anyway.Sugar is not inherently bad. It is my relationship with it that gets screwed up a bit. When I am looking to sweets to feel good, I am in trouble. I have forgotten what sustains me. It is the Love that lives inside of me that holds me when I cry. Or someone holding my hand when I am scared. And when I fill up with true intimacy, a skittle is just a skittle. One might even be good enough then. When the skittle becomes my higher power, the thing that will ease whatever I am feeling that I don't want to feel, look out. I am downing a whole bag, easy.
I want more than one minute. And I want more than just feeling good. I want safety. I want to know that I am not alone. The skittle just doesn't cut it. It just doesn't. A bag of skittles just pales in comparison to the sustainable Love within me. Sometimes I forget. I am human. And then, I just remember again. And because that Love is sustainable and everlasting, it is always there for me when I come home.
So back to Lizzie. She asked for a skittle and I said, "Just one." "Two, mom?", she nudged. "No, just one," I responded. Then I asked her, "Lizzie, why do you like skittles so much?" "Because they are goodness," she answered confidently. Goodness. Yes, I know that feeling when I am stuffing cookie dough in my mouth, or downing a tall fountain coke with Mexican food. It is a rush. And it sure does feel like goodness. But, is it sustainable? Does it really give me what I am looking for? How long does that goodness last when it comes from a skittle? I thought I would find out. "Lizzie," I asked as she chewed her yellow skittle, "Will you tell me when the goodness is gone? When you cannot feel it anymore?" She willingly agreed to do this experiment with her strange mommy. She looked up at me and said, "It's gone. I don't feel it anymore." We both looked up at the clock, and she said, "How long was it, mommy?" "One minute," I answered. One minute. One minute of goodness from a skittle. Now, generally speaking, I am not just going to eat one skittle, am I? Nooooo, I am going to eat handfuls, to keep that feeling going. Because when I look to it for goodness, it just doesn't cut it. It is not long lasting. It goes away in an instant. So, I need more and more. And sugar, as we know, is not great for the body. It is addictive and puts stress on my immune system. But I eat it anyway.Sugar is not inherently bad. It is my relationship with it that gets screwed up a bit. When I am looking to sweets to feel good, I am in trouble. I have forgotten what sustains me. It is the Love that lives inside of me that holds me when I cry. Or someone holding my hand when I am scared. And when I fill up with true intimacy, a skittle is just a skittle. One might even be good enough then. When the skittle becomes my higher power, the thing that will ease whatever I am feeling that I don't want to feel, look out. I am downing a whole bag, easy.
I want more than one minute. And I want more than just feeling good. I want safety. I want to know that I am not alone. The skittle just doesn't cut it. It just doesn't. A bag of skittles just pales in comparison to the sustainable Love within me. Sometimes I forget. I am human. And then, I just remember again. And because that Love is sustainable and everlasting, it is always there for me when I come home.
Our World is in Good Hands
Nearly one hundred and fifty people poured into the union, to dance with the Big Love, on the last day of spiritual dance. We danced together, through many tears and joyful feet. As the dance came to a close, I got up to pray out the circle. Students began to rise from all corners of the room. They wore t-shirts that read "We are the mirrors", something I said frequently. And on the back read things like, "Build Your Home Within" and "Remember the Big Love". One by one they read a poem that one dancer had written and they gathered around me, as I sat on the floor. They held me in an embrace that I will never forget. I cannot possibly describe what it felt like when I gazed up at them and saw the love in their eyes. God's grace was before me. And I was speechless.
We have been around the world. My highlight, my inspiration, was the students. They trusted Love and breathed into their darkness. Rape. Suicide attempts. Alcohol and drug abuse. Insecurity. Fear of intimacy. Troubles with friends. Starving and overeating. Sugar addiction. Love addiction. You name it. They brought it right out; front and center. And they could not have done it without that One Precious Love. It is simple as that. We don't show our true colors, unless we know in our hearts, that we are loved no matter what. They did. They inspired the hell out of me with their courage and faith. One thing I am certain of. This generation will not settle for a God that is dead in the head. They deserve more than that. They want a Love that is vibrant, steadfast, creative and ALIVE. They want a Love that gives birth to a passion, then service, that this world desperately needs.
A beekeeping friend just walked in the door and asked me about the trip. I have traveled the world and it is the students who inspired me, I told him. He knew. He is a teacher too. And as he left he said, "Our world is in good hands." Yes, it is. And, I plan to do anything I can to support this generation. Love led me across the sea. It took me where I needed to be. I bow in deep respect to that Love. And I pray, Love lead me on.
I found God in my feet.
I found God in my feet and he grounded me,
He carried me when the earth was moving,
When the earth grew and climbed and heaved til it could breathe the word alive.
My God, my love, my feet sighed over ground that wasn’t g...round, nor ocean, nor water, nor life,
Just some kind of space
And I don’t know the difference between heaven and grace,
But it’s like I’ve misplaced my confusion and heart stepped in.
There’s no question, no misconception
No more rejection of my bodily church,
Cause my church moves.
It sways, it plays, it prays to God
From my knees, my elbows, my legs,
And it sings from my hips.
It brings forth love I never knew could exist
But it’s the most persistent being I’ve ever held.
My feet have unleashed me
They’ve released an energy, a truth, a love that is finally home beneath.
I found love in my feet,
I found God in me.
~written by Jenn Gineros, a fellow spiritual dancer
Spiritual Dance- A Toby Video
This is a short video (5 minutes) about my work on the ship, made by Toby, a beautiful student on board. It sums it up beautifully. I hope you enjoy it.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=RA5zXHp8N3w
I am home in two weeks. God only know what is in store...truly.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=RA5zXHp8N3w
I am home in two weeks. God only know what is in store...truly.
All on the Same Street
We began our second day in Cape Town in the District Six museum. The homes of the people in this area (and others) were destroyed because they were black, Indian or anything other than white. As we got ready to leave the museum, a man named Noor, native to South Africa of Indian descent, started telling us his story. When he was thirty, he watched his home bulldozed to the ground.
And he is here to tell his story of love and forgiveness. Noor raised homing pigeons in his old house. And after it was torn down, he moved the birds to his new home out of the city. He decided one morning, soon after the forced move, to set his pigeons free for the day, hoping for their safe return home that evening. When he returned home from work, his wife shared the news that the pigeons hadn't returned yet. And the next morning, still no birds. Noor got ready for work, and drove by the site of his old house, like he did every day. As his car slowed down by the house, he noticed there were some visitors. He got out and to his surprise, he saw his pigeons. All perched on that abandoned site, looking for home. The pigeons returned home. And Noor cried. He told the story to us, and then he told us that the only thing to do now was love and forgive. "If I keep hatred in my heart, it hurts me."
With our hearts opened and our bellies hungry, we stepped out onto the street and turned our heads to the left, and then to the right. And this is what we saw.
So, of course, the Finn's walked towards Charly's Bakery. We rounded the corner, only to approach what looked like a giant castle. I became five years old again, sitting on my front lawn trying to dig "jewels" out of our landscaping rocks. I was the young girl who turned the side room in the garage into a space ship. And, I was the child that collected mini tea cups and figurine dogs, just because. We walked through the doors with hungry bellies and hearts and we were fed at Charly's.
I walked right up to the counter. And I smiled. I asked the woman behind the counter, decorating cupcakes, "Can I live here?", as I glanced up at the mini teacups and the bride and groom cake tops hanging from the chandelier. Her smile took up her face and she said, "Sure, we have a place upstairs." We ordered quiche, cabbage salad, a whole slew of cupcakes, and cookies. After we were seated, one of the women came out, and asked if I would write a story about my experience walking into Charly's. She handed me a piece of paper and pen, and a box of brownies that weighed about twenty pounds. Heaven. On. Earth.
Jackie, the inspiration behind Charly's Bakery, came out and asked if I had written the piece.
Little did I know I found a fellow soul sister when I walked through those doors. Her smile was enough for me. But her big beautiful heart, and those of her daughters, had my jaw drop in wonder. Everything from the thirty different cake pans, to the mason jars filled with colored marshmellows, all of it had me at hello. I could not help but smile in Charly's. Out of Jackie's mouth came words like play. Joy. Passion. Heart. She founded Charly's in a building that was once a Jewish bookshop. She had to have that building and she got it. And I can tell you, God is in that place. God is playful, creative and spontaneous. And all of that is allowed at Charly's. Her daughters can write whatever the hell they please on those cupcakes. Just take a look at the ones above.
I haven't even mentioned the savory quiche with homemade crust and roasted vegetables. The tangy cabbage salad and the crisp and delicate gingerbread girl. Even, my taste buds came back to life in a new way!
Magic was afoot in this place. The Feminine flows in this bakery. Blue butterflies circled a white cake and red roses adorned a gold painted layered cake. Every cell of my being came alive in Charly's. And, I could live there. Jackie doesn't know this, but when I went to the bathroom upstairs, I actually looked if there was someplace I could set up camp. I actually looked. That is how alive the little child in me was. She wanted to live there. And guess what? She can. She can live in all of us. That is what Jackie and Charly's Bakery reminded me to do. Don't take my life so seriously. Love what I hate. Love is the answer. Love lives. In the broken heart of a man. And the playful heart of a woman and her daughters. God holds it all. And if we forget, to remind us, God gives us Noor and Charly's Bakery, all on the same street. Mucking Afazing, as Jackie would say. Mucking Afazing.
With our hearts opened and our bellies hungry, we stepped out onto the street and turned our heads to the left, and then to the right. And this is what we saw.
So, of course, the Finn's walked towards Charly's Bakery. We rounded the corner, only to approach what looked like a giant castle. I became five years old again, sitting on my front lawn trying to dig "jewels" out of our landscaping rocks. I was the young girl who turned the side room in the garage into a space ship. And, I was the child that collected mini tea cups and figurine dogs, just because. We walked through the doors with hungry bellies and hearts and we were fed at Charly's.
I walked right up to the counter. And I smiled. I asked the woman behind the counter, decorating cupcakes, "Can I live here?", as I glanced up at the mini teacups and the bride and groom cake tops hanging from the chandelier. Her smile took up her face and she said, "Sure, we have a place upstairs." We ordered quiche, cabbage salad, a whole slew of cupcakes, and cookies. After we were seated, one of the women came out, and asked if I would write a story about my experience walking into Charly's. She handed me a piece of paper and pen, and a box of brownies that weighed about twenty pounds. Heaven. On. Earth.
Jackie, the inspiration behind Charly's Bakery, came out and asked if I had written the piece.
Little did I know I found a fellow soul sister when I walked through those doors. Her smile was enough for me. But her big beautiful heart, and those of her daughters, had my jaw drop in wonder. Everything from the thirty different cake pans, to the mason jars filled with colored marshmellows, all of it had me at hello. I could not help but smile in Charly's. Out of Jackie's mouth came words like play. Joy. Passion. Heart. She founded Charly's in a building that was once a Jewish bookshop. She had to have that building and she got it. And I can tell you, God is in that place. God is playful, creative and spontaneous. And all of that is allowed at Charly's. Her daughters can write whatever the hell they please on those cupcakes. Just take a look at the ones above.
I haven't even mentioned the savory quiche with homemade crust and roasted vegetables. The tangy cabbage salad and the crisp and delicate gingerbread girl. Even, my taste buds came back to life in a new way!
Magic was afoot in this place. The Feminine flows in this bakery. Blue butterflies circled a white cake and red roses adorned a gold painted layered cake. Every cell of my being came alive in Charly's. And, I could live there. Jackie doesn't know this, but when I went to the bathroom upstairs, I actually looked if there was someplace I could set up camp. I actually looked. That is how alive the little child in me was. She wanted to live there. And guess what? She can. She can live in all of us. That is what Jackie and Charly's Bakery reminded me to do. Don't take my life so seriously. Love what I hate. Love is the answer. Love lives. In the broken heart of a man. And the playful heart of a woman and her daughters. God holds it all. And if we forget, to remind us, God gives us Noor and Charly's Bakery, all on the same street. Mucking Afazing, as Jackie would say. Mucking Afazing.
Finding Her Feet
We have inter-port students on this journey. The inter-port student travels from one of the countries we visit to his, or her, homeland. So, Lasuko, from South Africa, traveled with us from Mauritius to Cape Town. And when these students are on board, they teach us about their homeland. They speak to the children on the ship, they teach hula classes and Bollywood dance choreography. They share with us their stories of home and we share ours. They are a treasure on the ship. They prepare us.
The winds were strong today in Cape Town, which meant a late departure for us. And, high winds move the waters in different ways. We pulled out of Cape Town around five in the evening, and the ship started rocking slowly. I was sitting in the hallway, putting music together for the dance tomorrow. And along comes Makowna, a lovely young student from Ghana, walking down the hallway. I reach out my hand, as my samba music blares, and I smile and tell her my name. She tells me hers and I welcome her to our little community at sea. When I ask her where she is headed, she motions side to side with her hands, indicating the movement of the ship on the water. And then she says, "I am just walking around the ship, trying to find my feet."
She gets it. In ways I am not sure I ever will. And that is okay. She is my teacher.
Just thinking about Jesus, even now...
Do you ever think that Jesus has become an idol? I do, sometimes. Jesus walked this planet and drew a lot of attention. Why? Because he filled up with God's love and it spilled out of him. He was so intimate with God, he called God "Abba", akin to the word Daddy for us. He stayed close to what created him and he was creative. He was so close to God, he walked with safety. He walked so closely that he became that Love. And the people wanted that safety. They wanted that love, that healing. And we still want it. Even now.
Jesus pointed the way to that Love. He pointed his finger straight into his own heart and told us in so many ways, that this Big Huge Love, it's in us! Believe it or not, it's in us; in these beautiful bodies and beyond. He didn't just tell us that, he lived it. He lived it. And that is what drew the crowds. Even now. But, we have gotten confused, haven't we? We confuse the messenger for the message. In John 6:15, after Jesus had asked the man at the pools of Bethesda if he wanted to be healed, and then performed a miracle of Love, it is written, "Since Jesus knew they were going to come and carry him off to make him king, he withdrew alone again to the mountain." He knew us too well. We have carried him off. And this causes us to live pretty comfortably. I think we risk less, because we have carried him off and put him on a pedestal that none of us can reach. He wanted more for us than that. Even now.
To walk in the path of Love that Jesus walked in, and still calls us to walk in, is much more difficult than to worship the person of Jesus. For me, at least. I love Jesus. I love him because he had the courage and faith to be so intimate with God that he became the way. But we humans, have pushed that teaching up into our heads and tried to turn the mystical into reason. And that is when it gets scary. He was the way, the truth and the light, because he was filled with Love. Every cell of his being. When we hear that with our heads, it becomes law; a law we try to control others with. And, a law that we use to get more members on our team. When I need a team, I am afraid. But, when we hear it with our hearts, it becomes Love. Plain and simple. It draws us closer to God. And we remember that even little caterpillars, through the muck and mess of it, turn into butterflies.
Why is Jesus an idol today? Because we are afraid. And we need something to hold onto. Why do we worship the messenger? I am not convinced that is what Jesus is asking of me. Why do we wait for the second coming Jesus, when we are the hands and feet of God, now? It is much easier to wait for Jesus, than to trust the cocoon. It is much easier to cling onto a belief or opinion, than to love what I hate. So, why Jesus? Why listen to him, even now, after all of these years?
Jesus, and the Love behind his wild, crazy life, calls me to live freely, to love wildly. And when I have doubts about that call, who do I look to? Often the life of Jesus. In my eyes, he didn't want to be king. He just wanted us to love. And then, gave us the extravegantly gracious gift of showing us how.
Jesus pointed the way to that Love. He pointed his finger straight into his own heart and told us in so many ways, that this Big Huge Love, it's in us! Believe it or not, it's in us; in these beautiful bodies and beyond. He didn't just tell us that, he lived it. He lived it. And that is what drew the crowds. Even now. But, we have gotten confused, haven't we? We confuse the messenger for the message. In John 6:15, after Jesus had asked the man at the pools of Bethesda if he wanted to be healed, and then performed a miracle of Love, it is written, "Since Jesus knew they were going to come and carry him off to make him king, he withdrew alone again to the mountain." He knew us too well. We have carried him off. And this causes us to live pretty comfortably. I think we risk less, because we have carried him off and put him on a pedestal that none of us can reach. He wanted more for us than that. Even now.
To walk in the path of Love that Jesus walked in, and still calls us to walk in, is much more difficult than to worship the person of Jesus. For me, at least. I love Jesus. I love him because he had the courage and faith to be so intimate with God that he became the way. But we humans, have pushed that teaching up into our heads and tried to turn the mystical into reason. And that is when it gets scary. He was the way, the truth and the light, because he was filled with Love. Every cell of his being. When we hear that with our heads, it becomes law; a law we try to control others with. And, a law that we use to get more members on our team. When I need a team, I am afraid. But, when we hear it with our hearts, it becomes Love. Plain and simple. It draws us closer to God. And we remember that even little caterpillars, through the muck and mess of it, turn into butterflies.
Why is Jesus an idol today? Because we are afraid. And we need something to hold onto. Why do we worship the messenger? I am not convinced that is what Jesus is asking of me. Why do we wait for the second coming Jesus, when we are the hands and feet of God, now? It is much easier to wait for Jesus, than to trust the cocoon. It is much easier to cling onto a belief or opinion, than to love what I hate. So, why Jesus? Why listen to him, even now, after all of these years?
Jesus, and the Love behind his wild, crazy life, calls me to live freely, to love wildly. And when I have doubts about that call, who do I look to? Often the life of Jesus. In my eyes, he didn't want to be king. He just wanted us to love. And then, gave us the extravegantly gracious gift of showing us how.
