I'm lost.  Yet not.


I have no more paid work, no congregation to teach and grow with.  God is here.  There is a plan somewhere.  But I'm left with no instructions.  Again.


A few years ago, I was living my dream.  I was married to my true mate, retired and living on a boat that traveled the Intracoastal Waterway with land homes in two states for time off of the water with our families.  I was preaching and connected to people that I had met from all over the world.  I was writing steadily, working on new art, feeling at peace and useful, a part of life.


And then it was gone.  He changed, he left.  The savings, insurances, possessions and my sense of connectedness and safety in the world--gone.  It was a dark time of trying to decide whether to stay alive, then rebuilding very, very slowly.  Learning to function, reconnecting with god through the church, finding a way to create income and some self-worth, a new 'normal,' a life.


And its gone.  Again.


It isn't so dark this time.  I know god is all around and there is meaning in all of this.  In a few weeks I will be broke and without insurances, then soon after without a place to live.  There are few jobs and the hiring process is competitive and slow.


I wonder what to do.  I wonder what is next.  I wonder who I am and why I am.


I think I'll go swimming now.

My church is closing.  Its very sad.


This place-- the seven acres of land especially-- its holy space.  As you walk the property, there are thin places where the spirit pops through our reality and draws you into a deeper place.  There a pecan trees covered in spanish moss, a labyrinth surrounded by huge old oaks, a quiet courtyard garden.


And no people who can or will keep this a worshiping community.


Its very sad.

Feeling different yet knowing I am part of Trying to blend in knowing that I stand out Feeling weak and less than knowing that I am strong and special In the end, the only choice: I am who I was made to be.

Several times in the past...

Several times in the past I felt so uncomfortable in myself that I really really listened for answers.  It seemed like the typical teenage angst, or mid-life crisis (does THAT ever end?!).  Yet by listening I was forced to change, pushed out of doing and being what I thought I was supposed to do and be—or worse, what others told me.

By praying, listening, crying, living new information seeped in and I shifted into a new way. 

People near me yelled and pleaded or laughed and mocked.  The foundations of my life until then were broken.  Dark, foggy drifting and reaching for…???

And then a new voice.  My new voice.  A deeper and stronger voice urging me into new places and understandings.  Following the voice, doing the only thing I could do; determined to be as completely me as possible.  Fog lifting, joy and pleasure in the newness and uncertainty.

There is a cycle, and the dark fog rolls in again.  Thin wisps combining to make a haze, then more into a thicker veil hiding the way.  Finally the dark and heavy weight of blindness and confusion.

I only know to keep talking to god and listening for a word, looking for the next step.  It's what we call hope, I guess.  And I do so hope that I am taking a good step, that all around me is, too.

We so deeply yearn to be seen, to be known.  To be heard and understood.

I spent some time with someone who doesn’t think well of me.  He doesn’t know much about me and doesn’t ask about me, but he sure thinks he knows me and that I am wanting.

It’s hurtful.  Part of me wants to stand up and declare my worth.  Pay attention to me!  I am important and valuable!  I am powerful and good and strong!  You awful person how could you not see me!

It’s hurtful.  And I don’t care to be hurt like that any more.  It’s his loss; God knows me, and that is good enough.

Like many preachers, I have only a couple of basic sermons and they come from my understanding of god and creation.  God created everything and looked around and said, ‘This is good!’  I am part of everything so god created me and must have said, ‘This is good!  The best Patricia ever!’

…and I use so much of this creation, this life that god made, trying to believe in my goodness.

Sometimes I am       

Sometimes I’m not

Which is which

I forgot

Feeling different

Feeling different

            yet knowing I am part of

Trying to blend in

            knowing that I stand out

Feeling weak and less than

            knowing that I am strong and special

In the end, the only choice

            I am who I was made to be

My Story, Pt. 2

One Friday evening, at home after a long week, I found myself crawling from my bed to the kitchen looking for anything with alcohol.  With no prior knowledge of alcoholism or recovery programs, I dialed the operator and said I needed help.  Instead of 911, I was connected to the local Alcoholics Anonymous hotline.  After explaining to the nice gentleman on the other end of the line that I couldn’t go to a meeting tonight because I was exhausted from my important work week, he laughed and said he’d meet me the next day at a meeting—and then he hung up!  On ME!  I was so angry that I didn’t drink any more that night and I showed up at the meeting the next day just to show him who was in charge.

Those of you who are familiar with Twelve Step programs can imagine the ups and down down downs of getting and staying sober.  That something ‘out there’ became a Higher Power and then God.  I continued to talk (pray?), tried to listen, mostly did the next thing that seemed right and didn’t drink.

One of the slogans is “Fake it ‘til you make it” and I faked it for years.  Sober, involved.  And terrified.

I faked my way into a relationship with a man who was deeply involved with his church, a 1928 Prayer Book Episcopal church with gorgeous stained glass, glorious music, chanting, incense, elaborate ceremony and vestments…  I was hooked.  No more relationship but oh, learning about church and Jesus and God was wonderful.

Not that I really believed any of it (still faking it).  But Christianity connected me to a larger and acceptable community; gave me some new rules to structure a better life and somehow I felt safer.  And so I was baptized, confirmed, and I am now an Episcopal priest (who now believes and isn’t faking much of anything any more).

When I try to figure out how it all happened, my conclusion is “God got me.”

Hey folks!  Several of you have been emailing in response to these blogs. You can respond to these blogs on the blog site.  Click on comments.  That way others can see your thoughts and maybe we can have a conversation.

My Story, pt. 1

I don’t remember a time when I felt safe.  The rules seemed to shift continually and I remember searching for quiet hidden places.

And I remember talking/thinking to whatever/whoever ‘out there’ who could love me and teach me.  I just knew that there was somehow a creator-lover-something beyond what I experienced.

It took a lot of hard years to name God and to begin a relationship of listening and praying.  I was a lost soul (we were called hippies way back then…).   I didn’t know much about right or wrong except by instinct and I tried anything that looked remotely interesting.  Addiction, mostly to (red) wine finally conquered any sense that I had of being in control of my life.

People from my past often describe me as adventurous and courageous.  I traveled a lot, left Ohio and landed in the San Francisco Bay area, and made a financial success of a career in insurance and finance. And I learned to drink better (red) wines in the name of good client relations.

My life looked good—a house in a wealthy suburb, a successful career, nice car, world travel.  Mostly, though, what I remember is fear and emptiness and hopelessness.

And still I ‘talked’ or pleaded to the great whatever that was ‘out there.’

P.S. Hey folks!  Several of you have been emailing in response to these blogs. You can respond to these blogs on the blog site.  Click on comments.  That way others can see your thoughts and maybe we can have a conversation.