I HAVE SEEN GOD...

I HAVE SEEN GOD…

“But," He said, "you cannot see My face,

for no one may see Me and live."

Exodus 33:20  

INTRODUCTION
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.  Well, so is God.  Seeing God, I mean.

My life to date, save for the first couple of decades and the last 9 months, has been that of a single, working professional.  My field – banking.  My passion – helping people make money work for them.  I don’t mean in the sense of making it work by growing it, or so that it can make them more powerful or bring them more prestige.  I mean making it work to give their lives meaning.  Now along the way, I can assure you that many of my clients would have insisted that it was growing their money or having their money bring them power and prestige that gave their lives meaning.  Those are definitely not the times when I saw God. 
So when did I see God, you ask?  And you ask this because you’re reading this introduction trying to decide whether to read on?  You ask this because you wonder whether you should categorize this as “Spiritual” “Religion,” or “New Age?”

In my humble opinion, just knowing that the title grabbed you should tell you that it’s worth taking a stab at.  You must think God is someone special, and that seeing God would be desirable, otherwise, why would you even have read this far?

So my recommendation is this (and remember, my life’s passion has been making peoples’ money work to give their lives meaning, and this is free) follow your instincts.  I always have, and I think that’s a big reason why I have seen God.

Thanks for your open heart.  Or should I thank your mother for giving you a big enough dose of guilt for a lifetime?  Anyway, thanks.  From a budding author to an interested reader, thanks.

CHAPTER 1:  I HAVE SEEN GOD THROUGH THE EYES OF A TEACHER

Lillian was the head of the English Department, and as an aspiring journalist, I grew close to her from my first day of high school. 

I saw God on many occasions as I worked with Lillian at school.  She was my English teacher for two years, and she was committed to encouraging my decision to pursue writing.  She cheered on my every essay, and was a caring critic as Senior Advisor when I took on the role of Yearbook Editor.  Lillian saw potential and cultivated it.  Not only with me, but with all students, I knew her to be compassionate, yet a no-nonsense taskmaster for excellence in the job at hand.  She never overlooked even the least of our efforts, and never missed an opportunity to exhort our strengths and forgive our shortcomings.  And most importantly, she was always there for us. 

On graduation day, I delivered the address that Lillian had helped me craft, edit, and memorize.  As the ceremonies concluded, she handed me an inscribed copy of Roget’s Thesaurus with the benediction, “I want you to write!”  From this well-educated, much-admired traditionalist came God’s whisper… and every day of my working career I exercised my writing skills with that sendoff in mind.  I tried to imbue every written document with the care and excellence that Lillian had taught me.   I became known for my business communications skills, and they served me well throughout my career.  And 40 years later, I turned in my laptop and Blackberry and picked up a pen to honor Lillian’s words with the first words of this blog.   It was pre-ordained, I believe, because I saw God through the eyes of a teacher.

CHAPTER 2:  I HAVE SEEN GOD THROUGH THE EYES OF A CHILD

God blessed me with a key role in the upbringing of my two nephews.  That was over 35 years ago, and now He has blessed me with a key role in the upbringing of my two great-nieces.  And so, first and foremost, I need to say here that I know that my life has been lucky, and God has endowed me with important missions in two generations of my family.

My perspective in terms of watching God enter and interact with these two generations of children is rather unique.  I am not a parent, and therefore I enjoy that one degree of separation which carries brings a few key benefits:  1) I am not the rule-maker, the punishment-dealer, nor the standard-setter;   2) I am an insider/ confidante who knows enough of the story that I can be relied upon for advice; and 3) I bring unconditional love without expectations.

In the formative years of my relationship with my nephews, I was a working professional in my late 20s and early 30s, and therefore under the influence of corporate ladder-climbing.  Working in the financial services business may have also colored my interactions with my nephews, as my professional role as a client manager often exposed me to the rewards and wreckage of affluence.  As I observed and advised families whose dysfunctional dynamics could not be cured by, and in fact may have been exacerbated by, money, I am certain that I was cautious that materialism not affect my family.

Now 30 years have passed, I am recently retired, and I face the formative, relationship-building years with my two great-nieces.  The 20-year period of my career between these sets of kids in my family have been with affluent clients exclusively, and I believe that I have a fair and objective view of affluence and its effect on families.   While I know that generalizing often seems cruel sport, my opinion is that the motives driving behaviors exhibited by affluent families are skewed as follows:  greed outweighs generosity, driving professional and personal profiteering; cynicism trumps compassion, resulting in condescension and pride; and unhappiness overwhelms joy, creating general discontent with all the excess that life has brought to them.

So where do I see God in all this?  In the period 3 decades ago when I was interacting with my nephews, and today as I enjoy my great-nieces, God seems an ever-present watermark behind the tableau of their lives.  Children, in my observation, both in my family and in the families of my clients, have shown me that the last 30 years have not changed anything which they bring to the table.  They come as infants with innocence, love, kindness, and trust.  They know no greed or guile, and they have no concept of suspicion or unhappiness.  Their pure joy is disarming, and they ask only to be fed, burped, and changed.   And there, in the joy and the simplicity, is where I see God. 

As they get a bit older and move about in their world, their dependence on the caregivers around them carries with it a tendency to mimic behavioral patterns.  When Mommy is tense, baby exhibits similar tendencies.  Or, in my case, when Auntie has had a busy work week, the fact that it is Friday night and I have picked up the kids for a weekend together does not make my stress headache go away… and the  kids respond with unusual fussiness to begin a cycle of discordant behavior that may last until bedtime.

Where did I see God in those days?  On one level, I saw Him as He answered my simple prayer asking to make the headache go away and replace it with a sunny disposition.  Grumpy Auntie was transformed into Fun Auntie, and away we went.  But on a deeper level, I saw Him in the kids.  My nephews exhibited the unconditional love that we speak of as abiding love.  God’s goodness was always there waiting to flow out of them.  It was there for the taking, organically reproduced and never failing. 

Then the babies became toddlers, and soon little boys.  In those years I made time to be with them as often as possible, and I know in retrospect that even as I mentally cautioned myself to use my words and actions as teaching tools, it was I who was taught by them.  It was God again.  In their smiles, in their actions, and in their words, they lit up the room and changed my world.  They allowed me to be present… to forget the workweek I had thankfully left behind and to ignore the upcoming schedule   I would soon face… and to see God through their eyes.

When my nephews entered elementary school, their parents decided against the overcrowded public and parochial schools in our town and chose a Christian school.  Our family attended many school assemblies, recitals, and programs which opened with prayers the likes of which we cradle Catholics had never heard… perhaps a prayer for a new typewriter for the school secretary, or a prayer for new basketball nets for outside court.  Yet the presence of God was unquestionable in the minds and hearts of that school’s leadership and faculty, and I watched the formation of the boys’ hearts and minds with great pride and satisfaction.  All the while, of course, I grew along with them as they came to know God on their terms.

Both my nephews attended Catholic Mass, and since my time with them was generally on the weekend, I often took them to Church.  They went to preparatory classes for and celebrated their First Holy Communion, and then began to fully participate in the Mass, walking up and receiving communion with me each time I attended Mass with them.  Sometimes they were unruly in Church, and sometimes more well-behaved, but with a little encouragement and an occasional threat that ”we would not be able to go for pizza if they did not stop that giggling immediately,” it all worked itself out. 

By high school both boys were back in the public school system, but the combination of Christian school and Catholic catechism training had stayed with them.  Of course, I credit my brother and sister-in-law for setting excellent life examples for their children, and for being vigilant about the kids whom they befriended.  I saw that God was being instilled in them as well, exhibited in attributes such as kindness, generosity, and compassion.  I remember vividly Chris’s reaction when he delivered a holiday food basket to a family in need.  It was cold inside as he walked into their humble apartment, and he saw a baby crawling on the floor clothed only in a diaper.  The sight appalled him; the memory never left him.     His internal moral compass was truly on TILT, and I could clearly see God’s grace in his compassionate retelling of the story.  On another occasion, Brandon had just secured his first summer job in a local convenience store – a coup in a distressed job market.  His parents had plans for weekends at their beach house, and of course expected that both their sons would join them.  Brandon, knowing the store’s schedule followed seniority and pecking order, knew he would risk losing his job by challenging the scheduling routine.  He was well aware that he could likely curry favor because his parents were well-known to the store owner, but his integrity drove him to ask if he could spend whichever weekend night he was on the schedule with me, and then travel to the beach house after work on the other weekend day.  God was working in him, and I saw the blessing of good work ethic and an earnest attitude that made me proud.

As my nephews met the women they would marry, they each took the traditional route of introducing their prospective brides to their parents before committing to marriage.  They both met with their prospective in-laws to gain their concurrence as well.  Both young men put their parents first in the planning of wedding ceremonies, and both pledged vows they wrote themselves to their brides to love and cherish them, and to be by their side until death.  I believe that God was in those words, and the Spirit inside each of them forged their commitment to become the wonderful husbands, and now fathers, that they have grown to become.  Together they have been blessed with 5 children, and my pride overflows as I think of the journey that has taken them from infancy themselves, to instilling in their own infants, the values of goodness and kindness that have formed them as healthy, happy young children.  These 5 young souls are armed with extraordinary advantages:  they all have 2 loving parents and live in intact households;  they all have 2 sets of grandparents, all alive, healthy and productive, and interested in their upbringing; and they have opportunity to see uncles, aunts, great-uncles, great-aunts, cousins and close friends as God-inspired role models to help pass on their legacy of faith and family.  How much more proof of God’s blessing can I find?  And even though we have all relocated to different parts of the country, my nephews have formed a tradition that at least once a year they will make sure those 5 children get together at their grandparents’ beach house and enjoy a cousins’ holiday.  I know, just as sure as the ocean’s waves and the soft sand tickle their toes and the warm seabreeze caresses their faces, that God is sending His grace to have and to hold inside themselves as they take on the world.

Now I am a proud great-aunt, and I have the honor and privilege of seeing God through another generation.  My two great-nieces Sydney and Annie are the loves of my life, and they bear witness to God’s greatness just by virtue of the fact that they live 10 minutes from my California home.  When I moved from my native New England town 15 years ago, I could not have imagined such a blessing, but God obviously had plans for my life that would bless me yet again. 

And so, once or twice a week, I see those two precious girls.  My study has been transformed into their bedroom.  Toys and clothes fill their closet.  Weekends are filled from special character pancakes for breakfast to special bubble baths and jammies at bedtime.  They play, dance, imagine, pretend, stall, hurry, squabble, forgive, and love.  They are princesses and yet they love to tickle and tease.  When our busy day ends and they collapse into bed, I turn down the lights and God comes into their room.  We say our prayers (the traditional ones followed by the “I want to say something to God about my making teacher’s daughter’s cold better” ones) and we cuddle.  In those moments before sleep, as I lay between them and pinch myself in awe that another chapter of my life is filled with little loved ones, I know God is crammed right in that bed with us.  I certainly know He is also there throughout the day when I am almost-impatient, tired of answering questions, wish the cookies could get onto the cookie sheet a little faster, and really don’t have the strength to watch “Dora the Explorer” one more time, but it is in the quiet darkness that He’s there in a special way.  He breathes the breath of heaven into those moments as I thank my parents, who would have loved to have lived to see the twinkle in Annie’s eye or the purse of Sydney’s lips, for their legacy.  And I thank them for introducing me to the God who watches over us as we three tired adventurers drift off to sleep.

Waking up to God and going to sleep to God is never more possible than when you have small children in your care who love you as you love them.  And the bonus for me is this… I see God in all the waking moments in between.

CHAPTER 3:  I HAVE SEEN GOD THROUGH THE EYES OF A PARENT

Although I have never been one myself, I have encountered many wonderful parents.  Mine, for example, were both first-generation Americans and committed to giving their children all the benefits of participation in the American society in which we were raised.

God knows (really) He is most needed when two people commit their lives to each other forever.  Their marriage vows are augmented, in our Catholic tradition, with the further commitment to raise children in the knowledge of God as the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  The knowledge faced by these two willing adults that not only will they spend the rest of their mortal lives together, but that they will have children and raise them in a tradition that includes time and resources for Christian education, receiving the sacraments, and preparing to live a God-centered life, can only be described as daunting.

And so I see God, knowing what He is asking of these two people, stepping in.  He certainly must have in the case of my parents, as they were born into 2 separate ethnicities (a very important obstacle in 1922), and 2 separate religious traditions (perhaps even more of an obstacle than ethnicity).  My Greek Orthodox maternal grandparents wanted nothing to do with the notion of their daughter dating anyone but a Greek Orthodox man.  In the same vein, my Arabic Christian paternal grandparents were less than enthralled with the suggestion of their son dating anyone but an Arabic Christian woman. 

Once my parents met on a train on their way to college one day, however, there must have been something (or SomeOne) compelling their relationship to go forward.  They arranged complicated maneuvers involving friends and relatives to meet and continue dating.  My father told a wonderful story about, after being commissioned into the Army as a Second Lieutenant and coming to a clandestine meeting at my aunt’s home, he was forced to hide under a bed when my grandparents unexpectedly arrived on scene.  In his uniform.  I can still see his face pale as he recounted that humiliating moment.  On other occasions, while on weekend leave, he would come home from his base of operations to visit my mother at her parents’ home, which entailed a 5 hour bus ride followed by a 45 minute drive in his older brother’s borrowed car, only to drive by my grandparents’ home and find “the signal” (a shade pulled up is the coast was clear) was negative.  Disappointed and frustrated, he would make the return trip without ever getting so much as a glimpse of my mother. 

I see God, here, people.  Really.  He was stationed in New York City, and quite handsome in his uniform.  She was going to school in Boston, and lovely in her own right.  Both sets of parents were always on the lookout for matches for them, and brought pressure to bear when they made their choices known.  So if each of my parents had so many opportunities to find other people they could have more easily dated and eventually married, how is it that their resistance was so strong?  I see God in the works…  in the patience they displayed, the trust in each other they demonstrated, and the determination to see and reach their vision for true happiness.  They sought goodness, found it, and tenaciously held on until it was their reality.  As He breathes life into an embryo or a planted seed, as He allows a baby chick to peck its way out of an egg or a butterfly to force its way out of a chrysalis, He rewarded my parents’ determination and made the way clear for their union.  As a side note, each of my parents worked hard after their marriage to convince their respective in-laws of the wisdom of having given their blessing, and each of them became favorites in their in-laws’ eyes.  Another stroke, in my opinion, of His genius.

Through the eyes of my parents their marriage was blessed from the start by its sheer improbability, and they honored each other throughout their 45 years together.  My mother studied to convert to Catholicism, and did so in the presence of her proud parents. When they gave birth to my brother and myself, they baptized and confirmed us in the Eastern Catholic religion, and they gave us the first fruits of all their resources.  Whatever time was left at the end of the day, whatever money was left at the end of the week, was ours.  The fruits of the Spirit had brought them together: humility, faithfulness, self-control, love, peace and joy continued as guiding principles for our family; and through those fruits they went about showing us the kindness and patience required of all parents.  God was in the details.  My brother and I were good students, relatively good kids, and left our home with the core values and belief in God that would support us in our adult lives.

My brother is a parent, and now a grandparent.  His life has been one of a loyal and dutiful son, a successful and accomplished professional, a loving and generous father, and a proud and joyous grandfather.   God has blessed him with a wife who has been devoted and loving, who is also a compassionate mother and a beloved grandmother.  Their household is still a mecca for their children and grandchildren, and the peace that they describe when their entire family is together is, I believe, His peace that passes all understanding.  When the race is well run, the reward is great, and I believe that God will continue to reward their 40 years of devoted marriage with many blessings.

CHAPTER 4:  I HAVE SEEN GOD THROUGH THE EYES OF AN AUNT AND UNCLE

When I was born, my Aunt Alice and Uncle Mitchell lived about half a mile away from us.  Auntie Alice would walk to our house to pick me up.  She and my mother would dress me for the day’s outing, sometimes packing extra clothes for an overnight visit, and off we would go… Auntie pushing my stroller down Howe Street in anticipation of the fun we would have together.

It never really mattered what we did together.  We listened to each other with our eyes, in a way that told me that I was seeing not only my favorite Aunt, but God, through those times together.  We laughed and played, cooked and cleaned, walked and ran around.  We just “were” together, enjoying the time and whatever filled its space. 

When Uncle Mitchell came home, the day got even better, for as lenient as Auntie Alice was, Uncle Mitchell was all the more so. He let me see God in a whole different way.   His laugh was a thunderbolt followed by a roaring wave.  His smile lit up the room.  His heart was as big as his love for me.  His pockets were filled with Juicy Fruit gum and silver dollars, always for me.  He had a secret door in a special piece of furniture that was always filled with a treat that he had hidden, always for me.  His bedtime piggybacks were jostling and accompanied by song, always for me.

But it was Auntie Alice who put me to bed, tucked me in, and told me my story.  Her made-up tales took me to other places and other times, and were etched in my memory, like her love, as a precious gem I would call up for years to come.

As I grew, my relationship with Auntie Alice and Uncle Mitchell was always the most special one I had.  I watched them age, and we often reminisced about times together in my childhood.  When I was a young adult Uncle Mitchell passed away, dying in his sleep.  A family friend said he lived like an angel, and died like one too.  After his death I would visit Auntie Alice often, balancing her checkbooks, looking over mail she found confusing, and always enjoying a meal she had prepared with loving care just for my visit.  I would leave with exact recipes of the meals she made, but never successfully duplicated her cooking.  She would modestly excuse the poor comparison of my domestic deficiencies and hers by saying that she had more time, or that she was lucky to have found fresher ingredients.  Once I fretted that even my Jello paled by comparison to hers, and I will never forget her reply:  “Honey, when I know you are coming, I make Jello that morning and you eat it hours later.  When you make Jello, you make it on Sunday and eat it on Friday… of course it tastes rubbery!!”

Auntie lived to be over 90 years old.  After I moved away, I stayed in touch with her by phone and with greeting cards, and visited her every time I went home for a visit.  I will never forget the last time I saw her.  She was sitting in the room at her lovely assisted living facility, and my father and I surprised her.  As I approached her I began to worry that she might not recognize me, but before my fears could take root, she looked up and in one motion smiled, opened her arms, and said “Honey! You’ve come to visit me!!”

I could not fly back for her funeral.  But her daughter Barbara, my cousin and dear friend, had a wristlet Rosary made for me from the roses that adorned her casket.  It goes everywhere with me, and each time I have a challenge I need to face, I finger those beads and smile, remembering.  Each touch is a miracle, as I see God and Auntie, at in the same time, in the same place, in the same breath.

I have a framed photo of Auntie Alice in my bedroom, and I start each morning with a glance at her smiling face.  The frame is inscribed “May the Warm Winds of Heaven Blow Softly on This House.”  I know they do, just as sure as I know that Auntie is watching and loving me still.

CHAPTER 5:  I HAVE SEEN GOD THROUGH THE EYES OF FRIENDS

“I’ll be right over.”

“No problem.”

“We’ll help you.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

When the storms of life drive the waters flooding to my doorstep, these are the words that keep my life afloat.  Usually uttered before I have even articulated or fully formed the problem, they are always welcomed.  Like the friends who speak them, always welcomed.  And in the moments when those desperate exchanges are quickly turned calm, I am reminded of God.

I met Linda at work when I first moved to California.  As a new client manager in the little town I had chosen to call home, I knew little of the regional customs and geography.  Coming from the East Coast, where a tighter brand of professional decorum was expected, I must have appeared stiff and cheerless to my new peers.  At team meetings, I was the “only one…” you know the type.  The only one wearing a navy suit.  The only one whose suit had a skirt instead of slacks.  The only one whose suit jacket had lapels.  The only one whose suit slacks had cuffs.  The only one whose suit jacket never came off, even at team meetings.  You get the picture.

Linda understood me, even liked me.  She wanted the whole team, and the whole town, to like me, too.  At that very early stage, before I could totally self-implode in my stuffiness, before every colleague and client saw too much of my navy blue-ness and ostracized me forever, Linda took me under her wing.  And God took her under His wing, I’m sure, because un-navying the navy was going to be no easy task. 

Mind you, I was trying to fit in.  But navy was all I owned.  No, that’s a lie.  I also owned charcoal and black.  And I had lots of variety of navy, charcoal and black.  I had always learned to dress for the job I wanted, rather than the job I had.  I had had a fair amount of professional success in those suits.  But in so many ways in business, we are what we wear, and on days when I wasn’t navy, my only choices were charcoal or black.

God and Linda sprinkled color into my life in so many ways.  She made sure she was by my side as I tried to participate by accepting all social invitations and trying to mingle and fit in.  But I was not equipped to understand, let alone fit in with, the people around me.  They were RVers; I had never been in an RV.  I sat through an entire conversation at a retirement party where the subject was a “fifth wheel.”  Not wanting to let on that I didn’t know what a fifth wheel was, I listened intently for clues.  It seemed to be associated with recreation and vacations; everyone had had at least one; they took it on 500 mile vacations and never left California!  Coming from a state smaller than my new county, I was ill-equipped to puzzle this out, and Linda must have seen the quandary on my face.  As we filed out of the restaurant with the other guests, she took me aside and asked what I was thinking.  I asked her what a fifth-wheel was, and she nearly fell over laughing.  Quickly recovering so as not to embarrass me (and restraining herself from asking “haven’t you been listening to the stories we were sharing?” ) this wonderful woman knew without knowing that I could not have known what a fifth wheel was, and explained.  When I told her I had never even been in an RV, we shared a laugh and a promise that she would introduce me to hers! 

On another afternoon I was off to a local ranching community to see a long-time client.  The 45-minute ride crossed the pastoral landscape of rolling hills, white fences, and properties dotted with outbuildings including barns, chicken coops, and training arenas.  My client was on time and fidgety; he was expecting birth of a new calf.  Linda had prepped me with some local vocabulary, so I proudly asked him if the cow ready to give birth had ever “calved” before.  Even as I was puffing up at how ranch-wise I was beginning to sound, he looked at me quizzically and said, “Honey, a cow ain’t a cow til it’s calved… it’s a heifer!”  So much for my indoctrination into my new life.  To this day, I don’t know a gaggle from a covey, a bale from a fleck, or a husk from a chaff.  I am even embarrassed to say that as I typed “heifer” I spelled it “heffer,” and it was only spell-check that saved me!

But did Linda give up on me?  No way.  She was inspired to stay the course, and even enlisted her husband Johnnie.  Together they pulled up under the bank’s awning on the way to a long weekend in their mobile home, and invited me in for a tour.  That was the beginning of my love for RVing, and I have since accompanied them to many destinations in California and Oregon, and enjoyed the ancillary activities of boating, fishing, campfire dinners and after-dinner conversations. 

Linda helped acclimate me to my new hometown by accompanying me on luncheon jaunts we would take through town.  We’d march through downtown and she’d regale me with historical background on every family-owned business, every retail store or restaurant, every landmark we encountered.  She was gentle, kind, and a wealth of information.  And in between facts and tales, she’d make subtle suggestions like “you don’t need to wear that jacket when we walk through town.”  As we became closer, she helped me become more conversational in my client interactions: “Don’t think of it as completing a mortgage application… just start by asking them how many bedrooms and bathrooms they have in their house and let them tell you the rest.”  I had the good fortune of being hubbed in a cubicle near Linda, so I listened intently to her style.  She deftly over-wrote the $5,000 of sales training I had been given (“a series of three calls and a well-written follow-up note should result in a complete profile”) with a few carefully chosen, probing sentences she would use to ingratiate herself to prospective clients.  Many mornings, as Linda and I would part after getting our morning coffee to make our first-time calls to new clients, I would no sooner have my first sip than she would be talking to someone she hadn’t known moments before about their upcoming divorce, or making an appointment for a visit, or even refinancing their mortgage!  She was clearly the most gifted colleague I knew, and I wanted to learn from the best.  Her tips always paid off, and her efficient style ensured my rapid success.  More importantly, though, I knew that she was a friend whom I could trust, and the greatest blessing God could provide me.

Linda and Johnnie have become friends in the truest sense.  It was surely God’s providence that brought them into my life, as we have become extensions of each other’s lives.  I have brought them to New England to meet my family and friends, and they have shown me many corners of my new world.  Together we have had countless dinners, celebrated joyful times, and shared sorrows. We share our love for family and friends; we reminisce and look forward; and in good times or bad, we know God has provided for our basic needs.  Whatever extra comes our way, we appreciate and celebrate.  But we live with the knowledge that it’s friends and family that really matter, and we are both to each other.

CHAPTER 6:    I HAVE SEEN GOD THROUGH THE EYES OF A MOTHER OF TEENAGERS

It was only fitting that Linda and Johnnie were blessed with two beautiful daughters and four wonderful grandchildren.  I know their younger daughter Debby best through her two daughters Whitney and Courtney, whom I have enjoyed from softball games to schoolwork help. 

I got to know Debby’s true colors one day at the beauty parlor.  From across the room, I heard this lovely young woman speak of her Grandma Lilly, whom I knew only by name to be Linda’s deceased mother.  What I knew of Grandma Lilly from my conversations had been telling… she was a county worker assigned to delinquent kids, and brought many of them home;  she was an ardent fan of her kids’ and grandkids’ endeavors; she often cooked dinners and babysat.  Yet what I learned from Debby that day, really by eavesdropping, was a story of love and respect.  Debby was reverent in her choice of expression as she spoke of her grandmother’s dedication to her family, and I could see that God’s mysterious way of passing exceptional, loving parenting skills had made its way into the family from Lilly to Linda to Debby. 

Debby’s husband Mike has been a firefighter for their nearly 20 years of marriage.  He has been a guide for the girls’ athletic pursuits, and has coached and taxied as available, but it has been Debby who has executed on their family’s plan to raise Whitney and Courtney as considerate, caring young women.  Her day-to-day involvement in their activities has waned as they have become teenagers and taken more responsibility for their academic and athletic lives, but that has been by design.  She has backed away one inch at a time, fully expecting and trusting that they would call out to her when they were ready to fall.  In that careful choreography of letting go, I have seen God in Debby.  I recollect how many times He has let me take control of my own life, yet remained steadfast in His presence to assure that when I call out, as I surely will, I never have to go on alone.

How concurrently terrifying and satisfying is the role of parenting in 2011?  How much more so when you are parenting teenagers?  Teenage girls?  God is definitely in the mix, as sure as statistics prove that all the junk we hear about “those wayward kids” and these no-good teens” and “what’s going to become of our country when they take over?” are hyped up falsehoods.  Most kids are great, whether or not they have had great parenting.  And why is that?  Because when temptation crosses their path, God is in the mix.  Maybe not as a bolt of lightning, but maybe as a brief recollection of something Mom or Dad said.  I believe that just the sheer desire not to disappoint their parents is enough to keep most kids from doing things they know are wrong. 

Debby is watching.  Online or on the phone, she is looking at the girls’ grades, or their schedules for practices and games, every day.

Debby is reaching out.  She talks and listens to Whitney and Courtney wherever and whenever she can. 

Debby is trusting.  With each passing day, she stretches out with more and more latitude for each girl to make her own personal, academic and athletic life choices. 

Debby is loving.  No amount of stress or pressure that she may feel ever gets in the way of the intensity of what she feels for her girls and for the circle of family, friends, and leaders that supports them.

Debby is constant.  Always there, always available, and always ready for whatever next challenge each of her daughters may face.

Have I not just defined the very characteristics of the God that protects Debby, her teenage daughters, and their circle of supporters?  Because I know one thing for sure- I know, serve and love a God that is watching, reaching out, trusting, loving, and most of all, constant.  And I think that extraordinary parents like Debby let me see objectively the very same work that God does inside me and inside each of us.  The household where teenagers abide in 2011 is a laboratory for God to operate, and if we just watch, trust, and love, we will be amazed.  Constantly.

CHAPTER 7: I HAVE SEEN GOD THROUGH THE EYES OF A FAMILY

Jean is our church’s Liturgical Director, and happens to have been given a gift from God of a voice for lifting up her heart and soul, and the heart and soul of the choirs she leads, to Him.

Jean has graced our church with song for over three years, and my experience at Mass is elevated every time she performs.  She shies away from solos, though, despite my chiding.  Jean is more of an advocate, a coach, and a background voice for her true vocation, teaching kids to lift their voices in praise to God.

St. Augustine taught that "to sing once is to pray twice."  For Jean, that has become a mantra that drives her endless days (and often evenings) in her music ministry.  It is easy to see God in such a dedicated servant, but there’s more.

Coming from a large, loving family, Jean naturally related to Christine, the mother of 8 children who was exploring conversion to Catholicism for her family.  Christine and the kids were well-versed in biblical tradition (she herself was a biblical scholar and she home-schooled her children), and Jean became their sponsor in the Rite of Christian Initiation (RCIA) program.  As busy as she was, Jean was there for that family as they asked questions, had doubts, faced opposition from their former congregation, and learned the traditions of their new-found religion.  And as busy as Christine was (in addition to raising 8 children, ranging in age from 10 to 21, she partners with her husband in managing the care of 6 residents under their roof) she made the conversion exploration and decision her family’s #1 priority.  Together these two strong women forged an alliance.  Actually, they became a family.  And in God’s economy, nothing trumps a loving family dedicated to serving Him.

I met the family after the completion of their acceptance process into our Catholic community.  I had had the occasion to see six of them perform in our choir and, amazed at their maturity and presence, I asked Jean about them.  From that moment to this, I have fallen in love with them all.

It is God’s will that certain people come into our lives, but it is our duty to keep the flame that He lights burning.  Or so I thought.  I wanted to get to know Christine and the kids, but frankly wondered how that would come about.  No worries, God evidently said, as He engineered the plan that would put us together in a class Jean was conducting, have Christine accept a last-minute lunch invitation, and have Jean provide the intercessory force to get our lives together.  I invited the kids to breakfast and thought I’d use my financial planning background to augment their homeschooling, but found their maturity about stewardship far surpassed my teaching.  After attending a gathering at their home and hearing them sing a capella, I was truly struck by their voices, as well as their preference for singing spiritually-based music.   Make no mistake, these are regular, mischievous kids.  But God is in their midst, in the form of Christine, Jean, their Dad Bob, our priest Father Mike, and others inside and outside their past and present church congregations who love and guide them.

Blessing me in such a way as to have such a family come into my life? God has once again shown up in His mysterious way, and through Jean, Christine and the kids has brought to life so many teachings that would otherwise remain on paper or in memory.  Most notably, I feel a deep sense of love as I am in their presence.  Sometimes it is expressed as joy, or fun, or laughter, or other times it may show itself as caring, or compassion, or concern.  But I am reminded of 1 Corinthians: “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.  It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.  Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears.  When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known. And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.”

Among all the things I am thankful for, it is the times, places and people who prove to me in their everyday lives that religion is not a thing to place on a shelf, but an engine of faith that drives living to its fullest.  Through the practice of my religion, I met Jean.  Through Jean, I met Christine.  Through Christine, I met Bob and their family.  And the love I feel for them helps deepen the love I show to others as I walk my personal faith walk.  That’s God.

CHAPTER 8: I HAVE SEEN GOD THROUGH THE EYES OF A SPIRITUAL DIRECTOR

Michael and Kathy became my clients when I first came to California.  After a few visits (very few, in fact), they became my friends.  As so often happens, it was a mutual friend who introduced us, and I believe that that friend knew that we all shared a faith that would bind us.

Michael is a gifted man of God.  Although I knew him as an entrepreneur, and interacted with him and with Kathy as clients, I sensed a deeper presence whenever we met.  His correspondence was always full of expressions of gratitude for my assistance, and he and Kathy were always gracious and a joy to be around.

I had learned of Michael’s pastoral background, and when he discussed with me his pending decision to accept an opportunity to become a certified life coach, I readily supported him.  He worked hard at the program, kept me posted as to his progress, and earned his credentials.  During this period I learned of some of Michael’s writings, and read them with great enthusiasm.  God was written all over the book that was this man’s life, and not surprisingly, the title of the book in which He was hiding was “Humble Servant.”

It was not until a change in my assignment took me away from them that our relationship deepened.  Cyber-communication provides many opportunities to comfortably reveal oneself to others, and our mutual willingness to share our lives created a bond between the three of us that we all came to enjoy.  Michael and I began to meet for regular “check-ups,” and as my knowledge of his life went past the financial, his knowledge of my life transcended the superficial.  Forty-five minutes over coffee on the patio at Starbucks was our typical meeting, but the effects on me were long-lasting.

One day, Michael called an “emergency meeting” to discuss an opportunity with which he and Kathy had been presented.  It would involve moving his family from his beloved California to Louisiana, and while he could be mobile in his profession, he and Kathy had ties to their church, their friends, and their families that would have to be broken.  The dilemma was one which I had faced in my move several years earlier, so he sought my counsel.  Of course, this was a calling from God, and that was apparent to me from our first few minutes together.  The path his life had taken, his preparation and experience both in the spiritual and secular worlds, and the call on his life were creating a confluence of events and circumstances that were self-evident.  He needed only an objective mirror to reflect back to him the facts as they had already presented themselves.  He needed only to see God for who He was in the moment – a relentless but loving Father who needed His Beloved child to do work only he could do.  After all, it was God who had prepared Michael by providing the choices and opportunities that had made him the right candidate for the Louisiana position.  And it would certainly be God who would guide every step.  Should they sell or rent the California house?  Would the financial aspect of the transition work out?  Would Kathy’s mother, who lived with them, be able to make the move?  Would the void in his life after leaving behind all he knew become a burden too big to bear?

As happens when good friends meet, the gravity of the considerations Michael was presenting seemed to ease as the answers presented themselves.  It almost felt like a Disney animation where the table and chairs come to life and the coffee mugs and spoons speak the truth that the humans were somehow missing.  We sat and promised to take away the weightiness of the decision and pray, then to reconvene.  And reconvene we did, each with the certainty that God was the architect of this move.

We had subsequent meetings while Michael and Kathy were preparing to move, and at that time some opportunities were looming in my life.  I could flesh out a potential chance at early retirement, but I had determined that I first needed to sell an East Coast beach cottage I had purchased, replace my car, and renovate my desert condo, all while staying out of debt.  While I hesitated to burden Michael with the weight of my own decision, he was sensitive enough to delve into what must have seemed a distracted moment, and I shared my thoughts.  And there was God again.  As Michael recounted for me the path my life had taken, especially in the good fortune I had in having my family close by and my treasured great-nieces in my midst, he began to ask why I would not consider this seriously.  He asked all the right questions, and in a few minutes we parted and promised to pray for each other again.  And the next time we met, we were in agreement.  Furthermore, Michael set forth the challenge that a serious endeavor in my retirement should be my writing, and more specifically my writing and reading to satisfy the spiritual hunger I had (somehow) shown him in our times together.  What a treasure this man was, I thought.  How had he known my dreams?  Was God in this too?

And so today I write as a retiree, from my desert condo.  Yes, it was renovated, using the dollars from the cottage that yes, did sell, despite the sagging economy, and yes, my new car is in the garage, and yes, no debt has followed me into retirement.  I have spent hours of my nine months of retirement reading books and listening to downloaded podcasts, mostly recommended or blessed by Michael.  When I occasion upon a new writer I share all that I read with him.  We are in weekly communication, and of course he has urged me to write as he has lured me, little by little, into true belief that I can share my writings with confidence.

And today Michael, Kathy, Kathy’s Mom, and their dog Lucy are living happily in Louisiana as Michael meets his new calling with energy and confidence.  The financial transition worked out perfectly because yes, their house easily rented and is cared for by a loving friend/tenant, and yes, they found the perfect house at an affordable price in Louisiana, and yes, the community there has embraced them and filled whatever void they might have feared which is less a void anyway because yes, they have worked out a plan to regularly return to visit their California friends and family and thus stay connected to two worlds.

So it has all worked out.  Somewhere along the way, while reading Henri Nouwen and Michael’s guide to Spiritual Direction, Michael officially became my spiritual director.  I am his budding writer/prodigy, but I know he still maintains bragging rights with his insightful weekly post that I call “4M” (Monday Morning Michael Missive).  His followers are many, and I am but one,  but I know I am the luckiest one. 

My walk with God feels like it has just begun.  And I am so blessed to have Michael alongside.  He is, like God, never far away, always within my reach, and willing to make time for me despite his busy schedule.  As when I communicate with God, I often find in communication with Michael that words are unnecessary, because he reads between the lines.  He comforts me, exhorts my endeavors to reach higher, and provides a constant beacon of hope that my dreams are all achievable, knowing I will never leave God out of the mix. As I prepared to begin my blog this month, I thought of all Michael’s encouragement, then gathered the courage to press “publish.”   Upon reading it in published form, and seeing my first nine stories in cyber print, he said, “Please continue to lift your mind, heart, and pen.”   I will continue to follow Michael’s advice to write, and his example to love others and to see God everywhere I go, in everyone I meet.