The one thing I was completely sure about was having children. Every other choice up to then was a combination of doing what was expected, fulfilling someone else’s dreams, and reacting to my upbringing. Saying this outloud, it makes sense to me now why becoming a mother was a truly transformative experience. Acting from a deep truth and authentic state of being, partly conscious and largely unconscious, I found my path.
It wasn’t until the birth of my second child that I was aware of a significant shift within me. I learned that my capacity for love was infinite after the birth of John. The night before he was set to be induced and welcomed into our family of three, I took a moment to stand at his soon to be older brother’s crib. I was wondering, afraid really, if this new baby would arrive and whether or not I would have enough love to go around. The birth of William less than two years prior had been a revelation. I had been prepared to love him. I was not prepared for the deep, all-enveloping feeling of being in-love with William. My heart felt like it had broken open in the best way possible. Up until then my understanding of love was rudimentary at best. It was a commodity. Love was conditional, transactional, and more often than not, scarce.
Early the next morning of December 27th, Rich and I left for the hospital after getting the grandparents settled in as they waited for William to wake up and eventually bring him to meet his new brother. Several hours after being admitted, our second son was born. He was a string bean, long and lean. His dark hair and darker completion was a shock since William had come out all pink and blond. He looked like a grumpy old man. I was in love again.
In the days and weeks that followed, we had to make many trips to the hospital as the doctors and nurses managed the baby’s jaundice. William, John, and I all caught horrible colds and spent much of January on the couch together watching the Sound of Music. Amidst the haze of sleepless nights and stuffy noses, my earlier fears were that of another lifetime; I no longer could recall any limitations. My capacity for love was boundless. I held this new knowledge close with a deep gratitude.
My connection with the divine is held with a similar sense of gratitude. I remember the first time hearing in a church service that we were all just perfect. Right now, in this moment, no need for the inner struggle to be a better version of ourselves. A version that seemed to change depending on who was talking. This was a God, Creator I could believe in. Years later,I can be easily overwhelmed with the feelings of complete and unconditional love available to me, to all beings including our Earth and beyond.
Love is at the center of all. The mystery, as I see it, is to remain present and connected. Not really much of a mystery, yet too often lost in the bustle of a day or week.
My faith is not tied to a religion or attending church services, although I do enjoy the weekly respite of quiet time, music, and a good sermon. I see organized religion as serving a purpose. I believe deeply in the benefits of community. I know from my own experiences that serving others brings me great joy.
I worry about the tendencies of organized religion to exclude the non-believers; who are they and who gets to decide that is troublesome to me for starters. I don’t like that there is even a concept whereby people are systematically organized into groups-believers and non-believers, the saved and the damned, the righteous and the evil, good and bad. The idea that any of us know our God is the one true God strikes me as contradictory to the examples of humility found throughout religious texts.
The birth of my third child afforded me another transformative experience. Prior to Caroline’s birth, I did not know if I was having a boy or a girl. Of course, people would give their best guest based on how I was carrying, my food sensitivities, etc. In my mind, I was quite comfortable having another boy. The practical side of me thought about the toys, the clothes, and my own comfort as a ‘boy’ mom. Why would I want a girl; they are much more difficult, right?
My healthy baby girl was born on October 17th. Again the feelings of love and connection were immediate and overwhelming. Fast forward more than 24 years later, I am so grateful for the experience of parenting both boys and a girl. My own understanding of being a woman, the feminine, and masculine parts within me, is much richer because of my children.
At my best, I assist in guiding these individuals as they become themselves. Of course, I have opinions about their strengths and talents. I don’t always agree with them or understand their actions. Depending on the day, my ability to be a neutral and loving witness is more or less accessible. I imagine being a safe harbor, a place of calm and shelter from the storms of life. I cannot stop the storms anymore than I can conjure up perfect days of blue skies and puffy white clouds. I do my best to be a consistent, loving presence.
God is my role model. I see God, the Creator as having a wonderful sense of humor, a bit mischievous, and always wanting the best for us. My understanding of God is one where there is encouragement to be true to ourselves and allow for grace when we forget or get lost. My understanding of God is one where we are given the benefit of the doubt and a benevolence that transcends the petty differences littering the days and weeks of our existence.
Over the decades my spirituality has matured and my relationship with religion has evolved. The early years of my childhood were spent wanting an affiliation with a church, any church as a source of belonging or stability. I thought being a part of a church would fix the broken and embarrassing parts of my family. I craved the structure of weekly services. The soft cadence of all voices in unison reciting the prayers and hymns felt like the home I longed for.
Later the invitation to belong to something appeared as people around me offered their version of religion. The Evangelical Christians students who lived behind us gave me the gift of a Bible and fellowship. I read the Bible with the hope that I could be like them: wholesome, friendly, and grounded. Around the same time, I was being recruited or groomed as the next generation leader for a new religion started by a family friend; this was the 1970’s in Southern California, so not completely unusual. It felt really good to be asked to join something, anything. It felt like I was wanted.
All the while, I recited the Lord’s Prayer every night and when necessary, I would throw in a few Hail Mary’s. Both of these rituals were hand-me-downs from my grandmother who was busy practicing her transactional version of Catholicism. Each week, she was making deals with her God and asking forgiveness for whichever sins were top of mind. I liked her rosary beads and cards with embossed pictures of saints, Jesus, and Mary. I was used to writing letters to my grandparents on the East Coast, so It was easy for me to imagine the prayer card renderings as real people and converse with them like pen pals I hadn’t yet met.
As a young adult, I married someone whose religious background was with a church I would not ever consider joining. In turn, he had an inherited distaste for the Catholic and Espiscopal churches where I felt the most connection. Admittedly, this was not a great start for us and displayed a naivete often present in youth. Eventually as a young mother, I found my way back to All Saints Pasadena where for a brief time as a teenager I had attended services with my mom. This is where I chose to get baptized and found a place of comfort during my subsequent divorce.
My spirituality at this point in my life has been informed by my religious journey and explorations. My spirituality is a constant companion and guide for who I wish to be in the world. When I dissect the relationship between my spirituality and religion, I can find myself creating distinctions and division. Again that tendency to worry about limitations and restrictions or to look for belonging within a structure or system. Then I remind myself that this is a distraction, not because I have to have blind faith but because my faith is beyond the all too human tendencies to categorize and compartmentalize our thoughts. Transformative experiences find me when I let go of my convictions and happen in spite of my beliefs. I am so grateful. I am curious for what is next.
Shared by Kristan Swan