I was raised in a Methodist church - a lovely small town church with loving, caring gentle people. When I toddled off to college I became attracted to a more evangelical type experience. I loved the emotion and passion. I loved the black-and-white of the issues. I thrived.
After college I moved to a very large city and became involved in various churches, smaller and finally superlarge. I reveled in the activities and the thrill of the busyness. I married and converted to Catholic as my husband was a cradle Catholic who was not open to conversion. We raised children who grew up and left home. During that stage of life, I was focused on the home and family and lost touch with the comings-and-goings of the church.
Suddenly I was no longer anyone's example. I could be whatever I wanted to be. I quit going to the Catholic church for various and sundry reasons. What I found was that God was much bigger and personal for me outside of the church.
I met the Holy Spirit. Not speaking in tongues, not in the words of any preacher or author, not within the building or fellowship of a church. I met the Holy Spirit inside myself. Still and quiet. Love and acceptance. Freedom and security. Knowledge and peace. I don't use the name Holy Spirit. For me that name is tied to a traditional construct. The one called God by some, Allah by some, Jehovah by some, I call Source. This is my journey
Wednesday, March 5, 2014
Thursday, January 16, 2014
Time marches on with a certain relentlessness. I don't feel older but I am. I look around me at work and I'm old enough to be most people's mom. Yet inside me, I still feel young and vital. When I look in a mirror, I remember that I am not young but that I am still vital.
Age allows you a certain perspective. Truths that you really believed were true and turning out to be not so certain. Things "set in stone" are found to really be set in shifting sand.