Another one from Mom

This one's about six years old, but l still carry the original everywhere l go. l think it was the first real concrete understanding l had of how deeply my mother loves me and how much l affected her everyday life. lt was truly the highest compliment l can think of.

Harry, the love of my life, has a philosophy about organizations, namely that they are all inherently selfish. Thus, he tells all his new employees that it’s crucial to be absolutely clear about your own life goals, then to find the organization that can serve as the vehicle to help you achieve them. Otherwise, you run the risk of feeling used by any group you join.

I don’t know that I was 100% clear on this in 1967 when I decided to join the Order (ICA), but if someone had said it to me, I can imagine responding that, indeed, I was using the Order to reach my life goals. The surprise is that it turned out to be more of a “vehicle” than I ever imagined. In fact, I think it was more of a magical steed. It took me to a thousand places I would never have otherwise seen. It provided me with more weird and wonderful experiences than any one person deserves. It led to friendships that continue to be the richest, most durable, deep and satisfying of my life. Some of these friends are current and often seen. Others show up every ten or twenty years, and it feels like yesterday that we were together. It provided an incomparable experience of life in community. It gave me methods that I have used successfully in every job I’ve ever had. Colleagues at work thought I was marvelous, and I didn’t tell them how little I had to do with it! Finally, it anchored me in a word about life, gave me a God that was ever-creative, expanding, intelligent and beckoning, and thereby gave my life a center that has sustained me for fifty-five years.

Was it all rosy in the Order? Of course not. Were there decisions made that I would make differently now? Of course. I cried a lot, both for myself and for others. I traveled too much. I hurt and neglected family, friends and colleagues in the name of the mission I was on. But even then, somewhere deep inside, these events wove themselves into the fabric of my life, and I learned from them. To quote a Sufi poet, “When, in dying, did I ever grow less?”

What were the ‘life goals’ that made me choose the Order as the means? Put succinctly, I wanted enlightenment and a life of service. I certainly haven’t achieved the former, but I got wonderful tools and insights from 23 years of collegiums, studies, RS-1s and art form conversations. As for service, I found the opportunities were limitless, in both the microcosm of a spiritual hous and in whatever country I happened to find myself. I learned that ‘service’ has many faces, from tiny acts of kindness to worldwide, history-long schemes. In the late 80’s, I began to experience that my magical steed was growing tired. She didn’t seem to be carrying me with the same passion as before. To be fair, it wasn’t all her fault. There were personal dimensions that were taking on more importance; I was growing older; my child was growing older; I was getting tired. And finally, I made the decision to change horses. It was a decision enacted with a sense of elation and freedom as well as with sadness that a long, rich phase of my life was ending. There was no anger. There was only gratitude for all the years of fulfillment she had given me.

What was the cost to my child? What toll did it take when she was thrown into the fourth grade in a French school without a word of French? What happened to her when the Kenyan women threatened to stab her for some minor infraction? Did her psyche ever recover from always being the alien, the outsider, the weird kid who lived in a weird house with a bunch of other people? What wounds never healed from her encounter with a pedophile (and I use the word to describe someone who was diagnosed as such and received treatment)? And on top of all that (and much more), she had parents with a mission, for God’s sake. Parents whose unresolved tensions only occasionally surfaced, but were forever a part of the landscape of her home. A mother who probably would have preferred to remain childless. Was she damaged?

If you ask me, I would certainly say yes. The odd thing is that she wouldn’t. She really appreciates her growing up. She even thinks her parents did a pretty good job, despite their flaws. She feels that living as she did made her more aware, both of the world and of herself. She likes her life and herself as she is right now. If I were to see her ‘through God’s eyes’ (to quote John Dunne), I would have to say she is probably more right than I am.

We used to study a paper by John Knox called “The Event and the Story”. I still cherish that image. Life is full of ‘events’. Some of them, when remembered, cause me intense shame or anger or sadness or disgust. Others provoke joy, satisfaction, and gratitude. But the events themselves are objective. They happened, and now they’re past. And I am left forever with the question of what story I will create to weave those events into the tapestry of my life. I can weave a tapestry that is dark, or I can weave one that is light. I can create a story that takes life away or that creates it. My daughter, this strange young angel, has created a story that gives her life. Can I do less?