Deepest Fear

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that frightens us most. We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and famous?' Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that people won't feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in all of us. And when we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

Used by Nelson Mandela in his 1994 inaugural speech

the most excellent teacher

It is May again.  And another year is coming to an end.  And I find myself more than ever wanting to look back and marvel at the great distance traveled in thirty-six weeks time.  But rather than my journey, I marvel at that of another.  She is a teacher too, one who has taught many more than I in her classroom.

Although I did not know her when she began teaching, it was before my time, I imagine she captivated her audience with the same poise and passion that first day, as she does still today.  When she enters a room, students can’t help but feel her presence.  She carries her knowledge and ability to teach with every move.  It is incredible the great capacity she has to impact the lives around her. 

The lessons I, and countless others, have learned from her are imprinted deep within the very fibers of our beings.  An excellent educator, she has expected nothing less than our best because she has given nothing less in return.  She has stood before, beside, and behind her pupils in order to deliver the unmistakable message that learning is power.

I never knew a teacher to be as self-giving as she.  A heart for others, she gives of herself without hesitation.  She has journeyed a great distance within the classroom because her heart beats for the people around her.  She gains nourishment to continue her learning journey with every person she meets.  Never knowing a student she couldn’t teach, she has embraced every mind and soul entrusted to her. 

Soon, however, she will leave the classroom.  Her tenure will end with ring of a bell two weeks from today.  Twenty-two years she will leave behind her.  Twenty-two years of lives enriched with her presence.  Even more, her own distance, a learning journey of twenty-two years will culminate in a brief walk across the high school stage.  Not needing to look back, she will look ahead to the next opportunity to teach, to touch lives, to enrich and empower the next student she meets.

Who is this great teacher, this paramount presenter of knowledge?  She is a student.  My student.  A special student.  A student whose needs never limited her ability to engage in the classroom.  She is the ultimate teacher because she too has been learning, every minute of every day while teaching the lessons of life at the very same time.

The Chambered Nautilus

Build the more stately mansions, O my soul,

As the swift seasons roll!

Leave thy low-vaulted past!

Let each new temple, nobler than the last,

Shut the from heaven with a dome more vast,

Till thou at length art free,

Leaving thine outgrown shell by life’s unresting sea!

by Oliver Wendell Holmes

a breath taking, captivating drink of water

I feel so blessed for the Lord has managed to take my breath away countless times this week. Of this grace I am undeserving. Today, it is His words from Isaiah that are resonating deep in my soul, the image of His words fulfilling our thirst, is captivating me today.

Isaiah 55

All you who are thirsty, come to the water! You who have no money, come, receive grain and eat; Come, without paying and without cost, drink wine and milk!

Why spend your money for what is not bread; your wages for what fails to satisfy? Heed me, and you shall eat well, you shall delight in rich fare.

Come to me heedfully, listen, that you may have life. I will renew with you the everlasting covenant, the benefits assured to David.

As I made him a witness to the peoples, a leader and commander of nations,

So shall you summon a nation you knew not, and nations that knew you not shall run to you, Because of the LORD, your God, the Holy One of Israel, who has glorified you.

Seek the LORD while he may be found, call him while he is near.

Let the scoundrel forsake his way, and the wicked man his thoughts; Let him turn to the LORD for mercy; to our God, who is generous in forgiving.

For my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways, says the LORD.

As high as the heavens are above the earth, so high are my ways above your ways and my thoughts above your thoughts.


For just as from the heavens the rain and snow come down And do not return there till they have watered the earth, making it fertile and fruitful, Giving seed to him who sows and bread to him who eats,


So shall my word be that goes forth from my mouth; It shall not return to me void, but shall do my will, achieving the end for which I sent it.


Yes, in joy you shall depart, in peace you shall be brought back; Mountains and hills shall break out in song before you, and all the trees of the countryside shall clap their hands.


In place of the thornbush, the cypress shall grow, instead of nettles, the myrtle. This shall be to the LORD'S renown, an everlasting imperishable sign.

finding pete, continued

Because of mass, I was now running late for camp. I finished the journey in silence and allowed the Holy Spirit to enter every part of my being. I approached the entrance to camp bubbling with excitement anticipating a week ordained by God.


I drove down the long road to a clearing where a young man stood waving in welcome. I rolled down my window. “Welcome to Camp Barnabas! I am Pete. What’s your name?” he said to me. A few more niceties and he pointed me down the hill where he said I was to park. Phew. He was nice, and cute, what a way to start this off. I parked my car and he walked with me to the check in table where he introduced me to the volunteer. Moments later, I turned around to thank him, but he was gone.


After finding out my assignment I was told to join the other volunteers on the tennis courts where the kick-off meeting was taking place. I searched for Pete, but didn’t find him. Instead I took a seat at the back and listened as the camp directors welcomed us and introduced us to Camp Barnabas. After a couple hours of games, clean up and dinner, praise and worship began back on the tennis court. I sat down, again towards the back and looked to the front. There was Pete, with a set of drums, and his head down, in prayer, as the leader began to sing.


What happened next can only be explained as the Holy Spirit drowning me in peace, relief, joy, hope, grace; I was overcome with tears as I sang in ultimate praise for all these things. I watched Pete as he played the drums and felt something within me. A stirring, as I watched him, it grew. I continued to cry and sing, sing and cry. A truly powerful experience that left me drained.


The next day I joined the other CIA’s as we celebrated the arrival of our campers. Mine came somewhere in the middle of the long line of cars. As he stepped out of his parents van, he took off running, and he didn’t stop until he reached the playground, three football fields away. I ran after him, thinking to myself, what have I gotten myself into? Out of breath I reached my camper and let him play a while until he allowed me to hold his hand and walk with him to his cabin.


A few more runs later, my small group leaders decided it would be best if I traded campers with a younger guy whose camper had cried as often as my camper had run. Garrett and I, my new camper, were a match made in heaven. He was homesick and I needed a hug. We were like two peas in a pod, sharing our feelings with each other, this little 11 year and me, 23 at the time. Garrett and I shared a glorious week together. Every experience was new for both of us. I did my best to embrace his fears and comfort his anxiety, understanding what he was feeling; I gave him the love that I needed too.


Throughout the week I would see Pete a number of times, in as many different places. Always from a distance, and never able to speak with him, I was moved each time with the same feelings as the first night. He was on the hill pushing a kid in a wheel barrel, laughing with the boy as they came down the hill. In the pool with a little girl, obviously fearful of the water, he held her gently, empowering her with his words of encouragement. Each evening in praise and worship, head down in prayer, playing, singing, praising the Lord.


The stirring within me continued to grow stronger. I sat in quiet time and reflected on him, curious and intrigued by his actions. I asked the Lord for a chance to speak with him once more, but it never happened. On the last day, greatly changed by the week and the presence of such a humble servant, I wrote Pete a letter thanking him for his actions which were a witness to me. I explained that I had been inspired by him and would always keep him in my prayers. I placed the letter in the camp mailbox as I was leaving, never knowing if he received it, but confident that the Lord would handle it carefully.


I drove home that day, completely changed by the week I had just finished. Exhausted also by the mountain top where I just spent seven days, I knew I would need the drive to decompress and come slowly back to earth.


The next day I went to mass with my family. Again, not remembering the readings or the homily, I clearly recall the moment I received communion that day. As I walked back to my seat, the now familiar stirring returned, I knelt in prayer, gazing up at the crucifix. Suddenly, my eyes were opened. It was Him. He was Pete. He welcomed me to the place He had called me. He served His children. He brought them joy. He gave them strength. He led us in praise to our God. He was moving within me. Christ in Pete had spent the week by my side, revealing each day, a new way to serve His special angels on this earth while drawing me ever closer in my faith.


For a while following this experience, I tried to understand each moment of that week. I tried to find Him in every word, smile, and laugh. I spent weeks in awe of what He had revealed to me. The idea of looking for Pete had permanently attached itself to my soul, almost like a label on an envelope. Although the fire within me would soon simmer, Pete, and Christ’s presence through him never departed me.

finding pete

Some years ago I was sitting in my room watching television. It was a Sunday evening and my favorite show was on, Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. Each time I watched this show, I was inspired by the humble servants who were given a second chance and a beautiful home. This particular evening the featured family was located in Missouri; they operated a camp for children with special needs. Camp Barnabas was a place for children, who might not otherwise have an opportunity to enjoy the summer camp experience, to come and spend a week doing the same things their non-disabled peers take for granted. As I watched the show, I was moved by the stories they shared so much so I searched for them on the internet the next day.


In my search I discovered their Christians in Action program. “CIA’s” were volunteers who gave a week in service to the campers. They spend the week accompanying campers to all their activities, praise and worship, swimming, horseback riding, canoeing; their presence allows the campers the freedom to safely and joyfully experience camp. I decided to apply to be a CIA for one week the following summer. I completed the application and prayed that I would be granted to opportunity to give of myself in this way. A month or so later, on Christmas Eve, I received a letter informing me that I had been accepted and the next July I would need to report to camp, in Purdy, Missouri.


Time went by and the week of camp rapidly approached and with it anxiety and fear of venturing into this experience. Although I had been monumentally inspired by this place and their saintly work, I was entering this week alone, with no one who would know me, know my family, or my faith. I was entering virtually blind in every way; accept the one that matters most, God had called me here. Knowing this was the only comfort I carried with me. All the anxiety I felt couldn’t stop me from following Him. As I drove I battled this tremendous anxious fear with His call, His strength, His commission.


Making the driving to Missouri easier, I extended the drive to include an overnight visit with a friend in Kansas City. I left Saturday morning with enough time to arrive early to camp. I followed the directions, highways, dirt roads, lonely stretches of fields. While I drove, I realized that I would not have an opportunity to go to mass once I arrived at camp. This was Saturday afternoon, the campers would arrive on Sunday morning and I would not be able to leave until the following Saturday. This slowly became a great concern for me, perhaps as a result of the anxiety. Lost in this thought I traveled down a two-lane highway with tall fields on either side. Suddenly in the distance I saw a small billboard. As I approached the sign, I read, “Welcome… from St. Mary’s. Mass times, 3:30 Saturday… Join Us.”


Was this an invitation from my travel companion, my God? I entered the small town determined to find St. Mary’s Catholic Church. In what appeared to be downtown, I took a left, then a right, then another right, and ended up back on the street I started from. I looked up and across the railroad tracks in an empty field was the church. Praise God. It was 3:25. I crossed the street and the tracks and went inside. A quaint sanctuary with beautiful stained glass windows and old pews, it smelled just like a church should smell. I took a seat at the back as mass began. I don’t remember the exact readings, or the homily from the priest, but I remember the peace that came over me. My fears subsided and I was filled with the Holy Spirit. When I left, I was prepared for what lay ahead of me.

tree of life

Jeremiah 17:7-8 Blessed are those who trust in the Lord, whose trust is the Lord. They shall be like a tree planted by water, sending out its roots by the stream. It shall not fear when heat comes and its leaves shall stay green; in the year of drought it is not anxious and it does not cease to bear fruit.

The first time I recall hearing this passage from Jeremiah, an exquisite picture was painted in my mind. A tall oak tree, with leaves reaching high above the stream, far and wide like arms spread open; n

othing else but this incredible oak tree standing solid beside a tranquil stream of running water. Wanting to capture this image, I took to drawing a picture of the tree with robust roots planted firm near the refreshing, life giving water.

After drawing the picture, I noticed something so stunning I almost didn’t recognize it. When I was a little girl, and pretty much ever since, whenever I sit still long enough to draw a picture, a doodle or a “masterpiece” the image is always the same. Grass along the bottom. A few flowers with a leaf or two in the bottom left corner. In the right corner, a perfect tree, a wide trunk, with a cloudy top of various shades of green. In the sky, round clouds. The top left corner, a round sun of golden yellow and rays reaching across to the page. Sometimes there were birds soaring across the sky, sometimes a girl with hearts floating around her head. Sometimes a house. But always a tree; and always, carved right in the middle of the wide trunk of that tree, a heart, bearing the initials of my love of the moment and me.

As I looked deep beneath the surface of these two images, I realize the stream of life running through both. The tree that has planted itself along the water, with roots drinking from the waters of life, has been rewarded with eternal life, eternal fruit bearing life. My tree, my resilient tree, has received a far different reward for its unchanging leaves. The life which runs through Jeremiah’s tree is received from the source itself, the roots drinking with constant thirst, from the Great Giver of Life. My tree, my now humble tree, has too received life, but a life less than eternal for it exists only within me. The tree of life, ever green, eternal tree of life, exists miraculously within the Lord.

Sometime later, after dancing through the contrasts between the tree of life and the tree of my life, I gained a more clear understanding of the passage from Jeremiah, “Blessed are those whose trust is in the Lord, whose trust is the Lord. THEY shall be like a tree planted by water.” The source of life is trust in the Lord. Not just the Lord himself, but the trust we place in him, extending our hands and feet, arms and legs, mind and heart to this trust, and receiving life from the Lord in return. It is this trust that allows us to remain green in times of drought, in times of fear and times of anguish. It is this trust that allows us to bear fruit, great holy fruit, worthy of His name, fruit that continues to give life to all it meets. It is this trust, this source of life that withstands the heat of loneliness, trials of fear and temptation, raging fires of lust and greed, for trust in the Lord strikes down fear, comforts the lonely, strengthens the weak of heart, and gives life to those who open themselves up to Him.

As I openly received yet another incentive for placing my trust in the Lord, I realized what was missing from my tree. Its ever green leaves, blooming flowers, shining sun and emerald grass were only complete with the “carving” in the tree. The heart I intentionally placed in the same spot, each and every time was missing the most important initial. A simple G for my God carefully placed next to the lower case M for me. My true and everlasting love, my Lord, my God. Trusting in the Lord meant opening all of me, all my heart and soul, to the Great Giver of Life, the great, ever flowing, never ending, source of eternal life.