Category Archives: Uncategorized

Time at the Monestary

I am spending 3 days and 3 nights at Christ in the Desert Monastery in New Mexico. My focus is renewal, writing, quiet and solitude.

Day 1
I walked down to the river to pray and take photos, and hopefully to get inspired. There is a stump perfectly situated near the bank of the river. I sat down seeking inspiration to write. I,soon was,totally taken in by the beauty of this place and by the play of the light on the rocks and trees. I got out my camera and started taking photos. The light was magnificent. And the perfect shot was just down on the muddy bank. Gingerly, I tried to get closer and down I went into the mud. My Keens were covered and the more I tried to move the slipperier it got. I got back to my room a mess.

Day 2
I made my way up to the chapel for afternoon prayers. I looked for the most secluded spot and found it on the last row right hand side. Nobody in the row in front of me and no one else in the row I was in. Perfect!

As the chanting began and I was settling in to the peace of the moment, the doors opened and a van full of senior citizens came clomping in. They filled every available seat including those in front of and beside me. Breathe, Kim, Breathe, I told myself. Sink into the music and focus on the prayers. I took a deep,breathe and started to,settle,in when the woman next to me took out her phone…I guess she missed the sign that said no cell phones. I assumed she was just trying to turn off her ringer. Nope! With every button she pushed the phone made a little popping sound. She went from screen to screen. Pop! Pop! POP!!! Then she opened her camera app and started taking pictures, of the altar, of the monks, of the Church! Did she also miss the sign that said no photography during services and no photography of the monks without their permission. Finally, with a few more pops! She put her phone away. A few more deep breathes. You can do this, Kim, you can sink in even in the midst of distractions. This is an opportunity to,develop you skills of centering even in the midst of life going on around you. Okay, okay. I got this. I take another deep breathe and all of a sudden 5 very LOUD farts let loose from the woman in front of me.. Yes, 5! I counted them. I gave up on going deep and instead gave in to the life around me. With a big chuckle, God reminded me to Be Here in this place with these people. Don’t take it so seriously. Just Be Here.

Monastery Murmurings

Be here
In this space
This Is all you need
To do.

Your Yes
To being here
Is all that is required.

Listen to the whispers of the wind
Drink in the quiet of this space
Meander the paths and
Discover their hidden inhabitants
Breathe in the spirit of the ancestors
Feel yourself come home.

Be
Just Be.
Here.

My Time with Mother Teresa: “Keep What You Get.”

From my journal dated December 29,1990

‘I went to Devotions at the Mother House tonight. As I was leaving, Mother Teresa was just returning from a holiday gathering. She stopped to talk with me and my companions. She held my hands as she asked how we were doing. I said I was fine and asked, “But how are you?” She said she was just fine. I asked her about her heart, knowing she had recently been in the hospital for a heart condition. She said, “Oh it is fine. I have two now, you know. They gave me a pacemaker.” We all giggled and she assured us she was feeling well.

Mother Teresa asked if I had my rosary. That night at Devotions, we were given a plastic rosary. I told her I had put it back. She looked me in the eye and told me to keep what I get! she said she would get me one tomorrow. As she departed, she said, “God Bless you, dears.”‘

I was not there the next day and I did not have another chance to get a rosary while I was in Calcutta. However, a few years later, my friend Amy went to Calcutta and brought me home a rosary from the chapel at the Mother House. This simple gift reminds me to RECIEVE the gifts God gives me with gratitude, to use them with integrity and to share them with joy.

My Time with Mother Teresa

"Love others as
God loves you.
    God bless you.
        Mother Teresa mc
                     21/12/90"

One of my deepest dreams, as a girl and then as a young woman, was to meet Mother Teresa and experience her work in Calcutta. In 1990, I turned 30 years old and decided to go for it. I bought a ticket and headed to Calcutta by myself to fulfill a dream. In honor of Mother Teresa’s canonization today, I will share my stories of my encounters with this holy woman.

My first encounter with Mother Teresa was on December 23rd. I had been in Calcutta for a couple of weeks, living and working in a L’Arche community with 7 developmentally men and on my days off I worked at Mother Teresa’s Home for the Dying and Destitute and at her orphanage.

Acclimating to Calcutta was a challenge. Everything was different and seemed difficult. Within 24 hours of my arrival, I contracted a parasite and was intensely ill. I lived in one of the poorest tangaras. We sat on the floor there was no furniture. We ate with our fingers, there was no silverware, we wiped ourselves with our left hand and water, there was no toilet paper, I slept on a piece of plywood with a thin mat and a mosquito net. Half of the men I lived with spoke English, but I had a difficult time understanding them and the other half spoke Bengali, which I did not understand.

As I wondered the streets of Calcutta on December 23rd, I met 2 young women who were from Scotland, and I could understand them! I was so thrilled to visit with them. Even though we were from different countries, they felt familiar and easy. They invited me to meet them later that evening for tea.

In the early evening, I went to the Mother House for prayer. I entered a large room. The visitors sat on the right side and the nuns sat on the left. I sat down next to the aisle, hoping to get a glimpse of Mother Teresa. They handed each of us a plastic rosary. As I sat there taking in the peace of this place, Mother Teresa came into the chapel and sat directly across from me. There was no more than a few feet between us. I admit, I did not pray. I just sat and watched this holy woman. What was most surprising to me was how ordinary she was. There was no bright halo above her head or lights shooting out from her. She was just a simple old woman praying the rosary.

When the prayers were completed, she stood and went to the front of the room. She announced that there was a visiting priest and that Confessions would be available. I walked out of the chapel with those who were leaving, convinced that I would rather go to tea then Confession. But instead of going down the stairs and out the door, I walked down a hallway and stood off to the side where no one could see me and had an argument with myself. One part of me was convinced I should leave and go have tea with the 2 young women I’d met. The other part pushed me to stay and go to confession. I had good reasons for both choices and the argument within went on and on.

Then the most amazing thing happened. Mother Teresa came out of the chapel and walked right up to me. She put her hand on my arm, looked up into my eyes and said, “So, you are going to confession?” With my eyes wide, I responded, “Oh yes, Mother!” . She kept her hand on my arm and walked me down the hallway and into the chapel. Then she pointed to my head and said, “The line for Confessions will form here.” I was astounded! Did God have to be that obvious? Who could say “No.” to Mother Teresa.

As I said my five redeeming Our Fathers, deep tears streamed down my face, tears of shame and remorse for having so much and always wanting more when so many in the world have so little. My tears subsided as the shame poured out and a new resolve set in: to be a good steward of all that I have, to buy less and to buy good quality so that it will last, to live in gratitude and to give back to the world through service.

Our Guides

As we travelled down a dirt road that would lead us to the Church, 2 men were waiting to offer their services as our guide for a small fee. The guidebook had told us to expect this and so we agreed. We had yet to see, the hill we would need to climb to get to the tracks, and still we were humbled as we looked at their shoes.

In Search of Dinosaur Tracks

Today we headed to the town of Leribe, just 20 minutes by car from Mary’s home. We visited a shop that has beautiful weaving so made by people with developmental disabilities. Then we headed down the road another 20 minutes or so in search of dinosaur tracks. The guidebook tells us that there are many Lesothaurus tracks behind the Church, on a ledge that has fallen.

As we travelled down a dirt road that would lead us to the Church, 2 men were waiting to offer their services as our guide for a fee. The guidebook had told us to expect this and so we agreed. The fee seemed high, given that they were just leading us to the backyard of the Church. I was certain, we could find it on our own. And yet, one look at their clothing was all the encouragement we needed to employ their services. Their clothing was ragged. One of the men wore a pair of tennis shoes that were barely more than thin soles held together by the shoestrings. It was evident that the fee they were asking was necessary.

They lead us to the Church. As we walked behind the Church, I expected to see a large stone nearby with dinosaur tracks on it. I started looking at every large rock in the vicinity. The guides caught up with us and pointed up, up, up. p a steep hill were large overhanging ledges. This is where we would find our tracks.

We started to follow them up the hill. I made it about 5 to 10 minutes in when it became clear to all of us, that I was not going to make it up to the overhang. The respiratory infection had stopped me in my tracks. Mary insisted on staying with me, so she and I had wonderful Mother Daughter time, while the guys headed on up the hill. After they had been gone for 15 minutes, my breathing had slowed down. I decided to try again. I did not even make it 5 minutes, before my lungs began to burn and my breathing became labored. It is the first time in my life, that I was unable to do something physical that I had set my mind on doing.

I settled in to enjoy this blessed time alone with Mary. I took pictures of her and her beautiful pregnant belly. We laughed and talked and breathed in the preciousness of this time together.

The guys made it down and filled us in. Sam said it was the highlight of the trip for him so far. They showed us the pictures of the tracks. They were so grateful for the guides. They did not think they would have been able to find the tracks without their help. The fee that I originally considered charity, was in fact fair payment for a job well done.

Cultural Differences on Motherhood

Tonight Will, Sam, Mary, Paul and Sammy went to Paul’s parent’s for dinner. Sam and I stayed in bed. After dinner, Paul’s parents came back to the house to meet us. They said hello to Sam as he laid in bed. I got up and came out to the living room for a short visit.

Mary’s relationship with Paul’s parents as well as their relationship with Sammy has been confusing to me. When Mary and Paul got married, she was required to live with Paul’s parents for the first 3 months of their marriage to learn how to take care of Paul. This was confusing to me. Paul is a healthy young man. He does not have any special needs. Mary patiently told me that this is part of their culture.

When Mary got pregnant with Sammy, she was not allowed to live with Paul for the last trimester of her pregnancy, nor for the first few months after Sammy was born. It seems that there is a cultural belief that having sex during this time could cause the baby to become blind or disabled. Mary lived with her parents for the last trimester and then for the fist 2 months after the Sammy was born. After that she had to move into Paul’s parent’s home for a few months.

When I would ask her the baby’s name for a long time she would say that she did not know. It was Paul’s parents who would name him. I could not imagine this. In fact, Paul’s parents did give him his Basotho name and then Mary and Paul gave him his English name – Sammy.

Paul’s parents have as much and perhaps more say in the raising of Sammy as Mary does. He lives in their home during the week and comes home to Mary and Paul’s house on the weekends. They can come and get him whenever they want. This has been very confusing to me. Mary’s response is, “It is my culture.” Tonight as I sat with Paul’s parents, his mother pointed at Sammy and said, “That is my last born.” I thought my head was going to explode. That comment made no sense to me. Her last born? Wasn’t it Mary who was in labor for 2 days to give birth to that child? Wasn’t Sammy her child? I had a difficult time reminding myself that I was there to grow in my understanding of the culture, not to judge it.

A Little Too Concrete!

We returned to the center excited to do something to concrete to help the St. Camillus Center. Sam and Will went out to help in the field. They are preparing the ground this week so that they can plant 12,000 cabbages next week. It was hard work. The land is so dry that it was like breaking up concrete. The workers had been at it all day. Sam and Will lasted only an hour or two. Then they came in and Will played soccer with the kids, while Sam, Niko and I took Sr. Julianna grocery shopping.

Rethabile’s Family

What an incredible afternoon at Rethabile’s home. Her family welcomed us with open arms and set out a beautiful spread of foods made just for us. Literally, just for us. They did not eat anything. The table was set for the 5 us and the rest of them sat or stood around the kitchen area and visited with us, but they did not eat.

We ate the most wonderful sorghum and bean dish. I have never had anything like it and it was absolutely delicious. They also served mango juice, corn and sweet crackers. For dessert they served canned peaches from their own peach tree. They were delicious. They sent us home with a jar that we will carry back home to Tacoma and save for a special dinner.

I was moved not only by the hospitality and generosity of Rethabile’s family, but also by their gentle spirits. I am discovering that the spirit of the Besotho people is one of gentle, quiet, strength.

Color Crayons and Paper

After our walk to town we returned to the center. All the children were back from school and for a short time we just checked each other out, not quite sure how to interact. Then I went to the car and brought out paper and crayons and a few markers for the older children. Suddenly, the energy shifted. Benches were moved to serve as tables, I gave out paper and crayons and every single child began to color. As they finished their masterpiece each child came to me and put it in my hands. I had not asked them to turn them into me, this is something they just did. As they handed me their pictures I oohed and awed and commented on the beauty of their artwork . At the end of our art time, every single crayon and marker was accounted for with very few broken pieced. I found that amazing: 20 children, 15 of whom are under age 6 and all the pieces were returned.

As I reviewed their drawings, I was moved by the messages I found written on their artwork. Slindle wrote: “Thank you for being part of my life.” I felt like these messages were their whisperings to us, the words they wanted to say but were too shy. These drawings became a bridge between us, allowing us to connect our hearts in a gentle way.