Thanksgiving 2015

Today (Wednesday, Nov. 25, 2015) is day 33 of 33 days without a day off.  I’ve been counting down the days to Thanksgiving because Thanksgiving will be that glorious, long-awaited day off.  That day when I can sleep when I need to, eat when and what I want, and generally just take care of me away from the stresses of the past month.  I thought this week would be a time to reflect on my blessings, and it is, but the listing of those looks a little different than I expected.  

This short month has been packed with both joy and heartache.  

On October 28th, I signed the membership book at Unity Church-Unitarian, and I told the world about that decision in this blog post at Exploring Sainthood.  I’m thankful for the people of Unity, for their love and support and welcome. I’m thankful for people who understand how difficult this situation is and who have my back.  I’m thankful for my Mormon friends and family who may not fully understand why this is necessary for me, but have shown their commitment to love me, even if they do not understand.  

November 5, new LDS policies about same-sex marriage and children of people in same-sex relationships were leaked to the world.  I’m not going into details of that here.  A google search will provide more information and commentary than you could ever want.  I will say that it hurt.  It hurt deeply.  It hurt many people, LGBT and allies, deeply.  I’m not thankful for those policies, or even the clarifications given a week later that mean that the policies will affect fewer people.  I am grateful for the fierce love that has risen from the ashes.  I’m grateful for people who reached out to those in pain and made a difference. 

I want the history books to include this detail: When this policy was leaked to the public, my Facebook feed was filled with good people, mostly Mormons, letting the gay community know their phones would be on all night, that they could call, could reach out, in case any of them were thinking of taking their own lives. 

https://buddhainthebeehive.wordpress.com/2015/11/08/to-the-wounded-and-the-weary/

I’m grateful for a gay friend in pain who shared how friends had left a plate of cookies telling him that he was always welcome in their pew.  

Sometimes all it takes is some cookies and milk, and Jesus is suddenly there with you.

I’m grateful for those people who are still reaching out and still comforting and loving. I’m grateful for those who have listened to hundreds of stories of pain, have held that pain, and transformed it into loving action.  

I’m grateful for people who tell their stories in the hopes of helping others. Read this beautiful story.  


I’m grateful that I was asked to participate twice in the Ingathering of New Members on November 8th. Lisa knew that I would be singing with Women’s Ensemble at the 4:30 service.  She asked if I would participate then in addition to the 9am service because she didn’t have many people for the 4:30 and it’s always easier to stand up in front of the congregation if you are not feeling so alone and exposed.  

What she didn’t know was how much I needed that second time through.  The LDS policy story broke on Nov. 5.  I spent all day Nov. 6 and 7 at MN NATS student auditions, where most of my time was at the registration desk, greeting students and teachers, and being positive even though I wanted to just sit in a corner and cry.  NATS weekend wears me out when it’s just NATS I’m dealing with.  With that exhaustion and the emotional stress of the weekend, I was a mess Sunday morning.  It took everything I had to just hold it together and get through those words.  I had to go numb.  I couldn’t let myself think about what it meant to me to really be a part of Unity.  I had practiced reading the words out loud at home and I couldn’t get through it without ending up in tears.  So I went numb for the 9am service.  I got through it, but I wasn’t there.  By 4:30, I was in a better place.  I could speak those words with meaning.  I could speak them, listen to them, and love them, without the painful tears about the whole Mormon situation.  

I’m grateful for the smiling faces of my friends that I saw in both services as I looked out into the congregation.  

I’m grateful that after the service, Rob asked if I was interested in leadership opportunities.  And I’m grateful that even before I had a chance to respond Janne chimed in with, “Give her a chance to breathe.” At Unity, they see what I need and how I can contribute, but they also respect that when and how I step into those opportunities are very personal, complicated decisions in my life right now.  I’m thankful for that balance.  

I’m thankful for words and music that speak to my heart as if they were written for me.  The world is far too complex a place for me to believe that it was only for me, that sermons and music written, chosen, and prepared far in advance were about my needs.  What I do believe is that when I allow myself to be open, I hear and see what I need in whatever is placed before me.  Especially as I was able to let go of the numbness, the services on Nov. 8 provided much needed beauty and light and insight.  

On Nov. 11, I attended a choir concert celebrating 10 years of the Unity Singers.  The words and music shared there were also healing.  As a bonus, a friend and I had an email exchange that reminded me about why I do what I do.  

...it was an important reminder that we can never know who we're touching or what anyone who hears us is carrying, a reminder that when we sing, we hold souls in our hands.

My friend's words reminded me of these messages:

The world needs you. Now, the world may not exactly realize it, but wow, does it need you. It is yearning, starving, dying for you and your healing offer of service through your Art. We need you to help us understand that which is bigger than ourselves, so that we can stop feeling so small, so isolated, so helpless that, in our fear, we stop contributing that which is unique to us: that distinct, rare, individual quality which the world is desperately crying out for and eagerly awaiting. We need you to remind us what unbridled, unfiltered, childlike exuberance feels like, so we remember, without apology or disclaimer, to laugh, to play, to FLY and to stop taking EVERYTHING so damn seriously. We need you to remind us what empathy is by taking us deep into the hearts of those who are, God forbid, different than us – so that we can recapture the hope of not only living in peace with each other, but THRIVING together in a vibrant way where each of us grows in wonder and joy. We need you to make us feel an integral PART of a shared existence through the communal, universal, forgiving language of music, of dance, of poetry and Art – so that we never lose sight of the fact that we are all in this together and that we are all deserving of a life that overflows with immense possibility, improbable beauty and relentless truth. Joyce DiDonato

If we were a medical school, and you were here as a med student practicing appendectomies, you'd take your work very seriously because you would imagine that some night at two AM someone is going to waltz into your emergency room and you're going to have to save their life. Well, my friends, someday at 8 PM someone is going to walk into your concert hall and bring you a mind that is confused, a heart that is overwhelmed, a soul that is weary. Whether they go out whole again will depend partly on how well you do your craft. 

You're not here to become an entertainer, and you don't have to sell yourself. The truth is you don't have anything to sell; being a musician isn't about dispensing a product, like selling used cars. I'm not an entertainer; I'm a lot closer to a paramedic, a firefighter, a rescue worker. You're here to become a sort of therapist for the human soul, a spiritual version of a chiropractor, physical therapist, someone who works with our insides to see if they get things to line up, to see if we can come into harmony with ourselves and be healthy and happy and well. 

Frankly, ladies and gentlemen, I expect you not only to master music; I expect you to save the planet. If there is a future wave of wellness on this planet, of harmony, of peace, of an end to war, of mutual understanding, of equality, of fairness, I don't expect it will come from a government, a military force or a corporation. I no longer even expect it to come from the religions of the world, which together seem to have brought us as much war as they have peace. If there is a future of peace for humankind, if there is to be an understanding of how these invisible, internal things should fit together, I expect it will come from the artists, because that's what we do. As in the concentration camp and the evening of 9/11, the artists are the ones who might be able to help us with our internal, invisible lives.
Karl Paulnack

I am thankful for what music brings to my life, and I'm thankful that I can make a difference in the world through my music.

Just as I was starting to think that healing from the pain of the LDS policy mess was possible, the world was hit with a wave of violence.  I heard about Paris first, but it was neither the first nor the last.  And again, I saw responses of both fear and love.  We were talking about the Syrian refugees again, but there were and are deep divides.  Do we help them, or do we protect ourselves?  Do those two things need to be mutually exclusive? 


And then, late at night, the night before I was to sing the words, “Can you hear my cries?  Can you see my eyes? I am calling out to you,” at two church services focused on the story of the Good Samaritan, I received an email that made me doubt that anyone could hear or see me or the people that I loved that were hurting.  We were supposed to sing at 9, rehearse with the choir between services, and then sing again at 11.  At 6:30, I emailed the director to let her know that I was planning to be there, but that if I disappeared after the first service, it was because I couldn’t get through it without melting into a puddle of messy tears.  As always, she was kind and supportive, and let me know that it was OK to do what I needed to do to take care of me.  I’m grateful that she knows me and that she understands.  And I’m grateful for the music.  The music (choir and hymns) brought me the strength I needed to get through.  There were short moments of distraction, but I was able to get through all of church mostly focused, and without tears.

I wish I could say that the tears are done, but they’re not, and they never will be.  I might have had one day without tears this month.  I’m not absolutely sure.  They were not always tears of pain and grief.  Sometimes they were tears of love or joy.  Some days bring both kinds of tears.

The nation now knows of the Black Lives Matter occupation happening at the 4th precinct in Minneapolis.  They’ve been there for more than a week.  People I know have been been there.  Teenagers (and others) from my congregation have been there.  I’m thankful for their strength and courage.  I’m grateful for people willing to stand up and expose injustice.  I’m thankful for those working so hard to keep this a peaceful protest.  It has not been an event without violence (5 people were shot Monday night), but I know that there are people working to keep this peaceful.  I’m thankful for friends like this one willing to stand in the middle and listen to both sides.  

So, as I approach Thanksgiving 2015, I’m thankful that in just a few hours, I will have time for self-care.  Three and a half glorious days to pull myself back together.  To rest.  To regroup.  And then to step back into a world that needs so much healing and do what I can to make a difference.  I am grateful for the gifts of love and compassion and empathy, even with the pain and tears they bring to my life.  My heart has been and will continue to be broken.  I am grateful that my heart is being broken open and not shattered.  (See Parker Palmer post below for more about what this means.)

Now go read these two beautiful posts by writers that I love, whose words I'm always thankful for.  

Heartbreak and Hope:  Three Questions about Suffering by Parker Palmer
Childish Things by Catherine Larsen

Trees and people and churches

In Minnesota, it's hard to go anywhere without seeing trees.  This fall has been great for watching the the changes.  Each drive provides new beauty. My drive to tai chi this morning also helped me to see some truths about people in general and more specifically about churches.

I first noticed the conifers, still and always green, broad at the base and rising to a single focused point.

Then of course, I noticed all the different varieties of deciduous trees, those that change so dramatically as we cycle through the seasons.  I saw their sturdy trunks reaching towards the sky and then branching, reaching up and out in every direction, as if to embrace as much of the world as they could.  Many are completely bare now, having let go of all their leaves. They've retreated into themselves to be still, to be safe, and to wait for spring.

But not all the deciduous trees are completely bare.  Some are still fighting fiercely to hold on to those last few yellow and brown leaves.  I passed several weeping willows.  Although there were leaves on the ground beneath them, those willows - those weeping willows - still held most of their slightly green but yellowing leaves.  Because they still hold their leaves from which raindrops fall like tears, perhaps they wept the most in the rains of the last week.

Which tree is best?  Which is most beautiful?

The truth is that no one tree could sustain this rich ecosystem.  All of their gifts are needed.  The bare branches are no less beautiful than the evergreens.

The Lambs Who Have No Names

The last 10 days have been rough.   First, I held the pain of my brothers and sisters as LGBT Mormons, their families, and allies dealt with the shock and despair surrounding the new policies about LGBT families in the Mormon church. My heart broke hearing one of my heroes declare that she felt like her dream had died, and that we needed to mourn that lost dream.  

Every hour has been filled with sorrow, to the point that I could barely stay focused on my work when I was with students, and accomplished little when there were no demands and needs of people right in front of me to attend to.   

I’m not so sure that time heals, but eventually, we are able to return to something resembling “normal” life.  I was almost to the point of being semi-functional, when the next wave (Paris) knocked me off my feet.  I felt the pain of Paris, and that ripped open the newly forming scars of the Mormon policy situation.  But this time, I was at least in a physical place where I could find some solace in music.

These two songs kept returning to my mind.  

For everyone born, a place at the table

In the midst of pain, I choose love.  

This is what I am called to do.  This is who I am.  I CHOOSE LOVE. 

This morning I read a FB post from a friend.  He told the story of the good shepherd, leaving the ninety and nine to go after that one.  He went on to explain that if we want to find Jesus, he will be up on the mountain with the lambs who have no name.  I couldn’t get that image out of my head. 

There are children (however few the church claims this will affect) whose names will not be recorded in the records of the church, without regards to how much some same-sex parents may actually want that.  That is what my friend was referring to, but I think the idea is so much bigger.  When people don’t have faces or names, when they are just a group of people that we have judged in any way, we are shutting them out.  When we refuse to hear the truth in their stories because they make us uncomfortable, we are shutting out those lambs.  We erase their names and blur their faces.  We make them Other. 

No more.  They are not Other.  Every one of them has a name.  Every one of them has a face.  Every one of them carries a pain or a burden.  We are inseparably connected, whether we want to admit it or not.  

We are not Other.  Every one of us has a name.  Every one of us has a face.  Every one of us carries a pain or burden.  WE ARE ONE. 

When you hear their stories, when you look into their eyes, when you see the child of God standing in front of you, you can’t deny the pain.  I can’t deny the pain.  I have to be there tending to the lost and broken.  I need you there tending to my lostness and brokenness.  

When you can feel what I feel,

When you know what I know,

When their pain becomes yours

And your tears begin to flow,

That is the beginning of Love. 

Distracted, but Writing Anyway

Writing is the way I process things.  It's how I learn and how I figure out what I really know.

Writing is nourishment.  It feeds my soul.  It clears my head.  It energizes me.

Writing is spiritual practice.  It makes me focus on what is really important, on what I need to do and understand to continue on my spiritual journey.

But lately, I've been distracted.  I've still been writing.  I write every morning.  But it's been more brain dump that exploration.  More to-do list than insight.

The kind of writing I really need to do, what I crave right now, is hard to do when time is limited, or I'm feeling anxious and stressed, or when there are other big emotional issues (good and bad) to deal with.

My 10 days of tai chi workshop and travel, immediately followed by a day of MMTA convention presentation and performance kept me super focused on the present.  Those activities used all my brain power and energy, and all the other stuff in my life took a back seat.  Once I got home, reality hit me hard.  There was no escape from the massive to do list and the anxiety and stress related to money and my work situations.  I wanted to write.  I needed to write.  But my brain just couldn't get there.

Last week I couldn't even find words to express how I felt about what had happened in Charleston. Once again, music came through to give me some outlet.  (If you like the song, the link to the PDF of the sheet music is in the YouTube comments.)



But all I could do was listen, and read, and mourn.  I couldn't write.

Today is my day off.  I have a huge list of writing projects I wanted to tackle.  But I slept in and then checked Facebook before jumping into my writing.  And once again, I'm distracted, but this time by love, joy, and celebration.  I doubt I'll get as much writing done today as I had hoped, but starting with this post, I am doing something.  And that's good.

This weekend, I process, feed my soul, and do some deep spiritual work. Some of it may be shared. Some might end up filed away under the bed. Distracted or not, the time for writing is now.

Where I Am and Where I'm Headed

This year has been one of my most difficult, but also one of the most beautiful and growth-filled years of my life.  The story didn't just start suddenly one day almost a year ago. This story began at least 33 years ago, possibly longer ago than that.  I felt alone and defective because faith, prayer, revelation, and probably many other things didn't work for me the way they did for everyone else at church.

The roots of the story are old, but the latest chapter began one day, almost a year ago when I realized that I needed a change if I was to move out of this stuck, painful place.

I'm writing today because of the memories brought up when I read this.  So many of the words of Sara's journal entries reminded me of what I felt that week.

But when someone is excommunicated (that’s the expected outcome) for believing something I believe and saying it boldly when I’ve said it somewhat timidly, it’s not good and it certainly doesn’t make me feel that I’m wanted.

***

And here Kate was, a rare (though not unique) example of being bold and direct, someone who was showing RADICAL SELF-RESPECT by using her voice and saying that her experience matters. Her example was encouraging, and maybe she didn’t always say the right thing in the best way, but she was trying and she was insisting on being heard. It helped other women raise their own voices. And for her to be excommunicated sends that “Be quiet, keep your questions to yourself” message. And we get that message.

***

I’m not Kate Kelly. I don’t know her very well. But I feel tied to her in this MoFem sisterhood. And it feels like this is, by extension, a warning to or an attack on my community. Like we’re all supposed to shut up. And maybe part of my sadness comes from knowing how tempted I am to shut up, how easy that is for me and also how soul-killing it is in the long run.

Like Sara, I too needed to take a break.  It wasn't just about this particular event, but this was the straw that broke the camel's back.  I didn't know for sure where this break would lead, but I knew that to stay meant spiraling into more and more pain.  I knew (and told my bishop as much) that if there was any hope of me ever fully committing to the LDS church (meaning full activity, temple recommend worthy, and actually going to the temple) that I needed some time and space to sort things out.  I took the summer off, and Sundays became my self-care day.

Then in September I actually did something I've wanted to do for a very long time.  I attended my first service at Unity Church-Unitarian.  The original plan was to attend services there during the month of September and then re-evaluate.  September was extended to Christmas.  Then I decided to extend this exploration through June, and joined Women's Ensemble, one of the amazing choral ensembles there. Unity Church has been a place of safety and healing and much needed peace in my life.  You can read more about my experiences in some of the posts of this blog and at Exploring Sainthood.

The plan was to get through June, and then see what my time at Unity meant.  Had it been just a short-term arrangement focused on healing and reframing and getting the tools to return to Mormonism in a healthier way? Would I choose to align myself with the Unitarian Univeralists instead of the LDS Church?   Would I choose to live some complicated life somewhere between the two?

The question of how and to what extent I will maintain my relationship with the Mormon church is still a little up in the air.  I'm not ready to leave for good.  There are people and ideas there that I need in my life.  I feel like my voice is needed, if for no other reason than to let people that are feeling lost and alone know that there is someone else that doesn't fit the model of the perfect Mormon.  But I have to find strategies for engaging in a healthy way.  In July and August, I'm planning to start going to my ward again.  I'll alternate weeks between my LDS and UU congregations. (I wish I could do both, but my ward meets 9-12 and there is only one service at Unity in the summer and it starts at 10.) I'm working on carving out time to prepare myself for each LDS service in a way that will help me to see and hear the best, and  more easily let go of the things that hurt me.

Although I don't really identify as a Pagan, many of the words of this Pagan UU seemed so similar to my own experiences when I first began my explorations of the Unitarian Universalist tradition.  

As the congregation sings, my hardened heart softens and I find my self singing , the sense of divinity is palpable, I am confused, here among the trappings of organized religion I am connected to divinity.
As the service progresses it is evident that the words spoken from the minister value diversity, compassion and social justice. I am engaged, the sense that the Goddess is present is nearly ecstatic, and my confusion deepens.

*** 

As I walk away I have one of the moments that I so cherish in my life, insight into my own preconceptions about religious identity flow from my core self. The questions are profound. For how many years have I excluded the worship practices of others from my personal practice? Why has my engagement in interfaith activities always centered on “working with” people of other faiths instead of “worshiping with” those that simply call divinity by another name?

*** 

Today I embrace both may Pagan identity and my membership in the UU church. It has always been my belief that all paths lead to divinity, I was just never aware how walking more than one path at a time can so clarify the divine’s intention to hold all humanity as sacred.

Recent services and interactions with the members and staff of Unity Church-Unitarian have made me certain that Unity is my spiritual home, the place I can go to for nourishment, peace, healing, and safety.  It is a place where I can be challenged and stretched and bathed in beauty and love.  Although many members of the congregation would not consider themselves Christian, it is in the lives of these people that I see the core of what I consider being Christian to be.  I have no plans to give any of that up.  All my long-terms plans are being made with my involvement at Unity in mind.  I'm not yet officially joining the church by signing the membership book, but I am committing to this community in every other way.

It's been a rough year, but it's be a beautiful year that I wouldn't trade for anything.  I am in a better place.  I'm clearer about who I am and what I want.  I am happy and spiritually engaged like I have never been before. My heart has been broken open.  And that's a good thing.

If you hold your knowledge of self and world wholeheartedly, your heart will at times get broken by loss, failure, defeat, betrayal, or death. What happens next in you and the world around you depends on how your heart breaks. If it breaks apart into a thousand pieces, the result may be anger, depression, and disengagement. If it breaks open into greater capacity to hold the complexities and contradictions of human experience, the result may be new life. (page 18 in Parker J. Palmer's Healing the Heart of Democracy)

And although didn't expect it, these words the Hilary Weeks song, "Beautiful Heartbreak", beautifully describe this past year.  

I never dreamed my heart would make it
And I thought about turning around
But Heaven has shown me miracles
I never would have seen from the ground
Every fear, every doubt, all the pain I went through
Was the price that I paid to see this view
Now that I'm here I would never trade
The grace that I feel and the faith that I find
Through the bittersweet tears and the sleepless nights
I used to pray He'd take it all away
But instead it became
A beautiful heartbreak

one by one 

they throw us from the tower

and we spread our wings

and fly

-linda sillitoe

Lessons from Shared Loves

I'm doing The Artist's Way program with a few online friends.  I've owned the book for years and read it, but have never really done all the work.  One of the activities asked me to identify a favorite childhood movie.  I couldn't really think of any movies from my childhood, but 3 from my early teens came to mind:  Yentl, Enemy Mine, and Star Trek 2:  The Wrath of Khan.  Once again, I was reminded how much these movies and their themes have shaped my life.  A love of science fiction is one of the things that my dad and I share.  Music and Barbra Streisand are the connections with my mother.  

I've written before about what Star Trek taught me (You can read some of that here and here and here.) Enemy Mine was a box office failure, costing millions more to make than it actually earned.  I don't think I saw it in the theatre.  We probably rented the VHS (and the machine to watch it on).  The trailer looks cheesy (it was sci-fi in the 80's), but this movie had a huge impact on my life.  Bitter enemies are forced to depend on each other.  They learn to understand and trust each other.  And one puts his life on the line to keep a promise he made about a child of the enemy that he has grown to love.  It reinforced every beautiful lesson I'd learned from my parents about seeing people for who they really are and keeping promises.

Yentl is a beautiful story about a woman who refuses to be limited by her culture and tradition.  It's Streisand singing the songs of Alan and Marilyn Bergman and Michel Legrand.

This morning, I'm sitting here crying as I listened to these words that seem written just for me and just for this moment.

And tell me where, where is it written what it is
I'm meant to be, that I can't dare-
To find the meanings in the mornings that I see,
Or have my share of every sweet-imagined possibility?

I remember everything you taught me
Every book 1've ever read...
Can all the words in all the books
Help me to face what lies ahead?

I can open doors and take from the shelves
All the books I’ve longed to hold
I can ask all the questions,
The whys and the wheres
As the mysteries of life unfold
Like a link in a chain
From the past to the future
That joins me with the children yet to be,
I can now be a part
Of the ongoing stream,
That has always been a part of me!

The more I live - the more I learn.
The more I learn - the more I realize
The less I know.
Each step I take -
(Papa, I've a voice now!)Each page I turn -
(Papa, I've a choice now!)Each mile I travel only means
The more I have to go.
What's wrong with wanting more?
If you can fly - then soar!
With all there is - why settle for
just a piece of sky?

I don't expect people to understand the growth process I'm going through right now or the choices I'm making related to it.  But I do want people to understand that it is beautiful and soul-stretching.  I feel more spiritually alive than I can remember ever feeling.  This is not stepping away from the teachings of my youth.  It's stepping into them and living them fully, with integrity,  and without apology.

My mother also introduced me to the work of this wonderful woman.  Don't just read the excerpt.  Listen to the poet speak her own words.

I face the plains
On a good day for walking.
The sun rises
And the mist clears.
I will be all right:
My people were Mormon pioneers.

A Few Thoughts on Religious Freedom

As I mentioned in this post, discussions about religious freedom can be tricky.  It's hard to know where to draw the line.  Today I read two articles that made me want to stand up and cheer.  These are people that understand what religious freedom is about.  Please read the full articles, not just the quotes I selected to include here.

This piece published in the Star Tribune pretty much sums up how I feel about the religious freedom vs. gay rights debate.

I am a lover religious liberty (it is one of our central tenants), and I would fight tooth and nail to keep the state from forcing people to perform religious practices that are contrary to their faiths. However, religious practice cannot trump the basic legal rights of citizens in this great country. I agree with the LDS Church that we must balance religious freedom with securing the rights of our citizenry. However, it is these basic civil rights that are really being attacked, not religious freedom.   

Rev. Curtis L. Price is pastor of the First Baptist Church of Salt Lake City.

 

And this woman understands what religious freedom is really about. When I grow up, I want to be Katrina Lantos Swett.

She explains that despite the words “religious freedom” in the group’s name, the commission is dedicated to a singular mission: defending human rights.
“We work aggressively on behalf of agnostics and atheists who are being persecuted. We will go anywhere people face punishment for professing their humanist beliefs, or for their lack of belief in a deity,” Swett said. “We defend every person’s right to live life according to the dictates of his or her own conscience.”

...

History, Swett said, has taught her that one person’s fight can lead the way for the rest of the world.
“When we fight for religious freedom or protection from brutal punishment, these are not abstract fights,” she said. “We’re fighting for real men and women suffering real horrors at the hands of brutal and authoritarian forces. We win, one victory at a time.”

Less Pain But More Determination

I don't know if it is because I'm moving on and healing, or if it is because I already cried all the tears that could be shed, but John Dehlin's announcement yesterday didn't hurt as much as it did in June when this latest round of excommunications and other formal and informal church discipline began.  Today, I am just sad.  Very sad.   

And it's not just about about John Dehlin.

And it's not just about April Young Bennett, who was coerced into removing blog posts where she shared her beliefs.

I write today, not to defend John or April, but to stand with them and thousands of others whose stories have not been made public, and the thousands who will now never feel safe enough to share their own beliefs and doubts.

The church thinks it can end this, silence people, and go back to business as usual by removing the leaders, but in truth, what it does is it steals the hope that was keeping people in the church.  In refusing to talk about hard things, and trying to silence them instead, the church says to many people that they are not welcome.  President Uchtdorf can declare that there is room for us in the church, but then local leaders show us that there isn't room for these people or the people who share some of their thoughts.

In many areas, I support the idea of allowing local leaders to deal with the daily ins and outs of how the church works.  But with something big like this, when the General Authorities sit back and say that it is up to the local leaders, it just feeds the leadership roulette.  I've read marvelous stories about people whose leaders have been open and loving and helped them to find ways to participate in church even if their beliefs and actions weren't exactly by the book.  And then there are stories like John's and April's, and worse.

Although John's stake president worded it a little differently, John used these words to describe the conditions that he was given (both versions can be read here):

1.  That I publicly renounced and apologize for any/all past doubts and criticisms that I have made regarding the church, its theology/doctrine, its historicity, or its policies (listed above).

2.  That I do my best to remove any past podcast episodes, blog posts, or Facebook posts that contain the public expression of either doubt about, or criticism of, the LDS church – whether these comments were made by me, or by any of the people I have interviewed over the past nine years.

3.  That I stop my public support of same-sex marriage, and my public support of Ordain Women.

4.  That I resign from the web site that allows me to perform marriage ceremonies (listed above).

I believe that number four is actually a misunderstanding on the stake president's part.  The stake president's words are, "Resign your status as an ordained minister in another faith." This is not a case of John going to years of Seminary (I mean real Seminary, not little s seminary that Mormon youth attend either early mornings before school or during released time) to then complete the ordination process and become a Lutheran pastor.  This is a website where you can pay a fee to be "ordained" so that you meet requirements in the US to be able to legally perform marriages.  It's a work around, a loop hole, not a real calling in another church.

Even if it was about John committing to another church, I don't really understand why that means he must be cut off from this one.  I'm serious about this.  It's one of the things I'm currently struggling with.  Attending Unity Church-Unitarian has been a life changing experience for me.  I don't know yet if I will commit to that church long-term.  It may be that their gift will help me return to the LDS church in a way that is more healthy for me, mentally, physically, and spiritually.  But if I sign Unity's membership book, that's grounds for excommunication from the LDS church (not just a rumor, it's in the handbook.)  Although my experiences with the LDS church have caused me a lot of pain, I'm not sure that I'm ready to be done with it yet.  So I'm stuck in this in between place.

But back to the topic of this post...

The first two items that John's stake president listed basically tell us that it is OK to have doubts and criticisms, we just shouldn't share them. Please read more of John's work for why this is so dangerous.  And if you are not comfortable reading the words of someone you consider an apostate, read mine (since you're already reading this blog anyway.)  I spent most of my life thinking that I was the only Mormon who felt the way I did and thought the things I thought.  For whatever reason, I never felt comfortable sharing those things with anyone, so I spent far too long just thinking I was defective.  I'm fairly certain that even though my lifelong battle with depression is partly hereditary, it also is linked to my relationship with a church where I didn't feel like I fit in and I didn't feel like I could have a different opinion.

Item three could lead to my own excommunication if my bishop and stake president decided that they felt the same way.  I do not have a profile on the Ordain Women website.  I'm not completely onboard with Ordain Women and some of their methods, but I think they have opened conversations on important issues.  I stand with my sisters and brothers who are honestly trying to bring more light and truth into the church.  I am 100% in favor of same-sex marriage.  The reasons why are the topic for another post, but if push comes to shove, like John, I will keep my integrity rather than my church membership.

What do I want right now?  I want real conversations that happen in the open.  I want people to be able to speak their truth without fear.

With recent events in the church and in the world, I am reminded of this post from Feminist Mormon Housewives:

Ten words that would have altered history and preserved Zion:  Sisters, we see you have concerns.  Come talk with us.  

And these words written by the co-minister of my UU church:

For remaining silent when a single voice would have made a difference-
I forgive myself, I forgive you; We begin again in love.
For each time that our fears have made us rigid and inaccessible-
I forgive myself, I forgive you: We begin again in love.
For each time that we have struck out in anger without just cause-
I forgive myself, I forgive you; We begin again in love.
For each time that our greed has blinded us to the needs of others-
I forgive myself, I forgive you; We begin again in love.
For the selfishness which sets us apart and alone-
I forgive myself, I forgive you; We begin again in love.
For falling short of the admonitions of the spirit-
I forgive myself, I forgive you; We begin again in love.
For losing site of our unity-
I forgive myself, I forgive you; We begin again in love.
For those and so many acts both evident and subtle which have fueled the illusion of separateness-
I forgive myself, I forgive you; We begin again in love.
~Reverend Rob Eller-Issacs from “Litany of Atonement"

To those words, I add my own.  I see you.  I hear you.  I want to understand. Come. Let's do this work of healing together.  

The Time Has Come

Several years ago, after one more tragedy, one more senseless act of violence in the world, I encountered this poem as a song text.  

Surely the time for making songs has come  

Now that the Spring is in the air again.

Trees blossom though men bleed; and after rain 

The robins hop; and soon the bees will hum.

Long was the winter, long our lips were dumb. 

Long under snow our loyal dreams have lain. 

Surely the time for making songs has come 

Now that the Spring is in the air again.

The Spring!—with bugles and a rumbling drum! 

Oh, builders of high music out of pain, 

Now is the hour with singing to make vain 

The boast of kings in Pandemonium!

Surely the time for making songs has come!

The melody didn't really appeal to me, but the words wouldn't let me go.  I even wrote my own song using these words. Unfortunately, I can't find it now.  It's filed away somewhere.  But the song wasn't enough.  It also inspired a short story which fits into the world I've been building now for over 10 years with several different novels.  

The last few months have seen more violence and more hate, and  again, I am faced with the question of what I can do about it.  I can't change the world all by myself, but that doesn't mean my contributions to peace are useless.  It does mean that they are needed more than ever.  

A meme has been going around Facebook again with a quote from Leonard Bernstein.  You can read here about why he wrote it.  

We musicians, like everyone else, are numb with sorrow at this murder, and with rage at the senselessness of the crime. But this sorrow and rage will not inflame us to seek retribution; rather they will inflame our art. Our music will never again be quite the same. This will be our reply to violence: to make music more intensely, more beautifully, more devotedly than ever before.

And today, my creativity is my contribution.  I have another song written that I will soon be posting, but until then, here is the short story.  It's not perfect.  There is still revising I would like to do. Because it is part of a larger collection, there may be elements that don't make a lot of sense out of that context, but I think the message still works.  And I need to share it now.  

___________________________________

Jameson slowly, reverently closed the doors to the Master’s study.  Although the room was well furnished and filled with shelves and piles of books and music, it felt empty and dark.  Jameson sat at the chair behind the desk.  He couldn’t help feeling that he didn’t belong there.  This was the Master’s study.  This was the Master’s overstuffed chair and imported mahogany desk.  He was overcome with memories of the lessons he had had in that room with the Master.  It still seemed so unreal that he was really gone.  And even stranger to him was the fact that now this room was his.  Now he had to take on the responsibilities of the Master.  He was far too young for this.   The Music Master usually trained specifically for that role for many years.  Though he’d studied with the Master for most of his life, the Master had only recently revealed the secrets of the Guardians to Jameson.  How could seven months possibly give him the knowledge and experience he would need to face what lay ahead?  Would he be able to make the decisions that must be made?  

He opened the letter and read it once more.  He had always had a unique relationship with Holly O’Rourke.  She understood him in ways that no one else did.  And somehow, over the years, they had each known when the other needed encouragement. Could she have known that by the time her letter was delivered to him on Cronolin that the situation there would have deteriorated so drastically?  That the Master would be added to the list of the casualties of this horrible war on Cronolin? That Holly herself would lose her life in the “police action” that was ripping apart the Federation? 

Their communications had always used an economy of words.  This letter was no exception.  Just an excerpt from an ancient poem.  

“O builders of high music out of pain!
Now is the time with singing to make vain
The boasts of kings in pandemonium!
Surely the time for making songs has come.”

He laid the letter aside and setting his pen to the staff paper, began to battle the evil in the only way he knew how.  

Jameson should have felt safe in the Master’s study.  After all, he had just declared the school and the sanctuary neutral territory and both sides had agreed not to carry the fighting into these hallowed halls.  But the sounds of gunfire and bombs and people screaming in pain could not be pushed away.  It was real and it was right outside his window.  And although the leaders of both parties had agreed that this was neutral space, could they enforce it?  Would all of planet respect the treaty?  The official declaration should never even have had to be made.  The council chamber was the seat of the government of the people, but this place was the home of the soul of the people.  Jameson would never completely understand what had made that guerrilla force take over the building and publicly, brutally execute the Master.  But it had brought the first step towards possible peace.  People on both sides were appalled that the school had been violated and the Master killed, and almost immediately declared the school off limits and acknowledged Jameson as their next Master Guardian. That should have meant that Jameson could inspire his people to peace, but all it meant is that neither side would kill him, and that both sides wanted him to come out in support of their causes.  

Neutral was a horrible place to be.  Jameson knew that many people on the planet wished that they had never been pulled into this ugly war.  People envied his situation.  To sit in a warm, comfortable home without worrying that that next day might bring death.  But Jameson would have welcomed death, or a chance to fight for what he believed.  Unfortuately, as the neutral Master Guardian, all he could do was comfort those that came to the school for refuge.  

Each morning Jameson began his day by tending to the wounded children that had been brought to the school.  They should have been in hospitals, but the hospitals were frequent targets, and the mothers would not send their children to their deaths.  So they brought them here, to Jameson.  Every time he entered the room, he had to fight back the reflex of vomiting.  The stench alone was awful, but the sight of the wounded children was almost more than he could bear.  And what hurt him the most was that he couldn’t save all of them.  He did have some nurses and doctors that had come to help, but they didn’t have the equipment or supplies that they needed.  They had used every spare scrap of fabric they could find for bandages and blankets.  And still the children came.  Jameson was frustrated that so few people would help them.  They did regard the school as a neutral space.  Sadly, that also meant that neither side was willing to bring in supplies.  They claimed that they needed everything that they had to help their own.  Jameson would have to find a way to care for the children on his own.  

This morning, as he did each day, he found Sara, and asked where his services were needed most.  He began with the easy tasks first.  The far northeast corner of their makeshift hospital was where the children with the least serious wounds were housed.  And over the last few days, Jameson had seen their “least serious” category expanded to include almost all children whose injuries were not currently life threatening.  It broke his heart that he couldn’t heal them. Jameson moved through the ward, stopping every few feet to draw the children close to him.  He taught them how to raise their own healing energies. He helped them to help themselves.  It was all he could do.  Many would suffer permanent disabilities or horrible scars that they would carry with them for the rest of their lives.  But the other children needed him even more.

As he left the “least serious” ward, Jameson took a few moments to breathe and focus.  The next ward would be the most physically taxing work of his day.  He found the first child on Sara’s list.  He had seen Tommy a few days ago in the “least serious” ward.  The wound itself was not bad, but without the proper disinfectants and antibiotics, Tommy’s leg had developed gangrene.  Now Tommy faced loosing his leg.  Both his parents had been killed, and Tommy being only 10 himself, had taken on himself the task of caring for his younger sisters.  In a perfect world, they would have been placed in a foster home, but Jameson understood  the reality.  When they left the school/hospital, these children  would be returning to the streets.  Tommy would need that leg if he was to protect and care for his little sisters.  Jameson drew up all the energy he could and focused it on healing Tommy’s leg.  Jameson was not an empath, but he had learned much about the energy fields of the body, and in these desperate times, he had found a new talent and was able to help heal.  But it was not easy.  It was exhausting.  

As he left Tommy’s bedside, Sara met him with some food.  He hated the fact that eating that food meant that some of the children would have to go without, but Sara and the others had convinced him that what he was doing was more important for the children than the food.  But it still didn’t make it easy, and it didn’t take away the guilt he felt when he saw the hungry look in the little girl’s eyes when she wandered in while he was eating.  He checked to make sure Sara wasn’t watching, and then gave the girl the rest of his sandwich.  He had had enough.  He would have the energy he needed.  

He was headed to the second person on the list, when Sara called him into another room.  All that remained of the two year old’s arm was a bloody stump near the shoulder.  They could not stop the bleeding and had long ago run out of blood for transfusions. Jameson stopped the bleeding and helped reinforce the body’s natural healing processes. He wasn’t sure that that was enough, but it was all he could do for now if he wanted to help others today.  

After healing another dozen critical patients, Jameson took a few minutes to rest.  Somehow, Sara always knew where everyone was, and she always knew when Jameson needed her.  Like clockwork, she arrived after Jameson had meditated for 5 minutes.  She massaged his tired muscles and offered words of encouragement.  Then she left Jameson to his most emotional task of the day.  

The last ward was the one that children were taken to when nothing else could be done for them.  They came to this ward to die.  Jameson’s limited healing powers were useless here.  But he could ease their pain, and he could sit with them and love them as they died.  He had lost track of how many children had died in his arms.  It hurt more than anything else about this horrible war.  But he would not let these children die alone.  

Finally, exhausted and emotionally drained, Jameson left the hospital and went to the sanctuary.  It used to be a quiet place where he could go to find peace. It was no longer empty and quiet, but Jameson had found a way to find his peace and to help the people there.  As Jameson took hold of the harp, he remembered when Holly had taught him how to find the way out of darkness through music.  She was a good teacher.  She had told him that it wouldn’t always work, but it usually did for Jameson.  As his fingers moved across the strings, he felt the pain and fatigue melt away.  He was totally present in the music, and for a few moments, the war and devastation no longer existed for Jameson and the people in the sanctuary.  While he played, all the pain was gone, replaced by hope and peace.  That was the real reason this place was a refuge.  It wasn’t just about being safe from the bombs.  It was that momentary glimpse of hope and peace.

It had been on a day much like this one that Jameson had come up with his plan for peace.  If they could find a few moments of it when he played, perhaps as participants they could find even more and take it with them when they left.  

When Jameson once again felt peaceful and calm, he headed out towards his next task.  Nearly every day, representatives from the different factions requested meetings with him.  This day was no different from the rest.  He found five men in his waiting room, sitting quietly, each waiting for his opportunity to convince Jameson of how he could technically stay neutral and still help out their side.  Jameson, always watching for signs of peace, was struck by the irony of these five men sitting in the same room.  Anywhere else, they would have been at each other’s throats. But here, in neutral territory, waiting to see Jameson, they had managed to find a few moments without hostility.  Maybe Jameson could make a difference.  

At 8pm Sara knocked on the door of his study, and without waiting for an answer, walked in and announced that the Master had other matters to attend to and would have to finish up this discussion another time.  The men Jameson was meeting with seemed annoyed, but knew better than to fight this.  Word on the street was that Sara was one tough broad and even Jameson did whatever she told him to do.  After Sara escorted the men out of the building, she returned with a simple dinner for them to share.  She drew the curtains closed, blocking out the sights and sounds of the war outside.  This hour for dinner was often the only time they had alone.  It was also the only time that Jameson felt he could be completely himself.  

There was something different about Sara that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.  He had sensed it the first time they met.  At first he thought that it was because she reminded him of Holly.  But that wasn’t really it.  As he got to know her better, he realized that she and Holly weren’t very much alike at all.  But the one thing they had in common was that he felt he could be totally open with both of them.  And that openness, that trust was difficult for him.  

Jameson had been a toddler the first time he met Holly, but he immediately recognized her as someone he could be safe with.  Feeling safe was rare in those first few years of his life.  Even when his parents looked like they were being nice to him, he frequently picked up on their thoughts of how much they hated him and wished he’d just go away.  And so one day he did.  His parents had frequently placed him in front of the computer when they didn’t want to deal with him.  It was the perfect baby-sitter.  While they thought he was playing those stupid, mind-numbing games that the famous educators of the day had recommended, he was learning far more than they had ever intended.  Had they ever bothered to do the IQ tests that were recommended for children his age to determine the proper way to school them, they would have seen that his IQ was off the charts.  He tapped into the Federation computer system accessing files available to no one but the Premier.  He was brilliant, but slightly naïve to believe that the Premier had no idea about what he was doing.  The Premier began planting files that would lead Jameson to the only place where his full potential could be recognized, a tiny planet, light-years away known as Cronolin.  When Jameson found out that Holly was going to Cronolin, he made all the necessary arrangements to go with her.  Well, most of the necessary arrangements.  There were a few strings left dangling, but the Premier quickly and quietly took care of those.  Jameson left his abusive home, and no one of any importance ever knew anything about it.  The year he spent traveling with Holly was the time in his life when he felt the most loved and understood.  That is, until he met Sara.  

Jameson tried to remember how long ago he had met her.  It seemed like ages ago, but it couldn’t have been.  The Master had introduced them just a few days before his horrible death, and that was only 3 weeks ago.  Three weeks! How could he know her so well and love her so much in only 3 short weeks?  Sara had trained with Holly before the accident, but afterwards her parents had refused to let her have any contact with Holly or anyone else that taught about the gifts.  But she knew she had gifts and that someday they would be needed.  So for years, she had hidden in her closet and explored her gifts as much as she could on her own.  One night, shortly after the war broke out, she had a dream.  But it was much more than a regular dream.  She knew that it was a message, a vision of her future.  And she knew that she had to find a way to get to the school and learn more about her gifts.  She had actually been at the school for 2 weeks by the time Jameson met her.  And in that time she had had numerous, intensive sessions with the Master.  Jameson had been out in the country helping the survivors of a village that had been bombed, but the Master made a special point of sending a messenger to have Jameson return so he could meet Sara.  The Master had a feeling that he wouldn’t be there much longer to continue Sara’s training.  He didn’t know why, but he knew that it was imperative that Jameson and Sara meet.  After the introductions, the Master spent hours with Jameson, going over the things he had taught Sara.  Jameson was used to the Master including him in the education of new students.  It was part of the training that Jameson would need if he was to become the next Master.  But there was an urgency in this case that none of them really understood at the time.

Sara was with the Master when they stormed the building.  When they heard the men approaching the study, the Master made her hide behind the draperies.  He took two bullets before one of the men suggested that it would be better for the people to see him die.  So they dragged him down the stairs and outside.  They decided to hang him.  As the men rigged a temporary gallows, Sara tried to get closer to the Master who was lying in the dirt.  But the mob was too thick.  And the fighting in the streets would not stop for one man’s execution.  

After seeing that all of his students were safely hidden away, Jameson made his way to the Master’s study.  As he saw the broken, beaten door and the bullet holes in the walls, he knew he was too late.  He got to the window just in time to see them taking down the Master’s body.  The face was horribly swollen and purple and didn’t even look like him.  But the stole he wore bore record that it could be no other.  The man that died was wearing the sign of the Guardians, the sign of the Master Guardian.  Jameson could not imagine a more horrific sight.  It was more than the death of a friend.  It was the death of the people’s hopes and dreams.  The Master Guardian’s job was to search for “the One”.  Did these people have no idea what they had done?  In their petty quarrels they had destroyed any hope they ever had of finding peace and greatness.   But the horror did not end with his death.  The crowd, the mobs that had temporarily stopped their fighting to watch the show, wanted more, so the men gave it to them.  They began by hacking off his head.  After a sickening thud, the head rolled off to the side.  But still the crowd wanted more.  The men tossed aside the annoying stole which was just getting in the way, and then they chopped up his body and threw the pieces into the crowd.    Jameson threw up and sank to the floor.  He stayed there until the roar of the crowd died down, until the streets were silent, until the darkness had hidden their horrible deeds.  As Jameson arose, he noticed someone huddled in the corner and heard her crying.  Her clothes were splattered with blood and she was holding a bundle of some sort.  At first he thought that it was a child.  Perhaps this woman’s child had been killed during the fighting and she had come in here to escape.  As Jameson got closer, he saw that it was Sara.  He sat down beside her to comfort her.  He sat there for several minutes before she finally stopped crying enough to talk.  And then all she could say was, “I couldn’t let one of them take it home as a trophy.” Then Jameson looked down and saw what the bundle was.  There wrapped in the Master Guardian’s stole was the head of the Master.  

About 3am, Jameson and Holly quietly snuck out to the gardens.  Near one of the Master’s favorite rose bushes, they dug a deep hole and placed the head inside.  The filled the hole and made sure that the ground looked as it did before their visit.  Then they went back to the study and went to sleep.  Jameson was worried about Sara, but in the morning she seemed OK, and threw herself into the work of caring for those people still left at the school.  Each day, her gifts blossomed as she used them to make the school run better.   They rarely talked about the events of that day and night, but somehow, what they had suffered together had made them grow closer and stronger.  And each day when Sara came for dinner, Jameson knew that as long as she was there, things would eventually work out.  

When Jameson and Sara finished eating, they gathered the dishes, returned them to the kitchen, and began their final rounds for the day.  As they walked, they made notes of things that needed immediate attention.  They encouraged the people they encountered.  And they talked about ways to end the suffering.  Their final stop was the hospital.  They checked on each child to make sure that he or she was sleeping peacefully.  If not, Jameson took a moment and used his gifts to help them sleep well.  And then he left Sara to her hospital and returned to the study to his work.  

He knew Sara would be upset if she knew how he was spending his nights.  She wanted him to rest, but every time he closed his eyes, he heard the screams, or saw the dying children, or relived the Master’s death.  Seven or eight hours of that left him worse off than when he worked through the night.  So each night he pulled out his staff paper and pens, and wrote down the music that constantly pulsed through his veins and gave him the strength to go on.  Sometimes it was music of peace and tranquility, like he felt when he played in the sanctuary.  Other times, it told of the horrible things that he had seen, that his people had experienced.  But always, by the first light of morning, the music had helped to center him and helped him to look forward with hope.  

Gradually, the late night composing started to creep into Jameson’s daytime schedule.  The children heard him humming a cheerful tune and wanted to know what it was.  When he explained that it was the melody of a song he was composing, they wanted to know the words.  They wanted to learn the song.  And so it was that the children became the audience at the premier of his greatest work.  The children learned well and shared the songs with others.  One day a man was in Jameson’s study and began to hum one of the tunes.  Jameson asked what it was.  The man replied that he really didn’t know.  His daughter had learned it from another child and would not stop singing it.  And now he was finding himself humming it frequently.  Jameson smiled.  It was only the beginning, but he knew that this music would change people.  It could end this senseless war.  

Jameson found that the music was also slipping into the time he spent with Sara.  Each of them played several different instruments, and after dinner they read through the latest of his compositions.  Of course, Sara didn’t know that he was giving up sleep to compose, or she would have put a stop to it early on.   One evening as they left the study, they were surprised to find several people sitting in the hallway.  They had come to listen.  Soon Jameson was involving them in the sessions.  He was careful to spend almost the entire hour with Sara, but then he would open the studio door and invite in who ever happened to be in the hallway that night.  Some nights they had a string quartet.  Other nights they sang in 8-part harmony.  Every night they left feeling more hopeful.  

But even with the rejuvenating effects of using his gifts to create the music, the lack of sleep began to be evident, especially to Sara.  When she confronted him about his low energy and poor health, he argued that what he was doing was important.  Couldn’t she see how it was affecting the people at the school?  Only when she reminded him that he was losing his effectiveness in healing the children, did he stop to consider resting.  But the sights and sounds he experienced when he closed his eyes were just too awful to endure.  Sara felt his fear and concern, but she thought she had a solution.  For weeks now, she had been watching Jameson help the children sleep.  One of her gifts was that she usually could figure out how to do something after watching it a few times.  She had tried with the children and knew that they were sleeping better.  She asked him to let her try her new gift.  Actually, she didn’t really ask.  She said she was going to do it whether he liked it or not, but his cooperation would certainly make it easier.  He could only laugh.  The word on the streets was correct.  She really did rule everything here.  Suddenly he was concerned.  He hadn’t slept in a long time.  What if when he finally did, he was out for a long time?  Could things go on without him?  Would someone assume that since he wasn’t available, the other side must have taken him out?  “Everything will be fine,” she said as she began the process.  Maybe it was just because he was getting so sleepy and she was speaking so tenderly, but he began to believe her, and then drifted off to sleep.  

He dreamed of Holly and saw the choice she had made in the hope of bringing peace.  She spoke to him and told him about the day she had looked into his eyes and knew that he was “the One”.  

He dreamed of the Premier and finally understood the role he had played in bringing Jameson to Cronolin.  The Premier told him that he alone held the power to unite his people.  

He dreamed of the Master.  At first it was disturbing dreams about his death, but then that melted away and the Master, whole, healthy, and very much alive stood before him.  He reassured Jameson, telling him that his death had not been painful.  He could not stop the men, but he could focus his own gifts enough that he would not feel the pain of what they did to him.  Jameson found great comfort in this.  It was still horrible, but at least the Master had not suffered.  

Then Jameson dreamed of Tiberius.  Tiberius did not speak to him directly, but Jameson sensed that he was sending energy his way.  Jameson saw himself and Tiberius, and another person he couldn’t identify standing on a hill.  They were looking across a burned and scarred valley, but as the sun rose they could see that people were already in the fields preparing them for planting.  Preparing for a new beginning.  

And then Jameson had a vision of how he could save his people.  He had known all along that it would involve this music that flowed freely from him and that he felt compelled to compose.  But now he saw the vehicle.  He saw the tools.  He saw what would actually need to happen to bring it to pass.  

A mere 36 hours was all Jameson needed to be able to awake refreshed and invigorated.  And from the moment he awoke, he ran.  He could not do enough fast enough.  He was patient with others, but held himself to a grueling schedule.  Sara still made him sleep occasionally, but a few hours was all he needed to be ready to tackle a new challenge.  

The composing was progressing at a remarkable rate.  Jameson had found 2 people to copy the parts for him and they could not keep up with how fast he could compose.  

There were still far too many children suffering and dying in their hospital, but the joy he radiated brought new hope and joy to everyone there.  

Jameson had finally convinced the warring parties to meet and discuss their issues.  He hosted and mediated the negotiations.  Surely they would find peace soon.

And then one afternoon, it fell apart.  One of the students found Sara in the hospital and said that something was very wrong with Jameson.  During the latest round of negotiations, he had suddenly stood up and demanded that everyone leave the room.  When they asked when they should return, all he said was, “Just go!” Jameson had then locked the door and for the last two hours had refused to open it, or talk to anyone.   

As far back as anyone could remember, the study door had never been locked.  Sara, was quite surprised that the antiquated lock still functioned.  Luckily, Sara had keys or access cards to everything in the building.  Since they hadn’t been signed out to her, technically she had stolen them.  But she used the rationale that in times like these it never hurts to be prepared and have access to whatever might be needed.  Sara tapped lightly on the door.  There was no response from inside.  The concerned friends and students in the hall each began to tell her their version of the story.  She asked them all to leave, and since everybody always does what Sara wants, they left without question.  Starting that rumor about herself had really worked to her advantage, even with her friends.  When the hall was finally empty, Sara removed the key from her pocket and quietly opened the door.  When Sara was frustrated or stressed, she liked to make the room as dark as possible and curl up in the big wing-back chair underneath her heavy comforter.  So she was surprised when she entered the room and found the curtains thrown back and Jameson standing in front of the window watching the people below him.  He had activated the system so that he could see out but people could not see in.  He didn’t move or even acknowledge her presence as she entered the room and walked toward him.  She wasn’t even sure that he knew she was there until she stood next to him and he began to speak. “Why can’t they get it?  Why can’t they see that there is another way?”  And finally he looked at her.  “I can’t do anything for these people.  They want me to decide who is right and who is wrong, when there isn’t a right or wrong.”  

Sara tried to reassure him.  “They come to you because they trust your judgement.  They know that one of your gifts is the ability to see things clearly.”

“It’s not a gift,” he replied.  “It’s a curse.  Do you have any idea what it is like?  Do you know what it is like to completely understand both sides of the issue.  I can see why Kantol is angry.  He feels like his people have been hurt and betrayed.  And his fear causes him to lash out at anyone who might try to hurt them again.  And I also understand Grekov’s pain and anger.  Did you know that it was his daughter that died in my arms that first day in the hospital?  And that his son was killed protecting his home when Kantol’s men seeking their revenge, attacked the city?  They are all hurt and angry and rightly so, but I can’t get them to see that the pain won’t stop unless they make the first move to stop it.  No one wants to take the chance that they may be hurt again.”  

They stood in silence for a few minutes.  Jameson began to talk again as he paced the room.  “I almost had Kantol convinced to give up the council chamber.  To let someone, anyone, go in and identify the dead.  I’ve only been contacted by 2 or 3 council members that managed to escape.  As for the others, we have no idea who is dead, and who was taken prisoner.  Kantol doesn’t even know, since groups are beginning to splinter off from his, and a few of those took prisoners with them.  Are they joining Grekov’s side or just adding another enemy to the pile?  We don’t know.  Did you know that Grekov’s wife had just been elected council woman from their district?  She was so excited for her first day at council.  Her first opportunity to really make a difference.  Her first day was the day of the attack.  Grekov doesn’t know if she’s dead or if she escaped, or if she’s being held prisoner and abused in some cave in the hills.

Kantol is a basically good man who is trying to do what he feels is right for his people.  Denying their district a representative in the council was not right and just added to the misunderstanding and hatred that had been bred into him.  Perhaps his grandfathers really were bad men out to cheat our world, but by ostracizing the entire community we helped create that hatred.  Kantol was taught that his people were betrayed.  And even Holly turned her back on them when they came to her for help.  But Kantol had a vision of a better way.  He was a great man trying to change his world for the better, and it was working with his people.  They were changing their attitudes about the rest of us.  He came in peace, asking to be admitted to the council.  And our council would not even dignify his request with a response.  A “peace keeping force” entered the inn where they were staying and “escorted” them out of town.  Many of the men were severely beaten and two of them died before they could return home.  What were his people supposed to feel?  Were they supposed to go on living their difficult lives out there alone when we had so much here?  Kantol could have been Grekov’s greatest ally instead of his worst enemy.  What am I supposed to do?  How do I make them understand the way I do?  What am I supposed to say?”

Sara knew that it was not a question she could answer, so she just stood there and waited with him as he thought.  After several minutes, he spoke again.
“Sara, I had a vision that I would be able to unite our people again, but I just don’t know how.  It seemed so clear and easy then. But the reality is that I’ve run out of things to say to bring them to the point where I can help them.”

“Then let me help,” Sara replied.

“I don’t know what you could do that would change anything.”

“Hey,” she said.  “Give me a little credit.  You don’t know half of what I can do, and maybe in that half is something that can move this process along.  Why don’t you just let me in on the big secret that you’ve been keeping from me for weeks, and then I let you know whether or not I can help you.”

“Sara…” he said.  “The music is the key.  If I can get them to the sanctuary and let them hear the music, it will happen.  I don’t really understand how, but I know that the music can tell them things that I cannot.  I need to get them there, but first I need to finish composing this work and find performers and rehearse it.”

“That’s it?” she said laughing.  "That’s all you need and you can save the world.  Why didn’t you ask me earlier?”

Jameson looked at her like she’d totally lost her mind.  How could she be making light of this?  

Sara saw his frustration, and suddenly was more serious  “Jameson, trust me on this on, OK.  With all you’ve been through and all that you know is coming, of course it seems overwhelming, but that is when you turn to others for help.  We live at a school of music Jameson.  Do you really think I’m going to have a difficult time finding performers?  Our musicians know you and trust you.  And they would sit next to their worst enemies if it meant having the opportunity to work with you.  I will find the performers and set up the rehearsals.  I even have a few things up my sleeve that may help in getting our target audience to come.  I can’t really do the composing for you, but I’ll be here to support you in any way I can.”

As Jameson listened to Sara’s offer of support, he found the inspiration for his next movement.  She was not disturbed at all when he walked away and sat down to compose.  He was doing exactly what he needed to do, and it left her free to begin the first steps of her plan.  

Several days later, Jameson asked Sara to meet him in his study.  He had finally completed the section that would be the central focus of this major work.  He wanted her to see it first.  As soon as she entered the room, he handed her the score.  He watched her as she read the music and imagined the sounds of the voices and instruments.   She struggled to remain in control of her emotions, but was swept away by the power of his portrayal of the causes of this war.  It was the stories he had told her about Kantol and Grekov, but in so much more depth.  When she finished reading the score, she felt as if she knew these people.  They could easily be her friends.  She loved them and cared about them.  She started to talk, trying to explain to Jameson what she was feeling, but he could tell just from looking at her.  

“It’s what we were hoping for, isn’t it?” he asked.  

“Yes, it is,” was all she could say.  

Jameson still had to organized and set an order to the things he had written, and of course there was some composing to link the sections that still needed to be done. But the hardest part of his job was done.  Now it was time for Sara to work her magic.  

A date was set for the performance.  Everyone knew that somewhere musicians were assembling to rehearse their parts, but the location of the rehearsals remained a secret known only to Sara and the musicians.  Sara had also taken great lengths to keep the content and themes of the work a mystery.  Sara had chosen her musicians very carefully, not only for their talent, but for the connections they had in the world.  Soon the whole planet was bubbling with news of this new mysterious work of Jameson’s.  The concert was free, but admission was by ticket only.  And nearly every ticket was taken on the first day they became available.  Sara had held back several tickets waiting to see if the leaders of the different factions would decided to come on their own, or if they would need encouragement.  Not one of them had asked for tickets, although Sara knew that members of their families would be there.  But Sara was not concerned.  It wasn’t a major obstacle.  It just meant moving on to plan B.  And as always, Sara had a back-up plan for everything.  

On the night of the concert, Jameson had only seen Sara for a few short minutes before she was called away to help with some final details of the seating arrangements.  He wished he had had more time with her.  He needed her calming presence.  He was experiencing the normal pre-preformance anxieties, but also was beginning to doubt that his music could really bring peace.  

He was especially disappointed that Kantol and Grekov would not be there.  He did, however, understand their reasons.  Both had sent messages explaining that they felt that the concert was a wonderful thing, and that they were sure that they would be safe once in the sanctuary, but were concerned about security and safety traveling to and from the concert.  Jameson understood.  In fact, he had also considered the risk his audience was taking.  He was fairly sure  that all would be safe once in the sanctuary, but there was no way  he could guarantee safe passage for anyone moving through the city towards the sanctuary.  Perhgaps the war had made him a pessimist, but he too was concerned that someones would see the parade to the sanctuary as an opportunity to take out the enemy.  Sara had assured him that all would be well.  

Sara opened the door and stuck her head in.  "Ready to go?" she asked.  

"I suppose," Jameson replied as he got up from his chair.

"It will be fine," she said as she straightened his tie.  

They walked in silence through the halls to the sanctuary.  At the door, she gave him a quick kiss and then slipped thorugh the door to take her place with the other musicians.  He took a few deep breaths as the orchestra tuned.  When the tuning ended, he straghtened his jacket and walked through the door to take his place at the podium.  He was greeted with thunderous applause and a standing ovation.  It was several minutes before the applause ended and Jameson could begin the music.  

It only took a few lines of music for Jameson to forget his anxieties and become completely immersed in the music.  The two hours flew by.  Soon the audience was on their feet again. Jameson and the soloists took several bows before leaving the stage for the last time.  It was nearly two hours later when Jameson shook the last hand and heard the last congratulatory praise.  He was still on an adrenaline high, and knowing that he wouldn't be able to fall asleep for quite awhile, he headed toward the children's wards.  He hoped that he could use his renewed energy and peace to help a few more children.  

Jameson was surprised, but pleased to find all the children resting peacefully.  "They've been like that for quite awhile now," said one of the attendants.  "It's been the calmest evening we've ever had," she added.  "By the way, how was the concert?"

Jameson told her that all had gone well and that the music had been well received.  As he spoke, it suddenly made sense to him.  "When did it happen?" he asked.

"What?"

"When did the children calm down?"

He was not surprised by her answer.  Shortly after the concert began, the children had started to settle down.  By the time the concert ended, event he worst cases were sleeping peacefully.  He checked on a few of the critical cases he had seen earlier in the day, hoping to find that they had been healed as well as calmed.  But sadly, other than the general improvement in their own healing energies, there had been little change.  Even that small change though, he considered a miracle.  

"There you are," said Sara, entering the room.  "I've been looking all over for you."

"I wanted to check on the children and see if there was anything I could do to help them tonight."

"It looks like they're all resting right now.  Come back later.  Right now, you need to come with me.  There is someone very important waiting in your office."

"You mean I didn't already shake the hand of every person on the planet?  It sure seemed like it."

She just laughed at him.  

"Who is it?"

"Just come and see.  I promise you'll be glad you did."

"Sorry it took me so long to find hum, but here he is," Sara said to the tall man looking out the window.  Althougth he had not seen him in years, Jameson had no trouble identifying the distinguished looking gentleman that turned to greet him.  

"And where did you find him?" Tiberius asked as he embraced his young friend.   

"I found him in our children's hospital," replied Sara.  

"You won't  believe what happened during the concert," said Jameson.   "I'm not sure why, but the calming most people feel at the sanctuary traveled beyond those walls.  During the concert, the children calmed down and were able to get to sleep.  I don't know why or how, but something amazing happened tonight."

"I have to agree," said Tiberius.  "The concert was wonderful."

"I had no idea you were her.  When did you get to Cronolin?  And why did you come?  I'm surprised that any ships could even land."

"I was worried about that, but had had less trouble than anticipated.  Holly wanted to be buried here, and I promised her that somehow I would bring her back after completing the negotiations on Tabaxal.  I was pleasantly surprised to learn of your concert when I arrived.  Sara was able to get me a place in the back."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Jameson asked Sara.  

"I asked her not to," said Tiberius.  "I didn't want to add any pressure or bring attention to myself."

Sara excused herself and left the two old freinds to talk.  They spoke of their work and their lives, and of moving on without Holly.  

Then Tiberius explained to Jameson what he had observed during the performance.  As the music began, Tiberius noticed a subtle glow in the walls of the sanctuary.  At first, he thought nothing of it, but as a similar glow enveloped Jameson, he recognized it as part of a familiar pattern.  Soon others, both musicians and audience members were glowing.  As the piece progressed, the glow intensified and spokes of light shot out linking the glowing bodies--audience members to musicians, musicians to other musicians, audience members to other audience members, and all in the room to Jameson.    And as all the light linked to Jameson, he was engulfed in a huge column of light that continued to grow and intensify throughout the concert.  The energy web was far more complex than what Tiberius had seen when observing Holly and the other women, but he had no doubt that it was the same process, multiplied by the number of people involved.  He listened and watched in awe, knowing that very few, if any, of the others were aware of what was really happening.  The first time he had experienced this, he had not seen it, but merely felt the final result.  Holly had taught him how to see it, and he had since witnessed it several times, but only when Holly worked with her circle.  He didn't have to long to wonder what the final result of this would be.  As the music reached its climax, the column of light around Jameson collapsed, creating a glowing pool of light that filled every space in the sanctuary.  Then like shock waves, the glow continued its outward motion, spreading far beyond the walls of the sanctuary itself.  As the audience erupted into applause, the glow in the sanctuary dimmed leaving only the individual glows of the people.  Tiberius left quickly and from a distance watched as the glowing individuals left to return to their homes.  Jameson't glow was still almost blinding.  

As Tiberius and Jameson talked about the war and about what had happened at the concert, they came up with a plan.  Meanwhile, Sara was with the musicians hatching a plan of their own.  By the time she saw Jameson and Tiberius the next morning, she had already worked out all the details.  

On the night of the second concert, Tiberius watched and listened from his ship in orbit over Cronolin.  He had wanted to experinece the music live again, but his curiosity about how the energy distribution would work this time won out, so he was observing via his communications and observation systems.  Several of the musicians had taken the music to their home communitites and recruited and rehearsed others for the performance.  In total, performers in 12 communitities spread across the planet would perform simultaneously with Jameson conducting them all via satellite link.  Tiberius had placed his ship in orbit over the capital city and the sanctuary.  He assumed, and rightly so, that this would be the area with the most intense, vibrant activity.  

Tiberius listened to the performance while watching the planet for change.  He was disappointed when he saw nothing out of the ordinary.  Perhaps he should have trained a few people to monitor events on the surface, but it was a little late for that now.  He checked the links to each of the performance sites and saw nothing unuaual.  Was the phenomenon not occuring this time, or was he merely unable to observe it through the links?  He finally decided that he could worry and fret, or he could let it go and allow himself to just experinece the beautiful music.  During the first performance, he had been so interested in what was happening with the energy web that he hadn't really listened to the music.  Now he realized just how brilliant and inspired Jameson had been in putting this work together.  He thought back to their first encounter when Jameson had been just a small child.  He'd shown extraordinary potential then, but Tiberius had never expected this.  But he really shouldn't have been surprised.  After all, it was Jameson's music that had brought Holly back when they all though she had been lost forever. 

As the climax neared, Tiberius looked out the window at the planet.  Small dots of light appeared at  each of the concert sites and then stretched forth spokes of light connecting each site to all of the others.  Soon the whole planet was aglow.  Then the energy dispersed into space.  Tiberius wasn't sure how far it traveled, but he had felt it in orbit.  He could hardly wait to get back to the surface and tell Jameson of their success.  

But Jameson didn't need Tiberius to tell him that it had worked.  Although he couldn't actually see the energy like Tiberius had, Jameson saw the change in his people.  No one was completely ready to give up the emotional baggage that had led them to war, but the concert left the people understanding each other better and more willing to sit down and quietly discuss the issues.  By the time Jameson returned to his studio, there were already several messages from people who were ready to negotiate a peace treaty.

Upon Tiberius' return tot he planet's surface, he was immediately recruited to lead the negotiations team.  It was what Tiberius did best, and Jameson jumped at the opportunity to use the best negotiator in the Federation to help bring peace to his world.  

It was not a short or easy process, but eventually a treaty was signed and people returned to their homes to prepare for the long hard winter that would soon be upon them.  Many would die that winter due to lack of food and shelter, but no one died alone.  Jameson heard stories of people sharing their last log or last loaf of bread with people that had previously been their enemies.  

Jameson helped where he could, coordinating shelters and the distribution of what little food was available.  Under ordinary circumstances, the Federation would have brought in supplies, but the Federation was dealing with its own problems.  Soon after the peace treaty was signed, Tiberius had been called away to help negotiate peace within the Federation.

Early in the spring, Jameson received a message from Federation headquarters that Tiberius and another high-ranking guest would be arriving shortly.  Although he was excited to see Tiberius again, he did not look forward to Tiberius seeing the waste and destruction of their planet.  He told this to Sara one evening as they ate dinner.  Ever the optimist, Sara quickly quieted his fears.  Yes, they would see the destruction and waste, but they would also see the hope and the people working together to rebuild their world.  

Tiberius and Jarom arrived late in the evening.  Sara met them at the spaceport and took them back to the music school.  "Jameson said to tell you that he was sorry that he could  not meet you himself tonight.  He was called away at the last minute.  I told him that I could take care of the other matter, but he's hopelessly commited to his people and feels he has to help them himself."  Sara explained that rooms had been prepared for them and that Jameson would see them at breakfast the next morning.

"How long will he be away?" Tiberius asked.  "We were hoping to see him as soon as possible."

"It shouldn't be more than a couple of hours," she answered.  

"Could we wait for him in the study?"

She said that that would be alright but warned them against keeping Jameson up too late.  "He gets little sleep as it is," she said.  "And he needs all the energy he can find for the things he must do during the day."  They promised to keep their meeting short, and she left them with drinks and sandwiches to consume while they waited.  

It was nearly three hours before Jameson returned, and Tiberius and Jarom filled the time sharing memories of the time they had spent in that study and on Cronolin much earlier in their lives.  They had spent years away from this place, but somehow, it always felt like home.  

Jameson walked through the door and began to greet Tiberius, but stopped short when he realized who the "high-ranking official" was.  His first official meeting with the Premier of the whole federation and here he was tired, sweaty and dirty--not a great way to make a good first impression.  But Jarom quickly set him  at ease and they began the discussion for which these men had traveled so far.

Tiberius had informed the Premier of the huge success of the concerts and the progress that the people of Cronolin were making in rebuilding.  The Premier wanted to try a much bigger linked concert and see if it could help heal the negative feelings of the Federation and set them on path to peace.  At first, Jameson was overjoyed; but then he realized now many of his key people would be traveling to far away places to prepare for the concert--people that were desperately needed to rebuild the buildings and plant the fields of Cronolin.  It seemed selfish to say that his people were needed on Cronolin.  He thought it would be like saying that Cronolin was more important than the whole Federation.  His internal debate did not last long.  Tiberius explained that they had already recruited several individuals to come to Cronolin to learn the music and then teach it to the musicans on the many worlds that would participate.  This plan would take a little longer, but no one wanted to add further burdens for the people of Cronolin.

They worked out the details, and then the conversation turned to more personal things.  Several hours later, Tiberius glanced at the clock.  "Sara's not going to be happy.  We promised to let you get to sleep, and here it is almost morning."

Jameson laughed.  "Well then, I guess we'll all just have to do what I do when I know Sara's going to yell at me--stay out of her way and make sure she can't find you."

Jarom and Tiberius laughed.

"Why don't I show you what we've been working on," said Jameson.

Jarom and Tiberius followed Jameson throught the dimly lit streets to the edge of town.  They passed buildings that had been repaired just enough to get through the winter.  They saw buildings that had been totally destroyed, but also saw evidence that people had begun to sift through the rubble, reclaiming anything of value.  They saw buildings in the early stages of being rebuilt. They left the town and followed a muddy road out into the countryside.  Jameson then led them to the top of a hill.  

As they watched, the sun rose, illuminating the valley below--a valley burned and scarred by war.  But that was not all they saw.  To the south, they saw a newly constructed house and barn.  And in the fields below, people were preparing the soil for planting.  The three men stood in silence, viewing the destruction of the past and looking forward with hope to the future they would help create.  

© Jeannine Robinett