Dreams help me understand myself

The great Taoist master Chuang Tzu once dreamt that he was a butterfly fluttering here and there. In the dream he had no awareness of his individuality as a person. He was only a butterfly. Suddenly, he awoke and found himself laying there, a person once again. But then he thought to himself, "Was I before a man who dreamt about being a butterfly, or am I now a butterfly who dreams about being a man?"

Rarely do dreams mean literally what they convey. Recently I have been having dreams…and it has me pondering what they mean.

In these last years, I have had to adjust myself to my adult daughters' independence from me. It is hard for parents to realize that we have to let our children leave the nest and make their own decisions. I remember all 3 of our little girls as being very compliant and very easy to love.... always trying to make us happy and they each had a good conscience.  Then, (insert Theme to Jaws music here)….they became a teenagers. For those few years in high school, I became the “worst mother” because I wouldn’t allow them to do everything some of her friend’s parents would allow.  For one whole year, one of our daughters and I communicated via letters and notes, because we could not communicate face to face without one of us breaking down into tears.  She felt I didn’t understand her, and I felt like she didn’t understand me. Thank God for her father, who was the one she would run to and cry on his shoulder during this time.  When they went to college, my daughters began to like me again.  I began to like them too.  They turned to me for advice.  I respected their choices, because they were able to explain to me why they had chosen certain things for themselves. I learned to hold my tongue, and understand that each one needed time to figure out who she was without my judgments. It’s hard to be a mom and not judge. All their growing up years that was my “job”; to decide for her what was right, this involved constantly making judgments.  I didn’t realize that that was what I was still doing as they grew up and needed more independence. I was doing it in less overt ways. (Moms can be sneaky like that!) Let me say, that thankfully those years are way past us now.  For a while last year, my oldest daughter and I would meet regularly for a walk around Al Lopez park, and it was during one of those walks that I realized how far she and I had come.  We enjoy doing things together again; I  now can confide in her, she  has confided in me.   Each one of my daughters is not like me at all, and I am happy about that, because it is in how each one is different that  I have found our friendship.  I am interested in their goals, in their relationships, in their humor, in their viewpoints….and I am happy that they gave me the time I needed to be able to love them  for who they are still becoming.
I need to let each of my daughters come into being; to be reborn; and my dreams have  possibly been nudging me,  that in letting them arrive at their place in life without my constant interference, I am able to appreciate their uniqueness and thier preciousness.

Zac's story of how he came into our world, as told by his toy worm.

I found this story that I wrote for his first birthday in this journal (see pic above) that I kept for the first year of Zac's life.
 Zac still has this toy worm...sits on his
clothes dresser now with other fluffy favorite animals that he loves.

WORMY GOES TO THE HOSPITAL

Zachary’s story of how he came into our world, as told by his toy worm.

By: Your mommy, Carmen Cayon

Revised 2006, from the original written 2002.

I once was a regular kind of worm….colorful, small and soft enough for little hands to hold me.  I waited for those little hands on top of a tall, new, white dresser; waiting for March.  I knew that soon Zac would play with me!

            As we got close to March, Mommy put me in a bag, the one with all the essentials that a new baby would need. I nestled on the very top!

            That day arrived quickly. I was taken into a recovery room in the hospital.  I waited for your crib to be brought to us in that room.  I could hear the sounds of the wheels of the crib, as they scooted you into our lives on that Friday night, on March 9^th.

We were in for a long night….you didn’t breathe too well.  Mommy and Daddy were up all night, the nurse said it was “normal”, so we didn’t worry.  You were up all night.  I watched you as you looked at your mommy’s face; she couldn’t stop looking at you either.  We just couldn’t believe how beautiful you were!

In the morning, Mommy put you and me back into the crib, as they wheeled you to be circumcised.  Later, they took us again to remove a small growth from your left hand.  I didn’t realize that when we were being taken from our room where Mommy was resting, that we wouldn’t see her again for such a long time.

We were on a new journey!  The corridor was long, the lights were bright, you did not seem happy when they unwrapped you and put you under a new type of light.  Many eyes peered at you and many hands probed you.  I was tucked under your blanket for a while so I couldn’t see what other things they did to you. But I could hear you, and I knew that you wanted to back to our room with Mommy.  How I wished I had long legs, or perhaps wings, that I could scoop you up and take us both back to our warm room on the third floor.  But I just have stubby feet and I don’t have wings.  I only had my colors to keep you happy and my soft body for you to rest your little hand on.  Which you did!

Many very important people came to talk about you, they seemed important because they all had tags and funny looking hats and long cords hanging off them.  They spoke in important voices and looked at you with such important glances.  I wanted to tell them how special you were.  You were not just any baby, you were Zachary Andrew Cayon!  I wanted to tell them how long we had waited for you, how I had guarded your dresser, right next to the shiny toy car and the white rocking horse!   I wished they knew how many people had planned for your arrival and how your three sisters, Cristie, Caren, and Catie were probably anxiously waiting to hold you….I wanted desperately for them to take us back to our family.

After many, many hours, they finally left you alone.  They put me right next to you, so when you turned your face you could see me and all my bright colors. Did you like the colors Zac?  I tried to make them as bright as I could…to cheer you up!  We were both sleeping when Mommy and Daddy were finally allowed to see us.  The medication they gave you made you sleepy.  I saw Mommy get close to our special crib and lean over, she studied your face and as she whispered your name, you opened your eyes and turned them in her direction. Did you see her tears, Zac? She tried to stop them, but they were falling too fast.  I could tell that Daddy really wanted to hold you, but all he could do was caress your back.  He didn’t know how to touch you, afraid that you might be in some kind of pain.  You were attached to so many tubes and you had a respirator that made a very scary noise.  We could tell that you were crying because of the expression on your face…but there was no sound coming out of your throat!

The next day we were taken to a different kind of room. They called it the “operating” room.  On the way there, Mommy and Daddy were waiting for us in the corridor; the same long, bright corridor that we had passed the day before.  They wanted to touch you, but the doctors were in a hurry.   Mommy and Daddy quickly walked next to us and stroked your back gently. At the end of the corridor were a big pair of double doors with a sign that read, “Doctors only”, Mommy and Daddy blessed you and saw us disappear into the next corridor.     We were now on our way to the room where the important looking people were all assembled.  It was so noisy in there.  People were all prepared for your arrival.  Your name was on everything. There were shiny objects, things that moved back and forth, surfaces that were polished to a shine that I had never seen!  But there were no bright colors, I was the only one!  I was there like a beacon for you, reminding you that soon we’ll be back in the warm room that we had come from.  Did you see me then, Zac?

Finally, after 5 hours, they finished their work on you!  I was so happy that it was over.  No one seemed to notice me Zac…only you did!  I was happy that for once I was not just a regular worm, I was an extraordinary wormy, because I comforted you during those first few days, when Mommy and Daddy weren’t able to!

We spent many days in a place called “NICU”.  Sometimes you would hug me; sometimes the nurses would put me on your back. Mommy thought this was so cute!  One time the nurses couldn’t believe how you would find me and use me to cuddle, so they took a picture of us like this, to show your Mommy and Daddy.  I was so happy that you found me during those lonely times in the NICU, when no one else was allowed in to see us.

When we finally went home, I could not believe what happened!  Mommy did not put me back on the dresser. She did not want me there any more, no sir!  Now I was able to sleep right next to you in your little bassinet.  I traveled with you in your diaper bag, when we went for doctor’s visits.  I even got a new wormy friend, one that takes over for me when I get dirty and need to be washed.

Five years has now passed and some would say you are too old for me.  But I don’t think so; I don’t believe that you can ever outgrow the love of a colorful friend who will look out for you.  I may not be able to fly, or sing, or even dance, but I will always be near you, Zac.  The time may come when one day, you will put me away on a shelf, if that happens, that’s ok.  I know that I have given you my best and I hope my bright colors will remind you of all the bright colors the world has yet to offer you!

Happy 5^th birthday Zac…..I love you!

A Sacred Pause

As a butterfly pauses, she is also nourished by the sweet nectar she lives for.  So too, God renews us with sacred pauses where we can find the spiritual nectar we live for.

The worst part was not knowing what was wrong with our 10 year old son. After many, many tests, we now know what Zac’s health problem is. He has gastro paresis, probably contracted through a virus, and after 4 days in the hospital, he is home. We are figuring out what meds will keep him pain free until he is over this “critical stage” and what diet he can tolerate until his stomach is functioning again.

As his mom, I have been busy for over a month now, taking him to specialists, going to pharmacies, doing research, talking to nutritionists, health professionals, trying to figure out what is best for our skinny little boy who has been in constant pain for a month, was losing about 1 pound a week (although he was eating) and preferred to be in bed, instead of outside playing, just hanging around the house so lethargically. When I compare him now to the active and strong (although skinny) kid he has always been, I feel sad. His life, for now, has changed.

There have been moments when I have paused, and focused on our blessings. I am thankful and aware that this illness, with no known cure could go away on its own, so I pray that it does. I am also aware that there are worse illnesses he could have, so a part of me feels guilty that I am worrying so much.

Today I woke up; I have been gripped by sadness. Why? He’s going to be fine. He is under great care with a competent gastroenterologist. I am surrounded by good friends and an awesome family who are very supportive. Maybe I am emotional because I’m a “girl” and that’s how we tend to be wired. (That is such a stereotype, I know!) Maybe it’s because I’m weak and I am struggling to find that “real” faith to sustain me. Maybe I just fear the unknown. This is what has been floating through my head all morning, as I have tried to concentrate on my work.

Then I came across this while reading in the Holy book of Psalms:

“… I was hard pressed and falling, but the Lord came to my help.

The Lord, my strength and might, came to me as savior.

The joyful shout of deliverance is heard in the tents of the victors….

The stone the builders rejected has become the cornerstone.

By the Lord has this been done; it is wonderful in our eyes.

This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad.”

Ok, I see now.... there is no shame in how I am feeling. It’s ok to say “I feel sad”. This is what it is all about when one has true and active faith. The psalmist obviously was trying to console God’s chosen people with the truth of God’s promise, and today he consoled me. We are not be mere spectator’s…we are called to lean into our fears and know that God is right there with us. Some people say a day like today is God’s way of testing my faith…no, I don’t believe this is a “test”. Simply, it is about learning to love God in a new way. Today God is asking me to stop for minute and learn to love him more.

Loving God is about my willingness to face my fears and be in touch with my emotions. It would be wrong for me to ignore this sadness that seems to be creeping into my heart today. I must feel it and live it, knowing that that is where God is. It is about embracing our low points as well as the high points. Feeling sad, is not a test of my faith, nor is it having weak faith. Thanks to the psalmist I now understand my emotion is God’s personal invitation to be one with him in a sacred pause.

God's message through the pane

God's message for me came through the pane, and sometimes it comes through my pain too.

A blanket of moist haze was draping itself across the dawn of a new day as I drove to the hospital Thursday. Zac and his daddy had spent the night together in room 812, and this would be the morning that Zac would have an endoscopy, one of many tests, to find what has been causing him so much pain for the last 3 weeks.  I walked into his room on the very top floor, to find Zac awake and excited to tell me he had been looking outside his window and was fascinated watching how lighting could turn huge grey rolling clouds into glowing white clouds.

At 10 that morning, I found myself sitting in the chapel. Zac had just been taken in for the test and we were asked to wait outside. Instead of going to the waiting room, I walked away; I needed a quiet place…too much to think about.

The room was empty, except for a woman who was devotedly reading some prayer book. I found that my mind was too tired and too anxious to turn inward and pray.  Graphic messages surrounded me, inviting me to trust, to have hope, to be open to love. Somehow those images were not enough to inspire me to trust, hope or love.  The visual chaos of this space was overwhelming. My brain began to operate in my analytical mode and I started critiquing the interior environment. I realized I was wearing my “programming analyzer” hat and focused harder to find my inner place where I could contemplate Peace. I closed my eyes for a bit, and then opened them again.

That’s when I became aware of the glass paneled walls; they had been veiling themselves by transforming into thin irregular vertical ribbons with the help of falling raindrops outside.  The mist forming on the other side of the glass seemed to be grasping at the window panes, creating a beautiful broken image of Nature. It was compelling to look at; as compelling as the intricately painted icon of Jesus on a cross, which hung boldly on the main wall symbolizing sacrificial love; even more captivating than the colorful artistic interpretations of the Stations of the Cross that recalled an Easter story of love, sacrifice and redemption. This place would be most successful had it capitalized on the simplicity of the views beyond I concluded.  My heart desired that I rest my eyes a while on those blurred images framed within each pane; like new eyes each pane of glass allowed me to experience a peaceful affirmation of the Unknown; an experience with the mystery of hope.  Gazing at the abstract forms, enjoying the vibrancy of the moist, cool, shades of green, noticing the wet droplets that softly were falling and nourishing life, well, it felt good, it felt right.  It was the message I needed to dwell upon.  Nourishment…God is life!

Isn’t it wonderful when clouds, lightening, and rain, can be such meaningful expressions of God’s presence; an affirmation that He is there. Even in the anxiety of your existence, even when you find it hard to pray, all we have to do is look around and find Him. He is never distant.  Zac naturally found him in the mighty lightening that morning. I found him too, through the pane.

Reflecting on being a mom

I love this kid and am so thankful that God allows me the chance to be his mom.  What a gift...to be a mother to a little boy! It isn't always easy, but I would not trade my vocation for anything in the world!

“She has built something more

magnificent than any cathedral –

a dwelling for an immortal soul,

the tiny perfection of her baby’s body…

“The angels have not been blessed with such a grace.

They cannot share in God’s creative miracle to

bring new saints to Heaven. Only a human mother can.

Mothers are closer to God the Creator than any other creature;

God joins forces with mothers in performing this act of creation…

“What on God’s good earth is more glorious than this; to be a mother?”

by Cardinal Mindszenty

A pause to reflect on what I have learned so far

 When I began as Director last year, I was warned by some people that I may lose my spirituality by taking on this role. The power to conform to "old ways of doing things" was overwhelming. I realized how difficult it is for some people to risk doing things in a new way. Throughout this past year, I have pondered these challenges and  I have found that I have grown in ways I would not have expected. I have not lost my spirituality; if anything, I have transformed in it, and continuing to relearn who I am and to trust where God is leading me.
This past year, I experienced how God has called me in a new way to the RCIA ministry and how he has allowed me the opportunity to live out my faith in a better way with fellow Christians. I have learned to listen more and to forgive more often.
I have been affirmed in how important liturgy is to my spiritual process, to keep me hopeful as I contemplate the Paschal mystery and to understand that our work is to be made public.
Other things that have been affirmed in me throughout the challenges of this past year:

• Revelation is an invitation to have a relationship with God
• Faith is our commitment to that invitation
• We are called to be translators
• We are called to share our faith
• We must have patience
• We must take care of our selves
• We help people discover the holy and sacred in them.
1. All of God’s creation is redeemed
2. Find God in all things
• We are not to smother Pentecost.
• By coming off the mountain…means going into the communities.
• We are all called to serve(deaconate)
• Mystegoia-we are called to be a ministering church
• The church model is circles-there was no master plan….Jesus laid the foundation to the church, but it was founded by the apostles. We are called to know and to respond to our communities' needs.
• Enthusiastic-en theos….to be spirit filled. Our ministry should be spirit filled
• Fear is not a gift of the Spirit.