Seeing

I just heard this Thomas Merton quote on FosterPodcast.com:

“We receive enlightenment only in proportion as we give ourselves more and more completely to God by humble submission and love. We do not first see, then act; we act, then see. It is only by the free submission of our judgment in dark faith that we can advance to the light of understanding. And that is why the man who waits to see clearly before he will believe never starts on the journey.”  

I'm not really familiar with Merton, but it seems like I should learn more.

Dream children

For Papa D's Eyes Only

The question

Will I accept awareness of suffering, my own and others, and allow it to open for me the path of compassion?

Transitions

This report is long overdue.  Several weeks ago, I was able to take Baby E to St. Paul's for the first time.  Papa D had work commitments, and I was wanted to go to church.  It was a very different experience.

First of all, I felt much less self-conscious.  My attention was primarily focused on my toddler, making sure that he was happy and behaving well.  Boy, did that feel a lot more comfortable than sitting there alone.  While I know that my general discomfort stems mostly from my race, I didn't feel that I was more comfortable because of E's race.  As is usual, I didn't get a feeling that people were noticing E's brownness. Seriously, do I have terrible radar for this sort of thing?  Am I clueless?  Or is it really not happening?  (Maybe I could do an experiment and walk around with E and an friend who is of color, and see if my friends notices any vibes.) I mean, E is ambiguously brown, but he is brown.  Papa D thinks that E really "reads" as Latino, so maybe the congregation members didn't identify with E.

Second, it was just overall a lovely experience.  The pastor called E and I up to the front of the church (what do you call that area with the little banister and cushions for kneeling?) for the Blessing on the Children.  The congregation does this blessing every week, whether there are children present or not.  After the pastor said a blessing over E, then another member of the congregation said a prayer for children everywhere. I came very close to almost speaking, because I felt the Spirit inside me as I realized that it was Orphan Sunday. I was in the middle of a month-long campaign to honor National Adoption Month by educating people about the plight of orphans.  It crossed my mind that a prayer said, in this Christian church, for orphans could have a greater resonance...but I didn't have the courage to speak, and the Spirit wasn't urgent.  I think I knew that our prayers were enough already.

I did feel as if people were even warmer than usual to me.  I had an adorable baby with me, so that just made everything so much more pleasant. My overwhelming memory of the morning was sitting in the pew, nursing E, with the sun streaming through the windows.  I felt like I was bathed in a halo of light.  It was magical.  (And far outweighs the later experience of rushing him out, jiggling him, playing with him in the foyer, taking him outside because he wouldn't hush up during the Word.)

It's interesting to think now that may have been my last day at St. Paul's, a capstone to my six-month journey with them.

I'm now thinking that I'm going to step back from my quest for a spiritual community for a while.  The main reason I am going to stop making church a high-priority for my weekend schedule is that it puts a wedge between my husband and I.  Because it's not something we do together, it pulls me away from him and our marriage.

This seems like the right time, because the pastor announced that she is leaving the congregation due to medical issues.  The transition allows me a graceful exit.

I feel comfortable with this decision because I do feel I have gotten some of what I was searching for:

• A renewed feeling of connection to the divine, 
• A way of getting through the tough times of my former job and layoff, 
• A deepened understanding of African-American culture, 
• Some initial ties into the African-American community in my town, and 
• The experience of being in the minority.   

I feel that I still have St. Paul's as a resource, if I or Baby E need it, but that it's not the right focus for my time and energy right now.

I don't know yet whether this means I will reduce - even further - the postings on this blog.  I am interested in occasionally attending the UU church, when particular topics seem to be of interest to our family, and in exploring other churches in the area.  Perhaps I can journal about those experiences.  Or perhaps I will continue to have thoughts about mothering, race, adoption, and spirituality that I want to record for posterity.

History lesson

I started reading Shannon LC Cate's blog long before I ever had a son with African heritage, and today I thought I'd look up her recommendations for Books Every White Parent of a Black Child Should Read.  (BTW, Love Isn't Enough is a very helpful resource in general.)  I'm not sure whether I have access to those books, because our small-town library in a majority-white county isn't that strong on African-American titles.  But I could try the college library, then I'd just have to find the time to read them!  In the meantime, I'm actually considering whether I could take the Intro to African American Studies course at the local college....

Meant to be

I just came across this very interesting blog (in general, check it out), and the three posts about whether adoption is "meant to be."

You know that I've struggled with exactly this issue, and these discussions raise a lot of important questions for me.

Is there a way that we could say that of all the adoptive parents possible, we were meant to be Baby E's, as opposed to he was meant to be our son (and hence the wrong tummy problem)?  This reminds me of the linguistic difference that I make - I don't call Baby E my adopted son, I say I am his adoptive mother.  We don't say he was adopted, we say we adopted him.  I want the focus to be on me and my life, not him.

I do believe in the sanctity of Mama B's choice.  I have absolute faith in her.

Here's the first post, second, and third. Read the comments, they're amazing!

Bearing a load

This morning, our whole family - Papa D, Baby E, and me - went to church together!  It was just like I dream of.  We all got dressed up and walked the half-block to the Unitarian Universalist church.  We were warmly greeted and have acquaintances among the congregation.

The service was a "Celebration of Death and Life," led by a mother/artist (who is a certified leader of Dances of Universal Peace).  The chairs were in a circle around an altar swathed in gold fabric and covered with fall leaves.

The most striking thing about the experience was how comfortable I felt.  The people were are liberal-types like us, the language was all "inclusive."  I don't mind doing "movements" while we sing, or walking up to the altar to add my leaf to the basket in memory of a loss.  It was like being let out of a cage.

On the other hand, the service - while it had a bunch of nice elements - had no power.  It was like going through the motions, so dry.  This is the usual criticism of  UU, and sadly it was the case yesterday.

But it must have been working below the service - I mean it was a service about death, and my mother's loss still smarts, and I've been to three memorial services in the last six months - because by the end, I was moved.  I cried during the final verse of "Lean On Me:"

If there is a load you have to bear

That you can't carry

I'm right up the road

I'll share your load

Mmmmm

I no longer work upstairs in the guest room, we moved my office to the back of the house downstairs.  So Baby E sees me first thing he gets in the house, and no longer does that wonderful running, laughing up the stairs to see me thing.  

So I have a new favorite part of the day.  At about 6am, he wakes up to eat and I bring him into bed to nurse.  We snuggle under the covers, with our arms and legs intertwined, and he sleeps so peacefully (unlike all of the gymnastics he used to do when he slept with us all night).  I love it.  It's perfect.

Good news

I'm happy to say that Baby E picked up right where he left off with nursing.  If anything, he seemed more voracious over the weekend (at least my sensitive sore nipples think so) - trying to make up for lost time?

Kindred spirits

Heather at Production, Not Reproduction blogs about open adoption and multiracial families, and I really appreciate her perspective.  She also hosts the Open Adoption Roundtable, which is an amazing resource.  (Recently she's also been posting vegetarian recipes, so it's like a trifecta!) Imagine my pleasant suprise when she posted about her family attending the local AME Zion church.  It's interesting to me to think about the differences of visiting as a whole family, with her child of color, compared to me, who goes alone as a white woman. Nonetheless, we are walking similar paths, or different paths in the same direction.

Unmerited favor

Even though I only make it there about once a month, I am continuing to feel it is a meaningful experience for me. It keeps me thinking about the African-American experience – historically and in the present-day – and makes me feel more “legitimate” as the mother of a child with African heritage.

I am continually touched by the warm welcome that the members of the congregation give me. It is yet another instance of acceptance that I have recently experienced in my life. I previously wrote about the profound experience of E’s perfect love, but I’ve realized that I didn’t delve deeply enough into the transformative effects of the adoption experience on my self-esteem.

It has been over a year and half since were chosen by E’s birthmother, and I still marvel at it. What did she see in us that would make her think we deserved such a profound gift? I feel so flawed and unworthy. I can’t say enough how amazing she is to us. On Mother’s Day, she wrote to us thanking us for being “the best” parents.

Both her loving treatment of us and E’s perfect love seriously challenge my lack of self-worth. It is giving me the inkling of the possibility that I am not so unworthy after all.

You hear the word bandied about, but I think this might be the meaning of the word GRACE. Wikipedia says that “In Christianity, grace is ‘unmerited favor’ from God (Ephesians 2:8-9).” And that exactly how I feel – as if B’s and E’s favor is unmerited by me.

When you add to this the touching generosity of the members of St. Paul’s AME Zion, I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed with grace these days.

Asking why

I think I have written previously about the idea that “there is a baby meant for us.” This phrase was shoved by our throats by the Christians surrounding us at our adoption agency, so we really fought it. It’s a case of the message being lost because of the messenger.

This meant that we couldn’t find comfort in the idea of God’s plan during our adoption process. I tried to find meaning during the down periods:

- Why were we matched with a situation only to have the baby be stillborn? The answer I cam e to was that we were meant to help the expectant mother in her time of need, before baby Adam died.

- Why were we used by a mother who never meant to place? It’s hard to find solace from this experience, but it did help me learn more about my mother’s experience during my childhood.

As I reassess the adoption experience with the idea that our long wait and disappointments were a part of our path to E, I think about whether those challenges were destined to happen and how they were an important part of our experience.

If so, that means that in both my path to parenthood and my career path, I’ve had recent experiences with difficult challenges followed by amazing rewards. Is this a typical way that God(dess) works?

Regardless, it is clear to me that God(dess) has been working wonderful things into my life. I feel so fortunate and blessed. I’ve actually become a bit superstitious – while my experience of attending church is a bit ambivalent right now, I’m afraid to stop going because such good things have happened to me while I have been a guest there.

I still don’t know how strongly I am being drawn to the Christian church – even as the new pastor has been urging me to deepen my commitment. A good friend has encourage me to meet with the pastor and explain my path to her, so that she knows where I am coming from.

Everyday miracle

In particular, my main client – who provides me with a steady half-time income – is such a blessing! My colleagues are wonderful, making the long commute to the office worthwhile. We wear shorts and t-shirts, play with dogs in the office, and have excellent coffee (and a microwave, unlike my last office)!

This client has taken me away from home for four nights this week, the first time I’ve been away from Baby E overnight. I think it’s been rougher for him and Papa D than for me. The only concession I have had to make is pumping two to three times a day.

My main concern is how this separation will affect our nursing relationship. My fear, of course, is that E will wean himself in my absence. I feel that would be such a shame, because we are having a lovely time right now. After so much stress and anxiety about building my milk supply, it’s so nice to have abandoned the bottles and let go of the fistfuls of pills taken each day and stop worrying about clocking my nursing sessions and the time between them. The biggest change is that I am no longer having to pump!!

Nowadays, I simply have enough milk for all of E’s needs. Whenever he wants to nurse, we nurse, for as long as he wants to. I’m not pushing him to nurse or pushing him to wean. I’m just enjoying this lovely interlude – between the challenging first year of nursing and the day when he weans.

On Monday morning, E’s morning nursing seemed different. He lay tucked under my arm, with my nipple in his mouth, not sucking voraciously as he usually does. Instead, he was wide-eyed and calm. I realized that this could be the last time he ever nurses.

I would be sad if he weans during this week, but I won’t be devastated. I’ve had a rewarding 14 and a half months. I achieved my goal of nursing for a year, and every day past that has been a special blessing. Especially when you consider that adoptive breastfeeding is a (medical) miracle in the first place.

Photo by Raphael Goetter

Living dream

Have I told y’all how much I love my job? I really feel like I’m LIVING THE DREAM. Working from home and setting my own schedule are totally wonderful for me. I sometimes hear from others that they wouldn’t want to work for themselves, but I think I’ve wanted this for a decade. The interest got more intense four years ago, when we moved to Small Town USA. And now I feel so fulfilled.

It’s not challenge-free – I’m very anxious about funds, about keeping clients happy, about marketing my services, and about maintaining my self-discipline. But I love the challenges, I feel capable of meeting them and it is energizing for me to set my skills against this situation.

I feel strongly that this is what I am meant to be doing now. Deep inside, I know that God(dess) made this happen for me. It seems clear to me that the bad job and the layoff were laying the groundwork for me to be willing to make this huge step in my career – a step I wasn’t willing or able to make at previous points in my life. It’s also obvious to me that I was given wonderful opportunities that made this possible.

This experience has made me feel that God(dess) has a plan for me, for our family. And I am reconsidering our whole adoption experience. While I haven’t seen any clear signs that Baby E was meant to be in our family, it seems clear that there is synchronicity at work. Every aspect of our match, placement, and ongoing relationship with E’s birthfamily has been smooth sailing – and honestly exceeded our wildest dreams.

There is certainly no question that E is the most wonderful baby in the world and that we couldn’t be happier with him. I believe that someday, as we learn more about his personality and his path in life, we will learn why we were chosen for him.

Why I became a mother

aby E is becoming a big boy, walking and "talking" (with sign language). At every age, I feel like "This is my favorite age." It just keeps getting more and more fun.

The happiest moment of my day is when Baby E gets home from daycare and sees me and runs toward me and is so excited to see me he laughs his little head off.

As he toddled toward me this weekend, with a huge smile on his face, I was struck by a realization.

This is why I became a mother. I wanted to be loved like this.

I have loved many children, but it was always colored with sadness and regret. I was never as important to those children as they were to me. I was just the older sister who left for college before they can remember, the aunt who lived 3,000 miles away, the godmother who moved away, or just some random adult.

Being loved by a baby is the experience that I have been dreaming of. I am perfect in his eyes - he doesn't see my wrinkles, plus sized clothes, undereye circles or other flaws. He doesn't know about my tendency to procrastinate, criticize or other character defects. When he looks at me, I feel perfect and perfectly loved.

Walk of shame

Yesterday, we had to walk past church, just as it was letting out. It was Papa D and his parents with me. I haven't been to church in weeks, so it was all the more embarrassing. I have to get back...this weekend.

Warm season

Wowie-zowie, the new pastor is good! She's not as forceful throughout the service, and she doesn't have as good a singing voice as the last pastor, but her sermon - about Blind Faith - was awesome. And it was followed by a really amazing and powerful blessings - everyone (except me) goes up to the front of the church and the pastor lays hands on and prays for each person.

You could really feel Spirit moving. I've only experienced that in church a few times before. In this particular instance, I was observing but wasn't a part of it.

However, I did feel more a part of the community in general. I was warmly welcomed by several of the members. And my friend invited me to sit with her, so I was surrounded by "Amens" and "Mm-hmms" during the sermon.

The new pastor also took the time to talk to me after the service, and she enthusiastically invited me to bring Baby E. I'd like to bring him at some point - partly to give Papa D a Sunday morning break and partly to show off my precious boy. But I find myself a bit reticent right now.

In the beginning, there was a part of me that wanted to bring Baby E to give myself some legitimacy for being at a black church. Even though I don't think it would have worked that way. I don't think most of the congregation members would really understand why I want to participate in my son's cultural heritage (heck, my highly-educated husband doesn't really understand). But now, I feel I am being accepted for myself, and I don't want to be written off, my motives questioned.

For now, I just want to enjoy the embrace of the community, the bounty of summer, and my newfound freedom in my career/life.

Sorry!

I started this post two weeks ago, but then got busy preparing for vacation. We were gone all last week visiting my family, and now I'm in the midst of a busy week at work (more on that later!).

Here's the news from church:

The Pastor's last Sunday was upbeat and fast-paced. A number of visitors came to see him off and speak their thanks to him. There's a fair amount of variation in attendees from week to week, I have noticed. In the four weeks I have attended, it seems approximately half of the faces are new. And, interesting to me, there is a church member who keeps attendance in a log. I'm not sure I've ever seen that at a church before. Is this common?

The big news is that the new pastor is a woman! I'm very interested to see how this affects the dynamic of the service. I had been kind of grooving on the male pastor, but hadn't yet formulated any real thoughts on the matter. I wondered how a male pastor and a "male" god were going to affect my sense of spirituality. The outgoing pastor really fulfilled my stereotype of a "black preacher," so I'm very curious to see what the woman is like.

In career news, it is a banner week. I've started a consulting contract that means I can start my own business and be my own boss. (I've also got another client, and more prospective gigs that I am cultivating.) I'll be working from home, which will give me much more time for my family and my hobbies.

I feel like I'm living my dream - I'm so energized about my career again. Everything is exciting, from the commute to the new gig to buying paperclips. I'm especially enjoying planning my home office, which we've decided to locate in the "four-seasons" room just off our kitchen. It gets lots of sun, but most importantly has a separate heating system to keep bills lower in winter.

Up

I haven't had time to write here, because I'm not stuck in an office all day anymore. After a few days of angst, I was able to accept this time as an unplanned summer "staycation." I've been walking every day, getting lots of sun (for the Vitamin D), and cooking again. I visit Baby E at his daycare at midday to nurse him and sometimes I bring him home for the rest of the day. I'm seeing friends that I never have time to see and just generally enjoying life outside of the daily grind. It sure is nice to NOT drive for 2 hours a day!

When I do get to my computer, I'm focused on the job hunt and feel like this journal is a guilty indulgence.

But, after a too-long hiatus, I did manage to get back to church on Sunday, and I can't help but record the experience. It was nice to be back, felt comfortable, and I was pleasantly surprised to see a woman from one of my networking groups sitting in the front pew. I opened the bulletin, and there was her name - she's the secretary for the church.

The reading and sermon were on the topic "The Wisdom of Waiting on God." Obviously a topic of interest to me. The pastor spoke of the inherent value of waiting, of being open-hearted and patient. I interpreted his sermon to mean that there are good times for things to happen in your life, and you may not know when that time is. Just because you want something to happen NOW, doesn't mean NOW would be the best possible time. God sees much more of the big picture than we do, and s/he knows all that can be affected by change.

But. It was very interesting how different it feels now that "something" has happened to me. Of course, I'm still waiting - for job ads to be posted, for emails requesting interviews, for calls with job offers - but it feels very different. I no longer feel like I am in a state of suspended animation. I feel alive...and free! And hopeful.

There's an odd duality in my beliefs about this situation. If things go well, if a new job appears quickly, then I'll believe that this was all a part of God's plan. However, if things don't go well, it's hard for me to imagine thinking that was God's purpose - to make me suffer.

(Yes, I know about Job. But I haven't really decided what to think of the story of Job.)

At the end of the service, the Pastor made a big announcement: next Sunday will be his last! After all the drama with his reappointment, he's still leaving. It's too bad, because I really liked his voice and his presence. But it will be valuable for me to see someone new. I don't even know if women are allowed to be pastors in this church...

Well, there's one thing I do know after attending a scant three times. My favorite part of the service is singing the hymn. These old spirituals have such amazing tunes. I was really swinging this week, as we sang "Lift Him Up":

How to reach the masses, men of every birth,
For an answer, Jesus gave the key:
“And I, if I be lifted up from the earth,
Will draw all men unto Me.”

• Refrain:
  Lift Him up, lift Him up;
  Still He speaks from eternity:
  “And I, if I be lifted up from the earth,
  Will draw all men unto Me.”

Oh! the world is hungry for the Living Bread,
Lift the Savior up for them to see;
Trust Him, and do not doubt the words that He said,
“I’ll draw all men unto Me.”

Don’t exalt the preacher, don’t exalt the pew,
Preach the Gospel simple, full, and free;
Prove Him and you will find that promise is true,
“I’ll draw all men unto Me.”

Lift Him up by living as a Christian ought,
Let the world in you the Savior see;
Then men will gladly follow Him Who once taught,
“I’ll draw all men unto Me.”

News

Last Thursday, I was laid off.

It's hard for me to believe that God has a plan in all of this.

But I do believe that the Goddess will get me through these hard times.

One more shot

About a month ago, I hatched a plan for a new career.

At the time, I had gone six months without even a single job to apply to. This is unheard of for me. I've never had a problem applying for jobs or getting jobs. After all, I am the woman who got a job in six weeks after being laid off last year.

When I came up with my plan, I was seriously dejected about the prospects for any change in my job, and I realized I had to start thinking of new options.

My criteria were as follows:
- I need a job close to home, in my county. I can't hack the 40- to 60-minute commutes to the larger cities nearby. I need to have that time for my family and home life.
- I need generous vacation time. And I mean generous. I'd love to live the European life, with the month of August off. Plus it's really annoying to live with Papa D and his academic schedule and not be able to take advantage of the flexibility that it gives our family.
- I need to earn at least $50,000 a year. This is the cut-off to be able to continue to pay the mortgage, daycare, and have a vacation.

I had been considering going back to school for a social work degree - I'm very drawn to adoption work - but the salary scale is so low that it seemed unfeasible. It starts in the 30s and ends in the 30s. Even with 20 years experience, you don't make more money. This finding from the internet was validated when I saw local job ads offering $25 an hour to master's-level social workers.

I was poking around for alternatives to social work, and I somehow stumbled upon school psychology. School psychologists work for school districts, providing evaluations of students and consulting to teachers. The advantage of this career is that I would get to work with children, especially the special needs children that I am so concerned about. The work is about 50 percent writing, which I don't anticipate having any problems with, and people skills are the key thing to bring to the job. You interact with lots of different kinds of people, and what you do changes from day to day. And, bingo, you work 200 days a year - that means Christmas, Easter, and two months of summer off.

To work as a school psychologist would require me to go back for a master's degree, but there is an affordable program, designed for people who work, about 1 hour from my house (and my job). I would have to keep working part-time, so the program might take me four to five years instead of the usual three.

I was excited about the prospect of going back to school, and I was excited about the idea of the career. I was first Myers-Briggs typed about 12 years ago, and I learned that my type - ENFJ - is well suited to both public relations (like I have been doing for 15 years) and the helping professions.

The only downside is that it will take a while - like 10 years - to get up to the $50,000 a year salary mark (but the salary does increase every year, over time). Maybe I could rationalize that we won't take the financial hit until after No-Longer-a-Baby E will be in elementary school, and we won't have daycare costs.

As these other job opportunities have arisen...and fallen back (I have had no word from the Big City Agency and I have low hopes for the job I am interviewing for tomorrow), I'm not sure how I feel about the school psychology option. The initial enthusiasm has waned, and now I have to make some decisions. Should I continue to pursue this new career? Should I try to find a way to make my current career work?

I'm nearing 40 years old, and my decision will impact the next 20 years (or longer, with the way things are going nowadays). I haven't been happy in my current career for 10 years, despite many variations of duties and organizations. Perhaps I should start admitting that the problem may be with the career itself, not the jobs.

But, to be fair, I guess I have to give another job a try first. One last try in this career, before giving it up.

At least I have some direction to go. Papa D was more enthusiastic about my working remotely for the Big City Agency than he has been about any of my other schemes. So that's the route I need to take, approaching agencies that are hiring and suggesting a telecommuting arrangement. Eventually, when the economy improves, I could even go to my current employer and suggest telecommuting.

Mother love

I know, in my head, that we can't adopt another child. When I think about it rationally, I can see that we don't have the resources (time, energy, finances) to give to another child (although No Mother Earth makes a charming and persuasive argument for more than one child).

I only have 2 hours a day to spend with Baby E as it is - how would I possibly split that up for two children? Or more? It doesn't feel fair to us to give less than we do now.

But....

I want more children so much.

I feel like I have so much love to give, and there are children out there who need a mother. I think I've realized how good I am at mothering, and I want to do more of it. I want to be More Mother.

My awesome friend, Sally, told me she felt similarly when her children were about six months old. She inspired me with her vision of Mary as the universal mother, caring for all of us as her children. I feel as if I am a channel for this mothering energy, coming from the universe through me to my children.

The difficulty is that these feelings, this energy is pent up inside of me. I have no way to express them. Or do I? Why don't I simply direct all this mothering at Baby E?

Well, that's a good question. I have an answer, but not necessarily a good one.

I have a feeling that I don't want to focus all of that energy on Baby E, that it might be unhealthy for him. I believe that attention is an important part of parenting. Giving quality, undivided attention is the major way that I hope to show my love and approval for Baby E. Withholding attention - or shamuing - is how I hope to discourage behaviors that are unproductive. Too much attention, in my mind, can distort the parent-child relationship.

I don't believe that parents should be obsessed with their children. I know from my own experience how being a "little god" led to no boundaries and lots of difficulties in my life, difficulties that even my mother's overwhelming love could not balance.

On the other hand, I sometimes feel guilty if I'm doing things like watching TV or checking my email instead of playing with Baby E. In the scant two hours I have with him at night, I spend a large portion of that time cooking and eating dinner, plus doing whatever other chores need to happen in the evenings. I'm not sure how often I really meet the standard of "quality, undivided attention."

I think this guilt is exacerbated by the fact that I am an adoptive mother. I feel it is so important to give Baby E "optimal" attachment, to make up for the traumatic loss of his birthmother he suffered at birth. And I feel anxious about whether he is really bonded to me. Does he really think I'm someone special? A fear that I can only imagine will grow as he does, as he explores the world and finds so many other things more exciting than Mommy.

(If I compare these thoughts to my thoughts on relationships, they seem silly. I never say to myself "Hey, you're loving Papa D too much.")

There should be a way out of this dilemma. I should let the Goddess be my guide. She showers endless love on her children, and it doesn't harm us, because she also lets us grow up into our own, wonderful, unique independent beings.

If these feelings come from the Goddess, who am I to block them? Maybe She wants me to flood Baby E with all the love I have. Maybe there's some reason that I don't know, something in the future that he needs to be prepared for.

A ray of hope?

I have a job interview scheduled for Thursday morning. Not with any of the opportunities I've already written about, but with a new organization. It's a job I found and applied to immediately on Thursday morning. Within three hours, I had a call from the HR department asking for an interview this week.

So it's easily meeting my standard for synchronicity. I mean, that's a mind-boggling pace for an academic institution. But I'm not really that excited. If anything, my emotions are ranging from dull to dread.

At first, I was excited about the prospect of an interview, any interview and another job, any job. But as I've thought through this particular job and discussed it with Papa D, it seems like it won't be a good move.

It has good benefits (including incredible vacation/holiday schedule), but a serious drop in salary. It is either a similar commute time or longer (will test this on Thursday). Those tradeoffs could be manageable, if the job and work environment would be an improvement. But those are two big IFs.

I have no idea what kind of job will make me happier. This is a writing job, and I have enjoyed writing over the last six months. Having a writing job on the resume could help me in the future. It looks like the work might be fairly diverse from day to day, which is very important to me.

The big question is about the work environment. I've heard some scuttlebutt that the VP is difficult to work with, but how much would that affect me?

So I'm going to the interview, trying to learn a little more, see how I feel. Maybe this is the chance I've been waiting for. But maybe not.

Diverse city

One of the most exciting parts of vising a big city and attending a cultural festival was the abundance of diversity. We saw African-American families and Indian families. Performers from throughout Central and South America displayed every possible skin color. On the subway, there were Asian students. But that's one of the main reasons to visit a city, to get out of our predominantly white area.

Even more surprising, though, were the number of transracial adoptive families we saw. Starting on the subway on the way there, where a family of two women (friends, I think) with four children befriended us. The children were a biracial boy of about 10 or 11, and three younger blonde girls. He immediately started engaging Baby E, trying to play with him. He was a beautiful boy, with skin the same color as Baby E's, and tiny little curls close shorn under his baseball cap. He asked Papa D: "Are you his dad?" "Yes," we said. "Are you his mom?" he asked me. "Yes," we said. I added, "We adopted him." That opened the door. He asked how long we had him, and I said since birth. He explained, "My mom and dad adopted me at birth." When Baby E was holding onto his finger, I said, "You're almost exactly the same color." He answered, "When it's hot, I get black. When it's cold, I get white." An interesting take on climate and racial identity.

At the festival, everywhere we turned there were adoptive parents with their children of other races. It was so exciting and empowering. I know that Baby E wasn't getting much out of it, but someday he will.

What he was getting was lots of attention from people of color. From the toddler girl who was drawn to him on the dance floor ("baby" she kept saying) to the mother on the subway who played peek-a-boo with him, he charmed them all. I had to remind myself that he doesn't know he has a color yet, but then I realized that the other people do, especially the adults. They were responding to him and interacting with him.

I don't know whether that will continue as he grows older, but it is a very compelling reason to continue to visit the city as often as we can.

Everyday day

Yesterday was a perfect example of why it's so hard for me to get to church. On Saturday, we decided to go to a cultural festival, exactly the kind of thing it's important for a multicultural family like ours to attend. It was fun, located in a big city, and celebrated both of Baby E's backgrounds.

But that meant that when Sunday morning dawned bright and early, I had a long list of things to get done before the end of the day. All that I usually have the whole weekend to complete - and no time to do during the week.

I had the best intentions - I was up, showered, dressed for church - but it came time for church, and I couldn't see any way to fit it all into a single day. So it was a mundane day. Without spiritual inspiration. But it was lovely and rejuvenating nonetheless. There is joy in reading the same book to your child over and over again, and there is peace in a clean sink.

Working ideas

The issue that I sort of glossed over yesterday is whether I should even be seeking fulfillment in my career. This is a question I have wrestled with long and hard.

There are several lenses through which to look at this:

The first is generational.

Women of the baby boom fought for the right to work. They saw it as a way to fulfill themselves, and they were able to pursue careers that were meaningful to them. I was thinking recently of my mother-in-law, who has worked for 40 years as a social worker. Even though she's of an age to retire, she doesn't because she still gets so much out of it. Now, I was recently thinking about going to social work school, and I researched social work salaries. With a master's degree, you still only earn $30,000 or so a year! And that's in today's dollars. My mother-in-law had the luxury to work at a career that she loved, because her salary wasn't needed at home.

For us Generation X women, we always knew we would work. And we have a lot less freedom because our salaries are now necessary. I think this is the crux of the generational divide, which erupts over the opt-out choices of many women. The feminists think they fought our freedom, but to us it feels like a burden they dumped on us. I and my friends strive to think of work "like a man" - it's something you have to do, so buck up and be proud of providing for your family.

If you have to work, another factor in your view of it is socioeconomic class.

My mother, who was raised middle-class, with a father in the Navy and an artist-teacher mother, believed that a career should be primarily an intellectual pursuit. She got into but didn't finish an experimental college. After doing the 60s and having children, she eventually settled into a career as a legal secretary. She admired intelligence immensely. Growing up, she wished for me to become a immunologist or a linguist. She was instrumental in my attending - and graduating from - an East Coast liberal arts college and unstintingly supportive of my professional career.

My father's family was working class, his parents a Merchant Marine and a housekeeper. After an miserable stint in the Marines, he spent several years "dropping out" then had children. He eventually attended culinary school, tried working in hotel kitchens, but quickly moved over to the management side. He was skeptical of my attending a fancy college and thought I should go to "the school of hard knocks." He seems actively opposed to the idea that work should be meaningful. You do it, you get a paycheck, and you spend your free time avoiding thinking about work.

For the first seven years of my career, I was enjoying myself so much, learning so much and advancing so quickly under the tutelage of two amazing women mentors, that I didn't have time to worry about these kind of issues. I was happy to be earning a decent, regular paycheck (when so many of my generation were "slackers").

Then I started looking around for other opportunities, still believing that my career would continue to be as fulfilling. But then things went downhill. The organizations I worked at were dysfunctional, and the work was boring. I've been flailing around ever since.

When we were in The Big City, I think life in general was so hard that it overshadowed my career issues. So I was more focused on pulling my life together. We moved, to a beautiful, large dream house with a backyard I could garden in. We learned we love small-town life. Eventually, we had a precious son.

Once I felt more settled and happy with life, the suck of my career loomed large. It doesn't help that I had a traumatic layoff, followed by what I believe is the most toxic office environment I've ever worked in.

I've tried to "man up" and accept that fulfillment doesn't have to come from my career. That I can be happy in the rest of my life and accept a ho-hum job (not that this job is ho-hum, this job SUCKS and it's only the economy keeping me in it). Basically, I'm viewing my work like a working-class man, like my dad. Who really is NOT the role model I would choose for my career.

In the last few weeks - since attending church, trying to reconnect with the Goddess, starting this blog, contemplating my navel as it were, I've really been feeling a shift. I'm back to believing that - even if I don't succeed - I have to at least TRY to find a satisfying, meaningful career path.

Working Women of Yesteryear

Running on empty

As I'm waiting to hear from this new job possibility (yes, still waiting), I am thinking a lot about how to know if it's the right move to make. How can I know what the company is really like? Will the telecommuting arrangement really be an improvement? Most importantly, I want to feel like I am going the right direction in my life, on the path the God/dess wants for me.

One way I've always believed you can know you are on the right path is synchronicity. When all the factors align, you feel like everything is easy and right. That's how I know I'm heading in the right direction.

One way that I am really questioning is the concept of fulfillment. Is the feeling of fulfillment the same as fulfilling one's purpose? The former seems to me to be self-focused, while the latter is soul-centered? But doesn't the God/dess want me to be happy? How else can I know that I am doing her will than a feeling of contentment?

I certainly don't feel fulfilled by my work (is it the career or the job, that's the million dollar question), and the roots of this discontent started a decade ago. I've had dozens of theories over the years of what the problem is (poor management, lack of advancement possibilities, cause I'm not interested in, and now dysfunctional workplace), but as I've attempted to rectify each job's shortcomings, I feel like I am digging myself deeper into this mess.

Because becoming a mother happened so recently, I know that Baby E fulfills me. My heart is overflowing with love for him and happiness that he is in my life. However, when he turned six-month-old, I started feeling the yearning again...for another child, many children. Papa D thinks I'm crazy, but I want to have 8 children, all different ages and races. I really want to adopt a teenage daughter from the U.S. foster care system...and a sibling set from Haiti. These days I'm particularly obsessed with children with special needs, such as cleft lip/palate, limb differences, and ambiguous genitalia, from China and India. So I am fulfilled by Baby E, but not totally. Is there such a thing as partial fulfillment? Can part of your heart be totally fulfilled and part be empty?

My relationship with Papa D has completely fulfilled me. He filled a hole in my heart that I walked with for most of my life. I could finally quit searching and start living. All of a sudden I had more energy for other parts of life. When we were married, I imagined that together we were a stronger force for good. We could channel our energy to our communities, instead of ourselves. I'm not sure how much of that vision has come true (we're still pretty self-centered), but I do know that 10 years later, I have no interest in any other man (or woman for that matter).

In marriage and motherhood, I must say that fulfillment seems to be an indication of rightness, of blessing by the God/dess. So it seems I need to continue to seek fulfillment in my work.

What's interesting to me about this is the dichotomy between emptiness and fullness. Six years ago, I took the magical name Calix, the latin word for chalice, to represent my openness to the Goddess's blessings. I was hoping to become a mother, and the chalice symbolized my womb (and heart) ready to be filled. I pictured a goblet spilling over with a clear water to imagine the love and energy that would shower upon me. At that time, my life felt cluttered and busy, and emptiness was a good thing. I wanted to clear a space - in my life, in my heart - for the Goddess to fill with a child. Now, I'm experiencing the other side of this emptiness, the longing for something more.

Since I no longer want to be empty, I think it may be time to change my magical name. I'd like something that represents my feeling of being blessed. There's always Grace, but I recoil from the trendiness. Apparently Winifred means holy, blessed reconciliation and joy and peace. Ardith is traditionally given to a baby as a blessing. Neither is really doing it for me.

I really like Beata, and it keeps in the Roman tradition of my Matron Goddess, Juno.
I'm drawn to Baraka (like the President) or Beracha, but I don't have any particular connection with Islam, and my Jewish connections aren't strong enough to warrant taking a Hebrew name. Though, perhaps, if I am being drawn towards Christianity, a Hebrew name would be appropriate.

As I contemplated this, it eventually dawned on me that my real name actually means something similar to blessed. In Sanskrit, it means "all auspicious." I understand that this means something more like "good fortune surrounds me" or "luck follows me" than that good things happen to me. But perhaps I should consider the radical thought of integrating my magical and mundane names...whoa!

The Chalice Well and Gardens at Glastonbury, England

The cover of the Chalice Well, showing the vesica piscis, a sacred geometrical symbol representing the union of spirit and matter

June 23

The orange daylilies are blooming in our yard. Evenings are brightened by lightning bugs. The days are long, and the air is heavy with humidity.

Each year, these signs of midsummer remind me of the day I married Papa D. It was magical, blessed by the Goddess. It rained on our heads during the garden ceremony (a sign of luck), but we didn't even feel it.

This year, I'm feeling particularly grateful that my mother was there that day. She had already had cancer for 16 years, and it wasn't clear that she would be up for the travel. I remember that the most emotional moment came when I saw her and realized that she had really lived until my wedding day.

Today, it is eight years of marriage, and I would happily do it all over again.

Little flower

Baby E did well for the first half-hour of the funeral service, but then he just couldn't keep quiet, so I headed out to the lobby and front of the church. I let him walk around, explore, be a toddler. What I discovered amidst the holy water and pamphlets were two lovely, handmade quilted standards. I hadn't noticed them amidst the crush of people entering the church. One portrayed St. Francis Xavier (appropriately enough) and the other was emblazoned with the message: "Receive Christ as a Little Child."

That seemed incredible, considering my thoughts of the last week. I read it as meaning that Christ is a little child, but some Googling has led me to realize that it usually means I should be like a little child.

You can also see that it represents a nun with a handful of roses and says "Saint Therese." Being ignorant of Christian saints, I had to look this up.

St. Therese of Lisieux lived in 19th century France, where she became a Carmelite nun at the age of 14. Before dying at 24, she wrote an autobiography that lays out her spiritual ideas, her "little way." This is also called spiritual childhood, a "spirit of childhood in all our dealings with God," according to Pope Pius XI.

John F. Russell, O.Carm., S.T.D. writes that "Relationship to the child Jesus emphasizes the humanity of Christ and suggests a sense of dependence, poverty, trust, and wonder. The child Jesus theme is found in the sermons of St. Bernard of Clairvaux and in writings of the Franciscan tradition."

Called the Little Flower, St. Therese used nature as a metaphor for the relationship with the Divine. She promised that, after her death, "I will let fall a shower of roses," and since then, many have seen her blessings in the form of roses. She wrote of flowers and nature:

"I still feel the profound and poetic impressions which were born in my soul at the sight of fields enameled with corn-flowers and all types of wild flowers. Already I was in love with the wide-open spaces. Space and the gigantic fir trees, the branches sweeping down to the ground, left in my heart an impression similar to the one I experience still today at the sight of nature."

"Jesus deigned to teach me this mystery. He set before me the book of nature; I understood how all the flowers He has created are beautiful, how the splendor of the rose and the whiteness of the Lily do not take away the perfume of the little violet or the delightful simplicity of the daisy. I understood that if all flowers wanted to be roses, nature would lose her springtime beauty, and the fields would no longer be decked out with little wild flowers. And so it is in the world of souls, Jesus' garden. He willed to create great souls comparable to lilies and roses, but He has created smaller ones and these must be content to be daisies or violets destined to give joy to God's glances when He looks down at His feet. Perfection consists in doing His will, in being what He wills us to be."

"Consider the oaks of our countryside, how crooked they are; they thrust their branches to right and left, nothing checks them so they never reach a great height. On the other hand, consider the oaks of the forest, which are hemmed in on all sides, they see light only up above, so their trunk is free of all those shapeless branches which rob it of the sap needed to lift it aloft. It sees only heaven, so all its strength is turned in that direction, and soon it attains a prodigious height. In the religious life the soul like the young oak is hemmed in on all sides by its rule. All its movements are hampered, interfered with by the other trees.... But it has light when it looks toward heaven, there alone it can rest its gaze, never upon anything below, it need not be afraid of rising too high."

"And just as in nature all the seasons are arranged in such a way as to make the humblest daisy bloom on a set day, in the same way, everything works out for the good of each soul."

As a pagan and nature-lover (the same thing?), I find those writing to be beautiful and inspiring. But most meaningful to me is her focus on love. "What matters in life," St. Therese wrote, "is not great deeds, but great love."

That's an idea I can definitely appreciate. I was never and still am not a career-first woman. From childhood on, I was much more concerned with the relationships in my life, and I have long said that I wanted my legacy to be my family, not some external achievements.

Isn't it interesting how our paths present us with the messages that we need to hear? Thank you, Baby E, for taking me into the lobby of the church. Your restlessness is a blessing to me.

Saying goodbye

On Saturday, we attended a funeral service for a friend of ours. She was 51-years-old and died suddenly last Wednesday. She just collapsed, and the autopsy didn't find any discernible cause. She had just moved back into a new house after a year away. On Thursday, we helped her family by transferring the contents of her moving van into a storage facility. How depressing ... to see someone's life all packed up like that.

The service was held at the St. Francis Xavier Catholic Church, which I've been interested in checking out. When I walk by on my way to St. Paul's, the Catholic church seems packed with people. I like the idea of a dynamic congregation like that. Holding me back are two factors: first, one of the main reasons I would want to go is because the congregation has a large Latino component, but they attend a separate service in Spanish. Second, they congregation is raising money to leave their beautiful, old church a half-block from my house to move to a new building outside of town.

It was pouring rain on the walk to the funeral, very apropos. And the church was packed, I don't think I've ever attended such a large funeral. It's reflective of how warm and charismatic a woman she was. The service was neither inspiring nor comforting, it seemed as if the priest didn't really know or understand her. The most touching part was when her 14-year-old daughter read a poem about what her mother meant to her. Of course, I had been thinking of losing my mom the whole week, but this moment just brought back all the grief. And put the point on all the empathy I have for these young daughters who have to grow up motherless.

At the end of the service, there was finally something that people could relate to. The universally recognized spiritual, Amazing Grace:

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.

T'was Grace that taught my heart to fear.
And Grace, my fears relieved.
How precious did that Grace appear
The hour I first believed.

Through many dangers, toils and snares
I have already come;
'Tis Grace that brought me safe thus far
and Grace will lead me home.

The Lord has promised good to me.
His word my hope secures.
He will my shield and portion be,
As long as life endures.

Yea, when this flesh and heart shall fail,
And mortal life shall cease,
I shall possess within the veil,
A life of joy and peace.

When we've been here ten thousand years
Bright shining as the sun.
We've no less days to sing God's praise
Than when we've first begun.

Some people in our community - including two close friends - are taking this much harder than I am. I don't know whether they knew her better or haven't experienced death as closely as I have. I simply feel like death is a part of life, and it happens, and there is no way to predict or make sense out of it. But it's made me wonder if I'm in a bit of a low-level depression, perhaps I should be feeling more.

Since the service, I have been remembering our friend. She was so vivacious. Her smile keeps coming back to me. In the last year, especially, she had seemed to blossom. A new haircut and new clothes and jewelry made her seem happier. I also remember how she welcomed us to the community when we moved here. I think she made sure we met everyone and attended the key events. She was just so excited about life.

Farewell, my friend.

Little gods

In the last few years, one of the most fascinating and controversial ideas in neuropsychology has been the concept that it is a part of the human brain that creates the experience of God. At least one crackpot on the internet has taken this a step further and proposed that this part of the brain is shaped by early life experiences, i.e. parenting.

The feeling of being intensely mothered - as I experienced with the Goddess - could easily reflect my early life experiences. My mother devoted herself to me. She didn't work, so I was with her all the time. She breastfed me until I was two-and-a-half (darn sister coming along!). Of course, in time, I grew up and away from her, but she continued to love me more than anyone else loved me until the day she died.

As a mother, I've come to understand that devotion from the other side. I love every single hair on Baby E's head, and I can easily imagine him being my favorite person as he grows. Now, I can also see how this experience of the Divine Child could be a reflection of my infancy.

My mother was a very spiritual person. She first explored Quakerism in high school, then dedicated herself to Krishna at age 21. But she said that her interest in religion declined when she had me. I became her center. This was encouraged by the Indian culture around her, which she told me treated children under age six as little gods. Obviously, this was reinforced by the stories of Krishna as a child, doted on by his mother.

So here I am, 38 years later, awed by the universal life force that I see channeling through my child. It's as if I'm reliving my mother's experience...or my experience.

Whether it is neurons or harmonic fields or karma, I'm kind of astonished by the connections between my God Experiences and my mother.

Lots of excitement

Yesterday, out of the blue, a possible job opportunity came up. It's not a sure thing, but I have a good feeling about it. It's in my current career, but at a different company. The company is actually located in The City (about 3 hours away), so I'm proposing to work at home four days a week. Telecommuting could be a great option for me - lack of commute means more time for Baby E and life, but it has the stability of a J-O-B.

The opening actually came to me through a woman I helped with her resume a few years back. So chalk one up for networking. She's able to give me the behind-the-scenes scoop, and it sounds good. They offer generous vacation and holiday schedules, along with summer Fridays.

There are a couple of "signs" that give me a good vibe about it. First, the woman has the same unusual spelling of her name as my first boss and mentor. Second, the name of the company happened to come up in my book yesterday before I heard from her. Lastly, I just have that excited feeling in my stomach that makes me feel like it's a good move. Of course, I haven't met the bosses or negotiated anything, but I like to follow my gut (that's where the Goddess lives, right?). As a cherry on top, Papa D was enthusiastic and supportive, which makes me think the scheme isn't as hare-brained as my usual ideas.

This morning, I had coffee with someone who works in the different career that I am considering. This new career would require me to go back to school for a master's degree, followed by a one-year internship. I'm excited both about the prospect of school and about the career afterward. It would involve working with kids and offer the schedule of a school teacher. My breakfast did nothing to deter my interest. The man, who has worked in the field for 20 years, was very encouraging, making his job seem rewarding and manageable.

So, not to get ahead of myself but I realize I may have a little dilemma about whether I still want to pursue this new career if I have a new job, how the telecommuting might work with being in school, and a lot of other questions. It comes down to needing to decide which path is right - the one I've been on or a new one.

To top it all off, I've also applied for a part-time job with a local nonprofit organization. The idea would be that the job would serve as a "foundation" client for my freelance business. Again, the benefits of working from home, with more flexibility if I am my own boss. I'm concerned that they are looking for someone with less experience and less salary, but it seemed worth the effort to apply.

Well, there's no reason to borrow worry from the future, so I'll just keep meditating, keep listening to the little voice inside, and make a decision when the time comes.

Panther

At one point, the black panther was my spirit animal (may still be), so I think it's auspicious that I found this photo of a panther mother and her kitten today, when my thoughts have been on motherhood. What I think is fascinating is the combination of an animal we think of as dangerous being maternal to the impossibly cute baby. It brings a new meaning to a "Mama Tiger moment" - you know, when a mother aggressively defends her child.

Epiphany

In searching for references to child-Gods, I found this opening prayer to an Epiphany Service by Paul Bagshaw:

Infant God, Christ-child, Light of all creation,
be with us now.

Cradle us in your small fingers;
grant us a smile and we shall be blessed;
accept, we ask, the gifts we bring
and do not count our frailties against us,
infant King.

Infant Jesus, Ancient of Days new-born,
our beginning and our end,
God with us,
be with us now.

Mother and child

I've been ruminating all weekend, and I'm really excited about this new idea (thanks, Alyss, for the encouraging inquiry!). After writing about finding the Divine in Baby E, I realized that perhaps the experience of the Divine hasn't left me, but has changed to a new form.

I used to experience the Goddess as a Great Mother, an enveloping, nurturing presence. She was the perfect parent, ever-present and ever-accepting, with none of the human foibles of my earthly mother.

Now the Divine has entered my life as a child, to whom I am mother. I have changed positions, from being the child to being the mother. It is a totally different energy. There is still great love flowing to me, but there is greater responsibility on my part.

But what does it mean for God to be a child? Is there such a thing as a child God? What does it ask of me?

My first thought was of Jesus Christ. His birth is a well-known story, and images of him as a child are common.


Perhaps this is why I have been drawn to Christian church, to connect with the story of a mother and child.

My next thoughts were of Krishna. Because I was taught about Krishna when I was a child, I think of him mainly as a the mischievous child stealing butter.


Growing up, he was presented as a God we could relate to. Now, I am finding so much more in the story. He was raised by adoptive parents, cowherd Nanda and his wife Yashoda. She is a human mother of a Divine being, who is a different color than she is.


Yet they love each other profoundly. Statues of Krishna are places on special cushions that represent his mother Yashoda’s lap, with bolsters on each side as her hands. "The Lord is said to be seated in the lap of His beloved Yashodama, forever secure that no one will dare scold Him while He is in her lap. No matter how naughty He has been during the day, no matter what the other gopis say, Yashodama will never believe anything ill of her beloved son. She will tell the complainants to look at their own shortcomings, but will never say anything to upset her darling child. His foster mother Yashoda’s love for Him was so dear to Him that the Lord says, 'No matter what the world says, I will always call myself as your son! I will call myself the son of Nanda and Yashoda.'"

I have found a few other examples of child-Gods: the infant Dionysus (famously - and interstingly juxtaposed with typical Madonna images - shown being held by his father, Hermes), the infantile Eros (sometimes shown held by his mother Aphrodite), and Horus, son of Isis and Osiris.

I was intrigued by ideas I found on a website on Indian art:

"According to David Kinsley: 'For the divine to become embodied as a child is eminently suitable, for they behave in similar ways. Each belongs to a joyous realm of energetic and erratic activity that is pointless but not insignificant; aimless, but imaginative and rich, and therefore creative. In play, the mind can go wild; the imagination is set free to conjure and conquer. With the world of necessity left behind, the imagination takes over, eagerly populating a world that knows no limit whatsoever. So it is with the play of children, and so it is with the activity of the gods.'

"In the Harivansha Purana, Krishna's play is said to be "like the fire in the cremation ground," leaping and flickering, erratic and vigorous. The brash and indomitable spirit of the young Krishna makes the world around him sparkle with aliveness. His youthful play lights up the world like a blazing fire illuminates the darkness. The playful actions of Krishna burst forth to tumble and romp like the wind in the trees, unpredictable and free. We have here a description of the other realm where things are as they are meant to be, where life goes on joyously and unhampered, where no thought is given, or need be given, to the future, where life is lived to the fullest every moment. Krishna's playful realm is a description of the heavenly world of gods which is ever fresh, instinctive, and intuitional.

"The theophany of the child god also reveals that as an infant and a child, Krishna is approachable, and can be doted upon and coddled. He can be approached with the intimacy with which a parent approaches a child. Such a god invites man to dispense with cumbersome formality and come to him openly, delighting in him intimately. The adorable, beautiful babe, so beloved all over, does not demand servitude and pomp. His simplicity, charm, and infant spontaneity, invite an affectionate and tender response."

So, one lesson from Mary and Yashoda's stories might be that the role of a God-child is to inspire a maternal love, so strong as to take me beyond myself. That the lesson I need to learn is to release my ego and put myself in service of another's life.

Another approach is more Jungian, like this sermon I found by the Rev. Dr. Daniel Ó Connell preached for the congregation at Eliot Unitarian Chapel in Kirkwood, MO on December 8, 2002. Jung believed this archetype, of the child, "represents the strongest, [inevitable] urge in every being, namely the urge [for a being] to realize itself."

"To lead a more authentic life, we must look within, we must seek, find, and encourage our Divine Child. ...The Divine Child is the archetype of the regenerative force that leads us toward wholeness. 'Becoming as a little child' as expressed in the Gospels. It is a symbol of the true self, of the totality of our being, as opposed to the limited and limiting ego."