WOMAN, GOD'S BEST GIFT TO MAN

Today is September 8th, the day on which the Catholic Church remembers the birth of Mary.
 
"Mary's is a birthday to remember because the answer to our sorrow, misery, malice, loneliness, inability, and strife is to be born of Mary. " -Father Peter John Cameron, O.P.           

I was dreaming this morning when I heard the voice of my husband, Dale, "Micki, will you wake up Julia?"  I immediately answered yes and got up, aware that my body was sore and tired and that my mind still had a wish to linger with those dreams. I heard the loud ringing of Julia's alarm clock coming from her room, and went to her bedside.  How could she sleep through that? I wondered.  Then I realized I hadn't heard Dale's alarm go off  this morning.  It was only his quiet voice I recognized as a wake up call.

Since I was in kindergarten my mother's gentle voice was the only sound that could separate me from sleep. "Micki, time to get up." I would quickly wake and get ready for the day. Sometimes as I got older she had to say my name a second time, a little louder, with a slight scolding tone. Then I was a bit ashamed that I gave her trouble, and hurried to obey.  Often when I was hurt I would go running to my mother, sobbing, and she'd open her arms and hold me and repeat  in a soothing voice, "It's alright!"  She rocked me until I was quieted. I wished I could do something in return for her loving comfort.  I tried hard to please her and not be a disappointment.

When I had babies, I was very tired and slept soundly,worrying if I would wake up if they needed me. I found, as most parents do, that they wake up immediately, ready to respond when their child stirs or calls.

When my third son Andy was four years old and visiting the dentist office waiting for an appointment, I told him about Mary, his Heavenly Mother.  He asked if it was really true, and I said, "Yes, she always cares for you."  He sat happily on the floor thinking about that. Five minutes later a man walked into the waiting room and my shy and quiet son, obviously overjoyed, ran up to the stranger, took his hand and welcomed him in, exclaiming, "I've got two moms! My name is Andy!" He introducded the suprised man to me, saying, "This is my second mom. My first mother is in Heaven."  That new assurance stayed with him all his life, and he's alway's loved me second best, saying he's grateful to me since I was his first teacher about love.   

     WOMAN, GOD'S BEST GIFT TO MAN
                                      by Henri Godin

     "A greater gift I could not give man. 
     And when I sent my Son on earth, he was not hard to please.
     No, he was not hard to please--either about food, or lodging,
           or state in life, or about anything, except his Mother.  But
           about her he was exacting.
     He wanted his mother to be a masterpiece, surpassing even my
           angels, who are already very great masterpieces.
     Yes, for her he was exacting--for the woman who was to bring
           him into the world and awaken his soul and form his heart.
     And men are like him.  Choosing a woman is always the great
           affair of their life.
     Which doesn't surprise me,"
     Says God.

EYES OF THE BEHOLDER

I spent a lot of time wishing I was pretty, and crying because people said I was ugly, and I believed them. I had very white skin (allergy to the sun so I could never tan but burned severly), hundreds of blotchy freckles that often came out green after sun exposure and gradually darkened. I had crooked teeth (no money for orthodontics), and straight hair always cut at home with crooked lines.  I was sensitive and emotional and clingy, trying to hug and show love, was outspoken and loud, usually in your face and pointing out uncomfortable truths.

My older brother Stewart thought it was fun to make me mad and tease me. He had nicknamed me Micki Icky. When I tried to tag along with my brothers and they wanted to get rid of me, they'd make fun of me until I went away crying. One summer day they told all the kids in the neighborhood that I was called Micki Icky because I had real "cooties." They said you could tell because, looking at my arms and face, you would see some green spots which I called freckles but were really the sign of cooties, that could be caught by being close to me. So when I came out to play that day all the kids began to shout, "Here comes Micki Icky! Run or she'll give you the cooties!" I ran away to my secret place under the branches of a weeping willow and threw myself onto the dusty ground. I sobbed and was so sad I wished I could die because no one would love me. Then I heard in my mind the words "I love you," and I felt loved and calmed. I answered back, in my mind, "Thank you, but I wish a person would love me."

When I was little I used to ask my Mom hopefully if I was pretty. She said no and that I was kind of homely looking. She said her family used to tell her that when she was little, and that she did't like it but it was the truth. And I looked a lot like her. I thought a lot about what people like in looks, and tried not to be superficial and to remember that it's what's inside that counts. I loved the story of Beauty and the Beast and decided that its moral was most correct: "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder."

On the first day of second grade we all had to line up by class, and the black girl standing next to me, Sheila, looked scared and wouldn't get close. The teacher kept yelling at her to stand next to me. She bit my shoulder very hard and I screamed. Our teacher looked at the bleeding bruise and demanded to know why she did that. Sheila said, "Look at her. She's white with those ugly green and brown spots. I wanted to see if she was real!" We later became good friends.

It's how we are seen: If we're loved by someone we are beheld as beautiful. My husband, Dale, always said I was beautiful and I thought he was just being kind, but, as he reminds me, he doesn't flatter. He loves me and sees me the way God does!

I sometimes have grace-filled moments where I see all the people around me in perfection. That is such an awesome experience. It's like watching a movie with perfect casting, when I ask myself, "How did they find that person to play that part so well?!" Every person you see is an intriguing, mysterious, and unrepeatable. If you look at them the way they are meant to be seen, and appreciate the creation and Creator, a kind of universal bond allows you to realize that here is someone with an amazing story, who is valuable for themselves and somehow carrying a part of you.

I broke my tooth the other day and have a large gap--very humiliating! I look like the hillbilly stereotype. I wondered if Dale would still love me as much. Dale laughed at me and called me Lilith Snerd (Mortimer Snerd was Edgar Bergen's hillbilly puppet with missing teeth). He helps me laugh at myself. My kids see my beauty and cheer me on, especially when I'm putting myself down. Dear Julia, my fifteen year old, often tells me I'm beautiful, and she loves me so much! Now she says I  look younger, like a seven-year-old with a missing tooth!

WAITING

One morning I was awakened very early by my mother's quiet voice, "Micki, come with me.  I have something to show you."  We went outside where it was cool and wet and getting light.  She took me to the side of the garage where the southern California sun came first in the backyard.  She kept her hand closed and handed me a small shovel and said, "I need you to dig a hole." When the hole was big enough she said it was just right, and she opened her hand and placed in my palm a hard, bumpy, ugly, brown thing.  I felt sorry for the unpromising thing.  She said, "This is called a bulb, and you have to put it in the hole, this side up."  I was surprised that it would need any special instruction. She put four more bulbs in the ground. I loved to spend time with my mommy, and she knew so much, and asked me for help many times. I was four years old, and happy when I pleased her.

Once she told me I had to stay with my grandparents in Wyoming for a time, and asked if I would help her by being good. I was scared to stay with them and not see my family. I don't know why they all went without me, and was afraid they might not come back for me.  My grandma didn't like dirt and she had a very clean house. I somehow managed to have dirt on me all the time. She got mad when I smudged dirt accidentally on her walls. She took me into her garage where there was a metal sink and angrily scrubbed my hands roughly until they were red and sore. She told me this is how clean she wanted me to stay.

When I had to take a nap I was afraid I would get her white chenille bedspread dirty or pee on it if I did fall asleep. So when she left the room I got off the bed and stood on the shiny, clean, hardwood floor, afraid to move. I stood there a long time. I got pains in my legs from standing still (my mom said arthritis runs in the family). The pain made me cry. Also the dark room with all the shades down  frightened me, adding more tears, and I thought that I might be in trouble for breaking the rules, or left here because I was such a crybaby and so clingy. I didn't cry out loud or they would be mad at my fussing and say, "See you are a fussbudget!"  When it was time on the clock for my nap to be over, I climbed back on the bed and lay still, wiped my face, and pretended to be asleep until grandma Dorothy came in and said I could get up now.

Some things I loved, like the orderly backyard with soft grass and trimmed edges, the fence with its perfect triangular pattern, and the flowers (called pansies ) with their pretty faces.  When they bought me a cowgirl outfit (blue-gray with lasso design in navy blue trim) I wore it as much as I was allowed.  I liked my grandfather's strong face, and most of all I liked the way my grandparents held me as if they enjoyed me! I was sure I'd never be able to make them happy, and many times I got angry looks and words from them. I was nervous until my mother did really come back for me.

Now my mother was asking for my help again.  She wanted to know if I would  help her care for this bulb and wait to see what happened.  Anxious to make her proud, I agreed.  I asked her what was going to happen, and she said, "Wait!"  Glad to have a secret, and a way to win her trust, I regularly went with her out back to care for the dirt. It was the same.  It was hard for me to wait each day, and I was worried that we would never see the thing happen that we waited for.  She always just said with assurance, "Wait!"  

One morning we did see tiny green stems pushing through the soil.  Green was living, and I loved that color so much more than brown, and my mother and I were rewarded for our long wait. I was so happy!  She said that we still had to wait.  Now we had more jobs to do.  We had to protect the stems from snails, and as they grew stalks we had to tie them up for support.  They were getting big.  One day they were as tall as me! They had bumps called buds that got round and fat.  With each change I asked if it had happened yet, and she just said, "Wait!" 

When I was learning to wait, she told me she was going to have a baby and asked what did I think she should have--a girl or a boy. I spent a long time thinking and then told her I thought we should have a boy, because it would be fair, since we had two boys and then two girls. She asked the other kids, but I was sure she thought the most of what I said. Now there were more jobs, getting ready for the baby. 

One morning Mom took me outside to look at the flower stalks.  I was so amazed to find it had happened! The bumps had burst into big, beautiful, white, pink and yellow flowers and she said they were gladiolas! I had so much joy with our flowers that grew as tall as I did and opened themselves all up. I felt changed. I knew I was growing up like them, and as my mother's belly got bigger and rounder I wondered what changes the baby would bring, and I remembered she just said, "Wait!"



Micki, at left, in her cowgirl dress, with her sister Alicia, brother Carson standing, and brother Stewart sitting and holding the answer to Micki's wish, a baby brother named Dennis.



I SOUL TRAVELED WITH MY HUSBAND BEFORE I MET HIM

There are moments in our lives that are like signs.  We keep coming back to those moments and checking their meaning, trying to understand their significance, and seeing whether they help us connect to what we think is important--as if life is a puzzle and these events are possibly those important missing pieces that bring sense to it all. 

When I was eighteen, my friend Mila and I met Craig at college.  And he shared with us his interest in soul travel and Eckankar and transcendental meditation.  One Friday night the three of us met at Mila's before going to a lecture on transcendental meditation.  Later that evening, after the lecture in a nearby coffee shop, Mila went to visit someone at another table, while Craig and I sat across from each other with a cup of tea.  We were discussing the concepts we had heard about and how they related to other events, like the possibility of soul travel.  Craig asked me if I had ever traveled out of my body.  I told him I had experienced that more than once and in different degrees, but it was not something that I controlled.  It just usually happened.  He wanted to hear more.  I told him that I had a few experiences which involved a feeling of being totally outside myself and seeing my self and others, and how I knew I was walking away from my self and having an adventure, and then returning to my body and reconnecting.  These happened usually while I was sleeping. 

I tried to explain something I had often gone through that I believed most people experienced.  I told him that it was like, when you're looking directly at someone, and you began to feel like the space that's between your faces is shortening, and you're spirits are moving out in front of your faces and, as the distance begans to close, you feel like you've become one--like your spirits are united. 

Craig surprised me by saying he wasn't sure what I meant, and suggested we try it.  So we gazed at each other.  In the first moments I felt awkward and rigid, deciding it probably wouldn't happen.  When the familiar feeling did come, and the distance was quickly shortened between us, I felt the wonderful unity and had the bonus of experiencing great love as our eyes locked.  He looked back at me, then one of his eyes gave a wink of approval.  He smiled.  My breathing slowed, my heartbeat tried to adjust to his.  He was wearing a homemade, knitted, blue sweater that made me feel cozy.  The event was timeless.  The next thing I knew, we were back to drinking our tea. 

I was so excited, saying that was the best connection I'd ever had, and asked how he felt.  He said he hadn't really noticed any change.  I was blown away and disappointed, wondering how I could have been alone in that wonderful experience of unity.  Mila came back to our table.  It had been only a few minutes, but had become a permanent sign that left me wondering.

The following Monday, Craig came up to me at college, asking if I could check at Mila's to see if he had left his jacket.  He asked if I knew what it looked like.  I blushed, remembering the love I felt when seeing him in that sweater.  I said, "Yeah, I know what it looks like." 

Monday evening I went by Mila's to check.  Her mother answered the door and I asked if Craig's sweater had been left there.  I described it as a blue, knitted sweater.  She said, "No, there was a jacket left, but no sweater like that."  We were both puzzled.  She showed me the jacket, a red-and-black, hunter's jacket.  I looked at it disdainfully, thinking how opposite it was from anything Craig would wear.  "No," I said, "I guess he didn't leave it here."

I told Craig the next morning that his sweater wasn't there, only someone's hunting jacket.  He said, "Well, that's it."  I argued, saying it wasn't the blue sweater, but a red and black, hunter's jacket.  He insisted that was it.  Now I was confused, but agreed to bring the jacket to him the next day.  I never understood that.  How could I be so mistaken?

Two months later, I told Craig that I was moving to Washington State.  He told me that it was a very mystical place and that there was magic in the mountains, and that I would find it to be good.  After I had been settled in Washington, I had to find a home for my large dog, Rochante.  I placed an ad the the newspaper, very sad to part with him, but the neighbors were insisting.  I was living with my boyfriend, Jerry, and I always hoped that one day we would marry.  Jerry and I had raised Rochante. 

One day we were expecting someone who had answered the ad.  There was a knock on the door, and Rochante began to bark ferociously.  Jerry opened the door and Rochante lunged.  I leaned forward to grab his collar, and saw the man at the door, who, when he saw the attacking dog, smiled broadly and said, "He's perfect."  I was instantly struck, tingling from head to toe. (I had experienced this feeling before.  It happened the day I saw Jerry and knew that we were to be involved.  But this time it was much more intense.)  I was aware of a knowledge that I was being introduced to this person to love, and I wanted to marry Jerry and not get personally involved with this guy, so tried to keep my attention on Rochante. 

Jerry and I took Dale to the park, so he and Rochante could get to know one another.  We played Frisbee, a game Rochante was adept at.  Afterwards Dale took Rochante home.  When they left, Jerry turned to me and said, "You should marry him."  I quickly and defensively reacted, saying, "No, I only want to marry you."  Jerry had often encouraged me to go out with other guys.  We had a kind of open relationship, and he often took advantage of that himself. 

I missed my dog.  And it turned out that Dale lived in an apartment just a few blocks down the street.  So I went to visit Rochante, and got to know Dale.  He was so interesting, creative, confident, and had dreams about doing, and had done, so many things I had secretly dreamed of doing myself.  I was impressed.  And I knew that God was behind this. 

On one of my visits, Dale wasn't home, and when I climbed the stairs to his apartment I saw on his door a beautifully scripted sign he had made that said, "Dale Lund abides within."  I was strongly affected by this demonstration of his confidence and self-esteem, and was inspired.  Since he wasn't there, I turned to go back down the stairs when I saw him coming.  I was embarrassed for him to find that I was coming uninvited.  I suddenly felt insecure and didn't like to admit that to myself or him.  When he saw me, he stopped at the bottom of the stairs while I was on the landing above.  He looked a little surprised and shy, which helped me get my nerve back up.  We started right in talking, and he told me several stories, including one that he wished to someday write about a race of dwarves in the Olympic Mountains.  He also told me how it was so wild in those mountains that people could go there to live and never be discovered.  That made me happy to think about that kind of freedom, having come from southern California where it was hard ever to be alone or find any natural wilderness.  I noticed also his supple and muscular arms, and was embarrassed that I was taking notice of his physical features while I was telling myself I was just coming to visit my dog.

We later went inside and he showed me his phonograph, which was a unique, yellow, square box on a stand.  He placed a headset over my ears and had me lie down on the floor and listen while he played the full twenty minutes of Pink Floyd's "Echoes."  It was a trippy and relaxing sonic journey.  Then while I sat on the couch, petting Rochante, Dale went into the other room and came bursting back and began beating me with a big foam sword!  I was shocked and angry! ...and then delighted, because he had thrown into my lap like weapons, and I realized he was challenging me to play.  So we had a great sword fight! 

That evening, back at home, I was getting ready for work in the bathroom, and Jerry called from the other room, asking where I had been.  I said, "I went to visit Rochante at Dale's place."  At that moment I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and saw a dimpled smile, and I realized my secret.  I was in love. 

Dale and I knew each other for two months, and our engagement was ten days.  We were married in the backyard of his parents' Camano Island home, by his dad, who was a minister.  To celebrate, we had a big family picnic and later walked down to the beach. 

On our wedding night we went home to our little cabin in the woods that Dale had built near Lake Stevens.  As we were getting ready for bed, since we had no bathroom, it was necessary to take a kerosene lantern and shovel outside.  Dale put on his sweater and followed me into the dark forest.  When I turned, the lantern cast its light on him.  Everything became apparent, and I remembered.  I exclaimed, "Where did you get that sweater?!" 

"My mom made it," he said.

He was wearing a homemade, knitted, blue sweater!  "It was you!" I gasped.  And he looked into my eyes, smiled, and gave a wink of approval.