The last Sunday at the end of November, after having led the music with the kids at Mass, someone stopped me and asked, “Are you a teacher?” And I replied, “Actually, no, I'm not.” He replied kindly, “Too bad. You missed your calling.” And my response, “Oh, no, I haven’t.” And offered a smile.
But as equally confident and humbled as I felt in that moment, those words stuck with me. "You Missed Your Calling." Crap.
I couldn't tell whether or not I believed him. Had living with such care and diligence and focus on others brought me to a point that my own calling had somehow fallen through my fingers like sand? I decided, not likely. But "what if?" Those few words from that tiny encounter with a sweet congregant echoed loudly, starting a domino effect inside of me. A lot of sudden introspection; a lot of sudden questions. God and I struck up an interesting conversation – why had I been given gifts to so fluently work with children, yet had never been walked down a path to have my own kids? Why had I been given the gift of a loving and open heart to never find a partner to return that love to me? Why am I so far behind where I thought I would be? And even moving at my snail's pace, "You missed your calling." Ugh. Equal parts pissed, sad, frustrated, wanting. "Um... hey God, what's going on down here?" We walked and we talked.
At the end of that walk, I posted a short, positive reflection about that morning's encounter on Facebook:
I truly believe that the only things we are really “called” to be are kind and loving. And when we show up as those things, they manifest themselves in beautiful ways through us, regardless of the role we’re standing in. In BIGGER ways than we could ever have planned for ourselves. And the result? A multitude of gifts to be shared. More light in the world. And God is behind and inside of and working through all of that. SO, never question if you’re on the “right” path. And never worry about “missing your calling.” If you are showing up with kindness and love, you will never be wrong.
In all honesty, there were some tears that day, as their often are, knowing that I was just a couple weeks away from my milestone 40th year ... and probably having moved beyond a potential experience of biological motherhood; or motherhood in general. Yes, 'with God all things are possible.' But all the human things can get rough in the interim of possibility, too. Still, I continue to trust that someone is in control here, even though it isn't me.
Kindness and love. That's what it's all about. And that could have been the end of the story.
Nevertheless, she persisted.
A normal, daily day Sunday continued. A super overcast and grayish normal Sunday. Being Thanksgiving weekend, there were less people in Hoboken, which meant more of an opportunity to get things done without waiting. Like a walk-in mani-pedi. A little comfort, self-care, attention and beauty were just what the doctor ordered to steal my attention from my concerned heart.
A couple of hours later, the UV lights ceased, the gels were hard, and it was time to settle the ticket. It was then that I realized I had no cash for a tip. So, as I paid for the services with a card, I told them I needed to make a quick stop at the ATM. And carefully pranced out with wet toes toward the Bank of America which was across the street down about a block. The clouds in the sky were super thick -- I noted -- kind of like a quilt. No zippidi-doodah sunshine or blue birds in sight. Hoboken was covered by a blank, textured, woven cloud as far as my eyes could gaze down Washington Street. Yet something in the next moment caught my attention and stilled my prancing toes. Within the thick quilt, there was one spot presenting a slight unraveling of threads -- drifting cloud movement with a sudden pop of blue sky. And as I watched, my mind quickly drifted to childhood cloud games. Is it a bird? Is it a plane? Well, actually... yes and yes, sort of. At first thinking it a plane shape, but I came to realize that it looked more like the shape of a dove with outstretched wings. “Aw that's nice. Cool.”
Yes; definitely the shape of a dove. “Interesting,” I thought, as I continued to watch this celestial unraveling. But something unexpected happened next that I cannot quite explain. From the center of the dove cloud, the unmistakable huge face of a boy child emerged … with a halo and a pacifier and two arms, and two nostrils, and two ears, and a head of hair, and wings. I’m pretty sure I heard myself mutter, “Oh. My. God!” as I realized what I was seeing and simultaneously fumbled for my phone in my left hand, in the hopes of capturing this vision. My airplane-dove had birthed a cloud child right in front of me, and it was mesmerizing. And giant. And clear as day.
Here I was on November 25th standing on the main street of my square mile town at 4:07 pm standing alone and looking up at the sky in amazement, unable to take my eyes off of this child and hoping that someone else was seeing this with me. Over the next 10-15 quick seconds, the child was swallowed back into the center of the dove shape from where he had been birthed; and the dove quilted itself back into the clouds. It was gone. And I was frozen in time and space. I then looked around myself – to the left, to the right – no one else was stopped. No one was else looking at the sky. No one was eagerly searching out my eyes for validation as I was searching out theirs. Whatever this was, in that moment, had been meant for me to see.
What do you do at a moment like this? You call your mother. “I have to tell you something. Please, don’t think I am crazy. But I’m pretty sure I just saw an angel in the sky. A baby boy angel. Made of clouds.” And just like a mother, she responded, "Well, if you think you saw one, you probably did."
That entire afternoon, all I did was look through the photos that my phone captured. They didn't quite illustrate the vibrancy or clarity of what my eyes beheld, but nevertheless, that baby was in there. And I was overjoyed. I sent some photos to my mother -- I did FaceTime calls and texts with my closest family and friends; all in the hopes that someone would see what I saw. Over the next few days, I shared with theater friends, co-workers in corporate America, yoga friends, and those in ministry with me. Some could see it immediately. Some took their time. Some could not at all. But regardless, I was very excited; very confused; and very thankful for this gift.
Below are three of the photos I shared; each one zoomed in more ... what can you see? (Give yourself some time to spend with each one)
His Name is...
A couple days later, still reeling from the experience, I was trying to figure out a name for this vision. I began reaching out to some artists in an attempt to have the cloud photos painted and would need a title for the work. But I was also trying to figure out what the message was and who it was for. And maybe giving him a name would help me in that direction.
I started doing a little online research, where all online research starts these days: Google. A natural researcher AND a yogi, in the end I decided I liked the sound of “Deva” which is Sanskrit for “heavenly, divine, anything of excellence” and a term for a deity in Hinduism. It struck me that Deva sounds a lot like David, which is fitting because David, in the Old Testament, is a figure aligned with musicianship and leadership and singing Psalms to God and overcoming some unexpected and enormous life hurdles. Things that feel so ME. And just like Elizabeth pronounced her child "His name is John," so I also then pronounced, "His name is Deva."
(Note to the reader: When I first asked myself "what am I going to name this baby?" the name Ronnie immediately surfaced. And I kind of laughed, because he doesn't look like a Ronnie to me. But, being that the message was all about Kindness and Love, he became endearingly (yet randomly) known as Ronnie Klein. And, ironically enough, my online research on Deva and David led me right to a Lutheran Pastor and Old Testament Scholar named R. Klein. I thought maybe there may have been a message in this for him and actually sent him an email. And I must admit that I blessed that email before I hit send... because what a thing to send a stranger. But sometimes you just trust and hit that send button. I have not yet heard back, but will post an update if I do.)
Me Katie. You Jane.
Within those days, I also had several backs and forths with artists who could potentially capture my Deva (Ronnie Klein) on canvas. One of the connections made was to an artist named Jane, the sister of a guy I went to college with twenty years ago. I carefully shared photos and some of the high level story with her. And she had remarked that it was just a few days before the Immaculate Conception. The conversation went dark, as it had with others; which was okay. I'm well aware that this is a lot to handle and not your run-of-the-mill art commission. But on the evening of December 11th (the day before my 40th birthday), Jane texted me out-of-the-blue, "Hey Katie - I started on something and wanted to share." And included the photo of a canvas with the beginnings of something quite beautiful. She had chosen to work on this project in the quiet of life's background -- with no agreement in place -- just because she felt drawn to it.
What struck me initially about Jane's art choices is that I would have never chosen any of them. And I don't mean that in a bad way, AT ALL. Quite the opposite, in fact. If asked, perhaps I would have suggested acrylics; perhaps watercolor on a white canvas. But Jane did the polar opposite. She chose a black background and vibrant pastels that swirled around with arching strokes. And somehow, with all those bright lines enveloping that darkness ... it totally worked. Jane clearly knew what she was doing. In the early drafts, I could already see that her technique brought both life and confirmation to the cloud vision.
December 12th came, (I turned 40!) and we all celebrated the Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe, the Protectress of children and Mother of all of us.
We were there. And Now We're Here.
The pastel was completed a few months ago, but because I had a swift move out of Hoboken (which I will write about at another time), Jane patiently held onto it for me. But for Mother's Day Weekend... it was time for Deva (Ronnie Klein) to come home. I took a Saturday morning trek down to South Jersey and made a right turn onto Trinity. And then it hit me... Trinity. On the day of the cloud vision, was I not earlier speaking to the Father about my life who then showed me the Holy Spirit (Dove) which brought forth a baby Son? Father, Son, Holy Spirit. Trinity. Crafty, God... crafty!
Jane and I spoke of many things that morning -- some personal and some not-so-personal. About how much she felt called to pray for me while recreating my Deva; about how much the photo and art process meant for her own journey; about her art collections in the converted studio garage. A studio filled with a variety of artistic expression, from pottery to crochet, to ink blots, to sketches, to 3D paintings. A lot of themes of metamorphosis; and I noticed, a LOT of representations of butterflies. When I asked her about the butterflies, she said that they are very present signs for her and pop up everywhere along her life. At which point, I smiled and handed her a Mother's Day/Thank You card that I had brought ... of course, decorated with 3D butterflies.
We also discovered that Jane's husband Fred (the name of my deceased grandfather) is a Catholic Music Minister that personally works with my Uncle Mike, who is an ordained Deacon of the same diocese. Such a small world!
Not leaving anything to chance... upon leaving Trinity Avenue, I googled the meaning of the name Jane, "Jehova has been gracious." And there's but one word with which I can respond: AMEN.
In The End, Only Kindness Matters...
Deva certainly brought a lot of questions with him. Questions like: Who was this child? Was he an angel? Was he a deceased baby? Was he an unborn child? Is he my child? Was he the baby Jesus? Is someone going to have a child? Why would I have been sent this image? What does it mean? What's in his hand? Who should I tell? And so many more...
The real answer is that there are no answers. The more people I have spoken to and shared the story with, the more I realize that I don't have to do the work of translating God or figuring out anything. There isn't just one meaning or one reason for what I captured. Little Deva manifests a story and a connection in each person he touches. I was merely chosen on that day to be a conduit -- and yes, there is personal meaning in this for me -- but I think there's a personal message in it for a lot of people. And those are the stories I'd love if you would share!
I returned to the basic message of that day for me: Kindness and Love. God is kindness and love. We are kindness and love. And all God asks is that we share the blessings we receive ... and then step back and let God manifest his/her self with every individual in a unique way.
I truly believe that the only things we are really “called” to be are kind and loving. And when we show up as those things, they manifest themselves in beautiful ways through us, regardless of the role we’re standing in. In BIGGER ways than we could ever have planned for ourselves. And the result? A multitude of gifts to be shared. More light in the world. And God is behind and inside of and working through all of that. SO, never question if you’re on the “right” path. And never worry about “missing your calling.” If you are showing up with kindness and love, you will never be wrong.
Happy Mother's Day!
And on this week of Mother's Day, I dedicate this blog to all the Moms of the world, especially to my own Mother and for those who have been like Mothers to me...
Biological birth mothers. Foster mothers. Adoptive mothers. Surrogate mothers. Egg donor mothers. Mothers who can't get pregnant. Mothers of unexpected pregnancies. Single mothers. Mothers who have lost children to death. Mothers who have lost children to life. Mothers who have had abortions. Straight, bisexual, gay and transgender mothers. Godmothers. Grandmothers. Mothers-in-law. Mothers who are also fathers. Fathers who are also mothers. Single, married, widowed or divorced mothers who nurture children. Mothers who have lost their mothers. Mothers who never had mothers. The sisters of mothers. Religious sister mothers. Stay at home mothers. Career mothers. Touring mothers. And the list goes on and on.
In the end... only Kindness Matters. Kindness and love. That's what it's all about. It‘s where the story ends. And also where it begins.
You are loved! xo
Songs for Meditation:
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