Only Grace

It was years ago that I heard this word spoken in an interview on a talk show. Daniel J Trafanti, was being quizzed about his success on the TV show "Hill Street Blues." It came to light  that the actor had struggled for years with alcoholism and finally was able to reclaim his life. Then his acting success followed. When asked how, he said a simple word: grace. It was stunning to see his face shine as the interviewer looked on in puzzlement.

At Mass today we celebrated the First Holy Communion of a friend's eight year old. It brought back thoughts of my First Communion on a glorious day back in May in the '50s. We were trained down to the last detail of the ceremony for weeks by the nuns who held our lives in their stern hands for 8 years. I was so uptight, so afraid of making a mistake that I broke out in hives and could barely walk.Such fear, such rigidity that allowed for no mistake. One must be perfect. I recall in detail that my view of God was that He was up there watching and just waiting for us to make a mistake.What a horrible burden for a child to bear.

This day also brought back pictures of an entire family, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins all on the lawn in the back of our house after the happy ceremony .At a young age I recall the early afternoon drinking to excess to celebrate this holy day. It all mystified me.The disconnect.

How did this fear filled child survive? How could she, a child who was so intimidated by the thought of coloring outside the lines of her coloring book that she put a small grey dot in the middle of an elephant and called it coloring, how could she make it? I thought of that as I sat among my community of friends .People I have known and loved for over 40 years. As I sat with my husband of 50 years in contentment and joy. I heard the words of the gospel," I am the vine and you are the branches and cut off from me you can nothing. (of kingdom value)."My life has had value. I have been connected. Put your hands together for grace.

the writing group

It started with a painting by Alfred Sisley. In somber tones, it shows a hunched woman, wrapped against the cold, walking alone in an alley.The swirling snow and the dim setting came alive in my mind. My first story.When it was finished themes had emerged:  fear of being a lonely widow, my grandfather's kindness, a caring deacon, all emerged into the light. The process of uncovering these unseen understandings brought me joy. Pure joy.

It was years before I ventured to share this gift with others.Writing, finding new ways of expressing, were used, honed and many prayers said. Should I do this? Would others see its value ? And then the time was right and a writing group was launched. Not having any idea how the first session should begin, I tapped the shoulder of a mentor writer whose gentle heart had warmed me when I joined her memoir group in upstate New York. Her one page of ideas is enshrined in my writing group notes.

We are now in our third year of using art to inspire our stories and I am amazed still at the depth of the sharing. And healing. Writers who have said they would never use the internet now have their own blogs with followers from around the world. People resistant to poetry write haiku daily as a way of capturing the natural world that is at their fingertips.

We have fallen in love with Van Gogh's cathedrals, envisioned a mighty ram from a skull, traveled to Russia in words, embraced modern art with creativity , told stories that are unforgettable, shared faith, written simple haiku that sings, and uncovered how we feel about our time of life.We have been drawn into the symbols of our round stained glass window by a poet and his artist daughter.Not to mention digestive leavings.Who doesn't love the adventures of Lizzie? We are brought colors and attention to detail that are surprising in such a good way.And if we cry.....

There is an expression in Aboriginal culture that expresses the environment that we writers have created. It is called: dadirri. For an individual, it is entering nature with an open heart and listening deeply to its whispers.For a group, it is a place of safety and deep listening without judgement.Without planning it, this is the nature of our group. The emotional charge is released a little at a time as the circle around us offers an unwavering reflection of loving acceptance.

It is only in this third year that I understand that what we are achieving is dadiiri. Creating sacred space that holds the stories.that burn within us, that corrode if not aired.That we were formed in the image of God to be like Him, creators of beauty.Our stories are important; here they are honored.

To all those who came for a season, for those who are in the circle still, for those whose courage humbles, for the kindness that pours from each heart, for writers here and everywhere, I applaud you.I will end with a haiku written by a new poet. It sums up what we do perfectly:


opening closed minds
to love art and start writing
expressing joy.