PHOTO: Mary van Balen
Unexpected activity on the homefront resulted in my arriving late for Mass,and I walked in while the celebrant was delivering his homily.
Bill, one of the hospitality misinters that morning, gave me an especially long, warm hug. I put my head on his shoulder and thanked him for his welcome. I love my little parish. No one feels judged there. All are welcome, even when they are late.
I stood and listened as the priest spoke about two expereinces of time, “chronos” and “karios.” I think reading Madeleine Le’Engle first introduced me to these two concepts. Chronos is the time most of us expereince every day, the time that we measure, plan, fill up, or fritter away. “Chronological” comes from “chronos” and we are familiar with what that means: events follow one another in a linear fashion.
“Kairos” is different. It is “Now,” always present. I think of it as God’s time. It is in the moment that we meet God, that we rest in the Divine. “In God, there is no time.” How often I have heard those words spoken, sometimes while on retreat, sometimes in periods of formation in a community of spritual seekers.
Once, someone asked me why we pray for the dead. “They are dead, gone. What good does it do to pray for them now?” The words that sprung to my lips were: “There is no time in God. Everything exists in one holy moment of NOW. In God’s eyes, there is no past or future. He holds each of us, our entire lives, in the Divine embrace. We exist always in God.”
Our life journeys appear linear to us, but, as one friend said, God looks at us and sees us as we were made to be. I like to ponder that and make space in my days to sit in silence, aware of being in the Presence of the Holy One, aware that all is held in existence by Patient Love. It helps me deal with the chronological expereince of my day, which is often packed with things to do and places to be.
After the homily, I slipped into a pew and joined with the others in praying our way through the liturgy. I received communion and expereinced the sense of kairos: God is truly present within me, within us all.
When Mass was over, I walked to the back of the church and looked at cards hanging on the “Giving Tree,” searching for one that spoke to my heart, for something I could give to a person in need this holiday: ladies pajamas, shoes, jackets and hats. Then I saw it, a card with the name “Geneva H.” printed large. A little Geneva wanted a life-like baby doll. I stared at the card.
My mother’s name was Geneva, as was my grandmother’s, and their last name began with an “H.” I have never met another Geneva, young or old. Never.
My mother died a little over two years ago, but she is part of who I am, and memories of her remain vivid. She loved children. Nothing made her happier than to hear she was to be a grandmother or great-grandmother again. She beamed as if each time was the first time.
“I don’t understand why my granddaughters don’t finish their education, get married, and have a family,” she’d say. “There is nothing better to do with your life.” Granddaughters studying for their PhD’s puzzled her. She was proud of them, of course, but hoped for them that they would one day find the right man, settle down and raise a family.
As I reached out and lifted the card from the tree branch, I expereinced a moment of karios. A moment of knowing that my mother, and her mother, and I, and this little Geneva were all held by God, the Maternal Spirit that wraps us all in Love as we move through time and in time and finally realize that what is essential has always been with us.
I can’t wait to go shopping for a baby doll. I will be faithful to sitting quietly for some part of each day, mindful of the gift of Christmas, the child born from a young woman’s womb, to teach us that what we long for is already given.
©2010 Mary van Balen
This year’s Advent wreath reflects the non-traditional path I have been traveling and the beauties to be found in it. Many of my belongings are packed away and I was not sure what kind of wreath would mark the weeks of Advent. After unsuccessfully looking for the perfect blue and rose colored candles or candle holders, I decided to use what was at hand instead.
Jesus is re-born in each of us and will bring all things to oneness with Him and with The One Who Sent Him. Advent celebrates what was, what is, and waits expectantly for what is to come. As I ponder the events of the past year and of my present place, I know that we are called to do the same.
I live in the house where she and dad raised my four silblings and me. I sit on their couch, launder clothes in the washer she’d used for years and gaze out the dining room window, watching squirrels scamper up and down the grand pin oak in the front yard. Just like mom did, and her mother before her. Over the past two years since she died, many things remind me of her and I miss her face, her hugs, her love.
Not that I doubt that it will or that I haven’t had Thanksgivings without the entire family gathered around the table, but this year is different. The separation is finally legal. A good thing.”
She was pleased to see her daughter carrying on traditions she had passed along and reminded me that chilling the crusts and crimping their edges was an improvement. I could almost feel her arm around me and knew it was her whisper that reassured me: “Everything will be good in the end.”
Yesterday was a struggle. Perhaps, as my spiritual director suggested, this year’s holiday season will be difficult. When she mentioned that a week ago, I was quick to respond: “Oh, I don’t think so. I have been living on my own for close to two and a half years. Besides being legally recognized, not much has changed. I’ll be fine.” 
“FAITH: May the God of FAITH be with you, sending you miracles and teaching you to expect them. May God show you things that can be seen only in darkness. May your faith see you through the unknowns in your life, calling you to trust the unseen presence of God in them. May your faith serve as a beacon to light the way for other pilgrims on the way. May the blessing of FAITH be upon you.” p 60
The movie, “Agora,” tells the story of Hypatia, the great female mathematician, philosopher, and scientist of ancient Egypt during the fifth century CE. The story follows atheist Edward Gibbon’s account of the destruction of the great library in Alexandria that has Christians destroying the collected wisdom of the ancient world. While a number of ancient sources place the burning of the library well before the time of Christ let alone the life of Hypatia, the library’s destruction was likely not due to a single event but to many, some as mundane as crumbling papyrus and lack of time, money, and interest to maintain such a huge collection.(see 
Short gray hair replaced the long dark cascades that framed her face in younger years and some songs were voiced in a lower pitch, but Joan Baez still sang songs that called blessings on the poor and homeless, the “salt of the earth,” that lamented the injustice suffered by “deportees,” and that called for peace.
The answer was resounding applause. “Yes!” 
Finally Joan emerged from the theater and walked to the large touring bus. Tired as she must have been, she graciously signed autographs and posed for photos with her fans. I was grateful for the opportunity to thank her for her life, for her work, and appreciated the hug she gave me in return.
I packed for cool weather, but needn’t have taken a jacket since temperatures hovered around 80F during the day while we walked miles along the beach. I even ventured into to water to receive the salty baptism of the sea.
I found shells at Coquina Beach and as usually happens, some particular type, different each trip, spoke to my soul. While I collected fragments worn by decades of salt, sand, and waves, ideas for using them in retreats and presentations filled my head.
I had the pleasure of seeing her office and meeting one of her bosses. You who have adult children know the joy of seeing them in their own element, learning about their work, and meeting the people who fill their lives.
When my alarm rang this morning, I struggled to leave the comfort of my warm bed. A schedule change required a half-hour drive for allergy shots before work rather than after. The day was gray and rainy. After visiting the doctor’s office, I decided to stop at a local Panera’s to pick up a breakfast sandwich and coffee; the drive to work was close to an hour and the day would be long.
This morning I stopped at the grocery store on my way to work and bought boxes of animal crackers to share on Saint Francis’ feast day.