mary van milligen

I’ve always had faith.  Throughout the years, people excitedly share stories with me about how they’ve found God, or they can finally feel that God exists.  I’m happy for them; they may have felt their spiritual GPS lead them astray, but they took the next turn, and arrived at the destination.  Personally, I never questioned God’s existence.  My tumultuous tinkering with theological wonders occur with finding a religion that aligns with the way that I want to feel God’s presence in my life.

I grew up attending a Catholic church, and I wish it became my permanent residence for spiritual growth, but at this point, it isn’t.  I wish I could tap my ruby red slippers and find peace in the pews. Am I yearning for this due to my mother’s influence?  Do I want to be drawn to this stained glass window sanctuary for its lifelong familiarity of tradition?  Or can I simply feel ok and not burdened or obligated to breathe in faith in the ways my mind absorbs it?  The last question already possesses an answer, but why am I hesitant to answer when I know the answer is yes?

I see God when I watch my two daughters gleefully get off the bus and smile my way.  I feel God in my mother’s embrace. I feel God even, dare I say it, when I teach didactic lessons at a public school.  I’m not uttering or preaching his name, but I do believe God guides my compassionate comments.  I want to hear God in any human’s powerful words, even in a Cyndi Lauper song.

The punky 80s icon helped me hear God in 1984.  As I sat in my room listening to the song Time After Time, my mind drifted towards my relationship with God in the lyrics. She tenderly and somewhat nasally sang

“Then you say, go slow

I fall behind

The second hand unwinds

If you’re lost you can look and you will find me

Time after time

If you fall I will catch you”

Then, emphatically, she continues

“I will be waiting

Time after time”.

It’s not the approved stamped and sealed scripture. But it served as the first of many times when I found hope and my Father in an unusual place.   It might be an unorthodox approach for others, but why do we have to judge and shame others for not seeing God in the exact way that we see him when we’re all cheering for the same quarterback?  Why can’t we allow people to develop the commitment in the manner that heightens his or her life and isn’t born out of a place that will cause horrendous detriment to others?  Why can’t we release the tightened ropes of righteousness?  Why, simply, can’t we march to the beat of our own divine drum?  Before, as Cyndi sang, “the drum beats out of time.”