"I Wanna Bear My Testimony"

It's taken me longer than it ever has before, but, finally my apartment is decorated for the holidays. The tree I thought would be out of my financial reach stands beautifully in the front room window, adorned with clear lights and my increasing collection of vintage ornaments. If she could speak I imagine her saying "thank you, slow human" and smiling proudly at all the attention from passersby below.

In keeping with the tradition of naming our Christmas trees, we've named this one Gertrude.

Well, Gertrude the tree may have been smiling, but I haven't much lately. I entered this Christmas season, kicking and screaming, whining because I didn't have this or that or those, or... him. Feeling sorry for myself, really, and not realizing how deeply into capitalistic ego I had fallen, I began equating my worth as a father to my ability to pile a competitive number of gifts for my children under happy Gert.

I've done it before: over compensated, or wanted to, in one way or another, for my own feelings of fear and inadequacy. But, why now, at Christmas?

The answer to that question is glaringly simple: seems there is no other time when capitalistic ego is stronger. Media is replete with marketing that suggests, though sometimes subtly, that love, friendship, commitment and respect are determined by the quality--and, of course, quantity--of the gifts one gives.

Thankfully, however, this blog post is not about capitalistic ego. It's not about gift giving, or capitalism or commercialism. Nor is it about effective fathering while confronting feelings of inadequacy. Simply put, this post is about the experience I had when, after becoming very overwhelmed by all those things, I sought help from the Creator.

What happened was this: I was invited to stop thinking and sit still long enough to hear, whispered in my spiritual ear "I love you, Shawn."

In that moment, my face quickly went into that goofy-looking pursed lipped posture and my eyes immediately swelled with tears. I felt, rather than overwhelm, a sense of well-being and a strong sense of communion (common-union) with my fellows. Specific details of how Spirit made that invitation are irrelevant, with one exception: the people who delivered the message. Several individuals around me, in one way or another, completely unaware they were conspiring with Creator on my behalf, bore witness of God's love for me.

In my post dated Friday, October 9, 2009 (name omitted here, it's kind of naughty) I wrote my creed: a statement of my beliefs. While vague about the nature of God's Being, it specifies that I believe in and have faith in "God's sons and daughters who, through enlightenment and the power of Holy Spirit bear witness of God's love."

Included in that, then, are prophets, priests and popes; men like Gandhi and women like Mother Theressa. White witches and native shamans, who remind me to appreciate Mother Earth, bear witness of God's love in powerful ways. And, also included, and perhaps even more powerfully, is the young girl who lives in my apartment building and seems always to have a kind thing to say. Included also is the drug addicted, alcoholic homeless man who sleeps in an alley nearby; his level of gratitude for life and love and beauty astound me. It was his thoughtful compliment today that shifted my perspective the most.

He bore witness of God's love. The drug-addicted alcoholic homeless man said something that shifted my focus to one of love rather than fear or indifference. So, if he can, I surely should be able to. Here goes: When I am not distracted by fear or indifference I feel a connection to Source, or God, that tells me I am a part of God like a wave is a part of the ocean. We all are. Again, when free of distraction, I feel loved by that power in ways my human voice can't explain. We're all loved like that.

So, there it is. No dogma. No "hitchhiking" doctrine attached to the sensation of God's love for me. No "proof" that some dudes construct of God, creative though it may be, is embedded in the experience of being loved.

Just my feelings, my message, my testimony.

To the drug-addicted homeless man who sleeps in an alley nearby and the little girl who lives in my building: Thanks guys. You made my day.