I have no religious formal education or background, so I welcome the Methodist Church’s effort to be a “Big Tent” by welcoming a variety of perspectives. I believe we are all part of a big puzzle. If I deny someone, I deny my ability to see that big picture. So now I must be courageous enough to share my deeply personal truth.
My parents’ childhood during WWII in France and Germany was deeply traumatizing. But despite the unstable household I grew up in, they both offered their 3 children seeds of spiritual wisdom.
The first time I heard the word Jesus was through my Mother. She spoke of Him radiating Joy. Jesus seemed a great friend and neighbor, and I hope to meet him sometimes. She confided to me that as a little girl, she knew years ahead of time that she would lose her mother by the age of 12 under the Dresden bombing. But a vision of Jesus comforted her. Her favorite sayings:
“Help yourself, and the Heavens will help you.”
“Know Thyself.”
“If your happiness is expensive, it is not of the right kind."
My father, despite himself, was also a source of spiritual wisdom. While being a self-proclaimed natural born atheist, he respected all creeds and gave a lot of money away.
He participated in many anonymous acts of charity for the greater good.
I still hear him say:
“Life is not to be understood, but to be lived.”
“The main thing is to participate.”
And my favorite:
“Never miss the opportunity for a beautiful gesture.”
My inner spiritual life was sparked by dreams and the act of artistic creation. I started a dream journal before 10 and classified dreams in various categories. I had dreams that made me relive my parents’ war trauma. Other dreams were more fun, like flying dreams that taught me that levity and joy were the key to flying like a bird and discovering places on Earth in great detail. Or I could fall and crash when letting fear remind me that humans cannot fly. The crash-landing always woke me up. Though I felt no pain, I knew I had failed the “Exam”. I was particularly puzzled by the dreams that clearly prepared me for the future.
While drawing or painting, I was also puzzled at witnessing my hand draw and paint surprising images I could never have anticipated. I wondered who was moving the pen, and what, who was at the source. Was it the same Presence that guided my dreams? Unbeknownst to me, I was beginning to study consciousness, a good step towards spiritual growth.
So American soldiers freed my country of France, but also healed our collective soul with the music they brought with them. Unsurprisingly, a leap of faith led me to the USA, where I performed and still teach that very music.
This journey led me to Berklee College of Music in Boston. A series of synchronistic events led me to study and perform movement theater, for which I also composed music and sound designs.
A course in Zen Principles titled The Art of Making a True Move taught me to surrender to the Source of Inspiration, not with a paintbrush this time, but with the whole body.
This ancient Zen exercise taught me the difference between following your mind versus following…something else, something smarter. It seems that when the artist follows the soul, a greater spirit comes through. The idea is to get the small human ego out of the way and surrender.
I still tell my student: your body is an instrument that is playing the guitar, another instrument. So you are playing the guitar, but who is playing you? Maybe no answer will come, or the answer might just be a feeling. I find this question helps to stay humble and authentic.
A dream told me that working in a shelter for the homeless was on my path. I made music for and especially with* our guests there. One of them, Jonahson Turner, an extraordinary songwriter (ex-Georgia pastor, Dobro builder, Holy Modal Rounder band member) gifted me with an original song as a thank you. I still sing that very funny, relevant song called “Great Big Brains”.
The Emergency Shelter for Men was daunting at first: over 300 men, all creeds, races, all broken in various ways. The spiritual community I was involved with at the time gave me a prayer to help me bring Christ Consciousness into my actions as a staff member and counselor. I like the expression a lot. It made me strong enough to be of service; crying can be distracting and does not help. Stay compassionate, but strong enough to do the work.
My path towards living with the Reverend Kwan Lee is as follows: 15 years before asking Pastor Lee for his daughter in marriage, I had a strong vision him. It was a dark moment in my life: I had been evicted from my apartment in Boston and was walking in the street with my belonging, towards the Boston Center for the Arts, where I was to stay temporarily in a friend’s art studio. I clearly had the vision of a kind older Asian man who said, “Don’t worry, everything will be fine. You see that house behind me? Well, there is a room for you.” Two things made me realize that this vision was indeed important: The clarity of it, but mainly, the real feeling of peace and joy spreading through my body. An incongruous state of mind given the dire situation.
The house I saw is the house we shared for 5 years in Houlton. 15 years later, I met Pastor Lee’s prodigious daughter. I just needed an accordion player to perform with me the French song “La Vie En Rose” for a French festival. We instantly connected. When she spoke to her father about me he had 2 questions: “Are you spiritually compatible?” “Yes.” “Can he cook?” “Yes.” “Well, okay then.”
A year later, our daughter Sophie was born in Boston. The lady surgeon who held the baby spontaneously sang “La vie en Rose” along with the staff! So the 1rst song the baby heard was the song that caused her parents to meet! I thought we were indeed surrounded by a conspiracy of Grace!
Meeting Pastor Lee was intimidating, yet exciting: we had a common passion for reading about Christian Mysticism, notably the books by and about the amazing Edgar Cayce, a Christian clairvoyant. We also spoke about Chi. I have been studying the discipline of Qigong, which he was familiar with, being Korean. We spoke of his Reiki master's degree.
About 20 years later, we decided to live under the same roof and care for the Reverend, in a town where he had grown a large, passionate assembly. Finding a house near friends, a beloved church, in a town with fond memories was a nice way to spend his remaining years, we thought.
So I had the privilege to serve Pastor Lee food we shared daily. I was living with the most Christ-like person I‘d ever met and felt safe confiding in him the visions I had, especially the vision I had of him while being on the verge of homelessness. I said: You must have prayed for the Homeless at one point, and your prayer reached me…Mysterious ways!
PS: Short story: The long Blizzard: The Reverend had gifted me with his car. I called it the Faith-mobile since it held the road very steadily. One day I was to drive the Reverend from Nashua to Houlton, a 5hr drive that turned into 8 hours because of a raging nor’easter blizzard. With a 93-year-old passenger, no way I could stop to spend the night in the car. Breathe, relax, think, what is the safest speed? Not too slow, so truck so no truck doesn't pass you by. Not to fast so you keep control of the Faithmobile.
I tried to stay aware of the conditions and all around. Breathing slow and deep, feeling the varying textures of the road under my fingers. By nighttime, the conditions were lethal. Horizontal snow hitting the windshield, black ice, rain, sleet, 18-wheelers zooming by, creating zero visibility for several seconds. Ironically, we only had a vintage Hawaiian CD to listen to.
I thought to myself, “I am blessed with the protective presence of the Reverend by my side, I am in good hands…” Once arrived at home, Pastor Lee said: “You know, you looked so confident and relaxed, I knew I was in good hands.” I replied, “Well, I, too, somehow felt safe in your company.” We realized silently that our faith in each other had gotten through the ordeal. Then he said something really gangster: “Now we roll together!”
Even after his passing, I feel we still do…
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