MaxAbility

I’ll begin with this. I believe in miracles. Not the woo-woo kind of miracle we feel when we miraculously find a parking spot (although those miracles do exist). But rather, the life-shaping, moment-by-moment realizations that we—all people—are all connected, that we are one, healed, and wholly joined. This book is the result of my experience with that awareness of the common thread that runs within and throughout our connective lives. A Course in Miracles says, “You will not rest until you know your function and fulfill it, for only in this can your will and your Father’s be wholly joined.” Succumbing to the great universal truths, the questions hurled at me from the lips of my friend Max Nartker were to forever change my life: “Who are you? What are you here for?” he said. With those words, the seed of a story was planted in the soil of my soul, ready to unfold. That soil had been tilled by previous experiences that had seared themselves into my consciousness. Most notably, my Catholic-Christian-Episcopal background. I had an aunt, my dad’s sister, who had entered religious life in a convent in Detroit four years before my birth. As a young child, when my family would visit the convent, I was simply overwhelmed by the majesty of the place. The high-ceiling entryway, the gentle sounds softly sluicing through the long grandiose corridors, the mystery, and the palpable faith of Aunt Gerry, wearing her aquamarine habit, that resonated with me as she visited us in the common room, the only part of the building, in addition to the chapel, where we were allowed to visit. Years later, when I was older and she was out in the world, my aunt and I began to converse about theology, religion, and politics. I saw her then as a game-changer. I shared her radical ideas about the Church. I readily agreed with her that women belonged within and throughout the ministry of Christ, not just in subservient roles. She was unflappable in her support of women in positions of leadership in the Catholic Church. So much so that, even on her deathbed in 2011, she implored me to continue her work. Well, you simply don’t say no to an 84-year-old nun who is dying of brain cancer, so I tucked her request into a mound of soil and labeled it “future crops.” After all, maybe she meant her work for the poor, underserved, and for justice within the city of Detroit. Years before that, on March 30, 2004, another, even larger seed found its way into the recesses of my consciousness. At that time, I had maintained a 10-year-long daily meditation practice to begin my day. I was alone, seated as usual in the living room of our home in Kalamazoo, Michigan. Now, if what I am about to reveal makes you close this book and cast it aside as woo-woo fiction, then please at least give it to your most crazy friend. Please also know that sharing this thought with you is also opening a floodgate of emotion and courage within me. For I have not said anything about this to anyone but my spiritual advisor and closest counselors who are, by law, required to keep their client’s conversations confidential. With my eyes closed in meditation, I heard a voice at the other end of my couch say, “He made himself abundantly clear.” Now I don’t know about you, but I do know that when one hears a voice, one will normally turn and look to see who is speaking, wanting to know where that voice is coming from, especially in a quiet, empty house. I did. I saw no one. But I do know that the voice was real. So real that I wanted to hear more. To know more. Hoping to bring the voice back, I asked aloud, “Who is ‘he’?” No answer. Only silence. It didn’t take but a moment for me to realize that, obviously, I was supposed to know who “he” was. And I did know or at least had an inkling—on some level. I journaled this event, so I remember the date. It was in 2004. Since then, I’ve been waiting for another voice, for further clarification. Nada. Except that I’ve been living—and sort of but not really satisfied—with my deep, deep knowing from my Catholic-Episcopalian-Christian faith journey, that “He” was Jesus. The Christ. The One.