Your Story of Impermanence is Your Strength

This year, on All Saints' Day, I honored my mother the best way I know how: through small acts of delicious ritual. I cooked her favorite meal: broiled marinated flank steak sliced thin against the grain; crispy pan-fried diced potatoes; peasant peas in butter sauce; and a nice salad, all washed down with a glass of Blue Nun Riesling.

As I did the dishes, I thought about all the versions of my mother I had known. The excellent Brownie Troop leader, the meticulous knitter, the patient gardener. She was always strong, but she truly blossomed after she left my father and started attending church again. She began seminary in her 50s and, with a fearless spirit that defined her later life, eventually became the first openly gay minister in her denomination's regional chapter—a feat of courage and conviction for that era, and for our own.

I was incredibly proud of her. Proud that she overcame the anger and shame surrounding the collapse of her marriage and the loss of our money. Proud that she carved her own path for the last fifteen years of her life, even while battling Hodgkin’s lymphoma and then full blown leukemia. It didn't slow her down until the very end, when she was finally out of treatment options. I sure do miss her.

It's within this deeply personal context—the delicious meal, the complex history, the quiet grief—that I consider one of her most revealing stories, kind of a summary for the essence of her life.

Welcoming the River of Change

If you're following my narrative, you'll know how much I promote that the core of our existence is change. The water you step into is never the same water; the person you are today is not the exact same person you were yesterday. The philosopher Alan Watts put it this way, to roughly paraphrase: trying to manage things, trying to force life to conform to a rigid, unyielding force of egotistical will, is a guaranteed path to frustration. Resilience is an antitdote, the grace of learning to flow with the current of impermanence.

To build our resilience, we have to become the architects of meaning in our own lives. We have to stop being the passive receivers of whatever life deals out and take the pen firmly in hand.

The Power of Intention: Starting with the 'Why'

To truly master this narrative, we need a flexible, dynamic throughline. Steven Covey taught us the invaluable habit of "Beginning with the End in Mind." This means defining the principles and values that guide your actions, regardless of the chaos happening around you. Values are different from will; they are more forgiving of unexpected outcomes; they are more of a touchstone you can use day to day.

When disruption arrives, people who know their fundamental "why" are better equipped to absorb the shock. Covey reminds us that we have the power to choose our response. We are not merely products of our circumstances; we are products of the decisions we make in the face of those circumstances.

My mother's decision to "go back to work" after leaving her marriage was steeped in this principle: clarifying her values and pursuing them with fierce intent, even though every circumstance was advising caution. It didn't all turn out the way she originally planned, but it turned out the way it was supposed to happen.

A Story of Light and Premonition

It was during this period—in the mid-to-late 1990s, after she had chosen her new path—that she shared a powerful story with a local newspaper.

She recounted a moment she had experienced in a hospital, describing a moment of transcendent clarity—a powerful white light—where she felt a spiritual presence instructing her to "go back to her original work." She had been a researcher and writer, but that was interrupted by being a wife and mother. It was a clear, unmistakable call to ministry.

But her story had a second, weightier revelation. Alongside the calling, she was told that "a time of great evil was coming." She was hard pressed to say what exactly that would entail, but she said it meant that she had to be honest and fierce with her faith, which she was. This was over 2o years ago, but in the perspective of human time, I wonder if what she was seeing is our now.

Finding Meaning in the Forecast

Now, decades later, I look back at this story with wonder and respect, especially given that she is gone. The fact that she has moved beyond this physical life doesn’t diminish any of these events; it makes them all the more meaningful. Her profound experience illustrates how a narrative of resilience operates in the spiritual and emotional realms.

Great spiritual teachers like Ram Dass encouraged us to recognize the essential interconnectedness of all things—the light and the shadow, the suffering and the joy. My mother's experience shows that she faced the shadow head-on. She didn't deny the premonition of "great evil"; she integrated it into her mission.

This acceptance is not surrender; it is strength. My mother’s power lay in embracing her calling as an open and affirming minister, despite the forecast of coming darkness. By facing the challenge, she was able to prepare for it, grounding herself more firmly in her ultimate purpose.

She used her story—the personal failures, the spiritual awakening, the prophetic warning—to define her purpose for the last fifteen years of her life. She was a woman who knew the darkness was coming, yet still chose to shine her light as a minister, fighting off cancer with the same determination she used to fight off societal expectations.

Making the Past Serve the Future

In the end, our goal is not to eliminate change or loss, but to become the primary, active interpreter of those deep events. We choose the meaningful lens through which we view our past.

To build a robust narrative of resilience, here's a list of four guiding lights that might help you navigate our challenging times:

1. Acknowledge everything. Resilience is not about denying the difficult moments, but about embracing every part of the story—the personal and the prophetic—as part of the total, changing nature of reality.
2. Focus on the choice you made. Remember that you are the author. Emphasize the actions you took and the internal resources you discovered when things were tough. My mother chose to become a minister in a denomination that was not yet open and affirming; she chose to fight.
3. Frame transformation. View your struggles less as scars and more as signs of evolution and growth. Our stories should prove that we are always learning and becoming, moving past anger and shame.
4. Embrace your power. Like the revelation my mother received, use those profound moments—those moments that you feel connected to something greater than yourself—as fuel for your highest purpose.

My mother may no longer be here to share a plate of flank steak and potatoes, but her story remains: her vulnerability in sharing her experience is forever linked to her enduring strength. Her journey shows us that change is not an enemy, but the constant, essential engine of growth, and the most compelling narratives are those where we choose to lead with love, even when we know the darkness is coming.