THE GIFT OF UNCONDITIONAL LOVE

I awoke this morning with the words “thank you” on my lips. This occurrence has been going on for at least the last fifty years. I’ve experienced joys and sorrows like most humans I know. With all of these experiences, there have been lessons taught and learned; sometimes repeated. Yes, I have found it is possible to learn from sorrows, as well as joys. I have come to believe that such learning is why I am living my life here on planet Earth. Here and now is where the potential to gain greater understanding is rife in every human experience we have. Understanding of our experiences helps us to expand our consciousness of what it means to be a human being, and apply that understanding to the choices we make using our God-given free will all along the way.

When I look back, I can see choices I made at junctures along the way that brought me to where I am today. Most importantly, I am grateful for the roads I’ve chosen to travel that have made all the difference with respect to learning and growing as a member of the human species. I wish to share some of lessons I’ve learned for which I am eternally grateful.

First and foremost, I have learned about the power of unconditional love. I am grateful for my parents who were role models for me, because their love was never based on conditions they could’ve, but didn’t, place on me. They practiced unconditional love all their lives.

I am grateful for the tools and freedom they gave me to explore and learn. These tools were encouraging curiosity, perseverance, patience, courage, forgiveness, mercy, understanding, and love, always love, both as a noun and a verb. They instilled in me one simple rule to guide my behavioral choices toward others: “Do unto others as you would have others do unto you.” In each chapter of my life, I have used these tools and still do in my striving to grow and learn. So, I greet each morning with gratitude for their unconditional love and wisdom.

My parents fell in love in the midst of WWII. I am grateful they met before Pearl Harbor, and weathered the war with their love sustaining them. How they met was a consequence of a choice that seemed ordained by fate. Here’s how that meeting happened. My mother was attending a small co-ed college in Conway, Arkansas. My father was in-between jobs. He had finished a flight training school because he dreamed of flying airplanes since he was a young boy. He and a buddy were adventuring, hitchhiking north to visit the Great Lakes because they had never seen them. Just outside Conway, Arkansas, one ride dropped them off. They discussed whether to stick their thumbs out for another ride or go into town to get something to eat. The decision was made with the toss of a coin. Heads continue to hitchhike and tails go into town. Tails it was. A local pharmacist directed them to the student union on campus because that was where young people gathered. At the student union, my handsome smiling father noticed three young women sitting at a table in the midst of a card game of bridge, which his older sister had taught him to play, so he walked up to them and asked if they needed a fourth. They said they did and asked him to join the game. He thanked them and sat down across from the woman who became my mother. He always said, he fell in love at that very moment. Mother always said it took her a little longer for her, but it happened. Then came Pearl Harbor, and my father volunteered immediately. Because he already knew how to fly planes, he became part of the Army Air Corps, which eventually became the US Air Force. In 1943, they married. The war ended. He continued to serve in the Air Force. I was born after the war ended. We moved around a bit the first seven years of my life.

When I was seven, Mother and Daddy settled down in a little town north of San Francisco. They shared an abiding love of God although they did not share a similar religious background. They searched for a church among the town’s many churches that worked for them both. They settled on a little white church of no particular denomination that they found peaceful, uplifting, and provided them with new friends. That is where I went to Sunday School and later, as I grew older, I attended services after Sunday School. I loved the services because they were heavy on hymn singing and light on preaching. I loved the hymn singing most of all. To this day, I have my favorites like “There Is A Balm in Gilead,” “I’ll fly Away,” and “Amazing Grace.”

Then, when I was approaching my twelfth birthday, I was suddenly presented with a conundrum. My parents told me that when I was thirteen, I would have to go through a ceremony to formally become a member of our church. I was stunned since I thought I was already a member. They patiently explained it all to me. Now, they had taught me to be as informed as I could be whenever I found myself confronted with a problem involving a choice. The first step in finding a solution was to talk to God in the language of my heart and see what answer came.

So, after their explanation about the upcoming church membership question, I said, “I will talk to God about this.”

They nodded.

That night in my bed, before sleep, I talked to God. I asked Him what to do. I fell asleep and dreamed vividly. I was shown a path. In the dream, I saw myself visiting other churches that existed in our little town. When I awoke, the message imprinted in my mind was like a telegram from God: “Seek and ye shall find.”

At breakfast, I told my parents my dream. They looked at one another and spoke in unison, “What do you want to do?”

I told them, “I want to spend the whole year I’m twelve going to any church here in town as I wish, as well as any town I may visit. I want to explore and experience other churches.” I paused and continued, “I don’t know enough to make a choice. I want to seek.”

My parents took this all in, looked at each other, and agreed to my proposal, as long as I went to church somewhere every Sunday and kept a notebook of my thoughts and feelings related to my experiences. I loved writing, and so that was easy for me to agree to do that.

 I had one question, “Will you drive me if I need a ride?”

“Of course,” Daddy said, as Mother nodded her agreement.

Thus, began my year of seeking. My search was limited by the fact that in my hometown there were only various denominations of Christian churches at that time. I did not have the opportunity to explore religions other than Christianity. Nevertheless, it was amazing to me how much variety there was among those denominations. Later in my life as a young adult, I would explore more. However, that year I was twelve sanctioned by my parents’ trust in God’s message to me in my dream and their commitment to the value of exploratory gathering of data to make an informed choice, I did so seek. I realize now that seeking was key to my development in becoming the person I am today.

At the end of my twelfth year, I reviewed my notebooks and realized that the little white nondenominational church of my parents suited me best at the time. My chief reason was simple and true. At the little white church, the congregation sang more during their services than any of the other churches. For me, music was a direct connection to God. Also, that church echoed and emphasized the Golden Rule imprinted on my heart of “doing unto others as I would have others do unto me.” So, I joined the church when I turned thirteen and sang with gusto. Later that year I even sang with the choir and learned Handel’s Messiah, singing the Hallelujah Chorus with all my heart and strength.

I am also grateful to my parents for bringing the love of reading and telling stories into my life. As Strickland Gillilan says in his poem The Reading Mother:

“You may have tangible wealth untold;

Caskets of jewels and coffers of gold.

Richer than I you can never be –

I had a Mother who read to me.”

I also had my father who enchanted and entertained me with stories of his boyhood and beyond; thus, building my love for storytelling.

After I left home and began seeking beyond Christianity, I found my way through books to the teachings of Eastern spiritual traditions of Buddhism, Hinduism, and Taoism. These opened my mind and heart ever wider until one day after again talking to God seeking His guidance on learning how to meditate, I happened upon the book Autobiography of a Yogi by Paramahansa Yogananda. I read it avidly, hooked from page 1. I wrote away for the lessons and studied them. I knew I had found a guide to meditation and the most inclusive path to God I had ever encountered. I’d found what I had started seeking as a twelve- year-old. My parents respected my choice of this spiritual path completely.

My father did ask one question: “Is God in your yogi book the same one I know?”

“Oh yes, Daddy,” I replied continuing, “as I understand it, there is only one.”

He beamed his love with a wide grin from ear to ear. Completely at ease, he never asked another question.

Mother never asked a single question. As always, she trusted and supported my choice unquestioningly, unconditionally.

In 2005, my parents died three weeks apart. Though I miss them still, I carry their unconditional love inside me always. That gift only fueled our love to grow stronger with the passing years, and I was given the opportunity to give unconditional love back to them freely until they both left this Earth. Mother died first and Daddy followed after her since being on Earth without her was untenable for him. I saw her a day before she died and held her hand singing her favorite hymn, “I’ll Fly Away,” to her. I was by Daddy’s side when he died. He had been dozing, and suddenly woke up looking at the blinds over his hospital window. I knew how much he always loved to fly in the clear blue sky, so I asked if he wanted to see the sky. He nodded. I raised the blinds and the brilliant blue sky greeted our eyes. I held his hand. Within an hour without any struggle, he took his last breath literally flying away. Being a loving witness to their final days was a gift.

Without a doubt, the unconditional love given to me by my parents throughout our shared time on Earth is something for which I remain deeply, truly grateful.