Journal of Sacred Work

When we pause to reflect and recollect we mine the luminous pearls of our lives, as well as some of the piercings. The more poignant moments fade in the distance, while a great love burns through the ether and all else disappears.

 In remembering, we unearth connections that have always been there but somehow escaped our awareness that is until now; as an epiphany shines through the clouded memories, crystal clear yet never seen or realized, until that moment when you understood what was never spoken but lived.

Well, that is how it happened for me. These are the foundations, the formative experiences that the most primary people bequeath to us, leaving an indelible imprint upon our lives with or without our awareness. Living with paradox influenced and helped shape my world view.

My mother was Irish Catholic and married Phil Sorensen, a Scandinavian, Lutheran. Today, this would not cause an eyebrow to raise but in the early 1940’s it was apparently a religious and cultural taboo. So much so that my paternal grandfather could not bring himself to attend their wedding.

Growing up, I was raised in the Catholic faith. I attended weekly Catechism and mass on Sundays. Those days, the liturgy was in Latin and we wore our Sunday finest with little lace doilies to cover our heads and donned soft white gloves.  We had to fast before mass in order to receive communion. Reverently, we all stood, knelt, sat, then stood and knelt at just the right times throughout the service. It was all so dizzying and one time I actually fainted, so my mom called my dad to come rescue us.

My father was a kidder, and he sometimes discouraged me from going to church by teasing that he was going to put an apple in his mouth and stick his head in the oven. You might consider that a rather gruesome image and I guess you’d be right! Yet, it wasn't spoken in a serious vein and he never objected in a hard line or threatening way.

On our walk home from church we always stopped by to visit my maternal grandmother, Kate, my Aunt Mary and Uncle John who would greet us with open arms, kisses and a treat or two. When we took our leave they all came to the door to wave us off into the distance. A gesture I find so endearing to this day that I do this as well for my friends and loved ones.

My epiphany stems from growing up in a home that held space for paradox. My father taught me that life is not black and white but there are many beautiful hues. I learned that my choices do not have to be either, or with rigidly held beliefs but rather both, and because there is unity in diversity. Ultimately there are many paths but we are all held together through one common bond; Love.

On Father’s Day we honor all the male figures in our lives who have taught, loved and treasured us just  as we are  and as we love and treasure them.

With great fondness and affection we extend our gratitude for all the blessings you have bestowed upon our lives.

Happy Fathers’ Day; as we carry you in our heart!

Liz Sorensen Wessel

Photo of my late dad, Philip Emil Sorensen