How are you? How’s your heart?

The shifts continue. I’d become ridiculously tired after washing up after Easter Sunday dinner last night and had fallen asleep early, but then, “seeing the handshake” of Pope Francis, I shivered awake. It rang like a gong within me. “No,” I sighed, and felt a wave of worry. I shouldn’t have been surprised when I reached for my phone to discover, an hour later, that Pope Francis had passed away, but I was. I felt the ripple in the field, a portal open—the circle of life and its precise timing clicked, but this one? Now?

I’m not a Catholic, but at thirteen, I wanted to go to Catholic school with my two best friends, and did for freshman year. At St. Joseph’s Notre Dame, I fell in love with fresh starts, my simple school uniform, finding my voice, and my first stab at acting. I was also working through my own pain and unsuccessfully tried butting heads with the nuns and particularly Sister Mary Elephant, my religion teacher. Using scripture, I protested the rules at Notre Dame in hopes I could show them how well studied and faithful I was and that I deserved to have communion with my classmates. 

“No,” they said, and sat me in the back row of our basilica each weekly Mass, as if I were a disgraced pagan. 

“I’ve been baptized. Twice!” I explained. “In St. Steven’s Episcopal Church as a baby and the Southern Baptist Church as a born-again at ten.” I could see by the horrified look in her eye that I shouldn’t tell her that the second time was when I rode my bike with my brother without our parents knowing, so I could get baptized again. The pastor told me I’d burn in hell for eternity if I didn’t do it, and I couldn’t take that risk. The small blue, plastic tub hidden behind the laminated wood altar in the shabby Southern Baptist Church was weird, and I would have been scared had I not been with my big brother. 

It was good that I stopped talking. The Basilica of St. Joseph’s was far fancier. I’d never seen anyone get baptized there. Only fingers fit in the holy water fonts here. Definitely not clothed people. It became clear that not only did having more than one baptism not qualify me with the nuns to get a cute little veil on my head or a saltless wafer and a sip from the priest’s goblet, I think it made all the nuns uncomfortable that an outsider girl would even fight for a holier connection.  

It was one of many honing edges in my life. And even though I’ve used this story to prove my love and mettle fighting the injustices of a girl the same age as the Virgin Mary, I soon became so fond of a wider view from the back row where the sunshine poured through the stained glass onto my empty wooden pew, I think I had a more meaningful communion there. Sometimes a white pigeon would waddle through the open door, halfway into the sermon, and I was so sure it was the dove of peace sent from Jesus himself to keep me awake, I began looking for signs. I learned to sing the Doxology and to cross myself at all the right times. I knew when to kneel, when to stand, and even learned the way that Catholics said the Lord’s Prayer, vs. how I’d learned it, but the nuns never gave me an option to put away my dog-eared Bible and become a Catholic. 

Mom loved being a Catholic. Every bit. She was a recent convert at the time, having received comforting, spiritual council from a kind monsignor while she and my father were divorcing. We never spoke about Sister Mary Elephant, nor my wine and waferless body. Mom had enough on her plate. She was heartsick, after 27 years of marriage, and she would also soon give up her teaching job of thirteen years to move us, and turn her focus to working for the Catholic Diocese in Sacramento for years. Ever faithful, she was invited to join the Holy Tour at the Vatican, where she and her beloved priests “had a private audience” with Pope Paul VI. She also saw a miracle at Lourdes where a disabled nun went into the waters from her wheelchair, and came out walking. Highlights for anyone, but Mom loved sharing these, especially.

Years later, when the gift of the “Dancing Hands” appeared and I shyly told Mom about it, she said, “Oh, Jane, don’t worry. We’re Catholics. We believe in miracles!” She was sincerely happy for me and for everyone. She loved hearing about the good news of the evolution of this gift and adored showing up at the Dancing Hands Circles in Northern California to make friends and see what “miracles” might come there, too.

When I saw a message from an old video of Pope Francis this morning, it felt like the white pigeon/dove coming through the door at St. Joe’s. In this video, Pope Francis was encouraging all people to think of our mamas “with a heart of gratitude for all that we received from them, for the legacy that only a mother can give.” Not only did I post it on my Instagram, but I wept thinking of how Mom ceaselessly conveyed the gift of faith. She offered endless mercy to me, grace to many, and generous support nearly to the end. Mom always set an extra place at the table for the unexpected guest. She sent secret Valentines to all her single friends, for she couldn’t bear anyone not having a message of love on a holiday about love, Famously, wise woman that she was, Mom brought cupcakes or brownies to all her doctor appointments and ER visits for the nurses and staff. She loved everyone in the healing world. And they loved her appreciation. Mom loved to heal the healers with gifts. She was a walking Yes Day. 

After I heard the news, I imagined Mom greeting Pope Francis with a plate of heavenly Welcome Home brownies and a well-decorated altar of love notes, for a job well done. Yes, he didn’t do everything we wished, goodness knows, (there were many who needed him to step up for survivors), but he helped with significant international diplomatic efforts, social justice advocacy, and pastoral reforms within the Catholic Church. He criticized right-wing populism and advocated for decriminalization of homosexuality, and called for the protection of migrants as a “duty of civilization.” He focused on reforms aimed at promoting greater inclusivity and participation in the Church’s decision-making processes—great strides from preceding governance. More, every Earth Day, he’s shared hopes for our world to step up in conservancy.

Tomorrow is my first Earth Day without my mom. Her shop of twenty years was called The Naturalist, which catered to all things beautiful, informative, and protective of our planet. From wildflower seeds to field guides, botanical prints to bird feeders, Mom and my stepfather’s shop was yet another gift to a phenomenal university town at the forefront of environmental sciences and consciously connected to caretaking and protecting our world and surrounding space. It’s also the first Earth Day we’ve not had Pope Francis encouraging us to advocate for our home planet. Last year, he said, 

““Our generation has bequeathed many riches, but we have failed to protect the planet, and we are not safeguarding peace. We are called to become artisans and caretakers of our common home, the Earth, which is “falling into ruin.” #EarthDay

So, in light of Mom and the Pope’s longtime love for this Earth, we are back with our Quanta Circle tomorrow, beginning Earth Day, (Tuesday April 22 – Thursday, April 24), for three nights of joyous connection dancing with Source Energy and the Pura Vida for the best and highest good of one and all. I know that many have been diligently working to find their balance within the turbulence of our times, so if you’d like to fold into our sessions with an exchange of energy, please let me know. The commitment is two out of three nights, with homework each evening (or morning) to dive deeply into the blessed energies of our beautiful group. We’d love to see you. Please let us know as early as you can (now would be good!) if you’d like to join us, too.

Speaking of artisans and miracles… Looking at the above quote from Pope Francis to“become artisans,” and that I’ve been writing and dancing in a lot about miracles, Source has been tapping me on the shoulder for months for another lovely opportunity to get together and play in community. Follow the link below to see how Source is having my daughters and me reach out to gather creatives and lovers of creativity on a new platform called Noon Miracle. 

Ready to replace doomscrolling and despair with inspiration and hope? We invite you to join us in co-creating a new place for artists across all mediums, as well as audiences/lovers of the arts. We know how important the storytellers are, the weavers of light and love, and those who bring home and community to our hearts. Rather than me telling you about it, please have a look here at noonmiracle.com. Every week, we’ll be adding new friends from around the world, and we’d love to have you bring your artistry here to play in community, or follow us on our new IG and sign up for our monthly newsletter. And for tomorrow, we have a special friend who has known me for a very long time with a gorgeous song that is perfect for Earth Day. Have a listen and enjoy our new bonfire of creative community.

I hope you make it a special Earth Day, whether in our Quanta Circle or on your own. I pray you get out into the air, under the breezes, find some earth, pine, feathers, or flowers, and whisper your love letter to our beautiful Earth home. Put your hands in the sky, the waters, or on the earth. Feel the fire within or light your own. Sing a song of gratitude or write a poem. Dance with us or dance alone. She’s listening and appreciating all your prayers for peace and well-being for one and all.

Wishing you a blessed Earth Day, every day.

Hope to dance with you soon.