In the last five years a lot of changes have taken place: I turned 50, lost one of my two dogs, my husband lost his job, we lost our 30-year marriage, and I have bore witness to my adult children reorganizing their lives and holidays, in ways I would never have wished for them. In the last 6 months, I have downsized from a three-thousand square foot family home, to a two bedroom apartment in the city, and sifted through all of the memories of what was my life and family for 30 years. In between all of this were the births of five grandchildren and the adoption of one, celebrations of graduations, new jobs, many milestones for my family, new friends who are very dear to my heart and becoming a student myself. I can honestly say that I am damn proud of my family and of myself! It is truly a testament to resilience and the love and support of my community, for whom I am so grateful. One of the consequences however, of all these life changes is, my body has simply crashed. It feels like the weight of this decade has hit my body head on. My mind keeps telling me to “push through and get back to who you have always been, what is wrong with you?” In fact, I have been saying that to myself for at least six months, while my body is responding with, “No more pushing! I am done.” I have felt frustration, anger, fear, and have started the process of doctors appointments and tests. In the meantime, I am hearing my whole being yelling at me to stop, and finally I am listening. On Sunday my pastor gave a sermon about the vulnerability of life and that all of us will share in the same ending, death. She shared the true story about a young man who spent his life preparing to be a neurosurgeon. He was so driven, he felt that life would begin when he reached that goal. At the age of 35 his dream came true and he was also diagnosed with cancer and died two years later. This story was a “light bulb moment” for me. What if I do the opposite of what I normally do? What if I decide to embrace this moment, instead of hoping this too shall pass, panicking, or just pushing through. What would it be to taste the vulnerability of this moment or whatever time period is attached to it? What if I stay in this place for a year? Two years? What if it is not a quick fix? In a weird way I feel like this is the next place for me, the most likely place. A place of moments. Moments to breathe. Moments to sit. Moments to watch the birds. Moments to love. Moments to be and take care of myself. Moments to learn. Moments to write. Moments to create. Moments to sit with others and be. Moments of peace… now that feels right, the best place for me.
Tag: spirituality
Loss and change
I was talking to my son this morning about his to-do list for the day in regards to the move that his family is making in less than a week. In the middle of all the last minute preparations his sons are processing the reality of what is happening, as their toys, clothes and home are being packed up and put into boxes. Sammy, his five year old, is feeling sad about moving. Sammy said, “Daddy I like our house and my friends and our town. I don’t want to move to Nashville”. What a heartbreaking moment for father and son, as Sammy cannot feel or imagine anything beyond the safety and familiarity of his home. The loss is too substantial to embrace the adventure that lies ahead.
Moving is not new to me, as I spent most of my childhood and adult life relocating. It is challenging and requires resilience, patience and time to adjust, make friends and feel settled once again in a place one can call “home”. One would assume that my moving history and experience would be sufficient in preparing me for my most recent move into an apartment in the middle of a popular middle-class location in Chicago. However, I feel like my grandson about this move because, it is the final step out of a 30 year marriage and the family traditions and memories we developed over three decades. I am sad about moving. I loved my house, my town, my neighborhood and the familiarity of hosting dinners, hearing delighted voices of grandchildren as they play at Nana’s house, enjoying the position of matriarch, like the nobility of the carved oak of the living room, I loved intentionally passing on traditions to the next generation within the walls of that sturdy house. I miss my dogs. My faithful comforters and witnesses, one in heaven and the other left behind, have left a lonely place in me that no one, or thing can fill.
My to-do list, which has kept my attention for five months, has also caused me to ignore these losses along the way and unbeknownst to me they have been waiting to be acknowledged. Finally willing to wait no longer, I am flat on my back, sick in bed, with no energy to resist and left staring at this neglected part of me, forcing me to pay attention. As I stop and see what has happened in the last five months and the last five years, it is like a release of emotion, which has been held up by a dam of acceptance of all the choices I have made. I have chosen to accept the “unmaking” of my life in order to see and know the life of freedom, love, and self-discovery. I am already benefiting from these choices in ways that are unexpected and surprising. I am making decisions everyday that honor myself and the values I hold dear. However, in this moment of time, I do not want to be resilient, patient, adjust and move on. I do not feel like looking at the possibilities and benefits of this new adventure in my life. I just want to lie here for a bit in the rubble and experience the loss. Yes, I know that the great unknown lies ahead but, I just need to cry for awhile. I need to tend to myself, be still, trust, rest and grieve. I need to honor what has happened for what it is. The losses are integral to the unmaking. I cannot pass by the brokenness of this life and treat them like mistakes or ignore their role in story. They have equal, if not more value than the new pathway I have found myself taking. So I say to myself, “this is good and it will pass”. I choose to be grateful for these tears and the grief as they make me a better person and are necessary for this moment and whatever lies ahead.
I already know I will need to add to my list of losses, the fact that my son, his wife and my babies are moving away from me for a short while, but I also know that they will be okay and I will be okay, in spite of it all. Ernest Hemingway’s quote comes to mind…”The world breaks everyone, and afterward some are strong in the broken places”.
Faith
My son published his first book recently and gave me a signed copy with the words, “For mom, whose faith is the inspiration for my own”. I desire to leave this legacy for my family, yet faith often alludes me and I find myself falling short where I most want to grow. This is when the Divine reminds me I am not the source of faith, He set that in motion when I was very young. I can remember my first experience with my Creator. Lying in bed one night, I looked out the window and my little heart burst at the vision before me. The night sky was filled with brilliant light, thousands of stars and a moon that I knew was bigger than my house. I recall staying at the window and allowing this display to soak into me, feeling so small and insignificant. What followed this was a thought that “I was created!” Somehow my soul felt connected to the scene before me and the Creator. Questions flooded my mind like “what if I had never been born, how did He decide to create me?” My journey of faith began that night, which was a compass in the chaos I grew up in. A seed of faith was planted and grew into a longing over the years. A longing for more than I could see, a knowing that Someone bigger and greater than I could imagine, set the stars and the galaxy into place. Did He see me? Know me? Love me with all of my imperfections and doubts?
I have faith that when I wake up in the morning I will have air to breathe. I trust without any thought that I will see birds and trees and grass when I walk into my back yard. I also trust that my favorite grocery store will have all I need for meals I want to cook. I can go about my daily routine with no concerns about these constants in life. Just when I feel like I can confidently say I am a person of faith,a circumstance arises where I am reminded why faith is so difficult and at the same time necessary.
I went with a friend recently, to the Garfield Observatory in Chicago. After parking the car we walked toward the entrance where two men stopped us and began asking questions; “Did you hear about the toddler who was murdered at the lagoon? I guess they found a foot last night and a head this morning. What is your reaction to this? Can we record it?” I was speechless and sickened. This is not supposed to happen to an innocent child. Here lies the struggle,when circumstances like this horrific tragedy happen it’s too much to bear. The harshness of the world and its evil like the news of Syrian children losing their lives while searching for a better life, or young black men and women fearing violence at the hands of their own or those sworn to protect them, or churches turning their backs on those who have found love from same-sex relationships; these realities and more create doubts and questions about a Divine Presence in the world. My own loss and grief over the past fifty-three years has often caused me to ask the same questions of the Creator; “why did you allow this, why didn’t you intervene, where are you, do you care?”
There is no possible explanation to satisfy the incomprehensible evils of the world or the questions that seem to deserve an answer. There is no comfort in hearing words like, just have faith. In fact, I find more comfort in knowing I do not have answers. I cannot restore what has been lost and am content to remain in that place of unknowing today, because there is something greater than any unanswered question I might have; hope. Without hope there is no faith, all is lost and meaningless. The violent death of that innocent baby has no redemption. Faith is hope and confidence that, what I cannot explain or see today remains in the hands of a God who sees and knows the answers. I have faith that He will bring meaning and will redeem the broken and evil things of this earth. He loves His creation and is near to the brokenhearted and weeps with those who weep. I am the instrument of this hope. I can choose to turn away from hate and violence and be one who loves and trusts. One who offers compassion and gentleness to broken and angry people. I am small and seemingly insignificant, but the One who hung the stars and moon is huge, bigger than many houses.
He is writing my story, with many unexpected twists and turns, some filled with delight that have taken my breath away and others that have been like a punch in the gut. When my story is complete I would like this inscription written to my sons, daughters, and grandchildren; “Look at the stars and moon, they speak to a Creator big enough to put your faith in. He created you and loves you. He knows your name. He created you for a purpose. Trust Him when you cannot see, He is a God of redemption.”
Avoiding the process
This morning I was preparing to take an online quiz from my Human Sexuality class which had a due date of 9/13/15. Being the conscientious student that I am, I double-checked last night to make sure I was correct with the date. After planning my weekend, I chose to wait until 9/13/15, to complete the quiz. I opened up the blackboard page today and noticed a “no assignments due” for today. I opened the quiz tab and there was “no content to display”. I obviously misinterpreted the deadline of the twenty point quiz, as it was now closed. Why didn’t I just take it the first day it opened up, or the second and third day? I wasn’t in the quiz-taking mood, I had plans with my grandchildren over the weekend, or I just plain avoided it until the last minute.
I am frustrated.
I am annoyed at myself.
I missed out on a possible, easy A in the class.
I am raising the question to myself, “how often does avoidance come up in your life?”
I have spent the last four years recovering from a traumatic life experience and am happy to say I am not where I was four years ago or even six months ago. Through the support of a loving community and my Higher Power, I am taking each day as it comes and doing the work I need to do to get healthy. That sounds so cliche’ and yet it works. My most recent task in recovery was given to me in May and I committed to complete it over the summer because, having a deadline motivates me to finish. My deadline has now passed. I am frustrated, annoyed and possibly missing out on the healing that will springboard me to the next step of freedom. So why am I avoiding it?
I have come to the conclusion, unlike a twenty point quiz, my task involves revisiting several years of life, where I became overwhelmed with terror, grief, and immense pain that I do not want to experience again. I just want to walk away and forget all of it. It’s in front of me like a dark pit of quicksand where I could drown and get lost. Willing myself to engage with this darkness, that could suck the life out of me is simply ridiculous. I am stuck. The deadline has passed. I feel alone.
Ernest Hemingway says, “The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.” I love this quote as it reminds me that I am not alone. Everyone is broken and has walked in the dark. Life flows like that. All of us are faced with the harshness of life and deal with the aftermath of a sunami. This is unavoidable. The most helpful advice I can give myself or anyone is to “be present” to this moment, this day. Life is often turned upside down and is so uncertain and yet there is an organic flow that takes over and helps to bring grounding and to build trust in the process.
The process of healing is slow. There is an ebb and flow of light and darkness. Waves of grief come crashing into me like a sunami, often followed by the warmth of hope and love that renews my strength. The most difficult part is riding the wave. I don’t like water. I cannot swim. I am much more comfortable laying on the beach, under an umbrella with a picnic and good company. I am learning how to allow the waves and the pain that accompanies it without panicking because I know now that the sunshine from God is around the corner.
Avoiding it is one response to the harshness of loss and pain, but if I am totally honest with myself, I know the deadline is today. One day at a time. Today I can put a toe into the dark, murky place. Today I can check in with myself and choose to step into the task at hand and step out as well. Today I can choose to trust and hope in my Higher Power and the resources that have carried me through yesterday. I can choose to avoid the quicksand today. I will make mistakes. I will miss deadlines. I will take one day at a time, loving myself and others and take the next step.
Camping with God
Wind, creating a dance high in the tree.
Dancing in rhythm with the ripples on the lake.
A chorus of cicadas, birds, dragonfly wings telling stories of sunrise and a new day,
And sunsets and rest.
There is a time for everything…
Lord teach me the dance,
Show me the rhythm of Life,
So my life will bring ripples that offer You praise.
Let the song You give pour forth in Praise,
and tell the story of Love and Grace,
of newness.
Thank You Jesus for Your rest, healing, and a time for gentleness.
Like a deer pants for water,
My soul longs for You.
“My daughter, I delight in your love of My creation.
I have given it to you for your pleasure.
You have wrestled with Me,
and will carry the scar all of your days.
I will turn your mourning into dancing,
So that others will see the work of My hands.
You too are my creation,
I am making something new,
It has sprung forth!
Do you not see it?
Springs in the wilderness,
Water in the wastelands.
Walk with Me,
Sing with Me,
Enjoy My Presence.
I AM.
I Am in the wind.
I Am in the tree.
I Am in the song of the bird.
I Am in the water.
I Am in the sunrise and sunset.
I Am in the light and the dark,
the stars and the clouds.
You know Me very well.”
The Unmaking 