Archive for the ‘grief’ Category

No more shame

December 23, 2012

“I’ve thought about every word you said,” Dan told me on Friday….and the shame is gone…completely gone. I haven’t felt this light and free in years.

___________________________________________

End of November I (Douglas)  spent an extended weekend high in the mountains of Colorado at a men’s retreat working through some issues.   I wasn’t sure quite what to expect as I got there, I told someone later, I felt like I was going to have a “spiritual colonoscopy” :-(

Colon cancer runs in our family, so I’ve had the “opportunity” to be scoped on more than one occasion. Once you hit 50, it’s recommended everyone get’s one of these, but if you’re like most chickens (I mean people)  we put it off and put it off…the thing is, if you catch the polyps early it is a very treatable cancer..the problem comes when you wait….

So too, in life,  personal  issues that are ignored usually don’t  just magically go away…they tend to grow and fester…so early on in our marriage, when  I found myself completely stuck and confused,  at a point of desperation, I reached out for help.  It taught me a valuable lesson.  Why  should I  spend months (or years)  struggling with the same old crap  when an answer may be forthcoming in  a 60 minute conversation if I have the gut’s and I’m humble enough to say “I’m stuck, I have a problem…can  you help?”

This stuff was never modeled for me growing up.  I’ve had to learn it the hard way.

So, over the years in our marriage, and through the turbulent teenage years, we’ve proactively sought out help, whenever it became obvious, we were over my heads…after the 2nd or 3rd issue, it isn’t really that much different from  making an appointment to see the dentist if you have a toothache….

I am not at liberty at the present to talk about specifics..there may come a day in the not too distant future where I will write about it but not yet…    Some long standing, buried, pain has been  coming to light this Summer and Fall, and I decided to step up to the plate and deal with it head on…hence my trip to Colorado.

Most of us have painful “stuff” in  our lives no one else knows about…I don’t have to list it here…if you have it, then you know what I’m talking about.  Well, stop for just a second and try to imagine the sting of that pain being gone…not just suppressed but gone…..

After my trip to Colorado,   I  happened to tell Dan about some of the radical  emotional freedom I was  experiencing…I wasn’t  even aware of the hurts in his life…he trusted me enough to tell me his story He told me he had been having flash backs and night mares…dark shameful memories had dogged him for years…. I listened, and encouraged him…and hadn’t thought any more about our conversation..then he told me on Friday,  “I’ve thought about every word you said,”….and the shame is gone…completely gone. I haven’t felt this light and free in years.

I have no idea who may stumble across this particular blog post at some point.  God has an amazing way of allowing people’s paths to cross in the most serendipitous fashions….anyway, if you’re reading this and are at a broken stuck place in your life and need someone to talk to…(or are not there currently but have something to add to this conversation, let me know)

Time to get moving.  Sincerely,   DM

 

My spiral into Depression

August 26, 2012

I learned at CCEF  ”almost anything can be at the root of depression: a recent illness in which you get behind in your work, hormonal changes, a reversal of fortune, the consequences of simple negligence, guilt over a particular sin, self-pity arising from jealousy or a disadvantageous turn of events, bad feelings resulting from resentment, worry, etc….the important fact to remember is that a depression does not result directly from any of those factors, but rather comes from a cyclical process in which the initial problem is mishandled in such a way that it is enlarged in downward helixical spirals that eventually plunge one into despair.

    Mine came about due to the death of a  vision.

WARNING: Going to talk about my faith….if that sort of thing gets under your skin….stop now…you won’t hurt my feelings.

______________________________________________________

May 4, 1980 7:48 PM I wrote this in the front cover of a little New Testament:  “I made a commitment to God to live my life for his Glory’

Translation:  Just like a  person entering into a marriage covenant , I entered into a “covenant” with God Himself….as an adult I made an intentional decision to become a believer.

As is often the case,  I desired to be more effective in reaching  out to other people…there was this restlessness in my life.  Looked at 50 different Christian Colleges, trying to decide whether to be a formally trained pastor, or marriage and family counselor…Moved from Iowa to New Jersey in 1985 (with two kids in tow) , enrolled @ CCEF, decided I was being called to be a bi-vocational pastor .   Carpenter by day,  teacher/facilitator when  I could….1990 returned to the Midwest with a strong sense of purpose.  I’d  experienced  5 years of intense discipleship/mentoring  in New Jersey and believed God had brought us home to pass on what I’d learned.

Things were great for the first 2  1/2  years,  then  began to butt heads with  our pastor  In hindsight, God set me up- we had two completely different  understandings for a healthy church.  His was a more traditional model-  I on the other hand craved  deeper relationships  that can’t be cultivated when you’re sitting in rows looking at the back of each others heads.  We had two different models..not wrong/ just different.  I know I  wore him out with our intense discussions.   It finally came to a head in November  of 1995- we left the church-  the hardest decision of my life (till then) – 90% of my closest friendships were in that church/ someone told me later, it felt like a divorce- (it did).

I was confused, I was angry-(I’m not giving you all the details- this would get too wordy)- I believed I would eventually  be a co-pastor that church….instead I was on the outside looking in.

The depression probably started  two years previous, and lingered  another year.  Things  gradually got better since 1996 – here we are 12 years later and there is still a bruise on my soul.  Just this morning, as we’ve been organizing our office, I came across several magazines and books related to mentoring and discipleship-  I pitched the magazines, and am selling  some of the books on e-bay. I have no aspiration or intention of ever taking an active role in leadership in a local church.  I’m no longer depressed :-)    just broken- and there is a big difference.

Have you ever wrestled with depression?  What triggered it?  What brought you out of it? (if you’re out of it?)   What good came from it (if any)?

Have you ever watched your life  goal  die?  What was it and where are you at in the process now?

_______________________________

I originally wrote this in 2008 .  I was interacting with someone this morning about depression, when I mentioned I’d gotten a little taste of it myself, they asked if they could  hear my story…decided to re-post it for my new readers (all 3 of you)  ;-) DM

What’s under YOUR grow light? ;-)

June 5, 2012

Do you know what’s more fun than growing weed in your basement?

Heirloom tomatoes!

Why? Because

A.  they’re  legal

and B.

Instead of  only being able to choose from a dozen  varieties at your local garden center, you can choose from several hundred  different varieties of tomatoes.

In  March I started two trays of Brandy wine’s  in our basement:

Brandy wine tomatoes @ 8 weeks.

My Mom reminded me a couple of weeks ago  to set them out  a few hours  a day, a  couple of weeks before   sticking them in the ground.

(The process is called “hardening”)

Different gardeners use different technique but basically, the idea is to introduce  your young plants  to the forces of nature gradually.

if you don’t, the first good wind and they’ll all snap off.

I set them on the east side of our house, next to the compost pile.  It’s kind of sheltered there and out of direct sun light.

They were still  pretty beat up by the end of the first day.

I  put them back  under the grow light, and within a couple of days, they  started to recover.

It reminded me of a true story I’d read about  few years ago.  The mature trees in an arboretum  mysteriously began falling over.  What they eventually discovered was this….because the trees had grown up inside, in such a sheltered environment,  they had never experienced adversity.  As they matured, the cell structure in the trees was so weak they collapsed under their own weight.

I’ve been thinking about that all day today.

The  relationship between adversity and personal growth.

As much as I hate adversity, I know  that a certain amount of it can actually be good for me.

Right now, I’m roofing a 2 story farm-house.

At the end of the day I come home mentally exhausted.

I am  responsible  not only for my own  safety, but the safety of two other men.

We are installing a new type of metal roof.

So in addition to  safety concerns, I’m also dealing with a learning curve.

(At the end of the day, that roof better not leak, or you know who’s phone is going to be ringing the first time it rains….)

Did I mention, I hate heights :-)

Yep, a carpenter who hates heights…go figure….

_________________________________________________

Went to a walk-a-thon 3 weeks ago for our grandson Rigg.   One of the disabilities he has been identified with is Angelman’s Syndrome.

My daughter deals with adversity and stress    24/7

One of the songs playing  in the back ground at the walk-a-thon was a song by Kelly Clarkson…..

“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger…”

When I was watching that video tonight.  it reminded me of one of my blogging friends

If you’ve been a reader here for any length of time, you know one of my few pet peeves is  religious people who spew out “trite platitudes”

If you ever see me in a receiving line at a funeral home..I want to warn you in advance..don’t..and I repeat, don’t  mumble some trite platitude to comfort me.

It won’t be pretty.

I say that here because undoubtedly someone at some point, is going to read this post and think I’m spouting off simplistic trite platitudes in response to the  adversity and suffering life can sometimes dish out.

Not on your life.

Some of the tomatoes I started out with  didn’t make it.

Others are still alive..

barely….

Here are some pictures of the ones  still standing  tonight:

Brandy wine tomato thick and healthy stalk  starting to bloom

Notice how robust that stem is :-)

Down but not out

Broken and starting over

As always, thanks for taking the time to read my “stuff” :-)   DM

Some of last years crop

If you’re a parent of a special needs child

August 26, 2011

 What I would tell you….

I sensed someone watching me as I comforted my daughter after a particularly traumatizing dentist appointment at the Children’s Hospital. I looked up and saw you staring at us from across the waiting lounge. I didn’t pay much attention, as I have grown accustomed to the curious eyes of onlookers. Our daughter was born 7 ½ years ago and after an abrupt lack of oxygen at birth, she changed the course of our lives forever. Perhaps, our lives unfolded exactly as they were meant to — they just didn’t unfold in the way we had imagined or planned.

I talked to my daughter, kissed her and hugged her. I was giving her a brief break before putting her through the next traumatic experience of the day ~ the car ride home. Having cerebral palsy is the least of her worries but this condition can turn a car seat into a torture chamber.

I stood up to gather our things, my daughter in my arms, and it was then that I noticed you were holding an infant. It was difficult to know for certain how old she was. I knew immediately, though, that you were one of us. I knew that only recently your life had changed drastically and you sat here in this Children’s Hospital wondering, “How did we get here?” I should have recognized that shocked stare because I once had it, too. And I assume that the man sitting next to you, looking equally tired and shocked, was your husband.

I made my way toward the doors and as I passed you, our eyes met and I smiled at you. You smiled back and for a moment I knew that you knew that I understood.

If I could, I would tell you although you might not believe it right now, you will be okay. I would tell you to dig deep within yourself because you will find the strength and resilience somehow and it will surprise you. I would tell you to honour your feelings and let the tears flow when they need to. You will need the energy for more important things than holding in emotions.

I would tell you that the man sitting next to you might cope differently and he might even want to run the other way. But I would tell you to hang on because he is scared and he really doesn’t want to leave you. I would tell you to look after yourself so that you can care for your daughter. Don’t underestimate the power of good nutrition, exercise, sleep, supplements and an empathetic therapist.

I would tell you that grief will come and it will confuse you because how can something that brings such joy also bring such sadness? I would tell you to let people into your lives to help you. Our children really do require a village to raise them. Access all of the services and resources available. Find someone who can learn how to care for your child so that you can have breaks and so you and your partner can go on dates… even little ones like a twenty minute stroll outside holding hands, sharing wine on the deck or even catching a movie.

I would tell you that you know your child best of all and no matter what you are told by the doctors and other professionals who will be a part of your life, YOU know the answers. You will teach them about your child. At times you will question the validity of your intuition but after a while you will become profoundly aware of how accurate your gut feelings are when it comes to your child.

I would tell you not to be a martyr. Caring for your child will require tremendous focus and unimaginable energy and it can burn you out and make you sick when you least expect it. I would tell you to let your guard down along the way so that you can stay healthy in your mind and spirit.

I would tell you to seek out other mothers like yourself. This is, indeed, the road less travelled and you will feel very alone along the way especially in the company of healthy children and their parents. Yes, you will feel very isolated but know that we are here. Sometimes you have to look a little harder but we are here. You can find us online, in support groups and wandering the halls of the Children’s Hospital.

I would tell you that you will know far too much about the human anatomy, neurology, gastro-enterology, feeding tubes, pharmaceuticals, and so on, than a mother should ever have to know. I would also tell you to do some research to inform yourself but be very careful not to be overwhelmed by the internet and all of the information available to you. Having some trust in what your child’s specialists tell you can be very grounding. Other mothers and fathers of children like ours can be a wealth of information.

I would tell you that this isn’t an easy life. It is tough: there is no doubt about it but you are very capable and the rewards are great. You may never see your child graduate from university, walk down the aisle or give birth to your grandchildren but you will feel pure joy when your child laughs for the first time at the age of 3 years and 8 months. You will celebrate the moment when you connect with your non-verbal child. You will call your spouse at work to tell him that she has gained 4oz. because weight gain is always a struggle with our children.

I would tell you that you will have to witness procedures and surgeries and suffering well beyond what any parent should ever have to bear. But, I would tell you that you will be courageous and comforting because your child will be experiencing far more suffering than any child should ever have to endure.

I would tell you that your life will not resemble the life you had planned. It will be as though you landed in Holland instead of Italy but after some time, you will adjust the dreams you had and this reality will be normal to you. You will dream new dreams.

I would tell you that you might find yourself staring death in the face during close calls. You will be asked to fill out DNR (Do Not Resuscitate) forms and although you might make decisions to not resuscitate in the event of a cardiac arrest, when the moment arises, you will panic to think that it could all come to an end. And I would tell you to not feel guilty in the darkest moments when you pray to God to take your child if it would mean the suffering would end. This might horrify you but know that your love for your child is so great that at times you will believe that death would be a blessing.

I would tell you that others will not get it. They can’t. This is a very unique and complex journey on all levels. We cannot expect anyone to get it. And I would tell you that people — the cashier at the grocery store or your insurance broker or even your hair stylist — will say stupid things like, “God only gives these special kids to special mothers” and “God will only give you what you can handle.” You will nod and smile but eventually you will look them right in the face and tell them that those simple maxims are a bunch of bullshit.

I would tell you that imagining your future will be bittersweet and may involve a Plan A and a Plan B. Plan A will be what you will do if your child outlives the predicted life expectancy set forth by the experts and Plan B will come into play if they do not. You will catch yourself casually discussing your future with the code phrases of Plan A and Plan B.

I would tell you that grief will creep up on you after years have passed and you least expect it like at a wedding when the father and bride have their first dance or when you hear a birth announcement. It will also creep up on you when you see yourself in a new mother who is just beginning this journey.

I would tell you that you will recognize her because she is you from 7 ½ years ago. And you will want to run to her and hug her and tell her that everything will be okay. You will want to save her from the pain and the hardship and the unknown.

But I would tell you that when you find yourself sitting at the Children’s Hospital and you see a new mom and dad who are just starting this journey, you smile at them and walk by as they have their own path to travel and it will be different than yours. It may be longer or shorter. It may be more or less complicated.

I would tell you that her searching eyes are looking for some sign that she will survive this. And you, smiling as you pass, with your child arching all over your shoulder, will let her know that yes, she will survive this and may even thrive.

Julie Keon
June 29th 2011

Julie Keon’s website is  here

_________________________________________

Our daughter Angie, posted a link to that letter tonight on facebook.  She and her husband Matt are the parents of two beautiful children.  Their youngest Rigg is a special needs child.

Driving Mr Rigg

Goodbye Oscar

March 5, 2011

Oscar 

 

If it should be that I grow frail and weak
And pain should keep me from my sleep
Then you must do what must be done
For this, the last battle, can’t be won.
You will be sad- I understand
Don’t let your grief then stay your hand
For this day, more than all the rest
Your love and friendship stand the test.
We’ve had so many happy years
What is to come can hold no fears
You’d not want me to suffer, so
When the time comes, please let me go.
I know in time you too will see
It is a kindness you do to me
Although my tail, it’s last has waved
From pain and suffering I’ve been saved.
Don’t grieve that it should be you
Who has decided this thing to do
We’ve been so close, we two these years
Don’t let your heart hold any tears.
Author Unknown

___________________________________________________

  We got  Oscar when he was just a year.  Smallest of 3  farm dogs, we were told he was always getting picked on by the other two.   Gangwishes were  moving to Nebraska, and  asked if  we would  take their daughter  beagle.

  That was 14 years ago. 

   I”m sure I’ve probably had 15 to 20  pets  by this point in my life, but for some reason Oscar  found a special place in my heart.

Last July he looked like he was going to die.  On a long shot, the vet gave him some steroids, and he pulled out of whatever it was that was ailing him.

Two weeks ago I was home working in the barn when my phone rang-  It was my wife.

“Oscar just collapsed again on the floor…I heard him yelping  then a big thump ….”

The day before the same thing had happened, I had taken  him in to the Vet, thinking it was going to be a one way trip to town.  The vet had left the decision up to me.  There was no way we were in a position financially to spend hundreds of dollars trying to diagnosis his problem…it could be one of several things, so   we decided to give Oscar  some steroids one more time…they weren’t going to cure him of anything,  he said, but might help with the pain.

       But now twenty-four hours later, he had collapsed again..so I knew it was finally time to say good-by.  I called the clinic, let them know what we were thinking. they said to bring him in.  I gently loaded Oscar up into the little pet pillow he’d been sleeping on this Winter.   He was quiet on the trip to town.    I put my hand on him to comfort him.  He never did like riding in the truck.   When we got to the clinic, the Vet motioned me back to one of the examination rooms. He asked if I wanted to stay or go.  I told him I would stay.  He gave Oscar a sedative, which really relaxed him.  A minute later, he gave him the shot that put him to sleep.  He was gone within 10 minutes of us walking through the doors of the clinic.

I discovered a group of people this week that I never knew existed….

Fellow pet lovers who are still grieving.

They don’t broadcast this to the world.  

 I suspect it is because  they are  tired of hearing things like “It’s only an animal.”    

Why do certain pets become especially dear and others  are “just pets?” 

Here’s another pet I had to say goodbye to last year about this time:

Winston the Pig  March 2010

She was a 650 pound regular pig…nothing fancy, just a pig.  

She loved to have her belly rubbed, eat apples and free range behind the barn in a little pasture.  We  took this picture  shortly before I had to send her down the road.

After Cancer Everyday Miracles by Dana Jennings

May 23, 2010

taken from the

 New York Times

Sunday, May 23, 2010
_______________________________________

April 6, 2010, 11:01 am

        It has been two years since I learned that I had prostate cancer, and a bit more than a year since I had any treatment for what I eventually learned was an aggressive Stage 3 cancer.

      Being from the sticks of New Hampshire, I’m reminded of a woods that has burned. There is still plenty of scorched earth and charred deadfalls, but, more important, the green scrub and optimistic wildflowers of normality are creeping back. Dana JenningsI’m in pretty good shape these days. I live from PSA test to PSA test – every three months – and so far, so good. I still get more tired than I would like because my body chemistry is still in ferment from hormone therapy. And, to get an erection, I have to inject my penis with Cavereject, which stimulates blood flow. (It’s not as bad as it sounds. Honest.) 

       But those are just physical details. I’m more interested in what I’ve learned from my cancer, how it has actually – and unexpectedly — changed me. Cancer is a hard teacher, but a teacher even so. More than ever, I know that I am blessed in sons and my marriage. That on a cold winter’s night a pint of porter in the company of a good neighbor is a bounty in this uncertain world. Yes, cancer is about an unwanted mutiny in the body. But, too, it’s about love and transience.

      Postcancer, I love who and what I love more deeply than ever. And I keenly feel in my bones the sheer evanescence of our existence. I’ve also undergone changes that are more obvious. The anger that raged within me after my diagnosis has mellowed to a simmer — I don’t bellow at speeding cars anymore. I do admit, though, that my tolerance for jerks and trivia has vanished as time’s arrow pricks at my back. I’ve become more myself these past two years, having shed the need to impress anyone.

       Cancer cells also knock the ego down a peg or two. I’m even more obsessive about my, well, obsessions. I binge-read, gorging on books and tearing through genres like some kind of literary wolf: fantasy (Tolkien, Rowling, George R.R. Martin), crime (Leonard, Burke, Stephen Hunter) and poetry (Li Po, Tu Fu, Basho).

        And when I realized recently that the last baseball season that truly floored me was in 1975, when the Boston Red Sox and the Cincinnati Reds played their epic World Series, I galloped to the stacks to gobble up books about the primal days of the major leagues and the Negro leagues. (Yep, Ted Williams still hit .406 in 1941.) That reading, in turn, led me to Ebbets Field Flannels, and the wool replica of Satchel Paige’s 1942 Kansas City Monarchs home jersey that hangs in my closet.

      Like ol’ Satchel, I don’t look back, because I don’t want to see what might be gaining on me.

       Most important, I think, I continue to consciously slow down as our maniacal culture speeds up. I’m constantly on the lookout for those miracles in a minor key that present themselves to us each day.

         I crave a certain fierceness of perception, am more open to the fullness of life seized in one small moment or gesture:

       Bats carving inky compulsories in the purple-black dusk.

      Fern, the sweet apricot cockapoo up the street, who likes to plant her petite butt on my foot.

        The topographical hieroglyphics of moss and lichen thriving on rock and stone.

      The eternal summer conjured by Dick Dale’s feral surf guitar.

       The dank musk of rain on the wind.

       The down-home holiness of bluegrass gospel sung by Bill Monroe and the Stanley Brothers.

        A wicked curveball just nicking the outside corner of the plate.

       The puppy breath of our two new golden retrievers, smelling like wet and bitter grass.

        The daredevil gray squirrels that tap-dance along the back fence.

         April snow, which my country-boy father calls the poor man’s fertilizer.

         So … what are your miracles in a minor key?

____________________________________________________________

My friend Lisa from New York shared this with us on Facebook this morning-  thank you Lisa!

They called it teasing

October 1, 2009

  doug about 12

    “The air was dank, tainted with the odors of steam, sweat and skin.  Years of rust and sediment from the dripping shower heads and armies of bare, wet feet had marbled the floor with streaks and patches of reddish brown.

     The authorities, clad in uniforms and carrying clipboards and whistles, marched the boys in, at least forty of them, all roughly the same age but many different sizes, strengths, and levels of maturity.  The dates of their births, the locations of their homes, and the simple luck of the draw had brought them here, and much like cattle earmarked for shipment, they had no voice in the matter.  The paperwork was in.  This room would be a part of their lives for the next four years.

     He had never been in this place, or anywhere like this place before.  He had never imagined such a place could even exist.  In here, kindness meant weakness, human warmth was a complication, and encouragement was unmanly.  In here, harshness was the guiding virtue- harshness, cruelty, and the blunt, relentless confirmation of every doubt he’d ever carried about himself.

      Mr M. a fearsome authority figure with a permanent scowl and a voice that yelled- only yelled- ordered them to strip down.  His assistants, clones of his cruelty, repeated the order, striding up and down the narrow aisles between the lockers.

     The boy hesitated, looking furtively about.  HE’d never been naked in front of strangers before, but even worse, he’d never been naked in front of enemies.  It had taken only one hour in gym class for the others to select him, to label him, and to put him in his place.  He was now officially the smallest one, the scared one, the weakling, the one without friends.  That made him fair game when it came time for showers.

      He he would be naked in front of them.  Naked.  His stomach wrung; his hands trembled.  Please God, get me out of here.  Please don’t let them do this to me.

     But every authority figure in his life had said he had to be here.  He had to go to school, do his chores, finish his homework, keep his shoes tied, go to bed and get up at certain hours, eat his vegetables, and be here.  End of discussion.

    He removed his clothes.

    Mr M continued his yelling.  “Come on, move it, move it, move it!”

     The herd- pink, black, brown, and bronze- moved in one direction and all he could do was move with it- a frail, naked body among the forty, longing for a towel, anything to cover himself.  Every other body was bigger, and stronger, and every other body had hair where the boy had none.  He knew they would notice.

     The showers were a long, high-ceiling echo chamber, murky with steam, rattling with lewd, raucous joking and laughter.  He didn’t want to hear it.

      After a big kid finished his shower, the boy carefully took his place under the showerhead, afraid  of slipping and even more afraid of grazing against anyone.  He let the water spray over him.  He hurriedly lathered his body with some soap.

     To his left, the talk started about him.  Then some laughing.  The talk spread, the call went out, “Hey, get a load of this!”  And audience gathered, a semicircle of naked dripping bodies.  The talk about him shifted to jeering at him.  He tried to act as if he didn’t hear them, but he could feel his face flushing.  Get through, get through, get out of here!

     He rinsed as well as he could , never turning away from the wall, then headed for the towel-off area, not meeting their eyes, trying to ignore their comments about his face, his body, his groin.  But the arrows were landing with painful accuracy: “Ugly”  “Wimp” “Gross” “Little girl.”

     He grabbed a towel off the cart and draped it around himself before he even started drying with it.  Even that action brought lewd comments and another lesson:  Once it begins, no action, no words, no change in behavior will turn it back.  Once you’re the target, anything you do will bring another arrow….. ” to be continued 

______________________________________________

    This is an excerpt from Frank Peretti’s book No More Victims    His words felt hauntingly familiar to me  (DM).   How about you?   Were you the brunt of any teasing growing up?  What did it feel like?   Has it left any scars?  Before someone is tempted to put a positive spin on this one, let’s take a  little time to tell our stories.

       I know, when life gives us lemons we’re supposed to make lemonade and all that other good stuff..but I’ve also watched   some  of my kids  experience   hellacious harassment in school- and  I suspect  they may still carrying the wounds today.

     Thoughts, questions, comments?

Suffering Without Pat Answers

February 3, 2009

    

     As my wife and I (DM) were having coffee this morning  I read the following introduction to the book of Job from The Message to her.   It echoes something I said to her this past weekend- 

       “When I am going through a hard time, I am NOT interested in listening to  the pat answers of  some fool  talking theory-   I want to hear from someone who has actually gone through it and come out the other side.” 

         _____________________________________________________

     Job suffered.  His name is synonymous with suffering.  He asked,”Why?”  He asked, “Why me?”  And he put his questions to God.  He asked his questions persistently, passionately, and eloquently.  He refused to take silence for an answer.  He refused to take cliches for an answer.  He refused to let God off the hook.

     Job did not take his suffering quietly or piously….It is not only because Job suffered that he is important to us.  It is because he suffered in the same ways that we suffer-  in the vital areas of family, personal health, and material things.  Job is also important to us because he searchingly questioned and boldly protested his suffering.  Indeed, he went “to the top” with his questions.

      It is not suffering as such that troubles us.  It is undeserved suffering. 

      Almost all of us in our years growing up have the experience of disobeying our parents and getting punished for it.  When that discipline was connected with wrongdoing, it had a certain sense of justice to it:  When we do wrong, we get punished.

     One of the surprises as we get older, however, is that we come to see that there is no real correlation between the amount of wrong we commit and the amount of pain we experience.  An even larger surprise is that very often there is something quite the opposite:  We do right and get knocked down.  We do the best we are capable of doing, and just as we are reaching out to receive our reward we are hit from the blind side and sent reeling.

     This is the suffering  that first bewilders and then outrages us.  This is the kind of suffering that bewildered and outraged Job, for Job was doing everything right when suddenly everything went wrong.  And it is this kind of suffering to which Job gives voice when he protests to God.

      Job gives voice to his sufferings so well, so accurately and honestly, that anyone who has ever suffered- which includes every last one of us- can recognize his or her personal pain in the voice of Job.  Job says boldly what some of us are too timid to say.  He makes poetry out of what in many of us is only a tangle of confused whimpers.  He shouts out to God what a lot of us mutter behind our sleeves.  He refuses to accept the role of a defeated victim.

     It is also important to note what Job does not do, lest we expect something from him that he does not intend.  Job does not curse God as his wife suggests he should do….but neither does Job explainsuffering.  He does not instruct us how to live so that we can avoid suffering.  Suffering is a mystery, and Job comes to respect the mystery.

    But there is more to the book of Job than Job.  There are Job’s friends.  The moment we find ourselves in trouble of any kind- sick in the hospital, bereaved by a friend’s death, dismissed from a job or relationship, depressed or bewildered- people start showing up to tell us exactly what is wrong with us and what we must do to get better.  Sufferers attract fixers the way road kills attract vultures.  At first we are impressed that they bother with us and amazed at their facility with answers.  They know so much!  How did they get to be such experts in living?

      More often than not, these people use the Word of God frequently and loosely.  They are full of spiritual diagnosis and prescription.  It all sounds so hopeful.  But then we begin to wonder, “Why  is it that for all their apparent compassion we feel worse instead of better after they’ve said their piece?”

      The book of Job is not only a witness to the dignity of suffering and God’s presence in our suffering but is also our primary biblical protest against religion that has been reduced to explanations or “answers.”  Many of the answers that Job’s so-called friends give him are technically true.  But it is the “technical” part that ruins them.  They are answers without personal relationship, intellect without intimacy.  The answers are slapped onto Job’s ravaged life like labels on a specimen bottle….

      In every generation there are men and women who pretend to be able to instruct us in a way of life that guarantees that we will be “healthy, wealthy, and wise.”  According to the propaganda of these people, anyone who lives intelligently and morally is exempt from suffering.  From their point of view, it is lucky for us that they are now at hand to provide the intelligent and moral answers we need.

     On behalf of all of us who have been misled by the platitudes of the nice people who show up to tell us everything is going to be just all right if we simply think such-and-such and do such- and – such, Job issues an anguished rejoinder.  He rejects the kind of advice and teaching that has God all figured out, that provides glib explanations for every circumstance.  Job’s honest defiance continues to be the best defense against the cliches of positive thinkers and the prattle of religious small talk…..

     In our compassion, we don’t like to see people suffer.  And so our instincts are aimed at preventing and alleviating suffering.  No doubt that is a good impulse.  But if we really want to reach out to others who are suffering, we should be careful not to be like Job’s friends, not to do our “helping” with the presumption that we can fix things, get rid of them or make them “better.”  We may look at our suffering friends and imagine how they could have better marriages, better- behaved children, better mental and emotional health.  But when we rush in to fix suffering, we need to keep in mind several things.

       First, no matter how insightful we may be, we don’t really understand the full nature of our friends’ problems.  Second, our friends may not want our advice.  Third, the ironic fact of the matter is that more often than not, people do not suffer less when they are committed to following God, but more.  When these people go through suffering, their lives are often transformed, deepened, marked with beauty and holiness, in remarkable ways that could never have been anticipated before the suffering.

     So, instead of continuing to focus on preventing suffering- which we simply won’t be very successful at anyway- perhaps we should begin entering the suffering, participating insofar as we are able…. In other words, we need to quit feeling sorry for people who suffer and instead look up to them, learn from them, and – if they will let us- join them in protest and prayer.  Pity can be nearsighted and condescending; shared suffering can be dignifying and life- changing…..

_____________________________________________________

      I (DM)  have a friend who puts me in mind of Job.  16 years ago he became disabled , he was a guard in a maximum security prison  in upstate New York,  got caught in a prison riot.   4 years ago his wife was diagnosed with breast cancer, two mastectomies, and several complications later, she is still in treatment.  He battles chronic depression.    When we are together, he does a lot of talking- I mostly just listen, but will occasionally, rant with him-  I have never given him to the best of my knowledge a “pat” answer.  I  have been known to tease him- quite regularly actually.    He tells me I am a good friend and  encouragement.    If you’ve read this far- I’m impressed.  The end.

Letting Go Takes Love

January 22, 2009

     To let go does not mean to stop caring, it means I can’t do it for someone else.

     To let go is not to cut myself off, it’s the realization I can’t control another.

      To let go is not to enable, to allow learning  from natural consequences.

     To let go is to admit powerlessness, which means the outcome is not in my hands.

     To let go is not to try to change or blame another, it’s to make the most of myself.

     To let go is not to care for, but to care about.

     To let go is not to fix, but to be supportive.

     To let go is not to judge, but to allow another to be a human being.

      To let go is not to be in the middle arranging all the outcomes, but to allow others to affect their destinies.

    To let go is not to be protective, it’s to permit another to face reality.

     To let go is not to deny, but to accept.

     To let go is not to nag, scold or argue, but instead to search out my own shortcomings and correct them.

     To let go is not to adjust everything to my desires, but to take each day as it comes and cherish myself in it.

     To let go is not to criticize or regulate anybody, but to try to become what I dream I can be.

     To let go is not to regret the past, but to grow and live for the future.

    To let go is to fear les and love more.

     Remember:  The time to love is short.

Author unknown

____________________________________________

      Welcome to my kitchen.    Wife  posted  ”Letting Go Takes Love”   on the  front of the frig last week.

     That little ditty,  is for parents of  children hitting the   turbulent waters of the  late teen- early 20′s  years.

     I’ve  seriously toyed around with starting a  support group for those of us.

   frig

     We’ve raised 4 great kids , and I mean great  ranging in age from 20- 28.

     That’s right isn’t it Angie ?  You’re going to be 29 this year?   :-)

     I think for me the hardest part was knowing where the line was between my part and letting go.  

     We just finished watching our 2 3/4 yr old granddaughter two weeks ago, and it was fun.    When she started  whining about something she couldn’t have at that moment, I told her, “Listen, I”ve raised 4 kids and  this is the way it is….you can cry and whine all you want but that stuff doesn’t  work on me now.”

     I wish I would have known the first time around, what I know now as  a parent.  That’s why if you’re a younger parent and something’s got you stumped-don’t just sit there banging your head against the wall (unless you want to of course).   Who am I to tell another person how to parent  :)

     Another alternative might be to look around in your life for an older set of parents, whom you respect and their kids turned out “relatively”  normal and ask them for their suggestions.  There is wisdom to be gained.

 

When You Loose a Child…

December 30, 2008

looking-out-to-sea

     Note to reader:  

        In 2003 I began the practice of using a  3 ring binder  to save the highlights of that year-photos, good articles, personal correspondence, etc.   I was thumbing through my 2004 journal this past Sunday night and came across   the following  piece by Carole J Dyck R.N .   She writes to parents who are dealing with the loss of a child, although I think what she  says could  apply to other times of grief as well.    Wanted to pass it on as a future resource.  DM

_________________________________________________________

       The use of the word “closure” is often heard in public circles or in the media especially after a tragedy and implies finality.  The word comes with the sense that there will be a time, day, or event like a funeral that marks when a grieving person will be “healed” or “over it”, as though it were a disease and you could magically take a pill to be cured.  There is an expectation that when the eulogies are said and the casseroles are gone, the grief somehow magically goes away.  The truth is that…the death of a loved one changes our lives forever, and we will never truly “be over it.”  Yes, we will not have the intensity of the pain and sorrow we had at the beginning of our grief.  We will go on with life and find new normal for us, but live will never be as it was before the death, and we will never be fully “healed.”  Sometimes those around us have attempted to comfort us by pointing to deadlines, replacements, or “at leasts.”  We have heard it said,”At least you have other kids,” or “You can have another baby,” or “hasn’t it been 6 months?”  Many see “comfort giving” as a short-term support effort, and soon we will be “over it” as we are kept busy returning to the tasks of daily living and focusing on our blessings.  These comments hurt rather than provide the comfort they are meant to provide.  Grief follows no plan, stages, timetable formula, or schedule.  There are no road maps; there are no absolutes.

      We learn….that everyone grieves differently.  Grief is like being lost.  The familiar things we relied on to live each day are gone.  We must find new anchors or stabilisers along the way and learn a new way of relating to the world and people around us….Grief is all consuming, distorts reality, and we begin to mark our time in “before or after our loved one died.”  No one can hurry the process of grief, no one can do it for us.  Not even our spouses, parents or other children can help us in those early days.  The truth is that when our grief is new, we feel exhausted physically, emotionally, and spiritually.  We barely have enough energy to breath.  We feel as though we have no control over our lives anymore, nor do we care.  We realise on some level we are helpless.

      All of these feelings are normal and part of the grieving process.  And yes, we also need to realise that it is a process- a very long gradual and difficult process.  Time does not heal all wounds, but time softens the intensity of the grief.  What helps is finding those who will listen with their hearts and give us hope and understanding.  Those who will spend hours, days and months with us as we tell our story over and over so we can somehow believe it ourselves.  What helps is to surround ourselves with those patient people and meaningful activities that comfort and support.

      Gradually, the cold darkness of grief beings to give way to the warmth of the memories, acceptance, purpose and reinvestment in life.  We learn to speak of our loved one without crying and begin to accept that whatever time we had with him or her, we would have taken even if just but a moment.  We learn that grief is the price we pay for loving our child or sibling so much, and we wouldn’t want it any other way.  Our relationships with family, friends and yes, even God can be strengthened or challenged as we look for new ways to connect with them.  We may lose old friends who really don’t understand.  We learn that problems life are not overwhelming.  We are handling the worst thing that can happen to us, what else can happen?  We learn to more deeply cherish those we love.  We help others in grief without batting an eye.  Sometimes we pickup “gifts” along the way by becoming more caring, compassionate toward others, and appreciative for what is important in life.  New strengths can develop as we find our new selves along the way.  Life will be different as we learn to cope, but still have meaning.

     For those of you who are new in your loss, we hope that you will continue to share your sorrow with us and learn from those further ahead on the path of grief.  Someday it won’t hurt as much as it does now, and you won’t always feel “this elephant on your chest.”  We encourage you to ask the family and friends around you for what you need and tell them when their expectations for you are too high.  We hope you will explain to them that your grief is not on a timetable and will probably not ever reach what society calls “closure.”  Explain to them that you will always miss your loved one, but you will learn to live with a broken heart.  We hope you will inform them that the mention of your loved ones name is music to your ears and it’s okay to talk about him or her.

                   Written by Carole J Dyck R.N.

      Thoughts, comments, questions?


Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 131 other followers