Tis the Season for Joy (and Sorrow)

A few days ago, my son was regaling his daughters with stories of Christmases past, particularly in the last home his father and I shared.  It was a splendid home, large, warm and welcoming in an upper middle-class neighborhood in the Midwest.  It was a consummate “holiday” house because it lent itself so well to wonderful holiday decorations and large parties.  But it was also the house whose front door was broken down one cold morning as police executed a search warrant. The memories I have of the house brings joy but also sorrow—bitter and sweet.

Temple Mount, Jerusalem

I was recently reminded of a story from the Old Testament that is kind of strange to read during this season of the year but maybe not so strange.  The temple in Jerusalem—that center of worship—had been destroyed by the Babylonians and many of the land’s residents had been carried into exile.  Seventy years later, the new king of the land decreed that the exiles could return to their native country and commissioned them to rebuild the temple.  When the builders laid the foundation of the temple, the people threw a party to celebrate but not everyone felt joyful—those who remembered the glory of the old temple were sorrowful because they knew that the rebuilt temple would not equal the majesty of the destroyed one.  There were shouts of joy and sounds of weeping that were so loud that one could not distinguish the sounds of the joy from those of the weeping.

Ancient Judean ruins

Those of us who have experienced the trauma of relationship betrayal probably understand better than most the season of joy and sorrow.  Like the exiles, we may have been kicked out of our lives or sat in the ash heap or ruins of what once was trying to find a remnant of the joy we once knew.  We may long for the life we once had while also being greatly relieved and joyful in this new normal of a life we have built.  While we are so grateful to have survived, like those exiles, we still bear the scars of the traumas we have experienced.  We still feel the pain of wounds that are healing but still hurt enough to remind us that something went very wrong in our lives and in our relationships.

There is an odd sentence in the Biblical narrative of the exiles returning home. It describes the returning exiles as being in dread of the neighboring peoples.  Not all of the Judean inhabitants had been carried into captivity.  The elite of the community were taken first but many “commoners” were allowed to remain in the land.  The elite were religious and civic leaders who were probably the wealthier inhabitants.  Their land and possessions were taken by those who remained.  So, there was a loss of status and economic security for the exiles.  In their former lives, they were esteemed as leaders and upstanding citizens; their captivity ended that identity and their return threatened the new lives the remaining inhabitants had created.

How many of us can fully identify with the fear and trauma these returning exiles experienced?  We too once had an identity, reputation and status that was ripped from us by the actions of our betrayer.  We still feel the sting of that loss and maybe still feel the fear that we will be judged guilty simply by our relationship with a perpetrator.  We sometimes fear the dread of our neighbors—not because of our actions or behavior but because of what the addict, pedophile or abuser in our lives has done.

Western Wall--Wailing Wall

Joy and sorrow—two ends of a spectrum of emotion that we are capable of experiencing as humans created in the image of God.  The holiday season presents so many opportunities to experience both, and that is ok.  Life is not black and white nor is it a Hallmark movie.  Stuff happens, we break and we hurt.  Sitting with both emotions is a healthy and appropriate response to the season, particularly in light of loss.  

My hope and prayer for you is that you experience the gift of presence as you navigate these days of joy and sorrow—that you embrace the paradox of both emotions and celebrate the gift that you are.  You are who you are today precisely because of all that you have experienced and you have so much to offer a hurting world.  Relish the joy and welcome the tears—they both are a reflection of the journey that has brought you to this day.  Merry Christmas and may the New Year bring more joy than sorrow!

Refocus for 2019

It has been seven years since my life shattered through an event that seems both very far away and as memorable as today's lunch.  A lot has happened since that cold February morning but this seventh year invites a special season of reflection and expressions of gratitude.  And as is my custom, I've been contemplating my name for the year.

The number "7" has great significance in a number of cultural and religious contexts.  It typically signals that something is finished, completed, released or fulfilled.  Old Testament Law required that all debts be cancelled every seven years and that the land be given a rest from agricultural cultivation.  I can imagine that for the one whose financial debt was forgiven, the year was one of great joy and freedom, but maybe not so much for the one who was required to forgive the debt.  In an agrarian society, a cessation of cultivating the land meant that there was little food to eat but God promised that if the Israelites would observe this principal, he would increase their harvest.

The seventh year was an invitation to take a break and refocus.  It offered a challenge to trust God to provide rather than one's own efforts and to concentrate on spirituality rather than material pursuits.  It was a reset button, of sorts.  So, in the spirit of the number "7," I have chosen to name 2019 "A Year to Refocus."  As is often the case, I have no idea how this will work out throughout the year, but look forward to exploring it as the year progresses.

2018 was a transition year for me in that I experienced a milestone birthday, which was ushered in with discontent, impatience and malaise.  It took a while for me to identify the source as similar to something that I experienced 30 years ago with another milestone birthday.  My husband and I took a cross-country trip in the latter months of 2018 which further solidified some things for me that I hope to share in future posts.

In many ways, 2018 has mirrored 2011, when it was clear my marriage was over.  I knew that one major part of my life was ending but had no clue to what lie ahead, which is probably a very good thing!  I'm looking at my final push towards retirement and there are potentially big changes coming that offer a new and different perspective and way of living.  It is an exciting time and there is much to look forward to and to anticipate.

The past seven years have been full of changes--some imposed and some chosen.  So it is entirely appropriate to pause and reflect but also to hit a reset button--to refocus on what is most important to me during this season of life.  Life is no longer driven by the urgent challenges of life explosions, criminal cases and survival.  It has settled down into "normal," which offers a wonderful opportunity for contemplation.

My word for 2018 was "Enough," and several pivotal personal decisions have come as a result of choosing that declarative word.  What will "Refocus" mean for 2019?

Specifically:

• How can I further release the pain and trauma of relationship betrayal?  What would that look like?  What would it mean?
• What further work in the area of forgiveness do I need to do so that I can walk into this new season of life without baggage?
• Is it possible to complete or finish a recovery process from relationship betrayal or is it a lifelong journey?  What would it mean to take the good (?) from the experience of having married a pedophile and leave the rest behind?  Is that possible?
• What do I need to do to cultivate a deeper spiritual connection to God?  How am I doing with trust?

Thanks for journeying with me through the past six years of blogging.  I'd love to hear about where you are in your own journey towards wholeness and healing.  One of the best things to come from my personal devastation is this blog and the relationships with so many wonderful women who have contacted me through this venue.  My prayer is that you enjoy a wonderful and full year free from pedophilia and relationship betrayal!  Happy New Year.

A Cross-Country Trip

I've moved across the country three times and made numerous road trips between Southern states and the Midwest but this fall was a first.  My husband and I set out on a three-week cross-country camping trip.  We planned the details of the trip for well over a year, packed and repacked and made a lot of campsite reservations.  Our trip of a lifetime included scenery too stunning to describe or take in, precious reconnections with friends and family, fun museums and attractions and learning more about two ministries to women.

My husband and I share several common traits, one of them being a propensity to obsess on detailed planing when undertaking a project or a trip.  But unlike me, when he gets behind the wheel on a road trip, he becomes the best traveling companion!  It is all an adventure and he relishes it to the maximum. We had maps, cell phones and our car GPS systems but still made several wrong turns.  We discovered, however that wrong turns may not be wrong after all.

Two memorable "wrong turns" come to mind.  The first was on our trip from Georgia to Nashville, TN.  We made a wrong turn and ended up in the Great Smokey Mountain National Park on a rainy day.  As we climbed and climbed into the clouds on the mountain, we saw wild turkeys and elk and beauty beyond description.  Another "GPS glitch" occurred in Utah when we were driving to Bryce Canyon National Park.  At the last minute our GPS instructed us to take a road we had not planned on taking, so we obeyed.  We climbed to 10,000 feet above sea level and were surprised to see the ground covered in snow.  The aspen trees dotting the landscape were in their full golden glory and their color against the deep green of the pine was astounding.  My eyes well with tears as I exclaimed, "I don't think I can stand any more beauty today!"

We planned for the unexpected, which included purchasing a second roadside assistance plan specifically for campers.  We were fortunate in that we had no unexpected glitches in our truck or camper but we did learn that pigs can turn up in the most unexpected places.  While driving through the hills of Missouri, we decided to stop at a small barbecue place for lunch.  As we bit into our wonderful sandwiches, I heard squealing coming from the corner of the restaurant.  I was stunned to see a young piglet playing in his pen!  No explanation--just a pig in the most unexpected place--kind of a metaphor for life, I'm thinking.

As we left the plains of Kansas and began the ascent to the Rockies, my anxiety level rose with each mile.  Would our rig handle the rigors of the Rockies?  Would we find enough gas?  Really, would we be enough for the road ahead?  My husband, on the other hand, was entirely confident that we would be ok and could not understand my concern.  He has learned that embracing adventure makes life more interesting while I still struggle with the "what if's."  Our rig did fine, we did fine and it was an amazing adventure.  And it occurs to me that his approach to travel and life is probably the healthier one.  Regardless of what comes, we will be ok so I'm trying to learn to relax and enjoy the ride.

Check out Thistle Farms for your Christmas Shopping!

My family of origin is quite fractured with deep and enduring divisions.  But family is who you make it and our family of choice may be entirely different from our family of origin.  I'm fortunate to have some adopted "sisters" that I was able to spend time with on our trip.  But we also were blessed to visit with two special non-profit organizations whose missions involve reaching out to our sisters on the street and in prison, to those who struggle with addiction and trauma.  It was a special joy to sit in a meditation circle with some of the women at Thistle Farms and realize that while we may be miles apart, metaphorically and geographically, we are kindred spirits and as such are part of a great big family.

Shirley Combs opened a small store-front restaurant in Toccoa, GA a number of years ago.  Shirley's Soul Food quickly became the go-to place for a real Southern home-cooked meal.  Shirley's purpose in starting the business was bigger than simply making a living; she was on a mission to do something about a problem in her community.  After the noon lunch hour, she invited the community's homeless into her dining room and fed them.  As her business grew and prospered, she turned her sights towards providing transitional housing and has opened a shelter.  One woman with a heart as big as Texas, doing something substantial in her community--it was a joy to visit with her and to enjoy her famous cooking!

Twenty-one days, 5,583 miles through 19 states, 4 national parks, numerous museums and attractions, family and friends, amazing scenery and the companionship of a man I dearly love.  Our cross-country trip typifies what I'm learning life is all about, especially during recovery from relationship trauma.  A wrong turn may not be a wrong turn after all but create an opportunity for discovery, growth and joy.  Expect and accept the unexpected because pigs turn up in the most unusual places and embracing the adventure makes life more interesting and less stressful.  Connecting with kindred spirits, whether we are biologically related or not, is the key to living fully as a part of the human family and is a critical component of recovery.  While our journey through life and recovery is a solitary one in that no one can do it for us, we do not travel alone (or at least we shouldn't).  We join with others and it is through those connections that we find the deepest healing.

Choosing Joy

I have a quote on my bulletin board that is worth sharing this week:

"Not every storm is in the forecast.

Trials and tribulations can always be counted on

At different times throughout our lifetime.

So why not choose joy anyway?

Take ordinary days and find the joy,

For it is not around us,

Nor in our circumstances.

It is inside of us.

It is always there.

No matter what, 

Choose Joy!"

--Author Unknown

I recall in the early days after my life explosion that I struggled with intense anxiety, and for very legitimate reasons. It seemed that every time I pillowed my head, the anxious thoughts would come unbidden!

Will I get a job?

Will I survive this?  Will my kids?

What will the next headline be?

What if I become homeless?

And I learned that simply finding things for which to be thankful chased the anxious thoughts away. I learned that fear and gratitude cannot co-exist.  It became a nightly ritual--expressing gratitude for the simple things and by doing so, I found peace from my anxiety and surprisingly, joy was its companion!

Recently my husband and I were camping (some would call it glamping, I admit) and a ferocious storm rolled in.  The wind howled, lightening flashed frequently and the rain came down in buckets.  I feared we would blow away and got up frequently to check out the camper, look out the window and pace.  But then I stopped my anxious pacing and got still enough to listen to the storm.  I live in a desert--we don't get much rain, much less thunderstorms.  I found great joy in simply being in the midst of the storm and being ok.  I focused on the smell of the rain, the sound of it hitting our camper and was grateful for our refuge and for the experience.

Our world is such an anxious place these days--from political unease to wildfires to floods and vicious crime--the nightly news is something to be avoided if we want to sleep!  But we will soon pause and gather with our families to celebrate a day of giving thanks.  In spite of all that our country and world is experiencing right now, life is still grand and full of wonder and joy.  We simply must choose what we focus on--the turmoil of the storm or the beauty of the rainbow.  We are offered a choice.  I choose gratitude.  I choose joy,

Timeout

My second home from infancy

One of the first places my parents took me shortly after my birth was to church.  I have an old black and white picture of my infant dedication, which included the "laying on of hands" in fervent prayer for me.  Both of my grandmothers were in attendance and their faith is part of my spiritual heritage.  As the daughter of a pastor, church was my second home and we were there three times a week and every night during revival or camp meeting.

I grew up in a church where women were empowered to serve in

My grandmothers, mother and me

any capacity within the congregation, including as an ordained elder or pastor.  My exposure to churches that restricted the role of women did not begin until my adult years.  Even so, within the home, women were expected to follow the lead of their husbands and to submit to his authority.  This created quite the dilemma for a woman called to be a pastor--she could lead the congregation, which included her husband but was required to submit to him at home.  Kind of a dual role with many conflicts of interests that probably led to actual conflicts, I'm suspecting.

At two outside my father's first church

In my 30's and 40's I was part of a denomination that sent women as missionaries to engage fully in ministry but did not allow them the same freedom in the U. S.  I never understood the logic of that policy!  I became a leader in a local congregation and was actually appointed to serve on the Governing Board--I was the token female on a male-dominated and resentful Board.  When I could no longer stomach the controversy over my leadership, I resigned and spent many Sunday mornings curled up on the floor of my closet in some of the deepest grief I had experienced at that point in my life.

I have been a member of or regular attender at ten different mainline evangelical denominations as well as several independent and Charismatic churches; fifty percent of them restricted the roles of women, the rest did not.  I have been exposed to many different streams of theological thought and have taken graduate courses in theology as part of an advanced degree program.  I haven't seen or experienced it all within organized religion, but have come pretty close.

Serving as a missionary

Recently, I have found it increasingly difficult to attend a church service.  I find it nearly impossible to sit under the ministry or in a group who seek to marginalize at least 50% of the congregation. While the individual pastors or church members may disagree with the official position of their denomination or may have a more "moderate" view, it just doesn't sit well with me.  So, I have put myself in timeout.

I do not know how long this timeout will last.  I suspected it was coming but I have no clue when it will end.  I just know that the views espoused in groups willing to use the bible to justify the oppression or marginalization of any group of people no longer reflects who or what I believe God to be.  I cannot participate any longer.

I have not lost my faith, I have found it again.  I have not rejected the Bible but rather am learning to approach it with an open heart and mind--not one closed to all but one possible interpretation.  I have not walked away from God but rather am running headlong into His all-encompassing love and compassion for all of humanity, including me, a mere woman.

"Enough," my word for 2018 perfectly describes my feelings during this timeout.  Enough of tolerating marginalization and second-class status all in the name of religion.  Enough compromising and swallowing my pain and disgust; enough of my support through membership or attendance of any group that devalues women.  Enough.  I've had enough.

Enough for 2018

I have been struggling to write my annual post describing my word for the year for well over a month.  The word revealed itself quite early in the process; it has been the sorting out of what the word means to me or holds for the upcoming months that has been challenging.  For the first time, my word for the year has both a personal and broader intention.

In a personal sense, my word describes my intention to do more work around self-acceptance, positive affirmation and silencing my inner critic.  We are daily bombarded with messages that tell us we are not slim enough, smart enough, rich enough, talented enough. . . the list goes on and on and on.  Embracing a sense of not enoughness breeds shame and fosters all sorts of maladaptive behaviors in a futile attempt to be OK in our own skin.

According to my friend Merriam-Webster, when used as an adverb the word "enough" refers to something that occurs "in such quantity, quality or scope as to fully meet demands, needs or expectations."  I am enough; you are enough.  We are human beings created in the image and likeness of God; that makes us fully enough.

I am in a post-major birthday funk that is common during life transitions. My husband says that I

have reached an age that is considered to be the "youth of old age."  I typically do a lot of self-reflection and analysis when I make a major transition and my word for the year will be a compass to guide and correct me through the process.  The measure of my success in life is not in how much I have accumulated, the adulation of a world or in my achievements.  The true measure of success in life is how well I have loved, including myself.  This next season will bring additional losses and challenges but it seems that settling the issue of my intrinsic value and "enoughness" will give me the strength and stamina to face those losses with grace and serenity.

The broader implications of my 2018 word came this week while watching the incredibly brave women who confronted their abuser in a court of law.  It seems that every institution in our society is being forced to deal with the consequences of decades of systemic discrimination and sexual harassment and assault of women. No segment of our society has been exempt--from Hollywood to the local church, sports and news organizations and political figures.  The #MeToo campaign gave thousands of women an opportunity to finally acknowledge publicly what has been tolerated in secret.

"Enough" when used as a determiner and pronoun expresses an "impatient desire for the cessation of undesirable behavior or speech. . . [and] indicates that one is unwilling to tolerate any more."  Until we say "ENOUGH" to a culture of objectification and marginalization of women and children, we will never be able to prevent monsters like Larry Nassar from sexually molesting little girls in their mother's presence.  ENOUGH!  The laws we have passed and the protections we have put in place will never be enough until the societal and often religiously sanctioned discrimination is stopped.

It occurs to me that both the personal and broader implications of my word are intertwined.  Advocacy must begin with me.  I must embrace my intrinsic value and enoughness in order to stand and fight against the systems that are designed to keep me in an inferior or marginalized position.  If I am to fight for others, I must first fight for myself.  I must do the internal work so that I can fully engage in the external battle.  I am enough; you are enough and together we are enough to challenge and change a culture that insists we are not.  Enough and ENOUGH!

Healing Stones

I awoke this morning after another series of dreams that seem to point to a niggling truth struggling to come to my conscious awareness.  As I prayed for discernment and understanding, I recalled the many who have been helpers along this journey of recovery and healing.  I have been blessed with wonderful professionals who have walked with me for a portion of my journey and friends and family who have made themselves available for what I needed during the critical days when life was frightening and anxiety-ridden.  For these men and women--my tribe, my healing stones--I give thanks:

• For Bonnie, Lou, Mari and Teri--professionals who spoke truth with compassion and love and who helped me see myself through gentle and loving eyes;
• For Sharon and that inept MFT intern who taught me that I can and must resist help that is not helpful;
• For Sheila and Tam--old friends who reached out when I was so fragile and simply made themselves available;
• For the women in my small group who listened and loved well;
• For my S-ANON sisters who cried and laughed with me as we shared our journey on the healing path out of betrayal and addiction;
• For Crystal, a sponsor and friend extraordinaire who like her name, brings clarity and insight into the muddy waters of life's situations;
• For Wm. Paul Young, Richard Rohr, Paula D'Arcy, Glennon Mellon, Elizabeth Gilbert, Brene Brown, Stephanie Carnes, Mari Lee, Barbara Steffens, Marsha Means, Ann Voskamp, Patricia Wiklund, Terri St. Cloud, Rachel Held Evans and Scot McKnight whose words were like a healing balm to my wounded soul, like manna from heaven that satisfied my hunger for information and that shone a bright light during very dark days when I could not find my way;
• For Julie Anne and "Anonymous" who helped me reconnect with my inner activist;
• For all of the partners and former partners who have dared to share their stories with me; they have reinforced the truth that we are not alone;
• For my sweet and bestest friend, Kay--a loyal, loving and faithful sister for the past three and a half decades.  She has been a secret-keeper, a sounding board and a witness to my entire journey, not just parts of it.  We have forged a friendship that has stood the test of time, disagreements and changing life transitions.  Many miles separate us but our hearts are connected in a way that transcends geography;
• For my children who are the very best gifts I have ever received and whose love and connection continues to bring healing and purpose to my life.  Their resiliency, courage and strength amaze me and I am so very proud of the wonderful human beings they have become.  They have been severely tried and tested, crushed and challenged and still they love and live with integrity, compassion and kindness;
• For my gifts of grace, life and peace--"The Three," the "K's," the granddaughters who have come into our family and brought hope, giggles, snuggles and joy;
• For my husband, whose love is healing in ways that only a healthy intimate relationship can after severe betrayal, and who has brought adventure and laughter into my life again.

"Hitherto the Lord hath helped us," is an older translation of I Samuel 7:12 that was running through my mind when I awoke this morning.  The context of this verse was a particularly difficult battle between Israel and her enemies and God's amazing intervention.  After the battle, Samuel erected a standing stone and named it "Ebenezer" which is translated "the stone of help."

The Western Wall, also called "The Wailing Wall" in Jerusalem

It occurs to me that the people of my "tribe" have been God's gifts of help.  Recovery is not a solitary journey after all but rather is more like a grand orchestra.  Papa God is the conductor who arranges and directs the music (i.e. healing) but each section of the orchestra contribute out of their gifts and wisdom and are essential to the ongoing majesty and grandeur of the masterpiece.  So at this start of a brand new year, I erect my Ebenezer in recognition of all those who have been my stones of help.  I am truly grateful and blessed.

The Gift of Presence

We have experienced two deaths in my extended family in the past few months with another two beloved family members on death's cusp.  Yesterday I sat at the internment of cremains for a husband, father, brother and son who was taken too soon.  I have been to many funerals and graveside services but never to one like this.  It occurred almost two months after the death and celebration of life service and it involved an urn rather than a casket.  Only immediate family members were present.  After a few comforting words by a family friend, we sat in silence--nothing was said, we were just present with this great and overwhelming loss.

At times, I felt a bit uncomfortable--shouldn't we DO something?  Shouldn't someone SAY something?  Should we really just sit in silence?  Three kids and a young widow had to process the enormity of what we were there to do and those of us who love them sat and offered the best gift of all:  the gift of silent presence.  There are no words to explain or make right this loss; there never is.  Silencing our need to somehow make sense of the senseless by filling the air with lots of words is incredibly difficult.  But the gift of silent presence says more than all of the words in the world could possibly convey; it communicates solidarity, safety and connection.  It exudes love.

There are other priceless gifts that when offered subsequent to loss, tragedy or betrayal comfort immensely:  the gifts of a listening ear, empathy or tears.  These gifts require that we set aside our own pain and enter into that of another.  They require us to deal with the discomfort we feel at the pain of someone we love and demand an ability to "see" or "feel" the experience through the eyes and heart of another.  It is far easier to offer advice, evaluation or analysis of the loss than it is to sit still in silence and simply listen to and feel the pain of another.

A family member sent me a picture this afternoon that perfectly illustrates this wonderful gift of presence.  Her aged mother is near the end of the dying process; the family has spent a grueling few days providing round-the-clock care and comfort and saying their goodbyes.  Pain and dementia have complicated the care-giving.  Last night her son curled up on the narrow hospital bed, wrapped his arms around his mother and offered her the priceless gift of presence.  There is nothing more to be said, no unfinished business, just the opportunity to be present with another as they transition from this life to the next.  I have never seen a more perfect depiction of love empathy and presence than this.

Life breaks and falls apart for all of us at one time or another.  It may be through death, divorce or betrayal.  We are indeed fortunate if during these pain-filled times we have individuals who will come along side us and simply and profoundly offer these grace-filled gifts.  This is what brings solace and comfort to those of us living in the shadow of the Fall.

Hope for the New Year

In 2011 I "accidentally" fell into the practice of giving each year a name as a way of establishing my hopes or goals for the upcoming year.  I knew that I was facing a divorce but had no idea of just how traumatic life would become in the coming weeks but my name for 2012 established my belief or hope that while I might be a single woman again, I would never be alone.  This phrase derived from my faith that God was a very real presence and that He would be with me throughout the year, no matter what it might bring.

2012 ~ Never Alone
2013 ~ Provision
2014 ~ Prosper, Transform & Delight
2015 ~ Healthy Connections
2016 ~ Living Loved

I almost forgot about this practice in the joy and festivities of the past holiday season, which in itself is a testament to the level of healing that has been accomplished in my life.  In publishing my last post, however, the word for 2017 became obvious.  And in a world that grows increasingly chaotic and fearful, it is an appropriate word.  My word for 2017 is HOPE.

Hope refers to an optimistic attitude, a feeling of trust or anticipation of good things to come.  It is a desire for something specific and can either be a noun or a verb.  We look through the cinders of what was once our beautiful life in the HOPE (noun) of finding a treasured memento or we are HOPING (verb) for our perpetrating partner to change.  But unlike more positive emotions we may experience such as joy, gratitude, serenity, interest, inspiration, awe and love, hope comes with a unique characteristic.

According to Dr. Barbara L. Fredrickson, a social psychologist, hope "comes into play when our circumstances are dire--things are not going well or at least there's considerable uncertainty about how things will turn out." (Psychology Today, March 23, 2009)  She goes on to assert that "Hope literally opens us up.  It removes the blinders of fear and despair and allows us to see the big picture.  We become creative, unleashing our dreams for the future." (Ibid)  The opposite of hope, then, is fear.

Hope demands action--it requires that we do something.  It offers an opportunity or invitation for us to choose optimism over pessimism, to trust rather than to fear and to believe that this circumstance is not our defining moment.  It urges us to trust that this situation is not our story's ending.  According to Dr. Fredrickson, this choice is vital.  "Hope and fear are not mere words or facial gestures.  They're deeply felt neurochemical stances toward our current circumstances--stances that alter our outlooks, our actions, as well as the life paths that unfold before us." (Ibid)

I can vividly recall the sense of despair and hopelessness that I felt in the days and weeks after my door and life came crashing down.  I felt powerless and very fearful of my future.  I was easily triggered from the trauma I had experienced and terror kept me awake at night.  Hope seemed elusive but inexplicably, it rose up in my core.  I chose to hope even when my circumstances remained unchanged.  In a sense, hope was all that I had left and I hung onto it like a drowning person clings to a proffered lifesaver.


It seems to me that we all need a healthy dose of hope about now.  Fear closes us down and causes us to cower but hope requires that we open ourselves to the future and to finding creative solutions both personally and corporately.  It is time to figure out how to rebuild and repair our broken doors and hope offers the key.  So for 2017, I choose HOPE.  Won't you join me?

The Art of Grieving

Someone recently asked me to elaborate on the importance of fully grieving any loss, particularly those associated with having been married to a perpetrator.  I was intrigued by her description of the grief process as an art.  Images of artists painting a masterpiece or fashioning a pot of clay sprang to mind.  Art, I've learned, is a messy process--paint splatters and drips, clay hardens under fingernails and clings to any surface it comes into contact with.  And like art, grief is unpredictable, time consuming and messy.
 
Grief is Unpredictable

The inspiration for creative artistic expression does not appear on command but rather comes when the time is right--when the muse strikes.  We've all heard of the writer with writer's block and I assume the same phenomenon happens with other artists.  And so it is with grief--we cannot orchestrate when it will arrive--like the wave crashing onto the shore, it comes in and threatens our sense of stability and balance.  It does not come on our schedule so often catches us by surprise.  But grief, like the wave, ebbs and flows.  When it floods into our hearts and minds, we remember that it does not come to stay, it will flow out into the deep once again.

Grief Takes Time

Artistic masterpieces take time to create.  It took Michelangelo fifty-four months to paint the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.  It was a huge investment of time and yet his work is still revered and admired today.  To fully grieve a loss, we must be willing to invest the time necessary to grieve.  Too many of us are so uncomfortable with grief work that we try to shortchange the work--stuff the pain, deny or minimize it.  We prefer to complete a simple paint-by-number piece rather than invest the time and allow grief to create the masterpiece it is capable of creating in our life.  Losses that are not fully grieved come back to haunt us when we encounter a future loss.  Like the stubborn clay that sticks to everything it comes into contact with, the pain of our unresolved or ungrieved losses come along for the ride when a new loss is incurred.

Grief is Messy

Have you ever envied the person who can cry gracefully?  Dainty tears streak down a face without gathering makeup or mascara, eyes do not grow puffy nor does the face become red and splotchy.  This is not me!  There is nothing dainty or neat about my appearance when I have been crying.  I am a mess.  The work of grieving is messy.  It is not linear, circular or logical.  It just is.  We often cycle back through the same phase again and again.  There is no right or wrong way to do the work of grief, it simply must be done.  Friends and family may be uncomfortable with the messiness of our grief; they may urge us to "just get over it" and we soon learn that not all help offered is helpful.

So what are the guidelines that can help us during a season of grief?  Here are some things that have been helpful for me:

• Learn to lovingly contain grief.  Give yourself time and space to experience the pain and to grieve but then lovingly and carefully pack it away for another day.  This is different from stuffing or denying the pain; it is learning that you can contain it to an extent.  I like to imagine packing my grief away in a white box with a large red ribbon and placing it on a prominent shelf in my closet, with the promise that I will return and retrieve the contents another day.
• Practice extra special self-care during periods of grief.  Be sure that you eat regular meals, stay hydrated, get plenty of rest and do those things that soothe and comfort you.  It may be watching a funny or sad movie, taking a long hot bath, talking to a friend, listening to music, praying, journaling or going for a walk.  Be gentle with yourself and give yourself losts of tender, loving care.
• Lower the expectations you have for yourself during a seson of grief.  Carefully manage those expectations so you can avoid "shoulding" yourself, i.e. "I should . . . " or "I shouldn't be . . ."  there is no guidebook, no right or wrong way to navigate this season.
• Invite someone along for the joruney.  Again, remember that not everyone who signs up for this assignment will be able to help.  You only need one or two individuals who know how to be present with you when you are grieving.  Avoid individuals who need you to comfort them;  this isn't the time for that.  It is so easy to get lost in the grief--you need a midwife to coach you through the really tough times.
• Remember that as long as there is breath, there is hope.  This is not the end of your story!  There is a plan and God is always redeeming the pain in our lives.  The things that Satan meant for harm, He is turning for our good.  Hang onto hope, however small.  Nurture it and allow its warmth to invade the wounded and broken places of your heart.

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The Japanese, it turns out, have discovered a perfect artistic expression that illustrates the art of grieving.  Valuable ceramics that have been broken are repaired using a resin with gold powder in it.  One artisan puts it this way "Many Japanese have come to cherish the imperfection of a broken pot repaired in this way, seeing it as a creative addition and/or re-birth to the pot's life story. . . when something has suffered damage and has a history, it becomes more beautiful:  SOURCE

We all experience times of breaking, losses that shatter our lives, hopes, dreams and aspirations.  Allowing the art of grieving to work its way into the jagged edges of our breaking can create a far more beautiful masterpiece of our lives that we were before the shattering, a stunningly beautiful new work of art!

Living Loved: Random Musings on Loving Self

As is normally the case for me, I'm reading three books at once and it occurs to me that there is a common theme to be found in all three.  Brene Brown provides an intriguing definition of love in The Power of Vulnerability.  Brown says that

"Love is not something we give or get but something we nurture and grow; a connection that can only be cultivated between two people when it exists within each one of them.  We can only love others as much as we love ourselves."

Hmmm . . .

She goes on to assert that behaviors that damage love include shaming, blame, disrespect, betrayal and withholding of affection.  If loving self is a prerequisite to loving another it seems logical that shaming, blaming or disrespecting myself impacts my love of self  OK, that hurts--a lot!  I think all of us struggle with self-shaming, blaming and disrespect towards self; all of us abandon or betray ourselves at some point, especially if we are impacted by addiction or dysfunction.  These behaviors do not lend themselves to love but rather destroy or damage love.

Brown's research indicates that knowing ourselves is important but that how we treat ourselves is more important.  I learned the Golden Rule as a child but was never taught that in order to know how to treat others in a loving manner, I had to learn how to treat myself lovingly.  So much of religion focuses on self-denial or self-abasement and teaches that self-care is selfish but not so, I'm learning.

Knowing, accepting and loving self are major themes in Glennon Doyle Melton's memoir titled Love Warrior.  She chronicles her struggles with alcoholism, promiscuity and bulimia and poignantly describes her crushing desire for acceptance, connection and belonging.  By the end of middle school she had learned that the only way to survive was to send out her "Representative" and to keep her true self hidden and protected.  Alcohol and risky behaviors helped to numb the pain of not having her true self be seen and accepted.  Like Glennon, we often believe that acceptance and connection hinge upon fitting in, but according to Brown this is the primary barrier to true belonging.  The thing we long for the most--belonging, that innate human desire to be a part of something larger than ourselves--is sabotaged by our attempts to gain approval and acceptance by fitting into a prescribed mold.

Elizabeth Smart was 14 when she was abducted from her bed at knife-point and and held for over nine months.  She details her experience in My Story. Immediately after her abduction and every day of her captivity, she was brutally raped.  She describes her horror, despair and sense of being incredibly soiled, repulsive and not worthy of love or belonging after her initial rape.  She believed that God and her parents could never love her again.  She describes several events early in her captivity that changed her view of what had happened to her and that enabled her to believe again in God's extravagant and unconditional love for her.  Early in her ordeal, Elizabeth made the decision to do whatever she had to in order to survive.  She had come to believe again in her intrinsic value and refused to accept the view that her rapist had of her.  She was able to transcend the daily assault to her body and sense of self by seeing herself as someone worthy of love and belonging and who was loved lavishly and without restraint by God.

After her rescue and reunion with her family, her mother held her and whispered these words to her:

Elizabeth, what this man has done is terrible.  There aren't any words that are strong enough to describe how wicked and evil he is!  He has taken nine months of your life that you will never get back again.  But the best punishment you could ever give him is to be happy.  To move forward with your life.  To do exactly what you want.

You be happy, Elizabeth  Just be happy.  If you go and feel sorry for yourself, or if you dwell on what has happened, if you hold onto your pain, that is allowing him to steal more of your life away.  So don't you do that!  Don't you let him!  There is no way that he deserves that.  Not one more second of your life.  You keep every second for yourself.  You keep them and be happy.  God will take care of the rest.

This became the mantra of her recovery.

So loving myself is a prerequisite to loving my spouse, my children, my family of choice or family  of origin, my friends, my neighbors and my God.  Loving self means that I "Don't shrink; don't puff up, but just stand my sacred ground." (Brown)  I show up and allow myself, the real me and not my "representative" to be seen.  It means that I do not abandon or betray myself and that I root my intrinsic value in my existence and in God's extravagant love for me rather than the values or opinions of others.  It means that no matter what happens to me, my past or pain does not have to define me or my future.  I can choose health, recovery and yes, even happiness.  I can choose love.

Living Loved After Betrayal

When I named 2016 the "Year of Living Loved", as is often the case, I had no idea how hard the year would be.  It seems inevitable that driving a stake in the ground and setting such an ambitious goal would be the perfect set-up for multiple challenges to that goal. And they have come--in droves. Living loved requires letting go of the wounds of the past--of those times when we were not loved for who and what we are.  It requires daring to believe that love is possible, that betrayal of trust is not a given and taking this plunge into belief can be downright terrifying!

It seems like nearly every week I hear from yet another partner of a pedophile.  The stories are gut-wrenching and tragic.  One common theme is the shock of discovery and the dawning of the realization that the man they love and have built a life with is not who or what they thought he was.  Whether he is alive or dead, in prison or walking free, still married to them or divorced, the devastation and totality of this betrayal is unfathomable.  How does one even begin to recover after learning that her husband and lover preferred sex with a child to sex with her?  And how does one begin to love again?

Living loved, as I am learning, must begin with loving one's self.  And while this is a big enough challenge without adding in betrayal and pedophilia, it can become overwhelming to the devastated partner.  She may blame herself, believing that if she were just _____, he wouldn't have turned to a child.  She may hold herself responsible for his crimes, or feel that somehow she should have known.  It is incredibly difficult to love one's self after marriage to a predator!  And if the discovery involved a public scandal, she may feel the wrath of a community, church or the judicial system.

Living loved is the dawning realization that at the core of who we are, there is love--it is God within.  No, we are not gods, but as image-bearers of God, underneath all of the pain and wounds of our past, there is love--love deeper and wider than we can imagine, love that is pure and abundant.  Living loved requires tapping into that love so that we can love ourselves and others from a source that is uncontaminated and without end.

My husband often quips that he is "waiting for the other shoe to drop."  That expression pretty much sums up the stance that one takes after trust has been betrayed or love not been forthcoming from significant others in our life.  We expectantly wait for evidence of betrayal or that we really are not loved as we thought we were.  It is a trauma stance and as survivors of incredible interpersonal trauma, partners of pedophiles have to work on laying down that expectation and dare to believe that love is possible, that faithfulness and loyalty are not outdated concepts, and that we can trust again.

But we trust with eyes wide open.  We trust with a strong connection to our second brain--the gut.  Most of us can look back after the devastation of discovery and recall times when we thought something odd, or felt that something was off in our partner's behavior or attitude.  That was our gut talking to us, we just did not have enough information to take it seriously or we discounted it and didn't pay attention to its warning.  But now we pay attention and listen attentively to that intuitive nudge.  We choose to trust until we have evidence that a person is not trustworthy.  It is a gamble for sure but the only other choice we have is to remain in the devastation of our betrayal, to become bitter and lonely women who fear love and connection.

Brene Brown asserts that we break in community so we must heal in community.  This year I am discovering the brutiful work of healing within an intimate relationship, that community of two.  It is both brutal and beautiful!  It takes courage and grit and most of all, patience when triggers come.  It is a daily choice to trust and to believe and to recommit to both my marriage and my own personal healing.  Because I am learning that living loved is a blending of both--it is living in authenticity and truth, showing up and allowing myself--that true self, that core of love--to be seen and loved.  And the result?  The result is glorious and transformative and is worth the work and grit that living in that sacred space demands.

Living loved is refusing to allow the pain of the past to dictate my future; it is a fight that is definitely worth the struggle!  It is a goal I will continue to press towards, long after 2016 melts into 2017 and my hope is that you will as well.

Broken Hearts

Someone that I love dearly recently experienced the breakup of a romantic relationship and it is entirely appropriate to say that she has had her "heart broken."  there are many things that break a heart--death, rejection, abandonment, betrayal, a wayward child or spouse, disappointment and loss, to name a few.  Relationship loss is probably one of the most devastating ways a heart can be broken.  The depth of grief felt is a testament to the depth of the love that was lost and to the sense of hopelessness over destroyed dreams.

Not many of us are fortunate enough to get through life without at least one heartbreaking experience.  Have you ever met someone who seems to have no capacity to grieve with those who grieve or to offer compassion to those who are hurting?  Chances are, they have never truly experienced heartbreak, or if they have, they have numbed or denied the pain of the experience.  They remind me of Job's friends when it comes to their inability to tolerate or understand the pain of one whose heart has been broken.  Contrary to what most assume and certainly to what my loved one currently feels, there is great value in experiencing heartbreak; in the grander scheme of things there are some benefits and opportunities the experience offers:

Hearts broken open have a larger capacity to love than those that have never been broken.  It is through heartbreak that we more thoroughly open ourselves to the hurts and pain of another.  We develop more empathy and are less black and white, which makes us more accepting and open to others.  And that openness and compassion increases our capacity for love in a profound way.  When a glass breaks, it loses its capacity to hold a liquid.  When a heart breaks, its capacity to hold another, to love and to empathize increases rather than diminishes.  It becomes a more useful container than it was before it broke.

Hearts that have been broken open offer an opportunity for deeper self-reflection, transformation and growth.  Heartbreak offers us a glimpse of the contents of our internal world.  When a full container is broken, the contents of the container spill out.  When one's heart is broken open, we can more clearly see the "stuff" that is inside--maybe "stuff" we were not aware of or had forgotten about.  Prior losses that have not been fully grieved, insecurities, distorted thought processes, coping mechanisms that are no longer adaptive are just some of the "stuff" that may flow out of a broken heart.  Heartbreak creates a mechanism and motivation to once more undertake the work of healing and transformation but at a deeper level.

Broken hearts do heal but on their own timetable; there is no rushing the process.  When a heart heals after having been broken wide open, it has an enlarged capacity to give and to receive love, a deeper self-awareness, and greater compassion and empathy for others who similarly hurt.  Healing a broken heart is not easy work, however.

• Healing involves choice--not all who experience a broken heart choose to allow the pain to transform them but rather transmit that pain to all they come into contact with.
• Healing requires a change in perspective--rather than focusing on the specifics of the breaking, the healing heart focuses on the growth potential the breaking offers.
• Healing demands surrender--surrendering the right to exact revenge, demand justice or hold onto bitterness.  Surrender involves accepting those things we cannot change and holding it all--the circumstances and pain surrounding the heartbreak and the future--with open hands rather than clenched fists or tight death grips.
• Healing becomes redemptive when the heartbroken seek to reach out to others in compassion, kindness and love.  The heartbroken become the very best of healers--wounded healers

No one would voluntarily sign up for the experience but when heartbreak inevitably happens, a unique opportunity presents itself.  Maybe we all need a bit more heartbreak?  Maybe the world would be a kinder, gentler place if we allowed pain to transform and change us into channels of peace and compassion for others?  Maybe heartbreak is the solution rather than the problem?  Maybe, just maybe?

A Pretty Bird in an Ugly Cage

I wrote this piece a number of years ago for a dear friend in recovery from a devastatingly abusive marriage to a minister.  Recovery from any form of abuse is difficult and it takes time--the amount of time differs for each individual.  As I have walked through my own days of recovery I resonate with this piece even more.  The abuse we know often seems safer than the freedom of the great unknown.  My hope for each of us is that we find our wings and begin to do what we were created to do--FLY!
 
She didn't know that marriage to Prince Charming would come at such a cost to her freedom.  She was accustomed to flying and the bars of the ugly cage he had prepared for her were shocking and frightening.  She learned to survive in his ugly cage by singing prettily to soothe his rages and by dreaming of what it was like to fly.  She remembered the feel of the wind beneath her wings and the exhilaration of freedom to choose her own destination and destiny.  But dreaming and singing were all she could do because the bars restrained and constrained her world until each day's goal was just to survive somehow, the ugliness and meanness of his bars and tether.

Her freedom from the ugly cage was costly but she paid the price and relished the opportunity to fly once more.  She thought about the myriad of choices facing her and the many destinations that she now could freely set course for.  But the choices and options overwhelmed her; somehow life was simpler in the ugly cage--just sing, dream and long for what could not be realized.  The paralysis that confinement had taught her did not drop off as easily as the door to the cage had opened.  Sometimes when no one was watching she ventured back into the cage and slept in the comfort of its confinement.  The world was large and while she now had the power to make her own choices and to determine her own destiny, that choice was frightening and the cage offered comfort.

So, like the circus elephant that tethered as a babe learns to walk only in the circle his chain allows and does not venture farther than that tight circle once the chain is removed, she flies but in small circles.  There is safety and security in small circles because it is easier to flee back to the safety of the cage.  Flying longer distances away from the cage means potential danger and risk and that is too frightening.  Where will she sleep?  What if she cannot find food?  What about the predators out there looking for pretty birds?

So she spends her days longing for the exotic lands that beckon her; she dreams of the possibilities but continues to feather her nest in the shadow of the ugly cage.  When opportunities come to test her wings once more and to really soar, she finds reasons to stay in the shadow of the cage.  She spends her days singing prettily and flitting about another cage of her own design, still dreaming of the possibilities and desiring to fly but continuing to tether herself.

How I long for the pretty bird to fly once more; to decide on a destination and to set her course.  I long to see her stretch her wings, chart her course and rid herself of the weights that she has designed to keep herself grounded.  She was not meant to live life in a cage; she was designed to fly.  She has the freedom, she has the ability, she has the longing but she is still flying in small, tight circles around the ugly cage.  The dynamic her "Prince Charming" began continues to work even though he is no longer present.  Fly little bird, fly.  Throw off the tethers; stop just dreaming about life's destinations. Spread your wings and soar.

As an addendum--the friend who inspired this is flying--she is soaring in the glory of freedom and I count it a privilege to have her in my life.

Living Loved

With the New Year just days away, I've been thinking of my word/phrase for 2016.  I inadvertently stumbled on the practice of naming my year in 2012 as a way to remind myself that though my marriage was breaking up that I had not been, was not and never would be "alone."  So 2012's word was "Never Alone."  After my world exploded and I began the task of rebuilding and recovery, the building blocks of starting over became paramount so 2013's word was "Provision."  In 2014 I focused on three words "Prosper, Transform and Delight," while I sought "Healthy Connections" in 2015.

Reflecting on the past twelve months my focus on creating healthy connections is amusing to me at this point in time.  At the time of choosing the year's focus, I had just re-entered the dating scene after over three decades of being married and was realizing just how easy it is to get sucked back into toxic relationships.  It still amazes me that at the end of 2015, I am remarried to a man without addictions and am enjoying an incredibly healthy marriage--not perfect but healthy.  My remarriage has required additional adjustments for my children but we are all finding our way in a new blended family.

One of the challenges of remarriage and a healthy connection with my spouse is accepting the reality that I am loved just as I am.  So I am naming 2016 the "Year of Living Loved."  Living loved is more than knowing that I am loved; it is living as someone who is dearly loved.  The difference is greater than the 18 inches or so between my head and heart.  Living loved means that I no longer hustle for acceptance; it means that I do not base my worth or value on what others think of me or on what I do.  Living loved is operating out of a system of grace and favor rather than tit for tat or quid pro quo.  Living loved means that my striving can cease; I simply rest in the fact that I am loved--nothing more and certainly nothing less.

Learning to live as one dearly loved must begin in my relationship with my Higher Power.  If I can rest secure in His love and care, I will find value, meaning and purpose that are not tied to my striving, abilities or performance.  "Those who feel lovable, who love, and who experience belonging simply believe they are worthy of love and belonging" (Brown, Daring Greatly). Most of us do not feel worthy of love and belonging--it is not a message that is necessarily communicated to us by families of origin (though in an ideal world it would be), employers or even friends.  We humans are fickle, judgmental and prone to criticism and idealism.  Our love is often conditional, even when we are trying to love unconditionally.

But God's love is unconditional, lavish and bigger than our misunderstandings of Him (Jacobsen, p. 185).  I recently spent a week with my adorable granddaughters and was reminded again of just how much I love them and how fiercely protective that love is.  Living loved means that I "awaken to each new day confident that the Father delights in me like a parent over his newborn child" (Jacobsen, p. 181).  It means living with "eyes wide open, looking for ways in which Jesus is making Himself known" to me each day (Jacobsen, p. 183).  It results in a quiet trust that no matter what may come, I will be ok because I am loved.

Learning to live as one dearly loved means that I can accept my faults and failures without a need or urgency to defend, explain, rationalize or minimize.  Jesus taught us to love others as we love ourselves (Mark 12:31), however, the problem in our world is that so many of us do not love ourselves so we cannot possibly love others as they deserve to be loved.  By learning how to love my flawed and imperfect self--by extending grace and mercy to myself and silencing my inner critic, I will be better able to love those around me, to offer grace, kindness and a nonjudgmental acceptance.  I've noticed in recent months that my heart overflows with love for others and it seems to be directly correlated to the measure with which I love myself.  What may seem selfish and self-centered is actually a prerequisite for reaching out in love to others.  Living loved is not just for me, it seems.  It benefits others as well--imagine that!

The world is a hate-filled place these days with politicians, clergy and the media spewing hate-filled messages intended to further polarize and divide us.  It is time for us as a people to embrace love--love for our Higher Power, for ourselves and for those around us.  We can only love our broken world to the extent that we allow ourselves to be loved by One greater than us and to the extent that we love ourselves.  I am choosing to live loved in 2016.  Will you join me?

* He Loves Me:  Learning to Live in the Father's Affection, Wayne Jacobsen