immersion

“Your profession is not what brings 

home your paycheck. Your profession is what 

you were put on earth to do with such 

passion and such intensity that it 

becomes spiritual in calling.”     

Vincent Van Gogh

  I asked for a copy of this image as a birthday present.  I can't recall ever asking for a specific thing before. I had seen it in a show 2 years ago - framed with the Van Gogh quote along the bottom - and I was completely captivated by it. The image is actually the cover of a book**, which includes lots of amazing underwater shots -  but what I asked for (and got) was a large, framed copy of the image just by itself. 

Anyway, I don't know what Rod and Sonya of Eve Studios named this image, but what came to mind while I stared at it was 'immersion'. Here is a bit of what it says to me so far...

It speaks to me about living risky and immersed, exposed and vulnerable.  Plunging in anyway, somehow staying on track in spite of yourself.  Knowing that there are costs and being willing to pay them. Looking fear and complacency right in the eye and saying (with intensity and conviction) ' you two are LOUD, but maybe you don't get to have the last word ..." 

I think this image gave me a visual representation I could associate with courageously living differently. I don't always feel that courage, but there ARE times when it is intensely present, brimming over even.

The profession reference in the quote (for me, anyway) speaks to living at and being part of  Flatlanders Inn. As I recall, when I saw this image for the first time, I had recently experienced yet another encounter with someone who looked at me like I had three heads because we choose to live where and how we do. This image gave me a visual - something to rest in and help me feel okay in my own skin and about our choices, okay to be our family -  just the way we are, and to immerse ourselves into something deep and life-altering without guarantees or even the support we sometimes wish we had more of.  We know that what we're doing isn't normal, and we know that many people won't or can't open themselves to something that seems so different.  (It isn't actually that different, but fear and complacency are loud, great convincers for humans!)

At the same time, there is so much grace communicated; its as if the model is suspended in the water. There is a sureness about her that seems out of place. As a viewer, if you've ever been in a swimming pool, you know she can't be suspended, its impossible - you know she's sinking and that her limbs must be moving. It makes me wonder: do our human attempts to do things that feel risky, unstable, like guaranteed failure, things that look just plain ridiculous... do they look this beautiful if captured in a certain moment, through a certain lens or from a certain perspective? Can we be graceful when we feel clumsy, laborious, unsure?  Do faith and trust help the whole thing to appear graceful when its also cloudy and confusing?  Is that part of what it means for calling to be spiritual - that there is a lot of risk and uncertainty in it?

Anyway, as of my birthday last week, I get to be inspired by this image every single day.  The ways to engage with it are endless..... I'm thankful to Lorrie, Lisa, Karen, Bren, Cory, and Bek for all pitching in so that I could contemplate 'immersion' every day!

** Those photo books are still available, by the way, and the proceeds from sales support water projects in the developing world. (Go here for more info if you're interested in the book - i think the shipping is free!)  You can also search out the H2Oohhh exhibit page on Facebook for more info.

perspective

I often captivated by stories that have been passed on through the oral tradition.  This is one of my favourites;


Six blind men were discussing exactly what they believed an elephant to be, since each had heard how strange the creature was, yet none had ever seen one before. So the blind men agreed to find an elephant and discover what the animal was really like.

from: http://pwoessner.com/
wp-content/uploads/2009/12/elephant.jpg

It didn't take the blind men long to find an elephant at a nearby market. The first blind man approached the beast and felt the animal's firm flat side. "It seems to me that the elephant is just like a wall," he said to his friends.
The second blind man reached out and touched one of the elephant's tusks. "No, this is round and smooth and sharp - the elephant is like a spear."
Intrigued, the third blind man stepped up to the elephant and touched its trunk. "Well, I can't agree with either of you; I feel a squirming writhing thing - surely the elephant is just like a snake."
The fourth blind man was of course by now quite puzzled. So he reached out, and felt the elephant's leg. "You are all talking complete nonsense," he said, "because clearly the elephant is just like a tree."
Utterly confused, the fifth blind man stepped forward and grabbed one of the elephant's ears. "You must all be mad - an elephant is exactly like a fan."
Duly, the sixth man approached, and, holding the beast's tail, disagreed again. "It's nothing like any of your descriptions - the elephant is just like a rope."

And all six blind men continued to argue, based on their own particular experiences, as to what they thought an elephant was like. It was an argument that they were never able to resolve.


 Each of them was concerned only with their own idea. None of them had the full picture, and none could see any of the other's point of view. 


Each man saw the elephant as something different, each blind man was partially correct, but mostly missing the larger truth.  Each man was more concerned about his perspective and his correctness than learning all that could be learned.


I got this version of the story from this site. 


Maybe you needed perspective today, too?

more about mattering

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.

Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.

It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.

We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant,

gorgeous, talented, fabulous?

Actually, who are you not to be?

You are a child of God.

Your playing small does not serve the world.

There is nothing enlightened about shrinking

so that other people won't feel insecure around you.

We are all meant to shine, as children do.

We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us.

It is not just in some of us; it is in everyone.

And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously

give other people permission to do the same.

As we are liberated from our own fear,

our presence automatically liberates others.

- Marianne Williamson, in Return to Love: Reflections on a Course in Miracles

(I've also seen these words attributed to Nelson Mandela)

mattering

Source: pinterest.com

Every year a theme word seems to find me.  A word that describes something I've been observing in my life, in my thoughts, in the environment and relationships around me. It becomes my word of the year.  It kinda emerges from stuff around me and informs whatever might be ahead of me.

The word this year is 'MATTER'.  

As in YOU matter, I matter, WE matter.

Our stories matter, too. 

It's so easy to marginalize people and ideas and stories. Its so easy to push aside our own sadnesses, our victories, our defeats, our resilience. It all matters, but we treat it as insignificant. We do it to ourselves and we do it to others.

Whether it's through my counselling practice or other areas of life,  I've been realizing how common it is to feel overlooked, how often we overlook ourselves, how easily we discount our experiences or our feelings. We label and judge our own and others' behaviour and actions. I find myself being attentive to it lately, wondering why some things get to count and others don't. Why it's easier to believe crap about ourselves than courage?  Why do some events or beliefs carry more weight than others? Why is it so easy to rob dignity from others and their experiences, to say that it doesn't matter?

When I started thinking that MATTER was the new word of the year, I was reluctant about it.  I didn't want to be self-centred or individualistic. 

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that when we believe that we matter, we are more likely to find our purpose and connect with it. We're more likely to live as if it's NOT just  'all about me and what I want' when we believe that we matter. How's that for irony? When we're feeling invalid and unworthy, we're more likely to lose our way and get off track, focusing primarily on ourselves and getting our empty tank re-filled. 

Knowing that we matter equips us; not knowing it diminishes us.

MATTER is my word of the year because I want to continue growing in my understanding of mattering.  Other words like significance, belonging, confidence are similar, but somehow the essence of mattering; believing that we/I matter - that's what has been speaking to me lately. I'm looking forward to how this word will continue to shape me, my practice, and my relationships in the year ahead.

Other 'year words' have been decentered (2010), tension (2009), sustain (2008), and clarity (2007).

from http://dynamiccollaborations.files.wordpress.com

be not ashamed

This is from Brene Brown's blog called Ordinary Courage.

Sometimes, I wonder whether we want to integrate the whole of our life experiences or only certain parts.  Are we selective about what we 'let show' about our history, bringing some parts out and making sure they're on display like some people do with their fine china? Do we  lock other parts up behind a door under the stairs where no one will accidentally come upon them?

I think Brene is on to something here, and I think it looks - practically - like forgetting about fine china and hidden closets and just owning that whatever is behind us and within us all makes up one life.  Trying to separate and be choosy about what gets seen is never going to be something other than incomplete and partial. 

She hits the nail on the head - if we are only letting certain parts of ourselves and our stories matter, we are going to miss out on some of the best parts of human experience; love, belonging, joy .... probably some others, too.  Or we're only getting a small glimpse of those experiences ....   It's only by embracing the vulnerability of being our real, complete selves that we can hope to enter into the fullness of of being human.

picture post

its been a while. Here I am in Caronport again, and I can usually manage to find a little time to post when I'm here at school. I figured I'd give a little picture post of some things lately ...

This is one of our neighbourhood friends, who has created some art.  His work is being displayed in our artspace gallery right now.  The show is called 'Falling Leaves, Flying Geese' and it ends tomorrow.

How Do You View Yourself?

This is my most recent creative piece.  This is what I do when I want to make some sense out of chaos and confusion in my mind.  I am a collector of images and words, I store all sorts of little scraps in a special place.  Then when I need to sort myself out, I put them all out in front of me and find the ones I most identify with at that moment, and consider what is drawing me in ... As this piece came together, I found myself (as is often the case lately) trying to sort out my self perception in relation to events in my life. This picture was taken before I fixed a doily onto one side of it - the doily represents the ever present expectation that I be soft, subtle, quiet, and complacent, not a boat-rocker,  - you know - feminine, nice, Christian .... . I used my purple glue stick to smush glue into the folds and cracks of the doily to get it to stick.  I did it on the top side, so it would show and mess that doily all up. I guess I wasn't feeling very girly and nice that day.

We had a worship Sunday at church. The creative work above was started right in the service.
I love when Communion is part of the church service.  I love seeing how all sorts of different people respond to the sacredness. When I hold the elements in my hand, I see afresh the miracle represented in each one. Each time I take communion is a new conversion, a chance to confess my devotion to Christ and my need for grace.  A chance to reflect on all the ways I am shaped by the God who is present, who is available for communion.

It was my son's 16th birthday recently.  We celebrated at cafe 22, one of our favourite local restaurants. My husband can't turn down an invitation to arm-wrestle our kids' friends.

I spent all day yesterday on one of these... not going to Cleveland, though.  I traversed the Canadian prairies, going into every small town on the highway. A ride that takes less than 6 hours in my car takes 12+ in this beauty.  But I got lots of reading done, and had a $14 lunch (just a sandwich, onion rings, and a coffee!) at a truck stop.

This is my attempt to redeem my photo taking
sklls by making it look like a graphic novel ... I know, I'm just silly.

... after a day on the bus, I was very excited to go for a brisk walk, even though the roads were icy and it was very dark.  Mostly because I wanted to wear my new winter hat!  Or because I had been sitting on a bus all day ....

So, these are a few musings from lately.  I'm still planning to move over to Wordpress because of the comments issue. Maybe I will work on that a bit this week.

PS: This is my little exercise plan for this week.  It takes about 6-7 minutes. I can't seem to find the energy/motivation to exercise in my normal life these days, but away from home I seem to have all kinds of energy to do this!

I'm still doing modified pushups, btw.

thankful

Saturday morning, I heard the sad news that my friend Christina had passed away.  I spent the day rather dishevelled and in a fog.  

Can I tell you a little about Christina?  I know she'd love that her picture is on a blog, and her stories are being told.  She loved being remembered, noticed, appreciated.  

She loved being loved!

I met her in 2009, shortly after our family moved to Flatlanders Inn. She came for our Wednesday potluck. After we'd eaten she asked when the women's prayer group was meeting.  Turns out she thought it was Friday and was looking for another event in the church, she hadn't even meant to come to Flats.... but then she kept coming, every Wednesday night for the next two years.  She'd bring food to share, sometimes chicken nuggets or instant potatoes, but she always wanted to contribute!

Both Christina and I had mothers who had struggled with mental illness and who had passed away many years ago. We discovered this story-in-common early in our friendship.  We hardly ever discussed it, but every so often if the topic of care or childhood would come up, she'd say something about the kind of mutual understanding we shared. Trust grew between us, in the way that it does, winding and testing.  Getting stronger with shared experience, shared laughter, shared hearts, shared hurts. 

 Christina was an artist, and she had this deep longing to communicate brokenness AND hope in every piece she created.
When our artspace opened up, she was became a regular attender at the art drop in. She loved Jesus.  When she was feeling strong, she wanted to pray for you, looking for ways to encourage and bless everyone she met.  When she was feeling low, she asked people to pray for her often.

Christina loved Christian trinkets. She couldn't resist buying a t-shirt or hat that had words or images about love or peace. Her jewellery collection was extensive and included lots of crosses.  If you got curious about the stuff she loved, you'd learn that she just wanted to communicate the love and hope of God to everyone.  She had a mixed up relationship with 'stuff', and it consumed a lot of her energy. ... and often the energy of her friends!   Flatlanders experimented with storing some of her treasures - but in the end, we sent them back to her place because of the tension it brought into our relationship.  

Some of my favourite Christina memories; 

...having coffee in portage place
...sorting through her stuff and hanging clothes on very specific hangers, in very specific order, in a very specific way :)
...rummaging through her purse for some lost item
...the time she made a huge pot of soup for flatlanders and everyone loved it

...being shown a new photo or artistic piece and hearing the story of how it came to be

... the way she would choose an outfit and accessories, usually including a hat!

...seeing the abandon she danced with every sunday in church, even when her arm was injured

I'm pretty sure our last phone conversation was a prayer.  I have guilt over the phone calls I didn't answer and the messages I didn't return, but I know that our friendship was real and mutual - we were honest with each other.  'Be strong' was a phrase said between us often.

Christina gave me a celtic cross from her jewellery collection.  When she was alive, I wore it because I was grateful that she was in my life.  Now that she's gone, I'll wear it in her memory and in thankfulness for all that I learned from her. 

Christina taught me about beauty, about suffering, about joy, about intimacy, about vulnerability, about prayer, about Jesus.

She taught me about Jesus because I saw him in her all the time.

Be at peace, dear Christina, you will be missed by so many.
We love you.

                    ...until we meet again...

the paths we take

How often I found where I should be going only by setting out for somewhere else.     B.Fuller

I recently asked a talented friend of mine if she'd consider doing a series of images (any media or canvas) for me to hang in my office. I'd been keeping a list of ideas on a very precious pink sticky note for the last year or so.  The ideas are relevant to both counselor and client; metaphors or symbols that might speak to anyone who happens to be sitting in that office. She enthusiastically agreed, even though I can only afford to pay her a pittance.  The first image was done last week.  

Apparently, as soon as she knew 'path' was one of the ideas, this whole painting sprung immediately into her mind. 

This week, I've been contemplating the path our life has taken over the past few years. Walking around in the peaceful, sleepy village of Caronport reminds me of our first year in another Saskatchewan town a few years ago. At first I couldn't put my finger on the sense of familiarity I kept noticing every time I was outside, but then I remembered that these feelings of safety, peace, and hope were with me in our first year in Hepburn.

Tonight I walked past the student housing on campus and chuckled when I remembered our tour here before we decided to move to Flatlanders.  Our kids didn't want to live in such a small house... They ended up living in a much, much smaller space!
   I remembered my son's face lighting up when he saw the bus the high school students travel around in for sports events ... I think he'd have done well here.               
        But our path took us back to Winnipeg, back to the North End we thought we'd left behind two years earlier. 

In class, I'm thinking about thesis and research, and being encouraged to narrow, ever narrow the topic.  It's so hard, because there are so many things I want to study, so many possibilities for future research and community work. I reflect on how much has changed since I sent in that tentative application for a Masters program, and wonder where this path is leading .... 

                                                              For who is God except the Lord?

      Who but our God is a solid rock?

 God is my strong fortress,

      and he makes my way perfect.

 He makes me as surefooted as a deer,

      enabling me to stand on mountain heights.

 He trains my hands for battle;

      he strengthens my arm to draw a bronze bow.

 You have made a wide path for my feet

      to keep them from slipping.

2 Sam 22, NLT

Anyway

from http://ptskjohnson.blogspot.com

I love these words from Mother Theresa.  

I needed to be reminded of them today.  

Maybe you did too?

recommends

been such a great summer, thought I'd jot down a few favorite things we've seen and done this year ...   enjoy!

We had planned a nice dinner out while on holidays, but then, as is often the case while away, plans changed.  So, the following weekend we were back in Winnipeg and went to The Current at the Forks.  Dinner was really good, then we shared a chocolate mousse-brownie dessert made with Callebaut Dark Chocolate.  It was all so, so nice.  We are not in the habit of going out for expensive meals, so this was a rare treat.  It didn't hurt that it was a beautiful summer night at the Forks, and that we were on foot.  If you haven't walked around downtown, the Exchange, or the Forks this summer, I hope you get a chance soon!

I read Michener's ALASKA over the course of a couple of weeks - including two solid days when I was sick.  I'm such a fan of Michener's writing -   he's such a thorough researcher.  The way he ties things together, weaving the details from 1000 years ago into the present reveals such a talent for storytelling. 868 pages though - not for the easily distracted.   There were so many different perspectives of Aboriginal contact with Russians and Americans.  I really appreciated the care taken to show the difference between diverse clans and groups.  In particular, the Aleutian Natives are characterized as a peace loving, spiritual, reflective people.  Here's part of the story of one Aleut 'conversion' attempt -

 'Gravely, the shaman place Cidaq on a stool and took a position facing her; then, as if he were summarizing his entire life, he began speaking: 'young woman, have you not seen the Russian Christianity?  Has it done anything for our people?  Has it brought us the happiness they promise? Has it brought food (back to our island, after the merciless hunting and senseless killing of our food supply)? Do they love us as their Book says they should?  Do they respect us? Do they allow us entrance into their places? Have they given us any new freedoms, or even preserved the ones we had built for ourselves? Is there anything ... any one thing you can think of ... any good thing their God has given us? And, is there any good thing which we already had which they have not taken away?'"  

This particular plotline goes on to tell about Cidaq's long journey to reconcile the beliefs of her people and her childhood to the 'new way' brought by the Russian colonizers. Another 'contact' story is about sailors taken in and cared for by a small village.  Exposed to the Natives traditions and way of life, the sailors embrace new perspectives about them, genuinely SEEING them as people, not savages.  I'm sure there were many stories like this in the history of our continent - there just weren't ENOUGH of them.

We spent a couple of near Melville, Sk.  A good part of one of our days was at the Motherwell Homestead, near Abernethy, Sk. Even if you don't live in SK, the Qu'appelle Valley is gorgeous and this National Park Site is worth the drive.  The Motherwell family was important in early Saskatchewan History.  The house and barn were built of stone that took over 8 years to collect from the surrounding countryside.  The family had come from Ontario and brought some revolutionary ideas to prairie farming.  Mr. Motherwell's second wife was a teacher in the local residential school, where she apparently opposed the mandate of complete assimilation.  She allowed children to speak in their own languages, and tried to respect their history.  She was known as a 'difficult and strong minded woman' - I wished there were more of her history available!

We watched the Beatrix Potter biography, with Renee Zellweger.  What a lovely, sweet story.  Without giving away too much of the story, (because you should watch it if you haven't!) - I loved seeing the way that Beatrix grieved.  It seems rare to me to see such deep emotion in a film, expressed so humanly.  (maybe thats because my favorite genre is fluffy romantic comedies, watched purely for entertainment and escapism?)  Beatrix was a feisty and eccentric woman, and she became the best selling children's author of all time.  She had imagination, confidence, perseverance, and she wasn't flattened by rejection or ridicule. I was surprised that I remembered the names of several of her characters.... I think I love Jemima Puddle Duck best, but maybe its just because of her fun name.  Here's a quote from the movie, when Beatrix meets her soon to be best friend, Millie;

"I have decided that you and I are going to be friends. Norman tells me that you are unmarried, as am I, and that you're not unpleased about it... as am I.  I warn you, I am prepared to like you very, very much, and I plan to enjoy each others company quite a lot!"  

I'm sure it was just as risky to say such things in Beatrix's day as it is in ours, and I am always drawn to those who have the confidence to be honest and vulnerable.

Without meaning to do it, I've talked about three strong and unique women in this post.... maybe I should also recommend that you have a peek at my women and strength board on pinterest :)

shame

ever feel ashamed of yourself?  I'm not talking about guilt here, not some fleeting ooops-I-wish-I-hadn't-done/said-that feeling.  I'm talking about shame - the deeper feeling that peeks out every so often and says accusing things like: 'you're not valid. you're a pretender. maybe you shouldn't have been confident.... where do you get the idea that you have a right to contribute? I'm not going to let you forget where you've come from, or that you're a poor excuse for a _______  .'

photography found at: http://www.orkut.com.br/Mai

A couple of weeks ago, I had an experience that was causing me to want to curl up and not be seen.  I was wishing I could hide inside my own skin.  The memory of it would come into my mind and I'd have to suppress the desire to run away, to go find some covers to hide under.  As if by running, I could hide from my own thoughts.


When I get into this space, I inevitably feel like the people around me don't have any idea what I'm experiencing.  And that they can see right into me. They've got their acts together, they wouldn't have anything to do with what I'm wincing at the mere thought of.


So, before our family holiday, I called up a friend (at 10pm!) and asked if she had any wine and a few minutes for me. She graciously said yes (to both requests!), and even thanked me for coming over! Then I  told one of my sisters my secret.  (I could only tell one of them,  it was all I could manage.)  My husband also knew.  And I gave myself space to cry - several times, because I've learned that in some mysterious and beautiful way,  crying untangles the knot that lives in my stomach in times of grief.  Both my friend and my sister told me that they understood it was a huge deal for me, this thing I wanted to hide from.  They both shared similar experiences. And they both loved me anyway. They both found ways to say that their perception of me was not altered, and they both found gentle ways to encourage me to let it go.


It wasn't long before the memory didn't have the same power over me.  I can think about it now and not want to hide or even wince.  Someone told me once (a therapist someone) that I showed signs of having been shamed - often - in my life.  She was right.  But, you know, those shaming patterns don't have to live forever.  Over the years, I've learned how to practice vulnerability in some pretty freeing ways.  And, I've been acting - with a great many stumbles - on some decisions about what and who will have power over me.  


The stuff thats happened over the course of my life - for a long time I wanted to bury it.  And finally, I just accepted that it was what it was.  And that I was going to keep having to cope with it; in new ways as I changed and as the years progressed. It wasn't healthy to believe that there would come a day when it would be behind me forever. I had to let go of the 'I've dealt with it' mentality and replace it with a 'I'm dealing with it' perspective. 


I like the way Petersen talks about living creatively together in Galatians 6; 'Live creatively, friends. If someone falls into sin, forgivingly restore him, saving your critical comments for yourself. You might be needing forgiveness before the day's out. Stoop down and reach out to those who are oppressed. Share their burdens, and so complete Christ's law. If you think you are too good for that, you are badly deceived.'


This post was inspired by a site I found by reading the very worst missionary's post about Second Chances.  Check out this site - dedicated to gracious living and being people of many chances.
thanks for reading! don't be shy to leave comments.

rethinking proverbs 31

 Until now, I’ve believed that the woman from Proverbs 31 was the consummate traditional homemaker.  She is called ‘the virtuous wife’ in the KJV, a ‘woman of noble character’ in the NLT, the ‘capable wife’ in the NRSV, a ‘worthy woman’ in the NASB.  Directly from the Hebrew, ‘woman of abilities’ is my best translation. Today, I studied her again and learned a great deal – I saw her in a brand new light.

Proverbs 31 starts out with a king’s mother giving him advice. She’s cautioning her son not to neglect his responsibilities as king.  Her advice (in my very rough translation) is ‘women and/or booze will take you down, my son. Don’t let it happen! You have a job to do in this world!’

What is this important job the king and his future wife are to be committed to?

Speak out for those who cannot speak, and also for the rights of all the destitute.  Also, make sure you’re able to judge righteously, and defend the rights of the poor and needy (vs. 8-9)

If mom has her way, the king and his virtuous wife (assuming he finds her!) will both be committed to this purpose.  The relationship will include mutual support, not desperate clinginess. This woman won’t derive worthiness or identity entirely from her husband, and because of this they will both be able to contribute to their (joint) task with greater capability, resolve, competence, and purpose. This woman seems healthy and well rounded; she might embody what developmental theorists would call ‘resolved’ or ‘mature’  … because she knows who she is and has the ability to be selfless.  She has a solid identity, which paves the way for genuine intimacy, and opens the door for all sorts of good stuff to enter her home and life.

In the past I’ve read Proverbs 31 and seen a woman who kept it all together, did all the right things, managed her household, business, and other interests - while sewing her own clothing … and I thought I must be a disorganized schmuck.

Today, reading from the king's mothers perspective and keeping their mutual purpose in mind... i saw her in a brand new light.

** The images in this post come from an artist's blog called

Blue, Purple, & Scarlett.  **

loss - 5 minute fridays

  

how can i write only 5 minutes about loss  when its been such a major theme of my life in the last few years?!  i could write pages and pages on it - actually, i probably have; its probably the most consistent theme in my journal.

at the same time, how can i pass up a chance to share the richness that has entered my life because of the gaping hole opened up by grief?

 the losses i've experienced have had a direct connection with some pretty significant changes in life direction. 

the best way i found to condense loss (less than four minutes to go!) was on a canvas where i painted layers after learning the concept of 'stackable losses'.  i imagined a series of losses piled up on top of each other.   The space left over at the top - the space available to cope with life -  was almost nonexistent.  seeing that picture in my mind's eye was a moment of healing for me, because i knew it was the perfect depiction of what had actually happened in my own life.  i instantly recognized that i'd been in a place of significantly reduced ability to deal with many aspects of life because of a series of major losses. 

in the painting, i named them...

dignity was the first and most significant.  losing your dignity means you can't look people in the eye, and you feel like any confidence you ever possessed must have been a joke - actually it feels like YOU are a joke.  thats extreme loss. 

safety was the next.  imagine thinking that you're going to fall into a safe, warm, welcoming embrace ... and then meeting a brick wall ... thinking that there is a safety net beneath you, only to realize that someone came along and cut all the strings... there was a season of my life that felt just like that. it was extreme loss. 

stability, security, and support followed.... in many ways because of the impact of losing safety and dignity.

hold up, though.woe ISN'T me! 

working through those losses wasn't and still isn't a pity party. 

rare is the day when the things i learned through those losses isn't accessed.  those losses have become valuable resources.  and the more i think about it, the losses i've suffered all throughout my life have shaped who i am ...  they've shaped me more than anything i intentionally sought out to shape me ever did.  

 i am rich because of losses.  what an upside down truth! 

think about it - which important theme of human existence isn't infused with loss? 

redemption.  incarnation.  family.   marriage.  love.  resurrection.  forgiveness.

there are more.

but my five minutes were up a few minutes ago....

the gypsy mama offers an invitation to blog for five minutes every friday on a given prompt.  

no editing, thinking, fixing... just GO, for five minutes, on the topic given.

todays was LOSS.

join in next week...

echoes, phantoms and expectations

Lately, I've been reading and thinking about gender roles/expectations.  I came across some interesting stuff last week... 

Virginia Woolf (1882-1941) was famous for writing,  and later on for speaking up on behalf of women. (and maybe for being a bit unstable...)  She expressed and embodied some of the struggle that was being experienced by the women (and men!) of her day.  Rather than telling you my interpretation of the tension she lived with, here are some of her memoir words, from a lecture in 1931.

'I discovered that ... I should need to do battle with a certain phantom.  And the phantom was a woman... I called her after the heroine of a famous poem,, 'The Angel in the House'.... you who come of a younger and happier generation may have not heard of her... I will describe her... She was intensely sympathetic.  She was immensely charming.  She was utterly unselfish.  She excelled in the difficult arts of family life.  She sacrificed herself daily.  If there was chicken, she took the leg; if there was draught she sat in it - in short she was so constituted that she never had a mind or a wish of her own, but preferred to sympathize always with the minds and wishes of others.  Above all - I need not say it - she was pure. Her purity was supposed to be her chief beauty, her blushes, her great grace.  ... every house had its Angel ... the shadow of her wings (falls) on my page, I (hear) the rustle of her skirts in the room... (she whispers to me) 'my dear, you are a young woman ... be sympathetic; be tender; flatter; deceive; use all the arts and wiles of our sex.  Never let anybody guess that you have a mind of your own.  Above all, be pure'.  ... I now record the one act for which I take some credit to myself ... I turned upon her and caught her by the throat.  I did my best to kill her.  My excuse, if I were to be had up in a court of law, would be that I acted in self defense.  Had I not killed her she would have killed me ... for, as I found, you cannot put pen to paper .. without having a mind of your own, without expressing what you think to be the truth about human relations, morality, sex.  And all these questions, according to the Angel in the House, cannot be dealt with freely and openly by women; they must charm, they must conciliate, they must .. tell lies if they are to succeed.  Thus, whenever I felt the shadow of her wing or the radiance of her halo upon my page, I took up the inkpot and flung it at her.  She died hard.  Her fictitious nature was of great assistance to her.  It is far harder to kill a phantom than a reality.  She was always creeping back when I thought I had despatched her.   - from Woolf's In the Death of the Moth and other Essays.  As quoted by Daniel Levinson in Seasons of a Woman's Life.

Even though we are living in a world that is very different from Woolf's 1931,   I find myself wondering why is Woolf's phantom description still familiar?  

crazymaking

even before becoming a counsellor, I had come up with the term 'crazymaking' as a way of describing what its like to be in an relationship where emotional abuse is present.   It's like walking on a tightrope while balancing a stack of plates on your head and wearing high heels - as a lifestyle. And doing it with a smile on your face, because you're pretty sure that the deep ache you feel isn't valid, so pretending and covering up your emotions is almost always necessary.

I've had this post brewing for quite a while. It comes from some of my in class learning, some  experiences with people in my life, some of my own experiences, and a little bit from things I've heard from clients.  (care has been taken to ensure there is nothing identifying written here.)

I feel compelled to talk about emotional abuse.  It deserves attention because it's often overlooked, and people generally think it's not valid in the same way as physical violence or sexual violence is.  Does emotional violence really compare?  I might have said no in the past.... but I've come to see things differently.  Even though other kinds of abuse leaves scars and bruises, the remnants of emotional abuse are no less permanent.  I've heard folks who have been emotionally abused say that they WISH they had bruises, some tangible evidence that might validate the pain.  

Emotionally abused women often don't recognize the abuse as abuse for a long time.  Partly because its their 'normal'.  And partly because they're too busy trying to make things right, constantly trying to flex and adapt to a changing reality.  The ways that they are wrong, bad, and 'the problem' seem never ending, and they're often trying some new strategy to keep the chaos at bay.  They often see themselves as the problem in every situation, because thats what they're told.  Over, and over, and over.   Friends and family, in a sincere effort to be supportive,  often reinforce the message that the victim needs to change/is the problem.

I could say more, but a friend told me I could share some of her thoughts as long as I keep her identity secret.

"That’s the thing about being in a relationship with an abuser – you don’t matter.  Its best to just face that fact and accept it.  You don’t matter.  Your partner finds every possible way to tell you that, to get you to embrace this truth. It's the secret to getting along, he says.  Sometimes with gentleness, sometimes with humor, sometimes with venom that reverberates in your brain for years.   Problem is:  ITS NOT TRUE!!  It's only the truth of the relationship you’re in.  Somewhere, you know that, you just lose touch with it in the midst of turmoil and ongoing stress. And sometimes, he is so very good to you, that you wonder if you made the abuse up.  How could these two faces belong to the same person, you ask yourself.  But you know. the difference between the two faces is obvious, to you most of all.  you know the subtle change.  The cheek twitch.  The clenched hands.  The tone of voice.  You know both of them -  intimately."

"Every time I experience a verbal attack,  I walk around as if in a fog or daze for days.  I forget the difference between up and down.  I become even more forgetful than I naturally am.. or maybe the absentmindedness is a response to a lifetime of abuse?  I don’t know.  I feel so little, so worthless, so confused. I can hardly string sentences together.  I try to look for the consistencies and the pattern, something to work on, a starting place.  But inconsistency is the only consistency.  How do you do any repairs on a moving target?  You just keep doing the dance.  until one day, you can't dance anymore."

 I'm learning about emotional abuse.  I'm learning that it's real and deserves attention. I'm also learning that there's hope.  IF both victim and abuser are willing to take honest inventory of things.  To take responsibility and do the hard work of emotional change, rerouting learned responses.  Boundaries need to be established and supports set up.  Both parties need to talk about violence and power -  what's happened between them and what they want to replace it with.  I'm not writing a textbook or authoring a study here, but what I've learned so far tells me that the key ingredients to healing are genuine repentance, a strong commitment to changing the patterns that have maybe existed for a lifetime, outside supports/help, and most of all - love.

Love that looks like this: Love is patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude. It does not demand its own way. It is not irritable, and it keeps no record of being wronged. It does not rejoice about injustice but rejoices whenever the truth wins out. Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance ... Such love has no fear, because perfect love expels all fear.

appreciation

Someone emailed this video to me today, thought it was worth sharing. 
the person who sent it to me added the disclaimer: 'get the kleenex first' ....

Mothers Day Proclamation

Julia Ward Howe is one of the women responsible for setting aside a day for mothers, a day to celebrate the gift of being and having mothers.  She was an activist, a poet, a suffragist, a feminist, an abolitionist, a reformer, an advocate, and a pacifist.  (thank you Wiki!) 
   (Is that not an amazing list of activities for any person, let alone a woman ... in the late 19th century! - WOW!)


The Proclamation below was written as a response to civil war.  Julia's thoughts are timeless, though.


Mothers Day Proclamation
Julia Ward Howe


Arise, then, women of this day!

Arise, all women who have hearts,
Whether our baptism be of water or of tears!

Say firmly:
"We will not have great questions decided by irrelevant agencies,
Our husbands will not come to us, reeking with carnage, for caresses and applause.
Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn
All that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy and patience.
We, the women of one country, will be too tender of those of another country
To allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs."

From the bosom of the devastated Earth a voice goes up with our own.
It says: "Disarm! Disarm! The sword of murder is not the balance of justice."
Blood does not wipe out dishonor, nor violence indicate possession.
As men have often forsaken the plough and the anvil at the summons of war,
Let women now leave all that may be left of home for a great and earnest day of counsel.

Let them meet first, as women, to bewail and commemorate the dead.
Let them solemnly take counsel with each other as to the means
Whereby the great human family can live in peace,
Each bearing after his own time the sacred impress, not of Caesar,
But of God.

In the name of womanhood and humanity, I earnestly ask
That a general congress of women without limit of nationality
May be appointed and held at someplace deemed most convenient
And at the earliest period consistent with its objects,
To promote the alliance of the different nationalities,
The amicable settlement of international questions,
The great and general interests of peace.

... Makes ya rethink the Hallmark version of Mothers Day, huh?  Maybe theres room for a little more than candy, flowers, and sentimentality! 

... on a lighter note, here is a picture of one of the reasons i am celebrated on Mothers day.. as I rounded the corner into our parking lot, there was some shouting from the roof, and there was my almost 16-year old son and his friend, way up high!