We Are Not Alone

On a rainy Thursday morning I unexpectedly found myself alone in a coffee shop. There to meet a new friend, we’d gotten our wires crossed on the time we were to meet. I had at least an hour before an upcoming appointment. Ordering an Americano—with an extra shot of course—I sat down at a table, my journal sitting next to me. It was then that I wondered if the morning wasn’t a mistake after all. If, in fact, I was there to have a date with God. An hour of quiet to sit together, to listen, and to be heard.

Earlier that morning I’d had one of those powerful, messy, raw, and ultimately beautiful FaceTime conversations with one of my daughters. Our conversation wandered through home decorating ideas, upcoming pre-school schedules, parenting challenges, and grocery shopping lists. And then suddenly we found ourselves at the crossroads of her past, the challenges of the present, and her hopes for the future. Which landed us on the painful topic of past trauma and wounding, which then led us to the possibility of generational healing.

Looking through my own lens, and speaking only for myself, ours is a family that has struggled with anger and rage, impacting multiple people on multiple fronts. It was true of the generations before me, and it was a part of my own experience growing up. Add to that the fact that the first time around I chose to marry someone who had his own issues with anger and rage. With good help, I’ve worked to understand those rageful roots, and undo their patterns. My daughter and I talked about how those roots and patterns were part of the soil in which she grew up, and in which her own family is now growing. None of us wants to pass on those parts of ourselves that are unhealed, but left untended, we do. Her pain around anger and its impact on her and now her own family was tangible as we sat together screen to screen. I expressed my deep sadness that she had to experience that in her past, and now has to encounter this same family tendency in her present. I apologized for the part I played in passing that tendency on. Our conversation mattered. My apology mattered. Her need to hear that apology mattered. We ended the time grateful for the safe space we’ve created to talk about scary things.

Sitting in the coffee shop with my Americano, my journal, and God, I picked up a pen and started writing. What does it take to do the hard work to heal from our past? To mend from the uninvited, and perhaps unintended, pain and trauma that make up part of our history? Unintended or not, generational wounding and trauma are inconvenient truths that come with being human. Generational healing is only possible when we encounter and engage with our wounds.

Our unhealed pain always reveals itself, and when it does, that is the moment of invitation…

“Will you meet me head on?” it asks. “ Will you confront me? Will you look me in the eye? Will you put your forehead to mine so that together we can find our way out of this cage of your past that imprisons us both? I want out of here as much as you do, because our freedom, and the freedom of the generations to come are inextricably linked. Know that you are not alone in this quest for wholeness. It is the path all are called to walk if they have the courage to do so. You are not meant to navigate such difficult terrain alone, so seek wise traveling companions, and ask for their help. ”

Closing my journal and heading for the car, I was reminded that we are not alone in our brokenness. None of us make it through unscathed. Our pasts are some combination of the good, the bad, and sometimes, the seriously ugly. Our healing begins when we are courageous enough to look that truth in the eye, and discover what it has to tell us. Because only the truth can set us free. Us, and the generations to come.

Amen.

May it be so.

The Sliver

As soon as my feet hit the floor this morning I could feel it. There was a sliver in my left foot. But it was so tiny—as in the size of a grain of pepper— that my husband could hardly see it even with the help of a headlamp and a magnifying glass. After he made a few gnarly attempts to get it out we decided that a trip to the doctor was in order. To get the sliver out, and to protect our marriage.

Hobbling into the doctor’s office, I felt a little silly. How could something so small hurt that much? Who knows why, and for that matter, who cares. It hurt, and it was going to continue to hurt until it was gone. It took the doctor less than 10 minutes to get it out, and the second I put weight on that foot, the pain was gone. As in gone-gone.

Left to its own devices, that little pepper-sized spec would have burrowed a little deeper, gotten infected, and made my situation a whole lot worse . It wasn’t fun getting it removed, but the relief was worth the price of admission.

What was true of my foot is true in life.

Left untended, a sliver of resentment can splinter a relationship, a scrap of fear can shatter a dream, and a fragment of shame can fracture a soul. That tiny sliver reminded me that noticing and tending to painful things early is the quickest way to the other side. The side where healing happens, wholeness returns, and the ground is firm beneath our feet.

I once had a friend tell mm that I’m always looking for a lesson to write about. And I think that friend was right. Not because I have so many things to teach, but because I still have so many things to learn.

Minus The Nitrous Oxide

Between many years that have included many hours of writing, and plenty of trips around the sun, my hands have developed enough arthritis to make it more difficult, and painful, to do many of the things I love. Rather than ignore the pain, mask it with drugs, or wait for it to get unbearable, I decided to take matters into my own hands by turning them over to someone skilled at treating them.

In my initial appointment with the doctor, who specializes in non-surgical treatments for pain management, we reviewed my X-rays and discussed options, landing on Platelet Rich Plasma Therapy— PRP—as a good approach. It uses healing growth components from my own blood to stimulate healing and repair.

Here is my laywoman’s description of the treatment.

Monday morning at 8:30 I arrived at the clinic and checked in for the first of two appointments. During the first appointment a wonderful nurse—who has clearly mastered the art of painless blood draws—withdrew a dozen, yes that’s right, 12 vials of blood, and then sent me on my way for a few hours. At the second appointment, as I happily inhaled nitrous oxide, the doctor, guided by ultrasound imaging, injected my own platelets back into the injured thumb joints. In our post-procedure conversation he reminded me that my pain level would be greater than normal for awhile, and that I wouldn’t be thrilled to have had this done for about 12 weeks. “Will I be pissed off for that entire 12 weeks until I’m thrilled?”, I asked. “No”, he replied. “You’ll probably be pissed off for a few days, and then things will slowly begin to improve.”

The pain was definitely worse the rest of the day, and I was ready for a nap when I got home. Over the course of the next three months I am to avoid taking any anti-inflammatory drugs or the use of ice, both of which would interfere with my body’s natural ability to heal and repair itself. In other words, for healing to take place takes time, and some pain and discomfort is to be expected. Which, in the overall scheme of things, seems like a worthwhile tradeoff.

The reason I both love and need to write, is that it is how I process life. Writing helps me make sense of things, and sometimes, my writing helps other people make sense of things too. Putting words on the page connects the dots of life out in the world. Writing helps me see big implications found in small everyday things:

• Some of the essential matter required for healing is found within.

• Healing usually requires the help of a skilled professional.

• Temporarily masking the pain gets in the way of lasting repair.

• It might very well hurt worse before it gets better.

• Healing takes time, and doesn’t happen without some level of pain and discomfort.

• The healing process will probably piss us off in the short-term.

• And, enduring temporary discomfort for the sake of long-term healing is a worthwhile tradeoff.

What is true for the healing of my hands is true for the healing of our hearts—minus the nitrous oxide.

Knowing Now What We Knew Then

I’ve written exactly two poems in my life, the first in 1973 when I was 20 years old. I know this because I came across it the other day in a manilla envelope with old photos and letters. It was fascinating to look back at what my twenty-year-old self already knew, and while it is clear to me why I haven’t, and never will, make my living as a poet, it is startlingly clear that even back then I had an inner developing wisdom about things I now know for sure.

The words of this young woman were often an inconvenient truth, as I stumbled in and out of love, but in the long run, it is a truth that has served me well.  What did you know when you were twenty that you now know for sure?

Pain and love go hand in hand

one often leading the other.

But the led need not struggle against the leader,

for they both travel to the same place;

They go to the clear, bittersweet pool

of human experience, where each

may drink freely and deeply of one cup.

The water is such that all who look in it

Can see themselves perfectly.

When two people gaze into its depths

They see themselves as they truly are.

Having once gazed into such a pool

One will never again desire to look into the cloudy, shallow pools of comfort,

which do not reflect, but merely swallow the reflection.

When you seek love, look also for pain, and welcome it,

That you too may drink deeply.

Molly Davis, December 6, 1973

Scar Tissue

“I have this thing about being a preacher who reveals things about herself, and it’s that I always try to preach from my scars and not my wounds.”

~ Nadia Bolz-Weber

There isn’t one of us who hasn’t been physically wounded. Thankfully, our bodies are designed to heal.

There isn’t one of us who hasn’t been emotionally wounded. Thankfully, our hearts are designed to heal too.

Healing of any sort however, requires time, attention, and sometimes professional help, but if healing is what we want, we have to do what it takes. When we ignore the injury, it can fester, infecting other tissue, or, other people, and everything is fair game. Our work, our interactions with everyone from loved ones to complete strangers, our mindset, outlook on the world, and opportunities, our finances, our pets, and our physical, emotional, and spiritual health. It may take energy to heal, but it is nothing compared to the energy required to ignore the pain and try to keep it under wraps. Trust me on this one.

Reflecting on Nadia Bolz-Weber’s words above I am convinced that every one of us can switch out the word ‘pastor’ for any word that applies to us, our work in the world, and our relationships with others. For me, it might look like this… “I have this thing about being a - wife, mother, grandmother, friend, sister, coach, writer, speaker, facilitator - who reveals things about herself, and it’s that I always try to - love, communicate, support, relate, speak, write, lead - from my scars and not my wounds.”

Recently, I’ve uncovered a wound that is calling for my attention, and as a new year approaches, I am determined to do the work it will take to transform that wound into a scar. It will take time and attention, but since healing is what I want, I will do what it takes.

In the words of Richard Rohr, If we do not transform our pain, we will most assuredly transmit it."

The Joy Of Sadness

Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.

Psalm 30:5

Joy is not the absence of sorrow.

Sorrow, however can be a gateway to joy.

There are few of us who look forward to pain and loss, much less the deep, dark emotions that accompany us in our  grief. It can be tempting to try and shorten our times of sadness, to move through them as swiftly as we can, and even to attempt to escape them altogether through our coping mechanisms of choice. But sorrow has a purpose. It isn’t meant to break our hearts, but to break them wide open. As I wrote in BLUSH: Women & Wine, There is a cleansing that takes place when we grieve with our whole hearts. By moving through it , rather than hiding from it, we come out the other side made more whole through our willingness to be broken.

Take heart.

Be courageous.

Weeping may endure for a night.

But joy is to be found in the mourning.

Growing Pains

  On August 20th I posted about working my way through an injury. As the work continues, I continue to  learn about the importance of listening to our pain. 

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 “Your wound is probably not your fault, but your healing is your responsibility.”

~ Denise Frohman Poet, Writer, Performer

I’ve never lived with chronic physical pain before, and I have a newfound empathy and compassion for those who do. Up until this past year, any aches and pains that I have had have been fleeting. This particular pain however has settled in and made itself comfortable.

It was the pain that first alerted me that all was not well when everyday things like walking, sitting, standing, and sleeping that hadn’t been painful to do before, now were. With the good help of my healthcare team we identified the source of the pain, charted my healing course, and paved a road to recovery. 

My marching orders are to continue to walk with the pain rather than push through it, and listen to the pain rather than silence it with painkillers. This means that I continue to do a little more each day, taking pains to keep the pain at or below its current level. Push through it, and I risk losing my hard won progress. Silence it with narcotics, and I’m in danger of missing the protective signals that pain faithfully sends my way. 

Mine is a marathon, not a sprint. Steady steps result in steady progress, and it is the pain that continues to blaze my trail.

Six months ago I couldn’t walk down our half-mile road much less up a steep hill. Today, I can walk eight miles in a day, and hike up increasingly steep trails. As I stay the course, my healing continues and my strength grows. While not yet free of her, pain has proven to be a faithful companion, and when her work is done, I have faith that she will move on.

When it comes to pain, what is true for my body has proven true for my soul. 

When emotional pain settles in and makes itself comfortable, I am learning to see it as an invitation to step onto another kind of road to recovery. Sometimes it has taken the good help of a professional to help me chart my healing course. My inner-pain asks me to walk with it, not push through it, and invites me to listen to it, not silence it with one of my many chosen painkillers. 

The path to wholeness is a marathon, not a sprint, and steady steps result in steady progress. 

As I stay the course, my inner healing continues and I grow more whole. Pain has proven herself to be a faithful companion, and when her work is done, I have faith that she will move on.