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.

Knock Knock

Some lessons we learn early in life. While cleaning out a file cabinet I came across a folder of old stuff, including a poem I wrote on Thursday, December 6, 1973. In my twenty short years on earth I had apparently already stumbled upon the inconvenient truth that pain and love are partners. They are a package deal, and try as we might, we simply can’t have one without the other. Not if we want the real-meal-deal.

Looking back at that young woman in the midst of her last year of college I’m not exactly sure what prompted the writing of that little verse. It could have been the disappointment that comes when the boy you love doesn’t love you back (or even see you in the first place), the loss of her own voice and with it the vision for an advanced degree and a bigger life, or simply the inevitable angst of growing up. Regardless of their origin, her words still ring true.

Love hurts.

It isn’t in our nature to welcome pain, much less invite it in when it comes knocking on our inner door. But pain is the price of admission to a life of love. It is a messenger sent to get our attention, letting us know that something or someone is in need of tending. We are fallible folk, prone to mistakes that will inevitably hurt those we love, including ourselves. Love’s task is to understand the source of the pain and do what it takes to address the underlying cause. Sometimes it’s a quick fix, sometimes a long haul, but almost always worth the trip.

When pain knocks at the door, love invites it in for a visit.

Fruitful

Let’s just put this one to rest—life is hard. No two ways about it. While it isn’t necessarily hard all the time or every day, over the long haul there is plenty of hard to go around.

For example:

The other night Tom and I went to bed at odds with each other. That doesn’t happen very often, but when it does, I hate it. We both do. Neither of us had the capacity to deal with it, which meant we had to sleep with it. As I turned over, and closed my eyes, a thought occurred to me. May it be fruitful.

The next morning on the porch in the cold pre-dawn darkness we sat with our coffee, trying to make sense of what had happened. It was a hard, emotional, and painful conversation. It wasn’t fun. I cried a lot. It took listening on both of our parts, and eventually we found our way back to each other.

The fruit of that hard thing was that we discovered how to be better partners to each other.

Life is harder than ever right now. For me, and for the people I love, and most of the time there isn’t much we can do for one another other than to listen and bear witness to the hard. That, and pray that whatever it is will bear good fruit. That we will lean into the pain, or the fear, or the conflict, or the anxiety, or the anger, or the loneliness, or the grief, and turn it into something fruitful.

Nothing else makes sense.

Because the only thing that makes something hard even harder is when it doesn’t bear fruit.

Forging A New Path

Our bodies can teach us so much.

For the past few months I’ve been experiencing some bothersome pain in my hip that radiates down to my knee. Nightime is the worst, the pain often waking me up in the middle of the night. It isn’t excruciating, but noticeable enough to interrupt an otherwise good night of sleep, and make itself known throughout the day. I have been wondering if I’ll just have to learn to live with it.

Enter Dr. Erica Figge.

Erica is a dear friend who also just happens to be a world-class athlete, strength and conditioning coach, and chiropractor. This morning as we caught up over a virtual cup of coffee I was lamenting about this low-grade but constant pain. “Tell me more” she said.

Before long we were both down on our yoga mats, practicing a movement that might alleviate the pain. Mine has a typical pain referral pattern, and the longer I allow it to go on, the deeper the pain-message pathway in my brain. Thankfully, it is possible to create a new pathway by engaging my body in a way meant to address the source of the pain. The possibility of an uninterrupted night of sleep and a more pain-free experience was all the incentive I needed to commit to getting down on my yoga mat several times a day and see what my body, brain, and I could accomplish together.

What is true of the body is true of the heart and soul. The longer we live with the pain of past injuries and wounds, the more deeply etched those painful message pathways in our brain become. Unaddressed, we grow so accustomed to the pain that we begin to believe we have no choice but to live with it. Today, my body, along with the help of a good and knowledgeable friend, reminded me that we don’t. We are blessed with a brain that can rewire itself. It is willing to develop new, better, and more life affirming pathways, if we are willing to take the time, put in the work, and engage good help.

During this current life-altering time, we have been forced to come face-to-face with ourselves and those we share life with. Old injuries are more evident. We’ve nowhere to run, and it becomes increasingly hard to hide from what hurts. The pain of one injury can begin to refer far beyond the source, inflicting further harm to ourselves and those around us.

In the strange ways in which only struggle and hardship can, this time of being held captive offers us a chance to take ourselves and our own hurts on. Once this time of isolation and quarantine is over there will be more to distract us from ourselves, and the inner work that is ours to do could easily get lost in the shuffle of life on the other side.

The longer we wait the harder it becomes to overcome our old stories of pain and suffering.

But.

If we are willing to take the time, put in the work, and engage good help, our brains are ready and willing to create new pathways. Ones that lead to lives of greater authenticity, wholeness, and wellbeing.

Let’s get to work.

(Note: If you live in California and are ready to take the next step in your health and wellness journey, contact Figge Chiropractic)

Heart Broken

One of the most painful acts of love is to bear witness to the pain of another, love them with all of your might, and not be able to fix, solve, or make better. The most we can do is be present with them in the midst of it all, trusting that that can make all the difference.

It breaks your heart to love that way.

It breaks it wide open, making room for more.

Photo: Paul Blenkhorn on Pexels.com

The Road Less Traveled

There is nothing quite as inspiring to me as watching someone choose to take the road less traveled.

The road less traveled is the one that when facing the difficult and painful challenges that life throws in every one of our paths at one time or another, leads them through the difficulty rather than skirting around it.

The road less traveled is the one that while every step may be painful, is the only one that leads to healing and transformation.

The road less traveled is the one that calls upon our courage to keep going in spite of our fear.

Tempting thought it may be to take the well-worn easier route, the road less traveled is always worth the trip.

Always.

Pixabay