Archives for posts with tag: struggle

       

Credit:Nuthawut Somsuk

“What stands out about 2023 for you?” my husband asked as we rang out the old year in a crowded restaurant.

Inside my eyes rolled.  Okay, maybe even on the outside.  I was all set to respond, then abruptly stopped.  What initially came to mind were all the negative, difficult, or traumatic experiences of 2023.  And there were many.

Here we are in the third week of the New Year, and I continue to hear from people that 2023 was a year of some hefty emotional lifting.  Many shared experiences that they described as a year of “you just can’t make this stuff up.’’  While others shared ongoing uncertainty that left them with waves of anxiety and fear – even depression.  “This past year seemed worse than 2020.

Their sentiments about the passing of 2023 could be summed up by these lines from Lord Alfred Tennyson’s poem:

The year is dying in the night.

Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

                                                               ~Ring Out, Wild Bells (1850)

I’ve certainly had similar thoughts myself.  Good riddance.  Let the year die!

Research has found that we remember the negative times better than the positive.  It is because our emotions influence how we process memories.  We remember more accurately the details of experiences that caused negative emotional reactions. 

Why?  The short answer: If your body believes it’s in trouble, it will focus your attention on details that will enhance your survival.  Don’t take my word for it – research it for yourself. 

My husband gave me a quizzical look.  He knows I don’t usually lack for words.  Not wanting to be a downer, I was struggling with where to start.

Like many of you, our past year was full.  Negative/positive, sorrow/joy, fear/confidence, death/life, trauma/calm, etc…  It seemed to hold more negative events than in years past.  We certainly felt the waves around here! 

So, I do tend towards pessimism.  A childhood of complex trauma taught me that to survive you need to always be ready for the next shoe to drop. Old ways of survival can be automatic and difficult to break. But that night, I made a conscious decision to start by honoring the positive.  Remembering times that brought me an overall sense of well-being that came from being happy.  These memories included moments like being curled up by the fire reading to literal mountain top experiences.  

Remembering good memories can release dopamine,  a neurotransmitter associated with feelings of pleasure.  Happy memories can positively affect our mental health.  My earlier eye roll sure needed some good care. 

Yes, we honored the negative.  But because we had named the positive, we were able to remember and not relive the negative.  Although, some of our negative experiences are fresh.  When I felt my body ramp up (which is my go-to), I named it and then asked myself,  “Where is my sadness?”  And when I felt my body shutting down, I asked myself, “Where is my anger.”   These questions helped me stay engaged (regulated) by accessing both reason and emotion; instead of being ruled by the emotions of our more recent experiences and reliving them. 

If you read Tennyson’s poem, he does speak of casting aside all that is sad and bad about the year.  More deeply he speaks of his hope that better characteristics of human nature will emerge in the new year.  We all hope for better, in ourselves and in others.  Although difficult, the sad and negative experiences also taught me some things about myself. Now, I certainly don’t want to repeat those experiences! They were painful and I do wish I could have learned differently.  But I don’t want to completely throw out those sad and negative experiences.  I believe they have made me a better human and I am grateful for the growth. Yes… that has come with some acceptance (which I am better at on some days than others) and perspective. 

Absolutely, there were experiences in 2023 that I wish I could change. But the negative does not wipe out the whole year as bad.  Living more authentically has meant appreciating the good things while also recognizing and dealing with the challenges or drawbacks. I am learning more each year how to hold that tension with honor.  Even in years where the negative seems to outweigh the positive.

There is one thing that I am certain about, 2024 will be yet another both/and kind of year. 

Heart in barbwire frames flock of birds in cloudscape background

When I hear his melodic masculine voice, I’m hooked.  Even though I know the buried monster, the echoing goodness entices my heart.  And, hope swells like wild ocean tides.  I’m five again, and my body aches for his love and attention.  My parched little heart desires for so much more from my daddy.  And my soul gulps his feeble offerings.

Sweetheart is what he names me.  Gosh, even at fifty-something I long to receive this name from him.  Yet.  He doesn’t know me.  His engagement is shallow.  He’s come and gone for decades.  So, I wonder, is this a name that appeases an old man’s lingering guilt – nothing to do with me and all about him?  It’s how it feels as he requests, even demands my presence, combined with the lack of effort on his part to reach out.  In the aftermath, I feel nauseous, stirred up, disappointed, exhausted.  I’m left empty by the presumed intimacy in contrast to reality.

He wants more contact.  And yet, offering nothing more.  How much weather can two people talk about?  A part of my heart screams danger, boundaries, protection!  I know better and understand what he is capable of doing to my heart and body.  Each and every day they bear the pain of long ago.  Walk away, from his meager confessions.  If he really loves you why doesn’t he…?

Do I settle for crumbs?  Allow him to continue the facade?  Or, do I carefully give my heart, desires, and truth –  because I have something to offer like no other to his wounded heart?  Is his life worth more agony for me?  He doesn’t owe me anything anymore.  Yet, he has everything to gain.  But, what if I lose the crumbs in the process?

Today I am not willing to hear or seek the answer.   Perhaps another day…

 

 

 

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“Sit still Robyn. Can’t you stop wiggling.” Came the hiss in my ear.

Expected to act like an adult as my little body screamed it was a small child. I might be in church, at the dinner table, watching television or riding in a car. Sitting still was problematic for a little girl with lots of energy. I was bored, ready to explore and play. But, It doesn’t take too many whacks in the head before you realize that sitting still is your best option at staying safe.

It’s like you’re hiding in plain sight.

Yet, I couldn’t bury the truth that I was a child. Try as I may, my breathing got faster, I began to itch and my muscles throbbed and ached. Eventually body parts went numb. I couldn’t stand it, I had to wiggle.

It just plain hurt to sit still any longer.

A few years back, I found myself sitting still – smack dab on the fence. Concerned about red flags I had experienced and the aftermath of wounded relationships, I was met with more than a few whacks to my heart. So of course, sitting on the fence seemed the safest place. At first it was a great view of the action. Perhaps I could hide out here until all the mess blows over.

The funny thing about hiding, while you think you are hiding from others, ultimately you end up hiding from your true self.

Honestly, fear drove me to fence-sitting. It had nothing to do with waiting out the storm or trying to see both sides. I knew which “side” to pick. And that is exactly what I feared, because it would come with a high price. After all, my heart had invested much over the years. Old fears of not belonging, being left behind and no longer being a team player bound my heart to that fence.

And the desire to belong is strong.

But, those fence slats pressed into my body and irritated my heart. While shifting only delayed the inevitable gnawing at my bones. The pain felt deep. I could feel myself numbing out. I was not myself.

It was time to move.

Jumping off the fence, my heart and body felt stiff. I fumbled through the fog of my fears. I wobbled forward only to stop and pull out a splinter or rub feeling back into my muscles. My voice returned. And I didn’t always say what people wanted to hear.

Ahh…It’s so good to show up as me.

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Purge, change, let go, organize, plan, resolve…words flittering around the Internet like neon signs. It’s the New Year – out with the old and in with the new. The tug is on to change your life.

And…

Funny, no one talks about what we will keep, what we will hold gently and move forward as the new year dawns.

Here are a few things I want to hold from last year; things my body, mind and heart have fought diligently to find and carry.

Gratitude, and practice it each day. I’m not one for magic bullets. I resisted getting on the gratitude bandwagon. Not because I am ungrateful – mostly everyone was doing it, posting it, encouraging it, journaling it, as the answer to all of life’s attitude problems. I don’t like to be duped. So I found something a bit different. The intentionality of the gratitude practice remained while coupled with seeking God’s Presence – made gratefulness a game changer in my life. It brought not only the words, but created for me an intimate relational experience with my Heavenly Father. So, my hope this year is to awake being grateful to God for another day of life – to hone my eyes to gratefulness and hold it close to my heart.

Which brings me to the next holding. To keep my heart open to God’s Presence. To sacredly hold these moments, subtle and glorious, wild and restful throughout my days. To eagerly look for His Presence in the world around me. He’s there you know… Gently touch your face. Yes, He is that close.

I desire to hold the courage I have been given in kindness. Seasoning my words and actions in love. Battling for my heart and the hearts of others with grace and truth.

In 2015 I felt like a very small child thrust into a PH.D level course of understanding more fully what is going on in and with my body and emotions. I was not happy to say the least. And…Oh my, I’ve learned a bunch. In this season I am learning to bear what is going on inside of me. It has been difficult to allow my body to feel and experience what’s happening and befriend some deeply buried emotions. This year I hope to continue to hold sorrow with kindness and joy with extravagance. Keeping both in close proximity.

I’ve struggled with forgiveness in new ways this year. To clarify…with that “forgive and forget it” type of forgiveness, without really understanding what the “it” is all about. The exchange of the words, when our hearts don’t even understand the pain. Stuffing “it” down somewhere deep, only to have it ooze out later in b”it”terness. And we certainly cannot forget, which keeps us in more shame for not doing it right or not having enough faith or… Leaving us haunted by whether we offered true forgiveness. There is much I could write here… Yes, forgiveness is a choice. And I am sure you have your own opinion. I believe forgiveness is a process of grieving over pain we have received. Owning the sorrow, revoking revenge and inviting others to repentance and reconciliation. Something not lightly offered or given. There will be a cost and ultimately it will give your heart freedom from a heavy yoke to offer it – even when the giving of forgiveness is not possible or they are unable to receive it through lack of repentance – and yes, even when reconciliation is not possible. So, I do hope to give and receive forgiveness this year. To love one another in this way and to hold forgiveness close to my heart- ready to offer it with grace and truth.

A friend has said something like this, “Dreams, require defiance, involve spiritual warfare and a hell no and a heaven yes! What in your life are you willing to die for? What are you willing to live for?” I want to hold big dreams with hope. Dare to see them, risk to taste them and boldly live to carry them out.

I want to know more fully and remember who I am created to be – a woman uniquely created in the image of God. In kindness I will hold it before me to guide my mind and heart.

Going forward, my being longs to gently embrace the splendor of beauty – my own, in others and in the world around me.

I hope to hold struggling well. Caring appropriately for my mind, body and heart in the midst.  Because even with a heart holding gratitude, difficult and harmful experiences come our way.

My heart longs for the continued and growing intimacy I have with my beloved husband. That my friends has been ground hard fought over the years as a couple. I don’t intend to let that go.

This certainly isn’t my full list and…

Yes. I will make a few changes. Say no more often, get rid of a few things, organize to make life easier and set some goals.

So, here’s to 2016. May you find much goodness. I do hope you have many joyful life-giving things to hold close to your heart in this New Year.

If not, it really is time to make some changes.

Mostly, I’ll be holding on.

It’s no secret that I have been in a season of struggle.  Spaces I am broken physically, emotionally and spiritually – questioning my faith and more accurately the face and name of God.  I know it has been difficult for some in my community.  Most want me – healed and healed yesterday.  They are unable to walk with me during this wrestling.

And yet, I must grapple with my questions.

A few weeks it was a gorgeous blue skied day that pushed away the gray.  My heart jolted to attention at the summons to join its warmth.  I sat on my patio delightfully absorbing the sun, until I felt the familiar stirring.  Compelled to walk in the woods behind my house, I put down my journal and answered the invitation so audible in my spirit.

Drawn by the vibrant red seeds of a Maple, I made my way farther into the woods.  I passionately began the God conversation with one of my many questions.  Soon they began spilling from my heart and out of my mouth, along with warm tears down my cheeks.  Ending with my deepest questions, “Do you see me?” “Do you know me?”  “Do you love me?”

On this earth, I am certain I will ask these questions again.

Ask, because I need consistent reminders.  In good times and bad, I am a child who needs to know her Father really, really loves her – time and time again.  I have often been told this is lack of faith.  Perhaps.  And, I love to hear it, know it and experience God’s love for me.  Everyday!  So, it’s just not going to stop.  I believe it requires a great faith to turn towards the face of God for rescue.

Where does your face turn when you are in need of rescue?

A few years ago, I found myself in a similar space.  A day of longing for God to show me that He loved me, saw me, knew me and was pleased with me.  I was crying out walking along a slice of sugary beach in Michigan.  I had asked God for a specific gift, a visible manifestation of the answers to my heart – a piece of blue beach glass.   I reneged on the “specific” request and asked Him for the gift He wanted me to receive that day.  I did not receive blue glass that day and I was not disappointed by His gift.

So, there was no revelation that day in the woods.  Feeling a bit disappointed and strangely peaceful, I walked towards my back gate.  As I reached the fence line something caught my peripheral attention…

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Yes, a piece of blue glass!

I wonder what you name God in times of rescue.  A God, who sees you, knows you, loves you and rescues you in His timing – a wild timing I have no earthly pretense of understanding, but nonetheless, rescue.  I was intimately rescued in the woods two weeks ago.  It took my breath away!  And we laughed together.  So, my name for God?  I bet you guessed…

God of the Blue Glass

ash wednesday

Rounding the aisle at the grocery store, I saw the familiar ashen cross of my childhood – prominently displayed upon the brow of a rosy cheeked blustery woman.  She loudly gossiped with a friend.  Their sudden hushed tones and downcast eyes as I passed, gave up the truth.  I passed them quickly.

Ash Wednesday, did you know they even have ashes to go for those too busy to attend mass?  #ashtag

My mind went immediately to my grandmother and her yearly pronouncement of the “giving up” of peanut butter during lent.  Oh how she loved that spoon full of creamy silken goodness.  Peter Pan her favorite.  As a young child, I awed at her sacrifice.  Yet, wondered if she cheated when no one was looking.

Today, I sat in the ashes.

This is not a new place and I hear the invitation in this new season to revisit.  Oh yes, I fought it at first.  A desert experience was not in my plan.  No. Not. At.  All.

And oh my! There are dragons in the kingdom!  Beasts that have once been hunted and killed, skinned, tanned and hung on the wall.  Suddenly alive!  My body feels their presence.  The fire once again breaths down my neck to my very core.

My chest is tight.

Have I lost my mind?  No.  Oh yes, it could be crazy making.  No, no, I am not crazy.  It’s crazy!  And I fight to stand my ground.

I feel smothered.

Breathe I am told, in rhythms that ebb and flow.  Inhale and exhale, invite the beast, feel the horror and then let it go.  My choosing – this time.

My body aches.

Learn to breathe differently?  No, I want to fact it away!  Swallow this new old pain, escape death and fly to resurrection.  Lean on symptomatic changes for relief.  Yet, my heart urges and my body screams!

Enter death deeply enough to know hope.  What?

Loose my life?  Straight up confession, I struggle.  I doubt.  Trust in God?  Open myself to His presence?  I struggle once again to trust in His love, His care, His protection.  Though desperate for His love for me, I hear whispered in the caverns of my heart – I am uniquely woven through my heartache to reveal the face of Jesus.

What a conundrum!

So it begins – again.  Layer upon layer, creased tightly together.  My soul cries for restoration.  It empowers me to walk into the presence of the beast.  Not alone.  No, never alone again.  Death is not the final word.

Today I sat in the ashes.

The ruins abound. I felt so very small.  Quietly I sat, opening my heart to the presence of God in all its chaos – facing the desert that swirls within and all my fears and doubts.  Oddly I was in no rush to leave this place.

No.  No cinders upon my brow for the world to see.  Although there are ashes.  Nor public proclamations of what my heart will release this season.  Yet several come to mind.  Wrestling once again with difficult questions, will Gods love abound in due time?

Hoping my tears wash my ashy spirit to new life and real transformation.  For deep down in the darkness of doubt my heart knows He is my only hope.  I can no longer look out for myself.  I am desperate for Him.  So, I will ask again and again.  Do you love me?  No hiding or self protection, with a face fully turned towards my God.  Yes, He will have to give me that strength.

So, I wait, eager that He will come.

And finally kill the dragon.

Its Thanksgiving week and our American holiday celebrations begin in earnest.  And this is not a post focused on gratefulness, although I am truly grateful.  This is not about advent and waiting for the extraordinary to break into the ordinary or about a holy longing leading to Christmas – although it is about my ordinary garden, waiting and the extraordinary butterfly.

In the fall of 2012, my husband planted a butterfly garden.  A gift to me.  Our daughters chuckled, “Um mom, aren’t you supposed to plant gardens in the spring?”  Well, it is Texas.  And the butterflies did come,   drawn even in that initial fall.

My little garden is beautiful.  My husband’s diligence in researching plants, local butterfly populations and host plants to attract females to lay their eggs has certainly paid-off.  Our garden blossomed with life this season; a busy nursery to the Black Swallowtail, Monarch and Gulf Fritillary.

monarch caterpillar

Monarch Caterpillar

I’ll admit I’ve done some crazy things on this caterpillar journey – like taking the caterpillars on a road trip to move a daughter.  Yes, yes…I really did.  Why you may ask?  I couldn’t miss the narrow window of chrysalis formation.  And it was amazing!  It begins and finishes within minutes.  I have also fought off predators – that mean ol’ red wasp, the vicious wheel bug and those little hairy jumping spiders.

Now, some of my friends have questioned my fervent interest in the butterfly life cycle.  I have answered honestly about having missed out on this extraordinary process as a child.  And there is more.  I am a woman fascinated by the transformation process – its agony and its beauty.

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Monarch

Metamorphosis is stunning.  Spiritually speaking there has been much written about the fascinating analogy the butterfly provides for Christians.  We often speak of birth, death and resurrection into a new creature.  The caterpillar must die to its old self and experience the struggle of change in order to experience the resurrection of a new life.   “If we are Christians who believe in the resurrection of the dead, and we believe, by faith, that with God all things are possible – the dead can live again!”    It is our hope for eternity and our hope for today – to be changed, to be alive and to really truly live.

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Black Swallowtail

So this past week, a Fritillary chrysalis passed its emergence by several days, I waited with tentative hope.  Finally, I carefully lifted the lid of the terrarium to get a closer look.  What I found looked dried-up and rather moldy.  I began to doubt life, wondering if I wasn’t really looking at a little tomb.  It was late, I was tired and my heart disappointed.  I would discard the chrysalis and disinfect the container in the morning.

This morning, November 24, 2014, as I was cleaning up the breakfast dishes – a spot of orange caught my peripheral attention.  A newborn Fritillary lying in the bottom of the terrarium struggling to flap its wings – Oh my friends never give up on life!  Something or someone can look all so ever dead and you want to give up, then the fullness of life surprises you.

I gently took it out of its temporary home and carried it outside.  Okay, after I took it to the office to excitedly show my husband.  Finding a sunny spot on a tree, I carefully lowered it to build strength in the sun.  I watched as it turned toward the light, fanning its wings and waiting.  I was in awe.

Gulf Fritillary

Gulf Fritillary

Some of you like me have struggled long and hard for the change into new life.  You have died to the old self and have been changed.  And I wonder… are you caught up in the awe of who God created you to be – the very place where you are to reveal the very heart of God upon this earth?

And, to experience true life change…one must spread their wings and fly.  The power of the change is in the ascension.  Be the new creation, in this life.   It is how we are empowered to do our Kingdom work here on earth.  And it truly is the completion and perfection of God’s plan – His son’s birth, death, burial, resurrection and ascension.  HOPE!  He will come again and make all things NEW!!

Then again…hmmm…this is very much a post about gratefulness and advent; the extraordinary breaking into the ordinary.

Holy ground, my friends, Holy ground.