Pending Grief

 

Dad looked small and frail in his bed.  Yet when he held my hand, I felt the same warmth and strength that has been there all my life.  His hands give me comfort.

I’m wrestling back that panic I feel.  He likely will be gone in the coming months – leaving a gaping hole.  His presence is the peace and solidness of our family.  He brings stability and calm so his absence will set our family akilter and scrambling to rebalance our lives.

I miss Dad already.

Rupture. Release. Beauty.

I had the honor of sharing some of my story on Red Tent Living. Their beautiful patchwork of stories invites women to discover and enjoy their unique femininity.

Read my story here: Rupture. Release. Beauty.

Book Spine Poetry Challenge

The Invitation

“Courage, Dear Heart” He called,
“Leap over the wall and listen in!”

Becoming curious and fully alive,
I entered the sacred space
as Abba’s child
into the love that keeps us sane.

How could I ask for more.

Which Dance Will I Choose?

The text came this morning explaining why and how I disappointed him. I texted back a compassionate response saying I understood his disappointment and acknowledged my part. But the first text was only the first round meant to lull me into thinking it wasn’t so bad. The text and email that followed contained hurtful and angry words designed to draw me into our typical word dance.

So I sit here pondering, what is the best way to respond? What should I do? What can I do to right this rift? Should I respond with kindness? Or maybe this time I should reply with the brutal truth? Maybe I shouldn’t respond at all. After all, what good would it do? So I freeze -- unsure of what should be my next step because it feels that I’m in a no-win situation.

This is a dance that has been going on for a long time. Conflict ensues, and I begin the process of figuring out the choreography that will make things right. I’m weary and want to step off the dance floor.

Today, I chose not to respond. I decided to sit this dance out. Yet, my mind wonders which dance steps I will eventually need to do in order to create peace and harmony. But as I am talking with God and considering what will come next, a new thought comes. Instead of “doing” the next thing, God was inviting me to grieve.

There is much to grieve. The list is long and God knows my list better than I know my list. Yet to sit in grief is to acknowledge the reality and the depth of loss. Dancing our typical routine keeps me in the magical thinking that I have the power to make it right and that it is up to me to sooth the beast of conflict and chaos.

Grief is a powerful force that feels as though it will never release us. It drags us down to the pit of despair that feels unbearable. Willingly going to grief is hard. Doing, fixing, striving are all part of the dance that keep me from entering grief. It is a well fashioned strategy to keep my soul from the pain of grief.

But as I think about God’s invitation to grief, I wonder if he is inviting me to a different dance. The dance that I am used to feels like a chaotic and angry tango where there is a constant push and pull designed to eventually pull the partner into a manipulated and resentful embrace. But the dance of grief feels more fluid and soulful. The picture in my mind is that of a contemporary dancer who uses her body, mind and soul with fluid beauty that is both soft and strong.

It’s been a week since I wrote all that is above. Again this morning, I’m in a place of choosing to dance. Which dance will I choose? The angry tango is vivid and loud in my mind. I want to tell everyone that I am in the tango again so that they can dance it with me. But can I choose for today to dance the soulful choreography of grief that God is inviting me to? Will I change the music?

Father, today, as my mind and body fight to keep the tango alive, please let me hear your invitation to dance differently. Please, Lord, as I enter the painful place of grief again, let me hold your hand and allow you to lead me in a place of your love and your peace.

“Where did you learn to dream?”

“Where did you learn to dream?” I’ve gone back to the writing prompt a dozen times. The first time I read it, my reaction was dread. Why would I feel dread over such a lovely question? Dreaming is full of hope and desire. Yet, my heart and soul have been far from hope and desire. I think back over my life — did I ever dream? Who helped me to dream? What did I dream? Will I allow myself to dream now? And I must admit that in my mind, I’m not sure if I am able to distinguish between dreams, imagination, hopes and desires. Maybe they are all the same thing. But this word “dream” feels complicated — far more complicated than I imagine others experience. I’m able to cobble together snippets of dreams. As a little girl, I remember starry nights lying in the cool grass gazing into the expansive sky. I felt freedom and connection to something much larger than my world. I didn’t know what it meant, but it was a dream of sorts where I knew the connection was significant. I sense this was a hopeful desire to connect deeply with beauty and mystery. I remember nighttime dreams about God and about evil. When I woke, I would replay those dreams through the day which were vivid in my memory. Yet as a young girl, there seemed to be no place to process those images and thoughts. So nocturnal visions were a gracious gift allowing room for me entertain ideas that were hope-filled. I grew up in a time and place where thinking of the future meant replicating the family that you knew. So I dreamt of being a wife and mom. I’d be married to a man who worked construction, played softball, laughed with friends and had dinner with his family each night. I’d be a mom who volunteered in school, lead girl scout troops, and prepared family dinners. Our family would be perfectly content. Married life wasn’t as I expected and the daily routine did not invite dreaming of a future. Instead, life was lived. The replicated life I expected did not materialize in the way that I planned but it was a full life. Yes, I had a husband and a family, and while there was joy, there was also an atmosphere of pain and secrets. Dreams are small and practical in a home filled with secrets. The practicalness of life has always taken precedence over dreaming. Instead of dreaming of a career, I kept taking the next logical step up the ladder. After 20 years in a fulfilling career, without dreaming, I took the next logical step of leaving my career in order to help build the family business. Later, when I had a desire to learn more about caring for people, I took the next logical step and enrolled in classes at a local seminary. Without dreaming or planning, I took each next logical step until I earned my master’s degree in counseling. Now, at 54, my marriage has ended, my children are grown, my time in the family business is over as a result of the divorce, and my “position” in my church no longer holds influence. It has been a season of dying and descending that has been necessary. But where do I go from here? If I allowed myself to dream, what would I dream? My future seems both very open and yet very constrained. Open in the sense that I have no real ties or responsibilities to prevent me from moving toward something. Yet, I feel constrained by the realities of life. Dreaming is complicated for this ambivalent soul. I long for more and then I limit those longings with the practicalities of life. I doubt I will ever be one who has pie-in-the-sky dreams of what life can be. But it seems that I’m being invited to explore. And while dreaming feels hard to access for now, I’ll start with my hopes and desires. I long…. to be known deeply--mind, body and soul ...to belong to true community with shared purpose ...to dance, laugh, and sing ...to invite others into their interior worlds…..to open my home as a place of refreshment ...to explore story through curiosity, warmth and laughter… all of these with family, friends and strangers ...and in front of a real wood burning fireplace. “Where did I learn to dream?” I think I’m just starting.

Her Name is Ambivalence

She has been prominent in my life for as long as I can remember.  Nearly every memory includes some part of her.  Her presence is always near and she influences my emotions, thoughts and actions.  She has more power than I’d like.

Her appearance is complex and chameleon like.  Sometimes she is unkempt and messy as she rushes me from one thing to the next. When she enters a room, her presence is noisy and overwhelming -- demanding to be noticed.  When she is like this I am left feeling chaotic and confused.

Other times, she is tidy and buttoned up -- feigning the appearance that she has it all together.  She moves with apprehension and fear as she quietly waits to be noticed by those around her.  Her interactions leave me feeling constrained and uneasy with myself and with others. 

Her name is Ambivalence. 

I remember her in my childhood home whose family rules were to be independent and to have fun.  And while I easily adapted to those rules, I was also the one with feelings that ran deep and wide.  Sensitivity was a handicap in a family that encouraged independence and merriment.  Ambivalence was born from that constant tug back and forth within my soul.

Ambivalence was present in my teen years as I dated boys.  Being noticed and wanted gave me a thrill and enjoyment that unleashed the messy and noisy me that loved the chaos.  It felt life giving, empowering and fun to my young soul.  But soon, the buttoned-up me would show up, speak through the chaos, and fill me with shame and remorse for being so sexually charged.

As a wife, Ambivalence would make herself known during every conflict. The neat and tidy persona told me time after time not to rock the boat.  Be happy with what you have and certainly don’t ask for too much.  Then resentment would kick the messy and demanding persona into action where her anger was loud and violent.  Back and forth, back and forth, and back and forth again.

As I’ve grown older, I am kinder to myself when Ambivalence shows ups.  I take the time to explore the conflict within my soul which unleashes her more desirable side -- I like her best when she is like this.  In this casual persona, her hair is loose, her smile is genuine and her eyes are filled with kindness.  When she enters a room her movements are fluid and steadfast and she speaks with self-assurance.  When Ambivalence comes to me like this, she invites me into confident ease.

Yes, I still wish Ambivalence had less power in my life.  But when I took the time to know her, I understood and appreciated her much better.  She was born out of genuine emotion and conflict within my soul that I want to honor.  So I invite her to stay and to continue to encourage me to explore my longings and struggles with depth and meaning.  May she free me to embrace the the steadfast me with the confident ease and a genuine smile.

I Am From

I am from hushed voices and eggs frying before dawn

Percolating coffee and kisses goodbye

Dads leave for work while moms take care of the home

I am from shared bedrooms and one bathroom 

A phone on the kitchen wall with a stretched out cord

Dinner for seven every day at 4

I am from crab feasts, softball games and late night campfires

Peeking through stair railings to see late night dance parties

A classic jukebox singing Elvis, Jim Croce and beloved CCR

I am from bikes on the front lawn and catching cooties from boys

Firefly chasing, quiet stargazing and sweet summer crushes

Freedom filled days paused til tomorrow when the street lights came on

I am from emotions that run deep with nowhere to go

Sensitivity is a flaw so keep it fun, keep airy, keep it low

Smile big and look pretty and you will be loved

I am from dreams and longings of Father, Son, Holy Spirit

Fragile faith not knowing how yet craves to enter in

Lovingly He woos me.  He knows me. And He ushers me in.