I read Richard Rohr's meditation this morning that was title: "Mystical Hope."
Cynthia Bourgeault wrote:
Must we be whiplashed incessantly between joy and sorrow, expectation and disappointment? Is it not possible to live from a place of greater equilibrium, to find a deeper and steadier current?
These days I do feel whiplashed between joy and sorrow. Thanksgiving had so much joy as I spent time with family and friends doing exactly what I love - eating good food and playing games and laughing and talking. And the sorrow is there too. Lisa will have surgery this week and Chuck is still VERY slowly recovering from his surgery. He sleeps alot and has little appetite. and the physical therapist, nurse and occupational therapists all say he has to exercise and eat well. It is challenging to say the least. Tomorrow I drive to Dayton to officiate a memorial service for a young man who was in my youth group in Zanesville 25 years ago. Yes, there is sorrow.
.But as I read the meditation I remember the journey that leads us inward to the wellspring of hope.
"The journey to the wellsprings of hope is really a journey toward the center, toward the innermost ground of our being where we meet and are met by God."
So I begin this day in tears as I silently sit in my living room in
front of the Christmas tree decorated last week by two grandchildren and
breathe in the abiding love and remember God's presence with me
always. It truly is MYSTICAL - this change in self - heart, mind, soul -
when I finally settle down and become present to God's love.
Tomorrow
is the beginning of Advent - a time of waiting. And I know that this
will be an important Advent for me as I wait for healing and strength
within my husband, wait for patience and hope to grow within me, wait
for my family to continue to break down barriers in various ways and
become more accepting of each other, and essentially wait to give birth
to Jesus.
I look forward to what is for me the discipline of the 25 days of preparation for Christmas. It is my intention to write here as I spend time with God's words of hope. In so many ways I am waiting this year but trusting in God's work within my life and our world.
A blessing by Maxine Shonk
May the ADVENT God be with you,
inviting your to an eager expectation of new life within you.
May you know hope,
may you know peace as you await the birth of what is yet to be
ion you.
May the life you embrace be a sharing in the God of life and incarnation among us.
May the ADVENT God bless you.
Friday, November 30, 2018
Monday, November 26, 2018
The New Normal
Is Margot the caretaker and this is definitely not normal.
Chuck has always done his "Chuck thing" and I have done mine. It was only in the past year that I started going to his doctor appointments with him because he had so much trouble hearing the doctor and was often spotty afterward remembering exactly what the doctor said. So, that was a beginning of a new role.
But now that he is home from the hospital, he is primarily in my care and I am engaging in new behaviors that are decidedly different for me.
Now I have sorted his pills into the cases and know what each are for and sit with him as he takes his morning med, his evening meds and his sleeping pills. And the new normal - thank God not forever, but for 28 days - is that I give him a pill at 7 PM every night that is a blood thinner. I still feel anxious about it and make him lie on the bed as I dutifully try to do what the nurse taught me in the hospital. He always winces and complains about the heat. Ouch!
The new normal is Chuck needs to do exercises that he can get off the walker. And I am his cheerleader as together we do leg lifts and I follow him around the house.
The new normal is a physical therapist that comes twice a week, an occupational therapist and a nurse. So I manage appointments and try to encourage them to come through the garage so they don't disturb the sleeping Audrey.
The new normal is he makes the shopping list and I do the shopping and then all the food preparation. Trying to keep his hot food hot and his cold food cold.
I remain optimistic that time, medications and exercise will lead to his healing and his eventual independence. There is no question that underneath is the worry that he may be - in the end - weaker and more dependent. I am hopeful.however.
My faith is strong and I have glimpses of God in some way saying to me: "I've got your back." This morning I had two concerns - one about me and one about Chuck. I have a responsibility as co - spiritual director to the board of the spirituality network. We have a meeting tomorrow and with Jackie Dean we needed to have an opening devotional and closing prayer. I texted her and said I wondered if I would be able to stay for the meeting and she texted back immediately that she had prepared a meditation. The relief I felt was palpable as I remembered again it is never all up to me. I can count on friends, family, and others as I let go and trust.
I also have some questions about Chuck's health and wondered who I should call. And then the phone rang - it was a nurse saying she would be visiting this afternnoon. And all will be well.
All will be well.
YES
Chuck has always done his "Chuck thing" and I have done mine. It was only in the past year that I started going to his doctor appointments with him because he had so much trouble hearing the doctor and was often spotty afterward remembering exactly what the doctor said. So, that was a beginning of a new role.
But now that he is home from the hospital, he is primarily in my care and I am engaging in new behaviors that are decidedly different for me.
Now I have sorted his pills into the cases and know what each are for and sit with him as he takes his morning med, his evening meds and his sleeping pills. And the new normal - thank God not forever, but for 28 days - is that I give him a pill at 7 PM every night that is a blood thinner. I still feel anxious about it and make him lie on the bed as I dutifully try to do what the nurse taught me in the hospital. He always winces and complains about the heat. Ouch!
The new normal is Chuck needs to do exercises that he can get off the walker. And I am his cheerleader as together we do leg lifts and I follow him around the house.
The new normal is a physical therapist that comes twice a week, an occupational therapist and a nurse. So I manage appointments and try to encourage them to come through the garage so they don't disturb the sleeping Audrey.
The new normal is he makes the shopping list and I do the shopping and then all the food preparation. Trying to keep his hot food hot and his cold food cold.
I remain optimistic that time, medications and exercise will lead to his healing and his eventual independence. There is no question that underneath is the worry that he may be - in the end - weaker and more dependent. I am hopeful.however.
My faith is strong and I have glimpses of God in some way saying to me: "I've got your back." This morning I had two concerns - one about me and one about Chuck. I have a responsibility as co - spiritual director to the board of the spirituality network. We have a meeting tomorrow and with Jackie Dean we needed to have an opening devotional and closing prayer. I texted her and said I wondered if I would be able to stay for the meeting and she texted back immediately that she had prepared a meditation. The relief I felt was palpable as I remembered again it is never all up to me. I can count on friends, family, and others as I let go and trust.
I also have some questions about Chuck's health and wondered who I should call. And then the phone rang - it was a nurse saying she would be visiting this afternnoon. And all will be well.
All will be well.
YES
Friday, November 16, 2018
Unavoidable Pain
Unavoidable
Pain
That is what
I am thinking about as I drive home from the hospital tonight. Unavoidable pain – like the pain after
surgery. . Chuck had a five hour surgery Monday removing cancer
from his colon and kidney and now is swollen with “air” or “gas”, When you
touch him it feels like there are rice crispies under his skin. Yesterday morning his face, chest and arms
were clearly affected and there was excruciating pain in his shoulder.
I have seen
him in pain before, but nev
er like this.
He is generally uncomplaining and was literally yellilng when he had to
move from a seated position to lying down in the bed. I felt
helpless standing there, kneading his shoulder and saying “Oh, honey.” There was nothing else I could do.
The nurses
have done their best and tried medication, icy patches, and hot towels. Nothing seems to work and everyone says that
he just has to keep moving so that eventually the “air” will dissipate. Moving means a parade of me, Chuck, his IV
and Bobby Jo, his wonderful blond buxom nurse.
Three times a day he walks up and
down the floor past the rooms of other
recovering patients. Chuck is wearing
his brown silk pajamas and Bobby Jo
assures him he looks like “Hugh
Hefner.” Every walk takes effort just to get him standing and then additional suffering returning him to lying on the bed again. We trust this will make a difference.
My children
ask: “Isn’t there something they can give him for the pain?” and the answer is
no. He just has to endure it and wait
for healing.
And as I
drive home in the dark after a 12 hour day as his wife and companion, I think
about all the times that we just have to endure pain and wait for healing. The past six months I have been companioning
a friend at the end of her marriage and her emotional pain at first was as
awful as Chuck’s physical pain has been
today. She did not want her marriage to end, but she had no choice once her spouse
said no. And so – unavoidable pain.
I spent
quite a lot of time with her - especially in the beginning - as friend and companion. I was Helpless in the face of her pain and
yet present to witness and in some way share it with her. We would frequently have lunch, drink wine,
take walks and in some way I would be saying “Oh, honey.” Like Chuck today, I would say “It’s going to
get better.” And now, six months
later, it really has and in every way it is better. She is a different person as she has painfully walked through the grief of loss,
regret, and rejection and has found peace and a new life. But the pain was real and for a long time –
unavoidable.
I have, of
course, been through this myself over the years. There was physical pain of childbirth and the
emotional pain of divorce, death, and times of failure. When we are in pain, we often think it will
never go away. I would say: “ I want
to just curl up in the closet with my
thumb in my mouth. “
Companions
are a gift to us in our painful times.
People who walk with us, often silent and yet present and occasionally
saying “oh honey” . They are invaluable as we find the strength to take the next step
down the hall that may eventually lead
to healing.
(i wrote this for my "women writing for a change" class which I had to miss yesterday)
Wednesday, November 14, 2018
It takes a village
To take care of Chuck after surgery
I sit here in room 16 on the 3rd floor of Mount Carmel East hospital marveling at the procession of people that have come in and out of the hospital room as Chuck recovers from a 5 hour surgery yesterday.
He is in a great deal of pain in his shoulder because of the "air" that swells his body. His eye is puffy, his skin feels like there are rice crispies underneath. The excruciating shoulder pain comes and goes stabbing him. It is hard to watch him suffer.
Bobby Jo, his blond, buxom, cheerful nurse, has given him pain meds, an icy patch and hot towels. She is trying. At the same time she cajoles him into a walk down the hall. She gets him into his silk pajamas and she tells him he looks like Hugh Hefner. As he walks he talks to her about riding motorcycles back in the day and breaking his arm. She laughs and asks him what kind of motorcycle. I walk beside him holding his hand and hoping he won't fall.
Back in the room the social worker comes and asks where we live and he goes on and on about how much he loves our home - especially the front porch and the fireplace. Then a member of the "leadership team" an attractive young woman with a good haircut and tight pants comes and asks about how our stay is coming. While it is true that there has often been a wait between pressing the button for the nurse and her arrival, I feel so appreciative of Bobbie Jos care that I don't want to mention it.
Then there is the woman who checks his vitals and then the two women from the urologists office. Also we see another woman who quickly comes to clean and empty wastebaskets.
For each of these chuck interacts with humor and stories after I have told them that he is hard of hearing. And everyone smiles and laughs with him. They call him ornery or a character or fun.
And I am watching and appreciating all of it.
I sit here in room 16 on the 3rd floor of Mount Carmel East hospital marveling at the procession of people that have come in and out of the hospital room as Chuck recovers from a 5 hour surgery yesterday.
He is in a great deal of pain in his shoulder because of the "air" that swells his body. His eye is puffy, his skin feels like there are rice crispies underneath. The excruciating shoulder pain comes and goes stabbing him. It is hard to watch him suffer.
Bobby Jo, his blond, buxom, cheerful nurse, has given him pain meds, an icy patch and hot towels. She is trying. At the same time she cajoles him into a walk down the hall. She gets him into his silk pajamas and she tells him he looks like Hugh Hefner. As he walks he talks to her about riding motorcycles back in the day and breaking his arm. She laughs and asks him what kind of motorcycle. I walk beside him holding his hand and hoping he won't fall.
Back in the room the social worker comes and asks where we live and he goes on and on about how much he loves our home - especially the front porch and the fireplace. Then a member of the "leadership team" an attractive young woman with a good haircut and tight pants comes and asks about how our stay is coming. While it is true that there has often been a wait between pressing the button for the nurse and her arrival, I feel so appreciative of Bobbie Jos care that I don't want to mention it.
Then there is the woman who checks his vitals and then the two women from the urologists office. Also we see another woman who quickly comes to clean and empty wastebaskets.
For each of these chuck interacts with humor and stories after I have told them that he is hard of hearing. And everyone smiles and laughs with him. They call him ornery or a character or fun.
And I am watching and appreciating all of it.
Friday, November 9, 2018
Every woman should have.....
A journal in which she can write her deepest and shallowest thoughts.
This is what I wrote in answer to a writing prompt last night in my "Women Writing for a Change Class."
I have been "keeping a journal" for over 40 years and have the boxes of them stored away for no good reason. It feels like I have not really grasped until the last few years the total gift it has been for me to keep writing.
It is in the act of reflecting on my own particular, peculiar life that I have been able to remember and sift through the events of my life. And in that act I find myself awed as I recognize the ways I have been gifted, blessed and protected over the years. There really is a flow with God's spirit and so often I do not see it until and through the writing about it all.
I am still pondering this whole gift of the "slowdown life" that I wrote about in my blog yesterday. The trip to Amish country reminded me of how "slapdash" so much of my time is - as I procrastinate and veer from activity to activity. But slowing everything down helps me to feel love more deeply and all the other emotions that are part of being human.
I read about someone being with Dallas Willard and heard the same thing I heard about Thich Hnot Han and the Dalai Lama. They walk slowly. Just that is a change for me when I consciously take my time.
And the journaling and act of writing is slowing everything down and pondering, wondering, marvelling as the gift of it all.
All because I stopped, thought, and wrote.
This is what I wrote in answer to a writing prompt last night in my "Women Writing for a Change Class."
I have been "keeping a journal" for over 40 years and have the boxes of them stored away for no good reason. It feels like I have not really grasped until the last few years the total gift it has been for me to keep writing.
It is in the act of reflecting on my own particular, peculiar life that I have been able to remember and sift through the events of my life. And in that act I find myself awed as I recognize the ways I have been gifted, blessed and protected over the years. There really is a flow with God's spirit and so often I do not see it until and through the writing about it all.
I am still pondering this whole gift of the "slowdown life" that I wrote about in my blog yesterday. The trip to Amish country reminded me of how "slapdash" so much of my time is - as I procrastinate and veer from activity to activity. But slowing everything down helps me to feel love more deeply and all the other emotions that are part of being human.
I read about someone being with Dallas Willard and heard the same thing I heard about Thich Hnot Han and the Dalai Lama. They walk slowly. Just that is a change for me when I consciously take my time.
And the journaling and act of writing is slowing everything down and pondering, wondering, marvelling as the gift of it all.
All because I stopped, thought, and wrote.
Thursday, November 8, 2018
Slow Down
You move too fast
I first heard the words spoken by that "still small voice" over thirty years ago. I was doing some kind of prayer exercise at First Christian Church in Zanesville and brought some women into the sanctuary for a private time of prayer. And surprise, surprise - God spoke to me! "slow down."
Wouldn't it be wonderful if I changed my life in that moment and actually did slow down?
But no - my tendency is not to slowness but to speed. And busyness and distraction. Twenty years after this I graduated from the Wellstreams program which also taught me - over and over again - about the contemplative life and the divine call to quiet and stillness. And it helped some, but I continue to move fast, think fast, process fast and - if only in my mind - be on the go. Even in retirement. On the one hand I can talk about mindfulness and "Be still and know that I am God." And on the other hand, I live with this inner compulsion to hurry and speed things up. . I literally stress myself out.
I write all this after a little time away in Amish Country with my husband. I planned this trip to Donna's Premier Cottages in Berlin because this Monday he is having surgery and I thought it would do him good to get away from home. And it turned out that it did ME a whole lot of good.
We left Monday at 10 AM with no real destination except eventually finding the cottage for the night. We drove up Rte 62 and stopped in Millerberg for a nice lunch and a little shopping. Then we sort of got lost and I drove around the countryside and felt peace within my soul at the beauty of the farmland. I don't know whether it was the sight of the Amish people in their horse drawn carriages, or the animals in the fields, or the laundry waving on the clothesline. But something shifted in my spirit just looking drinking in this bucolic way of life.
Chuck and I stopped occasionally and walked around some shops - buying apples and candy and Christmas decorations. He is always friendly with everyone and interested in children and old people and is likely to fall into all kinds of conversations. It was a carefree day. We had no agenda and no other people's concerns to take into consideration. We were just being together.
None of this sounds remarkable except it actually is for me. Chuck has always moved slower than me - I have said that when we come in at night I can get out of the car, get into my pajamas, get a snack and be sitting snugly in front of the TV before he gets in the house. Can you see him? Slowly unlocking his seatbelt, methodically exiting the vehicle, and ambling through the garage - getting waylaid by projects - before he enters our family room.. This man takes his time. And I am often critical and complaining as I wait for him - to come home, to finish a meal, to keep up with what I am saying and doing.
Now that we have returned from our trip, however, , my slowdown continues. Our time away really reminded me of the soul connection that I have with this unique man - his curiosity, playful humor, attention to detail and love of life are truly endearing. As I slow down and let go I can appreciate the greatest gift he has always given me - he lets me be myself - as difficult as I can be at times.
Now, as the surgery approaches, my heart is full of love for him . And the awareness that no amount of planning or efficiency can control what will happen next. What I am learning is this: slowing down helps me to contemplate the goodness of every day of life with Chuck and also be aware of the fear for the future that also resides within me.
I think this is what it means to be truly alive.
I first heard the words spoken by that "still small voice" over thirty years ago. I was doing some kind of prayer exercise at First Christian Church in Zanesville and brought some women into the sanctuary for a private time of prayer. And surprise, surprise - God spoke to me! "slow down."
Wouldn't it be wonderful if I changed my life in that moment and actually did slow down?
But no - my tendency is not to slowness but to speed. And busyness and distraction. Twenty years after this I graduated from the Wellstreams program which also taught me - over and over again - about the contemplative life and the divine call to quiet and stillness. And it helped some, but I continue to move fast, think fast, process fast and - if only in my mind - be on the go. Even in retirement. On the one hand I can talk about mindfulness and "Be still and know that I am God." And on the other hand, I live with this inner compulsion to hurry and speed things up. . I literally stress myself out.
I write all this after a little time away in Amish Country with my husband. I planned this trip to Donna's Premier Cottages in Berlin because this Monday he is having surgery and I thought it would do him good to get away from home. And it turned out that it did ME a whole lot of good.
We left Monday at 10 AM with no real destination except eventually finding the cottage for the night. We drove up Rte 62 and stopped in Millerberg for a nice lunch and a little shopping. Then we sort of got lost and I drove around the countryside and felt peace within my soul at the beauty of the farmland. I don't know whether it was the sight of the Amish people in their horse drawn carriages, or the animals in the fields, or the laundry waving on the clothesline. But something shifted in my spirit just looking drinking in this bucolic way of life.
Chuck and I stopped occasionally and walked around some shops - buying apples and candy and Christmas decorations. He is always friendly with everyone and interested in children and old people and is likely to fall into all kinds of conversations. It was a carefree day. We had no agenda and no other people's concerns to take into consideration. We were just being together.
None of this sounds remarkable except it actually is for me. Chuck has always moved slower than me - I have said that when we come in at night I can get out of the car, get into my pajamas, get a snack and be sitting snugly in front of the TV before he gets in the house. Can you see him? Slowly unlocking his seatbelt, methodically exiting the vehicle, and ambling through the garage - getting waylaid by projects - before he enters our family room.. This man takes his time. And I am often critical and complaining as I wait for him - to come home, to finish a meal, to keep up with what I am saying and doing.
Now that we have returned from our trip, however, , my slowdown continues. Our time away really reminded me of the soul connection that I have with this unique man - his curiosity, playful humor, attention to detail and love of life are truly endearing. As I slow down and let go I can appreciate the greatest gift he has always given me - he lets me be myself - as difficult as I can be at times.
Now, as the surgery approaches, my heart is full of love for him . And the awareness that no amount of planning or efficiency can control what will happen next. What I am learning is this: slowing down helps me to contemplate the goodness of every day of life with Chuck and also be aware of the fear for the future that also resides within me.
I think this is what it means to be truly alive.
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