“I have learned now that while those who speak about one's miseries usually hurt, those who keep silent hurt more.”
C.S. Lewis
My closest friends know most of how hard I've struggle this past year, what's been going on in my life that left me at rock bottom... But few, if any, until I started blogging about it, and finally talking a little about it, knew how close I was to ending it, giving up... how I just didn't have anything left. There's something about silence that I've experienced while going through all this... The silence of fear, pain, loneliness and defeat are louder than the most violent of battlefields. They reverberate so loudly your body and soul trembles with it, and the ache left behind is a bruise that is slow and painful to heal...
I know this because I was there. If your lucky, eventually, it becomes a quiet hush in the back of your mind. You catch a wisp of it on the air, and you have to strain to listen for it. And after a time, and a long fight to save yourself, and struggle to be who you were, the bruises are faded, healing... now again, a nudge or bump will bring them back fresh, but all in all... recovery might finally be well under way...
More than anything, I miss and love the silences that made the person I used to be.
Do you have one of those friends that their life is a constant whirlwind of noise, motion and activity? They seem to be a flurry of kids, life, spouse, work, volunteering, girl scouts, soccer, church... slamming doors, barking dogs, boiling pots on the stove, spilled milk, ringing phones, stuck garage doors, painting the bathroom... the list is endless. And exhausting. And yet they seem to be thriving and loving every minute of it. Just thinking about it stresses me out and makes me want to hide in a closet.
Silence can measure the level of a relationship and life like no other way possible. There the awkward silence of a first date. The cold silence of an angry couple running out of love, or the loving silence of 70 years of marriage, grateful as they snuggle in and sleep together one more night. The fresh new silence of an early morning sunrise, the heavy silence of depression or pain. The sweet silence of the night as your family and home settle in for slumbers and dreams, safe and warm. Through all the challenges I've had in my life lately, my comforting silences are long gone, and the roaring silence of loneliness, fear and lost faith are left in their wake. The sounds of a shattered life are far louder.
" ...God is the friend of silence. See how nature - trees, flowers, grass- grows in silence; see the stars, the moon and the sun, how they move in silence... We need silence to be able to touch souls." Mother Teresa
My family didn't attend church. We lived out in the middle of nowhere in a small Idaho farm community. Across three fields and a couple country roads I could see a beautiful little cabin country church. Back then it was ok to let your kids wander the countryside, and I started going, by myself when I was 7 or 8. There I met Mrs. Allison. She was the oldest woman I think I've ever met in my life. She was wrinkly, her grey hair in a tidy bun, driving her red and white 1940's jeep. And she was beautiful, wonderful. For the rest of my life I'll remember sitting with Mrs. Allison in that little log cabin church as she would help me find the scripture a lost lonely little girl could never find. I'll remember the woody smell and the quiet pride of it all. She was kind, patient, giving, and loved children. Her manner and voice were that of calm, sturdy faith and sitting in silence with her was warm and comforting. Not too long after my older brother started going to church with me, and Mrs Allison took him under her wing and adopted him as well. She always had time for us, explained things to us that we couldn't understand, and most of all, just let us be who we were and loved us for it.
Because of our growing in faith together and our common bonds, my relationship with Keith grew in leaps and bounds. With 8 years between us, he was everything amazing a little girl could imagine. He became my entire world. He tought me how to fish before I was taller than the pole, and how to drive Dad's favorite car. He drug me with him to football games, friend's houses, road trips, and motorcycle rides... And although we had many conversations that to this day I still remember and will always live by, I remember sitting there on the banks of the water, in silence, unspeaking, fishing, completely comfortable, happy; a part of something amazing. It was the kind of silence that all you could hear was the wind moving across the water and the occasional beetle or cricket's song. The "plop" of the fly hitting the water. Anything louder than that would have ruined memories that have gotten me through so many struggles and lonely times... After he died, the silence of his absence left scars so deep I still feel them today. That was the first time in my young life that I learned there isn’t always comfort in silence.
When Andy was little, people used to comment on our silent conversations all the time. All we had to do was look at each other. There was a slight nod from him, a raised eye brown from me... a flash in his eye and a look from me. Back and forth we’d go. Easy enough for us, a total mystery to others. We read each other like books, and generally knew exactly what the other one was thinking. We did it all the time. There something about sharing a bond that deep with your child that nothing can ever compare to. I miss that with him. I admit, that with all the challenges, pain, and failures I've had in my life, I lost the one true connection I had with Andy. There's something about becoming a man of his own and how our lives somehow became separate entities that even though we are still close, and can still look at each other and usually have a good idea, it's harder, and rarely happens.
The silences in my life now are a world’s difference than what I’m used to. They remind me of how I’ve screwed up, been screwed, lonely, hurt and lost… but I’m working on… Once day alone, on the ledge of Miller’s cave, over looking the valley and river below, the silence of the day brought a touch of healing I needed. The quiet morning coffee on the porch of our new home, in our new town with a fresh start, my head bowed silently in prayer in a church where I finally find comfort… hopefully someday I’ll find myself back in a place in life where I’m comfortable in the silences I’ve found, made new ones that bring me strength and contentment, and I can leave the ones behind that scream out loud of the pain I’m working so hard to get away from… And all in all these past few months… the volume of those silences screaming out at me are getting softer… quieter… silent.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Without Pain There Cannot be Compassion...
It’s been a rough, long past 2 years… Something that has circled through my mind again and again, is “why God? Why are you letting bad things happen to good people?”
Usually I hear this from others, when there’s a terrible natural disaster on the news, or some gruesome and terrible thing befalls people who are close to me. I hear this comment and see it almost every day… I know at one point or another we’ve all said it, at least once in our lives…
In my life lately I’ve said it so much, I never want to say it again. I’ve always tried to do the right thing… I’ve always tried to be the better person, the one who is there, the one that when it’s all said and done people will say, she was a good person. Sometimes, I get it right… and sometimes, I fail. Not just an “Oops, my bad” fail… but these past few years, I’ve failed at so many thing, and gotten it so disastrously wrong so many times, there’s nothing left to screw up other than to take the shattered pieces of my life and throw them in the gutter…
So, I’ve been contemplating this… during the dark watches of the nights, alone, or driving to and from my daily destinations, wishing I could just keep on going to where no one knows me anymore… “Why God? Why are all these bad things happening to me? Why am I being put through all this?”
It’s been a long road of recovery, and I’m nowhere near ready to say I’m there… but to this particular question. I might have an answer.
Because without pain, there cannot be compassion.
Yep. I’m afraid, it’s just that simple.
Thomas Merton once wrote… “The whole idea of compassion is based in a keen awareness of the interdependence of all the living beings, which are all part of one another, and all involved in one another.”
It may be a pretty big concept to grasp for some… so let’s start small. Have you ever seen anyone stub their toe, really hard?? As they are dancing around, crying in pain… what is your first thought? “Oh my gosh, I know how bad that hurts!! Are you ok??” Ever sympathized with someone who has a paper cut? Or got something in their eyes? You feel for them, you ach for them cause you’ve been there, you know it’s out of their control, (it’s not like they did it on purpose!) and you know how much that stings. And there it is. Compassion ~ kindergarten style.
To that person that watch someone die, or lost them suddenly in a tragic way. I know this pain, and will hold you closer in my heart. To that single mother who cant pay the bills but doesn't give up; I now have compassion and respect. To that person (and oh, there are so many of us!) who is dealing with lost love, I can say, I know how you feel, and mean it with all my heart, not just that sympathy thing people say. With respect, and compassion, I can share their pain, and hopefully help them deal with it and start to heal. Total burnout at work? Yep… I know that one too… Learning to live again after someone’s abuse and alcoholic ways. anxiety attacks, depression, feelings of complete worthlessness, suicide, loneliness, frustration and loss of faith… come sit next to me. We can bleed and cry, and heal together… and yet, we can still hold our heads up and look each other in the eyes… because there is respect and understanding. Not sympathy, not pity. MY pain has given me compassion for THEM.
I think all these thing I’ve been going through, struggling with, suffering from, are yet another lesson for me. I’ve always believed, even when my faith was at (and is) it’s lowest, that to everything, everyday, God has a lesson for me… It’s just up to me to listen and find it.
Even though I’ve felt for people and have tried to do the right thing, there’s always been an underlying element there that perhaps I missed. The humility and true compassion for the situation. I admit, pride is one of my biggest sins. I’ve always believed, I’ve had it under control, that I could do it on my own, that I didn‘t need anyone. Especially when sometimes (more often than not) it creates more hassle than help… and for the most part, I have. But these last few years, I’ve had to take great lessons in humility because when everything is in little tiny pieces you cannot pick them up alone.
When you see someone in a situation or with a problem, sometimes we think, “how’d they let themselves get into that situation?” or “why would they let this happen to them? I would never let that happen.” Your still willing to help, and you’re still there, but in the quiet of your mind, those little thoughts are sometimes there. I have been guilty of that more than I care to admit. That is a form of pride that makes compassion suffer.
“Sometimes compassion also carries a sense of pity. This is wrong--any love or compassion which entails looking down on the other is not genuine compassion. To be genuine, compassion must be based on respect for the other, and on the realization that others have the right to be happy and overcome suffering just as much as you.”
The Dalai Lama
1 Peter 3:8 “finally all of you, live in harmony with one another. Be sympathetic, love as brothers, be compassionate and humble”
Compassion can not exist with out humility. To the lucky ones, they were born with natural humility. To the rest of us hard headed stubborn souls, we’ve had to learn it. The hard way, over and over again… Life has knocked me down so many times, that I wasn’t able to get up. Thank God his strength is made perfect in my weakness. He’s been the one to lift me up, drag me on, and with the help of other he’s blessed me with in my life, thankfully, I’m still here…
This road of recovery and rediscovering myself is going to be long. It‘s been painful, hurtful and embarrassing…But at least I’m finally on the road. And after all of it, I’ve also found a new sense of pride. Not the pride from before that said I can do it, or that wont happen to me… This is the good kind. The kind that says I've been there, I’m surviving, and I’m able to help you, to understand you… The kind that when I find people who are where I was, I look at them new ~ completely, humbly, respectfully and compassionately.
Usually I hear this from others, when there’s a terrible natural disaster on the news, or some gruesome and terrible thing befalls people who are close to me. I hear this comment and see it almost every day… I know at one point or another we’ve all said it, at least once in our lives…
In my life lately I’ve said it so much, I never want to say it again. I’ve always tried to do the right thing… I’ve always tried to be the better person, the one who is there, the one that when it’s all said and done people will say, she was a good person. Sometimes, I get it right… and sometimes, I fail. Not just an “Oops, my bad” fail… but these past few years, I’ve failed at so many thing, and gotten it so disastrously wrong so many times, there’s nothing left to screw up other than to take the shattered pieces of my life and throw them in the gutter…
So, I’ve been contemplating this… during the dark watches of the nights, alone, or driving to and from my daily destinations, wishing I could just keep on going to where no one knows me anymore… “Why God? Why are all these bad things happening to me? Why am I being put through all this?”
It’s been a long road of recovery, and I’m nowhere near ready to say I’m there… but to this particular question. I might have an answer.
Because without pain, there cannot be compassion.
Yep. I’m afraid, it’s just that simple.
Thomas Merton once wrote… “The whole idea of compassion is based in a keen awareness of the interdependence of all the living beings, which are all part of one another, and all involved in one another.”
It may be a pretty big concept to grasp for some… so let’s start small. Have you ever seen anyone stub their toe, really hard?? As they are dancing around, crying in pain… what is your first thought? “Oh my gosh, I know how bad that hurts!! Are you ok??” Ever sympathized with someone who has a paper cut? Or got something in their eyes? You feel for them, you ach for them cause you’ve been there, you know it’s out of their control, (it’s not like they did it on purpose!) and you know how much that stings. And there it is. Compassion ~ kindergarten style.
To that person that watch someone die, or lost them suddenly in a tragic way. I know this pain, and will hold you closer in my heart. To that single mother who cant pay the bills but doesn't give up; I now have compassion and respect. To that person (and oh, there are so many of us!) who is dealing with lost love, I can say, I know how you feel, and mean it with all my heart, not just that sympathy thing people say. With respect, and compassion, I can share their pain, and hopefully help them deal with it and start to heal. Total burnout at work? Yep… I know that one too… Learning to live again after someone’s abuse and alcoholic ways. anxiety attacks, depression, feelings of complete worthlessness, suicide, loneliness, frustration and loss of faith… come sit next to me. We can bleed and cry, and heal together… and yet, we can still hold our heads up and look each other in the eyes… because there is respect and understanding. Not sympathy, not pity. MY pain has given me compassion for THEM.
I think all these thing I’ve been going through, struggling with, suffering from, are yet another lesson for me. I’ve always believed, even when my faith was at (and is) it’s lowest, that to everything, everyday, God has a lesson for me… It’s just up to me to listen and find it.
Even though I’ve felt for people and have tried to do the right thing, there’s always been an underlying element there that perhaps I missed. The humility and true compassion for the situation. I admit, pride is one of my biggest sins. I’ve always believed, I’ve had it under control, that I could do it on my own, that I didn‘t need anyone. Especially when sometimes (more often than not) it creates more hassle than help… and for the most part, I have. But these last few years, I’ve had to take great lessons in humility because when everything is in little tiny pieces you cannot pick them up alone.
When you see someone in a situation or with a problem, sometimes we think, “how’d they let themselves get into that situation?” or “why would they let this happen to them? I would never let that happen.” Your still willing to help, and you’re still there, but in the quiet of your mind, those little thoughts are sometimes there. I have been guilty of that more than I care to admit. That is a form of pride that makes compassion suffer.
“Sometimes compassion also carries a sense of pity. This is wrong--any love or compassion which entails looking down on the other is not genuine compassion. To be genuine, compassion must be based on respect for the other, and on the realization that others have the right to be happy and overcome suffering just as much as you.”
The Dalai Lama
1 Peter 3:8 “finally all of you, live in harmony with one another. Be sympathetic, love as brothers, be compassionate and humble”
Compassion can not exist with out humility. To the lucky ones, they were born with natural humility. To the rest of us hard headed stubborn souls, we’ve had to learn it. The hard way, over and over again… Life has knocked me down so many times, that I wasn’t able to get up. Thank God his strength is made perfect in my weakness. He’s been the one to lift me up, drag me on, and with the help of other he’s blessed me with in my life, thankfully, I’m still here…
This road of recovery and rediscovering myself is going to be long. It‘s been painful, hurtful and embarrassing…But at least I’m finally on the road. And after all of it, I’ve also found a new sense of pride. Not the pride from before that said I can do it, or that wont happen to me… This is the good kind. The kind that says I've been there, I’m surviving, and I’m able to help you, to understand you… The kind that when I find people who are where I was, I look at them new ~ completely, humbly, respectfully and compassionately.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
In Memory of Pastor Terry Key...
We once knew a man… This man baptized my son. On a dark night of violence, he came and snatched my two little boys while a knife fight was going on in my home… he was quick with a smile and a handshake, he was calm, caring, a humble man of God, quick with a song, and the fastest person to pull you into a genuine hug. And Christmas Eve, he passed away…
My battles in my life, and with my faith distanced me from this man in the end, much to my regret… but his touch on my life will not be forgotten. When I first started attending his little church, I would sit quietly, in the back, head down, eyes down, fearful and torn, feeling I didn‘t belong in such a holy place. I was a lost and fallen away Christian. I had to many sins to deserve to be there… and his words would heal and comfort me… I remember several of my first few visits finding myself in tears because I felt he was speaking directly to me…
A story he told often… And one that touched me and always made me think… I may not get it right verbatim, but I know what he was trying to say to me, and this story sticks with me, even today…
“There was an elderly man that attended church for most of his life. Then one Sunday he didn’t come. No one really thought much of it at first… after several Sundays had passed and the man still hadn’t come, the Preacher decided it was time to go and talk with the elderly man…
The preacher came in to see the man sitting in front of a dying fire. The heat of the embers warming the room, glowing red in the fireplace.
“I know why you’re here, Preacher.” said the man before he could speak. “I’m just tired of it all. If I don’t want to go to church anymore and I shouldn’t have to.” The Preacher sat down next to the man in front of the fire, as the man continued the many reasons why he didn’t need church…
After a long silence, the Preacher, who still hadn’t spoken, took the fireplace poker and started to stir the embers… pretty soon, he pulled a large glowing red on fire ember out of the pile… he placed the ember on the edge of the cold stones of the fireplace.
As the two men sat there, in silence, they watched the ember… slowly fade, growing cold and dying out…
With a tear in the old man’s eye, he said. “I hear you Preacher. I’ll be there next Sunday.”
Rest in Peace Terry Key. You were an amazing man of faith in this life. Your work here was done, your rewards wait. You’ll see the peace and comfort in the face of God and welcome us who follow after you, because of your teaching, and sharing of faith. I know my family will miss you, but I cant be sad that your gone, because I know you in the one place you were meant to be in…
My battles in my life, and with my faith distanced me from this man in the end, much to my regret… but his touch on my life will not be forgotten. When I first started attending his little church, I would sit quietly, in the back, head down, eyes down, fearful and torn, feeling I didn‘t belong in such a holy place. I was a lost and fallen away Christian. I had to many sins to deserve to be there… and his words would heal and comfort me… I remember several of my first few visits finding myself in tears because I felt he was speaking directly to me…
A story he told often… And one that touched me and always made me think… I may not get it right verbatim, but I know what he was trying to say to me, and this story sticks with me, even today…
“There was an elderly man that attended church for most of his life. Then one Sunday he didn’t come. No one really thought much of it at first… after several Sundays had passed and the man still hadn’t come, the Preacher decided it was time to go and talk with the elderly man…
The preacher came in to see the man sitting in front of a dying fire. The heat of the embers warming the room, glowing red in the fireplace.
“I know why you’re here, Preacher.” said the man before he could speak. “I’m just tired of it all. If I don’t want to go to church anymore and I shouldn’t have to.” The Preacher sat down next to the man in front of the fire, as the man continued the many reasons why he didn’t need church…
After a long silence, the Preacher, who still hadn’t spoken, took the fireplace poker and started to stir the embers… pretty soon, he pulled a large glowing red on fire ember out of the pile… he placed the ember on the edge of the cold stones of the fireplace.
As the two men sat there, in silence, they watched the ember… slowly fade, growing cold and dying out…
With a tear in the old man’s eye, he said. “I hear you Preacher. I’ll be there next Sunday.”
Rest in Peace Terry Key. You were an amazing man of faith in this life. Your work here was done, your rewards wait. You’ll see the peace and comfort in the face of God and welcome us who follow after you, because of your teaching, and sharing of faith. I know my family will miss you, but I cant be sad that your gone, because I know you in the one place you were meant to be in…
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