How Not to Say the Wrong Thing

It works in all kinds of crises -- medical, legal, even existential. It's the 'Ring Theory' of kvetching. The first rule is: comfort in, dump out.

by Susan Silk and Barry Goldman

When Susan had breast cancer, we heard a lot of lame remarks, but our favorite came from one of Susan's colleagues. She wanted, she needed, to visit Susan after the surgery, but Susan didn't feel like having visitors, and she said so. Her colleague's response? "This isn't just about you."

"It's not?" Susan wondered. "My breast cancer is not about me? It's about you?"

The same theme came up again when our friend Katie had a brain aneurysm. She was in intensive care for a long time and finally got out and into a step-down unit. She was no longer covered with tubes and lines and monitors, but she was still in rough shape. A friend came and saw her and then stepped into the hall with Katie's husband, Pat. "I wasn't prepared for this," she told him. "I don't know if I can handle it."

This woman loves Katie, and she said what she did because the sight of Katie in this condition moved her so deeply. But it was the wrong thing to say. And it was wrong in the same way Susan's colleague's remark was wrong.

Susan has since developed a simple technique to help people avoid this mistake. It works for all kinds of crises: medical, legal, financial, romantic, even existential. She calls it the Ring Theory.

Draw a circle. This is the center ring. In it, put the name of the person at the center of the current trauma. For Katie's aneurysm, that's Katie. Now draw a larger circle around the first one. In that ring put the name of the person next closest to the trauma. In the case of Katie's aneurysm, that was Katie's husband, Pat. Repeat the process as many times as you need to. In each larger ring put the next closest people. Parents and children before more distant relatives. Intimate friends in smaller rings, less intimate friends in larger ones. When you are done you have a Kvetching Order. One of Susan's patients found it useful to tape it to her refrigerator.

Here are the rules. The person in the center ring can say anything she wants to anyone, anywhere. She can kvetch and complain and whine and moan and curse the heavens and say, "Life is unfair" and "Why me?" That's the one payoff for being in the center ring.

Everyone else can say those things too, but only to people in larger rings.

When you are talking to a person in a ring smaller than yours, someone closer to the center of the crisis, the goal is to help. Listening is often more helpful than talking. But if you're going to open your mouth, ask yourself if what you are about to say is likely to provide comfort and support. If it isn't, don't say it. Don't, for example, give advice. People who are suffering from trauma don't need advice. They need comfort and support. So say, "I'm sorry" or "This must really be hard for you" or "Can I bring you a pot roast?" Don't say, "You should hear what happened to me" or "Here's what I would do if I were you." And don't say, "This is really bringing me down."

If you want to scream or cry or complain, if you want to tell someone how shocked you are or how icky you feel, or whine about how it reminds you of all the terrible things that have happened to you lately, that's fine. It's a perfectly normal response. Just do it to someone in a bigger ring.

Comfort IN, dump OUT.

There was nothing wrong with Katie's friend saying she was not prepared for how horrible Katie looked, or even that she didn't think she could handle it. The mistake was that she said those things to Pat. She dumped IN.

Complaining to someone in a smaller ring than yours doesn't do either of you any good. On the other hand, being supportive to her principal caregiver may be the best thing you can do for the patient.

Most of us know this. Almost nobody would complain to the patient about how rotten she looks. Almost no one would say that looking at her makes them think of the fragility of life and their own closeness to death. In other words, we know enough not to dump into the center ring. Ring Theory merely expands that intuition and makes it more concrete: Don't just avoid dumping into the center ring, avoid dumping into any ring smaller than your own.

Remember, you can say whatever you want if you just wait until you're talking to someone in a larger ring than yours.

And don't worry. You'll get your turn in the center ring. You can count on that.



Susan Silk is a clinical psychologist. Barry Goldman is an arbitrator and mediator and the author of "The Science of Settlement: Ideas for Negotiators."

(originally published April 7, 2013 in LA Times)

In Keeping with Peace

As the second candle of Advent was lit last Sunday for peace, I offer this sage and proven advice, given to me during the aftermath of my first husband's sudden death in December 2012. These things help you manage your body, mind, will and emotions during the days and months following a bereavement and/or trauma. If you have been through a similar loss, or are finding life hard to navigate during this season, consider observing the following practices to aid you in "keeping the peace" in your life.

1. Avoid listening to or watching the news, television, music or movies with intense, dark themes, or deeply emotional content.
2. Try to not make any significant changes for at least one year, longer if possible.
3. Maintain the discipline and routine of proper self-care: nutritional food intake, adequate rest, regular exercise, and regularly scheduled time for relaxation and recreation.
4. Stay connected to a small group of trusted friends.
5. Allow yourself to feel. Don't numb it with busyness, noise, work, food, booze or drugs. You cannot heal what you won't acknowledge. Allow tears to come. 
6. If you need help managing your pain, seek out a GriefShare group and/or a professional grief counsellor.
7. Accept that the hole of another's absence will always be there. Time does bring a lessening of the pain, and it gives perspective, but full healing may not happen in this life.
8. You will not always feel this way.

This has been my CPR for navigating grief. That, and the unshakable awareness of God's presence, love and mercy, carrying me every moment.

Tears are not a sign of weakness, they are the sign of an open heart.  
~Ann Voskamp 

This one final, all encompassing thing I know and remember to keep the peace: God is love. All God ever does is motivated by love. I trust this truth. It is not easy. It is a discipline to trust. But when I do, it transforms and informs my life. In my weakest moment, I am stronger than I have ever been, because my strength is the presence of God.

So do not fear, for I am with you;
    do not be dismayed, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you and help you;
    I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.
For I am the Lord your God
    who takes hold of your right hand
and says to you, Do not fear;
    I will help you.
Isaiah 41:10,13




Photo by Jordan Steranka on Unsplash 

Not as Those Without Hope

It was the wee hours of the morning in mid-January, 1974, when the phone rang at 3056 West Madison. Frank Nickel answered and heard the anxious voice of his oldest son, Charles, on the other end of the line.

"The baby's started coming, one foot is already out, what do I do?"

"I'm on my way," Frank said.

After instructing his son to call for an ambulance, Frank rushed to Charles' home, arriving before the ambulance did. Together they struggled to deliver the child, but since it was a breech birth, it was very difficult and took much time. I do not remember if the baby was born at home, in the ambulance ride or at the hospital.

For two days, Angela Kay, fought for life in the newborn nursery at the hospital. She had fluid in her lungs, inhaled during the extended delivery. I stood at the nursery window and wept, watching her little chest heave involuntarily in shuddering spasms as she gasped for air. I begged God to spare her, but her lungs were too compromised.

I listened as my family went through the various stages of grief, anger and blame. Why didn't the doctor know the baby was breech? Why did it take so long for the ambulance to arrive? Why were the ambulance attendants not better trained in labour and delivery?

My parents were heartbroken, not only for the loss of a granddaughter, but for the pain brought to bear on their first son and his wife. They knew the truths of scripture, but this was the first untimely death of a direct family member. But it was not the last.

I had just turned 16. I don't remember anyone speaking to me directly about this loss. I don't even remember if there was a funeral. I was present with the family when I wasn't at school (did I even go to school during this time?) but I knew nothing about dealing with grief.

Mom and Dad were already reeling from a fallout with their son, Jack, who had cut off contact with them in the prior year. I witnessed first-hand the anguish, heartbreak and grief my parents experienced as a result of the severed relationship. They prayed daily for all their children and extended family, but spent many more hours in supplication for Jack, and for guidance in how to appeal for reconciliation.

But Jack was out of touch. He had enlisted in the Marines and told them not to contact him. The enlistment was a further blow for our parents, raised as conscientious objectors who are opposed to war because of deeply held convictions against killing.

As you can read in yesterday's post, Jack became the second family member to face an untimely death, less than two months after Angela. How does a family heal from such devastating loss?

Yesterday, I found my father's answer to that question in his own words, written April 2, 1974 to those who had expressed condolences:

Dear Friends,

"Perplexed but not in despair." (2 Cor. 4:8)

Please accept our sincere thanks for your expressions of sympathy. The painful losses of Angela Kay, new-born daughter of Charles and Carol, on January 16, and then our third son, Jack Daniel, on March 2, have both resulted in the free-flowing of a fountain of tears. However, we have not questioned God's faithfulness or compassion. His Word has become more relevant and His presence more real, as the "peace that passeth understanding" has filtered through the shadows and settled as dew on our troubled minds. We are told to "lay up treasure in heaven." Now God Himself, has chosen to "lay up" two choice treasures for us. Need we say that heaven is nearer since they are there? How precious is the assurance of seeing them again!

Angela Kay died as a result of breathing complications after somewhat less than two days of life. She was a beautiful baby of nearly nine pounds. We do not know what caused Jack's car to leave the highway and strike a tree. He would have been 26 on the day of his funeral. His testimony for the Lord through the years, both in life and service, has blessed countless lives, both in our nation and in Canada,--also in many foreign countries by recording. His clear tenor voice thrilled us again and again, and his pleasant personality attracted many, wherever he went. He often quoted Psalm 16:11, "Thou wilt show me the path of life; in Thy presence is fulness of joy; at Thy right hand there are pleasures forevermore." His wife, Karen, resides with her parents presently at Enid, Oklahoma, and will possibly take up further educational training.

Your prayers, and expression of love have meant so much. May God bless you for them.

Sincerely,

The Frank Nickel Family

I also consider how my parents weren't aware or able to help me grieve while they were overcome with their own grief. I saw more "brave face" from my parents than I did sadness. I do not doubt that they grieved much in private, away from my eyes. So as an adult, through the recent reading and research on grieve and through participation in a GriefShare support group, I've learned the critical importance of giving myself permission to sit with the feelings of sadness as they rise.

Because I believe in the resurrection, I do not grieve as those who have no hope. But I still grieve. One of the ways I find healing is taking time to think, pray, journal or even blog about my losses with tenderness and honesty. I am no longer in despair, and after I publish this, I will go on with my life, which is filled with wonder, laughter and peace with the occasional bouts of sadness. But I have spent the past six years going through a number of steps to get to this point.

My encouragement to you, if bereavement comes to your family, is this: don't squelch your path back to wholeness by ignoring your grief. Take the time you need to express your grief in a safe place, a support group, a grief counsellor, reading good books (I've collected a list for you here). But while you are doing so, please also be aware of the younger ones around you who don't know how to do this and may not understand what is happening. It's important to give them comfort and reassurance that is age-appropriate, and to let them see your sadness.

If you've been through this, what other things have helped you process your grief in a healthy way?




Photo by Wes Hicks on Unsplash
Text added by Joyce Rempel on Word Swag

Remembrance Day

Remembrance Day 

is splattered with memories, 

festooned with pride, 

saluted with respect 

and soaked with tears.

On this Remembrance Day, I honor the memory of my brother Jack, who served in the Marines.

Jack was my favorite brother, primarily because he gave me time and attention. This was hard to come by in a house full of people, mostly boys. As the youngest child and only girl, I was often left out of activities, or at least it seemed that way.

Jack would tell me stories, fascinating stories he seemed to make up out of thin air. Stories I remember to this day, of children exploring old houses and caves, getting lost and rescued, with much tension, drama, and fun in between.

But all was not sunshine.

As the youngest child I was often privy to conversations I probably shouldn't have heard. There came a day, after Jack had been married several years, when there was a final falling-out between Dad and Jack.

In the coming year, Jack joined the Marines and went to basic training, winning every award or challenge available. He was determined to succeed as one of "the few, the proud".

He was appointed to officer training school and had a one-week leave before he had to report. He went home to his wife in Oklahoma, bought new tires for the car and took it for a test drive. He didn't make it home.

It was a Saturday morning when we got the news. Stunned disbelief. He'd lost control of the car, it left the road and hit a tree, killing him instantly. The funeral was held on his 26th birthday. My father wept beside the casket with his head on Jack's chest; two military men folded the flag and presented it to Jack's widow, and this was the first time I saw her break down.

Afterward, our family gathered in the funeral limousine only to have Dad climb back out to visit with people who had come to pay their respects. Back at the house, I spent time alone with Jack's widow, Karen, as she went through her keepsakes of Jack and shared some of the facts about his short lived military career: how it shaped him and why he chose to serve.

Remembrance Day is splattered with memories, festooned with pride, saluted with respect and soaked with tears. The other days we are left to pick through fields of grief, sort emotional baggage, gather treasured remnants and flowers. All I have gathered of my favorite brother is a fading newspaper photo and a heart full of mixed up memories.





Photo 1: Official Military photo from newspaper article
Photo 2: Personal Collection

Books for the Journey of Grief

Yesterday was a busy day which did not allow time for blogging. My 3x per week noon workout in the community pool, a dental visit which confirmed the need for a root canal, then Girls' Night Out at church (sold out) with 200 women enjoying dinner and a movie: God's Compass.

It was a sweet, tender story. The main character had just retired, and her husband had recently passed away. She sought to help a stranger who had helped her pregnant daughter in law to the hospital and had a hidden connection to her family. Grief and loss are part of the movie and it stimulated some thinking about how one may turn to  pragmatic tasks or sacrificial service during and after bereavement as a means of honoring the one who died by making a difference in someone else's life.

It's approaching six years since I was first widowed. During that time there were several books that helped me, and I asked a few friends to add to that list by recommending books that helped them as well. If you are a reader, this is a resource list you'll want to explore. It will equip you for comforting the grieving, and if you are grieving, these books will simply comfort you.

It is my prayer that one or more of these recommendations will make a difference in your life, perhaps even serve as a compass to point to your true north in the aftermath of bereavement.

Mourning Into Dancing by Walter Wangerin Jr.
Wangerin is one of today’s most gifted and award-winning writers on issues of faith and spirituality. I worked through this book around the time of my mother's death in 1996. It was transformative for me. In a captivating narrative woven with stories and comfort, this book defines the stages of grief, defines the types of relationships and the losses we experience in those areas, shows how to help the grief-stricken, gives a new vision of Christ’s sacrifice, and shows how a loving God shares our grief.

Seven Choices by Elizabeth Harper Neeld
A highly original and meaningful approach to the grieving process with sound advice on how to adjust to change and form new life patterns and human bonds.









Roses in December by Marilyn Willett Heavilin
Having lost three sons, Marilyn knows the tremendous sorrows and struggles that come with the death of loved ones. Yet she shares how, even in the winters of our lives, God provides roses―special occasions, special people, and special memories―to give us strength and draw close to Him. My fourth brother Jim and his wife found this book particularly meaningful after the loss of their 21 year old son in a collision.

Through a Season of Grief by Bill Dunn and Kathy Leonard
A place to turn for daily comfort and help packed with tools to move forward. This is a 365-day devotional designed to support and uplift you in the first, most difficult year of bereavement. More than thirty respected Christian professionals share their insights on how to walk through the devastation of grief toward wholeness and hope. You will also hear from people like you who have lost a loved one and have found God's healing presence in the midst of despair. This unique devotional is based on GriefShare®, a national grief recovery support group program that has helped more than 100,000 families.

Lovely Traces of Hope by Kathy Burrus
By a college classmate of mine who lost her teenage daughter to an accident. It was her daughter's unfinished book that penetrated deep into the torn and broken heart of her mother and pointed her, in the midst of her grief, to the lovely traces God reveals about himself in random and unexpected ways.







Journeying Through Grief by Stephen Ministries

This is a set of four short booklets that offer words of comfort and hope designed to be sent to grieving people at specific, crucial times during that first year after a loved one dies. Each book focuses on what the person is likely to be experiencing at that time and provides care, assurance, encouragement, and hope. I was grateful to be a recipient of these each quarter from a dear friend who understood what it meant to be widowed and delivered them personally with a handwritten note of encouragement.

I Will Carry You by Angie Smith
The powerful story of a mother who carried a child deemed "incompatible with life," and the eternal insights gained from a baby who lived less than three hours.









What books have you found comforting or helpful in the midst of your grieving?

The Colors of Grief

The predictable thing about grief is that it will blindside you. I was not the only one to have this happen today.

In the middle of a lovely morning during a spectacular autumn, over coffee with my love, I decide to share a quote, which led to a Google search for the source, which led to a book excerpt. The book was made into a movie, which I've seen, but I was at a different place then and didn't remember this part. If you're in a tender place, maybe don't read this right now. It pushed some buttons for me and had me weeping in recognition.

But it switched on light, too.

About the nature of grieving and death and perhaps even certainty, that character trait that fades as we age and wisen.

The Lie of Despair

Three years after. A wake up call for those who have lured by the fallacy that leaving this world would be better for everyone around them. Don't swallow that lie.

While I have intentionally moved on (to stay in the same place would be madness) and have found a (literal) new life, it does not devalue or minimize the horrific experience of losing someone you love due to suicide. Sometimes I can't breathe when I think about it and so I force myself not to dwell there except for the scheduled times when I'm writing. I made a conscious choice not to speak much of it on social media. Continued grief becomes more private as others have long since moved on. For me to continue drawing public attention to the pain seems gauche, although it is so oddly juxtaposed alongside a beautiful life that, at times, it also seems unthinkable that I should be so happy. I am learning to wrap it all - the grief, the joy, the lessons of each - in gratitude. But for those who think somehow that's a preferred outcome? I say this: It breaks survivors in ways we continue to discover with every new "first". It lives side by side with joy. It casts a very long, dark shadow. It blindsides and cripples for the rest of the life of everyone who loves you and it's all so completely unnecessary.

Here's a mild version of what we go through. I can't beat this drum loudly enough. Please. Don't take a permanent solution to a temporary situation.

Click to read:
Poem: The Lie of Despair



1-800-suicide
1-800-784-2433
Alberta's Mental Health Help Line is available 24 hours a day. Call 1-877-303-2642

Photo credit: depositphotos.com #23343800, standard license

Some Days are Stone

I participated in a video project for our church, headed up by Shirley Thiessen. The project is called "Grieving with Hope." It's come time to view the finished project along with other participants, friends and family. I assume it's going to be a powerful film but I'm startled to realize I don't want to go to the screening.

This is the thing about grief and loss. Some days are diamonds and some days are stone. Some days life is so beautiful, I ache with the glorious joy of it all. Other days grief rises like a tsunami and I'm dashed against the rocks.

All of this - all of it, good and bad - is life and love and loss and recovery. 

There is no easy button. Some days I hang on to Jesus and when I've lost my grip, I discover Jesus holds me. Sometimes I'm held by Him through Henry, Andrew, Susan, Jean, Cathy, Peggy, Barb, Pamela, Cheryl, Pauline, Steve Wanda, John, Jim, Sheilia and hundreds more of you who pray and hug and care for me and for each other.

You know what happens as we walk together, bind up the broken-hearted, carry one another through the loss and dance together through the celebrations? Every breath, every step, every mundane moment of every day becomes a testament to hope and restoration.

All because of Love.

--------------------------------------------

Update: I decided, with my husband and two dear friends by my side, I could attend the screening after all. It spanned the gamut of emotions, as I expected, but I was able to resist the constant urge to bolt (or throw up). My part was small, in context of the film. When twelve people are interviewed for a 45 minute film about their very different journeys, every story (out of necessity) is abbreviated. The editor shapes the outcome toward his or her intended focus. This is the privilege and responsibility of filmmakers. I would tell the story in a different way because the journey and focus is unique to me. But the video is there, and it is out of my hands. As the photo quote at the top of this post affirms, "My brokenness is a better bridge for people than my pretend wholeness ever was." My prayer is that my story may be of some benefit to aid another on their own journey. It is the Spirit's work and the Spirit sifts it for Spirit purposes. Amen.

Retrospectre

In these days we have an abundance of motivational speakers, life coaches, and personal trainers; a plethora of blogs dole out Six Easy Steps to whatever; websites overflow with life hacks, advice, recipes or mantras for healing, freedom and/or success; advertisements promise to solve problems you didn’t even know you had. In all of this noise, sometimes, don’t you just want one person who will spend five minutes listening? Here’s a story about how hard it is to find and/or be that person.

*  *  *  *  *

The three of us lingered over the last bites of dinner. Barely more than acquaintances, we carefully opened up one or two leaves of our story to each other, testing the water before we infused the more tender emotions of our history. Perhaps it was the second drink that lulled me, seduced me into a perceived sense of safety. Oiled the hinges enough to unlock one particularly dark dungeon where I had hidden “The Most Hurtful Thing” ever spoken to me.

Did I dare speak it? Expose my core wound to these fledgling friends? I needed to make sense of it. I desperately needed to know Those. Words. weren’t true. To experience the protection of a caregiver, a warrior-friend, a confidant, who would shelter me from the memory, the continuous hammer blows of condemnation echoing sixteen years hence, bludgeoning every day, until I could no longer stand under the onslaught.

So I spoke.

And heard mid-sentence, that I had grossly misjudged, as one interrupted abruptly with, “Oh, that’s nothing. Let me tell you what happened to me!”

I sat in numb silence listening to descriptors of another’s battle and how they conquered, something like the Good Housekeeping™magazine column: “My Problem and How I Solved It.” My own pain discarded, minimized, trivialized, in light of her greater strength, her triumphant victory over evil.

I came out of my hole and saw my shadow. So will I hide for another six years? Or will I take the time to realize that others have no capacity to measure my story? To evaluate the depth of my wounds. I must self-triage. My pain had made my life unmanageable, therefore, I needed healing. There was no place to set my wound alongside another’s and allow them to measure which was greater. I was powerless over this and had simply mistaken a gentle face for a gentle heart. Yes, looks can be very deceiving. A sugar coated brick. Beauty masking the beast.

Grief still had several stages to process. One day, I might find a safe place to unfold the bloodied bandages and be anointed with the oil of kindness, but it is not here and today is not the day.

*  *  *  *  *

"You own everything that happened to you. 

Tell your stories.

If people wanted you to write warmly about them,

they should have behaved better."

~Anne Lamott

*  *  *  *  *

Uncompassionate people show us how not to be. This event happened over a year ago. I was unconsciously asking for something the other was unable to give. I was seeking one who could listen, empathize and say, “I’m here with you. I know this hurts. Let’s find a way out together.”

There are days when another has asked this of me. And I was unable to be this for them. This was also not the day for that. Two broken people cannot both save each other.

But since then, I have unbandaged and received ointment for this "wound" and it is healing. I have trusted confidants. I am learning to allow space and mindfulness for the grieving process of others and of myself. There is no timetable, no urgency. No expiry date by which we must expunge our lives of the anger, bargaining, denial, horror, guilt or excruciating tenderness surrounding the gaping wound of loss.

I am learning not to expect healing from others.

I am learning not to punish others for not being able to help me carry my grief.

I am learning how to give what I can when another needs a hand.

I am learning to blow a breath of kindness over my own pain and over the heat of another's trauma with my own attentive presence: “I’m here. I hear you. I’m so sorry for your pain.”

I'm learning to not give impatient advice, how not to voice platitudes, cheery gloss-overs or declarations regarding reasons, sovereignty or grace; anything which may diminish the importance and necessity of grieving.

I'm learning to simply say:

“I’m with you.”

If you ask, I will share, if I can, what I can, in that moment; one beggar showing another where to find bread.

None of the News is Fit to Print

When Brent died, a fellow widower recommended I eliminate from my life any TV shows and/or movies of a dark, emotional or intense subject matter as well as certain music and the daily news. For some time I got used to simply enjoying the silence, being quiet and focusing my thoughts on beauty, friendships, poetry, joy and my beloved Lord - who is the author of LIFE.

This is not pie-in-the-sky, ignorance of the world around me, but rather an intentional choice to soak myself in peace instead of angst, getting to know who I am, rather than listening to the cacophony of competing viewpoints, terror and tension of a world gone mad. For what else is reported on the daily news than horrific acts and extraordinary evil?

I missed absolutely nothing.

How, really, do any of us benefit by being externally stimulated to horror or anger or whipped up into a frenzy of activism? We can spend all of our emotional energy trying to change the world, or shut down out of despair that we cannot change the world, or numb ourselves by over-consumption of mass-market entertainment, but in the process, no matter the choice, we completely drain ourselves of any capacity to affect our own life or the lives of those right beside us.

What do you need to say "No" to today so that you can say "Yes" to your own responsibility and capacity to live in peace?

Photo: Carburn Park, Calgary, personal collection

January Inventory

So much of what I'm reading online these days sounds like many of you are experiencing post-Christmas crash and crush from looking at all the coming challenges of the new year. A few stave off January darkness by snowbirding south or snowboarding north. Those who can't escape bear down to work harder or smarter, resolve to declutter, lose weight, exercise more, make a life plan, do this, do that - all good things - but the undercurrent carries the despairing sense that we've been here before and nothing is ever good enough to exact lasting change.

Some are obsessed with "doing", goal setting and comparing (10 ways to Declutter, Four Steps to Improving, 7 Habits, The Best Way to Do the Right Stuff for the Wrong Reasons). Or learned apathy drives others to refuse, rebel, or mock the "resolutioners" with cynical humour or outright Debbie Downer criticism.

The depth, cold and darkness of winter, creeping age, fatigue, chronic pain all take their toll. Yet we seek to do, be, act, live better because our very nature is imprinted with the creative drive to do so.

I write this because I recognize the cycle in myself. The bleak midwinter wants to bury me emotionally under the long nights and piled snow. I have found some specific actions have made a lasting change for me. These are habits of which I still must remind myself daily. There are apps available to help track and/or remind me of activities and goals. Change does not happen overnight and even after good progress is made, change in circumstances or relationships (job, death, birth, marriage, etc.) unearth areas that have not previously been addressed. I'll list the order in which I began to tackle my own problem areas, but I don't think there is a particular formula. This is not a "how to" but rather a "what helped me" blog post. Start where you are, where you feel you are ready (or completely desperate) for change.

A. Emotional Health

I started here about five years ago. There is no easy button, no quick fix. I just knew I was a mess. Angry, overweight, depressed, and in deep need of healing.

We cannot heal what we don’t acknowledge. I addressed this in a two-pronged approach: support groups and professional counseling. I realized I was powerless over compulsive behavior and the tendency to do the wrong thing. I would often lose my temper with family and others. I saw the toll this was taking on everyone. My life had become unmanageable and I realized I needed help. I attended Freedom Session, http://freedomsession.org/  a modified 12-Step group based on emotional healing and the power of God. It provided tools that helped move me forward from where I was stuck in my hurts, habits and hang-ups. I learned to get out of denial, stop lying to myself, stop the blame game and identify the original wound being triggered by current events. It helped me learn how to heal.

In addition, I had been seeing a clinical psychologist for a number of years, since my son was born. When I started in 1994, I was suffering from post-partum depression but it was undiagnosed for three years. Later on, I met with her on occasion when life got overwhelming. I continue this practice. A professional is trained to support you in ways your friends and pastor cannot.

B. Mental Health.

Professional clinical counseling is also a great aid in mental health and intellectual processing, and I also cannot emphasize too strongly the need for many to have medication which helps resolve the chemical imbalance of the brain which often leads to irrational thought. Just as we take medication to keep our blood pressure stable or insulin to help diabetic conditions or other medicines which replace functions of organs that may have been damaged, we also must see there is NO stigma to taking medication to help the most important organ, our brain, to function as it is designed.

If our brains are working as they should, then we can reason and learn and absorb and make effective, healthy decisions. One way is through reading experts or inspirational writing which educates and encourages us and helps us to understand and act differently, in ways that will help us rather than harm us.

I read two significant books which assisted me in understanding two key areas in which I was stuck: perfectionism and discontent. Brene Brown's book "The Gifts of Imperfection" helped me stop beating myself up for always falling short of my ridiculously high expectations. And Ann Voskamp's "1000 Gifts" was a dare to live fully by opening my eyes to the beauty right in front of me, large and small, every day. To see it all as a gift. “Nothing is a given. Everything is a gift.”

C. Physical Health

I saw my doctor on a regular basis, yet I often did not disclose to him the true nature of how I was feeling until I was in crisis. My late husband struggled with depression and anxiety and this greatly impacted our relationship. While I could not help him, I had to help myself. Like the airlines caution you about the oxygen masks, you need to put your own on before you help others, I needed to get better myself so I could be of any use to him. Sadlly, he refused to see a counselor, a medical doctor or to consider medication for his condition, and this ultimately resulted in his suicide.

I put depression and anxiety under the “physical health” column because I believe the majority of these conditions start from physical causes, not “wrong thinking” or “spiritual failure”.

I decided to see a Naturopath who specialized in food sensitivities. She identified my intolerance for wheat in all forms and I eliminated it from my diet. I experienced an immediate lift in my physical health. The chronic heartburn almost immediately disappeared. My hiatal hernia stopped acting up, except in high stress situations. The Naturopath also put me on a regimine of vitamins, supplements and natural remedies for stress and anxiety. I began to feel better than I had for decades. I also significantly reduced my intake of soft drinks like Coke, stimulants like coffee and replaced them with unsweetened juices, herbal teas, water or club soda. I also reduced my sugar intake, which reduces inflammation and cravings.

After eight months I was finally ready to tackle my body shape and fitness. I set before me the goal of health, not just a certain body shape or a target weight. Exercise to feel good, not to feed your ego. Physical exertion in safe ways releases reward endorphins in your brain which help you feel good. I jump-started my program by signing up with a personal trainer.  I would arrive at our session feeling down, tired, discouraged and invariably I would leave rejuvenated and happy. On Nov. 27, 2012, I posted: “Amazing, how being pushed past my own perceived physical limits by my skilled trainer helps me see how strong I really am. Feels good. Taking nothing for granted. So grateful for this new period of health.”

There are also direct links between my nutritional intake and my emotional and mental health. I must drink at least two litres of water per day and eat balanced, whole foods, minimizing prepared foods high in salt and sugar (hint: choose foods that don’t have an ingredient label). Don’t be obsessed by tracking any one thing or denying yourself. Any extreme is unhelpful. To eliminate or emphasize any one food group (i.e. low carb diet, vegan, high-protein, and so on) is to put ourselves at risk to physical, emotional and mental disease, not getting the holistic natural nutrition our body and mind need to live in optimal health.

D. Spiritual Health

I have always believed in the power of the scriptures, as the Living Word of God, to be spiritual food, a truth anchor in the midst of mood swings, or a thermostat that controls the emotional temperature of my life, a fertile garden where I can grow and gain wisdom. Two other significant books I read during this time were Brennan Manning’s “The Furious Longing of God” that helped me understand how much God pursues me, is crazy about me, and loves me completely. As you can understand, this goes a long way toward emotional healing as well as spiritual. The other book was “The Inner Voice of Love”. This is Henri Nouwen's journal from the most difficult period of his life, when he suddenly lost his self-esteem,  his energy to live and work, his sense of being loved, even his hope in God. Although he experienced excruciating anguish and despair, he was still able to keep a journal in which he wrote a spiritual imperative to himself each day that emerged from his conversations with friends and supporters. I found it not only resonated but encouraged me – a spiritual leader who was also depressed yet learned to see God and hear God’s voice in the darkness.

On Nov. 27 I also posted, “Some have lost faith because of terrible circumstances. Isn't that the time when you would most want to rely on God's strength, comfort, healing and love?” Please know that a few years before, I had nearly despaired and seriously questioned God’s love and goodness, due to very difficult circumstances of my life, but this statement shows the distance I had come in healing from that wounded place to the present moment of wanting to rely on God.

Little did I know that one week later my husband of 31 years would die by suicide. The presence of God in the moments and days following was so tangible, I could physically feel myself being held, covered, carried, by Love.

I don’t know where I would have been or how I would have survived if I had still been in the days of pain and denial. Sometimes these traumatic situations force us to a life change or a break down. I began reading the scripture again with renewed vigor, for all the strength I felt draining away in the crush of preparations needed to be restored. For months afterward I soaked in the trilogy of books written by Dr. David Benner: “Surrender to Love” which helped me discover the heart of Christian Spirituality, “The Gift of Being Yourself”, the sacred call to self-discovery, and “Desiring God’s Will”, which is all about aligning my heart with the heart of God.

Since those days two years ago, I have studied to become a spiritual director but found I am not yet emotionally strong enough to bear the deep burdens of others who are still in a very wounded place. I hope, one day, to delve more fully into this field.

E. Relational Health

Life is best lived in community. We clearly see what happens to those kept in solitary confinement. A supportive group of family and friends who encourage us, have the courage to care enough to confront us when needed, keep us accountable and point out where we might need to practice more healthy habits and behaviors.

I had two small groups: one of just a few women and a mixed group of six couples I/we met with on a weekly basis, some more often on a social basis: one on one for coffee and/or Bible study or just social time. They were my confidants, my soul-sisters, my brothers in Christ. I could tell them just about anything and know they would keep it in confidence, pray for me, help me work through it, even give wise advice if I asked. Several times, especially after my first husband’s death, I felt a great restlessness and was tempted to do something impulsive like quit my job or sell the house or run away. I would call one of those small group members and meet with them and they helped keep me steady. I am deeply indebted to each one who held me and helped me in my weak times.

So, there you have it. A long list of things I have done and continue to do. Through it all, I learned if I want to be different I have to BE different. Don’t continue doing the same things. Make the hard choice to do something more effective and keep it up, one day at a time, one step at a time.

F. Recreational Health

Finally, creative and recreational outlets are also important to having fun and getting moving in fun and enjoyable ways. I took up photography, glass fusion, swimming, hiking, camping, singing and renewed my writing, blogging and poetry. I even dabble in art and sketching and took a turn at scuba and parasailing. Others quilt, knit, crochet, cross-stitch, ride horses or motorcycles, snowshoe, ski, skydive, and the list is endless. These are the things that bring zest to life, the reason we want to be healthy – to enjoy all the good gifts in God’s beautiful creation.

I’m still in process, but I’m healthier now than I have ever been in every area I have discussed. I don’t take this for granted – I have to choose this every single day. I still battle areas where I haven’t yet had healing but I am so grateful for the life I have, the friends and family who support me and the God who created me to live in this kind of freedom.

I hope you might be helped by something here. If you have other books or practices that have helped you get unstuck and you would like to post about it in the comments, feel free.

Now go live and laugh and love.

Blessings,

Joyce

Don't Doubt in the Dark What God Has Shown You In the Light

Do not assume that he who seeks to comfort you now lives untroubled among the simple and quiet words that sometimes do you good. His life may also have much sadness and difficulty…Were it otherwise he would never have been able to find these words. – Rilke

It is so important to understand, in the midst of our darkness, that the one who brings comfort through their words and assistance may be bearing wounds far beyond what we ourselves are experiencing. I have been (and am still) on both sides of that equation, both giving and receiving comfort.

As I approach the second anniversary of my first husband's suicide, the grief is waning and overwhelming waves that blindside me are less frequent. Some parts of my life are happier now than I can ever remember being in my entire life. My new husband not only loves me well in every possible way, he makes me laugh, leans into the hard conversations, teaches me new things, helps in practical ways, coaches me to sleep, dries my tears and leads me to Jesus. And that is just the first 11 weeks.

Now that I’m in a safe place, growing stronger in this season of life thanks to a loving and stable environment, other parts of my life are beginning to require attention. Parts that have lived in shadow and shame. Parts I am just beginning to name. As others have said, we cannot heal what we do not acknowledge and it is in naming a thing that we take away its power. This is more than disconcerting.

She could never go back and make some of the details pretty. All she could do was move forward and make the whole beautiful. – Terri St. Cloud

One of these places feels like an unmarked grave in the forest. Dark. Quiet. Frightening. If I begin to dig, not only will it be difficult work, I do not know in what condition the remains will be or if I’ll even be digging in the right place. While my impulsive, impatient, perfectionist self wants to pave this place over and put up an amusement park, my heart knows the offenses of another against my much younger self are hidden there and will undermine the foundation of anything I try to construct over it.

The worst form of censorship is when we edit our story to make it acceptable to others.
– People of the Second Chance

So I hold tight to that comforting, yet somehow disturbing portion of Psalm 23: “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me.”

Even better, how Eugene Peterson puts it into context in The Message:

God, my shepherd!
I don’t need a thing.
You have bedded me down in lush meadows,
you find me quiet pools to drink from.
True to your word,
you let me catch my breath
and send me in the right direction.
Even when the way goes through
Death Valley,
I’m not afraid
when you walk at my side.

Recently, God told me to “Rest!” and to wait on him, watching where he goes and he invites me to walk alongside. I’m not digging up these old bones alone. He’s let me sleep in lush meadows and drink from quiet pools while I catch my breath. He’s given me the GPS coordinates and even though the way is going through Death Valley, he’s with me and for me, so I don’t have to be afraid.

Now, where is that backhoe?

A Walk Down Memory Lane

Tomorrow, the first Sunday of Advent, will be one year from the last time my husband and I were out with friends. Arnie was the last person from our social circle that Brent had a serious conversation with and laughed with. Five days later Brent was gone.

Tomorrow, I will be with these dear friends again - Arnie and Cheryl, Cindy, Ruth and Larry and their extended family, enjoying a lovely Christmas brunch at Heritage Park, just like one year ago. We all spent time this morning celebrating Arnie's birthday and then I took a drive to remember Brent.

Brent loved the Calgary Zoo. For Christmas one year, I purchased an annual pass for the family and he said it was the best gift he ever received. He went so often, even our son declined to go with him after a while. The zoo has just fully reopened after $50 million damage and devastation by Calgary's historic June flood. It was too late for me to go into the grounds, so I walked along the river south of St. George's Island as the sun was entering its golden hour, shining against the skylights on Destination Africa where the intelligent Western Lowland Gorillas live. Before they moved to this beautiful enclosure, Brent had a close encounter with the troop in their previous digs. He loved to stare down the patriarch of the pack, even thumping on the glass to get his attention (a behaviour that is now banned by the keepers). Brent got his attention, all right. The large male stood up and took a run at the glass, hitting it with his shoulder like a football linebacker with a loud crash that reverberated through the building. I could just picture him breaking through the glass and ... well, I try not to think about that.

I look left and see the sun glinting off the glass enclosed Conservatory that houses the botanical and butterfly gardens, a place we spent many happy moments watching the beautiful creatures flitter and thrill. No risk of attack here, although I did see one quiet man sitting so still, there were 3-4 butterflies who comfortably settled on his hat. He just beamed. Brent said he could never sit still long enough for that.

As I watched the sun slide down and the shadows rise up, I turned my eyes to the river and the broken ice floating like sheets of styrofoam in the eddies along the shore. The river runs fast here, making rapids due to submerged rocks. Ducks and Canada Geese dot the water and sky. The snow is slushy and I skip a few rocks across the calm section. Brent could make them skip 7-8 times.

He would have been so moved by the June flood, exploring the river and how its course has changed, commenting on the devastation and the altered channels and how many people were displaced, reading every news story and absorbing the documentaries of repairs and rebuild to Stampede, the Saddledome, downtown and the many residences. He may have even been on call with the emergency team for his company.

As it begins to cool down, I think about one Christmas break when we toured the zoo with our dear friends, Vern and Janet and their family, bundled up against the cold, being swarmed by ducks as we buy seed to scatter for them. Knowing how curious Brent would have been to see the damage and repairs inside the zoo, I'll have to go visit soon, in his honour, and I think it will be easy to imagine him walking ahead of me as he often did - anxious to get to the next enclosure - always a faster walker than I ("Can't you walk a little faster?"), talking constantly about this change and that, and which animal is next and why aren't more of them in their enclosures where we can see them? His excitement extended to every city we visited in our travels. If there was a zoo, it was on our agenda to see it while we were there.

I return to the car and take St. George's drive around the zoo island and, of course, must drive the short distance north to Peter's Drive In. How many times did we go for burgers and milkshakes at this famous joint? Even when I didn't care for the food, the drive and his delight at the taste of the popular drive through food was enough to make the trip worth taking. It was an event in itself some days and we frequently combined the zoo and Peter's when we entertained out of town visitors.

I ordered a plain burger and a double marshmallow shake. Brent would order grape! I head east on Highway 1 to the new ring road, Stoney Trail, knowing if Brent were here, he would insist we have to drive the newly opened section and I would gladly go along for the ride. We did love our road trips, exploring the city and the mountains. In fact, he would have taken this drive the first day it opened. He was so looking forward to having this road completed and would again have been delighted. It reminds me of when we lived in Riverbend and the city finally built an overpass at the intersection of 18th Street and Glenmore Trail. For the entire time it was being built and for almost a year afterward, he would exclaim frequently, "This is just the best thing they could have ever done, building this overpass. Have I told you how much I love that they built this?!" Of course he had (how many times?!) and it became a regular joke between us.

He loved any improvements to the city roadways that removed barriers and stop lights. He hated stopping at stop signs and red lights. He was always about getting where he was going as fast as he possibly could. I asked him once, as he expressed disgust at having to stop at a red light, "Do you expect you should be able to go through life without ever having a red light?" He paused, and then with a twinkle in his eye and a laugh, said, "Yes!'

He would have been delighted to know the lights were all green for me as I finished my maiden voyage around the SE leg of the ring road and exited for home. A sweet road trip, remembering what delighted him.

But lest you think it was always happy, I must say that some of his delight and joking was tempered by my response. If you're married, or hope to be, can I share one thing I've learned that might help you avoid making the same mistake I did? It's really easy, after 31 years with the same person, to lose interest in the things that delight your spouse because they aren't really your "cup of tea". I have been witness to wives who actually mock their husbands for some of their hobbies simply because they don't share the same interests. And vice versa.

As I have been reflecting today, I realize the times that Brent was happiest were the times he was out and about, seeing the animals in the zoo, exploring new roads and places in our city. He had an adventurer's heart, and though his interests and mine were often very different, it took so little for me to encourage him by going along. This is a gift we can give our spouses: our willing presence and participation with them in what feeds their soul and delights them. I didn't always go with Brent but I readily encouraged him to take visitors. Nothing delighted him more than to do that except when I would join him - he always thanked me for coming and would say, "Now wasn't that worth it?" It always was.

Oh, how I wish now I had gone every time he asked!

On the July long weekend in 2012, we went camping. This is my favourite thing to do. Brent? Not so much. He preferred the comforts of home and would have owned a full sized motor home if he'd had his druthers. But I was fine with the little 17' trailer we had, small and cosy. We met up with friends, although we were in different campgrounds. The weather was drizzly and overcast.

Brent loved looking for grizzly bears in their known hangout spots, but the rain really put a damper on things, including our hiking, "bear hunting" and beloved campfire time. At the end of the weekend, he said, "I really wasn't enjoying myself and the weather made things miserable. I just wanted to pack up and go home. But when I see how being in the mountains feeds your soul, I decided to stay, because I wanted you to have that experience." I was deeply touched. That is loving sacrifice, setting aside his own preferences so that I could enjoy my happy place.

Another happy place for Brent was at the Flames game. He taught me to love hockey. He loved having season tickets and his bucket list included "Seeing an NHL game in every arena in the league." He visited 17 out of 30. Four of them were on our last vacation. I even gave up going to see a Broadway show so we could all go to game 7 of round 2 of the playoffs for the New York Rangers in Madison Square Gardens. This is a big deal and it was the experience of a lifetime. I'm glad I didn't insist on my own way that day. It was the last hockey game we saw together.

How did stress and depression crowd out all that fun? These are the dark memories where I dare not dwell.

Encourage the things that make your spouse smile. It costs you nothing to be generous. Set aside your agenda for just a short time to engage with theirs. Not that you have to spend every waking moment together, or always do the same things. Their hobbies don't have to be yours, but the one-flesh union is strengthened by supporting each other's interests. Of course, there is a balance to strike, and each of us must attune ourselves to how much time we indulge ourselves vs. how much time with share with others. It is a loving thing we do when we take an interest in what fascinates them and in the process, our lives are expanded. You expect your spouse to take an interest in what interests you, don't you? The paint colour or the current day's challenge of your career, or what cute/frustrating thing the children did or the success you've had in your workout or diet or the latest, greatest shopping bargain you found or artistic/craft item you've completed?

Or in my case, it was sharing with Brent the memorable experience of seeing grizzly bear #64 with her twins one year and her triplets the next. Or the eight moose, the two grizzlies and the black bear we saw with my nephew Tommy and Amy. Or wolf in our yard in Rainbow Lake. Or the anniversary night at Mt. Engadine Lodge where the moose came to graze in the meadow at twilight. Or the walk through the zoo when we laughed over the heads of the three young Gowing girls we were babysitting for the weekend as they asked curious questions about the elephants mating. So many memories, so many stories to tell and re-tell and so many laughs we shared.

I will cherish every memory of Brent at the zoo and on the road. The ones where we laughed the most are the ones where I was a willing, supportive participant in helping him find his happy place. I think I can maybe hear him chortling now, as he recalls these memories from heaven and discusses God's design choices on all those big animals at the Calgary Zoo.

Double Barrelled

on the occasion of two friends suffering cancer and two others shunning me

Double Barrelled

it starts behind the eyes
pressure like gorilla knuckles pushing sinuses inside out
helium filling up the skull
without the comic relief of a cartoon voice
to at least let hysterical laughter decompress
it
is a visceral ripping away
the gouging of a dry well
wounds of friends
illness consumes cells like fire
emotional blackmail rots backbones
perhaps
this is what it's like
to have a shotgun pressed to your head
no negotiator in sight




So when spurned by unhealthy friends who don’t want restoration
or suffering alongside sick friends who just want life to be normal again,
I must ask the question: 

Am I willing to die to myself?

Surrender my plans? 
Give up trying to preserve my reputation against what others think?
Stop demanding God restore my relationships and heal my friends’ bodies?
These are good things, yes? 
But they are second things.

The first thing is to seek God’s heart.
To hear God’s voice.
To be restored in relationship with the trinity.

To finally let go my tight grasp on my demand for a specific outcome and move toward opening my hands and holding this all loosely on bent knees. Seeing with gratitude that it is by God’s mercy that we are not consumed. That even the worst circumstance can ultimately be a gift from a good God who loves me and gives only that which makes me more like Christ.

So my angst-ridden poetry, while an accurate snapshot of an emotional moment becomes nothing more than a portal to seeing beyond, tasting the eternal.

“In this world, you will have trouble,” Jesus said. “But take heart. I have overcome the world.”

So there is no need for negotiation. No gun to my head. 

“I have died and my life is hid with Christ in God.”

Restoration of relationships are secondary.
Healing of bodies is secondary.
God and God alone is first and will have no other gods before him.

He will strip away all that keeps me from seeing him.

Soli deo gloria

Write a Better Story

There's an edge of melancholy as fall is winding down, combined with yesterday's rain, the oranging trees (meaning the peak of colour is past and only bareness is left to come), along with the heavier blanket of snow on the mountains.

It's all beauty and for this I am grateful, but there is the foreboding of what's to come: cold and piles of snow and short days with long nights and the inevitable anniversary of Brent's death.

As the months grind on, the reality is setting in that it's impossible to maintain the same pace of completing maintenance and chores and tidiness at home with just as much work as ever and only one of me to do the work.

Am I complaining? No, just reporting facts that don't thrill.

I leave tomorrow for Donald Miller's Storyline Conference in Nashville and while it should be exciting, to tell you the truth, my introverted side is feeling awfully shy about being in a crowd of strangers, unknown by anyone. If I hadn't already spent a boatload to book the conferences way back when I thought it sounded like a good idea ("Write a better story with your life"), I would bail and not go. Am I the only person who looks at life this way sometimes? Or maybe I just need to get more sleep. Ha!

Update: I went, it was good. I made new friends. When grieving loss, sometimes it works to push oneself out of isolation into safe places of interaction. Listen to your own body. Your timing might be different than mine. And that's okay.