Searching for Sacred

I lost my uterus on Monday, or more accurately, my uterus was surgically removed. And along with it, a snowman shaped fibroid tumor with a grapefruit-sized base and an orange for a top. What I discovered in this process was a mound of blessings that are continuing to surprise me. Blessing #1: On May 26, 2008, I gave birth to full-term twins (37 months and 2 days), both clearing the six-pound mark. My fibroid protected them by preventing them from descending down into the birth canal. They were allowed to fully develop before entering this world.  Thank you, Mr. Fibroid for keeping my children safe. Blessing #2: In the weeks leading up to my surgery, I confronted a layer of trauma and pain that needed to be dealt with. See “’Z” for Zeal’” to know the details. Blessing #3: A couple of days before surgery, I had an “aha” moment. I realized that I am surrounded by a community that provides different things. While this sounds somewhat obvious, I was expecting one particular pers...

Prayer still feels awkward. I like the idea of having a conversation with God, of being close and intimate. But there is a part of me that fights against asking God to do certain things. At one point in my life, this would have been rooted in believing God did not care what I needed, or that if I asked I would surely be disappointed. These days it is rooted more in a fear of not wanting to manipulate God; not wanting to shrink God into my personal Genie-in-a-bottle. This past Thursday I facilitated an all-day bully awareness retreat for a group of Catholic middle school students. In the hours before the retreat, I was having my usual ‘get up super early, read, pray, write’ hour. As I was thinking about bullies and victims, I started picturing my own enemies. I could easily call up the names and faces of the “mean girls” from school. As I recalled my experiences of being bullied, of feeling like the odd girl, the left out girl, the unwanted girl, the pain was still palpable. And th...

There are three nativity sets in my house. My favorite is a hand-carved wooden set commissioned by some villagers in Africa. It is truly magnificent, both from an aesthetic purpose and in terms of social justice issues. The second is a hanging Advent calendar made from Fisher Price’s “Little People.” There are twenty-five figures (animals, shepherds, magi, angels, and of course Mary, Joseph, and Jesus), one for each day in December. My kids take turns pulling the daily figure and sticking it onto the manger scene. They grow in excitement with each new figure for they know they are one day closer to Christmas. There is one other “toy” nativity that sits on our coffee table. I love watching my three preschoolers act out various scenes and narrations. “It’s okay Jesus, we are your mommy and daddy.” My four-year-old informed me that the “Stable story is stuck in her head. You know, the one with shepherds, angels, and Mary, Joseph, and Jesus.” I love the purity the nativity scenes add t...

For the past few weeks, one particular passage of Scripture has flooded my thoughts – the parable of the lost sheep. My gut told me that after I completed the ABC’s series, this would be a topic to write about. And then, wouldn’t you know, this morning’s Gospel reading was this parable. Perhaps I cannot ignore this prompting much longer. When I get into a really deep funk, I find myself wanting to watch Girl, Interrupted . Not exactly an uplifting, boost your spirits kind of a film, but I am drawn to two particular scenes. One is when Winona Ryder’s character has her break through moment and decides not to play the part of crazy girl any more. It is a decisive moment in which she chooses healing rather than succumb to her depressive thoughts. The second scene is the climax of the movie. Angelina Jolie’s character begins shouting to her small audience of fellow mental patients, “There are just too many buttons. Why doesn’t someone come and push my buttons and tell me the truth abou...

Well, I did it. This is the last letter in the ABC’s of Healing series. For this last entry, I will write about my own spiritual healing and transformation. I would love to hear yours as well via the comment section or through e-mail. The Buddhists believe that transformation occurs in four different means, one being suffering. Christianity has a similar notion – suffering produces perseverance, which produces character, and that leads to hope. I believe for me, it was a willingness to walk the path of suffering, a willingness to face my fears and wounds that has led (is leading) to healing. I do not say I have arrived, for I believe that we cannot reach perfection in this life on earth. I would say with confidence I am moving towards hope; I am moving along the path of healing. I grew up in a conservative, evangelical environment where everyone talked about their “personal relationship with Jesus” and how this filled them with so much joy. I never “got it” and carried around a g...

It seems appropriate to be writing about ‘yearning’ on the first day of Advent. For those less familiar with the liturgical calendar, Advent is the first season; a liturgical new year. Advent is a period of anticipation, of longing, of waiting for the Incarnation. The yearning to encounter God in the flesh. I have had the privilege of being pregnant for two different Advent seasons. With each, I experienced the season of anticipation in a more tangible way. I felt connected to Mary and often wondered if she rubbed her tummy and sang the not-yet-seen child lullabies the same way I did. I wondered if she was simultaneously filled with hope and fear. Hope that this child would bring goodness to the world. Hope that this child would carry on legacy and tradition. And fear. Would I, as mother, be able to love unconditionally? Would I be the mother my child needed? Could I endure moments of being unable to protect them? I longed to meet my children face to face. To finally see the f...

Healing is a process that really never ends. We can always go deeper. I have read that one of the mottos said at an archaeological dig is “just bust it out.” They speak of the never ending process of excavation, and sometimes we have to decide to bust through possible artifacts for the sake of the larger archaeological goals. I think there is great wisdom here. Along the healing journey, we painstakingly peel back layers of wounds, disappointments, and regrets. At some point, we just have to bust through a layer. I remember busting through the layer of victimhood. I had spent a few years thinking, reflecting, and grieving the impact of the curses that I stumbled upon and those that found me. One day, it hit me; I was tired of dwelling on it. I was done being a victim. I had exhausted the area and it was time to move on; it was time to begin a new focus of restoration and rebuilding. This is not to minimize the role of excavation. There is a richness to be gained in the digging pr...

The first time I went snorkeling, I was hooked. I was nine years old and lucky enough to be vacationing in St. Thomas. Everyday my dad would take my brother and me out into the bay to explore the tropical water. Fast forward six years and the scene repeats, only further south in Aruba. Snorkeling in Aruba was amazing! I got to explore a sunken ship and feed the parrot fish. My dad, brother, and I were growing brave in our snorkeling skills. We were snorkeling in a small bay bordered off by a man-made rock barrier. We had heard that just beyond the rocks was a plane crash we could explore. The water on the surface was perfectly calm and so we set out towards the rocks. As we reached the rocks, the surface remained still, but the current was strong. As I tried to swim away from the rocks, the current pulled me back and under. I swam until I exhausted myself, but I could not break away from the undertow. I began to panic; calling out for my giant father. He and my brother were beyond ...

I used to say that God had to whack me upside the head with a 2’x4’ before I would to listen. I am stubborn and determined. Less pleasant words that have been used to describe me – bull-headed and strong-willed. Looking back at the context of my life’s narrative, I see it more as having a strong will to survive. I fought to feel alive. At times, I fought to stay alive. Along the way, I have learned that mere survival is not enough, I must also thrive. In the medical and child development world there is a condition known as “Failure to Thrive.” These are children who stop growing, stop developing, and if left untreated can have fatal consequences. Often times, this is seen in cases of severe child abuse and neglect. The child simply and passively gives up on life. A decade ago, I found myself failing to thrive. I was living in Vietnam, feeling both oppressed and attacked by the circumstances surrounding me. I reached a point where I no longer cared what happened to me. I spent my ...

I have had some wild summers, but the craziest was my 21st summer. While most 21-year-olds were working their way through bars and shot glasses, I signed a ‘no alcohol’ clause and chose to live in a tent in the outskirts of Tijuana, Mexico. For three months I built 11x22 foot “homes” – more like sheds in American standards. They had a concrete floor, framed walls, a stucco exterior, and a roof that hopefully did not leak. The summer ended with a great climax. I had just finished building a house for a grandmother, her daughter, son-in-law, and three small children. As I stood back and admired the modest two-room structure that would shelter six people, the grandmother started hugging me and through her tears continued to say, “No mas noches frios” (no more cold nights.) In that moment, I felt powerful. I felt like a hero. I made a difference. And then I saw her. She was a tiny little girl named Maria. I assumed she was three years old, but learned that she was actually seven. Her s...

One phrase frequently whispers in my ear, “Trust the process.” When it comes to the healing process, I am usually kicking and screaming. Trusting the process takes me out of control. I like to be in control of everything. When I am in control, I set the pace, I foresee potential obstacles, and I determine what I reveal. Mostly, control is about keeping me emotionally and physically safe. Trusting the process is letting go of control; letting go of the need to be in the know regarding everything that is happening to me. They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again expecting a different result. When I limit the healing process to my own devises, this is equally insane. It is not that I do not know a few things about healing. I have a degree of self-awareness and clinical knowledge. In other words, I have a few tricks up my sleeve. Unfortunately, my little bag of tricks does not include a magic wand capable of making things instantly better. There w...

sanc•ti•ty/ˈsaNG(k)titē/ Noun: The state or quality of being holy, sacred, or saintly. Ultimate importance and inviolability. Synonyms: holiness; saintliness; sainthood; sacredness. Did you notice the word, inviolability? That means being secured from violence or desecration. We were created to be holy. Our lives are sacred. They were meant to be protected; to be cherished and honored. Unfortunately not everyone values life. I am really struggling with this blog post. I know what it means to be violated – I know the pain and shame that comes with it. At the same time, sharing this in a public forum such as a blog opens up my story for others to treat it as they may. Translation: I run the risk of further violation by my experience being misunderstood or invalidated. What I do know is that being violated left me feeling powerless, hopeless, and without worth. I came to this conclusion because when I looked in the mirror, I only saw my wounds. I lost sight of the truth of my exis...

I debated between two “R” words – reconciliation and restoration. Some may confuse the two. Reconciliation is the erasing of debt; the removal of the junk in our lives. Restoration is returning something or someone to their original luster and integrity. I have a deep appreciation for antiques. Three tables in my home are over 100 years old. My dining room was my paternal grandmother's (complete with a cigarette burn in the table pad). My kitchen table was used by my parents when they first got married (and it had been passed down to them from other friends and family members). And a small drop leaf harp table was used as an eating table when my maternal grandparents were first married. When I sit at these tables, there are times when I feel a sense of connection to the history they carry. Oh the stories that must have been shared around those tables. The history only adds to the character and value of the piece. As these antiques moved into my home, some restoration occurred...

I have spent my life asking questions, and at times they have landed me in a great deal of trouble. When learning about reflection and refraction in 8th grade science, I struggled to grasp the concept because no one could explain to me why light bent as it did. I was told, “It is because it is. You just have to accept it.” I never accepted that answer and subsequently my grade suffered. Blind faith in the laws of physics and nature did not sit well with me. I also learned that questioning the rules of authority was not a good idea. I was a professional back-talker – partially because I needed to have the last word, but mostly I needed to feel a sense of control. This was especially true if I felt the slightest sense of injustice. I needed to know the reasons behind the rule and the justification for the consequence. I needed to be in the know to feel safe. I needed to control what was happening to me. There was a time when I would have died in battle over my questions. I was in rel...

We make promises, and promises are made to us. When my husband proposed to me, he asked me to promise him three things. I would never have an affair, I would take on his last name while finding a way to keep my maiden name, and I would I would commit to working through the hard times and not withdraw. Mind you I was hanging 700 feet in the air when these promised were asked of me! All humor aside, I agreed that fidelity and perseverance were critical for a marriage to succeed and had no problem making such promises and I expected the same in return. I think we all grow up expecting various promises to be kept, even when they are not clearly articulated. We expect to be loved unconditionally by our parents. We expect to be protected and to grow up feeling safe. We expect our spouse to remain faithful. We expect people to tell us the truth and treat us with dignity. If we grew up in a religious background, we were taught we could expect God to be true to his promises—to be with us, a...

I have been using the metaphor of gestation and pregnancy to describe my journey into writing.   The “pregnancy” was long – I am thinking close to twenty-five years now.   I started writing in elementary school.   When the house was asleep, I would write out stories on lined notebook paper and then tuck them away in my closet.   I wrote in a journal faithfully through high school and college.   I wrote from my soul – it was honest, and it was dark.   In my mid-twenties I started graduate school and continued writing.   Up until then, I wrote only for myself.   During this time, a vision seed was planted – someday I would write for a larger audience.   It took another several years for that seed to gestate before I went into labor.    The labor process was painful – it meant letting go of doctoral studies (and thus quitting something I had started for the first time in my life.)   I had felt a calling on my life. ...

I used to be afraid of the night until I realized the gift that it has to offer. When I was 16, I went on my first wilderness backpacking trip in upper Michigan. I, along with a bunch of guys, spent a week hiking 50 miles and canoeing 100 miles. Towards the end of the trip, our leader and guide Kent, had us set up camp on a small island in the middle of the river. It was a perfect spot to camp with one exception – no source of clean water. Kent suggested that if we waited until it was dark, we would be able to take our canoes upstream a bit and hear fresh spring water flowing into the river. In the daytime, there was too much noise, too many distractions that would prevent us from successfully finding our much needed water. But in the silence of night, we would easily find what we were looking for. And he was right. We found what we were looking for (and the bonus adventure of getting into a splash war with a beaver -- who knew an oar could also serve as a makeshift beaver tail!)...

“Thank God for the hill, the sky, the morning sun, the manna on the ground which every morning renews our lives.” Thomas Merton For six straight summers, I was the luckiest girl in the world. I got to attend Sugar Creek Camp, which was indeed the best camp ever. For a week in August, I got to hike at Turkey Run State Park, swim, ride horses, canoe, and leave my bed in the middle of the night to watch meteor showers. The counselors were amazing and the smart ones eventually became co-conspirators with me and my fellow prankster extraordinaire, Sarah. How many camp counselors actually help you pull pranks on other cabins and counselors? I suppose that was the better option than finding themselves taped to their bed (Mandy Baldwin, if you are reading this, I extend my heartfelt apology.) For all the sheer glee Sugar Creek Camp brought to my life, my favorite part was the morning. We had the option of tying a sock to our bed and being awoken at 5:30 in the morning to go fishing. I am ...

When is the last time you really wanted something? When have you pursued something just beyond your reach? What do you long for? David writes in the Psalm 42, “As the deer longs for streams of water, so my soul longs for you, O God.” He goes on to describe darkness in his soul. Despite this darkness, despite the seeming silence of his God, David holds on to his longing and waits for God. He longs for relief from his condition and yet keeps his eyes fixed on the hope that this darkness will lift and he will once again sing praises. We live in a culture that works against the idea of longing. We are all about instant gratification and quick fixes. We are full of food, noise, entertainment, and stimuli. We have stuffed ourselves so full we have drowned out space for longing. We are content with the junk, but I fear we are missing out on the really good stuff. Longing leads us to a deep intimacy. It is pursuing something beyond us – something more than what we currently have. To lon...

We reap what we sow. If we plant seeds of negativity, bitterness, and general ugliness, we should not be surprised when our life and our relationships seem downright awful. Who wants to be around someone who complains and argues all the time? Certainly not me. Some of us are grumblers. We have a malaise about us. We are far from optimistic in our outlook on life. We believe nothing good will come of our life – we are destined for misery. This is difficult company to be around, but if it is another person I have the choice to gauge my proximity. I will work hard to avoid bad attitudes, for I know they are contagious. I hear whining and I start to get cranky. I can generally keep my distance from such stink; that is unless the stench is me. Kindness is a powerful tool in removing the foul odor of bad attitudes. Someone much wiser than me once said, “Every day you will make a mark on someone’s life. It is up to you what kind of mark that will be.” Sometimes it is difficult to choose ...

Joy is a state of being. It is not an emotion. Joy is too easily confused with happiness, but they are not the same. Happiness comes and goes. It is contingent on our circumstances. If something good happens, then we feel happy. A moment later, we hear a piece of bad news and we feel sad. Our joy is not moved by the ups and downs of life. It is steadfast. Joy is having the confidence, peace, and hope that we will survive the tough things of life. It is the hope that even if we should physically die, our soul will never die. Joy knows that when bad things do happen, it is not God or the universe conspiring to destroy us. Many of us have lost our joy. When bad things happen we start to wonder why God is rejecting us. We question God’s love and promises. “If you are so good, then why is this happening to me?” In our anger, we may deny God. I spent years giving God the middle finger because I was angry at my circumstances. I perceived God as distant and uncaring. God failed to protect...

In my previous posts within this series, I have focused a lot of attention on our inner thoughts, emotional well-being, and personal spirituality. Today, I am writing about the benefit of getting out and being involved. If we remain in our own little worlds all the time, staring intently at our navels, it is likely we will become self-centered. We could become like Narcissus and fall so deeply in love with our own reflection that we would rather die than stop staring at it. At the very least, staring so intently at our own navels will lead to boredom (there is only so much belly lint). On the flip side, only focusing our attention on others leads to the martyr syndrome. We help others to avoid looking at our own depravity, but then we grow weary from all our giving and self-sacrifice. We move from feeling good about ourselves because we are someone’s hero to feeling resentment because they need so much. We need to have a both/and attitude – spending time in self-reflection AND spe...

The only direction I know to go with humility is to be open about my own journey. I was tough as nails. I took great pride in my physical strength. My strength showed itself best in high school. Each summer, I would take a week with my church group and build a house in Tijuana, Mexico. We would build an 11’x22’ house complete with a concrete floor, stucco walls, and shingle-rolled roof. The best part for me, it was all done without the use of electricity or a cement mixer. I was not overly athletic, but I could lift a ninety pound concrete mix bag with no assistance (I would laugh because it often took two of the boys to carry a bag). I physically worked hard – when others would take breaks I was still going. Others noticed my ability and I felt affirmed. I also took a lot of pride in my emotional strength, or at least that it how I perceived it at the time. I was stoic, and I never cried. Not only did I lack tears, but I felt nothing. At funerals, graduations, and sad movies, other...

Growth is the visible sign of progress. If you walk through my laundry room, you will see three vertical lines of hash marks. These little black marks represent the physical growth of my three children. Periodically, they ask to be measured for they are confident they are indeed taller than the last time they stood with their backs straight and heels to the wall. For my preschoolers, signs of growth are equated with more independent skills and privileges. Someday they will be big like mommy and daddy and do things like ride a two-wheel bike and drink coffee (or at least this is what they tell me.) They want to grow up. In case you doubted their intention, just refer to them as a baby and they will quickly correct you, “No, I am a big kid.” Physical growth and maturity is an inevitable part of our humanity. Many of us try and turn back the clocks of aging, but we all eventually get wrinkles, gray hair, and atrophied muscles. Emotional and spiritual growth trajectories fall into the o...

“Faith is the realization of what is hoped for and evidence of things not seen.” (Hebrews 11:1). Faith believes without seeing, touching, or truly knowing. The healing process is a journey that will take us to unexpected places. There is no absolute map, for each path is unique to the one on the journey. It is like having a trail guide. If you have never seen or used a trail guide, allow me to explain. I have section hiked portions of the Appalachian Trail through North Carolina, Tennessee, and Virginia. For this section of the trail, there is a little pink book that if you follow along page by page, it will tell you where you might find a water source, a good place to sleep, or various hazards to avoid or at least be aware (like bears!). I have hiked one particular 40-mile section three times – once in snow, once right after the spring thaw, and once in extreme heat. The guide book helped me stay on the trail, but it did not have solutions to frozen ground, ice covered wood, high w...

Back in my youth ministry days, there was a popular quote: “Salvation is a journey, not a destination.” I resonated well with this quote then, and find it just a true now. In the letters of St. Paul, he often wrote about running races and enduring hardships. In his letter to the Philippians, he stated, “Not that I have already achieved this, but I press on to win the prize.” At the beginning of this liturgical year (Advent 2010), I began meditating on the word, “Steadfast.” As part of a physical expression of this word, I decided to once again run a half marathon. I am not a runner. I am especially not a fast runner (think 11-12 minute miles). But I completed the 13.1 mile goal in May 2010 and have continued running a couple of times/week. In my running, I have noticed something significant. Wherever I have set my mark as a finish line, I go no further. If I set out for a 3 mile run and then start dwelling on how tired I am or the slight cramp in my knee I move the finish line clos...

A couple of disclaimers: 1) “Diagnonsense” is not an original word from my brain; it is from the film Girl, Interrupted . 2) I am in no way diminishing the validity or effects of mental illness. In fact, I believe society does not take them serious enough. I am taking the liberty to use the word “diagnosis” beyond psychological labels for various mental illnesses. In this segment, I am attempting to address the labels placed upon us by our own creation or ones given to us by someone else. Diagnosis can be official (e.g. depression, bipolar, panic disorder . . .), or it may be based on the roles we played in our families or social groups (e.g. trouble-maker, odd one, instigator, black sheep, oops child . . .). Whatever the source, our diagnosis shapes how we perceive ourselves and how we relate to the world. First, let me elaborate on the positive. The actual diagnosis can be helpful in that it can highlight what we are up against. I personally have understood the effects of depr...

I love books, especially books that make me think. My bookshelves are lined with everything from the ancient writings of the mystics and saints to the literary words of Flannery O’Conner and J.D. Salinger. It appears I cannot get enough of the written word. That being said, allow me to discuss my favorite book. The most influential I have read in many years (aside from the Bible) is “The Monster at the End of the Book” by none other than loveable and furry old Grover. For those not familiar with Grover, he is one of the stars of Sesame Street. The premise of the book – Grover exerts all his efforts to prevent the reader from turning the pages and thus moving closer to the monster at the end of the book. He uses rope, bricks and steel in attempts to hold down each page. The reader of course continues towards the end of the book only to find the monster is Grover.  And recognizing the craziness of his efforts to avoid the conclusion, he announces, “Oh, I am so embarrassed.” Our ...