Searching for Sacred

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...