Finding Peace (via Trinitarian Dance)

When the waves of life come crashing down, there is Peace.  I found this beautiful portrayal of peace while tag surfing through WordPress. 

Finding peace. (via Trinitarian Dance)

The waves of life washing over my feet, hypnotically I stare ahead, not really noticing my feet sinking into the sands of time. It takes all my energy just to stand, against the forces against me.

The wind adds to the the pounding and the upheaval of the waves. Isolated and alone: though imbedded in a community of sand, each grain causing a community of likeness; where individuality is not rewarded. Together in unity they create the expansive illusion of beauty, while trying to stand against the eternal forces that are continually eroding and adding to their number.

It’s an allusion, for though it looks white and pure as far as one can see; the externality of the beach is lifeless. It’s deep down and buried under the beach where life abounds. Life  abounds within and under the surface of the seas. As each wave crashes onto the shores, within the split second of cover, life devours that which the seas uncover, before covering that which it eroded so shortly before.

In the same way I hide from the ache of my soul. Yet the waves of life continually shows me that which I don’t want to see. Yet slowly,  consistently and relentlessly I am buffeted from the winds and the waves which threaten to destroy me. The emotions of fear, anxiety, hopelessness and distrust are the waves of destruction which seek to overwhelm me.

Yet there is one who calms the storm. There is one who heals the ache. There is one in whom there is hope, mercy, peace, love and faithfulness. And its to he I cry – Lord can you not see the state of my soul. Can you not see what is going on in my life. Can you not see what is going on around me. Awake my Lord from your slumber and order the storms of life to stop, so that I may find your peace, stand in peace, and be covered in peace.

I am thankful for those storms. For without them, I wouldn’t know myself. I wouldn’t know my ache deep within. I wouldn’t be aware of my need. And in my crying out, I discovered that what I sought wasn’t what I thought and true peace truly enveloped my being.

(c) Craig Bennett. http://craigbenno1.wordpress.com

self harm (via leesis ponders)

“An unconditional loving response may not heal but it’s the only place to start and anything less will definitely hurt.”

The above statement alone says it all, but the entire post, originally from another blog site, is well worth a read.  A loving response is what we all need, unconditionally.

self harm

I have learnt that when life is tough we have a choice. We can decide to suffer or we can decide to learn. I have written before of how at nine I was placed in an orphanage (see http://leesis.wordpress.com/2011/03/22/theres-no-such-thing-as-beyond-repair/. I cannot deny that this was a painful event yet I was to understand that there was learning that would come in handy many years later and for this I am deeply grateful.

I walked around the corner of the locked acute psychiatric ward. There sat sixteen year old Karen. her back against the wall with a glazed look in her eyes, her arm sliced open…about six inches from just above her wrist vein, nearly to her elbow, the flaps of skin hanging on both sides, blood everywhere. I was at the end of my second year of Psychiatric Nursing training. I knew her diagnosis and I knew the ‘recommended’ nursing interventions. Diagnosis; borderline personality disorder, intervention; attend to the physical requirements but give no attention otherwise. But I was me and I saw her and I responded.

Here was a young girl who was in such pain that she needed to rip a part of the toilet role holder off the wall and slit her arm open. I pressed my buzzer so staff would come, knelt down beside her and with one hand pressed above the wound to decrease the blood flow put my other arm around her shoulders clutching her to me in a hug.

“Oh honey what have you done?”

Her eyes lost their glaze and she looked at me.

“What do you mean?”

“Karen what do you mean what do I mean? Babe you’ve just cut your whole arm open. You must be in so much pain.” She looked down at her arm.

“It doesn’t hurt at all”

“No I don’t mean your arm I mean your heart”

She looked at me wonderingly.

“I didn’t think anyone here gave a stuff. Every other time I’ve hurt myself I’ve just been stitched up and ignored.”

The other nurses turned up at this time and being senior took over. I went off on a break to ponder what Karen had said.

After my break I went back to Karen who had been put in the high dependency section after having her arm stitched up and bandaged. She gave me a challenging stare having returned to her rather confrontative self.

“’Spose you think I’m just seeking attention too”

“Actually Karen I wasn’t thinking about you as much as I was thinking about Janet”

“Whose Janet?”

So I told Karen about Janet. I met Janet in the orphanage. She too was nine. Where I was mostly silent she was a ball of rage but on one particular day I saw the pain under that rage. We were in class when one of the other kids screamed and pointed at her. Janet was sticking drawing pins into her knee…right in. When I looked she already had about five in, blood trickling down under each pin, and was slowly placing more and more in. The nun yelled at her and then rushed out of the room only to return seconds later with another nun.

“Janet would you stop trying to get attention” one of them yelled. Janet just kept putting more pins in. The nuns yelled some more about how bad she was. I walked up to the nun in charge.

“She’s not being naughty. She’s just hurting. Can’t you help her?”

I stopped the story there and looked at Karen. Tears were pouring down her face.

Karen and I worked together until she was discharged. I was to learn like most people with self-harming behaviour she had a horrendous upbringing. Borderline personality disorder is one of the many ways we can maladjust because of such experiences. Now I look back I don’t know if I really helped. I was too inexperienced. Yet I know I helped her to know that at least one person wasn’t labelling her, wasn’t judging her but was simply there for her when she was feeling crappy.

To the average Joe I guess people self harming seems outrageous. The ‘system’ mostly calls it attention seeking behaviour. But as I once pointed out to a condescending psychiatrist; yes, it is attention seeking…it is a person saying help…I’m in so much pain…won’t someone please help me.

I ended up working specifically with folks experiencing such pain and the more I learnt the better I got. But one thing never changed. An unconditional loving response may not heal but it’s the only place to start and anything less will definitely hurt.

Leesa

Grandpa Wondering (via J. Thomas Burke)

Shadows of Love happens every day.  There is never a time when the Lover is not calling to us.  To the untrained eye, shadows of Love can flit by unnoticed.  As life happens, we see more clearly.

“When I was young I wanted to add things to my life: friends, money, knowledge, degrees, experiences. Now I can feel life tipping. I’m realizing there is more to lose than there is to gain.”

Grandpa Wondering

Posted on October 28, 2011 by J. Thomas Burke

My father’s father died last week. He was my last grandpa. Until my father called that morning I had always had a grandpa. Now I must face the world grandfatherless. Someday I will face it fatherless, motherless, wifeless, friendless. But this is the way of things. When I was young I wanted to add things to my life: friends, money, knowledge, degrees, experiences. Now I can feel life tipping. I’m realizing there is more to lose than there is to gain. Which is OK. There is nothing out there that I really want that I don’t already have. I just hope that when the world is ready to take more away I’m ready to let go.

Grandpa Wondering

When I opened my locker
my phone was flashing
and I guessed he was gone.

I checked my messages
from Mom and Dad both
asking me to call home.
As I walked down the mall
I heard Dad ask
on the other end

Have you talked to anyone yet?

No. I just got your messages to call.

Grandpa died this morning at 8:30.
I figured you probably guessed that.

And I had. Immediately
I flashed back
to that fall Saturday
when I was 11 and hoping
my cousins would call to play.
The phone rang. I got excited.
It was Grandpa wondering
if I wanted to go to the tractor show.

No, Grandpa, I said. I think Will would enjoy that more.
And they went and had a good time.
I missed a chance,
but at 11—how do you know?

Sitting on a bench
outside of Journey’s
is a strange place to hear
such significant news,
but this is how it happens—
always on its own terms
and never when it is convenient for us.
But life is not convenient.
Why would we expect death
to be any different?

I called my wife
from that bench
to tell her it happened.
She and Grandpa had a special connection.

Can you talk, I asked.

Yes.

Grandpa died this morning at 8:30.

I’m sorry, Jer, she said
as a woman in a red coat
sat right next to me
on the bench of my mourning.
She sat and listened
as I told my wife about the wake,
the funeral plans waiting
almost until the end
before she got uncomfortable
and stood up pretending
to read the information kiosk.
Death does that to us.
We’d rather ignore it,
keep pretending
like it is something that happens
to someone else rather
than the nothing always waiting
for us.

Again I remember Grandpa
and Grandma’s 60th wedding anniversary.
I asked him

After all these years
what advice do you have
for us about marriage?

He paused
and said

I learned right away—once you’re married: no girlfriends

and he slid his hands through the air
like an umpire
calling a runner safe
wiping out the possibility
and clearing the way for us
to reach 60 years, too.

I sit here still
eating a pretzel now, but not tasting it
and wondering what Grandpa had
for his last meal.