Journal of Sacred Work

Days 347-349 - Staying in Love

"...the essence of love is not to use the other to make us happy but to serve and affirm the one(s) we love." - Robert A. Johnson

   "Tell me a magic story that makes me happy," my little granddaughter asked me. 

   We all know this "magic" story. It starts with "Once upon a time" and ends with "...happily ever after."

   Some part of me wishes I could create such a life story for her. But, that kind of half-toned world would rob her of the rich colors of the full spectrum of humanity.

   Adults can tell each other happy stories. But, we can't make each other happy for long unless we understand what it means to Love.

   I have a heck of a time getting this straight. Romance naturally brings joy so why avoid it?

   Indeed, perhaps Johnson's analysis is so against human nature as to be unrealistic. His quote underscores how difficult it is to practice what we know is true. How do we let go of our desire to use the world to make us happy as opposed to affirming life with gratitude?

   It's in our nature, enshrined as a right in the American Constitution, to pursue happiness. Is Johnson trying to tell us we are wrong?

   Who can resist the rapture that ensues when Cupid's love-tipped arrow releases euphoria?

   Yet I know that my humanity erodes if I objectify any kind of relationship. Seeking to remake the one we love into our idea of perfection is, by definition, a doomed pursuit.

 "Jan" told me recently that she had "completely fallen in love" with her role as a caregiver in a large organization. Wonderful as this story is, it holds a warning.

   The punishing angels of idealization and perfectionism lurk within. What if Jan super-imposes her personal fantasy onto her calling? What if she tries to convert her mission into an object of her happiness?

  Falling in love with the idea of the "perfect" job or the "perfect" person is easy. Staying in love requires so much more of us.  

   Caregiver fatigue resembles the exhaustion of lovers whose relationship is grounded solely in romance. Radical Love is made of stronger stuff.

   Unless it matures into Love, romance will fall victim to impossible expectations. Only Love can survive the doses of anger, impatience and disappointment certain to appear in any long relationship.   

   Our most sacred life encounters, the ones where we stay in Love, are the ones where the fragile fabric of infatuation is woven with respect, friendship, laughter, listening, endurance and the sure knowledge that Love never owns. It can only celebrate the other.

-Erie Chapman

Photograph - Fantasy Series 1a copyright erie chapman 2011

Days 345-346 Little Surprises

Note: Weekend essay by guest contributor ~liz Sorensen Wessel

Thanksgiving  provides ample opportunity to reflect on an abundance of blessings in our midst. The anticipation of celebrating with family and friends is often coupled with our expectations, as we envision a perfect occasion spent with loved ones. Yet, the expectations we conjure in our minds may take us down a slippery slope of disappointment.

 Unless of course, we choose to see a little differently. I find that when I let go of my preconceived notions and surrender to life’s poignant contradictions and paradoxes, little surprises arise that can delight one's soul.

 Moments of  little  surprises laced with abiding love:

•  Some come in spontaneous; split second decisions that well up suddenly and spill over in a resounding yes, as intuition spurs us forward (like a first step one never regrets.)
•  As an unexpected conversation, that takes us both beyond mere social pleasantries into a sense of wonder.
•  In hearts that risk opening to vulnerability with a desire to cross the threshold of acceptance to the sacredness of unconditional love and friendship (as revealed in a true Anam Cara.) A treasured friend, who has space for feelings without judgment, does not try to fix, nor tell us how we should feel.
•  At a time of great loss, for some reason you and I were there, listening and bearing witness as a bereaved lover gave testimony to the immensity of love.
• I left S. Dakota in the very early morning the day after Thanksgiving. My son drove me to the airport and we chatted as the car weaved through the darkness of the country roads. My granddaughter chirped sweet sing-song chatter in the back seat. The sun was busy awakening sky's passion in deep crimson, turning indigo blue, then golden.
•  Touching upon emptiness, we learn how to befriend our fears.
• A mom catches the magnificent spirit of her little girl as she takes a walk in the woods.

 Writing this tonight, I feel an affinity towards the little surprises that catch us unaware and catapult us into mindful awareness of the preciousness of our relationships with each other. It is in this spirit that I wish to share an extraordinary video, contributed by our dear Journal friend, Candace Nagle.

 ~liz Sorensen Wessel

 

  Note: above photo above taken by my niece, Lisa Gayle Italiano of her Daughter Raegan

Days 340-344 - Catching Rain

  Rain's arrival caused me to pop open the umbrella to protect my one-year old grandson. From what?

   He immediately extended his tiny hand (left) and caught a raindrop. Smiling, he tried to hand it to me.

   North and South it always seems to rain during Thanksgiving week. Cloudy skies brings grumbles to some adults. But, not to the very young.

   What about autumn leaves? Instead of just watching them fall, have you tried to catch one and make a wish on it before releasing it to the ground?

   I scoop out leaves to clean the small pond in our back yard. My youngest grandson prefers to toss them back in.

   This is all childish nonsense to some. For me, it may be childish, but it's not nonsense.

   I have no words to describe the river of light that flowed through me when I saw that little, dimpled hand catch rain. A million memories drenched my heart as I extended my own hand to join his.

   It's such a trivial thing. And nothing is so important. 

   The famed poet (and physician) William Carlos Williams, M.D., captured this notion in a poem I love to quote: 

"so much depends

upon

a red wheel

barrow

glazed with rain

water

beside the white

chickens."

   I remember using this poem once in a devotional at a hospital I was leading. Afterwards, I glimpsed the odd expressions on some of the executive's faces. It was easy to discern their thoughts: "What the heck does this have to do with running a hospital and why is the CEO reading such a thing?" 

   Catching rain can be like catching Love. Small children reach for rain drops with innocence and joy. Why is it so difficult for most adults to do the same?

   In order to "catch" Love, we may need to loosen our death-grip on the harder realities of caregiving. Our human competence thirsts to be sprinkled by the mysteries of the heart.

   Can we learn from a one-year old that grace may arrive in a single raindrop as powerfully as in an entire day of sunshine?

 -Erie Chapman 

photo copyright erie chapman 2011

Days: 338-339 Thanksgiving Gratitude

 

"At times our own light goes out and is rekindled by a spark from another person. Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude

of those who have lighted the flame within us."

                                                                                    -- Albert Schweitzer 

                                                                                                                                                               
Painting is by artist Pat Willems CSJ, Compliments of Ministry of the Arts

Thanksgiving Day Prayer
by Walter Rauschenbusch (1861–1918)

For the wide sky and the blessed sun,
For the salt sea and the running water,
For the everlasting hills
And the never-resting winds,
For trees and the common grass underfoot.
We thank you for our senses
By which we hear the songs of birds,
And see the splendor of the summer fields,
And taste of the autumn fruits,
And rejoice in the feel of the snow,
And smell the breath of the spring.
Grant us a heart wide open to all this beauty;
And save our souls from being so blind
That we pass unseeing
When even the common thornbush
Is aflame with your glory,
O God our creator,
Who lives and reigns for ever and ever.

                                       

 •*¨*•.¸¸  ¸¸.•*¨*•♫♪ ¸.•*¨*

 

Happy Thanksgiving!

I am ever so blessed by your light-filled presence in my life. Wishing you an abundance of blessings to enliven your heart with love and peace.

With gratitude ~liz

 Ministry of the Arts is a non-profit ministry sponsored by the Congregation of St. Joseph.

 Note: Week-end reflection contributed by ~liz SorensenWessel

Days 336-337 - Diving Into Depth

   "You have not grown old, and it is not too late/ to dive into your increasing depths/ where life calmly gives out its own secret." Rainer Maria Rilke (translated by Robert Bly)

   We who seek a lot from life are insatiable. Like the painter at left (mimicked coincidentally by a piece of crumpled paper in the foreground) we are forever reaching for more.

   We keep asking the old, big questions and finding new answers every day. None of the answers seems satisfactory for long.

   Shallow water holds no mystery. We dive deeper, swim closer to the bone. Perhaps, we plunge into the gritty marrow where life holds her rawest threats and richest secrets.

   "You see, I want a lot." Rilke writes. "Perhaps I want everything..."

   We lovers of Rilke-like quests exhaust others who gave up early and live pining for the weekend or for retirement by which time their life's "own secret" may have further receded from view. 

   Exhaustion, repetitive work, and oppressive work environments can suck the energy from our days if we give in. Veteran caregivers may forget the energy they felt at the beginning.

   Do you remember your first day of work? Do you recall your anxiety-laced excitement as you entered something completely new?

   There is no exact moment when the work turns routine. Gradually, something in us collapses and we default to the easy patterns.

   A job is just a job, right? Why dive deeper? 

   The best among us follow Emily Dickinson's dictum: "We must always keep the door ajar, ready for the ecstatic experience."

   When that moment arrives, the finest among us don't just stand and watch. They wrap their souls with light and dive in.

   How does experience yield moments of light? During a lunch with two veteran obstetricians I asked each why they had chosen their specialty. "It's something I discovered I could do," the first doctor told me. His bored expression confirmed that his door to ecstacy had slammed shut.

   The second doctor said, "I've delivered hundreds of babies and I'm fascinated everytime. I love helping a new person onto the stage."

   "What if the delivery goes badly?" I asked. 

   "That's part of the tension. In hard cases, I dig deeper. It's heartbreaking...and I'm a better physician afterwards."

   Between these two doctor's dull and bright perspectives lies the half-light most people occupy. We move through our days doing the best we can, like it or not.

   One day, if our "door is ajar" we may be startled into seeing the ordinary in an extraordinary way. Driving a familiar road we may encounter an accident that jars us into rediscovering our caregiving as a calling. 

   Like auto accidents, epiphanies occur unexpectedly. When they do, can we find the strength to dive deeper into the secret our life holds calmly in its hands?

-Erie Chapman

Photograph - "Crumpled Paper and Painter" copyright Erie Chapman 2011

Days 333-335 - Feminine Energy

   Love teaches relationships. Since our divine and human natures tangle within us in confusing ways, we need help.

   Women understand relationships. They learn early and it is that feminine energy from which men must discover the nature of Love.  

   With the powerful exception of my father, my earliest years were dominated by feminine energy. Sandwiched by birth between two lovely sisters (above left), I was also raised by a sweet mother who seemed always present.

   Even my best friend was a girl. Jill Bloksgaard (nee Rutkin) was a natural athlete (with me, below, in 1951). By the time we were about six, other boys started teasing me about playing with a girl.

   I launched the perfect defense: "She's not a girl, she's a tomboy," I pronounced to a peer. "Good point," he agreed.

   Around the time of the photo I remember having a silly argument with Jill about who was better, boys or girls. Losing ground, I suddenly fired what I thought would be the winning shot, "Jesus was a boy!" I proclaimed.

   Undaunted Jill said, "Right. Born from a woman!"

   Six decades later, Jill and I remain friends. With her fine balance of intelligence, talent and femininity, she has been a compassionate caregiver to both animals and people all of her life.  

   At least seventy-five percent of America's professional caregivers are women. Hospitals, nursing homes and hospices are staffed primarily by women. In fact, based on posted comments, it would appear that over ninety percent of the Journal's readers are females!

   Although eighty percent of hospitals are lead by men, women dominate direct caregiving. Why?

   Is it because our mothers are our first caregivers?

   Feminine energy, flowing through man or woman, is kind. Male energy, burning through woman or man, is aggressive. 

   It's Mother Nature and Mother Earth not Father. Spring is feminine (although its thunder is masculine.) 

   In both a geometric and natural sense, I think of female energy as round and male energy as straight-edged. Beauty, often expressed artistically by men, is curved and feminine. War is masculine. 

   Kahlil Gibran wrote, "A woman whom Providence has provided with beauty of spirit and body is a truth, at the same time both open and secret, which we understand only by love...and when we attempt to describe such a woman she disappears like a vapor."

   This is the essence of Love. It can be lived but not described.

   Male energy battles disease. Feminine energy offers the compassion suffering desires.  

   To argue that one  energy is better than the other is as foolish as the childhood argument Jill and I had so long ago.  What both caregiving and the world need, of course, is the right balance of female and male energy.

   This is what Jesus embodied. The male energy to advance his message against savage attack surged through his worldly body.

   Simultaneously, Jesus possessed a vast feminine energy which enabled him to shape Love's message with language as soft and round as Peace. 

-Reverend Erie Chapman

Days 331-332 When You Close Your Eyes

  "I’m at home wherever I am/And in the room of lovers/I can see with closed eyes/the beauty that dances." -Rumi
 

Note:Weekend meditation offered by ~liz Sorensen Wessel

On Saturday, I attended a concert with friends at an intimate little venue. We sat up front and personal, just three rows from the stage, as we listened to a phenomenal performance by musician, Laurence Juber. I was mesmerized as I watched this remarkable artist play. When he closed his eyes, he went into a deeper realm as he became completely immersed in the music. His guitar music, body and soul’s energy transformed into one unified instrument and resonated in communion with the audience.

 On Wednesday, Brian, Home Health Medical Director attended our weekly Palliative Care  conference to discuss patients who were experiencing pain.  He reviewed the patient’s medical record, received a nursing report and then we placed a telephone call to each patient. As the patient began to share his or her story with Dr.B, I noticed that's when he closed his eyes. He listened with total concentration for clues that the patient offered. Masterfully, his mind problem solved the best option of care. In his kind way, he explored with the patient what might be of help. His is the fine art of science and compassion.

On Thursday, My dear friend Yolanda stopped by to visit. I listened as she recounted her miraculous experience of deepening faith and abundant Love. She told me about when she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep she has had profound visions. She described a vibrant red heart of Christ that appeared to her with a message of deep abiding love. It brought her to her knees in prayerful tears of joy. In another vision, she saw an immense white bowl that was effervescing in rainbow colors as Christ’s face manifested in three stages of his life, as he lived, was crucified, and resurrected to new life. I felt blessed to be with Yolanda and to bear witness to her open receptivity and joyful awakening in Love.

 On Friday when I closed my eyes, awareness was centered on my breathing and the soft rise and fall of my chest. My mind danced in circles, yet at other moments I was enfolded in calm. Although, not seen, my heart knew the Divine was near.

 When I closed  my eyes to make a wish I scattered dandelion seeds in the air as the child within remembered the magic of being alive.

 When I closed my eyes, I understood a simple truth.

 When I close my eyes, I think of you and my heart overflows with love and gratitude.

When you close your eyes…

Note: Heart picture is from the Internet.

                                                                                                                 ~liz

Days 329-330 - How Words Shape Humanity

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   What if I notice the sun flaming through autumn trees at dawn and decide to tell a friend what I saw? How should I describe my experience? Do the words I choose matter?

   Here are a few choices: "I saw the sun coming through the trees this morning. Interesting." And another, "The sun coming through the trees this morning was so awesome!" Or, "The dawn sun cut one autumn tree into a stained glass window."

   The word "interesting" doesn't tell us much. And we have so bludgeoned the fine old word "awesome" with overuse that the word no longer carries power. The third choice may not be the best, but it at least gives us an image to provoke our thinking and thus to deepen our experience of Beauty.

   Words often determine our humanity. When we work to find the right ones, we can enrich life experience and affirm God's Love. 

   When we use the wrong ones, we can get a result like this:

    In 1978, a six-year old child of God came home from school to find his rural Tennessee home empty. His parents had deserted him. He lived alone in the house for three days until neighbors lent help. Across the next eight years, the rejected child lived in nineteen different homes.

   At fifteeen, the runaway stole a tractor-mower and sold it for two hundred dollars and moved into a cardboard box. 

   At sixteen, the juvenile delinquent spent a few months in jail for theft.

   At twenty-one, the criminal went off to prison.

   At twenty-nine, the murderer entered his cell on Death Row.

   At thirty-nine, #321012 remains on Death Row wondering if he will live to see his fortieth birthday.

   The words the world used to describe my friend Glenn got steadily more degrading after his parents deserted him. He went from child of God to child on the run, to juvenile delinquent, to criminal, to murderer, to a man condemned to die by lethal injection. 

   Do words matter? It's hard to kill a human. It's not as hard to execute a number.

   It's hard to kill a child of God. It's easier when we use the word "murderer."

   But this is not about the death penalty, or even about the labels that have torn down Glenn's life ever since he was old enough to learn words.

   This is about the patient in room 3012. Is the patient "the gall bladder" or "the woman with gall bladder disease?" 

   If she's "the gall bladder" it's not so hard to ignore her call light. If she's a woman, then we, as humans, need to help.

   We need to find better words than "awesome" to describe Beauty. Calling a human being "the gall bladder" degrades us as well as the being in our care.

   We don't all need to be poets. Yet, finding more humane language tells us whether we are living in God's Light, or walking in the half tones of shallow experience.

Reverend Erie Chapman 

Days 326-328 - The Divine Embrace - Self-Compassion vs. Self-Pity

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    It's become difficult for me to write to you without first consulting the wisdom of John O'Donohue. "Something in us senses and knows how perfectly the contours of the soul fit the divine embrace," he writes. "It is the deepest dream of the soul to be in the intimacy of Divine Beauty."

  We cannot experience "the intimacy of Divine Beauty" without compassion for others. We cannot express compassion unless we have first learned the oft-confusing practice of self-compassion.

   Living self-compassion happens too rarely because it is confused with self-pity or self-indulgence. These two negative behaviors are actually the opposite of self-compassion.

   For pianist Kelsi Fulton (above) playing the piano is an act of self-compassion as well as a vocation. The music flowing through her fingers helps heal her heart. 

   Pity, on the other hand, acts superior. "Look at that poor man," the pitying person says. "I feel sorry for him."

   "Look at poor me," the self-pitier says. "I feel so sorry for myself.

   "I am so wretched," Self-Indulgence tells us. "I need another martini."

   Pity looks down. Compassion looks eye-to-eye.

   Pity stares. Compassion shares.

   Self-care requires self-compassion.

   "When individuals feel self-pity," author Kristin Neff writes, "they become immersed in their own problems and forget that others have similar problems...Self-pity tends to emphasize egocentric feelings of separation from others and exaggerates the extent of personal suffering." 

   A common pastime of mine has been to imagine myself as abandoned and to wallow in the sadness that entails. Which of us has not done the same?

   Self-compassion involves being kind to ourselves. Compassion elides the language of "woe-is-me."

   Self-compassion calls us to forgive. Forgiveness is healing. 

   "I am a good person who will heal better if I rest," Compassion advises. "I don't want to over-eat or over-drink because I care about myself."

   Pity contorts "the contours of the soul." It blocks our soul's ability to engage "the divine embrace."

   Self-compassion drinks from the cup of Beauty to restore the soul. Beauty feeds our souls and enables Love.

   Self-compassion is especially crucial for caregivers. No one wants pity from their doctor or chaplain or friend. Similarly, we do not want to give ourselves doses of pity.

   Far better for us to turn away from indulgence and to open our hearts to compassion.

   We are all hurting. We are all scared.

   Pity wounds us. Self-kindness heals. 

   Water your soul with Beauty. Breathe the scent of God's Love. 

-Reverend Erie Chapman

Photograph - Pianist Kelsi Fulton - copyright Erie Chapman 2011

Days 324-325: Ruah

"As a bird soars high/In the free holding of the wind,/Clear of the certainty of ground,/Opening the imagination of wings/Into the grace of emptiness/To fulfill new voyagings,/May your life awaken/To the call of its freedom." -John O'Donohue

 

Guest meditation by ~liz Sorensen Wessel

Note: Please enter into this reflection by watching this video first... (caution,  you may find yourself watching it several times over.) ;-)

God’s is engaging us in a game of "hide and seek"* and coaxing us into playfulness. We watch in awe as we catch a glimpse of Ruah, and miraculously what was invisible is suddenly a visible presence in our midst.  

 The spirit of God is upon us now as a flowing river mirrored in sky. Oh, how our Beloved lifts these starlings to magnificent heights, only to catch them in free fall as they sail on currents of each breath. We see the most graceful dance of life. Thousands of starlings soaring without hesitation and with the seeming ease of acrobats as they ribbon across the velvety heavens.

  A great maestro conducts the loveliest of symphonies for us to behold. Our souls take flight with these majestic birds as their intuitive, almost choreographed movements flow in unison, curling, swirling, unfurling, and weaving in and out in a convergence of joy. Mesmerized, it's as if we can no longer tell where they begin and we end.

 A precious magical moment, ah but too soon, God takes to hiding again, once visible, then poof invisible, leaving us with traces of Divine Grace to savor.

~liz

note: photo from internet, video from Being blog. * A concept first introduced to me by Alan Watts called "On the Taboo Against Knowing Who You Are."