Journal of Sacred Work

Days 151-156 - Openings To The Soul

   In campfire light my two grandsons lean back to listen to their grandfather spin yarns. Stories line their life experience. Through them they have learned lessons as well as the values of the storytellers.

   Jesus understood this. His life story & his parables inform us every day. 

   Master storytellers are master chefs. They mix the finest ingredients in artful ways: Spice, but not so much it burns the tongue. Tastes that thrill Life's palate. Love that burns away Fear's toxins. 

   The best stories are not told in tales of pure violence or in Hallmark cards. The story of Jesus' death is hardly sweet. It opens what Richard Rohr calls "the necessary hole in the soul" & then fills it with the hope we must have to survive.

  How we describe our suffering determines not whether we are cured but whether we are healed. Self-compassion is as important as other-person compassion. 

   Thus, there can never be too much mercy because mercy is the fruit of forgiveness. There can never be too much love because love is God's light.

   Both are free. Yet, they are often withheld as if the spending of them would bankrupt the donor.

   Love's double blessings flow to giver as well as receiver. Jesus understood that his sacrifice was the only hope of healing our spirit's most tender opening. 

   Of course, most stories are not so dramatic. But, as master spoken word artist Minton Sparks teaches, every story we tell to ourselves is attitude-shaping. 

   And even small tales shared in firelight can open souls to starlight. 

-Erie Chapman

Photograph by Erie

Days 149-150 Crock-It

Note: This weekend reflection is written by guest contributor,  Jolyon Druce.

It is a delight to discover the connections we have with others on our journey.

There has been a cookbook floating around our house for a very long time. My wife, Sharon asked me to scan some recipes for her (to avoid smudging the pages,obtain ingredients for store list, etc.).  “Crock-It”, is a beautifully illustrated book of crockpot recipes. To scan the pages would mean I would have to pretty much destroy the book so I started looking around for a downloadable version. In finding it, I found out how connected this person is to ‘our’ world.

The author, Barbara M. Murray is about my age and grew up in California as well. She is a hospice nurse and wrote, “Transition - A Guide E-Booklet for the End of Life.” In the preface she offers this stunning insight,

 “Death is like turning out the light because the dawn has arrived…”

This is my introduction of her, to you. You see her brother Gilbert Murray was the last person killed by Ted Kaczynski (also known as the Unabomber). “A Sisters Memoir - Surviving the Unabomber’s Last Blast” is a remarkable autobiography that tells part of her story. How as a hospice nurse she struggled to cope with her brother’s tragic death. The grief and the emotional trauma, long buried, would suddenly burst out again (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). In healing, Murray underwent EMDR therapy (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing) to help her move through the PTSD that had overtaken her life.

Part of the therapeutic process involved writing about her experiences, to release them from the inner walls of her prison and to begin to paint the pages of her life. Writing, like drawing, can bring a calmness that aids the expression of difficult memories. It can also help cultivate a loving presence with past painful hurts in order to heal.

In 1970, her high school prom was held at Disneyland. Murray was pregnant and after her baby’s birth, she made the heart wrenching decision to give her baby up for adoption (I could have easily been there at the same time as my high school was
nearby and I visited too). Forty years later Murray revisited Disneyland, after reconnecting with her daughter. There is so much more depth to her story…

Being a nurse brings you close to birth and death and all the in-between.

Allow yourself the freedom to be creative. Write your stories down. You will be surprised at all the life you lived in between

soccer matches and ballet class lessons for your kids (if you are a parent) or in service to others. 

Pick up a brush, a pen or perhaps some clay and lose yourself in the moment (finger-painting on the walls is acceptable, too).

“What are three good things about Alzheimer’s?

You never watch reruns.
     You meet new people every day.
     And you can hide your own Easter eggs.” ~ Barbara M. Murray RN

Written by - Jolyon Druce

Special thanks to Jolyon for contributing this reflection on the ways we can heal and overcome grief. 

 

Day 144-148 - Lost

   There are so many ways to become lost. I found one yesterday in a safe-seeming forest nearby & ultimately far away from home.

   "Some of us wander around looking lost, hovering like hungry ghosts..." Minton Sparks writes in Desperate Ransom (Thomas Nelson, 2007.)

   I was neither feeling lost nor looking like it as I searched for new ways to photograph ancient trees. This emerald forest has been my friend. I have been down her trails before.    

   It was the high hill beyond the trail that seduced me. One I had never climbed. As I made the steep ascent brush & brambles clawed, vines mimicked hangmen's nooses, disguised holes wrenched my ankles.

   Surely, it would be worth it.

   I peered over the summit to reap my reward: a view of Radnor Lake from far above.

   It had vanished.Nothing below but more forest. And, on this day, not a soul in sight.

   I retraced my steps. Or tried to. 

   Radnor Lake State Park has 1,332 acres. I traveled every one of them.  

   Even on a sunny day the windows of our horror rooms can fly open & release their crows. The forest is lined with doors to danger as well as beauty. What if I fell & hit my head? How long would it be before I was discovered?

   The courageous me scoffed at such worries. I trudged forward confident & strong as well as wary. 

   Eight walking miles & four hours later, evening stalking, my phone dead, an armed ranger appeared. His second sentence threatened a fine of $220 for leaving the marked paths. Relieved to be safe, that sounded reasonable.

   "Stand still," David Wagoner writes in his poem, Lost, "The trees ahead and bushes beside you/ Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here."

   Wagoner is right. There is a lot to be found when lost: The beauty off the trail that I could not find on it. The teaching fear offers to every adventurer. The renewed appreciation of safety. The memory that stepping off the trail always engages risk.

   Heaven & hell are the way-stations of the pioneer. 

   The deeper we love, the more often we will find ourselves lost. A caregiver ventures into the forest of her patient's illness, loses her way searching for a key to healing, celebrates if she finds it, suffers when it eludes her. 

   "If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you,/ You are surely lost." Wagoner writes. "Stand still. The forest knows/ Where you are. You must let it find you."

   If we truly live love we will find many ways to be lost.

   "Stand still." God's Light knows "where you are.  

   You must let it find you." 

-Erie Chapman  

Photographs by Erie 

 

Days 142-143 Being Held

If the only prayer you ever say in your entire life is thank you, it will be enough. -Meister Eckhart 

In times of sudden danger most people call out, "O my God!"
Why would they keep doing this if it didn't help?
Only a fool keeps going back where nothing happens.

The whole world lives within a safeguarding, fish
inside waves, birds held in the sky, the elephant,
the wolf, the lion as he hunts, the dragon, the ant,
the waiting snake, even the ground, the air,
the water, every spark floating up from the fire,
all subsist, exist, are held in the divine. Nothing
is ever alone for a single moment.

All giving comes from There, no matter who
you think you put your open hand out
toward, it's That which gives.

-Rumi

 

There are many levels of prayer but a most familiar one to me is, please God, help me! 

 We are held.  Held as " fish inside waves, as birds held in the sky."  Do you find comfort in Rumi's words and images? I know I do. Just as our breath sails the wind, we search within and without ourselves for that missing peace. 

In her podcast, "Conscious Prayer-Finding True Refuge in Loving Awareness"  Tara Brach encourages us to begin to notice how our thoughts and our feelings that arise can be self limiting. I appreciate her insight that "thoughts may be real but not necessarily true." This leads us towards on a path of self discovery, to recognize and explore the prayer of our longing, which is continually calling us home towards to our true belonging; our refuge.

Perhaps, The whole of our lives is a prayer, especially in awareness that we are not separate but held in Love.

May you sail on the wings of Love as you accept the invitation of your true belonging.

Liz Sorensen Wessel

Watercolors-Bird in Flight by ~liz

Days 137-141 - Hopeless Romantics

   The sentences appear towards the end of Jeannette Winterson's unusual novel, Lighthousekeeper. "I used to be a hopeless romantic. I am still a hopeless romantic," her character says.

   For such people, the world is a mystical place. Every sunset brings sighs. People's eyes matter. The world turns on relationships. Even a spreadsheet stuffed with numbers can become a piece of art.

   Above all, it is love that lifts the romantic through life. It is love that rips the heart & heals it.

   "I don't think of love as the answer or the solution," Winterson writes, startling us for a moment. "I think of love as a force of nature - as strong as the sun...as drought-making as it is life-giving. And when it burns out, the planet dies."

   There it is. We must have meaning to thrive. "What I remember is love," her character sings, "all love - love of this dirt road, this sunrise, a day by the river, the stranger I met in the cafe."

   This sentence changed my life. How best to live? Make your life a circle of love & sweep every experience into it.

   There are so many images around us it is hard to stay with any one of them. Love's circle invites deeper experiences.

   Consider the little girl perched among anonymous adults at a poetry reading - a tiny lighthouse amid a sea of shapes. As I watched her the poet's words became theme music for that moment. I began to admire arms & legs & railings and how all lines diagonaled down as she looked back up. 

   Photograph means "light writing." The longer I stay with this "writing" the more I fall in love with what I read in this picture.

   Love this image for awhile & see what gifts emerge. Love the little girl or boy you were when you were the age of this child. 

   Thank love, too, for bringing hope in the presence of evil & for carrying you through suffering. 

  We imagine the lighthouse keeper standing solitary in his tower flashing guidance to life-filled ships. The scientist sees physics in lighthouse beams. The accountant figures the lighthouse's operating costs. The brickmason evaluates its walls.

   But, the romantic spins dreams amid the fog that wreathes the lighthouse, conjures stories & may imagine a room below the blinking light as an aerie where a lover's visit illuminates the solitary life of the keeper.

   Perhaps, we are all romantics. All keepers of light. 

-Erie Chapman 

Days 135-136 Stripped, Broken But Not Alone

 Recently, three friends invited me to participate in an all-day woman’s retreat. The theme for this gathering was “The Year of Mercy.” The day began with a reading of the Beatitudes to the loving expressive movements of a mime. Afterwards one of the participants shared her joy in watching the gospel come alive in this performance.

The participants had an opportunity to write their own beatitudes in small groups, as they reflected upon their unique struggles and discovered blessings even in adversity.  A time for sharing opened the door to some of the darker realities of prison life; drug addiction, bullying, abuse of power, thoughts of suicide, not feeling safe, fear and sexual assault. The naming of these challenges and bringing them to light was helpful and hopefully healing on some level.

After lunch we talked about mandalas as a sacred art form. I shared my spiritual journey of drawing mandalas to express love in times of grief, in times of celebration and as a personal exploration.  Each participant  drew a mandala reflective of their life journey. The women shared their personal stories and the deeply meaningful symbolism contained within their pictures. The process affirmed their lives, the sorrow and loss,  lessons learned and wisdom gained.  They revealed the expansive Love and mercy that they have come to know through God’s Grace.

As the afternoon came to a close we joined in a large circle and moved in unison to a beautiful sacred  song. Each woman was gifted with a mandala card that offered this  blessing;

Mercy invites us to respond to life
with love, compassion
forgiveness and generosity-
within our families, our neighborhoods,
our nation, our world.
As we have experienced God's unlimited mercy,
so must we choose to give it to others.
Mercy can transform us
and bring true peace to our world.
                                                                           -Pope Francis 

Prison life not only takes away a person’s freedom but just about everything one cherishes. Spending time with these women was a humbling and enriching experience. They gifted us with their warmth, gratitude, and trust. When all is stripped away what is left? For these woman it is clear; God.  A Love that is precious and real. The Holy Spirit levels the playing field and you find yourself face to face with your own humanity.  I saw God's reflection in their eyes.

There have been few other experiences in my life where I felt as though the veil had lifted. Once as a teenager when I experienced a fleeting spiritual awakening. In 2011, accompanying companions to  Guatemala with Concern America. There I
met people who lived in extreme poverty but who were rich in love.  When a loved one dies, suddenly everything comes into crystal focus as defenses fall and you realize that life is all about love. These moments do not happen in isolation but manifest in communion with one another, when we open in vulnerability and share our hearts.

Here’s to love and to all the caregivers {and especially to nurses, } who find the courage to turn towards, rather than away from suffering, to help heal our world. We honor you this Nurses Week!

 

 

Liz Sorensen Wessel

Photos:
2012, Sonoma CA-Hand of God
2011, Guatemala-corn is a sacred crop {click on photo to enlarge}

Days 123-127 - Four Pictures of Your Hands

    Do you ever feel that you have understood some things better before they were explained? Learning how my hands functioned & looked in x-rays distanced me from the mysteries of touch. 

   Fine photographs can help restore our sense of the spiritual magic in our hands. Hands, like eyes, can heal.

   Here are four images. They have back stories. The rest of what these images awaken in you is up to your open heart.

   The first image (above) was taken by a CBS news photographer. One hand reaches out to many & vice versa. The hand reaching out is Hillary Clinton's. Why does she reach our? Why do they want to touch her hand?

This second picture was made by an anonymous military photographer in a battlefield hospital. These hands reach out to help one tiny person. If you click on the image you can see what the baby's hands are doing. 

   

 

 

 

   This picture shows my left hand photographed using my right. It rests amid pages of Radical Loving Care. Were I blind & this book in Braille I might be reading with my fingers. In either case this hand reaches for words. 

 

   

 

 

This last picture was also taken by an unnamed military photographer as part of a Defense Department competition. To me it is the "best" because any further words might steal from your personal understanding. 

 

 

 

   

 

 

   In important ways, each of these hands are yours. Thank you for the healing your hands offer each day.

-Erie Chapman 

Days 130-134 Who Walks Beside You?

   While walking my mother down the hall to her independent living home she said, "When you are not walking beside me I will pretend you are walking beside me." I cannot imagine a more loving affirmation.

   Since she will be 104 this August I will not have much longer to walk beside the person who delivered me to this earth. The journey with her has already been so much lengthier than one might hope. After she has passed on I will always imagine her next to me. 

   Who walks beside you now? Which of your departed ancestors, family & friends accompany you, offering their shelter, kindness, advice & strength? Each can be guides in your life as well as partners - spirits that share your life in beautiful ways. Even former enemies can be teachers. They have tested your integrity & helped you define your life. 

   In her heart-changing novel, Lighthousekeeping, author Jeanette Winterson writes these words into the mouth of her protagonist: "Pew taught me that nothing is gone, that everything can be recovered, not as it was, but in its changing form."

     This is not about holding séances. It is about experiencing a departed life via memory "in its changing form." The old words of my late father offer help & laughter as he walks beside me every day. 

   Who floats next to you now? Who, real or pretended, will accompany you down the hall when your days decline?

   The departure of our bodies will leave the legacy of our spirit in its wake. Meanwhile, our role is to glance over every so often to acknowledge the souls who have shared our journey & share it still. 

-Erie Chapman

 

Photograph by Martha Chapman, May, 2016

Days 128-129 Mining for Diamonds

As Mother’s Day approaches, reflect on the blessings and diverse manifestations of Mothers in our lives. Earth Mother, Mother Mary, Sophia Spirit and those who have taken us under their wing when we needed tenderness most. I think of a young Mother to be, her excitement of feeling a quickening movement of life within and the anticipation of welcoming a new little spirit into our world.  “Will it be a girl or boy? And more importantly prayers for good health.”

I recall breathing through and relaxing into the pain of natural child birth. The intensely organic and primal experience of giving birth as so many generations of woman have before me.  The women who held our hands and encouraged us to “push, push, you can do it!!”

Recollections of children’s’ growing up years, experiencing wonder anew through their eyes, discovering the mystery and joy of simply being alive. Of Mother’s Days gone by and the homemade gifts our children made to express their love.

I think of our Mothers who have left this earthly plane but live in our hearts and whose Spirits are protecting and renewing earth with Love’s resilient energy.

Coming full circle, the joy of grand-parenting, of breaking rules, of understanding what matters and slowing down to savor moments. I loved my grandmother Kate from the Carter clan. I have fond memories of listening to stories of Ireland and Sunday visits after church.

This past week my brother, Tom sent me a precious gift. An album containing photos of my dad when he was little. As a teen, I  would sketch my grandmother Svea; studying the lines of her portrait to spend time with her. Last night, I sorted through keepsakes and found this unfinished drawing. At the time, the background was too challenging for me to draw.  Now, it distracts from my grandmothers beauty. I want to erase it all except for Svea and the boy; my father.

My grandparents [except Katie} had long passed before I was born. I often spent time looking at their photos in hopes of knowing them. When gazing at photos we may discover a family likeness, or we may have heard that our brother has her laugh.  Perhaps, we share a quirky mannerism that lives on in us.

We carry such interesting stories and marvelous connections that form our foundation. Don’t let these memories disappear. Take time to mine the diamonds that are steeped in richness and deeply meaningful.

 

                                                                                                            

{Click on photos to enlarge}

This Mother’s Day honor the heritage that is yours to know, love and embrace.

Liz Sorensen Wessel

Photos: 1. My sons Lee & John Wessel; 2. Grandmother Svea Krull Sorensen, N.Y. C; 4. Svea 3rd from L in OR; 4. Grandparents: Svea, Kate Carter Lawler & Charles Lawler 5. Mother's Day Card from John