Journal of Sacred Work

Days 153-157 - Men & Tears

 "Wow. Doc sure is taking this hard," I heard a mourner say at the visitation. "Look at him over there crying his eyes out."

   The doctor's wife & two remaining daughters were crying too. The visitor did not mention them. It was this well-known surgeon's tears that made him uncomfortable. 

   The crying could not have been more justified. On January 11, 1977 Death & diabetes had suddenly stolen Doctor Lokvam's lovely middle daughter, Sonja, at thirty-six. 

   Accustomed to saving lives, the doctor could not comprehend it. "I should have figured out how to save her but she seemed healthy."

   Since that awful night in the brutal winter of 1977 I have thought often of how proud I was of my father-in-law for crying & for his wife who comforted all of us with saintly compassion. 

   We know the rules. Men are not supposed to cry. If one does he better not do it in a way that suggests a wimp. 

   Remember "A League of their Own?" The women's softball team manager (Tom Hanks)notices that his pitcher (Madonna) is crying. "There are no tears in baseball!" he shouts at her." 

   Caregivers often comfort the grieving by saying, "It's good to cry."

   If that is so how come crying by men is tacitly banned? 

   My fellow males & I carry this burden. If you are ever present when a man cries you do not have to say anything. Just hug him one (when we are again allowed to do so.) Otherwise, say, "I am glad you have the strength to shed tears."

   Plagued recently by a bit of depression (anger turned inward) I created an 80 word poem & one minute cinema. (Click the link.)

Tears

Men are terrible at crying.
At least ones like me who

Grew up thinking only women cried.

Tears of laughter are different.
So is crying when you see your baby
Son for the first time.
But sadness? My throat traps those
Tears & holds them, boiling water
Ulcerating my skin.

It does no good to tell men
Like me to cry.
Once I gave way to that,

Ended up in the hospital.
I may land there again.
Soon.

 

-Erie Chapman 2020

Days 151-152 Reflecting Light

"A Greek philosopher was asked, "What is the meaning of life?"

He took a small mirror out of his wallet, and told this story. "During WWII, I was a child in a poor remote village. One day, on the road, I found several broken pieces of a mirror from a wrecked German motorcycle. And by scratching it on a stone, I made it round. I began to play with it as a toy and became fascinated by the fact that I could reflect light into dark places where the sun would not shine – in deep holes and crevices and dark closets. It became a game for me to get light into the most inaccessible places I could find. I kept the little mirror, and as I went about my growing up, I would take it out in idle moments and continue the challenge of the game. As I became a man, I grew to understand that this was not just a child’s game but a metaphor for what I might do with my life. I came to understand that I am not the light or the source of the light. But light –truth, understanding, knowledge – is there, and it will only shine in many dark places if I reflect it. This is what I am about.

This is the meaning of my life.”

~Robert Fulghum

Reflection shared by Liz Wessel
Mandala by ~liz

Days 144-145 Healing Prayers

Father, Mother, God,

Thank you for your presence

during the hard and mean days.

For then we have you to lean upon.

Thank you for your presence

during the bright and sunny days,

for then we can share that which we have

with those who have less.

And thank you for your presence

during the Holy Days, for then we are able

to celebrate you and our families

and our friends.

For those who have no voice,

we ask you to speak.

For those who feel unworthy,

we ask you to pour your love out

in waterfalls of tenderness.

For those who live in pain,

we ask you to bathe them

in the river of your healing.

For those who are lonely, we ask

you to keep them company.

For those who are depressed,

we ask you to shower upon them

the light of hope.

Dear Creator, You, the borderless

sea of substance, we ask you to give to all the

world that which we need most—Peace.

~ Maya Angelou

Days 139-143 - Healing Water

   A city kid, I only experienced farms when I worked on one in the summer. In my first encounter with a real well I saw the farmer sweat as pulled up the water-freighted pail. The next well I encountered that same summer yielded water by pumping a handle. 

   Some of today's public bathrooms are equipped with electric eyes. Break the beam & out comes the water. No sweat!

   Electric beams celebrate science. Old time wells offer easier metaphors for spiritual growth. Thus, Jesus' parable of  the woman at the well teaches that if she drank Love's waters she would never be thirsty again. 

   Actual wells can run dry. Love's never does. But, as life's demands scare us from living love we grow thirstier & forget how to water our souls. Or shun the work it takes. 

   Love lives in us. No technology can its water to out lips. Hard to raise Love's pail if it is barnacled with selfishness.

   Fear generates its own sweat as it threatens that Love can never meet our needs. 

   At the risk of straining the analogy, it takes huge strength to lift Love's water to our lips each day. Our bodies favor how Fear's electric eye opens the door to short satisfaction rather than lasting hope.   

   It is easier for a caregiver to bring a patient a glass of water than it is to heal the same patient's fear of surgery with the waters of Radical Loving Care. 

   In truth, Radical Loving Care offers both. The difference is that Love's soft rains brings Spring's healing touch. Whether the patient's body is cured or not new flowers bloom for both patient & healer. 

• Rev. Erie Chapman

Picture: "Tears" a short film by Erie, 2020

 

 

 

Days 137-138 In Whom The Light Lives

Blessed are you
who bear the light
in unbearable times,
who testify
to its endurance
amid the unendurable,
who bear witness
to its persistence
when everything seems
in shadow
and grief.

Blessed are you
in whom
the light lives,
in whom
the brightness blazes—
your heart
a chapel,
an altar where
in the deepest night
can be seen
the fire that
shines forth in you
in unaccountable faith,
in stubborn hope,
in love that illumines
every broken thing
it finds.

By Jan Richardson

                                                               

Offered by Liz Sorensen Wessel

Artwork by Liz

Days 132-136 - The Enemies of Presence

E    Last summer, my then 18-month-old grandson looked into the mirror. His father asked, "Who is that?" "Reed," he answered as if he had discovered gold. And my son said to his son, "That's right!"

   Reed had entered a "reality" that governs our lives: That the person in the mirror is us.

   We know there is not just one of us. The self portrait from 1977 has been updated with images of different "me's" at different ages being watched over by a guardian angel. All of those people are within me now accompanied by a crowd of others. 

   The importance of our multiple personas is a fact routinely & tragically overlooked by many caregivers. The doctor or nurse that sees the wrinkled skin of an elderly patient & brands them as old & less relevant misses the complex humanity of the many people that person has been...and is. Loving caregivers give better care because they understand the many lives inside the one before them

   So many personas lurk within: The brilliant you, the angry you. The you who grieves, laughs, lies, plays childlike with a child, treats your dog as a person, speaks rudely to a clerk. 

   And there is the you who wants to escape the present. To run from the fear of being trapped by constantly scanning for the nearest exit.

   This helps when threats are as real as an attacking Grizzly.  But for many running away is a strategy to escape not just headaches or an angry boss but fear of abandonment, loss of hope or simple ennui.

    Fear is the enemy of presence. Fear blocks adventure & discovery, can destroy relationships & defeat meaningful experiences.

   Fear does not just make us run from tigers. If you routinely choose flight it can deaden your life.

   Strangely, one of the most effective ways to deal with most threats is to stand still. Embrace your fear & thus weaken its power over you. 

   The most soul-enriching path is the hardest to choose: To sit with Fear. Watch it. Befriend it as a teacher that will illuminate truth. To listen to it as a guide to the Love we were meant to live.

-Erie Chapman

Days 130-131 Faith, Hope, Love

In this week’s beautiful tribute to his mother, Erie Chapman, asked,” from whom did you learn love?” On this Mother’s Day weekend three wonderful women come to my mind.

Faith: Vibrant, charismatic, lover of life and giver of joy; her name was Candida Maio but everyone knew her as Candi. Perhaps, it was because she was the mother of my best friend since childhood, or that she shared the same birthday as my mom, but no doubt it was because she loved me that I thought of her as mom.

Candi’s vivacious personality exuded warmth with a robust laugh that affirmed her love of life and of people. Anyone in Candi’s sphere was influenced by her positive energy. Yet, I will never forget the spiritual support she offered me in my teens. You see, I was faced an important decision and I struggled over a dilemma. I confided in Candi and she told me that whenever she needed guidance, she opened the bible to a random page and God answered. She suggested I might give it a try, I prayed earnestly, opened the book and to my amazement the answer was clear.

Hope: My mom in law, Helen Wessel learned to live with debilitating arthritis. She kept moving, working in her garden, helping my boys with homework and she was there for me as a working mom. Although, she used a walker to get around and some days walking were extremely painful, she lived a life of service. As a nurse in the navy during WWII, as a crossing guard for elementary school kids, bringing communion to shut-ins and as a loving grandmother.

Helen's favorite holiday was Easter. She’d bake a variety of homemade breads for all to enjoy and there was always room at the table for one more. It was 3 days after Easter that Helen died in 1997. This held a symbolic significance to me, “on the third day he arose again.” I loved and appreciated Helen but it was not until after she died that I realized she was Christ in my midst and like the disciples in the garden I had not recognized him.

Helen gave us bulbs from her garden to plant. Each spring splendid white and red-etched lilies blossom. As I delight in their beauty, I feel Helen’s spirit has come to bless us and to say, “I love you,” anew.

Love: When I was ten, I almost died. My mom called Dr. Cahill's office to report my symptoms; intense headache, malaise and unrelenting vomiting. Dr. Cahill came to our home to examine me and I was whisked away by ambulance to Misericordia Hospital.  I was diagnosed with spinal meningitis and for the first 3 days my life hung in the balance.

I did not know then, how my brush with death at such a tender age, would shape the course of my life.  My mom stayed by my side in my darkest hour to quell my fears and offer comfort. I remember her telling me, “I wish I could trade places with you.” Her loving presence in a time of suffering was a great solace.

Years passed before I fully understood my mother’s profound influence.  Although, I had no words for it, on a deeper level, I seemed guided to be with people at their end of life. As a young nurse I was scared and my first instinct was to turn and run, but I realized that this was when people need us the most. My mother taught me an unspoken covenant “I will not abandon you.”

As caregivers we are invited into people’s lives at very difficult times to bear witness to not only suffering but to tremendous love. People can call upon unfathomable reserves of inner strength, which manifest through the power of Love. 

Oh, you who were born of love…

As the wind loves to call things to dance,
May your gravity be lightened by grace.

Like the dignity of moonlight restoring the earth,
     May your thoughts incline with reverence and respect.

As silence smiles on the other side of what's said,
May your sense of irony bring perspective.

As time remains free of all that it frames,
May your mind stay clear of all it names.

May your prayer of listening deepen enough
to hear in the depths the laughter of God.”

 John O' Donohue

By Liz Sorensen Wessel
Photo Susan and Candi Maio, 2010
"Resurrection" mandala, in loving remembrance of Helen Wessel ~by Liz.
Mom's Mandala in loving remembrance of Elizabeth Sorensen ~by Liz

Days 125-129 From Whom Did You Learn Love?

   Whether we remember her consciously or not we all "know" the first teacher from whom we learned love. I had a great one & consider myself incredibly lucky.

  It was through her that I entered this earth & from this earth that she departed two years ago (May 5, 2018, at age 105) a few days after I made this picture. It is odd that by taking a picture of my own mom I ended up creating what other artists now consider fine art.*

   Mom's exit was as soft as was she, so pleasant that my son said, "Dad, I want to sign up for that kind of death."

   Obviously, I had nothing to do with her longevity (105). But great as were her genes it was her gifts of love that mattered. 

   In the course of teaching Radical Loving Care it is often my father whose words I recall. Like me, he used a lot of them. Not mom. Her love spoke through presence.

   Some see hands as healing pathways. The ancient ones in the photograph, when they were those of a young mom, were rarely used to swat me in the rear.

   Instead, it was those hands that held me to nurse at her breast, those hands that hugged me when I cried & that stroked my face when I was sick. It was those hands that she used to conduct the Rachmaninoff & Beethoven she listened to & those hands that reached out to me in her final days to hold mine & say, "Oh Chip, I hate to see you leave."

   Long as we had her, I hated to see her leave & am grateful for her every moment. 

   Our mom's are our first caregivers. Yet, many great caregivers had bad luck. Moms who were indifferent, unkind or absent. Somehow they found others to teach them Radical Loving Care. 

   This Journal can help you reflect on your teachers, not just with words like, "My mom was great," or "My minister was terrific." But, to write specifics & stories that illustrate them. Through that exercise you may learn things forgotten or never recognized & thus teach love in new & richer ways.

-Erie "Chip" Chapman

*The great photoartist Imogen Cunningham did a similar thing with her famous image "My Father At Ninety." Prints of it are $20,000!

"Final Days," this image of my mom, hung in the Vanderbilt University Art gallery this past year. 

Days 123-124 A Sacred Pause

In an interview Mr. Roger's was asked: "When speaking, you invite people to take ten seconds to think about those people who've helped become who you are.

"What kind of reaction have you received?”

“Just wonderful. I think silence is one of the greatest gifts we have. If we just stopped it would give people a chance to think, what's going on? And maybe go deeper within themselves.”

“I started this gift of silence in a commencement speech. At one time when I was at the White House for the Conference on Children and Television, they asked me to make a presentation. The Clinton's and the Gores were there with almost all involved in children's television. At that time, I gave a whole minute of silence.”

“After that meeting was over, I was walking out and one of the military guards in white and gold came up to me and said, ‘thank you Mr. Rogers.’ I said, "for what? He said, ‘for that silence’. And I said, who did you think about? ‘I thought about my grandfather's brother, who just before he died took me to his basement and gave me his fishing pole. I hadn't thought about him in a long time. But I love fishing and I know that must have come from him.’”

 -Fred Rogers interview on television's responsibility to children

Through his instructive wisdom and loving leadership, Erie Chapman often encourages caregivers to pause to fully appreciate the deeper meaning of our experiences. Whether it is listening to music, walking in nature, gazing at an artist’s expression or sitting alongside aside someone who is suffering.  When the distractions melt away, we may discover the core essence of our encounter.

The two photos here are from different sides of the same miraculous sculpture. Memories come flooding back and some very poignant feelings along with a wave of deep gratitude to the caregivers who saved my son's life and provided such excellent, compassionate care. To truly experience the beauty of this sculpture and get a three dimensional view go to: https://benjaminvictor.com/2011/05/gallery/classical-figurative/the-heart-of-humanity/

Try taking a sacred pause today and notice how it  enriches your life experience.

Photo: The Heart of Humanity Sculpture by artist, Benjamin Victor at The Sanford Heart Institute in Sioux Falls S. Dakota,  2015.  

Reflection offered by Liz Sorensen Wessel