Spirit Scraps

I’ve become a student again. No, I’m not reading great tomes of theological literature. I’m not pursuing the latest thoughts in counseling. (Well, actually I am doing that but that’s not what I’m referring to here.)

I’ve become a typing student.

Each day that I come into the office I open up my computer typing program and start practicing and learning the lessons. (As long as I use words made up of the letters asdfjkl; I’m  good to go right now. If this blog starts sounding strange, you’ll know I’ve reverted to my comfort level.)

I could have taken typing in junior high school, as some of my classmates did. But I was beginning to look ahead to college applications. By virtue of being in band, I already had one lightly weighted class. I didn’t think my academic standing could afford another.

Besides, when would I need typing? Other than typing the occasional term paper on the typewriter, I wasn’t going to be using that skill much.

Wrong decision.

I’ve typed well enough to get by. And if you don’t need a mistake free piece, I can actually type fairly quickly. But a significant portion of my work now involves typing, whether it’s writing a book or column or this blog, typing up client notes, writing a sermon or even posting on Facebook. My lack of skill was beginning to get in my way. So I swallowed my pride and became a beginner again.

Sometimes I talk to people who need to learn something, a skill that for whatever reason they didn’t learn as a child. Maybe it’s how to be in a healthy relationship. Or how to ask for what they need. Or how to make a bed. Invariably they try to tell me that they shouldn’t have to learn such things. They should know it.

But that’s the rub. They don’t. And just like my typing, we all have a choice sooner or later to become a beginner again and learn those things we have not yet learned… or to allow that lack to continue to have an impact on our lives. At some point, it doesn’t matter what you should or shouldn’t have learned. It’s about what you know. And what you’re going to do about what you don’t know.

That’s all for now. I’m off to learn the exciting world of e and i.

Rosie, 1995

The first time I met her, I hated her. I was waiting at the veterinarian’s office with my very sick cat, Sam, who was about to be euthanized. Rosie and her sister were tiny kittens playing in a cage in the corner, up for adoption. They’d been abandoned outside of a KMart. Only a few days old, some kind soul rescued them and nurtured them up to adoption age. They were tiny. And cute. And so abundantly alive.  I resented it their liveliness on the day Sam’s life would end. Especially since Rosie was a brown tabby, just like Sam.

That was on a Friday. By Monday  I was calling the vet to see if the kittens were still available. That’s how Maxie and Rosie came to live with me.

Rosie was destined to be a perpetual second banana. With Maxie, there was no doubt who the alpha cat was. Maxie was sweet and loving but in a curmudgeonly sort of way. She had the mouth of a sailor and little patience. Rosie just stayed back and let everything roll off of her. Several years later when  I rescued a stray kitten who’d wandered into my yard, Maxie was all bluster. Rosie let the kitten play around her and play at her until her long-suffering soul had enough and she gave the kitten one swipe of the paw. That was all and that was enough.

In her old age she had to suffer the indignity of dogs, particularly Oakley who liked to check on her by sticking her entire long nose up under Rosie’s body. Rosie gave an irritated meow, but otherwise took it in stride. When Maxie developed a fast growing malignant tumor, I took Rosie with me to the vet. Her carrier on the table, she watched carefully and solemnly as her sister slipped away. She seemed to take it in and never looked for Max or asked about her again.

For over three years Rosie was a diabetic. She quickly adapted to this new routine of twice daily insulin injections, only complaining when I got sloppy and careless with her shot. One day I came home from a trip and found her in a coma. The emergency vets performed a miracle in getting her back from the threshold of death’s door but she lost a good portion of her eyesight. She never complained and it never seemed to bother her. She just kept on keeping on.

Maxie and Rosie

The one place in which she took a backseat to no one was her hunting. One summer in our old house I kept count of how many voles she’d killed (voles look like moles but are about the size of mice.) At least sixteen voles bit the dust that summer. Each time she’d proudly leave her gift at the front door. Occasionally I’d catch Max picking up the dead vole and proudly bringing it around again, as if she’d killed it.

I came home last night and prepared for bed. When I was ready to give Rosie her nightly shot, she wasn’t in her bed. I finally found her in another room, peaceful and still. She lived to be seventeen.

My pastor tells me that the one question he gets asked more than any other is if our pets will be with us in heaven. I do not have the definitive answer, but  I cannot imagine anywhere being all that heavenly if our four-legged (and two-winged!) family members are not allowed to join us.

If we are open, we may learn many lessons from our pets. Oakley teaches me that you can be fierce and protective and loving at the same time. Ralphie teaches me about all out joy. Maxie taught me about asking for what you need (okay, demanding.) And Rosie taught me that it is indeed possible to have a Buddha cat – not holding on to anything, being in the moment, finding contentment.

So long, Rosie.

And thanks.

Through the graces of Twitter,  I recently read this fine article for caregivers by Wendy Lustbader in the Huffington Post. I particularly liked this quote:

You can’t take away someone’s loneliness. No matter how many times caregivers phone, visit, or take their loved one on outings, there will always be the time in-between contacts for the person to feel the sadness of separation from lifelong friends and the loss of once cherished activities. These are consequences of frailty or illness that caregivers cannot rectify. It helps to recognize the unavoidable fact that the hours of companionship they provide for their relative go quickly and the empty hours still pass slowly.

It’s a challenge for caregivers but not just caregivers. Many people struggle with wanting to take away another person’s pain, grief or struggle. After all, we love them. We don’t want them to feel badly. We want them to have lives of joy, no matter what their age and physical condition.

One of the things that I learned in working with the former staff of Elisabeth Kubler-Ross is that we cannot take another person’s grief from them. We cannot protect someone from their feelings. Trying to do so may not be only fruitless but also disrespectful. We all have a right to our own feelings. The grief that comes with the many losses of aging and declining health is hard won. It recognizes the value of the gifts the person enjoyed, whether it was a loving life partner, a treasured home, the ability to do a favorite hobby or even to talk a walk on a nice day. To allow the grief that comes is a way of acknowledging those losses.

Our task isn’t to keep someone from grieving; it is to provide a safe space in which they can grieve. It is to support them. It is to help them with any concrete tasks of life with which we can help. And, if necessary, it’s to help them find ways and tools for expressing that grief.

Years ago pastor Charles Poole wrote a book entitled, “Hard Things Are Hard.” Indeed they are.

When a friend or loved one is going through a hard time, we do them no service to try to pretend as if we could make it be easy.  They don’t need us to take away their feelings. They need us to be able to speak truthfully about those hard things. And then to be present with them in the best way we know how.

If you are looking for a safe place in which to grieve whatever losses you’ve had, I invite you to the Life,Loss and Healing workshop in Durham, NC (March 23-25, 2012.) The workshop gives people a chance to acknowledge many different kinds of losses, to express their own feelings and to find tools for healing. If you’re interested, contact Nancy Mullins at lifelosshealing@nethere.com.

We're gonna make it after all....

Last night  I was watching an old episode of  The Mary Tyler Moore Show. In it, she accidentally throws out the folder of obituaries the station collected to have on hand when a famous person died. She was assigned the task of replacing that folder – on her own time.

At first I couldn’t understand the drama and distress. After all, what’s Google for? Then I remembered… Mary Richards worked in a newsroom without Google, without the internet and without a single computer.

Such things come in handy. For example, today I found this article on aging well. The author looked at the qualities shared by those who reached 100 years of age. One of those qualities is belonging.

Whether belonging to a community, a religious organization, a professional group or a tight-knit family; a sense of belonging is central to aging well because you matter to others, not just to yourself. Belonging gives us a sense of purpose.

This caught my eye because it’s often an issue with which my clients wrestle. They feel disconnected. They may or may not be connected with family. But outside of that circle, they have few connections.

So here’s a few thoughts on fostering belonging.

1) You have to seek it out. It won’t come to you. Through the magic of the internet, we can have many things come to our door – food, books, clothes, etc. But to belong to a group, you have to get out there. You may even have to try several groups before you find one that has your name on it.

2) Find something you care about. It may be a faith group. Or an affordable housing group. Or a wildlife conservation group. Or a group that rescues animals. If it’s something that matters to you, you’ll have greater energy and commitment. Part of the power of a group isn’t just the connections with other people; it can be the sense of being connected with something bigger than ourselves. Part of our task as we journey through adulthood is to create meaning. What will be the legacy that we leave behind? Your legacy may be an organization that carries out a global misison. Or it may be a single life that was changed in some way because you were in it.

3) Invest. That’s right, you have to get in there and do something. Participate. Sometimes people will complain that they don’t know many people in their church. The fact is that they haven’t given themselves the chance to know other people – and for people to know them – because they haven’t invested themselves in a small group, a ministry project or any other group in the church. In order to have a return on investment you first have to make an investment.Not just in time and energy but the emotional investment of getting to know people and allowing yourself to be known.

4) Be willing to hang in for the long haul. I heard someone today say that when it came to news in this country, we have national ADD. We’re always on to the next thing. It’s hard to belong to a group if you’re always moving on to the next one. Belonging takes time. One of the functions of that time is that you become as part of that group’s story. And as a part of the story, you matter.

5) Be willing for things not to work out. I’m not really contradicting myself; sometimes the more you become involved with a group, the more you realize that it’s not for you. Sometimes people have the mindset that any step they take has to be set in concrete for the next fifty years. If they make a mistake, they’re stuck with it. Or if it doesn’t work out, it means that they are a failure. Well, that’s just rubbish. Both things. All it means is that this wasn’t the right place and right time. Move on.

How do you find a place to belong? Let me hear from you.

Life, Loss and Healing Workshop – March 23-25, 2012  Durham, NC

Occasionally, when I visit my father he needs a shave. That’s usually because he has waved off the offer of help from the nurses at his retirement home, telling them he’ll get to it later. Sometimes I remind him to let them help him. On a few occasions I’ve shaved him myself.

Back when his hair was dark, my father didn’t have a five o’clock shadow – it was more like a two o’clock shadow. Even now, after only a couple of days he has a heavy growth of beard. I’ve learned that in giving him a shave there’s no substitute for patience. Sometimes it takes three or four passes to get his skin smooth – along with lots of hot wash cloths in-between. The other day he dozed off as I worked, his lips fluttering as he breathed deeply in and out. I was honored with the trust implicit in his dozing, but it got a little dicey when he did the old “sleeping head jerk” as I had a razor up against his throat. (I’m glad to report there was no blood loss.)

It’s a simple task that he’s done thousands of times in his life. but as I do it I am reminded of the profound mindfulness required for me to do it. My attention can’t be anywhere else. I have to be present, completely focused on this moment of time, completely attentive to this action. One night as  I worked he listened to Andrea Bocelli sing opera on the TV, and it seemed to me to be one of the most pure and exquisite moments of my life.

If you pay attention to magazines for therapists or look at the line-up of continuing ed conferences, you’ll see a lot about mindfulness. It’s one of the hot topics in therapy, and rightfully so. Distraction isn’t a modern invention but we’ve certainly taken it to a new level. Smart phones and IPads help us ensure that no moment of our days has to be free from distraction.

But if we are not present – to our lives and our selves – we suffer. Our mental health suffers. God knows our spiritual health suffers. And I’m no doctor but I’m sure it is not good for our bodies either. When my clients are able to be more mindful (even in difficult

times), they report deeper levels of contentment and well being.What I am discovering is that my occasional times of giving my father a shave are not only a gift for him but a gift for myself as well. Afterwards I feel more centered, more balanced. I have received the gift of mindfulness.

As you begin anticipating this coming year, consider the place of mindfulness in your own life. Where do you experience it? How do you need to make room for it? Sometimes it can be as simple as making sure you have a few moments to breathe – just breathing in and out and feeling present in the action.

Punt.

Yep, that’s my wisdom for today.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not the wisdom I’d planned to have. I had such good plans. I’d blocked out the first three days of last week. No clients. Plenty of time at the office to get caught up on other tasks. I’d promised myself I’d leave no later than 4 each day to get Christmas things done… like get a tree, do shopping, finish getting the house ready for my family who was staying with me. It was such a good plan.

Monday morning  I waltzed into the office, efficiency oozing out of my pores. I started writing the sermon I was scheduled to preach Sunday night. But then I started feeling not so good. I started getting chills. I knew what was coming.

Flu.

That’s right, a rip-roaring, 102 degree fever case of the flu.  So much for my plan. I spent all week on my couch, working my way through the shows I’d recorded but had no time to watch. I discovered  I really liked The Chew. I spent a lot of time napping with my dogs.

None of which was on my list. Early in the week I contemplated my situation. None of the things I’d planned to do during the week were going to get done. It was time to punt.

In football, a coach decides to punt when there’s no real chance of gaining a first down. It’s not what they’d planned to do, but at least they could give themselves a chance to score the next time around. You’ll hear commentators talk about living to face another day.

I decided to punt. I might not get everything done that was on my list. I might not finish the touch-ups in my newly painted bathroom before my brother arrives. But the bathroom will be functional and we’ll all live. If I had to do gift cards for everyone, I could do that. I called the church to let them know that they’d better have a plan B in hand just in case I couldn’t make it.

I did wind up preaching. And after six hours of ninja shopping on Saturday, I finished my Christmas shopping. Hopefully today I’ll get a tree, and if that’s the only decorating I do, then so be it.

Because sometimes we can only do what we can do, not what we’d planned to do. Sometimes we just have to take stock of where things stand… and punt.

If all goes according to plan for you this Christmas, then blessings upon you. Enjoy it. And if it doesn’t, remember that sometimes there’s no shame in just punting. After all, you live to see another day.

The following is a sermon I preached at a Blue Christmas service at First Baptist Church, Greensboro, NC on 12-18.

“You feel the way you feel.

And in this space no one will command you to smile.

We will invite you

to pull up a chair for a while

and let yourself listen

to other words that are also a part of this advent season…”

Sermon: blue christmas

The following is a sermon I preached at a Blue Christmas service at First Baptist Church, Greensboro, NC on 12-18.

blue christmas

So you’ve decided to eat healthy and lose that weight you’ve been carrying around. Or you’re trying your best to follow your doctor’s guidelines for managing your diabetes. Or you’ve come to a decision for your ethics and your health that you’re committed to being a vegetarian. Or vegan. Or you’ve discovered that you really do better without gluten.

You’re doing pretty good with it. But Christmas is looming. Here’s some tips for navigating the minefield that can be the dining room table.

1. Understand that food is loaded. And I’m not just talking about loaded baked potatoes. Food is loaded with meaning.

Every year, my mother spent days baking Christmas cookies. Many different kinds of Christmas cookies. Dozens upon dozens of Christmas cookies.

Our family is not that big.

But for my mother, baking Christmas cookies was an important part of Christmas. Just like it was important to have two meats and sixteen vegetables on the table for dinner. (Our family is not that big.) But for her it was an act of love to make sure every family member had a vegetable they loved, that we had everyone’s favorite dish.

That cake may be more than a cake. It may be a way the baker has of expressing love. It may be the passing along of a legacy of generations, remembering someone who has died with the food they used to make. (For example, whenever I make chocolate pie it’s not just chocolate pie. It’s my Aunt Janie’s chocolate pie.)

2. Honor the feeling. Even if you cannot or chose not to eat the slice of cake, you can honor the intention of the one who made it. Honor the work they’ve done. Honor the caring behind it. “Tell me how your mom used to make this…” “You’re so thoughtful to think about all of us…” For some, the acknowledgement they need is in your enjoyment of their food. But it can also help to have a verbal acknowledgement.

3. Talk about the food. this is true especially if you have a special diet. Family members may feel a little scared that first Christmas you’re a diabetic or have gone gluten-free. Talk with them about what it means. Give suggestion as to what you can eat or ways recipes can be modified. Offer to bring something, if possible.

4. Talk about food early. In the case of my mother, most of the Christmas casseroles were done and in the freezer not too long after Halloween. If the cooks in your family plan on a similar schedule, be proactive.

5. Be prepared to be a broken record (or stuck CD or frozen mp3.) Anticipate reactions. Will your uncle the hunter make fun of you for being vegetarian? Will your sister make comments about all of that gluten stuff just being a fad? Plan ahead of time how you’ll respond. Generally, the Christmas dinner table isn’t a good time for debates, so answers that de-escalate instead of answers that engage generally work better. “I know it must seem like a fad to you, but I’m willing to do anything that makes me feel this much better.” “I know it may seem silly, Uncle Jim. but you know me…” “It’s okay if our children don’t clean their plates.”

Be prepared to repeat these statements as many times as possible. If you choose not to engage in an argument or debate, they cannot make you.

6. When all else fails, have a back-up. We still laugh about the time that my sister-in-law’s father, not impressed with the healthy dessert she’d made for Thanksgiving, insisted on stopping at Shoney’s on the way home for fudge cake.

The most wonderful thing about Christmas is being able to be with family. The hardest thing about Christmas is being with family. If you checked statement one, you can skip today’s blog post and go back to your eggnog. If you checked the second statement, keep reading.

Many of us carry an expectation of how Christmas should be… the kindly grandparents welcoming families home, in-laws who are as close as blood family, a dinner table crowded with aunts and uncles enjoying being together, rosy-checked children who are delighted with their gifts.

Your reality may be different.

Mom and your sister still aren’t speaking over that Wal-Mart disagreement. No one has ever liked your brother’s wife who returns the favor with repeated dramatic sighs and snide comments. Even though you have explained with being a vegetarian means, your father insists on putting turkey on your plate. Your uncle is drunk again, even though everyone pretends not to notice. During the  dinner table discussion you are told that people who think like you either have ruined this country or are going to hell… or both. Because of divorces and remarriages, you will be expected to eat five Christmas dinners in two days… and less than hearty eating will be considered an affront. At least 30% of the Christmas toys are broken within two hours and the kids are so wired on sugar and Santa that they will not sleep until Tuesday.

So how to survive going over the river and through the woods?

1. Have realistic expectations. Some families do take advantage of the holiday get together to resolve differences and begin healing. But other families will simply intensify their dysfunction. If your family has always been more Rosanne than Norman Rockwell, don’t walk in expecting Rockwell.

2. Make a plan. Decide beforehand how you will respond to invasive questions, offensive comments or your usual family dramas. You cannot control what others do. You can control how you respond. If you decide not to opt in to the old family games, they cannot make you play. Statements like, “I guess we just disagree” are good to have in your back pocket. They are most effective when followed by a question that changes the subject: “So, tell me about your new car/Susie’s braces/ your team’s season…”

3. Take care of your own self. All of us have inside of ourselves all of the ages we have been. If your family was fractured or hurtful, you may have inside of you a little kid who keeps waiting for his or her parents to get it right. It may leave you feeling deeply disappointed or hurt when it doesn’t happen again this year. So, whatever the family experience, make sure that you carve out a little time to do something that’s meaningful for you. It may be putting up the tree that you want to have instead of the one out of Southern Living. It may be watching “a Christmas Story” three days after Christmas when you’re finally back home.

4. Step back. If all else fails, step back and become an observer. Pretend that you are watching the latest “Christmas Vacation” movie. It’s a lot less intense when you’re watching it from a little emotional distance.

5. Be responsible for your own celebration. Whatever your family experience, you can still choose to focus on joy and delight. Create the celebration that you want to have. Hopefully it can include your family. But if not, you can still celebrate.