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Posted on May 19, 2010 in healing, spiritual formation, the refuge | 11 comments

signs of hope: grief is weird

* this is part of an easter season series called signs of hope, real stories of people seeing hope & resurrection in the midst of the pain and struggle of real life.

* * * * *

grief is weird.  the loss of those close to us can stir up all kinds of hard things in really unexpected ways.  while i have seen death, i have yet to lose someone super close to me other than my grandparents who had lived a long, amazing life.  at the same time, one thing that i keep observing is how grief crosses beyond the loss of a person.  the loss of a relationship, a marriage, a job, a church, our faith, all kinds of other things all have some of the same dynamics–you just never know when the reality of the loss will sneak up on us.

meet my dear friend riley*. we all know that sometimes our greatest pains become our greatest strengths. in her case, the loss of both of her parents (but mainly her mom) inspired her to become a grief therapist and help other kids navigate through the sea of loss with more love, support, and compassion than she was able to find.  listen in on how she is finding hope amidst her reality.

  • grief is weird. it sneaks up on us in all kinds of strange ways that are unexpected.  you lost your mom 9 years ago and the grief still comes in waves now and then.  how has it re-emerged during this season?

This past year has been one of the most incredible, challenging, and life-changing ones in my life. These exciting transitions have transformed me at my core, and there have been so many milestones that have left me deeply longing for my mom’s presence. I have wanted my mom’s support for the person I am becoming, and the life that I can no longer share with her. My mom died a month after I turned 22, and I am such a different person than I was at that time. I so want her to be proud of who I am, almost 9 years later, and the fact that I can’t ask for her or hear her voice, makes me sometimes ache for her even more. Losing your mom in your twenties is difficult in that you are at the age where can look back and see qualities in her that one would value in a friend. I really miss not only mom, but the close friend that never will be.

  • as a grief therapist, you know all the right answers on grief, but we all know that grief is not a science.  what are some things that have surprised you about your grief?

Grief bursts, I realize, are super normal, and the knowledge of that has really made me feel less crazy.  The actual intervals between grief responses do lengthen over time, for sure, but the longing never goes away. However, the depths of my heartache has taken me by surprise, and how even now I find myself in with tears over missing her. After my mom died in 2001, I saw a fabulous therapist and experienced so much healing around the loss.  But sometimes new seasons bring new pain, too.  I have had to give myself way more space than I would have anticipated to grieve in different ways this season.

  • what are some of the things you cried out to God in these past months?

I have asked God on several occasions to take away different strains of jealousy that sneak in now and again. I desire to be a part of a family so very badly, and it actually annoys me how often I have wanted to feel irreplaceable and a special part of one. I have prayed for comfort and for my ability to allow myself to feel–and not explain away– the incredible love and support that I truly do have in my life. Still, I can’t deny that’s what I want, that’s what I wish I had. Also, “they” seem to market Mother’s Day earlier and earlier each year, haha, and since I don’t want to avoid life altogether during this season, I also ask for lots of strength through it. My birthday, Mother’s Day, my mom’s birthday, and the anniversary of her death are all within about a 30 day period, so I know that I need to practice great self-care during that time frame.

  • what is it like to grieve in community, to be honest with others what you are thinking and feeling and experiencing?

Being so independent & not having any family for so long has now been a bit more of a double-edged sword. My independence has really become a part of who I am, yet it can become dangerous if I don’t choose to let others in on my process. The really beautiful part of our Refuge community is our collective ability to allow the freedom to deeply feel. I love that The Refuge is not a place where we would try and comfort with only words, but with presence.  I definitely don’t need or want answers or verses or helping phrases, but real presence. Our community is so great at that, and that is why it is really a safe place to just be.   When my mom died, I feel like I did my “grieving” in private, channeled my energy into a big memorial event for my mom that my friends were a huge part of, and tucked the public piece far, far away. While I try not to talk about her too much, I feel like I have mentioned her more in the past year than I did publicly the year she died. It feels very liberating to be in a community of friends who are willing to hear, not just listen when things come up. It feels really comforting to have such an integral part of my story to be truly known.

  • in the midst of darkness, hope always seems to pop up in the strangest of ways.  how is hope emerging from the darkness for you?

I feel like this new layer of healing has made me appreciate how &%$^ hard I have worked to get to where I am at, yet to give myself the grace of still being in process. I can honestly say that even though there have been some rough grief patches, I have never been happier in my entire life. While there are so many factors that play into that statement, I believe that a huge piece is due to allowing myself to be authentic with this integral piece of my story.  I tried for so long, somewhat subconsciously, to “protect” others from my grief story. Sometimes I just want to talk about who my mom was, and it is risky to share my heart about it. That perceived projection left that part of my heart lonely, and I am finding so much hope that it does not have to be that way. I have so much confidence that my community embraces all of me, not just the happy parts.

  • what has this easter season been like for you?   what has been stirred up through it?

It has been a lot of bumping up against my pride and my desire to always point to all the healing that has been a part of my life. The secondary issues connected to grief and loss have been stirred up in new ways for me during this season. Instead of brushing them under the carpet, or letting them rule my life or day, I have been allowing myself to be vulnerable enough to talk them through.

  • hope can be dangerous.  how are you holding on to it despite its risks?

I believe that continuing to lean into my own story, especially the dark patches, is continuing to not only allow me to be a more compassionate therapist, advocate, and friend, but also a more real me. I have found that I have been able to live out my life from a deeper, more powerful place as I step into this next leg of my journey.

thank you, riley.   yes, grief is weird.  and good.  and healing.  to all those out there grieving losses–of loved ones, or lost dreams, of relationships, of faith-as-you-knew-it, of all kinds of other things–as you let yourself feel, may you some how some way experience God’s hope & new life in the midst.

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ps:  i’ve got a new little (and short, yeah!) post up at communitas collective called questions in the now

ppss:  one of my fav bloggers rachel held evans recently asked some other bloggers “what is the good news?”  she asked me to participate.  you can read everyone’s responses here; there’s some good stuff.    this is what i wrote:

“to me, the good news is that Jesus is alive and well flowing through average, ordinary people who reflect the image of God in all kinds of wild and beautiful ways.   it’s a reminder that the ways of the world are counter cultural to the ways of the kingdom—that in God’s economy, the poor are really rich and the weak are really strong.  the good news is that what the world sees and what God sees are two different things. what we call ugly, God calls beautiful.  the good news is the spirit of Jesus carried into dark places,  bringing light where there is none, advocating for justice & equality for the poor and marginalized, passing on love to the unlovely & lonely, bringing healing and restoration to what’s broken and divided.  the good news is that the life of sacrifice, humility and love that Jesus embodied–when reflected, encouraged, nurtured, valued, extended–changes people, neighborhoods, communities, cities, the world.”

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Posted on May 14, 2010 in church stuff, healing, incarnational, relationships, spiritual formation, the refuge | 13 comments

signs of hope: staying in instead of running away

in this season of easter i have been posting a few interviews with friends, some “signs of hope”, little slivers of resurrection in the midst of real life.  the first two were:  emerging from the darkness of sexual abuse and the bumpy road of sobriety.   i am a little behind but will try to get more up next week.  this one seems to fit well with the last few posts about “the church” and the power of healing community.  plus it’s my birthday today & so i get kind of nostalgic & reflective.  this story reminds me of that all this refuge-community-life together-healing nuttiness is somehow worth it..  i’m learning way more than i bargained for about grace & trust & love & friendship but i wouldn’t trade it for anything.  enjoy.

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as you all know, i am extremely passionate about community.  not just “hey, i hang out with these guys once a week and am part of this church, etc.”  but real true-blue-in-the-deep-places-of-others-experience community.  i think that’s where we learn the ways of love, where we come face to face with our darkness, our goodness, our hope, our fears.  where we learn to love and be loved. one of the scariest parts of the refuge community is the high level of relationship that it requires; yeah, most everyone’s church experiences didn’t really help with this critical piece of life, and many have gotten pretty far in the christian world without ever feeling connected to other people.   but i have the privilege to see up-close-and-personal what can happen when, despite the obstacles and fears, people try to stay in instead of run away.  come out instead of hide.

meet my friend kyle*.  he has been a pastor and christian leader for pretty much all his adult life.  we always joke that he was paid to be a christian.  through the ups and downs of the refuge community, he has been learning a lot about himself, about God, about other people.  hope is not easy for him, but during this past season some new slivers have been breaking through.

  • you’ve been through a lot over the past several years.  losing a ministry job that you were really excited about.  battling alcohol addiction & depression.  wrestling with huge faith issues that have really messed with your mind and heart. trying to get to the bottom of why it is so hard to really let love in.  how would you describe the past 4 years or so of your life and faith journey?

The past 4 years have been profoundly difficult, but at the same time it is the life I have sort of always known. I have no memory of ever feeling normal, or a true part of something that would embrace and love me as I am, so I present what I believe it will take to be loved and accepted. (my issue, I am sure I have been in places that could handle it, I couldn’t) . The depression does not feel separate from me; it feels like it is me. To not be depressed and hiding, are abnormal feelings.  My journey with alcohol dependency was certainly fueled by my feelings of betrayal and loss of my romantic ideas about the church, but the “seed” was always there–that I need to cover pain and escape from it. I was/am the type of alcoholic who does not often get drunk, but who is always needing just a couple to make it, to feel alive. Of course, the reality is that “just trying to make it” is almost by definition the loss of life.

  • what are some of the things you have cried out to God during this season?

Mostly, “I am so sorry.” But also “does my inability to feel loved and accepted, worthwhile and normal mean that it will never happen?  Will I ever get to feel those things? Or should I just learn to live with this?” I have to admit, a core issue is I am not a very good cry -out sort of person, I am trying to learn how to do that. I am aware that as the middle child of an alcoholic mom and abusive step parents, crying out for help was not an option. I can honestly not think of a time when i asked my parents to help me. It is really hard to first unlearn a behavior that actually made childhood survival possible.

  • how do you think being a “professional christian” has made the last few years even harder?  do you think it would have been different if you had a “regular” job?  why or why not?

I have to admit that part of my “stinkin thinkin” is that I am special, not in a good way, but special in peculiar way. As a pastor, my profession has often fed that feeling by making me more important than I really am.

  • what has it been like for you to have a faith community that keeps sticking with you, through the darkness & the light, the good times & the bad?

I am clearly not a freak in our little place. I am certain that had I been in my previous church, I would have been sent to a “ranch” to deal with my “issues” (with lots of deep concern) and then quietly replaced.  It is hard for me on many levels; the easiest place to hide is on a stage in front of thousands of people.  It is much harder at The Refuge to hide.

  • you are a good giver, but what has “receiving” looked like for you over the past months?   share why you think it’s hard for you to let love in.

Honestly, this is the crux of the issue. Somewhere in my DNA, I have an almost biological instinct that says you can not let anyone in close enough to love you. The predicate to receiving is need, and in my interior world the model is “ need = weak, weak = vulnerable, vulnerable = great pain. Thus, no needs = no pain.

  • I know that asking for help is one of my greatest character defects. I am sure that by asking or “needing” I put myself in a vulnerable position that seems almost insurmountable to me.

Alcoholism has been a gift, it made me face the reality my life is unmanageable. Admitting that, allows God (usually via people) to enter and help.

  • the journey is far from over, but out of a lot of death and darkness, some hope and new life is emerging.  what does that look like for you?

This will only resonate with your readers who, like me, are people pleasing junkies, but I know I am seeing new life when I fail or disappoint someone and it does not totally trash me for a week. I have a glimmer of hope when I can say out loud what I want and let it go at that. I love it when we have our Refuge parties and all the wild and crazy mix of the most wonderful and sincere people are together, and I feel like I get to see that romantic and beautiful church. Plus, the skills I am learning in community are helping me have a much more peaceful and fulfilling marriage.

  • yes, we all know that hope is sometimes dangerous, risky.  how are you opening your heart up to hope even when it’s scary?

We just celebrated 4 years of The Refuge, and I am still here.  That might not seem like much, but for me this is no small thing.  My instincts are always to run away, go someplace new, so me still being here, dreaming about the future, is a big step for me.

  • anything else you’d like to add?

If you are restless and longing for more in your faith community, it is possible that you may not “find” it, but it may be possible that you can create it. If your hope reservoir is dangerously low and you fear you might lose your way, your faith, spend your last bit of energy on simply finding one or two friends who will listen to your story.

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the church, unfortunately, has been one of the best places for people to hide.  i am so proud of kyle and am thankful for his friendship & love & journey toward healing.  it reminds me why we are dedicated to what we are dedicated to.  spiritual transformation isn’t just about knowing a lot of Bible verses;  it’s about changing in the deep places of our hearts & becoming closer to God, other people, ourselves.   there are so many burned-out, disconnected, christian leaders out there; my hope is that some how, some way, they might find some form of healing community to learn what they never could learn in the place that was supposed to teach it best.

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Posted on Apr 15, 2010 in healing, incarnational, the refuge | 12 comments

signs of hope: the bumpy road of sobriety

during this season of easter, i am going to share a few of my friends stories of hope in the midst of the real life. these might not seem too exciting to the un-trained eye, because they aren’t stories of complete and total 100% rock solid true blue victory over the darkness and struggle. i personally don’t believe that’s what healing looks like.  what these stories are, though, are signs of hope that Jesus is alive and well, working in wild and unexpected ways. and that any sliver of hope is worth celebrating, especially in this harsh, broken, and beautiful world. i hope you find a little for you through reading them, too.

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one of the greatest gifts i get to participate in refuge life together is being with friends who are battling an addiction of some shape or form.  i believe we are all addicted.  yeah, even though i haven’t had a drink in 16 years, i am addicted to work and codependency in all kinds of wacky ways and continue to work toward greater healing on a daily basis.  at the same time, some addictions are more life-destroying than others, and i can’t tell you what a joy it is to celebrate at our weekly gatherings our friend’s sobriety from chemical addiction.  seeing the journey up-close-and-personal is so beautiful, and a constant reminder of the 1st beatitude (which folds directly into the 1st of the 12 steps)–blessed are those who are realize their need for God.

so here’s a little sign of hope for you this week. meet my brave friend janice* (like the out of the darkness and view from the margins series, all names have been changed because the world wide web is weird and i want everyone to speak freely.  you first met her in God’s ghetto).  she has almost 5 years sobriety from a 30-year cocaine addiction; we have been friends through relapses and starts and stops, and the one thing i am more clear of then ever–the journey toward sobriety is a bumpy road that a lot more to do with change than just stopping using.  it’s about healing, letting love in, finding voice and strength, and learning to live in pain and freedom instead of run away from life.

 

  • you now have over 4 1/2 years of of sobriety from cocaine addiction. congratulations, i am so proud of you! this is no small thing and definitely not for the faint-hearted. how did you get there? what has the last 4 1/2 years been like for you?

I got sober thru a 12 step program and a group of friends I call the God-Squad. The first 2 years I had to concentrate 100% of my energy on my recovery.  It was like a full-time job. It was the most painful, nail-biting and yet exciting time in my life. After 2 years I quit going to meetings regularly, and even though I have stayed sober and am part of The Refuge, my sobriety has been in a sleep mode.  I am clean but not moving forward, sometimes even backwards.

 

 

  • what were some of the things you cried out to God during this season?

I cried for God to take the cravings away, I cried to him for the loss of friends that I had to give up.  I cried for God to just take me home so I don’t have to face another day–sometimes I still do.

 

 

  • recently, the pull toward using again became a little stronger when you hooked up with some old friends to catch up on old times. what happened?

I met 2 high school friends I haven’t seen in 25-30 years.  One of them was someone I sold drugs with for many years.  I really wanted to catch up on old times, but I knew it was a big risk, too.  He suggested we take a ride and get high just like the old days. Thankfully, the other friend said he hasn’t touched drugs in years and things didn’t go that direction.  The part that scared me was that I sat there and said nothing.  I didn’t tell them I quit almost 5 years ago. It was like I had no voice.

 

  • when you walked away from that moment with your sobriety intact, how did you feel?

I felt very lucky , thankful and somewhat sad.  I admit, I miss those days sometimes.   Even though I now have quality people in my life, I miss the quantity, the constant action that comes with drinking and drugging through life together.  But I’m glad I am still clean after that close call.

 

  • can you help people understand what the day-to-day battle looks like?

I have a lot of down-time due to being on disability.  I have severe arthritis, a leaky heart valve and asthma. If I don’t make good plans with people or the weather is bad or I’m in too much physical pain, I sometimes go for days without any human contact, and that is when the loneliness sets in. The old days start to look inviting. Some days I’m pacing back and forth in my apartment because the pull is so strong. Some nights I have cocaine dreams that are so real that I wake up with the taste of coke in my mouth.  The pull is always there.

 

  • part of keeping your sobriety is helping others keep theirs.  you are beginning a 12 step group at the refuge to provide a safe place for people across addictions to find on-going support and hope.  how is being a catalyst for this group helping you?

It helps me get out of myself and my sh*t.  I never understood how helping others would help my recovery, but I have seen healing for me many times while helping others. It’s a win-win situation. I still don’t understand it but I know it works. And I know right now in this stuck part of my recovery, I need to start taking it more seriously again.  I want to be able to be in the kinds of moments I was with my friends and use my voice instead of stay silent.

 

  • on days where the battle gets extra hard, what brings you hope?

I find hope in people who love me for me. I find hope going to the movies, lunch or coffee with people who care. A hug, phone call or even a simple (i love you ) text shows me glimpses of hope.  Without people, I wouldn’t have hope.

 

  • what do people who aren’t addicted need to keep in mind about friends who are?

Once you are an addict you will always be a addict. We need support no matter  if we have 1 day sober or 4 years.  We are 1 drink, 1 high away from our addiction. Keep checking in just to see where they are at.  And never, ever, give up on them.

  • what does hope look like for you right now? what’s surprising you about it?

Hope is a scary thing for me. Hope seems like I’m setting myself up for a letdown, but I’m trying to let more of it in.  For me, sometimes hope is making it through this day and not thinking about the next one.  And to somehow help someone else in their sobriety, too.  That gives me hope and makes me excited about my recovery, too.  I am hoping to find that voice and someday be able to totally close the door to my old ways

 

* * * * *

thank you, janice, for this sign of hope–that against all odds it’s possible to be clean despite a gripping addiction.  your story reminds me that the journey toward healing & sobriety is made one day at a time.  and that one of the things that seems to give us the most hope sometimes is being part of others healing, too.

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