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Posted on Dec 22, 2012 in advent & lent, healing, spiritual formation | 8 comments

when christmas is hard: honoring paradox

when christmas is hard honoring paradoxwell, so much choosing for “help, thanks, wow” for when christmas is hard.  sometimes things just shift and new ideas come.  that’s what i love about blogging; it is current.  this week, i got a completely new thought on how i wanted to wrap this series, mainly because it’s what seems to always help me the most when i’m really in a hard place–honoring paradox.  i’ve written a lot about paradox over the years–how two contradicting things can exist at the same time.  even though i’d been talking about “beauty & ugly existing together” for a long time, several years ago richard rohr articulated it all in a way that melded the idea in my heart in a way that has really lasted.

and helped me in more ways than i can say to become less divided, more whole & sane.

it’s also helped me honor paradox in others, which makes living together in love so much easier.  richard rohr says, “if you can hold and forgive the contradictions within yourself, you can normally do it everywhere else too”

but it starts with us.

left on our own, we swing between left and right, good and bad, dark and light.  things become “all good” or “all bad” instead of both good & bad at the same time. it’s a dangerous way of living because it will cause us to live in extremes that aren’t always healthy.  also, life is not ever all good or all bad, all dark or all light.

it’s always a mix of both. 

this is my favorite part of the Jesus story–the crazy paradox of it all.  it is such a beautiful, messy story. Jesus’ birth doesn’t make sense in some ways & brings it all together in another.  it’s ugly & smelly and also beautiful & hopeful.  it’s the savior of the world–the one who was supposed to save the day with strength & might–dying on a cross.  it’s the last will be first and the first will be last.  it’s a mystery & it’s simple.  it’s….you fill in the blanks on all of the weird, contrary words that describe it.

as we enter into the last few days before christmas, my hope for those who are struggling this christmas is to try to honor paradox.

it always helps to remember the good, the light, the beautiful, the hopeful, no matter how small they might seem.  and it also helps to be painfully honest.  sometimes, life is just freaking hard and there’s no way we can will ourselves to feel better or pray enough to wake up with our realities gone in the morning.  but the hard stuff can still be present in the midst of the good.

i was with a friend a few weeks ago who is going through one of the most difficult seasons of her entire life.  she’s in a huge trauma and as she shared with me, i thought to myself “this is what it looks like to live in paradox.”   she shared honestly about how truly devastated she feels, how scared & angry & confused.  but at the same time, she shared about how she also can see good in the midst, light in the dark, hope in the despair.

it was seriously inspiring.

honoring paradox is healing.  freeing.  honest.  hopeful.

and really hard to do when our crazy brains are always trying to pull us to extremes. 

so that’s my hope for us these last few days before christmas–that we could honor paradox.  that we wouldn’t dismiss the hard stuff but we’d also acknowledge the good.

last christmas we did this exercise at the refuge for our christmas stories series.  i thought i’d share it here again for those of you who didn’t see it or for those who are like me and always need reminding.

paradoxes jpg

maybe you can give me a christmas gift and share your paradox here.  they make me really happy to hear and give me hope for my life, too.

the two sets of paradoxes that describe where i’m at right now are chaotic & peaceful and brave & scared.  

love and hope this christmas. this space has been a gift to me, so thanks for being here.

i’ll see you next week. love, kathy

* * * * *

ps: if you are new here, here are the other posts in this series.

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Posted on Dec 19, 2012 in advent & lent, healing, spiritual formation | 12 comments

when christmas is hard: “look toward the light”

blog when christmas is hard look toward the light“finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.” – phiippians 4:8

i don’t know about you, but i’m in a fog.  friday’s tragedy coupled with so much going on here in real life plus the regular holiday craziness has felt bizarre. instead of trying to power through, i decided to accept the haze but keep trying to move forward one baby step at at a time.  i had a post in mind for last friday as part of this when christmas is hard series (centered on “help”, “thanks”  and “wow” from anne lamott’s new book) but it just wasn’t the right one. it’s still not.  and that’s okay.  the truth is i’ve written about gratitude so many times before, and it really does heal & help.

what feels more appropriate right now is the importance of looking to the light when darkness seems to be trying its best to pull so many under.

the darkness cannot win!  but damn, it sure is trying.

at the refuge we sometimes do a labyrinth walk at different locations in north denver.  every time, it is good for my soul. there’s something about the path & the twists & the turns & the quiet & the space-to-hear-from-God that always seems to be exactly what i need at that certain moment.  at the summer labyrinth walk, i arrived scattered & tired after hearing the news of the death of my grandma on top of about 10 other hard things.  things felt dark & tiring, but as i started walking, i heard these words “look toward the light.”  in those moments, i just take it as God trying to show me something, so i listened.  and each time i made a major turn on the path i intentionally stopped, and turned my whole body and head up toward the sun.

“look toward the light.”

each time there was a big curve on the path, i stopped yet again, and looked to the light.  i felt the sun on my face.  i felt the light seep into my skin. i felt what was true, noble, pure, lovely slip back in.  i felt God.

i looked toward the light a whole bunch of times that morning & when i left, my head was higher and my shoulders were less slumped.

in october, we did a full moon labyrinth walk at a local church. it was a cold and crisp night and i almost didn’t go.  i felt the same thing this time, a draw to stop and look up, except that i turned toward the moon instead of the sun. i turned my face toward the sky and reflected on the light–the good things that did exist in the midst of the bad, the beautiful slivers of hope & peace & love seeping in in the midst of the ugly & hard & painful things in my life and the lives of my friends, the light that somehow shines through on dark nights if we strain to see it.

light is powerful.  light is healing.  light is hope.  light is what is right, true, noble, pure, lovely, and praiseworthy.

“look toward the light.”

but looking to the light is not easy.  the darkness is a draw.  head down, shoulders slumped, burdens heavy–oh, the pull that direction is sometimes so strong.

yeah, looking to the light means taking the time to stop, to beckon our heads to look up, to turn our hearts and minds and bodies toward the light, to soak in the warmth that even a sliver of light can provide, to remember what’s good, what’s true, what’s noble, what’s pure, what’s lovely.  to meditate on those things.  to remember the small graces, the warm smiles, the unexpected kindnesses, the things that are instead of the things that aren’t.

this month at the refuge we have been talking about Jesus as light–as truth, as hope, as presence.  it’s been really good for my soul in all kinds of ways, remembering that no matter how hard this world might try to extinguish the light, it can’t.  Jesus’ truth, hope, presence will always shine through the darkness even though it might not be as bright and clear as we sometimes wish it would be.

every saturday night for advent we’ve been sharing this scripture as a closing blessing.  it’s zechariah’s song in luke 1:78-79.

By the tender mercy of our God,

the dawn from on high will break upon us,

to give light to those who sit in darkness and the shadow of death,

to guide our feet into the way of peace.

my friends, if you are hurting this christmas, i am not saying that looking to the light will change everything, but i am hoping it might help.  as you look that direction, may dawn somehow break through as you remember what’s true, what’s good, what’s lovely.

 

 

 

 

 

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Posted on Dec 7, 2012 in advent & lent, formation friday, healing, incarnational, spiritual formation | 16 comments

when christmas is hard: “help”

blog when christmas is hard“o God, listen to my cry! hear my prayer! from the ends of the earth, i cry to you for help. when my heart is overwhelmed. lead me to the towering rock of safety, for you are my safe refuge” – psalm 61:1-3, NLT

sometimes when i write about how hard life is here at the refuge, i wonder if i’m exaggerating.  then i go through a week like this last one and remember how real it is.  seriously, so many people struggling in different ways, some related to the season, some just related to life’s realities.  no matter the reason, it’s rough around here.  we have an advocates group that meets twice a month and is centered on support-skills-training-love for those who journey with others in hard places. it’s one of my favorite groups, a learning place, and every december our theme is the same:  ”soul care & compassion fatigue.”  we bring in our therapist friends to remind us of all the things we should be doing to take better care of ourselves so we can last. it’s always awesome.  this past tuesday, my amazing and awesome friend phyllis mathis was with us and brought a mini wailing wall.  she gave us time & space to just cry out in any way we needed on behalf of others-we-are-journeying-with and for ourselves, too (the one that we often neglect the most).  i ripped up paper after paper, scrawling prayers on them for my friends, for me, and then stuffed them into the cracks of the rocks. “God, please help….” 

then i lit candles. a bunch of them. i didn’t light one candle for each person because there weren’t enough, but i lit one for all my friends struggling with depression, another for a handful of women i know who are leaving abusive situations & trying to rebuild, another for those with health issues, another for ones with kids-on-the-fringe, another for those in the midst of divorce, and another for those who feel so far from God and long for some loving.  and then i lit a candle for me, just for me.

with each candle i thought.  help them, God.  

help me, God. 

goodness gracious, we really need your help.

if you’re like me, it’s hard to ask for help.  i’m getting better at it, but it is so not my natural reflex. left on my own, i am a bootstraps-figure-it-out-on-my-own type of person.  it’s part of my history and unfortunately, i have carried a lot of this into my relationship with God.  it’s not that i don’t believe he’s present. part of my healing has been embracing God’s emmanuel-ness, regardless of what i do or don’t do.  but i often don’t know what it means for him to actually help, at least in the ways i desperately want it.

but here’s what i keep learning--it helps to at least ask for help.

it humbles me because it makes me realize how much is out of my control anyway.  it reminds me of my humanness. it also helps me feel less alone.  it also helps me remember that even if nothing is changing, God is near, listening, present.

i finished anne lamott’s latest book last week–help, thanks, wow: the three essential prayers.  it was so good, really lovely.  here’s what she says about asking for help:

“there’s freedom in hitting bottom, in seeing that you won’t be able to save or rescue your daughter, her spouse, his parent, or your career, relief in admitting you’ve reached the place of great unknowing. this is where restoration can begin, because when you’re still in the state of trying to fix the unfixable, everything bad is engaged:  the chatter of your mind, the tension of your physiology, all the trunks and wheel-ons you carry from the past.  it’s exhausting, crazy-making.  help. help us walk through this.  help us come through.  it is the first great prayer.”  

it reminds me of the first 3 steps in the 12 steps, which say 1. we admitted we were powerless over our addictions and compulsive behaviors and life had become unmanageable.  2. came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity. 3. made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood God.   my paraphrased version of steps 1 through 3 have always been:  1. God, this is so not working.  2. maybe you can help.  3. and yeah, here it is (insert big hand motions of giving it over here). 

i don’t know where each of you are at this week in the midst of a busy season. i’m guessing some of you are doing just fine, others are on the fringe teetering and yet others are seriously tanked.   i also know that for some, asking for help isn’t hard to do, while for others it is a giant stretch–especially when God feels far or maybe hasn’t helped us in the way we have hoped.

asking for help is always a risk.  it’s vulnerable.  it’s scary.

but i’m pretty sure the alternatives are far worse.  a hardened protected heart.  or an overburdened weary one.

for this christmas-formation-friday, here’s a small thought to consider.  if you are feeling burdened with all kinds of things, maybe take a risk and ask God for help.  it might look like your own little wailing wall like the one we used or could be in some other form.  it might be just a simple prayer over and over.  help so and so…help me…. and then when you’re done, maybe light a candle somewhere nearby as a symbol of hope.  keep it burning as long as you can.

i made some candles for my advocate friends for christmas this past tuesday.  it was fun because i really thought about it before i made them. i wanted the words to be what this group of people might need, which is likely to be what i needed, too.  these are what came to mind, a reminder that:  ”i am loved. i am not alone.  i am human.  God is near.”

so today, i’ll light mine again and one for you, too.

you are loved. you are not alone.  you are human.  God is near.

please God, help.

peace and hope this weekend, kathy

 

 

 

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Posted on Nov 30, 2012 in advent & lent, healing, incarnational | 15 comments

when christmas is hard.

Broken Christmas decoration hanging on a treei like christmas.  i am not crazy about the commercialism and try to avoid stores at all costs starting from thanksgiving on, but i do love the season.  i love the story of Jesus because of its upside-downness & the wild and wacky ways he entered into the world as God-in-the-flesh.  i love the intentional focus and celebrating each week of advent.

at the same time, i deeply respect that it is a time of year where things start to go haywire for a lot of people i know.  in fact, thanksgiving begins one of our darkest seasons at the refuge.  while other churches are getting geared up for the awesome christmas service ahead, ours is feeling the reality of depression-and-loneliness-for-many to start setting in.  it’s an interesting phenomenon and in talking to others who intersect with the margins, many say the same thing.  while the rest of the world is spinning toward the holidays singing christmas carols & going to fun parties, there are a whole bunch of people hanging on by a thread.

at the same time, regardless of life-struggles-in-general, throw in spiritual shifts and “i don’t even know what to make of Jesus anymore” and it’s even more complicated.  and lonely.  and a reminder sometimes of how much we’ve changed.  when i wrote when easter is hard earlier this year i had no idea it would stir up so many feelings far & wide.  my guess is that christmas isn’t quite as hard as a holiday as easter for a lot of people in the midst of changing faith, but it still can be tricky.  at christmas we sing more songs about peace on earth and good will to men and less songs about blood and the lamb so that might make it a little easier for some.

no matter what our circumstances are–practical or faith-based– i want to honor that these times in the year can be extra hard, extra weird, extra lonely.

the christmas season can remind us that:

we aren’t where we wish we were.  we don’t have money, partners, kids, health, security, friends, community, healing, sobriety, you-name-its that we thought we would at this point and that can feel so discouraging.

we feel alone.  some of us feel lonely in the relationships we are in, while others feel lonely because we don’t have them at all.

our families are tricky (or i am guessing you might have other words for it, ha ha!) or nonexistent.   no matter how we slice it, holidays are a time where we intersect with family.  for some, it is a happy time and you are happy to see each other while for others, families bring up feelings of dread and anxiety.  for many, there’s no home to go to and we are painfully reminded of our orphanness or the harsh realities of divorce and single parent-ness.

life is flying by.  another year has come and gone and here we are, one year older and one less year left to pursue some of our dreams. and then sometimes we wonder about our dreams.

we want more connection with God but we aren’t sure how to get it anymore.  we might not have a church or community that feeds us like before or feels safe enough to even walk into.  often, we can’t seem to muster it up on our own so our connection with God just feels…empty.

we are scared of hope.  this season is a time of hope & anticipation and for a lot of us, hope feels dangerous.

i am sure there are many others, but these are some of the top of my head today.  i promise no trite answers or simple advice but i do have a hope for those who struggle with christmas–that some how, some way, more light can seep in.  i have hope that all of us experience more slivers of joy & peace & love & hope & grace over the next month.  slivers of light are sometimes small miracles in and of themselves, God’s little revelations and reminders that we’re not alone, that he is with us.

sometimes making christmas less hard will mean intention and trying things that we might not feel comfortable trying.  i was talking to a friend today who really struggles with the holidays and feels extra-lonely;  he was telling me he had a clear plan to hang out as much as possible with safe, energizing people and stay really busy to fight against depression’s pull.  it looks different for each of us and could mean making plans with others, finding any way to laugh, trying to find some sacred space in a church or outside in nature or somewhere special & life-giving, making an extra appointment with our therapist, or finding ways to serve others that helps turn our ingrown eyeballs out.  i  think the best question to consider “what little steps can we possibly take that lift our heads and hearts and bring some relief.”

and for those who love christmas, don’t feel guilty about it. (that can sometimes happen and you might even be feeling that as you are reading!).  but maybe what we can do is take time out of our month to notice the hurting, the hungry, the lonely, the disconnected and bring some laughter, food, beauty, joy, fun, love, or hope, in some small way. i have a feeling that’s the real meaning of christmas.

have a good weekend.  i’ll be thinking of you, praying for light.   love, kathy

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for the next three fridays to guide this when-christmas-is-hard-series for formation friday,  i am going to use the 3 prayers from anne lamott’s most recent book–help, thanks, wow: the three essentials prayers.  oh, that book been good for my soul lately & i hope it can bring some light here, too.

 

 

 

 

 

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