Being a Wounded Healer

I am a wounded healer.  I have been a caregiver in some capacity all my life.  God has gifted me with the capacity to listen with a compassionate heart.  I use those gifts every day.

Recently, I posted the following on my Facebook account: Ham salad...check; deviled eggs...check.
I've hit a wall. I've refused to think about why I was preparing these foods. I'll go get a shower and let it all out. I'm tired of death. I'm tired of grieving. Ufdah. Love you all out there. God's solace is there for me, too. Please keep the Delk family in your prayers.   I was instructed by two things: (1) the limited response to that post that I received on Facebook and (2) the rousing response I received to that post off Facebook. 

As caregivers, we are strong.  Yet, also as caregivers, we are broken.  Part of supporting caregivers is allowing them to be wherever they are -- strong or broken or a little bit of both.  Be not surprised!

Over the last 8 weeks, I have lost three people who have been very deeply embeded in my heart.  The first was Lonnie, an older gentleman who had been a mentor and friend; the second was Wesley, a member of my dance community killed in a senseless act of violence; and the third was Lyman, an elder-emeritus at my church, a man who always had a kind, supportive word for me.  My grieving work has only just begun.

I have posted previously this summer about the importance of doing that work--the work of grieving.  Of allowing it all to be there, to come in its waves, and to recede.  Now comes the part of being a wounded healer.  I cannot separate the two.  I am wounded, yes.  Yet, I am a healer too.  I found myself three weeks ago desperately wanting to be able to separate those two, yet not really.  God has given me the ability to listen, to be present to others in their grief, to pray, to say what needs to be heard.  I simply cannot, at this time in my spiritual journey, say no to God.

God gifts us with abilities and desires us to use them as needed.  So even in our own grief, we can speak from a place of compassion for others--AND OURSELVES.  Even though we are healers, it is important for each and every caregiver to realize that compassion is there for us as well as those for whom we care.  God's perfect solace is there for others--AND OURSELVES, as we grieve the losses in our lives.  We must remember to open our hearts just a titch and allow that solace to seep into the  wounds we carry.

Yes, I am a caregiver.  I am a wounded healer.  I live. I love.  I lose.  I grieve.  I listen.  I pray.  God is there.  God is good.  All the time.

Grace abounds,
Daphne

My Lament for Wesley

Why?!  Why is the question on a lot of our hearts right now as we are reeling from the news.  Our friend and fellow-dancer Wesley Brown was shot and killed Saturday night.  It was stupid.  It was senseless.

Why?!  Our hearts are broken.  We are holding Kelly and Madeline close in our hearts, wishing for time to see them and hug them and be with them.

Why?!  Earlier this summer I wrote an article on the work of grieving; on the necessity of allowing that work to occur in us.  It is essential that we allow grief to wash over us when it comes and simply be with it.  Grief and grieving are cleansing and educational.  Mostly, grieving—especially at this point—is simply there, not to be ignored or set aside.

As an aspect of our grieving, we can allow our faith to spill over into doubt, into questioning.  Without doubt, we never get around to asking the difficult questions of God, of ourselves. 

Why?!  I find myself asking that age-old question of God: "Why, God, did you allow this to happen?  Why?!"

While in the grip of doubt, letting our anger out is cleansing.  There are safe ways of doing so, such as  journaling, praying, swinging a wiffle bat against a pillow or a sofa.  Even screaming at God!  God can take it.  I know I am angry with, of all things, Wesley's employers.  I'm angry that he had to work instead of come to Cumberland—where he would have been instead of in that store Saturday night!  I'm angry that a gang decided to retaliate in an outbreak of violence which spilled over and ended Wesley's life.

Grief and anger exist together in a tangled mess so many times.  This tangled mess could very well be the reason this "senseless" violence broke out to begin with—what were the members of this gang grieving? 

 And, yes, I am angry with God.  Very angry.  My private conversations with God over the last 48 hours have been filled with angry tears and demands to know, to understand.

Yet, as I have moved with my grief, the question has shifted.  Shifted to how.

How, God, am I to be with this?  I have faith that Wesley is in a better place right now, is resting and healing in the light of God.  Yet, his family – a young daughter and his beloved wife – are HERE without him.

How can I be of comfort and support to his family?

This is a healthy movement our souls can take in response to our grief.  Yet, even this healthy movement does not resolve the deep sadness and the ache of loss in my heart.  Only time will do so.

May the grace of God go with Wesley's family and friends through the coming days and weeks.

Grace does abound.

Confluence

I'm sitting here tonight working on about three things at once.  Taking a break from each to work on the others.  I am absolutely certain there are others out there doing the same thing!

With all the transitions happening in my life right now, I'm being extremely careful of how I react to others.  I'm being so because I am a little suspicious of my own emotional volatility.  While on the surface it might seem to add yet one more thing to my head, it actually feels pretty good.  As I am more present to my own emotional state, I'm being more present.  Period.  That is always a good thing. 

Over the last couple of days I have had a few conversations with folks where I was becoming too...something.  I began to feel the edges of frustration and anger floating under the surface as well as the thick gooey feelings of sadness that I know is grief.  Yet, on the other hand has been incredible, deep joy.  The joy of knowing I'm on the right track. 

Stepping out in faith, not knowing for sure what's coming, what God has in store for me is exciting, I admit.  It feels good to be in a place where I can do that.  I have a tremendously fulfilling job now that is paying me enough.  So, what comes next in this ministry mustard seed that's been planted in me to work with those with dementia and their caregivers is free to come at its own speed.  I don't anticipate having to quit my job in order to do this ministry.  I say that because every day God points out to me that I am engaged in an important ministry within the responsibilities of my job.  Every day I have awesome conversations with caregivers needing to talk.

There are aspects to this transition which continue to make me sad.  Having to give up my ministerial commission is painful and on a very elemental level feels very "unfair."  Yet, God sees that, feels that sadness and is, I believe, sad right along with me.  I do believe that something will be resolved around this issue that will allow me, in the end, to continue preaching and pastorally caring for folks, to be able to counsel and marry couples, to be Pastor Daphne.  We'll see.

Basically, it comes down to needing to slow down, needing to be quiet and listen, needing to be patient and wait.  I can do that.

The Work of Grieving

"Too many times we stand aside and let the waters slip away

             . . . dare to dance the tide."  ~   Anonymous

Why do we grieve?  Why are our hearts so entangled with one another's?  Why must we mourn our losses—large and small—and suffer the consequences when we refuse to do so?

Losses, changes, transitions—good, bad, or indifferent—all bring about grieving.  Some instances of loss, change, or transition affect our relationships because of death, illness, distance, work schedules, and even philosophies.  Our relationships form the bases of our lives.  We were created for community and when that community is disrupted, we grieve.

Grieving, despite its bad reputation, is a necessary part of growth.  Without the work of grieving, we tend to lose ourselves in the tangled emotional webs we weave.  Grieving helps to gently untangle our needs, our fears, and our doubts from the truth of a change. Grieving helps us value and appreciate what went before and look forward to what is in store for us.

A few years ago, I had the privilege of taking a class on the Psalms from Dr. Kathleen O'Connor at Columbia Theological Seminary.  I say privilege because Dr. O'Connor loves the Psalms.  Part of the work we were assigned during the class involved choosing a type of psalm (lament, happy, etc.) and writing one of our own.  The assignment elicited an inward groan from me because I knew immediately what sort of psalm I needed to write: a lament.  The idea of writing a lament was on the surface a simple one; yet underneath, an assignment that would pull from me difficult emotions surrounding my life and my relationship with God.

Yet, I wrote my psalm.  It was indeed a lament.  Now, one thing to know about laments: they are fluid; they move from anger and despair through grace and mercy into joy.  I find psalms of lament the most hopeful psalms.  My psalm dealt with the grief I have experienced throughout my life, my ache for understanding the "why," and the ultimate mercy and solace I found in God's presence with me throughout all of it.

In the stanzas of the psalm, I compared grief to being on the beach. However, I took that comparison a step further and wondered if God was indeed the grief itself.  God is often said to be joy and love—why not grief?  If we began to experience our grief as yet one more way of being present with God, would the work be any easier?  Would we be more in touch with the mercy and solace available to us through God's presence?

             Henri Nouwen writes,  

            Jesus, the Blessed One, mourns.  Jesus mourns when his friend Lazarus dies (see John 11:33-36); he mourns when he overlooks the city of Jerusalem, soon to be destroyed (see Luke 19:41-44).  Jesus mourns over all losses and devastations that fill the human heart with pain.  He grieves with those who grieve and sheds tears with those who cry.

             The violence, greed, lust, and so many other evils that have distorted the face of the earth and its people causes [sic] the Beloved Son of God to mourn.   We too have to mourn if we hope to experience God's consolation. 

When Jesus goes to the Temple in Jerusalem and reads scripture, the scripture he reads is from Isaiah 61, verses 1-3:

 The spirit of the Lord God is upon me,

            because the Lord has anointed me;
he has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed,
           to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim liberty to the captives, and release to the prisoners;
to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor,
            and the day of vengeance of our God;
                        to comfort all who mourn;
to provide for those who mourn in Zion—
            to give them a garland instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness instead of mourning,
            the mantle of praise instead of a faint spirit. 
 They will be called oaks of righteousness,
                       the planting of the Lord, to display his glory.

We hear Jesus tell the crowds gathered on the hillside that those who mourn will be comforted (Matthew 5:4). 

We all live our lives in the presence of God/God is always present to the messiness of our lives. Part of what we learn from studying Jesus’ life is that Jesus experienced everything we experience. Jesus lived a human life; was very familiar with the losses and transitions through which we all live.  The reason Jesus' life lessons are so important for us is that they create a sense of familiarity, of understanding, of acceptance—of comfort.  There simply is nothing we can experience with which God has not become intimately acquainted.  God comforts us with presence—just as we comfort those around us with our own presence in times of trouble, in times of grieving. 

Back to grief and the beach—grief is like the waves at the beach, sometimes they roar in from way far out and knock us down, sometimes they sneak in from just a little way out and pull the sand from under our feet, and sometimes what looks like one of those waves that will surely knock us down actually dissipates before it ever reaches us.  If we look at each of these instances of grief and see God as the grief, how does that affect our experience of grief, of God?

Are there times in our journey through grief when we see God coming?  Do we realize our feet are about to be knocked from under us?  How about those times when we think we see God approaching only to feel a certain withdrawal, bringing a sort of disappointment with it.

Through the varying depths and strengths of our experience of grief, God works with us in sorting out our issues, our questions, our needs, our desires.  I have come to accept that God ensures we have what we need to do the work we need to do when we need to do it.  The role we have in this is openness and acceptance.

In looking back at the Psalms class and the practice of writing a lament, I found that the movement from lament through grace into joy was exhilarating.  By writing my own psalm, I realized that I had lived through that movement time and again. In seeing it as such, I saw the hope and comfort which kept me going from a different perspective.  I experienced God as being an active participant and a companion on my journey. 

Indeed, God is the guiding presence in my life which leads me through difficult periods and onto the high beach, safe from the rolling waves, to rest, to be comforted, to heal.  We each have those high beaches in our lives.  God is indeed the power which brings us there.  If God is present with us on those high beaches, then God is also present with us in the waves.

When considering God as actually being the waves of grief at that beach, perhaps we can experience a deeper sense of hope in the midst of our grieving.  When God is so deeply a part of the work we must do, then that work is good work, healing work, growth-inducing work.